"'I will never abuse your kindness, Herr Mayer.'
"'Mayer!' said the adjutant, interrupting at once thebroum, broumwhich was on his lips. 'Why do you call me Mayer? Where the devil did you pick up that name?'
"'I forgot, and beg your pardon, adjutant. I had a singing-master of that name, and have been thinking of him all day.'
"'A singing-master? That was not me. There are many Mayers in Germany. I am called Nauteuil, and am of French extraction.'
"'Well, sir, how shall I announce myself to that lady? She does not know me, and will refuse my visit, as just now I refused her acquaintance. People become so ill-tempered when they live alone.'
"'Ah, whoever she may be, the lady will be delighted to talk with you, I am sure. Will you write her anything?'
"'I have nothing to write with.'
"'Ah, that is impossible. Have you no money?'
"'If I had, old Swartz is incorruptible. Besides, I do not know how to bribe him.'
"'Well, I will take you this very evening to see No. 2—that is, when you have sung something for me.'
"I was terrified at the idea of Mayer—or Nauteuil, as he now pleases to call himself—introducing himself into my room, and I was about to reply, when he made me understand his intentions more perfectly. He had either not intended to visit me, or he read in my countenance an utter distate to his company. 'I will listen to you,' said he, 'on the platform which overlooks the tower in which you live. Sound ascends, and I will hear you there well enough. Then I will have the doors opened, and a woman shall escort you, I will not see you. In fact, it would not do for me to seem to tempt you to an act of disobedience, though, after all, in such a matter—broum, broum—there is a very easy way to get out of any difficulty. It is only necessary to shoot prisoner No. 3 with a pistol, and say that she was surprised,flagrante delicto, attempting to escape. Ah! the idea is strange, is it not? In prison strange ideas come into one's head. Adieu, signorina Porporina, till this evening.'
"I was lost in mazes of reflection on the conduct of this wretch, and, in spite of myself, became terribly afraid of him. I could not think so base and contemptible a soul loved music so much as to do what he did for the mere pleasure of hearing me. I supposed that the prisoner was the Abbess of Quedlimburgh, and that, in obedience to the king's order, an interview between her and myself was brought about, that we might be watched, and some state secret, she was supposed to have confided to me, be discovered. Under this impression I was as much afraid of the interview as I had previously desired it, for I am absolutely ignorant how much of this conspiracy, of which I am charged with being an accomplice, is true or false.
"Thinking that it was my duty to brave all things to extend some assistance to a companion in misfortune, whoever she might be, I began to sing at the appointed time, to gratify the ears of the post-adjutant. I sang badly enough, the audience inspiring me with no admiration. Besides, I felt he listened to me merely for form's sake, and that perhaps he did not hear me at all. When the clock struck eleven, I was seized with the most puerile terror. I fancied that the adjutant had received orders to get rid of me, and that he was about to kill me, as he said, just as if he looked on the manner as a jest, when I stopped outside of my cell. When the door opened, I trembled in every limb. An old woman, very dirty and ugly, (far more so than Vrau Swartz,) bade me follow, and preceded me up a narrow and steep staircase, built in the hollow of the wall. When we reached the top, I found myself on the platform, twenty feet above where I walk by day, and eighty or a hundred above the fosse which surrounds all that portion of the esplanade. The terrible old woman bade me wait there for a time, and went I know not whither. My uneasiness was removed, and I was so glad to find myself in the pure air, and so far up as to be able to see the country around, that I was not uneasy at the solitude in which I was left. The silent waters around the citadel, and on which its dark shadows fall, the trees and fields, which I saw far in the distance, the immense sky, and even the bats, whirling in space, all seemed, oh, God! grand and majestic, for I had passed two months in prison, counting the few stars which crossed the window of my cell. I could not enjoy this long. A noise forced me to look around, and all my terrors revived when I beheld Mayer near me.
"'Signora,' said he, 'I am sorry to tell you that you cannot see No. 2, at least at present. She seems to be a very capricious person. Yesterday she exhibited the greatest desire to have company, and just now she made me this answer:—"Is prisoner No. 3 the person who sings in the tower, and whom I hear every evening? Ah, I know her voice, and it is needless for you to tell me her name. I had rather never see a living soul again, than that unfortunate creature. She is the cause of all my troubles, and I pray to God the expiation required from her may be as strictly exacted as I am made to atone for the imprudent friendship I have felt for her." This, signora, is the lady's opinion about you. It is only necessary to know whether it is merited or not, and that concerns only your own conscience. I have nothing to say about it, and am ready to take you back to your cell when you think proper.'
"'Do so at once, sir,' said I, deeply mortified at being accused of treachery before so miserable a wretch, and feeling the deepest indignation against the one of the Amelias who had testified so much ingratitude and bitterness.
"'I am not anxious that you should go,' said the new adjutant. 'You seem to like to look at the moon. Do so as long as you please. It costs nothing, and does no one any harm.'
"I was imprudent enough to take a little advantage of his kindness. I could not make up my mind to leave the beautiful spectacle of which I was, perhaps, to be deprived so soon, at once. Besides, I could not resist the idea that Mayer was a bad servant, but too much honored by being permitted to wait on me. He took advantage of my position, and became bold enough to seek to talk to me. 'Do you know, signorina,' said he, 'that you sing devilish well? I heard nothing better in Italy. Yet I have been to the greatest theatre, and passed the principal artists in review. Where did you make your first appearance? You have travelled much?' As I pretended not to understand his questions, he added, boldly, 'Sometimes you travelled on foot, in male attire?'
