"Minutely informed of all that had passed at the Giants' Castle, I had
no sooner resolved to make Albert travel, and determined on the road
that he should adopt, than I hurried to place myself on his route. This
was the epoch of the travels of which I spoke to you just now, and
Marcus accompanied me in many of them. The governor and servants who
were with him had never known me, and I was not afraid to see them. So
anxious was I to meet my son, that I had much difficulty to restrain
myself as I travelled behind him, for some hours, until he reached
Venice, where he was to make his first halt. I was resolved, though, not
to show myself to him without a kind of mysterious solemnity, for my
object was not only the gratification of the maternal instinct which
impelled me to his arms, but a more serious purpose, really a mother's
duty. I wished to wrest Albert from the narrow superstitions in which it
had been sought to enwrap him. I wished to take possession of his
imagination, of his confidence, of his mind, and whole soul. I thought
him a fervent Catholic, and at that time he was, in appearance. He
practised regularly all the external obligations of the Roman creed. The
persons who had informed Albert of these details, were ignorant of what
passed in my son's heart. His father and aunt were scarcely better
informed. They found nothing but a savage strictness to shelter, and
blamed merely his too strict and rigid manner of interpreting the bible.
They did not understand that in his rigid logic and loyal candor my
noble child, devoted to the practice of true _Christianity_, had already
become a passionate and incorrigible heretic. I was rather afraid of the
Jesuit tutor who was with him. I was afraid that I could not approach
him without being observed and annoyed by a fanatical Argus. I soon
learned that the base Abbé ***** did not even attend to his health, and
that Albert, neglected by the valets, of whom he was unwilling to
require anything, lived almost alone and uncontrolled in the cities he
had visited. I observed his motions with great anxiety. Lodging at
Venice in the same hotel with him, I frequently met him, alone and
musing, on the stairway, in the galleries, and on _quais._ Ah! you
cannot imagine how my heart beat at his approach--how my bosom heaved,
and what torrents of tears escaped from my terrified yet delighted eyes!
To me he seemed so handsome, so noble, and alas! so sad, for he was all
on earth that I was permitted to love. I followed him with precaution.
Night came, and he entered the church of Saints John and Paul, an
austere basilica filled with tombs, and with which you are doubtless
acquainted. Albert knelt in a corner. I glided near him and placed
myself behind a tomb. The church was deserted, and the darkness became
every moment more intense. Albert was motionless as a statue. He seemed
rather to be enwrapped in reverie than prayer. The lamp of the sanctuary
but feebly lighted up his features. He was pale and I was terrified. His
fixed eye, his half-open lips, an indescribable air of desperation in
his features, crushed my heart. I trembled like the oscillating flame of
a lamp. It seemed to me, if I revealed myself to him then, he would fall
dead. I remembered what Marcus had said to me of his nervous
susceptibility, and of the danger to such organizations of abrupt
emotions. I left, to avoid yielding to my love. I went to wait for him
under the portico. I had put over my dress, which was itself simple and
dark, a brown cloak, the hood of which concealed my face, and made me
resemble a native of the country. When he came out I involuntarily went
towards him; thinking me a beggar, he took a piece, of gold from his
pocket and handed it to me. Oh! with what pride and gratitude did I
receive this gold. Look! Consuelo: it is a Venetian sequin, and I always
wear it in my bosom like a precious jewel or relic. It has never left me
since the day the hand of my child sanctified it. I could not repress my
transport. I seized his hand and bore it to my lips. He withdrew in
terror, for it was bedewed with my tears. 'What are you about, woman?'
said he, in a voice the pure and deep tone of which echoed in the very
bottom of my heart. 'Why thank me for so small a gift? Doubtless you are
very unfortunate, and I have given you very little. How much will
relieve you from suffering permanently? Speak! I wish to console you; I
hope I can.' He then, without looking at it, gave me all the gold he had
in his hands.
"'You have given me enough, young man,' said I; 'I am satisfied.'
"'Why, then, do you weep?' said he, observing the sobs which stifled my
voice. 'Do you suffer from a sorrow to which riches cannot administer?'
"'No,' said I; 'but from gratification and joy.'
"'Joy!--are these, then, tears of joy? and can they be had for a piece
of gold? Oh! human misery! Woman, take all, I beg you, but do not weep
for joy! Think of your fellows, so poor, so numerous, so degraded and
miserable, and remember, I cannot aid them all.'
