Count Cagliostro did see the two of us, jester and ape, together briefly, as I entered, but what he made of the towering figure of my companion, who came no farther than the doorway, I have no means of knowing. The celebrity, while in my hearing, made no comment on the appearance of my friend, being doubtless afraid of doing anything that might help to create a rival to himself for the enthusiasm of the crowd.
Cagliostro is a man of average height, and somewhat more than average weight. His age is presently about forty, if one judges by normal physical appearances and does not take too seriously his calm eyewitness accounts of, and claims to have taken part in, certain affairs that predate the Christian era. He has bulging dark eyes, a short neck, and a dark complexion—and, I assure you, an air of competence and force, a commanding presence that cannot appear in the simple physical description I here present. On the night I saw him, he was outfitted in a scarlet jacket and trousers, and wore a ceremonial sword to which I am sure he has no more real right than you or I would have—less, I expect, if the truth were acknowledged about his birth. With him as his constant companion was the lovely Mme de la Motte, of whom you have heard, I am sure; her beauty will need no description here from me.
The great man, when finally I had the opportunity to approach him, more or less alone, did not disappoint me in the range of his conversation, only in its substance. He had much to say to me about his previous lives (which must indeed extend at least two thousand years into the past); about something he called "transcendent chemistry" of which, I think, neither you nor I have ever heard (nor have Lavoisier or Cavendish, I will wager) and also about "the great Arcana of Memphis," whatever that may be.
When Cagliostro began to speak of giants, and of reviving the dead, you may be sure that my ears pricked up; but he never mentioned Frankenstein (although Walton's book is of course a common topic of conversation here) again, I suppose, not wishing to publicize one whom he must consider a rival for the attentions of the public.
The giants he did mention soon came to nothing, being wafted away in the breezes of his conversation on other topics even more marvelous. They were last seen somewhere in the interior of Africa, along with a most impressive city that the Count has visited there, and which he swears to have ten times the population of Paris itself. I expressed polite agreement with all that I was told, and as soon as the conventions of society allowed I took my leave.
My tall friend was awaiting me anxiously in the street, and was disappointed but not surprised when I related the incidents of the visit. But the evening's social encounters were not yet over. After departing the establishment where Cagliostro held forth, my tall friend and I also encountered in the confusion of Carnival the well-known Dr. Joseph-Ignace Guillotin, a professor of anatomy, and, I gather, of much else besides.
Again my traveling companion contrived to disappear into a nearby celebration (such were the crowds that he was scarcely conspicuous) while the Doctor and I conversed, shouting above the noise. Mutual friends assure me that Dr. Guillotin has a great penchant and reputation for conceiving projects and inventions intended to benefit mankind. When I mentioned to him in a casual way that some experimenters hope to be able to revive the dead by the galvanic method, he at once and vociferously declared any such scheme to be arrant nonsense. I was careful to frame none of my succeeding questions to him in such a way that he might possibly suspect me of taking such matters seriously.
So, as you see, Father, the brief time we have so far spent in Paris has been vastly entertaining, but I fear that nothing has happened to advance our investigation in the slightest. My chief hope now is that you, having read and digested all of my reports, will be able to shed more light on the matter for us both tomorrow.
Your Son,
Benjamin Freeman
Chapter 14
March 9, 1783 Paris
I have been to see Franklin for the second time in my life, and we have talked again. In a sense I learned very little from the conversation, but somehow I am not disappointed. There is something so reassuring about the man, in his quick intelligence and his willingness to listen, and to think along new lines—perhaps most of all in the love of life that is so evident in him. I feel that he is capable of understanding me as perhaps no one else can do, not even my creator.
Let me describe the day from the beginning.
After a late night of wandering, singing, laughing among throngs of people_I cannot say of revelry, for my mental state was not such as to bear that easy classification_after such late activities, I say, Freeman and I both slept late in our snug room, my short friend in the bed, and I, amply supplied with cushions and spare bedding, diagonally on the floor.
From about midday we were out among the revelers again. It is a tremendous sense of freedom that I feel in thus roaming at liberty through the costumed crowds, most of whom are ready to hail my monstrous form in a friendly fashion if they take note of me at all. But already I am aware—as I was when I lay with Kunuk—of an undercurrent of dissatisfaction. These people do not wave to me. We are coming from enormous distances to meet.
In midafternoon a message of warning was passed to my companion in the street, by one of the same couriers who regularly carry communications between Freeman and his father while Freeman is in Paris. Saville and a party of men had been observed, boldly crossing the Channel. It might be thought that as a citizen of England, still technically at war with France, our archenemy would put himself into some considerable danger by so doing—but he may well have managed to get himself accredited somehow as a delegate to the peace talks. Whether that is the true explanation or not, I am sure that some high-level understanding exists, making this a safe land for him to travel in—safer than for me. The powerful and wealthy have, in a very real sense, their own nationality.
After digesting this disquieting news about Saville, my friend and I laid low until the time came for us to keep our appointment with Franklin. Freeman changed his costume in our room, and we separated when we left it. I had no other costume that would fit me, and I cannot, of course, disguise my height. But I left our room by means of the window and the rooftops, and was not molested. We met again at a prearranged place on the river-bank, where a boat was waiting to take us the short distance down the Seine to Passy.
The Hotel de Valentinois, where Franklin has now been in residence for seven years, has its own landing stage. Freeman and I were met there by a guide, under the observance of a couple of armed men; and from thence, our faces muffled with cloaks, were conducted on a winding uphill path among trees and bushes, until we were at the house itself, which seems almost worthy to be called a chateau; it is finely built, and the ceilings of all the rooms I entered were high enough to let me stand erect beneath them.
One last time, at a side door of the house, we had to wait; then we were shown in, and up some stairs, to a large, cheerful, private room warmed by a crackling fire, the same room wherein I had met Franklin on my previous visit. As before, desk and tables were littered with books, papers, and writing materials. On one small table at one side of the pleasant room, a set of ebony and ivory chessmen waited, in the midst of an interrupted game or problem.
The room also contained a great deal of equipment for electrical experiments. From a chair in front of a table laden with such apparatus Benjamin Franklin rose to give us greetings as we entered. He appears today scarcely changed from when I saw him last; in his case another year or two added to eighty-odd have had but small effect.