MEMOIES OF A PHYSICIAN.
45
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curiosity. For a moment it seemed to him as if he had
not room to breathe. He ran to a window to open it,
but it was fastened inside with a padlock, no doubt to
prevent those on the opposite side of the street from
ever having an opportunity of seeing what passed in
the study.
He sank on his chair.
"Oh, I will never listen at doors again," said he; "I
must not try to penetrate the secrets of this man, ap-
parently so humble, whom a prince calls his friend and
wishes to present to the future Queen of France—to the
daughter of emperors—whom Mademoiselle Andrée
addressed almost kneeling at her feet. And yet, per-
haps, I might hear something of Mademoiselle Andrée.
No, noi I shouèd seem like a lackey; La Brie used to
listen at doors."                                                   •___«,.
And he courageously retired from the door. But his
hands trembled so much that he could not write, and
indeed he required some more exciting pursuit to di-
vert his thoughts; he therefore seized a book on the
other table.
"'The Confessions!' " he read with joyful surprise,
"'embellished with a likeness of the author, Jean
Jacques Rousseau,' and I have never yet see» a likeness
of Rousseau !" and he hastily turned the silk paper
which covered the engraving.
No sooner did it meet his eye than he uttered a cry
of amazement. At that moment Jacques opened the
door.
Gilbert compared his face with the likeness in the
book which he held in his hand, then pale and trembling
he let the volume fall, exclaiming, " I am in thé house
of Jean Jacques Rousseau !"
"Let me see, my child, how you have copied your
music," said Rousseau, smiling, and inwardly better
pleased wi'.h this involuntary homage than with many
of the thousand triumphs of his glorious life.   And
fiassing by the trembling Gilbert, he approached the
able and commenced to examine his work.
"Your notes are not badly formed," said he, "but
they are carelessly joined together. Here, there should
be a rest to make the time complete. Then, see, the
bars which divide it are not quite straight. Make the
semibreves hy two semicircles; it is not important that
they should join. The note made perfectly round is
ungraceful, and the-stalk does not join with it so well.
Yes, my friend, you are indeed in the house of Jean
Jacques Rousseau."
" Oh, pardon me, Sir, for all the foolish words which
I have uttered !" exclaimed Gilbert, clasping his hands
and ready to fall on his knees.
"Was it necessary that a prince should come to visit
me,'"said Rousseau, shrugging his shoulders, " to ena-
ble "you to discover in me the unhappy, persecuted
philosopher of Gene'va? Poor child! Happy in your
ignorance of persecution!"
"Oh, yes, I am happy, very happy! But it is in see-
ing you, in knowing you, in being near you !"
"Thanks, my child, thanks. But it is not enough to
be happy ; you must work. Now that 5 ou have made a
trial, take this rondeau and copy it on some proper
music-paper; it is short and easy—above all things
observe neatness.   But how did you discover-----"
Gilbert, with a swelling heart, took up the volume
and pointed to the portrait.
" Oh, yes, my likeness burned in effigy on the first
page of the Emile ! However the auto-da-fe diffuses
Ughtas well as the rays of the sun."
"Ah I Sir, my wildest dreams never exceeded this! To
live wjth you I My highest ambition never hoped for
morel"
"You cannot live with me, my friend," said Jean
Jacques, " for I do not take pupils. As for guests,
you perceive that I am not rich enough to entertain
them—certainly not to receive them as regular in-
YÏ1fVt"i--0   "
A cold perspiration stood on Gilbert's forehead.
Rousseau took his hand.
"However," said he, "do not despair. From the
moment I first saw you, I have been studying your
character. In it there is much which requires to be
corrected, but there is also much to esteem. Learn to
subdue your inclinations. Distrust your pride, that
gnawing worm which is the bane of philosophy. Copy
music, and wait patiently for better times."
"Oh, Heavens!" said Gilbert, "I feel bewildered
when I think of what has happened me!"
" What has happened you is very simple and very
natural, my child. You were flying I know not
whence, for I did not seek to know your secret; and in
your flight you met a man gathering plants in a wood.
He had bread, you had none; he shared his with you.
You did not know where to seek an asylum for the
night; he offered you the shelter of his roof. The man
might have been called by any name: he happened to
be called Rousseau. That is the whole affair. This
man said to you, the first precept of philosophy is—
man, suffice for thyself. Now, my friend, when you
have copied your rondeau, you will have gained your
bread for this day. Copy your rondeau, therefore."