"This question made me tremble, and I hastened to reply in the negative. He said, 'Ah! you will not own it, but I never forget; and I recall to my memory a strange adventure which you have not forgotten.'
"'I do not know what you wish to say,' said I moving from the wall, and commencing to retreat to my cell.
"'A moment—a moment!' said Mayer.—'Your key is in my pocket, and you cannot go back without me. Let me say a word or two to you.'
"'Not a word, sir: I wish to return to my room, and am sorry that I left it.'
"'Pardieu!you are behaving strangely: you act as if I was ignorant of your adventures. Did you think I was simple enough not to know when I found you in the Boehmer-wald, with a little dark-haired lad, not badly made? Pshaw! I took the lad for the army of the King of Prussia. The girl was not for him; though they say you pleased him, and were sent here because you boasted of it. Well, fortune is capricious, and it is useless to contend with her. You have fallen from a high position, but I beg you not to be proud, and to be satisfied with what chances. I am only a garrison officer, but have more power here than a king, whom no one knows and no one fears, because he is too far away to be obeyed. You see that I have power enough to pass anywhere and to soften your captivity. Do not be ungrateful, and you will see the protection of an adjutant at Spandau is as useful as that of a king at Berlin. Do you understand? Do not fly me—do not make an outcry—for that would be absurd—indeed, it would be pure folly for I might say anything I pleased, and no one would believe you. I do not wish to scare you, for my disposition is good. Think of this till I see you again: and remember, I can immure you in a dungeon, or grant you amusements—starve you to death, or give you means of escape, without being suspected.' As I did not reply, and was completely terror-stricken at the idea of being unable to avoid such outrages, and such cruel humiliation as he dared to subject me to, this odious man added, without doubt fancying that I hesitated, 'Why not decide at once? Are twenty-four hours necessary to decide on the only step which it is proper for you to take, and to return the love of a brave man, yet young, and rich enough to provide in some other country a more pleasant abode than this prison?'
"As he spoke thus, the ignoble recruiter approached me, and acted as if he would oppose my passage. He attempted to lay hold of my hands. I ran to the parapet of the tower, being determined to spring over, rather than suffer myself to be soiled by his caresses. At this moment, however, a strange circumstance attracted my attention, and I pointed it out to the adjutant as a means of enabling myself to escape. It secured my safety; but, alas! came near costing the life of a person, perhaps more valuable than mine.
"On the opposite rampart, on the other side of the ditch, a figure which seemed gigantic, ran or rather leaped down the esplanade, with a rapidity and adroitness which seemed prodigious. Having reached the extremity of the rampart, the ends of which are flanked by towers, the phantom ascended the roof of one of them, which was on a level with the balustrade, and mounting the steep cone with cat-like activity, seemed to lose itself in the air.
"'What the devil is that?' said the adjutant, forgetting the gallant in the jailer. 'May the devil take me, if a prisoner is not escaping.' The sentinel, too, is asleep. 'Sentinel,' cried he, with the voice of a Stentor, 'look out!' Running towards a turret, in which is hung an alarm bell, he rang it with the power of a professor of the devil's music. I never heard anything more melancholy than this infernal tocsin, the sharp clangor of which disturbed the deep silence of night. It was the savage cry of violence and brutality, disturbing the aspirations of the harmony of the water and the breeze. In an instant, all was in motion in the prison. I heard the clangor of the guns in the sentinels' arms, as they cocked and fired at any object of which they caught a glimpse. The esplanade was lighted with a red blaze, which paled the azure reflections of the moon. Swartz had lighted up a bonfire. Signals were made from one rampart to another, and the echoes repeated them in a plaintive and decreasing tone. The alarm gun soon mingled its terrible and solemn note in this diabolical symphony. Heavy steps sounded on the pavements. I saw nothing, but heard all these noises, and my heart was filled with terror. Mayer had left me hastily, but I did not even rejoice at being delivered from him. I reproached myself bitterly with having pointed out to him, I knew not why, some unfortunate prisoner who was seeking to escape. Frozen with terror, I waited the conclusion of the affair, shuddering at every shot that was fired, and waiting to hear the cries of the fugitive announce some new disaster to me.
"All this did not last an hour; and, thank heaven, the fugitive was neither seen nor hit. To be sure of it, I rejoined the Swartzes on the esplanade. They were so excited that they expressed no surprise at seeing me outside my cell at midnight. It may be they had an understanding with Mayer that I was to be at liberty on that night. Swartz, having run about like a madman, and satisfied himself that none of his ward had escaped, began to grow tranquil. His wife and he, however, were struck with consternation, as if the escape of a prisoner seemed a public and private calamity, and an outrageous violation of justice. The other keepers, the soldiers who came and went, exchanged words with them expressive of the same despair and terror. To them the blackest of all crimes seems an attempt to escape. God of mercy! how terrible did these mercenaries, devoted to the barbarous business of depriving their fellows of precious liberty, seem to me. Suddenly, however, it seemed that supreme equity had resolved to inflict a severe punishment on my keepers. Vrau Swartz had gone into the lodge for a few moments, and came out soon after, shouting:
"'Gottlieb! Gottlieb!—pause—do not fire—do not kill my son! It is he—it is he, certainly!'
"In spite of the agitation of the old couple, I learned that Gottlieb was neither in his bed, nor in any part of the house, and that in his sleep he had, perhaps, resumed his old habit of walking over the roofs of the houses. Gottlieb was a somnambulist.