"He left me with a sigh. I did not dare to follow, for fear of betraying
myself. He had left his gold on the pavement, where he let it fall in
his hurry to get rid of me. I picked it up, and placed it in the
poor-box, to fulfil his noble charity. On the next day I saw him again,
and having watched him go into St. Mark's, determined to be more calm
and resolved. We were again alone, in the half obscurity of the church.
He mused long, and all at once I heard him murmur in a deep tone as he
arose--
"'O, Christ! they crucify thee every day of their lives!'
"'Yes,' said I, reading half of his thoughts, 'the Pharisees and the
doctors of the laws.'
"He trembled and was silent for a moment. He then said, in a low tone,
and without turning--
"'My mother's voice again!'
"Consuelo, I was near fainting, when I saw that Albert yet maintained in
his heart the instinct of filial divination. The fear, however, of
troubling his reason, which was already so excited, made me pause again.
I went to the porch to wait for him, but when I saw him pass I did not
approach him. He perceived me, however, and shrunk back with a movement
of terror.
"'Signora,' said he, with hesitation, 'why do you beg to-day? Is it,
then, really a profession, as the pitiless rich say? Have you no family?
Can you be of use to no one, instead of wandering through the churches
at night like a spectre? What I gave yesterday would certainly have kept
you from want to-day. Would you take possession of what belongs to your
brethren?'
"'I do not beg,' I said; 'I placed your alms in the poor-box, with the
exception of one sequin I kept for love of you.'
"'Who, then, are you?' said he, taking hold of my arm. 'Your voice
reaches the very depth of my heart. It seems to me that I know you. Show
me your face. But no, I do not wish to see it. It terrifies me!'
"'Oh, Albert!' said I, forgetting myself and all prudence; 'so you also
fear me.'
"He trembled from head to foot, and murmured with an expression of
terror and religious respect--
"'Yes--it is my mother! My mother's voice!'
"'I do not know your mother,' said I, terrified at my imprudence. 'I
know your name only because it is so familiar to every pauper. Why do I
terrify you? Is your mother dead?'
"'They say so; but I know better,' said he. 'She lives.'
"'Where?'
"'In my heart!--in my mind!--continually and eternally! I have dreamed
of her voice and features a hundred--a thousand times!'
"I was terrified and charmed at his mysterious love of me. I saw in him,
however, unmistakable signs of craziness. To soothe him I overcame my
emotion.
"'Albert,' I said, 'I knew your mother. I was her friend. I was
requested by her to speak to you some day, when you were old enough to
comprehend what I had to say. I am not what I appear to be. I followed
you yesterday and also to-day for the purpose only of speaking to you.
Listen to me, therefore, calmly, and do not suffer yourself to be
disturbed by vain fancies. Will you go with me beneath those colonades,
which now are deserted, and talk with me? Are you sufficiently calm and
collected for that?'
"'Were you the friend of my mother?' said he. 'Were you requested to
speak to me? Ah! yes! Speak!--speak! You see I was not mistaken. An
inward voice informed me of all. I saw that something of her existed in
you. No--I am not superstitious. I am not mad. My heart is only much
more alive and accessible than others, in relation to certain things
which they neither understand nor comprehend. This you would know, had
you known my mother. Speak to me, then, of her. Speak to me, with her
mind--with her intellect.'
"Having thus but very imperfectly succeeded in soothing his emotion, I
took him beneath the arcades, and questioned him about his childhood,
his recollections, the principles which had been instilled in him, and
the ideas he had formed of his mother's opinions. The questions I put
satisfied him that I was well informed of his family affairs, and
capable of understanding the impulses of his heart. How enthusiastically
proud was I, my daughter, to see the deep and ardent love Albert
entertained for me, the faith he had in my piety and virtue, and his
horror of the _pious_ hatred the Catholics of Riesenberg had for my
memory! I rejoiced in the purity of his soul, the grandeur of his
religious and patriotic sentiment, and in the many sublime ideas which a
Catholic education had not been able to stifle in him. How great,
however, was the grief, the precocious and incurable sadness which
already crushed his young heart. The same kind of sorrows, that had so
soon crushed him has broken my heart. Albert fancied himself a Catholic.
He did not dare to place himself in open revolt against the Catholic
Church, and felt a necessity of believing in the established church.
