CHAPTER II.
THE FIELD OF THE DEAD.
To great tempests succeeds calm, dreadful but reparative.
At two o'clock in the morning a wan moon was playing through theswift-driving white clouds upon the fatal scene where the merry-makershad trampled and buried one another in the ditches.
The corpses stuck out arms lifted in prayers and legs broken andentangled, while the clothes were ripped and the faces livid.
Yellow and sickening smoke, rising from the burning platforms on LouisXV. Place, helped to give it the aspect of a battlefield.
Over the bloody and desolate spot wandered shadows which were therobbers of the dead, attracted like ravens. Unable to find living prey,they stripped the corpses and swore with surprise when they found theyhad been forestalled by rivals. They fled, frightened and disappointedas soldier's bayonets at last appeared, but among the long rows of thedead, robbers and soldiers were not the solely moving objects.
Supplied with lanterns prowlers were busy. They were not only curious,but relatives and parents and lovers who had not had their dear onescome home from the sightseeing. They came from the remotest parts forthe horrible news had spread over Paris, mourning as if a hurricane hadpassed over it, and anxiety was acted out in these searches.
It was muttered that the Provost of Paris had many corpses thrown intothe river from his fears at the immense number lost through his want offoresight. Hence those who had ferreted about uselessly, went to theriver and stood in it knee-deep to stare at the flow; or they stole withtheir lanterns into the by-streets where it was rumored some of thecrippled wretches had crept to beg help and at least flee the scene oftheir misfortune.
At the end of the square, near the Royal Gardens, popular charity hadalready set up a field hospital. A young man who might be identified asa surgeon by the instruments by his side, was attending to the woundedbrought to him. While bandaging them he said words rather expressinghatred for the cause of their injuries than pity for the effect. He hadtwo helpers, robust reporters, to whom he kept on shouting:
"Let me have the poor first. You can easily pick them out for they willbe badly dressed and most injured."
At these words, continually croaked, a young gentleman with pale brow,who was searching among the bodies with a lantern in his hand, raisedhis head.
A deep gash on his forehead still dropped red blood. One of his handswas thrust between two buttons of his coat to support his injured arm;his perspiring face betrayed deep and ceaseless emotion.
Looking sadly at the amputated limbs which the operator appeared toregard with professional pleasure, he said:
"Oh, doctor, why do you make a selection among the victims?"
"Because," replied the surgeon, raising his head at this reproach, "noone would care for the poor if I did not, and the rich will always findplenty to look after them. Lower your light and look along the pavementand you will find a hundred poor to one rich or noble. In thiscatastrophe, with their luck which will in the end tire heaven itself,the aristocrats have paid their tax as usual, one per thousand."
The gentleman held up his lantern to his own face.
"Am I only one of my class?" he queried, without irritation, "a noblemanwho was lost in the throng, where a horse kicked me in the face and myarm was broken by my falling into a ditch. You say the rich and nobleare looked after--have I had my wounds dressed?"
"You have your mansion and your family doctor; go home, for you are ableto walk."
"I am not asking your help, sir; I am seeking my sister, a fair girl ofsixteen, no doubt killed, alas! albeit she is not of the lower classes.She wore a white dress and a necklace with a cross. Though she has aresidence and a doctor, for pity's sake! answer me if you have seenher?"
"Humanity guides me, my lord," said the young surgeon with feverishvehemence proving that such ideas had long been seething within hisbosom; "I devote myself to mankind, and I obey the law of her who is mygoddess when I leave the aristocrat on his deathbed to run and relievethe suffering people. All the woes happened here are derived from theupper class; they come from your abuses, and usurpation; bear thereforethe consequences. No lord, I have not seen your sister."
With this blasting retort, the surgeon resumed his task. A poor womanwas brought to him over whose both legs a carriage had rolled.
"Behold," he pursued Philip with a shout, "is it the poor who drivetheir coaches about on holidays so as to smash the limbs of the rich?"
Philip, belonging to the new race who sided with Lafayette, had morethan once professed the opinions which stung him from this youth: theirapplication fell on him like chastisement. With breaking heart, heturned aloof on his mournful exploration, but soon they could hear histearful voice calling:
"Andrea, Andrea!"
Near him hurried an elderly man, in grey coat, cloth stockings, andleaning on a cane, while with his left hand he held a cheap lantern madeof a candle surrounded by oiled paper.
"Poor young man," he sighed on hearing the gentleman's wail andcomprehending his anguish, "Forgive me," he said, returning afterletting him pass as though he could not let such great sorrow go bywithout endeavoring to give some alleviation, "forgive my mingling griefwith yours, but those whom the same stroke strikes ought to support oneanother. Besides, you may be useful to me. As your candle is nearlyburnt out you must have been seeking for some time, and so know a goodmany places. Where do they lie thickest?"
"In the great ditch more than fifty are heaped up."
"So many victims during a festival?"
"So many?--I have looked upon a thousand dead--and have not yet comeupon my sister."
"Your sister?"
"She was lost in that direction. I have found the bench where we wereparted. But of her not a trace. I began to search at the bastion. Themob moved towards the new buildings in Madeleine Street. There I hunted,but there were great fluctuations. The stream rushed thither, but a poorgirl would wander anywhere, with her crazed head, seeking flight in anydirection."
"I can hardly think that she would have stemmed the current. We two mayfind her together at the corner of the streets."
