There was no need of artifice to defraud Albert, and his spoliation was

effected without much procrastination. It was only necessary to treat

him as if he were dead, and prohibit him from being resuscitated at an

inappropriate time. We know that when he was arrested, the Canoness

Wenceslawa had died at Prague, whither she had come to be treated for

acute ophthalmia. Albert, having heard that she was _in extremis_, could

not resist the promptings of his heart to go and close the eyes of his

relation. He left Consuelo on the Austrian frontier, and went to Prague.

This was the first time he had been in Germany since his marriage. He

flattered himself that the lapse of ten years and certain changes of

attire would prevent him from being recognised; yet he approached his

aunt with much mystery. He wished to have her blessing, and atone by his

last kindness for the grief to which his desertion had subjected her.

The canoness was almost blind, but was struck by the sound of his voice.

She did not analyse her feelings, but at once abandoned herself to the

instinctive tenderness which had survived her memory and mental

activity. She clasped him in her withered arms, and called him her

beloved Albert--her darling child. Old Hans was dead; but the Baroness

Amelia and a woman from the Boehmer-wald, who had been a servant of the

canoness, and who had nursed Albert when he was sick, were astonished

and terrified at the resemblance of the pretended doctor and the count.

It does not appear that Amelia positively recognised him, and we will

not consider her an accomplice in the violent prosecution commenced

against him. We do not know who set the detachment of half-magistrates

half-spies to work, by whose aid the court of Vienna governed its

conquered subjects. But one thing is certain, that the countess had

scarcely breathed her last in her nephew's arms, ere Albert was arrested

and examined as to what had brought him to the death-bed of the old

lady. They wished to see his diploma; but he had none, and his name of

Leverani was considered criminal, several people having known him as

Trismegistus. He was consequently accused of being a quack and conjuror,

although no one could prove that he had ever received money for his

cures. He was confronted with Amelia: hence his ruin. Irritated and

mortified by the investigations to which he was subjected, he confessed

frankly to his cousin that he was Albert of Rudolstadt. Amelia certainly

recognised him, and fainted from terror. The conversation had been

overheard. The matter then took another turn. They wished to treat him

as an impostor; but in order to produce one of those endless suits which

ruin both parties, functionaries of the kind that had ruined Trenck,

sought to compromise him by making him say he was Albert of Rudolstadt.

There was a long investigation; and Supperville being sent for, said

there was no doubt Albert had died at the Giants' Castle. The exhumation

of the body was ordered; and a skeleton, which might have been placed

there only the day before, was found, his cousin was induced to contend

with him as with an adventurer who wished to rob her. She was not

suffered to see him. The complaints of the captive and the ardent

demands of his wife were stifled by a prison-bar and torture. Perhaps

they were sick, and dying in different dungeons. Albert could no longer

regain honor and liberty except by proclaiming the truth. It was in vain

that he promised to renounce the estate, and at once to bestow it on his

cousin. Interested parties sought to prolong the controversy, and they

succeeded, either because the empress was deceived, or because she

desired the confiscation of the estate. Amelia herself was attacked, the

scandal of her previous misfortune being revived. It was insinuated that

she was not a devotee, and they threatened to send her to a convent, in

case she did not abandon her claim. Eventually she was forced to

restrict it to her father's fortune, which was much reduced by the

enormous expenses of litigation. The castle and estates of Riesenberg

were confiscated to the state, after the lawyers, judges, and managers

of the affair had appropriated two-thirds of its value. On the

termination of the suit, which lasted five or six years, Albert was

exiled from the Austrian states as a dangerous alien. Thenceforth, it is

almost certain, the couple led an obscure life. They took their youngest

children with them. Haydn and the canon kindly refused to give up the

elder ones, who were being educated under the eyes and at the expense of

these faithful friends. Consuelo had lost her voice for ever. It is but

too certain that captivity, idleness, and sorrow at his wife's

sufferings, had again shaken Albert's reason. It does not appear,

however, that their love was less pure, or their conduct towards each

other less tender. The Invisibles disappeared under persecution; their

plans having failed, principally on account of the charlatans who had

speculated on the new ideas and the love of the marvellous. Persecuted

again as a freemason, in intolerant and despotic countries, Albert took

refuge either in France or England. Perhaps he continued his

propagandism, but this must have been among the people; and if his toil

had any fruit, it had no eclat.

Here there is a void which our imagination cannot fill. One authentic

document, which is very minute, shows us that in 1774 the couple were

wandering in the Bohemian forests.

This letter we will copy as it came to us. It will be all we can say

farther of Albert and Consuelo, whose subsequent career is utterly

unknown.

[Footnote 16: Many of these grades are of different creations and of

different rites. Some are of a date posterior to the age of which we

write. We commit the rectification of them to the learned Tilers. There

are, in some rites, more than one hundred degrees.]

[Footnote 17: Every effort has been made to translate this masonic (?)

jargon into something like English; with what success none but the

Invisibles can tell.]

[Footnote 18: By means of such indications, the story of John Kreysoder

seems to us to be the most wonderful of the romances of Hoffman. The

author having died before the end of his work, the poem is ended by the

Imagination in a thousand forms, the one more fantastic than the other.

Thus a noble river, as it approaches its mouth, is ramified into a

thousand passes, which work their way amid the golden sands of the sea

shore.--TRANSLATOR.]

[Footnote 19: The French word is frotteur, and its meaning is strictly

"rubber" or "polisher."]

[Footnote 20: Many are yet preserved in private museums in Germany.]

