Consuelo remembered that Madame Von Kleist, the better to hide her
visits to the Princess Amelia, often came on foot to the palace, with a
thick black hood and a cloak of the same color, and leaning on the arm
of a servant. In this manner she was not observed, and might pass for
one of those persons in distress who will not beg, but in this manner
receive aid from the liberality of princes. In spite of all precaution,
however, the secret was become transparent, and if the king was not
angry, it was because he looked on it as one of those affairs which it
was better to tolerate than to talk of. He was well aware the ladies
talked more of Trenck than of magic; and although he had an almost equal
objection to these two subjects of conversation, he kindly consented to
close his eyes, and was rather glad that his sister was kind enough to
adopt a mystery which relieved him of any responsibility. He was willing
to pretend that he was deceived, and seemed unwilling to approve of the
love and folly of his sister. His severity, then, fell on the
unfortunate Trenck, and he accused him of fanciful crimes, lest the
public should suspect the true cause of his disgrace.
Porporina, thinking that the servant of the Baroness Von Kleist would
aid her in maintaining her _incognito_, and would give her his arm as he
would his mistress, did not hesitate to accept his services, and leaned
on him so as to be able to walk securely on the ice-covered pavement.
She had scarcely walked three steps, however, when the man said, in a
careless tone--
"Well, countess, how did you leave your fantastic Amelia?"
In spite of the cold and wind, Consuelo felt the blood rush to her face.
Apparently, the servant took her for his mistress, and thus revealed a
revolting intimacy. Porporina, disguised, withdrew her arm from that of
the man, and said--
"You are mistaken."
"I am not in the habit of making mistakes," said the man with the cloak,
in the same easy manner. "The public may not know that the divine
Porporina is Countess of Rudolstadt, but the Count de St Germain is
better informed."
"Who are you?" said Consuelo, completely overcome with surprise. "Are
you not of the household of the Countess Von Kleist?"
"I belong only to myself, and am the servant only of the truth," said
the stranger. "I have mentioned my name, but I see Madame de Rudolstadt
is ignorant of it."
"Can you then be the Count of Saint Germain?"
"Who else could call you by a name the public does not know is yours?
This the second time, countess, you would have been lost but for me.
Deign to take my arm. I know the way to your house perfectly well; and,
as an honest man, promise to escort you thither safe and sound."
"I thank you, count, for your kindness," said Consuelo, and her
curiosity was too much excited to refuse the offer of this interesting
and strange man. "Will you tell me why you speak thus to me?"
"Because I wish to win your confidence, by proving to you that I am
worthy of it. I have long been aware of your marriage with Albert, and I
have preserved the fact an inviolable secret. I will do so as long as
you wish."
"I see that my wishes about this have been but slightly respected by M.
de Supperville," said Consuelo, who attributed the count's information
to the doctor.
"Do not find fault with poor Supperville," said the count. "He told no
one except the princess Amelia, the favor of whom he wished to win. I
did not learn it from him."
"Who told you, then, sir?"
"Count Albert, of Rudolstadt, himself. I am well aware that you are
about to tell me that he died during the conclusion of the marriage
ceremony. I will, however, tell you that he is not dead, that no one,
that nothing dies, and that we may still have communion with those the
vulgar call dead, if we know their language and the secret of their
lives."
"Since you know so much, sir, you must be aware that I do not easily
believe in such assertions; and that they trouble me much by keeping
constantly before me the idea of a misfortune for which I know there is
no remedy, in spite of the deceitful promises of magic."
"You are right to be on your guard against magicians and impostors. I am
aware that Cagliostro terrified you by some apparition. He yielded to
the vain pride of exhibiting his power to you, without reflecting on the
repose of your soul, and the sublimity of his mission. Cagliostro,
however, is not an impostor, but a vain man, and on that account is
often looked on as an impostor."
"The same charge, count, is made against you. Yet, as it is added that
you are a superior man, I feel myself justified in owning the prejudices
which keep me from conferring my esteem on you."
"Thus you speak nobly, as Consuelo should," said Saint Germain, calmly,
"and I am glad that you have thus appealed to my sincerity. I will be
frank with you and without concealment for we are at your door, and the
cold and the late hour keep me from retaining you any longer. If you
wish to know things of the greatest importance, on which your whole
happiness depends, suffer me to speak freely to you some day."
"If your lordship will come by day to see me, I will expect you at any
hour you please."
