Late in the afternoon of the same day a travelling-carriage drove up
before the hotel “King of Portugal,” in the Burgstrasse, with two
large black trunks strapped upon it behind the footman’s box, and the
postilion, sitting by the coachman, playing the beautiful and popular
air, “Es ritten drei Reuter cum Thore hinaus!”
Count St. Julien descended the stairs, followed by the host, and nodded
in a lofty manner to the two waiters and hostler awaiting him at the
entrance, who returned it by a profound bow, at the same time not
failing to see the white hand extended with the trinkgeld.
The host himself closed the carriage door, and the count departed amid
the merry peals of the postilion, the former gazing after him with the
satisfaction of one who has made a good bargain. The servants watched
it, too, until it had disappeared around the corner of the next street.
At this instant the quivering tones of a post-horn were heard, and an
open caleche appeared and stopped before the hotel with two large black
travelling-trunks upon it, and the postilion upon the box blowing the
popular air, “Es ritten drei Reuter zum Thore hinaus!”
The host observed the empty carriage with a smile, but the servants
asked themselves astonished what it meant, and as they turned and saw
Count St. Julien descending the stairs, they were startled. He offered
them the usual trinkgeld, entered the carriage, and rolled away with a
commanding nod.
The host seemed speechless with astonishment, and stood as if rooted
to the spot. The servants stared after the carriage until it turned
the corner; when just then a post-horn was heard playing the agreeable
melody of “Drei Reuter,” and a travelling-carriage with two large black
trunks drove up to the door.
The servants turned pale, looking shyly toward the stairs. Slowly and
with great dignity Count St. Julien descended, greeting them with a
gentlemanly nod as he passed, and, extending his white hand with a
trinkgeld, mounted his carriage, and drove away.
The host stood as if stunned, outside the door, looking right and left
with unspeakable terror. The servants tremblingly fixed their eyes
upon the stairs, no longer possessing the power to move, but heard the
post-horn, and the carriage which drove up to the door the third time.
Slowly and proudly Count St. Julien advanced. It was the same cold,
grave face, with the thick black beard, and the powdered peruke, the
curls of which overshadowed the brow and cheeks. He wore exactly the
same dark-brown cloak over the black velvet dress. The white hand, with
broad lace wrist-ruffles, reached them also a trinkgeld.
This time the fellows had scarcely self-possession sufficient to take
the present, for every thing swam before their eyes, and their hearts
one moment almost ceased to beat, and then palpitated with the feverish
rapidity of terror.
“I would run away,” murmured the chief waiter, as Count St. Julien for
the fourth time drove away, “if my feet were not riveted to the floor.”
“If I could move mine I would have gone long ago,” groaned the second
waiter, the clear drops standing upon his forehead. “It is witchcraft!
Oh, Heaven! they are coming again, playing the ‘Drei Reuter.’”
The count descended the stairs for the fifth time, whispered to
the hostler, who was quite engrossed counting his money, handed the
trinkgeld to the pale fellows by the door, and mounted his carriage,
driving away amid the merry peals of the post-horn.
“Julius,” murmured the steward, softly, “give my hair a good pulling,
that I may awake from this horrible dream.”
“I cannot,” he whimpered, “my hands and feet are lame. I cannot move.”
“I will,” said the hostler, courageously stretching forth his hand, and
pulling it so vigorously that the steward was fully convinced of the
reality of things.
Again the post-horn sounded the “Drei Reuter;” again the carriage
stopped before the door, and the count descended, giving to every one a
gift like the “Maedchen aus der Fremde,” and for the sixth time rolled
away.
“We are bewitched; it is a ghost from the infernal regions!” groaned the
steward.
“I cannot abide it any longer--I shall die!” said the second waiter.
“I do not mind it,” said the hostler, as he jingled the money; “if they
are ghosts from hell, the eight groschen do not come from there, for
they are quite cool. See how--Ah, there comes the count again!”
For the seventh time he passed down the stairway, by the servants, who
wore no longer standing but kneeling, which the count received as a
proof of their profound respect, and slipped the money into their hands.
“Praise God, all good spirits!” murmured the head waiter; but neither
the count nor the money seemed to be moved by the pious exhortation,
for he quietly entered his carriage, and the eight groschen lay in the
servant’s hand, at which the hostler remarked that he would stand there
all night if the count would only continually pass by with groschen.