" Oh, Sirl what kindnessl"
" As for your lodging, that is yours into the bargain;
only—no reading at night, or if you must have a can-
dle, let it be your own; otherwise, Thérèse will scold.
In the meantime, are you hungry!"
" Oh, no. Sir!" replied Gilbert, in a choking voice.
" There is enough left from our supper of last night
to serve for this morning's breakfast.   Do not stand
on ceremony;  this repast is the last you will get at
my table, unless by invitation, if we remain friends."
Gilbert made a movement as if to speak, but Rous-
seau interrupted him.
" There is in the Rue Plastriere," continued he, " a
modest eating-house for mechanics ;you can dine there
on moderate terms, for I shall recommend you to the
proprietor.   In the meantime, come and breakfast."
Gilbert followed Rousseau without daring to reply.
He was completely subdued; but at least it was by a
man superior to most other men.
After a few mouthfuls he left the table and returned
to his task. He spoke truly; his emotion was so great
that it had taken away his appetite. Duringthe whole
day he never raised his eyes from the paper, and at
eight in the evening, after having torn three sheets, he
had succeeded in copying legibly and neatly a rondeau
of four pages.
" I will not flatter you, " said Rousseau, " it is'ttot yet
well done, but it is legible;  what you have done is
worth three sous; here is the money."
Gilbert took it with a low bow.
" There is some bread in the cupboard. M.Gilbert,"
said Thérèse, on whom the young man's modest de-
meanor, mildness, and industry, had produced a favor-
able impression.
"Thank you, Ma'am," replied Gilbert, "believe me
I shall never forget your kindness."
" Here," said she, holding the bread out to him.
He was about to refuse, but looking at Rousseau he
saw by the slight frown which contracted his piercing
eye,  and the  curl which hovered on his delicately
formed lips, that the refusal would wound him.
" I accept your kind offer, " said he.
He then withdrew to his little chamber, holding in
his hand the six silver sous and the four copper ones
he had just received.
" At last," said he, on entering his garret, " I am my
own master. But stay—not yet, since I hold in my
hand the bread of charity. "
And although he felt hungry, he laid down the piece
of bread on the sill of the sky-light, and did not eat it.
Then, fancying that sleep would enable him to forget
his hunger, he blew out his candle and stretched him-
self on his straw pallet.
He was awake before daybreak on the following
morning, for in truth he had slept very little during
the night. Recollecting what Rousseau had said about
the gardens, he leaned out of the skylight, and saw
below him the trees and shrubs of a very beautiful
garden, and beyond the trees the hotel to which the
garden belonged, the entrance to which was from the
Rue Jussienne.
In one corner of the garden, quite surrounded by
shrubs and flowers, there stood a little summer-house,
the windows of which were closed. Gilbert at first
thought that the windows were closed on account of
the earliness of the hour; but observing that the foliage
of the trees had grown up against the shutters, he was
convinced that the summer house must have been un-
occupied since the preceding winter at least. He re-
turned, therefore, to his admiring contemplation of
the noble lime-trees, wliich partially concealed from
view tfle main body of the hotel.
Two or three times during his survey, Gilbert's eyes
had turned towards the piece of bread which Thérèse
had cut for him the evening before; but although hun-
ger pleaded loudly, he was so much the master of him-
s"lf that he refrained from touching it.
Five o'clock struck. Gilbert was persuaded that the
door of the passage must now be open; and washed
brushed, and combed, for Rousseau had furnished his
garret with all that was necessary for his modest
toilet, he descended the stairs, with his piece of bread
under his arm.
Rousseau, who this time was not the first afoot, and
who from a lingering suspicion perhaps, and the better
to watch his guest, had left his door open, heard him
descend and narrowdy observed his movements. He
saw Gilbert leave the house with the bread under his
arm; a poor man came up to him, and he saw Gilbert
give him the bread, and then enter a baker's shop
which was just opened and buy some more.
"Now," said Rosseau, "he will go to a tavern and
his po'or ten sous will soon vanish."
But he was mistaken. Gilbert ate his bread as he
walked along, then, stopping at a fountain at the cor-
ner of the street, he took a long draught; ate the rest
of the bread ; drank again, rinsed his mouth, washed
his hands, and returned towards the house.