"As soon as this report was circulated through the citadel, the excitement passed away. Every keeper had time to make his rounds, and ascertain that no prisoner had disappeared, and each returned in good spirits to his post. The officers weire enchanted at thedénoûement; the soldiers laughed at the alarm; and Madame Swartz was beside herself, and her husband ran everywhere, exploring the fosse, fearing that the fusilade and cannon shots had awakened Gottlieb amid his dangerous walk. I went with him. It would, perhaps, have been a good time to attempt to escape myself; for it seemed to me that the doors were open, and the soldiers' attention averted. I put this idea aside, however, being occupied only with the hope of finding the poor invalid who had exhibited so much affection for me.
"Swartz, who never loses his presence of mind, seeing the day was breaking begged me to go to my room, since it was contrary to his orders to leave me at liberty at improper hours. He went with me to close the door, but the first thing he saw was Gottlieb, peaceably asleep in my chair. He had luckily been able to take refuge there before the alarm had been communicated to the whole garrison, or his sleep had been so profound and his foot so agile that he had escaped all dangers. I advised his father not to awaken him suddenly, and promised to watch over him until Vrau Swartz was informed of the happy news.
"When I was alone with Gottlieb, I placed my hand gently on his shoulder, and, speaking in a low voice, sought to awaken him. I had heard that somnambulists could place themselves in communication with persons whom they liked, and answer them distinctly. My attempt was wonderfully successful; 'Gottlieb,' said I, 'where have you been to-night?'
"'To-night—is it night? I thought I saw the morning sun shining on the roofs.'
"'You have then been there?'
"'Certainly: that blessed angel, the red-throat, came to the window and called me. I followed him, and we have been high up, very high up, near the stars, and almost to the angels' home. As we went up, we met Belzebub, who sought to catch us. He cannot fly, however, because God has sentenced him to a long penitence, and he sees the birds and angels fly without being able to reach them.'
"'Yet, after having been among the clouds, you came back?'
"'The red-throat said, "Go see your sick sister," and I came back to your cell with him.'"
"'Then, you can come into my cell?'
"'Certainly: I have, since you have been sick, frequently come to watch you. The red-throat steals the keys from my mother's bed, and Belzebub cannot help it; for when an angel, by hovering over him, has charmed him, he cannot wake.'
"'Who taught you so much about angels and devils?'
"'My master,' said the somnambulist, with a childish look, full of the most innocent enthusiasm.
"'Who is your master?' said I.
"'God first—and then—the sublime shoemaker.'
"'What is the name of the sublime shoemaker?'
"'Ah! it is a great name. I cannot tell you, for my mother, you see, does not know him. She does not know that I have two books in the hole by the chimney. One I do not read, and the other I have devoured for four years. This is my heavenly food, my spiritual life, the book of truth, the safety and light of the soul.'
"'Who wrote this book?'
"'He did. The shoemaker of Corlitz, Jacob Boehm.'
"We were here interrupted by the arrival of Vrau Swartz, whom I could scarcely keep from throwing herself on her son and kissing him. This woman adores her first-born, and therefore may her sins be remitted. She spoke, but Gottlieb did not hear her; and I alone was able to persuade him to go to bed, where, I was told, he slept quietly. He knew nothing of what had happened, although his strange disease and the alarm are yet talked of at Spandau.
"I was then in my cell, after having enjoyed a few hours of painful and agitated half liberty. On such terms I do not wish to go out again. Yet I might, perchance, have escaped. I will think of nothing else, now that I am in the power of a wretch who menaces me with dangers worse than death and worse than eternal torment. I will now think seriously of it, and who knows but that I may succeed? Oh! God, protect me!"
"May 5.—Since the occurrence of the events I have described, I have lived calmly, and have learned to think my days of repose days of happiness, and to thank God for them, as in prosperity we thank him for years which roll by without disaster. It is indisputable that, to leave the apathy of ordinary life aside, it is necessary to have known misfortune. I reproach myself with having suffered so many of my childhood's days to pass by unmarked, without returning thanks to the Providence which bestowed them on me. I did not say then that I was undeserving, and therefore it is beyond a doubt, that I merit the evils which oppress me.
"I have not seen the odious recruiting officer since. He is now more feared by me than he was on the banks of the Moldau, when I took him for a child-devouring ogre. Now I look on him as a yet more odious and abominable persecutor: when I think of the revolting pretence of the wretch, of the power he exerts around me, of the ease with which he can come at night to my cell, without those servile Swartzes having even a wish to protect me from him, I feel ready to die in despair. I look at the pitiless bars which prevent me from throwing myself from the window. I cannot procure poison, and have no weapon to open his heart. Yet I have something to fill me with hope and confidence, and will not suffer myself to be intimidated. In the first place, Swartz does not love the adjutant, who would have a monopoly of air, sunlight, bread, and other items of prison food. Besides, the Swartzes, especially the woman, begin to conceive a liking for me on account of poor Gottlieb, and the healthful influence which they say I exert on his mind. Were I menaced, they would not perhaps come to my aid; but were this seriously the case, they would perhaps enable me to appeal to the commandant. He, the only time I saw him, appeared mild and humane. Gottlieb besides, would be glad to do me a favor, and without making any explanation I have already concerted matters with him. He is ready to take a letter which I have prepared. I hesitate, however, to ask for aid before I am really in danger; for if my enemy cease to torment me, he might treat as a jest a declaration I was prudish enough to treat as serious. Let that be as it may, I sleep with but one eye, and am training my physical powers for a fearful contest if it should be necessary. I move my furniture, I pull against the iron bars of the window, and harden my hands by knocking against the walls. Anyone who saw me thus engaged, would think me mad or desperate. I practise, however, with the greatestsang froid, and have learned that my physical power is far greater than I had supposed. In the security of ordinary life, we do not inquire into, but disregard, our means of defence. As I feel strong, I become brave, and my confidence in God increases with my efforts to protect myself. I often remember the beautiful verses Porpora told me he read on the walls of a dungeon of the inquisition at Venice."