"I must see you to-morrow, and you will then see Frederick, whom I am
not willing on any account to meet, for I have no respect for him."
"Of what Frederick do you speak, count?"
"Oh! not of our friend Frederick Von Trenck, whom we contrived to rescue
from his hands, but of that King of Prussia who makes love to you.
Listen: to-morrow there will be a great fancy ball at the opera. Take
any disguise you please, and I will be able to recognise you, and make
myself known. In this crowd we may be isolated and secure. Under any
other circumstances, my acquaintance with you will attract great
misfortune on persons who are dear to us. We will then meet to-morrow,
countess----"
As he spoke, the Count de Saint Germain bowed respectfully to Consuelo
and disappeared, leaving her petrified with surprise at the very door of
her house.
"There is in this realm of treason a permanent conspiracy against
reason," said Porporina, as she went to sleep. "Scarcely have I escaped
from one of the dangers which menace me, than another presents itself.
The Princess Amelia had explained the other enigmas to me, and I felt at
ease; just now, however, we met, or at least, heard, the strange
_balayeuse_, who beyond all doubt, passes as calmly through this castle
of incredulity as she did two hundred years ago. I get rid of the terror
caused by Cagliostro, and lo and behold! another magician appears, who
seems yet better acquainted with my business. I can conceive that these
magicians may keep an account of all that concerns the life of kings,
and powerful or illustrious personages; but, that I, a poor, humble, and
prudent girl, cannot hide from them any act of my life, is indeed
annoying. Well, I will follow the advice of the princess. Let us hope
that the future may explain this prodigy, and, till then, let us not
judge of it. The strangest thing yet, would be, if the king, in
pursuance of the count's prediction, should come to see me. It would be
merely the third visit he has paid me. The count cannot be his
confederate. They bid us especially distrust those who speak ill of
their masters. I will try not to forget that proverb."
On the next day, at one exactly, a carriage, without either crest or
livery, came into the court-yard of the house, inhabited by the singer,
and the king, who two hours before, had sent her word to be alone, and
to expect him, came in with his hat on the left ear, a smile on his
lips, and a little basket on his arm.
"Captain Von Kreutz brings you fruits from his garden," said he. "People
who are malicious say, all these were gathered at _Sans Souci_, and were
intended for the king's dessert. The king, however, does not think of
you. Nevertheless, the little baron has come to pass a few hours with
his friend."
This salutation, pleasant as it was, instead of placing Consuelo at
ease, troubled her strangely. She had, contrary to her inclination, been
forced to become a conspirator. By receiving the confidences of the
princess, she could not face with frankness, the examination of the
royal inquisitor. Henceforth, it had become impossible to soothe, to
flatter him, and divert his attention by adroit excitements. Consuelo
felt that the _rôle_ did not suit her, that she would play it badly,
especially if it was true that Frederick had a taste for her, or if any
one thought to debase majesty by connecting it by means of the word
love, with an actress. Uneasy and troubled, Consuelo coldly thanked the
king for his great kindness, when, at once, his countenance changed, and
became morose as it had been the reverse.
"What is the matter?" said he: "are you in an ill humor? are you sick?
Why do you call me _sire?_ Does my visit disturb any love affair?"
"No, sire," said the young girl, resuming her calmness and frankness. "I
have neither love affair nor love."
"Very well. If that were the case, it would not matter. I only wish you,
however, to own it."
"Own it! The captain certainly means that I should confide it to him?"
"Explain the difference."
"The captain understands."
"As you will. To distinguish, however, is not to reply. If you be in
love, I would like to know it."
"I do not see why----"
"You do not understand? Then look me in the face--you look very wild
to-day."
"Captain, it seems to me that you are the king. They say that when he
questions a criminal, he reads in the white of his eyes what he wishes
to ascertain. Believe me, such fancies become no one else; and, even if
he were to come to treat me so, I would bid him mind his own business."
"That is to say, you would say, 'away with you, sire.'"
"Why not? The king should be either on horseback, or on his throne; and
if he were to return to me, I would be right not to put up with such
behavior."
"You would be right, yet you do not answer me. You will not make me a
confidant of your amours."
"I have often told you, baron, I have no amours----"
"Yes, in ridicule; because I asked you the question in the same manner.
If, however, I speak seriously----"
"My answer would be the same."
"Do you know that you are a strange person?"
"Why?"
"Because, you are the only woman in the theatre who is not either over
head and ears in love, or busied with gallantry."