[Footnote 21: See the character of the Abbess of Quidlemburg, in

Thibault, and the strange stories he tells of her.]

[Footnote 22: See note at the end of the book.]

LETTER OF PHILO[23]

TO IGNATIUS JOSEPH MARLIENOWIEZ, PROFESSOR OF PHYSIC

AT LEMBERG.

"Borne away, as by a whirlpool, like the satellites of a star king we

followed Spartacus[24] through rugged pathways, and under the dark

shadows of the Boehmer-wald. Why were you not there, my friend? You

would have neglected to pick up pebbles in the torrents, and to examine

the bones and veins of our mysterious mother Earth. The ardent words of

our master gave us wings. We crossed ravines and mountain tops, without

counting our steps, without looking down on the abyss above which we

stood, and without watching in the distance for the place where we

should rest at night. Spartacus had never seemed greater, or more

completely impregnated with sublime truth. The beauties of nature

exerted on his mind all the influence of a great poem; but in the glow

of his imagination, his spirit of wise analysis and ingenious

combination never left him. He explained the sky and stars, the earth

and seas, with the same clearness that presides over his dissertations

on the lesser subjects of this world. As though his soul became greater,

when alone and at liberty with the elect of his disciples, beneath the

azure of the starry skies, or looking on the dawn that announced the

rising sun, he broke through the limits of time and space to embrace in

one glance all humanity, both in its general view and in its details, to

penetrate the fragile destiny of empires and the imposing future of

nations. You in the flesh understand this, young man; you have heard on

the mountain this youth, with a wisdom surpassing his years, and who

seems to have lived amongst men since the beginning of the world.

"When we came to the frontier, we made a salutation to the land which

had witnessed the exploits of the great Ziska, and bowed yet lower to

the caves which had been sepulchres to the martyrs of our old national

liberty. There we resolved to separate, for the purpose of examining

every point at once. Cato[25] went to the north-west, Celsus[26] to the

south-east, Ajax[27] went from the west to the east, and our rendezvous

was Pilsen.

"Spartacus kept me with him, and resolved to rely on chance and a

certain divine inspiration which was to direct us. I was a little amazed

at his absence of calculation and thought, which seemed altogether

contradictory to his methodical habit. 'Philo,' said he, when we were

alone, 'I think men like us are ministers of Providence. Do not imagine,

however, that I deem Providence inert and disdainful, for by it we live

and think. I have observed that you are more favored than I am. Your

designs almost always succeed. Forward, then, and I will follow you. I

have faith in your second sight, in that mysterious clearness invoked

naïvely by our ancestors, the Illuminati, the pious fanatics of the

past.' It really seems that the master has prophesied truly. Before the

second day we found what we looked for, and thus I became the instrument

of fate.

"We had reached the end of the wood, and there were two forks of the

road before us. One went into the lowlands, and the other went along the

sides of the mountain.

"'Whither shall we go?' said Spartacus, seating himself on a rock. 'I

can see from here cultivated fields, meadows, and humble huts. They told

us he was poor, and he must therefore live with people of the same

class. Let us inquire after him, among the humble shepherds of the

valley.'

"'Not so, master,' said I, pointing to the road on my right. 'I see

there the towers and crumbling walls of an old mansion. They told us he

was a poet, and he must therefore love ruins and solitude.'

"'Well, then,' said Spartacus, with a smile, 'I see Hesper rising, white

as a pearl, in the yet roseate sky, above the ruins of the old domain.

We are shepherds looking for a prophet, and the wonderful star hurries

before us.'

"We soon reached the ruins. It was an imposing structure, built at

different epochs. The ruins of the days of the emperor, Karl, however,

lay side by side with those of feudality. Not time, but the hands of man

had worked this destruction. It was broad day when we ascended a

dried-up ditch, and reached a rusted and motionless portcullis. The

first object we saw amid the ruins, as we came into the court-yard, was

an old man covered with rags, and more like a being of the past than of

the present day. His beard, like ivory grown yellow from age, fell on

his breast, and his golden hair glittered like a lake lighted up by the

sun. Spartacus trembled, and, approaching him hastily, asked the name of

the castle. The old man did not seem to fear us. He looked at us with

his glassy eyes, but seemed unable to see us. We asked his name. He made

no reply, his face merely expressing a dreamy indifference. His Socratic

features, however, did not express the degradation of idiotcy. There was

in his stern features an indescribable kind of beauty, originating in a

pure and serene mind. Spartacus put a piece of silver into his hand; but

having held it near his eyes, he let it fall as if he did not know the

use of it.

"'Is it possible,' said I to my master, 'that an old man so totally

deprived of his senses can be thus abandoned by his fellow-men, and left

to ramble amid mountains, far away from the abodes of men without a

guide, without even a dog to lead him?'

"'Let us take him to a resting-place,' said Spartacus.

"As we set about lifting him up, however, to see whether he could stand,

he placed his finger on his lips, indicating that he wished us not to

disturb him, and pointed with the other hand to the extremity of the

court. Our glances went thither, but we saw no one. Shortly after we

heard the sound of a violin, which was played with great precision and

accuracy. I never heard an artist handle the bow with a more vast or

graceful sweep; the chords of his instrument, as it were, sympathising

with those of his soul, and conveying to the heart an expression at once

pious and heroic. We both fell into a delightful reverie, and said to

ourselves there was something grand and mysterious in such sounds. The

eyes of the old man wandered vaguely though dazzling and ecstatic, and a

smile of beatitude hung on his withered lips, proving conclusively that

he was neither deaf nor insensible.

