Mesmerised Read Online Free Page A

I neared the inferno my skin pricked and reddened but I was determined to get to the barn. Only seconds before the roof collapsed I kicked down the large doors and ran backwards, five stallions rushing past me like a glorious wind.
     
    I lie there, for some time, watching black shadows dance upon the wall, then move over to the sofa wrapped in a towel, letting the fire penetrate with its warmth. I think about this morning at the Café de Bade: the speeches, the camaraderie, the calling out, the solemn backslapping and shaking of hands. The cartoonist who works for the newspaper, L’Avenir Nationale , as he sat on a stool by the bar and drew the scene – an image that will be presented to the populace by breakfast tomorrow morning.
    And something wonderful . She wore a white lace dress that was both demure and shapely. Her eyes quietly demanded my attention. I looked away but found myself magnetically pulled towards her. She lifted the back of her hand to her lips and laughed. Her amusement created boldness inside me and without thinking I approached her.
    ‘Hello.’
    ‘Hello.’
    ‘I’m Doctor Paul Gachet, from Lille.’
    ‘Blanche Elisabeth Castets. I am a musician,’ she said.
    We agreed that I would call at her house on Saturday at eleven. We’d go for a walk.
    ‘And will this suit your parents?’ I asked.
    ‘ Doctor Gachet, if I had parents, I doubt I would be here now. Both my parents died in the cholera epidemic. I live in their house, alone.’
    ‘And you play an instrument.’
    ‘I play the violin – self-taught, for a living.’
    ‘I have patients who will be waiting for me,’ I said, glancing at my watch.
    ‘Until the weekend then,’ she replied, embracing me with a smile that captured and accompanied me for the best part of an hour whilst I made my way home.

 
     
     
     
    La Salpêtrière
    April 1 7th
     
    ‘The physician’s high and only mission is to restore the sick to health, to cure, as it is termed.’
    Samuel Hahnemann , The Organon of Medicine.
     
    The room is arranged like an auditorium. Twenty doctors and students sit on low chairs. These men are expectant, hoping to witness mastery over the human mind. Magic has been medically adopted here, and the place vibrates with the frisson of conversation.
    We have been kept waiting for over fifteen minutes but no one seems to care. The sun peers through the clouds and throws a devilish heat into the room through a large picture window. I pull my collar away from my neck just a s he appears with his entourage. His audience is silenced.
    ‘Good morning gentlemen.’
    He receives a rumble in reply.
    ‘For those of you who don’t know me I am Doctor Jean-Martin Charcot, Head of Neurology here at La Salpêtrière. This is a beautiful morning, don’t you think?’ He pulls his jacket sleeves towards the heels of his hands. ‘I intend to give you a powerful demonstration that will change the way you think about the human brain. I have with me my helpers and a patient named Manon.’ Charcot stands with his right hand on his heart, a handsome man, slightly hunched, with white swept-back hair and a serious demeanour. ‘Come here Manon.’
    My poor Manon has not been looking forward to this charade. She wouldn’t let anyone come near her this morning. Now she stands with her head bowed, still in her nightgown, and with the heaviest of frowns upon her face. Her hair is oily from fear and sweat and the way it hangs limply mirrors her mood.
    ‘Madame Bottard, can you bring Manon over here?’
    Marguerite Bottard is short and squat with grey, wiry wisps escaping her bonnet.
    ‘Ce rtainly Doctor.’
    S he places her hands on Manon’s shoulders and guides the patient towards Charcot.
    ‘No, let her stand back a little so there is space between us and stay behind her, only slightly to the left , so these gentlemen can see. Thank you nurse, I don’t know what I’d do without you.’ Charcot smiles with some difficulty and Marguerite blooms.