[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.
[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.
[17]Every effort has been made to translate this masonic (?) jargon into something like English; with what success none but the Invisibles can tell.
[17]Every effort has been made to translate this masonic (?) jargon into something like English; with what success none but the Invisibles can tell.
[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.
[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.
[19]The French word is frotteur, and its meaning is strictly "rubber" or "polisher."
[19]The French word is frotteur, and its meaning is strictly "rubber" or "polisher."
[20]Many are yet preserved in private museums in Germany.
[20]Many are yet preserved in private museums in Germany.
[21]See the character of the Abbess of Quidlemburg, in Thibault, and the strange stories he tells of her.
[21]See the character of the Abbess of Quidlemburg, in Thibault, and the strange stories he tells of her.
[22]See note at the end of the book.
[22]See note at the end of the book.
"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 trueTe 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 thatto liveis not tobe 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 withthe doctrine, because it is synonymous with the supreme truth revealed in it. All is reduced to a knowledge ofthe doctrine.'
"Spartacus reflected, and after a moment's silence said—
"'I wish to learn from you the supreme formula ofthe 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 adouble 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 divineTetraid.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 meanGenesis, attributed to Moses—was taken by him from the temples of Memphis, you would know that humandissolution, 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, theregenerator; 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 withsavansandpupils, 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 thefragmentsof 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 anyidea. 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.