There was a moment of silence, during which the clock struck twelve.[3]
Ordinarily, Voltaire was able to restore the tone of conversation, when
a cloud passed over Trajan's brow, and to efface the bad impression of
the other guests. On this evening, however, Voltaire was sad and
suffering, and felt all the effects of the king's Prussian spleen. On
that very morning La Mettrie had told him of the fatal remark of
Frederick, which replaced a feigned friendship by a real animosity,
which each of these great men felt for each other. Though he said
nothing, he thought--
"He may throw the skin[4] of La Mettrie away when he chooses. Let him be
ill tempered and suffer as he will, but I have the cholic, and all his
flatteries will not cure it."
Frederick was thus forced to resume his philosophical serenity without
assistance.
He said, "Since we are talking of Cagliostro and the hour for ghosts and
stories has come, I will tell you one which will show how hard it is to
have faith in sorcerers. My story is true; for I have it from the person
to whom it happened last year. The accident at the theatre this evening
recalls it to my mind, and that accident may have some connection with
it."
"Is the story terrible?" asked La Mettrie.
"Perhaps," said Frederick.
"Then I will shut the door; for I cannot listen to ghost-stories with a
door gaping."
La Mettrie shut the door, and the king spoke as follows:
"Cagliostro, as you know, had the trick of showing credulous people
pictures, or rather magic mirrors, on which he caused the absent to
appear. He pretended to be able to reveal the most secret occupations of
their lives in this manner. Jealous women went to consult him about the
infidelities of their husbands, and some lovers and husbands have
learned a great deal about their ladies' capers. The magic mirror has,
they say, betrayed mysteries of iniquity. Be that as it may, the
opera-singers all met one night and offered him a good supper and
admirable music, provided he would perform some of his feats. He
consented, and appointed a day to meet Porporino, Conciolini, the
Signora Asttha and Porporina, and show them heaven or hell, as they
pleased.
"The Barberini family were also there. Giovanna Barberini asked to see
the late Doge of Venice, and as Cagliostro gets up ghosts in very good
style, she was very much frightened, and rushed completely overpowered
from the cabinet, in which Cagliostro had placed her, _tête-à-tête_
with the doge. I suspect the Barberini, who is very fond of a joke, of
having pretended fear, to laugh at the Italian actors, who from the very
nature of their profession are not expected to be at all courageous, and
who positively refused to submit to this test. La Porporina, with the
calm expression which, as you know is so peculiar to her, told
Cagliostro she would have faith in his science, if he would show her the
person of whom she then thought, but whom it was not necessary for her
to name, for if he was a sorcerer, he must be able to read her soul as
he would read a book.
"'What you ask is not a trifle,' said our count, 'yet, I think I can
satisfy you, provided that you swear by all that is holy and terrible,
not to speak to the person I shall evoke, to make no motion nor gesture,
to utter no sound, while the apparition stands before you.'
"Porporina promised to do so, and went boldly into the dark closet.
"I need not tell you, gentlemen, that this young woman is one of the
most intellectual and correct persons to be met with. She is well
educated, thinks well about all matters, and I have reason to know no
narrow or restricted idea makes any impression upon her.
"She remained in the ghost-room long enough to make her companions very
uneasy. All was silent as possible and finally she came out very pale,
and with tears streaming from her eyes. She immediately said to her
companions, 'If Cagliostro be a sorcerer, he is a deceiving one. Have
faith in nothing that he shows you. She would say no more. Conciolini,
however, told me a few days after, at one of my concerts, of this
wonderful entertainment. I promised myself to question Porporina about
it, the first time she sang at _Sans Souci._ I had much difficulty in
making her speak of it, but thus she told me:
"'Cagliostro has beyond a doubt the strange power of producing spectres
so like truth that it is impossible for the calmest minds to be unmoved
by them. He is no magician and his affectation of reading my thoughts
was based on some knowledge, I know not how acquired, of my past life.
