"Thenceforth," continued Porporina, "I never saw the king at home. He
sometimes sent for me to come to _Sans Souci_, where I even passed
several days with my companions, Porporino or Conceolini; and here I
used to play the piano at his little concerts, and accompany the violin
of Braun or Benda, or the flute of Quantz, and sometimes the king
himself."
"It is less pleasant to accompany him than any of the others," said the
Princess of Prussia. "I know, by experience, that whenever my dear
brother plays a false note, or loses the time, he does not fail to scold
all the _concertanti._"
"That is true," said Porporina, "and his skilful master, Quantz,
himself, has not always been able to avoid his injustice. His majesty,
however, when thus led astray, soon repairs the injury by acts of
deference and delicate praise, which pour balm on wounded self-love.
Thus, by a kind word, by an exclamation of admiration, he causes his
severity and his anger to be excused, even by artists, who are the most
susceptible people in the world."
"But could you, after you knew of him, suffer yourself to be fascinated
by this basilisk?"
I will own, madame, that often, without knowing it, I felt the influence
of his ascendancy. As trickery has ever been foreign to me, I may always
be the dupe, and only ascertain the meaning of disingennousness too
late. I also saw the king very frequently on the stage and sometimes
even, when the performance was over, in my dressing-room. He was always
paternal in his conduct towards me. I was never alone with him more than
two or three times in the gardens of _Sans Souci_, and I must confess
that then I had found out his hour of walking, and went thither
expressly to meet him. He then called or came courteously to me, and I
took advantage of the opportunity to speak to him of Porpora, and renew
my request. I always received the same promises, but never reaped any
advantage. Subsequently I changed my tactics, and asked leave to return
to Vienna. He heard my prayer, sometimes with affectionate reproaches,
sometimes with icy coldness, and often with yet greater ill-humor. The
last attempt was not more fortunate than the others, and even when the
king said, drily--'Go, signora; you are free,' I could obtain no
settlement of accounts, nor permission to travel. This is the state of
affairs, and I see no resource but in flight, should my situation here
become too grievous to be borne. Alas! madame, I have often been wounded
by Maria Theresa's small taste for music, but never suspected that a
king, almost fanatic for the art, was more to be feared than an empress
without any ear.
"I have told you briefly all my relations with his majesty. I never had
occasion to fear or even to suspect that your highness would think he
loved me. Nevertheless, I was proud, sometimes, when I thought that,
thanks to my musical talent and the romantic incident which led to my
preserving his life, the king seemed to have a friendship for me. He
often told me so with the greatest grace, and most perfect simplicity;
he seemed to love to talk with me with such perfect _bonhommie_, that I
became used, I know not how, to love him with perfect friendship. The
word is, perchance, _bizarre_, and a little misplaced in my mouth; but
the sentiment of affectionate respect and timid confidence which the
presence, glance, eye, words and tone of the royal basilisk, as you call
him, inspired me with, is strange as it is sincere. We are here to make
a full confession, and we have agreed that I shall shrink from nothing:
well, I protest that I am afraid of the king, and almost have a horror
of him, when I do not see him, yet breathe the rarified air of his
empire. When I see him, however, I am charmed, and am ready to give him
every proof of devotion, which a timid, but affectionate girl, can give
to a rigid, yet kind father."
"You frighten me," said the princess. "Good God! what if you were to
suffer yourself to be controlled and cajoled so as to destroy our
cause?"
"Ah! madame, have no apprehensions about that. When the affairs of my
friends or of any other persons arc concerned, I am able to defy the
king, and others even more shrewd than he, if there be such, and yet
fall into no snare."
"I believe you. You exercise over me by your frankness the same
influence which Frederick exerts over you. Well, do not be excited for I
do not compare you together. Resume your story, and tell me of
Cagliostro. I have heard that at one of his magic representations, he
recalled to you one who had long been dead. I suppose that person was
Albert?"
"I am ready to satisfy you, my noble Amelia; but, if I consent to reveal
to you a painful story, which I would willingly forget, I have the right
to address a few questions to you, according to the arrangement we have
made."
"I am ready to answer you."
"Well, madame; do you think the dead can leave the tomb, or, at least,
that a reflection of their forms animated by the appearance of life, may
be evoked, at the will of sorcerers, and so take possession of our
fancy, that it may be reproduced before our eyes and take possession of
our reason?"
