"The cruel destiny of our race, however, was not fulfilled. Albert was
yet to suffer, his heart was yet to bleed for his family, which was
doomed to crush him, while it was innocent of his sufferings. As soon as
he was strong enough to hear the news, we had not concealed from him the
death of his father, which took place soon after his own, (I must use
this phrase to describe that strange event.) Albert had wept for his
father with deep regret: and the certainty that he had not left life to
enter on the nonentity of the paradise or the hell of the Catholic,
inspired him with the hope of a better and more ample life for one who
had been so pure and worthy of reward. He was much more grieved at the
state in which his relatives, Baron Frederick and Wenceslawa, were. He
blamed himself for being happy away from them, and resolved to visit
them and inform them of the secret of his cure and wonderful
resurrection, and to make them as happy as possible. He was not aware of
the disappearance of Amelia, which happened while he was ill, and it had
been carefully hidden from him, as likely to make him unhappy. We had
not thought it right to inform him of it, for we were unable to shelter
my niece from the shame of her deplorable error. When about to seize her
seducer, we were anticipated by the Saxon Rudolstadts. They had caused
Amelia to be arrested in Prussia, where she expected a refuge, and had
placed her in the power of Frederick, who did them the honor to shut up
the poor girl at Spandau. She passed almost a year in strict
confinement, seeing no one, and having reason to think herself happy at
her error being concealed by the jailer monarch."
"Madame," said Consuelo, "is she there yet?"
"We are about to release her. Albert and Leverani could not rescue her
when they did you, for she was much more closely watched; her imprudent
attempts to escape, her revolts and temper, having aggravated her
confinement. We have other means than those which won your safety. Our
adepts are everywhere, and some even seek for courtly favor, to be able
to serve us thus! We have obtained for Amelia the patronage of the young
Margravine of Bareith, sister of the King of Prussia, who has requested
and obtained her liberty, promising to take charge of her and be
responsible for her conduct in future. In a few days the young baroness
will be under the protection of the Princess Wilhelmina, whose heart is
as good as her tongue is censorious, and who will be as kind to her as
she was to the Princess Culmbach, another unfortunate creature, withered
in the eyes of the world as Amelia was, and who like her was a victim of
royal prisons.
"Albert was ignorant, then, of the misfortune of his cousin, when he
resolved to visit his uncle and aunt at the Giants' Castle. He could not
account for the inertia of Baron Frederick, who was able to live, to
hunt, and drink, after so many and so great misfortunes, and for the
passive character of Wenceslawa, who, while she sought to discover
Amelia, took care not to give any _éclât_ to what had happened. We
opposed Albert's plan as much as possible, but he persisted in it,
unknown to us. He set out one night, leaving us a letter, which promised
us a prompt return. His absence was not long, in fact, but it was
pregnant with sorrows.
"In disguise he entered Bohemia, and found Zdenko alone in the cavern of
the Schreckenstein. He wished thence to write to his kindred and prepare
them for the excitement of his return. He was aware that Amelia was the
most courageous, as well as the most frivolous of the family, and to her
he wished to send his first letter. As he wrote it, and while Zdenko was
out on the mountain, he heard the report of a gun, and a painful cry of
agony. He rushed out, and the first thing he saw was Zdenko, bearing
Cynabre in his arms. To hurry to his poor old dog, without thinking of
concealing his face, was the first act of Albert. As he bore the poor
animal, with a death wound, towards the place known as the 'Monk's
Cave,' he saw an old huntsman hurrying towards him, rapidly as age would
permit, to seize his prey. This was Baron Frederick, who, while hunting
at the dawn of day, had taken Cynabre for some wild beast. He had seen
him through the undergrowth, and as his eye and hand were yet sure, had
wounded him. He had put two balls in his side. All at once he saw
Albert, and fancying that a spectre stood before him, paused in terror.
No longer fearing a real danger, he shrank back to the very verge of a
mountain path, and fell into a ravine, where he was crushed by the
rocks. He died immediately, at the very place where for centuries had
stood the fatal oak of Schreckenstein, known as the _Hussite_, in other
days the witness and accomplice of terrible catastrophes.
"Albert saw the baron fall, and left Zdenko, to descend into the ravine.
