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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..86a60d9 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #62338 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/62338) diff --git a/old/62338-0.txt b/old/62338-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 0687a78..0000000 --- a/old/62338-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,19219 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Countess of Rudolstadt, by George Sand - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: The Countess of Rudolstadt - A Sequel to "Consuelo" - -Author: George Sand - -Translator: Fayette Robinson - -Release Date: June 8, 2020 [EBook #62338] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE COUNTESS OF RUDOLSTADT *** - - - - -Produced by Laura Natal Rodrigues and Dagny Soapfan at -Free Literature (Images generously made available by The -Internet Archive.) - - - - - - - -THE COUNTESS OF - -RUDOLSTADT - -A SEQUEL TO "CONSUELO." - -By GEORGE SAND, - -AUTHOR OF "CONSUELO," ETC., ETC. - -TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH - -By FAYETTE ROBINSON - -LONDON: - -WALTER SCOTT, LIMITED, - -PATERNOSTER SQUARE - - - - -THE COUNTESS OF RUDOLSTADT - - - - -TABLE OF CONTENTS -CHAPTER I -CHAPTER II -CHAPTER III -CHAPTER IV -TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE -CHAPTER VI -CHAPTER VII -CHAPTER VIII -CHAPTER IX -CHAPTER X -CHAPTER XI -CHAPTER XII -CHAPTER XIII -CHAPTER XIV -CHAPTER XV -CHAPTER XVI -CHAPTER XVII -CHAPTER XVIII -CHAPTER XIX -CHAPTER XX -CHAPTER XXI -CHAPTER XXII -CHAPTER XXIII -CHAPTER XXIV -CHAPTER XXV -CHAPTER XXVI -CHAPTER XXVII -CHAPTER XXVIII -CHAPTER XXIX -CHAPTER XXX -CHAPTER XXXI -CHAPTER XXXII -CHAPTER XXXIII -CHAPTER XXXIV -CHAPTER XXXV -CHAPTER XXXVI -CHAPTER XXXVII -CHAPTER XXXVIII -CHAPTER XXXIX -CHAPTER XL -CHAPTER XLI -EPILOGUE - - - - -CHAPTER I - - -The Italian Opera-house at Berlin had been built early in the reign of -Frederick the Great, and was then one of the most beautiful in Europe. -There was no charge for admission--all the actors being paid by the -king. To be admitted, however, it was necessary to have a ticket, every -box having its regular occupant. The princes and princesses of the royal -family, the diplomatic corps, the illustrious travellers, the academy, -the generals, the royal household, the _employés_ and friends of the -king, monopolized the house. No one could complain of this, for theatre -and actors, all belonged to the king. There was open to the people of -the good city of Berlin, a small portion of the _parterre_, the greater -part of which was filled up by the military, each company and regiment -having a right to send a certain number of men. Instead of the joyous, -impressionable and sensitive Parisian public, the artists had a pit full -of heroes six feet high, as Voltaire called them, the greater number of -whom brought their wives on their backs. The aggregate was brutal -enough, strongly perfumed with tobacco and brandy, knowing nothing of -music, and neither admiring, hissing, nor applauding except in obedience -to orders. In consequence of the perpetual motion, however, there was a -great deal of noise. - -Just behind these gentlemen there were two rows of boxes, the spectators -in which neither saw nor heard. They were obliged, though, to be -constantly present at the representations his majesty was graciously -willing to provide for them. The king was present at every performance. -In this way he contrived to maintain a military supervision of the many -members of his family, and to control the swarms of courtiers around -him. This habit he had inherited from his father, who, in a miserable -frame building, occupied by wretched German buffoons, used to while away -every winter evening, regardless of rain. The king used to sleep through -the performance and the showers. This domestic tyranny, Frederick had -undergone, suffering under it all the while; and when he became himself -the possessor of power, rigidly enforced it, as well as many more -despotic and cruel customs, the excellence of which he recognised as -soon as he became the only person in the kingdom not obliged to submit -to them. - -No one dared to complain. The house was majestic and all the operatic -appointments luxurious. The king almost always overlooked the orchestra, -keeping his lorgnette in battery on the stage, and setting the example -of perpetual applause. - -All know how Voltaire, during the early years of his installation at -Berlin, applauded the courtly splendor of the northern Solomon. -Disdained by Louis XV, neglected by Madame de Pompadour, who had been -his protectress, persecuted by the Jesuits, and hissed at the Theatre -Français, in a moment of disappointed pride, he came to look for -honors, a reward, and appointment of chamberlain and _grand cordon_, and -the intimacy of a great king, by far more complimentary to him than the -rest of his new acquisitions. Like a spoiled child, the great Voltaire -pouted at all France and fancied he could mortify his countrymen. At -that time, intoxicated by his newly-acquired glory, he wrote to his -friends that Berlin was a more pleasant place than Versailles, that the -opera of _Phaeton_ was the most magnificent spectacle imaginable, and -that the _prima donna_ had the finest voice in all Europe. - -At the time that we resume the thread of our story (and we will set our -readers' minds at rest by saying that a year had passed since we saw -Consuelo), winter displayed all its rigor at Berlin, and the great king -had began to exhibit himself in his true aspect. Voltaire had begun to -see his illusion in relation to Berlin. He sat in his box, between -D'Argens and La Mettrie, not even pretending to love music, to which he -was no more awake than he was to true poetry. His health was bad, and he -regretted sadly the thankless crowds of Paris, the excitability, the -obstinacy of which had been so bitter to him, and the contact with which -had so overpowered him, that he determined never to expose himself to it -again, although he continued to think and toil ceaselessly for it. - -On this occasion the spectacle was excellent. It was the middle of the -carnival; all the royal family, even those members who had moved into -other parts of Germany, was collected in Berlin. The _Titus_ of -Metastasio and Hasse was being performed, and the two leading members of -the Italian troupe, Porporina and Porporino, were cast in the principal -parts. - -If our readers will make a slight exertion of memory they will recall -that these two dramatic personages were not husband and wife as their -names might seem to indicate. The first was Signor Uberti, an excellent -contralto. The second was the zingarella Consuelo, like the first a -pupil of the Professor Porpora, who, according to the Italian custom in -vogue at that time, had permitted them to assume his glorious name. - -It must be confessed, that Porporina did not sing in Prussia with the -power she had in other places exhibited. While the limpid contralto of -the male singer swelled without any indication of delay, and protected -by the consciousness of success and power--that too fortified by the -possession of an invariable salary of fifteen thousand livres for two -months' labor--the poor zingarella, more romantic and perhaps more -disinterested, and certainly less used to the northern ices and a public -of Prussian corporals was under the influence of an excitement and sang -with that perfect and conscious method which affords criticism no hold, -but which is altogether insufficient to excite enthusiasm. - -The fervor of the dramatic artist and of the audience, cannot dispense -with each other. Now, under the glorious reign of Frederick, there was -no enthusiasm at Berlin. Regularity, obedience, and what in the -eighteenth century--at Frederick's court especially--was known as -_Reason_, were the only virtues recognized in this atmosphere, measured -and weighed in the hand of the king. In every assembly over which he -presided, no one hissed or sighed, without his permission. Amid all the -crowd, there was but one spectator able to give vent to his impressions, -and that was the king. He constituted the public; and though a good -musician and fond of music, all his tastes were subjected to so cold a -logic, that when his opera-glass was attached to every gesture, the -vocal inflections of the singer's voice, far from being stimulated, were -entirely paralyzed. - -The singer was forced to submit to this painful fascination. The -slightest inspiration, the slightest portion of enthusiasm, would -probably have offended both the king and court, while artistic and -difficult passages, executed with irreproachable mechanism, delighted -the king, the court, and Voltaire. Voltaire said, as all know, "Italian -music is far better than French, because it is more ornate, and _a -difficulty overcome is something at least._" This was Voltaire's idea of -art. He might have answered, had he been asked if he liked music, as a -certain fop of our own days did--"It does not exactly annoy me." - -All went off perfectly well, and the finale was being reached. The king -was satisfied, and turned to his chapel-master from time to time, to -express his approbation by a nod. He was preparing even to applaud -Porporina, at the conclusion of the cavatina which he always did in -person and judiciously, when, by some strange caprice, Porporina, in the -midst of a brilliant rondeau, which she had never failed, stopped short, -turned her haggard eyes towards a corner of the hall, clasped her hands, -and crying "Oh my God!" fell at full length on the stage. Porporino bore -her behind the stage, and a tempest of questions, thoughts, -commentaries, swept through the house. In the interim the king spoke to -the tenor, amid the noise which drowned his voice, "Well, what is this?" -said he, in a brief, imperious tone. "Conciolini, hasten to find out." -After a few seconds the latter returned, and bowing respectfully before -the top of the railing on which the king leaned his elbow, replied, -"Sire, the Signora Porporina is senseless, and they are afraid she will -he unable to continue the opera." - -"Ah!" said he, shrugging his shoulders. "Give her a glass of water. Get -her some essence, and finish as soon as possible." - -The tenor, who had no disposition to offend the king and expose himself -to his bad humor in public, went again behind the scenes quietly, and -the king began to talk quickly to the leader of the orchestra and -musicians; the public being much more interested in what the king said -and did than in poor Porporina, made rare efforts to catch the words -that fell from the monarch's lips. - -The Baron von Poelnitz, grand chamberlain and director of amusements, -soon came to tell the king of Consuelo's condition. In Berlin nothing -passed off with the solemnity imposed by an independent and powerful -public. The king was everything, and the spectacle was his and for him. -No one was surprised to see him thus become the principal actor of this -unforeseen interlude. - -"Well, let us see, baron," said he, loud enough to be heard by a part of -the orchestra; "will this soon be over? Have you no doctor behind there? -You should have one always." - -"Sire, the doctor is there. He is unwilling to bleed the lady, lest he -should weaken and prevent her from playing her part. He will be forced -to do so, though, unless she recovers from her fainting fit." - -"Then she is sick, and not feigning?" - -"Sire, to me she seems very sick." - -"Then let down the curtain, and we will go. But wait; let Porporino sing -something to console us, so that we may be enabled to go home without a -catastrophe." - -Porporino obeyed, and sang two pieces deliciously. The king applauded, -the public followed his example, and the performance was over. A minute -afterwards, the court and people were going out, the king stood on the -stage, and caused himself to be led to the dressing-room of the _prima -donna._ - -The public does not sympathize with an actress, taken sick on the stage, -as it should. Adored as the idol may be, there is so much selfishness -among the _dilettani_, that they are much annoyed at the loss of -pleasure, than by the suffering and anguish of the victim. Some -_sensible_ women deplored, as was then said, the catastrophe of the -evening-- - -"Poor thing! She had a cold, and when she came to make her trill, found -it out, and became sick, rather than fail." - -"I think she did not pretend," said a much more sensible woman; "people -do not fall so hard, when they are not really sick." - -"Ah, who knows?" said the first; "a great actress falls just as she -pleases, and is not afraid of hurting herself. They do it so well." - -"What possessed Porpora to make such a scene?" said, in another part of -the room, whence the _la mode_ was going out, La Mettrie to the Marquis -D'Argens. "Has her lover beaten her?" - -"Do not speak thus of a virtuous and charming girl," said the marquis. -"She has no lover. If she had, she has not been abused by him, unless, -indeed, he be the basest off men." - -"Excuse me, marquis. I forgot that I was speaking to the champion of all -actresses. By the by, how is Mademoiselle Cochois?" - -* * * * * * * * - -"Poor thing!" just at that moment said the Princess Amelia of Prussia, -the king's sister, and canoness of Quedlimburgh, to her usual confidant, -the beautiful Countess Von Kleist, as she was returning to the palace. -"Did you observe my brother's agitation?" - -"No, madame," said Madame de Maupertuis, gouvernante of the princess, an -excellent but simple and absent-minded person; "I did not." - -"Eh? I did not speak to you," said the princess, with the brusque and -decided tone which sometimes made her so like Frederick. "Do you ever -see anything? Look you here. Count those stars for a while. I have -something to say to Von Kleist I do not wish you to hear." - -Madame de Maupertuis closed her ears conscientiously, and the princess, -leaning towards the countess, who sat opposite to her, said: - -"Say what you please, it seems to me that for the first time, perhaps -for fifteen or twenty years since I have been capable of observation, -the king is in love." - -"So your royal highness said last year about Barberini; yet his majesty -never dreamed of her." - -"Never? You are mistaken, my child. The young Chancellor Coccei married -her, and my brother thought so much of the matter that he was in a rage -more violent than any he had ever known before for three days." - -"Your highness knows that his majesty cannot bear unequal matches." - -"Yes; love matches are called unequal. That is a great phrase; just as -empty as all those are which rule the world and enslave individuals." -The princess uttered a deep sigh, and, as was her wont, rapidly changing -her humor, said, with irony and impatience to her gouvernante, -"Maupertuis, you are listening to us, and not counting the stars, as I -bade you. What is the use of being the wife of a great philosopher, if -you listen to the chattering of two such madcaps as we are?--Yes, I -say," said she, again speaking to her favorite, "the king did love that -Barberini. I have good reason to know that, after the performance, he -used, with Jordon and Chazols, to take his tea frequently in her room, -and that she went more than once to sup at _Sans Souci_, which, until -her time, was never the fashion at Potsdam. Do you wish me to speak more -plainly? She lived there for weeks, and, it may be, for months. You see -I know what is going on well enough, and that my brother's mysterious -airs do not impose on me." - -"Since your royal highness is so well informed, I need not say that for -state reasons, the king sometimes wishes persons to think he is not so -austere as he is represented, though, in fact--" - -"Though in fact my brother never really loved any woman, not even his -wife. Well, I have no faith in this virtue, or rather in this coldness. -He has always been a hypocrite. You cannot make me think La Barberini -always remained in his palace merely to seem to be his mistress. She is -beautiful as an angel, intellectual as a devil, educated, and speaks, I -know not how many languages." - -"She is virtuous; she adores her husband." - -"And her husband adores her the more because their marriage was unequal. -Will you answer me, Von Kleist? I suspect you, my noble widow, of being -in love with some page or bachelor?" - -"Would your highness like to see such an unequal union as that of a king -and an actress?" - -"Ah, with Porporina, the thing would not be so terrible. There is on the -stage, as at court, a perfect hierarchy. You know that is a whim and -disease of the human heart. A singer must have more self-respect than a -dancing-girl, and Porporina, they say, has more accomplishments and -knows more languages even than La Barberini. My brother has a passion -for speaking tongues he does not understand. Music, too, he seems very -fond of, you see, and that is another point of contact with the _prima -donna._ She too, goes to Potsdam and has the rooms in the new _Sans -Souci_ the Barberini used to occupy, and sings at the king's private -concerts. Is not this enough to make my conjectures probable?" - -"Your highness seeks in vain to discover any weakness in our great -prince. All passes too openly and aboveboard for love to have anything -to do with it." - -"Love! Certainly not. He knows nothing about that. There is, however, a -certain charm--a kind of intrigue; everybody, you must confess, says -that." - -"No one says so, madame. All say that to relax his mind, the king laughs -at the chatter and listens to the songs of a pretty actress. After a -quarter of an hour thus passed, he says, 'Enough for to-day. If I want -you to-morrow, I will send for you.'" - -"This is not gallant. If that is the way he courted Coccei's wife, I am -not amazed that she did not listen to him. Do they say whether this -Porporina is as stern as she was?" - -"They say she is modest, well-behaved, timid, and sad." - -"Well, that is the best way to please the king. Perhaps she is shrewd. -If it were possible, and one could trust her--" - -"Trust no one, madame, not even Madame de Maupertuis, who is now so fast -asleep, I beg you." - -"Let her snore away. Awake or asleep she is always the same. But, Von -Kleist, I would wish to know this Porporina, and see if anything can be -done with her. I regret that I refused, when the king proposed to -accompany her to my rooms, to receive her. You know I had a prejudice -against her." - -"An unjust one. It was impossible--" - -"Ah, God's will be done. Chagrin and fear have had such influence over -me for the last year, that all secondary cares are effaced. I wish to -see that girl. Who knows if she may not win from the king what we have -vainly asked for? That idea has been in my mind for some days, and I -have thought of nothing else. Seeing Frederick thus excited and uneasy -about her, I was confirmed in the idea that I would find in her a gate -of safety." - -"Be careful, your highness. There is great danger." - -"That is what you always say. I am more distrustful, yet more prudent -than you. We must think of this matter. Now, my dear gouvernante wake -up! We are at the palace." - - - - -CHAPTER II - - -While the young and beautiful abbess[1] thus gave vent to her thoughts, -the king, without knocking, entered Porporina's dressing-room, just as -she was regaining her consciousness. - -"Well, signora," said he, in a kind and even polite tone, "how are you -now? Are you subject to such accidents? In your profession it is most -inconvenient. Has anything put you out? Are you too ill to speak?--Tell -me, you, sir," said he to the doctor, "if she be very ill." - -"Yes, sire," said the medical man, "the pulse is scarcely perceptible. -There is much irregularity in the circulation, the functions of life -appear to be suspended. Her skin is icy." - -"That is true," said the king, taking the hand of the young girl in his. -"The eye is fixed, and the mouth discolored. Give her some of Hoffman's -drops. D--n! I was afraid this was only a little extra scene. This girl -is sick, and is neither malicious nor depraved. That is true. Porporino, -no one has put her out this evening? Eh? No one has complained of her?" - -"Sire," said Porporino, "she is not an actress, but an angel." - -"Indeed! Are you in love with her?" - -"No, sire; I respect her greatly, and look on her as my sister." - -"Thank you two, and God, who has given up the condemnation of comedians, -my theatre has become a school of virtue. Ah, she now revives! -Porporina, do you not know me?" - -"No, sir," said she, looking at the king, who rubbed the palms of her -hands in a terrified manner. - -"She has perhaps a rush of blood to the head. Have you ever observed -that she was epileptic?" - -"Oh, sire, never! This would be terrible," said Porporino, wounded at -the rude manner in which the king spoke of so interesting a person. - -"Wait; do not bleed her," said the king, who saw the doctor open his -lancet. "I do not like to see blood spilled anywhere but on the -battle-field. You people are not soldiers, but assassins. Let her alone. -Give her air. Porporino, do not suffer them to bleed her. That, you see, -may kill her. These people suspect nothing. I confide her to you. Take -her home in your carriage, Poelnitz. You do not answer me. She is the -greatest singer we have seen, and we will not find another soon. -_Apropos_--What will you sing to me to-morrow, Conciolini?" - -The king went down the stairway with the tenor, speaking of other -things, and sate soon after at the table with Voltaire, La Mettrie, -D'Argens, Algarotti, and General Quintus Icilius. - -Frederick was stern, violent, and an intense egotist. In other respects, -he was generous and good, ever tender and affectionate at times. Every -one knows the terrible, yet seductive and multiple-faced character of -this man, the organization of whom was so complicated and full of -contrasts--like all other powerful natures, especially when they are -invested with supreme power, and an agitated career develops their -senses. - -While eating, jesting, and chatting with graceful bitterness and coarse -wit, amid dear friends he did not love, and men of mind he did not -admire, Frederick became at once meditative, and after a few moments -arose, saying to his friends, "Talk away, I shall hear you." He then -went into the next room, took his hat and sword, bade a page follow him, -and passed into the dark galleries and mysterious passages of his old -palace, his guests yet fancying him near and measuring their words--not -daring to think he did not hear them. Besides, they (and for good cause) -so distrusted each other, that, whenever they chanced to be in Prussia, -they ever saw soaring over them the fearful and malicious phantom of -Frederick. - -La Mettrie, a physician rarely consulted and a reader scarcely listened -to by the king, was the only person present who feared, and was feared, -by no one. He was esteemed altogether inoffensive, and had discovered -the means of keeping any one from hurting him. This consisted in -committing so many mad, foolish, and impertinent acts in the king's -presence, that no informer could charge him with aught he had not done -face to face with Frederick. He seemed to take the philosophic equality -the king professed, as a fixed fact (for seven or eight persons were -honored by this familiarity.) At this period, though he had reigned -eighteen years, Frederick had not entirely abandoned the popular -familiarity of the Prince Royal and hardy philosopher of Remunsberg. -Those who knew him, had not forborne to confide in him. Voltaire, the -most spoiled and the newest, began to be alarmed, and to see the tyrant -appear beneath the good prince--a Dionysius in Marcus Aurelius. La -Mettrie, however, whether from innate candor or deep calculation, -treated the king carelessly, or affected to do so. He took off his -cravat and wig in the royal rooms, sometimes he took off even his shoes, -lolled on the sofas, and had his little chat with him, pottered about -the small esteem he had for earthly greatness, of royalty as of -religion, and other prejudices in which a breach had been made by the -_Reason_ of the day. In a word, he was a true cynic, and did so much to -justify disgrace and dismissal, that it was impossible to see how he -maintained himself, when so many others had been dismissed for trifling -peccadillos. - -The reason is, that in the minds of moody, distrustful persons like -Frederick, an insidious word reported by espionage, an appearance of -hypocrisy, or a slight doubt, make more impression than a thousand -imprudences. Frederick looked on La Mettrie as a madman, and often -seemed petrified by surprise at his conduct, saying, "That creature is -scandalously impudent." He would, however, say to himself, "But he is -sincere, and has no two opinions about me. He cannot treat me behind my -back worse than he does to my face. The others who are at my feet, what -do they not say and think when my back is turned, and when they leave -the table? La Mettrie is, then, the most honest man I have, and I must -put up with him, because no one else does." Thenceforth, all was -decided. La Mettrie could not make the king angry, and contrived to -please him with what would have disgusted in another. While Voltaire at -first forced himself into a system of adulation which it was impossible -to maintain, and which began to fatigue and disgust himself strangely, -the cynic La Mettrie went on amusing himself as frankly with Frederick -as with any stranger, and never felt inclined to reverse or overturn an -idol to which he had never made either sacrifice or promise. The -consequence was, that, when the king began to weary sadly of Voltaire, -he was highly amused by La Mettrie, whom he could not dispense with, -simply because he never seemed to wish to amuse him. - -The Marquis d'Argens, a chamberlain, with 6,000 francs (the first -chamberlain, Voltaire, had 20,000f.) was a volatile thinker, a rapid and -superficial writer; a very impersonation of the Frenchman of his -day,--kind, blundering, gay, and, at the same time, brave and -effeminate, intelligent, generous and satirical. He was a man between -two eras, for he had the romance of youth and the skepticism of age. -Having passed all his youth with actresses, successively deceiving and -deceived, and always in love with the last one, he had married -Mademoiselle Cochois, first lady of the French theatre at Berlin, a very -ugly but sensible woman, whom he took a pleasure in instructing. -Frederick was ignorant of this secret marriage, and d'Argens took care -not to tell any one who could betray him of it. Voltaire was in his -confidence. D'Argens really was attached to the king, who was not fonder -of him than he was of others. Frederick had no faith in the sincerity of -any one, and poor d'Argens was sometimes the accomplice and sometimes -the butt of his cruelest jests. - -All know that the colonel, dubbed by Frederick, Quintus Icilius, was a -Frenchman, named Guilhard, an excellent and decided tactician. He was, -like such characters in general, a robber and a courtier, in the full -sense of the terms. - -To avoid fatiguing our readers with a gallery of portraits of historical -personages, we will say nothing of Algarotti. It will suffice to -indicate the opinions of the guests of Frederick, during his absence; -and we will say that, instead of feeling relieved of a burden by his -absence, they felt very uncomfortable, and could not speak a word -without looking at the half opened door through which the king had -passed, and whence he probably watched them. - -La Mettrie was the only exception. Remarking that the service of the -table was neglected after the king's departure, he said--"On my word, I -think the master of this house very neglectful in leaving us no servants -or wine, and I will complain to him of the fact, if he be in that room." - -He arose, and without any fear of being indiscreet, went into the next -room. He returned, saying, "Nobody there. That is odd. He is just the -man to go out and drill his regiment by torchlight, to promote his -digestion. He is odd enough." - -"Not so. You are the odd one," said Quintus Icilius, who could not -accustom himself to La Mettrie's strange manners. - -"Then the king is gone out," said Voltaire, beginning to breathe more -freely. - -"Yes, the king has gone out," said the Baron Von Poelnitz, who just came -in. "I met him in the back court, with no escort but a single page. He -had put on his famous incognito, the coat the color of the wall. I did -not recognise him." - -We must say a word of the third chamberlain, Von Poelnitz, or the reader -will not understand how any one but La Mettrie could speak so -slightingly of the king. The age of Poelnitz was about as problematical -as his salary and duties. He was a Prussian baron; and was that _roué_ -of the regency who had been so conspicuous a member of the court of -Madame la Palatine, the mother of the Duke of Orleans, the headlong -gamester, the debts of whom the King of Prussia refused to pay. He was a -cynical libertine, a spy, a scamp, a courtier, fed, chained, and -contemned. His master scolded and paid him badly, but could not do -without him, because an absolute king must always have some one at hand -to do his dirty work, revenging himself for the necessity of such an -attendant in the humiliation of his victim. Poelnitz was, moreover, at -this time, the director of the Royal Theatre, and, as it were, a supreme -attendant of Frederick's pleasures. He was a perpetual courtier. Having -been the page of the last king, he added the refined vices of the -regency to the cynical grossness of William, and the impertinence and -severity of the military and philosophical sternness of Frederick the -Great. His favor with the latter was a kind of chronic disgrace, which -he took care not to shake off. Besides always playing the part of master -of the dirty work, he really was not afraid of being injured by any one -in his master's good opinion. - -"Ah, baron, you should have followed the king, and told us afterwards -whither he went. We would have made him swear on his return, if we had -been able to tell him whither he went, and that we saw his acts and -gestures." - -"We might do better than that," said Poelnitz, laughing. "We might have -been able to postpone that till to-morrow, and accounted for it by the -fact of having consulted the sorcerer." - -"What sorcerer?" asked Voltaire. - -"The famous Count de St. Germain, who has been here since morning." - -"Indeed! I wish to find out if he be a charlatan or a fool." - -"That is hard to say. He plays his game so well that no one can tell." - -"Fools do not act thus," said Algarotti. - -"Tell me about Frederick," said La Mettrie. "I wish to pique his -curiosity by some good story, so that he may treat us some day to a -supper with Saint Germain, who may indulge us with an account of his -adventures before the deluge. That will be amusing. Let us think! Where -can the king be just now? Baron, you know, for you are too curious not -to have followed him." - -"Do you wish me to say?" said Poelnitz. - -"I hope, sir," said Quintus, flushing with anger, "that you will reply -to none of M. de la Mettrie's strange questions. If his majesty----" - -"Bah! my dear friend," said La Mettrie, "there is no majesty between ten -at night and two in the morning. Frederick has made it statute law, and -I am familiar with all its clauses. There is no king at the supper -table. Do you not see the poor king is wearied, and, bad servant as you -are, you will not aid him for a few hours of the night to forget the -weight of greatness." - -"I do not wish to know," said Quintus, rising and leaving the table. - -"As you please," said Poelnitz. "Let all who do, open their ears and -hear." - -"Mine are wide open," said La Mettrie. - -"Yes, and so are mine," said Algarotti, laughing. - -"Gentlemen," said the baron, "his majesty is at the house of La -Porporina." - -"You play the game well," said La Mettrie; and he made a Latin quotation -I do not translate because I do not understand Latin. - -Quintus Icilius became pale, and left the room. Algarotti recited an -Italian sonnet, which was understood scarcely better; and Voltaire -improvised four verses, comparing Frederick with Julius Cesar. After -this the three philosophers looked at each other and smiled. Poelnitz -then said seriously, "I pledge you my honor, gentlemen, that the king is -at Porporina's house." - -"Can you tell us nothing else?" asked D'Argens, whom all this -displeased; for he was not a man to betray others to increase his own -credit. - -Poelnitz answered, without troubling himself, "The devil, marquis! When -the king tells us you are gone to the house of Mademoiselle Cochois, we -are not scandalized. Why should you be, because he has gone to -Porporina's?" - -"It should, on the other hand, please you," said Algarotti; "and if it -be true, I will tell it at Rome." - -"And his holiness, who is fond of gossip, will be witty on the matter," -said Voltaire. - -"About what will his holiness be witty?" said the king, entering the -dining-room unexpectedly. - -"About the amours of Frederick the Great and the Venetian La Porporina," -said La Mettrie, boldly. - -The king grew pale, and cast a terrible glance at his guests, all of -whom grew white as sheets, except La Mettrie, who said,-- - -"Well, what of it? M. de Saint Germain predicted this evening, at the -opera, that at the time when Saturn was passing between Regulus and the -Virgin, his majesty, with a single page----" - -"Who on earth is this Count of St. Germain?" said the king, seating -himself calmly as possible, and holding out his glass to La Mettrie to -be filled with champagne. - -They then talked of St Germain, and the storm passed off without an -explosion. At first the impertinence of Poelnitz, who had betrayed him, -and the audacity of La Mettrie, who had dared to taunt him, filled the -king with rage. While, however, the latter was speaking a single phrase, -Frederick remembered that he had advised Poelnitz to gossip on a certain -matter and induce others also to do so. He then restrained himself with -that facility which was so peculiar to him, and nothing was said of the -king's nocturnal visit. La Mettrie, had he thought of it, would have -returned to the charge; but his volatile mind readily followed the new -thread of conversation. Frederick in this way often restrained La -Mettrie, whom he treated as we would treat a child on the point of -breaking a mirror or springing out of a window, to distract the -attention of whom a toy is shown. Each one made his commentary about the -famous Count of St Germain. Each had an anecdote. Poelnitz pretended to -have seen him twenty years before in France. He added-- - -"I saw him this morning, and in all the time that has passed he does not -seem to have grown older than those I saw yesterday. I remember once, in -France, hearing him say of the passion of Jesus Christ, with -inconceivable seriousness--'I said that he could not but have trouble -with those wicked Jews. I told him what would happen, but he would not -hear me. His zeal made him despise all dangers. His tragical death, -however, distressed me as I had never been before, and I cannot think of -it without tears.' As he spoke, this queer count wept so naturally, that -I could scarcely refrain from following his example." - -"You are," said the king, "so good a Christian, that it does not amaze -me." Poelnitz had changed his religion three or four times to obtain -benefices and places with which, for joke's sake, the king had tempted -him. - -"Your anecdote," said D'Argens, "is but a fancy sketch. I have heard -many better.--What makes this Count de Saint Germain an interesting and -remarkable personage, in my opinion, is the number of new and ingenious -claims, by which he unravels the doubtful points of the obscurer history -of States. Question him about any subject or epoch of history, and you -will be surprised to hear him unfold or invent an infinity of probable -and interesting things, which throw a new light on what has been -doubtful and mysterious." - -"If what he says is probable," observed Algarotti, "he must be -wonderfully learned, and gifted with a prodigious memory." - -"He is something better than that," said the king; "mere erudition does -not suffice to explain history. This man must have a mighty mind, and -great knowledge of humanity. The only questions are whether this noble -organization has been distorted by the desire of playing a whimsical -part, and a disposition to attribute to himself eternal life and a -knowledge of matters that happened before the birth of any that live, or -whether deep study and meditation has not deranged his brain, and struck -him with monomania?" - -"I can at least assure your majesty of the good faith and modesty of our -man. It is with great difficulty that he can be made to talk of the -wonderful things he fancies he has seen. He is aware that he is treated -as a dreamer and charlatan, and this seems to trouble him much. Now he -refuses to explain his supernatural power." - -"Well, sire, are you not anxious to see and hear him?" said La Mettrie. -"I own I am." - -"How so?" said the king. "Why be curious about that? The spectacle of -folly is always sad." - -"If it be folly, I own it. But what if it is not?" - -"Listen, gentlemen," said Frederick. "This skeptic--this atheist -pure--has faith in the wonderful, and believes in the eternal life of M. -de Saint Germain! You need not be surprised; for La Mettrie believes in -death, thunder and ghosts." - -"I own that the latter is a weakness; but that my dread of death, and -all that can inflict it, is but reason and wisdom. What the devil should -one be anxious about, if not of safety and life?" - -"Hurra for Panurge!" said Voltaire. - -"I will return to Saint Germain," said La Mettrie; "Pontagruel must -invite him to sup with us to-morrow." - -"I will take care not to do so," said the king. "You are mad enough now, -my poor friend; and were he once to put foot in my house, the -superstitious imaginations which hang around us would, in a moment, fill -Europe with countless strange tales. Ah! dear Voltaire, if the days of -reason did but come--that is a prayer we should make every morning and -evening." - -"Reason!--reason," said La Mettrie, "is kind and beneficial, when it -serves to excuse and legitimate my passions and vices--my -appetites--call them as you please. When it becomes annoying, I wish to -kick it out of doors. Damn!--I wish to know no reason which will make me -pretend to be brave, when I am not; to be a stoic, when I suffer; and -submissive, when I am in a rage. Away with such reason! I'll have none -of it; for it is a monster and chimera of the imagination of those -triflers of antiquity whom you all admire so much and know not why. I -hope its reign may never come! I like absolute power of no kind; and if -I were to be forced not to believe in God, which now is my state of -mind, I am sure I would go straight to mass." - -"You, it is well known," said D'Argens, "are capable of anything--even -in believing in the philosopher's stone of the Count of Saint Germain." - -"Why not? It would be pleasant, and I need such a thing." - -"Well! that is true," said Poelnitz, putting his hand in his vast and -empty pockets. "The sooner its reign comes the better. I pray for it -every morning and night." - -"Bah!" said Frederick, who always turned a deaf ear to every -insinuation. "Monsieur de Saint Germain knows, then, the secret of -making gold--you did not say that?" - -"Then let me invite him to supper to-morrow," said La Mettrie; "for I -have an idea, Royal Gargantua, his secret would do you no harm. You have -great necessities, and a most capacious stomach, as a king and a -reformer." - -"Be silent, Panurge!" said Frederick. "We know all about your count, who -is an impudent impostor, and a person I intend to place under close -surveillance. We are assured, with his fine secrets he takes more money -out of the country than he leaves in it. Eh, gentlemen; do you not -remember the great magician, Cagliostro, whom I made march out of -Berlin, in double quick time, about six months since?" - -"And who robbed me of a hundred crowns! May the devil sue him for them, -say I." - -"And who would have also had a hundred more, if Poelnitz could have -raised them," said D'Argens. - -"You drove him away; yet he played you a good trick, notwithstanding." - -"What?" - -"Ah! you do not know. Then I have a good story to tell you." - -"The greatest merit of a story is brevity," said the king. - -"Mine is very short. On the day when your Pantagruelic[2] majesty -ordered the sublime Cagliostro to pack up his alembics, spectres, and -devils, it is well known that he left Berlin in his carriage, _propria -personâ_, at twelve exactly, passed, at the same time, through each of -the gates--at least, twenty thousand persons will swear to that. The -guards at every gate saw the same hat, wig, carriage and horses, and you -cannot convince them that on that day there were not at least six -Cagliostros in the field." - -All but Frederick thought the story amusing. Frederick alone did not -laugh. He was in earnest about reason, and the superstition which amused -Voltaire so much, filled him with indignation. "Bah!" said he, shrugging -his shoulders; "that is the way with the people, Voltaire, at a time -when you cast on the world the light of your torch. You have been -exiled, persecuted, and imposed on in every way; yet as soon as -Cagliostro comes, the people are fascinated--whenever he comes he has a -triumphal march." - -"Do you know," said La Mettrie, "that the noblest ladies have as much -faith in Cagliostro as the merest street-walkers? I heard that story -from one of the most beautiful of your court." - -"I will bet it was that Von Kleist," said the king. - -"_You named her yourself_," said La Mettrie. - -"Listen how he speaks to the king," said Quintus Icilius, who had just -come. - -"Bah! the Von Kleist is mad," said Frederick. "She is a visionary, and -has implicit faith in horoscopes and sorcery. She needs a good lesson, -and had best take care. She makes the women mad, and even reduced her -husband to such a state of mind that he used to sacrifice black rams to -the devil, to discover the treasures buried in the Brandebourg sands." - -"All that is fashionable now in your house, my dear Pantagruel," said La -Mettrie. "I do not see how women can submit to your exacting goddess, -Reason. Women were made to amuse themselves and us. When they become -wise, we must be fools. Madam Von Kleist is charming, with all those -wild ghost-stories. With them she amuses _Soror Amalia._" - -"What does that _Soror Amalia_ mean?" asked Frederick, with amazement. - -"Eh! your charming sister, the Abbess of Quedlimburg, who, we all know, -devotes herself to magic." - -"Be silent, Panurge!" said the king, in a voice of thunder, throwing his -snuff-box on the table. - - -[Footnote 1: It is well known Frederick used to give abbeys, -canonicates, and episcopates to his officers, favorites, and relations, -even when they were Protestants. The Princess Amelia, having refused to -marry, had been made Abbess of Quedlimburgh, a prebend, with an income -of a hundred thousand livres. She was addressed as the Catholic -canonesses were.] - -[Footnote 2: It is scarcely necessary to say that Pantagruel and -Gargantua are two of the creations of the very great and very French -Rabelais.--TRANSLATOR.] - - - - -CHAPTER III - - -There was a moment of silence, during which the clock struck twelve.[3] -Ordinarily, Voltaire was able to restore the tone of conversation, when -a cloud passed over Trajan's brow, and to efface the bad impression of -the other guests. On this evening, however, Voltaire was sad and -suffering, and felt all the effects of the king's Prussian spleen. On -that very morning La Mettrie had told him of the fatal remark of -Frederick, which replaced a feigned friendship by a real animosity, -which each of these great men felt for each other. Though he said -nothing, he thought-- - -"He may throw the skin[4] of La Mettrie away when he chooses. Let him be -ill tempered and suffer as he will, but I have the cholic, and all his -flatteries will not cure it." - -Frederick was thus forced to resume his philosophical serenity without -assistance. - -He said, "Since we are talking of Cagliostro and the hour for ghosts and -stories has come, I will tell you one which will show how hard it is to -have faith in sorcerers. My story is true; for I have it from the person -to whom it happened last year. The accident at the theatre this evening -recalls it to my mind, and that accident may have some connection with -it." - -"Is the story terrible?" asked La Mettrie. - -"Perhaps," said Frederick. - -"Then I will shut the door; for I cannot listen to ghost-stories with a -door gaping." - -La Mettrie shut the door, and the king spoke as follows: - -"Cagliostro, as you know, had the trick of showing credulous people -pictures, or rather magic mirrors, on which he caused the absent to -appear. He pretended to be able to reveal the most secret occupations of -their lives in this manner. Jealous women went to consult him about the -infidelities of their husbands, and some lovers and husbands have -learned a great deal about their ladies' capers. The magic mirror has, -they say, betrayed mysteries of iniquity. Be that as it may, the -opera-singers all met one night and offered him a good supper and -admirable music, provided he would perform some of his feats. He -consented, and appointed a day to meet Porporino, Conciolini, the -Signora Asttha and Porporina, and show them heaven or hell, as they -pleased. - -"The Barberini family were also there. Giovanna Barberini asked to see -the late Doge of Venice, and as Cagliostro gets up ghosts in very good -style, she was very much frightened, and rushed completely overpowered -from the cabinet, in which Cagliostro had placed her, _tête-à-tête_ -with the doge. I suspect the Barberini, who is very fond of a joke, of -having pretended fear, to laugh at the Italian actors, who from the very -nature of their profession are not expected to be at all courageous, and -who positively refused to submit to this test. La Porporina, with the -calm expression which, as you know is so peculiar to her, told -Cagliostro she would have faith in his science, if he would show her the -person of whom she then thought, but whom it was not necessary for her -to name, for if he was a sorcerer, he must be able to read her soul as -he would read a book. - -"'What you ask is not a trifle,' said our count, 'yet, I think I can -satisfy you, provided that you swear by all that is holy and terrible, -not to speak to the person I shall evoke, to make no motion nor gesture, -to utter no sound, while the apparition stands before you.' - -"Porporina promised to do so, and went boldly into the dark closet. - -"I need not tell you, gentlemen, that this young woman is one of the -most intellectual and correct persons to be met with. She is well -educated, thinks well about all matters, and I have reason to know no -narrow or restricted idea makes any impression upon her. - -"She remained in the ghost-room long enough to make her companions very -uneasy. All was silent as possible and finally she came out very pale, -and with tears streaming from her eyes. She immediately said to her -companions, 'If Cagliostro be a sorcerer, he is a deceiving one. Have -faith in nothing that he shows you. She would say no more. Conciolini, -however, told me a few days after, at one of my concerts, of this -wonderful entertainment. I promised myself to question Porporina about -it, the first time she sang at _Sans Souci._ I had much difficulty in -making her speak of it, but thus she told me: - -"'Cagliostro has beyond a doubt the strange power of producing spectres -so like truth that it is impossible for the calmest minds to be unmoved -by them. He is no magician and his affectation of reading my thoughts -was based on some knowledge, I know not how acquired, of my past life. -His knowledge, however, is incomplete, and I would not advise you, sire, -to make him your Minister of Police, for he would perpetrate strange -mistakes. Thus, when I asked him to show me the absent person I wished -to see, I thought of my music-master, Porpora, who is now at Vienna. -Instead of him, I saw in the magic-room a very dear friend I lost during -the current year.'" - -"_Peste!_" said D'Argens, "that is more wonderful even than the -apparition of a living person." - -"Wait a moment, gentlemen. Cagliostro, badly informed, had no doubt but -what he had shown was the phantom of a living person, and, when it had -disappeared, asked Porporina if what she had seen was satisfactory. 'In -the first place, monsieur,' said she, 'I wish to understand it. Will you -explain?' 'That surpasses my power. Be assured that your friend is well, -and usefully employed.' To this the signora replied, 'Alas! sir, you -have done me much wrong; you showed me a person of whom I did not think, -and who is, you say, now living. I closed his eyes six months ago.' -Thus, gentlemen, in deceiving others, sorcerers deceive themselves, and -thus their plans are foiled, by something which is wanting in their -secret police. To a certain point they penetrate into family mysteries -and secret intimacies. All human histories are more or less alike, and -as people inclined to the wonderful are not close examiners, they fall -twenty times out of thirty. Ten times, however, out of thirty, they are -wrong. They care nothing about that, though they are very loud about -those of their revelations which succeed. This is the case, too, with -horoscopes, in which they predict a series of common-place events, which -must happen to everybody, such as voyages, diseases, the loss of a -friend, an inheritance, a meeting, an interesting letter, and the -thousand other casualties of human life. Look at the catastrophes and -domestic chagrins, to which the revelations of a Cagliostro expose weak -and passionate minds. The husband who confides in them, kills an -innocent wife; a mother goes mad with grief at the death of an absent -son. This pretended magic art causes countless other disasters. All this -is infamous; and none can say that I was wrong in exiling from my states -this Cagliostro, who guesses so exactly, and has such a perfect -understanding with the dead and buried." - -"All this is very fine," said La Mettrie, "but does not explain how your -majesty's Porporina saw the dead alive. If she is gifted with as much -firmness and reason as your majesty says, the fact goes to disprove your -majesty's argument. The sorcerer, it is true, was mistaken, in producing -a dead rather than a living man. It, however, makes it the more certain -that he controls both life and death. In that respect, he is greater -than your majesty, which, if it does not displease your majesty, has -killed many men, but never resuscitated a single one." - -"Then, Mr. Wiseacre, we are to believe in the devil," said the king, -laughing at the comic glances of La Mettrie at Quintus Icilius, as often -as the former pronounced the phrase, "your majesty." - -"Why should we not believe in Papa Satan? He has been so slandered, and -has so much sense," said La Mettrie. - -"Burn the Manichean," said Voltaire, placing a candle close to the -doctor's wig. - -"To conclude, most noble Fritz, I have gotten you into a tight place; -your Porporina is either foolish or credulous, and saw her dead man, or -she was philosophical, and saw nothing. She was frightened, however." - -"Not so; she was distressed," said the king, "as all naturally would be, -at the sight of a portrait which would exactly recall a person loved, -but know we shall see no more. But if I must tell you all, I will say, -that she subsequently was afraid, and that her moral power after this -test, was not in so sound a state as it was previously. Thenceforth she -has been liable to a dark melancholy, which is always the proof of -weakness or disorder of our faculties. Her mind was touched, I am -confident, though she denies it. No one can safely contend with -falsehood. The attack she had this evening is a consequence of that, and -I pledge myself there is in her mind some dread of the magic power -attributed to M. de Saint Germain. I have heard, that since she returned -home, she has done nothing but weep." - -"Of all that part of the story I am utterly incredulous," said La -Mettrie. "You have been to see her, and since that time her tears are -dried." - -"You are very curious, Panurge, to know the object of my visit. You, -D'Argens, though you say little, seem to think a great deal. You, too, -Voltaire, seem to think no less, though you do not open your lips." - -"Should not one naturally enough be curious about all that Frederick the -Great chooses to do?" replied Voltaire, who thus strained his -complaisance in order to get the king to talk. "Perhaps certain men have -no right to conceal anything, when their most indifferent word becomes a -precept, and their most trilling action an example." - -"My dear friend, you really gratify me. Who would not be pleased at the -praise of Voltaire? All this, however, did not keep you from laughing at -me during the half hour I was absent. Well, during that time you cannot -suppose I could go to the opera, where Porporina lives, and recite a -long madrigal, and return on foot, for on foot I was." - -"Bah, sire, the opera is hard by, and you have gained a battle in the -same time." - -"You are mistaken. A much longer time is necessary," said the king, -coldly; "ask Quintus Icilus. The marquis is so perfectly familiar with -actresses, that he can tell you more than an hour is necessary to -conquer them." - -"Ah, sire, that is as the case may be." - -"Yes, that is as the case may be: for your sake, though, I hope M'lle -Cochois has given you more trouble. However, gentlemen, I did not see La -Porporina during the night, having only spoken to her servant, and asked -about her." - -"You, sire!" said La Mettrie. - -"I went to take her a _flacon_, the good effects of which I have -personally tested, when I have had attacks of pain in the stomach, which -sometimes destroyed my consciousness. Well, you say nothing. You are all -amazed. You wish to praise my paternal and royal benevolence, but dare -not do so, because you think me ridiculous." - -"Sire, if you are in love, like other mortals, I have no objection," -said La Mettrie, "and see no occasion either for praise or blame." - -"Well, my good Panurge, if I must speak plainly, I am not at all in -love. I am a simple man, it is true, and have not the honor to be King -of France; consequently, the style of manners which are proper enough -for a great monarch, like Louis XV., would be unbecoming to myself, a -petty Marquis of Brandebourg. In managing my business, I have much -besides to attend to, and have not time to slumber in the bowers of -Cytherea." - -"Then I do not understand your anxiety about this little opera-singer," -said La Mettrie; "and I shall not be able to know what to think unless -this results from mere musical enthusiasm." - -"This being the case--know, my friends, that I am neither the lover, nor -wish to be, of Porporina--yet that I am much attached to her, because in -a matter too tedious to be told now, and before she knew me, she saved -my life. It was a strange affair, and I will tell you of it on some -other occasion. The night is now too far gone, and M. de Voltaire is -going to sleep. Let it suffice to know that if I am here, and not -elsewhere, as some good people wish, it is attributable to her. You know -now, that seeing her dangerously indisposed, I may go to see whether she -be dead or alive, and take a _flacon_ of _sthas_ to her, without your -having any reason to think me a Duke de Richelieu or De Lauzun. Well, -gentlemen adieu. Eight days ago I took off my boots, and in six more -must resume them. I pray God to take you in his holy charge, as we say -at the end of a letter." - -* * * * * * * * - -Just as the great clock of the palace struck twelve, the young and -worldly Abbess of Quedlimburgh was about to get into her bed of -rose-satin. Her first _femme de chambre_ placed her slippers on the -ermine carpet. The attendant suddenly began to tremble, and uttered a -cry. Some one tapped at the door of the princess's chamber. - -"Well, are you mad?" said the fair Amelia, half opening her curtain. -"Why look around and utter such a cry?" - -"Has not your royal highness heard some one knock?" - -"Well, go and see who it is." - -"Ah, madame, what living person would dare to knock at the door of your -royal highness, when it is known that you are in bed?" - -"No living person, you say? Then it is some one dead. Listen! some one -knocks again. Go, for you make me impatient." - -The _femme de chambre_, more dead than alive, went to the door, and -asked "Who is there?" - -"It is I, Baroness Von Kleist," replied a well known voice. "If the -princess be not yet asleep, say I have something very important to -communicate to her." - -"Well, be quick," said the princess. "Let her in, and leave us." - -As soon as the abbess and her favorite were alone, the latter sate at -the foot of her mistress's bed, and said, "Your royal highness was not -mistaken. The king is desperately in love with Porporina, but he is not -yet her lover. The young woman, therefore, has just now the most -unlimited influence over him." - -"How came you during the last hour to find out all this?" - -"Because, when I was undressing to go to bed, I made my _femme de -chambre_ talk to me, and learned from her that she had a sister in the -service of Porporina. Immediately I began to question her, and picked -out, as it were, with a needle's point, the fact that my woman had left -her sister's house just as the king visited Porporina." - -"Are you sure of that?" - -"My woman had seen the king distinctly as I see you. He even spoke to -her, taking her for her sister, who was in another room, attending to -her sick mistress, if the illness of the latter was not pretence. The -king inquired after Porporina's health with the greatest anxiety, and -stamped his feet with much chagrin when he learned that she continued to -weep. He did not ask to see her, lest he should annoy her, and having -left a very precious _flacon_ for her, and said if she remained unwell, -he would come at eleven o'clock on the next night." - -"Well, I hope all this may be so, yet I scarcely dare believe my ears. -Does your woman know the king's face?" - -"Every one knows a monarch who is always on horseback. Besides, a page -had preceded the king five minutes, to see if there was any one at her -house. During that time, the king, cloaked and wrapped up, waited, as he -is wont to do, at the end of the street." - -"Then, Von Kleist, the secret of this mystery and solicitude is love, or -I am mistaken. And have you come, in spite of the cold, to tell me this! -My dear friend, how good you are." - -"You may add, in spite of ghosts. Do you know that for several days -there has been a panic in the palace? My _chasseur_ trembled like an -idiot as he accompanied me through the passages." - -"What is the matter? Is the white lady come again?" - -"Yes. _The woman with the broom._"[5] - -"My dear Von Kleist, we are not playing the trick now. Our phantoms are -far away. God grant they may return!" - -"I thought at first that perhaps the king wished to play the ghost, for -now he has a good cause to desire all curious servants out of the -passages. What astonished me very much, however, was the fact that the -ghost does not appear near his rooms, nor on the road to Porporina's. -The spirits hover around your highness; and as I have nothing to do with -the matter, I will say I am not a little afraid." - -"What are you talking of, my dear. How can you, who I know so much, have -any faith in spectres?" - -"That is the reason why. It is said when they are counterfeited they -become offended, and do all they can to punish one." - -"Then they have been a long time about punishing us, for they have left -its unmolested more than a year. Bah! think no more of that, for we know -well enough what we must think of these souls in trouble. Beyond doubt -it was some page or subaltern, who comes in the night to ask the prayers -of my prettiest woman,--the old one, therefore, of whom nothing is -asked, is fearfully terrified. At first she did not wish to let you in. -Why should we talk of that, though, Von Kleist? We know the king's -secret, and must use it. How can we?" - -"We must win this Porporina before she becomes spoiled by favor." - -"Certainly. We must spare neither presents, promises, nor flattery. You -must go to her house to-morrow, and ask for music and Porpora's -autographs for me. She must have much unpublished music by the Italian -master. Promise that I will in return give her the manuscripts of -Sebastian Bach. I have many of them. We will commence by exchanges. Then -I will ask her to come and teach me the execution of her music. Let me -get her once into my house, and I will endeavor to secure and control -her." - -"I will go to-morrow morning, madame." - -"Good night, Von Kleist. Come, kiss me. You are my only friend. Go to -bed; and if you meet _the woman with the broom_ in the passage, look -closely, and see if there be no spurs on her heels." - - -[Footnote 3: The opera began earlier in Frederick's time than it does in -Europe at the present day. The king sate down to supper at ten o'clock.] - -[Footnote 4: It is well known that Voltaire was deeply wounded by -Frederick saying, "I keep him because I need him. In a year I will have -other things to do, and will get rid of him. I squeeze the orange, and -throw away the skin."] - -[Footnote 5: "La Balayeuse."] - - - - -CHAPTER IV - - -On the next day, Porporina awoke from a deep slumber, completely -overpowered, and found on her bed two things which her maid had just -placed there. One was a _flacon_ of rock crystal, with a gold stopper, -on which was engraved an "F." with a royal crown. The second was a -sealed package. The servant, on being questioned, said that the king had -come in person on the previous day to bring the _flacon._ When she heard -the circumstances of a visit which was so _naïve_ and respectful, -Porporina was much moved. - -"Strange man!" thought she. "How can so much mildness in private life be -reconciled with public sternness and despotism?" She fell at once into a -reverie, and gradually forgetting the king and thinking of herself, -retraced confusedly the events of the previous evening. She began to -weep. - -"What is the matter, signora?" said the maid, who was a kind soul, and -an indifferently diffuse talker. "Are you going to cry again, as you did -when you went to bed. This is enough to break one's heart; and the king, -who was at the door when he heard you, shook his head two or three -times, as if he was much distressed. Yet, signora, many would envy you. -The king does not court everybody. They say he courts no one, yet it is -very certain that he is in love with you." - -"In love? What do you say?" said Porporina, shuddering. "Never say such -an improper and absurd thing again. The king in love with me? Great -God!" - -"Well, signora, suppose he were?" - -"God grant he may not be! He, however, neither is nor will be. What roll -is this, Catharine?" - -"A servant brought it early in the morning." - -"Whose servant?" - -"A person picked up in the streets. At last, though, he told me he had -been employed by the servants of a certain Count of St. Germain, who -came hither yesterday." - -"Why did you ask the question?" - -"Because I wanted to know, signora." - -"That is frank, certainly. Now go." - -As soon as Porporina was alone, she opened the roll, which she found -contained a parchment, covered with strange and unintelligible -characters. She had heard much of the Count of Saint Germain, but did -not know him. She examined the manuscript carefully, and as she could -not understand it, and could not perceive why a person with whom she had -never had any acquaintance, should send her an enigma to unravel, she -fancied that he was mad. As she examined this document more closely, a -separate note fell out, and she read: "The Princess Amelia of Prussia -takes much interest in divination and in horoscopes. Give her this -parchment, and you will be certain to secure her protection and -friendship." To these lines there was no signature, the hand was -unknown, and the roll bore no address. She was amazed that the Count of -Saint Germain, to reach the Princess Amelia, had come to her, who had -never met her; and thinking that her servant had made some mistake, -began to fold it up, for the purpose of returning it. When she took up -the sheet of coarse paper, which had been around it, she observed there -was music printed on the other side. An old recollection recurred to -her; to look at one corner of the sheet for a mark, which had been -agreed on--to recognise the deep pencil lines--to see that the music was -a part of a piece which she had given away, as a token of remembrance, -eighteen months before--was but the work of an instant. The emotion -which she experienced at the remembrance of an absent and suffering -friend, made her forget her own sorrows. She was only anxious to know -what was to be done with the manuscript, and why she had been charged -with transmitting it to the princess. Was the object to secure for her -that personage's favor and protection? For that Porporina had neither -the want nor the desire. Was it for the purpose of establishing a -communication between the princess and the prisoner, which might be -useful to the latter? She hesitated. In her doubt she recollected the -proverb, "beware;" she then remembered that there were both good and bad -proverbs, some of which came to the aid of prudent selfishness and -others to bold devotion. She got up at once, saying to herself: - -"_When in doubt, act_, provided that you do not compromise yourself, and -have reason to hope that you can be useful to your friend and -fellow-being." - -Scarcely had she finished her toilette, which required some time, for -she was much enfeebled by the attack of the previous evening, (and while -tying up her beautiful dark hair,) she thought how she could best convey -the parchment to the princess, when a servant in an embroidered livery -came to ask if she was alone, and if she was willing to receive an -unknown lady, who wished to visit her. The young singer had often -repined at the manner in which at that time _artistes_ were subjected to -the great: she felt at first disposed to refuse the visit, and to say -that the singers of the theatre were with her. She remembered, though, -that this answer might offend the prudery of some ladies, but would have -the effect of making others more anxious to trespass on her. She, -therefore, consented to receive the visit, and the fair Von Kleist was -soon introduced. - -This lady was thoroughly used to society, and had determined to please -the singer, and make her forget all differences of rank. She was ill at -ease, however, because she had heard that Porporina was very haughty, -and Von Kleist had also excellent reasons to wish, for her own sake, to -penetrate her most hidden thoughts. Though young and inoffensive, there -was, at this moment, in the court-lady's mind and countenance, something -false and forced, which did not escape Porporina's attention. Curiosity -approximates so closely to perfidy, that it destroys the beauty of the -most perfect features. - -Porporina knew the face of her visitor perfectly well; and her first -movement when she saw a person who appeared every evening in the box of -the Princess Amelia, was to ask, under the pretext of necromancy, of -which she knew she was fond, an interview with the princess. Not daring, -however, to confide in a person who had the reputation of being both -imprudent and disposed to intrigues, she determined to let her lead the -conversation, and began to bring to bear on her the quiet penetration of -the defensive, which is so superior to the attacks of curiosity. - -At last, the ice was broken; and the lady having presented the -princess's request for music; the singer, concealing her satisfaction at -this happy chance, went to get many unedited arrangements. Then, with an -appearance as if suddenly inspired, she said, "I will be delighted, -madame, to place all my treasures at her highness's disposal; and would -feel honored were she to consent to receive me." - -"And do you, indeed," said Madame Von Kleist, "wish to speak to her -royal highness?" - -"Yes, madame," said Porporina. "I would throw myself at her feet, and -ask a favor which I am sure she would not refuse me. She is, they say, a -great musician, and must protect artists. I have also heard that she is -good as she is beautiful. I hope, then, if she deign to hear me, that -she will aid me in obtaining from his majesty the recall of my master, -who having been invited to Berlin, with the king's consent, was, when he -reached the frontier, driven away, in consequence of a defect in his -passport. Since then, in spite of the king's promises and assurances, I -have been unable to bring this affair to an end. I dare no longer annoy -the king with a request in which he takes but little interest, I am -sure, for he always forgets it. But, if the princess would deign to say -a word to the officers to whom such matters belong, I will have the -happiness of being again with my adoptive father, the only friend I have -in the world." - -"What you say amazes me greatly," remarked Von Kleist. "What! the -beautiful Porporina, whom I thought exerted an all-powerful influence -over the king's mind, is obliged, forced, to obtain elsewhere a favor -which seems so simple. Suffer me to conclude from these circumstances, -that his majesty expects to find in your adoptive father, too vigilant a -surveillance, or some counsel which will be of too much influence -against his wishes." - -"I strive in vain, madame, to understand what you honor me by saying," -said Porporina, with a gravity which entirely disconcerted the baroness. - -"Then, apparently, I have mistaken the extreme benevolence and limitless -admiration which the king professes for the greatest of living singers." - -"Does it become the dignity of the Baroness von Kleist to ridicule a -poor _artiste_, like myself, without any influence, and perfectly -inoffensive?" - -"I ridicule!--who would think of ridiculing so angelic a being as you -are? You are ignorant, signora, of your merit, and your candor fills me -with surprise and admiration. Listen to me: I am sure that you will make -a conquest of the princess. She always acts from the impulse of the -moment, and it is only necessary for you to meet her, to take as perfect -possession of her with your person as you have with your mind." - -"It has, on the contrary, been said that her royal highness has always -been severe in relation to me; and that, unfortunately, my poor face -displeased her, and also, that she was much dissatisfied with my method -of singing." - -"Who on earth can have told you such falsehoods?" - -"If any have been told, the king is guilty," said the young girl, with -a slight tone of malice. - -"It was a snare--a test of your modesty and gentleness," said the -baroness, "as though I intend to prove to you that being a simple -mortal, I have no right to be false, like a mighty and ill-tempered -king, I wish to take you at once to the princess, that you may give her -the music in person." - -"And do you think, madame, that she will receive me kindly?" - -"Will you trust me?" - -"Yet, if you be mistaken, on whom will the humiliation fall?" - -"On me alone: I authorise you to say everywhere, that I am proud of the -princess's friendship, and that she entertains both esteem and deference -for me." - -"I will go with you, madame," said Consuelo, ringing for her mantle and -muff. "My toilette is very simple, but you have entirely surprised me." - -"You are perfectly charming, and will find the princess in a yet more -simple toilette.--Come." - -Porporina put the mysterious roll in her pocket, filled the carriage of -the baroness with music, and followed her resolutely. - -"For a man who risked his life for me," thought she, "I might run the -risk of waiting in vain in the antechamber of a princess." - -Having been introduced into a dressing-room she waited for five minutes, -during which the abbess and her confidant exchanged these few words in -the next room. - -"Madame, I have brought her. She is there." - -"So soon? You are an admirable ambassadress. How must I receive her? -What sort of person is she?" - -"Reserved, prudent, or simple. She is either intensely artful, or -strangely simple." - -"Oh! we will see," said the princess, the eyes of whom glittered with -the influence of a mind used to penetration and distrust. "Let her come -in." - -During her short stay in the dressing-room, Porporina saw the strangest -array of furniture which ever decorated the boudoir of a beautiful -princess: spheres, compasses, astrolabes, astrological charts, vials -filled with nameless mixtures and deaths-heads--in fine, all the -materials of sorcery. "My friend is not mistaken," said she, "and the -public knows all about the secrets of the king's sister. She does not -even seem to conceal them, as she suffers me to see all this -apparatus.--Well--courage!" - -The Abbess of Quedlimburgh was then twenty-eight or thirty years of age. -She had been beautiful as an angel, and yet was when seen by candlelight -at a distance. When she was close to her, however, Porporina was amazed -to find her face wrinkled and covered with blotches. Her blue eyes, -which had been beautiful as possible, now had a red rim around them, -like those of a person who had been weeping, and had an evil glare and -deep transparency, not calculated to inspire confidence. She had been -adored by her family and by all the court, and for a long time had been -the most affable, the most joyous and benevolent king's daughter ever -described in the romances of royal personages, of the old patrician -literature. During the few last years, however, her character had -changed as much as her person had. She had attacks of ill-humor, and -even something worse, which made her like Frederick in his worst point -of view; without seeking to resemble him, and even while in secret she -criticised him severely, she was irresistibly led to contract all the -faults she censured in him, and to become an imperious and absolute -mistress, a skeptical, bitter, learned and disdainful person. Yet, amid -these fearful characteristics, which every day look fatal possession of -her, there was yet seen to pierce a native kindness, a correct mind, a -courageous soul, and passionate heart. What then was passing in the mind -of this unfortunate princess? A terrible cause of suffering devoured -her, which she was yet forced to conceal in her heart, and which she hid -from the eyes of the curious, malicious, or careless world, under the -disguise of a stoical and joyous bearing. By means, therefore, of -dissimulation and constraint, she had unfolded in herself two different -beings, one which she dared reveal to scarcely any one, and the other -which she exhibited with a kind of hatred and despair. All observed that -in conversation she was become more keen and animated: this uneasy and -forced gaiety, though, was painful to the observer, and its icy and -chilling effect cannot be described. Successively excited, almost to -puerility, and stern even to cruelty, she astonished both others and -herself. Torrents of tears extinguished the fire of her anger, and then -a savage irony, an impious disdain, snatched her from those moments of -salutary depression, she was permitted neither to feel nor to know. - -The first thing that Porporina observed, when she met her, was this kind -of duality. The princess had two aspects and two faces: the one was -caressing, the other menacing: two voices, one soft and harmonious, -which seemed to have been vouchsafed her by heaven that she might sing -like an angel, and the other hoarse and stern, apparently coming from a -burning heart, animated by some devilish inspiration. Our heroine, -surprised at so strange a being, divided between fear and sympathy, -asked herself if an evil genius was about to take possession of her. - -The princess, too, found Porporina a far more formidable person than she -had imagined. She had hoped that, without her theatrical garb and the -paint which makes women so very ugly, whatever people please to say -about it, she would justify what the Baroness von Kleist had said--that -she was rather ugly than beautiful. Her clear dark complexion, so -uniform and pure; her powerful and dark eyes; her fresh mouth; her suple -form; her natural and easy movements--the array of all the qualities of -an honest, kind and calm being, or, at least, of one possessed of that -internal power conferred by justice and true wisdom, filled the uneasy -Amelia with a species of respect, and even of shame, as if she knew -herself in the presence of a person of unimpeachable loyalty. - -Her efforts to hide how ill at ease she was were remarked by the young -girl, who, as we may conceive, was amazed to see so great a princess -intimidated before her. She began, then, to revive the failing -conversation, to open a piece of the music into which she had placed the -cabalistic letter, and arranged it so that the great sheet covered with -large characters, should meet the princess's eye. As soon as the effect -was produced, she pretended to wish to withdraw the sheet, just as if -she had been surprised at its being there. The abbess took possession of -it immediately, however, saying-- - -"What is the meaning of this signora? For Heaven's sake, whence had you -it?" - -"If I must own all to your highness," said Porporina, significantly, "it -is an astrological calculation I have been intending to present, when it -shall be your highness's wish to question me about a matter to which I -am not entirely a stranger." - -The princess fixed her burning eyes on the singer, glanced at the magic -characters, ran to the embrasure of a window, and, having examined the -scroll for a time, uttered a loud cry, and fell almost suffocated into -the arms of the Baroness von Kleist, who, when she saw her tremble, had -hurried to her. - -"Leave the room, signora," said the favorite, precipitately. "Go into -that cabinet, and say nothing. Call no one. Do you understand?" - -"No, no; she must not go!" said the princess, faintly. "Let her come -hither--here, near me. Ah! my friend," said she, "how great a service -you have rendered me!" - -Clasping Porporina in her thin white arms, which were animated with a -convulsive power, the princess pressed her to her heart, and covered her -cheeks with eager burning kisses, which flushed her cheek and terrified -her heart. - -"Certainly people become mad in this country," thought she. "I have -often feared this would be the case with me, and I see more important -personages than I am run the same risk. There is madness in the air!" - -"The princess at last loosened her neck to clasp her favorite's, crying -and weeping, and shouting in the strongest voice;-- - -"Saved! saved!--my friends!--my kind friends! Trenck has escaped from -the fortress of Glatz! He escapes! He is yet--yet at liberty!" - -The poor princess had an attack of convulsive laughter, interrupted by -sobs, terrible to see and hear. - -"Madame! for heaven's sake!" said the baroness, "restrain your joy! Take -care lest you be heard!" - -Taking up the pretended magic scroll, which was nothing but a letter in -cypher from Trenck, she aided her mistress in reading it, in spite of a -thousand interruptions of forced and feverish laughter. - - - -Transcriber's Note: - -Chapter V of the French edition begins here. The translator combined -Chapters IV and V with the chapter heading for Chapter V omitted. - - - - -"To reduce--thanks to the means which my incomparable mistress has -provided for me--the subalterns of the garrison; to effect an -understanding with a prisoner as fond of liberty as I am; to give a -violent blow to one keeper, a kick to another, and a sword cut to a -third; to leap over the rampart, throwing my friend, who did not run as -fast as I did, before me (he sprained his ankle as he fell); to pick him -up and run thus for fifteen minutes; to cross the Weiss, the water -coming up to my waist, through a fog so thick that no one could see -beyond his nose; to start from the other bank and travel all night--such -a terrible night! to get lost; to go in the snow all around a mountain, -without having an idea where I was; to hear the clock of the castle of -Glatz strike four--that is to say, to lose time and trouble and see the -city walls at dawn; to resume courage to enter a peasant's hut and, with -a pistol at his head, get possession of two horses and ride rapidly -away;--to regain liberty by a thousand _ruses_, a thousand terrors and -sufferings--and then to find oneself without money or clothing, and -almost without bread, in an intensely cold and a foreign country: but to -see oneself free, after having been doomed to a terrible and fearful -captivity; to think of one's adorable mistress; to say that this news -will fill her with joy; to make a thousand bold and daring plans to see -her--is to be happier than Frederick of Prussia--to be the happiest of -men--the elect of Providence!" - -Such was the tenor of the letter of Frederick von Trenck to the Princess -Amelia; and the ease with which Madame von Kleist read it proved to -Porporina, who was much surprised and moved, that this correspondence in -cypher was very familiar to them. There was a postscript to this -effect:-- - -"The person who will give you this letter is as trustworthy as the -others were not. You may confide in her without reserve, and give her -all your letters for me. The Count de Saint Germain can contrive a means -to enable her to send them, though it is altogether unnecessary that the -said count, in whom I have not the fullest confidence, should ever hear -of you. He will think me in love with Porporina, though such is not the -case, for I have not entertained for her anything but an affectionate -and pure friendship. Let no cloud, then, darken the beautiful brow of -_the divinity I adore._ For her alone do I breathe, and I would rather -die than deceive her." - -While the Baroness von Kleist deciphered aloud this postscript, weighing -each word, the Princess Amelia examined the features of Porporina -carefully, for the purpose of discovering an expression of grief, -humiliation, or mortification. The angelic serenity of this creature -perfectly reassured her, and she began to overwhelm her with caresses, -saying-- - -"And I suspected you, my poor child. You do not know how jealous I have -been of you, and how I have hated and cursed you. I hoped to find you an -ugly and bad actress, for the very reason that I was afraid you would be -too beautiful and good. This was the reason that my brother, fearing -that I would be acquainted with you, though he pretended to wish to -bring you to my concerts, took care to let me hear a report that at -Vienna you had been Trenck's mistress. He was well aware that in that -manner he would best contrive to alienate me from you. I believed all -this, while you devoted yourself to the greatest dangers to bring me -this happy news. You do not love the king? Ah! you are frightened: he is -the most perverse and cruel of men." - -"Ah! madame!--madame!" said the Baroness von Kleist, terrified at the -abandoned and mad volubility with which the princess spoke before -Porporina, "to what dangers you would now expose yourself, were not the -signora an angel of courage and devotion!" - -"That is true. I am mad! I think I have lost my head! Shut the doors, -Von Kleist, and see if any one in the antechamber has heard me. As for -her," said the princess, pointing to Porporina, "look and see if it be -possible to suspect such a face as hers? No, no; I am not so imprudent -as I seem to be, dear Porporina. Do not think I speak frankly because I -am crazed, and will repent when I am calm. I have an infallible -instinct, you see. My eyes are infallible, and have never deceived me. -This is a family peculiarity; and though my brother the king is vain of -it, he possesses it in no higher degree than I do. No; you will not -deceive me. I know you will not deceive a woman who is devoured by an -unfortunate passion, and has suffered what people can form no idea of." - -"Oh, madame, never!" said Porporina, and she knelt before her, as if to -call God to witness her oath. "Neither you nor Trenck, who saved my -life, nor any one else." - -"He saved your life? Ah! I am sure he has done as much for many others, -he is so brave, good, and handsome. You did not look very closely at -him, otherwise you would have fallen in love. Is not this the case? You -will tell me how you met him, and how he saved your life. Not now, -however. I cannot listen, but must speak to you, for my heart is -overflowing. Long since it has been drying up in my bosom. I wish to -speak--I must speak--let me alone, Von Kleist--my joy must find an -utterance or my heart will burst. Shut the doors, however, and watch. -Take care of me--pity me, my poor friends, for I am very happy!" The -princess wept. - -"You must know," said she, after the lapse of a few minutes, her voice -being half-stifled by tears, with an agitation which nothing could calm, -"that from the first time I saw I was pleased with him. He was then -eighteen years of age and beautiful as an angel. He was so well -educated, so frank and so brave. They washed to marry me to the king of -Sweden. Ah! yes; and my sister Ulrica wept with mortification when she -saw I was about to become a queen, while she was unmarried. 'My dear -sister,' said I, 'we can arrange matters. The great men who rule over -Sweden, wish a Catholic queen, and I will make no abjuration. They wish -a good queen, indolent, calm, and careless of all politics. Now, were I -queen, I would reign. I shall express my opinion decidedly on these -points to the ambassadors, and you will see that to-morrow they will -write to their prince that I am not such a queen as Sweden needs.' I -acted as I said I would, and my sister is queen of Sweden. Ah! -Porporina, you think you are an actress. You do not know, however, what -it is to play a part all one's life, morning, day, evening, and often by -night. All who surround us, are busy in watching and spying us out, in -guessing at and in betraying us. I have been forced to seem sad and -mortified, when by my exertions my sister sprang into the throne of -Sweden. I have been forced to seem to detest Trenck, to think him -ridiculous, and to laugh at him. Yet all the time, I loved and adored -him. I was his mistress, and was as much stifled with happiness as I am -now--far more so, alas!--Trenck, however, had not my strength and -courage. He was not of a princely house, and did not know how to feign -and lie as I did. The king discovered all; and following the royal rule, -pretended to see nothing. He persecuted Trenck, however, and the -handsome page became the victim of his hatred and fury. He overwhelmed -him by severity and hardship. He kept him in arrest seven days out of -every eight. On the eighth day, however, he was in my arms, for nothing -terrified or alarmed him. How could I not adore so much courage? Well, -the king confided a foreign mission to him, and when he had discharged -it with rare skill, my brother was base enough to accuse him of having -sold basely to his cousin, the Pandour, who is in the service of Maria -Theresa, plans of our fortifications and warlike plans. This was a means -not only to bear him from me into endless captivity, but to disgrace and -murder him by chagrin, despair, and rage, amid the horrors of a dungeon. -See whether I can esteem or honor my brother. He is a great man, they -say, but I tell you he is a monster. Take care, my child, how you love -him, for he will crush your heart as he would snap a twig. You must, -however, pretend--seem to do so. In such an atmosphere as that in which -you live, you must breathe in secret. I seem to adore my brother--I am -his best-beloved sister--all know or think they know. He is very -attentive to me, gathering fruit for me from the espaliers of _Sans -Souci_, depriving himself, and he loves nothing else, to gratify me. -Before he gives them to the page to bring, he counts them lest the lad -should eat a portion on the way. What a delicate attention! It is -_naïveté_ worthy of Henry IV. or King René. He, however, murders my -lover in an underground dungeon, and seeks to dishonor him in my eyes as -a punishment for having loved me. What a great heart! what a kind -brother! How we love each other!" - -As she spoke, the princess grew pale, her voice became feeble, her eyes -became fixed and ready to start from their orbits, and she became livid -and motionless, She was unconscious. Porporina was much terrified, and -aided the baroness to unlace and put her to bed, where she gradually -recovered her senses, continuing the while to murmur unintelligible -words. "The attack will soon pass away, thank heaven," said the favorite -to the singer. "When she can control herself I will call her women. You, -my dear, must go into the music-room, and sing to the walls, or rather -to the antechamber's ears. The king will certainly know that you are -here, and you must seem to be occupied by music alone. The princess will -be sick, and thus will hide her joy. Neither she nor you must seem to be -aware of the escape of Trenck. It is certain that the king is now aware -of it, and will be in a terrible bad humor, suspecting every one. Be -careful, then. You as well as I will be lost, if he discover that you -gave that letter to the princess. Women as well as men are sent to -fortresses in Prussia. There they are intentionally forgotten, and die -as men do. You are now on your guard, adieu. Sing, and go without noise -and without mystery. Eight days, at least, will pass before we see you, -lest there be any suspicions. Rely on the gratitude of the princess. She -is nobly liberal, and knows how to reward those who have served her." - -"Alas!" madame, said Porporina, "think you that promises or menaces are -heeded by me? I pity you for having entertained such an idea." - -Crushed with fatigue after the violent emotions she had undergone, and -not yet recovered from the illness of the day before, Porporina sat down -to the instrument, and was beginning to sing, when a door was opened -behind her so softly that she did not perceive it. Suddenly, she saw in -the glass before her the figure of the king. She trembled, and wished to -leave, but the king placed one of his dry fingers on her shoulder, -forced her to sit still and continue. With much repugnance and -indisposition, she continued. She never felt less disposed to sing, and -on no occasion had the appearance of Frederick seemed so icy and -repugnant to musical inspiration. - -When she had finished the piece, he said it was admirably sung. She had, -however, remarked that he had gone on tiptoe and listened at his -sister's chamber door. "I observe, with distress," added he, "that your -beautiful voice is much changed this morning. You should have rested, -instead of yielding to the strange whim of Amelia, and coming hither, -after all, not to be listened to." - -"Her royal highness became suddenly indisposed," said Porporina, -terrified at the dark and thoughtful air of the king. "They told me to -sing, to distract her attention." - -"I assure you it is labor lost," said Frederick, drily. "She chats in -there with the Baroness von Kleist, just as if nothing was the matter. -As that is the case, we may also chat together without attending to -them. The illness of the princess is not great. I think your sex are -easily cured of diseases of this kind. You were thought dead, yesterday, -and none certainly suspected that you would have been here this morning -to divert and amuse my sister. Will you be kind enough to tell me why -you came so unexpectedly to this place?" - -Porporina was amazed at this question, and asked heaven to inspire her. - -"Sire," said she, boldly as she could, "I can scarcely do so. I was -asked this morning for this music. I thought it my duty to bring it in -person. I expected to place the books in the antechamber and return as -soon as I could. The Baroness von Kleist saw me, and mentioned the fact -to her royal highness, who apparently wished to see me closely. I was -forced to come in. Her highness deigned to question me about the style -of various musical compositions: then feeling indisposed, she bade me -sing this while she went to bed. Now, I think I may be permitted to go -to rehearsal." - -"It is not time yet." said the king. "I do not see why your feet should -step to run away when I wish to speak with you." - -"The reason is, that when with your majesty, I always feel as if I were -not in my sphere." - -"You have no common sense." - -"That is yet another reason." - -"You will remain," said he, forcing her to sit down to the piano, and -placing himself in front of her. He then began to examine her, with an -air half inquisitorial and half paternal. - -"Is what you have said true?" - -Porporina overcame the horror she entertained for falsehood. She had -often said that for her own sake she would be sincere with this terrible -man, but that she would not hesitate to tell an untruth if the safety of -others were concerned. Unexpectedly she had reached this crisis, when -her master's kindness might change into fury. She would willingly have -run the risk of the latter, rather than be false. The fate of Trenck and -the princess, however, depended on her presence of mind and -determination. She called the arts of her profession to her aid, and -with a malicious smile met the eagle eye of the king, which, at that -moment glared like a vulture's. - -"Well," said the king, "why do you not answer me?" - -"Why does your majesty seek to terrify me by doubting what I have said?" - -"You are not at all afraid. On the contrary, I find your glance today -hardy indeed." - -"Sire, we fear only the things we hate. Why do you wish me to fear you?" - -Frederick erected all the scales of his crocodile armor, to avoid being -moved by this reply, the most coquettish he had ever obtained from -Porporina. He at once changed his intention: a great art it is to do so, -and far more difficult than people usually think. - -"Why did you faint yesterday at the theatre?" - -"Sire, it is of the least possible interest to your majesty. It is my -own secret." - -"What had you at breakfast this morning, which makes you so unconcerned -in your language?" - -"I had recourse to a certain flacon, which filled me with confidence in -the kindness and justice of him who brought it." - -"Ah! you considered that a declaration," said the king in the most icy -manner and with a smile of cynical disdain. - -"Thank God! I did not," said the young girl, with an expression of -sincere sorrow. - -"Why thank God?" - -"Because I know your majesty makes none but declarations of war even to -women." - -"You are neither the Czarina, nor Maria Theresa: what war can I wage on -you?" - -"That of the lion on the wasp." - -"What wasp induces you to quote such a fable? The wasp killed the lion -by stinging him to death." - -"It was certainly a poor, bad-tempered lion, and consequently weak. I -should not have thought of that apologue." - -"But the wasp was angry and fond of stinging. Perhaps the apologue is -_apropos?_" - -"Does your majesty think so?" - -"Yes." - -"Sire, you say what is not true." - -Frederick took the young girl's wrist and pressed it convulsively, until -he had nearly crushed it. This strange act was caused both by anger and -love. Porporina did not change her countenance, and the king said, as he -looked at her red and swollen hand: - -"You are a woman of courage." - -"Not so, sire: but I do not, like those around you, pretend to be a -coward." - -"What mean you?" - -"That to avoid death, people often kill themselves. Were I in your -place, I would not wish to be so terrible." - -"With whom are you in love?" said the king, again changing the subject. - -"With no one, sire." - -"Then, why have you nervous attacks?" - -"That has nothing to do with the fate of Prussia, and for that reason -the king need ask no questions." - -"Think you it is the king who speaks?" - -"I cannot forget." - -"Yet you must make up your mind to do so. You did not save the king's -life, signorina." - -"I have not yet seen the Baron von Kreutz." - -"Is that a reproach? It is unjust. Not the king but the Baron von Kreutz -enquired after your health, yesterday." - -"The distinction, baron, is too subtle for me." - -"Well, try and learn. Look: when I put my hat on my head thus, a little -to the left, I am a captain; when I place it thus, to the right, I am -king. You will, as the case may be, appear either Porporina or -Consuelo." - -"I understand, sire. That, however, is impossible. Your majesty may be -double, if you please, be triple, or hundred fold, I can be but one." - -"That is not true. You would not speak to me at the theatre, among your -companions, as you do here." - -"Do not be too sure, sire." - -"Ah! the devil is in you to-day." - -"The reason is, that your majesty's hat is neither to the left nor to -the right. I do not know to whom I speak." - -The king, overcome by the attraction, which at this moment especially he -felt towards Porporina, placed his hat so extremely on his left side, -that his face became really comic in its expression. He wished to play -the simple mortal and the king, in an hour of relaxation, as well as -possible. Suddenly, however, he remembered that he had come, not for -amusement, but to discover the secrets of the Abbess of Quedlimburgh, -and took off his hat with an air of deep chagrin. The smile died on his -lips, his brow became dark, and he rose up, saying to the young girl, -"Remain here, I will come for you." He then went into the Princess's -room, who waited tremblingly for him. The Baroness von Kleist, seeing -that he was talking with Porporina, had not dared to leave the bed of -the Princess. She had made vain efforts to hear this conversation, but -in consequence of the size of the room, had not heard a single word. She -was more dead than alive. - -Porporina also trembled at what was about to take place. Ordinarily -grave and respectful to the king, she had done violence to her habits -for the purpose of amusing him, and adopted the most coquettish -frankness in her replies to the dangerous questions she had asked. -Frederick, however, was not the man to give up his point, and the -efforts of the young girl gave way before the despot's determination. -She recommended the Princess Amelia to God's mercy, for she was well -aware that the king forced her to remain to confront her explanations -with those he was listening to in the next room. She had the less doubt -from the careful manner with which he closed the door after he had -passed it. For a quarter of an hour, she was in the most painful -excitement, troubled with fever, terrified at the intrigue with which -she was enwrapped, and dissatisfied with the part she had been forced to -play, recalling at the time with terror the insinuations she began to -hear from all quarters, at the possibility of the king's love, which she -compared with the agitation the king had displayed by his strange -manners. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - - -But oh, my God! can the shrewdest dominican who ever discharged the -functions of grand inquisitor, contend with the wit of three women, when -love, fear and friendship inspire them equally. In vain did Frederick -adopt every manner, by caressing amiability, and by provoking sneers, by -unexpected questions, by feigned indifference, and oblique threats. He -detected nothing. The explanation of the presence of Consuelo in the -apartments of the princess was absolutely in accordance, as Madame von -Kleist and the abbess accounted for it, with that so fortunately -improvised by Porporina. It was the most natural and probable. Trusting -to chance is the best thing one can do. Chance is mute, and cannot -contradict you. - -Weary of war, the king yielded, or changed his tactics. He said at -once-- - -"But I have forgotten, Porporina is in there. My dear sister, since you -are better, let her come in. Her chat will amuse you." - -"I wish to sleep," said the princess, who feared some snare. - -"Well, wish her good bye, and dismiss her yourself." As he spoke, the -king preceded the baroness, opened the door, and called Porporina. -Instead, however, of bidding her adieu, he brought about a dissertation -on German and Italian music. When that subject was exhausted, he said -suddenly-- - -"Ah, Signora Porporina, I forgot to tell you something which certainly -will please you. Your friend, the Baron von Trenck, is no longer a -prisoner." - -"What Trenck, sire?" asked the young girl, with an artfully imitative -candor. "I know two, and both are prisoners." - -"Ah! Trenck, the Pandour, will die at Spelberg. Trenck, the Prussian, -has gotten possession of the key of the fields." - -"Well, sire," said Porporina, "for my part, I thank your majesty for -this just and generous act." - -"Thank you for the compliment, signora! What think you of the matter, my -dear sister." - -"Of whom are you talking now?" said the princess. "I was going to sleep, -and did not hear you." - -"I speak of your _protegé_, the handsome Trenck, who escaped over the -walls of Glatz." - -"Ah, he was right," said Amelia, with great coolness. - -"He was wrong," said the king. "An examination of his case was about to -be made, and he might perhaps have been able to prove himself innocent -of the charges which rest on him. His flight is a confession of his -crime." - -"If that be so," said Amelia, "I give him up." She maintained her -calmness. - -"Porporina would persist in his defence," said Frederick. "I see it in -her eyes." - -"The reason is, that I cannot believe in his guilt," said she. - -"Especially when the traitor is a handsome young fellow. Do you know, -sister, that the signora is very intimate with Trenck?" - -"I wish her joy," said Amelia, coldly. "If he be a dishonored man, I -advise her to forget him. Now I wish you good day, signora, for I am -much fatigued. I hope you will, in the course of a few days, come to see -me again, to read this music. It seems to me very beautiful." - -"You have then resumed your taste for music?" said the king. "I thought -you had entirely abandoned it." - -"I am anxious to resume it, and I hope, brother, that you will aid me in -doing so. I am told you have made great progress, and now you will -instruct me." - -"We will now take them together from the signora. I will bring her." - -"Well. That will be very pleasant to me." - -The baroness took Porporina into the ante-chamber, and the latter soon -found herself alone in one of the long corridors, without knowing -whither to direct her steps to get out of the palace, for she did not -remember how she had gotten into it. - -The household of the king was as economical as possible, if we do not -use a harsher word, and very few servants were to be met with in the -palace. Porporina met no one from whom she could inquire, and wandered -at hazard through the vast pile. - -Reflecting on what had passed, overpowered by fatigue, and having fasted -since the previous day, and feeling much debilitated--as often happens -on such occasions--an unhealthy excitement sustained her physical -powers. Wandering at hazard, and more rapidly than if she had been well, -pursued by a personal idea, which, since the previous day had clung -around her, she completely forgot where she was, went astray, crossed -the galleries, the courts, retraced her steps, went up and down -staircases, met various persons, forgot to ask her way, and at last -found herself at the door of a vast hall, filled with divers confused -objects, at the threshold of which a grave and polished person bowed to -her with much courtesy, and invited her to enter. - -Porporina recognised the learned academician, Stoss, keeper of the -cabinet of curiosities and of the castle library. He had often come to -ask her to try precious manuscripts of Protestant music, of the early -days of the Reformation, treasures of caligraphy, with which he had -enriched the royal collection. When he learned that she sought to leave -the castle, he offered at once to accompany her home, but begged her to -glance around the room which contained the treasures committed to his -charge, of which he was very proud. She could not refuse, and at once -took his arm. - -Easily amused, as all artists are, she soon took more interest than she -had felt disposed to, and her attention was entirely absorbed by an -article pointed out by the learned professor. - -"This drum, which at first does not seem at all peculiar, and which, I -am inclined to think, is an apocryphal monument, now enjoys the greatest -celebrity. It is certain that the sonorous portion of this instrument is -the human skin, as you may observe by the appearance of the marks of the -nipples. This trophy, which was taken from Prague, by his majesty, at -the termination of the late glorious war, is, they say, the skin of John -Ziska, of the Cup, the famous chief of the great rebellion of the -Hussites in the fifteenth century. It is said that he bequeathed this -relic to his brothers in arms, promising that victory would be where it -was. The Bohemians say, the sound of this terrible drum put their -enemies to flight, that it evoked the shadows of their dead chiefs to -fight for the holy cause, and a thousand other prodigies. -Notwithstanding, however, the illumination of the brilliant age of -reason in which we live, condemns all such superstitions to contempt. M. -d'Enfant, preacher to her majesty the queen mother, and author of an -admirable history of the Hussites, affirms that John Ziska was buried -with his skin, and consequently--It seems to me, signora, that you grow -pale. Do you feel indisposed, or does the sight of this strange object -offend you? This Ziska was a great criminal, and a ferocious rebel." - -"Possibly, sir," said Porporina. "I have lived in Bohemia, and have -heard he was a very great man. His memory is yet as much revered as was -Louis XIV. in France. He is looked on as the savior of his country." - -"Alas! that country was badly saved," said M. Stoss, with a smile, "and -were I even now to beat on the sonorous breast of its liberator, I could -not evoke even his spirit, shamefully captive in the palace of the -conqueror of his sons." As he spoke thus pedantically, the admirable -Herr Stoss tapped the drum with his lingers, and the instrument produced -a harsh, sinister sound, like that of those instruments when they are -beaten in the dead march. The wise keeper was suddenly interrupted in -this profane amusement by a piercing cry of Porporina, who cast herself -in his arms, and placed her face on his shoulder, like a child terrified -at some strange object. - -The grave Herr Stoss looked around to discover the cause of this sudden -terror, and saw at the door of the room a person for whom he entertained -no sentiment but disdain. He would have waved his hand for the person to -withdraw, but it had passed away before Porporina, who held on to him, -allowed him liberty of motion. - -"Indeed, signora," said he, leading her to a chair, in which she sank, -trembling and overpowered, "I cannot understand what is the matter with -you. I have seen nothing which should cause such emotion as you seem to -feel." - -"You have seen nothing? You have seen no one?" said Porporina, with a -voice overpowered with excitement. "There, at that door, did you not see -a man pause and look at me with terrible expression?" - -"I saw distinctly enough a man who often wanders in the castle, and who -would willingly assume the frightful air you speak of. I own, however, -that he alarms me but very slightly, for I am not one of his dupes." - -"You saw him? Ah, sir! then he was really there! I did not dream! My -God! what may that mean!" - -"That by virtue of the special protection of our amiable and august -princess, who rather laughs at his folly than believes in it, he has -come into the castle, and gone to the apartments of her royal highness." - -"But who is he? What is his name?" - -"Are you ignorant of it? Why, then, were you afraid?" - -"For heaven's sake tell me who he is?" - -"But----That is Trismagistus, the sorcerer of the Princess Amelia! He is -one of those charlatans whose business it is to predict the future, -reveal hidden treasures, make gold, and who have a thousand other -talents which, previous to the glorious reign of Frederick the Great, -were much the fashion. You have heard it said, signora, that the Abbess -of Quedlimburgh had a passion for them?" - -"Yes, yes, monsieur. I know that from curiosity she studies magic." - -"Oh, certainly. How can we suppose that a princess so enlightened and -educated can be really interested in such extravagances?" - -"But, sir, do you know this man?" - -"Oh, for a long time. During the last four years, we have seen him here -every six or eight months. As he is very peaceable, and is never -involved in intrigues, his majesty, who is unwilling to deprive his -dearest sister of any innocent amusement, tolerates his presence in the -city, and even permits him free ingress into the palace. He does not -abuse it, and does not exercise his pretended science in this country -for any person but her highness. M. de Golowin protects and is -responsible for him. That is all I can say about him. Why, signora, have -you so much interest in him?" - -"All this does not at all interest me; and that you may not think me -mad, I must tell you that man bears a striking resemblance to a person -who was and is dear to me. I may be in error, however. Death does not -sunder the bonds of affection, sir. Do you not think so?" - -"The sentiment you express, Signora Porporina, is noble, and worthy of a -person of your merit. You are, however, very much excited, and can -scarcely maintain yourself on your feet. Permit me to accompany you -home." - -When she got home, Porporina went to bed, and remained for several days -tormented by fever and great nervous excitement. At the expiration of -that time she received a note from Madame von Kleist, who asked her to -come at eight in the evening to her, when there was to be music. The -music was a mere pretext to get her again into the palace. They went by -dark passages to the princess's rooms, and they found her in a charming -dress, though her apartment was scarcely lighted, and all the persons -who belonged to her service had been dismissed, under the pretext of -indisposition. She received Porporina with a thousand caresses, and, -passing her arm familiarly through hers, led her to a pretty circular -room, lighted up with fifty lights, in which a delicious supper was -tastefully served. The French _rococo_ at that time had not been -introduced into the Prussian court. There was at that time an -affectation of deep contempt for the court of France, and all sought to -imitate the traditions of Louis XIV., for whom Frederick, who secretly -aped him, professed the most boundless admiration. The Princess Amelia, -however, was dressed in the latest fashion, and though more chastely -dressed than Madame de Pompadour, was not less brilliantly. The Baroness -von Kleist was also dressed as brilliantly as possible, though the table -was set with only three covers, and was without a single servant! - -"You are amazed at our little _fête_," said the princess, laughing. -"Well, you will be yet more so, when you know that we three will sup -together and will serve ourselves, as Von Kleist and I have already -prepared everything. We set the table, lit the candles, and never were -so amused. For the first time in my life, I dressed my hair and made my -toilet, and it was never done better, at least in my opinion. We are -going to amuse ourselves incognito. The king sleeps at Potsdam, the -queen is at Charlottembourg, my sisters are with the queen mother at -Montbijou, my brothers are I know not where, and none but ourselves are -in the palace. I voted myself sick, and resolved to make use of the -opportunity to live a little, and _fête_ you two (the only persons whom -I can trust) on the escape of Trenck. We will, then, drink champagne to -his health, and one of us must get tipsy. The others can keep the -secret. Ah! the philosophic suppers of Frederick will be eclipsed by the -splendor of this one!" - -They sat down, and the princess appeared under a new aspect to the -Porporina. She was good, kind, natural, joyous, beautiful as an angel, -and, in a word, adorable as she had been in the first days of her youth. -She seemed to float in pure, generous, disinterested bliss. Her lover -was flying from her, she knew not if she would ever see him, yet this -radiant being rejoiced at his flight. - -"Ah! how happy I am between you," said she to her confidants, who formed -with herself the most perfect trio of profane coquetry ever concealed -from the eyes of man. "I am as free as Trenck. I feel as good as he is -and always was. It seemed to me that the fortress of Glatz pressed on my -soul at night, and swept over me like a nightmare. I was cold in my -eider-bed when I thought of him on the damp pavement of the dark prison. -I did not live. I could enjoy nothing. Ah! dear Porporina! imagine my -horror, when I said, 'All this he suffers for me! My fatal love has cast -him into a living tomb!' This idea changed my food into poison, like the -gall of the harpies. Pour me out some champagne. Ah! it seems to me like -ambrosia! The lights are smiling! the flowers smell sweetly! the dishes -are delicate, and Von Kleist and yourself are beautiful as angels! Yes: -I see, I hear, I breathe! I have been restored to life, from the statue, -the carcass I was! Here, drink with me to the health of Trenck! and then -to the health of the friend who escaped with him! Afterwards, we will -drink to the kind keepers who let him fly! and then to my brother -Frederick, who could not help it! No bitter thought shall trouble us -this holiday. I have no animosity against anyone. I think I love the -king. Here! 'To the health of the king!' Porporina! '_Vive le Roi!_'" - -What chiefly enhanced the pleasure which the poor princess conferred on -her two friends was the simplicity of her manners to the party. When her -turn came, she left the table and changed the plates, carved for -herself, and served her companions with the most infantine gaiety. - -"Ah! if I was not born to a life of equality," said she "love, at least, -has taught me what it is; and the misfortune of my position has made me -appreciate the folly of the prejudices of rank and birth. My sisters are -not like me. My sister of Anspach would place her head on the block, -rather than bow it to a non-reigning highness. My sister of Bareith, who -talks logic and philosophy with M. de Voltaire, would scratch out the -eyes of any duchess who had an inch more silk in her train than herself. -The reason is, you see, they never loved. They will pass their lives in -the pneumatic machine they call their rank. They will die embalmed in -majesty like mummies. They will not have known great griefs, as I have; -but, in all their lives of etiquette and gala, they will never have had -a quarter of an hour of freedom such as I enjoy now! You must, my dears, -make the _fête_ complete, and _tutoy_ each other. I wish to be Amelia! -not your highness! Plain Amelia! Ah! Von Kleist, you look as if you were -about to refuse me! The unhealthy air of the court has spoiled you. You, -Porporina, though an actress, seem a child of nature!" - -"Yes, dear Amelia, I will do all I can to oblige you," said Porporina, -laughing. - -"Oh, heaven! did you but know how I love to be _tutoyed_ and hear myself -called Amelia! 'Amelia!' How well _he_ pronounced that name! It seemed -to me then to be the most beautiful name in the world, the softest ever -woman bore; at least, when he pronounced it." - -Gradually, the princess carried her joy to such an excess, that she -forgot herself, and attended only to her guests. In this strife for -equality, she became so happy and kind that she divested herself of the -stern egotism which had been developed by passion and suffering. She -ceased entirely to speak of herself, nor seemed even to claim merit for -simplicity and amiability. She questioned the Baroness Von Kleist about -her family, her situation and sentiments, more closely than she had done -since she had been absorbed by her own sorrows. She was anxious to know -the artist's life, to hear of the emotions of the theatre, the ideas and -affections of Porporina. She inspired confidence into others from the -abundance of her own heart, and took exquisite delight in reading their -souls, and most in seeing in those beings, so unlike herself, a similar -essence--as meritorious in the eyes of God, as richly gifted by nature, -as important on earth as she had ever thought she was, in relation to -others. - -The ingenuous answers and sympathetic expansion of Porporina, filled her -with respect mingled with surprise. - -"You seem to me an angel! You!--an actress!--you speak and think more -nobly than any crowned head I know! Listen to me! I have conceived an -affection for you almost amounting to devotion. You must grant me your -heart, Porporina. You must open to me your heart. Tell me of your -life--your birth, your education, your amours, your misfortunes--of your -very errors. They must certainly be noble ones, like those which I bear, -not on my conscience, but in the sanctuary of my heart. It is eleven -o'clock, and we have the night before us. Our orgie is nearly over, for -we only gossip, and I see the second bottle of champagne will be -neglected. Will you tell me your story, as I have asked you to do? It -seems to me that the knowledge of your heart will be new and unknown to -me, and will instruct me in the true duties of life better than all the -reflections I have ever made. I feel myself capable of hearing and of -listening to you. Will you satisfy me?" - -"With all my heart, madame," said Porporina. - -"Why, 'madame?' whom do you call 'madame?'" said the princess, gaily, -interrupting her. - -"I mean, my dear Amelia," said Porporina, "that I would do so willingly, -if there were not in the history of my life an important and almost -formidable secret, on which so much hangs, that no desire, no prompting -of my heart, can induce me to reveal!" - -"Well, my dear child, I know your secret! and if I did not speak of it -at the commencement of the supper, it was in consequence of a feeling of -discretion, which my friendship for you now enables me to dispense -with." - -"You know my secret!" said Porporina, petrified with surprise. "Pardon -me, madame; but that seems impossible!" - -"You still continue to address me as highness. Can you doubt?" - -"Excuse me, Amelia. But you cannot know my secret, unless you have -really an understanding with Cagliostro, as is said." - -"I have heard your adventure with Cagliostro spoken of, and I am dying -with curiosity to learn its details. Curiosity, however, does not -influence me this evening, but friendship, as I have sincerely told you. -To encourage you, I will say, frankly, that since this morning have I -learned that Consuelo Porporina may, if she pleases, legally assume the -title of Countess of Rudolstadt!" - -"In heaven's name, madame! who could tell you?" - -"My dear Rudolstadt, you do not know that my sister, the Margravine of -Bareith, is here?" - -"Yes." - -"With her is her physician, Supperville." - -"I see he has broken his word--his oath! He has said----?" - -"Calm yourself. He has spoken only to me. I do not see, however, why you -should be afraid to make known a matter which is so honorable to your -character and can hurt no one. The Rudolstadts are extinct, with the -exception of an old canoness, who ere long will rejoin her brothers in -the tomb. We have, it is true, princes of Rudolstadt in Saxony, who are -your near relations, being cousins german, and who are proud of their -name. If my brother were to sustain you, they would not dare to protest: -unless you prefer to be called Porporina, which is more glorious and -more pleasant to the ear." - -"That is really my intention," said the singer. "I wish, however, to -know how Supperville came to tell you this. When I know it, and when my -conscience is no longer bound by my oath, I promise to tell you the -details." - -"Thus it is," said the princess:--"One of my women was sick, and I sent -to ask Supperville, who was, I learned, in the palace, to come to see -her. Supperville is a man of mind, and I knew him when he resided here. -This made me talk to him. Chance directed the conversation to music, the -opera, and, consequently, to yourself. I spoke of you so highly, that, -whether to please me or from conviction, he surpassed even me, and -extolled you to the clouds. I was pleased, and observed a kind of -affectation, which made me entertain a presentiment of some romantic -interest in you, and a grandeur of soul superior even to what I had -presumed. I urged him strongly, and he seemed to like to be besought, I -must say, in justification. Finally, after having made me promise not to -betray him, he told me of your marriage on the death bed of the Count of -Rudolstadt, and of your generous renunciation of every right and -advantage accruing from it. You see, my dear, you may now tell me the -rest, for I promised never to betray you." - -"This being the case," said Consuelo, after a moment of silence, "though -the story will awaken the most painful emotions, especially since my -sojourn at Berlin, I will repay the interest of your highness--I mean, -my dear Amelia--with confidence." - - - - -CHAPTER VII[6] - - -"I was born in I know not what part of Spain, and I know not exactly in -what year. I must be, however, twenty-three or four years old. I do not -know my father's name, and am inclined to think that my mother was as -uncertain about her parents as I am. She was called at Venice La -Zingara, and I was called La Zingarella. My mother had given me the -Christian name of Maria del Consuelo--in French, "Our Lady of -Consolation."[7] My childhood was wandering and miserable. We travelled -on foot, living by our songs. I have a vague recollection that, in a -forest of Bohemia, we received hospitality at a castle, where the son of -the lord, a handsome youth named Albert, overwhelmed me with attention -and kindness, and gave my mother a guitar. This was the Giants' Castle, -to be the mistress of which I was one day to refuse; and the young lord -was Albert, Count of Rudolstadt, whose wife I became. - -"At the age of ten, I began to sing in the streets. One day, as I sang a -little piece in Saint Mark's-place at Venice, Maestro Porpora, who was -at a _café_, struck with the accuracy of my voice, and the natural -manner my mother had transmitted to me, called me to him, questioned me, -followed me to my garret, gave me some little pecuniary aid, and -promised to have me admitted into the _Scoula dei Mendicanti_, one of -the free musical schools, of which there are so many in Italy, and -whence come eminent artists of both sexes, for the best _maestri_ have -the direction of them. I made rapid progress, and Maestro Porpora -conceived a friendship for me which soon exposed me to the jealousy and -ill-feeling of my companions. Their unjust spite at my rags soon taught -me the habit of patience and reserve. - -"I do not remember the first day I saw him; but it is certain that at -the age of seven or eight years, I already loved--loved a young man, an -orphan, friendless, and, like myself, learning music by protection and -charity, and living in the streets. Our friendship, or our love, (for it -was the same thing), was a chaste and delicious sentiment. We passed -together in innocent wanderings all the time not devoted to study. My -mother, after having vainly opposed it, sanctioned our intimacy by an -oath she made us take to marry as soon as we should be able to support a -family. - -"At the age of eighteen or nineteen, I was far advanced in singing. -Count Zustiniani, a noble Venetian, owner of the Theatre of Saint -Samuel, heard me sing at church, and engaged me to replace La Corilla, -the _prima donna_--a beautiful and robust woman, who had been his -mistress, and who had been unfaithful to him. This Zustiniani was the -protector of my lover Anzoleto, who was engaged with me to sing the -chief male parts. Our _début_ was brilliant. He had a magnificent -voice, extraordinary ease, and an attractive exterior. All the fine -ladies protected him. He was idle, however, and his professor was -neither as skillful nor as zealous as mine. His success was less -brilliant. He was grieved at first, afterwards he was angry, and at last -he became jealous, and I lost his love." - -"Is it possible?" said the Princess Amelia, "for such a cause? He was, -then, very vile." - -"Alas! no, madame, but he was vain and an _artiste_. He won the -protection of Corilla, the dismissed and furious _artiste_, who took -possession of his heart, and made him rapidly lacerate and tear mine. -One evening, the Maestro Porpora, who had always opposed our sentiments, -because he maintains that a woman, to be a great _artiste_, must be a -stranger to every passion and every preoccupation of the heart, unfolded -Anzoleto's treason to me. On the evening of the next day, Count -Zustiniani made a declaration of love, which I was far from expecting, -and which wounded me deeply. Anzoleto pretended to be jealous, and to -say that I was corrupted. He wished to break with me. I left my house in -the night: I went to seek my maestro, who is a man prompt to act, and -who had used me to act decidedly, he gave me letters, a small sum of -money, and a guide-book: he put me in a gondola, accompanied me to the -mainland, and, at dawn, I set out alone for Bohemia." - -"For Bohemia!" said the Baroness Von Kleist, whom the virtue of Porpora -filled with surprise. - -"Yes, madame," said the young girl, "in our artistic language, we have -the phrase, to travel in Bohemia,"[8] which expresses that one runs -through all the risks of poverty, labor, and not unfrequently crime, -like the Zingari, whom you call in French _Bohemians_. I set out, not -for this symbolical Bohemia, for which fate seemed to destine me, like -many others; but for the chivalric country of the Tcheques, the land of -Huss and Ziska, for the Boehmer-wald, for the Giants' Castle, where I -was generously received by the family of Rudolstadt." - -"Why did you go thither?" said the princess, who listened attentively. -"Would any one remember to have seen a child?" - -"No, no, I did not remember it myself until long after, when Count -Albert by chance discovered, and aided me in discovering the key to this -adventure. My master, Porpora, in Germany, had been very intimate with -the good Count Christian, the head of the house. The young Baroness -Amelia, his niece, wished a governess, that is to say, a companion, who -should teach her music and entertain her, in the dull life she led at -Riesenberg. Her noble and kind relations received me like a friend, and -almost like a relation. I taught nothing, in spite of my disposition, to -my beautiful and capricious pupil, and----" - -"Count Albert fell in love with you? That must have happened." - -"Alas! madame, I would not speak with such volubility of so grave and -painful a thing. Count Albert was considered to be mad; and united a -sublime soul with an enthusiastic genius, strange whims and a diseased -imagination, which was entirely inexplicable." - -"Supperville, though he neither believed nor could make me understand -it, has told me all that. Supernatural power was attributed to this -young man, such as second sight, the power of making himself invisible... -His family told the most unheard of things. . . All this, however, -is impossible, and I hope you place no faith in it." - -"Excuse me, madame, the suffering and distress of pronouncing on matters -which surpass my capacity. I have seen strange things, and, at times, -Count Albert has seemed to me a being superior to humanity. Then, again, -he has appeared an unfortunate creature, deprived, by the very excess of -his virtue, of the light of reason; never, however, did I see him like -common men. When in delirium, and when calm, when enthusiastic and when -depressed, he was always the best, the most just, the most enlightened, -and the most poetically exalted of men. In a word, I would not know what -to think, for I am the involuntary, though it may be the innocent cause, -of his death." - -"Well, dear countess, dry your beautiful eyes, take courage, and -continue. I hear you without profane volatility, I vow." - -"When he first loved me, I did not even suspect it. He never spoke to -me; he did not even seem to see me. I think he was first aware of my -presence, when he heard me sing. I must tell you he was a very great -musician, and played the violin better than you would suspect any one in -the world capable of doing. I think, however, I was the only person who -ever heard him at Riesenberg; for his family were not aware that he -possessed this great talent. His love, then, had its origin in a burst -of enthusiasm, and in sympathy for music. His cousin, the Baroness -Amelia, who had been betrothed to him for two years, and whom he did not -love, became offended with me, though she did not love him. This, she -exhibited with more frankness than wickedness: for, amid all her -obstinacy, there existed something of greatness of soul. She became -weary of Albert's coldness, of the sadness that pervaded the castle, and -one fine morning left us, taking away, so to say, her father, Baron -Frederick, Count Christian's brother, an excellent man, though of -restricted mind, indolent and pure-hearted, a perfect slave to his -daughter, and passionately devoted to the chase." - -"You say nothing about the invisibility of Count Albert, of his -disappearance for fifteen or twenty days, after which he reappeared -suddenly, believing, or pretending to think that he had not left the -house, and being either unwilling or unable to say where he had hid -himself during the time he had been searched for everywhere." - -"Since Dr. Supperville has told you this apparently wonderful fact, I -will explain it; I alone can do so, for this has always been a secret, -between Albert and myself. Near the Giants' Castle, there is a mountain -known as the Stone of Terror,[9] an old subterranean work, which dates -from the days of the Hussites. Albert, after studying a series of -philosophical characters, yielded to an enthusiasm, extending almost to -mysticism, and became a Hussite, or rather Taborite. Descended on the -mother's side from George Podiebrad, he had preserved and developed in -himself the sentiments of patriotic independence and of evangelical -equality, which the preaching of John Huss and the victories of John -Ziska instilled into the Bohemians." - -"How she speaks of history and philosophy," said the princess, with an -expressive glance to the Baroness Von Kleist. "Who would think an -actress would understand those things as well as I who have passed a -lifetime in study? Have I not told you, Von Kleist, that there was among -those persons whom the opinions of courts dooms to the lowest class of -society, intelligences equal, if not superior, to those formed with so -much care and expense amid the highest grades?" - -"Alas! madame," said Porporina, "I am very ignorant, and I never read -anything before I came to Riesenberg; while there, however, I heard so -much said of things of this kind, that thought itself forced me to -understand all that passed in Albert's mind, so that finally I had some -idea of it myself." - -"Yes; but my dear, you became foolish; and, something of a mystic -myself, I admire the campaigns of John Ziska, and the republican genius -of Bohemia, if you please; however, I have ideas as utterly republican -as yourself; for love has revealed to me a truth altogether -contradictory to what pedants told me, in relation to the rights of the -people, and the merits of individuals. I do not participate in your -admiration of Taborite fanaticism, and their delirium of Christian -equality. This is absurd, not to be realized, results in ferocious -excesses, and overturns thrones. If it be necessary, I will aid -you--make Spartan, Athenian, Roman republics--make republics like that -of old Venice--I can submit to that. These sanguinary and filthy -Taborites suit me no better than the Vandals of burning memory, the -odious Anabaptists of Munster, and the Picords of old Germany." - -"I have heard Count Albert say, that all this is not precisely the same -thing," said Consuelo, with great modesty. "I will not, however, venture -to discuss with your highness, matters, perhaps, you have studied -closely. You have here historians and _savans_, who devote themselves to -these grave matters, and you can form a better opinion of their wisdom -than I can. Yet, had I the academy to instruct me, I do not think my -sympathies would ever change. But let me resume my story." - -"Yes, I interrupted you by pedantic reflections, and I pray you excuse -me. Go on. Count Albert, enthusiastic in relation to the exploits of his -ancestors, (that is easily understood, and very pardonable,) in love -with you, (and that is most legitimate and natural,) would not admit -that you were not his equal in the eye of God and man. He was right; but -this was no reason why he should desert his father's house, and leave -all who loved him in despair." - -"This is not the point I wished to reach," said Consuelo. "He had been -dreaming and meditating for a long time in the cavern of the Hussites, -at Schreckenstein, and he was especially delighted in doing so from the -fact that, besides himself, no one but a poor mad peasant was aware of -these subterraneous abodes. Thither he used to go when any domestic -chagrin, or any violent emotion overcame his will. He was aware of the -approach of these attacks, and to hide his madness from his kindred, -went to the Schreckenstein, by a secret passage, the entrance to which -he had discovered in a cistern near his rooms, amid a _parterre_ of -flowers. When once in this cavern, he forgot the lapse of time, of days, -and weeks. Attended by Zdenko, the visionary and poetic peasant, the -excitement of whom was not a little like his own, he had no idea of ever -returning to the upper world, or of seeing his parents again, until the -attack began to pass away. Unfortunately, these attacks became every -time more violent, and lasted longer. Once, he was so long absent, that -all thought him dead, and I undertook to discover the place of his -retreat. I reached it, with much difficulty and danger. I went down this -cistern, which was amid the garden, and from which, one night, I had -seen Zdenko come. Not knowing the way through this abyss, I was near -losing my life. At last, I found Albert, and succeeded in dispersing the -torpor in which he had been plunged. I restored him to his parents, and -made him swear he never would return again to the fatal cavern, he -yielded to me, but said, this was to sentence him to death. His -prediction was but too well fulfilled." - -"How so? Thus you restored him to life." - -"No, madame; not unless I could love him, and never be a cause of -trouble to him." - -"What, did you not love him? Yet you descended in that abyss; you risked -your life under-ground?" - -"The mad Zdenko, not comprehending my design, and, like a faithful dog, -jealous of his master's safety, was near murdering me. A torrent came -near sweeping me away. Albert at first, not knowing me, almost made me -share his folly; for terror and emotion make all hallucinations -contagious. . . . At last, he was attacked by a new fit of delirium, as -he bore me from the cave, and had very nearly closed the outlet. . . I -exposed myself to all that, without loving Albert." - -"Then you made a vow to Maria del Consuelo to rescue him?" - -"Something like it, in fact," said Consuelo, with a sad smile; "an -emotion of tender pity to his family, of deep sympathy to him, perhaps -a romantic attraction, a sincere friendship, certainly, but not an -appearance of love. At least, nothing like the blind, intoxicating and -delicious passion I had entertained for the ungrateful Anzoleto, in -which, I think, my heart was prematurely exhausted. What shall I say, -madame? After that terrible expedition, I had a brain fever, and was at -the very point of death. Albert, who was somewhat skilled in physic, -saved my life. My slow recovery and his assiduous cares placed us on the -footing of the closest intimacy. His reason returned entirely, and his -father blessed and treated me as a beloved daughter. An old lame aunt, -the Countess Wenceslawa, an angel of tenderness, and a patrician full of -prejudices, even consented to receive me. Albert besought my love. Count -Christian, too, pleaded for his son. I was moved, I was terrified. I -loved Albert as one loves virtue, truth, and the beautiful; I was yet -afraid of him; I dreaded becoming a countess, and of making a match, the -result of which would be to raise against him and his family all the -nobility of the country, and which would cause me to be accused of -sordid views and base intrigues. Yet, must I own it, that was, perhaps, -my only crime. . . . I regretted my profession, my liberty, my old -teacher, and the exciting arena of the theatre, where, for a moment, I -had appeared to glitter, and where I would disappear like a meteor. The -burning stage on which my love had been crushed, my misfortune -consummated, which I thought I could hate and despise forever, and yet, -on which I dreamed every night I was either applauded or hissed. This -must seem strange and unaccountable to you; but when one has been -educated for the theatre, when one has toiled all life long for such -combats and such victories, the idea of returning to them no more, is as -terrible, as would be to you, Madame Amelia, that of being a princess on -the stage, as I am twice a week." - -"You are mistaken, my dear. You are mad. If from a princess I could -become an artist, I would marry Trenck, and be happy. You to marry -Rudolstadt would not from an actress become a countess or princess. I -see you did not love him. That was not your fault. We cannot love those -whom we please." - -"Madame, that is an aphorism of which I would willingly convince myself, -and in solving it, I have passed my life; could I do so my conscience -would be at ease. Yet I have not been able to accomplish it." - -"Let me see," said the princess, "this is a grave matter, and, as an -abbess, I should be able to decide on it. You think, then, that love can -choose and reason?" - -"It should. A noble heart should subject its inclination; I do not say -to that worldly reason, which is folly and falsehood, but to the noble -discernment, which is only the love of the beautiful, and a passion for -truth. You, madame, are proof of what I advance, and your example -condemns me. Born to fill a throne, you have immolated false greatness -on the altar of true passion, to the possession of a heart worthy of -your own. I, also, born to occupy a throne, (on the stage,) had neither -courage nor generosity to sacrifice the glitter of that false glory to -the calm and sublime affection offered to me. I was ready to do so from -devotion, but could not without grief and terror. Albert, who saw the -struggle, would not accept my faith as an offering. He wished -enthusiasm, equal joys, and a heart devoid of sorrow. I could not -deceive him. Is it possible to deceive one in such matters? I asked -time, and he granted it. I promised to do all I could to love like him. -I was sincere, but wished I had not been forced by my conscience to make -this formidable engagement." - -"Strange girl! I will bet that you loved the _other!_" - -"Oh my God! I thought I did not love him. One morning I waited on the -mountain for Albert, and heard a voice in the ravine. I recognised a -song which I had formerly studied with Anzoleto, and I recognised that -penetrating voice I had loved so much, and that Venetian accent which -was so dear to me. I looked down, and saw a cavalier pass. It was -Anzoleto, madame." - -"Alas! What was he doing in Bohemia?" - -"I have since learned that he had broken his engagement, and fled from -Venice, to avoid the persecution of Count Zustiniani. Having soon become -tired of the quarrelsome love of the despotic Corilla, with whom he had -appeared at St. Samuel's again, and had the greatest success, he had -obtained the favors of a certain Clorinda, the second singer, my old -schoolfellow, who had become Zustiniani's mistress. Like a man of the -world, that is to say, like a frivolous libertine, the count avenged -himself by taking up again with Corilla, without discharging Anzoleto. -Amid this double intrigue, Anzoleto, being ridiculed by his rival, -became mortified and angry, and one fine summer night, by an adroit -kick, upset the gondola in which Zustiniani and his mistress were taking -the fresh air. They only were upset, and had a cold bath. The waters of -Venice are nowhere deep. Anzoleto, thinking this pleasantry would take -him to the _Leads_, fled to Prague, and passed the Giants' Castle. - -"He passed on, and I rejoined Albert to make a pilgrimage to the cavern -of the Schreckenstein, which he desired once more to see with me. I was -melancholy and unhappy. I there suffered under the most lugubrious -emotions. The dark place, the Hussite bones, of which Albert had built -an altar by the mysterious fountain, the admirable and touching tone of -his violin--I know not what terrors--darkness, and the superstitions -which here took possession of him, and which I could scarcely shake from -my own mind----" - -"Say all. He fancied he was John Ziska--that he was endowed with eternal -life--the memory of the events of past centuries--in fine, he was as mad -as the Count de St. Germain is." - -"Yes, madame, since you know all; his convictions made such an -impression on me, that instead of curing him, I almost participated in -it." - -"Can your mind, then, notwithstanding your courageous heart, be weak?" - -"I do not pretend to a strong mind. Whence could I have derived this -power? The only real education I have was derived from Albert. How is it -possible for me not to have felt his influence, and partaken of his -illusions? He had so much, and so many, truths in his soul, that I could -not discern error and separate it from truth. In this cavern I felt that -my reason was deserting me. What most terrified me was the fact that I -did not meet Zdenko, as I had expected. For several months he had not -been seen. As he persisted in being angry with me, Albert had exiled him -from his presence, after a violent discussion, beyond doubt, for he -seemed to regret it. Perhaps he thought that when he left him Zdenko had -killed himself. At all events, he spoke of him in enigmatical terms, and -with mysterious concealments, which terrified me. I fancied, (may God -forgive me the idea!) that in an access of fury Albert, being unable to -make the unfortunate man renounce his intention of destroying me, had -murdered him." - -"Why, then, did Zdenko hate you?" - -"This was one of the consequences of his madness. He said that he had -dreamed that I killed his master, and afterwards danced over his tomb. -Oh! madame, this sad prediction has been fulfilled. My love killed -Albert, and eight days after I made my _début_ in one of the gayest -_buffo_ operas in Berlin. I was compelled to do so, I know; and my heart -was filled with grief. The sad fate of Albert was accomplished as Zdenko -had foretold." - -"My God! your story is so diabolical that I begin to forget where I am, -and lose my senses as I listen to you. But, go on; all this may be -explained, certainly?" - -"No, madame. The fantastic world which Albert and Zdenko bore in their -souls has never been explained to me; and, like myself, you must be -satisfied merely with a knowledge of the results." - -"Then the count at least did not kill the poor buffoon?" - -"Zdenko to him was not a buffoon, but a friend and companion of -misfortune, a devoted servant. He was grieved at his conduct, but, thank -God! never dreamed of immolating him to me. Yet I was so foolish and so -guilty as to think this murder had been completed. A grave recently -opened in the cavern, and which Albert confessed contained the dearest -thing he had ever known, until he met me, at that time when he accused -himself of I know not what crime, chilled me to the heart. I felt -certain that Zdenko was buried there, and fled from the grotto crying -and weeping like a child!" - -"You had reason to do so," said the Baroness Von Kleist, "and I am sure -such things would have terrified me to death. A lover like Albert would -not have suited me at all. The good Baron Von Kleist believed in, and -used to make sacrifices to the devil. That made me a coward, and had I -not been divorced, I think I would have gone mad." - -"You have much consolation left you. I think you were divorced a little -too late," said the princess; "but do not interrupt the Countess of -Rudolstadt." - -"When I returned to the castle with Albert, who had not dreamed of -defending himself from my suspicions, whom think you I found there?" - -"Anzoleto!" - -"He presented himself as my brother, and waited for me. I do not know -how he had learned _en route_ that I was living there, and was to marry -Albert. But it was talked of in the country long before anything was -determined. Whether from mortification, a remnant of love, or the love -of evil, he had suddenly returned with the intention of breaking off -this marriage. He did all he could to succeed, using prayers, tears, -persuasion, and threats. Apparently I was unmoved, but in my coward -heart I was troubled, and I felt I was no longer mistress of myself. By -means of the falsehood by which he had obtained admission, and which I -did not dare to contradict, though I had never spoken to Albert of this -brother, he remained all day at the castle. The old count made us at -night sing Venetian airs. These melodies of my adopted country awoke all -the recollections of my infancy, of my fine dreams, pure love, and past -happiness. I felt that I yet loved, but not the person I should, and had -promised to love. Anzoleto conjured me in a low tone to receive him at -night in my room, and threatened to come at any hazard or danger to him -or to me. I had ever been a sister to him, and under the purest -professions he concealed his plan. He would submit to my decision; he -was going at dawn, but wished to bid me farewell. I fancied that he -wished to make trouble and slander in the castle, that he proposed to -make a terrible scene with Albert, and that I would be disgraced. I took -a desperate resolution and executed it. At midnight I packed up in a -small bundle all the clothing I required--I wrote a note for -Albert--took what money I had, and (_par parenthèse_) forgot half of -it. I left my room, mounted the hired horse Anzoleto had ridden, paid -his guide to aid me, crossed the draw-bridge, and went to the -neighboring city. I had never been on horseback before, and galloped -four leagues. I then sent back the guide, and, pretending that I would -await Anzoleto on the road to Prague, gave him false intelligence as to -where my _brother_ would find me. I set out for Vienna, and at dawn was -alone, on foot, without resources, in an unknown country, and walking -rapidly as possible, to escape from two passions, apparently each -equally unfortunate. I must, however, say that after a few hours the -phantom of the perfidious Anzoleto was effaced from my mind, never to -return, while the pure image of my Albert, like an ægis and promise of -the future, cheered me amid the dangers of my route." - -"Why did you go to Vienna rather than Venice?" - -"My maestro had gone thither, having been brought by our ambassador to -replenish his broken fortune, and recover his ancient fame, which had -begun to grow pale before the success of luckier innovators. Luckily, I -met an excellent youth, already a musician of talent, who, in passing -through the Boehmer-wald, had heard of me, and had determined to ask my -recommendation and good offices in his behalf, with Porpora. We went -together to Vienna on foot--suffered much from fatigue, but were always -gay, always friends and brothers. I became especially fond of him, -because he did not dream of making love to me, and it did not enter into -my mind that he would do so. I disguised myself as a boy, and played the -part so well that all kinds of pleasant mistakes occurred. One, however, -came near being unfortunate to both of us. I will pass the others in -silence--not to shorten my story--and will mention this only because I -know it will interest your highness more than the rest of my narrative." - - -[Footnote 6: The adventures of Consuelo having passed from the reader's -mind, the author has thought it best to make a "resume" of them. Persons -whose memory will recall a long romance, will find this chapter -wearisome, and they may therefore skip it.] - -[Footnote 7: Notre Dame de la Consolation.] - -[Footnote 8: To run Bohemia.] - -[Footnote 9: Gormanice, Schreckenstein.] - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - - -"I fancy you are about to speak of _him_" said the princess, moving the -lights, to get a better view of the speaker, and placing her elbows on -the table. - -"While going down the Moldau, on the Bavarian frontier, we were seized -by the recruiting parties of the king, your brother, and were flattered -with the smiling hope of becoming, both Haydn and myself, fifer and -drummer in the glorious armies of his Majesty." - -"You, a drummer!" said the princess with surprise. "Ah! had Von Kleist -seen you thus I venture to swear she would have lost her senses. My -brother would have made you his page; and heaven knows what ravage you -would have made in the hearts of our Court ladies. But what is it you -say of Haydn? I know the name, and have recently received music of his, -and, I remember, excellent music. He is not the lad you speak of?" - -"Excuse me. He is about twenty years old, and does not seem fifteen. He -was my travelling companion, and was a sincere and faithful friend. On -the edge of a little wood, where our captors halted to breakfast, we -escaped. They pursued us, and we ran like hares, until we had the good -fortune to overtake a travelling carriage, in which was the handsome and -noble Frederick Von Trenck and the _ci-devant_ conqueror, Count Hoditz -de Roswald." - -"The husband of my aunt, the Margravine of Culmbach?" said the princess. -"Another love match, Von Kleist. By the by, that is the only honest and -prudent thing my aunt ever did in her life. What kind of a man is this -Count Hoditz?" - -Consuelo was about to give a minute account of the lord of Roswald, but -the princess interrupted her by countless questions about Trenck, the -dress he wore, and the minutest details. When Consuelo told her how -Trenck had hurried to her defence, how he came near being shot, and had -put the brigands to flight, and rescued an unfortunate deserter who was -borne in the wagon with his hands and feet bound, she had to begin again -to repeat the most trifling words and detail the merest circumstances. -The joy and emotion of the princess were intense when she heard that -Trenck and Count Hoditz, having taken the two travellers into their -coach, the baron had taken no notice of Consuelo, but seemed wrapped in -the examination of a portrait he concealed in his bosom--that he sighed, -and talked to the count of a mysterious love for an exalted person, who -was the origin of the happiness and despair of his life. - -When Consuelo was permitted to continue, she said that Count Hoditz, -having discovered her sex at Passau, sought to presume on the protection -he had granted her, and that she had fled with Haydn and resumed her -adventurous travels in a boat which went down the Danube. - -At last she told how, playing on the pipe, while Haydn played the -violin, they paid for their dinners by making music for the peasants to -dance, and at length reached a pleasant priory still disguised, and -represented herself as a wandering musician, a Zingara, called Bertoni. - -"The prior," said she, "was passionately fond of music, and was besides -a man of heart and mind. He conceived for us, for myself especially, a -great friendship, and wished even to adopt me, promising me an excellent -benefice, if I would but take the minor orders. I began to be tired of -manhood, and the _tonsure_ was no more to my taste than the drum. A -strange adventure forced me to prolong my abode with my excellent host. -A woman travelling by post, was seized with the pains of labor, and gave -birth to a daughter, which she abandoned and I persuaded the good canon -to adopt it in my place. She was called Angela, from her father's name -Anzoleto, and the mother, Corilla, went to Vienna to procure an -engagement at the Court Theatre. She did so, and with greater success -than I had. The Prince Von Kaunitz presented her to the Empress Maria -Theresa as a respectable widow, and I was rejected, as being accused and -suspected of being the mistress of Joseph Haydn, who received lessons -from Porpora, and lived in the same house with us." - -Consuelo described her interview with the great Empress. The princess -was anxious to hear of this wonderful woman, the virtue of whom no one -at Berlin believed in, and who was said to have as lovers the Prince Von -Kaunitz, Doctor Von Switzer and Metastasio. - -Consuelo told at length of her reconciliation on account of Angela, with -La Corilla, of her _début_ in the principal parts at the Imperial -Theatre, on account of the remorse and a generous impulse of her -impetuous rival. She then told of the friendship that existed at Vienna -between Trenck and herself at the abode of the Ambassador of Venice; and -told how she had arranged a method of communicating with him, if the -persecution of the King of Prussia made it necessary. She spoke of the -piece of music, the sheets of which were to serve as a wrapper and -signature to the letters he might send her, as occasion required, for -her whom he loved: and told how she had recently been informed, by one -of the sheets, of the importance of the cabalistic scroll she had given -to the princess. It may be imagined these explanations occupied more -time than the rest of the story. - -Porporina having told of her departure with the maestro from Venice, and -how, in the uniform of a company, and as the Baron Von Kreutz, she had -met the King of Prussia at the wonderful Castle of Roswald, she was -obliged also to mention the important service she had rendered the -monarch before she knew him. - -"That I was very curious to know," said the Baroness Von Kleist. -"Poelnitz, who loves to talk, told me that his majesty at supper said -that his friendship for the beautiful Porporina had more serious causes -than a mere love affair." - -"What I did was very simple. I used the ascendancy I had over an -unfortunate fanatic to keep him from murdering the king. Karl, the poor -Bohemian giant, whom Trenck had rescued from the recruiting party when -he liberated me, had entered the service of Count Hoditz. He had known -the king, and wished to be revenged for the death of his wife and child, -who died of want and sorrow, just after his second arrest. Fortunately, -he had not forgotten that I had been a party to his rescue, and had -contributed something to his wife's assistance. He let me persuade and -take the gun from him. The king, who was concealed hard by, as he -afterwards told me, heard all, and, lest the assassin should have a -return of fury, took a different road from the one he had intended. The -king was on horseback, with no one but Bruddenbrock. It is, then, very -possible that a good shot like Karl, whom I had thrice seen shoot a -pigeon from the top of a mast, during the entertainment given by Count -Hoditz, would not have missed." - -"God knows," said the princess in a dreamy manner, "what changes this -misfortune would have effected in European politics, and in individual -destinies. Now, dear Rudolstadt, I think I know the rest of your story, -until the death of Count Albert. At Prague you met his uncle, the baron, -who took you to the Giant's Castle, to see him die of phthisis, and to -marry him just before he breathed his last. You had not made up your -mind to love him?" - -"Alas! madame, I loved him too late, and have been cruelly punished for -hesitation, and passion for the stage. Forced by my master, Porpora, to -appear at Vienna, deceived in relation to Albert's indisposition, for -his last letters had been intercepted, I suffered myself to be led -astray by the glitter of the stage; and, in conclusion, while waiting -for an engagement at Berlin, appeared with perfect madness at Vienna." - -"And with glory" said the princess. "We know that." - -"Miserable and fatal glory," said Consuelo. "One thing your highness -does not know; it is that Albert came secretly to Vienna and saw me -play. Following every step like a mysterious shadow, he heard me say, -behind the scenes to Joseph Haydn, that I could not abandon my art -without serious regret, yet I loved Albert. I swear before God, that -within my heart, I knew that it was more impossible to renounce him than -my profession, and wrote to him to say so. Porpora, who looked on this -love as a chimera and madness, had intercepted and burned my letters. I -found Albert in a rapid consumption; I gave him my hand, but could not -restore him to life. I saw him lying in state, clad as a noble of yore, -beautiful in the embrace of death, with his brow pure as that of the -pardoning angel--but I could not follow him to the grave. I left him in -the lighted chapel of the Giants' Castle, watched over by Zdenko, the -poor mad prophet, who gave me his hand with a smile, and rejoiced at the -tranquil slumber of his friend. He, at least, more pious and respectful -than I, placed him in the tomb of his fathers, without being aware that -he would never again leave that bed of repose. I was hurried away by -Porpora, a devoted, yet stern friend, with a paternal yet inflexible -heart, who shouted to me over the very tomb of my husband--'On Saturday -next, you will make your _début_ in _Les Virtuoses Ridicules._'" - -"Strange, indeed, are the vicissitudes of an artist's life," said the -princess, wiping away a tear. Porporina, as she concluded her story, -sobbed aloud. "You do not tell me, my dear Consuelo, the greatest honor -of your life, and which, when Supperville mentioned, filled me with -admiration. Not to distress the old canoness, and not to forfeit your -romantic disinterestedness, you abandoned your title, your dower, and -your name. You requested Supperville and Porpora, the only witnesses of -your marriage, to keep it a secret, and came hither poor as before, and -remained a Zingarella." - -"And an artiste," said Consuelo, "that is to say independent, virgin and -dead to all sentiment of love, such as Porpora always represented the -ideal type of the muses. My terrible master carried his point, and at -last I consented to what he struggled for. I do not think that I am -happier, nor that I am better. Since I love no longer, and feel no -longer capable of loving, I feel no longer the fire and inspiration of -the stage. This icy atmosphere, and this courtly air precipitates me -into the deepest distress. The absence of Porpora, the despair in which -I am, and the will of the king, who prolongs my engagement, contrary to -my wishes. May I not confess this, madame, to you?" - -"I might have guessed it, poor thing--all thought you proud of the kind -of preference with which the king honors you; but like myself, you are -his slave and prisoner,--in the same condition as his family favorites, -soldiers, pages and puppies. Alas! for the glitter of royalty, the -glories of the princely crown; how nauseous are they, to those whose -life is exhausted in furnishing them with rays of light. But, dear -Consuelo, you have yet other things to tell me, which are not those that -interest me least. I expect from your sincerity, that you will tell me -on what terms you are with my brother, and I will induce you to do so by -my own frankness. Thinking that you were his mistress, and flattering -myself that you could obtain Trenck's pardon from him, I sought you out, -to place the matter in your hands. Now, thank heaven! we have no need of -that, and I shall be pleased to love you for yourself. I think you can -tell me all without compromising yourself, especially as the affairs of -my brother do not seem far advanced from me." - -"The manner in which you speak of this matter, madame, makes me -shudder," replied Consuelo, growing pale. "Eight days ago I heard it -whispered around me, that the king, our master, entertained a serious -passion for me, his sad and trembling subject. Up to that time I had -never conceived anything possible between him and me, but a pleasant -conversation, benevolent on his side, and respectful on mine, he -exhibits a friendship and gratitude which was too great for the simple -part I had played at Roswald. There is a gulf, though, between that and -love, which I hope he will never pass." - -"I think differently. He is impetuous, talkative and familiar with you; -he talks to you as to a boy, and passes your hand to his brow and to his -lips. He effects in the presence of his friends--and for some days this -has been the case--to be less in love with you than he is. This all -proves that he is likely to become so. I know it, and warn you, that ere -long you will be called on to decide. What will you do? If you resist, -you are lost; if you yield that will still be the case. If this be so, -what will you do?" - -"Neither, madame. Like his recruits, I will desert." - -"That is not easy, and I do not wish you to do so, having become very -fond of you; and I think I would put the recruiters on your tracks -rather than you should escape. Well, we will find a way. The case is -grave, and demands consideration. Tell me all that has passed since -Albert's death." - -"Some strange and inexplicable things amid a monotonous and moody life. -I will tell you what they are, and your highness perhaps will aid me in -understanding them." - -"I will try, on condition that you will call me Amelia, as you did just -now. It is not yet midnight, and I do not wish to be _highnessed_ until -day." - -Porporina resumed her story thus: - -"I have already told to Madame Von Kleist, when she first did me the -honor of coming to my house, that I was separated from Porpora on the -frontier of Prussia, as I was coming from Bohemia. Even now, I am -ignorant, whether his passport was not regular, or if the king had -caused us to be preceded by one of those orders, the rapidity of which -is a prodigy, to exclude Porpora from his territories. This idea, -perhaps wrong, at first suggested itself to me, for I remembered the -brusque lightness and scowling sincerity with which the maestro defended -Trenck, and blamed the king, when Frederick, at supper at Count -Hoditz's, where he had represented himself as the Baron Von Kreutz, and -told us himself of Trenck's _treason_ and confinement at Glatz." - -"Indeed! then the Maestro Porpora displeased the king in talking of -Trenck?" - -"The king never mentioned it to me, and I feared to remind him of it. It -is certain, that in spite of my prayers, and his majesty's promises, -Porpora has not been recalled." - -"And he never will be," said Amelia, "for the king forgets nothing, and -never pardons frankness when it wounds his self-love. The Solomon of the -north hates and persecutes whoever doubts the infallibility of his -opinions; his arrest is but a gross feint, and an odious pretext to get -rid of an enemy. Weep, then, if you wish, my dear, for you will never -see Porpora at Berlin." - -"In spite of my chagrin at his absence, I do not wish, madame, to see -him here, and I will take no steps to induce the king to pardon him. I -received a letter from him this morning, in which he announces that an -opera of his had been received at the imperial theatre at Vienna. After -a thousand disappointments he has attained his purpose, and his pieces -are about to be studied: I prefer, therefore, to go to him, than to -bring him hither. I am afraid, though, I shall not be at more liberty to -go hence, than I was to come." - -"What say you?" - -"At the frontier, when I saw that my master was forced to return I -wished to accompany him and give up my engagement at Berlin. I was so -indignant at the brutality and apparent bad faith of such a reception, -that to pay the penalty I would have lived by the sweat of my brow -rather than enter a country so despotically ruled. At the first -exhibition of my intentions I was ordered by the officer to get into the -post-chaise, which was ready in the twinkling of an eye; and as I saw -myself surrounded by soldiers determined to use constraint, I embraced -my master with tears, and resolved to suffer myself to be taken to -Berlin, which, crushed with grief and fatigue, I reached at midnight. I -was set down near the palace, not far from the opera in a handsome house -belonging to the king, in which I was absolutely alone. I found servants -at my orders, and supper all ready. I have learned that Von Poelnitz had -been directed to prepare every thing for my arrival. I was scarcely -installed when the Baron Von Kreutz sent to know if I was visible. I -hastened to receive him, being anxious to complain of Porpora's -treatment, and to ask reparation. I pretended not to know that Frederick -II. was the Baron Von Kreutz. I appeared to be ignorant of it. The -deserter, Karl, in confiding his plan to murder him, to me, had not -mentioned his name, but had spoken of him as a superior Prussian -officer, and I had learned who it was from the lips of Count Hoditz, -after the king had left Roswald. He came in with a smiling and affable -air, which I had not seen during his incognito. Under his false name, -and in a foreign country, he had been much annoyed. At Berlin he seemed -to have regained all the majesty of his character--that is, the -benevolent kindness and generous mildness which sometimes decks his -omnipotence. He came to me with his hand extended, and asked if I -remembered to have met him. - -"'Yes, baron,' said I, 'and I remember that you offered and promised me -your good offices at Berlin, should I need them.' I then told him with -vivacity what had taken place on the frontier, and asked if he could not -forward to the king, his illustrious master, a demand for reparation for -the outrage and the constraint to which I had been subjected. - -"'Reparation?' said the king, smiling maliciously, 'that all! Would -Signor Porpora call the King of Prussia out? Signorina Porporina, -perhaps, would require him to kneel to her.' - -"This jeer increased my ill-humor. 'Your majesty may add irony to what I -have already suffered, but I had rather thank than fear you.' - -"The king shook his arm rudely. 'Ah!' said he, 'you play a sharp game.' -As he spoke he fixed his penetrating eyes on mine: 'I thought you simple -and full of honesty; yet you know me at Roswald.'" - -"'No, sire, I did not know you then. Would that I did not know you now.' - -"'I cannot say so much,' said he, mildly, 'for had it not been for you, -I would have remained in some ditch at Roswald. Victories furnish no -ægis against assassination, and I will never forget that if the fate of -Prussia yet be in my hands, I owe it to a kind heart, opposed to all -plots. Your ill temper, then, dear Porporina, will not make me -ungrateful. Be calm, I beg you, and tell me what you complain of, for, -as yet, I know nothing about it.' - -"Whether the king really knew nothing, or the police had discovered -something informal in the passport of Porpora, I know not. He listened -with great attention to my story, and told me afterwards, with the -calmness of a judge, who is unwilling to speak unadvisedly, 'I will -examine all this, and tell you about it. I shall be much surprised, if, -without good cause, my officers have annoyed a traveller. There must be -some mistake; I will find out, and if any one has exceeded his orders he -shall be punished.' - -"'Sire, that is not what I ask; I wish Porpora recalled.' - -"'I promise you he shall be. Now be less sombre, and tell me frankly how -you discovered my incognito.' - -"I then spoke freely with the king, and found him so kind and amiable, -so agreeable, that I forgot all the prejudices I entertained against -him. I admired his brilliant and judicious mind, his easy and benevolent -manners, which I had not remarked in Maria Theresa, and finally the -delicacy of his sentiments about all things on which his conversation -touched. 'Hear me,' said he, taking up his hat to go, 'I have a piece of -friendly advice to give you on this, the very day of your arrival here. -It is, not to speak of the service you have rendered me, nor of this -visit. Though it be very honorable and natural that I should hasten to -thank you, the fact would give rise to a very false idea of the friendly -relations I wish to maintain with you. All would think you anxious of -that position, known in court language as the king's favorite. Some -would distrust, and others be jealous of you. The least inconvenience -would be to attract to you all who had petitions, the channel of which -they would expect you to be. As you would certainly have the good sense -not to play this part, you would be the complete object of their -enmity.' - -"'I promise your majesty to act as you have ordered me.' - -"'I give you no orders, Consuelo,' said he, 'but rely on your prudence -and correctness. At the first glance I saw you had a pure and noble -soul, and because I wished to make you the fine pearl of my department -of the arts, I ordered from the remotest part of Siberia that a carriage -should be provided for you as soon as you came to my frontier. It was -not my fault that you were placed in a kind of travelling prison, and -separated from your protector. Until he be restored to you I will -replace him, if you find me worthy of the confidence and attachment you -bore him.' - -"I own, my dear Amelia, that I was keenly sensible of this paternal -language and delicate attention. Something of pride, perhaps, mingled -with it, and tears came to my eyes when the king, as he left me gave me -his hand. I had to kiss it, as doubtless duty required; but as I am -making a confession, I will say at the time I felt terrified and -paralyzed. It seemed to me that his majesty flattered and cajoled my -self-esteem, to prevent my telling what had passed at Roswald, as likely -to produce in some minds an impression injurious to his policy. It also -occurred to me that he was afraid of being ridiculed for feeling -grateful for my services. At once, too, I recalled the terrible military -_régime_ of Prussia, of which Trenck had minutely informed me--the -ferocity of the recruiters--the misfortunes of Karl--the captivity of -the noble Trenck, which I attributed to his having rescued the poor -soldier--the cries of another soldier I had seen beaten that morning, as -I passed through a village--and all that despotism which was the force -and glory of Frederick the Great. I could not hate him personally--but -I saw in him an absolute master, the natural enemy of those pure minds -which do not see the necessity of inhuman laws, and cannot penetrate the -secrets of empires." - - - - -CHAPTER IX - - -"Thenceforth," continued Porporina, "I never saw the king at home. He -sometimes sent for me to come to _Sans Souci_, where I even passed -several days with my companions, Porporino or Conceolini; and here I -used to play the piano at his little concerts, and accompany the violin -of Braun or Benda, or the flute of Quantz, and sometimes the king -himself." - -"It is less pleasant to accompany him than any of the others," said the -Princess of Prussia. "I know, by experience, that whenever my dear -brother plays a false note, or loses the time, he does not fail to scold -all the _concertanti._" - -"That is true," said Porporina, "and his skilful master, Quantz, -himself, has not always been able to avoid his injustice. His majesty, -however, when thus led astray, soon repairs the injury by acts of -deference and delicate praise, which pour balm on wounded self-love. -Thus, by a kind word, by an exclamation of admiration, he causes his -severity and his anger to be excused, even by artists, who are the most -susceptible people in the world." - -"But could you, after you knew of him, suffer yourself to be fascinated -by this basilisk?" - -I will own, madame, that often, without knowing it, I felt the influence -of his ascendancy. As trickery has ever been foreign to me, I may always -be the dupe, and only ascertain the meaning of disingennousness too -late. I also saw the king very frequently on the stage and sometimes -even, when the performance was over, in my dressing-room. He was always -paternal in his conduct towards me. I was never alone with him more than -two or three times in the gardens of _Sans Souci_, and I must confess -that then I had found out his hour of walking, and went thither -expressly to meet him. He then called or came courteously to me, and I -took advantage of the opportunity to speak to him of Porpora, and renew -my request. I always received the same promises, but never reaped any -advantage. Subsequently I changed my tactics, and asked leave to return -to Vienna. He heard my prayer, sometimes with affectionate reproaches, -sometimes with icy coldness, and often with yet greater ill-humor. The -last attempt was not more fortunate than the others, and even when the -king said, drily--'Go, signora; you are free,' I could obtain no -settlement of accounts, nor permission to travel. This is the state of -affairs, and I see no resource but in flight, should my situation here -become too grievous to be borne. Alas! madame, I have often been wounded -by Maria Theresa's small taste for music, but never suspected that a -king, almost fanatic for the art, was more to be feared than an empress -without any ear. - -"I have told you briefly all my relations with his majesty. I never had -occasion to fear or even to suspect that your highness would think he -loved me. Nevertheless, I was proud, sometimes, when I thought that, -thanks to my musical talent and the romantic incident which led to my -preserving his life, the king seemed to have a friendship for me. He -often told me so with the greatest grace, and most perfect simplicity; -he seemed to love to talk with me with such perfect _bonhommie_, that I -became used, I know not how, to love him with perfect friendship. The -word is, perchance, _bizarre_, and a little misplaced in my mouth; but -the sentiment of affectionate respect and timid confidence which the -presence, glance, eye, words and tone of the royal basilisk, as you call -him, inspired me with, is strange as it is sincere. We are here to make -a full confession, and we have agreed that I shall shrink from nothing: -well, I protest that I am afraid of the king, and almost have a horror -of him, when I do not see him, yet breathe the rarified air of his -empire. When I see him, however, I am charmed, and am ready to give him -every proof of devotion, which a timid, but affectionate girl, can give -to a rigid, yet kind father." - -"You frighten me," said the princess. "Good God! what if you were to -suffer yourself to be controlled and cajoled so as to destroy our -cause?" - -"Ah! madame, have no apprehensions about that. When the affairs of my -friends or of any other persons arc concerned, I am able to defy the -king, and others even more shrewd than he, if there be such, and yet -fall into no snare." - -"I believe you. You exercise over me by your frankness the same -influence which Frederick exerts over you. Well, do not be excited for I -do not compare you together. Resume your story, and tell me of -Cagliostro. I have heard that at one of his magic representations, he -recalled to you one who had long been dead. I suppose that person was -Albert?" - -"I am ready to satisfy you, my noble Amelia; but, if I consent to reveal -to you a painful story, which I would willingly forget, I have the right -to address a few questions to you, according to the arrangement we have -made." - -"I am ready to answer you." - -"Well, madame; do you think the dead can leave the tomb, or, at least, -that a reflection of their forms animated by the appearance of life, may -be evoked, at the will of sorcerers, and so take possession of our -fancy, that it may be reproduced before our eyes and take possession of -our reason?" - -"The question is very complicated, and all that I can say is, that I do -not believe in the impossible. I do not think that a resurrection of the -dead can be produced by magic. As far as our poor foolish imagination is -concerned, I think it capable of everything." - -"Your highness--excuse me--your highness has no faith in magic yet. . . -But the question is indiscreet beyond doubt." - -"Go on--yet I have devoted myself to magic; that is well known. Well, my -dear girl, let me explain this inconsistency, which appears so strange -both in place and time. After being aware of the nature of the scroll -sent by Saint Germain, which, to tell the truth, was but a letter sent -to me by Trenck, you can understand that necromancy is a pretext for -many other things. To reveal to you, however, all that it conceals from -the vulgar eye, all that it hides from courtly espionage and legal -oppression, would be but the affair of an instant. Be patient, for I -have resolved to initiate you into all my secrets. You are far more -deserving of this confidence than my dear Von Kleist, who is timid and -superstitious. Yes, I tell you this angel of goodness, this tender -heart, has no common sense. She has faith in the devil, in sorcerers, -ghosts, and presages, just as if she did not have in her hands and under -her very eyes, the mysterious clues of the great work. She is, like the -alchemists of the past, who created patiently and wisely, all kinds of -monsters, but who then became afraid of their own handicraft, so that -they became the slaves of demons, originated in their own alembic." - -"Perhaps I may not be braver than the Baroness Von Kleist," said -Porporina, "and I confess I am under the influence, if not under the -power of Cagliostro. Imagine, that after having promised to show me the -person of whom I thought, the name of whom he pretended to read in my -eyes, he showed me another. Besides, he showed me as living, whom he did -not know to be dead. Notwithstanding this double error, he resusicated -the husband I had lost, and that will ever be to me a painful and -inexpressible enigma." - -"He showed you some phantom, and fancy filled up the details." - -"I can assure you that my fancy was in no respect interested. I expected -to see in a mirror some representation of Maestro Porpora, for I had -spoken often of him at supper, and while deploring his absence, had seen -that Cagliostro paid no little attention to my words. To make his task -more easy, I chose in my mind the face of Porpora, as the subject of the -apparition, and I expected him certainly, not having as yet considered -the test as serious. Finally at perhaps the only moment in my life in -which I did not think of the Count, he appeared. Cagliostro asked me -when I went into the magic closet, if I would consent to have my eyes -bandaged and follow him, holding on to his hand. As he was a man of good -reputation, I did not hesitate; but made it a condition, that he would -not leave me for an instant. 'I was going,' said he, 'to address you a -request, not to leave me a moment, and not to let go my hand, without -regard to what may happen, or what emotion you may feel.' I promised -him; but a simple affirmative did not suffice, he made me solemnly swear -that I would make no gesture nor exclamation, but remain mute and silent -during the whole of the experiment. He then put on his glove, and having -covered my head with a hood of black velvet, which fell over my -shoulders, he made me walk about five minutes without my being able to -hear any door opened or shut. The hood kept me from being aware of any -change in the atmosphere, therefore I could not know whether I had gone -out of the room or not, for he made me make such frequent turns, that I -had no appreciation of the direction." - -At last he paused; and, with one hand removed the hood, so lightly that -I was not even aware of it. My respiration having become more free, he -informed me that I might look around. I found myself, however, in such -intense darkness that I could ascertain nothing. After a short time, I -saw a luminous star, which at first trembled, and soon became brilliant -before me. At first, it seemed most remote, but, when at its brightest, -appeared very near me. It was produced, I think, of a light, which -became more and more intense, and which was behind a transparency. -Cagliostro made me approach the star, which was an orifice pierced in -the wall. On the other side of that wall I saw a chamber, magnificently -decorated and filled with lights regularly arranged. This room, in its -character and ornaments, had every air of a place dedicated to magical -operations. I had not time, however, to examine it, my attention being -absorbed by a person who sat before a table. He was alone, and hid his -face with his hands, as if immersed in deep meditation. I could not see -his features, and his person was disguised by a costume in which I had -hitherto seen no one. As far as I was able to remark it, it was a robe -or cloak of white satin, faced with purple, fastened over the breast -with hieroglyphic gems, on which I observed a rose, a triangle, a cross, -a death's-head, and many rich ribbons of various kinds. All that I could -see was that it was not Porpora. After one or two minutes, this -mysterious personage, which I began to fancy a statue, slowly moved its -hands, and I saw the face of Count Albert distinctly, not as it had last -met my gaze, covered with the shadows of death, but animated amid its -pallor, and full of soul in its serenity; such, in fine, as I had seen -it in its most beautiful seasons of calm and confidence. I was on the -point of uttering a cry, and by an involuntary movement, crushing the -crystal which separated him from me. A violent pressure of Cagliostro's -hand, reminded me of my oath, and impressed me with I know not what -vague terror. Just then a door opened at the extremity of the room in -which I saw Albert; and many unknown persons, dressed as he was, joined -him, each bearing a sword. After having made strange gestures, as if -they had been playing a pantomime, they spoke to him in a very solemn -tone words I could not comprehend. He arose and went towards them, and -replied in words equally strange, and which were unintelligible to me, -though now I know German nearly as well as my mother tongue. This -dialogue was like that which we hear in dreams, and the strangeness of -the scene, the miracle of the apparition, had so much of this character, -that I really doubted whether I dreamed or not. Cagliostro, however, -forced me to be motionless, and I recognised the voice of Albert so -perfectly that I could not doubt the reality of what I saw. At last, -completely carried away by the scene, I was about to forget my oath and -speak to him, when the hood again was placed over my head and all became -dark. 'If you make the least noise,' said Cagliostro, 'neither you nor I -will see the light again.' I had strength enough to follow him, and walk -for a long time amid the zig-zags of an unknown space. Finally, when he -took away the hood again, I found myself in his laboratory which was -dimly lighted as it had been at the commencement of this adventure. -Cagliostro was very pale, and still trembled, for, as I walked with him, -I became aware of a convulsive agitation of his arm, and that he hurried -me along as if he was under the influence of great terror. The first -thing he said was to reproach me bitterly about my want of loyalty, and -the terrible dangers to which I had exposed him by wishing to violate my -promises. 'I should have remembered,' said he, 'that women are not bound -by their word of honor, and that one should forbear to accede to their -rash and vain curiosity.' His tone was very angry. - -"Hitherto I had participated in the terror of my guide. I had been so -amazed at Albert's being alive, that I had not enquired if this was -possible. I had even forgotten that death had bereft me of this dear and -precious friend. The emotion of the magician recalled to me, that all -this was very strange, and that I had seen only a spectre. My reason, -however, repudiated what was impossible, and the bitterness of the -reproaches of Cagliostro caused a kind of ill-humor, which protected me -from weakness. 'You feign to have faith in your own falsehood,' said I, -with vivacity; 'ah! your game is very cruel. Yes; you sport with all -that is most holy, even with death itself.' - -"'Soul without faith, and without power,' said he angrily, but in a most -imposing manner. 'You believe in death, as the vulgar do, and yet you -had a great master--one who said: "_We do not die. Nothing dies;--there -is nothing dies._" You accuse me of falsehood, and seem to forget that -the only thing which is untrue here, is the name of death in your -impious mouth.' I confess that this strange reply overturned all my -thoughts, and for a moment overcame the resistance of my troubled mind. -How came this man to be aware of my relations with Albert, and even the -secrets of his doctrine? Did he believe as Albert did, or did he make -use of this as a means to acquire an ascendancy over me? - -"I was confused and alarmed. Soon, however, I said that this gross -manner of interpreting Albert's faith, could not be mine, and that God, -not the impostor Cagliostro, can evoke death, or recall life. Finally, -convinced that I was the dupe of an inexplicable illusion, the -explanation of which, however, I might some day find, I arose, praising -coldly the _savoir-faire_ of the sorcerer, and asked him for an -explanation of the whimsical conversation his phantoms had together. In -relation to that he replied, that it was impossible to satisfy me, and -that I should be satisfied with seeing the person calm, and carefully -occupied. 'You will ask me in vain,' added he, 'what are his thoughts -and actions in life. I am ignorant even of his name. When you desired, -and asked to see it, there was formed between you two a mysterious -communication, which my power was capable of making able to bring you -together. All science goes no farther.' - -"'Your science,' said I, 'does not reach that far even; I thought of -Porpora, and you did not present him to me.' - -"'Of that I know nothing,' said he, in a tone serious and terrible. 'I -do not wish to know. I have seen nothing, either in your mind, or in the -magic mirror. My mind would not support such a spectacle, and I must -maintain all my senses to exercise my power. The laws of science are -infallible, and consequently, though not aware of it yourself, you must -have thought of some one else than Porpora, since you did not see the -latter.'" - -"Such is the talk of madmen of that kind," said the princess, shrugging -her shoulders. "Each one has his peculiar mode; though all, by means of -a captious reasoning, which may be called the method of madness, so -contrive by disturbing the ideas of others, that they are never cut -short, or disturbed themselves." - -"He certainly disturbed mine," said Consnelo, "and I was no longer able -to analyse them. The apparition of Albert, true or false, made me more -distinctly aware that I had lost him forever, and I shed tears. - -"'Consuelo;' said the magician in a solemn tone, and offering me his -hand, (you may imagine that my real name, hitherto unknown to all, was -an additional surprise, when I heard him speak it,) 'you have great -errors to repair, and I trust you will neglect nothing to regain your -peace of mind.' I had not power to reply. I sought in vain to hide my -tears from my companions, who waited impatiently for me in the next -room. I was more impatient yet to withdraw, and as soon as I was alone, -after having given a free course to my grief, I passed the night in -reflections and commentaries on the scenes of this fatal evening. The -more I sought to understand it, the more I became lost in a labyrinth of -uncertainty; and I must own that my ideas were often worse than an -implicit obedience to the oracles of magic would have been. Worn out by -fruitless suffering, I resolved to suspend my judgment until there -should be light. Since then, however, I have been impressionable, -subject to the vapors, sick at heart, and deeply sad. I was not more -sensibly aware of the death of my friend than I had been; the remorse -which his generous pardon had lulled to rest, again began to torment me. -By constantly exercising my profession, I grew weary of the frivolous -intoxication of success; besides, in this country, where the mind of man -seems sombre as the climate----" - -"And the government?" said the abbess. - -"In this government, where I felt overcome and chilled, I saw that I -would not make the progress I dreamed of." - -"What do you wish to do? We have never heard anything that approached -you, and I do not think there is a more perfect singer in the world. I -tell you what I think, and this is not a compliment _à la Frederick._" - -"Even if your highness be not mistaken, a matter of which I am -ignorant," said Consuelo, with a smile, ("for except La Romanina and La -Tesi, I have heard no other singer than myself,) I think there is always -something to be attempted, and something more than has been done to be -accomplished. Well, this ideal, which I have borne in myself, I might -have been able to approach in a life of action, strife, and bold -enterprise, of mutual sympathy, and in a word, of enthusiasm. The chilly -regularity which reigns here, the military discipline, which extends -even to the theatre, the calm and constant benevolence of a public, -which minds its own business while it listens to us, the high protection -of the king, which guarantees to us successes decreed in advance, the -absence of rivalry and novelty in the artists themselves, and in the -performances--above all, the idea of indefinite captivity, this every -day and icy labor-life, sadly glorious yet compulsory, which we lead in -Prussia, has deprived me even of the desire of perfecting myself. There -are days when I feel myself so utterly without energy, and so void of -that touchy self-love which aids the artist's conscience, that I would -pay for the excitement of a hiss. Alas! let me be deficient at my entry, -or fail towards the end of the performance, I always receive the same -applause. Applause, when I do not deserve it, gives me no pleasure, and -it afflicts me sometimes when I really do deserve it, because they are -officially measured out and ordered, and I feel that I deserve voluntary -praise. All this may seem puerile to you, noble Amelia; but you ask to -know the profundity of an actor's life, and I conceal nothing from you." - -"You explain all this so naturally, that I feel as if I had experienced -it myself. To do you good I would hiss you when you do not sing well, -and throw you a crown of roses when you are thereby aroused." - -"Alas! kind princess, neither would please the king. The king is -unwilling that his actors should be offended, because applause and -hisses follow close together. My _ennui_ has on that account no remedy, -in spite of your generous friendship. United to this languor is regret -at having preferred a life so false and void of emotion, to one of love -and devotion. Especially, since the adventure with Cagliostro, a black -melancholy took possession of my breast. No night passes that I do not -dream of Albert, and fancy him offended or irritated with me, busied, or -speaking an incomprehensible language--a prey to ideas altogether -foreign to our love--as when I saw him in the magic scene. I awake, -covered with cold perspiration, and weep when I think that in the new -life into which death has ushered him, his moody and disconsolate heart -cares neither for my grief, nor for my disdain. At all events, I killed -him, and it is in the power of no man, even one who had made an -agreement with the powers of light and darkness, to restore him to me. I -can, therefore, repair nothing in the useless and solitary life I lead, -and I have no other wish but to die." - - - - -CHAPTER X - - -"Have you then formed no new friendships?" said the Princess Amelia. -"Among so many people of mind and talent, whom my brother boasts of -having attracted to him from every corner of the world, is there no one -worthy of esteem?" - -"Certainly, madame, there are many, and were I not inclined to -retirement, I would find many kind friends. Mademoiselle Cochois, for -instance----" - -"The Marquise D'Argens, you mean." - -"I did not know that was her name." - -"You are discreet--you are right. She is an admirable person." - -"Extremely so; and very kind, though vain of the care and attentions of -the marquis, and rather inclined to look down on other artists." - -"She would feel much humiliated if she knew whom you are. The name of -Rudolstadt is one of the noblest of Saxony, while the D'Argens are but -country gentlemen of Provence or Languedoc. What kind of person is -Madame Coccei? Do you know her?" - -"As Signora Barberini has not danced at the opera since her marriage, -and passes the greater portion of her time in the country, I have rarely -seen her. Of all the actresses, she is the one I like the most, and have -been often invited by her and her husband to visit them on their estate. -The king gave me to understand, however, that this would greatly -displease him, and I was forced to give it up, though it deprived me of -much pleasure. I do not know why he acted thus." - -"I will tell you. The king made love to Signora Barberini, who preferred -the son of the grand chancellor and his majesty fears you will follow a -bad example. But have you no friends among the men?" - -"I like Francis Benda, his majesty's first violin, very much. There is -much to unite us. He led a gipsy life in his youth, as I did. He has, -like myself, very little fondness for the greatness of this world, and -has preferred liberty to wealth. He has often told me that he fled from -the Court of Saxony, to enjoy the wandering, joyous, and miserable life -of the artists of the high road. The world is not aware that there are -on the road, and on the street, artists of great merit. An old blind -Jew, amid mountains and valleys, had educated Benda. His name was -Lœbel, and Benda always spoke of him with admiration, though the old -man died on a truss of straw, or perhaps in a ditch. Before he devoted -his attention to the violin, Francis Benda had a superb voice, and was a -professional singer. Sorrow and trouble destroyed his voice. In pure -air, and leading a wandering life, he acquired a new talent; his genius -found a new outlet, and from this wandering conservatory emerged the -magnificent artist, whose presence the King of Prussia does not disdain -in his private concerts. George Benda, his youngest brother, is also -full of talent, and is, by turns, either an epicurean or a misanthrope. -His strange mind is not always amiable, but he is always interesting. I -think he will not be able _to get in line_, like his other brothers, who -now bear with resignation the golden chain of royal favoritism. He, -whether because he is younger, or because his nature is indomitable, -always talks of flying. He is so terribly afflicted here with _ennui_, -that it is a pleasure to me to sympathize with him." - -"Do you not fear that this communion of _ennui_ will lead to a more -tender sentiment? This would not be the first time that love sprang from -_ennui_." - -"I neither fear nor hope it," said Consuelo. "I feel that it will never -be the case. I have told you, my dear Amelia, that something strange is -going on within my mind. Since Albert's death, I think of, and can love, -no one but him. I think that this is the first time that love sprang -from death, and yet this has happened to me. I cannot console myself for -not having made one worthy of happiness happy, and this tenacious regret -has become a fixed idea--a kind of passion--a folly, perhaps." - -"It looks like it," said the princess. "It is at least a disease, yet it -is a sorrow which I experience and understand, for if I love an absent -person, whom I never shall see, it is really as if I loved one who is -dead. But, tell me, is not Prince Henry, my brother, an amiable -gentleman?" - -"Certainly he is." - -"Very fond of the beautiful--a real artist's soul--a hero in war--a -figure which, without being beautiful, pleases and strikes--a proud and -independent soul--an enemy to despotism--the rebellious and menacing -slave of my tyrant brother--and certainly the best of the family. Have I -not described him?" - -"I listen to this as a jest." - -"And do you not wish to look on it as serious?" - -"No, madame." - -"You are hard to please, my dear. What do you charge him with?" - -"A great defect, or, at least, an invincible obstacle to my loving him. -He is a prince." - -"Thank you for the compliment. Then you fainted for nothing at the play -a few days since. They say that the king, early in the performance, -became jealous at the manner that he looked at you, and placed him in -arrest. This, they affirm, made you sick." - -"I did not even know that the prince had been arrested, and am certain I -am not the cause of it. The reason of my accident is very different. -Madame, fancy that amid the music I sang--rather mechanically, it is -true, as often is the case here--my eyes wandered over the house, -particularly over the first row of boxes. Suddenly, in that occupied by -M. Golowkin, I saw a pale face, which leaned slightly forward, as if it -would examine me. This face was Albert's, I will swear to it, madame, -for I knew it. I cannot tell whether it was an illusion, but, if so, it -was terrible and complete!" - -"Poor thing! It is certain that you have strange fancies." - -"Oh! that is not all. Last week, when I had given you the letter of -Trenck, and was retiring. I became lost, and strayed to the museum, -where I met Stoss, with whom I paused to talk. Well, there I saw again -Albert's face, again menacing, as on the day before it had been -indefinite--as I always saw it in my dreams, angry or threatening." - -"Did Stoss also see it?" - -"Very well; and he told me it was a certain Trismegistus, whom your -highness sometimes consults as a necromancer." - -"Good heavens!" said the Baroness Von Kleist, growing pale, "I was sure -he was a real sorcerer. I could never look at him without fear. Though -he has a handsome face and a noble air, there is something diabolical in -his countenance, and I am sure, like Proteus, he can assume any form he -pleases, to terrify us. Besides, he scolds and frowns, as all people of -his sort do. I remember once when he calculated my horoscope, he charged -me with having asked for a divorce from the Baron Von Kleist because the -latter was ruined. This he thought a great offence. I wished to defend -myself, and as he assumed a very high tone, I began to get angry. He -said that I would marry again, and that my second husband would die, in -consequence of my fault, far more miserably than the first had done, and -that I would suffer severely, not only from my own conscience, but in -public opinion. As he spoke, his face became so terrible, that I fancied -that I saw Von Kleist again, and shrieking aloud, I took refuge in her -highness's room." - -"Yes, it was a strange scene," said the princess, who, from time to time -resumed, as if in spite of herself, her dry mocking tone. "I laughed as -if I was mad." - -"There was no reason why you should," said Consuelo, naïvely. "Who, -however, is this Trismegistus, since your highness has no faith in -magic?" - -"I told you that some day I would tell you what sorcery is. Do not be so -eager. For the present be satisfied with the knowledge that this -Trismegistus is a man whom I esteem very highly, and who can be of much -use to us three, and to many others." - -"I would like to see him again," said Consuelo, "and though I tremble to -think of it, I would like really to know whether he resembled the Count -of Rudolstadt as much as I have imagined." - -"If he resembles Rudolstadt, say you? Well, you recall a circumstance to -me which I had forgotten, and which will, perhaps, explain all this -great mystery. Wait--let me think for a moment--yes, now I know. Listen -to me, and learn to distrust all that seems supernatural. Cagliostro -showed you Trismegistus, for they know each other, and were here at the -same time last year. You saw this Trismegistus at the theatre in Count -Golowkin's box, for he lives in his house, and they study chemistry and -alchemy together. You saw Trismegistus in the palace a few days ago, for -not long after you left me, I saw him, and he gave me all the details of -his escape." - -"Because he wished to boast of having contributed to it," said the -baroness, "and to induce your highness to repay certain sums, which I am -sure were not paid out for that purpose. Your highness may say what you -please, but I am sure that man is a swindler." - -"Yet that, Von Kleist, does not keep him from being a great sorcerer. -How can you reconcile respect for his science with contempt for his -person?" - -"Ah! madame, there is no incongruity. We fear, yet detest sorcerers. -That is exactly the way we think of the devil." - -"Yet, if one wishes to see the devil, one must go to the magician. Is -that your logic, my fair Von Kleist?" - -"But, madame," said Consuelo, who had listened to this strange -conversation, "how comes it that you know this man is like the count?" - -"I forgot to tell you, and I learned the fact by mere chance. This -morning, when Supperville told me your story, and that of Count Albert, -his words made me curious to know if he was handsome, and if his face -was like his strange imagination. Supperville, for some time, seemed -lost in thought, and finally told me. 'Madame, I can give you an exact -idea; you have among your playthings a creature, terribly like poor -Rudolstadt, if he were only more pale, thin, and differently dressed. I -mean your sorcerer, Trismegistus. That is the explanation of the affair, -my dear widow; and about that there is no more mystery than there really -is in Cagliostro, Trismegistus, Saint Germain & Co." - -"You lift a burden off my breast," said Porporina, "and a black veil -from my heart. It seems to me that I am born again, and awake from a -painful sleep. Thanks are due to you for this explanation. I am not mad, -then; I have no visions, and will not be afraid of myself. See what the -human heart is," added she, after a moment of reverie. "I regret my fear -and weakness. In my extravagance, I persuaded myself that Albert was not -dead, and that one day, after having, by terrible apparitions, made me -expiate the wrong I had committed, he would return, without a cloud, and -without resentment. Now, I know that Albert sleeps in the tomb of his -ancestors, and that he will not recover. That death will not relax its -prey, is a terrible certainty." - -"Could you entertain any doubt? Well! there is some happiness in being -mad: for my own part, I had not hoped Trenck would leave the Silesian -dungeons yet; it was possible, and has occurred." - -"Were I to tell you, my beautiful Amelia, all the fancies to which my -poor soul abandoned itself, you would see that in spite of the -improbability, they were not impossible. Lethargy, for instance, Albert -was liable to it. But I will not call back those conjectures. They -injure me too much, now that the form I took for Albert is that of a -chevalier of industry." - -"Trismegistus is not what he is supposed to be. One thing, however, is -certain, and that is, he is not Count Rudolstadt. Many years ago I knew -him, and apparently, at least, he is a diviner. Besides, he is not so -like Count Rudolstadt as you fancy. Supperville is too skillful a -physician to bury a man in a lethargy. He, too, does not believe in -ghosts, and has observed differences you did not." - -"I would be so pleased to see Trismegistus again," said Consuelo in a -tone of deep reverie. - -"You will not, perhaps, see him soon," said the princess, very coldly. -"He has gone to Warsaw, having left the very day you saw him in the -palace. He never remains more than two days at Berlin. He will, however, -certainly return during the ear----" - -"But, if it should be Albert?" said Consuelo. - -The princess shrugged her shoulders. - -"Beyond all doubt," said she, "fate condemns me to have as friends -either male or female fools. One of you fancies my sorcerer her husband, -the Canon Von Kleist, and the other her deceased husband, the Count of -Rudolstadt. It is well that I have a strong head, otherwise I would -fancy he was Trenck, and no one knows what would happen. Trismegistus is -a poor sorcerer not to take advantage of all these mistakes. Porporina, -my beautiful, do not look at me with an expression of such -consternation. Resume your presence of mind. How can you fancy that if -Count Albert has recovered from lethargy so strange a thing would have -been known? Have you, too, kept up no correspondence with the family?" - -"None," said Consuelo. "The Canoness Wenceslawa has written twice in one -year to inform me of two pieces of bad news, the death of her eldest -brother Christian, my husband's father, who ended his long career -without any knowledge of his misfortune, and the death of Baron -Frederick, brother of the count and canoness, who was killed while -hunting, by rolling down a ravine in the fatal Schreckenstein. I replied -as I should have done to the canoness, and did not dare to offer her my -consolations. From her letters I gathered that her heart was divided -between kindness and pride. She called me her dear child and generous -friend, but did not seem to desire the succor or aid of my affection, at -all." - -"Then, you suppose that Albert, who has been resuscitated, lives quietly -and unknown at the Giants' Castle, without sending you any note, and -without any one outside of the castle being aware of the fact?" - -"No, madame, I do not; for that would be entirely impossible, and I am -foolish in wishing to think so," said Consuelo, concealing her face, -which was covered with tears, with her hands. - -As the night advanced, the princess seemed to resume the evil traits of -her character. The mocking and frivolous tone in which she spoke of -things which were so dear to Consuelo, terribly afflicted her. - -"Come, do not make yourself unhappy," said Amelia, brusquely. "This is a -pretty pleasure party: you have told us stories sufficient to call the -devil from home. Von Kleist has trembled and grown pale all the time, -and I think she will die of terror. I, too, who wished to be gay and -happy, suffer at witnessing your distress." The princess spoke the -latter part of this sentence with the kind diapason of her voice. -Consuelo looked up, and saw a tear roll down her cheek, while an -ironical sneer was on her lips. She kissed the hand which the abbess -reached out to her, and internally compassionated her for not being able -to act kindly during the four consequent hours. - -"Mysterious as the Giants' Castle may be," added the princess "stern as -is the pride of the canoness, and discreet as her servants are, be sure -nothing can pass without acquiring a certain kind of publicity. It was -in vain that they attempted to hide Count Albert's whimsicality, for the -whole province soon discovered it, and it was long ago talked of at the -little court of Bareith, when Supperville was sent for to attend your -poor husband. There is now in this family another mystery, to conceal -which every effort is made, but which is altogether ineffectual against -the malice of the public. This is the flight of the young Baroness -Amelia, who was carried off by a handsome adventurer, shortly after her -cousin's death." - -"I, madame, was long ignorant of it. I may, however, tell you that -everything is not discovered in this world, for up to this time no one -has been able to tell the name and rank of the man who carried her away. -Neither have they been able to discover the place of her retreat." - -"That is what Supperville told me. Well, cold Bohemia is the very land -for mysterious adventures. That, however, is no reason why Count Albert -should----" - -"For heaven's sake, madame, no more of that. I beg you will excuse me -for having told you so long a story--and when your highness shall order -me to retire?" - -"Two o'clock in the morning," said the baroness, as the palace clock, -sounding sadly, rang on her car. - -"Then we must separate, my dear friends, said the princess rising, for -my sister D'Anspach, will come at seven o'clock to wake me, to hear the -capers of her dear Margrave, who has just returned from Paris, and is -desperately in love with M'lle Clairon. Porporina, after all, you -tragedy queens are the only monarchs _de facto_, while we are _de jure._ -On that account you are the better off. There is no crowned head you -cannot bear away from us when you please, and some day I would not be -surprised to see M'lle Hippolyte Clairon, who is a girl of sense, become -Margravine D'Anspach, in partnership with my sister, who is a fool. Give -me my _pelisse_, Von Kleist; I will go with you as far as the gallery." - -"And will your highness return alone?" said Madame Kleist, who seemed -very much troubled. - -"Alone and without any fear of the devil and his imps, who for several -nights have held a plenary court in the castle. Come, come, Consuelo, -and we will see how fearfully terrified Von Kleist will be, as she -crosses the gallery." - -The princess took a light, and went first, dragging the baroness, who -really was very timid. Consuelo followed them, a little terrified, -though she knew not why. - -"I assure you, madame, that this is the unlucky hour, and that it is -dangerous to cross this part of the castle at such a time. Why not wait -for half an hour longer? At half after two there is no danger." - -"What is this about?" said Consuelo, increasing her pace, so as to speak -to Madame Von Kleist. - -"Do you not know?" said the princess. "The white lady, who sweeps the -staircase and corridors of the palace whenever a member of the royal -family is about to die, has revisited the castle during the last few -nights. It appears that here she makes her apparitions. My life is -menaced. On that account you see me so tranquil. My sister-in-law, the -Queen of Prussia (the feeblest creature who ever wore a crown,) does not -sleep here, I am told, but goes every night to Charlottembourg; as she -has an infinite respect for _la balayeuse_, as well as the -queen's-mother, who need have no apprehensions about the matter. These -ladies have taken care to forbid any one to watch the phantom, or to -derange her noble occupations. Thus the palace is swept by authority, -and by Lucifer himself; that, though, is no reason why he should not be -very uncivil." - -Just then a great cat, which had come from the dark part of the gallery, -passed snarling and growling by Madame Von Kleist, who made a loud cry, -and sought to hurry to the princess's room. The latter restrained her -forcibly, filling the whole room with her loud shouts of laughter, -which, by the bye, were harsh and coarse, still more stern than the wind -which whistled through the depths of the vast room. The cold made -Consuelo tremble; perhaps, too, she was to a degree under the influence -of fear. The terrified air of Madame Von Kleist seemed to exhibit a real -danger, and the wild gaiety of the princess did not seem to evince any -real and sincere security. - -"I wonder at the incredulity of your royal highness," said the Baroness -Von Kleist, with a voice full of emotion. "Had you as I have done, seen -and heard the white lady, on the eve of the death of the late king----" - -"Alas!" said Amelia, in a satanic tone, "I am very sure that it does not -now come to announce the death of my royal brother, and I am very glad -that it has not come for me. The demon knows well enough that to make me -happy, one or the other of us must die." - -"Ah! madame, do not talk thus, at such a time," said the Baroness Von -Kleist, the teeth of whom were so locked that she could scarcely speak. -"Now, for heaven's sake, pause and hear! Do you not tremble?" - -The princess paused with a decisive air, and the rustling of her silk -robe, which was heavy and thick almost as pasteboard, not being -sufficient to drown the distant noise, our three heroines, who had -nearly reached the stairway, at the bottom of the gallery, heard -distinctly the harsh noise of a broom, which sounded on the stone steps, -and seemed to approach them step by step, as if a servant was anxiously -striving to conclude his work. - -The princess paused for a moment, and then said in a resolute tone: - -"As there is nothing supernatural in all this, I wish to ascertain -whether or not some somnambulist, valet, or crazy page, be not at the -bottom of all this mystery. Put down your veil, Porporina, for you must -not be seen in my company. You, Von Kleist, can be frightened, if you -please. I give you fair notice, that I care nothing about you. Come, my -brave Rudolstadt, you have had far more dangerous adventures; follow me -if you love me." - -Amelia walked boldly towards the stairway, Consuelo followed her, and -the princess would not suffer her to take the torch from her. Madame Von -Kleist, who feared both to remain alone and to accompany them, hung -behind, holding on to Porporina's cloak. - -They no longer heard the devil's broom, and the princess reached the -stairway, over which she reached her light, to enable her to distinguish -the better what was going on below. Whether she was less calm than she -wished to seem, or that she saw some terrible object, her hand trembled, -and the torch of crimson and crystal fell down the echoing spiral. -Madame Von Kleist at once forgot both the princess and the prima donna, -and fled away until, in spite of the darkness, she came to her -mistress's rooms, where she sought a refuge, while the latter, -participating in this strange excitement, went in the same direction -with Consuelo, slowly at first, but with a perpetually increasing pace; -other steps were heard behind them, and the latter were not Consuelo's, -for the opera-singer walked by her side, with not less resolution, -though probably with less bravado. The strange steps which every moment -drew near to them, sounded amid the darkness like those of an old woman -with clogs, and rang on the pavement; while the broom continued to grate -harshly on the wall, now to the right and then to the left. This ghost -walk seemed very long to Consuelo. If anything can really overcome the -courage of truly courageous and pure minds, it is a danger that can he -neither comprehended nor understood. She did not boast of an useless -audacity, and did not look back once. The princess said, once or twice -in the darkness, she looked back, but in vain; no one could either prove -or disprove the fact. Consuelo only knew that she had not slackened her -pace, that she had not spoken a word to her on the way, and that when -she went into her room, she came near shutting the door in her face, so -anxious was she to protect herself. Amelia, however, would acknowledge -no such weakness, and soon recovered sufficient presence of mind to -laugh at Madame Von Kleist, who was almost in convulsions, and -reproached her most timidly for her cowardice. The good nature of -Consuelo, who sympathised with the patient's distress, induced the -princess to become more good-natured. She deigned to observe that Madame -Von Kleist was incapable of understanding her, and that she lay on a -sofa with her face buried in the pillows. The clock struck three before -the poor lady had completely resumed her presence of mind, and even then -she displayed her terror by tears. Amelia was weary of her game of "not -a princess," and did not seem anxious to undress herself without aid. It -may be, too, she was under the influence of some presentiment. She -resolved then to keep the baroness with her until day. - -"We two will be able to hide the affair, if my brother should hear of -it. You, Porporina, will have, however, more difficulty in explaining -your presence, and I would not on any account that you should be seen to -leave my room. You must, therefore, go alone, and go now, for people get -up very early in this palace. Be calm, Von Kleist, and if you can say a -word of good sense, tell us how you came hither, and in what corner you -left your _chasseur_, so that Porporina may be enabled to go home." - -Fear makes the human heart intensely selfish, and the baroness, -delighted at not being required to confront the terrors of the gallery, -and utterly careless about the apprehensions Consuelo might entertain in -having to pass through it alone, regained all her intelligence, and was -able to say how she should go, and what signal she should make to find -out the faithful servant who waited at the palace gate, in a sheltered -and lonely spot where she had placed him. - -With this information, and now sure that she would not lose herself in -the palace, Consuelo bade adieu to the princess, who did not seem the -least disposed to accompany her down the gallery. She, therefore, set -out alone, feeling her way, and reached the terrible stairway without -difficulty. A hanging lantern which was below, aided her somewhat, and -she reached the floor without any adventure, or even terror. On this -occasion she had called her will to her aid, and felt that she was -fulfilling an obligation to the unfortunate Amelia. This sufficed to -give her strength. - -She left the palace by the little mysterious door, the key of which the -baroness had given her, and which opened into the back court. When she -was out, she proceeded along the wall to find the _chasseur._ As soon as -she had uttered the signal which had been agreed on, a shadow left the -wall, and a man wrapped in a large cloak bowed before her, offering her -his arm with the most silent respect. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - - -Consuelo remembered that Madame Von Kleist, the better to hide her -visits to the Princess Amelia, often came on foot to the palace, with a -thick black hood and a cloak of the same color, and leaning on the arm -of a servant. In this manner she was not observed, and might pass for -one of those persons in distress who will not beg, but in this manner -receive aid from the liberality of princes. In spite of all precaution, -however, the secret was become transparent, and if the king was not -angry, it was because he looked on it as one of those affairs which it -was better to tolerate than to talk of. He was well aware the ladies -talked more of Trenck than of magic; and although he had an almost equal -objection to these two subjects of conversation, he kindly consented to -close his eyes, and was rather glad that his sister was kind enough to -adopt a mystery which relieved him of any responsibility. He was willing -to pretend that he was deceived, and seemed unwilling to approve of the -love and folly of his sister. His severity, then, fell on the -unfortunate Trenck, and he accused him of fanciful crimes, lest the -public should suspect the true cause of his disgrace. - -Porporina, thinking that the servant of the Baroness Von Kleist would -aid her in maintaining her _incognito_, and would give her his arm as he -would his mistress, did not hesitate to accept his services, and leaned -on him so as to be able to walk securely on the ice-covered pavement. -She had scarcely walked three steps, however, when the man said, in a -careless tone-- - -"Well, countess, how did you leave your fantastic Amelia?" - -In spite of the cold and wind, Consuelo felt the blood rush to her face. -Apparently, the servant took her for his mistress, and thus revealed a -revolting intimacy. Porporina, disguised, withdrew her arm from that of -the man, and said-- - -"You are mistaken." - -"I am not in the habit of making mistakes," said the man with the cloak, -in the same easy manner. "The public may not know that the divine -Porporina is Countess of Rudolstadt, but the Count de St Germain is -better informed." - -"Who are you?" said Consuelo, completely overcome with surprise. "Are -you not of the household of the Countess Von Kleist?" - -"I belong only to myself, and am the servant only of the truth," said -the stranger. "I have mentioned my name, but I see Madame de Rudolstadt -is ignorant of it." - -"Can you then be the Count of Saint Germain?" - -"Who else could call you by a name the public does not know is yours? -This the second time, countess, you would have been lost but for me. -Deign to take my arm. I know the way to your house perfectly well; and, -as an honest man, promise to escort you thither safe and sound." - -"I thank you, count, for your kindness," said Consuelo, and her -curiosity was too much excited to refuse the offer of this interesting -and strange man. "Will you tell me why you speak thus to me?" - -"Because I wish to win your confidence, by proving to you that I am -worthy of it. I have long been aware of your marriage with Albert, and I -have preserved the fact an inviolable secret. I will do so as long as -you wish." - -"I see that my wishes about this have been but slightly respected by M. -de Supperville," said Consuelo, who attributed the count's information -to the doctor. - -"Do not find fault with poor Supperville," said the count. "He told no -one except the princess Amelia, the favor of whom he wished to win. I -did not learn it from him." - -"Who told you, then, sir?" - -"Count Albert, of Rudolstadt, himself. I am well aware that you are -about to tell me that he died during the conclusion of the marriage -ceremony. I will, however, tell you that he is not dead, that no one, -that nothing dies, and that we may still have communion with those the -vulgar call dead, if we know their language and the secret of their -lives." - -"Since you know so much, sir, you must be aware that I do not easily -believe in such assertions; and that they trouble me much by keeping -constantly before me the idea of a misfortune for which I know there is -no remedy, in spite of the deceitful promises of magic." - -"You are right to be on your guard against magicians and impostors. I am -aware that Cagliostro terrified you by some apparition. He yielded to -the vain pride of exhibiting his power to you, without reflecting on the -repose of your soul, and the sublimity of his mission. Cagliostro, -however, is not an impostor, but a vain man, and on that account is -often looked on as an impostor." - -"The same charge, count, is made against you. Yet, as it is added that -you are a superior man, I feel myself justified in owning the prejudices -which keep me from conferring my esteem on you." - -"Thus you speak nobly, as Consuelo should," said Saint Germain, calmly, -"and I am glad that you have thus appealed to my sincerity. I will be -frank with you and without concealment for we are at your door, and the -cold and the late hour keep me from retaining you any longer. If you -wish to know things of the greatest importance, on which your whole -happiness depends, suffer me to speak freely to you some day." - -"If your lordship will come by day to see me, I will expect you at any -hour you please." - -"I must see you to-morrow, and you will then see Frederick, whom I am -not willing on any account to meet, for I have no respect for him." - -"Of what Frederick do you speak, count?" - -"Oh! not of our friend Frederick Von Trenck, whom we contrived to rescue -from his hands, but of that King of Prussia who makes love to you. -Listen: to-morrow there will be a great fancy ball at the opera. Take -any disguise you please, and I will be able to recognise you, and make -myself known. In this crowd we may be isolated and secure. Under any -other circumstances, my acquaintance with you will attract great -misfortune on persons who are dear to us. We will then meet to-morrow, -countess----" - -As he spoke, the Count de Saint Germain bowed respectfully to Consuelo -and disappeared, leaving her petrified with surprise at the very door of -her house. - -"There is in this realm of treason a permanent conspiracy against -reason," said Porporina, as she went to sleep. "Scarcely have I escaped -from one of the dangers which menace me, than another presents itself. -The Princess Amelia had explained the other enigmas to me, and I felt at -ease; just now, however, we met, or at least, heard, the strange -_balayeuse_, who beyond all doubt, passes as calmly through this castle -of incredulity as she did two hundred years ago. I get rid of the terror -caused by Cagliostro, and lo and behold! another magician appears, who -seems yet better acquainted with my business. I can conceive that these -magicians may keep an account of all that concerns the life of kings, -and powerful or illustrious personages; but, that I, a poor, humble, and -prudent girl, cannot hide from them any act of my life, is indeed -annoying. Well, I will follow the advice of the princess. Let us hope -that the future may explain this prodigy, and, till then, let us not -judge of it. The strangest thing yet, would be, if the king, in -pursuance of the count's prediction, should come to see me. It would be -merely the third visit he has paid me. The count cannot be his -confederate. They bid us especially distrust those who speak ill of -their masters. I will try not to forget that proverb." - -On the next day, at one exactly, a carriage, without either crest or -livery, came into the court-yard of the house, inhabited by the singer, -and the king, who two hours before, had sent her word to be alone, and -to expect him, came in with his hat on the left ear, a smile on his -lips, and a little basket on his arm. - -"Captain Von Kreutz brings you fruits from his garden," said he. "People -who are malicious say, all these were gathered at _Sans Souci_, and were -intended for the king's dessert. The king, however, does not think of -you. Nevertheless, the little baron has come to pass a few hours with -his friend." - -This salutation, pleasant as it was, instead of placing Consuelo at -ease, troubled her strangely. She had, contrary to her inclination, been -forced to become a conspirator. By receiving the confidences of the -princess, she could not face with frankness, the examination of the -royal inquisitor. Henceforth, it had become impossible to soothe, to -flatter him, and divert his attention by adroit excitements. Consuelo -felt that the _rôle_ did not suit her, that she would play it badly, -especially if it was true that Frederick had a taste for her, or if any -one thought to debase majesty by connecting it by means of the word -love, with an actress. Uneasy and troubled, Consuelo coldly thanked the -king for his great kindness, when, at once, his countenance changed, and -became morose as it had been the reverse. - -"What is the matter?" said he: "are you in an ill humor? are you sick? -Why do you call me _sire?_ Does my visit disturb any love affair?" - -"No, sire," said the young girl, resuming her calmness and frankness. "I -have neither love affair nor love." - -"Very well. If that were the case, it would not matter. I only wish you, -however, to own it." - -"Own it! The captain certainly means that I should confide it to him?" - -"Explain the difference." - -"The captain understands." - -"As you will. To distinguish, however, is not to reply. If you be in -love, I would like to know it." - -"I do not see why----" - -"You do not understand? Then look me in the face--you look very wild -to-day." - -"Captain, it seems to me that you are the king. They say that when he -questions a criminal, he reads in the white of his eyes what he wishes -to ascertain. Believe me, such fancies become no one else; and, even if -he were to come to treat me so, I would bid him mind his own business." - -"That is to say, you would say, 'away with you, sire.'" - -"Why not? The king should be either on horseback, or on his throne; and -if he were to return to me, I would be right not to put up with such -behavior." - -"You would be right, yet you do not answer me. You will not make me a -confidant of your amours." - -"I have often told you, baron, I have no amours----" - -"Yes, in ridicule; because I asked you the question in the same manner. -If, however, I speak seriously----" - -"My answer would be the same." - -"Do you know that you are a strange person?" - -"Why?" - -"Because, you are the only woman in the theatre who is not either over -head and ears in love, or busied with gallantry." - -"You have a bad opinion of actresses, captain." - -"Not so. I have known some very prudent ones; but they always aspired to -great matches. No one knows what you think." - -"I think I must sing this evening." - -"Then you live from day to day." - -"At present, I cannot act otherwise." - -"It was not always so?" - -"No, sir." - -"You have loved?" - -"Yes, sir." - -"Really?" - -"Yes, sir." - -"What has become of your lover?" - -"Dead." - -"But you are consoled?" - -"No." - -"But you will be?" - -"I fear not." - -"That is odd. Then you do not wish to marry?" - -"I never will." - -"And will never love?" - -"Never." - -"Not even a friend?" - -"Not as women understand the phrase." - -"Bah! If you were to go to Paris, and Louis XV., that gallant -knight----" - -"I do not like kings, captain; and, least of all, gallant kings." - -"Ah! I understand. You like pages best. A young cavalier like Trenck, -for instance." - -"I never thought of his face." - -"Yet, you have maintained an acquaintance with him." - -"If that be the case, my acquaintance has been pure and honest." - -"You confess the fact, then?" - -"I have not said so," replied Consuelo, who was afraid, by so simple a -confession, of compromising the princess. - -"Do you deny it, then?" - -"Were it the case, I would have no reasons to deny it. Why, however, -does Captain Von Kreutz thus question me? What is all this to him?" - -"Apparently, the king is interested in the matter," said Frederick, -taking his hat off abruptly, and placing it on the head of a statue of -a nymph in white marble which stood on a tablet. - -"If the king honored me by a visit," said Consuelo, "it would, I think, -be to hear music, (she overcame the terror which took possession of -her,) and I would sing the _Ariana Abandonata_ to him." - -"The king is not to be led astray. When he asks a question, he wishes to -be answered clearly and distinctly. What were you doing last night in -the king's palace? You see, the king has a right to act as a master at -your house, since you go to his at improper hours, and without his -permission." - -Consuelo trembled from head to foot. Luckily, however, in danger of -every kind, she had a presence of mind which always saved her -miraculously. She remembered that the king often said what was false, to -discover what was true, and that he loved to acquire secrets by surprise -rather than by any other means. "That is a strange charge," said she, -"and I do not know what I can say to it." - -"You are not so laconic as you were just now," said the king. "One can -see distinctly that you say what is untrue. You have not been at the -palace? Answer me, yes or no." - -"I say no," said Consuelo, boldly preferring the mortification of being -convicted of falsehood, to that of betraying the secret of another. - -"Not three hours ago, you left the palace alone." - -"Not so," said Consuelo, who regained her presence of mind, by -discovering in the king's face an almost imperceptible expression of -irresolution, and who seemed to enjoy his surprise. - -"You have dared to say No, thrice to me," said the king, offended and -enraged. - -"I dare say so yet a fourth time, if your majesty wills it." She had -resolved to meet the storm face to face. - -"Oh! I know that a woman will stick to a lie, amid agony and torture, -firmly as the first Christians did, when they believed in the truth. Who -will dare flatter himself that he will be able to wrest a sincere reply -from a woman. Hitherto I have respected you, because I fancied you a -solitary exception from the vices of your sex. I thought you neither -bold, impudent, nor an intriguer. I had conceived almost a friendship -for you." - -"And now, sire----" - -"Do not interrupt me. Now, I have an opinion, the consequences of which -you will feel. If you have had the folly to participate in the petty -palace cabals, to receive misplaced confidences, and render certain -dangerous services, you must not expect to deceive me for a long time, -for I will dismiss you with as much contempt as I received you with -distinction and kindness." - -"Sire," said Consuelo, boldly, "as the most sincere and earnest of my -wishes is to leave Prussia, without the slightest care for the cause of -my dismissal, I will receive an order to depart with gratitude." - -"Ah! that is your game," said Frederick, in a rage. "You dare to speak -thus!" He lifted his cane as he spoke, precisely as if he would strike -Consuelo. The air of calm contempt with which she looked at him seemed -to recall him to himself, and he regained his presence of mind. He threw -his cane away, and said, with an excited voice: "Listen to me; forget -the claim you have to the gratitude of Captain Kreutz, and speak to the -king with proper respect. If you excite me, I am capable of punishing -you as I would a disobedient child." - -"Sire, I know that in your family children have been beaten; and I have -heard that on that account your majesty once ran away. That would be as -easy an example for a Zingara, like myself, to follow, as it was for -Frederick, the Prince Royal, to set. If your majesty does not put me out -of Prussia in twenty-four hours, I will do so on my own authority, if I -leave the kingdom on foot, without a passport, and overleap the ditches -as deserters and smugglers do." - -"You are mad," said the king, shrugging his shoulders, and striding -across the room, to conceal his ill-temper and mortification. "I am -delighted for you to go, but it must be without scandal or -precipitation. I am unwilling for you to leave me thus--dissatisfied -with me and with yourself. Whence, in the devil's name, did you get the -impudence you are so richly endowed with? What the devil makes me use -you kindly as I do?" - -"You are kind from a feeling of generosity, which your majesty can lay -aside without any scruples. Your majesty fancies yourself under -obligations to me for a service I would, with the same zeal, have -rendered to the humblest of the subjects of Prussia. Let your majesty, -then, think all between us adjusted, and I will esteem the obligation a -thousand times discharged, if I am permitted to go at once. My liberty -will be a sufficient reward--I ask no other." - -"Again?" said the king, completely amazed at the hardy obstinacy of the -young girl. "You use the same language--you will not change your -tone--ah! this does not result from courage but from hatred." - -"If it were so, would your majesty care at all about it?" - -"For heaven's sake, what do you say, my poor child?" said the king, with -a naïve accent. "You do not know what you say. None but a perverse soul -can be insensible to the hatred of its fellows." - -"Does Frederick the Great look on Porporina as a fellow being?" - -"Virtue and mind alone exalt one being above another. You have genius in -your art. Your conscience must tell you if you be sincere. It does not -know, for your heart is full of venom and resentment." - -"If this is the case, has the heart of Frederick no reproaches to make -itself for having enkindled these evil passions in a mind -constitutionally calm and generous?" - -"Come, you are angry," said the king, attempting to take the young -girl's hand. He however, withdrew it, under the influence of that -_gaucherie_, which contempt and aversion to women had made him contract. -Consuelo, who had exaggerated her ill-temper to repress in the king's -mind a return of tenderness, which, in spite of all his ill-humor, -seemed ready to break forth, saw how timid he was, and lost all fear -when she saw him thus make advances. It was a singular thing that the -only woman capable of exerting this kind of influence over Frederick, -and it amounted almost to love, was possibly the only one in his kingdom -who would on no account have encouraged him. It is true, that Consuelo's -pride, and repugnance to him, were, perhaps, her chief attractions in -the king's mind. Her rebellious heart tempted the despot as much as the -conquest of a province did, and without being proud of such frivolous -exploits, he felt a kind of admiration and instinctive sympathy for a -character which seemed to bear some resemblance to his own. "Listen," -said he, putting in his pocket the hand he had extended towards -Consuelo, "tell me no more that I do not care about being hated. You -will make me think I am hated, and that thought would be odious." - -"Yet you wish to be feared?" - -"Not so; but to be respected." - -"Do your corporals win respect by their canes?" - -"What do you know about it? What are you talking of? What are you -meddling with?" - -"I answer your majesty clearly and distinctly." - -"You wish me to ask you to excuse a moment of passion, caused by your -madness." - -"Not so. If you were capable of breaking the cane sceptre which rules -Prussia, I would ask your majesty to pick up this stick." - -"Bah! When I shall have slightly caressed your shoulders with this, (for -it is a cane given to me by Voltaire). You have twice as much sense. -Listen! I am fond of this cane, but I know I owe you a reparation." - -As he spoke, the king took up the cane, and was about to break it. It -was in vain, however, that he pressed it to his knee; the bamboo bent, -but would not break. - -"See," said the king, throwing it into the fire, "the cane is not, as -you said, the image of my sceptre. It is like to faithful Prussia, which -bends to my will, but which will not be broken by it. Act thus, -Porporina, and it will be well for you." - -"What, then, is your majesty's wish in relation to me? I am, indeed, a -strange person to trouble the equanimity of so great a character?" - -"It is my will that you give up your intention of leaving Berlin. Do you -think this offensive?" - -The eager and almost passionate glance of Frederick explained this -reparation. Consuelo felt her terrors revive. She said-- - -"I will not consent. I see I would have to pay too dearly for the honor -of sometimes amusing your majesty by my voice. All here are objects of -suspicion. The lowest and most obscure are liable to be accused. I -cannot live thus." - -"Are you dissatisfied with your salary?" said Frederick. "It will be -increased." - -"No, sire. I am not avaricious: your majesty is aware of that." - -"True. You do not worship money--I must do you that justice. No one -knows what you love!" - -"I love liberty, sire." - -"And who interferes with that? You seek to make a quarrel, and have no -excuse for doing so. You wish to go--that is plain." - -"Yes, sire." - -"Yes! Are you resolved?" - -"Yes, sire." - -"Then, go to the devil!" - -The king took up his hat and cane, which, having rolled off the -andirons, had not burnt, and turning his back, went to the door. As he -was about to open it, however, he turned to Consuelo, and his face was -so very sad, so paternally distressed, so different, in fact, from the -terrible royal brow, or the bitter skeptic sneer, that the poor girl was -sad and repentant. Having while with Porpora grown used to these -domestic storms, made her forget that in Frederick's feelings towards -her there was something stern and selfish which had never existed in the -heart of her adopted father, which was chastely and generously ardent. -She turned away to hide a fugitive tear, but the eye of the lynx was not -more acute than that of the king. Returning and shaking his cane over -Consuelo again, yet with as much tenderness as if she had been one of -his own children, he said-- - -"Detestable creature! You have not the least affection for me!" - -This he uttered with much emotion, and in a caressing manner. - -"You are much mistaken, baron," said the kind Consuelo, who was -fascinated by this half comedy which had so completely atoned for the -brutal rage that preceded it. "I like Captain Von Kreutz as much as I -dislike the King of Prussia." - -"Because you do not understand--because you do not comprehend the King -of Prussia. Do not let us talk of him. A day will come when you shall -have lived in this country long enough to know its characters and -necessities--when you will do justice to the man who forces it to be -ruled as it should be. In the interim, be kinder to the poor baron, who -is desperately weary of the court and courtiers, and who seeks here -something of calm and repose, from association with a pure and candid -mind. I was enabled to enjoy it but one hour, yet you had made me -quarrel. I will come again, if you will promise to receive me better. I -will bring Mopsula to amuse you; and if you are good-natured, I will -make you a present of a little white greyhound she now suckles. You must -take great care if it. Ah, I forgot! I have brought you verses of my -own, which you must make an accompaniment for, and which my sister -Amelia will like to sing." - -The king went away kindly enough, after having once or twice turned back -to speak familiarly to and caress Consuelo in many whimsical ways. He -could talk of trifles when he pleased, though usually his phraseology -was concise, energetic, and full of sense. No man had more of what may -be called depth in his conversation; and nothing was rarer at that time -than seriousness in familial intercourse. With Consuelo, especially, he -wished to appear good-natured, and succeeded in seeming to be, much to -her surprise. When he was gone she was, as usual, sorry that she had not -succeeded in disgusting him with her, and thus terminating his dangerous -visits. The king, too, was half dissatisfied with himself. He loved -Consuelo as well as it was his nature, and wished really to inspire her -with admiration and a reality of the attachment his false friends -pretended to feel. He would have given much (and he did not like to -give) to have been once in his life loved, freely and frankly. But he -felt that it was difficult to reconcile this with the authority he was -unwilling to part with. Like a cat who sports with a mouse that is -anxious to flee, he did not know whether to let her loose or to strangle -her. - -"She goes too far, and this cannot end well," said he, as he got into -his carriage. "I shall be forced to make her commit some fault, that -discipline may subdue her fiery courage. Yet I had rather dazzle and -govern her by the influence I exert over so many others. I must succeed, -if I am prudent, and the trouble both irritates and excites me. We will -see. One thing is sure, she must not go now, to boast that she has told -me the truth with impunity. No: when she goes, she must either be -crushed or conquered." - -And then the king, who, as may well be believed, had many other things -on his mind, opened a book to avoid losing five minutes in careless -thought, and got out of his carriage without remembering the state of -mind in which he entered it. - -Porporina, weary and unhappy, was anxious much longer about the danger -of her situation. She blamed herself much with not having insisted on -going, and with having tacitly consented to remain. She was roused from -her meditation, however, by the reception of money and letters which -Madame Von Kleist sent through her to the Count de Saint Germain. - -All this was for Trenck, and Consuelo became responsible for it. She was -also to play the part of his mistress, as a means of concealing the -secret of the Abbess of Quedlimburgh. Thus she saw herself in a -dangerous and annoying position, especially as she did not feel greatly -at ease in relation to the fidelity of the mysterious beings with whom -she was associated, and who seemed determined to involve themselves in -her own secrets. She then began to prepare a disguise for the opera -ball, a rendezvous for which she had made with the Count de St. Germain. -All this time, she said to herself she stood on the brink of an abyss. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - - -Immediately after the opera, the theatre was laid with a floor, lighted -up and decorated as usual, and the great ball, known in Berlin as the -_redoute_, opened at midnight exactly. The company was tolerably mixed, -for the princess and perhaps the princesses of the blood-royal mingled -with the actors and actresses of all the theatres. Porporina entered -alone, in the disguise of a nun, a costume which enabled her to hide her -neck and shoulders with a veil, and her person with a very thick and -ample dress. She felt that it was absolutely necessary for her to be -completely concealed, to avoid the comments to which her being with -Saint Germain would expose her. She was not sorry to have an opportunity -of testing the penetration of the latter, who had boasted that he could -discover her in any disguise whatever. She had therefore made, without -aid, and without confiding in a servant, this simple and easy dress. She -had gone out alone, dressed in a long pelisse, which she did not lay -aside until she found herself in the centre of the crowd. She had not -made the tour of the room before a circumstance happened that disturbed -her. A mask of her own height, and which seemed to be of her sex, clad -in a nun's robes, exactly like hers, met her frequently, and laughed at -their identity. - -"My dear sister," said this nun, "I would wish to know which of us is -the shadow of the other. As it seems, though, you are lighter and more -diaphonous than I, be pleased to touch my hand, that I may know if you -be my twin sister or my shadow." - -Consuelo repelled these attacks, and sought to go to her dressing-room, -and either change her costume or make some alteration which might -prevent a mistake. She feared that the count, in spite of all her -precautions, had obtained some inkling of her disguise, and might test -her _sosia_ of the secrets he had referred to on the previous evening. -She had not time, though, to do so, for a monk was already in pursuit, -and took possession of her arm without consulting her. "You cannot avoid -me, my dear sister," said he, "for I am your father confessor, and am -about to tell you your sins. You are the Princess Amelia." - -"You are a novice, brother," said Consuelo, disguising her voice, as is -the wont at _bals masqués._ "You know little of your penitents." - -"Oh! you need not counterfeit your voice, sister. I do not know whether -you wear the costume of your order or not, but you are Abbess of -Quedlimburgh, and may as well own it to your brother Henry." - -Consuelo recognized, indeed, the voice of the prince, who had often -spoken to her, and who had a kind of lisp which was peculiar. To be -satisfied that her _sosia_ was the princess, she continued to refuse to -acknowledge that she was what Prince Henry fancied her. The prince -added, "I saw your costume in the hands of the person who made it, and -as princes can have no secrets, found out for whom it was intended. -Come, let us waste no time in gossiping. You cannot deceive me, my dear -sister, for I do not attach myself to your side for the purpose of -deceiving you. I have something serious to say to you. Come a little -aside with me." - -Consuelo suffered the prince to take her aside, having resolved to show -her face rather than thus acquire a knowledge of any family secret. The -first word he spoke to her, when they had gained the box, however, was -of such a character as to fix her attention, and give her a right to -hear what he said. - -"Beware how you confide too readily to Poporina," said the prince to his -pretended sister. "I tell you this, not because I doubt either her -discretion or nobleness of heart. The most important persons of _the -order_ pledge themselves for her, and even if you continue to jeer me -about the nature of my sentiments towards her, I will own that I -sympathise with you in relation to her. Both those persons and myself, -however, are of opinion, that you should not compromise yourself with -her, until you are sure of her good disposition. An enterprise which -would take possession in advance of so ardent a disposition as yours, -and a mind justly irritated, as my own, might at first terrify a timid -girl, a stranger beyond doubt to all philosophy and all politics. The -reasons which have influenced you are not of that character which would -produce an impression on a girl in such a different sphere. Confide her -initiation, then, to Trismegistus or to Saint Germain." - -"But has not Trismegistus gone?" said Consuelo, who was too complete an -actress not to be able to counterfeit the hoarse and changeable voice of -the Princess Amelia. - -"If he has gone, you must be more aware of the fact than I am, for he -has relations with no one but yourself. I do not know him. The Count -Saint Germain appears the most skillful operator, and the person most -familiar with the science which occupies us. He has done his best to -attach this singer to us, and to rescue her from the dangers which -menace her." - -"Is she really in danger?" asked Consuelo. - -"She will be, if she persists in rejecting the suit of the _marquis._" - -"What marquis?" asked Consuelo with astonishment. - -"You are out of your wits, sister; I speak of the _Grand Lama_, FRITZ." - -"Yes, the Marquis of Brandebourg," said Porporina, seeing that he -referred to the king. "Are you sure, though, that he thinks of her?" - -"I will not say he loves her, but he is jealous of her. Besides, you -must he aware, by making her your confidant, you compromise her. Well, I -know nothing of this, nor will I. For heaven's sake be prudent, and let -not _our friends_ fancy that you are actuated by any other sentiment -than that of political liberty. We have determined to adopt your -Countess de Rudolstadt. When she is initiated, and bound by oaths, -promises and threats, you will expose yourself to no danger with her. -Until then, I implore you, do not see her, and do not talk to her of our -affairs. Besides, remain no longer in this hall, where you are out of -place, and to which the _Grand Lama_ will certainly know you came. Let -me take you to the door, for I can go no farther. I am thought to be -under arrest at Potsdam; and some eyes pierce even an iron mask." - -Just then some one knocked at the door of the box, and as the prince did -not open it at first, repeated the tap. "That is a very impertinent -person who insists on coming into a box in which there is a lady," said -the prince, showing his bearded mask at the window of the box. A red -domino, with ruddy face, the appearance of which was terrible, appeared -and said with a strange gesture, "_It rains._" This news made a great -impression on the prince. "Should I go or stay?" said he to the red -mask. - -"You must find a nun exactly like this, who is amid the crowd. I will -take care of this lady," added he, speaking to Consuelo, and going into -the box, which the prince opened anxiously. The prince left without -saying another word to Consuelo. - -"Why," said the new comer to Porporina, as he took a seat in the back of -the box, "did you take a disguise exactly like the princess's? Thus you -might expose yourself to a fatal mistake. I see neither your prudence -nor your devotion." - -"If my costume be like that of another person," said Consuelo, now fully -on her guard, "I do not know it." - -"I fancied this was a carnival joke arranged between you. Since chance -alone has brought it about, let us abandon the matter, and talk no more -of the princess." - -"But, if any one be in danger, it does not appear to be the part of -those who talk of devotion, to stand with folded arms." - -"The person who has just left us, will, beyond doubt, watch over this -august madcap. Certainly, you cannot be ignorant that the thing -interests others than ourselves, for the person has also made love to -you." - -"You are mistaken, sir. I know that person no more than I do you. -Moreover, your language is that neither of a friend nor of one who -jests. Permit me to return to the hall." - -"Suffer me, in the first place, to ask you for a pocket book you are -instructed to give me." - -"Not so--I have nothing of the kind." - -"Very well. That is the language you should use. It is thrown away on -me, however, for I am the Count de Saint Germain." - -"That makes no difference." - -"If I were to take off my mask, you would not know me, never having seen -my features except in the dark. Here, however, is my letter of credit." - -The red domino gave Consuelo a sheet of music, on which was written a -testimonial she could not mistake. She gave him the pocket book, not -without trembling, and took care to add, "Take notice of what I have -said, I am charged with no message for you; I alone send these letters -and funds to the person you know of." - -"Then you are Trenck's mistress?" - -Terrified at the painful falsehood required from her, Consuelo was -silent. - -"Tell me, madame," said the red domino; "the baron does not deny that he -receives letters and aid from a person who loves him. Are you his -mistress?" - -"I am that person," said Consuelo, "and I am as much wounded as I am -surprised at your questions. Cannot I be the baron's friend, without -exposing myself to the brutal expressions and outrageous suspicions you -dare to use to me?" - -"The state of things is too important for us to stop at words. Listen: -you charge me with a task which endangers and exposes me to troubles of -more than one kind. Perhaps there may be some political plot, and with -that I will have naught to do. I have given my word to the friends of -Trenck, to aid him in a love matter. Let us understand; I did not -promise to aid his _friendship._ The latter phrase is too vague, and -makes me uneasy. I know you incapable of falsehood; and if you do not -tell me positively that Trenck is your lover, and enable me to tell -Albert of Rudolstadt----" - -"For heaven's sake, sir, do not torture me thus. Albert is dead." - -"As men think, I know he is dead; but to you and me he continues alive." - -"If you mean in a religious and symbolic sense, it is true; but, if in a -material point of view----" - -"Let us not argue the matter. A veil covers your mind; but it will soon -be lifted. What it concerns me now to know, is your position in relation -to Trenck. If he is your lover, I will take charge of this commission, -on which it is probable that his life depends, for he is without means. -If you refuse to answer, I cannot be your messenger." - -"Well," said Consuelo, "he is my lover. Take the pocket-book, and hasten -to send it to him." - -"That will do," said M. de St. Germain, taking the package; "noble and -generous girl, let me confess my admiration and respect. This is merely -a test to which I wished to subject your devotion and abnegation. Go: I -know that from a generous sentiment you have told what was untrue, and -that you are holily faithful to your husband. I am aware that the -Princess Amelia, while she makes use of me, disdains to grant me her -confidence, and toils to divest herself, of the tyranny of the Grand -Lama, all the time that she plays the part of the dignified princess. -She maintains her own part and does not disdain to expose you, a poor -helpless girl, (as the public say,) to an eternal misfortune; yes, to -the greatest of sorrows, that of impeding the brilliant resurrection of -your husband, and detaining him in the torment of doubt and despair. -Fortunately, between the soul of Albert and yourself a chain of -invisible bands extends, uniting the spirit that toils on earth and in -sunlight, with that which struggles in the unknown world, in the shadow -of mystery, and far from vulgar humanity." - -This strange language astonished Consuelo, though she had made up her -mind not to put any faith in the captious declamations of pretended -prophets. "Explain yourself, count," said she, in a tone of studious -calmness and coldness. "I know that Albert's earthly career has not -finished on earth, and that his soul has not been crushed by the breath -of death. The connection, however, between him and me is covered by a -veil which my own death alone can remove, even if God please to permit -us to enjoy a vague memory of our previous existence. This is a -mysterious point, and it is in the power of no one to assist the -celestial influence which, in a new life, unites those who in another -sphere have loved. What would you have me believe by saying that certain -sympathies watch over me for the purpose of bringing this union about?" - -"I can speak of myself only, having known," said M. de St. Germain, -"Albert from all time, as well when I served in the Hussite war, against -Sigismond, as later in the war of thirty years, when----" - -"I know that you claim to be able to recall all your anterior life, and -Albert, also, had that unfortunate impression. Thank God, I never -suspected his sincerity, but this faith was so linked to a kind of mad -exaltation, that I never believed in the reality of this exceptional, -and perhaps inadmissible power. Excuse me from listening to your strange -fancies on this matter. I know that many people, excited by frivolous -curiosities, would now wish to be in my place, and would receive, with a -smile of encouragement and feigned credulity, the wonderful stories you -tell so admirably. I cannot act, except when it is my duty, and am not -amused at what you call your reveries. They recall to my mind those -which terrified and alarmed me so much in the Count of Rudolstadt. Keep -them for persons who participate in them. On no account would I deceive -you by pretending to believe; even if those reveries recalled no sorrow, -I would not laugh at you. Be pleased, then, to answer my questions, -without seeking to lead my judgment astray by words of vague and -indefinite meaning. To assist you in becoming frank, I will tell you -that I am aware you have vague and mysterious views about me. You are to -initiate me in I know not what fearful secret, and persons of high rank -expect you to impart to me the first principles of I know not what -occult science." - -"Persons of high rank, countess, sometimes make great mistakes," said -St. Germain, with great calmness. "I thank you for the frankness with -which you have spoken to me, and will not touch on matters which you -will not understand. I will only say, then, there is an occult science -in which I take an interest, and in which I am aided by superior lights. -There is nothing supernatural in it, for it is purely and simply that of -the human heart--or, if you like the term better--a deeper acquaintance -with human life in the most secret springs of its action and resources. -To prove to you that I am not a vain boaster, I will tell you what has -passed in your life, since you left Count Rudolstadt; that is, if you -will permit me?" - -"I do--for on that point I am sure you cannot deceive me." - -"Well, you love, for the first time in your life; you love completely -and truly. Well, the person you thus love with tears of repentance--for -you did not love him a year ago--this person, the absence of whom is -bitter to you, and whose disappearance has discolored your life and -disenchanted your future, is not Baron Von Trenck, for whom you -entertained no feeling but gratitude and great sympathy; neither is it -Joseph Haydn, who is but a young brother in Apollo; nor is it King -Frederick, who both frightens and terrifies you; it is not the handsome -Anzoleto, whom you can no longer esteem--but the one you saw on the bed -of death, with all the ornaments which the pride of nobles place even on -the tomb of the dead--Albert of Rudolstadt." - -Consuelo for an instant was astonished at this revelation of her secret -thoughts, by a man whom she did not know. Remembering that she had -unveiled her life, and exposed her most utter secrets on the previous -night to the Princess Amelia, and knowing from what Prince Henry had -said, that the princess had mysterious affiliation with that society, a -principal member of which the Count de St. Germain was, she ceased to be -surprised, and told the latter that there was nothing strange in his -being acquainted with matters she had owned to an indiscreet friend. - -"You speak of the Abbess of Quedlimburg. Well, will you believe in my -word of honor?" said the count. - -"I have no reason to doubt it," said Porporina. - -"I pledge it to you," said the count, "that the princess has not spoken -a word to me of you, for I have not been able to exchange a word either -with her or with Madame Von Kleist." - -"Yet, sir, you have communicated with her at least indirectly." - -"As far as I am concerned, my communication has gone no farther than -sending Trenck's letters, and receiving hers by a third party. You see -her confidence in me does not go very far, since she thinks I am -ignorant of the interest I take in our fugitive. She is only foolish, as -all tyrannical persons become, when they are oppressed. The servants of -truth have expected much from her, and have granted her their -protection. Heaven grant they may never repent of it." - -"You judge an interesting and unfortunate princess harshly, sir count, -and perhaps know no great deal of her affairs. I am ignorant of them." - -"Do not tell a useless falsehood, Consuelo. You supped with her last -night, and I can describe all the details to you." The count then told -her of every circumstance, even what the princess and Madame Von Kleist -said, the dresses they wore, the very bill of fare, their meeting the -_balayeuse_, etc. Neither did he pause there, but also told our heroine -of the king's visit, what had been said, of his shaking the cane over -her head, the threats and repentance of Consuelo, even their gestures -and the expression of their faces, as clearly as if he had been present. -He concluded, "My honest and generous child, you did very wrong to -suffer yourself to be won by this return to friendship and kindness on -the part of the king. You will repent of it. The royal tiger will make -you feel his nails, unless you accept a more honest and respectable -protection--one true, paternal, and all-powerful, which will not be -restrained by the narrow limits of the Marquisate of Brandebourg, but -will hover over the whole surface of the globe, and would accompany you -to the deserts of the new world." - -"I know of no being but God, who can extend such a protection, and will -care for so insignificant a being as I am. If I be in danger here, in -Him do I put my trust. I would have no confidence in any other care the -means and motives of which I would be ignorant." - -"Distrust ill becomes great souls," said the count. "Because Madame de -Rudolstadt is one of those thus gifted, she has a right to the -protection of God's true servants. For that reason is protection offered -to you. The means are immense, and differ both in power and right from -those possessed by kings and princes, as much as God in his sublimity -differs from the most glorious despots. If you love and confide in -divine justice, you are bound to recognise its action in good and -intelligent men, who, here below, are the ministers of his will, and -protectors of his supreme law. To redress crime, to protect the weak, to -repress tyranny, to encourage and reward virtue, to preserve the sacred -deposit of honor, has from all time been the mission of an illustrious -phalanx of venerable men, who, from the beginning of time, have been -perpetuated to our days. Look at the gross and inhuman laws which rule -nations, look at human prejudice and error, see everywhere the monstrous -traces of barbarism. How can you conceive that in a land so badly ruled -by perfidious governments, all learning and true principles can be -repressed? Such is the case, and we are able to find spotless lilies, -pure flowers, hearts like your own, like Albert's, expanding and -blooming amid the filth of earth. Think you they can preserve their -perfume, avoid the unclean bite of reptiles, and resist the storm, if -they be not sustained and preserved by friendly hands? Think you that -Albert, that sublime man, stranger to all vulgar baseness, so superior -to humanity that the uninitiated thought him mad, exhausted all his -greatness and faith on himself? Think you he was an isolated fact in the -universe, and contributed nothing to the hearth of sympathy and hope? -You yourself--think you that you would have been what you are, had not -the divine efflatus been received from Albert? How, separated from him, -cast in a sphere unworthy of you, exposed to every peril, every danger, -everything calculated to lead you astray, an actress, the confidante of -an imprudent and enamored princess, the reputed mistress of a debauched, -icy, and selfish monarch, do you expect to maintain the spotless purity -of your primitive candor, if the mysterious wings of the archangels be -not extended over you? Take care, Consuelo; not in yourself alone will -you find the strength you need. The prudence of which you boast will be -easily foiled by the ruses of the spirits of darkness, which wander -around your virginial pillow. Learn, then, to respect the holy army, the -invisible soldiery, armed with faith, which already forms a rampart -around you. You are asked for neither engagements nor services; you are -ordered only to be docile and confident when you are aware of the -unexpected effects of their benevolent adoption. I have told you enough. -You will reflect maturely on my words, and when the time shall come, you -will see wonders accomplished around you. Then remember that all is -possible to those who believe and work together, to those who are equal -and free; yes, nothing is impossible to them who recognise merit--and if -yours were so elevated as to deserve this great reward, know that they -could resuscitate Albert, and restore him to you." - -Having thus spoken, in a tone which seemed animated by conviction and -enthusiasm, the red domino left Consuelo without waiting for a reply. He -bowed to her before he left the box, where she remained for some -momeuts, motionless and a prey to strange reveries. