"Have you then formed no new friendships?" said the Princess Amelia.
"Among so many people of mind and talent, whom my brother boasts of
having attracted to him from every corner of the world, is there no one
worthy of esteem?"
"Certainly, madame, there are many, and were I not inclined to
retirement, I would find many kind friends. Mademoiselle Cochois, for
instance----"
"The Marquise D'Argens, you mean."
"I did not know that was her name."
"You are discreet--you are right. She is an admirable person."
"Extremely so; and very kind, though vain of the care and attentions of
the marquis, and rather inclined to look down on other artists."
"She would feel much humiliated if she knew whom you are. The name of
Rudolstadt is one of the noblest of Saxony, while the D'Argens are but
country gentlemen of Provence or Languedoc. What kind of person is
Madame Coccei? Do you know her?"
"As Signora Barberini has not danced at the opera since her marriage,
and passes the greater portion of her time in the country, I have rarely
seen her. Of all the actresses, she is the one I like the most, and have
been often invited by her and her husband to visit them on their estate.
The king gave me to understand, however, that this would greatly
displease him, and I was forced to give it up, though it deprived me of
much pleasure. I do not know why he acted thus."
"I will tell you. The king made love to Signora Barberini, who preferred
the son of the grand chancellor and his majesty fears you will follow a
bad example. But have you no friends among the men?"
"I like Francis Benda, his majesty's first violin, very much. There is
much to unite us. He led a gipsy life in his youth, as I did. He has,
like myself, very little fondness for the greatness of this world, and
has preferred liberty to wealth. He has often told me that he fled from
the Court of Saxony, to enjoy the wandering, joyous, and miserable life
of the artists of the high road. The world is not aware that there are
on the road, and on the street, artists of great merit. An old blind
Jew, amid mountains and valleys, had educated Benda. His name was
Lœbel, and Benda always spoke of him with admiration, though the old
man died on a truss of straw, or perhaps in a ditch. Before he devoted
his attention to the violin, Francis Benda had a superb voice, and was a
professional singer. Sorrow and trouble destroyed his voice. In pure
air, and leading a wandering life, he acquired a new talent; his genius
found a new outlet, and from this wandering conservatory emerged the
magnificent artist, whose presence the King of Prussia does not disdain
in his private concerts. George Benda, his youngest brother, is also
full of talent, and is, by turns, either an epicurean or a misanthrope.
His strange mind is not always amiable, but he is always interesting. I
think he will not be able _to get in line_, like his other brothers, who
now bear with resignation the golden chain of royal favoritism. He,
whether because he is younger, or because his nature is indomitable,
always talks of flying. He is so terribly afflicted here with _ennui_,
that it is a pleasure to me to sympathize with him."
"Do you not fear that this communion of _ennui_ will lead to a more
tender sentiment? This would not be the first time that love sprang from
_ennui_."
"I neither fear nor hope it," said Consuelo. "I feel that it will never
be the case. I have told you, my dear Amelia, that something strange is
going on within my mind. Since Albert's death, I think of, and can love,
no one but him. I think that this is the first time that love sprang
from death, and yet this has happened to me. I cannot console myself for
not having made one worthy of happiness happy, and this tenacious regret
has become a fixed idea--a kind of passion--a folly, perhaps."
"It looks like it," said the princess. "It is at least a disease, yet it
is a sorrow which I experience and understand, for if I love an absent
person, whom I never shall see, it is really as if I loved one who is
dead. But, tell me, is not Prince Henry, my brother, an amiable
gentleman?"
"Certainly he is."
"Very fond of the beautiful--a real artist's soul--a hero in war--a
figure which, without being beautiful, pleases and strikes--a proud and
independent soul--an enemy to despotism--the rebellious and menacing
slave of my tyrant brother--and certainly the best of the family. Have I
not described him?"
"I listen to this as a jest."
"And do you not wish to look on it as serious?"
"No, madame."
"You are hard to please, my dear. What do you charge him with?"
"A great defect, or, at least, an invincible obstacle to my loving him.
He is a prince."
"Thank you for the compliment. Then you fainted for nothing at the play
a few days since. They say that the king, early in the performance,
became jealous at the manner that he looked at you, and placed him in
arrest. This, they affirm, made you sick."
"I did not even know that the prince had been arrested, and am certain I
am not the cause of it. The reason of my accident is very different.