"Ha!" said Rousseau," I fancy thatl am luckier than
Diogenes, and have found a man!" And hearing Gil-
bert's footsteps on the stairs, he hastened to open the
door.
The entire day was spent in uninterrupted labor.
Gilbert brought to his monotonous task activity, intel-
ligence, and unshrinVing assiduity. What he -did not
perfectly comprehend he guessed, and his hand, the
slave of his iron will, traced the notes without hesita-
tion and without mistake. By evening he had copied
seven pages, if not elegantly, at least with scrupulous
correctness.
Rousseau examined his work with the eye both of a
critical judge and a philosopher. As a critical judge
he criticised the form of the notes, the fineness of the
joinings, the spaces for the rests and dots', but he
acknowledged that there was a decided improvement
since the day before, and he gave Gilbert twenty five
sous.
As a philosopher he admired the strength of resolu-
tion which could bend the ardent temperament and
active and athletic frame of a young man of eighteen
to such constant and unceasing labor. For Rousseau
had discovered that in that young heart there lurked
an ardent passion ; but whether ambition or love he had
not yet ascertained.
Gilbert gazed thoughtfully at the money which he
had received, it was a piece of twenty-four sous and a
single sou. He put the sou in his waistcoat pocket,
probably with the other sous which were remaining
from the little sum of the day before, and grasping the
silver with evident satisfaction in his right hand, he
said:
" Sir, you are my master, since you give me work
and also lodge me in your house gratis. I think it only
right, therefore, that I should communicate to you all
my intentions, otherwise I might lose your regard.'
Rousseau looked at him with a lowering eye. " What
are you going to do?" said he. " Have you any other
intention than that of working to-morrow?"      .   .
"Sir—for tomorrow, yes.   With your permission, I
should like to be at liberty to-morrow."
"What to do?" said Rousseau, "to idle?"    .
" Sir," said Gilbert, " I wish to go to St. Denis."
"To St. Denis?"                                 ,   .         ...
" Yes; her highness, the dauphiness, is to arnve there
to-morrow."                                        ...            . _
" Ah ! true; there are to be festivities in honor of her
arrival."
"That is it, Sir."                                                 .     . „
' ' I thought you less of a sight-seer, my young friend,
said Rousseau.   "I gave you credit, at first, on the
contrary, for despising the pomps of absolute power.
" Look at me—me, whom you pretend to take for a
model. Yesterday one of the royal princes came to
invite me to court. Well, observe, citizen as 1 am, 1
refused his invitation: not to go as you would go, my
poor, lad, on foot, and standing on tiptoe to catch a
glimpse, over the shoulder of a guardsman, of the king s
carriage as it passes, but to appear before princes—to
be honored by a smile from princesses.
Gilber nodded his approbation.
"And why did I refuse?" continued Rousseau, with
vehemence.   " Because a man ought not to have two
faces; because the man who has written that royalty
ight not to be seen bending before a king,
is now scarcely sufficient to keep them from revolt—I
protest by my absence against all such festivities."
"Sir," said Gilbert, "believe me, I comprehend all
the sublimity of your philosophy."
"Doubtless; and yet since you do not practice it,
permit me to tell you-----"
" Sir," said Gilbert, " I am not a philosopher."
" Tell me, at least, what you are going to do at St.
Denis."
" Sir, I am discreet."
Rousseau was struck by these words; he saw that
there was some mystery concealed under this obstinate
desire, and he looked at this young man with a sort of
admiration which his character inspired.
" Oh, very well!" said he; " I see you have a motive;
I like that better."
"Yes, sir, I have a motive; one, 1 assure you, in no
way connected with an idle love for pomp or show."
" So much the better. Or, perhaps, I should say so
much the worse. There is something unfathomable in
your look, young man, and I seek in vain in its expres-
sion for the frankness and calm of youth."
" I told you, sir. that I have been unhappy," repUed
Gilbert, sorrowfully, " and for the unhappy there is no
youth.   Then, you consent to give me to-morrow to
myself.'"
"Yes."
"Thank you, sir."
"Remember, however," said Rousseau, "that whilst
you are gazing at the vain pomps of the world, defiling
In procession before you, I shall, in one of my herbals,
be passing in review the splendor and variety of
nature."
