‘Ah, but that’s all that’s left to me now: my role! Since the real de
Sade was imprisoned by the monarchy, then imprisoned by the Revolution, then imprisoned by the Consulate, who then sent him to the madhouse; and the Empire keeps him locked up ... The entire world is against me! When I was incarcerated in Sainte-Pelagie - me amongst the saints, the judicial authorities must have a sense of humour! - I was accused of seducing the prisoners. It was true but the conclusion drawn from it was that I was a lunatic and I was sent to Bicetre! Now I’m at Charenton. The great Pinel wants to see me and that will be a pleasure because apparently he’s a little more enlightened than his colleagues. Unfortunately, if he concludes that I am of sane mind, I will have to leave Charenton ... and I will immediately be sent to prison! So it’s in my interests to appear insane and I plan to indulge my “role”, as you call it, to the full. That’s what society today forces me into. And they say it’s me who’s mad.’
He leant towards Margont and whispered in his ear, ‘If one fine day you finally decide to avail yourself fully of all the freedom nature has to offer, you know my address: hospice de Charenton ...'\
Pinel’s office door opened and a woman and a guardian came out. Margont marched shamelessly over, pushing in front of everyone, saying he was sorry, but his problem could not wait. As he crossed the corridor, gesturing to those trying to go in in front of him to let him through, the Marquis de Sade shouted to him, ‘Do you know what my greatest regret is, Monsieur? In 1789, I was still imprisoned in the Bastille! I had been there for six years and I stayed until 4 July 1789. Until 4 July 1789! Had the Revolution broken out just ten days earlier, the King would have been overthrown and de Sade freed, and I guarantee you that France today would have been nothing like it is now. I would have shown all those revolutionaries the true face of liberty! France failed its revolution. By just ten days!’
CHAPTER 29
MARGONT went into the office belonging to the medical director of the Salpetriere. He had been planning to explain everything to Pinel but found himself face to face with a crowd of young doctors and guardians. Exhausted — that was the first word that came to mind on seeing Pinel. Too many people making too many demands of him. And he was nearly seventy. Margont’s entrance annoyed him.
‘Go back outside and wait your turn, Monsieur! I don’t doubt that your problem is genuine, I imagine you have come to seek help for one of your relatives, but those in front of you are also in need.’ Already two men had risen. One had his hands on his hips, the other his arms crossed, encouraging Margont to leave of his own accord. Margont undid his belt and fiddled with the buckle until it opened, revealing a small compartment. He took a piece of paper from this strange hiding place, and unfolded it again and again, finally handing Pinel a letter. The latter glanced at it and his eye fell on Joseph Bonaparte’s signature. He looked up, hesitating, unsure whether he was dealing with a madman or with a genuine imperial agent.
‘I would request everyone to leave us,’ ordered Margont.
To everyone’s astonishment, Pinel agreed and they all obeyed without asking any questions. Margont explained the reason for his visit, emphasising how important it was to keep what he said secret. The doctor was immediately interested; his eyes blazed like two little suns above the dark clouds of the circles beneath.
‘You want to use my knowledge of insanity to help unmask a criminal? What a novel but tempting idea! Please sit down. So you think the criminal you’re hunting might have a mental illness?’
‘It’s just a thought. But the burns inflicted after death ...’
‘An insane criminal hiding in the ranks of mentally healthy criminals - if such a concept makes sense. In the eyes of his accomplices he would appear quite normal ...’
‘Have you ever come across such a case?’
‘I must admit I haven’t.’ Pinel looked thoughtful. ‘Do you know why I was appointed to Bicetre in 1793? It was because they wanted me to categorise patients. People were being guillotined left, right and centre, France had gone mad - that doesn’t just happen to individuals, it can happen to societies, to countries as well. The Committee of Public Safety was convinced that royalists and foreign agents were concealing themselves amongst the lunatics. When I treated a nobleman or a cleric I had to certify that he was genuinely ill. If I were to say that he was of sound mind, he would be sent to the guillotine! Happily I always came to the conclusion that they were insane. Today I can admit that sometimes I lied. All that is just to say how much your question troubles me. In 1793 they wanted me to unmask the sane hiding amongst the insane, so that they could execute them; twenty years on, you would like me to help you find a madman in the midst of healthy people so that he can be sent to prison. Your request is like a mirror image of what I was asked to do in 1793. I don’t really understand why everyone is determined to find a line so that the insane can be put on one side of it and the sane on the other side. Such a line does
not exist. They are us, we are them. You appear to me to be perfectly reasonable today, but you might just as easily appear to have lost your mind in a year’s time. Whilst the insane might well have recovered their reason. And that’s without taking into account those whom today we consider insane, but whom we will later come to understand just had a different way of looking at the world, a way that we didn’t understand at the time. I’m thinking for example of the Marquis de Sade, whom you must have seen in the corridor...’
Anxious to bring the conversation back to his inquiry, Margont voiced one of his thoughts. ‘I thought of all the things that fire symbolises in the Bible. The suspects are all aristocratic, so religion for them—’
‘Fire? But it’s not fire that is the most striking thing in what you have told me. It’s the repetition of fire. He burnt someone, then he burnt someoneelse.'
‘I think I follow, more or less ... So might it be someone who was himself burnt?’ ‘More than that! He’s still burning today.’
‘You think this man is in some way haunted by fire? He has been the victim of fire in one way or another. He thinks about it constantly ...’
Margont vaguely understood that. He had participated in several battles and they regularly came back to him as nightmares. The same went for his childhood memories of being shut up in the Abbey of Saint-Guilhem-le-Desert, although these days, those memories were not as strong.
‘Unlike some of my colleagues,’ emphasised Pinel, ‘I think that mental illnesses have a cause, that they result from shocks to the mind, which themselves stem from violent emotions that the subject was unable to control. The man you’re looking for has probably suffered a traumatic experience to do with fire, which has disturbed the working of his mind.’
‘So if we find the original inferno, we will be able to identify the man ...’ said Margont thoughtfully.
Pinel was delighted. ‘Bravo! You should become a doctor and treat the insane, like I do!’
‘Pardon?’
'I'm serious! Everyone is interested in the mind but no one wants to work with the insane! Do you know what most of my colleagues do when confronted with madness? They bleed the patient! What an aberration! They’re so worried by anything abstract that they want to do something practical, although it has be said that bleeding is the opposite of practical! The profession would appeal to you and I think you would have a gift for it. If you were interested, and you started your medical studies, I would willingly accept you as a pupil.’
Margont was struck dumb and the doctor went joyously on, ‘Have you never thought what you will do when the war is over?’