by John Paulits
"Where did you see the ring?"
No answer.
"Where did you see the ring?"
The woman's breathing quickened.
"Where did you see the ring?" Dickens desperately wanted this one more answer out of her but knew he could lose the woman by overly upsetting her. He tried to keep his voice calm. "Where did you see the ring?"
"Don't tell anyone he had it."
"I will not. Who had the ring, Augusta?"
"Please, don't tell anyone he hid it. I saw it. He didn't know. Don't tell. Promise me. Please, don't tell."
"I promise you I will never reveal what you tell me, Augusta. Who had the ring?"
Augusta de la Rue whispered, "The phantom had the ring." She straight away broke down, moaning, shaking, and clasping Dickens' hand so tightly Dickens could not release himself from her grasp.
It took Dickens fifteen minutes to settle the woman back into quiet trance. He dared probe no further what with de la Rue waiting for him in the room outside. After ten quiet minutes he joined de la Rue and declared the session a success. “Your wife is sleeping quietly," Dickens reported.
"Charles, you have been a godsend," de la Rue gushed. He walked to the bedroom door and looked inside. He closed the door quietly and returned to Dickens. "I hope she will be well enough tonight for your party."
Dickens thought quickly. "Emile, I have an idea. With your permission Kate and I will arrive early, say six o’clock. I will mesmerize Madame once again, and while she is in trance I will pave the way for a quiet night for her."
"By all means. Have you breakfasted? Let me feed you at least for all the trouble you've taken already today."
Dickens laughed. "No, no. I've eaten." Catherine loomed on his mind. He did not want to stay any longer than necessary. He would be on the road with her for three months, and they needed to be on the best possible terms. "But about my trip."
A look of worry crossed de la Rue's face
"We must keep in touch while I'm away." This afternoon he would attempt to bar the phantom from Augusta's dreams. He believed himself powerful enough to exile the phantom, at least for a time. He could not be certain, though, for how long. While he was away, the phantom could easily return and reassert his ascendancy over Augusta...and over him.
"Is there anything I can do? There must be something."
"Will you keep a journal while I'm gone?"
De la Rue looked perplexed. "And in the journal...?”
"Daily reports on Madame's health. How she sleeps, the nature of any attacks. I am prepared to return to Genoa if need be. And, of course, I will be back come April."
"No, no. I could not ask you to break off your tour. If only I could do what you can do."
"There is no time to teach you the skills of a mesmerist, Emile. I want you to write me. Tonight I will bring you an itinerary of my trip. Believe what I say, Emile, my travels will be solely guided by your letters. Think, also, of joining us, perhaps in Rome. We will be there in a few weeks and then again for Holy Week in March."
"Perhaps in March. In two weeks is impossible."
"Consider it. Also, I am going to tell your wife tonight that every morning at ten and every evening at eleven, I will think of her and try to induce trance from wherever I am. I promise to be faithful in this. I will ask her to concentrate and be receptive to me, and I want you to note her behavior in your journal at those times. Write me - daily if need be but certainly weekly even if only to tell me that, blessedly, there is only good news to report."
"Is it possible? To be in contact at such a distance?"
"It has been done by others." Elliotson had mentioned this long-distance phenomenon in passing during their conversation in London, not as something Dickens could rely on but merely as an example of the power of mesmerism. Dickens assumed what one mesmerist could do, he could do.
De la Rue shook his head in amazement. "I will do whatever you say, Charles. You may depend on it."
As Dickens expected, Catherine gave a chill acceptance to his demanding she be ready to go to the de la Rues early.
The de la Rues greeted Dickens and his wife with heartfelt gratitude and praise for the time Dickens had sacrificed to treat Madame de la Rue and the positive results of the treatment. Emile de la Rue led Catherine aside to continue reporting on the mesmeric prowess of her husband, and Catherine had little choice but to follow him. When they were out of sight, Dickens and Augusta de la Rue retreated into the bedroom. They sat in chairs and faced each other.