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - - -Being now anxious to retire, Consuelo left the box, and in one of the -corridors met two masks. One of them said, in a low tone-- - -"Do not trust the Count de St. Germain." - -She fancied that she recognised the voice of Uberto Porporino, her -brother artist, and took him by the sleeve of his domino. She said-- - -"Who is this count? I do not know him." - -The mask did not seem to disguise his voice, which Consuelo at once -recognised as that of young Benda, the melancholy violinist. He took her -other hand, and said, "Distrust adventures and adventurers." - -They then passed hastily, as if they were anxious to ask and answer no -questions. - -Consuelo was surprised that she had been so easily recognised, -notwithstanding her care to disguise herself. Consequently she hurried -to go. She soon saw that she was watched, and followed by a mask, the -form and bearing of which seemed to denote Von Poelnitz, the director of -the royal theatres, and chamberlain to the king. She had not the least -doubt when he spoke to her, great soever as was his care to change his -voice and tone. He made some idle remarks, to which she did not reply, -for she saw distinctly that he wished to make her talk. She succeeded in -getting rid of him, and went through the ball-room, so as to be able to -give him the slip, in case he should persist in following her. There was -a great crowd, and she had much difficulty in finding the entrance. Just -at that moment she looked around, to be sure that she was not followed, -and was surprised to see Poelnitz talking in the most friendly manner -possible with the red domino, whom she supposed to be the Count de St. -Germain. She was not aware that Poelnitz had known him in France, and -feared some treason on the part of the _adventurer_--not for herself, -but for the princess--the secret of whom she had involuntarily betrayed -to a suspicious character. - -When she awoke the next morning, she found a coronet of white roses -hanging above her head, to the crucifix which had belonged to her -mother, and with which she had never parted. She at the same time -observed that the cypress bough, which, since the evening of a certain -triumph at Vienna, when it had been thrown on the stage, had never -ceased to adorn the crucifix, had disappeared. She looked in every -direction for it in vain. It seemed that in substituting for it the -fresh and smiling crown, this sad emblem had intentionally been removed. -Her servant could not tell her how or when the substitution had been -made. She said she had not left the house on the previous evening, and -had admitted no one. She had not observed it when she prepared her -mistress's bed, and had not noticed if the crown was there or not. In a -word, she was so naïvely amazed at the matter, that it was difficult to -suspect her sincerity. This girl had a very unselfish heart, of which -Consuelo had received more than one proof. Her only fault was a great -love of gossip, and making her mistress the confidant of all her -chatterings. She did not on this occasion fail to weary her with a long -story of the most tedious details, though she could give her no -information. She did nothing but comment on the mysterious gallantry of -the chaplet. Consuelo, ere long, was so wearied, that she besought her -not to chatter any more, but to be quiet. When she was alone, she -examined the coronet with the greatest care. The flowers were fresh, as -if they had been gathered an instant before, and as full of perfume as -if it was not mid-winter. Consuelo sighed when she thought such -beautiful roses were at such a season scarcely to be found in any other -place than in a royal residence, and that her maid, perhaps, had good -reasons for not attributing them to the politeness of the king. - -"He did not know," said she, "how fond I was of my cypress. Why did he -take it away? It matters not what hand has committed this profanation, -but may it be cursed!" As Porporina cast the chaplet from her, with an -expression of great sadness, she saw a slip of white parchment fall from -it, which she picked up, and on which she read these words, in an -unknown hand:-- - -"Every noble action merits a recompense, and the only one worthy of -great souls is the homage of hearts that sympathise. Let the cypress -disappear from your bedside, my generous sister, and let these flowers -rest on your brow, if but for a moment. It is your bridal crown--it is -the pledge of your eternal marriage with virtue, and of your admission -into the communion of the true believers." - -Consuelo examined these characters with great surprise for a long time, -and her imagination sought in vain to discover some similarity to Count -Albert's writing. In spite of the distrust she entertained of the kind -of initiation to which she was invited--in spite of the revulsion -inspired by the promises of magic, which then was very popular in all -Germany and all philosophical Europe--in spite of the advice her friends -had given her, to be on her guard--the last words of the red domino, and -the expressions of the anonymous note, excited her imagination almost to -the point of downright curiosity, which may rather be called poetic -anxiety. Without knowing why she obeyed the affectionate injunction of -her unknown friends, she placed the coronet on her dishevelled hair, and -fixed her eyes on a glass, as if she expected to see behind her the -unknown apparition. - -She was roused from her reverie by a short, distinct ring at the door, -and a servant came to tell her that the Baron Von Buddenbrock had a word -to say to her. This _word_ was pronounced with all the arrogance an -aide-de-camp always assumes when he is no longer under his master's -eyes. - -"Signorina," said he, when she had gone into the saloon, "you must go -with me to the king at once. Make haste--the king awaits you." - -"I will not wait on the king in slippers and in a _robe-de-chambre_," -said La Porporina. - -"I give you five minutes to dress," said Buddenbrock, taking his watch -from his pocket and pointing to the door of her chamber. - -Consuelo was frightened, but having made up her mind to assume all the -dangers and misfortunes which might menace the princess and Trenck, -dressed in less time that had been given her, and went in company with -Buddenbrock, apparently perfectly calm. The aide had seen the king in a -rage, and though he did not know why, when he received an order to bring -the criminal, felt all the royal rage pass into his own heart. When he -found Consuelo so calm, he remembered that his master had a great -passion for this girl. He said that perhaps she might come out the -victor in the contest which was about to begin, and be angry at his -harsh conduct. He therefore thought it best to resume his humility, -remembering he could play the tyrant when her disgrace was certain. He -offered her his hand with an awkward and strange courtesy, to help her -in the carriage he had brought, and looking shrewdly and sharply at her, -as he sat on the front seat opposite her, with his hat in his hand, -said: - -"This, signorina, is a magnificent winter's day." - -"Certainly, baron," said Consuelo, in a mocking tone. "It is a fine time -to go beyond the walls." - -As she spoke thus, Consuelo thought, with truly stoic calmness, that she -was about to pass the rest of the day _en route_ to some fortress. -Buddenbrock, who could not conceive of such heroism, fancied that she -menaced him, in case she triumphed over the stormy trials which awaited -her, with disgrace and imprisonment. He became pale; he attempted to be -agreeable, but could not, and remained thoughtful and discountenanced, -asking himself anxiously what he had done to displease Porporina. - -Consuelo was introduced into a cabinet, the rose-colored furniture of -which she had time to see was scratched by the puppies that ran in and -out of it, covered with snuff, and very dirty. The king was not there, -but she heard his voice in the next room, and when he was in a bad humor -his voice was a terrible one. "I tell you I will make an example of this -rabble, which long has been gnawing the bowels of Prussia. I will purge -them!" said he, as he walked with his creaking boots up and down, in the -greatest agitation. - -"Your majesty will do reason and Prussia a great service," said the -person to whom he spoke, "but it is no reason why a woman----" - -"Yes, Voltaire, it is a reason. You do not know that the worst intrigues -and most infernal machinations originate in their brains?" - -"A woman, sire! a woman!" - -"Well, why repeat that again? You are fond of women, and have the -misfortune to live under the control of a petticoat, and cannot treat -them like soldiers and slaves when they interfere in serious matters." - -"Your majesty cannot think there is anything serious in this affair? You -must use soporifics, and the pump-workers of miracles and adepts of -magic." - -"You do not know what you are talking about, M. de Voltaire. What if I -told you poor La Mettrie had been poisoned?" - -"So will any one be who eats more than his stomach can contain and -digest. Every indigestion is poison." - -"I tell you his gourmandise alone did not kill him. They gave him a -_pâté_, made of an eagle, and told him it was pheasant." - -"Well, the Prussian eagle is a deadly bird, but it uses lightning, not -poison." - -"Well, spare me your metaphors. I will bet a hundred to one it was -poison. La Mettrie had faith in their extravagances, poor devil, and -told to anyone who would listen, half serious half in jest, that they -had shown him ghosts and devils. They crazed his incredulous and -volatile mind. As, however, after being Trenck's friend, he had -abandoned him, they punished him in their own way, I will now punish -them, and in a way they will not forget. As for those who, under the -cover of their infamous tricks, plot and deceive the vigilance of the -laws----" - -Here the king pushed to the door, which had not been entirely shut, and -Consuelo heard no more. After waiting for a quarter of an hour in much -anxiety, she saw Frederick appear. Rage had made him look frightfully -old and ugly, he shut all the doors carefully, without looking at or -speaking to her, and when he again approached, there was something so -perfectly diabolical in his expression that she thought at first he was -about to strangle her. She knew that in his moments of rage, all the -savage instincts of his father returned to him, and that he did not -hesitate to bruise and kick the legs of his public functionaries with -his heavy boots, when he was in a bad humor. La Mettrie used to laugh at -these outrages, and used to assure him that the exercise was good for -the gout, with which the king was prematurely attacked. - -La Mettrie would never again either make the king laugh, or laugh at -him. Young, active, fat, and hearty, he had died two days before from -excesses at the table; and I know not what dark fancy suggested to the -king the idea of attributing his death, now to the machinations of the -Jesuits, and then again to the fashionable sorcerers. The king himself, -though not aware of it, was under the influence of the vague and puerile -terror of the occult sciences, with which all Germany was then inspired. - -"Listen to me," said he to Consuelo, with a piercing glance. "You are -unmasked. You are lost, and there is but one way to save yourself--that -is, to make a full, free and unreserved confession." - -As Consuelo did not reply, he said-- - -"Down, wretch, down on your knees!"--(he pointed to the floor)--"you -cannot make such a confession standing! Your brow should be in the dust. -On your knees, or I will not hear you!" - -"As I have nothing to tell you," said Consuelo, in an icy tone, "you -have nothing to hear. As for kneeling, you can never make me do so." - -The king at first felt inclined to knock Consuelo down and trample on -her. She looked mechanically towards Frederick's hands, which were -extended towards her, and fancied she saw his nails grow longer, as -those of cats do when about to spring on their prey. The royal claws, -however, were soon contracted; amid all his littlenesses, having too -much grandeur of soul not to admire courage in others. - -"Unfortunate girl," said he, with an expression of pity, "they have -succeeded in making a fanatic of you. Listen to me. Time is precious. -You yet may ransom your life. In five minutes it will he too late. Use -them well, and decide on telling me all, or prepare to die." - -"I am prepared," said Consuelo, indignant at the menace, which she -thought he would not execute, and used only to frighten her. - -"Be silent and think," said the king, placing himself at his desk, and -opening a book, with an affectation of calmness, which did not hide a -deep and painful emotion. - -Consuelo, while she remembered that the Baron Von Buddenbrock had aped -the king grotesquely, by giving her, with watch in hand, five minutes to -dress herself, she took advantage of the time to reflect on the line of -conduct she should pursue. She saw that what she should most avoid was -the shrewd and penetrating cross-examination with which the king would -entrap her, as in a web. Who can flatter and trick a criminal judge like -Frederick? She was in danger of falling into the snare, and ruining the -princess instead of saving her. She then took the generous resolution of -not seeking to justify herself, but of asking of what she was accused, -and irritating the judge, so that he award an unreasonable and unjust -sentence, _ab irato._ Ten minutes passed thus, without the king's -looking up from his book. Perhaps he wished to give her time to change -her mind. Perhaps he had been absorbed by his book. - -"Have you determined?" said he, at last, putting down his book crossing -his legs, and leaning his elbows on the table. - -"I have nothing to determine on, being under the power of violence and -injustice; I have only to submit." - -"Do you charge me with violence and injustice?" - -"If not yourself, it is the absolute power you exercise, which corrupts -your soul, and leads your justice astray." - -"Very well. Then you establish yourself as a judge of my conduct, and -forget you have but a few moments left to save yourself from death." - -"You have no right to take my life, for I am not your subject. If you -violate the law of nations, so much the worse for you. For my own part, -I had rather die than live one day longer under your laws." - -"You confess your hatred frankly," said the king, who appeared to -penetrate Consuelo's design, and who was about to foil it by putting on -an air of _sang-froid_ and contempt. "I see that you have been to a good -school, and the _rôle_ of Spartan virgin, which you play so well, is a -great evidence against your accomplices. It reveals their conduct more -completely than you think. You are not acquainted with the law of -nations and of men. Any sovereign can destroy all in his states who -conspire against him." - -"I a conspirator!" said Consuelo, carried away by the feeling of -conscious truth, and too indignant to vindicate herself. She shrugged -her shoulders, turned her back on the king, and without knowing what she -was doing, seemed about to go away. - -"Where are you going?" said the king, struck by her air of candor. - -"To the prison!--to the scaffold!--to any place you please!--provided -you do not make me listen to this absurd accusation!" - -"You are very angry," said the king, with a sardonic laugh. "Do you wish -to know why? You come here with the intention of playing the Roman -before me, and your comedy has been cut down into a mere interlude. -Nothing is so mortifying, especially to an actress, as not to be able to -play her part effectively." - -Consuelo, scorning to reply, folded her arms and looked so fixedly at -the king that he was disconcerted. To stifle the rage which burned -within him, he was forced to break silence, and resume his bitter -mockery, hoping that in this way he would irritate the accused, and that -to defend herself she would lose her reserve and distrust. - -"Yes," said he, as if in reply to the silent language of her proud face. -"I know well enough you have been made to think I was in love with you, -and that you could brave me with impunity. All this would be very -amusing, were it not that persons on whom I place a higher estimate were -not the cause of the affair. Vain of playing a great part, you forgot -that subaltern confidants are always sacrificed by those who employ -them. I cannot, therefore, punish them, for they are too near to me for -it to be possible to chastise them, except by the contemplation of your -suffering. It is for you to see if you can undergo this misfortune for -persons who have betrayed your interests, and have on your ambitious and -indiscreet zeal thrown all the suffering." - -"Sire," said Consuelo, "I do not know what you mean. The manner, -however, in which you speak of confidants, makes me shudder for you!" - -"Why!" - -"Because you make me think that when you were the first victim of -tyranny, you would have surrendered Major Katt to a paternal -inquisition." - -The king became pale as death. All are aware that after an attempted -flight to England, when young, he had witnessed the decapitation of his -confidant. When in prison, he had been taken and held by force at a -window, and made to see his friend's blood run on the scaffold. This -horrible scene, of which he was innocent as possible, made a terrible -impression on him. It is the fate of princes to follow the example of -despotism, even when they have suffered most by it. The mind of -Frederick from misfortune became moody; and after a youth passed in -prison and chains, he ascended the throne imbued with the principles and -prejudices of absolute authority. No reproach could be so severe as that -which Consuelo addressed to him, when she thus recalled his early -misfortunes, and made him aware of his present injustice. His very heart -was grieved, but the effect it worked was as little beneficial to his -hardened soul as the punishment of Katt had been in other days. He rose -and said, "You may retire," at the same time ringing the bell, and -during the few seconds which intervened before his call was answered, -opened his book again, and pretended to be interested by it. A nervous -tremor shook his hand, however, and made the leaves rustle as he turned -them. - -A valet entered. The king waved his hand, and Consuelo went into another -room. One of the king's leverets, that had watched Consuelo, and had not -ceased to wag its tail and gambol around her, as if to challenge a -caress, followed her. The king, who had a paternal feeling only for -these animals, was obliged to call Mopsula back, just as she was passing -the door with Consuelo. The king had the mania, not altogether -irrational perhaps, of attributing to these animals an instinctive -perception of the feelings of those who approached them. He became -suspicious of persons whom he saw his dogs dislike, and liked those whom -they fawned on willingly. In spite of his mental agitation, the marked -sympathy of Mopsula had not escaped him; and when the pet returned to -him with an expression of sadness, he knocked, on the table and said to -himself as he thought of Consuelo, "Yet she was not badly disposed to -me." - -"Has your majesty asked for me?" said Buddenbrock, as he appeared at -another door. - -"No," said the king, who was offended at the anxiety with which the -courtier came to pounce on his prey. "Go away. I will ring for you." - -Mortified at being treated like a valet, Buddenbrock left; and during -the few moments the king passed in meditation, Consuelo was retained in -the Gobelin-hall. At length the bell was heard, and the aide-de-camp did -not because of his mortification delay to hasten to the king. The king -appeared somewhat softened and communicative. - -"Buddenbrock," said he, "that girl is an admirable character. At Rome -she would have deserved a triumph--a car with eight horses, and a -chaplet of oak leaves. Have a post-chaise prepared, take her yourself -out of the city, and send her under a good escort to Spandau, to be -confined as a state prisoner--not with the largest allowance of liberty. -Do you understand?" - -"Yes, sire." - -"One minute. Get into the carriage with her to pass through the city, -and frighten her by your conversation. It will be well to make her think -she is to be delivered to the executioner, and flogged as people were in -my father's time. Remember, however, while you talk thus, you must not -disturb a hair of her head; and put on your glove when you give her your -hand. Go: and learn, when you admire her stoical devotion, how you -should act to those who honor you with their confidence. It will do you -no harm." - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - - -Consuelo was taken to her house in the same carriage which had brought -her to the palace. Two sentinels were placed at each door of her house; -and the Baron of Buddenbrock, watch in hand, imitating the rigid -punctuality of his master, gave her one hour to make her preparations, -telling her at the same time that her packages would be examined by the -officers of the fortress to which she was about to be sent. When she -entered her room, all was in the most picturesque disorder. During her -conference with the king, officers of the secret police had come, in -obedience to order, to open every lock and take possession of all her -papers. Consuelo had except her music, nothing of consequence, and was -much distressed in thinking that perhaps she would never see her -favorite authors again--and they were the only fortune she had amassed. -She cared much less for various jewels given her by some of the most -exalted personages of Vienna and Berlin, as a kind of pay for her -services at their concerts. They were taken from her under the pretence -that perhaps the rings were poisoned or had seditious emblems. The king -never heard of them, nor did Consuelo ever see them. The subordinate -officers of Frederick had no scruples in relation to such peculations, -for they were badly paid, and knew the king would rather shut his eyes -to their conduct than increase their pay. - -Consuelo looked first for her crucifix, and thinking that they had -neglected it on account of its small value, took it down and put it in -her pocket. She saw the chaplet of roses lying withered on the floor. -When she took it up, she perceived with terror that the band of -parchment which contained the mysterious encouragement was not there. - -This was the only proof possible of her complicity in the pretended -conspiracy; but to what commentaries might this be the index? While -looking anxiously around for it, she put her hand in her pocket and -found it there, where she had placed it mechanically when Buddenbrock -had called her an hour before. - -Made at ease in relation to this, and being well aware that nothing -which could compromise her would be found among her papers, she hastened -to collect all she might need during an absence the duration of which -she knew would be altogether indefinite. She had no one to help her, her -servant having been arrested as a witness; and amid her dresses which -had been pulled out of the drawers and thrown at random about the room, -she had great difficulty in finding what she needed. Suddenly she heard -some sonorous object fall on the floor. It was a large nail which was -passed through a letter. - -The style was laconic. "Do you wish to escape? Show yourself at the -window, and in ten minutes you will be in safety." - -The first idea of Consuelo was to go to the window. She paused, however, -for she fancied that her flight, in case she effected it, would be -considered as proof of guilt, and that this would be considered a -confession that she had accomplices. - -"Princess Amelia!" thought she, "if it be true that you have betrayed -me, so will I not you! I will discharge my debt to Trenck. He saved my -life; and if it be necessary, I will lose mine for him!" - -Revived by this generous idea, she completed her preparations with much -presence of mind, and was ready when Buddenbrock came for her to go. On -this occasion she thought him more hypocritical and disagreeable than -ever. Being both servile and arrogant, Buddenbrock was jealous of his -master's sympathies, just as old dogs snap at all who visit the house. -He had been mortified at the lesson the king had given him when he -received orders to make Consuelo suffer from her situation, and asked -for nothing better than to be avenged. - -"I am much grieved, signora," said he, "at having to execute such -rigorous orders. For a long time nothing like it has been witnessed in -Berlin. No; it has not occurred since the time of Frederick William, the -august father of the present king. It was a cruel example of the -severity of the law, and of the power of our princes. I will remember it -as long as I live. Then neither age nor sex were respected when an error -was to be punished. I remember a very pretty girl, well-born and -amiable, who, for having received the visit of an august person, -contrary to the king's wish, was flogged by an executioner, and driven -from the city." - -"I know that story, sir," said Consuelo, with mingled fear and -indignation. "The young girl was prudent and pure. Her only offence was, -that she used to practise music with the present king, then prince -royal. Has the king suffered so little from the catastrophes to which he -has subjected others, that he now dares attempt to frighten me by so -infamous a threat?" - -"I think not, signora. His majesty does nothing but what is great and -just, and you must know whether or not your innocence shelters you from -his anger. I would think so if I could, but just now I saw the king more -irritated than he ever was. He said that he was wrong in attempting to -reign by mildness, and that in his father's days no woman had dared to -act as you had. From some other words of his majesty, I am afraid some -degrading punishment--I cannot conjecture what--awaits you. But my duty -is painful; we are now at the gates of the city, and if I find there -that the king has given any orders contrary to those I received to -conduct you to Spandau, I will withdraw, my rank not permitting me to be -present." - -Buddenbrock, seeing the effect he had produced, and that Consuelo was -almost ready to faint, stopped. She, at that moment, almost regretted -her devotion, and could not in her heart refrain from appealing to her -unknown protectors. But as she looked with a haggard eye at Buddenbrock, -she saw in his face the hesitating expression of falsehood, and began to -grow calm. Her heart yet beat as if it would burst her breast, when a -police officer presented himself at the gate, to exchange a few words -with Buddenbrock. During this conversation, one of the grenadiers who -had come on horseback with the carriage, came to the other door, and -said, in a low tone, "Be calm, signorina, blood will be shed rather than -that you should be injured." In her trouble, Consuelo did not -distinguish the features of her unknown friend, who at once withdrew. -The carriage proceeded at a gallop towards the fortress, and, in about -an hour, Porporina was incarcerated in due form, or rather with the -prevailing want of form, in the castle of Spandau. - -This citadel, at that time considered impregnable, is situated in the -bay formed by the confluence of the Havel and the Spree. The day had -become dark and gloomy, and Consuelo having completed the sacrifice, -experienced that apathetic exhaustion which follows energy and -enthusiasm. She therefore suffered herself to be taken to the gloomy -abode intended for her, without even looking around. She was exhausted; -and though it was noon only, threw herself, dressed as she was, on the -bed, and went fast asleep. In addition to the fatigue, she experienced, -was added that kind of delicious security, the fruits of which a good -conscience always receives. Though the bed was hard, she slept -profoundly as possible. - -She had been for some time in a kind of half-slumber, when she heard -midnight struck by the castle clock. The impression of sound is so keen -to musical ears that she was awakened at once. When she left her bed, -she understood that she was in prison, and she was forced to pass the -whole night in thought, as she had slept all day. She was surprised at -not suffering with cold, and was especially pleased at not feeling that -physical inconvenience which paralyses thought. The wind bellowed -outside in the most mournful manner, the rain beat on the window, and -Consuelo could see through the narrow window nothing but the iron -grating painted on the dark ground of a starless sky. - -The poor captive passed the first hour of this new and unknown -punishment, with her mind perfectly lucid, and with thoughts full of -logic, reason, and philosophy. Gradually, however, this tension fatigued -her brain, and the night became lugubrious. Her positive reflections -changed into vague and strange reveries. Fantastic images, painful -memories, terrible apprehensions assailed her, and she found herself in -a state neither of sleeping nor watching, yet where all her ideas -assumed some form and seemed to float amid the darkness of her cell. -Sometimes she fancied herself on the stage, and mentally sang a part -that fatigued her, and the representation of which haunted her, without -her being able to get rid of it: sometimes she saw herself in the hands -of the executioner, with bare shoulders, amid a stupid and curious -crowd, lacerated by the rod, while the king, with angry air, looked down -from the balcony, and Anzoleto stood laughing in one corner. At last, -she felt a kind of torpor, and saw nothing but the spectre of Albert in -a cenotaph, making vain efforts to rise and come to her aid. Then, this -image was effaced, and she fancied herself asleep in the grotto of -Schreckenstein, while the sublime and sad notes of the violin uttered in -the depths of the cavern Albert's eloquent and lacerating prayer. -Consuelo, in fact, was but half asleep, and the sound of the instrument -flattered her ear, and restored quiet to her soul. The phrases, however, -were so united, though weakened by distance, and the modulations were so -distinct, that she really fancied she heard them, and was not astonished -at the fact. It seemed that this fantastic performance lasted more than -an hour, and that it lost in the air its insensible gradations. Consuelo -then sunk again to sleep and day began to dawn when she opened her eyes. - -The first care she had was to look around her room, which she had not -even looked at on the previous evening, so absorbed was she by the -sensations of physical life. She was in a cell, perfectly naked, but -clean, and warmed by a brick stove, which was lighted on the outside, -and which shed no light in the room, though it maintained an equable -temperature. One single arched window lighted the room, which yet was -not too dark: the walls were white-washed and rather high. - -Three knocks were heard at the door, and the keeper said aloud, -"_Prisoner, number three_, get up and dress: in a quarter of an hour -your room will be visited." - -Consuelo hastened to obey, and to remake her bed before the return of -the keeper, who in a very respectful manner brought her bread and water -for the day. He had the air and bearing of an old major-domo, and placed -the frugal prison-allowance on the table, with as much care and -propriety as if it had been the most carefully prepared repast. - -Consuelo looked at this man, who was old, and whose fine and gentle -physiognomy at first had nothing repulsive in it. He had been selected -to wait on the women, on account of his manners, his good behavior, and -his discretion, beyond all trial. His name was Swartz, and he informed -Consuelo of the fact. - -"I live below you," said he, "and if you be sick call to me through the -window." - -"Have you not a wife?" said Consuelo. - -"Certainly," said he, "and if you really need her, she will wait on you. -It is, however, forbidden to have anything to say with female prisoners, -except in special cases--the surgeon must say when. I have also a son -who will share with me the honor of serving you." - -"I have no need of so many servants, and if you please, Swartz, I will -be satisfied with your wife and yourself." - -"I know that ladies are satisfied with my age and appearance. You need -not fear my son more than you do me, for he is a lad full of piety, -gentleness, and firmness." - -"You will not require that last quality with me. I came hither almost -voluntarily, and have no wish to escape. As long as I am served decently -and properly, as people seem disposed, I will submit to the prison -rules, rigorous as they may be." - -As she spoke thus, Consuelo, who had eaten nothing during the past -twenty-four hours, and who had suffered all night with hunger, began to -break the loaf and to eat it with a good appetite. - -She then observed that her resignation made an impression on the old -keeper, and both amazed and annoyed him. - -"Your ladyship, then, has no aversion to this coarse food?" said he, -awkwardly. - -"I will not deny, that for the sake of my health in future, I wish for -something more substantial: if, however, I must be satisfied with this, -I will not be greatly put out." - -"Yet you are used to live well? You have a good table at home, I -suppose?" - -"Yes, certainly." - -"Then," said Swartz, "why do you not have a comfortable one prepared for -you here?" - -"Is that permitted?" - -"Certainly," said Swartz, whose eyes glittered at the idea of this -business, for he had feared to find a person too poor or too sober to -ask it. "If your ladyship has been shrewd enough to conceal any money on -your person, I am not prohibited from furnishing food to you. My wife is -a very good cook, and we have a very comfortable table service." - -"That is very kind," said Consuelo, who discovered Swartz' cupidity with -more disgust than satisfaction. "The question, however, is to know if I -really have money. They searched me when I came hither, and I know they -left me a crucifix, to which I attached much interest, but I cannot say -whether they have left me my purse." - -"Has not your ladyship observed it?" - -"No; does that surprise you?" - -"But your ladyship certainly knows what was in the purse." - -"Nearly." As she spoke, Consuelo examined her pockets, but did not find -a farthing. She said, in a gay tone, "They have left me nothing that I -can find: I must be satisfied with prison fare. Do not be mistaken as to -that fact." - -"Well, madame," said Swartz, not without a visible effort over himself, -"I will show you that my family is honest. Your purse is in my pocket; -here it is," and he showed Porporina her purse, which he immediately put -in his pocket. - -"Much good may it do you," said Porporina, amazed at his impudence. - -"Wait awhile," said the avaricious keeper. "My wife searched you. She -was ordered to let the prisoners have no money, lest they should use it -to corrupt their keepers. When the latter are incorruptible, the -precaution is useless. She thought, therefore, her duty did not require -her to give your money to the major. As, however, she must obey the -letter of the order, your purse cannot be returned directly to your -hands." - -"Keep it, then," said Consuelo, "since such is your pleasure." - -"To be sure I will, and you will thank me for doing so. I am the -depository of your money, and will use it for your wants. I will bring -you such dishes as you wish; I will keep your stove hot, and even -furnish you with a better bed and bed-linen. I will keep a regular -account, and pay myself discreetly from your fund." - -"So be it," said Consuelo. "I see one can make terms with heaven, and I -appreciate the honesty of Herr Swartz as I should. When this sum, which -is not large, shall be exhausted, will you not furnish me with the means -of procuring more?" - -"I do not say so. That would be to violate my duty, a thing I will never -do; but your ladyship will never suffer, if you will tell me who at -Berlin or elsewhere is the depository of your funds. I will send my -accounts to that person, in order that they may be regularly paid. My -orders do not forbid that." - -"Very well: you have contrived a way to correct that order, which is a -very agreeable thing, as it permits you to treat us well, and prohibits -us from having anything to say about it. When my ducats are gone, I will -contrive to satisfy you. First of all, bring me some chocolate; give me -for dinner a chicken and vegetables; get some books for me during the -day, and at night give me a light." - -"The chocolate your ladyship will have in five minutes; dinner will be -prepared at once. I will give you also some good soup, little delicacies -which ladies do not disdain, and coffee, which is very salutary to -combat the damp air of our residence. The books and light are -inadmissible: I would be dismissed at once, and my conscience does not -permit me to violate my orders." - -"But, other than prison food is equally prohibited." - -"Not so. We are permitted to treat ladies, and especially your ladyship, -humanely, in all that relates to health and comfort." - -"_Ennui_ is equally injurious to the health." - -"Your ladyship is mistaken. Good food and mental repose make all here -fat. I might mention a lady who came hither as thin as you, and who, -after being a prisoner twenty years, was discharged, weighing one -hundred and twenty pounds." - -"Thank you, sir, I do not wish such immense _embonpoint._ I hope you -will not refuse me books and a light." - -"I humbly ask your ladyship's pardon; but I cannot violate my duty. -Besides, your ladyship will not suffer from _ennui_; you will have a -piano and music here." - -"Indeed! And to whom will I be indebted for this consolation? To you?" - -"No, signora: to his majesty: and I have an order from the governor to -have the above-mentioned articles placed in your room." - -Consuelo was delighted at being allowed the means of _making music_, and -asked nothing more. She took her chocolate gaily, while Swartz put her -furniture in order, that is to say, a miserable bed, two straw chairs, -and a pine table. "Your ladyship will need a _commode_," said he, with -the kind air assumed by persons who wish to overpower others with care -and attention, in exchange for their money: "then a better bed, a -carpet, a chest of drawers, an arm-chair, and a toilette." - -"I will take the commode and toilette," said Consuelo, who sought to -take care of her means. "The rest I will not ask you for. I am not -particular, and beg you to give me only what I ask for." - -Swartz shook his head with astonishment, almost with contempt; he did -not reply, however, and when he had rejoined his worthy wife, said: - -"She is not a bad person, I mean the new prisoner, but she is poor; we -will not make much from her." - -"How much do you wish her to spend?" said the wife, shrugging her -shoulders. "She is not a great lady, but an actress, they tell me." - -"An actress!" said Swartz. "Well, I am glad for our son Gotlieb's sake." - -"Fie on you," said Vrau Swartz, with a frown. "Do you wish to make him a -rope-dancer?" - -"You do not understand, wife. He will be a preacher. I will never give -it up, for he is of the wood of which they are made, and has studied. As -he must preach, and as he has as yet shown no great eloquence, this -actress will give him lessons in declamation." - -"That is not a bad idea, if she will not charge her lessons against our -bills." - -"Be easy, then; she has no sense," said Swartz, snickering and rubbing -his hands. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - - -During the day the piano came. It was the same one Consuelo had hired at -Berlin. She was very glad not to be obliged to run the risk of a new -acquaintance with another less agreeable and less sure instrument. The -king, too, who was used to enquire into the minutest details, had -ascertained when he gave the orders to send the instrument to the -prison, that it did not belong to the prima donna, but was hired, and -had caused the owner to be told that he would be responsible for its -return, but that the rent must be paid by the prima donna. The owner had -then said, that he had no resource to reach a person in prison, -especially if the person should die. Poelnitz, who was charged with this -mission, replied with a laugh, "My dear sir, you would not quarrel with -the king on such a matter; and besides, it would be of no use. Your -instrument is now under execution, and is, perhaps, at this moment in -Spandau." - -The manuscripts and arrangements of Porporina were also brought; and, as -she was astonished at so much amenity in the prison _régime_, the -commandant major of the place came to visit her, and to explain that she -would be required to perform her duty as first singer of the opera. - -"Such," said he, "is his majesty's will. Whenever the opera-bill hears -your name, an escorted coach will take you to the theatre, and return -with you to the fortress immediately after the representation. These -arrangements will be effected with the greatest exactness, and with the -respect due to you. I trust, mademoiselle, that you will not force us, -by any attempt to escape, to double the rigor of your captivity. -Agreeably to the king's orders, you have been placed in a room with a -fire, and you will be allowed to walk on the ramparts as often as you -please. In a word, we are responsible, not only for your person, but for -your health and voice. The only inconvenience you will be subjected to, -will be solitary confinement, without permission to see any one, either -within or without the fortress. As we have but few ladies here, a single -keeper suffices for the whole building they occupy, and you will not be -forced to be tended on by coarse people. The good countenance and good -manners of Swartz must have made you easy in that point of view. _Ennui_ -will be the only inconvenience you will be subjected to, and I fancy -that at your age and in the brilliant sphere in which you were----" - -"Be assured, major," said Consuelo, with dignity; "I never suffer from -_ennui_ when I have any occupation. I only require a small -favor--writing materials and light--that I may attend to my music in the -evenings." - -"That is altogether impossible, and I am in despair at being forced to -refuse the request of so spirited a lady. I can only, by way of -palliative, give you permission to sing at any hour of the day or night. -Yours is the only occupied chamber in this isolated tower. The quarters -of Swartz are below, it is true, but he is too polite to complain of so -magnificent a voice. For my part, I regret being too distant to hear -it." - -This dialogue, which was in the presence of Master Swartz, was -terminated by low bows, and the old officer retired, with a conviction, -derived from the prisoner's composure, that she had been consigned to -his charge on account of some infraction of theatrical discipline, and -for a few weeks at most. Consuelo herself did not know whether she was -accused of complicity in a political conspiracy, or only of having -served Frederick Von Trenck, or of being the prudent confidant of the -Princess Amelia. - -For two or three days the captive was more uncomfortable, sad, and -_ennuyée_ than she chose to own. The length of the night at that -season, fourteen hours, was particularly disagreeable, even while she -hoped to be able to induce Swartz to give her pen, ink, and paper. Ere -long, however, she saw that this obsequious personage was inflexible. He -did not at all resemble the majority of people of his class, who love to -persecute those committed to their custody. He was even pious, in his -way, thinking perhaps that he served God and earned salvation so long as -he persisted in discharging the duties of his situation, which he could -not neglect. It is true the indulgences granted were few, and related to -the articles in which there was more chance of profit with the prisoners -than danger of losing his place. - -"She is very simple to think that to earn a few groschen I would run the -risk of losing my place," said he to his wife, who was the Egeria of -these consultations. "Take care," he exclaimed, "not to grant her a -single meal when her purse is empty!-----Do not be alarmed. She has -saved something, and has told me that Signor Porporino, a singer of the -theatre, has it in keeping." - -"It is a bad chance," said the woman; "read again the code of Prussian -law in relation to actresses; it forbids all suits on their part. Take -care, then, that Porporino does not quote the law and retain the money -when you present your accounts." - -"But as her engagement at the theatre is not broken by imprisonment, -since she must continue her duty, I will make seizure of the theatrical -treasury." - -"Who knows if she will get her salary? The king knows the law better -than any one else, and if he invoke it." - -"You think of everything, wife!" cried Swartz. "I will be on my guard. -No money--no fire, no food, and regulation furniture. The letter of the -orders!" - -Thus the Swartz decided on Consuelo's fate. When she became satisfied -that the honest keeper was incorruptible in relation to lights, she made -up her mind, and so arranged her day, as to suffer least from the length -of the night. She would not sing by day, reserving that occupation for -the night. She also refrained, as far as possible, from thinking of -music and occupying her mind with musical recollections and inspirations -before the hours of darkness. On the contrary, she devoted the whole day -to reflections suggested by her position, to the past, and to dreamy -anticipations of the future. In this way, for the time, she succeeded in -dividing her time into two parts, one philosophical, and the other -musical, and saw at once, that with perseverance she could, to a certain -degree, contrive to subject to the will of that capricious and fiery -courser, fancy, the whimsical muse of the imagination. By living -soberly, in spite of the prescriptions and insinuations of Swartz, by -taking much exercise, even when she took no pleasure in it, on the -ramparts, she was enabled to be calm at evening, and employ very -agreeably those hours of darkness, which prisoners, by wishing to seek -sleep to escape _ennui_, fill with phantoms and agitation. Finally, by -appropriating only six hours to sleep, she was sure of being able to -sleep quietly every night, never permitting an excess of repose to -prevail over the tranquillity of the next night. - -After eight days, she had become so used to prison, that it seemed she -had never lived in any other manner. Her evenings, at first so much -feared, became the most agreeable part of the day, and darkness, far -from terrifying, revealed to her treasures of musical conception, which -she had felt for a long time, though unable to evolve in the excitement -of her profession. When she saw that improvisation and the exercise of -memory would suffice to fill her evenings, she devoted a few hours of -the day to note her inspirations, and to study her authors with more -care than she had been able to do amid a thousand emotions, or beneath -the eye of an impatient, and systematic teacher. - -To write music she first made use of a pin, with which she pricked notes -between the lines, and afterwards with little pieces of wood, stripped -from the furniture, and which she charred against the stove when it was -hottest. As this occupied much time, and she had a very small quantity -of ruled paper, she saw it would be best to exercise the powerful memory -with which she was gifted, and trust the numerous compositions she made -every evening to it. Practice enabled her to do this so thoroughly, that -she could pass from one to the other of these unwritten compositions -without confusion. - -Yet, as her room was very warm, thanks to the fuel which Swartz kindly -added to the allowance, and as the rampart on which she walked was -perpetually swept by an icy wind, she could not avoid several days' -cold, which deprived her of the pleasure of singing at the Berlin -theatre. The surgeon of the fortress, who had been ordered to see her -twice a week, and to give an account of her health to Von Poelnitz, -wrote that her voice was gone exactly on the day when the baron, with -the king's consent, was about to suffer her to appear before the public -again. Her egress was thus postponed, without her feeling any chagrin at -it. She did not wish to breathe the air of liberty until she had become -so used to her prison as to be able to return to it without regret. - -She consequently did not nurse the cold with so much care as an actress -usually displays for that precious organ, her throat, and thus -experienced a phenomenon known to the whole world. Fever produces in -every one's brain a more or less painful illusion. Some think that the -angles, formed by the sides of the wall, draw near to them, until they -seem finally to press and crush their frames. They see the angles -gradually diverge and leave them free, return again, and resume the same -alternative of annoyance and relief. Others take their bed for a wave, -which raises and depresses them between the ceiling and the floor. The -writer of this veracious history, is made aware of fever by the presence -of a vast black shadow, which spreads upon a brilliant surface, in which -she is placed. This spot of shade, swimming in an imaginary sun, is -perpetually expanding and contracting. It dilates so as to cover the -whole brilliant surface, and again contracts so as to be a mere thread, -after which it extends again, to be successively attenuated and -thickened. This vision would not be at all unpleasant for the dreamer, -if he did not imagine, from some unhealthy sensation, difficult to be -understood, that he was himself the obscure reflection of some unknown -object, floating without repose in an arena embraced by the fires of an -invisible sun. So great is this, that when the imaginary shadow -contracts, his own being seems to diminish and elongate, so as to become -the shadow of a hair; and when it expands, to be the reflection of a -mountain overhanging a valley. In the reverie, however, there is neither -mountain nor valley. There is nothing but the reflection of an opaque -body making on the sun's reflection, which the black ball of a cat's eye -makes in the transparent iris, and this hallucination, unaccompanied by -sleep, becomes intensely painful. - -We may mention another person, who, in a fever, sees a floor giving way -every moment. Another, who fancies himself a globe, floating in space; a -third, who takes the space between his bed and the floor for a -precipice--while a fourth is always dragged to the left. Every reader -may find observations and phenomena from his own experience; but this -will not advance the question, nor will it explain better than we can, -how every person during his life, or, at least, during a long series of -years, has at night a dream which is his, and not another's, and -undergoes at every attack of fever a certain hallucination, which always -presents the same character and the same kind of anguish. This question -is a physiological one, and I think the medical men will find some -instruction--I do not say about the actual disease which reveals itself -by other and more evident symptoms, but of some latent malady, -originating in the weak point of the patient's organization, and which -it is dangerous to provoke by certain reactives. - -This question is not original with the author, who begs his reader's -pardon for having introduced it. - -Of our heroine, we must say that the hallucination caused by fever -presented a musical character, and affected the auditory nerves. She -resumed then the reverie she had when awake, or at least half awake, on -her first night in the prison. She fancied that she heard the plaintive -tone and the eloquent _phrases_ of Albert's violin--now strong and -distinct, now weak, as if they came from the distance of the horizon. -There was in these imaginary sounds something painfully strange. When -the vibration seemed to approach, Consuelo felt a feeling of terror. -When it was fully displayed, it was with a power which completely -overwhelmed. Then the sound became feeble, and she felt some -consolation, for the fatigue of listening with constant attention to a -song which became lost in space, made her soon feel feeble, during which -she could hear nothing. The constant return of the harmonious tremor -filled her with fear, trembling, and terror, as if the sweep of some -fantastic bow had embraced all air, and unchained the storm around. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - - -Consuelo soon recovered, and was able again to sing at night, and sleep -calmly as before. - -One day, the twelfth of her incarceration, she received a note from Von -Poelnitz, which informed her that on the next night she would leave the -fortress. - -"I have obtained from the king," said he, "permission to go for you, in -one of his own carriages. If you promise me not to escape through the -windows, I hope I will even be able to dispense with the escort, and -reproduce you at the theatre without all that melancholy _cortège._ -Believe me, you have no more devoted friend than I am; and I deplore the -rigorous treatment, perhaps unjust, which you undergo." - -Porporina was somewhat amazed at the sudden friendship and delicate -attention of the baron. In his intercourse with the _prima donna_, Von -Poelnitz, who was _ex-roué_, with no respect for virtue, had been very -cold and abrupt in his demeanor at first; subsequently, he had spoken of -her regular conduct and of her reserved manners with the most -disobliging irony. Nearly everybody knew the old chamberlain was a royal -spy; but Consuelo was not initiated in the secrets of the court, and was -not aware that any one could discharge such a disagreeable duty without -losing the advantage of position in society. A vague, instinctive -aversion, however, told Consuelo that Poelnitz had contributed more to -her misfortune than he had alleviated it. She therefore watched every -word that was uttered when she was alone with him on the next evening, -as the coach bore them rapidly to Berlin. - -"Well, my poor recluse," said he, "you are in a terrible condition. Are -the veteran servitors who guard you very stern? They would never permit -me to go inside the citadel, under the pretext that I had no permit. -They kept me on that account freezing for a quarter of an hour at the -gate while I was waiting for you. Well, wrap yourself closely in this -fur I brought to preserve your voice, and tell me what has happened. -What on earth passed at that last carnival ball? Everyone asks a -question which none can answer. Many innocent persons like myself have -disappeared as if by enchantment. The Count de Saint Germain, who I -think is one of your friends, has disappeared. A certain Trismegistus, -who it is said was in hiding at the house of one Golowkin, and whom -perhaps you know, for they say you are familiar as any one with all that -devil's brood----" - -"Have those persons been arrested?" - -"Or have they taken flight. There are two versions in the town." - -"If these persons know no more than I do, why, they are persecuted. They -had better have waited boldly for their persecution." - -"The new moon may change the monarch's humor. I advise you to sing well -to-night. That is your best chance, and will have more effect on him -than fine words. How the deuce could you be so imprudent as to suffer -yourself to be sent to Spandau? The king would never, for such trifles -as you are accused of, have inflicted so uncourteous a sentence upon a -lady. You must have answered him arrogantly, with your cap on your ear -and your hand on your sword-hilt. What had you done that was wrong? Let -me see--what was it? I will undertake to arrange matters; and if you -follow my advice, you will not return to that damp swamp, but will sleep -to-night in a pretty room at Berlin. Come, tell me. They say you supped -in the palace with the Princess Amelia, and that one fine night you -amused yourself by playing the ghost and the _balayeuse_ in the -corridors, for the purpose of scaring the queen's ladies of honor. It -seems that several of these ladies have miscarried, and the most -virtuous are likely to give birth to children with brooms on their -noses. They say you had your fortune told by Madame Von Kleist's -astrologer, and that Saint Germain revealed to you all the secrets of -Philip the Fair. Are you simple enough to think that the king means -anything else than to laugh with his sister at these follies? The king, -besides, has a weakness almost equal to child's play for the abbess. As -for the fortune-tellers, he only wishes to know whether they ring their -changes for money, in which case they must leave the country and all is -done. You see clearly, then, that you take advantage of your position, -and that had you answered some unimportant questions quietly, you would -not have passed the carnival at Spandau in such a sad manner." - -Consuelo let the old courtier chatter away, without interruption; and -when he pressed her to reply, persisted in saying that she did not know -what he was talking of. She saw that some snare lurked beneath all this -frivolity. - -Von Poelnitz then changed his tactics. - -"This is well," said he. "You distrust me. I am not displeased. On the -contrary, I value your prudence highly. Since you are of this -disposition, signora, I will speak plainly. I perceive that you may be -trusted, and that our secret is in good hands. Know, then, Signora -Porporina, that I am more your friend than you imagine. I am one of you. -I am of the party of Prince Henry." - -"Prince Henry has a party, then?" said Porporina, who was anxious to -learn the intrigue in which she was said to be involved. - -"Do not pretend ignorance," said the baron. "It is a party at present -much persecuted, but far from being desperate. The Grand Lama, or, if -you like the title better, the Marquis, does not sit so firmly on his -throne that he cannot be shaken out of it. Prussia is a good war-horse, -but must not be pushed too far." - -"Then you are a conspirator, Baron Von Poelnitz! I never suspected you." - -"Who does not conspire now? The tyrant is surrounded by servants who are -apparently faithful. They have however, sworn his ruin." - -"You are very wrong, baron, to confide this to me." - -"If I do so, it is because I am authorized by the prince and princess." - -"Of what princess do you speak?" - -"Of one you know. I do not think the others conspire, unless, perhaps, -the Margravine of Bareith does; for she is offended at her position, and -angry with the king, since he scolded her about her understanding with -the Cardinal de Fleury. That is an old story; but a woman's anger is of -long duration, and the Margravine Guillemette[10] is not the -common-place person she seems." - -"I never had the honor of hearing her say a word." - -"But you saw her at the rooms of the Abbess of Quedlimburgh." - -"I was never but once at the rooms of the Princess Amelia, and the only -member of the family I saw was the king." - -"It matters not. Prince Henry had ordered me to say----" - -"Really, baron!" said Consuelo, contemptuously, "has the prince -instructed you to say anything?" - -"You shall see that I do not jest. You must know that his affairs are -not ruined, as people assert. None of his friends have betrayed him. -Saint Germain is now in France, attempting to unite our conspiracy with -that which is about to replace Charles Edward on the throne of England. -Trismegistus alone has been arrested, but he will escape, and the prince -is sure of his discretion. He conjures you not to suffer yourself to be -terrified by the threats of the Marquis. Especially he enjoins you to -confide in none who pretend to be his friends and wish to speak to you. -On that account just now you were subjected to an ordeal, which you -sustained satisfactorily. I will say to our hero, to our brave prince, -that you are one of the best champions of his cause." - -Consuelo could no longer restrain her laughter. The baron, mortified at -her contempt, asked the reason. She could only say---- - -"Ah, baron, you are sublime, and admirable!" and again her laughter -became irrepressible. - -"When this nervous attack is over," said the chamberlain, "be pleased to -tell me what you mean to do. Would you betray the prince? Do you think -the princess would have betrayed you to the king? Would you think -yourself freed from your oaths? Take care, signora, or you may soon have -reason to repent. Silesia ere long will be restored to Maria Theresa, -who has not abandoned our plans, and who henceforth will be our best -ally. Russia and France will certainly offer Prince Henry their hands. -Madame de Pompadour has not forgotten the contempt of Frederick. A -powerful coalition this, and a few years of strife may easily hurl from -the throne the proud monarch who now maintains it by a thread. With the -good will of the new monarch, you may reach a lofty position. The least, -then, that can happen from all this is, that the Elector of Saxony may -lose the Polish crown, and King Henry reign at Warsaw. Then----" - -"Then, baron, there exists, in your opinion, a conspiracy which, to -satisfy Prince Henry, is about to enkindle another European war! and -that prince, to gratify his ambition, would not shrink from the shame of -surrendering his country to a foreign rule! I can scarcely think such -things possible. If you unfortunately speak the truth, I am much -humiliated at the idea of being considered your accomplice. Let us be -done with this comedy, I beg of you. For a quarter of an hour you have -manœuvred very shrewdly to make me own crimes of which I am innocent. I -have listened to ascertain what was the pretext for my being kept in -prison. It remains still for me to find out why I have received the -bitter hatred so basely exhibited against me. If you wish, I will try to -vindicate myself. Until I do, I have nothing to reply to all you have -said, except that you surprise me much, and that I sympathise with none -of those schemes." - -"Then, signora, if that be all you know, I am amazed at the volatility -of the prince, who bade me speak plainly to you, before he was assured -of your adhesion to his schemes." - -"I repeat, baron, that I am utterly ignorant of the prince's plans; but -I am sure that you never had any authority to speak to me one word about -them. Excuse me for thus contradicting you. I respect your age, but -cannot but contemn the terrible _rôle_ you have undertaken to play with -me." - -"I am never offended at the absurd suspicions of women," said Von -Poelnitz, who could not now avow his falsehoods. "The time will come -when you will do me justice. In the trouble of persecution, and with the -bitter ideas created by a prison, it is not strange that you should not -at once see clearly and distinctly. In conspiracies we must expect such -blunders, especially from women. I pity and pardon you. It is possible, -too, that in all this you are only the devoted friend of Baron Von -Trenck, and a princess's confidant. These secrets are of too delicate a -nature for me to be willing to speak of. On them, Prince Henry himself -closes his eyes, though he is aware that all that has led his sister to -join the conspiracy is the hope of Trenck's restoration." - -"I am also ignorant of that, baron, and think, were you sincerely -devoted to the august princess, you would not talk so strangely about -her." - -The noise of the wheels on the pavement terminated this conversation, -much to the satisfaction of the baron, who was sadly perplexed for an -expedient to extricate himself from the position he had assumed. They -were going into the city. The singer was escorted to the stage and to -her dressing-room, by two sentinels, who never lost sight of her. -Although esteemed by her associates, she was coldly received, as none -were bold enough to protest against this external testimonial of -disgrace and royal disfavor. They were sad and constrained, acting as if -afraid of contagion. Consuelo, attributing this to compassion, thought -that in their faces she read the sentence of a long captivity. She -sought to show them that she was not afraid, and appeared on the stage -with bold confidence. - -The arrest of Porporina had been much talked of, and the audience, -composed of persons devoted by conviction or position to the royal will, -put their hands in their pockets as if to restrain the wish and habit of -applauding the singer. Every one looked at the king, who glanced -curiously over the crowd, and seemed to command the most absolute -silence. Suddenly a crown of flowers, thrown no one knew whence, fell at -the feet of Consuelo, and many voices said, simultaneously and loud -enough to be heard in every part of the house, "_It is the king--the -royal pardon!_" This assertion passed rapidly as lightning from mouth to -mouth, and fancying they paid Frederick a compliment, such a torrent of -applause broke forth as Berlin had never before resounded with. For some -minutes Porporina, amazed and confounded, would not commence her part. -The king, amazed, looked at the spectators with a terrible expression, -which was taken as a signal of consent and approbation. Buddenbrock, -himself, who was not far off, asking young Benda what it all meant, was -told the crown came from the king, and at once began to applaud with the -most comical bad grace. Porporina thought she was dreaming, and the king -scratched his head to know if he was awake. - -Whatever might have been the cause and result of this triumph, Consuelo -felt its salutary effect. She surpassed herself, and was applauded with -the same transport, through all the first act. During the interval, -however, the mistake became gradually corrected, and there was but one -part of the audience, the most obscure and least likely to be influenced -by courtiers, which refrained from giving tokens of approbation. -Finally, between the second and third acts, the corridor-orators -informed every one, that the king was very much dissatisfied with the -stupid applause of the public, that a cabal had been created by -Porporina's unheard-of audacity, and that any one who was observed to -participate in it, would certainly regret it. During the third act, in -spite of the wonders performed by the prima donna, the silence was so -great that a fly's wings might have been heard to move at the conclusion -of every song, while the other actors received all the benefit of the -reaction. - -Porporina was soon undeceived in relation to her triumph. "My poor -friend," said Conciolini, when behind the scenes he presented her the -chaplet, "how I pity you for having such dangerous friends! They will -ruin you." - -Between the acts, Porporino came to her dressing-room, and said, in a -low tone, "I bade you distrust M. de Saint Germain, but it was too late. -Every party has its traitors. Do not, however, be less faithful to -friendship and obedient to the voice of conscience. You are protected by -a more powerful arm than the one which oppresses you." - -"What mean you?" said Porporina, "are you of those----" - -"I say, God will protect you," said Porporino, who seemed afraid that he -would be overheard, and he pointed to the partition which divided the -dressing-rooms of the actors. The partitions were ten feet high, but -left, between the top and the ceiling, a space sufficiently wide to -suffer sound to pass freely from one to the other. "I foresaw," said he, -giving her a purse filled with money, "that you would need this, and -therefore have brought it." - -"I thank you," said Porporina. "If the keeper, who sells me food at a -dear price, come to ask payment, as I have here enough to satisfy him -for a long time, do not give it him. He is an usurer." - -"Very well," said the good and kind Porporino, "I will bid you good-bye, -for I would but aggravate your position, if I seemed to have any secret -with you." - -He glided away, and Consuelo was visited by Madame Coccei (La -Barberini,) who boldly showed much interest and affection. The Marquise -d'Argens, (La Cochois,) joined them, and exhibited a much more eager -manner, playing the queen who protects misfortune. Consuelo was not very -much pleased at _her_ bearing, and asked her not to compromise her -husband's favor by remaining long with her. - -* * * * * * * * - -The king said to Von Poelnitz, "Well, have you questioned her? Could you -make her talk?" - -"No more than if she were dumb." - -"Did you say I would pardon her, if she would tell me what she knew of -_La Balayeuse_, and what St. Germain said?" - -"She cares no more about it, than about what happened forty years ago." - -"Did you frighten her, by talking of a long captivity?" - -"Not yet; your majesty bade me act mildly----" - -"Frighten her as you go back." - -"I will try. It will be in vain, however." - -"She is, then, a saint, a martyr." - -"She is a fanatic, possessed by a demon--a devil in petticoats." - -"Then, woe to her. I give her up. The Italian opera season ends in a few -days. Arrange matters so that I shall not hear of this girl till next -year." - -"A year! Your majesty will not stick to that." - -"More firmly than your head sticks to your shoulders." - - -[Footnote 10: Sophia Wilhelmina. She used the signature of "Sister -Guillemette," in her correspondence with Voltaire.] - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - - -Von Poelnitz hated Porporina sufficiently to take this opportunity to -avenge himself. He, however, did not, his conduct being cowardly in the -extreme; he had not sufficient strength of mind to injure any but those -who yielded to him. As soon as he was alone, he became timid, and one -might say, experienced an involuntary respect for those whom he could -not deceive. He had been even known to detach himself from those who -flattered his vices, and to follow, like a whipped hound, those who -trampled on him. Was this a feeling of weakness, or the memory of a less -degraded youth? It would be pleasant to think, that in the most degraded -souls, something appeals to our better instincts, which yet remain, -though oppressed and existing in suffering and remorse alone. Von -Poelnitz had long attached himself to Prince Henry, and feigning to -participate in his sorrows, had induced him to complain of the king's -bad treatment: these conversations he repeated to Frederick, filling -them with venom, as a means of increasing the anger of the latter. -Poelnitz did this dirty work for the very pleasure of mischief; for, in -fact he did not hate the prince, being incapable of the passion. He -hated no one but the king, who dishonored him every day, without making -him rich. Poelnitz loved trickery for its own sake. To deceive, was a -flattering triumph in his eyes. He felt, besides, a real pleasure in -speaking and causing others to speak ill of the king, and when he -repeated all these slanders to the king, he had an interval of pleasure -at being able to play his master the same trick, by concealing the -pleasure he took in laughing at him, betraying and revealing his vicious -and ridiculous points to his enemies. Both parties, therefore, he -considered his dupes, and this life of intrigue in which he fomented -hatred, without knowing precisely why, had a secret attraction. - -The consequence, however, was, that Henry discovered, that as often as -he suffered his ill-humor to appear before the complaisant baron, in the -course of a few hours he found the king more offended and outrageous -than ever. If he complained before Von Poelnitz of having been -twenty-four hours in arrest, on the next day he had twice the -confinement awarded him. This prince, as frank as brave, as confiding as -Frederick was suspicious, finally arrived at a correct appreciation of -the character of the miserable baron. Instead of managing him prudently, -he had overpowered him with indignation. Since that time, Poelnitz -humbled himself to the ground and never had offended him. He seemed, -even, in the depth of his heart, to love him as much as he was capable -of loving any one. He warmed with admiration when he spoke of him, and -these testimonials of respect appeared so strange that all were -astonished at such an incomprehensible whim in such a man. - -The fact is, Von Poelnitz, finding the prince more generous and a -thousand times more tolerant than Frederick, would have preferred him as -a master; having a vague presentiment or rather a guess, as the king -had, that a mysterious conspiracy was spun around the prince, the -threads of which he wished to hold, so that he might know whether -success was so certain that he might join it. It was then for his own -interests that he sought to ingratiate himself with Consuelo, and -ascertain its secrets. Had she revealed the little she knew, he would -not have disclosed it to the king, unless Frederick had given him a -great deal of money. Frederick was too economical, however, to purchase -the services of great scoundrels. - -Poelnitz had ascertained something of this mystery from the Count de -Saint Germain. He had spoken so positively, so boldly of the king, that -this skillful adventurer had not sufficiently distrusted him. Let us -say, _en passant_, that in this adventurer's character there was -something of enthusiasm and folly: that though he was a charlatan and -even Jesuitical in many respects, there was a foundation for the entire -man, a fanatical conviction which presented singular contrasts, and -induced him to perpetrate many errors. - -In conveying Consuelo back to the fortress, having somewhat familiarized -himself with the contempt she had exhibited, he conducted himself with -great _naïveté_ towards her. He confessed to her, voluntarily, that he -was ignorant of everything, that all he had said about the plans of the -prince, in relation to foreign powers, was but a gratuitous commentary -on the whimsical conduct and secret association of the prince and his -sister with suspicious characters. - -"This commentary does no honor to your lordship's sincerity," said -Consuelo, "and, perhaps, should not be boasted of." - -"The commentary is not my own," said Poelnitz, quietly. "It is conceived -by a royal master, with a diseased and unhealthy brain, if there ever -was one, whenever any suspicion takes possession of him. To consider -suppositions as certainties, is a mode of conduct so firmly established -by the custom of courts and diplomatists, that it is pretence in you to -scandalise it. I, too, learned it from kings. They are the persons who -have educated me, and my vices come from the father and the son, the two -Prussian monarchs I have the honor to have served. To state falsehood, -to discover the truth--Frederick never acts otherwise, and is considered -a great man. See what it is to be popular. Yet I am treated as a -criminal because I have his errors; what a prejudice!" - -Von Poelnitz insinuatingly endeavored, as well as he could, to ascertain -from Consuelo what had passed between herself, the abbess, Von Trenek, -the adventurers Cagliostro, Trismegistus, Saint Germain, and a number of -very important persons, who, it was said, were involved in the affair. -He told her, naïvely enough, that if the matter had any consistency, he -would not hesitate to join in it. Consuelo at last saw that he spoke -sincerely. As she knew nothing, however, there was no merit in -persisting in her denial. - -When the fortress gates closed on Consuelo and her pretended secret, he -reflected on the course he ought to adopt in relation to her, and, in -conclusion, hoping if she returned to Berlin that she would suffer her -secret to be discovered, determined to vindicate her. The first sentence -he said to the king on the next day Frederick interrupted. - -"What has she revealed?" said he. - -"Nothing, sire." - -"Then do not disturb me. I forbade you to speak of her. Never utter her -name again before me." - -This was said in such a tone that reply was impossible. Frederick -certainly suffered when he thought of Porporina, for there was in his -heart and conscience a tender point which quivered, as when a pin is -driven into the flesh. To shake off this painful sensation he determined -to forget the matter, and had no difficulty in doing so. Eight days had -not elapsed, when, thanks to his strong character and the servile -conduct of those around him, he forgot that Consuelo had ever existed. -She was at Spandau. The theatrical season was over, and her piano had -been taken from her. The king had given orders to that effect on the -evening when, thinking to gratify him, the audience had applauded her -even in his presence. Prince Henry was placed under an indefinite -arrest. The Abbess of Quedlimburg was very sick. The king was cruel -enough to make her think Trenck had been retaken, and was again in -prison. Trismegistus and Saint Germain had really disappeared, and _la -balayeuse_ no longer haunted the palace. What her apparition presaged -really seemed confirmed. The youngest of the prince's brothers died of -premature disease. - -Added to these domestic troubles was the final dispute between Voltaire -and the king. Almost all biographers have declared that Voltaire had the -best of it. When we look closely at the documents, we find recorded -circumstances which do honor to neither, though the most contemptible -part was played by Frederick. Colder, more implacable, more selfish than -Voltaire, Frederick was capable neither of envy nor hatred, and these -bitter passions stripped Voltaire of a dignity the king knew how to -assume. Among the bitter disputes which added, drop by drop, to the -explosion, was one in which Consuelo was not named, but which prolonged -the sentence of wilful oblivion pronounced on her. D'Argens was reading -one evening the Parisian newspapers, in the presence of Voltaire. They -mentioned the affair of M'lle Clairon, who was interrupted in her part -by a spectator, who shouted out "_louder._" Called on to make an apology -to the public, she cried out, in royal phraseology, "_et vous plus -bas._"[11] The result was, she was sent to the _Bastille_ for having -acted with as much pride as firmness. The newspapers said that this -circumstance would not deprive the public of the pleasure of seeing -M'lle Clairon, because during her incarceration she would be brought -under an escort from the Bastille, to play the parts of _Phédre_ or -_Chimene_, after which she would be returned to prison until her -sentence had expired, which it was hoped and presumed would not be long. - -Voltaire was very intimate with Clairon, because she had greatly -contributed to the success of his dramatic works. He was indignant at -the circumstance, and forgetting that a perfectly analogous circumstance -was passing under his eyes, said--"This does little honor to France. The -fool! to interrupt an actress in such a brutal manner--and such an -actress as M'lle Clairon--stupid public! She make an apology--a lady--a -charming woman! Brutes! Barbarians! The Bastile? In God's name, marquis, -are you not amazed? A woman in the Bastile at this age--for a _bon mot_, -full of mind, _apropos_, and taste! France, too!" - -"Certainly," said the king, "La Clairon was playing _Electra_ and -_Semiramis_; and the public, unwilling to lose a single word, should -find favor with M. de Voltaire." - -At another time, this remark of the king would have been flattering to -Voltaire; but it was now uttered with such irony, that the philosopher -was surprised, and it reminded him of the blunder he had committed. He -had wit enough to repair it, but would not. The king's ill-temper -excited him, and he replied: "No, sire: Madame Clairon would have -disgraced my tragedy had she obeyed; and I cannot think the world has a -police-system brutal enough to bury beauty, genius, and weakness in a -dungeon." - -This reply, added to others, and especially the brutal ridicule, cynical -laughter, &c., reported to the king by the officious Poelnitz, -super-induced the rupture with which all are acquainted, and supplied -Voltaire with the means of making the most piquant complaints, most -comical imprecations, and most bitter reproaches. Consuelo was more than -ever forgotten, while Clairon left the Bastile in triumph. Deprived of -her piano, the poor girl appealed to her courage, and continued to sing -and compose at night. She succeeded, and did not fail to discover that -her beautiful voice was improved by this most difficult practice. The -fear of lunacy made her very circumspect. She was enabled to attend to -herself alone, and a constant exercise of memory and mind was required. -Her manner became more serious, and nearer perfection. Her compositions -became more simple, and, at Spandau, she was the author of airs of -wonderful beauty and grand sadness. Before long, however, she became -aware of the injury which the loss of her piano did to her health and -calmness. Knowing the necessity of ceaseless occupation, and unwilling -to repose after exciting and stormy production and execution, by more -tranquil study and research, she became aware that fever was gradually -kindling in her veins, and she was plunged in grief. Her active -character, which was happy and full of affectionate expansion, was not -formed for isolation and the absence of sympathy. She would, in a few -weeks have been sacrificed to this cruel _régime_, had not Providence -sent her a friend whom she certainly did not expect to meet. - - -[Footnote 11: Royalty in Europe always uses the plural. The meaning of -the phrase is, "And you SPEAK not so loudly!"] - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - - -Beneath the cell, which our recluse occupied, a large smoky room (a -thick and mournful vault, which received no other light than that of the -fire in a vast chimney, continually filled with iron pots, boiling and -hissing) contained the Swartz family. While the wife made the greatest -possible number of dinners out of the smallest number of comestibles, -the husband sat before a table, blackened with ink and oil, and, by the -light of a lamp which burned constantly in this dark sanctuary, wrote -out immense bills containing the most fabulous items imaginable. The -miserable dinners were for the large number of prisoners whom Swartz had -contrived to number among his boarders; the bills were to be presented -to their relations or bankers without being always submitted to the -recipients of this luxurious alimentation. While the speculative couple -were devoting themselves with all their power to toil, two more -peaceable personages, in the chimney-corner, sat by in silence, perfect -strangers to the advantage and profit of what was going on. The first -was a poor starved cat, thin and famished, whose whole existence seemed -wasted in sucking its paws. The second was a young man, or rather a lad, -if possible uglier than the cat, who wasted his life in reading a book, -if possible, more greasy than his mother's pots, and whose eternal -reveries seemed to partake more of tranquil idiocy than the meditation -of a sentient being. The cat had been christened Belzebub, as an -antithesis to the name conferred by Herr and Vrau Swartz on the lad, who -was called Gottlieb. - -Gottlieb, intended for the church, until he was fifteen had made rapid -progress in Protestant Theology. For four years, however, he had been -inert and invalid, hanging over the hearth side, unwilling to see the -sun, and unable to continue his studies. A rapid and irregular growth -had reduced him to a state of languor and indolence. His long, thin legs -scarcely sufficed to support his unnatural and ungainly height. His arms -were so feeble, and his hands so clumsy, that he could touch nothing -without breaking it. His avaricious mother had, therefore, forbidden him -to interfere at all, and he was ready enough to obey her. His face was -coarse and beardless, terminated by a high forehead, and was altogether -not unlike a ripe pear. His features were irregular as his figure. His -eyes seemed decidedly astray, so cross and diverging were they. His -thick lips had a stupid smile; his nose was shapeless, his complexion -colorless, his ears flat, and sticking close to his head. A few coarse, -wiry hairs covered his head, which was more like a turnip than the poll -of a Christian: this, at least, was the poetical comparison of his good -mother. - -In spite of his natural disadvantages, in spite of the shame and -disappointment with which Vrau Swartz regarded him, Gottlieb, her only -son, an inoffensive and patient invalid, was yet the pride and joy of -the authors of his existence. They flattered themselves, when he became -less ugly, that some day he would be a handsome man. They had expected, -from his studious childhood, that his success in life would be -brilliant. Notwithstanding the precarious state to which he was reduced, -they hoped he would recover strength, power, intelligence, and beauty, -as soon as his growth had stopped. It is, besides, needless to remark, -that maternal love becomes used to anything, and is satisfied with -little. Vrau Swartz, though she abused, adored him, and had she not seen -him all day long planted like a _pillar of salt_ (such were her words) -at the corner of the fireplace, would have been unable to mix her sauces -or remember the items of her bills. Old Swartz, who, like many men, had -more self-love than tenderness in his paternal regard, persisted in -jewing and robbing his prisoners, in the hope that some day Gottlieb -would be a minister and a famous preacher. This was his fixed idea, -because, before he became rich, the young man had always displayed great -facility of expression. For four years, however, he had not said one -single sensible thing, and if he ever united two or three sentences -together, he spoke them to his cat Belzebub. In fine, Gottlieb was said -by the physicians to be an idiot, and his parents, alone thought that he -could be cured. - -Gottlieb, however, once shook off his apathy, and told his parents that -he wished to learn a trade, to amuse himself, and make his tiresome -hours profitable. They yielded to this innocent desire, though it -scarcely conformed with the dignity attached to a preacher of the -reformed church to work with his hands. The mind of Gottlieb appeared, -however, so sunk in repose, that it was deemed prudent to permit him to -acquire the art of making shoes in a cobbler's stall. His father would -have wished him to study a more elegant profession. In vain did they -exhibit to him every branch of industry; he had a decided predilection -for the craft of Saint Crispin, and said that he was satisfied -Providence called him to embrace it. As this wish became a fixed idea, -and as the very fear of being interfered with threw him into an intense -melancholy, he was suffered to pass a month in the shop of a master -workman, whence he came one day with all the tools of the trade, and -installed himself in the chimney-corner, saying that he knew enough, and -had no need of further instruction. This was not probable; and his -parents, hoping that his experience had disgusted him, and that he -probably would resume the study of theology, neither reproached nor -laughed at him on his return. A new era in Gottlieb's life then began, -which was entirely delighted by the prospect of the manufacture of an -imaginary pair of shoes. Three or four hours a-day, he took his last and -worked at a shoe, which no one over wore, for it was never finished. -Every day it was stitched, stretched beaten, pointed, and took all -possible shapes, except that of a shoe. The artisan was, however, -delighted with his work, and was attentive, careful, patient, and -content, so that he utterly disregarded all criticism. At first, his -parents were afraid of this monomania, but gradually became used to it, -and the great shoe and the volume of sermons and prayers alternated in -his hands. Nothing more was required of him than to go from time to time -with his father through the galleries and courts, to get fresh air. -These promenades gave Swartz a great deal of annoyance, because the -children of the other keepers of the prison ran after Gottlieb, -imitating his idle and negligent gait, and shouting out "Shoes! shoes! -_Cobbler_, make me a pair of shoes! Take my measure--who wants shoes?" -For fear of getting him into difficulty with this rabble, Swartz dragged -him along, and the shoemaker was not at all troubled nor distressed at -being thus hurried from his work. - -In the early part of her imprisonment, Consuelo had been humbly -requested by Swartz to get into conversation with Gottlieb, and try to -awaken in him the memory of and taste for that eloquence with which he -had been endowed in his childhood. While he owned the unhealthy state -and the apathy of his heir, Swartz, faithful to the law of nature, so -well defined by La Fontaine-- - - -"Nos petits sont mignons, -Beaux, bienfaits, et jolis sur touts leurs compagnons." - - -had not described very faithfully the attractions of poor Gottlieb. Had -they done so, Consuelo, it is probable, would not have refused to -receive in her cell a young man of nineteen, five feet eight inches -high, who made the mouth of all the recruiters of the country water, but -who, unfortunately for his health, but fortunately for his independence, -was weak in the arms and legs, so as to be unfit for a soldier. The -prisoner thought that the society of a _child_ of that age and stature -was not exactly proper, and refused positively to receive him. This was -an insult the female Swartz made her atone for, by adding a pint of -water every day to her _bouillon._ - -On her way to the esplanade, where she was permitted to walk every day, -Consuelo was forced to pass the filthy home of the Swartz, and also to -go through it under the escort, and with the permission of her keeper, -who ever insisted on persuasion, (the article of _ceaseless -complaisance_ being highly charged in his bills.) It happened, then, -that in passing through this kitchen, one door of which opened on the -esplanade, Consuelo observed Gottlieb. A child's head on a giant's -frame, badly formed too, at first disgusted her; but, gradually, she -learned to pity him; questioned him kindly, and tried to make him talk. -Ere long, she discovered that his mind was paralysed either by disease -or extreme timidity. He would not accompany her to the rampart, until -his parents forced him to do so, and replied to her questions only by -monosyllables. In talking to him, therefore, she was afraid of -aggravating the _ennui_ she fancied he suffered from, and would not -either speak or talk to him. She had told his father she saw not the -slightest disposition for the oratorical art in him. - -Consuelo had been searched a second time by Madame Swartz, on the day -when she had met Porporino and sang to the Berlinese public. She -contrived, however, to deceive the vigilance of the female Cerberus. The -hour was late, and the old woman was out of humor at being disturbed in -her first slumber. While Gottlieb slept in one room, or rather in a -closet which opened into the kitchen, and the jailer went up stairs to -open her cell, Consuelo had approached the fire, which was smothered by -the ashes, and while pretending to caress Belzebub, managed to save her -funds from the hands of the searcher, so as to be no longer fully at her -control. While Madame Swartz was lighting her lamp and putting on her -spectacles, Consuelo observed in the chimney-corner, where Gottlieb -habitually sat, a recess in the wall about the elevation of her arm, and -in this mysterious recess lay his library and tools. This hole, -blackened by soot and smoke, contained all Gottlieb's wealth and riches. -By an adroit movement, Consuelo slipped her purse into the recess, and -then suffered herself to be patiently examined by the old vixen, who -persisted for a long time in passing her oily fingers over all the folds -of her dress, and who was surprised and angry at finding nothing. The -_sang froid_ of Consuelo, who after all, was not very anxious to succeed -in her enterprise, at last satisfied the jailer that she had nothing -hidden; and, as soon as the examination was over, she contrived to -recover her purse, and keep it in her hand under her cloak until she -reached her cell. There she set about concealing it, being well aware -that when she was taking her walk, her cell was searched regularly. She -could do nothing better than keep her little fortune always about her, -sewed up in a girdle, the female Swartz having no right to search her -except when she had left the prison. - -By and by, the first sum which had been found on the person of the -prisoner, when she reached the fortress, was exhausted, thanks to the -ingenious bills of Swartz. When he had given her a few very meagre meals -and a round bill, being, as usual, too timid to speak of business, and -ask a person condemned to poverty for money, in consonance with -information had from her, on the day of her incarceration, in relation -to the money in Porporino's hands, Swartz went to Berlin, and presented -his bill to the contralto. Porporino, in obedience to Cousuelo's -directions, refused to pay the bill until the prisoner directed it, and -bade the creditor ask his prisoner, whom he knew to have a comfortable -sum of money, to pay it. - -Swartz returned, pale and in despair, asserting that he was ruined. He -looked on himself as robbed, although the hundred ducats he first found -on the prisoner would have paid him four-fold for all she had consumed -during two entire months. The old woman bore this pretended loss with -the philosophy of a stronger head and more persevering mind. - -"We are robbed," said she, "of a surety; but you never relied on this -prisoner certainly? I told you what would happen. An actress--bah! those -sort of people never save anything. An actor as her banker!--what would -you expect? We have lost two hundred ducats--we will make this loss up -on others, however, who have means. This will teach you to go headlong -and offer your services to the first comer. I am not sorry, Swartz, you -have had this lesson. I will now do myself the pleasure of putting her -on dry bread, and that, too, rather stale, for being so careless as not -to put a single 'Frederick' in her pocket to pay the searcher, and for -treating Gottlieb as a fool, because he would not make love to her." - -Thus scolding and shrugging her shoulders, the old woman seating herself -near the chimney by Gottlieb, said--"What do you think of all this, my -clever fellow?" - -She talked merely to hear herself, being well aware that Gottlieb paid -no more attention than the cat Belzebub did to her words. - -"My shoe is almost done, mother; I will soon begin a new pair." - -"Yes," said the old woman, with an expression of pity; "work so, and you -will make a pair a-day. Go on, my boy; you will be very rich. My God! my -God!" she continued, opening her pots, and with an expression of pitiful -resignation, just as if the maternal instinct had endowed her with any -of the feelings of humanity. - -Consuelo, seeing her dinner did not come, was well aware what had -happened, though she could scarcely think a hundred ducats had been -absorbed in such a short time. She had previously marked out a plan of -conduct, in regard to the jailer: not having as yet received a penny -from the King of Prussia, (that was the way Voltaire was paid.) She was -well aware that the money she had gained by charming the ears of some -less avaricious persons would not last her long, if her incarceration -were prolonged and Swartz did not modify his claims. She wished to force -him to reduce his demands, and for two or three days contented herself -with the bread and water he brought, without remarking the change in her -diet. The stove also, began to be neglected, and Consuelo suffered with -cold, without complaining of it. The weather, fortunately, was not very -severe. It was April, when in Prussia the weather is not as mild as it -is in France, but when the genial season commences. - -Before entering into a parley with her avaricious tyrant, she set about -disposing her money in a place of safety. She could not hope that she -would not be subjected to an examination and an arbitrary seizure of her -funds, as soon as she should own her resources. Necessity makes us -shrewd, if it does not do more. Consuelo had nothing with which she -could cut either wood or stone. On the next day as she examined with the -minute patience of a prisoner, every corner of her cell, she observed a -brick which did not seem to be as well jointed as the others. She -scratched it with her nails, took out the mortar, which she saw was not -lime, but a friable substance, which she supposed to be dried bread. She -took out the brick, and found behind it a recess carefully formed in the -depth of the wall. She was not surprised to find in it many things which -to a prisoner were real luxuries; a package of pencils, a penknife, a -flint, tinder, and parcels of that thin waxlight, twisted in rolls, and -called _care_-nots. These things were not at all injured, the wall being -dry, and besides, they could not have been there long before she took -possession of the cell. With them she placed her purse, her filagree -crucifix, which Swartz looked greedily at, saying it would be such a -pretty thing for Gottlieb. She then replaced the brick and cemented it -with her loaf, which she soiled a little by rubbing it on the floor, to -make it appear the color of mortar. - -Having become tranquil for a time, in relation to the occupation of her -evenings and her means of existence, she waited with not a little -eagerness for the domiciliary visit of Swartz, and felt proud and happy -as if she had discovered a new world. - -Swartz soon became tired of having no speculation. If he must work, said -he, it was better to do it for a small sum than for nothing, and he -broke the silence by asking prisoner _No. 3_ if she had nothing to -order? Then Consuelo resolved to tell him that she had no money, but -would receive funds every week by a means which it was impossible for -him to discover. - -"If you should do so," said she, "it would make it impossible for me to -receive anything, and you must say whether you prefer the letter of your -orders, to your interests." - -After a long discussion, and after having for some days examined the -clothes, floor, furniture, and bed, Swartz began to think that Consuelo -received the means of existence from some superior officer of the -fortress. Corruption existed in every grade of the prison officials, and -subalterns never contradicted their more powerful associates. - -"Let us take what God sends us," said Swartz, with a sigh, and he -consented to settle every week with Porporina. She did not dispute about -the disbursement of her funds, but regulated the accounts, so as not to -pay more than twice the value of each article, a plan which Vrau Swartz -thought very mean, but which did not prevent her from earning it. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - - -To any one fond of reading the history of prisoners, the simplicity of -this concealment, which escaped the examination of the keepers anxious -to discover it, will not seem at all wonderful. The secret of Consuelo -was never discovered; and when she looked for her treasures, on her -return from walking, she found them untouched. Her first care was to put -her bed before her window, as soon as it was night, to light her lamp -and commence writing. We will suffer her to speak for herself. We are -owners of the manuscript which was for a long time after her death in -the possession of the canon *****. We translate from the Italian:-- - - -Journal of Consuelo, otherwise Poporina, a Prisoner at Spandau, -April, 175-- - - -"April 2.--I have never written anything but music; and though I speak -several tongues with facility, I am ignorant whether I can express -myself in a correct style in any. It never has seemed proper that I -should expound what fills my heart otherwise than in the divine art -which I profess, words and phrases appear so cold to me, compared with -what I could express in song. I can count the letters, or rather notes, -I have hastily written, without knowing how, in the three or four most -decisive instances of my life. This is, then, the first time in the -course of my life that I find it necessary to trace in words what has -happened to me. It is a pleasure for me to attempt it. Illustrious and -venerated Porpora! amiable and dear Haydn! excellent and kind canon -*****! you, my only friends--except, perhaps, you, noble and unfortunate -Trenck--it is of you that I think as I write; it is to you that I -recount my reverses and trials. It seems to me that I speak to you, that -I am with you, and that in my sad solitude I escape annihilation by -initiating you into the secret of my existence. It may be I shall die -here of _ennui_ and want, though as yet neither my health nor spirits -are materially changed. I am ignorant, however, of the evils reserved -for me in the future; and if I die, at least a trace of my agony, a -description of it, will remain in your hands. This will be the heritage -of the prisoner who will succeed me in this cell, and who in the recess -in the wall will find these sheets, as I found myself the paper and -pencil with which I write. How I thank my mother, who could not write, -for having caused me to be taught! It is a great consolation in prison -to be able to write. My sad song could not pierce the walls, nor could -it reach you. Some day this manuscript may; and who knows but I may send -it soon. I have always trusted in Providence. - -"April 3.--I will write briefly, and will not indulge in long -reflections. This small supply of paper, fine as silk, will not last -always, and my imprisonment perhaps will not soon end. I will tell you -something every night, before I go to sleep. I must also be economical -of my waxlights. I cannot write by day, lest I should be surprised. I -will not tell you why I have been sent here, for I do not know myself, -and perhaps by guessing at the cause, I might compromise persons who -have nothing to do with me. I will not either complain of the authors of -my misfortune. It seems to me that I would lose the power of sustaining -myself, if I were to complain or become angry at them. I wish here to -speak only of those whom I love, and of him I have loved. - -"I sing for two hours every evening, and it seems to me that I improve. -What will be the use of this? The roofs of my dungeon reply, they do not -understand--but God does; and when I have composed some canticle which I -sing in the fervor of my heart, I experience a celestial calm, and sink -to sleep almost happily. I fancy that heaven replies to me, and that a -mysterious voice sings while I sleep a strain far more beautiful than -mine, which in the morning I attempt to remember and repeat. Now that I -have pencils and a small supply of ruled paper, I will write out my -compositions. Some day, my friends, it may be that you will attempt -them, and that I shall not have altogether vanished from your memory. - -"April 4.--This morning the 'red-throat' came into my room, and remained -there more than a quarter of an hour. For a fortnight I have invited him -to do me this honor, and at last he decided on it. He dwells in an old -ivy which clings to the wall near my window, and which my keepers spare, -because it gives a green shelter to their door, which is a few feet -below. The little bird for some time looked at me in a curious and -suspicious manner. Attracted by the crumbs of bread which I rolled up to -resemble little worms, hoping to entice him by what appeared living -prey, he came lightly, as if he were wafted by the wind, to my bars; but -as soon as he became aware of the deceit, he went away with a -reproachful air, and I heard a chattering which sounded very like a -complaint. And these rude iron bars, so close and black, across which we -made our acquaintance! they are so like a cage that he was afraid of -them. To-day, when I was not thinking of him, he determined to cross -them, and perched himself on the back of a chair. To avoid frightening -him, I did not stir, and he looked around with an air of terror. He -seemed like a traveller who has discovered an unknown land, and who -examines it, that he may impart to his compatriots an idea of its -curiosities. I astonished him most, and as long as I did not move he was -much amazed. With his large round eye, and his turned-up nose, he has an -impudent, saucy look, which is quite amusing. At last, to bring about a -conversation I coughed, and he flew away with great alarm. In his hurry -he could not find the window, and for some time he flew around as if he -were out of his senses; but he soon became calm, when he saw I had no -disposition to pursue him, and alighted on the stove. He seemed -agreeably surprised at its warmth, and returned thither frequently to -warm his feet. He then ventured to touch the bread-worms on the table, -and, after scattering them contemptuously about, being beyond doubt -pressed by hunger, he ate them. Just then, Swartz, the keeper, came in, -and my visitor flew in terror from the window. I hope he will return, -for he scarcely left me during the day, and looked constantly at me, as -if he said he had not a bad opinion of me or of my bread. - -"This is a long story about a red-throat. I did not think myself such a -child. Does prison life have a tendency to produce idiocy; or is there a -mystery and affection between all things that breathe under heaven? I -had my piano here for a few days. I could practise, study, compose, -sing. None of these things, however, pleased me so much as the visit of -this little bird!--of this being!--yes, it is a living thing! and -therefore was it that my heart beat when I saw him near me. Yet my -keeper, too, is a living thing, one of my own species; his wife, his son -(whom I have seen several times), the sentinels who walk day and night -on the rampart, are better organised beings, my natural friends and -brothers before God--yet their aspect is rather painful. The keeper -produces the effect of a wicket on me; his wife is like a chain; and his -son, a stone fastened to the wall. In the soldiers, I see nothing but -muskets pointed at me. They seem to have nothing human about them. They -are machines, instruments of torture and death. Were it not for the fear -of impiety, I would hate them. Oh! red-throat, I love you! I do not -merely say so, but feel it. Let any one who can explain this kind of -love. - -"April 5.--Another event. This note I received this morning. It was -scarcely legible, and was written on a piece of paper much soiled:-- - -"'Sister--Since the spirit visits you, I am sure you are a saint. I am -your friend and servant. Dispose as you please of your brother.' - -"Who is this friend thus improvised? It is impossible to guess. I found -the note on my window this morning, as I opened it to say good morning -to my bird. Can he have brought it? I am tempted to think the bird wrote -it, so well does he know and seem to love me. He never goes near the -kitchen below, the windows of which give vent to a greasy smell, which -reaches even me, and which is not the least disagreeable condition of my -place of incarceration. I do not wish to change it, however, since my -bird has adopted it. He has too much taste to become intimate with the -vulgar turnkey, his ill-tempered wife, and ugly son.[12] He yields his -confidence especially to me. He breakfasted here with an appetite, and -when I walked on the esplanade, hovered around me. He chattered away, as -if to please me, and attract my attention. Gottlieb was at the door, and -looked at me as I passed, giggling and staring. This creature is always -accompanied by a horrid red cat, which looks at my bird with an -expression yet more horrible than his master's. This makes me shudder. I -hate the animal as much as I do Vrau Swartz, the searcher. - -"April 6th.--Another note this morning. It is strange. The same crooked, -angular, blotted writing, and the same sheet of dirty paper. My friend -is not an hidalgo, but he is gentle and enthusiastic. 'Dear -sister--chosen spirit, marked by the finger of God--you distrust me, and -are unwilling to speak to me. Can I aid you in nothing? My life is -yours. Command the services of your brother.'--I look at the sentinel, -who is a brutish soldier, and employs himself in knitting as he walks up -and down, with his gun on his shoulder. He looks at me, and apparently -had rather send a ball than a note to me. Let me look in any direction I -please, I see nothing but stern gray walls beset with nettles, -surrounded by ditches, and they, too, shut in by another fortification, -the use and the very name of which I am ignorant of, but which hides the -water from me. On the summit of this other work I see another sentinel, -or at least his cap and gun, and hear from time to time the savage cry, -'Keep off!' Could I but see the water, the boats, or catch a glimpse of -the landscape! I can hear the sound of the oars, the fisherman's song, -and when the wind blows thence, the rushing of the waters at the place -of meeting of the two rivers. But whence come the mysterious notes, and -this devotion of which I can make nothing? My bird knows, perhaps, but -he will not tell me. - -"April 7th.--As I looked carefully about me during my walk on the -rampart, I discovered a narrow opening in the flank of the tower I -inhabit, about ten feet above my window, and almost hidden by the ivy -branches which grow over it. 'So little light,' I said, sadly, to -myself, 'cannot illumine the habitation of aught human.' I wished to -learn for what it was intended, and attempted to induce Gottlieb to go -on the rampart with me, by flattering his passion or rather monomania -for shoemaking. I asked him if he could make me a pair of slippers, and -for the first time he approached me without being made to do so, and he -replied to me without difficulty. He talks as strangely as he looks, and -I begin to think he is not an idiot but a madman. - -"'Shoes for thee!' he said, and he is familiar withal. 'It is written -"the latches of whose shoes I am unworthy to unloose."' - -"I saw his mother three paces from the door, and ready to join in the -conversation. At that time I had neither leisure nor opportunity to -comprehend his humility and veneration, and I asked if the story above -me was occupied, but scarcely hoping to obtain a distinct answer. - -"'It is not,' said Gottlieb, 'but merely contains a stairway to the -platform.' - -"'And is the platform isolated? Does it communicate with nothing?' - -"'Why ask me? You know.' - -"'I neither know, nor care to know, Gottlieb. I ask the question merely -to ascertain if you have as much sense as they say.' - -"'Ah! I have sense--much sense,' said the poor lad, in a grave and sad -tone, which contrasted strangely with the comical air of his words. - -"'Then you can tell me,' continued I, '(for time is precious,) how this -court is constructed?' - -"'Ask your bird,' he said, with a strange smile. 'He knows, for he flies -and goes everywhere; but I know nothing, for I go nowhere.' - -"'What! not even to the top of the tower in which you live? Do you not -know what is behind that wall?' - -"'Perhaps I have been there, but I paid no attention to it. I look at no -one and nobody.' - -"'Yet you see the bird. You know that?' - -"'Ah! the bird is a thing of a different kind. All look at angels. That -is no reason why I should look at the walls.' - -"'What you say is very profound, Gottlieb. Can you explain it to me?' - -"'Ask the red-throat. I tell you he knows everything. He can go -anywhere, but never goes except among his equals. That is why he comes -to see you.' - -"'Thank you, Gottlieb. Do you take me for a bird?' - -"'The red-throat is not a bird.' - -"'What then?' - -"'An angel, as you know.' - -"'Then so am I.' - -"'You have said it.' - -"'You are gallant, Gottlieb.' - -"'_Gallant!_' said he, looking anxiously at me. 'What is the meaning of -that?' - -"'Do you not know?' - -"'No.' - -"'How know you that the red-throat comes into my room?' - -"'I have seen and heard so from him.' - -"'Then he has spoken to you?' - -"'Sometimes,' said Gottlieb with a sigh, 'but very seldom. Yesterday he -said, "No, I will never go into that hellish kitchen." The angels have -nothing to say to evil spirits."' - -"'Are you an evil spirit, Gottlieb?' - -"'No, no; not I, but----' Here Gottlieb put his fingers on his thick -lips with a mysterious air. - -"'But who?' - -"'He did not reply, but he pointed to his cat stealthily, as if he was -afraid of being heard. - -"'That is the reason, then, why you call him by that terrible name, -Belzebub?' - -"'Sh--! That is his name, and he knows it well enough. He has been -called so ever since the world began. He will not always bear that -name.' - -"'Certainly not; he will die.' - -"'He will not die--not he--he cannot; and he is sorry for it, for he -does not know when he will be pardoned.' - -"Here we were interrupted by the coming of Madame Swartz, who was amazed -at seeing Gottlieb talk so freely with me. She asked me if I was pleased -with him. - -"'Very much so, I assure you. Gottlieb is very interesting, and I will -be glad to talk with him.' - -"'Ah, signora, you will do us a great service, for the poor lad has no -one to talk with, and to us he never opens his mouth. Are you stupid, -and a fool, my poor child? You talk well enough with the signorina whom -you do not know, while with your parents----' - -"Gottlieb suddenly turned on his heel and disappeared in the kitchen, -apparently not having even heard his mother's voice. - -"'He always does so,' said Madame Swartz; 'when his father speaks to -him, or when I do, twenty-nine times out of thirty, he never opens his -lips. What did he say to you, signorina? Of what on earth could he -converse so long?' - -"'I will confess to you that I did not understand him,' said I. 'To do -so, it is necessary to know to what his ideas relate. Let me talk to him -from time to time freely, and when I am sure, I will tell you what he -thinks of.' - -"'But, signorina, his mind is not disturbed.' - -"'I think not;' and there I told a falsehood, for which I beg God to -pardon me. My first idea was to spare the poor woman, who, malicious as -she is, is yet a mother, and who, fortunately, is not aware of her -child's madness. This is always very strange. Gottlieb, who exhibited -his folly very naïvely to me, must be silent with his parents. When I -thought of it, I fancied that perhaps I might extract from him some -information in relation to the other prisoners, and discover, perhaps, -from his answers, who was the author of my anonymous notes. I wish, -then, to make him my friend, especially as he seems to sympathise with -the red-throat, who sympathises with me. There is much poetry in the -diseased mind of this poor lad. To him the bird is an angel, and the cat -a being who never can be pardoned. What means all this? In these German -heads, even in the mildest of them, there is a luxury of imagination -which I cannot but admire.' - -"The consequence of all this is, that the female Swartz is much -satisfied with my kindness, and that I am on the best possible terms -with her. The chattering of Gottlieb will amuse me. Now that I know him, -he inspires me with no dislike. A madman in this country, where even -people of high talent are not a little awry, cannot be so very bad. - -"April 8th.--Third note on my window. 'Dear sister, that platform is -isolated, but the staircase to it connects with another block in which a -lady prisoner is confined. Her name is a mystery, but if you question -the red-throat, you can find out who she is. This is what you wished -poor Gottlieb to tell you. He could not.' - -"Who is then the friend who knows, sees, and hears all I do and say? I -cannot tell. Is he invisible? All this seems so strange that it really -amuses me. It seems to me, that, as in my childhood, I live amid a fairy -tale, and that my bird will really speak to me. If I must say of my -charming pet, that he needs speech alone, he certainly needs that, and -thus I will never understand his language. He is now used to me; he -comes to and goes from my room as if he felt himself at home. If I move -or walk, he does not fly farther than my arm's-length and then returns -immediately to me. If he loved bread a great deal, he would be fonder of -me, for I cannot deceive myself as to the nature of his attachment. -Hunger, and perhaps a desire to warm at my stove, are his great -attractions. Could I but catch a fly, (for they are rare,) I am sure I -could get hold of him: he already has learned to look closely at the -food I offer him, and were the temptation stronger, he would cast aside -all ceremony. I now remember having heard Albert say, that to tame the -wildest animals, if they had any mind, nothing more than a few hours' -patience is necessary. He had met a Zingara, who pretended to be a -sorceress, and who never remained a whole day in any forest without the -birds lighting on her. She said she had some charm, and pretended, like -Appolonius of Tyana, the history of whom Albert had related to me, to -receive revelations about strange things from them. Albert assured me -that all her secret was the patience with which she had studied their -instincts, and a certain affinity of character which exists between -individuals of our own and other species. At Venice a great many birds -are domesticated, and I can understand the reason, which is, that that -beautiful city being separated from _terra firma_, is not unlike a -prison. In the education of nightingales they excel. Pigeons are -protected by a special law, and are almost venerated by the population: -they live undisturbed in old buildings, and are so tame, that, in the -street, it is necessary to be careful to avoid treading on them. When I -was a girl, I was very intimate with a young person who dealt in them, -and if the wildest bird was given him for a single hour, he tamed it as -completely as if it had been brought up in a cage. I amuse myself by -trying similar experiments on my red-throat, which grows every minute -more used to me. When I am out, he follows me and calls after me; when I -go to the window, he hurries to me. Would he, could he love me! I feel -that I love him; but he does not avoid nor fly from me; that is all. The -child in the cradle doubtless has no other love for its nurse. What -tenderness! Alas! I think we love tenderly only those who can return our -love. Ingratitude and devotion, indifference and passion, are the -universal symbols of the hymen of all; yet I suffered you, Albert, who -loved me so deeply, to die; I am now reduced to love a red-throat, and -complain that I did not deserve my fate. You think, my friends, perhaps, -that I should not dare to jest on such a subject! No; my mind is perhaps -disturbed by solitude; my heart, deprived of affection, wastes itself -away, and this paper is covered with tears. - -"I had promised not to squander this precious paper; yet I am covering -it up with puerilities I find great consolation in, and cannot refrain -from doing so. It has rained all day and I have not seen Gottlieb. I -have not been out; I have been occupied wholly with the red-throat, and -this child's play has had the effect of making me very sad. When the -smart shrewd bird sought to leave me and began to peck at the glass, I -yielded to him. I opened the window from a feeling of respect for that -holy liberty which men are not afraid to take from their fellows. I was -wounded at this momentary abandonment, and felt as if he owed me -something for the great care I had taken of him. I really think I am -becoming mad, and that, ere long, I shall fully understand all -Gottlieb's fancies. - -"April 9th.--What have I learned?--or rather, what have I fancied that I -learned? for I know nothing now, although my imagination is busy. - -"Now I have discovered the author of the mysterious notes. It is the -last person I would ever have imagined; but that is not what surprises -me; it matters not, I will tell you all. - -"At dawn I opened my window, which is formed of a large square of glass, -that I might lose nothing of the small portion of daylight, which is -partially excluded by that abominable grating. The very ivy also -threatens to plunge me into darkness, but I dare not pluck one leaf, for -it lives and is free in its natural existence. To distort, to mutilate -it, would require much courage. It feels the influence of April; it -hurries to grow; it extends and fixes its tendrils on every side; its -roots are sealed to the stone, yet it ascends and looks for air and -light. Human thought does the same thing. Now I understand why once -there were holy plants--sacred birds. The red-throat has come and has -lighted on my shoulder without any hesitation. He then immediately began -to look around, to examine everything, to touch everything. Poor thing! -it finds so little here to amuse itself. It is free, however; it may -inhabit the fields, yet it prefers a prison, the old ivy and my cell. -Does it love me? No! It is warm in my room and likes my crumbs. I am now -distressed at having tamed it so thoroughly. What if it should go into -the kitchen and become the prey of that abominable cat; my care for it -would have brought about its terrible death! to be lacerated and -devoured by that fearful beast. But what is the condition of our feeble -sex, the hearts of whom are pure and defenceless? Are we not tortured -and destroyed by pitiless beings, who, as they slowly kill us, make us -feel their claws and cruel teeth? - -"The sun rose clear, and my cell was almost rose color, bright as my -room in the _Corte Minelli_, when the sun of Venice ****. We must not -think, however, of that sun. It will never rise for me. May you, my dear -friends, salute smiling Italy for me, the vast skies _é il firmamento -lucido_--which I never will see again. - -"I have asked leave to go out; they have permitted me to do so, though -the hour was earlier than usual. I call this going out; a platform -thirty feet long, bordered by a swamp, and shut in by huge walls. Yet -the place is not without beauty; at least I think so now, that I have -seen it under all its aspects. At night it is beautiful, because it is -sad. I am sure there are many persons innocent as I am, here, who are -much worse treated. There are dungeons whence people never come, which -the light of day never penetrates, and on which the moon, the friend of -the wretched, never shines. Ah! I am wrong to complain. My God! had I -portion of the power of earth, how I would love to make people happy! - -"Gottlieb came shuffling rapidly towards me, smiling too, as well as his -stony lips permit him. They did not disturb him, but left him alone with -me. A miracle happened. He began at once to talk like a reasonable -being. - -"'I did not write to you, last night,' said he, 'and you found no note -on your window. The reason was, I did not see you yesterday, and you -asked for nothing.' - -"'What mean you, Gottlieb? Did you write to me?' - -"'Who else could! You did not guess it was I? I will not write to you -now, for since you let me talk to you, it is useless. I did not wish to -trouble, but to serve you.' - -"'Kind Gottlieb! Then you pity me? You take an interest in me?' - -"'Yes; since I found out that you were a spirit of light.' - -"'I am nothing more than you are, Gottlieb. You are mistaken!' - -"'I am not mistaken; I have heard you sing!' - -"'You like music, then?' - -"'I like yours. It is pleasant to God and to my heart!' - -"'Your heart is pious, your soul is pure, I see!' - -"'I strive to make them so! The angels will aid me, and I will overcome -the powers of darkness which weigh on my poor body, but which have no -influence on my soul!' - -"Gradually, Gottlieb began to speak with enthusiasm, never ceasing, -however, to be noble and true to poetical symbolism. - -"In fine, what shall I say? This idiot, this madman, reached the tone of -true eloquence, when he spoke of God's mercy, of human misery, of the -future justice of Providence, of evangelical virtues, of the duties of a -true believer, of arts, of music, and poetry. As yet, I have not been -able to understand in what religion he vested his ideas and fervent -exultation, for he seems to be neither catholic nor protestant, and -though he told me he believed in the true religion, he told me nothing -except that, unknown to his parents, he belonged to a peculiar sect: I -am too ignorant to know what. I will study by-and-bye the mystery, -singularly strong and beautiful, singularly sad and afflicted soul; for, -in fact, Gottlieb is mad, as in poetry Zdenko was, and as Albert was in -his lofty virtue. The madness of Gottlieb reappeared after he had spoken -for some time with great animation; his enthusiasm became too strong for -him, and then he began to talk in a manner that distressed me, about the -bird, the demon-cat, and his mother, who, he said, had allied herself to -the evil spirit in him. Finally, he said his father had been changed -into stone by a glance of the devil-cat, Belzebub. I was enabled to calm -him by leading his attention away from his moody fancies, and asked him -about the other prisoners. I had now no personal interest in these -details, because the notes, instead of being thrown from the top of the -tower into my window, were pushed up by Gottlieb, from below, by means -of I know not what simple apparatus. Gottlieb obeyed my inquiries with -singular docility, had already ascertained what I wished to know. He -told me that the prisoner in the building back of me, was young and -beautiful, and that he had seen her. I paid no attention to what he -said, until he mentioned her name, which really made me shiver. The -prisoner's name was Amelia. - -"Amelia! What an ocean of anxiety; what a world of memories did that -name arouse in me! I have known two Amelias, each of whom hurled my fate -into an abyss of ruin, by their confessions. Was the Princess, or the -young Baroness of Rudolstadt, the prisoner? Certainly neither the one or -the other. Gottlieb, who seems to have no curiosity, and who never takes -a step, nor asks a question, unless urged to do so, could tell me -nothing more. He saw the prisoner as he sees everything, through a -cloud. She must be young and beautiful, for his mother says so; but -Gottlieb told me that he did not know. He only knew from having seen her -at a window, that she is not a _good spirit and angel._ Her family name -is concealed. She is rich and pays the jailer much money; but she is, -like myself, in solitary confinement; she is often sick; she never goes -out. I could discover nothing more. Gottlieb has only to listen to his -parents' chatter to find out all, for they pay no attention to him. He -has promised to listen and find out how long Amelia has been here. Her -other name the Swartzes seem to be ignorant of. Were the abbess here, -would they not know it? Would the king imprison his sister? Princesses -are here treated even worse than others. The young baroness! Why should -she be here? Why has Frederick deprived her of liberty? Well! a perfect -prison curiosity has beset me, and my anxiety, wakened by her name, -results from an idle and diseased imagination. It matters not; I will -have a mountain on my heart until I discover who is my fellow-prisoner, -bearing that name, which has ever been so important to me." - -"May 1.--For many days I have been unable to write. In the interval much -has happened that I am anxious to record. - -"In the first place, I have been sick. From time to time since I have -been here, I have felt the symptoms of a brain fever, similar to that -severe attack I had at the Giants' Castle, after going into the cavern -in search of Albert. I had painfully disturbed nights, interrupted with -dreams, during which I cannot say whether I sleep or am awake. At those -times I seem to hear the terrible violin playing old Bohemian airs, -chants, and war-songs. This does me much injury; yet when this fancy -begins to take possession of me, I cannot but listen and hearken to the -faint sounds which the breeze bears to me from the distance. Sometimes I -fancy that the violin is played by a person who glides over the surface -of the water, that sleeps around the castle; then, that it comes from -the walls above, or rises from some dungeon. My heart and mind are -crushed, yet when night comes, instead of looking for amusement with my -pen and pencil, I throw myself on my bed, and seek again to resume that -kind of half sleep which brings me my musical dream, or rather reverie, -for there is something real about it. A real violin certainly is played -by some prisoner; but what and how does it play? It is too far distant -for me to hear aught but broken sounds. My diseased imagination invents -the rest, I am sure. Now I can no longer doubt that Albert is dead, and -I must look on it as a misfortune that has befallen me. It is apparently -a part of our nature to hope against hope, and not to submit to the -rigor of fate. - -"Three nights ago I was sound asleep, and was awakened by a noise in my -room. I opened my eyes, but the night was so dark that I could -distinguish nothing. I heard distinctly some one walking with stealthy -step by my bed. I thought Vrau Swartz had come to inquire into my -condition, and I spoke to her. I had no answer, however, but a deep -sigh. The person went out on tiptoe, and I distinctly heard the door -closed and bolted. I was overpowered and went to sleep, without paying -any great attention to the circumstance. The next day I had so confused -a recollection of it, that I was not sure whether I had dreamed or not. -Last night I had a more violent fever than hitherto; yet I prefer that -to my uneasy slumbers and disjointed dreams. I slept soundly, and -dreamed, but did not hear the sad violin. As often as I awoke, I became -aware of the difference between sleeping and waking. In these intervals -the breathing of a person not far from me reached my ear. It seemed to -me that I could almost distinguish some one on my chair, and I was not -afraid, for I thought Madame Swartz had come to give me my drink. I did -not awake her; but when I fancied she roused herself, I thanked her for -her kindness and asked the hour. The person then left; and I heard a -stifled sob, so painful and distressing that the sweat even now comes to -my brow whenever I think of it. I do not know why it made this -impression. It seemed to me that I was thought very ill, perhaps dying, -and was pitied. I was not sick enough to feel myself in danger, and I -was not sorry to die with so little pain amid a life in which I had so -little to regret. At seven o'clock, when the old woman came to my room, -I was not asleep, and as I had been for some hours perfectly lucid, I -have a distinct remembrance of this strange visit. I asked her to -explain it. She merely shook her head, however, and said she did not -know what I meant, and that as she kept the keys under her pillow while -she slept, it was certain that I had a dream or was deceived. I had been -so far from delirium that about noon I felt well enough to take air, and -went on the esplanade, accompanied by my bird, which seemed to -congratulate me on my recovery. The weather was pleasant. It had begun -to grow warm, and the wind from the fields was pure and genial. Gottlieb -hurried to me. I found him much changed and much uglier than usual. -There was yet an expression of angelic kindness, and even of pure -intelligence, in the chaos of his face, whenever it was lighted up. His -eyes were so red and bloodshot that I asked if he was sick. - -"'Yes,' said he, 'I have wept much.' - -"'What distresses you, my poor Gottlieb?' - -"'At midnight, my mother came from the cell, and said to my father, "No. -3 is very sick to-night. She has the fever sadly. We must send for the -doctor. I would not like to have her die on our hands." My mother -thought I was asleep, but I determined not to be so, until I found out -what she said. I knew you had the fever, and when I heard it was -dangerous I could not help weeping, until sleep overcame me. I think, -however, I wept in my sleep, for when I awoke this morning, my eyes were -like fire, and my pillow was wet.'" - -"I was much moved at the attachment of poor Gottlieb, and I thanked him, -shaking his great black paw, which smells of leather and wax a league -off. The idea then occurred to me, that in his simple zeal the poor lad -might have paid me the visit. I asked him if he had not got up and come -to listen at the door. He assured me that he had not stirred, and I am -fully satisfied that he had not. The place in which he sleeps is so -situated that in my room I can hear his sighs through a fissure in the -wall, perhaps through the hollow in which I keep my journal and money. -Who knows but this opening communicates secretly with that near the -chimney in which Gottlieb keeps his treasures--his books and his tools. -In this particular he and I are alike, for each of us, like rats or -bats, has a nest in the wall in which we bury our riches. I was about to -make some interrogations, when I saw a personage leave Swartz's house -and come toward me. I had not as yet seen him here, and his appearance -filled me with terror, though I was far from being sure that I was not -mistaken about him. - -"'Who is that man?' said I to Gottlieb, in a low tone. - -"'No great things,' said he. 'He is the new adjutant. Look how Belzebub -bows his back, and rubs against his legs. They know each other well.' - -"'What is his name?' - -"Gottlieb was about to answer, when the adjutant said, with a mild voice -and good-humored smile, pointing to the kitchen-- - -"'Young man, your father wants you.' - -"This was only a pretext to be alone with me, and Gottlieb left. I was -alone, and found myself face to face with whom--friend Beppo, think you? -With the very recruiter whom we met so unfortunately in the -Boehmer-wald, two years ago. It was Mayer. I could not mistake him, for, -except that he had become fat, he was unchanged. He was the same man, -with his pleasant manners, his simple bearing, his false face, his -perfidious good humor, and his _broum, broum_, as if he was imitating -the trumpet. From the band, he had been promoted to the department of -finding food for powder, and as a recompense for his good service in -that position, had been made a garrison officer, or rather a military -jailer, for which he was as well calculated as he was for his old -position of travelling turnkey, which he had discharged so well. - -"'Mademoiselle, (he spoke French), I am your humble servant. You have a -very pleasant place to walk in--air, room, and a fine view, I -congratulate you, for you have an easy time in prison. The weather is -magnificent, and it is a real pleasure to be at Spandau, when the sun is -so bright. _Broum, broum._' - -"These insolent jests so disgusted me, that I did not speak. He was not -disconcerted and said-- - -"'I ask your pardon for speaking to you in a tongue which perhaps you do -not understand. I forgot that you are an Italian--an Italian singer--a -superb voice, they say. I have a passion for music, and therefore wish -to make your time as pleasant as my order will permit. Ah! where the -devil did I have the honor of seeing you? I know your face -perfectly--perfectly.' - -"'At the Berlin Theatre, probably, for I sang there during the winter -which has just passed.' - -"'No; I was in Silesia. I was sub-adjutant at Glatz. Luckily, that devil -Trenck made his escape while I was away, on duty, near the frontiers of -Saxony. Otherwise I would not have been promoted, or been here, which, -in consequence of its proximity to Berlin, I like very much. The life of -a garrison officer, madame, is very melancholy. You may imagine how -_ennuyé_ one is when in a lonely country, and far from any large town, -especially when one loves music as I do. Where had I the honor to meet -you?' - -"'I do not remember, sir, ever to have had that honor.' - -"'I must have seen you on some stage in Italy or Vienna. You have -travelled a great deal. How many theatres have you belonged to?' - -"As I did not reply, he continued, insolently, 'It matters not; I will -perhaps remember. What did I say? Ah! you, too, suffer from _ennui._' - -"'Not so, sir.' - -"'But are you not in close confinement? Is not your name Porporina?' - -"'Yes, sir.' - -"'Just so, prisoner No. 3. Well, do you not wish for amusement--for -company?' - -"'Not at all, sir,' said I, thinking he intended to offer me his. - -"'As you please. It is a pity. There is another prisoner here, extremely -well-bred--a charming woman, who, I am sure, would be delighted to make -your acquaintance.' - -"'May I ask her name, sir?' - -"'Her name is Amelia.' - -"'Amelia what?' - -"'Amelia--_broum--broum_; on my word I do not know. You are curious, I -see. Ah! that is a regular prison-fever.' - -"I was sorry that I had repelled the advances of Mayer, for after having -despaired of making the acquaintance of this mysterious Amelia, and -having abandoned the idea, I felt myself attracted by a feeling of pity -towards her. I tried then to be more pleasant to this disagreeable man, -and he soon offered to put me in connection with No. 2. Thus he called -Amelia. - -"'If this infraction of my arrest will not compromise you, sir, and if I -can be useful to this lady, who, they say, is ill from sadness and -_ennui_----' - -"'_Broum--broum._ You take things literally, you do. You are kind. That -old scamp Swartz has made you afraid of his orders. What are they but -chimeras--good for door-keepers and wicket masters. We officers, -though,' (and as he spoke Mayer expanded himself, as if he had not been -long used to such an honorary title,) 'shut our eyes to such honorable -infractions of discipline. The king himself, were he in our place, would -do so. Now, signorina, when you wish to obtain any favor, go to no one -but myself, and I promise that you shall not be contradicted uselessly. -I am naturally humane and indulgent; God made me so; besides, I love -music. If once in a while you will be kind enough to sing for me, I will -hear you here, and you can do any thing you please with me.' - -"'I will never abuse your kindness, Herr Mayer.' - -"'Mayer!' said the adjutant, interrupting at once the _broum, broum_ -which was on his lips. 'Why do you call me Mayer? Where the devil did -you pick up that name?' - -"'I forgot, and beg your pardon, adjutant. I had a singing-master of -that name, and have been thinking of him all day.' - -"'A singing-master? That was not me. There are many Mayers in Germany. I -am called Nauteuil, and am of French extraction.' - -"'Well, sir, how shall I announce myself to that lady? She does not know -me, and will refuse my visit, as just now I refused her acquaintance. -People become so ill-tempered when they live alone.' - -"'Ah, whoever she may be, the lady will be delighted to talk with you, I -am sure. Will you write her anything?' - -"'I have nothing to write with.' - -"'Ah, that is impossible. Have you no money?' - -"'If I had, old Swartz is incorruptible. Besides, I do not know how to -bribe him.' - -"'Well, I will take you this very evening to see No. 2--that is, when -you have sung something for me.' - -"I was terrified at the idea of Mayer--or Nauteuil, as he now pleases to -call himself--introducing himself into my room, and I was about to -reply, when he made me understand his intentions more perfectly. He had -either not intended to visit me, or he read in my countenance an utter -distate to his company. 'I will listen to you,' said he, 'on the -platform which overlooks the tower in which you live. Sound ascends, and -I will hear you there well enough. Then I will have the doors opened, -and a woman shall escort you, I will not see you. In fact, it would not -do for me to seem to tempt you to an act of disobedience, though, after -all, in such a matter--_broum, broum_--there is a very easy way to get -out of any difficulty. It is only necessary to shoot prisoner No. 3 with -a pistol, and say that she was surprised, _flagrante delicto_, -attempting to escape. Ah! the idea is strange, is it not? In prison -strange ideas come into one's head. Adieu, signorina Porporina, till -this evening.' - -"I was lost in mazes of reflection on the conduct of this wretch, and, -in spite of myself, became terribly afraid of him. I could not think so -base and contemptible a soul loved music so much as to do what he did -for the mere pleasure of hearing me. I supposed that the prisoner was -the Abbess of Quedlimburgh, and that, in obedience to the king's order, -an interview between her and myself was brought about, that we might be -watched, and some state secret, she was supposed to have confided to me, -be discovered. Under this impression I was as much afraid of the -interview as I had previously desired it, for I am absolutely ignorant -how much of this conspiracy, of which I am charged with being an -accomplice, is true or false. - -"Thinking that it was my duty to brave all things to extend some -assistance to a companion in misfortune, whoever she might be, I began -to sing at the appointed time, to gratify the ears of the post-adjutant. -I sang badly enough, the audience inspiring me with no admiration. -Besides, I felt he listened to me merely for form's sake, and that -perhaps he did not hear me at all. When the clock struck eleven, I was -seized with the most puerile terror. I fancied that the adjutant had -received orders to get rid of me, and that he was about to kill me, as -he said, just as if he looked on the manner as a jest, when I stopped -outside of my cell. When the door opened, I trembled in every limb. An -old woman, very dirty and ugly, (far more so than Vrau Swartz,) bade me -follow, and preceded me up a narrow and steep staircase, built in the -hollow of the wall. When we reached the top, I found myself on the -platform, twenty feet above where I walk by day, and eighty or a hundred -above the fosse which surrounds all that portion of the esplanade. The -terrible old woman bade me wait there for a time, and went I know not -whither. My uneasiness was removed, and I was so glad to find myself in -the pure air, and so far up as to be able to see the country around, -that I was not uneasy at the solitude in which I was left. The silent -waters around the citadel, and on which its dark shadows fall, the trees -and fields, which I saw far in the distance, the immense sky, and even -the bats, whirling in space, all seemed, oh, God! grand and majestic, -for I had passed two months in prison, counting the few stars which -crossed the window of my cell. I could not enjoy this long. A noise -forced me to look around, and all my terrors revived when I beheld Mayer -near me. - -"'Signora,' said he, 'I am sorry to tell you that you cannot see No. 2, -at least at present. She seems to be a very capricious person. Yesterday -she exhibited the greatest desire to have company, and just now she made -me this answer:--"Is prisoner No. 3 the person who sings in the tower, -and whom I hear every evening? Ah, I know her voice, and it is needless -for you to tell me her name. I had rather never see a living soul again, -than that unfortunate creature. She is the cause of all my troubles, and -I pray to God the expiation required from her may be as strictly exacted -as I am made to atone for the imprudent friendship I have felt for her." -This, signora, is the lady's opinion about you. It is only necessary to -know whether it is merited or not, and that concerns only your own -conscience. I have nothing to say about it, and am ready to take you -back to your cell when you think proper.' - -"'Do so at once, sir,' said I, deeply mortified at being accused of -treachery before so miserable a wretch, and feeling the deepest -indignation against the one of the Amelias who had testified so much -ingratitude and bitterness. - -"'I am not anxious that you should go,' said the new adjutant. 'You seem -to like to look at the moon. Do so as long as you please. It costs -nothing, and does no one any harm.' - -"I was imprudent enough to take a little advantage of his kindness. I -could not make up my mind to leave the beautiful spectacle of which I -was, perhaps, to be deprived so soon, at once. Besides, I could not -resist the idea that Mayer was a bad servant, but too much honored by -being permitted to wait on me. He took advantage of my position, and -became bold enough to seek to talk to me. 'Do you know, signorina,' said -he, 'that you sing devilish well? I heard nothing better in Italy. Yet I -have been to the greatest theatre, and passed the principal artists in -review. Where did you make your first appearance? You have travelled -much?' As I pretended not to understand his questions, he added, boldly, -'Sometimes you travelled on foot, in male attire?' - -"This question made me tremble, and I hastened to reply in the negative. -He said, 'Ah! you will not own it, but I never forget; and I recall to -my memory a strange adventure which you have not forgotten.' - -"'I do not know what you wish to say,' said I moving from the wall, and -commencing to retreat to my cell. - -"'A moment--a moment!' said Mayer.--'Your key is in my pocket, and you -cannot go back without me. Let me say a word or two to you.' - -"'Not a word, sir: I wish to return to my room, and am sorry that I left -it.' - -"'_Pardieu!_ you are behaving strangely: you act as if I was ignorant of -your adventures. Did you think I was simple enough not to know when I -found you in the Boehmer-wald, with a little dark-haired lad, not badly -made? Pshaw! I took the lad for the army of the King of Prussia. The -girl was not for him; though they say you pleased him, and were sent -here because you boasted of it. Well, fortune is capricious, and it is -useless to contend with her. You have fallen from a high position, but I -beg you not to be proud, and to be satisfied with what chances. I am -only a garrison officer, but have more power here than a king, whom no -one knows and no one fears, because he is too far away to be obeyed. You -see that I have power enough to pass anywhere and to soften your -captivity. Do not be ungrateful, and you will see the protection of an -adjutant at Spandau is as useful as that of a king at Berlin. Do you -understand? Do not fly me--do not make an outcry--for that would be -absurd--indeed, it would be pure folly for I might say anything I -pleased, and no one would believe you. I do not wish to scare you, for -my disposition is good. Think of this till I see you again: and -remember, I can immure you in a dungeon, or grant you amusements--starve -you to death, or give you means of escape, without being suspected.' As -I did not reply, and was completely terror-stricken at the idea of being -unable to avoid such outrages, and such cruel humiliation as he dared to -subject me to, this odious man added, without doubt fancying that I -hesitated, 'Why not decide at once? Are twenty-four hours necessary to -decide on the only step which it is proper for you to take, and to -return the love of a brave man, yet young, and rich enough to provide in -some other country a more pleasant abode than this prison?' - -"As he spoke thus, the ignoble recruiter approached me, and acted as if -he would oppose my passage. He attempted to lay hold of my hands. I ran -to the parapet of the tower, being determined to spring over, rather -than suffer myself to be soiled by his caresses. At this moment, -however, a strange circumstance attracted my attention, and I pointed it -out to the adjutant as a means of enabling myself to escape. It secured -my safety; but, alas! came near costing the life of a person, perhaps -more valuable than mine. - -"On the opposite rampart, on the other side of the ditch, a figure which -seemed gigantic, ran or rather leaped down the esplanade, with a -rapidity and adroitness which seemed prodigious. Having reached the -extremity of the rampart, the ends of which are flanked by towers, the -phantom ascended the roof of one of them, which was on a level with the -balustrade, and mounting the steep cone with cat-like activity, seemed -to lose itself in the air. - -"'What the devil is that?' said the adjutant, forgetting the gallant in -the jailer. 'May the devil take me, if a prisoner is not escaping.' The -sentinel, too, is asleep. 'Sentinel,' cried he, with the voice of a -Stentor, 'look out!' Running towards a turret, in which is hung an alarm -bell, he rang it with the power of a professor of the devil's music. I -never heard anything more melancholy than this infernal tocsin, the -sharp clangor of which disturbed the deep silence of night. It was the -savage cry of violence and brutality, disturbing the aspirations of the -harmony of the water and the breeze. In an instant, all was in motion in -the prison. I heard the clangor of the guns in the sentinels' arms, as -they cocked and fired at any object of which they caught a glimpse. The -esplanade was lighted with a red blaze, which paled the azure -reflections of the moon. Swartz had lighted up a bonfire. Signals were -made from one rampart to another, and the echoes repeated them in a -plaintive and decreasing tone. The alarm gun soon mingled its terrible -and solemn note in this diabolical symphony. Heavy steps sounded on the -pavements. I saw nothing, but heard all these noises, and my heart was -filled with terror. Mayer had left me hastily, but I did not even -rejoice at being delivered from him. I reproached myself bitterly with -having pointed out to him, I knew not why, some unfortunate prisoner who -was seeking to escape. Frozen with terror, I waited the conclusion of -the affair, shuddering at every shot that was fired, and waiting to hear -the cries of the fugitive announce some new disaster to me. - -"All this did not last an hour; and, thank heaven, the fugitive was -neither seen nor hit. To be sure of it, I rejoined the Swartzes on the -esplanade. They were so excited that they expressed no surprise at -seeing me outside my cell at midnight. It may be they had an -understanding with Mayer that I was to be at liberty on that night. -Swartz, having run about like a madman, and satisfied himself that none -of his ward had escaped, began to grow tranquil. His wife and he, -however, were struck with consternation, as if the escape of a prisoner -seemed a public and private calamity, and an outrageous violation of -justice. The other keepers, the soldiers who came and went, exchanged -words with them expressive of the same despair and terror. To them the -blackest of all crimes seems an attempt to escape. God of mercy! how -terrible did these mercenaries, devoted to the barbarous business of -depriving their fellows of precious liberty, seem to me. Suddenly, -however, it seemed that supreme equity had resolved to inflict a severe -punishment on my keepers. Vrau Swartz had gone into the lodge for a few -moments, and came out soon after, shouting: - -"'Gottlieb! Gottlieb!--pause--do not fire--do not kill my son! It is -he--it is he, certainly!' - -"In spite of the agitation of the old couple, I learned that Gottlieb -was neither in his bed, nor in any part of the house, and that in his -sleep he had, perhaps, resumed his old habit of walking over the roofs -of the houses. Gottlieb was a somnambulist. - -"As soon as this report was circulated through the citadel, the -excitement passed away. Every keeper had time to make his rounds, and -ascertain that no prisoner had disappeared, and each returned in good -spirits to his post. The officers weire enchanted at the _dénoûement_; -the soldiers laughed at the alarm; and Madame Swartz was beside herself, -and her husband ran everywhere, exploring the fosse, fearing that the -fusilade and cannon shots had awakened Gottlieb amid his dangerous walk. -I went with him. It would, perhaps, have been a good time to attempt to -escape myself; for it seemed to me that the doors were open, and the -soldiers' attention averted. I put this idea aside, however, being -occupied only with the hope of finding the poor invalid who had -exhibited so much affection for me. - -"Swartz, who never loses his presence of mind, seeing the day was -breaking begged me to go to my room, since it was contrary to his orders -to leave me at liberty at improper hours. He went with me to close the -door, but the first thing he saw was Gottlieb, peaceably asleep in my -chair. He had luckily been able to take refuge there before the alarm -had been communicated to the whole garrison, or his sleep had been so -profound and his foot so agile that he had escaped all dangers. I -advised his father not to awaken him suddenly, and promised to watch -over him until Vrau Swartz was informed of the happy news. - -"When I was alone with Gottlieb, I placed my hand gently on his -shoulder, and, speaking in a low voice, sought to awaken him. I had -heard that somnambulists could place themselves in communication with -persons whom they liked, and answer them distinctly. My attempt was -wonderfully successful; 'Gottlieb,' said I, 'where have you been -to-night?' - -"'To-night--is it night? I thought I saw the morning sun shining on the -roofs.' - -"'You have then been there?' - -"'Certainly: that blessed angel, the red-throat, came to the window and -called me. I followed him, and we have been high up, very high up, near -the stars, and almost to the angels' home. As we went up, we met -Belzebub, who sought to catch us. He cannot fly, however, because God -has sentenced him to a long penitence, and he sees the birds and angels -fly without being able to reach them.' - -"'Yet, after having been among the clouds, you came back?' - -"'The red-throat said, "Go see your sick sister," and I came back to -your cell with him.'" - -"'Then, you can come into my cell?' - -"'Certainly: I have, since you have been sick, frequently come to watch -you. The red-throat steals the keys from my mother's bed, and Belzebub -cannot help it; for when an angel, by hovering over him, has charmed -him, he cannot wake.' - -"'Who taught you so much about angels and devils?' - -"'My master,' said the somnambulist, with a childish look, full of the -most innocent enthusiasm. - -"'Who is your master?' said I. - -"'God first--and then--the sublime shoemaker.' - -"'What is the name of the sublime shoemaker?' - -"'Ah! it is a great name. I cannot tell you, for my mother, you see, -does not know him. She does not know that I have two books in the hole -by the chimney. One I do not read, and the other I have devoured for -four years. This is my heavenly food, my spiritual life, the book of -truth, the safety and light of the soul.' - -"'Who wrote this book?' - -"'He did. The shoemaker of Corlitz, Jacob Boehm.' - -"We were here interrupted by the arrival of Vrau Swartz, whom I could -scarcely keep from throwing herself on her son and kissing him. This -woman adores her first-born, and therefore may her sins be remitted. She -spoke, but Gottlieb did not hear her; and I alone was able to persuade -him to go to bed, where, I was told, he slept quietly. He knew nothing -of what had happened, although his strange disease and the alarm are yet -talked of at Spandau. - -"I was then in my cell, after having enjoyed a few hours of painful and -agitated half liberty. On such terms I do not wish to go out again. Yet -I might, perchance, have escaped. I will think of nothing else, now that -I am in the power of a wretch who menaces me with dangers worse than -death and worse than eternal torment. I will now think seriously of it, -and who knows but that I may succeed? Oh! God, protect me!" - -"May 5.--Since the occurrence of the events I have described, I have -lived calmly, and have learned to think my days of repose days of -happiness, and to thank God for them, as in prosperity we thank him for -years which roll by without disaster. It is indisputable that, to leave -the apathy of ordinary life aside, it is necessary to have known -misfortune. I reproach myself with having suffered so many of my -childhood's days to pass by unmarked, without returning thanks to the -Providence which bestowed them on me. I did not say then that I was -undeserving, and therefore it is beyond a doubt, that I merit the evils -which oppress me. - -"I have not seen the odious recruiting officer since. He is now more -feared by me than he was on the banks of the Moldau, when I took him for -a child-devouring ogre. Now I look on him as a yet more odious and -abominable persecutor: when I think of the revolting pretence of the -wretch, of the power he exerts around me, of the ease with which he can -come at night to my cell, without those servile Swartzes having even a -wish to protect me from him, I feel ready to die in despair. I look at -the pitiless bars which prevent me from throwing myself from the window. -I cannot procure poison, and have no weapon to open his heart. Yet I -have something to fill me with hope and confidence, and will not suffer -myself to be intimidated. In the first place, Swartz does not love the -adjutant, who would have a monopoly of air, sunlight, bread, and other -items of prison food. Besides, the Swartzes, especially the woman, begin -to conceive a liking for me on account of poor Gottlieb, and the -healthful influence which they say I exert on his mind. Were I menaced, -they would not perhaps come to my aid; but were this seriously the case, -they would perhaps enable me to appeal to the commandant. He, the only -time I saw him, appeared mild and humane. Gottlieb besides, would be -glad to do me a favor, and without making any explanation I have already -concerted matters with him. He is ready to take a letter which I have -prepared. I hesitate, however, to ask for aid before I am really in -danger; for if my enemy cease to torment me, he might treat as a jest a -declaration I was prudish enough to treat as serious. Let that be as it -may, I sleep with but one eye, and am training my physical powers for a -fearful contest if it should be necessary. I move my furniture, I pull -against the iron bars of the window, and harden my hands by knocking -against the walls. Anyone who saw me thus engaged, would think me mad or -desperate. I practise, however, with the greatest _sang froid_, and have -learned that my physical power is far greater than I had supposed. In -the security of ordinary life, we do not inquire into, but disregard, -our means of defence. As I feel strong, I become brave, and my -confidence in God increases with my efforts to protect myself. I often -remember the beautiful verses Porpora told me he read on the walls of a -dungeon of the inquisition at Venice." - - -'Di che mi fido, mi guarda Iddio! -Di che non mi fido mi guardero Io.' - - -"More fortunate than the wretch who traced the words of that sad prayer, -I can at least confide in the chastity and devotion of poor Gottlieb. -His attacks of somnambulism have not reappeared; his mother, too watches -him carefully. During the day, he talks to me in my room, for since I -saw Mayer I have not seen the esplanade. - -"Gottlieb has explained his religious ideas to me. They are beautiful, -though often whimsical, and I wish to read Boehm's book--for he is a -disciple of his, certainly--to know what he has added from his own mind -to the theological cordwainer. He lent me this precious book, and at my -own peril and risk I became immersed in it. I can not understand how -this book disturbed the balance of the simple mind which looked at the -symbols of a mystic--himself sometimes mad--as literal. I do not flatter -myself that I can thoroughly understand and explain them; but I think I -catch a glimpse of lofty religious divination, and the inspiration of -generous poetry. What struck me most is his theory about the devil: 'In -the battle with Lucifer, God did not destroy him. See you not the -reason, blind man? God fought against God, one portion of divinity -striving against the other. I remember that Albert explained, almost in -the same way, the earthly and transitory reign of the spirit of evil, -and that the chaplain of Riesenberg listened to him with horror, and -treated his idea as pure _manicheism._ Albert said that Christianity was -a purer and more complete manicheism than his faith; that it was more -superstitious, as it recognised the perpetuity of the principle of evil, -while his system recognised the restoration of the spirit of evil, that -is to say its conversion and reconciliation. In Albert's opinion, evil -was but error, and the divine light some day would dissipate it. I own, -my friends, even though I seem heretical, that the idea of its being -Satan's doom everlastingly to excite evil, to love it, and to close his -eyes to the truth, seems, and always has seemed impious to me." - -"Boehm seems to me to look for a millenium--that is to say, he is a -believer in the resurrection of the just, and thinks they will sojourn -with him in a new world, formed from the dissolution of this, during a -thousand years of cloudless happiness and wisdom. Then there will be the -complete union of souls with God, and the recompense of eternity, far -more complete than those of the millenium. I often remember having heard -Count Albert explain this symbol, as he told the stormy history of old -Bohemia, and of his beloved Taborites, who were embued with faith -renewed from the early days of Christianity. Albert had a less material -faith in all this, and did not pronounce on the duration of the -resurrection, or the precise age of the future world. He had, however, a -presentiment and a prophetic view of the speedy dissolution of human -society, which was to give place to an era of sublime renovation. Albert -did not doubt that his soul, on leaving the temporary prison of death, -would begin here below a series of existences, and would contemplate -this providential reward, and see those days which are at once so -terrible and so magnificent, and which have been promised to the human -race. This noble faith seemed monstrous to all orthodox persons at -Riesenberg, and took possession of me after having at first seemed -strange. Yet it is a faith of all nations and all days. In spite of the -efforts of the Roman Church to stifle it--or rather, in spite of its -being unable to purify itself of the material and superstitious, I see -it has filled many really pious souls with enthusiasm. They tell me it -was the faith of great saints. I yield myself to it therefore without -restraint and without fear, being sure any idea adopted by Albert must -be a grand one. It also smiles on me, and sheds celestial poetry on the -idea of death and the sufferings which beyond doubt are coming to a -close. Jacob Boehm pleases me. His disciple who sits in the dirty -kitchen, busy with sublime reveries and heavenly visions, while his -parents become petrified, trade, and grow brutal, seems in character -pure and touching to me, with this book which he knows by heart, but -does not understand, although he has commenced to model his life after -his master's. Infirm in body and mind--ingenuous, candid, and with -angelic morals, poor Gottlieb, destined beyond doubt to be crushed by -falling from some rampart, in your imaginary flight across the skies, or -to sink under premature disease--you will have passed from earth like an -unknown saint, like an exiled angel, ignorant of evil, without having -known happiness, without even having felt the sun that warms the earth, -so wrapped were you in the contemplation of the mystic sun which burns -in your mind. I, who alone have discovered the secret of your -meditations--I, who also comprehend the ideal beautiful, and had power -to search for and realize it, will die in the flower of my youth, -without having acted or lived. In the nucleus of these walls which shut -in and devour us, are poor little plants which the wind crushes and the -sun never shines on. They dry up without flourishing or fructifying; yet -they seem to revive. But they are the seeds which the wind brings to the -same places, and which seek to live on the wreck of the old. Thus -captives vegetate!--thus prisons are peopled! - -"Is it not strange that I am here, with an ecstatic being of an order -inferior to Albert, but, like him, attached to a secret religion, to a -faith which is ridiculed, contemned, and despised! Gottlieb tells me -there are many other Boehmists in this country, that many cordwainers -openly confess his faith, and that the foundation of his doctrine is -implanted for all time in the popular mind, by many unknown philosophers -who of old excited Bohemia, and who now nurse a secret fire throughout -Germany. I remember the ardent Hussite cordwainers, whose bold -declarations and daring deeds in John Ziska's time, Albert mentioned to -me. The very name of Jacob Boehm attests this glorious origin. I cannot -tell what passes in the contemplative brain of patient Germany, my -brilliant and dissipated life making such an examination impossible. -Were Gottlieb and Zdenko, however, the last disciples of the mysterious -religion which Albert preserved as a precious talisman, I am still sure -that faith is mine, inasmuch as it proclaims the future equality of all -men and the coming manifestation of the justice and goodness of God on -earth! Ah, yes! I must believe in this kingdom, which God declared to -man through Christ! I must hope for the overturning of these iniquitous -monarchies, of those impure societies, that when I see myself here, I -may not lose faith in Providence!" - -* * * * * * * * - -"I have no news of No. 2. If Mayer has not told me an infamous -falsehood, Amelia of Prussia is the person who accuses me of treachery. -May God forgive her for doubting one who has not doubted her, in spite -of her accusations on my account. I will not attempt to see her. By -seeking to defend myself, I might yet more involve her, as I have, I -know not how, already." - -* * * * * * * * - -"My red-throat is still my faithful companion. Seeing Gottlieb without -his cat in my cell, it became familiar with him, and the poor lad became -mad with joy and pride. He calls it 'lord,' and will not _tutoy_ it. -With the most profound respect, and with the most religious trembling, -he offers it food. In vain do I attempt to persuade him it is but a -common bird, for I cannot remove the idea that some heavenly being has -adopted this form. I try to amuse him by giving him some idea of music, -and indeed I am sure he has a highly musical mind. His parents are -delighted with my care, and have offered to put a spinet in one of their -rooms, where I can teach him and study myself. This proposition, which -would have delighted me a short time since, I cannot accept. I do not -even dare to sing in my room, for fear of attracting the brutal -adjutant, ex-trumpeter, whom may God assail! - -"May 10.--For a long time I had asked myself what had become of my -unknown friends, those wonderful protectors of whom the Count of Saint -Germain spoke, and who apparently have interfered only to hasten evils -with which the royal benevolence menaced me. If I mistake not the -punishment of conspirators, they have all been dispersed and oppressed; -or they have abandoned me, thought I, when I refused to escape from the -clutches of Buddenbrock, on the day I was taken from Spandau to Berlin. -Well, they are come again, and have made Gottlieb their messenger. Rash -men! may they not heap on that innocent lad the same evils to which they -have subjected me! - -"This morning Gottlieb gave me furtively the following note:-- - -"'We seek to release you. The time draws near. A new danger, however, -menaces you, which will delay our enterprise. Place no confidence in any -one who seeks to induce you to fly, before we give you certain -information and precise details. A snare is laid for you. Be on your -guard, and be determined. - -"'Your brothers, - -"'THE INVISIBLES.' - -"This note fell at Gottlieb's feet, as he was passing through one of the -prison courts. He firmly believes that it fell from heaven, and that the -red-throat has something to do with it. As I made him talk without -opposing his ideas too much, I learned strange things, which perhaps -have a foundation of truth. I asked him if he knew who the 'Invisibles' -were. - -"'No one knows, although all pretend to.' - -"'How! have you heard of them?' - -"'When I was apprenticed to the master cordwainer, I heard much of them -in the city.' - -"'They talk of them? Do the people know about them?' - -"'I heard of them then, and of all the things I heard, few are worthy of -being remembered:--A poor workman in our shop hurt his hand so severely -that they were about to cut it off. He was the only support of a large -family that he loved, and for whom he worked. He came one day with his -hand bound up, and looked sadly at us as we worked saying, "You are -fortunate in having your hands free. I think I will soon have to go to -the hospital, and my old mother must beg to keep my little brothers and -sisters from starving." A collection was proposed, but we were all poor, -and I, though my parents were rich, had so little money that we could -not help our fellow-workman. All having emptied their pockets, attempted -to suggest something to get Franz out of his difficulties. None would do -anything; he had knocked at many doors and had been driven away. The -king, they say, is very rich, his father having left him much money; but -he uses it in enlisting his soldiers. It was war time, too, and our king -was away. All were afraid of want, and the poor suffered terribly, so -that Franz could not find sufficient aid from kind hearts. The lad never -received a shilling. Just then, a young man in the shop said, "I know -what I should do, if I were in your place. But perhaps you are afraid? I -am afraid of nothing," said Franz. "What must I do? Ask aid from the -Invisibles." Franz appeared to understand the matter, for he shook his -head with an air of dislike, and said nothing. Some young men asked what -they meant; and the response on all sides was, "You do not know the -Invisibles? any one may know that, you children! The Invisibles are -people who are never seen, but who act. They do all things, both good -and bad. No one knows where they live, yet they are everywhere. It is -said they are found in the four quarters of the globe. They murder many -travellers, yet assist others in their contests with brigands, according -as the travellers seem to them to deserve punishment or protection. They -are the instigators of all revolutions, go to all courts, direct all -affairs, decide on war and peace, liberate prisoners, assist the -unfortunate, punish criminals, make kings to tremble on their thrones! -They are the cause of all that is good and bad on earth. Sometimes it is -said they err, but their intention is good; and, besides, who can say -that a great misfortune to-day may not be a great happiness to-morrow?'" - -"'We heard all this with great astonishment and admiration,' said -Gottlieb, and I heard enough to be able to tell you all laboring men, -and the poor and ignorant, think of the Invisibles. Some said they were -wicked people, devoted to the devil, who endows them with his power, who -gives them the gift of secret science, the power to tempt men by the -attraction of riches and honor, the faculty of knowing the future, of -making gold, of resuscitating the dead, of curing the sick, of making -the old young, of keeping the living from death, for they have -discovered the philosopher's stone and the elixir of life. Others say -they are religious and beneficent men, who have united their fortunes to -assist those in need, and who hold communion to redress crime and reward -virtue. In our shop every one made his remark. "It is the old order of -the Templars," said one. "They are now called Free-Masons" said another. -"No," said a third, "they are Herrnhuters of Zinzindorf, or Moravians, -the old brothers of the Union, the ancient orphans of Mount Tabor: old -Bohemia is always erect, and secretly menaces the other powers of -Europe. It wishes to make the world republican.'" - -"'Others said they were only a handful of sorcerers, pupils and -followers of Paracelsus, Boehm, Swedenborg, and now of Schœffer _the -lemonade-man_, (that is a good guess,) who, by miracles and infernal -machinations, wish to govern the world and destroy empires. The majority -came to the conclusion that it was the old tribunal of the Free-Judges, -which never was dissolved in Germany, and which, after having acted in -the dark for many centuries, began to revive and make its iron arm, its -sword of fire, and its golden balance to be felt. - -"'Franz was unwilling to address them, for it is said those who accept -their benefits are bound through life to them, to the peril of their -soul and the danger of their kindred. Necessity, however, triumphed over -fear. One of our comrades, the one who had given him the advice, and who -was suspected of being affiliated with the Invisibles, though he denied -it, told him in secret how to make the signal of distress. What this was -we never knew. Some said that it was a cabalistic mark written over his -door in blood: others that he went at midnight to a mound between two -roads, and that a black cavalier came to him as he stood at the foot of -a cross. Some say that he merely wrote a letter which he placed in the -hollow of an old weeping willow at the gate of the cemetery. It is -certain that he received aid; that his family waited until he was well -and did not beg; that he was treated by a skillful surgeon, who cured -him. Of the Invisibles he said nothing, except that he would bless them -as long as he lived.' - -"'But what do you, Gottlieb, who know more than the men in your shop, -think of the Invisibles? are they sectarians, charlatans, or impostors?' - -"Here Gottlieb, who had spoken very reasonably, fell into his habitual -wanderings, and I could gather nothing but that they were beings really -invisible, impalpable, and, like God and his angels, unappreciable to -our senses, except when, to communicate with men, they assumed finite -forms." - -"'It is evident to me,' said he, 'that the end of the world draws near. -Manifest signs declare it. The Antichrist is born, and they say he is -now in Prussia: his name is Voltaire. I do not know this Voltaire, and -the Antichrist may be some one else, for he is to bear a name commencing -with a W., and not a V. This name, too, will be German. While waiting -for the miracles which are about to be accomplished, God, who apparently -mingles in nothing, who is _eternal silence_, creates among us beings of -a nature superior to our own, both for good and evil--angels and -demons--hidden powers. The latter are to test the just, the former to -ensure their triumph. The contest between the great powers has already -begun. The king of evil, the father of ignorance and crime, defends -himself in vain. The archangels have bent the bow of science and of -truth, and their arrows have pierced the corslet of Satan. Satan roars -and struggles, but soon will abandon falsehood, lose his venom, and, -instead of the impure blood of reptiles, will feel the dew of pardon -circulate through his veins. This is the clear and certain explanation -of all that is incomprehensible and terrible in the world. Good and evil -contend in higher regions which are unattainable to men. Victory and -defeat soar above us, without its being possible for us to fix them. -Frederick of Prussia attributed to the power of his arms success which -fate alone granted him, as it exalted or depressed according to its -hidden purpose. Yes; I say it is clear that men are ignorant of what -occurs on earth. They see impiety arm itself against fate, and _vice -versa._ They suffer oppression, misery, and all the scourges of discord, -without their prayers being heard, without the intervention of the -miracles of any religion. They now understand nothing, they complain -they know not why. They walk blindfolded on the brink of a precipice. To -this the Invisibles impel them, though none know if their mission be of -God or the Devil, as at the commencement of Christianity, Simon, the -magician, seemed to many a being divine and powerful as Christ. I tell -you all prodigies are of God, for Satan can achieve none without -permission being granted him, and that among those called Invisibles, -some act by direct light from the Holy Spirit, while to others the light -comes through a cloud, and they do good, fatally thinking that they do -evil.' - -"'This is a very abstract explanation, dear Gottlieb. Is it Jacob -Boehm's or your own?" - -"'His, if it be your pleasure to understand him so--mine, if his -inspiration did not suggest it to me.' - -"'Well, Gottlieb, I am no wiser after all than I was, for I do not know -if the Invisibles be good or bad angels to me. - -"May 12.--Miracles really begin, and my fate seems to be in the hands of -the Invisibles. I will, like Gottlieb, ask if they be of God or of -Satan? To-day Gottlieb was called by the sentinel on duty over the -esplanade, and his post is on the little bastion at its end. This -sentinel, Gottlieb says, is an invisible spirit. The proof is, that -Gottlieb knows all the soldiers, and talks readily with them, when they -amuse themselves by ordering a pair of shoes, and then he appeared to -him of superhuman stature and undefinable expression.-- 'Gottlieb,' said -he, speaking in a low tone, 'Porporina must be delivered in the course -of three nights. This may be, if you can take the keys of her cell from -under your mother's pillow, and bring them hither to the extremity of -the esplanade. I will take charge of the rest. Tell her to be ready, and -remember, if you be deficient in prudence and zeal, you and I are both -lost.' - -"This is the state of things. The news has made me ill with emotion. I -had a fever all night, and again heard the fantastic violin. To escape -from this prison, to escape from the terrors with which Mayer inspires -me--Ah! to do that, I am ready to risk my life. What, though, will -result to Gottlieb and the sentinel from my flight? The latter, though -he devotes himself so generously, I do not know. His unknown -accomplices, too, are about to assume a new burden in me. I tremble, I -hesitate, I am entirely undecided. I write to you without thinking to -prepare for my flight. No, I will not escape--at least until I am -certain of the fate of my friends and protectors. Gottlieb is resolved -on all. When I ask him if he is not afraid, he tells me that he would -suffer martyrdom gladly for me. When I add that perhaps he will regret -seeing me no more, he says that is his affair, and that I do not know -what he means to do. All this, too, seems to him an order of heaven, and -he obeys the unknown power which impels him, without reflection. I read -the notes of the Invisibles with care, and I am afraid the information -of the sentinel is the snare of which I should be afraid. I have yet -forty-eight hours before me. If Mayer comes again, I will risk all. If -he continues to forget me, and I have no better assurance than the -warning of this stranger, I will remain. - -"May 13.--I trust myself to fate, to Providence, which has sent me -unhoped-for aid. I go, and rely on the powerful arm which covers me with -its ægis. As I walked this morning on the esplanade, hoping to receive -some new explanation from the spirits that hover around me, I looked at -the bastion, where the sentinel is. I saw two, one on guard, with his -arms shouldered, and another going and coming, as if he looked for -something. The height of the latter attracted my attention, for it -seemed to me that he was not a stranger to me. I could only look -stealthily at him, for at every turn of the walk I had to turn my back. -Finally, as I was walking towards him, he approached me, and though the -glacis was higher than where I stood, I knew him at once. I had nearly -cried aloud. It was Karl, the Bohemian, the deserter, who was saved from -Mayer, in the Boehmer-wald, whom I afterwards saw at Roswald, in -Moravia, at Count Hoditz's, and who sacrificed to me a terrible revenge. -He is devoted to me, body and soul, and his stern face, broad nose, red -brow, with eyes of tin, to-day seemed as beautiful to me as the angel -Gabriel. - -"'That is he,' said Gottlieb, in a low tone; 'he is an emissary of the -Invisibles. He is your liberator, and will take you hence to-morrow -night.' My heart beat so violently that I could scarcely contain myself; -tears of joy escaped from my eyes. To conceal my emotion from the other -sentinel I approached the parapet which was farthest from the bastion, -and pretended to look at the grass in the fosse. I saw Karl and Gottlieb -exchange words, which I conld not entirely interpret. After a short time -Gottlieb came to me, and said, placidly: '_He_ will soon come down. _He_ -will come to our house and drink a bottle of wine. Pretend not to see -him. My father is gone out. While my mother goes to the canteen for -wine, you will come to the kitchen, as if you were about to go back, and -then you can speak to him for a moment.' - -"When Karl had spoken for a short time to Madame Swartz, who does not -disdain the entertainment of the veterans of the citadel _at their own -expense_, I saw Gottlieb on the threshold. I went in, and was alone with -Karl. Gottlieb had gone with his mother to the canteen. Poor child! it -seems that friendship has at once revealed to him the cunning and -pretence required in real life. He does intentionally a thousand awkward -things--lets the bottle fall, makes his mother angry, and delays her -long enough for me to have some conversation with my saviour. - -"'Signora,' said Karl, 'here I am, and here, too, are you. I was taken -by the recruiters. Such was my fate. The king, however, recognised and -pardoned me, perhaps for your sake. He also permitted me to go away, and -promised me money, which, by-the-bye, he did not give me. I went to a -famous sorcerer, to find out how I could best serve you. The sorcerer -sent me to Prince Henry, and Prince Henry sent me to Spandau. Around us -are powerful people, whom I do not know, but who toil for us. They spare -neither money nor exertions, I assure you. Now all is ready. To-morrow -evening the doors will be open before you. All who could prevent our -escape have been won. All except the Swartzes are in our interests. -To-morrow they will sleep more soundly than usual, and when they awake -you will be far away. We will take Gottlieb, who is anxious to go, with -us. I will go with you, and will risk nothing, for all has been -foreseen. Be ready, signora. And now go to the esplanade, in order that -the old woman may not find us here.' I uttered my gratitude to Karl in -tears alone, and hurried away to hide my emotion from the inquisitorial -glance of Vrau Swartz. - -"My friends, it may be I will see you again. I shall be able to clasp -you in my arms; I shall escape from that terrible Mayer, and see the -expanse of heaven, the green fields, Venice, Italy--sing again, and find -people to sympathise with me. This prison has revived my heart, and -renewed my soul, which was becoming stifled by indifference. I will -live, will love, be pious, and be good. - -"Yet this is a deep enigma of the human heart:--I am terrified and -almost mad at the idea of leaving this cell, in which I have passed -three months, perpetually seeking to be calm and resigned. This -esplanade, over which I have walked with so many melancholy reveries; -old walls, which seem so high, so cold, and so calm, as the moonlight -shines on them: and this vast ditch, the water of which is so -beautifully green, and the countless flowers which the spring has strewn -on its banks. And my red-throat! Gottlieb says it will go with us, but -it is now asleep in the ivy, and will not be aware of our departure. -Dear creature! may you console and amuse the person who succeeds me in -this cell. May she love you as I have done. - -"Well, I am about to go to sleep that I may be stronger and calmer -tomorrow. I seal up this manuscript, which I am anxious to carry away. -By means of Gottlieb I have procured a new supply of paper, pencil, and -light, which I will hide away, that other prisoners may experience as -much pleasure from them as I have." - -* * * * * * * * - -Here Consuelo's journal finished. We will now resume the story of her -adventures. It is needful to inform the reader that Karl had not -boasted, without reason, that he was aided and employed by powerful -persons. The invisible persons who toiled for the deliverance of our -heroine, had been profuse in their expenditures of gold. Many turnkeys, -eight or ten veterans, and even an officer, had been enlisted to stand -aside--to see nothing--and to look no farther for the fugitives than -mere form required. On the evening fixed for the escape, Karl had supped -with Swartz, and pretending to be drunk, had asked them to drink with -him. Mother Swartz was as fond of strong liquor as most cooks are. Her -husband had no aversion to brandy, when other people paid for it. A -narcotic drug stealthily introduced into their libations, assisted the -effect of the strong brew. The good couple got to bed, not without -trouble, and snored so loudly, that Gottlieb, who attributed everything -to supernatural influences, thought them enchanted when he attempted to -take possession of the keys. Karl had returned to the bastion, where he -was a sentinel, and Consuelo went with Gottlieb to that place and -ascended the rope ladder the deserter threw her. Gottlieb, who, in spite -of every remonstrance, insisted on escaping with them, became a great -difficulty in the way. He who in his somnambulism passed like a cat over -the roofs, could not now walk over three feet of ground. Sustained by -the conviction that he was assisted by an envoy of heaven, he was afraid -of nothing, and had Karl said so, would have thrown himself from the top -of the parapet. His blind confidence added to the dangers of their -situation. He climbed at hazard, scorning to see or make any -calculation. After having made Consuelo shudder twenty times, and twenty -times she thought him lost, he reached the platform of the bastion, and -thence our three fugitives passed through the corridors of that part of -the citadel in which the officers, initiated in their plot, were posted. -They advanced without any obstacle, and all at once found themselves -_vis-à-vis_ with the adjutant Mayer, _alias_ the ex-recruiter. Consuelo -thought all was lost. Karl, however, kept her from running away. "Do not -be afraid, signora," said he; "we have bought him over!" - -"Wait a moment," said Nauteuil, hastily: "the adjutant, Weber, has taken -it into his head to sup with our old fool of a lieutenant. They are in -the room you will have to cross. We must contrive to get rid of them. -Karl, go back to your post, for your absence may be perceived. I will -come for you when it is time. Madame will go to my quarters and Gottlieb -will accompany me. I will say he is a somnambulist, and my two scamps -will follow him. When the room is empty, I will lock the door, and take -care they do not come back again." - -Gottlieb, who was not aware that he was a somnambulist, stared wildly. -Karl, however, bade him obey, and he submitted blindly. Consuelo had an -insurmountable objection to entering Mayer's room. But Karl said, in a -low tone--"Why fear that man? He has too large a bribe to betray you. -His advice is good. I will return to the bastion. Too much haste would -destroy us!" - -"Too much _sang-froid_ and coolness might also do so," thought Consuelo. -But she yielded to Karl's advice. She carried a weapon about her. As she -crossed the kitchen of the Swartzes she had taken possession of a -carving-knife, the hilt of which gave her not a little confidence. She -had given Karl her money and papers, keeping on her person nothing but -her crucifix, which she looked on almost as an amulet. - -For greater security, Mayer shut her up in his room and left with -Gottlieb. After ten minutes, which to Consuelo appeared an age, Nauteuil -came for her, and she observed with terror, that he closed the door and -put the key in his pocket. - -"Signora," said he, in Italian, "you have yet a half hour to wait. The -jackanapes are drunk, and will not quit the table until the clock -strikes one. Then the keeper, who has charge of the room, will put them -out of doors." - -"What have you done with Gottlieb, sir?" - -"Your friend, Gottlieb, is in safety behind a bundle of fagots, where he -can sleep soundly. He will not leave it until he is able to follow you." - -"Karl will be informed of all?" - -"Unless I wish to have him hung," said the adjutant, with a diabolical -expression, as Consuelo thought. "I do not wish to leave him behind us. -Are you satisfied, signora?" - -"I cannot prove my gratitude now, sir," said Consuelo, with a coldness, -in which he sought in vain to conceal disdain; "but I hope ere long to -discharge all my obligations to you honorably." - -"_Pardieu!_ you can discharge them at once," (Consuelo shrunk back with -horror.) "By exhibiting something of friendship to me," added Mayer, -with a tone of brutal and coarse cajolery. "You see, were I not -passionately fond of music, and were you not a pretty woman, I would not -violate my duty by thus enabling you to escape. Do you think I have been -led to this by avarice?--Bah! I am rich enough to do without all this, -and Prince Henry is not powerful enough to save me from the rope or -solitary confinement, if I should be discovered. All this requires some -consolation. Well, do not be proud; you know I love you; my heart is -susceptible, but you need not on that account abuse my tenderness. You -are not bigoted or religious; not you. You are an actress, and I venture -to say, you have succeeded by having granted your favors to the -managers. _Pardieu!_ if, as they say, you sang before Marie Theresa, you -know Prince Kaunitz and his boudoir. Now you have a less splendid room, -but your liberty is in my hands, and that is a more precious boon than -an empress's favor." - -"Is this a threat, sir?" said Consuelo, pale with indignation and -disgust. - -"No; but it is a prayer, signora." - -"I hope you don't make it a condition?" - -"Not so. No, no! by no means," said Mayer with impudent irony, -approaching Consuelo with open arms as he spoke. - -Consuelo was terrified, and fled to the extremity of the room. Mayer -followed her. She saw that if she sacrificed honor to humanity she was -lost; and suddenly, inspired by the wild ferocity of Spanish women, as -Mayer embraced her, she gave him about three inches of the knife she had -concealed. Mayer was rather fat and the wound was not dangerous; but -when he saw the blood, for he was as cowardly as he was sensual, he -thought he was dead, and came near fainting, falling on his face on the -bed. He cried out, "I am murdered! I am dead!" Consuelo thought she had -killed him, and was also near fainting. After a few moments of silent -terror, she ventured to approach him and took the key of the room, which -he had let fall. No sooner had she possession of it than she felt her -courage revive. She went into the galleries and found all the doors open -before her. She went down a staircase, which led she knew not whither. -She could scarcely support herself, as she heard the alarm clock, and -not long after the roll of the drums. She also heard the gun which had -echoed through the night when Gottlieb's somnambulism had caused an -alarm. She sank on her knees at the last steps, and clasping her hands, -invoked God to aid Gottlieb and the generous Karl. Separated from them, -after having permitted them to expose their lives for her, she felt -herself powerless and hopeless. Heavy and hasty steps sounded on her -ears, the light of torches dazzled her eyes, and she could not say -whether this was reality or the effect of delirium. She hid herself in a -corner and lost all consciousness. - - -[Footnote 12: Consuelo here gave some details we have already mentioned -about the Swartz family. All that was mere repetition to the reader has -been suppressed.] - - - - -CHAPTER XX - - -When Consuelo recovered from her unconscious state, she was delighted, -although unaware of where she was, or how she had come thither. She was -asleep in the open air, but without feeling any inconvenience from the -cold of the night, and casting her eyes toward heaven, she saw the stars -shining in the clear sky. To this enchanting prospect succeeded ere long -a sensation of rapid but pleasant motion. The sound of the oars as they -fell in the water at regular intervals, made her understand that she was -in a boat, and was passing over the lake. A gentle heat penetrated her -limbs, and in the placidity of the silent waters, where the breeze -agitated numerous aquatic plants, something pleasant recalled the waters -of Venice during the spring. Consuelo lifted up her languid head, looked -around her and saw two rowers, one at each extremity of the boat. She -looked at the citadel, and saw it in the distance, dark as a mountain of -stone in the transparency of the water and sky. She said at once to -herself that she was safe, remembered her friends, and pronounced Karl's -name with anxiety. "Here I am, signora; not a word; be silent as -possible," said Karl, who sat in front of her and rowed away. Consuelo -fancied that the other oarsman was Gottlieb, and completely exhausted, -she resumed her former attitude. Some one threw over her a soft and warm -cloak: she threw it aside, however, that she might contemplate the -starry sky which was unfolded above her. - -As she felt her strength and the elasticity of her power, which had been -paralysed by a violent nervous movement, return, she recovered her -senses, and the remembrance of Mayer presented itself horribly to her. -She made an effort to arouse herself again, and saw that her head rested -on the knees of a third person, whom as yet she had not seen, or whom -she had taken for a bale of goods, so completely was he wrapped up and -buried in the boat. - -Consuelo was terrified when she recalled the imprudent confidence Karl -had exhibited to Mayer, and when she fancied the adjutant might be near -her. The care he seemed to take appeared to aggravate the suspicions of -the fugitive. She was confused at having reposed on that man's bosom, -and almost reproached herself for having enjoyed under his protection a -few moments of healthful and ineffable oblivion. - -Fortunately the boat touched the shore just then, and Consuelo hastened -to take Karl's hand and to step on shore. The shock, however, of the -boat touching the shore, made her tremble, and almost fall into the arms -of this mysterious person. She then saw him rise, and discovered that he -wore a black mask. He was at least a head taller than Mayer, and though -wrapped in a large cloak, had the appearance of being tall and thin. -These circumstances completely assured the fugitive, and she accepted -the arm which was silently offered her. She then walked about fifty -paces on the strand, followed by Karl and another individual, who by -signs had enjoined on her not to say a single word. The country was -silent and deserted, and not the slightest sound was heard in the -citadel. Behind the thicket was a coach with four horses, into which the -stranger went with Consuelo. Karl got on the box, and the third -individual disappeared without Consuelo having noticed him. She yielded -to the silent anxiety of her liberators, and ere long the carriage, -which was excellent and admirably built, rolled on with the rapidity of -lightning. The noise of the wheels, and the rapidity of conveyance, did -not at all contribute to conversation. Consuelo was intimidated, she was -even terrified at a _tête-à-tête_ with the stranger. When she saw that -there was no danger, she thought it her duty to express her gratitude -and joy. She obtained no answer, however. He sat in front of her as a -token of respect; he took her hand and clasped it in his, but said -nothing. He then sank into the recess of the carriage, and Consuelo, who -had begun the conversation, dared say nothing, and did not venture to -persist on his silent refusal. She was very anxious to know what -generous friend had secured her safety, yet she experienced for him, she -knew not why, an instinctive sentiment of respect, mingled with fear, -and her imagination attributed to this strange travelling-companion all -the romance which the state of the case might have induced her to -expect. At last the idea occurred to her that he was some subaltern -agent of the Invisibles, and perhaps a faithful servant, who was afraid -of violating his duty by speaking alone to her at night. - -After having travelled for about two hours with great rapidity, the -coach stopped in a dark wood, the relay not having come. The stranger -went a few steps away, either to see if the horses were coming, or to -conceal his uneasiness. Consuelo also left the carriage and walked down -the road with Karl, of whom she had a thousand questions to ask. - -"Thank God, signora," said her faithful attendant, "that you are alive." - -"And that you, too, are alive." - -"Now that you are safe, why should I not?" - -"Where is Gottlieb?" - -"I expect he is now in bed at Spandau." - -"Heavens! Gottlieb left behind? He will then suffer for us." - -"He will suffer neither for himself nor for any one else. The alarm -having been given, I know not by whom, I hurried at all risks to find -you, seeing that the time was come to risk all for all. I met the -adjutant Nauteuil, that is to say, Mayer, the recruiting officer, very -pale." - -"You met him? Was he up and able to walk?" - -"Why not?" - -"He was wounded then?" - -"Ah, yes. He told me he had hurt himself by falling, in the dark, on a -stack of arms. I did not pay much attention to him, and asked where you -were. He knew nothing, and seemed out of his mind. I almost thought he -had intended to betray us, for the clock which sounded, the tone of -which I know perfectly, is the one that hangs over his quarters. He -seems to have changed his mind, for the creature knows much money is to -be made by your escape. He then aided me in turning aside the attention -of the garrison, by telling all he met that Gottlieb had another attack -of somnambulism, and had caused another false alarm. In fact, as if -Gottlieb wished to make good his words, we found him asleep in a corner, -in the strange way in which he often does by day. Never mind where he -is. One might have thought the agitation of his flight made him sleep, -or he may by mistake have drank a few drops of the liquor I poured out -so plentifully to his parents. What I know is, that they shut him up in -the first room they came to, to keep him from walking on the glacis, and -I thought it best to leave him there. No one can accuse him of anything, -and my escape will be a sufficient explanation of your own. The Swartzes -were too sound asleep to hear the bell, and no one has been to your room -to ascertain whether it was open or shut. The alarm will not be serious -until to-morrow. Nauteuil assisted me in dissipating it, and I set out -to look for you, pretending the while to go to my dormitory. I was -fortunate in finding you about three paces from the door we had to pass -through. The keepers there were all bribed. At first I was afraid you -were dead; but living or not, I would not leave you there. I took you -without difficulty to the boat, which waited for you outside of the -ditch. Then a very disagreeable thing happened, which I will tell you on -some other occasion. You have had emotion enough to-day, and what I am -thinking of might give you much trouble----" - -"No, no, Karl, I wish to know all. I can hear all." - -"Ah, I know you, signora. You will blame me. I remember Roswald, where -you prevented me from----" - -"Karl, your silence would distress me cruelly. Speak, I beseech you. I -wish you to do so." - -"Well, signora, it is a misfortune; but if it be a sin, it rests on me -alone. As I was passing beneath a low arch in the boat with you and as I -was going very slowly and had come to the end of it, I was seized by -three men, who took me by the throat, and sprang into the boat. I must -tell you that the person who travels with us, and is one of us, was -imprudent enough to give two-thirds of the sum to Nauteuil, as we passed -the postern. Nauteuil, thinking, beyond doubt, that he should be -satisfied and could get the rest by betraying us, had posted himself -with two good-for-nothing fellows of the sort to seize us. That is the -reason beyond doubt, why they sought to murder us. Your friend, however, -signora, is a lion in combat, peaceable as he seems I will remember him -for many a day. By two twists of his arms he threw the first into the -water; the second became afraid and leaped back on the bridge, looking -on the result of my contest with the adjutant. I did not manage as well -as his lordship, whose name I do not know. It lasted half a minute, and -the affair does me no credit, for Nauteuil, who usually is as strong as -a bull, appeared stiff and enfeebled, as if the wound of which he spoke -annoyed him. At last, feeling him let go, I just dipped his feet in the -water. His lordship then said, 'Do not kill him, it is useless.' I had -recognised him, however, and was aware how well he could swim. Besides, -I had fell his gripe, and had some old accounts to settle with him, and -I could not refrain from giving him a blow on the head with my fist. -Never again will he give or take another. May God have mercy on his soul -and mine! He went down in the water like a flounder, and did not rise -again, any more than if he had been marble. The other fellow whom his -lordship had sent on a similar excursion, had made a dive, and had -already reached the bank, where his companion, the most prudent of the -three, helped him out. This was not easy, the bank at that place being -so narrow that there was not a good footing, and the two went into the -water together. While they were thus contending together, and swearing, -as they enjoyed their swimming party, I rowed away, and soon came to a -place where a second oarsman, a fisherman by trade, had promised to be -in waiting and help me by a stroke or two to cross the pond. It was very -well, signora, that I took it into my head to play the sailor on the -gentle waters of Roswald. I did not know, when I rehearsed the part -before you, that I would one day for your sake participate in a naval -battle not so magnificent but much more serious. All this passed over my -mind as I was on the water, and I could not help laughing like a -fool--disagreeably, too. I did not make any noise, at least I did not -hear myself, but my teeth chattered. I had an iron hand on my throat, -and the sweat, cold as ice, ran over my brow. I then saw that a man is -not killed like a fly. He was not the first one, however, for I have -been a soldier, and at war one fights. Instead of that, in a corner -there, behind a wall, it looked like a premeditated murder. Yet it was a -legitimate case of self-defence. You remember, signora, without you I -would have done it, but I do not know if I would not have repented -afterwards. One thing is sure, I had an awful laughing fit on the pool; -and now I cannot help it, for it was so strange to stick the fellow in -the ditch, like a twig planted in a vase, after I had crushed his head -with my fist. Mercy! how ugly he was! I see him now!" - -Consuelo, fearing the effect of this terrible emotion on Karl, overcame -her own feelings, and attempted to soothe and calm him. Karl by nature -was calm and mild, as a Bohemian serf naturally is. The tragical life -into which fate had thrown him was not made for him. He accomplished -acts of energy and revenge, yet suffered the horror of remorse. Consuelo -diverted him from his moody thoughts, perhaps to change her own. She -also had armed herself on that night to slay. She had struck a blow, and -had shed the blood of an impure victim. An upright and pious mind cannot -approach the thought or conceive the resolution of homicide, without -cursing and deploring the circumstances which place honor and life under -the safeguard of the poniard. Consuelo was terror-stricken, and did not -dare to say that her liberty was worth the price she had paid for it. It -had cost the life of a man--a guilty one, it is true. - -"Poor Karl," said she, "we have played the executioner to-night. It is -terrible! but console yourself with the idea that we have neither -foreseen nor determined on what fate exacted. Tell me about the nobleman -who has toiled so generously to rescue me. Do you know him?" - -"Not at all, signora. I never saw him before, and do not even know his -name." - -"Whither does he take us?" - -"I do not know, signora. He forbade me to ask; and I was ordered to say -that if on the route you made any attempt to ascertain where you are, -and whither you are going, he would be forced to leave you. It is -certain that he wishes us well, and I have made up my mind to be treated -like a child." - -"Have you seen his face?" - -"I saw it by the light of a lantern, just when I put you into the boat. -His face is handsome--I never saw one more so. One might think him a -king." - -"Is that all? Is he young?" - -"About thirty years old." - -"What is his language?" - -"Free Bohemian--the true tongue of a Christian. He only spoke three or -four words to me. What a pleasure it was to hear the dear old tongue, -had he not said 'Do not kill him, it is useless.' Ah! he was mistaken. -It was necessary!" - -"What did he say, when you adopted that terrible alternative?" - -"I think, may God pardon me! that he did not see it. He threw himself on -the bottom of the boat, where you lay as if you were dead; apparently -fearing some injury might befall you, he covered you with his body; and -when we were on the open water and safe, he lifted you up, wrapped you -in a cloak he had brought apparently for the purpose, and pressed you -against his heart as a mother would press a child. He seems very fond of -you, signora, and you must know him." - -"Perhaps I do; but I have not been able to see his face." - -"It is strange that he conceals himself from you. Nothing astonishes me -in those people, however." - -"What people?" - -"Those called the Knights--the Black Masks--the Invisibles. I scarcely -know more than you do about them, signora, though for two months they -have led me by a thread any where they pleased." - -The sound of hoofs on the ground was heard; and in two minutes they were -harnessed again, and another postilion, who did not belong to the royal -service appeared, and exchanged a few words with the stranger. The -latter gave his hand to Consuelo, who returned to the carriage with him. -He sat as far from her as possible; but did not interrupt the solemn -silence of the night by a single word, and only looked from time to time -at his watch. It was not near day, though the sound of the quail in the -briar was heard, and also the watchdog's distant bark. The night was -magnificent, and the constellation of the Great Bear appeared reversed -on the horizon. The sound of wheels stifled the harmonious voices of the -country, and they turned their backs to the great northern stars. -Consuelo saw she was going southward; and as Karl sat on the box he -attempted to shake off the spectre of Mayer, which he fancied he saw -floating through the alleys of the forest, at the foot of the crosses, -or under the tall pines. He did not, consequently, observe the direction -in which his good or bad stars led him. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - - -Porporina, fancying that he had determined not to exchange a word with -her, thought she could not do better than respect the strange vow which, -like the old knight-errants, he seemed to be resolved to keep. To get -rid of the sombre images and sad reflections suggested by Karl's story, -she attempted to penetrate the unknown future which opened before her, -and gradually sunk into a reverie full of charms. A few rare persons -have the power of commanding their ideas in a state of contemplative -idleness. Consuelo had often, during her three months' confinement at -Spandau, had occasion to exert this faculty, which is granted less -frequently to the happy in this world than to those who earn their -living by toil, persecution, and danger. All must recognise this mystery -as providential, without which the serenity of many unfortunate -creatures would appear impossible to those who have not known -misfortune. - -Our fugitive was indeed in a condition strange enough to lay the -foundations of many castles in the air. The mystery which surrounded her -like a cloud, the fatality which led her into a fantastic world, the -kind of paternal love which surrounded her with miracles, were quite -sufficient to charm an imagination instinct with poetry as hers was. She -recalled those words of holy writ, which in her imprisonment she had set -to music:--"I shall send one of my angels to thee, and he shall bear -thee in his hands, lest thou dash thy foot against a stone. I walk in -darkness, yet I walk without fear, for the Lord is with me." Thenceforth -those words acquired a more distinct and divine signification. At a time -when there is no faith in direct revelation, and in the sensible -manifestation of the divinity, the protection and manifestations of -heaven are translated by the affections, assistance, and devotion of our -fellow-creatures. There is something so delicious in the abandonment of -our conduct to those we love, and so to say, in feeling ourselves -sustained by others. This happiness is so exquisite, that it would soon -corrupt us, if we did not resist the disposition to abuse it. It is the -happiness of a child, the golden dreams of whom are troubled, as it -slumbers on its mother's bosom, by none of the apprehensions of human -life. - -These thoughts, which presented themselves like dreams to Consuelo on -the occasion of her sudden escape from such a painful condition, wrapped -her in such voluptuous calm, that sleep at last came to drown her -sensations, in that kind of repose of body and mind which may be called -pleasant and delicious annihilation. She had entirely forgotten the -presence of her mute travelling companion, and awoke, finding herself -near him, with her head leaning on his shoulder. At first she did not -move, dreaming that she was travelling with her mother, and that the arm -which sustained her was the Zingara's. When completely aroused, she was -confused at her inadvertence. The arm of the stranger, however, was -become a magic chain. Secretly she made vain attempts to get loose. The -stranger seemed to sleep also, and had received his companion -mechanically in his arms, as she sank in them overcome by fatigue and -the motion of the coach. He had clasped his hands around Consuelo, as if -to preserve her from falling while he slept. His sleep had not relaxed -the force of his clasped hands, and it would have been necessary to have -waked him to extricate herself. This Consuelo did not dare to do. She -hoped he would voluntarily release her, and that she might return to her -place without seeming to have remarked the delicate circumstances of -their situation. - -The stranger slept soundly, and Consuelo, whom the calmness of his -breathing, and the immobility of his repose, had restored to confidence, -went to sleep herself, being completely overcome by the exhaustion which -succeeds violent agitation. When she awoke again, the head of her -companion was pressed to hers, his mask was off, their faces touched, -and their breathing was intermingled. She made a brisk effort to -withdraw, without thinking to look at the features of the stranger, -which would indeed have been difficult in the darkness. The stranger -pressed Consuelo to his bosom, the heat of which was communicated to her -own, and deprived her of the power and wish to remove. There was nothing -violent or brutal in the embrace of this man. Chastity was neither -offended nor sullied by his caresses, and Consuelo, as if a charm had -been thrown around her, forgetting her prudence, and one might also say, -the virginal coldness which she had never been tempted to part with, -even in the arms of the fiery Anzoleto, returned the eager and -enthusiastic kiss of the stranger. - -As all about this mysterious being seemed strange and unusual, the -involuntary transport of Consuelo seemed neither to surprise, to -embolden, nor to intoxicate him. He yet pressed her closely to his -bosom, and though he did so with unusual power, she did not feel the -pain such an embrace usually inflicts on a delicate being. Neither was -she sensible of the shame so great a forgetfulness of her habitual -modesty would usually have created. No idea came to disturb the -ineffable security of this moment of mutual and miraculous love. It was -the first of her life. She was aware of the instinct, or rather it was -revealed to her, and the charm was so complete, so divine, that it -seemed impossible for it to be changed. He passed the extremity of his -fingers, which were softer than the leaf of a flower, over the lids of -Consuelo, and at once she sank to sleep again, as if by enchantment. On -this occasion he remained awake, but apparently as calm as if the arrows -of temptation never had entered his bosom. He bore Consuelo, she knew -not whither, as an archangel might bear on his wings a seraph, amazed at -the Godhead's radiation. - -Dawn, and the freshness of morning, roused Consuelo from this kind of -lethargy. She found herself alone in the carriage, and doubted if she -had not dreamed that she loved. She sought to let down one of the -blinds; they were, however, fastened by an external spring, the secret -of which she did not know. She could receive air through them, and see -flit by her, in broken and confused lines, the white and green margin of -the road, but could make no observation nor discovery as to the route. -There was something absolute and despotical in the protection extended -over her. It was like a forcible carrying away, and she began to be -afraid. - -The stranger had disappeared, and the poor sinner became aware of all -the anguish of shame, stupor and astonishment. Few theatre-girls (thus -singers and dancers were then called) would have been thus annoyed by a -kiss given in the dark to a very discreet stranger, especially after -having been assured by Karl, as Porporina had been that her companion -was of admirable figure and form. This act of folly was so repugnant to -the manner and ideas of the prudent and good Consuelo, that she was -greatly mortified by it. She asked pardon of Albert's manes, and blushed -deeply at having in heart been unfaithful to his memory in so forward -and thoughtless a manner. The tragical events of the night, and joy at -her escape, she thought must have made her delirious. "Besides, how -could I fancy that I entertained any love for a man who never spoke to -me, and the face of whom I never saw. It is like one of the shameless -adventures of masked balls, the possibility of which in another woman I -could never conceive. What contempt this man must have conceived for me! -If he did not take advantage of my error, it was because I was under the -safeguard of his honor, or else an oath binds him to higher duties. -Perhaps even he disdains me. Perhaps he guessed or saw that my conduct -was the consequence of fever or delirium!" - -In vain did Consuelo thus reproach herself; she could not resist a -better feeling, which was more intense than all the pricks of -conscience. She regretted having lost a companion whom she knew she had -neither the right nor power to blame. He was impressed on her mind as a -superior being, invested with magical, perhaps infernal power, which -also was resistless. She was afraid, yet regretted that they had -separated so suddenly. - -The carriage went slowly, and Karl came to open the blind, "If you -incline to walk a little, signora, the chevalier will be pleased. The -road is very bad, and as we are in the woods, it seems there is no -danger." - -Consuelo leaned on Karl's shoulder, and sprang out on the sand without -allowing him time to let down the steps. She was anxious to see her -travelling companion, her improvised lover. She saw him, ere long, about -thirty paces from her, with his back turned and wearing the vast grey -cloak which he seemed determined to wear by day as well as by night. His -bearing and the small portion of his head and extremities which were -visible, announced a person of high distinction, and one anxious, by a -studious toilette, to enhance the advantages of his person. The hilt of -his sword, on which the rays of the morning sun shone, glittered on his -side like a star, and the perfume of the powder, which well-bred people -were then very fond of, left behind him in the morning air the trace of -a man perfectly _comme il faut._ - -"Alas!" thought Consuelo, "he is, perhaps, some fool, or contraband -lord, or haughty noble: whoever he be, he turns his back on me, and is -right." - -"Why do you call him the _Chevalier?_" asked she of Karl, continuing her -reflections aloud. - -"Because I heard the drivers call him so." - -"The _Chevalier_ of what?" - -"That is all. Why, signora, do you wish to find out? Since he wishes to -be unknown, it seems to me that he renders you sufficient service at the -risk of his own life, to insure your suppression of curiosity. For my -part I would travel ten years without asking whither he wished to take -me; he is so brave, so good, so gay." - -"So gay! That man so gay?" - -"Certainly. He is so delighted at having aided you, that he cannot be -silent. He asked a thousand questions about Spandau, yourself, Gottlieb, -myself, and the King of Prussia. I told him all I knew, all that had -happened, and even of Roswald: it does a man so much good to talk -Bohemian to one who understands you, instead of speaking to those -Prussians, who know no tongue but their own." - -"He is a Bohemian, then?" - -"I ventured to ask that question, and he answered briefly and rather -dryly. I was wrong to question him, instead of answering his questions." - -"Is he always masked?" - -"Only when he is with you. Ah! he is a strange person, and evidently -seeks to tease you." - -Karl's good humor and confidence, however, did not altogether reassure -Consuelo. She saw that he united, to much bravery and determination, an -honesty and simplicity of heart, which could easily be abused. Had he -not relied on Mayer's good faith? Had he not even put her in that -scoundrel's room? Now he yielded blindly to a stranger, and was -conveying Consuelo away, so that she would be exposed to the most -dangerous influences. She remembered the note of the Invisibles: "A -snare is set for you--a new danger menaces you. Distrust any one who -shall attempt to induce you to fly before we give you certain -information," &c. No note had come to confirm that, and Consuelo, -delighted at having met Karl, thought this worthy servant sufficiently -authorised to serve her. Was not the stranger a traitor? whither was she -so mysteriously taken? Consuelo had no friend who at all resembled the -fine figure of the Chevalier, except Frederick Von Trenck. Karl knew the -baron perfectly, and he was not her travelling companion. The Count de -Saint Germain and Cagliostro were not so tall. While she looked at the -stranger in search of something which would identify him, Consuelo came -to the conclusion that she had never in her life seen any one with so -much grace and ease. Albert alone had as much majesty; but his slow step -and habitual despondency had not that air of strength, that activity and -chivalric power, which characterised the stranger. - -The woods became light and the horses began to trot, to catch up with -the travellers who had preceded them. The Chevalier, without turning -round, reached out his arm and shook his handkerchief which was whiter -than snow. Karl understood the signal and put Consuelo in the carriage, -saying, "Apropos, signora, in the boxes under the seats you will find -linen, apparel, and all that you need to dress and eat when you please. -There are books there, also. It seems that the carriage is a hotel on -wheels, and that you will not leave it soon." - -"Karl," said Consuelo, "I beg of you to ask the Chevalier if I will be -free as soon as I shall have passed the frontier, to thank him and to go -whithersoever I please." - -"Signora, I cannot dare to say so unkind a thing to so polite a man." - -"I require you to do so. You will give me his answer at the next relay -since he will not speak to me." - -The stranger said the lady was perfectly free, and that her wishes were -orders. He said that her safety and that of her guide, as well as of -Karl, demanded that she should oppose no difficulty to the selection of -her route and her asylum. Karl added, with an air of _naïf_ reproof, -that this distrust seemed to mortify the Chevalier very much, and that -he had become sad and melancholy. - -The whole day passed without any incident. Shut up in the carriage as -close as if she were a prisoner of state, Consuelo could form no idea -about the direction she travelled. She changed her clothes with great -satisfaction, for she saw with disgust several drops of Mayer's black -blood on her dress. She sought to read, but her mind was too busy. She -determined to sleep as soon as possible, hoping in this manner to forget -the sooner the mortification of her last adventure. _He_ evidently had -not forgotten it, and his respectful delicacy made Consuelo yet more -ridiculous and guilty in her own opinion. At the same time she was -distressed at the inconvenience and fatigue which he bore in a seat too -narrow for two persons, side by side with a great soldier disguised as a -servant, _comme il faut_ certainly, but whose tedious and dull -conversation must necessarily be annoying to him. Besides, he was -exposed to the fresh air of the night, and was deprived of sleep. This -courage might be presumption. Did he think himself irresistible? Did he -think that Consuelo, recovered from the first surprise, would not resist -his by far too paternal familiarity? - -The poor girl said all this to console her downcast pride. It is very -certain that she desired to see the Chevalier, and feared above all -things his disdain at the triumphs of an excess of virtue which would -have rendered them strangers to each other forever. - -About midnight they halted in a ravine. The weather was bad, and the -noise of the wind in the foliage was like running water. "Signora," said -Karl, opening the door, "we are now come to the most inconvenient -portion of our journey. We must pass the frontier. With money and -boldness it is possible to do anything. Yet it would not be prudent to -attempt to do so on the highroad, and under the eyes of the police. I am -no one, and risk nothing. I will drive the carriage slowly with a single -horse, as if I took a new purchase of my master to a neighboring estate. -You will take a cross-road with the Chevalier, and may find the pathway -difficult. Can you walk a league over a bad road?" - -Consuelo having said yes, the Chevalier gave her his arm. "If you reach -the place of rendezvous before me, signora," said Karl, "you will wait -for me, and will not be afraid." - -"I am afraid of nothing," said Consuelo with a tone of mingled -tenderness and pride, "for this gentleman protects me. But, Karl, do you -run no risk?" - -Karl shrugged his shoulders, and kissed Consuelo's hand. He then began -to fix his horse, and our heroine set out across the country with her -silent protector. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - - -The weather became worse and worse. The wind began to blow more -violently, and our two fugitives walked for about half an hour, -sometimes across the briars, and then across the tall grass. At last the -rain became violent. Consuelo, as yet, had not said a word to her -companion, but seeing him uneasy about her, and looking for a shelter, -she said, "Do not be afraid on my account, Monsieur. I am strong, and -only suffer from seeing you exposed to such fatigue and care for a -person who is nothing to you, and for whom you do not care." - -The stranger made a gesture of joy at the sight of a ruined house, in -one corner of which he contrived to shelter his companion from the -torrents of rain. The roof had been taken away and the space sheltered -by the masonry was so small, that unless he stood close to Consuelo, the -stranger was forced to receive all the rain. He, however, respected her -condition, and went so far away as to banish all fear. Consuelo, -however, would not consent to accept his self-denial. She called him, -and seeing that he would not come, left her shelter, and said, in a tone -she sought to make joyous, "Every one has his turn, Chevalier. I now -will soak for a time. If you will not share with me, take a shelter -yourself." - -The Chevalier wished to lead Consuelo back to the place about which this -amicable contest occurred. She resisted, however, and said, "No, I will -not yield. I see that I offended you to-day, by expressing a wish to -leave you at the frontier. I will atone for my offence at the expense of -a severe cold even." - -The Chevalier yielded, and sheltered himself. Consuelo, seeing that she -owed him reparation, came to his side, though she was humbled at the -idea of having to make advances to him. She had rather seem volatile -than ungrateful, and, as an expiation of her fault, resolved to be -submissive. The stranger understood this so well, that he stood as far -from her as the small space they occupied would permit, and it was only -two or three feet square. Leaning against the wall, he pretended to look -away, lest he should annoy and trouble her by his anxiety. Consuelo was -amazed that a man sentenced to silence, and who inflicted this -punishment to a degree on himself, should divine and understand her so -well. Every moment augmented her esteem for him, and this strange -feeling made her heart beat so, that it was with great difficulty that -she could breathe the air this man, who so strangely sympathised with -her, inhaled. - -After a quarter of an hour the storm became so lulled that the two -travellers could resume their journey. The paths were thoroughly wet, -and had become almost impassable for a woman. The Chevalier for some -moments suffered Consuelo to slip, and almost fall. Suddenly, as if -weary of seeing her fatigue herself, he took her in his arms, and -supported her as easily as if she had been a child. She reproached him -for doing so, it is true, but her reproaches never amounted to -resistance. Consuelo felt fascinated and overpowered. She was -transported by the cavalier through the wind and the storm, and he was -not unlike the spirit of night, crossing ravines and thickets with as -rapid and certain a step as if he had been immaterial. Then they came to -the ford of a small stream, where the stranger took Consuelo in his -arms, raising her up as the water became deep. - -Unfortunately the torrents of rain had been so rapid, that the course of -the rivulet was swollen, and it became a torrent, rolling in foam, and -roaring turbulently. It was already up to the knight's belt, and in his -efforts to sustain Consuelo, she feared that his feet, which were in the -slimy mire of the bed of the streamlet, would slip. She became alarmed -for his sake, and said, "For heaven's sake let me go; let me go--I can -swim!" - -Just then a violent blast of wind threw down one of the trees on the -bank, towards which our travellers went, and this brought down an -avalanche of stones and mud, which for a moment made a natural dike -against the torrent. The tree had luckily fallen across the river, and -the stranger was beginning to breathe, when the water, making a passage -for itself, rushed into one headlong, mad current, against which it was -impossible for him to contend any longer. He paused, and Consuelo sought -to get out of his arms. "Leave me," said she; "I do not wish to be the -cause of your death. I am strong, and bold also. Let me struggle for -myself!" - -The Chevalier, however, pressed her the closer to his heart. One might -have fancied that he intended to die with her. She was afraid of his -black mask--of this man, silent as the water-spirits of the old German -ballads, who wished to drag her below with him. For more than a quarter -of an hour the stranger contended with the fury of the wind and storm -with a coolness and obstinacy which were really frightful, sustaining -Consuelo above the water, and not advancing more than a single step in -four or five minutes. He contemplated his situation calmly. It was as -difficult for him to advance as to withdraw, for if he did the water -might sweep him away. At last he reached the bank, and walked on, -without permitting Consuelo to put her foot on the ground. He did not -even pause to take breath, until he heard Karl, who was waiting -anxiously for him, whistle. He then gave his precious burden into the -arms of the deserter, and almost overpowered, sank on the ground. He was -able only to sigh, not breathe, and it seemed as though his breast would -burst. "Oh! my God, Karl!" said Consuelo, bending over him, "he will -die! Listen to the death-rattle! Take off that mask, which suffocates -him!" - -Karl was about to obey, but the stranger by a painful effort, lifted up -his icy hands, and seized that of the deserter. "True!" said Karl, "my -oath, signora. I swore to him that even were he to die in your presence, -I would not touch his mask. Hurry to the carriage, signora, and bring me -the flask of brandy which is on the seat; a few drops will relieve him. -Consuelo sought to go, but the Chevalier restrained her. If he were -about to die, he wished to expire at her feet. - -"That is right," said Karl, who, notwithstanding his rude manners, -understood all love's mysteries, for he had loved himself. "You can -attend to him better than I can. I will go for the flask. Listen, -signora," he continued, in a low tone; "I believe if you loved him, and -were kind enough to say so, that he will not die; otherwise I cannot -promise." - -Karl went away smiling. He did not share Consuelo's terror. He saw that -the suffocating sensation of the Chevalier was becoming allayed. -Consuelo was terror-stricken, and fancying she witnessed the death agony -of this generous man, folded him in her arms, and covered his broad -brow--the only part of his face the mask did not cover--with kisses. - -"I conjure you," said she, "remove that mask. I will not look at you. Do -so, and you will be able to breathe." - -The stranger took Consuelo's two hands and placed them on his panting -bosom, as much to feel their sweet warmth as to allay her anxiety to aid -by unmasking him. At that moment all the young woman's soul was in that -chaste embrace. She remembered what Karl had said, in a half growling -and half softened mood. - -"Do not die," said she; "do not die. Do you not see that I love you?" - -Scarcely had she uttered these words than they seemed to have fallen -from her in a dream. They had escaped her lips in spite of herself. The -Chevalier had heard them. He made an effort to rise. He fell on his -knees, and embraced those of Consuelo, who, in her agitation shed tears. - -Karl returned with the flask. The Chevalier refused the favorite -specific of the deserter, and leaning on him reached the coach, where -Consuelo sat by him. She was much troubled at the cold, which could not -but be communicated to him by his damp clothes. - -"Do not be afraid, signora," said Karl, "the Chevalier has not had time -to grow cold. I will wrap him up in his cloak, which I took care to put -in the carriage when I saw the rain coming. I was sure he would be damp. -When one has become wet, and puts on dry apparel over all, heat is -preserved for a long time. It is as if you were in a warm bath, and it -is not at all unhealthy." - -"You, Karl, do the same thing; and take my mantle, for you have also got -wet." - -"I? Ah! my skin is thicker than yours. Put your mantle on the Chevalier; -pack him up well; and if I kill the poor horse, I will hurry on to the -next relay." - -For an hour Consuelo kept her arms around the stranger; and her head -resting on his bosom, filled him with life far sooner than all the -receipts and prescriptions of Karl. She sometimes felt his brow, and -warmed it with her breath, in order that the perspiration which hung on -it might not be chilled. When the carriage paused, he clasped her to his -breast with a power that showed he was in all the plenitude of life and -health. He then let down the steps hastily, and disappeared. - -Consuelo found herself beneath a kind of shed, face to face with an old -servant, half peasant in his appearance, who bore a dark lantern, and -led her by a pathway, bordered by a hedge, to an ordinary-looking house, -a kind of summer retreat, the door of which he shut, after having -ushered her in. Seeing a second door open, she went into a little room, -which was very clean, and simply divided into two parts. One was a -well-warmed chamber, with a good bed all prepared; and in the other was -a light and comfortable supper. She noticed with sorrow that there was -but one cover, and when Karl came to offer to serve her, she did not -dare to tell him the only thing she wished was the company of her friend -and protector. - -"Eat and sleep yourself, Karl," said she, "I need nothing. You must be -more fatigued than I am." - -"I am no more fatigued than if I had done nothing but say my prayers by -the hearthside with my poor wife, to whom may the Lord grant peace! How -happy was I when I saw myself outside of Prussia; though to tell the -truth, I do not know if I am in Saxony, Bohemia, Poland, or in China, as -we used to say at Roswald, Count Hoditz's place." - -"How is it possible, Karl, that you could sit on the box of the -carriage, and not know a single place you passed through?" - -"Because I never travelled this route before, signora; and I cannot read -what is written on the bridges and signboards. Besides, we did not stop -in any city or village, and always found our relays in the forest, or in -the courtyard of some private house. There is also another reason, -signora--I promised the Chevalier not to tell you." - -"You should have mentioned that reason first, Karl, and I would not -object. But tell me, does the Chevalier seem sick?" - -"Not all, signora. He goes and comes about the house, which does not -seem to do any great business, for I see no other face than that of the -silent old gardener." - -"Go and offer to help him, Karl. I can dispense with you." - -"Why, he has already refused my services, and bade me attend to you." - -"Well, mind your own affairs, then, my friend, and dream of liberty." - -Consuelo went to bed about dawn, and when she had dressed, she saw by -her watch that it was two o'clock. The day seemed clear and brilliant. -She attempted to open the blinds, but in both rooms they were shut by a -secret spring, like those of the post-chaise in which she had travelled. -She sought to go out, but the doors were fastened on the outside. She -went to the window, and saw a portion of a moderate orchard. Nothing -announced the vicinity of a city or a travelled road. The silence of the -house was complete. On the outside nothing was heard but the hum of -insects, the cooing of pigeons on the roof, and from time to time the -plaintive creaking of the wheelbarrow, where her eye could not reach. -She listened mechanically to these agreeable sounds, for her ear had -long been deprived of the sounds of rustic life. Consuelo was yet a -prisoner, and the anxiety with which she was concealed gave her a great -deal of unhappiness. She resigned herself for the time to a captivity -the aspect of which was so gentle; and she was not so afraid of the love -of the Chevalier as of Mayer. - -Though Karl had told her to ring for him as soon as she was up, she was -unwilling to disturb him, thinking he needed a longer sleep than she -did. She was also afraid to awaken her other companion, whose fatigue -must have been excessive. She then went into the room next to her -chamber, and instead of the meal which she left on the previous evening, -there was a collection of books and writing materials. - -The books did not tempt her. She was far too much agitated to use them. -But amid all her perplexity, she was delighted at being able to retrace -the events of the previous night. Gradually the idea suggested itself, -as she was yet kept in solitary confinement, to continue her journal, -and she wrote the following preamble on a loose sheet:-- - -"Dear Beppo--For you alone I resume the story of my strange adventures. -Accustomed to speak to you with the expansion of heart inspired by the -conformity of ages and ideas, I can confide to you emotions my other -friends would not understand, and would perhaps judge more severely. -This commencement will tell you that I do not feel myself free from -error. I have erred in my own opinion, but as yet I cannot appreciate -the consequences. - -"Joseph, before I tell you bow I escaped from Spandau, (which indeed -appears trifling compared with what now occupies me), I must tell you... -How can I? I do not know myself. Have I dreamed? I know that my -heart burns and my brain quivers as if it would rush from me and take -possession of another frame. I will tell you the story simply; for the -whole truth, my friend, is contained in the simple phrase--_I love!_ - -"I love a stranger! a man, the sound of whose voice I have never heard! -You will say this is folly. You are right; for love is but systematic -folly. Listen, Joseph, and do not doubt that my happiness surpasses all -the illusions of my first love, and that my ecstacy is too intoxicating -to permit me to be ashamed at having so madly assented and foolishly -placed my love, that I know not if I will be loved in return. Ah! I am -loved! I feel it so well! Be certain that I am not mistaken; that now I -love truly--I may say, madly! Why not? Does not love come from God? It -does not depend on us to kindle it in our hearts, as we light a torch at -the altar. All my efforts to love Albert, (whose name I now tremble to -write,) were not sufficient to enkindle that ardent and pure flame. -Since I lost him I loved his memory better than I ever did his person. -Who knows how I could love him, were he restored to me again?" - -Scarcely had Consuelo written these last words than she effaced them, -not so much that they might not be read, as to shake off a feeling of -horror at having ever suffered them to enter her mind. She was greatly -excited, and the truth of the inspiration of love betrayed itself in -spite of her wishes, in all her inmost thoughts. In vain she wished to -continue to write, that she might more fully explain to herself the -mystery of her heart. She found nothing that could more distinctly -render its delicate shades than the words, "Who knows how I could love -him, were he restored to me?" - -Consuelo could be false. She had fancied that she loved the memory of a -dead man with real love; but she now felt life overflowing in her heart, -and a real passion take the place of an imaginary one. - -She sought to read again all that she had written, and thus to recover -from her disorder of mind. But it was in vain. Despairing of being able -to enjoy calm enough to control herself, and aware that the effort would -give her a fever, she crushed the sheet she had written in her hands, -and threw it on the table until she might be able to burn it. Trembling -like a criminal, with her face in a blaze, she paid attention to -nothing, except that she loved, and that henceforth she could not doubt -it. Some one knocked at the door of her room, and she went to admit -Karl. His face was heated, his eyes haggard, and his jaws hanging. She -thought him over-fatigued; but from his answers, soon saw that he had -drank, in honor of his safe arrival, too much of his host's wine. This -was Karl's only defect. One dram made him as confident as possible; -another made him terrible. - -He talked of the Chevalier, who seemed the only subject on his mind. He -was so good, so kind. He made Karl sit down, instead of waiting at the -table. He had insisted on his sharing his meal, and had poured out the -best wine for him, ringing his glass with him, and holding up his head, -as if he were a true Sclave. - -"What a pity he is an Italian! He deserves to be a real Bohemian; for he -carries wine as well as I do," said Karl. - -"That is not saying much," said Consuelo, who was not highly charmed at -the Chevalier measuring cups with a soldier. She soon, however, -reproached herself for having thought Karl inferior to her and her -friends, after the services he had done her. Besides, it was certainly -to make him talk of her that the stranger had associated with her -servant. Karl's conversation soon showed her that she was not mistaken. - -"Oh! signora," added he simply, "this good young man is mad with love -for you, and would commit even crime and incur disgrace to serve you." - -"I will excuse him," said Consuelo, whom these expressions greatly -displeased. Karl did not understand. She then said, "Can you explain why -I am shut up here?" - -"Ah! signora, did I know, I would have my tongue cut out rather than -tell. I promised the Chevalier to answer none of your questions." - -"Thank you. Then you love the Chevalier better than you do me?" - -"Not so. I said not so, but since he satisfied me that he is in your -interests, I must serve you in spite of yourself." - -"How so?" - -"I do not know; but I am sure it is so. He has ordered me, signora, to -shut you up, to watch you, to keep you a prisoner until we come to----" - -"Then we do not stay here?" - -"We go at night. We will not travel by day, to save you from fatigue, -and for other reasons I know nothing of." - -"And you are to be my jailer?" - -"I swore so on the bible, signora." - -"Well, this Chevalier is a strange person. I am helpless then; but for a -jailer I like you better than I did Herr Swartz." - -"I will treat you better," said Karl kindly. "Now I will get your -dinner." - -"I want none, Karl." - -"That is not possible. You must dine--and well, too. Such are my orders. -You know what Swartz said about orders." - -"Take him as your model, and you will not make me eat. He was only -anxious I should pay." - -"That was his business; but with me things are different. That concern -is the chevalier's. He is not mean, for he scatters gold by handsful. He -must be rich, or his fortune will not last." - -Consuelo asked for a light, and went into the next room to burn what she -had written, but during her absence it had disappeared. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - - -A few moments afterwards Karl returned with a letter, the writing of -which was unknown to Consuelo. It ran as follows:-- - -"I leave you, perhaps never to see you again. I relinquish three days I -might pass with you--three days, the like of which I shall perhaps never -see again. I renounce them voluntarily. I should do so. You will one day -appreciate the sacrifice I make, and its purity. - -"Yes, I love you--I love you madly, though I know no more of you than -you do of me. Do not thank me for what I have done. I obeyed supreme -instructions, and accomplished the orders with which I am charged. -Attribute to me nothing but the love I entertain for you, which I can -prove in no other manner than by leaving you. This love is as ardent as -it has been respectful. It will be durable as it has been sudden and -unexpected. I have scarcely seen your face; I know nothing of your life; -yet I felt that my soul belonged to you, and that I can never resume it. -Had your past conduct been as sullied as your present seems pure, you -would not to me be less respectable and dear. I leave you, with my heart -agitated with pride, joy, and bitterness. You love me! How could I -support the idea of losing you, if the terrible will which disposes of -both of us, so ordained it? I know not. At this moment, in spite of my -terror, I cannot be unhappy. I am too much intoxicated with your love -and mine to suffer. Were I to seek in vain for you during my whole life, -I would not complain because I have seen you and received a kiss from -you, condemning me to eternal sorrow. Neither can I lose the hope of -meeting you some day; even though it were for a single moment, and -though I had no other evidence of your love than the kiss so purely -given and returned, I would feel myself a thousand times happier than I -ever was before I knew you. - -"And now, dear girl, poor, troubled being, recall, without shame and -without terror, the brief and heavenly moments in which you felt my love -transfused into your heart. You have said love comes to us from God, and -we cannot ourselves stifle or enkindle it. Were I unworthy of you the -sudden inspiration which forced you to return my embrace would not be -less heavenly. The Providence that protects you, would not consent that -the treasure of my love should fall on a vain and false heart. Were I -ungrateful, as far as you are concerned, it would only be a noble mind -led astray, a precious inspiration lost. I adore you; and whatever you -may be in other respects, you had nothing to do with the illusion, when -you fancied that I loved you. You were not profaned by the beating of my -heart--by the support of my arm--by the touch of my lips. Our mutual -confidence, and blind faith, have at once exalted us to that sublime -_abandon_ justified by long attachment. Why regret you? I am well aware -there is something terrible in that fatality which impels us to each -other. It is the will of God. Do you see it? We cannot be mistaken. You -bear away with you my terrible secret. Keep it wholly to -yourself--confide it to no one. _Beppo_, perhaps, will not comprehend -it. Whoever that friend may be, I alone venerate your folly and respect -your weakness, for this folly and weakness are mine. Adieu! This may be -an eternal adieu, yet, as the world says, I am free, and so too are you. -I love you alone, and know you do not love another. Our fate is not our -own. I am bound by eternal vows, and so too will you be ere long. At -least you will be in the power of the Invisibles, and from them there is -no appeal. Adieu, then. . . . My bosom is torn, but God will give me -power to accomplish my sacrifice, and even a more rigorous one yet, if -such there be. Great God! have pity on me." - -This unsigned letter was in a painful and counterfeited hand. - -"Karl," said Consuelo, pale and trembling; "did the Chevalier give you -this?" - -"Yes, signora." - -"And wrote it himself?" - -"Yes, signora; and not without pain. His right hand was wounded." - -"Wounded, Karl? Severely?" - -"Perhaps. The cut was deep, though he did not seem to mind it." - -"Where was it?" - -"Last night, when we were changing the horses, just before we came to -the frontier, the leading-horse wished to go before the postilion had -mounted the saddle-beast. You were in the carriage alone; the postilion -and I were four or five paces off. The Chevalier held the horse with -immense power, and with a lion's courage, for he was very restive." - -"Ah! yes, I felt violent shocks, but you told me it was nothing." - -"I did not know the Chevalier was hurt. He had injured his hand with a -buckle of the harness." - -"And for me? But, tell me, Karl, has the Chevalier gone?" - -"Not yet. His horse is now being saddled, and I am come to pack his -portmanteau. He says that you have nothing to fear, for the person who -is to replace him has arrived. I hope we will see him soon, for I would -be sorry for any accident to happen. He, however, would promise nothing, -and to all my questions answered '_Perhaps._'" - -"Where is the Chevalier, Karl?" - -"I do not know, signora, his room is there. Do you wish me to say from -you----" - -"No; I will write. No; tell him I would see him an instant, to thank him -and press his hand. Be quick; I fear he has gone already." - -Karl left, and Consuelo soon regretted having sent the message. She said -to herself that the stranger had never come near her, except in a case -of absolute necessity, and had doubtless an affiliation with the strange -and whimsical Invisibles. She resolved to write to him; but she had -scarcely written and effaced a few words, when a slight noise made her -look up. She saw a panel of the woodwork slide, and discovered there was -thus a communication between the room in which she had written and the -Chevalier's chamber. The panel was only opened wide enough for a gloved -hand to be passed, and which seemed to beckon to Consuelo. She rushed -forward, saying, "The other hand--the wounded hand." The stranger then -withdrew behind the panel so that she could not see him. He then passed -out his right hand, of which Consuelo took possession, and untying the -ligature, saw that the cut was severe and deep. She pressed her lips on -the linen and taking from her bosom the filagré cross, put it in the -blood-stained hand. "Here," said she, "is the most precious thing I -possess on earth. It is all I have, and never has been separated from -me. I never loved any one before well enough to confide to them this -treasure. Keep it till we meet----" - -The stranger drew the hand of Consuelo behind the wood-work which -concealed him, and covered it with kisses. Then, when he heard Karl's -steps coming to deliver his message, he pushed it back, and shut the -paneling. Consuelo heard the sound of a bolt: she listened in vain, -expecting to catch the sound of the stranger's voice. He either spoke in -a low tone or had gone. - -A few minutes afterwards, Karl returned to Consuelo. "He has gone," said -he, sadly, "without saying farewell, but filling my pockets with I know -not how many ducats, for the unexpected expenses of our voyage, our -regular ones being provided for, as he said--at the expense of the -powers above or below, it matters not. There is a little man in black -there, who never opens his mouth, except to give orders in a clear dry -tone, and who does not please me at all. He replaces the Chevalier, and -I will have the honor of his company on the box, a circumstance which -does not promise me a very merry conversation. Poor chevalier! may he be -restored to us." - -"But are we obliged to go with the little man in black?" - -"We could not be more under compulsion, signora. The Chevalier made me -swear I would obey the stranger as himself. Well, signora, here is your -dinner. You must not slight it, for it looks well. We will start at -night, then: henceforth, we may stop only where we please--whether at -the behest of the powers above or below, I know not." - -Consuelo, downcast and terrified, paid no attention to Karl's gossip. -She was uneasy about nothing relating to her voyage or her new guide. -All became indifferent from the moment the dear stranger left. A prey to -profound sadness, she sought mechanically to please Karl, by tasting -some of his dishes. Being, however, more anxious to weep than to eat, -she asked for a cup of coffee to give her some physical strength and -courage. The coffee was brought her. "See, signora, the little man would -prepare it himself, to be sure that it was excellent, he looks like an -old valet-de-chambre or steward, and, after all, is not so black as he -seems. I think he is not such a bad man, though he does not like to -talk. He gave me some brandy, at least a hundred years old, the best I -ever tasted. If you try a little, you will find it much better than this -coffee." - -"Drink, Karl, anything you please, and do not disturb me," said -Consuelo, swallowing the coffee, the quality of which she scarcely -observed. - -Scarcely had she left the table when she felt her head become extremely -heavy. When Karl came to say the carriage was ready, he found her asleep -in the chair. "Give me your arm," she said, "I cannot sustain myself. I -think I have a fever." - -She was so crushed, that she saw only confusedly the carriage, her new -guide, and the keeper of the house, whom Karl could induce to accept of -nothing. As soon as she was _en route_, she fell asleep. The carriage -had been filled up with cushions, like a bed, and thenceforward Consuelo -was aware of nothing. She did not know the length of her journey or even -the hour of the day or night, whether she travelled uninterruptedly or -not. Once or twice she saw Karl at the door, and could comprehend -neither his questions nor his terror. It seemed to her that the little -man felt her pulse, and made her swallow a refreshing drink, saying, -"This is nothing; madame is doing very well." She was indisposed and -overcome, and could not keep her heavy eyelids open, nor was her mind -sufficiently active to enable her to observe what passed around her. The -more she slept, the more she seemed to wish to. She did not even seek to -ask if she was sick or not, and she could only say to Karl again what -she had finished with before. "Let me alone, good Karl." - -Finally, she felt both body and mind a little more free, and looking -around, saw that she slept in an excellent bed, between four vast -curtains of white satin, with gold fringes. The little man, masked as -the Chevalier had been, made her inhale the perfume of a _flacon,_ which -seemed to dissipate the clouds over her brain, and replaced the mystery -which had enwrapped her with noonday clearness. - -"Are you a physician, sir?" said she, with an effort. - -"Yes, countess, I have that honor," said he, with a voice which did not -seem entirely unknown to her. - -"Have I been sick?" - -"Somewhat indisposed: you are now much better." - -"I feel so, and thank you for your care." - -"I am glad, and will not appear again before your ladyship, unless you -require my services." - -"Am I, then, at the conclusion of my journey?" - -"Yes, madame." - -"Am I free, or am I a prisoner?" - -"You are free, madame, in the area reserved for your habitation." - -"I understand. I am in a large and comfortable prison," said Consuelo, -looking around her broad bright room, hung with white lustre, with gold -rays, supported by magnificently carved and sculptured wood-work. "Can I -see Karl?" - -"I do not know, madame, for this house is not mine. I go: you need my -services no longer. I am forbidden to indulge in the luxury of -conversing with you." - -He left, and Consuelo, yet feeble and listless, attempted to get up. The -only dress she found was a long white woollen robe, of a wonderfully -soft texture, not unlike the tunic of a Roman lady. She took it up, and -observed fall from it the following note, in letters of gold: "_This is -the neophyte's spotless robe. If your mind be sullied, this robe of -noble innocence will be the devouring tunic of Dejanera._" - -Consuelo, accustomed to a quiet conscience, (perhaps too quiet,) smiled, -and put on the robe with innocent pleasure. She picked up the letter to -read it again, and found it puerilely emphatic. She then went to a rich -toilette--a table of white marble sustaining a mirror, in a golden -frame, of excellent taste. Her attention was attracted by an inscription -on the upper ornament of the mirror. It was: "_If your soul be as pure -as yon crystal, you will see yourself in it always--young and beautiful. -But if vice has withered your heart, be fearful of reading in me the -stern reflection of moral deformity._" - -"I have never been either beautiful or vicious," thought Consuelo. -"Therefore the mirror in either case must be false." - -She looked in it without fear, and did not think herself ugly. The -flowing white robe, and her long, floating dark hair, made her look like -a priestess of antiquity. Her pallor was extreme, and her eyes were less -pure and brilliant than usual. "Can I be growing ugly?" said she, "or -does the mirror censure me?" - -She opened a drawer of the toilette, and found, amid various articles of -luxury, many of them accompanied with devices and sentences, which were -at once simple and pedantic. There was a pot of rouge with the following -words on the cover: "_Fashion and falsehood. Paint does not restore the -freshness of innocence to the cheek, and does not efface the ravages of -disorder._" There were exquisite perfumes with this device: "_A soul -without faith and an indiscreet lip are like open flacons, the precious -contents of which are exhaled and corrupted._" There were also white -ribands with these words woven in the silk: "_To a pure brow, the sacred -fillets; to a head charged with infamy, the servile punishment of the -cord._" - -Consuelo did up her hair, tying it complacently in the ancient manner, -with the fillets. Then she examined with curiosity the strange abode to -which her romantic fate had brought her. She passed through the various -rooms of the suite intended for her,--a library, a music-room, filled -with admirable instruments, and many and precious musical compositions. -She had a delicious boudoir, and a gallery filled with superb and -charming pictures and statues. In magnificence her rooms were worthy of -a queen, in taste of an artist, and in chastity of a nun. Consuelo, -surprised at this sumptuous and delicate hospitality, reserved the -detailed examination of the symbols expressed by the books and works of -art, until she should be more composed. A desire to know in what part of -the world her miraculous home was, made her desert the interior for the -exterior. She approached a window, but before she lifted up the silken -curtain before it, read: "_If the thought of evil be in your heart, you -are unworthy of contemplating the divine spectacle of nature; if your -heart be the home of virtue, look up and bless God, who opens to you the -door of a terrestrial paradise._" She opened the window, anxious to see -if the landscape corresponded with the proud promises of the -inscription. It was an earthly paradise, and Consuelo fancied that she -dreamed. The garden, planted in the English manner--a rare thing at that -time--but with all the minutiæ of German taste, offered pleasant -vistas, magnificent shades, fresh lawns, and the expanses of natural -scenery; at the same time that exquisite neatness, sweet and fresh -flowers, white sand, and crystal waters, betokened that it was carefully -attended to. Above the fine trees, the lofty barriers of a vale covered, -or rather draped, with flowers, and divided by clear and limpid brooks, -arose a sublime horizon of blue mountains, with broken sides and -towering brows. In the whole area of her view, Consuelo saw nothing to -tell her in what part of Germany was this imposing spectacle. She did -not know where she was. The season, however, seemed advanced, and the -herbage older than in Prussia, which satisfied her that she had made -some progress to the south. - -"Dear canon, where are you?" thought Consuelo, as she looked at the -thickets of white lilac and hedges of roses, and the ground, strewn with -narcissi, hyacinths, and violets. "Oh! Frederick of Prussia, I thank you -for having taught me, by long privations and cruel _ennui_, to enjoy, as -I should do, the pleasures of such a refuge. And you, all-powerful -Invisibles, keep me ever in this captivity. I consent to it with all my -heart, especially if the Chevalier--" - -Consuelo did not utter her wish. She had not thought of the stranger -since she had shaken off her lethargy. This burning wish awoke in her, -and made her reflect on the menacing sentences inscribed on all the -walls and furniture of the magic palace, and even on the apparel in -which she was so strangely decked. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - - -More than anything else, Consuelo was anxious for, and in need of, -liberty, after having passed so many days in slavery. She was then -delighted at being able to wander amid a vast space, which the efforts -of art and the effect of long avenues made appear yet vaster. After -walking about two hours, she felt herself becoming sad by the solitude -and silence which reigned in these beautiful spots. She had already gone -several times around it, without seeing even a human foot-print on the -fine and well-raked sand. Lofty walls, masked by immense vegetation, -prevented her from passing into unknown paths. She already had become -acquainted with those she had passed. In some places the wall was -interrupted by large fosses, filled with water, which allowed the eyes -to lose themselves in extensive lawns, which were bounded by wooded -mountains, or by the entrance into mysterious and charming alleys, -ending in thick glades. From her window, Consuelo saw all nature open to -her, but when she came down-stairs, she found herself shut in on every -side, and all the inside luxury could not extinguish the sensations of -again feeling herself a prisoner. She looked around for the enchanted -palace in which she had awaked. The house was a small one, in the -Italian style, luxuriantly furnished and elegantly decorated. Its site -was a pointed rock, picturesque as possible, but which was a natural -enclosure to all the garden, and was as impenetrable an obstacle to a -prospect as the high walks and heavy glacis of Spandau. - -"My fortress," said Consuelo, "is beautiful, but it is evident that I am -not on that account less the prisoner." - -She was about to rest herself on the terrace of the house, which was -adorned with flowers, and surmounted by a fountain. It was a delicious -place, and as it commanded only a view of the interior of the garden, a -few eminences in the park, and high mountains, the cliffs of which -towered above the trees, the prospect was beautiful and enlivening. -Consuelo, instinctively terrified at the care taken to establish her, -perhaps for a long time, in her new prison, would have given all the -catalpas and flowers, all the garden beds, for some quiet country nook, -with a modest cot, rough roads, and a district amid which she was free -to wander, and which she could explore at will. Between her residence -and the lofty mountains in the distance, there were no intermediate -plains to explore. Nothing met her eye but the indistinct dentillated -horizon, already lost in the mist of the setting sun. The nightingales -sang admirably, but not a human voice announced the presence of a single -habitant. Consuelo became aware that her house, at the verge of a large -park, or perhaps unexplored forest, was but a dependence of some vast -manor. What she now saw of the park inspired her with no wish to extend -her acquaintance with it. She saw nothing but flocks of sheep and goats -feeding on the flanks of the hills, with as much security as if the -approach of a mortal had been unknown to them. At last the evening -breeze agitated the poplar-wood which enclosed one of the sides of the -garden, and Consuelo saw, by the last light of day, the white towers and -sharp roofs of a large castle, half-hidden behind a hill, at perhaps the -distance of a quarter of a league. Notwithstanding her wish to think no -more of the chevalier, Consuelo persuaded herself that he must be there, -and her eyes were anxiously fixed on the imaginary castle perhaps, which -it seemed she was prohibited to approach, and which the veil of twilight -gradually hid. - -When night had come, Consuelo saw the reflection of lights from the -lower story of her house pass beneath the neighboring shrubbery, and she -hastily descended, with the expectation of seeing some human, face -around her dwelling. She had not this pleasure. The servant she found -busy in lighting the lamps and fixing the table, was like the doctor, -clothed in the uniform of the Invisibles. He was an old servant, in a -coarse white wig, resembling wool, and clad in a full suit of -tomato-colored material. - -"I humbly beg your pardon, madame," said he, with a broken voice, "for -appearing before you thus; but such are my orders and the necessity of -them are not matter of thought for me. I am subject to your commands, -madame, and my masters'. I am steward of this pavilion, director of the -garden, and _maitre d'hôtel._ They told me that madame, having -travelled a great deal, was used to wait on herself, and would not -require the services of a female. It would be difficult, madame, to -procure one, as I have none, and all those at the castle are forbidden -to come hither. A servant woman will arrive shortly to assist me, and a -gardener's lad, from time to time, will water the flowers and keep the -walks in order. About this I have a very humble observation to make. -This is, that any other servant than myself, with whom madame is -suspected of having spoken, or have made any sign, will at once be -dismissed--a great misfortune to them, for the service is good, and -obedience is well rewarded. Madame, I am sure, is too generous and too -just to tempt these poor people." - -"Rest assured, Matteus," said Consuelo, "I will never be rich enough to -reward them, and I am not the person to lead any one to neglect their -duty." - -"Besides," said Matteus, as if he were talking to himself, "I will never -lose sight of them." - -"Precaution in that respect is useless. I have too great an obligation -to repay to the persons who brought me hither, and to those who have -received me to attempt to do anything to deceive them." - -"Ah! is madame here of her own accord?" asked Matteus, whose curiosity -seemed deprived of nothing but the power of expression. - -"I beg you to think me a voluntary prisoner, on parole." - -"Ah, thus I understood it. I have never had charge of persons who were -here in any other way, though I have often seen my prisoners on parole -weep and torment themselves, as if they regretted having bound -themselves. God knows they were well attended to here. But under such -circumstances their liberty was always restored to them, for no one is -retained here by force. Madame, supper is ready." - -The last observation of the tomato-colored major-domo at once restored -all Consuelo's appetite, and the supper was so good that she highly -complimented her attendant. The latter was much flattered at being -appreciated, and Consuelo saw that she had won his esteem. He was not a -whit more confiding, or less circumspect, on that account. He was both -shrewd and cunning. Consuelo soon saw into his character, for she -appreciated the mixture of kindness and address with which he -anticipated her questions, so as to avoid annoyance, and arrange his -replies. She therefore learned from him all she did not desire to know, -without in reality learning anything. "His masters were rich, powerful, -and very generous personages. They were, however, very strict, -especially in all that related to discretion. The pavilion was a -dependence on a beautiful residence, sometimes inhabited by its owners, -and sometimes confided to faithful, well-paid, and discreet servants. -The country was rich, fertile, and well governed, and the people were -not wont to complain of their lords. Did they do so, they would not get -on very well with Matteus, who consulted his master's interests, and who -never talked foolishly." Consuelo was so annoyed at his wise -insinuations and officious instructions, that directly after supper she -said, with a smile-- - -"I am afraid, Master Matteus, I am myself indiscreet in enjoying the -pleasure of your conversation so long. I need nothing more tonight, and -wish you good evening." - -"Will madame do me the honor to ring when she needs anything? I live at -the back of the house, under the rock, in a kind of hermitage around -which I cultivate magnificent water-melons. I would be pleased if madame -would encourage me by a glance; but I am especially forbid ever to open -that gate to madame." - -"I understand, Master Matteus. I am to confine myself to the garden, not -being subjected to your caprices, but to the will of my hosts. I will -obey." - -"There is especial reason, madame, why you should, as the difficulty of -opening the heavy gate is very great. There is a spring in the lock -which might injure madame's hands, if she were not informed of it." - -"My promise is a better security than all your bolts, Matteus. You may -rest assured on that point." - -Many days rolled by, without Consuelo seeing anything of her hosts, and -without her eyes falling on the features of any individual; Matteus yet -wearing his mask, which, perhaps, was more agreeable than his face. - -The worthy servitor attended on her with a zeal and punctuality for -which she could not be too thankful. He annoyed her terribly, however, -by his conversation, which she was forced to submit to, for he refused -positively and stoically every present she offered him, and she had no -other way to exhibit her gratitude than by suffering him to gossip. He -was passionately fond of the use of his tongue, a thing especially -remarkable, from the fact that his very employment required the most -absolute reserve, which he never laid aside. He possessed the art of -touching on many subjects, without ever referring to forbidden matters. -Consuelo was informed how much the kitchen-garden of the castle produced -every year--the quantity of carrots, of asparagus, &c.