"What! I dare not reject whom I please!" cried she, in a voice shrill with passion.
"No, you dare not. The empress commands you to accept the hand of Count Esterhazy. Here is the note I have at this moment received from her majesty."
Margaret tore the paper savagely from her uncle's hand. With staring eyes she read its contents, while her whole body trembled violently, and her lips were bloody with the efforts she was making to suppress a scream.
At last she gave it back. "Read it," said she, hoarsely; "the letters swim before my eyes."
The count took the note and read:
"Dear Count Starhemberg: It is my desire that your niece, the Countess Margaret, shall become the wife of some honorable man. In this way she may hope to conquer her ungovernable temper, and become a reasonable woman. I have heard that Count Esterhazy intends to become her suitor, and I command her to accept his hand. She has led a life of wild independence, and it is time she were tamed by the cares, duties, and responsibilities of matrimony. I am both her empress and godmother, and I use my double right for her good. The marriage shall take place in one week, or she goes into a convent. That is my ultimatum. "I remain yours with sentiments of esteem, "MARIA THERESA."
CHAPTER LXXX.
THE BETROTHAL.
A long pause ensued after the reading of the letter. The countess stood with her eyes riveted upon her uncle's face, as though she were waiting for something more. The young count watched her furtively, but he looked determined.
"You see, my child," at last sighed the old count, "it is inevitable.
The empress must be obeyed."
"No, no!" screamed the wretched girl, awaking from her stupor, "I will not be the wife of that man."
"Then you will have to go into a convent."
"No!" cried she, her face suddenly lighting up with a flash of hope—"no, I will do neither. There is a means of rescuing me from both."
She turned with a bewitching smile to Count Esterhazy, and in a voice whose softness was music to his ear, she addressed him:
"In your hands lies the power to rescue me from a forced bridal. You have heard that despotic note from the empress. Match-making is a monomania with Maria Theresa: it is useless, therefore, for me to appeal to her, for on a question of marriage she is inexorable. But you, Count Esterhazy," continued she, in tones of caressing melody, "you will rescue me, will you not? I cannot be your wife, for I do not love you; I cannot go into a convent, for I have no piety. Go, then, to the empress, and tell her that you do not wish to marry me. You, at least, are free. Refuse to accept me for your wife, and this miserable comedy is at an end."
She had clasped her little white hands, and was looking imploringly in his face.
The young man shook his head. "I cannot say this to the empress," said he, quietly, "for it is she who sent me hither to woo you."
"The empress sent you hither!" cried the countess, springing forward like a lioness. "You came not as a free suitor, but as an obedient slave of the empress."
"I came at the command of the empress," said the young man, mildly.
The countess burst into a loud laugh.
"That, then, was the glowing love which you were describing just now; that your tender wish to live for my happiness alone. Obedient school-boy! You were told to come and ask for my hand, and you came—for fear of being whipped—Oh! why am I not a man? By the heaven above! no woman should inflict upon me such contumely!"
"It is true," said Count Esterhazy, taking no note of her words, "that the empress ordered me hither. But since I have seen you, I need no prompting save that of my own heart."
"Peace, fool! nobody believes you. You had consented to woo me, in obedience to your despotic sovereign. But you have seen me; now you know with how much justice I am called 'The Mad Countess,' and now, surely, you have manhood enough to reject a termagant like me. Go, then, and tell the empress that I was willing, but you were not—"
"I would not thus belie you, lovely Margaret."
"What do I care whether you belie me or not, so that I am rid of you?" said she, contemptuously.
"Submit, my dear child," said the old count, with tears in his eyes. "'Tis the first time in your life that you have been thwarted, and therefore it is hard for you to succumb."
"I will not submit!" cried Margaret, flinging back her head. "I will not marry this man. Uncle, dear uncle, leave me one moment with him. I have something to say that he alone must hear."
The count withdrew at once into another room.
"Now, sir, that we are alone, I have a secret to reveal—to God and to yourself. Swear by the memory of your mother that you will not betray me."
"I swear."
She bowed her head, as though accepting the oath. "And now," raid she, faltering and blushing, "I will tell you why I can never be your wife. I—" she hesitated, and her head sank upon her bosom, while she stifled a sigh. "I love another," whispered she, almost inarticulately. "Yes, I love another. I love him with every throb of my heart, with all the strength of my being. My every breath is a prayer for him. Every wish, hope, and longing of my soul points to him alone. I would die to give him one hour of joy. Now, that I have made this avowal, you retract your suit, do you not? You will go now to the empress and say that you will not accept me for your wife. You give me my freedom, surely—you give it to me now."