He then perceived the servants of his uncle, seeking to lift him up, and
filling the air with lamentations, for he gave no sign of life. Albert
hearing these words--'Our poor master is dead; alas! what will our lady
the canoness say?' forgot himself, and shouted and cried aloud.
"As soon as they saw him, a panic took possession of the credulous
servants. They abandoned the body of their master, and were about to
fly, when old Hans, the most superstitious of all, bade them halt, and
said, making the sign of the cross, 'My friends, it is not our Albert
that stands before us; it is the spirit of the Schreckenstein, who has
taken his form to destroy us all if we be cowards. I saw him distinctly,
and he it was who made our master the baron fall. He would carry his
body away and devour it, for he is a vampire. Be brave, my children; be
brave. They say the devil is a coward. I shall shoot at him in the mean
time. Father,' (he spoke to the chaplain) 'go over the exorcism.' As he
spoke Hans made the sign of the cross again and again, lifted up his
gun, and fired at Albert, while the other servants crowded around the
baron's body. Fortunately Hans was too much terrified and too much
afraid to fire accurately. He acted in a kind of delirium. The ball
hissed by Albert's head, but Hans was the best shot in all the country,
and had he been cool would infallibly have killed my son. Albert stood
irresolute. 'Be brave, lads: be brave.' said Hans, loading his gun.
'Fire at once. You will not kill him, for he is ball-proof, but you will
make him retreat, and we will be able to carry away the Baron
Frederick's body.'
"Albert, seeing all the guns directed at him, rushed into the thicket,
and unseen descended the declivity of the mountain, and soon by personal
observation became assured of the reality of the dreadful scene. The
crushed and broken body of his unfortunate uncle lay on the bloody
stones. His skull was crushed, and old Hans, in the most lamentable
tone, said to the crowd--'Gather up his brains, and leave nothing on the
rocks, for the vampire's dog will come to lap them up. Yes, yes, there
was a dog--a dog I would have sworn was Cynabre.'
"'He, though, disappeared after Count Albert's death,' said another,
'and no one has seen him since. He died in some corner or other, and the
dog we saw is a shadow, as also was the vampire that assumed Count
Albert's form. Horrible! It will always be before my eyes. Lord God have
mercy on us, and the soul of the baron, who died unconfessed, in
consequence of the evil spirit's malice.'
"'Alas! I told him some misfortune would befall him,' said Hans, as he
gathered up the shreds of the baron's garments in his hands, which were
stained with the nobleman's blood. 'He would hunt in this
thrice-accursed place. He thought, because no one ever came hither, all
the game of the forest crowded into it. God knows there never was any
other game here than what, when I was a lad, I saw hanging from the
branches of that oak. Accursed Hussite! tree of perdition. The fire of
heaven has devoured it, but while one root remains in the soil, the
Hussites will come hither to avenge themselves on the Catholics. Well,
get the litter ready, and let us go, for here we are not safe. Ah!
Madame Canoness! poor mistress! what will become of you? Who will dare
first to appear before you, and say as we used to--"The baron has come
back from hunting." Will she say--"Have dinner at once!" Dinner!--a long
time will pass before anyone in the castle will be hungry. Well, this
family is too unhappy. I can account for it, though.'
"While the body of the baron was placed on a litter, Hans, annoyed by
questions, replied, and, as he did so, he shook his head--'In this
family all were pious and died like Christians, until the day when the
Countess Wanda, on whom may God have mercy, died unconfessed. Count
Albert did not die in a state of grace, and his worthy father suffered
for it. He died unconscious, and here is another who has passed away
without the sacraments. I bet, not even the canoness will have time to
prepare herself. Fortunately for this holy family, she is always in a
state of grace.'