Madame, fancy that amid the music I sang--rather mechanically, it is
true, as often is the case here--my eyes wandered over the house,
particularly over the first row of boxes. Suddenly, in that occupied by
M. Golowkin, I saw a pale face, which leaned slightly forward, as if it
would examine me. This face was Albert's, I will swear to it, madame,
for I knew it. I cannot tell whether it was an illusion, but, if so, it
was terrible and complete!"
"Poor thing! It is certain that you have strange fancies."
"Oh! that is not all. Last week, when I had given you the letter of
Trenck, and was retiring. I became lost, and strayed to the museum,
where I met Stoss, with whom I paused to talk. Well, there I saw again
Albert's face, again menacing, as on the day before it had been
indefinite--as I always saw it in my dreams, angry or threatening."
"Did Stoss also see it?"
"Very well; and he told me it was a certain Trismegistus, whom your
highness sometimes consults as a necromancer."
"Good heavens!" said the Baroness Von Kleist, growing pale, "I was sure
he was a real sorcerer. I could never look at him without fear. Though
he has a handsome face and a noble air, there is something diabolical in
his countenance, and I am sure, like Proteus, he can assume any form he
pleases, to terrify us. Besides, he scolds and frowns, as all people of
his sort do. I remember once when he calculated my horoscope, he charged
me with having asked for a divorce from the Baron Von Kleist because the
latter was ruined. This he thought a great offence. I wished to defend
myself, and as he assumed a very high tone, I began to get angry. He
said that I would marry again, and that my second husband would die, in
consequence of my fault, far more miserably than the first had done, and
that I would suffer severely, not only from my own conscience, but in
public opinion. As he spoke, his face became so terrible, that I fancied
that I saw Von Kleist again, and shrieking aloud, I took refuge in her
highness's room."
"Yes, it was a strange scene," said the princess, who, from time to time
resumed, as if in spite of herself, her dry mocking tone. "I laughed as
if I was mad."
"There was no reason why you should," said Consuelo, naïvely. "Who,
however, is this Trismegistus, since your highness has no faith in
magic?"
"I told you that some day I would tell you what sorcery is. Do not be so
eager. For the present be satisfied with the knowledge that this
Trismegistus is a man whom I esteem very highly, and who can be of much
use to us three, and to many others."
"I would like to see him again," said Consuelo, "and though I tremble to
think of it, I would like really to know whether he resembled the Count
of Rudolstadt as much as I have imagined."
"If he resembles Rudolstadt, say you? Well, you recall a circumstance to
me which I had forgotten, and which will, perhaps, explain all this
great mystery. Wait--let me think for a moment--yes, now I know. Listen
to me, and learn to distrust all that seems supernatural. Cagliostro
showed you Trismegistus, for they know each other, and were here at the
same time last year. You saw this Trismegistus at the theatre in Count
Golowkin's box, for he lives in his house, and they study chemistry and
alchemy together. You saw Trismegistus in the palace a few days ago, for
not long after you left me, I saw him, and he gave me all the details of
his escape."
"Because he wished to boast of having contributed to it," said the
baroness, "and to induce your highness to repay certain sums, which I am
sure were not paid out for that purpose. Your highness may say what you
please, but I am sure that man is a swindler."
"Yet that, Von Kleist, does not keep him from being a great sorcerer.
How can you reconcile respect for his science with contempt for his
person?"
"Ah! madame, there is no incongruity. We fear, yet detest sorcerers.
That is exactly the way we think of the devil."
"Yet, if one wishes to see the devil, one must go to the magician. Is
that your logic, my fair Von Kleist?"
"But, madame," said Consuelo, who had listened to this strange
conversation, "how comes it that you know this man is like the count?"
"I forgot to tell you, and I learned the fact by mere chance. This
morning, when Supperville told me your story, and that of Count Albert,
his words made me curious to know if he was handsome, and if his face
was like his strange imagination. Supperville, for some time, seemed
lost in thought, and finally told me. 'Madame, I can give you an exact
idea; you have among your playthings a creature, terribly like poor
Rudolstadt, if he were only more pale, thin, and differently dressed. I
mean your sorcerer, Trismegistus. That is the explanation of the affair,
my dear widow; and about that there is no more mystery than there really
is in Cagliostro, Trismegistus, Saint Germain & Co."