Count Esterhazy smiled compassionately. "This is a fable, countess, which you have invented to escape me. A few moments ago you said that you would never love."
"I said that to disincline you to marry me."
"I do not believe you," said Esterhazy, calmly. "You have invented this story of your love for that end; but it is a falsehood, for you are as cold as an icicle."
"Oh, I wish that I were. For this love is my greatest misfortune. Look at me, count. Does this seem like dissimulation?"
And she raised up to his view a face, scarlet with blushes, and eyes filled with burning tears.
"No, countess," sail Esterbazy, after contemplating her earnestly, "I will believe the tears that glisten in your speaking eyes. But now, answer me one question. Your confidence gives me the right to ask it. Is your love returned?"
She remained silent, as if communing with herself, while every trace of color vanished from her cheeks.
"No," said she, at last, with quivering lips. "No, he does not know it; and if he did, he could not offer me his hand."
"Then," replied Esterhazy, coolly, "your love is no impediment to our marriage. Cherish it, if you choose; raise altars to this unknown god, and deck them with the brightest flowers of devotion. I will not inquire the name of your deity. Your secret is safe, even from myself. I, on the contrary, have never loved. My heart stands with doors and windows open, ready to receive its mistress; and as the empress has selected you, it waits joyfully for you to take possession."
The countess laid her hand upon his arm, and grasped it like a vise.
"You will not recede!" said she, hoarsely. "You still persist in desiring me for your wife?"
"You have told me that your love is hopeless, therefore is mine hopeful.
Perhaps one day it may succeed in winning yours."
"But you do not love me," shrieked the maddened girl. "You are here by command of the empress."
"And the Esterhazys have always been the loyal servants of the empress. Whenever she commands, they obey—were it at the cost of life and happiness. Allow me, then, to persevere in my obedience, not only to her desires, but to my own. I once more solicit the honor of your hand."
"Woe to you if, after this, I yield!" cried she, with threatening gesture. "I have stooped to entreat you, and my prayers have been vain. I have withdrawn the womanly veil that concealed my heart's cherished secret, and you have not renounced your unmanly suit. I said that I did not love you. Look at me, and hear me, while I vow eternal hatred, should I be forced to give you my hand."
"There is but one step from hate to love. Allow me to hope that you will think better of it, and take that step."
A fearful cry rang from her lips, her eyes glowed like burning coals, and she raised her clinched hand as though she had hoped it might fell him to the earth. But suddenly it sank helpless to her side, and she looked long and searchingly into Count Esterhazy's face.
A long silence ensued. "It is well," said she, at length, in clear, shrill tones. "You have challenged me to mortal combat, and it may be that you will win. But, oh, believe me when I tell you that victory will bring you no glory! Your strength is not your own; it lies in the imperial hand of Maria Theresa. I swear to you that if I become your wife, my whole life shall be consecrated to hatred and revenge. Count Esterhazy, I hold my word inviolate, whether I pledge it to friend or foe; tend when the blight shall fall upon your head that will grow out of this hour we have spent together, remember that had you been a man of honor you might have spared yourself the shame!"
Without another word she lifted her proud head, and, with a look of withering scorn, left the room.
Count Esterhazy's eyes followed her retreating figure, and his placid brow grew troubled. "Beautiful as she is," murmured he, "it is dangerous to woo her. She has the beauty of Medusa. My heart positively seems to petrify under her glance. I would be more than willing to renounce the honor of wedding this beautiful demon, but I dare not refuse."
And he drew out his delicate, embroidered handkerchief to wipe off the big drops of sweat that stood upon his forehead.
"Well?" asked Count Starhemberg, opening the door and putting through his head.
"Pray come in," said Esterhazy, in a piteous tone.
"Ah, my niece has left! Well, I suppose that, as usual, she has conquered, and you release her?"
"Not at all," replied the unhappy mannikin; "I still beg for the honor of her hand. The empress has spoken, and I have only to obey."
CHAPTER LXXXI.
FRANZ ANTONY MESMER.
For some weeks great excitement had existed in Vienna. In all assemblies, coffee-houses, and restaurants, in the streets and on the public places, the topic of conversation had been the wonderful cures of the Suabian physician, Mesmer. These cures contravened all past experience, and set at naught all reason. Mesmer made no use of decoction or electuary—he prescribed neither baths nor cataplasms; he cured his patients by the power of his hand and the glance of his large, dark eye. He breathed upon their foreheads, and forthwith they saw visions of far-off lands; he passed the tips of his fingers over their faces, and pain and suffering vanished at his touch. No wonder that physicians denounced him as a charlatan, and apothecaries reviled him as an impostor.
