We left Dubourg about to start for Paris. He no longer travelled as a Polish nobleman, but fared modestly on foot, with a stick in his hand, which he swung jauntily as if he were simply out for a walk. He had no bundle to carry, because he had his whole wardrobe on his back, which he found much more convenient for a pedestrian. He saw at a distance the localities where he had recently appeared in such magnificent and noble guise. He passed quite near to Monsieur Chambertin's house, waved his hand by way of salutation to that hospitable abode, and sighed—not for its mistress, but for the old pomard in the cellar.
However, he walked quickly, for he still dreaded a meeting with that infernal Durosey, whose presence he looked upon as the cause of all his misfortunes. As he emerged from a narrow pathway into the highroad, he found himself face to face with old Lunel, who was returning home in charge of an ass laden with divers objects he had bought at Grenoble. Dubourg hurriedly pulled his hat over his eyes and lowered his head, having no desire to be recognized by Monsieur Chambertin's jockey. But as he walked blindly on, he collided with the ass and nearly threw her down.
"Can't you see where you're going, idiot?" exclaimed Lunel; "the road isn't so narrow that you need to run into my donkey."
At the word idiot, Dubourg, who had never liked the old jockey, for he had waited upon him with an ill grace during the whole of his sojourn at Monsieur Chambertin's, and had constantly sought opportunities to show his spite to him and to Ménard—Dubourg, who had not forgotten, either, the horsewhipping Lunel had given the two little Poles, turned suddenly upon him and struck him thrice with his knotted stick.
"Help! murder!" cried Lunel.
And as Dubourg's sudden movement had disarranged his hat, the old servant recognized his features, and shouted louder than ever:
"It's that miserable palatine, who owes four hundred francs at his restaurant! It's that sham baron, who showed madame such attention and surprised monsieur! Peste! he ain't such a swell now!"
"Will you hold your tongue, you rascal!" said Dubourg, raising his stick again.
"What are you hitting me for?"
"I am simply returning what you gave my servants; I've owed you this a long while."
"Your servants—your servants! pretty servants they were! I suppose this is my pourboire, because my master boarded you for a month, you and your great scholar, who ate enough for six!"
"If I did your master the honor to visit him, what business have you to make comments on it, you clown?"
"Oh, yes! a great honor you did him!"
"Take care, or I'll begin again."
As Dubourg still had his cane in the air, the old jockey decided to lower his tone. He held his peace and looked about for the ass, in order to go his way; but the animal had disappeared while they were quarrelling; she had wandered into the underbrush that lined the road, and was nowhere to be seen.
"Oh! mon Dieu! my ass! where is my ass?" cried Lunel, searching anxiously in every direction.
"Faith! I have no idea. Find your ass, and I'll continue my journey. Give my compliments to your mistress, and tell your master that, if he ever comes to Paris, I'll give him a little reception, with fireworks."
Lunel paid no heed; he ran to right and left, calling: "Madelon! ohé! Madelon!"—He rushed into a wooded path, and Dubourg, having lost sight of him, went his way, laughing heartily at the adventure. About half an hour after he had parted from Lunel, as he reached a place where the road left the woods for the open country, he saw Madelon within twenty paces, trotting slowly along with her pack on her back, following such roads as she pleased, and halting now and then to eat a thistle or a mouthful of wild briers.
"Parbleu! this is a strange chance," said Dubourg; "can it be that this beast is sent to me by Providence? But I must be wary; the law may not approve of my receiving gifts from Providence. However, I had nothing to do with diverting this jenny from her road. Am I to blame because she left her master? Never mind; I will begin by trying to restore her to him."
Thereupon he walked back some distance into the forest he had just left, and began to shout at the top of his lungs:
"Lunel! holà, Lunel! here's your jenny!"
There was no reply; Dubourg called again and again, to no purpose. Weary at last of calling, he returned to the ass, saying to himself:
"It seems to me that I have done all I can, and my conscience is beginning to be less troublesome. I can't go back half a league, and I have no desire to present myself again at the house of my friend Chambertin, who is no longer my friend. But let us see what this creature has on her back; it is not probable that there's anything of much value."