It pleased the count to descend the stairs yet twice more, divide the
trinkgeld, and mount his carriage. As he drove away the ninth time, it
appeared as if the Drei Reuter were determined to drive out of the gate
and forsake the hotel “King of Portugal.” The host waited awhile, and
talked with the neighbors, who, roused by the continual blast of the
post-horn, were curious to know how it happened that so many guests were
departing by extra posts. Whereupon the host, in a hollow, sepulchral
voice, his eyes glaring, and shrugging his shoulders, declared that
there had been but one gentleman at the hotel, but nine times he had
seen him drive away, and the devil must have a hand in the matter!
Shaking his head, he returned to the hotel, and found the servants
busily counting their money, occasionally casting covetous looks toward
the stairs, as if they hoped the count would again descend.
Exactly as Cagliostro had foretold, Minister Herzberg did not return
from Sans-Souci until late in the evening, and then found Wilhelmine’s
letter in his cabinet.
Immediately the police were instructed to arrest Count St. Julien at the
hotel “King of Portugal.”
An hour later the chief of the police came to say that the count had
already been gone two hours. He repeated the account of the host,
corroborated by the servants, of nine different counts having driven
away from the hotel.
Herzberg smiled. “We have to deal with a very clever scoundrel,” said
he, “and it is no other than the so-called Count Cagliostro, who was
lately exposed as a bold trickster in Mittau and St. Petersburg, and
about whose arrest the Empress Catharine is very much exercised. It
would be very agreeable to the king to show this little attention to her
imperial highness, and trap the adroit pickpocket.”
“We might succeed in catching him in his flight,” remarked the chief.
“For the last six months the king has given orders that every passport
should be examined at the gates, and the route of the travellers noted
down, which is all registered and sent to the king. It would be very
easy to discover by which gate he departed, and his route, and then have
him pursued.”
“That is well thought of, director; hasten to put it into execution,
and inform us of the result.” He returned in an hour to the minister’s
cabinet, shaking his head gravely. “Your excellency, it is very strange,
but he is a wizard. This man has driven out of the nine gates at the
same hour and minute.”
Herzberg laughed. “This is one of his tricks, and by it I recognize the
great necromancer.”
“Your excellency, this is no trickery, but witchery. It is impossible
for any one man to drive out of the nine gates at the same hour, in the
same carriage, with two large black trunks and a postilion blowing the
same melody, and provided with a correct passport, which he shows and is
recognized as Count St. Julien, who is going to Paris by Hamburg. Here
are the nine registers from the different gates, all the same, if I am
not bewitched and do not read straight.”
“This trick does honor to the count,” said Herzberg, smiling. “To-morrow
you shall accompany me to Sans-Souci and read aloud the registers to the
king. Do you think it will be impossible to pursue the count now?”
“I should be very happy to follow your excellency’s judgment in this
matter, and arrest the rascal in any way that you could point out,” said
the director.
“I am convinced that he is in the city; and driving put of the nine
gates at the same time was the best manner to escape being discovered,”
said Herzberg. “He is concealed in some one of the houses of the
brothers, and we shall be obliged to let him escape this time.”
In order the more securely to carry out the initiation of Prince
Frederick William, in company with Bischofswerder and Woellner,
Cagliostro had arranged his pretended departure. For a long time the
prince had expressed an extreme desire to be received into the mysteries
of the miraculous and holy order, of which he had heard his friends
speak with so much reverence. But he had been put off from time to
time with regrets and shrugs of the shoulders, and expressions of the
impossibility of granting the request.
“The spirits do not always appear even to the consecrated,” said
Bischofswerder. “They make themselves known after many fervent prayers
and implorings, and when we have withdrawn from every one who could
entice us to doubt or disbelief. I fear that it would be impossible to
conjure the spirits of the departed, so long as your highness honors a
certain lady with your particular favor, who ridicules the sublime order
and mingles with its enemies. How can they appear to those who have just
been in the company of a friend of the Illuminati and unbelievers?”
“The spirit-world only reveals itself to the virtuous and pure,” said
Woellner, in a harsh, dry voice. “Its inhabitants cannot approach those
who are not chaste and innocent, for sin and vice surround them with a
thick fog, which keeps them at a distance from the clear atmosphere
of the sublime. If you would call up the spirits, you must remove this
woman who entices you from the path of virtue, and renders the sphere
impure around you.”
Despite the warnings and the great wish the prince had to be received
into the spirit-world, and become a member of the highest grade of
the Rosicrucians, he could not resolve to forsake her who had been his
friend for ten years, and who had borne shame and degradation on his
account, refusing eligible and rich men rather than leave him and become
a legitimate wife. Wilhelmine was the beloved of his youth, the mother
of his two dear children, and she alone knew how to drive away the ennui
which pursued the prince, with her amiable, subtle wit. Nay, he could
not be so ungrateful, so heartless, as to reject her who had so tenderly
loved him when young and beautiful, now that the first bloom of youth
and beauty had faded!
