On the next day, Porporina awoke from a deep slumber, completely
overpowered, and found on her bed two things which her maid had just
placed there. One was a _flacon_ of rock crystal, with a gold stopper,
on which was engraved an "F." with a royal crown. The second was a
sealed package. The servant, on being questioned, said that the king had
come in person on the previous day to bring the _flacon._ When she heard
the circumstances of a visit which was so _naïve_ and respectful,
Porporina was much moved.
"Strange man!" thought she. "How can so much mildness in private life be
reconciled with public sternness and despotism?" She fell at once into a
reverie, and gradually forgetting the king and thinking of herself,
retraced confusedly the events of the previous evening. She began to
weep.
"What is the matter, signora?" said the maid, who was a kind soul, and
an indifferently diffuse talker. "Are you going to cry again, as you did
when you went to bed. This is enough to break one's heart; and the king,
who was at the door when he heard you, shook his head two or three
times, as if he was much distressed. Yet, signora, many would envy you.
The king does not court everybody. They say he courts no one, yet it is
very certain that he is in love with you."
"In love? What do you say?" said Porporina, shuddering. "Never say such
an improper and absurd thing again. The king in love with me? Great
God!"
"Well, signora, suppose he were?"
"God grant he may not be! He, however, neither is nor will be. What roll
is this, Catharine?"
"A servant brought it early in the morning."
"Whose servant?"
"A person picked up in the streets. At last, though, he told me he had
been employed by the servants of a certain Count of St. Germain, who
came hither yesterday."
"Why did you ask the question?"
"Because I wanted to know, signora."
"That is frank, certainly. Now go."
As soon as Porporina was alone, she opened the roll, which she found
contained a parchment, covered with strange and unintelligible
characters. She had heard much of the Count of Saint Germain, but did
not know him. She examined the manuscript carefully, and as she could
not understand it, and could not perceive why a person with whom she had
never had any acquaintance, should send her an enigma to unravel, she
fancied that he was mad. As she examined this document more closely, a
separate note fell out, and she read: "The Princess Amelia of Prussia
takes much interest in divination and in horoscopes. Give her this
parchment, and you will be certain to secure her protection and
friendship." To these lines there was no signature, the hand was
unknown, and the roll bore no address. She was amazed that the Count of
Saint Germain, to reach the Princess Amelia, had come to her, who had
never met her; and thinking that her servant had made some mistake,
began to fold it up, for the purpose of returning it. When she took up
the sheet of coarse paper, which had been around it, she observed there
was music printed on the other side. An old recollection recurred to
her; to look at one corner of the sheet for a mark, which had been
agreed on--to recognise the deep pencil lines--to see that the music was
a part of a piece which she had given away, as a token of remembrance,
eighteen months before--was but the work of an instant. The emotion
which she experienced at the remembrance of an absent and suffering
friend, made her forget her own sorrows. She was only anxious to know
what was to be done with the manuscript, and why she had been charged
with transmitting it to the princess. Was the object to secure for her
that personage's favor and protection? For that Porporina had neither
the want nor the desire. Was it for the purpose of establishing a
communication between the princess and the prisoner, which might be
useful to the latter? She hesitated. In her doubt she recollected the
proverb, "beware;" she then remembered that there were both good and bad
proverbs, some of which came to the aid of prudent selfishness and
others to bold devotion. She got up at once, saying to herself:
"_When in doubt, act_, provided that you do not compromise yourself, and
have reason to hope that you can be useful to your friend and
fellow-being."
Scarcely had she finished her toilette, which required some time, for
she was much enfeebled by the attack of the previous evening, (and while
tying up her beautiful dark hair,) she thought how she could best convey
the parchment to the princess, when a servant in an embroidered livery
came to ask if she was alone, and if she was willing to receive an
unknown lady, who wished to visit her. The young singer had often
repined at the manner in which at that time _artistes_ were subjected to
the great: she felt at first disposed to refuse the visit, and to say
that the singers of the theatre were with her. She remembered, though,
that this answer might offend the prudery of some ladies, but would have
the effect of making others more anxious to trespass on her. She,
therefore, consented to receive the visit, and the fair Von Kleist was
soon introduced.
This lady was thoroughly used to society, and had determined to please
the singer, and make her forget all differences of rank. She was ill at
ease, however, because she had heard that Porporina was very haughty,
and Von Kleist had also excellent reasons to wish, for her own sake, to
penetrate her most hidden thoughts. Though young and inoffensive, there
was, at this moment, in the court-lady's mind and countenance, something
false and forced, which did not escape Porporina's attention. Curiosity
approximates so closely to perfidy, that it destroys the beauty of the
most perfect features.
Porporina knew the face of her visitor perfectly well; and her first
movement when she saw a person who appeared every evening in the box of
the Princess Amelia, was to ask, under the pretext of necromancy, of
which she knew she was fond, an interview with the princess. Not daring,
however, to confide in a person who had the reputation of being both
imprudent and disposed to intrigues, she determined to let her lead the
conversation, and began to bring to bear on her the quiet penetration of
the defensive, which is so superior to the attacks of curiosity.