Dubourg began an examination of the two baskets, which were covered with stout canvas. In one he found two syringes, one mechanical, marked: For madame; the other plain: For monsieur; also, a large box containing a number of phials and small pasteboard boxes.
"Oho! I seem to have struck a whole apothecary's shop! But here's a big sheet of paper. Ah! it's the receipted bill; this will tell me what we have here. 'Sold by Dardanus, Apothecary, Grenoble, to Madame Chambertin.' Let us see: 'Tooth powder, salve for the gums, three jars of superfine rouge, liquid almond paste, macassar oil to dye the hair, bear's grease to keep it from falling out, Essence of Venus to soften the skin, rouge au vinaigre for the evening, vegetable blue to make veins.'—Great God!" exclaimed Dubourg, interrupting his reading; "it's very lucky that I didn't find this bill a month sooner, for it would have taken away my courage, and I shouldn't have dared to make pretty speeches to Madame Chambertin. Let us read on: 'Laxative pastilles, emollient pills, soothing tablets.'—The deuce! it would seem that madame is very excitable.—'Two pounds of hygienic chocolate.'—Ah! that's better. Now, let's see what monsieur requires: 'Three hundred issue peas.'—Ah! the rascal! that's what keeps his complexion so fresh.—'Three bottles of Eau de Baréges, salve for corns, ointment for bunions, cachou pastilles, mint, astringent pills, tonic tablets.'—Hum! monsieur evidently isn't constipated. That's all of that. Now, let's have a look at the other basket."
First of all, he found a box containing an exquisitely curled wig, which madame probably wore when she had not time to arrange her hair. Also, a wooden head, designed to hold the wig when it was not in use. Also, a pair of riding-boots, and doeskin gloves.
"Deuce take me if I'll walk back to Allevard for a couple of syringes and a parcel of pills!" said Dubourg, when he had concluded his examination; "monsieur and madame may go without their supplies for a few days. I will take possession—although I don't quite know what I am to do with all these drugs. But I have an idea. Parbleu! an excellent means of making use of this donkey and of travelling without touching my purse, which is none too full. Who knows if I may not make my fortune? Well, the die is cast! I have been a baron, a palatine, and an actor; I have even played the part of a beast, unwittingly; surely I can play the charlatan: it's the simplest trade, the easiest of all parts to play, provided one has ever so little wit, cheek, and loquacity, and I have all three. A charlatan I am, then. Indeed, who is not, in this world? everyone plays the part in his own way: men in office with petitioners, speculators with capitalists, knaves with fools, gallants with women, coquettes with their lovers, debtors with their creditors, authors with actors, booksellers with readers, and tradesmen with everybody. I am one of those who cure all diseases, who divine them and forestall them; in short, I am a second Cagliostro; I am familiar with the universal pharmacopœia, I have no confederate, I deal honorably; I have discovered a thousand secrets, a single one of which would suffice to make a man's fortune; and I sell pills for two sous, because I am a philanthropist."
Having fully decided to embark upon this new escapade, Dubourg led his donkey into a dense thicket. There he began operations by removing his palatine boots, which were badly worn, and throwing them into the bushes; he replaced them with the long riding-boots, which came halfway to his hips, so that no one might recognize Baron Potoski in the dealer in pills; he pulled over his head the blonde wig intended for Madame Chambertin, having first tied the hair behind and made a Prussian queue; he daubed his cheeks, forehead, and chin with superfine rouge; then, mounting Madelon en croupe, with the two baskets containing his itinerant pharmacy in front of him, he resumed his journey, inciting his steed with his stick, by way of riding-whip.
