October 30.—Madame Charrier sent for me this afternoon to present me with my portrait. It was a lithograph picture of Elizabeth Blackwell, taken from a history of sages-femmes célèbres. This lady, about 1737, published a work on medical botany in two large folio volumes, in order to get her husband, a medical man, out of prison, where he was confined for debt.
I imagined a whole romance out of the picture, and a little biography—a romance of a beautiful, true spirit, struggling with a society too strong to be turned from its ancient habits of evil. But the pure spirit is not lost, it is working bravely still.
A Sortie from La Maternité.
October 22.
Dear Friends, one and all,—Yesterday I spent a delightful day—a day which I passed in doing nothing—and it was so pleasant, so refreshing, that I must tell you about it. I had laid out so many plans for my first day of freedom. I was to see so many medical people, and so many medical places, that I was almost exhausted in the anticipation, and when my leave of absence actually came, when all things worked right, and I was neither en service, nor in the infirmary, nor in the reception, and when moreover, for a wonder, it did not rain, I just determined to give up everything like business, forget there was such a thing as medicine or such a place as the Maternité, and give myself up like a child to the pleasure of looking and moving and eating, and everything that was natural and nothing that was wise! In fact, I found that I could really do nothing of business in a satisfactory way in the short space of eleven hours, so my troublesome conscience for once was quiet, and permitted me to waste a day. I was really amused at myself to find how anxious I was that it should not rain, and how impatient I was for the moment to arrive when I could leave, for by the rules of the place Anna must take me out, and Anna must bring me back precisely at eight o’clock! The directeur could not help laughing when he informed me of these regulations; still, as he said, ‘no exceptions could be made.’ Anna was anxious that I should lose no portion of my short day. She woke up an hour earlier than usual, with the sense of some weighty responsibility resting upon her, which she could not at first understand; but as the idea of the Maternité dawned upon her she rose in haste, and at nine o’clock the summons for Mademoiselle Blackwell was shouted forth under the windows of my dormitory. You must know that these sorties are quite an event to the élèves; they gather about the happy departing one with all manner of good wishes for her enjoyment and safe return. So while one hooked my dress, another fastened my gloves, a third arranged my collar, the rest admired with the often repeated compliment, ‘Oh, que vous êtes belle!’ and all sped me on my way with the pleasant greetings of their kind, light hearts.
How gay and free and delightful the city seemed to me after my four months’ imprisonment—four months shut up within the high boundary wall of the institution, with the sky above the tops of tall houses only visible, and all life concentrated in a single subject! My chest seemed to grow broader as I stepped over the threshold and saw no barrier before me, but the beautiful Luxembourg Garden on one side, and unending streets on the other. The variety of busy life, the gay dresses, the cheerful houses, looked charming to me. I was surprised to find how strange everything seemed. I really saw Paris again for the first time, and criticised everything as on my first arrival. We walked down the long avenue that led from the observatory to the garden. On each side are nursery grounds on a much lower level than the great central avenue; they form a large lake of trees and flowers on each side the promenade. We descended into the beautiful flowery labyrinth to admire the magnificent dahlias of all colours and in immense quantities. The French are very fond of what they call corbeilles. There is one in every court of the Maternité; it is a large round plot of ground, filled to overflowing with every variety of bright flower, enclosed by a trellis-work that is covered inside and outside by morning glories, nasturtiums, &c., so that it is nothing but a hedge of flowers. The nursery grounds we walked through were full of these, which sent forth a delicious odour; and occasionally they were varied by an enclosed grass plot, hollowed out, and kept in the most beautiful order, with bright borders of flowers. As we ascended to the garden I was struck by the noble trees, dressed now in their varied autumn robes, through which the marble statues and antique palace sparkled as brightly as in the green summer time. We were saluted by showers of dead leaves, which gave the children much sport and the keepers much trouble. By the western gate is the immense block of buildings in which Anna has her pretty appartement. She introduced me to them, for the change of residence had been made since my retirement from the world, and I duly admired the elegant furniture, carved ceiling, tasteful paper, and above all the pretty look-out upon a long avenue of trees whose autumn foliage shed a warm glow through the rooms. At half-past twelve we hurried off to attend a magnetic séance at the Baron Dupotet’s, which commenced precisely at one o’clock; and finding the omnibus too slow, we jumped into a cab with a lady who was bound on the same errand.