'Di che mi fido, mi guarda Iddio!Di che non mi fido mi guardero Io.'
"More fortunate than the wretch who traced the words of that sad prayer, I can at least confide in the chastity and devotion of poor Gottlieb. His attacks of somnambulism have not reappeared; his mother, too watches him carefully. During the day, he talks to me in my room, for since I saw Mayer I have not seen the esplanade.
"Gottlieb has explained his religious ideas to me. They are beautiful, though often whimsical, and I wish to read Boehm's book—for he is a disciple of his, certainly—to know what he has added from his own mind to the theological cordwainer. He lent me this precious book, and at my own peril and risk I became immersed in it. I can not understand how this book disturbed the balance of the simple mind which looked at the symbols of a mystic—himself sometimes mad—as literal. I do not flatter myself that I can thoroughly understand and explain them; but I think I catch a glimpse of lofty religious divination, and the inspiration of generous poetry. What struck me most is his theory about the devil: 'In the battle with Lucifer, God did not destroy him. See you not the reason, blind man? God fought against God, one portion of divinity striving against the other. I remember that Albert explained, almost in the same way, the earthly and transitory reign of the spirit of evil, and that the chaplain of Riesenberg listened to him with horror, and treated his idea as puremanicheism.Albert said that Christianity was a purer and more complete manicheism than his faith; that it was more superstitious, as it recognised the perpetuity of the principle of evil, while his system recognised the restoration of the spirit of evil, that is to say its conversion and reconciliation. In Albert's opinion, evil was but error, and the divine light some day would dissipate it. I own, my friends, even though I seem heretical, that the idea of its being Satan's doom everlastingly to excite evil, to love it, and to close his eyes to the truth, seems, and always has seemed impious to me."
"Boehm seems to me to look for a millenium—that is to say, he is a believer in the resurrection of the just, and thinks they will sojourn with him in a new world, formed from the dissolution of this, during a thousand years of cloudless happiness and wisdom. Then there will be the complete union of souls with God, and the recompense of eternity, far more complete than those of the millenium. I often remember having heard Count Albert explain this symbol, as he told the stormy history of old Bohemia, and of his beloved Taborites, who were embued with faith renewed from the early days of Christianity. Albert had a less material faith in all this, and did not pronounce on the duration of the resurrection, or the precise age of the future world. He had, however, a presentiment and a prophetic view of the speedy dissolution of human society, which was to give place to an era of sublime renovation. Albert did not doubt that his soul, on leaving the temporary prison of death, would begin here below a series of existences, and would contemplate this providential reward, and see those days which are at once so terrible and so magnificent, and which have been promised to the human race. This noble faith seemed monstrous to all orthodox persons at Riesenberg, and took possession of me after having at first seemed strange. Yet it is a faith of all nations and all days. In spite of the efforts of the Roman Church to stifle it—or rather, in spite of its being unable to purify itself of the material and superstitious, I see it has filled many really pious souls with enthusiasm. They tell me it was the faith of great saints. I yield myself to it therefore without restraint and without fear, being sure any idea adopted by Albert must be a grand one. It also smiles on me, and sheds celestial poetry on the idea of death and the sufferings which beyond doubt are coming to a close. Jacob Boehm pleases me. His disciple who sits in the dirty kitchen, busy with sublime reveries and heavenly visions, while his parents become petrified, trade, and grow brutal, seems in character pure and touching to me, with this book which he knows by heart, but does not understand, although he has commenced to model his life after his master's. Infirm in body and mind—ingenuous, candid, and with angelic morals, poor Gottlieb, destined beyond doubt to be crushed by falling from some rampart, in your imaginary flight across the skies, or to sink under premature disease—you will have passed from earth like an unknown saint, like an exiled angel, ignorant of evil, without having known happiness, without even having felt the sun that warms the earth, so wrapped were you in the contemplation of the mystic sun which burns in your mind. I, who alone have discovered the secret of your meditations—I, who also comprehend the ideal beautiful, and had power to search for and realize it, will die in the flower of my youth, without having acted or lived. In the nucleus of these walls which shut in and devour us, are poor little plants which the wind crushes and the sun never shines on. They dry up without flourishing or fructifying; yet they seem to revive. But they are the seeds which the wind brings to the same places, and which seek to live on the wreck of the old. Thus captives vegetate!—thus prisons are peopled!
"Is it not strange that I am here, with an ecstatic being of an order inferior to Albert, but, like him, attached to a secret religion, to a faith which is ridiculed, contemned, and despised! Gottlieb tells me there are many other Boehmists in this country, that many cordwainers openly confess his faith, and that the foundation of his doctrine is implanted for all time in the popular mind, by many unknown philosophers who of old excited Bohemia, and who now nurse a secret fire throughout Germany. I remember the ardent Hussite cordwainers, whose bold declarations and daring deeds in John Ziska's time, Albert mentioned to me. The very name of Jacob Boehm attests this glorious origin. I cannot tell what passes in the contemplative brain of patient Germany, my brilliant and dissipated life making such an examination impossible. Were Gottlieb and Zdenko, however, the last disciples of the mysterious religion which Albert preserved as a precious talisman, I am still sure that faith is mine, inasmuch as it proclaims the future equality of all men and the coming manifestation of the justice and goodness of God on earth! Ah, yes! I must believe in this kingdom, which God declared to man through Christ! I must hope for the overturning of these iniquitous monarchies, of those impure societies, that when I see myself here, I may not lose faith in Providence!"