"Albert heard every word of all this sad conversation, the expression of
true grief in common-place words, and a terrible reflection of the
fanatical horror which both of us excited at Riesenberg. In stupor and
amazement, he saw the sad _cortège_ defile in the distance down the
paths of the ravine, and did not dare to follow it, though he was aware
that properly he should have been the first to bear the sad news to his
old aunt and aid her in her mortal grief. He was sure, though, had he
done so, his apparition would either have killed or crazed her. He
therefore withdrew in despair to the cavern, where Zdenko, who was
ignorant of the most unfortunate accident of the day, was busy in
washing Cynabre's wound. It was too late, however. Cynabre, when he saw
his master return, uttered a cry of pain; in spite of his broken ribs,
he crawled up to him, and died at his feet, after receiving his last
caresses. Four days afterwards Albert rejoined us; he was pale and
overcome by this last shock. He remained many days sad and overcome with
these new sufferings. At last, his tears fell on his bosom. 'I am
accursed among men,' said he, 'and it seems that God seeks to exclude me
from the world, where I should have loved no one. I cannot return to it,
without being the vehicle of terror, death, or madness. All is over. I
will never be able again to see those who took care of my childhood.
These ideas, in relation to the eternal separation of the body and soul,
are so absolute and terrible, that they would prefer to think me chained
forever to the tomb, to seeing my unfortunate countenance. This is a
strange and terrible phase of life. The dead become objects of hatred to
those who loved them most; and if their shadows appear, they seem sent
forth by hell, instead of being angels from heaven. My poor uncle! my
noble father! you to me seemed heretical, as I did to you; yet did you
appear, were I fortunate enough to see your forms as death seized them,
I would welcome them on my knees, I would think they came from the bosom
of God, where souls are _retempered_ and bodies formed anew. I would
utter no horrible formula of dismissal and malediction, no impious
exorcisms of fear and aversion. I would call on you, I would gaze on you
with love, and retain you with me as things sent to aid me. Oh! mother!
all is over. I must to them be dead whether they be living or dead to
me.'
"Albert had not left the country until he was assured the canoness had
survived this last shock of misfortune. This old woman, as
ill-restrained as I am, lives by sorrow alone. Venerated for her
convictions and her sorrows, she counts, resignedly, the bitter days God
yet requires her to live. In her sorrow, however, she yet maintains a
degree of pride which has survived all her affections. She said not long
ago, to a person who wrote to us: 'If we did not fear death from a sense
of duty, we would yet have to do so for propriety's sake.' This remark
explains all the character of Wenceslawa.
"Thenceforth Albert abandoned all idea of leaving us, and his courage
seemed to increase at every trial. He seemed even to have overcome his
love, and plunged into philosophy and religion, and was buried in ethics
and revolutionary action. He gave himself up to serious labors; and his
vast mind in this manner assumed a development which was as serene and
magnificent as it had been feverish and fitful when away from us. This
strange man, whose delirium had terrified Catholics, became a light of
wisdom to beings of a superior order. He was initiated into the most
mysterious secrets of the Invisibles, and assumed a rank among the
chiefs of the new church. He gave them advice, which they received with
love and gratitude. The reforms he proposed were consented to, and in
the practice of a militant creed he regained hope and a serenity of soul
which makes heroes and martyrs.
"We thought he had overcome his love of you, so careful was he to
conceal his struggles and sufferings. One day, however, the
correspondence of our adepts, which it was impossible to conceal,
brought to our sanctuary a sad piece of information. In spite of the
doubt surrounding the report, at Berlin you were looked upon as the
king's mistress, and appearances did not contradict the supposition.
Albert said nothing, and became pale.
"'My beloved mother,' said he, after being silent a few moments, 'on
this occasion you will suffer me to leave you, without fear. My love
calls me to Berlin: my place is by the side of her who has accepted my
love, and whom I love. I pretend to no right over her. If she be
intoxicated by the sad honor attributed to her, I will use no authority
to make her renounce it; but if she be, as I suspect, surrounded by
snares and dangers, I will save her.'
"'Pause, Albert,' said I, 'and dread the influence of that fatal passion
which has already injured you so deeply. The evil which will result from
it is beyond your influence. I see that now you exist merely in the
power of your virtue and your love. If this love perish, will virtue
suffice?'
"'And why should it perish?' said he, enthusiastically. 'Do you think
she has ceased to be worthy of me?'
"'If she be, Albert, what would you do?'
"With a smile on his pale lips, and a proud glance, such as were always
enkindled by his sad and enthusiastic ideas--
"'If so, I would continue to love her; for to me the past is not a dream
that is effaced, and you know I have often so confounded it with the
present as to be unable to distinguish it. So would I do again. I would
love that angelic face, that poetic soul by which my life was so
suddenly enlightened and warmed. I would not believe that the past is
behind me, but would keep its burning light within my bosom. The fallen
angel would yet inspire me with so much tenderness and love, that my
life would be devoted to consoling her and sheltering her from the
contempt of a cruel world.'