Better informed and more thoughtful than his age suggested (he was only
twenty), he had reflected much on the long and sad histories of
heresies, and could not make up his mind to find fault with certain
doctrines. Forced also to think that the innovators, so libelled by
ecclesiastical historians, had gone far astray, he floated in a sea of
uncertainty, sometimes condemning revolt, and anon finding fault with
tyranny. He could decide on nothing, except that good men, in their
attempts at reform, had gone astray, and that others had sullied the
sanctuary they sought to defend.
"It became necessary to enlighten his mind, to combat the excesses of
both armies, to teach him to embrace boldly the defence of the
innovators, while he deplored their errors--to exhort him to abandon the
party of cunning, violence, and timidity, while he recognised the
excellence of a certain mission in remote time. I had no difficulty in
enlightening him. He had already foreseen, divined, and resolved on all
before I spoke to him. His instincts had fulfilled all wished. When he
understood me, a grief more overwhelming than uncertainty took
possession of his soul. The truth was unknown in the world. The law of
God enlightened no sanctuary, no people, no caste. No school practised
Christian virtue, nor sought to elevate and demonstrate it. Protestants
as well as Catholics had abandoned the divine ways. The law of the
stronger existed everywhere, and Christ was crucified every day on
altars erected by men. This sad though interesting conversation consumed
the whole night. The clocks slowly struck the hours without Albert's
thinking of counting them. I felt alarmed at his power of intellectual
tension, as it made me aware of his great passion for strife and
capacity for sorrow. I admired the manly pride and the lacerated
expression of my noble and unfortunate child. I felt myself reproduced
in him. I fancied that I read the story of my past life, and in him
resumed the history of the long tortures of my own heart and brain. I
saw in his broad brow, which was lighted up by the moon, the useless
external and the moral beauty of my own lonely and unappreciated youth.
I wept at the same time for him and for myself. His tears were long and
painful. I did not dare to unfold to him the secrets of our conspiracy.
I feared that at first he would not understand them, and that he would
reject them as vain and idle. Uneasy at seeing him walking up and down
for so long a time, I promised to show him a place of safety, if he
would consent to wait, and prepare himself for certain revelations. I
gently excited his imagination by the hope of a new confidence, and took
him to an hotel, where we both supped. I did not give him the promised
confidence for some days, fearing an over excitement of his mental
faculties.
"Just as he was about to quit me, it struck him to ask me who I was. 'I
cannot tell you,' said I; 'my name is assumed, and I have reasons to
conceal it. Speak of me to no one.'
"He asked no other question, and seemed satisfied with my answer. His
delicate reserve, however, was accompanied by another sentiment, strange
as his character and sombre as his mental habits. He told me long
afterwards that he had always taken me for the soul of his mother,
appearing under a real form, with circumstances the vulgar could not
understand, and which were really supernatural. Thus, in spite of all I
could do, Albert would recognise me. He preferred rather to invent a
fantastic world than to doubt my presence, and I could not deceive the
victorious instinct of his heart. All my efforts to repress his
excitement had no other effect than to fix him in a kind of calm
delirium, which had no confidant nor opposer, not even in myself, its
object. He submitted religiously to the will of the spectre, which
forbade itself to be known or named, yet he would believe himself under
its influence.
"From this terrible tranquillity--which Albert henceforth bore in all
the wanderings of his imagination, from the sombre and stoical courage
which made him always gaze, without growing pale, at the prodigies
begotten by his imagination--I fell, for a long time, into an unhappy
error. I was not aware of the strange idea he had formed relative to my
apparition. I thought that he looked on me as a mysterious friend of his
dead mother and of his own youth. I was amazed, it is true, at the
little curiosity he exhibited, and the small surprise he displayed at my
constant care. This blind respect, this delicate submission, this
absence of uneasiness about the realities of life, appeared so perfectly
in consonance with his retired, dreaming, and meditative character, that
I did not think proper to account for or examine into its secret causes.
While thus toiling to fortify his mind against the excess of his
enthusiasm, I aided, ignorantly, in the development of that kind of
madness which was at once so sublime and deplorable, and to which he was
so long a victim.