* * * * * * * *
"I have no news of No. 2. If Mayer has not told me an infamous falsehood, Amelia of Prussia is the person who accuses me of treachery. May God forgive her for doubting one who has not doubted her, in spite of her accusations on my account. I will not attempt to see her. By seeking to defend myself, I might yet more involve her, as I have, I know not how, already."
* * * * * * * *
"My red-throat is still my faithful companion. Seeing Gottlieb without his cat in my cell, it became familiar with him, and the poor lad became mad with joy and pride. He calls it 'lord,' and will nottutoyit. With the most profound respect, and with the most religious trembling, he offers it food. In vain do I attempt to persuade him it is but a common bird, for I cannot remove the idea that some heavenly being has adopted this form. I try to amuse him by giving him some idea of music, and indeed I am sure he has a highly musical mind. His parents are delighted with my care, and have offered to put a spinet in one of their rooms, where I can teach him and study myself. This proposition, which would have delighted me a short time since, I cannot accept. I do not even dare to sing in my room, for fear of attracting the brutal adjutant, ex-trumpeter, whom may God assail!
"May 10.—For a long time I had asked myself what had become of my unknown friends, those wonderful protectors of whom the Count of Saint Germain spoke, and who apparently have interfered only to hasten evils with which the royal benevolence menaced me. If I mistake not the punishment of conspirators, they have all been dispersed and oppressed; or they have abandoned me, thought I, when I refused to escape from the clutches of Buddenbrock, on the day I was taken from Spandau to Berlin. Well, they are come again, and have made Gottlieb their messenger. Rash men! may they not heap on that innocent lad the same evils to which they have subjected me!
"This morning Gottlieb gave me furtively the following note:—
"'We seek to release you. The time draws near. A new danger, however, menaces you, which will delay our enterprise. Place no confidence in any one who seeks to induce you to fly, before we give you certain information and precise details. A snare is laid for you. Be on your guard, and be determined.
"'Your brothers,
"'THE INVISIBLES.'
"This note fell at Gottlieb's feet, as he was passing through one of the prison courts. He firmly believes that it fell from heaven, and that the red-throat has something to do with it. As I made him talk without opposing his ideas too much, I learned strange things, which perhaps have a foundation of truth. I asked him if he knew who the 'Invisibles' were.
"'No one knows, although all pretend to.'
"'How! have you heard of them?'
"'When I was apprenticed to the master cordwainer, I heard much of them in the city.'
"'They talk of them? Do the people know about them?'
"'I heard of them then, and of all the things I heard, few are worthy of being remembered:—A poor workman in our shop hurt his hand so severely that they were about to cut it off. He was the only support of a large family that he loved, and for whom he worked. He came one day with his hand bound up, and looked sadly at us as we worked saying, "You are fortunate in having your hands free. I think I will soon have to go to the hospital, and my old mother must beg to keep my little brothers and sisters from starving." A collection was proposed, but we were all poor, and I, though my parents were rich, had so little money that we could not help our fellow-workman. All having emptied their pockets, attempted to suggest something to get Franz out of his difficulties. None would do anything; he had knocked at many doors and had been driven away. The king, they say, is very rich, his father having left him much money; but he uses it in enlisting his soldiers. It was war time, too, and our king was away. All were afraid of want, and the poor suffered terribly, so that Franz could not find sufficient aid from kind hearts. The lad never received a shilling. Just then, a young man in the shop said, "I know what I should do, if I were in your place. But perhaps you are afraid? I am afraid of nothing," said Franz. "What must I do? Ask aid from the Invisibles." Franz appeared to understand the matter, for he shook his head with an air of dislike, and said nothing. Some young men asked what they meant; and the response on all sides was, "You do not know the Invisibles? any one may know that, you children! The Invisibles are people who are never seen, but who act. They do all things, both good and bad. No one knows where they live, yet they are everywhere. It is said they are found in the four quarters of the globe. They murder many travellers, yet assist others in their contests with brigands, according as the travellers seem to them to deserve punishment or protection. They are the instigators of all revolutions, go to all courts, direct all affairs, decide on war and peace, liberate prisoners, assist the unfortunate, punish criminals, make kings to tremble on their thrones! They are the cause of all that is good and bad on earth. Sometimes it is said they err, but their intention is good; and, besides, who can say that a great misfortune to-day may not be a great happiness to-morrow?'"
"'We heard all this with great astonishment and admiration,' said Gottlieb, and I heard enough to be able to tell you all laboring men, and the poor and ignorant, think of the Invisibles. Some said they were wicked people, devoted to the devil, who endows them with his power, who gives them the gift of secret science, the power to tempt men by the attraction of riches and honor, the faculty of knowing the future, of making gold, of resuscitating the dead, of curing the sick, of making the old young, of keeping the living from death, for they have discovered the philosopher's stone and the elixir of life. Others say they are religious and beneficent men, who have united their fortunes to assist those in need, and who hold communion to redress crime and reward virtue. In our shop every one made his remark. "It is the old order of the Templars," said one. "They are now called Free-Masons" said another. "No," said a third, "they are Herrnhuters of Zinzindorf, or Moravians, the old brothers of the Union, the ancient orphans of Mount Tabor: old Bohemia is always erect, and secretly menaces the other powers of Europe. It wishes to make the world republican.'"