"You have a bad opinion of actresses, captain."
"Not so. I have known some very prudent ones; but they always aspired to
great matches. No one knows what you think."
"I think I must sing this evening."
"Then you live from day to day."
"At present, I cannot act otherwise."
"It was not always so?"
"No, sir."
"You have loved?"
"Yes, sir."
"Really?"
"Yes, sir."
"What has become of your lover?"
"Dead."
"But you are consoled?"
"No."
"But you will be?"
"I fear not."
"That is odd. Then you do not wish to marry?"
"I never will."
"And will never love?"
"Never."
"Not even a friend?"
"Not as women understand the phrase."
"Bah! If you were to go to Paris, and Louis XV., that gallant
knight----"
"I do not like kings, captain; and, least of all, gallant kings."
"Ah! I understand. You like pages best. A young cavalier like Trenck,
for instance."
"I never thought of his face."
"Yet, you have maintained an acquaintance with him."
"If that be the case, my acquaintance has been pure and honest."
"You confess the fact, then?"
"I have not said so," replied Consuelo, who was afraid, by so simple a
confession, of compromising the princess.
"Do you deny it, then?"
"Were it the case, I would have no reasons to deny it. Why, however,
does Captain Von Kreutz thus question me? What is all this to him?"
"Apparently, the king is interested in the matter," said Frederick,
taking his hat off abruptly, and placing it on the head of a statue of
a nymph in white marble which stood on a tablet.
"If the king honored me by a visit," said Consuelo, "it would, I think,
be to hear music, (she overcame the terror which took possession of
her,) and I would sing the _Ariana Abandonata_ to him."
"The king is not to be led astray. When he asks a question, he wishes to
be answered clearly and distinctly. What were you doing last night in
the king's palace? You see, the king has a right to act as a master at
your house, since you go to his at improper hours, and without his
permission."
Consuelo trembled from head to foot. Luckily, however, in danger of
every kind, she had a presence of mind which always saved her
miraculously. She remembered that the king often said what was false, to
discover what was true, and that he loved to acquire secrets by surprise
rather than by any other means. "That is a strange charge," said she,
"and I do not know what I can say to it."
"You are not so laconic as you were just now," said the king. "One can
see distinctly that you say what is untrue. You have not been at the
palace? Answer me, yes or no."
"I say no," said Consuelo, boldly preferring the mortification of being
convicted of falsehood, to that of betraying the secret of another.
"Not three hours ago, you left the palace alone."
"Not so," said Consuelo, who regained her presence of mind, by
discovering in the king's face an almost imperceptible expression of
irresolution, and who seemed to enjoy his surprise.
"You have dared to say No, thrice to me," said the king, offended and
enraged.
"I dare say so yet a fourth time, if your majesty wills it." She had
resolved to meet the storm face to face.
"Oh! I know that a woman will stick to a lie, amid agony and torture,
firmly as the first Christians did, when they believed in the truth. Who
will dare flatter himself that he will be able to wrest a sincere reply
from a woman. Hitherto I have respected you, because I fancied you a
solitary exception from the vices of your sex. I thought you neither
bold, impudent, nor an intriguer. I had conceived almost a friendship
for you."
"And now, sire----"
"Do not interrupt me. Now, I have an opinion, the consequences of which
you will feel. If you have had the folly to participate in the petty
palace cabals, to receive misplaced confidences, and render certain
dangerous services, you must not expect to deceive me for a long time,
for I will dismiss you with as much contempt as I received you with
distinction and kindness."
"Sire," said Consuelo, boldly, "as the most sincere and earnest of my
wishes is to leave Prussia, without the slightest care for the cause of
my dismissal, I will receive an order to depart with gratitude."
"Ah! that is your game," said Frederick, in a rage. "You dare to speak
thus!" He lifted his cane as he spoke, precisely as if he would strike
Consuelo. The air of calm contempt with which she looked at him seemed
to recall him to himself, and he regained his presence of mind. He threw
his cane away, and said, with an excited voice: "Listen to me; forget
the claim you have to the gratitude of Captain Kreutz, and speak to the
king with proper respect. If you excite me, I am capable of punishing
you as I would a disobedient child."
"Sire, I know that in your family children have been beaten; and I have
heard that on that account your majesty once ran away. That would be as
easy an example for a Zingara, like myself, to follow, as it was for
Frederick, the Prince Royal, to set. If your majesty does not put me out
of Prussia in twenty-four hours, I will do so on my own authority, if I
leave the kingdom on foot, without a passport, and overleap the ditches
as deserters and smugglers do."