"But who are you after--your son?" questioned Philip.
"No, an adopted youth, only eighteen, who was master of his actions andwould come to the festival. Besides, one was so far from imagining thishorrid catastrophe. Your candle is going out--come with me and I willlight you."
"Thanks, you are very kind, but I shall obstruct you."
"Fear nothing, for I must be seeking, too. Usually the lad comes homepunctually," continued the old man, "but I had a forerunner lastevening. I was sitting up for him at eleven when my wife had the rumorfrom the neighbors of the miseries of this rejoicing. I waited a coupleof hours in hopes that he would return, but then I felt it would becowardly to go to sleep without news."
"So we will hunt over by the houses," said the nobleman.
"Yes, as you say the crowd went there and would certainly have carriedhim along. He is from the country and knows no more the way than thestreets. This may be the first time he came to this place."
"My sister is country-bred also."
"Shocking sight," said the old man, before a mound of the suffocated.
"Still we must search," said the chevalier, resolutely holding out thelantern to the corpses. "Oh, here we are by the Wardrobe Stores--ha!white rags--my sister wore a white dress. Lend me your light, I entreatyou, sir."
"It is a piece of a white dress," he continued, "but held in a youngman's hand. It is like that she wore. Oh, Andrea!" he sobbed as if ittore up his heart.
The old man came nearer.
"It is he," he exclaimed, "Gilbert!"
"Gilbert? do you know our farmer's son, Gilbert, and were you seekinghim?"
The old man took the youth's hand, it was icy cold. Philip opened hiswaistcoat and found that his heart was quiet. But the next instant hecried: "No, he breathes--he lives, I tell you."
"Help! this way, to the surgeon," said the old man.
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"Nay, let us do what we can for him for I was refused help when I spoketo him just now."
"He must take care of my dear boy," said the old man.
And taking Gilbert between him and Taverney, they carried him towardsthe surgeon, who was still croaking:
"The poor first--bring in the poor, first."
This maxim was sure to be hailed with admiration from a group oflookers-on.
"I bring a man of the people," retorted the old man hotly, feeling alittle piqued at this exclusiveness.
"And the women next, as men can bear their hurt better," proceeded thecharacter.
"The boy only wants bleeding," said Gilbert's friend.
"Ho, ho, so it is you, my lord, again?" sneered the surgeon, perceivingTaverney.
The old gentleman thought that the speech was addressed to him and hetook it up warmly.
"I am not a lord--I am a man of the multitude--I am Jean JacquesRousseau."
The surgeon uttered an exclamation of surprise and said as he waved thecrowd back imperiously:
"Way for the Man of Nature--the Emancipator of Humanity--the Citizen ofGeneva! Has any harm befallen you?"
"No, but to this poor lad."
"Ah, like me, you represent the cause of mankind," said the surgeon.
Startled by this unexpected eulogy, the author of the "Social contract"could only stammer some unintelligible words, while Philip Taverney,seized with stupefaction at being in face of the famous philosopher,stepped aside.
Rousseau was helped in placing Gilbert on the table.
Then Rousseau gave a glance to the surgeon whose succor he invoked. Hewas a youth of the patient's own age, but no feature spoke of youth. Hisyellow skin was wrinkled like an old man's, his flaccid eyelid covered aserpent's glance, and his mouth was drawn one side like one in a fit.With his sleeves tucked up to the elbow and his arms smeared with blood,surrounded by the results of the operation he seemed rather anenthusiastic executioner than a physician fulfilling his sad and holymission.
But the name of Rousseau seemed to influence him into laying aside hisordinary brutality. He softly opened Gilbert's sleeve, compressed thearm with a linen ligature and pricked the vein.
"We shall pull him through," he said, "but great care must be taken withhim for his chest was crushed in."
"I have to thank you," said Rousseau, "and praise you--not for theexclusion you make on behalf of the poor, but for your devotion to theafflicted. All men are brothers."
"Even the rich, the noble, the lofty?" queried the surgeon, with akindling look in his sharp eye under the drooping lid.
"Even they, when they are in suffering."
"Excuse me, but I am like you a Switzer, having been born at Neuchatel;and so I am rather democratic."
"My fellow-countryman? I should like to know your name."
"An obscure one, a modest man who devotes his life to study until likeyourself he can employ it for the common-weal. I am Jean Paul Marat."
"I thank you, Marat," said Rousseau, "but in enlightening the masses ontheir rights, do not excite their revengeful feelings. If ever they movein that direction, you might be amazed at the reprisals."
"Ah," said Marat with a ghastly smile, "if it should come in mytime--should I see that day---- "
Frightened at the accent, as a traveler by the mutterings of a comingstorm, Rousseau took Gilbert in his arms and tried to carry him away.
"Two willing friends to help Citizen Rousseau," shouted Marat; "two menof the lower order."
Rousseau had plenty to choose among; he took two lusty fellows whocarried the youth in their arms.
"Take my lantern," said the author to Taverney as he passed him: "I needit no longer."
Philip thanked him and went on with his search.
"Poor young gentleman," sighed Rousseau, as he saw him disappear in thethronged streets.
He shuddered, for still rang over the bloody field he surgeon's shrillvoice shouting:
"Bring in the poor--none but the poor! Woe to the rich, the noble andthe high-born!"
The Mesmerist's Victim Page 2