"You lift a burden off my breast," said Porporina, "and a black veil
from my heart. It seems to me that I am born again, and awake from a
painful sleep. Thanks are due to you for this explanation. I am not mad,
then; I have no visions, and will not be afraid of myself. See what the
human heart is," added she, after a moment of reverie. "I regret my fear
and weakness. In my extravagance, I persuaded myself that Albert was not
dead, and that one day, after having, by terrible apparitions, made me
expiate the wrong I had committed, he would return, without a cloud, and
without resentment. Now, I know that Albert sleeps in the tomb of his
ancestors, and that he will not recover. That death will not relax its
prey, is a terrible certainty."
"Could you entertain any doubt? Well! there is some happiness in being
mad: for my own part, I had not hoped Trenck would leave the Silesian
dungeons yet; it was possible, and has occurred."
"Were I to tell you, my beautiful Amelia, all the fancies to which my
poor soul abandoned itself, you would see that in spite of the
improbability, they were not impossible. Lethargy, for instance, Albert
was liable to it. But I will not call back those conjectures. They
injure me too much, now that the form I took for Albert is that of a
chevalier of industry."
"Trismegistus is not what he is supposed to be. One thing, however, is
certain, and that is, he is not Count Rudolstadt. Many years ago I knew
him, and apparently, at least, he is a diviner. Besides, he is not so
like Count Rudolstadt as you fancy. Supperville is too skillful a
physician to bury a man in a lethargy. He, too, does not believe in
ghosts, and has observed differences you did not."
"I would be so pleased to see Trismegistus again," said Consuelo in a
tone of deep reverie.
"You will not, perhaps, see him soon," said the princess, very coldly.
"He has gone to Warsaw, having left the very day you saw him in the
palace. He never remains more than two days at Berlin. He will, however,
certainly return during the ear----"
"But, if it should be Albert?" said Consuelo.
The princess shrugged her shoulders.
"Beyond all doubt," said she, "fate condemns me to have as friends
either male or female fools. One of you fancies my sorcerer her husband,
the Canon Von Kleist, and the other her deceased husband, the Count of
Rudolstadt. It is well that I have a strong head, otherwise I would
fancy he was Trenck, and no one knows what would happen. Trismegistus is
a poor sorcerer not to take advantage of all these mistakes. Porporina,
my beautiful, do not look at me with an expression of such
consternation. Resume your presence of mind. How can you fancy that if
Count Albert has recovered from lethargy so strange a thing would have
been known? Have you, too, kept up no correspondence with the family?"
"None," said Consuelo. "The Canoness Wenceslawa has written twice in one
year to inform me of two pieces of bad news, the death of her eldest
brother Christian, my husband's father, who ended his long career
without any knowledge of his misfortune, and the death of Baron
Frederick, brother of the count and canoness, who was killed while
hunting, by rolling down a ravine in the fatal Schreckenstein. I replied
as I should have done to the canoness, and did not dare to offer her my
consolations. From her letters I gathered that her heart was divided
between kindness and pride. She called me her dear child and generous
friend, but did not seem to desire the succor or aid of my affection, at
all."
"Then, you suppose that Albert, who has been resuscitated, lives quietly
and unknown at the Giants' Castle, without sending you any note, and
without any one outside of the castle being aware of the fact?"
"No, madame, I do not; for that would be entirely impossible, and I am
foolish in wishing to think so," said Consuelo, concealing her face,
which was covered with tears, with her hands.
As the night advanced, the princess seemed to resume the evil traits of
her character. The mocking and frivolous tone in which she spoke of
things which were so dear to Consuelo, terribly afflicted her.
"Come, do not make yourself unhappy," said Amelia, brusquely. "This is a
pretty pleasure party: you have told us stories sufficient to call the
devil from home. Von Kleist has trembled and grown pale all the time,
and I think she will die of terror. I, too, who wished to be gay and
happy, suffer at witnessing your distress." The princess spoke the
latter part of this sentence with the kind diapason of her voice.
Consuelo looked up, and saw a tear roll down her cheek, while an
ironical sneer was on her lips. She kissed the hand which the abbess
reached out to her, and internally compassionated her for not being able
to act kindly during the four consequent hours.
"Mysterious as the Giants' Castle may be," added the princess "stern as
is the pride of the canoness, and discreet as her servants are, be sure
nothing can pass without acquiring a certain kind of publicity. It was
in vain that they attempted to hide Count Albert's whimsicality, for the
whole province soon discovered it, and it was long ago talked of at the
little court of Bareith, when Supperville was sent for to attend your
poor husband. There is now in this family another mystery, to conceal
which every effort is made, but which is altogether ineffectual against
the malice of the public. This is the flight of the young Baroness
Amelia, who was carried off by a handsome adventurer, shortly after her
cousin's death."