"After a short melody all was hushed, and we soon saw a man of ripe age

come from a chapel near us. His appearance filled us with emotion and

respect. The beauty of his austere face and his noble proportions

contrasted strongly with the deformed limbs and savage appearance of the

old man. The violin player came directly to us, with his instrument

under his arm, and the bow in a leathern girdle. Large pantaloons of

coarse stuff, shoes like the buskins of a former day, and a shirt of

sheepskin, similar to the Dalmatian peasant dress, made him look like a

shepherd or laborer. His white and delicate hands, however, did not

bespeak a man who had been devoted to rude or agricultural labor; and

the cleanliness of his dress and his proud deportment seemed to protest

against his misery, and to refuse to submit to its consequences. My

master was struck with the appearance of this man. He clasped me by the

hand, and I felt his tremble.

"'It is the person,' said he. 'I know his face from having seen it in my

dreams.'

"The violin player came towards us without embarrassment or surprise. He

returned our salute with charming dignity, and, approaching the old man,

said--

"'Come Zdenko: I am going. Lean on your friend.'

"The old man made an effort to rise; but his friend lifted him up, and

bending so as to serve as a staff, he guided his trembling steps. In

this filial care and patience in a strong, noble, and agile man, to

another in rags, there was if possible something more touching than in a

young mother shortening her step to suit that of her child. I saw my

master's eyes fill with tears, and I felt a sympathy with that man of

genius and probable fame, in his strong excitement at the scene before

him, fancying myself lost in the mysteries of the past.

"We were seeking some pretext to address him, when his thoughts

evidently recurring to us, he said, with a beautiful simplicity and

confidence:--

"'You saw me kiss this marble, and this old man throw himself on these

tombs. Think not that these are acts of idolatry. We kiss the robe of a

saint, as we wear on the heart a token of love and friendship. The

bodies of our deceased friends are like worn-out garments, which we

would not trample on, but preserve with respect and lose with regret. My

beloved father and kindred, I know are not here. The inscriptions which

say "Here rest the Rudolstadts," are false. They are all ascended to

heaven, though they live and act in the world in obedience to the

ordinance of God. Under these marbles there are only bones. Their souls

have forsaken the mortal, and have put on the immortal. Blessed be the

ashes of our ancestors! Blessed be their dust and the ivy with which

they are crowned! Above all--blessed be God! who has said, "Arise and

return to my fruitful soul, where nothing dies!--where all is renewed

and purified!'"

"'Leverani, Ziska, or Trismegistus, do I find you at the tombs of your

ancestors?' said Spartacus, animated by a celestial certainty.

"'I am neither Leverani, Trismegistus, nor Ziska,' said the stranger.

'Spectres haunted my ignorant youth; but divine light has absorbed them,

and I have forgotten the names of my ancestors. I have no name but that

of "man," and am not different from others of my species.'

"'Your words are profound, but indicate distrust,' said the master.

'Confide in this sign. Do you not remember it?'

"Spartacus here made the higher masonic sign.

"'I have forgotten that language. I do not despise it; but it has become

useless. Insult me not, brother, by thinking I distrust you. Is not your

name also "man." Mankind have never injured me; or if they did, I have

forgotten it. The injury they did me then was trifling, compared with

the good they can do each other, and for which I thank them in advance.'

"'Is it possible then, oh, good man! that you esteem time as nothing in

your estimate of life?'

"'Time does not exist. If men meditated on the divine essence more, they

would like me, forget centuries and ages. What matters it, to one who

participates so much in God's nature as to be eternal--to one who will

live for ever? Time, to such an one, is a nonentity. The controlling

power alone may hasten or delay, but will not pause.'

"'You mean, that man should forget to reckon time--that life runs

perpetually and abundantly from the bosom of God. Are these your

assertions?'

"'You rightly comprehend my meaning, young man. I have, however, a still

better explanation of this great mystery.'

"'Mystery! I have come from afar to inquire and learn from you of the

mysterious.'

"'Listen, then,' said the stranger, beckoning the old man to a seat on a

tomb. 'This place inspires me in a peculiar manner, for on this spot

rest the last rays of the setting sun and his earliest morning fires.

Here, then, I could wish to exalt your soul to a knowledge of sublime

truths.

"We quivered with a joyful emotion at the idea of having, after two

years of search, discovered this Magus of our religion--this great

philosopher and organiser, who was able to extricate us from our mental

labyrinth. The stranger, however, seizing his violin, began to play it

with such warmth of feeling that the ruins resounded as with the echoes

of the human voice. His strain was religiously enthusiastic, while at

the same time it had an air of antique simplicity.

"Nothing in these unknown songs bespoke languor or reverie. They were

like the songs of war, and made us fancy we saw triumphant armies, with

banners, and palms, and all the insignia of a new religion. I saw, as it

were, the vastness of all nations united under one bright banner. There

was no disorder in their ranks, no impetuous outbreaks; but they

portrayed human activity in all its splendor, victory in all its

clemency, faith in all its sublime expansion.

"'This is magnificent,' said I to myself, when I had heard three or four

of his magnificent strains. 'It is the true _Te Deum_--Humanity, revived

and refreshed, giving thanks to the God of all religions--to the Light

of all men!'

"'You understand me, my child,' said the musician, wiping the

perspiration and tears from his face. 'You see Time has but one voice to

proclaim truth. Look at the old man. He, by understanding this mystery,

has become at least twenty years younger.'