No wonder that the populace, so prone to believe the marvellous, had faith in Mesmer, and reverenced him as a saint. Why should he not perform miracles with his hand, as did Moses with a rod, when he struck the rock? Why should not the power of his eye master disease, as once the glance of the Apostles gave speech to the dumb, and awakened life in the dead?
Mesmer, too, was an apostle—the apostle of a new faith. He bade suffering humanity turn to heaven for relief. "The reflection from the planets," said he, "and the rays of the sun, exercise over the human system a magnetic power. The great remedy for disease lies in this magnetic power, which resides in iron and steel, and which has its highest and most mysterious development in man."
The people believed, and sought his healing hand. He mastered their infirmities, and soothed their sufferings. But the more the world honored and trusted him, the more bitter grew the hatred of the faculty. Each day brought him fresh blessings and fresh imprecations. The physicians, who, in Salzburg, had hurled Paracelsus from a rock, dared not attempt the life of Mesmer; but they persecuted him as an impostor, and proved, by learned and scientific deduction, that his system was a lying absurdity.
Those who affected strength of mind, and refused to believe any thing except that which could be demonstrated by process of reasoning, gave in their adherence to the indignant physicians. Those, on the contrary, who had faith in the mysteries of religion, were disciples of Mesmer; and they reverenced him as a prophet sent from heaven, to prove the supremacy of nature over knowledge.
Mesmer's fame had reached the court, and the empress herself became interested in his extraordinary achievements. In vain Van Swieten and Stork besought her to silence the audacious quack, who was ruining a great profession. She shook her head, and would have nothing to do with the feud.
"I shall wait and see," said she. "His system is harmless, and I shall not fetter him. One thing is certain. His manipulations will never poison anybody, as many a regular physician's prescription has done, and he shall not be molested. He has voluntarily sought an ordeal which will determine his position before the world. If he cures the blindness of my little protege, Therese, I shall give in my adherence with the rest; for he who restores the blind to sight, holds his skill from above."
This young girl was known to all Vienna. In her second year, after an attack of suppressed measles, she had become blind, and all attempts to restore her sight had proved unavailing. But if sight had been denied to her eyes, her soul was lit up by the inspiration of art. When Therese sat before the harpsichord and her dexterous fingers wandered over its keys—when, with undisturbed serenity, she executed the most difficult music that could be written for the instrument, no one who saw her beautiful eyes could have surmised their inutility. Her features were expressive, and those sightless eyes apemed at times to brighten with joy, or to grow dim with sorrow. Nevertheless, Therese von Paradies was wholly blind; her eyes were merely the portals of her soul—they sent forth light, but received none in return.
CHAPTER LXXXII.
THERESE VON PARADIES.
Therese von Paradies was in her room; her mother stood near, for, with the assistance of a maid, she had just completed her daughter's toilet. Therese was elegantly dressed, and she seemed to enjoy her splendor although she was not permitted to see it.
"Say, mother," said she, as the last touch had been given to her dress, "of what material is my gown? It feels as soft as a young girl's cheek."
"It is satin, my child."
"Satin? And the color?"
"White."
"White!" repeated she, softly. "The color without color. How strange that must be! I shudder when I think that I shall see it before long."
"Why should you shudder?" said her mother, tenderly. "You should rejoice, dear child, that the world, with all its beauties, is about to become known to you."
"I do not know," replied Therese, thoughtfully. "I shall enter upon a new world which will astonish and perchance affright me by its strangeness. Now I know you all in my heart, but when I see you I shall no longer recognize you. Oh, mother, why do you wish me to be restored to sight? I am very happy as I am."
"Silly child, you will be still happier when you see. It is absurd for you to dread an event which will add a hundredfold to your enjoyment of life."'
"And why absurd, dear mother? Does not the heart of the bride, on her wedding-day, beat half in hope and half in fear? And is not her soul filled with sweet apprehension? I am a bride—the bride of light—and I await my lover to-day."
"Ah, who knows if light will come?" sighed the mother.
"It will come, mother," said Therese, confidently. "I felt it yesterday, when, for a moment, Mesmer removed the bandage from my eyes. It was for a second, but I SAW, and what I saw cut like a sharp sword athwart my eyes, and I fell, almost unconscious."
"That was a ray of light—-the first glance of your bridegroom!" cried the mother, joyfully.
"Then I fear that I shall never be able to bear his presence," replied
Therese, sadly. "But tell me, mother, am I dressed as becomes a bride?"
