Overcome by the emotion of such recollections, the Countess Wanda, after
a brief silence, resumed her story.
"We passed several days in the cavern, and my son recovered strength and
activity with wonderful rapidity. Marcus, surprised at discovering the
trace of no organic injury, or great change in the vital system, was
alarmed at his profound silence and his apparent or real indifference to
our transports. Albert had completely lost his memory. Wrapped in deep
study, he in vain made silent efforts to understand what was passing
around him. I was not so impatient as Marcus to see him regain the
poignant recollection of his love, for I knew well that sorrow was the
only cause of his disease, and of the catastrophe which had resulted
from it. Marcus himself said that the effacing of the past alone would
be the means of his regaining strength. His body recovered quickly at
the expense of his mind, which was giving way rapidly beneath the
melancholy effort of his thoughts.
"'He lives, and certainly will live,' said he; 'but will not his mind be
obscured? Let us leave this cavern as soon as possible; air, sunlight,
and exercise will doubtless awaken him from his mental slumber. Let us,
above all things, abandon the false and impassive life which has killed
him: let us leave this family and its society, which crushes his natural
impulses. We will take him among persons who will sympathise with him,
and in company with them his soul will recover its vigor.'
"Could I hesitate? Wandering leisurely towards evening around the
Schreckenstein, where I pretended to ask charity, I learned that Count
Christian had relapsed into a kind of dotage. He had not known of his
son's return, and the prospect of his father's death would certainly
have killed Albert. Was it, then, necessary to restore him to his old
aunt, to the insane chaplain and brutal uncle, who had made his life and
his mental death so painful and sad?
"'Let us fly with him,' said I to Marcus. 'Let him not witness his
father's agony, nor that terrible spectacle of Catholic idolatry which
ever surrounds the bed of death. My heart breaks when I think that my
husband--who did not understand me, but whose simple virtues I venerate,
and whom I have as religiously respected since I left him as I did
before--will pass away without exchanging a mutual pardon. Since that
must be the case--since the reappearance of myself and my child would be
either useless or injurious to him, let us go. Do not let us restore to
that sepulchral palace what we have wrested from death, and to whom hope
and life now unfold a magnificent career. Ah! let us implicitly obey the
impulse which brought us hither. Let us rescue Albert from the
prison-house of false duties, created by rank and riches. Those duties
to him will always be crimes; and if he persists in discharging them,
for the purpose of gratifying the relations whom death and age rapidly
claim, he will himself probably be the first to die. I know what I
suffered from the slavery of thought, in that mortal and incessant
contradiction between the soul and positive life--between principles,
instincts, and compulsory habits. I see he has travelled the same path,
and imbibed the same poisons. Let us take him away then, and if he
choose to contradict us at some future day, can he not do so? If his
father's life be prolonged, and if his mental health permit, will it not
always be possible for him to return and console the declining years of
Count Christian by his presence and his love?'
"'That will be difficult,' said Marcus. 'I see in the future terrible
obstacles, if Albert should wish to annul his divorce from society, the
world, and his family.'
"'Why should Albert do so? His family will perhaps become extinct,
before he regains the use of his memory: and whatever name, honors, or
wealth he may attain in the world, I know what he will think as soon as
he returns to his senses. Heaven grant that day may borne soon. Our most
important task is to place him in such a position that his cure may be
possible.'
"We left the cavern by night, as soon as Albert was able to sustain
himself. At a short distance from the castle we placed him on horseback,
and reached the frontier, which is at this place very near, as you know,
and where he found more suitable means of transportation. The numerous
affiliations of our order with the masonic fraternity procured for us
the means of travelling all through Germany, without being recognised or
subjected to the scrutiny of the police. Bohemia, in consequence of the
recent events at Prague, was the only country where we were in danger.
There the surveillance of the Austrian authorities was very rigid."
"And what became of Zdenko?" asked the young Countess of Rudolstadt.
"Zdenko nearly ruined us by his obstinate refusal to permit us to go,
or, at least, to part with Albert, whom he would not suffer to leave
him, and would not follow. He persisted in thinking Albert could live
nowhere but in the sad Schreckenstein. 'Nowhere else,' said he, 'is my
Podiebrad calm. In other places they torment, and will not let him
sleep. They seek to make him deny our fathers at Mount Tabor, and induce
him to lead a base and disgraceful life. This exasperates him. Leave him
here; I will take good care of him, as I have often done. I will not
disturb his meditations, and when he wishes to be silent I will walk
without making any noise, and keep Cynabre's muzzle within my hands for
two whole hours, to keep him from annoying Podiebrad by licking his
fingers. When he is weary I will sing him the songs he loves, for he
loves my verses, and is the only person who can understand them. Leave
him here. I know what suits him better than you, and when you see him
again, he will be playing the violin, or planting the cypress branches,
which I will cut in the forest, around the grave of his beloved mother.