"We looked at the old man. He was erect, and walked with ease, while he

kept time to the music as he paced, like a mere youth. There had

certainly been a miracle worked on him through the instrumentality of

music. He came down the hill without caring for assistance; and when his

step became slow, the musician said--

"'Zdenko, do you wish me to play again to you the "March of Procopious

the Great," or the "Benediction of the Standard of the Orebites?'"

"The old man signified however, that he still had sufficient strength,

as if he feared to exhaust the heavenly aid and inspiration of his

friend.

"We went towards the hamlet we had seen on our right hand on going to

the ruins. On the way Spartacus questioned the musician.

"'You have played,' said he, 'incomparable melodies to us, and by your

brilliant prelude I understand that you meant to prepare our senses for

the enthusiasm with which you are inspired, and wish to exalt yourself,

as the pythonesses and the prophets did, and so pronounce your oracles

as if by the power of God. Now, then, speak. The air is calm, the path

is smooth, and the moon shines out in all her beauty. All nature is

silent, apparently to listen to you; and our hearts call aloud for your

revelations. Vain science and haughty reason will become humbled in us,

beneath your burning language. Speak!--the time is come.'

"The philosopher, however, would not comply with the request; but said--

"'What can I say that I have not already expressed in beautiful

language? Is it my fault that you did not understand me? You think I

spoke to your senses, yet it was my soul addressed you--nay, the souls

of all the human family spoke in mine. I was indeed inspired, but now

the power is gone, and I need repose. Had I then transfused to you all

that I could have wished, you also would now require rest.'

"It was impossible for Spartacus to ascertain anything more that

evening. When we had come to the first cottage, the stranger said:--

"'Friends, follow me no farther; but come to me to-morrow. Knock at the

first door and you will be well received everywhere here, if you know

the language of the country.'

"It was useless to exhibit the little money we had. The peasants of

Bohemia are worthy of ancient days. We were received with calm

politeness, and ere long we were treated with affectionate cordiality,

being able to speak Slavonic with ease, the peasants distrusting those

who speak German.

"We soon ascertained that we were at the Giants' Castle, and at the foot

of the Giants' Mountain. From the name, we fancied we were transported

by magic to the great northern chain of the Carpathian Mountains. We

were told that one of the ancestors of the Podiebrad had thus named his

castle to discharge a vow he had made in the Riesenberg; and that

Podiebrad's descendants, after the Thirty Years' War, had assumed the

patronymic of Rudolstadt. At that time, persecution Germanized

everything--names, cities, and individuals. These traditions are yet

alive in the hearts of the peasantry of Bohemia. The mysterious

Trismegistus, then, whom we looked for, is really the same Albert

Podiebrad who was buried alive, rescued from the tomb in a mysterious

manner, who disappeared for a long time, and who, after twenty years,

was confined as an impostor and freemason and Rose Cross--the famous

Count of Rudolstadt, whose lawsuit was so hushed up, and whose identity

was never established. Rely then, my friend, on the inspiration of our

master. You trembled when you thought we put faith in vague revelations,

and searched for one who, like so many of the modern Illuminati, might

be either an impudent swindler or a ridiculous adventurer. The master

had judged correctly. By a few traits in his deportment, and some of his

fugitive writings that we had seen, he was convinced that this strange

personage was a man of intelligence and truth--a sincere guardian of the

sacred fire and holy traditions of the older Illuminism--an adept of the

ancient secret--a doctor of the new interpretation. We have found him,

and now we have become enlightened in the history of freemasonry and the

famous Invisibles, of whose toils and even existence we were before in

doubt; and we can now understand the new mysteries, the meaning of which

was lost or wrapped in doubtful hieroglyphics which the persecuted and

degraded adepts could not now explain. We have found the man, and now

can return with that sacred fire which at one time transformed a statue

of clay into a thinking being--a rival for the stern and stupid gods of

the ancients. Our master is the Prometheus. Trismegistus had the fire of

truth in his bosom, and we have caught a sufficiency from him to enable

us to initiate you into a new life.

"The stories of our kind hosts kept us long sitting beside the rustic

hearth. They did not care for the legal judgments and attestations that

declared Albert of Rudolstadt, in consequence of an attack of catalepsy,

deprived of his name and rights. Their love of his character--their

hatred of the foreign spoilers, the Austrians, who, having condemned and

persecuted the legitimate heir, now bereft him of his lands and castle,

which they shamefully squandered--the hammer of the ruthless demolisher,

who would destroy his seigniorial abode, and sell at any price its

invaluable contents, and who sought to sully and deface what they could

not carry away; for these reasons the peasantry of the Boehmer-wald

preferred a truly miraculous truth to the odious sophistry of the

conquerors. Twenty-five years had passed since the disappearance of

Albert Podiebrad, yet no one here will believe in his death, though all

the newspapers have published it, in confirmation of an unjust judgment;

while all the aristocracy of Vienna laughed contemptuously at the madman

who supposed himself resuscitated from death. Albert of Rudolstadt has

now been a week on these mountains--the home of his fathers; and every

day finds him in prayer and praise at their tombs. All who remember his

features beneath his grey hairs prostrate themselves before him as their

true master and ancient friend. There is something to admire in their

acknowledgment of this persecuted man, and much of the beautiful in the

love they bear towards him.

"In a corrupt world like this, nothing can be thought of to give you an

idea of the pure morals and noble sentiments we have met with here.

Spartacus has a profound respect for the peasantry; and the trifling

persecution we first experienced, from their detestation of tyranny, has

confirmed our confidence in their fidelity amid misfortune, and in their

grateful remembrance of the past.