"Yes, Therese, you are beautifully dressed; for to-day we receive a throng of distinguished guests. The empress herself has sent one of her lords in waiting, to bear her the tidings of your restoration to sight. The two great doctors, Van Swieten and Stork, will be here to see the marvel; and princes and princesses, lords and ladies, ministers and generals, will be around you."
"How is my hair dressed?"
"It is dressed as you like it, a la Matignon. Pepi has built a tower upon your head at least three quarters of an ell high, and above that is a blue rosette, with long ends."
"It is indeed very high," replied Therese, laughing, "for I cannot reach it with my hands. But I have another question to ask, dear mother. Promise me that it shall be frankly answered."
"I promise."
"Well, then, tell me, is my appearance pleasing? Hitherto every one has been kind to me because of my misfortune; but when I stand upon equal footing with other women, do you think that I am pretty enough to give pleasure to my friends?"
"Yes, my dear, you are very handsome," said the mother, smiling lovingly at her child's simplicity. "Your figure is graceful, your face is oval, your features are regular, and your brow is high and thoughtful. When the light of day shall be reflected from your large, dark eyes, you will be a beautiful woman, my daughter."
"Thank you, dear mother, these are pleasant tidings," said Therese, kissing her.
"I must leave you, dearest," said her mother, softly disengaging herself from Therese's arms. "I have my own toilet to make, and some preparations for our guests. I will send the maid."
"No, dear mother, send no one. I need silence and solitude. I, too, have preparations to make for the heavenly guest that visits me to-day. I must strengthen my soul by prayer."
She accompanied her mother to the door, kissed her again, and returning, seated herself at the harpsichord. And now from its keys came forth sounds of mirth and melancholy, of love and complaint, of prayers and tear. At one time she intoned a hymn of joy; then came stealing over the air a melody that brought tears to the eyes of the musician; then it changed and swelled into a torrent of gushing harmony.
Suddenly she paused, a tremor ran through her frame, and a blush slowly mantled her cheek. Her hands fell, and her bosom heaved. As if drawn by some invisible power, she rose from her instrument and went toward the door. In the centre of the room she stopped and pressed her hands upon her heart.
"He comes," murmured she, with a smile of ecstasy, "he mounts the staircase, now he is in the corridor, his hand is upon the door."
Yes; the door opened so softly that the acutest ear could not have detected a sound. But Therese felt it, and she would have gone forward, but her feet were paralyzed, and she remained with outstretched arms. With her heart she had seen him who now appeared upon the threshold. The person, whose coming had so agitated the young girl, was a man of scarcely forty years, of a lofty imposing carriage, and of prepossessing features. His large, blue eyes rested upon Therese with a glance of power, which thrilled through every fibre of her being. He held out his right arm toward her; then slowly lowering it, he pointed to the floor. Therese followed its motion and sank on her knees. A triumphant smile beamed over Mesmer's face, and he raised his hand again. The girl arose, and as though she had seen him open his arms, she darted forward and laid her head upon his breast.
"Mesmer, my friend, my physician," whispered she, softly.
"Yes, it is I," replied Mesmer, in a rich, melodious voice. "Your heart has seen me, your eyes shall see me too, my child."
He led her to a sofa and seated her gently beside him. Then passing his outstretched band before her, she trembled.
"You are very much excited to-day, Therese," said he, with a slight tone of disapprobation.
"I am excited because you are so, dear friend," said the blind girl.
"Your eyes dart beams that threaten to consume the world."
"A world of ignorance and of wickedness," said he, in reply. "Yes, Therese, I will consume it to-day, and in its stead shall arise a supernatural world; yet one to which banished Nature shall return and claim her rights to man. Oh, will I have strength to say, 'Let there be light!"'
"Dear friend, if you doubt the result, do not expose yourself to the humiliation of failure. I am satisfied with my blindness, for I have a world of light in my heart."
"No!" cried Mesmer, with energy, "the work is begun, it must be completed. You MUST see, Therese, or all for which I have striven will recoil upon my head, and bury me beneath its ruins. This day decides not only your fate, poor child, but mine. To-day must Mesmer prove to the world that the animal magnetism, which physicians deride as a quackery, savans deny as impracticable, and the people ignorantly worship as sorcery, is a golden link which binds humanity to heaven. To-day you shall be healed by the magnetic power which binds you to me, and links us both to God."
"Heal me then, dear master!" cried the girl, inspired by his enthusiasm. "Restore me to sight, and, in so doing, give light to those who cannot see your Godlike gift."
He laid his hand upon her shoulder, and gazed earnestly in her face.
"You have faith in me then, Theresa, have you not?"