"The question is very complicated, and all that I can say is, that I do
not believe in the impossible. I do not think that a resurrection of the
dead can be produced by magic. As far as our poor foolish imagination is
concerned, I think it capable of everything."
"Your highness--excuse me--your highness has no faith in magic yet. . .
But the question is indiscreet beyond doubt."
"Go on--yet I have devoted myself to magic; that is well known. Well, my
dear girl, let me explain this inconsistency, which appears so strange
both in place and time. After being aware of the nature of the scroll
sent by Saint Germain, which, to tell the truth, was but a letter sent
to me by Trenck, you can understand that necromancy is a pretext for
many other things. To reveal to you, however, all that it conceals from
the vulgar eye, all that it hides from courtly espionage and legal
oppression, would be but the affair of an instant. Be patient, for I
have resolved to initiate you into all my secrets. You are far more
deserving of this confidence than my dear Von Kleist, who is timid and
superstitious. Yes, I tell you this angel of goodness, this tender
heart, has no common sense. She has faith in the devil, in sorcerers,
ghosts, and presages, just as if she did not have in her hands and under
her very eyes, the mysterious clues of the great work. She is, like the
alchemists of the past, who created patiently and wisely, all kinds of
monsters, but who then became afraid of their own handicraft, so that
they became the slaves of demons, originated in their own alembic."
"Perhaps I may not be braver than the Baroness Von Kleist," said
Porporina, "and I confess I am under the influence, if not under the
power of Cagliostro. Imagine, that after having promised to show me the
person of whom I thought, the name of whom he pretended to read in my
eyes, he showed me another. Besides, he showed me as living, whom he did
not know to be dead. Notwithstanding this double error, he resusicated
the husband I had lost, and that will ever be to me a painful and
inexpressible enigma."
"He showed you some phantom, and fancy filled up the details."
"I can assure you that my fancy was in no respect interested. I expected
to see in a mirror some representation of Maestro Porpora, for I had
spoken often of him at supper, and while deploring his absence, had seen
that Cagliostro paid no little attention to my words. To make his task
more easy, I chose in my mind the face of Porpora, as the subject of the
apparition, and I expected him certainly, not having as yet considered
the test as serious. Finally at perhaps the only moment in my life in
which I did not think of the Count, he appeared. Cagliostro asked me
when I went into the magic closet, if I would consent to have my eyes
bandaged and follow him, holding on to his hand. As he was a man of good
reputation, I did not hesitate; but made it a condition, that he would
not leave me for an instant. 'I was going,' said he, 'to address you a
request, not to leave me a moment, and not to let go my hand, without
regard to what may happen, or what emotion you may feel.' I promised
him; but a simple affirmative did not suffice, he made me solemnly swear
that I would make no gesture nor exclamation, but remain mute and silent
during the whole of the experiment. He then put on his glove, and having
covered my head with a hood of black velvet, which fell over my
shoulders, he made me walk about five minutes without my being able to
hear any door opened or shut. The hood kept me from being aware of any
change in the atmosphere, therefore I could not know whether I had gone
out of the room or not, for he made me make such frequent turns, that I
had no appreciation of the direction."
At last he paused; and, with one hand removed the hood, so lightly that
I was not even aware of it. My respiration having become more free, he
informed me that I might look around. I found myself, however, in such
intense darkness that I could ascertain nothing. After a short time, I
saw a luminous star, which at first trembled, and soon became brilliant
before me. At first, it seemed most remote, but, when at its brightest,
appeared very near me. It was produced, I think, of a light, which
became more and more intense, and which was behind a transparency.