"At dawn we wished to leave the hut in search of the violin player; but

we were surprised to find ourselves surrounded by a number of men, armed

with flails and scythes, the chief of whom said--

"'You must forgive us if we retain you here. We have come together for

that purpose; but you may be free again this evening.'

"Finding us astonished at this, he said--

"'If you are honest men, you have no need to be alarmed; but if you be

scamps, spies, whom our people cannot understand, sent hither to rob us

of our Podiebrad, you shall not leave us until he is far away, and safe

from your attempts to find him.'

"We saw that during the night these honest people distrusted us, though

they had been so kind and open-hearted at first that we could not but

admire them. The master felt sadly distressed at the idea of losing the

hierophant we had come so far to see. He ventured to write to

Trismegistus, in the masonic character, and to tell him his name and

position, in order if possible to relieve the people of their

suspicions. A few moments after this letter had been taken to a

neighboring hut, we saw a woman before whom the peasants opened their

rudely ordered phalanx. We heard them murmur, 'La Zingara! La Zingara

Consolacione!' She soon entered the hut, and, closing the doors, began

in the signs and formulas of freemasonry to question us strictly. We

were surprised to find a woman initiated in the mystic signs; but her

imposing air and scrutinising look inspired us with respect,

notwithstanding her gipsy garb, which she wore with an ease evidently

acquired by habit.

"As she was very clean, and her manners calm and dignified, we fancied

her queen of the camp; but when she told us that she was the wife of

Trismegistus, we looked at her with ease and respect. She is no longer

young, being apparently about forty, but broken down by fatigue. She is

yet beautiful, however; and her tall and elegant figure has still that

noble air and chaste dignity which command admiration. We were deeply

impressed by her angelic countenance, and her sweet musical voice moved

our hearts as with heavenly melody. Whoever this woman may be, thought

we, whether the wife of the philosopher or a generous adventurer

attached to him from an ardent passion, it is impossible to say; but we

could not imagine that any other than a pure unsullied prompting could

influence such a being. We were astonished to find our sage entramelled

with the chains of common men; but we soon discovered that in the ranks

of the truly noble--the intelligent, the wise, and the good--he had

found a companion after his own heart--one also that could brave with

him the storms of life.

"'Excuse my fears and doubts,' said she, after many questions. 'We have

been persecuted and have suffered much; but, thank God, my husband has

forgotten his misfortunes. He is now safe, and nothing can annoy or

afflict him. Heaven, however, has made me a sentinel to protect him from

the approach of his persecutors. Hence my distrust and anxiety. Your

manners and language satisfy me more than do the signs which we have

exchanged, for our mystery has been abused by false preachers and

designing brethren. Prudence forbids us to trust any one; but heaven

protests against impiety or lack of charity. The family of the faithful

is depressed, and we have no longer a temple in which we can hold

communion. Our adepts have lost the true significance of the mysteries.

The letter of our law has killed its spirit; and the divine art has been

mistaken and defiled by man. What matters it?--are there not yet some

faithful? In a few sanctuaries the word of life may yet be safe. Yes, it

will yet find an utterance, and be diffused through the world; the

temple will yet be reconstructed by the pure light of faith, aided by

the widow's mite.'

"'Precisely,' said the master. 'That is what we look for, and what is

preached in our sanctuaries, but which few can understand. We have

reflected upon it, and, after years of toil and meditation have fancied

that we have discovered its true meaning. Therefore are we come to ask

your husband's sanction of our faith, or a correction of our errors. Let

us speak with him, that he may hear and understand us.'

"'That I cannot promise,' said the Zingara; 'nor can he. Trismegistus is

not always inspired, though he now lives under the influence of poetic

meditations. Music is its habitual manifestation. Metaphorical ideas

rarely exalt him above mere sentiment. At present he can say nothing

that would be satisfactory to you. I alone can at all times understand

his language; but to those who do not know him, he is mysterious. I may

tell you this--To men guided by icy reason, Trismegistus is a madman;

and while the poetic peasant humbly offers the sublime gifts of

hospitality to the wise one who has touched and delighted him, the

coarser mind casts his boon of pity on the vagabond who displays his

genius in the city. I have taught our children to accept those gifts

only for the benefit of the aged and infirm beggar, who may not be

gifted sufficiently to influence the hearts of the charitable. We have

no need of alms: we do not beg, for in so doing we would degrade

ourselves. We gain our living honestly, and by no other means shall our

children live. Providence has enabled us to impart our enthusiasm and

art to those capable of comprehending their beauties, and in exchange we

receive the religious hospitality of the poor, and share his frugal

meal. Thus do we earn our food and clothing. At the doors of our

wealthier brethren, we only stop that they may hear our song; we seek no

reward. Only those who have nothing to barter should be classed as

paupers, and on them we bestow charity. These are our ideas of

independence, which we realize by using the talents bestowed on us by

heaven in such a way as gives honor to the donor and credit to

ourselves. We have made friends everywhere among the lower classes of

society, and these, our brothers and sisters, would not degrade

themselves by seeking to deprive us of our probity and honor. Every day

we make new disciples; and when no longer able to take care of our

children, they will have an opportunity of repaying their obligations to

us. Trismegistus now to you will seem crazed by his enthusiasm, as once

he really was by sorrow. Watch him, however, and you will find your

error; for it is the blindness of society and its many perverse social

institutions that make its men of genius and invention often seem

insane. Now come with us, and perhaps Trismegistus will be able to talk

with you on other subjects besides that of music. You must not, however,

request him; for he will do so voluntarily, if we find him at the proper

time, and when old ideas are revived. We will go in an hour. Our

presence here may bring new dangers on his head; and in no other place

need we so much fear recognition, after so many years of exile. We will

go to Vienna by way of the Boehmer-wald and the Danube. I have travelled

in that direction before now, and I will gladly do so again. We will

visit our two children, whom friends in comfortable circumstances

insisted on taking care of and instructing. All, you are aware, are not

artists--we must individually walk in the way pointed out by our

Creator.'