--how many fawns -were dropped in the park, the history of the swans in the lake, the -number of pheasants, and the details of harvest. Not one word was said -to enable her to understand in what country she was, if the owners of -the castle were absent or present, if she was ever to see them, or was -to remain for an indefinite time in the pavilion. In a word, nothing -that really interested her, ever escaped from the prudent though busy -lips of Matteus. She fancied she would have violated all propriety, had -she come even within ear-shot of the gardener or servant-girl, who, -moreover, came early in the morning and disappeared almost immediately -after she got up. She restricted herself to looking from time to time -across the park, without seeing any one, and watching the outlines of -the castle, which was illuminated with a few lights, which, by-the-bye, -were soon extinguished. - -She soon relapsed into a state of deep melancholy, which, she had -vigorously striven against at Spandau. These feelings attacked her in -this rich abode, where she had all the luxuries of life around her. Can -any one of the blessings of life really be enjoyed alone? Prolonged -solitude wearies us of the most beautiful objects, and fills the -strongest mind with terror. Consuelo soon found the hospitality of the -Invisibles as annoying as it was strange, and intense disgust took -possession of all her faculties. Her noble piano seemed to sound too -loudly through the vast and echoing rooms, and she became afraid of the -sound of her own voice. When she ventured to sing, if she were surprised -by twilight, she thought she heard the echoes reply angrily to her, and -fancied she saw flitting around the silk-hung walls and silent tapestry, -uneasy shadows, which faded away when she sought to watch them, and hid -themselves behind the hangings, whence they mocked, imitated, and made -faces at her. All this was but the effect of the evening breeze, -rustling amid the leaves, or the vibration of her own voice around her. -Her imagination, weary of questioning the mute witnesses of her -_ennui_--the statues, pictures, and Japan vases, filled with flowers, -and the gorgeous mirrors--became the victim of a strange terror, like -the anticipation of some unknown misfortune. She remembered the strange -power attributed to the Invisibles by the vulgar, the apprehensions with -which Cagliostro had filled her mind, the appearance of _la balayeuse_ -in the palace at Berlin, and the wonderful promises of Saint Germain in -relation to the resurrection of Albert. She said all these unexplained -matters were perhaps the consequence of the secret action of the -Invisibles in society, and on her particular fate. She had no faith in -their supernatural power, but she saw they used every means to acquire -influence over the minds of men, by attacking the imagination through -promises and menaces, terror or seductions. She was then under the -influence of some formidable revelation or cruel mystification, and, -like a cowardly child, was afraid at being so timid. - -At Spandau she had aroused her will against external perils and real -suffering: she had triumphed, by means of courage, over all, and there -resignation seemed natural to her. The gloomy appearance of the fortress -harmonized with the solemn meditations of solitude, while in her new -prison all seemed formed for a life of poetical enjoyment or peaceful -friendship. The eternal silence, the absence of all sympathy, destroyed -the harmony, like a monstrous violation of common sense. One might have -compared it to the delicious retreat of two lovers, or an accomplished -family, become, from a loved hearthside, suddenly hated and deserted, on -account of some painful rupture or sudden catastrophe. The many -inscriptions which decorated it, and which were placed on every -ornament, she did not laugh at now as mere puerilities. They were -mingled encouragements and menaces, conditional eulogiums corrected by -humiliating accusations. She could no longer look around her, without -discovering some new sentence she had not hitherto remarked, and which -seemed to keep her from breathing freely in this sanctuary of suspicious -and vigilant justice. Her soul had retreated within itself since the -crisis of her escape and instantaneous love for the stranger. The -lethargic state which she had, beyond doubt, been intentionally thrown -into, to conceal the locality of her abode, had produced a secret -languor and a nervous excitability resulting from it. She therefore felt -herself becoming both uneasy and careless, now terrified at nothing, and -then indifferent about everything. - -One evening she fancied that she heard the almost imperceptible sound of -a distant orchestra. She went on the terrace, and saw the castle -appearing beyond the foliage in a blaze of light. A symphony, lofty and -clear, distinctly reached her. The contrast between a festival and her -isolation touched her deeply; more so than she was willing to own. So -long a time had elapsed since she had exchanged a word with rational or -intelligent beings, for the first time in her life she was anxious to -join in a concert or ball, and wished, like Cinderella, that some fairy -would waft her through the air into one of the windows of the enchanted -palace, even if she were to remain there invisible, merely to look on -persons animated by pleasure. - -The moon was not yet up. In spite of the clearness of the sky, the shade -beneath the trees was so dense, that Consuelo, had she been surrounded -by invisible watchers, might have glided by. A violent temptation took -possession of her, and all the specious reasons which curiosity -suggests, when it seeks to assail our conscience, presented themselves -to her mind. Had they treated her with confidence by dragging her -insensible to this prison, which, though gilded, was severe? Had they -the right to exact blind submission from her which they had not deigned -to ask for? Besides, might they not seek to tempt and attract her by the -simulation of a festival--all this might be, for all that related to the -Invisibles was strange. Perhaps, in seeking to leave the enclosure she -would find an open gate, or a boat which passed through some arch in the -wall of the park. At this last fancy, the most gratuitous of all, she -descended into the garden, resolved to tempt her fate. She had not gone -more than fifty paces, when she heard in the air a sound similar to that -produced by the wings of a gigantic bird, as it rises rapidly to the -clouds. At the same time, she saw around her a vivid blue blaze, which -after a few minutes was extinguished, to be reproduced with a sharp -report. Consuelo then saw this was neither lightning nor a meteor, but -the commencement of a display of fireworks at the castle. This -entertainment promised her, from the top of the terrace a magnificent -display, and like a child, anxious to shake off the _ennui_ of a long -punishment, she returned in haste to the pavilion. - -By the blaze of these factitious lights, sometimes red and then blue, -which filled the garden, she twice saw a black man standing erect and -near her. She had scarcely time to look at him, when the luminous bomb -falling with a shower of stars, left all more dark than ever, after the -light which had dazzled her eyes. Consuelo then became terrified, and -ran in a direction entirely opposite to that in which the spectre had -appeared, but when the light returned, saw herself again within a few -feet of him. At the third blaze, she had gained the door of the -pavilion, but again found him before her and barring her passage. Seized -with irrepressible terror, she cried aloud, and nearly swooned. She -would have fallen backward from the steps, had not her mysterious -visitor passed his arm around her waist. Scarcely had he touched her -brow with his lips, than she became aware it was the stranger--the -_Chevalier_--the one whom she loved, and by whom she was beloved. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - - -The joy at finding him, like an angel of consolation in this -insupportable solitude, silenced every fear that a moment before had -filled her mind, though she entertained no hope of escape through him. -She returned his embrace with passion, and as he tried to get loose from -her arms to replace his black mask, which had fallen, she cried, "Do not -leave me--do not desert me!" Her voice was supplicatory and her caresses -irresistible. The stranger fell at her feet, concealing his face in the -folds of her dress, which he kissed. He remained some time in a state -half-way between pleasure and despair; then, taking up his mask, and -placing a letter into Consuelo's hands, he hurried into the house, and -disappeared, without her having been able to distinguish his features. - -She followed him, and by the aid of a tiny lamp, which Matteus lighted -every evening, at the foot of the stairway, she hoped to find him. -Before she had gone more than a few steps, however, she saw no trace of -him. She looked in vain through all the house, but saw nothing, and, but -for the letter she had in her hands, would have thought all that had -happened a dream. - -At last, she determined to return to her boudoir and read the letter, -the writing of which now seemed rather counterfeited intentionally than -changed by pain. It was as follows: - -"I can neither see nor speak to you, but I am not forbidden to write. -Will you permit me? Will you dare to reply to the stranger? Had I this -happiness, I might find your letters, and place mine in a book you could -leave every evening on the bench near the water. I love you -passionately--madly--wildly: I am conquered--my power is crushed. My -activity, my zeal, my enthusiasm for the work to which I am devoted, -all, even the feeling of duty, is gone, unless you love me. Bound by -oath to strange and terrible duties, by the gift and abandonment of my -will, I float between the idea of infamy and suicide: I cannot think you -really love me, and that, at the present moment, distrust and fear have -not effaced your passion for me. Could it be otherwise? I am to you but -a shadow, only the dream of a night--the illusion of a moment. Well, to -win your love, I am ready, twenty times a day, to sacrifice my honor, to -betray my word, and sully my conscience by perjury. If you contrived to -escape from this prison, I would follow you to the end of the world, -were I to expiate, by a life of shame and remorse, the intoxication of -your presence, though only for a day, and to hear you say once, though -but once, 'I love you.' Yet, if you refuse to unite yourself to the -Invisibles, if the oaths which soon are to be exacted from you prove -repugnant, it will be forbidden me ever to see you. I will not obey, for -I cannot--no, I have suffered enough--I have toiled, sufficiently -toiled, in the service of man. If you be not the recompense of my labor, -I will have nothing more to do with it. I destroy myself by returning to -earth, its laws, its habits. Take pity, take pity on me. Tell me not -that you do not love me. I cannot support the blow--I will not, cannot -believe it. If I did, I must die." - -Consuelo read the note amid the noise of guns, bombs, and fireworks, the -explosion of which she did not hear. Engrossed by what she read, she -experienced, without being aware of it, the impression produced on -sensitive minds by the detonation of powder, and in general, by all -violent noises. This principally influences the imagination, when it -does not act physically on a weak, unhealthy body, by producing painful -tremors. It exalts, on the other hand, the mind and senses of brave and -well-constituted persons. It awakens even in the minds of some women, -intrepid instincts, ideas of strife, and vague regrets that they are not -men. In fine, there is a well-marked accent which makes us find an -amount of quasi-musical enjoyment in the voice of the rushing torrent, -in the roar of the breaking wave, in the roll of thunder; this accent of -anger, wrath, menace and pride--this voice of power, so to say, is found -in the roar of artillery, in the whistling of balls, and in the -countless convulsions of the atmosphere which imitate the shock of -battle in artificial fire-works. - -Consuelo perhaps experienced the effects of this, while she read what -may really be called the first _billet-doux_ she had ever received. She -felt herself courageous, bold, and almost rash. A kind of intoxication -made her feel this declaration of love more warm and persuasive than all -Albert's words, precisely as she felt the kiss of Albert more soft and -gentle than Anzoleto's. She then began to write without hesitation, and -while the rockets shook the echoes of the park, while the odor of -saltpetre stifled the perfume of flowers, and Bengalese fires -illuminated the _façade_ of the house, unnoticed by her, Consuelo wrote -in reply: - -"Yes, I love you--I have said so; and even if I repent and blush at it, -I never can efface from the strange, and incomprehensible book of my -fate, the page I wrote myself and which is in your hands. It was the -expression of a guilty impulse--mad, perhaps, but intensely true, and -ardently felt. Had you been the humblest of men, I would yet have placed -my ideal in you. Had I degraded myself by contemptuous and cruel -conduct, I would yet have experienced by contact with your heart, an -intoxication I had never known, and which appeared to me to be holy as -angels are pure. You see I repeat to you what I wrote in relation to the -confession I made to Beppo. We do nothing but repeat to each other what -we are. I think we are keenly and truly satisfied of this mutual -conviction. Why and how could we be deceived? We do not, and perhaps -never will, know each other, and cannot explain the first causes of this -love, any more than we can foresee its mysterious ends. Listen: I -abandon myself to your word, to your honor, and do not combat the -sentiments you inspire. Do not let me deceive myself. I ask of you but -one thing--not to feign to love me--never to see me if you do not love -me--to abandon me to my fate, whatsoe'er it be, with no apprehension -that I should accuse or curse you for the rapid illusions of happiness -you have conferred on me. It seems to me what I ask is easy. There are -moments in which I am afraid, I confess, on account of my blind -confidence in you. But as soon as you appear in my presence, or when I -look at your writing, which is carefully disguised, as if you were -anxious to deprive me of any visible and external index; in fine, when -I hear the sound even of your steps, all my fears pass away, and I -cannot refrain from thinking that you are my better angel. Why hide you -thus? what fearful secret is hidden by your mask and your silence? Must -I fear and reject you, when I learn your name or see your face? If you -are absolutely unknown to me as you have written, why yield such blind -obedience to the strange law of the Invisibles, even when, as to-day, -you are ready to shake off your bonds and follow me to the end of the -world? And if I exacted it, and fled with you, would you take off your -mask and keep no secrets from me? 'To know you,' you say, 'it is -necessary for me to promise'--what? For me to bind myself to the -Invisibles? To do what? Alas! must I with closed eyes, mute, and without -conscience, with my mind in darkness, _give up_ and abandon my will as -you did, knowing your fate? To determine me to these unheard-of acts of -devotion, would you not make a slight infraction of the regulations of -your order? I see distinctly that you belong to one of those mysterious -orders known here as _secret societies_, and which it is said are -numerous in Germany; unless this be merely a political plot against----, -as is said in Berlin. Let this be as it may, if I be left at liberty to -refuse when I am told what is required of me, I will take the most -terrible oaths never to make any revelations. Can I do more, without -being unworthy of the love of a man who overcomes his scruples, and the -fidelity of his oath so far as to be unwilling for me to hear that word -I have pronounced myself, in violation of the prudence and modesty of my -sex--'_I love you._'" - -Consuelo placed this letter in a book she left at the indicated place in -the garden. She then went slowly away, and was long concealed in the -foliage, hoping to see the Chevalier come, and fearing to leave this -avowal of her sentiments there, lest it should fall into other hands. As -hours rolled by without any one coming, and she remembered these words -of the stranger's letter, "I will come for your answer during your -sleep," she thought it best to conform in all respects to his advice, -and returned to her room, where, after many agitated reveries, -successively painful and delicious, she went to sleep amid the uncertain -music of the ball, the _fanfares_ which were sounded during the supper, -and the distant sound of carriage wheels which announced, at dawn, the -departure of the many guests from the castle. - -At nine, precisely, the recluse entered the hall where she ate, and -where her meals were served with scrupulous exactness, and with care -worthy of the place. Matteus stood erect behind her chair, in his usual -phlegmatic manner. Consuelo had been to the garden. The Chevalier had -taken her letter, for it was not in the book. Consuelo had hoped to find -another letter from him, and she already began to complain of -lukewarmness in his correspondence. She felt uneasy, excited, and -annoyed by the torpid life it seemed she was compelled to lead. She then -determined to run some risk to see if she could not hasten the course of -events which were slowly preparing around her. On that day Matteus was -moody and silent. - -"Master Matteus," said she, with forced gaiety, "I see through your -mask, that your eyes are downcast and your face pale. You did not sleep -last night." - -"Madame laughs at me," said Matteus, with bitterness. "As madame, -however, has no mask, it is easy to see that she attributes the fatigue -and sleeplessness with which she herself has suffered, to me. - -"Your mirrors told me that before I saw you, Master Matteus: I know I am -getting ugly, and will be yet more changed, if _ennui_ continues to -consume me." - -"Does madame suffer from _ennui?_" said he, in the same tone he would -have said, "Did madame ring?" - -"Yes, Matteus, terribly; and I can no longer bear this seclusion. As no -one has either visited or written to me, I presume I am forgotten here; -and since you are the only person who does not neglect me, I think I am -at liberty to say as much to you." - -"I cannot permit myself to judge of madame's condition," said Matteus; -"but it seems to me that within a short time, madame has received both a -letter and a visit." - -"Who told you so, Master Matteus?" said Consuelo, blushing. - -"I would tell," said he, in a tone ironically humble, "if I were not -afraid of offending madame and annoying her with my conversation." - -"Were you my servant, I do not know what airs of grandeur I might assume -with you; but as now I have no other attendant but myself, you seem -rather my guardian than my major-domo, and I will trouble you to talk as -you are wont. You have too much good sense to be tedious." - -"As madame is _ennuyée_, she may just now be hard to please. There was -a great entertainment last night at the castle." - -"I know it. I saw the fire-works and heard the music." - -"And a person who, since the arrival of madame, has been closely -watched, took advantage of the disorder and noise to enter the private -park, in violation of the strictest orders. A sad affair resulted from -it. I fear, however, I would distress you by telling you." - -"I think distress preferable to _ennui_ and anxiety. What was it, -Matteus?" - -"I saw this morning the youngest and most amiable, handsome and -intelligent of all my masters taken to prison--I mean the Chevalier -Leverani." - -"Leverani? His name is Leverani?" said Consuelo, with emotion. "Taken to -prison? The Chevalier? Tell me, for God's sake, who is this Leverani?" - -"I have described him distinctly enough to madame. I know not whether -she knows more or less than I do. One thing is certain--he has been -taken to the great tower for having written to madame, and having -refused to communicate her reply to his highness." - -"The great tower!--his highness! What you tell me, Matteus, is serious. -Am I in the power of a sovereign prince, who treats me as a state -prisoner, and who punishes any of his subjects who exhibit sympathy -towards me? Am I mystified by some noble with strange ideas, who seeks -to terrify me into a recognition of gratitude for services rendered?" - -"It is not forbidden me to tell madame that she is in the house of a -rich prince, who is a man of mind and a philosopher." - -"And chief of the Council of the Invisibles?" - -"I do not know what madame means by that," said Matteus, with -indifference. "In the list of his highness's titles and dignities, there -is nothing of the kind recorded." - -"Will I not be permitted to see the prince, to cast myself at his feet -and ask the pardon of this Chevalier Leverani, who I am willing to swear -is innocent of all indiscretion?" - -"I think your wishes will be difficult of attainment. Yet I have access -to his highness every evening, for a short time, to give an account of -madame's occupations and health. If madame will write, perhaps I can -induce him to read the letter, without its passing through the hands of -the secretaries." - -"Master Matteus, you are kindness personified; and I am sure you must -have the confidence of the prince. Yes, certainly, I will write since -you are generous enough to feel an interest in the Chevalier." - -"It is true I feel a greater interest in him than in any other, for he -saved my life at the risk of his own. He attended and dressed my wounds, -and replaced the property I had lost. He passed nights watching me, as -if he had been my servant, and I his master. He saved a niece of mine -from degradation, and by his good advice and kind words made her an -honest woman. How much good he has done in this country, and they say in -all Europe. He is the best young man that exists, and his highness loves -him as if he were his son." - -"Yet his highness sends him to prison for a trifling fault?" - -"Madame does not know that in his highness's eyes no fault is trifling -which is indiscreet." - -"He is then an absolute prince?" - -"Admirably just, yet terribly severe." - -"How, then, can I interest his mind and the decisions of his council?" - -"I know not, madame is well aware. Many secret things are done in this -castle, especially when the prince comes to pass a few weeks here, which -does not often happen. A poor servant like myself, who dared to pry into -them, would not be be long tolerated; and as I am the oldest of the -household, madame must see I am neither curious nor gossiping--else----" - -"I understand, Master Matteus; but would it be indiscreet to ask if the -imprisonment to which the Chevalier is subjected is rigorous?" - -"It must be, madame; yet I know of nothing that passes in the tower and -dungeon. I have seen many go in, and none come out. I know not whether -there be outlets in the forest, but there are none in the park." - -"You terrify me. Can it be possible that I have been the cause of the -Chevalier's misfortunes? Tell me, is the prince of a cold or violent -disposition? Are his decrees dictated by passing indignation, or by calm -and durable reflection?" - -"It is not proper I should enter into these details," said the old man. - -"Well, at least, talk to me of the Chevalier. Is he a man to ask and -obtain pardon? or does he envelope himself in haughty silence?" - -"He is tender and mild, and full of submission and respect to his -highness. If madame has confided any secret to him, however, she may be -at ease. He would suffer himself to be tortured, rather than give up the -secrets of another, even to a confessor." - -"Well, I will reveal to his highness the secret he thinks important -enough to kindle his rage against an unfortunate man. Oh! my good -Matteus, can you not take my letter at once?" - -"It is impossible, madame, before night." - -"Well, I will write now, for some unforeseen opportunity may present -itself." - -Consuelo went into her closet and wrote to the anonymous prince -requesting an interview, and she promised to reply sincerely to all the -questions he might ask. - -At midnight Matteus brought her this answer-- - -"If you would speak to the prince, your request is absurd. You will not -see and never will know his name. If you wish to appear before the -Council of the Invisibles, you will be heard. Reflect calmly on your -resolution, which will decide on your life and that of another." - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI - - -She had to wait twenty four hours after the receipt of this letter. -Matteus said he would rather have his hand cut off than ask to see the -prince after midnight. At breakfast, on the next day, he appeared more -talkative than on the evening before, and Consuelo thought she observed -that the imprisonment of the Chevalier had embittered him against the -prince so much as to make him indiscreet, probably for the first time in -his life. When she had made him talk for an hour, she discovered that no -greater progress had been made in gleaning information than on the -previous day. Whether he had played with her simplicity, to learn her -thoughts and opinions, or whether he knew nothing in relation to the -Invisibles, and the participation of his masters in their acts, he saw -that Consuelo floated in a strange confusion of contradictory notions. -In relation to all that concerned the social condition of the prince, -Matteus maintained the rigid silence which had been imposed on him. He -shrugged his shoulders, it is true, when he spoke of this strange order, -the necessity of which he confessed he did not see. He did not -comprehend why he should use a mask when he attended to persons, who -came one after another, at greater or less intervals--and for a greater -or shorter stay at the pavilion. _He could not refrain_ from saying that -his master had strange fancies, and was devoted to the strangest -enterprises. In his house, however, all curiosity as well as all -indiscretion was paralyzed by the fear of terrible punishment, in -relation to which he would say nothing. In fact, Consuelo learned -nothing, except that strange things took place at the castle, that they -rarely slept at night, and that all the servants had seen ghosts. -Matteus himself, and he was no coward, had seen in the winter, at times -when the prince was away, and the castle unoccupied by its owners, -figures wandering about the park which made him shudder, for they came -and went none knew whither or whence. But this threw little light on -Consuelo's situation. She had to wait until night, before she could send -a new petition--which ran as follows: - -"Whatever be the consequence to me, I ask humbly, to be brought before -the tribunal of the Invisibles." - -The day seemed endless; she sought to overcome her impatience and -uneasiness, by singing all she had composed in prison, in relation to -the grief and _ennui_ of solitude, and she concluded this rehearsal with -the sublime air of Almireno in the _Rinalda_ of Haëndel. - - -Lascia ch 'lo nianga, -La dura sorte, -E ch lo sospiri -La liberta. - - -Scarcely had she concluded, when a violin with an extraordinary -vibration repeated outside, the admirable musical phrase she had just -sung, with an expression full of pain, and sorrowful as her own. -Consuelo went to the window but saw no one, and the phrase lost itself -in the distance. It seemed to her that this wonderful instrument and -instrumentation could be Count Albert's alone. She soon dismissed this -idea, as calculated to lead her back to a train of painful and dangerous -illusions which had already caused her too much suffering. She had never -heard Albert play any modern music, and none but an insane person would -insist on evoking a spectre every time the sound of a violin was heard. -This idea distressed Consuelo, and threw her into such a succession of -sad reveries, that she aroused herself only at nine o'clock, when she -remembered that Matteus had brought her neither dinner nor supper, and -that she had fasted since morning. This circumstance made her fear that, -like the Chevalier, Matteus had been made a victim to the interest he -expressed for her. The walls certainly had eyes and ears. Matteus had -perhaps said too much, and murmured a little against the disappearance -of Leverani. "Was it not probable," she asked herself, "that he had -shared the Chevalier's fate?" - -This new anxiety kept Consuelo from being aware of the inconveniences of -hunger. Matteus did not appear; she ventured to ring. No one came. She -felt faint and hungry, and much afraid. - -Leaning on the window-sill, with her head in her hands, she recalled to -her mind, which was already disturbed by the want of food, the strange -incidents of her life; and asked herself whether the recollection of -reality or a dream made her aware that a cold hand was placed on her -head, and that a low voice said, "Your demand is granted; follow me!" - -Consuelo had not yet thought of lighting her rooms, but had been able -clearly to recognise objects in the twilight, and tried to distinguish -the person who thus spoke to her. She found herself suddenly enwrapped -in intense darkness, as if the atmosphere had become compact and the sky -a mass of lead. She put her hand to her brow, which the air seemed not -to touch, and felt on it a hood which was at once as light and -impenetrable as that which Cagliostro had previously thrown over her -head. Led by an invisible hand, she descended the stairway of the house, -but soon discovered there were more steps than she had been aware of, -and that for half an hour she went through caverns. - -Fatigue, hunger, emotion, and terror, gradually made her steps more, and -more feeble; and feeling every moment as if she was about to fall, she -was on the point of imploring aid. A certain pride, however, made her -ashamed of abandoning her resolution, and induced her to act -courageously. She soon reached the end of her journey, and was made to -sit down. Just then she heard a melancholy bell, like the sound of a -tom-tom, striking twelve slowly, and at the last stroke the hood was -removed from her brow, which was covered with perspiration. - -She was at first dazzled by the blaze of many lights immediately in -front of her, arranged in cruciform on the wall. As soon as her eyes -became used to this transition, she saw that she was in a vast Gothic -hall, the vault of which, divided by hanging arches, resembled a deep -dungeon or a subterranean chapel. At the foot of this room she saw seven -persons, wrapped in red mantles, with their faces covered by livid white -masks, making them look like corpses. They sat behind a long black -marble table. Before them, at a table of less length was an eighth -spectre, clad in black, and masked with white, also seated. On each side -of the lateral walls stood a score of men, each of whom was wrapped and -veiled with black. Consuelo looked around, and saw behind her other -phantoms in black. At each of the two doors there were two others with -drawn swords. - -Under other circumstances Consuelo would perhaps have said that this -melancholy spectacle was but a game--one of those tests to which -candidates were subjected in the masonic lodges at Berlin. The -freemasons, however, never constituted themselves into a court, and did -not attribute to their body the right to drag persons who were not -initiated, before their lodges. She was therefore disposed, from all -that had preceded this scene, to think it serious and even terrible. She -discovered that she trembled visibly, and but for five minutes of -intense silence which pervaded the whole assembly, would not have been -able to regain her presence of mind and prepare to reply. - -The eighth judge at last arose, and made a sign to the two ushers who -stood with drawn swords on each side of Consuelo, to bring her to the -foot of the tribunal, where she stood erect, in an attitude of calmness -and courage, not a little affected. - -"Who are you, and what do you ask?" said the man in black rising. - -Consuelo for a few moments was stupefied, but regained courage, and -said-- - -"I am Consuelo--a singer by profession--known also as La Zingarella and -La Porporina." - -"Have you no other name?" said the examiner. - -Consuelo hesitated, and then said-- - -"I _can_ claim another; yet I am bound in honor never to do so." - -"Do you expect to conceal anything from the tribunal? Think you that you -are in the presence of ignorant judges! Why are you here, if you seek to -abuse us by idle pretences? Name yourself. Tell us who you are or -depart." - -"You know who I am, and are also aware that my silence is a duty, and -you encourage me to maintain it." - -One of the red cloaks leaned forward and made a sign to one of the -black, and in a moment all the latter left the room, with the exception -of the examiner, who kept his seat and spoke thus: - -"Countess of Rudolstadt," said he, "now that the examination is become -secret, and that you are in the presence of your judges alone, will you -deny that you are lawfully married to Count Albert Podiebrad, called de -Rudolstadt, by virtue of the claims of his family?" - -"Before I answer that question, I wish to know what authority disposes -of all things around me, and what law obliges me to recognise it?" - -"What law would you invoke--human or divine? The law of society places -you in dependence on Frederick II., King of Prussia, Elector of -Brandebourg, from the estates of whom we rescued you, thus saving you -from indefinite captivity and yet more terrible dangers as you well -know." - -"I know," said Consuelo, kneeling, "that eternal gratitude binds me to -you. I invoke only the law of God, and beseech you to define to me that -of gratitude. Does it enjoin me to bless and to devote myself to you -from the depth of my heart? I will do so. But if it enjoins me to obey -you, in violation of the decrees of my conscience, should I not reject? -Decide you for me." - -"May you in the world act and think as you speak? The circumstances -which subject you to our control escape ordinary reason. We are above -all human law, and this you will recognise by our power. The prejudices -of fortune, rank, and birth, fear of public opinion, engagements even -contracted with the sentiments and sanction of the world, have to us no -significance, no value. When removed from men, and armed with the light -of God's justice, we weigh in the hollow of our hand the sands of your -frivolous and timid life. Explain yourself without subterfuge before us, -the living law of all. We will not hear you till we know how you appear -here. Does the Zingarella Consuelo or the Countess of Rudolstadt appear -before us?" - -"The Countess of Rudolstadt having renounced all her social rights, has -nothing to ask here. The Zingarella Consuelo--" - -"Pause and weigh well the words you are about to utter. Were your -husband living, would you have a right to withdraw your faith, to abjure -your name, to reject his fortune--in a word, to become a Zingarella -again, merely to gratify your pride of family and caste?" - -"Certainly not." - -"And think you death has broken all bonds forever? Do you owe to -Albert's memory neither respect, love, nor fidelity?" - -Consuelo blushed and became troubled. The idea that, like Cagliostro and -the Count Saint Germain, they were about to talk of Albert's -resurrection, filled her with such terror that she could not reply. - -"Wife of Albert Podiebrad," said the examiner, "your silence accuses -you. Albert to you is dead, and in your eyes the marriage was but an -incident in your adventurous life, without consequence and without -obligation. Zingara, you may go. We are interested in your fate only on -account of your union with one of the best of men. You are unworthy of -our love, having been unworthy of his. We do not regret the liberty we -gave you, for the reparation of the wrongs inflicted by despotism is one -of our duties and pleasures. Our protection will go no further. -To-morrow you will quit the asylum we provided for you, with the hope -that you would leave it purified and sanctified. You will return to the -world, to the chimera of glory, to the intoxication of foolish passions. -God have mercy on you! for we abandon you forever." - -For some moments Consuelo was terrified by the decree. A few days -sooner, she would have accepted it without a word; but the phrase -_foolish passion_, which had been pronounced, recalled to her mind the -mad love she had conceived for the stranger, and which she had hugged to -her heart almost without examination and scrutiny. - -She was humbled in her own eyes, and the sentence of the Invisibles -appeared to her, to a certain extent, to be deserved. The sternness of -their words filled her with mingled respect and terror, and she thought -no more of contending against the right they claimed to condemn her as a -dependant of their authority. It is seldom that, great as our natural -pride may be, or irreproachable as may be our life, we do not feel the -influence of a grave charge made unexpectedly against us, and instead of -contesting it, look into our hearts to see whether we deserve censure or -not. Consuelo did not feel free from reproach, and the theatrical effect -displayed around her, made her situation painful and strange. But she -soon remembered that she had not appeared before the tribunal without -being prepared to submit to its rigor. She had come thither resolved to -submit to admonition or any punishment necessary to procure the -exculpation or pardon of the Chevalier. Laying aside, then, all her -self-love, she submitted to their reproaches, and for some minutes -thought what she should say. - -"It is possible," said she, "that I merit this stern censure, for I am -far from being satisfied with myself. When I came hither, I had formed -an idea of the Invisibles which I wish to express. The little I have -learned from popular rumor of your order, and the boon of liberty you -have restored to me, have led me to think that you were men perfect in -virtue as you were powerful in society. If you be what I have believed -you, why repel me so sternly, without pointing out the road for me to -avoid error and become worthy of your protection? I know that on account -of Albert of Rudolstadt, who as you say was one of the most excellent of -men, his widow was entitled to some consideration. But even were I not -the widow of Albert, or had I always been unworthy of him, the Zingara -Consuelo, a woman without name, family, or country, has some claims on -your paternal solicitude. Allow that I have been a great sinner, are you -not like the kingdom of heaven, where the repentance of a guilty one -gives greater joy than the constancy of hundreds of the elect? In fine, -if the law which unites you be a divine law, you violate it when you -repel me. You had undertaken, you said, to purify and sanctify me. Try -to elevate my soul to the dignity of your own. Prove to me that you are -holy, by appearing patient and merciful, and I will accept you as my -masters and models." - -There was a moment of silence, and they seemed to consult together. At -last one of them spoke. - -"Consuelo, you came hither full of pride, why do you not retire thus? We -had the right to censure, because you came to question us. We have no -right to chain your conscience and take possession of your life, unless -you abandoned both to us freely. Can we ask you for this sacrifice? You -do not know us. The tribunal, the holiness of which you invoke, is -perhaps the most perverse, or at least the most audacious, which ever -acted in the dark against the principles which rule the world. What know -you of it? Were we to reveal to you the profound science of an entirely -new virtue, would you have courage to consecrate yourself to so long and -arduous a study without being aware of its object? Could we have -confidence in the perseverance of a neophyte so badly prepared as -yourself? Perhaps we might have weighty secrets to confide to you, and -we would depend for their security only on your generous instincts. We -know you well enough to confide in your discretion. We do not seek -discreet confidants, for we have no want of them. To advance God's law -we need fervent disciples, free from all prejudices, from all egotism, -from all frivolous passions and worldly desires. Look into yourself and -see if you can make these sacrifices. Can you control your actions and -regulate your life in obedience to your instincts, and on the principles -we will give you to develop? Woman, artist, girl, dare you reply that -you can associate yourself with stern men to toil in the work of ages?" - -"What you say is serious indeed," said Consuelo, "and I scarcely -understand it. Will you give me time to think? Do not repel me from your -bosom until I shall have questioned my heart. I know not if it be worthy -of the light you can shed on it. But what sincere heart is unworthy of -the truth? In what can I be useful to you? I am terrified at my -impotence. To have protected me as you have done, you must have seen -there was something in me. Something, too, says to me, that I should not -leave you without having sought to prove my gratitude. Do not banish me -then. Try to instruct me." - -"We will grant you eight days more to reflect," replied the judge in the -red robe, who had previously spoken. "But you must, in the first place, -bind yourself on your honor, to make no attempt to discover where you -are, and who are the persons you see here. You must promise not to pass -beyond the enclosure, even should you see the gates open, and the -spectres of your dearest friends calling on you. You must ask no -questions of the persons who serve you, nor of any one who may come -clandestinely to you." - -"So be it," said Consuelo eagerly. "I promise as you desire, to see no -one without your authority, and ask pardon humbly." - -"You have no pardon to ask--no questions to propound. All the -necessities both of your body and soul have been foreseen for the whole -time you remain here. If you regret any friend, any relation, any -servants, you are free to go. Solitude, or such association as we -determine on, will be your lot here." - -"I ask nothing for myself. I have heard, however, that one of your -friends, disciples, or servants, (for I know not his rank) suffers a -severe punishment on my account. I am here to accuse myself of the -offence imputed to him, and on that account I asked to appear before -you." - -"Do you offer to make a detailed and sincere confession?" - -"If such be required to secure his acquittal; though to a woman it is a -severe moral torture to confess herself to eight men." - -"Spare yourself this humiliation. We would have no assurance that you -are sincere, inasmuch as we have no right over you. All you have said -and thought during the last hour to us will be as a dream. Remember that -hereafter we have the right to sound the secrets of your heart. Keep it -always so pure, that you can unveil it without suffering and without -shame." - -"Your generosity is delicate and paternal. But I am not the only person -interested. Another expiates my offence. Can I not justify him?" - -"That does not concern you. If there be one among us guilty, he will -exculpate himself, not by vain assertions and allegations, but by acts -of courage, devotion, and virtue. If his soul has quailed, we will lift -him up, and aid him to overcome himself. You speak of severe punishment. -We inflict none but moral penalties. Whoever he be, he is our equal--our -brother. Here there are neither masters nor servants, subjects nor -princes. False rumors have deceived you, no doubt. Go in peace and sin -no more." - -At this last word the examiner rang a bell, and the men in black masks -and with naked swords returned. Replacing the hood on Consuelo's head, -they returned her to the house she had left, by the route they had -brought her from it. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII - - -Porporina, according to the benevolent language of the Invisibles, -having no longer any reason to be seriously uneasy about the Chevalier, -and thinking that Matteus had not seen very clearly into the affair, -felt, when she left the mysterious council chamber, greatly relieved. -All that had been said to her floated in her imagination like rays -behind a cloud, and anxiety and her will no longer sustaining her, she -soon experienced great feebleness in walking. She felt extremely faint -and hungry, and the impenetrable hood stifled her. She paused -frequently, and was forced to take the arm of her guides in order to -reach her room. She sank from debility, and a few minutes after felt -revived by a flagon which was offered her, and by the air which -circulated freely through the room. Then she observed that her guides -had gone in haste, that Matteus was preparing to serve a most tempting -supper, and that the little masked doctor, who had put her in a -lethargic sleep when she was brought hither, was feeling her pulse and -attending to her. She easily recognised him by his wig, and she was -certain she had heard his voice, before, though she could not say where. - -"Doctor," said she, with a smile, "I think the best thing you can do is -to give me supper soon. Nothing but hunger ails me. But I beg you on -this occasion to omit the coffee you prepare so well. I am afraid I am -not able to bear it now." - -"The coffee I prepare," said the doctor, "is an admirable anodyne. Be -calm, countess; my prescription is not of that character. Will you now -confide in me, and suffer me to sup with you. It is the pleasure of his -highness that I do not leave you until you be completely restored, and I -think in half an hour refreshment will have done so." - -"If such be his highness's pleasure, and your own, doctor, I will have -the honor of your company to supper," said Consuelo, suffering Matteus -to roll her arm-chair up to the table. - -"My company will not be useless," said the doctor, beginning to demolish -a superb pheasant, and carving it in an expert manner. - -"Were I not here, you would indulge the extreme hunger which follows a -long fast, and might injure yourself. I who apprehend no such -inconvenience to result to myself, will put the pheasant on my plate, -giving you the nice pieces." - -The voice of the gastronomical doctor attracted Consuelo's attention, in -spite of herself. Great was her surprise, when taking off his mask, he -placed it on the table, saying--"Away with this piece of puerility, -which keeps me from breathing, and enjoying what I eat." Consuelo shrank -back when she recalled, in the _bon vivant_ doctor, the one whom she had -seen at her bed-side--Supperville, the physician of the Margravine of -Bareith. She had subsequently seen him at a distance at Berlin, without -having courage to approach or speak to him. At that time the contrast of -his gluttonous appetite, with the emotion and distress she experienced, -recalled to her the dryness of his ideas and conversation, amid the -consternation and grief of all the family, and she could scarcely -restrain her disgust. Supperville, absorbed by the perfume of the -pheasant, appeared to pay no attention to her trouble. - -Matteus completed the ridiculousness of the situation, by placing -himself, with a quick exclamation, before the doctor. The circumspect -servant for five minutes had waited on the table without seeing that his -face was bare, and it was only when he took the mask for the cover of -the _paté_, that he cried out, with terror: "Mercy, doctor! you have -let your mask fall on the table!" - -"Devil take the artificial face," said he. "Eating with it is -impossible. Put it in that corner, and give it to me when I go out." - -"As you please, doctor," said Matteus, with a terrified air. "I wash my -hands of it. Your lordship is aware that every evening I am required to -give an account of all that passes here. It will be in vain for me to -say your mask fell off by mistake, for I cannot deny that madame saw -what was beneath it." - -"Very well, my fine fellow," said the doctor, without being -disconcerted, "make your report." - -"And you will remark, Master Matteus," said Consuelo, "that I did not in -any manner provoke the doctor to this disobedience, and that it is not -my fault that I have seen him." - -"Be calm, countess," said Supperville, with a full mouth. "The prince is -not so black as he seems, and I am not afraid of him. I will say, that -since he authorised me to sup with you, he permitted me to remove every -obstacle to mastication and deglutition. Besides, I have the honor to be -too well known to you, for my voice not to have betrayed me long ago. I -therefore divest myself of a vain form which the prince, at the very -outset, will be glad of." - -"Very well, doctor," said Matteus. "I am glad that you, and not I -committed this act." The doctor shrugged his shoulders, laughed at the -timid old man, and when Matteus had retired, to change the service, drew -his chair a little closer, and said in a low tone to Consuelo: - -"Dear signora, I am not such a gourmand as I seem," (Supperville, being -considerably filled, spoke somewhat at his ease,) "and my object, when I -came to sup with you, was to inform you of matters which concern you -greatly." - -"Whence, and by whose authority do you seek to speak thus to me?" said -Consuelo, who remembered her promise to the Invisibles. - -"On my own account, and to please myself," replied Supperville; "do not -then be uneasy. I am no spy, and speak, careless who may repeat the -words that come from my heart." - -For a moment, Consuelo thought it was her duty to make the doctor be -silent, and be no accomplice of his treason, but she fancied that a man -sufficiently devoted to the Invisibles to undertake to half poison -people, to secrete them in out-of-the-way castles, would not act as he -did without authority. "This is a snare set for me," said she to -herself. "The ordeal begins. Let me watch the attack." - -"In the first place, then, I must tell you in whose house, and where you -are." - -"Are we come to that point?" said Consuelo, "Thank you, doctor--I -neither asked nor wished to know." - -"_Ta, ta, ta!_" said Supperville. "You have already fallen into the -romantic ways into which it pleases the prince to drag his friends. Do -not indulge in these toys; the least that can result from them to you, -is to increase, when you have yourself gone mad, the number of fools and -maniacs in this court. I have no intention to break the promise I gave -the prince, to tell you either his name or where you are. About that you -should not care, for it would be a mere gratification of your curiosity, -and that is not the disease I wish to cure in you, for you are troubled -with an excess of confidence. You may then learn without disobeying, or -without the risk of displeasing him, (I am interested in not betraying -you,) that you are in the house of the best and most absurd of old -men--a man of mind, a philosopher, with a soul courageous and tender -almost as a hero's or a madman's. He is a dreamer, treating the ideal as -a reality, and life as a romance--a _savant_, who, from the study and -the acquisition of the quintessence of ideas, has, like Don Quixote -after his books of knight-errantry, fancied inns were castles, -galley-slaves innocent victims, and wind-mills monsters. He is a saint, -if we look at his intentions; a madman, if we think of the results. He -has contrived, among other things, a perpetual net of conspiracies, -permanent and universal, to paralyze the action of all the wicked of the -world; 1. To combat and oppose tyranny in governments. 2. To reform the -immorality or barbarism of the laws which govern society. 3. To infuse -in the hearts of all men of courage and devotion, the enthusiasm of his -propaganda, and the zeal of his doctrines--nothing less--and yet he -seeks and expects to realize it! Were he seconded by some sincere and -reasonable men, the little good he does might bear fruit. Unfortunately, -however, he is surrounded by a clique of intriguers and ambitious -impostors, who pretend to share his faith and serve him, but who really -make use of his credit to procure good places in all the courts of -Europe, and waste the greater part of the money he destines to carry out -his plans. Such is the man, and the people around him. You can judge in -what hands you are, and the generous protectors who rescued you from the -claws of Frederick are not likely to expose you to a greater danger by -exalting you to the clouds, merely to let you fall yet lower. You are -now warned. Distrust their promises, their fine words, their tragedy, -and the tricks of Cagliostro, Saint Germain, and company." - -"Are the two persons you have mentioned ready here?" asked Consuelo, not -a little troubled, and oscillating between the danger of being played -upon by the doctor, and the probability of his assertions. - -"I know nothing of the matter," said he. "All is passing in mystery. -There are two castles, a visible one and a palpable one, where people -who are well known come, and to whom _fêtes_ are given, and where a -princely life is exhibited in all frivolity and harmlessness. This -castle conceals the other, which is a little subterrean world, -exceedingly well masqued. In this invisible castle are all the crude -dreamers of his highness--innovators, reformers, inventors, sorcerers, -prophets, and alchemists: all the architects of the teeming new society, -as they say, ready to swallow up to-morrow, or the day after, all that -is of the old, are the mysterious guests he receives, fosters, and -consults, without any one above ground being aware that he consults -them, or, at least, without any profane mortal being able to explain the -noise in the caverns, except by the presence of meteoric lights, and -ghosts from the passages below. I imagine now, that the aforesaid -charlatans may be a hundred leagues hence, for, in their way, they are -great travellers, or in very comfortable rooms, with trap-doors in the -floor, not so far away. It is said this old castle was once a rendezvous -for the Free-Judges, and that ever since, on account of certain -hereditary traditions, the ancestors of our prince have amused -themselves by terrible plots, which, as far as I know, never had any -result. This is the custom of the country, and the most illustrious -brains are not those which are least given to such things. I am not -initiated in the wonders of the invisible castle. From time to time I -pass a few days here, when my mistress, Princess Sophia of Prussia, -Margravine of Bareith, gives me leave to breathe a mouthful of fresh air -outside of her domain. Now, I suffer terribly from _ennui_ at the -delicious court of Bareith, and as I have a kind of attachment to the -prince of whom we speak, and am not sorry sometimes to play a trick on -the great Frederick, whom I detest, I do the above-mentioned prince some -service, and, above all, amuse myself. As I get orders from him alone, -these services are very innocent. The affair of your escape from -Spandau, and transportation hither like a poor sleeping bird, was not at -all repugnant to me. I knew you would be well treated, and fancied you -would amuse yourself. If, on the contrary, you be tormented, if the -councillors of his highness seek to take possession of you, and make you -aid their evil views----" - -"I fear nothing of the kind," said Consuelo, very much amazed at the -doctor's explanations. "I will be able to protect myself from their -machinations, if they injure my sense of propriety and offend my -conscience." - -"And are you sure, countess?" said Supperville. "Listen to me. Confide, -and presume on nothing. Very reasonable and honest people have left -here, signed and sealed for evil. All means are good in the eyes of the -intriguers who have the prince in charge, and he is so easily dazzled -that he has sent to perdition many souls at the time he fancied he was -saving them. You must know these intriguers are very shrewd, that they -have terrible secrets, to convince, to persuade, to intoxicate the -senses, and impress the imagination. First, is a retinue of tricks and -incomprehensible means. Then old stories, systems, and prestiges aid -them. They show you spectres, and trifle with the lucidity of your mind; -they will besiege you with smiling or dazzling phantasmagoria, and make -you superstitious or mad, perhaps, as I have the honor to tell you, and -then----" - -"What can they expect from me? What am I in the world, for them to catch -in their nets?" - -"Ah! does not the Countess of Rudolstadt suspect?" - -"She has no idea." - -"You remember Cagliostro showed you the spectre of your husband, living -and acting?" - -"How do you know that, if you are not initiated in the secrets of the -subterranean world, of which you speak?" - -"You told the Princess Amelia, who likes gossiping, as all curious -people do. You know, too, that she is very intimate with the spectre of -the Count of Rudolstadt?" - -"A certain Trismegistus, I am told." - -"Yes, I have seen the man; and, at the first glance, he really does -resemble Count Albert in a strange manner. He might even be made more -so, by dressing his head like Count Albert's, making his face pale, and -imitating the air and manners of the deceased. Do you understand now?" - -"Less than ever. Why impose this man as Count Albert on me?" - -"You are simple and true! Count Albert died, leaving a vast fortune, -which is about to pass from the hands of the old Canoness Wenceslawa to -those of the young baroness Amelia, Albert's cousin, unless you claim -your life estate as dowager. This, in the first place, they will seek to -induce you to do." - -"True," replied Consuelo, "you make me understand certain words----" - -"That is nothing. This life estate, a part of which might be contested, -would not satisfy the appetite of the Chevaliers of Industry who seek to -take possession of you. You have no child: you need a husband. Well, -Count Albert is not dead. He was in a lethargy and buried alive. The -devil cured him of that, and Cagliostro gave him a potion; Saint Germain -took him away. After a lapse of two years he returns, tells his -adventures, throws himself at your feet, consummates his marriage with -you, goes to the Giants' Castle, is recognised by the canoness and -certain old servants, not very sharp-sighted, calls for an examination -and pays the witnesses well. He goes to Vienna with his faithful wife to -demand his rights from the empress. A little scandal does not hurt -affairs of this kind. Handsome women take an interest in a handsome man, -the victim of a sad accident and an old fool of a doctor. The Prince Von -Kaunitz, who does not dislike artists, protects you. Your cause -triumphs; you return victorious to Riesenberg, and put your cousin -Amelia out of doors. You are rich and powerful; you associate with the -people here, and with charlatans to reform society, and to change the -appearance of the world. All this is very agreeable, and costs nothing, -except deceiving you a little, and your taking, in place of an -illustrious husband, a handsome adventurer, a man of mind, and a -wonderful story-teller. Do you see now? Think! It was my duty as a -physician, as a friend of Rudolstadt, as a man of honor, to tell you -this. They depended on me to establish, when it became necessary, the -identity of Albert and Trismegistus. I saw the former die, however, with -eyes not fanciful, but lighted by science. I remarked certain -differences between the two men, and knew the adventurer at Berlin long -ago. Therefore I cannot lend myself to the imposition. Not I. Neither -will you, I am sure, though every exertion be made to induce you to -think Albert grew two inches and recovered his health while in the tomb. -I hear Matteus returning: he is a good creature, and suspects nothing. I -am going now, having told my story. I leave the castle in an hour, -having no other business." - -After having thus spoken, with remarkable volubility, the doctor put on -his mask, and having bowed profoundly to Consuelo, left her to finish -her supper alone, if she thought proper. She was not disposed to do so, -being completely overpowered by what she had heard, and retired to her -room. She enjoyed there a portion of the repose she needed, after the -painful perplexities and vague anguish of doubt and uneasiness. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII - - -On the next day Consuelo felt overcome both in body and mind. The -cynical revelations of Supperville, following so closely on the paternal -encouragements of the Invisibles, produced the same effect as if she -had, after a pleasant warmth, been dipped in iced-water. She had been -lifted to heaven, to sink again to earth, She was almost angry with the -doctor for having undeceived her; for in her dreams she had already -seen, clad with dazzling majesty, the august tribunal which opened its -arms to her as a home, as a refuge against the dangers of earth and the -mistakes of youth. - -Nevertheless, the doctor seemed to merit the gratitude of Consuelo, who -recognised it without being able to sympathise with him. Was not his -conduct that of a sincere, brave, and disinterested man? Consuelo, -however, found him too skeptical, too much of a materialist, and too -much inclined to contemn good intentions and ridicule good characters. -In spite of what he had said of the imprudent and dangerous credulity of -the prince, she formed an exalted idea of the noble old man, who was -ardent for good, and implicit in his belief of human perfectibility. She -recalled to mind the conversation she had in the subterranean hall, -which seemed full of calm authority and austere wisdom. Charity and -kindness appeared beneath the mask of affected sternness, ready to burst -forth at the first impulse of Consuelo's heart. Would swindlers, -avaricious men, and charlatans have thus acted and spoken to her? The -bold enterprise of reforming the world, which seemed so ridiculous to -Supperville, was the eternal wish, the romantic hope with which Albert -had inspired his wife, and with which she had found something -sympathetic in the diseased but generous head of Gottlieb. Was not this -Supperville to be hated, then, for having sought to tear away, at the -same time, her faith in God and her confidence in the Invisibles. - -Consuelo, more given to poetry of the soul, than to the dry -contemplation of the sad realities of life, contended against the words -of Supperville, and attempted to disprove them. Had he not indulged in -gratuitous suppositions, had he not owned that he was not initiated in -the subterranean world, and seemed ignorant even of the name and -existence of the Invisibles? Trismegistus might be a Chevalier -d'Industrie, yet the Princess Amelia affirmed the contrary, and the -friendship of Golowken, the best and wisest of the grandees Consuelo had -met at Berlin, spoke in his favor. If Cagliostro and St. Germain were -both impostors, it did not render it impossible for them to be imposed -on by a wonderful likeness. Though the three were condemned, it did not -follow they were a part of the council of the Invisibles; and that body -of venerable men might reject their advice as soon as Consuelo had -established that Trismegistus was not Albert. Would it not be time to -withdraw her confidence after this decisive test, should they persist in -seeking to impose on her so grossly? Consuelo resolved, at that point, -to tempt fate, and learn more of the Invisibles, to whom she was -indebted for liberty, and whose paternal reproaches had reached her -heart. She determined on this; and while awaiting the issue of the -affair, resolved to consider what Supperville had told her as a test to -which he had been authorised to subject her, or as a means of giving -vent to his spleen against rivals who had more influence with, or were -better treated by the prince than himself. - -One hypothesis tormented Consuelo more than all others. Was it -absolutely impossible for Albert to be alive? Supperville had not -observed the phenomena which had preceded, by two years, his final -illness. He even refused to believe them, persisting in thinking that -the frequent absences of Albert in the cavern were consecrated to -gallant rendezvous with Consuelo. She alone, with Zdenko, was in the -secret of these lethargic crises. The vanity of the doctor would not -permit him to own that he was mistaken in declaring him dead. Now that -Consuelo was aware of the existence and material power of the Council of -the Invisibles, she dared conjecture that means had been found to rescue -Albert from the horrors of a premature burial, and that for secret -purposes he had been received among them. All the revelations of -Supperville, in relation to the mysteries and whimsicalities of the -castle, and the prince aided the confirmation of this supposition. The -resemblance of the adventurer, known as Trismegistus, might complicate -the marvellous part of the circumstance, but could not destroy its -possibility. This idea took such complete possession of Consuelo that -she relapsed into profound melancholy. Were Albert alive, she would not -hesitate to rejoin him as soon as she was permitted, and would devote -herself eternally to him. She was now more than ever aware how much she -would suffer from a devotion in which there was no element of love. The -Chevalier appeared to her as a cause of deep regret, and her conscience -a source of future remorse. Were she forced to renounce him, the new -love would, like all love which was opposed, become a passion. Consuelo -did not ask herself with hypocritical resignation, why her dear Albert -would leave the tomb where he was so comfortable. She said it was in her -destiny to sacrifice herself to this man, perhaps after he was dead, and -she wished to fulfil this fate: yet she suffered strangely, and lamented -the Chevalier, her most ardent, and her involuntary love. - -She was roused from her meditations by a faint noise and the fluttering -of a wing on her shoulder. She uttered an exclamation of surprise and -joy at seeing a pretty red-throat enter the room and come kindly to her. -After a hesitation of a few minutes, the bird took a flight from her -hand. - -"Is it you, my poor friend, my faithful companion?" said Consuelo, with -tears of childish joy. "Can it be possible that you have sought for and -found me? No, that cannot be. Pretty, confiding creature, you are like -my friend, yet are not he. You belong to some gardener, and have escaped -from the enclosure where you pass your time amid the flowers. Come to -me, consoler of the prisoner. Since the instinct of your race impels you -to associate with the solitary captive, I will bestow on you the love I -felt for another of your race." - -Consuelo toyed half an hour with the little captive, when she heard -without a kind of whistle, which made the intelligent creature tremble. -It dropped the food she had given it, made its great eyes glisten and -expand, and flew through the window in obedience to an incontestable -authority. Consuelo looked after it, and saw it lose itself amid the -foliage. While looking at it, she saw in the depth of the garden, on the -other side of the stream which bounded it, a person easy to be -recognised, notwithstanding the distance. Gottlieb was walking along the -bank, apparently happy, and attempting to leap and bound. Forgetting for -a moment the order of the Invisibles, Consuelo sought, by waving her -handkerchief, to attract his attention; but he was absorbed by the -thought of regaining his bird. He looked up among the trees as he -whistled, and went on without having seen Consuelo. - -"Thank God, and the Invisibles too! in spite of Supperville," said she. -"The poor lad appears happier and in better health. His guardian angel, -the red-throat, is with him. This appears the presage of a smiling fate -to me also. Come, let me not doubt our protectors any more. Distrust -withers the heart." - -She sought how she could occupy her time in a useful manner, to -anticipate the new moral education announced to her; and for the first -time since she had been at ****, she went into the library, which she -had as yet only looked at in a cursory manner, and resolved to examine -seriously the selection of books at her disposal. They were not -numerous, but were extremely curious, and probably rare, if not unique. -There was a collection of the writings of the most remarkable -philosophers of all ages and nations, abridged so as to contain only the -very essence of their doctrines, and translated into languages Consuelo -could read. Many, never having been published, were in manuscript, -particularly the heretical writers of the middle ages, precious spoils -of the past, fragments and even complete copies of which had escaped the -search of the Inquisition and the later violations of the old castles of -the German heretics, during the Thirty Years' War. Consuelo could not -appreciate the value of these philosophical treasures, collected by some -ardent and persevering bibliographer. The originals would have -interested her, on account of their characters and vignettes. She had, -however, only a translation, made carefully by some modern calligrapher. -She looked first for the faithful translations of Wickliffe, John Huss, -and the renowned Christian philosophers who attached themselves in other -days, though at different eras, to those fathers of the new religion. - -She had not read them, but they were familiar to her from her long -conversations with Albert. As she turned over the leaves in a cursory -manner, she became better and better acquainted with them. Consuelo had -an eminently philosophical mind. Had she not lived amid the reasoning -and clear-sighted world of her day, she would easily have become -superstitious and fanatical. As it was, she understood the enthusiastic -discourses of Gottlieb better than Voltaire's philosophy, then studied -so ardently by the women of Europe. This intelligent and simple girl was -courageous and tender, but had not a mind formed for subtle reasoning. -She was educated by the heart, rather than the head. Seizing the -revelations of sentiment by prompt assimilation, she was capable of -being instructed philosophically. She was wonderfully so for her age, -sex, and position, from the instruction of the eloquent and loved -Albert. Artistic organizations acquire more in the emotions of an -address or lecture, than in the cold and patient study of books. Such -was Consuelo. She could scarcely read a page attentively, yet, if a -great thought, glowingly expressed, struck her, she repeated it like a -musical phrase, and the sense, however profound it might be, entered her -mind like a divine ray. She existed on this idea, and applied it to all -her emotions. This was to her a real power, and lasted her through life. -To her it was not a vain sentence, but a rule of conduct, an armor for -combat. Why analyse and study the book whence she had got it? The whole -book was in her breast as soon as the inspiration, seized her. - -Her destiny required her to do nothing more. She did not pretend to -claim a knowledge of the world of philosophy. She felt the warmth of the -secret revelations which have been granted to poetic souls when in love. -In this disposition she looked for several days over books, without -reading anything. She could give an account of nothing; more than one -page, however, in which she had read but one line, was bedewed with -tears, and she often hurried to her piano, to _improvise_ songs, the -tenderness and grandeur of which were the burning and spontaneous -expression of her generous emotion. - -A whole week rolled over her, in a solitude which Matteus' association -did not trouble. She had resolved not to address the least question to -him, and perhaps he had been scolded for his indiscretion, for he was -now as silent as he had been prolix heretofore. The red-throat came to -see Consuelo every day, but without Gottlieb. It seemed this tiny being -(Consuelo was half inclined to think it enchanted) came at regular hours -to amuse her, and returned punctually at noon to its other friend. In -fact, there was nothing wonderful about it. Animals at liberty have -certain customs, and make a regular disposition of their time, with more -foresight and intelligence than domestic animals. One day Consuelo -observed that it appeared constrained and impatient, and that it did not -fly so gracefully as usual. Instead of perching on her fingers, it -thought of nothing but pecking with its nails and bill at an irritating -impediment. Consuelo approached him, and saw a black thread hanging from -its wing. The poor creature had been taken in a snare, she thought, and -had escaped only by its address, bearing off with it a portion of its -chain. She had no difficulty in removing it, yet had not a little in -taking off a piece of silken thread, adroitly fastened on the back, and -which held under the left wing a silken bag of some very thin material. -In this bag she found a letter, written in almost imperceptible -characters, on such thin paper that she feared to break it by a breath. -At the first glance she saw it was a message from the dear unknown. It -contained but these few words:-- - -"A great task has been confided to me, in the hope that the pleasure of -doing it well would calm the uneasiness of my passion. Nothing, not even -the exercise of my charity, can distract the soul of which you are the -mistress. I accomplished my task in less time than you would think -possible. I am back again, and love you more than ever. Our sky is -growing brighter. I do not know what has passed between you and _them_, -but they seem more favorable, and my love is no longer treated as a -crime, but merely as a mischance--a misfortune. Ah! they do not know me! -They know not that I cannot be unhappy with your love. But you do. Tell -it to the red-throat of Spandau. It is the same. I brought it here in my -bosom. May he repay me for all my trouble by bringing me a message from -you. Gottlieb will deliver it faithfully to me, without looking at it." - -Mysterious and romantic circumstances enflame the fire of love. Consuelo -experienced the most violent temptation to reply. The fear of -displeasing the Invisibles, the scruple of not violating her promises, -had but little influence on her, we must own. When she thought that she -might be discovered, and cause a new exile of the Chevalier, she had -courage enough to resist. She released the red-throat, without one word -in reply, but not without tears at the sorrow and disappointment her -lover would experience at her having acted with such severity. - -She sought to resume her studies, but neither study nor music appeared -to dissipate the agitation which had boiled in her bosom, since she knew -the Chevalier was near her. She could not refrain from hoping that he -would disobey the Invisibles, and that she would see him some evening -glide beneath the flowery bushes of the garden. She was unwilling to -encourage him, however, to show himself. All the evening she was shut -up, looking, with a beating heart, through the window, yet determined -not to reply to his call. She did not see him appear, and exhibited as -much grief and surprise as if she had relied on a temerity which she -would have blamed, and which would have awakened all her terrors. All -the little mysterious dramas of young and burning love were formed in -her bosom in the course of a few hours. It was a new phase of emotions, -unknown hitherto to her. She had often, at evening, waited for Anzoleto -on the canals of Venice, or on the terraces of the _Corte Minelli_; yet -when she did so, she thought over her morning's lesson, and repeated the -rosary-prayers, to while away the time, without fear, trembling, or -sorrow. This childish love was so closely united to friendship, that it -bore no relation to what she now experienced for Leverani. On the next -day she waited anxiously for the red-throat, which did not come. Had he -been seized _en route_ by some stern Argus? Might not the fatigue of the -silken girdle and heavy burden have prevented him from coming? His -instinct, however, would teach him that Consuelo had on the evening -before released him, and he would perhaps return to her, to receive the -same service. - -Consuelo wept all day long. She, who had no tears for great misfortunes, -who had not shed one while she was a prisoner at Spandau, felt crushed -and burned up by the sufferings of her love, and sought in vain for the -strength which had sustained her in all the other evils of life. - -One evening she forced herself to play on the piano, and while doing so, -two black figures appeared at the door of the music room, without her -having heard them ascend. She could not repress a cry of terror at the -apparition of these spectres, but one of them, in a voice gentler than -before, said, "Follow us." She got up in silence to obey them. They gave -her a silken bandage, saying, "Cover your eyes, and swear that you will -do so honestly. Swear also that if this bandage fall, or become -deranged, that you will close your eyes until we bid you open them." - -Consuelo said--"I swear." - -"Your oath is accepted," said the guide. Consuelo was led, as before, -into the cavern. Presently she was told to halt, and an unknown voice -said: - -"Remove the bandage yourself. Henceforth none will watch you, and you -will have no guardian but your own word." - -Consuelo found herself in an arched room, lighted by a single lamp -hanging from the roof. A single judge, in a red cloak and livid mask, -sat in an old arm-chair, by the side of a table. He was bowed with age, -and a few grey locks escaped from his hood. His voice was broken and -trembling. The aspect of age changed into respectful deference the fear -Consuelo could not repress when she met one of the Invisibles. - -"Listen to me," said he, as he bade her seat herself on a stool at some -distance. "You are now before your confessor. I am the oldest of the -council, and the quiet of my whole life has made my mind as chaste as -that of the purest of Catholic priests. I do not lie. If you wish to -reject me, however, you are at liberty to do so." - -"I receive you," said Consuelo, "with this understanding, that my -confession does not implicate that of another!" - -"Vain scruple," said the old man. "A scholar does not reveal to a -schoolmaster the fault of his comrade, yet a son hurries to tell a -father where a brother has erred, because he is aware that the parent -represses and corrects the fault, without chastising it. Such, at least, -should be the law of every family which seeks to practise this idea. -Have you any confidence?" - -This question, which sounded not a little arbitrary in the mouth of a -stranger, was uttered with such gentleness, and in such a sympathetic -tone, that Consuelo, led astray, and moved, replied unhesitatingly, "I -have entire confidence." - -"Listen then," said the old man. "When you first appeared before us, you -made use of the following expression, which we have remembered and -weighed:--'It is a strange moral torture for a woman to confess herself -before eight men.' Your modesty has been considered. You will confess -yourself to me alone, and I will not betray your confidence. I have -received full power, (and I am the highest of the council,) to direct -you in an affair of a delicate nature, and which has not an indirect -connection with your initiation. Will you answer me freely? Will you -open your whole heart to me?" - -"I will." - -"I will not inquire into the past. You have been told that the past does -not belong to us. But you have been warned to purify your soul from the -moment which marked the commencement of your adoption. You must think of -the difficulties and the consequences of this adoption. You are not -accountable to me alone, but other things are at stake. Reply then." - -"I am ready." - -"One of my children loves you. During the last eight days, have you -acknowledged or repelled his love?" - -"I have repelled it in every manner." - -"I know it. The least of your actions are known to us. I ask the secrets -of your heart, not of your conduct." - -Consuelo felt her cheeks glow and was silent. - -"You think my question cruel. You must reply to it, notwithstanding. I -wish to guess at nothing. I must know and record." - -"Well, I do love," said Consuelo, yielding to the necessity of truth. -Scarcely had she pronounced this word, than she shed tears. She had -abandoned the virginity of her soul. - -"Why do you weep?" said the confessor mildly. "Is it from shame or from -repentance?" - -"I do not know. I think it is not from repentance. I love too well for -that." - -"Whom do you love?" - -"You know--not I." - -"But if I do not? His name?" - -"Leverani." - -"That is the name of no one. It is common to all our members who choose -to bear it. It is a false name, such as most of our brethren assume in -their travels." - -"I know him by no other name, and did not learn it from him." - -"His age?" - -"I did not ask him." - -"His face?" - -"I never saw it." - -"How would you know him?" - -"It seems to me I would recognise him by touching his hand." - -"If your fate were based on such a test, and you failed?" - -"It would be horrible." - -"Shudder then at your imprudence, unfortunate child; you love madly." - -"I know it." - -"Do you not combat it in your heart?" - -"I cannot." - -"Wish you to do so?" - -"I do not even wish to." - -"Your heart is then free from all other affections?" - -"Entirely." - -"Are you a widow?" - -"I think I am." - -"And were you not?" - -"I would combat my love, and I _would_ do my duty." - -"With sorrow? with grief?" - -"With despair, perhaps; yet I would do it." - -"You did not then love your husband." - -"I loved him as a brother. I did all I could to love him." - -"And could not?" - -"Now that I know what love is, I say No." - -"Do not then suffer from remorse. Love cannot be forced. Do you think -you love this Leverani? seriously? religiously? ardently?" - -"So do I feel in my heart. Unless indeed he be unworthy." - -"He is not unworthy." - -"Indeed, my father!" said Consuelo, carried away by gratitude, and -seeking to kneel before the old man. - -"He is as worthy of intense love as Albert himself. You must, however, -renounce him." - -"It is I then who am unworthy?" said Consuelo sadly. - -"You will be worthy, but you are not free. Albert of Rudolstadt is not -dead." - -"My God! pardon me," murmured Consuelo, falling on her knees, and hiding -her face in her hands. - -The confessor and penitent maintained a long and painful silence. Ere -long Consuelo, remembering what Supperville had said, was struck with -horror. This old man, whose appearance had filled her with veneration, -could he lend himself to such an infernal plot? Did he betray the -sensibility of the unfortunate Consuelo, and cast her into the arms of a -base impostor? She looked up, pale with terror, with dry eyes and -quivering lips. She attempted to pierce the impenetrable and -unimpressionable mask, which, it may be, concealed the criminal's -pallor, or the hellish sneer of a villain. - -"Albert lives?" said she. "Are you very sure? Do you know there is a man -like him, whom even I fancied was him?" - -"I know all that absurd story," said the old man. "I know all -Supperville's mad fancies, and all he has done to exculpate himself from -the blunder he committed in suffering a man who was merely in a state of -lethargy, to be buried. Two words will destroy all that scaffolding of -madness. The first is, that Supperville was declared unworthy of the -secondary degrees of the secret societies, the supreme direction of -which is in our hands, and his wounded vanity and diseased curiosity -could not bear this degradation. The second is, that Count Albert never -thought or intended to resume his place and rank in the world. He could -not do so without giving rise to scandalous discussions in relation to -his identity, which he could not bear. He perhaps did not understand his -true duties in thus deciding. He would have been able to make a better -use of his fortune than his heirs. He thus deprived himself of one way -of doing good, which Providence had granted him. Enough, though, remain. -The voice of love was more powerful in inducing him to do this, than -conscience. He remembered that you did not love him, for the very reason -that he was rich and noble. He wished to abandon forever both name and -rank. He did so, and we consented. He will never pretend to be your -husband, for such he became from your pity and compassion. He will have -courage to renounce you. We have no greater power over him you call -Leverani, and over yourself, than persuasion. If you wish to fly -together, we cannot help it. We have neither dungeons nor constraint--we -neither have any corporeal penalties, though a faithful servitor, -somewhat credulous, may have told you so; but we hate all means of -tyranny: your lot is in your hands. Think again, poor Consuelo, and may -heaven direct you." - -Consuelo had listened to this discourse in a profound state of stupor. -When the old man was done, she arose and said with energy: - -"I need no thought. My choice is made. Albert is here! Lead me to him." - -"Albert is not here. He could not be a witness of this strife. He is -even ignorant of what you now undergo." - -"Dear Albert," said Consuelo lifting her hands to heaven, "I will -conquer." Then kneeling before the old man, she said, "Father, absolve -me, and aid me never to see this Leverani again! I do not wish; I will -not love hm!" - -The old man placed his trembling hands above Consuelo's head. When he -removed them she could not arise. She had repressed her tears in her -bosom; and, crushed by a contest beyond her power, she was forced to use -the confessor's arm as she left the oratory. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX - - -At noon on the next day the red-throat came to tap with its bill and -claws at Consuelo's window. Just as she was about to open it, she -observed a black thread crossed over its yellow breast, and an -involuntary effort induced her to place her hand on the sash. She -withdrew it at once, however. - -"Away," said she, "messenger of misfortune! away, poor innocent bearer -of letters which are guilty and criminal! I shall not, perhaps, have -courage to reply to a last farewell. Perhaps I should not suffer him to -know that I regret and mourn for him." - -She took refuge in the music-room, to escape from the tempting bird, -which, used to a better reception hovered about, and angrily tapped at -the window-sill. She sat at her piano to drown the cries and reproaches -of her favorite, who had followed her to the window of the room, and she -felt something like the anguish of a mother when she will not hear the -cries and complaints of a penitent child. It was not because of the -red-throat that Consuelo now suffered. The note under the bird's wing -spoke most appealingly. This was the voice Which, to our romantic -recluse, seemed to lament at not being heard. - -She did not yield. It is, however, in the nature of love to become angry -and return to the assault, becoming more imperious and triumphant after -every victory. Without metaphor may it be said, that to resist is to -supply him with new arms. About three o'clock Matteus came in with a -basket of flowers, which he brought his prisoner every day, (he loved -her kind and gentle deportment), and as usual she unbound them to -arrange them herself in the beautiful vase on the _console._ This was -one of her prison pleasures. On this occasion, however, she was less -awake to it, and attended to it mechanically, as if to kill time. In -untying a bundle of narcissi which was in the centre of the package of -perfumes, a letter without any direction fell out. In vain did she seek -to persuade herself that it came from the tribunal of the Invisibles. -Would Matteus in such a case have been its bearer? Unfortunately Matteus -was not by to give any explanations. It was necessary to ring for him. -Five minutes would be necessary ere he could return, and it might be -ten. Consuelo had exhibited too much courage towards the red-throat to -be able to resist the bouquet. The letter was being read when Matteus -returned. Consuelo had reached the postscript:-- - -"Do not question Matteus; for he is ignorant of the disobedience I make -him commit." - -Matteus was merely asked to wind up the clock, which had stopped. - -The Chevalier's letter was more passionate, more impetuous, than the -others. In its delirium it was even imperious. We will not copy it. -Love-letters are powerless, except to the persons to whom they are -directed. In themselves they are all alike. All who are in love find, in -the object of their attraction, an irresistible power and incomparable -novelty. No one fancies he is loved as another is, or in the same -manner. All fancy themselves most loved of any who live. Where this -strange blindness, this proud fascination, does not exist, there is no -passion. Passion had seized on the calm, quiet, and noble mind of -Consuelo. - -The Chevalier's note disturbed all her ideas. He implored an interview, -and urged the necessity of using the few moments which remained. He -feigned to believe Consuelo had loved Albert, and that she yet loved -him. He pretended to be willing to submit to her decree, and in the -interim asked only a moment of pity, a tear of regret. This "_last_ -appearance" of a great _artiste_ is always followed by many others. - -Consuelo, though sad, was yet devoured by a secret joy, burning and -involuntary, at the idea of an interview. She felt her forehead blush -and her bosom palpitate, for she knew that in spite of herself she had -committed adultery. She saw that her resolution and her will did not -protect her from an inconceivable influence, and that if the Chevalier -resolved to break his vow, by speaking to her and showing his features, -as he seemed determined to do, she would not be able to prevent this -violation of the laws of the invisible tribunal. She had but one -refuge--to implore the tribunal's aid. But could she accuse and betray -Leverani? Would the worthy old man who had revealed Albert's existence, -and paternally received her confessions on the previous evening, receive -this also under the seal of confession. He would pity the Chevalier's -madness, and would condemn him only in the silence of his heart. -Consuelo wrote that she wished to see him at nine in the evening of that -day, and enjoined him on his honor, his repose and peace of mind to meet -her. This was the hour at which the stranger said he would come. But by -whom could she send this letter? Matteus would not go a foot out of the -enclosure before midnight; such were his orders, he had been severely -reprimanded for not having always punctually obeyed his orders in -relation to the prisoner. Henceforth he would be inflexible. - -The hour drew near, and Consuelo, though she sought in every way to -avoid the fatal test, had not thought of any means of resisting it. -Compulsory female virtue will ever be but a mere name unless half of the -stain of its violation rests on the man! Every plan of defence becomes a -mere subterfuge: every immolation of personal happiness fails, when -opposed to the fear of reducing the object of affection to despair. -Consuelo resolved on one resource, a suggestion of the heroism and -weakness which divided her heart. She began to look for the mysterious -opening of the cavern which was in the house, resolving to hurry through -it, and at any risk to present herself before the Invisibles. She had -fancied, gratuitously enough, that their place of meeting was accessible -when she had once discovered the mouth of the passage, and that they met -every night at the same place. She was not aware that on that day they -were all absent, and that Leverani alone had returned, after having -pretended to accompany them on their mysterious excursion. - -All her efforts to discover the secret door or trap were useless. She -had not now as at Spandau, the _sang froid_, the perseverance necessary -to discover the smallest fissure in the wall, the least protruding -stone. Her hands trembled as she examined the paneling and hangings, and -her sight became disturbed. Every moment she seemed to hear the sound of -the step of the Chevalier on the garden walks, or on the marble portico. - -All at once, she fancied she heard them beneath her, as if they ascended -some secret stairway or approached to some invisible door, or as if, -like familiar spirits, they were about to rush through the wall before -her. She let her light fall, and fled into the garden. The rivulet -caused her to cease her flight. She listened to footsteps, which she -fancied she heard behind her. She then became somewhat amazed, and got -into the boat which the gardener had for bringing sand and turf from the -forest. Consuelo fancied that when she loosed it she would gain the -opposite bank; but the current was very rapid, and passed out of the -enclosure through a grated arch. Borne off by the current, the boat in a -few moments would have knocked against the grating. To avoid the shock, -she put forth her hands--for a native of Venice and a child of its -people could not be at any difficulty in relation to such a manœuvre. -By a strange chance, however, the grating yielded to her hands, and -swang open, in obedience to the impulse the boat received from the -current. "Alas!" thought Consuelo, "they never shut this passage, -perhaps: I am but a prisoner on parole, and yet I fly and violate my -word. I do so, however, only to seek protection from my hosts, not to -abandon and betray them!" - -She sprang on shore at a turn of the current whither the boat had been -driven, and rushed into a thick hedge. Consuelo could not proceed -rapidly through the undergrowth. The alley wound about, and the fugitive -every moment knocked against the trees, and frequently fell on the turf. -Yet she felt a return of hope to her soul: she thought it impossible for -Leverani to discover her. - -After having wandered a long time at hazard, she found herself at the -foot of a hill, strewn with rocks, the varied outline of which was -painted on a grey and clouded sky. A storm-wind of some power, had -arisen, and the rain began to fall. Consuelo, not daring to return, for -fear that Leverani had followed, and might look for her on the banks of -the stream, ventured on the rude hill-side path. She thought that when -she had reached the top, she would discover the lights of the castle and -ascertain her position. When she had arrived, however, in the darkness, -the lightning, which began to illumine the heavens, showed her the ruin -of a vast building, which seemed the imposing and melancholy monument of -another age. - -The rain forced Consuelo to seek shelter, and with difficulty she found -it. The towers were roofless, and flocks of ger-falcons and tiercelets -were terrified at her approach, and uttered a sharp and acute cry, which -sounded like that of the spirits of evil inhabiting some old ruin. - -Amid the stones and ivy, Consuelo went through the chapel, which, by the -lightning, exhibited the outline of its dislocated mouldings, and went -into the court-yard which was overgrown with short smooth grass. She -avoided by chance a deep well, the presence of which on the surface was -only indicated by superb capillary plants, and a rose-tree which were in -undisturbed possession of the interior. The mass of ruined buildings -around this courtyard presented the strangest aspect. At every flash, -the eye could scarcely take in these pale and downcast spectres; all -these incoherent forms of ruin, vast stacks of chimneys, the summits of -which were blackened by fires long extinct forever, and springing from -amid walls which were bare and terribly high; broken stairways, showing -their helices, into the void, as if to enable witches to go to their -aerial dance; whole trees installed and in possession of rooms, on the -walls of which frescoes were yet visible; stone benches in the deep -window recesses, desertedness within and without these mysterious -retreats, refuges of lovers in times of peace and the sentinels' station -during war; finally, loop-holes, festooned with coquettish garlands, -isolated spires, piercing the skies like obelisks, and doors completely -crushed by the falling ruins. It was a fearful and poetical spot, and -Consuelo felt herself under the influence of a kind of terror, as if her -presence had profaned a space reserved for the funeral conferences and -silent reveries of the dead. In a calm night, and when less agitated, -she would not, perhaps, have so pitied the rigor of time and the fates -which so violently destroy palace and fortress, leaving their ruins on -the grass by the side of those of the hut. The sadness which is inspired -by the ruins of these formidable abodes rise not identical in the -imagination of the artist and the patrician. At this moment of terror -and fear, however, and on this stormy night, Consuelo, unsustained by -the enthusiasm which had impelled her in more serious undertakings, felt -herself again become a child of the people, and trembled at the idea of -seeing again appear the phantoms of night, especially the old lords, the -stern occupants of them, while alive, and, after death, their -threatening and menacing possessors. The thunder lifted up its voice; -the wind made the bricks crumble and the cement fall from the dismantled -pile, while the long branches of the ivy twined like serpents around the -embrasures of the towers. Consuelo, who was looking for a shelter from -the fierce tempest, went beneath the vault of a stairway which seemed in -better preservation than the others. It was that of a vast feudal tower, -the most ancient and solid of the edifice. After about twenty steps, she -came to a broad octagonal hall which occupied all the interior of the -tower. The opposite stairway having been made, as is the case with all -constructions of this kind, in the thickness (eighteen or twenty feet) -of the wall. The vault of this hall was like the interior of a hive. -There were now neither doors nor windows, but the openings were so -narrow that the wind easily lost its power in passing through them. -Consuelo resolved to wait in this place until the tempest was over, and -approaching a window, stood for more than an hour, contemplating the -grand spectacle of a sky in flames, and listening to the terrible voices -of the storm. - -The wind at last lulled, the clouds became dissipated, and Consuelo -thought she would go. On her return, however, she was amazed to find a -more permanent light than that of day occupy the interior of the room. -This clearness, after a season of, as it were, tremulous light, -increased and filled the vault, and a light crackling sound was heard in -the hearth. Consuelo looked and saw beneath the half-arch of this old -hall, an enormous recess open before her, and a wood-fire which seemed -to have kindled itself and burned out alone. She approached, and saw -half-burned branches and all that indicated a fire having been kept up, -and abandoned without precaution. - -Terrified at this circumstance, which informed her of the presence of a -host, Consuelo, who saw no trace of furniture here, hurried towards the -stairway, and was about to descend, when she heard voices and the sound -of feet on the pavement below. Her fantastic terrors then became real -apprehensions. This damp and devastated tower could only be inhabited by -some gamekeeper, perhaps as savage as his abode--it may be, drunk and -brutal--and probably by no means so honest and respectful as the good -Matteus. The steps rapidly approached, and Consuelo hurried up the -stairway, to avoid being met by those who might come. After having gone -about twenty steps, she found herself on the second floor, from the one -where they would be apt to come, since, being roofless, it was -uninhabitable. Fortunately the rain had ceased, and she saw a few stars -through the climbing shrubs, which had covered the top of the tower, -about ten _toises_ above her head. A ray of light from below soon began -to trace shadows on the walls of the ruin, and Consuelo, approaching -stealthily, looked through a crevice into the room she had just left. -Two men were in the hall: one walking and stamping his feet to warm -them, and the other leaning down in the fireplace, attempting to -rekindle the fire which began to burn. At first, she did not see that -their apparel betokened exalted rank; but the light of the fire being -revived, he who heaped it up with the point of his sword, got up to lean -the weapon against a salient stone. Consuelo saw long black hair, at the -appearance of which she trembled, and a brow which had nearly wrung a -cry of terror and tenderness from her. He spoke, and she had no doubt -the person she saw was Albert of Rudolstadt. - -"Draw near, my friend," said he to his companion, "and warm yourself at -the only fireplace of this old castle. A bad state of things, Von -Trenck; but you have, in your wanderings, found matter worse." - -"Sometimes," answered the lover of the Princess Amelia, "I have found -nothing at all. This place is really more comfortable than it seems, and -I will be glad to make more of it. Ah! count, you then come sometimes to -muse in these ruins and _watch your arms_[13] in this haunted tower." - -"I often come for better reasons. I cannot now tell you why, but will -hereafter." - -"I can guess then. From the top of this tower you can look into a -certain park and over a certain pavilion." - -"No, Trenck; the house you speak of is behind those woods and that hill, -and cannot be seen from here." - -"But you can go thither from this place in a few moments, and can again -take refuge here if troublesome people watch you. Well, now, acknowledge -that just as I met you in the room, you were----" - -"I can acknowledge nothing, dear Trenck, and you promised not to -question me." - -"True, I should think of nothing except of rejoicing at having found you -in this immense park, or rather forest, where I had lost my way, and but -for you must have thrown myself into some picturesque ravine, or been -drowned in some limpid stream. Are we far from the castle?" - -"More than a quarter of a league." - -"The old castle does not please me as well as the new one, I confess, -and can see well enough why they yield it up to the bats. I am glad, -however, I find myself alone with you at such a mournful time and hour. -It reminds me of our first meeting amid the ruins of an abbey in -Silesia--my initiation--the oaths I took with my hands in yours, for -then you were my judge, my examiner, my master, but now are my brother -and my friend. Dear Albert! what strange and miserable vicissitudes have -passed over our heads since that day! Both dead to our families, our -countries, our loves, perhaps. What will become of us? and what -henceforth will be our life among men?" - -"Yours may yet be surrounded by _éclat_ and intoxication. The dominions -of the tyrant who hates you, thank God, do not cover all the soil of -Europe." - -"But my mistress, Albert? Will she be always faithful to me--eternally -but uselessly faithful?" - -"You should not desire it, my friend; but it is certain that her passion -will be durable as her sorrow." - -"Speak to me of her, Albert, you are more blest than myself, for you are -able to see and hear her." - -"I can do so no more, dear Trenck. Do not deceive yourself in that -matter. The fantastic name and strange character of the person called -Trismegistus, with whom I was confounded, and which protected me so long -in my brief and mysterious visits to Berlin, have lost their _prestige_; -my friends will be discreet, and my dupes (for to aid our cause, and -your love, it became necessary to make such) will be more shrewd in -future. Frederick scented a conspiracy, and I cannot return to Prussia. -My efforts will be paralysed by his distrust, and the prison of Spandau -will never open again to let me pass." - -"Poor Albert! You must have suffered as much in prison as I did. Perhaps -more?" - -"No, I was near her, and heard her voice. I toiled for her delivery. I -regret neither that I endured the horror of a dungeon, nor that I -despaired for her life. If I have suffered on my own account, I did not -perceive it. She has escaped, and will be happy." - -"By your means, Albert! Tell me that she will be happy with and through -you only, or I esteem her no more. I withdraw from her my respect and my -admiration." - -"Do not speak thus, Trenck. To do so is to outrage nature, love, and -heaven. Our wives are as free of obligation to us as our mistresses. To -bind them in the chains of duty agreeable only to our own feelings, is a -crime and a profanation." - -"I know it; and without arrogating to myself your lofty feelings, I am -aware, had Amelia withdrawn her promise instead of renewing it, I feel I -would not on that account cease to love and thank her for the days of -happiness she has conferred on me; but it is permitted to me to be more -anxious on your account than on my own, and to hate all who do not love -you. You smile, Albert, for you do not comprehend my love, nor do I -understand your courage. If it be true that she you love has become a -victim (before her weeds should have been laid aside) of one of _our -brothers_, were he the most deserving of them and the most fascinating -man in the world, I could never pardon her. If you can do so, you are -more than mortal." - -"Trenck, Trenck, you know not what you say. You do not understand, and I -cannot explain. Do not judge that admirable woman yet. By-and-bye, you -will know her." - -"Why not justify her to my mind? Why this mystery? We are alone here. -Your confessions will not compromise her, and I am aware of no oath -which binds you to hide from me things that we all suspect. She loves -you not? What is her excuse?" - -"She never loved me." - -"That is her offence. She did not understand you." - -"She could not, and I was unable to reveal myself to her. Besides, I was -sick and mad. No one loves a madman. They are to be pitied and feared." - -"Albert, you were never a madman. I never saw you crazed. The wisdom and -power of your mind dazzled me." - -"You saw me firm and self-possessed while in action. You never saw me in -the agony of repose, or in the tortures of discouragement." - -"You know, then, what it is to feel so. I did not think so." - -"The reason is, you do not see all the dangers, obstacles, and vices of -our enterprise. You have never sounded the abyss into which I plunged -all my soul, and cast all my existence. You have looked at its chivalric -and generous side; you have seen but easy looks and smiling hopes." - -"The reason, count, is that I am less great, less enthusiastic than -yourself. You drained the cup of zeal to the very dregs; and when its -bitterness suffocated you, suspicions of man and heaven arose." - -"Yes; and I have suffered cruelly on that account." - -"And do you doubt yet--do you still suffer?" - -"Now I hope, believe, and act. I am strong and happy. Do you not see joy -enkindle my brow? Do you not see my very heart is intoxicated?" - -"Yet you have been betrayed by your mistress? What do I say? by your -wife." - -"She was never either one or the other. She owes me no duty. God has -vouchsafed her his love--the most celestial of his boons--as her reward -for having pitied me for a moment on my death-bed. Shall I still hold -her to a promise wrested from her generous compassion and sublime -charity? Should I do so, I would then say, 'Woman, I am your master. You -are mine by law, by your own imprudence and error. You shall tolerate my -embraces, because once on our parting day you kissed my icy brow. You -shall place your hand in mine forever, walk my way, bear my yoke, crush -the young love in your bosom, trample down irrepressible desires, and -consume in sorrow, in my profane arms, on my selfish and cowardly -heart.' Oh! Trenck, think you I could be happy did I act thus? Would not -my life be a bitterer torment than her own? The suffering of the slave -would be the master's curse. Great God! what being is so degraded, so -brutal, as to become proud and intoxicated with a love which is not -mutual, with a fidelity against which the heart of the victim revolts? I -thank heaven that such I am not and cannot be. I was going this evening -to see Consuelo, and tell her all this, and restore her to liberty. I -did not meet her in the garden where she usually walks, and then this -storm came and stripped me of the hope of seeing her. I did not wish to -visit her rooms. I would then have used my rights as a husband. The -quivering of her terror, the very pallor of her despair, would have done -me an injury I cannot bear." - -"And have you not also met in the dark Leverani's black mask?" - -"Who is Leverani?" - -"Are you ignorant of your master's name?" - -"Leverani is an assumed name. Do you not know this man, my happy rival?" - -"No; but you ask this in a strange manner. Albert, I think I understand -you. You pardon your unfortunate wife. You abandon her, as you should -do. You should, however, chastise her base seducer." - -"Are you sure he is base?" - -"What! the man to whom the care of her rescue, and the keeping of her -person during a long and dangerous journey was confided--the man who -should protect and respect her, who should not speak to her or show her -his face--a man invested with the power and blind confidence of the -Invisibles--your brother in arms and oath, as I am? Ah! had that woman -been confided to me, I would not have dreamed of the base treachery of -winning her love." - -"Once more, Trenck, you know not what you say. Only three of us know -this Leverani and his crime. In a few days you will cease to blame this -happy mortal, to whom God in his goodness has vouchsafed Consuelo's -love." - -"Strange and sublime man! do you not hate him?" - -"I cannot do so." - -"You will not interfere with his happiness?" - -"I toil ardently to secure it, and there is nothing strange or sublime -in this. You will ere long smile at the praises you give me." - -"What! do you not even suffer?" - -"I am the happiest of men." - -"Then you either love her little or love her much. Such heroism is not -in human nature. It is almost monstrous, and I cannot admire what I -cannot comprehend. Listen, count. You laugh at me and I am very simple. -I have guessed all, though. You love another woman, and thank Providence -for having delivered you from all obligation to Consuelo, by making her -unfaithful." - -"I must than, open my heart, baron, to you, for you force me to do so. -Listen: this is my story--a whole romance. But it is cold here, and this -brush fire is insufficient to warm these old walls, which, I am afraid, -remind you of those of Glatz. It has become clear, and we can find our -way to the castle. Since you go at dawn, I will not detain you up -longer. As we walk I will tell you a strange story." - -The two friends resumed their hats, after having shaken off the rain. -Trampling on the brands, to put them out, they left the tower arm in -arm. Their voices soon became lost in the distance, and the echoes of -the old mansion soon ceased to repeat the feeble noise of their steps on -the damp grass of the court. - - -[Footnote 13: "Faire la veillée des armes." The watch of a knight's -armor on the night before he was dubbed.] - - - - -CHAPTER XXX - - -Consuelo remained in a state of strange stupor. What amazed her most, -what the testimony of her senses could hardly persuade her of, was not -the magnanimous conduct of Albert, nor his heroic sentiments, but the -wonderful facility with which he himself solved the terrible problem of -fate he had made himself. Was it, then, so easy for Consuelo to be -happy? Was her love for Leverani lawful? She thought she had dreamed -what she had heard. It was already permitted her to yield to her love of -the stranger. The austere Invisibles permitted Albert to consent on -account of his greatness of soul, his courage, and virtue. Albert -himself justified and defended her against Trenck's censure. Finally, -Albert and the Invisibles, far from condemning their mutual passion, -abandoned them to themselves, to their invincible sympathy. All this was -without effort, without regret or remorse, without a tear from any one. -Consuelo, quivering with emotion rather than cold, returned to the vast -vaulted room, and rekindled the fire which Albert and Trenck had sought -to put out. She looked at the prints of their wet feet on the floor. -This satisfied her of the reality of their presence, and Consuelo needed -the evidence to satisfy herself. Stooping in the hearthside, like a -dreamy Cinderella, protected ever by the fireside spirits, she sank into -intense meditation. So facile a triumph over fate had not seemed -possible to her. Yet no fear could prevail against the wonderful -serenity of Albert. Consuelo could least of all doubt this--Albert did -not suffer. Her love did not offend his justice. He fulfilled, with a -kind of enthusiastic joy, the greatest sacrifice it is in the power of -man to offer to God. She did not ask if to be thus detached from human -weakness could be reconciled with human affections. Did not this -peculiarity betoken a new phase of madness? After the exaggeration of -sorrow produced by memory and isolated sentiment, did he not feel, as it -were a kind of paralysis of heart in relation to the past? Could he be -cured so soon of his love? and was this love so unimportant a matter -that a simple act of will, a simple decision of mind, could thus efface -every trace of it? Though admiring this triumph of philosophy, Consuelo -could not but feel humiliated at seeing thus destroyed, by a single -breath, the long passion of which she had ever been so justly proud. She -passed in review the least words he had uttered, and the expression of -his face, as he spoke, was yet before her eyes. It was an expression -with which Consuelo was unacquainted. Albert was also as much changed in -externals as in mind. To tell the truth, he was a new man: and had not -the sound of his voice, his features, and the reality of his -conversation satisfied her, Consuelo might have thought that she saw in -his place that _Sosia_, that fanciful Trismegistus, whom the doctor -persisted in substituting for him. The modification which quiet and -health had conferred on Albert seemed to confirm Supperville's error. He -had ceased to be so painfully emaciated, and seemed to have grown, so -expanded did his hitherto thin and feeble form seem to have become. He -had another bearing. He moved with more activity, his step was firmer, -and his dress as elegant and careful as it had been negligent and -despised. His very trifling habits now amazed Consuelo. In other days he -would not have dreamed of fire. He would have been sorry that his friend -Trenck was wet, but would not have dreamed, so foreign to him were all -external things, of gathering up the scattered brands. He would not have -shaken his hat before he put it on, and would have let the rain run -unremarked through his long hair. Now he wore a sword, though of yore he -would never have consented to do so, or even play with it. Now it did -not annoy him; he saw its blade glitter in the blaze, and did not recall -the blood his ancestors had shed. The expiation imposed on John Ziska, -in his person, was a painful dream, which blessed slumber had entirely -effaced. Perhaps he had forgotten it when he forgot the other memories -of his life and love, which seemed to have been, yet not to be, those of -his own life. - -Something strange and unnatural took place in Consuelo's mind, which was -like chagrin, regret, and wounded pride. She repeated to herself the -supposition Trenck had made in relation to a new passion, and this idea -seemed probable. A new love alone could grant him toleration and pity. -His last words, as he led his friend away, _story_ and _romance_, were a -confirmation of this doubt. Were they not an explanation of the intense -joy which seemed to animate him? - -"Yes, his eyes gleamed," thought Consuelo, "as I never saw them before. -His smile had an expression of intoxication of triumph. He smiled, he -almost laughed. There was even irony in his tone when he said, "You will -smile at your praise." Doubt is gone; he loves, yet not me. He does not -object, he does not oppose my infidelity; he urges me on, and rejoices -at it. He does not blush for me, but gives me up to a weakness of which -I alone am ashamed, and the disgrace of which will fall on me alone. Oh, -heaven! I alone was not guilty. Albert has been yet more so. Alas! why -did I discover the secret of a generosity I would have admired so much, -even though I did not avail myself of it. I see clearly now that there -is a sanctity in plighted faith. God only, who changes our hearts, can -loose us. Then, perhaps, beings united by their oaths may give and -receive the sacrifice of their faiths. When mutual inconstancy alone -presides over divorce, something terrible occurs, and there is, as it -were, a complicity of parricide between the two. They have coldly -stifled in their bosoms the love which united them." - -Consuelo early in the morning regained the wood. She had passed the -whole night in the tower, absorbed by countless dark and sad thoughts. -She had no difficulty in finding the road homewards, though she had gone -over it in the dark, and her anxiety made it seem shorter than it really -was. She descended the hill, and retraced her steps up the rivulet, till -she came to the grating, which she passed, walking along its horizontal -bars above the water. She was no longer afraid or agitated. It did not -matter whether she was seen or not, for she had determined to tell her -confessor everything. Besides, the sentiments of her past life so -occupied her, that present things had but a secondary interest. Leverani -scarcely seemed to exist for her. The human heart is so constituted, -that young love needs dangers and obstacles. Old love revives when we -cannot awaken it in the heart of another. - -On this occasion the invisible guardians of Consuelo seemed all asleep, -and her nocturnal walk had been observed by no one. She found a new -letter of the stranger on her piano, as tenderly respectful as the one -of the previous evening had been bold and passionate. He complained that -she had been afraid of him, and reproached her for having shut herself -up in her apartments from fear, as if she entertained doubt as to the -humility of his veneration. He humbly asked to be permitted to see her -in the garden at twilight, and promised not to speak to her, not to show -himself, if she demanded it. "Let it be an alienation of heart, or an -error of judgment," added he, "Albert renounces you, tranquilly, and -apparently even coldly. Duty speaks to him more loudly than love. In a -few days the Invisibles will announce their resolution, and give you the -signal of liberty. You can then remain here, to become initiated in -their mysteries; and if you persist in this generous intention, I will -abide by my oath, not to show myself to you. If you have made this -promise only from compassion, if you wish to release yourself, speak, -and I will break my engagements, and fly with you. I am not Albert; I -have more love than virtue. Choose." - -"Yes, that is certain," said Consuelo, letting the letter fall on the -strings of the piano. "This man loves me, and Albert does not. It is -possible that he never loved me, and that my image has been a mere -creation of his delirium. Yet this love seemed to me sublime. Would to -God it yet were sufficiently so, to enable me to conquer mine by a -painful and sublime sacrifice! This would be far better for us than the -separation of two adulterous hearts. Better, too, were it that Leverani -should be abandoned by me, with pain and grief, than received as a -necessity of my isolation, in a season of anger, indignation, shame, and -painful intoxication of passion." - -She wrote to Leverani, in reply, the following brief words:-- - -"I am too proud and too sincere to deceive you. I know what Albert -thinks, and what he has resolved on. I have overheard his confessions to -a mutual friend. He leaves me without regret, and virtue alone does not -triumph in his love. I will not follow his example. I loved you, and -abandon you without loving another. I owe this sacrifice to my dignity -and conscience. I hope you will not come near my house. If you yield to -a blind passion, if you wrest any new confession from me, you will -repent it. You would perhaps be indebted for my confidence to the just -anger of a broken heart, and to the terror of a crushed soul. This would -be my punishment and your own. If you persist, Leverani, you do not feel -the love I have thought you did." - -Leverani did persist. He continued to write, and was eloquent, -persuasive, and sincere in his humility. - -"You make an appeal to my pride," said he, "yet I exhibit no pride to -you. If in my arms you regretted an absent person, I would suffer, but -would not be offended. I would ask you, as I lay at your feet and -watered them with tears, to forget him and trust yourself to me alone. -Howsoever you love me, how little soever it may be, I will be grateful -as if for an immense blessing." - -Such was the substance of a series of ardent and timid, submissive and -persevering letters. - -Consuelo felt her pride give way before the penetrating charm of a true -love. Insensibly she grew used to the idea that none had loved her -before, not even the Count of Rudolstadt. Repulsing, then, the voluntary -outrage she had fancied was made on the sanctity of her recollections, -she feared lest by exhibiting it, she might become an obstacle to the -happiness Albert promised himself from a new love. She resolved, then, -to submit quietly to the decree of a separation, which he seemed -determined to enforce the Invisibles to make, and abstained from writing -his name in her letters to the stranger, whom she bade be equally -prudent. - -In other matters their letters were full of prudence and delicacy. -Consuelo, in separating herself from Albert, and in receiving into her -soul the idea of another affection, was unwilling to yield to a blind -intoxication. She forbade the Chevalier to see her, or violate his oath -of silence until it had been removed by the Invisibles. She declared -that freely and voluntarily she wished to adhere to the mysterious -association which inspired her with respect and confidence. She was -determined to be initiated in their doctrines, and to defend herself -from every personal engagement, until, by something of virtue, she had -acquired the right to think of her own happiness. She had not power to -tell him that she did not love him; but was able to say that she would -not love him without reflection. - -Leverani appeared to submit, and Consuelo studied attentively many -volumes which Matteus had given her one day from the Prince, saying that -his highness and the court had left the castle, but that she would soon -have news of him. She was satisfied with this message, and asked Matteus -no questions. She read the history of the mysteries of antiquity, of -Christianity, and of the different sects and secret societies derived -from each. This was a very learned manuscript compilation, made in the -library of the order of the Invisibles, by some learned and -conscientious adept. This serious and laborious study at first occupied -not a little of her attention and even of her imagination. The picture -of the tests of the ancient Egyptian temples gave rise to many terrible -and poetic dreams. The story of the persecution of sects, during the -middle ages, and during the period of revival, excited her heart more -than ever; and this history of enthusiasm prepared her soul for the -religious fanaticism of a speedy initiation. For fifteen days she had no -information from home, and lived in seclusion, surrounded by the -mysterious care of the Chevalier, but firm in her resolution not to see -him, and not to inspire him with too much hope. - -The summer heat began to be felt, and Consuelo, being absorbed by her -studies, could rest and breathe freely only in the cool of the evening. -Gradually, she had resumed her slow and dreamy walks in the garden and -enclosures. She thought herself alone, yet vague emotions made her often -fancy that the stranger was not far from her. Those beautiful nights, -the glorious shades, the solitude, the languishing murmur of the running -water amid the flowers, the perfume of plants, the passionate song of -the nightingale, followed by yet more voluptuous silence--the moon -casting its broad, oblique light beneath the transparent shadows of the -sweet nurseries, the setting of Hesperus behind the horizon's roseate -clouds--all these classical but eternal emotions, ever fresh and mighty -with youth and love, immersed the soul of Consuelo in dangerous -reveries. Her thin shadow on the silvery garden walks, the flight of a -bird aroused by her step, the rustling of a leaf agitated by the wind, -sufficed to increase her pace. These slight terrors were scarcely -dissipated when they were replaced by an indefinable regret, and the -palpitations of expectation were more powerful than all the suggestions -of her will. - -Once she was more disturbed than usual by the rustling of the leaves and -the uncertain sounds of the night. She fancied some one walked not far -from her, and when she sat down she thought the sound came nearer her. -Agitation aroused her still more, as she felt herself powerless to -resist an interview in those beautiful places and beneath that -magnificent sky. The breath of the breeze seemed to burn her cheek. She -fled to the house and shut herself up in her room. The candles were not -yet lighted. She placed herself behind a _jalousie_, and anxiously -wished to see him by whom she could not be seen. She saw a man appear, -and advance slowly beneath her windows. He approached silently and -without a gesture, and submissively appeared satisfied in gazing on the -walls within which she dwelt. This man was the Chevalier, at least -Consuelo in her anxiety thought so, and fancied that she recognised his -bearing and gait. Strange and painful doubts and fears, however, soon -took possession of her mind. This silent muser recalled Albert to her -mind as much as he did Leverani. They were of the same stature, now that -Albert was invigorated with health, and could walk at ease without his -head hanging on his bosom, or resting on his hand, in an unhealthy or -sad manner. Consuelo could scarcely distinguish him from the Chevalier. -She had seen the latter for a moment by daylight walking before her and -wrapped up in the folds of his cloak. She had seen Albert for a few -moments in the deserted tower, and thought him entirely different from -what she had seen him before. Now that she saw by starlight either the -one or the other, she was about to resolve all her doubts; but the -object passed beneath some shadow, and like a shadow flitted away. At -length it entirely disappeared, and Consuelo was divided between joy and -fear, charging herself with want of courage in not having called -Albert's name at all hazards, and asked for an explanation. - -This repentance became more keen as the object withdrew, and as the -persuasion that it was Albert broke on her. Led away by this habit of -devotion, which had, so far as he was concerned, always occupied the -place of love, she thought if he thus wandered around her it was in the -timid hope of talking with her. It was not the first time he had sought -to do so. She had said so to Trenck one evening, when perhaps he had -passed Leverani in the dark. Consuelo determined to bring about this -necessary explanation. Her conscience required that she should clear up -all doubts in relation to the true disposition of a husband, whether it -was generous or volatile. She went down to the garden, and ran after the -mysterious visitor, trembling yet courageous; but she searched through -the whole of the enclosure without finding him. - -At length she saw, on the verge of a thicket, a man standing close to -the water. Was this the person she sought for? She called him by the -name of Albert, and he trembled and passed his hands over his face. When -he removed them, the black mask was there. - -"Albert! is it you?" said Consuelo. "You alone I look for." - -A stifled exclamation of surprise from the person to whom she spoke -betrayed some indescribable emotion of joy or grief. He appeared to wish -to get away; but Consuelo fancied she recognised Albert's voice, and -rushing forward caught him by the cloak, which, parting at his shoulder, -exhibited on the bosom of the stranger a silver cross. Consuelo knew it -but too well: it was that of her mother--the same she had given to the -Chevalier during her journey with him, as a pledge of gratitude and -sympathy. - -"Leverani!" said she; "you again! Since it is you, adieu! Why do you -disobey me?" - -He threw himself at her feet, folded her in his arms, and embraced her -so ardently, yet respectfully, that Consuelo could not resist. - -"If you love me, and would have me love you, leave me," said she. "I -will see and hear you before the Invisibles. Your mask terrifies me, and -your silence freezes my heart!" - -Leverani placed his hand on his mask. He was about to tear it away and -to speak. Consuelo, like the curious Psyche, had not courage to turn -away her eyes. - -All at once, however, the black veil of the messengers of the secret -tribunal fell over her brow. The hand of the unknown which had seized -hers was silently detached. - -Consuelo felt herself led away rapidly, but without violence or apparent -anger. She was lifted from the ground, and then felt the spring of the -planks of a boat beneath her feet. She floated down a stream a long time -without any one speaking to her, and when restored to light found -herself in the subterranean cave where she had before appeared at the -bar of the Invisibles. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI - - -The seven were there, as when she had first seen them, mute, masked, and -impenetrable as phantoms. The eighth, who had then spoken to Consuelo, -and seemed to be the interpreter of the council and initiator of adepts, -thus spoke to her:-- - -"Consuelo, you have passed through the tests to which we have subjected -you with satisfaction. We can grant you our confidence, and are about to -prove it." - -"Listen!" said Consuelo. "You think me free from reproach; yet I am not. -I have disobeyed you. I left the retreat you assigned me." - -"From curiosity?" - -"No." - -"Will you tell us what you learned?" - -"What I have learned is purely personal. Among you is a confessor, to -whom I can and will reveal all." - -The old man rose and said-- - -"I know all. This girl's fault is trivial. She knows nothing that you -wish her to be ignorant of. The confidence of her thoughts is between -her and me. In the interim, use the present moment to reveal to her what -she should know. I will vouch for her in all things." - -The initiator then said, after he had looked towards the tribunal, and -received a token of assent-- - -"Listen to me! I speak in the name of all you see. It is their spirit, -and, so to say, their breath, which inspires me. I am about to expound -their doctrine to you. - -"The distinctive character of the religions of antiquity is, that they -have two faces--one exterior and public, the other inward and secret; -the one is the spirit, the other the form or letter. Behind the material -or grosser symbol is the profound sense, the sublime idea. Egypt and -India, the great types of ancient religions, mothers of true doctrines, -offer this duality of aspect in the highest degree. This is the -necessary and fatal sign of the infancy of societies, and of the -miseries attached to the development of the genius of man. You have -recently learned in what consisted the great mysteries of Eleusis and -Memphis, and now you know why divine science, political and social, -concentrated with the triple religions, military and industrial, in the -hands of the hierophants, did not descend to the lowest grades of the -ancient societies. The Christian idea, surrounded in the word of its -revealer by transparent and pure symbols, was granted to the world to -communicate to the popular mind a knowledge of truth and the light of -faith. Theocracy, though the inevitable abuse of religions established -in times of trouble and danger, soon came to veil doctrine again, and in -doing so changed it. Idolatry reappeared with the mysteries, and the -painful expansion of Christianity; the hierophants of Apostolic Rome -lost by divine punishment the divine light, and fell into the darkness -into which they sought to plunge men. The development of the human mind -then worked in a course altogether different to the past. The temple no -longer was, as of yore, the sanctuary of truth; superstition and -ignorance, the gross symbol, the dead letter, sat on altars and thrones. -The spirit at last descended to minds which had been very degraded. Poor -monks, obscure doctors, humble penitents, virtuous apostles of the -primitive church made the secret and persecuted religion the asylum of -the unknown truth. They sought to declare to the people the religion of -equality, and in the name of Saint John preached a new religion--that is -to say, a more free interpretation, and, at the same time, a bolder and -purer one than that of the Christian revelation. You know the history of -their labors, of their combats, and martyrdoms; you know the sufferings -of nations, their ardent inspirations, their lamentable decay, and proud -revival; and that amid efforts successively terrible and sublime, their -heroic perseverance put darkness to flight and discovered the path to -God. The time is near when the veil of the temple will be removed -forever, and when the masses will fill the sanctuaries of the sacred -arch. Then symbols will disappear, and access to truth will not be -guarded by the dragons of religious despotism. All will be able to -approach God with all the power of their souls. No one will say to his -brother, 'Be ignorant, and bow down;' but on the other hand, 'Open thine -eyes and receive the light.' Any man, on the contrary, will be able to -ask aid from his neighbor's eye, heart, and arm, to penetrate the arcana -of sacred science. That day has not yet come, and we are able to see -merely the glimmer of its dawn trembling on the horizon. The duration of -the secret religion is endless, the task of mystery is not yet -fulfilled. We are as yet shut up in the temple, busy in forging arms to -push aside the enemies who interpose between nations and ourselves, and -must yet keep our doors closed and our words secret, that the holy ark -may not be wrested from us after it has been saved with such trouble, -and kept for the common good of mankind. - -"You are now received into the new temple: this temple, however, is yet -a fortress, which, for centuries, has held out for liberty without being -able to gain it. War is around us. We wish to be liberators, though as -yet we are but combatants. You are come to share a fraternal communion, -the standard of safety, the toil for liberty, and, perhaps, too, to die -with us in the breach. This is the destiny you have selected, and, -perhaps, will die without having seen the gage of victory float above -your head. Yet, in the name of St. John, do you call men to the crusade. -We yet invoke a symbol; we are the heirs of the Johannites of old; the -unknown, mysterious, and persevering preservers of Wickliffe, of Huss, -and of Luther: like them, we wish to enfranchise the human race; but, -like them, are not free ourselves; and walk, perhaps, to the sacrifice. - -"The strife, however, has changed ground, and the nature of its arms. We -yet brave the dark rigor of laws; we expose ourselves yet to -proscription, misery, and death--for the ways of tyranny are -unchangeable. We no longer invoke material revolt, the bloody cause of -the cross and sword: our warfare is intellectual as our mission. We -appeal to the mind. Not with the armed hand can government be overturned -or built up; sustained, as they now are by physical force. We wage a -slower, more mute, and profound warfare--we attack the heart. We destroy -the very foundations, by destroying the blind faith and idolatrous -respect they inspire. - -"We cause to penetrate everywhere, even into courts, and the troubled -and fascinated minds of princes and kings, what as yet none dare call -the poison of philosophy: we destroy all mere prestige. We throw from -the summit of our fortress the burning shot of ardent truth and -implacable reason against every throne. Doubt not but that we will -conquer. In how many days--in how many years, we know not. Yet our -undertaking is so old, has been conducted with such faith, and stifled -with such little success, that it cannot fail. It has become immortal in -its nature as the deathless boons it has sought to conquer. Our -ancestors began, and each generation dreamed of its completion. Did we -not entertain some hope of it ourselves, our zeal would become exhausted -and less efficacious: but if the spirit of doubt and irony which now -rules the world should prove to us, by its cold calculation and -overpowering logic, that we pursue a dream not to be realized until -centuries have passed, our conviction in the holiness of our cause would -not be shaken, and though we toiled with more effort and grief, we would -toil, at least, for men yet to be born. Between us and the men of past -and future generations, is a religious tie, so strict and firm that we -have almost stifled the selfish and personal portion of human nature. -This the vulgar will not understand; yet there is in the pride of -nobility something not unlike the old hereditary religious enthusiasm. -The great sacrifice much to glory, to make themselves worthy of their -ancestors, and to bequeath something to posterity. We, architects of the -true temple, have made many sacrifices to virtue, to continue the work -of our masters and to make laborious apprentices. In spirit and in heart -we live at once in the past, the present, and the future. Our -predecessors and successors are as much _we_ as ourselves are. We -believe in the transmission of life, of sentiments, and of generous -instincts in the soul, as nobles believe in the purity of blood in their -veins. We go farther; we believe in the transmission of life, -individuality, soul, and the very body; we feel ourselves fatally and -providentially called to continue the work of which we have already -dreamed, have always pursued, and advanced from century to century. -There are some amongst us who have carried the contemplation of the past -so far as almost to have lost sight of the present. This is the sublime -fever, the ecstacy of saints and prophets, for we have both, and, -perhaps, also our mad and visionary men. Whatever, though, may be the -wanderings or the sublimity of their transport, we respect their -inspiration, and among us Albert the _seer_ and the ecstatic has found -brothers filled with sorrow for his sorrow, and admiration for his -enthusiasm. We also believe in the sincerity of the Count of St. -Germain, who by others is thought an impostor or a madman. Though his -ideas of a period inaccessible to human memory, have a character calmer, -more precise and perhaps more inconceivable than Albert's ecstasies, -they, too, have a character of good faith and lucidness at which it is -impossible for us to laugh. We have among us many other -enthusiasts--mystics, poets, men of the people, philosophers, artists, -and ardent sectarians, grouped beneath the banner of different chiefs. -We have Boehmists, Theosophists, Moravians, Hernhuters, Quakers, even -Pantheists, Pythagoreans, Xerophagists, Illuminati, Johannites, -Templars, Millenarians, Joachimites, &c. All these old sects, though not -developed as they were at the period of their closing are yet existing, -and, to a great degree, not modified. Our object is to reproduce at one -era all the forms which the genius of innovation has assumed -successively in past centuries, relative to religious and philosophical -thought. We therefore gather our agents from these various groups, -without requiring identity or precepts, which in our time would be -impossible. It is enough that they are ardent for reformation, to admit -them into our ranks. All our science of organization consists in -selecting actors only from those who have minds superior to scholastic -disputes, to whom the passion for truth, the search after justice, and -the instinct of moral beauty are more powerful than family habits and -sectarian rivalry. In other respects, it is not so difficult as it is -imagined, to make the most dissimilar things work in concert, for their -dissimilarity is more apparent than real. In fact, all heretics (and I -use this word with respect) agree in one principal point, that of the -destruction of mental and physical tyranny, or, at least, a protest -against them. The antagonisms which have hitherto prevented the fusion -of all these generous but useless rivalries, are derived from self-love -and jealousy, the inherent vices of the condition of man, and a fatal -counterpoise to progress. In managing these susceptibilities, by -permitting every communion to preserve its teachers, its conductors, and -its rights, it is possible to constitute, if not a society, at least an -army, and I have told you we are an army marching to the conquest of a -promised land, of an ideal society. At the point where human society now -stands, there are so many shades of individual character, so many -gradations in the conception of the true, so many varied aspects and -ingenious manifestations of the nature of man, that it is absolutely -necessary to leave to each the conditions of his moral life and power of -action. - -"Our work is great--our task is immense. We do not wish to found merely -an universal empire, or a new order, on equitable bases, but we desire -to establish a religion. We are well aware that the one is impossible -without the other. We have, therefore, two modes of action: one -material--to undermine and subvert the old world by criticism, by -ridicule, by the Voltairian philosophy, and by all that is connected -with it. The formidable union of all the bold minds and strong passions -hurries our march in that direction. Our other mode of action is -entirely spiritual; it has to do with religion, and with the future. The -_elite_ of intelligences and of virtues assist us in our incessant -labors. The ground-work of the Invisibles is a concilium which the -persecution of the official world prevents from being publicly -assembled, but which ceaselessly deliberates, and, under the same -inspiration, toils in every part of the world. Mysterious communications -bring forth the grain as it ripens, and seed, too, for the field of -humanity, as we cut it from the grass. In this subterranean toil you may -participate, and we will tell you how, when you shall have accepted our -offers." - -"I do accept," said Consuelo, firmly, and lifting up her hands, as if to -swear. - -"Do not promise hastily, woman with generous instincts and enterprising -soul. You have not, perhaps, all the virtues such a mission requires. -You have passed through the world--you have already tasted the ideas of -prudence, of what is called propriety, discretion, and good conduct----" - -"I do not flatter myself that I have," said Consuelo, smiling, with -modesty and pride. - -"Well, you have learned, at least, to doubt, to discuss, to rail, to -suspect." - -"To doubt, it may be. Remove suspicion, which was not a part of my -nature, and which has caused me much suffering, and I will bless you. -Above all, remove all doubt of myself, for that feeling makes me -powerless." - -"We can remove doubt only by developing our principles. To give you -material guaranties of our sincerity and power, is impossible; on that -point we will do no more than we have hitherto. Let the services we have -rendered you suffice: we will always aid you when an occasion occurs, -but will not initiate you into the mysteries of our thought and action, -except in the particular matter we confide to you. You will not know us, -you will never see our faces. You will never know our names, unless some -great interest force us to infringe and violate the law which makes us -unknown and invisible to our disciples. Can you submit, and yield -yourself blindly to men, who to you never will be anything but abstract -beings, living ideas, aiders, and mysterious advisers." - -"Vain curiosity alone could impel me to wish to know you in any other -manner. I hope this puerile sentiment never will take possession of me." - -"This is not a matter of curiosity, but of distrust. Your reasoning will -be founded on the logic and prudence of the world. A man is responsible -for his actions--his name is either a warrant or a warning, his -reputation either sustains or contradicts his actions. Remember, you can -never compare the conduct of any one of us with the precepts of the -order. You must believe in us as in saints, without being aware whether -we are hypocrites or not. You may see injustice emanate from our -decisions--even perfidy and apparent cruelty. You can no more control -our conduct than our intentions. Are you firm enough to walk with your -eyes closed on the bank of an abyss?" - -"In the practical observance of Catholicism, I have done so from my very -childhood," said Consuelo, after a moment's reflection. "I have opened -my heart, and abandoned the charge of my conscience to a priest, whose -features were hid by the grating of the confessional, of whose name and -tenor of life I was ignorant. I saw in him only the priest. The man was -nothing. I was the servant of Christ, and did not care for the minister. -Think you this is at all different?" - -"Lift up your hand, then, if you are resolved to persist." - -"Listen," said Consuelo. "Your answer will determine my life; but permit -me to question you for the first and last time." - -"You see! Already you hesitate, and look for guaranties elsewhere than -in impulse, and the anxiety of your heart to possess the idea of which -we speak. Yet go on; your question, perhaps, may give us information in -relation to your disposition." - -"My question is simply this: Is Albert initiated in your secrets?" - -"Yes." - -"Without any restriction?" - -"Without any restriction." - -"And toils with you?" - -"Say rather that we toil with him. He is one of the lights of our -council, perhaps the purest and most divine." - -"Why did you not tell me this before? I would not have hesitated a -moment. Lead me whithersoever you will. Dispose of my life. I am yours, -and I swear it." - -"Then lift up your hand. On what do you swear?" - -"On Christ, the image of whom I see here." - -"What is Christ?" - -"The divine _idea_ revealed to man." - -"And is this divine idea revealed in all the evangelists?" - -"I think not, but it is all contained in the spirit of the evangelists." - -"We are satisfied with your answers, and receive the oath you have -taken. Now we will teach you your duties to God and us. Learn then, in -the first place, the three words which are the secret of our mysteries, -and which to many who are affiliated with us, are revealed with much -precaution and delay. You do not require a long apprenticeship, yet some -thought is needed to make you comprehend all their significance. These -words are, _Liberty, Fraternity_, and _Equality._ This is the mysterious -and profound formula of the creed of the Invisibles." - -"They contain all the mystery?" - -"They seem to contain none; but examine the condition of society, and -you will see, that to men used to be governed by despotism, inequality, -and antagonism, it is either an education, a conversion, or a whole -revelation that enables them thoroughly to comprehend the social -necessity and moral obligation of this triple precept--_liberty, -equality, fraternity._ The small number of enlightened minds, of pure -hearts, which protest naturally against the disorder and injustice of -tyranny, at once appreciate the secret doctrine. Their progress is -rapid, for it is only necessary to teach them the modes of application -which we have discovered. To the greater number, to men of the world, to -courtiers and nobles, imagine with what care and precaution the sacred -formula of the _immortal work_ must be given. It must be surrounded with -symbols and concealment. It is necessary to explain to them that we -speak only of fictitious liberty, and restraint on the exercise of -individual thought--of relative equality, extended merely to the members -of our association, and practicable only in secret and benevolent -meetings--of a romantic fraternity, agreed to between a certain number -of persons, and restricted to fugitive services, a few good works, and -to mutual aid. To these slaves of habit and prejudice, our mysteries are -but the statutes of heroic orders, revived from ancient chivalry, and -impeaching the constituted authorities in no manner, bringing no relief -to the miseries of the people. They reach only the insignificant grades, -the degrees of frivolous science or common-place precedence. For them -there is a series of whimsical initiations, which gratify their -curiosity, without elevating their minds." - -"Of what use are they?" asked Consuelo, who listened attentively. - -"To protect and countenance those who comprehend and know," said the -initiator. "This will be explained to you. Europe (Germany and France -especially) is filled with secret societies, subterranean laboratories, -in which is being prepared a great revolution, the crater of which is -France or Germany. The key to it is in our hands: we seek to retain the -direction of all associations, without the knowledge of a majority of -the members, and unknown to the separate organizations. Though as yet -our object be not attained, we have established a position everywhere, -and the most eminent of the affiliated of those societies are our -friends, and assist our efforts. We will introduce you into these sacred -sanctuaries, into these profane temples, for corruption and frivolity -also have erected their cities, in some of which vice and virtue toil to -the same end--reformation, without the evil being aware of its -association with the good. Such is the universal law of conspiracies. -You will be aware of the secret of the freemasons, a great brotherhood, -who, under various forms, and with various ideas, toil to organise the -practice and to diffuse the idea of equality. You will receive the -degree of all rites, though women are admitted only by adoption, and do -not share all the secrets of the doctrines. We will treat you as a -man--we will give you the insignia, documents, and all the formula -required for the relations we wish you to establish with the lodges, and -for the negotiations we wish to carry on with them. Your profession, -your wandering life, your talent, the influence of your sex, youth, and -beauty, your virtues, your courage, and your propriety fit you for your -part, and are sufficient vouchers for you. Your past life, the least -details of which we know, suffice to assure us. You have voluntarily -undergone more than mysteries _could_ invent, and you have passed them -more strongly and victoriously than do their adepts the vain simulacra -intended to test their constancy. Moreover, the wife and pupil of Albert -of Rudolstadt is our daughter, sister, and equal. Like Albert, we -profess to believe in the divine equality of man and woman; forced, -however, to confess, from the unfortunate results of the education of -your sex, from its social position and habits, the existence of a -dangerous volatility and capricious instinct, we cannot carry out this -idea in all its extent. We can confide only in a small number of women. -Some secrets we will confide to you alone. - -"The other secret societies of Europe will be also opened to you by the -talisman with which we will invest you. In order that in whatever -country you may be, you may aid us and our cause, you will even enter, -if it be necessary, into the impure society of the masses, and penetrate -the retreats and become the associate of the vicious, the debauched, and -the abandoned. To them you will carry reform, and the idea of a pure and -better understood _equality._ You will be as unsullied by such a -mission, by witnessing the depravity of the high-born and noble, as you -have been by the freedom of intercourse which reigns behind the scenes. -You will be a sister of charity to the depraved and abandoned. We will -also give you the means of destroying the habits which you cannot -correct. You will act chiefly on females, and your genius and fame will -open the doors of palaces to you. Trenck's love, and our protection, -have already unfolded to you the heart of a great princess. You will -come in contact with much more illustrious persons in the execution of -the duties of your mission, and will use your influence to make them our -auxiliaries. The methods to be pursued successfully will be imparted to -you in secret communications, and the special education you will receive -from us. In every court and in every city of Europe which you may enter, -we will provide you friends, brothers, associates, to aid and protect -you in the dangers attendant on your mission. Large sums will be -confided to you, to aid the unfortunate of our brethren wherever you may -meet them, and those who make the _signals of distress_, thus invoking -the assistance of our order. You will establish secret societies among -women, founded on the principles of our own, but adapted in manners and -usage to different countries and classes. You will toil to effect as far -as possible the cordial assimilation of the noble lady and the -_bourgeoise_--the rich and the tradeswoman--the virtuous matron and the -_artiste_ adventuress. _Toleration_ and _benevolence_ will be the -formula modified from our more austere rule of _equality_ and -_fraternity_, to adapt it to society. You perceive, then, that from the -very outset your mission will be glorious to your fame, as well as -gentle in its character; yet it is not without danger. We are powerful, -but treason may destroy our enterprise, and bury you amid its ruins. -Spandau may not be the last of your prisons, nor the passion of -Frederick II. the only trial you will be called on to brave. You must be -prepared for dangers and difficulties, and consecrated in advance to -martyrdom and persecution." - -"I am," answered Consuelo, with firmness, at the conclusion of this long -charge. - -"We are sure of it, and we apprehend nothing from the feebleness of your -character but your proneness to despair. From the first moment we must -warn you against the chief point of dissatisfaction attached to your -mission. The first grades of secret societies, and of masonry in -particular, are, as it were, insignificant to us, and serve only to -enable us to test the instincts and dispositions of the postulants. The -great majority never pass the first grades, where, as I have said, vain -ceremonies amuse their frivolous curiosity. To the first grade none are -admitted but those from whom much is expected, yet they too are kept for -a time comparatively in the dark, and after being thoroughly tested and -examined, are allowed to pass the ordeal. Even then the order is but a -nursery whence are chosen the most efficient of its members, to be -initiated into yet higher grades, who alone possess the power of -imparting most important revelations, and you will commence your career -with them. The secrets of a master impose high duties, and there -terminate the charm of curiosity, the intoxication of mystery, the -illusion of hope. The master can learn nothing more, amid enthusiasm and -emotion, of the law which transforms the neophyte into an apostle, the -novice into a priestess. He must practise by instructing others, and by -seeking to recruit, among the poor in heart and feeble in mind, Levites -for the sanctuary of our most holy order. There, poor Consuelo, will you -learn the bitterness of deceived illusions and the difficult labors of -perseverance. You will see, among very many applicants, curious and -eager after truth, few serious, sincere, and firm minds--few worthy in -heart of receiving, and capable of comprehending. Among hundreds of -people some of them using the symbols of equality and affecting the -jargon, you will scarcely find one penetrated with their importance, and -bold in their interpretation. It will be needful for you to talk to them -in enigmas, and play the sad game of deceiving them as to our doctrine. -Of this kind are the majority of the princes we enroll under our banner, -who are decked with masonic titles that merely amuse their foolish -pride, and serve only to guarantee the freedom of motion and police -toleration. Some, however, are, and have been, sincere. - -"Frederick, called the Great, and certainly capable of being so, was a -freemason before he was a king, for at that time liberty spoke to his -heart, and equality to his reason. Yet we committed his initiation to -shrewd and prudent men, who did not deliver to him the secrets of our -doctrine. At the present moment Frederick suspects, watches and -persecutes another masonic body, established in Berlin, side by side -with the lodge over which he presides, and other secret societies, at -the head of which his brother Henry has eagerly placed himself. Yet -neither Prince Henry nor the Abbess of Quedlimburg will ever rise higher -than the second degree. We know princes, Consuelo, and are aware that -neither they nor their courtiers can be fully relied on. The brother and -sister of Frederick suffer from his tyranny, therefore they curse it. -They would willingly conspire against him to benefit themselves. - -"Notwithstanding the eminent qualities of the prince and princess, we -will never place the reins of our enterprise in their hands. It is true -they conspire: yet they are ignorant how terrible is the work to which -they lend the aid of their name, fortune and credit. They imagine that -they toil merely to diminish the authority of their master, and paralyse -the efforts of his ambition. The Princess Amelia carries her zeal to a -kind of republican enthusiasm, and she is not the only crowned head -agitated now by a dream of ancient grandeur. All the petty princes of -Germany learned the Telemachus of Fenelon by heart during their youth, -and now feed on Montesquieu, Voltaire and Helvetius. They do not proceed -farther than a certain ideal of aristocratic government, regularly -balanced, in which, of course, they would have the best places. You may -judge of their logic and good faith by what you have observed of the -strange contrast between the actions and maxims, deeds and words, of -Frederick. They are all copies more or less defaced, more or little -_outré_, of this model of philosophical tyrants. But as they are not -absolute, their conduct is less shocking, and might deceive you as to -the use they would make of it. We do not suffer ourselves to be -deceived. We suffer these victims of _ennui_, these dangerous friends, -to sit on symbolical thrones. They imagine themselves to be pontiffs, -and fancy they have the key of the sacred mystery, as of yore the chief -of the holy empire persuaded himself that he was fictitiously elected -chief of the secret tribunal, and commanded the terrible army of the -Free Judges; yet we are masters of their power and of every intention of -their life; and while they believe themselves our generals, they are our -lieutenants; and never, until the fatal day written in the book of fate -for their fall, will they know that they have themselves contributed to -their own ruin. - -"Such is the dark side of our enterprise. One must modify certain laws -of a quiet conscience when the heart is open to holy fanaticism. Will -you have courage, young priestess of the pure heart and sincere voice, -to do so?" - -"After all you have told me," said Consuelo, after a moment's silence, -"I cannot withdraw. A single scruple might launch me into a series of -reveries and terrors which would lead me into difficulty. I have -received your stern instructions and feel that I no longer belong to -myself. Alas! yes, I own that I will often suffer from the duty I have -imposed on myself; for I bitterly regret, even now, that I was forced to -tell Frederick a falsehood to save the life of a friend in danger. Let -me blush for the last time, as souls pure from all fraud do, and mourn -over the decay of the loss of my innocence. I cannot restrain this -sorrow, but I will not dwell on cowardly and useless remorse. I can be -no longer the harmless, careless girl I was. I have ceased already to be -so, since I am forced to conspire against tyrants, or inform on the -liberators of humanity. I have touched the tree of science; its fruits -are bitter, yet I will not cast them from me. Knowledge is a misfortune; -but to refuse to act is a crime, when we _know_ what is to be done." - -"Your reply is bold," said the initiator. "We are satisfied with you. -To-morrow evening we will proceed with your initiation. Prepare yourself -during the day for a new baptism, by meditation and prayer, and by -confession, even if your mind be unoccupied by all personal interests." - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII - - -At dawn, Consuelo was awakened by the sounds of the horn and the barking -of dogs. When Matteus came to bring her breakfast, he told her there had -been a great _battue_ of deer and wild boar in the forest. "More than a -hundred guests," he said, "had assembled at the castle, to participate -in this lordly amusement." Consuelo understood that a large number of -her sons, affiliated with the order, had assembled under the pretext of -the chase, in this castle, which was the principal rendezvous of the -most important of the meetings of the Invisibles. She was not a little -shocked that perhaps all these men would be witnesses of her initiation, -and asked if it could really be so interesting an affair to the order as -to attract so great a crowd of its members. She made an effort to -meditate, for the purpose of abiding by the directions of the initiator: -her attention, however, was distracted by an internal emotion, and by -vague fears, by _fanfares_, the gallop of horses, and the baying of -bloodhounds through the woods all day long. Was this _battue_ real or -imaginary? Was Albert converted so completely to all the habits of -ordinary life, as to participate in such a sport, and shed the blood of -innocent beasts? Would not Leverani leave this pleasure party, and, -taking advantage of the disorder, molest the neophyte in the privacy of -her retreat? - -Consuelo saw nothing that passed out of doors, and Leverani did not -come. Matteus, too much occupied, beyond doubt, at the castle to think -of her, brought her no dinner. Was this, as Supperville said, a fast -carefully imposed, a fast intended to weaken the mental powers of the -adept? - -Towards night, when she returned to the library, whence she had gone an -hour before to take the air, she shrank with terror at the sight of a -man, red and masked, sitting in her chair. Soon, however, she regained -her presence of mind, for she recognized the frail old man who was her -spiritual father. "My child," said he, rising and coming to meet her, -"have you nothing to say to me? Have I yet your confidence?" - -"You have, sir," said Consuelo, making him sit on the chair, and taking -a folding chair in the embrasure of the window; "I have long wished to -speak to you." - -Then she told faithfully all that had passed between her, Albert, and -the stranger, since their last interview. She concealed none of the -involuntary emotions she had experienced. - -When she was done, the old man was silent long enough to trouble and -annoy Consuelo. Persuaded by her, at last, to judge her conduct and -sentiments, he said, "Your conduct is irreproachable: what, though, can -I say of your sentiments? That sudden, insurmountable, violent affection -called love, is a consequence of the good and bad instincts which God -has permitted to penetrate or placed in our souls for our perfection or -punishment. Bad human laws--which always oppose, in all things, the will -of nature and the designs of Providence--often make an inspiration of -God a crime, and curse the sentiment he has blessed, while they sanction -infamous unions and base instincts. It is for us legislators--excepted -from common-place laws, hidden constructors of a new society--to -distinguish as much as possible legitimate and true love from a vain and -guilty passion, that we may pronounce in the name of a purer and more -generous law than that of the world, on the fate you merit. Will you be -willing to commit it to our decision? Will you grant us the power to -bind and loose?" - -"You inspire me with absolute confidence; I have told you so, and I now -repeat it." - -"Well, Consuelo, we will discuss and deliberate on this question of the -life and death of your love and that of Albert." - -"And shall I not have a right to listen to the appeal of my conscience?" - -"Yes, to enlighten us; when I have heard all, I will be your advocate. -You must, however, relieve me of the seal of the confessional." - -"What! you would not be the only confidant of my innocent sentiments, my -agonies, my sufferings?" - -"If you drew up a petition for divorce, and presented it to the -tribunal, would you have no public complaints to make? This suffering -will be spared to you. You have no complaints to make of any one? Is it -not more pleasant to avow love than hatred?" - -"Is it enough to feel a new passion, to have the right to abjure an old -one?" - -"You did not love Albert." - -"It seems I did not: yet, I would not swear so." - -"You would have no doubt, had you loved him. Besides, the question you -ask carries a reply in itself. The new love, from the necessity of -things, excludes the old." - -"Do not decide too quickly on that, my father," said Consuelo, with a -sad smile. "Although I love Albert differently from the other, I do not -love him less than I used to do; who knows if I do not love him more? I -feel ready to sacrifice this unknown man to him, though the thought of -the latter deprives me of sleep, and makes my heart beat at the very -moment I speak to you." - -"Is it not the pride of duty, rather a self-devotion than love for -Albert, which makes you thus prefer him?" - -"I do not think so." - -"Are you sure? Remember, here you are far from the world, sheltered from -its opinions, and protected from its laws. Should we give you a new rule -of life and new ideas of duty, would you persist in preferring the -happiness of a man you do not love to one whom you do?" - -"Have I ever told you that I do not love Albert?" said Consuelo, -eagerly. - -"I can answer this question only by another, my daughter--can two loves -exist at once?" - -"Yes; two different loves. One may love a brother and a husband." - -"Yet not a husband and a lover. The rights of a brother and lover are -different. Those of a husband and lover are identical; unless, indeed, -the husband consent to become a brother. In that case, the law of -marriage would be violated in its most mysterious, intimate, and sacred -relation. It would be a divorce, except that it would not be public. -Reply to me, Consuelo: I am an old man, on the brink of the tomb, and -you are a child. I am here as your parent and confessor. I cannot offend -your modesty by this delicate question, to which I hope you will reply -boldly. In the enthusiastic friendship which Albert inspired, was there -not always a secret and insurmountable terror at the idea of his -caresses?" - -"There was," said Consuelo, with a blush. "Usually this idea was not -mingled with that of his love, to which it seemed strange: when it did -arise, however, a deathly chill passed through my veins." - -"And the breath of the man you call Leverani inspired you with new -life?" - -"That, too, is true. Should not such instincts be stifled by our will?" - -"Why? Has God suggested them for nothing? Has he authorised you to -abjure your sex, and to pronounce in marriage either the vestal vow or -the more degrading asseveration of slavery. The passiveness of slavery -has something like the coldness and degradation of prostitution. Did God -intend any being should be so degraded? Woe to the children sprung from -such unions! God inflicts some disgrace on them; their organization is -either incomplete, or they are delirious or stupid. They do not belong -altogether to humanity, not having been begotten according to that law -of humanity which requires reciprocity of ardor and a community of -feeling between man and woman. Where that reciprocity is not, there is -no equality; where equality is crushed, there is no real union. Be sure, -then, that God, far from commanding your sex to make such sacrifices, -forbids and refuses them the right to make them. Such a suicide is base, -and far more cowardly than the renunciation of life. The vow of -continence is inhuman and anti-social, but continence with love is -monstrous. Deflect, Consuelo, and if you persist in thus annihilating -yourself, think on the part you assign your husband, should he adopt it -without understanding your submission. Unless he be deceived, I can -assure you he will never receive you: deceived, however, by your -devotion, intoxicated by your generosity, would he not seem to you -either strangely selfish or egotistical? Would you not degrade him in -your eyes, as you really would in the presence of God, by thus ensnaring -his candor and making it almost impossible for him not to succumb? Where -would his grandeur and delicacy be, did he not read the pallor of your -lips and the tears in your eyes? Can you flatter yourself that hatred -would not enter your heart in spite of yourself, mingled with shame and -regret at not having been understood or comprehended? No: woman, you -have no right to deceive the love in your bosom; you would rather have a -right to suppress it. Whatever cynics and philosophers say in relation -to the passive condition of the feminine sex in the order of nature, -what always will distinguish man from brutes, will be discernment in -love and the right to choose. Vanity and cupidity makes the majority of -marriages _sworn prostitution_, as the old Lollards called it. Devotion -and generosity alone can guide the heart to such results. Virgin, it has -been my duty to instruct you in delicate matters, which the purity of -your life prevented you from foreseeing or analysing. When a mother -marries her daughter, she reveals to her a portion of what she has -hitherto concealed, with more or less prudence and wisdom. You had no -mother when you pronounced, with an enthusiasm which was rather -fanatical than human, an oath to belong to a man whom you loved in an -incomplete manner. A mother--given you to-day to assist and enlighten -you in your new relations at the hour of the divorce or definitive -sanction of this strange marriage--this mother, Consuelo, is myself; for -I am not a man but a woman." - -"You a woman!" said Consuelo, looking with surprise at the thin and -blue, but delicate and really feminine hand which during this discourse -had taken possession of hers. - -"This pale and broken old man," said the strange confessor, "this -suffering old being (whose stifled voice no longer indicated her sex) is -a woman overpowered by grief, disease, and anxiety rather than by age. -I am not more than sixty, Consuelo, though in this dress, which I wear -only as an Invisible, I seem an ill-tempered octogenarian. In other -particulars, as in this, I am but a ruin; yet I was a tall, -healthy-looking, beautiful and an imposing woman. At thirty I was -already bent, and trembling as you see me. Would you know, my child, the -cause of this decay? It was a misfortune, from which I wish to preserve -you--an incomplete love, an unfortunate attachment, a terrible effort of -courage and resignation, which for ten years bound me to a man I -esteemed, but could not love. A man would not have been able to tell you -what are the sacred rights and true duties of a woman in love. They made -their laws and ideas without consulting us. I have, however, often -enlightened the minds of my associates in this particular, and they have -had the courage and nerve to hear me. Believe me, I was aware if they -did not place themselves in direct contact with you, they would not have -the key to your heart, and would perhaps condemn you to complete -degradation, to endless suffering, whilst your virtue looked for -happiness. Now, open your heart to me, Consuelo. Do you love Leverani?" - -"Alas! I love him. The fact is but too true," said Consuelo, placing the -hand of the mysterious sybil on her lip. "His presence terrifies me more -than Albert's did. This terror, however, is mixed with strange -pleasures. His arms are a magnet which attracts me to him; and when his -lips press my brow, I am transported to another world, where I live and -breathe differently from here." - -"Well, Consuelo, you must love this man, and forget Albert. Now I -pronounce the divorce: it is my duty and my right to do so." - -"Whatsoever you may say, I cannot submit to this sentence until I have -seen Albert--until he has spoken to and renounced me without -regret--until he relieves me from my promise without contempt." - -"Either you do not know Albert, or you fear him. I know him, and have a -stronger claim on him than on yourself, and can speak in his name. We -are alone, Consuelo, and I can open my heart to you, that not being -forbidden. Although I belong to the supreme council of the Invisibles, -their nearest disciples shall never know me. My situation and yours are, -however, peculiar. Look at my withered face, and see if my features are -not familiar to you." - -As she spoke the sibyl took off her mask and false hair, and revealed to -Consuelo a female head, old and marked with suffering, it is true, but -with incomparable beauty of outline, and a sublime expression of -goodness, sadness, and power. These three so different habits of mind, -and which are rarely united in the same person, were marked on the broad -brow, in the maternal smile, the profound glance of the sibyl. The shape -of her head and the lower part of her face announced great natural -power, but the ravages of disease were too visible, and a kind of -nervousness made her head tremble in a manner that recalled a dying -Niobe, or rather Mary at the foot of the cross. Grey hair, fine and -glossy as floss silk, was parted across her brow, and, bound in small -folds around her temple, strangely completed her noble and striking -appearance. At this epoch all women wore powder, with their curls -gathered up behind, exhibiting their full foreheads. The sibyl had her -hair braided in a less careful manner, to facilitate her disguise, not -being aware that she adopted the one most in harmony with the cast and -expression of her face. Consuelo looked for a long time at her with -respect and admiration. At length, however, under the influence of great -surprise, she cried out, seizing the sibyl's hands-- - -"My God! How much you resemble him!" - -"Yes, I do resemble Albert; or, rather, he resembles me very much," -replied she. "Have you never seen my portrait?" - -Seeing Consuelo make an effort of memory, she said, to assist her-- - -"A portrait which was as much like me as it is possible for art to -resemble nature, and of which I am now a mere shadow. A full portrait of -a woman in young, fresh, and brilliant beauty, with a corsage of gold -brocade covered with flowers and gems, a purple cloak, and black hair -with knots of pearls and ribbons to keep the tresses from the shoulders. -Thus was I dressed forty years ago on my wedding-day. I was beautiful, -but could not long remain so, for death had made my heart its own." - -"The portrait of which you speak," said Consuelo, "is at the Giants' -Castle, in Albert's room. It is the portrait of his mother, whom he did -not remember distinctly, but whom he yet adored, and in his ecstasies -fancied he yet saw and heard. Can, you be a near relation to the noble -Wanda, of Prachalitz, and consequently----" - -"I _am_ Wanda of Prachalitz!" said the sibyl regaining something of the -firmness of her voice and attitude. "I am Albert's mother! I am the -widow of Christian of Rudolstadt--the descendant of John Ziska de -_Calice_, and the mother-in-law of Consuelo! I wish to be merely her -adoptive mother, for she does not love Albert, and he must not be happy -at the expense of his wife." - -"His mother! His mother!" said Consuelo, falling at Wanda's knees. "Are -you not a spectre? Were you not mourned for at the Giants' Castle as if -you were dead?" - -"Twenty years ago, Wanda of Prachalitz, Countess of Rudolstadt, was -buried in the chapel of the Giants' Castle, beneath the pavement; and -Albert, subject to similar cataleptic crises, was attacked by the same -disease, and buried there last year, a victim of the same mistake. The -son would never have left this frightful tomb, if the mother, attentive -to the dangers which menaced him, had not watched his agony unseen, and -taken care to disinter him. His mother saved him, full of life, from the -worms of the sepulchre, to which he had been abandoned. His mother -wrested him from the yoke of the world in which he had lived too long, -and in which he could not exist, to bear him to an impenetrable asylum -in which he has recovered, if not the health of his body, at least that -of his soul. This is a strange story, Consuelo, which you must hear, in -order to understand, concerning Albert, his strange life, his pretended -death, and his wonderful resurrection! The Invisibles will not initiate -you until midnight. Listen to me, and may the emotions arising from this -strange story prepare you for those excitements which yet await you!" - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII - - -"Rich, young, and of illustrious birth, I was married at the age of -twenty to Count Christian, who was already more than forty. He might -have been my father, and inspired me with affection and respect, but not -with love. I had been brought up in ignorance of what that sentiment is -to a woman. My parents were austere Lutherans, but were obliged to -practise the obligations of their faith as obscurely as possible. Their -habits and ideas were excessively rigid, and had great power on the -mind. Their hatred of the stranger, their mental revolt against the -religious and political tyranny of Austria, their fanatical attachment -to the old liberties of the country, had passed into my mind, and these -passions sufficed my youth. I suspected the existence of no other, and -my mother, who had never known aught but duty, would have fancied she -committed a crime, had she suffered me to have the least presentiment of -any other. The Emperor Charles, father of Maria Theresa, long persecuted -my family on account of heresy, and placed our fortune, our liberty, and -almost our life, up to the highest bidder. I might _ransom_ my parents -by marrying a Catholic noble devoted to the empire, and I sacrificed -myself with a kind of enthusiastic pride. Among those pointed out to me -I chose Count Christian, because his mild, conciliatory, and apparently -meek character made me entertain a hope of secretly converting him to -the ideas of my family. Gladly did my parents receive and bless me for -my devotion. Misfortune, though we may understand its extent, and be -aware of its injustice, is not a means by which the soul can be -developed. I very soon saw that the wise and calm Christian hid, under -his benevolent mildness, an invincible obstinacy, and a deep attachment -to the customs of his class and the prejudices of those around him--a -kind of scornful hatred of all opposition to established ideas. His -sister, Wenceslawa--tender, vigilant, generous but yet most alive to -petty religious bigotry and pride of rank--was at once a pleasant and -disagreeable companion for me. She was kindly but overpoweringly -tyrannical to me; and her friendship, though devoted, was irritating to -the last degree. I deeply suffered the want of sympathetic friends, the -absence of the intellectual beings I could love. A contact with my -companions destroyed me, and the atmosphere I breathed in seemed to dry -up my heart. You know the story of the youth of Albert--his repressed -enthusiasm, his misunderstood religion, and his evangelical ideas -treated as heretical and mad. My life was the prelude to his; and you -have sometimes at the Giants' Castle heard exclamations of terror and -grief at the unfortunate resemblance, both in a moral and physical point -of view, of the mother and son. - -"The absence of love was the greatest evil of my life, and from it all -others are derived. I loved Christian with deep friendship, but nothing -could inspire me with enthusiasm, and an enthusiastic affection would -have been necessary to repress the profound alienation of our natures. -The stern and religious education I had received would not permit me to -separate intelligence from love. I devoured myself. My health gave way; -a strange excitement took possession of my nervous system. I had -hallucinations and ecstasies called attacks of madness, which were -carefully concealed instead of being cured. They sought to amuse and -took me into society, as if balls, spectacles, and fetes, could replace -sympathy, love, and confidence. At Vienna I became so ill that I was -brought back to the Giants' Castle. I preferred this sad abode, the -exorcisms of the chaplain, and the cruel friendship of the Canoness -Wenceslawa, to the court of our tyrants. - -"The death of my five children, one after the other, inflicted the last -blow on me. It appeared that heaven had cursed my marriage. I longed -anxiously for death, and expected nothing from life. I strove not to -love Albert, my youngest son, being persuaded that he too was condemned -like the others, and that my care would not suffice to save him. - -"One final misfortune completely extinguished my faculties. I loved and -was loved, and the austerity of my religion forced me to stifle even the -self-knowledge of this terrible feeling. The medical man who attended me -in my frequent and painful crises, was apparently not younger and not so -handsome as Christian. I was not moved by the graces of his person, but -by the profound sympathy of our souls, the conformity of ideas, or -rather religious and philosophical instincts, and an incredible -similarity of character. Marcus, I can mention only his first name, had -the same energy, the same activity, the same patriotism, I had. Of him, -as well as of me, might be said what Shakespeare makes Brutus assert. He -was not one of those who hear injustice with an unmoved brow. The misery -and degradation of the poor, serfdom, despotic laws and monstrous -abuses, all the impious rights of conquest aroused tempests of -indignation in his mind. What torrents of tears have we shed together -over the wrongs of our country and of the human race, every where -oppressed and deceived--in one place degraded by ignorance, in another -decimated by avarice, and in a third, violated and degraded by the -ravages of war--vile and unfortunate over all the world! Marcus, who was -better informed than I was, conceived the idea of a remedy for all these -evils, and often spoke to me of a strange and mysterious plan to -organise an universal conspiracy against despotism and intolerance. I -listened to his plans as mere things of romance. I hoped for nothing -more. I was too ill and too utterly crushed to entertain hopes of the -future. He loved me ardently; I saw and felt it. I partook of his -passion, and yet during five years of apparent friendship and chaste -intimacy, we never spoke of the lamentable secret that united us. He did -not usually live in the Boehmer-wald--at least he often left it on -pretence of visiting patients who were at a distance, but in fact to -organise that conspiracy of which he constantly spoke to me, though -without convincing me that it would be successful. As often as I saw -him, I felt myself more excited by his genius, his courage and -perseverance. Whenever he returned, he found me more debilitated, more -completely a prey to an internal fire, and more devasted by physical -suffering. - -"During one of his absences I had terrible convulsions, to which the -ignorant and vain Doctor Wetzelius, whom you know, and who attended me -during my absence, gave the name of _malignant fever._ After these -crises, I fell into so complete a state of _annihilation_ that it was -taken for death. My pulse ceased to beat, my respiration was not -perceptible. Yet I retained my consciousness. I heard the prayers of the -chaplain, and the lamentations of the family. I heard the agonising cry -of poor Albert, my only child, and could not move. I could not even see -him. My eyes had been closed, and it was impossible for me to open them. -I asked myself if this could be death, and if the soul, having lost all -means of action on the body in death, preserved a recollection of -earthly sorrows, and was aware of the terrors of the tomb. I heard -terrible things around my death-bed: the chaplain, seeking to calm the -deep and sincere grief of the canoness, told her God should be thanked -for all things, and it was a blessing to any husband to be freed from my -continual agony, and the storms of a guilty mind. He did not use terms -quite so harsh, but that was the sense. I heard him afterwards seek to -console Christian with the same arguments, yet more softened in -expression, but to me the sense was identical and cruel. I heard -distinctly, I understood thoroughly. It was, they thought, God's will -that I should not bring up my child, and that in his youth he would be -removed from contact with the poison of heresy. Thus they talked to my -husband when he wept and clasped Albert to his bosom, saying--'Poor -child! what will become of you without your mother?' The chaplain's -reply was, 'You will bring him up in a godly manner.' - -"Finally, after three days of mute and silent despair, I was borne to -the tomb, without having the power of motion, yet without for an instant -having any doubt of the terrible death about to be inflicted on me. I -was covered with diamonds--I was dressed in my wedding robe--the -magnificent costume you saw in my portrait. A chaplet of flowers was -placed on my head, a gold crucifix on my bosom, and I was placed in a -white marble cenotaph, cut in the pavement of the chapel. I felt neither -cold, nor the want of air. I existed in the mind alone. - -"An hour after, Marcus came. His consternation deprived him of all -thought; he prostrated himself on my grave, and they had to tear him -away. At night he returned, bringing a lever and chisel with him. A -strange suspicion had passed through his mind. He knew my lethargic -crises. He had never seen them so long or so complete. From a few brief -attacks which he had observed, he was satisfied of the possibility of a -terrible error. He had no confidence in the science of Wetzelius. I -heard him walking above my head, and I knew his step. The noise of the -lever, as it lifted up the pavement, made my heart quiver, but I could -not utter a cry, or make a sound. When he lifted up the veil which -covered my face, I was so exhausted by the efforts I made to call him, -that I seemed dead forever. He hesitated for a long time; he examined my -extinct breath, my heart, and my icy hands. I had all the rigidity of a -corpse. I heard him murmur, in an agonising tone--'All, then, is over! -No hope! Dead--dead! Oh, Wanda!' Again there was a terrible silence. Had -he fainted? Did he abandon me, forgetting, in the tremor inspired by the -sight of one he loved, to shut up my sepulchre? - -"Marcus, while in moody meditation, formed a scheme melancholy as his -grief, and strange as his character. He wished to wrest my body from the -outrage of destruction. He wished to bear it away secretly, to embalm -and enclose it in a metallic case, keeping it ever with him. He asked -himself if he would be bold enough to do so, and suddenly, in a kind of -fanatic transport, exclaimed, that he would. He took me in his arms, -and, without knowing if his strength would enable him to bear me to his -house, which was more than a mile distant, he laid me down on the -pavement, and with the terrible calmness which is often found in persons -who are delirious, replaced the stones. Then he wrapped me up, covered -me entirely with his cloak, and left the castle, which then was not shut -so carefully as it now is, because at that time the bands of -malefactors, made desperate by war, had not shown themselves in the -environs. I was become so thin, that he had not a very heavy burden. -Marcus crossed the woods, and chose the least frequented paths. He twice -placed me on the rocks, being overcome with grief and terror, rather -than with fatigue. He has told me since, more than once, that he was -horrified at this violation of a grave, and that he was tempted to carry -me back. At last he reached his home, going noiselessly into his garden, -and put me, unseen by any one, into an isolated building, which was his -study. There the joy of feeling myself saved, the first feeling of -pleasure I had experienced in ten years, loosened my tongue, and I was -able to make a faint exclamation. - -"A new emotion violently succeeded the depression. I was suddenly gifted -with excessive powers, and uttered cries and groans. The servant and -gardener of Marcus came, thinking that he was being murdered. He had the -presence of mind to meet them, saying that a lady had come to his house, -to give birth secretly to a child, and that he would kill any one who -saw her, and discharge any one who was so unfortunate as to mention the -circumstance. This feint succeeded. I was dangerously ill in the study -for three days. Marcus, who was shut up with me, attended to me with a -zeal and intelligence which were worthy of his will. When I was cured, -and could collect my ideas, I threw myself in alarm into his arms, -remembering only that we must separate. 'Oh, Marcus!' said I, 'why did -you not suffer me to die here in your arms? If you love me, kill me, for -to return to my family is worse than death!' - -"'Madame,' said he firmly, 'I have sworn before God that you never shall -return there. You belong to me alone. You will not leave me; if so, it -will cause my death.' This terrible resolution at once terrified and -charmed me. I was too much enfeebled to be able to comprehend its -meaning for a long time. I listened to him, with the timid submission -and compliance of a child. I suffered him to cure and attend to me, -becoming gradually used to the idea of never returning to Riesenberg, -and never contradicting the belief of my death. To convince me, Marcus -made use of a lofty eloquence, he told me, with such a husband I could -not live, and had no right to undergo certain death. He swore that he -had the means of hiding me for a long time, and even forever, from all -who would know me. He promised to watch over my son, and to enable me to -see him in secret. He gave me, even, certain assurances of these strange -possibilities, and I suffered myself to be convinced. I lived with him, -and was no longer the Countess of Rudolstadt. - -"One night, just as we were about to part, they came for Marcus, saying -that Albert was dangerously ill. Maternal love, which misfortune seemed -to have suppressed, awoke in my bosom. I wished to go to Riesenberg with -Marcus, and no human power could dissuade me from it. I went in his -carriage, and in a long veil waited anxiously at some distance from the -house, while he went to see my son, and promised me an account of his -state. He soon returned, and assured me that my child was in no danger, -and wished me to go to his house, to enable him to pass the night with -Albert. I could not do so. I wished to wait for him, hidden behind the -walls of the castle, while he returned to watch my son. Scarcely was I -alone, than a thousand troubles devoured my heart. I fancied that Marcus -concealed Albert's true situation from me, and perhaps that he would die -without receiving my last farewell. Under the influence of this unhappy -persuasion, I rushed into the portico of the castle. A servant I met in -the court let his light fall, and fled when he saw me. My veil hid my -face, but the apparition of a woman at midnight was sufficient to awake -the superstitious fears of these credulous servants. No one suspected -that I was the shadow of the unfortunate and impious Countess Wanda. An -unexpected chance enabled me to reach the room of my son without meeting -any one, and it happened that Wenceslawa had just left to procure some -remedy Marcus had ordered. My husband, as was his wont, had gone to the -oratory to pray, instead of trying to avert the danger. I took my child -in my arms; I pressed him to my bosom. He was not afraid of me, for he -had not understood what was meant by my death. At that moment the -chaplain appeared at the door. Marcus thought that all was lost. With a -rare presence of mind, however, he stood without moving, and appeared -not to see me. The chaplain pronounced, in a broken voice, a few words -of an exorcism, and fell half dead, after having made a single step -towards me. I then made up my mind to fly through another door, and in -the dark reached the place where Marcus had left me. I was reassured; I -had seen Albert restored, and the heat of fever was no longer on his -lips. The fainting and terror of the chaplain were attributed to a -vision. He maintained that he had seen me with Marcus, clasping my child -to my bosom. Marcus had seen no one. Albert had gone to sleep. On the -next day he asked for me, and on the following nights, satisfied that I -did not sleep the eternal slumber, as they had attempted to persuade -him, he fancied that he saw me yet, and called me again and again. -Thenceforth, throughout his whole youth, Albert was closely watched, and -the superstitious family of Riesenberg made many prayers to conjure the -unfortunate assiduities of my phantom around his cradle. - -"Marcus took me back before day. We postponed our departure for a week, -and when the health of my son was completely established we left -Bohemia. Always concealed in my places of abode, always veiled in my -journeys, bearing a fictitious name, and for a long time having no other -confidant than Marcus, I passed many years with him in a foreign -country. He maintained a constant correspondence with a friend, who kept -him informed of all that passed at Riesenberg, and who gave him ample -details of the health, character, and education of my son. The -deplorable condition of my health was a full excuse for my living in -retirement and seeing no one. I passed for the sister of Marcus, and -lived long in Italy, in an isolated villa, while during a portion of the -time Marcus travelled and toiled for the accomplishment of his vast -plans. - -"I was not Marcus's mistress: I remained under the influence of my -scruples, and I needed ten years' meditation to conceive the right of a -human being to repudiate the yoke of laws, without pity and without -intelligence, such as rule human society. Being thought dead, and being -unwilling to endanger the liberty I had so dearly purchased, I could not -invoke any civil or religious power to break my marriage with Christian, -and I would not have been willing to arouse again his sorrow, which had -long been lulled to sleep. He was not aware how unhappy I had been with -him; he thought I had gone for my own happiness, for the peace of my -family, and for the health of my son, into the deep and never-ending -repose of the tomb. Thus situated, I looked on myself as sentenced to -eternal fidelity to him. At a later day, when by the care of Marcus the -disciples of the new faith were reunited and constituted secretly into a -religious church, when I had so changed my opinions as to accept the new -communion, and had so far modified my ideas as to be able to enter this -new church which had the power to pronounce my divorce and consecrate my -union, it was too late. Marcus, wearied by my obstinacy, had felt the -necessity of another love, to which I had attempted to persuade him. He -had married, and I was the friend of his wife; yet he was not happy. -This woman had not mind enough, nor a sufficient intelligence, to -satisfy such a man as Marcus. He had been unable to make her comprehend -his plans or to initiate her in his schemes. She died, after some years, -without having guessed that Marcus had always loved me. I nursed her on -her death-bed; I closed her eyes without having any reproach to make -against her, without rejoicing at the disappearance of this obstacle to -my long and cruel passion. Youth was gone; I was crushed; my life was -too sad, and had been too austere, to change it when age had begun to -whiten my hairs. I at last began to enter the calm of old age, and I -felt deeply all that is august and holy in this phase of female life. -Yes; our old age, like our whole life, when we understand it, is much -more serious than that of men. _They_ may forget the course of -years--they may love and become parents at a more advanced period than -we can, for nature prescribes a term after which there seems to be -something monstrous and impious in the idea of seeking to awaken love, -and infringing, by ridiculous delirium, on the brilliant privileges of -the generation which already succeeds and effaces us. The lessons and -examples which it also expects from us at this solemn time, ask for a -life of contemplation and meditation which the agitation of love would -disturb without any benefit. Youth can inspire itself with its own -ardor, and find important revelations. Mature age has no commerce with -God, other than in the calm serenity which is granted to it as a final -benefit. God himself aids it gently, and by an irresistible -transformation, to enter into this path. He takes care to appease our -passions, and to change them into peaceable friendship. He deprives us -of the prestige of beauty, also removing all dangerous temptations from -us. Nothing, then, is so easy as to grow old, whatever we may say and -think of those women of diseased mind, whom we see float through the -world in a kind of obstinate madness, to conceal from each other and -from themselves the decay of their charms and the close of their mission -_as women._ Yes; age deprives us of our sex, and excuses us from the -terrible labors of maternity, and we will not recognise that this moment -exalts to a kind of angelic state. You, however, my dear child, are far -from this terrible yet desirable term, as the ship is from the port -after a tempest, so that all my reflections are lost on you. Let them -serve, therefore, merely to enable you to comprehend my history. I -remained, what I had always been, the sister of Marcus, and the -repressed emotions, the subdued wishes which had tortured my youth, -gave, at least, to the friendship of matured age a character of force -and enthusiastic confidence not to be met with in vulgar friendships. - -"As yet I have told you nothing of the mental cares and the serious -occupations which during the last fifteen years kept us from being -absorbed by our suffering, and which since then have given us no reason -to regret them. You know their nature, their object, and result; all -that was explained to you last night. You will to-night learn much from -the Invisibles. I can only tell you that Marcus sits among them, and -that he himself formed their secret council with the aid of a virtuous -prince, the whole of whose fortune is devoted to the grand mysterious -enterprise with which you are already acquainted. To it I also have -consecrated all my power for fifteen years. After an absence of twelve -years, I was too much changed and too entirely forgotten not to be able -to return to Germany. The strange life required by certain duties of our -order also favored my incognito. To me was confided, not the absolute -propagandism which is better suited to your brilliant life, but such -secret missions as befitted my prudence. I have made long journeys, of -which I will tell you by-and-bye. Since then I have lived here totally -unknown, performing the apparently insignificant duties of -superintending a portion of the prince's household, while in fact I was -devoting myself to our secret task, maintaining in the name of the -council a vast correspondence with our most important associates, -receiving them here, and often with Marcus alone, when the other supreme -chiefs are absent, exercising a marked influence on those of their -decisions which appeared to appeal to the delicate views and the -particular qualities of the female mind. Apart from the philosophical -questions which exist and exert an influence here, and in relation to -which I have by the maturity of my mind taken an active part, there are -often matters of sentiment to be discussed and decided. You may fancy, -from your temptations elsewhere, circumstances often occur where -individual passions--love, hatred, and jealousy--come into contact. By -means of my son, and even in person, though under disguises not unusual -to women in courts, as a witch or _illuminatus_, I have had much to do -with the Princess Amelia, with the interesting and unfortunate Princess -of Culmbach, and with the young Margravine of Bareith, Frederick's -sister. Women must be won rather by the heart than by the mind. I have -toiled nobly, I must say, to attach them to us, and I have succeeded. -This phase of my life, however, I do not wish to speak of to you. In -your future enterprises you will find traces of me, and will continue -what I have begun. I wish to speak to you of Albert, and to tell you all -that part of his existence of which you are ignorant. Attend to me for a -brief time. You will understand how, in the terrible and strange life I -have led, I became alive to tender emotions and maternal joys." - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV - - -"Minutely informed of all that had passed at the Giants' Castle, I had -no sooner resolved to make Albert travel, and determined on the road -that he should adopt, than I hurried to place myself on his route. This -was the epoch of the travels of which I spoke to you just now, and -Marcus accompanied me in many of them. The governor and servants who -were with him had never known me, and I was not afraid to see them. So -anxious was I to meet my son, that I had much difficulty to restrain -myself as I travelled behind him, for some hours, until he reached -Venice, where he was to make his first halt. I was resolved, though, not -to show myself to him without a kind of mysterious solemnity, for my -object was not only the gratification of the maternal instinct which -impelled me to his arms, but a more serious purpose, really a mother's -duty. I wished to wrest Albert from the narrow superstitions in which it -had been sought to enwrap him. I wished to take possession of his -imagination, of his confidence, of his mind, and whole soul. I thought -him a fervent Catholic, and at that time he was, in appearance. He -practised regularly all the external obligations of the Roman creed. The -persons who had informed Albert of these details, were ignorant of what -passed in my son's heart. His father and aunt were scarcely better -informed. They found nothing but a savage strictness to shelter, and -blamed merely his too strict and rigid manner of interpreting the bible. -They did not understand that in his rigid logic and loyal candor my -noble child, devoted to the practice of true _Christianity_, had already -become a passionate and incorrigible heretic. I was rather afraid of the -Jesuit tutor who was with him. I was afraid that I could not approach -him without being observed and annoyed by a fanatical Argus. I soon -learned that the base Abbé ***** did not even attend to his health, and -that Albert, neglected by the valets, of whom he was unwilling to -require anything, lived almost alone and uncontrolled in the cities he -had visited. I observed his motions with great anxiety. Lodging at -Venice in the same hotel with him, I frequently met him, alone and -musing, on the stairway, in the galleries, and on _quais._ Ah! you -cannot imagine how my heart beat at his approach--how my bosom heaved, -and what torrents of tears escaped from my terrified yet delighted eyes! -To me he seemed so handsome, so noble, and alas! so sad, for he was all -on earth that I was permitted to love. I followed him with precaution. -Night came, and he entered the church of Saints John and Paul, an -austere basilica filled with tombs, and with which you are doubtless -acquainted. Albert knelt in a corner. I glided near him and placed -myself behind a tomb. The church was deserted, and the darkness became -every moment more intense. Albert was motionless as a statue. He seemed -rather to be enwrapped in reverie than prayer. The lamp of the sanctuary -but feebly lighted up his features. He was pale and I was terrified. His -fixed eye, his half-open lips, an indescribable air of desperation in -his features, crushed my heart. I trembled like the oscillating flame of -a lamp. It seemed to me, if I revealed myself to him then, he would fall -dead. I remembered what Marcus had said to me of his nervous -susceptibility, and of the danger to such organizations of abrupt -emotions. I left, to avoid yielding to my love. I went to wait for him -under the portico. I had put over my dress, which was itself simple and -dark, a brown cloak, the hood of which concealed my face, and made me -resemble a native of the country. When he came out I involuntarily went -towards him; thinking me a beggar, he took a piece, of gold from his -pocket and handed it to me. Oh! with what pride and gratitude did I -receive this gold. Look! Consuelo: it is a Venetian sequin, and I always -wear it in my bosom like a precious jewel or relic. It has never left me -since the day the hand of my child sanctified it. I could not repress my -transport. I seized his hand and bore it to my lips. He withdrew in -terror, for it was bedewed with my tears. 'What are you about, woman?' -said he, in a voice the pure and deep tone of which echoed in the very -bottom of my heart. 'Why thank me for so small a gift? Doubtless you are -very unfortunate, and I have given you very little. How much will -relieve you from suffering permanently? Speak! I wish to console you; I -hope I can.' He then, without looking at it, gave me all the gold he had -in his hands. - -"'You have given me enough, young man,' said I; 'I am satisfied.' - -"'Why, then, do you weep?' said he, observing the sobs which stifled my -voice. 'Do you suffer from a sorrow to which riches cannot administer?' - -"'No,' said I; 'but from gratification and joy.' - -"'Joy!--are these, then, tears of joy? and can they be had for a piece -of gold? Oh! human misery! Woman, take all, I beg you, but do not weep -for joy! Think of your fellows, so poor, so numerous, so degraded and -miserable, and remember, I cannot aid them all.' - -"He left me with a sigh. I did not dare to follow, for fear of betraying -myself. He had left his gold on the pavement, where he let it fall in -his hurry to get rid of me. I picked it up, and placed it in the -poor-box, to fulfil his noble charity. On the next day I saw him again, -and having watched him go into St. Mark's, determined to be more calm -and resolved. We were again alone, in the half obscurity of the church. -He mused long, and all at once I heard him murmur in a deep tone as he -arose-- - -"'O, Christ! they crucify thee every day of their lives!' - -"'Yes,' said I, reading half of his thoughts, 'the Pharisees and the -doctors of the laws.' - -"He trembled and was silent for a moment. He then said, in a low tone, -and without turning-- - -"'My mother's voice again!' - -"Consuelo, I was near fainting, when I saw that Albert yet maintained in -his heart the instinct of filial divination. The fear, however, of -troubling his reason, which was already so excited, made me pause again. -I went to the porch to wait for him, but when I saw him pass I did not -approach him. He perceived me, however, and shrunk back with a movement -of terror. - -"'Signora,' said he, with hesitation, 'why do you beg to-day? Is it, -then, really a profession, as the pitiless rich say? Have you no family? -Can you be of use to no one, instead of wandering through the churches -at night like a spectre? What I gave yesterday would certainly have kept -you from want to-day. Would you take possession of what belongs to your -brethren?' - -"'I do not beg,' I said; 'I placed your alms in the poor-box, with the -exception of one sequin I kept for love of you.' - -"'Who, then, are you?' said he, taking hold of my arm. 'Your voice -reaches the very depth of my heart. It seems to me that I know you. Show -me your face. But no, I do not wish to see it. It terrifies me!' - -"'Oh, Albert!' said I, forgetting myself and all prudence; 'so you also -fear me.' - -"He trembled from head to foot, and murmured with an expression of -terror and religious respect-- - -"'Yes--it is my mother! My mother's voice!' - -"'I do not know your mother,' said I, terrified at my imprudence. 'I -know your name only because it is so familiar to every pauper. Why do I -terrify you? Is your mother dead?' - -"'They say so; but I know better,' said he. 'She lives.' - -"'Where?' - -"'In my heart!--in my mind!--continually and eternally! I have dreamed -of her voice and features a hundred--a thousand times!' - -"I was terrified and charmed at his mysterious love of me. I saw in him, -however, unmistakable signs of craziness. To soothe him I overcame my -emotion. - -"'Albert,' I said, 'I knew your mother. I was her friend. I was -requested by her to speak to you some day, when you were old enough to -comprehend what I had to say. I am not what I appear to be. I followed -you yesterday and also to-day for the purpose only of speaking to you. -Listen to me, therefore, calmly, and do not suffer yourself to be -disturbed by vain fancies. Will you go with me beneath those colonades, -which now are deserted, and talk with me? Are you sufficiently calm and -collected for that?' - -"'Were you the friend of my mother?' said he. 'Were you requested to -speak to me? Ah! yes! Speak!--speak! You see I was not mistaken. An -inward voice informed me of all. I saw that something of her existed in -you. No--I am not superstitious. I am not mad. My heart is only much -more alive and accessible than others, in relation to certain things -which they neither understand nor comprehend. This you would know, had -you known my mother. Speak to me, then, of her. Speak to me, with her -mind--with her intellect.' - -"Having thus but very imperfectly succeeded in soothing his emotion, I -took him beneath the arcades, and questioned him about his childhood, -his recollections, the principles which had been instilled in him, and -the ideas he had formed of his mother's opinions. The questions I put -satisfied him that I was well informed of his family affairs, and -capable of understanding the impulses of his heart. How enthusiastically -proud was I, my daughter, to see the deep and ardent love Albert -entertained for me, the faith he had in my piety and virtue, and his -horror of the _pious_ hatred the Catholics of Riesenberg had for my -memory! I rejoiced in the purity of his soul, the grandeur of his -religious and patriotic sentiment, and in the many sublime ideas which a -Catholic education had not been able to stifle in him. How great, -however, was the grief, the precocious and incurable sadness which -already crushed his young heart. The same kind of sorrows, that had so -soon crushed him has broken my heart. Albert fancied himself a Catholic. -He did not dare to place himself in open revolt against the Catholic -Church, and felt a necessity of believing in the established church. -Better informed and more thoughtful than his age suggested (he was only -twenty), he had reflected much on the long and sad histories of -heresies, and could not make up his mind to find fault with certain -doctrines. Forced also to think that the innovators, so libelled by -ecclesiastical historians, had gone far astray, he floated in a sea of -uncertainty, sometimes condemning revolt, and anon finding fault with -tyranny. He could decide on nothing, except that good men, in their -attempts at reform, had gone astray, and that others had sullied the -sanctuary they sought to defend. - -"It became necessary to enlighten his mind, to combat the excesses of -both armies, to teach him to embrace boldly the defence of the -innovators, while he deplored their errors--to exhort him to abandon the -party of cunning, violence, and timidity, while he recognised the -excellence of a certain mission in remote time. I had no difficulty in -enlightening him. He had already foreseen, divined, and resolved on all -before I spoke to him. His instincts had fulfilled all wished. When he -understood me, a grief more overwhelming than uncertainty took -possession of his soul. The truth was unknown in the world. The law of -God enlightened no sanctuary, no people, no caste. No school practised -Christian virtue, nor sought to elevate and demonstrate it. Protestants -as well as Catholics had abandoned the divine ways. The law of the -stronger existed everywhere, and Christ was crucified every day on -altars erected by men. This sad though interesting conversation consumed -the whole night. The clocks slowly struck the hours without Albert's -thinking of counting them. I felt alarmed at his power of intellectual -tension, as it made me aware of his great passion for strife and -capacity for sorrow. I admired the manly pride and the lacerated -expression of my noble and unfortunate child. I felt myself reproduced -in him. I fancied that I read the story of my past life, and in him -resumed the history of the long tortures of my own heart and brain. I -saw in his broad brow, which was lighted up by the moon, the useless -external and the moral beauty of my own lonely and unappreciated youth. -I wept at the same time for him and for myself. His tears were long and -painful. I did not dare to unfold to him the secrets of our conspiracy. -I feared that at first he would not understand them, and that he would -reject them as vain and idle. Uneasy at seeing him walking up and down -for so long a time, I promised to show him a place of safety, if he -would consent to wait, and prepare himself for certain revelations. I -gently excited his imagination by the hope of a new confidence, and took -him to an hotel, where we both supped. I did not give him the promised -confidence for some days, fearing an over excitement of his mental -faculties. - -"Just as he was about to quit me, it struck him to ask me who I was. 'I -cannot tell you,' said I; 'my name is assumed, and I have reasons to -conceal it. Speak of me to no one.' - -"He asked no other question, and seemed satisfied with my answer. His -delicate reserve, however, was accompanied by another sentiment, strange -as his character and sombre as his mental habits. He told me long -afterwards that he had always taken me for the soul of his mother, -appearing under a real form, with circumstances the vulgar could not -understand, and which were really supernatural. Thus, in spite of all I -could do, Albert would recognise me. He preferred rather to invent a -fantastic world than to doubt my presence, and I could not deceive the -victorious instinct of his heart. All my efforts to repress his -excitement had no other effect than to fix him in a kind of calm -delirium, which had no confidant nor opposer, not even in myself, its -object. He submitted religiously to the will of the spectre, which -forbade itself to be known or named, yet he would believe himself under -its influence. - -"From this terrible tranquillity--which Albert henceforth bore in all -the wanderings of his imagination, from the sombre and stoical courage -which made him always gaze, without growing pale, at the prodigies -begotten by his imagination--I fell, for a long time, into an unhappy -error. I was not aware of the strange idea he had formed relative to my -apparition. I thought that he looked on me as a mysterious friend of his -dead mother and of his own youth. I was amazed, it is true, at the -little curiosity he exhibited, and the small surprise he displayed at my -constant care. This blind respect, this delicate submission, this -absence of uneasiness about the realities of life, appeared so perfectly -in consonance with his retired, dreaming, and meditative character, that -I did not think proper to account for or examine into its secret causes. -While thus toiling to fortify his mind against the excess of his -enthusiasm, I aided, ignorantly, in the development of that kind of -madness which was at once so sublime and deplorable, and to which he was -so long a victim. - -"Gradually, after many conversations, of which there were neither -confidants nor witnesses, I explained to him the doctrines of which our -order is the depository and the secret diffuser. I initiated him into -our plan of general reform. At Rome, in the caverns appropriated to our -mysteries, Marcus introduced and had him admitted to the first grades of -masonry, reserving to himself the right of revealing to him the meaning -of the strange and fantastic signs, the interpretation of which is so -easily changed and adapted to the courage and intelligence of the -candidates. For six years, I accompanied my son in all his journeys, -always leaving cities a day after, and coming to them when he had fixed -himself. I took care always to reside at some distance from him, and did -not suffer either his tutor or valets to see me; he taking care also to -change them frequently, and to keep them always at a distance. I once -asked him if he was not surprised to find me everywhere? - -"'Oh, no,' said he, 'I am well aware that you will always follow me.' - -"When I sought to explain to him the motive of this confidence, he said: - -"'My mother bade you restore me to life; and you know, did you now -desert me, I would die.' - -"He always spoke in an exaggerated and inspired manner, and I too, from -talking with him, acquired the same style. Marcus often reproached me--I -likewise reproached myself--with having fed the internal flame which -consumed Albert. Marcus wished to give him more positive instruction, -and to use a more palpable logic to him; at other times, however, I was -satisfied, that but for the manner in which I counselled him, this flame -would have consumed him more rapidly and certainly. My other children -had exhibited the same disposition to enthusiasm. Their souls had been -repressed, and they had toiled to stifle them--like torches, the -brilliancy of which was dangerous. They yielded, because they had no -power to resist. But for my breath, which revived and gave air to the -sacred spark, Albert, too, had gone to join his brethren; as I, but for -Marcus, would have died without having truly lived. I also sought to -distract his soul by a constant aspiration after the ideal. I advised -him, I forced him to rigid study, and he obeyed me strictly and -conscientiously. He studied the natural sciences, the languages of the -different countries through which he travelled; he read a great deal, -cultivated the arts even, and, without any master, devoted himself to -music. All this was a mere amusement, a repose to his vast and powerful -mind. A stranger to all the intoxications of his age, opposed to the -world and all its vanities, he lived in perfect seclusion, and -obstinately resisted the tutor, persisting in refusing to enter any -saloon or be introduced at any court. With difficulty would he consent -to see, at two or three capitals, the oldest and most affectionate -friends of his father. When with them, he was grave and dignified as -possible, giving no one reason to complain; but he was intimate only -with a few adepts of our order, to whom Marcus especially introduced -him. He requested us not to ask him to enlist with the _propaganda_, -until he became aware that the gift of suasion had arisen in his heart, -and he often declared frankly that he had it not, because as yet he did -not entertain implicit faith in our means. He passed from grade to -grade, like a docile pupil, yet he examined everything with a severe -logic and scrupulous truth, reserving always as he told me, the right to -propose reforms and ameliorations to us, when he should feel -sufficiently enlightened to yield to personal inspiration. Until then, -he wished to be humble, patient, and submissive to the established forms -of our secret society. Plunged in study and meditation, he made his -tutor respect the nervousness of his character and the coldness of his -behavior. The abbé then learned to look on him as a sad pedant, and to -have as little as possible to do with him, in order to have more liberty -to participate in the intrigues of his order. Albert lived long in -France and England without him: he was often a hundred leagues from him, -and only met him when my son wished to visit another country; often they -did not travel together. At such times I could see Albert as often as I -pleased, and his devoted tenderness paid me five-fold for the care I -took of him. My health became better, as often happens to constitutions -thoroughly shaken: I became so used to sickness, that I did not even -suffer from it. Fatigue, late hours, long conversations, harassing -journeys, instead of oppressing, maintained a slow and tedious fever, -which had now become my normal state. Feeble and trembling as you see -me, there are no journeys and no fatigue that I cannot bear better than -you, in the very flower of your youth. Agitation has become my element, -and I find rest as I hurry on, precisely as professional couriers have -learned to sleep while their horses are at the gallop. - -"The experience of what a powerful and energetic mind, though in a -diseased body, can accomplish, made me have more confidence in the power -of Albert. I became used to see him sometimes weary and crushed, and -again animated and excited, as I was. Often we bore together the same -physical pain, the result of the same moral emotion. Never, perhaps, was -our intimacy more gentle and close, than when the same fever burned in -our veins, and the same excitement confounded our feeble sighs, now many -times has it seemed that we were one being! How many times have we -broken silence merely to address to each other the same words! How -often, agitated and crushed in different manners, have we, by a clasp of -the hand, communicated languor or agitation to each other! How much good -and evil have we known together! Oh, my son! my only passion! flesh of -my flesh, and bone of my bone! what tempests have we passed through, -covered by the same celestial ægis! what devastation have we escaped by -clinging to each other, and by pronouncing the same formula of safety, -love, truth, and justice! - -"We were in Poland, on the frontiers of Turkey, and Albert, having -passed through all the initiations of masonry, and the superior grades -of the society which forms the link of the chain next to our own, was -about to go to that part of Germany where we are, in order that he might -be introduced to the secret bench of the Invisibles. Count Christian -just then sent for him. This was a thunderbolt to me. My son, in spite -of all the care I had taken to keep him from forgetting my family, loved -it only as a tender recollection of the past. He did not understand the -possibility of living any longer with it. It did not enter, however, -into our minds to resist this order, dictated with cold dignity, and -with confidence in paternal authority, as it is interpreted in the -Catholic and noble families of our country. Albert prepared to leave -me--he knew not for how long a time, yet without fancying that he would -not see me shortly, and unite with Marcus the ties of our association. -Albert had a small idea of time, and still less an appreciation of the -material events of life. - -"'Do we part?' said he, when he saw me weep. 'We cannot. Often as I have -called on you from the depths of my heart, you have come. I will call -you again.' - -"'Albert--Albert--I cannot accompany you where you go now.' - -"He grew pale and clung to me like a terrified child. The time was come -to reveal my secret. 'I am not the soul of your mother,' said I, after a -brief preamble, 'but _your mother!_" - -"'Why do you say that?' said he, with a strange smile. 'Think you I did -not know it? Are we not alike? Have I not seen your portrait at the -Giants' Castle? Have I forgotten you? Besides, have I not always seen -and known you?' - -"'And you were not surprised to see me alive, when all thought me buried -at the Giants' Castle?' - -"'No,' said he, 'I was not surprised. I was too happy. God has -miraculous power, and men need not be amazed at it.' - -"The strange child had more difficulty in understanding the terrible -realities of my story, than the miracle he had fancied. He had believed -in my resurrection, as in that of Christ. He had fancied my doctrines -about the transmission of life to be literal, and believed in it to the -fullest sense. That is to say, he was not amazed to see me preserve the -certainty of my identity, after having laid aside one body to deck me -with another. I am not certain, even, if I satisfied him that my life -had not been interrupted by my fainting, and that my mortal envelope had -not remained in the tomb. He listened to me with a wondering and yet -excited physiognomy, as if he had heard me speak other words than those -I had uttered. Something inexplicable at that moment passed in his mind. -A terrible link yet retained Albert on the brink of the abyss. Real life -could not animate him, until he had passed through that crisis from -which I had been so miraculously rescued--this apparent death, which in -him was to be the last effort of eternity, struggling against the hold -of time. My heart seemed ready to burst as I left him. A painful -presentiment vaguely informed me that he was about to enter that phase -which might almost be called climacteric, which had so violently shaken -my own existence, and that the time was not far distant when Albert -would either be annihilated or renewed. I had observed that he had a -tendency to catalepsy. He had under my observation accesses of -slumber--long, deep, and terrible. His respiration was weak, his pulse -so feeble that I never ceased to write or say to Marcus, 'Let us never -bury Albert, or else let us never be afraid to open his tomb.' -Unfortunately for us, Marcus could not go to the Giants' Castle, being -excluded from the territories of the Empire. He had been deeply -compromised by an insurrection at Prague; to which, indeed, his -influence had not been foreign. He had by flight only escaped from the -stern Austrian laws. A prey to uneasiness, I came hither. Albert had -promised to write to me every day, and I resolved also, as soon as I -failed to receive a letter, to go to Bohemia, and appear at Riesenberg -in spite of all difficulties. - -"The grief he felt at our separation was not less than mine. He did not -understand what was going on. He did not seem to believe me. When, -however, he had gone beneath that roof, the very air of which appears to -be a poison to the burning hearts of the descendants of Ziska, he -received a terrible shock. He hurried to the room I had always occupied. -He called me, and not seeing me come, became persuaded that I had died -again, and would not be restored to him during the present life. Thus, -at least, he explained to me what passed at that fatal moment, when his -reason was shaken so violently that it did not recover for years. He -looked at my picture for a long time. After all, a portrait is but an -imperfect resemblance, and the peculiar sentiment the artist seizes and -preserves is always inferior to that entertained by those who love us -ardently; no likeness can please them; they are alternately afflicted -and offended. Albert, when he compared this representation of my youth -and beauty, did not recognise his dear old mother in the grey hair which -seemed so venerable, and the paleness which appealed to his heart. He -hurried in terror from the portrait, and met his relations, sombre, -silent and afraid. He went to my tomb, and was attacked with vertigo and -terror. To him the idea of death appeared monstrous; yet to console him -his father had said I was there, and that he must kneel and pray for the -repose of my soul. - -"'Repose?' said Albert, without reflection, 'Repose of the soul! My -mother's soul was not formed for such annihilation; neither was mine. We -will neither of us rest in the grave. Never--never! This Catholic -cavern, these sealed sepulchres, this desertion of life, this divorce of -heaven and earth, body and soul, horrifies me!'" - -By similar conversation Albert began to fill the timid and simple heart -of his father with terror. His words were reported to the chaplain to be -explained. This feeble man saw nothing in it but the outbreak of a soul -doomed to eternal damnation. The superstitions fear which was diffused -in the minds of all around Albert, the efforts of the family to lead him -to return to the Catholic faith, tortured him, and his excitement -assumed the unhealthy character you have seen in him. His ideas became -confounded; and although he had seen evidences of my existence, he -forgot that he had known me alive, and I seemed ever a fugitive spectre -ready to abandon him. His fancy evoked this spectre, and inspired him -with incoherent speeches and painful cries. When he became more calm, -his reason was, as it were, veiled in a cloud. He had forgotten recent -things, and was satisfied he had been dreaming for eight years, or -rather those eight years of happiness and life seemed to be the creation -of an hour of slumber. - -"Receiving no letter, I was about to hurry to him. Marcus retained me. -He said the post-office department intercepted our letters, or that the -Rudolstadts suppressed them. My son was represented by his family, calm, -well and happy. You know how sedulously his situation was concealed, and -with what success, for a long time. - -"In his travels Albert had known young Trenck, and was bound to him by -the warmest friendship. Trenck, loved by the Princess of Prussia and -persecuted by Frederick, wrote to my son of his joys and misfortunes. He -requested him to come to Dresden to give him the benefit of his aid and -arm. Albert made this journey, and no sooner had he left Riesenberg than -he regained memory and mind. Trenck met my son amid the neophytes of the -Invisibles. There they were made members of a chivalric fraternity. -Having learned from Marcus of their intended interview, I hurried to -Dresden, followed him to Prussia, where he introduced himself into the -Royal Palace in disguise, to serve Trenck's love and fulfil a mission -confided to him by the Invisibles. Marcus thought this activity and the -knowledge of a useful and generous _rôle_ might rescue Albert from his -dangerous melancholy. He was right, for while among us Albert again -became attached to life. Marcus, on his return, wished to bring and keep -him for some time here, amid the real chiefs of the order. He was -convinced that by breathing the true vital atmosphere of a superior -soul, Albert would recover the lucidness of his mind. On the route he -met the impostor Cagliostro, and was imprudently initiated by the -rose-crosses in some of their mysteries. Albert, who long had received -the _rose-cross_, now passed that grade and presided over their -mysteries as Grand-Master. He then saw what, as yet, he had but a -presentiment of. He saw the various elements of which masonic -associations are composed, and distinguished the error, folly, emptiness -and vanity which filled these sanctuaries, already a prey to the vices -of the century. Cagliostro, by means of his police, which was ever -watchful for the petty secrets of the world, which he feigned were the -revelations of a familiar demon, by means of his captious eloquence, -which parodied the great revolutionary inspirations, by the surprising -tricks which enabled him to evoke shadows, and by his intrigues, -horrified the noble adept. The credulity of the world, the low -superstition of a large number of freemasons, the shameless cupidity -excited by promises of the philosopher's stone, and so many other -miseries of the age we live in had kindled a fire in his heart. Amid his -retreat and study he had not distinctly understood the human race. He -was not prepared to contend with all its bad instincts. He could not -suffer such misery. He wished all charlatans and sorcerers to be -unmasked and expelled shamelessly from our temples. He was aware that -the degrading association of Cagliostro must be submitted to, because it -was too late to get rid of him, and because his anger might deprive them -of many estimable friends, and that, flattered by their protection and -an appearance of confidence, he might do real service to a cause with -which he was in fact unacquainted. - -"Albert became indignant, and uttered the anathema of a firm and ardent -mind, against our enterprise. He foretold that we would fail, because we -had mixed too much alloy with the golden chain. He left us, saying, that -he would reflect on the things the necessity of which we strove to make -him understand, in relation to the terrible necessities of conspiracies, -and that he would come to ask for baptism when his poignant doubts were -relieved. Alas! we did not know the character of his reflections at -Riesenberg. He did not tell us; perhaps when their bitterness was -passed, he did not remember them. He passed a year there, in alternate -calm and madness, exuberant power and painful decay. He wrote sometimes, -without mentioning his sorrows and troubles. He bitterly opposed our -political course. He wished us thenceforth not to seek to work in the -shade and deceive men, to make them swallow the cup of regeneration. -'Cast aside your black masks,' said he; 'leave your caverns, efface from -the front of your temple the word _mystery_, which you borrowed from the -Roman church, and which ill befits the coming age. Do you not see you -are imitators of the Jesuits? No, I cannot toil with you. It is to look -for life amid carcases. Show yourself by daylight. Do not lose a -precious moment for the organization of your army. Rely on its -enthusiasm, on the sympathy of the people, and the outbursts of generous -instincts. An army, even, becomes corrupted in repose, and a _ruse_, -employed for concealment also deprives us of the power and activity -required for the strife. Albert was right in theory, but the time was -not come to put it in action. That time, perhaps, is yet far distant. - -"You at last came to Riesenberg, and found him in the greatest distress. -You know, or rather you do not know, what influence you exerted on him. -You made him forget all but yourself--you gave him, as it were, a new -life and death. - -"When he fancied that all between you and him was over, all his power -abandoned him, and he suffered himself to waste away. Until then, I was -not aware of the true nature and intensity of his suffering. The -correspondent of Marcus said, the Giants' Castle became more and more -closed to profane eyes, that Albert never left it, and passed with the -majority of persons as a monomaniac; that the poor, nevertheless, loved -and blessed him, and that some persons of superior mind having seen him, -on their departure did homage to his eloquence, his lofty wisdom and his -vast ideas. At last I heard that Supperville had been sent for, and I -hurried to Riesenberg, in spite of Marcus's protests. Being prepared to -risk all, Marcus seeing me resolved, determined to accompany me. We -reached the walls of the castle in the disguise of beggars. For -twenty-seven years I had not been seen--Marcus had been away ten. They -gave us alms and drove us away. We met a friend and unexpected savior in -poor Zdenko. He treated us as brothers, because he knew how dear we were -to Albert. We knew how to talk to him in the language that pleased his -enthusiasm, and revealed to him the secrets of the mortal grief of his -friend. Zdenko was not the only madman by whom our life has been -menaced. Oppressed and downcast, he came as we did to the gate of the -castle, to ask news of Albert, and, like us, he was repelled with vain -words which were most distressing to our anguish. By a strange -coincidence with the visions of Albert, Zdenko said he had known me; I -had appeared to him in his dreams and ecstasies, and without being able -to account for it, abandoned his will fully to me. 'Woman,' said he, 'I -do not know your name, but you are the good angel of my Podiebrad. I -have often seen him draw your face on paper, and heard him describe your -voice, look, and manner, when he was well, when heaven opened before -him, and he saw around his bed persons who are, as men say, no more.' -Far from opposing Zdenko, I encouraged him; I flattered his illusion, -and induced him to receive us in the Cavern of Tears. - -"When I saw this underground abode, and learned that my son had lived -weeks there, aye, even months, unknown to the whole world, I saw how sad -must be his thoughts. I saw a tomb to which Zdenko seemed to pay a kind -of worship, and not without great difficulty could I learn its -destination. It was the greatest secret of Albert and Zdenko, and their -chief mystery. 'Alas!' said the madman, 'there we buried Wanda of -Prachalitz, the mother of my Albert. She would not remain in that chapel -where they had fastened her down in stone. Her bones trembled and shook, -and those (he pointed to the ossuary of the Taborites, near the spring -in the cavern) reproached us for not placing hers with them. We went to -that sacred tomb, which we brought hither, and every day covered it with -flowers and kisses.' Terrified at this circumstance, the consequences of -which might lead to the discovery of our secret, Marcus questioned -Zdenko, and ascertained that the coffin had been brought hither without -being opened. Albert, however, had been sick, and so far astray that he -could not remember my being alive, and persisted in treating me as dead. -Was not this through a dream of Zdenko? I could not believe my ears. -'Oh! my friend,' said I to Marcus, 'if the light of reason be thus -extinguished forever, may God grant him the boon of death!' - -"Having thus possessed myself of all Zdenko's secrets, we knew that he -could pass through the underground galleries and unknown passages into -the Giants' Castle. We followed him one night, and waited at the -entrance of the cistern until he had glided into the house. He returned -laughing and singing, to tell us that Albert was cured and asleep, and -that they had dressed him in his robes and coronet. I fell as if I were -stricken by lightning, for I knew that Albert was dead. Thenceforth, I -was insensible, and I found myself, when I awoke, in a burning fever. I -lay on bear skins and dry leaves in the underground room Albert had -inhabited in the Schreckenstein. Zdenko and Marcus watched me -alternately. The one said, with an air of pride, that his Podiebrad was -cured, and soon would come to see me: the other, pale and sad, observed, -'Perhaps all is not lost; let us not abandon the hope of such a miracle -as rescued you from the grave.' I did not understand any longer: I was -delirious, and wished to run, cry, and shout. I could not, however, and -the desolate Marcus, seeing me in such a state, had neither time nor -disposition to attend to anything serious. All his mind and thoughts -were occupied by an anxiety which was most terrible. At last, one night, -the third of my attack, I became calm, and regained my strength. I tried -to collect my ideas, and arose; I was alone in the cave which was dimly -lighted by a solitary sepulchral lamp. I wished to go out--where were -Marcus and Zdenko? Memory returned; I uttered a cry, which the icy -vaults echoed back so lugubriously, that cold perspiration streamed down -my brow, which was damp as the dew of the grave. Again I fancied that I -was buried alive. What had passed? What was going on? I fell on my -knees, and wrung my hands in despair. I called furiously on Albert. At -last, I heard slow and irregular steps, as if persons with a burden, -approach. A dog barked, and having preceded them, scratched at the door. -It was opened, and I saw Zdenko and Marcus bearing the stiff, discolored -body of Albert, for to all appearance he was dead. His dog Cynabre -followed and licked his hands, which hung loosely by his side. Zdenko -sang sadly an improvised song, 'Come, sleep on the bosom of your mother, -poor friend, who have been so long without repose. Sleep until dawn, -when we will awaken you to see the sun rise.' - -"I rushed to my son. - -"'He is not dead,' said I. 'O Marcus, you have saved him!--have you not? -He is not dead? Will he recover?' - -"'Madame,' said he, 'do not flatter yourself,'--and he spake with a -strange firmness. 'I know not what may be the result. Take courage, -however, whatever may betide. Help me, and forget yourself.' - -"I need not tell you what care we took to restore Albert. Thank Heaven -there was a stove in the room, at which we warmed him. - -"'See,' said I to Marcus, 'his hands are warm.' - -"'Marble may be heated,' was his unpromising reply. 'That is not life. -His heart is inert as a stone.' - -"Terrible hours rolled by in this expectation and despair. Marcus knelt -with his ear close to my son's heart. His face betokened sad distress -when he found there was not the slightest index of life. Exhausted and -trembling, I dared not say one word or ask one question. I examined -Marcus's terrible brow. I was at one time afraid to look at him, as I -fancied I had read the first sentence. - -"Zdenko played with Cynabre in a corner, and continued to sing. He -sometimes paused to tell us that we annoyed Albert; that we must let him -sleep; that he had seen him so for weeks together; and that he would -awaken of himself. Marcus suffered greatly from this assurance, in which -he could not confide. I had faith in it, and was inspired by it. The -madman had a celestial inspiration, an angelic certainty of the truth. -At length I saw an involuntary movement in Marcus's iron face. His -corrugated brow distended, his hand trembled, as he prepared himself for -a new act of courage. He sighed deeply, withdrew his ear, and placed his -hand over my son's heart, which perhaps beat. He tried to speak, but -restrained himself, for fear, it may be, of the chimerical joy it would -inspire me with, leaned forward again, and suddenly rising and stepping -back, fell prostrate, as if he were dying. - -"'No more hope?' said I, tearing my hair. - -"'Wanda,' said Marcus in a stifled voice, 'your son is alive!' - -"Exhausted by the effort of his attention and solicitude, my stoical -friend lay overpowered by the side of Zdenko!" - - - - -CHAPTER XXXV - - -Overcome by the emotion of such recollections, the Countess Wanda, after -a brief silence, resumed her story. - -"We passed several days in the cavern, and my son recovered strength and -activity with wonderful rapidity. Marcus, surprised at discovering the -trace of no organic injury, or great change in the vital system, was -alarmed at his profound silence and his apparent or real indifference to -our transports. Albert had completely lost his memory. Wrapped in deep -study, he in vain made silent efforts to understand what was passing -around him. I was not so impatient as Marcus to see him regain the -poignant recollection of his love, for I knew well that sorrow was the -only cause of his disease, and of the catastrophe which had resulted -from it. Marcus himself said that the effacing of the past alone would -be the means of his regaining strength. His body recovered quickly at -the expense of his mind, which was giving way rapidly beneath the -melancholy effort of his thoughts. - -"'He lives, and certainly will live,' said he; 'but will not his mind be -obscured? Let us leave this cavern as soon as possible; air, sunlight, -and exercise will doubtless awaken him from his mental slumber. Let us, -above all things, abandon the false and impassive life which has killed -him: let us leave this family and its society, which crushes his natural -impulses. We will take him among persons who will sympathise with him, -and in company with them his soul will recover its vigor.' - -"Could I hesitate? Wandering leisurely towards evening around the -Schreckenstein, where I pretended to ask charity, I learned that Count -Christian had relapsed into a kind of dotage. He had not known of his -son's return, and the prospect of his father's death would certainly -have killed Albert. Was it, then, necessary to restore him to his old -aunt, to the insane chaplain and brutal uncle, who had made his life and -his mental death so painful and sad? - -"'Let us fly with him,' said I to Marcus. 'Let him not witness his -father's agony, nor that terrible spectacle of Catholic idolatry which -ever surrounds the bed of death. My heart breaks when I think that my -husband--who did not understand me, but whose simple virtues I venerate, -and whom I have as religiously respected since I left him as I did -before--will pass away without exchanging a mutual pardon. Since that -must be the case--since the reappearance of myself and my child would be -either useless or injurious to him, let us go. Do not let us restore to -that sepulchral palace what we have wrested from death, and to whom hope -and life now unfold a magnificent career. Ah! let us implicitly obey the -impulse which brought us hither. Let us rescue Albert from the -prison-house of false duties, created by rank and riches. Those duties -to him will always be crimes; and if he persists in discharging them, -for the purpose of gratifying the relations whom death and age rapidly -claim, he will himself probably be the first to die. I know what I -suffered from the slavery of thought, in that mortal and incessant -contradiction between the soul and positive life--between principles, -instincts, and compulsory habits. I see he has travelled the same path, -and imbibed the same poisons. Let us take him away then, and if he -choose to contradict us at some future day, can he not do so? If his -father's life be prolonged, and if his mental health permit, will it not -always be possible for him to return and console the declining years of -Count Christian by his presence and his love?' - -"'That will be difficult,' said Marcus. 'I see in the future terrible -obstacles, if Albert should wish to annul his divorce from society, the -world, and his family.' - -"'Why should Albert do so? His family will perhaps become extinct, -before he regains the use of his memory: and whatever name, honors, or -wealth he may attain in the world, I know what he will think as soon as -he returns to his senses. Heaven grant that day may borne soon. Our most -important task is to place him in such a position that his cure may be -possible.' - -"We left the cavern by night, as soon as Albert was able to sustain -himself. At a short distance from the castle we placed him on horseback, -and reached the frontier, which is at this place very near, as you know, -and where he found more suitable means of transportation. The numerous -affiliations of our order with the masonic fraternity procured for us -the means of travelling all through Germany, without being recognised or -subjected to the scrutiny of the police. Bohemia, in consequence of the -recent events at Prague, was the only country where we were in danger. -There the surveillance of the Austrian authorities was very rigid." - -"And what became of Zdenko?" asked the young Countess of Rudolstadt. - -"Zdenko nearly ruined us by his obstinate refusal to permit us to go, -or, at least, to part with Albert, whom he would not suffer to leave -him, and would not follow. He persisted in thinking Albert could live -nowhere but in the sad Schreckenstein. 'Nowhere else,' said he, 'is my -Podiebrad calm. In other places they torment, and will not let him -sleep. They seek to make him deny our fathers at Mount Tabor, and induce -him to lead a base and disgraceful life. This exasperates him. Leave him -here; I will take good care of him, as I have often done. I will not -disturb his meditations, and when he wishes to be silent I will walk -without making any noise, and keep Cynabre's muzzle within my hands for -two whole hours, to keep him from annoying Podiebrad by licking his -fingers. When he is weary I will sing him the songs he loves, for he -loves my verses, and is the only person who can understand them. Leave -him here. I know what suits him better than you, and when you see him -again, he will be playing the violin, or planting the cypress branches, -which I will cut in the forest, around the grave of his beloved mother. -I will feed him well; I know all the cabins, and no one ever refuses -bread, milk, or fruits to good old Zdenko. The poor peasants of the -Boehmer-wald, though they do not know it, have long fed their noble -master, the rich Podiebrad. Albert does not like feasts, where people -eat flesh, but prefers a life of innocence and simplicity. He does not -wish to see the sun, but prefers the moonbeams, glancing through the -woods in savage places where our good friends, the Zingari, camp at -night. They are the children of the Lord, and know neither laws nor -riches.' - -"I listened to Zdenko with attention, because his innocent words -revealed to me the details of the life Albert led with him during his -frequent absences in the cavern. 'Do not fear,' said he, 'that I shall -ever reveal to his enemies the secret of his abode. They are so false -and foolish, that they now say, "our child is dead, our friend is dead, -and our master is dead." They would not believe he was alive, even if -they were to see him. Besides, do I not reply when, they ask me if I -have seen Count Albert, "he is certainly dead." As I laughed when I said -this, they thought me mad. I spoke thus to mock them, because they -think, or seem to think him dead. When the people of the castle pretend -to follow, do I not make a thousand windings to throw them out? All the -devices of the hare and partridge are known to me. I know, like them, -how to hide in a furrow, to disappear under the brush, to make a false -track, to jump over a torrent, to hide myself while they pass by, and, -like a will-o'-wisp, to lead them astray in the ponds and morasses. They -call me Zdenko the _fool._ I am more knave, though, than any of them. -There was never but one girl, a good, sweet girl, who could get the -better of Zdenko. She knew the magic words to soothe his wrath. She had -talismans to overcome all perils and dangers. Her name was Consuelo.' - -"When Zdenko pronounced your name, Albert shuddered lightly, and looked -away. He immediately, however, let his head fall on his breast, and his -memory was not aroused. - -"I tried in vain to soothe this devoted and blind guardian by promising -to restore Albert to Schreckenstein, if he would accompany him to the -place whither we proposed to take him. I did not succeed however; and -when at last, half by persuasion and half by force, we induced him to -suffer my son to leave the cavern, he followed us with tears in his -eyes, and singing sadly, as far as the mines of Cuttemberg. When he -reached this celebrated spot, where Ziska won his great victory over -Sigismund, Zdenko recognised the rocks which marked the frontier, for no -one had explored all the paths of the country more closely than he had -done in his vagabond career. There he paused and said, stamping on the -ground, 'Zdenko will never leave the country where his father's bones -rest. Not long ago, I was exiled and banished by my Podiebrad, for -having menaced the girl he loved, and I passed weeks and months on a -foreign soil. I returned afterwards to my dear forests to see Albert -sleep, for a voice in a dream whispered to me that his anger had passed. -Now, when he does not curse me, you steal him from me. If you do so to -take him to Consuelo, I consent. As for leaving my country now, and -speaking the tongue of my enemies again, as for giving them my hand, and -leaving Schreckenstein deserted and abandoned, I will not. This is too -much. The voices, too, in my dreams have forbid this. Zdenko must live -and die in the land of the Sclaves. He must live and die singing Sclavic -glory and misfortune in the language of his fathers. Adieu! and go. Had -not Albert forbade me to shed human blood, you would not thus take him -from me. He would curse me, though, if I lifted my hand on you, and I -would rather never see than offend him. Do you hear, oh! Podiebrad,' -said he, kissing my son's hand, while the latter looked at and heard but -did not understand him. 'I obey you and go. When you return you will -find the fire kindled, your books in order, your bed made with new -leaves, and your mother's tomb strewed with evergreen leaves. If it be -in the season of flowers, there will be flowers on the bones of our -martyrs near the spring. Adieu, Cynabre.' As he spoke thus with a broken -voice, Zdenko rushed over the rocky ledge which inclined towards -Bohemia, and disappeared like a stag at dawn. - -"I will not describe, dear Consuelo, our anxiety during the first weeks -Albert passed with us. Hidden in the house you now inhabit, he returned -gradually to the kind of life we sought to awake in him with care and -precaution. The first word he spoke was called forth by musical emotion. -Marcus understood that Albert's life was knit to his love of you, and -resolved not to awaken the memory of that love until he should be fit to -inspire in return the same passion. He then inquired minutely after you, -and in a short time ascertained the least details of your past and -present life. Thanks to the wise organization of our order, and the -relations established with other secret societies, a number of neophytes -and adepts, whose functions consist in the scrupulous examination of -persons and things that interest us, nothing can escape our -investigations. The world has no secrets for us. We know how to -penetrate the arcana of politics and the intrigues of courts. Your pure -life, your blameless character, were not difficult to be seen. The Baron -Von Trenck, as soon as he saw that the man you had loved was his friend -Albert, spoke kindly of you. The Count of Saint Germain, one of those -men who apparently are absent-minded as possible, yet who in fact is -most discriminating, this strange visionary, this superior being, who -seems to live only in the past, while nothing that is present escapes -him, furnished us with the most complete information in relation to you. -This was of such a character that henceforth I looked on you as my own -child. - -"When we were sufficiently well informed to act with certainty we sent -for skillful musicians who came beneath the window where we now sit. -Albert was where you are, and leaned against the curtain watching the -sunset. Marcus held one of his hands and I the other. Amid a symphony -composed expressly for the four instruments, in which we had inserted -several of the Bohemian airs Albert sings with such religion and -enthusiasm, we made them play the hymn to the Virgin with which you once -so delighted him-- - - -Consuelo de mi alma. - - -"At that moment, Albert, who hitherto had exhibited a faint emotion at -our old Bohemian songs, threw himself in my arms, and shedding tears, -said--'My mother!' - -"Marcus put an end to the music, being satisfied with the effect he had -produced. He did not wish to push the first experiment too far. Albert -had seen and recognised me, and had found power to love. A long time yet -passed before his mind recovered its freedom. He had however, no access -of fever. When his mental powers were overtasked, he relapsed into -melancholy silence. His face, though, insensibly assumed a less sad -expression, and by degrees we combatted this taciturn disposition. We -were at last delighted to see this demand for intellectual repose -disappear, and he continued to think, except at his regular hours for -sleep, when he was quiet as other men are. Albert regained a -consciousness of life and love for you and me, for charity and -enthusiasm towards his fellows, and for virtue, faith and the duty of -winning its triumphs. He continued to love you without bitterness and -without regret for all that he had suffered. Notwithstanding, however, -his efforts to reassure us, and to exhibit his courage and self-denial, -we saw that his passion had lost nothing of its intensity. He had merely -acquired more moral power and strength to bear it. We did not seek to -oppose him. Far otherwise. Marcus and I strove to endow him with hope, -and we resolved to inform you of the existence of him for whom you were -mourning, if not in your dress, in your heart. Albert, with generous -resignation, forbade us to do so, refraining from all disposition to -make a sacrifice of your happiness to your sense of duty. - -"His health seemed completely restored, and others than I aided him to -combat his unfortunate passion. Marcus and some of the chiefs of our -order initiated him in the mysteries of our enterprise. He experienced a -serious and melancholy joy in those daring hopes, and, above all, in the -long philosophical discussions, in which, if he did not meet with entire -similarity of opinions between him and his noble friends, he at least -felt himself in contact with every profound and ardent idea of truth. -This aspiration towards the ideal, long repressed and restrained by the -narrow terrors of his family, had, at last, free room to expand, and -this expansion, seconded by noble sympathies, excited even by frank and -genial contradiction, was the vital air in which he could breathe and -act, though a victim to secret suffering. The mind of Albert is -essentially metaphysical: nothing smiles on him in the frivolous life -where egotism seeks its food. He is born for the contemplation of high -truths and the exercise of the most austere virtues. At the same time, -by a perfection of moral beauty which is rare among men, he is gifted -with a soul essentially tender and affectionate. Charity is not enough, -he must love; and this passion extends to all, though he feels the -necessity of concentrating it on some individuals. In devotion he is a -fanatic, yet his virtue is not savage. Love intoxicates, friendship -sways him, and his life is a fruitful and inexhaustible field, divided -between the abstract being he reveres passionately, under the name of -humanity, and the persons he loves. In fine, his sublime heart is a -hearth of love; all noble passions exist there without rivalry, and if -God could be represented under a finite and perishable form, I would -dare assert that the soul of my son is an image of that universal soul -we call the divinity. - -"On that account, a weak human being, infinite in its inspiration -limited and without resources, he had been unable to live with his -parents. Had he not loved them ardently, he would have been able to live -apart from them, healthy and calm, differing from them, but indulging -their harmless blindness. This would, however, have required a certain -coldness, of which he was incapable as I. He could not live isolated in -his mind and heart. He had besought their aid, and appealed in despair -for a community of ideas between him and the beings who were so dear to -him. Therefore was it that, shut up in the iron wall of their Catholic -obstinacy, their social prejudices and their hatred to a religion of -equality, he had broken to pieces as he sighed on their bosoms; he had -dried up like a plant without dew, calling on heaven for rain to endow -him with an existence like those he loved. Weary of suffering alone, -loving alone, weeping and praying alone, he thought he regained life in -you; and when you participated in his ideas, he was calm and reasonable. -Yet you did not reciprocate his sentiments, and your separation could -not but plunge him into an isolation both deeper and more -insurmountable. His faith was perpetually denied and contradicted, and -became a torture too great for human power. Vertigo took possession of -him: unable to mingle the sublime essence of his own soul in others like -it, he died. - -"So soon as he found hearts capable of comprehending and seconding him, -we were amazed at his moderation in discussion, his tolerance, -confidence, and modesty. We had apprehended, from the past, that he -would be stern, self-willed, and exhibit the strong manner of talking, -which, though proper enough in a mind convinced and enthusiastic, would -be dangerous to his progress and detrimental to such an enterprise as -ours. He surprised us by his candor, and charmed us by his behavior. He -who made us better by speaking and talking to us, persuaded himself that -he received what he really gave us. He soon became the object of -boundless veneration, and you must not be surprised that so many persons -toiled for your rescue, for his happiness had become the common object -of all who had approached him, though merely for an instant." - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVI - - -"The cruel destiny of our race, however, was not fulfilled. Albert was -yet to suffer, his heart was yet to bleed for his family, which was -doomed to crush him, while it was innocent of his sufferings. As soon as -he was strong enough to hear the news, we had not concealed from him the -death of his father, which took place soon after his own, (I must use -this phrase to describe that strange event.) Albert had wept for his -father with deep regret: and the certainty that he had not left life to -enter on the nonentity of the paradise or the hell of the Catholic, -inspired him with the hope of a better and more ample life for one who -had been so pure and worthy of reward. He was much more grieved at the -state in which his relatives, Baron Frederick and Wenceslawa, were. He -blamed himself for being happy away from them, and resolved to visit -them and inform them of the secret of his cure and wonderful -resurrection, and to make them as happy as possible. He was not aware of -the disappearance of Amelia, which happened while he was ill, and it had -been carefully hidden from him, as likely to make him unhappy. We had -not thought it right to inform him of it, for we were unable to shelter -my niece from the shame of her deplorable error. When about to seize her -seducer, we were anticipated by the Saxon Rudolstadts. They had caused -Amelia to be arrested in Prussia, where she expected a refuge, and had -placed her in the power of Frederick, who did them the honor to shut up -the poor girl at Spandau. She passed almost a year in strict -confinement, seeing no one, and having reason to think herself happy at -her error being concealed by the jailer monarch." - -"Madame," said Consuelo, "is she there yet?" - -"We are about to release her. Albert and Leverani could not rescue her -when they did you, for she was much more closely watched; her imprudent -attempts to escape, her revolts and temper, having aggravated her -confinement. We have other means than those which won your safety. Our -adepts are everywhere, and some even seek for courtly favor, to be able -to serve us thus! We have obtained for Amelia the patronage of the young -Margravine of Bareith, sister of the King of Prussia, who has requested -and obtained her liberty, promising to take charge of her and be -responsible for her conduct in future. In a few days the young baroness -will be under the protection of the Princess Wilhelmina, whose heart is -as good as her tongue is censorious, and who will be as kind to her as -she was to the Princess Culmbach, another unfortunate creature, withered -in the eyes of the world as Amelia was, and who like her was a victim of -royal prisons. - -"Albert was ignorant, then, of the misfortune of his cousin, when he -resolved to visit his uncle and aunt at the Giants' Castle. He could not -account for the inertia of Baron Frederick, who was able to live, to -hunt, and drink, after so many and so great misfortunes, and for the -passive character of Wenceslawa, who, while she sought to discover -Amelia, took care not to give any _éclât_ to what had happened. We -opposed Albert's plan as much as possible, but he persisted in it, -unknown to us. He set out one night, leaving us a letter, which promised -us a prompt return. His absence was not long, in fact, but it was -pregnant with sorrows. - -"In disguise he entered Bohemia, and found Zdenko alone in the cavern of -the Schreckenstein. He wished thence to write to his kindred and prepare -them for the excitement of his return. He was aware that Amelia was the -most courageous, as well as the most frivolous of the family, and to her -he wished to send his first letter. As he wrote it, and while Zdenko was -out on the mountain, he heard the report of a gun, and a painful cry of -agony. He rushed out, and the first thing he saw was Zdenko, bearing -Cynabre in his arms. To hurry to his poor old dog, without thinking of -concealing his face, was the first act of Albert. As he bore the poor -animal, with a death wound, towards the place known as the 'Monk's -Cave,' he saw an old huntsman hurrying towards him, rapidly as age would -permit, to seize his prey. This was Baron Frederick, who, while hunting -at the dawn of day, had taken Cynabre for some wild beast. He had seen -him through the undergrowth, and as his eye and hand were yet sure, had -wounded him. He had put two balls in his side. All at once he saw -Albert, and fancying that a spectre stood before him, paused in terror. -No longer fearing a real danger, he shrank back to the very verge of a -mountain path, and fell into a ravine, where he was crushed by the -rocks. He died immediately, at the very place where for centuries had -stood the fatal oak of Schreckenstein, known as the _Hussite_, in other -days the witness and accomplice of terrible catastrophes. - -"Albert saw the baron fall, and left Zdenko, to descend into the ravine. -He then perceived the servants of his uncle, seeking to lift him up, and -filling the air with lamentations, for he gave no sign of life. Albert -hearing these words--'Our poor master is dead; alas! what will our lady -the canoness say?' forgot himself, and shouted and cried aloud. - -"As soon as they saw him, a panic took possession of the credulous -servants. They abandoned the body of their master, and were about to -fly, when old Hans, the most superstitious of all, bade them halt, and -said, making the sign of the cross, 'My friends, it is not our Albert -that stands before us; it is the spirit of the Schreckenstein, who has -taken his form to destroy us all if we be cowards. I saw him distinctly, -and he it was who made our master the baron fall. He would carry his -body away and devour it, for he is a vampire. Be brave, my children; be -brave. They say the devil is a coward. I shall shoot at him in the mean -time. Father,' (he spoke to the chaplain) 'go over the exorcism.' As he -spoke Hans made the sign of the cross again and again, lifted up his -gun, and fired at Albert, while the other servants crowded around the -baron's body. Fortunately Hans was too much terrified and too much -afraid to fire accurately. He acted in a kind of delirium. The ball -hissed by Albert's head, but Hans was the best shot in all the country, -and had he been cool would infallibly have killed my son. Albert stood -irresolute. 