Cagliostro made me approach the star, which was an orifice pierced in
the wall. On the other side of that wall I saw a chamber, magnificently
decorated and filled with lights regularly arranged. This room, in its
character and ornaments, had every air of a place dedicated to magical
operations. I had not time, however, to examine it, my attention being
absorbed by a person who sat before a table. He was alone, and hid his
face with his hands, as if immersed in deep meditation. I could not see
his features, and his person was disguised by a costume in which I had
hitherto seen no one. As far as I was able to remark it, it was a robe
or cloak of white satin, faced with purple, fastened over the breast
with hieroglyphic gems, on which I observed a rose, a triangle, a cross,
a death's-head, and many rich ribbons of various kinds. All that I could
see was that it was not Porpora. After one or two minutes, this
mysterious personage, which I began to fancy a statue, slowly moved its
hands, and I saw the face of Count Albert distinctly, not as it had last
met my gaze, covered with the shadows of death, but animated amid its
pallor, and full of soul in its serenity; such, in fine, as I had seen
it in its most beautiful seasons of calm and confidence. I was on the
point of uttering a cry, and by an involuntary movement, crushing the
crystal which separated him from me. A violent pressure of Cagliostro's
hand, reminded me of my oath, and impressed me with I know not what
vague terror. Just then a door opened at the extremity of the room in
which I saw Albert; and many unknown persons, dressed as he was, joined
him, each bearing a sword. After having made strange gestures, as if
they had been playing a pantomime, they spoke to him in a very solemn
tone words I could not comprehend. He arose and went towards them, and
replied in words equally strange, and which were unintelligible to me,
though now I know German nearly as well as my mother tongue. This
dialogue was like that which we hear in dreams, and the strangeness of
the scene, the miracle of the apparition, had so much of this character,
that I really doubted whether I dreamed or not. Cagliostro, however,
forced me to be motionless, and I recognised the voice of Albert so
perfectly that I could not doubt the reality of what I saw. At last,
completely carried away by the scene, I was about to forget my oath and
speak to him, when the hood again was placed over my head and all became
dark. 'If you make the least noise,' said Cagliostro, 'neither you nor I
will see the light again.' I had strength enough to follow him, and walk
for a long time amid the zig-zags of an unknown space. Finally, when he
took away the hood again, I found myself in his laboratory which was
dimly lighted as it had been at the commencement of this adventure.
Cagliostro was very pale, and still trembled, for, as I walked with him,
I became aware of a convulsive agitation of his arm, and that he hurried
me along as if he was under the influence of great terror. The first
thing he said was to reproach me bitterly about my want of loyalty, and
the terrible dangers to which I had exposed him by wishing to violate my
promises. 'I should have remembered,' said he, 'that women are not bound
by their word of honor, and that one should forbear to accede to their
rash and vain curiosity.' His tone was very angry.
"Hitherto I had participated in the terror of my guide. I had been so
amazed at Albert's being alive, that I had not enquired if this was
possible. I had even forgotten that death had bereft me of this dear and
precious friend. The emotion of the magician recalled to me, that all
this was very strange, and that I had seen only a spectre. My reason,
however, repudiated what was impossible, and the bitterness of the
reproaches of Cagliostro caused a kind of ill-humor, which protected me
from weakness. 'You feign to have faith in your own falsehood,' said I,
with vivacity; 'ah! your game is very cruel. Yes; you sport with all
that is most holy, even with death itself.'
"'Soul without faith, and without power,' said he angrily, but in a most
imposing manner. 'You believe in death, as the vulgar do, and yet you
had a great master--one who said: "_We do not die. Nothing dies;--there
is nothing dies._" You accuse me of falsehood, and seem to forget that
the only thing which is untrue here, is the name of death in your
impious mouth.' I confess that this strange reply overturned all my
thoughts, and for a moment overcame the resistance of my troubled mind.
How came this man to be aware of my relations with Albert, and even the
secrets of his doctrine? Did he believe as Albert did, or did he make
use of this as a means to acquire an ascendancy over me?
"I was confused and alarmed. Soon, however, I said that this gross
manner of interpreting Albert's faith, could not be mine, and that God,
not the impostor Cagliostro, can evoke death, or recall life. Finally,
convinced that I was the dupe of an inexplicable illusion, the
explanation of which, however, I might some day find, I arose, praising
coldly the _savoir-faire_ of the sorcerer, and asked him for an
explanation of the whimsical conversation his phantoms had together. In
relation to that he replied, that it was impossible to satisfy me, and
that I should be satisfied with seeing the person calm, and carefully
occupied. 'You will ask me in vain,' added he, 'what are his thoughts
and actions in life. I am ignorant even of his name. When you desired,
and asked to see it, there was formed between you two a mysterious
communication, which my power was capable of making able to bring you
together. All science goes no farther.'
"'Your science,' said I, 'does not reach that far even; I thought of
Porpora, and you did not present him to me.'
"'Of that I know nothing,' said he, in a tone serious and terrible. 'I
do not wish to know. I have seen nothing, either in your mind, or in the
magic mirror. My mind would not support such a spectacle, and I must
maintain all my senses to exercise my power. The laws of science are
infallible, and consequently, though not aware of it yourself, you must
have thought of some one else than Porpora, since you did not see the
latter.'"