Bischofswerder and Woellner recognized this difficulty, and applied
themselves the more energetically for its removal. They supposed that
the unexpected arrival of Cagliostro would very naturally appear to the
prince as a special messenger, sent, without doubt, from the fathers,
to accomplish his conversion. They announced to the prince that the
Invisibles had taken pity upon his desire for knowledge, and had
consented to permit him to gaze into the regions of the blest, although
he wandered in the path of vice, and that he must hold himself in
readiness to accompany the messenger whenever he should be sent to call
him.
For this reason the crown prince had written to Wilhelmine that she
should not expect him until the following morning, and he did not quit
his room the entire day, with excited expectation awaiting the summons.
As evening set in the prince was cast down, and quite of the opinion
that the Invisibles did not deem him worthy to enter their pure
presence, and thought that Wilhelmine must be the hinderance. Whilst he
was reflecting whether to sacrifice his beloved to the salvation of his
soul, the secret door gently opened, and two men, masked and wrapped in
black cloaks, entered and placed themselves near the door. The prince
did not remark their entrance, and was quite frightened as he chanced to
turn, and saw these two immovable figures.
With quivering voice he demanded their mission.
In the same tone, as if one were an echo of the other, they answered,
“We desire nothing, but you demand knowledge of the spirit-world, and
would have its mysteries revealed to you, which the Invisibles will now
grant you. Follow us, therefore!” They reopened the secret door; one of
the masked preceded the prince, and the other followed him.
The prince shuddered at the thought that he might be rushing into some
unknown danger, and intrusting himself to those who would misuse his
confidence. He demanded to see their faces, declaring himself prepared
to follow, when acquainted with his guides.
“It would then be better to remain,” replied one of the masked. “He
who lacks confidence is not worthy of it, and he who trusts only the
Visibles, the Invisibles flee.”
The prince recognized the voice of Bischofswerder, and smiled, but
he knew not that it was permitted him to hear it to inspire him with
courage.
“Well, so let it be; the fathers shall see that I am a believer,” cried
the prince.
Immediately one of the brothers put his own cloak, three-cornered hat,
and mask upon his highness, still remaining cloaked and masked himself,
much to the astonishment of the passive prince. “Come, now, the
Invisibles await you,” said one of the masked. The prince stepped
courageously into the little corridor which led to the secret stairway,
one brother preceding him, causing a soft light to illumine their path,
the other following him.
In silence they reached the side-door of the palace, where a close
carriage awaited them.
“Where are you taking me?” asked Frederick William, as he entered,
followed by the two brothers.
“To the Invisibles,” answered a strange voice.
Again the prince essayed to begin a conversation, his only response
being, “Purify your heart and pray.” Silently they galloped over paved
and unpaved streets, the prince heartily repenting having been drawn
into this adventure. He thought of his charming and beloved Wilhelmine,
and half determined to give the command to drive to Charlottenburg. The
fact of Bischofswerder being with him, and fearful of appearing weak
and wanting in courage in the eyes of his friend and favorite, prevented
him.
After several hours’ drive, they stopped at the marble palace of
Potsdam, near the one which the prince was accustomed to occupy. His
highness looked cautiously around, and breathed more freely, as he felt
that he was now surely among friends.
The white palace stood silent and deserted in the darkness, this palace
at Potsdam being only used for the guests of the king. The carriage
stopped at the side-door, where there was no sentinel, and they
alighted, entering the palace, winding along the corridors in the same
order as before, guided by the glimmering light of the one preceding.
Solemn music, strange ringing sounds, fell upon the ear as they
advanced. Sometimes they were sharp and cutting as glass, then
threatening and penetrating as the wind, shrieking and moaning, causing
one to be very nervous if not terrified.
The farther they proceeded the louder grew the sounds, and at intervals
groans, moans and wailings were heard, as of those waiting and imploring
for mercy.
One of the brothers now opened a door, and then placing themselves
upon each side, the unknown voice announced to the prince that they had
arrived at the long-sought-for goal.
“What have we come here for?” asked the prince.
“To behold that which you have many times petitioned to be permitted to
see,” replied Bischofswerder, gently encouraging and inspiring Frederick
William. “The Invisibles have at last yielded to your wishes, and the
spirits which you summon will appear. If your courage fails you, and you
dread the presence of the departed, command to be reconducted to your
palace, and we will obey; but renounce forever the sublime happiness
of beholding the Invisibles and of holding communion with the
spirit-world!”
