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nothingness—an inanimate body. I am persuaded that we are all connected to one another by waves, by impalpable currents. These currents give life to the stars and make sleepwalkers walk. But their fluid can be transmitted only if the person receiving it is ready to accept it.”
    Maria Theresia listened, open-mouthed. The passion with which he expressed his convictions was contagious. This was the first time a doctor had managed to make her feel the love of science. The physicians who had taken up her case before had seemed to her to be draped in certitudes. For them, her case had to be identifiable because their knowledge was infallible. But they had explained nothing whatsoever, and their remedies had failed. Then this vigorous and impassioned man comes along, putting forth unverifiable theories that were unheard-of yet compelling. His desire to link science with fiction, the earth with the heavens, planets with men, was abstract to her ears, but behind the words she could sense the energy, idealism, and conviction of a man who expressed himself with disarming ardor.
    Her hands were burning. She pulled them abruptly from his grasp.
    “I will try to be a docile patient.”
    He grabbed her wrist firmly.
    “That is not enough. Docility is for idiots who like to be submissive. That is not what I am asking of you.”
    She stood up, but her legs buckled under.
    “What exactly do you want from me?”
    He pulled on the cord to call for the maid.
    “I want you to channel your energy, impatience, and fears into your cure. Have faith in the future. Have faith in me.”
    Anna entered the room. He clicked his heels ceremoniously.
    “We will begin tomorrow.”

Chapter 10
    S HE SPENT THE NEXT DAY WAITING FOR HIM. SHE HAD time to scout the premises. The fourteen steps of the door stoop; the path to the left that led to the dovecote, the one to the right that led to the bandstands. Between the paths, on the other side of the big fountain, was the stone stairway leading to the gazebo.
    She had to turn left out of her room and walk down a long, wood-paneled hallway to a library that had been specially arranged for her. Then, seven steps forward and three to the left brought her to the piano.
    She immediately loved how the sound enveloped her, how it contrasted with the stiffness of the keys. She was moved to learn from Anna that Mesmer himself had chosen the piano in anticipation of her stay.
    After a long nap to make up for her restless night, she sat at the piano and took pleasure in lazily playing pieces from her repertoire in whatever order whim moved her. She started a concerto, then segued mid-adagio into an operatic aria, then began singing a lied . She had begun training her voice ever since she’d put her fingers to a keyboard, but she was reluctant to sing when not in the presence of a voice coach. At home she never did singing exercises in front of friends or family. Here she knew no one. Mesmer’s wife was expected in two days, and his other patients lived in a pavilion at the far end of the garden. She alone had the honor of staying under his roof.
    She was singing to her heart’s content—red-cheeked and smiling, rocking her head and tapping her feet to the rhythm of one of the grand arias of Gluck’s Alceste— when Mesmer surprised her.
    He waited in the doorway for her to finish, but she heard the door case creaking against his weight. She stopped at once.
    “I let myself get carried away. What time is it? Is it already evening?”
    Mesmer stood still, observing how nervous she became in his presence. He could sense the unrest under her pulsing eyelids.
    In a few strides he was standing above her, holding her head in his hands.
    “It is almost nightfall. Don’t move. Don’t let your eyes roll back into your head. Concentrate on a fixed point and force them to be still.”
    Her breathing grew calmer as she tried to obey him, to no avail.
    Mesmer slowly withdrew his hands from her face. She heard him open a