"Such is the talk of madmen of that kind," said the princess, shrugging
her shoulders. "Each one has his peculiar mode; though all, by means of
a captious reasoning, which may be called the method of madness, so
contrive by disturbing the ideas of others, that they are never cut
short, or disturbed themselves."
"He certainly disturbed mine," said Consnelo, "and I was no longer able
to analyse them. The apparition of Albert, true or false, made me more
distinctly aware that I had lost him forever, and I shed tears.
"'Consuelo;' said the magician in a solemn tone, and offering me his
hand, (you may imagine that my real name, hitherto unknown to all, was
an additional surprise, when I heard him speak it,) 'you have great
errors to repair, and I trust you will neglect nothing to regain your
peace of mind.' I had not power to reply. I sought in vain to hide my
tears from my companions, who waited impatiently for me in the next
room. I was more impatient yet to withdraw, and as soon as I was alone,
after having given a free course to my grief, I passed the night in
reflections and commentaries on the scenes of this fatal evening. The
more I sought to understand it, the more I became lost in a labyrinth of
uncertainty; and I must own that my ideas were often worse than an
implicit obedience to the oracles of magic would have been. Worn out by
fruitless suffering, I resolved to suspend my judgment until there
should be light. Since then, however, I have been impressionable,
subject to the vapors, sick at heart, and deeply sad. I was not more
sensibly aware of the death of my friend than I had been; the remorse
which his generous pardon had lulled to rest, again began to torment me.
By constantly exercising my profession, I grew weary of the frivolous
intoxication of success; besides, in this country, where the mind of man
seems sombre as the climate----"
"And the government?" said the abbess.
"In this government, where I felt overcome and chilled, I saw that I
would not make the progress I dreamed of."
"What do you wish to do? We have never heard anything that approached
you, and I do not think there is a more perfect singer in the world. I
tell you what I think, and this is not a compliment _à la Frederick._"
"Even if your highness be not mistaken, a matter of which I am
ignorant," said Consuelo, with a smile, ("for except La Romanina and La
Tesi, I have heard no other singer than myself,) I think there is always
something to be attempted, and something more than has been done to be
accomplished. Well, this ideal, which I have borne in myself, I might
have been able to approach in a life of action, strife, and bold
enterprise, of mutual sympathy, and in a word, of enthusiasm. The chilly
regularity which reigns here, the military discipline, which extends
even to the theatre, the calm and constant benevolence of a public,
which minds its own business while it listens to us, the high protection
of the king, which guarantees to us successes decreed in advance, the
absence of rivalry and novelty in the artists themselves, and in the
performances--above all, the idea of indefinite captivity, this every
day and icy labor-life, sadly glorious yet compulsory, which we lead in
Prussia, has deprived me even of the desire of perfecting myself. There
are days when I feel myself so utterly without energy, and so void of
that touchy self-love which aids the artist's conscience, that I would
pay for the excitement of a hiss. Alas! let me be deficient at my entry,
or fail towards the end of the performance, I always receive the same
applause. Applause, when I do not deserve it, gives me no pleasure, and
it afflicts me sometimes when I really do deserve it, because they are
officially measured out and ordered, and I feel that I deserve voluntary
praise. All this may seem puerile to you, noble Amelia; but you ask to
know the profundity of an actor's life, and I conceal nothing from you."
"You explain all this so naturally, that I feel as if I had experienced
it myself. To do you good I would hiss you when you do not sing well,
and throw you a crown of roses when you are thereby aroused."
"Alas! kind princess, neither would please the king. The king is
unwilling that his actors should be offended, because applause and
hisses follow close together. My _ennui_ has on that account no remedy,
in spite of your generous friendship. United to this languor is regret
at having preferred a life so false and void of emotion, to one of love
and devotion. Especially, since the adventure with Cagliostro, a black
melancholy took possession of my breast. No night passes that I do not
dream of Albert, and fancy him offended or irritated with me, busied, or
speaking an incomprehensible language--a prey to ideas altogether
foreign to our love--as when I saw him in the magic scene. I awake,
covered with cold perspiration, and weep when I think that in the new
life into which death has ushered him, his moody and disconsolate heart
cares neither for my grief, nor for my disdain. At all events, I killed
him, and it is in the power of no man, even one who had made an
agreement with the powers of light and darkness, to restore him to me. I
can, therefore, repair nothing in the useless and solitary life I lead,
and I have no other wish but to die."