I will feed him well; I know all the cabins, and no one ever refuses
bread, milk, or fruits to good old Zdenko. The poor peasants of the
Boehmer-wald, though they do not know it, have long fed their noble
master, the rich Podiebrad. Albert does not like feasts, where people
eat flesh, but prefers a life of innocence and simplicity. He does not
wish to see the sun, but prefers the moonbeams, glancing through the
woods in savage places where our good friends, the Zingari, camp at
night. They are the children of the Lord, and know neither laws nor
riches.'
"I listened to Zdenko with attention, because his innocent words
revealed to me the details of the life Albert led with him during his
frequent absences in the cavern. 'Do not fear,' said he, 'that I shall
ever reveal to his enemies the secret of his abode. They are so false
and foolish, that they now say, "our child is dead, our friend is dead,
and our master is dead." They would not believe he was alive, even if
they were to see him. Besides, do I not reply when, they ask me if I
have seen Count Albert, "he is certainly dead." As I laughed when I said
this, they thought me mad. I spoke thus to mock them, because they
think, or seem to think him dead. When the people of the castle pretend
to follow, do I not make a thousand windings to throw them out? All the
devices of the hare and partridge are known to me. I know, like them,
how to hide in a furrow, to disappear under the brush, to make a false
track, to jump over a torrent, to hide myself while they pass by, and,
like a will-o'-wisp, to lead them astray in the ponds and morasses. They
call me Zdenko the _fool._ I am more knave, though, than any of them.
There was never but one girl, a good, sweet girl, who could get the
better of Zdenko. She knew the magic words to soothe his wrath. She had
talismans to overcome all perils and dangers. Her name was Consuelo.'
"When Zdenko pronounced your name, Albert shuddered lightly, and looked
away. He immediately, however, let his head fall on his breast, and his
memory was not aroused.
"I tried in vain to soothe this devoted and blind guardian by promising
to restore Albert to Schreckenstein, if he would accompany him to the
place whither we proposed to take him. I did not succeed however; and
when at last, half by persuasion and half by force, we induced him to
suffer my son to leave the cavern, he followed us with tears in his
eyes, and singing sadly, as far as the mines of Cuttemberg. When he
reached this celebrated spot, where Ziska won his great victory over
Sigismund, Zdenko recognised the rocks which marked the frontier, for no
one had explored all the paths of the country more closely than he had
done in his vagabond career. There he paused and said, stamping on the
ground, 'Zdenko will never leave the country where his father's bones
rest. Not long ago, I was exiled and banished by my Podiebrad, for
having menaced the girl he loved, and I passed weeks and months on a
foreign soil. I returned afterwards to my dear forests to see Albert
sleep, for a voice in a dream whispered to me that his anger had passed.
Now, when he does not curse me, you steal him from me. If you do so to
take him to Consuelo, I consent. As for leaving my country now, and
speaking the tongue of my enemies again, as for giving them my hand, and
leaving Schreckenstein deserted and abandoned, I will not. This is too
much. The voices, too, in my dreams have forbid this. Zdenko must live
and die in the land of the Sclaves. He must live and die singing Sclavic
glory and misfortune in the language of his fathers. Adieu! and go. Had
not Albert forbade me to shed human blood, you would not thus take him
from me. He would curse me, though, if I lifted my hand on you, and I
would rather never see than offend him. Do you hear, oh! Podiebrad,'
said he, kissing my son's hand, while the latter looked at and heard but
did not understand him. 'I obey you and go. When you return you will
find the fire kindled, your books in order, your bed made with new
leaves, and your mother's tomb strewed with evergreen leaves. If it be
in the season of flowers, there will be flowers on the bones of our
martyrs near the spring. Adieu, Cynabre.' As he spoke thus with a broken
voice, Zdenko rushed over the rocky ledge which inclined towards
Bohemia, and disappeared like a stag at dawn.
"I will not describe, dear Consuelo, our anxiety during the first weeks
Albert passed with us. Hidden in the house you now inhabit, he returned
gradually to the kind of life we sought to awake in him with care and
precaution. The first word he spoke was called forth by musical emotion.
Marcus understood that Albert's life was knit to his love of you, and
resolved not to awaken the memory of that love until he should be fit to
inspire in return the same passion. He then inquired minutely after you,
and in a short time ascertained the least details of your past and
present life. Thanks to the wise organization of our order, and the
relations established with other secret societies, a number of neophytes
and adepts, whose functions consist in the scrupulous examination of
persons and things that interest us, nothing can escape our
investigations. The world has no secrets for us. We know how to
penetrate the arcana of politics and the intrigues of courts. Your pure
life, your blameless character, were not difficult to be seen. The Baron
Von Trenck, as soon as he saw that the man you had loved was his friend
Albert, spoke kindly of you. The Count of Saint Germain, one of those
men who apparently are absent-minded as possible, yet who in fact is
most discriminating, this strange visionary, this superior being, who
seems to live only in the past, while nothing that is present escapes
him, furnished us with the most complete information in relation to you.
This was of such a character that henceforth I looked on you as my own
child.
"When we were sufficiently well informed to act with certainty we sent
for skillful musicians who came beneath the window where we now sit.