"Such were the explanations of this strange woman, who, though often

pressed by our questions and interrupted by our objections, told us of

the life she had adopted in pursuance of her husband's ideas and tastes.

We gladly accepted her invitation to accompany her, and when we were

ready the rural guard opened its ranks to let us pass.

"'My children,' said the Zingara, in her full and harmonious voice,

'your friend awaits you under the trees. It is the most pleasant hour of

the day, and we will have matins and music. Have confidence in in these

two friends,' said she, pointing to us in her majestic and naturally

theatrical air. 'They are not spies, but well-wishers.'

"The peasants followed us singing. On the way the Zingara told us that

her family purposed to leave the village that very day.

"'Do not tell him so,' she said, 'for it would cost him many tears. We

are not safe here, however, as some old enemy might pass, and recognise

Albert of Rudolstadt under the Bohemian dress.'

"We came to the centre of the hamlet, which was used as a bleach green,

and encircled by immense beach trees, beneath whose boughs were humble

cots and capricious pathways traced by the footsteps of cattle. The

place appeared enchanted as the early rays of the sun fell on the

emerald carpet of its meadows. Silvery dews hung over the brows of the

mountains. Everything had a fresh and healthy appearance; even the

grey-bearded peasants, the ivy-coated trees, and the old moss-covered

cottages. In an open space, where a sparkling rivulet ran, dividing and

multiplying its many crystal branches, we saw Trismegistus with his

children, two beautiful girls and a lad of fifteen, handsome as the

Endymion of the sculptor and poet.

"'This is Wanda,' said the Zingara, showing us the elder girl, 'and the

younger is named Winceslawa. Our son has been called Zdenko, after his

father's best friend. Old Zdenko has a marked preference for him. You

see he has Winceslawa between his legs and the other girl on his knee,

he is not thinking of them, however, but is gazing at Zdenko as if he

could never be satisfied.'

"We looked at the old man, whose cheeks were wet with tears; and his

thin, bony face, though marked by many a wrinkle, yet looked on the last

scion of the Rudolstadts with an expression of beatitude and ecstacy as

he held him by the hand. I could have wished myself able to paint this

group, with Trismegistus in the foreground, as he sadly tuned his violin

and arranged his bow.

"'Is it you, my friends?' says he, as he returned our respectful salute

with cordiality. 'My wife has brought you? She was right, as I have good

things to say to you, and will be happy if you hear me.'

"He played more mysteriously than on the previous evening; such at least

was our impression; but the music no doubt was more delicious from

association, as his little audience thrilled with enthusiasm on hearing

the old ballads of their country and its sacred hymns of freedom.

Emotion was differently marked on their manly brows. Some, like Zdenko,

delighted in the vision of the past and seemed to impregnate themselves

with its poetry, as a transplanted flower in its strange home receives

with joy a few drops of moisture. Others were transported by religious

fanaticisms, when they remembered their present sorrows, and with closed

fists they menaced their visionary enemies, and appealed to heaven for

outraged virtue and dignity. There were sobs and groans, blended with

wild applause and delirious cries.

"'My friends,' said Albert, 'you see these simple men. They completely

comprehend my meaning; and do not, as you did yesterday, ask the meaning

of my prophecies.'

"'You spoke of them only of the past,' said Spartacus, who was anxious

that he should continue his eloquent strain.

"'The past! the past!--the present!--what vain follies are these?' said

Trismegistus, with a smile. 'Man has them all in his heart, and of them

his life is compounded. Since, however, you insist on words to

illustrate my ideas, listen to my son, who will repeat a canticle, the

music of which was composed by his mother, and the verses by myself.'

"The handsome youth advanced calmly yet modestly into the circle. It was

evident that his mother, without knowing it, was over anxious about her

son's personal appearance, and that his beauty might be the more

conspicuous, she had dressed him out superbly in comparison with the

rest of her family. He took off his cap, bowed to his hearers, and

kissed his hand, which salutation was returned by the company. After a

prelude on the guitar from his mother, by which the lad became

enraptured, so congenial was it to his soul, he sang in the Sclavic

language a long ballad to the goddess of Poverty.

"Conceive the effect of a ballad in that mild and gentle tongue which

seems formed for youthful lips alone. It was a melody that touched the

heart, and brought forth tears, pure as crystal from our eyes. It was

sung in a seraphic voice, with exquisite purity, and an incomparable

musical accent; and all this from the son of Trismegistus, and the pupil

and son of Zingara, from one of the best and most gifted children of the

earth. If you can represent to yourself a large group of masculine

faces, honest and picturesque, in such a landscape as Ruysdäel

loved--the unseen torrent, which yet flung from the ravine a murmur that

mingled with the distant bell of the mountain sheep--then you will have

some idea of the poetic joy in which we were immersed.

"'Now, my lads,' said Albert Podiebrad, 'we must to work. Go you to the

fields, and I with my family will seek inspiration in the woods.'

"'You will come back again at night,' said the peasants.

"The Zingara made them a kind gesture, which they mistook for a promise.

The two youngest daughters, who as yet knew nothing of danger, cried out

with infantine joy, 'Yes, yes;' and the peasants dispersed. Zdenko sat

on the steps of the cottage, and saw with satisfaction the people fill a

large bag, which the boy held, with a dinner for the family. The Zingara

then bade us follow, and away we went with the itinerant musicians.