"You are mad," said the king, shrugging his shoulders, and striding
across the room, to conceal his ill-temper and mortification. "I am
delighted for you to go, but it must be without scandal or
precipitation. I am unwilling for you to leave me thus--dissatisfied
with me and with yourself. Whence, in the devil's name, did you get the
impudence you are so richly endowed with? What the devil makes me use
you kindly as I do?"
"You are kind from a feeling of generosity, which your majesty can lay
aside without any scruples. Your majesty fancies yourself under
obligations to me for a service I would, with the same zeal, have
rendered to the humblest of the subjects of Prussia. Let your majesty,
then, think all between us adjusted, and I will esteem the obligation a
thousand times discharged, if I am permitted to go at once. My liberty
will be a sufficient reward--I ask no other."
"Again?" said the king, completely amazed at the hardy obstinacy of the
young girl. "You use the same language--you will not change your
tone--ah! this does not result from courage but from hatred."
"If it were so, would your majesty care at all about it?"
"For heaven's sake, what do you say, my poor child?" said the king, with
a naïve accent. "You do not know what you say. None but a perverse soul
can be insensible to the hatred of its fellows."
"Does Frederick the Great look on Porporina as a fellow being?"
"Virtue and mind alone exalt one being above another. You have genius in
your art. Your conscience must tell you if you be sincere. It does not
know, for your heart is full of venom and resentment."
"If this is the case, has the heart of Frederick no reproaches to make
itself for having enkindled these evil passions in a mind
constitutionally calm and generous?"
"Come, you are angry," said the king, attempting to take the young
girl's hand. He however, withdrew it, under the influence of that
_gaucherie_, which contempt and aversion to women had made him contract.
Consuelo, who had exaggerated her ill-temper to repress in the king's
mind a return of tenderness, which, in spite of all his ill-humor,
seemed ready to break forth, saw how timid he was, and lost all fear
when she saw him thus make advances. It was a singular thing that the
only woman capable of exerting this kind of influence over Frederick,
and it amounted almost to love, was possibly the only one in his kingdom
who would on no account have encouraged him. It is true, that Consuelo's
pride, and repugnance to him, were, perhaps, her chief attractions in
the king's mind. Her rebellious heart tempted the despot as much as the
conquest of a province did, and without being proud of such frivolous
exploits, he felt a kind of admiration and instinctive sympathy for a
character which seemed to bear some resemblance to his own. "Listen,"
said he, putting in his pocket the hand he had extended towards
Consuelo, "tell me no more that I do not care about being hated. You
will make me think I am hated, and that thought would be odious."
"Yet you wish to be feared?"
"Not so; but to be respected."
"Do your corporals win respect by their canes?"
"What do you know about it? What are you talking of? What are you
meddling with?"
"I answer your majesty clearly and distinctly."
"You wish me to ask you to excuse a moment of passion, caused by your
madness."
"Not so. If you were capable of breaking the cane sceptre which rules
Prussia, I would ask your majesty to pick up this stick."
"Bah! When I shall have slightly caressed your shoulders with this, (for
it is a cane given to me by Voltaire). You have twice as much sense.
Listen! I am fond of this cane, but I know I owe you a reparation."
As he spoke, the king took up the cane, and was about to break it. It
was in vain, however, that he pressed it to his knee; the bamboo bent,
but would not break.
"See," said the king, throwing it into the fire, "the cane is not, as
you said, the image of my sceptre. It is like to faithful Prussia, which
bends to my will, but which will not be broken by it. Act thus,
Porporina, and it will be well for you."
"What, then, is your majesty's wish in relation to me? I am, indeed, a
strange person to trouble the equanimity of so great a character?"
"It is my will that you give up your intention of leaving Berlin. Do you
think this offensive?"
The eager and almost passionate glance of Frederick explained this
reparation. Consuelo felt her terrors revive. She said--
"I will not consent. I see I would have to pay too dearly for the honor
of sometimes amusing your majesty by my voice. All here are objects of
suspicion. The lowest and most obscure are liable to be accused. I
cannot live thus."
"Are you dissatisfied with your salary?" said Frederick. "It will be
increased."
"No, sire. I am not avaricious: your majesty is aware of that."
"True. You do not worship money--I must do you that justice. No one
knows what you love!"
"I love liberty, sire."