'Be brave, lads: be brave.' said Hans, loading his gun. -'Fire at once. You will not kill him, for he is ball-proof, but you will -make him retreat, and we will be able to carry away the Baron -Frederick's body.' - -"Albert, seeing all the guns directed at him, rushed into the thicket, -and unseen descended the declivity of the mountain, and soon by personal -observation became assured of the reality of the dreadful scene. The -crushed and broken body of his unfortunate uncle lay on the bloody -stones. His skull was crushed, and old Hans, in the most lamentable -tone, said to the crowd--'Gather up his brains, and leave nothing on the -rocks, for the vampire's dog will come to lap them up. Yes, yes, there -was a dog--a dog I would have sworn was Cynabre.' - -"'He, though, disappeared after Count Albert's death,' said another, -'and no one has seen him since. He died in some corner or other, and the -dog we saw is a shadow, as also was the vampire that assumed Count -Albert's form. Horrible! It will always be before my eyes. Lord God have -mercy on us, and the soul of the baron, who died unconfessed, in -consequence of the evil spirit's malice.' - -"'Alas! I told him some misfortune would befall him,' said Hans, as he -gathered up the shreds of the baron's garments in his hands, which were -stained with the nobleman's blood. 'He would hunt in this -thrice-accursed place. He thought, because no one ever came hither, all -the game of the forest crowded into it. God knows there never was any -other game here than what, when I was a lad, I saw hanging from the -branches of that oak. Accursed Hussite! tree of perdition. The fire of -heaven has devoured it, but while one root remains in the soil, the -Hussites will come hither to avenge themselves on the Catholics. Well, -get the litter ready, and let us go, for here we are not safe. Ah! -Madame Canoness! poor mistress! what will become of you? Who will dare -first to appear before you, and say as we used to--"The baron has come -back from hunting." Will she say--"Have dinner at once!" Dinner!--a long -time will pass before anyone in the castle will be hungry. Well, this -family is too unhappy. I can account for it, though.' - -"While the body of the baron was placed on a litter, Hans, annoyed by -questions, replied, and, as he did so, he shook his head--'In this -family all were pious and died like Christians, until the day when the -Countess Wanda, on whom may God have mercy, died unconfessed. Count -Albert did not die in a state of grace, and his worthy father suffered -for it. He died unconscious, and here is another who has passed away -without the sacraments. I bet, not even the canoness will have time to -prepare herself. Fortunately for this holy family, she is always in a -state of grace.' - -"Albert heard every word of all this sad conversation, the expression of -true grief in common-place words, and a terrible reflection of the -fanatical horror which both of us excited at Riesenberg. In stupor and -amazement, he saw the sad _cortège_ defile in the distance down the -paths of the ravine, and did not dare to follow it, though he was aware -that properly he should have been the first to bear the sad news to his -old aunt and aid her in her mortal grief. He was sure, though, had he -done so, his apparition would either have killed or crazed her. He -therefore withdrew in despair to the cavern, where Zdenko, who was -ignorant of the most unfortunate accident of the day, was busy in -washing Cynabre's wound. It was too late, however. Cynabre, when he saw -his master return, uttered a cry of pain; in spite of his broken ribs, -he crawled up to him, and died at his feet, after receiving his last -caresses. Four days afterwards Albert rejoined us; he was pale and -overcome by this last shock. He remained many days sad and overcome with -these new sufferings. At last, his tears fell on his bosom. 'I am -accursed among men,' said he, 'and it seems that God seeks to exclude me -from the world, where I should have loved no one. I cannot return to it, -without being the vehicle of terror, death, or madness. All is over. I -will never be able again to see those who took care of my childhood. -These ideas, in relation to the eternal separation of the body and soul, -are so absolute and terrible, that they would prefer to think me chained -forever to the tomb, to seeing my unfortunate countenance. This is a -strange and terrible phase of life. The dead become objects of hatred to -those who loved them most; and if their shadows appear, they seem sent -forth by hell, instead of being angels from heaven. My poor uncle! my -noble father! you to me seemed heretical, as I did to you; yet did you -appear, were I fortunate enough to see your forms as death seized them, -I would welcome them on my knees, I would think they came from the bosom -of God, where souls are _retempered_ and bodies formed anew. I would -utter no horrible formula of dismissal and malediction, no impious -exorcisms of fear and aversion. I would call on you, I would gaze on you -with love, and retain you with me as things sent to aid me. Oh! mother! -all is over. I must to them be dead whether they be living or dead to -me.' - -"Albert had not left the country until he was assured the canoness had -survived this last shock of misfortune. This old woman, as -ill-restrained as I am, lives by sorrow alone. Venerated for her -convictions and her sorrows, she counts, resignedly, the bitter days God -yet requires her to live. In her sorrow, however, she yet maintains a -degree of pride which has survived all her affections. She said not long -ago, to a person who wrote to us: 'If we did not fear death from a sense -of duty, we would yet have to do so for propriety's sake.' This remark -explains all the character of Wenceslawa. - -"Thenceforth Albert abandoned all idea of leaving us, and his courage -seemed to increase at every trial. He seemed even to have overcome his -love, and plunged into philosophy and religion, and was buried in ethics -and revolutionary action. He gave himself up to serious labors; and his -vast mind in this manner assumed a development which was as serene and -magnificent as it had been feverish and fitful when away from us. This -strange man, whose delirium had terrified Catholics, became a light of -wisdom to beings of a superior order. He was initiated into the most -mysterious secrets of the Invisibles, and assumed a rank among the -chiefs of the new church. He gave them advice, which they received with -love and gratitude. The reforms he proposed were consented to, and in -the practice of a militant creed he regained hope and a serenity of soul -which makes heroes and martyrs. - -"We thought he had overcome his love of you, so careful was he to -conceal his struggles and sufferings. One day, however, the -correspondence of our adepts, which it was impossible to conceal, -brought to our sanctuary a sad piece of information. In spite of the -doubt surrounding the report, at Berlin you were looked upon as the -king's mistress, and appearances did not contradict the supposition. -Albert said nothing, and became pale. - -"'My beloved mother,' said he, after being silent a few moments, 'on -this occasion you will suffer me to leave you, without fear. My love -calls me to Berlin: my place is by the side of her who has accepted my -love, and whom I love. I pretend to no right over her. If she be -intoxicated by the sad honor attributed to her, I will use no authority -to make her renounce it; but if she be, as I suspect, surrounded by -snares and dangers, I will save her.' - -"'Pause, Albert,' said I, 'and dread the influence of that fatal passion -which has already injured you so deeply. The evil which will result from -it is beyond your influence. I see that now you exist merely in the -power of your virtue and your love. If this love perish, will virtue -suffice?' - -"'And why should it perish?' said he, enthusiastically. 'Do you think -she has ceased to be worthy of me?' - -"'If she be, Albert, what would you do?' - -"With a smile on his pale lips, and a proud glance, such as were always -enkindled by his sad and enthusiastic ideas-- - -"'If so, I would continue to love her; for to me the past is not a dream -that is effaced, and you know I have often so confounded it with the -present as to be unable to distinguish it. So would I do again. I would -love that angelic face, that poetic soul by which my life was so -suddenly enlightened and warmed. I would not believe that the past is -behind me, but would keep its burning light within my bosom. The fallen -angel would yet inspire me with so much tenderness and love, that my -life would be devoted to consoling her and sheltering her from the -contempt of a cruel world.' - -"Albert went to Berlin with many of his friends, and made a pretext to -the Princess Amelia, his protector, of talking to her about Trenck, who -was then a prisoner at Glatz, for a masonic business which he was -engaged in. You saw him preside at a lodge at the Rose Cross; and he did -not know that Cagliostro, in spite of our efforts, had learned his -secrets and made use of them as a means of disturbing your reason. For -the mere fact of having suffered any person uninitiated even to glance -at a masonic mystery, Cagliostro deserved to be expelled as a trickster. -It was not known, however, for a long time; and you must be aware -yourself of the terror he displayed while conducting you to the temple. -The penalty due to this kind of treason is severely administered by the -adepts; and the magician, by making the mysteries of the order subject -to his pretended miracles, perhaps risked his life, as he certainly did -his necromantic reputation, for he would without doubt have been -unmasked had he been discovered. - -"During his short and mysterious stay at Berlin, Albert ascertained -enough of your conduct and ideas to be at ease about you. Though you -knew it not, he watched you closely, and returned apparently calm, but -more in love with you than ever. - -"During several months he travelled in foreign lands, and by his -activity served our cause well. Having been informed that several -plotters, perhaps spies of the King of Prussia, were attempting to set -on foot at Berlin a conspiracy which endangered masonry, and perhaps -would be fatal to Prince Henry and the Abbess of Quedlimburg, Albert -hurried thither to warn the Prince and Princess of the absurdity of such -an attempt, and to put them on their guard against the plot which seemed -imminent. Then you saw him, and though terrified at his apparition, -showed so much courage, and spoke to his friends with so much devotion -and respect for his memory, that the hope of being loved by you revived. -He then determined that you should be told the truth by means of a -system of mysterious revelations. He has often been near you, concealed -even in your room during your stormy conversations with the King, though -you were not aware of it. In the meantime the conspirators became angry -at the obstacles he put in the way of their mad or guilty design. -Frederick II. had suspicions. The appearance of _la balayeuse_, the -spectre all conspirators parade in the palace gallery, aroused his -vigilance. The creation of a masonic lodge, at the head of which Prince -Henry placed himself, and which professed views different from that over -which the King presided, appeared a definite revolt. It may be added, -that the creation of this new lodge was a maladroit mask of certain -conspirators, or perhaps an attempt to compromise certain illustrious -personages. Fortunately they rescued themselves; and the King, -apparently enraged at the arrest of none but a few obscure criminals, -yet really delighted at not having to punish his own family, resolved to -make an example. My son, the most innocent of all, was arrested and sent -to Spandau about the time that you, equally innocent, were. You both -refused to save yourselves at the expense of others, and atoned for -others' errors. You passed several months in prison not far from -Albert's cell, and heard his violin, as he heard your voice. He had -prompt and speedy means of escape, but he would not use them until he -was sure of your safety. The key of gold is more powerful than all the -bolts of a royal prison; and the Prussian jailers, the majority of whom -are discontented soldiers, or officers in disgrace, are easily to be -corrupted. Albert escaped when you did, but you did not see him; and for -reasons you will hear at another time, Leverani was ordered to bring you -hither. Now you know the rest. Albert loves you more than ever; he loves -you far better than he loves himself, and would be yet more distressed -if you were happy with another, than he would be if you should not -return his love. The moral and philosophical laws under which you have -placed yourselves, the religious authority you recognise, renders your -decision perfectly voluntary. Choose then, my daughter, but remember -that Albert's mother, on her knees, begs you not to injure the sublime -candor of her son, by making a sacrifice which will embitter his life. -Your desertion will make him suffer, but your pity, without your love, -will kill him. The time is come for you to decide, and I cannot be -ignorant of your decision. Go into your room, where you will find two -different dresses: the one you select will determine his fate." - -"And which will signify my wish for a divorce?" said Consuelo trembling. - -"I was ordered to tell you, but will not do so. I wish to know if you -will guess." - -The Countess Wanda having thus spoken, clasped Consuelo to her heart and -left the room. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVII - - -The two robes, which the neophyte found in her room, were a brilliant -wedding dress, and a mourning garb with all the tokens of widowhood. She -hesitated for a short time. Her resolution as to the choice of a husband -was taken; but which of the two dresses would exactly exhibit her -intention? After a short time she put on the white dress, the veil and -flowers of a bride. The _tout ensemble_ was as elegant as possible. -Consuelo was soon ready; but when she looked at the terrible sentences -on the mirror, she could not smile as she used to. Her face was -exceedingly pale, and terror was in her heart. Let her make either -choice, she was aware she would be distressed and terrified. She felt -she must crush one heart, and her own felt in advance all the terror of -the wound she was about to inflict. She saw that her cheeks and lips -were as pale as her veil and wreath of orange flowers. She feared to -expose both Albert and Leverani to violent suffering, and felt tempted -to use rouge, but she at once abandoned the idea. She said, "If the -countenance deceives, my heart may also." - -She knelt by her bedside, and hiding her face in the coverings, was -absorbed in meditation until the clock struck _midnight_. She arose at -once, and saw an Invisible, with a black mask, behind her. I do not know -what instinct made her think this was Marcus. She was not mistaken; yet -he did not make himself known to her, but said, in a gentle and mild -voice, "Madame, all is ready: will you put on this cloak and follow me?" -Consuelo accompanied the Invisible to the place where the rivulet lost -itself beneath the green arch of the park. There she found a gondola, -open and black, like those of Venice, and in the gigantic oarsman at the -bow she recognised Karl, who, when he saw her, made the sign of the -cross. This was his way of exhibiting the greatest imaginable joy. - -"Can I speak to him?" asked Consuelo of her guide. - -"You may speak a few words aloud." - -"Dear Karl, my liberator and friend," said Consuelo, excited at seeing -a well-known face, after so long a seclusion amid mysterious beings, -"may I hope that nothing interferes with your pleasure at seeing me -again?" - -"Nothing, signora," said Karl, calmly, "nothing but the memory of her -who no longer belongs to the world, yet whom I think I always see by -you. Courage and content, my dear mistress, become us. We are now just -as we were when we escaped from Spandau." - -"This, too, brother, is a day of delivery. Oh! thanks to the vigor and -skill with which you are endowed, and which equal the prudence of your -speech and the power of your mind." - -"This, madame," said he to Consuelo, "is like a flight. The chief -liberator, though, is not the same." - -As he spoke Marcus gave her his hand, to assist her in reaching a bench, -covered with cushions. He felt that it trembled slightly at the -recollection of Leverani, and begged her to cover her face for but a few -moments. Consuelo did so, and the gondola, wafted on by the robust arm -of the deserter, slid silently over the dark and silent stream. - -After an hour, the lapse of which was scarcely appreciated by the -pensive Consuelo, she heard the sound of instruments, and the boat -slackened its speed, without absolutely stopping, from time to time -touching the shore. The hood fell slowly off, and the neophyte thought -she passed from one dream to another, as she looked on the fairy scene -that opened before her. The boat passed along a flowery bank, strewn -with flowers and fresh grass. The water of the rivulet was collected in -a large basin, as it were, and reflected the colonnades of lights which -whirled around like fiery serpents, or burst into myriads of sparks on -the slow and gentle wake of the gondola. Charming music floated through -the air, and seemed to pass over perfumed roses and jessamines. - -When the eyes of Consuelo had become accustomed to this sudden -clearness, she was able to fix them on the brilliant façade of a -palace, which arose at a short distance, and which reflected in the -mirror of the basin with magical splendor. In this elegant edifice, -which was painted on the starry sky, Consuelo saw through the open -windows men and women, clad in embroidery, diamonds, gold, and pearls, -moving slowly to and fro, and uniting with the general aspect of -entertainments of that day something effeminate and fantastic. This -princely festival, united with the effect of a warm night, which flung -its beauty and perfume even amid the splendid halls, filled Consuelo -with eager motion and a species of intoxication. She, a child of the -people, but a queen of patrician amusements, could not witness a -spectacle of this kind, after so long a period of solitude and sombre -reveries, without experiencing a kind of enthusiasm, a _necessity to -sing_, a strange agitation as she drew near the public. She then stood -up in the boat, which gradually approached the castle. Suddenly, excited -by that chorus of Handel, in which he sings "the glory of Jehovah, the -conqueror of Judea," she forgot all else, and joined that enthusiastic -chorus with her voice. - -A new shock of the gondola, which, as it passed along the banks of the -stream, sometimes struck a branch or a tuft of grass, made her tremble. -Forced to take hold of the first hand which was stretched forth to -sustain her, she became aware that there was a fourth person in the -boat, a masked Invisible, who certainly was not there when she entered. - -A vast gray cloak, with long folds, put on in a peculiar manner, and an -indescribable something in the mask, through which the features seemed -to speak--more than all, however, a pressure of the hand, apparently -unwilling to let go her own, told Consuelo that the man she loved, the -Chevalier Leverani, as he had appeared to her for the first time on the -lake around Spandau, stood by her. Then the music, the illumination, the -enchanted palace, the intoxication of the festival, and even the -approach of the solemn moment which was to decide her fate--all but the -present emotion was effaced from Consuelo's mind. Agitated and overcome -by a superhuman power, she sank quivering on the cushions by Leverani's -side. The other stranger, Marcus, was at the bow, and turned his back to -them. Fasting, the story of the Countess Wanda, the expectation of a -terrible _dénoûement_, the surprise of the festival, had crushed all -Consuelo's power. She was now aware of nothing but that the hand of -Leverani clasped her own, that his arm encircled her form, as if to keep -her from leaving, and of the divine ecstacy which the presence of one so -well beloved diffuses through the mind. Consuelo remained for a few -minutes in this situation, no longer seeing the sparkling palace, which -had again been lost in the night, feeling nothing but the burning breath -of her lover, and the beatings of her own heart. - -"Madame," said Marcus, turning suddenly towards her, "do you not know -the air now sung? and will you not pause to hear that magnificent -tenor?" - -"Whatsoever be the air, whatsoever be the voice," said Consuelo, "let us -pause or continue as you please." - -The bark was almost at the palace. Forms might be seen in the embrasures -of the windows, and even those in the depths of the rooms. They seemed -no longer spectres floating in a dream, but real personages; nobles, -ladies, servants, artists, and many who were not unknown to Consuelo. -She made no effort of memory, however, to recall their names, nor the -palaces and the theatres where she had seen them. To her, the world had, -all at once, become insignificant as a magic lantern, and as completely -devoid of interest. The only being in the universe who seemed alive was -the one who furtively clasped her hand amid the folds of her dress. - -"Do you not know that magnificent voice," said Marcus again, "which now -sings a Venetian air?" He was surprised at her total want of emotion. He -came near her, and sat by her side to ask the question. - -"I beg your pardon," said Consuelo, who had made an effort to hear him; -"I did not understand you. I know the air and voice. I composed the -first long ago. It is not only bad, but badly sung." - -"What, then, is the name of the singer to whom you are so severe? I -think him admirable." - -"Ah! you have not lost it?" said Consuelo, in a low tone to Leverani. -This remark was called forth by his pressing against the palm of her -hand the little filagree cross, which, for the first time in her life, -she parted with during her escape from Spandau. - -"You do not know the name of that singer?" said Marcus, carefully -watching Consuelo's countenance. - -"Excuse me, sir," said she, rather impatiently, "his name is Anzoleto. -Ah! that is a bad G; he has lost that note." - -"Do you not wish to see his face? You are perhaps mistaken. You can see -him distinctly from here: at least, I do. He is a very handsome man." - -"Why should I see him?" said Consuelo, with some ill temper. "I am sure -he is unchanged." - -Marcus took her hand gently, and Leverani seconding him, induced her to -stand up and look through the open window. Consuelo would possibly have -resisted either, but yielded to both. She glanced at the stage, the -handsome Venetian who was at that time the object of attraction to a -hundred female eyes, languishing, ardent, and burning for him. "He has -got fat," said Consuelo, sitting down and avoiding the fingers of -Leverani, who wished to regain possession of the little cross which she -had again recovered. - -"Is that the only recollection you bestow on an old friend?" said -Marcus, who continued to watch her with a lynx's eyes. - -"He is but a fellow artist," said Consuelo. "Such are not always -friends." - -"Would you not like to speak to him? We may go into the palace and send -for him." - -"If it be a _test_," said she, with some malice, for she began to -observe how determined Marcus was, "I am ready, and will obey you. If, -however, you wish to oblige me, let us have done with the affair." - -"Must I stop here, brother?" said Karl, making a military salute with -his oar. - -"On, brother, fast," said Marcus; and in a few moments the boat passed -over the basin, and lost itself in the undergrowth. The obscurity became -intense: the torch in the gondola alone shed its light on the foliage. -From time to time, amid the thicket, the sparkling of the lights in the -palace were visible. The sounds of the orchestra died away. The bark, as -it skirted along the bank, covered the oars with flowers, and the dark -cloak of Consuelo was covered with their perfumed petals. She began to -look into her own heart, and to combat the ineffable inffuence of -passion and right. She had withdrawn her hand from Leverani, and her -heart began to break as the veil or intoxication shrank before the light -of reason and reflection. - -"Hear you, madam," said Marcus, "do you not hear the applause of the -audience? Yes; there are exclamations and clapping of hands. They are -delighted: Anzoleto has been very successful at the palace." - -"They know nothing about it," said Consuelo, taking a magnolia flower -which Leverani had gathered in the passage, and thrown at her feet. She -clasped this flower convulsively in her hands and hid it in her bosom, -as the last relic of a passion about to be crushed or sanctified -forever. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVIII - - -The gondola stopped finally at the outlet from the gardens and the park. -The place was picturesque, and the stream lost itself amid antique -rocks, and was no longer navigable. Consuelo had a very short time to -consider the grand, moonlighted landscape. She was yet in the vast area -of the palace grounds; but art here had only striven to preserve nature -in its primitive beauty--the old trees, strewn by chance in the dark -glades, the happy accidents of the landscape, the rugged hills, the -unequal cascades, the herds of bounding and timid stags. - -A new person now arrested Consuelo's attention: this was Gottlieb, who -sat idly on a sedan chair, in the attitude of calm and reverie. He -trembled as he recognised his prison friend; but, at a sign from Marcus, -did not speak. - -"You then forbid the poor child to shake hands with me?" said Consuelo, -in a half whisper to her guide. - -"When you have been initiated, you will be free in all your actions," -said he. "Now be satisfied with seeing how much Gottlieb's health has -been improved and how his physical power has been revived." - -"Can I not, at least, know," said the neophyte, "whether he suffered -persecution on my account, after my escape from Spandau? Excuse my -impatience. This idea has never ceased to torment me, until the day when -I saw him on the grounds of the house I live in." - -"He has really suffered," said Marcus, "yet not for a long time. As soon -as he knew you to be rescued, he boasted of having contributed to it; -and his somnambulist revelations had nearly proved fatal to some of us. -They wished to confine him in a madhouse, as much to punish him as to -prevent him from aiding other prisoners to escape. He then fled; and as -we had our eye upon him, he was brought hither, where we have attended -both to his body and mind. We will return him to his country and his -family when we have given him power, and prudence necessary to enable -him to toil in our task, which now has become his own, for he is one of -our purest and most useful adepts. The chair, however, is ready, madame: -will you get into it? I will not leave you, though I confide you to the -faithful arms of Karl and Gottlieb." - -Consuelo sat quietly in the sedan, which was closed on every side, and -which received air only from a few openings in the top. She saw, then, -nothing that passed around her. Sometimes she caught a glimpse of the -stars, and therefore thought she was in the open air. At other times she -saw the transparent medium intercepted; she knew not whether by trees or -by solid edifices. The persons who bore her sedan walked rapidly, and in -the most profound silence. She sometimes attempted to discover, as their -footsteps sounded on the sand, whether three or four persons accompanied -her. Often she fancied that she discovered the step of Leverani on the -right of the chair; this, however, might be an illusion, which she -sought to avoid thinking of. - -When the sedan paused, Consuelo could not refrain from a sentiment of -terror, when she saw herself under the gateway of an old feudal mansion. -The moon shed a full light on the court, which was surrounded with -crumbling ruins, and filled with persons clad in white, who went and -came, some alone and some clinging together, like fitful spectres. This -dark arcade exhibited a blue, transparent fantastic picture. The -wandering and silent shadows, speaking in a low tone, their noiseless -motion over the grass, the appearance of the ruins, which Consuelo -recognised as those she had seen before, and where she had seen Albert, -made such an impression on her that she felt an almost superstitious -awe. She looked instinctively for Leverani, who was with Marcus; but the -darkness was so great that she could not distinguish which of the two -offered her his hand. On this occasion her heart chilled with a sudden -sadness, an indescribable fear, which rendered her almost senseless. - -Her hood was so arranged, and her cloak so put on, that she could see -every one without being recognised. Some one told her in a low voice not -to speak a single word, no matter what she might see. She was then taken -to the extremity of the court, where a strange spectacle met her glance. - -A bell with a faint and melancholy sound collected the spectres in the -round chapel, where Consuelo had at one time sought a shelter from the -tempest. This chapel was now lighted with tapers, arranged in systematic -order. The altar seemed to have been, recently built, was covered with a -pall, and strewn with strange symbols. The emblems of Christianity were -mingled with those of Judaism, Egyptian relics, and cabalistic tokens. -In the centre of the choir, the area of which had been reconstructed -with balustrades and symbolic columns, was seen a coffin encircled by -tapers and covered with cross bones, surmounted by a death's head, in -which burned a blood-colored light. Near to this cenotaph a young man -was led. Consuelo could not see his features, as a large _bandeau_ -covered half of his face. He seemed crushed by fatigue and emotion, and -he had one arm and one leg bare. His arms were tied behind his back, his -white robe was spotted with blood, and a ligature on his arm seemed to -indicate that he had been bled. Two shadows with burning torches hovered -around him, and on his breast were showers of sparks and clouds of -smoke. Then there began, between him and those who presided over the -ceremony, and who bore various unique insignia, a strange dialogue, -which put Consuelo in mind of those Cagliostro had made her listen to at -Berlin, between Albert and various unknown persons. Then spectres, armed -with swords, whom she heard called the _terrible brothers_ placed the -candidate on the floor, and, putting the points of their swords on his -heart, while many others clashed their weapons, began an angry contest; -some pretending to prevent the admission of a new brother, treating him -as perverse, unworthy, and a traitor; while others pretended to fight -for him, in the name of truth and right. This strange scene had the -effect of a painful dream on Consuelo. This contest, these menaces, this -magic worship, the sobs of the young men as they hung around the coffin, -were so well feigned, that a spectator who had not been initiated would -have been terrified. When the sponsors of the candidate had triumphed in -the argument and the combat, he was lifted up and a dagger placed in his -hand. He was ordered to advance and strike at any one who should oppose -his entry into the temple. - -Consuelo saw no more. At the moment when the candidate, with an uplifted -arm, and in a kind of delirium, went towards a low door, the two guards -who had not loosed Consuelo, now bore her rapidly away from so terrible -a spectacle, and placing the hood over her head, took her through a -multitude of windings and detours, to a place where all was silent as -possible. There she was restored to light, and she saw herself in the -octagonal room where she had overheard the conversation of Trenck and -Albert. Every opening now was carefully veiled and shut; the walls and -floor were hung with black, and tapers burned in a fashion and -arrangement different from that in the chapel. An altar like Mount -Calvary, surmounted with three crosses, marked the great fireplace. A -tomb on which was placed a hammer and nails, a lance and crown of -thorns, was in the centre of the room. Persons clad in black and in -masks, knelt or sat on a carpet covered with silver tears. They neither -wept nor sighed. Their attitude was that of austere meditation, or mute -and silent grief. - -The guides of Consuelo made her come to the very side of the coffin, and -the men who guarded it having risen and stood at the foot, one of them -said-- - -"Consuelo, you are come to witness the ceremony of a masonic initiation. -You have seen an unknown worship, mysterious emblems, funereal images, -initiating pontiffs, and a coffin. What do you learn from this -scene--from the terrible tests to which the candidate has been -subjected, from what has been said to him, and from the manifestations -of respect and love around an illustrious tomb?" - -"I do not know whether I understood correctly or not," said Consuelo. -"This scene troubled me and seemed barbarous. I pitied the recipient, -whose courage and virtue were subjected to practical proofs, as if -physical courage was a guarantee for moral fortitude. I condemn what I -have seen, and deplore the cruel sports of dark fanaticism, or the -puerile experiences of an idolatrous creed. I heard obscure enigmas -proposed, and the explanations given to the candidate seemed gathered -from a gross or distrustful catechism. Yet this bloody tomb, this -immolated victim--this ancient myth of Hiram, the divine architect, who -was assassinated by his envious and covetous workmen--this sacred word, -lost for centuries, and promised to the candidate as the magic key to -open the temple to him--all this seems a symbol without grandeur and -interest. Why is the fable so badly constructed and so doubtful in its -application?" - -"What mean you by that? Have you heard the story you speak of, as a -fable?" - -"I have heard it--long before I read the books I was directed to study -during my seclusion--in this manner. Hiram, master-workman of Solomon's -Temple, divided his workmen into classes. They had different duties and -rewards. Three of the lower grade resolved to obtain the reward reserved -to the higher class, and to wrest from Hiram the pass-word, the secret -sign which enabled him to distinguish master-workmen from journeymen at -pay-day. They watched for him while in the temple alone: and each -posting himself at an outlet of the holy place, menaced, struck, and -cruelly murdered him, without having been able to discover the sign -which was to make them equal to him and his associates--the faithful -adepts of the Temple. The friends of Hiram wept over his unhappy lot, -and paid almost divine honors to his memory." - -"And now, how do you explain that myth?" - -"I thought of it before I came hither, and I understand it thus:--Hiram -represents the cold intelligence and governmental skill of the old -societies, the basis of which were the inequalities of condition and the -influence of caste. This Egyptian fable suited the mysterious religion -of the Hierophants well enough. The three ambitious men were -Indignation, Revolt, and Vengeance. These are, probably, the three -inferior grades of the sacerdotal order, who attempted to assume their -rights by violence. The murder of Hiram conveys the idea of Despotism -powerless and impotent. He died bearing in his breast the secret of -subduing man by blindness and superstition." - -"Is this the way you really interpret this myth?" - -"I have learned from your books, that this was brought from the East by -the Templars, and that they used it in their initiations. They must -therefore have interpreted it nearly thus. But when they baptised Hiram, -Theocracy--and the assassins, Impiety, Anarchy, and Ferocity--the -Templars who wished to subject society to a kind of monastic despotism, -deplored over Impotence, as represented by the murder of Hiram. The word -of their empire--which was lost, and has since been found--was that of -_association_, or cunning, like the ancient city or temple of Osiris. -For that reason I am surprised at yet seeing this fable used in your -initiations to the work of universal deliverance. I should consider it -as only a test of mind and courage." - -"Well, we, who did not invent the form of masonry, and who really use -them as mere ordeals--we, who are more than masters and companions in -this symbolical science, since, having passed through all the masonic -grades, we have reached the point where we are no longer masons, as the -vulgar understand the order--we adjure you to explain the myth of Hiram, -as you understand it, that in relation to your zeal and intellect we may -form an opinion which will either stop you here at the door of the true -temple, or which will open the door of the sanctuary to you." - -"You ask me for _Hiram's word_, the last word. That will not open the -gates of the temple to me, for its translation is Tyranny and Falsehood. -But I know the true words, the names of the three gates of the divine -edifice, through which Hiram's murderers entered, for the purpose of -forcing the chief to bury himself beneath the wrecks of his own -work--they are _Liberty, Fraternity, Equality._" - -"Consuelo, your interpretation, whether correct or not, reveals to us -all your heart. You are, then, excused from the necessity of ever -kneeling before Hiram's tomb; neither will you pass through the grade -where the neophyte prostrates himself before the tomb of Jacques Molay, -the Grand Master and victim of the temple, of the military works and -prelate soldiers of the middle ages. You will triumph in this second -test as you did in the first. You will discern the false traces of -fanatical barbarity, which are now needed as a guarantee to minds which -are imbued with the principles of inequality. Remember that in -free-masonry, the first grades only aspire to the construction of a -profane temple, an association protected by caste. You know better, and -you are about to go directly to the universal temple, intended to -receive all men associated in one worship and love. Here you must make -your last station; you must worship Christ, and recognise him as the -only true God." - -"You say this to try me." said Consuelo firmly. "You have, however, -deigned to open my eyes to lofty truths, by teaching me to read your -secret books. Christ is a divine man, whom we revere as the greatest -philosopher and saint of antiquity. We adore him as much as it is -permitted us to adore the greatest of the masters and martyrs. We may -well call him the saviour of men, because he taught those of his day -truths they did not comprehend, but which introduced man into a new -phase of light and holiness. We may kneel over his ashes to thank God -for having created such a prophet--such an example. We however adore God -in him, and commit no idolatry. We distinguish between the divinity of -revelation and revelation itself. I consent to pay to the emblem of a -punishment for ever sublime and illustrious, the homage of pious -gratitude and filial enthusiasm. I do not think, however, the last word -of revelation was understood and proclaimed by men in Jesus' time, for -it has never yet been officially made known on earth. I expect, from the -wisdom and faith of his disciples, from the continuation of his work for -seventeen centuries, a more practical truth, a more complete application -of holy writ to the doctrines of fraternity. I wait for the development -of the gospel. I expect something more than equality before God. I wait -for and expect it before men." - -"Your words are bold, and your doctrines full. Have you thought of them -while alone? Have you foreseen the evils your new faith has piled upon -your head? Do you know that we are as one to a hundred in the most -civilised countries in Europe? Do you know that at the time we live, -between those who pay to Jesus, the sublime revealer, an insulting and -base veneration, and those almost as numerous who deny even his mission, -between these idolaters and atheists, we have no place under the sun, -except amid persecutions and jests, the hatred and contempt of the human -race? Do you know that in France, at the present moment, Rousseau and -Voltaire are almost equally proscribed; yet one is decidedly religious -and the other a skeptic? Do you know--and this is far more -terrible--that while in exile they mutually proscribe each other? Do you -know you are about to return to a world, where all will conspire to -shake your faith and break your ideas? Know that you will have to -exercise your mission amid suffering, danger, doubt, and deception?" - -"I am resolved," said Consuelo, looking down, and placing her hand on -her heart. "May God aid me!" - -"Well, daughter," said Marcus, who yet held Consuelo's hand, "you are -about to be subjected by us to moral sufferings--not to test your truth, -for we are satisfied with it, but to fortify it. Not in the calm of -repose--not amid the pleasures of the world, but amid grief and tears -does faith expand. Have you courage to hear painful emotions, and -perhaps to withstand great terror?" - -"If it be needful, and if my soul profit by it, I will submit to your -pleasure," said Consuelo, with some distress. - -"The Invisibles at once began to move the pall and lights from the -coffin, which was moved into one of the deep embrasures of the window, -and several adepts with iron bars lifted up a round stone in the centre -of the pavement of the hall. Consuelo then saw a circular opening large -enough to permit one person to pass. The sides, which were of granite, -blackened and stained by time, proved that it was as old as any portion -of the architecture of the tower. Marcus then, leading Consuelo to the -brink, asked her thrice, in a solemn tone, if she was bold enough to -descend into the passages of the feudal tower." - -"Hear me, my fathers or brothers, for I know not how to speak to you," -said Consuelo. - -"Call them brothers," said Marcus. "You are here among the -Invisibles--your equals, if you persevere for an hour. You will now bid -them adieu, to meet them at the expiration of that time, in the presence -of the supreme chiefs--of those whose voice is never heard, whose face -is never seen, and whom you will call fathers. They are the sovereign -pontiffs, the spiritual chiefs and temporal lords of our sanctuary. We -will appear before them and you with bare faces, if you have decided to -rejoin us at the gate of the sanctuary, having passed that dark and -terrible path opening beneath your feet, down which you must walk alone, -without any guide but your courage and perseverance." - -"I will do so," said the trembling neophyte, "if you desire it. But is -this test, which you declare so trying, inevitable? Oh, my brothers, you -certainly do not wish to sport with the reason of a woman, already too -severely tried, from mere affectation and vanity. To-day you have -subjected me to a long fast; and though emotion for several hours -relieves us from hunger, I feel myself physically weakened. I know not -whether or not I shall succumb to the labors to which you subject me. I -care not, I protest to you, if my body suffers and becomes feeble; but -would you not fancy mere physical weakness to be cowardice? Tell me you -will pardon me for being endowed with a woman's nerve, if, when I regain -my consciousness, I show that I have the heart of a man?" - -"Poor child," said Marcus, "I would rather hear you own your weakness -than seek to dazzle us by intemperate boldness. We will, if you choose, -give you a single guide to aid and assist you in your pilgrimage. -Brother," said he to Leverani, who had stood at the door during this -conversation, with his eyes fixed on Consuelo, "take your sister's hand, -and lead her to the general rendezvous." - -"And will not you, brother," said Consuelo, "also go with me?" - -"That is impossible. You can have but one guide; and the one I have -pointed out is the only one I am permitted to give you?" - -"I shall have courage enough," said Consuelo wrapping herself in her -cloak. "I will go alone." - -"Do you refuse the aid of a brother and a friend?" - -"I refuse neither his sympathy nor his friendship; but I will go alone." - -"Go then, my noble girl, and do not be afraid. She who descended alone -the Fountain of Tears--who braved so much danger to discover the secret -cavern of Schreckenstein, will be able to pass easily through the -recesses of our pyramid. Go, then, as the heroes of antiquity went to -seek for initiation amid sacred mysteries. Brothers, give her the -cup--that precious relic a descendant of Ziska gave us, in which we -consecrate the august sacrament of fraternal communion." - -Leverani took from the altar a rudely carved cup of wood, and having -filled it, gave it to Consuelo with a piece of bread. - -"Sister," said Marcus, "not only pure and generous wine, with white -bread, do we offer you to restore your power, but the body and blood of -the divine man as he understood it himself; that is to say, the -celestial and also earthly sign of fraternal equality. Our fathers, the -martyrs of the Taborite church, fancied that the intervention of impious -and sacrilegious priests were not so effective as the pure hands of a -woman or a child in the consecration of the sacrament. Commune then with -us here until you sit at the banquet of the temple, where the great -mystery of the supper will be more explicitly revealed to you. Take this -cup, and first drink of it. If, when you do so, you have faith, a few -drops will be a mighty tonic to your body, and your fervent soul will -support you through your trial on its wings of flame. Consuelo having -first drank of the cup, returned it to Leverani, who, after tasting it, -handed it around to the other brethren. Marcus having swallowed the last -drops, blessed Consuelo, and requested the assembly to pray for her. He -then presented the neophyte with a silver lamp, and assisted her in -placing her feet on the bars of a ladder. - -"I need not," said he, "tell you that no danger menaces your life; but -remember that you will never reach the door of the temple if you look -but once behind as you proceed. You will have several pauses to make at -different places, when you must examine all that terrifies you--but do -not pause long. As a door opens before you, pass it, and you will never -return. This is, as you know, the rigid requirement of the old -initiations. You must also, in obedience to the rules of the old rites, -diligently nurse the flame of your lamp. Go, my child, and may this idea -give you superhuman power, that what you now are condemned to suffer is -necessary to the development of your heart and mind in virtue and true -faith." - -When Marcus had ceased speaking, Consuelo carefully descended the -stairs. When she was at the foot, the ladder was withdrawn, and she -heard the heavy stones close over the entrance above her. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIX - - -At first Consuelo, having passed from a room where a hundred torches -burned, to a room lighted by a solitary lamp, saw nothing but a kind of -mystic light around her, which her eyes could not penetrate. Gradually, -however, they became used to darkness; and as she perceived nothing -between her and the walls of a room of an octagonal form, like the one -she left, she ventured to examine the characters on the wall. This was a -solitary and long inscription, arranged in many circular lines around -the room, which had no outlet. As she saw this, Consuelo asked herself, -not how she could get out of the room, but for what purpose it could -have been made. Thoughts of evil which she endeavored to repress, -obtruded themselves upon her mind, and they were confirmed by the -inscriptions she read, as lamp in hand she slowly walked around the -room. - -"Look at the beauty of these walls, cut in the rock, twenty-four feet -thick, and which have stood for a thousand years uninjured by war, or -the efforts of time. This model of architectural masonry was built by -the hand of slaves, doubtless to contain the treasures of some mighty -lord. Yes, to bury in the depths of the rock, in the bowels of the -earth, the treasures of hatred and vengeance. Here twenty generations of -men have suffered, wept and blasphemed. Some were innocent--some were -heroic--all were victims or martyrs: prisoners of war--serfs who had -revolted, or who were too much crushed by taxes to be able to pay -more--religious innovators, sublime heretics, unfortunate men, conquered -warriors, fanatics, saints, and criminals--men educated in the ferocity -of camps to rapine and war, who had in return been subjected to horrible -reprisals--such are the catacombs of feudality and military or religious -despotism. Such are the abodes that the powerful made for their victims, -to stifle their cries, and conceal their existence from the light of -day. Here there is no air to breathe, no ray of light, no stone to rest -the head--nothing but an iron ring fastened in the wall to hold the -chain, and keep them from selecting their resting-place on the damp and -icy floor. Here air, light and food are at the disposal of the guards -posted in the upper room, where they pleased to open the door for a -moment and throw in a morsel of bread to hundreds of victims chained and -heaped together on the day after a battle. Often they wounded or -murdered each other, and often, yet more horrible, one alone remained, -stifled in suffering and despair, amid the loathsome carcases of his -companions, and sometimes attacked by the worms before death, and -sinking in putrefaction before life had become extinct. Behold! O -neophyte, the source of human grandeur, which you perhaps have looked on -with envy and admiration. Crushed skulls, human bones, dried and -withered tears, blood-spots, are the translations of the coats of arms, -if you have such bequeathed you by nobility. This is what should be -quartered on the escutcheons of the princes you have served, or aspire -to serve, if you be a man of the people. Yes, this is the foundation of -noble titles, of the hereditary glory and riches of the world. Thus has -been built up a caste, which all other classes of men yet venerate and -preserve. Thus have men contrived to elevate themselves from father to -son above their fellows." - -Having passed thrice around the room, and read this inscription, -Consuelo, filled with grief and terror, placed the lamp on the floor, to -rest herself. The lonely place was as silent as the grave, and terrible -thoughts arose in her mind. Her eager fancy evoked dark visions. She -thought she saw livid shadows, covered with hideous wounds, flitting -around the hall, and crawling on the floor beside her. She thought she -heard their painful sighs, and the rattling of their chains. She evolved -the past in her mind, as she had imagined it in the middle ages, and as -it continued during the religious wars. She fancied she heard, in the -guard-room above, the heavy tread of iron-shod men, the rattling of -their pikes, their coarse laughter, their mad songs, their threats and -oaths when the victims complaints reached them and interrupted their -terrible sleep; for those jailors had slept over their prison, over that -unhealthy abyss, whence the miasmata of the tombs, and of hell, were -exhaled. - -Pale, her eyes staring, her hair erect with terror, Consuelo saw and -heard nothing. When she had recalled her own existence, and strove to -shake off the chill which had seized her, she saw that a stone had been -removed, and that another passage was opened for her. She approached, -and saw a narrow and stiff stairway, which she descended with great -difficulty, and which ended in another cavern, darker and smaller than -the first. When she touched the floor, which was soft, and yielded under -her feet, Consuelo put down her lamp, to see if she did not sink in mud. -She saw naught hut a fine dust, smaller than the finest sand, containing -here and there a broken rib, a piece of a thigh bone, fragments of a -skull, a jaw, with teeth yet solid and white, exhibiting youth and power -crushed by a violent death. A few skeletons, almost entire, had been -taken from the dust, and were placed against the wall. One had been -perfectly preserved, and was chained around the waist, as if the -prisoner had been condemned to die without being able to lie down. The -body, instead of inclining forward, was stiffened and drawn back, with -an expression of utter disdain. The ligaments of the body and limbs were -ossified. The head was thrown back, and seemed to look at the roof; the -teeth, contracted by a last effort, smiled terribly with some outbreak -of fanaticism. Above the body the name and story of the prisoner were -written, in large red letters, on the wall. He was an obscure martyr of -religious persecution, and the last victim immolated in this place. At -his feet knelt a skeleton; the head, detached from the vertebræ, lay on -the pavement, but the stiffened arms yet embraced the knees of the -martyr: this was his wife. The inscription bore, among other details, -the following-- - -"N----died here with his wife, his three brothers, and his two children, -because they would not renounce Lutheranism, and maintained, even amid -tortures, a denial of the infallibility of the pope. He died erect, -without being able to see his family suffering at his feet, on the ashes -of his friends and fathers." - -Opposite this inscription was thus written-- - -"Neophyte, the light earth on which you tread is twenty feet deep. It is -neither sand nor clay, but the ashes of man. This was the ossuary of the -castle. Here were thrown those who died in the grave above, when there -was no room. It is all that remains of twenty generations of victims. -Blessed and rare are the nobles who can reckon among their ancestors -twenty generations of murderers and executioners!" - -Consuelo was less terrified at these funereal ensignia than she had been -in the jail at the phantoms of her own mind; there is something so grave -and solemn in the very appearance of death, though the weakness of fear -and the lacerations of pity obscure the enthusiasm and serenity of -strong and believing souls. In the presence of these relics, the noble -adept of Albert's religion felt respect and charity rather than terror -and consternation. She knelt before the martyr's remains, and feeling -her moral strength failing, cried, as she kissed the lacerated hand, -"Oh, it is not the august spectacle of a glorious destruction which -fills us with horror and pity, but the idea of life disputing with the -torments of agony. It is the thought of what passes in these broken -hearts that fills the souls of those who live with bitterness and -terror. You, unfortunate victim, dead, and with your head turned to -heaven, are not to be feared, for you have not failed. Your heart has -exhaled itself in a transport which fills me with exultation." - -Consuelo rose slowly, and with a degree of calmness unloosed the veil -which covered the dead bones by her side. A narrow and low door opened -before her. She took her lamp, and forbearing to look back, entered a -corridor which descended rapidly. On her right and left she saw cells, -the appearance of which was entirely sepulchral. These dungeons were too -low for one to stand erect, and scarcely long enough for a person to -sleep in them. They appeared the work of Cyclops, so massive and so -strong was their masonry. They seemed to be intended for dens of wild -and savage animals. Consuelo, however, would not be deceived. She had -seen the arenæ veronia; she was aware that the tigers and bears kept -for the amusements of the circus, for the combats of the gladiators, -were a thousand times better furnished. Besides she read over the iron -gates that these impenetrable dungeons were appropriated to conquered -princes, to brave captains, to the prisoners who were most important -from rank and intelligence. Care to prevent their escape exhibited the -love and respect with which they had inspired their partisans. There had -been stifled the voices of the lions whose roaring had filled the world -with terror. - -Their power and will had been crushed against an angle in the wall. -Their herculian breasts had been burst in aspirations for air at an -imperceptible window, cut through a wall twenty-four feet. Their eagle -glance was exhausted in seeking for light amid darkness. There were -buried alive persons whom they dared not kill by day. Illustrious men, -noble hearts, there suffered from the use, and possibly the abuse, of -power. - -Having wandered for some time amid the dark and damp galleries, Consuelo -heard a sound of running water, which reminded her of the terrible -cavern of Riesenberg. She was, however, too much occupied by the -misfortunes and crimes of humanity, to think of herself. She was forced -for a time to pause and go around a cistern on the level of the ground, -lighted by a torch she read on a sign-board these words: - -"There they drowned them." - -Consuelo looked down to see the interior of the well. The water of the -rivulet, over which an hour before she had glided so peacefully, fell -down into a frightful gulf, and whirled angrily round, as if it was -anxious to take possession of a victim. The red light of the resinous -torch made the water blood-colored. - -At last Consuelo came to a massive door, which she sought in vain to -open. She asked if, as in the initiations in the pyramids, she was about -to be lifted in the air by invisible chains, while some cavern suddenly -opened and put out her lamp. Another terror seized her, for as she -walked down the gallery, she saw that she was not alone, though the -person who accompanied her trod so lightly that she heard no noise. She -fancied that she heard the rustling of a silk dress near her own, and -that, when she had passed the well, the light of the torch reflected two -trembling shadows on the wall instead of one. Who, then, was the -terrible companion she was forbidden to look back on, under the penalty -of losing the fruit of all her labors, and never being able to cross the -threshold of the temple? Was it some terrible spectre, the appearance of -which would have frozen her courage, and disturbed her reason? She saw -his shadow no more, but she imagined she heard his respiration near her. -She waited to see the terrible door reopen. The two or three minutes -which elapsed during this expectation, seemed an age. The mute acophyte -terrified her. She was afraid that he wished to test her by speaking, -and forcing her by some _ruse_ to look back. Her heart beat violently. -At last she saw that an inscription above the door was yet to be read: - -"This is your last trial, and it is the most cruel. If your courage be -exhausted, strike thrice on the left of the door. If not, strike thrice -on the right. Remember, the glory of your initiation will be in -proportion to your efforts." - -Consuelo did not hesitate, but went to the right. One of the doors -opened as if of itself, and she went into a vast room, lighted with many -lamps. She was alone, and at first could not distinguish the strange -objects around her. They were machines of wood, iron, and bronze, the -use of which she knew not. Strange arms were displayed on the table, or -hung on the wall. For one moment she fancied herself in some museum of -weapons, for she saw muskets, cannons, culverins, and a perfect array of -the weapons on which those now used are improvements. Care had been -taken to collect all the instruments men use in immolating each other. -When the neophyte had passed once or twice through the room, she saw -others of a more refined character and some more barbarous--collars, -wheels, saws, pulleys, hooks--a perfect gallery of instruments of -torture--and, above all, a scroll supported by maces, hooks, dentated -knives, and other torturing irons. The scroll read-- - -"They are all precious.--They have been used." - -Consuelo felt her strength give way. A cold perspiration rolled down her -hair, and her heart ceased to beat. Incapable of shaking off the feeling -of horror and the terrible visions that crowded around her, she examined -all that stood before her with that stupid curiosity which, when we are -terrified, takes possession of us. Instead of closing her eyes, she -looked at a kind of bronze bell, the cap of which was immense, and -rested on a large body without limbs, yet which reached as low as the -knees. It was not unlike a colossal statue, coarsely carved, intended -for a tomb. Gradually, Consuelo overcame her torpor, and comprehended -that the victim was to be placed beneath this bell. Its weight was so -vast that it was impossible to lift it up. The internal body was so -immense that motion was impossible. There was no intention of stifling -the person put within, for the vizor of the helmet was open at the face, -and all the circumference was pierced with little holes, in some of -which stilettoes were yet pierced. By means of these cruel wounds they -sought to torment the victim so as to wrest from him charges against his -relations or friends, or confessions of political or religious -faith.[14] On the top of the casque was carved, in the Spanish -language-- - -"Viva la Santa Inquisicion!" - -Beneath was a prayer, which seemed dictated by savage compassion, but -which perhaps emanated from the hand of the poor mechanic ordered to -make the instrument of torture-- - -"Holy mother of God, have mercy on the sinner!" - -A lock of hair, torn out by torture, and which doubtless had been -stained with blood, was below this inscription. It had, perhaps, come -through one of the orifices which had been enlarged by the daggers. The -hairs were grey. - -All at once Consuelo saw nothing, and ceased to suffer. Without being -informed by any sentiment of physical suffering, she was about to fall -cold and stiff on the pavement, as a statue thrown from its pedestal, -but, as her head was coming in contact with the infernal machine, she -was caught in the arms of a man. This was Leverani. - - -[Footnote 14: Any one may see an instrument of this kind, and also a -hundred others no less ingeniously constructed, in the arsenal of -Venice. Consuelo never saw it, for the interior of the prisons of the -Inquisition and the PIOMBE of the ducal palace were never open to the -people until the occupation of the city by troops of the French -Republic.] - - - - -CHAPTER XL - - -When she revived, Consuelo sat on a purple carpet, covering steps of -white marble leading into an elegant portico in the Corinthian style. -Two men in masks, whom she concluded by the color of their cloaks to be -Leverani and Marcus, sustained, and seemed anxious to restore her. About -forty other persons cloaked and masked, the same she had seen around the -image of the tomb of Christ, stood in two ranks, and chanted in chorus a -solemn hymn, in an unknown language, wearing crowns of roses and palms, -and green boughs. The pillars were adorned with festoons of garlands, -like triumphal arches, before the closed door of the temple, and above -Consuelo. The moon, brilliant and in mid-heaven, illumined the whole -white facade; and outside the sanctuary, old yews, cypresses, and pines -formed an immense thicket, like a sacred wood, beneath which a -mysterious stream, glancing in the silver light of the moon, murmured. - -"My sister," said Marcus, aiding Consuelo to rise, "you have passed -every test in triumph. Blush not at having failed in a physical point of -view, under the pain of grief. Your generous heart was overcome by -indignation and pity, at palpable evidences of the crimes and sufferings -of man. If you had reached this place unassisted, we would have had less -respect for you than now, when we have brought you hither overcome and -insensible. You have seen the sacred places of a lordly castle--not of -one celebrated above all others by the crimes of which it has been the -theatre, but like others whose ruins cover all Europe--terrible wrecks -of the vast net with which feudal power enwrapped, during so many -centuries, the whole civilised world, and oppressed men with the crime -of its awful domination and with the horrors of civil war. These hideous -abodes, these savage fortresses, have necessarily served as theatres for -all the crimes humanity witnessed before it was enlightened by means of -the religious wars--by the toil of sects struggling to emancipate man, -and by the martyrdom of the elect to establish the idea of truth. - -"Pass through Germany, France, Italy, England, Spain, and the Slavonic -countries, and you will not enter a valley or ascend a mountain, without -seeing above you the ruin of some imposing tower or castle, or, at -least, finding in the grass beneath your feet the vestiges of some -fortification. These are the bloody traces of the right of conquest of -the people by the patricians. If you explore these ruins--if you look -into the soil which has devoured them and which seeks constantly to make -them disappear, you will find everywhere traces of what you have found -here--a jail, a well for the dead, narrow and dark dungeons for -prisoners of importance, a place for silent murder, and on the summit of -some huge tower, or in the depth of some dungeon, stocks for rebellious -serfs or mutinous soldiers, a gallows for deserters and a stake for -heretics. How many have perished in boiling pitch! how many have -disappeared beneath the wave! how many have been buried alive! The walls -of castles, the waters of rivers and rocky caverns, could they speak, -would unfold myriads of crimes. The number is too great for history to -enumerate in detail. - -"Not the nobles alone, not the patrician races only, have made the soil -red with innocent blood. Kings and princes and priests, thrones and -churches, were the great causes of the iniquities and the living sources -of destruction. Persevering yet melancholy attention has collected in -our manor a portion of the instruments of torture used by the strong -against the weak. A description of their uses would not be credible; the -virtues could scarcely comprehend them; thought refuses to register -them. During many centuries these terrible apparatus were used in royal -palaces, in the citadels of petty princes, but above all, in the -dungeons of the Holy Office. They are yet used there, though but rarely. -The Inquisition yet exists: and in France, the most civilised country of -the world, the provincial parliament even now burns witches. - -"Besides, is royal tyranny now overthrown? Do kings and princes no -longer ravage the earth? Does not war desolate opulent cities, as well -as the pauper's hut, at the merest whim of a petty prince? Serfdom yet -exists in half of Europe. Are not troops yet subjected to the lash and -cane? The handsomest and bravest soldiers of the world, those of -Prussia, are taught their duty like animals, by beating. Are not the -Russian serfs often unmercifully knouted? If the fortresses of old -barons are dismantled, and turned into harmless abodes, are not those of -kings yet erect? Are they not frequently places where the innocent are -confined? Were not you, my sister, the purest and mildest of women, a -prisoner at Spandau? - -"We knew you were generous, and relied on your character of justice and -charity. Seeing you destined, like many who are here, to return to the -world, to approach the persons of sovereigns, as you were particularly -liable to their influence, it was our duty to put you on your guard -against the intoxication of that brilliant and dangerous life. It was -our duty to spare you no instructions, not even that of a terrible kind. -We appealed to your mind by the solitude to which we doomed you, by the -books we gave you. We spoke to your heart by paternal advice, now -tender, and now stern. We addressed your vision by experiences of more -painful significance than those of the old mysteries. Now if you persist -in receiving your initiation, you may present yourself before the -incorruptible paternal judges, who now are ready to crown you here, or -give you leave to quit us forever." - -As he concluded, Marcus pointed to the open door of the temple, above -which were written the three words--_Liberty, Equality, Fraternity_--in -letters of fire. - -Consuelo was physically crushed and weakened to such a degree, that she -existed in her mind alone. Standing at the base of a column, she leant -on Leverani, but without seeing or thinking of him. However, she had not -lost one word said by the initiator. Speechless, pale as a spectre, and -with her eyes fixed, she had that wild expression which follows nervous -crises. A deep enthusiasm filled her bosom, the feeble respiration of -which Leverani could not distinguish. Her black eyes, which fatigue and -suffering had caused to sink, glared brightly. A slight compression of -her brow evinced deep resolution. Her beauty, which had always seemed -gentle and soft, now appeared fearful. Leverani became as pale as the -jessamine leaf which the night wind made to quiver on his mistress's -brow. She arose, with more power than might have been expected; but at -once her knees gave way, and she was almost borne up the steps by him, -without the restraint of the arm, which had moved to the neighborhood of -her heart, to which it had been pressed, disturbing the current of her -thoughts for an instant. He placed between his own hand and Consuelo's, -the silver cross, as a token to inform her who he was, and which, like a -talisman, had given him such influence over her. Consuelo appeared -neither to recognise the token, nor the hand that presented it. Her own -was contracted by suffering. It was a mere mechanical pressure, as when -on the brink of an abyss we seize a branch to sustain ourselves. The -heart's blood did not reach her icy hand. - -"Marcus," said Leverani, in a low tone, as the former passed him to -knock at the door of the temple, "do not leave us; I fear the test has -been too great." - -"She loves you," said Marcus. - -"Yes--but perhaps she will die!" said Leverani, with a shudder. - -Marcus struck thrice at the door, which opened and shut as soon as he -had passed in with Consuelo and Leverani. The other brethren remained on -the portico, until they should be introduced for the initiation. For -between the initiation and the final proofs there was always a sacred -conversation between the principals and the candidates. The interior of -the temple used for these initiations was magnificently adorned, and -decorated between the pillars with statues of the greatest friends of -humanity. That of Jesus Christ stood in the centre of the amphitheatre, -between those of Pythagoras and Plato; Apollonius of Thyana was next to -Saint John; Abeilard by Saint Bernard; and John Huss and Jerome of -Prague, with Saint Catharine and Joan of Arc. Consuelo did not pause to -attend to external objects. Wrapped in meditation, she saw with surprise -the same judges who had profoundly sounded her heart. She no longer felt -any trouble, but waited, with apparent calmness, for their sentence. - -The eighth person, who sat below the seven judges, and who seemed always -to speak for them, addressing Marcus, said--"Brother, whom bring you -here? What is her name?" - -"Consuelo Porporina," said Marcus. - -"That is not what you are asked, my brother," said Consuelo; "do you not -see me here as a bride, not as a widow? Announce the Countess Albert of -Rudolstadt." - -"My daughter," said the orator, "I speak to you in the name of the -council. You are known no longer by that name; your marriage has been -dissolved." - -"By what right? by what authority?" said Consuelo quickly, with sudden -emotion. "I recognise no theocratic power. You have yourself told me -that you recognised no rights but those I gave you freely, and bade me -submit merely to paternal authority. Such yours will not be, if it -rescind my marriage without my own or my husband's consent. This right -neither he nor I have given you." - -"You are mistaken, daughter, for Albert has given us the right to decide -on both your fate and his own. You yourself did the same, when you -opened your heart, and confessed your love of another." - -"I confessed nothing, and I deny the avowal you have sought to wrest -from me." - -"Bring in the sibyl," said the orator to Marcus. - -A tall woman, dressed in white, with her face hid beneath her veil, -entered and sat in the middle of the half circle formed by the judges. -By her nervous tremor Consuelo recognised Wanda. - -"Speak, priestess of truth," said the orator; "speak, interpreter and -revealer of the greatest secrets, the most delicate movements of the -heart. Is this woman the wife of Albert of Rudolstadt?" - -"She is his faithful and respectable wife," said Wanda; "but you must -pronounce his divorce. You see by whom she is brought hither. You see -that of the children, one who holds her hand, is the man she loves, and -to whom she must belong, by the imperscrutable right of love." - -Consuelo turned with surprise towards Leverani, and looked at her hand, -which lay passive and deathlike in his. She seemed to be under the -influence of a dream, and to attempt to awaken. She loosed herself with -energy from his embrace, and looking into the hollow of her hand, saw -the impression of her mother's cross. - -"This is, then, the man I love," said she, with a melancholy smile and -holy ingenuousness. "Yes, I loved him, tenderly and sadly; yet it was a -dream. I fancied Albert was no more, and you told me this man was worthy -of my respect and my confidence. But I have seen Albert. I fancied that -I understood from his language that he no longer wished to be my -husband, and did not blame me for loving this stranger, whose words and -letters filled me with enthusiastic affection. They told me, however, -that Albert yet loved me, and relinquished all claim, from an exertion -of love and generosity. Why did Albert fancy I would be less magnanimous -than himself? What have I done that was criminal, that should induce him -to think me capable of crushing his heart by arrogating purely selfish -pleasure to myself? No, I will never defile myself by such a crime. If -Albert deems me unworthy of him, because I have loved another--if he -shrinks from effacing that love, and does not seek to inspire me with a -greater, I will submit to his decree--I will accept the sentence of -divorce, against which both my heart and conscience revolt; but I will -never be either the wife or mistress of another. Adieu, Leverani--or -whosoever you be--to whom, in a moment of mad delirium, with fills me -with remorse, I confided my mother's cross. Restore me that token, that -there may exist between us nothing but the memory of mutual esteem, and -the feeling that, without bitterness and without regret, we have done -our duty." - -"We recognise no such morality, you know," said the sibyl. "We will -accept no such sacrifice. We wish to consecrate and purify that love the -world has profaned, the free choice of the heart, and the holy and -voluntary union of beings loving each other. We have the right to -instruct the conscience of our children, to redress errors, to join -sympathies, and tear apart the bonds of old society. You can not -determine to sacrifice yourself--you cannot stifle the love in your -bosom, or deny the truth of your confession." - -"What say you of liberty? what say you of love and happiness?" said -Consuelo, advancing a step towards the judges, with an outbreak of -enthusiasm and a sublime radiation of countenance. "Have you not -subjected me to ordeals which have made my cheek pale and my heart -tremble? What kind of a base senseless being do you think me? Fancy you -that I am capable of seeking personal satisfaction after what I have -seen, learned, and know to be the life of men in their earthly affairs? -No! neither love, marriage, liberty, happiness, or glory are anything -for me, if it be at the expense of the humblest of my fellows. Is it not -proved that every earthly pleasure is obtained at the expense of the -suffering of another? Is there not something better to do than to -satisfy ourselves? Albert thinks so, and I have the right to follow his -example. Let me avoid the false and criminal illusion of happiness. Give -me toil, fatigue, grief, and enthusiasm. I understand no longer the -existence of joy, otherwise than in suffering. I have a thirst for -martyrdom, since you have exhibited to me the trophies of punishment. -Shame to those who understand their duty, and who yet seek to share -earthly happiness and repose. I now know my duty. Oh, Leverani! if you -love me after all the ordeals I have gone through, you are mad--you are -but a child, unworthy of the name of man--certainly unworthy of my -sacrificing Albert's heroic love to you. And you, Albert, if you be -here--if you hear me--you should not refuse to call me sister, to offer -me your hand, and teach me to walk in the rude pathway that leads me to -God." - -The enthusiasm of Consuelo had reached the acme, and words did not -suffice to express it. A kind of vertigo seized her; and, as happened to -the Pythonesses, in the paroxysms of their divine crises, when they -uttered cries and strange madness, she manifested her emotion in the -manner which was most natural to her. She began to sing in a brilliant -voice, and with an enthusiasm at least equal to that she had experienced -when she sang the same air in Venice, on the first occasion of her -appearance in public, when Marcello and Porpora were present. - - -"I cieli immensi narrono -Del grande Iddio la gloria!" - - -This melody rushed to her lips, because it was perhaps the most _naïve_ -and powerful expression ever given to religious enthusiasm. Consuelo, -however, was not calm enough to repress and manage her voice, and after -the first two lines her intonation became a sob, and, bursting into -tears, she fell on her knees. - -The invisibles were electrified by her fervor, and sprang to their feet -to hear this true inspiration with becoming respect. They descended from -their places and approached her; while Wanda, taking her in her arms, -placed her in those of Leverani, and said--"Look at him, and know that -God permits you to reconcile virtue, happiness, and duty." - -Consuelo for an instant was silent, as if she had been wafted to another -world. At length she looked on Leverani, whose mask Marcus tore away. -She uttered a piercing cry, and nearly died on his bosom as she -recognised Albert. Leverani and Albert were one and the same person. - - - - -CHAPTER XLI - - -At this juncture the doors of the temple swung open with a metallic -sound, and the Invisibles entered, two and two. The magic notes of the -harmonica,[15] an instrument newly invented, the vibration of which was -an unknown wonder to Consuelo, was heard in the air, and seemed to -descend from the dome, which was open to the moon and the night wind. A -shower of flowers fell slowly over the happy couple amid this solemn -strain. Wanda stood by a tripod of gold, whence her right hand threw -brilliant flames and clouds of perfume, while in the left she held the -two ends of a chain of flowers and symbolic leaves she had cast around -the two lovers. The invisible chiefs, their faces being covered with -their long red drapery, with chaplets of the oak and accacia around -their brows, stood up to receive the brothers as they passed by them, -with a bow of veneration. The chiefs had the majesty of the old Druids, -but their hands, unstained by blood, were opened to bless alone, and -religious respect replaced the terror of old creeds. As the initiated -appeared before the venerable tribune, they took off their masks, to -salute the unknown with a bare brow. The latter were known to them only -by acts of clemency and justice, paternal love and wisdom. Faithful to -the religion of an oath, they did not seek to penetrate the mysterious -veils. Certainly, though themselves unaware, the adepts knew these magi -of a new religion, for they mingled with them in society, and, in the -very bosom of their assemblies, were the best friends and confidants of -the major portion of them--perhaps of each individual. In the practice -of their religion the priest was always veiled, like the oracle of -ancient days. - -Happy childhood of innocent creeds, quasi fabulous dawn of sacred -conspiracies, enwrapped in the night of ages, and decked with poetical -uncertainty! though the space of scarcely one century separates us from -these Invisibles, their existence to the historian is enigmatical. -Thirty years after the _illuminati_ assumed those powers of which the -vulgar were ignorant, and finding their resources in the inventive -genius of the chiefs, and in the tradition of the secret societies of -mystic Germany, terrified the world by the most formidable and vast -political conspiracy that ever existed. For a moment it shook the throne -of every dynasty, and finally succumbed, bequeathing to the French -revolution an electric current of sublime enthusiasm, ardent faith, and -terrible fanaticism. Half a century before those days marked out by -fate, and while the gallant monarchy of Louis XV., the philosophical -despotism of Frederick II., the skeptic and mocking loyalty of Voltaire, -the ambition and diplomacy of Maria Theresa, and the heretical -toleration of Gangarelli, seemed to promise to the world a season of -decrepitude, antagonism, chaos, and dissolution, the French revolution -fermented and germinated in the dark. It existed in minds which were -_believing_ almost to fanaticism, under the form of one dream of -universal revolution. While debauchery, hypocrisy, and incredulity ruled -the world, a sublime faith, a magnificent revelation of the future, -profound systems of organization, perhaps wiser than our Fourierism and -Saint-Simonism, already realised in some rare groups the ideal -conception of a future society diametrically opposed to what covers and -hides their actions in history. - -Such a contrast is one of the most prominent features of the eighteenth -century, which was too full of ideas, and of intellectual labor of all -kinds, for its synthesis to be made even yet, with clearness and profit, -by the historians and philosophers of our own days. The reason is, there -is a mass of contradictory documents, uninterpreted facts, not perceived -at first, sources of information disturbed by the tumult of the century, -and which must be purified before a solid bottom can be found. Many -energetic laborers have remained obscure, bearing to the tomb the secret -of their mission--so many dazzling glories absorbed the attention of -their contemporaries, so many brilliant feats even now absorbed the -retrospective attention of critics. Gradually, however, light will -emanate from chaos; and if our century sum up its own deeds, it will -also chronicle those of its predecessor--that vast logogriph, those -brilliant nebulæ, where there is so much cowardice combined with -grandeur, ignorance with knowledge, light with error, incredulity with -faith, pedantry with mocking frivolity, superstition with lofty reason. -This period of a hundred years saw the reigns of Madame de Maintenon and -Madame de Pompadour, Peter the Great, Catharine II., Maria Theresa and -Dubarry, Voltaire and Swedenborg, Kant and Mesmer, Rousseau and Dubois, -Schroeffer and Diderot, Fenelon and Law, Zinzendorf and Liebnitz, -Frederick II. and Robespierre, Louis XIV. and Philip Egalité, Marie -Antoinette and Charlotte Corday, Weishaupt, Babœf and Napoleon--a -terrible laboratory, where so many heterogeneous forms have been cast -into the crucible, that they vomited forth, in their monstrous -ebullition, a torrent of smoke, amid which we yet walk, enveloped in -darkness and confused images. - -Consuelo and Albert, as well as the Invisible chiefs and the adepts, -were yet farther than we are from understanding it; they had no very -lucid idea of the result of the changes and the turmoil into which they -were anxious to precipitate themselves, with the enthusiastic hope of -completely regenerating society. They fancied themselves on the eve of -an evangelical republic, as the disciples of Jesus fancied he was about -to establish an earthly power. The Taborites of Bohemia fancied -themselves on the eve of a paradisiac condition; and the French -Convention thought their armies about to commence a march of -propagandism over the globe. Without this mad confidence, where would be -great devotion? and without great folly, where would be great results? -But for the Utopia of the divine revealer Jesus, where would be the idea -of human fraternity? But for the contagious ecstacies of Joan of Arc, -would we now be Frenchmen? But for the noble chimeras of the eighteenth -century, would we have the first notions of equality? This mysterious -revolution which the sects of the past had dreamed of, and which the -mystic conspirators of the last century had vaguely foretold, fifty -years before, as an era of renovation, Voltaire, the calm philosophical -head of his day, and Frederick II., the great realiser of logical and -cold power, did not anticipate. The most ardent and the wisest were far -from reading the future. Jean Jacques Rousseau would have repudiated his -own book, had he seen the mountain in a dream, with the guillotine -glaring above it. Albert of Rudolstadt would have become again the -lethargic madman of the Giants' Castle if the bloody glories, followed -by Napoleon's despotism, and the restoration of the ancient _régime_, -followed by the sway of the vilest material interests, had been revealed -to him; or he fancied that he toiled to overthrow, at once and for ever, -scaffolds and prisons, castles and convents, banks and citadels. - -These noble children dreamed, and maintained their dream with all the -power of their souls. They no more belonged to their century than did -the shrewd politicians and wise philosophers. Their ideas of the future -were not more lucid than those of the latter. They had no idea of that -great unknown thing which each of us decks with the attributes of our -own power, which deceives us all while it confirms us. Our children see -it clad in a thousand dyes, and each keeps a shred for his own imperial -toga. Fortunately, every century sees it more majestic, because each -produces more persons to toil for its triumph. As for the men who would -tear off the purple and cover it with eternal mourning, they are -powerless, because they do not comprehend it. Slaves to the actual and -present, they are ignorant that the immortal has no age, and that he who -does not fancy it as it may be to-morrow, does not see it as it should -be to-day. - -At that moment Albert--enjoying completely restored health, and joyous -in the possession of Consuelo's undivided affection--felt so supremely -elated that there was some danger of his reason reeling from excess of -happiness. - -Consuelo stood at last before him, like the Galatea of that artist, -beloved by the gods, waking at once to life and love. Mute and -collected, her face beaming with a celestial glory, she seemed, for the -first time in her life, completely and unmistakably beautiful, because -for the first time she really loved. A sublime serenity shone on her -brow, and her large eyes became moist with that voluptuousness of the -soul, of which that of the body is but a reflection. She was thus -beautiful merely because she did not know what was passing in her heart -and over her face. Albert existed for her alone, or rather she did not -exist except in him; and he alone seemed worthy of entire respect and -boundless admiration. He was transformed, and, as it were, wrapped in -supernatural admiration when he saw her. She discovered in the depth of -his glance all the solemn grandeur of the bitter troubles he had -undergone, though they had left no trace of physical suffering. There -was on his brow the placidity of a resuscitated martyr, who sees the -earth made red by his blood, and a heaven of infinite rewards open to -him. Never did an inspired artist create a nobler ideal of a hero or a -saint, in the grandest days of ancient or Christian art. - -All the Invisibles, filled with admiration, paused, after having formed -a circle around them, and for some moments abandoned themselves to the -contemplation of this pair, so pure in the eyes of God, and so chaste -before man. More than twenty vigorous male voices sang, to a measure of -ancient lore and style--"O Hymen! O Hymene!" The music was Porpora's, -the words having been sent to him with orders for an epithalamium on the -occasion of an illustrious marriage. He had been well paid, without -being aware to whom he was under obligations. As Mozart, just before he -died, was to receive the sublimest inspiration for a requiem -mysteriously required, old Porpora regained all his youthful genius to -write an epithalamium the poetic mystery of which had aroused his -imagination. In the very first passage, Consuelo remembered her old -master's style, and looking around, she sought for her adopted father -among the choristers. Among those who were its interpreters, Consuelo -recognised many friends--Frederick Von Trenck, Porporino, Young Benda, -Count Golowkin, Schubert, the Chevalier D'Eon, (whom she had met at -Berlin, but of whose sex she, like all Europe, was ignorant,) the Count -St. Germain, the Chancellor Coccei, (husband of Barberini,) the -bookseller Nicolai, Gottlieb, (whose voice predominated above all the -others,) and Marcus, whom a gesture of Wanda pointed out to her, and -whom, from some instinctive sympathy, she had recognised in her guide, -and who discharged the functions of putative father or sponsor. All the -Invisibles had opened and thrown back on their shoulders their long -melancholy robes, and a neat white costume, which was elegant and -simple, relieved by a chain of gold, to which hung the insignia of the -order, gave to the whole scene the appearance of a festival. Their masks -hung around their wrists, ready to be replaced at the slightest signal -of the watcher, who was on the dome of the edifice. - -The orator who communicated between the adepts and chief of the order, -unmasked, and came to wish the couple happiness. This was the Duke of -****, who had consecrated his enthusiasm and immense fortune to the -undertaking of the Invisibles. He was owner of their place of meeting, -and at his house Wanda and Albert had frequent interviews, unseen by any -profane eyes. This house was also the head-quarters of the operations of -the chief of the order, though there were other places at which there -were smaller gatherings. Initiated into all the secrets of the order, -the duke acted with and for them. He did not betray their incognito, but -assumed all the dangers of the enterprise, being himself their visible -means of contact with the members of the association. - -When Albert and Consuelo had exchanged the gentle evidence of joy and -affection with their brethren, all took their places, and the duke -having resumed his functions of brother orator, thus spoke, as with -crowns of flowers they knelt before the altar:-- - -"Very dear and beloved children--In the name of the true God--all power, -love, and intelligence; and after him, in the name of the three virtues -which reflect divinity in the human soul, Activity, Charity, and -Justice, translated in effect by our formula, _Liberty, Fraternity,_ and -_Equality_; finally, in the name of the tribunal of the Invisibles, -devoted to the triple duty of zeal, faith, and study--that is, to the -triple search of the three divine moral and political virtues--Albert -Podiebrad, Consuelo Porporina, I pronounce the ratification and -confirmation of the marriage already contracted before God and your -kindred, and before a priest of the Christian religion, at the Giants' -Castle, 175--. Three things however were wanting: first, the absolute -wish of the wife to live with the husband, seemingly _in extremis_; -second, the sanction of a moral and religious society received and -acknowledged by the husband; third, the consent of a person here -present, the name of whom I am not permitted to mention, but who is -closely bound to one of the party by the ties of blood. If now these -three conditions be fulfilled, and neither of you have aught to object, -join your hands, and, rising, call on heaven to testify to the liberty -of your act and the holiness of your love." - -Wanda, who continued unknown among the brothers of the order, took the -hands of the two children. An impulse of tenderness and enthusiasm made -all three rise, as if they had been but one. - -The formulæ of marriage were pronounced, and the simple and touching -rite of the new church performed quietly but fervently. This engagement -of mutual love was not an isolated part amid indifferent strangers who -were careless of what passed. Those present were called to sanction the -religious consecration of two beings bound together by one faith. They -extended their arms over the couple and blessed them; then, taking hold -of each other's hands, they made a living circle, a chain of paternal -love, swearing to protect and defend their honor and life, to preserve -them as much as possible from seduction and persecution, on all -occasions and under all circumstances: in fine, to love them purely, -cordially, and seriously, as if they were united to them by name and -blood. The handsome Trenck pronounced this formula for all the others, -in elegant and simple terms. He then added, as he spoke to the husband-- - -"Albert, the profane and guilty law of old society, from which we -separate ourselves, some day to lead it back to us, wills that the -husband impose fidelity on his wife by humiliation and despotic -authority. If she fail, he must kill his rival; he has even the right to -kill his wife; and this is called washing out the stain of his honor in -blood. In the blind and corrupt world, every man is the enemy of -happiness thus savagely and sternly guarded. The friend, the brother -even, arrogates to himself a right to wrest honor and happiness from his -friend or brother; or, at least, a base pleasure is experienced in -exciting his jealousy and sowing distrust and trouble between him and -the object of his love. Here, you know that we have a better -understanding of honor and family pride. We are brothers in the sight of -God; and any one who would look impurely on the wife of his brother has -in his heart already committed the crime of incest." - -All the brothers, moved and excited, then drew their swords, and were -about to swear to use their weapons on themselves, rather than violate -the oath they had just sworn at Trenck's dictation. - -The sibyl--agitated by one of those enthusiastic impulses which gave her -so much influence over their imaginations, and which often modified the -opinions and decisions of the chiefs themselves--broke the circle, and -rushed into the midst. Her language, always energetic and burning; her -tall form, her floating drapery, her thin frame trembling yet majestic, -the convulsive tremor of her ever veiled head, and withal, a grace which -at once betokened the former existence of beauty which moves the mind -when it ceases to appeal to the senses;--in fine, even her broken voice, -which at once assumed a strange expression, had conspired to make her a -mysterious being, and invested her with persuasive power and -irresistible prestige. - -All were silent to hear the voice of her inspiration. Consuelo was -perhaps more moved than others, because she was aware of her singular -story. She asked herself, shuddering with strange emotion, if this -spectre, escaped from the tomb, really belonged to the world, and if, -after having spoken, she would not disappear in the air, like the flame -on the tripod, which made her appear so blue and transparent. - -"Hide from the light these affirmations," said Wanda, with a shudder. -"They are impious oaths when what is invoked is an instrument of hatred -and murder. I know the old world attached the sword to the side of all -reputed free, as a mark of independence and virtue. I well know that, in -obedience to the ideas you have here preserved in spite of yourselves, -the sword is the symbol of honor--that you deem you make holy -engagements when, like citizens of old Rome, you swear on the sword. But -here you would profane a solemn vow. Swear, rather, by this flame and -tripod--the symbol of life, light, and divine love. Do you yet need -emblems and visible signs? Are you yet idolators? Do the figures around -this temple represent aught but ideas? O! swear rather by your own -sentiments, by your better instincts, by your own heart; and if you dare -not swear by the living God, the true, eternal, and holy religion, swear -by pure humanity, by the glorious promptings of your courage, by the -chastity of this young woman and her husband's love--swear by the genius -and beauty of Consuelo, that your desire, that even your thoughts will -never profane this holy arc of matrimony, this invisible and mystic -altar on which the hand of an angel engraves the vow of love. - -"Do you know what love is?" said the sibyl, after having paused for an -instant, in a voice which every moment became more clear and -penetrating. "If you did, oh! you venerable chiefs of our order and -priests of our worship, you would never suffer that formula, which God -alone can ratify, to be pronounced before you; and which, consecrated by -men, is a kind of profanation of the divinest of mysteries. What power -can you give to an engagement which in its very nature is miraculous? -Yes, the confounding of two wills in one is in itself a miracle, for -every heart is in itself free by virtue of a divine right. Yet when two -souls yield and become bound to each other, their mutual possession -becomes sacred, and as much a divine right as individual liberty. You -see this is a miracle--that God reserves its mystery to himself, as he -does that of life and death. You are about to ask this man and woman if -during their lives they will belong respectively to each other. Their -fervor is such that they will reply, 'Not only for life, but forever.' -God then inspires them, by the miracle of love, with more faith, power, -virtue, than you can or dare to ask. Away, then, with sacrilegious oaths -and gross laws. Leave them their ideal, and do not bind them to reality -by chains of gold. Leave the care of the continuation of the miracle to -God. Prepare their souls for its accomplishment; form the ideal of love -in them; exhort, instruct; extol and demonstrate the glory of fidelity, -without which there is no moral honor, no sublime love. Do not come -between, however, like Catholic priests, like magistrates, to interfere -by the imposition of an oath. I tell you again, men cannot make -themselves responsible, or be guardians of the perpetuity of a miracle. -What know you of the secrets of the Eternal? Have we already penetrated -the temple of the future, in that celestial world where, beneath sacred -groves, man will converse with God as one friend does with another? Has -a law for indissoluble marriage emanated from the mouth of God? Have his -designs been proclaimed on earth? Have you, children of men, promulgated -this law unanimously? Have the Roman pontiffs never dissolved marriage? -They call themselves infallible! Under the pretext of the nullity of -certain engagements, have they not pronounced real divorces, the scandal -of which history has preserved in its records? The Christian societies, -the reformed sects, the Greek church, following the example of the -Mosaic dispensation, and all ancient religions, frankly introduced -divorce into modern law. What then becomes of the holiness and efficacy -of a vow to God, when it is maintained that man can release us from it? -Touch not love by the profanation of marriage. You cannot stifle it in -pure hearts. Consecrate the conjugal tie by exhortations, by prayers, by -a publicity which will make it respectable, by touching ceremonies. You -should do so, if you be our priests--that is to say, our aids, our -guides, our advisers, our consolers, our lights. Prepare souls for the -sanctity of a sacrament; and, as a father of a family seeks to establish -his children in positions of prosperity, dignity, and security, occupy -yourselves--our spiritual fathers--assiduously in fixing your sons and -daughters in circumstances favorable to the development of true love, -virtue, and sublime fidelity. When you shall have analysed them by -religious ordeals, and ascertained that in their mutual attraction there -is neither cupidity, vanity, nor frivolous intoxication, nor that -sensual blindness that is without ideality--when you have convinced -yourselves that they appreciate the grandeur of their sentiments, the -holiness of their duty, and the liberty of their choice, then permit -them to endow each other with their own inalienable liberty. Let their -families, their friends, and the vast family of the faithful, unite to -ratify this sacrament. Attend to my words! Let the sacrament be a -religious permission, a paternal and social permission, an -encouragement, an exhortation to perpetuate the engagement. Let it not -be a command, an obligation, a law, with menaces and punishments--a -forced slavery, with scandal, prisons and chains if it be violated; for -in this way you would reverse the whole miracle in all its entirety -accomplished on earth. Eternally fruitful providence--God, the -indefatigable dispenser of grace, always will conduct before you young, -fervent, and innocent couples, ready to bind themselves for time and -eternity. Your anti-religious law and your inhuman sacrament will always -abrogate the effect of grace in them. The inequality of conjugal rights -between the sexes--impiety made venerable by social laws--the difference -of duty in public opinion--all the absurd prejudices following in the -wake of bad institutions, will ever extinguish the faith and enthusiasm -of husband and wife. Those who are most sincere, who are most inclined -to fidelity, will be the first to grow sad, and become terrified at the -duration of the engagement, and thus disenchant each other. The -abjuration of individual liberty is in effect contrary to the will of -nature and the dictates of conscience when men participate in it, for -they oppress it with the yoke of ignorance and brutality. It is in -conformity with the will of generous hearts, and necessary to the -religious instincts of strong minds, when God gives us the means to -contend against the various snares man has placed around marriage, so as -to make it the tomb of love, happiness, and virtue, and a "sworn -prostitution," as our fathers the Lollards, whom you know and often -invoke, called it. Give to God what is God's, and take from Cæsar what -is not his." - -"And you, my children," said she, turning towards Albert and Consuelo, -"you, who have sworn to reverence the conjugal tie, did not, perhaps, -know the true meaning of what you did. You obeyed a generous impulse, -and replied with enthusiasm to the appeal of honor. That is worthy of -you, disciples of a victorious faith! You have performed more than an -act of individual virtue--you have consecrated a principle without which -there can be neither chastity nor conjugal fidelity. - -"O love! sublime flame--so powerful and so fragile, so sudden and so -fugitive! light from heaven, seemingly passing through our existence, to -die before we do, for fear of consuming and annihilating us, we feel you -are a vivifying fire, emanating from God himself, and that whoever would -fix it in his bosom and retain it to his last hour, always ardent, -always in its pristine vigor, would be the happiest and noblest of men. -Thus the disciples of the ideal will always seek to prepare sanctuaries -for you in their bosoms, that you may not hasten to return to heaven. -But alas! you whom we have made it a virtue to honor, have declined to -be renewed at the dictate of our institutions, and have remained free as -the bird of the air, capricious as the flame on the altar. You seem to -laugh at our oaths, our contracts and our will. You fly from us in spite -of all we have invented to fix you in your manners. You no longer -inhabit the harem, guarded by the vigilant sentinels which Christian -society places between the sentence of the magistrate and the yoke of -public opinions. Whence, then, comes your inconstancy and your -ingratitude? Oh! mysterious influence! oh, love! cruelly symbolised -under the form of an infant and blind god! what tenderness and what -contempt inspire human hearts you enkindle with your blaze; and whom you -desert, leaving them to wither amid the anguish of repentance, and, more -frightful yet, of disgust! Why is it that man kneels to you in every -portion of the globe--that you are exalted and deified--that divine -poets call you the soul of the world--that barbarous nations sacrifice -human victims to you, precipitating wives on the fire at the husband's -funeral--that young hearts call you in their gentlest dreams, and that -old men curse life when you abandon them to the horror of solitude? -Whence comes that adoration--sometimes sublime, sometimes -fanatical--which has been decreed you from the golden infancy of -humanity to our age of iron, if you be but a chimera, the dream of a -moment of intoxication, an error of the imagination, excited by the -delirium of the sense. Ah! it is not a vulgar instinct, a mere animal -want. You are not the blind child of Paganism, but the true son of God, -and very essence of the divinity. You have not yet revealed yourself to -us, except through the mist of errors; and you would not make your abode -among us, because you were unwilling to be profaned. You will return to -us, as in the days of the fabulous Astrea, as in the visions of poets, -to fix your abode in our terrestrial paradise, when we shall, by our -sublime virtues, have merited the presence of such a guest. How blessed -then will this abode be to man! and then it will be well to have been -born." - -"We will then be brothers and sisters, and unions, freely contracted, -will be maintained by your own power. When, in place of this terrible -contest, whose continuance is impossible--conjugal fidelity being forced -to resist infamous attempts at debauch, hypocritical seduction or mad -violence, hypocritical friendship and wise corruption--every husband -will find around him chaste sisters, himself the jealous and delicate -guardian of the happiness of a sister confided to him as a companion; -while every wife will find in other men so many brothers of her husband, -proud of her happiness and protectors of her peace; then the faithful -wife will no longer be the fragile flower that hides herself to maintain -the treasures of her chastity, often a deserted victim, wasting in -solitude and tears, unable to revive in her husband's mind the flame she -has preserved in purity in her own. The brother then will not be forced -to avenge his sister, and slay him she loves and regrets, in obedience -to the dictates of false honor. The mother will not tremble for her -daughter, nor the child blush for its parent. The husband then will be -neither suspicious nor despotic; and, on her part, the wife will escape -the bitterness of the victim and the rancor of the slave; atrocious -suffering and abominable injustice will cease to sully the peace of the -domestic hearth. It may be some day, that the priest and the magistrate, -relying with reason on the permanent miracle of love, will consecrate in -God's name indissoluble unions, with as much wisdom and justice as they -now ignorantly display impiety and folly. - -"But these glorious days are not yet come. Here, in this mysterious -temple, where we are now united in obedience to the evangelists, three -or four in the name of the Lord, we can only dream of divinest joys. It -is an oracle which then escapes from their bosoms. Eternity is the ideal -of love, as it is of faith. The human soul never comes nearer to the -apex of its power and lucidity than in the enthusiasm of a great love. -The _always_ of lovers is an eternal revelation, a divine manifestation, -casting its sovereign light and blessed warmth over every instant of -their union. Woe to whoever profanes this sacred formula! He falls from -grace to sin--extinguishes the faith, power and light in his heart." - -"Albert," said Consuelo, "I receive your promise, and adjure you to -accept mine. I feel myself under the power of a miracle, and the -_always_ of our brief lives does not resemble the eternity for which I -give myself to you." - -"Sublime and rash Consuelo," said Wanda, with a smile of enthusiasm, -which seemed to pass through her veil, "ask God for eternity with him -you love, as a recompense of your fidelity to him in this brief life." - -"Ah! yes," said Albert, lifting his wife's hand, clasped in his own, to -heaven, "that is our end, hope, and reward--to love truly in this phase -of existence, to meet and unite in others. Ah! I feel that this is not -the first day of our union--that we have already loved, and loved in -other lives. Such bliss is not the work of chance. The hand of God -reunites us, like two parts of one being inseparable in eternity." - -After the celebration of the marriage, though the night was far -advanced, they proceeded to the final initiation of Consuelo in the -order of the Invisibles, and, then, the members of the tribunal having -dispersed amid the shadows of the holy wood, soon reassembled at the -castle of fraternal communion. The prince (_Brother Orator_) presided, -and took care to explain to Consuelo the deep and touching symbols. The -repast was served by faithful domestics, affiliated with a certain grade -of the order. Karl introduced Matteus to Consuelo, and she then saw bare -his gentle and expressive face; she observed with admiration that these -respectable servants were not treated as inferiors by their brothers of -the other grades. No personal distinction separated them from the higher -grades of the order, of whatever rank. The _brother servitors_, as they -were called, discharged willingly the duty of waiters and butlers. It -was for them to make all arrangements for the festivity, as being best -prepared to do so; and this duty they considered a kind of religious -observance--a sort of eucharistic festival. They were then no more -degraded than the Levites of a temple who preside over the details of -sacrifice. When they arranged the table, they sat at it themselves, not -at peculiar isolated places, but in chairs retained among the others for -them. All seemed anxious to be civil to them, and to fill their cups and -plates. As at masonic banquets, the cup was never raised to the lip -without invoking some noble idea, some generous sentiment, some august -patronage. The cadenced noises, the puerile conduct of the freemasons, -the mallet, the jargon of the toasts, and the vocabulary of tools, were -excluded from this grave yet costly entertainment. The servitors were -respectful without constraint, and modest without baseness. Karl sat -during one of the services between Albert and Consuelo. The latter saw -with emotion that besides his sobriety and good behavior, he had made -progress in healthy religious notions, by means of the admirable -education of sentiment. - -"Ah, my friend," said she to her husband, when the deserter had changed -his place, and her husband drew near to her, "this is the slave beaten -by the Prussian corporals, the savage woodman of Boehmer-wald, and the -would-be murderer of Frederick the Great. Enlightenment and charity have -in a few days converted into a sensible, pious, and just man, a bandit, -whom the precocious justice of nations pushed to murder, and would have -corrected with the lash and gallows." - -"Noble sister," said the Prince, who had placed himself on Consuelo's -right, "you gave at Roswald, to this mind crazed by despair, great -lessons on religion and prudence. He was gifted with instinct. His -education has since been rapid and easy; and when we've essayed to teach -him, his reply was, 'So the signora said.' Be sure the rudest men may be -enlightened more easily than is thought. To improve their condition--to -inoculate them with self-respect by esteeming and encouraging them, -requires but sincere charity and human dignity. You see that as yet they -have been initiated merely in the inferior degrees. The reason is, we -consult the extent of their minds and progress in virtue when we admit -them into our mysteries. Old Matteus has taken two degrees more than -Karl; and if he does not pass those he now occupies, it is because his -mind and heart can go no farther. No baseness of extraction, no humility -of condition, will ever stop them. You see here Gottlieb the cobbler, -son of the jailer at Spandau, admitted to a grade equal to your own, -though in my house, from habit and inclination, he discharges his -subordinate functions. His imagination, fondness for study and -enthusiasm for virtue--in a word, the incomparable beauty of soul -inhabiting that distorted body, renders him almost fit to be treated, in -the interior of the temple, as a brother and as an equal. We had -scarcely any ideas and virtues to impart to him. On the contrary, mind -and heart were too teeming, and it became necessary to repress them and -soothe his excitement, treating at the same time the moral and physical -causes which would have led him to folly. The immorality of those among -whom he lived, and the perversity of the official world, would have -irritated without corrupting him. We alone, armed with the mind of James -Boehm and the true explanation of his sacred symbols, were able to -undeceive and convince him, and to direct his poetic fancy without -chilling his zeal and faith. Remark how the cure of his mind has reacted -on his body, and that he has regained health as if by magic. His strange -face is already transformed." - -After the repast they resumed their cloaks, and walked along the gentle -slope of the hill, which was shaded by the sacred wood. The ruins of the -old castle, reserved for ordeals, was above it; and gradually Consuelo -remembered the path she had passed so rapidly over, on a night of storm, -not long before. The plenteous stream--which ran from a cavern rudely -cut in the rock, and once reserved for superstitious devotion--murmured -amid the undergrowth towards the valley, where it formed the brook the -prisoner in the pavilion knew so well. Alleys covered by nature with -fine sand, crossed under the luxuriant shade where the various groups -met and talked together. High barriers, but which did not intercept the -river, shut in the enclosure, the kiosque of which might be considered -the study. This was a favorite retreat of the duke, and was forbidden to -the idle and indiscreet. The servitors also walked in groups around the -barriers, watching to prevent the approach of any _profane_ being. Of -this there was no great danger. The duke seemed merely occupied with -masonic mysteries; as was the case, in a manner. Free masonry was then -tolerated by the law and protected by the princes who were, or thought -themselves, initiated in it. No one suspected the importance of the -superior grades; which, after many degrees, ended in the tribunal of the -Invisibles. - -Besides, at this moment the ostensible festival which lighted up the -façade of the palace too completely absorbed the attention of the -numerous guests of the prince, for any to think of leaving his brilliant -halls and the new gardens, for the rocks and ruins of the old park. The -young Margravine of Bareith, an intimate friend of the duke, presided -over the honors of the entertainment. To avoid appearing, he had feigned -sick, and after the banquet of the Invisibles supped with his numerous -guests in the palace. As she saw the glare of the lights in the -distance, Consuelo, who leaned on Albert's arm, remembered Anzoleto and -accused herself innocently in presence of her husband, who charged her -with having become too ironical and stern to the companion of her -childhood. "Yes, it was a guilty idea, but then I was most unhappy. I -had resolved to sacrifice myself to Count Albert, and the malicious and -cruel Invisibles again cast me into the arms of the dangerous Leverani. -Wrath was in my heart; gladly I met him from whom I was to separate in -despair, and Marcus wished to soothe my sorrow by a glance at the -handsome Anzoleto. Ah! I never expected to be so indifferent to him. I -fancied I was about to be doomed to sing with him, and could have hated -him for thus depriving me of my last dream of happiness. Now, my friend, -I could see him without bitterness and treat him kindly; happiness makes -us so merciful. May I be useful to him some day, and inspire him with, -a serious love of art, if not virtue." - -"Why despair? Let us wait for him in the scene of want and misery. Now, -amid his triumphs, he would be deaf to the voice of reason. Let him lose -his voice and his beauty, and we will take possession of his soul." - -"Do you take charge of this conversion, Albert?" - -"Not without you, my Consuelo." - -"Then you do not fear the past?" - -"No; I am presumptuous enough to fear nothing. I am under the power of a -miracle." - -"I, too, Albert, cannot doubt myself." - -Day began to break, and the pure morning air to exhale a thousand -exquisite perfumes. It was the most delicious period of the summer; the -birds singing amid the trees and flying from hill to valley. Groups -formed every moment around the couple and far from being importunate, -added to the pleasure of their fraternal friendship, to their pure -happiness. All the Invisibles present were introduced to Consuelo as -members of her family. They were the most eminent in virtue, talent, and -intelligence in the order. Some were illustrious, and others obscure in -the world, but were known in the temple by their labors. The noble and -the peasant mingled together in close intimacy. Consuelo had to learn -their true names, and the more poetical titles of their fraternal -association. They were Vesper, Ellops, Peon, Hyas, Euryalus, -Bellerophon, etc. Never had she around her so many pure and noble souls, -so many interesting characters. The stories told of their conversion, -the dangers they had run, and what they had done, charmed her as poems, -the tenor of which she could not have reconciled with actual life, they -appeared so touching and moving. There was, however, no portion of the -common-place gallantry, and not the slightest approach to dangerous -familiarity. Lofty language, inspired by equality and fraternity, was -realised in its purest phase. The beautiful golden dawn rising over -their souls as over the world, was, as it were, a dream in the existence -of Consuelo and Albert. Enlaced in each other's arms, they did not think -of leaving their beloved brethren. A moral intoxication, gentle and -bland as the morning air, filled their souls. Love had expanded their -hearts too amply to make them tremble. Trenck told them the dangers of -his captivity and escape in Glatz. Like Consuelo and Haydn in the -Boehmer-wald, he had crossed Poland, but in the midst of cold, covered -with rags, with a wounded companion--the _amiable_ SHELLES, whom his -memoirs make known to us as an affectionate friend. To earn his bread, -he had played on the violin, and, like Consuelo on the Danube, had been -a minstrel. He then spoke in a low tone of the Princess Amelia, his love -and hope. Poor Trenck! the terrible storm which overhung him, neither he -nor his happy friends foresaw. He was doomed to pass from the -midsummer's night's dream to a life of combat, deception, and suffering. - -Porporino sang beneath the cypress-trees an admirable hymn composed by -Albert, to the memory of the martyrs of their cause. Young Benda -accompanied him on the violin; Albert took the instrument and delighted -his hearers with a few notes; Consuelo could not sing, but wept with joy -and enthusiasm; Count Saint Germain told of conversations with John Huss -and Jerome of Prague, with such warmth, eloquence, and probability, that -it was impossible not to have faith in him. In such seasons of emotion -and delight, reason does not prohibit poetry. The Chevalier d'Eon -described with refined taste the miseries and absurdities of the great -tyrants of Europe, the vices of courts, and the weakness of the -scaffolding of the social system that enthusiasm fancied so easy to -break. Count Golowkin described the great soul and strange -contradictions of his friend, Jean Jacques Rousseau. - -This philosophical noble (they will to-day call him eccentric) had a -very beautiful daughter, whom he educated according to his ideas, and -who was at once Emile and Sophie, now as handsome a boy, then as -charming a girl as possible. He wished to have her initiated, and for -Consuelo to instruct her. The illustrious Zinzendorf explained the -evangelical constitution of his colony of Moravian Hernhuters.--He -consulted Albert with deference about many particulars, and wisdom -seemed to speak by Albert's mouth. He was inspired by the presence and -smile of his mistress. To Consuelo he seemed divine. All advantages to -her seemed to deck him. He was a philosopher, an artist, a martyr, who -had survived the ordeal; grave as a sage of the Portico, beautiful as an -angel, joyous and innocent as a child or happy lover--perfect, in fine, -as the one we love always is. - -Consuelo, when she knocked at the door of the temple, had expected to -die of fatigue and emotion. Now she felt herself aroused and animated as -when, on the shore of the Adriatic, she used to sport in the sands in -full health beneath a bright sun moderated by the evening breeze. It -seemed that life in all its power, happiness in all its intensity, had -taken possession of her, and that she breathed them at every pore. Why -cannot the sun be stopped in the sky over certain valleys, where we feel -all the plentitude of being, and where the dreams of imagination seem -realised, or about to be? - -The sky at last became purple and gold, and a silver bell warned the -Invisibles that night withdrew its protecting cloak. They sang a hymn to -the rising sun, emblematical to them of the day they dreamed of, and -prepared for the world. All then made them adieux, promising to meet, -some at Paris, others at London, Madrid, Vienna, Petersburg, Dresden, -and Berlin. All promised on a year from that day to meet again at the -door of the blessed temple, either with neophytes or with brethren now -absent. They then folded their cloaks to conceal their elegant costumes, -and silently dispersed by the shadowy walks of the park. - -Albert and Consuelo, guided by Marcus, went down the ravine to the -stream. Karl received them in his closed gondola, and took them to the -door of the pavilion. There they paused for a moment to contemplate the -majesty of the orb of day which rose in the sky. Until now, Consuelo, -when she replied to Albert had called him by his true name; when, -however, she was awakened from the musing in which she seemed delighted -to lose herself, as she pressed her burning cheek on his shoulder, she -could only say: - -_"Oh Leverani!"_ - -[Footnote 15: The harmonica, when first invented, created such a -sensation in Germany, that poetical imaginations fancied they heard in -it supernatural voices, evoked by the consecrators of certain mysteries. -This instrument, which, before it became popular, was thought to be -magical, was elevated by the adepts of German theosophy, to the same -honor with the lyre among the ancients, and many other instruments among -the primitive people of Himalaya. They made it one of the hieroglyphic -figures of their mysterious iconography. They represented it under the -form of a fantastic chimera. The neophytes of secret societies, hearing -it for the first time after the rude shocks of their terrible ordeals, -were so much impressed by it that many of them fell into ecstacies. They -fancied they heard the song of invisibile powers, for both the -instrument and the performer were concealed from them most carefully. -There are extremely curious stories told of the employment of the -harmonica in the reception of adepts of illuminatism.] - - - - -EPILOGUE - - -Had we been able to procure faithful documents in relation to Albert and -Consuelo after their marriage, like those which have guided us up to -this point, we might, doubtless, have written a long history, telling of -all their adventures and journeys. But, most persevering readers, we -cannot satisfy you; and of you, weary reader, we only ask a few moments -of patience. Let neither of you reproach nor praise us. The truth is, -that the materials by means of which we have so far been able to connect -the items of this story, entirely disappear from the dates of the -romantic night which blessed and consecrated the union of the two great -characters of our story amid the Invisibles. Whether the engagements -contracted by them in the temple prevented them from yielding to -friendship in their letters; or that their friends, being affiliated in -the same mysteries, in the days of persecution thought it proper to -destroy their correspondence, we cannot say; but henceforth we see them -through the maze of a cloud, under the veil of the temple or the mask of -adepts. Without examining the traces of their existence which we find in -manuscripts, it would often have been difficult to follow them; -contradictory evidence shows both to have been at the same time at two -different geographical points, or following different objects. However, -we can easily understand the possibility of their voluntarily creating -such errors, from the fact that they were secretly devoted to the plans -of the Invisibles, and often were forced, amid a thousand perils, to -avoid the inquisitorial policy of governments. In relation to the -existence of this one soul, with two persons, called Consuelo and -Albert, we cannot say whether love fulfilled all its promises, or if -fate contradicted those which it had seemed to make during the -intoxication of what they called "_The Midsummer Night's Dream._" They -were not, however, ungrateful to Providence, which had conferred this -rapid happiness, in all its plentitude, and which, amid reverses, -continued the miracle of love Wanda had announced. Amid misery, -suffering and persecution, they always remembered that happy life, which -seemed to them a celestial union, and, as it were, a bargain made with -the divinity, for the enjoyment of a better existence after many toils, -ordeals, and sacrifices. - -In other respects, all becomes so mysterious to us that we have been -quite unable to discover in what part of Germany this enchanted -residence was, in which, protected by the tumult of the chase and -festivals, a prince unknown in documents became a rallying point and a -principal mover of the social and philosophical conspiracy of the -Invisibles. This prince had received a symbolical name, which, after a -thousand efforts to discover the cypher used by the adepts, we presume -to be Christopher, or Chrysostom, or the Golden Mouth. The temple where -Consuelo was married and initiated was particularly called _Saint -Graal_, and the chiefs of the tribunal _Templists._ These were -Romanesque emblems, renewed from the old legends of the age of gold and -chivalry. All the world knows that in these charming fictions, Saint -Graal was hidden in a mysterious sanctuary, amid a grotto unknown to -men. There the _Templists_, illustrious saints of primitive -Christianity, devoted even in this world to immortality, kept the -precious cup which Jesus had used in the consecration of the Eucharist, -when he kept the passover with his disciples. This cup doubtless -contained the celestial grace, represented sometimes by blood and then -by the tears of Christ; a divine ichor or eucharistic substance, the -mystic influence of which was inexplicable, but which it was sufficient -merely to see, to be transformed, both morally and physically, so as to -be forever sheltered from death and sin. The pious paladins, who, after -terrible macerations and exploits sufficient to make the earth tremble, -devoted themselves to the career of _knight-errantry_, had the idea of -reaching _Saint Graal_ at the end of their peregrinations. They looked -for it amid the ices of the north, on the shores of Armorica, and in the -depths of the forests of Germany. To realise this sublime conquest, it -was necessary to confront danger, equal to those of the Hesperides--to -overcome monsters, elements, barbarous people, hunger, thirst, and even -death. Some of these Christian Argonauts discovered, it is said, the -sanctuary, and were regenerated by the divine cup; they never, however, -betrayed the terrible secret. Their triumph was known by the power of -their invincible arm, by the transfiguration of all their existence: -few, however, survived this glorious initiation. They disappeared from -among men as Jesus did after his resurrection, and passed from earth to -heaven without undergoing the bitter transition of death. - -This magical symbol was, in fact, well adapted to the object of the -Invisibles. For many years, the new Templists hoped to make Saint Graal -accessible to all mankind. Albert toiled constantly to diffuse the true -ideas of his doctrine. He reached the highest grades of the order, for -we find the list of his titles showing that he had time enough to reach -them. Now all know that eighty-one months are needed to pass through the -twenty-three degrees of masonry, and we think it certain that a much -longer time was required for the higher grades of Saint Graal. The -number of masonic degrees are now a mystery to no one; yet it will not -be out of place here to recount a few, as they paint the enthusiastic -genius and smiling fancy which presided over their first creation: - -"Apprentice and Master Mason, Secret and Perfect Master, Provost and -Judge, English and Irish Master, Master in Israel, Master Elect of the -Nine and Fifteen, Elect of the Unknown, Grand Master Architect, Royal -Arch, Grand Scotch Master of the Sublime or Master Masons, Knight of the -Sword, Prince of Jerusalem, Knight of Orient and Occident, Rose-Cross of -France, Heredom and Kilwinning, Grand Pontiff or Sublime Scot, Architect -of the Sacred Roof, Pontiff of Jerusalem, Sovereign Prince of Masonry -and Master _ad vitam_, Naochite, Prince of Libon, Chief of the -Tabernacle and Knight of the Iron Serpent, Trinitarian Scot or -Prince of Mercy, Grand Commander of the Temple, Knight of the -Gun, Patriarch of the Crusades, Grand Master of Light, Knight -Kadosch, Knight of the White Eagle and of the Black Eagle, Knight -of the Phœnix and Knight of the Argonauts, Knight of the Golden Fleece, -Grand-Inspector-Inquisitor-Commander-Sublime, Prince of the Royal Secret -and Sublime Master of the Luminous King," &c.[16] - -These titles, or at least the majority of them, we find connected with -the name of Albert Podiebrad, in the most illegible rolls of the -freemasons. There are also many less known; such as Knight of St John, -Sublime Johannite, Master of the New Apocalypse, Doctor of the Gospel, -and Elect of the Holy Ghost, Templist, Areopagite, Magus, and Man of the -People, Man-Pontiff, Man-King, and New-man, &c.[17] We have been -surprised here to find some titles which seemed anticipated from the -illuminatism of Weishaupt: this peculiarity, however, was explained at a -later day, and will not, when this story is concluded, need any -explanation to our readers. - -Amid this labyrinth of obscure facts--which, however, are profound, and -connected with the labor, success, and apparent extinction of the -Invisibles--we can with difficulty follow the adventurous story of the -young couple. Yet by supplying what we need by a prudent imagination, -the following is nearly the abridged commentary of the chief events of -their lives. The fancy of the reader will supply the deficiency of the -text, and following our experience, we doubt not that the best -_dénoûements_ are those for which the reader and not the narrator will -be responsible.[18] - -Probably, after leaving _Saint Graal_, Consuelo went to the little court -of Bareith, where the Margravine, sister of Frederick, had palaces, -gardens, kiosques, and cascades, in the same style as those of Count -Hoditz at Roswald, though less sumptuous and less expensive. This -intellectual princess had been married without a dower to a very poor -prince; and not long before she had worn robes with trains of reasonable -length, and had pages whose doublets were not threadbare, her gardens, -or rather her garden, to speak without metaphor, was situated amid a -beautiful country, and she indulged in the Italian Opera in an antique -temple _à la Pompadour._ The margravine was fond of philosophy--that is -to say, she was a disciple of Voltaire. The young hereditary margrave, -her husband, was the zealous head of a masonic lodge. I am not sure -whether Albert was connected with him, or whether his incognito was -observed by the secresy of the brothers, or whether he remained away -from this court and joined his wife afterwards. Certainly Consuelo had -some secret mission there. Perhaps, also, for the purpose of preventing -attention from being attracted to her husband, she did not live publicly -with him for some time. Their loves, then, had all the attraction of -mystery; and if the publicity of their union, consecrated by the -fraternal sanction of the Templists, seemed gentle and edifying to them, -the secrecy they maintained in a hypocritical and licentious world, at -first, was a necessary _ægis_ and kind of mute protestation in which -they found their enthusiasm and power. - -Many male and female Italian singers at that time delighted the little -court of Bareith. Corilla and Anzoleto appeared there, and the vain -prima donna again became enamored of the traitor she had previously -devoted to all the furies of hell. Anzoleto, however, while he cajoled -the tigress, sought with a secret and mysterious reserve to find favor -with Consuelo, whose talent, enhanced by such profound revelations, now -eclipsed all rivalry. Ambition had become the dominant passion of the -young tenor; love had been stifled by mortification, and voluptuousness -by satiety. He then loved neither the chaste Consuelo nor the passionate -Corilla, but kept terms with both, ready to attach himself to either of -the two, who would serve his purpose, and make him advantageously known. -Consuelo treated him kindly, and neither spared good advice nor such -instructions as would enable him to exhibit his talent. She never, -though, felt uneasy when she was with him, and the completeness of her -pardon exhibited how completely she had mastered her passion. Anzoleto -was not re-installed, and having listened with emotion to the advice of -his friend, lost all patience when he lost all hope, and his deep -mortification and sorrow, in spite of himself, became evident in his -words. - -Under these circumstances, it appears that Amelia of Rudolstadt came to -Bareith with the Princess of Culmbach, daughter of the Countess Von -Hoditz. If we may believe some exaggerating and indiscreet witnesses, -some strange scenes took place between Consuelo, Amelia, Corilla, and -Anzoleto. When she saw the handsome tenor appear unexpectedly on the -boards of the opera of Bareith, the young baroness fainted. No one -observed the coincidence, but the lynx-eyed Corilla discovered on the -brow of Anzoleto a peculiar expression of gratified vanity. He missed -his _point_; the court, disturbed by the accident, did not applaud the -singer, and instead of growling between his teeth, as was his fashion on -such occasions, there was an unequivocal smile of triumph on his face. - -"See," said Corilla, in an angry voice to Consuelo, as she went behind -the scenes, "he loves neither you nor me, but that little fool who has -been playing her part in the boxes. Do you know her? who is she?" - -"I do not know," said Consuelo, who had observed nothing: "I can assure -you, however, neither you, nor she, nor I, occupy him." - -"Who then does?" - -"Himself _al solito_," said Consuelo with a smile. - -The story goes on to say that on the next day Consuelo was sent for to -come to a retired wood to talk with Amelia. "I know all," said the -latter, angrily, before she permitted Consuelo to open her mouth; "he -loves you, unfortunate scourge of my life--you, who have robbed me of -Albert's love and his." - -"_His_, madame? I do not know----" - -"Do not pretend. Anzoleto loves you. You were his mistress at Venice, -and yet are----" - -"It is either a base slander, or a suspicion unworthy of you." - -"It is the truth. I assure you; he confessed it to me last night." - -"Last night! What do you say, madame?" said Consuelo, blushing with -shame and chagrin. - -Amelia shed tears; and when the kind Consuelo had succeeded in calming -her jealousy, she obtained in spite of her diffidence, the confession of -this unfortunate passion. Amelia had heard Anzoleto sing at Prague, and -became intoxicated with his beauty and success. Being ignorant of music, -she took him for one of the first musicians in the world. At Prague he -was decidedly popular. She sent for him as her singing-master, and while -her father the old Baron Frederick, paralysed by inactivity, slept in -his chair dreaming of wild boars, she yielded to a seducer. _Ennui_ and -vanity ruined her. Anzoleto, flattered by this illustrious conquest, and -wishing to make the scandal public in order to secure popularity, -persuaded her that she might become the greatest singer of the age, that -an artist's life was a paradise on earth, and that she could not do -better than fly with him, and make her _début_ at the Haymarket Theatre -in Handel's operas. - -Amelia at first viewed with horror the idea of deserting her old father, -but when Anzoleto was about to leave Prague, feigning a despair he did -not feel, she yielded to his solicitations, and fled with him. - -The intoxication of her love for Anzoleto was but of brief duration. His -insolence and coarse manners, when he no longer played the part of -seducer, recalled her to her senses; and it was not without a feeling of -pleasure mingled with remorse at her conduct, that, three months after -her escape, she was arrested at Hamburg, and brought back to Prussia, -where, at the instance of her Saxon kin, she was incarcerated in the -fortress of Spandau. Her punishment was both long and severe, and in a -measure rendered her mind callous to the agony she would otherwise have -felt at hearing of her father's death. At last her freedom was granted, -and it was not till then that she heard of all the misfortunes which had -afflicted her family. She did not dare to return to the canoness, and -feeling utterly incapable of leading a life of retirement and repose, -she implored the protection of the Margravine of Bareith; and the -Princess of Culmbach, who was then at Dresden, assumed the -responsibility of taking her to her kinswoman. In this frivolous yet -philosophical court she found that amiable toleration of vice which then -was the only virtue. Here she again met with Anzoleto, and again -submitted to the ascendancy which he seemed to have acquired over the -fair sex, and which the chaste Consuelo found so difficult to resist. At -first she avoided him, but gradually became again fascinated, and made -an appointment to meet him one evening in the garden, and once more -yielded to his solicitations. - -She confessed to Consuelo that she yet loved him, and related all her -faults to her old singing mistress with a mixture of feminine modesty -and philosophical coolness. - -It seems certain that Consuelo by her earnest appeals found the way to -her heart, and that she made up her mind to return to the Giants' -Castle, and to shake off her dangerous passion in solitude, by soothing -her old aunt in her decline. - -After this adventure Consuelo could remain at Bareith no longer. The -haughty jealousy of Corilla, who was always imprudent, yet at the same -time kind-hearted, induced the prima donna sometimes to find fault, and -then to humble herself. Anzoleto, who had fancied that he could avenge -for her disdain by casting himself at Amelia's feet, never pardoned her -for having removed the young baroness from danger. He did her a thousand -unkind offices, contriving to make her miss the cue on the stage, -preventing her from taking up the key in a _duo_, and by a -self-sufficient air attempting to make the unwary audience think she was -in error. If he had a stage effect to perform with her, he went to her -right instead of her left hand, and tried to make her stumble amid the -properties. All these ill-natured tricks failed, in consequence of -Consuelo's calmness. She was, however, less stoical when he began to -calumniate her, and when she knew that there were persons, who could not -believe in the chastity of an actress, to listen to him. Hence -libertines of every age were rude towards her, refusing to believe in -her innocence; and she had to bear with Anzoleto's defamation, -influenced as he was by mortification and revenge. - -This base and narrow-minded persecution was the commencement of a long -martyrdom which the unfortunate prima donna submitted to during all her -theatrical career. As often as she met Anzoleto, he annoyed her in a -thousand ways. Corilla, too, from envy and ill-feeling, gave her -trouble. Of her two rivals, the female was the least in the way, and -most capable of a kind emotion. Whatever may be said of the misconduct -and jealous vanity of actresses, Consuelo discovered that when her male -companions were influenced by the same vices, they became even more -degraded, and less worthy of their relative position. Arrogant and -dissipated nobles, managers and people of the press, depraved by such -connection, fine ladies, curious and whimsical patronesses, ready to -deceive, yet offended at finding in an actress more virtue than they -could themselves boast of--in fact, and most unjust of all, the public -rose _en masse_ against the wife of Leverani, and subjected her to -perpetual mortification. Persevering and faithful in her profession as -she was in love, she never yielded, but pursued the tenor of her way, -always increasing in musical knowledge, and her virtuous conduct -remaining unaltered. Sometimes she failed in the thorny path of success, -yet often won a just triumph. She became the priestess of a purer art -than even Porpora himself was acquainted with; and found immense -resources in her religious faith, and vast consolation in her ardent and -devoted love to her husband. - -The career of her husband, though a parallel to her own, for he -accompanied her in her wanderings, is enwrapped in much mystery. It may -be presumed that he was not sentenced to be the slave of her fortune and -the book-keeper of her receipts and disbursements. Consuelo's profession -was not very lucrative. At that time the public did not reward artists -with as much munificence as it does now. Then they were remunerated by -the presents they received from princes and nobles, and women who knew -how to take advantage of their position had already begun to amass large -fortunes. Chastity and disinterestedness are, however, the greatest -enemies an actress can have. Consuelo was successful, respected, and -excited enthusiasm in some, when those who were about her did not -interfere with her position before the true public. She owed no triumph -to gallantry, however, and infamy never crowned her with diamonds or -gems. Her laurels were spotless, and were not thrown on the stage by -interested hands. After ten years of toil and labor, she was no richer -than when she began her career. She had made no speculations, for she -neither could nor would do so. She had not even saved the fruit of her -labors, to get which she often had much trouble, but had expended it in -charity, or for the purposes of secret but active propagandism, for -which her own means had not always sufficed. The central power of the -Invisibles had often provided for her. - -What may have been the real success of the ardent and tireless -pilgrimage of Albert and Consuelo, in France, Spain, England and Italy, -there is nothing to tell the world; and I think we must look twenty -years later, and then use induction, to form an idea of the result of -the secret labors of the societies of the Invisibles. Had they a greater -effect in France than in the bosom of that Germany where they were -produced? The French Revolution loudly says Yes. Yet the European -conspiracy of Illuminism, and the gigantic conceptions of Weishaupt, -prove that the divine dream of Saint Graal did not cease to agitate the -German mind for thirty years, in spite of the dispersion and defection -of the chief adepts. - -Old newspapers tell us that Porporina sang with great success in -Pergolese's operas at Paris, in the oratorios and operas of Handel at -London, with Farinelli at Madrid, with La Faustina at Dresden, and with -Mergotti at Venice. At Rome and Naples she sang the church music of -Porpora and other great masters, with triumphant applause. - -Every item of Albert's career is lost. A few notes to Trenck or Wanda -prove this mysterious personage to have been full of faith, confidence, -and activity, and enjoying in the highest degree lucidity of mind. At a -certain epoch all documentary information fails. We have heard the -following story told, in a coterie of persons almost all of whom are now -dead, relative to Consuelo's last appearance on the stage. - -"It was about 1760, at Vienna. The actress was then about thirty years -old, and it was said was handsomer than she had been in her youth. A -pure life, moral and calm habits, and physical prudence, had preserved -all the grace of her beauty and talent. Handsome children accompanied -her, but no one knew their father, though common report said that she -had a husband, and was irrevocably faithful to him. Porpora having gone -several times to Italy, was with her, and was producing a new opera at -the Imperial Theatre. The last twenty years of the maestro's works are -so completely unknown, that we have in vain sought to discover the name -of his last productions. We only know Porporina had the principal part, -that she was most successful, and wrung tears from the whole court. The -empress was satisfied. On the night after this triumph, Porporina -received from an invisible messenger news that filled her with terror -and consternation. At seven in the morning--that is to say, just at the -hour when the empress was awakened by the faithful valet known as the -sweeper[19] of her majesty, (for his duty consisted in opening the -blinds, making the fire, and cleaning the room, while the empress was -awaking,) Porporina, by eloquence or gold, passed through every avenue -of the palace, and reached the door of the royal bed-chamber." - -"'My friend,' said she to the servant, 'I must throw myself at the -empress's feet. The life of an honest man is in danger. A great crime -will be committed in a few days, if I do not see her majesty at once. I -know that you cannot be bribed, but also know you to be generous and -magnanimous. Everybody says so. You have obtained favors which the -greatest courtiers dared not ask.' - -"'Kind heaven! my dear mistress! I will do anything for you,' said the -servant, clasping his hands and letting his duster fall. - -"'Karl!' said Consuelo. 'Thank God I am saved! Albert has a protecting -angel in the palace!' - -"'Albert! Albert!' said Karl. 'Is he in danger? Go In, madame, if I -should lose my place. God knows I shall be sorry; for I am enabled to do -some good and serve our holy cause better than I could do anywhere else. -Listen! The empress is a good soul, when she is not a queen. Go in: you -will be thought to have preceded me. Let those scoundrels bear the -burden of it, for they do not deserve to serve a queen. They speak -lies." - -"Consuelo went in; and when the empress opened her eyes, she saw her -kneeling at the foot of the bed. - -"'Who is that?' said Maria Theresa, as, gathering the counterpane over -her shoulders, she rose up as proud and as haughty in her night-dress, -and on her bed, as if she sat on her throne, decked with the Imperial -crown on her brow, and the sword by her side. - -"'Madame,' said Consuelo, 'I am your humble subject, an unfortunate -mother, a despairing wife, who begs on her knees her husband's life and -liberty.' - -"Just then Karl came in, pretending to be very angry. - -"'Wretch,' said he, 'who bade you come hither?' - -"'I thank you, Karl, for your vigilance and fidelity. Never before was I -awakened with such insolence.' - -"'Let not your majesty say a word, and I will kill this woman at once.' - -"Karl knew the empress. He was aware that she liked to be merciful -before others, and that she always played the great queen and the great -woman before even her valets. - -"'You are too zealous,' said she, with a majestic smile. 'Go, and let -this poor weeping woman speak. I am not in danger in the company of my -subjects. What is the matter, madame? But, are you not the beautiful -Porporina? You will spoil your voice, if you weep thus.' - -"'Madame,' said Consuelo, 'ten years ago I was married in the Catholic -Church. I have never once disgraced myself. I have legitimate children, -whom I have educated virtuously. I dare to say----' - -"'Virtuously I know you have, but not religiously. You are chaste, they -tell me, but you never go to church. Tell me, however, what has befallen -you?' - -"'My husband, from whom I have never been separated, is now in Prague, -and I know not by what infamous means he has been arrested in that city -on the charge of usurping a name and title not his own, of attempting to -appropriate an estate to which he had no claim--in fine, of being a -swindler, a spy, and an impostor. Perhaps even now he has been sentenced -to perpetual imprisonment, or to death.' - -"'Prague? and an impostor?' said the empress. 'There is a story of that -kind in the reports of the secret police. What is your husband's name? -for you actresses do not bear them.' - -"'Leverani.' - -"'That is it! My child, I am sorry that you are married to such a -wretch. This Leverani is in fact a swindler and a madman, who, taking -advantage of a perfect resemblance, attempts to personate the Count of -Rudolstadt, who died ten years ago. The fact is proved. He introduced -himself into the home of the old Canoness of Rudolstadt, and dared to -say he was her nephew, he would have succeeded in getting possession of -her inheritance, if just then the old lady had not been relieved of him -by friends of the family. He was arrested and very properly. I can -conceive your mortification, but do not know how I can help it. If it be -shown that this man is mad, and I hope he is, he will be placed in an -hospital, where you will be able to see and attend him. If, however, he -be a scamp, as I fear, he must be severely treated, to keep him from -annoying the true heiress of Rudolstadt, the young Baroness Amelia, who -I think, after all her past errors, is about to be married to one of my -officers. I hope, _mademoiselle_, that you are ignorant of your -husband's conduct, and are mistaken in relation to his character, -otherwise I would be offended at your request. I pity you too much to -humiliate you, however. You may retire.' - -"Consuelo saw she had nothing to expect, and that in seeking to -establish the identity of Albert and Leverani she would injure his -position. She arose and walked towards the door, pale as if she was -about to faint. Maria Theresa, however, who followed her with an anxious -eye, took pity on her, and called her back. - -"'You are much to be pitied,' said she, in a less dry tone. 'All this is -not your fault, I am sure. Be at ease and be calm. The affair will be -conscientiously investigated; and if your husband does not ruin himself, -I will have him treated as a kind of madman. If you can communicate with -him, have this understood. That is my advice.' - -"'I will follow it, and thank your majesty, without whose protection I -am quite powerless. My husband is imprisoned at Prague, and I am engaged -at the Imperial Theatre at Vienna. If your majesty will but give me -leave of absence and an order to see my husband, who is in strict -confinement----' - -"'You ask a great deal. I do not know whether Kaunitz will give you -leave of absence, or if your place at the theatre can be supplied. We -will see all about it in a few days.' - -"'A few days!' said Consuelo, boldly. 'Then, perhaps, he will be no -more. I must go now!--now!' - -"'That is enough,' said the empress. 'Your urgency would injure you in -the minds of judges less calm than I. Go, _mademoiselle._' - -"Consuelo went to the old Canon ***, and entrusted her children to his -charge, at the same time saying she was about to leave for she knew not -how long a time. - -"'If you go for a long time,' said he, 'so much the worse for me. As for -the children, they will give me no trouble, for they are perfectly well -brought up, and will be company to Angela, who begins to be subject to -_ennui._' - -"The good canon did not attempt to ascertain her secret. As, however, -his quiet easy mind could not conceive a sorrow without a remedy, he -attempted to console her. Finding that he did not succeed in inspiring -her with hope, he sought at least to make her easy about her children. - -"'Dear Bertoni,' said he, kindly, and striving in spite of his tears to -smile, 'remember, if you do not come back, your children are mine. I -take charge of their education. I will marry the girl, and that will -diminish Angela's portion a little, and make her more industrious. The -boys, I warn you, I will make musicians.' - -"'Joseph Haydn will share that burden with you,' said Consuelo, 'and old -Porpora will yet be able to give them some lessons. My children are -docile and seem intellectual; so that their physical existence does not -trouble me. They will be able to support themselves honestly. You must -replace my love and advice.' - -"'I promise to do so,' said the canon. 'I hope to live long enough to -see them established. I am not very fat, and I can yet walk steadily. I -am not more than sixty, although Bridget insists that I should make my -will. Then have courage, my daughter, and take care of your health. Come -back soon, for God takes care of the pure-hearted.' - -"Consuelo, without any trouble about her leave of absence, had horses -put to her carriage. Just as she was about to set out, Porpora came to -know whither she was going. She had been unwilling to see him, knowing -as she did that he would seek to prevent her departure. He was afraid, -notwithstanding her promises, that she would not be back in time for the -opera next day." - -"'Who the devil dreams of going to the country in the winter time,' said -he, with a nervous tremor caused as much by fear as old age. 'If you -take cold you will endanger my success. I do not understand you. We -succeeded yesterday, and you travel to-day.' - -"This conversation made Consuelo lose a quarter of an hour, and enabled -the directors to inform the authorities of her intention. She was in -consequence forced to submit to a picket of Hulans, who immediately -surrounded the house and stood sentinels at her door. She was soon -seized with fever caused by this sudden check on her liberty, and -frantically paced the room while she replied to the questions of Porpora -and the directors. She did not sleep that night, but passed it in -prayer. In the morning she was calm, and went to the rehearsal as she -was desired. Her voice was never more melodious, but she was so mentally -abstracted that Porpora became alarmed. - -"'Cursed marriage! Cursed lovers' folly!' murmured he to the orchestra, -striking the keys of his instrument as if he would break it. Porpora was -unchanged, and would have willingly said, 'Perish all lovers and -husbands in the world, so that my opera succeeds.' - -"At night Consuelo made her toilet as usual, and went on the stage. She -placed herself in proper attitude, and she moved her lips, but the voice -was gone--she could not speak! - -"The audience was amazed. The court had heard something vague about her -attempt at flight, and pronounced it an unpardonable whim. There were -cries, hisses, and applause at every effort she made. Still she was -inaudible. She stood erect not thinking of the loss of her voice, nor -feeling humiliated by the indignation of her tyrants, but resigned and -proud as a martyr condemned to an unjust punishment; while she thanked -God for having so afflicted her, that she could leave the stage and join -her husband. - -"It was proposed to the empress that the rebellious artist should be -imprisoned, there to recover her voice and good temper. Her majesty was -angry for a moment, and the courtiers thought to ingratiate themselves -with her by advising cruelty; but the empress did not like unnecessary -severity, though she could connive at remunerative crime. - -"'Kaunitz,' said she, 'permit the poor woman to leave, and say nothing -more about it. If her loss of voice is feigned, her duty seems to -require it. Few actresses would sacrifice professional success at the -altar of conjugal affection and duty.' - -"Consuelo thus authorised set out. She was unwell, without being -apparently aware of it." - -Here again we lose the thread of events. The cause of Albert may have -been public or secret. It is probable that it was analogous to the suit -which Trenck made and lost, after so many years' dispute. Who in France -would not know the details of this affair, had not Trenck himself -published and spread his complaints abroad for thirty years? Albert left -no documents. We must then turn to Trenck's story, he too being one of -our heroes. It is probable his troubles may throw some light on those of -Albert and Consuelo. - -About a month after the meeting at St. Graal, of which in his memoirs -Trenck says nothing, he was recaptured and imprisoned at Magdenbourg, -where he passed ten years of his life, loaded with eighty pounds of -irons. The stone to which he was bound bears the inscription "Here lies -Trenck." All know his terrible fate, and the sufferings he underwent, as -also his wonderful attempts at escape, and his incredible energy, which -never left him, but which his chivalric imprudence counteracted. His -sister was subjected to the cruelty of paying for the erection of a -dungeon for him, because she afforded him a refuge in his flight. -Trenck's works of art in prison, the wonderful engravings he made with -the point of a nail on the tin cups, which are allegories or verses of -great beauty, are also well known.[20] In fine, from his secret -relations with the princess Amelia--the despair in which she wasted -away, and her care to disfigure her face by means of a corrosive fluid, -which almost destroyed her sight--the deplorable state of health to -which she reduced herself to avoid marriage--the remarkable change -effected on her character--the ten years of agony, which made him a -martyr, and her an old woman, ugly and malicious, instead of the angelic -creature she was, and would have been had she been happy[21]--the -misfortunes of the lovers are historical; but they are generally -forgotten when the character of Frederick the Great is written. These -crimes, committed with such refined cruelty, are indelible spots on the -character of that monarch. - -At length Trenck was released, as is known, by the intervention of Maria -Theresa, who claimed him as her subject. This was accomplished by the -influence of Karl, her majesty's valet. In relation to the curious -intrigues of this magnanimous man with his sovereign, some of the -strangest, most touching and pathetic pages of the memoirs of the age -have been written. - -During the first part of the captivity of Trenck, his cousin, the famous -Pandour, a victim of truer though not less hateful accusations, died it -is said at Spielberg of poison. As soon as Trenck was free, the Prussian -came to ask for his cousin's vast estate; but Maria Theresa had no idea -of yielding it. She had taken advantage of the exploits of Pandour, and -profited by his death. Like Frederick and other crowned tyrants, while -the power of position dazzled the masses, she paid no attention to the -secret offences for which God will call her to account at the day of -judgment, and which will at least weigh as heavy as her official -virtues. - -The avarice of the empress was exceeded by her agents, the ignoble -persons she had made curators of Pandour's estate, and the prevaricating -magistrates who decided on the rights of the heir. Each had a share of -the spoil, but the empress secured the largest. It was in vain that, -years after, she sent to prison and the galleys all her accomplices in -this fraud, as she never made complete restoration to Trenck. Nothing -describes the character of the empress better than that portion of -Trenck's book, in which he speaks of his interviews with her. Without -divesting himself of the loyalty which was then a kind of patrician -religion, he makes us feel how very avaricious and hypocritical this -deceitful woman was. He exhibits an union of contrasts, a character at -once base and sublime, innocent and false, like all those naturally pure -hearts which become captivated by the corruption of absolute power--that -great river of evil, on the breakers of which the noblest impulses of -the human heart have been dashed to pieces. Resolved to thwart him, she -yet afterwards deigned to console and encourage him, and promise him -protection against his infamous judges;--and, finally, pretending not to -have been able to discover the truth she sought, she bestowed on him the -rank of major, and offered the hand of an ugly old woman who was both -devout and gallant. On the refusal of Trenck, the royal _matrimomaniac_ -told him he was a presumptuous madman, that she had no means of -gratifying his ambition, and coldly turned her back upon him. The -reasons assigned for the confiscation of his estate varied under -circumstances. One court said that Pandour, undergoing an infamous -sentence, could make no will. Another, that if there were a will, the -claimant, as a Prussian, could not benefit by it; and that the debts of -the deceased absorbed everything. Incident after incident was got up; -but after much disputing Trenck never received justice.[22] - -There was no need of artifice to defraud Albert, and his spoliation was -effected without much procrastination. It was only necessary to treat -him as if he were dead, and prohibit him from being resuscitated at an -inappropriate time. We know that when he was arrested, the Canoness -Wenceslawa had died at Prague, whither she had come to be treated for -acute ophthalmia. Albert, having heard that she was _in extremis_, could -not resist the promptings of his heart to go and close the eyes of his -relation. He left Consuelo on the Austrian frontier, and went to Prague. -This was the first time he had been in Germany since his marriage. He -flattered himself that the lapse of ten years and certain changes of -attire would prevent him from being recognised; yet he approached his -aunt with much mystery. He wished to have her blessing, and atone by his -last kindness for the grief to which his desertion had subjected her. -The canoness was almost blind, but was struck by the sound of his voice. -She did not analyse her feelings, but at once abandoned herself to the -instinctive tenderness which had survived her memory and mental -activity. She clasped him in her withered arms, and called him her -beloved Albert--her darling child. Old Hans was dead; but the Baroness -Amelia and a woman from the Boehmer-wald, who had been a servant of the -canoness, and who had nursed Albert when he was sick, were astonished -and terrified at the resemblance of the pretended doctor and the count. -It does not appear that Amelia positively recognised him, and we will -not consider her an accomplice in the violent prosecution commenced -against him. We do not know who set the detachment of half-magistrates -half-spies to work, by whose aid the court of Vienna governed its -conquered subjects. But one thing is certain, that the countess had -scarcely breathed her last in her nephew's arms, ere Albert was arrested -and examined as to what had brought him to the death-bed of the old -lady. They wished to see his diploma; but he had none, and his name of -Leverani was considered criminal, several people having known him as -Trismegistus. He was consequently accused of being a quack and conjuror, -although no one could prove that he had ever received money for his -cures. He was confronted with Amelia: hence his ruin. Irritated and -mortified by the investigations to which he was subjected, he confessed -frankly to his cousin that he was Albert of Rudolstadt. Amelia certainly -recognised him, and fainted from terror. The conversation had been -overheard. The matter then took another turn. They wished to treat him -as an impostor; but in order to produce one of those endless suits which -ruin both parties, functionaries of the kind that had ruined Trenck, -sought to compromise him by making him say he was Albert of Rudolstadt. -There was a long investigation; and Supperville being sent for, said -there was no doubt Albert had died at the Giants' Castle. The exhumation -of the body was ordered; and a skeleton, which might have been placed -there only the day before, was found, his cousin was induced to contend -with him as with an adventurer who wished to rob her. She was not -suffered to see him. The complaints of the captive and the ardent -demands of his wife were stifled by a prison-bar and torture. Perhaps -they were sick, and dying in different dungeons. Albert could no longer -regain honor and liberty except by proclaiming the truth. It was in vain -that he promised to renounce the estate, and at once to bestow it on his -cousin. Interested parties sought to prolong the controversy, and they -succeeded, either because the empress was deceived, or because she -desired the confiscation of the estate. Amelia herself was attacked, the -scandal of her previous misfortune being revived. It was insinuated that -she was not a devotee, and they threatened to send her to a convent, in -case she did not abandon her claim. Eventually she was forced to -restrict it to her father's fortune, which was much reduced by the -enormous expenses of litigation. The castle and estates of Riesenberg -were confiscated to the state, after the lawyers, judges, and managers -of the affair had appropriated two-thirds of its value. On the -termination of the suit, which lasted five or six years, Albert was -exiled from the Austrian states as a dangerous alien. Thenceforth, it is -almost certain, the couple led an obscure life. They took their youngest -children with them. Haydn and the canon kindly refused to give up the -elder ones, who were being educated under the eyes and at the expense of -these faithful friends. Consuelo had lost her voice for ever. It is but -too certain that captivity, idleness, and sorrow at his wife's -sufferings, had again shaken Albert's reason. It does not appear, -however, that their love was less pure, or their conduct towards each -other less tender. The Invisibles disappeared under persecution; their -plans having failed, principally on account of the charlatans who had -speculated on the new ideas and the love of the marvellous. Persecuted -again as a freemason, in intolerant and despotic countries, Albert took -refuge either in France or England. Perhaps he continued his -propagandism, but this must have been among the people; and if his toil -had any fruit, it had no eclat. - -Here there is a void which our imagination cannot fill. One authentic -document, which is very minute, shows us that in 1774 the couple were -wandering in the Bohemian forests. - -This letter we will copy as it came to us. It will be all we can say -farther of Albert and Consuelo, whose subsequent career is utterly -unknown. - - -[Footnote 16: Many of these grades are of different creations and of -different rites. Some are of a date posterior to the age of which we -write. We commit the rectification of them to the learned Tilers. There -are, in some rites, more than one hundred degrees.] - -[Footnote 17: Every effort has been made to translate this masonic (?) -jargon into something like English; with what success none but the -Invisibles can tell.] - -[Footnote 18: By means of such indications, the story of John Kreysoder -seems to us to be the most wonderful of the romances of Hoffman. The -author having died before the end of his work, the poem is ended by the -Imagination in a thousand forms, the one more fantastic than the other. -Thus a noble river, as it approaches its mouth, is ramified into a -thousand passes, which work their way amid the golden sands of the sea -shore.--TRANSLATOR.] - -[Footnote 19: The French word is frotteur, and its meaning is strictly -"rubber" or "polisher."] - -[Footnote 20: Many are yet preserved in private museums in Germany.] - -[Footnote 21: See the character of the Abbess of Quidlemburg, in -Thibault, and the strange stories he tells of her.] - -[Footnote 22: See note at the end of the book.] - - - - -LETTER OF PHILO[23] - -TO IGNATIUS JOSEPH MARLIENOWIEZ, PROFESSOR OF PHYSIC -AT LEMBERG. - - -"Borne away, as by a whirlpool, like the satellites of a star king we -followed Spartacus[24] through rugged pathways, and under the dark -shadows of the Boehmer-wald. Why were you not there, my friend? You -would have neglected to pick up pebbles in the torrents, and to examine -the bones and veins of our mysterious mother Earth. The ardent words of -our master gave us wings. We crossed ravines and mountain tops, without -counting our steps, without looking down on the abyss above which we -stood, and without watching in the distance for the place where we -should rest at night. Spartacus had never seemed greater, or more -completely impregnated with sublime truth. The beauties of nature -exerted on his mind all the influence of a great poem; but in the glow -of his imagination, his spirit of wise analysis and ingenious -combination never left him. He explained the sky and stars, the earth -and seas, with the same clearness that presides over his dissertations -on the lesser subjects of this world. As though his soul became greater, -when alone and at liberty with the elect of his disciples, beneath the -azure of the starry skies, or looking on the dawn that announced the -rising sun, he broke through the limits of time and space to embrace in -one glance all humanity, both in its general view and in its details, to -penetrate the fragile destiny of empires and the imposing future of -nations. You in the flesh understand this, young man; you have heard on -the mountain this youth, with a wisdom surpassing his years, and who -seems to have lived amongst men since the beginning of the world. - -"When we came to the frontier, we made a salutation to the land which -had witnessed the exploits of the great Ziska, and bowed yet lower to -the caves which had been sepulchres to the martyrs of our old national -liberty. There we resolved to separate, for the purpose of examining -every point at once. Cato[25] went to the north-west, Celsus[26] to the -south-east, Ajax[27] went from the west to the east, and our rendezvous -was Pilsen. - -"Spartacus kept me with him, and resolved to rely on chance and a -certain divine inspiration which was to direct us. I was a little amazed -at his absence of calculation and thought, which seemed altogether -contradictory to his methodical habit. 'Philo,' said he, when we were -alone, 'I think men like us are ministers of Providence. Do not imagine, -however, that I deem Providence inert and disdainful, for by it we live -and think. I have observed that you are more favored than I am. Your -designs almost always succeed. Forward, then, and I will follow you. I -have faith in your second sight, in that mysterious clearness invoked -naïvely by our ancestors, the Illuminati, the pious fanatics of the -past.' It really seems that the master has prophesied truly. Before the -second day we found what we looked for, and thus I became the instrument -of fate. - -"We had reached the end of the wood, and there were two forks of the -road before us. One went into the lowlands, and the other went along the -sides of the mountain. - -"'Whither shall we go?' said Spartacus, seating himself on a rock. 'I -can see from here cultivated fields, meadows, and humble huts. They told -us he was poor, and he must therefore live with people of the same -class. Let us inquire after him, among the humble shepherds of the -valley.' - -"'Not so, master,' said I, pointing to the road on my right. 'I see -there the towers and crumbling walls of an old mansion. They told us he -was a poet, and he must therefore love ruins and solitude.' - -"'Well, then,' said Spartacus, with a smile, 'I see Hesper rising, white -as a pearl, in the yet roseate sky, above the ruins of the old domain. -We are shepherds looking for a prophet, and the wonderful star hurries -before us.' - -"We soon reached the ruins. It was an imposing structure, built at -different epochs. The ruins of the days of the emperor, Karl, however, -lay side by side with those of feudality. Not time, but the hands of man -had worked this destruction. It was broad day when we ascended a -dried-up ditch, and reached a rusted and motionless portcullis. The -first object we saw amid the ruins, as we came into the court-yard, was -an old man covered with rags, and more like a being of the past than of -the present day. His beard, like ivory grown yellow from age, fell on -his breast, and his golden hair glittered like a lake lighted up by the -sun. Spartacus trembled, and, approaching him hastily, asked the name of -the castle. The old man did not seem to fear us. He looked at us with -his glassy eyes, but seemed unable to see us. We asked his name. He made -no reply, his face merely expressing a dreamy indifference. His Socratic -features, however, did not express the degradation of idiotcy. There was -in his stern features an indescribable kind of beauty, originating in a -pure and serene mind. Spartacus put a piece of silver into his hand; but -having held it near his eyes, he let it fall as if he did not know the -use of it. - -"'Is it possible,' said I to my master, 'that an old man so totally -deprived of his senses can be thus abandoned by his fellow-men, and left -to ramble amid mountains, far away from the abodes of men without a -guide, without even a dog to lead him?' - -"'Let us take him to a resting-place,' said Spartacus. - -"As we set about lifting him up, however, to see whether he could stand, -he placed his finger on his lips, indicating that he wished us not to -disturb him, and pointed with the other hand to the extremity of the -court. Our glances went thither, but we saw no one. Shortly after we -heard the sound of a violin, which was played with great precision and -accuracy. I never heard an artist handle the bow with a more vast or -graceful sweep; the chords of his instrument, as it were, sympathising -with those of his soul, and conveying to the heart an expression at once -pious and heroic. We both fell into a delightful reverie, and said to -ourselves there was something grand and mysterious in such sounds. The -eyes of the old man wandered vaguely though dazzling and ecstatic, and a -smile of beatitude hung on his withered lips, proving conclusively that -he was neither deaf nor insensible. - -"After a short melody all was hushed, and we soon saw a man of ripe age -come from a chapel near us. His appearance filled us with emotion and -respect. The beauty of his austere face and his noble proportions -contrasted strongly with the deformed limbs and savage appearance of the -old man. The violin player came directly to us, with his instrument -under his arm, and the bow in a leathern girdle. Large pantaloons of -coarse stuff, shoes like the buskins of a former day, and a shirt of -sheepskin, similar to the Dalmatian peasant dress, made him look like a -shepherd or laborer. His white and delicate hands, however, did not -bespeak a man who had been devoted to rude or agricultural labor; and -the cleanliness of his dress and his proud deportment seemed to protest -against his misery, and to refuse to submit to its consequences. My -master was struck with the appearance of this man. He clasped me by the -hand, and I felt his tremble. - -"'It is the person,' said he. 'I know his face from having seen it in my -dreams.' - -"The violin player came towards us without embarrassment or surprise. He -returned our salute with charming dignity, and, approaching the old man, -said-- - -"'Come Zdenko: I am going. Lean on your friend.' - -"The old man made an effort to rise; but his friend lifted him up, and -bending so as to serve as a staff, he guided his trembling steps. In -this filial care and patience in a strong, noble, and agile man, to -another in rags, there was if possible something more touching than in a -young mother shortening her step to suit that of her child. I saw my -master's eyes fill with tears, and I felt a sympathy with that man of -genius and probable fame, in his strong excitement at the scene before -him, fancying myself lost in the mysteries of the past. - -"We were seeking some pretext to address him, when his thoughts -evidently recurring to us, he said, with a beautiful simplicity and -confidence:-- - -"'You saw me kiss this marble, and this old man throw himself on these -tombs. Think not that these are acts of idolatry. We kiss the robe of a -saint, as we wear on the heart a token of love and friendship. The -bodies of our deceased friends are like worn-out garments, which we -would not trample on, but preserve with respect and lose with regret. My -beloved father and kindred, I know are not here. The inscriptions which -say "Here rest the Rudolstadts," are false. They are all ascended to -heaven, though they live and act in the world in obedience to the -ordinance of God. Under these marbles there are only bones. Their souls -have forsaken the mortal, and have put on the immortal. Blessed be the -ashes of our ancestors! Blessed be their dust and the ivy with which -they are crowned! Above all--blessed be God! who has said, "Arise and -return to my fruitful soul, where nothing dies!--where all is renewed -and purified!'" - -"'Leverani, Ziska, or Trismegistus, do I find you at the tombs of your -ancestors?' said Spartacus, animated by a celestial certainty. - -"'I am neither Leverani, Trismegistus, nor Ziska,' said the stranger. -'Spectres haunted my ignorant youth; but divine light has absorbed them, -and I have forgotten the names of my ancestors. I have no name but that -of "man," and am not different from others of my species.' - -"'Your words are profound, but indicate distrust,' said the master. -'Confide in this sign. Do you not remember it?' - -"Spartacus here made the higher masonic sign. - -"'I have forgotten that language. I do not despise it; but it has become -useless. Insult me not, brother, by thinking I distrust you. Is not your -name also "man." Mankind have never injured me; or if they did, I have -forgotten it. The injury they did me then was trifling, compared with -the good they can do each other, and for which I thank them in advance.' - -"'Is it possible then, oh, good man! that you esteem time as nothing in -your estimate of life?' - -"'Time does not exist. If men meditated on the divine essence more, they -would like me, forget centuries and ages. What matters it, to one who -participates so much in God's nature as to be eternal--to one who will -live for ever? Time, to such an one, is a nonentity. The controlling -power alone may hasten or delay, but will not pause.' - -"'You mean, that man should forget to reckon time--that life runs -perpetually and abundantly from the bosom of God. Are these your -assertions?' - -"'You rightly comprehend my meaning, young man. I have, however, a still -better explanation of this great mystery.' - -"'Mystery! I have come from afar to inquire and learn from you of the -mysterious.' - -"'Listen, then,' said the stranger, beckoning the old man to a seat on a -tomb. 'This place inspires me in a peculiar manner, for on this spot -rest the last rays of the setting sun and his earliest morning fires. -Here, then, I could wish to exalt your soul to a knowledge of sublime -truths. - -"We quivered with a joyful emotion at the idea of having, after two -years of search, discovered this Magus of our religion--this great -philosopher and organiser, who was able to extricate us from our mental -labyrinth. The stranger, however, seizing his violin, began to play it -with such warmth of feeling that the ruins resounded as with the echoes -of the human voice. His strain was religiously enthusiastic, while at -the same time it had an air of antique simplicity. - -"Nothing in these unknown songs bespoke languor or reverie. They were -like the songs of war, and made us fancy we saw triumphant armies, with -banners, and palms, and all the insignia of a new religion. I saw, as it -were, the vastness of all nations united under one bright banner. There -was no disorder in their ranks, no impetuous outbreaks; but they -portrayed human activity in all its splendor, victory in all its -clemency, faith in all its sublime expansion. - -"'This is magnificent,' said I to myself, when I had heard three or four -of his magnificent strains. 'It is the true _Te Deum_--Humanity, revived -and refreshed, giving thanks to the God of all religions--to the Light -of all men!' - -"'You understand me, my child,' said the musician, wiping the -perspiration and tears from his face. 'You see Time has but one voice to -proclaim truth. Look at the old man. He, by understanding this mystery, -has become at least twenty years younger.' - -"We looked at the old man. He was erect, and walked with ease, while he -kept time to the music as he paced, like a mere youth. There had -certainly been a miracle worked on him through the instrumentality of -music. He came down the hill without caring for assistance; and when his -step became slow, the musician said-- - -"'Zdenko, do you wish me to play again to you the "March of Procopious -the Great," or the "Benediction of the Standard of the Orebites?'" - -"The old man signified however, that he still had sufficient strength, -as if he feared to exhaust the heavenly aid and inspiration of his -friend. - -"We went towards the hamlet we had seen on our right hand on going to -the ruins. On the way Spartacus questioned the musician. - -"'You have played,' said he, 'incomparable melodies to us, and by your -brilliant prelude I understand that you meant to prepare our senses for -the enthusiasm with which you are inspired, and wish to exalt yourself, -as the pythonesses and the prophets did, and so pronounce your oracles -as if by the power of God. Now, then, speak. The air is calm, the path -is smooth, and the moon shines out in all her beauty. All nature is -silent, apparently to listen to you; and our hearts call aloud for your -revelations. Vain science and haughty reason will become humbled in us, -beneath your burning language. Speak!--the time is come.' - -"The philosopher, however, would not comply with the request; but said-- - -"'What can I say that I have not already expressed in beautiful -language? Is it my fault that you did not understand me? You think I -spoke to your senses, yet it was my soul addressed you--nay, the souls -of all the human family spoke in mine. I was indeed inspired, but now -the power is gone, and I need repose. Had I then transfused to you all -that I could have wished, you also would now require rest.' - -"It was impossible for Spartacus to ascertain anything more that -evening. When we had come to the first cottage, the stranger said:-- - -"'Friends, follow me no farther; but come to me to-morrow. Knock at the -first door and you will be well received everywhere here, if you know -the language of the country.' - -"It was useless to exhibit the little money we had. The peasants of -Bohemia are worthy of ancient days. We were received with calm -politeness, and ere long we were treated with affectionate cordiality, -being able to speak Slavonic with ease, the peasants distrusting those -who speak German. - -"We soon ascertained that we were at the Giants' Castle, and at the foot -of the Giants' Mountain. From the name, we fancied we were transported -by magic to the great northern chain of the Carpathian Mountains. We -were told that one of the ancestors of the Podiebrad had thus named his -castle to discharge a vow he had made in the Riesenberg; and that -Podiebrad's descendants, after the Thirty Years' War, had assumed the -patronymic of Rudolstadt. At that time, persecution Germanized -everything--names, cities, and individuals. These traditions are yet -alive in the hearts of the peasantry of Bohemia. The mysterious -Trismegistus, then, whom we looked for, is really the same Albert -Podiebrad who was buried alive, rescued from the tomb in a mysterious -manner, who disappeared for a long time, and who, after twenty years, -was confined as an impostor and freemason and Rose Cross--the famous -Count of Rudolstadt, whose lawsuit was so hushed up, and whose identity -was never established. Rely then, my friend, on the inspiration of our -master. You trembled when you thought we put faith in vague revelations, -and searched for one who, like so many of the modern Illuminati, might -be either an impudent swindler or a ridiculous adventurer. The master -had judged correctly. By a few traits in his deportment, and some of his -fugitive writings that we had seen, he was convinced that this strange -personage was a man of intelligence and truth--a sincere guardian of the -sacred fire and holy traditions of the older Illuminism--an adept of the -ancient secret--a doctor of the new interpretation. We have found him, -and now we have become enlightened in the history of freemasonry and the -famous Invisibles, of whose toils and even existence we were before in -doubt; and we can now understand the new mysteries, the meaning of which -was lost or wrapped in doubtful hieroglyphics which the persecuted and -degraded adepts could not now explain. We have found the man, and now -can return with that sacred fire which at one time transformed a statue -of clay into a thinking being--a rival for the stern and stupid gods of -the ancients. Our master is the Prometheus. Trismegistus had the fire of -truth in his bosom, and we have caught a sufficiency from him to enable -us to initiate you into a new life. - -"The stories of our kind hosts kept us long sitting beside the rustic -hearth. They did not care for the legal judgments and attestations that -declared Albert of Rudolstadt, in consequence of an attack of catalepsy, -deprived of his name and rights. Their love of his character--their -hatred of the foreign spoilers, the Austrians, who, having condemned and -persecuted the legitimate heir, now bereft him of his lands and castle, -which they shamefully squandered--the hammer of the ruthless demolisher, -who would destroy his seigniorial abode, and sell at any price its -invaluable contents, and who sought to sully and deface what they could -not carry away; for these reasons the peasantry of the Boehmer-wald -preferred a truly miraculous truth to the odious sophistry of the -conquerors. Twenty-five years had passed since the disappearance of -Albert Podiebrad, yet no one here will believe in his death, though all -the newspapers have published it, in confirmation of an unjust judgment; -while all the aristocracy of Vienna laughed contemptuously at the madman -who supposed himself resuscitated from death. Albert of Rudolstadt has -now been a week on these mountains--the home of his fathers; and every -day finds him in prayer and praise at their tombs. All who remember his -features beneath his grey hairs prostrate themselves before him as their -true master and ancient friend. There is something to admire in their -acknowledgment of this persecuted man, and much of the beautiful in the -love they bear towards him. - -"In a corrupt world like this, nothing can be thought of to give you an -idea of the pure morals and noble sentiments we have met with here. -Spartacus has a profound respect for the peasantry; and the trifling -persecution we first experienced, from their detestation of tyranny, has -confirmed our confidence in their fidelity amid misfortune, and in their -grateful remembrance of the past. - -"At dawn we wished to leave the hut in search of the violin player; but -we were surprised to find ourselves surrounded by a number of men, armed -with flails and scythes, the chief of whom said-- - -"'You must forgive us if we retain you here. We have come together for -that purpose; but you may be free again this evening.' - -"Finding us astonished at this, he said-- - -"'If you are honest men, you have no need to be alarmed; but if you be -scamps, spies, whom our people cannot understand, sent hither to rob us -of our Podiebrad, you shall not leave us until he is far away, and safe -from your attempts to find him.' - -"We saw that during the night these honest people distrusted us, though -they had been so kind and open-hearted at first that we could not but -admire them. The master felt sadly distressed at the idea of losing the -hierophant we had come so far to see. He ventured to write to -Trismegistus, in the masonic character, and to tell him his name and -position, in order if possible to relieve the people of their -suspicions. A few moments after this letter had been taken to a -neighboring hut, we saw a woman before whom the peasants opened their -rudely ordered phalanx. We heard them murmur, 'La Zingara! La Zingara -Consolacione!' She soon entered the hut, and, closing the doors, began -in the signs and formulas of freemasonry to question us strictly. We -were surprised to find a woman initiated in the mystic signs; but her -imposing air and scrutinising look inspired us with respect, -notwithstanding her gipsy garb, which she wore with an ease evidently -acquired by habit. - -"As she was very clean, and her manners calm and dignified, we fancied -her queen of the camp; but when she told us that she was the wife of -Trismegistus, we looked at her with ease and respect. She is no longer -young, being apparently about forty, but broken down by fatigue. She is -yet beautiful, however; and her tall and elegant figure has still that -noble air and chaste dignity which command admiration. We were deeply -impressed by her angelic countenance, and her sweet musical voice moved -our hearts as with heavenly melody. Whoever this woman may be, thought -we, whether the wife of the philosopher or a generous adventurer -attached to him from an ardent passion, it is impossible to say; but we -could not imagine that any other than a pure unsullied prompting could -influence such a being. We were astonished to find our sage entramelled -with the chains of common men; but we soon discovered that in the ranks -of the truly noble--the intelligent, the wise, and the good--he had -found a companion after his own heart--one also that could brave with -him the storms of life. - -"'Excuse my fears and doubts,' said she, after many questions. 'We have -been persecuted and have suffered much; but, thank God, my husband has -forgotten his misfortunes. He is now safe, and nothing can annoy or -afflict him. Heaven, however, has made me a sentinel to protect him from -the approach of his persecutors. Hence my distrust and anxiety. Your -manners and language satisfy me more than do the signs which we have -exchanged, for our mystery has been abused by false preachers and -designing brethren. Prudence forbids us to trust any one; but heaven -protests against impiety or lack of charity. The family of the faithful -is depressed, and we have no longer a temple in which we can hold -communion. Our adepts have lost the true significance of the mysteries. -The letter of our law has killed its spirit; and the divine art has been -mistaken and defiled by man. What matters it?--are there not yet some -faithful? In a few sanctuaries the word of life may yet be safe. Yes, it -will yet find an utterance, and be diffused through the world; the -temple will yet be reconstructed by the pure light of faith, aided by -the widow's mite.' - -"'Precisely,' said the master. 'That is what we look for, and what is -preached in our sanctuaries, but which few can understand. We have -reflected upon it, and, after years of toil and meditation have fancied -that we have discovered its true meaning. Therefore are we come to ask -your husband's sanction of our faith, or a correction of our errors. Let -us speak with him, that he may hear and understand us.' - -"'That I cannot promise,' said the Zingara; 'nor can he. Trismegistus is -not always inspired, though he now lives under the influence of poetic -meditations. Music is its habitual manifestation. Metaphorical ideas -rarely exalt him above mere sentiment. At present he can say nothing -that would be satisfactory to you. I alone can at all times understand -his language; but to those who do not know him, he is mysterious. I may -tell you this--To men guided by icy reason, Trismegistus is a madman; -and while the poetic peasant humbly offers the sublime gifts of -hospitality to the wise one who has touched and delighted him, the -coarser mind casts his boon of pity on the vagabond who displays his -genius in the city. I have taught our children to accept those gifts -only for the benefit of the aged and infirm beggar, who may not be -gifted sufficiently to influence the hearts of the charitable. We have -no need of alms: we do not beg, for in so doing we would degrade -ourselves. We gain our living honestly, and by no other means shall our -children live. Providence has enabled us to impart our enthusiasm and -art to those capable of comprehending their beauties, and in exchange we -receive the religious hospitality of the poor, and share his frugal -meal. Thus do we earn our food and clothing. At the doors of our -wealthier brethren, we only stop that they may hear our song; we seek no -reward. Only those who have nothing to barter should be classed as -paupers, and on them we bestow charity. These are our ideas of -independence, which we realize by using the talents bestowed on us by -heaven in such a way as gives honor to the donor and credit to -ourselves. We have made friends everywhere among the lower classes of -society, and these, our brothers and sisters, would not degrade -themselves by seeking to deprive us of our probity and honor. Every day -we make new disciples; and when no longer able to take care of our -children, they will have an opportunity of repaying their obligations to -us. Trismegistus now to you will seem crazed by his enthusiasm, as once -he really was by sorrow. Watch him, however, and you will find your -error; for it is the blindness of society and its many perverse social -institutions that make its men of genius and invention often seem -insane. Now come with us, and perhaps Trismegistus will be able to talk -with you on other subjects besides that of music. You must not, however, -request him; for he will do so voluntarily, if we find him at the proper -time, and when old ideas are revived. We will go in an hour. Our -presence here may bring new dangers on his head; and in no other place -need we so much fear recognition, after so many years of exile. We will -go to Vienna by way of the Boehmer-wald and the Danube. I have travelled -in that direction before now, and I will gladly do so again. We will -visit our two children, whom friends in comfortable circumstances -insisted on taking care of and instructing. All, you are aware, are not -artists--we must individually walk in the way pointed out by our -Creator.' - -"Such were the explanations of this strange woman, who, though often -pressed by our questions and interrupted by our objections, told us of -the life she had adopted in pursuance of her husband's ideas and tastes. -We gladly accepted her invitation to accompany her, and when we were -ready the rural guard opened its ranks to let us pass. - -"'My children,' said the Zingara, in her full and harmonious voice, -'your friend awaits you under the trees. It is the most pleasant hour of -the day, and we will have matins and music. Have confidence in in these -two friends,' said she, pointing to us in her majestic and naturally -theatrical air. 'They are not spies, but well-wishers.' - -"The peasants followed us singing. On the way the Zingara told us that -her family purposed to leave the village that very day. - -"'Do not tell him so,' she said, 'for it would cost him many tears. We -are not safe here, however, as some old enemy might pass, and recognise -Albert of Rudolstadt under the Bohemian dress.' - -"We came to the centre of the hamlet, which was used as a bleach green, -and encircled by immense beach trees, beneath whose boughs were humble -cots and capricious pathways traced by the footsteps of cattle. The -place appeared enchanted as the early rays of the sun fell on the -emerald carpet of its meadows. Silvery dews hung over the brows of the -mountains. Everything had a fresh and healthy appearance; even the -grey-bearded peasants, the ivy-coated trees, and the old moss-covered -cottages. In an open space, where a sparkling rivulet ran, dividing and -multiplying its many crystal branches, we saw Trismegistus with his -children, two beautiful girls and a lad of fifteen, handsome as the -Endymion of the sculptor and poet. - -"'This is Wanda,' said the Zingara, showing us the elder girl, 'and the -younger is named Winceslawa. Our son has been called Zdenko, after his -father's best friend. Old Zdenko has a marked preference for him. You -see he has Winceslawa between his legs and the other girl on his knee, -he is not thinking of them, however, but is gazing at Zdenko as if he -could never be satisfied.' - -"We looked at the old man, whose cheeks were wet with tears; and his -thin, bony face, though marked by many a wrinkle, yet looked on the last -scion of the Rudolstadts with an expression of beatitude and ecstacy as -he held him by the hand. I could have wished myself able to paint this -group, with Trismegistus in the foreground, as he sadly tuned his violin -and arranged his bow. - -"'Is it you, my friends?' says he, as he returned our respectful salute -with cordiality. 'My wife has brought you? She was right, as I have good -things to say to you, and will be happy if you hear me.' - -"He played more mysteriously than on the previous evening; such at least -was our impression; but the music no doubt was more delicious from -association, as his little audience thrilled with enthusiasm on hearing -the old ballads of their country and its sacred hymns of freedom. -Emotion was differently marked on their manly brows. Some, like Zdenko, -delighted in the vision of the past and seemed to impregnate themselves -with its poetry, as a transplanted flower in its strange home receives -with joy a few drops of moisture. Others were transported by religious -fanaticisms, when they remembered their present sorrows, and with closed -fists they menaced their visionary enemies, and appealed to heaven for -outraged virtue and dignity. There were sobs and groans, blended with -wild applause and delirious cries. - -"'My friends,' said Albert, 'you see these simple men. They completely -comprehend my meaning; and do not, as you did yesterday, ask the meaning -of my prophecies.' - -"'You spoke of them only of the past,' said Spartacus, who was anxious -that he should continue his eloquent strain. - -"'The past! the past!--the present!--what vain follies are these?' said -Trismegistus, with a smile. 'Man has them all in his heart, and of them -his life is compounded. Since, however, you insist on words to -illustrate my ideas, listen to my son, who will repeat a canticle, the -music of which was composed by his mother, and the verses by myself.' - -"The handsome youth advanced calmly yet modestly into the circle. It was -evident that his mother, without knowing it, was over anxious about her -son's personal appearance, and that his beauty might be the more -conspicuous, she had dressed him out superbly in comparison with the -rest of her family. He took off his cap, bowed to his hearers, and -kissed his hand, which salutation was returned by the company. After a -prelude on the guitar from his mother, by which the lad became -enraptured, so congenial was it to his soul, he sang in the Sclavic -language a long ballad to the goddess of Poverty. - -"Conceive the effect of a ballad in that mild and gentle tongue which -seems formed for youthful lips alone. It was a melody that touched the -heart, and brought forth tears, pure as crystal from our eyes. It was -sung in a seraphic voice, with exquisite purity, and an incomparable -musical accent; and all this from the son of Trismegistus, and the pupil -and son of Zingara, from one of the best and most gifted children of the -earth. If you can represent to yourself a large group of masculine -faces, honest and picturesque, in such a landscape as Ruysdäel -loved--the unseen torrent, which yet flung from the ravine a murmur that -mingled with the distant bell of the mountain sheep--then you will have -some idea of the poetic joy in which we were immersed. - -"'Now, my lads,' said Albert Podiebrad, 'we must to work. Go you to the -fields, and I with my family will seek inspiration in the woods.' - -"'You will come back again at night,' said the peasants. - -"The Zingara made them a kind gesture, which they mistook for a promise. -The two youngest daughters, who as yet knew nothing of danger, cried out -with infantine joy, 'Yes, yes;' and the peasants dispersed. Zdenko sat -on the steps of the cottage, and saw with satisfaction the people fill a -large bag, which the boy held, with a dinner for the family. The Zingara -then bade us follow, and away we went with the itinerant musicians. - -"We had to ascend the ravine. My master and I each took in our arms one -of the girls, and we had thus an opportunity to speak to Trismegistus, -who did not before seem aware of our presence. - -"'You think me a dreamer,' said he. 'I am sorry to leave my friends and -the old man behind me. To-morrow they will search the forest for me. -Consuelo, however, will have it so, as she fancies we would be in danger -were we to remain here any longer. I cannot think that any one now fears -or envies us. But her will has always been mine, and to-night we will -not return to the hamlet. If you be my friends in reality, you will -return thither and tell them so. We did not say adieu, for we did not -wish to vex them. As for Zdenko, you need only say to-morrow, he never -thinks of any longer time; all time, all life to him, is in the word -to-morrow. He has divested his mind of the received ideas of time, and -his eyes are now open to the mystery of eternity, in which he seems -always absorbed, and at any time prepared to put off the mortal coil in -exchange for the glorious immortal. Zdenko is a sage, and the wisest I -ever knew.' - -"Our journeying had an effect on this family which is worthy of remark. -The children lost their bashfulness before us, and listened most -attentively to the oracles that Trismegistus propounded, which were -replete with heavenly wisdom, and highly calculated to exalt their ideas -above the things of this life, while at the same time they forcibly -dwelt on the necessity of humility. The noble boy, who watched his -father attentively, and noted down every word that he said, would have -been much offended, had any one said that his beloved parent was insane. -Trismegistus rarely spoke, and we observed that neither his wife nor his -children expected him to do so, except when urgently necessary. They -respected his reveries, and La Zingara continually watched him, as if -she was afraid of him suffering in those silent moods. She had studied -the oddities of his character, and did not consider them as foolish. I -would not think it right to use the word 'folly,' in reference to such a -man as Trismegistus. When I first saw him, I thoroughly understood the -veneration of his peasant friends, who are philosophers and theologians -without being aware of it, resembling in this respect the eastern -nations, who make gods to themselves, objects of adoration, as if it -were by instinct. They know that, when not harassed by ridicule, his -abstraction becomes a faculty divinely poetical. I do not know what -would become of him, did not his friends encircle him with their love -and protection. Their conduct towards him is an attractive example of -the respect and solicitude which is due to the invalid, or by the strong -to the weak, in every instance where heaven in its wisdom may punish or -chastise." - -"The family walked with such ease and activity that we soon found -ourselves comparatively exhausted. Even the youngest children, when not -in the arms of some of the party, seemed to get over the ground with as -much ease as do the finny tribe in their natural element. La Zingara, in -her anxiety for her son, would not allow him to burthen himself with any -of the little ones, alleging that he was too young for such labor, and -that it might injure his voice, which had not reached its climax. She -took the gentle and confiding little creatures on her own shoulders, and -carried them with the same ease that she would her guitar. Physical -power is a blessing conferred more on the poor artisan or travel-toiled -wanderer than on the easy and luxuriant. - -"We were very much fatigued when through many rugged paths we reached a -place called the Schreckenstein, which is most romantic in its -appearance. As we drew near, we observed that Consuelo looked with -anxiety at her husband, and kept close to his side, as if she feared -some danger was near, or an outburst of violent emotion; but nothing -seemed to disturb him, as he sat himself on a large stone, from which he -had a complete view of the arid hills around. In the aspect of this -place there is something terrible. The rocks are in disorder, and by -their falling the trees underneath are frequently crushed. They seem to -have but slight root in the ground, and the shepherds avoid the spot, -leaving it to the wild boar, the wolf, and the chamois. Albert dreamed -for a long time on this spot. He then looked at the children who played -at his feet, and at his wife, who sought to read his emotion on his -brow. He arose suddenly, knelt before her, and bidding his children -follow his example, said-- - -"'Kneel to your mother--a consolation vouchsafed to the unfortunate--the -peace promised of God to the pure of heart.' - -"The children knelt around the Zingara, and wept as they covered her -with kisses. She, too, wept, as she pressed them to her bosom; and bade -them turn around and do the same homage to their father. Spartacus and I -also knelt with them. - -"When Consuelo had spoken, Spartacus paid his homage to Trismegistus, -and besought him to grant him light, telling him all he had suffered, -studied, and thought; and then knelt as if enchanted at the Zingara's -feet. I hardly dare to tell what passed in my mind. The Zingara was -certainly old enough to be my mother, yet I cannot describe the charm -that radiated from her brow. In spite of my respect for her husband, and -the horror with which the mere idea of forgetting it would have filled -me, I felt my whole soul enthralled by an enthusiasm with which neither -the splendor of youth nor the prestige of luxury have ever inspired me. -May I meet with one like her, to whom I can devote my life! I can -scarcely hope so, however; and now that I never shall have her, there is -a despair in my heart, as if it had been announced that I could love no -one else. - -"La Zingara did not even notice me. She looked at Spartacus, and was -struck with his ardent and sincere language. Trismegistus also was -touched, and clasped the master's hand, making him sit on the rock -behind him. - -"'Young man,' said he, 'you have awakened all the ideas of my life. I -fancied I heard myself speaking as I was wont when of your age, and -asked men of your experience for the knowledge of virtue. I had resolved -to tell you nothing. I distrusted not your mind and honesty, but the -purity of the flame in your bosom. I did not feel able to describe in a -tongue I once spoke, the ideas I have accustomed myself to express by -poetry, art, and sentiment; but your faith has triumphed, has -accomplished a miracle, and I feel that I must speak. Yes,' added he, -after having gazed at Spartacus in silence for a moment, which to me -seemed a century, 'yes, now I know you. I have seen you, and with you I -have loved and toiled, in some phase of my anterior life. Your name -among men was great, but I do not remember it. I only remember your -look, your glance, your soul, from which mine has detached itself, not -without a great effort. Now, I am better able to read the future than -the past, and future centuries often appear to me as clear as the -present time. Be assured you will be great, and accomplish great things. -You will, however, be blamed, accused, censured, and calumniated. My -idea, however, will sustain you, under a thousand forms, until it shall -inflict the last blow on social and religious despotism. Yes, you are -right in looking into society for your rule of life. You obey your -destiny, or rather your inspiration. This cheers me. This I felt when I -heard you, and this you contrived to communicate to me, which proves the -reality of your mission. Toil, then, act and labor. Heaven has made you -the organ of destruction. Destroy and discuss. Faith is as necessary for -the destruction as for the erection of edifices. I left a path into -which you have voluntarily entered, for I thought it bad. If it were, it -was the result of accident. I have spoken to the poor, to the weak, to -the oppressed, under the form of art and poetry, which they -instinctively understand and love. It is possible that I have been too -distrustful of the kindly feelings which yet animate men of power and -learning. For a long time I have not known them, having been disgusted -with their impious skepticism and yet more impious superstition. I left -them with disgust, to look for the pure of heart. Obey--obey the breath -of the spirit!--continue to aggrandize our work. Gather up the arms we -have yet on the battle-field! Do not leave them perchance, to strengthen -the force of the enemy, or thus we may be conquered.' - -"Then Spartacus and the divine old man began a conversation which I will -never forget. In the course of it, Rudolstadt, who had at first been -unwilling to speak, except in music, as Orpheus did of yore--this -artist, who had for a long time abandoned logic and reason for the -sentiment of the soul--this man whom popular judges had stigmatised as -mad--without effort, as if by inspiration, at once became the most -reasonable of philosophers, and in his precepts he illuminated the part -of true knowledge and wisdom. Spartacus exhibited all the ardor of his -soul. One was a complete man, with every faculty in unison; the other a -neophyte, abounding in enthusiasm. I remembered a gospel analogy of this -scene--Jesus, with Moses and the prophets, on the mountain. - -"'Yes,' said Spartacus, 'I feel that I have a mission. I have been in -contact with those who rule the world, and have become aware of their -ignorance and hard-heartedness. How beautiful is life! How beautiful are -nature and humanity! I wept when I saw myself and my brethren, created -by the divine hand for nobler uses, enslaved by such wretches. After -having cried like a woman, I said to myself, "What prevents me from -loosing their fetters and setting them free?" After a period of solitary -reflection, however, I concluded that _to live_ is not to _be free._ Man -was not made to live alone. He cannot live without a purpose; and I -said--I am yet a slave--let me deliver my brothers. I found noble hearts -who associated with me, and they called me SPARTACUS.'" - -"'I was right when I said you would destroy,' said the old man. -'Spartacus was a revolted slave. That matters not. Again, organise to -destroy. Let a secret society be formed to crush the power of existing -iniquity. If, however, you would have that body strong and efficacious, -infuse in it as many living, eternal truths as possible, that it may -first level the fabric of error, to raise on its ruins the structure of -charity, love, and gospel faith. To destroy, it must exist; all life -being positive.' - -"'I understand your meaning. You would restrict my mission; but, be it -little or great, I accept it.' - -"'All in the counsels of God is great. Let this one idea be to you a -rule of conduct--"Nothing is lost!" The divine equilibrium is -mathematical; and in the crucible of the great chemist every atom is -exactly computed.' - -"'Since you approve of my designs, show me the way to put them into -action. How must I influence men? Must their imagination be appealed to? -Must I take advantage of their weakness and inclination for the -wonderful? You have seen how much good can be done by holding forth the -wonderful.' - -"'Yes; but I have also seen the evil. If you be wise, you will adapt -your action to the age in which we live.' - -"'Teach me, then, the doctrine--teach me how to act with certainty.' - -"'You ask for the rule of method and certainty from one who has been -accused of folly and persecuted under that pretext. You have made a -wrong choice in an adviser; for instruction, you must go to the -philosophers and sages.' - -"'I would rather appeal to you; I already know the value of their -science.' - -"'Well, since you insist, I will inform you that method is identical -with _the doctrine_, because it is synonymous with the supreme truth -revealed in it. All is reduced to a knowledge of _the doctrine._' - -"Spartacus reflected, and after a moment's silence said-- - -"'I wish to learn from you the supreme formula of _the doctrine._' - -"'You will hear it, not from me, however, but from Pythagoras, the echo -of all sages. "O DIVINE TETRAID!" That is the formula which, under all -images, symbols, and emblems, humanity has proclaimed, by the voices of -many religions, when it could be seized on by no spiritual means, -without incarnation, without idolatry--as it was when first given as a -boon to mankind.' - -"'Speak--speak! To make yourself understood, recall some of these -emblems, that you may speak in the stern language of the absolute.' - -"'I cannot, as you wish, separate these two things--absolute religion, -and religion in its manifestation. Nature in our epoch exhibits them -together. We judge the past, and without living in it, find the -confirmation of our ideas. I wish to make myself understood.' - -"'Speak!--but first speak of God. Does the formula apply to God, the -infinite essence? It would be criminal, did it not apply to that whence -it emanates. Have you reflected on the nature of God?' - -"'Certainly; and I feel you have his spirit, the spirit of truth, in -your heart.' - -"'Well what is God!' - -"'The absolute being. "I am that I am," is the inspired answer given by -the greatest of books, the Bible.' - -"'But do you know nothing more of his nature? Has the great book -revealed no more to man?' - -"'Christians say God is triune--the Father, the Son, and the Spirit.' - -"'What say the traditions of the old secret societies to which you -belong?' - -"'The same. Has not this circumstance struck you? Official and -triumphant religion, as well as the faith that is proscribed, agree -exactly in relation to the nature of God. I might mention creeds which -existed earlier than Christianity, in whose theology you would find the -same truth. India, Egypt, Greece, have known God in three persons. We -will come to this again, however. From God, let us pass to man. What is -man?' - -"'After one difficult question, you ask another, which is not less so. -The Oracle of Delphi has declared that all wisdom lay in this--"Man, -know thyself!"' - -"'The oracle was right. From nature, well understood, all wisdom -emanates. So, too, does all morality, all organization, all true -politics. Let me ask again, what is man?' - -"'An emanation from God----' - -"'Certainly, for God is the only absolute being. However, I trust that -you are not like some philosophers I met in England, France, and even in -Germany, at the court of Frederick--that you do not resemble Locke, who -is so popular through the praise of Voltaire--that you are not like -Helvetius nor La Mettrie, whose boldness of naturalism so delighted the -court of Berlin--that you do not, like them, say that man has no -essential superiority over animals, trees, and stones. God, doubtless, -inspires all nature as he does man; but there is order in his theodicy. -There are distinctions in his conceptions, and consequently in the works -which are the realisation of his thoughts. Read that great book called -Genesis--that book which, though the people do not understand, they -truly enough call sacred--you will see that it was by divine light -establishing a difference between creatures, that his work was -consummated:--"Let there be light, and there was light." You will also -see that every creature having a name is a species:--"_Creavit cuncta -juxta genus suam et secundum speciem suam._" What, then, is the peculiar -form of man?' - -"'I understand you. You wish to assign man a form like God.' - -"'The divine trinity is found in all God's works; all reflect the divine -nature, though in a special manner--in a word, each after its kind.' - -"'The nature of man I will now explain to you. Ages will elapse, ere -philosophers, divided as they now are, will agree in their -interpretation of it. One, infinitely greater though less famous, did so -correctly long ago. While the school of Descartes confines itself to -pure reason, making man a natural machine, an instrument of logic--while -Locke and his school make man merely a sensitive plant--while others -that I might mention, absorb themselves in sentiment, making man a -_double egotism_--if he loves, expanding him twice, thrice, or more if -he has relatives; he, the greatest of all, began by affirming that man -was all in one and indivisible. This philosopher was Leibnitz. He was -wise, and did not participate in the contempt our age entertains for -antiquity and Christianity. He dared to say there were pearls in the -dung of the middle age. Pearls, indeed, there were. Truth is eternal, -and all the philosophers have received it. With him then, I say, yet -with an affirmation stronger than his, that man, like God, is a Trinity. -This Trinity, in human language, is called Sensation, Sentiment, -Knowledge. The unity of these three things forms the divine _Tetraid._ -Thence all history emanates; thence emanates all politics. There you -must recruit yourselves, as from an ever-living spring.' - -"'You have passed abysses which my mind, less rapid than your own, could -not pass,' said Spartacus. 'How, from the psychological explanation you -have given me, can a method and rule of certainty be derived? This is my -first question.' - -"'Easily,' said Albert. 'Human nature being known, it must be cultivated -according to its essence, if you understood that the matchless book, -whence the gospels themselves are taken--I mean _Genesis_, attributed to -Moses--was taken by him from the temples of Memphis, you would know that -human _dissolution_, by him called the deluge, meant only the separation -of the faculties of human nature, which thus emanated from unity, and -thence from their connection with divine unity or intelligence, love and -activity, have been eternally associated. Then you would see that every -organizer must imitate Noah, the _regenerator_; what the holy writ calls -the generations of Noah, their order and their harmony, will guide you. -Thus you will find at once in metaphysical truth a certain method to -cultivate human nature in every one, and a light to illumine you in -relation to the true organization of associations. I will tell you, -however, that I do not think the time for organization has come; there -is yet too much to be destroyed. - -"'I advise you rather to attend to method than to doctrine. The time for -dissolution draws near; nay, it is here. Yes, the time is come when the -three faculties will be disunited, and their separation destroy the -social, religious, and political body. What will happen? Sensation will -produce its false prophets, and they will laud sensation. Sentiment will -produce false prophets, and they will praise sentiment. Knowledge will -produce false prophets, and they will extol mind. The latter will be -proud men, who resemble Satan; the second will be fanatics, ready to -walk towards virtue, without judgment, or with rule; the others will be -what Homer says became companions of Ulysses, when under the influence -of Circe's ring. Follow neither of their three roads, which, taken -separately, conduct, the first to the abyss of materialism, the second -to mysticism, and the third to atheism. There is no sure road to virtue. -This accords with complete human nature, and to human nature developed -under all its aspects. Do not leave this pathway; and to keep it, ever -think on doctrine and its sublime formula.' - -"'You teach me things of which I have had a faint conception; yet -to-morrow I will not have you to guide me in the theoretic knowledge of -virtue, and thence to its practice.' - -"'You will have other certain guides--above all, _Genesis._ Attempt to -seize its meaning; do not think it an historical book, a chronological -monument. There is nothing more foolish than opinion, which yet has -influence everywhere with _savans_ and _pupils_, and in every Christian -communion. Read the gospels and Genesis; understand the first by the -second, after having tested it by your heart. Strange is the chance. -Like Genesis, the Gospels are believed and misinterpreted. These are -important matters; yet there are others. Gather up all the _fragments_ -of Pythagoras. Study, too, the relics of the holy Theosophist, whose -name I in the temple bore. Believe not, my friends, that I would -voluntarily have dared to assume the venerable name of Trismegistus. The -Invisibles bade me do so. The works of Hermes, now despised, and thought -to be the invention of some Christian of the second or third century, -contain the old Egyptian lore; yet the pedants condemn them. A day will -come in which they will be explained, and then be thought more valuable -than all Plato left behind him. Read Trismegistus and Plato, and those -who subsequently have thought of the great Republic. Among these, I -especially advise you to study the great work of Campanella. He suffered -terribly for having dreamed, as you do, of human organization, founded -on the true and real. - -"'When I talk of written things,' said Trismegistus, 'think not, in -idolatry, as the Catholics do, I make an incarnation of life in death. -As I spoke of books yesterday, to-day I will speak of other relics of -the past. Books--monuments, are the traces of life by which existence -may be maintained. Life, however, is here; and the everlasting Trinity -is better impressed on ourselves than in the writings of Plato or -Hermes.' - -"Though I did not mean to do so, by chance I diverted the conversation. -'Master,' said I, 'you have just said the Trinity is more deeply -impressed on the face of the stars. What would you express by that? -Indeed, as the Bible says, I see God's story uttered by the stars, but I -see in these stars no evidence of what you call Trinity.' He replied: - -"'Physical science is not yet adequately advanced; you have not studied -them in their present state. Have you heard of the discoveries in -electricity? Certainly you have, for all who are educated have attended -to them. Well, have you not observed that the philosophers who so -contemned and despised the divine Trinity, have in this point of view -recognised it? Have they not said there was no electricity without heat -and light? In this they see that Trinity they will not acknowledge in -God.' - -"He then began to talk of nature, and said we should refer all its -phenomena to one uniform rule. 'Life is one. There is in life one -action. The only question to ascertain is, how we live in obedience to -one universal law, without being absorbed in that law?' - -"For my own sake, I would gladly have heard him elucidate this great -theme. Spartacus, though, for some time had appeared less attentive to -what he said. The reason of this was not that he did not attend to them. -The old man's mind, however, would not always last; he sought, -therefore, to improve it by bringing him back to the subjects he loved -the best. - -"Rudolstadt observed his impatience. 'You no longer follow the train of -my ideas,' said he. 'Does the science of nature, as I understand it, -seem inapproachable? You are in error if you think so. I estimate the -labor of learned men as lightly as you do, when they become empirics. If -they act thus, they will build up no science, but merely a glossary. -Others beside myself are of this opinion. I became in France acquainted -with a philosopher I loved deeply, Diderot, who often blamed the -collection of scientific matter without any _idea_. Such is the work of -a stone-cutter. Yet no trace of the mason or architect is apparent. -Sooner or later, then, doctrine will come in contact with the natural -science. These are our materials. Think you, now, the naturalist really -understands nature without a perception of the living God who fills it? -Can they see or know it? They call light and sound matter, when matter -is light and sound.' - -"'Think not,' said Spartacus, 'I reject what you say about nature. Not -so. I see there can be no true knowledge, except from the appreciation -of the godly unity, and the likeness of all phenomena. But you point out -the paths to us, and I tremble at the idea of your silence. Enable me to -make some progress in one of those paths.' - -"'In which?' said Albert. - -"'I think of humanity and the future.' - -"'I see you wish,' said Albert, with a smile, 'that I should give you my -Utopia.' - -"'That was what I desired to ask you,' said Spartacus. 'I wished the new -Utopia you bear in your brain and bosom. We know the society of the -Invisibles searched for and dreamed of its bases. That labor has matured -in you. Let us take advantage of it. Give us your republic, and, as far -as it seems realisable to us, we will put it in practice. The sparks -from your fire will enliven the universe.' - -"'You ask me for my dreams,' said Rudolstadt. 'I will attempt to lift up -a portion of the veil which so often hides the future from me. Perchance -it may be for the last time, yet I will seek to do so, believing that -with you the golden dream of poesy will not be entirely lost.' - -"Trismegistus then became divinely enthusiastic. His eyes glittered like -stars, and his voice overcame us as the hurricane would. He spoke to us -for more than four hours, and his words were pure as some hymn of the -poetic, artistic, and pious work of all ages. He composed a poem -sublimely majestic; he explained to us all the religions of the past, -all the mysteries of the temples, the poems and laws, all the efforts -and objects of men of the olden time. In those things, which to us had -ever appeared dead or condemned, he discovered the essence of life; and -from the very obscurity of fables caused the essence of life to emanate, -and the light of truth to beam forth, he translated the old myths--he -fixed, by his clear and shrewd demonstration, all the ties and points of -union of religions. He pointed out to us what humanity truly demanded, -however its requisitions might be understood or interpreted by the -people. He convinced us of the unity of life in man, of doctrine in -religion, and, from the dispersed materials of the old and new world, -formed the basis of that which was to come. Finally, he dispersed those -doubts of eternity which long had annoyed our studies. He explained the -lapses of history, which had so alarmed us--he unfolded the countless -bandages enwrapping the mummy of science; and when, in a flash, we had -received what he exhibited with the quickness of electricity--when we -saw all he had seen--when the past, parent of the present, stood before -us, like the luminous one of the Apocalypse, he paused, and said, with a -smile, 'Now that the past and present stand before you, need I explain -the future to you? Does not the Holy Spirit shine before you? See you -not that all man has fancied and wished, sublime as it may be, in the -future is certain, for the simple reason that truth, in spite of the -wish of our faculties to know and own, is simple and positive. We all, -in heart and in hope, possess it. In us it lives, and is. It exists from -all time in humanity, in the germ before fecundation.' - -"He spoke again, and his poem about the future was as magnificent as -that of the past. I will not attempt to embody it in language, for, to -transmit the words of inspiration, one must himself be inspired. To -explain what Trismegistus told us in two or three hours, would require -years of thought from me. What Socrates did consumed his life, and -Jesus' labors have occupied seventeen centuries. You see that, -unfortunate and unworthy as I am, I must tremble at the task before me. -But I do not abandon it. The master will not write this out as I would. -He is a man of action, and has already condensed what Trismegistus told -him, as fully as if those subjects had been studied by himself. As if by -an electric touch, he has appropriated all the soul of the philosopher -communicated to him. It is his; it is his own, and, as a politician, he -will use it. He will be the verbatim and spiritual translator, instead -of the lifeless and obscure renderer I am. Ere my work is done, his -school will know the letter. Yes, ere two years have passed, the -strange, wild words uttered on this mountain, will have taken root in -the hearts of many adepts, and the vast world of secret societies, now -moving in night, will unite under one doctrine, receive a new law, and -resume activity by initiation into the word of life. We give you this -monument, establishing Spartacus's foresight, sanctioning all the truth -that he has yet attained, and filling his vista with all the power of -faith and inspiration. - -"As Trismegistus spoke, and I listened eagerly, fearing to lose one of -those notes which acted on me like a holy hymn, Spartacus, controlling -his excitement, with a burning eye but firm hand, and with a mind more -eager than his ear, wrote on his tablets characters and signs, as if the -conception of this doctrine had been communicated under geometrical -forms. That very night he returned to those notes, which to me meant -nothing. I was surprised to see him write down and accurately organize -the conclusions of the poet-philosopher. All was simplified and summed -up, as if magically, in the alemble of our master's poetical mind.[28] - -"He was not satisfied. Trismegistus's inspiration abandoned him. The -brightness left his eyes, and his frame seemed to shrink within itself. -Consuelo, by a sign, bade us say no more. Spartacus, however, was ardent -in the pursuit of truth, and did not see her. He continued his -questions. - -"'You have,' said he, 'talked of God's earthly kingdom,'--and as he -spoke he shook Albert's icy hand. 'Jesus, however, has said, "My kingdom -is not of earth." For seventeen centuries man has vainly hoped for the -fulfilment of his promise. I have not been, by meditation on eternity, -as exalted as you have been. To you time enfolds, as it does to God, the -idea of perpetual action--all the phases of which, at all times, accord -with your exalted feelings. But I live nearer the earth, and count -centuries and years. I wish to study while I live. Explain to me, oh, -prophet! what I must do in this phase of life--what your words will -effect--what they have already effected. I would not live in it vainly.' - -"'What matters it to you what I know? None live in vain, and nothing is -lost. None of us are useless. Let me look from the detail, saddening the -heart, and contracting the mind. I am wearied even at the thought.' - -"'You, gifted with the power of revelation, should not be exhausted,' -said Spartacus, with energy. 'If you look away from human misery, you -are not the real and complete man of whom was said, "_Homo sum et nihil -humani, a me alienum puto._" You do not love men, and are not a brother, -if their sufferings at every hour of eternity do not disturb you--if you -do not search for a remedy in the unfolding of your ideal. Unhappy -artist, who does not feel a consuming fire in this terrible and pleasant -inquiry?' - -"'What, then, do you wish?' said the poet, who now was excited and -almost angry. 'Are you so far vain as to think you alone toil and that I -alone can impart inspiration? I am no magician. I despise false -prophets, and long have striven against them. My predictions are -demonstrations, my visions are elevated perceptions. The poet is not a -sorcerer; he dreams with positiveness, while the other invents wildly. I -realise your activity, for I can judge of your capacity. I believe in -the sublimity of your dreams, because I feel capable of producing them, -and because humanity is vast and powerful enough to expand a hundred -times all the conceptions of one of its members.' - -"'Then,' said Spartacus, 'I ask from you the fate of humanity, in the -name of that sympathy that perhaps fills my bosom more completely than -your own. An enchanted veil hides its sorrows from you, while every hour -of my life I touch and shudder at them. I am anxious to soothe them, -and, like the doctor by the bed-side of death, would rather kill by -imprudence, than suffer to die by neglect. You see I will be a dangerous -being, perhaps even monstrous, unless you change me into a saint. -Tremble at the idea of my death, unless you give the enthusiast a -remedy. Humanity dreams, sings, and beseeches in you. With me it -suffers, bewails, and laments. You have expanded your future, though, in -the distance before me. You may say what you please, yet it will require -toil, labor, and sweat to gather something of your remedy for my -bleeding wounds. Generations and language may pass away, inert and -lifeless; I, the incarnation of suffering humanity--I, the cry of -distress, and the longing for salvation--wish to know whether I shall do -good or injury. You have not looked so far from wrong as to be unaware -of its existence. Whither must we go first? what must I do to-morrow? -Must I oppose the enemies of virtue by mildness or violence? Remember -your idolised Taborites saw before the gates of the terrestrial paradise -a sea of blood and tears. I do not think you a magician, but in your -symbols I see a mighty logic and perfect lucidity. If you can foretell -with certainty things far away, you can more certainly lift up the veil -of the horizon of my sight.' - -"Albert appeared to suffer deeply. Perspiration fell from his forehead, -and he looked at Spartacus, now with terror, and then with enthusiasm; a -fearful contest oppressed him. His wife in alarm clasped him in her -arms, and silently reproached the master by her glances--instinct, -however, with respect as well as fear. Never was I more impressed with -Spartacus's capacity. He was overpowered with his fanaticism of virtue -and truth, the tortures of the prophet striving with inspiration, the -distress of Consuelo, the terror of the children, and upbraidings of his -own heart. I too trembled, and thought him cruel. I feared that the -poet's soul would be crushed by a last effort, and the tears in his -wife's eyes fell deeply and hotly on my heart. All at once Trismegistus -arose, and putting aside both Spartacus and Consuelo, made a gesture to -his children to go. He seemed transformed. His eyes, from an invisible -book, vast as the universe, and written in characters of light on the -arch of heaven, seemed to read. - -"He then said aloud-- - -"'Am I not human? Why should I not say what nature demands and therefore -will have. I am a man, and therefore I have a right to express the will -of the human family, and to declare their intention. One who witnesses -the gathering of the clouds can predict the lightning and the storm. I -know what is in my heart, and what it will bring forth. I am a man, and -I live in an age when the voice of Europe murmurs trumpet-tongued. -Friends, these are not dreams. I swear by the name of human nature they -are dreams merely in relation to the present formation of our moral and -social systems. Which of the two, spirit or matter, will take the lead? -The gospel says, the spirit bloweth where it pleaseth. The spirit will -do so, and will alter the face of the universe. It is said in -Genesis--"When all was dark and chaotic, the Spirit blew on the waters." -Now, creation is eternal. Let us create, or, in other words, obey the -Spirit. I see darkness and chaos. Why should we remain in darkness? -"_Veni, Creator Spiritus._"' - -"He paused, and then began again. - -"'Can Louis XV. contend with you, Spartacus? Frederick, the pupil of -Voltaire, is less powerful than his master; and were I to compare Maria -Theresa to my Consuelo, it would be almost blasphemous.' - -"He again paused for a short time; and resumed-- - -"'Come, Zdenko, my child, descendant of the Podiebrad, bearing the name -of my second self and dearest friend, prepare to aid us. You are a new -man, and must choose for yourself. Which side will you take,--that of -your parents, or in the ranks of the tyrants of the earth? The power of -a new generation is in you. Which will you subscribe to, slavery or -liberty? Son of Consuelo, child of the Zingara, godson of the Sclave, I -trust your choice will be with the advocates of liberty, not in the -ranks of the enslavers, else I will renounce you. Though I am a -descendant of the proud ones who sit on thrones, I have long since -despised the bauble, and you, my son, must follow in my footsteps.' - -"He continued-- - -"'He who dares assert that the divine essence--beauty, goodness, and -power--is not to be found on earth, is Satan.' - -"Again he added-- - -"'He who dares assert that man's likeness to his Creator, in sensation, -sentiment, and knowledge, is not, as the Bible says, to be realised on -earth, is Cain.' - -"Here he was silent for a time, and added-- - -"'Your mind, Spartacus, by its strength of purpose in the good cause, -has delighted me. Feeble are enthroned kings. They fancy themselves -mighty, because the slaves of the earth kneel to them; but they see not -what threatens. Their destruction has already begun. To promulgate our -doctrines is to overthrow kings, nobles, armies, and to silence the -profane priests who pander to the tyrants. Neither their courtiers, nor -mistresses, nor their church's influence will protect them. Hurry, then, -to France, my friend, where the work of destruction will soon begin. If -you would share in the good work, do not delay. France is the -pre-ordained of nations. Join the friends of humanity. Throughout France -the words of Isaiah are now being shouted--"Arise! and be enlightened, -for the light is come, and the glory of the Eternal has descended on -thee, and the nations will come to thy light!" Thus the Taborites sang -of Tabor, and France is the Tabor of our era.' - -"For a time he was silent, and his face was kindled with joy. He -continued-- - -"'I am happy! Glory to God! Glory to God on high! as the gospel says; -and peace and good-will on earth! Thus sing the angels; and, feeling as -they do, I would sing like them. What has happened? I am yet with you, -my friends! I am yet with thee, my Eve!--my Consuelo! These are my -children--souls of my soul! We are not, however, on the mountains of -Bohemia, nor amid the ruins of the castle of my fathers. I seem to -breathe, see, feel, and taste of eternity. It is said: How beautiful is -Nature--life--humanity--these which tyrants have perverted. -Tyrants!--There are none! Men are equal; and human nature is understood, -appreciated, and sanctified. Men are free--they are equals--they are -brothers. There is no longer any other definition of man. He masters no -slaves. Hear you that cry--_Vive la République?_ Hear you that crowd -proclaiming liberty, equality, and fraternity? That formula in our -mysteries was uttered in a low voice, and communicated only to adepts of -the higher grades. There is no secret now. The sacraments are for all. -Our Hussite ancestors said----' - -"All at once he began to weep. - -"'I know the doctrine is not far enough advanced. Too few wear it in -their hearts, and understand it. Horror!--war!--such a war everywhere!' - -"He wept long. We did not know what visions passed before his eyes; but -we thought he again saw the Hussite contest. All his faculties seemed -disturbed, and his soul was troubled like as Christ's on Calvary. - -"The sight of his trouble distressed me. Spartacus was firm as one who -consults an oracle. 'Lord! Lord!' said the prophet in agony, 'have mercy -on us! We are in thy power. Do with us according to thy will.' - -"Trismegistus reached out his hands to grasp those of his wife and son, -as if he had suddenly become blind. The girls rushed in terror to his -bosom, and silently clung there. Consuelo was alarmed; and Zdenko looked -anxiously at his mother. Spartacus saw them not. Was the poet's vision -yet before his eyes? At length he approached the group, and Consuelo -warned him not to excite Albert, whose eyes were open and fixed, as if -he slept a mesmeric sleep, or saw slowly fade away the dreams which -agitated him. After fifteen minutes his eyes relaxed their rigidity, -when he drew his wife and Zdenko to his heart. Ho embraced them for some -time; and afterwards rose up, expressing himself willing to resume his -travels. - -"'The sun is very hot,' said Consuelo. 'Had you not rather sleep beneath -these trees?' - -"'The sun is pleasant,' he said, with a sweet smile; 'and unless you -fear it more than usual, it will do me good.' - -"Each took up his burden, the father a large bag, and the son the -musical instruments, while Consuelo led her daughters by the hand. - -"'We suffer thus in the cause of truth,' said Consuelo to Spartacus. - -"'Do you not fear that this excitement will injure your husband?' said -I. 'Let me go farther with you. I may be able to render you some -assistance.' - -"'I thank you for your kindness,' she said; 'but do not follow us. I -apprehend nothing but a few sad hours. There was danger in the sad -recollections connected with this spot, from which you have preserved -him by occupying his mind. He wished to come hither, but did not -remember the way. I thank you, then, for your many kindnesses, and wish -you every facility for performing God's will.' - -"To prolong their stay, I sought to caress the children; but their -mother took them away, and I felt when she was gone as if deserted by -all I held dear on earth. - -"Trismegistus did not bid us adieu. He seemed to have forgotten us; and -Consuelo did not arouse him. He walked firmly down the hill; and his -face was expressively calm and even cheerful as he assisted his daughter -to spring over the bushes and rocks. - -"The young and handsome Zdenko followed with the Zingara and youngest -child. We looked long after them, as they threaded their way on the -gold-colored forest-path without a guide. At length they were hidden -from our sight. When about to disappear, we saw the Zingara place -Winceslawa on her shoulders, and hasten to join her husband. She was -strong and active as a true Zingara, and as poetical as the goddess of -Poverty. - -* * * * * * * * - -"We, too, are on the road. We walk on our journey of life, the end of -which is not death, as is grossly said by materialists, but true life. - -"We consoled the people of the hamlet as well as we could, and left old -Zdenko to abide his _to-morrow._ - -"We shortly after joined our friends at Pilsen, whence I write this -letter; and am about to go on other business. You, too, must also -prepare for the restless journey, for action without feebleness. We -advance, my friend, to success or martyrdom!"[29] - - -[Footnote 23: Probably the famous Baron Knigge known as Philo, in the -Order of the Illuminati.] - -[Footnote 24: This is well known to have been the assumed name of Adam -Weishaupt. Is he really referred to? All induces us to think so.] - -[Footnote 25: Certainly Zavier Zwack, who was Autic Councillor, and -exiled as one of the chiefs of the Illuminati.] - -[Footnote 26: Bader, who was the medical attendant of the -electress-dowager, an Illuminatus.] - -[Footnote 27: Massenhousen, a councillor at Munich, and an Illuminatus.] - -[Footnote 28: Weishaupt, it is known, and he was eminently an organizer, -used material signs to explain his system, and sent to some of his -pupils an explanation of his whole system, expressed by squares and -circles on a small piece of paper.] - -[Footnote 29: This letter was written to Martinowicz a great savant and -member of the Illuminati. He, with several other Hungarian nobles, his -accomplices in conspiracy, was beheaded in Buda, in 1795.] - - - - -Note--See note 22.--We will recall to the reader, that we may no longer -have occasion to return to the subject, the rest of Trenck's story. He -grew old in poverty, and busied himself in the publication of -newspapers, of remarkable energy for the times. He married a woman he -loved, became the father of many children, was persecuted for his -opinions, his writings, and doubtless for his affiliation with secret -societies. He took refuge in France when he was very old, and during the -early days of the revolution was received with enthusiam and confidence. -Destined, however, to be the victim of unhappy mistakes, he was arrested -as a foreign agent during the Reign of Terror, and taken to the -scaffold. He met his fate with great firmness. He had previously seen -himself described in a drama, retracing the incidents of his life and -imprisonment. He had enthusiastically welcomed French liberty, and on -the fatal car, said, "This, too, is a comedy!" - -For sixty years he had seen the Princess Amelia but once. When he heard -of tho death of Frederick the Great, he hurried to Berlin. The lovers -were terrified at the appearance of each other, shed tears, and vowed a -new affection. The abbess bade him send for his wife, took the -responsibility of his fortune, and wished to take one of his daughters -as reader or lady-in-waiting. Before many days, however, had passed, she -was dead. The memoirs of Trenck, written with the passion of youth and -prolixity of age, are one of the most noble and touching items of the -records of the last century. - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Countess of Rudolstadt, by George Sand - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE COUNTESS OF RUDOLSTADT *** - -***** This file should be named 62338-0.txt or 62338-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/2/3/3/62338/ - -Produced by Laura Natal Rodrigues and Dagny Soapfan at -Free Literature (Images generously made available by The -Internet Archive.) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: The Countess of Rudolstadt - A Sequel to "Consuelo" - -Author: George Sand - -Translator: Fayette Robinson - -Release Date: June 8, 2020 [EBook #62338] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE COUNTESS OF RUDOLSTADT *** - - - - -Produced by Laura Natal Rodrigues and Dagny Soapfan at -Free Literature (Images generously made available by The -Internet Archive.) - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/rudolstadt_cover.jpg" width="500" alt="" /> -</div> - - - -<h2>THE COUNTESS OF<br /> - -RUDOLSTADT</h2> - -<h4>A SEQUEL TO "CONSUELO."</h4> - -<h3>By GEORGE SAND</h3> - -<h4>AUTHOR OF "CONSUELO," ETC., ETC.</h4> - -<h4>TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH</h4> - -<h3>By FAYETTE ROBINSON</h3> - -<h4>LONDON:</h4> - -<h4>WALTER SCOTT, LIMITED</h4> - -<h5>PATERNOSTER SQUARE</h5> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - - -<h4>THE COUNTESS OF RUDOLSTADT</h4> - - - - -<p>TABLE OF CONTENTS</p> -<p><a href="#CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_V">TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII">CHAPTER XXVII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII">CHAPTER XXVIII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIX">CHAPTER XXIX</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXX">CHAPTER XXX</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXI">CHAPTER XXXI</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXII">CHAPTER XXXII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIII">CHAPTER XXXIII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIV">CHAPTER XXXIV</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXV">CHAPTER XXXV</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVI">CHAPTER XXXVI</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVII">CHAPTER XXXVII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVIII">CHAPTER XXXVIII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIX">CHAPTER XXXIX</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XL">CHAPTER XL</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XLI">CHAPTER XLI</a><br /> -<a href="#EPILOGUE">EPILOGUE</a></p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I</a></h4> - - -<p>The Italian Opera-house at Berlin had been built early in the reign of -Frederick the Great, and was then one of the most beautiful in Europe. -There was no charge for admission—all the actors being paid by the -king. To be admitted, however, it was necessary to have a ticket, every -box having its regular occupant. The princes and princesses of the royal -family, the diplomatic corps, the illustrious travellers, the academy, -the generals, the royal household, the <i>employés</i> and friends of the -king, monopolized the house. No one could complain of this, for theatre -and actors, all belonged to the king. There was open to the people of -the good city of Berlin, a small portion of the <i>parterre</i>, the -greater part of which was filled up by the military, each company and -regiment having a right to send a certain number of men. Instead of the -joyous, impressionable and sensitive Parisian public, the artists had a -pit full of heroes six feet high, as Voltaire called them, the greater -number of whom brought their wives on their backs. The aggregate was brutal -enough, strongly perfumed with tobacco and brandy, knowing nothing of -music, and neither admiring, hissing, nor applauding except in obedience -to orders. In consequence of the perpetual motion, however, there was a -great deal of noise.</p> - -<p>Just behind these gentlemen there were two rows of boxes, the spectators -in which neither saw nor heard. They were obliged, though, to be -constantly present at the representations his majesty was graciously -willing to provide for them. The king was present at every performance. -In this way he contrived to maintain a military supervision of the many -members of his family, and to control the swarms of courtiers around -him. This habit he had inherited from his father, who, in a miserable -frame building, occupied by wretched German buffoons, used to while away -every winter evening, regardless of rain. The king used to sleep through -the performance and the showers. This domestic tyranny, Frederick had -undergone, suffering under it all the while; and when he became himself -the possessor of power, rigidly enforced it, as well as many more -despotic and cruel customs, the excellence of which he recognised as -soon as he became the only person in the kingdom not obliged to submit -to them.</p> - -<p>No one dared to complain. The house was majestic and all the operatic -appointments luxurious. The king almost always overlooked the orchestra, -keeping his lorgnette in battery on the stage, and setting the example -of perpetual applause.</p> - -<p>All know how Voltaire, during the early years of his installation at -Berlin, applauded the courtly splendor of the northern Solomon. -Disdained by Louis XV, neglected by Madame de Pompadour, who had been -his protectress, persecuted by the Jesuits, and hissed at the Theatre -Français, in a moment of disappointed pride, he came to look for honors, -a reward, and appointment of chamberlain and <i>grand cordon</i>, and -the intimacy of a great king, by far more complimentary to him than the -rest of his new acquisitions. Like a spoiled child, the great Voltaire -pouted at all France and fancied he could mortify his countrymen. At -that time, intoxicated by his newly-acquired glory, he wrote to his -friends that Berlin was a more pleasant place than Versailles, that the -opera of <i>Phaeton</i> was the most magnificent spectacle imaginable, and -that the <i>prima donna</i> had the finest voice in all Europe.</p> - -<p>At the time that we resume the thread of our story (and we will set our -readers' minds at rest by saying that a year had passed since we saw -Consuelo), winter displayed all its rigor at Berlin, and the great king -had began to exhibit himself in his true aspect. Voltaire had begun to -see his illusion in relation to Berlin. He sat in his box, between -D'Argens and La Mettrie, not even pretending to love music, to which he -was no more awake than he was to true poetry. His health was bad, and he -regretted sadly the thankless crowds of Paris, the excitability, the -obstinacy of which had been so bitter to him, and the contact with which -had so overpowered him, that he determined never to expose himself to it -again, although he continued to think and toil ceaselessly for it.</p> - -<p>On this occasion the spectacle was excellent. It was the middle of the -carnival; all the royal family, even those members who had moved into -other parts of Germany, was collected in Berlin. The <i>Titus</i> of -Metastasio and Hasse was being performed, and the two leading members of -the Italian troupe, Porporina and Porporino, were cast in the principal -parts.</p> - -<p>If our readers will make a slight exertion of memory they will recall -that these two dramatic personages were not husband and wife as their -names might seem to indicate. The first was Signor Uberti, an excellent -contralto. The second was the zingarella Consuelo, like the first a -pupil of the Professor Porpora, who, according to the Italian custom in -vogue at that time, had permitted them to assume his glorious name.</p> - -<p>It must be confessed, that Porporina did not sing in Prussia with the -power she had in other places exhibited. While the limpid contralto of -the male singer swelled without any indication of delay, and protected -by the consciousness of success and power—that too fortified by the -possession of an invariable salary of fifteen thousand livres for two -months' labor—the poor zingarella, more romantic and perhaps more -disinterested, and certainly less used to the northern ices and a public -of Prussian corporals was under the influence of an excitement and sang -with that perfect and conscious method which affords criticism no hold, -but which is altogether insufficient to excite enthusiasm.</p> - -<p>The fervor of the dramatic artist and of the audience, cannot dispense -with each other. Now, under the glorious reign of Frederick, there was -no enthusiasm at Berlin. Regularity, obedience, and what in the eighteenth -century—at Frederick's court especially—was known as -<i>Reason</i>, were the only virtues recognized in this atmosphere, -measured and weighed in the hand of the king. In every assembly over which -he presided, no one hissed or sighed, without his permission. Amid all the -crowd, there was but one spectator able to give vent to his impressions, -and that was the king. He constituted the public; and though a good -musician and fond of music, all his tastes were subjected to so cold a -logic, that when his opera-glass was attached to every gesture, the -vocal inflections of the singer's voice, far from being stimulated, were -entirely paralyzed.</p> - -<p>The singer was forced to submit to this painful fascination. The -slightest inspiration, the slightest portion of enthusiasm, would -probably have offended both the king and court, while artistic and -difficult passages, executed with irreproachable mechanism, delighted -the king, the court, and Voltaire. Voltaire said, as all know, "Italian -music is far better than French, because it is more ornate, and <i>a -difficulty overcome is something at least.</i>" This was Voltaire's idea -of art. He might have answered, had he been asked if he liked music, as a -certain fop of our own days did—"It does not exactly annoy me."</p> - -<p>All went off perfectly well, and the finale was being reached. The king -was satisfied, and turned to his chapel-master from time to time, to -express his approbation by a nod. He was preparing even to applaud -Porporina, at the conclusion of the cavatina which he always did in -person and judiciously, when, by some strange caprice, Porporina, in the -midst of a brilliant rondeau, which she had never failed, stopped short, -turned her haggard eyes towards a corner of the hall, clasped her hands, -and crying "Oh my God!" fell at full length on the stage. Porporino bore -her behind the stage, and a tempest of questions, thoughts, -commentaries, swept through the house. In the interim the king spoke to -the tenor, amid the noise which drowned his voice, "Well, what is this?" -said he, in a brief, imperious tone. "Conciolini, hasten to find out." -After a few seconds the latter returned, and bowing respectfully before -the top of the railing on which the king leaned his elbow, replied, -"Sire, the Signora Porporina is senseless, and they are afraid she will -he unable to continue the opera."</p> - -<p>"Ah!" said he, shrugging his shoulders. "Give her a glass of water. Get -her some essence, and finish as soon as possible."</p> - -<p>The tenor, who had no disposition to offend the king and expose himself -to his bad humor in public, went again behind the scenes quietly, and -the king began to talk quickly to the leader of the orchestra and -musicians; the public being much more interested in what the king said -and did than in poor Porporina, made rare efforts to catch the words -that fell from the monarch's lips.</p> - -<p>The Baron von Poelnitz, grand chamberlain and director of amusements, -soon came to tell the king of Consuelo's condition. In Berlin nothing -passed off with the solemnity imposed by an independent and powerful -public. The king was everything, and the spectacle was his and for him. -No one was surprised to see him thus become the principal actor of this -unforeseen interlude.</p> - -<p>"Well, let us see, baron," said he, loud enough to be heard by a part -of the orchestra; "will this soon be over? Have you no doctor behind -there? You should have one always."</p> - -<p>"Sire, the doctor is there. He is unwilling to bleed the lady, lest he -should weaken and prevent her from playing her part. He will be forced -to do so, though, unless she recovers from her fainting fit."</p> - -<p>"Then she is sick, and not feigning?"</p> - -<p>"Sire, to me she seems very sick."</p> - -<p>"Then let down the curtain, and we will go. But wait; let Porporino -sing something to console us, so that we may be enabled to go home without -a catastrophe."</p> - -<p>Porporino obeyed, and sang two pieces deliciously. The king applauded, -the public followed his example, and the performance was over. A minute -afterwards, the court and people were going out, the king stood on the -stage, and caused himself to be led to the dressing-room of the <i>prima -donna.</i></p> - -<p>The public does not sympathize with an actress, taken sick on the -stage, as it should. Adored as the idol may be, there is so much -selfishness among the <i>dilettani</i>, that they are much annoyed at the -loss of pleasure, than by the suffering and anguish of the victim. Some -<i>sensible</i> women deplored, as was then said, the catastrophe of the -evening—</p> - -<p>"Poor thing! She had a cold, and when she came to make her trill, found -it out, and became sick, rather than fail."</p> - -<p>"I think she did not pretend," said a much more sensible woman; "people -do not fall so hard, when they are not really sick."</p> - -<p>"Ah, who knows?" said the first; "a great actress falls just as she -pleases, and is not afraid of hurting herself. They do it so well."</p> - -<p>"What possessed Porpora to make such a scene?" said, in another part -of the room, whence the <i>la mode</i> was going out, La Mettrie to the -Marquis D'Argens. "Has her lover beaten her?"</p> - -<p>"Do not speak thus of a virtuous and charming girl," said the marquis. -"She has no lover. If she had, she has not been abused by him, unless, -indeed, he be the basest off men."</p> - -<p>"Excuse me, marquis. I forgot that I was speaking to the champion of -all actresses. By the by, how is Mademoiselle Cochois?"</p> - -<p class="center">* * * * * * * *</p> - -<p>"Poor thing!" just at that moment said the Princess Amelia of Prussia, -the king's sister, and canoness of Quedlimburgh, to her usual confidant, -the beautiful Countess Von Kleist, as she was returning to the palace. -"Did you observe my brother's agitation?"</p> - -<p>"No, madame," said Madame de Maupertuis, gouvernante of the princess, -an excellent but simple and absent-minded person; "I did not."</p> - -<p>"Eh? I did not speak to you," said the princess, with the brusque and -decided tone which sometimes made her so like Frederick. "Do you ever -see anything? Look you here. Count those stars for a while. I have -something to say to Von Kleist I do not wish you to hear."