"We had to ascend the ravine. My master and I each took in our arms one

of the girls, and we had thus an opportunity to speak to Trismegistus,

who did not before seem aware of our presence.

"'You think me a dreamer,' said he. 'I am sorry to leave my friends and

the old man behind me. To-morrow they will search the forest for me.

Consuelo, however, will have it so, as she fancies we would be in danger

were we to remain here any longer. I cannot think that any one now fears

or envies us. But her will has always been mine, and to-night we will

not return to the hamlet. If you be my friends in reality, you will

return thither and tell them so. We did not say adieu, for we did not

wish to vex them. As for Zdenko, you need only say to-morrow, he never

thinks of any longer time; all time, all life to him, is in the word

to-morrow. He has divested his mind of the received ideas of time, and

his eyes are now open to the mystery of eternity, in which he seems

always absorbed, and at any time prepared to put off the mortal coil in

exchange for the glorious immortal. Zdenko is a sage, and the wisest I

ever knew.'

"Our journeying had an effect on this family which is worthy of remark.

The children lost their bashfulness before us, and listened most

attentively to the oracles that Trismegistus propounded, which were

replete with heavenly wisdom, and highly calculated to exalt their ideas

above the things of this life, while at the same time they forcibly

dwelt on the necessity of humility. The noble boy, who watched his

father attentively, and noted down every word that he said, would have

been much offended, had any one said that his beloved parent was insane.

Trismegistus rarely spoke, and we observed that neither his wife nor his

children expected him to do so, except when urgently necessary. They

respected his reveries, and La Zingara continually watched him, as if

she was afraid of him suffering in those silent moods. She had studied

the oddities of his character, and did not consider them as foolish. I

would not think it right to use the word 'folly,' in reference to such a

man as Trismegistus. When I first saw him, I thoroughly understood the

veneration of his peasant friends, who are philosophers and theologians

without being aware of it, resembling in this respect the eastern

nations, who make gods to themselves, objects of adoration, as if it

were by instinct. They know that, when not harassed by ridicule, his

abstraction becomes a faculty divinely poetical. I do not know what

would become of him, did not his friends encircle him with their love

and protection. Their conduct towards him is an attractive example of

the respect and solicitude which is due to the invalid, or by the strong

to the weak, in every instance where heaven in its wisdom may punish or

chastise."

"The family walked with such ease and activity that we soon found

ourselves comparatively exhausted. Even the youngest children, when not

in the arms of some of the party, seemed to get over the ground with as

much ease as do the finny tribe in their natural element. La Zingara, in

her anxiety for her son, would not allow him to burthen himself with any

of the little ones, alleging that he was too young for such labor, and

that it might injure his voice, which had not reached its climax. She

took the gentle and confiding little creatures on her own shoulders, and

carried them with the same ease that she would her guitar. Physical

power is a blessing conferred more on the poor artisan or travel-toiled

wanderer than on the easy and luxuriant.

"We were very much fatigued when through many rugged paths we reached a

place called the Schreckenstein, which is most romantic in its

appearance. As we drew near, we observed that Consuelo looked with

anxiety at her husband, and kept close to his side, as if she feared

some danger was near, or an outburst of violent emotion; but nothing

seemed to disturb him, as he sat himself on a large stone, from which he

had a complete view of the arid hills around. In the aspect of this

place there is something terrible. The rocks are in disorder, and by

their falling the trees underneath are frequently crushed. They seem to

have but slight root in the ground, and the shepherds avoid the spot,

leaving it to the wild boar, the wolf, and the chamois. Albert dreamed

for a long time on this spot. He then looked at the children who played

at his feet, and at his wife, who sought to read his emotion on his

brow. He arose suddenly, knelt before her, and bidding his children

follow his example, said--

"'Kneel to your mother--a consolation vouchsafed to the unfortunate--the

peace promised of God to the pure of heart.'

"The children knelt around the Zingara, and wept as they covered her

with kisses. She, too, wept, as she pressed them to her bosom; and bade

them turn around and do the same homage to their father. Spartacus and I

also knelt with them.

"When Consuelo had spoken, Spartacus paid his homage to Trismegistus,

and besought him to grant him light, telling him all he had suffered,

studied, and thought; and then knelt as if enchanted at the Zingara's

feet. I hardly dare to tell what passed in my mind. The Zingara was

certainly old enough to be my mother, yet I cannot describe the charm

that radiated from her brow. In spite of my respect for her husband, and

the horror with which the mere idea of forgetting it would have filled

me, I felt my whole soul enthralled by an enthusiasm with which neither

the splendor of youth nor the prestige of luxury have ever inspired me.

May I meet with one like her, to whom I can devote my life! I can

scarcely hope so, however; and now that I never shall have her, there is

a despair in my heart, as if it had been announced that I could love no

one else.

"La Zingara did not even notice me. She looked at Spartacus, and was

struck with his ardent and sincere language. Trismegistus also was

touched, and clasped the master's hand, making him sit on the rock

behind him.