" Sir," said Gilbert, "would you not have left all the
herbals in the world the day when you went to visit
Mademoiselle Galley after having presented her with
the bouquet?"
"Good!" said Rousseau. " True, you are young. Go
to St. Denis, my child."
Then when Gilbert, with a joyful countenance  had
left the room:
"It is not ambition," said he, "it is love!"
Chapter XLVI I.—The Sorcerer's Wife.
At the moment when Gilbert, after his hard day's
labor,was munching in his loft his bread dipped in cold
water, and inhaling with delight the pure air of the
gardens below him, a woman mounted on a magnifi-
cent Arabian horse was advancing at full gallop to-
wards St. Denis, along that road which was now de-
serted, but which on the morrow was to be crowded
with so much rank and fashion. She was dressed with
elegance but in a strange and peculiar style, and her
face was hidden bg a thick veil. On entering the town
she proceeded straight to the Carmelite Convent, and
dismounting, she knocked with her delicately formed
finger at the wicket, whilst her horse, which she held
by the bridle, snorted and pawed the ground with im-
patience.                                                  ,     ...        .    .L
Several inhabitants ofthe town, struck with curiosity
gathered around her. They were attracted in the first
place by her foreign attire, then by her perseverance
in knocking.
" What is it you want, Madame?" said one of them at
length.                                                              ,          ,    .
"You see, Sir," she replied, with a strongly marked
Italian accent: "I wish to obtain admittance."
" In that case, you are taking the wrong way.   This
fate is only opened once a day to the poor, and the
our is now past."
" What must I do. then, to gain an audience of the
Superior?"                                               ,
"You must knock at that little door at the ex-
tremity of the wall, or else ring at the grand en-
trance."
Another person now approached.
"Do you know, Madame," said he, "that the present
abbess is Her Royal Highness, Madame Louise of
France?"                                     ,              ,
" I know it, Sir, thank you," she replied.
"Vertudieu! What a splendid animal!" exclaimed
a dragoon, gazing in admiration at the foreigner's
steed "Now, that horse, if not too old, is worth five
hundred louis-d'or, as sure as mine is worth a hundred
pistoles!"                                        „            ;             ,
These words produced a great effect on the crowd.
At that moment, a canon, who, unlike the dragoon,
looked only at the rider to the exclusion of her steed,
made his way towards her, and by some secret known
to himself alone, opened the wicket of thetower.
"Enter, Madame," said he, " and lead in y our horse,
if you please."                            ...
The woman, eager to escape from the gaze of the
crowd, which seemed to terrify her, hurried in, and
the gate was closed behind her.
The moment the foreigner found herself alone in the
large court-yard, she shook the bridle loose on the
horse's neck, and the noble animal, rejoiced to feel
himself at liberty, made his trappings clash, and pawed
the ground so loudly that the- portress, who happened
for the moment to be off her post, hastened out from
the interior of the convent.
"Whatdo you want, Madame?" cried she, "andhow
did you garn'admittance here?"
"A charitable canon opened the gate for me," said
the stranger. " As for my business, I Wish, if possible
to speak to tbe superior."
"Madame will not receive any one this evening.
" Yet I have been told that it is the duty of superiors
of convents to admit, at any hour of the day or of the
night, their sisters of the world who come to implore
tlifit* succor.
"Possibly so in ordinary circumstances; but her
royal highness, who only arrived the day before yes-
terday is scarcely installed m her office yet, and holds
this evening a chapter of our order."
" uh Madame!" replied the stranger, 1 come from
a great distance-I come from Rome I have travelled
sixty leagues on horseback, and am almost exhausted.
"What can I do?    The orders of the supenor are
P°" My^ister, I have to reveal to you abbess matters of
the highest importance."
"Return to-morrow."                             _.____.
" It is impossible. I have stayed one day in Paris,
and already during that day—besides I cannot sleep
at an inn."
"Why so?"
" Because I have no money.            .
The man gazed in amazement at this woman covered
with jewels, and mistress of a fine horse, who pre-
t_r,rieri that, she bad no money to pay for a night i
ing.   lodging.
Because I-who know that every festivity of the great      " Oh do not heed my words!
robe the people ofsome; portionfof that comfort which   dress!" said the young woman;
tended that she had no money to pay
Do not examine my
"perhaps I did not