"Gradually, after many conversations, of which there were neither
confidants nor witnesses, I explained to him the doctrines of which our
order is the depository and the secret diffuser. I initiated him into
our plan of general reform. At Rome, in the caverns appropriated to our
mysteries, Marcus introduced and had him admitted to the first grades of
masonry, reserving to himself the right of revealing to him the meaning
of the strange and fantastic signs, the interpretation of which is so
easily changed and adapted to the courage and intelligence of the
candidates. For six years, I accompanied my son in all his journeys,
always leaving cities a day after, and coming to them when he had fixed
himself. I took care always to reside at some distance from him, and did
not suffer either his tutor or valets to see me; he taking care also to
change them frequently, and to keep them always at a distance. I once
asked him if he was not surprised to find me everywhere?
"'Oh, no,' said he, 'I am well aware that you will always follow me.'
"When I sought to explain to him the motive of this confidence, he said:
"'My mother bade you restore me to life; and you know, did you now
desert me, I would die.'
"He always spoke in an exaggerated and inspired manner, and I too, from
talking with him, acquired the same style. Marcus often reproached me--I
likewise reproached myself--with having fed the internal flame which
consumed Albert. Marcus wished to give him more positive instruction,
and to use a more palpable logic to him; at other times, however, I was
satisfied, that but for the manner in which I counselled him, this flame
would have consumed him more rapidly and certainly. My other children
had exhibited the same disposition to enthusiasm. Their souls had been
repressed, and they had toiled to stifle them--like torches, the
brilliancy of which was dangerous. They yielded, because they had no
power to resist. But for my breath, which revived and gave air to the
sacred spark, Albert, too, had gone to join his brethren; as I, but for
Marcus, would have died without having truly lived. I also sought to
distract his soul by a constant aspiration after the ideal. I advised
him, I forced him to rigid study, and he obeyed me strictly and
conscientiously. He studied the natural sciences, the languages of the
different countries through which he travelled; he read a great deal,
cultivated the arts even, and, without any master, devoted himself to
music. All this was a mere amusement, a repose to his vast and powerful
mind. A stranger to all the intoxications of his age, opposed to the
world and all its vanities, he lived in perfect seclusion, and
obstinately resisted the tutor, persisting in refusing to enter any
saloon or be introduced at any court. With difficulty would he consent
to see, at two or three capitals, the oldest and most affectionate
friends of his father. When with them, he was grave and dignified as
possible, giving no one reason to complain; but he was intimate only
with a few adepts of our order, to whom Marcus especially introduced
him. He requested us not to ask him to enlist with the _propaganda_,
until he became aware that the gift of suasion had arisen in his heart,
and he often declared frankly that he had it not, because as yet he did
not entertain implicit faith in our means. He passed from grade to
grade, like a docile pupil, yet he examined everything with a severe
logic and scrupulous truth, reserving always as he told me, the right to
propose reforms and ameliorations to us, when he should feel
sufficiently enlightened to yield to personal inspiration. Until then,
he wished to be humble, patient, and submissive to the established forms
of our secret society. Plunged in study and meditation, he made his
tutor respect the nervousness of his character and the coldness of his
behavior. The abbé then learned to look on him as a sad pedant, and to
have as little as possible to do with him, in order to have more liberty
to participate in the intrigues of his order. Albert lived long in
France and England without him: he was often a hundred leagues from him,
and only met him when my son wished to visit another country; often they
did not travel together. At such times I could see Albert as often as I
pleased, and his devoted tenderness paid me five-fold for the care I
took of him. My health became better, as often happens to constitutions
thoroughly shaken: I became so used to sickness, that I did not even
suffer from it. Fatigue, late hours, long conversations, harassing
journeys, instead of oppressing, maintained a slow and tedious fever,
which had now become my normal state. Feeble and trembling as you see
me, there are no journeys and no fatigue that I cannot bear better than
you, in the very flower of your youth. Agitation has become my element,
and I find rest as I hurry on, precisely as professional couriers have
learned to sleep while their horses are at the gallop.
"The experience of what a powerful and energetic mind, though in a
diseased body, can accomplish, made me have more confidence in the power
of Albert. I became used to see him sometimes weary and crushed, and
again animated and excited, as I was. Often we bore together the same
physical pain, the result of the same moral emotion. Never, perhaps, was
our intimacy more gentle and close, than when the same fever burned in
our veins, and the same excitement confounded our feeble sighs, now many
times has it seemed that we were one being! How many times have we
broken silence merely to address to each other the same words! How
often, agitated and crushed in different manners, have we, by a clasp of
the hand, communicated languor or agitation to each other! How much good
and evil have we known together! Oh, my son! my only passion! flesh of
my flesh, and bone of my bone! what tempests have we passed through,
covered by the same celestial ægis! what devastation have we escaped by
clinging to each other, and by pronouncing the same formula of safety,
love, truth, and justice!