"I believe in you, and I comprehend you, master. I know that I shall see; and when the scales fall from my eyes, the light of conviction will dawn for others. They will then comprehend that there is a power in Nature stronger than the craft of bare human wisdom."
"Oh, you speak my very thoughts, dear Therese," said Mesmer, tenderly. "You see into my mind, and its perceptions find birth upon your lips. Let doctors sneer, and learned skeptics disbelieve, but the day will come when all must acknowledge that magnetism is truth, and all human wisdom lies. Physicians, though, will be its deadliest enemies, for they are travellers, who, having strayed from the right path, go farther and farther from truth, because they will not retrace their steps." [Footnote: Mesmer's own words. See "Franz Anton Mesmer, of Suabia," by Dr. Justinus Kerner. p. 58.]
"But you will show them the path, my master, and the world will honor you above other men."
"If ingratitude do not blind it to truth. It is hard to find daylight in the labyrinth of established faith. I, too, have wandered in this labyrinth, but in all my divarications I sought for Truth. With passionate longing I called her to my help. Far removed from the hum of human imbecility, down among the solitudes of untrodden forests I sought her. Here I was face to face with Nature, and listened for response to the anxious questionings of my restless heart. It was well for me that the trees were the only witnesses of my agitation, for my fellow-men, had they met, would have chained me as a madman."
"Not I, master. I would have understood your noble strife."
Mesmer pressed her hand and went on: "Every occupation became distasteful to me, every moment dedicated to aught else seemed to be treason to truth. I regretted the time which it cost me to translate my thoughts into words, and I formed the singular resolution of keeping silence. For three months I reflected without speaking a word. At the end of this time a new faculty unfolded itself in my mind, and I began to see with rapture that the day of truth had dawned. I knew that henceforth my life would be one long struggle against preconceived error; but this did not affright me. So much the more did I feel the obligation resting upon me to impart to my fellow-beings the gifts I had received. I have suffered much from their prejudices; but most from the sneers of envious physicians, who, sooner than receive a light from other hands, would stumble in the night of their ignorance forever. [Footnote: This whole conversation is in Mesmer's words. See Justinus Kerner, p. 60.] But my day of triumph is here. You, Therese, are the evangelist of my new faith, and your restored vision shall announce it to the world!"
"It shall, dear master, it shall; and against their will these infidels shall believe. They will see that we have all been blind together—all but you, who, questioning in faith, have received your answer from on high. Take the bandage from my eyes and let me see the light of day! I tremble no longer with apprehension of its splendor!"
Mesmer held her back as she raised her hands to her head. "Not yet,
Therese. Your bandage must be removed in the presence of my enemies."
"Whom do you expect, master?"
"I have told you—I expect my enemies. Professor Barth will be there to sneer at the charlatan who, by an invisible power, has healed the malady which his couching knife would have sought in vain to remove. Doctor Ingenhaus, my bitter rival, will be there, to find out by what infernal magic the charlatan has cured hundreds of patients pronounced by him incurable. Father Hell will be there, to see if the presence of a great astronomer will not affright the charlatan. Oh, yes!—And others will be there—none seeking knowledge, but all hoping to see me discomfited."
"Do not call yourself so often by that unworthy name," said Therese sorrowfully.
"Men call me so; I may as well accept the title."
"Perhaps they have called you so in days gone by; but from this day they will call you 'Master,' and will crave your pardon for the obloquy they have heaped upon your noble head."
"How little you know of the world, Therese! It never pardons those who convict it of error; and above all other hatred is the hatred that mankind feel for their benefactors."
"Gracious Heaven, master, if this is the world which is to open to my view, in mercy leave me to my blindness!"
She stopped suddenly, and sank back upon the cushion of the sofa. Mesmer raised his hands and passed them before her forehead.
"You are too much excited. Sleep!"
"No, no, I do not wish to sleep," murmured she.
"I command you to sleep," repeated Mesmer.
Therese heaved a sigh; her head fell farther back, and her audible, regular breathing soon proved that sleep had come at the bidding of her master.
Mesmer bent over her, and began his manipulations. He approached her lips, and opening her mouth, breathed into it. She smiled a happy smile. He then raised his hands and touching the crown of her head described half-circles in the air; then stooping over her, he again inhaled her breath, and breathed his own into her mouth.
The door opened, and the mother of Therese came in.
"The guests are here," said she.
Mesmer inclined his head. "We are ready."
"Ready and Therese sleeps so soundly?"
"I will awake her when it is time. Where is my harmonicon?"
"In the parlor, where you ordered it to be placed."