"And who interferes with that? You seek to make a quarrel, and have no
excuse for doing so. You wish to go--that is plain."
"Yes, sire."
"Yes! Are you resolved?"
"Yes, sire."
"Then, go to the devil!"
The king took up his hat and cane, which, having rolled off the
andirons, had not burnt, and turning his back, went to the door. As he
was about to open it, however, he turned to Consuelo, and his face was
so very sad, so paternally distressed, so different, in fact, from the
terrible royal brow, or the bitter skeptic sneer, that the poor girl was
sad and repentant. Having while with Porpora grown used to these
domestic storms, made her forget that in Frederick's feelings towards
her there was something stern and selfish which had never existed in the
heart of her adopted father, which was chastely and generously ardent.
She turned away to hide a fugitive tear, but the eye of the lynx was not
more acute than that of the king. Returning and shaking his cane over
Consuelo again, yet with as much tenderness as if she had been one of
his own children, he said--
"Detestable creature! You have not the least affection for me!"
This he uttered with much emotion, and in a caressing manner.
"You are much mistaken, baron," said the kind Consuelo, who was
fascinated by this half comedy which had so completely atoned for the
brutal rage that preceded it. "I like Captain Von Kreutz as much as I
dislike the King of Prussia."
"Because you do not understand--because you do not comprehend the King
of Prussia. Do not let us talk of him. A day will come when you shall
have lived in this country long enough to know its characters and
necessities--when you will do justice to the man who forces it to be
ruled as it should be. In the interim, be kinder to the poor baron, who
is desperately weary of the court and courtiers, and who seeks here
something of calm and repose, from association with a pure and candid
mind. I was enabled to enjoy it but one hour, yet you had made me
quarrel. I will come again, if you will promise to receive me better. I
will bring Mopsula to amuse you; and if you are good-natured, I will
make you a present of a little white greyhound she now suckles. You must
take great care if it. Ah, I forgot! I have brought you verses of my
own, which you must make an accompaniment for, and which my sister
Amelia will like to sing."
The king went away kindly enough, after having once or twice turned back
to speak familiarly to and caress Consuelo in many whimsical ways. He
could talk of trifles when he pleased, though usually his phraseology
was concise, energetic, and full of sense. No man had more of what may
be called depth in his conversation; and nothing was rarer at that time
than seriousness in familial intercourse. With Consuelo, especially, he
wished to appear good-natured, and succeeded in seeming to be, much to
her surprise. When he was gone she was, as usual, sorry that she had not
succeeded in disgusting him with her, and thus terminating his dangerous
visits. The king, too, was half dissatisfied with himself. He loved
Consuelo as well as it was his nature, and wished really to inspire her
with admiration and a reality of the attachment his false friends
pretended to feel. He would have given much (and he did not like to
give) to have been once in his life loved, freely and frankly. But he
felt that it was difficult to reconcile this with the authority he was
unwilling to part with. Like a cat who sports with a mouse that is
anxious to flee, he did not know whether to let her loose or to strangle
her.
"She goes too far, and this cannot end well," said he, as he got into
his carriage. "I shall be forced to make her commit some fault, that
discipline may subdue her fiery courage. Yet I had rather dazzle and
govern her by the influence I exert over so many others. I must succeed,
if I am prudent, and the trouble both irritates and excites me. We will
see. One thing is sure, she must not go now, to boast that she has told
me the truth with impunity. No: when she goes, she must either be
crushed or conquered."
And then the king, who, as may well be believed, had many other things
on his mind, opened a book to avoid losing five minutes in careless
thought, and got out of his carriage without remembering the state of
mind in which he entered it.
Porporina, weary and unhappy, was anxious much longer about the danger
of her situation. She blamed herself much with not having insisted on
going, and with having tacitly consented to remain. She was roused from
her meditation, however, by the reception of money and letters which
Madame Von Kleist sent through her to the Count de Saint Germain.
All this was for Trenck, and Consuelo became responsible for it. She was
also to play the part of his mistress, as a means of concealing the
secret of the Abbess of Quedlimburgh. Thus she saw herself in a
dangerous and annoying position, especially as she did not feel greatly
at ease in relation to the fidelity of the mysterious beings with whom
she was associated, and who seemed determined to involve themselves in
her own secrets. She then began to prepare a disguise for the opera
ball, a rendezvous for which she had made with the Count de St. Germain.
All this time, she said to herself she stood on the brink of an abyss.