"We were in Poland, on the frontiers of Turkey, and Albert, having
passed through all the initiations of masonry, and the superior grades
of the society which forms the link of the chain next to our own, was
about to go to that part of Germany where we are, in order that he might
be introduced to the secret bench of the Invisibles. Count Christian
just then sent for him. This was a thunderbolt to me. My son, in spite
of all the care I had taken to keep him from forgetting my family, loved
it only as a tender recollection of the past. He did not understand the
possibility of living any longer with it. It did not enter, however,
into our minds to resist this order, dictated with cold dignity, and
with confidence in paternal authority, as it is interpreted in the
Catholic and noble families of our country. Albert prepared to leave
me--he knew not for how long a time, yet without fancying that he would
not see me shortly, and unite with Marcus the ties of our association.
Albert had a small idea of time, and still less an appreciation of the
material events of life.
"'Do we part?' said he, when he saw me weep. 'We cannot. Often as I have
called on you from the depths of my heart, you have come. I will call
you again.'
"'Albert--Albert--I cannot accompany you where you go now.'
"He grew pale and clung to me like a terrified child. The time was come
to reveal my secret. 'I am not the soul of your mother,' said I, after a
brief preamble, 'but _your mother!_"
"'Why do you say that?' said he, with a strange smile. 'Think you I did
not know it? Are we not alike? Have I not seen your portrait at the
Giants' Castle? Have I forgotten you? Besides, have I not always seen
and known you?'
"'And you were not surprised to see me alive, when all thought me buried
at the Giants' Castle?'
"'No,' said he, 'I was not surprised. I was too happy. God has
miraculous power, and men need not be amazed at it.'
"The strange child had more difficulty in understanding the terrible
realities of my story, than the miracle he had fancied. He had believed
in my resurrection, as in that of Christ. He had fancied my doctrines
about the transmission of life to be literal, and believed in it to the
fullest sense. That is to say, he was not amazed to see me preserve the
certainty of my identity, after having laid aside one body to deck me
with another. I am not certain, even, if I satisfied him that my life
had not been interrupted by my fainting, and that my mortal envelope had
not remained in the tomb. He listened to me with a wondering and yet
excited physiognomy, as if he had heard me speak other words than those
I had uttered. Something inexplicable at that moment passed in his mind.
A terrible link yet retained Albert on the brink of the abyss. Real life
could not animate him, until he had passed through that crisis from
which I had been so miraculously rescued--this apparent death, which in
him was to be the last effort of eternity, struggling against the hold
of time. My heart seemed ready to burst as I left him. A painful
presentiment vaguely informed me that he was about to enter that phase
which might almost be called climacteric, which had so violently shaken
my own existence, and that the time was not far distant when Albert
would either be annihilated or renewed. I had observed that he had a
tendency to catalepsy. He had under my observation accesses of
slumber--long, deep, and terrible. His respiration was weak, his pulse
so feeble that I never ceased to write or say to Marcus, 'Let us never
bury Albert, or else let us never be afraid to open his tomb.'
Unfortunately for us, Marcus could not go to the Giants' Castle, being
excluded from the territories of the Empire. He had been deeply
compromised by an insurrection at Prague; to which, indeed, his
influence had not been foreign. He had by flight only escaped from the
stern Austrian laws. A prey to uneasiness, I came hither. Albert had
promised to write to me every day, and I resolved also, as soon as I
failed to receive a letter, to go to Bohemia, and appear at Riesenberg
in spite of all difficulties.
"The grief he felt at our separation was not less than mine. He did not
understand what was going on. He did not seem to believe me. When,
however, he had gone beneath that roof, the very air of which appears to
be a poison to the burning hearts of the descendants of Ziska, he
received a terrible shock. He hurried to the room I had always occupied.