Dubourg's singular aspect, his face surrounded by beautiful flaxen curls, the long queue falling down his back, his high boots, which he held as far back as possible because the baskets were much in his way, and, lastly, his majestic bearing, attracted the attention of all the peasants he met. They called to one another to look at him. They stood at doors and windows to watch him pass, and at times a number of boys followed at his heels. Dubourg bowed to right and left, with a benevolent expression, calling out in a loud tone:
"Have you any aches or pains, my children, in the foot or the ear? do you have bad dreams? do you suffer when you are asleep? have you been beaten? are you blind, dumb, or paralyzed? Draw near; grasp the golden opportunity! I am the great restorer, the great cure-all, the great operator! Make haste to profit by my presence in this province; I shall not come again for thirty years, and probably I shall not find you all then. Come, my friends; I cure everything, I do everything—I even make children, when they are ordered in advance. The only thing I don't do is extract teeth, but I can supply a lotion that makes them drop out, and the result is the same."
Peasants are naturally credulous. On hearing this harangue, some of them approached Dubourg, and, after respectfully removing their hats or making a reverence, proceeded to tell him their ills. When the number about him was considerable, Dubourg took from his basket the mechanical syringe, which he had filled with Eau de Baréges; then he pressed the spring, and the villagers had to hold their noses; but they remained, because the syringe played the air Avec les Jeux dans le Village, and Dubourg said:
"This magic syringe, my children, came to me from the favorite sultana of the Sultan of Egypt. It plays three hundred tunes; but, as it is subject to whims, it insists on playing the same one over and over to-day. This marvellous water that comes from it—it does not smell like rosewater, by the way—is a prompt and certain remedy for women with the colic. I sometimes administer these remedies myself, but I have to be very particular as to persons, for this syringe doesn't fit all figures."
After this speech, Dubourg listened to the complaints of each one in turn, then looked through his pharmacy, and distributed drugs at random, but received the price with the utmost assurance, promising that the effects would soon appear. He gave a nurse liquid almond paste; a man with a fever, cachou pastilles; for a cold, he prescribed pellets that he had made of the salve for corns; for asthma, macassar oil; for a pain in the chest, bear's grease; and for the stomach-ache, rouge au vinaigre.
After this promising début, he belabored Madelon and rode away as fast as possible from his patients. He was not half a league away, when the poor creatures began to feel the effects of his remedies. Some held their hands to their bellies, some were nauseated, some had a violent headache, some could not endure the taste of the drug they had swallowed, and some ran after the charlatan, calling him swindler and thief. But he did not wait for them. Luckily, he was prudent enough to administer his remedies in very small quantities, so that the results were not serious.
Dubourg was careful not to attempt any cures in the neighborhood of the places where he stopped to eat or to sleep. After travelling about forty leagues in a fortnight,—for, as the great healer halted frequently to sell his drugs, and as his steed's best gait was a slow trot, he did not get ahead very fast,—Dubourg found himself one day in front of an extensive farm. It was a long while since he had sold anything, for as he drew nearer to the capital he found the country people less and less gullible. His fortune had not increased. He spent regularly at night what he had earned during the day; and when his receipts were large, he fared sumptuously, content to leave his original hoard untouched.
The appearance of the farm made Dubourg disposed to stop there. As he had neither bugle nor hunting-horn, he announced his presence with his mechanical syringe, beating time with his cane on the wig-block. The farm people came out. Among them Dubourg noticed a fresh, rosy-cheeked girl, with a mischievous eye and a small foot, and he at once conceived a fervent desire to become her physician.
Several buxom dairymaids procured ointments for fever and chilblains, and a number of peasants bought pastilles of mint and cachou for toothache; but one and all stared in amazement at the marvellous syringe that made music, and the wig-block that spoke when it was stormy, as its owner assured them.
The pretty girl was a daughter of the farmer, who happened to be absent. With her was her aunt, a good old soul who believed in dreams, fortune telling, magic, ghosts, talismans, and sorcerers. She was anxious to consult Dubourg, because for three nights past she had fallen asleep on her back and waked up on her stomach, which she considered very extraordinary.
"I'll give you something that will keep you from changing your position," said our charlatan to the old woman, while ogling the young one; "here are some pastilles that came to me from a native of the Guinea Coast, who sometimes slept a whole week on his left ear. But if you take them in moderate doses, you pass a delightful night, and have charming dreams, divine dreams, such dreams as you had at fifteen! It is so pleasant, that you don't want to wake up. And then, my dear lady, when you have taken them, you are certain to dream of any person you choose; all you need to do is walk round your somno before you go to bed."