</p> - -<p>Madame de Maupertuis closed her ears conscientiously, and the princess, -leaning towards the countess, who sat opposite to her, said:</p> - -<p>"Say what you please, it seems to me that for the first time, perhaps -for fifteen or twenty years since I have been capable of observation, -the king is in love."</p> - -<p>"So your royal highness said last year about Barberini; yet his majesty -never dreamed of her."</p> - -<p>"Never? You are mistaken, my child. The young Chancellor Coccei married -her, and my brother thought so much of the matter that he was in a rage -more violent than any he had ever known before for three days."</p> - -<p>"Your highness knows that his majesty cannot bear unequal matches."</p> - -<p>"Yes; love matches are called unequal. That is a great phrase; just as -empty as all those are which rule the world and enslave individuals." -The princess uttered a deep sigh, and, as was her wont, rapidly changing -her humor, said, with irony and impatience to her gouvernante, -"Maupertuis, you are listening to us, and not counting the stars, as I -bade you. What is the use of being the wife of a great philosopher, if -you listen to the chattering of two such madcaps as we are?—Yes, I -say," said she, again speaking to her favorite, "the king did love that -Barberini. I have good reason to know that, after the performance, he -used, with Jordon and Chazols, to take his tea frequently in her room, -and that she went more than once to sup at <i>Sans Souci</i>, which, until -her time, was never the fashion at Potsdam. Do you wish me to speak more -plainly? She lived there for weeks, and, it may be, for months. You see -I know what is going on well enough, and that my brother's mysterious -airs do not impose on me."</p> - -<p>"Since your royal highness is so well informed, I need not say that for -state reasons, the king sometimes wishes persons to think he is not so -austere as he is represented, though, in fact—"</p> - -<p>"Though in fact my brother never really loved any woman, not even his -wife. Well, I have no faith in this virtue, or rather in this coldness. -He has always been a hypocrite. You cannot make me think La Barberini -always remained in his palace merely to seem to be his mistress. She is -beautiful as an angel, intellectual as a devil, educated, and speaks, I -know not how many languages."</p> - -<p>"She is virtuous; she adores her husband."</p> - -<p>"And her husband adores her the more because their marriage was -unequal. Will you answer me, Von Kleist? I suspect you, my noble widow, -of being in love with some page or bachelor?"</p> - -<p>"Would your highness like to see such an unequal union as that of a -king and an actress?"</p> - -<p>"Ah, with Porporina, the thing would not be so terrible. There is on -the stage, as at court, a perfect hierarchy. You know that is a whim and -disease of the human heart. A singer must have more self-respect than a -dancing-girl, and Porporina, they say, has more accomplishments and -knows more languages even than La Barberini. My brother has a passion -for speaking tongues he does not understand. Music, too, he seems very -fond of, you see, and that is another point of contact with the <i>prima -donna.</i> She too, goes to Potsdam and has the rooms in the new <i>Sans -Souci</i> the Barberini used to occupy, and sings at the king's private -concerts. Is not this enough to make my conjectures probable?"</p> - -<p>"Your highness seeks in vain to discover any weakness in our great -prince. All passes too openly and aboveboard for love to have anything -to do with it."</p> - -<p>"Love! Certainly not. He knows nothing about that. There is, however, a -certain charm—a kind of intrigue; everybody, you must confess, says -that."</p> - -<p>"No one says so, madame. All say that to relax his mind, the king -laughs at the chatter and listens to the songs of a pretty actress. After -a quarter of an hour thus passed, he says, 'Enough for to-day. If I want -you to-morrow, I will send for you.'"</p> - -<p>"This is not gallant. If that is the way he courted Coccei's wife, I am -not amazed that she did not listen to him. Do they say whether this -Porporina is as stern as she was?"</p> - -<p>"They say she is modest, well-behaved, timid, and sad."</p> - -<p>"Well, that is the best way to please the king. Perhaps she is shrewd. -If it were possible, and one could trust her—"</p> - -<p>"Trust no one, madame, not even Madame de Maupertuis, who is now so -fast asleep, I beg you."</p> - -<p>"Let her snore away. Awake or asleep she is always the same. But, Von -Kleist, I would wish to know this Porporina, and see if anything can be -done with her. I regret that I refused, when the king proposed to -accompany her to my rooms, to receive her. You know I had a prejudice -against her."</p> - -<p>"An unjust one. It was impossible—"</p> - -<p>"Ah, God's will be done. Chagrin and fear have had such influence over -me for the last year, that all secondary cares are effaced. I wish to -see that girl. Who knows if she may not win from the king what we have -vainly asked for? That idea has been in my mind for some days, and I -have thought of nothing else. Seeing Frederick thus excited and uneasy -about her, I was confirmed in the idea that I would find in her a gate -of safety."</p> - -<p>"Be careful, your highness. There is great danger."</p> - -<p>"That is what you always say. I am more distrustful, yet more prudent -than you. We must think of this matter. Now, my dear gouvernante wake -up! We are at the palace."</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II</a></h4> - - -<p>While the young and beautiful abbess<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> thus gave vent to her thoughts, -the king, without knocking, entered Porporina's dressing-room, just as -she was regaining her consciousness.</p> - -<p>"Well, signora," said he, in a kind and even polite tone, "how are you -now? Are you subject to such accidents? In your profession it is most -inconvenient. Has anything put you out? Are you too ill to -speak?—Tell me, you, sir," said he to the doctor, "if she be -very ill."</p> - -<p>"Yes, sire," said the medical man, "the pulse is scarcely perceptible. -There is much irregularity in the circulation, the functions of life -appear to be suspended. Her skin is icy."</p> - -<p>"That is true," said the king, taking the hand of the young girl in his. -"The eye is fixed, and the mouth discolored. Give her some of Hoffman's -drops. D—n! I was afraid this was only a little extra scene. This -girl is sick, and is neither malicious nor depraved. That is true. -Porporino, no one has put her out this evening? Eh? No one has complained -of her?"</p> - -<p>"Sire," said Porporino, "she is not an actress, but an angel."</p> - -<p>"Indeed! Are you in love with her?"</p> - -<p>"No, sire; I respect her greatly, and look on her as my sister."</p> - -<p>"Thank you two, and God, who has given up the condemnation of -comedians, my theatre has become a school of virtue. Ah, she now revives! -Porporina, do you not know me?"</p> - -<p>"No, sir," said she, looking at the king, who rubbed the palms of her -hands in a terrified manner.</p> - -<p>"She has perhaps a rush of blood to the head. Have you ever observed -that she was epileptic?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, sire, never! This would be terrible," said Porporino, wounded at -the rude manner in which the king spoke of so interesting a person.</p> - -<p>"Wait; do not bleed her," said the king, who saw the doctor open his -lancet. "I do not like to see blood spilled anywhere but on the -battle-field. You people are not soldiers, but assassins. Let her alone. -Give her air. Porporino, do not suffer them to bleed her. That, you see, -may kill her. These people suspect nothing. I confide her to you. Take -her home in your carriage, Poelnitz. You do not answer me. She is the -greatest singer we have seen, and we will not find another soon. -<i>Apropos</i>—What will you sing to me to-morrow, Conciolini?"</p> - -<p>The king went down the stairway with the tenor, speaking of other -things, and sate soon after at the table with Voltaire, La Mettrie, -D'Argens, Algarotti, and General Quintus Icilius.</p> - -<p>Frederick was stern, violent, and an intense egotist. In other -respects, he was generous and good, ever tender and affectionate at times. -Every one knows the terrible, yet seductive and multiple-faced character -of this man, the organization of whom was so complicated and full of -contrasts—like all other powerful natures, especially when they are -invested with supreme power, and an agitated career develops their -senses.</p> - -<p>While eating, jesting, and chatting with graceful bitterness and coarse -wit, amid dear friends he did not love, and men of mind he did not -admire, Frederick became at once meditative, and after a few moments -arose, saying to his friends, "Talk away, I shall hear you." He then went -into the next room, took his hat and sword, bade a page follow him, and -passed into the dark galleries and mysterious passages of his old palace, -his guests yet fancying him near and measuring their words—not -daring to think he did not hear them. Besides, they (and for good cause) -so distrusted each other, that, whenever they chanced to be in Prussia, -they ever saw soaring over them the fearful and malicious phantom of -Frederick.</p> - -<p>La Mettrie, a physician rarely consulted and a reader scarcely listened -to by the king, was the only person present who feared, and was feared, -by no one. He was esteemed altogether inoffensive, and had discovered -the means of keeping any one from hurting him. This consisted in -committing so many mad, foolish, and impertinent acts in the king's -presence, that no informer could charge him with aught he had not done -face to face with Frederick. He seemed to take the philosophic equality -the king professed, as a fixed fact (for seven or eight persons were -honored by this familiarity.) At this period, though he had reigned -eighteen years, Frederick had not entirely abandoned the popular -familiarity of the Prince Royal and hardy philosopher of Remunsberg. -Those who knew him, had not forborne to confide in him. Voltaire, the -most spoiled and the newest, began to be alarmed, and to see the tyrant -appear beneath the good prince—a Dionysius in Marcus Aurelius. La -Mettrie, however, whether from innate candor or deep calculation, -treated the king carelessly, or affected to do so. He took off his -cravat and wig in the royal rooms, sometimes he took off even his shoes, -lolled on the sofas, and had his little chat with him, pottered about -the small esteem he had for earthly greatness, of royalty as of -religion, and other prejudices in which a breach had been made by the -<i>Reason</i> of the day. In a word, he was a true cynic, and did so much -to justify disgrace and dismissal, that it was impossible to see how he -maintained himself, when so many others had been dismissed for trifling -peccadillos.</p> - -<p>The reason is, that in the minds of moody, distrustful persons like -Frederick, an insidious word reported by espionage, an appearance of -hypocrisy, or a slight doubt, make more impression than a thousand -imprudences. Frederick looked on La Mettrie as a madman, and often -seemed petrified by surprise at his conduct, saying, "That creature is -scandalously impudent." He would, however, say to himself, "But he is -sincere, and has no two opinions about me. He cannot treat me behind my -back worse than he does to my face. The others who are at my feet, what -do they not say and think when my back is turned, and when they leave -the table? La Mettrie is, then, the most honest man I have, and I must -put up with him, because no one else does." Thenceforth, all was -decided. La Mettrie could not make the king angry, and contrived to -please him with what would have disgusted in another. While Voltaire at -first forced himself into a system of adulation which it was impossible -to maintain, and which began to fatigue and disgust himself strangely, -the cynic La Mettrie went on amusing himself as frankly with Frederick -as with any stranger, and never felt inclined to reverse or overturn an -idol to which he had never made either sacrifice or promise. The -consequence was, that, when the king began to weary sadly of Voltaire, -he was highly amused by La Mettrie, whom he could not dispense with, -simply because he never seemed to wish to amuse him.</p> - -<p>The Marquis d'Argens, a chamberlain, with 6,000 francs (the first -chamberlain, Voltaire, had 20,000f.) was a volatile thinker, a rapid and -superficial writer; a very impersonation of the Frenchman of his -day,—kind, blundering, gay, and, at the same time, brave and -effeminate, intelligent, generous and satirical. He was a man between -two eras, for he had the romance of youth and the skepticism of age. -Having passed all his youth with actresses, successively deceiving and -deceived, and always in love with the last one, he had married -Mademoiselle Cochois, first lady of the French theatre at Berlin, a very -ugly but sensible woman, whom he took a pleasure in instructing. -Frederick was ignorant of this secret marriage, and d'Argens took care -not to tell any one who could betray him of it. Voltaire was in his -confidence. D'Argens really was attached to the king, who was not fonder -of him than he was of others. Frederick had no faith in the sincerity of -any one, and poor d'Argens was sometimes the accomplice and sometimes -the butt of his cruelest jests.</p> - -<p>All know that the colonel, dubbed by Frederick, Quintus Icilius, was a -Frenchman, named Guilhard, an excellent and decided tactician. He was, -like such characters in general, a robber and a courtier, in the full -sense of the terms.</p> - -<p>To avoid fatiguing our readers with a gallery of portraits of -historical personages, we will say nothing of Algarotti. It will suffice -to indicate the opinions of the guests of Frederick, during his absence; -and we will say that, instead of feeling relieved of a burden by his -absence, they felt very uncomfortable, and could not speak a word -without looking at the half opened door through which the king had -passed, and whence he probably watched them.</p> - -<p>La Mettrie was the only exception. Remarking that the service of the -table was neglected after the king's departure, he said—"On my word, -I think the master of this house very neglectful in leaving us no servants -or wine, and I will complain to him of the fact, if he be in that -room."</p> - -<p>He arose, and without any fear of being indiscreet, went into the next -room. He returned, saying, "Nobody there. That is odd. He is just the -man to go out and drill his regiment by torchlight, to promote his -digestion. He is odd enough."</p> - -<p>"Not so. You are the odd one," said Quintus Icilius, who could not -accustom himself to La Mettrie's strange manners.</p> - -<p>"Then the king is gone out," said Voltaire, beginning to breathe more -freely.</p> - -<p>"Yes, the king has gone out," said the Baron Von Poelnitz, who just -came in. "I met him in the back court, with no escort but a single page. -He had put on his famous incognito, the coat the color of the wall. I did -not recognise him."</p> - -<p>We must say a word of the third chamberlain, Von Poelnitz, or the -reader will not understand how any one but La Mettrie could speak so -slightingly of the king. The age of Poelnitz was about as problematical -as his salary and duties. He was a Prussian baron; and was that <i>roué</i> -of the regency who had been so conspicuous a member of the court of -Madame la Palatine, the mother of the Duke of Orleans, the headlong -gamester, the debts of whom the King of Prussia refused to pay. He was a -cynical libertine, a spy, a scamp, a courtier, fed, chained, and -contemned. His master scolded and paid him badly, but could not do -without him, because an absolute king must always have some one at hand -to do his dirty work, revenging himself for the necessity of such an -attendant in the humiliation of his victim. Poelnitz was, moreover, at -this time, the director of the Royal Theatre, and, as it were, a supreme -attendant of Frederick's pleasures. He was a perpetual courtier. Having -been the page of the last king, he added the refined vices of the -regency to the cynical grossness of William, and the impertinence and -severity of the military and philosophical sternness of Frederick the -Great. His favor with the latter was a kind of chronic disgrace, which -he took care not to shake off. Besides always playing the part of master -of the dirty work, he really was not afraid of being injured by any one -in his master's good opinion.</p> - -<p>"Ah, baron, you should have followed the king, and told us afterwards -whither he went. We would have made him swear on his return, if we had -been able to tell him whither he went, and that we saw his acts and -gestures."</p> - -<p>"We might do better than that," said Poelnitz, laughing. "We might have -been able to postpone that till to-morrow, and accounted for it by the -fact of having consulted the sorcerer."</p> - -<p>"What sorcerer?" asked Voltaire.</p> - -<p>"The famous Count de St. Germain, who has been here since morning."</p> - -<p>"Indeed! I wish to find out if he be a charlatan or a fool."</p> - -<p>"That is hard to say. He plays his game so well that no one can -tell."</p> - -<p>"Fools do not act thus," said Algarotti.</p> - -<p>"Tell me about Frederick," said La Mettrie. "I wish to pique his -curiosity by some good story, so that he may treat us some day to a -supper with Saint Germain, who may indulge us with an account of his -adventures before the deluge. That will be amusing. Let us think! Where -can the king be just now? Baron, you know, for you are too curious not -to have followed him."</p> - -<p>"Do you wish me to say?" said Poelnitz.</p> - -<p>"I hope, sir," said Quintus, flushing with anger, "that you will -reply to none of M. de la Mettrie's strange questions. If his -majesty——"</p> - -<p>"Bah! my dear friend," said La Mettrie, "there is no majesty between -ten at night and two in the morning. Frederick has made it statute law, -and I am familiar with all its clauses. There is no king at the supper -table. Do you not see the poor king is wearied, and, bad servant as you -are, you will not aid him for a few hours of the night to forget the -weight of greatness."</p> - -<p>"I do not wish to know," said Quintus, rising and leaving the -table.</p> - -<p>"As you please," said Poelnitz. "Let all who do, open their ears and -hear."</p> - -<p>"Mine are wide open," said La Mettrie.</p> - -<p>"Yes, and so are mine," said Algarotti, laughing.</p> - -<p>"Gentlemen," said the baron, "his majesty is at the house of La -Porporina."</p> - -<p>"You play the game well," said La Mettrie; and he made a Latin -quotation I do not translate because I do not understand Latin.</p> - -<p>Quintus Icilius became pale, and left the room. Algarotti recited an -Italian sonnet, which was understood scarcely better; and Voltaire -improvised four verses, comparing Frederick with Julius Cesar. After -this the three philosophers looked at each other and smiled. Poelnitz -then said seriously, "I pledge you my honor, gentlemen, that the king is -at Porporina's house."</p> - -<p>"Can you tell us nothing else?" asked D'Argens, whom all this -displeased; for he was not a man to betray others to increase his own -credit.</p> - -<p>Poelnitz answered, without troubling himself, "The devil, marquis! When -the king tells us you are gone to the house of Mademoiselle Cochois, we -are not scandalized. Why should you be, because he has gone to -Porporina's?"</p> - -<p>"It should, on the other hand, please you," said Algarotti; "and if it -be true, I will tell it at Rome."</p> - -<p>"And his holiness, who is fond of gossip, will be witty on the matter," -said Voltaire.</p> - -<p>"About what will his holiness be witty?" said the king, entering the -dining-room unexpectedly.</p> - -<p>"About the amours of Frederick the Great and the Venetian La -Porporina," said La Mettrie, boldly.</p> - -<p>The king grew pale, and cast a terrible glance at his guests, all of -whom grew white as sheets, except La Mettrie, who said,—</p> - -<p>"Well, what of it? M. de Saint Germain predicted this evening, at the -opera, that at the time when Saturn was passing between Regulus and the -Virgin, his majesty, with a single page——"</p> - -<p>"Who on earth is this Count of St. Germain?" said the king, seating -himself calmly as possible, and holding out his glass to La Mettrie to -be filled with champagne.</p> - -<p>They then talked of St Germain, and the storm passed off without an -explosion. At first the impertinence of Poelnitz, who had betrayed him, -and the audacity of La Mettrie, who had dared to taunt him, filled the -king with rage. While, however, the latter was speaking a single phrase, -Frederick remembered that he had advised Poelnitz to gossip on a certain -matter and induce others also to do so. He then restrained himself with -that facility which was so peculiar to him, and nothing was said of the -king's nocturnal visit. La Mettrie, had he thought of it, would have -returned to the charge; but his volatile mind readily followed the new -thread of conversation. Frederick in this way often restrained La -Mettrie, whom he treated as we would treat a child on the point of -breaking a mirror or springing out of a window, to distract the -attention of whom a toy is shown. Each one made his commentary about the -famous Count of St Germain. Each had an anecdote. Poelnitz pretended to -have seen him twenty years before in France. He added—</p> - -<p>"I saw him this morning, and in all the time that has passed he does -not seem to have grown older than those I saw yesterday. I remember once, -in France, hearing him say of the passion of Jesus Christ, with -inconceivable seriousness—'I said that he could not but have trouble -with those wicked Jews. I told him what would happen, but he would not -hear me. His zeal made him despise all dangers. His tragical death, -however, distressed me as I had never been before, and I cannot think of -it without tears.' As he spoke, this queer count wept so naturally, that -I could scarcely refrain from following his example."</p> - -<p>"You are," said the king, "so good a Christian, that it does not amaze -me." Poelnitz had changed his religion three or four times to obtain -benefices and places with which, for joke's sake, the king had tempted -him.</p> - -<p>"Your anecdote," said D'Argens, "is but a fancy sketch. I have heard -many better.—What makes this Count de Saint Germain an interesting -and remarkable personage, in my opinion, is the number of new and -ingenious claims, by which he unravels the doubtful points of the obscurer -history of States. Question him about any subject or epoch of history, and -you will be surprised to hear him unfold or invent an infinity of probable -and interesting things, which throw a new light on what has been -doubtful and mysterious."</p> - -<p>"If what he says is probable," observed Algarotti, "he must be -wonderfully learned, and gifted with a prodigious memory."</p> - -<p>"He is something better than that," said the king; "mere erudition does -not suffice to explain history. This man must have a mighty mind, and -great knowledge of humanity. The only questions are whether this noble -organization has been distorted by the desire of playing a whimsical -part, and a disposition to attribute to himself eternal life and a -knowledge of matters that happened before the birth of any that live, or -whether deep study and meditation has not deranged his brain, and struck -him with monomania?"</p> - -<p>"I can at least assure your majesty of the good faith and modesty of -our man. It is with great difficulty that he can be made to talk of the -wonderful things he fancies he has seen. He is aware that he is treated -as a dreamer and charlatan, and this seems to trouble him much. Now he -refuses to explain his supernatural power."</p> - -<p>"Well, sire, are you not anxious to see and hear him?" said La Mettrie. -"I own I am."</p> - -<p>"How so?" said the king. "Why be curious about that? The spectacle of -folly is always sad."</p> - -<p>"If it be folly, I own it. But what if it is not?"</p> - -<p>"Listen, gentlemen," said Frederick. "This skeptic—this atheist -pure—has faith in the wonderful, and believes in the eternal life of -M. de Saint Germain! You need not be surprised; for La Mettrie believes in -death, thunder and ghosts."</p> - -<p>"I own that the latter is a weakness; but that my dread of death, and -all that can inflict it, is but reason and wisdom. What the devil should -one be anxious about, if not of safety and life?"</p> - -<p>"Hurra for Panurge!" said Voltaire.</p> - -<p>"I will return to Saint Germain," said La Mettrie; "Pontagruel must -invite him to sup with us to-morrow."</p> - -<p>"I will take care not to do so," said the king. "You are mad enough -now, my poor friend; and were he once to put foot in my house, the -superstitious imaginations which hang around us would, in a moment, fill -Europe with countless strange tales. Ah! dear Voltaire, if the days of -reason did but come—that is a prayer we should make every morning -and evening."</p> - -<p>"Reason!—reason," said La Mettrie, "is kind and beneficial, -when it serves to excuse and legitimate my passions and vices—my -appetites—call them as you please. When it becomes annoying, I wish -to kick it out of doors. Damn!—I wish to know no reason which will -make me pretend to be brave, when I am not; to be a stoic, when I suffer; -and submissive, when I am in a rage. Away with such reason! I'll have none -of it; for it is a monster and chimera of the imagination of those -triflers of antiquity whom you all admire so much and know not why. I -hope its reign may never come! I like absolute power of no kind; and if -I were to be forced not to believe in God, which now is my state of -mind, I am sure I would go straight to mass."</p> - -<p>"You, it is well known," said D'Argens, "are capable of anything—even -in believing in the philosopher's stone of the Count of Saint Germain."</p> - -<p>"Why not? It would be pleasant, and I need such a thing."</p> - -<p>"Well! that is true," said Poelnitz, putting his hand in his vast and -empty pockets. "The sooner its reign comes the better. I pray for it -every morning and night."</p> - -<p>"Bah!" said Frederick, who always turned a deaf ear to every -insinuation. "Monsieur de Saint Germain knows, then, the secret of -making gold—you did not say that?"</p> - -<p>"Then let me invite him to supper to-morrow," said La Mettrie; "for I -have an idea, Royal Gargantua, his secret would do you no harm. You have -great necessities, and a most capacious stomach, as a king and a -reformer."</p> - -<p>"Be silent, Panurge!" said Frederick. "We know all about your count, -who is an impudent impostor, and a person I intend to place under close -surveillance. We are assured, with his fine secrets he takes more money -out of the country than he leaves in it. Eh, gentlemen; do you not -remember the great magician, Cagliostro, whom I made march out of -Berlin, in double quick time, about six months since?"</p> - -<p>"And who robbed me of a hundred crowns! May the devil sue him for them, -say I."</p> - -<p>"And who would have also had a hundred more, if Poelnitz could have -raised them," said D'Argens.</p> - -<p>"You drove him away; yet he played you a good trick, notwithstanding."</p> - -<p>"What?"</p> - -<p>"Ah! you do not know. Then I have a good story to tell you."</p> - -<p>"The greatest merit of a story is brevity," said the king.</p> - -<p>"Mine is very short. On the day when your Pantagruelic<a name="FNanchor_2_1" id="FNanchor_2_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_1" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> majesty -ordered the sublime Cagliostro to pack up his alembics, spectres, and -devils, it is well known that he left Berlin in his carriage, <i>propria -personâ</i>, at twelve exactly, passed, at the same time, through each of -the gates—at least, twenty thousand persons will swear to that. The -guards at every gate saw the same hat, wig, carriage and horses, and you -cannot convince them that on that day there were not at least six -Cagliostros in the field."</p> - -<p>All but Frederick thought the story amusing. Frederick alone did not -laugh. He was in earnest about reason, and the superstition which amused -Voltaire so much, filled him with indignation. "Bah!" said he, shrugging -his shoulders; "that is the way with the people, Voltaire, at a time -when you cast on the world the light of your torch. You have been -exiled, persecuted, and imposed on in every way; yet as soon as -Cagliostro comes, the people are fascinated—whenever he comes -he has a triumphal march."</p> - -<p>"Do you know," said La Mettrie, "that the noblest ladies have as much -faith in Cagliostro as the merest street-walkers? I heard that story -from one of the most beautiful of your court."</p> - -<p>"I will bet it was that Von Kleist," said the king.</p> - -<p>"<i>You named her yourself</i>," said La Mettrie.</p> - -<p>"Listen how he speaks to the king," said Quintus Icilius, who had just -come.</p> - -<p>"Bah! the Von Kleist is mad," said Frederick. "She is a visionary, and -has implicit faith in horoscopes and sorcery. She needs a good lesson, -and had best take care. She makes the women mad, and even reduced her -husband to such a state of mind that he used to sacrifice black rams to -the devil, to discover the treasures buried in the Brandebourg sands."</p> - -<p>"All that is fashionable now in your house, my dear Pantagruel," said -La Mettrie. "I do not see how women can submit to your exacting goddess, -Reason. Women were made to amuse themselves and us. When they become -wise, we must be fools. Madam Von Kleist is charming, with all those -wild ghost-stories. With them she amuses <i>Soror Amalia.</i>"</p> - -<p>"What does that <i>Soror Amalia</i> mean?" asked Frederick, with -amazement.</p> - -<p>"Eh! your charming sister, the Abbess of Quedlimburg, who, we all know, -devotes herself to magic."</p> - -<p>"Be silent, Panurge!" said the king, in a voice of thunder, throwing -his snuff-box on the table.</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a>It is well known Frederick used to give abbeys, -canonicates, and episcopates to his officers, favorites, and relations, -even when they were Protestants. The Princess Amelia, having refused to -marry, had been made Abbess of Quedlimburgh, a prebend, with an income -of a hundred thousand livres. She was addressed as the Catholic -canonesses were.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_1" id="Footnote_2_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_1"><span class="label">[2]</span></a>It is scarcely necessary to say that Pantagruel and -Gargantua are two of the creations of the very great and very French -Rabelais.—TRANSLATOR.</p></div> - - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III</a></h4> - - -<p>There was a moment of silence, during which the clock struck twelve.<a name="FNanchor_3_1" id="FNanchor_3_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_1" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> -Ordinarily, Voltaire was able to restore the tone of conversation, when -a cloud passed over Trajan's brow, and to efface the bad impression of -the other guests. On this evening, however, Voltaire was sad and -suffering, and felt all the effects of the king's Prussian spleen. On -that very morning La Mettrie had told him of the fatal remark of -Frederick, which replaced a feigned friendship by a real animosity, -which each of these great men felt for each other. Though he said -nothing, he thought—</p> - -<p>"He may throw the skin<a name="FNanchor_4_1" id="FNanchor_4_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_1" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> of La Mettrie away when he chooses. Let him be -ill tempered and suffer as he will, but I have the cholic, and all his -flatteries will not cure it."</p> - -<p>Frederick was thus forced to resume his philosophical serenity without -assistance.</p> - -<p>He said, "Since we are talking of Cagliostro and the hour for ghosts and -stories has come, I will tell you one which will show how hard it is to -have faith in sorcerers. My story is true; for I have it from the person -to whom it happened last year. The accident at the theatre this evening -recalls it to my mind, and that accident may have some connection with -it."</p> - -<p>"Is the story terrible?" asked La Mettrie.</p> - -<p>"Perhaps," said Frederick.</p> - -<p>"Then I will shut the door; for I cannot listen to ghost-stories with a -door gaping."</p> - -<p>La Mettrie shut the door, and the king spoke as follows:</p> - -<p>"Cagliostro, as you know, had the trick of showing credulous people -pictures, or rather magic mirrors, on which he caused the absent to -appear. He pretended to be able to reveal the most secret occupations of -their lives in this manner. Jealous women went to consult him about the -infidelities of their husbands, and some lovers and husbands have -learned a great deal about their ladies' capers. The magic mirror has, -they say, betrayed mysteries of iniquity. Be that as it may, the -opera-singers all met one night and offered him a good supper and -admirable music, provided he would perform some of his feats. He -consented, and appointed a day to meet Porporino, Conciolini, the -Signora Asttha and Porporina, and show them heaven or hell, as they -pleased.</p> - -<p>"The Barberini family were also there. Giovanna Barberini asked to see -the late Doge of Venice, and as Cagliostro gets up ghosts in very good -style, she was very much frightened, and rushed completely overpowered -from the cabinet, in which Cagliostro had placed her, <i>tête-à-tête</i> -with the doge. I suspect the Barberini, who is very fond of a joke, of -having pretended fear, to laugh at the Italian actors, who from the very -nature of their profession are not expected to be at all courageous, and -who positively refused to submit to this test. La Porporina, with the -calm expression which, as you know is so peculiar to her, told -Cagliostro she would have faith in his science, if he would show her the -person of whom she then thought, but whom it was not necessary for her -to name, for if he was a sorcerer, he must be able to read her soul as -he would read a book.</p> - -<p>"'What you ask is not a trifle,' said our count, 'yet, I think I can -satisfy you, provided that you swear by all that is holy and terrible, -not to speak to the person I shall evoke, to make no motion nor gesture, -to utter no sound, while the apparition stands before you.'</p> - -<p>"Porporina promised to do so, and went boldly into the dark closet.</p> - -<p>"I need not tell you, gentlemen, that this young woman is one of the -most intellectual and correct persons to be met with. She is well -educated, thinks well about all matters, and I have reason to know no -narrow or restricted idea makes any impression upon her.</p> - -<p>"She remained in the ghost-room long enough to make her companions very -uneasy. All was silent as possible and finally she came out very pale, -and with tears streaming from her eyes. She immediately said to her -companions, 'If Cagliostro be a sorcerer, he is a deceiving one. Have -faith in nothing that he shows you. She would say no more. Conciolini, -however, told me a few days after, at one of my concerts, of this -wonderful entertainment. I promised myself to question Porporina about -it, the first time she sang at <i>Sans Souci.</i> I had much difficulty in -making her speak of it, but thus she told me:</p> - -<p>"'Cagliostro has beyond a doubt the strange power of producing spectres -so like truth that it is impossible for the calmest minds to be unmoved -by them. He is no magician and his affectation of reading my thoughts -was based on some knowledge, I know not how acquired, of my past life. -His knowledge, however, is incomplete, and I would not advise you, sire, -to make him your Minister of Police, for he would perpetrate strange -mistakes. Thus, when I asked him to show me the absent person I wished -to see, I thought of my music-master, Porpora, who is now at Vienna. -Instead of him, I saw in the magic-room a very dear friend I lost during -the current year.'"</p> - -<p>"<i>Peste!</i>" said D'Argens, "that is more wonderful even than the -apparition of a living person."</p> - -<p>"Wait a moment, gentlemen. Cagliostro, badly informed, had no doubt but -what he had shown was the phantom of a living person, and, when it had -disappeared, asked Porporina if what she had seen was satisfactory. 'In -the first place, monsieur,' said she, 'I wish to understand it. Will you -explain?' 'That surpasses my power. Be assured that your friend is well, -and usefully employed.' To this the signora replied, 'Alas! sir, you -have done me much wrong; you showed me a person of whom I did not think, -and who is, you say, now living. I closed his eyes six months ago.' -Thus, gentlemen, in deceiving others, sorcerers deceive themselves, and -thus their plans are foiled, by something which is wanting in their -secret police. To a certain point they penetrate into family mysteries -and secret intimacies. All human histories are more or less alike, and -as people inclined to the wonderful are not close examiners, they fall -twenty times out of thirty. Ten times, however, out of thirty, they are -wrong. They care nothing about that, though they are very loud about -those of their revelations which succeed. This is the case, too, with -horoscopes, in which they predict a series of common-place events, which -must happen to everybody, such as voyages, diseases, the loss of a -friend, an inheritance, a meeting, an interesting letter, and the -thousand other casualties of human life. Look at the catastrophes and -domestic chagrins, to which the revelations of a Cagliostro expose weak -and passionate minds. The husband who confides in them, kills an -innocent wife; a mother goes mad with grief at the death of an absent -son. This pretended magic art causes countless other disasters. All this -is infamous; and none can say that I was wrong in exiling from my states -this Cagliostro, who guesses so exactly, and has such a perfect -understanding with the dead and buried."</p> - -<p>"All this is very fine," said La Mettrie, "but does not explain how your -majesty's Porporina saw the dead alive. If she is gifted with as much -firmness and reason as your majesty says, the fact goes to disprove your -majesty's argument. The sorcerer, it is true, was mistaken, in producing -a dead rather than a living man. It, however, makes it the more certain -that he controls both life and death. In that respect, he is greater -than your majesty, which, if it does not displease your majesty, has -killed many men, but never resuscitated a single one."</p> - -<p>"Then, Mr. Wiseacre, we are to believe in the devil," said the king, -laughing at the comic glances of La Mettrie at Quintus Icilius, as often -as the former pronounced the phrase, "your majesty."</p> - -<p>"Why should we not believe in Papa Satan? He has been so slandered, and -has so much sense," said La Mettrie.</p> - -<p>"Burn the Manichean," said Voltaire, placing a candle close to the -doctor's wig.</p> - -<p>"To conclude, most noble Fritz, I have gotten you into a tight place; -your Porporina is either foolish or credulous, and saw her dead man, or -she was philosophical, and saw nothing. She was frightened, however."</p> - -<p>"Not so; she was distressed," said the king, "as all naturally would be, -at the sight of a portrait which would exactly recall a person loved, -but know we shall see no more. But if I must tell you all, I will say, -that she subsequently was afraid, and that her moral power after this -test, was not in so sound a state as it was previously. Thenceforth she -has been liable to a dark melancholy, which is always the proof of -weakness or disorder of our faculties. Her mind was touched, I am -confident, though she denies it. No one can safely contend with -falsehood. The attack she had this evening is a consequence of that, and -I pledge myself there is in her mind some dread of the magic power -attributed to M. de Saint Germain. I have heard, that since she returned -home, she has done nothing but weep."</p> - -<p>"Of all that part of the story I am utterly incredulous," said La -Mettrie. "You have been to see her, and since that time her tears are -dried."</p> - -<p>"You are very curious, Panurge, to know the object of my visit. You, -D'Argens, though you say little, seem to think a great deal. You, too, -Voltaire, seem to think no less, though you do not open your lips."</p> - -<p>"Should not one naturally enough be curious about all that Frederick the -Great chooses to do?" replied Voltaire, who thus strained his -complaisance in order to get the king to talk. "Perhaps certain men have -no right to conceal anything, when their most indifferent word becomes a -precept, and their most trilling action an example."</p> - -<p>"My dear friend, you really gratify me. Who would not be pleased at the -praise of Voltaire? All this, however, did not keep you from laughing at -me during the half hour I was absent. Well, during that time you cannot -suppose I could go to the opera, where Porporina lives, and recite a -long madrigal, and return on foot, for on foot I was."</p> - -<p>"Bah, sire, the opera is hard by, and you have gained a battle in the -same time."</p> - -<p>"You are mistaken. A much longer time is necessary," said the king, -coldly; "ask Quintus Icilus. The marquis is so perfectly familiar with -actresses, that he can tell you more than an hour is necessary to -conquer them."</p> - -<p>"Ah, sire, that is as the case may be."</p> - -<p>"Yes, that is as the case may be: for your sake, though, I hope M'lle -Cochois has given you more trouble. However, gentlemen, I did not see La -Porporina during the night, having only spoken to her servant, and asked -about her."</p> - -<p>"You, sire!" said La Mettrie.</p> - -<p>"I went to take her a <i>flacon</i>, the good effects of which I have -personally tested, when I have had attacks of pain in the stomach, which -sometimes destroyed my consciousness. Well, you say nothing. You are all -amazed. You wish to praise my paternal and royal benevolence, but dare -not do so, because you think me ridiculous."</p> - -<p>"Sire, if you are in love, like other mortals, I have no objection," -said La Mettrie, "and see no occasion either for praise or blame."</p> - -<p>"Well, my good Panurge, if I must speak plainly, I am not at all in -love. I am a simple man, it is true, and have not the honor to be King -of France; consequently, the style of manners which are proper enough -for a great monarch, like Louis XV., would be unbecoming to myself, a -petty Marquis of Brandebourg. In managing my business, I have much -besides to attend to, and have not time to slumber in the bowers of -Cytherea."</p> - -<p>"Then I do not understand your anxiety about this little opera-singer," -said La Mettrie; "and I shall not be able to know what to think unless -this results from mere musical enthusiasm."</p> - -<p>"This being the case—know, my friends, that I am neither the -lover, nor wish to be, of Porporina—yet that I am much attached to -her, because in a matter too tedious to be told now, and before she knew -me, she saved my life. It was a strange affair, and I will tell you of it -on some other occasion. The night is now too far gone, and M. de Voltaire -is going to sleep. Let it suffice to know that if I am here, and not -elsewhere, as some good people wish, it is attributable to her. You know -now, that seeing her dangerously indisposed, I may go to see whether she -be dead or alive, and take a <i>flacon</i> of <i>sthas</i> to her, without -your having any reason to think me a Duke de Richelieu or De Lauzun. Well, -gentlemen adieu. Eight days ago I took off my boots, and in six more -must resume them. I pray God to take you in his holy charge, as we say -at the end of a letter."</p> - -<p class="center">* * * * * * * *</p> - -<p>Just as the great clock of the palace struck twelve, the young and -worldly Abbess of Quedlimburgh was about to get into her bed of -rose-satin. Her first <i>femme de chambre</i> placed her slippers on the -ermine carpet. The attendant suddenly began to tremble, and uttered a -cry. Some one tapped at the door of the princess's chamber.</p> - -<p>"Well, are you mad?" said the fair Amelia, half opening her curtain. -"Why look around and utter such a cry?"</p> - -<p>"Has not your royal highness heard some one knock?"</p> - -<p>"Well, go and see who it is."</p> - -<p>"Ah, madame, what living person would dare to knock at the door of your -royal highness, when it is known that you are in bed?"</p> - -<p>"No living person, you say? Then it is some one dead. Listen! some one -knocks again. Go, for you make me impatient."</p> - -<p>The <i>femme de chambre</i>, more dead than alive, went to the door, -and asked "Who is there?"</p> - -<p>"It is I, Baroness Von Kleist," replied a well known voice. "If the -princess be not yet asleep, say I have something very important to -communicate to her."</p> - -<p>"Well, be quick," said the princess. "Let her in, and leave us."</p> - -<p>As soon as the abbess and her favorite were alone, the latter sate at -the foot of her mistress's bed, and said, "Your royal highness was not -mistaken. The king is desperately in love with Porporina, but he is not -yet her lover. The young woman, therefore, has just now the most -unlimited influence over him."</p> - -<p>"How came you during the last hour to find out all this?"</p> - -<p>"Because, when I was undressing to go to bed, I made my <i>femme de -chambre</i> talk to me, and learned from her that she had a sister in the -service of Porporina. Immediately I began to question her, and picked -out, as it were, with a needle's point, the fact that my woman had left -her sister's house just as the king visited Porporina."</p> - -<p>"Are you sure of that?"</p> - -<p>"My woman had seen the king distinctly as I see you. He even spoke to -her, taking her for her sister, who was in another room, attending to -her sick mistress, if the illness of the latter was not pretence. The -king inquired after Porporina's health with the greatest anxiety, and -stamped his feet with much chagrin when he learned that she continued to -weep. He did not ask to see her, lest he should annoy her, and having -left a very precious <i>flacon</i> for her, and said if she remained -unwell, he would come at eleven o'clock on the next night."</p> - -<p>"Well, I hope all this may be so, yet I scarcely dare believe my ears. -Does your woman know the king's face?"</p> - -<p>"Every one knows a monarch who is always on horseback. Besides, a page -had preceded the king five minutes, to see if there was any one at her -house. During that time, the king, cloaked and wrapped up, waited, as he -is wont to do, at the end of the street."</p> - -<p>"Then, Von Kleist, the secret of this mystery and solicitude is love, or -I am mistaken. And have you come, in spite of the cold, to tell me this! -My dear friend, how good you are."</p> - -<p>"You may add, in spite of ghosts. Do you know that for several days -there has been a panic in the palace? My <i>chasseur</i> trembled like an -idiot as he accompanied me through the passages."</p> - -<p>"What is the matter? Is the white lady come again?"</p> - -<p>"Yes. <i>The woman with the broom.</i>"<a name="FNanchor_5_1" id="FNanchor_5_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_1" class="fnanchor">[5]</a></p> - -<p>"My dear Von Kleist, we are not playing the trick now. Our phantoms are -far away. God grant they may return!"</p> - -<p>"I thought at first that perhaps the king wished to play the ghost, for -now he has a good cause to desire all curious servants out of the -passages. What astonished me very much, however, was the fact that the -ghost does not appear near his rooms, nor on the road to Porporina's. -The spirits hover around your highness; and as I have nothing to do with -the matter, I will say I am not a little afraid."</p> - -<p>"What are you talking of, my dear. How can you, who I know so much, have -any faith in spectres?"</p> - -<p>"That is the reason why. It is said when they are counterfeited they -become offended, and do all they can to punish one."</p> - -<p>"Then they have been a long time about punishing us, for they have left -its unmolested more than a year. Bah! think no more of that, for we know -well enough what we must think of these souls in trouble. Beyond doubt -it was some page or subaltern, who comes in the night to ask the prayers -of my prettiest woman,—the old one, therefore, of whom nothing is -asked, is fearfully terrified. At first she did not wish to let you in. -Why should we talk of that, though, Von Kleist? We know the king's -secret, and must use it. How can we?"</p> - -<p>"We must win this Porporina before she becomes spoiled by favor."</p> - -<p>"Certainly. We must spare neither presents, promises, nor flattery. You -must go to her house to-morrow, and ask for music and Porpora's -autographs for me. She must have much unpublished music by the Italian -master. Promise that I will in return give her the manuscripts of -Sebastian Bach. I have many of them. We will commence by exchanges. Then -I will ask her to come and teach me the execution of her music. Let me -get her once into my house, and I will endeavor to secure and control -her."</p> - -<p>"I will go to-morrow morning, madame."</p> - -<p>"Good night, Von Kleist. Come, kiss me. You are my only friend. Go to -bed; and if you meet <i>the woman with the broom</i> in the passage, look -closely, and see if there be no spurs on her heels."</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3_1" id="Footnote_3_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_1"><span class="label">[3]</span></a>The opera began earlier in Frederick's time than it does in -Europe at the present day. The king sate down to supper at ten o'clock.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_4_1" id="Footnote_4_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_1"><span class="label">[4]</span></a>It is well known that Voltaire was deeply wounded by -Frederick saying, "I keep him because I need him. In a year I will have -other things to do, and will get rid of him. I squeeze the orange, and -throw away the skin."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_5_1" id="Footnote_5_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_1"><span class="label">[5]</span></a>"La Balayeuse."</p></div> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</a></h4> - - -<p>On the next day, Porporina awoke from a deep slumber, completely -overpowered, and found on her bed two things which her maid had just -placed there. One was a <i>flacon</i> of rock crystal, with a gold stopper, -on which was engraved an "F." with a royal crown. The second was a sealed -package. The servant, on being questioned, said that the king had come in -person on the previous day to bring the <i>flacon.</i> When she heard -the circumstances of a visit which was so <i>naïve</i> and respectful, -Porporina was much moved.</p> - -<p>"Strange man!" thought she. "How can so much mildness in private life be -reconciled with public sternness and despotism?" She fell at once into a -reverie, and gradually forgetting the king and thinking of herself, -retraced confusedly the events of the previous evening. She began to -weep.</p> - -<p>"What is the matter, signora?" said the maid, who was a kind soul, and -an indifferently diffuse talker. "Are you going to cry again, as you did -when you went to bed. This is enough to break one's heart; and the king, -who was at the door when he heard you, shook his head two or three -times, as if he was much distressed. Yet, signora, many would envy you. -The king does not court everybody. They say he courts no one, yet it is -very certain that he is in love with you."</p> - -<p>"In love? What do you say?" said Porporina, shuddering. "Never say such -an improper and absurd thing again. The king in love with me? Great -God!"</p> - -<p>"Well, signora, suppose he were?"</p> - -<p>"God grant he may not be! He, however, neither is nor will be. What -roll is this, Catharine?"</p> - -<p>"A servant brought it early in the morning."</p> - -<p>"Whose servant?"</p> - -<p>"A person picked up in the streets. At last, though, he told me he had -been employed by the servants of a certain Count of St. Germain, who -came hither yesterday."</p> - -<p>"Why did you ask the question?"</p> - -<p>"Because I wanted to know, signora."</p> - -<p>"That is frank, certainly. Now go."</p> - -<p>As soon as Porporina was alone, she opened the roll, which she found -contained a parchment, covered with strange and unintelligible -characters. She had heard much of the Count of Saint Germain, but did -not know him. She examined the manuscript carefully, and as she could -not understand it, and could not perceive why a person with whom she had -never had any acquaintance, should send her an enigma to unravel, she -fancied that he was mad. As she examined this document more closely, a -separate note fell out, and she read: "The Princess Amelia of Prussia -takes much interest in divination and in horoscopes. Give her this -parchment, and you will be certain to secure her protection and -friendship." To these lines there was no signature, the hand was -unknown, and the roll bore no address. She was amazed that the Count of -Saint Germain, to reach the Princess Amelia, had come to her, who had -never met her; and thinking that her servant had made some mistake, -began to fold it up, for the purpose of returning it. When she took up -the sheet of coarse paper, which had been around it, she observed there -was music printed on the other side. An old recollection recurred to -her; to look at one corner of the sheet for a mark, which had been agreed -on—to recognise the deep pencil lines—to see that the music was -a part of a piece which she had given away, as a token of remembrance, -eighteen months before—was but the work of an instant. The emotion -which she experienced at the remembrance of an absent and suffering -friend, made her forget her own sorrows. She was only anxious to know -what was to be done with the manuscript, and why she had been charged -with transmitting it to the princess. Was the object to secure for her -that personage's favor and protection? For that Porporina had neither -the want nor the desire. Was it for the purpose of establishing a -communication between the princess and the prisoner, which might be -useful to the latter? She hesitated. In her doubt she recollected the -proverb, "beware;" she then remembered that there were both good and bad -proverbs, some of which came to the aid of prudent selfishness and -others to bold devotion. She got up at once, saying to herself:</p> - -<p>"<i>When in doubt, act</i>, provided that you do not compromise -yourself, and have reason to hope that you can be useful to your friend -and fellow-being."</p> - -<p>Scarcely had she finished her toilette, which required some time, for -she was much enfeebled by the attack of the previous evening, (and while -tying up her beautiful dark hair,) she thought how she could best convey -the parchment to the princess, when a servant in an embroidered livery -came to ask if she was alone, and if she was willing to receive an -unknown lady, who wished to visit her. The young singer had often repined -at the manner in which at that time <i>artistes</i> were subjected to -the great: she felt at first disposed to refuse the visit, and to say -that the singers of the theatre were with her. She remembered, though, -that this answer might offend the prudery of some ladies, but would have -the effect of making others more anxious to trespass on her. She, -therefore, consented to receive the visit, and the fair Von Kleist was -soon introduced.</p> - -<p>This lady was thoroughly used to society, and had determined to please -the singer, and make her forget all differences of rank. She was ill at -ease, however, because she had heard that Porporina was very haughty, -and Von Kleist had also excellent reasons to wish, for her own sake, to -penetrate her most hidden thoughts. Though young and inoffensive, there -was, at this moment, in the court-lady's mind and countenance, something -false and forced, which did not escape Porporina's attention. Curiosity -approximates so closely to perfidy, that it destroys the beauty of the -most perfect features.</p> - -<p>Porporina knew the face of her visitor perfectly well; and her first -movement when she saw a person who appeared every evening in the box of -the Princess Amelia, was to ask, under the pretext of necromancy, of -which she knew she was fond, an interview with the princess. Not daring, -however, to confide in a person who had the reputation of being both -imprudent and disposed to intrigues, she determined to let her lead the -conversation, and began to bring to bear on her the quiet penetration of -the defensive, which is so superior to the attacks of curiosity.</p> - -<p>At last, the ice was broken; and the lady having presented the -princess's request for music; the singer, concealing her satisfaction at -this happy chance, went to get many unedited arrangements. Then, with an -appearance as if suddenly inspired, she said, "I will be delighted, -madame, to place all my treasures at her highness's disposal; and would -feel honored were she to consent to receive me."</p> - -<p>"And do you, indeed," said Madame Von Kleist, "wish to speak to her -royal highness?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, madame," said Porporina. "I would throw myself at her feet, and -ask a favor which I am sure she would not refuse me. She is, they say, a -great musician, and must protect artists. I have also heard that she is -good as she is beautiful. I hope, then, if she deign to hear me, that -she will aid me in obtaining from his majesty the recall of my master, -who having been invited to Berlin, with the king's consent, was, when he -reached the frontier, driven away, in consequence of a defect in his -passport. Since then, in spite of the king's promises and assurances, I -have been unable to bring this affair to an end. I dare no longer annoy -the king with a request in which he takes but little interest, I am -sure, for he always forgets it. But, if the princess would deign to say -a word to the officers to whom such matters belong, I will have the -happiness of being again with my adoptive father, the only friend I have -in the world."</p> - -<p>"What you say amazes me greatly," remarked Von Kleist. "What! the -beautiful Porporina, whom I thought exerted an all-powerful influence -over the king's mind, is obliged, forced, to obtain elsewhere a favor -which seems so simple. Suffer me to conclude from these circumstances, -that his majesty expects to find in your adoptive father, too vigilant a -surveillance, or some counsel which will be of too much influence -against his wishes."</p> - -<p>"I strive in vain, madame, to understand what you honor me by saying," -said Porporina, with a gravity which entirely disconcerted the -baroness.</p> - -<p>"Then, apparently, I have mistaken the extreme benevolence and -limitless admiration which the king professes for the greatest of living -singers."</p> - -<p>"Does it become the dignity of the Baroness von Kleist to ridicule a -poor <i>artiste</i>, like myself, without any influence, and perfectly -inoffensive?"</p> - -<p>"I ridicule!—who would think of ridiculing so angelic a being as -you are? You are ignorant, signora, of your merit, and your candor fills me -with surprise and admiration. Listen to me: I am sure that you will make -a conquest of the princess. She always acts from the impulse of the -moment, and it is only necessary for you to meet her, to take as perfect -possession of her with your person as you have with your mind."</p> - -<p>"It has, on the contrary, been said that her royal highness has always -been severe in relation to me; and that, unfortunately, my poor face -displeased her, and also, that she was much dissatisfied with my method -of singing."</p> - -<p>"Who on earth can have told you such falsehoods?"</p> - -<p>"If any have been told, the king is guilty," said the young girl, with -a slight tone of malice.</p> - -<p>"It was a snare—a test of your modesty and gentleness," said the -baroness, "as though I intend to prove to you that being a simple -mortal, I have no right to be false, like a mighty and ill-tempered -king, I wish to take you at once to the princess, that you may give her -the music in person."</p> - -<p>"And do you think, madame, that she will receive me kindly?"</p> - -<p>"Will you trust me?"</p> - -<p>"Yet, if you be mistaken, on whom will the humiliation fall?"</p> - -<p>"On me alone: I authorise you to say everywhere, that I am proud of the -princess's friendship, and that she entertains both esteem and deference -for me."</p> - -<p>"I will go with you, madame," said Consuelo, ringing for her mantle and -muff. "My toilette is very simple, but you have entirely surprised me."</p> - -<p>"You are perfectly charming, and will find the princess in a yet more -simple toilette.—Come."</p> - -<p>Porporina put the mysterious roll in her pocket, filled the carriage of -the baroness with music, and followed her resolutely.</p> - -<p>"For a man who risked his life for me," thought she, "I might run the -risk of waiting in vain in the antechamber of a princess."</p> - -<p>Having been introduced into a dressing-room she waited for five minutes, -during which the abbess and her confidant exchanged these few words in -the next room.</p> - -<p>"Madame, I have brought her. She is there."</p> - -<p>"So soon? You are an admirable ambassadress. How must I receive her? -What sort of person is she?"</p> - -<p>"Reserved, prudent, or simple. She is either intensely artful, or -strangely simple."</p> - -<p>"Oh! we will see," said the princess, the eyes of whom glittered with -the influence of a mind used to penetration and distrust. "Let her come -in."</p> - -<p>During her short stay in the dressing-room, Porporina saw the strangest -array of furniture which ever decorated the boudoir of a beautiful -princess: spheres, compasses, astrolabes, astrological charts, vials -filled with nameless mixtures and deaths-heads—in fine, all the -materials of sorcery. "My friend is not mistaken," said she, "and the -public knows all about the secrets of the king's sister. She does not -even seem to conceal them, as she suffers me to see all this -apparatus.—Well—courage!"</p> - -<p>The Abbess of Quedlimburgh was then twenty-eight or thirty years of age. -She had been beautiful as an angel, and yet was when seen by candlelight -at a distance. When she was close to her, however, Porporina was amazed -to find her face wrinkled and covered with blotches. Her blue eyes, -which had been beautiful as possible, now had a red rim around them, -like those of a person who had been weeping, and had an evil glare and -deep transparency, not calculated to inspire confidence. She had been -adored by her family and by all the court, and for a long time had been -the most affable, the most joyous and benevolent king's daughter ever -described in the romances of royal personages, of the old patrician -literature. During the few last years, however, her character had -changed as much as her person had. She had attacks of ill-humor, and -even something worse, which made her like Frederick in his worst point -of view; without seeking to resemble him, and even while in secret she -criticised him severely, she was irresistibly led to contract all the -faults she censured in him, and to become an imperious and absolute -mistress, a skeptical, bitter, learned and disdainful person. Yet, amid -these fearful characteristics, which every day look fatal possession of -her, there was yet seen to pierce a native kindness, a correct mind, a -courageous soul, and passionate heart. What then was passing in the mind -of this unfortunate princess? A terrible cause of suffering devoured -her, which she was yet forced to conceal in her heart, and which she hid -from the eyes of the curious, malicious, or careless world, under the -disguise of a stoical and joyous bearing. By means, therefore, of -dissimulation and constraint, she had unfolded in herself two different -beings, one which she dared reveal to scarcely any one, and the other -which she exhibited with a kind of hatred and despair. All observed that -in conversation she was become more keen and animated: this uneasy and -forced gaiety, though, was painful to the observer, and its icy and -chilling effect cannot be described. Successively excited, almost to -puerility, and stern even to cruelty, she astonished both others and -herself. Torrents of tears extinguished the fire of her anger, and then -a savage irony, an impious disdain, snatched her from those moments of -salutary depression, she was permitted neither to feel nor to know.</p> - -<p>The first thing that Porporina observed, when she met her, was this -kind of duality. The princess had two aspects and two faces: the one was -caressing, the other menacing: two voices, one soft and harmonious, -which seemed to have been vouchsafed her by heaven that she might sing -like an angel, and the other hoarse and stern, apparently coming from a -burning heart, animated by some devilish inspiration. Our heroine, -surprised at so strange a being, divided between fear and sympathy, -asked herself if an evil genius was about to take possession of her.</p> - -<p>The princess, too, found Porporina a far more formidable person than -she had imagined. She had hoped that, without her theatrical garb and the -paint which makes women so very ugly, whatever people please to say about -it, she would justify what the Baroness von Kleist had said—that -she was rather ugly than beautiful. Her clear dark complexion, so -uniform and pure; her powerful and dark eyes; her fresh mouth; her suple -form; her natural and easy movements—the array of all the qualities -of an honest, kind and calm being, or, at least, of one possessed of that -internal power conferred by justice and true wisdom, filled the uneasy -Amelia with a species of respect, and even of shame, as if she knew -herself in the presence of a person of unimpeachable loyalty.</p> - -<p>Her efforts to hide how ill at ease she was were remarked by the young -girl, who, as we may conceive, was amazed to see so great a princess -intimidated before her. She began, then, to revive the failing -conversation, to open a piece of the music into which she had placed the -cabalistic letter, and arranged it so that the great sheet covered with -large characters, should meet the princess's eye. As soon as the effect -was produced, she pretended to wish to withdraw the sheet, just as if -she had been surprised at its being there. The abbess took possession of -it immediately, however, saying—</p> - -<p>"What is the meaning of this signora? For Heaven's sake, whence had you -it?"</p> - -<p>"If I must own all to your highness," said Porporina, significantly, "it -is an astrological calculation I have been intending to present, when it -shall be your highness's wish to question me about a matter to which I -am not entirely a stranger."</p> - -<p>The princess fixed her burning eyes on the singer, glanced at the magic -characters, ran to the embrasure of a window, and, having examined the -scroll for a time, uttered a loud cry, and fell almost suffocated into -the arms of the Baroness von Kleist, who, when she saw her tremble, had -hurried to her.</p> - -<p>"Leave the room, signora," said the favorite, precipitately. "Go into -that cabinet, and say nothing. Call no one. Do you understand?"</p> - -<p>"No, no; she must not go!" said the princess, faintly. "Let her come -hither—here, near me. Ah! my friend," said she, "how great a service -you have rendered me!"</p> - -<p>Clasping Porporina in her thin white arms, which were animated with a -convulsive power, the princess pressed her to her heart, and covered her -cheeks with eager burning kisses, which flushed her cheek and terrified -her heart.</p> - -<p>"Certainly people become mad in this country," thought she. "I have -often feared this would be the case with me, and I see more important -personages than I am run the same risk. There is madness in the air!"</p> - -<p>"The princess at last loosened her neck to clasp her favorite's, crying -and weeping, and shouting in the strongest voice;—</p> - -<p>"Saved! saved!—my friends!—my kind friends! Trenck has -escaped from the fortress of Glatz! He escapes! He is yet—yet at -liberty!"</p> - -<p>The poor princess had an attack of convulsive laughter, interrupted by -sobs, terrible to see and hear.</p> - -<p>"Madame! for heaven's sake!" said the baroness, "restrain your joy! -Take care lest you be heard!"</p> - -<p>Taking up the pretended magic scroll, which was nothing but a letter in -cypher from Trenck, she aided her mistress in reading it, in spite of a -thousand interruptions of forced and feverish laughter.</p> - - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_V">Transcriber's Note</a></h4> -<p>Chapter V of the French edition begins here. The translator combined -Chapters IV and V with the chapter heading for Chapter V omitted.</p> - - - - -<p>"To reduce—thanks to the means which my incomparable mistress has -provided for me—the subalterns of the garrison; to effect an -understanding with a prisoner as fond of liberty as I am; to give a -violent blow to one keeper, a kick to another, and a sword cut to a -third; to leap over the rampart, throwing my friend, who did not run as -fast as I did, before me (he sprained his ankle as he fell); to pick him -up and run thus for fifteen minutes; to cross the Weiss, the water -coming up to my waist, through a fog so thick that no one could see beyond -his nose; to start from the other bank and travel all night—such a -terrible night! to get lost; to go in the snow all around a mountain, -without having an idea where I was; to hear the clock of the castle of -Glatz strike four—that is to say, to lose time and trouble and see the -city walls at dawn; to resume courage to enter a peasant's hut and, with -a pistol at his head, get possession of two horses and ride rapidly -away;—to regain liberty by a thousand <i>ruses</i>, a thousand -terrors and sufferings—and then to find oneself without money or -clothing, and almost without bread, in an intensely cold and a foreign -country: but to see oneself free, after having been doomed to a terrible -and fearful captivity; to think of one's adorable mistress; to say that -this news will fill her with joy; to make a thousand bold and daring plans -to see her—is to be happier than Frederick of Prussia—to be -the happiest of men—the elect of Providence!"</p> - -<p>Such was the tenor of the letter of Frederick von Trenck to the Princess -Amelia; and the ease with which Madame von Kleist read it proved to -Porporina, who was much surprised and moved, that this correspondence in -cypher was very familiar to them. There was a postscript to this -effect:—</p> - -<p>"The person who will give you this letter is as trustworthy as the -others were not. You may confide in her without reserve, and give her -all your letters for me. The Count de Saint Germain can contrive a means -to enable her to send them, though it is altogether unnecessary that the -said count, in whom I have not the fullest confidence, should ever hear -of you. He will think me in love with Porporina, though such is not the -case, for I have not entertained for her anything but an affectionate -and pure friendship. Let no cloud, then, darken the beautiful brow of -<i>the divinity I adore.</i> For her alone do I breathe, and I would rather -die than deceive her."</p> - -<p>While the Baroness von Kleist deciphered aloud this postscript, weighing -each word, the Princess Amelia examined the features of Porporina -carefully, for the purpose of discovering an expression of grief, -humiliation, or mortification. The angelic serenity of this creature -perfectly reassured her, and she began to overwhelm her with caresses, -saying—</p> - -<p>"And I suspected you, my poor child. You do not know how jealous I have -been of you, and how I have hated and cursed you. I hoped to find you an -ugly and bad actress, for the very reason that I was afraid you would be -too beautiful and good. This was the reason that my brother, fearing -that I would be acquainted with you, though he pretended to wish to -bring you to my concerts, took care to let me hear a report that at -Vienna you had been Trenck's mistress. He was well aware that in that -manner he would best contrive to alienate me from you. I believed all -this, while you devoted yourself to the greatest dangers to bring me -this happy news. You do not love the king? Ah! you are frightened: he is -the most perverse and cruel of men."</p> - -<p>"Ah! madame!—madame!" said the Baroness von Kleist, terrified at -the abandoned and mad volubility with which the princess spoke before -Porporina, "to what dangers you would now expose yourself, were not the -signora an angel of courage and devotion!"</p> - -<p>"That is true. I am mad! I think I have lost my head! Shut the doors, -Von Kleist, and see if any one in the antechamber has heard me. As for -her," said the princess, pointing to Porporina, "look and see if it be -possible to suspect such a face as hers? No, no; I am not so imprudent -as I seem to be, dear Porporina. Do not think I speak frankly because I -am crazed, and will repent when I am calm. I have an infallible -instinct, you see. My eyes are infallible, and have never deceived me. -This is a family peculiarity; and though my brother the king is vain of -it, he possesses it in no higher degree than I do. No; you will not -deceive me. I know you will not deceive a woman who is devoured by an -unfortunate passion, and has suffered what people can form no idea of."</p> - -<p>"Oh, madame, never!" said Porporina, and she knelt before her, as if to -call God to witness her oath. "Neither you nor Trenck, who saved my -life, nor any one else."</p> - -<p>"He saved your life? Ah! I am sure he has done as much for many others, -he is so brave, good, and handsome. You did not look very closely at -him, otherwise you would have fallen in love. Is not this the case? You -will tell me how you met him, and how he saved your life. Not now, -however. I cannot listen, but must speak to you, for my heart is -overflowing. Long since it has been drying up in my bosom. I wish to -speak—I must speak—let me alone, Von Kleist—my joy must -find an utterance or my heart will burst. Shut the doors, however, and -watch. Take care of me—pity me, my poor friends, for I am very -happy!" The princess wept.</p> - -<p>"You must know," said she, after the lapse of a few minutes, her voice -being half-stifled by tears, with an agitation which nothing could calm, -"that from the first time I saw I was pleased with him. He was then -eighteen years of age and beautiful as an angel. He was so well -educated, so frank and so brave. They washed to marry me to the king of -Sweden. Ah! yes; and my sister Ulrica wept with mortification when she -saw I was about to become a queen, while she was unmarried. 'My dear -sister,' said I, 'we can arrange matters. The great men who rule over -Sweden, wish a Catholic queen, and I will make no abjuration. They wish -a good queen, indolent, calm, and careless of all politics. Now, were I -queen, I would reign. I shall express my opinion decidedly on these -points to the ambassadors, and you will see that to-morrow they will -write to their prince that I am not such a queen as Sweden needs.' I -acted as I said I would, and my sister is queen of Sweden. Ah! -Porporina, you think you are an actress. You do not know, however, what -it is to play a part all one's life, morning, day, evening, and often by -night. All who surround us, are busy in watching and spying us out, in -guessing at and in betraying us. I have been forced to seem sad and -mortified, when by my exertions my sister sprang into the throne of -Sweden. I have been forced to seem to detest Trenck, to think him -ridiculous, and to laugh at him. Yet all the time, I loved and adored -him. I was his mistress, and was as much stifled with happiness as I am -now—far more so, alas!—Trenck, however, had not my strength and -courage. He was not of a princely house, and did not know how to feign -and lie as I did. The king discovered all; and following the royal rule, -pretended to see nothing. He persecuted Trenck, however, and the -handsome page became the victim of his hatred and fury. He overwhelmed -him by severity and hardship. He kept him in arrest seven days out of -every eight. On the eighth day, however, he was in my arms, for nothing -terrified or alarmed him. How could I not adore so much courage? Well, -the king confided a foreign mission to him, and when he had discharged -it with rare skill, my brother was base enough to accuse him of having -sold basely to his cousin, the Pandour, who is in the service of Maria -Theresa, plans of our fortifications and warlike plans. This was a means -not only to bear him from me into endless captivity, but to disgrace and -murder him by chagrin, despair, and rage, amid the horrors of a dungeon. -See whether I can esteem or honor my brother. He is a great man, they -say, but I tell you he is a monster. Take care, my child, how you love -him, for he will crush your heart as he would snap a twig. You must, -however, pretend—seem to do so. In such an atmosphere as that in -which you live, you must breathe in secret. I seem to adore my -brother—I am his best-beloved sister—all know or think they -know. He is very attentive to me, gathering fruit for me from the -espaliers of <i>Sans Souci</i>, depriving himself, and he loves nothing -else, to gratify me. Before he gives them to the page to bring, he counts -them lest the lad should eat a portion on the way. What a delicate -attention! It is <i>naïveté</i> worthy of Henry IV. or King René. He, -however, murders my lover in an underground dungeon, and seeks to dishonor -him in my eyes as a punishment for having loved me. What a great heart! -what a kind brother! How we love each other!"</p> - -<p>As she spoke, the princess grew pale, her voice became feeble, her eyes -became fixed and ready to start from their orbits, and she became livid -and motionless, She was unconscious. Porporina was much terrified, and -aided the baroness to unlace and put her to bed, where she gradually -recovered her senses, continuing the while to murmur unintelligible -words. "The attack will soon pass away, thank heaven," said the favorite -to the singer. "When she can control herself I will call her women. You, -my dear, must go into the music-room, and sing to the walls, or rather -to the antechamber's ears. The king will certainly know that you are -here, and you must seem to be occupied by music alone. The princess will -be sick, and thus will hide her joy. Neither she nor you must seem to be -aware of the escape of Trenck. It is certain that the king is now aware -of it, and will be in a terrible bad humor, suspecting every one. Be -careful, then. You as well as I will be lost, if he discover that you -gave that letter to the princess. Women as well as men are sent to -fortresses in Prussia. There they are intentionally forgotten, and die -as men do. You are now on your guard, adieu. Sing, and go without noise -and without mystery. Eight days, at least, will pass before we see you, -lest there be any suspicions. Rely on the gratitude of the princess. She -is nobly liberal, and knows how to reward those who have served her."</p> - -<p>"Alas!" madame, said Porporina, "think you that promises or menaces are -heeded by me? I pity you for having entertained such an idea."</p> - -<p>Crushed with fatigue after the violent emotions she had undergone, and -not yet recovered from the illness of the day before, Porporina sat down -to the instrument, and was beginning to sing, when a door was opened -behind her so softly that she did not perceive it. Suddenly, she saw in -the glass before her the figure of the king. She trembled, and wished to -leave, but the king placed one of his dry fingers on her shoulder, -forced her to sit still and continue. With much repugnance and -indisposition, she continued. She never felt less disposed to sing, and -on no occasion had the appearance of Frederick seemed so icy and -repugnant to musical inspiration.</p> - -<p>When she had finished the piece, he said it was admirably sung. She had, -however, remarked that he had gone on tiptoe and listened at his -sister's chamber door. "I observe, with distress," added he, "that your -beautiful voice is much changed this morning. You should have rested, -instead of yielding to the strange whim of Amelia, and coming hither, -after all, not to be listened to."</p> - -<p>"Her royal highness became suddenly indisposed," said Porporina, -terrified at the dark and thoughtful air of the king. "They told me to -sing, to distract her attention."</p> - -<p>"I assure you it is labor lost," said Frederick, drily. "She chats in -there with the Baroness von Kleist, just as if nothing was the matter. -As that is the case, we may also chat together without attending to -them. The illness of the princess is not great. I think your sex are -easily cured of diseases of this kind. You were thought dead, yesterday, -and none certainly suspected that you would have been here this morning -to divert and amuse my sister. Will you be kind enough to tell me why -you came so unexpectedly to this place?"</p> - -<p>Porporina was amazed at this question, and asked heaven to inspire -her.</p> - -<p>"Sire," said she, boldly as she could, "I can scarcely do so. I was -asked this morning for this music. I thought it my duty to bring it in -person. I expected to place the books in the antechamber and return as -soon as I could. The Baroness von Kleist saw me, and mentioned the fact -to her royal highness, who apparently wished to see me closely. I was -forced to come in. Her highness deigned to question me about the style -of various musical compositions: then feeling indisposed, she bade me -sing this while she went to bed. Now, I think I may be permitted to go -to rehearsal."</p> - -<p>"It is not time yet." said the king. "I do not see why your feet should -step to run away when I wish to speak with you."</p> - -<p>"The reason is, that when with your majesty, I always feel as if I were -not in my sphere."</p> - -<p>"You have no common sense."</p> - -<p>"That is yet another reason."</p> - -<p>"You will remain," said he, forcing her to sit down to the piano, and -placing himself in front of her. He then began to examine her, with an -air half inquisitorial and half paternal.</p> - -<p>"Is what you have said true?"</p> - -<p>Porporina overcame the horror she entertained for falsehood. She had -often said that for her own sake she would be sincere with this terrible -man, but that she would not hesitate to tell an untruth if the safety of -others were concerned. Unexpectedly she had reached this crisis, when -her master's kindness might change into fury. She would willingly have -run the risk of the latter, rather than be false. The fate of Trenck and -the princess, however, depended on her presence of mind and -determination. She called the arts of her profession to her aid, and -with a malicious smile met the eagle eye of the king, which, at that -moment glared like a vulture's.</p> - -<p>"Well," said the king, "why do you not answer me?"</p> - -<p>"Why does your majesty seek to terrify me by doubting what I have -said?"</p> - -<p>"You are not at all afraid. On the contrary, I find your glance today -hardy indeed."</p> - -<p>"Sire, we fear only the things we hate. Why do you wish me to fear -you?"</p> - -<p>Frederick erected all the scales of his crocodile armor, to avoid being -moved by this reply, the most coquettish he had ever obtained from -Porporina. He at once changed his intention: a great art it is to do so, -and far more difficult than people usually think.</p> - -<p>"Why did you faint yesterday at the theatre?"</p> - -<p>"Sire, it is of the least possible interest to your majesty. It is my -own secret."</p> - -<p>"What had you at breakfast this morning, which makes you so unconcerned -in your language?"</p> - -<p>"I had recourse to a certain flacon, which filled me with confidence in -the kindness and justice of him who brought it."</p> - -<p>"Ah! you considered that a declaration," said the king in the most icy -manner and with a smile of cynical disdain.</p> - -<p>"Thank God! I did not," said the young girl, with an expression of -sincere sorrow.</p> - -<p>"Why thank God?"</p> - -<p>"Because I know your majesty makes none but declarations of war even to -women."</p> - -<p>"You are neither the Czarina, nor Maria Theresa: what war can I wage on -you?"</p> - -<p>"That of the lion on the wasp."</p> - -<p>"What wasp induces you to quote such a fable? The wasp killed the lion -by stinging him to death."</p> - -<p>"It was certainly a poor, bad-tempered lion, and consequently weak. I -should not have thought of that apologue."</p> - -<p>"But the wasp was angry and fond of stinging. Perhaps the apologue is -<i>apropos?</i>"</p> - -<p>"Does your majesty think so?"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"Sire, you say what is not true."</p> - -<p>Frederick took the young girl's wrist and pressed it convulsively, until -he had nearly crushed it. This strange act was caused both by anger and -love. Porporina did not change her countenance, and the king said, as he -looked at her red and swollen hand:</p> - -<p>"You are a woman of courage."</p> - -<p>"Not so, sire: but I do not, like those around you, pretend to be a -coward."</p> - -<p>"What mean you?"</p> - -<p>"That to avoid death, people often kill themselves. Were I in your -place, I would not wish to be so terrible."</p> - -<p>"With whom are you in love?" said the king, again changing the -subject.</p> - -<p>"With no one, sire."</p> - -<p>"Then, why have you nervous attacks?"</p> - -<p>"That has nothing to do with the fate of Prussia, and for that reason -the king need ask no questions."</p> - -<p>"Think you it is the king who speaks?"</p> - -<p>"I cannot forget."</p> - -<p>"Yet you must make up your mind to do so. You did not save the king's -life, signorina."</p> - -<p>"I have not yet seen the Baron von Kreutz."</p> - -<p>"Is that a reproach? It is unjust. Not the king but the Baron von Kreutz -enquired after your health, yesterday."</p> - -<p>"The distinction, baron, is too subtle for me."</p> - -<p>"Well, try and learn. Look: when I put my hat on my head thus, a little -to the left, I am a captain; when I place it thus, to the right, I am -king. You will, as the case may be, appear either Porporina or -Consuelo."</p> - -<p>"I understand, sire. That, however, is impossible. Your majesty may be -double, if you please, be triple, or hundred fold, I can be but one."</p> - -<p>"That is not true. You would not speak to me at the theatre, among your -companions, as you do here."</p> - -<p>"Do not be too sure, sire."</p> - -<p>"Ah! the devil is in you to-day."</p> - -<p>"The reason is, that your majesty's hat is neither to the left nor to -the right. I do not know to whom I speak."</p> - -<p>The king, overcome by the attraction, which at this moment especially he -felt towards Porporina, placed his hat so extremely on his left side, -that his face became really comic in its expression. He wished to play -the simple mortal and the king, in an hour of relaxation, as well as -possible. Suddenly, however, he remembered that he had come, not for -amusement, but to discover the secrets of the Abbess of Quedlimburgh, -and took off his hat with an air of deep chagrin. The smile died on his -lips, his brow became dark, and he rose up, saying to the young girl, -"Remain here, I will come for you." He then went into the Princess's -room, who waited tremblingly for him. The Baroness von Kleist, seeing -that he was talking with Porporina, had not dared to leave the bed of -the Princess. She had made vain efforts to hear this conversation, but -in consequence of the size of the room, had not heard a single word. She -was more dead than alive.</p> - -<p>Porporina also trembled at what was about to take place. Ordinarily -grave and respectful to the king, she had done violence to her habits -for the purpose of amusing him, and adopted the most coquettish -frankness in her replies to the dangerous questions she had asked. -Frederick, however, was not the man to give up his point, and the -efforts of the young girl gave way before the despot's determination. -She recommended the Princess Amelia to God's mercy, for she was well -aware that the king forced her to remain to confront her explanations -with those he was listening to in the next room. She had the less doubt -from the careful manner with which he closed the door after he had -passed it. For a quarter of an hour, she was in the most painful -excitement, troubled with fever, terrified at the intrigue with which -she was enwrapped, and dissatisfied with the part she had been forced to -play, recalling at the time with terror the insinuations she began to -hear from all quarters, at the possibility of the king's love, which she -compared with the agitation the king had displayed by his strange -manners.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI</a></h4> - - -<p>But oh, my God! can the shrewdest dominican who ever discharged the -functions of grand inquisitor, contend with the wit of three women, when -love, fear and friendship inspire them equally. In vain did Frederick -adopt every manner, by caressing amiability, and by provoking sneers, by -unexpected questions, by feigned indifference, and oblique threats. He -detected nothing. The explanation of the presence of Consuelo in the -apartments of the princess was absolutely in accordance, as Madame von -Kleist and the abbess accounted for it, with that so fortunately -improvised by Porporina. It was the most natural and probable. Trusting -to chance is the best thing one can do. Chance is mute, and cannot -contradict you.</p> - -<p>Weary of war, the king yielded, or changed his tactics. He said at -once—</p> - -<p>"But I have forgotten, Porporina is in there. My dear sister, since you -are better, let her come in. Her chat will amuse you."</p> - -<p>"I wish to sleep," said the princess, who feared some snare.</p> - -<p>"Well, wish her good bye, and dismiss her yourself." As he spoke, the -king preceded the baroness, opened the door, and called Porporina. -Instead, however, of bidding her adieu, he brought about a dissertation -on German and Italian music. When that subject was exhausted, he said -suddenly—</p> - -<p>"Ah, Signora Porporina, I forgot to tell you something which certainly -will please you. Your friend, the Baron von Trenck, is no longer a -prisoner."</p> - -<p>"What Trenck, sire?" asked the young girl, with an artfully imitative -candor. "I know two, and both are prisoners."</p> - -<p>"Ah! Trenck, the Pandour, will die at Spelberg. Trenck, the Prussian, -has gotten possession of the key of the fields."</p> - -<p>"Well, sire," said Porporina, "for my part, I thank your majesty for -this just and generous act."</p> - -<p>"Thank you for the compliment, signora! What think you of the matter, -my dear sister."</p> - -<p>"Of whom are you talking now?" said the princess. "I was going to -sleep, and did not hear you."</p> - -<p>"I speak of your <i>protegé</i>, the handsome Trenck, who escaped -over the walls of Glatz."</p> - -<p>"Ah, he was right," said Amelia, with great coolness.</p> - -<p>"He was wrong," said the king. "An examination of his case was about to -be made, and he might perhaps have been able to prove himself innocent -of the charges which rest on him. His flight is a confession of his -crime."</p> - -<p>"If that be so," said Amelia, "I give him up." She maintained her -calmness.</p> - -<p>"Porporina would persist in his defence," said Frederick. "I see it in -her eyes."</p> - -<p>"The reason is, that I cannot believe in his guilt," said she.</p> - -<p>"Especially when the traitor is a handsome young fellow. Do you know, -sister, that the signora is very intimate with Trenck?"</p> - -<p>"I wish her joy," said Amelia, coldly. "If he be a dishonored man, I -advise her to forget him. Now I wish you good day, signora, for I am -much fatigued. I hope you will, in the course of a few days, come to see -me again, to read this music. It seems to me very beautiful."</p> - -<p>"You have then resumed your taste for music?" said the king. "I thought -you had entirely abandoned it."</p> - -<p>"I am anxious to resume it, and I hope, brother, that you will aid me -in doing so. I am told you have made great progress, and now you will -instruct me."</p> - -<p>"We will now take them together from the signora. I will bring her."</p> - -<p>"Well. That will be very pleasant to me."</p> - -<p>The baroness took Porporina into the ante-chamber, and the latter soon -found herself alone in one of the long corridors, without knowing -whither to direct her steps to get out of the palace, for she did not -remember how she had gotten into it.</p> - -<p>The household of the king was as economical as possible, if we do not -use a harsher word, and very few servants were to be met with in the -palace. Porporina met no one from whom she could inquire, and wandered -at hazard through the vast pile.</p> - -<p>Reflecting on what had passed, overpowered by fatigue, and having fasted -since the previous day, and feeling much debilitated—as often happens -on such occasions—an unhealthy excitement sustained her physical -powers. Wandering at hazard, and more rapidly than if she had been well, -pursued by a personal idea, which, since the previous day had clung -around her, she completely forgot where she was, went astray, crossed -the galleries, the courts, retraced her steps, went up and down -staircases, met various persons, forgot to ask her way, and at last -found herself at the door of a vast hall, filled with divers confused -objects, at the threshold of which a grave and polished person bowed to -her with much courtesy, and invited her to enter.</p> - -<p>Porporina recognised the learned academician, Stoss, keeper of the -cabinet of curiosities and of the castle library. He had often come to -ask her to try precious manuscripts of Protestant music, of the early -days of the Reformation, treasures of caligraphy, with which he had -enriched the royal collection. When he learned that she sought to leave -the castle, he offered at once to accompany her home, but begged her to -glance around the room which contained the treasures committed to his -charge, of which he was very proud. She could not refuse, and at once -took his arm.</p> - -<p>Easily amused, as all artists are, she soon took more interest than she -had felt disposed to, and her attention was entirely absorbed by an -article pointed out by the learned professor.</p> - -<p>"This drum, which at first does not seem at all peculiar, and which, I -am inclined to think, is an apocryphal monument, now enjoys the greatest -celebrity. It is certain that the sonorous portion of this instrument is -the human skin, as you may observe by the appearance of the marks of the -nipples. This trophy, which was taken from Prague, by his majesty, at -the termination of the late glorious war, is, they say, the skin of John -Ziska, of the Cup, the famous chief of the great rebellion of the -Hussites in the fifteenth century. It is said that he bequeathed this -relic to his brothers in arms, promising that victory would be where it -was. The Bohemians say, the sound of this terrible drum put their -enemies to flight, that it evoked the shadows of their dead chiefs to -fight for the holy cause, and a thousand other prodigies. -Notwithstanding, however, the illumination of the brilliant age of -reason in which we live, condemns all such superstitions to contempt. M. -d'Enfant, preacher to her majesty the queen mother, and author of an -admirable history of the Hussites, affirms that John Ziska was buried with -his skin, and consequently—It seems to me, signora, that you grow -pale. Do you feel indisposed, or does the sight of this strange object -offend you? This Ziska was a great criminal, and a ferocious rebel."</p> - -<p>"Possibly, sir," said Porporina. "I have lived in Bohemia, and have -heard he was a very great man. His memory is yet as much revered as was -Louis XIV. in France. He is looked on as the savior of his country."</p> - -<p>"Alas! that country was badly saved," said M. Stoss, with a smile, "and -were I even now to beat on the sonorous breast of its liberator, I could -not evoke even his spirit, shamefully captive in the palace of the -conqueror of his sons." As he spoke thus pedantically, the admirable -Herr Stoss tapped the drum with his lingers, and the instrument produced -a harsh, sinister sound, like that of those instruments when they are -beaten in the dead march. The wise keeper was suddenly interrupted in -this profane amusement by a piercing cry of Porporina, who cast herself -in his arms, and placed her face on his shoulder, like a child terrified -at some strange object.</p> - -<p>The grave Herr Stoss looked around to discover the cause of this sudden -terror, and saw at the door of the room a person for whom he entertained -no sentiment but disdain. He would have waved his hand for the person to -withdraw, but it had passed away before Porporina, who held on to him, -allowed him liberty of motion.</p> - -<p>"Indeed, signora," said he, leading her to a chair, in which she sank, -trembling and overpowered, "I cannot understand what is the matter with -you. I have seen nothing which should cause such emotion as you seem to -feel."</p> - -<p>"You have seen nothing? You have seen no one?" said Porporina, with a -voice overpowered with excitement. "There, at that door, did you not see -a man pause and look at me with terrible expression?"</p> - -<p>"I saw distinctly enough a man who often wanders in the castle, and who -would willingly assume the frightful air you speak of. I own, however, -that he alarms me but very slightly, for I am not one of his dupes."</p> - -<p>"You saw him? Ah, sir! then he was really there! I did not dream! My -God! what may that mean!"</p> - -<p>"That by virtue of the special protection of our amiable and august -princess, who rather laughs at his folly than believes in it, he has -come into the castle, and gone to the apartments of her royal highness."</p> - -<p>"But who is he? What is his name?"</p> - -<p>"Are you ignorant of it? Why, then, were you afraid?"</p> - -<p>"For heaven's sake tell me who he is?"</p> - -<p>"But——That is Trismagistus, the sorcerer of the Princess -Amelia! He is one of those charlatans whose business it is to predict the -future, reveal hidden treasures, make gold, and who have a thousand other -talents which, previous to the glorious reign of Frederick the Great, -were much the fashion. You have heard it said, signora, that the Abbess -of Quedlimburgh had a passion for them?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, yes, monsieur. I know that from curiosity she studies magic."</p> - -<p>"Oh, certainly. How can we suppose that a princess so enlightened and -educated can be really interested in such extravagances?"</p> - -<p>"But, sir, do you know this man?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, for a long time. During the last four years, we have seen him here -every six or eight months. As he is very peaceable, and is never -involved in intrigues, his majesty, who is unwilling to deprive his -dearest sister of any innocent amusement, tolerates his presence in the -city, and even permits him free ingress into the palace. He does not -abuse it, and does not exercise his pretended science in this country -for any person but her highness. M. de Golowin protects and is -responsible for him. That is all I can say about him. Why, signora, have -you so much interest in him?"</p> - -<p>All this does not at all interest me; and that you may not think me -mad, I must tell you that man bears a striking resemblance to a person -who was and is dear to me. I may be in error, however. Death does not -sunder the bonds of affection, sir. Do you not think so?"</p> - -<p>"The sentiment you express, Signora Porporina, is noble, and worthy of -a person of your merit. You are, however, very much excited, and can -scarcely maintain yourself on your feet. Permit me to accompany you -home."</p> - -<p>When she got home, Porporina went to bed, and remained for several days -tormented by fever and great nervous excitement. At the expiration of -that time she received a note from Madame von Kleist, who asked her to -come at eight in the evening to her, when there was to be music. The -music was a mere pretext to get her again into the palace. They went by -dark passages to the princess's rooms, and they found her in a charming -dress, though her apartment was scarcely lighted, and all the persons -who belonged to her service had been dismissed, under the pretext of -indisposition. She received Porporina with a thousand caresses, and, -passing her arm familiarly through hers, led her to a pretty circular -room, lighted up with fifty lights, in which a delicious supper was -tastefully served. The French <i>rococo</i> at that time had not been -introduced into the Prussian court. There was at that time an -affectation of deep contempt for the court of France, and all sought to -imitate the traditions of Louis XIV., for whom Frederick, who secretly -aped him, professed the most boundless admiration. The Princess Amelia, -however, was dressed in the latest fashion, and though more chastely -dressed than Madame de Pompadour, was not less brilliantly. The Baroness -von Kleist was also dressed as brilliantly as possible, though the table -was set with only three covers, and was without a single servant!</p> - -<p>"You are amazed at our little <i>fête</i>," said the princess, laughing. -"Well, you will be yet more so, when you know that we three will sup -together and will serve ourselves, as Von Kleist and I have already -prepared everything. We set the table, lit the candles, and never were -so amused. For the first time in my life, I dressed my hair and made my -toilet, and it was never done better, at least in my opinion. We are -going to amuse ourselves incognito. The king sleeps at Potsdam, the -queen is at Charlottembourg, my sisters are with the queen mother at -Montbijou, my brothers are I know not where, and none but ourselves are -in the palace. I voted myself sick, and resolved to make use of the -opportunity to live a little, and <i>fête</i> you two (the only persons -whom I can trust) on the escape of Trenck. We will, then, drink champagne -to his health, and one of us must get tipsy. The others can keep the -secret. Ah! the philosophic suppers of Frederick will be eclipsed by the -splendor of this one!"</p> - -<p>They sat down, and the princess appeared under a new aspect to the -Porporina. She was good, kind, natural, joyous, beautiful as an angel, -and, in a word, adorable as she had been in the first days of her youth. -She seemed to float in pure, generous, disinterested bliss. Her lover -was flying from her, she knew not if she would ever see him, yet this -radiant being rejoiced at his flight.</p> - -<p>"Ah! how happy I am between you," said she to her confidants, who formed -with herself the most perfect trio of profane coquetry ever concealed -from the eyes of man. "I am as free as Trenck. I feel as good as he is -and always was. It seemed to me that the fortress of Glatz pressed on my -soul at night, and swept over me like a nightmare. I was cold in my -eider-bed when I thought of him on the damp pavement of the dark prison. -I did not live. I could enjoy nothing. Ah! dear Porporina! imagine my -horror, when I said, 'All this he suffers for me! My fatal love has cast -him into a living tomb!' This idea changed my food into poison, like the -gall of the harpies. Pour me out some champagne. Ah! it seems to me like -ambrosia! The lights are smiling! the flowers smell sweetly! the dishes -are delicate, and Von Kleist and yourself are beautiful as angels! Yes: -I see, I hear, I breathe! I have been restored to life, from the statue, -the carcass I was! Here, drink with me to the health of Trenck! and then -to the health of the friend who escaped with him! Afterwards, we will -drink to the kind keepers who let him fly! and then to my brother -Frederick, who could not help it! No bitter thought shall trouble us -this holiday. I have no animosity against anyone. I think I love the -king. Here! 'To the health of the king!' Porporina! '<i>Vive le Roi!</i>'"</p> - -<p>What chiefly enhanced the pleasure which the poor princess conferred on -her two friends was the simplicity of her manners to the party. When her -turn came, she left the table and changed the plates, carved for -herself, and served her companions with the most infantine gaiety.</p> - -<p>"Ah! if I was not born to a life of equality," said she "love, at least, -has taught me what it is; and the misfortune of my position has made me -appreciate the folly of the prejudices of rank and birth. My sisters are -not like me. My sister of Anspach would place her head on the block, -rather than bow it to a non-reigning highness. My sister of Bareith, who -talks logic and philosophy with M. de Voltaire, would scratch out the -eyes of any duchess who had an inch more silk in her train than herself. -The reason is, you see, they never loved. They will pass their lives in -the pneumatic machine they call their rank. They will die embalmed in -majesty like mummies. They will not have known great griefs, as I have; -but, in all their lives of etiquette and gala, they will never have had -a quarter of an hour of freedom such as I enjoy now! You must, my dears, -make the <i>fête</i> complete, and <i>tutoy</i> each other. I wish to be -Amelia! not your highness! Plain Amelia! Ah! Von Kleist, you look as if -you were about to refuse me! The unhealthy air of the court has spoiled -you. You, Porporina, though an actress, seem a child of nature!"</p> - -<p>"Yes, dear Amelia, I will do all I can to oblige you," said Porporina, -laughing.</p> - -<p>"Oh, heaven! did you but know how I love to be <i>tutoyed</i> and hear -myself called Amelia! 'Amelia!' How well <i>he</i> pronounced that name! -It seemed to me then to be the most beautiful name in the world, the -softest ever woman bore; at least, when he pronounced it."</p> - -<p>Gradually, the princess carried her joy to such an excess, that she -forgot herself, and attended only to her guests. In this strife for -equality, she became so happy and kind that she divested herself of the -stern egotism which had been developed by passion and suffering. She -ceased entirely to speak of herself, nor seemed even to claim merit for -simplicity and amiability. She questioned the Baroness Von Kleist about -her family, her situation and sentiments, more closely than she had done -since she had been absorbed by her own sorrows. She was anxious to know -the artist's life, to hear of the emotions of the theatre, the ideas and -affections of Porporina. She inspired confidence into others from the -abundance of her own heart, and took exquisite delight in reading their -souls, and most in seeing in those beings, so unlike herself, a similar -essence—as meritorious in the eyes of God, as richly gifted by -nature, as important on earth as she had ever thought she was, in relation -to others.</p> - -<p>The ingenuous answers and sympathetic expansion of Porporina, filled her -with respect mingled with surprise.</p> - -<p>"You seem to me an angel! You!—an actress!—you speak and -think more nobly than any crowned head I know! Listen to me! I have -conceived an affection for you almost amounting to devotion. You must -grant me your heart, Porporina. You must open to me your heart. Tell -me of your life—your birth, your education, your amours, your -misfortunes—of your very errors. They must certainly be noble ones, -like those which I bear, not on my conscience, but in the sanctuary of my -heart. It is eleven o'clock, and we have the night before us. Our orgie is -nearly over, for we only gossip, and I see the second bottle of champagne -will be neglected. Will you tell me your story, as I have asked you to do? -It seems to me that the knowledge of your heart will be new and unknown to -me, and will instruct me in the true duties of life better than all the -reflections I have ever made. I feel myself capable of hearing and of -listening to you. Will you satisfy me?"</p> - -<p>"With all my heart, madame," said Porporina.</p> - -<p>"Why, 'madame?' whom do you call 'madame?'" said the princess, gaily, -interrupting her.</p> - -<p>"I mean, my dear Amelia," said Porporina, "that I would do so willingly, -if there were not in the history of my life an important and almost -formidable secret, on which so much hangs, that no desire, no prompting -of my heart, can induce me to reveal!"</p> - -<p>"Well, my dear child, I know your secret! and if I did not speak of it -at the commencement of the supper, it was in consequence of a feeling of -discretion, which my friendship for you now enables me to dispense -with."</p> - -<p>"You know my secret!" said Porporina, petrified with surprise. "Pardon -me, madame; but that seems impossible!"</p> - -<p>"You still continue to address me as highness. Can you doubt?"</p> - -<p>"Excuse me, Amelia. But you cannot know my secret, unless you have -really an understanding with Cagliostro, as is said."</p> - -<p>"I have heard your adventure with Cagliostro spoken of, and I am dying -with curiosity to learn its details. Curiosity, however, does not -influence me this evening, but friendship, as I have sincerely told you. -To encourage you, I will say, frankly, that since this morning have I -learned that Consuelo Porporina may, if she pleases, legally assume the -title of Countess of Rudolstadt!"</p> - -<p>"In heaven's name, madame! who could tell you?"</p> - -<p>"My dear Rudolstadt, you do not know that my sister, the Margravine of -Bareith, is here?"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"With her is her physician, Supperville."</p> - -<p>"I see he has broken his word—his oath! He has said——?"</p> - -<p>"Calm yourself. He has spoken only to me. I do not see, however, why you -should be afraid to make known a matter which is so honorable to your -character and can hurt no one. The Rudolstadts are extinct, with the -exception of an old canoness, who ere long will rejoin her brothers in -the tomb. We have, it is true, princes of Rudolstadt in Saxony, who are -your near relations, being cousins german, and who are proud of their -name. If my brother were to sustain you, they would not dare to protest: -unless you prefer to be called Porporina, which is more glorious and -more pleasant to the ear."</p> - -<p>"That is really my intention," said the singer. "I wish, however, to -know how Supperville came to tell you this. When I know it, and when my -conscience is no longer bound by my oath, I promise to tell you the -details."</p> - -<p>"Thus it is," said the princess:—"One of my women was sick, and I -sent to ask Supperville, who was, I learned, in the palace, to come to see -her. Supperville is a man of mind, and I knew him when he resided here. -This made me talk to him. Chance directed the conversation to music, the -opera, and, consequently, to yourself. I spoke of you so highly, that, -whether to please me or from conviction, he surpassed even me, and -extolled you to the clouds. I was pleased, and observed a kind of -affectation, which made me entertain a presentiment of some romantic -interest in you, and a grandeur of soul superior even to what I had -presumed. I urged him strongly, and he seemed to like to be besought, I -must say, in justification. Finally, after having made me promise not to -betray him, he told me of your marriage on the death bed of the Count of -Rudolstadt, and of your generous renunciation of every right and -advantage accruing from it. You see, my dear, you may now tell me the -rest, for I promised never to betray you."</p> - -<p>"This being the case," said Consuelo, after a moment of silence, "though -the story will awaken the most painful emotions, especially since my -sojourn at Berlin, I will repay the interest of your highness—I mean, -my dear Amelia—with confidence."</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII</a><a name="FNanchor_6_1" id="FNanchor_6_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_1" class="fnanchor">[6]</a></h4> - - -<p>"I was born in I know not what part of Spain, and I know not exactly in -what year. I must be, however, twenty-three or four years old. I do not -know my father's name, and am inclined to think that my mother was as -uncertain about her parents as I am. She was called at Venice La -Zingara, and I was called La Zingarella. My mother had given me the -Christian name of Maria del Consuelo—in French, "Our Lady of -Consolation."<a name="FNanchor_7_1" id="FNanchor_7_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_1" class="fnanchor">[7]</a> My childhood was wandering and miserable. We travelled -on foot, living by our songs. I have a vague recollection that, in a -forest of Bohemia, we received hospitality at a castle, where the son of -the lord, a handsome youth named Albert, overwhelmed me with attention -and kindness, and gave my mother a guitar. This was the Giants' Castle, -to be the mistress of which I was one day to refuse; and the young lord -was Albert, Count of Rudolstadt, whose wife I became.</p> - -<p>"At the age of ten, I began to sing in the streets. One day, as I sang a -little piece in Saint Mark's-place at Venice, Maestro Porpora, who was -at a <i>café</i>, struck with the accuracy of my voice, and the natural -manner my mother had transmitted to me, called me to him, questioned me, -followed me to my garret, gave me some little pecuniary aid, and -promised to have me admitted into the <i>Scoula dei Mendicanti</i>, one of -the free musical schools, of which there are so many in Italy, and -whence come eminent artists of both sexes, for the best <i>maestri</i> have -the direction of them. I made rapid progress, and Maestro Porpora -conceived a friendship for me which soon exposed me to the jealousy and -ill-feeling of my companions. Their unjust spite at my rags soon taught -me the habit of patience and reserve.</p> - -<p>"I do not remember the first day I saw him; but it is certain that at -the age of seven or eight years, I already loved—loved a young man, -an orphan, friendless, and, like myself, learning music by protection and -charity, and living in the streets. Our friendship, or our love, (for it -was the same thing), was a chaste and delicious sentiment. We passed -together in innocent wanderings all the time not devoted to study. My -mother, after having vainly opposed it, sanctioned our intimacy by an -oath she made us take to marry as soon as we should be able to support a -family.</p> - -<p>"At the age of eighteen or nineteen, I was far advanced in singing. -Count Zustiniani, a noble Venetian, owner of the Theatre of Saint -Samuel, heard me sing at church, and engaged me to replace La Corilla, -the <i>prima donna</i>—a beautiful and robust woman, who had been his -mistress, and who had been unfaithful to him. This Zustiniani was the -protector of my lover Anzoleto, who was engaged with me to sing the -chief male parts. Our <i>début</i> was brilliant. He had a magnificent -voice, extraordinary ease, and an attractive exterior. All the fine -ladies protected him. He was idle, however, and his professor was -neither as skillful nor as zealous as mine. His success was less -brilliant. He was grieved at first, afterwards he was angry, and at last -he became jealous, and I lost his love."</p> - -<p>"Is it possible?" said the Princess Amelia, "for such a cause? He was, -then, very vile."</p> - -<p>"Alas! no, madame, but he was vain and an <i>artiste</i>. He won the -protection of Corilla, the dismissed and furious <i>artiste</i>, who took -possession of his heart, and made him rapidly lacerate and tear mine. -One evening, the Maestro Porpora, who had always opposed our sentiments, -because he maintains that a woman, to be a great <i>artiste</i>, must be a -stranger to every passion and every preoccupation of the heart, unfolded -Anzoleto's treason to me. On the evening of the next day, Count -Zustiniani made a declaration of love, which I was far from expecting, -and which wounded me deeply. Anzoleto pretended to be jealous, and to -say that I was corrupted. He wished to break with me. I left my house in -the night: I went to seek my maestro, who is a man prompt to act, and -who had used me to act decidedly, he gave me letters, a small sum of -money, and a guide-book: he put me in a gondola, accompanied me to the -mainland, and, at dawn, I set out alone for Bohemia."</p> - -<p>"For Bohemia!" said the Baroness Von Kleist, whom the virtue of Porpora -filled with surprise.</p> - -<p>"Yes, madame," said the young girl, "in our artistic language, we have -the phrase, to travel in Bohemia,"<a name="FNanchor_8_1" id="FNanchor_8_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_1" class="fnanchor">[8]</a> which expresses that one runs -through all the risks of poverty, labor, and not unfrequently crime, -like the Zingari, whom you call in French <i>Bohemians</i>. I set out, not -for this symbolical Bohemia, for which fate seemed to destine me, like -many others; but for the chivalric country of the Tcheques, the land of -Huss and Ziska, for the Boehmer-wald, for the Giants' Castle, where I -was generously received by the family of Rudolstadt."</p> - -<p>"Why did you go thither?" said the princess, who listened attentively. -"Would any one remember to have seen a child?"</p> - -<p>"No, no, I did not remember it myself until long after, when Count -Albert by chance discovered, and aided me in discovering the key to this -adventure. My master, Porpora, in Germany, had been very intimate with -the good Count Christian, the head of the house. The young Baroness -Amelia, his niece, wished a governess, that is to say, a companion, who -should teach her music and entertain her, in the dull life she led at -Riesenberg. Her noble and kind relations received me like a friend, and -almost like a relation. I taught nothing, in spite of my disposition, to -my beautiful and capricious pupil, and——"</p> - -<p>"Count Albert fell in love with you? That must have happened."</p> - -<p>"Alas! madame, I would not speak with such volubility of so grave and -painful a thing. Count Albert was considered to be mad; and united a -sublime soul with an enthusiastic genius, strange whims and a diseased -imagination, which was entirely inexplicable."</p> - -<p>"Supperville, though he neither believed nor could make me understand -it, has told me all that. Supernatural power was attributed to this -young man, such as second sight, the power of making himself invisible... -His family told the most unheard of things. . . All this, however, -is impossible, and I hope you place no faith in it."</p> - -<p>"Excuse me, madame, the suffering and distress of pronouncing on matters -which surpass my capacity. I have seen strange things, and, at times, -Count Albert has seemed to me a being superior to humanity. Then, again, -he has appeared an unfortunate creature, deprived, by the very excess of -his virtue, of the light of reason; never, however, did I see him like -common men. When in delirium, and when calm, when enthusiastic and when -depressed, he was always the best, the most just, the most enlightened, -and the most poetically exalted of men. In a word, I would not know what -to think, for I am the involuntary, though it may be the innocent cause, -of his death."</p> - -<p>"Well, dear countess, dry your beautiful eyes, take courage, and -continue. I hear you without profane volatility, I vow."</p> - -<p>"When he first loved me, I did not even suspect it. He never spoke to -me; he did not even seem to see me. I think he was first aware of my -presence, when he heard me sing. I must tell you he was a very great -musician, and played the violin better than you would suspect any one in -the world capable of doing. I think, however, I was the only person who -ever heard him at Riesenberg; for his family were not aware that he -possessed this great talent. His love, then, had its origin in a burst -of enthusiasm, and in sympathy for music. His cousin, the Baroness -Amelia, who had been betrothed to him for two years, and whom he did not -love, became offended with me, though she did not love him. This, she -exhibited with more frankness than wickedness: for, amid all her -obstinacy, there existed something of greatness of soul. She became -weary of Albert's coldness, of the sadness that pervaded the castle, and -one fine morning left us, taking away, so to say, her father, Baron -Frederick, Count Christian's brother, an excellent man, though of -restricted mind, indolent and pure-hearted, a perfect slave to his -daughter, and passionately devoted to the chase."</p> - -<p>"You say nothing about the invisibility of Count Albert, of his -disappearance for fifteen or twenty days, after which he reappeared -suddenly, believing, or pretending to think that he had not left the -house, and being either unwilling or unable to say where he had hid -himself during the time he had been searched for everywhere."</p> - -<p>"Since Dr. Supperville has told you this apparently wonderful fact, I -will explain it; I alone can do so, for this has always been a secret, -between Albert and myself. Near the Giants' Castle, there is a mountain -known as the Stone of Terror,<a name="FNanchor_9_1" id="FNanchor_9_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_1" class="fnanchor">[9]</a> an old subterranean work, which dates -from the days of the Hussites. Albert, after studying a series of -philosophical characters, yielded to an enthusiasm, extending almost to -mysticism, and became a Hussite, or rather Taborite. Descended on the -mother's side from George Podiebrad, he had preserved and developed in -himself the sentiments of patriotic independence and of evangelical -equality, which the preaching of John Huss and the victories of John -Ziska instilled into the Bohemians."</p> - -<p>"How she speaks of history and philosophy," said the princess, with an -expressive glance to the Baroness Von Kleist. "Who would think an -actress would understand those things as well as I who have passed a -lifetime in study? Have I not told you, Von Kleist, that there was among -those persons whom the opinions of courts dooms to the lowest class of -society, intelligences equal, if not superior, to those formed with so -much care and expense amid the highest grades?"</p> - -<p>"Alas! madame," said Porporina, "I am very ignorant, and I never read -anything before I came to Riesenberg; while there, however, I heard so -much said of things of this kind, that thought itself forced me to -understand all that passed in Albert's mind, so that finally I had some -idea of it myself."</p> - -<p>"Yes; but my dear, you became foolish; and, something of a mystic -myself, I admire the campaigns of John Ziska, and the republican genius -of Bohemia, if you please; however, I have ideas as utterly republican -as yourself; for love has revealed to me a truth altogether -contradictory to what pedants told me, in relation to the rights of the -people, and the merits of individuals. I do not participate in your -admiration of Taborite fanaticism, and their delirium of Christian -equality. This is absurd, not to be realized, results in ferocious -excesses, and overturns thrones. If it be necessary, I will aid -you—make Spartan, Athenian, Roman republics—make republics like -that of old Venice—I can submit to that. These sanguinary and filthy -Taborites suit me no better than the Vandals of burning memory, the -odious Anabaptists of Munster, and the Picords of old Germany."</p> - -<p>"I have heard Count Albert say, that all this is not precisely the same -thing," said Consuelo, with great modesty. "I will not, however, venture -to discuss with your highness, matters, perhaps, you have studied closely. -You have here historians and <i>savans</i>, who devote themselves to -these grave matters, and you can form a better opinion of their wisdom -than I can. Yet, had I the academy to instruct me, I do not think my -sympathies would ever change. But let me resume my story."</p> - -<p>"Yes, I interrupted you by pedantic reflections, and I pray you excuse -me. Go on. Count Albert, enthusiastic in relation to the exploits of his -ancestors, (that is easily understood, and very pardonable,) in love -with you, (and that is most legitimate and natural,) would not admit -that you were not his equal in the eye of God and man. He was right; but -this was no reason why he should desert his father's house, and leave -all who loved him in despair."</p> - -<p>"This is not the point I wished to reach," said Consuelo. "He had been -dreaming and meditating for a long time in the cavern of the Hussites, -at Schreckenstein, and he was especially delighted in doing so from the -fact that, besides himself, no one but a poor mad peasant was aware of -these subterraneous abodes. Thither he used to go when any domestic -chagrin, or any violent emotion overcame his will. He was aware of the -approach of these attacks, and to hide his madness from his kindred, -went to the Schreckenstein, by a secret passage, the entrance to which -he had discovered in a cistern near his rooms, amid a <i>parterre</i> of -flowers. When once in this cavern, he forgot the lapse of time, of days, -and weeks. Attended by Zdenko, the visionary and poetic peasant, the -excitement of whom was not a little like his own, he had no idea of ever -returning to the upper world, or of seeing his parents again, until the -attack began to pass away. Unfortunately, these attacks became every -time more violent, and lasted longer. Once, he was so long absent, that -all thought him dead, and I undertook to discover the place of his -retreat. I reached it, with much difficulty and danger. I went down this -cistern, which was amid the garden, and from which, one night, I had -seen Zdenko come. Not knowing the way through this abyss, I was near -losing my life. At last, I found Albert, and succeeded in dispersing the -torpor in which he had been plunged. I restored him to his parents, and -made him swear he never would return again to the fatal cavern, he -yielded to me, but said, this was to sentence him to death. His -prediction was but too well fulfilled."</p> - -<p>"How so? Thus you restored him to life."</p> - -<p>"No, madame; not unless I could love him, and never be a cause of -trouble to him."</p> - -<p>"What, did you not love him? Yet you descended in that abyss; you risked -your life under-ground?"</p> - -<p>"The mad Zdenko, not comprehending my design, and, like a faithful dog, -jealous of his master's safety, was near murdering me. A torrent came -near sweeping me away. Albert at first, not knowing me, almost made me -share his folly; for terror and emotion make all hallucinations -contagious. . . . At last, he was attacked by a new fit of delirium, as -he bore me from the cave, and had very nearly closed the outlet. . . I -exposed myself to all that, without loving Albert."</p> - -<p>"Then you made a vow to Maria del Consuelo to rescue him?"</p> - -<p>"Something like it, in fact," said Consuelo, with a sad smile; "an -emotion of tender pity to his family, of deep sympathy to him, perhaps -a romantic attraction, a sincere friendship, certainly, but not an -appearance of love. At least, nothing like the blind, intoxicating and -delicious passion I had entertained for the ungrateful Anzoleto, in -which, I think, my heart was prematurely exhausted. What shall I say, -madame? After that terrible expedition, I had a brain fever, and was at -the very point of death. Albert, who was somewhat skilled in physic, -saved my life. My slow recovery and his assiduous cares placed us on the -footing of the closest intimacy. His reason returned entirely, and his -father blessed and treated me as a beloved daughter. An old lame aunt, -the Countess Wenceslawa, an angel of tenderness, and a patrician full of -prejudices, even consented to receive me. Albert besought my love. Count -Christian, too, pleaded for his son. I was moved, I was terrified. I -loved Albert as one loves virtue, truth, and the beautiful; I was yet -afraid of him; I dreaded becoming a countess, and of making a match, the -result of which would be to raise against him and his family all the -nobility of the country, and which would cause me to be accused of -sordid views and base intrigues. Yet, must I own it, that was, perhaps, -my only crime. . . . I regretted my profession, my liberty, my old -teacher, and the exciting arena of the theatre, where, for a moment, I -had appeared to glitter, and where I would disappear like a meteor. The -burning stage on which my love had been crushed, my misfortune -consummated, which I thought I could hate and despise forever, and yet, -on which I dreamed every night I was either applauded or hissed. This -must seem strange and unaccountable to you; but when one has been -educated for the theatre, when one has toiled all life long for such -combats and such victories, the idea of returning to them no more, is as -terrible, as would be to you, Madame Amelia, that of being a princess on -the stage, as I am twice a week."</p> - -<p>"You are mistaken, my dear. You are mad. If from a princess I could -become an artist, I would marry Trenck, and be happy. You to marry -Rudolstadt would not from an actress become a countess or princess. I -see you did not love him. That was not your fault. We cannot love those -whom we please."</p> - -<p>"Madame, that is an aphorism of which I would willingly convince myself, -and in solving it, I have passed my life; could I do so my conscience -would be at ease. Yet I have not been able to accomplish it."</p> - -<p>"Let me see," said the princess, "this is a grave matter, and, as an -abbess, I should be able to decide on it. You think, then, that love can -choose and reason?"</p> - -<p>"It should. A noble heart should subject its inclination; I do not say -to that worldly reason, which is folly and falsehood, but to the noble -discernment, which is only the love of the beautiful, and a passion for -truth. You, madame, are proof of what I advance, and your example -condemns me. Born to fill a throne, you have immolated false greatness -on the altar of true passion, to the possession of a heart worthy of -your own. I, also, born to occupy a throne, (on the stage,) had neither -courage nor generosity to sacrifice the glitter of that false glory to -the calm and sublime affection offered to me. I was ready to do so from -devotion, but could not without grief and terror. Albert, who saw the -struggle, would not accept my faith as an offering. He wished -enthusiasm, equal joys, and a heart devoid of sorrow. I could not -deceive him. Is it possible to deceive one in such matters? I asked -time, and he granted it. I promised to do all I could to love like him. -I was sincere, but wished I had not been forced by my conscience to make -this formidable engagement."</p> - -<p>"Strange girl! I will bet that you loved the <i>other!</i>"</p> - -<p>"Oh my God! I thought I did not love him. One morning I waited on the -mountain for Albert, and heard a voice in the ravine. I recognised a -song which I had formerly studied with Anzoleto, and I recognised that -penetrating voice I had loved so much, and that Venetian accent which -was so dear to me. I looked down, and saw a cavalier pass. It was -Anzoleto, madame."</p> - -<p>"Alas! What was he doing in Bohemia?"</p> - -<p>"I have since learned that he had broken his engagement, and fled from -Venice, to avoid the persecution of Count Zustiniani. Having soon become -tired of the quarrelsome love of the despotic Corilla, with whom he had -appeared at St. Samuel's again, and had the greatest success, he had -obtained the favors of a certain Clorinda, the second singer, my old -schoolfellow, who had become Zustiniani's mistress. Like a man of the -world, that is to say, like a frivolous libertine, the count avenged -himself by taking up again with Corilla, without discharging Anzoleto. -Amid this double intrigue, Anzoleto, being ridiculed by his rival, -became mortified and angry, and one fine summer night, by an adroit -kick, upset the gondola in which Zustiniani and his mistress were taking -the fresh air. They only were upset, and had a cold bath. The waters of -Venice are nowhere deep. Anzoleto, thinking this pleasantry would take -him to the <i>Leads</i>, fled to Prague, and passed the Giants' Castle.</p> - -<p>"He passed on, and I rejoined Albert to make a pilgrimage to the cavern -of the Schreckenstein, which he desired once more to see with me. I was -melancholy and unhappy. I there suffered under the most lugubrious -emotions. The dark place, the Hussite bones, of which Albert had built -an altar by the mysterious fountain, the admirable and touching tone -of his violin—I know not what terrors—darkness, and the -superstitions which here took possession of him, and which I could -scarcely shake from my own mind——"</p> - -<p>"Say all. He fancied he was John Ziska—that he was endowed with -eternal life—the memory of the events of past centuries—in -fine, he was as mad as the Count de St. Germain is."</p> - -<p>"Yes, madame, since you know all; his convictions made such an -impression on me, that instead of curing him, I almost participated in -it."</p> - -<p>"Can your mind, then, notwithstanding your courageous heart, be -weak?"</p> - -<p>"I do not pretend to a strong mind. Whence could I have derived this -power? The only real education I have was derived from Albert. How is it -possible for me not to have felt his influence, and partaken of his -illusions? He had so much, and so many, truths in his soul, that I could -not discern error and separate it from truth. In this cavern I felt that -my reason was deserting me. What most terrified me was the fact that I -did not meet Zdenko, as I had expected. For several months he had not -been seen. As he persisted in being angry with me, Albert had exiled him -from his presence, after a violent discussion, beyond doubt, for he -seemed to regret it. Perhaps he thought that when he left him Zdenko had -killed himself. At all events, he spoke of him in enigmatical terms, and -with mysterious concealments, which terrified me. I fancied, (may God -forgive me the idea!) that in an access of fury Albert, being unable to -make the unfortunate man renounce his intention of destroying me, had -murdered him."</p> - -<p>"Why, then, did Zdenko hate you?"</p> - -<p>"This was one of the consequences of his madness. He said that he had -dreamed that I killed his master, and afterwards danced over his tomb. -Oh! madame, this sad prediction has been fulfilled. My love killed -Albert, and eight days after I made my <i>début</i> in one of the gayest -<i>buffo</i> operas in Berlin. I was compelled to do so, I know; and my -heart was filled with grief. The sad fate of Albert was accomplished as -Zdenko had foretold."</p> - -<p>"My God! your story is so diabolical that I begin to forget where I am, -and lose my senses as I listen to you. But, go on; all this may be -explained, certainly?"</p> - -<p>"No, madame. The fantastic world which Albert and Zdenko bore in their -souls has never been explained to me; and, like myself, you must be -satisfied merely with a knowledge of the results."</p> - -<p>"Then the count at least did not kill the poor buffoon?"</p> - -<p>"Zdenko to him was not a buffoon, but a friend and companion of -misfortune, a devoted servant. He was grieved at his conduct, but, thank -God! never dreamed of immolating him to me. Yet I was so foolish and so -guilty as to think this murder had been completed. A grave recently -opened in the cavern, and which Albert confessed contained the dearest -thing he had ever known, until he met me, at that time when he accused -himself of I know not what crime, chilled me to the heart. I felt -certain that Zdenko was buried there, and fled from the grotto crying -and weeping like a child!"</p> - -<p>"You had reason to do so," said the Baroness Von Kleist, "and I am sure -such things would have terrified me to death. A lover like Albert would -not have suited me at all. The good Baron Von Kleist believed in, and -used to make sacrifices to the devil. That made me a coward, and had I -not been divorced, I think I would have gone mad."</p> - -<p>"You have much consolation left you. I think you were divorced a little -too late," said the princess; "but do not interrupt the Countess of -Rudolstadt."</p> - -<p>"When I returned to the castle with Albert, who had not dreamed of -defending himself from my suspicions, whom think you I found there?"</p> - -<p>"Anzoleto!"</p> - -<p>"He presented himself as my brother, and waited for me. I do not know -how he had learned <i>en route</i> that I was living there, and was to -marry Albert. But it was talked of in the country long before anything was -determined. Whether from mortification, a remnant of love, or the love -of evil, he had suddenly returned with the intention of breaking off -this marriage. He did all he could to succeed, using prayers, tears, -persuasion, and threats. Apparently I was unmoved, but in my coward -heart I was troubled, and I felt I was no longer mistress of myself. By -means of the falsehood by which he had obtained admission, and which I -did not dare to contradict, though I had never spoken to Albert of this -brother, he remained all day at the castle. The old count made us at -night sing Venetian airs. These melodies of my adopted country awoke all -the recollections of my infancy, of my fine dreams, pure love, and past -happiness. I felt that I yet loved, but not the person I should, and had -promised to love. Anzoleto conjured me in a low tone to receive him at -night in my room, and threatened to come at any hazard or danger to him -or to me. I had ever been a sister to him, and under the purest -professions he concealed his plan. He would submit to my decision; he -was going at dawn, but wished to bid me farewell. I fancied that he -wished to make trouble and slander in the castle, that he proposed to -make a terrible scene with Albert, and that I would be disgraced. I took -a desperate resolution and executed it. At midnight I packed up in a -small bundle all the clothing I required—I wrote a note for -Albert—took what money I had, and (<i>par parenthèse</i>) forgot -half of it. I left my room, mounted the hired horse Anzoleto had ridden, -paid his guide to aid me, crossed the draw-bridge, and went to the -neighboring city. I had never been on horseback before, and galloped -four leagues. I then sent back the guide, and, pretending that I would -await Anzoleto on the road to Prague, gave him false intelligence as to -where my <i>brother</i> would find me. I set out for Vienna, and at dawn was -alone, on foot, without resources, in an unknown country, and walking -rapidly as possible, to escape from two passions, apparently each -equally unfortunate. I must, however, say that after a few hours the -phantom of the perfidious Anzoleto was effaced from my mind, never to -return, while the pure image of my Albert, like an ægis and promise of -the future, cheered me amid the dangers of my route."</p> - -<p>"Why did you go to Vienna rather than Venice?"</p> - -<p>"My maestro had gone thither, having been brought by our ambassador to -replenish his broken fortune, and recover his ancient fame, which had -begun to grow pale before the success of luckier innovators. Luckily, I -met an excellent youth, already a musician of talent, who, in passing -through the Boehmer-wald, had heard of me, and had determined to ask my -recommendation and good offices in his behalf, with Porpora. We went -together to Vienna on foot—suffered much from fatigue, but were -always gay, always friends and brothers. I became especially fond of him, -because he did not dream of making love to me, and it did not enter into -my mind that he would do so. I disguised myself as a boy, and played the -part so well that all kinds of pleasant mistakes occurred. One, however, -came near being unfortunate to both of us. I will pass the others in -silence—not to shorten my story—and will mention this only -because I know it will interest your highness more than the rest of my -narrative."</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_6_1" id="Footnote_6_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_1"><span class="label">[6]</span></a>The adventures of Consuelo having passed from the reader's -mind, the author has thought it best to make a "resume" of them. Persons -whose memory will recall a long romance, will find this chapter -wearisome, and they may therefore skip it.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_7_1" id="Footnote_7_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_1"><span class="label">[7]</span></a>Notre Dame de la Consolation.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_8_1" id="Footnote_8_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_1"><span class="label">[8]</span></a>To run Bohemia.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_9_1" id="Footnote_9_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_1"><span class="label">[9]</span></a>Gormanice, Schreckenstein.</p></div> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII</a></h4> - - -<p>"I fancy you are about to speak of <i>him</i>" said the princess, -moving the lights, to get a better view of the speaker, and placing her -elbows on the table.</p> - -<p>"While going down the Moldau, on the Bavarian frontier, we were seized -by the recruiting parties of the king, your brother, and were flattered -with the smiling hope of becoming, both Haydn and myself, fifer and -drummer in the glorious armies of his Majesty."</p> - -<p>"You, a drummer!" said the princess with surprise. "Ah! had Von Kleist -seen you thus I venture to swear she would have lost her senses. My -brother would have made you his page; and heaven knows what ravage you -would have made in the hearts of our Court ladies. But what is it you -say of Haydn? I know the name, and have recently received music of his, -and, I remember, excellent music. He is not the lad you speak of?"</p> - -<p>"Excuse me. He is about twenty years old, and does not seem fifteen. He -was my travelling companion, and was a sincere and faithful friend. On -the edge of a little wood, where our captors halted to breakfast, we -escaped. They pursued us, and we ran like hares, until we had the good -fortune to overtake a travelling carriage, in which was the handsome and -noble Frederick Von Trenck and the <i>ci-devant</i> conqueror, Count Hoditz -de Roswald."</p> - -<p>"The husband of my aunt, the Margravine of Culmbach?" said the princess. -"Another love match, Von Kleist. By the by, that is the only honest and -prudent thing my aunt ever did in her life. What kind of a man is this -Count Hoditz?"</p> - -<p>Consuelo was about to give a minute account of the lord of Roswald, but -the princess interrupted her by countless questions about Trenck, the -dress he wore, and the minutest details. When Consuelo told her how -Trenck had hurried to her defence, how he came near being shot, and had -put the brigands to flight, and rescued an unfortunate deserter who was -borne in the wagon with his hands and feet bound, she had to begin again -to repeat the most trifling words and detail the merest circumstances. -The joy and emotion of the princess were intense when she heard that -Trenck and Count Hoditz, having taken the two travellers into their -coach, the baron had taken no notice of Consuelo, but seemed wrapped in -the examination of a portrait he concealed in his bosom—that he -sighed, and talked to the count of a mysterious love for an exalted -person, who was the origin of the happiness and despair of his life.</p> - -<p>When Consuelo was permitted to continue, she said that Count Hoditz, -having discovered her sex at Passau, sought to presume on the protection -he had granted her, and that she had fled with Haydn and resumed her -adventurous travels in a boat which went down the Danube.</p> - -<p>At last she told how, playing on the pipe, while Haydn played the -violin, they paid for their dinners by making music for the peasants to -dance, and at length reached a pleasant priory still disguised, and -represented herself as a wandering musician, a Zingara, called Bertoni.</p> - -<p>"The prior," said she, "was passionately fond of music, and was besides -a man of heart and mind. He conceived for us, for myself especially, a -great friendship, and wished even to adopt me, promising me an excellent -benefice, if I would but take the minor orders. I began to be tired of -manhood, and the <i>tonsure</i> was no more to my taste than the drum. A -strange adventure forced me to prolong my abode with my excellent host. -A woman travelling by post, was seized with the pains of labor, and gave -birth to a daughter, which she abandoned and I persuaded the good canon -to adopt it in my place. She was called Angela, from her father's name -Anzoleto, and the mother, Corilla, went to Vienna to procure an -engagement at the Court Theatre. She did so, and with greater success -than I had. The Prince Von Kaunitz presented her to the Empress Maria -Theresa as a respectable widow, and I was rejected, as being accused and -suspected of being the mistress of Joseph Haydn, who received lessons -from Porpora, and lived in the same house with us."</p> - -<p>Consuelo described her interview with the great Empress. The princess -was anxious to hear of this wonderful woman, the virtue of whom no one -at Berlin believed in, and who was said to have as lovers the Prince Von -Kaunitz, Doctor Von Switzer and Metastasio.</p> - -<p>Consuelo told at length of her reconciliation on account of Angela, with -La Corilla, of her <i>début</i> in the principal parts at the Imperial -Theatre, on account of the remorse and a generous impulse of her -impetuous rival. She then told of the friendship that existed at Vienna -between Trenck and herself at the abode of the Ambassador of Venice; and -told how she had arranged a method of communicating with him, if the -persecution of the King of Prussia made it necessary. She spoke of the -piece of music, the sheets of which were to serve as a wrapper and -signature to the letters he might send her, as occasion required, for -her whom he loved: and told how she had recently been informed, by one -of the sheets, of the importance of the cabalistic scroll she had given -to the princess. It may be imagined these explanations occupied more -time than the rest of the story.</p> - -<p>Porporina having told of her departure with the maestro from Venice, and -how, in the uniform of a company, and as the Baron Von Kreutz, she had -met the King of Prussia at the wonderful Castle of Roswald, she was -obliged also to mention the important service she had rendered the -monarch before she knew him.</p> - -<p>"That I was very curious to know," said the Baroness Von Kleist. -"Poelnitz, who loves to talk, told me that his majesty at supper said -that his friendship for the beautiful Porporina had more serious causes -than a mere love affair."</p> - -<p>"What I did was very simple. I used the ascendancy I had over an -unfortunate fanatic to keep him from murdering the king. Karl, the poor -Bohemian giant, whom Trenck had rescued from the recruiting party when -he liberated me, had entered the service of Count Hoditz. He had known -the king, and wished to be revenged for the death of his wife and child, -who died of want and sorrow, just after his second arrest. Fortunately, -he had not forgotten that I had been a party to his rescue, and had -contributed something to his wife's assistance. He let me persuade and -take the gun from him. The king, who was concealed hard by, as he -afterwards told me, heard all, and, lest the assassin should have a -return of fury, took a different road from the one he had intended. The -king was on horseback, with no one but Bruddenbrock. It is, then, very -possible that a good shot like Karl, whom I had thrice seen shoot a -pigeon from the top of a mast, during the entertainment given by Count -Hoditz, would not have missed."</p> - -<p>"God knows," said the princess in a dreamy manner, "what changes this -misfortune would have effected in European politics, and in individual -destinies. Now, dear Rudolstadt, I think I know the rest of your story, -until the death of Count Albert. At Prague you met his uncle, the baron, -who took you to the Giant's Castle, to see him die of phthisis, and to -marry him just before he breathed his last. You had not made up your -mind to love him?"</p> - -<p>"Alas! madame, I loved him too late, and have been cruelly punished for -hesitation, and passion for the stage. Forced by my master, Porpora, to -appear at Vienna, deceived in relation to Albert's indisposition, for -his last letters had been intercepted, I suffered myself to be led -astray by the glitter of the stage; and, in conclusion, while waiting -for an engagement at Berlin, appeared with perfect madness at Vienna."</p> - -<p>"And with glory" said the princess. "We know that."</p> - -<p>"Miserable and fatal glory," said Consuelo. "One thing your highness -does not know; it is that Albert came secretly to Vienna and saw me -play. Following every step like a mysterious shadow, he heard me say, -behind the scenes to Joseph Haydn, that I could not abandon my art -without serious regret, yet I loved Albert. I swear before God, that -within my heart, I knew that it was more impossible to renounce him than -my profession, and wrote to him to say so. Porpora, who looked on this -love as a chimera and madness, had intercepted and burned my letters. I -found Albert in a rapid consumption; I gave him my hand, but could not -restore him to life. I saw him lying in state, clad as a noble of yore, -beautiful in the embrace of death, with his brow pure as that of the -pardoning angel—but I could not follow him to the grave. I left him -in the lighted chapel of the Giants' Castle, watched over by Zdenko, the -poor mad prophet, who gave me his hand with a smile, and rejoiced at the -tranquil slumber of his friend. He, at least, more pious and respectful -than I, placed him in the tomb of his fathers, without being aware that -he would never again leave that bed of repose. I was hurried away by -Porpora, a devoted, yet stern friend, with a paternal yet inflexible -heart, who shouted to me over the very tomb of my husband—'On Saturday -next, you will make your <i>début</i> in <i>Les Virtuoses Ridicules.</i>'"</p> - -<p>"Strange, indeed, are the vicissitudes of an artist's life," said the -princess, wiping away a tear. Porporina, as she concluded her story, -sobbed aloud. "You do not tell me, my dear Consuelo, the greatest honor -of your life, and which, when Supperville mentioned, filled me with -admiration. Not to distress the old canoness, and not to forfeit your -romantic disinterestedness, you abandoned your title, your dower, and -your name. You requested Supperville and Porpora, the only witnesses of -your marriage, to keep it a secret, and came hither poor as before, and -remained a Zingarella."</p> - -<p>"And an artiste," said Consuelo, "that is to say independent, virgin and -dead to all sentiment of love, such as Porpora always represented the -ideal type of the muses. My terrible master carried his point, and at -last I consented to what he struggled for. I do not think that I am -happier, nor that I am better. Since I love no longer, and feel no -longer capable of loving, I feel no longer the fire and inspiration of -the stage. This icy atmosphere, and this courtly air precipitates me -into the deepest distress. The absence of Porpora, the despair in which -I am, and the will of the king, who prolongs my engagement, contrary to -my wishes. May I not confess this, madame, to you?"</p> - -<p>"I might have guessed it, poor thing—all thought you proud of the -kind of preference with which the king honors you; but like myself, you -are his slave and prisoner,—in the same condition as his family -favorites, soldiers, pages and puppies. Alas! for the glitter of royalty, -the glories of the princely crown; how nauseous are they, to those whose -life is exhausted in furnishing them with rays of light. But, dear -Consuelo, you have yet other things to tell me, which are not those that -interest me least. I expect from your sincerity, that you will tell me -on what terms you are with my brother, and I will induce you to do so by -my own frankness. Thinking that you were his mistress, and flattering -myself that you could obtain Trenck's pardon from him, I sought you out, -to place the matter in your hands. Now, thank heaven! we have no need of -that, and I shall be pleased to love you for yourself. I think you can -tell me all without compromising yourself, especially as the affairs of -my brother do not seem far advanced from me."</p> - -<p>"The manner in which you speak of this matter, madame, makes me -shudder," replied Consuelo, growing pale. "Eight days ago I heard it -whispered around me, that the king, our master, entertained a serious -passion for me, his sad and trembling subject. Up to that time I had -never conceived anything possible between him and me, but a pleasant -conversation, benevolent on his side, and respectful on mine, he -exhibits a friendship and gratitude which was too great for the simple -part I had played at Roswald. There is a gulf, though, between that and -love, which I hope he will never pass."</p> - -<p>"I think differently. He is impetuous, talkative and familiar with you; -he talks to you as to a boy, and passes your hand to his brow and to his -lips. He effects in the presence of his friends—and for some days -this has been the case—to be less in love with you than he is. This -all proves that he is likely to become so. I know it, and warn you, that -ere long you will be called on to decide. What will you do? If you resist, -you are lost; if you yield that will still be the case. If this be so, -what will you do?"</p> - -<p>"Neither, madame. Like his recruits, I will desert."</p> - -<p>"That is not easy, and I do not wish you to do so, having become very -fond of you; and I think I would put the recruiters on your tracks -rather than you should escape. Well, we will find a way. The case is -grave, and demands consideration. Tell me all that has passed since -Albert's death."</p> - -<p>"Some strange and inexplicable things amid a monotonous and moody life. -I will tell you what they are, and your highness perhaps will aid me in -understanding them."</p> - -<p>"I will try, on condition that you will call me Amelia, as you did just -now. It is not yet midnight, and I do not wish to be <i>highnessed</i> -until day."</p> - -<p>Porporina resumed her story thus:</p> - -<p>"I have already told to Madame Von Kleist, when she first did me the -honor of coming to my house, that I was separated from Porpora on the -frontier of Prussia, as I was coming from Bohemia. Even now, I am -ignorant, whether his passport was not regular, or if the king had -caused us to be preceded by one of those orders, the rapidity of which -is a prodigy, to exclude Porpora from his territories. This idea, -perhaps wrong, at first suggested itself to me, for I remembered the -brusque lightness and scowling sincerity with which the maestro defended -Trenck, and blamed the king, when Frederick, at supper at Count -Hoditz's, where he had represented himself as the Baron Von Kreutz, and -told us himself of Trenck's <i>treason</i> and confinement at Glatz."</p> - -<p>"Indeed! then the Maestro Porpora displeased the king in talking of -Trenck?"</p> - -<p>"The king never mentioned it to me, and I feared to remind him of it. It -is certain, that in spite of my prayers, and his majesty's promises, -Porpora has not been recalled."</p> - -<p>"And he never will be," said Amelia, "for the king forgets nothing, and -never pardons frankness when it wounds his self-love. The Solomon of the -north hates and persecutes whoever doubts the infallibility of his -opinions; his arrest is but a gross feint, and an odious pretext to get -rid of an enemy. Weep, then, if you wish, my dear, for you will never -see Porpora at Berlin."</p> - -<p>"In spite of my chagrin at his absence, I do not wish, madame, to see -him here, and I will take no steps to induce the king to pardon him. I -received a letter from him this morning, in which he announces that an -opera of his had been received at the imperial theatre at Vienna. After -a thousand disappointments he has attained his purpose, and his pieces -are about to be studied: I prefer, therefore, to go to him, than to -bring him hither. I am afraid, though, I shall not be at more liberty to -go hence, than I was to come."</p> - -<p>"What say you?"</p> - -<p>"At the frontier, when I saw that my master was forced to return I -wished to accompany him and give up my engagement at Berlin. I was so -indignant at the brutality and apparent bad faith of such a reception, -that to pay the penalty I would have lived by the sweat of my brow -rather than enter a country so despotically ruled. At the first -exhibition of my intentions I was ordered by the officer to get into the -post-chaise, which was ready in the twinkling of an eye; and as I saw -myself surrounded by soldiers determined to use constraint, I embraced -my master with tears, and resolved to suffer myself to be taken to -Berlin, which, crushed with grief and fatigue, I reached at midnight. I -was set down near the palace, not far from the opera in a handsome house -belonging to the king, in which I was absolutely alone. I found servants -at my orders, and supper all ready. I have learned that Von Poelnitz had -been directed to prepare every thing for my arrival. I was scarcely -installed when the Baron Von Kreutz sent to know if I was visible. I -hastened to receive him, being anxious to complain of Porpora's -treatment, and to ask reparation. I pretended not to know that Frederick -II. was the Baron Von Kreutz. I appeared to be ignorant of it. The -deserter, Karl, in confiding his plan to murder him, to me, had not -mentioned his name, but had spoken of him as a superior Prussian -officer, and I had learned who it was from the lips of Count Hoditz, -after the king had left Roswald. He came in with a smiling and affable -air, which I had not seen during his incognito. Under his false name, -and in a foreign country, he had been much annoyed. At Berlin he seemed -to have regained all the majesty of his character—that is, the -benevolent kindness and generous mildness which sometimes decks his -omnipotence. He came to me with his hand extended, and asked if I -remembered to have met him.</p> - -<p>"'Yes, baron,' said I, 'and I remember that you offered and promised me -your good offices at Berlin, should I need them.' I then told him with -vivacity what had taken place on the frontier, and asked if he could not -forward to the king, his illustrious master, a demand for reparation for -the outrage and the constraint to which I had been subjected.</p> - -<p>"'Reparation?' said the king, smiling maliciously, 'that all! Would -Signor Porpora call the King of Prussia out? Signorina Porporina, -perhaps, would require him to kneel to her.'</p> - -<p>"This jeer increased my ill-humor. 'Your majesty may add irony to what I -have already suffered, but I had rather thank than fear you.'</p> - -<p>"The king shook his arm rudely. 'Ah!' said he, 'you play a sharp game.' -As he spoke he fixed his penetrating eyes on mine: 'I thought you simple -and full of honesty; yet you know me at Roswald.'"</p> - -<p>"'No, sire, I did not know you then. Would that I did not know you -now.'</p> - -<p>"'I cannot say so much,' said he, mildly, 'for had it not been for you, -I would have remained in some ditch at Roswald. Victories furnish no -ægis against assassination, and I will never forget that if the fate of -Prussia yet be in my hands, I owe it to a kind heart, opposed to all -plots. Your ill temper, then, dear Porporina, will not make me -ungrateful. Be calm, I beg you, and tell me what you complain of, for, -as yet, I know nothing about it.'</p> - -<p>"Whether the king really knew nothing, or the police had discovered -something informal in the passport of Porpora, I know not. He listened -with great attention to my story, and told me afterwards, with the -calmness of a judge, who is unwilling to speak unadvisedly, 'I will -examine all this, and tell you about it. I shall be much surprised, if, -without good cause, my officers have annoyed a traveller. There must be -some mistake; I will find out, and if any one has exceeded his orders he -shall be punished.'</p> - -<p>"'Sire, that is not what I ask; I wish Porpora recalled.'</p> - -<p>"'I promise you he shall be. Now be less sombre, and tell me frankly -how you discovered my incognito.'</p> - -<p>"I then spoke freely with the king, and found him so kind and amiable, -so agreeable, that I forgot all the prejudices I entertained against -him. I admired his brilliant and judicious mind, his easy and benevolent -manners, which I had not remarked in Maria Theresa, and finally the -delicacy of his sentiments about all things on which his conversation -touched. 'Hear me,' said he, taking up his hat to go, 'I have a piece of -friendly advice to give you on this, the very day of your arrival here. -It is, not to speak of the service you have rendered me, nor of this -visit. Though it be very honorable and natural that I should hasten to -thank you, the fact would give rise to a very false idea of the friendly -relations I wish to maintain with you. All would think you anxious of -that position, known in court language as the king's favorite. Some -would distrust, and others be jealous of you. The least inconvenience -would be to attract to you all who had petitions, the channel of which -they would expect you to be. As you would certainly have the good sense -not to play this part, you would be the complete object of their -enmity.'</p> - -<p>"'I promise your majesty to act as you have ordered me.'</p> - -<p>"'I give you no orders, Consuelo,' said he, 'but rely on your prudence -and correctness. At the first glance I saw you had a pure and noble -soul, and because I wished to make you the fine pearl of my department -of the arts, I ordered from the remotest part of Siberia that a carriage -should be provided for you as soon as you came to my frontier. It was -not my fault that you were placed in a kind of travelling prison, and -separated from your protector. Until he be restored to you I will -replace him, if you find me worthy of the confidence and attachment you -bore him.'</p> - -<p>"I own, my dear Amelia, that I was keenly sensible of this paternal -language and delicate attention. Something of pride, perhaps, mingled -with it, and tears came to my eyes when the king, as he left me gave me -his hand. I had to kiss it, as doubtless duty required; but as I am -making a confession, I will say at the time I felt terrified and -paralyzed. It seemed to me that his majesty flattered and cajoled my -self-esteem, to prevent my telling what had passed at Roswald, as likely -to produce in some minds an impression injurious to his policy. It also -occurred to me that he was afraid of being ridiculed for feeling grateful -for my services. At once, too, I recalled the terrible military <i>régime</i> -of Prussia, of which Trenck had minutely informed me—the ferocity -of the recruiters—the misfortunes of Karl—the captivity of -the noble Trenck, which I attributed to his having rescued the poor -soldier—the cries of another soldier I had seen beaten that morning, -as I passed through a village—and all that despotism which was the -force and glory of Frederick the Great. I could not hate him -personally—but I saw in him an absolute master, the natural enemy -of those pure minds which do not see the necessity of inhuman laws, and -cannot penetrate the secrets of empires."</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX</a></h4> - - -<p>"Thenceforth," continued Porporina, "I never saw the king at home. He -sometimes sent for me to come to <i>Sans Souci</i>, where I even passed -several days with my companions, Porporino or Conceolini; and here I -used to play the piano at his little concerts, and accompany the violin -of Braun or Benda, or the flute of Quantz, and sometimes the king -himself."</p> - -<p>"It is less pleasant to accompany him than any of the others," said the -Princess of Prussia. "I know, by experience, that whenever my dear -brother plays a false note, or loses the time, he does not fail to scold -all the <i>concertanti.</i>"</p> - -<p>"That is true," said Porporina, "and his skilful master, Quantz, -himself, has not always been able to avoid his injustice. His majesty, -however, when thus led astray, soon repairs the injury by acts of -deference and delicate praise, which pour balm on wounded self-love. -Thus, by a kind word, by an exclamation of admiration, he causes his -severity and his anger to be excused, even by artists, who are the most -susceptible people in the world."</p> - -<p>"But could you, after you knew of him, suffer yourself to be fascinated -by this basilisk?"</p> - -<p>I will own, madame, that often, without knowing it, I felt the influence -of his ascendancy. As trickery has ever been foreign to me, I may always -be the dupe, and only ascertain the meaning of disingennousness too -late. I also saw the king very frequently on the stage and sometimes -even, when the performance was over, in my dressing-room. He was always -paternal in his conduct towards me. I was never alone with him more than -two or three times in the gardens of <i>Sans Souci</i>, and I must confess -that then I had found out his hour of walking, and went thither -expressly to meet him. He then called or came courteously to me, and I -took advantage of the opportunity to speak to him of Porpora, and renew -my request. I always received the same promises, but never reaped any -advantage. Subsequently I changed my tactics, and asked leave to return -to Vienna. He heard my prayer, sometimes with affectionate reproaches, -sometimes with icy coldness, and often with yet greater ill-humor. The -last attempt was not more fortunate than the others, and even when the -king said, drily—'Go, signora; you are free,' I could obtain no -settlement of accounts, nor permission to travel. This is the state of -affairs, and I see no resource but in flight, should my situation here -become too grievous to be borne. Alas! madame, I have often been wounded -by Maria Theresa's small taste for music, but never suspected that a -king, almost fanatic for the art, was more to be feared than an empress -without any ear.</p> - -<p>"I have told you briefly all my relations with his majesty. I never had -occasion to fear or even to suspect that your highness would think he -loved me. Nevertheless, I was proud, sometimes, when I thought that, -thanks to my musical talent and the romantic incident which led to my -preserving his life, the king seemed to have a friendship for me. He -often told me so with the greatest grace, and most perfect simplicity; -he seemed to love to talk with me with such perfect <i>bonhommie</i>, that -I became used, I know not how, to love him with perfect friendship. The -word is, perchance, <i>bizarre</i>, and a little misplaced in my mouth; but -the sentiment of affectionate respect and timid confidence which the -presence, glance, eye, words and tone of the royal basilisk, as you call -him, inspired me with, is strange as it is sincere. We are here to make -a full confession, and we have agreed that I shall shrink from nothing: -well, I protest that I am afraid of the king, and almost have a horror -of him, when I do not see him, yet breathe the rarified air of his -empire. When I see him, however, I am charmed, and am ready to give him -every proof of devotion, which a timid, but affectionate girl, can give -to a rigid, yet kind father."</p> - -<p>"You frighten me," said the princess. "Good God! what if you were to -suffer yourself to be controlled and cajoled so as to destroy our -cause?"</p> - -<p>"Ah! madame, have no apprehensions about that. When the affairs of my -friends or of any other persons arc concerned, I am able to defy the -king, and others even more shrewd than he, if there be such, and yet -fall into no snare."</p> - -<p>"I believe you. You exercise over me by your frankness the same -influence which Frederick exerts over you. Well, do not be excited for I -do not compare you together. Resume your story, and tell me of -Cagliostro. I have heard that at one of his magic representations, he -recalled to you one who had long been dead. I suppose that person was -Albert?"</p> - -<p>"I am ready to satisfy you, my noble Amelia; but, if I consent to reveal -to you a painful story, which I would willingly forget, I have the right -to address a few questions to you, according to the arrangement we have -made."</p> - -<p>"I am ready to answer you."</p> - -<p>"Well, madame; do you think the dead can leave the tomb, or, at least, -that a reflection of their forms animated by the appearance of life, may -be evoked, at the will of sorcerers, and so take possession of our -fancy, that it may be reproduced before our eyes and take possession of -our reason?"</p> - -<p>"The question is very complicated, and all that I can say is, that I do -not believe in the impossible. I do not think that a resurrection of the -dead can be produced by magic. As far as our poor foolish imagination is -concerned, I think it capable of everything."</p> - -<p>"Your highness—excuse me—your highness has no faith in magic -yet. . . But the question is indiscreet beyond doubt."</p> - -<p>"Go on—yet I have devoted myself to magic; that is well known. -Well, my dear girl, let me explain this inconsistency, which appears so -strange both in place and time. After being aware of the nature of the -scroll sent by Saint Germain, which, to tell the truth, was but a letter -sent to me by Trenck, you can understand that necromancy is a pretext for -many other things. To reveal to you, however, all that it conceals from -the vulgar eye, all that it hides from courtly espionage and legal -oppression, would be but the affair of an instant. Be patient, for I -have resolved to initiate you into all my secrets. You are far more -deserving of this confidence than my dear Von Kleist, who is timid and -superstitious. Yes, I tell you this angel of goodness, this tender -heart, has no common sense. She has faith in the devil, in sorcerers, -ghosts, and presages, just as if she did not have in her hands and under -her very eyes, the mysterious clues of the great work. She is, like the -alchemists of the past, who created patiently and wisely, all kinds of -monsters, but who then became afraid of their own handicraft, so that -they became the slaves of demons, originated in their own alembic."</p> - -<p>"Perhaps I may not be braver than the Baroness Von Kleist," said -Porporina, "and I confess I am under the influence, if not under the -power of Cagliostro. Imagine, that after having promised to show me the -person of whom I thought, the name of whom he pretended to read in my -eyes, he showed me another. Besides, he showed me as living, whom he did -not know to be dead. Notwithstanding this double error, he resusicated -the husband I had lost, and that will ever be to me a painful and -inexpressible enigma."</p> - -<p>"He showed you some phantom, and fancy filled up the details."</p> - -<p>"I can assure you that my fancy was in no respect interested. I expected -to see in a mirror some representation of Maestro Porpora, for I had -spoken often of him at supper, and while deploring his absence, had seen -that Cagliostro paid no little attention to my words. To make his task -more easy, I chose in my mind the face of Porpora, as the subject of the -apparition, and I expected him certainly, not having as yet considered -the test as serious. Finally at perhaps the only moment in my life in -which I did not think of the Count, he appeared. Cagliostro asked me -when I went into the magic closet, if I would consent to have my eyes -bandaged and follow him, holding on to his hand. As he was a man of good -reputation, I did not hesitate; but made it a condition, that he would -not leave me for an instant. 'I was going,' said he, 'to address you a -request, not to leave me a moment, and not to let go my hand, without -regard to what may happen, or what emotion you may feel.' I promised -him; but a simple affirmative did not suffice, he made me solemnly swear -that I would make no gesture nor exclamation, but remain mute and silent -during the whole of the experiment. He then put on his glove, and having -covered my head with a hood of black velvet, which fell over my -shoulders, he made me walk about five minutes without my being able to -hear any door opened or shut. The hood kept me from being aware of any -change in the atmosphere, therefore I could not know whether I had gone -out of the room or not, for he made me make such frequent turns, that I -had no appreciation of the direction."</p> - -<p>At last he paused; and, with one hand removed the hood, so lightly that -I was not even aware of it. My respiration having become more free, he -informed me that I might look around. I found myself, however, in such -intense darkness that I could ascertain nothing. After a short time, I -saw a luminous star, which at first trembled, and soon became brilliant -before me. At first, it seemed most remote, but, when at its brightest, -appeared very near me. It was produced, I think, of a light, which -became more and more intense, and which was behind a transparency. -Cagliostro made me approach the star, which was an orifice pierced in -the wall. On the other side of that wall I saw a chamber, magnificently -decorated and filled with lights regularly arranged. This room, in its -character and ornaments, had every air of a place dedicated to magical -operations. I had not time, however, to examine it, my attention being -absorbed by a person who sat before a table. He was alone, and hid his -face with his hands, as if immersed in deep meditation. I could not see -his features, and his person was disguised by a costume in which I had -hitherto seen no one. As far as I was able to remark it, it was a robe -or cloak of white satin, faced with purple, fastened over the breast -with hieroglyphic gems, on which I observed a rose, a triangle, a cross, -a death's-head, and many rich ribbons of various kinds. All that I could -see was that it was not Porpora. After one or two minutes, this -mysterious personage, which I began to fancy a statue, slowly moved its -hands, and I saw the face of Count Albert distinctly, not as it had last -met my gaze, covered with the shadows of death, but animated amid its -pallor, and full of soul in its serenity; such, in fine, as I had seen -it in its most beautiful seasons of calm and confidence. I was on the -point of uttering a cry, and by an involuntary movement, crushing the -crystal which separated him from me. A violent pressure of Cagliostro's -hand, reminded me of my oath, and impressed me with I know not what -vague terror. Just then a door opened at the extremity of the room in -which I saw Albert; and many unknown persons, dressed as he was, joined -him, each bearing a sword. After having made strange gestures, as if -they had been playing a pantomime, they spoke to him in a very solemn -tone words I could not comprehend. He arose and went towards them, and -replied in words equally strange, and which were unintelligible to me, -though now I know German nearly as well as my mother tongue. This -dialogue was like that which we hear in dreams, and the strangeness of -the scene, the miracle of the apparition, had so much of this character, -that I really doubted whether I dreamed or not. Cagliostro, however, -forced me to be motionless, and I recognised the voice of Albert so -perfectly that I could not doubt the reality of what I saw. At last, -completely carried away by the scene, I was about to forget my oath and -speak to him, when the hood again was placed over my head and all became -dark. 'If you make the least noise,' said Cagliostro, 'neither you nor I -will see the light again.' I had strength enough to follow him, and walk -for a long time amid the zig-zags of an unknown space. Finally, when he -took away the hood again, I found myself in his laboratory which was -dimly lighted as it had been at the commencement of this adventure. -Cagliostro was very pale, and still trembled, for, as I walked with him, -I became aware of a convulsive agitation of his arm, and that he hurried -me along as if he was under the influence of great terror. The first -thing he said was to reproach me bitterly about my want of loyalty, and -the terrible dangers to which I had exposed him by wishing to violate my -promises. 'I should have remembered,' said he, 'that women are not bound -by their word of honor, and that one should forbear to accede to their -rash and vain curiosity.' His tone was very angry.</p> - -<p>"Hitherto I had participated in the terror of my guide. I had been so -amazed at Albert's being alive, that I had not enquired if this was -possible. I had even forgotten that death had bereft me of this dear and -precious friend. The emotion of the magician recalled to me, that all -this was very strange, and that I had seen only a spectre. My reason, -however, repudiated what was impossible, and the bitterness of the -reproaches of Cagliostro caused a kind of ill-humor, which protected me -from weakness. 'You feign to have faith in your own falsehood,' said I, -with vivacity; 'ah! your game is very cruel. Yes; you sport with all -that is most holy, even with death itself.'</p> - -<p>"'Soul without faith, and without power,' said he angrily, but in a most -imposing manner. 'You believe in death, as the vulgar do, and yet you had -a great master—one who said: "<i>We do not die. Nothing dies;—there -is nothing dies.</i>" You accuse me of falsehood, and seem to forget that -the only thing which is untrue here, is the name of death in your -impious mouth.' I confess that this strange reply overturned all my -thoughts, and for a moment overcame the resistance of my troubled mind. -How came this man to be aware of my relations with Albert, and even the -secrets of his doctrine? Did he believe as Albert did, or did he make -use of this as a means to acquire an ascendancy over me?</p> - -<p>"I was confused and alarmed. Soon, however, I said that this gross -manner of interpreting Albert's faith, could not be mine, and that God, -not the impostor Cagliostro, can evoke death, or recall life. Finally, -convinced that I was the dupe of an inexplicable illusion, the -explanation of which, however, I might some day find, I arose, praising -coldly the <i>savoir-faire</i> of the sorcerer, and asked him for an -explanation of the whimsical conversation his phantoms had together. In -relation to that he replied, that it was impossible to satisfy me, and -that I should be satisfied with seeing the person calm, and carefully -occupied. 'You will ask me in vain,' added he, 'what are his thoughts -and actions in life. I am ignorant even of his name. When you desired, -and asked to see it, there was formed between you two a mysterious -communication, which my power was capable of making able to bring you -together. All science goes no farther.'</p> - -<p>"'Your science,' said I, 'does not reach that far even; I thought of -Porpora, and you did not present him to me.'</p> - -<p>"'Of that I know nothing,' said he, in a tone serious and terrible. 'I -do not wish to know. I have seen nothing, either in your mind, or in the -magic mirror. My mind would not support such a spectacle, and I must -maintain all my senses to exercise my power. The laws of science are -infallible, and consequently, though not aware of it yourself, you must -have thought of some one else than Porpora, since you did not see the -latter.'"</p> - -<p>"Such is the talk of madmen of that kind," said the princess, shrugging -her shoulders. "Each one has his peculiar mode; though all, by means of -a captious reasoning, which may be called the method of madness, so -contrive by disturbing the ideas of others, that they are never cut -short, or disturbed themselves."</p> - -<p>"He certainly disturbed mine," said Consnelo, "and I was no longer able -to analyse them. The apparition of Albert, true or false, made me more -distinctly aware that I had lost him forever, and I shed tears.</p> - -<p>"'Consuelo;' said the magician in a solemn tone, and offering me his -hand, (you may imagine that my real name, hitherto unknown to all, was -an additional surprise, when I heard him speak it,) 'you have great -errors to repair, and I trust you will neglect nothing to regain your -peace of mind.' I had not power to reply. I sought in vain to hide my -tears from my companions, who waited impatiently for me in the next -room. I was more impatient yet to withdraw, and as soon as I was alone, -after having given a free course to my grief, I passed the night in -reflections and commentaries on the scenes of this fatal evening. The -more I sought to understand it, the more I became lost in a labyrinth of -uncertainty; and I must own that my ideas were often worse than an -implicit obedience to the oracles of magic would have been. Worn out by -fruitless suffering, I resolved to suspend my judgment until there -should be light. Since then, however, I have been impressionable, -subject to the vapors, sick at heart, and deeply sad. I was not more -sensibly aware of the death of my friend than I had been; the remorse -which his generous pardon had lulled to rest, again began to torment me. -By constantly exercising my profession, I grew weary of the frivolous -intoxication of success; besides, in this country, where the mind of man -seems sombre as the climate——"</p> - -<p>"And the government?" said the abbess.</p> - -<p>"In this government, where I felt overcome and chilled, I saw that I -would not make the progress I dreamed of."</p> - -<p>"What do you wish to do? We have never heard anything that approached -you, and I do not think there is a more perfect singer in the world. I -tell you what I think, and this is not a compliment <i>à la Frederick.</i>"</p> - -<p>"Even if your highness be not mistaken, a matter of which I am -ignorant," said Consuelo, with a smile, ("for except La Romanina and La -Tesi, I have heard no other singer than myself,) I think there is always -something to be attempted, and something more than has been done to be -accomplished. Well, this ideal, which I have borne in myself, I might -have been able to approach in a life of action, strife, and bold -enterprise, of mutual sympathy, and in a word, of enthusiasm. The chilly -regularity which reigns here, the military discipline, which extends -even to the theatre, the calm and constant benevolence of a public, -which minds its own business while it listens to us, the high protection -of the king, which guarantees to us successes decreed in advance, the -absence of rivalry and novelty in the artists themselves, and in the -performances—above all, the idea of indefinite captivity, this every -day and icy labor-life, sadly glorious yet compulsory, which we lead in -Prussia, has deprived me even of the desire of perfecting myself. There -are days when I feel myself so utterly without energy, and so void of -that touchy self-love which aids the artist's conscience, that I would -pay for the excitement of a hiss. Alas! let me be deficient at my entry, -or fail towards the end of the performance, I always receive the same -applause. Applause, when I do not deserve it, gives me no pleasure, and -it afflicts me sometimes when I really do deserve it, because they are -officially measured out and ordered, and I feel that I deserve voluntary -praise. All this may seem puerile to you, noble Amelia; but you ask to -know the profundity of an actor's life, and I conceal nothing -from you."</p> - -<p>"You explain all this so naturally, that I feel as if I had experienced -it myself. To do you good I would hiss you when you do not sing well, -and throw you a crown of roses when you are thereby aroused."</p> - -<p>"Alas! kind princess, neither would please the king. The king is -unwilling that his actors should be offended, because applause and hisses -follow close together. My <i>ennui</i> has on that account no remedy, -in spite of your generous friendship. United to this languor is regret -at having preferred a life so false and void of emotion, to one of love -and devotion. Especially, since the adventure with Cagliostro, a black -melancholy took possession of my breast. No night passes that I do not -dream of Albert, and fancy him offended or irritated with me, busied, or -speaking an incomprehensible language—a prey to ideas altogether -foreign to our love—as when I saw him in the magic scene. I awake, -covered with cold perspiration, and weep when I think that in the new -life into which death has ushered him, his moody and disconsolate heart -cares neither for my grief, nor for my disdain. At all events, I killed -him, and it is in the power of no man, even one who had made an -agreement with the powers of light and darkness, to restore him to me. I -can, therefore, repair nothing in the useless and solitary life I lead, -and I have no other wish but to die."</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X</a></h4> - - -<p>"Have you then formed no new friendships?" said the Princess Amelia. -"Among so many people of mind and talent, whom my brother boasts of -having attracted to him from every corner of the world, is there no one -worthy of esteem?"</p> - -<p>"Certainly, madame, there are many, and were I not inclined to -retirement, I would find many kind friends. Mademoiselle Cochois, for -instance——"</p> - -<p>"The Marquise D'Argens, you mean."</p> - -<p>"I did not know that was her name."</p> - -<p>"You are discreet—you are right. She is an admirable person."</p> - -<p>"Extremely so; and very kind, though vain of the care and attentions of -the marquis, and rather inclined to look down on other artists."</p> - -<p>"She would feel much humiliated if she knew whom you are. The name of -Rudolstadt is one of the noblest of Saxony, while the D'Argens are but -country gentlemen of Provence or Languedoc. What kind of person is -Madame Coccei? Do you know her?"</p> - -<p>"As Signora Barberini has not danced at the opera since her marriage, -and passes the greater portion of her time in the country, I have rarely -seen her. Of all the actresses, she is the one I like the most, and have -been often invited by her and her husband to visit them on their estate. -The king gave me to understand, however, that this would greatly -displease him, and I was forced to give it up, though it deprived me of -much pleasure. I do not know why he acted thus."</p> - -<p>"I will tell you. The king made love to Signora Barberini, who preferred -the son of the grand chancellor and his majesty fears you will follow a -bad example. But have you no friends among the men?"</p> - -<p>"I like Francis Benda, his majesty's first violin, very much. There is -much to unite us. He led a gipsy life in his youth, as I did. He has, -like myself, very little fondness for the greatness of this world, and -has preferred liberty to wealth. He has often told me that he fled from -the Court of Saxony, to enjoy the wandering, joyous, and miserable life -of the artists of the high road. The world is not aware that there are -on the road, and on the street, artists of great merit. An old blind -Jew, amid mountains and valleys, had educated Benda. His name was -Lœbel, and Benda always spoke of him with admiration, though the old -man died on a truss of straw, or perhaps in a ditch. Before he devoted -his attention to the violin, Francis Benda had a superb voice, and was a -professional singer. Sorrow and trouble destroyed his voice. In pure -air, and leading a wandering life, he acquired a new talent; his genius -found a new outlet, and from this wandering conservatory emerged the -magnificent artist, whose presence the King of Prussia does not disdain -in his private concerts. George Benda, his youngest brother, is also -full of talent, and is, by turns, either an epicurean or a misanthrope. -His strange mind is not always amiable, but he is always interesting. I -think he will not be able <i>to get in line</i>, like his other brothers, -who now bear with resignation the golden chain of royal favoritism. He, -whether because he is younger, or because his nature is indomitable, -always talks of flying. He is so terribly afflicted here with <i>ennui</i>, -that it is a pleasure to me to sympathize with him."</p> - -<p>"Do you not fear that this communion of <i>ennui</i> will lead to a more -tender sentiment? This would not be the first time that love sprang from -<i>ennui</i>."</p> - -<p>"I neither fear nor hope it," said Consuelo. "I feel that it will never -be the case. I have told you, my dear Amelia, that something strange is -going on within my mind. Since Albert's death, I think of, and can love, -no one but him. I think that this is the first time that love sprang -from death, and yet this has happened to me. I cannot console myself for -not having made one worthy of happiness happy, and this tenacious regret -has become a fixed idea—a kind of passion—a folly, perhaps."</p> - -<p>"It looks like it," said the princess. "It is at least a disease, yet it -is a sorrow which I experience and understand, for if I love an absent -person, whom I never shall see, it is really as if I loved one who is -dead. But, tell me, is not Prince Henry, my brother, an amiable -gentleman?"</p> - -<p>"Certainly he is."</p> - -<p>"Very fond of the beautiful—a real artist's soul—a hero in -war—a figure which, without being beautiful, pleases and -strikes—a proud and independent soul—an enemy to -despotism—the rebellious and menacing slave of my tyrant -brother—and certainly the best of the family. Have I not described -him?"</p> - -<p>"I listen to this as a jest."</p> - -<p>"And do you not wish to look on it as serious?"</p> - -<p>"No, madame."</p> - -<p>"You are hard to please, my dear. What do you charge him with?"</p> - -<p>"A great defect, or, at least, an invincible obstacle to my loving him. -He is a prince."</p> - -<p>"Thank you for the compliment. Then you fainted for nothing at the play -a few days since. They say that the king, early in the performance, -became jealous at the manner that he looked at you, and placed him in -arrest. This, they affirm, made you sick."</p> - -<p>"I did not even know that the prince had been arrested, and am certain -I am not the cause of it. The reason of my accident is very different. -Madame, fancy that amid the music I sang—rather mechanically, it is -true, as often is the case here—my eyes wandered over the house, -particularly over the first row of boxes. Suddenly, in that occupied by -M. Golowkin, I saw a pale face, which leaned slightly forward, as if it -would examine me. This face was Albert's, I will swear to it, madame, -for I knew it. I cannot tell whether it was an illusion, but, if so, it -was terrible and complete!"</p> - -<p>"Poor thing! It is certain that you have strange fancies."</p> - -<p>"Oh! that is not all. Last week, when I had given you the letter of -Trenck, and was retiring. I became lost, and strayed to the museum, -where I met Stoss, with whom I paused to talk. Well, there I saw again -Albert's face, again menacing, as on the day before it had been -indefinite—as I always saw it in my dreams, angry or threatening."</p> - -<p>"Did Stoss also see it?"</p> - -<p>"Very well; and he told me it was a certain Trismegistus, whom your -highness sometimes consults as a necromancer."</p> - -<p>"Good heavens!" said the Baroness Von Kleist, growing pale, "I was sure -he was a real sorcerer. I could never look at him without fear. Though -he has a handsome face and a noble air, there is something diabolical in -his countenance, and I am sure, like Proteus, he can assume any form he -pleases, to terrify us. Besides, he scolds and frowns, as all people of -his sort do. I remember once when he calculated my horoscope, he charged -me with having asked for a divorce from the Baron Von Kleist because the -latter was ruined. This he thought a great offence. I wished to defend -myself, and as he assumed a very high tone, I began to get angry. He -said that I would marry again, and that my second husband would die, in -consequence of my fault, far more miserably than the first had done, and -that I would suffer severely, not only from my own conscience, but in -public opinion. As he spoke, his face became so terrible, that I fancied -that I saw Von Kleist again, and shrieking aloud, I took refuge in her -highness's room."</p> - -<p>"Yes, it was a strange scene," said the princess, who, from time to time -resumed, as if in spite of herself, her dry mocking tone. "I laughed as -if I was mad."</p> - -<p>"There was no reason why you should," said Consuelo, naïvely. "Who, -however, is this Trismegistus, since your highness has no faith in -magic?"</p> - -<p>"I told you that some day I would tell you what sorcery is. Do not be so -eager. For the present be satisfied with the knowledge that this -Trismegistus is a man whom I esteem very highly, and who can be of much -use to us three, and to many others."</p> - -<p>"I would like to see him again," said Consuelo, "and though I tremble to -think of it, I would like really to know whether he resembled the Count -of Rudolstadt as much as I have imagined."</p> - -<p>"If he resembles Rudolstadt, say you? Well, you recall a circumstance to -me which I had forgotten, and which will, perhaps, explain all this great -mystery. Wait—let me think for a moment—yes, now I know. Listen -to me, and learn to distrust all that seems supernatural. Cagliostro -showed you Trismegistus, for they know each other, and were here at the -same time last year. You saw this Trismegistus at the theatre in Count -Golowkin's box, for he lives in his house, and they study chemistry and -alchemy together. You saw Trismegistus in the palace a few days ago, for -not long after you left me, I saw him, and he gave me all the details of -his escape."</p> - -<p>"Because he wished to boast of having contributed to it," said the -baroness, "and to induce your highness to repay certain sums, which I am -sure were not paid out for that purpose. Your highness may say what you -please, but I am sure that man is a swindler."</p> - -<p>"Yet that, Von Kleist, does not keep him from being a great sorcerer. -How can you reconcile respect for his science with contempt for his -person?"</p> - -<p>"Ah! madame, there is no incongruity. We fear, yet detest sorcerers. -That is exactly the way we think of the devil."</p> - -<p>"Yet, if one wishes to see the devil, one must go to the magician. Is -that your logic, my fair Von Kleist?"</p> - -<p>"But, madame," said Consuelo, who had listened to this strange -conversation, "how comes it that you know this man is like the count?"</p> - -<p>"I forgot to tell you, and I learned the fact by mere chance. This -morning, when Supperville told me your story, and that of Count Albert, -his words made me curious to know if he was handsome, and if his face -was like his strange imagination. Supperville, for some time, seemed -lost in thought, and finally told me. 'Madame, I can give you an exact -idea; you have among your playthings a creature, terribly like poor -Rudolstadt, if he were only more pale, thin, and differently dressed. I -mean your sorcerer, Trismegistus. That is the explanation of the affair, -my dear widow; and about that there is no more mystery than there really -is in Cagliostro, Trismegistus, Saint Germain&Co."</p> - -<p>"You lift a burden off my breast," said Porporina, "and a black veil -from my heart. It seems to me that I am born again, and awake from a -painful sleep. Thanks are due to you for this explanation. I am not mad, -then; I have no visions, and will not be afraid of myself. See what the -human heart is," added she, after a moment of reverie. "I regret my fear -and weakness. In my extravagance, I persuaded myself that Albert was not -dead, and that one day, after having, by terrible apparitions, made me -expiate the wrong I had committed, he would return, without a cloud, and -without resentment. Now, I know that Albert sleeps in the tomb of his -ancestors, and that he will not recover. That death will not relax its -prey, is a terrible certainty."</p> - -<p>"Could you entertain any doubt? Well! there is some happiness in being -mad: for my own part, I had not hoped Trenck would leave the Silesian -dungeons yet; it was possible, and has occurred."</p> - -<p>"Were I to tell you, my beautiful Amelia, all the fancies to which my -poor soul abandoned itself, you would see that in spite of the -improbability, they were not impossible. Lethargy, for instance, Albert -was liable to it. But I will not call back those conjectures. They -injure me too much, now that the form I took for Albert is that of a -chevalier of industry."</p> - -<p>"Trismegistus is not what he is supposed to be. One thing, however, is -certain, and that is, he is not Count Rudolstadt. Many years ago I knew -him, and apparently, at least, he is a diviner. Besides, he is not so -like Count Rudolstadt as you fancy. Supperville is too skillful a -physician to bury a man in a lethargy. He, too, does not believe in -ghosts, and has observed differences you did not."</p> - -<p>"I would be so pleased to see Trismegistus again," said Consuelo in a -tone of deep reverie.</p> - -<p>"You will not, perhaps, see him soon," said the princess, very coldly. -"He has gone to Warsaw, having left the very day you saw him in the -palace. He never remains more than two days at Berlin. He will, however, -certainly return during the ear——"</p> - -<p>"But, if it should be Albert?" said Consuelo.</p> - -<p>The princess shrugged her shoulders.</p> - -<p>"Beyond all doubt," said she, "fate condemns me to have as friends -either male or female fools. One of you fancies my sorcerer her husband, -the Canon Von Kleist, and the other her deceased husband, the Count of -Rudolstadt. It is well that I have a strong head, otherwise I would -fancy he was Trenck, and no one knows what would happen. Trismegistus is -a poor sorcerer not to take advantage of all these mistakes. Porporina, -my beautiful, do not look at me with an expression of such -consternation. Resume your presence of mind. How can you fancy that if -Count Albert has recovered from lethargy so strange a thing would have -been known? Have you, too, kept up no correspondence with the family?"</p> - -<p>"None," said Consuelo. "The Canoness Wenceslawa has written twice in -one year to inform me of two pieces of bad news, the death of her eldest -brother Christian, my husband's father, who ended his long career -without any knowledge of his misfortune, and the death of Baron -Frederick, brother of the count and canoness, who was killed while -hunting, by rolling down a ravine in the fatal Schreckenstein. I replied -as I should have done to the canoness, and did not dare to offer her my -consolations. From her letters I gathered that her heart was divided -between kindness and pride. She called me her dear child and generous -friend, but did not seem to desire the succor or aid of my affection, at -all."</p> - -<p>"Then, you suppose that Albert, who has been resuscitated, lives quietly -and unknown at the Giants' Castle, without sending you any note, and -without any one outside of the castle being aware of the fact?"</p> - -<p>"No, madame, I do not; for that would be entirely impossible, and I am -foolish in wishing to think so," said Consuelo, concealing her face, -which was covered with tears, with her hands.</p> - -<p>As the night advanced, the princess seemed to resume the evil traits of -her character. The mocking and frivolous tone in which she spoke of -things which were so dear to Consuelo, terribly afflicted her.</p> - -<p>"Come, do not make yourself unhappy," said Amelia, brusquely. "This is a -pretty pleasure party: you have told us stories sufficient to call the -devil from home. Von Kleist has trembled and grown pale all the time, -and I think she will die of terror. I, too, who wished to be gay and -happy, suffer at witnessing your distress." The princess spoke the -latter part of this sentence with the kind diapason of her voice. -Consuelo looked up, and saw a tear roll down her cheek, while an -ironical sneer was on her lips. She kissed the hand which the abbess -reached out to her, and internally compassionated her for not being able -to act kindly during the four consequent hours.</p> - -<p>"Mysterious as the Giants' Castle may be," added the princess "stern as -is the pride of the canoness, and discreet as her servants are, be sure -nothing can pass without acquiring a certain kind of publicity. It was -in vain that they attempted to hide Count Albert's whimsicality, for the -whole province soon discovered it, and it was long ago talked of at the -little court of Bareith, when Supperville was sent for to attend your -poor husband. There is now in this family another mystery, to conceal -which every effort is made, but which is altogether ineffectual against -the malice of the public. This is the flight of the young Baroness -Amelia, who was carried off by a handsome adventurer, shortly after her -cousin's death."</p> - -<p>"I, madame, was long ignorant of it. I may, however, tell you that -everything is not discovered in this world, for up to this time no one -has been able to tell the name and rank of the man who carried her away. -Neither have they been able to discover the place of her retreat."</p> - -<p>"That is what Supperville told me. Well, cold Bohemia is the very land -for mysterious adventures. That, however, is no reason why Count Albert -should——"</p> - -<p>"For heaven's sake, madame, no more of that. I beg you will excuse me -for having told you so long a story—and when your highness shall -order me to retire?"</p> - -<p>"Two o'clock in the morning," said the baroness, as the palace clock, -sounding sadly, rang on her car.</p> - -<p>"Then we must separate, my dear friends, said the princess rising, for -my sister D'Anspach, will come at seven o'clock to wake me, to hear the -capers of her dear Margrave, who has just returned from Paris, and is -desperately in love with M'lle Clairon. Porporina, after all, you tragedy -queens are the only monarchs <i>de facto</i>, while we are <i>de jure.</i> -On that account you are the better off. There is no crowned head you -cannot bear away from us when you please, and some day I would not be -surprised to see M'lle Hippolyte Clairon, who is a girl of sense, become -Margravine D'Anspach, in partnership with my sister, who is a fool. Give -me my <i>pelisse</i>, Von Kleist; I will go with you as far as the -gallery."</p> - -<p>"And will your highness return alone?" said Madame Kleist, who seemed -very much troubled.</p> - -<p>"Alone and without any fear of the devil and his imps, who for several -nights have held a plenary court in the castle. Come, come, Consuelo, -and we will see how fearfully terrified Von Kleist will be, as she -crosses the gallery."</p> - -<p>The princess took a light, and went first, dragging the baroness, who -really was very timid. Consuelo followed them, a little terrified, -though she knew not why.</p> - -<p>"I assure you, madame, that this is the unlucky hour, and that it is -dangerous to cross this part of the castle at such a time. Why not wait -for half an hour longer? At half after two there is no danger."</p> - -<p>"What is this about?" said Consuelo, increasing her pace, so as to speak -to Madame Von Kleist.</p> - -<p>"Do you not know?" said the princess. "The white lady, who sweeps the -staircase and corridors of the palace whenever a member of the royal -family is about to die, has revisited the castle during the last few -nights. It appears that here she makes her apparitions. My life is -menaced. On that account you see me so tranquil. My sister-in-law, the -Queen of Prussia (the feeblest creature who ever wore a crown,) does not -sleep here, I am told, but goes every night to Charlottembourg; as she -has an infinite respect for <i>la balayeuse</i>, as well as the -queen's-mother, who need have no apprehensions about the matter. These -ladies have taken care to forbid any one to watch the phantom, or to -derange her noble occupations. Thus the palace is swept by authority, -and by Lucifer himself; that, though, is no reason why he should not be -very uncivil."</p> - -<p>Just then a great cat, which had come from the dark part of the gallery, -passed snarling and growling by Madame Von Kleist, who made a loud cry, -and sought to hurry to the princess's room. The latter restrained her -forcibly, filling the whole room with her loud shouts of laughter, -which, by the bye, were harsh and coarse, still more stern than the wind -which whistled through the depths of the vast room. The cold made -Consuelo tremble; perhaps, too, she was to a degree under the influence -of fear. The terrified air of Madame Von Kleist seemed to exhibit a real -danger, and the wild gaiety of the princess did not seem to evince any -real and sincere security.</p> - -<p>"I wonder at the incredulity of your royal highness," said the Baroness -Von Kleist, with a voice full of emotion. "Had you as I have done, seen -and heard the white lady, on the eve of the death of the late -king——"</p> - -<p>"Alas!" said Amelia, in a satanic tone, "I am very sure that it does not -now come to announce the death of my royal brother, and I am very glad -that it has not come for me. The demon knows well enough that to make me -happy, one or the other of us must die."</p> - -<p>"Ah! madame, do not talk thus, at such a time," said the Baroness Von -Kleist, the teeth of whom were so locked that she could scarcely speak. -"Now, for heaven's sake, pause and hear! Do you not tremble?"</p> - -<p>The princess paused with a decisive air, and the rustling of her silk -robe, which was heavy and thick almost as pasteboard, not being -sufficient to drown the distant noise, our three heroines, who had -nearly reached the stairway, at the bottom of the gallery, heard -distinctly the harsh noise of a broom, which sounded on the stone steps, -and seemed to approach them step by step, as if a servant was anxiously -striving to conclude his work.</p> - -<p>The princess paused for a moment, and then said in a resolute tone:</p> - -<p>"As there is nothing supernatural in all this, I wish to ascertain -whether or not some somnambulist, valet, or crazy page, be not at the -bottom of all this mystery. Put down your veil, Porporina, for you must -not be seen in my company. You, Von Kleist, can be frightened, if you -please. I give you fair notice, that I care nothing about you. Come, my -brave Rudolstadt, you have had far more dangerous adventures; follow me -if you love me."</p> - -<p>Amelia walked boldly towards the stairway, Consuelo followed her, and -the princess would not suffer her to take the torch from her. Madame Von -Kleist, who feared both to remain alone and to accompany them, hung -behind, holding on to Porporina's cloak.</p> - -<p>They no longer heard the devil's broom, and the princess reached the -stairway, over which she reached her light, to enable her to distinguish -the better what was going on below. Whether she was less calm than she -wished to seem, or that she saw some terrible object, her hand trembled, -and the torch of crimson and crystal fell down the echoing spiral. -Madame Von Kleist at once forgot both the princess and the prima donna, -and fled away until, in spite of the darkness, she came to her -mistress's rooms, where she sought a refuge, while the latter, -participating in this strange excitement, went in the same direction -with Consuelo, slowly at first, but with a perpetually increasing pace; -other steps were heard behind them, and the latter were not Consuelo's, -for the opera-singer walked by her side, with not less resolution, -though probably with less bravado. The strange steps which every moment -drew near to them, sounded amid the darkness like those of an old woman -with clogs, and rang on the pavement; while the broom continued to grate -harshly on the wall, now to the right and then to the left. This ghost -walk seemed very long to Consuelo. If anything can really overcome the -courage of truly courageous and pure minds, it is a danger that can he -neither comprehended nor understood. She did not boast of an useless -audacity, and did not look back once. The princess said, once or twice -in the darkness, she looked back, but in vain; no one could either prove -or disprove the fact. Consuelo only knew that she had not slackened her -pace, that she had not spoken a word to her on the way, and that when -she went into her room, she came near shutting the door in her face, so -anxious was she to protect herself. Amelia, however, would acknowledge -no such weakness, and soon recovered sufficient presence of mind to -laugh at Madame Von Kleist, who was almost in convulsions, and -reproached her most timidly for her cowardice. The good nature of -Consuelo, who sympathised with the patient's distress, induced the -princess to become more good-natured. She deigned to observe that Madame -Von Kleist was incapable of understanding her, and that she lay on a -sofa with her face buried in the pillows. The clock struck three before -the poor lady had completely resumed her presence of mind, and even then -she displayed her terror by tears. Amelia was weary of her game of "not -a princess," and did not seem anxious to undress herself without aid. It -may be, too, she was under the influence of some presentiment. She -resolved then to keep the baroness with her until day.</p> - -<p>"We two will be able to hide the affair, if my brother should hear of -it. You, Porporina, will have, however, more difficulty in explaining -your presence, and I would not on any account that you should be seen to -leave my room. You must, therefore, go alone, and go now, for people get -up very early in this palace. Be calm, Von Kleist, and if you can say a -word of good sense, tell us how you came hither, and in what corner you -left your <i>chasseur</i>, so that Porporina may be enabled to go -home."</p> - -<p>Fear makes the human heart intensely selfish, and the baroness, -delighted at not being required to confront the terrors of the gallery, -and utterly careless about the apprehensions Consuelo might entertain in -having to pass through it alone, regained all her intelligence, and was -able to say how she should go, and what signal she should make to find -out the faithful servant who waited at the palace gate, in a sheltered -and lonely spot where she had placed him.</p> - -<p>With this information, and now sure that she would not lose herself in -the palace, Consuelo bade adieu to the princess, who did not seem the -least disposed to accompany her down the gallery. She, therefore, set -out alone, feeling her way, and reached the terrible stairway without -difficulty. A hanging lantern which was below, aided her somewhat, and -she reached the floor without any adventure, or even terror. On this -occasion she had called her will to her aid, and felt that she was -fulfilling an obligation to the unfortunate Amelia. This sufficed to -give her strength.</p> - -<p>She left the palace by the little mysterious door, the key of which the -baroness had given her, and which opened into the back court. When she -was out, she proceeded along the wall to find the <i>chasseur.</i> As soon -as she had uttered the signal which had been agreed on, a shadow left the -wall, and a man wrapped in a large cloak bowed before her, offering her -his arm with the most silent respect.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI</a></h4> - - -<p>Consuelo remembered that Madame Von Kleist, the better to hide her -visits to the Princess Amelia, often came on foot to the palace, with a -thick black hood and a cloak of the same color, and leaning on the arm -of a servant. In this manner she was not observed, and might pass for -one of those persons in distress who will not beg, but in this manner -receive aid from the liberality of princes. In spite of all precaution, -however, the secret was become transparent, and if the king was not -angry, it was because he looked on it as one of those affairs which it -was better to tolerate than to talk of. He was well aware the ladies -talked more of Trenck than of magic; and although he had an almost equal -objection to these two subjects of conversation, he kindly consented to -close his eyes, and was rather glad that his sister was kind enough to -adopt a mystery which relieved him of any responsibility. He was willing -to pretend that he was deceived, and seemed unwilling to approve of the -love and folly of his sister. His severity, then, fell on the -unfortunate Trenck, and he accused him of fanciful crimes, lest the -public should suspect the true cause of his disgrace.</p> - -<p>Porporina, thinking that the servant of the Baroness Von Kleist would -aid her in maintaining her <i>incognito</i>, and would give her his arm as -he would his mistress, did not hesitate to accept his services, and leaned -on him so as to be able to walk securely on the ice-covered pavement. -She had scarcely walked three steps, however, when the man said, in a -careless tone—</p> - -<p>"Well, countess, how did you leave your fantastic Amelia?"</p> - -<p>In spite of the cold and wind, Consuelo felt the blood rush to her face. -Apparently, the servant took her for his mistress, and thus revealed a -revolting intimacy. Porporina, disguised, withdrew her arm from that of -the man, and said—</p> - -<p>"You are mistaken."</p> - -<p>"I am not in the habit of making mistakes," said the man with the cloak, -in the same easy manner. "The public may not know that the divine -Porporina is Countess of Rudolstadt, but the Count de St Germain is -better informed."</p> - -<p>"Who are you?" said Consuelo, completely overcome with surprise. "Are -you not of the household of the Countess Von Kleist?"</p> - -<p>"I belong only to myself, and am the servant only of the truth," said -the stranger. "I have mentioned my name, but I see Madame de Rudolstadt -is ignorant of it."</p> - -<p>"Can you then be the Count of Saint Germain?"</p> - -<p>"Who else could call you by a name the public does not know is yours? -This the second time, countess, you would have been lost but for me. -Deign to take my arm. I know the way to your house perfectly well; and, -as an honest man, promise to escort you thither safe and sound."</p> - -<p>"I thank you, count, for your kindness," said Consuelo, and her -curiosity was too much excited to refuse the offer of this interesting -and strange man. "Will you tell me why you speak thus to me?"</p> - -<p>"Because I wish to win your confidence, by proving to you that I am -worthy of it. I have long been aware of your marriage with Albert, and I -have preserved the fact an inviolable secret. I will do so as long as -you wish."</p> - -<p>"I see that my wishes about this have been but slightly respected by M. -de Supperville," said Consuelo, who attributed the count's information -to the doctor.</p> - -<p>"Do not find fault with poor Supperville," said the count. "He told no -one except the princess Amelia, the favor of whom he wished to win. I -did not learn it from him."</p> - -<p>"Who told you, then, sir?"</p> - -<p>"Count Albert, of Rudolstadt, himself. I am well aware that you are -about to tell me that he died during the conclusion of the marriage -ceremony. I will, however, tell you that he is not dead, that no one, -that nothing dies, and that we may still have communion with those the -vulgar call dead, if we know their language and the secret of their -lives."</p> - -<p>"Since you know so much, sir, you must be aware that I do not easily -believe in such assertions; and that they trouble me much by keeping -constantly before me the idea of a misfortune for which I know there is -no remedy, in spite of the deceitful promises of magic."</p> - -<p>"You are right to be on your guard against magicians and impostors. I am -aware that Cagliostro terrified you by some apparition. He yielded to -the vain pride of exhibiting his power to you, without reflecting on the -repose of your soul, and the sublimity of his mission. Cagliostro, -however, is not an impostor, but a vain man, and on that account is -often looked on as an impostor."</p> - -<p>"The same charge, count, is made against you. Yet, as it is added that -you are a superior man, I feel myself justified in owning the prejudices -which keep me from conferring my esteem on you."</p> - -<p>"Thus you speak nobly, as Consuelo should," said Saint Germain, calmly, -"and I am glad that you have thus appealed to my sincerity. I will be -frank with you and without concealment for we are at your door, and the -cold and the late hour keep me from retaining you any longer. If you -wish to know things of the greatest importance, on which your whole -happiness depends, suffer me to speak freely to you some day."</p> - -<p>"If your lordship will come by day to see me, I will expect you at any -hour you please."</p> - -<p>"I must see you to-morrow, and you will then see Frederick, whom I am -not willing on any account to meet, for I have no respect for him."</p> - -<p>"Of what Frederick do you speak, count?"</p> - -<p>"Oh! not of our friend Frederick Von Trenck, whom we contrived to rescue -from his hands, but of that King of Prussia who makes love to you. -Listen: to-morrow there will be a great fancy ball at the opera. Take -any disguise you please, and I will be able to recognise you, and make -myself known. In this crowd we may be isolated and secure. Under any -other circumstances, my acquaintance with you will attract great -misfortune on persons who are dear to us. We will then meet to-morrow, -countess——"</p> - -<p>As he spoke, the Count de Saint Germain bowed respectfully to Consuelo -and disappeared, leaving her petrified with surprise at the very door of -her house.</p> - -<p>"There is in this realm of treason a permanent conspiracy against -reason," said Porporina, as she went to sleep. "Scarcely have I escaped -from one of the dangers which menace me, than another presents itself. -The Princess Amelia had explained the other enigmas to me, and I felt at -ease; just now, however, we met, or at least, heard, the strange -<i>balayeuse</i>, who beyond all doubt, passes as calmly through this castle -of incredulity as she did two hundred years ago. I get rid of the terror -caused by Cagliostro, and lo and behold! another magician appears, who -seems yet better acquainted with my business. I can conceive that these -magicians may keep an account of all that concerns the life of kings, -and powerful or illustrious personages; but, that I, a poor, humble, and -prudent girl, cannot hide from them any act of my life, is indeed -annoying. Well, I will follow the advice of the princess. Let us hope -that the future may explain this prodigy, and, till then, let us not -judge of it. The strangest thing yet, would be, if the king, in -pursuance of the count's prediction, should come to see me. It would be -merely the third visit he has paid me. The count cannot be his -confederate. They bid us especially distrust those who speak ill of -their masters. I will try not to forget that proverb."</p> - -<p>On the next day, at one exactly, a carriage, without either crest or -livery, came into the court-yard of the house, inhabited by the singer, -and the king, who two hours before, had sent her word to be alone, and -to expect him, came in with his hat on the left ear, a smile on his -lips, and a little basket on his arm.</p> - -<p>"Captain Von Kreutz brings you fruits from his garden," said he. "People -who are malicious say, all these were gathered at <i>Sans Souci</i>, and -were intended for the king's dessert. The king, however, does not think of -you. Nevertheless, the little baron has come to pass a few hours with -his friend."</p> - -<p>This salutation, pleasant as it was, instead of placing Consuelo at -ease, troubled her strangely. She had, contrary to her inclination, been -forced to become a conspirator. By receiving the confidences of the -princess, she could not face with frankness, the examination of the -royal inquisitor. Henceforth, it had become impossible to soothe, to -flatter him, and divert his attention by adroit excitements. Consuelo -felt that the <i>rôle</i> did not suit her, that she would play it badly, -especially if it was true that Frederick had a taste for her, or if any -one thought to debase majesty by connecting it by means of the word -love, with an actress. Uneasy and troubled, Consuelo coldly thanked the -king for his great kindness, when, at once, his countenance changed, and -became morose as it had been the reverse.</p> - -<p>"What is the matter?" said he: "are you in an ill humor? are you sick? -Why do you call me <i>sire?</i> Does my visit disturb any love affair?"</p> - -<p>"No, sire," said the young girl, resuming her calmness and frankness. "I -have neither love affair nor love."</p> - -<p>"Very well. If that were the case, it would not matter. I only wish you, -however, to own it."</p> - -<p>"Own it! The captain certainly means that I should confide it to -him?"</p> - -<p>"Explain the difference."</p> - -<p>"The captain understands."</p> - -<p>"As you will. To distinguish, however, is not to reply. If you be in -love, I would like to know it."</p> - -<p>"I do not see why——"</p> - -<p>"You do not understand? Then look me in the face—you look -very wild to-day."</p> - -<p>"Captain, it seems to me that you are the king. They say that when he -questions a criminal, he reads in the white of his eyes what he wishes -to ascertain. Believe me, such fancies become no one else; and, even if -he were to come to treat me so, I would bid him mind his own business."</p> - -<p>"That is to say, you would say, 'away with you, sire.'"</p> - -<p>"Why not? The king should be either on horseback, or on his throne; and -if he were to return to me, I would be right not to put up with such -behavior."</p> - -<p>"You would be right, yet you do not answer me. You will not make me a -confidant of your amours."</p> - -<p>"I have often told you, baron, I have no amours——"</p> - -<p>"Yes, in ridicule; because I asked you the question in the same manner. -If, however, I speak seriously——"</p> - -<p>"My answer would be the same."</p> - -<p>"Do you know that you are a strange person?"</p> - -<p>"Why?"</p> - -<p>"Because, you are the only woman in the theatre who is not either over -head and ears in love, or busied with gallantry."</p> - -<p>"You have a bad opinion of actresses, captain."</p> - -<p>"Not so. I have known some very prudent ones; but they always aspired to -great matches. No one knows what you think."</p> - -<p>"I think I must sing this evening."</p> - -<p>"Then you live from day to day."</p> - -<p>"At present, I cannot act otherwise."</p> - -<p>"It was not always so?"</p> - -<p>"No, sir."</p> - -<p>"You have loved?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir."</p> - -<p>"Really?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir."</p> - -<p>"What has become of your lover?"</p> - -<p>"Dead."</p> - -<p>"But you are consoled?"</p> - -<p>"No."</p> - -<p>"But you will be?"</p> - -<p>"I fear not."</p> - -<p>"That is odd. Then you do not wish to marry?"</p> - -<p>"I never will."</p> - -<p>"And will never love?"</p> - -<p>"Never."</p> - -<p>"Not even a friend?"</p> - -<p>"Not as women understand the phrase."</p> - -<p>"Bah! If you were to go to Paris, and Louis XV., that gallant -knight——"</p> - -<p>"I do not like kings, captain; and, least of all, gallant kings."</p> - -<p>"Ah! I understand. You like pages best. A young cavalier like Trenck, -for instance."</p> - -<p>"I never thought of his face."</p> - -<p>"Yet, you have maintained an acquaintance with him."</p> - -<p>"If that be the case, my acquaintance has been pure and honest."</p> - -<p>"You confess the fact, then?"</p> - -<p>"I have not said so," replied Consuelo, who was afraid, by so simple a -confession, of compromising the princess.</p> - -<p>"Do you deny it, then?"</p> - -<p>"Were it the case, I would have no reasons to deny it. Why, however, -does Captain Von Kreutz thus question me? What is all this to him?"</p> - -<p>"Apparently, the king is interested in the matter," said Frederick, -taking his hat off abruptly, and placing it on the head of a statue of -a nymph in white marble which stood on a tablet.</p> - -<p>"If the king honored me by a visit," said Consuelo, "it would, I think, -be to hear music, (she overcame the terror which took possession of -her,) and I would sing the <i>Ariana Abandonata</i> to him."</p> - -<p>"The king is not to be led astray. When he asks a question, he wishes to -be answered clearly and distinctly. What were you doing last night in -the king's palace? You see, the king has a right to act as a master at -your house, since you go to his at improper hours, and without his -permission."</p> - -<p>Consuelo trembled from head to foot. Luckily, however, in danger of -every kind, she had a presence of mind which always saved her -miraculously. She remembered that the king often said what was false, to -discover what was true, and that he loved to acquire secrets by surprise -rather than by any other means. "That is a strange charge," said she, -"and I do not know what I can say to it."</p> - -<p>"You are not so laconic as you were just now," said the king. "One can -see distinctly that you say what is untrue. You have not been at the -palace? Answer me, yes or no."</p> - -<p>"I say no," said Consuelo, boldly preferring the mortification of being -convicted of falsehood, to that of betraying the secret of another.</p> - -<p>"Not three hours ago, you left the palace alone."</p> - -<p>"Not so," said Consuelo, who regained her presence of mind, by -discovering in the king's face an almost imperceptible expression of -irresolution, and who seemed to enjoy his surprise.</p> - -<p>"You have dared to say No, thrice to me," said the king, offended and -enraged.</p> - -<p>"I dare say so yet a fourth time, if your majesty wills it." She had -resolved to meet the storm face to face.</p> - -<p>"Oh! I know that a woman will stick to a lie, amid agony and torture, -firmly as the first Christians did, when they believed in the truth. Who -will dare flatter himself that he will be able to wrest a sincere reply -from a woman. Hitherto I have respected you, because I fancied you a -solitary exception from the vices of your sex. I thought you neither -bold, impudent, nor an intriguer. I had conceived almost a friendship -for you."</p> - -<p>"And now, sire——"</p> - -<p>"Do not interrupt me. Now, I have an opinion, the consequences of which -you will feel. If you have had the folly to participate in the petty -palace cabals, to receive misplaced confidences, and render certain -dangerous services, you must not expect to deceive me for a long time, -for I will dismiss you with as much contempt as I received you with -distinction and kindness."</p> - -<p>"Sire," said Consuelo, boldly, "as the most sincere and earnest of my -wishes is to leave Prussia, without the slightest care for the cause of -my dismissal, I will receive an order to depart with gratitude."</p> - -<p>"Ah! that is your game," said Frederick, in a rage. "You dare to speak -thus!" He lifted his cane as he spoke, precisely as if he would strike -Consuelo. The air of calm contempt with which she looked at him seemed -to recall him to himself, and he regained his presence of mind. He threw -his cane away, and said, with an excited voice: "Listen to me; forget -the claim you have to the gratitude of Captain Kreutz, and speak to the -king with proper respect. If you excite me, I am capable of punishing -you as I would a disobedient child."</p> - -<p>"Sire, I know that in your family children have been beaten; and I have -heard that on that account your majesty once ran away. That would be as -easy an example for a Zingara, like myself, to follow, as it was for -Frederick, the Prince Royal, to set. If your majesty does not put me out -of Prussia in twenty-four hours, I will do so on my own authority, if I -leave the kingdom on foot, without a passport, and overleap the ditches -as deserters and smugglers do."</p> - -<p>"You are mad," said the king, shrugging his shoulders, and striding -across the room, to conceal his ill-temper and mortification. "I am -delighted for you to go, but it must be without scandal or -precipitation. I am unwilling for you to leave me thus—dissatisfied -with me and with yourself. Whence, in the devil's name, did you get the -impudence you are so richly endowed with? What the devil makes me use -you kindly as I do?"</p> - -<p>"You are kind from a feeling of generosity, which your majesty can lay -aside without any scruples. Your majesty fancies yourself under -obligations to me for a service I would, with the same zeal, have -rendered to the humblest of the subjects of Prussia. Let your majesty, -then, think all between us adjusted, and I will esteem the obligation a -thousand times discharged, if I am permitted to go at once. My liberty -will be a sufficient reward—I ask no other."</p> - -<p>"Again?" said the king, completely amazed at the hardy obstinacy of the -young girl. "You use the same language—you will not change your -tone—ah! this does not result from courage but from hatred."</p> - -<p>"If it were so, would your majesty care at all about it?"</p> - -<p>"For heaven's sake, what do you say, my poor child?" said the king, with -a naïve accent. "You do not know what you say. None but a perverse soul -can be insensible to the hatred of its fellows."</p> - -<p>"Does Frederick the Great look on Porporina as a fellow being?"</p> - -<p>"Virtue and mind alone exalt one being above another. You have genius in -your art. Your conscience must tell you if you be sincere. It does not -know, for your heart is full of venom and resentment."</p> - -<p>"If this is the case, has the heart of Frederick no reproaches to make -itself for having enkindled these evil passions in a mind -constitutionally calm and generous?"</p> - -<p>"Come, you are angry," said the king, attempting to take the young -girl's hand. He however, withdrew it, under the influence of that -<i>gaucherie</i>, which contempt and aversion to women had made him -contract. Consuelo, who had exaggerated her ill-temper to repress in the -king's mind a return of tenderness, which, in spite of all his ill-humor, -seemed ready to break forth, saw how timid he was, and lost all fear -when she saw him thus make advances. It was a singular thing that the -only woman capable of exerting this kind of influence over Frederick, -and it amounted almost to love, was possibly the only one in his kingdom -who would on no account have encouraged him. It is true, that Consuelo's -pride, and repugnance to him, were, perhaps, her chief attractions in -the king's mind. Her rebellious heart tempted the despot as much as the -conquest of a province did, and without being proud of such frivolous -exploits, he felt a kind of admiration and instinctive sympathy for a -character which seemed to bear some resemblance to his own. "Listen," -said he, putting in his pocket the hand he had extended towards -Consuelo, "tell me no more that I do not care about being hated. You -will make me think I am hated, and that thought would be odious."</p> - -<p>"Yet you wish to be feared?"</p> - -<p>"Not so; but to be respected."</p> - -<p>"Do your corporals win respect by their canes?"</p> - -<p>"What do you know about it? What are you talking of? What are you -meddling with?"</p> - -<p>"I answer your majesty clearly and distinctly."</p> - -<p>"You wish me to ask you to excuse a moment of passion, caused by your -madness."</p> - -<p>"Not so. If you were capable of breaking the cane sceptre which rules -Prussia, I would ask your majesty to pick up this stick."</p> - -<p>"Bah! When I shall have slightly caressed your shoulders with this, (for -it is a cane given to me by Voltaire). You have twice as much sense. -Listen! I am fond of this cane, but I know I owe you a reparation."</p> - -<p>As he spoke, the king took up the cane, and was about to break it. It -was in vain, however, that he pressed it to his knee; the bamboo bent, -but would not break.</p> - -<p>"See," said the king, throwing it into the fire, "the cane is not, as -you said, the image of my sceptre. It is like to faithful Prussia, which -bends to my will, but which will not be broken by it. Act thus, -Porporina, and it will be well for you."</p> - -<p>"What, then, is your majesty's wish in relation to me? I am, indeed, a -strange person to trouble the equanimity of so great a character?"</p> - -<p>"It is my will that you give up your intention of leaving Berlin. Do you -think this offensive?"</p> - -<p>The eager and almost passionate glance of Frederick explained this -reparation. Consuelo felt her terrors revive. She said—</p> - -<p>"I will not consent. I see I would have to pay too dearly for the honor -of sometimes amusing your majesty by my voice. All here are objects of -suspicion. The lowest and most obscure are liable to be accused. I -cannot live thus."</p> - -<p>"Are you dissatisfied with your salary?" said Frederick. "It will be -increased."</p> - -<p>"No, sire. I am not avaricious: your majesty is aware of that."</p> - -<p>"True. You do not worship money—I must do you that justice. No one -knows what you love!"</p> - -<p>"I love liberty, sire."</p> - -<p>"And who interferes with that? You seek to make a quarrel, and have no -excuse for doing so. You wish to go—that is plain."</p> - -<p>"Yes, sire."</p> - -<p>"Yes! Are you resolved?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, sire."</p> - -<p>"Then, go to the devil!"</p> - -<p>The king took up his hat and cane, which, having rolled off the -andirons, had not burnt, and turning his back, went to the door. As he -was about to open it, however, he turned to Consuelo, and his face was -so very sad, so paternally distressed, so different, in fact, from the -terrible royal brow, or the bitter skeptic sneer, that the poor girl was -sad and repentant. Having while with Porpora grown used to these -domestic storms, made her forget that in Frederick's feelings towards -her there was something stern and selfish which had never existed in the -heart of her adopted father, which was chastely and generously ardent. -She turned away to hide a fugitive tear, but the eye of the lynx was not -more acute than that of the king. Returning and shaking his cane over -Consuelo again, yet with as much tenderness as if she had been one of -his own children, he said—</p> - -<p>"Detestable creature! You have not the least affection for me!"</p> - -<p>This he uttered with much emotion, and in a caressing manner.</p> - -<p>"You are much mistaken, baron," said the kind Consuelo, who was -fascinated by this half comedy which had so completely atoned for the -brutal rage that preceded it. "I like Captain Von Kreutz as much as I -dislike the King of Prussia."</p> - -<p>"Because you do not understand—because you do not comprehend the -King of Prussia. Do not let us talk of him. A day will come when you shall -have lived in this country long enough to know its characters and -necessities—when you will do justice to the man who forces it to be -ruled as it should be. In the interim, be kinder to the poor baron, who -is desperately weary of the court and courtiers, and who seeks here -something of calm and repose, from association with a pure and candid -mind. I was enabled to enjoy it but one hour, yet you had made me -quarrel. I will come again, if you will promise to receive me better. I -will bring Mopsula to amuse you; and if you are good-natured, I will -make you a present of a little white greyhound she now suckles. You must -take great care if it. Ah, I forgot! I have brought you verses of my -own, which you must make an accompaniment for, and which my sister -Amelia will like to sing."</p> - -<p>The king went away kindly enough, after having once or twice turned back -to speak familiarly to and caress Consuelo in many whimsical ways. He -could talk of trifles when he pleased, though usually his phraseology -was concise, energetic, and full of sense. No man had more of what may -be called depth in his conversation; and nothing was rarer at that time -than seriousness in familial intercourse. With Consuelo, especially, he -wished to appear good-natured, and succeeded in seeming to be, much to -her surprise. When he was gone she was, as usual, sorry that she had not -succeeded in disgusting him with her, and thus terminating his dangerous -visits. The king, too, was half dissatisfied with himself. He loved -Consuelo as well as it was his nature, and wished really to inspire her -with admiration and a reality of the attachment his false friends -pretended to feel. He would have given much (and he did not like to -give) to have been once in his life loved, freely and frankly. But he -felt that it was difficult to reconcile this with the authority he was -unwilling to part with. Like a cat who sports with a mouse that is -anxious to flee, he did not know whether to let her loose or to strangle -her.</p> - -<p>"She goes too far, and this cannot end well," said he, as he got into -his carriage. "I shall be forced to make her commit some fault, that -discipline may subdue her fiery courage. Yet I had rather dazzle and -govern her by the influence I exert over so many others. I must succeed, -if I am prudent, and the trouble both irritates and excites me. We will -see. One thing is sure, she must not go now, to boast that she has told -me the truth with impunity. No: when she goes, she must either be -crushed or conquered."</p> - -<p>And then the king, who, as may well be believed, had many other things -on his mind, opened a book to avoid losing five minutes in careless -thought, and got out of his carriage without remembering the state of -mind in which he entered it.</p> - -<p>Porporina, weary and unhappy, was anxious much longer about the danger -of her situation. She blamed herself much with not having insisted on -going, and with having tacitly consented to remain. She was roused from -her meditation, however, by the reception of money and letters which -Madame Von Kleist sent through her to the Count de Saint Germain.</p> - -<p>All this was for Trenck, and Consuelo became responsible for it. She was -also to play the part of his mistress, as a means of concealing the -secret of the Abbess of Quedlimburgh. Thus she saw herself in a -dangerous and annoying position, especially as she did not feel greatly -at ease in relation to the fidelity of the mysterious beings with whom -she was associated, and who seemed determined to involve themselves in -her own secrets. She then began to prepare a disguise for the opera -ball, a rendezvous for which she had made with the Count de St. Germain. -All this time, she said to herself she stood on the brink of an abyss.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII</a></h4> - - -<p>Immediately after the opera, the theatre was laid with a floor, lighted -up and decorated as usual, and the great ball, known in Berlin as the -<i>redoute</i>, opened at midnight exactly. The company was tolerably -mixed, for the princess and perhaps the princesses of the blood-royal -mingled with the actors and actresses of all the theatres. Porporina entered -alone, in the disguise of a nun, a costume which enabled her to hide her -neck and shoulders with a veil, and her person with a very thick and -ample dress. She felt that it was absolutely necessary for her to be -completely concealed, to avoid the comments to which her being with -Saint Germain would expose her. She was not sorry to have an opportunity -of testing the penetration of the latter, who had boasted that he could -discover her in any disguise whatever. She had therefore made, without -aid, and without confiding in a servant, this simple and easy dress. She -had gone out alone, dressed in a long pelisse, which she did not lay -aside until she found herself in the centre of the crowd. She had not -made the tour of the room before a circumstance happened that disturbed -her. A mask of her own height, and which seemed to be of her sex, clad -in a nun's robes, exactly like hers, met her frequently, and laughed at -their identity.</p> - -<p>"My dear sister," said this nun, "I would wish to know which of us is -the shadow of the other. As it seems, though, you are lighter and more -diaphonous than I, be pleased to touch my hand, that I may know if you -be my twin sister or my shadow."</p> - -<p>Consuelo repelled these attacks, and sought to go to her dressing-room, -and either change her costume or make some alteration which might -prevent a mistake. She feared that the count, in spite of all her -precautions, had obtained some inkling of her disguise, and might test -her <i>sosia</i> of the secrets he had referred to on the previous evening. -She had not time, though, to do so, for a monk was already in pursuit, -and took possession of her arm without consulting her. "You cannot avoid -me, my dear sister," said he, "for I am your father confessor, and am -about to tell you your sins. You are the Princess Amelia."</p> - -<p>"You are a novice, brother," said Consuelo, disguising her voice, as is -the wont at <i>bals masqués.</i> "You know little of your penitents."</p> - -<p>"Oh! you need not counterfeit your voice, sister. I do not know whether -you wear the costume of your order or not, but you are Abbess of -Quedlimburgh, and may as well own it to your brother Henry."</p> - -<p>Consuelo recognized, indeed, the voice of the prince, who had often -spoken to her, and who had a kind of lisp which was peculiar. To be -satisfied that her <i>sosia</i> was the princess, she continued to refuse -to acknowledge that she was what Prince Henry fancied her. The prince -added, "I saw your costume in the hands of the person who made it, and -as princes can have no secrets, found out for whom it was intended. -Come, let us waste no time in gossiping. You cannot deceive me, my dear -sister, for I do not attach myself to your side for the purpose of -deceiving you. I have something serious to say to you. Come a little -aside with me."</p> - -<p>Consuelo suffered the prince to take her aside, having resolved to show -her face rather than thus acquire a knowledge of any family secret. The -first word he spoke to her, when they had gained the box, however, was -of such a character as to fix her attention, and give her a right to -hear what he said.</p> - -<p>"Beware how you confide too readily to Poporina," said the prince to his -pretended sister. "I tell you this, not because I doubt either her -discretion or nobleness of heart. The most important persons of <i>the -order</i> pledge themselves for her, and even if you continue to jeer me -about the nature of my sentiments towards her, I will own that I -sympathise with you in relation to her. Both those persons and myself, -however, are of opinion, that you should not compromise yourself with -her, until you are sure of her good disposition. An enterprise which -would take possession in advance of so ardent a disposition as yours, -and a mind justly irritated, as my own, might at first terrify a timid -girl, a stranger beyond doubt to all philosophy and all politics. The -reasons which have influenced you are not of that character which would -produce an impression on a girl in such a different sphere. Confide her -initiation, then, to Trismegistus or to Saint Germain."</p> - -<p>"But has not Trismegistus gone?" said Consuelo, who was too complete an -actress not to be able to counterfeit the hoarse and changeable voice of -the Princess Amelia.</p> - -<p>"If he has gone, you must be more aware of the fact than I am, for he -has relations with no one but yourself. I do not know him. The Count -Saint Germain appears the most skillful operator, and the person most -familiar with the science which occupies us. He has done his best to -attach this singer to us, and to rescue her from the dangers which -menace her."</p> - -<p>"Is she really in danger?" asked Consuelo.</p> - -<p>"She will be, if she persists in rejecting the suit of the -<i>marquis.</i>"</p> - -<p>"What marquis?" asked Consuelo with astonishment.</p> - -<p>"You are out of your wits, sister; I speak of the <i>Grand Lama</i>, -FRITZ."</p> - -<p>"Yes, the Marquis of Brandebourg," said Porporina, seeing that he -referred to the king. "Are you sure, though, that he thinks of her?"</p> - -<p>"I will not say he loves her, but he is jealous of her. Besides, you -must he aware, by making her your confidant, you compromise her. Well, I -know nothing of this, nor will I. For heaven's sake be prudent, and let -not <i>our friends</i> fancy that you are actuated by any other sentiment -than that of political liberty. We have determined to adopt your -Countess de Rudolstadt. When she is initiated, and bound by oaths, -promises and threats, you will expose yourself to no danger with her. -Until then, I implore you, do not see her, and do not talk to her of our -affairs. Besides, remain no longer in this hall, where you are out of -place, and to which the <i>Grand Lama</i> will certainly know you came. Let -me take you to the door, for I can go no farther. I am thought to be -under arrest at Potsdam; and some eyes pierce even an iron mask."</p> - -<p>Just then some one knocked at the door of the box, and as the prince did -not open it at first, repeated the tap. "That is a very impertinent -person who insists on coming into a box in which there is a lady," said -the prince, showing his bearded mask at the window of the box. A red -domino, with ruddy face, the appearance of which was terrible, appeared -and said with a strange gesture, "<i>It rains.</i>" This news made a great -impression on the prince. "Should I go or stay?" said he to the red -mask.</p> - -<p>"You must find a nun exactly like this, who is amid the crowd. I will -take care of this lady," added he, speaking to Consuelo, and going into -the box, which the prince opened anxiously. The prince left without -saying another word to Consuelo.</p> - -<p>"Why," said the new comer to Porporina, as he took a seat in the back of -the box, "did you take a disguise exactly like the princess's? Thus you -might expose yourself to a fatal mistake. I see neither your prudence -nor your devotion."</p> - -<p>"If my costume be like that of another person," said Consuelo, now fully -on her guard, "I do not know it."</p> - -<p>"I fancied this was a carnival joke arranged between you. Since chance -alone has brought it about, let us abandon the matter, and talk no more -of the princess."</p> - -<p>"But, if any one be in danger, it does not appear to be the part of -those who talk of devotion, to stand with folded arms."</p> - -<p>"The person who has just left us, will, beyond doubt, watch over this -august madcap. Certainly, you cannot be ignorant that the thing -interests others than ourselves, for the person has also made love to -you."</p> - -<p>"You are mistaken, sir. I know that person no more than I do you. -Moreover, your language is that neither of a friend nor of one who -jests. Permit me to return to the hall."</p> - -<p>"Suffer me, in the first place, to ask you for a pocket book you are -instructed to give me."</p> - -<p>"Not so—I have nothing of the kind."</p> - -<p>"Very well. That is the language you should use. It is thrown away on -me, however, for I am the Count de Saint Germain."</p> - -<p>"That makes no difference."</p> - -<p>"If I were to take off my mask, you would not know me, never having seen -my features except in the dark. Here, however, is my letter of credit."</p> - -<p>The red domino gave Consuelo a sheet of music, on which was written a -testimonial she could not mistake. She gave him the pocket book, not -without trembling, and took care to add, "Take notice of what I have -said, I am charged with no message for you; I alone send these letters -and funds to the person you know of."</p> - -<p>"Then you are Trenck's mistress?"</p> - -<p>Terrified at the painful falsehood required from her, Consuelo was -silent.</p> - -<p>"Tell me, madame," said the red domino; "the baron does not deny that he -receives letters and aid from a person who loves him. Are you his -mistress?"</p> - -<p>"I am that person," said Consuelo, "and I am as much wounded as I am -surprised at your questions. Cannot I be the baron's friend, without -exposing myself to the brutal expressions and outrageous suspicions you -dare to use to me?"</p> - -<p>"The state of things is too important for us to stop at words. Listen: -you charge me with a task which endangers and exposes me to troubles of -more than one kind. Perhaps there may be some political plot, and with -that I will have naught to do. I have given my word to the friends of -Trenck, to aid him in a love matter. Let us understand; I did not -promise to aid his <i>friendship.</i> The latter phrase is too vague, and -makes me uneasy. I know you incapable of falsehood; and if you do not -tell me positively that Trenck is your lover, and enable me to tell -Albert of Rudolstadt——"</p> - -<p>"For heaven's sake, sir, do not torture me thus. Albert is dead."</p> - -<p>"As men think, I know he is dead; but to you and me he continues -alive."</p> - -<p>"If you mean in a religious and symbolic sense, it is true; but, if in a -material point of view——"</p> - -<p>"Let us not argue the matter. A veil covers your mind; but it will soon -be lifted. What it concerns me now to know, is your position in relation -to Trenck. If he is your lover, I will take charge of this commission, -on which it is probable that his life depends, for he is without means. -If you refuse to answer, I cannot be your messenger."</p> - -<p>"Well," said Consuelo, "he is my lover. Take the pocket-book, and hasten -to send it to him."</p> - -<p>"That will do," said M. de St. Germain, taking the package; "noble and -generous girl, let me confess my admiration and respect. This is merely -a test to which I wished to subject your devotion and abnegation. Go: I -know that from a generous sentiment you have told what was untrue, and -that you are holily faithful to your husband. I am aware that the -Princess Amelia, while she makes use of me, disdains to grant me her -confidence, and toils to divest herself, of the tyranny of the Grand -Lama, all the time that she plays the part of the dignified princess. -She maintains her own part and does not disdain to expose you, a poor -helpless girl, (as the public say,) to an eternal misfortune; yes, to -the greatest of sorrows, that of impeding the brilliant resurrection of -your husband, and detaining him in the torment of doubt and despair. -Fortunately, between the soul of Albert and yourself a chain of -invisible bands extends, uniting the spirit that toils on earth and in -sunlight, with that which struggles in the unknown world, in the shadow -of mystery, and far from vulgar humanity."</p> - -<p>This strange language astonished Consuelo, though she had made up her -mind not to put any faith in the captious declamations of pretended -prophets. "Explain yourself, count," said she, in a tone of studious -calmness and coldness. "I know that Albert's earthly career has not -finished on earth, and that his soul has not been crushed by the breath -of death. The connection, however, between him and me is covered by a -veil which my own death alone can remove, even if God please to permit -us to enjoy a vague memory of our previous existence. This is a -mysterious point, and it is in the power of no one to assist the -celestial influence which, in a new life, unites those who in another -sphere have loved. What would you have me believe by saying that certain -sympathies watch over me for the purpose of bringing this union about?"</p> - -<p>"I can speak of myself only, having known," said M. de St. Germain, -"Albert from all time, as well when I served in the Hussite war, against -Sigismond, as later in the war of thirty years, when——"</p> - -<p>"I know that you claim to be able to recall all your anterior life, and -Albert, also, had that unfortunate impression. Thank God, I never -suspected his sincerity, but this faith was so linked to a kind of mad -exaltation, that I never believed in the reality of this exceptional, -and perhaps inadmissible power. Excuse me from listening to your strange -fancies on this matter. I know that many people, excited by frivolous -curiosities, would now wish to be in my place, and would receive, with a -smile of encouragement and feigned credulity, the wonderful stories you -tell so admirably. I cannot act, except when it is my duty, and am not -amused at what you call your reveries. They recall to my mind those -which terrified and alarmed me so much in the Count of Rudolstadt. Keep -them for persons who participate in them. On no account would I deceive -you by pretending to believe; even if those reveries recalled no sorrow, -I would not laugh at you. Be pleased, then, to answer my questions, -without seeking to lead my judgment astray by words of vague and -indefinite meaning. To assist you in becoming frank, I will tell you -that I am aware you have vague and mysterious views about me. You are to -initiate me in I know not what fearful secret, and persons of high rank -expect you to impart to me the first principles of I know not what -occult science."</p> - -<p>"Persons of high rank, countess, sometimes make great mistakes," said -St. Germain, with great calmness. "I thank you for the frankness with -which you have spoken to me, and will not touch on matters which you -will not understand. I will only say, then, there is an occult science -in which I take an interest, and in which I am aided by superior lights. -There is nothing supernatural in it, for it is purely and simply that of -the human heart—or, if you like the term better—a deeper -acquaintance with human life in the most secret springs of its action and -resources. To prove to you that I am not a vain boaster, I will tell you -what has passed in your life, since you left Count Rudolstadt; that is, if -you will permit me?"</p> - -<p>"I do—for on that point I am sure you cannot deceive me."</p> - -<p>"Well, you love, for the first time in your life; you love completely -and truly. Well, the person you thus love with tears of repentance—for -you did not love him a year ago—this person, the absence of whom is -bitter to you, and whose disappearance has discolored your life and -disenchanted your future, is not Baron Von Trenck, for whom you -entertained no feeling but gratitude and great sympathy; neither is it -Joseph Haydn, who is but a young brother in Apollo; nor is it King -Frederick, who both frightens and terrifies you; it is not the handsome -Anzoleto, whom you can no longer esteem—but the one you saw on the -bed of death, with all the ornaments which the pride of nobles place even -on the tomb of the dead—Albert of Rudolstadt."</p> - -<p>Consuelo for an instant was astonished at this revelation of her secret -thoughts, by a man whom she did not know. Remembering that she had -unveiled her life, and exposed her most utter secrets on the previous -night to the Princess Amelia, and knowing from what Prince Henry had -said, that the princess had mysterious affiliation with that society, a -principal member of which the Count de St. Germain was, she ceased to be -surprised, and told the latter that there was nothing strange in his -being acquainted with matters she had owned to an indiscreet friend.</p> - -<p>"You speak of the Abbess of Quedlimburg. Well, will you believe in my -word of honor?" said the count.</p> - -<p>"I have no reason to doubt it," said Porporina.</p> - -<p>"I pledge it to you," said the count, "that the princess has not spoken -a word to me of you, for I have not been able to exchange a word either -with her or with Madame Von Kleist."</p> - -<p>"Yet, sir, you have communicated with her at least indirectly."</p> - -<p>"As far as I am concerned, my communication has gone no farther than -sending Trenck's letters, and receiving hers by a third party. You see -her confidence in me does not go very far, since she thinks I am -ignorant of the interest I take in our fugitive. She is only foolish, as -all tyrannical persons become, when they are oppressed. The servants of -truth have expected much from her, and have granted her their -protection. Heaven grant they may never repent of it."</p> - -<p>"You judge an interesting and unfortunate princess harshly, sir count, -and perhaps know no great deal of her affairs. I am ignorant of them."</p> - -<p>"Do not tell a useless falsehood, Consuelo. You supped with her last -night, and I can describe all the details to you." The count then told -her of every circumstance, even what the princess and Madame Von Kleist -said, the dresses they wore, the very bill of fare, their meeting the -<i>balayeuse</i>, etc. Neither did he pause there, but also told our heroine -of the king's visit, what had been said, of his shaking the cane over -her head, the threats and repentance of Consuelo, even their gestures -and the expression of their faces, as clearly as if he had been present. -He concluded, "My honest and generous child, you did very wrong to -suffer yourself to be won by this return to friendship and kindness on -the part of the king. You will repent of it. The royal tiger will make -you feel his nails, unless you accept a more honest and respectable -protection—one true, paternal, and all-powerful, which will not be -restrained by the narrow limits of the Marquisate of Brandebourg, but -will hover over the whole surface of the globe, and would accompany you -to the deserts of the new world."</p> - -<p>"I know of no being but God, who can extend such a protection, and will -care for so insignificant a being as I am. If I be in danger here, in -Him do I put my trust. I would have no confidence in any other care the -means and motives of which I would be ignorant."</p> - -<p>"Distrust ill becomes great souls," said the count. "Because Madame de -Rudolstadt is one of those thus gifted, she has a right to the -protection of God's true servants. For that reason is protection offered -to you. The means are immense, and differ both in power and right from -those possessed by kings and princes, as much as God in his sublimity -differs from the most glorious despots. If you love and confide in -divine justice, you are bound to recognise its action in good and -intelligent men, who, here below, are the ministers of his will, and -protectors of his supreme law. To redress crime, to protect the weak, to -repress tyranny, to encourage and reward virtue, to preserve the sacred -deposit of honor, has from all time been the mission of an illustrious -phalanx of venerable men, who, from the beginning of time, have been -perpetuated to our days. Look at the gross and inhuman laws which rule -nations, look at human prejudice and error, see everywhere the monstrous -traces of barbarism. How can you conceive that in a land so badly ruled -by perfidious governments, all learning and true principles can be -repressed? Such is the case, and we are able to find spotless lilies, -pure flowers, hearts like your own, like Albert's, expanding and -blooming amid the filth of earth. Think you they can preserve their -perfume, avoid the unclean bite of reptiles, and resist the storm, if -they be not sustained and preserved by friendly hands? Think you that -Albert, that sublime man, stranger to all vulgar baseness, so superior -to humanity that the uninitiated thought him mad, exhausted all his -greatness and faith on himself? Think you he was an isolated fact in the -universe, and contributed nothing to the hearth of sympathy and hope? -You yourself—think you that you would have been what you are, had not -the divine efflatus been received from Albert? How, separated from him, -cast in a sphere unworthy of you, exposed to every peril, every danger, -everything calculated to lead you astray, an actress, the confidante of -an imprudent and enamored princess, the reputed mistress of a debauched, -icy, and selfish monarch, do you expect to maintain the spotless purity -of your primitive candor, if the mysterious wings of the archangels be -not extended over you? Take care, Consuelo; not in yourself alone will -you find the strength you need. The prudence of which you boast will be -easily foiled by the ruses of the spirits of darkness, which wander -around your virginial pillow. Learn, then, to respect the holy army, the -invisible soldiery, armed with faith, which already forms a rampart -around you. You are asked for neither engagements nor services; you are -ordered only to be docile and confident when you are aware of the -unexpected effects of their benevolent adoption. I have told you enough. -You will reflect maturely on my words, and when the time shall come, you -will see wonders accomplished around you. Then remember that all is -possible to those who believe and work together, to those who are equal -and free; yes, nothing is impossible to them who recognise merit—and -if yours were so elevated as to deserve this great reward, know that they -could resuscitate Albert, and restore him to you."</p> - -<p>Having thus spoken, in a tone which seemed animated by conviction and -enthusiasm, the red domino left Consuelo without waiting for a reply. He -bowed to her before he left the box, where she remained for some -momeuts, motionless and a prey to strange reveries.</p> - - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII</a></h4> - - -<p>Being now anxious to retire, Consuelo left the box, and in one of the -corridors met two masks. One of them said, in a low tone—</p> - -<p>"Do not trust the Count de St. Germain."</p> - -<p>She fancied that she recognised the voice of Uberto Porporino, her -brother artist, and took him by the sleeve of his domino. She -said—</p> - -<p>"Who is this count? I do not know him."</p> - -<p>The mask did not seem to disguise his voice, which Consuelo at once -recognised as that of young Benda, the melancholy violinist. He took her -other hand, and said, "Distrust adventures and adventurers."</p> - -<p>They then passed hastily, as if they were anxious to ask and answer no -questions.</p> - -<p>Consuelo was surprised that she had been so easily recognised, -notwithstanding her care to disguise herself. Consequently she hurried -to go. She soon saw that she was watched, and followed by a mask, the -form and bearing of which seemed to denote Von Poelnitz, the director of -the royal theatres, and chamberlain to the king. She had not the least -doubt when he spoke to her, great soever as was his care to change his -voice and tone. He made some idle remarks, to which she did not reply, -for she saw distinctly that he wished to make her talk. She succeeded in -getting rid of him, and went through the ball-room, so as to be able to -give him the slip, in case he should persist in following her. There was -a great crowd, and she had much difficulty in finding the entrance. Just -at that moment she looked around, to be sure that she was not followed, -and was surprised to see Poelnitz talking in the most friendly manner -possible with the red domino, whom she supposed to be the Count de St. -Germain. She was not aware that Poelnitz had known him in France, and -feared some treason on the part of the <i>adventurer</i>—not for -herself, but for the princess—the secret of whom she had -involuntarily betrayed to a suspicious character.</p> - -<p>When she awoke the next morning, she found a coronet of white roses -hanging above her head, to the crucifix which had belonged to her -mother, and with which she had never parted. She at the same time -observed that the cypress bough, which, since the evening of a certain -triumph at Vienna, when it had been thrown on the stage, had never -ceased to adorn the crucifix, had disappeared. She looked in every -direction for it in vain. It seemed that in substituting for it the -fresh and smiling crown, this sad emblem had intentionally been removed. -Her servant could not tell her how or when the substitution had been -made. She said she had not left the house on the previous evening, and -had admitted no one. She had not observed it when she prepared her -mistress's bed, and had not noticed if the crown was there or not. In a -word, she was so naïvely amazed at the matter, that it was difficult to -suspect her sincerity. This girl had a very unselfish heart, of which -Consuelo had received more than one proof. Her only fault was a great -love of gossip, and making her mistress the confidant of all her -chatterings. She did not on this occasion fail to weary her with a long -story of the most tedious details, though she could give her no -information. She did nothing but comment on the mysterious gallantry of -the chaplet. Consuelo, ere long, was so wearied, that she besought her -not to chatter any more, but to be quiet. When she was alone, she -examined the coronet with the greatest care. The flowers were fresh, as -if they had been gathered an instant before, and as full of perfume as -if it was not mid-winter. Consuelo sighed when she thought such -beautiful roses were at such a season scarcely to be found in any other -place than in a royal residence, and that her maid, perhaps, had good -reasons for not attributing them to the politeness of the king.</p> - -<p>"He did not know," said she, "how fond I was of my cypress. Why did he -take it away? It matters not what hand has committed this profanation, -but may it be cursed!" As Porporina cast the chaplet from her, with an -expression of great sadness, she saw a slip of white parchment fall from -it, which she picked up, and on which she read these words, in an -unknown hand:—</p> - -<p>"Every noble action merits a recompense, and the only one worthy of -great souls is the homage of hearts that sympathise. Let the cypress -disappear from your bedside, my generous sister, and let these flowers -rest on your brow, if but for a moment. It is your bridal crown—it is -the pledge of your eternal marriage with virtue, and of your admission -into the communion of the true believers."