The Hero of the People
Copyright© 2024 by Alexandre Dumas
Chapter 12: The Spirit Materialized.
AT five next afternoon, Viscount Charny and Sebastian reached the Tuileries Palace gates. The name of his brother passed Isidore and his companion into the middle courtyard.
Young Gilbert had wanted to go to the house in Honore Street where his father dwelt, but the other had pointed out that as he was honorary physician to the Royal Household, he might be at the palace, where the latest news of him could be had.
While an usher made inquiries, Sebastian sat on a sofa and Isidore walked up and down the sitting-room.
In ten minutes the man returned: Count Charny was with the Queen; Dr. Gilbert had had nothing happen to him; he was supposed to be with the King, as a doctor was with his Majesty. If it were so, he would be informed on coming out that a person was waiting to see him.
Isidore was much affected in parting with him as his joy at recovering his father made the loss of his brother more painful.
At this the door opened for a servant to call: “The Viscount of Charny is asked for in the Queen’s apartments.”
“You will wait for me,” said Isidore; “unless your father comes, promise me, Gilbert, for I am answerable for you to the doctor.”
“Yes, and receive my thanks in the meantime,” rejoined Sebastian, resuming his place on the sofa as the Viscount left the room with the domestic.
Easy about his father’s fate, and himself, certain that the good intent would earn his forgiveness for the journey, he went back in memory to Father Fortier, and on Pitou, and reflected on the trouble which his flight and his note would cause them severally.
And naturally, by the mechanism of ideas, he thought of the woods around Pitou’s home, where he had so often pursued the ghost in his reverie. The White Lady seen so oft in visions, and once only in reality, he believed in Satory Wood, appearing and flitting away in a magnificent carriage drawn by a galloping pair.
He recalled the profound emotion this sight had given him and half plunged in dreams anew, he murmured:
“My mother?”
At this juncture, a door in the wall over against him opened. A woman appeared. This appearance was so much in harmony with what happened in his fancy, that he started to see his ghost take substance. In this woman was the vision and the reality—the lady seen at Satory.
He sprang up as though a spring had acted under his feet.
His lips tightened on one another, his eyes expanded, and the pupils dilated. His heaving breast in vain endeavored to form a sound.
Majestic, haughty and disdainful, the lady passed him without any heed. Calm as she was externally, yet her pale countenance, frowning brow and whistling respiration, betrayed that she was in great nervous irritation.
She crossed the room diagonally, opened another door, and walked into a corridor.
Sebastian comprehended that she was escaping him, if he did not hasten. He still looked as if apprehensive that it was a ghost, but then darted after her, before the skirt of her silken robe had disappeared round the turning of the lobby.
Hearing steps behind her, she walked more briskly as if fearing pursuit.
He quickened his gait as much as he could, fearing as the corridor was dark that he might miss her. This caused her to accelerate her pace also, but she looked round.
He uttered a cry of joy for it was clearly the vision.
Seeing but a boy with extended arms and understanding nothing why she should be chased, the lady hurried down a flight of stairs. But she had barely descended to one landing than Sebastian arrived at the end of the passage where he called out:
“Lady, oh, lady!”
This voice produced a strange sensation throughout the hearer; she seemed struck in the heart by a pain which was half delight, and from the heart a shudder sent by the blood through all her veins.
Nevertheless, as all was a puzzle to her; she doubled her speed, and the course resembled a flight.
They reached the foot of the stairs at the same time.
It was the courtyard into which the lady sped. A carriage was waiting for her, for a servant was holding the door open. She stepped in swiftly and took her seat.
Before the door could be closed, Sebastian glided in between it and the footman, and seizing the hem of her dress, kissed with frenzy and cried:
“Oh, lady!”
Looking at the pretty boy who had frightened her at first, she said in a sweeter voice than she usually spoke, though it was yet shaken with fear and emotion:
“Well, my little friend, why are you running after me? why do you call me? what do you want?”
“I want to see you, and kiss you,” replied the child. “I want to call you ‘Mother,’” he added in so low a voice that only she could hear him.
She uttered a scream, embraced him, and approaching him as by a sudden revelation, fastened her ardent lips on his brow. Then, as though she dreaded someone coming to snatch away this child whom she had found, she drew him entirely into the vehicle, pushed him to its other side, shut the door with her own hand, and lowering the glass to order: “Drive to No. 9 Coq-Heron Street, the first carriage-doorway from Plastriere Street,” she shut the window instantly.
Turning to the boy she asked his name.
“Sebastian? come, Sebastian, come here, on my heart.”
She threw herself back as if going to swoon, muttering: “What new sensation is this? can it be what is called happiness?”
The journey was one long kiss of mother and son.
She had found this son by a miracle, whom the father had torn from her in a terrible night of anguish and dishonor; he had disappeared with no trace but the abductor’s tracks in the snow; this child had been detested until she heard its first wail, whereupon she had loved him; this child had been prayed for, called for, begged for. Her brother had uselessly hunted for him over land and ocean. For fifteen years she had yearned for him, and despaired to behold him again; she had begun to think no more of him but as a cherished spirit. Here he was, running and crying after her, seeking her, in his turn, calling her “Mother!”
He was pillowed on her heart, pressing on her bosom, loving her filially although he had never seen her, as she loved him with maternal affection. Her pure lips recovered all the joys of a lost life in this first kiss given her son.
Above the head of mankind is Something else than the void in which the spheres revolve: in life there is Another Thing than chance and fatality.
After fourteen years she was taken back to the house where he was born, this offspring of the union of the mesmerist Gilbert and the daughter of the House of Taverney, his victim. There he had drawn the first breath of life and thence his father had stolen him.
This little residence, bought by the late Baron Taverney, served as lodging for his son when he came to town, which was rarely, and for Andrea, when she slept in town.
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