“I fear not, but wish to be in the company of the spirits,” answered the
prince, proudly.
“Kneel,” they commanded, permitting him to enter, “and thrice summon
in a loud voice the names of three departed, who will answer your
questions. Beware of approaching them, for their glance is death and
their breath destruction! Therefore remain kneeling, as it becomes a
mortal in the presence of an immortal. Hope and pray, brother!”
As the door closed upon the prince, and he found himself in such
impenetrable darkness, he sank upon his knees, for he dared not advance,
and retreat was impossible, in spite of heart-quakings.
The shrill, penetrating music ceased, and a voice from a distance
called: “Summon thrice those that thou desirest to see.”
“Marcus Aurelius, Leibnitz, and the distinguished elector,” called the
prince in a loud voice.
“Who summoned me?” was responded in hollow, sepulchral tones, and
directly over the crown prince a blue, vaporous light was visible--at
first only a cloud, then by degrees increasing and condensing itself
into a human shape, until it took the form of a Roman warrior of the
olden time; no other than Marcus Aurelius, in helmet and coat-of-mail,
with a pale, earth-colored face and glaring eyes.
“Who summoned me?” repeated the figure. The prince’s lips refused to
respond, and shuddering he gazed upon the corpse-like face, so exact in
feature to the old Roman emperor.
“You answer me not!” thundered the voice, “but I will tell you who you
are--one lost in sin and an apostate!--the crown prince of Prussia,
a future king, who will be called to govern a people, and knows not
self-government! Turn from the path of vice while it is yet time; rise
from the dust, that the ashes of retribution do not bury you in a living
tomb, like the sinful Pompeians. No monument marks the place of
the sinful; he sinks into the night of oblivion, or he is cursed by
succeeding generations. Therefore turn from the errors of sin. Rise to
virtue, that the blessed may approach you. I shudder in your presence.
Woe to you! woe! woe!”
The cloud-portrait vanished, and darkness reigned for a moment. The
prince cried in anguish: “I will hear no more; this air oppresses
me--open the door--I renounce communion with the spirits; I will go
out!”
The light reappeared in the dark room and another form hovered over the
prince--of grave, obscure face, with a great peruke, staring at him. He
recognized the distinguished philosopher Leibnitz, whom he had desired
to see, but who now filled him with unspeakable terror. Like the
former spirit, he also, when unanswered, reproached the erring prince,
conjuring him to return to virtue.
As the menacing ghost disappeared, the prince felt for the door, and
shook it with the power which terror lends, crying, “Open, open!”
It opened not, and the third summoned, the great elector, Frederick
William, appeared, with high, up-lifted arm, glittering eyes, advancing
with angry mien, shaking his lion’s mane against the erring son of his
house, whom he menaced with curses and revenge, if he did not renounce
the courtesan who had seduced him to vice and unchastity.
“I will become better,” groaned the prince. “I will perform the wish of
the spirits. Only have mercy on me--free me. Help! help! Open the door,
Bischofswerder, I will do better. Open the door!”
This time it really opened, and a long train of dark, masked forms
entered the dusky room surrounding the prince, wringing their hands,
imploring him to turn from sin, and forsake the unholy woman.
They whimpered, they implored, sinking upon their knees, beating their
clinched hands, and weeping: “Turn, beloved elect! Renounce Wilhelmine
Enke; renounce vice! Repulse the seductress, and turn your countenance
to Virtue which you have seen in all her beauty!”
“I will perform that which you demand,” wept the prince, as the deathly
terror and nervous excitement made him yielding.
“Swear!” cried the chorus of masks.
“I swear that Wilhelmine Enke shall no longer be my mistress. I swear by
all that is holy that I will renounce her! I--”
Voice failed him; there was a ringing and buzzing in his ears; every
thing swam before his eyes, and he sank fainting. The prince awoke after
long unconsciousness, and found himself upon his bed in the new palace
at Potsdam, Bischofswerder at his side, watching him with the tenderest
sympathy. He bent over him and pressed his hand to his lips with a
cry of delight. “Heaven be praised; my dear prince, you have awaked to
commence a new life! You now belong to the virtuous and honorable, whom
the Invisible Fathers bless!”
“Is it true, Bischofswerder,” said the prince, languidly, “that I have
sworn to renounce Wilhelmine Enke, and never to love her more?”
“You have sworn it by all that is holy, and all in heaven and on earth
have heard your oath, and there is joy thereat.”
The prince turned his head, that Bischofswerder might not see the tears
streaming down his cheeks.