"'Others said they were only a handful of sorcerers, pupils and followers of Paracelsus, Boehm, Swedenborg, and now of Schœfferthe lemonade-man, (that is a good guess,) who, by miracles and infernal machinations, wish to govern the world and destroy empires. The majority came to the conclusion that it was the old tribunal of the Free-Judges, which never was dissolved in Germany, and which, after having acted in the dark for many centuries, began to revive and make its iron arm, its sword of fire, and its golden balance to be felt.
"'Franz was unwilling to address them, for it is said those who accept their benefits are bound through life to them, to the peril of their soul and the danger of their kindred. Necessity, however, triumphed over fear. One of our comrades, the one who had given him the advice, and who was suspected of being affiliated with the Invisibles, though he denied it, told him in secret how to make the signal of distress. What this was we never knew. Some said that it was a cabalistic mark written over his door in blood: others that he went at midnight to a mound between two roads, and that a black cavalier came to him as he stood at the foot of a cross. Some say that he merely wrote a letter which he placed in the hollow of an old weeping willow at the gate of the cemetery. It is certain that he received aid; that his family waited until he was well and did not beg; that he was treated by a skillful surgeon, who cured him. Of the Invisibles he said nothing, except that he would bless them as long as he lived.'
"'But what do you, Gottlieb, who know more than the men in your shop, think of the Invisibles? are they sectarians, charlatans, or impostors?'
"Here Gottlieb, who had spoken very reasonably, fell into his habitual wanderings, and I could gather nothing but that they were beings really invisible, impalpable, and, like God and his angels, unappreciable to our senses, except when, to communicate with men, they assumed finite forms."
"'It is evident to me,' said he, 'that the end of the world draws near. Manifest signs declare it. The Antichrist is born, and they say he is now in Prussia: his name is Voltaire. I do not know this Voltaire, and the Antichrist may be some one else, for he is to bear a name commencing with a W., and not a V. This name, too, will be German. While waiting for the miracles which are about to be accomplished, God, who apparently mingles in nothing, who iseternal silence, creates among us beings of a nature superior to our own, both for good and evil—angels and demons—hidden powers. The latter are to test the just, the former to ensure their triumph. The contest between the great powers has already begun. The king of evil, the father of ignorance and crime, defends himself in vain. The archangels have bent the bow of science and of truth, and their arrows have pierced the corslet of Satan. Satan roars and struggles, but soon will abandon falsehood, lose his venom, and, instead of the impure blood of reptiles, will feel the dew of pardon circulate through his veins. This is the clear and certain explanation of all that is incomprehensible and terrible in the world. Good and evil contend in higher regions which are unattainable to men. Victory and defeat soar above us, without its being possible for us to fix them. Frederick of Prussia attributed to the power of his arms success which fate alone granted him, as it exalted or depressed according to its hidden purpose. Yes; I say it is clear that men are ignorant of what occurs on earth. They see impiety arm itself against fate, andvice versa.They suffer oppression, misery, and all the scourges of discord, without their prayers being heard, without the intervention of the miracles of any religion. They now understand nothing, they complain they know not why. They walk blindfolded on the brink of a precipice. To this the Invisibles impel them, though none know if their mission be of God or the Devil, as at the commencement of Christianity, Simon, the magician, seemed to many a being divine and powerful as Christ. I tell you all prodigies are of God, for Satan can achieve none without permission being granted him, and that among those called Invisibles, some act by direct light from the Holy Spirit, while to others the light comes through a cloud, and they do good, fatally thinking that they do evil.'
"'This is a very abstract explanation, dear Gottlieb. Is it Jacob Boehm's or your own?"
"'His, if it be your pleasure to understand him so—mine, if his inspiration did not suggest it to me.'
"'Well, Gottlieb, I am no wiser after all than I was, for I do not know if the Invisibles be good or bad angels to me.
"May 12.—Miracles really begin, and my fate seems to be in the hands of the Invisibles. I will, like Gottlieb, ask if they be of God or of Satan? To-day Gottlieb was called by the sentinel on duty over the esplanade, and his post is on the little bastion at its end. This sentinel, Gottlieb says, is an invisible spirit. The proof is, that Gottlieb knows all the soldiers, and talks readily with them, when they amuse themselves by ordering a pair of shoes, and then he appeared to him of superhuman stature and undefinable expression.— 'Gottlieb,' said he, speaking in a low tone, 'Porporina must be delivered in the course of three nights. This may be, if you can take the keys of her cell from under your mother's pillow, and bring them hither to the extremity of the esplanade. I will take charge of the rest. Tell her to be ready, and remember, if you be deficient in prudence and zeal, you and I are both lost.'
"This is the state of things. The news has made me ill with emotion. I had a fever all night, and again heard the fantastic violin. To escape from this prison, to escape from the terrors with which Mayer inspires me—Ah! to do that, I am ready to risk my life. What, though, will result to Gottlieb and the sentinel from my flight? The latter, though he devotes himself so generously, I do not know. His unknown accomplices, too, are about to assume a new burden in me. I tremble, I hesitate, I am entirely undecided. I write to you without thinking to prepare for my flight. No, I will not escape—at least until I am certain of the fate of my friends and protectors. Gottlieb is resolved on all. When I ask him if he is not afraid, he tells me that he would suffer martyrdom gladly for me. When I add that perhaps he will regret seeing me no more, he says that is his affair, and that I do not know what he means to do. All this, too, seems to him an order of heaven, and he obeys the unknown power which impels him, without reflection. I read the notes of the Invisibles with care, and I am afraid the information of the sentinel is the snare of which I should be afraid. I have yet forty-eight hours before me. If Mayer comes again, I will risk all. If he continues to forget me, and I have no better assurance than the warning of this stranger, I will remain.