"Charles, you have my eternal gratitude for what you’ve done for me."
Dickens brushed aside her thanks, knowing that until the phantom left her dreams, she had little hope of a permanent cure.
Augusta smiled slightly. "I haven't told you of my dreams.”
Concern flashed across Dickens' face.
"No, no. Good dreams. Peaceful dreams."
"What do you mean?"
Augusta drew a deep sigh. She looked down shyly then with a quiet, trusting voice asked, "Did you know I was nearly engaged once? I don't mean to Emile."
Tension rippled through Dickens. He squared his shoulders to relax and said, "Oh? Tell me about it."
"You hadn't heard?"
"Angus mentioned something to me."
"Ah. You do know then about the accident."
"Angus mentioned it."
Augusta nodded resignedly as if acknowledging that the past could not be hidden. "I've been dreaming of my brother and Rodney. My brother's name is Charles, you know?"
"Yes, go on."
"There is not much more to tell. They've been pleasant dreams of Charles and Rodney. I miss them both very much," she added quietly.
"Hadn't you dreamed of them before now?"
Augusta shook her head slowly. "Not in any way I remember. Certainly not with this wonderful warmth."
"You say nearly engaged."
"The accident occurred on the day Rodney was going to propose. At least so my brother told me. Rodney had even chosen the ring."
Dickens kept a tight rein on himself and with as unemotional a voice as he could manage he asked, "Did you ever see the ring?"
"See it?" Augusta smiled and shook her head. "No." Suddenly, a tic began to quiver in her left cheek.
Dickens studied her intently. "Did your brother see the ring?"
"Oh, yes. He said it was very beautiful. A gold ring with diamonds and rubies."
"What happened to the ring?"
Dickens saw Augusta’s expression sink into sadness.
"Lost with Rodney."
"You never saw it then?"
Augusta offered a look of befuddlement. "No. How could I? People suspected my brother but could prove nothing against him. Yet how could he prove he had nothing to do with Rodney’s disappearance. It was impossible.” Her left cheek began pulsing. “Emile treated me very kindly during that time. We...we eventually...” She did not finish.
Dickens knew he had better move on. "We don't have much time, Augusta. I want to put you into trance. I am going to banish the phantom from your dreams. Listen carefully to me." He explained to her, as he had explained to her husband, how he would attempt to be in touch with her while away. She nodded and asked no questions.
Dickens began to make passes with his hands and speak to her and in only three minutes Augusta passed into trance. He had not planned what he was about to do but he felt it worth the try.
"Augusta, tell me again about the ring Rodney planned to give you."
She answered immediately. "Oh, a beautiful ring. Gold, diamonds and rubies."
"Did you ever see this ring with your own eyes?"
No answer.
The question repeated.
No answer.
Repeated
.
No answer. The pace of Augusta's respiration increased.
"Did you ever see this ring with your own eyes?"
"Yes."
"When?"
A long pause.
"When?"
"The night of the accident." Then in a quieter voice, "Where is my brother?"
"Where did you see the ring?"
Augusta's eye fluttered open, and she looked at Dickens, who felt a terrible chill sweep over him.
"Where did you see the ring?"
"In his room."
"Whose room?"
"The phantom's room. In the phantom's room. Masked. Bloody. The phantom." At each utterance the woman's eyes opened a bit wider.
Dickens quieted the woman as what she told him raced through his thoughts. In trance she professed to have seen the ring. Conscious, she denied it. Dickens put his confidence in the truth emerging during trance. She’d seen the ring in the phantom's room. It could only be her brother's room. If she had seen the ring in her brother's room on the night of the so-called accident, she could easily believe her brother did away with Rodney for some unknown reason. Perhaps the ring, which sounded quite valuable, was the reason. She could only face the realization that her brother killer her lover in dreams or in trance when her brother appeared to her in the guise of a phantom, masked and bloody.