His knowledge, however, is incomplete, and I would not advise you, sire,
to make him your Minister of Police, for he would perpetrate strange
mistakes. Thus, when I asked him to show me the absent person I wished
to see, I thought of my music-master, Porpora, who is now at Vienna.
Instead of him, I saw in the magic-room a very dear friend I lost during
the current year.'"
"_Peste!_" said D'Argens, "that is more wonderful even than the
apparition of a living person."
"Wait a moment, gentlemen. Cagliostro, badly informed, had no doubt but
what he had shown was the phantom of a living person, and, when it had
disappeared, asked Porporina if what she had seen was satisfactory. 'In
the first place, monsieur,' said she, 'I wish to understand it. Will you
explain?' 'That surpasses my power. Be assured that your friend is well,
and usefully employed.' To this the signora replied, 'Alas! sir, you
have done me much wrong; you showed me a person of whom I did not think,
and who is, you say, now living. I closed his eyes six months ago.'
Thus, gentlemen, in deceiving others, sorcerers deceive themselves, and
thus their plans are foiled, by something which is wanting in their
secret police. To a certain point they penetrate into family mysteries
and secret intimacies. All human histories are more or less alike, and
as people inclined to the wonderful are not close examiners, they fall
twenty times out of thirty. Ten times, however, out of thirty, they are
wrong. They care nothing about that, though they are very loud about
those of their revelations which succeed. This is the case, too, with
horoscopes, in which they predict a series of common-place events, which
must happen to everybody, such as voyages, diseases, the loss of a
friend, an inheritance, a meeting, an interesting letter, and the
thousand other casualties of human life. Look at the catastrophes and
domestic chagrins, to which the revelations of a Cagliostro expose weak
and passionate minds. The husband who confides in them, kills an
innocent wife; a mother goes mad with grief at the death of an absent
son. This pretended magic art causes countless other disasters. All this
is infamous; and none can say that I was wrong in exiling from my states
this Cagliostro, who guesses so exactly, and has such a perfect
understanding with the dead and buried."
"All this is very fine," said La Mettrie, "but does not explain how your
majesty's Porporina saw the dead alive. If she is gifted with as much
firmness and reason as your majesty says, the fact goes to disprove your
majesty's argument. The sorcerer, it is true, was mistaken, in producing
a dead rather than a living man. It, however, makes it the more certain
that he controls both life and death. In that respect, he is greater
than your majesty, which, if it does not displease your majesty, has
killed many men, but never resuscitated a single one."
"Then, Mr. Wiseacre, we are to believe in the devil," said the king,
laughing at the comic glances of La Mettrie at Quintus Icilius, as often
as the former pronounced the phrase, "your majesty."
"Why should we not believe in Papa Satan? He has been so slandered, and
has so much sense," said La Mettrie.
"Burn the Manichean," said Voltaire, placing a candle close to the
doctor's wig.
"To conclude, most noble Fritz, I have gotten you into a tight place;
your Porporina is either foolish or credulous, and saw her dead man, or
she was philosophical, and saw nothing. She was frightened, however."
"Not so; she was distressed," said the king, "as all naturally would be,
at the sight of a portrait which would exactly recall a person loved,
but know we shall see no more. But if I must tell you all, I will say,
that she subsequently was afraid, and that her moral power after this
test, was not in so sound a state as it was previously. Thenceforth she
has been liable to a dark melancholy, which is always the proof of
weakness or disorder of our faculties. Her mind was touched, I am
confident, though she denies it. No one can safely contend with
falsehood. The attack she had this evening is a consequence of that, and
I pledge myself there is in her mind some dread of the magic power
attributed to M. de Saint Germain. I have heard, that since she returned
home, she has done nothing but weep."
"Of all that part of the story I am utterly incredulous," said La
Mettrie. "You have been to see her, and since that time her tears are
dried."
"You are very curious, Panurge, to know the object of my visit. You,
D'Argens, though you say little, seem to think a great deal. You, too,
Voltaire, seem to think no less, though you do not open your lips."