"May 13.—I trust myself to fate, to Providence, which has sent me unhoped-for aid. I go, and rely on the powerful arm which covers me with its ægis. As I walked this morning on the esplanade, hoping to receive some new explanation from the spirits that hover around me, I looked at the bastion, where the sentinel is. I saw two, one on guard, with his arms shouldered, and another going and coming, as if he looked for something. The height of the latter attracted my attention, for it seemed to me that he was not a stranger to me. I could only look stealthily at him, for at every turn of the walk I had to turn my back. Finally, as I was walking towards him, he approached me, and though the glacis was higher than where I stood, I knew him at once. I had nearly cried aloud. It was Karl, the Bohemian, the deserter, who was saved from Mayer, in the Boehmer-wald, whom I afterwards saw at Roswald, in Moravia, at Count Hoditz's, and who sacrificed to me a terrible revenge. He is devoted to me, body and soul, and his stern face, broad nose, red brow, with eyes of tin, to-day seemed as beautiful to me as the angel Gabriel.
"'That is he,' said Gottlieb, in a low tone; 'he is an emissary of the Invisibles. He is your liberator, and will take you hence to-morrow night.' My heart beat so violently that I could scarcely contain myself; tears of joy escaped from my eyes. To conceal my emotion from the other sentinel I approached the parapet which was farthest from the bastion, and pretended to look at the grass in the fosse. I saw Karl and Gottlieb exchange words, which I conld not entirely interpret. After a short time Gottlieb came to me, and said, placidly: 'Hewill soon come down.Hewill come to our house and drink a bottle of wine. Pretend not to see him. My father is gone out. While my mother goes to the canteen for wine, you will come to the kitchen, as if you were about to go back, and then you can speak to him for a moment.'
"When Karl had spoken for a short time to Madame Swartz, who does not disdain the entertainment of the veterans of the citadelat their own expense, I saw Gottlieb on the threshold. I went in, and was alone with Karl. Gottlieb had gone with his mother to the canteen. Poor child! it seems that friendship has at once revealed to him the cunning and pretence required in real life. He does intentionally a thousand awkward things—lets the bottle fall, makes his mother angry, and delays her long enough for me to have some conversation with my saviour.
"'Signora,' said Karl, 'here I am, and here, too, are you. I was taken by the recruiters. Such was my fate. The king, however, recognised and pardoned me, perhaps for your sake. He also permitted me to go away, and promised me money, which, by-the-bye, he did not give me. I went to a famous sorcerer, to find out how I could best serve you. The sorcerer sent me to Prince Henry, and Prince Henry sent me to Spandau. Around us are powerful people, whom I do not know, but who toil for us. They spare neither money nor exertions, I assure you. Now all is ready. To-morrow evening the doors will be open before you. All who could prevent our escape have been won. All except the Swartzes are in our interests. To-morrow they will sleep more soundly than usual, and when they awake you will be far away. We will take Gottlieb, who is anxious to go, with us. I will go with you, and will risk nothing, for all has been foreseen. Be ready, signora. And now go to the esplanade, in order that the old woman may not find us here.' I uttered my gratitude to Karl in tears alone, and hurried away to hide my emotion from the inquisitorial glance of Vrau Swartz.
"My friends, it may be I will see you again. I shall be able to clasp you in my arms; I shall escape from that terrible Mayer, and see the expanse of heaven, the green fields, Venice, Italy—sing again, and find people to sympathise with me. This prison has revived my heart, and renewed my soul, which was becoming stifled by indifference. I will live, will love, be pious, and be good.
"Yet this is a deep enigma of the human heart:—I am terrified and almost mad at the idea of leaving this cell, in which I have passed three months, perpetually seeking to be calm and resigned. This esplanade, over which I have walked with so many melancholy reveries; old walls, which seem so high, so cold, and so calm, as the moonlight shines on them: and this vast ditch, the water of which is so beautifully green, and the countless flowers which the spring has strewn on its banks. And my red-throat! Gottlieb says it will go with us, but it is now asleep in the ivy, and will not be aware of our departure. Dear creature! may you console and amuse the person who succeeds me in this cell. May she love you as I have done.
"Well, I am about to go to sleep that I may be stronger and calmer tomorrow. I seal up this manuscript, which I am anxious to carry away. By means of Gottlieb I have procured a new supply of paper, pencil, and light, which I will hide away, that other prisoners may experience as much pleasure from them as I have."
