"'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 complimentà 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. Myennuihas 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."
"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 ableto 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 withennui, that it is a pleasure to me to sympathize with him."
"Do you not fear that this communion ofennuiwill lead to a more tender sentiment? This would not be the first time that love sprang fromennui."
"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 monarchsde facto, while we arede 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 mypelisse, 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 forla 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 yourchasseur, 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 thechasseur.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.
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 herincognito, 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 strangebalayeuse, 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 atSans 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 therôledid 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 mesire?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 theAriana Abandonatato 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 thatgaucherie, 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.
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 theredoute, 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 hersosiaof 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 atbals 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 hersosiawas 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 ofthe orderpledge 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 themarquis."
"What marquis?" asked Consuelo with astonishment.
"You are out of your wits, sister; I speak of theGrand 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 notour friendsfancy 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 theGrand Lamawill 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 hisfriendship.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——"