He called me, and not seeing me come, became persuaded that I had died
again, and would not be restored to him during the present life. Thus,
at least, he explained to me what passed at that fatal moment, when his
reason was shaken so violently that it did not recover for years. He
looked at my picture for a long time. After all, a portrait is but an
imperfect resemblance, and the peculiar sentiment the artist seizes and
preserves is always inferior to that entertained by those who love us
ardently; no likeness can please them; they are alternately afflicted
and offended. Albert, when he compared this representation of my youth
and beauty, did not recognise his dear old mother in the grey hair which
seemed so venerable, and the paleness which appealed to his heart. He
hurried in terror from the portrait, and met his relations, sombre,
silent and afraid. He went to my tomb, and was attacked with vertigo and
terror. To him the idea of death appeared monstrous; yet to console him
his father had said I was there, and that he must kneel and pray for the
repose of my soul.
"'Repose?' said Albert, without reflection, 'Repose of the soul! My
mother's soul was not formed for such annihilation; neither was mine. We
will neither of us rest in the grave. Never--never! This Catholic
cavern, these sealed sepulchres, this desertion of life, this divorce of
heaven and earth, body and soul, horrifies me!'"
By similar conversation Albert began to fill the timid and simple heart
of his father with terror. His words were reported to the chaplain to be
explained. This feeble man saw nothing in it but the outbreak of a soul
doomed to eternal damnation. The superstitions fear which was diffused
in the minds of all around Albert, the efforts of the family to lead him
to return to the Catholic faith, tortured him, and his excitement
assumed the unhealthy character you have seen in him. His ideas became
confounded; and although he had seen evidences of my existence, he
forgot that he had known me alive, and I seemed ever a fugitive spectre
ready to abandon him. His fancy evoked this spectre, and inspired him
with incoherent speeches and painful cries. When he became more calm,
his reason was, as it were, veiled in a cloud. He had forgotten recent
things, and was satisfied he had been dreaming for eight years, or
rather those eight years of happiness and life seemed to be the creation
of an hour of slumber.
"Receiving no letter, I was about to hurry to him. Marcus retained me.
He said the post-office department intercepted our letters, or that the
Rudolstadts suppressed them. My son was represented by his family, calm,
well and happy. You know how sedulously his situation was concealed, and
with what success, for a long time.
"In his travels Albert had known young Trenck, and was bound to him by
the warmest friendship. Trenck, loved by the Princess of Prussia and
persecuted by Frederick, wrote to my son of his joys and misfortunes. He
requested him to come to Dresden to give him the benefit of his aid and
arm. Albert made this journey, and no sooner had he left Riesenberg than
he regained memory and mind. Trenck met my son amid the neophytes of the
Invisibles. There they were made members of a chivalric fraternity.
Having learned from Marcus of their intended interview, I hurried to
Dresden, followed him to Prussia, where he introduced himself into the
Royal Palace in disguise, to serve Trenck's love and fulfil a mission
confided to him by the Invisibles. Marcus thought this activity and the
knowledge of a useful and generous _rôle_ might rescue Albert from his
dangerous melancholy. He was right, for while among us Albert again
became attached to life. Marcus, on his return, wished to bring and keep
him for some time here, amid the real chiefs of the order. He was
convinced that by breathing the true vital atmosphere of a superior
soul, Albert would recover the lucidness of his mind. On the route he
met the impostor Cagliostro, and was imprudently initiated by the
rose-crosses in some of their mysteries. Albert, who long had received
the _rose-cross_, now passed that grade and presided over their
mysteries as Grand-Master. He then saw what, as yet, he had but a
presentiment of. He saw the various elements of which masonic
associations are composed, and distinguished the error, folly, emptiness
and vanity which filled these sanctuaries, already a prey to the vices
of the century. Cagliostro, by means of his police, which was ever
watchful for the petty secrets of the world, which he feigned were the
revelations of a familiar demon, by means of his captious eloquence,
which parodied the great revolutionary inspirations, by the surprising
tricks which enabled him to evoke shadows, and by his intrigues,
horrified the noble adept. The credulity of the world, the low
superstition of a large number of freemasons, the shameless cupidity
excited by promises of the philosopher's stone, and so many other
miseries of the age we live in had kindled a fire in his heart. Amid his
retreat and study he had not distinctly understood the human race. He
was not prepared to contend with all its bad instincts. He could not
suffer such misery. He wished all charlatans and sorcerers to be
unmasked and expelled shamelessly from our temples. He was aware that
the degrading association of Cagliostro must be submitted to, because it
was too late to get rid of him, and because his anger might deprive them
of many estimable friends, and that, flattered by their protection and
an appearance of confidence, he might do real service to a cause with
which he was in fact unacquainted.