Now I must describe a magnetic séance to you; but I beg that you will receive the description with becoming seriousness, for I have a decided respect for M. Dupotet, and if any risibility should be excited it will proceed from your own nervous imagination, and not from my sober portraiture. These revelations of a higher sphere of existence are received up several pairs of stairs, in the back-room of a house situated in the heart of the city. It is a large, somewhat darkened room hung round with curious pictures, and lined with very curious people. Mesmer occupies a large frame carved with firebrands and anchors and other significant images; he looks fixedly at a pale lady hanging opposite to him, who has evidently undergone several magnetic crises. There are some verses framed and hanging very near the ceiling, surrounded by a thick wreath of yellow immortelles, but I have not yet been able to decipher their meaning. On the seats lining the walls about fifty persons assemble. It is an original assembly always, though it seems to be constantly changing. There was a lady with a small hole in her cheek, a child with a crooked neck, and the painter to the King of Sweden, with very light eyes and hair and great impressibility, with his companion who laughs and says, ‘Oui, monsieur,’ to every question addressed to him; and the son of the English Consul to Sicily, who displays a large amount of good clothes, good flesh, a little peaked moustache, and an immense amount of enthusiasm. But it would be difficult to give all the varieties of structure and expression in this group of believing heretics, some looking very fierce, some very sheepish, some with features turned up, some with them turned down, and some with them turned every way. The folding-doors of this room open into a small cabinet which is always opened on these occasions to receive Madame Dupotet and all the impressible ladies who form a circle inside, and go through many sympathetic manœuvres during the magnetising in the larger room: that is to say, the impressible ladies perform various antics, for Madame Dupotet, who is fat, fair, and forty, seems in no way affected, but looks on with smiling health and assists the nervous ladies. There was one remarkably fat dame, seated just within the folding-doors, who had powerful fits of nervous twitching, which gave her a singular appearance of pale, tremulous red jelly.
It would be impossible to describe the ornaments of M. Dupotet’s study cabinet—the mystic symbols and black-letter books of the Black Art; but there is a little metallic mirror of oval form, traced with magic characters, which exerts a truly wonderful effect upon impressible subjects, exciting an ecstasy of delight or a transport of rage; but always an irresistible attraction for all who are affected by the magnetic influence. While M. Dupotet has been displaying it to the one particular object of his attention, half-a-dozen others steal up from all parts of the room to seize the prize; one little old lady under the magnetic influence came tottering up, with the drollest expression of violent jealousy on her face, and with her clenched fist prepared to fight the other equally eager disputants for the possession of this wonderful mirror.
Unfortunately, this particular meeting passed without any of those singular occurrences which are said sometimes to electrify the spectators. I heard much of the ecstasy of a young man which had thrilled every person present—believer or non-believer—the meeting before, in which the ordinary law of gravitation seemed to be superseded, and the entranced soul would actually have fled up into the heaven it was striving for had not M. Dupotet clasped the body tightly in his arms and commanded it back! But though no miracle was wrought, the faithful audience hung with intense interest on every manifestation of simple magnetic power; the aspiring features assumed a higher aspect, the downward ones bent more determinedly, and the red jelly became more tremulous at every fresh magnetisation; and when the séance closed everybody shook everybody’s hand, and found it good to have been there.
Now, do not think my picture is a caricature—verily, I am very serious. There is an odd side to all reformers, to all who are pursuing a new idea earnestly, that is very whimsical. I am obliged to laugh at it; and yet I have true respect for M. Dupotet. Though he believes in ancient magic, though he lives in the hope of working miracles, I really believe him to be an honest, enthusiastic man, engaged with his whole soul in pursuing what seems to him the most important of all discoveries. His manner is perfectly unpretending, his conversation full of good sense; for twenty-five years he has pursued the same object, through suffering and ridicule and failure. He is honest, I am sure; how much truth he may possess I am at present quite unable to say; for my position, whilst it has given me occasional glimpses of his proceedings, has given no power of really investigating them; but some time I hope to really study magnetism.