Albert was where you are, and leaned against the curtain watching the
sunset. Marcus held one of his hands and I the other. Amid a symphony
composed expressly for the four instruments, in which we had inserted
several of the Bohemian airs Albert sings with such religion and
enthusiasm, we made them play the hymn to the Virgin with which you once
so delighted him--
Consuelo de mi alma.
"At that moment, Albert, who hitherto had exhibited a faint emotion at
our old Bohemian songs, threw himself in my arms, and shedding tears,
said--'My mother!'
"Marcus put an end to the music, being satisfied with the effect he had
produced. He did not wish to push the first experiment too far. Albert
had seen and recognised me, and had found power to love. A long time yet
passed before his mind recovered its freedom. He had however, no access
of fever. When his mental powers were overtasked, he relapsed into
melancholy silence. His face, though, insensibly assumed a less sad
expression, and by degrees we combatted this taciturn disposition. We
were at last delighted to see this demand for intellectual repose
disappear, and he continued to think, except at his regular hours for
sleep, when he was quiet as other men are. Albert regained a
consciousness of life and love for you and me, for charity and
enthusiasm towards his fellows, and for virtue, faith and the duty of
winning its triumphs. He continued to love you without bitterness and
without regret for all that he had suffered. Notwithstanding, however,
his efforts to reassure us, and to exhibit his courage and self-denial,
we saw that his passion had lost nothing of its intensity. He had merely
acquired more moral power and strength to bear it. We did not seek to
oppose him. Far otherwise. Marcus and I strove to endow him with hope,
and we resolved to inform you of the existence of him for whom you were
mourning, if not in your dress, in your heart. Albert, with generous
resignation, forbade us to do so, refraining from all disposition to
make a sacrifice of your happiness to your sense of duty.
"His health seemed completely restored, and others than I aided him to
combat his unfortunate passion. Marcus and some of the chiefs of our
order initiated him in the mysteries of our enterprise. He experienced a
serious and melancholy joy in those daring hopes, and, above all, in the
long philosophical discussions, in which, if he did not meet with entire
similarity of opinions between him and his noble friends, he at least
felt himself in contact with every profound and ardent idea of truth.
This aspiration towards the ideal, long repressed and restrained by the
narrow terrors of his family, had, at last, free room to expand, and
this expansion, seconded by noble sympathies, excited even by frank and
genial contradiction, was the vital air in which he could breathe and
act, though a victim to secret suffering. The mind of Albert is
essentially metaphysical: nothing smiles on him in the frivolous life
where egotism seeks its food. He is born for the contemplation of high
truths and the exercise of the most austere virtues. At the same time,
by a perfection of moral beauty which is rare among men, he is gifted
with a soul essentially tender and affectionate. Charity is not enough,
he must love; and this passion extends to all, though he feels the
necessity of concentrating it on some individuals. In devotion he is a
fanatic, yet his virtue is not savage. Love intoxicates, friendship
sways him, and his life is a fruitful and inexhaustible field, divided
between the abstract being he reveres passionately, under the name of
humanity, and the persons he loves. In fine, his sublime heart is a
hearth of love; all noble passions exist there without rivalry, and if
God could be represented under a finite and perishable form, I would
dare assert that the soul of my son is an image of that universal soul
we call the divinity.
"On that account, a weak human being, infinite in its inspiration
limited and without resources, he had been unable to live with his
parents. Had he not loved them ardently, he would have been able to live
apart from them, healthy and calm, differing from them, but indulging
their harmless blindness. This would, however, have required a certain
coldness, of which he was incapable as I. He could not live isolated in
his mind and heart. He had besought their aid, and appealed in despair
for a community of ideas between him and the beings who were so dear to
him. Therefore was it that, shut up in the iron wall of their Catholic
obstinacy, their social prejudices and their hatred to a religion of
equality, he had broken to pieces as he sighed on their bosoms; he had
dried up like a plant without dew, calling on heaven for rain to endow
him with an existence like those he loved. Weary of suffering alone,
loving alone, weeping and praying alone, he thought he regained life in
you; and when you participated in his ideas, he was calm and reasonable.
Yet you did not reciprocate his sentiments, and your separation could
not but plunge him into an isolation both deeper and more
insurmountable. His faith was perpetually denied and contradicted, and
became a torture too great for human power. Vertigo took possession of
him: unable to mingle the sublime essence of his own soul in others like
it, he died.
"So soon as he found hearts capable of comprehending and seconding him,
we were amazed at his moderation in discussion, his tolerance,
confidence, and modesty. We had apprehended, from the past, that he
would be stern, self-willed, and exhibit the strong manner of talking,
which, though proper enough in a mind convinced and enthusiastic, would
be dangerous to his progress and detrimental to such an enterprise as
ours. He surprised us by his candor, and charmed us by his behavior. He
who made us better by speaking and talking to us, persuaded himself that
he received what he really gave us. He soon became the object of
boundless veneration, and you must not be surprised that so many persons
toiled for your rescue, for his happiness had become the common object
of all who had approached him, though merely for an instant."