"Albert became indignant, and uttered the anathema of a firm and ardent
mind, against our enterprise. He foretold that we would fail, because we
had mixed too much alloy with the golden chain. He left us, saying, that
he would reflect on the things the necessity of which we strove to make
him understand, in relation to the terrible necessities of conspiracies,
and that he would come to ask for baptism when his poignant doubts were
relieved. Alas! we did not know the character of his reflections at
Riesenberg. He did not tell us; perhaps when their bitterness was
passed, he did not remember them. He passed a year there, in alternate
calm and madness, exuberant power and painful decay. He wrote sometimes,
without mentioning his sorrows and troubles. He bitterly opposed our
political course. He wished us thenceforth not to seek to work in the
shade and deceive men, to make them swallow the cup of regeneration.
'Cast aside your black masks,' said he; 'leave your caverns, efface from
the front of your temple the word _mystery_, which you borrowed from the
Roman church, and which ill befits the coming age. Do you not see you
are imitators of the Jesuits? No, I cannot toil with you. It is to look
for life amid carcases. Show yourself by daylight. Do not lose a
precious moment for the organization of your army. Rely on its
enthusiasm, on the sympathy of the people, and the outbursts of generous
instincts. An army, even, becomes corrupted in repose, and a _ruse_,
employed for concealment also deprives us of the power and activity
required for the strife. Albert was right in theory, but the time was
not come to put it in action. That time, perhaps, is yet far distant.
"You at last came to Riesenberg, and found him in the greatest distress.
You know, or rather you do not know, what influence you exerted on him.
You made him forget all but yourself--you gave him, as it were, a new
life and death.
"When he fancied that all between you and him was over, all his power
abandoned him, and he suffered himself to waste away. Until then, I was
not aware of the true nature and intensity of his suffering. The
correspondent of Marcus said, the Giants' Castle became more and more
closed to profane eyes, that Albert never left it, and passed with the
majority of persons as a monomaniac; that the poor, nevertheless, loved
and blessed him, and that some persons of superior mind having seen him,
on their departure did homage to his eloquence, his lofty wisdom and his
vast ideas. At last I heard that Supperville had been sent for, and I
hurried to Riesenberg, in spite of Marcus's protests. Being prepared to
risk all, Marcus seeing me resolved, determined to accompany me. We
reached the walls of the castle in the disguise of beggars. For
twenty-seven years I had not been seen--Marcus had been away ten. They
gave us alms and drove us away. We met a friend and unexpected savior in
poor Zdenko. He treated us as brothers, because he knew how dear we were
to Albert. We knew how to talk to him in the language that pleased his
enthusiasm, and revealed to him the secrets of the mortal grief of his
friend. Zdenko was not the only madman by whom our life has been
menaced. Oppressed and downcast, he came as we did to the gate of the
castle, to ask news of Albert, and, like us, he was repelled with vain
words which were most distressing to our anguish. By a strange
coincidence with the visions of Albert, Zdenko said he had known me; I
had appeared to him in his dreams and ecstasies, and without being able
to account for it, abandoned his will fully to me. 'Woman,' said he, 'I
do not know your name, but you are the good angel of my Podiebrad. I
have often seen him draw your face on paper, and heard him describe your
voice, look, and manner, when he was well, when heaven opened before
him, and he saw around his bed persons who are, as men say, no more.'
Far from opposing Zdenko, I encouraged him; I flattered his illusion,
and induced him to receive us in the Cavern of Tears.
"When I saw this underground abode, and learned that my son had lived
weeks there, aye, even months, unknown to the whole world, I saw how sad
must be his thoughts. I saw a tomb to which Zdenko seemed to pay a kind
of worship, and not without great difficulty could I learn its
destination. It was the greatest secret of Albert and Zdenko, and their
chief mystery. 'Alas!' said the madman, 'there we buried Wanda of
Prachalitz, the mother of my Albert. She would not remain in that chapel
where they had fastened her down in stone. Her bones trembled and shook,
and those (he pointed to the ossuary of the Taborites, near the spring
in the cavern) reproached us for not placing hers with them. We went to
that sacred tomb, which we brought hither, and every day covered it with
flowers and kisses.' Terrified at this circumstance, the consequences of
which might lead to the discovery of our secret, Marcus questioned
Zdenko, and ascertained that the coffin had been brought hither without
being opened. Albert, however, had been sick, and so far astray that he
could not remember my being alive, and persisted in treating me as dead.