"Should not one naturally enough be curious about all that Frederick the
Great chooses to do?" replied Voltaire, who thus strained his
complaisance in order to get the king to talk. "Perhaps certain men have
no right to conceal anything, when their most indifferent word becomes a
precept, and their most trilling action an example."
"My dear friend, you really gratify me. Who would not be pleased at the
praise of Voltaire? All this, however, did not keep you from laughing at
me during the half hour I was absent. Well, during that time you cannot
suppose I could go to the opera, where Porporina lives, and recite a
long madrigal, and return on foot, for on foot I was."
"Bah, sire, the opera is hard by, and you have gained a battle in the
same time."
"You are mistaken. A much longer time is necessary," said the king,
coldly; "ask Quintus Icilus. The marquis is so perfectly familiar with
actresses, that he can tell you more than an hour is necessary to
conquer them."
"Ah, sire, that is as the case may be."
"Yes, that is as the case may be: for your sake, though, I hope M'lle
Cochois has given you more trouble. However, gentlemen, I did not see La
Porporina during the night, having only spoken to her servant, and asked
about her."
"You, sire!" said La Mettrie.
"I went to take her a _flacon_, the good effects of which I have
personally tested, when I have had attacks of pain in the stomach, which
sometimes destroyed my consciousness. Well, you say nothing. You are all
amazed. You wish to praise my paternal and royal benevolence, but dare
not do so, because you think me ridiculous."
"Sire, if you are in love, like other mortals, I have no objection,"
said La Mettrie, "and see no occasion either for praise or blame."
"Well, my good Panurge, if I must speak plainly, I am not at all in
love. I am a simple man, it is true, and have not the honor to be King
of France; consequently, the style of manners which are proper enough
for a great monarch, like Louis XV., would be unbecoming to myself, a
petty Marquis of Brandebourg. In managing my business, I have much
besides to attend to, and have not time to slumber in the bowers of
Cytherea."
"Then I do not understand your anxiety about this little opera-singer,"
said La Mettrie; "and I shall not be able to know what to think unless
this results from mere musical enthusiasm."
"This being the case--know, my friends, that I am neither the lover, nor
wish to be, of Porporina--yet that I am much attached to her, because in
a matter too tedious to be told now, and before she knew me, she saved
my life. It was a strange affair, and I will tell you of it on some
other occasion. The night is now too far gone, and M. de Voltaire is
going to sleep. Let it suffice to know that if I am here, and not
elsewhere, as some good people wish, it is attributable to her. You know
now, that seeing her dangerously indisposed, I may go to see whether she
be dead or alive, and take a _flacon_ of _sthas_ to her, without your
having any reason to think me a Duke de Richelieu or De Lauzun. Well,
gentlemen adieu. Eight days ago I took off my boots, and in six more
must resume them. I pray God to take you in his holy charge, as we say
at the end of a letter."
* * * * * * * *
Just as the great clock of the palace struck twelve, the young and
worldly Abbess of Quedlimburgh was about to get into her bed of
rose-satin. Her first _femme de chambre_ placed her slippers on the
ermine carpet. The attendant suddenly began to tremble, and uttered a
cry. Some one tapped at the door of the princess's chamber.
"Well, are you mad?" said the fair Amelia, half opening her curtain.
"Why look around and utter such a cry?"
"Has not your royal highness heard some one knock?"
"Well, go and see who it is."
"Ah, madame, what living person would dare to knock at the door of your
royal highness, when it is known that you are in bed?"
"No living person, you say? Then it is some one dead. Listen! some one
knocks again. Go, for you make me impatient."
The _femme de chambre_, more dead than alive, went to the door, and
asked "Who is there?"
"It is I, Baroness Von Kleist," replied a well known voice. "If the
princess be not yet asleep, say I have something very important to
communicate to her."
"Well, be quick," said the princess. "Let her in, and leave us."
