THE CATASTROPHE.
Therese lay for several hours unconscious, while her mother wept, and
watched over her, and her father stood by, sullenly awaiting the result.
At last she heaved a sigh and opened her eyes. "Where am I?" asked she,
feebly.
"At home, darling," replied the tender mother, bending over and kissing
her.
"No--I am in the fearful concert-room. They stare at me with those
piercing daggers which men call eyes; and oh, their glances hurt me,
mother! There they sit, heartlessly applauding my misery, because it has
shaped itself into music! Let me go; I am strong, and I SEE!"
She attempted to rise, but her father held her back. "Lie still, my
child," said he, reproachfully; "it is in vain for you to carry this
deception further. Trust your parents, and confess that you are blind.
Were it otherwise, you would not mistake your own familiar chamber for
the vast concert-room. For Mesmer's sake, you have sought to deceive us,
but it is useless, for we know that you are blind."
"You are blind--you are blind!" These oft-repeated words seemed fraught
with a power that almost made her doubt her own senses. She saw, and yet
she felt as if sight were receding from her eyes.
"Oh, my God! Why will my father madden me!" cried the unhappy girl,
rising in spite of all efforts to detain her, and looking around the
room. "Ah--now I remember, I fainted and was brought home. Yes, father,
yes, I tell you that I see," cried she, wringing her hands, and writhing
with the agony he was inflicting upon her. "I see in the window the blue
flower-pot which Mesmer brought me yesterday--there opposite stands my
harpsichord, and its black and white keys are beckoning me to come and
caress them. Two open books lie upon the table, and over it are
scattered drawings and engravings. Oh, father, have I not described
things as they are?"
"Yes, child--you have long been familiar with this room, and need not
the help of eyes to describe it."
"And then," continued she, "I see you both. I see my mother's dear face,
tender as it was when first my eyes opened to the light of its love;
and, my father, I see you with the same frown that terrified me in the
concert-room--the same scowl that to my frightened fancy, seemed that of
some mocking fiend who sought to drive me back to blindness! What is it,
father? What has changed you so that you love your child no longer, and
seek to take the new life that God has just bestowed?"
"God has bestowed nothing upon you, and I will no longer be the tool of
an impostor," replied he, morosely. "Am I to be the laughing-stock of
Vienna, while men of distinction see through the tricks of the
charlatan? I must and will have the strength to confess my folly, and to
admit that you are blind."
Therese uttered a cry, and shook as though a chill had seized her. "O
God, help me!" murmured the poor girl, sinking in her mother's
outstretched arms, and weeping piteously. Suddenly she raised her head
and gradually her face brightened, her cheeks flushed, her lips parted
with a smile, and her large expressive eyes beamed with happiness. Once
more she trembled--but with joy, and leaning her head upon her mother's
shoulder, she whispered, "He comes."
The door opened, and Mesmer's tall and commanding figure advanced toward
the group. Therese flew to meet him and grasped his hands in hers.
"Come, master, come and shield me! God be thanked, you are here to
shelter me. If you leave again, I shall lose my sight."
He passed his hands lightly over her face, and looked earnestly into her
eyes.
"You are dissatisfied with me, master," said she anxiously. "You are
displeased at my childish behavior. I know that I was silly; but when I
saw those multitudinous heads so close together, all with eyes that were
fixed on me alone, I began again to feel afraid of my own race. It
seemed as if the walls were advancing to meet me--and I retreated in
terror."
"What confused you at the harpsichord, child?"
"The sight of the small, dazzling notes, and the singular motions of my
own fingers. I am so unaccustomed to see, that hands and notes appeared
to be dancing a mad Morrisco, until at last I grew confused and saw
nothing."
"All this is so natural," said Mesmer sadly, "for the seat of your
infirmity lay in the nerves. And now that they require rest, you are a
prey to agitation and to tears. Unhappy Therese, there are some who seek
to plunge you back into the darkness from whence I have rescued you!"
She put her arms upon his shoulders and sobbed, "Save me, master, save
me--I could not bear blindness now!"
At the other end of the room stood Von Paradies and his wife. She laid
her hand upon his arm, saying imploringly:
"What signifies all this mystery, husband? Why do you torture our little
Therese so cruelly? You know that she sees; why, then, do you--"
"Peace!" interrupted Von Paradies angrily. "If Therese does not become
blind again, we shall lose our pension."
"My poor child," sobbed the mother, "you are lost!"
"I have come to your help, Therese," said Mesmer audibly. "I know all
that is passing under this roof," continued he, with a look of scorn at
her parents. "They are trying to deprive you of your sight, and they
well know that excitement and weeping will destroy it. But my name and
honor are linked with your fortunes, child; and I shall struggle for
both. I have come to take you to the villa, with my other patients. You
shall be under my wife's care, and will remain with us until your eyes
are fortified against nervous impressions. The carriage is at the door."
"I am ready to go," replied Therese joyfully.
"I will not suffer her to leave the house!" cried Von Paradies, striding
angrily forward. "Therese is my daughter, and shall not be torn from her
father's protection."
"She goes with me," thundered Mesmer with eyes that flashed lightning,
like those of Olympian Zeus. "You gave her to me as a patient, and until
she is cured she belongs to her physician."
He took Therese in his arms and carried her toward the door. But Von
Paradies, with a roar like that of some wild animal, placed himself
before it and defended the passage.
"Let me pass," cried he.
"Go--but first put down Therese."
"No--you shall not deprive her of the sight I have bestowed." With these
words, he raised his muscular right arm, and swinging off Von Paradies
as if he had been a child, Mesmer passed the opening and stood outside.
"Farewell, and fear nothing," cried he, "for your pension will not be
withdrawn. Therese is once more blind. But as God is just, I will
restore her again to sight!"
Mesmer, however, was destined to be foiled. His enemies were richer and
more influential than he; and Von Paradies, in mortal terror for his
pension, sustained them. Von Stork obtained an order, commanding the
relinquishment of Therese to her natural guarians; and her father, armed
with the document, went and demanded his daughter. Therese flew to
Mesmer's arms, and a fearful scene ensued. It shall be described in
Mesmer's own words.
"The father of Therese, resolved to carry her away by main force, rushed
upon me with an unsheathed sword. I succeeded in disarming him, but the
mother and daughter both fell insensible at my feet: the former from
terror, the latter because her unnatural father had hurled her against
the wall, where she had struck her head with such violence as to lose
all consciousness. Madame von Paradies recovered and went home; but poor
Therese was in a state of such nervous agony that she lost her sight
entirely. I trembled for her life and reason. Having no desire to
revenge myself upon her parents, I did all that I could to save her.
Herr von Paradies, sustained by those who had instigated him, filled
Vienna with the cry of persecution. I became an object of universal
contumely, and a second order was obtained by which I was commanded to
deliver Therese to her father." [Footnote: Justinus Kerner, "Fraaz Anton
Mesmer," p.70.]
From this time Therese remained blind, and continued to give concerts in
Vienna, as she had done before. Barth and his accomplices were
triumphant; and Mesmer, disgusted with his countrymen, left Vienna, and
made his home in Paris.
Therese von Paradies then, as her father asserted, was blind. Whether
she ever was any thing else, remains to this day an open question. The
faculty denied furiously that she had seen; Mesmer's friends, on the
contrary, declared solemnly that she had been restored by animal
magnetism; but that her cruel father, for the sake of the pension, had
persecuted her, and so succeeded in destroying her eyesight forever.
MARIE ANTOINETTE