"I, madame, was long ignorant of it. I may, however, tell you that
everything is not discovered in this world, for up to this time no one
has been able to tell the name and rank of the man who carried her away.
Neither have they been able to discover the place of her retreat."
"That is what Supperville told me. Well, cold Bohemia is the very land
for mysterious adventures. That, however, is no reason why Count Albert
should----"
"For heaven's sake, madame, no more of that. I beg you will excuse me
for having told you so long a story--and when your highness shall order
me to retire?"
"Two o'clock in the morning," said the baroness, as the palace clock,
sounding sadly, rang on her car.
"Then we must separate, my dear friends, said the princess rising, for
my sister D'Anspach, will come at seven o'clock to wake me, to hear the
capers of her dear Margrave, who has just returned from Paris, and is
desperately in love with M'lle Clairon. Porporina, after all, you
tragedy queens are the only monarchs _de facto_, while we are _de jure._
On that account you are the better off. There is no crowned head you
cannot bear away from us when you please, and some day I would not be
surprised to see M'lle Hippolyte Clairon, who is a girl of sense, become
Margravine D'Anspach, in partnership with my sister, who is a fool. Give
me my _pelisse_, Von Kleist; I will go with you as far as the gallery."
"And will your highness return alone?" said Madame Kleist, who seemed
very much troubled.
"Alone and without any fear of the devil and his imps, who for several
nights have held a plenary court in the castle. Come, come, Consuelo,
and we will see how fearfully terrified Von Kleist will be, as she
crosses the gallery."
The princess took a light, and went first, dragging the baroness, who
really was very timid. Consuelo followed them, a little terrified,
though she knew not why.
"I assure you, madame, that this is the unlucky hour, and that it is
dangerous to cross this part of the castle at such a time. Why not wait
for half an hour longer? At half after two there is no danger."
"What is this about?" said Consuelo, increasing her pace, so as to speak
to Madame Von Kleist.
"Do you not know?" said the princess. "The white lady, who sweeps the
staircase and corridors of the palace whenever a member of the royal
family is about to die, has revisited the castle during the last few
nights. It appears that here she makes her apparitions. My life is
menaced. On that account you see me so tranquil. My sister-in-law, the
Queen of Prussia (the feeblest creature who ever wore a crown,) does not
sleep here, I am told, but goes every night to Charlottembourg; as she
has an infinite respect for _la balayeuse_, as well as the
queen's-mother, who need have no apprehensions about the matter. These
ladies have taken care to forbid any one to watch the phantom, or to
derange her noble occupations. Thus the palace is swept by authority,
and by Lucifer himself; that, though, is no reason why he should not be
very uncivil."
Just then a great cat, which had come from the dark part of the gallery,
passed snarling and growling by Madame Von Kleist, who made a loud cry,
and sought to hurry to the princess's room. The latter restrained her
forcibly, filling the whole room with her loud shouts of laughter,
which, by the bye, were harsh and coarse, still more stern than the wind
which whistled through the depths of the vast room. The cold made
Consuelo tremble; perhaps, too, she was to a degree under the influence
of fear. The terrified air of Madame Von Kleist seemed to exhibit a real
danger, and the wild gaiety of the princess did not seem to evince any
real and sincere security.
"I wonder at the incredulity of your royal highness," said the Baroness
Von Kleist, with a voice full of emotion. "Had you as I have done, seen
and heard the white lady, on the eve of the death of the late king----"
"Alas!" said Amelia, in a satanic tone, "I am very sure that it does not
now come to announce the death of my royal brother, and I am very glad
that it has not come for me. The demon knows well enough that to make me
happy, one or the other of us must die."
"Ah! madame, do not talk thus, at such a time," said the Baroness Von
Kleist, the teeth of whom were so locked that she could scarcely speak.
"Now, for heaven's sake, pause and hear! Do you not tremble?"
The princess paused with a decisive air, and the rustling of her silk
robe, which was heavy and thick almost as pasteboard, not being
sufficient to drown the distant noise, our three heroines, who had
nearly reached the stairway, at the bottom of the gallery, heard
distinctly the harsh noise of a broom, which sounded on the stone steps,
and seemed to approach them step by step, as if a servant was anxiously
striving to conclude his work.