"Let us go, then, and thence we will call Therese. "
CHAPTER LXXXIII.
THE FIRST DAY OF LIGHT.
The elite of Vienna were assembled in the drawing-room of Herr von Paradies. The aristocratic, the scientific, and the artistic world were represented; and the empress, as before intimated, had sent her messenger to take notes of the extraordinary experiment which was that day to be tried upon the person of her young pensioner. At the request of Mesmer, some of the lower classes were there also, for it was his desire that the cottage as well as the palace should bear testimony to the triumph of animal magnetism over the prejudices of conventional science.
By order of Mesmer, the room had been darkened, and heavy green curtains hung before every window. Seats were arranged around the room, in the centre of which was a space occupied by a couch, some chairs, and a table on which lay a box.
Upon this box the eyes of the spectators were riveted; and Professor Barth himself, in spite of his arrogant bearing, felt quite as much curiosity as his neighbors, to see its contents.
"You will see, Herr Kollege," said he to one who sat beside him, "you will see that he merely wishes to collect this brilliant assemblage in order to perform an operation in their presence, and so make a name for himself. This box of course contains the instruments. Wait and watch for the lancet that first or last is sure to make its appearance."
"What will be the use of his lancet," replied Herr Kollege, "when there is nothing upon which it can operate? The girl is irretrievably blind; for neither knife nor lancet can restore life to the deadened optical nerve."
"If he attempts to use the lancet in MY presence," said the professor in a threatening tone, "I will prevent him. I shall watch him closely, and woe to the impostor if I surprise him at a trick!"
"The box does not contain surgical instruments," whispered the astronomer Hell. "I know what he has in there."
"What?" asked the others eagerly.
"A planet, my friends. You know be is given to meddling with planets. I hope it is one unknown to science; for if he has carried off any of MY stars, I shall have him arrested for robbery."
This sally caused much laughter, which was interrupted by the entrance of Mesmer with Frau von Paradies. Without seeming to observe the spectators who now thronged the room, Mesmer advanced to the table where lay the box. His face was pale, but perfectly resolute; and as his eyes were raised to meet those of the guests, each one felt that whatever might be the result, in the soul of the operator there was neither doubt nor fear.
Mesmer opened the box. A breathless silence greeted this act. Every whisper was hushed, every straining glance was fixed upon that mysterious coffer. He seated himself before it, and Professor Barth whispered, "Now he is about to take out his instruments."
But he was interrupted by the sound of music—music so exquisite that the heart of the learned professor himself responded to its pathos. It swelled and swelled until it penetrated the room and filled all space with its thrilling notes. All present felt its power, and every eye was fixed upon the enchanter, who was swaying a multitude as though their emotions had been his slaves, and his music the voice that bade them live or die.
"Ah!" whispered the astronomer, "you made a mistake of a part of speech.
The man has not instruments, but AN instrument."
"True," replied the professor, "and your planet turns out to be an insignificant harmonicon."
"And the lancet," added Inaenhaus, "is a cork, with a whale-bone handle."
Mesmer played on, and now his music seemed an entreaty to some invisible spirit to appear and reveal itself to mortal eyes. At least, so it sounded to the ears of his listeners. They started—for responsive to the call, a tall white figure, whose feet seemed scarcely to touch the floor, glided in and stood for a moment irresolute. Mesmer raised his hand and stretching it out toward her, she moved. Still he played on, and nearer and nearer she came, while the music grew louder and more irresistible in its pleadings.
A movement was perceptible among the spectators. Several ladies had fainted; their nerves had given way before the might of that wonderful music.[Footnote: It frequently happened that not only women, but men also, fainted, when Mesmer played on the glass-harmonicon. Justinus Kerner, p. 41.] But no one felt disposed to move to assist them, for all were absorbed by the spell, and each one gazed in speechless expectation upon Mesmer and Therese.
He still played on, but he threw up his head, and his large eyes were directed toward his patient with a look of authority. She felt the glance and trembled. Then she hastened her steps, and smilingly advanced until she stood close beside the table. He pointed to the couch, and she immediately turned toward it and sat down.
"This is well gotten up," said Professor Barth. "The scene must have been rehearsed more than once."
"If the blind are to be restored to sight by harmonicons," whispered Doctor Ingenhaus, "I shall throw my books to the winds, and become an itinerant musician."
"If planets are to be brought down by a wave of the hand," said Hell, "I will break all my telescopes, and offer my services to Mesmer as an amanuensis."
The harmonicon ceased, and the censorious professors were forced to stop their cavilling.
Mesmer arose, and, approaching Therese, made a few passes above her head.