</p> - -<p>Consuelo examined these characters with great surprise for a long time, -and her imagination sought in vain to discover some similarity to Count -Albert's writing. In spite of the distrust she entertained of the kind -of initiation to which she was invited—in spite of the revulsion -inspired by the promises of magic, which then was very popular in all -Germany and all philosophical Europe—in spite of the advice her -friends had given her, to be on her guard—the last words of the red -domino, and the expressions of the anonymous note, excited her imagination -almost to the point of downright curiosity, which may rather be called -poetic anxiety. Without knowing why she obeyed the affectionate injunction -of her unknown friends, she placed the coronet on her dishevelled hair, and -fixed her eyes on a glass, as if she expected to see behind her the -unknown apparition.</p> - -<p>She was roused from her reverie by a short, distinct ring at the door, -and a servant came to tell her that the Baron Von Buddenbrock had a word -to say to her. This <i>word</i> was pronounced with all the arrogance an -aide-de-camp always assumes when he is no longer under his master's -eyes.</p> - -<p>"Signorina," said he, when she had gone into the saloon, "you must go -with me to the king at once. Make haste—the king awaits you."</p> - -<p>"I will not wait on the king in slippers and in a <i>robe-de-chambre</i>," -said La Porporina.</p> - -<p>"I give you five minutes to dress," said Buddenbrock, taking his watch -from his pocket and pointing to the door of her chamber.</p> - -<p>Consuelo was frightened, but having made up her mind to assume all the -dangers and misfortunes which might menace the princess and Trenck, -dressed in less time that had been given her, and went in company with -Buddenbrock, apparently perfectly calm. The aide had seen the king in a -rage, and though he did not know why, when he received an order to bring -the criminal, felt all the royal rage pass into his own heart. When he -found Consuelo so calm, he remembered that his master had a great -passion for this girl. He said that perhaps she might come out the -victor in the contest which was about to begin, and be angry at his -harsh conduct. He therefore thought it best to resume his humility, -remembering he could play the tyrant when her disgrace was certain. He -offered her his hand with an awkward and strange courtesy, to help her -in the carriage he had brought, and looking shrewdly and sharply at her, -as he sat on the front seat opposite her, with his hat in his hand, -said:</p> - -<p>"This, signorina, is a magnificent winter's day."</p> - -<p>"Certainly, baron," said Consuelo, in a mocking tone. "It is a fine time -to go beyond the walls."</p> - -<p>As she spoke thus, Consuelo thought, with truly stoic calmness, that she -was about to pass the rest of the day <i>en route</i> to some fortress. -Buddenbrock, who could not conceive of such heroism, fancied that she -menaced him, in case she triumphed over the stormy trials which awaited -her, with disgrace and imprisonment. He became pale; he attempted to be -agreeable, but could not, and remained thoughtful and discountenanced, -asking himself anxiously what he had done to displease Porporina.</p> - -<p>Consuelo was introduced into a cabinet, the rose-colored furniture of -which she had time to see was scratched by the puppies that ran in and -out of it, covered with snuff, and very dirty. The king was not there, -but she heard his voice in the next room, and when he was in a bad humor -his voice was a terrible one. "I tell you I will make an example of this -rabble, which long has been gnawing the bowels of Prussia. I will purge -them!" said he, as he walked with his creaking boots up and down, in the -greatest agitation.</p> - -<p>"Your majesty will do reason and Prussia a great service," said the -person to whom he spoke, "but it is no reason why a woman——"</p> - -<p>"Yes, Voltaire, it is a reason. You do not know that the worst intrigues -and most infernal machinations originate in their brains?"</p> - -<p>"A woman, sire! a woman!"</p> - -<p>"Well, why repeat that again? You are fond of women, and have the -misfortune to live under the control of a petticoat, and cannot treat -them like soldiers and slaves when they interfere in serious matters."</p> - -<p>"Your majesty cannot think there is anything serious in this affair? You -must use soporifics, and the pump-workers of miracles and adepts of -magic."</p> - -<p>"You do not know what you are talking about, M. de Voltaire. What if I -told you poor La Mettrie had been poisoned?"</p> - -<p>"So will any one be who eats more than his stomach can contain and -digest. Every indigestion is poison."</p> - -<p>"I tell you his gourmandise alone did not kill him. They gave him a -<i>pâté</i>, made of an eagle, and told him it was pheasant."</p> - -<p>"Well, the Prussian eagle is a deadly bird, but it uses lightning, not -poison."</p> - -<p>"Well, spare me your metaphors. I will bet a hundred to one it was -poison. La Mettrie had faith in their extravagances, poor devil, and -told to anyone who would listen, half serious half in jest, that they -had shown him ghosts and devils. They crazed his incredulous and -volatile mind. As, however, after being Trenck's friend, he had -abandoned him, they punished him in their own way, I will now punish -them, and in a way they will not forget. As for those who, under the -cover of their infamous tricks, plot and deceive the vigilance of the -laws——"</p> - -<p>Here the king pushed to the door, which had not been entirely shut, and -Consuelo heard no more. After waiting for a quarter of an hour in much -anxiety, she saw Frederick appear. Rage had made him look frightfully -old and ugly, he shut all the doors carefully, without looking at or -speaking to her, and when he again approached, there was something so -perfectly diabolical in his expression that she thought at first he was -about to strangle her. She knew that in his moments of rage, all the -savage instincts of his father returned to him, and that he did not -hesitate to bruise and kick the legs of his public functionaries with -his heavy boots, when he was in a bad humor. La Mettrie used to laugh at -these outrages, and used to assure him that the exercise was good for -the gout, with which the king was prematurely attacked.</p> - -<p>La Mettrie would never again either make the king laugh, or laugh at -him. Young, active, fat, and hearty, he had died two days before from -excesses at the table; and I know not what dark fancy suggested to the -king the idea of attributing his death, now to the machinations of the -Jesuits, and then again to the fashionable sorcerers. The king himself, -though not aware of it, was under the influence of the vague and puerile -terror of the occult sciences, with which all Germany was then inspired.</p> - -<p>"Listen to me," said he to Consuelo, with a piercing glance. "You are -unmasked. You are lost, and there is but one way to save yourself—that -is, to make a full, free and unreserved confession."</p> - -<p>As Consuelo did not reply, he said—</p> - -<p>"Down, wretch, down on your knees!"—(he pointed to the floor)—"you -cannot make such a confession standing! Your brow should be in the dust. -On your knees, or I will not hear you!"</p> - -<p>"As I have nothing to tell you," said Consuelo, in an icy tone, "you -have nothing to hear. As for kneeling, you can never make me do so."</p> - -<p>The king at first felt inclined to knock Consuelo down and trample on -her. She looked mechanically towards Frederick's hands, which were -extended towards her, and fancied she saw his nails grow longer, as -those of cats do when about to spring on their prey. The royal claws, -however, were soon contracted; amid all his littlenesses, having too -much grandeur of soul not to admire courage in others.</p> - -<p>"Unfortunate girl," said he, with an expression of pity, "they have -succeeded in making a fanatic of you. Listen to me. Time is precious. -You yet may ransom your life. In five minutes it will he too late. Use -them well, and decide on telling me all, or prepare to die."</p> - -<p>"I am prepared," said Consuelo, indignant at the menace, which she -thought he would not execute, and used only to frighten her.</p> - -<p>"Be silent and think," said the king, placing himself at his desk, and -opening a book, with an affectation of calmness, which did not hide a -deep and painful emotion.</p> - -<p>Consuelo, while she remembered that the Baron Von Buddenbrock had aped -the king grotesquely, by giving her, with watch in hand, five minutes to -dress herself, she took advantage of the time to reflect on the line of -conduct she should pursue. She saw that what she should most avoid was -the shrewd and penetrating cross-examination with which the king would -entrap her, as in a web. Who can flatter and trick a criminal judge like -Frederick? She was in danger of falling into the snare, and ruining the -princess instead of saving her. She then took the generous resolution of -not seeking to justify herself, but of asking of what she was accused, -and irritating the judge, so that he award an unreasonable and unjust -sentence, <i>ab irato.</i> Ten minutes passed thus, without the king's -looking up from his book. Perhaps he wished to give her time to change -her mind. Perhaps he had been absorbed by his book.</p> - -<p>"Have you determined?" said he, at last, putting down his book crossing -his legs, and leaning his elbows on the table.</p> - -<p>"I have nothing to determine on, being under the power of violence and -injustice; I have only to submit."</p> - -<p>"Do you charge me with violence and injustice?"</p> - -<p>"If not yourself, it is the absolute power you exercise, which corrupts -your soul, and leads your justice astray."</p> - -<p>"Very well. Then you establish yourself as a judge of my conduct, and -forget you have but a few moments left to save yourself from death."</p> - -<p>"You have no right to take my life, for I am not your subject. If you -violate the law of nations, so much the worse for you. For my own part, -I had rather die than live one day longer under your laws."</p> - -<p>"You confess your hatred frankly," said the king, who appeared to -penetrate Consuelo's design, and who was about to foil it by putting on an -air of <i>sang-froid</i> and contempt. "I see that you have been to a good -school, and the <i>rôle</i> of Spartan virgin, which you play so well, is a -great evidence against your accomplices. It reveals their conduct more -completely than you think. You are not acquainted with the law of -nations and of men. Any sovereign can destroy all in his states who -conspire against him."</p> - -<p>"I a conspirator!" said Consuelo, carried away by the feeling of -conscious truth, and too indignant to vindicate herself. She shrugged -her shoulders, turned her back on the king, and without knowing what she -was doing, seemed about to go away.</p> - -<p>"Where are you going?" said the king, struck by her air of candor.</p> - -<p>"To the prison!—to the scaffold!—to any place you -please!—provided you do not make me listen to this absurd -accusation!"</p> - -<p>"You are very angry," said the king, with a sardonic laugh. "Do you wish -to know why? You come here with the intention of playing the Roman -before me, and your comedy has been cut down into a mere interlude. -Nothing is so mortifying, especially to an actress, as not to be able to -play her part effectively."</p> - -<p>Consuelo, scorning to reply, folded her arms and looked so fixedly at -the king that he was disconcerted. To stifle the rage which burned -within him, he was forced to break silence, and resume his bitter -mockery, hoping that in this way he would irritate the accused, and that -to defend herself she would lose her reserve and distrust.</p> - -<p>"Yes," said he, as if in reply to the silent language of her proud face. -"I know well enough you have been made to think I was in love with you, -and that you could brave me with impunity. All this would be very -amusing, were it not that persons on whom I place a higher estimate were -not the cause of the affair. Vain of playing a great part, you forgot -that subaltern confidants are always sacrificed by those who employ -them. I cannot, therefore, punish them, for they are too near to me for -it to be possible to chastise them, except by the contemplation of your -suffering. It is for you to see if you can undergo this misfortune for -persons who have betrayed your interests, and have on your ambitious and -indiscreet zeal thrown all the suffering."</p> - -<p>"Sire," said Consuelo, "I do not know what you mean. The manner, -however, in which you speak of confidants, makes me shudder for you!"</p> - -<p>"Why!"</p> - -<p>"Because you make me think that when you were the first victim of -tyranny, you would have surrendered Major Katt to a paternal -inquisition."</p> - -<p>The king became pale as death. All are aware that after an attempted -flight to England, when young, he had witnessed the decapitation of his -confidant. When in prison, he had been taken and held by force at a -window, and made to see his friend's blood run on the scaffold. This -horrible scene, of which he was innocent as possible, made a terrible -impression on him. It is the fate of princes to follow the example of -despotism, even when they have suffered most by it. The mind of -Frederick from misfortune became moody; and after a youth passed in -prison and chains, he ascended the throne imbued with the principles and -prejudices of absolute authority. No reproach could be so severe as that -which Consuelo addressed to him, when she thus recalled his early -misfortunes, and made him aware of his present injustice. His very heart -was grieved, but the effect it worked was as little beneficial to his -hardened soul as the punishment of Katt had been in other days. He rose -and said, "You may retire," at the same time ringing the bell, and -during the few seconds which intervened before his call was answered, -opened his book again, and pretended to be interested by it. A nervous -tremor shook his hand, however, and made the leaves rustle as he turned -them.</p> - -<p>A valet entered. The king waved his hand, and Consuelo went into another -room. One of the king's leverets, that had watched Consuelo, and had not -ceased to wag its tail and gambol around her, as if to challenge a -caress, followed her. The king, who had a paternal feeling only for -these animals, was obliged to call Mopsula back, just as she was passing -the door with Consuelo. The king had the mania, not altogether -irrational perhaps, of attributing to these animals an instinctive -perception of the feelings of those who approached them. He became -suspicious of persons whom he saw his dogs dislike, and liked those whom -they fawned on willingly. In spite of his mental agitation, the marked -sympathy of Mopsula had not escaped him; and when the pet returned to -him with an expression of sadness, he knocked, on the table and said to -himself as he thought of Consuelo, "Yet she was not badly disposed to -me."</p> - -<p>"Has your majesty asked for me?" said Buddenbrock, as he appeared at -another door.</p> - -<p>"No," said the king, who was offended at the anxiety with which the -courtier came to pounce on his prey. "Go away. I will ring for you."</p> - -<p>Mortified at being treated like a valet, Buddenbrock left; and during -the few moments the king passed in meditation, Consuelo was retained in -the Gobelin-hall. At length the bell was heard, and the aide-de-camp did -not because of his mortification delay to hasten to the king. The king -appeared somewhat softened and communicative.</p> - -<p>"Buddenbrock," said he, "that girl is an admirable character. At Rome -she would have deserved a triumph—a car with eight horses, and a -chaplet of oak leaves. Have a post-chaise prepared, take her yourself -out of the city, and send her under a good escort to Spandau, to be -confined as a state prisoner—not with the largest allowance of -liberty. Do you understand?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, sire."</p> - -<p>"One minute. Get into the carriage with her to pass through the city, -and frighten her by your conversation. It will be well to make her think -she is to be delivered to the executioner, and flogged as people were in -my father's time. Remember, however, while you talk thus, you must not -disturb a hair of her head; and put on your glove when you give her your -hand. Go: and learn, when you admire her stoical devotion, how you -should act to those who honor you with their confidence. It will do you -no harm."</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV</a></h4> - - -<p>Consuelo was taken to her house in the same carriage which had brought -her to the palace. Two sentinels were placed at each door of her house; -and the Baron of Buddenbrock, watch in hand, imitating the rigid -punctuality of his master, gave her one hour to make her preparations, -telling her at the same time that her packages would be examined by the -officers of the fortress to which she was about to be sent. When she -entered her room, all was in the most picturesque disorder. During her -conference with the king, officers of the secret police had come, in -obedience to order, to open every lock and take possession of all her -papers. Consuelo had except her music, nothing of consequence, and was -much distressed in thinking that perhaps she would never see her favorite -authors again—and they were the only fortune she had amassed. -She cared much less for various jewels given her by some of the most -exalted personages of Vienna and Berlin, as a kind of pay for her -services at their concerts. They were taken from her under the pretence -that perhaps the rings were poisoned or had seditious emblems. The king -never heard of them, nor did Consuelo ever see them. The subordinate -officers of Frederick had no scruples in relation to such peculations, -for they were badly paid, and knew the king would rather shut his eyes -to their conduct than increase their pay.</p> - -<p>Consuelo looked first for her crucifix, and thinking that they had -neglected it on account of its small value, took it down and put it in -her pocket. She saw the chaplet of roses lying withered on the floor. -When she took it up, she perceived with terror that the band of -parchment which contained the mysterious encouragement was not there.</p> - -<p>This was the only proof possible of her complicity in the pretended -conspiracy; but to what commentaries might this be the index? While -looking anxiously around for it, she put her hand in her pocket and -found it there, where she had placed it mechanically when Buddenbrock -had called her an hour before.</p> - -<p>Made at ease in relation to this, and being well aware that nothing -which could compromise her would be found among her papers, she hastened -to collect all she might need during an absence the duration of which -she knew would be altogether indefinite. She had no one to help her, her -servant having been arrested as a witness; and amid her dresses which -had been pulled out of the drawers and thrown at random about the room, -she had great difficulty in finding what she needed. Suddenly she heard -some sonorous object fall on the floor. It was a large nail which was -passed through a letter.</p> - -<p>The style was laconic. "Do you wish to escape? Show yourself at the -window, and in ten minutes you will be in safety."</p> - -<p>The first idea of Consuelo was to go to the window. She paused, however, -for she fancied that her flight, in case she effected it, would be -considered as proof of guilt, and that this would be considered a -confession that she had accomplices.</p> - -<p>"Princess Amelia!" thought she, "if it be true that you have betrayed -me, so will I not you! I will discharge my debt to Trenck. He saved my -life; and if it be necessary, I will lose mine for him!"</p> - -<p>Revived by this generous idea, she completed her preparations with much -presence of mind, and was ready when Buddenbrock came for her to go. On -this occasion she thought him more hypocritical and disagreeable than -ever. Being both servile and arrogant, Buddenbrock was jealous of his -master's sympathies, just as old dogs snap at all who visit the house. -He had been mortified at the lesson the king had given him when he -received orders to make Consuelo suffer from her situation, and asked -for nothing better than to be avenged.</p> - -<p>"I am much grieved, signora," said he, "at having to execute such -rigorous orders. For a long time nothing like it has been witnessed in -Berlin. No; it has not occurred since the time of Frederick William, the -august father of the present king. It was a cruel example of the -severity of the law, and of the power of our princes. I will remember it -as long as I live. Then neither age nor sex were respected when an error -was to be punished. I remember a very pretty girl, well-born and -amiable, who, for having received the visit of an august person, -contrary to the king's wish, was flogged by an executioner, and driven -from the city."</p> - -<p>"I know that story, sir," said Consuelo, with mingled fear and -indignation. "The young girl was prudent and pure. Her only offence was, -that she used to practise music with the present king, then prince -royal. Has the king suffered so little from the catastrophes to which he -has subjected others, that he now dares attempt to frighten me by so -infamous a threat?"</p> - -<p>"I think not, signora. His majesty does nothing but what is great and -just, and you must know whether or not your innocence shelters you from -his anger. I would think so if I could, but just now I saw the king more -irritated than he ever was. He said that he was wrong in attempting to -reign by mildness, and that in his father's days no woman had dared to -act as you had. From some other words of his majesty, I am afraid some -degrading punishment—I cannot conjecture what—awaits you. But -my duty is painful; we are now at the gates of the city, and if I find -there that the king has given any orders contrary to those I received to -conduct you to Spandau, I will withdraw, my rank not permitting me to be -present."</p> - -<p>Buddenbrock, seeing the effect he had produced, and that Consuelo was -almost ready to faint, stopped. She, at that moment, almost regretted -her devotion, and could not in her heart refrain from appealing to her -unknown protectors. But as she looked with a haggard eye at Buddenbrock, -she saw in his face the hesitating expression of falsehood, and began to -grow calm. Her heart yet beat as if it would burst her breast, when a -police officer presented himself at the gate, to exchange a few words -with Buddenbrock. During this conversation, one of the grenadiers who -had come on horseback with the carriage, came to the other door, and -said, in a low tone, "Be calm, signorina, blood will be shed rather than -that you should be injured." In her trouble, Consuelo did not -distinguish the features of her unknown friend, who at once withdrew. -The carriage proceeded at a gallop towards the fortress, and, in about -an hour, Porporina was incarcerated in due form, or rather with the -prevailing want of form, in the castle of Spandau.</p> - -<p>This citadel, at that time considered impregnable, is situated in the -bay formed by the confluence of the Havel and the Spree. The day had -become dark and gloomy, and Consuelo having completed the sacrifice, -experienced that apathetic exhaustion which follows energy and -enthusiasm. She therefore suffered herself to be taken to the gloomy -abode intended for her, without even looking around. She was exhausted; -and though it was noon only, threw herself, dressed as she was, on the -bed, and went fast asleep. In addition to the fatigue, she experienced, -was added that kind of delicious security, the fruits of which a good -conscience always receives. Though the bed was hard, she slept -profoundly as possible.</p> - -<p>She had been for some time in a kind of half-slumber, when she heard -midnight struck by the castle clock. The impression of sound is so keen -to musical ears that she was awakened at once. When she left her bed, -she understood that she was in prison, and she was forced to pass the -whole night in thought, as she had slept all day. She was surprised at -not suffering with cold, and was especially pleased at not feeling that -physical inconvenience which paralyses thought. The wind bellowed -outside in the most mournful manner, the rain beat on the window, and -Consuelo could see through the narrow window nothing but the iron -grating painted on the dark ground of a starless sky.</p> - -<p>The poor captive passed the first hour of this new and unknown -punishment, with her mind perfectly lucid, and with thoughts full of -logic, reason, and philosophy. Gradually, however, this tension fatigued -her brain, and the night became lugubrious. Her positive reflections -changed into vague and strange reveries. Fantastic images, painful -memories, terrible apprehensions assailed her, and she found herself in -a state neither of sleeping nor watching, yet where all her ideas -assumed some form and seemed to float amid the darkness of her cell. -Sometimes she fancied herself on the stage, and mentally sang a part -that fatigued her, and the representation of which haunted her, without -her being able to get rid of it: sometimes she saw herself in the hands -of the executioner, with bare shoulders, amid a stupid and curious -crowd, lacerated by the rod, while the king, with angry air, looked down -from the balcony, and Anzoleto stood laughing in one corner. At last, -she felt a kind of torpor, and saw nothing but the spectre of Albert in -a cenotaph, making vain efforts to rise and come to her aid. Then, this -image was effaced, and she fancied herself asleep in the grotto of -Schreckenstein, while the sublime and sad notes of the violin uttered in -the depths of the cavern Albert's eloquent and lacerating prayer. -Consuelo, in fact, was but half asleep, and the sound of the instrument -flattered her ear, and restored quiet to her soul. The phrases, however, -were so united, though weakened by distance, and the modulations were so -distinct, that she really fancied she heard them, and was not astonished -at the fact. It seemed that this fantastic performance lasted more than -an hour, and that it lost in the air its insensible gradations. Consuelo -then sunk again to sleep and day began to dawn when she opened her -eyes.</p> - -<p>The first care she had was to look around her room, which she had not -even looked at on the previous evening, so absorbed was she by the -sensations of physical life. She was in a cell, perfectly naked, but -clean, and warmed by a brick stove, which was lighted on the outside, -and which shed no light in the room, though it maintained an equable -temperature. One single arched window lighted the room, which yet was -not too dark: the walls were white-washed and rather high.</p> - -<p>Three knocks were heard at the door, and the keeper said aloud, -"<i>Prisoner, number three</i>, get up and dress: in a quarter of an hour -your room will be visited."</p> - -<p>Consuelo hastened to obey, and to remake her bed before the return of -the keeper, who in a very respectful manner brought her bread and water -for the day. He had the air and bearing of an old major-domo, and placed -the frugal prison-allowance on the table, with as much care and -propriety as if it had been the most carefully prepared repast.</p> - -<p>Consuelo looked at this man, who was old, and whose fine and gentle -physiognomy at first had nothing repulsive in it. He had been selected -to wait on the women, on account of his manners, his good behavior, and -his discretion, beyond all trial. His name was Swartz, and he informed -Consuelo of the fact.</p> - -<p>"I live below you," said he, "and if you be sick call to me through the -window."</p> - -<p>"Have you not a wife?" said Consuelo.</p> - -<p>"Certainly," said he, "and if you really need her, she will wait on you. -It is, however, forbidden to have anything to say with female prisoners, -except in special cases—the surgeon must say when. I have also a son -who will share with me the honor of serving you."</p> - -<p>"I have no need of so many servants, and if you please, Swartz, I will -be satisfied with your wife and yourself."</p> - -<p>"I know that ladies are satisfied with my age and appearance. You need -not fear my son more than you do me, for he is a lad full of piety, -gentleness, and firmness."</p> - -<p>"You will not require that last quality with me. I came hither almost -voluntarily, and have no wish to escape. As long as I am served decently -and properly, as people seem disposed, I will submit to the prison -rules, rigorous as they may be."</p> - -<p>As she spoke thus, Consuelo, who had eaten nothing during the past -twenty-four hours, and who had suffered all night with hunger, began to -break the loaf and to eat it with a good appetite.</p> - -<p>She then observed that her resignation made an impression on the old -keeper, and both amazed and annoyed him.</p> - -<p>"Your ladyship, then, has no aversion to this coarse food?" said he, -awkwardly.</p> - -<p>"I will not deny, that for the sake of my health in future, I wish for -something more substantial: if, however, I must be satisfied with this, -I will not be greatly put out."</p> - -<p>"Yet you are used to live well? You have a good table at home, I -suppose?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, certainly."</p> - -<p>"Then," said Swartz, "why do you not have a comfortable one prepared for -you here?"</p> - -<p>"Is that permitted?"</p> - -<p>"Certainly," said Swartz, whose eyes glittered at the idea of this -business, for he had feared to find a person too poor or too sober to -ask it. "If your ladyship has been shrewd enough to conceal any money on -your person, I am not prohibited from furnishing food to you. My wife is -a very good cook, and we have a very comfortable table service."</p> - -<p>"That is very kind," said Consuelo, who discovered Swartz' cupidity with -more disgust than satisfaction. "The question, however, is to know if I -really have money. They searched me when I came hither, and I know they -left me a crucifix, to which I attached much interest, but I cannot say -whether they have left me my purse."</p> - -<p>"Has not your ladyship observed it?"</p> - -<p>"No; does that surprise you?"</p> - -<p>"But your ladyship certainly knows what was in the purse."</p> - -<p>"Nearly." As she spoke, Consuelo examined her pockets, but did not find -a farthing. She said, in a gay tone, "They have left me nothing that I -can find: I must be satisfied with prison fare. Do not be mistaken as to -that fact."</p> - -<p>"Well, madame," said Swartz, not without a visible effort over himself, -"I will show you that my family is honest. Your purse is in my pocket; -here it is," and he showed Porporina her purse, which he immediately put -in his pocket.</p> - -<p>"Much good may it do you," said Porporina, amazed at his impudence.</p> - -<p>"Wait awhile," said the avaricious keeper. "My wife searched you. She -was ordered to let the prisoners have no money, lest they should use it -to corrupt their keepers. When the latter are incorruptible, the -precaution is useless. She thought, therefore, her duty did not require -her to give your money to the major. As, however, she must obey the -letter of the order, your purse cannot be returned directly to your -hands."</p> - -<p>"Keep it, then," said Consuelo, "since such is your pleasure."</p> - -<p>"To be sure I will, and you will thank me for doing so. I am the -depository of your money, and will use it for your wants. I will bring -you such dishes as you wish; I will keep your stove hot, and even -furnish you with a better bed and bed-linen. I will keep a regular -account, and pay myself discreetly from your fund."</p> - -<p>"So be it," said Consuelo. "I see one can make terms with heaven, and I -appreciate the honesty of Herr Swartz as I should. When this sum, which -is not large, shall be exhausted, will you not furnish me with the means -of procuring more?"</p> - -<p>"I do not say so. That would be to violate my duty, a thing I will never -do; but your ladyship will never suffer, if you will tell me who at -Berlin or elsewhere is the depository of your funds. I will send my -accounts to that person, in order that they may be regularly paid. My -orders do not forbid that."</p> - -<p>"Very well: you have contrived a way to correct that order, which is a -very agreeable thing, as it permits you to treat us well, and prohibits -us from having anything to say about it. When my ducats are gone, I will -contrive to satisfy you. First of all, bring me some chocolate; give me -for dinner a chicken and vegetables; get some books for me during the -day, and at night give me a light."</p> - -<p>"The chocolate your ladyship will have in five minutes; dinner will be -prepared at once. I will give you also some good soup, little delicacies -which ladies do not disdain, and coffee, which is very salutary to -combat the damp air of our residence. The books and light are -inadmissible: I would be dismissed at once, and my conscience does not -permit me to violate my orders."</p> - -<p>"But, other than prison food is equally prohibited."</p> - -<p>"Not so. We are permitted to treat ladies, and especially your ladyship, -humanely, in all that relates to health and comfort."</p> - -<p>"<i>Ennui</i> is equally injurious to the health."</p> - -<p>"Your ladyship is mistaken. Good food and mental repose make all here -fat. I might mention a lady who came hither as thin as you, and who, -after being a prisoner twenty years, was discharged, weighing one -hundred and twenty pounds."</p> - -<p>"Thank you, sir, I do not wish such immense <i>embonpoint.</i> I hope -you will not refuse me books and a light."</p> - -<p>"I humbly ask your ladyship's pardon; but I cannot violate my duty. -Besides, your ladyship will not suffer from <i>ennui</i>; you will have a -piano and music here."</p> - -<p>"Indeed! And to whom will I be indebted for this consolation? To -you?"</p> - -<p>"No, signora: to his majesty: and I have an order from the governor to -have the above-mentioned articles placed in your room."</p> - -<p>Consuelo was delighted at being allowed the means of <i>making music</i>, and -asked nothing more. She took her chocolate gaily, while Swartz put her -furniture in order, that is to say, a miserable bed, two straw chairs, -and a pine table. "Your ladyship will need a <i>commode</i>," said he, with -the kind air assumed by persons who wish to overpower others with care -and attention, in exchange for their money: "then a better bed, a -carpet, a chest of drawers, an arm-chair, and a toilette."</p> - -<p>"I will take the commode and toilette," said Consuelo, who sought to -take care of her means. "The rest I will not ask you for. I am not -particular, and beg you to give me only what I ask for."</p> - -<p>Swartz shook his head with astonishment, almost with contempt; he did -not reply, however, and when he had rejoined his worthy wife, said:</p> - -<p>"She is not a bad person, I mean the new prisoner, but she is poor; we -will not make much from her."</p> - -<p>"How much do you wish her to spend?" said the wife, shrugging her -shoulders. "She is not a great lady, but an actress, they tell me."</p> - -<p>"An actress!" said Swartz. "Well, I am glad for our son Gotlieb's -sake."</p> - -<p>"Fie on you," said Vrau Swartz, with a frown. "Do you wish to make him -a rope-dancer?"</p> - -<p>"You do not understand, wife. He will be a preacher. I will never give -it up, for he is of the wood of which they are made, and has studied. As -he must preach, and as he has as yet shown no great eloquence, this -actress will give him lessons in declamation."</p> - -<p>"That is not a bad idea, if she will not charge her lessons against our -bills."</p> - -<p>"Be easy, then; she has no sense," said Swartz, snickering and rubbing -his hands.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV</a></h4> - - -<p>During the day the piano came. It was the same one Consuelo had hired at -Berlin. She was very glad not to be obliged to run the risk of a new -acquaintance with another less agreeable and less sure instrument. The -king, too, who was used to enquire into the minutest details, had -ascertained when he gave the orders to send the instrument to the -prison, that it did not belong to the prima donna, but was hired, and -had caused the owner to be told that he would be responsible for its -return, but that the rent must be paid by the prima donna. The owner had -then said, that he had no resource to reach a person in prison, -especially if the person should die. Poelnitz, who was charged with this -mission, replied with a laugh, "My dear sir, you would not quarrel with -the king on such a matter; and besides, it would be of no use. Your -instrument is now under execution, and is, perhaps, at this moment in -Spandau."</p> - -<p>The manuscripts and arrangements of Porporina were also brought; and, as -she was astonished at so much amenity in the prison <i>régime</i>, the -commandant major of the place came to visit her, and to explain that she -would be required to perform her duty as first singer of the opera.</p> - -<p>"Such," said he, "is his majesty's will. Whenever the opera-bill hears -your name, an escorted coach will take you to the theatre, and return -with you to the fortress immediately after the representation. These -arrangements will be effected with the greatest exactness, and with the -respect due to you. I trust, mademoiselle, that you will not force us, -by any attempt to escape, to double the rigor of your captivity. -Agreeably to the king's orders, you have been placed in a room with a -fire, and you will be allowed to walk on the ramparts as often as you -please. In a word, we are responsible, not only for your person, but for -your health and voice. The only inconvenience you will be subjected to, -will be solitary confinement, without permission to see any one, either -within or without the fortress. As we have but few ladies here, a single -keeper suffices for the whole building they occupy, and you will not be -forced to be tended on by coarse people. The good countenance and good -manners of Swartz must have made you easy in that point of view. -<i>Ennui</i> will be the only inconvenience you will be subjected to, -and I fancy that at your age and in the brilliant sphere in which -you were——"</p> - -<p>"Be assured, major," said Consuelo, with dignity; "I never suffer from -<i>ennui</i> when I have any occupation. I only require a small -favor—writing materials and light—that I may attend to my -music in the evenings."</p> - -<p>"That is altogether impossible, and I am in despair at being forced to -refuse the request of so spirited a lady. I can only, by way of -palliative, give you permission to sing at any hour of the day or night. -Yours is the only occupied chamber in this isolated tower. The quarters -of Swartz are below, it is true, but he is too polite to complain of so -magnificent a voice. For my part, I regret being too distant to hear -it."</p> - -<p>This dialogue, which was in the presence of Master Swartz, was -terminated by low bows, and the old officer retired, with a conviction, -derived from the prisoner's composure, that she had been consigned to -his charge on account of some infraction of theatrical discipline, and -for a few weeks at most. Consuelo herself did not know whether she was -accused of complicity in a political conspiracy, or only of having -served Frederick Von Trenck, or of being the prudent confidant of the -Princess Amelia.</p> - -<p>For two or three days the captive was more uncomfortable, sad, and -<i>ennuyée</i> than she chose to own. The length of the night at that -season, fourteen hours, was particularly disagreeable, even while she -hoped to be able to induce Swartz to give her pen, ink, and paper. Ere -long, however, she saw that this obsequious personage was inflexible. He -did not at all resemble the majority of people of his class, who love to -persecute those committed to their custody. He was even pious, in his -way, thinking perhaps that he served God and earned salvation so long as -he persisted in discharging the duties of his situation, which he could -not neglect. It is true the indulgences granted were few, and related to -the articles in which there was more chance of profit with the prisoners -than danger of losing his place.</p> - -<p>"She is very simple to think that to earn a few groschen I would run the -risk of losing my place," said he to his wife, who was the Egeria of -these consultations. "Take care," he exclaimed, "not to grant her a single -meal when her purse is empty!——-Do not be alarmed. She has -saved something, and has told me that Signor Porporino, a singer of the -theatre, has it in keeping."</p> - -<p>"It is a bad chance," said the woman; "read again the code of Prussian -law in relation to actresses; it forbids all suits on their part. Take -care, then, that Porporino does not quote the law and retain the money -when you present your accounts."</p> - -<p>"But as her engagement at the theatre is not broken by imprisonment, -since she must continue her duty, I will make seizure of the theatrical -treasury."</p> - -<p>"Who knows if she will get her salary? The king knows the law better -than any one else, and if he invoke it."</p> - -<p>"You think of everything, wife!" cried Swartz. "I will be on my guard. -No money—no fire, no food, and regulation furniture. The letter of -the orders!"</p> - -<p>Thus the Swartz decided on Consuelo's fate. When she became satisfied -that the honest keeper was incorruptible in relation to lights, she made -up her mind, and so arranged her day, as to suffer least from the length -of the night. She would not sing by day, reserving that occupation for -the night. She also refrained, as far as possible, from thinking of -music and occupying her mind with musical recollections and inspirations -before the hours of darkness. On the contrary, she devoted the whole day -to reflections suggested by her position, to the past, and to dreamy -anticipations of the future. In this way, for the time, she succeeded in -dividing her time into two parts, one philosophical, and the other -musical, and saw at once, that with perseverance she could, to a certain -degree, contrive to subject to the will of that capricious and fiery -courser, fancy, the whimsical muse of the imagination. By living -soberly, in spite of the prescriptions and insinuations of Swartz, by -taking much exercise, even when she took no pleasure in it, on the -ramparts, she was enabled to be calm at evening, and employ very -agreeably those hours of darkness, which prisoners, by wishing to seek -sleep to escape <i>ennui</i>, fill with phantoms and agitation. Finally, by -appropriating only six hours to sleep, she was sure of being able to -sleep quietly every night, never permitting an excess of repose to -prevail over the tranquillity of the next night.</p> - -<p>After eight days, she had become so used to prison, that it seemed she -had never lived in any other manner. Her evenings, at first so much -feared, became the most agreeable part of the day, and darkness, far -from terrifying, revealed to her treasures of musical conception, which -she had felt for a long time, though unable to evolve in the excitement -of her profession. When she saw that improvisation and the exercise of -memory would suffice to fill her evenings, she devoted a few hours of -the day to note her inspirations, and to study her authors with more -care than she had been able to do amid a thousand emotions, or beneath -the eye of an impatient, and systematic teacher.</p> - -<p>To write music she first made use of a pin, with which she pricked notes -between the lines, and afterwards with little pieces of wood, stripped -from the furniture, and which she charred against the stove when it was -hottest. As this occupied much time, and she had a very small quantity -of ruled paper, she saw it would be best to exercise the powerful memory -with which she was gifted, and trust the numerous compositions she made -every evening to it. Practice enabled her to do this so thoroughly, that -she could pass from one to the other of these unwritten compositions -without confusion.</p> - -<p>Yet, as her room was very warm, thanks to the fuel which Swartz kindly -added to the allowance, and as the rampart on which she walked was -perpetually swept by an icy wind, she could not avoid several days' -cold, which deprived her of the pleasure of singing at the Berlin -theatre. The surgeon of the fortress, who had been ordered to see her -twice a week, and to give an account of her health to Von Poelnitz, -wrote that her voice was gone exactly on the day when the baron, with -the king's consent, was about to suffer her to appear before the public -again. Her egress was thus postponed, without her feeling any chagrin at -it. She did not wish to breathe the air of liberty until she had become -so used to her prison as to be able to return to it without regret.</p> - -<p>She consequently did not nurse the cold with so much care as an actress -usually displays for that precious organ, her throat, and thus -experienced a phenomenon known to the whole world. Fever produces in -every one's brain a more or less painful illusion. Some think that the -angles, formed by the sides of the wall, draw near to them, until they -seem finally to press and crush their frames. They see the angles -gradually diverge and leave them free, return again, and resume the same -alternative of annoyance and relief. Others take their bed for a wave, -which raises and depresses them between the ceiling and the floor. The -writer of this veracious history, is made aware of fever by the presence -of a vast black shadow, which spreads upon a brilliant surface, in which -she is placed. This spot of shade, swimming in an imaginary sun, is -perpetually expanding and contracting. It dilates so as to cover the -whole brilliant surface, and again contracts so as to be a mere thread, -after which it extends again, to be successively attenuated and -thickened. This vision would not be at all unpleasant for the dreamer, -if he did not imagine, from some unhealthy sensation, difficult to be -understood, that he was himself the obscure reflection of some unknown -object, floating without repose in an arena embraced by the fires of an -invisible sun. So great is this, that when the imaginary shadow -contracts, his own being seems to diminish and elongate, so as to become -the shadow of a hair; and when it expands, to be the reflection of a -mountain overhanging a valley. In the reverie, however, there is neither -mountain nor valley. There is nothing but the reflection of an opaque -body making on the sun's reflection, which the black ball of a cat's eye -makes in the transparent iris, and this hallucination, unaccompanied by -sleep, becomes intensely painful.</p> - -<p>We may mention another person, who, in a fever, sees a floor giving way -every moment. Another, who fancies himself a globe, floating in space; a -third, who takes the space between his bed and the floor for a -precipice—while a fourth is always dragged to the left. Every reader -may find observations and phenomena from his own experience; but this -will not advance the question, nor will it explain better than we can, -how every person during his life, or, at least, during a long series of -years, has at night a dream which is his, and not another's, and -undergoes at every attack of fever a certain hallucination, which always -presents the same character and the same kind of anguish. This question -is a physiological one, and I think the medical men will find some -instruction—I do not say about the actual disease which reveals -itself by other and more evident symptoms, but of some latent malady, -originating in the weak point of the patient's organization, and which -it is dangerous to provoke by certain reactives.</p> - -<p>This question is not original with the author, who begs his reader's -pardon for having introduced it.</p> - -<p>Of our heroine, we must say that the hallucination caused by fever -presented a musical character, and affected the auditory nerves. She -resumed then the reverie she had when awake, or at least half awake, on -her first night in the prison. She fancied that she heard the plaintive -tone and the eloquent <i>phrases</i> of Albert's violin—now strong -and distinct, now weak, as if they came from the distance of the horizon. -There was in these imaginary sounds something painfully strange. When -the vibration seemed to approach, Consuelo felt a feeling of terror. -When it was fully displayed, it was with a power which completely -overwhelmed. Then the sound became feeble, and she felt some -consolation, for the fatigue of listening with constant attention to a -song which became lost in space, made her soon feel feeble, during which -she could hear nothing. The constant return of the harmonious tremor -filled her with fear, trembling, and terror, as if the sweep of some -fantastic bow had embraced all air, and unchained the storm around.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI</a></h4> - - -<p>Consuelo soon recovered, and was able again to sing at night, and sleep -calmly as before.</p> - -<p>One day, the twelfth of her incarceration, she received a note from Von -Poelnitz, which informed her that on the next night she would leave the -fortress.</p> - -<p>"I have obtained from the king," said he, "permission to go for you, in -one of his own carriages. If you promise me not to escape through the -windows, I hope I will even be able to dispense with the escort, and -reproduce you at the theatre without all that melancholy <i>cortège.</i> -Believe me, you have no more devoted friend than I am; and I deplore the -rigorous treatment, perhaps unjust, which you undergo."</p> - -<p>Porporina was somewhat amazed at the sudden friendship and delicate -attention of the baron. In his intercourse with the <i>prima donna</i>, Von -Poelnitz, who was <i>ex-roué</i>, with no respect for virtue, had been very -cold and abrupt in his demeanor at first; subsequently, he had spoken of -her regular conduct and of her reserved manners with the most -disobliging irony. Nearly everybody knew the old chamberlain was a royal -spy; but Consuelo was not initiated in the secrets of the court, and was -not aware that any one could discharge such a disagreeable duty without -losing the advantage of position in society. A vague, instinctive -aversion, however, told Consuelo that Poelnitz had contributed more to -her misfortune than he had alleviated it. She therefore watched every -word that was uttered when she was alone with him on the next evening, -as the coach bore them rapidly to Berlin.</p> - -<p>"Well, my poor recluse," said he, "you are in a terrible condition. Are -the veteran servitors who guard you very stern? They would never permit -me to go inside the citadel, under the pretext that I had no permit. -They kept me on that account freezing for a quarter of an hour at the -gate while I was waiting for you. Well, wrap yourself closely in this -fur I brought to preserve your voice, and tell me what has happened. -What on earth passed at that last carnival ball? Everyone asks a -question which none can answer. Many innocent persons like myself have -disappeared as if by enchantment. The Count de Saint Germain, who I -think is one of your friends, has disappeared. A certain Trismegistus, -who it is said was in hiding at the house of one Golowkin, and whom -perhaps you know, for they say you are familiar as any one with all that -devil's brood——"</p> - -<p>"Have those persons been arrested?"</p> - -<p>"Or have they taken flight. There are two versions in the town."</p> - -<p>"If these persons know no more than I do, why, they are persecuted. They -had better have waited boldly for their persecution."</p> - -<p>"The new moon may change the monarch's humor. I advise you to sing well -to-night. That is your best chance, and will have more effect on him -than fine words. How the deuce could you be so imprudent as to suffer -yourself to be sent to Spandau? The king would never, for such trifles -as you are accused of, have inflicted so uncourteous a sentence upon a -lady. You must have answered him arrogantly, with your cap on your ear -and your hand on your sword-hilt. What had you done that was wrong? Let -me see—what was it? I will undertake to arrange matters; and if you -follow my advice, you will not return to that damp swamp, but will sleep -to-night in a pretty room at Berlin. Come, tell me. They say you supped -in the palace with the Princess Amelia, and that one fine night you -amused yourself by playing the ghost and the <i>balayeuse</i> in the -corridors, for the purpose of scaring the queen's ladies of honor. It -seems that several of these ladies have miscarried, and the most -virtuous are likely to give birth to children with brooms on their -noses. They say you had your fortune told by Madame Von Kleist's -astrologer, and that Saint Germain revealed to you all the secrets of -Philip the Fair. Are you simple enough to think that the king means -anything else than to laugh with his sister at these follies? The king, -besides, has a weakness almost equal to child's play for the abbess. As -for the fortune-tellers, he only wishes to know whether they ring their -changes for money, in which case they must leave the country and all is -done. You see clearly, then, that you take advantage of your position, -and that had you answered some unimportant questions quietly, you would -not have passed the carnival at Spandau in such a sad manner."</p> - -<p>Consuelo let the old courtier chatter away, without interruption; and -when he pressed her to reply, persisted in saying that she did not know -what he was talking of. She saw that some snare lurked beneath all this -frivolity.</p> - -<p>Von Poelnitz then changed his tactics.</p> - -<p>"This is well," said he. "You distrust me. I am not displeased. On the -contrary, I value your prudence highly. Since you are of this -disposition, signora, I will speak plainly. I perceive that you may be -trusted, and that our secret is in good hands. Know, then, Signora -Porporina, that I am more your friend than you imagine. I am one of you. -I am of the party of Prince Henry."</p> - -<p>"Prince Henry has a party, then?" said Porporina, who was anxious to -learn the intrigue in which she was said to be involved.</p> - -<p>"Do not pretend ignorance," said the baron. "It is a party at present -much persecuted, but far from being desperate. The Grand Lama, or, if -you like the title better, the Marquis, does not sit so firmly on his -throne that he cannot be shaken out of it. Prussia is a good war-horse, -but must not be pushed too far."</p> - -<p>"Then you are a conspirator, Baron Von Poelnitz! I never suspected -you."</p> - -<p>"Who does not conspire now? The tyrant is surrounded by servants who are -apparently faithful. They have however, sworn his ruin."</p> - -<p>"You are very wrong, baron, to confide this to me."</p> - -<p>"If I do so, it is because I am authorized by the prince and -princess."</p> - -<p>"Of what princess do you speak?"</p> - -<p>"Of one you know. I do not think the others conspire, unless, perhaps, -the Margravine of Bareith does; for she is offended at her position, and -angry with the king, since he scolded her about her understanding with -the Cardinal de Fleury. That is an old story; but a woman's anger is of -long duration, and the Margravine Guillemette<a name="FNanchor_10_1" id="FNanchor_10_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_10_1" class="fnanchor">[10]</a> is not the -common-place person she seems."</p> - -<p>"I never had the honor of hearing her say a word."</p> - -<p>"But you saw her at the rooms of the Abbess of Quedlimburgh."</p> - -<p>"I was never but once at the rooms of the Princess Amelia, and the only -member of the family I saw was the king."</p> - -<p>"It matters not. Prince Henry had ordered me to say——"</p> - -<p>"Really, baron!" said Consuelo, contemptuously, "has the prince -instructed you to say anything?"</p> - -<p>"You shall see that I do not jest. You must know that his affairs are -not ruined, as people assert. None of his friends have betrayed him. -Saint Germain is now in France, attempting to unite our conspiracy with -that which is about to replace Charles Edward on the throne of England. -Trismegistus alone has been arrested, but he will escape, and the prince -is sure of his discretion. He conjures you not to suffer yourself to be -terrified by the threats of the Marquis. Especially he enjoins you to -confide in none who pretend to be his friends and wish to speak to you. -On that account just now you were subjected to an ordeal, which you -sustained satisfactorily. I will say to our hero, to our brave prince, -that you are one of the best champions of his cause."</p> - -<p>Consuelo could no longer restrain her laughter. The baron, mortified at -her contempt, asked the reason. She could only say——</p> - -<p>"Ah, baron, you are sublime, and admirable!" and again her laughter -became irrepressible.</p> - -<p>"When this nervous attack is over," said the chamberlain, "be pleased to -tell me what you mean to do. Would you betray the prince? Do you think -the princess would have betrayed you to the king? Would you think -yourself freed from your oaths? Take care, signora, or you may soon have -reason to repent. Silesia ere long will be restored to Maria Theresa, -who has not abandoned our plans, and who henceforth will be our best -ally. Russia and France will certainly offer Prince Henry their hands. -Madame de Pompadour has not forgotten the contempt of Frederick. A -powerful coalition this, and a few years of strife may easily hurl from -the throne the proud monarch who now maintains it by a thread. With the -good will of the new monarch, you may reach a lofty position. The least, -then, that can happen from all this is, that the Elector of Saxony may -lose the Polish crown, and King Henry reign at Warsaw. Then——"</p> - -<p>"Then, baron, there exists, in your opinion, a conspiracy which, to -satisfy Prince Henry, is about to enkindle another European war! and -that prince, to gratify his ambition, would not shrink from the shame of -surrendering his country to a foreign rule! I can scarcely think such -things possible. If you unfortunately speak the truth, I am much -humiliated at the idea of being considered your accomplice. Let us be -done with this comedy, I beg of you. For a quarter of an hour you have -manœuvred very shrewdly to make me own crimes of which I am innocent. I -have listened to ascertain what was the pretext for my being kept in -prison. It remains still for me to find out why I have received the -bitter hatred so basely exhibited against me. If you wish, I will try to -vindicate myself. Until I do, I have nothing to reply to all you have -said, except that you surprise me much, and that I sympathise with none -of those schemes."</p> - -<p>"Then, signora, if that be all you know, I am amazed at the volatility -of the prince, who bade me speak plainly to you, before he was assured -of your adhesion to his schemes."</p> - -<p>"I repeat, baron, that I am utterly ignorant of the prince's plans; but -I am sure that you never had any authority to speak to me one word about -them. Excuse me for thus contradicting you. I respect your age, but -cannot but contemn the terrible <i>rôle</i> you have undertaken to play -with me."</p> - -<p>"I am never offended at the absurd suspicions of women," said Von -Poelnitz, who could not now avow his falsehoods. "The time will come -when you will do me justice. In the trouble of persecution, and with the -bitter ideas created by a prison, it is not strange that you should not -at once see clearly and distinctly. In conspiracies we must expect such -blunders, especially from women. I pity and pardon you. It is possible, -too, that in all this you are only the devoted friend of Baron Von -Trenck, and a princess's confidant. These secrets are of too delicate a -nature for me to be willing to speak of. On them, Prince Henry himself -closes his eyes, though he is aware that all that has led his sister to -join the conspiracy is the hope of Trenck's restoration."</p> - -<p>"I am also ignorant of that, baron, and think, were you sincerely -devoted to the august princess, you would not talk so strangely about -her."</p> - -<p>The noise of the wheels on the pavement terminated this conversation, -much to the satisfaction of the baron, who was sadly perplexed for an -expedient to extricate himself from the position he had assumed. They -were going into the city. The singer was escorted to the stage and to -her dressing-room, by two sentinels, who never lost sight of her. -Although esteemed by her associates, she was coldly received, as none -were bold enough to protest against this external testimonial of -disgrace and royal disfavor. They were sad and constrained, acting as if -afraid of contagion. Consuelo, attributing this to compassion, thought -that in their faces she read the sentence of a long captivity. She -sought to show them that she was not afraid, and appeared on the stage -with bold confidence.</p> - -<p>The arrest of Porporina had been much talked of, and the audience, -composed of persons devoted by conviction or position to the royal will, -put their hands in their pockets as if to restrain the wish and habit of -applauding the singer. Every one looked at the king, who glanced -curiously over the crowd, and seemed to command the most absolute -silence. Suddenly a crown of flowers, thrown no one knew whence, fell at -the feet of Consuelo, and many voices said, simultaneously and loud -enough to be heard in every part of the house, "<i>It is the king—the -royal pardon!</i>" This assertion passed rapidly as lightning from mouth to -mouth, and fancying they paid Frederick a compliment, such a torrent of -applause broke forth as Berlin had never before resounded with. For some -minutes Porporina, amazed and confounded, would not commence her part. -The king, amazed, looked at the spectators with a terrible expression, -which was taken as a signal of consent and approbation. Buddenbrock, -himself, who was not far off, asking young Benda what it all meant, was -told the crown came from the king, and at once began to applaud with the -most comical bad grace. Porporina thought she was dreaming, and the king -scratched his head to know if he was awake.</p> - -<p>Whatever might have been the cause and result of this triumph, Consuelo -felt its salutary effect. She surpassed herself, and was applauded with -the same transport, through all the first act. During the interval, -however, the mistake became gradually corrected, and there was but one -part of the audience, the most obscure and least likely to be influenced -by courtiers, which refrained from giving tokens of approbation. -Finally, between the second and third acts, the corridor-orators -informed every one, that the king was very much dissatisfied with the -stupid applause of the public, that a cabal had been created by -Porporina's unheard-of audacity, and that any one who was observed to -participate in it, would certainly regret it. During the third act, in -spite of the wonders performed by the prima donna, the silence was so -great that a fly's wings might have been heard to move at the conclusion -of every song, while the other actors received all the benefit of the -reaction.</p> - -<p>Porporina was soon undeceived in relation to her triumph. "My poor -friend," said Conciolini, when behind the scenes he presented her the -chaplet, "how I pity you for having such dangerous friends! They will -ruin you."</p> - -<p>Between the acts, Porporino came to her dressing-room, and said, in a -low tone, "I bade you distrust M. de Saint Germain, but it was too late. -Every party has its traitors. Do not, however, be less faithful to -friendship and obedient to the voice of conscience. You are protected by -a more powerful arm than the one which oppresses you."</p> - -<p>"What mean you?" said Porporina, "are you of those——"</p> - -<p>"I say, God will protect you," said Porporino, who seemed afraid that he -would be overheard, and he pointed to the partition which divided the -dressing-rooms of the actors. The partitions were ten feet high, but -left, between the top and the ceiling, a space sufficiently wide to -suffer sound to pass freely from one to the other. "I foresaw," said he, -giving her a purse filled with money, "that you would need this, and -therefore have brought it."</p> - -<p>"I thank you," said Porporina. "If the keeper, who sells me food at a -dear price, come to ask payment, as I have here enough to satisfy him -for a long time, do not give it him. He is an usurer."</p> - -<p>"Very well," said the good and kind Porporino, "I will bid you good-bye, -for I would but aggravate your position, if I seemed to have any secret -with you."</p> - -<p>He glided away, and Consuelo was visited by Madame Coccei (La -Barberini,) who boldly showed much interest and affection. The Marquise -d'Argens, (La Cochois,) joined them, and exhibited a much more eager -manner, playing the queen who protects misfortune. Consuelo was not very -much pleased at <i>her</i> bearing, and asked her not to compromise her -husband's favor by remaining long with her.</p> - -<p class="center">* * * * * * * *</p> - -<p>The king said to Von Poelnitz, "Well, have you questioned her? Could you -make her talk?"</p> - -<p>"No more than if she were dumb."</p> - -<p>"Did you say I would pardon her, if she would tell me what she knew of -<i>La Balayeuse</i>, and what St. Germain said?"</p> - -<p>"She cares no more about it, than about what happened forty years -ago."</p> - -<p>"Did you frighten her, by talking of a long captivity?"</p> - -<p>"Not yet; your majesty bade me act mildly——"</p> - -<p>"Frighten her as you go back."</p> - -<p>"I will try. It will be in vain, however."</p> - -<p>"She is, then, a saint, a martyr."</p> - -<p>"She is a fanatic, possessed by a demon—a devil in petticoats."</p> - -<p>"Then, woe to her. I give her up. The Italian opera season ends in a few -days. Arrange matters so that I shall not hear of this girl till next -year."</p> - -<p>"A year! Your majesty will not stick to that."</p> - -<p>"More firmly than your head sticks to your shoulders."</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_10_1" id="Footnote_10_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_10_1"><span class="label">[10]</span></a>Sophia Wilhelmina. She used the signature of "Sister -Guillemette," in her correspondence with Voltaire.</p></div> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII</a></h4> - - -<p>Von Poelnitz hated Porporina sufficiently to take this opportunity to -avenge himself. He, however, did not, his conduct being cowardly in the -extreme; he had not sufficient strength of mind to injure any but those -who yielded to him. As soon as he was alone, he became timid, and one -might say, experienced an involuntary respect for those whom he could -not deceive. He had been even known to detach himself from those who -flattered his vices, and to follow, like a whipped hound, those who -trampled on him. Was this a feeling of weakness, or the memory of a less -degraded youth? It would be pleasant to think, that in the most degraded -souls, something appeals to our better instincts, which yet remain, -though oppressed and existing in suffering and remorse alone. Von -Poelnitz had long attached himself to Prince Henry, and feigning to -participate in his sorrows, had induced him to complain of the king's -bad treatment: these conversations he repeated to Frederick, filling -them with venom, as a means of increasing the anger of the latter. -Poelnitz did this dirty work for the very pleasure of mischief; for, in -fact he did not hate the prince, being incapable of the passion. He -hated no one but the king, who dishonored him every day, without making -him rich. Poelnitz loved trickery for its own sake. To deceive, was a -flattering triumph in his eyes. He felt, besides, a real pleasure in -speaking and causing others to speak ill of the king, and when he -repeated all these slanders to the king, he had an interval of pleasure -at being able to play his master the same trick, by concealing the -pleasure he took in laughing at him, betraying and revealing his vicious -and ridiculous points to his enemies. Both parties, therefore, he -considered his dupes, and this life of intrigue in which he fomented -hatred, without knowing precisely why, had a secret attraction.</p> - -<p>The consequence, however, was, that Henry discovered, that as often as -he suffered his ill-humor to appear before the complaisant baron, in the -course of a few hours he found the king more offended and outrageous -than ever. If he complained before Von Poelnitz of having been -twenty-four hours in arrest, on the next day he had twice the -confinement awarded him. This prince, as frank as brave, as confiding as -Frederick was suspicious, finally arrived at a correct appreciation of -the character of the miserable baron. Instead of managing him prudently, -he had overpowered him with indignation. Since that time, Poelnitz -humbled himself to the ground and never had offended him. He seemed, -even, in the depth of his heart, to love him as much as he was capable -of loving any one. He warmed with admiration when he spoke of him, and -these testimonials of respect appeared so strange that all were -astonished at such an incomprehensible whim in such a man.</p> - -<p>The fact is, Von Poelnitz, finding the prince more generous and a -thousand times more tolerant than Frederick, would have preferred him as -a master; having a vague presentiment or rather a guess, as the king -had, that a mysterious conspiracy was spun around the prince, the -threads of which he wished to hold, so that he might know whether -success was so certain that he might join it. It was then for his own -interests that he sought to ingratiate himself with Consuelo, and -ascertain its secrets. Had she revealed the little she knew, he would -not have disclosed it to the king, unless Frederick had given him a -great deal of money. Frederick was too economical, however, to purchase -the services of great scoundrels.</p> - -<p>Poelnitz had ascertained something of this mystery from the Count de -Saint Germain. He had spoken so positively, so boldly of the king, that -this skillful adventurer had not sufficiently distrusted him. Let us -say, <i>en passant</i>, that in this adventurer's character there was -something of enthusiasm and folly: that though he was a charlatan and -even Jesuitical in many respects, there was a foundation for the entire -man, a fanatical conviction which presented singular contrasts, and -induced him to perpetrate many errors.</p> - -<p>In conveying Consuelo back to the fortress, having somewhat familiarized -himself with the contempt she had exhibited, he conducted himself with -great <i>naïveté</i> towards her. He confessed to her, voluntarily, that he -was ignorant of everything, that all he had said about the plans of the -prince, in relation to foreign powers, was but a gratuitous commentary -on the whimsical conduct and secret association of the prince and his -sister with suspicious characters.</p> - -<p>"This commentary does no honor to your lordship's sincerity," said -Consuelo, "and, perhaps, should not be boasted of."</p> - -<p>"The commentary is not my own," said Poelnitz, quietly. "It is conceived -by a royal master, with a diseased and unhealthy brain, if there ever -was one, whenever any suspicion takes possession of him. To consider -suppositions as certainties, is a mode of conduct so firmly established -by the custom of courts and diplomatists, that it is pretence in you to -scandalise it. I, too, learned it from kings. They are the persons who -have educated me, and my vices come from the father and the son, the two -Prussian monarchs I have the honor to have served. To state falsehood, to -discover the truth—Frederick never acts otherwise, and is considered -a great man. See what it is to be popular. Yet I am treated as a -criminal because I have his errors; what a prejudice!"</p> - -<p>Von Poelnitz insinuatingly endeavored, as well as he could, to ascertain -from Consuelo what had passed between herself, the abbess, Von Trenek, -the adventurers Cagliostro, Trismegistus, Saint Germain, and a number of -very important persons, who, it was said, were involved in the affair. -He told her, naïvely enough, that if the matter had any consistency, he -would not hesitate to join in it. Consuelo at last saw that he spoke -sincerely. As she knew nothing, however, there was no merit in -persisting in her denial.</p> - -<p>When the fortress gates closed on Consuelo and her pretended secret, he -reflected on the course he ought to adopt in relation to her, and, in -conclusion, hoping if she returned to Berlin that she would suffer her -secret to be discovered, determined to vindicate her. The first sentence -he said to the king on the next day Frederick interrupted.</p> - -<p>"What has she revealed?" said he.</p> - -<p>"Nothing, sire."</p> - -<p>"Then do not disturb me. I forbade you to speak of her. Never utter her -name again before me."</p> - -<p>This was said in such a tone that reply was impossible. Frederick -certainly suffered when he thought of Porporina, for there was in his -heart and conscience a tender point which quivered, as when a pin is -driven into the flesh. To shake off this painful sensation he determined -to forget the matter, and had no difficulty in doing so. Eight days had -not elapsed, when, thanks to his strong character and the servile -conduct of those around him, he forgot that Consuelo had ever existed. -She was at Spandau. The theatrical season was over, and her piano had -been taken from her. The king had given orders to that effect on the -evening when, thinking to gratify him, the audience had applauded her -even in his presence. Prince Henry was placed under an indefinite -arrest. The Abbess of Quedlimburg was very sick. The king was cruel -enough to make her think Trenck had been retaken, and was again in -prison. Trismegistus and Saint Germain had really disappeared, and <i>la -balayeuse</i> no longer haunted the palace. What her apparition presaged -really seemed confirmed. The youngest of the prince's brothers died of -premature disease.</p> - -<p>Added to these domestic troubles was the final dispute between Voltaire -and the king. Almost all biographers have declared that Voltaire had the -best of it. When we look closely at the documents, we find recorded -circumstances which do honor to neither, though the most contemptible -part was played by Frederick. Colder, more implacable, more selfish than -Voltaire, Frederick was capable neither of envy nor hatred, and these -bitter passions stripped Voltaire of a dignity the king knew how to -assume. Among the bitter disputes which added, drop by drop, to the -explosion, was one in which Consuelo was not named, but which prolonged -the sentence of wilful oblivion pronounced on her. D'Argens was reading -one evening the Parisian newspapers, in the presence of Voltaire. They -mentioned the affair of M'lle Clairon, who was interrupted in her part by -a spectator, who shouted out "<i>louder.</i>" Called on to make an apology -to the public, she cried out, in royal phraseology, "<i>et vous plus -bas.</i>"<a name="FNanchor_11_1" id="FNanchor_11_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_11_1" class="fnanchor">[11]</a> The result was, she was sent to the <i>Bastille</i> for having -acted with as much pride as firmness. The newspapers said that this -circumstance would not deprive the public of the pleasure of seeing -M'lle Clairon, because during her incarceration she would be brought -under an escort from the Bastille, to play the parts of <i>Phédre</i> or -<i>Chimene</i>, after which she would be returned to prison until her -sentence had expired, which it was hoped and presumed would not be -long.</p> - -<p>Voltaire was very intimate with Clairon, because she had greatly -contributed to the success of his dramatic works. He was indignant at the -circumstance, and forgetting that a perfectly analogous circumstance was -passing under his eyes, said—"This does little honor to France. The -fool! to interrupt an actress in such a brutal manner—and such an -actress as M'lle Clairon—stupid public! She make an apology—a -lady—a charming woman! Brutes! Barbarians! The Bastile? In God's -name, marquis, are you not amazed? A woman in the Bastile at this -age—for a <i>bon mot</i>, full of mind, <i>apropos</i>, and taste! -France, too!"</p> - -<p>"Certainly," said the king, "La Clairon was playing <i>Electra</i> and -<i>Semiramis</i>; and the public, unwilling to lose a single word, should -find favor with M. de Voltaire."</p> - -<p>At another time, this remark of the king would have been flattering to -Voltaire; but it was now uttered with such irony, that the philosopher -was surprised, and it reminded him of the blunder he had committed. He -had wit enough to repair it, but would not. The king's ill-temper -excited him, and he replied: "No, sire: Madame Clairon would have -disgraced my tragedy had she obeyed; and I cannot think the world has a -police-system brutal enough to bury beauty, genius, and weakness in a -dungeon."</p> - -<p>This reply, added to others, and especially the brutal ridicule, cynical -laughter,&c., reported to the king by the officious Poelnitz, -super-induced the rupture with which all are acquainted, and supplied -Voltaire with the means of making the most piquant complaints, most -comical imprecations, and most bitter reproaches. Consuelo was more than -ever forgotten, while Clairon left the Bastile in triumph. Deprived of -her piano, the poor girl appealed to her courage, and continued to sing -and compose at night. She succeeded, and did not fail to discover that -her beautiful voice was improved by this most difficult practice. The -fear of lunacy made her very circumspect. She was enabled to attend to -herself alone, and a constant exercise of memory and mind was required. -Her manner became more serious, and nearer perfection. Her compositions -became more simple, and, at Spandau, she was the author of airs of -wonderful beauty and grand sadness. Before long, however, she became -aware of the injury which the loss of her piano did to her health and -calmness. Knowing the necessity of ceaseless occupation, and unwilling -to repose after exciting and stormy production and execution, by more -tranquil study and research, she became aware that fever was gradually -kindling in her veins, and she was plunged in grief. Her active -character, which was happy and full of affectionate expansion, was not -formed for isolation and the absence of sympathy. She would, in a few -weeks have been sacrificed to this cruel <i>régime</i>, had not Providence -sent her a friend whom she certainly did not expect to meet.</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_11_1" id="Footnote_11_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_11_1"><span class="label">[11]</span></a>Royalty in Europe always uses the plural. The meaning of -the phrase is, "And you SPEAK not so loudly!"</p></div> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII</a></h4> - - -<p>Beneath the cell, which our recluse occupied, a large smoky room (a -thick and mournful vault, which received no other light than that of the -fire in a vast chimney, continually filled with iron pots, boiling and -hissing) contained the Swartz family. While the wife made the greatest -possible number of dinners out of the smallest number of comestibles, -the husband sat before a table, blackened with ink and oil, and, by the -light of a lamp which burned constantly in this dark sanctuary, wrote -out immense bills containing the most fabulous items imaginable. The -miserable dinners were for the large number of prisoners whom Swartz had -contrived to number among his boarders; the bills were to be presented -to their relations or bankers without being always submitted to the -recipients of this luxurious alimentation. While the speculative couple -were devoting themselves with all their power to toil, two more -peaceable personages, in the chimney-corner, sat by in silence, perfect -strangers to the advantage and profit of what was going on. The first -was a poor starved cat, thin and famished, whose whole existence seemed -wasted in sucking its paws. The second was a young man, or rather a lad, -if possible uglier than the cat, who wasted his life in reading a book, -if possible, more greasy than his mother's pots, and whose eternal -reveries seemed to partake more of tranquil idiocy than the meditation -of a sentient being. The cat had been christened Belzebub, as an -antithesis to the name conferred by Herr and Vrau Swartz on the lad, who -was called Gottlieb.</p> - -<p>Gottlieb, intended for the church, until he was fifteen had made rapid -progress in Protestant Theology. For four years, however, he had been -inert and invalid, hanging over the hearth side, unwilling to see the -sun, and unable to continue his studies. A rapid and irregular growth -had reduced him to a state of languor and indolence. His long, thin legs -scarcely sufficed to support his unnatural and ungainly height. His arms -were so feeble, and his hands so clumsy, that he could touch nothing -without breaking it. His avaricious mother had, therefore, forbidden him -to interfere at all, and he was ready enough to obey her. His face was -coarse and beardless, terminated by a high forehead, and was altogether -not unlike a ripe pear. His features were irregular as his figure. His -eyes seemed decidedly astray, so cross and diverging were they. His -thick lips had a stupid smile; his nose was shapeless, his complexion -colorless, his ears flat, and sticking close to his head. A few coarse, -wiry hairs covered his head, which was more like a turnip than the poll -of a Christian: this, at least, was the poetical comparison of his good -mother.</p> - -<p>In spite of his natural disadvantages, in spite of the shame and -disappointment with which Vrau Swartz regarded him, Gottlieb, her only -son, an inoffensive and patient invalid, was yet the pride and joy of -the authors of his existence. They flattered themselves, when he became -less ugly, that some day he would be a handsome man. They had expected, -from his studious childhood, that his success in life would be -brilliant. Notwithstanding the precarious state to which he was reduced, -they hoped he would recover strength, power, intelligence, and beauty, -as soon as his growth had stopped. It is, besides, needless to remark, -that maternal love becomes used to anything, and is satisfied with -little. Vrau Swartz, though she abused, adored him, and had she not seen -him all day long planted like a <i>pillar of salt</i> (such were her words) -at the corner of the fireplace, would have been unable to mix her sauces -or remember the items of her bills. Old Swartz, who, like many men, had -more self-love than tenderness in his paternal regard, persisted in -jewing and robbing his prisoners, in the hope that some day Gottlieb -would be a minister and a famous preacher. This was his fixed idea, -because, before he became rich, the young man had always displayed great -facility of expression. For four years, however, he had not said one -single sensible thing, and if he ever united two or three sentences -together, he spoke them to his cat Belzebub. In fine, Gottlieb was said -by the physicians to be an idiot, and his parents, alone thought that he -could be cured.</p> - -<p>Gottlieb, however, once shook off his apathy, and told his parents that -he wished to learn a trade, to amuse himself, and make his tiresome -hours profitable. They yielded to this innocent desire, though it -scarcely conformed with the dignity attached to a preacher of the -reformed church to work with his hands. The mind of Gottlieb appeared, -however, so sunk in repose, that it was deemed prudent to permit him to -acquire the art of making shoes in a cobbler's stall. His father would -have wished him to study a more elegant profession. In vain did they -exhibit to him every branch of industry; he had a decided predilection -for the craft of Saint Crispin, and said that he was satisfied -Providence called him to embrace it. As this wish became a fixed idea, -and as the very fear of being interfered with threw him into an intense -melancholy, he was suffered to pass a month in the shop of a master -workman, whence he came one day with all the tools of the trade, and -installed himself in the chimney-corner, saying that he knew enough, and -had no need of further instruction. This was not probable; and his -parents, hoping that his experience had disgusted him, and that he -probably would resume the study of theology, neither reproached nor -laughed at him on his return. A new era in Gottlieb's life then began, -which was entirely delighted by the prospect of the manufacture of an -imaginary pair of shoes. Three or four hours a-day, he took his last and -worked at a shoe, which no one over wore, for it was never finished. -Every day it was stitched, stretched beaten, pointed, and took all -possible shapes, except that of a shoe. The artisan was, however, -delighted with his work, and was attentive, careful, patient, and -content, so that he utterly disregarded all criticism. At first, his -parents were afraid of this monomania, but gradually became used to it, -and the great shoe and the volume of sermons and prayers alternated in -his hands. Nothing more was required of him than to go from time to time -with his father through the galleries and courts, to get fresh air. -These promenades gave Swartz a great deal of annoyance, because the -children of the other keepers of the prison ran after Gottlieb, -imitating his idle and negligent gait, and shouting out "Shoes! shoes! -<i>Cobbler</i>, make me a pair of shoes! Take my measure—who wants -shoes?" For fear of getting him into difficulty with this rabble, Swartz -dragged him along, and the shoemaker was not at all troubled nor -distressed at being thus hurried from his work.</p> - -<p>In the early part of her imprisonment, Consuelo had been humbly -requested by Swartz to get into conversation with Gottlieb, and try to -awaken in him the memory of and taste for that eloquence with which he -had been endowed in his childhood. While he owned the unhealthy state -and the apathy of his heir, Swartz, faithful to the law of nature, so -well defined by La Fontaine—</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 12em;">"Nos petits sont mignons,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Beaux, bienfaits, et jolis sur touts leurs compagnons."</span></p> - - -<p>had not described very faithfully the attractions of poor Gottlieb. Had -they done so, Consuelo, it is probable, would not have refused to -receive in her cell a young man of nineteen, five feet eight inches -high, who made the mouth of all the recruiters of the country water, but -who, unfortunately for his health, but fortunately for his independence, -was weak in the arms and legs, so as to be unfit for a soldier. The -prisoner thought that the society of a <i>child</i> of that age and stature -was not exactly proper, and refused positively to receive him. This was -an insult the female Swartz made her atone for, by adding a pint of -water every day to her <i>bouillon.</i></p> - -<p>On her way to the esplanade, where she was permitted to walk every day, -Consuelo was forced to pass the filthy home of the Swartz, and also to -go through it under the escort, and with the permission of her keeper, -who ever insisted on persuasion, (the article of <i>ceaseless -complaisance</i> being highly charged in his bills.) It happened, then, -that in passing through this kitchen, one door of which opened on the -esplanade, Consuelo observed Gottlieb. A child's head on a giant's -frame, badly formed too, at first disgusted her; but, gradually, she -learned to pity him; questioned him kindly, and tried to make him talk. -Ere long, she discovered that his mind was paralysed either by disease -or extreme timidity. He would not accompany her to the rampart, until -his parents forced him to do so, and replied to her questions only by -monosyllables. In talking to him, therefore, she was afraid of -aggravating the <i>ennui</i> she fancied he suffered from, and would not -either speak or talk to him. She had told his father she saw not the -slightest disposition for the oratorical art in him.</p> - -<p>Consuelo had been searched a second time by Madame Swartz, on the day -when she had met Porporino and sang to the Berlinese public. She -contrived, however, to deceive the vigilance of the female Cerberus. The -hour was late, and the old woman was out of humor at being disturbed in -her first slumber. While Gottlieb slept in one room, or rather in a -closet which opened into the kitchen, and the jailer went up stairs to -open her cell, Consuelo had approached the fire, which was smothered by -the ashes, and while pretending to caress Belzebub, managed to save her -funds from the hands of the searcher, so as to be no longer fully at her -control. While Madame Swartz was lighting her lamp and putting on her -spectacles, Consuelo observed in the chimney-corner, where Gottlieb -habitually sat, a recess in the wall about the elevation of her arm, and -in this mysterious recess lay his library and tools. This hole, -blackened by soot and smoke, contained all Gottlieb's wealth and riches. -By an adroit movement, Consuelo slipped her purse into the recess, and -then suffered herself to be patiently examined by the old vixen, who -persisted for a long time in passing her oily fingers over all the folds -of her dress, and who was surprised and angry at finding nothing. The -<i>sang froid</i> of Consuelo, who after all, was not very anxious to -succeed in her enterprise, at last satisfied the jailer that she had -nothing hidden; and, as soon as the examination was over, she contrived to -recover her purse, and keep it in her hand under her cloak until she -reached her cell. There she set about concealing it, being well aware -that when she was taking her walk, her cell was searched regularly. She -could do nothing better than keep her little fortune always about her, -sewed up in a girdle, the female Swartz having no right to search her -except when she had left the prison.</p> - -<p>By and by, the first sum which had been found on the person of the -prisoner, when she reached the fortress, was exhausted, thanks to the -ingenious bills of Swartz. When he had given her a few very meagre meals -and a round bill, being, as usual, too timid to speak of business, and -ask a person condemned to poverty for money, in consonance with -information had from her, on the day of her incarceration, in relation -to the money in Porporino's hands, Swartz went to Berlin, and presented -his bill to the contralto. Porporino, in obedience to Cousuelo's -directions, refused to pay the bill until the prisoner directed it, and -bade the creditor ask his prisoner, whom he knew to have a comfortable -sum of money, to pay it.</p> - -<p>Swartz returned, pale and in despair, asserting that he was ruined. He -looked on himself as robbed, although the hundred ducats he first found -on the prisoner would have paid him four-fold for all she had consumed -during two entire months. The old woman bore this pretended loss with -the philosophy of a stronger head and more persevering mind.</p> - -<p>"We are robbed," said she, "of a surety; but you never relied on this -prisoner certainly? I told you what would happen. An actress—bah! -those sort of people never save anything. An actor as her banker!—what -would you expect? We have lost two hundred ducats—we will make this -loss up on others, however, who have means. This will teach you to go -headlong and offer your services to the first comer. I am not sorry, -Swartz, you have had this lesson. I will now do myself the pleasure of -putting her on dry bread, and that, too, rather stale, for being so -careless as not to put a single 'Frederick' in her pocket to pay the -searcher, and for treating Gottlieb as a fool, because he would not make -love to her."</p> - -<p>Thus scolding and shrugging her shoulders, the old woman seating herself -near the chimney by Gottlieb, said—"What do you think of all this, my -clever fellow?"</p> - -<p>She talked merely to hear herself, being well aware that Gottlieb paid -no more attention than the cat Belzebub did to her words.</p> - -<p>"My shoe is almost done, mother; I will soon begin a new pair."</p> - -<p>"Yes," said the old woman, with an expression of pity; "work so, and you -will make a pair a-day. Go on, my boy; you will be very rich. My God! my -God!" she continued, opening her pots, and with an expression of pitiful -resignation, just as if the maternal instinct had endowed her with any -of the feelings of humanity.</p> - -<p>Consuelo, seeing her dinner did not come, was well aware what had -happened, though she could scarcely think a hundred ducats had been -absorbed in such a short time. She had previously marked out a plan of -conduct, in regard to the jailer: not having as yet received a penny -from the King of Prussia, (that was the way Voltaire was paid.) She was -well aware that the money she had gained by charming the ears of some -less avaricious persons would not last her long, if her incarceration -were prolonged and Swartz did not modify his claims. She wished to force -him to reduce his demands, and for two or three days contented herself -with the bread and water he brought, without remarking the change in her -diet. The stove also, began to be neglected, and Consuelo suffered with -cold, without complaining of it. The weather, fortunately, was not very -severe. It was April, when in Prussia the weather is not as mild as it -is in France, but when the genial season commences.</p> - -<p>Before entering into a parley with her avaricious tyrant, she set about -disposing her money in a place of safety. She could not hope that she -would not be subjected to an examination and an arbitrary seizure of her -funds, as soon as she should own her resources. Necessity makes us -shrewd, if it does not do more. Consuelo had nothing with which she -could cut either wood or stone. On the next day as she examined with the -minute patience of a prisoner, every corner of her cell, she observed a -brick which did not seem to be as well jointed as the others. She -scratched it with her nails, took out the mortar, which she saw was not -lime, but a friable substance, which she supposed to be dried bread. She -took out the brick, and found behind it a recess carefully formed in the -depth of the wall. She was not surprised to find in it many things which -to a prisoner were real luxuries; a package of pencils, a penknife, a -flint, tinder, and parcels of that thin waxlight, twisted in rolls, and -called <i>care</i>-nots. These things were not at all injured, the wall -being dry, and besides, they could not have been there long before she took -possession of the cell. With them she placed her purse, her filagree -crucifix, which Swartz looked greedily at, saying it would be such a -pretty thing for Gottlieb. She then replaced the brick and cemented it -with her loaf, which she soiled a little by rubbing it on the floor, to -make it appear the color of mortar.</p> - -<p>Having become tranquil for a time, in relation to the occupation of her -evenings and her means of existence, she waited with not a little -eagerness for the domiciliary visit of Swartz, and felt proud and happy -as if she had discovered a new world.</p> - -<p>Swartz soon became tired of having no speculation. If he must work, said -he, it was better to do it for a small sum than for nothing, and he -broke the silence by asking prisoner <i>No. 3</i> if she had nothing to -order? Then Consuelo resolved to tell him that she had no money, but -would receive funds every week by a means which it was impossible for -him to discover.</p> - -<p>"If you should do so," said she, "it would make it impossible for me to -receive anything, and you must say whether you prefer the letter of your -orders, to your interests."</p> - -<p>After a long discussion, and after having for some days examined the -clothes, floor, furniture, and bed, Swartz began to think that Consuelo -received the means of existence from some superior officer of the -fortress. Corruption existed in every grade of the prison officials, and -subalterns never contradicted their more powerful associates.</p> - -<p>"Let us take what God sends us," said Swartz, with a sigh, and he -consented to settle every week with Porporina. She did not dispute about -the disbursement of her funds, but regulated the accounts, so as not to -pay more than twice the value of each article, a plan which Vrau Swartz -thought very mean, but which did not prevent her from earning it.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX</a></h4> - - -<p>To any one fond of reading the history of prisoners, the simplicity of -this concealment, which escaped the examination of the keepers anxious -to discover it, will not seem at all wonderful. The secret of Consuelo -was never discovered; and when she looked for her treasures, on her -return from walking, she found them untouched. Her first care was to put -her bed before her window, as soon as it was night, to light her lamp -and commence writing. We will suffer her to speak for herself. We are -owners of the manuscript which was for a long time after her death in -the possession of the canon *****. We translate from the Italian:—</p> - - -<h5>Journal of Consuelo, otherwise Poporina, a Prisoner at<br /> -Spandau, April, 175—</h5> - - -<p>"April 2.—I have never written anything but music; and though I -speak several tongues with facility, I am ignorant whether I can express -myself in a correct style in any. It never has seemed proper that I -should expound what fills my heart otherwise than in the divine art -which I profess, words and phrases appear so cold to me, compared with -what I could express in song. I can count the letters, or rather notes, -I have hastily written, without knowing how, in the three or four most -decisive instances of my life. This is, then, the first time in the -course of my life that I find it necessary to trace in words what has -happened to me. It is a pleasure for me to attempt it. Illustrious and -venerated Porpora! amiable and dear Haydn! excellent and kind canon *****! -you, my only friends—except, perhaps, you, noble and unfortunate -Trenck—it is of you that I think as I write; it is to you that I -recount my reverses and trials. It seems to me that I speak to you, that -I am with you, and that in my sad solitude I escape annihilation by -initiating you into the secret of my existence. It may be I shall die -here of <i>ennui</i> and want, though as yet neither my health nor spirits -are materially changed. I am ignorant, however, of the evils reserved -for me in the future; and if I die, at least a trace of my agony, a -description of it, will remain in your hands. This will be the heritage -of the prisoner who will succeed me in this cell, and who in the recess -in the wall will find these sheets, as I found myself the paper and -pencil with which I write. How I thank my mother, who could not write, -for having caused me to be taught! It is a great consolation in prison -to be able to write. My sad song could not pierce the walls, nor could -it reach you. Some day this manuscript may; and who knows but I may send -it soon. I have always trusted in Providence.</p> - -<p>"April 3.—I will write briefly, and will not indulge in long -reflections. This small supply of paper, fine as silk, will not last -always, and my imprisonment perhaps will not soon end. I will tell you -something every night, before I go to sleep. I must also be economical -of my waxlights. I cannot write by day, lest I should be surprised. I -will not tell you why I have been sent here, for I do not know myself, -and perhaps by guessing at the cause, I might compromise persons who -have nothing to do with me. I will not either complain of the authors of -my misfortune. It seems to me that I would lose the power of sustaining -myself, if I were to complain or become angry at them. I wish here to -speak only of those whom I love, and of him I have loved.</p> - -<p>"I sing for two hours every evening, and it seems to me that I improve. -What will be the use of this? The roofs of my dungeon reply, they do not -understand—but God does; and when I have composed some canticle which -I sing in the fervor of my heart, I experience a celestial calm, and sink -to sleep almost happily. I fancy that heaven replies to me, and that a -mysterious voice sings while I sleep a strain far more beautiful than -mine, which in the morning I attempt to remember and repeat. Now that I -have pencils and a small supply of ruled paper, I will write out my -compositions. Some day, my friends, it may be that you will attempt -them, and that I shall not have altogether vanished from your memory.</p> - -<p>"April 4.—This morning the 'red-throat' came into my room, and -remained there more than a quarter of an hour. For a fortnight I have -invited him to do me this honor, and at last he decided on it. He dwells -in an old ivy which clings to the wall near my window, and which my keepers -spare, because it gives a green shelter to their door, which is a few feet -below. The little bird for some time looked at me in a curious and -suspicious manner. Attracted by the crumbs of bread which I rolled up to -resemble little worms, hoping to entice him by what appeared living -prey, he came lightly, as if he were wafted by the wind, to my bars; but -as soon as he became aware of the deceit, he went away with a -reproachful air, and I heard a chattering which sounded very like a -complaint. And these rude iron bars, so close and black, across which we -made our acquaintance! they are so like a cage that he was afraid of -them. To-day, when I was not thinking of him, he determined to cross -them, and perched himself on the back of a chair. To avoid frightening -him, I did not stir, and he looked around with an air of terror. He -seemed like a traveller who has discovered an unknown land, and who -examines it, that he may impart to his compatriots an idea of its -curiosities. I astonished him most, and as long as I did not move he was -much amazed. With his large round eye, and his turned-up nose, he has an -impudent, saucy look, which is quite amusing. At last, to bring about a -conversation I coughed, and he flew away with great alarm. In his hurry -he could not find the window, and for some time he flew around as if he -were out of his senses; but he soon became calm, when he saw I had no -disposition to pursue him, and alighted on the stove. He seemed -agreeably surprised at its warmth, and returned thither frequently to -warm his feet. He then ventured to touch the bread-worms on the table, -and, after scattering them contemptuously about, being beyond doubt -pressed by hunger, he ate them. Just then, Swartz, the keeper, came in, -and my visitor flew in terror from the window. I hope he will return, -for he scarcely left me during the day, and looked constantly at me, as -if he said he had not a bad opinion of me or of my bread.</p> - -<p>"This is a long story about a red-throat. I did not think myself such a -child. Does prison life have a tendency to produce idiocy; or is there a -mystery and affection between all things that breathe under heaven? I -had my piano here for a few days. I could practise, study, compose, -sing. None of these things, however, pleased me so much as the visit of -this little bird!—of this being!—yes, it is a living thing! and -therefore was it that my heart beat when I saw him near me. Yet my -keeper, too, is a living thing, one of my own species; his wife, his son -(whom I have seen several times), the sentinels who walk day and night -on the rampart, are better organised beings, my natural friends and -brothers before God—yet their aspect is rather painful. The keeper -produces the effect of a wicket on me; his wife is like a chain; and his -son, a stone fastened to the wall. In the soldiers, I see nothing but -muskets pointed at me. They seem to have nothing human about them. They -are machines, instruments of torture and death. Were it not for the fear -of impiety, I would hate them. Oh! red-throat, I love you! I do not -merely say so, but feel it. Let any one who can explain this kind of -love.</p> - -<p>"April 5.—Another event. This note I received this morning. It was -scarcely legible, and was written on a piece of paper much soiled:—</p> - -<p>"'Sister—Since the spirit visits you, I am sure you are a saint. -I am your friend and servant. Dispose as you please of your brother.'</p> - -<p>"Who is this friend thus improvised? It is impossible to guess. I found -the note on my window this morning, as I opened it to say good morning -to my bird. Can he have brought it? I am tempted to think the bird wrote -it, so well does he know and seem to love me. He never goes near the -kitchen below, the windows of which give vent to a greasy smell, which -reaches even me, and which is not the least disagreeable condition of my -place of incarceration. I do not wish to change it, however, since my -bird has adopted it. He has too much taste to become intimate with the -vulgar turnkey, his ill-tempered wife, and ugly son.<a name="FNanchor_12_1" id="FNanchor_12_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_12_1" class="fnanchor">[12]</a> He yields his -confidence especially to me. He breakfasted here with an appetite, and -when I walked on the esplanade, hovered around me. He chattered away, as -if to please me, and attract my attention. Gottlieb was at the door, and -looked at me as I passed, giggling and staring. This creature is always -accompanied by a horrid red cat, which looks at my bird with an -expression yet more horrible than his master's. This makes me shudder. I -hate the animal as much as I do Vrau Swartz, the searcher.</p> - -<p>"April 6th.—Another note this morning. It is strange. The same -crooked, angular, blotted writing, and the same sheet of dirty paper. My -friend is not an hidalgo, but he is gentle and enthusiastic. 'Dear -sister—chosen spirit, marked by the finger of God—you distrust -me, and are unwilling to speak to me. Can I aid you in nothing? My life is -yours. Command the services of your brother.'—I look at the sentinel, -who is a brutish soldier, and employs himself in knitting as he walks up -and down, with his gun on his shoulder. He looks at me, and apparently -had rather send a ball than a note to me. Let me look in any direction I -please, I see nothing but stern gray walls beset with nettles, -surrounded by ditches, and they, too, shut in by another fortification, -the use and the very name of which I am ignorant of, but which hides the -water from me. On the summit of this other work I see another sentinel, -or at least his cap and gun, and hear from time to time the savage cry, -'Keep off!' Could I but see the water, the boats, or catch a glimpse of -the landscape! I can hear the sound of the oars, the fisherman's song, -and when the wind blows thence, the rushing of the waters at the place -of meeting of the two rivers. But whence come the mysterious notes, and -this devotion of which I can make nothing? My bird knows, perhaps, but -he will not tell me.</p> - -<p>"April 7th.—As I looked carefully about me during my walk on the -rampart, I discovered a narrow opening in the flank of the tower I -inhabit, about ten feet above my window, and almost hidden by the ivy -branches which grow over it. 'So little light,' I said, sadly, to -myself, 'cannot illumine the habitation of aught human.' I wished to -learn for what it was intended, and attempted to induce Gottlieb to go -on the rampart with me, by flattering his passion or rather monomania -for shoemaking. I asked him if he could make me a pair of slippers, and -for the first time he approached me without being made to do so, and he -replied to me without difficulty. He talks as strangely as he looks, and -I begin to think he is not an idiot but a madman.</p> - -<p>"'Shoes for thee!' he said, and he is familiar withal. 'It is written -"the latches of whose shoes I am unworthy to unloose."'</p> - -<p>"I saw his mother three paces from the door, and ready to join in the -conversation. At that time I had neither leisure nor opportunity to -comprehend his humility and veneration, and I asked if the story above -me was occupied, but scarcely hoping to obtain a distinct answer.</p> - -<p>"'It is not,' said Gottlieb, 'but merely contains a stairway to the -platform.'</p> - -<p>"'And is the platform isolated? Does it communicate with nothing?'</p> - -<p>"'Why ask me? You know.'</p> - -<p>"'I neither know, nor care to know, Gottlieb. I ask the question merely -to ascertain if you have as much sense as they say.'</p> - -<p>"'Ah! I have sense—much sense,' said the poor lad, in a grave and -sad tone, which contrasted strangely with the comical air of his words.</p> - -<p>"'Then you can tell me,' continued I, '(for time is precious,) how this -court is constructed?'</p> - -<p>"'Ask your bird,' he said, with a strange smile. 'He knows, for he flies -and goes everywhere; but I know nothing, for I go nowhere.'</p> - -<p>"'What! not even to the top of the tower in which you live? Do you not -know what is behind that wall?'</p> - -<p>"'Perhaps I have been there, but I paid no attention to it. I look at no -one and nobody.'</p> - -<p>"'Yet you see the bird. You know that?'</p> - -<p>"'Ah! the bird is a thing of a different kind. All look at angels. That -is no reason why I should look at the walls.'</p> - -<p>"'What you say is very profound, Gottlieb. Can you explain it to -me?'</p> - -<p>"'Ask the red-throat. I tell you he knows everything. He can go -anywhere, but never goes except among his equals. That is why he comes -to see you.'</p> - -<p>"'Thank you, Gottlieb. Do you take me for a bird?'</p> - -<p>"'The red-throat is not a bird.'</p> - -<p>"'What then?'</p> - -<p>"'An angel, as you know.'</p> - -<p>"'Then so am I.'</p> - -<p>"'You have said it.'</p> - -<p>"'You are gallant, Gottlieb.'</p> - -<p>"'<i>Gallant!</i>' said he, looking anxiously at me. 'What is the -meaning of that?'</p> - -<p>"'Do you not know?'</p> - -<p>"'No.'</p> - -<p>"'How know you that the red-throat comes into my room?'</p> - -<p>"'I have seen and heard so from him.'</p> - -<p>"'Then he has spoken to you?'</p> - -<p>"'Sometimes,' said Gottlieb with a sigh, 'but very seldom. Yesterday he -said, "No, I will never go into that hellish kitchen." The angels have -nothing to say to evil spirits."'</p> - -<p>"'Are you an evil spirit, Gottlieb?'</p> - -<p>"'No, no; not I, but——' Here Gottlieb put his fingers on -his thick lips with a mysterious air.</p> - -<p>"'But who?'</p> - -<p>"'He did not reply, but he pointed to his cat stealthily, as if he was -afraid of being heard.</p> - -<p>"'That is the reason, then, why you call him by that terrible name, -Belzebub?'</p> - -<p>"'Sh—! That is his name, and he knows it well enough. He has been -called so ever since the world began. He will not always bear that -name.'</p> - -<p>"'Certainly not; he will die.'</p> - -<p>"'He will not die—not he—he cannot; and he is sorry for it, -for he does not know when he will be pardoned.'</p> - -<p>"Here we were interrupted by the coming of Madame Swartz, who was amazed -at seeing Gottlieb talk so freely with me. She asked me if I was pleased -with him.</p> - -<p>"'Very much so, I assure you. Gottlieb is very interesting, and I will -be glad to talk with him.'</p> - -<p>"'Ah, signora, you will do us a great service, for the poor lad has no -one to talk with, and to us he never opens his mouth. Are you stupid, -and a fool, my poor child? You talk well enough with the signorina whom -you do not know, while with your parents——'</p> - -<p>"Gottlieb suddenly turned on his heel and disappeared in the kitchen, -apparently not having even heard his mother's voice.</p> - -<p>"'He always does so,' said Madame Swartz; 'when his father speaks to -him, or when I do, twenty-nine times out of thirty, he never opens his -lips. What did he say to you, signorina? Of what on earth could he -converse so long?'</p> - -<p>"'I will confess to you that I did not understand him,' said I. 'To do -so, it is necessary to know to what his ideas relate. Let me talk to him -from time to time freely, and when I am sure, I will tell you what he -thinks of.'</p> - -<p>"'But, signorina, his mind is not disturbed.'</p> - -<p>"'I think not;' and there I told a falsehood, for which I beg God to -pardon me. My first idea was to spare the poor woman, who, malicious as -she is, is yet a mother, and who, fortunately, is not aware of her -child's madness. This is always very strange. Gottlieb, who exhibited -his folly very naïvely to me, must be silent with his parents. When I -thought of it, I fancied that perhaps I might extract from him some -information in relation to the other prisoners, and discover, perhaps, -from his answers, who was the author of my anonymous notes. I wish, -then, to make him my friend, especially as he seems to sympathise with -the red-throat, who sympathises with me. There is much poetry in the -diseased mind of this poor lad. To him the bird is an angel, and the cat -a being who never can be pardoned. What means all this? In these German -heads, even in the mildest of them, there is a luxury of imagination -which I cannot but admire.'</p> - -<p>"The consequence of all this is, that the female Swartz is much -satisfied with my kindness, and that I am on the best possible terms -with her. The chattering of Gottlieb will amuse me. Now that I know him, -he inspires me with no dislike. A madman in this country, where even -people of high talent are not a little awry, cannot be so very bad.</p> - -<p>"April 8th.—Third note on my window. 'Dear sister, that platform -is isolated, but the staircase to it connects with another block in which a -lady prisoner is confined. Her name is a mystery, but if you question -the red-throat, you can find out who she is. This is what you wished -poor Gottlieb to tell you. He could not.'</p> - -<p>"Who is then the friend who knows, sees, and hears all I do and say? I -cannot tell. Is he invisible? All this seems so strange that it really -amuses me. It seems to me, that, as in my childhood, I live amid a fairy -tale, and that my bird will really speak to me. If I must say of my -charming pet, that he needs speech alone, he certainly needs that, and -thus I will never understand his language. He is now used to me; he -comes to and goes from my room as if he felt himself at home. If I move -or walk, he does not fly farther than my arm's-length and then returns -immediately to me. If he loved bread a great deal, he would be fonder of -me, for I cannot deceive myself as to the nature of his attachment. -Hunger, and perhaps a desire to warm at my stove, are his great -attractions. Could I but catch a fly, (for they are rare,) I am sure I -could get hold of him: he already has learned to look closely at the -food I offer him, and were the temptation stronger, he would cast aside -all ceremony. I now remember having heard Albert say, that to tame the -wildest animals, if they had any mind, nothing more than a few hours' -patience is necessary. He had met a Zingara, who pretended to be a -sorceress, and who never remained a whole day in any forest without the -birds lighting on her. She said she had some charm, and pretended, like -Appolonius of Tyana, the history of whom Albert had related to me, to -receive revelations about strange things from them. Albert assured me -that all her secret was the patience with which she had studied their -instincts, and a certain affinity of character which exists between -individuals of our own and other species. At Venice a great many birds -are domesticated, and I can understand the reason, which is, that that -beautiful city being separated from <i>terra firma</i>, is not unlike a -prison. In the education of nightingales they excel. Pigeons are -protected by a special law, and are almost venerated by the population: -they live undisturbed in old buildings, and are so tame, that, in the -street, it is necessary to be careful to avoid treading on them. When I -was a girl, I was very intimate with a young person who dealt in them, -and if the wildest bird was given him for a single hour, he tamed it as -completely as if it had been brought up in a cage. I amuse myself by -trying similar experiments on my red-throat, which grows every minute -more used to me. When I am out, he follows me and calls after me; when I -go to the window, he hurries to me. Would he, could he love me! I feel -that I love him; but he does not avoid nor fly from me; that is all. The -child in the cradle doubtless has no other love for its nurse. What -tenderness! Alas! I think we love tenderly only those who can return our -love. Ingratitude and devotion, indifference and passion, are the -universal symbols of the hymen of all; yet I suffered you, Albert, who -loved me so deeply, to die; I am now reduced to love a red-throat, and -complain that I did not deserve my fate. You think, my friends, perhaps, -that I should not dare to jest on such a subject! No; my mind is perhaps -disturbed by solitude; my heart, deprived of affection, wastes itself -away, and this paper is covered with tears.</p> - -<p>"I had promised not to squander this precious paper; yet I am covering -it up with puerilities I find great consolation in, and cannot refrain -from doing so. It has rained all day and I have not seen Gottlieb. I -have not been out; I have been occupied wholly with the red-throat, and -this child's play has had the effect of making me very sad. When the -smart shrewd bird sought to leave me and began to peck at the glass, I -yielded to him. I opened the window from a feeling of respect for that -holy liberty which men are not afraid to take from their fellows. I was -wounded at this momentary abandonment, and felt as if he owed me -something for the great care I had taken of him. I really think I am -becoming mad, and that, ere long, I shall fully understand all -Gottlieb's fancies.</p> - -<p>"April 9th.—What have I learned?—or rather, what have I -fancied that I learned? for I know nothing now, although my imagination -is busy.</p> - -<p>"Now I have discovered the author of the mysterious notes. It is the -last person I would ever have imagined; but that is not what surprises -me; it matters not, I will tell you all.</p> - -<p>"At dawn I opened my window, which is formed of a large square of glass, -that I might lose nothing of the small portion of daylight, which is -partially excluded by that abominable grating. The very ivy also -threatens to plunge me into darkness, but I dare not pluck one leaf, for -it lives and is free in its natural existence. To distort, to mutilate -it, would require much courage. It feels the influence of April; it -hurries to grow; it extends and fixes its tendrils on every side; its -roots are sealed to the stone, yet it ascends and looks for air and -light. Human thought does the same thing. Now I understand why once -there were holy plants—sacred birds. The red-throat has come and has -lighted on my shoulder without any hesitation. He then immediately began -to look around, to examine everything, to touch everything. Poor thing! -it finds so little here to amuse itself. It is free, however; it may -inhabit the fields, yet it prefers a prison, the old ivy and my cell. -Does it love me? No! It is warm in my room and likes my crumbs. I am now -distressed at having tamed it so thoroughly. What if it should go into -the kitchen and become the prey of that abominable cat; my care for it -would have brought about its terrible death! to be lacerated and -devoured by that fearful beast. But what is the condition of our feeble -sex, the hearts of whom are pure and defenceless? Are we not tortured -and destroyed by pitiless beings, who, as they slowly kill us, make us -feel their claws and cruel teeth?</p> - -<p>"The sun rose clear, and my cell was almost rose color, bright as my -room in the <i>Corte Minelli</i>, when the sun of Venice ****. We must not -think, however, of that sun. It will never rise for me. May you, my dear -friends, salute smiling Italy for me, the vast skies <i>é il firmamento -lucido</i>—which I never will see again.</p> - -<p>"I have asked leave to go out; they have permitted me to do so, though -the hour was earlier than usual. I call this going out; a platform -thirty feet long, bordered by a swamp, and shut in by huge walls. Yet -the place is not without beauty; at least I think so now, that I have -seen it under all its aspects. At night it is beautiful, because it is -sad. I am sure there are many persons innocent as I am, here, who are -much worse treated. There are dungeons whence people never come, which -the light of day never penetrates, and on which the moon, the friend of -the wretched, never shines. Ah! I am wrong to complain. My God! had I -portion of the power of earth, how I would love to make people happy!</p> - -<p>"Gottlieb came shuffling rapidly towards me, smiling too, as well as his -stony lips permit him. They did not disturb him, but left him alone with -me. A miracle happened. He began at once to talk like a reasonable -being.</p> - -<p>"'I did not write to you, last night,' said he, 'and you found no note -on your window. The reason was, I did not see you yesterday, and you -asked for nothing.'</p> - -<p>"'What mean you, Gottlieb? Did you write to me?'</p> - -<p>"'Who else could! You did not guess it was I? I will not write to you -now, for since you let me talk to you, it is useless. I did not wish to -trouble, but to serve you.'</p> - -<p>"'Kind Gottlieb! Then you pity me? You take an interest in me?'</p> - -<p>"'Yes; since I found out that you were a spirit of light.'</p> - -<p>"'I am nothing more than you are, Gottlieb. You are mistaken!'</p> - -<p>"'I am not mistaken; I have heard you sing!'</p> - -<p>"'You like music, then?'</p> - -<p>"'I like yours. It is pleasant to God and to my heart!'</p> - -<p>"'Your heart is pious, your soul is pure, I see!'</p> - -<p>"'I strive to make them so! The angels will aid me, and I will overcome -the powers of darkness which weigh on my poor body, but which have no -influence on my soul!'</p> - -<p>"Gradually, Gottlieb began to speak with enthusiasm, never ceasing, -however, to be noble and true to poetical symbolism.</p> - -<p>"In fine, what shall I say? This idiot, this madman, reached the tone of -true eloquence, when he spoke of God's mercy, of human misery, of the -future justice of Providence, of evangelical virtues, of the duties of a -true believer, of arts, of music, and poetry. As yet, I have not been -able to understand in what religion he vested his ideas and fervent -exultation, for he seems to be neither catholic nor protestant, and -though he told me he believed in the true religion, he told me nothing -except that, unknown to his parents, he belonged to a peculiar sect: I -am too ignorant to know what. I will study by-and-bye the mystery, -singularly strong and beautiful, singularly sad and afflicted soul; for, -in fact, Gottlieb is mad, as in poetry Zdenko was, and as Albert was in -his lofty virtue. The madness of Gottlieb reappeared after he had spoken -for some time with great animation; his enthusiasm became too strong for -him, and then he began to talk in a manner that distressed me, about the -bird, the demon-cat, and his mother, who, he said, had allied herself to -the evil spirit in him. Finally, he said his father had been changed -into stone by a glance of the devil-cat, Belzebub. I was enabled to calm -him by leading his attention away from his moody fancies, and asked him -about the other prisoners. I had now no personal interest in these -details, because the notes, instead of being thrown from the top of the -tower into my window, were pushed up by Gottlieb, from below, by means -of I know not what simple apparatus. Gottlieb obeyed my inquiries with -singular docility, had already ascertained what I wished to know. He -told me that the prisoner in the building back of me, was young and -beautiful, and that he had seen her. I paid no attention to what he -said, until he mentioned her name, which really made me shiver. The -prisoner's name was Amelia.</p> - -<p>"Amelia! What an ocean of anxiety; what a world of memories did that -name arouse in me! I have known two Amelias, each of whom hurled my fate -into an abyss of ruin, by their confessions. Was the Princess, or the -young Baroness of Rudolstadt, the prisoner? Certainly neither the one or -the other. Gottlieb, who seems to have no curiosity, and who never takes -a step, nor asks a question, unless urged to do so, could tell me -nothing more. He saw the prisoner as he sees everything, through a -cloud. She must be young and beautiful, for his mother says so; but -Gottlieb told me that he did not know. He only knew from having seen her -at a window, that she is not a <i>good spirit and angel.</i> Her family name -is concealed. She is rich and pays the jailer much money; but she is, -like myself, in solitary confinement; she is often sick; she never goes -out. I could discover nothing more. Gottlieb has only to listen to his -parents' chatter to find out all, for they pay no attention to him. He -has promised to listen and find out how long Amelia has been here. Her -other name the Swartzes seem to be ignorant of. Were the abbess here, -would they not know it? Would the king imprison his sister? Princesses -are here treated even worse than others. The young baroness! Why should -she be here? Why has Frederick deprived her of liberty? Well! a perfect -prison curiosity has beset me, and my anxiety, wakened by her name, -results from an idle and diseased imagination. It matters not; I will -have a mountain on my heart until I discover who is my fellow-prisoner, -bearing that name, which has ever been so important to me."</p> - -<p>"May 1.—For many days I have been unable to write. In the interval -much has happened that I am anxious to record.</p> - -<p>"In the first place, I have been sick. From time to time since I have -been here, I have felt the symptoms of a brain fever, similar to that -severe attack I had at the Giants' Castle, after going into the cavern -in search of Albert. I had painfully disturbed nights, interrupted with -dreams, during which I cannot say whether I sleep or am awake. At those -times I seem to hear the terrible violin playing old Bohemian airs, -chants, and war-songs. This does me much injury; yet when this fancy -begins to take possession of me, I cannot but listen and hearken to the -faint sounds which the breeze bears to me from the distance. Sometimes I -fancy that the violin is played by a person who glides over the surface -of the water, that sleeps around the castle; then, that it comes from -the walls above, or rises from some dungeon. My heart and mind are -crushed, yet when night comes, instead of looking for amusement with my -pen and pencil, I throw myself on my bed, and seek again to resume that -kind of half sleep which brings me my musical dream, or rather reverie, -for there is something real about it. A real violin certainly is played -by some prisoner; but what and how does it play? It is too far distant -for me to hear aught but broken sounds. My diseased imagination invents -the rest, I am sure. Now I can no longer doubt that Albert is dead, and -I must look on it as a misfortune that has befallen me. It is apparently -a part of our nature to hope against hope, and not to submit to the -rigor of fate.</p> - -<p>"Three nights ago I was sound asleep, and was awakened by a noise in my -room. I opened my eyes, but the night was so dark that I could -distinguish nothing. I heard distinctly some one walking with stealthy -step by my bed. I thought Vrau Swartz had come to inquire into my -condition, and I spoke to her. I had no answer, however, but a deep -sigh. The person went out on tiptoe, and I distinctly heard the door -closed and bolted. I was overpowered and went to sleep, without paying -any great attention to the circumstance. The next day I had so confused -a recollection of it, that I was not sure whether I had dreamed or not. -Last night I had a more violent fever than hitherto; yet I prefer that -to my uneasy slumbers and disjointed dreams. I slept soundly, and -dreamed, but did not hear the sad violin. As often as I awoke, I became -aware of the difference between sleeping and waking. In these intervals -the breathing of a person not far from me reached my ear. It seemed to -me that I could almost distinguish some one on my chair, and I was not -afraid, for I thought Madame Swartz had come to give me my drink. I did -not awake her; but when I fancied she roused herself, I thanked her for -her kindness and asked the hour. The person then left; and I heard a -stifled sob, so painful and distressing that the sweat even now comes to -my brow whenever I think of it. I do not know why it made this -impression. It seemed to me that I was thought very ill, perhaps dying, -and was pitied. I was not sick enough to feel myself in danger, and I -was not sorry to die with so little pain amid a life in which I had so -little to regret. At seven o'clock, when the old woman came to my room, -I was not asleep, and as I had been for some hours perfectly lucid, I -have a distinct remembrance of this strange visit. I asked her to -explain it. She merely shook her head, however, and said she did not -know what I meant, and that as she kept the keys under her pillow while -she slept, it was certain that I had a dream or was deceived. I had been -so far from delirium that about noon I felt well enough to take air, and -went on the esplanade, accompanied by my bird, which seemed to -congratulate me on my recovery. The weather was pleasant. It had begun -to grow warm, and the wind from the fields was pure and genial. Gottlieb -hurried to me. I found him much changed and much uglier than usual. -There was yet an expression of angelic kindness, and even of pure -intelligence, in the chaos of his face, whenever it was lighted up. His -eyes were so red and bloodshot that I asked if he was sick.</p> - -<p>"'Yes,' said he, 'I have wept much.'</p> - -<p>"'What distresses you, my poor Gottlieb?'</p> - -<p>"'At midnight, my mother came from the cell, and said to my father, "No. -3 is very sick to-night. She has the fever sadly. We must send for the -doctor. I would not like to have her die on our hands." My mother -thought I was asleep, but I determined not to be so, until I found out -what she said. I knew you had the fever, and when I heard it was -dangerous I could not help weeping, until sleep overcame me. I think, -however, I wept in my sleep, for when I awoke this morning, my eyes were -like fire, and my pillow was wet.'"</p> - -<p>"I was much moved at the attachment of poor Gottlieb, and I thanked him, -shaking his great black paw, which smells of leather and wax a league -off. The idea then occurred to me, that in his simple zeal the poor lad -might have paid me the visit. I asked him if he had not got up and come -to listen at the door. He assured me that he had not stirred, and I am -fully satisfied that he had not. The place in which he sleeps is so -situated that in my room I can hear his sighs through a fissure in the -wall, perhaps through the hollow in which I keep my journal and money. -Who knows but this opening communicates secretly with that near the -chimney in which Gottlieb keeps his treasures—his books and his -tools. In this particular he and I are alike, for each of us, like rats or -bats, has a nest in the wall in which we bury our riches. I was about to -make some interrogations, when I saw a personage leave Swartz's house -and come toward me. I had not as yet seen him here, and his appearance -filled me with terror, though I was far from being sure that I was not -mistaken about him.</p> - -<p>"'Who is that man?' said I to Gottlieb, in a low tone.</p> - -<p>"'No great things,' said he. 'He is the new adjutant. Look how Belzebub -bows his back, and rubs against his legs. They know each other well.'</p> - -<p>"'What is his name?'</p> - -<p>"Gottlieb was about to answer, when the adjutant said, with a mild voice -and good-humored smile, pointing to the kitchen—</p> - -<p>"'Young man, your father wants you.'</p> - -<p>"This was only a pretext to be alone with me, and Gottlieb left. I was -alone, and found myself face to face with whom—friend Beppo, think -you? With the very recruiter whom we met so unfortunately in the -Boehmer-wald, two years ago. It was Mayer. I could not mistake him, for, -except that he had become fat, he was unchanged. He was the same man, -with his pleasant manners, his simple bearing, his false face, his -perfidious good humor, and his <i>broum, broum</i>, as if he was imitating -the trumpet. From the band, he had been promoted to the department of -finding food for powder, and as a recompense for his good service in -that position, had been made a garrison officer, or rather a military -jailer, for which he was as well calculated as he was for his old -position of travelling turnkey, which he had discharged so well.</p> - -<p>"'Mademoiselle, (he spoke French), I am your humble servant. You have a -very pleasant place to walk in—air, room, and a fine view, I -congratulate you, for you have an easy time in prison. The weather is -magnificent, and it is a real pleasure to be at Spandau, when the sun is -so bright. <i>Broum, broum.</i>'</p> - -<p>"These insolent jests so disgusted me, that I did not speak. He was not -disconcerted and said—</p> - -<p>"'I ask your pardon for speaking to you in a tongue which perhaps you do -not understand. I forgot that you are an Italian—an Italian -singer—a superb voice, they say. I have a passion for music, and -therefore wish to make your time as pleasant as my order will permit. Ah! -where the devil did I have the honor of seeing you? I know your face -perfectly—perfectly.'</p> - -<p>"'At the Berlin Theatre, probably, for I sang there during the winter -which has just passed.'</p> - -<p>"'No; I was in Silesia. I was sub-adjutant at Glatz. Luckily, that devil -Trenck made his escape while I was away, on duty, near the frontiers of -Saxony. Otherwise I would not have been promoted, or been here, which, -in consequence of its proximity to Berlin, I like very much. The life of -a garrison officer, madame, is very melancholy. You may imagine how -<i>ennuyé</i> one is when in a lonely country, and far from any large town, -especially when one loves music as I do. Where had I the honor to meet -you?'</p> - -<p>"'I do not remember, sir, ever to have had that honor.'</p> - -<p>"'I must have seen you on some stage in Italy or Vienna. You have -travelled a great deal. How many theatres have you belonged to?'</p> - -<p>"As I did not reply, he continued, insolently, 'It matters not; I will -perhaps remember. What did I say? Ah! you, too, suffer from -<i>ennui.</i>'</p> - -<p>"'Not so, sir.'</p> - -<p>"'But are you not in close confinement? Is not your name Porporina?'</p> - -<p>"'Yes, sir.'</p> - -<p>"'Just so, prisoner No. 3. Well, do you not wish for amusement—for -company?'</p> - -<p>"'Not at all, sir,' said I, thinking he intended to offer me his.</p> - -<p>"'As you please. It is a pity. There is another prisoner here, extremely -well-bred—a charming woman, who, I am sure, would be delighted to -make your acquaintance.'</p> - -<p>"'May I ask her name, sir?'</p> - -<p>"'Her name is Amelia.'</p> - -<p>"'Amelia what?'</p> - -<p>"'Amelia—<i>broum—broum</i>; on my word I do not know. You -are curious, I see. Ah! that is a regular prison-fever.'</p> - -<p>"I was sorry that I had repelled the advances of Mayer, for after having -despaired of making the acquaintance of this mysterious Amelia, and -having abandoned the idea, I felt myself attracted by a feeling of pity -towards her. I tried then to be more pleasant to this disagreeable man, -and he soon offered to put me in connection with No. 2. Thus he called -Amelia.</p> - -<p>"'If this infraction of my arrest will not compromise you, sir, and if I -can be useful to this lady, who, they say, is ill from sadness and -<i>ennui</i>——'</p> - -<p>"'<i>Broum—broum.</i> You take things literally, you do. You are -kind. That old scamp Swartz has made you afraid of his orders. What are -they but chimeras—good for door-keepers and wicket masters. We -officers, though,' (and as he spoke Mayer expanded himself, as if he had -not been long used to such an honorary title,) 'shut our eyes to such -honorable infractions of discipline. The king himself, were he in our -place, would do so. Now, signorina, when you wish to obtain any favor, go -to no one but myself, and I promise that you shall not be contradicted -uselessly. I am naturally humane and indulgent; God made me so; besides, -I love music. If once in a while you will be kind enough to sing for me, -I will hear you here, and you can do any thing you please with me.'</p> - -<p>"'I will never abuse your kindness, Herr Mayer.'</p> - -<p>"'Mayer!' said the adjutant, interrupting at once the <i>broum, broum</i> -which was on his lips. 'Why do you call me Mayer? Where the devil did -you pick up that name?'</p> - -<p>"'I forgot, and beg your pardon, adjutant. I had a singing-master of -that name, and have been thinking of him all day.'</p> - -<p>"'A singing-master? That was not me. There are many Mayers in Germany. I -am called Nauteuil, and am of French extraction.'</p> - -<p>"'Well, sir, how shall I announce myself to that lady? She does not know -me, and will refuse my visit, as just now I refused her acquaintance. -People become so ill-tempered when they live alone.'</p> - -<p>"'Ah, whoever she may be, the lady will be delighted to talk with you, I -am sure. Will you write her anything?'</p> - -<p>"'I have nothing to write with.'</p> - -<p>"'Ah, that is impossible. Have you no money?'</p> - -<p>"'If I had, old Swartz is incorruptible. Besides, I do not know how to -bribe him.'</p> - -<p>"'Well, I will take you this very evening to see No. 2—that is, -when you have sung something for me.'</p> - -<p>"I was terrified at the idea of Mayer—or Nauteuil, as he now -pleases to call himself—introducing himself into my room, and I was -about to reply, when he made me understand his intentions more perfectly. -He had either not intended to visit me, or he read in my countenance an -utter distate to his company. 'I will listen to you,' said he, 'on the -platform which overlooks the tower in which you live. Sound ascends, and -I will hear you there well enough. Then I will have the doors opened, -and a woman shall escort you, I will not see you. In fact, it would not -do for me to seem to tempt you to an act of disobedience, though, after -all, in such a matter—<i>broum, broum</i>—there is a very easy -way to get out of any difficulty. It is only necessary to shoot prisoner -No. 3 with a pistol, and say that she was surprised, <i>flagrante delicto</i>, -attempting to escape. Ah! the idea is strange, is it not? In prison -strange ideas come into one's head. Adieu, signorina Porporina, till -this evening.'</p> - -<p>"I was lost in mazes of reflection on the conduct of this wretch, and, -in spite of myself, became terribly afraid of him. I could not think so -base and contemptible a soul loved music so much as to do what he did -for the mere pleasure of hearing me. I supposed that the prisoner was -the Abbess of Quedlimburgh, and that, in obedience to the king's order, -an interview between her and myself was brought about, that we might be -watched, and some state secret, she was supposed to have confided to me, -be discovered. Under this impression I was as much afraid of the -interview as I had previously desired it, for I am absolutely ignorant -how much of this conspiracy, of which I am charged with being an -accomplice, is true or false.</p> - -<p>"Thinking that it was my duty to brave all things to extend some -assistance to a companion in misfortune, whoever she might be, I began -to sing at the appointed time, to gratify the ears of the post-adjutant. -I sang badly enough, the audience inspiring me with no admiration. -Besides, I felt he listened to me merely for form's sake, and that -perhaps he did not hear me at all. When the clock struck eleven, I was -seized with the most puerile terror. I fancied that the adjutant had -received orders to get rid of me, and that he was about to kill me, as -he said, just as if he looked on the manner as a jest, when I stopped -outside of my cell. When the door opened, I trembled in every limb. An -old woman, very dirty and ugly, (far more so than Vrau Swartz,) bade me -follow, and preceded me up a narrow and steep staircase, built in the -hollow of the wall. When we reached the top, I found myself on the -platform, twenty feet above where I walk by day, and eighty or a hundred -above the fosse which surrounds all that portion of the esplanade. The -terrible old woman bade me wait there for a time, and went I know not -whither. My uneasiness was removed, and I was so glad to find myself in -the pure air, and so far up as to be able to see the country around, -that I was not uneasy at the solitude in which I was left. The silent -waters around the citadel, and on which its dark shadows fall, the trees -and fields, which I saw far in the distance, the immense sky, and even -the bats, whirling in space, all seemed, oh, God! grand and majestic, -for I had passed two months in prison, counting the few stars which -crossed the window of my cell. I could not enjoy this long. A noise -forced me to look around, and all my terrors revived when I beheld Mayer -near me.</p> - -<p>"'Signora,' said he, 'I am sorry to tell you that you cannot see No. 2, -at least at present. She seems to be a very capricious person. Yesterday -she exhibited the greatest desire to have company, and just now she made -me this answer:—"Is prisoner No. 3 the person who sings in the tower, -and whom I hear every evening? Ah, I know her voice, and it is needless -for you to tell me her name. I had rather never see a living soul again, -than that unfortunate creature. She is the cause of all my troubles, and -I pray to God the expiation required from her may be as strictly exacted -as I am made to atone for the imprudent friendship I have felt for her." -This, signora, is the lady's opinion about you. It is only necessary to -know whether it is merited or not, and that concerns only your own -conscience. I have nothing to say about it, and am ready to take you -back to your cell when you think proper.'</p> - -<p>"'Do so at once, sir,' said I, deeply mortified at being accused of -treachery before so miserable a wretch, and feeling the deepest -indignation against the one of the Amelias who had testified so much -ingratitude and bitterness.</p> - -<p>"'I am not anxious that you should go,' said the new adjutant. 'You seem -to like to look at the moon. Do so as long as you please. It costs -nothing, and does no one any harm.'</p> - -<p>"I was imprudent enough to take a little advantage of his kindness. I -could not make up my mind to leave the beautiful spectacle of which I -was, perhaps, to be deprived so soon, at once. Besides, I could not -resist the idea that Mayer was a bad servant, but too much honored by -being permitted to wait on me. He took advantage of my position, and -became bold enough to seek to talk to me. 'Do you know, signorina,' said -he, 'that you sing devilish well? I heard nothing better in Italy. Yet I -have been to the greatest theatre, and passed the principal artists in -review. Where did you make your first appearance? You have travelled -much?' As I pretended not to understand his questions, he added, boldly, -'Sometimes you travelled on foot, in male attire?'</p> - -<p>"This question made me tremble, and I hastened to reply in the negative. -He said, 'Ah! you will not own it, but I never forget; and I recall to -my memory a strange adventure which you have not forgotten.'</p> - -<p>"'I do not know what you wish to say,' said I moving from the wall, and -commencing to retreat to my cell.</p> - -<p>"'A moment—a moment!' said Mayer.—'Your key is in my -pocket, and you cannot go back without me. Let me say a word or two -to you.'</p> - -<p>"'Not a word, sir: I wish to return to my room, and am sorry that I left -it.'</p> - -<p>"'<i>Pardieu!</i> you are behaving strangely: you act as if I was -ignorant of your adventures. Did you think I was simple enough not to know -when I found you in the Boehmer-wald, with a little dark-haired lad, not -badly made? Pshaw! I took the lad for the army of the King of Prussia. The -girl was not for him; though they say you pleased him, and were sent -here because you boasted of it. Well, fortune is capricious, and it is -useless to contend with her. You have fallen from a high position, but I -beg you not to be proud, and to be satisfied with what chances. I am -only a garrison officer, but have more power here than a king, whom no -one knows and no one fears, because he is too far away to be obeyed. You -see that I have power enough to pass anywhere and to soften your -captivity. Do not be ungrateful, and you will see the protection of an -adjutant at Spandau is as useful as that of a king at Berlin. Do you -understand? Do not fly me—do not make an outcry—for that would -be absurd—indeed, it would be pure folly for I might say anything I -pleased, and no one would believe you. I do not wish to scare you, for -my disposition is good. Think of this till I see you again: and remember, -I can immure you in a dungeon, or grant you amusements—starve -you to death, or give you means of escape, without being suspected.' As -I did not reply, and was completely terror-stricken at the idea of being -unable to avoid such outrages, and such cruel humiliation as he dared to -subject me to, this odious man added, without doubt fancying that I -hesitated, 'Why not decide at once? Are twenty-four hours necessary to -decide on the only step which it is proper for you to take, and to -return the love of a brave man, yet young, and rich enough to provide in -some other country a more pleasant abode than this prison?'</p> - -<p>"As he spoke thus, the ignoble recruiter approached me, and acted as if -he would oppose my passage. He attempted to lay hold of my hands. I ran -to the parapet of the tower, being determined to spring over, rather -than suffer myself to be soiled by his caresses. At this moment, -however, a strange circumstance attracted my attention, and I pointed it -out to the adjutant as a means of enabling myself to escape. It secured -my safety; but, alas! came near costing the life of a person, perhaps -more valuable than mine.</p> - -<p>"On the opposite rampart, on the other side of the ditch, a figure which -seemed gigantic, ran or rather leaped down the esplanade, with a -rapidity and adroitness which seemed prodigious. Having reached the -extremity of the rampart, the ends of which are flanked by towers, the -phantom ascended the roof of one of them, which was on a level with the -balustrade, and mounting the steep cone with cat-like activity, seemed -to lose itself in the air.</p> - -<p>"'What the devil is that?' said the adjutant, forgetting the gallant in -the jailer. 'May the devil take me, if a prisoner is not escaping.' The -sentinel, too, is asleep. 'Sentinel,' cried he, with the voice of a -Stentor, 'look out!' Running towards a turret, in which is hung an alarm -bell, he rang it with the power of a professor of the devil's music. I -never heard anything more melancholy than this infernal tocsin, the -sharp clangor of which disturbed the deep silence of night. It was the -savage cry of violence and brutality, disturbing the aspirations of the -harmony of the water and the breeze. In an instant, all was in motion in -the prison. I heard the clangor of the guns in the sentinels' arms, as -they cocked and fired at any object of which they caught a glimpse. The -esplanade was lighted with a red blaze, which paled the azure -reflections of the moon. Swartz had lighted up a bonfire. Signals were -made from one rampart to another, and the echoes repeated them in a -plaintive and decreasing tone. The alarm gun soon mingled its terrible -and solemn note in this diabolical symphony. Heavy steps sounded on the -pavements. I saw nothing, but heard all these noises, and my heart was -filled with terror. Mayer had left me hastily, but I did not even -rejoice at being delivered from him. I reproached myself bitterly with -having pointed out to him, I knew not why, some unfortunate prisoner who -was seeking to escape. Frozen with terror, I waited the conclusion of -the affair, shuddering at every shot that was fired, and waiting to hear -the cries of the fugitive announce some new disaster to me.</p> - -<p>"All this did not last an hour; and, thank heaven, the fugitive was -neither seen nor hit. To be sure of it, I rejoined the Swartzes on the -esplanade. They were so excited that they expressed no surprise at -seeing me outside my cell at midnight. It may be they had an -understanding with Mayer that I was to be at liberty on that night. -Swartz, having run about like a madman, and satisfied himself that none -of his ward had escaped, began to grow tranquil. His wife and he, -however, were struck with consternation, as if the escape of a prisoner -seemed a public and private calamity, and an outrageous violation of -justice. The other keepers, the soldiers who came and went, exchanged -words with them expressive of the same despair and terror. To them the -blackest of all crimes seems an attempt to escape. God of mercy! how -terrible did these mercenaries, devoted to the barbarous business of -depriving their fellows of precious liberty, seem to me. Suddenly, -however, it seemed that supreme equity had resolved to inflict a severe -punishment on my keepers. Vrau Swartz had gone into the lodge for a few -moments, and came out soon after, shouting:</p> - -<p>"'Gottlieb! Gottlieb!—pause—do not fire—do not -kill my son! It is he—it is he, certainly!'</p> - -<p>"In spite of the agitation of the old couple, I learned that Gottlieb -was neither in his bed, nor in any part of the house, and that in his -sleep he had, perhaps, resumed his old habit of walking over the roofs -of the houses. Gottlieb was a somnambulist.</p> - -<p>"As soon as this report was circulated through the citadel, the -excitement passed away. Every keeper had time to make his rounds, and -ascertain that no prisoner had disappeared, and each returned in good -spirits to his post. The officers weire enchanted at the <i>dénoûement</i>; -the soldiers laughed at the alarm; and Madame Swartz was beside herself, -and her husband ran everywhere, exploring the fosse, fearing that the -fusilade and cannon shots had awakened Gottlieb amid his dangerous walk. -I went with him. It would, perhaps, have been a good time to attempt to -escape myself; for it seemed to me that the doors were open, and the -soldiers' attention averted. I put this idea aside, however, being -occupied only with the hope of finding the poor invalid who had -exhibited so much affection for me.</p> - -<p>"Swartz, who never loses his presence of mind, seeing the day was -breaking begged me to go to my room, since it was contrary to his orders -to leave me at liberty at improper hours. He went with me to close the -door, but the first thing he saw was Gottlieb, peaceably asleep in my -chair. He had luckily been able to take refuge there before the alarm -had been communicated to the whole garrison, or his sleep had been so -profound and his foot so agile that he had escaped all dangers. I -advised his father not to awaken him suddenly, and promised to watch -over him until Vrau Swartz was informed of the happy news.</p> - -<p>"When I was alone with Gottlieb, I placed my hand gently on his -shoulder, and, speaking in a low voice, sought to awaken him. I had -heard that somnambulists could place themselves in communication with -persons whom they liked, and answer them distinctly. My attempt was -wonderfully successful; 'Gottlieb,' said I, 'where have you been -to-night?'</p> - -<p>"'To-night—is it night? I thought I saw the morning sun shining -on the roofs.'</p> - -<p>"'You have then been there?'</p> - -<p>"'Certainly: that blessed angel, the red-throat, came to the window and -called me. I followed him, and we have been high up, very high up, near -the stars, and almost to the angels' home. As we went up, we met -Belzebub, who sought to catch us. He cannot fly, however, because God -has sentenced him to a long penitence, and he sees the birds and angels -fly without being able to reach them.'</p> - -<p>"'Yet, after having been among the clouds, you came back?'</p> - -<p>"'The red-throat said, "Go see your sick sister," and I came back to -your cell with him.'"</p> - -<p>"'Then, you can come into my cell?'</p> - -<p>"'Certainly: I have, since you have been sick, frequently come to watch -you. The red-throat steals the keys from my mother's bed, and Belzebub -cannot help it; for when an angel, by hovering over him, has charmed -him, he cannot wake.'</p> - -<p>"'Who taught you so much about angels and devils?'</p> - -<p>"'My master,' said the somnambulist, with a childish look, full of the -most innocent enthusiasm.</p> - -<p>"'Who is your master?' said I.</p> - -<p>"'God first—and then—the sublime shoemaker.'</p> - -<p>"'What is the name of the sublime shoemaker?'</p> - -<p>"'Ah! it is a great name. I cannot tell you, for my mother, you see, -does not know him. She does not know that I have two books in the hole -by the chimney. One I do not read, and the other I have devoured for -four years. This is my heavenly food, my spiritual life, the book of -truth, the safety and light of the soul.'</p> - -<p>"'Who wrote this book?'</p> - -<p>"'He did. The shoemaker of Corlitz, Jacob Boehm.'</p> - -<p>"We were here interrupted by the arrival of Vrau Swartz, whom I could -scarcely keep from throwing herself on her son and kissing him. This -woman adores her first-born, and therefore may her sins be remitted. She -spoke, but Gottlieb did not hear her; and I alone was able to persuade -him to go to bed, where, I was told, he slept quietly. He knew nothing -of what had happened, although his strange disease and the alarm are yet -talked of at Spandau.</p> - -<p>"I was then in my cell, after having enjoyed a few hours of painful and -agitated half liberty. On such terms I do not wish to go out again. Yet -I might, perchance, have escaped. I will think of nothing else, now that -I am in the power of a wretch who menaces me with dangers worse than -death and worse than eternal torment. I will now think seriously of it, -and who knows but that I may succeed? Oh! God, protect me!"</p> - -<p>"May 5.—Since the occurrence of the events I have described, I -have lived calmly, and have learned to think my days of repose days of -happiness, and to thank God for them, as in prosperity we thank him for -years which roll by without disaster. It is indisputable that, to leave -the apathy of ordinary life aside, it is necessary to have known -misfortune. I reproach myself with having suffered so many of my -childhood's days to pass by unmarked, without returning thanks to the -Providence which bestowed them on me. I did not say then that I was -undeserving, and therefore it is beyond a doubt, that I merit the evils -which oppress me.</p> - -<p>"I have not seen the odious recruiting officer since. He is now more -feared by me than he was on the banks of the Moldau, when I took him for -a child-devouring ogre. Now I look on him as a yet more odious and -abominable persecutor: when I think of the revolting pretence of the -wretch, of the power he exerts around me, of the ease with which he can -come at night to my cell, without those servile Swartzes having even a -wish to protect me from him, I feel ready to die in despair. I look at -the pitiless bars which prevent me from throwing myself from the window. -I cannot procure poison, and have no weapon to open his heart. Yet I -have something to fill me with hope and confidence, and will not suffer -myself to be intimidated. In the first place, Swartz does not love the -adjutant, who would have a monopoly of air, sunlight, bread, and other -items of prison food. Besides, the Swartzes, especially the woman, begin -to conceive a liking for me on account of poor Gottlieb, and the -healthful influence which they say I exert on his mind. Were I menaced, -they would not perhaps come to my aid; but were this seriously the case, -they would perhaps enable me to appeal to the commandant. He, the only -time I saw him, appeared mild and humane. Gottlieb besides, would be -glad to do me a favor, and without making any explanation I have already -concerted matters with him. He is ready to take a letter which I have -prepared. I hesitate, however, to ask for aid before I am really in -danger; for if my enemy cease to torment me, he might treat as a jest a -declaration I was prudish enough to treat as serious. Let that be as it -may, I sleep with but one eye, and am training my physical powers for a -fearful contest if it should be necessary. I move my furniture, I pull -against the iron bars of the window, and harden my hands by knocking -against the walls. Anyone who saw me thus engaged, would think me mad or -desperate. I practise, however, with the greatest <i>sang froid</i>, and -have learned that my physical power is far greater than I had supposed. In -the security of ordinary life, we do not inquire into, but disregard, -our means of defence. As I feel strong, I become brave, and my -confidence in God increases with my efforts to protect myself. I often -remember the beautiful verses Porpora told me he read on the walls of a -dungeon of the inquisition at Venice."</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">'Di che mi fido, mi guarda Iddio!</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Di che non mi fido mi guardero Io.'</span></p> - - -<p>"More fortunate than the wretch who traced the words of that sad prayer, -I can at least confide in the chastity and devotion of poor Gottlieb. -His attacks of somnambulism have not reappeared; his mother, too watches -him carefully. During the day, he talks to me in my room, for since I -saw Mayer I have not seen the esplanade.</p> - -<p>"Gottlieb has explained his religious ideas to me. They are beautiful, -though often whimsical, and I wish to read Boehm's book—for he is a -disciple of his, certainly—to know what he has added from his own mind -to the theological cordwainer. He lent me this precious book, and at my -own peril and risk I became immersed in it. I can not understand how -this book disturbed the balance of the simple mind which looked at the -symbols of a mystic—himself sometimes mad—as literal. I do not -flatter myself that I can thoroughly understand and explain them; but I -think I catch a glimpse of lofty religious divination, and the inspiration -of generous poetry. What struck me most is his theory about the devil: 'In -the battle with Lucifer, God did not destroy him. See you not the -reason, blind man? God fought against God, one portion of divinity -striving against the other. I remember that Albert explained, almost in -the same way, the earthly and transitory reign of the spirit of evil, -and that the chaplain of Riesenberg listened to him with horror, and -treated his idea as pure <i>manicheism.</i> Albert said that Christianity -was a purer and more complete manicheism than his faith; that it was more -superstitious, as it recognised the perpetuity of the principle of evil, -while his system recognised the restoration of the spirit of evil, that -is to say its conversion and reconciliation. In Albert's opinion, evil -was but error, and the divine light some day would dissipate it. I own, -my friends, even though I seem heretical, that the idea of its being -Satan's doom everlastingly to excite evil, to love it, and to close his -eyes to the truth, seems, and always has seemed impious to me."</p> - -<p>"Boehm seems to me to look for a millenium—that is to say, he is a -believer in the resurrection of the just, and thinks they will sojourn -with him in a new world, formed from the dissolution of this, during a -thousand years of cloudless happiness and wisdom. Then there will be the -complete union of souls with God, and the recompense of eternity, far -more complete than those of the millenium. I often remember having heard -Count Albert explain this symbol, as he told the stormy history of old -Bohemia, and of his beloved Taborites, who were embued with faith -renewed from the early days of Christianity. Albert had a less material -faith in all this, and did not pronounce on the duration of the -resurrection, or the precise age of the future world. He had, however, a -presentiment and a prophetic view of the speedy dissolution of human -society, which was to give place to an era of sublime renovation. Albert -did not doubt that his soul, on leaving the temporary prison of death, -would begin here below a series of existences, and would contemplate -this providential reward, and see those days which are at once so -terrible and so magnificent, and which have been promised to the human -race. This noble faith seemed monstrous to all orthodox persons at -Riesenberg, and took possession of me after having at first seemed -strange. Yet it is a faith of all nations and all days. In spite of the -efforts of the Roman Church to stifle it—or rather, in spite of its -being unable to purify itself of the material and superstitious, I see -it has filled many really pious souls with enthusiasm. They tell me it -was the faith of great saints. I yield myself to it therefore without -restraint and without fear, being sure any idea adopted by Albert must -be a grand one. It also smiles on me, and sheds celestial poetry on the -idea of death and the sufferings which beyond doubt are coming to a -close. Jacob Boehm pleases me. His disciple who sits in the dirty -kitchen, busy with sublime reveries and heavenly visions, while his -parents become petrified, trade, and grow brutal, seems in character -pure and touching to me, with this book which he knows by heart, but -does not understand, although he has commenced to model his life after -his master's. Infirm in body and mind—ingenuous, candid, and with -angelic morals, poor Gottlieb, destined beyond doubt to be crushed by -falling from some rampart, in your imaginary flight across the skies, or -to sink under premature disease—you will have passed from earth like -an unknown saint, like an exiled angel, ignorant of evil, without having -known happiness, without even having felt the sun that warms the earth, -so wrapped were you in the contemplation of the mystic sun which burns -in your mind. I, who alone have discovered the secret of your -meditations—I, who also comprehend the ideal beautiful, and had power -to search for and realize it, will die in the flower of my youth, -without having acted or lived. In the nucleus of these walls which shut -in and devour us, are poor little plants which the wind crushes and the -sun never shines on. They dry up without flourishing or fructifying; yet -they seem to revive. But they are the seeds which the wind brings to the -same places, and which seek to live on the wreck of the old. Thus -captives vegetate!—thus prisons are peopled!</p> - -<p>"Is it not strange that I am here, with an ecstatic being of an order -inferior to Albert, but, like him, attached to a secret religion, to a -faith which is ridiculed, contemned, and despised! Gottlieb tells me -there are many other Boehmists in this country, that many cordwainers -openly confess his faith, and that the foundation of his doctrine is -implanted for all time in the popular mind, by many unknown philosophers -who of old excited Bohemia, and who now nurse a secret fire throughout -Germany. I remember the ardent Hussite cordwainers, whose bold -declarations and daring deeds in John Ziska's time, Albert mentioned to -me. The very name of Jacob Boehm attests this glorious origin. I cannot -tell what passes in the contemplative brain of patient Germany, my -brilliant and dissipated life making such an examination impossible. -Were Gottlieb and Zdenko, however, the last disciples of the mysterious -religion which Albert preserved as a precious talisman, I am still sure -that faith is mine, inasmuch as it proclaims the future equality of all -men and the coming manifestation of the justice and goodness of God on -earth! Ah, yes! I must believe in this kingdom, which God declared to -man through Christ! I must hope for the overturning of these iniquitous -monarchies, of those impure societies, that when I see myself here, I -may not lose faith in Providence!"</p> - -<p class="center">* * * * * * * *</p> - -<p>"I have no news of No. 2. If Mayer has not told me an infamous -falsehood, Amelia of Prussia is the person who accuses me of treachery. -May God forgive her for doubting one who has not doubted her, in spite -of her accusations on my account. I will not attempt to see her. By -seeking to defend myself, I might yet more involve her, as I have, I -know not how, already."</p> - -<p class="center">* * * * * * * *</p> - -<p>"My red-throat is still my faithful companion. Seeing Gottlieb without -his cat in my cell, it became familiar with him, and the poor lad became -mad with joy and pride. He calls it 'lord,' and will not <i>tutoy</i> it. -With the most profound respect, and with the most religious trembling, -he offers it food. In vain do I attempt to persuade him it is but a -common bird, for I cannot remove the idea that some heavenly being has -adopted this form. I try to amuse him by giving him some idea of music, -and indeed I am sure he has a highly musical mind. His parents are -delighted with my care, and have offered to put a spinet in one of their -rooms, where I can teach him and study myself. This proposition, which -would have delighted me a short time since, I cannot accept. I do not -even dare to sing in my room, for fear of attracting the brutal -adjutant, ex-trumpeter, whom may God assail!</p> - -<p>"May 10.—For a long time I had asked myself what had become of my -unknown friends, those wonderful protectors of whom the Count of Saint -Germain spoke, and who apparently have interfered only to hasten evils -with which the royal benevolence menaced me. If I mistake not the -punishment of conspirators, they have all been dispersed and oppressed; -or they have abandoned me, thought I, when I refused to escape from the -clutches of Buddenbrock, on the day I was taken from Spandau to Berlin. -Well, they are come again, and have made Gottlieb their messenger. Rash -men! may they not heap on that innocent lad the same evils to which they -have subjected me!</p> - -<p>"This morning Gottlieb gave me furtively the following note:—</p> - -<p>"'We seek to release you. The time draws near. A new danger, however, -menaces you, which will delay our enterprise. Place no confidence in any -one who seeks to induce you to fly, before we give you certain -information and precise details. A snare is laid for you. Be on your -guard, and be determined.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 40%;">"'Your brothers,</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 50%;">"'THE INVISIBLES.'</p> - -<p>"This note fell at Gottlieb's feet, as he was passing through one of the -prison courts. He firmly believes that it fell from heaven, and that the -red-throat has something to do with it. As I made him talk without -opposing his ideas too much, I learned strange things, which perhaps -have a foundation of truth. I asked him if he knew who the 'Invisibles' -were.</p> - -<p>"'No one knows, although all pretend to.'</p> - -<p>"'How! have you heard of them?'</p> - -<p>"'When I was apprenticed to the master cordwainer, I heard much of them -in the city.'</p> - -<p>"'They talk of them? Do the people know about them?'</p> - -<p>"'I heard of them then, and of all the things I heard, few are worthy of -being remembered:—A poor workman in our shop hurt his hand so severely -that they were about to cut it off. He was the only support of a large -family that he loved, and for whom he worked. He came one day with his -hand bound up, and looked sadly at us as we worked saying, "You are -fortunate in having your hands free. I think I will soon have to go to -the hospital, and my old mother must beg to keep my little brothers and -sisters from starving." A collection was proposed, but we were all poor, -and I, though my parents were rich, had so little money that we could -not help our fellow-workman. All having emptied their pockets, attempted -to suggest something to get Franz out of his difficulties. None would do -anything; he had knocked at many doors and had been driven away. The -king, they say, is very rich, his father having left him much money; but -he uses it in enlisting his soldiers. It was war time, too, and our king -was away. All were afraid of want, and the poor suffered terribly, so -that Franz could not find sufficient aid from kind hearts. The lad never -received a shilling. Just then, a young man in the shop said, "I know -what I should do, if I were in your place. But perhaps you are afraid? I -am afraid of nothing," said Franz. "What must I do? Ask aid from the -Invisibles." Franz appeared to understand the matter, for he shook his -head with an air of dislike, and said nothing. Some young men asked what -they meant; and the response on all sides was, "You do not know the -Invisibles? any one may know that, you children! The Invisibles are -people who are never seen, but who act. They do all things, both good -and bad. No one knows where they live, yet they are everywhere. It is -said they are found in the four quarters of the globe. They murder many -travellers, yet assist others in their contests with brigands, according -as the travellers seem to them to deserve punishment or protection. They -are the instigators of all revolutions, go to all courts, direct all -affairs, decide on war and peace, liberate prisoners, assist the -unfortunate, punish criminals, make kings to tremble on their thrones! -They are the cause of all that is good and bad on earth. Sometimes it is -said they err, but their intention is good; and, besides, who can say -that a great misfortune to-day may not be a great happiness to-morrow?'"</p> - -<p>"'We heard all this with great astonishment and admiration,' said -Gottlieb, and I heard enough to be able to tell you all laboring men, -and the poor and ignorant, think of the Invisibles. Some said they were -wicked people, devoted to the devil, who endows them with his power, who -gives them the gift of secret science, the power to tempt men by the -attraction of riches and honor, the faculty of knowing the future, of -making gold, of resuscitating the dead, of curing the sick, of making -the old young, of keeping the living from death, for they have -discovered the philosopher's stone and the elixir of life. Others say -they are religious and beneficent men, who have united their fortunes to -assist those in need, and who hold communion to redress crime and reward -virtue. In our shop every one made his remark. "It is the old order of -the Templars," said one. "They are now called Free-Masons" said another. -"No," said a third, "they are Herrnhuters of Zinzindorf, or Moravians, -the old brothers of the Union, the ancient orphans of Mount Tabor: old -Bohemia is always erect, and secretly menaces the other powers of -Europe. It wishes to make the world republican.'"</p> - -<p>"'Others said they were only a handful of sorcerers, pupils and -followers of Paracelsus, Boehm, Swedenborg, and now of Schœffer <i>the -lemonade-man</i>, (that is a good guess,) who, by miracles and infernal -machinations, wish to govern the world and destroy empires. The majority -came to the conclusion that it was the old tribunal of the Free-Judges, -which never was dissolved in Germany, and which, after having acted in -the dark for many centuries, began to revive and make its iron arm, its -sword of fire, and its golden balance to be felt.</p> - -<p>"'Franz was unwilling to address them, for it is said those who accept -their benefits are bound through life to them, to the peril of their -soul and the danger of their kindred. Necessity, however, triumphed over -fear. One of our comrades, the one who had given him the advice, and who -was suspected of being affiliated with the Invisibles, though he denied -it, told him in secret how to make the signal of distress. What this was -we never knew. Some said that it was a cabalistic mark written over his -door in blood: others that he went at midnight to a mound between two -roads, and that a black cavalier came to him as he stood at the foot of -a cross. Some say that he merely wrote a letter which he placed in the -hollow of an old weeping willow at the gate of the cemetery. It is -certain that he received aid; that his family waited until he was well -and did not beg; that he was treated by a skillful surgeon, who cured -him. Of the Invisibles he said nothing, except that he would bless them -as long as he lived.'</p> - -<p>"'But what do you, Gottlieb, who know more than the men in your shop, -think of the Invisibles? are they sectarians, charlatans, or impostors?'</p> - -<p>"Here Gottlieb, who had spoken very reasonably, fell into his habitual -wanderings, and I could gather nothing but that they were beings really -invisible, impalpable, and, like God and his angels, unappreciable to -our senses, except when, to communicate with men, they assumed finite -forms."</p> - -<p>"'It is evident to me,' said he, 'that the end of the world draws near. -Manifest signs declare it. The Antichrist is born, and they say he is -now in Prussia: his name is Voltaire. I do not know this Voltaire, and -the Antichrist may be some one else, for he is to bear a name commencing -with a W., and not a V. This name, too, will be German. While waiting -for the miracles which are about to be accomplished, God, who apparently -mingles in nothing, who is <i>eternal silence</i>, creates among us beings -of a nature superior to our own, both for good and evil—angels and -demons—hidden powers. The latter are to test the just, the former to -ensure their triumph. The contest between the great powers has already -begun. The king of evil, the father of ignorance and crime, defends -himself in vain. The archangels have bent the bow of science and of -truth, and their arrows have pierced the corslet of Satan. Satan roars -and struggles, but soon will abandon falsehood, lose his venom, and, -instead of the impure blood of reptiles, will feel the dew of pardon -circulate through his veins. This is the clear and certain explanation -of all that is incomprehensible and terrible in the world. Good and evil -contend in higher regions which are unattainable to men. Victory and -defeat soar above us, without its being possible for us to fix them. -Frederick of Prussia attributed to the power of his arms success which -fate alone granted him, as it exalted or depressed according to its -hidden purpose. Yes; I say it is clear that men are ignorant of what -occurs on earth. They see impiety arm itself against fate, and <i>vice -versa.</i> They suffer oppression, misery, and all the scourges of discord, -without their prayers being heard, without the intervention of the -miracles of any religion. They now understand nothing, they complain -they know not why. They walk blindfolded on the brink of a precipice. To -this the Invisibles impel them, though none know if their mission be of -God or the Devil, as at the commencement of Christianity, Simon, the -magician, seemed to many a being divine and powerful as Christ. I tell -you all prodigies are of God, for Satan can achieve none without -permission being granted him, and that among those called Invisibles, -some act by direct light from the Holy Spirit, while to others the light -comes through a cloud, and they do good, fatally thinking that they do -evil.'</p> - -<p>"'This is a very abstract explanation, dear Gottlieb. Is it Jacob -Boehm's or your own?"</p> - -<p>"'His, if it be your pleasure to understand him so—mine, if his -inspiration did not suggest it to me.'</p> - -<p>"'Well, Gottlieb, I am no wiser after all than I was, for I do not know -if the Invisibles be good or bad angels to me.</p> - -<p>"May 12.—Miracles really begin, and my fate seems to be in the -hands of the Invisibles. I will, like Gottlieb, ask if they be of God or of -Satan? To-day Gottlieb was called by the sentinel on duty over the -esplanade, and his post is on the little bastion at its end. This -sentinel, Gottlieb says, is an invisible spirit. The proof is, that -Gottlieb knows all the soldiers, and talks readily with them, when they -amuse themselves by ordering a pair of shoes, and then he appeared to him -of superhuman stature and undefinable expression.— 'Gottlieb,' said -he, speaking in a low tone, 'Porporina must be delivered in the course -of three nights. This may be, if you can take the keys of her cell from -under your mother's pillow, and bring them hither to the extremity of -the esplanade. I will take charge of the rest. Tell her to be ready, and -remember, if you be deficient in prudence and zeal, you and I are both -lost.'</p> - -<p>"This is the state of things. The news has made me ill with emotion. I -had a fever all night, and again heard the fantastic violin. To escape -from this prison, to escape from the terrors with which Mayer inspires -me—Ah! to do that, I am ready to risk my life. What, though, will -result to Gottlieb and the sentinel from my flight? The latter, though -he devotes himself so generously, I do not know. His unknown -accomplices, too, are about to assume a new burden in me. I tremble, I -hesitate, I am entirely undecided. I write to you without thinking to -prepare for my flight. No, I will not escape—at least until I am -certain of the fate of my friends and protectors. Gottlieb is resolved -on all. When I ask him if he is not afraid, he tells me that he would -suffer martyrdom gladly for me. When I add that perhaps he will regret -seeing me no more, he says that is his affair, and that I do not know -what he means to do. All this, too, seems to him an order of heaven, and -he obeys the unknown power which impels him, without reflection. I read -the notes of the Invisibles with care, and I am afraid the information -of the sentinel is the snare of which I should be afraid. I have yet -forty-eight hours before me. If Mayer comes again, I will risk all. If -he continues to forget me, and I have no better assurance than the -warning of this stranger, I will remain.</p> - -<p>"May 13.—I trust myself to fate, to Providence, which has sent me -unhoped-for aid. I go, and rely on the powerful arm which covers me with -its ægis. As I walked this morning on the esplanade, hoping to receive -some new explanation from the spirits that hover around me, I looked at -the bastion, where the sentinel is. I saw two, one on guard, with his -arms shouldered, and another going and coming, as if he looked for -something. The height of the latter attracted my attention, for it -seemed to me that he was not a stranger to me. I could only look -stealthily at him, for at every turn of the walk I had to turn my back. -Finally, as I was walking towards him, he approached me, and though the -glacis was higher than where I stood, I knew him at once. I had nearly -cried aloud. It was Karl, the Bohemian, the deserter, who was saved from -Mayer, in the Boehmer-wald, whom I afterwards saw at Roswald, in -Moravia, at Count Hoditz's, and who sacrificed to me a terrible revenge. -He is devoted to me, body and soul, and his stern face, broad nose, red -brow, with eyes of tin, to-day seemed as beautiful to me as the angel -Gabriel.</p> - -<p>"'That is he,' said Gottlieb, in a low tone; 'he is an emissary of the -Invisibles. He is your liberator, and will take you hence to-morrow -night.' My heart beat so violently that I could scarcely contain myself; -tears of joy escaped from my eyes. To conceal my emotion from the other -sentinel I approached the parapet which was farthest from the bastion, -and pretended to look at the grass in the fosse. I saw Karl and Gottlieb -exchange words, which I conld not entirely interpret. After a short time -Gottlieb came to me, and said, placidly: '<i>He</i> will soon come down. -<i>He</i> will come to our house and drink a bottle of wine. Pretend not to -see him. My father is gone out. While my mother goes to the canteen for -wine, you will come to the kitchen, as if you were about to go back, and -then you can speak to him for a moment.'</p> - -<p>"When Karl had spoken for a short time to Madame Swartz, who does not -disdain the entertainment of the veterans of the citadel <i>at their own -expense</i>, I saw Gottlieb on the threshold. I went in, and was alone with -Karl. Gottlieb had gone with his mother to the canteen. Poor child! it -seems that friendship has at once revealed to him the cunning and -pretence required in real life. He does intentionally a thousand awkward -things—lets the bottle fall, makes his mother angry, and delays her -long enough for me to have some conversation with my saviour.</p> - -<p>"'Signora,' said Karl, 'here I am, and here, too, are you. I was taken -by the recruiters. Such was my fate. The king, however, recognised and -pardoned me, perhaps for your sake. He also permitted me to go away, and -promised me money, which, by-the-bye, he did not give me. I went to a -famous sorcerer, to find out how I could best serve you. The sorcerer -sent me to Prince Henry, and Prince Henry sent me to Spandau. Around us -are powerful people, whom I do not know, but who toil for us. They spare -neither money nor exertions, I assure you. Now all is ready. To-morrow -evening the doors will be open before you. All who could prevent our -escape have been won. All except the Swartzes are in our interests. -To-morrow they will sleep more soundly than usual, and when they awake -you will be far away. We will take Gottlieb, who is anxious to go, with -us. I will go with you, and will risk nothing, for all has been -foreseen. Be ready, signora. And now go to the esplanade, in order that -the old woman may not find us here.' I uttered my gratitude to Karl in -tears alone, and hurried away to hide my emotion from the inquisitorial -glance of Vrau Swartz.</p> - -<p>"My friends, it may be I will see you again. I shall be able to clasp -you in my arms; I shall escape from that terrible Mayer, and see the -expanse of heaven, the green fields, Venice, Italy—sing again, and -find people to sympathise with me. This prison has revived my heart, and -renewed my soul, which was becoming stifled by indifference. I will -live, will love, be pious, and be good.</p> - -<p>"Yet this is a deep enigma of the human heart:—I am terrified and -almost mad at the idea of leaving this cell, in which I have passed -three months, perpetually seeking to be calm and resigned. This -esplanade, over which I have walked with so many melancholy reveries; -old walls, which seem so high, so cold, and so calm, as the moonlight -shines on them: and this vast ditch, the water of which is so -beautifully green, and the countless flowers which the spring has strewn -on its banks. And my red-throat! Gottlieb says it will go with us, but -it is now asleep in the ivy, and will not be aware of our departure. -Dear creature! may you console and amuse the person who succeeds me in -this cell. May she love you as I have done.</p> - -<p>"Well, I am about to go to sleep that I may be stronger and calmer -tomorrow. I seal up this manuscript, which I am anxious to carry away. -By means of Gottlieb I have procured a new supply of paper, pencil, and -light, which I will hide away, that other prisoners may experience as -much pleasure from them as I have."</p> - -<p class="center">* * * * * * * *</p> - -<p>Here Consuelo's journal finished. We will now resume the story of her -adventures. It is needful to inform the reader that Karl had not -boasted, without reason, that he was aided and employed by powerful -persons. The invisible persons who toiled for the deliverance of our -heroine, had been profuse in their expenditures of gold. Many turnkeys, -eight or ten veterans, and even an officer, had been enlisted to stand -aside—to see nothing—and to look no farther for the fugitives -than mere form required. On the evening fixed for the escape, Karl had -supped with Swartz, and pretending to be drunk, had asked them to drink -with him. Mother Swartz was as fond of strong liquor as most cooks are. Her -husband had no aversion to brandy, when other people paid for it. A -narcotic drug stealthily introduced into their libations, assisted the -effect of the strong brew. The good couple got to bed, not without -trouble, and snored so loudly, that Gottlieb, who attributed everything -to supernatural influences, thought them enchanted when he attempted to -take possession of the keys. Karl had returned to the bastion, where he -was a sentinel, and Consuelo went with Gottlieb to that place and -ascended the rope ladder the deserter threw her. Gottlieb, who, in spite -of every remonstrance, insisted on escaping with them, became a great -difficulty in the way. He who in his somnambulism passed like a cat over -the roofs, could not now walk over three feet of ground. Sustained by -the conviction that he was assisted by an envoy of heaven, he was afraid -of nothing, and had Karl said so, would have thrown himself from the top -of the parapet. His blind confidence added to the dangers of their -situation. He climbed at hazard, scorning to see or make any -calculation. After having made Consuelo shudder twenty times, and twenty -times she thought him lost, he reached the platform of the bastion, and -thence our three fugitives passed through the corridors of that part of -the citadel in which the officers, initiated in their plot, were posted. -They advanced without any obstacle, and all at once found themselves -<i>vis-à-vis</i> with the adjutant Mayer, <i>alias</i> the ex-recruiter. -Consuelo thought all was lost. Karl, however, kept her from running away. -"Do not be afraid, signora," said he; "we have bought him over!"</p> - -<p>"Wait a moment," said Nauteuil, hastily: "the adjutant, Weber, has taken -it into his head to sup with our old fool of a lieutenant. They are in -the room you will have to cross. We must contrive to get rid of them. -Karl, go back to your post, for your absence may be perceived. I will -come for you when it is time. Madame will go to my quarters and Gottlieb -will accompany me. I will say he is a somnambulist, and my two scamps -will follow him. When the room is empty, I will lock the door, and take -care they do not come back again."</p> - -<p>Gottlieb, who was not aware that he was a somnambulist, stared wildly. -Karl, however, bade him obey, and he submitted blindly. Consuelo had an -insurmountable objection to entering Mayer's room. But Karl said, in a -low tone—"Why fear that man? He has too large a bribe to betray you. -His advice is good. I will return to the bastion. Too much haste would -destroy us!"</p> - -<p>"Too much <i>sang-froid</i> and coolness might also do so," thought -Consuelo. But she yielded to Karl's advice. She carried a weapon about her. -As she crossed the kitchen of the Swartzes she had taken possession of a -carving-knife, the hilt of which gave her not a little confidence. She -had given Karl her money and papers, keeping on her person nothing but -her crucifix, which she looked on almost as an amulet.</p> - -<p>For greater security, Mayer shut her up in his room and left with -Gottlieb. After ten minutes, which to Consuelo appeared an age, Nauteuil -came for her, and she observed with terror, that he closed the door and -put the key in his pocket.</p> - -<p>"Signora," said he, in Italian, "you have yet a half hour to wait. The -jackanapes are drunk, and will not quit the table until the clock -strikes one. Then the keeper, who has charge of the room, will put them -out of doors."</p> - -<p>"What have you done with Gottlieb, sir?"</p> - -<p>"Your friend, Gottlieb, is in safety behind a bundle of fagots, where -he can sleep soundly. He will not leave it until he is able to follow -you."</p> - -<p>"Karl will be informed of all?"</p> - -<p>"Unless I wish to have him hung," said the adjutant, with a diabolical -expression, as Consuelo thought. "I do not wish to leave him behind us. -Are you satisfied, signora?"</p> - -<p>"I cannot prove my gratitude now, sir," said Consuelo, with a coldness, -in which he sought in vain to conceal disdain; "but I hope ere long to -discharge all my obligations to you honorably."</p> - -<p>"<i>Pardieu!</i> you can discharge them at once," (Consuelo shrunk back -with horror.) "By exhibiting something of friendship to me," added Mayer, -with a tone of brutal and coarse cajolery. "You see, were I not -passionately fond of music, and were you not a pretty woman, I would not -violate my duty by thus enabling you to escape. Do you think I have been -led to this by avarice?—Bah! I am rich enough to do without all this, -and Prince Henry is not powerful enough to save me from the rope or -solitary confinement, if I should be discovered. All this requires some -consolation. Well, do not be proud; you know I love you; my heart is -susceptible, but you need not on that account abuse my tenderness. You -are not bigoted or religious; not you. You are an actress, and I venture -to say, you have succeeded by having granted your favors to the managers. -<i>Pardieu!</i> if, as they say, you sang before Marie Theresa, you -know Prince Kaunitz and his boudoir. Now you have a less splendid room, -but your liberty is in my hands, and that is a more precious boon than -an empress's favor."</p> - -<p>"Is this a threat, sir?" said Consuelo, pale with indignation and -disgust.</p> - -<p>"No; but it is a prayer, signora."</p> - -<p>"I hope you don't make it a condition?"</p> - -<p>"Not so. No, no! by no means," said Mayer with impudent irony, -approaching Consuelo with open arms as he spoke.</p> - -<p>Consuelo was terrified, and fled to the extremity of the room. Mayer -followed her. She saw that if she sacrificed honor to humanity she was -lost; and suddenly, inspired by the wild ferocity of Spanish women, as -Mayer embraced her, she gave him about three inches of the knife she had -concealed. Mayer was rather fat and the wound was not dangerous; but -when he saw the blood, for he was as cowardly as he was sensual, he -thought he was dead, and came near fainting, falling on his face on the -bed. He cried out, "I am murdered! I am dead!" Consuelo thought she had -killed him, and was also near fainting. After a few moments of silent -terror, she ventured to approach him and took the key of the room, which -he had let fall. No sooner had she possession of it than she felt her -courage revive. She went into the galleries and found all the doors open -before her. She went down a staircase, which led she knew not whither. -She could scarcely support herself, as she heard the alarm clock, and -not long after the roll of the drums. She also heard the gun which had -echoed through the night when Gottlieb's somnambulism had caused an -alarm. She sank on her knees at the last steps, and clasping her hands, -invoked God to aid Gottlieb and the generous Karl. Separated from them, -after having permitted them to expose their lives for her, she felt -herself powerless and hopeless. Heavy and hasty steps sounded on her -ears, the light of torches dazzled her eyes, and she could not say -whether this was reality or the effect of delirium. She hid herself in a -corner and lost all consciousness.</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_12_1" id="Footnote_12_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_12_1"><span class="label">[12]</span></a>Consuelo here gave some details we have already mentioned -about the Swartz family. All that was mere repetition to the reader has -been suppressed.</p></div> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX</a></h4> - - -<p>When Consuelo recovered from her unconscious state, she was delighted, -although unaware of where she was, or how she had come thither. She was -asleep in the open air, but without feeling any inconvenience from the -cold of the night, and casting her eyes toward heaven, she saw the stars -shining in the clear sky. To this enchanting prospect succeeded ere long -a sensation of rapid but pleasant motion. The sound of the oars as they -fell in the water at regular intervals, made her understand that she was -in a boat, and was passing over the lake. A gentle heat penetrated her -limbs, and in the placidity of the silent waters, where the breeze -agitated numerous aquatic plants, something pleasant recalled the waters -of Venice during the spring. Consuelo lifted up her languid head, looked -around her and saw two rowers, one at each extremity of the boat. She -looked at the citadel, and saw it in the distance, dark as a mountain of -stone in the transparency of the water and sky. She said at once to -herself that she was safe, remembered her friends, and pronounced Karl's -name with anxiety. "Here I am, signora; not a word; be silent as -possible," said Karl, who sat in front of her and rowed away. Consuelo -fancied that the other oarsman was Gottlieb, and completely exhausted, -she resumed her former attitude. Some one threw over her a soft and warm -cloak: she threw it aside, however, that she might contemplate the -starry sky which was unfolded above her.</p> - -<p>As she felt her strength and the elasticity of her power, which had been -paralysed by a violent nervous movement, return, she recovered her -senses, and the remembrance of Mayer presented itself horribly to her. -She made an effort to arouse herself again, and saw that her head rested -on the knees of a third person, whom as yet she had not seen, or whom -she had taken for a bale of goods, so completely was he wrapped up and -buried in the boat.</p> - -<p>Consuelo was terrified when she recalled the imprudent confidence Karl -had exhibited to Mayer, and when she fancied the adjutant might be near -her. The care he seemed to take appeared to aggravate the suspicions of -the fugitive. She was confused at having reposed on that man's bosom, -and almost reproached herself for having enjoyed under his protection a -few moments of healthful and ineffable oblivion.</p> - -<p>Fortunately the boat touched the shore just then, and Consuelo hastened -to take Karl's hand and to step on shore. The shock, however, of the -boat touching the shore, made her tremble, and almost fall into the arms -of this mysterious person. She then saw him rise, and discovered that he -wore a black mask. He was at least a head taller than Mayer, and though -wrapped in a large cloak, had the appearance of being tall and thin. -These circumstances completely assured the fugitive, and she accepted -the arm which was silently offered her. She then walked about fifty -paces on the strand, followed by Karl and another individual, who by -signs had enjoined on her not to say a single word. The country was -silent and deserted, and not the slightest sound was heard in the -citadel. Behind the thicket was a coach with four horses, into which the -stranger went with Consuelo. Karl got on the box, and the third -individual disappeared without Consuelo having noticed him. She yielded -to the silent anxiety of her liberators, and ere long the carriage, -which was excellent and admirably built, rolled on with the rapidity of -lightning. The noise of the wheels, and the rapidity of conveyance, did -not at all contribute to conversation. Consuelo was intimidated, she was -even terrified at a <i>tête-à-tête</i> with the stranger. When she saw that -there was no danger, she thought it her duty to express her gratitude -and joy. She obtained no answer, however. He sat in front of her as a -token of respect; he took her hand and clasped it in his, but said -nothing. He then sank into the recess of the carriage, and Consuelo, who -had begun the conversation, dared say nothing, and did not venture to -persist on his silent refusal. She was very anxious to know what -generous friend had secured her safety, yet she experienced for him, she -knew not why, an instinctive sentiment of respect, mingled with fear, -and her imagination attributed to this strange travelling-companion all -the romance which the state of the case might have induced her to -expect. At last the idea occurred to her that he was some subaltern -agent of the Invisibles, and perhaps a faithful servant, who was afraid -of violating his duty by speaking alone to her at night.</p> - -<p>After having travelled for about two hours with great rapidity, the -coach stopped in a dark wood, the relay not having come. The stranger -went a few steps away, either to see if the horses were coming, or to -conceal his uneasiness. Consuelo also left the carriage and walked down -the road with Karl, of whom she had a thousand questions to ask.</p> - -<p>"Thank God, signora," said her faithful attendant, "that you are -alive."</p> - -<p>"And that you, too, are alive."</p> - -<p>"Now that you are safe, why should I not?"</p> - -<p>"Where is Gottlieb?"</p> - -<p>"I expect he is now in bed at Spandau."</p> - -<p>"Heavens! Gottlieb left behind? He will then suffer for us."</p> - -<p>"He will suffer neither for himself nor for any one else. The alarm -having been given, I know not by whom, I hurried at all risks to find -you, seeing that the time was come to risk all for all. I met the -adjutant Nauteuil, that is to say, Mayer, the recruiting officer, very -pale."</p> - -<p>"You met him? Was he up and able to walk?"</p> - -<p>"Why not?"</p> - -<p>"He was wounded then?"</p> - -<p>"Ah, yes. He told me he had hurt himself by falling, in the dark, on a -stack of arms. I did not pay much attention to him, and asked where you -were. He knew nothing, and seemed out of his mind. I almost thought he -had intended to betray us, for the clock which sounded, the tone of -which I know perfectly, is the one that hangs over his quarters. He -seems to have changed his mind, for the creature knows much money is to -be made by your escape. He then aided me in turning aside the attention -of the garrison, by telling all he met that Gottlieb had another attack -of somnambulism, and had caused another false alarm. In fact, as if -Gottlieb wished to make good his words, we found him asleep in a corner, -in the strange way in which he often does by day. Never mind where he -is. One might have thought the agitation of his flight made him sleep, -or he may by mistake have drank a few drops of the liquor I poured out -so plentifully to his parents. What I know is, that they shut him up in -the first room they came to, to keep him from walking on the glacis, and -I thought it best to leave him there. No one can accuse him of anything, -and my escape will be a sufficient explanation of your own. The Swartzes -were too sound asleep to hear the bell, and no one has been to your room -to ascertain whether it was open or shut. The alarm will not be serious -until to-morrow. Nauteuil assisted me in dissipating it, and I set out -to look for you, pretending the while to go to my dormitory. I was -fortunate in finding you about three paces from the door we had to pass -through. The keepers there were all bribed. At first I was afraid you -were dead; but living or not, I would not leave you there. I took you -without difficulty to the boat, which waited for you outside of the -ditch. Then a very disagreeable thing happened, which I will tell you on -some other occasion. You have had emotion enough to-day, and what I am -thinking of might give you much trouble——"</p> - -<p>"No, no, Karl, I wish to know all. I can hear all."</p> - -<p>"Ah, I know you, signora. You will blame me. I remember Roswald, where -you prevented me from——"</p> - -<p>"Karl, your silence would distress me cruelly. Speak, I beseech you. I -wish you to do so."</p> - -<p>"Well, signora, it is a misfortune; but if it be a sin, it rests on me -alone. As I was passing beneath a low arch in the boat with you and as I -was going very slowly and had come to the end of it, I was seized by -three men, who took me by the throat, and sprang into the boat. I must -tell you that the person who travels with us, and is one of us, was -imprudent enough to give two-thirds of the sum to Nauteuil, as we passed -the postern. Nauteuil, thinking, beyond doubt, that he should be -satisfied and could get the rest by betraying us, had posted himself -with two good-for-nothing fellows of the sort to seize us. That is the -reason beyond doubt, why they sought to murder us. Your friend, however, -signora, is a lion in combat, peaceable as he seems I will remember him -for many a day. By two twists of his arms he threw the first into the -water; the second became afraid and leaped back on the bridge, looking -on the result of my contest with the adjutant. I did not manage as well -as his lordship, whose name I do not know. It lasted half a minute, and -the affair does me no credit, for Nauteuil, who usually is as strong as -a bull, appeared stiff and enfeebled, as if the wound of which he spoke -annoyed him. At last, feeling him let go, I just dipped his feet in the -water. His lordship then said, 'Do not kill him, it is useless.' I had -recognised him, however, and was aware how well he could swim. Besides, -I had fell his gripe, and had some old accounts to settle with him, and -I could not refrain from giving him a blow on the head with my fist. -Never again will he give or take another. May God have mercy on his soul -and mine! He went down in the water like a flounder, and did not rise -again, any more than if he had been marble. The other fellow whom his -lordship had sent on a similar excursion, had made a dive, and had -already reached the bank, where his companion, the most prudent of the -three, helped him out. This was not easy, the bank at that place being -so narrow that there was not a good footing, and the two went into the -water together. While they were thus contending together, and swearing, -as they enjoyed their swimming party, I rowed away, and soon came to a -place where a second oarsman, a fisherman by trade, had promised to be -in waiting and help me by a stroke or two to cross the pond. It was very -well, signora, that I took it into my head to play the sailor on the -gentle waters of Roswald. I did not know, when I rehearsed the part -before you, that I would one day for your sake participate in a naval -battle not so magnificent but much more serious. All this passed over my -mind as I was on the water, and I could not help laughing like a -fool—disagreeably, too. I did not make any noise, at least I did not -hear myself, but my teeth chattered. I had an iron hand on my throat, -and the sweat, cold as ice, ran over my brow. I then saw that a man is -not killed like a fly. He was not the first one, however, for I have -been a soldier, and at war one fights. Instead of that, in a corner -there, behind a wall, it looked like a premeditated murder. Yet it was a -legitimate case of self-defence. You remember, signora, without you I -would have done it, but I do not know if I would not have repented -afterwards. One thing is sure, I had an awful laughing fit on the pool; -and now I cannot help it, for it was so strange to stick the fellow in -the ditch, like a twig planted in a vase, after I had crushed his head -with my fist. Mercy! how ugly he was! I see him now!"</p> - -<p>Consuelo, fearing the effect of this terrible emotion on Karl, overcame -her own feelings, and attempted to soothe and calm him. Karl by nature -was calm and mild, as a Bohemian serf naturally is. The tragical life -into which fate had thrown him was not made for him. He accomplished -acts of energy and revenge, yet suffered the horror of remorse. Consuelo -diverted him from his moody thoughts, perhaps to change her own. She -also had armed herself on that night to slay. She had struck a blow, and -had shed the blood of an impure victim. An upright and pious mind cannot -approach the thought or conceive the resolution of homicide, without -cursing and deploring the circumstances which place honor and life under -the safeguard of the poniard. Consuelo was terror-stricken, and did not -dare to say that her liberty was worth the price she had paid for it. It -had cost the life of a man—a guilty one, it is true.</p> - -<p>"Poor Karl," said she, "we have played the executioner to-night. It is -terrible! but console yourself with the idea that we have neither -foreseen nor determined on what fate exacted. Tell me about the nobleman -who has toiled so generously to rescue me. Do you know him?"</p> - -<p>"Not at all, signora. I never saw him before, and do not even know his -name."</p> - -<p>"Whither does he take us?"</p> - -<p>"I do not know, signora. He forbade me to ask; and I was ordered to say -that if on the route you made any attempt to ascertain where you are, -and whither you are going, he would be forced to leave you. It is -certain that he wishes us well, and I have made up my mind to be treated -like a child."</p> - -<p>"Have you seen his face?"</p> - -<p>"I saw it by the light of a lantern, just when I put you into the boat. -His face is handsome—I never saw one more so. One might think him a -king."</p> - -<p>"Is that all? Is he young?"</p> - -<p>"About thirty years old."</p> - -<p>"What is his language?"</p> - -<p>"Free Bohemian—the true tongue of a Christian. He only spoke -three or four words to me. What a pleasure it was to hear the dear old -tongue, had he not said 'Do not kill him, it is useless.' Ah! he was -mistaken. It was necessary!"</p> - -<p>"What did he say, when you adopted that terrible alternative?"</p> - -<p>"I think, may God pardon me! that he did not see it. He threw himself on -the bottom of the boat, where you lay as if you were dead; apparently -fearing some injury might befall you, he covered you with his body; and -when we were on the open water and safe, he lifted you up, wrapped you -in a cloak he had brought apparently for the purpose, and pressed you -against his heart as a mother would press a child. He seems very fond of -you, signora, and you must know him."</p> - -<p>"Perhaps I do; but I have not been able to see his face."</p> - -<p>"It is strange that he conceals himself from you. Nothing astonishes me -in those people, however."</p> - -<p>"What people?"</p> - -<p>"Those called the Knights—the Black Masks—the Invisibles. I -scarcely know more than you do about them, signora, though for two months -they have led me by a thread any where they pleased."</p> - -<p>The sound of hoofs on the ground was heard; and in two minutes they were -harnessed again, and another postilion, who did not belong to the royal -service appeared, and exchanged a few words with the stranger. The -latter gave his hand to Consuelo, who returned to the carriage with him. -He sat as far from her as possible; but did not interrupt the solemn -silence of the night by a single word, and only looked from time to time -at his watch. It was not near day, though the sound of the quail in the -briar was heard, and also the watchdog's distant bark. The night was -magnificent, and the constellation of the Great Bear appeared reversed -on the horizon. The sound of wheels stifled the harmonious voices of the -country, and they turned their backs to the great northern stars. -Consuelo saw she was going southward; and as Karl sat on the box he -attempted to shake off the spectre of Mayer, which he fancied he saw -floating through the alleys of the forest, at the foot of the crosses, -or under the tall pines. He did not, consequently, observe the direction -in which his good or bad stars led him.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI</a></h4> - - -<p>Porporina, fancying that he had determined not to exchange a word with -her, thought she could not do better than respect the strange vow which, -like the old knight-errants, he seemed to be resolved to keep. To get -rid of the sombre images and sad reflections suggested by Karl's story, -she attempted to penetrate the unknown future which opened before her, -and gradually sunk into a reverie full of charms. A few rare persons -have the power of commanding their ideas in a state of contemplative -idleness. Consuelo had often, during her three months' confinement at -Spandau, had occasion to exert this faculty, which is granted less -frequently to the happy in this world than to those who earn their -living by toil, persecution, and danger. All must recognise this mystery -as providential, without which the serenity of many unfortunate -creatures would appear impossible to those who have not known -misfortune.</p> - -<p>Our fugitive was indeed in a condition strange enough to lay the -foundations of many castles in the air. The mystery which surrounded her -like a cloud, the fatality which led her into a fantastic world, the -kind of paternal love which surrounded her with miracles, were quite -sufficient to charm an imagination instinct with poetry as hers was. She -recalled those words of holy writ, which in her imprisonment she had set -to music:—"I shall send one of my angels to thee, and he shall bear -thee in his hands, lest thou dash thy foot against a stone. I walk in -darkness, yet I walk without fear, for the Lord is with me." Thenceforth -those words acquired a more distinct and divine signification. At a time -when there is no faith in direct revelation, and in the sensible -manifestation of the divinity, the protection and manifestations of -heaven are translated by the affections, assistance, and devotion of our -fellow-creatures. There is something so delicious in the abandonment of -our conduct to those we love, and so to say, in feeling ourselves -sustained by others. This happiness is so exquisite, that it would soon -corrupt us, if we did not resist the disposition to abuse it. It is the -happiness of a child, the golden dreams of whom are troubled, as it -slumbers on its mother's bosom, by none of the apprehensions of human -life.</p> - -<p>These thoughts, which presented themselves like dreams to Consuelo on -the occasion of her sudden escape from such a painful condition, wrapped -her in such voluptuous calm, that sleep at last came to drown her -sensations, in that kind of repose of body and mind which may be called -pleasant and delicious annihilation. She had entirely forgotten the -presence of her mute travelling companion, and awoke, finding herself -near him, with her head leaning on his shoulder. At first she did not -move, dreaming that she was travelling with her mother, and that the arm -which sustained her was the Zingara's. When completely aroused, she was -confused at her inadvertence. The arm of the stranger, however, was -become a magic chain. Secretly she made vain attempts to get loose. The -stranger seemed to sleep also, and had received his companion -mechanically in his arms, as she sank in them overcome by fatigue and -the motion of the coach. He had clasped his hands around Consuelo, as if -to preserve her from falling while he slept. His sleep had not relaxed -the force of his clasped hands, and it would have been necessary to have -waked him to extricate herself. This Consuelo did not dare to do. She -hoped he would voluntarily release her, and that she might return to her -place without seeming to have remarked the delicate circumstances of -their situation.</p> - -<p>The stranger slept soundly, and Consuelo, whom the calmness of his -breathing, and the immobility of his repose, had restored to confidence, -went to sleep herself, being completely overcome by the exhaustion which -succeeds violent agitation. When she awoke again, the head of her -companion was pressed to hers, his mask was off, their faces touched, -and their breathing was intermingled. She made a brisk effort to -withdraw, without thinking to look at the features of the stranger, -which would indeed have been difficult in the darkness. The stranger -pressed Consuelo to his bosom, the heat of which was communicated to her -own, and deprived her of the power and wish to remove. There was nothing -violent or brutal in the embrace of this man. Chastity was neither -offended nor sullied by his caresses, and Consuelo, as if a charm had -been thrown around her, forgetting her prudence, and one might also say, -the virginal coldness which she had never been tempted to part with, -even in the arms of the fiery Anzoleto, returned the eager and -enthusiastic kiss of the stranger.</p> - -<p>As all about this mysterious being seemed strange and unusual, the -involuntary transport of Consuelo seemed neither to surprise, to -embolden, nor to intoxicate him. He yet pressed her closely to his -bosom, and though he did so with unusual power, she did not feel the -pain such an embrace usually inflicts on a delicate being. Neither was -she sensible of the shame so great a forgetfulness of her habitual -modesty would usually have created. No idea came to disturb the -ineffable security of this moment of mutual and miraculous love. It was -the first of her life. She was aware of the instinct, or rather it was -revealed to her, and the charm was so complete, so divine, that it -seemed impossible for it to be changed. He passed the extremity of his -fingers, which were softer than the leaf of a flower, over the lids of -Consuelo, and at once she sank to sleep again, as if by enchantment. On -this occasion he remained awake, but apparently as calm as if the arrows -of temptation never had entered his bosom. He bore Consuelo, she knew -not whither, as an archangel might bear on his wings a seraph, amazed at -the Godhead's radiation.</p> - -<p>Dawn, and the freshness of morning, roused Consuelo from this kind of -lethargy. She found herself alone in the carriage, and doubted if she -had not dreamed that she loved. She sought to let down one of the -blinds; they were, however, fastened by an external spring, the secret -of which she did not know. She could receive air through them, and see -flit by her, in broken and confused lines, the white and green margin of -the road, but could make no observation nor discovery as to the route. -There was something absolute and despotical in the protection extended -over her. It was like a forcible carrying away, and she began to be -afraid.</p> - -<p>The stranger had disappeared, and the poor sinner became aware of all -the anguish of shame, stupor and astonishment. Few theatre-girls (thus -singers and dancers were then called) would have been thus annoyed by a -kiss given in the dark to a very discreet stranger, especially after -having been assured by Karl, as Porporina had been that her companion -was of admirable figure and form. This act of folly was so repugnant to -the manner and ideas of the prudent and good Consuelo, that she was -greatly mortified by it. She asked pardon of Albert's manes, and blushed -deeply at having in heart been unfaithful to his memory in so forward -and thoughtless a manner. The tragical events of the night, and joy at -her escape, she thought must have made her delirious. "Besides, how -could I fancy that I entertained any love for a man who never spoke to -me, and the face of whom I never saw. It is like one of the shameless -adventures of masked balls, the possibility of which in another woman I -could never conceive. What contempt this man must have conceived for me! -If he did not take advantage of my error, it was because I was under the -safeguard of his honor, or else an oath binds him to higher duties. -Perhaps even he disdains me. Perhaps he guessed or saw that my conduct -was the consequence of fever or delirium!"</p> - -<p>In vain did Consuelo thus reproach herself; she could not resist a -better feeling, which was more intense than all the pricks of -conscience. She regretted having lost a companion whom she knew she had -neither the right nor power to blame. He was impressed on her mind as a -superior being, invested with magical, perhaps infernal power, which -also was resistless. She was afraid, yet regretted that they had -separated so suddenly.</p> - -<p>The carriage went slowly, and Karl came to open the blind, "If you -incline to walk a little, signora, the chevalier will be pleased. The -road is very bad, and as we are in the woods, it seems there is no -danger."</p> - -<p>Consuelo leaned on Karl's shoulder, and sprang out on the sand without -allowing him time to let down the steps. She was anxious to see her -travelling companion, her improvised lover. She saw him, ere long, about -thirty paces from her, with his back turned and wearing the vast grey -cloak which he seemed determined to wear by day as well as by night. His -bearing and the small portion of his head and extremities which were -visible, announced a person of high distinction, and one anxious, by a -studious toilette, to enhance the advantages of his person. The hilt of -his sword, on which the rays of the morning sun shone, glittered on his -side like a star, and the perfume of the powder, which well-bred people -were then very fond of, left behind him in the morning air the trace of -a man perfectly <i>comme il faut.</i></p> - -<p>"Alas!" thought Consuelo, "he is, perhaps, some fool, or contraband -lord, or haughty noble: whoever he be, he turns his back on me, and is -right."</p> - -<p>"Why do you call him the <i>Chevalier?</i>" asked she of Karl, -continuing her reflections aloud.</p> - -<p>"Because I heard the drivers call him so."</p> - -<p>"The <i>Chevalier</i> of what?"</p> - -<p>"That is all. Why, signora, do you wish to find out? Since he wishes to -be unknown, it seems to me that he renders you sufficient service at the -risk of his own life, to insure your suppression of curiosity. For my -part I would travel ten years without asking whither he wished to take -me; he is so brave, so good, so gay."</p> - -<p>"So gay! That man so gay?"</p> - -<p>"Certainly. He is so delighted at having aided you, that he cannot be -silent. He asked a thousand questions about Spandau, yourself, Gottlieb, -myself, and the King of Prussia. I told him all I knew, all that had -happened, and even of Roswald: it does a man so much good to talk -Bohemian to one who understands you, instead of speaking to those -Prussians, who know no tongue but their own."</p> - -<p>"He is a Bohemian, then?"</p> - -<p>"I ventured to ask that question, and he answered briefly and rather -dryly. I was wrong to question him, instead of answering his -questions."</p> - -<p>"Is he always masked?"</p> - -<p>"Only when he is with you. Ah! he is a strange person, and evidently -seeks to tease you."</p> - -<p>Karl's good humor and confidence, however, did not altogether reassure -Consuelo. She saw that he united, to much bravery and determination, an -honesty and simplicity of heart, which could easily be abused. Had he -not relied on Mayer's good faith? Had he not even put her in that -scoundrel's room? Now he yielded blindly to a stranger, and was -conveying Consuelo away, so that she would be exposed to the most -dangerous influences. She remembered the note of the Invisibles: "A -snare is set for you—a new danger menaces you. Distrust any one who -shall attempt to induce you to fly before we give you certain -information,"&c. No note had come to confirm that, and Consuelo, -delighted at having met Karl, thought this worthy servant sufficiently -authorised to serve her. Was not the stranger a traitor? whither was she -so mysteriously taken? Consuelo had no friend who at all resembled the -fine figure of the Chevalier, except Frederick Von Trenck. Karl knew the -baron perfectly, and he was not her travelling companion. The Count de -Saint Germain and Cagliostro were not so tall. While she looked at the -stranger in search of something which would identify him, Consuelo came -to the conclusion that she had never in her life seen any one with so -much grace and ease. Albert alone had as much majesty; but his slow step -and habitual despondency had not that air of strength, that activity and -chivalric power, which characterised the stranger.</p> - -<p>The woods became light and the horses began to trot, to catch up with -the travellers who had preceded them. The Chevalier, without turning -round, reached out his arm and shook his handkerchief which was whiter -than snow. Karl understood the signal and put Consuelo in the carriage, -saying, "Apropos, signora, in the boxes under the seats you will find -linen, apparel, and all that you need to dress and eat when you please. -There are books there, also. It seems that the carriage is a hotel on -wheels, and that you will not leave it soon."</p> - -<p>"Karl," said Consuelo, "I beg of you to ask the Chevalier if I will be -free as soon as I shall have passed the frontier, to thank him and to go -whithersoever I please."</p> - -<p>"Signora, I cannot dare to say so unkind a thing to so polite a -man."</p> - -<p>"I require you to do so. You will give me his answer at the next relay -since he will not speak to me."</p> - -<p>The stranger said the lady was perfectly free, and that her wishes were -orders. He said that her safety and that of her guide, as well as of -Karl, demanded that she should oppose no difficulty to the selection of -her route and her asylum. Karl added, with an air of <i>naïf</i> reproof, -that this distrust seemed to mortify the Chevalier very much, and that -he had become sad and melancholy.</p> - -<p>The whole day passed without any incident. Shut up in the carriage as -close as if she were a prisoner of state, Consuelo could form no idea -about the direction she travelled. She changed her clothes with great -satisfaction, for she saw with disgust several drops of Mayer's black -blood on her dress. She sought to read, but her mind was too busy. She -determined to sleep as soon as possible, hoping in this manner to forget -the sooner the mortification of her last adventure. <i>He</i> evidently had -not forgotten it, and his respectful delicacy made Consuelo yet more -ridiculous and guilty in her own opinion. At the same time she was -distressed at the inconvenience and fatigue which he bore in a seat too -narrow for two persons, side by side with a great soldier disguised as a -servant, <i>comme il faut</i> certainly, but whose tedious and dull -conversation must necessarily be annoying to him. Besides, he was -exposed to the fresh air of the night, and was deprived of sleep. This -courage might be presumption. Did he think himself irresistible? Did he -think that Consuelo, recovered from the first surprise, would not resist -his by far too paternal familiarity?</p> - -<p>The poor girl said all this to console her downcast pride. It is very -certain that she desired to see the Chevalier, and feared above all -things his disdain at the triumphs of an excess of virtue which would -have rendered them strangers to each other forever.</p> - -<p>About midnight they halted in a ravine. The weather was bad, and the -noise of the wind in the foliage was like running water. "Signora," said -Karl, opening the door, "we are now come to the most inconvenient -portion of our journey. We must pass the frontier. With money and -boldness it is possible to do anything. Yet it would not be prudent to -attempt to do so on the highroad, and under the eyes of the police. I am -no one, and risk nothing. I will drive the carriage slowly with a single -horse, as if I took a new purchase of my master to a neighboring estate. -You will take a cross-road with the Chevalier, and may find the pathway -difficult. Can you walk a league over a bad road?"</p> - -<p>Consuelo having said yes, the Chevalier gave her his arm. "If you reach -the place of rendezvous before me, signora," said Karl, "you will wait -for me, and will not be afraid."</p> - -<p>"I am afraid of nothing," said Consuelo with a tone of mingled -tenderness and pride, "for this gentleman protects me. But, Karl, do you -run no risk?"</p> - -<p>Karl shrugged his shoulders, and kissed Consuelo's hand. He then began -to fix his horse, and our heroine set out across the country with her -silent protector.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII</a></h4> - - -<p>The weather became worse and worse. The wind began to blow more -violently, and our two fugitives walked for about half an hour, -sometimes across the briars, and then across the tall grass. At last the -rain became violent. Consuelo, as yet, had not said a word to her -companion, but seeing him uneasy about her, and looking for a shelter, -she said, "Do not be afraid on my account, Monsieur. I am strong, and -only suffer from seeing you exposed to such fatigue and care for a -person who is nothing to you, and for whom you do not care."</p> - -<p>The stranger made a gesture of joy at the sight of a ruined house, in -one corner of which he contrived to shelter his companion from the -torrents of rain. The roof had been taken away and the space sheltered -by the masonry was so small, that unless he stood close to Consuelo, the -stranger was forced to receive all the rain. He, however, respected her -condition, and went so far away as to banish all fear. Consuelo, -however, would not consent to accept his self-denial. She called him, -and seeing that he would not come, left her shelter, and said, in a tone -she sought to make joyous, "Every one has his turn, Chevalier. I now -will soak for a time. If you will not share with me, take a shelter -yourself."</p> - -<p>The Chevalier wished to lead Consuelo back to the place about which this -amicable contest occurred. She resisted, however, and said, "No, I will -not yield. I see that I offended you to-day, by expressing a wish to -leave you at the frontier. I will atone for my offence at the expense of -a severe cold even."</p> - -<p>The Chevalier yielded, and sheltered himself. Consuelo, seeing that she -owed him reparation, came to his side, though she was humbled at the -idea of having to make advances to him. She had rather seem volatile -than ungrateful, and, as an expiation of her fault, resolved to be -submissive. The stranger understood this so well, that he stood as far -from her as the small space they occupied would permit, and it was only -two or three feet square. Leaning against the wall, he pretended to look -away, lest he should annoy and trouble her by his anxiety. Consuelo was -amazed that a man sentenced to silence, and who inflicted this -punishment to a degree on himself, should divine and understand her so -well. Every moment augmented her esteem for him, and this strange -feeling made her heart beat so, that it was with great difficulty that -she could breathe the air this man, who so strangely sympathised with -her, inhaled.</p> - -<p>After a quarter of an hour the storm became so lulled that the two -travellers could resume their journey. The paths were thoroughly wet, -and had become almost impassable for a woman. The Chevalier for some -moments suffered Consuelo to slip, and almost fall. Suddenly, as if -weary of seeing her fatigue herself, he took her in his arms, and -supported her as easily as if she had been a child. She reproached him -for doing so, it is true, but her reproaches never amounted to -resistance. Consuelo felt fascinated and overpowered. She was -transported by the cavalier through the wind and the storm, and he was -not unlike the spirit of night, crossing ravines and thickets with as -rapid and certain a step as if he had been immaterial. Then they came to -the ford of a small stream, where the stranger took Consuelo in his -arms, raising her up as the water became deep.</p> - -<p>Unfortunately the torrents of rain had been so rapid, that the course of -the rivulet was swollen, and it became a torrent, rolling in foam, and -roaring turbulently. It was already up to the knight's belt, and in his -efforts to sustain Consuelo, she feared that his feet, which were in the -slimy mire of the bed of the streamlet, would slip. She became alarmed -for his sake, and said, "For heaven's sake let me go; let me go—I can -swim!"</p> - -<p>Just then a violent blast of wind threw down one of the trees on the -bank, towards which our travellers went, and this brought down an -avalanche of stones and mud, which for a moment made a natural dike -against the torrent. The tree had luckily fallen across the river, and -the stranger was beginning to breathe, when the water, making a passage -for itself, rushed into one headlong, mad current, against which it was -impossible for him to contend any longer. He paused, and Consuelo sought -to get out of his arms. "Leave me," said she; "I do not wish to be the -cause of your death. I am strong, and bold also. Let me struggle for -myself!"</p> - -<p>The Chevalier, however, pressed her the closer to his heart. One might -have fancied that he intended to die with her. She was afraid of his -black mask—of this man, silent as the water-spirits of the old German -ballads, who wished to drag her below with him. For more than a quarter -of an hour the stranger contended with the fury of the wind and storm -with a coolness and obstinacy which were really frightful, sustaining -Consuelo above the water, and not advancing more than a single step in -four or five minutes. He contemplated his situation calmly. It was as -difficult for him to advance as to withdraw, for if he did the water -might sweep him away. At last he reached the bank, and walked on, -without permitting Consuelo to put her foot on the ground. He did not -even pause to take breath, until he heard Karl, who was waiting -anxiously for him, whistle. He then gave his precious burden into the -arms of the deserter, and almost overpowered, sank on the ground. He was -able only to sigh, not breathe, and it seemed as though his breast would -burst. "Oh! my God, Karl!" said Consuelo, bending over him, "he will -die! Listen to the death-rattle! Take off that mask, which suffocates -him!"</p> - -<p>Karl was about to obey, but the stranger by a painful effort, lifted up -his icy hands, and seized that of the deserter. "True!" said Karl, "my -oath, signora. I swore to him that even were he to die in your presence, -I would not touch his mask. Hurry to the carriage, signora, and bring me -the flask of brandy which is on the seat; a few drops will relieve him. -Consuelo sought to go, but the Chevalier restrained her. If he were -about to die, he wished to expire at her feet.</p> - -<p>"That is right," said Karl, who, notwithstanding his rude manners, -understood all love's mysteries, for he had loved himself. "You can -attend to him better than I can. I will go for the flask. Listen, -signora," he continued, in a low tone; "I believe if you loved him, and -were kind enough to say so, that he will not die; otherwise I cannot -promise."</p> - -<p>Karl went away smiling. He did not share Consuelo's terror. He saw that -the suffocating sensation of the Chevalier was becoming allayed. -Consuelo was terror-stricken, and fancying she witnessed the death agony -of this generous man, folded him in her arms, and covered his broad -brow—the only part of his face the mask did not cover—with -kisses.</p> - -<p>"I conjure you," said she, "remove that mask. I will not look at you. Do -so, and you will be able to breathe."</p> - -<p>The stranger took Consuelo's two hands and placed them on his panting -bosom, as much to feel their sweet warmth as to allay her anxiety to aid -by unmasking him. At that moment all the young woman's soul was in that -chaste embrace. She remembered what Karl had said, in a half growling -and half softened mood.</p> - -<p>"Do not die," said she; "do not die. Do you not see that I love -you?"</p> - -<p>Scarcely had she uttered these words than they seemed to have fallen -from her in a dream. They had escaped her lips in spite of herself. The -Chevalier had heard them. He made an effort to rise. He fell on his -knees, and embraced those of Consuelo, who, in her agitation shed -tears.</p> - -<p>Karl returned with the flask. The Chevalier refused the favorite -specific of the deserter, and leaning on him reached the coach, where -Consuelo sat by him. She was much troubled at the cold, which could not -but be communicated to him by his damp clothes.</p> - -<p>"Do not be afraid, signora," said Karl, "the Chevalier has not had time -to grow cold. I will wrap him up in his cloak, which I took care to put -in the carriage when I saw the rain coming. I was sure he would be damp. -When one has become wet, and puts on dry apparel over all, heat is -preserved for a long time. It is as if you were in a warm bath, and it -is not at all unhealthy."</p> - -<p>"You, Karl, do the same thing; and take my mantle, for you have also -got wet."</p> - -<p>"I? Ah! my skin is thicker than yours. Put your mantle on the Chevalier; -pack him up well; and if I kill the poor horse, I will hurry on to the -next relay."</p> - -<p>For an hour Consuelo kept her arms around the stranger; and her head -resting on his bosom, filled him with life far sooner than all the -receipts and prescriptions of Karl. She sometimes felt his brow, and -warmed it with her breath, in order that the perspiration which hung on -it might not be chilled. When the carriage paused, he clasped her to his -breast with a power that showed he was in all the plenitude of life and -health. He then let down the steps hastily, and disappeared.</p> - -<p>Consuelo found herself beneath a kind of shed, face to face with an old -servant, half peasant in his appearance, who bore a dark lantern, and -led her by a pathway, bordered by a hedge, to an ordinary-looking house, -a kind of summer retreat, the door of which he shut, after having -ushered her in. Seeing a second door open, she went into a little room, -which was very clean, and simply divided into two parts. One was a -well-warmed chamber, with a good bed all prepared; and in the other was -a light and comfortable supper. She noticed with sorrow that there was -but one cover, and when Karl came to offer to serve her, she did not -dare to tell him the only thing she wished was the company of her friend -and protector.</p> - -<p>"Eat and sleep yourself, Karl," said she, "I need nothing. You must be -more fatigued than I am."</p> - -<p>"I am no more fatigued than if I had done nothing but say my prayers by -the hearthside with my poor wife, to whom may the Lord grant peace! How -happy was I when I saw myself outside of Prussia; though to tell the -truth, I do not know if I am in Saxony, Bohemia, Poland, or in China, as -we used to say at Roswald, Count Hoditz's place."</p> - -<p>"How is it possible, Karl, that you could sit on the box of the -carriage, and not know a single place you passed through?"</p> - -<p>"Because I never travelled this route before, signora; and I cannot read -what is written on the bridges and signboards. Besides, we did not stop -in any city or village, and always found our relays in the forest, or in -the courtyard of some private house. There is also another reason, -signora—I promised the Chevalier not to tell you."</p> - -<p>"You should have mentioned that reason first, Karl, and I would not -object. But tell me, does the Chevalier seem sick?"</p> - -<p>"Not all, signora. He goes and comes about the house, which does not -seem to do any great business, for I see no other face than that of the -silent old gardener."</p> - -<p>"Go and offer to help him, Karl. I can dispense with you."</p> - -<p>"Why, he has already refused my services, and bade me attend to -you."</p> - -<p>"Well, mind your own affairs, then, my friend, and dream of -liberty."</p> - -<p>Consuelo went to bed about dawn, and when she had dressed, she saw by -her watch that it was two o'clock. The day seemed clear and brilliant. -She attempted to open the blinds, but in both rooms they were shut by a -secret spring, like those of the post-chaise in which she had travelled. -She sought to go out, but the doors were fastened on the outside. She -went to the window, and saw a portion of a moderate orchard. Nothing -announced the vicinity of a city or a travelled road. The silence of the -house was complete. On the outside nothing was heard but the hum of -insects, the cooing of pigeons on the roof, and from time to time the -plaintive creaking of the wheelbarrow, where her eye could not reach. -She listened mechanically to these agreeable sounds, for her ear had -long been deprived of the sounds of rustic life. Consuelo was yet a -prisoner, and the anxiety with which she was concealed gave her a great -deal of unhappiness. She resigned herself for the time to a captivity -the aspect of which was so gentle; and she was not so afraid of the love -of the Chevalier as of Mayer.</p> - -<p>Though Karl had told her to ring for him as soon as she was up, she was -unwilling to disturb him, thinking he needed a longer sleep than she -did. She was also afraid to awaken her other companion, whose fatigue -must have been excessive. She then went into the room next to her -chamber, and instead of the meal which she left on the previous evening, -there was a collection of books and writing materials.</p> - -<p>The books did not tempt her. She was far too much agitated to use them. -But amid all her perplexity, she was delighted at being able to retrace -the events of the previous night. Gradually the idea suggested itself, -as she was yet kept in solitary confinement, to continue her journal, -and she wrote the following preamble on a loose sheet:—</p> - -<p>"Dear Beppo—For you alone I resume the story of my strange -adventures. Accustomed to speak to you with the expansion of heart -inspired by the conformity of ages and ideas, I can confide to you -emotions my other friends would not understand, and would perhaps judge -more severely. This commencement will tell you that I do not feel myself -free from error. I have erred in my own opinion, but as yet I cannot -appreciate the consequences.</p> - -<p>"Joseph, before I tell you bow I escaped from Spandau, (which indeed -appears trifling compared with what now occupies me), I must tell you... -How can I? I do not know myself. Have I dreamed? I know that my -heart burns and my brain quivers as if it would rush from me and take -possession of another frame. I will tell you the story simply; -for the whole truth, my friend, is contained in the simple -phrase—<i>I love!</i></p> - -<p>"I love a stranger! a man, the sound of whose voice I have never heard! -You will say this is folly. You are right; for love is but systematic -folly. Listen, Joseph, and do not doubt that my happiness surpasses all -the illusions of my first love, and that my ecstacy is too intoxicating -to permit me to be ashamed at having so madly assented and foolishly -placed my love, that I know not if I will be loved in return. Ah! I am -loved! I feel it so well! Be certain that I am not mistaken; that now I -love truly—I may say, madly! Why not? Does not love come from God? It -does not depend on us to kindle it in our hearts, as we light a torch at -the altar. All my efforts to love Albert, (whose name I now tremble to -write,) were not sufficient to enkindle that ardent and pure flame. -Since I lost him I loved his memory better than I ever did his person. -Who knows how I could love him, were he restored to me again?"</p> - -<p>Scarcely had Consuelo written these last words than she effaced them, -not so much that they might not be read, as to shake off a feeling of -horror at having ever suffered them to enter her mind. She was greatly -excited, and the truth of the inspiration of love betrayed itself in -spite of her wishes, in all her inmost thoughts. In vain she wished to -continue to write, that she might more fully explain to herself the -mystery of her heart. She found nothing that could more distinctly -render its delicate shades than the words, "Who knows how I could love -him, were he restored to me?"</p> - -<p>Consuelo could be false. She had fancied that she loved the memory of a -dead man with real love; but she now felt life overflowing in her heart, -and a real passion take the place of an imaginary one.</p> - -<p>She sought to read again all that she had written, and thus to recover -from her disorder of mind. But it was in vain. Despairing of being able -to enjoy calm enough to control herself, and aware that the effort would -give her a fever, she crushed the sheet she had written in her hands, -and threw it on the table until she might be able to burn it. Trembling -like a criminal, with her face in a blaze, she paid attention to -nothing, except that she loved, and that henceforth she could not doubt -it. Some one knocked at the door of her room, and she went to admit -Karl. His face was heated, his eyes haggard, and his jaws hanging. She -thought him over-fatigued; but from his answers, soon saw that he had -drank, in honor of his safe arrival, too much of his host's wine. This -was Karl's only defect. One dram made him as confident as possible; -another made him terrible.</p> - -<p>He talked of the Chevalier, who seemed the only subject on his mind. He -was so good, so kind. He made Karl sit down, instead of waiting at the -table. He had insisted on his sharing his meal, and had poured out the -best wine for him, ringing his glass with him, and holding up his head, -as if he were a true Sclave.</p> - -<p>"What a pity he is an Italian! He deserves to be a real Bohemian; for he -carries wine as well as I do," said Karl.</p> - -<p>"That is not saying much," said Consuelo, who was not highly charmed at -the Chevalier measuring cups with a soldier. She soon, however, -reproached herself for having thought Karl inferior to her and her -friends, after the services he had done her. Besides, it was certainly -to make him talk of her that the stranger had associated with her -servant. Karl's conversation soon showed her that she was not mistaken.</p> - -<p>"Oh! signora," added he simply, "this good young man is mad with love -for you, and would commit even crime and incur disgrace to serve you."</p> - -<p>"I will excuse him," said Consuelo, whom these expressions greatly -displeased. Karl did not understand. She then said, "Can you explain why -I am shut up here?"</p> - -<p>"Ah! signora, did I know, I would have my tongue cut out rather than -tell. I promised the Chevalier to answer none of your questions."</p> - -<p>"Thank you. Then you love the Chevalier better than you do me?"</p> - -<p>"Not so. I said not so, but since he satisfied me that he is in your -interests, I must serve you in spite of yourself."</p> - -<p>"How so?"</p> - -<p>"I do not know; but I am sure it is so. He has ordered me, signora, -to shut you up, to watch you, to keep you a prisoner until we -come to——"</p> - -<p>"Then we do not stay here?"</p> - -<p>"We go at night. We will not travel by day, to save you from fatigue, -and for other reasons I know nothing of."</p> - -<p>"And you are to be my jailer?"</p> - -<p>"I swore so on the bible, signora."</p> - -<p>"Well, this Chevalier is a strange person. I am helpless then; but for a -jailer I like you better than I did Herr Swartz."</p> - -<p>"I will treat you better," said Karl kindly. "Now I will get your -dinner."</p> - -<p>"I want none, Karl."</p> - -<p>"That is not possible. You must dine—and well, too. Such are my -orders. You know what Swartz said about orders."</p> - -<p>"Take him as your model, and you will not make me eat. He was only -anxious I should pay."</p> - -<p>"That was his business; but with me things are different. That concern -is the chevalier's. He is not mean, for he scatters gold by handsful. He -must be rich, or his fortune will not last."</p> - -<p>Consuelo asked for a light, and went into the next room to burn what she -had written, but during her absence it had disappeared.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII</a></h4> - - -<p>A few moments afterwards Karl returned with a letter, the writing of -which was unknown to Consuelo. It ran as follows:—</p> - -<p>"I leave you, perhaps never to see you again. I relinquish three days I -might pass with you—three days, the like of which I shall perhaps -never see again. I renounce them voluntarily. I should do so. You will one -day appreciate the sacrifice I make, and its purity.</p> - -<p>"Yes, I love you—I love you madly, though I know no more of you -than you do of me. Do not thank me for what I have done. I obeyed supreme -instructions, and accomplished the orders with which I am charged. -Attribute to me nothing but the love I entertain for you, which I can -prove in no other manner than by leaving you. This love is as ardent as -it has been respectful. It will be durable as it has been sudden and -unexpected. I have scarcely seen your face; I know nothing of your life; -yet I felt that my soul belonged to you, and that I can never resume it. -Had your past conduct been as sullied as your present seems pure, you -would not to me be less respectable and dear. I leave you, with my heart -agitated with pride, joy, and bitterness. You love me! How could I -support the idea of losing you, if the terrible will which disposes of -both of us, so ordained it? I know not. At this moment, in spite of my -terror, I cannot be unhappy. I am too much intoxicated with your love -and mine to suffer. Were I to seek in vain for you during my whole life, -I would not complain because I have seen you and received a kiss from -you, condemning me to eternal sorrow. Neither can I lose the hope of -meeting you some day; even though it were for a single moment, and -though I had no other evidence of your love than the kiss so purely -given and returned, I would feel myself a thousand times happier than I -ever was before I knew you.</p> - -<p>"And now, dear girl, poor, troubled being, recall, without shame and -without terror, the brief and heavenly moments in which you felt my love -transfused into your heart. You have said love comes to us from God, and -we cannot ourselves stifle or enkindle it. Were I unworthy of you the -sudden inspiration which forced you to return my embrace would not be -less heavenly. The Providence that protects you, would not consent that -the treasure of my love should fall on a vain and false heart. Were I -ungrateful, as far as you are concerned, it would only be a noble mind -led astray, a precious inspiration lost. I adore you; and whatever you -may be in other respects, you had nothing to do with the illusion, when -you fancied that I loved you. You were not profaned by the beating of my -heart—by the support of my arm—by the touch of my lips. Our -mutual confidence, and blind faith, have at once exalted us to that sublime -<i>abandon</i> justified by long attachment. Why regret you? I am well -aware there is something terrible in that fatality which impels us to each -other. It is the will of God. Do you see it? We cannot be mistaken. You -bear away with you my terrible secret. Keep it wholly to -yourself—confide it to no one. <i>Beppo</i>, perhaps, will not -comprehend it. Whoever that friend may be, I alone venerate your folly and -respect your weakness, for this folly and weakness are mine. Adieu! This -may be an eternal adieu, yet, as the world says, I am free, and so too are -you. I love you alone, and know you do not love another. Our fate is not -our own. I am bound by eternal vows, and so too will you be ere long. At -least you will be in the power of the Invisibles, and from them there is -no appeal. Adieu, then. . . . My bosom is torn, but God will give me -power to accomplish my sacrifice, and even a more rigorous one yet, if -such there be. Great God! have pity on me."</p> - -<p>This unsigned letter was in a painful and counterfeited hand.</p> - -<p>"Karl," said Consuelo, pale and trembling; "did the Chevalier give you -this?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, signora."</p> - -<p>"And wrote it himself?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, signora; and not without pain. His right hand was wounded."</p> - -<p>"Wounded, Karl? Severely?"</p> - -<p>"Perhaps. The cut was deep, though he did not seem to mind it."</p> - -<p>"Where was it?"</p> - -<p>"Last night, when we were changing the horses, just before we came to -the frontier, the leading-horse wished to go before the postilion had -mounted the saddle-beast. You were in the carriage alone; the postilion -and I were four or five paces off. The Chevalier held the horse with -immense power, and with a lion's courage, for he was very restive."</p> - -<p>"Ah! yes, I felt violent shocks, but you told me it was nothing."</p> - -<p>"I did not know the Chevalier was hurt. He had injured his hand with a -buckle of the harness."</p> - -<p>"And for me? But, tell me, Karl, has the Chevalier gone?"</p> - -<p>"Not yet. His horse is now being saddled, and I am come to pack his -portmanteau. He says that you have nothing to fear, for the person who -is to replace him has arrived. I hope we will see him soon, for I would -be sorry for any accident to happen. He, however, would promise nothing, -and to all my questions answered '<i>Perhaps.</i>'"</p> - -<p>"Where is the Chevalier, Karl?"</p> - -<p>"I do not know, signora, his room is there. Do you wish me to say from -you——"</p> - -<p>"No; I will write. No; tell him I would see him an instant, to thank him -and press his hand. Be quick; I fear he has gone already."</p> - -<p>Karl left, and Consuelo soon regretted having sent the message. She said -to herself that the stranger had never come near her, except in a case -of absolute necessity, and had doubtless an affiliation with the strange -and whimsical Invisibles. She resolved to write to him; but she had -scarcely written and effaced a few words, when a slight noise made her -look up. She saw a panel of the woodwork slide, and discovered there was -thus a communication between the room in which she had written and the -Chevalier's chamber. The panel was only opened wide enough for a gloved -hand to be passed, and which seemed to beckon to Consuelo. She rushed -forward, saying, "The other hand—the wounded hand." The stranger then -withdrew behind the panel so that she could not see him. He then passed -out his right hand, of which Consuelo took possession, and untying the -ligature, saw that the cut was severe and deep. She pressed her lips on -the linen and taking from her bosom the filagré cross, put it in the -blood-stained hand. "Here," said she, "is the most precious thing I -possess on earth. It is all I have, and never has been separated from -me. I never loved any one before well enough to confide to them this -treasure. Keep it till we meet——"</p> - -<p>The stranger drew the hand of Consuelo behind the wood-work which -concealed him, and covered it with kisses. Then, when he heard Karl's -steps coming to deliver his message, he pushed it back, and shut the -paneling. Consuelo heard the sound of a bolt: she listened in vain, -expecting to catch the sound of the stranger's voice. He either spoke in -a low tone or had gone.</p> - -<p>A few minutes afterwards, Karl returned to Consuelo. "He has gone," said -he, sadly, "without saying farewell, but filling my pockets with I know -not how many ducats, for the unexpected expenses of our voyage, our -regular ones being provided for, as he said—at the expense of the -powers above or below, it matters not. There is a little man in black -there, who never opens his mouth, except to give orders in a clear dry -tone, and who does not please me at all. He replaces the Chevalier, and -I will have the honor of his company on the box, a circumstance which -does not promise me a very merry conversation. Poor chevalier! may he be -restored to us."</p> - -<p>"But are we obliged to go with the little man in black?"</p> - -<p>"We could not be more under compulsion, signora. The Chevalier made me -swear I would obey the stranger as himself. Well, signora, here is your -dinner. You must not slight it, for it looks well. We will start at -night, then: henceforth, we may stop only where we please—whether at -the behest of the powers above or below, I know not."</p> - -<p>Consuelo, downcast and terrified, paid no attention to Karl's gossip. -She was uneasy about nothing relating to her voyage or her new guide. -All became indifferent from the moment the dear stranger left. A prey to -profound sadness, she sought mechanically to please Karl, by tasting -some of his dishes. Being, however, more anxious to weep than to eat, -she asked for a cup of coffee to give her some physical strength and -courage. The coffee was brought her. "See, signora, the little man would -prepare it himself, to be sure that it was excellent, he looks like an -old valet-de-chambre or steward, and, after all, is not so black as he -seems. I think he is not such a bad man, though he does not like to -talk. He gave me some brandy, at least a hundred years old, the best I -ever tasted. If you try a little, you will find it much better than this -coffee."</p> - -<p>"Drink, Karl, anything you please, and do not disturb me," said -Consuelo, swallowing the coffee, the quality of which she scarcely -observed.</p> - -<p>Scarcely had she left the table when she felt her head become extremely -heavy. When Karl came to say the carriage was ready, he found her asleep -in the chair. "Give me your arm," she said, "I cannot sustain myself. I -think I have a fever."</p> - -<p>She was so crushed, that she saw only confusedly the carriage, her new -guide, and the keeper of the house, whom Karl could induce to accept of -nothing. As soon as she was <i>en route</i>, she fell asleep. The carriage -had been filled up with cushions, like a bed, and thenceforward Consuelo -was aware of nothing. She did not know the length of her journey or even -the hour of the day or night, whether she travelled uninterruptedly or -not. Once or twice she saw Karl at the door, and could comprehend -neither his questions nor his terror. It seemed to her that the little -man felt her pulse, and made her swallow a refreshing drink, saying, -"This is nothing; madame is doing very well." She was indisposed and -overcome, and could not keep her heavy eyelids open, nor was her mind -sufficiently active to enable her to observe what passed around her. The -more she slept, the more she seemed to wish to. She did not even seek to -ask if she was sick or not, and she could only say to Karl again what -she had finished with before. "Let me alone, good Karl."</p> - -<p>Finally, she felt both body and mind a little more free, and looking -around, saw that she slept in an excellent bed, between four vast -curtains of white satin, with gold fringes. The little man, masked as the -Chevalier had been, made her inhale the perfume of a <i>flacon,</i> which -seemed to dissipate the clouds over her brain, and replaced the mystery -which had enwrapped her with noonday clearness.</p> - -<p>"Are you a physician, sir?" said she, with an effort.</p> - -<p>"Yes, countess, I have that honor," said he, with a voice which did not -seem entirely unknown to her.</p> - -<p>"Have I been sick?"</p> - -<p>"Somewhat indisposed: you are now much better."</p> - -<p>"I feel so, and thank you for your care."</p> - -<p>"I am glad, and will not appear again before your ladyship, unless you -require my services."</p> - -<p>"Am I, then, at the conclusion of my journey?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, madame."</p> - -<p>"Am I free, or am I a prisoner?"</p> - -<p>"You are free, madame, in the area reserved for your habitation."</p> - -<p>"I understand. I am in a large and comfortable prison," said Consuelo, -looking around her broad bright room, hung with white lustre, with gold -rays, supported by magnificently carved and sculptured wood-work. "Can I -see Karl?"</p> - -<p>"I do not know, madame, for this house is not mine. I go: you need my -services no longer. I am forbidden to indulge in the luxury of -conversing with you."</p> - -<p>He left, and Consuelo, yet feeble and listless, attempted to get up. The -only dress she found was a long white woollen robe, of a wonderfully -soft texture, not unlike the tunic of a Roman lady. She took it up, and -observed fall from it the following note, in letters of gold: "<i>This is -the neophyte's spotless robe. If your mind be sullied, this robe of -noble innocence will be the devouring tunic of Dejanera.</i>"</p> - -<p>Consuelo, accustomed to a quiet conscience, (perhaps too quiet,) smiled, -and put on the robe with innocent pleasure. She picked up the letter to -read it again, and found it puerilely emphatic. She then went to a rich -toilette—a table of white marble sustaining a mirror, in a golden -frame, of excellent taste. Her attention was attracted by an inscription -on the upper ornament of the mirror. It was: "<i>If your soul be as pure -as yon crystal, you will see yourself in it always—young and -beautiful. But if vice has withered your heart, be fearful of reading in -me the stern reflection of moral deformity.</i>"</p> - -<p>"I have never been either beautiful or vicious," thought Consuelo. -"Therefore the mirror in either case must be false."</p> - -<p>She looked in it without fear, and did not think herself ugly. The -flowing white robe, and her long, floating dark hair, made her look like -a priestess of antiquity. Her pallor was extreme, and her eyes were less -pure and brilliant than usual. "Can I be growing ugly?" said she, "or -does the mirror censure me?"</p> - -<p>She opened a drawer of the toilette, and found, amid various articles of -luxury, many of them accompanied with devices and sentences, which were -at once simple and pedantic. There was a pot of rouge with the following -words on the cover: "<i>Fashion and falsehood. Paint does not restore the -freshness of innocence to the cheek, and does not efface the ravages of -disorder.</i>" There were exquisite perfumes with this device: "<i>A soul -without faith and an indiscreet lip are like open flacons, the precious -contents of which are exhaled and corrupted.</i>" There were also white -ribands with these words woven in the silk: "<i>To a pure brow, the sacred -fillets; to a head charged with infamy, the servile punishment of the -cord.</i>"</p> - -<p>Consuelo did up her hair, tying it complacently in the ancient manner, -with the fillets. Then she examined with curiosity the strange abode to -which her romantic fate had brought her. She passed through the various -rooms of the suite intended for her,—a library, a music-room, filled -with admirable instruments, and many and precious musical compositions. -She had a delicious boudoir, and a gallery filled with superb and -charming pictures and statues. In magnificence her rooms were worthy of -a queen, in taste of an artist, and in chastity of a nun. Consuelo, -surprised at this sumptuous and delicate hospitality, reserved the -detailed examination of the symbols expressed by the books and works of -art, until she should be more composed. A desire to know in what part of -the world her miraculous home was, made her desert the interior for the -exterior. She approached a window, but before she lifted up the silken -curtain before it, read: "<i>If the thought of evil be in your heart, you -are unworthy of contemplating the divine spectacle of nature; if your -heart be the home of virtue, look up and bless God, who opens to you the -door of a terrestrial paradise.</i>" She opened the window, anxious to see -if the landscape corresponded with the proud promises of the -inscription. It was an earthly paradise, and Consuelo fancied that she -dreamed. The garden, planted in the English manner—a rare thing at -that time—but with all the minutiæ of German taste, offered pleasant -vistas, magnificent shades, fresh lawns, and the expanses of natural -scenery; at the same time that exquisite neatness, sweet and fresh -flowers, white sand, and crystal waters, betokened that it was carefully -attended to. Above the fine trees, the lofty barriers of a vale covered, -or rather draped, with flowers, and divided by clear and limpid brooks, -arose a sublime horizon of blue mountains, with broken sides and -towering brows. In the whole area of her view, Consuelo saw nothing to -tell her in what part of Germany was this imposing spectacle. She did -not know where she was. The season, however, seemed advanced, and the -herbage older than in Prussia, which satisfied her that she had made -some progress to the south.</p> - -<p>"Dear canon, where are you?" thought Consuelo, as she looked at the -thickets of white lilac and hedges of roses, and the ground, strewn with -narcissi, hyacinths, and violets. "Oh! Frederick of Prussia, I thank you -for having taught me, by long privations and cruel <i>ennui</i>, to enjoy, -as I should do, the pleasures of such a refuge. And you, all-powerful -Invisibles, keep me ever in this captivity. I consent to it with all my -heart, especially if the Chevalier—"</p> - -<p>Consuelo did not utter her wish. She had not thought of the stranger -since she had shaken off her lethargy. This burning wish awoke in her, -and made her reflect on the menacing sentences inscribed on all the -walls and furniture of the magic palace, and even on the apparel in -which she was so strangely decked.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV</a></h4> - - -<p>More than anything else, Consuelo was anxious for, and in need of, -liberty, after having passed so many days in slavery. She was then -delighted at being able to wander amid a vast space, which the efforts -of art and the effect of long avenues made appear yet vaster. After -walking about two hours, she felt herself becoming sad by the solitude -and silence which reigned in these beautiful spots. She had already gone -several times around it, without seeing even a human foot-print on the -fine and well-raked sand. Lofty walls, masked by immense vegetation, -prevented her from passing into unknown paths. She already had become -acquainted with those she had passed. In some places the wall was -interrupted by large fosses, filled with water, which allowed the eyes -to lose themselves in extensive lawns, which were bounded by wooded -mountains, or by the entrance into mysterious and charming alleys, -ending in thick glades. From her window, Consuelo saw all nature open to -her, but when she came down-stairs, she found herself shut in on every -side, and all the inside luxury could not extinguish the sensations of -again feeling herself a prisoner. She looked around for the enchanted -palace in which she had awaked. The house was a small one, in the -Italian style, luxuriantly furnished and elegantly decorated. Its site -was a pointed rock, picturesque as possible, but which was a natural -enclosure to all the garden, and was as impenetrable an obstacle to a -prospect as the high walks and heavy glacis of Spandau.</p> - -<p>"My fortress," said Consuelo, "is beautiful, but it is evident that I -am not on that account less the prisoner."</p> - -<p>She was about to rest herself on the terrace of the house, which was -adorned with flowers, and surmounted by a fountain. It was a delicious -place, and as it commanded only a view of the interior of the garden, a -few eminences in the park, and high mountains, the cliffs of which -towered above the trees, the prospect was beautiful and enlivening. -Consuelo, instinctively terrified at the care taken to establish her, -perhaps for a long time, in her new prison, would have given all the -catalpas and flowers, all the garden beds, for some quiet country nook, -with a modest cot, rough roads, and a district amid which she was free -to wander, and which she could explore at will. Between her residence -and the lofty mountains in the distance, there were no intermediate -plains to explore. Nothing met her eye but the indistinct dentillated -horizon, already lost in the mist of the setting sun. The nightingales -sang admirably, but not a human voice announced the presence of a single -habitant. Consuelo became aware that her house, at the verge of a large -park, or perhaps unexplored forest, was but a dependence of some vast -manor. What she now saw of the park inspired her with no wish to extend -her acquaintance with it. She saw nothing but flocks of sheep and goats -feeding on the flanks of the hills, with as much security as if the -approach of a mortal had been unknown to them. At last the evening -breeze agitated the poplar-wood which enclosed one of the sides of the -garden, and Consuelo saw, by the last light of day, the white towers and -sharp roofs of a large castle, half-hidden behind a hill, at perhaps the -distance of a quarter of a league. Notwithstanding her wish to think no -more of the chevalier, Consuelo persuaded herself that he must be there, -and her eyes were anxiously fixed on the imaginary castle perhaps, which -it seemed she was prohibited to approach, and which the veil of twilight -gradually hid.</p> - -<p>When night had come, Consuelo saw the reflection of lights from the -lower story of her house pass beneath the neighboring shrubbery, and she -hastily descended, with the expectation of seeing some human, face -around her dwelling. She had not this pleasure. The servant she found -busy in lighting the lamps and fixing the table, was like the doctor, -clothed in the uniform of the Invisibles. He was an old servant, in a -coarse white wig, resembling wool, and clad in a full suit of -tomato-colored material.</p> - -<p>"I humbly beg your pardon, madame," said he, with a broken voice, "for -appearing before you thus; but such are my orders and the necessity of -them are not matter of thought for me. I am subject to your commands, -madame, and my masters'. I am steward of this pavilion, director of the -garden, and <i>maitre d'hôtel.</i> They told me that madame, having -travelled a great deal, was used to wait on herself, and would not -require the services of a female. It would be difficult, madame, to -procure one, as I have none, and all those at the castle are forbidden -to come hither. A servant woman will arrive shortly to assist me, and a -gardener's lad, from time to time, will water the flowers and keep the -walks in order. About this I have a very humble observation to make. -This is, that any other servant than myself, with whom madame is -suspected of having spoken, or have made any sign, will at once be -dismissed—a great misfortune to them, for the service is good, and -obedience is well rewarded. Madame, I am sure, is too generous and too -just to tempt these poor people."