Was not this through a dream of Zdenko? I could not believe my ears.
'Oh! my friend,' said I to Marcus, 'if the light of reason be thus
extinguished forever, may God grant him the boon of death!'
"Having thus possessed myself of all Zdenko's secrets, we knew that he
could pass through the underground galleries and unknown passages into
the Giants' Castle. We followed him one night, and waited at the
entrance of the cistern until he had glided into the house. He returned
laughing and singing, to tell us that Albert was cured and asleep, and
that they had dressed him in his robes and coronet. I fell as if I were
stricken by lightning, for I knew that Albert was dead. Thenceforth, I
was insensible, and I found myself, when I awoke, in a burning fever. I
lay on bear skins and dry leaves in the underground room Albert had
inhabited in the Schreckenstein. Zdenko and Marcus watched me
alternately. The one said, with an air of pride, that his Podiebrad was
cured, and soon would come to see me: the other, pale and sad, observed,
'Perhaps all is not lost; let us not abandon the hope of such a miracle
as rescued you from the grave.' I did not understand any longer: I was
delirious, and wished to run, cry, and shout. I could not, however, and
the desolate Marcus, seeing me in such a state, had neither time nor
disposition to attend to anything serious. All his mind and thoughts
were occupied by an anxiety which was most terrible. At last, one night,
the third of my attack, I became calm, and regained my strength. I tried
to collect my ideas, and arose; I was alone in the cave which was dimly
lighted by a solitary sepulchral lamp. I wished to go out--where were
Marcus and Zdenko? Memory returned; I uttered a cry, which the icy
vaults echoed back so lugubriously, that cold perspiration streamed down
my brow, which was damp as the dew of the grave. Again I fancied that I
was buried alive. What had passed? What was going on? I fell on my
knees, and wrung my hands in despair. I called furiously on Albert. At
last, I heard slow and irregular steps, as if persons with a burden,
approach. A dog barked, and having preceded them, scratched at the door.
It was opened, and I saw Zdenko and Marcus bearing the stiff, discolored
body of Albert, for to all appearance he was dead. His dog Cynabre
followed and licked his hands, which hung loosely by his side. Zdenko
sang sadly an improvised song, 'Come, sleep on the bosom of your mother,
poor friend, who have been so long without repose. Sleep until dawn,
when we will awaken you to see the sun rise.'
"I rushed to my son.
"'He is not dead,' said I. 'O Marcus, you have saved him!--have you not?
He is not dead? Will he recover?'
"'Madame,' said he, 'do not flatter yourself,'--and he spake with a
strange firmness. 'I know not what may be the result. Take courage,
however, whatever may betide. Help me, and forget yourself.'
"I need not tell you what care we took to restore Albert. Thank Heaven
there was a stove in the room, at which we warmed him.
"'See,' said I to Marcus, 'his hands are warm.'
"'Marble may be heated,' was his unpromising reply. 'That is not life.
His heart is inert as a stone.'
"Terrible hours rolled by in this expectation and despair. Marcus knelt
with his ear close to my son's heart. His face betokened sad distress
when he found there was not the slightest index of life. Exhausted and
trembling, I dared not say one word or ask one question. I examined
Marcus's terrible brow. I was at one time afraid to look at him, as I
fancied I had read the first sentence.
"Zdenko played with Cynabre in a corner, and continued to sing. He
sometimes paused to tell us that we annoyed Albert; that we must let him
sleep; that he had seen him so for weeks together; and that he would
awaken of himself. Marcus suffered greatly from this assurance, in which
he could not confide. I had faith in it, and was inspired by it. The
madman had a celestial inspiration, an angelic certainty of the truth.
At length I saw an involuntary movement in Marcus's iron face. His
corrugated brow distended, his hand trembled, as he prepared himself for
a new act of courage. He sighed deeply, withdrew his ear, and placed his
hand over my son's heart, which perhaps beat. He tried to speak, but
restrained himself, for fear, it may be, of the chimerical joy it would
inspire me with, leaned forward again, and suddenly rising and stepping
back, fell prostrate, as if he were dying.
"'No more hope?' said I, tearing my hair.
"'Wanda,' said Marcus in a stifled voice, 'your son is alive!'
"Exhausted by the effort of his attention and solicitude, my stoical
friend lay overpowered by the side of Zdenko!"