At last, the ice was broken; and the lady having presented the
princess's request for music; the singer, concealing her satisfaction at
this happy chance, went to get many unedited arrangements. Then, with an
appearance as if suddenly inspired, she said, "I will be delighted,
madame, to place all my treasures at her highness's disposal; and would
feel honored were she to consent to receive me."
"And do you, indeed," said Madame Von Kleist, "wish to speak to her
royal highness?"
"Yes, madame," said Porporina. "I would throw myself at her feet, and
ask a favor which I am sure she would not refuse me. She is, they say, a
great musician, and must protect artists. I have also heard that she is
good as she is beautiful. I hope, then, if she deign to hear me, that
she will aid me in obtaining from his majesty the recall of my master,
who having been invited to Berlin, with the king's consent, was, when he
reached the frontier, driven away, in consequence of a defect in his
passport. Since then, in spite of the king's promises and assurances, I
have been unable to bring this affair to an end. I dare no longer annoy
the king with a request in which he takes but little interest, I am
sure, for he always forgets it. But, if the princess would deign to say
a word to the officers to whom such matters belong, I will have the
happiness of being again with my adoptive father, the only friend I have
in the world."
"What you say amazes me greatly," remarked Von Kleist. "What! the
beautiful Porporina, whom I thought exerted an all-powerful influence
over the king's mind, is obliged, forced, to obtain elsewhere a favor
which seems so simple. Suffer me to conclude from these circumstances,
that his majesty expects to find in your adoptive father, too vigilant a
surveillance, or some counsel which will be of too much influence
against his wishes."
"I strive in vain, madame, to understand what you honor me by saying,"
said Porporina, with a gravity which entirely disconcerted the baroness.
"Then, apparently, I have mistaken the extreme benevolence and limitless
admiration which the king professes for the greatest of living singers."
"Does it become the dignity of the Baroness von Kleist to ridicule a
poor _artiste_, like myself, without any influence, and perfectly
inoffensive?"
"I ridicule!--who would think of ridiculing so angelic a being as you
are? You are ignorant, signora, of your merit, and your candor fills me
with surprise and admiration. Listen to me: I am sure that you will make
a conquest of the princess. She always acts from the impulse of the
moment, and it is only necessary for you to meet her, to take as perfect
possession of her with your person as you have with your mind."
"It has, on the contrary, been said that her royal highness has always
been severe in relation to me; and that, unfortunately, my poor face
displeased her, and also, that she was much dissatisfied with my method
of singing."
"Who on earth can have told you such falsehoods?"
"If any have been told, the king is guilty," said the young girl, with
a slight tone of malice.
"It was a snare--a test of your modesty and gentleness," said the
baroness, "as though I intend to prove to you that being a simple
mortal, I have no right to be false, like a mighty and ill-tempered
king, I wish to take you at once to the princess, that you may give her
the music in person."
"And do you think, madame, that she will receive me kindly?"
"Will you trust me?"
"Yet, if you be mistaken, on whom will the humiliation fall?"
"On me alone: I authorise you to say everywhere, that I am proud of the
princess's friendship, and that she entertains both esteem and deference
for me."
"I will go with you, madame," said Consuelo, ringing for her mantle and
muff. "My toilette is very simple, but you have entirely surprised me."
"You are perfectly charming, and will find the princess in a yet more
simple toilette.--Come."
Porporina put the mysterious roll in her pocket, filled the carriage of
the baroness with music, and followed her resolutely.
"For a man who risked his life for me," thought she, "I might run the
risk of waiting in vain in the antechamber of a princess."
Having been introduced into a dressing-room she waited for five minutes,
during which the abbess and her confidant exchanged these few words in
the next room.
"Madame, I have brought her. She is there."
"So soon? You are an admirable ambassadress. How must I receive her?
What sort of person is she?"
"Reserved, prudent, or simple. She is either intensely artful, or
strangely simple."
"Oh! we will see," said the princess, the eyes of whom glittered with
the influence of a mind used to penetration and distrust. "Let her come
in."
During her short stay in the dressing-room, Porporina saw the strangest
array of furniture which ever decorated the boudoir of a beautiful
princess: spheres, compasses, astrolabes, astrological charts, vials
filled with nameless mixtures and deaths-heads--in fine, all the
materials of sorcery. "My friend is not mistaken," said she, "and the
public knows all about the secrets of the king's sister. She does not
even seem to conceal them, as she suffers me to see all this
apparatus.--Well--courage!"
The Abbess of Quedlimburgh was then twenty-eight or thirty years of age.