* * * * * * * *
Here Consuelo's journal finished. We will now resume the story of her adventures. It is needful to inform the reader that Karl had not boasted, without reason, that he was aided and employed by powerful persons. The invisible persons who toiled for the deliverance of our heroine, had been profuse in their expenditures of gold. Many turnkeys, eight or ten veterans, and even an officer, had been enlisted to stand aside—to see nothing—and to look no farther for the fugitives than mere form required. On the evening fixed for the escape, Karl had supped with Swartz, and pretending to be drunk, had asked them to drink with him. Mother Swartz was as fond of strong liquor as most cooks are. Her husband had no aversion to brandy, when other people paid for it. A narcotic drug stealthily introduced into their libations, assisted the effect of the strong brew. The good couple got to bed, not without trouble, and snored so loudly, that Gottlieb, who attributed everything to supernatural influences, thought them enchanted when he attempted to take possession of the keys. Karl had returned to the bastion, where he was a sentinel, and Consuelo went with Gottlieb to that place and ascended the rope ladder the deserter threw her. Gottlieb, who, in spite of every remonstrance, insisted on escaping with them, became a great difficulty in the way. He who in his somnambulism passed like a cat over the roofs, could not now walk over three feet of ground. Sustained by the conviction that he was assisted by an envoy of heaven, he was afraid of nothing, and had Karl said so, would have thrown himself from the top of the parapet. His blind confidence added to the dangers of their situation. He climbed at hazard, scorning to see or make any calculation. After having made Consuelo shudder twenty times, and twenty times she thought him lost, he reached the platform of the bastion, and thence our three fugitives passed through the corridors of that part of the citadel in which the officers, initiated in their plot, were posted. They advanced without any obstacle, and all at once found themselvesvis-à-viswith the adjutant Mayer,aliasthe ex-recruiter. Consuelo thought all was lost. Karl, however, kept her from running away. "Do not be afraid, signora," said he; "we have bought him over!"
"Wait a moment," said Nauteuil, hastily: "the adjutant, Weber, has taken it into his head to sup with our old fool of a lieutenant. They are in the room you will have to cross. We must contrive to get rid of them. Karl, go back to your post, for your absence may be perceived. I will come for you when it is time. Madame will go to my quarters and Gottlieb will accompany me. I will say he is a somnambulist, and my two scamps will follow him. When the room is empty, I will lock the door, and take care they do not come back again."
Gottlieb, who was not aware that he was a somnambulist, stared wildly. Karl, however, bade him obey, and he submitted blindly. Consuelo had an insurmountable objection to entering Mayer's room. But Karl said, in a low tone—"Why fear that man? He has too large a bribe to betray you. His advice is good. I will return to the bastion. Too much haste would destroy us!"
"Too muchsang-froidand coolness might also do so," thought Consuelo. But she yielded to Karl's advice. She carried a weapon about her. As she crossed the kitchen of the Swartzes she had taken possession of a carving-knife, the hilt of which gave her not a little confidence. She had given Karl her money and papers, keeping on her person nothing but her crucifix, which she looked on almost as an amulet.
For greater security, Mayer shut her up in his room and left with Gottlieb. After ten minutes, which to Consuelo appeared an age, Nauteuil came for her, and she observed with terror, that he closed the door and put the key in his pocket.
"Signora," said he, in Italian, "you have yet a half hour to wait. The jackanapes are drunk, and will not quit the table until the clock strikes one. Then the keeper, who has charge of the room, will put them out of doors."
"What have you done with Gottlieb, sir?"
"Your friend, Gottlieb, is in safety behind a bundle of fagots, where he can sleep soundly. He will not leave it until he is able to follow you."
"Karl will be informed of all?"
"Unless I wish to have him hung," said the adjutant, with a diabolical expression, as Consuelo thought. "I do not wish to leave him behind us. Are you satisfied, signora?"
"I cannot prove my gratitude now, sir," said Consuelo, with a coldness, in which he sought in vain to conceal disdain; "but I hope ere long to discharge all my obligations to you honorably."
"Pardieu!you can discharge them at once," (Consuelo shrunk back with horror.) "By exhibiting something of friendship to me," added Mayer, with a tone of brutal and coarse cajolery. "You see, were I not passionately fond of music, and were you not a pretty woman, I would not violate my duty by thus enabling you to escape. Do you think I have been led to this by avarice?—Bah! I am rich enough to do without all this, and Prince Henry is not powerful enough to save me from the rope or solitary confinement, if I should be discovered. All this requires some consolation. Well, do not be proud; you know I love you; my heart is susceptible, but you need not on that account abuse my tenderness. You are not bigoted or religious; not you. You are an actress, and I venture to say, you have succeeded by having granted your favors to the managers.Pardieu!if, as they say, you sang before Marie Theresa, you know Prince Kaunitz and his boudoir. Now you have a less splendid room, but your liberty is in my hands, and that is a more precious boon than an empress's favor."
"Is this a threat, sir?" said Consuelo, pale with indignation and disgust.
"No; but it is a prayer, signora."
"I hope you don't make it a condition?"
"Not so. No, no! by no means," said Mayer with impudent irony, approaching Consuelo with open arms as he spoke.
Consuelo was terrified, and fled to the extremity of the room. Mayer followed her. She saw that if she sacrificed honor to humanity she was lost; and suddenly, inspired by the wild ferocity of Spanish women, as Mayer embraced her, she gave him about three inches of the knife she had concealed. Mayer was rather fat and the wound was not dangerous; but when he saw the blood, for he was as cowardly as he was sensual, he thought he was dead, and came near fainting, falling on his face on the bed. He cried out, "I am murdered! I am dead!" Consuelo thought she had killed him, and was also near fainting. After a few moments of silent terror, she ventured to approach him and took the key of the room, which he had let fall. No sooner had she possession of it than she felt her courage revive. She went into the galleries and found all the doors open before her. She went down a staircase, which led she knew not whither. She could scarcely support herself, as she heard the alarm clock, and not long after the roll of the drums. She also heard the gun which had echoed through the night when Gottlieb's somnambulism had caused an alarm. She sank on her knees at the last steps, and clasping her hands, invoked God to aid Gottlieb and the generous Karl. Separated from them, after having permitted them to expose their lives for her, she felt herself powerless and hopeless. Heavy and hasty steps sounded on her ears, the light of torches dazzled her eyes, and she could not say whether this was reality or the effect of delirium. She hid herself in a corner and lost all consciousness.