"My eyes burn as if they were pierced with red-hot daggers," said she, with an expression of great suffering.
He now directed the tips of his fingers toward her eyes, and touched the bandage.
"Remove the bandage, and see!" cried he in a loud voice.
Therese tore it off, and pale as death she gazed with wonder at the "Master," who stood directly in front of her. Pointing to him, she said with an expression of fear and dislike:
"Is that a man which stands before me?" [Footnote: Therese's own words.
Justinus Kerner, p. 63.]
Mesmer bowed his head. Therese started back, exclaiming, "It is fearful!
But where is Mesmer? Show me Mesmer!"
"I am he," said Mesmer, approaching her.
She drew back and looked at him with a scrutinizing expression.
"I had supposed that the human face was radiant with joy," said she, "but this one looks like incarnate woe. Are all mankind sad? Where is my mother?"
Frau von Paradies was awaiting her daughter's call; she now came forward, her face beaming with love and joy. But Therese, instead of meeting her with equal fervor, shrank, and covered her face with her hands.
"Therese, my daughter, look upon me," said the mother.
"It is her voice," cried Therese, joyfully, removing her hands. Frau von
Paradies stood by, smiling.
"Is this my mother?" continued she, looking up into her face. "Yes—it must be so; those tearful eyes are full of love. Oh, mother, come nearer, and let me look into those loving eyes!"
Her mother leaned over her, but again Therese recoiled. "What a frightful thing!" said she, with a look of fear.
"What, Therese? What is frightful?" asked her mother.
"Look at your mother, Therese," said Mesmer. She heard the well-beloved voice, and her hands fell from her eyes.
"Now tell me, what disturbs you," said Frau von Paradies.
Therese raised her hand and pointed to her mother's nose. "It is that," said she. "What is it?"
"It is my nose!" exclaimed her mother, laughing, and her laugh was echoed throughout the room.
"This nose on the human face is horrible," said Therese. "It threatens me as though it would stab my eyes." [Footnote: These are the exact words of Therese. Justinus Kerner, p 68.]
"I will show you the figure of a man who threatens," said Mesmer, assuming an angry air, clinching his fists, and advancing a few paces.
Therese fell upon her knees with a cry. "You will kill me!" exclaimed she, cowering to the floor.
The spectators were thunderstruck. Even Professor Barth yielded to the overwhelming evidence of his senses.
"By Heaven, it is no deception!" exclaimed he. "She sees!"
"Since Professor Barth is convinced, no one will dare dispute the fact," observed Mesmer, loud enough to be overheard by the professor.
Barth frowned, and pretended not to hear. He already repented of what he had said, and would have bought back his own words with a handful of ducats. But it was too late. Every one had heard him, and on every side murmurs of astonishment and of admiration grew into distinct applause.
Meanwhile, Therese was greeting her father and her other relatives. But she, who had always been so affectionate, was now embarrassed and cold.
"I knew it," said she, sadly. "I knew that the gift of sight would not increase my happiness. Imagination had drawn your images, and I loved the pictures she had painted. But now that I see you with the eyes of flesh, my heart recoils from participation in the sad secrets which your careworn faces reveal. Ah, I believe that love, in its highest sense, is known to the blind alone! But where is Bello? Let me see my dog, the faithful companion of my days of dependence."
Bello had been whining at the door, and as Frau von Paradies opened it, he bounded to his mistress, caressing her with his paws, and licking her hands.
Therese bent over him, and the dog raised his eyes to hers. She stroked his glossy, black coat and; for the first time since she had recovered her sight, she smiled.
"This dog is more pleasing to me than man," said she, communing with herself. "There is truth in his eyes, and his face does not terrify me, like those of my own race." [Footnote: Therese's own words. Justinus Kerner, p. 63.]
"I think we may take our leave," growled Professor Barth, "the comedy is over, and the relations and friends can applaud the author and the actress. I don't feel it my duty to remain for that purpose."
"Nor I," added Doctor Ingenhaus, as he prepared to accompany the professor. "My head is in a whirl with the antics of this devilish doctor."
"Take me with you," said Father Hell. "I must go and look after my planets. I'm afraid we shall miss another Pleiad."
So saying, the representatives of science took their leave. At the door they met Count von Langermann, the messenger of the empress.
"Ah, gentlemen," said he, "you are hastening from this enchanted spot to announce its wonders to the world. No one will venture to doubt, when such learned professors have seen and believed. I myself am on my way to apprise the empress of Mesmer's success."
"Pray inform the empress, also, that we have seen an admirable comedy, count," said Barth, with a sneer.