She had been beautiful as an angel, and yet was when seen by candlelight
at a distance. When she was close to her, however, Porporina was amazed
to find her face wrinkled and covered with blotches. Her blue eyes,
which had been beautiful as possible, now had a red rim around them,
like those of a person who had been weeping, and had an evil glare and
deep transparency, not calculated to inspire confidence. She had been
adored by her family and by all the court, and for a long time had been
the most affable, the most joyous and benevolent king's daughter ever
described in the romances of royal personages, of the old patrician
literature. During the few last years, however, her character had
changed as much as her person had. She had attacks of ill-humor, and
even something worse, which made her like Frederick in his worst point
of view; without seeking to resemble him, and even while in secret she
criticised him severely, she was irresistibly led to contract all the
faults she censured in him, and to become an imperious and absolute
mistress, a skeptical, bitter, learned and disdainful person. Yet, amid
these fearful characteristics, which every day look fatal possession of
her, there was yet seen to pierce a native kindness, a correct mind, a
courageous soul, and passionate heart. What then was passing in the mind
of this unfortunate princess? A terrible cause of suffering devoured
her, which she was yet forced to conceal in her heart, and which she hid
from the eyes of the curious, malicious, or careless world, under the
disguise of a stoical and joyous bearing. By means, therefore, of
dissimulation and constraint, she had unfolded in herself two different
beings, one which she dared reveal to scarcely any one, and the other
which she exhibited with a kind of hatred and despair. All observed that
in conversation she was become more keen and animated: this uneasy and
forced gaiety, though, was painful to the observer, and its icy and
chilling effect cannot be described. Successively excited, almost to
puerility, and stern even to cruelty, she astonished both others and
herself. Torrents of tears extinguished the fire of her anger, and then
a savage irony, an impious disdain, snatched her from those moments of
salutary depression, she was permitted neither to feel nor to know.
The first thing that Porporina observed, when she met her, was this kind
of duality. The princess had two aspects and two faces: the one was
caressing, the other menacing: two voices, one soft and harmonious,
which seemed to have been vouchsafed her by heaven that she might sing
like an angel, and the other hoarse and stern, apparently coming from a
burning heart, animated by some devilish inspiration. Our heroine,
surprised at so strange a being, divided between fear and sympathy,
asked herself if an evil genius was about to take possession of her.
The princess, too, found Porporina a far more formidable person than she
had imagined. She had hoped that, without her theatrical garb and the
paint which makes women so very ugly, whatever people please to say
about it, she would justify what the Baroness von Kleist had said--that
she was rather ugly than beautiful. Her clear dark complexion, so
uniform and pure; her powerful and dark eyes; her fresh mouth; her suple
form; her natural and easy movements--the array of all the qualities of
an honest, kind and calm being, or, at least, of one possessed of that
internal power conferred by justice and true wisdom, filled the uneasy
Amelia with a species of respect, and even of shame, as if she knew
herself in the presence of a person of unimpeachable loyalty.
Her efforts to hide how ill at ease she was were remarked by the young
girl, who, as we may conceive, was amazed to see so great a princess
intimidated before her. She began, then, to revive the failing
conversation, to open a piece of the music into which she had placed the
cabalistic letter, and arranged it so that the great sheet covered with
large characters, should meet the princess's eye. As soon as the effect
was produced, she pretended to wish to withdraw the sheet, just as if
she had been surprised at its being there. The abbess took possession of
it immediately, however, saying--
"What is the meaning of this signora? For Heaven's sake, whence had you
it?"
"If I must own all to your highness," said Porporina, significantly, "it
is an astrological calculation I have been intending to present, when it
shall be your highness's wish to question me about a matter to which I
am not entirely a stranger."
The princess fixed her burning eyes on the singer, glanced at the magic
characters, ran to the embrasure of a window, and, having examined the
scroll for a time, uttered a loud cry, and fell almost suffocated into
the arms of the Baroness von Kleist, who, when she saw her tremble, had
hurried to her.
"Leave the room, signora," said the favorite, precipitately. "Go into
that cabinet, and say nothing. Call no one. Do you understand?"
"No, no; she must not go!" said the princess, faintly. "Let her come
hither--here, near me. Ah! my friend," said she, "how great a service
you have rendered me!"
Clasping Porporina in her thin white arms, which were animated with a
convulsive power, the princess pressed her to her heart, and covered her
cheeks with eager burning kisses, which flushed her cheek and terrified
her heart.
"Certainly people become mad in this country," thought she. "I have
often feared this would be the case with me, and I see more important
personages than I am run the same risk. There is madness in the air!"
"The princess at last loosened her neck to clasp her favorite's, crying
and weeping, and shouting in the strongest voice;--
"Saved! saved!--my friends!--my kind friends! Trenck has escaped from
the fortress of Glatz! He escapes! He is yet--yet at liberty!"
The poor princess had an attack of convulsive laughter, interrupted by
sobs, terrible to see and hear.
"Madame! for heaven's sake!" said the baroness, "restrain your joy! Take
care lest you be heard!"
Taking up the pretended magic scroll, which was nothing but a letter in
cypher from Trenck, she aided her mistress in reading it, in spite of a
thousand interruptions of forced and feverish laughter.
Transcriber's Note: