The Forbidden
Page 28
Our exchanges were always good-humoured. Bazile was no longer offended by my provocative remarks and I was no longer frustrated by his intransigence.
There were other pleasures: the smell of freshly cut grass, sunsets, bright stars on a cold night. Naive delights. But none of these pure, cleansing experiences ever dispelled completely the darkness I carried within my heart. My thoughts always returned to Thérèse Courbertin, regret and sadness.
Occasionally, I would receive a letter from Father Lestoumel. My replacement at Chambault, a young doctor from Orléans, did not stay for very long. Both Raboulet and Annette had stopped having seizures and there was very little for him to do there. He became bored and resigned his post.
I missed the gardens: the blossoms and the pergolas, the lawns and the box hedges, the statues and the forest. And I wondered whether Hélène Du Bris had realized her ambition of building a maze on the empty field behind the Garden of Silence. I imagined her wandering alone through its intricate avenues.
Years passed. I published many articles in international journals and wrote a well-received book on the diminution of the will in hysteria. In due course, I was promoted and became an associate professor. Ostensibly, life was good: a top-floor apartment on the Rue de Medicis, holidays in Italy, invitations to society gatherings on the Boulevard Malesherbes. I was even more comfortable in Charcot’s company.
Then, one Sunday afternoon, late in the spring, I was strolling around the Luxembourg Gardens when I saw two women emerging from the crowd ahead. Their arms were linked and there was something about them that made me stop and stare.
‘It can’t be,’ I whispered aloud.
Hélène looked much the same, but Annette was utterly transformed. She was no longer a child, but an elegant young woman of striking appearance. Mother and daughter paused to watch a little boy launch a boat on the octagonal pool. They were both dressed in fashionable red velvet and did not look at all like visitors from the provinces. Hélène made a humorous remark and Annette laughed. The toy boat sailed across the glittering water, listing in the breeze.
I felt curiously light-headed.
Hélène and Annette turned to face me, and I observed my own disbelief reflected in their changed expressions. The world fell silent and it seemed as if we were separated from the hubbub. I saw Hélène mouthing my name, the double pursing of her lips.
There they were! Occupying the foreground of a perfectly judged composition. Behind them, I could see the Luxembourg Palace, flowers in bloom and an immaculate sky. I might have been having a vision.
Annette rushed forward and, demonstrating a comprehensive disregard for convention, threw her arms around me.
‘Monsieur Clément, it is you! I knew it!’
Something caught in my chest and I fought hard to overcome my emotions.
Annette stepped back and I shook my head in defenceless admiration. ‘My dear child. How . . . extraordinary!’
I took Hélène’s hand and kissed it.
‘Madame Du Bris. What brings you to Paris?’
‘We live here now,’ she replied.
‘You have left Chambault?’
‘Yes. And our circumstances are somewhat altered.’
She spoke without a trace of self-consciousness. Du Bris had behaved dishonourably and their marriage had been dissolved. Subsequently, she had brought the children to Paris at the invitation of their uncle. Raboulet had pursued his writing ambitions and was now a successful journalist. So successful, in fact, that he had been able to afford spacious accommodation near the observatory.
‘And you, monsieur?’ asked Hélène. ‘What is your news?’
I told them a little of my situation, but did not want to talk about myself.
‘We still take your medicine,’ said Annette, resting a hand on my arm. ‘And it still works.’
‘I am very glad,’ I replied.
‘Mother,’ said Annette, ‘can we invite Monsieur Clément to dinner?’
I glanced at Hélène. ‘Really, madame, I would not want to impose . . .’
‘What a good idea!’ Hélène cut in.
Annette’s expression intensified. ‘There are some things I would like to talk to you about, monsieur.’
‘Things?’ I enquired.
‘Yes, things that I remember – from when I was very ill.’
‘And I am sure,’ continued Hélène, ‘that Tristan would be delighted to see you again, Monsieur Clément. It is you who have made his dreams possible.’
We exchanged addresses, said goodbye and I watched Hélène and Annette ascend a staircase and disappear from view.
The Greeks inform us that Pandora’s box contained all the evils of the world, and that when she opened it these evils were released. There was, however, something left at the very bottom: Hope. Standing there, in the Luxembourg Gardens, among the bank managers and their wives, the lawyers and the seamstresses, the nurses and the children, I recognized that myths survive because they express the deepest of truths. And, miraculously, I found that I could hope for meaning and purpose once again.
Concerning Influences, Historical Figures and Sources
The Forbidden began as a homage to J.-K. Huysmans, whose Là-Bas is a firm favourite of mine; however, as the plot developed, other French novels began exerting an influence, most notably Justine, by the Marquis de Sade, and Bel Ami, by Guy de Maupassant. Saint-Sébastien is fictional, but owes an inestimable debt to another literary island – Saint-Jacques – as described by Patrick Leigh Fermor in The Violins of Saint-Jacques. As an adolescent, I consumed the black magic novels of Dennis Wheatley; readers conversant with his work – now a guilty pleasure for ladies and gentlemen of a certain age – might hear his voice echoed occasionally (although I have stopped short of the Imperial Tokay wine and Hoyo de Monterrey cigars). Wheatley was also a great fan of J.-K. Huysmans: in fact, Là-Bas was one of the volumes included in a series published as the Dennis Wheatley Library of the Occult, from 1974 to 1977.
Historical Figures
Many of the characters who appear (or are mentioned) in The Forbidden are real:
CÉCILE CHAMINADE (1857–1944) was a composer and pianist who achieved considerable fame in her day. The recital described in The Forbidden took place at the residence of Le Coupey on 25 April 1878. She was greatly interested in spiritualism.
JEAN-MARTIN CHARCOT (1825–1893) was a pupil of Duchenne and is now regarded as the father of modern neurology. He was chief of services at the Salpêtrière and became known as the ‘Napoleon of the Neuroses’. His reputation spread worldwide and his soirees attracted many of the scientific, political and artistic elite of the late nineteenth century. Many of the descriptions of Charcot and the Salpêtrière in The Forbidden were based on material that can be found in Charcot: Constructing Neurology, by Goetz, Bonduelle and Gelfand.
GUILLAUME DUCHENNE DE BOULOGNE (1806–1875) was a pioneer of electrical resuscitation techniques and was an experimental physiologist. The resuscitation cases described in The Forbidden are authentic and taken from Localized Electrization and its Application to Pathology and Therapeutics. Duchenne’s most celebrated work, The Mechanisms of Human Facial Expression – ostensibly an experimental study of facial musculature – reflects his preoccupation with the soul as the origin of human emotions.
JUSTINE ETCHEVERY – a notorious ‘case study’ – was admitted to the Salpêtrière in June 1869.
CHARLES MÉRYON (1821–1868) was an artist who produced an atmospheric etching (which he titled Le Stryge/The Strix) of the winged gargoyle on the cathedral of Notre-Dame. He died young in the Charenton asylum. Baudelaire wrote of him: ‘a cruel demon has touched M. Méryon’s brain.’
Other Influences and Sources
The neurotoxin TTX (tetrodox) is found in the skin of the puffer fish, certain fungi and other creatures indigenous to the French Antilles. It can induce a death-like state and is thought to be the means by which bokors create zombies.
Near-death experiences
(NDEs) are a relatively common phenomenon. Today, one in ten resuscitated patients – if asked – report core elements such as the tunnel and the light.
Chambault is loosely based on the small but magical chateau of Chatonnière and its exquisite formal gardens (37190 Azay le Rideau). It is one of the Loire’s best-kept secrets.
The relationship between the cathedral of Notre-Dame and all things demonic is long and curious. The Celtic tribe who worshipped on the present site produced an uncommon number of demonic figures, and in 1711 workmen digging beneath the choir discovered four altars, one of which bears the image of a horned god. The north portal of the cathedral shows the legend of Théophile, and it is perhaps the earliest representation of a Faustian narrative. Some of the stone used to construct the cathedral came from beneath the Rue d’Enfer – Hell Street (which an old prophecy identified as the site of an infernal abyss). The cathedral is most famous, however, for its gargoyles and in particular the winged demon now known as Le Stryge. The carving is notable for its long nails – a sign that the creature drinks blood. Before the nineteenth century, a vampire was ‘a devil’ equipped with the means to rip open flesh to satisfy its thirst. Fangs were a late nineteenth-century contribution to vampire mythology and not very practical. Only a small amount of blood can escape from puncture wounds.
In the Renaissance, capturing demons in glass was a relatively common practice among magicians of renown. The Holy Roman Emperor Rudolf II (1552–1612) is reputed to have obtained a ‘demon in glass’ for his extensive collection of oddities. Father Ranvier’s exorcism employs two forms of the Roman Ritual, the first for exorcizing those possessed by evil spirits and the second for exorcizing Satan and apostate angels. Father Lestoumel’s exorcism uses the text of an eighth-century Galician manuscript. The Seal of Shabako is an all-purpose protective amulet once very popular among the inhabitants of Abydos – the site of many ancient temples. Amulets and spells were essential for the dead to negotiate their way through the perilous Egyptian underworld.
F. R. TALLIS
London 2011
Also by F. R. Tallis
(writing as Frank Tallis)
FICTION
Killing Time
Sensing Others
Mortal Mischief
Vienna Blood
Fatal Lies
Darkness Rising
Deadly Communion
Death and the Maiden
NON-FICTION
Changing Minds
Hidden Minds
Lovesick
THE FORBIDDEN
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Copyright © F. R. Tallis
First Pegasus Books edition 2014
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