"Oh! my dear monsieur," said the old woman, "pray give me some of the pastilles at once; I'll eat some every night. I mean to dream of my first husband this very night; he was a dear, good man, not a sot like my second. I'll walk round the somno, monsieur; I won't fail."
Dubourg gave her a box of laxative pills, which she received with deep gratitude; then he turned to the young woman and asked her what he could do for her.
"Dame! monsieur," she replied, "a week ago, while I was dancing with Thomas, I fell and sprained my wrist, and since then I haven't been able to use it as well as usual; have you got anything that will cure that right away?"
"Have I, my sweet child! As if I hadn't everything! In a quarter of an hour, I'll drive away your pain, and it will never come back. All I've got to do is rub you with a certain ointment of mine; but I must say some magic words over it, and I can't say them before witnesses; that would break the spell. So take me to your chamber, or some other place where we shall be alone, and I'll operate."
"Shall I, aunt?" asked the farmer's daughter.
"Shall you!" repeated the good woman; "why, of course. Make the most of this great man's kindness, and let him rub you."
The girl made no further objection, but requested Dubourg to follow her. He fastened his donkey, with his whole outfit, at the farmhouse door, and walked quickly after his pretty patient, who led him to her chamber and closed the door, abandoning herself with perfect confidence to the skill of the sorcerer, whose appearance was rather laughable than terrifying.
Meanwhile, the aunt, being in haste to enjoy the effect of the pastilles, and too impatient to wait for the night in order to dream of her first husband, had also withdrawn to her apartment, and, having swallowed a pill and performed the prescribed ceremonial, had gone to bed and was anxiously awaiting the operation of the charm, which was not precisely ushered in by prodigies.
While the ladies were experimenting with Dubourg's specifics, the farmer came home. He began by inquiring who owned the ass that he found at his door, and was told that it was the property of the great healer who had recently arrived. The farmer asked who this great healer was, and his servants replied that they did not know, but that he was probably a sorcerer, because he wore his hair in curls, like a woman, and had a long queue, enormous boots, a syringe that played dance music, and a wig-block that spoke when it was stormy.
Now, the farmer was one of those men who are so unfortunate as not to believe in sorcerers, spells, and magic, who insist on seeing with their eyes and hearing with their ears, and cannot be convinced that a black hen evokes the devil, or that the future can be read by means of a sheep's liver, coffee grounds, or molten lead thrown in water. Such men are the bane of the occult sciences.
Vexed by what he learned from his servants, the farmer inquired where this great healer had gone. They told him that they had seen him go into the house with the young woman and her aunt. The farmer hurried to the old lady's chamber and found her in bed, still awaiting the delicious dream that did not come.
"Oh! brother! what are you doing?" she cried. "You have disturbed me—upset me completely. The dream was coming! I was going to see my first husband, and we were going to pick nuts together. Do go away; you'll prevent the pill that wonderful man gave me from working."
"Morbleu!" retorted the farmer; "ain't you nearly through with your fairy tales and nonsense? Where is your sorcerer? stealing my rabbits, most likely."
"What an idea! he's with your daughter, in her room, saying magic words to cure her wrist."
"Locked in with my daughter!" cried the farmer; "morgué! we'll see about this!"
And he ran to his daughter's chamber without listening to what the old woman said. He opened the door with a vigorous kick, and it is to be presumed that he was not pleased with the great healer's method of healing his daughter; for he seized a broom, and opened the conversation by striking him with it again and again.
Dubourg had no time to parley; with a muttered oath, he fled; the girl wept, the father swore, and the whole household was up in arms.
Our charlatan, seeing that the farm hands were arming themselves with clubs in imitation of their master, thought of nothing but his personal safety; he fled from the farm, abandoning his ass, his syringes, and all his remedies; all of which was very fortunate for the invalids along the route he still had to traverse.