</p> - -<p>"Rest assured, Matteus," said Consuelo, "I will never be rich enough to -reward them, and I am not the person to lead any one to neglect their -duty."</p> - -<p>"Besides," said Matteus, as if he were talking to himself, "I will -never lose sight of them."</p> - -<p>"Precaution in that respect is useless. I have too great an obligation -to repay to the persons who brought me hither, and to those who have -received me to attempt to do anything to deceive them."</p> - -<p>"Ah! is madame here of her own accord?" asked Matteus, whose curiosity -seemed deprived of nothing but the power of expression.</p> - -<p>"I beg you to think me a voluntary prisoner, on parole."</p> - -<p>"Ah, thus I understood it. I have never had charge of persons who were -here in any other way, though I have often seen my prisoners on parole -weep and torment themselves, as if they regretted having bound -themselves. God knows they were well attended to here. But under such -circumstances their liberty was always restored to them, for no one is -retained here by force. Madame, supper is ready."</p> - -<p>The last observation of the tomato-colored major-domo at once restored -all Consuelo's appetite, and the supper was so good that she highly -complimented her attendant. The latter was much flattered at being -appreciated, and Consuelo saw that she had won his esteem. He was not a -whit more confiding, or less circumspect, on that account. He was both -shrewd and cunning. Consuelo soon saw into his character, for she -appreciated the mixture of kindness and address with which he -anticipated her questions, so as to avoid annoyance, and arrange his -replies. She therefore learned from him all she did not desire to know, -without in reality learning anything. "His masters were rich, powerful, -and very generous personages. They were, however, very strict, -especially in all that related to discretion. The pavilion was a -dependence on a beautiful residence, sometimes inhabited by its owners, -and sometimes confided to faithful, well-paid, and discreet servants. -The country was rich, fertile, and well governed, and the people were -not wont to complain of their lords. Did they do so, they would not get -on very well with Matteus, who consulted his master's interests, and who -never talked foolishly." Consuelo was so annoyed at his wise -insinuations and officious instructions, that directly after supper she -said, with a smile—</p> - -<p>"I am afraid, Master Matteus, I am myself indiscreet in enjoying the -pleasure of your conversation so long. I need nothing more tonight, and -wish you good evening."</p> - -<p>"Will madame do me the honor to ring when she needs anything? I live at -the back of the house, under the rock, in a kind of hermitage around -which I cultivate magnificent water-melons. I would be pleased if madame -would encourage me by a glance; but I am especially forbid ever to open -that gate to madame."</p> - -<p>"I understand, Master Matteus. I am to confine myself to the garden, -not being subjected to your caprices, but to the will of my hosts. I will -obey."</p> - -<p>"There is especial reason, madame, why you should, as the difficulty of -opening the heavy gate is very great. There is a spring in the lock -which might injure madame's hands, if she were not informed of it."</p> - -<p>"My promise is a better security than all your bolts, Matteus. You may -rest assured on that point."</p> - -<p>Many days rolled by, without Consuelo seeing anything of her hosts, and -without her eyes falling on the features of any individual; Matteus yet -wearing his mask, which, perhaps, was more agreeable than his face.</p> - -<p>The worthy servitor attended on her with a zeal and punctuality for -which she could not be too thankful. He annoyed her terribly, however, -by his conversation, which she was forced to submit to, for he refused -positively and stoically every present she offered him, and she had no -other way to exhibit her gratitude than by suffering him to gossip. He -was passionately fond of the use of his tongue, a thing especially -remarkable, from the fact that his very employment required the most -absolute reserve, which he never laid aside. He possessed the art of -touching on many subjects, without ever referring to forbidden matters. -Consuelo was informed how much the kitchen-garden of the castle produced -every year—the quantity of carrots, of asparagus,&c.—how -many fawns were dropped in the park, the history of the swans in the lake, -the number of pheasants, and the details of harvest. Not one word was said -to enable her to understand in what country she was, if the owners of -the castle were absent or present, if she was ever to see them, or was -to remain for an indefinite time in the pavilion. In a word, nothing -that really interested her, ever escaped from the prudent though busy -lips of Matteus. She fancied she would have violated all propriety, had -she come even within ear-shot of the gardener or servant-girl, who, -moreover, came early in the morning and disappeared almost immediately -after she got up. She restricted herself to looking from time to time -across the park, without seeing any one, and watching the outlines of -the castle, which was illuminated with a few lights, which, by-the-bye, -were soon extinguished.</p> - -<p>She soon relapsed into a state of deep melancholy, which, she had -vigorously striven against at Spandau. These feelings attacked her in -this rich abode, where she had all the luxuries of life around her. Can -any one of the blessings of life really be enjoyed alone? Prolonged -solitude wearies us of the most beautiful objects, and fills the -strongest mind with terror. Consuelo soon found the hospitality of the -Invisibles as annoying as it was strange, and intense disgust took -possession of all her faculties. Her noble piano seemed to sound too -loudly through the vast and echoing rooms, and she became afraid of the -sound of her own voice. When she ventured to sing, if she were surprised -by twilight, she thought she heard the echoes reply angrily to her, and -fancied she saw flitting around the silk-hung walls and silent tapestry, -uneasy shadows, which faded away when she sought to watch them, and hid -themselves behind the hangings, whence they mocked, imitated, and made -faces at her. All this was but the effect of the evening breeze, -rustling amid the leaves, or the vibration of her own voice around her. -Her imagination, weary of questioning the mute witnesses of her -<i>ennui</i>—the statues, pictures, and Japan vases, filled with -flowers, and the gorgeous mirrors—became the victim of a strange -terror, like the anticipation of some unknown misfortune. She remembered -the strange power attributed to the Invisibles by the vulgar, the -apprehensions with which Cagliostro had filled her mind, the appearance -of <i>la balayeuse</i> in the palace at Berlin, and the wonderful promises -of Saint Germain in relation to the resurrection of Albert. She said all -these unexplained matters were perhaps the consequence of the secret action -of the Invisibles in society, and on her particular fate. She had no faith -in their supernatural power, but she saw they used every means to acquire -influence over the minds of men, by attacking the imagination through -promises and menaces, terror or seductions. She was then under the -influence of some formidable revelation or cruel mystification, and, -like a cowardly child, was afraid at being so timid.</p> - -<p>At Spandau she had aroused her will against external perils and real -suffering: she had triumphed, by means of courage, over all, and there -resignation seemed natural to her. The gloomy appearance of the fortress -harmonized with the solemn meditations of solitude, while in her new -prison all seemed formed for a life of poetical enjoyment or peaceful -friendship. The eternal silence, the absence of all sympathy, destroyed -the harmony, like a monstrous violation of common sense. One might have -compared it to the delicious retreat of two lovers, or an accomplished -family, become, from a loved hearthside, suddenly hated and deserted, on -account of some painful rupture or sudden catastrophe. The many -inscriptions which decorated it, and which were placed on every -ornament, she did not laugh at now as mere puerilities. They were -mingled encouragements and menaces, conditional eulogiums corrected by -humiliating accusations. She could no longer look around her, without -discovering some new sentence she had not hitherto remarked, and which -seemed to keep her from breathing freely in this sanctuary of suspicious -and vigilant justice. Her soul had retreated within itself since the -crisis of her escape and instantaneous love for the stranger. The -lethargic state which she had, beyond doubt, been intentionally thrown -into, to conceal the locality of her abode, had produced a secret -languor and a nervous excitability resulting from it. She therefore felt -herself becoming both uneasy and careless, now terrified at nothing, and -then indifferent about everything.</p> - -<p>One evening she fancied that she heard the almost imperceptible sound -of a distant orchestra. She went on the terrace, and saw the castle -appearing beyond the foliage in a blaze of light. A symphony, lofty and -clear, distinctly reached her. The contrast between a festival and her -isolation touched her deeply; more so than she was willing to own. So -long a time had elapsed since she had exchanged a word with rational or -intelligent beings, for the first time in her life she was anxious to -join in a concert or ball, and wished, like Cinderella, that some fairy -would waft her through the air into one of the windows of the enchanted -palace, even if she were to remain there invisible, merely to look on -persons animated by pleasure.</p> - -<p>The moon was not yet up. In spite of the clearness of the sky, the shade -beneath the trees was so dense, that Consuelo, had she been surrounded -by invisible watchers, might have glided by. A violent temptation took -possession of her, and all the specious reasons which curiosity -suggests, when it seeks to assail our conscience, presented themselves -to her mind. Had they treated her with confidence by dragging her -insensible to this prison, which, though gilded, was severe? Had they -the right to exact blind submission from her which they had not deigned -to ask for? Besides, might they not seek to tempt and attract her by the -simulation of a festival—all this might be, for all that related to -the Invisibles was strange. Perhaps, in seeking to leave the enclosure she -would find an open gate, or a boat which passed through some arch in the -wall of the park. At this last fancy, the most gratuitous of all, she -descended into the garden, resolved to tempt her fate. She had not gone -more than fifty paces, when she heard in the air a sound similar to that -produced by the wings of a gigantic bird, as it rises rapidly to the -clouds. At the same time, she saw around her a vivid blue blaze, which -after a few minutes was extinguished, to be reproduced with a sharp -report. Consuelo then saw this was neither lightning nor a meteor, but -the commencement of a display of fireworks at the castle. This -entertainment promised her, from the top of the terrace a magnificent -display, and like a child, anxious to shake off the <i>ennui</i> of a long -punishment, she returned in haste to the pavilion.</p> - -<p>By the blaze of these factitious lights, sometimes red and then blue, -which filled the garden, she twice saw a black man standing erect and -near her. She had scarcely time to look at him, when the luminous bomb -falling with a shower of stars, left all more dark than ever, after the -light which had dazzled her eyes. Consuelo then became terrified, and -ran in a direction entirely opposite to that in which the spectre had -appeared, but when the light returned, saw herself again within a few -feet of him. At the third blaze, she had gained the door of the -pavilion, but again found him before her and barring her passage. -Seized with irrepressible terror, she cried aloud, and nearly -swooned. She would have fallen backward from the steps, had not her -mysterious visitor passed his arm around her waist. Scarcely had he touched -her brow with his lips, than she became aware it was the stranger—the -<i>Chevalier</i>—the one whom she loved, and by whom she was -beloved.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV</a></h4> - - -<p>The joy at finding him, like an angel of consolation in this -insupportable solitude, silenced every fear that a moment before had -filled her mind, though she entertained no hope of escape through him. -She returned his embrace with passion, and as he tried to get loose from -her arms to replace his black mask, which had fallen, she cried, "Do not -leave me—do not desert me!" Her voice was supplicatory and her caresses -irresistible. The stranger fell at her feet, concealing his face in the -folds of her dress, which he kissed. He remained some time in a state -half-way between pleasure and despair; then, taking up his mask, and -placing a letter into Consuelo's hands, he hurried into the house, and -disappeared, without her having been able to distinguish his features.</p> - -<p>She followed him, and by the aid of a tiny lamp, which Matteus lighted -every evening, at the foot of the stairway, she hoped to find him. -Before she had gone more than a few steps, however, she saw no trace of -him. She looked in vain through all the house, but saw nothing, and, but -for the letter she had in her hands, would have thought all that had -happened a dream.</p> - -<p>At last, she determined to return to her boudoir and read the letter, -the writing of which now seemed rather counterfeited intentionally than -changed by pain. It was as follows:</p> - -<p>"I can neither see nor speak to you, but I am not forbidden to write. -Will you permit me? Will you dare to reply to the stranger? Had I this -happiness, I might find your letters, and place mine in a book -you could leave every evening on the bench near the water. I love you -passionately—madly—wildly: I am conquered—my power is -crushed. My activity, my zeal, my enthusiasm for the work to which I am -devoted, all, even the feeling of duty, is gone, unless you love me. Bound -by oath to strange and terrible duties, by the gift and abandonment of my -will, I float between the idea of infamy and suicide: I cannot think you -really love me, and that, at the present moment, distrust and fear have -not effaced your passion for me. Could it be otherwise? I am to you but -a shadow, only the dream of a night—the illusion of a moment. Well, -to win your love, I am ready, twenty times a day, to sacrifice my honor, to -betray my word, and sully my conscience by perjury. If you contrived to -escape from this prison, I would follow you to the end of the world, -were I to expiate, by a life of shame and remorse, the intoxication of -your presence, though only for a day, and to hear you say once, though -but once, 'I love you.' Yet, if you refuse to unite yourself to the -Invisibles, if the oaths which soon are to be exacted from you prove -repugnant, it will be forbidden me ever to see you. I will not obey, for -I cannot—no, I have suffered enough—I have toiled, sufficiently -toiled, in the service of man. If you be not the recompense of my labor, -I will have nothing more to do with it. I destroy myself by returning to -earth, its laws, its habits. Take pity, take pity on me. Tell me not -that you do not love me. I cannot support the blow—I will not, -cannot believe it. If I did, I must die."</p> - -<p>Consuelo read the note amid the noise of guns, bombs, and fireworks, the -explosion of which she did not hear. Engrossed by what she read, she -experienced, without being aware of it, the impression produced on -sensitive minds by the detonation of powder, and in general, by all -violent noises. This principally influences the imagination, when it -does not act physically on a weak, unhealthy body, by producing painful -tremors. It exalts, on the other hand, the mind and senses of brave and -well-constituted persons. It awakens even in the minds of some women, -intrepid instincts, ideas of strife, and vague regrets that they are not -men. In fine, there is a well-marked accent which makes us find an -amount of quasi-musical enjoyment in the voice of the rushing torrent, -in the roar of the breaking wave, in the roll of thunder; this accent of -anger, wrath, menace and pride—this voice of power, so to say, is -found in the roar of artillery, in the whistling of balls, and in the -countless convulsions of the atmosphere which imitate the shock of -battle in artificial fire-works.</p> - -<p>Consuelo perhaps experienced the effects of this, while she read what -may really be called the first <i>billet-doux</i> she had ever received. -She felt herself courageous, bold, and almost rash. A kind of intoxication -made her feel this declaration of love more warm and persuasive than all -Albert's words, precisely as she felt the kiss of Albert more soft and -gentle than Anzoleto's. She then began to write without hesitation, and -while the rockets shook the echoes of the park, while the odor of -saltpetre stifled the perfume of flowers, and Bengalese fires -illuminated the <i>façade</i> of the house, unnoticed by her, Consuelo -wrote in reply:</p> - -<p>"Yes, I love you—I have said so; and even if I repent and blush -at it, I never can efface from the strange, and incomprehensible book of -my fate, the page I wrote myself and which is in your hands. It was the -expression of a guilty impulse—mad, perhaps, but intensely true, and -ardently felt. Had you been the humblest of men, I would yet have placed -my ideal in you. Had I degraded myself by contemptuous and cruel -conduct, I would yet have experienced by contact with your heart, an -intoxication I had never known, and which appeared to me to be holy as -angels are pure. You see I repeat to you what I wrote in relation to the -confession I made to Beppo. We do nothing but repeat to each other what -we are. I think we are keenly and truly satisfied of this mutual -conviction. Why and how could we be deceived? We do not, and perhaps -never will, know each other, and cannot explain the first causes of this -love, any more than we can foresee its mysterious ends. Listen: I -abandon myself to your word, to your honor, and do not combat the -sentiments you inspire. Do not let me deceive myself. I ask of you but one -thing—not to feign to love me—never to see me if you do not -love me—to abandon me to my fate, whatsoe'er it be, with no -apprehension that I should accuse or curse you for the rapid illusions of -happiness you have conferred on me. It seems to me what I ask is easy. -There are moments in which I am afraid, I confess, on account of my blind -confidence in you. But as soon as you appear in my presence, or when I -look at your writing, which is carefully disguised, as if you were -anxious to deprive me of any visible and external index; in fine, when -I hear the sound even of your steps, all my fears pass away, and I -cannot refrain from thinking that you are my better angel. Why hide you -thus? what fearful secret is hidden by your mask and your silence? Must -I fear and reject you, when I learn your name or see your face? If you -are absolutely unknown to me as you have written, why yield such blind -obedience to the strange law of the Invisibles, even when, as to-day, -you are ready to shake off your bonds and follow me to the end of the -world? And if I exacted it, and fled with you, would you take off your -mask and keep no secrets from me? 'To know you,' you say, 'it is -necessary for me to promise'—what? For me to bind myself to the -Invisibles? To do what? Alas! must I with closed eyes, mute, and without -conscience, with my mind in darkness, <i>give up</i> and abandon my will as -you did, knowing your fate? To determine me to these unheard-of acts of -devotion, would you not make a slight infraction of the regulations of -your order? I see distinctly that you belong to one of those mysterious -orders known here as <i>secret societies</i>, and which it is said are -numerous in Germany; unless this be merely a political plot against——, -as is said in Berlin. Let this be as it may, if I be left at liberty to -refuse when I am told what is required of me, I will take the most -terrible oaths never to make any revelations. Can I do more, without -being unworthy of the love of a man who overcomes his scruples, and the -fidelity of his oath so far as to be unwilling for me to hear that word -I have pronounced myself, in violation of the prudence and modesty of my -sex—'<i>I love you.</i>'"</p> - -<p>Consuelo placed this letter in a book she left at the indicated place in -the garden. She then went slowly away, and was long concealed in the -foliage, hoping to see the Chevalier come, and fearing to leave this -avowal of her sentiments there, lest it should fall into other hands. As -hours rolled by without any one coming, and she remembered these words -of the stranger's letter, "I will come for your answer during your -sleep," she thought it best to conform in all respects to his advice, -and returned to her room, where, after many agitated reveries, -successively painful and delicious, she went to sleep amid the uncertain -music of the ball, the <i>fanfares</i> which were sounded during the -supper, and the distant sound of carriage wheels which announced, at dawn, -the departure of the many guests from the castle.</p> - -<p>At nine, precisely, the recluse entered the hall where she ate, and -where her meals were served with scrupulous exactness, and with care -worthy of the place. Matteus stood erect behind her chair, in his usual -phlegmatic manner. Consuelo had been to the garden. The Chevalier had -taken her letter, for it was not in the book. Consuelo had hoped to find -another letter from him, and she already began to complain of -lukewarmness in his correspondence. She felt uneasy, excited, and -annoyed by the torpid life it seemed she was compelled to lead. She then -determined to run some risk to see if she could not hasten the course of -events which were slowly preparing around her. On that day Matteus was -moody and silent.</p> - -<p>"Master Matteus," said she, with forced gaiety, "I see through your -mask, that your eyes are downcast and your face pale. You did not sleep -last night."</p> - -<p>"Madame laughs at me," said Matteus, with bitterness. "As madame, -however, has no mask, it is easy to see that she attributes the fatigue -and sleeplessness with which she herself has suffered, to me.</p> - -<p>"Your mirrors told me that before I saw you, Master Matteus: I know I -am getting ugly, and will be yet more changed, if <i>ennui</i> continues to -consume me."</p> - -<p>"Does madame suffer from <i>ennui?</i>" said he, in the same tone he -would have said, "Did madame ring?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, Matteus, terribly; and I can no longer bear this seclusion. As no -one has either visited or written to me, I presume I am forgotten here; -and since you are the only person who does not neglect me, I think I am -at liberty to say as much to you."</p> - -<p>"I cannot permit myself to judge of madame's condition," said Matteus; -"but it seems to me that within a short time, madame has received both a -letter and a visit."</p> - -<p>"Who told you so, Master Matteus?" said Consuelo, blushing.</p> - -<p>"I would tell," said he, in a tone ironically humble, "if I were not -afraid of offending madame and annoying her with my conversation."</p> - -<p>"Were you my servant, I do not know what airs of grandeur I might assume -with you; but as now I have no other attendant but myself, you seem -rather my guardian than my major-domo, and I will trouble you to talk as -you are wont. You have too much good sense to be tedious."</p> - -<p>"As madame is <i>ennuyée</i>, she may just now be hard to please. There -was a great entertainment last night at the castle."</p> - -<p>"I know it. I saw the fire-works and heard the music."</p> - -<p>"And a person who, since the arrival of madame, has been closely -watched, took advantage of the disorder and noise to enter the private -park, in violation of the strictest orders. A sad affair resulted from -it. I fear, however, I would distress you by telling you."</p> - -<p>"I think distress preferable to <i>ennui</i> and anxiety. What was it, -Matteus?"</p> - -<p>"I saw this morning the youngest and most amiable, handsome and -intelligent of all my masters taken to prison—I mean the Chevalier -Leverani."</p> - -<p>"Leverani? His name is Leverani?" said Consuelo, with emotion. "Taken -to prison? The Chevalier? Tell me, for God's sake, who is this Leverani?"</p> - -<p>"I have described him distinctly enough to madame. I know not whether -she knows more or less than I do. One thing is certain—he has been -taken to the great tower for having written to madame, and having -refused to communicate her reply to his highness."</p> - -<p>"The great tower!—his highness! What you tell me, Matteus, is -serious. Am I in the power of a sovereign prince, who treats me as a state -prisoner, and who punishes any of his subjects who exhibit sympathy -towards me? Am I mystified by some noble with strange ideas, who seeks -to terrify me into a recognition of gratitude for services rendered?"</p> - -<p>"It is not forbidden me to tell madame that she is in the house of a -rich prince, who is a man of mind and a philosopher."</p> - -<p>"And chief of the Council of the Invisibles?"</p> - -<p>"I do not know what madame means by that," said Matteus, with -indifference. "In the list of his highness's titles and dignities, there -is nothing of the kind recorded."</p> - -<p>"Will I not be permitted to see the prince, to cast myself at his feet -and ask the pardon of this Chevalier Leverani, who I am willing to swear -is innocent of all indiscretion?"</p> - -<p>"I think your wishes will be difficult of attainment. Yet I have access -to his highness every evening, for a short time, to give an account of -madame's occupations and health. If madame will write, perhaps I can -induce him to read the letter, without its passing through the hands of -the secretaries."</p> - -<p>"Master Matteus, you are kindness personified; and I am sure you must -have the confidence of the prince. Yes, certainly, I will write since -you are generous enough to feel an interest in the Chevalier."</p> - -<p>"It is true I feel a greater interest in him than in any other, for he -saved my life at the risk of his own. He attended and dressed my wounds, -and replaced the property I had lost. He passed nights watching me, as -if he had been my servant, and I his master. He saved a niece of mine -from degradation, and by his good advice and kind words made her an -honest woman. How much good he has done in this country, and they say in -all Europe. He is the best young man that exists, and his highness loves -him as if he were his son."</p> - -<p>"Yet his highness sends him to prison for a trifling fault?"</p> - -<p>"Madame does not know that in his highness's eyes no fault is trifling -which is indiscreet."</p> - -<p>"He is then an absolute prince?"</p> - -<p>"Admirably just, yet terribly severe."</p> - -<p>"How, then, can I interest his mind and the decisions of his -council?"</p> - -<p>"I know not, madame is well aware. Many secret things are done in this -castle, especially when the prince comes to pass a few weeks here, which -does not often happen. A poor servant like myself, who dared to pry into -them, would not be be long tolerated; and as I am the oldest of the -household, madame must see I am neither curious nor gossiping—else——"</p> - -<p>"I understand, Master Matteus; but would it be indiscreet to ask if the -imprisonment to which the Chevalier is subjected is rigorous?"</p> - -<p>"It must be, madame; yet I know of nothing that passes in the tower and -dungeon. I have seen many go in, and none come out. I know not whether -there be outlets in the forest, but there are none in the park."</p> - -<p>"You terrify me. Can it be possible that I have been the cause of the -Chevalier's misfortunes? Tell me, is the prince of a cold or violent -disposition? Are his decrees dictated by passing indignation, or by calm -and durable reflection?"</p> - -<p>"It is not proper I should enter into these details," said the old man.</p> - -<p>"Well, at least, talk to me of the Chevalier. Is he a man to ask and -obtain pardon? or does he envelope himself in haughty silence?"</p> - -<p>"He is tender and mild, and full of submission and respect to his -highness. If madame has confided any secret to him, however, she may be -at ease. He would suffer himself to be tortured, rather than give up the -secrets of another, even to a confessor."</p> - -<p>"Well, I will reveal to his highness the secret he thinks important -enough to kindle his rage against an unfortunate man. Oh! my good -Matteus, can you not take my letter at once?"</p> - -<p>"It is impossible, madame, before night."</p> - -<p>"Well, I will write now, for some unforeseen opportunity may present -itself."</p> - -<p>Consuelo went into her closet and wrote to the anonymous prince -requesting an interview, and she promised to reply sincerely to all the -questions he might ask.</p> - -<p>At midnight Matteus brought her this answer—</p> - -<p>"If you would speak to the prince, your request is absurd. You will not -see and never will know his name. If you wish to appear before the -Council of the Invisibles, you will be heard. Reflect calmly on your -resolution, which will decide on your life and that of another."</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI</a></h4> - - -<p>She had to wait twenty four hours after the receipt of this letter. -Matteus said he would rather have his hand cut off than ask to see the -prince after midnight. At breakfast, on the next day, he appeared more -talkative than on the evening before, and Consuelo thought she observed -that the imprisonment of the Chevalier had embittered him against the -prince so much as to make him indiscreet, probably for the first time in -his life. When she had made him talk for an hour, she discovered that no -greater progress had been made in gleaning information than on the -previous day. Whether he had played with her simplicity, to learn her -thoughts and opinions, or whether he knew nothing in relation to the -Invisibles, and the participation of his masters in their acts, he saw -that Consuelo floated in a strange confusion of contradictory notions. -In relation to all that concerned the social condition of the prince, -Matteus maintained the rigid silence which had been imposed on him. He -shrugged his shoulders, it is true, when he spoke of this strange order, -the necessity of which he confessed he did not see. He did not -comprehend why he should use a mask when he attended to persons, who came -one after another, at greater or less intervals—and for a greater -or shorter stay at the pavilion. <i>He could not refrain</i> from saying -that his master had strange fancies, and was devoted to the strangest -enterprises. In his house, however, all curiosity as well as all -indiscretion was paralyzed by the fear of terrible punishment, in -relation to which he would say nothing. In fact, Consuelo learned -nothing, except that strange things took place at the castle, that they -rarely slept at night, and that all the servants had seen ghosts. -Matteus himself, and he was no coward, had seen in the winter, at times -when the prince was away, and the castle unoccupied by its owners, -figures wandering about the park which made him shudder, for they came -and went none knew whither or whence. But this threw little light on -Consuelo's situation. She had to wait until night, before she could send -a new petition—which ran as follows:</p> - -<p>"Whatever be the consequence to me, I ask humbly, to be brought before -the tribunal of the Invisibles."</p> - -<p>The day seemed endless; she sought to overcome her impatience and -uneasiness, by singing all she had composed in prison, in relation to -the grief and <i>ennui</i> of solitude, and she concluded this rehearsal -with the sublime air of Almireno in the <i>Rinalda</i> of Haëndel.</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">Lascia ch 'lo nianga,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">La dura sorte,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">E ch lo sospiri</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">La liberta.</span></p> - - -<p>Scarcely had she concluded, when a violin with an extraordinary -vibration repeated outside, the admirable musical phrase she had just -sung, with an expression full of pain, and sorrowful as her own. -Consuelo went to the window but saw no one, and the phrase lost itself -in the distance. It seemed to her that this wonderful instrument and -instrumentation could be Count Albert's alone. She soon dismissed this -idea, as calculated to lead her back to a train of painful and dangerous -illusions which had already caused her too much suffering. She had never -heard Albert play any modern music, and none but an insane person would -insist on evoking a spectre every time the sound of a violin was heard. -This idea distressed Consuelo, and threw her into such a succession of -sad reveries, that she aroused herself only at nine o'clock, when she -remembered that Matteus had brought her neither dinner nor supper, and -that she had fasted since morning. This circumstance made her fear that, -like the Chevalier, Matteus had been made a victim to the interest he -expressed for her. The walls certainly had eyes and ears. Matteus had -perhaps said too much, and murmured a little against the disappearance -of Leverani. "Was it not probable," she asked herself, "that he had -shared the Chevalier's fate?"</p> - -<p>This new anxiety kept Consuelo from being aware of the inconveniences -of hunger. Matteus did not appear; she ventured to ring. No one came. She -felt faint and hungry, and much afraid.</p> - -<p>Leaning on the window-sill, with her head in her hands, she recalled to -her mind, which was already disturbed by the want of food, the strange -incidents of her life; and asked herself whether the recollection of -reality or a dream made her aware that a cold hand was placed on her -head, and that a low voice said, "Your demand is granted; follow me!"</p> - -<p>Consuelo had not yet thought of lighting her rooms, but had been able -clearly to recognise objects in the twilight, and tried to distinguish -the person who thus spoke to her. She found herself suddenly enwrapped -in intense darkness, as if the atmosphere had become compact and the sky -a mass of lead. She put her hand to her brow, which the air seemed not -to touch, and felt on it a hood which was at once as light and -impenetrable as that which Cagliostro had previously thrown over her -head. Led by an invisible hand, she descended the stairway of the house, -but soon discovered there were more steps than she had been aware of, -and that for half an hour she went through caverns.</p> - -<p>Fatigue, hunger, emotion, and terror, gradually made her steps more, and -more feeble; and feeling every moment as if she was about to fall, she -was on the point of imploring aid. A certain pride, however, made her -ashamed of abandoning her resolution, and induced her to act -courageously. She soon reached the end of her journey, and was made to -sit down. Just then she heard a melancholy bell, like the sound of a -tom-tom, striking twelve slowly, and at the last stroke the hood was -removed from her brow, which was covered with perspiration.</p> - -<p>She was at first dazzled by the blaze of many lights immediately in -front of her, arranged in cruciform on the wall. As soon as her eyes -became used to this transition, she saw that she was in a vast Gothic -hall, the vault of which, divided by hanging arches, resembled a deep -dungeon or a subterranean chapel. At the foot of this room she saw seven -persons, wrapped in red mantles, with their faces covered by livid white -masks, making them look like corpses. They sat behind a long black -marble table. Before them, at a table of less length was an eighth -spectre, clad in black, and masked with white, also seated. On each side -of the lateral walls stood a score of men, each of whom was wrapped and -veiled with black. Consuelo looked around, and saw behind her other -phantoms in black. At each of the two doors there were two others with -drawn swords.</p> - -<p>Under other circumstances Consuelo would perhaps have said that this -melancholy spectacle was but a game—one of those tests to which -candidates were subjected in the masonic lodges at Berlin. The -freemasons, however, never constituted themselves into a court, and did -not attribute to their body the right to drag persons who were not -initiated, before their lodges. She was therefore disposed, from all -that had preceded this scene, to think it serious and even terrible. She -discovered that she trembled visibly, and but for five minutes of -intense silence which pervaded the whole assembly, would not have been -able to regain her presence of mind and prepare to reply.</p> - -<p>The eighth judge at last arose, and made a sign to the two ushers who -stood with drawn swords on each side of Consuelo, to bring her to the -foot of the tribunal, where she stood erect, in an attitude of calmness -and courage, not a little affected.</p> - -<p>"Who are you, and what do you ask?" said the man in black rising.</p> - -<p>Consuelo for a few moments was stupefied, but regained courage, and -said—</p> - -<p>"I am Consuelo—a singer by profession—known also as -La Zingarella and La Porporina."</p> - -<p>"Have you no other name?" said the examiner.</p> - -<p>Consuelo hesitated, and then said—</p> - -<p>"I <i>can</i> claim another; yet I am bound in honor never to do -so."</p> - -<p>"Do you expect to conceal anything from the tribunal? Think you that you -are in the presence of ignorant judges! Why are you here, if you seek to -abuse us by idle pretences? Name yourself. Tell us who you are or -depart."</p> - -<p>"You know who I am, and are also aware that my silence is a duty, and -you encourage me to maintain it."</p> - -<p>One of the red cloaks leaned forward and made a sign to one of the -black, and in a moment all the latter left the room, with the exception -of the examiner, who kept his seat and spoke thus:</p> - -<p>"Countess of Rudolstadt," said he, "now that the examination is become -secret, and that you are in the presence of your judges alone, will you -deny that you are lawfully married to Count Albert Podiebrad, called de -Rudolstadt, by virtue of the claims of his family?"</p> - -<p>"Before I answer that question, I wish to know what authority disposes -of all things around me, and what law obliges me to recognise it?"</p> - -<p>"What law would you invoke—human or divine? The law of society -places you in dependence on Frederick II., King of Prussia, Elector of -Brandebourg, from the estates of whom we rescued you, thus saving you -from indefinite captivity and yet more terrible dangers as you well -know."</p> - -<p>"I know," said Consuelo, kneeling, "that eternal gratitude binds me to -you. I invoke only the law of God, and beseech you to define to me that -of gratitude. Does it enjoin me to bless and to devote myself to you -from the depth of my heart? I will do so. But if it enjoins me to obey -you, in violation of the decrees of my conscience, should I not reject? -Decide you for me."</p> - -<p>"May you in the world act and think as you speak? The circumstances -which subject you to our control escape ordinary reason. We are above -all human law, and this you will recognise by our power. The prejudices -of fortune, rank, and birth, fear of public opinion, engagements even -contracted with the sentiments and sanction of the world, have to us no -significance, no value. When removed from men, and armed with the light -of God's justice, we weigh in the hollow of our hand the sands of your -frivolous and timid life. Explain yourself without subterfuge before us, -the living law of all. We will not hear you till we know how you appear -here. Does the Zingarella Consuelo or the Countess of Rudolstadt appear -before us?"</p> - -<p>"The Countess of Rudolstadt having renounced all her social rights, has -nothing to ask here. The Zingarella Consuelo—"</p> - -<p>"Pause and weigh well the words you are about to utter. Were your -husband living, would you have a right to withdraw your faith, to abjure -your name, to reject his fortune—in a word, to become a Zingarella -again, merely to gratify your pride of family and caste?"</p> - -<p>"Certainly not."</p> - -<p>"And think you death has broken all bonds forever? Do you owe to -Albert's memory neither respect, love, nor fidelity?"</p> - -<p>Consuelo blushed and became troubled. The idea that, like Cagliostro -and the Count Saint Germain, they were about to talk of Albert's -resurrection, filled her with such terror that she could not reply.</p> - -<p>"Wife of Albert Podiebrad," said the examiner, "your silence accuses -you. Albert to you is dead, and in your eyes the marriage was but an -incident in your adventurous life, without consequence and without -obligation. Zingara, you may go. We are interested in your fate only on -account of your union with one of the best of men. You are unworthy of -our love, having been unworthy of his. We do not regret the liberty we -gave you, for the reparation of the wrongs inflicted by despotism is one -of our duties and pleasures. Our protection will go no further. -To-morrow you will quit the asylum we provided for you, with the hope -that you would leave it purified and sanctified. You will return to the -world, to the chimera of glory, to the intoxication of foolish passions. -God have mercy on you! for we abandon you forever."</p> - -<p>For some moments Consuelo was terrified by the decree. A few days -sooner, she would have accepted it without a word; but the phrase -<i>foolish passion</i>, which had been pronounced, recalled to her mind the -mad love she had conceived for the stranger, and which she had hugged to -her heart almost without examination and scrutiny.</p> - -<p>She was humbled in her own eyes, and the sentence of the Invisibles -appeared to her, to a certain extent, to be deserved. The sternness of -their words filled her with mingled respect and terror, and she thought -no more of contending against the right they claimed to condemn her as a -dependant of their authority. It is seldom that, great as our natural -pride may be, or irreproachable as may be our life, we do not feel the -influence of a grave charge made unexpectedly against us, and instead of -contesting it, look into our hearts to see whether we deserve censure or -not. Consuelo did not feel free from reproach, and the theatrical effect -displayed around her, made her situation painful and strange. But she -soon remembered that she had not appeared before the tribunal without -being prepared to submit to its rigor. She had come thither resolved to -submit to admonition or any punishment necessary to procure the -exculpation or pardon of the Chevalier. Laying aside, then, all her -self-love, she submitted to their reproaches, and for some minutes -thought what she should say.</p> - -<p>"It is possible," said she, "that I merit this stern censure, for I am -far from being satisfied with myself. When I came hither, I had formed -an idea of the Invisibles which I wish to express. The little I have -learned from popular rumor of your order, and the boon of liberty you -have restored to me, have led me to think that you were men perfect in -virtue as you were powerful in society. If you be what I have believed -you, why repel me so sternly, without pointing out the road for me to -avoid error and become worthy of your protection? I know that on account -of Albert of Rudolstadt, who as you say was one of the most excellent of -men, his widow was entitled to some consideration. But even were I not -the widow of Albert, or had I always been unworthy of him, the Zingara -Consuelo, a woman without name, family, or country, has some claims on -your paternal solicitude. Allow that I have been a great sinner, are you -not like the kingdom of heaven, where the repentance of a guilty one -gives greater joy than the constancy of hundreds of the elect? In fine, -if the law which unites you be a divine law, you violate it when you -repel me. You had undertaken, you said, to purify and sanctify me. Try -to elevate my soul to the dignity of your own. Prove to me that you are -holy, by appearing patient and merciful, and I will accept you as my -masters and models."</p> - -<p>There was a moment of silence, and they seemed to consult together. At -last one of them spoke.</p> - -<p>"Consuelo, you came hither full of pride, why do you not retire thus? -We had the right to censure, because you came to question us. We have no -right to chain your conscience and take possession of your life, unless -you abandoned both to us freely. Can we ask you for this sacrifice? You -do not know us. The tribunal, the holiness of which you invoke, is -perhaps the most perverse, or at least the most audacious, which ever -acted in the dark against the principles which rule the world. What know -you of it? Were we to reveal to you the profound science of an entirely -new virtue, would you have courage to consecrate yourself to so long and -arduous a study without being aware of its object? Could we have -confidence in the perseverance of a neophyte so badly prepared as -yourself? Perhaps we might have weighty secrets to confide to you, and -we would depend for their security only on your generous instincts. We -know you well enough to confide in your discretion. We do not seek -discreet confidants, for we have no want of them. To advance God's law -we need fervent disciples, free from all prejudices, from all egotism, -from all frivolous passions and worldly desires. Look into yourself and -see if you can make these sacrifices. Can you control your actions and -regulate your life in obedience to your instincts, and on the principles -we will give you to develop? Woman, artist, girl, dare you reply that -you can associate yourself with stern men to toil in the work of -ages?"</p> - -<p>"What you say is serious indeed," said Consuelo, "and I scarcely -understand it. Will you give me time to think? Do not repel me from your -bosom until I shall have questioned my heart. I know not if it be worthy -of the light you can shed on it. But what sincere heart is unworthy of -the truth? In what can I be useful to you? I am terrified at my -impotence. To have protected me as you have done, you must have seen -there was something in me. Something, too, says to me, that I should not -leave you without having sought to prove my gratitude. Do not banish me -then. Try to instruct me."</p> - -<p>"We will grant you eight days more to reflect," replied the judge in the -red robe, who had previously spoken. "But you must, in the first place, -bind yourself on your honor, to make no attempt to discover where you -are, and who are the persons you see here. You must promise not to pass -beyond the enclosure, even should you see the gates open, and the -spectres of your dearest friends calling on you. You must ask no -questions of the persons who serve you, nor of any one who may come -clandestinely to you."</p> - -<p>"So be it," said Consuelo eagerly. "I promise as you desire, to see no -one without your authority, and ask pardon humbly."</p> - -<p>"You have no pardon to ask—no questions to propound. All the -necessities both of your body and soul have been foreseen for the whole -time you remain here. If you regret any friend, any relation, any -servants, you are free to go. Solitude, or such association as we -determine on, will be your lot here."</p> - -<p>"I ask nothing for myself. I have heard, however, that one of your -friends, disciples, or servants, (for I know not his rank) suffers a -severe punishment on my account. I am here to accuse myself of the -offence imputed to him, and on that account I asked to appear before -you."</p> - -<p>"Do you offer to make a detailed and sincere confession?"</p> - -<p>"If such be required to secure his acquittal; though to a woman it is a -severe moral torture to confess herself to eight men."</p> - -<p>"Spare yourself this humiliation. We would have no assurance that you -are sincere, inasmuch as we have no right over you. All you have said -and thought during the last hour to us will be as a dream. Remember that -hereafter we have the right to sound the secrets of your heart. Keep it -always so pure, that you can unveil it without suffering and without -shame."</p> - -<p>"Your generosity is delicate and paternal. But I am not the only person -interested. Another expiates my offence. Can I not justify him?"</p> - -<p>"That does not concern you. If there be one among us guilty, he will -exculpate himself, not by vain assertions and allegations, but by acts -of courage, devotion, and virtue. If his soul has quailed, we will lift -him up, and aid him to overcome himself. You speak of severe punishment. -We inflict none but moral penalties. Whoever he be, he is our -equal—our brother. Here there are neither masters nor servants, -subjects nor princes. False rumors have deceived you, no doubt. Go in -peace and sin no more."</p> - -<p>At this last word the examiner rang a bell, and the men in black masks -and with naked swords returned. Replacing the hood on Consuelo's head, -they returned her to the house she had left, by the route they had -brought her from it.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XXVII">CHAPTER XXVII</a></h4> - - -<p>Porporina, according to the benevolent language of the Invisibles, -having no longer any reason to be seriously uneasy about the Chevalier, -and thinking that Matteus had not seen very clearly into the affair, -felt, when she left the mysterious council chamber, greatly relieved. -All that had been said to her floated in her imagination like rays -behind a cloud, and anxiety and her will no longer sustaining her, she -soon experienced great feebleness in walking. She felt extremely faint -and hungry, and the impenetrable hood stifled her. She paused -frequently, and was forced to take the arm of her guides in order to -reach her room. She sank from debility, and a few minutes after felt -revived by a flagon which was offered her, and by the air which -circulated freely through the room. Then she observed that her guides -had gone in haste, that Matteus was preparing to serve a most tempting -supper, and that the little masked doctor, who had put her in a -lethargic sleep when she was brought hither, was feeling her pulse and -attending to her. She easily recognised him by his wig, and she was -certain she had heard his voice, before, though she could not say -where.</p> - -<p>"Doctor," said she, with a smile, "I think the best thing you can do is -to give me supper soon. Nothing but hunger ails me. But I beg you on -this occasion to omit the coffee you prepare so well. I am afraid I am -not able to bear it now."</p> - -<p>"The coffee I prepare," said the doctor, "is an admirable anodyne. Be -calm, countess; my prescription is not of that character. Will you now -confide in me, and suffer me to sup with you. It is the pleasure of his -highness that I do not leave you until you be completely restored, and I -think in half an hour refreshment will have done so."</p> - -<p>"If such be his highness's pleasure, and your own, doctor, I will have -the honor of your company to supper," said Consuelo, suffering Matteus -to roll her arm-chair up to the table.</p> - -<p>"My company will not be useless," said the doctor, beginning to -demolish a superb pheasant, and carving it in an expert manner.</p> - -<p>"Were I not here, you would indulge the extreme hunger which follows a -long fast, and might injure yourself. I who apprehend no such -inconvenience to result to myself, will put the pheasant on my plate, -giving you the nice pieces."</p> - -<p>The voice of the gastronomical doctor attracted Consuelo's attention, in -spite of herself. Great was her surprise, when taking off his mask, he -placed it on the table, saying—"Away with this piece of puerility, -which keeps me from breathing, and enjoying what I eat." Consuelo shrank -back when she recalled, in the <i>bon vivant</i> doctor, the one whom she -had seen at her bed-side—Supperville, the physician of the Margravine -of Bareith. She had subsequently seen him at a distance at Berlin, without -having courage to approach or speak to him. At that time the contrast of -his gluttonous appetite, with the emotion and distress she experienced, -recalled to her the dryness of his ideas and conversation, amid the -consternation and grief of all the family, and she could scarcely -restrain her disgust. Supperville, absorbed by the perfume of the -pheasant, appeared to pay no attention to her trouble.</p> - -<p>Matteus completed the ridiculousness of the situation, by placing -himself, with a quick exclamation, before the doctor. The circumspect -servant for five minutes had waited on the table without seeing that his -face was bare, and it was only when he took the mask for the cover of -the <i>paté</i>, that he cried out, with terror: "Mercy, doctor! you have -let your mask fall on the table!"</p> - -<p>"Devil take the artificial face," said he. "Eating with it is -impossible. Put it in that corner, and give it to me when I go out."</p> - -<p>"As you please, doctor," said Matteus, with a terrified air. "I wash my -hands of it. Your lordship is aware that every evening I am required to -give an account of all that passes here. It will be in vain for me to -say your mask fell off by mistake, for I cannot deny that madame saw -what was beneath it."</p> - -<p>"Very well, my fine fellow," said the doctor, without being -disconcerted, "make your report."</p> - -<p>"And you will remark, Master Matteus," said Consuelo, "that I did not in -any manner provoke the doctor to this disobedience, and that it is not -my fault that I have seen him."</p> - -<p>"Be calm, countess," said Supperville, with a full mouth. "The prince is -not so black as he seems, and I am not afraid of him. I will say, that -since he authorised me to sup with you, he permitted me to remove every -obstacle to mastication and deglutition. Besides, I have the honor to be -too well known to you, for my voice not to have betrayed me long ago. I -therefore divest myself of a vain form which the prince, at the very -outset, will be glad of."</p> - -<p>"Very well, doctor," said Matteus. "I am glad that you, and not I -committed this act." The doctor shrugged his shoulders, laughed at the -timid old man, and when Matteus had retired, to change the service, drew -his chair a little closer, and said in a low tone to Consuelo:</p> - -<p>"Dear signora, I am not such a gourmand as I seem," (Supperville, being -considerably filled, spoke somewhat at his ease,) "and my object, when I -came to sup with you, was to inform you of matters which concern you -greatly."</p> - -<p>"Whence, and by whose authority do you seek to speak thus to me?" said -Consuelo, who remembered her promise to the Invisibles.</p> - -<p>"On my own account, and to please myself," replied Supperville; "do not -then be uneasy. I am no spy, and speak, careless who may repeat the -words that come from my heart."</p> - -<p>For a moment, Consuelo thought it was her duty to make the doctor be -silent, and be no accomplice of his treason, but she fancied that a man -sufficiently devoted to the Invisibles to undertake to half poison -people, to secrete them in out-of-the-way castles, would not act as he -did without authority. "This is a snare set for me," said she to -herself. "The ordeal begins. Let me watch the attack."</p> - -<p>"In the first place, then, I must tell you in whose house, and where -you are."</p> - -<p>"Are we come to that point?" said Consuelo, "Thank you, doctor—I -neither asked nor wished to know."</p> - -<p>"<i>Ta, ta, ta!</i>" said Supperville. "You have already fallen into the -romantic ways into which it pleases the prince to drag his friends. Do -not indulge in these toys; the least that can result from them to you, -is to increase, when you have yourself gone mad, the number of fools and -maniacs in this court. I have no intention to break the promise I gave -the prince, to tell you either his name or where you are. About that you -should not care, for it would be a mere gratification of your curiosity, -and that is not the disease I wish to cure in you, for you are troubled -with an excess of confidence. You may then learn without disobeying, or -without the risk of displeasing him, (I am interested in not betraying -you,) that you are in the house of the best and most absurd of old -men—a man of mind, a philosopher, with a soul courageous and tender -almost as a hero's or a madman's. He is a dreamer, treating the ideal as -a reality, and life as a romance—a <i>savant</i>, who, from the study -and the acquisition of the quintessence of ideas, has, like Don Quixote -after his books of knight-errantry, fancied inns were castles, -galley-slaves innocent victims, and wind-mills monsters. He is a saint, -if we look at his intentions; a madman, if we think of the results. He -has contrived, among other things, a perpetual net of conspiracies, -permanent and universal, to paralyze the action of all the wicked of the -world; 1. To combat and oppose tyranny in governments. 2. To reform the -immorality or barbarism of the laws which govern society. 3. To infuse -in the hearts of all men of courage and devotion, the enthusiasm of his -propaganda, and the zeal of his doctrines—nothing less—and yet -he seeks and expects to realize it! Were he seconded by some sincere and -reasonable men, the little good he does might bear fruit. Unfortunately, -however, he is surrounded by a clique of intriguers and ambitious -impostors, who pretend to share his faith and serve him, but who really -make use of his credit to procure good places in all the courts of -Europe, and waste the greater part of the money he destines to carry out -his plans. Such is the man, and the people around him. You can judge in -what hands you are, and the generous protectors who rescued you from the -claws of Frederick are not likely to expose you to a greater danger by -exalting you to the clouds, merely to let you fall yet lower. You are -now warned. Distrust their promises, their fine words, their tragedy, -and the tricks of Cagliostro, Saint Germain, and company."</p> - -<p>"Are the two persons you have mentioned ready here?" asked Consuelo, not -a little troubled, and oscillating between the danger of being played -upon by the doctor, and the probability of his assertions.</p> - -<p>"I know nothing of the matter," said he. "All is passing in mystery. -There are two castles, a visible one and a palpable one, where people -who are well known come, and to whom <i>fêtes</i> are given, and where a -princely life is exhibited in all frivolity and harmlessness. This -castle conceals the other, which is a little subterrean world, -exceedingly well masqued. In this invisible castle are all the crude -dreamers of his highness—innovators, reformers, inventors, sorcerers, -prophets, and alchemists: all the architects of the teeming new society, -as they say, ready to swallow up to-morrow, or the day after, all that -is of the old, are the mysterious guests he receives, fosters, and -consults, without any one above ground being aware that he consults -them, or, at least, without any profane mortal being able to explain the -noise in the caverns, except by the presence of meteoric lights, and -ghosts from the passages below. I imagine now, that the aforesaid -charlatans may be a hundred leagues hence, for, in their way, they are -great travellers, or in very comfortable rooms, with trap-doors in the -floor, not so far away. It is said this old castle was once a rendezvous -for the Free-Judges, and that ever since, on account of certain -hereditary traditions, the ancestors of our prince have amused -themselves by terrible plots, which, as far as I know, never had any -result. This is the custom of the country, and the most illustrious -brains are not those which are least given to such things. I am not -initiated in the wonders of the invisible castle. From time to time I -pass a few days here, when my mistress, Princess Sophia of Prussia, -Margravine of Bareith, gives me leave to breathe a mouthful of fresh air -outside of her domain. Now, I suffer terribly from <i>ennui</i> at the -delicious court of Bareith, and as I have a kind of attachment to the -prince of whom we speak, and am not sorry sometimes to play a trick on -the great Frederick, whom I detest, I do the above-mentioned prince some -service, and, above all, amuse myself. As I get orders from him alone, -these services are very innocent. The affair of your escape from -Spandau, and transportation hither like a poor sleeping bird, was not at -all repugnant to me. I knew you would be well treated, and fancied you -would amuse yourself. If, on the contrary, you be tormented, if the -councillors of his highness seek to take possession of you, and make you -aid their evil views——"</p> - -<p>"I fear nothing of the kind," said Consuelo, very much amazed at the -doctor's explanations. "I will be able to protect myself from their -machinations, if they injure my sense of propriety and offend my -conscience."</p> - -<p>"And are you sure, countess?" said Supperville. "Listen to me. Confide, -and presume on nothing. Very reasonable and honest people have left -here, signed and sealed for evil. All means are good in the eyes of the -intriguers who have the prince in charge, and he is so easily dazzled -that he has sent to perdition many souls at the time he fancied he was -saving them. You must know these intriguers are very shrewd, that they -have terrible secrets, to convince, to persuade, to intoxicate the -senses, and impress the imagination. First, is a retinue of tricks and -incomprehensible means. Then old stories, systems, and prestiges aid -them. They show you spectres, and trifle with the lucidity of your mind; -they will besiege you with smiling or dazzling phantasmagoria, and make -you superstitious or mad, perhaps, as I have the honor to tell you, and -then——"</p> - -<p>"What can they expect from me? What am I in the world, for them to -catch in their nets?"</p> - -<p>"Ah! does not the Countess of Rudolstadt suspect?"</p> - -<p>"She has no idea."</p> - -<p>"You remember Cagliostro showed you the spectre of your husband, living -and acting?"</p> - -<p>"How do you know that, if you are not initiated in the secrets of the -subterranean world, of which you speak?"</p> - -<p>"You told the Princess Amelia, who likes gossiping, as all curious -people do. You know, too, that she is very intimate with the spectre of -the Count of Rudolstadt?"</p> - -<p>"A certain Trismegistus, I am told."</p> - -<p>"Yes, I have seen the man; and, at the first glance, he really does -resemble Count Albert in a strange manner. He might even be made more -so, by dressing his head like Count Albert's, making his face pale, and -imitating the air and manners of the deceased. Do you understand now?"</p> - -<p>"Less than ever. Why impose this man as Count Albert on me?"</p> - -<p>"You are simple and true! Count Albert died, leaving a vast fortune, -which is about to pass from the hands of the old Canoness Wenceslawa to -those of the young baroness Amelia, Albert's cousin, unless you claim -your life estate as dowager. This, in the first place, they will seek to -induce you to do."</p> - -<p>"True," replied Consuelo, "you make me understand certain -words——"</p> - -<p>"That is nothing. This life estate, a part of which might be contested, -would not satisfy the appetite of the Chevaliers of Industry who seek to -take possession of you. You have no child: you need a husband. Well, -Count Albert is not dead. He was in a lethargy and buried alive. The -devil cured him of that, and Cagliostro gave him a potion; Saint Germain -took him away. After a lapse of two years he returns, tells his -adventures, throws himself at your feet, consummates his marriage with -you, goes to the Giants' Castle, is recognised by the canoness and -certain old servants, not very sharp-sighted, calls for an examination -and pays the witnesses well. He goes to Vienna with his faithful wife to -demand his rights from the empress. A little scandal does not hurt -affairs of this kind. Handsome women take an interest in a handsome man, -the victim of a sad accident and an old fool of a doctor. The Prince Von -Kaunitz, who does not dislike artists, protects you. Your cause -triumphs; you return victorious to Riesenberg, and put your cousin -Amelia out of doors. You are rich and powerful; you associate with the -people here, and with charlatans to reform society, and to change the -appearance of the world. All this is very agreeable, and costs nothing, -except deceiving you a little, and your taking, in place of an -illustrious husband, a handsome adventurer, a man of mind, and a -wonderful story-teller. Do you see now? Think! It was my duty as a -physician, as a friend of Rudolstadt, as a man of honor, to tell you -this. They depended on me to establish, when it became necessary, the -identity of Albert and Trismegistus. I saw the former die, however, with -eyes not fanciful, but lighted by science. I remarked certain -differences between the two men, and knew the adventurer at Berlin long -ago. Therefore I cannot lend myself to the imposition. Not I. Neither -will you, I am sure, though every exertion be made to induce you to -think Albert grew two inches and recovered his health while in the tomb. -I hear Matteus returning: he is a good creature, and suspects nothing. I -am going now, having told my story. I leave the castle in an hour, -having no other business."</p> - -<p>After having thus spoken, with remarkable volubility, the doctor put on -his mask, and having bowed profoundly to Consuelo, left her to finish -her supper alone, if she thought proper. She was not disposed to do so, -being completely overpowered by what she had heard, and retired to her -room. She enjoyed there a portion of the repose she needed, after the -painful perplexities and vague anguish of doubt and uneasiness.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XXVIII">CHAPTER XXVIII</a></h4> - - -<p>On the next day Consuelo felt overcome both in body and mind. The -cynical revelations of Supperville, following so closely on the paternal -encouragements of the Invisibles, produced the same effect as if she -had, after a pleasant warmth, been dipped in iced-water. She had been -lifted to heaven, to sink again to earth, She was almost angry with the -doctor for having undeceived her; for in her dreams she had already -seen, clad with dazzling majesty, the august tribunal which opened its -arms to her as a home, as a refuge against the dangers of earth and the -mistakes of youth.</p> - -<p>Nevertheless, the doctor seemed to merit the gratitude of Consuelo, who -recognised it without being able to sympathise with him. Was not his -conduct that of a sincere, brave, and disinterested man? Consuelo, -however, found him too skeptical, too much of a materialist, and too -much inclined to contemn good intentions and ridicule good characters. -In spite of what he had said of the imprudent and dangerous credulity of -the prince, she formed an exalted idea of the noble old man, who was -ardent for good, and implicit in his belief of human perfectibility. She -recalled to mind the conversation she had in the subterranean hall, -which seemed full of calm authority and austere wisdom. Charity and -kindness appeared beneath the mask of affected sternness, ready to burst -forth at the first impulse of Consuelo's heart. Would swindlers, -avaricious men, and charlatans have thus acted and spoken to her? The -bold enterprise of reforming the world, which seemed so ridiculous to -Supperville, was the eternal wish, the romantic hope with which Albert -had inspired his wife, and with which she had found something -sympathetic in the diseased but generous head of Gottlieb. Was not this -Supperville to be hated, then, for having sought to tear away, at the -same time, her faith in God and her confidence in the Invisibles.</p> - -<p>Consuelo, more given to poetry of the soul, than to the dry -contemplation of the sad realities of life, contended against the words -of Supperville, and attempted to disprove them. Had he not indulged in -gratuitous suppositions, had he not owned that he was not initiated in -the subterranean world, and seemed ignorant even of the name and -existence of the Invisibles? Trismegistus might be a Chevalier -d'Industrie, yet the Princess Amelia affirmed the contrary, and the -friendship of Golowken, the best and wisest of the grandees Consuelo had -met at Berlin, spoke in his favor. If Cagliostro and St. Germain were -both impostors, it did not render it impossible for them to be imposed -on by a wonderful likeness. Though the three were condemned, it did not -follow they were a part of the council of the Invisibles; and that body -of venerable men might reject their advice as soon as Consuelo had -established that Trismegistus was not Albert. Would it not be time to -withdraw her confidence after this decisive test, should they persist in -seeking to impose on her so grossly? Consuelo resolved, at that point, -to tempt fate, and learn more of the Invisibles, to whom she was -indebted for liberty, and whose paternal reproaches had reached her -heart. She determined on this; and while awaiting the issue of the -affair, resolved to consider what Supperville had told her as a test to -which he had been authorised to subject her, or as a means of giving -vent to his spleen against rivals who had more influence with, or were -better treated by the prince than himself.</p> - -<p>One hypothesis tormented Consuelo more than all others. Was it -absolutely impossible for Albert to be alive? Supperville had not -observed the phenomena which had preceded, by two years, his final -illness. He even refused to believe them, persisting in thinking that -the frequent absences of Albert in the cavern were consecrated to -gallant rendezvous with Consuelo. She alone, with Zdenko, was in the -secret of these lethargic crises. The vanity of the doctor would not -permit him to own that he was mistaken in declaring him dead. Now that -Consuelo was aware of the existence and material power of the Council of -the Invisibles, she dared conjecture that means had been found to rescue -Albert from the horrors of a premature burial, and that for secret -purposes he had been received among them. All the revelations of -Supperville, in relation to the mysteries and whimsicalities of the -castle, and the prince aided the confirmation of this supposition. The -resemblance of the adventurer, known as Trismegistus, might complicate -the marvellous part of the circumstance, but could not destroy its -possibility. This idea took such complete possession of Consuelo that -she relapsed into profound melancholy. Were Albert alive, she would not -hesitate to rejoin him as soon as she was permitted, and would devote -herself eternally to him. She was now more than ever aware how much she -would suffer from a devotion in which there was no element of love. The -Chevalier appeared to her as a cause of deep regret, and her conscience -a source of future remorse. Were she forced to renounce him, the new -love would, like all love which was opposed, become a passion. Consuelo -did not ask herself with hypocritical resignation, why her dear Albert -would leave the tomb where he was so comfortable. She said it was in her -destiny to sacrifice herself to this man, perhaps after he was dead, and -she wished to fulfil this fate: yet she suffered strangely, and lamented -the Chevalier, her most ardent, and her involuntary love.</p> - -<p>She was roused from her meditations by a faint noise and the fluttering -of a wing on her shoulder. She uttered an exclamation of surprise and -joy at seeing a pretty red-throat enter the room and come kindly to her. -After a hesitation of a few minutes, the bird took a flight from her -hand.</p> - -<p>"Is it you, my poor friend, my faithful companion?" said Consuelo, with -tears of childish joy. "Can it be possible that you have sought for and -found me? No, that cannot be. Pretty, confiding creature, you are like -my friend, yet are not he. You belong to some gardener, and have escaped -from the enclosure where you pass your time amid the flowers. Come to -me, consoler of the prisoner. Since the instinct of your race impels you -to associate with the solitary captive, I will bestow on you the love I -felt for another of your race."</p> - -<p>Consuelo toyed half an hour with the little captive, when she heard -without a kind of whistle, which made the intelligent creature tremble. -It dropped the food she had given it, made its great eyes glisten and -expand, and flew through the window in obedience to an incontestable -authority. Consuelo looked after it, and saw it lose itself amid the -foliage. While looking at it, she saw in the depth of the garden, on the -other side of the stream which bounded it, a person easy to be -recognised, notwithstanding the distance. Gottlieb was walking along the -bank, apparently happy, and attempting to leap and bound. Forgetting for -a moment the order of the Invisibles, Consuelo sought, by waving her -handkerchief, to attract his attention; but he was absorbed by the -thought of regaining his bird. He looked up among the trees as he -whistled, and went on without having seen Consuelo.</p> - -<p>"Thank God, and the Invisibles too! in spite of Supperville," said she. -"The poor lad appears happier and in better health. His guardian angel, -the red-throat, is with him. This appears the presage of a smiling fate -to me also. Come, let me not doubt our protectors any more. Distrust -withers the heart."</p> - -<p>She sought how she could occupy her time in a useful manner, to -anticipate the new moral education announced to her; and for the first -time since she had been at ****, she went into the library, which she -had as yet only looked at in a cursory manner, and resolved to examine -seriously the selection of books at her disposal. They were not -numerous, but were extremely curious, and probably rare, if not unique. -There was a collection of the writings of the most remarkable -philosophers of all ages and nations, abridged so as to contain only the -very essence of their doctrines, and translated into languages Consuelo -could read. Many, never having been published, were in manuscript, -particularly the heretical writers of the middle ages, precious spoils -of the past, fragments and even complete copies of which had escaped the -search of the Inquisition and the later violations of the old castles of -the German heretics, during the Thirty Years' War. Consuelo could not -appreciate the value of these philosophical treasures, collected by some -ardent and persevering bibliographer. The originals would have -interested her, on account of their characters and vignettes. She had, -however, only a translation, made carefully by some modern calligrapher. -She looked first for the faithful translations of Wickliffe, John Huss, -and the renowned Christian philosophers who attached themselves in other -days, though at different eras, to those fathers of the new religion.</p> - -<p>She had not read them, but they were familiar to her from her long -conversations with Albert. As she turned over the leaves in a cursory -manner, she became better and better acquainted with them. Consuelo had -an eminently philosophical mind. Had she not lived amid the reasoning -and clear-sighted world of her day, she would easily have become -superstitious and fanatical. As it was, she understood the enthusiastic -discourses of Gottlieb better than Voltaire's philosophy, then studied -so ardently by the women of Europe. This intelligent and simple girl was -courageous and tender, but had not a mind formed for subtle reasoning. -She was educated by the heart, rather than the head. Seizing the -revelations of sentiment by prompt assimilation, she was capable of -being instructed philosophically. She was wonderfully so for her age, -sex, and position, from the instruction of the eloquent and loved -Albert. Artistic organizations acquire more in the emotions of an -address or lecture, than in the cold and patient study of books. Such -was Consuelo. She could scarcely read a page attentively, yet, if a -great thought, glowingly expressed, struck her, she repeated it like a -musical phrase, and the sense, however profound it might be, entered her -mind like a divine ray. She existed on this idea, and applied it to all -her emotions. This was to her a real power, and lasted her through life. -To her it was not a vain sentence, but a rule of conduct, an armor for -combat. Why analyse and study the book whence she had got it? The whole -book was in her breast as soon as the inspiration, seized her.</p> - -<p>Her destiny required her to do nothing more. She did not pretend to -claim a knowledge of the world of philosophy. She felt the warmth of the -secret revelations which have been granted to poetic souls when in love. -In this disposition she looked for several days over books, without -reading anything. She could give an account of nothing; more than one -page, however, in which she had read but one line, was bedewed with -tears, and she often hurried to her piano, to <i>improvise</i> songs, the -tenderness and grandeur of which were the burning and spontaneous -expression of her generous emotion.</p> - -<p>A whole week rolled over her, in a solitude which Matteus' association -did not trouble. She had resolved not to address the least question to -him, and perhaps he had been scolded for his indiscretion, for he was -now as silent as he had been prolix heretofore. The red-throat came to -see Consuelo every day, but without Gottlieb. It seemed this tiny being -(Consuelo was half inclined to think it enchanted) came at regular hours -to amuse her, and returned punctually at noon to its other friend. In -fact, there was nothing wonderful about it. Animals at liberty have -certain customs, and make a regular disposition of their time, with more -foresight and intelligence than domestic animals. One day Consuelo -observed that it appeared constrained and impatient, and that it did not -fly so gracefully as usual. Instead of perching on her fingers, it -thought of nothing but pecking with its nails and bill at an irritating -impediment. Consuelo approached him, and saw a black thread hanging from -its wing. The poor creature had been taken in a snare, she thought, and -had escaped only by its address, bearing off with it a portion of its -chain. She had no difficulty in removing it, yet had not a little in -taking off a piece of silken thread, adroitly fastened on the back, and -which held under the left wing a silken bag of some very thin material. -In this bag she found a letter, written in almost imperceptible -characters, on such thin paper that she feared to break it by a breath. -At the first glance she saw it was a message from the dear unknown. It -contained but these few words:—</p> - -<p>"A great task has been confided to me, in the hope that the pleasure of -doing it well would calm the uneasiness of my passion. Nothing, not even -the exercise of my charity, can distract the soul of which you are the -mistress. I accomplished my task in less time than you would think -possible. I am back again, and love you more than ever. Our sky is -growing brighter. I do not know what has passed between you and -<i>them</i>, but they seem more favorable, and my love is no longer -treated as a crime, but merely as a mischance—a misfortune. Ah! they -do not know me! They know not that I cannot be unhappy with your love. But -you do. Tell it to the red-throat of Spandau. It is the same. I brought it -here in my bosom. May he repay me for all my trouble by bringing me a -message from you. Gottlieb will deliver it faithfully to me, without -looking at it."</p> - -<p>Mysterious and romantic circumstances enflame the fire of love. Consuelo -experienced the most violent temptation to reply. The fear of -displeasing the Invisibles, the scruple of not violating her promises, -had but little influence on her, we must own. When she thought that she -might be discovered, and cause a new exile of the Chevalier, she had -courage enough to resist. She released the red-throat, without one word -in reply, but not without tears at the sorrow and disappointment her -lover would experience at her having acted with such severity.</p> - -<p>She sought to resume her studies, but neither study nor music appeared -to dissipate the agitation which had boiled in her bosom, since she knew -the Chevalier was near her. She could not refrain from hoping that he -would disobey the Invisibles, and that she would see him some evening -glide beneath the flowery bushes of the garden. She was unwilling to -encourage him, however, to show himself. All the evening she was shut -up, looking, with a beating heart, through the window, yet determined -not to reply to his call. She did not see him appear, and exhibited as -much grief and surprise as if she had relied on a temerity which she -would have blamed, and which would have awakened all her terrors. All -the little mysterious dramas of young and burning love were formed in -her bosom in the course of a few hours. It was a new phase of emotions, -unknown hitherto to her. She had often, at evening, waited for Anzoleto -on the canals of Venice, or on the terraces of the <i>Corte Minelli</i>; -yet when she did so, she thought over her morning's lesson, and repeated -the rosary-prayers, to while away the time, without fear, trembling, or -sorrow. This childish love was so closely united to friendship, that it -bore no relation to what she now experienced for Leverani. On the next -day she waited anxiously for the red-throat, which did not come. Had he -been seized <i>en route</i> by some stern Argus? Might not the fatigue of -the silken girdle and heavy burden have prevented him from coming? His -instinct, however, would teach him that Consuelo had on the evening -before released him, and he would perhaps return to her, to receive the -same service.</p> - -<p>Consuelo wept all day long. She, who had no tears for great misfortunes, -who had not shed one while she was a prisoner at Spandau, felt crushed -and burned up by the sufferings of her love, and sought in vain for the -strength which had sustained her in all the other evils of life.</p> - -<p>One evening she forced herself to play on the piano, and while doing so, -two black figures appeared at the door of the music room, without her -having heard them ascend. She could not repress a cry of terror at the -apparition of these spectres, but one of them, in a voice gentler than -before, said, "Follow us." She got up in silence to obey them. They gave -her a silken bandage, saying, "Cover your eyes, and swear that you will -do so honestly. Swear also that if this bandage fall, or become -deranged, that you will close your eyes until we bid you open them."</p> - -<p>Consuelo said—"I swear."</p> - -<p>"Your oath is accepted," said the guide. Consuelo was led, as before, -into the cavern. Presently she was told to halt, and an unknown voice -said:</p> - -<p>"Remove the bandage yourself. Henceforth none will watch you, and you -will have no guardian but your own word."</p> - -<p>Consuelo found herself in an arched room, lighted by a single lamp -hanging from the roof. A single judge, in a red cloak and livid mask, -sat in an old arm-chair, by the side of a table. He was bowed with age, -and a few grey locks escaped from his hood. His voice was broken and -trembling. The aspect of age changed into respectful deference the fear -Consuelo could not repress when she met one of the Invisibles.</p> - -<p>"Listen to me," said he, as he bade her seat herself on a stool at some -distance. "You are now before your confessor. I am the oldest of the -council, and the quiet of my whole life has made my mind as chaste as -that of the purest of Catholic priests. I do not lie. If you wish to -reject me, however, you are at liberty to do so."</p> - -<p>"I receive you," said Consuelo, "with this understanding, that my -confession does not implicate that of another!"</p> - -<p>"Vain scruple," said the old man. "A scholar does not reveal to a -schoolmaster the fault of his comrade, yet a son hurries to tell a -father where a brother has erred, because he is aware that the parent -represses and corrects the fault, without chastising it. Such, at least, -should be the law of every family which seeks to practise this idea. -Have you any confidence?"</p> - -<p>This question, which sounded not a little arbitrary in the mouth of a -stranger, was uttered with such gentleness, and in such a sympathetic -tone, that Consuelo, led astray, and moved, replied unhesitatingly, "I -have entire confidence."</p> - -<p>"Listen then," said the old man. "When you first appeared before us, you -made use of the following expression, which we have remembered and -weighed:—'It is a strange moral torture for a woman to confess -herself before eight men.' Your modesty has been considered. You will -confess yourself to me alone, and I will not betray your confidence. I -have received full power, (and I am the highest of the council,) to direct -you in an affair of a delicate nature, and which has not an indirect -connection with your initiation. Will you answer me freely? Will you -open your whole heart to me?"</p> - -<p>"I will."</p> - -<p>"I will not inquire into the past. You have been told that the past does -not belong to us. But you have been warned to purify your soul from the -moment which marked the commencement of your adoption. You must think of -the difficulties and the consequences of this adoption. You are not -accountable to me alone, but other things are at stake. Reply then."</p> - -<p>"I am ready."</p> - -<p>"One of my children loves you. During the last eight days, have you -acknowledged or repelled his love?"</p> - -<p>"I have repelled it in every manner."</p> - -<p>"I know it. The least of your actions are known to us. I ask the secrets -of your heart, not of your conduct."</p> - -<p>Consuelo felt her cheeks glow and was silent.</p> - -<p>"You think my question cruel. You must reply to it, notwithstanding. I -wish to guess at nothing. I must know and record."</p> - -<p>"Well, I do love," said Consuelo, yielding to the necessity of truth. -Scarcely had she pronounced this word, than she shed tears. She had -abandoned the virginity of her soul.</p> - -<p>"Why do you weep?" said the confessor mildly. "Is it from shame or from -repentance?"</p> - -<p>"I do not know. I think it is not from repentance. I love too well for -that."</p> - -<p>"Whom do you love?"</p> - -<p>"You know—not I."</p> - -<p>"But if I do not? His name?"</p> - -<p>"Leverani."</p> - -<p>"That is the name of no one. It is common to all our members who choose -to bear it. It is a false name, such as most of our brethren assume in -their travels."</p> - -<p>"I know him by no other name, and did not learn it from him."</p> - -<p>"His age?"</p> - -<p>"I did not ask him."</p> - -<p>"His face?"</p> - -<p>"I never saw it."</p> - -<p>"How would you know him?"</p> - -<p>"It seems to me I would recognise him by touching his hand."</p> - -<p>"If your fate were based on such a test, and you failed?"</p> - -<p>"It would be horrible."</p> - -<p>"Shudder then at your imprudence, unfortunate child; you love -madly."</p> - -<p>"I know it."</p> - -<p>"Do you not combat it in your heart?"</p> - -<p>"I cannot."</p> - -<p>"Wish you to do so?"</p> - -<p>"I do not even wish to."</p> - -<p>"Your heart is then free from all other affections?"</p> - -<p>"Entirely."</p> - -<p>"Are you a widow?"</p> - -<p>"I think I am."</p> - -<p>"And were you not?"</p> - -<p>"I would combat my love, and I <i>would</i> do my duty."</p> - -<p>"With sorrow? with grief?"</p> - -<p>"With despair, perhaps; yet I would do it."</p> - -<p>"You did not then love your husband."</p> - -<p>"I loved him as a brother. I did all I could to love him."</p> - -<p>"And could not?"</p> - -<p>"Now that I know what love is, I say No."</p> - -<p>"Do not then suffer from remorse. Love cannot be forced. Do you think -you love this Leverani? seriously? religiously? ardently?"</p> - -<p>"So do I feel in my heart. Unless indeed he be unworthy."</p> - -<p>"He is not unworthy."</p> - -<p>"Indeed, my father!" said Consuelo, carried away by gratitude, and -seeking to kneel before the old man.</p> - -<p>"He is as worthy of intense love as Albert himself. You must, however, -renounce him."</p> - -<p>"It is I then who am unworthy?" said Consuelo sadly.</p> - -<p>"You will be worthy, but you are not free. Albert of Rudolstadt is not -dead."</p> - -<p>"My God! pardon me," murmured Consuelo, falling on her knees, and -hiding her face in her hands.</p> - -<p>The confessor and penitent maintained a long and painful silence. Ere -long Consuelo, remembering what Supperville had said, was struck with -horror. This old man, whose appearance had filled her with veneration, -could he lend himself to such an infernal plot? Did he betray the -sensibility of the unfortunate Consuelo, and cast her into the arms of a -base impostor? She looked up, pale with terror, with dry eyes and -quivering lips. She attempted to pierce the impenetrable and -unimpressionable mask, which, it may be, concealed the criminal's -pallor, or the hellish sneer of a villain.</p> - -<p>"Albert lives?" said she. "Are you very sure? Do you know there is a -man like him, whom even I fancied was him?"</p> - -<p>"I know all that absurd story," said the old man. "I know all -Supperville's mad fancies, and all he has done to exculpate himself from -the blunder he committed in suffering a man who was merely in a state of -lethargy, to be buried. Two words will destroy all that scaffolding of -madness. The first is, that Supperville was declared unworthy of the -secondary degrees of the secret societies, the supreme direction of -which is in our hands, and his wounded vanity and diseased curiosity -could not bear this degradation. The second is, that Count Albert never -thought or intended to resume his place and rank in the world. He could -not do so without giving rise to scandalous discussions in relation to -his identity, which he could not bear. He perhaps did not understand his -true duties in thus deciding. He would have been able to make a better -use of his fortune than his heirs. He thus deprived himself of one way -of doing good, which Providence had granted him. Enough, though, remain. -The voice of love was more powerful in inducing him to do this, than -conscience. He remembered that you did not love him, for the very reason -that he was rich and noble. He wished to abandon forever both name and -rank. He did so, and we consented. He will never pretend to be your -husband, for such he became from your pity and compassion. He will have -courage to renounce you. We have no greater power over him you call -Leverani, and over yourself, than persuasion. If you wish to fly together, -we cannot help it. We have neither dungeons nor constraint—we -neither have any corporeal penalties, though a faithful servitor, -somewhat credulous, may have told you so; but we hate all means of -tyranny: your lot is in your hands. Think again, poor Consuelo, and may -heaven direct you."</p> - -<p>Consuelo had listened to this discourse in a profound state of stupor. -When the old man was done, she arose and said with energy:</p> - -<p>"I need no thought. My choice is made. Albert is here! Lead me to -him."</p> - -<p>"Albert is not here. He could not be a witness of this strife. He is -even ignorant of what you now undergo."</p> - -<p>"Dear Albert," said Consuelo lifting her hands to heaven, "I will -conquer." Then kneeling before the old man, she said, "Father, absolve -me, and aid me never to see this Leverani again! I do not wish; I will -not love hm!"</p> - -<p>The old man placed his trembling hands above Consuelo's head. When he -removed them she could not arise. She had repressed her tears in her -bosom; and, crushed by a contest beyond her power, she was forced to use -the confessor's arm as she left the oratory.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XXIX">CHAPTER XXIX</a></h4> - - -<p>At noon on the next day the red-throat came to tap with its bill and -claws at Consuelo's window. Just as she was about to open it, she -observed a black thread crossed over its yellow breast, and an -involuntary effort induced her to place her hand on the sash. She -withdrew it at once, however.</p> - -<p>"Away," said she, "messenger of misfortune! away, poor innocent bearer -of letters which are guilty and criminal! I shall not, perhaps, have -courage to reply to a last farewell. Perhaps I should not suffer him to -know that I regret and mourn for him."</p> - -<p>She took refuge in the music-room, to escape from the tempting bird, -which, used to a better reception hovered about, and angrily tapped at -the window-sill. She sat at her piano to drown the cries and reproaches -of her favorite, who had followed her to the window of the room, and she -felt something like the anguish of a mother when she will not hear the -cries and complaints of a penitent child. It was not because of the -red-throat that Consuelo now suffered. The note under the bird's wing -spoke most appealingly. This was the voice Which, to our romantic -recluse, seemed to lament at not being heard.</p> - -<p>She did not yield. It is, however, in the nature of love to become angry -and return to the assault, becoming more imperious and triumphant after -every victory. Without metaphor may it be said, that to resist is to -supply him with new arms. About three o'clock Matteus came in with a -basket of flowers, which he brought his prisoner every day, (he loved -her kind and gentle deportment), and as usual she unbound them to -arrange them herself in the beautiful vase on the <i>console.</i> This was -one of her prison pleasures. On this occasion, however, she was less -awake to it, and attended to it mechanically, as if to kill time. In -untying a bundle of narcissi which was in the centre of the package of -perfumes, a letter without any direction fell out. In vain did she seek -to persuade herself that it came from the tribunal of the Invisibles. -Would Matteus in such a case have been its bearer? Unfortunately Matteus -was not by to give any explanations. It was necessary to ring for him. -Five minutes would be necessary ere he could return, and it might be -ten. Consuelo had exhibited too much courage towards the red-throat to -be able to resist the bouquet. The letter was being read when Matteus -returned. Consuelo had reached the postscript:—</p> - -<p>"Do not question Matteus; for he is ignorant of the disobedience I make -him commit."</p> - -<p>Matteus was merely asked to wind up the clock, which had stopped.</p> - -<p>The Chevalier's letter was more passionate, more impetuous, than the -others. In its delirium it was even imperious. We will not copy it. -Love-letters are powerless, except to the persons to whom they are -directed. In themselves they are all alike. All who are in love find, in -the object of their attraction, an irresistible power and incomparable -novelty. No one fancies he is loved as another is, or in the same -manner. All fancy themselves most loved of any who live. Where this -strange blindness, this proud fascination, does not exist, there is no -passion. Passion had seized on the calm, quiet, and noble mind of -Consuelo.</p> - -<p>The Chevalier's note disturbed all her ideas. He implored an interview, -and urged the necessity of using the few moments which remained. He -feigned to believe Consuelo had loved Albert, and that she yet loved -him. He pretended to be willing to submit to her decree, and in the -interim asked only a moment of pity, a tear of regret. This "<i>last</i> -appearance" of a great <i>artiste</i> is always followed by many -others.</p> - -<p>Consuelo, though sad, was yet devoured by a secret joy, burning and -involuntary, at the idea of an interview. She felt her forehead blush -and her bosom palpitate, for she knew that in spite of herself she had -committed adultery. She saw that her resolution and her will did not -protect her from an inconceivable influence, and that if the Chevalier -resolved to break his vow, by speaking to her and showing his features, -as he seemed determined to do, she would not be able to prevent this -violation of the laws of the invisible tribunal. She had but one -refuge—to implore the tribunal's aid. But could she accuse and betray -Leverani? Would the worthy old man who had revealed Albert's existence, -and paternally received her confessions on the previous evening, receive -this also under the seal of confession. He would pity the Chevalier's -madness, and would condemn him only in the silence of his heart. -Consuelo wrote that she wished to see him at nine in the evening of that -day, and enjoined him on his honor, his repose and peace of mind to meet -her. This was the hour at which the stranger said he would come. But by -whom could she send this letter? Matteus would not go a foot out of the -enclosure before midnight; such were his orders, he had been severely -reprimanded for not having always punctually obeyed his orders in -relation to the prisoner. Henceforth he would be inflexible.</p> - -<p>The hour drew near, and Consuelo, though she sought in every way to -avoid the fatal test, had not thought of any means of resisting it. -Compulsory female virtue will ever be but a mere name unless half of the -stain of its violation rests on the man! Every plan of defence becomes a -mere subterfuge: every immolation of personal happiness fails, when -opposed to the fear of reducing the object of affection to despair. -Consuelo resolved on one resource, a suggestion of the heroism and -weakness which divided her heart. She began to look for the mysterious -opening of the cavern which was in the house, resolving to hurry through -it, and at any risk to present herself before the Invisibles. She had -fancied, gratuitously enough, that their place of meeting was accessible -when she had once discovered the mouth of the passage, and that they met -every night at the same place. She was not aware that on that day they -were all absent, and that Leverani alone had returned, after having -pretended to accompany them on their mysterious excursion.</p> - -<p>All her efforts to discover the secret door or trap were useless. She -had not now as at Spandau, the <i>sang froid</i>, the perseverance -necessary to discover the smallest fissure in the wall, the least -protruding stone. Her hands trembled as she examined the paneling and -hangings, and her sight became disturbed. Every moment she seemed to hear -the sound of the step of the Chevalier on the garden walks, or on the -marble portico.</p> - -<p>All at once, she fancied she heard them beneath her, as if they ascended -some secret stairway or approached to some invisible door, or as if, -like familiar spirits, they were about to rush through the wall before -her. She let her light fall, and fled into the garden. The rivulet -caused her to cease her flight. She listened to footsteps, which she -fancied she heard behind her. She then became somewhat amazed, and got -into the boat which the gardener had for bringing sand and turf from the -forest. Consuelo fancied that when she loosed it she would gain the -opposite bank; but the current was very rapid, and passed out of the -enclosure through a grated arch. Borne off by the current, the boat in a -few moments would have knocked against the grating. To avoid the shock, -she put forth her hands—for a native of Venice and a child of its -people could not be at any difficulty in relation to such a manœuvre. -By a strange chance, however, the grating yielded to her hands, and -swang open, in obedience to the impulse the boat received from the -current. "Alas!" thought Consuelo, "they never shut this passage, -perhaps: I am but a prisoner on parole, and yet I fly and violate my -word. I do so, however, only to seek protection from my hosts, not to -abandon and betray them!"</p> - -<p>She sprang on shore at a turn of the current whither the boat had been -driven, and rushed into a thick hedge. Consuelo could not proceed -rapidly through the undergrowth. The alley wound about, and the fugitive -every moment knocked against the trees, and frequently fell on the turf. -Yet she felt a return of hope to her soul: she thought it impossible for -Leverani to discover her.</p> - -<p>After having wandered a long time at hazard, she found herself at the -foot of a hill, strewn with rocks, the varied outline of which was -painted on a grey and clouded sky. A storm-wind of some power, had -arisen, and the rain began to fall. Consuelo, not daring to return, for -fear that Leverani had followed, and might look for her on the banks of -the stream, ventured on the rude hill-side path. She thought that when -she had reached the top, she would discover the lights of the castle and -ascertain her position. When she had arrived, however, in the darkness, -the lightning, which began to illumine the heavens, showed her the ruin -of a vast building, which seemed the imposing and melancholy monument of -another age.</p> - -<p>The rain forced Consuelo to seek shelter, and with difficulty she found -it. The towers were roofless, and flocks of ger-falcons and tiercelets -were terrified at her approach, and uttered a sharp and acute cry, which -sounded like that of the spirits of evil inhabiting some old ruin.</p> - -<p>Amid the stones and ivy, Consuelo went through the chapel, which, by the -lightning, exhibited the outline of its dislocated mouldings, and went -into the court-yard which was overgrown with short smooth grass. She -avoided by chance a deep well, the presence of which on the surface was -only indicated by superb capillary plants, and a rose-tree which were in -undisturbed possession of the interior. The mass of ruined buildings -around this courtyard presented the strangest aspect. At every flash, -the eye could scarcely take in these pale and downcast spectres; all -these incoherent forms of ruin, vast stacks of chimneys, the summits of -which were blackened by fires long extinct forever, and springing from -amid walls which were bare and terribly high; broken stairways, showing -their helices, into the void, as if to enable witches to go to their -aerial dance; whole trees installed and in possession of rooms, on the -walls of which frescoes were yet visible; stone benches in the deep -window recesses, desertedness within and without these mysterious -retreats, refuges of lovers in times of peace and the sentinels' station -during war; finally, loop-holes, festooned with coquettish garlands, -isolated spires, piercing the skies like obelisks, and doors completely -crushed by the falling ruins. It was a fearful and poetical spot, and -Consuelo felt herself under the influence of a kind of terror, as if her -presence had profaned a space reserved for the funeral conferences and -silent reveries of the dead. In a calm night, and when less agitated, -she would not, perhaps, have so pitied the rigor of time and the fates -which so violently destroy palace and fortress, leaving their ruins on -the grass by the side of those of the hut. The sadness which is inspired -by the ruins of these formidable abodes rise not identical in the -imagination of the artist and the patrician. At this moment of terror -and fear, however, and on this stormy night, Consuelo, unsustained by -the enthusiasm which had impelled her in more serious undertakings, felt -herself again become a child of the people, and trembled at the idea of -seeing again appear the phantoms of night, especially the old lords, the -stern occupants of them, while alive, and, after death, their -threatening and menacing possessors. The thunder lifted up its voice; -the wind made the bricks crumble and the cement fall from the dismantled -pile, while the long branches of the ivy twined like serpents around the -embrasures of the towers. Consuelo, who was looking for a shelter from -the fierce tempest, went beneath the vault of a stairway which seemed in -better preservation than the others. It was that of a vast feudal tower, -the most ancient and solid of the edifice. After about twenty steps, she -came to a broad octagonal hall which occupied all the interior of the -tower. The opposite stairway having been made, as is the case with all -constructions of this kind, in the thickness (eighteen or twenty feet) -of the wall. The vault of this hall was like the interior of a hive. -There were now neither doors nor windows, but the openings were so -narrow that the wind easily lost its power in passing through them. -Consuelo resolved to wait in this place until the tempest was over, and -approaching a window, stood for more than an hour, contemplating the -grand spectacle of a sky in flames, and listening to the terrible voices -of the storm.</p> - -<p>The wind at last lulled, the clouds became dissipated, and Consuelo -thought she would go. On her return, however, she was amazed to find a -more permanent light than that of day occupy the interior of the room. -This clearness, after a season of, as it were, tremulous light, -increased and filled the vault, and a light crackling sound was heard in -the hearth. Consuelo looked and saw beneath the half-arch of this old -hall, an enormous recess open before her, and a wood-fire which seemed -to have kindled itself and burned out alone. She approached, and saw -half-burned branches and all that indicated a fire having been kept up, -and abandoned without precaution.</p> - -<p>Terrified at this circumstance, which informed her of the presence of a -host, Consuelo, who saw no trace of furniture here, hurried towards the -stairway, and was about to descend, when she heard voices and the sound -of feet on the pavement below. Her fantastic terrors then became real -apprehensions. This damp and devastated tower could only be inhabited by -some gamekeeper, perhaps as savage as his abode—it may be, drunk and -brutal—and probably by no means so honest and respectful as the good -Matteus. The steps rapidly approached, and Consuelo hurried up the -stairway, to avoid being met by those who might come. After having gone -about twenty steps, she found herself on the second floor, from the one -where they would be apt to come, since, being roofless, it was -uninhabitable. Fortunately the rain had ceased, and she saw a few stars -through the climbing shrubs, which had covered the top of the tower, about -ten <i>toises</i> above her head. A ray of light from below soon began -to trace shadows on the walls of the ruin, and Consuelo, approaching -stealthily, looked through a crevice into the room she had just left. -Two men were in the hall: one walking and stamping his feet to warm -them, and the other leaning down in the fireplace, attempting to -rekindle the fire which began to burn. At first, she did not see that -their apparel betokened exalted rank; but the light of the fire being -revived, he who heaped it up with the point of his sword, got up to lean -the weapon against a salient stone. Consuelo saw long black hair, at the -appearance of which she trembled, and a brow which had nearly wrung a -cry of terror and tenderness from her. He spoke, and she had no doubt -the person she saw was Albert of Rudolstadt.</p> - -<p>"Draw near, my friend," said he to his companion, "and warm yourself at -the only fireplace of this old castle. A bad state of things, Von -Trenck; but you have, in your wanderings, found matter worse."</p> - -<p>"Sometimes," answered the lover of the Princess Amelia, "I have found -nothing at all. This place is really more comfortable than it seems, and -I will be glad to make more of it. Ah! count, you then come sometimes to -muse in these ruins and <i>watch your arms</i><a name="FNanchor_13_1" id="FNanchor_13_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_13_1" class="fnanchor">[13]</a> in this haunted tower."</p> - -<p>"I often come for better reasons. I cannot now tell you why, but will -hereafter."</p> - -<p>"I can guess then. From the top of this tower you can look into a -certain park and over a certain pavilion."</p> - -<p>"No, Trenck; the house you speak of is behind those woods and that -hill, and cannot be seen from here."</p> - -<p>"But you can go thither from this place in a few moments, and can again -take refuge here if troublesome people watch you. Well, now, acknowledge -that just as I met you in the room, you were——"</p> - -<p>"I can acknowledge nothing, dear Trenck, and you promised not to -question me."</p> - -<p>"True, I should think of nothing except of rejoicing at having found you -in this immense park, or rather forest, where I had lost my way, and but -for you must have thrown myself into some picturesque ravine, or been -drowned in some limpid stream. Are we far from the castle?"</p> - -<p>"More than a quarter of a league."</p> - -<p>"The old castle does not please me as well as the new one, I confess, -and can see well enough why they yield it up to the bats. I am glad, -however, I find myself alone with you at such a mournful time and hour. -It reminds me of our first meeting amid the ruins of an abbey in -Silesia—my initiation—the oaths I took with my hands in yours, -for then you were my judge, my examiner, my master, but now are my brother -and my friend. Dear Albert! what strange and miserable vicissitudes have -passed over our heads since that day! Both dead to our families, our -countries, our loves, perhaps. What will become of us? and what -henceforth will be our life among men?"</p> - -<p>"Yours may yet be surrounded by <i>éclat</i> and intoxication. The -dominions of the tyrant who hates you, thank God, do not cover all the -soil of Europe."</p> - -<p>"But my mistress, Albert? Will she be always faithful to me—eternally -but uselessly faithful?"</p> - -<p>"You should not desire it, my friend; but it is certain that her -passion will be durable as her sorrow."</p> - -<p>"Speak to me of her, Albert, you are more blest than myself, for you -are able to see and hear her."</p> - -<p>"I can do so no more, dear Trenck. Do not deceive yourself in that -matter. The fantastic name and strange character of the person called -Trismegistus, with whom I was confounded, and which protected me so long -in my brief and mysterious visits to Berlin, have lost their <i>prestige</i>; -my friends will be discreet, and my dupes (for to aid our cause, and -your love, it became necessary to make such) will be more shrewd in -future. Frederick scented a conspiracy, and I cannot return to Prussia. -My efforts will be paralysed by his distrust, and the prison of Spandau -will never open again to let me pass."</p> - -<p>"Poor Albert! You must have suffered as much in prison as I did. -Perhaps more?"</p> - -<p>"No, I was near her, and heard her voice. I toiled for her delivery. I -regret neither that I endured the horror of a dungeon, nor that I -despaired for her life. If I have suffered on my own account, I did not -perceive it. She has escaped, and will be happy."</p> - -<p>"By your means, Albert! Tell me that she will be happy with and through -you only, or I esteem her no more. I withdraw from her my respect and my -admiration."</p> - -<p>"Do not speak thus, Trenck. To do so is to outrage nature, love, and -heaven. Our wives are as free of obligation to us as our mistresses. To -bind them in the chains of duty agreeable only to our own feelings, is a -crime and a profanation."</p> - -<p>"I know it; and without arrogating to myself your lofty feelings, I am -aware, had Amelia withdrawn her promise instead of renewing it, I feel I -would not on that account cease to love and thank her for the days of -happiness she has conferred on me; but it is permitted to me to be more -anxious on your account than on my own, and to hate all who do not love -you. You smile, Albert, for you do not comprehend my love, nor do I -understand your courage. If it be true that she you love has become a -victim (before her weeds should have been laid aside) of one of <i>our -brothers</i>, were he the most deserving of them and the most fascinating -man in the world, I could never pardon her. If you can do so, you are -more than mortal."</p> - -<p>"Trenck, Trenck, you know not what you say. You do not understand, and -I cannot explain. Do not judge that admirable woman yet. By-and-bye, you -will know her."</p> - -<p>"Why not justify her to my mind? Why this mystery? We are alone here. -Your confessions will not compromise her, and I am aware of no oath -which binds you to hide from me things that we all suspect. She loves -you not? What is her excuse?"</p> - -<p>"She never loved me."</p> - -<p>"That is her offence. She did not understand you."</p> - -<p>"She could not, and I was unable to reveal myself to her. Besides, -I was sick and mad. No one loves a madman. They are to be pitied and -feared."</p> - -<p>"Albert, you were never a madman. I never saw you crazed. The wisdom and -power of your mind dazzled me."</p> - -<p>"You saw me firm and self-possessed while in action. You never saw me in -the agony of repose, or in the tortures of discouragement."</p> - -<p>"You know, then, what it is to feel so. I did not think so."</p> - -<p>"The reason is, you do not see all the dangers, obstacles, and vices of -our enterprise. You have never sounded the abyss into which I plunged -all my soul, and cast all my existence. You have looked at its chivalric -and generous side; you have seen but easy looks and smiling hopes."</p> - -<p>"The reason, count, is that I am less great, less enthusiastic than -yourself. You drained the cup of zeal to the very dregs; and when its -bitterness suffocated you, suspicions of man and heaven arose."</p> - -<p>"Yes; and I have suffered cruelly on that account."</p> -<p>"And do you doubt yet—do you still suffer?" -</p> -<p>"Now I hope, believe, and act. I am strong and happy. Do you not see -joy enkindle my brow? Do you not see my very heart is intoxicated?"</p> - -<p>"Yet you have been betrayed by your mistress? What do I say? by your -wife."</p> - -<p>"She was never either one or the other. She owes me no duty. God has -vouchsafed her his love—the most celestial of his boons—as her -reward for having pitied me for a moment on my death-bed. Shall I still -hold her to a promise wrested from her generous compassion and sublime -charity? Should I do so, I would then say, 'Woman, I am your master. You -are mine by law, by your own imprudence and error. You shall tolerate my -embraces, because once on our parting day you kissed my icy brow. You -shall place your hand in mine forever, walk my way, bear my yoke, crush -the young love in your bosom, trample down irrepressible desires, and -consume in sorrow, in my profane arms, on my selfish and cowardly -heart.' Oh! Trenck, think you I could be happy did I act thus? Would not -my life be a bitterer torment than her own? The suffering of the slave -would be the master's curse. Great God! what being is so degraded, so -brutal, as to become proud and intoxicated with a love which is not -mutual, with a fidelity against which the heart of the victim revolts? I -thank heaven that such I am not and cannot be. I was going this evening -to see Consuelo, and tell her all this, and restore her to liberty. I -did not meet her in the garden where she usually walks, and then this -storm came and stripped me of the hope of seeing her. I did not wish to -visit her rooms. I would then have used my rights as a husband. The -quivering of her terror, the very pallor of her despair, would have done -me an injury I cannot bear."</p> - -<p>"And have you not also met in the dark Leverani's black mask?"</p> - -<p>"Who is Leverani?"</p> - -<p>"Are you ignorant of your master's name?"</p> - -<p>"Leverani is an assumed name. Do you not know this man, my happy -rival?"</p> - -<p>"No; but you ask this in a strange manner. Albert, I think I understand -you. You pardon your unfortunate wife. You abandon her, as you should -do. You should, however, chastise her base seducer."</p> - -<p>"Are you sure he is base?"</p> - -<p>"What! the man to whom the care of her rescue, and the keeping of her -person during a long and dangerous journey was confided—the man who -should protect and respect her, who should not speak to her or show her -his face—a man invested with the power and blind confidence of the -Invisibles—your brother in arms and oath, as I am? Ah! had that woman -been confided to me, I would not have dreamed of the base treachery of -winning her love."</p> - -<p>"Once more, Trenck, you know not what you say. Only three of us know -this Leverani and his crime. In a few days you will cease to blame this -happy mortal, to whom God in his goodness has vouchsafed Consuelo's -love."</p> - -<p>"Strange and sublime man! do you not hate him?"</p> - -<p>"I cannot do so."</p> - -<p>"You will not interfere with his happiness?"</p> - -<p>"I toil ardently to secure it, and there is nothing strange or sublime -in this. You will ere long smile at the praises you give me."</p> - -<p>"What! do you not even suffer?"</p> - -<p>"I am the happiest of men."</p> - -<p>"Then you either love her little or love her much. Such heroism is not -in human nature. It is almost monstrous, and I cannot admire what I -cannot comprehend. Listen, count. You laugh at me and I am very simple. -I have guessed all, though. You love another woman, and thank Providence -for having delivered you from all obligation to Consuelo, by making her -unfaithful."</p> - -<p>"I must than, open my heart, baron, to you, for you force me to do so. -Listen: this is my story—a whole romance. But it is cold here, and -this brush fire is insufficient to warm these old walls, which, I am -afraid, remind you of those of Glatz. It has become clear, and we can find -our way to the castle. Since you go at dawn, I will not detain you up -longer. As we walk I will tell you a strange story."</p> - -<p>The two friends resumed their hats, after having shaken off the rain. -Trampling on the brands, to put them out, they left the tower arm in -arm. Their voices soon became lost in the distance, and the echoes of -the old mansion soon ceased to repeat the feeble noise of their steps on -the damp grass of the court.</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_13_1" id="Footnote_13_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_13_1"><span class="label">[13]</span></a>"Faire la veillée des armes." The watch of a knight's -armor on the night before he was dubbed.</p></div> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XXX">CHAPTER XXX</a></h4> - - -<p>Consuelo remained in a state of strange stupor. What amazed her most, -what the testimony of her senses could hardly persuade her of, was not -the magnanimous conduct of Albert, nor his heroic sentiments, but the -wonderful facility with which he himself solved the terrible problem of -fate he had made himself. Was it, then, so easy for Consuelo to be -happy? Was her love for Leverani lawful? She thought she had dreamed -what she had heard. It was already permitted her to yield to her love of -the stranger. The austere Invisibles permitted Albert to consent on -account of his greatness of soul, his courage, and virtue. Albert -himself justified and defended her against Trenck's censure. Finally, -Albert and the Invisibles, far from condemning their mutual passion, -abandoned them to themselves, to their invincible sympathy. All this was -without effort, without regret or remorse, without a tear from any one. -Consuelo, quivering with emotion rather than cold, returned to the vast -vaulted room, and rekindled the fire which Albert and Trenck had sought -to put out. She looked at the prints of their wet feet on the floor. -This satisfied her of the reality of their presence, and Consuelo needed -the evidence to satisfy herself. Stooping in the hearthside, like a -dreamy Cinderella, protected ever by the fireside spirits, she sank into -intense meditation. So facile a triumph over fate had not seemed -possible to her. Yet no fear could prevail against the wonderful -serenity of Albert. Consuelo could least of all doubt this—Albert did -not suffer. Her love did not offend his justice. He fulfilled, with a -kind of enthusiastic joy, the greatest sacrifice it is in the power of -man to offer to God. She did not ask if to be thus detached from human -weakness could be reconciled with human affections. Did not this -peculiarity betoken a new phase of madness? After the exaggeration of -sorrow produced by memory and isolated sentiment, did he not feel, as it -were a kind of paralysis of heart in relation to the past? Could he be -cured so soon of his love? and was this love so unimportant a matter -that a simple act of will, a simple decision of mind, could thus efface -every trace of it? Though admiring this triumph of philosophy, Consuelo -could not but feel humiliated at seeing thus destroyed, by a single -breath, the long passion of which she had ever been so justly proud. She -passed in review the least words he had uttered, and the expression of -his face, as he spoke, was yet before her eyes. It was an expression -with which Consuelo was unacquainted. Albert was also as much changed in -externals as in mind. To tell the truth, he was a new man: and had not -the sound of his voice, his features, and the reality of his -conversation satisfied her, Consuelo might have thought that she saw in -his place that <i>Sosia</i>, that fanciful Trismegistus, whom the doctor -persisted in substituting for him. The modification which quiet and -health had conferred on Albert seemed to confirm Supperville's error. He -had ceased to be so painfully emaciated, and seemed to have grown, so -expanded did his hitherto thin and feeble form seem to have become. He -had another bearing. He moved with more activity, his step was firmer, -and his dress as elegant and careful as it had been negligent and -despised. His very trifling habits now amazed Consuelo. In other days he -would not have dreamed of fire. He would have been sorry that his friend -Trenck was wet, but would not have dreamed, so foreign to him were all -external things, of gathering up the scattered brands. He would not have -shaken his hat before he put it on, and would have let the rain run -unremarked through his long hair. Now he wore a sword, though of yore he -would never have consented to do so, or even play with it. Now it did -not annoy him; he saw its blade glitter in the blaze, and did not recall -the blood his ancestors had shed. The expiation imposed on John Ziska, -in his person, was a painful dream, which blessed slumber had entirely -effaced. Perhaps he had forgotten it when he forgot the other memories -of his life and love, which seemed to have been, yet not to be, those of -his own life.</p> - -<p>Something strange and unnatural took place in Consuelo's mind, which -was like chagrin, regret, and wounded pride. She repeated to herself the -supposition Trenck had made in relation to a new passion, and this idea -seemed probable. A new love alone could grant him toleration and pity. -His last words, as he led his friend away, <i>story</i> and <i>romance</i>, -were a confirmation of this doubt. Were they not an explanation of the -intense joy which seemed to animate him?</p> - -<p>"Yes, his eyes gleamed," thought Consuelo, "as I never saw them before. -His smile had an expression of intoxication of triumph. He smiled, he -almost laughed. There was even irony in his tone when he said, "You will -smile at your praise." Doubt is gone; he loves, yet not me. He does not -object, he does not oppose my infidelity; he urges me on, and rejoices -at it. He does not blush for me, but gives me up to a weakness of which -I alone am ashamed, and the disgrace of which will fall on me alone. Oh, -heaven! I alone was not guilty. Albert has been yet more so. Alas! why -did I discover the secret of a generosity I would have admired so much, -even though I did not avail myself of it. I see clearly now that there -is a sanctity in plighted faith. God only, who changes our hearts, can -loose us. Then, perhaps, beings united by their oaths may give and -receive the sacrifice of their faiths. When mutual inconstancy alone -presides over divorce, something terrible occurs, and there is, as it -were, a complicity of parricide between the two. They have coldly -stifled in their bosoms the love which united them."</p> - -<p>Consuelo early in the morning regained the wood. She had passed the -whole night in the tower, absorbed by countless dark and sad thoughts. -She had no difficulty in finding the road homewards, though she had gone -over it in the dark, and her anxiety made it seem shorter than it really -was. She descended the hill, and retraced her steps up the rivulet, till -she came to the grating, which she passed, walking along its horizontal -bars above the water. She was no longer afraid or agitated. It did not -matter whether she was seen or not, for she had determined to tell her -confessor everything. Besides, the sentiments of her past life so -occupied her, that present things had but a secondary interest. Leverani -scarcely seemed to exist for her. The human heart is so constituted, -that young love needs dangers and obstacles. Old love revives when we -cannot awaken it in the heart of another.</p> - -<p>On this occasion the invisible guardians of Consuelo seemed all asleep, -and her nocturnal walk had been observed by no one. She found a new -letter of the stranger on her piano, as tenderly respectful as the one -of the previous evening had been bold and passionate. He complained that -she had been afraid of him, and reproached her for having shut herself -up in her apartments from fear, as if she entertained doubt as to the -humility of his veneration. He humbly asked to be permitted to see her -in the garden at twilight, and promised not to speak to her, not to show -himself, if she demanded it. "Let it be an alienation of heart, or an -error of judgment," added he, "Albert renounces you, tranquilly, and -apparently even coldly. Duty speaks to him more loudly than love. In a -few days the Invisibles will announce their resolution, and give you the -signal of liberty. You can then remain here, to become initiated in -their mysteries; and if you persist in this generous intention, I will -abide by my oath, not to show myself to you. If you have made this -promise only from compassion, if you wish to release yourself, speak, -and I will break my engagements, and fly with you. I am not Albert; I -have more love than virtue. Choose."</p> - -<p>"Yes, that is certain," said Consuelo, letting the letter fall on the -strings of the piano. "This man loves me, and Albert does not. It is -possible that he never loved me, and that my image has been a mere -creation of his delirium. Yet this love seemed to me sublime. Would to -God it yet were sufficiently so, to enable me to conquer mine by a -painful and sublime sacrifice! This would be far better for us than the -separation of two adulterous hearts. Better, too, were it that Leverani -should be abandoned by me, with pain and grief, than received as a -necessity of my isolation, in a season of anger, indignation, shame, and -painful intoxication of passion."</p> - -<p>She wrote to Leverani, in reply, the following brief words:—</p> - -<p>"I am too proud and too sincere to deceive you. I know what Albert -thinks, and what he has resolved on. I have overheard his confessions to -a mutual friend. He leaves me without regret, and virtue alone does not -triumph in his love. I will not follow his example. I loved you, and -abandon you without loving another. I owe this sacrifice to my dignity -and conscience. I hope you will not come near my house. If you yield to -a blind passion, if you wrest any new confession from me, you will -repent it. You would perhaps be indebted for my confidence to the just -anger of a broken heart, and to the terror of a crushed soul. This would -be my punishment and your own. If you persist, Leverani, you do not feel -the love I have thought you did."</p> - -<p>Leverani did persist. He continued to write, and was eloquent, -persuasive, and sincere in his humility.</p> - -<p>"You make an appeal to my pride," said he, "yet I exhibit no pride to -you. If in my arms you regretted an absent person, I would suffer, but -would not be offended. I would ask you, as I lay at your feet and -watered them with tears, to forget him and trust yourself to me alone. -Howsoever you love me, how little soever it may be, I will be grateful -as if for an immense blessing."</p> - -<p>Such was the substance of a series of ardent and timid, submissive and -persevering letters.</p> - -<p>Consuelo felt her pride give way before the penetrating charm of a true -love. Insensibly she grew used to the idea that none had loved her -before, not even the Count of Rudolstadt. Repulsing, then, the voluntary -outrage she had fancied was made on the sanctity of her recollections, -she feared lest by exhibiting it, she might become an obstacle to the -happiness Albert promised himself from a new love. She resolved, then, -to submit quietly to the decree of a separation, which he seemed -determined to enforce the Invisibles to make, and abstained from writing -his name in her letters to the stranger, whom she bade be equally -prudent.</p> - -<p>In other matters their letters were full of prudence and delicacy. -Consuelo, in separating herself from Albert, and in receiving into her -soul the idea of another affection, was unwilling to yield to a blind -intoxication. She forbade the Chevalier to see her, or violate his oath -of silence until it had been removed by the Invisibles. She declared -that freely and voluntarily she wished to adhere to the mysterious -association which inspired her with respect and confidence. She was -determined to be initiated in their doctrines, and to defend herself -from every personal engagement, until, by something of virtue, she had -acquired the right to think of her own happiness. She had not power to -tell him that she did not love him; but was able to say that she would -not love him without reflection.</p> - -<p>Leverani appeared to submit, and Consuelo studied attentively many -volumes which Matteus had given her one day from the Prince, saying that -his highness and the court had left the castle, but that she would soon -have news of him. She was satisfied with this message, and asked Matteus -no questions. She read the history of the mysteries of antiquity, of -Christianity, and of the different sects and secret societies derived -from each. This was a very learned manuscript compilation, made in the -library of the order of the Invisibles, by some learned and -conscientious adept. This serious and laborious study at first occupied -not a little of her attention and even of her imagination. The picture -of the tests of the ancient Egyptian temples gave rise to many terrible -and poetic dreams. The story of the persecution of sects, during the -middle ages, and during the period of revival, excited her heart more -than ever; and this history of enthusiasm prepared her soul for the -religious fanaticism of a speedy initiation. For fifteen days she had no -information from home, and lived in seclusion, surrounded by the -mysterious care of the Chevalier, but firm in her resolution not to see -him, and not to inspire him with too much hope.</p> - -<p>The summer heat began to be felt, and Consuelo, being absorbed by her -studies, could rest and breathe freely only in the cool of the evening. -Gradually, she had resumed her slow and dreamy walks in the garden and -enclosures. She thought herself alone, yet vague emotions made her often -fancy that the stranger was not far from her. Those beautiful nights, -the glorious shades, the solitude, the languishing murmur of the running -water amid the flowers, the perfume of plants, the passionate song of -the nightingale, followed by yet more voluptuous silence—the moon -casting its broad, oblique light beneath the transparent shadows of the -sweet nurseries, the setting of Hesperus behind the horizon's roseate -clouds—all these classical but eternal emotions, ever fresh and -mighty with youth and love, immersed the soul of Consuelo in dangerous -reveries. Her thin shadow on the silvery garden walks, the flight of a -bird aroused by her step, the rustling of a leaf agitated by the wind, -sufficed to increase her pace. These slight terrors were scarcely -dissipated when they were replaced by an indefinable regret, and the -palpitations of expectation were more powerful than all the suggestions -of her will.</p> - -<p>Once she was more disturbed than usual by the rustling of the leaves and -the uncertain sounds of the night. She fancied some one walked not far -from her, and when she sat down she thought the sound came nearer her. -Agitation aroused her still more, as she felt herself powerless to -resist an interview in those beautiful places and beneath that -magnificent sky. The breath of the breeze seemed to burn her cheek. She -fled to the house and shut herself up in her room. The candles were not -yet lighted. She placed herself behind a <i>jalousie</i>, and anxiously -wished to see him by whom she could not be seen. She saw a man appear, -and advance slowly beneath her windows. He approached silently and -without a gesture, and submissively appeared satisfied in gazing on the -walls within which she dwelt. This man was the Chevalier, at least -Consuelo in her anxiety thought so, and fancied that she recognised his -bearing and gait. Strange and painful doubts and fears, however, soon -took possession of her mind. This silent muser recalled Albert to her -mind as much as he did Leverani. They were of the same stature, now that -Albert was invigorated with health, and could walk at ease without his -head hanging on his bosom, or resting on his hand, in an unhealthy or -sad manner. Consuelo could scarcely distinguish him from the Chevalier. -She had seen the latter for a moment by daylight walking before her and -wrapped up in the folds of his cloak. She had seen Albert for a few -moments in the deserted tower, and thought him entirely different from -what she had seen him before. Now that she saw by starlight either the -one or the other, she was about to resolve all her doubts; but the -object passed beneath some shadow, and like a shadow flitted away. At -length it entirely disappeared, and Consuelo was divided between joy and -fear, charging herself with want of courage in not having called -Albert's name at all hazards, and asked for an explanation.</p> - -<p>This repentance became more keen as the object withdrew, and as the -persuasion that it was Albert broke on her. Led away by this habit of -devotion, which had, so far as he was concerned, always occupied the -place of love, she thought if he thus wandered around her it was in the -timid hope of talking with her. It was not the first time he had sought -to do so. She had said so to Trenck one evening, when perhaps he had -passed Leverani in the dark. Consuelo determined to bring about this -necessary explanation. Her conscience required that she should clear up -all doubts in relation to the true disposition of a husband, whether it -was generous or volatile. She went down to the garden, and ran after the -mysterious visitor, trembling yet courageous; but she searched through -the whole of the enclosure without finding him.</p> - -<p>At length she saw, on the verge of a thicket, a man standing close to -the water. Was this the person she sought for? She called him by the -name of Albert, and he trembled and passed his hands over his face. When -he removed them, the black mask was there.</p> - -<p>"Albert! is it you?" said Consuelo. "You alone I look for."</p> - -<p>A stifled exclamation of surprise from the person to whom she spoke -betrayed some indescribable emotion of joy or grief. He appeared to wish -to get away; but Consuelo fancied she recognised Albert's voice, and -rushing forward caught him by the cloak, which, parting at his shoulder, -exhibited on the bosom of the stranger a silver cross. Consuelo knew it -but too well: it was that of her mother—the same she had given to -the Chevalier during her journey with him, as a pledge of gratitude and -sympathy.</p> - -<p>"Leverani!" said she; "you again! Since it is you, adieu! Why do you -disobey me?"</p> - -<p>He threw himself at her feet, folded her in his arms, and embraced her -so ardently, yet respectfully, that Consuelo could not resist.</p> - -<p>"If you love me, and would have me love you, leave me," said she. "I -will see and hear you before the Invisibles. Your mask terrifies me, and -your silence freezes my heart!"</p> - -<p>Leverani placed his hand on his mask. He was about to tear it away and -to speak. Consuelo, like the curious Psyche, had not courage to turn -away her eyes.</p> - -<p>All at once, however, the black veil of the messengers of the secret -tribunal fell over her brow. The hand of the unknown which had seized -hers was silently detached.</p> - -<p>Consuelo felt herself led away rapidly, but without violence or apparent -anger. She was lifted from the ground, and then felt the spring of the -planks of a boat beneath her feet. She floated down a stream a long time -without any one speaking to her, and when restored to light found -herself in the subterranean cave where she had before appeared at the -bar of the Invisibles.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XXXI">CHAPTER XXXI</a></h4> - - -<p>The seven were there, as when she had first seen them, mute, masked, and -impenetrable as phantoms. The eighth, who had then spoken to Consuelo, -and seemed to be the interpreter of the council and initiator of adepts, -thus spoke to her:—</p> - -<p>"Consuelo, you have passed through the tests to which we have subjected -you with satisfaction. We can grant you our confidence, and are about to -prove it."</p> - -<p>"Listen!" said Consuelo. "You think me free from reproach; yet I am -not. I have disobeyed you. I left the retreat you assigned me."</p> - -<p>"From curiosity?"</p> - -<p>"No."</p> - -<p>"Will you tell us what you learned?"</p> - -<p>"What I have learned is purely personal. Among you is a confessor, to -whom I can and will reveal all."</p> - -<p>The old man rose and said—</p> - -<p>"I know all. This girl's fault is trivial. She knows nothing that you -wish her to be ignorant of. The confidence of her thoughts is between -her and me. In the interim, use the present moment to reveal to her what -she should know. I will vouch for her in all things."</p> - -<p>The initiator then said, after he had looked towards the tribunal, and -received a token of assent—</p> - -<p>"Listen to me! I speak in the name of all you see. It is their spirit, -and, so to say, their breath, which inspires me. I am about to expound -their doctrine to you.</p> - -<p>"The distinctive character of the religions of antiquity is, that they -have two faces—one exterior and public, the other inward and secret; -the one is the spirit, the other the form or letter. Behind the material -or grosser symbol is the profound sense, the sublime idea. Egypt and -India, the great types of ancient religions, mothers of true doctrines, -offer this duality of aspect in the highest degree. This is the -necessary and fatal sign of the infancy of societies, and of the -miseries attached to the development of the genius of man. You have -recently learned in what consisted the great mysteries of Eleusis and -Memphis, and now you know why divine science, political and social, -concentrated with the triple religions, military and industrial, in the -hands of the hierophants, did not descend to the lowest grades of the -ancient societies. The Christian idea, surrounded in the word of its -revealer by transparent and pure symbols, was granted to the world to -communicate to the popular mind a knowledge of truth and the light of -faith. Theocracy, though the inevitable abuse of religions established -in times of trouble and danger, soon came to veil doctrine again, and in -doing so changed it. Idolatry reappeared with the mysteries, and the -painful expansion of Christianity; the hierophants of Apostolic Rome -lost by divine punishment the divine light, and fell into the darkness -into which they sought to plunge men. The development of the human mind -then worked in a course altogether different to the past. The temple no -longer was, as of yore, the sanctuary of truth; superstition and -ignorance, the gross symbol, the dead letter, sat on altars and thrones. -The spirit at last descended to minds which had been very degraded. Poor -monks, obscure doctors, humble penitents, virtuous apostles of the -primitive church made the secret and persecuted religion the asylum of -the unknown truth. They sought to declare to the people the religion of -equality, and in the name of Saint John preached a new religion—that -is to say, a more free interpretation, and, at the same time, a bolder and -purer one than that of the Christian revelation. You know the history of -their labors, of their combats, and martyrdoms; you know the sufferings -of nations, their ardent inspirations, their lamentable decay, and proud -revival; and that amid efforts successively terrible and sublime, their -heroic perseverance put darkness to flight and discovered the path to -God. The time is near when the veil of the temple will be removed -forever, and when the masses will fill the sanctuaries of the sacred -arch. Then symbols will disappear, and access to truth will not be -guarded by the dragons of religious despotism. All will be able to -approach God with all the power of their souls. No one will say to his -brother, 'Be ignorant, and bow down;' but on the other hand, 'Open thine -eyes and receive the light.' Any man, on the contrary, will be able to -ask aid from his neighbor's eye, heart, and arm, to penetrate the arcana -of sacred science. That day has not yet come, and we are able to see -merely the glimmer of its dawn trembling on the horizon. The duration of -the secret religion is endless, the task of mystery is not yet -fulfilled. We are as yet shut up in the temple, busy in forging arms to -push aside the enemies who interpose between nations and ourselves, and -must yet keep our doors closed and our words secret, that the holy ark -may not be wrested from us after it has been saved with such trouble, -and kept for the common good of mankind.</p> - -<p>"You are now received into the new temple: this temple, however, is yet -a fortress, which, for centuries, has held out for liberty without being -able to gain it. War is around us. We wish to be liberators, though as -yet we are but combatants. You are come to share a fraternal communion, -the standard of safety, the toil for liberty, and, perhaps, too, to die -with us in the breach. This is the destiny you have selected, and, -perhaps, will die without having seen the gage of victory float above -your head. Yet, in the name of St. John, do you call men to the crusade. -We yet invoke a symbol; we are the heirs of the Johannites of old; the -unknown, mysterious, and persevering preservers of Wickliffe, of Huss, -and of Luther: like them, we wish to enfranchise the human race; but, -like them, are not free ourselves; and walk, perhaps, to the sacrifice.</p> - -<p>"The strife, however, has changed ground, and the nature of its arms. -We yet brave the dark rigor of laws; we expose ourselves yet to -proscription, misery, and death—for the ways of tyranny are -unchangeable. We no longer invoke material revolt, the bloody cause of -the cross and sword: our warfare is intellectual as our mission. We -appeal to the mind. Not with the armed hand can government be overturned -or built up; sustained, as they now are by physical force. We wage a -slower, more mute, and profound warfare—we attack the heart. We -destroy the very foundations, by destroying the blind faith and idolatrous -respect they inspire.</p> - -<p>"We cause to penetrate everywhere, even into courts, and the troubled -and fascinated minds of princes and kings, what as yet none dare call -the poison of philosophy: we destroy all mere prestige. We throw from -the summit of our fortress the burning shot of ardent truth and -implacable reason against every throne. Doubt not but that we will -conquer. In how many days—in how many years, we know not. Yet our -undertaking is so old, has been conducted with such faith, and stifled -with such little success, that it cannot fail. It has become immortal in -its nature as the deathless boons it has sought to conquer. Our -ancestors began, and each generation dreamed of its completion. Did we -not entertain some hope of it ourselves, our zeal would become exhausted -and less efficacious: but if the spirit of doubt and irony which now -rules the world should prove to us, by its cold calculation and -overpowering logic, that we pursue a dream not to be realized until -centuries have passed, our conviction in the holiness of our cause would -not be shaken, and though we toiled with more effort and grief, we would -toil, at least, for men yet to be born. Between us and the men of past -and future generations, is a religious tie, so strict and firm that we -have almost stifled the selfish and personal portion of human nature. -This the vulgar will not understand; yet there is in the pride of -nobility something not unlike the old hereditary religious enthusiasm. -The great sacrifice much to glory, to make themselves worthy of their -ancestors, and to bequeath something to posterity. We, architects of the -true temple, have made many sacrifices to virtue, to continue the work -of our masters and to make laborious apprentices. In spirit and in heart -we live at once in the past, the present, and the future. Our -predecessors and successors are as much <i>we</i> as ourselves are. We -believe in the transmission of life, of sentiments, and of generous -instincts in the soul, as nobles believe in the purity of blood in their -veins. We go farther; we believe in the transmission of life, -individuality, soul, and the very body; we feel ourselves fatally and -providentially called to continue the work of which we have already -dreamed, have always pursued, and advanced from century to century. -There are some amongst us who have carried the contemplation of the past -so far as almost to have lost sight of the present. This is the sublime -fever, the ecstacy of saints and prophets, for we have both, and, -perhaps, also our mad and visionary men. Whatever, though, may be the -wanderings or the sublimity of their transport, we respect their -inspiration, and among us Albert the <i>seer</i> and the ecstatic has -found brothers filled with sorrow for his sorrow, and admiration for his -enthusiasm. We also believe in the sincerity of the Count of St. -Germain, who by others is thought an impostor or a madman. Though his -ideas of a period inaccessible to human memory, have a character calmer, -more precise and perhaps more inconceivable than Albert's ecstasies, -they, too, have a character of good faith and lucidness at which -it is impossible for us to laugh. We have among us many other -enthusiasts—mystics, poets, men of the people, philosophers, artists, -and ardent sectarians, grouped beneath the banner of different chiefs. -We have Boehmists, Theosophists, Moravians, Hernhuters, Quakers, even -Pantheists, Pythagoreans, Xerophagists, Illuminati, Johannites, -Templars, Millenarians, Joachimites,&c. All these old sects, though not -developed as they were at the period of their closing are yet existing, -and, to a great degree, not modified. Our object is to reproduce at one -era all the forms which the genius of innovation has assumed -successively in past centuries, relative to religious and philosophical -thought. We therefore gather our agents from these various groups, -without requiring identity or precepts, which in our time would be -impossible. It is enough that they are ardent for reformation, to admit -them into our ranks. All our science of organization consists in -selecting actors only from those who have minds superior to scholastic -disputes, to whom the passion for truth, the search after justice, and -the instinct of moral beauty are more powerful than family habits and -sectarian rivalry. In other respects, it is not so difficult as it is -imagined, to make the most dissimilar things work in concert, for their -dissimilarity is more apparent than real. In fact, all heretics (and I -use this word with respect) agree in one principal point, that of the -destruction of mental and physical tyranny, or, at least, a protest -against them. The antagonisms which have hitherto prevented the fusion -of all these generous but useless rivalries, are derived from self-love -and jealousy, the inherent vices of the condition of man, and a fatal -counterpoise to progress. In managing these susceptibilities, by -permitting every communion to preserve its teachers, its conductors, and -its rights, it is possible to constitute, if not a society, at least an -army, and I have told you we are an army marching to the conquest of a -promised land, of an ideal society. At the point where human society now -stands, there are so many shades of individual character, so many -gradations in the conception of the true, so many varied aspects and -ingenious manifestations of the nature of man, that it is absolutely -necessary to leave to each the conditions of his moral life and power of -action.</p> - -<p>"Our work is great—our task is immense. We do not wish to found -merely an universal empire, or a new order, on equitable bases, but we -desire to establish a religion. We are well aware that the one is -impossible without the other. We have, therefore, two modes of action: one -material—to undermine and subvert the old world by criticism, by -ridicule, by the Voltairian philosophy, and by all that is connected -with it. The formidable union of all the bold minds and strong passions -hurries our march in that direction. Our other mode of action is -entirely spiritual; it has to do with religion, and with the future. The -<i>elite</i> of intelligences and of virtues assist us in our incessant -labors. The ground-work of the Invisibles is a concilium which the -persecution of the official world prevents from being publicly -assembled, but which ceaselessly deliberates, and, under the same -inspiration, toils in every part of the world. Mysterious communications -bring forth the grain as it ripens, and seed, too, for the field of -humanity, as we cut it from the grass. In this subterranean toil you may -participate, and we will tell you how, when you shall have accepted our -offers."</p> - -<p>"I do accept," said Consuelo, firmly, and lifting up her hands, as if -to swear.</p> - -<p>"Do not promise hastily, woman with generous instincts and enterprising -soul. You have not, perhaps, all the virtues such a mission requires. -You have passed through the world—you have already tasted the ideas -of prudence, of what is called propriety, discretion, and good -conduct——"</p> - -<p>"I do not flatter myself that I have," said Consuelo, smiling, with -modesty and pride.</p> - -<p>"Well, you have learned, at least, to doubt, to discuss, to rail, to -suspect."</p> - -<p>"To doubt, it may be. Remove suspicion, which was not a part of my -nature, and which has caused me much suffering, and I will bless you. -Above all, remove all doubt of myself, for that feeling makes me -powerless."</p> - -<p>"We can remove doubt only by developing our principles. To give you -material guaranties of our sincerity and power, is impossible; on that -point we will do no more than we have hitherto. Let the services we have -rendered you suffice: we will always aid you when an occasion occurs, -but will not initiate you into the mysteries of our thought and action, -except in the particular matter we confide to you. You will not know us, -you will never see our faces. You will never know our names, unless some -great interest force us to infringe and violate the law which makes us -unknown and invisible to our disciples. Can you submit, and yield -yourself blindly to men, who to you never will be anything but abstract -beings, living ideas, aiders, and mysterious advisers."</p> - -<p>"Vain curiosity alone could impel me to wish to know you in any other -manner. I hope this puerile sentiment never will take possession of me."</p> - -<p>"This is not a matter of curiosity, but of distrust. Your reasoning will -be founded on the logic and prudence of the world. A man is responsible -for his actions—his name is either a warrant or a warning, his -reputation either sustains or contradicts his actions. Remember, you can -never compare the conduct of any one of us with the precepts of the -order. You must believe in us as in saints, without being aware whether -we are hypocrites or not. You may see injustice emanate from our -decisions—even perfidy and apparent cruelty. You can no more control -our conduct than our intentions. Are you firm enough to walk with your -eyes closed on the bank of an abyss?"</p> - -<p>"In the practical observance of Catholicism, I have done so from my very -childhood," said Consuelo, after a moment's reflection. "I have opened -my heart, and abandoned the charge of my conscience to a priest, whose -features were hid by the grating of the confessional, of whose name and -tenor of life I was ignorant. I saw in him only the priest. The man was -nothing. I was the servant of Christ, and did not care for the minister. -Think you this is at all different?"</p> - -<p>"Lift up your hand, then, if you are resolved to persist."</p> - -<p>"Listen," said Consuelo. "Your answer will determine my life; but permit -me to question you for the first and last time."</p> - -<p>"You see! Already you hesitate, and look for guaranties elsewhere than -in impulse, and the anxiety of your heart to possess the idea of which -we speak. Yet go on; your question, perhaps, may give us information in -relation to your disposition."</p> - -<p>"My question is simply this: Is Albert initiated in your secrets?"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"Without any restriction?"</p> - -<p>"Without any restriction."</p> - -<p>"And toils with you?"</p> - -<p>"Say rather that we toil with him. He is one of the lights of our -council, perhaps the purest and most divine."</p> - -<p>"Why did you not tell me this before? I would not have hesitated a -moment. Lead me whithersoever you will. Dispose of my life. I am yours, -and I swear it."</p> - -<p>"Then lift up your hand. On what do you swear?"</p> - -<p>"On Christ, the image of whom I see here."</p> - -<p>"What is Christ?"</p> - -<p>"The divine <i>idea</i> revealed to man."</p> - -<p>"And is this divine idea revealed in all the evangelists?"</p> - -<p>"I think not, but it is all contained in the spirit of the -evangelists."</p> - -<p>"We are satisfied with your answers, and receive the oath you have -taken. Now we will teach you your duties to God and us. Learn then, in -the first place, the three words which are the secret of our mysteries, -and which to many who are affiliated with us, are revealed with much -precaution and delay. You do not require a long apprenticeship, yet some -thought is needed to make you comprehend all their significance. These -words are, <i>Liberty, Fraternity</i>, and <i>Equality.</i> This is the -mysterious and profound formula of the creed of the Invisibles."</p> - -<p>"They contain all the mystery?"</p> - -<p>"They seem to contain none; but examine the condition of society, and -you will see, that to men used to be governed by despotism, inequality, -and antagonism, it is either an education, a conversion, or a whole -revelation that enables them thoroughly to comprehend the social -necessity and moral obligation of this triple precept—<i>liberty, -equality, fraternity.</i> The small number of enlightened minds, of pure -hearts, which protest naturally against the disorder and injustice of -tyranny, at once appreciate the secret doctrine. Their progress is -rapid, for it is only necessary to teach them the modes of application -which we have discovered. To the greater number, to men of the world, to -courtiers and nobles, imagine with what care and precaution the sacred -formula of the <i>immortal work</i> must be given. It must be surrounded -with symbols and concealment. It is necessary to explain to them that we -speak only of fictitious liberty, and restraint on the exercise of -individual thought—of relative equality, extended merely to the -members of our association, and practicable only in secret and benevolent -meetings—of a romantic fraternity, agreed to between a certain number -of persons, and restricted to fugitive services, a few good works, and -to mutual aid. To these slaves of habit and prejudice, our mysteries are -but the statutes of heroic orders, revived from ancient chivalry, and -impeaching the constituted authorities in no manner, bringing no relief -to the miseries of the people. They reach only the insignificant grades, -the degrees of frivolous science or common-place precedence. For them -there is a series of whimsical initiations, which gratify their -curiosity, without elevating their minds."</p> - -<p>"Of what use are they?" asked Consuelo, who listened attentively.</p> - -<p>"To protect and countenance those who comprehend and know," said the -initiator. "This will be explained to you. Europe (Germany and France -especially) is filled with secret societies, subterranean laboratories, -in which is being prepared a great revolution, the crater of which is -France or Germany. The key to it is in our hands: we seek to retain the -direction of all associations, without the knowledge of a majority of -the members, and unknown to the separate organizations. Though as yet -our object be not attained, we have established a position everywhere, -and the most eminent of the affiliated of those societies are our -friends, and assist our efforts. We will introduce you into these sacred -sanctuaries, into these profane temples, for corruption and frivolity -also have erected their cities, in some of which vice and virtue toil to -the same end—reformation, without the evil being aware of its -association with the good. Such is the universal law of conspiracies. -You will be aware of the secret of the freemasons, a great brotherhood, -who, under various forms, and with various ideas, toil to organise the -practice and to diffuse the idea of equality. You will receive the -degree of all rites, though women are admitted only by adoption, and do -not share all the secrets of the doctrines. We will treat you as a -man—we will give you the insignia, documents, and all the formula -required for the relations we wish you to establish with the lodges, and -for the negotiations we wish to carry on with them. Your profession, -your wandering life, your talent, the influence of your sex, youth, and -beauty, your virtues, your courage, and your propriety fit you for your -part, and are sufficient vouchers for you. Your past life, the least -details of which we know, suffice to assure us. You have voluntarily -undergone more than mysteries <i>could</i> invent, and you have passed them -more strongly and victoriously than do their adepts the vain simulacra -intended to test their constancy. Moreover, the wife and pupil of Albert -of Rudolstadt is our daughter, sister, and equal. Like Albert, we -profess to believe in the divine equality of man and woman; forced, -however, to confess, from the unfortunate results of the education of -your sex, from its social position and habits, the existence of a -dangerous volatility and capricious instinct, we cannot carry out this -idea in all its extent. We can confide only in a small number of women. -Some secrets we will confide to you alone.</p> - -<p>"The other secret societies of Europe will be also opened to you by the -talisman with which we will invest you. In order that in whatever -country you may be, you may aid us and our cause, you will even enter, -if it be necessary, into the impure society of the masses, and penetrate -the retreats and become the associate of the vicious, the debauched, and -the abandoned. To them you will carry reform, and the idea of a pure and -better understood <i>equality.</i> You will be as unsullied by such a -mission, by witnessing the depravity of the high-born and noble, as you -have been by the freedom of intercourse which reigns behind the scenes. -You will be a sister of charity to the depraved and abandoned. We will -also give you the means of destroying the habits which you cannot -correct. You will act chiefly on females, and your genius and fame will -open the doors of palaces to you. Trenck's love, and our protection, -have already unfolded to you the heart of a great princess. You will -come in contact with much more illustrious persons in the execution of -the duties of your mission, and will use your influence to make them our -auxiliaries. The methods to be pursued successfully will be imparted to -you in secret communications, and the special education you will receive -from us. In every court and in every city of Europe which you may enter, -we will provide you friends, brothers, associates, to aid and protect -you in the dangers attendant on your mission. Large sums will be -confided to you, to aid the unfortunate of our brethren wherever you may -meet them, and those who make the <i>signals of distress</i>, thus invoking -the assistance of our order. You will establish secret societies among -women, founded on the principles of our own, but adapted in manners and -usage to different countries and classes. You will toil to effect -as far as possible the cordial assimilation of the noble lady and -the <i>bourgeoise</i>—the rich and the tradeswoman—the virtuous -matron and the <i>artiste</i> adventuress. <i>Toleration</i> and -<i>benevolence</i> will be the formula modified from our more austere -rule of <i>equality</i> and <i>fraternity</i>, to adapt it to society. You -perceive, then, that from the very outset your mission will be glorious to -your fame, as well as gentle in its character; yet it is not without -danger. We are powerful, but treason may destroy our enterprise, and -bury you amid its ruins. Spandau may not be the last of your prisons, -nor the passion of Frederick II. the only trial you will be called on to -brave. You must be prepared for dangers and difficulties, and consecrated -in advance to martyrdom and persecution."</p> - -<p>"I am," answered Consuelo, with firmness, at the conclusion of this long -charge.</p> - -<p>"We are sure of it, and we apprehend nothing from the feebleness of your -character but your proneness to despair. From the first moment we must -warn you against the chief point of dissatisfaction attached to your -mission. The first grades of secret societies, and of masonry in -particular, are, as it were, insignificant to us, and serve only to -enable us to test the instincts and dispositions of the postulants. The -great majority never pass the first grades, where, as I have said, vain -ceremonies amuse their frivolous curiosity. To the first grade none are -admitted but those from whom much is expected, yet they too are kept for -a time comparatively in the dark, and after being thoroughly tested and -examined, are allowed to pass the ordeal. Even then the order is but a -nursery whence are chosen the most efficient of its members, to be -initiated into yet higher grades, who alone possess the power of -imparting most important revelations, and you will commence your career -with them. The secrets of a master impose high duties, and there -terminate the charm of curiosity, the intoxication of mystery, the -illusion of hope. The master can learn nothing more, amid enthusiasm and -emotion, of the law which transforms the neophyte into an apostle, the -novice into a priestess. He must practise by instructing others, and by -seeking to recruit, among the poor in heart and feeble in mind, Levites -for the sanctuary of our most holy order. There, poor Consuelo, will you -learn the bitterness of deceived illusions and the difficult labors of -perseverance. You will see, among very many applicants, curious and -eager after truth, few serious, sincere, and firm minds—few worthy in -heart of receiving, and capable of comprehending. Among hundreds of -people some of them using the symbols of equality and affecting the -jargon, you will scarcely find one penetrated with their importance, and -bold in their interpretation. It will be needful for you to talk to them -in enigmas, and play the sad game of deceiving them as to our doctrine. -Of this kind are the majority of the princes we enroll under our banner, -who are decked with masonic titles that merely amuse their foolish -pride, and serve only to guarantee the freedom of motion and police -toleration. Some, however, are, and have been, sincere.</p> - -<p>"Frederick, called the Great, and certainly capable of being so, was a -freemason before he was a king, for at that time liberty spoke to his -heart, and equality to his reason. Yet we committed his initiation to -shrewd and prudent men, who did not deliver to him the secrets of our -doctrine. At the present moment Frederick suspects, watches and -persecutes another masonic body, established in Berlin, side by side -with the lodge over which he presides, and other secret societies, at -the head of which his brother Henry has eagerly placed himself. Yet -neither Prince Henry nor the Abbess of Quedlimburg will ever rise higher -than the second degree. We know princes, Consuelo, and are aware that -neither they nor their courtiers can be fully relied on. The brother and -sister of Frederick suffer from his tyranny, therefore they curse it. -They would willingly conspire against him to benefit themselves.</p> - -<p>"Notwithstanding the eminent qualities of the prince and princess, we -will never place the reins of our enterprise in their hands. It is true -they conspire: yet they are ignorant how terrible is the work to which -they lend the aid of their name, fortune and credit. They imagine that -they toil merely to diminish the authority of their master, and paralyse -the efforts of his ambition. The Princess Amelia carries her zeal to a -kind of republican enthusiasm, and she is not the only crowned head -agitated now by a dream of ancient grandeur. All the petty princes of -Germany learned the Telemachus of Fenelon by heart during their youth, -and now feed on Montesquieu, Voltaire and Helvetius. They do not proceed -farther than a certain ideal of aristocratic government, regularly -balanced, in which, of course, they would have the best places. You may -judge of their logic and good faith by what you have observed of the -strange contrast between the actions and maxims, deeds and words, of -Frederick. They are all copies more or less defaced, more or little -<i>outré</i>, of this model of philosophical tyrants. But as they are not -absolute, their conduct is less shocking, and might deceive you as to -the use they would make of it. We do not suffer ourselves to be -deceived. We suffer these victims of <i>ennui</i>, these dangerous friends, -to sit on symbolical thrones. They imagine themselves to be pontiffs, -and fancy they have the key of the sacred mystery, as of yore the chief -of the holy empire persuaded himself that he was fictitiously elected -chief of the secret tribunal, and commanded the terrible army of the -Free Judges; yet we are masters of their power and of every intention of -their life; and while they believe themselves our generals, they are our -lieutenants; and never, until the fatal day written in the book of fate -for their fall, will they know that they have themselves contributed to -their own ruin.</p> - -<p>"Such is the dark side of our enterprise. One must modify certain laws -of a quiet conscience when the heart is open to holy fanaticism. Will -you have courage, young priestess of the pure heart and sincere voice, -to do so?"</p> - -<p>"After all you have told me," said Consuelo, after a moment's silence, -"I cannot withdraw. A single scruple might launch me into a series of -reveries and terrors which would lead me into difficulty. I have -received your stern instructions and feel that I no longer belong to -myself. Alas! yes, I own that I will often suffer from the duty I have -imposed on myself; for I bitterly regret, even now, that I was forced to -tell Frederick a falsehood to save the life of a friend in danger. Let -me blush for the last time, as souls pure from all fraud do, and mourn -over the decay of the loss of my innocence. I cannot restrain this -sorrow, but I will not dwell on cowardly and useless remorse. I can be -no longer the harmless, careless girl I was. I have ceased already to be -so, since I am forced to conspire against tyrants, or inform on the -liberators of humanity. I have touched the tree of science; its fruits -are bitter, yet I will not cast them from me. Knowledge is a misfortune; -but to refuse to act is a crime, when we <i>know</i> what is to be -done."</p> - -<p>"Your reply is bold," said the initiator. "We are satisfied with you. -To-morrow evening we will proceed with your initiation. Prepare yourself -during the day for a new baptism, by meditation and prayer, and by -confession, even if your mind be unoccupied by all personal interests."</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XXXII">CHAPTER XXXII</a></h4> - - -<p>At dawn, Consuelo was awakened by the sounds of the horn and the barking -of dogs. When Matteus came to bring her breakfast, he told her there had -been a great <i>battue</i> of deer and wild boar in the forest. "More than -a hundred guests," he said, "had assembled at the castle, to participate -in this lordly amusement." Consuelo understood that a large number of -her sons, affiliated with the order, had assembled under the pretext of -the chase, in this castle, which was the principal rendezvous of the -most important of the meetings of the Invisibles. She was not a little -shocked that perhaps all these men would be witnesses of her initiation, -and asked if it could really be so interesting an affair to the order as -to attract so great a crowd of its members. She made an effort to -meditate, for the purpose of abiding by the directions of the initiator: -her attention, however, was distracted by an internal emotion, and by -vague fears, by <i>fanfares</i>, the gallop of horses, and the baying of -bloodhounds through the woods all day long. Was this <i>battue</i> real or -imaginary? Was Albert converted so completely to all the habits of -ordinary life, as to participate in such a sport, and shed the blood of -innocent beasts? Would not Leverani leave this pleasure party, and, -taking advantage of the disorder, molest the neophyte in the privacy of -her retreat?</p> - -<p>Consuelo saw nothing that passed out of doors, and Leverani did not -come. Matteus, too much occupied, beyond doubt, at the castle to think -of her, brought her no dinner. Was this, as Supperville said, a fast -carefully imposed, a fast intended to weaken the mental powers of the -adept?</p> - -<p>Towards night, when she returned to the library, whence she had gone an -hour before to take the air, she shrank with terror at the sight of a -man, red and masked, sitting in her chair. Soon, however, she regained -her presence of mind, for she recognized the frail old man who was her -spiritual father. "My child," said he, rising and coming to meet her, -"have you nothing to say to me? Have I yet your confidence?"</p> - -<p>"You have, sir," said Consuelo, making him sit on the chair, and taking -a folding chair in the embrasure of the window; "I have long wished to -speak to you."</p> - -<p>Then she told faithfully all that had passed between her, Albert, and -the stranger, since their last interview. She concealed none of the -involuntary emotions she had experienced.</p> - -<p>When she was done, the old man was silent long enough to trouble and -annoy Consuelo. Persuaded by her, at last, to judge her conduct and -sentiments, he said, "Your conduct is irreproachable: what, though, can -I say of your sentiments? That sudden, insurmountable, violent affection -called love, is a consequence of the good and bad instincts which God -has permitted to penetrate or placed in our souls for our perfection or -punishment. Bad human laws—which always oppose, in all things, the -will of nature and the designs of Providence—often make an -inspiration of God a crime, and curse the sentiment he has blessed, while -they sanction infamous unions and base instincts. It is for us -legislators—excepted from common-place laws, hidden constructors of -a new society—to distinguish as much as possible legitimate and true -love from a vain and guilty passion, that we may pronounce in the name of -a purer and more generous law than that of the world, on the fate you -merit. Will you be willing to commit it to our decision? Will you grant -us the power to bind and loose?"</p> - -<p>"You inspire me with absolute confidence; I have told you so, and I now -repeat it."</p> - -<p>"Well, Consuelo, we will discuss and deliberate on this question of the -life and death of your love and that of Albert."</p> - -<p>"And shall I not have a right to listen to the appeal of my -conscience?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, to enlighten us; when I have heard all, I will be your advocate. -You must, however, relieve me of the seal of the confessional."</p> - -<p>"What! you would not be the only confidant of my innocent sentiments, -my agonies, my sufferings?"</p> - -<p>"If you drew up a petition for divorce, and presented it to the -tribunal, would you have no public complaints to make? This suffering -will be spared to you. You have no complaints to make of any one? Is it -not more pleasant to avow love than hatred?"</p> - -<p>"Is it enough to feel a new passion, to have the right to abjure an old -one?"</p> - -<p>"You did not love Albert."</p> - -<p>"It seems I did not: yet, I would not swear so."</p> - -<p>"You would have no doubt, had you loved him. Besides, the question you -ask carries a reply in itself. The new love, from the necessity of -things, excludes the old."</p> - -<p>"Do not decide too quickly on that, my father," said Consuelo, with a -sad smile. "Although I love Albert differently from the other, I do not -love him less than I used to do; who knows if I do not love him more? I -feel ready to sacrifice this unknown man to him, though the thought of -the latter deprives me of sleep, and makes my heart beat at the very -moment I speak to you."</p> - -<p>"Is it not the pride of duty, rather a self-devotion than love for -Albert, which makes you thus prefer him?"</p> - -<p>"I do not think so."</p> - -<p>"Are you sure? Remember, here you are far from the world, sheltered from -its opinions, and protected from its laws. Should we give you a new rule -of life and new ideas of duty, would you persist in preferring the -happiness of a man you do not love to one whom you do?"</p> - -<p>"Have I ever told you that I do not love Albert?" said Consuelo, -eagerly.</p> - -<p>"I can answer this question only by another, my daughter—can two -loves exist at once?"</p> - -<p>"Yes; two different loves. One may love a brother and a husband."</p> - -<p>"Yet not a husband and a lover. The rights of a brother and lover are -different. Those of a husband and lover are identical; unless, indeed, -the husband consent to become a brother. In that case, the law of -marriage would be violated in its most mysterious, intimate, and sacred -relation. It would be a divorce, except that it would not be public. -Reply to me, Consuelo: I am an old man, on the brink of the tomb, and -you are a child. I am here as your parent and confessor. I cannot offend -your modesty by this delicate question, to which I hope you will reply -boldly. In the enthusiastic friendship which Albert inspired, was there -not always a secret and insurmountable terror at the idea of his -caresses?"</p> - -<p>"There was," said Consuelo, with a blush. "Usually this idea was not -mingled with that of his love, to which it seemed strange: when it did -arise, however, a deathly chill passed through my veins."</p> - -<p>"And the breath of the man you call Leverani inspired you with new -life?"</p> - -<p>"That, too, is true. Should not such instincts be stifled by our -will?"</p> - -<p>"Why? Has God suggested them for nothing? Has he authorised you to -abjure your sex, and to pronounce in marriage either the vestal vow or -the more degrading asseveration of slavery. The passiveness of slavery -has something like the coldness and degradation of prostitution. Did God -intend any being should be so degraded? Woe to the children sprung from -such unions! God inflicts some disgrace on them; their organization is -either incomplete, or they are delirious or stupid. They do not belong -altogether to humanity, not having been begotten according to that law -of humanity which requires reciprocity of ardor and a community of -feeling between man and woman. Where that reciprocity is not, there is -no equality; where equality is crushed, there is no real union. Be sure, -then, that God, far from commanding your sex to make such sacrifices, -forbids and refuses them the right to make them. Such a suicide is base, -and far more cowardly than the renunciation of life. The vow of -continence is inhuman and anti-social, but continence with love is -monstrous. Deflect, Consuelo, and if you persist in thus annihilating -yourself, think on the part you assign your husband, should he adopt it -without understanding your submission. Unless he be deceived, I can -assure you he will never receive you: deceived, however, by your -devotion, intoxicated by your generosity, would he not seem to you -either strangely selfish or egotistical? Would you not degrade him in -your eyes, as you really would in the presence of God, by thus ensnaring -his candor and making it almost impossible for him not to succumb? Where -would his grandeur and delicacy be, did he not read the pallor of your -lips and the tears in your eyes? Can you flatter yourself that hatred -would not enter your heart in spite of yourself, mingled with shame and -regret at not having been understood or comprehended? No: woman, you -have no right to deceive the love in your bosom; you would rather have a -right to suppress it. Whatever cynics and philosophers say in relation -to the passive condition of the feminine sex in the order of nature, -what always will distinguish man from brutes, will be discernment in -love and the right to choose. Vanity and cupidity makes the majority of -marriages <i>sworn prostitution</i>, as the old Lollards called it. -Devotion and generosity alone can guide the heart to such results. Virgin, -it has been my duty to instruct you in delicate matters, which the purity -of your life prevented you from foreseeing or analysing. When a mother -marries her daughter, she reveals to her a portion of what she has -hitherto concealed, with more or less prudence and wisdom. You had no -mother when you pronounced, with an enthusiasm which was rather -fanatical than human, an oath to belong to a man whom you loved in an -incomplete manner. A mother—given you to-day to assist and enlighten -you in your new relations at the hour of the divorce or definitive -sanction of this strange marriage—this mother, Consuelo, is myself; -for I am not a man but a woman."</p> - -<p>"You a woman!" said Consuelo, looking with surprise at the thin and -blue, but delicate and really feminine hand which during this discourse -had taken possession of hers.</p> - -<p>"This pale and broken old man," said the strange confessor, "this -suffering old being (whose stifled voice no longer indicated her sex) is -a woman overpowered by grief, disease, and anxiety rather than by age. -I am not more than sixty, Consuelo, though in this dress, which I wear -only as an Invisible, I seem an ill-tempered octogenarian. In other -particulars, as in this, I am but a ruin; yet I was a tall, -healthy-looking, beautiful and an imposing woman. At thirty I was -already bent, and trembling as you see me. Would you know, my child, the -cause of this decay? It was a misfortune, from which I wish to preserve -you—an incomplete love, an unfortunate attachment, a terrible effort -of courage and resignation, which for ten years bound me to a man I -esteemed, but could not love. A man would not have been able to tell you -what are the sacred rights and true duties of a woman in love. They made -their laws and ideas without consulting us. I have, however, often -enlightened the minds of my associates in this particular, and they have -had the courage and nerve to hear me. Believe me, I was aware if they -did not place themselves in direct contact with you, they would not have -the key to your heart, and would perhaps condemn you to complete -degradation, to endless suffering, whilst your virtue looked for -happiness. Now, open your heart to me, Consuelo. Do you love Leverani?"</p> - -<p>"Alas! I love him. The fact is but too true," said Consuelo, placing the -hand of the mysterious sybil on her lip. "His presence terrifies me more -than Albert's did. This terror, however, is mixed with strange -pleasures. His arms are a magnet which attracts me to him; and when his -lips press my brow, I am transported to another world, where I live and -breathe differently from here."</p> - -<p>"Well, Consuelo, you must love this man, and forget Albert. Now I -pronounce the divorce: it is my duty and my right to do so."</p> - -<p>"Whatsoever you may say, I cannot submit to this sentence until I have -seen Albert—until he has spoken to and renounced me without -regret—until he relieves me from my promise without contempt."</p> - -<p>"Either you do not know Albert, or you fear him. I know him, and have a -stronger claim on him than on yourself, and can speak in his name. We -are alone, Consuelo, and I can open my heart to you, that not being -forbidden. Although I belong to the supreme council of the Invisibles, -their nearest disciples shall never know me. My situation and yours are, -however, peculiar. Look at my withered face, and see if my features are -not familiar to you."</p> - -<p>As she spoke the sibyl took off her mask and false hair, and revealed -to Consuelo a female head, old and marked with suffering, it is true, but -with incomparable beauty of outline, and a sublime expression of -goodness, sadness, and power. These three so different habits of mind, -and which are rarely united in the same person, were marked on the broad -brow, in the maternal smile, the profound glance of the sibyl. The shape -of her head and the lower part of her face announced great natural -power, but the ravages of disease were too visible, and a kind of -nervousness made her head tremble in a manner that recalled a dying -Niobe, or rather Mary at the foot of the cross. Grey hair, fine and -glossy as floss silk, was parted across her brow, and, bound in small -folds around her temple, strangely completed her noble and striking -appearance. At this epoch all women wore powder, with their curls -gathered up behind, exhibiting their full foreheads. The sibyl had her -hair braided in a less careful manner, to facilitate her disguise, not -being aware that she adopted the one most in harmony with the cast and -expression of her face. Consuelo looked for a long time at her with -respect and admiration. At length, however, under the influence of great -surprise, she cried out, seizing the sibyl's hands—</p> - -<p>"My God! How much you resemble him!"</p> - -<p>"Yes, I do resemble Albert; or, rather, he resembles me very much," -replied she. "Have you never seen my portrait?"</p> - -<p>Seeing Consuelo make an effort of memory, she said, to assist -her—</p> - -<p>"A portrait which was as much like me as it is possible for art to -resemble nature, and of which I am now a mere shadow. A full portrait of -a woman in young, fresh, and brilliant beauty, with a corsage of gold -brocade covered with flowers and gems, a purple cloak, and black hair -with knots of pearls and ribbons to keep the tresses from the shoulders. -Thus was I dressed forty years ago on my wedding-day. I was beautiful, -but could not long remain so, for death had made my heart its own."</p> - -<p>"The portrait of which you speak," said Consuelo, "is at the Giants' -Castle, in Albert's room. It is the portrait of his mother, whom he did -not remember distinctly, but whom he yet adored, and in his ecstasies -fancied he yet saw and heard. Can, you be a near relation to the noble -Wanda, of Prachalitz, and consequently——"</p> - -<p>"I <i>am</i> Wanda of Prachalitz!" said the sibyl regaining something -of the firmness of her voice and attitude. "I am Albert's mother! I am the -widow of Christian of Rudolstadt—the descendant of John Ziska de -<i>Calice</i>, and the mother-in-law of Consuelo! I wish to be merely her -adoptive mother, for she does not love Albert, and he must not be happy -at the expense of his wife."</p> - -<p>"His mother! His mother!" said Consuelo, falling at Wanda's knees. "Are -you not a spectre? Were you not mourned for at the Giants' Castle as if -you were dead?"</p> - -<p>"Twenty years ago, Wanda of Prachalitz, Countess of Rudolstadt, was -buried in the chapel of the Giants' Castle, beneath the pavement; and -Albert, subject to similar cataleptic crises, was attacked by the same -disease, and buried there last year, a victim of the same mistake. The -son would never have left this frightful tomb, if the mother, attentive -to the dangers which menaced him, had not watched his agony unseen, and -taken care to disinter him. His mother saved him, full of life, from the -worms of the sepulchre, to which he had been abandoned. His mother -wrested him from the yoke of the world in which he had lived too long, -and in which he could not exist, to bear him to an impenetrable asylum -in which he has recovered, if not the health of his body, at least that -of his soul. This is a strange story, Consuelo, which you must hear, in -order to understand, concerning Albert, his strange life, his pretended -death, and his wonderful resurrection! The Invisibles will not initiate -you until midnight. Listen to me, and may the emotions arising from this -strange story prepare you for those excitements which yet await you!"</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XXXIII">CHAPTER XXXIII</a></h4> - - -<p>"Rich, young, and of illustrious birth, I was married at the age of -twenty to Count Christian, who was already more than forty. He might -have been my father, and inspired me with affection and respect, but not -with love. I had been brought up in ignorance of what that sentiment is -to a woman. My parents were austere Lutherans, but were obliged to -practise the obligations of their faith as obscurely as possible. Their -habits and ideas were excessively rigid, and had great power on the -mind. Their hatred of the stranger, their mental revolt against the -religious and political tyranny of Austria, their fanatical attachment -to the old liberties of the country, had passed into my mind, and these -passions sufficed my youth. I suspected the existence of no other, and -my mother, who had never known aught but duty, would have fancied she -committed a crime, had she suffered me to have the least presentiment of -any other. The Emperor Charles, father of Maria Theresa, long persecuted -my family on account of heresy, and placed our fortune, our liberty, and -almost our life, up to the highest bidder. I might <i>ransom</i> my parents -by marrying a Catholic noble devoted to the empire, and I sacrificed -myself with a kind of enthusiastic pride. Among those pointed out to me -I chose Count Christian, because his mild, conciliatory, and apparently -meek character made me entertain a hope of secretly converting him to -the ideas of my family. Gladly did my parents receive and bless me for -my devotion. Misfortune, though we may understand its extent, and be -aware of its injustice, is not a means by which the soul can be -developed. I very soon saw that the wise and calm Christian hid, under -his benevolent mildness, an invincible obstinacy, and a deep attachment -to the customs of his class and the prejudices of those around him—a -kind of scornful hatred of all opposition to established ideas. His -sister, Wenceslawa—tender, vigilant, generous but yet most alive to -petty religious bigotry and pride of rank—was at once a pleasant and -disagreeable companion for me. She was kindly but overpoweringly -tyrannical to me; and her friendship, though devoted, was irritating to -the last degree. I deeply suffered the want of sympathetic friends, the -absence of the intellectual beings I could love. A contact with my -companions destroyed me, and the atmosphere I breathed in seemed to dry -up my heart. You know the story of the youth of Albert—his repressed -enthusiasm, his misunderstood religion, and his evangelical ideas -treated as heretical and mad. My life was the prelude to his; and you -have sometimes at the Giants' Castle heard exclamations of terror and -grief at the unfortunate resemblance, both in a moral and physical point -of view, of the mother and son.</p> - -<p>"The absence of love was the greatest evil of my life, and from it all -others are derived. I loved Christian with deep friendship, but nothing -could inspire me with enthusiasm, and an enthusiastic affection would -have been necessary to repress the profound alienation of our natures. -The stern and religious education I had received would not permit me to -separate intelligence from love. I devoured myself. My health gave way; -a strange excitement took possession of my nervous system. I had -hallucinations and ecstasies called attacks of madness, which were -carefully concealed instead of being cured. They sought to amuse and -took me into society, as if balls, spectacles, and fetes, could replace -sympathy, love, and confidence. At Vienna I became so ill that I was -brought back to the Giants' Castle. I preferred this sad abode, the -exorcisms of the chaplain, and the cruel friendship of the Canoness -Wenceslawa, to the court of our tyrants.</p> - -<p>"The death of my five children, one after the other, inflicted the last -blow on me. It appeared that heaven had cursed my marriage. I longed -anxiously for death, and expected nothing from life. I strove not to -love Albert, my youngest son, being persuaded that he too was condemned -like the others, and that my care would not suffice to save him.</p> - -<p>"One final misfortune completely extinguished my faculties. I loved and -was loved, and the austerity of my religion forced me to stifle even the -self-knowledge of this terrible feeling. The medical man who attended me -in my frequent and painful crises, was apparently not younger and not so -handsome as Christian. I was not moved by the graces of his person, but -by the profound sympathy of our souls, the conformity of ideas, or -rather religious and philosophical instincts, and an incredible -similarity of character. Marcus, I can mention only his first name, had -the same energy, the same activity, the same patriotism, I had. Of him, -as well as of me, might be said what Shakespeare makes Brutus assert. He -was not one of those who hear injustice with an unmoved brow. The misery -and degradation of the poor, serfdom, despotic laws and monstrous -abuses, all the impious rights of conquest aroused tempests of -indignation in his mind. What torrents of tears have we shed together -over the wrongs of our country and of the human race, every where -oppressed and deceived—in one place degraded by ignorance, in another -decimated by avarice, and in a third, violated and degraded by the -ravages of war—vile and unfortunate over all the world! Marcus, who -was better informed than I was, conceived the idea of a remedy for all -these evils, and often spoke to me of a strange and mysterious plan to -organise an universal conspiracy against despotism and intolerance. I -listened to his plans as mere things of romance. I hoped for nothing -more. I was too ill and too utterly crushed to entertain hopes of the -future. He loved me ardently; I saw and felt it. I partook of his -passion, and yet during five years of apparent friendship and chaste -intimacy, we never spoke of the lamentable secret that united us. He did -not usually live in the Boehmer-wald—at least he often left it on -pretence of visiting patients who were at a distance, but in fact to -organise that conspiracy of which he constantly spoke to me, though -without convincing me that it would be successful. As often as I saw -him, I felt myself more excited by his genius, his courage and -perseverance. Whenever he returned, he found me more debilitated, more -completely a prey to an internal fire, and more devasted by physical -suffering.</p> - -<p>"During one of his absences I had terrible convulsions, to which the -ignorant and vain Doctor Wetzelius, whom you know, and who attended me -during my absence, gave the name of <i>malignant fever.</i> After these -crises, I fell into so complete a state of <i>annihilation</i> that it was -taken for death. My pulse ceased to beat, my respiration was not -perceptible. Yet I retained my consciousness. I heard the prayers of the -chaplain, and the lamentations of the family. I heard the agonising cry -of poor Albert, my only child, and could not move. I could not even see -him. My eyes had been closed, and it was impossible for me to open them. -I asked myself if this could be death, and if the soul, having lost all -means of action on the body in death, preserved a recollection of -earthly sorrows, and was aware of the terrors of the tomb. I heard -terrible things around my death-bed: the chaplain, seeking to calm the -deep and sincere grief of the canoness, told her God should be thanked -for all things, and it was a blessing to any husband to be freed from my -continual agony, and the storms of a guilty mind. He did not use terms -quite so harsh, but that was the sense. I heard him afterwards seek to -console Christian with the same arguments, yet more softened in -expression, but to me the sense was identical and cruel. I heard -distinctly, I understood thoroughly. It was, they thought, God's will -that I should not bring up my child, and that in his youth he would be -removed from contact with the poison of heresy. Thus they talked to my -husband when he wept and clasped Albert to his bosom, saying—'Poor -child! what will become of you without your mother?' The chaplain's -reply was, 'You will bring him up in a godly manner.'</p> - -<p>"Finally, after three days of mute and silent despair, I was borne to -the tomb, without having the power of motion, yet without for an instant -having any doubt of the terrible death about to be inflicted on me. I -was covered with diamonds—I was dressed in my wedding robe—the -magnificent costume you saw in my portrait. A chaplet of flowers was -placed on my head, a gold crucifix on my bosom, and I was placed in a -white marble cenotaph, cut in the pavement of the chapel. I felt neither -cold, nor the want of air. I existed in the mind alone.</p> - -<p>"An hour after, Marcus came. His consternation deprived him of all -thought; he prostrated himself on my grave, and they had to tear him -away. At night he returned, bringing a lever and chisel with him. A -strange suspicion had passed through his mind. He knew my lethargic -crises. He had never seen them so long or so complete. From a few brief -attacks which he had observed, he was satisfied of the possibility of a -terrible error. He had no confidence in the science of Wetzelius. I -heard him walking above my head, and I knew his step. The noise of the -lever, as it lifted up the pavement, made my heart quiver, but I could -not utter a cry, or make a sound. When he lifted up the veil which -covered my face, I was so exhausted by the efforts I made to call him, -that I seemed dead forever. He hesitated for a long time; he examined my -extinct breath, my heart, and my icy hands. I had all the rigidity of a -corpse. I heard him murmur, in an agonising tone—'All, then, is -over! No hope! Dead—dead! Oh, Wanda!' Again there was a terrible -silence. Had he fainted? Did he abandon me, forgetting, in the tremor -inspired by the sight of one he loved, to shut up my sepulchre?</p> - -<p>"Marcus, while in moody meditation, formed a scheme melancholy as his -grief, and strange as his character. He wished to wrest my body from the -outrage of destruction. He wished to bear it away secretly, to embalm -and enclose it in a metallic case, keeping it ever with him. He asked -himself if he would be bold enough to do so, and suddenly, in a kind of -fanatic transport, exclaimed, that he would. He took me in his arms, -and, without knowing if his strength would enable him to bear me to his -house, which was more than a mile distant, he laid me down on the -pavement, and with the terrible calmness which is often found in persons -who are delirious, replaced the stones. Then he wrapped me up, covered -me entirely with his cloak, and left the castle, which then was not shut -so carefully as it now is, because at that time the bands of -malefactors, made desperate by war, had not shown themselves in the -environs. I was become so thin, that he had not a very heavy burden. -Marcus crossed the woods, and chose the least frequented paths. He twice -placed me on the rocks, being overcome with grief and terror, rather -than with fatigue. He has told me since, more than once, that he was -horrified at this violation of a grave, and that he was tempted to carry -me back. At last he reached his home, going noiselessly into his garden, -and put me, unseen by any one, into an isolated building, which was his -study. There the joy of feeling myself saved, the first feeling of -pleasure I had experienced in ten years, loosened my tongue, and I was -able to make a faint exclamation.</p> - -<p>"A new emotion violently succeeded the depression. I was suddenly gifted -with excessive powers, and uttered cries and groans. The servant and -gardener of Marcus came, thinking that he was being murdered. He had the -presence of mind to meet them, saying that a lady had come to his house, -to give birth secretly to a child, and that he would kill any one who -saw her, and discharge any one who was so unfortunate as to mention the -circumstance. This feint succeeded. I was dangerously ill in the study -for three days. Marcus, who was shut up with me, attended to me with a -zeal and intelligence which were worthy of his will. When I was cured, -and could collect my ideas, I threw myself in alarm into his arms, -remembering only that we must separate. 'Oh, Marcus!' said I, 'why did -you not suffer me to die here in your arms? If you love me, kill me, for -to return to my family is worse than death!'</p> - -<p>"'Madame,' said he firmly, 'I have sworn before God that you never shall -return there. You belong to me alone. You will not leave me; if so, it -will cause my death.' This terrible resolution at once terrified and -charmed me. I was too much enfeebled to be able to comprehend its -meaning for a long time. I listened to him, with the timid submission -and compliance of a child. I suffered him to cure and attend to me, -becoming gradually used to the idea of never returning to Riesenberg, -and never contradicting the belief of my death. To convince me, Marcus -made use of a lofty eloquence, he told me, with such a husband I could -not live, and had no right to undergo certain death. He swore that he -had the means of hiding me for a long time, and even forever, from all -who would know me. He promised to watch over my son, and to enable me to -see him in secret. He gave me, even, certain assurances of these strange -possibilities, and I suffered myself to be convinced. I lived with him, -and was no longer the Countess of Rudolstadt.</p> - -<p>"One night, just as we were about to part, they came for Marcus, saying -that Albert was dangerously ill. Maternal love, which misfortune seemed -to have suppressed, awoke in my bosom. I wished to go to Riesenberg with -Marcus, and no human power could dissuade me from it. I went in his -carriage, and in a long veil waited anxiously at some distance from the -house, while he went to see my son, and promised me an account of his -state. He soon returned, and assured me that my child was in no danger, -and wished me to go to his house, to enable him to pass the night with -Albert. I could not do so. I wished to wait for him, hidden behind the -walls of the castle, while he returned to watch my son. Scarcely was I -alone, than a thousand troubles devoured my heart. I fancied that Marcus -concealed Albert's true situation from me, and perhaps that he would die -without receiving my last farewell. Under the influence of this unhappy -persuasion, I rushed into the portico of the castle. A servant I met in -the court let his light fall, and fled when he saw me. My veil hid my -face, but the apparition of a woman at midnight was sufficient to awake -the superstitious fears of these credulous servants. No one suspected -that I was the shadow of the unfortunate and impious Countess Wanda. An -unexpected chance enabled me to reach the room of my son without meeting -any one, and it happened that Wenceslawa had just left to procure some -remedy Marcus had ordered. My husband, as was his wont, had gone to the -oratory to pray, instead of trying to avert the danger. I took my child -in my arms; I pressed him to my bosom. He was not afraid of me, for he -had not understood what was meant by my death. At that moment the -chaplain appeared at the door. Marcus thought that all was lost. With a -rare presence of mind, however, he stood without moving, and appeared -not to see me. The chaplain pronounced, in a broken voice, a few words -of an exorcism, and fell half dead, after having made a single step -towards me. I then made up my mind to fly through another door, and in -the dark reached the place where Marcus had left me. I was reassured; I -had seen Albert restored, and the heat of fever was no longer on his -lips. The fainting and terror of the chaplain were attributed to a -vision. He maintained that he had seen me with Marcus, clasping my child -to my bosom. Marcus had seen no one. Albert had gone to sleep. On the -next day he asked for me, and on the following nights, satisfied that I -did not sleep the eternal slumber, as they had attempted to persuade -him, he fancied that he saw me yet, and called me again and again. -Thenceforth, throughout his whole youth, Albert was closely watched, and -the superstitious family of Riesenberg made many prayers to conjure the -unfortunate assiduities of my phantom around his cradle.</p> - -<p>"Marcus took me back before day. We postponed our departure for a week, -and when the health of my son was completely established we left -Bohemia. Always concealed in my places of abode, always veiled in my -journeys, bearing a fictitious name, and for a long time having no other -confidant than Marcus, I passed many years with him in a foreign -country. He maintained a constant correspondence with a friend, who kept -him informed of all that passed at Riesenberg, and who gave him ample -details of the health, character, and education of my son. The -deplorable condition of my health was a full excuse for my living in -retirement and seeing no one. I passed for the sister of Marcus, and -lived long in Italy, in an isolated villa, while during a portion of the -time Marcus travelled and toiled for the accomplishment of his vast -plans.</p> - -<p>"I was not Marcus's mistress: I remained under the influence of my -scruples, and I needed ten years' meditation to conceive the right of a -human being to repudiate the yoke of laws, without pity and without -intelligence, such as rule human society. Being thought dead, and being -unwilling to endanger the liberty I had so dearly purchased, I could not -invoke any civil or religious power to break my marriage with Christian, -and I would not have been willing to arouse again his sorrow, which had -long been lulled to sleep. He was not aware how unhappy I had been with -him; he thought I had gone for my own happiness, for the peace of my -family, and for the health of my son, into the deep and never-ending -repose of the tomb. Thus situated, I looked on myself as sentenced to -eternal fidelity to him. At a later day, when by the care of Marcus the -disciples of the new faith were reunited and constituted secretly into a -religious church, when I had so changed my opinions as to accept the new -communion, and had so far modified my ideas as to be able to enter this -new church which had the power to pronounce my divorce and consecrate my -union, it was too late. Marcus, wearied by my obstinacy, had felt the -necessity of another love, to which I had attempted to persuade him. He -had married, and I was the friend of his wife; yet he was not happy. -This woman had not mind enough, nor a sufficient intelligence, to -satisfy such a man as Marcus. He had been unable to make her comprehend -his plans or to initiate her in his schemes. She died, after some years, -without having guessed that Marcus had always loved me. I nursed her on -her death-bed; I closed her eyes without having any reproach to make -against her, without rejoicing at the disappearance of this obstacle to -my long and cruel passion. Youth was gone; I was crushed; my life was -too sad, and had been too austere, to change it when age had begun to -whiten my hairs. I at last began to enter the calm of old age, and I -felt deeply all that is august and holy in this phase of female life. -Yes; our old age, like our whole life, when we understand it, is much -more serious than that of men. <i>They</i> may forget the course of -years—they may love and become parents at a more advanced period -than we can, for nature prescribes a term after which there seems to be -something monstrous and impious in the idea of seeking to awaken love, -and infringing, by ridiculous delirium, on the brilliant privileges of -the generation which already succeeds and effaces us. The lessons and -examples which it also expects from us at this solemn time, ask for a -life of contemplation and meditation which the agitation of love would -disturb without any benefit. Youth can inspire itself with its own -ardor, and find important revelations. Mature age has no commerce with -God, other than in the calm serenity which is granted to it as a final -benefit. God himself aids it gently, and by an irresistible -transformation, to enter into this path. He takes care to appease our -passions, and to change them into peaceable friendship. He deprives us -of the prestige of beauty, also removing all dangerous temptations from -us. Nothing, then, is so easy as to grow old, whatever we may say and -think of those women of diseased mind, whom we see float through the -world in a kind of obstinate madness, to conceal from each other and -from themselves the decay of their charms and the close of their mission -<i>as women.</i> Yes; age deprives us of our sex, and excuses us from the -terrible labors of maternity, and we will not recognise that this moment -exalts to a kind of angelic state. You, however, my dear child, are far -from this terrible yet desirable term, as the ship is from the port -after a tempest, so that all my reflections are lost on you. Let them -serve, therefore, merely to enable you to comprehend my history. I -remained, what I had always been, the sister of Marcus, and the -repressed emotions, the subdued wishes which had tortured my youth, -gave, at least, to the friendship of matured age a character of force -and enthusiastic confidence not to be met with in vulgar friendships.</p> - -<p>"As yet I have told you nothing of the mental cares and the serious -occupations which during the last fifteen years kept us from being -absorbed by our suffering, and which since then have given us no reason -to regret them. You know their nature, their object, and result; all -that was explained to you last night. You will to-night learn much from -the Invisibles. I can only tell you that Marcus sits among them, and -that he himself formed their secret council with the aid of a virtuous -prince, the whole of whose fortune is devoted to the grand mysterious -enterprise with which you are already acquainted. To it I also have -consecrated all my power for fifteen years. After an absence of twelve -years, I was too much changed and too entirely forgotten not to be able -to return to Germany. The strange life required by certain duties of our -order also favored my incognito. To me was confided, not the absolute -propagandism which is better suited to your brilliant life, but such -secret missions as befitted my prudence. I have made long journeys, of -which I will tell you by-and-bye. Since then I have lived here totally -unknown, performing the apparently insignificant duties of -superintending a portion of the prince's household, while in fact I was -devoting myself to our secret task, maintaining in the name of the -council a vast correspondence with our most important associates, -receiving them here, and often with Marcus alone, when the other supreme -chiefs are absent, exercising a marked influence on those of their -decisions which appeared to appeal to the delicate views and the -particular qualities of the female mind. Apart from the philosophical -questions which exist and exert an influence here, and in relation to -which I have by the maturity of my mind taken an active part, there are -often matters of sentiment to be discussed and decided. You may fancy, -from your temptations elsewhere, circumstances often occur where -individual passions—love, hatred, and jealousy—come into -contact. By means of my son, and even in person, though under disguises -not unusual to women in courts, as a witch or <i>illuminatus</i>, I have -had much to do with the Princess Amelia, with the interesting and -unfortunate Princess of Culmbach, and with the young Margravine of Bareith, -Frederick's sister. Women must be won rather by the heart than by the -mind. I have toiled nobly, I must say, to attach them to us, and I have -succeeded. This phase of my life, however, I do not wish to speak of to -you. In your future enterprises you will find traces of me, and will -continue what I have begun. I wish to speak to you of Albert, and to tell -you all that part of his existence of which you are ignorant. Attend to -me for a brief time. You will understand how, in the terrible and strange -life I have led, I became alive to tender emotions and maternal joys."</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XXXIV">CHAPTER XXXIV</a></h4> - - -<p>"Minutely informed of all that had passed at the Giants' Castle, I had -no sooner resolved to make Albert travel, and determined on the road -that he should adopt, than I hurried to place myself on his route. This -was the epoch of the travels of which I spoke to you just now, and -Marcus accompanied me in many of them. The governor and servants who -were with him had never known me, and I was not afraid to see them. So -anxious was I to meet my son, that I had much difficulty to restrain -myself as I travelled behind him, for some hours, until he reached -Venice, where he was to make his first halt. I was resolved, though, not -to show myself to him without a kind of mysterious solemnity, for my -object was not only the gratification of the maternal instinct which -impelled me to his arms, but a more serious purpose, really a mother's -duty. I wished to wrest Albert from the narrow superstitions in which it -had been sought to enwrap him. I wished to take possession of his -imagination, of his confidence, of his mind, and whole soul. I thought -him a fervent Catholic, and at that time he was, in appearance. He -practised regularly all the external obligations of the Roman creed. The -persons who had informed Albert of these details, were ignorant of what -passed in my son's heart. His father and aunt were scarcely better -informed. They found nothing but a savage strictness to shelter, and -blamed merely his too strict and rigid manner of interpreting the bible. -They did not understand that in his rigid logic and loyal candor my noble -child, devoted to the practice of true <i>Christianity</i>, had already -become a passionate and incorrigible heretic. I was rather afraid of the -Jesuit tutor who was with him. I was afraid that I could not approach -him without being observed and annoyed by a fanatical Argus. I soon -learned that the base Abbé ***** did not even attend to his health, and -that Albert, neglected by the valets, of whom he was unwilling to -require anything, lived almost alone and uncontrolled in the cities he -had visited. I observed his motions with great anxiety. Lodging at -Venice in the same hotel with him, I frequently met him, alone and -musing, on the stairway, in the galleries, and on <i>quais.</i> Ah! you -cannot imagine how my heart beat at his approach—how my bosom heaved, -and what torrents of tears escaped from my terrified yet delighted eyes! -To me he seemed so handsome, so noble, and alas! so sad, for he was all -on earth that I was permitted to love. I followed him with precaution. -Night came, and he entered the church of Saints John and Paul, an -austere basilica filled with tombs, and with which you are doubtless -acquainted. Albert knelt in a corner. I glided near him and placed -myself behind a tomb. The church was deserted, and the darkness became -every moment more intense. Albert was motionless as a statue. He seemed -rather to be enwrapped in reverie than prayer. The lamp of the sanctuary -but feebly lighted up his features. He was pale and I was terrified. His -fixed eye, his half-open lips, an indescribable air of desperation in -his features, crushed my heart. I trembled like the oscillating flame of -a lamp. It seemed to me, if I revealed myself to him then, he would fall -dead. I remembered what Marcus had said to me of his nervous -susceptibility, and of the danger to such organizations of abrupt -emotions. I left, to avoid yielding to my love. I went to wait for him -under the portico. I had put over my dress, which was itself simple and -dark, a brown cloak, the hood of which concealed my face, and made me -resemble a native of the country. When he came out I involuntarily went -towards him; thinking me a beggar, he took a piece, of gold from his -pocket and handed it to me. Oh! with what pride and gratitude did I -receive this gold. Look! Consuelo: it is a Venetian sequin, and I always -wear it in my bosom like a precious jewel or relic. It has never left me -since the day the hand of my child sanctified it. I could not repress my -transport. I seized his hand and bore it to my lips. He withdrew in -terror, for it was bedewed with my tears. 'What are you about, woman?' -said he, in a voice the pure and deep tone of which echoed in the very -bottom of my heart. 'Why thank me for so small a gift? Doubtless you are -very unfortunate, and I have given you very little. How much will -relieve you from suffering permanently? Speak! I wish to console you; I -hope I can.' He then, without looking at it, gave me all the gold he had -in his hands.</p> - -<p>"'You have given me enough, young man,' said I; 'I am satisfied.'</p> - -<p>"'Why, then, do you weep?' said he, observing the sobs which stifled -my voice. 'Do you suffer from a sorrow to which riches cannot administer?'</p> - -<p>"'No,' said I; 'but from gratification and joy.'</p> - -<p>"'Joy!—are these, then, tears of joy? and can they be had for a -piece of gold? Oh! human misery! Woman, take all, I beg you, but do not -weep for joy! Think of your fellows, so poor, so numerous, so degraded and -miserable, and remember, I cannot aid them all.'</p> - -<p>"He left me with a sigh. I did not dare to follow, for fear of betraying -myself. He had left his gold on the pavement, where he let it fall in -his hurry to get rid of me. I picked it up, and placed it in the -poor-box, to fulfil his noble charity. On the next day I saw him again, -and having watched him go into St. Mark's, determined to be more calm -and resolved. We were again alone, in the half obscurity of the church. -He mused long, and all at once I heard him murmur in a deep tone as he -arose—</p> - -<p>"'O, Christ! they crucify thee every day of their lives!'</p> - -<p>"'Yes,' said I, reading half of his thoughts, 'the Pharisees and the -doctors of the laws.'</p> - -<p>"He trembled and was silent for a moment. He then said, in a low tone, -and without turning—</p> - -<p>"'My mother's voice again!'</p> - -<p>"Consuelo, I was near fainting, when I saw that Albert yet maintained in -his heart the instinct of filial divination. The fear, however, of -troubling his reason, which was already so excited, made me pause again. -I went to the porch to wait for him, but when I saw him pass I did not -approach him. He perceived me, however, and shrunk back with a movement -of terror.</p> - -<p>"'Signora,' said he, with hesitation, 'why do you beg to-day? Is it, -then, really a profession, as the pitiless rich say? Have you no family? -Can you be of use to no one, instead of wandering through the churches -at night like a spectre? What I gave yesterday would certainly have kept -you from want to-day. Would you take possession of what belongs to your -brethren?'</p> - -<p>"'I do not beg,' I said; 'I placed your alms in the poor-box, with the -exception of one sequin I kept for love of you.'</p> - -<p>"'Who, then, are you?' said he, taking hold of my arm. 'Your voice -reaches the very depth of my heart. It seems to me that I know you. Show -me your face. But no, I do not wish to see it. It terrifies me!'</p> - -<p>"'Oh, Albert!' said I, forgetting myself and all prudence; 'so you also -fear me.'</p> - -<p>"He trembled from head to foot, and murmured with an expression of -terror and religious respect—</p> - -<p>"'Yes—it is my mother! My mother's voice!'</p> - -<p>"'I do not know your mother,' said I, terrified at my imprudence. 'I -know your name only because it is so familiar to every pauper. Why do I -terrify you? Is your mother dead?'</p> - -<p>"'They say so; but I know better,' said he. 'She lives.'</p> - -<p>"'Where?'</p> - -<p>"'In my heart!—in my mind!—continually and eternally! I have -dreamed of her voice and features a hundred—a thousand times!'</p> - -<p>"I was terrified and charmed at his mysterious love of me. I saw in -him, however, unmistakable signs of craziness. To soothe him I overcame my -emotion.</p> - -<p>"'Albert,' I said, 'I knew your mother. I was her friend. I was -requested by her to speak to you some day, when you were old enough to -comprehend what I had to say. I am not what I appear to be. I followed -you yesterday and also to-day for the purpose only of speaking to you. -Listen to me, therefore, calmly, and do not suffer yourself to be -disturbed by vain fancies. Will you go with me beneath those colonades, -which now are deserted, and talk with me? Are you sufficiently calm and -collected for that?'</p> - -<p>"'Were you the friend of my mother?' said he. 'Were you requested to -speak to me? Ah! yes! Speak!—speak! You see I was not mistaken. An -inward voice informed me of all. I saw that something of her existed in -you. No—I am not superstitious. I am not mad. My heart is only much -more alive and accessible than others, in relation to certain things -which they neither understand nor comprehend. This you would know, had -you known my mother. Speak to me, then, of her. Speak to me, with her -mind—with her intellect.'</p> - -<p>"Having thus but very imperfectly succeeded in soothing his emotion, I -took him beneath the arcades, and questioned him about his childhood, -his recollections, the principles which had been instilled in him, and -the ideas he had formed of his mother's opinions. The questions I put -satisfied him that I was well informed of his family affairs, and -capable of understanding the impulses of his heart. How enthusiastically -proud was I, my daughter, to see the deep and ardent love Albert -entertained for me, the faith he had in my piety and virtue, and his -horror of the <i>pious</i> hatred the Catholics of Riesenberg had for my -memory! I rejoiced in the purity of his soul, the grandeur of his -religious and patriotic sentiment, and in the many sublime ideas which a -Catholic education had not been able to stifle in him. How great, -however, was the grief, the precocious and incurable sadness which -already crushed his young heart. The same kind of sorrows, that had so -soon crushed him has broken my heart. Albert fancied himself a Catholic. -He did not dare to place himself in open revolt against the Catholic -Church, and felt a necessity of believing in the established church. -Better informed and more thoughtful than his age suggested (he was only -twenty), he had reflected much on the long and sad histories of -heresies, and could not make up his mind to find fault with certain -doctrines. Forced also to think that the innovators, so libelled by -ecclesiastical historians, had gone far astray, he floated in a sea of -uncertainty, sometimes condemning revolt, and anon finding fault with -tyranny. He could decide on nothing, except that good men, in their -attempts at reform, had gone astray, and that others had sullied the -sanctuary they sought to defend.</p> - -<p>"It became necessary to enlighten his mind, to combat the excesses of -both armies, to teach him to embrace boldly the defence of the -innovators, while he deplored their errors—to exhort him to abandon -the party of cunning, violence, and timidity, while he recognised the -excellence of a certain mission in remote time. I had no difficulty in -enlightening him. He had already foreseen, divined, and resolved on all -before I spoke to him. His instincts had fulfilled all wished. When he -understood me, a grief more overwhelming than uncertainty took -possession of his soul. The truth was unknown in the world. The law of -God enlightened no sanctuary, no people, no caste. No school practised -Christian virtue, nor sought to elevate and demonstrate it. Protestants -as well as Catholics had abandoned the divine ways. The law of the -stronger existed everywhere, and Christ was crucified every day on -altars erected by men. This sad though interesting conversation consumed -the whole night. The clocks slowly struck the hours without Albert's -thinking of counting them. I felt alarmed at his power of intellectual -tension, as it made me aware of his great passion for strife and -capacity for sorrow. I admired the manly pride and the lacerated -expression of my noble and unfortunate child. I felt myself reproduced -in him. I fancied that I read the story of my past life, and in him -resumed the history of the long tortures of my own heart and brain. I -saw in his broad brow, which was lighted up by the moon, the useless -external and the moral beauty of my own lonely and unappreciated youth. -I wept at the same time for him and for myself. His tears were long and -painful. I did not dare to unfold to him the secrets of our conspiracy. -I feared that at first he would not understand them, and that he would -reject them as vain and idle. Uneasy at seeing him walking up and down -for so long a time, I promised to show him a place of safety, if he -would consent to wait, and prepare himself for certain revelations. I -gently excited his imagination by the hope of a new confidence, and took -him to an hotel, where we both supped. I did not give him the promised -confidence for some days, fearing an over excitement of his mental -faculties.</p> - -<p>"Just as he was about to quit me, it struck him to ask me who I was. 'I -cannot tell you,' said I; 'my name is assumed, and I have reasons to -conceal it. Speak of me to no one.'</p> - -<p>"He asked no other question, and seemed satisfied with my answer. His -delicate reserve, however, was accompanied by another sentiment, strange -as his character and sombre as his mental habits. He told me long -afterwards that he had always taken me for the soul of his mother, -appearing under a real form, with circumstances the vulgar could not -understand, and which were really supernatural. Thus, in spite of all I -could do, Albert would recognise me. He preferred rather to invent a -fantastic world than to doubt my presence, and I could not deceive the -victorious instinct of his heart. All my efforts to repress his -excitement had no other effect than to fix him in a kind of calm -delirium, which had no confidant nor opposer, not even in myself, its -object. He submitted religiously to the will of the spectre, which -forbade itself to be known or named, yet he would believe himself under -its influence.</p> - -<p>"From this terrible tranquillity—which Albert henceforth bore in -all the wanderings of his imagination, from the sombre and stoical courage -which made him always gaze, without growing pale, at the prodigies -begotten by his imagination—I fell, for a long time, into an unhappy -error. I was not aware of the strange idea he had formed relative to my -apparition. I thought that he looked on me as a mysterious friend of his -dead mother and of his own youth. I was amazed, it is true, at the -little curiosity he exhibited, and the small surprise he displayed at my -constant care. This blind respect, this delicate submission, this -absence of uneasiness about the realities of life, appeared so perfectly -in consonance with his retired, dreaming, and meditative character, that -I did not think proper to account for or examine into its secret causes. -While thus toiling to fortify his mind against the excess of his -enthusiasm, I aided, ignorantly, in the development of that kind of -madness which was at once so sublime and deplorable, and to which he was -so long a victim.</p> - -<p>"Gradually, after many conversations, of which there were neither -confidants nor witnesses, I explained to him the doctrines of which our -order is the depository and the secret diffuser. I initiated him into -our plan of general reform. At Rome, in the caverns appropriated to our -mysteries, Marcus introduced and had him admitted to the first grades of -masonry, reserving to himself the right of revealing to him the meaning -of the strange and fantastic signs, the interpretation of which is so -easily changed and adapted to the courage and intelligence of the -candidates. For six years, I accompanied my son in all his journeys, -always leaving cities a day after, and coming to them when he had fixed -himself. I took care always to reside at some distance from him, and did -not suffer either his tutor or valets to see me; he taking care also to -change them frequently, and to keep them always at a distance. I once -asked him if he was not surprised to find me everywhere?</p> - -<p>"'Oh, no,' said he, 'I am well aware that you will always follow me.'</p> - -<p>"When I sought to explain to him the motive of this confidence, he -said:</p> - -<p>"'My mother bade you restore me to life; and you know, did you now -desert me, I would die.'</p> - -<p>"He always spoke in an exaggerated and inspired manner, and I too, from -talking with him, acquired the same style. Marcus often reproached me—I -likewise reproached myself—with having fed the internal flame which -consumed Albert. Marcus wished to give him more positive instruction, -and to use a more palpable logic to him; at other times, however, I was -satisfied, that but for the manner in which I counselled him, this flame -would have consumed him more rapidly and certainly. My other children -had exhibited the same disposition to enthusiasm. Their souls had been -repressed, and they had toiled to stifle them—like torches, the -brilliancy of which was dangerous. They yielded, because they had no -power to resist. But for my breath, which revived and gave air to the -sacred spark, Albert, too, had gone to join his brethren; as I, but for -Marcus, would have died without having truly lived. I also sought to -distract his soul by a constant aspiration after the ideal. I advised -him, I forced him to rigid study, and he obeyed me strictly and -conscientiously. He studied the natural sciences, the languages of the -different countries through which he travelled; he read a great deal, -cultivated the arts even, and, without any master, devoted himself to -music. All this was a mere amusement, a repose to his vast and powerful -mind. A stranger to all the intoxications of his age, opposed to the -world and all its vanities, he lived in perfect seclusion, and -obstinately resisted the tutor, persisting in refusing to enter any -saloon or be introduced at any court. With difficulty would he consent -to see, at two or three capitals, the oldest and most affectionate -friends of his father. When with them, he was grave and dignified as -possible, giving no one reason to complain; but he was intimate only -with a few adepts of our order, to whom Marcus especially introduced -him. He requested us not to ask him to enlist with the <i>propaganda</i>, -until he became aware that the gift of suasion had arisen in his heart, -and he often declared frankly that he had it not, because as yet he did -not entertain implicit faith in our means. He passed from grade to -grade, like a docile pupil, yet he examined everything with a severe -logic and scrupulous truth, reserving always as he told me, the right to -propose reforms and ameliorations to us, when he should feel -sufficiently enlightened to yield to personal inspiration. Until then, -he wished to be humble, patient, and submissive to the established forms -of our secret society. Plunged in study and meditation, he made his -tutor respect the nervousness of his character and the coldness of his -behavior. The abbé then learned to look on him as a sad pedant, and to -have as little as possible to do with him, in order to have more liberty -to participate in the intrigues of his order. Albert lived long in -France and England without him: he was often a hundred leagues from him, -and only met him when my son wished to visit another country; often they -did not travel together. At such times I could see Albert as often as I -pleased, and his devoted tenderness paid me five-fold for the care I -took of him. My health became better, as often happens to constitutions -thoroughly shaken: I became so used to sickness, that I did not even -suffer from it. Fatigue, late hours, long conversations, harassing -journeys, instead of oppressing, maintained a slow and tedious fever, -which had now become my normal state. Feeble and trembling as you see -me, there are no journeys and no fatigue that I cannot bear better than -you, in the very flower of your youth. Agitation has become my element, -and I find rest as I hurry on, precisely as professional couriers have -learned to sleep while their horses are at the gallop.</p> - -<p>"The experience of what a powerful and energetic mind, though in a -diseased body, can accomplish, made me have more confidence in the power -of Albert. I became used to see him sometimes weary and crushed, and -again animated and excited, as I was. Often we bore together the same -physical pain, the result of the same moral emotion. Never, perhaps, was -our intimacy more gentle and close, than when the same fever burned in -our veins, and the same excitement confounded our feeble sighs, now many -times has it seemed that we were one being! How many times have we -broken silence merely to address to each other the same words! How -often, agitated and crushed in different manners, have we, by a clasp of -the hand, communicated languor or agitation to each other! How much good -and evil have we known together! Oh, my son! my only passion! flesh of -my flesh, and bone of my bone! what tempests have we passed through, -covered by the same celestial ægis! what devastation have we escaped by -clinging to each other, and by pronouncing the same formula of safety, -love, truth, and justice!</p> - -<p>"We were in Poland, on the frontiers of Turkey, and Albert, having -passed through all the initiations of masonry, and the superior grades -of the society which forms the link of the chain next to our own, was -about to go to that part of Germany where we are, in order that he might -be introduced to the secret bench of the Invisibles. Count Christian -just then sent for him. This was a thunderbolt to me. My son, in spite -of all the care I had taken to keep him from forgetting my family, loved -it only as a tender recollection of the past. He did not understand the -possibility of living any longer with it. It did not enter, however, -into our minds to resist this order, dictated with cold dignity, and -with confidence in paternal authority, as it is interpreted in the -Catholic and noble families of our country. Albert prepared to leave -me—he knew not for how long a time, yet without fancying that he -would not see me shortly, and unite with Marcus the ties of our -association. Albert had a small idea of time, and still less an -appreciation of the material events of life.</p> - -<p>"'Do we part?' said he, when he saw me weep. 'We cannot. Often as I -have called on you from the depths of my heart, you have come. I will call -you again.'</p> - -<p>"'Albert—Albert—I cannot accompany you where you go -now.'</p> - -<p>"He grew pale and clung to me like a terrified child. The time was come -to reveal my secret. 'I am not the soul of your mother,' said I, after a -brief preamble, 'but <i>your mother!</i>"</p> - -<p>"'Why do you say that?' said he, with a strange smile. 'Think you I did -not know it? Are we not alike? Have I not seen your portrait at the -Giants' Castle? Have I forgotten you? Besides, have I not always seen -and known you?'</p> - -<p>"'And you were not surprised to see me alive, when all thought me buried -at the Giants' Castle?'</p> - -<p>"'No,' said he, 'I was not surprised. I was too happy. God has -miraculous power, and men need not be amazed at it.'</p> - -<p>"The strange child had more difficulty in understanding the terrible -realities of my story, than the miracle he had fancied. He had believed -in my resurrection, as in that of Christ. He had fancied my doctrines -about the transmission of life to be literal, and believed in it to the -fullest sense. That is to say, he was not amazed to see me preserve the -certainty of my identity, after having laid aside one body to deck me -with another. I am not certain, even, if I satisfied him that my life -had not been interrupted by my fainting, and that my mortal envelope had -not remained in the tomb. He listened to me with a wondering and yet -excited physiognomy, as if he had heard me speak other words than those -I had uttered. Something inexplicable at that moment passed in his mind. -A terrible link yet retained Albert on the brink of the abyss. Real life -could not animate him, until he had passed through that crisis from which -I had been so miraculously rescued—this apparent death, which in -him was to be the last effort of eternity, struggling against the hold -of time. My heart seemed ready to burst as I left him. A painful -presentiment vaguely informed me that he was about to enter that phase -which might almost be called climacteric, which had so violently shaken -my own existence, and that the time was not far distant when Albert -would either be annihilated or renewed. I had observed that he had a -tendency to catalepsy. He had under my observation accesses of -slumber—long, deep, and terrible. His respiration was weak, his pulse -so feeble that I never ceased to write or say to Marcus, 'Let us never -bury Albert, or else let us never be afraid to open his tomb.' -Unfortunately for us, Marcus could not go to the Giants' Castle, being -excluded from the territories of the Empire. He had been deeply -compromised by an insurrection at Prague; to which, indeed, his -influence had not been foreign. He had by flight only escaped from the -stern Austrian laws. A prey to uneasiness, I came hither. Albert had -promised to write to me every day, and I resolved also, as soon as I -failed to receive a letter, to go to Bohemia, and appear at Riesenberg -in spite of all difficulties.</p> - -<p>"The grief he felt at our separation was not less than mine. He did not -understand what was going on. He did not seem to believe me. When, -however, he had gone beneath that roof, the very air of which appears to -be a poison to the burning hearts of the descendants of Ziska, he -received a terrible shock. He hurried to the room I had always occupied. -He called me, and not seeing me come, became persuaded that I had died -again, and would not be restored to him during the present life. Thus, -at least, he explained to me what passed at that fatal moment, when his -reason was shaken so violently that it did not recover for years. He -looked at my picture for a long time. After all, a portrait is but an -imperfect resemblance, and the peculiar sentiment the artist seizes and -preserves is always inferior to that entertained by those who love us -ardently; no likeness can please them; they are alternately afflicted -and offended. Albert, when he compared this representation of my youth -and beauty, did not recognise his dear old mother in the grey hair which -seemed so venerable, and the paleness which appealed to his heart. He -hurried in terror from the portrait, and met his relations, sombre, -silent and afraid. He went to my tomb, and was attacked with vertigo and -terror. To him the idea of death appeared monstrous; yet to console him -his father had said I was there, and that he must kneel and pray for the -repose of my soul.</p> - -<p>"'Repose?' said Albert, without reflection, 'Repose of the soul! My -mother's soul was not formed for such annihilation; neither was mine. We -will neither of us rest in the grave. Never—never! This Catholic -cavern, these sealed sepulchres, this desertion of life, this divorce of -heaven and earth, body and soul, horrifies me!'"</p> - -<p>By similar conversation Albert began to fill the timid and simple heart -of his father with terror. His words were reported to the chaplain to be -explained. This feeble man saw nothing in it but the outbreak of a soul -doomed to eternal damnation. The superstitions fear which was diffused -in the minds of all around Albert, the efforts of the family to lead him -to return to the Catholic faith, tortured him, and his excitement -assumed the unhealthy character you have seen in him. His ideas became -confounded; and although he had seen evidences of my existence, he -forgot that he had known me alive, and I seemed ever a fugitive spectre -ready to abandon him. His fancy evoked this spectre, and inspired him -with incoherent speeches and painful cries. When he became more calm, -his reason was, as it were, veiled in a cloud. He had forgotten recent -things, and was satisfied he had been dreaming for eight years, or -rather those eight years of happiness and life seemed to be the creation -of an hour of slumber.</p> - -<p>"Receiving no letter, I was about to hurry to him. Marcus retained me. -He said the post-office department intercepted our letters, or that the -Rudolstadts suppressed them. My son was represented by his family, calm, -well and happy. You know how sedulously his situation was concealed, and -with what success, for a long time.</p> - -<p>"In his travels Albert had known young Trenck, and was bound to him by -the warmest friendship. Trenck, loved by the Princess of Prussia and -persecuted by Frederick, wrote to my son of his joys and misfortunes. He -requested him to come to Dresden to give him the benefit of his aid and -arm. Albert made this journey, and no sooner had he left Riesenberg than -he regained memory and mind. Trenck met my son amid the neophytes of the -Invisibles. There they were made members of a chivalric fraternity. -Having learned from Marcus of their intended interview, I hurried to -Dresden, followed him to Prussia, where he introduced himself into the -Royal Palace in disguise, to serve Trenck's love and fulfil a mission -confided to him by the Invisibles. Marcus thought this activity and the -knowledge of a useful and generous <i>rôle</i> might rescue Albert from his -dangerous melancholy. He was right, for while among us Albert again -became attached to life. Marcus, on his return, wished to bring and keep -him for some time here, amid the real chiefs of the order. He was -convinced that by breathing the true vital atmosphere of a superior -soul, Albert would recover the lucidness of his mind. On the route he -met the impostor Cagliostro, and was imprudently initiated by the -rose-crosses in some of their mysteries. Albert, who long had received -the <i>rose-cross</i>, now passed that grade and presided over their -mysteries as Grand-Master. He then saw what, as yet, he had but a -presentiment of. He saw the various elements of which masonic -associations are composed, and distinguished the error, folly, emptiness -and vanity which filled these sanctuaries, already a prey to the vices -of the century. Cagliostro, by means of his police, which was ever -watchful for the petty secrets of the world, which he feigned were the -revelations of a familiar demon, by means of his captious eloquence, -which parodied the great revolutionary inspirations, by the surprising -tricks which enabled him to evoke shadows, and by his intrigues, -horrified the noble adept. The credulity of the world, the low -superstition of a large number of freemasons, the shameless cupidity -excited by promises of the philosopher's stone, and so many other -miseries of the age we live in had kindled a fire in his heart. Amid his -retreat and study he had not distinctly understood the human race. He -was not prepared to contend with all its bad instincts. He could not -suffer such misery. He wished all charlatans and sorcerers to be -unmasked and expelled shamelessly from our temples. He was aware that -the degrading association of Cagliostro must be submitted to, because it -was too late to get rid of him, and because his anger might deprive them -of many estimable friends, and that, flattered by their protection and -an appearance of confidence, he might do real service to a cause with -which he was in fact unacquainted.</p> - -<p>"Albert became indignant, and uttered the anathema of a firm and ardent -mind, against our enterprise. He foretold that we would fail, because we -had mixed too much alloy with the golden chain. He left us, saying, that -he would reflect on the things the necessity of which we strove to make -him understand, in relation to the terrible necessities of conspiracies, -and that he would come to ask for baptism when his poignant doubts were -relieved. Alas! we did not know the character of his reflections at -Riesenberg. He did not tell us; perhaps when their bitterness was -passed, he did not remember them. He passed a year there, in alternate -calm and madness, exuberant power and painful decay. He wrote sometimes, -without mentioning his sorrows and troubles. He bitterly opposed our -political course. He wished us thenceforth not to seek to work in the -shade and deceive men, to make them swallow the cup of regeneration. -'Cast aside your black masks,' said he; 'leave your caverns, efface from -the front of your temple the word <i>mystery</i>, which you borrowed from -the Roman church, and which ill befits the coming age. Do you not see you -are imitators of the Jesuits? No, I cannot toil with you. It is to look -for life amid carcases. Show yourself by daylight. Do not lose a -precious moment for the organization of your army. Rely on its -enthusiasm, on the sympathy of the people, and the outbursts of generous -instincts. An army, even, becomes corrupted in repose, and a <i>ruse</i>, -employed for concealment also deprives us of the power and activity -required for the strife. Albert was right in theory, but the time was -not come to put it in action. That time, perhaps, is yet far distant.</p> - -<p>"You at last came to Riesenberg, and found him in the greatest distress. -You know, or rather you do not know, what influence you exerted on him. -You made him forget all but yourself—you gave him, as it were, a new -life and death.</p> - -<p>"When he fancied that all between you and him was over, all his power -abandoned him, and he suffered himself to waste away. Until then, I was -not aware of the true nature and intensity of his suffering. The -correspondent of Marcus said, the Giants' Castle became more and more -closed to profane eyes, that Albert never left it, and passed with the -majority of persons as a monomaniac; that the poor, nevertheless, loved -and blessed him, and that some persons of superior mind having seen him, -on their departure did homage to his eloquence, his lofty wisdom and his -vast ideas. At last I heard that Supperville had been sent for, and I -hurried to Riesenberg, in spite of Marcus's protests. Being prepared to -risk all, Marcus seeing me resolved, determined to accompany me. We -reached the walls of the castle in the disguise of beggars. For -twenty-seven years I had not been seen—Marcus had been away ten. They -gave us alms and drove us away. We met a friend and unexpected savior in -poor Zdenko. He treated us as brothers, because he knew how dear we were -to Albert. We knew how to talk to him in the language that pleased his -enthusiasm, and revealed to him the secrets of the mortal grief of his -friend. Zdenko was not the only madman by whom our life has been -menaced. Oppressed and downcast, he came as we did to the gate of the -castle, to ask news of Albert, and, like us, he was repelled with vain -words which were most distressing to our anguish. By a strange -coincidence with the visions of Albert, Zdenko said he had known me; I -had appeared to him in his dreams and ecstasies, and without being able -to account for it, abandoned his will fully to me. 'Woman,' said he, 'I -do not know your name, but you are the good angel of my Podiebrad. I -have often seen him draw your face on paper, and heard him describe your -voice, look, and manner, when he was well, when heaven opened before -him, and he saw around his bed persons who are, as men say, no more.' -Far from opposing Zdenko, I encouraged him; I flattered his illusion, -and induced him to receive us in the Cavern of Tears.</p> - -<p>"When I saw this underground abode, and learned that my son had lived -weeks there, aye, even months, unknown to the whole world, I saw how sad -must be his thoughts. I saw a tomb to which Zdenko seemed to pay a kind -of worship, and not without great difficulty could I learn its -destination. It was the greatest secret of Albert and Zdenko, and their -chief mystery. 'Alas!' said the madman, 'there we buried Wanda of -Prachalitz, the mother of my Albert. She would not remain in that chapel -where they had fastened her down in stone. Her bones trembled and shook, -and those (he pointed to the ossuary of the Taborites, near the spring -in the cavern) reproached us for not placing hers with them. We went to -that sacred tomb, which we brought hither, and every day covered it with -flowers and kisses.' Terrified at this circumstance, the consequences of -which might lead to the discovery of our secret, Marcus questioned -Zdenko, and ascertained that the coffin had been brought hither without -being opened. Albert, however, had been sick, and so far astray that he -could not remember my being alive, and persisted in treating me as dead. -Was not this through a dream of Zdenko? I could not believe my ears. -'Oh! my friend,' said I to Marcus, 'if the light of reason be thus -extinguished forever, may God grant him the boon of death!'</p> - -<p>"Having thus possessed myself of all Zdenko's secrets, we knew that he -could pass through the underground galleries and unknown passages into -the Giants' Castle. We followed him one night, and waited at the -entrance of the cistern until he had glided into the house. He returned -laughing and singing, to tell us that Albert was cured and asleep, and -that they had dressed him in his robes and coronet. I fell as if I were -stricken by lightning, for I knew that Albert was dead. Thenceforth, I -was insensible, and I found myself, when I awoke, in a burning fever. I -lay on bear skins and dry leaves in the underground room Albert had -inhabited in the Schreckenstein. Zdenko and Marcus watched me -alternately. The one said, with an air of pride, that his Podiebrad was -cured, and soon would come to see me: the other, pale and sad, observed, -'Perhaps all is not lost; let us not abandon the hope of such a miracle -as rescued you from the grave.' I did not understand any longer: I was -delirious, and wished to run, cry, and shout. I could not, however, and -the desolate Marcus, seeing me in such a state, had neither time nor -disposition to attend to anything serious. All his mind and thoughts -were occupied by an anxiety which was most terrible. At last, one night, -the third of my attack, I became calm, and regained my strength. I tried -to collect my ideas, and arose; I was alone in the cave which was dimly -lighted by a solitary sepulchral lamp. I wished to go out—where were -Marcus and Zdenko? Memory returned; I uttered a cry, which the icy -vaults echoed back so lugubriously, that cold perspiration streamed down -my brow, which was damp as the dew of the grave. Again I fancied that I -was buried alive. What had passed? What was going on? I fell on my -knees, and wrung my hands in despair. I called furiously on Albert. At -last, I heard slow and irregular steps, as if persons with a burden, -approach. A dog barked, and having preceded them, scratched at the door. -It was opened, and I saw Zdenko and Marcus bearing the stiff, discolored -body of Albert, for to all appearance he was dead. His dog Cynabre -followed and licked his hands, which hung loosely by his side. Zdenko -sang sadly an improvised song, 'Come, sleep on the bosom of your mother, -poor friend, who have been so long without repose. Sleep until dawn, -when we will awaken you to see the sun rise.'</p> - -<p>"I rushed to my son.</p> - -<p>"'He is not dead,' said I. 'O Marcus, you have saved him!—have -you not? He is not dead? Will he recover?'</p> - -<p>"'Madame,' said he, 'do not flatter yourself,'—and he spake with -a strange firmness. 'I know not what may be the result. Take courage, -however, whatever may betide. Help me, and forget yourself.'</p> - -<p>"I need not tell you what care we took to restore Albert. Thank Heaven -there was a stove in the room, at which we warmed him.</p> - -<p>"'See,' said I to Marcus, 'his hands are warm.'</p> - -<p>"'Marble may be heated,' was his unpromising reply. 'That is not life. -His heart is inert as a stone.'</p> - -<p>"Terrible hours rolled by in this expectation and despair. Marcus knelt -with his ear close to my son's heart. His face betokened sad distress -when he found there was not the slightest index of life. Exhausted and -trembling, I dared not say one word or ask one question. I examined -Marcus's terrible brow. I was at one time afraid to look at him, as I -fancied I had read the first sentence.</p> - -<p>"Zdenko played with Cynabre in a corner, and continued to sing. He -sometimes paused to tell us that we annoyed Albert; that we must let him -sleep; that he had seen him so for weeks together; and that he would -awaken of himself. Marcus suffered greatly from this assurance, in which -he could not confide. I had faith in it, and was inspired by it. The -madman had a celestial inspiration, an angelic certainty of the truth. -At length I saw an involuntary movement in Marcus's iron face. His -corrugated brow distended, his hand trembled, as he prepared himself for -a new act of courage. He sighed deeply, withdrew his ear, and placed his -hand over my son's heart, which perhaps beat. He tried to speak, but -restrained himself, for fear, it may be, of the chimerical joy it would -inspire me with, leaned forward again, and suddenly rising and stepping -back, fell prostrate, as if he were dying.</p> - -<p>"'No more hope?' said I, tearing my hair.</p> - -<p>"'Wanda,' said Marcus in a stifled voice, 'your son is alive!'</p> - -<p>"Exhausted by the effort of his attention and solicitude, my stoical -friend lay overpowered by the side of Zdenko!"</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XXXV">CHAPTER XXXV</a></h4> - - -<p>Overcome by the emotion of such recollections, the Countess Wanda, -after a brief silence, resumed her story.</p> - -<p>"We passed several days in the cavern, and my son recovered strength and -activity with wonderful rapidity. Marcus, surprised at discovering the -trace of no organic injury, or great change in the vital system, was -alarmed at his profound silence and his apparent or real indifference to -our transports. Albert had completely lost his memory. Wrapped in deep -study, he in vain made silent efforts to understand what was passing -around him. I was not so impatient as Marcus to see him regain the -poignant recollection of his love, for I knew well that sorrow was the -only cause of his disease, and of the catastrophe which had resulted -from it. Marcus himself said that the effacing of the past alone would -be the means of his regaining strength. His body recovered quickly at -the expense of his mind, which was giving way rapidly beneath the -melancholy effort of his thoughts.</p> - -<p>"'He lives, and certainly will live,' said he; 'but will not his mind be -obscured? Let us leave this cavern as soon as possible; air, sunlight, -and exercise will doubtless awaken him from his mental slumber. Let us, -above all things, abandon the false and impassive life which has killed -him: let us leave this family and its society, which crushes his natural -impulses. We will take him among persons who will sympathise with him, -and in company with them his soul will recover its vigor.'</p> - -<p>"Could I hesitate? Wandering leisurely towards evening around the -Schreckenstein, where I pretended to ask charity, I learned that Count -Christian had relapsed into a kind of dotage. He had not known of his -son's return, and the prospect of his father's death would certainly -have killed Albert. Was it, then, necessary to restore him to his old -aunt, to the insane chaplain and brutal uncle, who had made his life and -his mental death so painful and sad?</p> - -<p>"'Let us fly with him,' said I to Marcus. 'Let him not witness his -father's agony, nor that terrible spectacle of Catholic idolatry which -ever surrounds the bed of death. My heart breaks when I think that my -husband—who did not understand me, but whose simple virtues I -venerate, and whom I have as religiously respected since I left him as I -did before—will pass away without exchanging a mutual pardon. Since -that must be the case—since the reappearance of myself and my child -would be either useless or injurious to him, let us go. Do not let us -restore to that sepulchral palace what we have wrested from death, and to -whom hope and life now unfold a magnificent career. Ah! let us implicitly -obey the impulse which brought us hither. Let us rescue Albert from the -prison-house of false duties, created by rank and riches. Those duties -to him will always be crimes; and if he persists in discharging them, -for the purpose of gratifying the relations whom death and age rapidly -claim, he will himself probably be the first to die. I know what I -suffered from the slavery of thought, in that mortal and incessant -contradiction between the soul and positive life—between principles, -instincts, and compulsory habits. I see he has travelled the same path, -and imbibed the same poisons. Let us take him away then, and if he -choose to contradict us at some future day, can he not do so? If his -father's life be prolonged, and if his mental health permit, will it not -always be possible for him to return and console the declining years of -Count Christian by his presence and his love?'</p> - -<p>"'That will be difficult,' said Marcus. 'I see in the future terrible -obstacles, if Albert should wish to annul his divorce from society, the -world, and his family.'</p> - -<p>"'Why should Albert do so? His family will perhaps become extinct, -before he regains the use of his memory: and whatever name, honors, or -wealth he may attain in the world, I know what he will think as soon as -he returns to his senses. Heaven grant that day may borne soon. Our most -important task is to place him in such a position that his cure may be -possible.'</p> - -<p>"We left the cavern by night, as soon as Albert was able to sustain -himself. At a short distance from the castle we placed him on horseback, -and reached the frontier, which is at this place very near, as you know, -and where he found more suitable means of transportation. The numerous -affiliations of our order with the masonic fraternity procured for us -the means of travelling all through Germany, without being recognised or -subjected to the scrutiny of the police. Bohemia, in consequence of the -recent events at Prague, was the only country where we were in danger. -There the surveillance of the Austrian authorities was very rigid."</p> - -<p>"And what became of Zdenko?" asked the young Countess of Rudolstadt.</p> - -<p>"Zdenko nearly ruined us by his obstinate refusal to permit us to go, -or, at least, to part with Albert, whom he would not suffer to leave -him, and would not follow. He persisted in thinking Albert could live -nowhere but in the sad Schreckenstein. 'Nowhere else,' said he, 'is my -Podiebrad calm. In other places they torment, and will not let him -sleep. They seek to make him deny our fathers at Mount Tabor, and induce -him to lead a base and disgraceful life. This exasperates him. Leave him -here; I will take good care of him, as I have often done. I will not -disturb his meditations, and when he wishes to be silent I will walk -without making any noise, and keep Cynabre's muzzle within my hands for -two whole hours, to keep him from annoying Podiebrad by licking his -fingers. When he is weary I will sing him the songs he loves, for he -loves my verses, and is the only person who can understand them. Leave -him here. I know what suits him better than you, and when you see him -again, he will be playing the violin, or planting the cypress branches, -which I will cut in the forest, around the grave of his beloved mother. -I will feed him well; I know all the cabins, and no one ever refuses -bread, milk, or fruits to good old Zdenko. The poor peasants of the -Boehmer-wald, though they do not know it, have long fed their noble -master, the rich Podiebrad. Albert does not like feasts, where people -eat flesh, but prefers a life of innocence and simplicity. He does not -wish to see the sun, but prefers the moonbeams, glancing through the -woods in savage places where our good friends, the Zingari, camp at -night. They are the children of the Lord, and know neither laws nor -riches.'</p> - -<p>"I listened to Zdenko with attention, because his innocent words -revealed to me the details of the life Albert led with him during his -frequent absences in the cavern. 'Do not fear,' said he, 'that I shall -ever reveal to his enemies the secret of his abode. They are so false -and foolish, that they now say, "our child is dead, our friend is dead, -and our master is dead." They would not believe he was alive, even if -they were to see him. Besides, do I not reply when, they ask me if I -have seen Count Albert, "he is certainly dead." As I laughed when I said -this, they thought me mad. I spoke thus to mock them, because they -think, or seem to think him dead. When the people of the castle pretend -to follow, do I not make a thousand windings to throw them out? All the -devices of the hare and partridge are known to me. I know, like them, -how to hide in a furrow, to disappear under the brush, to make a false -track, to jump over a torrent, to hide myself while they pass by, and, -like a will-o'-wisp, to lead them astray in the ponds and morasses. They -call me Zdenko the <i>fool.</i> I am more knave, though, than any of them. -There was never but one girl, a good, sweet girl, who could get the -better of Zdenko. She knew the magic words to soothe his wrath. She had -talismans to overcome all perils and dangers. Her name was Consuelo.'</p> - -<p>"When Zdenko pronounced your name, Albert shuddered lightly, and looked -away. He immediately, however, let his head fall on his breast, and his -memory was not aroused.</p> - -<p>"I tried in vain to soothe this devoted and blind guardian by promising -to restore Albert to Schreckenstein, if he would accompany him to the -place whither we proposed to take him. I did not succeed however; and -when at last, half by persuasion and half by force, we induced him to -suffer my son to leave the cavern, he followed us with tears in his -eyes, and singing sadly, as far as the mines of Cuttemberg. When he -reached this celebrated spot, where Ziska won his great victory over -Sigismund, Zdenko recognised the rocks which marked the frontier, for no -one had explored all the paths of the country more closely than he had -done in his vagabond career. There he paused and said, stamping on the -ground, 'Zdenko will never leave the country where his father's bones -rest. Not long ago, I was exiled and banished by my Podiebrad, for -having menaced the girl he loved, and I passed weeks and months on a -foreign soil. I returned afterwards to my dear forests to see Albert -sleep, for a voice in a dream whispered to me that his anger had passed. -Now, when he does not curse me, you steal him from me. If you do so to -take him to Consuelo, I consent. As for leaving my country now, and -speaking the tongue of my enemies again, as for giving them my hand, and -leaving Schreckenstein deserted and abandoned, I will not. This is too -much. The voices, too, in my dreams have forbid this. Zdenko must live -and die in the land of the Sclaves. He must live and die singing Sclavic -glory and misfortune in the language of his fathers. Adieu! and go. Had -not Albert forbade me to shed human blood, you would not thus take him -from me. He would curse me, though, if I lifted my hand on you, and I -would rather never see than offend him. Do you hear, oh! Podiebrad,' -said he, kissing my son's hand, while the latter looked at and heard but -did not understand him. 'I obey you and go. When you return you will -find the fire kindled, your books in order, your bed made with new -leaves, and your mother's tomb strewed with evergreen leaves. If it be -in the season of flowers, there will be flowers on the bones of our -martyrs near the spring. Adieu, Cynabre.' As he spoke thus with a broken -voice, Zdenko rushed over the rocky ledge which inclined towards -Bohemia, and disappeared like a stag at dawn.</p> - -<p>"I will not describe, dear Consuelo, our anxiety during the first weeks -Albert passed with us. Hidden in the house you now inhabit, he returned -gradually to the kind of life we sought to awake in him with care and -precaution. The first word he spoke was called forth by musical emotion. -Marcus understood that Albert's life was knit to his love of you, and -resolved not to awaken the memory of that love until he should be fit to -inspire in return the same passion. He then inquired minutely after you, -and in a short time ascertained the least details of your past and -present life. Thanks to the wise organization of our order, and the -relations established with other secret societies, a number of neophytes -and adepts, whose functions consist in the scrupulous examination of -persons and things that interest us, nothing can escape our -investigations. The world has no secrets for us. We know how to -penetrate the arcana of politics and the intrigues of courts. Your pure -life, your blameless character, were not difficult to be seen. The Baron -Von Trenck, as soon as he saw that the man you had loved was his friend -Albert, spoke kindly of you. The Count of Saint Germain, one of those -men who apparently are absent-minded as possible, yet who in fact is -most discriminating, this strange visionary, this superior being, who -seems to live only in the past, while nothing that is present escapes -him, furnished us with the most complete information in relation to you. -This was of such a character that henceforth I looked on you as my own -child.</p> - -<p>"When we were sufficiently well informed to act with certainty we sent -for skillful musicians who came beneath the window where we now sit. -Albert was where you are, and leaned against the curtain watching the -sunset. Marcus held one of his hands and I the other. Amid a symphony -composed expressly for the four instruments, in which we had inserted -several of the Bohemian airs Albert sings with such religion and -enthusiasm, we made them play the hymn to the Virgin with which you once -so delighted him—</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">Consuelo de mi alma.</span></p> - - -<p>"At that moment, Albert, who hitherto had exhibited a faint emotion at -our old Bohemian songs, threw himself in my arms, and shedding tears, -said—'My mother!'</p> - -<p>"Marcus put an end to the music, being satisfied with the effect he had -produced. He did not wish to push the first experiment too far. Albert -had seen and recognised me, and had found power to love. A long time yet -passed before his mind recovered its freedom. He had however, no access -of fever. When his mental powers were overtasked, he relapsed into -melancholy silence. His face, though, insensibly assumed a less sad -expression, and by degrees we combatted this taciturn disposition. We -were at last delighted to see this demand for intellectual repose -disappear, and he continued to think, except at his regular hours for -sleep, when he was quiet as other men are. Albert regained a -consciousness of life and love for you and me, for charity and -enthusiasm towards his fellows, and for virtue, faith and the duty of -winning its triumphs. He continued to love you without bitterness and -without regret for all that he had suffered. Notwithstanding, however, -his efforts to reassure us, and to exhibit his courage and self-denial, -we saw that his passion had lost nothing of its intensity. He had merely -acquired more moral power and strength to bear it. We did not seek to -oppose him. Far otherwise. Marcus and I strove to endow him with hope, -and we resolved to inform you of the existence of him for whom you were -mourning, if not in your dress, in your heart. Albert, with generous -resignation, forbade us to do so, refraining from all disposition to -make a sacrifice of your happiness to your sense of duty.