"Albert went to Berlin with many of his friends, and made a pretext to
the Princess Amelia, his protector, of talking to her about Trenck, who
was then a prisoner at Glatz, for a masonic business which he was
engaged in. You saw him preside at a lodge at the Rose Cross; and he did
not know that Cagliostro, in spite of our efforts, had learned his
secrets and made use of them as a means of disturbing your reason. For
the mere fact of having suffered any person uninitiated even to glance
at a masonic mystery, Cagliostro deserved to be expelled as a trickster.
It was not known, however, for a long time; and you must be aware
yourself of the terror he displayed while conducting you to the temple.
The penalty due to this kind of treason is severely administered by the
adepts; and the magician, by making the mysteries of the order subject
to his pretended miracles, perhaps risked his life, as he certainly did
his necromantic reputation, for he would without doubt have been
unmasked had he been discovered.
"During his short and mysterious stay at Berlin, Albert ascertained
enough of your conduct and ideas to be at ease about you. Though you
knew it not, he watched you closely, and returned apparently calm, but
more in love with you than ever.
"During several months he travelled in foreign lands, and by his
activity served our cause well. Having been informed that several
plotters, perhaps spies of the King of Prussia, were attempting to set
on foot at Berlin a conspiracy which endangered masonry, and perhaps
would be fatal to Prince Henry and the Abbess of Quedlimburg, Albert
hurried thither to warn the Prince and Princess of the absurdity of such
an attempt, and to put them on their guard against the plot which seemed
imminent. Then you saw him, and though terrified at his apparition,
showed so much courage, and spoke to his friends with so much devotion
and respect for his memory, that the hope of being loved by you revived.
He then determined that you should be told the truth by means of a
system of mysterious revelations. He has often been near you, concealed
even in your room during your stormy conversations with the King, though
you were not aware of it. In the meantime the conspirators became angry
at the obstacles he put in the way of their mad or guilty design.
Frederick II. had suspicions. The appearance of _la balayeuse_, the
spectre all conspirators parade in the palace gallery, aroused his
vigilance. The creation of a masonic lodge, at the head of which Prince
Henry placed himself, and which professed views different from that over
which the King presided, appeared a definite revolt. It may be added,
that the creation of this new lodge was a maladroit mask of certain
conspirators, or perhaps an attempt to compromise certain illustrious
personages. Fortunately they rescued themselves; and the King,
apparently enraged at the arrest of none but a few obscure criminals,
yet really delighted at not having to punish his own family, resolved to
make an example. My son, the most innocent of all, was arrested and sent
to Spandau about the time that you, equally innocent, were. You both
refused to save yourselves at the expense of others, and atoned for
others' errors. You passed several months in prison not far from
Albert's cell, and heard his violin, as he heard your voice. He had
prompt and speedy means of escape, but he would not use them until he
was sure of your safety. The key of gold is more powerful than all the
bolts of a royal prison; and the Prussian jailers, the majority of whom
are discontented soldiers, or officers in disgrace, are easily to be
corrupted. Albert escaped when you did, but you did not see him; and for
reasons you will hear at another time, Leverani was ordered to bring you
hither. Now you know the rest. Albert loves you more than ever; he loves
you far better than he loves himself, and would be yet more distressed
if you were happy with another, than he would be if you should not
return his love. The moral and philosophical laws under which you have
placed yourselves, the religious authority you recognise, renders your
decision perfectly voluntary. Choose then, my daughter, but remember
that Albert's mother, on her knees, begs you not to injure the sublime
candor of her son, by making a sacrifice which will embitter his life.
Your desertion will make him suffer, but your pity, without your love,
will kill him. The time is come for you to decide, and I cannot be
ignorant of your decision. Go into your room, where you will find two
different dresses: the one you select will determine his fate."
"And which will signify my wish for a divorce?" said Consuelo trembling.
"I was ordered to tell you, but will not do so. I wish to know if you
will guess."
The Countess Wanda having thus spoken, clasped Consuelo to her heart and
left the room.