Before we could entirely disabuse them of this notion, one of their number had begun to swim for shore (it proved to be a trifle far for him, I fear) and the other two had received certain stern teachings that left them aching. The remainder of our journey was relatively uneventful.
I had hoped that Saville might be inclined to give up once we had got to France. But the pertinacity of his pursuit thus far has inclined me to take a grimmer view of the matter now.
Later_We have purchased a wagon, cheaply, and are now on our way across France. I drive, while my companion for the most part remains out of sight. Our goal of course is Paris.
I have asked my friend—he has certainly become that—by what name he prefers to be called The look I got from him in response was a peculiar one, as though I had inadvertently touched upon a matter of great importance.
"If ever I possessed a name," he at last responded, "it has long been lost. Do you wish to assume the responsibility of bestowing one upon me? I think I shall be inclined to accept it, if you do."
I have never been made such an offer before. I think it was his solemn manner as he said those last words, more than anything else, that made me hesitate. "If it comes to that," I said at length, "I think that a man should name himself, rather than depend upon the notion of some friend, however well intentioned it might be."
He nodded slowly. "In that I believe that you are right, Freeman. And yet I hesitate to name myself. It seems to me that I should have a name_nay, that I do. And yet I do not know what it is."
A silence fell, not grim, but thoughtful, and persisted between us for some time. So far I have been reluctant to press him for what he knows—or even what he imagines—about his origins. He has volunteered a little, enough to assure me that the scene of his creation, as he remembers it, was not very greatly different from the description of that scene in the book.
If he can remember anything from an earlier life, before his—transformation, if that is the appropriate word—he has said nothing to me about it. But I am increasingly consumed with curiosity. There is a natural nobility in my companion. Might his brain have once inhabited the skull of some great leader or philosopher? And if so, who?
Later again_We travel, pretty steadily, and in passing we marvel at the destitution among the people. I have observed much poverty during the past four years, in several parts of Europe, and yet this is remarkable. Each time I return to France it appears to have grown worse. A loaf of bread is only two sous, and yet there are many who cannot buy a loaf. The income of Louis XVI, I am sure, must be reckoned in the millions of livres annually; the Condes entertain thousands of guests, in an opulence surpassing even that of Versailles, not to mention ancient Rome—and meanwhile the poor keep themselves alive, when they are able to manage the trick at all, on rye bread and black porridge, with a few chestnuts now and then as luxury when times are good.
My companion assures me that for the most part his epic journeys around the world have not been conducted in any style of travel familiar to the wealthy. But such poverty as we see around us now in France surprises him as it does me. The condition of the mass of the people here grows more desperate with each passing year. I would not be at all surprised if this nation, one day soon, were convulsed in its own revolution—I do not see how matters can go on as they are.
When we reach the neighborhood of Paris, we shall go into hiding, rather than try to approach you directly—this at least unless I have some instruction from you to the contrary. You will be able to reach me through the same person as before, when I was last lodging in the vicinity. I appreciate, and so does my companion, that the peace negotiations, especially in what must be so sensitive a stage as they now are, ought not to be disturbed by the intrusion of other matters, even those as important as this one will ultimately be to all mankind.
It crosses my mind, as I meditate upon a thing or two I heard in London, that it might be wise for us to seek information, perhaps guidance, from this man Mesmer, who as I hear is now returned to Paris. Have you any thoughts upon that point? In any case, Sir be assured that for the time being, we are both well and safe. Good health and good fortune attend you until I see you again.
Your affectionate Son,
B. Freeman
LETTER 10
March 7,1783 Paris
Dear Sir—
We have arrived here safely, in the midst of Carnival. I was relieved to find waiting for me your communication regarding your wish to see both of us at Passy tomorrow night. We shall be there; I think a boat quietly to your landing stage will be the best means of approach.
Meanwhile, this letter will serve as the preliminary report for which you say you cannot wait.
To begin with, since we have reached the city my companion is in better spirits than I have ever seen him before. Carnival, as I perhaps ought to have expected, suits his nature admirably; in the midst of this communal delirium he is for once able to move abroad with perfect freedom, at least by night. I have money available, and already both of us are masked and well costumed. My tall friend has turned into a jester (it was the one costume readily available that could be made to fit) while I cavort around him in the guise of a fantastic ape.
Here in the city the entire populace seems to have gone mad, as is usual for this season in Paris. Last night when we arrived the streets were thronged, and the crowds have continued through the day. Vehicles of all kinds, bearing revelers, press their way slowly through the mobs that clog the streets on foot. Even the poor, who a few days ago were almost lifeless, here and now are ready to paint their faces, make what variations in their ragged clothing they are able, and celebrate. From the simply painted countenances of the poor to the most fantastic extravagances of the wealthy, the populace display their determination to make merry; the city at night (turned almost to day by the light of countless candles and torches) takes on the aspect of a fever dream or nightmare. I wish that your health allowed you to tour it more freely. Nothing in England, I believe, nor in America, can present a spectacle to compare with this.
On a more practical level, it is a relief to me to find myself once again in a city where I need not be so careful to conceal my relationship with you. Scarcely had we arrived before I encountered one of our mutual friends, who recognized me (this was before I had put on my costume) and insisted that I come with him at once to visit Cagliostro. He was all excitement at the prospect, though I gather that among many here the enthusiasm for this mountebank has already passed. The devotees of Mesmer on the other hand, they tell me (and you doubtless know better than I) are still increasing in numbers.
As I had already toyed with the idea of visiting the "Count," I readily enough assented to the proposal. My friend (the tall and nameless one, I mean) came with me, though at the last minute he decided it would be wiser of him to remain outside the house, among the revelers in the street, from whence I could summon him in if there appeared any reason for doing so. Our friend who was to have performed the introductions abandoned us at the last moment, alas, in pursuit of fairer game, but as it turned out his defection scarcely mattered.