</p> - -<p>"His health seemed completely restored, and others than I aided him to -combat his unfortunate passion. Marcus and some of the chiefs of our -order initiated him in the mysteries of our enterprise. He experienced a -serious and melancholy joy in those daring hopes, and, above all, in the -long philosophical discussions, in which, if he did not meet with entire -similarity of opinions between him and his noble friends, he at least -felt himself in contact with every profound and ardent idea of truth. -This aspiration towards the ideal, long repressed and restrained by the -narrow terrors of his family, had, at last, free room to expand, and -this expansion, seconded by noble sympathies, excited even by frank and -genial contradiction, was the vital air in which he could breathe and -act, though a victim to secret suffering. The mind of Albert is -essentially metaphysical: nothing smiles on him in the frivolous life -where egotism seeks its food. He is born for the contemplation of high -truths and the exercise of the most austere virtues. At the same time, -by a perfection of moral beauty which is rare among men, he is gifted -with a soul essentially tender and affectionate. Charity is not enough, -he must love; and this passion extends to all, though he feels the -necessity of concentrating it on some individuals. In devotion he is a -fanatic, yet his virtue is not savage. Love intoxicates, friendship -sways him, and his life is a fruitful and inexhaustible field, divided -between the abstract being he reveres passionately, under the name of -humanity, and the persons he loves. In fine, his sublime heart is a -hearth of love; all noble passions exist there without rivalry, and if -God could be represented under a finite and perishable form, I would -dare assert that the soul of my son is an image of that universal soul -we call the divinity.</p> - -<p>"On that account, a weak human being, infinite in its inspiration -limited and without resources, he had been unable to live with his -parents. Had he not loved them ardently, he would have been able to live -apart from them, healthy and calm, differing from them, but indulging -their harmless blindness. This would, however, have required a certain -coldness, of which he was incapable as I. He could not live isolated in -his mind and heart. He had besought their aid, and appealed in despair -for a community of ideas between him and the beings who were so dear to -him. Therefore was it that, shut up in the iron wall of their Catholic -obstinacy, their social prejudices and their hatred to a religion of -equality, he had broken to pieces as he sighed on their bosoms; he had -dried up like a plant without dew, calling on heaven for rain to endow -him with an existence like those he loved. Weary of suffering alone, -loving alone, weeping and praying alone, he thought he regained life in -you; and when you participated in his ideas, he was calm and reasonable. -Yet you did not reciprocate his sentiments, and your separation could -not but plunge him into an isolation both deeper and more -insurmountable. His faith was perpetually denied and contradicted, and -became a torture too great for human power. Vertigo took possession of -him: unable to mingle the sublime essence of his own soul in others like -it, he died.</p> - -<p>"So soon as he found hearts capable of comprehending and seconding him, -we were amazed at his moderation in discussion, his tolerance, -confidence, and modesty. We had apprehended, from the past, that he -would be stern, self-willed, and exhibit the strong manner of talking, -which, though proper enough in a mind convinced and enthusiastic, would -be dangerous to his progress and detrimental to such an enterprise as -ours. He surprised us by his candor, and charmed us by his behavior. He -who made us better by speaking and talking to us, persuaded himself that -he received what he really gave us. He soon became the object of -boundless veneration, and you must not be surprised that so many persons -toiled for your rescue, for his happiness had become the common object -of all who had approached him, though merely for an instant."</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XXXVI">CHAPTER XXXVI</a></h4> - - -<p>"The cruel destiny of our race, however, was not fulfilled. Albert was -yet to suffer, his heart was yet to bleed for his family, which was -doomed to crush him, while it was innocent of his sufferings. As soon as -he was strong enough to hear the news, we had not concealed from him the -death of his father, which took place soon after his own, (I must use -this phrase to describe that strange event.) Albert had wept for his -father with deep regret: and the certainty that he had not left life to -enter on the nonentity of the paradise or the hell of the Catholic, -inspired him with the hope of a better and more ample life for one who -had been so pure and worthy of reward. He was much more grieved at the -state in which his relatives, Baron Frederick and Wenceslawa, were. He -blamed himself for being happy away from them, and resolved to visit -them and inform them of the secret of his cure and wonderful -resurrection, and to make them as happy as possible. He was not aware of -the disappearance of Amelia, which happened while he was ill, and it had -been carefully hidden from him, as likely to make him unhappy. We had -not thought it right to inform him of it, for we were unable to shelter -my niece from the shame of her deplorable error. When about to seize her -seducer, we were anticipated by the Saxon Rudolstadts. They had caused -Amelia to be arrested in Prussia, where she expected a refuge, and had -placed her in the power of Frederick, who did them the honor to shut up -the poor girl at Spandau. She passed almost a year in strict -confinement, seeing no one, and having reason to think herself happy at -her error being concealed by the jailer monarch."</p> - -<p>"Madame," said Consuelo, "is she there yet?"</p> - -<p>"We are about to release her. Albert and Leverani could not rescue her -when they did you, for she was much more closely watched; her imprudent -attempts to escape, her revolts and temper, having aggravated her -confinement. We have other means than those which won your safety. Our -adepts are everywhere, and some even seek for courtly favor, to be able -to serve us thus! We have obtained for Amelia the patronage of the young -Margravine of Bareith, sister of the King of Prussia, who has requested -and obtained her liberty, promising to take charge of her and be -responsible for her conduct in future. In a few days the young baroness -will be under the protection of the Princess Wilhelmina, whose heart is -as good as her tongue is censorious, and who will be as kind to her as -she was to the Princess Culmbach, another unfortunate creature, withered -in the eyes of the world as Amelia was, and who like her was a victim of -royal prisons.</p> - -<p>"Albert was ignorant, then, of the misfortune of his cousin, when he -resolved to visit his uncle and aunt at the Giants' Castle. He could not -account for the inertia of Baron Frederick, who was able to live, to -hunt, and drink, after so many and so great misfortunes, and for the -passive character of Wenceslawa, who, while she sought to discover -Amelia, took care not to give any <i>éclât</i> to what had happened. We -opposed Albert's plan as much as possible, but he persisted in it, -unknown to us. He set out one night, leaving us a letter, which promised -us a prompt return. His absence was not long, in fact, but it was -pregnant with sorrows.</p> - -<p>"In disguise he entered Bohemia, and found Zdenko alone in the cavern of -the Schreckenstein. He wished thence to write to his kindred and prepare -them for the excitement of his return. He was aware that Amelia was the -most courageous, as well as the most frivolous of the family, and to her -he wished to send his first letter. As he wrote it, and while Zdenko was -out on the mountain, he heard the report of a gun, and a painful cry of -agony. He rushed out, and the first thing he saw was Zdenko, bearing -Cynabre in his arms. To hurry to his poor old dog, without thinking of -concealing his face, was the first act of Albert. As he bore the poor -animal, with a death wound, towards the place known as the 'Monk's -Cave,' he saw an old huntsman hurrying towards him, rapidly as age would -permit, to seize his prey. This was Baron Frederick, who, while hunting -at the dawn of day, had taken Cynabre for some wild beast. He had seen -him through the undergrowth, and as his eye and hand were yet sure, had -wounded him. He had put two balls in his side. All at once he saw -Albert, and fancying that a spectre stood before him, paused in terror. -No longer fearing a real danger, he shrank back to the very verge of a -mountain path, and fell into a ravine, where he was crushed by the -rocks. He died immediately, at the very place where for centuries had -stood the fatal oak of Schreckenstein, known as the <i>Hussite</i>, in -other days the witness and accomplice of terrible catastrophes.</p> - -<p>"Albert saw the baron fall, and left Zdenko, to descend into the ravine. -He then perceived the servants of his uncle, seeking to lift him up, and -filling the air with lamentations, for he gave no sign of life. Albert -hearing these words—'Our poor master is dead; alas! what will our -lady the canoness say?' forgot himself, and shouted and cried aloud.</p> - -<p>"As soon as they saw him, a panic took possession of the credulous -servants. They abandoned the body of their master, and were about to -fly, when old Hans, the most superstitious of all, bade them halt, and -said, making the sign of the cross, 'My friends, it is not our Albert -that stands before us; it is the spirit of the Schreckenstein, who has -taken his form to destroy us all if we be cowards. I saw him distinctly, -and he it was who made our master the baron fall. He would carry his -body away and devour it, for he is a vampire. Be brave, my children; be -brave. They say the devil is a coward. I shall shoot at him in the mean -time. Father,' (he spoke to the chaplain) 'go over the exorcism.' As he -spoke Hans made the sign of the cross again and again, lifted up his -gun, and fired at Albert, while the other servants crowded around the -baron's body. Fortunately Hans was too much terrified and too much -afraid to fire accurately. He acted in a kind of delirium. The ball -hissed by Albert's head, but Hans was the best shot in all the country, -and had he been cool would infallibly have killed my son. Albert stood -irresolute. 'Be brave, lads: be brave.' said Hans, loading his gun. -'Fire at once. You will not kill him, for he is ball-proof, but you will -make him retreat, and we will be able to carry away the Baron -Frederick's body.'</p> - -<p>"Albert, seeing all the guns directed at him, rushed into the thicket, -and unseen descended the declivity of the mountain, and soon by personal -observation became assured of the reality of the dreadful scene. The -crushed and broken body of his unfortunate uncle lay on the bloody -stones. His skull was crushed, and old Hans, in the most lamentable -tone, said to the crowd—'Gather up his brains, and leave nothing on the -rocks, for the vampire's dog will come to lap them up. Yes, yes, there -was a dog—a dog I would have sworn was Cynabre.'</p> - -<p>"'He, though, disappeared after Count Albert's death,' said another, -'and no one has seen him since. He died in some corner or other, and the -dog we saw is a shadow, as also was the vampire that assumed Count -Albert's form. Horrible! It will always be before my eyes. Lord God have -mercy on us, and the soul of the baron, who died unconfessed, in -consequence of the evil spirit's malice.'</p> - -<p>"'Alas! I told him some misfortune would befall him,' said Hans, as he -gathered up the shreds of the baron's garments in his hands, which were -stained with the nobleman's blood. 'He would hunt in this -thrice-accursed place. He thought, because no one ever came hither, all -the game of the forest crowded into it. God knows there never was any -other game here than what, when I was a lad, I saw hanging from the -branches of that oak. Accursed Hussite! tree of perdition. The fire of -heaven has devoured it, but while one root remains in the soil, the -Hussites will come hither to avenge themselves on the Catholics. Well, -get the litter ready, and let us go, for here we are not safe. Ah! -Madame Canoness! poor mistress! what will become of you? Who will dare -first to appear before you, and say as we used to—"The baron has come -back from hunting." Will she say—"Have dinner at once!" Dinner!—a -long time will pass before anyone in the castle will be hungry. Well, this -family is too unhappy. I can account for it, though.'</p> - -<p>"While the body of the baron was placed on a litter, Hans, annoyed by -questions, replied, and, as he did so, he shook his head—'In this -family all were pious and died like Christians, until the day when the -Countess Wanda, on whom may God have mercy, died unconfessed. Count -Albert did not die in a state of grace, and his worthy father suffered -for it. He died unconscious, and here is another who has passed away -without the sacraments. I bet, not even the canoness will have time to -prepare herself. Fortunately for this holy family, she is always in a -state of grace.'</p> - -<p>"Albert heard every word of all this sad conversation, the expression of -true grief in common-place words, and a terrible reflection of the -fanatical horror which both of us excited at Riesenberg. In stupor and -amazement, he saw the sad <i>cortège</i> defile in the distance down the -paths of the ravine, and did not dare to follow it, though he was aware -that properly he should have been the first to bear the sad news to his -old aunt and aid her in her mortal grief. He was sure, though, had he -done so, his apparition would either have killed or crazed her. He -therefore withdrew in despair to the cavern, where Zdenko, who was -ignorant of the most unfortunate accident of the day, was busy in -washing Cynabre's wound. It was too late, however. Cynabre, when he saw -his master return, uttered a cry of pain; in spite of his broken ribs, -he crawled up to him, and died at his feet, after receiving his last -caresses. Four days afterwards Albert rejoined us; he was pale and -overcome by this last shock. He remained many days sad and overcome with -these new sufferings. At last, his tears fell on his bosom. 'I am -accursed among men,' said he, 'and it seems that God seeks to exclude me -from the world, where I should have loved no one. I cannot return to it, -without being the vehicle of terror, death, or madness. All is over. I -will never be able again to see those who took care of my childhood. -These ideas, in relation to the eternal separation of the body and soul, -are so absolute and terrible, that they would prefer to think me chained -forever to the tomb, to seeing my unfortunate countenance. This is a -strange and terrible phase of life. The dead become objects of hatred to -those who loved them most; and if their shadows appear, they seem sent -forth by hell, instead of being angels from heaven. My poor uncle! my -noble father! you to me seemed heretical, as I did to you; yet did you -appear, were I fortunate enough to see your forms as death seized them, -I would welcome them on my knees, I would think they came from the bosom -of God, where souls are <i>retempered</i> and bodies formed anew. I would -utter no horrible formula of dismissal and malediction, no impious -exorcisms of fear and aversion. I would call on you, I would gaze on you -with love, and retain you with me as things sent to aid me. Oh! mother! -all is over. I must to them be dead whether they be living or dead to -me.'</p> - -<p>"Albert had not left the country until he was assured the canoness had -survived this last shock of misfortune. This old woman, as -ill-restrained as I am, lives by sorrow alone. Venerated for her -convictions and her sorrows, she counts, resignedly, the bitter days God -yet requires her to live. In her sorrow, however, she yet maintains a -degree of pride which has survived all her affections. She said not long -ago, to a person who wrote to us: 'If we did not fear death from a sense -of duty, we would yet have to do so for propriety's sake.' This remark -explains all the character of Wenceslawa.</p> - -<p>"Thenceforth Albert abandoned all idea of leaving us, and his courage -seemed to increase at every trial. He seemed even to have overcome his -love, and plunged into philosophy and religion, and was buried in ethics -and revolutionary action. He gave himself up to serious labors; and his -vast mind in this manner assumed a development which was as serene and -magnificent as it had been feverish and fitful when away from us. This -strange man, whose delirium had terrified Catholics, became a light of -wisdom to beings of a superior order. He was initiated into the most -mysterious secrets of the Invisibles, and assumed a rank among the -chiefs of the new church. He gave them advice, which they received with -love and gratitude. The reforms he proposed were consented to, and in -the practice of a militant creed he regained hope and a serenity of soul -which makes heroes and martyrs.</p> - -<p>"We thought he had overcome his love of you, so careful was he to -conceal his struggles and sufferings. One day, however, the -correspondence of our adepts, which it was impossible to conceal, -brought to our sanctuary a sad piece of information. In spite of the -doubt surrounding the report, at Berlin you were looked upon as the -king's mistress, and appearances did not contradict the supposition. -Albert said nothing, and became pale.</p> - -<p>"'My beloved mother,' said he, after being silent a few moments, 'on -this occasion you will suffer me to leave you, without fear. My love -calls me to Berlin: my place is by the side of her who has accepted my -love, and whom I love. I pretend to no right over her. If she be -intoxicated by the sad honor attributed to her, I will use no authority -to make her renounce it; but if she be, as I suspect, surrounded by -snares and dangers, I will save her.'</p> - -<p>"'Pause, Albert,' said I, 'and dread the influence of that fatal passion -which has already injured you so deeply. The evil which will result from -it is beyond your influence. I see that now you exist merely in the -power of your virtue and your love. If this love perish, will virtue -suffice?'</p> - -<p>"'And why should it perish?' said he, enthusiastically. 'Do you think -she has ceased to be worthy of me?'</p> - -<p>"'If she be, Albert, what would you do?'</p> - -<p>"With a smile on his pale lips, and a proud glance, such as were always -enkindled by his sad and enthusiastic ideas—</p> - -<p>"'If so, I would continue to love her; for to me the past is not a dream -that is effaced, and you know I have often so confounded it with the -present as to be unable to distinguish it. So would I do again. I would -love that angelic face, that poetic soul by which my life was so -suddenly enlightened and warmed. I would not believe that the past is -behind me, but would keep its burning light within my bosom. The fallen -angel would yet inspire me with so much tenderness and love, that my -life would be devoted to consoling her and sheltering her from the -contempt of a cruel world.'</p> - -<p>"Albert went to Berlin with many of his friends, and made a pretext to -the Princess Amelia, his protector, of talking to her about Trenck, who -was then a prisoner at Glatz, for a masonic business which he was -engaged in. You saw him preside at a lodge at the Rose Cross; and he did -not know that Cagliostro, in spite of our efforts, had learned his -secrets and made use of them as a means of disturbing your reason. For -the mere fact of having suffered any person uninitiated even to glance -at a masonic mystery, Cagliostro deserved to be expelled as a trickster. -It was not known, however, for a long time; and you must be aware -yourself of the terror he displayed while conducting you to the temple. -The penalty due to this kind of treason is severely administered by the -adepts; and the magician, by making the mysteries of the order subject -to his pretended miracles, perhaps risked his life, as he certainly did -his necromantic reputation, for he would without doubt have been -unmasked had he been discovered.</p> - -<p>"During his short and mysterious stay at Berlin, Albert ascertained -enough of your conduct and ideas to be at ease about you. Though you -knew it not, he watched you closely, and returned apparently calm, but -more in love with you than ever.</p> - -<p>"During several months he travelled in foreign lands, and by his -activity served our cause well. Having been informed that several -plotters, perhaps spies of the King of Prussia, were attempting to set -on foot at Berlin a conspiracy which endangered masonry, and perhaps -would be fatal to Prince Henry and the Abbess of Quedlimburg, Albert -hurried thither to warn the Prince and Princess of the absurdity of such -an attempt, and to put them on their guard against the plot which seemed -imminent. Then you saw him, and though terrified at his apparition, -showed so much courage, and spoke to his friends with so much devotion -and respect for his memory, that the hope of being loved by you revived. -He then determined that you should be told the truth by means of a -system of mysterious revelations. He has often been near you, concealed -even in your room during your stormy conversations with the King, though -you were not aware of it. In the meantime the conspirators became angry -at the obstacles he put in the way of their mad or guilty design. -Frederick II. had suspicions. The appearance of <i>la balayeuse</i>, the -spectre all conspirators parade in the palace gallery, aroused his -vigilance. The creation of a masonic lodge, at the head of which Prince -Henry placed himself, and which professed views different from that over -which the King presided, appeared a definite revolt. It may be added, -that the creation of this new lodge was a maladroit mask of certain -conspirators, or perhaps an attempt to compromise certain illustrious -personages. Fortunately they rescued themselves; and the King, -apparently enraged at the arrest of none but a few obscure criminals, -yet really delighted at not having to punish his own family, resolved to -make an example. My son, the most innocent of all, was arrested and sent -to Spandau about the time that you, equally innocent, were. You both -refused to save yourselves at the expense of others, and atoned for -others' errors. You passed several months in prison not far from -Albert's cell, and heard his violin, as he heard your voice. He had -prompt and speedy means of escape, but he would not use them until he -was sure of your safety. The key of gold is more powerful than all the -bolts of a royal prison; and the Prussian jailers, the majority of whom -are discontented soldiers, or officers in disgrace, are easily to be -corrupted. Albert escaped when you did, but you did not see him; and for -reasons you will hear at another time, Leverani was ordered to bring you -hither. Now you know the rest. Albert loves you more than ever; he loves -you far better than he loves himself, and would be yet more distressed -if you were happy with another, than he would be if you should not -return his love. The moral and philosophical laws under which you have -placed yourselves, the religious authority you recognise, renders your -decision perfectly voluntary. Choose then, my daughter, but remember -that Albert's mother, on her knees, begs you not to injure the sublime -candor of her son, by making a sacrifice which will embitter his life. -Your desertion will make him suffer, but your pity, without your love, -will kill him. The time is come for you to decide, and I cannot be -ignorant of your decision. Go into your room, where you will find two -different dresses: the one you select will determine his fate."</p> - -<p>"And which will signify my wish for a divorce?" said Consuelo -trembling.</p> - -<p>"I was ordered to tell you, but will not do so. I wish to know if you -will guess."</p> - -<p>The Countess Wanda having thus spoken, clasped Consuelo to her heart -and left the room.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XXXVII">CHAPTER XXXVII</a></h4> - - -<p>The two robes, which the neophyte found in her room, were a brilliant -wedding dress, and a mourning garb with all the tokens of widowhood. She -hesitated for a short time. Her resolution as to the choice of a husband -was taken; but which of the two dresses would exactly exhibit her -intention? After a short time she put on the white dress, the veil and -flowers of a bride. The <i>tout ensemble</i> was as elegant as possible. -Consuelo was soon ready; but when she looked at the terrible sentences -on the mirror, she could not smile as she used to. Her face was -exceedingly pale, and terror was in her heart. Let her make either -choice, she was aware she would be distressed and terrified. She felt -she must crush one heart, and her own felt in advance all the terror of -the wound she was about to inflict. She saw that her cheeks and lips -were as pale as her veil and wreath of orange flowers. She feared to -expose both Albert and Leverani to violent suffering, and felt tempted -to use rouge, but she at once abandoned the idea. She said, "If the -countenance deceives, my heart may also."</p> - -<p>She knelt by her bedside, and hiding her face in the coverings, was -absorbed in meditation until the clock struck <i>midnight</i>. She arose at -once, and saw an Invisible, with a black mask, behind her. I do not know -what instinct made her think this was Marcus. She was not mistaken; yet -he did not make himself known to her, but said, in a gentle and mild -voice, "Madame, all is ready: will you put on this cloak and follow me?" -Consuelo accompanied the Invisible to the place where the rivulet lost -itself beneath the green arch of the park. There she found a gondola, -open and black, like those of Venice, and in the gigantic oarsman at the -bow she recognised Karl, who, when he saw her, made the sign of the -cross. This was his way of exhibiting the greatest imaginable joy.</p> - -<p>"Can I speak to him?" asked Consuelo of her guide.</p> - -<p>"You may speak a few words aloud."</p> - -<p>"Dear Karl, my liberator and friend," said Consuelo, excited at seeing -a well-known face, after so long a seclusion amid mysterious beings, -"may I hope that nothing interferes with your pleasure at seeing me -again?"</p> - -<p>"Nothing, signora," said Karl, calmly, "nothing but the memory of her -who no longer belongs to the world, yet whom I think I always see by -you. Courage and content, my dear mistress, become us. We are now just -as we were when we escaped from Spandau."</p> - -<p>"This, too, brother, is a day of delivery. Oh! thanks to the vigor and -skill with which you are endowed, and which equal the prudence of your -speech and the power of your mind."</p> - -<p>"This, madame," said he to Consuelo, "is like a flight. The chief -liberator, though, is not the same."</p> - -<p>As he spoke Marcus gave her his hand, to assist her in reaching a -bench, covered with cushions. He felt that it trembled slightly at the -recollection of Leverani, and begged her to cover her face for but a few -moments. Consuelo did so, and the gondola, wafted on by the robust arm -of the deserter, slid silently over the dark and silent stream.</p> - -<p>After an hour, the lapse of which was scarcely appreciated by the -pensive Consuelo, she heard the sound of instruments, and the boat -slackened its speed, without absolutely stopping, from time to time -touching the shore. The hood fell slowly off, and the neophyte thought -she passed from one dream to another, as she looked on the fairy scene -that opened before her. The boat passed along a flowery bank, strewn -with flowers and fresh grass. The water of the rivulet was collected in -a large basin, as it were, and reflected the colonnades of lights which -whirled around like fiery serpents, or burst into myriads of sparks on -the slow and gentle wake of the gondola. Charming music floated through -the air, and seemed to pass over perfumed roses and jessamines.</p> - -<p>When the eyes of Consuelo had become accustomed to this sudden -clearness, she was able to fix them on the brilliant façade of a -palace, which arose at a short distance, and which reflected in the -mirror of the basin with magical splendor. In this elegant edifice, -which was painted on the starry sky, Consuelo saw through the open -windows men and women, clad in embroidery, diamonds, gold, and pearls, -moving slowly to and fro, and uniting with the general aspect of -entertainments of that day something effeminate and fantastic. This -princely festival, united with the effect of a warm night, which flung -its beauty and perfume even amid the splendid halls, filled Consuelo -with eager motion and a species of intoxication. She, a child of the -people, but a queen of patrician amusements, could not witness a -spectacle of this kind, after so long a period of solitude and sombre -reveries, without experiencing a kind of enthusiasm, a <i>necessity to -sing</i>, a strange agitation as she drew near the public. She then stood -up in the boat, which gradually approached the castle. Suddenly, excited -by that chorus of Handel, in which he sings "the glory of Jehovah, the -conqueror of Judea," she forgot all else, and joined that enthusiastic -chorus with her voice.</p> - -<p>A new shock of the gondola, which, as it passed along the banks of the -stream, sometimes struck a branch or a tuft of grass, made her tremble. -Forced to take hold of the first hand which was stretched forth to -sustain her, she became aware that there was a fourth person in the -boat, a masked Invisible, who certainly was not there when she entered.</p> - -<p>A vast gray cloak, with long folds, put on in a peculiar manner, and an -indescribable something in the mask, through which the features seemed -to speak—more than all, however, a pressure of the hand, apparently -unwilling to let go her own, told Consuelo that the man she loved, the -Chevalier Leverani, as he had appeared to her for the first time on the -lake around Spandau, stood by her. Then the music, the illumination, the -enchanted palace, the intoxication of the festival, and even the approach -of the solemn moment which was to decide her fate—all but the -present emotion was effaced from Consuelo's mind. Agitated and overcome -by a superhuman power, she sank quivering on the cushions by Leverani's -side. The other stranger, Marcus, was at the bow, and turned his back to -them. Fasting, the story of the Countess Wanda, the expectation of a -terrible <i>dénoûement</i>, the surprise of the festival, had crushed all -Consuelo's power. She was now aware of nothing but that the hand of -Leverani clasped her own, that his arm encircled her form, as if to keep -her from leaving, and of the divine ecstacy which the presence of one so -well beloved diffuses through the mind. Consuelo remained for a few -minutes in this situation, no longer seeing the sparkling palace, which -had again been lost in the night, feeling nothing but the burning breath -of her lover, and the beatings of her own heart.</p> - -<p>"Madame," said Marcus, turning suddenly towards her, "do you not know -the air now sung? and will you not pause to hear that magnificent -tenor?"</p> - -<p>"Whatsoever be the air, whatsoever be the voice," said Consuelo, "let -us pause or continue as you please."</p> - -<p>The bark was almost at the palace. Forms might be seen in the embrasures -of the windows, and even those in the depths of the rooms. They seemed -no longer spectres floating in a dream, but real personages; nobles, -ladies, servants, artists, and many who were not unknown to Consuelo. -She made no effort of memory, however, to recall their names, nor the -palaces and the theatres where she had seen them. To her, the world had, -all at once, become insignificant as a magic lantern, and as completely -devoid of interest. The only being in the universe who seemed alive was -the one who furtively clasped her hand amid the folds of her dress.</p> - -<p>"Do you not know that magnificent voice," said Marcus again, "which now -sings a Venetian air?" He was surprised at her total want of emotion. He -came near her, and sat by her side to ask the question.</p> - -<p>"I beg your pardon," said Consuelo, who had made an effort to hear him; -"I did not understand you. I know the air and voice. I composed the -first long ago. It is not only bad, but badly sung."</p> - -<p>"What, then, is the name of the singer to whom you are so severe? I -think him admirable."</p> - -<p>"Ah! you have not lost it?" said Consuelo, in a low tone to Leverani. -This remark was called forth by his pressing against the palm of her -hand the little filagree cross, which, for the first time in her life, -she parted with during her escape from Spandau.</p> - -<p>"You do not know the name of that singer?" said Marcus, carefully -watching Consuelo's countenance.</p> - -<p>"Excuse me, sir," said she, rather impatiently, "his name is Anzoleto. -Ah! that is a bad G; he has lost that note."</p> - -<p>"Do you not wish to see his face? You are perhaps mistaken. You can see -him distinctly from here: at least, I do. He is a very handsome man."</p> - -<p>"Why should I see him?" said Consuelo, with some ill temper. "I am sure -he is unchanged."</p> - -<p>Marcus took her hand gently, and Leverani seconding him, induced her to -stand up and look through the open window. Consuelo would possibly have -resisted either, but yielded to both. She glanced at the stage, the -handsome Venetian who was at that time the object of attraction to a -hundred female eyes, languishing, ardent, and burning for him. "He has -got fat," said Consuelo, sitting down and avoiding the fingers of -Leverani, who wished to regain possession of the little cross which she -had again recovered.</p> - -<p>"Is that the only recollection you bestow on an old friend?" said -Marcus, who continued to watch her with a lynx's eyes.</p> - -<p>"He is but a fellow artist," said Consuelo. "Such are not always -friends."</p> - -<p>"Would you not like to speak to him? We may go into the palace and send -for him."</p> - -<p>"If it be a <i>test</i>," said she, with some malice, for she began to -observe how determined Marcus was, "I am ready, and will obey you. If, -however, you wish to oblige me, let us have done with the affair."</p> - -<p>"Must I stop here, brother?" said Karl, making a military salute with -his oar.</p> - -<p>"On, brother, fast," said Marcus; and in a few moments the boat passed -over the basin, and lost itself in the undergrowth. The obscurity became -intense: the torch in the gondola alone shed its light on the foliage. -From time to time, amid the thicket, the sparkling of the lights in the -palace were visible. The sounds of the orchestra died away. The bark, as -it skirted along the bank, covered the oars with flowers, and the dark -cloak of Consuelo was covered with their perfumed petals. She began to -look into her own heart, and to combat the ineffable inffuence of -passion and right. She had withdrawn her hand from Leverani, and her -heart began to break as the veil or intoxication shrank before the light -of reason and reflection.</p> - -<p>"Hear you, madam," said Marcus, "do you not hear the applause of the -audience? Yes; there are exclamations and clapping of hands. They are -delighted: Anzoleto has been very successful at the palace."</p> - -<p>"They know nothing about it," said Consuelo, taking a magnolia flower -which Leverani had gathered in the passage, and thrown at her feet. She -clasped this flower convulsively in her hands and hid it in her bosom, -as the last relic of a passion about to be crushed or sanctified -forever.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XXXVIII">CHAPTER XXXVIII</a></h4> - - -<p>The gondola stopped finally at the outlet from the gardens and the -park. The place was picturesque, and the stream lost itself amid antique -rocks, and was no longer navigable. Consuelo had a very short time to -consider the grand, moonlighted landscape. She was yet in the vast area -of the palace grounds; but art here had only striven to preserve nature -in its primitive beauty—the old trees, strewn by chance in the dark -glades, the happy accidents of the landscape, the rugged hills, the -unequal cascades, the herds of bounding and timid stags.</p> - -<p>A new person now arrested Consuelo's attention: this was Gottlieb, who -sat idly on a sedan chair, in the attitude of calm and reverie. He -trembled as he recognised his prison friend; but, at a sign from Marcus, -did not speak.</p> - -<p>"You then forbid the poor child to shake hands with me?" said Consuelo, -in a half whisper to her guide.</p> - -<p>"When you have been initiated, you will be free in all your actions," -said he. "Now be satisfied with seeing how much Gottlieb's health has -been improved and how his physical power has been revived."</p> - -<p>"Can I not, at least, know," said the neophyte, "whether he suffered -persecution on my account, after my escape from Spandau? Excuse my -impatience. This idea has never ceased to torment me, until the day when -I saw him on the grounds of the house I live in."</p> - -<p>"He has really suffered," said Marcus, "yet not for a long time. As -soon as he knew you to be rescued, he boasted of having contributed to it; -and his somnambulist revelations had nearly proved fatal to some of us. -They wished to confine him in a madhouse, as much to punish him as to -prevent him from aiding other prisoners to escape. He then fled; and as -we had our eye upon him, he was brought hither, where we have attended -both to his body and mind. We will return him to his country and his -family when we have given him power, and prudence necessary to enable -him to toil in our task, which now has become his own, for he is one of -our purest and most useful adepts. The chair, however, is ready, madame: -will you get into it? I will not leave you, though I confide you to the -faithful arms of Karl and Gottlieb."</p> - -<p>Consuelo sat quietly in the sedan, which was closed on every side, and -which received air only from a few openings in the top. She saw, then, -nothing that passed around her. Sometimes she caught a glimpse of the -stars, and therefore thought she was in the open air. At other times she -saw the transparent medium intercepted; she knew not whether by trees or -by solid edifices. The persons who bore her sedan walked rapidly, and in -the most profound silence. She sometimes attempted to discover, as their -footsteps sounded on the sand, whether three or four persons accompanied -her. Often she fancied that she discovered the step of Leverani on the -right of the chair; this, however, might be an illusion, which she -sought to avoid thinking of.</p> - -<p>When the sedan paused, Consuelo could not refrain from a sentiment of -terror, when she saw herself under the gateway of an old feudal mansion. -The moon shed a full light on the court, which was surrounded with -crumbling ruins, and filled with persons clad in white, who went and -came, some alone and some clinging together, like fitful spectres. This -dark arcade exhibited a blue, transparent fantastic picture. The -wandering and silent shadows, speaking in a low tone, their noiseless -motion over the grass, the appearance of the ruins, which Consuelo -recognised as those she had seen before, and where she had seen Albert, -made such an impression on her that she felt an almost superstitious -awe. She looked instinctively for Leverani, who was with Marcus; but the -darkness was so great that she could not distinguish which of the two -offered her his hand. On this occasion her heart chilled with a sudden -sadness, an indescribable fear, which rendered her almost senseless.</p> - -<p>Her hood was so arranged, and her cloak so put on, that she could see -every one without being recognised. Some one told her in a low voice not -to speak a single word, no matter what she might see. She was then taken -to the extremity of the court, where a strange spectacle met her glance.</p> - -<p>A bell with a faint and melancholy sound collected the spectres in the -round chapel, where Consuelo had at one time sought a shelter from the -tempest. This chapel was now lighted with tapers, arranged in systematic -order. The altar seemed to have been, recently built, was covered with a -pall, and strewn with strange symbols. The emblems of Christianity were -mingled with those of Judaism, Egyptian relics, and cabalistic tokens. -In the centre of the choir, the area of which had been reconstructed -with balustrades and symbolic columns, was seen a coffin encircled by -tapers and covered with cross bones, surmounted by a death's head, in -which burned a blood-colored light. Near to this cenotaph a young man -was led. Consuelo could not see his features, as a large <i>bandeau</i> -covered half of his face. He seemed crushed by fatigue and emotion, and -he had one arm and one leg bare. His arms were tied behind his back, his -white robe was spotted with blood, and a ligature on his arm seemed to -indicate that he had been bled. Two shadows with burning torches hovered -around him, and on his breast were showers of sparks and clouds of -smoke. Then there began, between him and those who presided over the -ceremony, and who bore various unique insignia, a strange dialogue, -which put Consuelo in mind of those Cagliostro had made her listen to at -Berlin, between Albert and various unknown persons. Then spectres, armed -with swords, whom she heard called the <i>terrible brothers</i> placed the -candidate on the floor, and, putting the points of their swords on his -heart, while many others clashed their weapons, began an angry contest; -some pretending to prevent the admission of a new brother, treating him -as perverse, unworthy, and a traitor; while others pretended to fight -for him, in the name of truth and right. This strange scene had the -effect of a painful dream on Consuelo. This contest, these menaces, this -magic worship, the sobs of the young men as they hung around the coffin, -were so well feigned, that a spectator who had not been initiated would -have been terrified. When the sponsors of the candidate had triumphed in -the argument and the combat, he was lifted up and a dagger placed in his -hand. He was ordered to advance and strike at any one who should oppose -his entry into the temple.</p> - -<p>Consuelo saw no more. At the moment when the candidate, with an uplifted -arm, and in a kind of delirium, went towards a low door, the two guards -who had not loosed Consuelo, now bore her rapidly away from so terrible -a spectacle, and placing the hood over her head, took her through a -multitude of windings and detours, to a place where all was silent as -possible. There she was restored to light, and she saw herself in the -octagonal room where she had overheard the conversation of Trenck and -Albert. Every opening now was carefully veiled and shut; the walls and -floor were hung with black, and tapers burned in a fashion and -arrangement different from that in the chapel. An altar like Mount -Calvary, surmounted with three crosses, marked the great fireplace. A -tomb on which was placed a hammer and nails, a lance and crown of -thorns, was in the centre of the room. Persons clad in black and in -masks, knelt or sat on a carpet covered with silver tears. They neither -wept nor sighed. Their attitude was that of austere meditation, or mute -and silent grief.</p> - -<p>The guides of Consuelo made her come to the very side of the coffin, -and the men who guarded it having risen and stood at the foot, one of them -said—</p> - -<p>"Consuelo, you are come to witness the ceremony of a masonic initiation. -You have seen an unknown worship, mysterious emblems, funereal images, -initiating pontiffs, and a coffin. What do you learn from this -scene—from the terrible tests to which the candidate has been -subjected, from what has been said to him, and from the manifestations -of respect and love around an illustrious tomb?"</p> - -<p>"I do not know whether I understood correctly or not," said Consuelo. -"This scene troubled me and seemed barbarous. I pitied the recipient, -whose courage and virtue were subjected to practical proofs, as if -physical courage was a guarantee for moral fortitude. I condemn what I -have seen, and deplore the cruel sports of dark fanaticism, or the -puerile experiences of an idolatrous creed. I heard obscure enigmas -proposed, and the explanations given to the candidate seemed gathered -from a gross or distrustful catechism. Yet this bloody tomb, this -immolated victim—this ancient myth of Hiram, the divine architect, -who was assassinated by his envious and covetous workmen—this sacred -word, lost for centuries, and promised to the candidate as the magic key -to open the temple to him—all this seems a symbol without grandeur -and interest. Why is the fable so badly constructed and so doubtful in its -application?"</p> - -<p>"What mean you by that? Have you heard the story you speak of, as a -fable?"</p> - -<p>"I have heard it—long before I read the books I was directed to -study during my seclusion—in this manner. Hiram, master-workman of -Solomon's Temple, divided his workmen into classes. They had different -duties and rewards. Three of the lower grade resolved to obtain the reward -reserved to the higher class, and to wrest from Hiram the pass-word, the -secret sign which enabled him to distinguish master-workmen from -journeymen at pay-day. They watched for him while in the temple alone: and -each posting himself at an outlet of the holy place, menaced, struck, and -cruelly murdered him, without having been able to discover the sign -which was to make them equal to him and his associates—the faithful -adepts of the Temple. The friends of Hiram wept over his unhappy lot, -and paid almost divine honors to his memory."</p> - -<p>"And now, how do you explain that myth?"</p> - -<p>"I thought of it before I came hither, and I understand it -thus:—Hiram represents the cold intelligence and governmental skill -of the old societies, the basis of which were the inequalities of -condition and the influence of caste. This Egyptian fable suited the -mysterious religion of the Hierophants well enough. The three ambitious -men were Indignation, Revolt, and Vengeance. These are, probably, the three -inferior grades of the sacerdotal order, who attempted to assume their -rights by violence. The murder of Hiram conveys the idea of Despotism -powerless and impotent. He died bearing in his breast the secret of -subduing man by blindness and superstition."</p> - -<p>"Is this the way you really interpret this myth?"</p> - -<p>"I have learned from your books, that this was brought from the East by -the Templars, and that they used it in their initiations. They must -therefore have interpreted it nearly thus. But when they baptised Hiram, -Theocracy—and the assassins, Impiety, Anarchy, and Ferocity—the -Templars who wished to subject society to a kind of monastic despotism, -deplored over Impotence, as represented by the murder of Hiram. The word -of their empire—which was lost, and has since been found—was -that of <i>association</i>, or cunning, like the ancient city or temple -of Osiris. For that reason I am surprised at yet seeing this fable used -in your initiations to the work of universal deliverance. I should -consider it as only a test of mind and courage."</p> - -<p>"Well, we, who did not invent the form of masonry, and who really use -them as mere ordeals—we, who are more than masters and companions in -this symbolical science, since, having passed through all the masonic -grades, we have reached the point where we are no longer masons, as the -vulgar understand the order—we adjure you to explain the myth of Hiram, -as you understand it, that in relation to your zeal and intellect we may -form an opinion which will either stop you here at the door of the true -temple, or which will open the door of the sanctuary to you."</p> - -<p>"You ask me for <i>Hiram's word</i>, the last word. That will not open -the gates of the temple to me, for its translation is Tyranny and Falsehood. -But I know the true words, the names of the three gates of the divine -edifice, through which Hiram's murderers entered, for the purpose of -forcing the chief to bury himself beneath the wrecks of his own -work—they are <i>Liberty, Fraternity, Equality.</i>"</p> - -<p>"Consuelo, your interpretation, whether correct or not, reveals to us -all your heart. You are, then, excused from the necessity of ever -kneeling before Hiram's tomb; neither will you pass through the grade -where the neophyte prostrates himself before the tomb of Jacques Molay, -the Grand Master and victim of the temple, of the military works and -prelate soldiers of the middle ages. You will triumph in this second -test as you did in the first. You will discern the false traces of -fanatical barbarity, which are now needed as a guarantee to minds which -are imbued with the principles of inequality. Remember that in -free-masonry, the first grades only aspire to the construction of a -profane temple, an association protected by caste. You know better, and -you are about to go directly to the universal temple, intended to -receive all men associated in one worship and love. Here you must make -your last station; you must worship Christ, and recognise him as the -only true God."</p> - -<p>"You say this to try me." said Consuelo firmly. "You have, however, -deigned to open my eyes to lofty truths, by teaching me to read your -secret books. Christ is a divine man, whom we revere as the greatest -philosopher and saint of antiquity. We adore him as much as it is -permitted us to adore the greatest of the masters and martyrs. We may -well call him the saviour of men, because he taught those of his day -truths they did not comprehend, but which introduced man into a new -phase of light and holiness. We may kneel over his ashes to thank God for -having created such a prophet—such an example. We however adore God -in him, and commit no idolatry. We distinguish between the divinity of -revelation and revelation itself. I consent to pay to the emblem of a -punishment for ever sublime and illustrious, the homage of pious -gratitude and filial enthusiasm. I do not think, however, the last word -of revelation was understood and proclaimed by men in Jesus' time, for -it has never yet been officially made known on earth. I expect, from the -wisdom and faith of his disciples, from the continuation of his work for -seventeen centuries, a more practical truth, a more complete application -of holy writ to the doctrines of fraternity. I wait for the development -of the gospel. I expect something more than equality before God. I wait -for and expect it before men."</p> - -<p>"Your words are bold, and your doctrines full. Have you thought of them -while alone? Have you foreseen the evils your new faith has piled upon -your head? Do you know that we are as one to a hundred in the most -civilised countries in Europe? Do you know that at the time we live, -between those who pay to Jesus, the sublime revealer, an insulting and -base veneration, and those almost as numerous who deny even his mission, -between these idolaters and atheists, we have no place under the sun, -except amid persecutions and jests, the hatred and contempt of the human -race? Do you know that in France, at the present moment, Rousseau and -Voltaire are almost equally proscribed; yet one is decidedly religious -and the other a skeptic? Do you know—and this is far more -terrible—that while in exile they mutually proscribe each other? Do -you know you are about to return to a world, where all will conspire to -shake your faith and break your ideas? Know that you will have to -exercise your mission amid suffering, danger, doubt, and deception?"</p> - -<p>"I am resolved," said Consuelo, looking down, and placing her hand on -her heart. "May God aid me!"</p> - -<p>"Well, daughter," said Marcus, who yet held Consuelo's hand, "you are -about to be subjected by us to moral sufferings—not to test your -truth, for we are satisfied with it, but to fortify it. Not in the calm of -repose—not amid the pleasures of the world, but amid grief and tears -does faith expand. Have you courage to hear painful emotions, and -perhaps to withstand great terror?"</p> - -<p>"If it be needful, and if my soul profit by it, I will submit to your -pleasure," said Consuelo, with some distress.</p> - -<p>"The Invisibles at once began to move the pall and lights from the -coffin, which was moved into one of the deep embrasures of the window, -and several adepts with iron bars lifted up a round stone in the centre -of the pavement of the hall. Consuelo then saw a circular opening large -enough to permit one person to pass. The sides, which were of granite, -blackened and stained by time, proved that it was as old as any portion -of the architecture of the tower. Marcus then, leading Consuelo to the -brink, asked her thrice, in a solemn tone, if she was bold enough to -descend into the passages of the feudal tower."</p> - -<p>"Hear me, my fathers or brothers, for I know not how to speak to you," -said Consuelo.</p> - -<p>"Call them brothers," said Marcus. "You are here among the -Invisibles—your equals, if you persevere for an hour. You will now -bid them adieu, to meet them at the expiration of that time, in the -presence of the supreme chiefs—of those whose voice is never heard, -whose face is never seen, and whom you will call fathers. They are the -sovereign pontiffs, the spiritual chiefs and temporal lords of our -sanctuary. We will appear before them and you with bare faces, if you have -decided to rejoin us at the gate of the sanctuary, having passed that dark -and terrible path opening beneath your feet, down which you must walk -alone, without any guide but your courage and perseverance."</p> - -<p>"I will do so," said the trembling neophyte, "if you desire it. But is -this test, which you declare so trying, inevitable? Oh, my brothers, you -certainly do not wish to sport with the reason of a woman, already too -severely tried, from mere affectation and vanity. To-day you have -subjected me to a long fast; and though emotion for several hours -relieves us from hunger, I feel myself physically weakened. I know not -whether or not I shall succumb to the labors to which you subject me. I -care not, I protest to you, if my body suffers and becomes feeble; but -would you not fancy mere physical weakness to be cowardice? Tell me you -will pardon me for being endowed with a woman's nerve, if, when I regain -my consciousness, I show that I have the heart of a man?"</p> - -<p>"Poor child," said Marcus, "I would rather hear you own your weakness -than seek to dazzle us by intemperate boldness. We will, if you choose, -give you a single guide to aid and assist you in your pilgrimage. -Brother," said he to Leverani, who had stood at the door during this -conversation, with his eyes fixed on Consuelo, "take your sister's hand, -and lead her to the general rendezvous."</p> - -<p>"And will not you, brother," said Consuelo, "also go with me?"</p> - -<p>"That is impossible. You can have but one guide; and the one I have -pointed out is the only one I am permitted to give you?"</p> - -<p>"I shall have courage enough," said Consuelo wrapping herself in her -cloak. "I will go alone."</p> - -<p>"Do you refuse the aid of a brother and a friend?"</p> - -<p>"I refuse neither his sympathy nor his friendship; but I will go -alone."</p> - -<p>"Go then, my noble girl, and do not be afraid. She who descended alone -the Fountain of Tears—who braved so much danger to discover the -secret cavern of Schreckenstein, will be able to pass easily through the -recesses of our pyramid. Go, then, as the heroes of antiquity went to -seek for initiation amid sacred mysteries. Brothers, give her the -cup—that precious relic a descendant of Ziska gave us, in which we -consecrate the august sacrament of fraternal communion."</p> - -<p>Leverani took from the altar a rudely carved cup of wood, and having -filled it, gave it to Consuelo with a piece of bread.</p> - -<p>"Sister," said Marcus, "not only pure and generous wine, with white -bread, do we offer you to restore your power, but the body and blood of -the divine man as he understood it himself; that is to say, the -celestial and also earthly sign of fraternal equality. Our fathers, the -martyrs of the Taborite church, fancied that the intervention of impious -and sacrilegious priests were not so effective as the pure hands of a -woman or a child in the consecration of the sacrament. Commune then with -us here until you sit at the banquet of the temple, where the great -mystery of the supper will be more explicitly revealed to you. Take this -cup, and first drink of it. If, when you do so, you have faith, a few -drops will be a mighty tonic to your body, and your fervent soul will -support you through your trial on its wings of flame. Consuelo having -first drank of the cup, returned it to Leverani, who, after tasting it, -handed it around to the other brethren. Marcus having swallowed the last -drops, blessed Consuelo, and requested the assembly to pray for her. He -then presented the neophyte with a silver lamp, and assisted her in -placing her feet on the bars of a ladder.</p> - -<p>"I need not," said he, "tell you that no danger menaces your life; but -remember that you will never reach the door of the temple if you look -but once behind as you proceed. You will have several pauses to make at -different places, when you must examine all that terrifies you—but -do not pause long. As a door opens before you, pass it, and you will never -return. This is, as you know, the rigid requirement of the old -initiations. You must also, in obedience to the rules of the old rites, -diligently nurse the flame of your lamp. Go, my child, and may this idea -give you superhuman power, that what you now are condemned to suffer is -necessary to the development of your heart and mind in virtue and true -faith."</p> - -<p>When Marcus had ceased speaking, Consuelo carefully descended the -stairs. When she was at the foot, the ladder was withdrawn, and she -heard the heavy stones close over the entrance above her.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XXXIX">CHAPTER XXXIX</a></h4> - - -<p>At first Consuelo, having passed from a room where a hundred torches -burned, to a room lighted by a solitary lamp, saw nothing but a kind of -mystic light around her, which her eyes could not penetrate. Gradually, -however, they became used to darkness; and as she perceived nothing -between her and the walls of a room of an octagonal form, like the one -she left, she ventured to examine the characters on the wall. This was a -solitary and long inscription, arranged in many circular lines around -the room, which had no outlet. As she saw this, Consuelo asked herself, -not how she could get out of the room, but for what purpose it could -have been made. Thoughts of evil which she endeavored to repress, -obtruded themselves upon her mind, and they were confirmed by the -inscriptions she read, as lamp in hand she slowly walked around the -room.</p> - -<p>"Look at the beauty of these walls, cut in the rock, twenty-four feet -thick, and which have stood for a thousand years uninjured by war, or -the efforts of time. This model of architectural masonry was built by -the hand of slaves, doubtless to contain the treasures of some mighty -lord. Yes, to bury in the depths of the rock, in the bowels of the -earth, the treasures of hatred and vengeance. Here twenty generations of -men have suffered, wept and blasphemed. Some were innocent—some were -heroic—all were victims or martyrs: prisoners of war—serfs who -had revolted, or who were too much crushed by taxes to be able to pay -more—religious innovators, sublime heretics, unfortunate men, -conquered warriors, fanatics, saints, and criminals—men educated in -the ferocity of camps to rapine and war, who had in return been subjected -to horrible reprisals—such are the catacombs of feudality and -military or religious despotism. Such are the abodes that the powerful -made for their victims, to stifle their cries, and conceal their existence -from the light of day. Here there is no air to breathe, no ray of light, -no stone to rest the head—nothing but an iron ring fastened in the -wall to hold the chain, and keep them from selecting their resting-place -on the damp and icy floor. Here air, light and food are at the disposal of -the guards posted in the upper room, where they pleased to open the door -for a moment and throw in a morsel of bread to hundreds of victims chained -and heaped together on the day after a battle. Often they wounded or -murdered each other, and often, yet more horrible, one alone remained, -stifled in suffering and despair, amid the loathsome carcases of his -companions, and sometimes attacked by the worms before death, and -sinking in putrefaction before life had become extinct. Behold! O -neophyte, the source of human grandeur, which you perhaps have looked on -with envy and admiration. Crushed skulls, human bones, dried and -withered tears, blood-spots, are the translations of the coats of arms, -if you have such bequeathed you by nobility. This is what should be -quartered on the escutcheons of the princes you have served, or aspire -to serve, if you be a man of the people. Yes, this is the foundation of -noble titles, of the hereditary glory and riches of the world. Thus has -been built up a caste, which all other classes of men yet venerate and -preserve. Thus have men contrived to elevate themselves from father to -son above their fellows."</p> - -<p>Having passed thrice around the room, and read this inscription, -Consuelo, filled with grief and terror, placed the lamp on the floor, to -rest herself. The lonely place was as silent as the grave, and terrible -thoughts arose in her mind. Her eager fancy evoked dark visions. She -thought she saw livid shadows, covered with hideous wounds, flitting -around the hall, and crawling on the floor beside her. She thought she -heard their painful sighs, and the rattling of their chains. She evolved -the past in her mind, as she had imagined it in the middle ages, and as -it continued during the religious wars. She fancied she heard, in the -guard-room above, the heavy tread of iron-shod men, the rattling of -their pikes, their coarse laughter, their mad songs, their threats and -oaths when the victims complaints reached them and interrupted their -terrible sleep; for those jailors had slept over their prison, over that -unhealthy abyss, whence the miasmata of the tombs, and of hell, were -exhaled.</p> - -<p>Pale, her eyes staring, her hair erect with terror, Consuelo saw and -heard nothing. When she had recalled her own existence, and strove to -shake off the chill which had seized her, she saw that a stone had been -removed, and that another passage was opened for her. She approached, -and saw a narrow and stiff stairway, which she descended with great -difficulty, and which ended in another cavern, darker and smaller than -the first. When she touched the floor, which was soft, and yielded under -her feet, Consuelo put down her lamp, to see if she did not sink in mud. -She saw naught hut a fine dust, smaller than the finest sand, containing -here and there a broken rib, a piece of a thigh bone, fragments of a -skull, a jaw, with teeth yet solid and white, exhibiting youth and power -crushed by a violent death. A few skeletons, almost entire, had been -taken from the dust, and were placed against the wall. One had been -perfectly preserved, and was chained around the waist, as if the -prisoner had been condemned to die without being able to lie down. The -body, instead of inclining forward, was stiffened and drawn back, with -an expression of utter disdain. The ligaments of the body and limbs were -ossified. The head was thrown back, and seemed to look at the roof; the -teeth, contracted by a last effort, smiled terribly with some outbreak -of fanaticism. Above the body the name and story of the prisoner were -written, in large red letters, on the wall. He was an obscure martyr of -religious persecution, and the last victim immolated in this place. At -his feet knelt a skeleton; the head, detached from the vertebræ, lay on -the pavement, but the stiffened arms yet embraced the knees of the -martyr: this was his wife. The inscription bore, among other details, -the following—</p> - -<p>"N——died here with his wife, his three brothers, and his two -children, because they would not renounce Lutheranism, and maintained, even -amid tortures, a denial of the infallibility of the pope. He died erect, -without being able to see his family suffering at his feet, on the ashes -of his friends and fathers."</p> - -<p>Opposite this inscription was thus written—</p> - -<p>"Neophyte, the light earth on which you tread is twenty feet deep. It is -neither sand nor clay, but the ashes of man. This was the ossuary of the -castle. Here were thrown those who died in the grave above, when there -was no room. It is all that remains of twenty generations of victims. -Blessed and rare are the nobles who can reckon among their ancestors -twenty generations of murderers and executioners!"</p> - -<p>Consuelo was less terrified at these funereal ensignia than she had been -in the jail at the phantoms of her own mind; there is something so grave -and solemn in the very appearance of death, though the weakness of fear -and the lacerations of pity obscure the enthusiasm and serenity of -strong and believing souls. In the presence of these relics, the noble -adept of Albert's religion felt respect and charity rather than terror -and consternation. She knelt before the martyr's remains, and feeling -her moral strength failing, cried, as she kissed the lacerated hand, -"Oh, it is not the august spectacle of a glorious destruction which -fills us with horror and pity, but the idea of life disputing with the -torments of agony. It is the thought of what passes in these broken -hearts that fills the souls of those who live with bitterness and -terror. You, unfortunate victim, dead, and with your head turned to -heaven, are not to be feared, for you have not failed. Your heart has -exhaled itself in a transport which fills me with exultation."</p> - -<p>Consuelo rose slowly, and with a degree of calmness unloosed the veil -which covered the dead bones by her side. A narrow and low door opened -before her. She took her lamp, and forbearing to look back, entered a -corridor which descended rapidly. On her right and left she saw cells, -the appearance of which was entirely sepulchral. These dungeons were too -low for one to stand erect, and scarcely long enough for a person to -sleep in them. They appeared the work of Cyclops, so massive and so -strong was their masonry. They seemed to be intended for dens of wild -and savage animals. Consuelo, however, would not be deceived. She had -seen the arenæ veronia; she was aware that the tigers and bears kept -for the amusements of the circus, for the combats of the gladiators, -were a thousand times better furnished. Besides she read over the iron -gates that these impenetrable dungeons were appropriated to conquered -princes, to brave captains, to the prisoners who were most important -from rank and intelligence. Care to prevent their escape exhibited the -love and respect with which they had inspired their partisans. There had -been stifled the voices of the lions whose roaring had filled the world -with terror.</p> - -<p>Their power and will had been crushed against an angle in the wall. -Their herculian breasts had been burst in aspirations for air at an -imperceptible window, cut through a wall twenty-four feet. Their eagle -glance was exhausted in seeking for light amid darkness. There were -buried alive persons whom they dared not kill by day. Illustrious men, -noble hearts, there suffered from the use, and possibly the abuse, of -power.</p> - -<p>Having wandered for some time amid the dark and damp galleries, Consuelo -heard a sound of running water, which reminded her of the terrible -cavern of Riesenberg. She was, however, too much occupied by the -misfortunes and crimes of humanity, to think of herself. She was forced -for a time to pause and go around a cistern on the level of the ground, -lighted by a torch she read on a sign-board these words:</p> - -<p>"There they drowned them."</p> - -<p>Consuelo looked down to see the interior of the well. The water of the -rivulet, over which an hour before she had glided so peacefully, fell -down into a frightful gulf, and whirled angrily round, as if it was -anxious to take possession of a victim. The red light of the resinous -torch made the water blood-colored.</p> - -<p>At last Consuelo came to a massive door, which she sought in vain to -open. She asked if, as in the initiations in the pyramids, she was about -to be lifted in the air by invisible chains, while some cavern suddenly -opened and put out her lamp. Another terror seized her, for as she -walked down the gallery, she saw that she was not alone, though the -person who accompanied her trod so lightly that she heard no noise. She -fancied that she heard the rustling of a silk dress near her own, and -that, when she had passed the well, the light of the torch reflected two -trembling shadows on the wall instead of one. Who, then, was the -terrible companion she was forbidden to look back on, under the penalty -of losing the fruit of all her labors, and never being able to cross the -threshold of the temple? Was it some terrible spectre, the appearance of -which would have frozen her courage, and disturbed her reason? She saw -his shadow no more, but she imagined she heard his respiration near her. -She waited to see the terrible door reopen. The two or three minutes -which elapsed during this expectation, seemed an age. The mute acophyte -terrified her. She was afraid that he wished to test her by speaking, -and forcing her by some <i>ruse</i> to look back. Her heart beat violently. -At last she saw that an inscription above the door was yet to be read:</p> - -<p>"This is your last trial, and it is the most cruel. If your courage be -exhausted, strike thrice on the left of the door. If not, strike thrice -on the right. Remember, the glory of your initiation will be in -proportion to your efforts."</p> - -<p>Consuelo did not hesitate, but went to the right. One of the doors -opened as if of itself, and she went into a vast room, lighted with many -lamps. She was alone, and at first could not distinguish the strange -objects around her. They were machines of wood, iron, and bronze, the -use of which she knew not. Strange arms were displayed on the table, or -hung on the wall. For one moment she fancied herself in some museum of -weapons, for she saw muskets, cannons, culverins, and a perfect array of -the weapons on which those now used are improvements. Care had been -taken to collect all the instruments men use in immolating each other. -When the neophyte had passed once or twice through the room, she saw -others of a more refined character and some more barbarous—collars, -wheels, saws, pulleys, hooks—a perfect gallery of instruments of -torture—and, above all, a scroll supported by maces, hooks, dentated -knives, and other torturing irons. The scroll read—</p> - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"They are all precious.—They have -been used."</span></p> - -<p>Consuelo felt her strength give way. A cold perspiration rolled down her -hair, and her heart ceased to beat. Incapable of shaking off the feeling -of horror and the terrible visions that crowded around her, she examined -all that stood before her with that stupid curiosity which, when we are -terrified, takes possession of us. Instead of closing her eyes, she -looked at a kind of bronze bell, the cap of which was immense, and -rested on a large body without limbs, yet which reached as low as the -knees. It was not unlike a colossal statue, coarsely carved, intended -for a tomb. Gradually, Consuelo overcame her torpor, and comprehended -that the victim was to be placed beneath this bell. Its weight was so -vast that it was impossible to lift it up. The internal body was so -immense that motion was impossible. There was no intention of stifling -the person put within, for the vizor of the helmet was open at the face, -and all the circumference was pierced with little holes, in some of -which stilettoes were yet pierced. By means of these cruel wounds they -sought to torment the victim so as to wrest from him charges against his -relations or friends, or confessions of political or religious -faith.<a name="FNanchor_14_1" id="FNanchor_14_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_14_1" class="fnanchor">[14]</a> On the top of the casque was carved, in the Spanish -language—</p> - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"Viva la Santa Inquisicion!"</span></p> - -<p>Beneath was a prayer, which seemed dictated by savage compassion, but -which perhaps emanated from the hand of the poor mechanic ordered to -make the instrument of torture—</p> - -<p>"Holy mother of God, have mercy on the sinner!"</p> - -<p>A lock of hair, torn out by torture, and which doubtless had been -stained with blood, was below this inscription. It had, perhaps, come -through one of the orifices which had been enlarged by the daggers. The -hairs were grey.</p> - -<p>All at once Consuelo saw nothing, and ceased to suffer. Without being -informed by any sentiment of physical suffering, she was about to fall -cold and stiff on the pavement, as a statue thrown from its pedestal, -but, as her head was coming in contact with the infernal machine, she -was caught in the arms of a man. This was Leverani.</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_14_1" id="Footnote_14_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_14_1"><span class="label">[14]</span></a>Any one may see an instrument of this kind, and also a -hundred others no less ingeniously constructed, in the arsenal of -Venice. Consuelo never saw it, for the interior of the prisons of the -Inquisition and the PIOMBE of the ducal palace were never open to the -people until the occupation of the city by troops of the French -Republic.</p></div> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XL">CHAPTER XL</a></h4> - - -<p>When she revived, Consuelo sat on a purple carpet, covering steps of -white marble leading into an elegant portico in the Corinthian style. -Two men in masks, whom she concluded by the color of their cloaks to be -Leverani and Marcus, sustained, and seemed anxious to restore her. About -forty other persons cloaked and masked, the same she had seen around the -image of the tomb of Christ, stood in two ranks, and chanted in chorus a -solemn hymn, in an unknown language, wearing crowns of roses and palms, -and green boughs. The pillars were adorned with festoons of garlands, -like triumphal arches, before the closed door of the temple, and above -Consuelo. The moon, brilliant and in mid-heaven, illumined the whole -white facade; and outside the sanctuary, old yews, cypresses, and pines -formed an immense thicket, like a sacred wood, beneath which a -mysterious stream, glancing in the silver light of the moon, murmured.</p> - -<p>"My sister," said Marcus, aiding Consuelo to rise, "you have passed -every test in triumph. Blush not at having failed in a physical point of -view, under the pain of grief. Your generous heart was overcome by -indignation and pity, at palpable evidences of the crimes and sufferings -of man. If you had reached this place unassisted, we would have had less -respect for you than now, when we have brought you hither overcome and -insensible. You have seen the sacred places of a lordly castle—not of -one celebrated above all others by the crimes of which it has been the -theatre, but like others whose ruins cover all Europe—terrible wrecks -of the vast net with which feudal power enwrapped, during so many -centuries, the whole civilised world, and oppressed men with the crime -of its awful domination and with the horrors of civil war. These hideous -abodes, these savage fortresses, have necessarily served as theatres for -all the crimes humanity witnessed before it was enlightened by means of -the religious wars—by the toil of sects struggling to emancipate man, -and by the martyrdom of the elect to establish the idea of truth.</p> - -<p>"Pass through Germany, France, Italy, England, Spain, and the Slavonic -countries, and you will not enter a valley or ascend a mountain, without -seeing above you the ruin of some imposing tower or castle, or, at -least, finding in the grass beneath your feet the vestiges of some -fortification. These are the bloody traces of the right of conquest of -the people by the patricians. If you explore these ruins—if you look -into the soil which has devoured them and which seeks constantly to make -them disappear, you will find everywhere traces of what you have found -here—a jail, a well for the dead, narrow and dark dungeons for -prisoners of importance, a place for silent murder, and on the summit of -some huge tower, or in the depth of some dungeon, stocks for rebellious -serfs or mutinous soldiers, a gallows for deserters and a stake for -heretics. How many have perished in boiling pitch! how many have -disappeared beneath the wave! how many have been buried alive! The walls -of castles, the waters of rivers and rocky caverns, could they speak, -would unfold myriads of crimes. The number is too great for history to -enumerate in detail.</p> - -<p>"Not the nobles alone, not the patrician races only, have made the soil -red with innocent blood. Kings and princes and priests, thrones and -churches, were the great causes of the iniquities and the living sources -of destruction. Persevering yet melancholy attention has collected in -our manor a portion of the instruments of torture used by the strong -against the weak. A description of their uses would not be credible; the -virtues could scarcely comprehend them; thought refuses to register -them. During many centuries these terrible apparatus were used in royal -palaces, in the citadels of petty princes, but above all, in the -dungeons of the Holy Office. They are yet used there, though but rarely. -The Inquisition yet exists: and in France, the most civilised country of -the world, the provincial parliament even now burns witches.</p> - -<p>"Besides, is royal tyranny now overthrown? Do kings and princes no -longer ravage the earth? Does not war desolate opulent cities, as well -as the pauper's hut, at the merest whim of a petty prince? Serfdom yet -exists in half of Europe. Are not troops yet subjected to the lash and -cane? The handsomest and bravest soldiers of the world, those of -Prussia, are taught their duty like animals, by beating. Are not the -Russian serfs often unmercifully knouted? If the fortresses of old -barons are dismantled, and turned into harmless abodes, are not those of -kings yet erect? Are they not frequently places where the innocent are -confined? Were not you, my sister, the purest and mildest of women, a -prisoner at Spandau?</p> - -<p>"We knew you were generous, and relied on your character of justice and -charity. Seeing you destined, like many who are here, to return to the -world, to approach the persons of sovereigns, as you were particularly -liable to their influence, it was our duty to put you on your guard -against the intoxication of that brilliant and dangerous life. It was -our duty to spare you no instructions, not even that of a terrible kind. -We appealed to your mind by the solitude to which we doomed you, by the -books we gave you. We spoke to your heart by paternal advice, now -tender, and now stern. We addressed your vision by experiences of more -painful significance than those of the old mysteries. Now if you persist -in receiving your initiation, you may present yourself before the -incorruptible paternal judges, who now are ready to crown you here, or -give you leave to quit us forever."</p> - -<p>As he concluded, Marcus pointed to the open door of the temple, -above which were written the three words—<i>Liberty, Equality, -Fraternity</i>—in letters of fire.</p> - -<p>Consuelo was physically crushed and weakened to such a degree, that she -existed in her mind alone. Standing at the base of a column, she leant -on Leverani, but without seeing or thinking of him. However, she had not -lost one word said by the initiator. Speechless, pale as a spectre, and -with her eyes fixed, she had that wild expression which follows nervous -crises. A deep enthusiasm filled her bosom, the feeble respiration of -which Leverani could not distinguish. Her black eyes, which fatigue and -suffering had caused to sink, glared brightly. A slight compression of -her brow evinced deep resolution. Her beauty, which had always seemed -gentle and soft, now appeared fearful. Leverani became as pale as the -jessamine leaf which the night wind made to quiver on his mistress's -brow. She arose, with more power than might have been expected; but at -once her knees gave way, and she was almost borne up the steps by him, -without the restraint of the arm, which had moved to the neighborhood of -her heart, to which it had been pressed, disturbing the current of her -thoughts for an instant. He placed between his own hand and Consuelo's, -the silver cross, as a token to inform her who he was, and which, like a -talisman, had given him such influence over her. Consuelo appeared -neither to recognise the token, nor the hand that presented it. Her own -was contracted by suffering. It was a mere mechanical pressure, as when -on the brink of an abyss we seize a branch to sustain ourselves. The -heart's blood did not reach her icy hand.</p> - -<p>"Marcus," said Leverani, in a low tone, as the former passed him to -knock at the door of the temple, "do not leave us; I fear the test has -been too great."</p> - -<p>"She loves you," said Marcus.</p> - -<p>"Yes—but perhaps she will die!" said Leverani, with a shudder.</p> - -<p>Marcus struck thrice at the door, which opened and shut as soon as he -had passed in with Consuelo and Leverani. The other brethren remained on -the portico, until they should be introduced for the initiation. For -between the initiation and the final proofs there was always a sacred -conversation between the principals and the candidates. The interior of -the temple used for these initiations was magnificently adorned, and -decorated between the pillars with statues of the greatest friends of -humanity. That of Jesus Christ stood in the centre of the amphitheatre, -between those of Pythagoras and Plato; Apollonius of Thyana was next to -Saint John; Abeilard by Saint Bernard; and John Huss and Jerome of -Prague, with Saint Catharine and Joan of Arc. Consuelo did not pause to -attend to external objects. Wrapped in meditation, she saw with surprise -the same judges who had profoundly sounded her heart. She no longer felt -any trouble, but waited, with apparent calmness, for their sentence.</p> - -<p>The eighth person, who sat below the seven judges, and who seemed -always to speak for them, addressing Marcus, said—"Brother, whom -bring you here? What is her name?"</p> - -<p>"Consuelo Porporina," said Marcus.</p> - -<p>"That is not what you are asked, my brother," said Consuelo; "do you not -see me here as a bride, not as a widow? Announce the Countess Albert of -Rudolstadt."</p> - -<p>"My daughter," said the orator, "I speak to you in the name of the -council. You are known no longer by that name; your marriage has been -dissolved."</p> - -<p>"By what right? by what authority?" said Consuelo quickly, with sudden -emotion. "I recognise no theocratic power. You have yourself told me -that you recognised no rights but those I gave you freely, and bade me -submit merely to paternal authority. Such yours will not be, if it -rescind my marriage without my own or my husband's consent. This right -neither he nor I have given you."</p> - -<p>"You are mistaken, daughter, for Albert has given us the right to decide -on both your fate and his own. You yourself did the same, when you -opened your heart, and confessed your love of another."</p> - -<p>"I confessed nothing, and I deny the avowal you have sought to wrest -from me."</p> - -<p>"Bring in the sibyl," said the orator to Marcus.</p> - -<p>A tall woman, dressed in white, with her face hid beneath her veil, -entered and sat in the middle of the half circle formed by the judges. -By her nervous tremor Consuelo recognised Wanda.</p> - -<p>"Speak, priestess of truth," said the orator; "speak, interpreter and -revealer of the greatest secrets, the most delicate movements of the -heart. Is this woman the wife of Albert of Rudolstadt?"</p> - -<p>"She is his faithful and respectable wife," said Wanda; "but you must -pronounce his divorce. You see by whom she is brought hither. You see -that of the children, one who holds her hand, is the man she loves, and -to whom she must belong, by the imperscrutable right of love."</p> - -<p>Consuelo turned with surprise towards Leverani, and looked at her hand, -which lay passive and deathlike in his. She seemed to be under the -influence of a dream, and to attempt to awaken. She loosed herself with -energy from his embrace, and looking into the hollow of her hand, saw -the impression of her mother's cross.</p> - -<p>"This is, then, the man I love," said she, with a melancholy smile and -holy ingenuousness. "Yes, I loved him, tenderly and sadly; yet it was a -dream. I fancied Albert was no more, and you told me this man was worthy -of my respect and my confidence. But I have seen Albert. I fancied that -I understood from his language that he no longer wished to be my -husband, and did not blame me for loving this stranger, whose words and -letters filled me with enthusiastic affection. They told me, however, -that Albert yet loved me, and relinquished all claim, from an exertion -of love and generosity. Why did Albert fancy I would be less magnanimous -than himself? What have I done that was criminal, that should induce him -to think me capable of crushing his heart by arrogating purely selfish -pleasure to myself? No, I will never defile myself by such a crime. If -Albert deems me unworthy of him, because I have loved another—if he -shrinks from effacing that love, and does not seek to inspire me with a -greater, I will submit to his decree—I will accept the sentence of -divorce, against which both my heart and conscience revolt; but I will -never be either the wife or mistress of another. Adieu, Leverani—or -whosoever you be—to whom, in a moment of mad delirium, with fills me -with remorse, I confided my mother's cross. Restore me that token, that -there may exist between us nothing but the memory of mutual esteem, and -the feeling that, without bitterness and without regret, we have done -our duty."</p> - -<p>"We recognise no such morality, you know," said the sibyl. "We will -accept no such sacrifice. We wish to consecrate and purify that love the -world has profaned, the free choice of the heart, and the holy and -voluntary union of beings loving each other. We have the right to -instruct the conscience of our children, to redress errors, to join -sympathies, and tear apart the bonds of old society. You can not -determine to sacrifice yourself—you cannot stifle the love in your -bosom, or deny the truth of your confession."</p> - -<p>"What say you of liberty? what say you of love and happiness?" said -Consuelo, advancing a step towards the judges, with an outbreak of -enthusiasm and a sublime radiation of countenance. "Have you not -subjected me to ordeals which have made my cheek pale and my heart -tremble? What kind of a base senseless being do you think me? Fancy you -that I am capable of seeking personal satisfaction after what I have -seen, learned, and know to be the life of men in their earthly affairs? -No! neither love, marriage, liberty, happiness, or glory are anything -for me, if it be at the expense of the humblest of my fellows. Is it not -proved that every earthly pleasure is obtained at the expense of the -suffering of another? Is there not something better to do than to -satisfy ourselves? Albert thinks so, and I have the right to follow his -example. Let me avoid the false and criminal illusion of happiness. Give -me toil, fatigue, grief, and enthusiasm. I understand no longer the -existence of joy, otherwise than in suffering. I have a thirst for -martyrdom, since you have exhibited to me the trophies of punishment. -Shame to those who understand their duty, and who yet seek to share -earthly happiness and repose. I now know my duty. Oh, Leverani! if you -love me after all the ordeals I have gone through, you are mad—you are -but a child, unworthy of the name of man—certainly unworthy of my -sacrificing Albert's heroic love to you. And you, Albert, if you be -here—if you hear me—you should not refuse to call me sister, -to offer me your hand, and teach me to walk in the rude pathway that -leads me to God."</p> - -<p>The enthusiasm of Consuelo had reached the acme, and words did not -suffice to express it. A kind of vertigo seized her; and, as happened to -the Pythonesses, in the paroxysms of their divine crises, when they -uttered cries and strange madness, she manifested her emotion in the -manner which was most natural to her. She began to sing in a brilliant -voice, and with an enthusiasm at least equal to that she had experienced -when she sang the same air in Venice, on the first occasion of her -appearance in public, when Marcello and Porpora were present.</p> - - -<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">"I cieli immensi narrono</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Del grande Iddio la gloria!"</span></p> - - -<p>This melody rushed to her lips, because it was perhaps the most <i>naïve</i> -and powerful expression ever given to religious enthusiasm. Consuelo, -however, was not calm enough to repress and manage her voice, and after -the first two lines her intonation became a sob, and, bursting into -tears, she fell on her knees.</p> - -<p>The invisibles were electrified by her fervor, and sprang to their feet -to hear this true inspiration with becoming respect. They descended from -their places and approached her; while Wanda, taking her in her arms, -placed her in those of Leverani, and said—"Look at him, and know that -God permits you to reconcile virtue, happiness, and duty."</p> - -<p>Consuelo for an instant was silent, as if she had been wafted to another -world. At length she looked on Leverani, whose mask Marcus tore away. -She uttered a piercing cry, and nearly died on his bosom as she -recognised Albert. Leverani and Albert were one and the same person.</p> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XLI">CHAPTER XLI</a></h4> - - -<p>At this juncture the doors of the temple swung open with a metallic -sound, and the Invisibles entered, two and two. The magic notes of the -harmonica,<a name="FNanchor_15_1" id="FNanchor_15_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_15_1" class="fnanchor">[15]</a> an instrument newly invented, the vibration of which was -an unknown wonder to Consuelo, was heard in the air, and seemed to -descend from the dome, which was open to the moon and the night wind. A -shower of flowers fell slowly over the happy couple amid this solemn -strain. Wanda stood by a tripod of gold, whence her right hand threw -brilliant flames and clouds of perfume, while in the left she held the -two ends of a chain of flowers and symbolic leaves she had cast around -the two lovers. The invisible chiefs, their faces being covered with -their long red drapery, with chaplets of the oak and accacia around -their brows, stood up to receive the brothers as they passed by them, -with a bow of veneration. The chiefs had the majesty of the old Druids, -but their hands, unstained by blood, were opened to bless alone, and -religious respect replaced the terror of old creeds. As the initiated -appeared before the venerable tribune, they took off their masks, to -salute the unknown with a bare brow. The latter were known to them only -by acts of clemency and justice, paternal love and wisdom. Faithful to -the religion of an oath, they did not seek to penetrate the mysterious -veils. Certainly, though themselves unaware, the adepts knew these magi -of a new religion, for they mingled with them in society, and, in the -very bosom of their assemblies, were the best friends and confidants of -the major portion of them—perhaps of each individual. In the practice -of their religion the priest was always veiled, like the oracle of -ancient days.</p> - -<p>Happy childhood of innocent creeds, quasi fabulous dawn of sacred -conspiracies, enwrapped in the night of ages, and decked with poetical -uncertainty! though the space of scarcely one century separates us from -these Invisibles, their existence to the historian is enigmatical. -Thirty years after the <i>illuminati</i> assumed those powers of which the -vulgar were ignorant, and finding their resources in the inventive -genius of the chiefs, and in the tradition of the secret societies of -mystic Germany, terrified the world by the most formidable and vast -political conspiracy that ever existed. For a moment it shook the throne -of every dynasty, and finally succumbed, bequeathing to the French -revolution an electric current of sublime enthusiasm, ardent faith, and -terrible fanaticism. Half a century before those days marked out by -fate, and while the gallant monarchy of Louis XV., the philosophical -despotism of Frederick II., the skeptic and mocking loyalty of Voltaire, -the ambition and diplomacy of Maria Theresa, and the heretical -toleration of Gangarelli, seemed to promise to the world a season of -decrepitude, antagonism, chaos, and dissolution, the French revolution -fermented and germinated in the dark. It existed in minds which were -<i>believing</i> almost to fanaticism, under the form of one dream of -universal revolution. While debauchery, hypocrisy, and incredulity ruled -the world, a sublime faith, a magnificent revelation of the future, -profound systems of organization, perhaps wiser than our Fourierism and -Saint-Simonism, already realised in some rare groups the ideal -conception of a future society diametrically opposed to what covers and -hides their actions in history.</p> - -<p>Such a contrast is one of the most prominent features of the eighteenth -century, which was too full of ideas, and of intellectual labor of all -kinds, for its synthesis to be made even yet, with clearness and profit, -by the historians and philosophers of our own days. The reason is, there -is a mass of contradictory documents, uninterpreted facts, not perceived -at first, sources of information disturbed by the tumult of the century, -and which must be purified before a solid bottom can be found. Many -energetic laborers have remained obscure, bearing to the tomb the secret -of their mission—so many dazzling glories absorbed the attention of -their contemporaries, so many brilliant feats even now absorbed the -retrospective attention of critics. Gradually, however, light will -emanate from chaos; and if our century sum up its own deeds, it will -also chronicle those of its predecessor—that vast logogriph, those -brilliant nebulæ, where there is so much cowardice combined with -grandeur, ignorance with knowledge, light with error, incredulity with -faith, pedantry with mocking frivolity, superstition with lofty reason. -This period of a hundred years saw the reigns of Madame de Maintenon and -Madame de Pompadour, Peter the Great, Catharine II., Maria Theresa and -Dubarry, Voltaire and Swedenborg, Kant and Mesmer, Rousseau and Dubois, -Schroeffer and Diderot, Fenelon and Law, Zinzendorf and Liebnitz, -Frederick II. and Robespierre, Louis XIV. and Philip Egalité, Marie -Antoinette and Charlotte Corday, Weishaupt, Babœf and Napoleon—a -terrible laboratory, where so many heterogeneous forms have been cast -into the crucible, that they vomited forth, in their monstrous -ebullition, a torrent of smoke, amid which we yet walk, enveloped in -darkness and confused images.</p> - -<p>Consuelo and Albert, as well as the Invisible chiefs and the adepts, -were yet farther than we are from understanding it; they had no very -lucid idea of the result of the changes and the turmoil into which they -were anxious to precipitate themselves, with the enthusiastic hope of -completely regenerating society. They fancied themselves on the eve of -an evangelical republic, as the disciples of Jesus fancied he was about -to establish an earthly power. The Taborites of Bohemia fancied -themselves on the eve of a paradisiac condition; and the French -Convention thought their armies about to commence a march of -propagandism over the globe. Without this mad confidence, where would be -great devotion? and without great folly, where would be great results? -But for the Utopia of the divine revealer Jesus, where would be the idea -of human fraternity? But for the contagious ecstacies of Joan of Arc, -would we now be Frenchmen? But for the noble chimeras of the eighteenth -century, would we have the first notions of equality? This mysterious -revolution which the sects of the past had dreamed of, and which the -mystic conspirators of the last century had vaguely foretold, fifty -years before, as an era of renovation, Voltaire, the calm philosophical -head of his day, and Frederick II., the great realiser of logical and -cold power, did not anticipate. The most ardent and the wisest were far -from reading the future. Jean Jacques Rousseau would have repudiated his -own book, had he seen the mountain in a dream, with the guillotine -glaring above it. Albert of Rudolstadt would have become again the -lethargic madman of the Giants' Castle if the bloody glories, followed -by Napoleon's despotism, and the restoration of the ancient <i>régime</i>, -followed by the sway of the vilest material interests, had been revealed -to him; or he fancied that he toiled to overthrow, at once and for ever, -scaffolds and prisons, castles and convents, banks and citadels.</p> - -<p>These noble children dreamed, and maintained their dream with all the -power of their souls. They no more belonged to their century than did -the shrewd politicians and wise philosophers. Their ideas of the future -were not more lucid than those of the latter. They had no idea of that -great unknown thing which each of us decks with the attributes of our -own power, which deceives us all while it confirms us. Our children see -it clad in a thousand dyes, and each keeps a shred for his own imperial -toga. Fortunately, every century sees it more majestic, because each -produces more persons to toil for its triumph. As for the men who would -tear off the purple and cover it with eternal mourning, they are -powerless, because they do not comprehend it. Slaves to the actual and -present, they are ignorant that the immortal has no age, and that he who -does not fancy it as it may be to-morrow, does not see it as it should -be to-day.</p> - -<p>At that moment Albert—enjoying completely restored health, and -joyous in the possession of Consuelo's undivided affection—felt so -supremely elated that there was some danger of his reason reeling from -excess of happiness.</p> - -<p>Consuelo stood at last before him, like the Galatea of that artist, -beloved by the gods, waking at once to life and love. Mute and -collected, her face beaming with a celestial glory, she seemed, for the -first time in her life, completely and unmistakably beautiful, because -for the first time she really loved. A sublime serenity shone on her -brow, and her large eyes became moist with that voluptuousness of the -soul, of which that of the body is but a reflection. She was thus -beautiful merely because she did not know what was passing in her heart -and over her face. Albert existed for her alone, or rather she did not -exist except in him; and he alone seemed worthy of entire respect and -boundless admiration. He was transformed, and, as it were, wrapped in -supernatural admiration when he saw her. She discovered in the depth of -his glance all the solemn grandeur of the bitter troubles he had -undergone, though they had left no trace of physical suffering. There -was on his brow the placidity of a resuscitated martyr, who sees the -earth made red by his blood, and a heaven of infinite rewards open to -him. Never did an inspired artist create a nobler ideal of a hero or a -saint, in the grandest days of ancient or Christian art.</p> - -<p>All the Invisibles, filled with admiration, paused, after having formed -a circle around them, and for some moments abandoned themselves to the -contemplation of this pair, so pure in the eyes of God, and so chaste -before man. More than twenty vigorous male voices sang, to a measure of -ancient lore and style—"O Hymen! O Hymene!" The music was Porpora's, -the words having been sent to him with orders for an epithalamium on the -occasion of an illustrious marriage. He had been well paid, without -being aware to whom he was under obligations. As Mozart, just before he -died, was to receive the sublimest inspiration for a requiem -mysteriously required, old Porpora regained all his youthful genius to -write an epithalamium the poetic mystery of which had aroused his -imagination. In the very first passage, Consuelo remembered her old -master's style, and looking around, she sought for her adopted father -among the choristers. Among those who were its interpreters, Consuelo -recognised many friends—Frederick Von Trenck, Porporino, Young Benda, -Count Golowkin, Schubert, the Chevalier D'Eon, (whom she had met at -Berlin, but of whose sex she, like all Europe, was ignorant,) the Count -St. Germain, the Chancellor Coccei, (husband of Barberini,) the -bookseller Nicolai, Gottlieb, (whose voice predominated above all the -others,) and Marcus, whom a gesture of Wanda pointed out to her, and -whom, from some instinctive sympathy, she had recognised in her guide, -and who discharged the functions of putative father or sponsor. All the -Invisibles had opened and thrown back on their shoulders their long -melancholy robes, and a neat white costume, which was elegant and -simple, relieved by a chain of gold, to which hung the insignia of the -order, gave to the whole scene the appearance of a festival. Their masks -hung around their wrists, ready to be replaced at the slightest signal -of the watcher, who was on the dome of the edifice.</p> - -<p>The orator who communicated between the adepts and chief of the order, -unmasked, and came to wish the couple happiness. This was the Duke of -****, who had consecrated his enthusiasm and immense fortune to the -undertaking of the Invisibles. He was owner of their place of meeting, -and at his house Wanda and Albert had frequent interviews, unseen by any -profane eyes. This house was also the head-quarters of the operations of -the chief of the order, though there were other places at which there -were smaller gatherings. Initiated into all the secrets of the order, -the duke acted with and for them. He did not betray their incognito, but -assumed all the dangers of the enterprise, being himself their visible -means of contact with the members of the association.</p> - -<p>When Albert and Consuelo had exchanged the gentle evidence of joy and -affection with their brethren, all took their places, and the duke -having resumed his functions of brother orator, thus spoke, as with -crowns of flowers they knelt before the altar:—</p> - -<p>"Very dear and beloved children—In the name of the true -God—all power, love, and intelligence; and after him, in the name of -the three virtues which reflect divinity in the human soul, Activity, -Charity, and Justice, translated in effect by our formula, <i>Liberty, -Fraternity,</i> and <i>Equality</i>; finally, in the name of the tribunal -of the Invisibles, devoted to the triple duty of zeal, faith, and -study—that is, to the triple search of the three divine moral and -political virtues—Albert Podiebrad, Consuelo Porporina, I pronounce -the ratification and confirmation of the marriage already contracted -before God and your kindred, and before a priest of the Christian religion, -at the Giants' Castle, 175—. Three things however were wanting: -first, the absolute wish of the wife to live with the husband, seemingly -<i>in extremis</i>; second, the sanction of a moral and religious society -received and acknowledged by the husband; third, the consent of a person -here present, the name of whom I am not permitted to mention, but who is -closely bound to one of the party by the ties of blood. If now these -three conditions be fulfilled, and neither of you have aught to object, -join your hands, and, rising, call on heaven to testify to the liberty -of your act and the holiness of your love."</p> - -<p>Wanda, who continued unknown among the brothers of the order, took the -hands of the two children. An impulse of tenderness and enthusiasm made -all three rise, as if they had been but one.</p> - -<p>The formulæ of marriage were pronounced, and the simple and touching -rite of the new church performed quietly but fervently. This engagement -of mutual love was not an isolated part amid indifferent strangers who -were careless of what passed. Those present were called to sanction the -religious consecration of two beings bound together by one faith. They -extended their arms over the couple and blessed them; then, taking hold -of each other's hands, they made a living circle, a chain of paternal -love, swearing to protect and defend their honor and life, to preserve -them as much as possible from seduction and persecution, on all -occasions and under all circumstances: in fine, to love them purely, -cordially, and seriously, as if they were united to them by name and -blood. The handsome Trenck pronounced this formula for all the others, -in elegant and simple terms. He then added, as he spoke to the -husband—</p> - -<p>"Albert, the profane and guilty law of old society, from which we -separate ourselves, some day to lead it back to us, wills that the -husband impose fidelity on his wife by humiliation and despotic -authority. If she fail, he must kill his rival; he has even the right to -kill his wife; and this is called washing out the stain of his honor in -blood. In the blind and corrupt world, every man is the enemy of -happiness thus savagely and sternly guarded. The friend, the brother -even, arrogates to himself a right to wrest honor and happiness from his -friend or brother; or, at least, a base pleasure is experienced in -exciting his jealousy and sowing distrust and trouble between him and -the object of his love. Here, you know that we have a better -understanding of honor and family pride. We are brothers in the sight of -God; and any one who would look impurely on the wife of his brother has -in his heart already committed the crime of incest."</p> - -<p>All the brothers, moved and excited, then drew their swords, and were -about to swear to use their weapons on themselves, rather than violate -the oath they had just sworn at Trenck's dictation.</p> - -<p>The sibyl—agitated by one of those enthusiastic impulses which -gave her so much influence over their imaginations, and which often -modified the opinions and decisions of the chiefs themselves—broke -the circle, and rushed into the midst. Her language, always energetic and -burning; her tall form, her floating drapery, her thin frame trembling yet -majestic, the convulsive tremor of her ever veiled head, and withal, a -grace which at once betokened the former existence of beauty which moves -the mind when it ceases to appeal to the senses;—in fine, even her -broken voice, which at once assumed a strange expression, had conspired -to make her a mysterious being, and invested her with persuasive power and -irresistible prestige.</p> - -<p>All were silent to hear the voice of her inspiration. Consuelo was -perhaps more moved than others, because she was aware of her singular -story. She asked herself, shuddering with strange emotion, if this -spectre, escaped from the tomb, really belonged to the world, and if, -after having spoken, she would not disappear in the air, like the flame -on the tripod, which made her appear so blue and transparent.</p> - -<p>"Hide from the light these affirmations," said Wanda, with a shudder. -"They are impious oaths when what is invoked is an instrument of hatred -and murder. I know the old world attached the sword to the side of all -reputed free, as a mark of independence and virtue. I well know that, in -obedience to the ideas you have here preserved in spite of yourselves, -the sword is the symbol of honor—that you deem you make holy -engagements when, like citizens of old Rome, you swear on the sword. But -here you would profane a solemn vow. Swear, rather, by this flame and -tripod—the symbol of life, light, and divine love. Do you yet need -emblems and visible signs? Are you yet idolators? Do the figures around -this temple represent aught but ideas? O! swear rather by your own -sentiments, by your better instincts, by your own heart; and if you dare -not swear by the living God, the true, eternal, and holy religion, swear -by pure humanity, by the glorious promptings of your courage, by the -chastity of this young woman and her husband's love—swear by the -genius and beauty of Consuelo, that your desire, that even your thoughts -will never profane this holy arc of matrimony, this invisible and mystic -altar on which the hand of an angel engraves the vow of love.</p> - -<p>"Do you know what love is?" said the sibyl, after having paused for an -instant, in a voice which every moment became more clear and -penetrating. "If you did, oh! you venerable chiefs of our order and -priests of our worship, you would never suffer that formula, which God -alone can ratify, to be pronounced before you; and which, consecrated by -men, is a kind of profanation of the divinest of mysteries. What power -can you give to an engagement which in its very nature is miraculous? -Yes, the confounding of two wills in one is in itself a miracle, for -every heart is in itself free by virtue of a divine right. Yet when two -souls yield and become bound to each other, their mutual possession -becomes sacred, and as much a divine right as individual liberty. You -see this is a miracle—that God reserves its mystery to himself, as he -does that of life and death. You are about to ask this man and woman if -during their lives they will belong respectively to each other. Their -fervor is such that they will reply, 'Not only for life, but forever.' -God then inspires them, by the miracle of love, with more faith, power, -virtue, than you can or dare to ask. Away, then, with sacrilegious oaths -and gross laws. Leave them their ideal, and do not bind them to reality -by chains of gold. Leave the care of the continuation of the miracle to -God. Prepare their souls for its accomplishment; form the ideal of love -in them; exhort, instruct; extol and demonstrate the glory of fidelity, -without which there is no moral honor, no sublime love. Do not come -between, however, like Catholic priests, like magistrates, to interfere -by the imposition of an oath. I tell you again, men cannot make -themselves responsible, or be guardians of the perpetuity of a miracle. -What know you of the secrets of the Eternal? Have we already penetrated -the temple of the future, in that celestial world where, beneath sacred -groves, man will converse with God as one friend does with another? Has -a law for indissoluble marriage emanated from the mouth of God? Have his -designs been proclaimed on earth? Have you, children of men, promulgated -this law unanimously? Have the Roman pontiffs never dissolved marriage? -They call themselves infallible! Under the pretext of the nullity of -certain engagements, have they not pronounced real divorces, the scandal -of which history has preserved in its records? The Christian societies, -the reformed sects, the Greek church, following the example of the -Mosaic dispensation, and all ancient religions, frankly introduced -divorce into modern law. What then becomes of the holiness and efficacy -of a vow to God, when it is maintained that man can release us from it? -Touch not love by the profanation of marriage. You cannot stifle it in -pure hearts. Consecrate the conjugal tie by exhortations, by prayers, by -a publicity which will make it respectable, by touching ceremonies. You -should do so, if you be our priests—that is to say, our aids, our -guides, our advisers, our consolers, our lights. Prepare souls for the -sanctity of a sacrament; and, as a father of a family seeks to establish -his children in positions of prosperity, dignity, and security, occupy -yourselves—our spiritual fathers—assiduously in fixing your -sons and daughters in circumstances favorable to the development of true -love, virtue, and sublime fidelity. When you shall have analysed them by -religious ordeals, and ascertained that in their mutual attraction there -is neither cupidity, vanity, nor frivolous intoxication, nor that -sensual blindness that is without ideality—when you have convinced -yourselves that they appreciate the grandeur of their sentiments, the -holiness of their duty, and the liberty of their choice, then permit -them to endow each other with their own inalienable liberty. Let their -families, their friends, and the vast family of the faithful, unite to -ratify this sacrament. Attend to my words! Let the sacrament be a -religious permission, a paternal and social permission, an -encouragement, an exhortation to perpetuate the engagement. Let it not -be a command, an obligation, a law, with menaces and punishments—a -forced slavery, with scandal, prisons and chains if it be violated; for -in this way you would reverse the whole miracle in all its entirety -accomplished on earth. Eternally fruitful providence—God, the -indefatigable dispenser of grace, always will conduct before you young, -fervent, and innocent couples, ready to bind themselves for time and -eternity. Your anti-religious law and your inhuman sacrament will always -abrogate the effect of grace in them. The inequality of conjugal rights -between the sexes—impiety made venerable by social laws—the -difference of duty in public opinion—all the absurd prejudices -following in the wake of bad institutions, will ever extinguish the faith -and enthusiasm of husband and wife. Those who are most sincere, who are -most inclined to fidelity, will be the first to grow sad, and become -terrified at the duration of the engagement, and thus disenchant each -other. The abjuration of individual liberty is in effect contrary to the -will of nature and the dictates of conscience when men participate in it, -for they oppress it with the yoke of ignorance and brutality. It is in -conformity with the will of generous hearts, and necessary to the -religious instincts of strong minds, when God gives us the means to -contend against the various snares man has placed around marriage, so as -to make it the tomb of love, happiness, and virtue, and a "sworn -prostitution," as our fathers the Lollards, whom you know and often -invoke, called it. Give to God what is God's, and take from Cæsar what -is not his."</p> - -<p>"And you, my children," said she, turning towards Albert and Consuelo, -"you, who have sworn to reverence the conjugal tie, did not, perhaps, -know the true meaning of what you did. You obeyed a generous impulse, -and replied with enthusiasm to the appeal of honor. That is worthy of -you, disciples of a victorious faith! You have performed more than an -act of individual virtue—you have consecrated a principle without -which there can be neither chastity nor conjugal fidelity.</p> - -<p>"O love! sublime flame—so powerful and so fragile, so sudden and -so fugitive! light from heaven, seemingly passing through our existence, to -die before we do, for fear of consuming and annihilating us, we feel you -are a vivifying fire, emanating from God himself, and that whoever would -fix it in his bosom and retain it to his last hour, always ardent, -always in its pristine vigor, would be the happiest and noblest of men. -Thus the disciples of the ideal will always seek to prepare sanctuaries -for you in their bosoms, that you may not hasten to return to heaven. -But alas! you whom we have made it a virtue to honor, have declined to -be renewed at the dictate of our institutions, and have remained free as -the bird of the air, capricious as the flame on the altar. You seem to -laugh at our oaths, our contracts and our will. You fly from us in spite -of all we have invented to fix you in your manners. You no longer -inhabit the harem, guarded by the vigilant sentinels which Christian -society places between the sentence of the magistrate and the yoke of -public opinions. Whence, then, comes your inconstancy and your -ingratitude? Oh! mysterious influence! oh, love! cruelly symbolised -under the form of an infant and blind god! what tenderness and what -contempt inspire human hearts you enkindle with your blaze; and whom you -desert, leaving them to wither amid the anguish of repentance, and, more -frightful yet, of disgust! Why is it that man kneels to you in every -portion of the globe—that you are exalted and deified—that -divine poets call you the soul of the world—that barbarous nations -sacrifice human victims to you, precipitating wives on the fire at the -husband's funeral—that young hearts call you in their gentlest -dreams, and that old men curse life when you abandon them to the horror of -solitude? Whence comes that adoration—sometimes sublime, sometimes -fanatical—which has been decreed you from the golden infancy of -humanity to our age of iron, if you be but a chimera, the dream of a -moment of intoxication, an error of the imagination, excited by the -delirium of the sense. Ah! it is not a vulgar instinct, a mere animal -want. You are not the blind child of Paganism, but the true son of God, -and very essence of the divinity. You have not yet revealed yourself to -us, except through the mist of errors; and you would not make your abode -among us, because you were unwilling to be profaned. You will return to -us, as in the days of the fabulous Astrea, as in the visions of poets, -to fix your abode in our terrestrial paradise, when we shall, by our -sublime virtues, have merited the presence of such a guest. How blessed -then will this abode be to man! and then it will be well to have been -born."</p> - -<p>"We will then be brothers and sisters, and unions, freely contracted, -will be maintained by your own power. When, in place of this terrible -contest, whose continuance is impossible—conjugal fidelity being -forced to resist infamous attempts at debauch, hypocritical seduction or -mad violence, hypocritical friendship and wise corruption—every -husband will find around him chaste sisters, himself the jealous and -delicate guardian of the happiness of a sister confided to him as a -companion; while every wife will find in other men so many brothers of her -husband, proud of her happiness and protectors of her peace; then the -faithful wife will no longer be the fragile flower that hides herself to -maintain the treasures of her chastity, often a deserted victim, wasting in -solitude and tears, unable to revive in her husband's mind the flame she -has preserved in purity in her own. The brother then will not be forced -to avenge his sister, and slay him she loves and regrets, in obedience -to the dictates of false honor. The mother will not tremble for her -daughter, nor the child blush for its parent. The husband then will be -neither suspicious nor despotic; and, on her part, the wife will escape -the bitterness of the victim and the rancor of the slave; atrocious -suffering and abominable injustice will cease to sully the peace of the -domestic hearth. It may be some day, that the priest and the magistrate, -relying with reason on the permanent miracle of love, will consecrate in -God's name indissoluble unions, with as much wisdom and justice as they -now ignorantly display impiety and folly.</p> - -<p>"But these glorious days are not yet come. Here, in this mysterious -temple, where we are now united in obedience to the evangelists, three -or four in the name of the Lord, we can only dream of divinest joys. It -is an oracle which then escapes from their bosoms. Eternity is the ideal -of love, as it is of faith. The human soul never comes nearer to the -apex of its power and lucidity than in the enthusiasm of a great love. The -<i>always</i> of lovers is an eternal revelation, a divine manifestation, -casting its sovereign light and blessed warmth over every instant of -their union. Woe to whoever profanes this sacred formula! He falls from -grace to sin—extinguishes the faith, power and light in his -heart."</p> - -<p>"Albert," said Consuelo, "I receive your promise, and adjure you to -accept mine. I feel myself under the power of a miracle, and the -<i>always</i> of our brief lives does not resemble the eternity for which -I give myself to you."</p> - -<p>"Sublime and rash Consuelo," said Wanda, with a smile of enthusiasm, -which seemed to pass through her veil, "ask God for eternity with him -you love, as a recompense of your fidelity to him in this brief life."</p> - -<p>"Ah! yes," said Albert, lifting his wife's hand, clasped in his own, to -heaven, "that is our end, hope, and reward—to love truly in this -phase of existence, to meet and unite in others. Ah! I feel that this is -not the first day of our union—that we have already loved, and loved -in other lives. Such bliss is not the work of chance. The hand of God -reunites us, like two parts of one being inseparable in eternity."</p> - -<p>After the celebration of the marriage, though the night was far -advanced, they proceeded to the final initiation of Consuelo in the -order of the Invisibles, and, then, the members of the tribunal having -dispersed amid the shadows of the holy wood, soon reassembled at the -castle of fraternal communion. The prince (<i>Brother Orator</i>) presided, -and took care to explain to Consuelo the deep and touching symbols. The -repast was served by faithful domestics, affiliated with a certain grade -of the order. Karl introduced Matteus to Consuelo, and she then saw bare -his gentle and expressive face; she observed with admiration that these -respectable servants were not treated as inferiors by their brothers of -the other grades. No personal distinction separated them from the higher -grades of the order, of whatever rank. The <i>brother servitors</i>, as -they were called, discharged willingly the duty of waiters and butlers. It -was for them to make all arrangements for the festivity, as being best -prepared to do so; and this duty they considered a kind of religious -observance—a sort of eucharistic festival. They were then no more -degraded than the Levites of a temple who preside over the details of -sacrifice. When they arranged the table, they sat at it themselves, not -at peculiar isolated places, but in chairs retained among the others for -them. All seemed anxious to be civil to them, and to fill their cups and -plates. As at masonic banquets, the cup was never raised to the lip -without invoking some noble idea, some generous sentiment, some august -patronage. The cadenced noises, the puerile conduct of the freemasons, -the mallet, the jargon of the toasts, and the vocabulary of tools, were -excluded from this grave yet costly entertainment. The servitors were -respectful without constraint, and modest without baseness. Karl sat -during one of the services between Albert and Consuelo. The latter saw -with emotion that besides his sobriety and good behavior, he had made -progress in healthy religious notions, by means of the admirable -education of sentiment.</p> - -<p>"Ah, my friend," said she to her husband, when the deserter had changed -his place, and her husband drew near to her, "this is the slave beaten -by the Prussian corporals, the savage woodman of Boehmer-wald, and the -would-be murderer of Frederick the Great. Enlightenment and charity have -in a few days converted into a sensible, pious, and just man, a bandit, -whom the precocious justice of nations pushed to murder, and would have -corrected with the lash and gallows."</p> - -<p>"Noble sister," said the Prince, who had placed himself on Consuelo's -right, "you gave at Roswald, to this mind crazed by despair, great -lessons on religion and prudence. He was gifted with instinct. His -education has since been rapid and easy; and when we've essayed to teach -him, his reply was, 'So the signora said.' Be sure the rudest men may be -enlightened more easily than is thought. To improve their condition—to -inoculate them with self-respect by esteeming and encouraging them, -requires but sincere charity and human dignity. You see that as yet they -have been initiated merely in the inferior degrees. The reason is, we -consult the extent of their minds and progress in virtue when we admit -them into our mysteries. Old Matteus has taken two degrees more than -Karl; and if he does not pass those he now occupies, it is because his -mind and heart can go no farther. No baseness of extraction, no humility -of condition, will ever stop them. You see here Gottlieb the cobbler, -son of the jailer at Spandau, admitted to a grade equal to your own, -though in my house, from habit and inclination, he discharges his -subordinate functions. His imagination, fondness for study and -enthusiasm for virtue—in a word, the incomparable beauty of soul -inhabiting that distorted body, renders him almost fit to be treated, in -the interior of the temple, as a brother and as an equal. We had -scarcely any ideas and virtues to impart to him. On the contrary, mind -and heart were too teeming, and it became necessary to repress them and -soothe his excitement, treating at the same time the moral and physical -causes which would have led him to folly. The immorality of those among -whom he lived, and the perversity of the official world, would have -irritated without corrupting him. We alone, armed with the mind of James -Boehm and the true explanation of his sacred symbols, were able to -undeceive and convince him, and to direct his poetic fancy without -chilling his zeal and faith. Remark how the cure of his mind has reacted -on his body, and that he has regained health as if by magic. His strange -face is already transformed."</p> - -<p>After the repast they resumed their cloaks, and walked along the gentle -slope of the hill, which was shaded by the sacred wood. The ruins of the -old castle, reserved for ordeals, was above it; and gradually Consuelo -remembered the path she had passed so rapidly over, on a night of storm, -not long before. The plenteous stream—which ran from a cavern rudely -cut in the rock, and once reserved for superstitious devotion—murmured -amid the undergrowth towards the valley, where it formed the brook the -prisoner in the pavilion knew so well. Alleys covered by nature with -fine sand, crossed under the luxuriant shade where the various groups -met and talked together. High barriers, but which did not intercept the -river, shut in the enclosure, the kiosque of which might be considered -the study. This was a favorite retreat of the duke, and was forbidden to -the idle and indiscreet. The servitors also walked in groups around the -barriers, watching to prevent the approach of any <i>profane</i> being. Of -this there was no great danger. The duke seemed merely occupied with -masonic mysteries; as was the case, in a manner. Free masonry was then -tolerated by the law and protected by the princes who were, or thought -themselves, initiated in it. No one suspected the importance of the -superior grades; which, after many degrees, ended in the tribunal of the -Invisibles.</p> - -<p>Besides, at this moment the ostensible festival which lighted up the -façade of the palace too completely absorbed the attention of the -numerous guests of the prince, for any to think of leaving his brilliant -halls and the new gardens, for the rocks and ruins of the old park. The -young Margravine of Bareith, an intimate friend of the duke, presided -over the honors of the entertainment. To avoid appearing, he had feigned -sick, and after the banquet of the Invisibles supped with his numerous -guests in the palace. As she saw the glare of the lights in the -distance, Consuelo, who leaned on Albert's arm, remembered Anzoleto and -accused herself innocently in presence of her husband, who charged her -with having become too ironical and stern to the companion of her -childhood. "Yes, it was a guilty idea, but then I was most unhappy. I -had resolved to sacrifice myself to Count Albert, and the malicious and -cruel Invisibles again cast me into the arms of the dangerous Leverani. -Wrath was in my heart; gladly I met him from whom I was to separate in -despair, and Marcus wished to soothe my sorrow by a glance at the -handsome Anzoleto. Ah! I never expected to be so indifferent to him. I -fancied I was about to be doomed to sing with him, and could have hated -him for thus depriving me of my last dream of happiness. Now, my friend, -I could see him without bitterness and treat him kindly; happiness makes -us so merciful. May I be useful to him some day, and inspire him with, -a serious love of art, if not virtue."</p> - -<p>"Why despair? Let us wait for him in the scene of want and misery. Now, -amid his triumphs, he would be deaf to the voice of reason. Let him lose -his voice and his beauty, and we will take possession of his soul."</p> - -<p>"Do you take charge of this conversion, Albert?"</p> - -<p>"Not without you, my Consuelo."</p> - -<p>"Then you do not fear the past?"</p> - -<p>"No; I am presumptuous enough to fear nothing. I am under the power of -a miracle."</p> - -<p>"I, too, Albert, cannot doubt myself."</p> - -<p>Day began to break, and the pure morning air to exhale a thousand -exquisite perfumes. It was the most delicious period of the summer; the -birds singing amid the trees and flying from hill to valley. Groups -formed every moment around the couple and far from being importunate, -added to the pleasure of their fraternal friendship, to their pure -happiness. All the Invisibles present were introduced to Consuelo as -members of her family. They were the most eminent in virtue, talent, and -intelligence in the order. Some were illustrious, and others obscure in -the world, but were known in the temple by their labors. The noble and -the peasant mingled together in close intimacy. Consuelo had to learn -their true names, and the more poetical titles of their fraternal -association. They were Vesper, Ellops, Peon, Hyas, Euryalus, -Bellerophon, etc. Never had she around her so many pure and noble souls, -so many interesting characters. The stories told of their conversion, -the dangers they had run, and what they had done, charmed her as poems, -the tenor of which she could not have reconciled with actual life, they -appeared so touching and moving. There was, however, no portion of the -common-place gallantry, and not the slightest approach to dangerous -familiarity. Lofty language, inspired by equality and fraternity, was -realised in its purest phase. The beautiful golden dawn rising over -their souls as over the world, was, as it were, a dream in the existence -of Consuelo and Albert. Enlaced in each other's arms, they did not think -of leaving their beloved brethren. A moral intoxication, gentle and -bland as the morning air, filled their souls. Love had expanded their -hearts too amply to make them tremble. Trenck told them the dangers of -his captivity and escape in Glatz. Like Consuelo and Haydn in the -Boehmer-wald, he had crossed Poland, but in the midst of cold, covered -with rags, with a wounded companion—the <i>amiable</i> SHELLES, whom -his memoirs make known to us as an affectionate friend. To earn his bread, -he had played on the violin, and, like Consuelo on the Danube, had been -a minstrel. He then spoke in a low tone of the Princess Amelia, his love -and hope. Poor Trenck! the terrible storm which overhung him, neither he -nor his happy friends foresaw. He was doomed to pass from the -midsummer's night's dream to a life of combat, deception, and suffering.</p> - -<p>Porporino sang beneath the cypress-trees an admirable hymn composed by -Albert, to the memory of the martyrs of their cause. Young Benda -accompanied him on the violin; Albert took the instrument and delighted -his hearers with a few notes; Consuelo could not sing, but wept with joy -and enthusiasm; Count Saint Germain told of conversations with John Huss -and Jerome of Prague, with such warmth, eloquence, and probability, that -it was impossible not to have faith in him. In such seasons of emotion -and delight, reason does not prohibit poetry. The Chevalier d'Eon -described with refined taste the miseries and absurdities of the great -tyrants of Europe, the vices of courts, and the weakness of the -scaffolding of the social system that enthusiasm fancied so easy to -break. Count Golowkin described the great soul and strange -contradictions of his friend, Jean Jacques Rousseau.</p> - -<p>This philosophical noble (they will to-day call him eccentric) had a -very beautiful daughter, whom he educated according to his ideas, and -who was at once Emile and Sophie, now as handsome a boy, then as -charming a girl as possible. He wished to have her initiated, and for -Consuelo to instruct her. The illustrious Zinzendorf explained the -evangelical constitution of his colony of Moravian Hernhuters.—He -consulted Albert with deference about many particulars, and wisdom -seemed to speak by Albert's mouth. He was inspired by the presence and -smile of his mistress. To Consuelo he seemed divine. All advantages to -her seemed to deck him. He was a philosopher, an artist, a martyr, who -had survived the ordeal; grave as a sage of the Portico, beautiful as an -angel, joyous and innocent as a child or happy lover—perfect, in -fine, as the one we love always is.</p> - -<p>Consuelo, when she knocked at the door of the temple, had expected to -die of fatigue and emotion. Now she felt herself aroused and animated as -when, on the shore of the Adriatic, she used to sport in the sands in -full health beneath a bright sun moderated by the evening breeze. It -seemed that life in all its power, happiness in all its intensity, had -taken possession of her, and that she breathed them at every pore. Why -cannot the sun be stopped in the sky over certain valleys, where we feel -all the plentitude of being, and where the dreams of imagination seem -realised, or about to be?</p> - -<p>The sky at last became purple and gold, and a silver bell warned the -Invisibles that night withdrew its protecting cloak. They sang a hymn to -the rising sun, emblematical to them of the day they dreamed of, and -prepared for the world. All then made them adieux, promising to meet, -some at Paris, others at London, Madrid, Vienna, Petersburg, Dresden, -and Berlin. All promised on a year from that day to meet again at the -door of the blessed temple, either with neophytes or with brethren now -absent. They then folded their cloaks to conceal their elegant costumes, -and silently dispersed by the shadowy walks of the park.</p> - -<p>Albert and Consuelo, guided by Marcus, went down the ravine to the -stream. Karl received them in his closed gondola, and took them to the -door of the pavilion. There they paused for a moment to contemplate the -majesty of the orb of day which rose in the sky. Until now, Consuelo, -when she replied to Albert had called him by his true name; when, -however, she was awakened from the musing in which she seemed delighted -to lose herself, as she pressed her burning cheek on his shoulder, she -could only say:</p> - -<p><i>"Oh Leverani!"</i></p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_15_1" id="Footnote_15_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_15_1"><span class="label">[15]</span></a>The harmonica, when first invented, created such a -sensation in Germany, that poetical imaginations fancied they heard in -it supernatural voices, evoked by the consecrators of certain mysteries. -This instrument, which, before it became popular, was thought to be -magical, was elevated by the adepts of German theosophy, to the same -honor with the lyre among the ancients, and many other instruments among -the primitive people of Himalaya. They made it one of the hieroglyphic -figures of their mysterious iconography. They represented it under the -form of a fantastic chimera. The neophytes of secret societies, hearing -it for the first time after the rude shocks of their terrible ordeals, -were so much impressed by it that many of them fell into ecstacies. They -fancied they heard the song of invisibile powers, for both the -instrument and the performer were concealed from them most carefully. -There are extremely curious stories told of the employment of the -harmonica in the reception of adepts of illuminatism.</p></div> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4><a id="EPILOGUE">EPILOGUE</a></h4> - - -<p>Had we been able to procure faithful documents in relation to Albert and -Consuelo after their marriage, like those which have guided us up to -this point, we might, doubtless, have written a long history, telling of -all their adventures and journeys. But, most persevering readers, we -cannot satisfy you; and of you, weary reader, we only ask a few moments -of patience. Let neither of you reproach nor praise us. The truth is, -that the materials by means of which we have so far been able to connect -the items of this story, entirely disappear from the dates of the -romantic night which blessed and consecrated the union of the two great -characters of our story amid the Invisibles. Whether the engagements -contracted by them in the temple prevented them from yielding to -friendship in their letters; or that their friends, being affiliated in -the same mysteries, in the days of persecution thought it proper to -destroy their correspondence, we cannot say; but henceforth we see them -through the maze of a cloud, under the veil of the temple or the mask of -adepts. Without examining the traces of their existence which we find in -manuscripts, it would often have been difficult to follow them; -contradictory evidence shows both to have been at the same time at two -different geographical points, or following different objects. However, -we can easily understand the possibility of their voluntarily creating -such errors, from the fact that they were secretly devoted to the plans -of the Invisibles, and often were forced, amid a thousand perils, to -avoid the inquisitorial policy of governments. In relation to the -existence of this one soul, with two persons, called Consuelo and -Albert, we cannot say whether love fulfilled all its promises, or if -fate contradicted those which it had seemed to make during the -intoxication of what they called "<i>The Midsummer Night's Dream.</i>" They -were not, however, ungrateful to Providence, which had conferred this -rapid happiness, in all its plentitude, and which, amid reverses, -continued the miracle of love Wanda had announced. Amid misery, -suffering and persecution, they always remembered that happy life, which -seemed to them a celestial union, and, as it were, a bargain made with -the divinity, for the enjoyment of a better existence after many toils, -ordeals, and sacrifices.</p> - -<p>In other respects, all becomes so mysterious to us that we have been -quite unable to discover in what part of Germany this enchanted -residence was, in which, protected by the tumult of the chase and -festivals, a prince unknown in documents became a rallying point and a -principal mover of the social and philosophical conspiracy of the -Invisibles. This prince had received a symbolical name, which, after a -thousand efforts to discover the cypher used by the adepts, we presume -to be Christopher, or Chrysostom, or the Golden Mouth. The temple where -Consuelo was married and initiated was particularly called <i>Saint -Graal</i>, and the chiefs of the tribunal <i>Templists.</i> These were -Romanesque emblems, renewed from the old legends of the age of gold and -chivalry. All the world knows that in these charming fictions, Saint -Graal was hidden in a mysterious sanctuary, amid a grotto unknown to -men. There the <i>Templists</i>, illustrious saints of primitive -Christianity, devoted even in this world to immortality, kept the -precious cup which Jesus had used in the consecration of the Eucharist, -when he kept the passover with his disciples. This cup doubtless -contained the celestial grace, represented sometimes by blood and then -by the tears of Christ; a divine ichor or eucharistic substance, the -mystic influence of which was inexplicable, but which it was sufficient -merely to see, to be transformed, both morally and physically, so as to -be forever sheltered from death and sin. The pious paladins, who, after -terrible macerations and exploits sufficient to make the earth tremble, -devoted themselves to the career of <i>knight-errantry</i>, had the idea of -reaching <i>Saint Graal</i> at the end of their peregrinations. They looked -for it amid the ices of the north, on the shores of Armorica, and in the -depths of the forests of Germany. To realise this sublime conquest, it -was necessary to confront danger, equal to those of the Hesperides—to -overcome monsters, elements, barbarous people, hunger, thirst, and even -death. Some of these Christian Argonauts discovered, it is said, the -sanctuary, and were regenerated by the divine cup; they never, however, -betrayed the terrible secret. Their triumph was known by the power of -their invincible arm, by the transfiguration of all their existence: -few, however, survived this glorious initiation. They disappeared from -among men as Jesus did after his resurrection, and passed from earth to -heaven without undergoing the bitter transition of death.</p> - -<p>This magical symbol was, in fact, well adapted to the object of the -Invisibles. For many years, the new Templists hoped to make Saint Graal -accessible to all mankind. Albert toiled constantly to diffuse the true -ideas of his doctrine. He reached the highest grades of the order, for -we find the list of his titles showing that he had time enough to reach -them. Now all know that eighty-one months are needed to pass through the -twenty-three degrees of masonry, and we think it certain that a much -longer time was required for the higher grades of Saint Graal. The -number of masonic degrees are now a mystery to no one; yet it will not -be out of place here to recount a few, as they paint the enthusiastic -genius and smiling fancy which presided over their first creation:</p> - -<p>"Apprentice and Master Mason, Secret and Perfect Master, Provost and -Judge, English and Irish Master, Master in Israel, Master Elect of the -Nine and Fifteen, Elect of the Unknown, Grand Master Architect, Royal -Arch, Grand Scotch Master of the Sublime or Master Masons, Knight of the -Sword, Prince of Jerusalem, Knight of Orient and Occident, Rose-Cross of -France, Heredom and Kilwinning, Grand Pontiff or Sublime Scot, Architect -of the Sacred Roof, Pontiff of Jerusalem, Sovereign Prince of Masonry -and Master <i>ad vitam</i>, Naochite, Prince of Libon, Chief of the -Tabernacle and Knight of the Iron Serpent, Trinitarian Scot or -Prince of Mercy, Grand Commander of the Temple, Knight of the -Gun, Patriarch of the Crusades, Grand Master of Light, Knight -Kadosch, Knight of the White Eagle and of the Black Eagle, Knight -of the Phœnix and Knight of the Argonauts, Knight of the Golden Fleece, -Grand-Inspector-Inquisitor-Commander-Sublime, Prince of the Royal Secret -and Sublime Master of the Luminous King,"&c.<a name="FNanchor_16_1" id="FNanchor_16_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_16_1" class="fnanchor">[16]</a></p> - -<p>These titles, or at least the majority of them, we find connected with -the name of Albert Podiebrad, in the most illegible rolls of the -freemasons. There are also many less known; such as Knight of St John, -Sublime Johannite, Master of the New Apocalypse, Doctor of the Gospel, -and Elect of the Holy Ghost, Templist, Areopagite, Magus, and Man of the -People, Man-Pontiff, Man-King, and New-man,&c.<a name="FNanchor_17_1" id="FNanchor_17_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_17_1" class="fnanchor">[17]</a> We have been -surprised here to find some titles which seemed anticipated from the -illuminatism of Weishaupt: this peculiarity, however, was explained at a -later day, and will not, when this story is concluded, need any -explanation to our readers.</p> - -<p>Amid this labyrinth of obscure facts—which, however, are profound, -and connected with the labor, success, and apparent extinction of the -Invisibles—we can with difficulty follow the adventurous story of the -young couple. Yet by supplying what we need by a prudent imagination, -the following is nearly the abridged commentary of the chief events of -their lives. The fancy of the reader will supply the deficiency of the -text, and following our experience, we doubt not that the best -<i>dénoûements</i> are those for which the reader and not the narrator will -be responsible.<a name="FNanchor_18_1" id="FNanchor_18_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_18_1" class="fnanchor">[18]</a></p> - -<p>Probably, after leaving <i>Saint Graal</i>, Consuelo went to the little -court of Bareith, where the Margravine, sister of Frederick, had palaces, -gardens, kiosques, and cascades, in the same style as those of Count -Hoditz at Roswald, though less sumptuous and less expensive. This -intellectual princess had been married without a dower to a very poor -prince; and not long before she had worn robes with trains of reasonable -length, and had pages whose doublets were not threadbare, her gardens, or -rather her garden, to speak without metaphor, was situated amid a -beautiful country, and she indulged in the Italian Opera in an antique -temple <i>à la Pompadour.</i> The margravine was fond of philosophy—that -is to say, she was a disciple of Voltaire. The young hereditary margrave, -her husband, was the zealous head of a masonic lodge. I am not sure -whether Albert was connected with him, or whether his incognito was -observed by the secresy of the brothers, or whether he remained away -from this court and joined his wife afterwards. Certainly Consuelo had -some secret mission there. Perhaps, also, for the purpose of preventing -attention from being attracted to her husband, she did not live publicly -with him for some time. Their loves, then, had all the attraction of -mystery; and if the publicity of their union, consecrated by the -fraternal sanction of the Templists, seemed gentle and edifying to them, -the secrecy they maintained in a hypocritical and licentious world, at -first, was a necessary <i>ægis</i> and kind of mute protestation in which -they found their enthusiasm and power.</p> - -<p>Many male and female Italian singers at that time delighted the little -court of Bareith. Corilla and Anzoleto appeared there, and the vain -prima donna again became enamored of the traitor she had previously -devoted to all the furies of hell. Anzoleto, however, while he cajoled -the tigress, sought with a secret and mysterious reserve to find favor -with Consuelo, whose talent, enhanced by such profound revelations, now -eclipsed all rivalry. Ambition had become the dominant passion of the -young tenor; love had been stifled by mortification, and voluptuousness -by satiety. He then loved neither the chaste Consuelo nor the passionate -Corilla, but kept terms with both, ready to attach himself to either of -the two, who would serve his purpose, and make him advantageously known. -Consuelo treated him kindly, and neither spared good advice nor such -instructions as would enable him to exhibit his talent. She never, -though, felt uneasy when she was with him, and the completeness of her -pardon exhibited how completely she had mastered her passion. Anzoleto -was not re-installed, and having listened with emotion to the advice of -his friend, lost all patience when he lost all hope, and his deep -mortification and sorrow, in spite of himself, became evident in his -words.</p> - -<p>Under these circumstances, it appears that Amelia of Rudolstadt came to -Bareith with the Princess of Culmbach, daughter of the Countess Von -Hoditz. If we may believe some exaggerating and indiscreet witnesses, -some strange scenes took place between Consuelo, Amelia, Corilla, and -Anzoleto. When she saw the handsome tenor appear unexpectedly on the -boards of the opera of Bareith, the young baroness fainted. No one -observed the coincidence, but the lynx-eyed Corilla discovered on the -brow of Anzoleto a peculiar expression of gratified vanity. He missed -his <i>point</i>; the court, disturbed by the accident, did not applaud the -singer, and instead of growling between his teeth, as was his fashion on -such occasions, there was an unequivocal smile of triumph on his face.</p> - -<p>"See," said Corilla, in an angry voice to Consuelo, as she went behind -the scenes, "he loves neither you nor me, but that little fool who has -been playing her part in the boxes. Do you know her? who is she?"</p> - -<p>"I do not know," said Consuelo, who had observed nothing: "I can assure -you, however, neither you, nor she, nor I, occupy him."</p> - -<p>"Who then does?"</p> - -<p>"Himself <i>al solito</i>," said Consuelo with a smile.</p> - -<p>The story goes on to say that on the next day Consuelo was sent for to -come to a retired wood to talk with Amelia. "I know all," said the -latter, angrily, before she permitted Consuelo to open her mouth; "he -loves you, unfortunate scourge of my life—you, who have robbed me of -Albert's love and his."</p> - -<p>"<i>His</i>, madame? I do not know——"</p> - -<p>"Do not pretend. Anzoleto loves you. You were his mistress at Venice, -and yet are——"</p> - -<p>"It is either a base slander, or a suspicion unworthy of you."</p> - -<p>"It is the truth. I assure you; he confessed it to me last night."</p> - -<p>"Last night! What do you say, madame?" said Consuelo, blushing with -shame and chagrin.</p> - -<p>Amelia shed tears; and when the kind Consuelo had succeeded in calming -her jealousy, she obtained in spite of her diffidence, the confession of -this unfortunate passion. Amelia had heard Anzoleto sing at Prague, and -became intoxicated with his beauty and success. Being ignorant of music, -she took him for one of the first musicians in the world. At Prague he -was decidedly popular. She sent for him as her singing-master, and while -her father the old Baron Frederick, paralysed by inactivity, slept in -his chair dreaming of wild boars, she yielded to a seducer. <i>Ennui</i> -and vanity ruined her. Anzoleto, flattered by this illustrious conquest, -and wishing to make the scandal public in order to secure popularity, -persuaded her that she might become the greatest singer of the age, that -an artist's life was a paradise on earth, and that she could not do -better than fly with him, and make her <i>début</i> at the Haymarket -Theatre in Handel's operas.</p> - -<p>Amelia at first viewed with horror the idea of deserting her old father, -but when Anzoleto was about to leave Prague, feigning a despair he did -not feel, she yielded to his solicitations, and fled with him.</p> - -<p>The intoxication of her love for Anzoleto was but of brief duration. His -insolence and coarse manners, when he no longer played the part of -seducer, recalled her to her senses; and it was not without a feeling of -pleasure mingled with remorse at her conduct, that, three months after -her escape, she was arrested at Hamburg, and brought back to Prussia, -where, at the instance of her Saxon kin, she was incarcerated in the -fortress of Spandau. Her punishment was both long and severe, and in a -measure rendered her mind callous to the agony she would otherwise have -felt at hearing of her father's death. At last her freedom was granted, -and it was not till then that she heard of all the misfortunes which had -afflicted her family. She did not dare to return to the canoness, and -feeling utterly incapable of leading a life of retirement and repose, -she implored the protection of the Margravine of Bareith; and the -Princess of Culmbach, who was then at Dresden, assumed the -responsibility of taking her to her kinswoman. In this frivolous yet -philosophical court she found that amiable toleration of vice which then -was the only virtue. Here she again met with Anzoleto, and again -submitted to the ascendancy which he seemed to have acquired over the -fair sex, and which the chaste Consuelo found so difficult to resist. At -first she avoided him, but gradually became again fascinated, and made -an appointment to meet him one evening in the garden, and once more -yielded to his solicitations.</p> - -<p>She confessed to Consuelo that she yet loved him, and related all her -faults to her old singing mistress with a mixture of feminine modesty -and philosophical coolness.</p> - -<p>It seems certain that Consuelo by her earnest appeals found the way to -her heart, and that she made up her mind to return to the Giants' -Castle, and to shake off her dangerous passion in solitude, by soothing -her old aunt in her decline.</p> - -<p>After this adventure Consuelo could remain at Bareith no longer. The -haughty jealousy of Corilla, who was always imprudent, yet at the same -time kind-hearted, induced the prima donna sometimes to find fault, and -then to humble herself. Anzoleto, who had fancied that he could avenge -for her disdain by casting himself at Amelia's feet, never pardoned her -for having removed the young baroness from danger. He did her a thousand -unkind offices, contriving to make her miss the cue on the stage, -preventing her from taking up the key in a <i>duo</i>, and by a -self-sufficient air attempting to make the unwary audience think she was -in error. If he had a stage effect to perform with her, he went to her -right instead of her left hand, and tried to make her stumble amid the -properties. All these ill-natured tricks failed, in consequence of -Consuelo's calmness. She was, however, less stoical when he began to -calumniate her, and when she knew that there were persons, who could not -believe in the chastity of an actress, to listen to him. Hence -libertines of every age were rude towards her, refusing to believe in -her innocence; and she had to bear with Anzoleto's defamation, -influenced as he was by mortification and revenge.</p> - -<p>This base and narrow-minded persecution was the commencement of a long -martyrdom which the unfortunate prima donna submitted to during all her -theatrical career. As often as she met Anzoleto, he annoyed her in a -thousand ways. Corilla, too, from envy and ill-feeling, gave her -trouble. Of her two rivals, the female was the least in the way, and -most capable of a kind emotion. Whatever may be said of the misconduct -and jealous vanity of actresses, Consuelo discovered that when her male -companions were influenced by the same vices, they became even more -degraded, and less worthy of their relative position. Arrogant and -dissipated nobles, managers and people of the press, depraved by such -connection, fine ladies, curious and whimsical patronesses, ready to -deceive, yet offended at finding in an actress more virtue than they -could themselves boast of—in fact, and most unjust of all, the public -rose <i>en masse</i> against the wife of Leverani, and subjected her to -perpetual mortification. Persevering and faithful in her profession as -she was in love, she never yielded, but pursued the tenor of her way, -always increasing in musical knowledge, and her virtuous conduct -remaining unaltered. Sometimes she failed in the thorny path of success, -yet often won a just triumph. She became the priestess of a purer art -than even Porpora himself was acquainted with; and found immense -resources in her religious faith, and vast consolation in her ardent and -devoted love to her husband.</p> - -<p>The career of her husband, though a parallel to her own, for he -accompanied her in her wanderings, is enwrapped in much mystery. It may -be presumed that he was not sentenced to be the slave of her fortune and -the book-keeper of her receipts and disbursements. Consuelo's profession -was not very lucrative. At that time the public did not reward artists -with as much munificence as it does now. Then they were remunerated by -the presents they received from princes and nobles, and women who knew -how to take advantage of their position had already begun to amass large -fortunes. Chastity and disinterestedness are, however, the greatest -enemies an actress can have. Consuelo was successful, respected, and -excited enthusiasm in some, when those who were about her did not -interfere with her position before the true public. She owed no triumph -to gallantry, however, and infamy never crowned her with diamonds or -gems. Her laurels were spotless, and were not thrown on the stage by -interested hands. After ten years of toil and labor, she was no richer -than when she began her career. She had made no speculations, for she -neither could nor would do so. She had not even saved the fruit of her -labors, to get which she often had much trouble, but had expended it in -charity, or for the purposes of secret but active propagandism, for -which her own means had not always sufficed. The central power of the -Invisibles had often provided for her.</p> - -<p>What may have been the real success of the ardent and tireless -pilgrimage of Albert and Consuelo, in France, Spain, England and Italy, -there is nothing to tell the world; and I think we must look twenty -years later, and then use induction, to form an idea of the result of -the secret labors of the societies of the Invisibles. Had they a greater -effect in France than in the bosom of that Germany where they were -produced? The French Revolution loudly says Yes. Yet the European -conspiracy of Illuminism, and the gigantic conceptions of Weishaupt, -prove that the divine dream of Saint Graal did not cease to agitate the -German mind for thirty years, in spite of the dispersion and defection -of the chief adepts.</p> - -<p>Old newspapers tell us that Porporina sang with great success in -Pergolese's operas at Paris, in the oratorios and operas of Handel at -London, with Farinelli at Madrid, with La Faustina at Dresden, and with -Mergotti at Venice. At Rome and Naples she sang the church music of -Porpora and other great masters, with triumphant applause.</p> - -<p>Every item of Albert's career is lost. A few notes to Trenck or Wanda -prove this mysterious personage to have been full of faith, confidence, -and activity, and enjoying in the highest degree lucidity of mind. At a -certain epoch all documentary information fails. We have heard the -following story told, in a coterie of persons almost all of whom are now -dead, relative to Consuelo's last appearance on the stage.</p> - -<p>"It was about 1760, at Vienna. The actress was then about thirty years -old, and it was said was handsomer than she had been in her youth. A -pure life, moral and calm habits, and physical prudence, had preserved -all the grace of her beauty and talent. Handsome children accompanied -her, but no one knew their father, though common report said that she -had a husband, and was irrevocably faithful to him. Porpora having gone -several times to Italy, was with her, and was producing a new opera at -the Imperial Theatre. The last twenty years of the maestro's works are -so completely unknown, that we have in vain sought to discover the name -of his last productions. We only know Porporina had the principal part, -that she was most successful, and wrung tears from the whole court. The -empress was satisfied. On the night after this triumph, Porporina -received from an invisible messenger news that filled her with terror and -consternation. At seven in the morning—that is to say, just at the -hour when the empress was awakened by the faithful valet known as the -sweeper<a name="FNanchor_19_1" id="FNanchor_19_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_19_1" class="fnanchor">[19]</a> of her majesty, (for his duty consisted in opening the -blinds, making the fire, and cleaning the room, while the empress was -awaking,) Porporina, by eloquence or gold, passed through every avenue -of the palace, and reached the door of the royal bed-chamber."</p> - -<p>"'My friend,' said she to the servant, 'I must throw myself at the -empress's feet. The life of an honest man is in danger. A great crime -will be committed in a few days, if I do not see her majesty at once. I -know that you cannot be bribed, but also know you to be generous and -magnanimous. Everybody says so. You have obtained favors which the -greatest courtiers dared not ask.'</p> - -<p>"'Kind heaven! my dear mistress! I will do anything for you,' said the -servant, clasping his hands and letting his duster fall.</p> - -<p>"'Karl!' said Consuelo. 'Thank God I am saved! Albert has a protecting -angel in the palace!'</p> - -<p>"'Albert! Albert!' said Karl. 'Is he in danger? Go In, madame, if I -should lose my place. God knows I shall be sorry; for I am enabled to do -some good and serve our holy cause better than I could do anywhere else. -Listen! The empress is a good soul, when she is not a queen. Go in: you -will be thought to have preceded me. Let those scoundrels bear the -burden of it, for they do not deserve to serve a queen. They speak -lies."</p> - -<p>"Consuelo went in; and when the empress opened her eyes, she saw her -kneeling at the foot of the bed.</p> - -<p>"'Who is that?' said Maria Theresa, as, gathering the counterpane over -her shoulders, she rose up as proud and as haughty in her night-dress, -and on her bed, as if she sat on her throne, decked with the Imperial -crown on her brow, and the sword by her side.</p> - -<p>"'Madame,' said Consuelo, 'I am your humble subject, an unfortunate -mother, a despairing wife, who begs on her knees her husband's life and -liberty.'</p> - -<p>"Just then Karl came in, pretending to be very angry.</p> - -<p>"'Wretch,' said he, 'who bade you come hither?'</p> - -<p>"'I thank you, Karl, for your vigilance and fidelity. Never before was -I awakened with such insolence.'</p> - -<p>"'Let not your majesty say a word, and I will kill this woman at -once.'</p> - -<p>"Karl knew the empress. He was aware that she liked to be merciful -before others, and that she always played the great queen and the great -woman before even her valets.</p> - -<p>"'You are too zealous,' said she, with a majestic smile. 'Go, and let -this poor weeping woman speak. I am not in danger in the company of my -subjects. What is the matter, madame? But, are you not the beautiful -Porporina? You will spoil your voice, if you weep thus.'</p> - -<p>"'Madame,' said Consuelo, 'ten years ago I was married in the Catholic -Church. I have never once disgraced myself. I have legitimate children, -whom I have educated virtuously. I dare to say——'</p> - -<p>"'Virtuously I know you have, but not religiously. You are chaste, they -tell me, but you never go to church. Tell me, however, what has befallen -you?'</p> - -<p>"'My husband, from whom I have never been separated, is now in Prague, -and I know not by what infamous means he has been arrested in that city -on the charge of usurping a name and title not his own, of attempting to -appropriate an estate to which he had no claim—in fine, of being a -swindler, a spy, and an impostor. Perhaps even now he has been sentenced -to perpetual imprisonment, or to death.'</p> - -<p>"'Prague? and an impostor?' said the empress. 'There is a story of that -kind in the reports of the secret police. What is your husband's name? -for you actresses do not bear them.'</p> - -<p>"'Leverani.'</p> - -<p>"'That is it! My child, I am sorry that you are married to such a -wretch. This Leverani is in fact a swindler and a madman, who, taking -advantage of a perfect resemblance, attempts to personate the Count of -Rudolstadt, who died ten years ago. The fact is proved. He introduced -himself into the home of the old Canoness of Rudolstadt, and dared to -say he was her nephew, he would have succeeded in getting possession of -her inheritance, if just then the old lady had not been relieved of him -by friends of the family. He was arrested and very properly. I can -conceive your mortification, but do not know how I can help it. If it be -shown that this man is mad, and I hope he is, he will be placed in an -hospital, where you will be able to see and attend him. If, however, he -be a scamp, as I fear, he must be severely treated, to keep him from -annoying the true heiress of Rudolstadt, the young Baroness Amelia, who -I think, after all her past errors, is about to be married to one of my -officers. I hope, <i>mademoiselle</i>, that you are ignorant of your -husband's conduct, and are mistaken in relation to his character, -otherwise I would be offended at your request. I pity you too much to -humiliate you, however. You may retire.'</p> - -<p>"Consuelo saw she had nothing to expect, and that in seeking to -establish the identity of Albert and Leverani she would injure his -position. She arose and walked towards the door, pale as if she was -about to faint. Maria Theresa, however, who followed her with an anxious -eye, took pity on her, and called her back.</p> - -<p>"'You are much to be pitied,' said she, in a less dry tone. 'All this is -not your fault, I am sure. Be at ease and be calm. The affair will be -conscientiously investigated; and if your husband does not ruin himself, -I will have him treated as a kind of madman. If you can communicate with -him, have this understood. That is my advice.'</p> - -<p>"'I will follow it, and thank your majesty, without whose protection I -am quite powerless. My husband is imprisoned at Prague, and I am engaged -at the Imperial Theatre at Vienna. If your majesty will but give me -leave of absence and an order to see my husband, who is in strict -confinement——'</p> - -<p>"'You ask a great deal. I do not know whether Kaunitz will give you -leave of absence, or if your place at the theatre can be supplied. We -will see all about it in a few days.'</p> - -<p>"'A few days!' said Consuelo, boldly. 'Then, perhaps, he will be no -more. I must go now!—now!'</p> - -<p>"'That is enough,' said the empress. 'Your urgency would injure you in -the minds of judges less calm than I. Go, <i>mademoiselle.</i>'</p> - -<p>"Consuelo went to the old Canon ***, and entrusted her children to his -charge, at the same time saying she was about to leave for she knew not -how long a time.</p> - -<p>"'If you go for a long time,' said he, 'so much the worse for me. As for -the children, they will give me no trouble, for they are perfectly well -brought up, and will be company to Angela, who begins to be subject to -<i>ennui.</i>'</p> - -<p>"The good canon did not attempt to ascertain her secret. As, however, -his quiet easy mind could not conceive a sorrow without a remedy, he -attempted to console her. Finding that he did not succeed in inspiring -her with hope, he sought at least to make her easy about her children.</p> - -<p>"'Dear Bertoni,' said he, kindly, and striving in spite of his tears to -smile, 'remember, if you do not come back, your children are mine. I -take charge of their education. I will marry the girl, and that will -diminish Angela's portion a little, and make her more industrious. The -boys, I warn you, I will make musicians.'</p> - -<p>"'Joseph Haydn will share that burden with you,' said Consuelo, 'and old -Porpora will yet be able to give them some lessons. My children are -docile and seem intellectual; so that their physical existence does not -trouble me. They will be able to support themselves honestly. You must -replace my love and advice.'</p> - -<p>"'I promise to do so,' said the canon. 'I hope to live long enough to -see them established. I am not very fat, and I can yet walk steadily. I -am not more than sixty, although Bridget insists that I should make my -will. Then have courage, my daughter, and take care of your health. Come -back soon, for God takes care of the pure-hearted.'</p> - -<p>"Consuelo, without any trouble about her leave of absence, had horses -put to her carriage. Just as she was about to set out, Porpora came to -know whither she was going. She had been unwilling to see him, knowing -as she did that he would seek to prevent her departure. He was afraid, -notwithstanding her promises, that she would not be back in time for the -opera next day."</p> - -<p>"'Who the devil dreams of going to the country in the winter time,' said -he, with a nervous tremor caused as much by fear as old age. 'If you -take cold you will endanger my success. I do not understand you. We -succeeded yesterday, and you travel to-day.'</p> - -<p>"This conversation made Consuelo lose a quarter of an hour, and enabled -the directors to inform the authorities of her intention. She was in -consequence forced to submit to a picket of Hulans, who immediately -surrounded the house and stood sentinels at her door. She was soon -seized with fever caused by this sudden check on her liberty, and -frantically paced the room while she replied to the questions of Porpora -and the directors. She did not sleep that night, but passed it in -prayer. In the morning she was calm, and went to the rehearsal as she -was desired. Her voice was never more melodious, but she was so mentally -abstracted that Porpora became alarmed.</p> - -<p>"'Cursed marriage! Cursed lovers' folly!' murmured he to the orchestra, -striking the keys of his instrument as if he would break it. Porpora was -unchanged, and would have willingly said, 'Perish all lovers and -husbands in the world, so that my opera succeeds.'</p> - -<p>"At night Consuelo made her toilet as usual, and went on the stage. She -placed herself in proper attitude, and she moved her lips, but the voice -was gone—she could not speak!</p> - -<p>"The audience was amazed. The court had heard something vague about her -attempt at flight, and pronounced it an unpardonable whim. There were -cries, hisses, and applause at every effort she made. Still she was -inaudible. She stood erect not thinking of the loss of her voice, nor -feeling humiliated by the indignation of her tyrants, but resigned and -proud as a martyr condemned to an unjust punishment; while she thanked -God for having so afflicted her, that she could leave the stage and join -her husband.</p> - -<p>"It was proposed to the empress that the rebellious artist should be -imprisoned, there to recover her voice and good temper. Her majesty was -angry for a moment, and the courtiers thought to ingratiate themselves -with her by advising cruelty; but the empress did not like unnecessary -severity, though she could connive at remunerative crime.</p> - -<p>"'Kaunitz,' said she, 'permit the poor woman to leave, and say nothing -more about it. If her loss of voice is feigned, her duty seems to -require it. Few actresses would sacrifice professional success at the -altar of conjugal affection and duty.'</p> - -<p>"Consuelo thus authorised set out. She was unwell, without being -apparently aware of it."</p> - -<p>Here again we lose the thread of events. The cause of Albert may have -been public or secret. It is probable that it was analogous to the suit -which Trenck made and lost, after so many years' dispute. Who in France -would not know the details of this affair, had not Trenck himself -published and spread his complaints abroad for thirty years? Albert left -no documents. We must then turn to Trenck's story, he too being one of -our heroes. It is probable his troubles may throw some light on those of -Albert and Consuelo.</p> - -<p>About a month after the meeting at St. Graal, of which in his memoirs -Trenck says nothing, he was recaptured and imprisoned at Magdenbourg, -where he passed ten years of his life, loaded with eighty pounds of -irons. The stone to which he was bound bears the inscription "Here lies -Trenck." All know his terrible fate, and the sufferings he underwent, as -also his wonderful attempts at escape, and his incredible energy, which -never left him, but which his chivalric imprudence counteracted. His -sister was subjected to the cruelty of paying for the erection of a -dungeon for him, because she afforded him a refuge in his flight. -Trenck's works of art in prison, the wonderful engravings he made with -the point of a nail on the tin cups, which are allegories or verses of -great beauty, are also well known.<a name="FNanchor_20_1" id="FNanchor_20_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_20_1" class="fnanchor">[20]</a> In fine, from his secret -relations with the princess Amelia—the despair in which she wasted -away, and her care to disfigure her face by means of a corrosive fluid, -which almost destroyed her sight—the deplorable state of health to -which she reduced herself to avoid marriage—the remarkable change -effected on her character—the ten years of agony, which made him a -martyr, and her an old woman, ugly and malicious, instead of the angelic -creature she was, and would have been had she been happy<a name="FNanchor_21_1" id="FNanchor_21_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_21_1" class="fnanchor">[21]</a>—the -misfortunes of the lovers are historical; but they are generally -forgotten when the character of Frederick the Great is written. These -crimes, committed with such refined cruelty, are indelible spots on the -character of that monarch.</p> - -<p>At length Trenck was released, as is known, by the intervention of Maria -Theresa, who claimed him as her subject. This was accomplished by the -influence of Karl, her majesty's valet. In relation to the curious -intrigues of this magnanimous man with his sovereign, some of the -strangest, most touching and pathetic pages of the memoirs of the age -have been written.</p> - -<p>During the first part of the captivity of Trenck, his cousin, the famous -Pandour, a victim of truer though not less hateful accusations, died it -is said at Spielberg of poison. As soon as Trenck was free, the Prussian -came to ask for his cousin's vast estate; but Maria Theresa had no idea -of yielding it. She had taken advantage of the exploits of Pandour, and -profited by his death. Like Frederick and other crowned tyrants, while -the power of position dazzled the masses, she paid no attention to the -secret offences for which God will call her to account at the day of -judgment, and which will at least weigh as heavy as her official -virtues.</p> - -<p>The avarice of the empress was exceeded by her agents, the ignoble -persons she had made curators of Pandour's estate, and the prevaricating -magistrates who decided on the rights of the heir. Each had a share of -the spoil, but the empress secured the largest. It was in vain that, -years after, she sent to prison and the galleys all her accomplices in -this fraud, as she never made complete restoration to Trenck. Nothing -describes the character of the empress better than that portion of -Trenck's book, in which he speaks of his interviews with her. Without -divesting himself of the loyalty which was then a kind of patrician -religion, he makes us feel how very avaricious and hypocritical this -deceitful woman was. He exhibits an union of contrasts, a character at -once base and sublime, innocent and false, like all those naturally pure -hearts which become captivated by the corruption of absolute power—that -great river of evil, on the breakers of which the noblest impulses of -the human heart have been dashed to pieces. Resolved to thwart him, she -yet afterwards deigned to console and encourage him, and promise him -protection against his infamous judges;—and, finally, pretending not -to have been able to discover the truth she sought, she bestowed on him the -rank of major, and offered the hand of an ugly old woman who was both -devout and gallant. On the refusal of Trenck, the royal <i>matrimomaniac</i> -told him he was a presumptuous madman, that she had no means of -gratifying his ambition, and coldly turned her back upon him. The -reasons assigned for the confiscation of his estate varied under -circumstances. One court said that Pandour, undergoing an infamous -sentence, could make no will. Another, that if there were a will, the -claimant, as a Prussian, could not benefit by it; and that the debts of -the deceased absorbed everything. Incident after incident was got up; -but after much disputing Trenck never received justice.<a name="FNanchor_22_1" id="FNanchor_22_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_22_1" class="fnanchor">[22]</a></p> - -<p>There was no need of artifice to defraud Albert, and his spoliation was -effected without much procrastination. It was only necessary to treat -him as if he were dead, and prohibit him from being resuscitated at an -inappropriate time. We know that when he was arrested, the Canoness -Wenceslawa had died at Prague, whither she had come to be treated for -acute ophthalmia. Albert, having heard that she was <i>in extremis</i>, -could not resist the promptings of his heart to go and close the eyes of -his relation. He left Consuelo on the Austrian frontier, and went to -Prague. This was the first time he had been in Germany since his marriage. -He flattered himself that the lapse of ten years and certain changes of -attire would prevent him from being recognised; yet he approached his -aunt with much mystery. He wished to have her blessing, and atone by his -last kindness for the grief to which his desertion had subjected her. -The canoness was almost blind, but was struck by the sound of his voice. -She did not analyse her feelings, but at once abandoned herself to the -instinctive tenderness which had survived her memory and mental -activity. She clasped him in her withered arms, and called him her -beloved Albert—her darling child. Old Hans was dead; but the Baroness -Amelia and a woman from the Boehmer-wald, who had been a servant of the -canoness, and who had nursed Albert when he was sick, were astonished -and terrified at the resemblance of the pretended doctor and the count. -It does not appear that Amelia positively recognised him, and we will -not consider her an accomplice in the violent prosecution commenced -against him. We do not know who set the detachment of half-magistrates -half-spies to work, by whose aid the court of Vienna governed its -conquered subjects. But one thing is certain, that the countess had -scarcely breathed her last in her nephew's arms, ere Albert was arrested -and examined as to what had brought him to the death-bed of the old -lady. They wished to see his diploma; but he had none, and his name of -Leverani was considered criminal, several people having known him as -Trismegistus. He was consequently accused of being a quack and conjuror, -although no one could prove that he had ever received money for his -cures. He was confronted with Amelia: hence his ruin. Irritated and -mortified by the investigations to which he was subjected, he confessed -frankly to his cousin that he was Albert of Rudolstadt. Amelia certainly -recognised him, and fainted from terror. The conversation had been -overheard. The matter then took another turn. They wished to treat him -as an impostor; but in order to produce one of those endless suits which -ruin both parties, functionaries of the kind that had ruined Trenck, -sought to compromise him by making him say he was Albert of Rudolstadt. -There was a long investigation; and Supperville being sent for, said -there was no doubt Albert had died at the Giants' Castle. The exhumation -of the body was ordered; and a skeleton, which might have been placed -there only the day before, was found, his cousin was induced to contend -with him as with an adventurer who wished to rob her. She was not -suffered to see him. The complaints of the captive and the ardent -demands of his wife were stifled by a prison-bar and torture. Perhaps -they were sick, and dying in different dungeons. Albert could no longer -regain honor and liberty except by proclaiming the truth. It was in vain -that he promised to renounce the estate, and at once to bestow it on his -cousin. Interested parties sought to prolong the controversy, and they -succeeded, either because the empress was deceived, or because she -desired the confiscation of the estate. Amelia herself was attacked, the -scandal of her previous misfortune being revived. It was insinuated that -she was not a devotee, and they threatened to send her to a convent, in -case she did not abandon her claim. Eventually she was forced to -restrict it to her father's fortune, which was much reduced by the -enormous expenses of litigation. The castle and estates of Riesenberg -were confiscated to the state, after the lawyers, judges, and managers -of the affair had appropriated two-thirds of its value. On the -termination of the suit, which lasted five or six years, Albert was -exiled from the Austrian states as a dangerous alien. Thenceforth, it is -almost certain, the couple led an obscure life. They took their youngest -children with them. Haydn and the canon kindly refused to give up the -elder ones, who were being educated under the eyes and at the expense of -these faithful friends. Consuelo had lost her voice for ever. It is but -too certain that captivity, idleness, and sorrow at his wife's -sufferings, had again shaken Albert's reason. It does not appear, -however, that their love was less pure, or their conduct towards each -other less tender. The Invisibles disappeared under persecution; their -plans having failed, principally on account of the charlatans who had -speculated on the new ideas and the love of the marvellous. Persecuted -again as a freemason, in intolerant and despotic countries, Albert took -refuge either in France or England. Perhaps he continued his -propagandism, but this must have been among the people; and if his toil -had any fruit, it had no eclat.</p> - -<p>Here there is a void which our imagination cannot fill. One authentic -document, which is very minute, shows us that in 1774 the couple were -wandering in the Bohemian forests.</p> - -<p>This letter we will copy as it came to us. It will be all we can say -farther of Albert and Consuelo, whose subsequent career is utterly -unknown.</p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_16_1" id="Footnote_16_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_16_1"><span class="label">[16]</span></a>Many of these grades are of different creations and of -different rites. Some are of a date posterior to the age of which we -write. We commit the rectification of them to the learned Tilers. There -are, in some rites, more than one hundred degrees.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_17_1" id="Footnote_17_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_17_1"><span class="label">[17]</span></a>Every effort has been made to translate this masonic (?) -jargon into something like English; with what success none but the -Invisibles can tell.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_18_1" id="Footnote_18_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_18_1"><span class="label">[18]</span></a>By means of such indications, the story of John Kreysoder -seems to us to be the most wonderful of the romances of Hoffman. The -author having died before the end of his work, the poem is ended by the -Imagination in a thousand forms, the one more fantastic than the other. -Thus a noble river, as it approaches its mouth, is ramified into a -thousand passes, which work their way amid the golden sands of the sea -shore.—TRANSLATOR.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_19_1" id="Footnote_19_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_19_1"><span class="label">[19]</span></a>The French word is frotteur, and its meaning is strictly -"rubber" or "polisher."</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_20_1" id="Footnote_20_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_20_1"><span class="label">[20]</span></a>Many are yet preserved in private museums in Germany.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_21_1" id="Footnote_21_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_21_1"><span class="label">[21]</span></a>See the character of the Abbess of Quidlemburg, in -Thibault, and the strange stories he tells of her.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_22_1" id="Footnote_22_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_22_1"><span class="label">[22]</span></a>See note at the end of the book.</p></div> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<h4>LETTER OF PHILO<a name="FNanchor_23_1" id="FNanchor_23_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_23_1" class="fnanchor">[23]</a></h4> - -<h5>TO IGNATIUS JOSEPH MARLIENOWIEZ, PROFESSOR OF PHYSIC<br /> -AT LEMBERG.</h5> - - -<p>"Borne away, as by a whirlpool, like the satellites of a star king we -followed Spartacus<a name="FNanchor_24_1" id="FNanchor_24_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_24_1" class="fnanchor">[24]</a> through rugged pathways, and under the dark -shadows of the Boehmer-wald. Why were you not there, my friend? You -would have neglected to pick up pebbles in the torrents, and to examine -the bones and veins of our mysterious mother Earth. The ardent words of -our master gave us wings. We crossed ravines and mountain tops, without -counting our steps, without looking down on the abyss above which we -stood, and without watching in the distance for the place where we -should rest at night. Spartacus had never seemed greater, or more -completely impregnated with sublime truth. The beauties of nature -exerted on his mind all the influence of a great poem; but in the glow -of his imagination, his spirit of wise analysis and ingenious -combination never left him. He explained the sky and stars, the earth -and seas, with the same clearness that presides over his dissertations -on the lesser subjects of this world. As though his soul became greater, -when alone and at liberty with the elect of his disciples, beneath the -azure of the starry skies, or looking on the dawn that announced the -rising sun, he broke through the limits of time and space to embrace in -one glance all humanity, both in its general view and in its details, to -penetrate the fragile destiny of empires and the imposing future of -nations. You in the flesh understand this, young man; you have heard on -the mountain this youth, with a wisdom surpassing his years, and who -seems to have lived amongst men since the beginning of the world.</p> - -<p>"When we came to the frontier, we made a salutation to the land which -had witnessed the exploits of the great Ziska, and bowed yet lower to -the caves which had been sepulchres to the martyrs of our old national -liberty. There we resolved to separate, for the purpose of examining -every point at once. Cato<a name="FNanchor_25_1" id="FNanchor_25_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_25_1" class="fnanchor">[25]</a> went to the north-west, Celsus<a name="FNanchor_26_1" id="FNanchor_26_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_26_1" class="fnanchor">[26]</a> to the -south-east, Ajax<a name="FNanchor_27_1" id="FNanchor_27_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_27_1" class="fnanchor">[27]</a> went from the west to the east, and our rendezvous -was Pilsen.</p> - -<p>"Spartacus kept me with him, and resolved to rely on chance and a -certain divine inspiration which was to direct us. I was a little amazed -at his absence of calculation and thought, which seemed altogether -contradictory to his methodical habit. 'Philo,' said he, when we were -alone, 'I think men like us are ministers of Providence. Do not imagine, -however, that I deem Providence inert and disdainful, for by it we live -and think. I have observed that you are more favored than I am. Your -designs almost always succeed. Forward, then, and I will follow you. I -have faith in your second sight, in that mysterious clearness invoked -naïvely by our ancestors, the Illuminati, the pious fanatics of the -past.' It really seems that the master has prophesied truly. Before the -second day we found what we looked for, and thus I became the instrument -of fate.</p> - -<p>"We had reached the end of the wood, and there were two forks of the -road before us. One went into the lowlands, and the other went along the -sides of the mountain.</p> - -<p>"'Whither shall we go?' said Spartacus, seating himself on a rock. 'I -can see from here cultivated fields, meadows, and humble huts. They told -us he was poor, and he must therefore live with people of the same -class. Let us inquire after him, among the humble shepherds of the -valley.'</p> - -<p>"'Not so, master,' said I, pointing to the road on my right. 'I see -there the towers and crumbling walls of an old mansion. They told us he -was a poet, and he must therefore love ruins and solitude.'</p> - -<p>"'Well, then,' said Spartacus, with a smile, 'I see Hesper rising, white -as a pearl, in the yet roseate sky, above the ruins of the old domain. -We are shepherds looking for a prophet, and the wonderful star hurries -before us.'</p> - -<p>"We soon reached the ruins. It was an imposing structure, built at -different epochs. The ruins of the days of the emperor, Karl, however, -lay side by side with those of feudality. Not time, but the hands of man -had worked this destruction. It was broad day when we ascended a -dried-up ditch, and reached a rusted and motionless portcullis. The -first object we saw amid the ruins, as we came into the court-yard, was -an old man covered with rags, and more like a being of the past than of -the present day. His beard, like ivory grown yellow from age, fell on -his breast, and his golden hair glittered like a lake lighted up by the -sun. Spartacus trembled, and, approaching him hastily, asked the name of -the castle. The old man did not seem to fear us. He looked at us with -his glassy eyes, but seemed unable to see us. We asked his name. He made -no reply, his face merely expressing a dreamy indifference. His Socratic -features, however, did not express the degradation of idiotcy. There was -in his stern features an indescribable kind of beauty, originating in a -pure and serene mind. Spartacus put a piece of silver into his hand; but -having held it near his eyes, he let it fall as if he did not know the -use of it.</p> - -<p>"'Is it possible,' said I to my master, 'that an old man so totally -deprived of his senses can be thus abandoned by his fellow-men, and left -to ramble amid mountains, far away from the abodes of men without a -guide, without even a dog to lead him?'</p> - -<p>"'Let us take him to a resting-place,' said Spartacus.</p> - -<p>"As we set about lifting him up, however, to see whether he could -stand, he placed his finger on his lips, indicating that he wished us not -to disturb him, and pointed with the other hand to the extremity of the -court. Our glances went thither, but we saw no one. Shortly after we -heard the sound of a violin, which was played with great precision and -accuracy. I never heard an artist handle the bow with a more vast or -graceful sweep; the chords of his instrument, as it were, sympathising -with those of his soul, and conveying to the heart an expression at once -pious and heroic. We both fell into a delightful reverie, and said to -ourselves there was something grand and mysterious in such sounds. The -eyes of the old man wandered vaguely though dazzling and ecstatic, and a -smile of beatitude hung on his withered lips, proving conclusively that -he was neither deaf nor insensible.</p> - -<p>"After a short melody all was hushed, and we soon saw a man of ripe age -come from a chapel near us. His appearance filled us with emotion and -respect. The beauty of his austere face and his noble proportions -contrasted strongly with the deformed limbs and savage appearance of the -old man. The violin player came directly to us, with his instrument -under his arm, and the bow in a leathern girdle. Large pantaloons of -coarse stuff, shoes like the buskins of a former day, and a shirt of -sheepskin, similar to the Dalmatian peasant dress, made him look like a -shepherd or laborer. His white and delicate hands, however, did not -bespeak a man who had been devoted to rude or agricultural labor; and -the cleanliness of his dress and his proud deportment seemed to protest -against his misery, and to refuse to submit to its consequences. My -master was struck with the appearance of this man. He clasped me by the -hand, and I felt his tremble.</p> - -<p>"'It is the person,' said he. 'I know his face from having seen it in my -dreams.'</p> - -<p>"The violin player came towards us without embarrassment or surprise. He -returned our salute with charming dignity, and, approaching the old man, -said—</p> - -<p>"'Come Zdenko: I am going. Lean on your friend.'</p> - -<p>"The old man made an effort to rise; but his friend lifted him up, and -bending so as to serve as a staff, he guided his trembling steps. In -this filial care and patience in a strong, noble, and agile man, to -another in rags, there was if possible something more touching than in a -young mother shortening her step to suit that of her child. I saw my -master's eyes fill with tears, and I felt a sympathy with that man of -genius and probable fame, in his strong excitement at the scene before -him, fancying myself lost in the mysteries of the past.</p> - -<p>"We were seeking some pretext to address him, when his thoughts -evidently recurring to us, he said, with a beautiful simplicity and -confidence:—</p> - -<p>"'You saw me kiss this marble, and this old man throw himself on these -tombs. Think not that these are acts of idolatry. We kiss the robe of a -saint, as we wear on the heart a token of love and friendship. The -bodies of our deceased friends are like worn-out garments, which we -would not trample on, but preserve with respect and lose with regret. My -beloved father and kindred, I know are not here. The inscriptions which -say "Here rest the Rudolstadts," are false. They are all ascended to -heaven, though they live and act in the world in obedience to the -ordinance of God. Under these marbles there are only bones. Their souls -have forsaken the mortal, and have put on the immortal. Blessed be the -ashes of our ancestors! Blessed be their dust and the ivy with which -they are crowned! Above all—blessed be God! who has said, "Arise and -return to my fruitful soul, where nothing dies!—where all is renewed -and purified!'"</p> - -<p>"'Leverani, Ziska, or Trismegistus, do I find you at the tombs of your -ancestors?' said Spartacus, animated by a celestial certainty.</p> - -<p>"'I am neither Leverani, Trismegistus, nor Ziska,' said the stranger. -'Spectres haunted my ignorant youth; but divine light has absorbed them, -and I have forgotten the names of my ancestors. I have no name but that -of "man," and am not different from others of my species.'</p> - -<p>"'Your words are profound, but indicate distrust,' said the master. -'Confide in this sign. Do you not remember it?'</p> - -<p>"Spartacus here made the higher masonic sign.</p> - -<p>"'I have forgotten that language. I do not despise it; but it has become -useless. Insult me not, brother, by thinking I distrust you. Is not your -name also "man." Mankind have never injured me; or if they did, I have -forgotten it. The injury they did me then was trifling, compared with -the good they can do each other, and for which I thank them in -advance.'</p> - -<p>"'Is it possible then, oh, good man! that you esteem time as nothing in -your estimate of life?'</p> - -<p>"'Time does not exist. If men meditated on the divine essence more, they -would like me, forget centuries and ages. What matters it, to one who -participates so much in God's nature as to be eternal—to one who will -live for ever? Time, to such an one, is a nonentity. The controlling -power alone may hasten or delay, but will not pause.'</p> - -<p>"'You mean, that man should forget to reckon time—that life runs -perpetually and abundantly from the bosom of God. Are these your -assertions?'</p> - -<p>"'You rightly comprehend my meaning, young man. I have, however, a still -better explanation of this great mystery.'</p> - -<p>"'Mystery! I have come from afar to inquire and learn from you of the -mysterious.'</p> - -<p>"'Listen, then,' said the stranger, beckoning the old man to a seat on -a tomb. 'This place inspires me in a peculiar manner, for on this spot -rest the last rays of the setting sun and his earliest morning fires. -Here, then, I could wish to exalt your soul to a knowledge of sublime -truths.</p> - -<p>"We quivered with a joyful emotion at the idea of having, after two -years of search, discovered this Magus of our religion—this great -philosopher and organiser, who was able to extricate us from our mental -labyrinth. The stranger, however, seizing his violin, began to play it -with such warmth of feeling that the ruins resounded as with the echoes -of the human voice. His strain was religiously enthusiastic, while at -the same time it had an air of antique simplicity.</p> - -<p>"Nothing in these unknown songs bespoke languor or reverie. They were -like the songs of war, and made us fancy we saw triumphant armies, with -banners, and palms, and all the insignia of a new religion. I saw, as it -were, the vastness of all nations united under one bright banner. There -was no disorder in their ranks, no impetuous outbreaks; but they -portrayed human activity in all its splendor, victory in all its -clemency, faith in all its sublime expansion.</p> - -<p>"'This is magnificent,' said I to myself, when I had heard three or four -of his magnificent strains. 'It is the true <i>Te Deum</i>—Humanity, -revived and refreshed, giving thanks to the God of all religions—to -the Light of all men!'</p> - -<p>"'You understand me, my child,' said the musician, wiping the -perspiration and tears from his face. 'You see Time has but one voice to -proclaim truth. Look at the old man. He, by understanding this mystery, -has become at least twenty years younger.'</p> - -<p>"We looked at the old man. He was erect, and walked with ease, while he -kept time to the music as he paced, like a mere youth. There had -certainly been a miracle worked on him through the instrumentality of -music. He came down the hill without caring for assistance; and when his -step became slow, the musician said—</p> - -<p>"'Zdenko, do you wish me to play again to you the "March of Procopious -the Great," or the "Benediction of the Standard of the Orebites?'"</p> - -<p>"The old man signified however, that he still had sufficient strength, -as if he feared to exhaust the heavenly aid and inspiration of his -friend.</p> - -<p>"We went towards the hamlet we had seen on our right hand on going to -the ruins. On the way Spartacus questioned the musician.</p> - -<p>"'You have played,' said he, 'incomparable melodies to us, and by your -brilliant prelude I understand that you meant to prepare our senses for -the enthusiasm with which you are inspired, and wish to exalt yourself, -as the pythonesses and the prophets did, and so pronounce your oracles -as if by the power of God. Now, then, speak. The air is calm, the path -is smooth, and the moon shines out in all her beauty. All nature is -silent, apparently to listen to you; and our hearts call aloud for your -revelations. Vain science and haughty reason will become humbled in us, -beneath your burning language. Speak!—the time is come.'</p> - -<p>"The philosopher, however, would not comply with the request; but -said—</p> - -<p>"'What can I say that I have not already expressed in beautiful -language? Is it my fault that you did not understand me? You think I -spoke to your senses, yet it was my soul addressed you—nay, the souls -of all the human family spoke in mine. I was indeed inspired, but now -the power is gone, and I need repose. Had I then transfused to you all -that I could have wished, you also would now require rest.'</p> - -<p>"It was impossible for Spartacus to ascertain anything more that -evening. When we had come to the first cottage, the stranger -said:—</p> - -<p>"'Friends, follow me no farther; but come to me to-morrow. Knock at the -first door and you will be well received everywhere here, if you know -the language of the country.'</p> - -<p>"It was useless to exhibit the little money we had. The peasants of -Bohemia are worthy of ancient days. We were received with calm -politeness, and ere long we were treated with affectionate cordiality, -being able to speak Slavonic with ease, the peasants distrusting those -who speak German.</p> - -<p>"We soon ascertained that we were at the Giants' Castle, and at the foot -of the Giants' Mountain. From the name, we fancied we were transported -by magic to the great northern chain of the Carpathian Mountains. We -were told that one of the ancestors of the Podiebrad had thus named his -castle to discharge a vow he had made in the Riesenberg; and that -Podiebrad's descendants, after the Thirty Years' War, had assumed the -patronymic of Rudolstadt. At that time, persecution Germanized -everything—names, cities, and individuals. These traditions are yet -alive in the hearts of the peasantry of Bohemia. The mysterious -Trismegistus, then, whom we looked for, is really the same Albert -Podiebrad who was buried alive, rescued from the tomb in a mysterious -manner, who disappeared for a long time, and who, after twenty years, -was confined as an impostor and freemason and Rose Cross—the famous -Count of Rudolstadt, whose lawsuit was so hushed up, and whose identity -was never established. Rely then, my friend, on the inspiration of our -master. You trembled when you thought we put faith in vague revelations, -and searched for one who, like so many of the modern Illuminati, might -be either an impudent swindler or a ridiculous adventurer. The master -had judged correctly. By a few traits in his deportment, and some of his -fugitive writings that we had seen, he was convinced that this strange -personage was a man of intelligence and truth—a sincere guardian of -the sacred fire and holy traditions of the older Illuminism—an adept -of the ancient secret—a doctor of the new interpretation. We have -found him, and now we have become enlightened in the history of -freemasonry and the famous Invisibles, of whose toils and even existence -we were before in doubt; and we can now understand the new mysteries, the -meaning of which was lost or wrapped in doubtful hieroglyphics which the -persecuted and degraded adepts could not now explain. We have found the -man, and now can return with that sacred fire which at one time -transformed a statue of clay into a thinking being—a rival for the -stern and stupid gods of the ancients. Our master is the Prometheus. -Trismegistus had the fire of truth in his bosom, and we have caught a -sufficiency from him to enable us to initiate you into a new life.</p> - -<p>"The stories of our kind hosts kept us long sitting beside the rustic -hearth. They did not care for the legal judgments and attestations that -declared Albert of Rudolstadt, in consequence of an attack of catalepsy, -deprived of his name and rights. Their love of his character—their -hatred of the foreign spoilers, the Austrians, who, having condemned and -persecuted the legitimate heir, now bereft him of his lands and castle, -which they shamefully squandered—the hammer of the ruthless -demolisher, who would destroy his seigniorial abode, and sell at any price -its invaluable contents, and who sought to sully and deface what they could -not carry away; for these reasons the peasantry of the Boehmer-wald -preferred a truly miraculous truth to the odious sophistry of the -conquerors. Twenty-five years had passed since the disappearance of -Albert Podiebrad, yet no one here will believe in his death, though all -the newspapers have published it, in confirmation of an unjust judgment; -while all the aristocracy of Vienna laughed contemptuously at the madman -who supposed himself resuscitated from death. Albert of Rudolstadt has -now been a week on these mountains—the home of his fathers; and every -day finds him in prayer and praise at their tombs. All who remember his -features beneath his grey hairs prostrate themselves before him as their -true master and ancient friend. There is something to admire in their -acknowledgment of this persecuted man, and much of the beautiful in the -love they bear towards him.</p> - -<p>"In a corrupt world like this, nothing can be thought of to give you an -idea of the pure morals and noble sentiments we have met with here. -Spartacus has a profound respect for the peasantry; and the trifling -persecution we first experienced, from their detestation of tyranny, has -confirmed our confidence in their fidelity amid misfortune, and in their -grateful remembrance of the past.</p> - -<p>"At dawn we wished to leave the hut in search of the violin player; but -we were surprised to find ourselves surrounded by a number of men, armed -with flails and scythes, the chief of whom said—</p> - -<p>"'You must forgive us if we retain you here. We have come together for -that purpose; but you may be free again this evening.'</p> - -<p>"Finding us astonished at this, he said—</p> - -<p>"'If you are honest men, you have no need to be alarmed; but if you be -scamps, spies, whom our people cannot understand, sent hither to rob us -of our Podiebrad, you shall not leave us until he is far away, and safe -from your attempts to find him.'</p> - -<p>"We saw that during the night these honest people distrusted us, though -they had been so kind and open-hearted at first that we could not but -admire them. The master felt sadly distressed at the idea of losing the -hierophant we had come so far to see. He ventured to write to -Trismegistus, in the masonic character, and to tell him his name and -position, in order if possible to relieve the people of their -suspicions. A few moments after this letter had been taken to a -neighboring hut, we saw a woman before whom the peasants opened their -rudely ordered phalanx. We heard them murmur, 'La Zingara! La Zingara -Consolacione!' She soon entered the hut, and, closing the doors, began -in the signs and formulas of freemasonry to question us strictly. We -were surprised to find a woman initiated in the mystic signs; but her -imposing air and scrutinising look inspired us with respect, -notwithstanding her gipsy garb, which she wore with an ease evidently -acquired by habit.</p> - -<p>"As she was very clean, and her manners calm and dignified, we fancied -her queen of the camp; but when she told us that she was the wife of -Trismegistus, we looked at her with ease and respect. She is no longer -young, being apparently about forty, but broken down by fatigue. She is -yet beautiful, however; and her tall and elegant figure has still that -noble air and chaste dignity which command admiration. We were deeply -impressed by her angelic countenance, and her sweet musical voice moved -our hearts as with heavenly melody. Whoever this woman may be, thought -we, whether the wife of the philosopher or a generous adventurer -attached to him from an ardent passion, it is impossible to say; but we -could not imagine that any other than a pure unsullied prompting could -influence such a being. We were astonished to find our sage entramelled -with the chains of common men; but we soon discovered that in the ranks -of the truly noble—the intelligent, the wise, and the good—he had -found a companion after his own heart—one also that could brave with -him the storms of life.</p> - -<p>"'Excuse my fears and doubts,' said she, after many questions. 'We have -been persecuted and have suffered much; but, thank God, my husband has -forgotten his misfortunes. He is now safe, and nothing can annoy or -afflict him. Heaven, however, has made me a sentinel to protect him from -the approach of his persecutors. Hence my distrust and anxiety. Your -manners and language satisfy me more than do the signs which we have -exchanged, for our mystery has been abused by false preachers and -designing brethren. Prudence forbids us to trust any one; but heaven -protests against impiety or lack of charity. The family of the faithful -is depressed, and we have no longer a temple in which we can hold -communion. Our adepts have lost the true significance of the mysteries. -The letter of our law has killed its spirit; and the divine art has been -mistaken and defiled by man. What matters it?—are there not yet some -faithful? In a few sanctuaries the word of life may yet be safe. Yes, it -will yet find an utterance, and be diffused through the world; the -temple will yet be reconstructed by the pure light of faith, aided by -the widow's mite.'</p> - -<p>"'Precisely,' said the master. 'That is what we look for, and what is -preached in our sanctuaries, but which few can understand. We have -reflected upon it, and, after years of toil and meditation have fancied -that we have discovered its true meaning. Therefore are we come to ask -your husband's sanction of our faith, or a correction of our errors. Let -us speak with him, that he may hear and understand us.'</p> - -<p>"'That I cannot promise,' said the Zingara; 'nor can he. Trismegistus is -not always inspired, though he now lives under the influence of poetic -meditations. Music is its habitual manifestation. Metaphorical ideas -rarely exalt him above mere sentiment. At present he can say nothing -that would be satisfactory to you. I alone can at all times understand -his language; but to those who do not know him, he is mysterious. I may -tell you this—To men guided by icy reason, Trismegistus is a madman; -and while the poetic peasant humbly offers the sublime gifts of -hospitality to the wise one who has touched and delighted him, the -coarser mind casts his boon of pity on the vagabond who displays his -genius in the city. I have taught our children to accept those gifts -only for the benefit of the aged and infirm beggar, who may not be -gifted sufficiently to influence the hearts of the charitable. We have -no need of alms: we do not beg, for in so doing we would degrade -ourselves. We gain our living honestly, and by no other means shall our -children live. Providence has enabled us to impart our enthusiasm and -art to those capable of comprehending their beauties, and in exchange we -receive the religious hospitality of the poor, and share his frugal -meal. Thus do we earn our food and clothing. At the doors of our -wealthier brethren, we only stop that they may hear our song; we seek no -reward. Only those who have nothing to barter should be classed as -paupers, and on them we bestow charity. These are our ideas of -independence, which we realize by using the talents bestowed on us by -heaven in such a way as gives honor to the donor and credit to -ourselves. We have made friends everywhere among the lower classes of -society, and these, our brothers and sisters, would not degrade -themselves by seeking to deprive us of our probity and honor. Every day -we make new disciples; and when no longer able to take care of our -children, they will have an opportunity of repaying their obligations to -us. Trismegistus now to you will seem crazed by his enthusiasm, as once -he really was by sorrow. Watch him, however, and you will find your -error; for it is the blindness of society and its many perverse social -institutions that make its men of genius and invention often seem -insane. Now come with us, and perhaps Trismegistus will be able to talk -with you on other subjects besides that of music. You must not, however, -request him; for he will do so voluntarily, if we find him at the proper -time, and when old ideas are revived. We will go in an hour. Our -presence here may bring new dangers on his head; and in no other place -need we so much fear recognition, after so many years of exile. We will -go to Vienna by way of the Boehmer-wald and the Danube. I have travelled -in that direction before now, and I will gladly do so again. We will -visit our two children, whom friends in comfortable circumstances -insisted on taking care of and instructing. All, you are aware, are not -artists—we must individually walk in the way pointed out by our -Creator.'</p> - -<p>"Such were the explanations of this strange woman, who, though often -pressed by our questions and interrupted by our objections, told us of -the life she had adopted in pursuance of her husband's ideas and tastes. -We gladly accepted her invitation to accompany her, and when we were -ready the rural guard opened its ranks to let us pass.</p> - -<p>"'My children,' said the Zingara, in her full and harmonious voice, -'your friend awaits you under the trees. It is the most pleasant hour of -the day, and we will have matins and music. Have confidence in in these -two friends,' said she, pointing to us in her majestic and naturally -theatrical air. 'They are not spies, but well-wishers.'</p> - -<p>"The peasants followed us singing. On the way the Zingara told us that -her family purposed to leave the village that very day.</p> - -<p>"'Do not tell him so,' she said, 'for it would cost him many tears. We -are not safe here, however, as some old enemy might pass, and recognise -Albert of Rudolstadt under the Bohemian dress.'</p> - -<p>"We came to the centre of the hamlet, which was used as a bleach green, -and encircled by immense beach trees, beneath whose boughs were humble -cots and capricious pathways traced by the footsteps of cattle. The -place appeared enchanted as the early rays of the sun fell on the -emerald carpet of its meadows. Silvery dews hung over the brows of the -mountains. Everything had a fresh and healthy appearance; even the -grey-bearded peasants, the ivy-coated trees, and the old moss-covered -cottages. In an open space, where a sparkling rivulet ran, dividing and -multiplying its many crystal branches, we saw Trismegistus with his -children, two beautiful girls and a lad of fifteen, handsome as the -Endymion of the sculptor and poet.</p> - -<p>"'This is Wanda,' said the Zingara, showing us the elder girl, 'and the -younger is named Winceslawa. Our son has been called Zdenko, after his -father's best friend. Old Zdenko has a marked preference for him. You -see he has Winceslawa between his legs and the other girl on his knee, -he is not thinking of them, however, but is gazing at Zdenko as if he -could never be satisfied.'</p> - -<p>"We looked at the old man, whose cheeks were wet with tears; and his -thin, bony face, though marked by many a wrinkle, yet looked on the last -scion of the Rudolstadts with an expression of beatitude and ecstacy as -he held him by the hand. I could have wished myself able to paint this -group, with Trismegistus in the foreground, as he sadly tuned his violin -and arranged his bow.</p> - -<p>"'Is it you, my friends?' says he, as he returned our respectful salute -with cordiality. 'My wife has brought you? She was right, as I have good -things to say to you, and will be happy if you hear me.'</p> - -<p>"He played more mysteriously than on the previous evening; such at least -was our impression; but the music no doubt was more delicious from -association, as his little audience thrilled with enthusiasm on hearing -the old ballads of their country and its sacred hymns of freedom. -Emotion was differently marked on their manly brows. Some, like Zdenko, -delighted in the vision of the past and seemed to impregnate themselves -with its poetry, as a transplanted flower in its strange home receives -with joy a few drops of moisture. Others were transported by religious -fanaticisms, when they remembered their present sorrows, and with closed -fists they menaced their visionary enemies, and appealed to heaven for -outraged virtue and dignity. There were sobs and groans, blended with -wild applause and delirious cries.</p> - -<p>"'My friends,' said Albert, 'you see these simple men. They completely -comprehend my meaning; and do not, as you did yesterday, ask the meaning -of my prophecies.'</p> - -<p>"'You spoke of them only of the past,' said Spartacus, who was anxious -that he should continue his eloquent strain.</p> - -<p>"'The past! the past!—the present!—what vain follies are -these?' said Trismegistus, with a smile. 'Man has them all in his heart, -and of them his life is compounded. Since, however, you insist on words to -illustrate my ideas, listen to my son, who will repeat a canticle, the -music of which was composed by his mother, and the verses by myself.'</p> - -<p>"The handsome youth advanced calmly yet modestly into the circle. It was -evident that his mother, without knowing it, was over anxious about her -son's personal appearance, and that his beauty might be the more -conspicuous, she had dressed him out superbly in comparison with the -rest of her family. He took off his cap, bowed to his hearers, and -kissed his hand, which salutation was returned by the company. After a -prelude on the guitar from his mother, by which the lad became -enraptured, so congenial was it to his soul, he sang in the Sclavic -language a long ballad to the goddess of Poverty.</p> - -<p>"Conceive the effect of a ballad in that mild and gentle tongue which -seems formed for youthful lips alone. It was a melody that touched the -heart, and brought forth tears, pure as crystal from our eyes. It was -sung in a seraphic voice, with exquisite purity, and an incomparable -musical accent; and all this from the son of Trismegistus, and the pupil -and son of Zingara, from one of the best and most gifted children of the -earth. If you can represent to yourself a large group of masculine -faces, honest and picturesque, in such a landscape as Ruysdäel -loved—the unseen torrent, which yet flung from the ravine a murmur -that mingled with the distant bell of the mountain sheep—then you -will have some idea of the poetic joy in which we were immersed.</p> - -<p>"'Now, my lads,' said Albert Podiebrad, 'we must to work. Go you to the -fields, and I with my family will seek inspiration in the woods.'</p> - -<p>"'You will come back again at night,' said the peasants.</p> - -<p>"The Zingara made them a kind gesture, which they mistook for a promise. -The two youngest daughters, who as yet knew nothing of danger, cried out -with infantine joy, 'Yes, yes;' and the peasants dispersed. Zdenko sat -on the steps of the cottage, and saw with satisfaction the people fill a -large bag, which the boy held, with a dinner for the family. The Zingara -then bade us follow, and away we went with the itinerant musicians.</p> - -<p>"We had to ascend the ravine. My master and I each took in our arms one -of the girls, and we had thus an opportunity to speak to Trismegistus, -who did not before seem aware of our presence.</p> - -<p>"'You think me a dreamer,' said he. 'I am sorry to leave my friends and -the old man behind me. To-morrow they will search the forest for me. -Consuelo, however, will have it so, as she fancies we would be in danger -were we to remain here any longer. I cannot think that any one now fears -or envies us. But her will has always been mine, and to-night we will -not return to the hamlet. If you be my friends in reality, you will -return thither and tell them so. We did not say adieu, for we did not -wish to vex them. As for Zdenko, you need only say to-morrow, he never -thinks of any longer time; all time, all life to him, is in the word -to-morrow. He has divested his mind of the received ideas of time, and -his eyes are now open to the mystery of eternity, in which he seems -always absorbed, and at any time prepared to put off the mortal coil in -exchange for the glorious immortal. Zdenko is a sage, and the wisest I -ever knew.'</p> - -<p>"Our journeying had an effect on this family which is worthy of remark. -The children lost their bashfulness before us, and listened most -attentively to the oracles that Trismegistus propounded, which were -replete with heavenly wisdom, and highly calculated to exalt their ideas -above the things of this life, while at the same time they forcibly -dwelt on the necessity of humility. The noble boy, who watched his -father attentively, and noted down every word that he said, would have -been much offended, had any one said that his beloved parent was insane. -Trismegistus rarely spoke, and we observed that neither his wife nor his -children expected him to do so, except when urgently necessary. They -respected his reveries, and La Zingara continually watched him, as if -she was afraid of him suffering in those silent moods. She had studied -the oddities of his character, and did not consider them as foolish. I -would not think it right to use the word 'folly,' in reference to such a -man as Trismegistus. When I first saw him, I thoroughly understood the -veneration of his peasant friends, who are philosophers and theologians -without being aware of it, resembling in this respect the eastern -nations, who make gods to themselves, objects of adoration, as if it -were by instinct. They know that, when not harassed by ridicule, his -abstraction becomes a faculty divinely poetical. I do not know what -would become of him, did not his friends encircle him with their love -and protection. Their conduct towards him is an attractive example of -the respect and solicitude which is due to the invalid, or by the strong -to the weak, in every instance where heaven in its wisdom may punish or -chastise."</p> - -<p>"The family walked with such ease and activity that we soon found -ourselves comparatively exhausted. Even the youngest children, when not -in the arms of some of the party, seemed to get over the ground with as -much ease as do the finny tribe in their natural element. La Zingara, in -her anxiety for her son, would not allow him to burthen himself with any -of the little ones, alleging that he was too young for such labor, and -that it might injure his voice, which had not reached its climax. She -took the gentle and confiding little creatures on her own shoulders, and -carried them with the same ease that she would her guitar. Physical -power is a blessing conferred more on the poor artisan or travel-toiled -wanderer than on the easy and luxuriant.</p> - -<p>"We were very much fatigued when through many rugged paths we reached a -place called the Schreckenstein, which is most romantic in its -appearance. As we drew near, we observed that Consuelo looked with -anxiety at her husband, and kept close to his side, as if she feared -some danger was near, or an outburst of violent emotion; but nothing -seemed to disturb him, as he sat himself on a large stone, from which he -had a complete view of the arid hills around. In the aspect of this -place there is something terrible. The rocks are in disorder, and by -their falling the trees underneath are frequently crushed. They seem to -have but slight root in the ground, and the shepherds avoid the spot, -leaving it to the wild boar, the wolf, and the chamois. Albert dreamed -for a long time on this spot. He then looked at the children who played -at his feet, and at his wife, who sought to read his emotion on his -brow. He arose suddenly, knelt before her, and bidding his children -follow his example, said—</p> - -<p>"'Kneel to your mother—a consolation vouchsafed to the -unfortunate—the peace promised of God to the pure of heart.'</p> - -<p>"The children knelt around the Zingara, and wept as they covered her -with kisses. She, too, wept, as she pressed them to her bosom; and bade -them turn around and do the same homage to their father. Spartacus and I -also knelt with them.</p> - -<p>"When Consuelo had spoken, Spartacus paid his homage to Trismegistus, -and besought him to grant him light, telling him all he had suffered, -studied, and thought; and then knelt as if enchanted at the Zingara's -feet. I hardly dare to tell what passed in my mind. The Zingara was -certainly old enough to be my mother, yet I cannot describe the charm -that radiated from her brow. In spite of my respect for her husband, and -the horror with which the mere idea of forgetting it would have filled -me, I felt my whole soul enthralled by an enthusiasm with which neither -the splendor of youth nor the prestige of luxury have ever inspired me. -May I meet with one like her, to whom I can devote my life! I can -scarcely hope so, however; and now that I never shall have her, there is -a despair in my heart, as if it had been announced that I could love no -one else.</p> - -<p>"La Zingara did not even notice me. She looked at Spartacus, and was -struck with his ardent and sincere language. Trismegistus also was -touched, and clasped the master's hand, making him sit on the rock -behind him.</p> - -<p>"'Young man,' said he, 'you have awakened all the ideas of my life. I -fancied I heard myself speaking as I was wont when of your age, and -asked men of your experience for the knowledge of virtue. I had resolved -to tell you nothing. I distrusted not your mind and honesty, but the -purity of the flame in your bosom. I did not feel able to describe in a -tongue I once spoke, the ideas I have accustomed myself to express by -poetry, art, and sentiment; but your faith has triumphed, has -accomplished a miracle, and I feel that I must speak. Yes,' added he, -after having gazed at Spartacus in silence for a moment, which to me -seemed a century, 'yes, now I know you. I have seen you, and with you I -have loved and toiled, in some phase of my anterior life. Your name -among men was great, but I do not remember it. I only remember your -look, your glance, your soul, from which mine has detached itself, not -without a great effort. Now, I am better able to read the future than -the past, and future centuries often appear to me as clear as the -present time. Be assured you will be great, and accomplish great things. -You will, however, be blamed, accused, censured, and calumniated. My -idea, however, will sustain you, under a thousand forms, until it shall -inflict the last blow on social and religious despotism. Yes, you are -right in looking into society for your rule of life. You obey your -destiny, or rather your inspiration. This cheers me. This I felt when I -heard you, and this you contrived to communicate to me, which proves the -reality of your mission. Toil, then, act and labor. Heaven has made you -the organ of destruction. Destroy and discuss. Faith is as necessary for -the destruction as for the erection of edifices. I left a path into -which you have voluntarily entered, for I thought it bad. If it were, it -was the result of accident. I have spoken to the poor, to the weak, to -the oppressed, under the form of art and poetry, which they -instinctively understand and love. It is possible that I have been too -distrustful of the kindly feelings which yet animate men of power and -learning. For a long time I have not known them, having been disgusted -with their impious skepticism and yet more impious superstition. I left -them with disgust, to look for the pure of heart. Obey—obey the breath -of the spirit!—continue to aggrandize our work. Gather up the arms we -have yet on the battle-field! Do not leave them perchance, to strengthen -the force of the enemy, or thus we may be conquered.'</p> - -<p>"Then Spartacus and the divine old man began a conversation which I will -never forget. In the course of it, Rudolstadt, who had at first been -unwilling to speak, except in music, as Orpheus did of yore—this -artist, who had for a long time abandoned logic and reason for the -sentiment of the soul—this man whom popular judges had stigmatised as -mad—without effort, as if by inspiration, at once became the most -reasonable of philosophers, and in his precepts he illuminated the part -of true knowledge and wisdom. Spartacus exhibited all the ardor of his -soul. One was a complete man, with every faculty in unison; the other a -neophyte, abounding in enthusiasm. I remembered a gospel analogy of this -scene—Jesus, with Moses and the prophets, on the mountain.</p> - -<p>"'Yes,' said Spartacus, 'I feel that I have a mission. I have been in -contact with those who rule the world, and have become aware of their -ignorance and hard-heartedness. How beautiful is life! How beautiful are -nature and humanity! I wept when I saw myself and my brethren, created -by the divine hand for nobler uses, enslaved by such wretches. After -having cried like a woman, I said to myself, "What prevents me from -loosing their fetters and setting them free?" After a period of solitary -reflection, however, I concluded that <i>to live</i> is not to <i>be free.</i> Man -was not made to live alone. He cannot live without a purpose; and I -said—I am yet a slave—let me deliver my brothers. I found noble -hearts who associated with me, and they called me SPARTACUS.'"</p> - -<p>"'I was right when I said you would destroy,' said the old man. -'Spartacus was a revolted slave. That matters not. Again, organise to -destroy. Let a secret society be formed to crush the power of existing -iniquity. If, however, you would have that body strong and efficacious, -infuse in it as many living, eternal truths as possible, that it may -first level the fabric of error, to raise on its ruins the structure of -charity, love, and gospel faith. To destroy, it must exist; all life -being positive.'</p> - -<p>"'I understand your meaning. You would restrict my mission; but, be it -little or great, I accept it.'</p> - -<p>"'All in the counsels of God is great. Let this one idea be to you a -rule of conduct—"Nothing is lost!" The divine equilibrium is -mathematical; and in the crucible of the great chemist every atom is -exactly computed.'</p> - -<p>"'Since you approve of my designs, show me the way to put them into -action. How must I influence men? Must their imagination be appealed to? -Must I take advantage of their weakness and inclination for the -wonderful? You have seen how much good can be done by holding forth the -wonderful.'</p> - -<p>"'Yes; but I have also seen the evil. If you be wise, you will adapt -your action to the age in which we live.'</p> - -<p>"'Teach me, then, the doctrine—teach me how to act with -certainty.'</p> - -<p>"'You ask for the rule of method and certainty from one who has been -accused of folly and persecuted under that pretext. You have made a -wrong choice in an adviser; for instruction, you must go to the -philosophers and sages.'</p> - -<p>"'I would rather appeal to you; I already know the value of their -science.'</p> - -<p>"'Well, since you insist, I will inform you that method is identical -with <i>the doctrine</i>, because it is synonymous with the supreme truth -revealed in it. All is reduced to a knowledge of <i>the doctrine.</i>'</p> - -<p>"Spartacus reflected, and after a moment's silence said—</p> - -<p>"'I wish to learn from you the supreme formula of <i>the -doctrine.</i>'</p> - -<p>"'You will hear it, not from me, however, but from Pythagoras, the echo -of all sages. "O DIVINE TETRAID!" That is the formula which, under all -images, symbols, and emblems, humanity has proclaimed, by the voices of -many religions, when it could be seized on by no spiritual means, -without incarnation, without idolatry—as it was when first given as -a boon to mankind.'</p> - -<p>"'Speak—speak! To make yourself understood, recall some of these -emblems, that you may speak in the stern language of the absolute.'</p> - -<p>"'I cannot, as you wish, separate these two things—absolute religion, -and religion in its manifestation. Nature in our epoch exhibits them -together. We judge the past, and without living in it, find the -confirmation of our ideas. I wish to make myself understood.'</p> - -<p>"'Speak!—but first speak of God. Does the formula apply to God, -the infinite essence? It would be criminal, did it not apply to that -whence it emanates. Have you reflected on the nature of God?'</p> - -<p>"'Certainly; and I feel you have his spirit, the spirit of truth, in -your heart.'</p> - -<p>"'Well what is God!'</p> - -<p>"'The absolute being. "I am that I am," is the inspired answer given by -the greatest of books, the Bible.'</p> - -<p>"'But do you know nothing more of his nature? Has the great book -revealed no more to man?'</p> - -<p>"'Christians say God is triune—the Father, the Son, and the -Spirit.'</p> - -<p>"'What say the traditions of the old secret societies to which you -belong?'</p> - -<p>"'The same. Has not this circumstance struck you? Official and -triumphant religion, as well as the faith that is proscribed, agree -exactly in relation to the nature of God. I might mention creeds which -existed earlier than Christianity, in whose theology you would find the -same truth. India, Egypt, Greece, have known God in three persons. We -will come to this again, however. From God, let us pass to man. What is -man?'</p> - -<p>"'After one difficult question, you ask another, which is not less so. -The Oracle of Delphi has declared that all wisdom lay in this—"Man, -know thyself!"'</p> - -<p>"'The oracle was right. From nature, well understood, all wisdom -emanates. So, too, does all morality, all organization, all true -politics. Let me ask again, what is man?'</p> - -<p>"'An emanation from God——'</p> - -<p>"'Certainly, for God is the only absolute being. However, I trust that -you are not like some philosophers I met in England, France, and even in -Germany, at the court of Frederick—that you do not resemble Locke, who -is so popular through the praise of Voltaire—that you are not like -Helvetius nor La Mettrie, whose boldness of naturalism so delighted the -court of Berlin—that you do not, like them, say that man has no -essential superiority over animals, trees, and stones. God, doubtless, -inspires all nature as he does man; but there is order in his theodicy. -There are distinctions in his conceptions, and consequently in the works -which are the realisation of his thoughts. Read that great book called -Genesis—that book which, though the people do not understand, they -truly enough call sacred—you will see that it was by divine light -establishing a difference between creatures, that his work was -consummated:—"Let there be light, and there was light." You will -also see that every creature having a name is a species:—"<i>Creavit -cuncta juxta genus suam et secundum speciem suam.</i>" What, then, is the -peculiar form of man?'</p> - -<p>"'I understand you. You wish to assign man a form like God.'</p> - -<p>"'The divine trinity is found in all God's works; all reflect the divine -nature, though in a special manner—in a word, each after its -kind.'</p> - -<p>"'The nature of man I will now explain to you. Ages will elapse, -ere philosophers, divided as they now are, will agree in their -interpretation of it. One, infinitely greater though less famous, did so -correctly long ago. While the school of Descartes confines itself to pure -reason, making man a natural machine, an instrument of logic—while -Locke and his school make man merely a sensitive plant—while others -that I might mention, absorb themselves in sentiment, making man a -<i>double egotism</i>—if he loves, expanding him twice, thrice, or -more if he has relatives; he, the greatest of all, began by affirming that -man was all in one and indivisible. This philosopher was Leibnitz. He was -wise, and did not participate in the contempt our age entertains for -antiquity and Christianity. He dared to say there were pearls in the -dung of the middle age. Pearls, indeed, there were. Truth is eternal, -and all the philosophers have received it. With him then, I say, yet -with an affirmation stronger than his, that man, like God, is a Trinity. -This Trinity, in human language, is called Sensation, Sentiment, -Knowledge. The unity of these three things forms the divine <i>Tetraid.</i> -Thence all history emanates; thence emanates all politics. There you -must recruit yourselves, as from an ever-living spring.'</p> - -<p>"'You have passed abysses which my mind, less rapid than your own, could -not pass,' said Spartacus. 'How, from the psychological explanation you -have given me, can a method and rule of certainty be derived? This is my -first question.'</p> - -<p>"'Easily,' said Albert. 'Human nature being known, it must be cultivated -according to its essence, if you understood that the matchless book, -whence the gospels themselves are taken—I mean <i>Genesis</i>, -attributed to Moses—was taken by him from the temples of Memphis, -you would know that human <i>dissolution</i>, by him called the deluge, -meant only the separation of the faculties of human nature, which thus -emanated from unity, and thence from their connection with divine unity or -intelligence, love and activity, have been eternally associated. Then you -would see that every organizer must imitate Noah, the <i>regenerator</i>; -what the holy writ calls the generations of Noah, their order and their -harmony, will guide you. Thus you will find at once in metaphysical truth -a certain method to cultivate human nature in every one, and a light to -illumine you in relation to the true organization of associations. I will -tell you, however, that I do not think the time for organization has come; -there is yet too much to be destroyed.</p> - -<p>"'I advise you rather to attend to method than to doctrine. The time for -dissolution draws near; nay, it is here. Yes, the time is come when the -three faculties will be disunited, and their separation destroy the -social, religious, and political body. What will happen? Sensation will -produce its false prophets, and they will laud sensation. Sentiment will -produce false prophets, and they will praise sentiment. Knowledge will -produce false prophets, and they will extol mind. The latter will be -proud men, who resemble Satan; the second will be fanatics, ready to -walk towards virtue, without judgment, or with rule; the others will be -what Homer says became companions of Ulysses, when under the influence -of Circe's ring. Follow neither of their three roads, which, taken -separately, conduct, the first to the abyss of materialism, the second -to mysticism, and the third to atheism. There is no sure road to virtue. -This accords with complete human nature, and to human nature developed -under all its aspects. Do not leave this pathway; and to keep it, ever -think on doctrine and its sublime formula.'</p> - -<p>"'You teach me things of which I have had a faint conception; yet -to-morrow I will not have you to guide me in the theoretic knowledge of -virtue, and thence to its practice.'</p> - -<p>"'You will have other certain guides—above all, <i>Genesis.</i> -Attempt to seize its meaning; do not think it an historical book, a -chronological monument. There is nothing more foolish than opinion, which -yet has influence everywhere with <i>savans</i> and <i>pupils</i>, and in -every Christian communion. Read the gospels and Genesis; understand the -first by the second, after having tested it by your heart. Strange is the -chance. Like Genesis, the Gospels are believed and misinterpreted. These -are important matters; yet there are others. Gather up all the -<i>fragments</i> of Pythagoras. Study, too, the relics of the holy -Theosophist, whose name I in the temple bore. Believe not, my friends, that -I would voluntarily have dared to assume the venerable name of -Trismegistus. The Invisibles bade me do so. The works of Hermes, now -despised, and thought to be the invention of some Christian of the second -or third century, contain the old Egyptian lore; yet the pedants condemn -them. A day will come in which they will be explained, and then be thought -more valuable than all Plato left behind him. Read Trismegistus and Plato, -and those who subsequently have thought of the great Republic. Among these, -I especially advise you to study the great work of Campanella. He suffered -terribly for having dreamed, as you do, of human organization, founded -on the true and real.</p> - -<p>"'When I talk of written things,' said Trismegistus, 'think not, in -idolatry, as the Catholics do, I make an incarnation of life in death. -As I spoke of books yesterday, to-day I will speak of other relics of -the past. Books—monuments, are the traces of life by which existence -may be maintained. Life, however, is here; and the everlasting Trinity -is better impressed on ourselves than in the writings of Plato or -Hermes.'</p> - -<p>"Though I did not mean to do so, by chance I diverted the conversation. -'Master,' said I, 'you have just said the Trinity is more deeply -impressed on the face of the stars. What would you express by that? -Indeed, as the Bible says, I see God's story uttered by the stars, but I -see in these stars no evidence of what you call Trinity.' He replied:</p> - -<p>"'Physical science is not yet adequately advanced; you have not studied -them in their present state. Have you heard of the discoveries in -electricity? Certainly you have, for all who are educated have attended -to them. Well, have you not observed that the philosophers who so -contemned and despised the divine Trinity, have in this point of view -recognised it? Have they not said there was no electricity without heat -and light? In this they see that Trinity they will not acknowledge in -God.'</p> - -<p>"He then began to talk of nature, and said we should refer all its -phenomena to one uniform rule. 'Life is one. There is in life one -action. The only question to ascertain is, how we live in obedience to -one universal law, without being absorbed in that law?'</p> - -<p>"For my own sake, I would gladly have heard him elucidate this great -theme. Spartacus, though, for some time had appeared less attentive to -what he said. The reason of this was not that he did not attend to them. -The old man's mind, however, would not always last; he sought, -therefore, to improve it by bringing him back to the subjects he loved -the best.</p> - -<p>"Rudolstadt observed his impatience. 'You no longer follow the train of -my ideas,' said he. 'Does the science of nature, as I understand it, -seem inapproachable? You are in error if you think so. I estimate the -labor of learned men as lightly as you do, when they become empirics. If -they act thus, they will build up no science, but merely a glossary. -Others beside myself are of this opinion. I became in France acquainted -with a philosopher I loved deeply, Diderot, who often blamed the -collection of scientific matter without any <i>idea</i>. Such is the work -of a stone-cutter. Yet no trace of the mason or architect is apparent. -Sooner or later, then, doctrine will come in contact with the natural -science. These are our materials. Think you, now, the naturalist really -understands nature without a perception of the living God who fills it? -Can they see or know it? They call light and sound matter, when matter -is light and sound.'</p> - -<p>"'Think not,' said Spartacus, 'I reject what you say about nature. Not -so. I see there can be no true knowledge, except from the appreciation -of the godly unity, and the likeness of all phenomena. But you point out -the paths to us, and I tremble at the idea of your silence. Enable me to -make some progress in one of those paths.'</p> - -<p>"'In which?' said Albert.</p> - -<p>"'I think of humanity and the future.'</p> - -<p>"'I see you wish,' said Albert, with a smile, 'that I should give you -my Utopia.'</p> - -<p>"'That was what I desired to ask you,' said Spartacus. 'I wished the new -Utopia you bear in your brain and bosom. We know the society of the -Invisibles searched for and dreamed of its bases. That labor has matured -in you. Let us take advantage of it. Give us your republic, and, as far -as it seems realisable to us, we will put it in practice. The sparks -from your fire will enliven the universe.'</p> - -<p>"'You ask me for my dreams,' said Rudolstadt. 'I will attempt to lift up -a portion of the veil which so often hides the future from me. Perchance -it may be for the last time, yet I will seek to do so, believing that -with you the golden dream of poesy will not be entirely lost.'</p> - -<p>"Trismegistus then became divinely enthusiastic. His eyes glittered like -stars, and his voice overcame us as the hurricane would. He spoke to us -for more than four hours, and his words were pure as some hymn of the -poetic, artistic, and pious work of all ages. He composed a poem -sublimely majestic; he explained to us all the religions of the past, -all the mysteries of the temples, the poems and laws, all the efforts -and objects of men of the olden time. In those things, which to us had -ever appeared dead or condemned, he discovered the essence of life; and -from the very obscurity of fables caused the essence of life to emanate, -and the light of truth to beam forth, he translated the old myths—he -fixed, by his clear and shrewd demonstration, all the ties and points of -union of religions. He pointed out to us what humanity truly demanded, -however its requisitions might be understood or interpreted by the -people. He convinced us of the unity of life in man, of doctrine in -religion, and, from the dispersed materials of the old and new world, -formed the basis of that which was to come. Finally, he dispersed those -doubts of eternity which long had annoyed our studies. He explained the -lapses of history, which had so alarmed us—he unfolded the countless -bandages enwrapping the mummy of science; and when, in a flash, we had -received what he exhibited with the quickness of electricity—when we -saw all he had seen—when the past, parent of the present, stood -before us, like the luminous one of the Apocalypse, he paused, and said, -with a smile, 'Now that the past and present stand before you, need I -explain the future to you? Does not the Holy Spirit shine before you? See -you not that all man has fancied and wished, sublime as it may be, in the -future is certain, for the simple reason that truth, in spite of the -wish of our faculties to know and own, is simple and positive. We all, -in heart and in hope, possess it. In us it lives, and is. It exists from -all time in humanity, in the germ before fecundation.'</p> - -<p>"He spoke again, and his poem about the future was as magnificent as -that of the past. I will not attempt to embody it in language, for, to -transmit the words of inspiration, one must himself be inspired. To -explain what Trismegistus told us in two or three hours, would require -years of thought from me. What Socrates did consumed his life, and -Jesus' labors have occupied seventeen centuries. You see that, -unfortunate and unworthy as I am, I must tremble at the task before me. -But I do not abandon it. The master will not write this out as I would. -He is a man of action, and has already condensed what Trismegistus told -him, as fully as if those subjects had been studied by himself. As if by -an electric touch, he has appropriated all the soul of the philosopher -communicated to him. It is his; it is his own, and, as a politician, he -will use it. He will be the verbatim and spiritual translator, instead -of the lifeless and obscure renderer I am. Ere my work is done, his -school will know the letter. Yes, ere two years have passed, the -strange, wild words uttered on this mountain, will have taken root in -the hearts of many adepts, and the vast world of secret societies, now -moving in night, will unite under one doctrine, receive a new law, and -resume activity by initiation into the word of life. We give you this -monument, establishing Spartacus's foresight, sanctioning all the truth -that he has yet attained, and filling his vista with all the power of -faith and inspiration.</p> - -<p>"As Trismegistus spoke, and I listened eagerly, fearing to lose one of -those notes which acted on me like a holy hymn, Spartacus, controlling -his excitement, with a burning eye but firm hand, and with a mind more -eager than his ear, wrote on his tablets characters and signs, as if the -conception of this doctrine had been communicated under geometrical -forms. That very night he returned to those notes, which to me meant -nothing. I was surprised to see him write down and accurately organize -the conclusions of the poet-philosopher. All was simplified and summed -up, as if magically, in the alemble of our master's poetical mind.<a name="FNanchor_28_1" id="FNanchor_28_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_28_1" class="fnanchor">[28]</a></p> - -<p>"He was not satisfied. Trismegistus's inspiration abandoned him. The -brightness left his eyes, and his frame seemed to shrink within itself. -Consuelo, by a sign, bade us say no more. Spartacus, however, was ardent -in the pursuit of truth, and did not see her. He continued his -questions.</p> - -<p>"'You have,' said he, 'talked of God's earthly kingdom,'—and as he -spoke he shook Albert's icy hand. 'Jesus, however, has said, "My kingdom -is not of earth." For seventeen centuries man has vainly hoped for the -fulfilment of his promise. I have not been, by meditation on eternity, -as exalted as you have been. To you time enfolds, as it does to God, the -idea of perpetual action—all the phases of which, at all times, -accord with your exalted feelings. But I live nearer the earth, and count -centuries and years. I wish to study while I live. Explain to me, oh, -prophet! what I must do in this phase of life—what your words will -effect—what they have already effected. I would not live in it -vainly.'</p> - -<p>"'What matters it to you what I know? None live in vain, and nothing is -lost. None of us are useless. Let me look from the detail, saddening the -heart, and contracting the mind. I am wearied even at the thought.'</p> - -<p>"'You, gifted with the power of revelation, should not be exhausted,' -said Spartacus, with energy. 'If you look away from human misery, you -are not the real and complete man of whom was said, "<i>Homo sum et nihil -humani, a me alienum puto.</i>" You do not love men, and are not a brother, -if their sufferings at every hour of eternity do not disturb you—if -you do not search for a remedy in the unfolding of your ideal. Unhappy -artist, who does not feel a consuming fire in this terrible and pleasant -inquiry?'</p> - -<p>"'What, then, do you wish?' said the poet, who now was excited and -almost angry. 'Are you so far vain as to think you alone toil and that I -alone can impart inspiration? I am no magician. I despise false -prophets, and long have striven against them. My predictions are -demonstrations, my visions are elevated perceptions. The poet is not a -sorcerer; he dreams with positiveness, while the other invents wildly. I -realise your activity, for I can judge of your capacity. I believe in -the sublimity of your dreams, because I feel capable of producing them, -and because humanity is vast and powerful enough to expand a hundred -times all the conceptions of one of its members.'</p> - -<p>"'Then,' said Spartacus, 'I ask from you the fate of humanity, in the -name of that sympathy that perhaps fills my bosom more completely than -your own. An enchanted veil hides its sorrows from you, while every hour -of my life I touch and shudder at them. I am anxious to soothe them, -and, like the doctor by the bed-side of death, would rather kill by -imprudence, than suffer to die by neglect. You see I will be a dangerous -being, perhaps even monstrous, unless you change me into a saint. -Tremble at the idea of my death, unless you give the enthusiast a -remedy. Humanity dreams, sings, and beseeches in you. With me it -suffers, bewails, and laments. You have expanded your future, though, in -the distance before me. You may say what you please, yet it will require -toil, labor, and sweat to gather something of your remedy for my -bleeding wounds. Generations and language may pass away, inert and -lifeless; I, the incarnation of suffering humanity—I, the cry of -distress, and the longing for salvation—wish to know whether I shall -do good or injury. You have not looked so far from wrong as to be unaware -of its existence. Whither must we go first? what must I do to-morrow? -Must I oppose the enemies of virtue by mildness or violence? Remember -your idolised Taborites saw before the gates of the terrestrial paradise -a sea of blood and tears. I do not think you a magician, but in your -symbols I see a mighty logic and perfect lucidity. If you can foretell -with certainty things far away, you can more certainly lift up the veil -of the horizon of my sight.'</p> - -<p>"Albert appeared to suffer deeply. Perspiration fell from his forehead, -and he looked at Spartacus, now with terror, and then with enthusiasm; a -fearful contest oppressed him. His wife in alarm clasped him in her -arms, and silently reproached the master by her glances—instinct, -however, with respect as well as fear. Never was I more impressed with -Spartacus's capacity. He was overpowered with his fanaticism of virtue -and truth, the tortures of the prophet striving with inspiration, the -distress of Consuelo, the terror of the children, and upbraidings of his -own heart. I too trembled, and thought him cruel. I feared that the -poet's soul would be crushed by a last effort, and the tears in his -wife's eyes fell deeply and hotly on my heart. All at once Trismegistus -arose, and putting aside both Spartacus and Consuelo, made a gesture to -his children to go. He seemed transformed. His eyes, from an invisible -book, vast as the universe, and written in characters of light on the -arch of heaven, seemed to read.</p> - -<p>"He then said aloud—</p> - -<p>"'Am I not human? Why should I not say what nature demands and therefore -will have. I am a man, and therefore I have a right to express the will -of the human family, and to declare their intention. One who witnesses -the gathering of the clouds can predict the lightning and the storm. I -know what is in my heart, and what it will bring forth. I am a man, and -I live in an age when the voice of Europe murmurs trumpet-tongued. -Friends, these are not dreams. I swear by the name of human nature they -are dreams merely in relation to the present formation of our moral and -social systems. Which of the two, spirit or matter, will take the lead? -The gospel says, the spirit bloweth where it pleaseth. The spirit will -do so, and will alter the face of the universe. It is said in -Genesis—"When all was dark and chaotic, the Spirit blew on the waters." -Now, creation is eternal. Let us create, or, in other words, obey the -Spirit. I see darkness and chaos. Why should we remain in darkness? -"<i>Veni, Creator Spiritus.</i>"'</p> - -<p>"He paused, and then began again.</p> - -<p>"'Can Louis XV. contend with you, Spartacus? Frederick, the pupil of -Voltaire, is less powerful than his master; and were I to compare Maria -Theresa to my Consuelo, it would be almost blasphemous.'</p> - -<p>"He again paused for a short time; and resumed—</p> - -<p>"'Come, Zdenko, my child, descendant of the Podiebrad, bearing the name -of my second self and dearest friend, prepare to aid us. You are a new -man, and must choose for yourself. Which side will you take,—that of -your parents, or in the ranks of the tyrants of the earth? The power of -a new generation is in you. Which will you subscribe to, slavery or -liberty? Son of Consuelo, child of the Zingara, godson of the Sclave, I -trust your choice will be with the advocates of liberty, not in the -ranks of the enslavers, else I will renounce you. Though I am a -descendant of the proud ones who sit on thrones, I have long since -despised the bauble, and you, my son, must follow in my footsteps.'</p> - -<p>"He continued—</p> - -<p>"'He who dares assert that the divine essence—beauty, goodness, -and power—is not to be found on earth, is Satan.'</p> - -<p>"Again he added—</p> - -<p>"'He who dares assert that man's likeness to his Creator, in sensation, -sentiment, and knowledge, is not, as the Bible says, to be realised on -earth, is Cain.'</p> - -<p>"Here he was silent for a time, and added—</p> - -<p>"'Your mind, Spartacus, by its strength of purpose in the good cause, -has delighted me. Feeble are enthroned kings. They fancy themselves -mighty, because the slaves of the earth kneel to them; but they see not -what threatens. Their destruction has already begun. To promulgate our -doctrines is to overthrow kings, nobles, armies, and to silence the -profane priests who pander to the tyrants. Neither their courtiers, nor -mistresses, nor their church's influence will protect them. Hurry, then, -to France, my friend, where the work of destruction will soon begin. If -you would share in the good work, do not delay. France is the -pre-ordained of nations. Join the friends of humanity. Throughout France -the words of Isaiah are now being shouted—"Arise! and be enlightened, -for the light is come, and the glory of the Eternal has descended on -thee, and the nations will come to thy light!" Thus the Taborites sang -of Tabor, and France is the Tabor of our era.'</p> - -<p>"For a time he was silent, and his face was kindled with joy. He -continued—</p> - -<p>"'I am happy! Glory to God! Glory to God on high! as the gospel says; -and peace and good-will on earth! Thus sing the angels; and, feeling as -they do, I would sing like them. What has happened? I am yet with you, -my friends! I am yet with thee, my Eve!—my Consuelo! These are my -children—souls of my soul! We are not, however, on the mountains of -Bohemia, nor amid the ruins of the castle of my fathers. I seem to -breathe, see, feel, and taste of eternity. It is said: How beautiful is -Nature—life—humanity—these which tyrants have perverted. -Tyrants!—There are none! Men are equal; and human nature is -understood, appreciated, and sanctified. Men are free—they are -equals—they are brothers. There is no longer any other definition -of man. He masters no slaves. Hear you that cry—<i>Vive la -République?</i> Hear you that crowd proclaiming liberty, equality, and -fraternity? That formula in our mysteries was uttered in a low voice, and -communicated only to adepts of the higher grades. There is no secret now. -The sacraments are for all. Our Hussite ancestors said——'</p> - -<p>"All at once he began to weep.</p> - -<p>"'I know the doctrine is not far enough advanced. Too few wear -it in their hearts, and understand it. Horror!—war!—such a war -everywhere!'</p> - -<p>"He wept long. We did not know what visions passed before his eyes; but -we thought he again saw the Hussite contest. All his faculties seemed -disturbed, and his soul was troubled like as Christ's on Calvary.</p> - -<p>"The sight of his trouble distressed me. Spartacus was firm as one who -consults an oracle. 'Lord! Lord!' said the prophet in agony, 'have mercy -on us! We are in thy power. Do with us according to thy will.'</p> - -<p>"Trismegistus reached out his hands to grasp those of his wife and son, -as if he had suddenly become blind. The girls rushed in terror to his -bosom, and silently clung there. Consuelo was alarmed; and Zdenko looked -anxiously at his mother. Spartacus saw them not. Was the poet's vision -yet before his eyes? At length he approached the group, and Consuelo -warned him not to excite Albert, whose eyes were open and fixed, as if -he slept a mesmeric sleep, or saw slowly fade away the dreams which -agitated him. After fifteen minutes his eyes relaxed their rigidity, -when he drew his wife and Zdenko to his heart. Ho embraced them for some -time; and afterwards rose up, expressing himself willing to resume his -travels.</p> - -<p>"'The sun is very hot,' said Consuelo. 'Had you not rather sleep -beneath these trees?'</p> - -<p>"'The sun is pleasant,' he said, with a sweet smile; 'and unless you -fear it more than usual, it will do me good.'</p> - -<p>"Each took up his burden, the father a large bag, and the son the -musical instruments, while Consuelo led her daughters by the hand.</p> - -<p>"'We suffer thus in the cause of truth,' said Consuelo to Spartacus.</p> - -<p>"'Do you not fear that this excitement will injure your husband?' said -I. 'Let me go farther with you. I may be able to render you some -assistance.'</p> - -<p>"'I thank you for your kindness,' she said; 'but do not follow us. I -apprehend nothing but a few sad hours. There was danger in the sad -recollections connected with this spot, from which you have preserved -him by occupying his mind. He wished to come hither, but did not -remember the way. I thank you, then, for your many kindnesses, and wish -you every facility for performing God's will.'</p> - -<p>"To prolong their stay, I sought to caress the children; but their -mother took them away, and I felt when she was gone as if deserted by -all I held dear on earth.</p> - -<p>"Trismegistus did not bid us adieu. He seemed to have forgotten us; and -Consuelo did not arouse him. He walked firmly down the hill; and his -face was expressively calm and even cheerful as he assisted his daughter -to spring over the bushes and rocks.</p> - -<p>"The young and handsome Zdenko followed with the Zingara and youngest -child. We looked long after them, as they threaded their way on the -gold-colored forest-path without a guide. At length they were hidden -from our sight. When about to disappear, we saw the Zingara place -Winceslawa on her shoulders, and hasten to join her husband. She was -strong and active as a true Zingara, and as poetical as the goddess of -Poverty.</p> - -<p class="center">* * * * * * * *</p> - -<p>"We, too, are on the road. We walk on our journey of life, the end of -which is not death, as is grossly said by materialists, but true life.</p> - -<p>"We consoled the people of the hamlet as well as we could, and left old -Zdenko to abide his <i>to-morrow.</i></p> - -<p>"We shortly after joined our friends at Pilsen, whence I write this -letter; and am about to go on other business. You, too, must also -prepare for the restless journey, for action without feebleness. We -advance, my friend, to success or martyrdom!"<a name="FNanchor_29_1" id="FNanchor_29_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_29_1" class="fnanchor">[29]</a></p> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_23_1" id="Footnote_23_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_23_1"><span class="label">[23]</span></a>Probably the famous Baron Knigge known as Philo, in the -Order of the Illuminati.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_24_1" id="Footnote_24_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_24_1"><span class="label">[24]</span></a>This is well known to have been the assumed name of Adam -Weishaupt. Is he really referred to? All induces us to think so.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_25_1" id="Footnote_25_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_25_1"><span class="label">[25]</span></a>Certainly Zavier Zwack, who was Autic Councillor, and -exiled as one of the chiefs of the Illuminati.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_26_1" id="Footnote_26_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_26_1"><span class="label">[26]</span></a>Bader, who was the medical attendant of the -electress-dowager, an Illuminatus.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_27_1" id="Footnote_27_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_27_1"><span class="label">[27]</span></a>Massenhousen, a councillor at Munich, and an Illuminatus.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_28_1" id="Footnote_28_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_28_1"><span class="label">[28]</span></a>Weishaupt, it is known, and he was eminently an organizer, -used material signs to explain his system, and sent to some of his -pupils an explanation of his whole system, expressed by squares and -circles on a small piece of paper.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_29_1" id="Footnote_29_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_29_1"><span class="label">[29]</span></a>This letter was written to Martinowicz a great savant and -member of the Illuminati. He, with several other Hungarian nobles, his -accomplices in conspiracy, was beheaded in Buda, in 1795.</p></div> - - - - -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<p>Note—See note 22.—We will recall to the reader, that we may -no longer have occasion to return to the subject, the rest of Trenck's -story. He grew old in poverty, and busied himself in the publication of -newspapers, of remarkable energy for the times. He married a woman he -loved, became the father of many children, was persecuted for his -opinions, his writings, and doubtless for his affiliation with secret -societies. He took refuge in France when he was very old, and during the -early days of the revolution was received with enthusiam and confidence. -Destined, however, to be the victim of unhappy mistakes, he was arrested -as a foreign agent during the Reign of Terror, and taken to the -scaffold. He met his fate with great firmness. He had previously seen -himself described in a drama, retracing the incidents of his life and -imprisonment. He had enthusiastically welcomed French liberty, and on -the fatal car, said, "This, too, is a comedy!"</p> - -<p>For sixty years he had seen the Princess Amelia but once. When he heard -of tho death of Frederick the Great, he hurried to Berlin. The lovers -were terrified at the appearance of each other, shed tears, and vowed a -new affection. The abbess bade him send for his wife, took the -responsibility of his fortune, and wished to take one of his daughters -as reader or lady-in-waiting. Before many days, however, had passed, she -was dead. The memoirs of Trenck, written with the passion of youth and -prolixity of age, are one of the most noble and touching items of the -records of the last century.</p> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Countess of Rudolstadt, by George Sand - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE COUNTESS OF RUDOLSTADT *** - -***** This file should be named 62338-h.htm or 62338-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/2/3/3/62338/ - -Produced by Laura Natal Rodrigues and Dagny Soapfan at -Free Literature (Images generously made available by The -Internet Archive.) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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