He accosted Margont with an affable Ah, Monsieur! I see you are an ardent supporter of liberty!’
Margont felt as if he had been seen through, as if, under the old man’s regard, his body had turned to glass and his innermost thoughts were on display like coloured fluids in a crystal
container. What clairvoyance! How had the man been able to read him so clearly? Was it a coincidence? Or was it just that some people’s insanity was actually just a different way of seeing things? The fallen aristocrat - Margont was pretty sure that’s what he was - saw that he was perplexed.
‘It’s simply that I observe that the lack of liberty here shocks you, whereas it reassures your friend. Do you know that liberty harbours a paradox? Everyone says they want it, but at the same time they’re afraid of it!’
The remark touched a chord with Margont.
‘Everyone wants it!’ the man said again. ‘But when we have it, we hurry to throw it off again. We had kings and once we had overthrown them, we replaced them with an emperor!’
Margont thought he could guess the reason for those guards. The man was probably a republican who had plotted to overthrow Napoleon. A noble republican, by all appearances. He must be a political prisoner. But what was he doing outside Pinel’s office? Did he also have an illness of the mind? He seemed very lucid.
And the Salpetriere was only for women. Whatever the case, the man was brave to criticise the Emperor openly.
‘Let’s take another example. The Revolution demolished religious power. So what do men and women do? Do they take the chance to live freely? No, they marry each other and swear undying loyalty. They bask in monogamy! You, however, seem to cherish freedom for what it really is.’
He laid his hand on Margont’s arm as he said this, to emphasise the sincerity of what he was saying. However, the gesture felt a little like a caress. Margont pulled his arm away, more sharply than he intended.
The old man then said regretfully, ‘Oh ... oh, what a shame ... You’re just like all the others, after all. Freedom only appeals to you in the abstract, and not as something to be fully savoured. You want to spend your life seeking it, but only on condition that you never find it...’
‘That’s not true at all! You’re mixing everything up!’
‘Whilst you, on the other hand, separate everything out! You
separate the various liberties and rank them, accepting some and forbidding others. Isn’t that just a way of killing off freedom? Isn’t freedom all or nothing? How can one be half free?’
At that point, one of the municipal guards intervened: ‘Monsieur le Marquis, be quiet!’
To Margont’s discomfort, the man performed a deep pantomime bow, exaggerating the movement of his arms, then straightened up and patted into place the disordered hair of his powdered wig.
‘I am Comte Donatien Alphonse Francois de Sade, better known by the name of Marquis de Sade. Whom do I have the honour of addressing?’
‘Unfortunately I cannot tell you. However, I can tell you that I have readJustine ou Les Malheurs de la vertu. It was very ... um ... original.’
The Marquis de Sade was overjoyed. ‘A reader! I have fewer of those than I have lovers!’
‘You’re embellishing your role, Monsieur le Marquis ...’
‘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