The princess paused for a moment, and then said in a resolute tone:
"As there is nothing supernatural in all this, I wish to ascertain
whether or not some somnambulist, valet, or crazy page, be not at the
bottom of all this mystery. Put down your veil, Porporina, for you must
not be seen in my company. You, Von Kleist, can be frightened, if you
please. I give you fair notice, that I care nothing about you. Come, my
brave Rudolstadt, you have had far more dangerous adventures; follow me
if you love me."
Amelia walked boldly towards the stairway, Consuelo followed her, and
the princess would not suffer her to take the torch from her. Madame Von
Kleist, who feared both to remain alone and to accompany them, hung
behind, holding on to Porporina's cloak.
They no longer heard the devil's broom, and the princess reached the
stairway, over which she reached her light, to enable her to distinguish
the better what was going on below. Whether she was less calm than she
wished to seem, or that she saw some terrible object, her hand trembled,
and the torch of crimson and crystal fell down the echoing spiral.
Madame Von Kleist at once forgot both the princess and the prima donna,
and fled away until, in spite of the darkness, she came to her
mistress's rooms, where she sought a refuge, while the latter,
participating in this strange excitement, went in the same direction
with Consuelo, slowly at first, but with a perpetually increasing pace;
other steps were heard behind them, and the latter were not Consuelo's,
for the opera-singer walked by her side, with not less resolution,
though probably with less bravado. The strange steps which every moment
drew near to them, sounded amid the darkness like those of an old woman
with clogs, and rang on the pavement; while the broom continued to grate
harshly on the wall, now to the right and then to the left. This ghost
walk seemed very long to Consuelo. If anything can really overcome the
courage of truly courageous and pure minds, it is a danger that can he
neither comprehended nor understood. She did not boast of an useless
audacity, and did not look back once. The princess said, once or twice
in the darkness, she looked back, but in vain; no one could either prove
or disprove the fact. Consuelo only knew that she had not slackened her
pace, that she had not spoken a word to her on the way, and that when
she went into her room, she came near shutting the door in her face, so
anxious was she to protect herself. Amelia, however, would acknowledge
no such weakness, and soon recovered sufficient presence of mind to
laugh at Madame Von Kleist, who was almost in convulsions, and
reproached her most timidly for her cowardice. The good nature of
Consuelo, who sympathised with the patient's distress, induced the
princess to become more good-natured. She deigned to observe that Madame
Von Kleist was incapable of understanding her, and that she lay on a
sofa with her face buried in the pillows. The clock struck three before
the poor lady had completely resumed her presence of mind, and even then
she displayed her terror by tears. Amelia was weary of her game of "not
a princess," and did not seem anxious to undress herself without aid. It
may be, too, she was under the influence of some presentiment. She
resolved then to keep the baroness with her until day.
"We two will be able to hide the affair, if my brother should hear of
it. You, Porporina, will have, however, more difficulty in explaining
your presence, and I would not on any account that you should be seen to
leave my room. You must, therefore, go alone, and go now, for people get
up very early in this palace. Be calm, Von Kleist, and if you can say a
word of good sense, tell us how you came hither, and in what corner you
left your _chasseur_, so that Porporina may be enabled to go home."
Fear makes the human heart intensely selfish, and the baroness,
delighted at not being required to confront the terrors of the gallery,
and utterly careless about the apprehensions Consuelo might entertain in
having to pass through it alone, regained all her intelligence, and was
able to say how she should go, and what signal she should make to find
out the faithful servant who waited at the palace gate, in a sheltered
and lonely spot where she had placed him.
With this information, and now sure that she would not lose herself in
the palace, Consuelo bade adieu to the princess, who did not seem the
least disposed to accompany her down the gallery. She, therefore, set
out alone, feeling her way, and reached the terrible stairway without
difficulty. A hanging lantern which was below, aided her somewhat, and
she reached the floor without any adventure, or even terror. On this
occasion she had called her will to her aid, and felt that she was
fulfilling an obligation to the unfortunate Amelia. This sufficed to
give her strength.
She left the palace by the little mysterious door, the key of which the
baroness had given her, and which opened into the back court. When she
was out, she proceeded along the wall to find the _chasseur._ As soon as
she had uttered the signal which had been agreed on, a shadow left the
wall, and a man wrapped in a large cloak bowed before her, offering her
his arm with the most silent respect.