"I am banishing the phantom from your dreams, Augusta. I forbid you to allow him to come to you. The phantom is gone and he will never return to haunt you again." On and on Dickens went, banishing the phantom as powerfully as his command of language permitted. Augusta's eyes drooped closed and stayed closed until Dickens finished. Slowly and carefully, he woke her.
She blinked as if looking into a strong light until she found Dickens’ eyes and relaxed.
"How do you feel?" Dickens asked, forcing a smile.
"Fine. I feel fine." She rose.
"Augusta, beginning tomorrow and continuing every day thereafter, find a quiet place at the times I told you and open your mind to me. We will defeat this phantom. Defeat it utterly."
Augusta put her hand on Dickens' arm a moment, and Dickens led her back into the sitting room.
Chapter Ten
Sunday January 19, 1845. Dickens and his wife set out on their tour of southern Italy in the capable hands of Louis Roche, their inestimable courier. They visited Rome during Carnival Week before moving on to Naples, and everywhere they went Dickens stayed on the lookout for letters from Emile de la Rue. Through the rest of January and into February letters found him two or three times a week. The letters were encouraging. Madame slept well. She had no attacks. Her facial spasms were mild and infrequent.
The journey in mid-February by Dickens and his wife from Rome to Naples caused a hiatus in the reports from Emile de la Rue, but when the letters caught up with Dickens, he knew Augusta was in jeopardy. Emile described sleepless nights and attacks of spasm in his wife. There had been nights when Dickens, himself, sprang awake, filled with the gravest anxiety - anxiety he attributed to Augusta de la Rue. The fears she experienced, she communicated to him through their unique bond. Dickens had done as promised and faithfully stopped his days and nights at the appointed times to concentrate his thoughts on Augusta de la Rue. Emile's earlier letters confirmed his wife’s adherence to the same schedule with her either sitting quietly or lying peacefully at those times, often nodding off to sleep afterwards. But of late, de la Rue now wrote, Augusta had ignored her long-range sessions with Dickens, fearful, according to de la Rue, of infecting Dickens with her dread. Her rest, Emile went on, had often been disturbed by a dream of some sort - a dream where she moaned aloud about the presence of a phantom, and her spasms, especially of her left cheek, had returned and frequently left her worn and haggard.
Dickens wrote Emile daily for news and strongly recommended he and his wife meet him in Rome in mid-March. He additionally urged de la Rue to be certain his wife settled down at the times appointed so he could attempt his long-distance treatment of her. De la Rue reported, however, that his wife had taken to leaving the house every morning rather than, according to her, "subject her savior" to the dreadful specter she knew would come to haunt him because of her. De la Rue further reported his wife’s pacing the floor until the time for the nightly session passed.
Dickens wrote to Emile of the phantom, "I cannot beat it down, or keep it down, at a distance" and repeated his insistence that the couple travel to meet him. He wrote to Augusta de la Rue promising to shatter the phantom "like glass" if only she would travel to him. De la Rue's first letter of March settled the matter. He promised he and his wife would meet Dickens in Rome at the Hotel Meloni at the beginning of Holy Week.
Catherine Dickens was appalled when she saw her husband lead the de la Rues into the lobby of the Hotel Meloni on March 20th. Dickens, aware of their imminent arrival, had ridden out to usher them into the city. At her first opportunity his wife asked for an explanation.
"What are those people doing here, Charles? You knew they were coming, of course."
"Madame de la Rue has been very ill. Without my treatments she has regressed. She needs to be treated, Kate. I suggested they join us here in Rome."
"Did it ever cross your mind to consult me about this? Did it ever cross your mind to let me know what you'd done?"
"Kate, the woman needs me to treat her."
"And what is it that you need? Can you tell me that?"
Dickens nearly exploded in anger. Righteously invulnerable in his own mind to the insinuations of his wife and thoroughly aware his relationship with Madame de la Rue was simply one of doctor and patient, he had scant patience for his wife's carryings-on.