"A comedy!" echoed the count. "It is a marvellous reality. Yourself confessed it, professor."
"A careless word, prematurely uttered, is not to be accepted as evidence," growled Barth.
"Such astounding things demand time for consideration. They may be optical delusions," added Ingenhaus.
"Ah, gentlemen, the fact is a stubborn one," laughed Count Langermann. "Therese von Paradies has recovered her sight without couching-knife or lancet, and I shall certainly convey the news of the miracle to the empress."
"What shall we do?" asked the astronomer of his compeers, as Count
Langermann bowed and left them.
Professor Barth answered nothing.
"We must devise something to prop up science, or she will fall upon our heads and crush us to death," said Ingenhaus.
"What are we to do?" repeated Barth, slowly, as after an embarrassing silence, the three had walked some distance together down the street. "I will tell you what we must do. Treat the whole thing as a farce, and maintain, in the face of all opposition, that Therese von Paradies is still blind."
"But, my honored friend, unhappily for us all, you have made this impracticable by your awkward enthusiasm."
"I spoke ironically, and the ass mistook sarcasm for conviction."
"Yes, and so did everybody else." sighed Hell. "You will find it difficult to convince the world that you were not in earnest."
"Perhaps today and tomorrow I may fail to convince the world, but the day after it will begin to reason and to doubt. If we do not oppose this quack with a strong phalanx of learned men, we shall be sneered at for our previous incredulity. Now I adhere to my text. Therese von Paradies is blind, and no one shall prove to me that she can see. Come to my study, and let us talk this provoking matter over."
Meanwhile, Therese was receiving the congratulations of her friends. She gazed at their unknown faces with a melancholy smile, and frowned when it was said to her, "This is the friend whom you love so much"—"This is the relative whose society has always been so agreeable to you."
Then she closed her eyes, and said they were weary. "Let me hear your voices, and so accustom myself to your strange countenances," said she. "Speak, dear friends; I would rather know you with the heart than with these deceiving eyes."
Suddenly, as one of her female companions came up to greet her, Therese burst into a merry laugh. "What absurd thing is that growing out of your head?" asked she.
"Why, that is the coiffure, which you like the best," replied her mother. "It is a coiffure a la Matignon."
Therese raised her hands to her own head. "True, the very same towering absurdity. I never will wear it again, mother."
"It is very fashionable, and you will become accustomed to it."
"No, I shall never be reconciled to such a caricature. Now that I can choose for myself, I shall attend less to fashion than to fitness in my dress. But I have seen mankind—let me see nature and heaven. Mesmer, may I look upon the skies?"
"Come, my child, and we will try if your eyes can bear the full light of day," replied Mesmer, fondly, and taking her arm he led her toward the window.
But Therese, usually so firm in her tread, took short, uncertain steps, and seemed afraid to advance.
"Gracious Heaven!" exclaimed she, clinging anxiously to Mesmer, "see how the windows come toward us! We shall be crushed to death!"
"No, Therese; it is we who advance, not they. You will soon acquire a practical knowledge of the laws of optics, and learn to calculate distances and sizes as well as the rest of us."
"But what is this?" cried she, as they approached the tall mirror that was placed between the windows.
"That is a mirror."
"And who is that man who is so like yourself?"
"That is only the reflection of my person in the mirror."
"And who is that ridiculous being with the coiffure a la Matignon?"
"That is yourself."
"I!" exclaimed she, quickly advancing to the mirror. But suddenly she retreated in alarm. "Gracious Heaven! it comes so fast that it will throw me down. "Then she stopped for a moment and laughed. "See," said she, "the girl is as cowardly as myself. The farther I step back the farther she retreats also."
"All this is an optical delusion, Therese. The girl is nothing but a reflection, a picture of yourself in the mirror."
"True, I forgot. You told me that just now," replied Therese, drawing her hand wearily across her forehead. "Well, let me contemplate myself. This, then, is my likeness," said she, musing. "My mother was mistaken. This face is not handsome. It is weary and soulless. Come, master, I have enough of it—let me see the heavens."
"Wait until I draw the curtain to see whether you are able to bear the full light of day."
The curtain was lifted, and Therese, giving a scream, hid her eyes.
"Oh, it cuts like the point of a dagger!" cried she.
"I thought so; you will have to become gradually accustomed to it. You shall see the sky this evening. But now you must suffer me to bind up your eyes, for they must have rest." [Footnote: The description of Therese's impressions, and the words she used upon the recovery of her sight, are not imaginary. They are all cited by Justinus Kerner, and were related to him by her own father.]