As soon as the abbess and her favorite were alone, the latter sate at
the foot of her mistress's bed, and said, "Your royal highness was not
mistaken. The king is desperately in love with Porporina, but he is not
yet her lover. The young woman, therefore, has just now the most
unlimited influence over him."
"How came you during the last hour to find out all this?"
"Because, when I was undressing to go to bed, I made my _femme de
chambre_ talk to me, and learned from her that she had a sister in the
service of Porporina. Immediately I began to question her, and picked
out, as it were, with a needle's point, the fact that my woman had left
her sister's house just as the king visited Porporina."
"Are you sure of that?"
"My woman had seen the king distinctly as I see you. He even spoke to
her, taking her for her sister, who was in another room, attending to
her sick mistress, if the illness of the latter was not pretence. The
king inquired after Porporina's health with the greatest anxiety, and
stamped his feet with much chagrin when he learned that she continued to
weep. He did not ask to see her, lest he should annoy her, and having
left a very precious _flacon_ for her, and said if she remained unwell,
he would come at eleven o'clock on the next night."
"Well, I hope all this may be so, yet I scarcely dare believe my ears.
Does your woman know the king's face?"
"Every one knows a monarch who is always on horseback. Besides, a page
had preceded the king five minutes, to see if there was any one at her
house. During that time, the king, cloaked and wrapped up, waited, as he
is wont to do, at the end of the street."
"Then, Von Kleist, the secret of this mystery and solicitude is love, or
I am mistaken. And have you come, in spite of the cold, to tell me this!
My dear friend, how good you are."
"You may add, in spite of ghosts. Do you know that for several days
there has been a panic in the palace? My _chasseur_ trembled like an
idiot as he accompanied me through the passages."
"What is the matter? Is the white lady come again?"
"Yes. _The woman with the broom._"[5]
"My dear Von Kleist, we are not playing the trick now. Our phantoms are
far away. God grant they may return!"
"I thought at first that perhaps the king wished to play the ghost, for
now he has a good cause to desire all curious servants out of the
passages. What astonished me very much, however, was the fact that the
ghost does not appear near his rooms, nor on the road to Porporina's.
The spirits hover around your highness; and as I have nothing to do with
the matter, I will say I am not a little afraid."
"What are you talking of, my dear. How can you, who I know so much, have
any faith in spectres?"
"That is the reason why. It is said when they are counterfeited they
become offended, and do all they can to punish one."
"Then they have been a long time about punishing us, for they have left
its unmolested more than a year. Bah! think no more of that, for we know
well enough what we must think of these souls in trouble. Beyond doubt
it was some page or subaltern, who comes in the night to ask the prayers
of my prettiest woman,--the old one, therefore, of whom nothing is
asked, is fearfully terrified. At first she did not wish to let you in.
Why should we talk of that, though, Von Kleist? We know the king's
secret, and must use it. How can we?"
"We must win this Porporina before she becomes spoiled by favor."
"Certainly. We must spare neither presents, promises, nor flattery. You
must go to her house to-morrow, and ask for music and Porpora's
autographs for me. She must have much unpublished music by the Italian
master. Promise that I will in return give her the manuscripts of
Sebastian Bach. I have many of them. We will commence by exchanges. Then
I will ask her to come and teach me the execution of her music. Let me
get her once into my house, and I will endeavor to secure and control
her."
"I will go to-morrow morning, madame."
"Good night, Von Kleist. Come, kiss me. You are my only friend. Go to
bed; and if you meet _the woman with the broom_ in the passage, look
closely, and see if there be no spurs on her heels."
[Footnote 3: The opera began earlier in Frederick's time than it does in
Europe at the present day. The king sate down to supper at ten o'clock.]
[Footnote 4: It is well known that Voltaire was deeply wounded by
Frederick saying, "I keep him because I need him. In a year I will have
other things to do, and will get rid of him. I squeeze the orange, and
throw away the skin."]
[Footnote 5: "La Balayeuse."]