"She must be treated and that's an end of it, Kate."
Dickens fixed his wife with a stare so frigid with authority and warning it quieted her. For the time being.
Augusta de la Rue's health soon fell into a pattern. During the day she felt well enough to join Dickens and his wife on their jaunts exploring Rome. Deep into the night, however, her dreams would rise. De la Rue often summoned Dickens from his hotel room, waking Catherine, of course, in the process. Dickens, clad in his nightclothes and robe, would hurry to the de la Rue's rooms and quiet Madame de la Rue so she could sleep through the rest of the night. With de la Rue pacing anxiously outside the door and Catherine waiting back in their bed, Dickens found no opportunity to probe further into the story of the phantom and the ring. He returned to his room drained, yet unable to return to sleep. He paced the bedroom, sometimes until dawn, engendering the profound disapproval of his wife.
Dickens learned in Rome of his wife’s pregnancy. Their sixth child would eventually to be named Alfred D'Orsay Tennyson Dickens. Kate's pregnancies had all been difficult ones - more so psychologically than physically - and Dickens imagined her hysteria over Madame de la Rue sprang from her condition.
The two couples continued to travel the countryside around Rome together daily, finally arriving back in Genoa April 9. Dickens wrote of mesmerizing Madame de la Rue as they traveled "sometimes under olive trees, sometimes in vineyards, sometimes in the traveling carriage, sometimes in wayside inns during the midday halt." He did so hoping to alleviate the need for late night visits to the de la Rue rooms, but when the visits were necessary, he went.
Finally, in mid-April, back at the Peschiere, Catherine Dickens had had enough. Thirty years old and about to bear Dickens his sixth child, she told herself that she was his wife; not Madame Augusta de la Rue.
"This must stop," she demanded as she and her husband stood in their bedroom.
Dickens stared at her.
"You must stop seeing this woman." Tears dropped down her cheeks.
"She is a sick..."
"Don't tell me about her sickness. You have a wife. You have me. I am going to have another of your babies. Give me the time that y
ou give to her. I know what is going on between you. I can see it. I can feel it. I can see the signs. I know it. Even if her husband is willing to share, your wife is not."
Dickens nostrils flared and his stare grew lethal.
“If you want her, take her. Move in with them. I don’t care. Her husband apparently doesn't care what you two do together, but I care and I want it stopped." Catherine pounded her thighs with her fists to emphasize her point. Her voice, like her emotions, grew wild and out of control.
"I am merely curing her of a disease."
“Let someone else merely do it. You will stop going to her. You will stop. You will tell them that I forbid it."
"Kate," Dickens said in a measured tone," you've already embarrassed me by scarcely speaking to them on the trip here from Rome..."
"Embarrassed? If embarrassment means anything to you - if embarrassment is something that is not to be tolerated, think of my embarrassment. My husband - night after night - alone in another woman's bedroom - visiting her at all hours - her husband out of the house. No, no, no." Catherine fell on the bed and beat at the counterpane with her fists. "You will tell them," she mumbled into the mix of bedding she had disarranged, "or I will leave. I will take the children and leave right now. I will. I will."
Dickens turned and left the room.
The next day, seeing no way out of his dilemma with his wife, he visited Emile de la Rue in his office and explained about his wife's pregnancy and her feelings. Dickens told him it would be necessary to slacken his attentions to Madame de la Rue's disease. He hoped Emile would explain all of this to his wife. Dickens vowed he would visit when he could, but they could no longer expect his appearance according to any set schedule, and there could be no more distress calls after dark.
De la Rue, of course, had noted Catherine’s behavior as they traveled and so this visit from Dickens did not come as too great a surprise. He told Dickens he understood, and it would have no effect on their friendship or the regard both he and his wife felt for both him and his wife.
Dickens left the meeting as angry as he could ever remember being.