"'Young man,' said he, 'you have awakened all the ideas of my life. I

fancied I heard myself speaking as I was wont when of your age, and

asked men of your experience for the knowledge of virtue. I had resolved

to tell you nothing. I distrusted not your mind and honesty, but the

purity of the flame in your bosom. I did not feel able to describe in a

tongue I once spoke, the ideas I have accustomed myself to express by

poetry, art, and sentiment; but your faith has triumphed, has

accomplished a miracle, and I feel that I must speak. Yes,' added he,

after having gazed at Spartacus in silence for a moment, which to me

seemed a century, 'yes, now I know you. I have seen you, and with you I

have loved and toiled, in some phase of my anterior life. Your name

among men was great, but I do not remember it. I only remember your

look, your glance, your soul, from which mine has detached itself, not

without a great effort. Now, I am better able to read the future than

the past, and future centuries often appear to me as clear as the

present time. Be assured you will be great, and accomplish great things.

You will, however, be blamed, accused, censured, and calumniated. My

idea, however, will sustain you, under a thousand forms, until it shall

inflict the last blow on social and religious despotism. Yes, you are

right in looking into society for your rule of life. You obey your

destiny, or rather your inspiration. This cheers me. This I felt when I

heard you, and this you contrived to communicate to me, which proves the

reality of your mission. Toil, then, act and labor. Heaven has made you

the organ of destruction. Destroy and discuss. Faith is as necessary for

the destruction as for the erection of edifices. I left a path into

which you have voluntarily entered, for I thought it bad. If it were, it

was the result of accident. I have spoken to the poor, to the weak, to

the oppressed, under the form of art and poetry, which they

instinctively understand and love. It is possible that I have been too

distrustful of the kindly feelings which yet animate men of power and

learning. For a long time I have not known them, having been disgusted

with their impious skepticism and yet more impious superstition. I left

them with disgust, to look for the pure of heart. Obey--obey the breath

of the spirit!--continue to aggrandize our work. Gather up the arms we

have yet on the battle-field! Do not leave them perchance, to strengthen

the force of the enemy, or thus we may be conquered.'

"Then Spartacus and the divine old man began a conversation which I will

never forget. In the course of it, Rudolstadt, who had at first been

unwilling to speak, except in music, as Orpheus did of yore--this

artist, who had for a long time abandoned logic and reason for the

sentiment of the soul--this man whom popular judges had stigmatised as

mad--without effort, as if by inspiration, at once became the most

reasonable of philosophers, and in his precepts he illuminated the part

of true knowledge and wisdom. Spartacus exhibited all the ardor of his

soul. One was a complete man, with every faculty in unison; the other a

neophyte, abounding in enthusiasm. I remembered a gospel analogy of this

scene--Jesus, with Moses and the prophets, on the mountain.

"'Yes,' said Spartacus, 'I feel that I have a mission. I have been in

contact with those who rule the world, and have become aware of their

ignorance and hard-heartedness. How beautiful is life! How beautiful are

nature and humanity! I wept when I saw myself and my brethren, created

by the divine hand for nobler uses, enslaved by such wretches. After

having cried like a woman, I said to myself, "What prevents me from

loosing their fetters and setting them free?" After a period of solitary

reflection, however, I concluded that _to live_ is not to _be free._ Man

was not made to live alone. He cannot live without a purpose; and I

said--I am yet a slave--let me deliver my brothers. I found noble hearts

who associated with me, and they called me SPARTACUS.'"

"'I was right when I said you would destroy,' said the old man.

'Spartacus was a revolted slave. That matters not. Again, organise to

destroy. Let a secret society be formed to crush the power of existing

iniquity. If, however, you would have that body strong and efficacious,

infuse in it as many living, eternal truths as possible, that it may

first level the fabric of error, to raise on its ruins the structure of

charity, love, and gospel faith. To destroy, it must exist; all life

being positive.'

"'I understand your meaning. You would restrict my mission; but, be it

little or great, I accept it.'

"'All in the counsels of God is great. Let this one idea be to you a

rule of conduct--"Nothing is lost!" The divine equilibrium is

mathematical; and in the crucible of the great chemist every atom is

exactly computed.'

"'Since you approve of my designs, show me the way to put them into

action. How must I influence men? Must their imagination be appealed to?

Must I take advantage of their weakness and inclination for the

wonderful? You have seen how much good can be done by holding forth the

wonderful.'

"'Yes; but I have also seen the evil. If you be wise, you will adapt

your action to the age in which we live.'

"'Teach me, then, the doctrine--teach me how to act with certainty.'

"'You ask for the rule of method and certainty from one who has been

accused of folly and persecuted under that pretext. You have made a

wrong choice in an adviser; for instruction, you must go to the

philosophers and sages.'

"'I would rather appeal to you; I already know the value of their

science.'

"'Well, since you insist, I will inform you that method is identical

with _the doctrine_, because it is synonymous with the supreme truth

revealed in it. All is reduced to a knowledge of _the doctrine._'

"Spartacus reflected, and after a moment's silence said--

"'I wish to learn from you the supreme formula of _the doctrine._'

"'You will hear it, not from me, however, but from Pythagoras, the echo

of all sages. "O DIVINE TETRAID!" That is the formula which, under all

images, symbols, and emblems, humanity has proclaimed, by the voices of

many religions, when it could be seized on by no spiritual means,

without incarnation, without idolatry--as it was when first given as a

boon to mankind.'

"'Speak--speak! To make yourself understood, recall some of these

emblems, that you may speak in the stern language of the absolute.'

"'I cannot, as you wish, separate these two things--absolute religion,

and religion in its manifestation. Nature in our epoch exhibits them

together. We judge the past, and without living in it, find the

confirmation of our ideas. I wish to make myself understood.'

"'Speak!--but first speak of God. Does the formula apply to God, the

infinite essence? It would be criminal, did it not apply to that whence

it emanates. Have you reflected on the nature of God?'

"'Certainly; and I feel you have his spirit, the spirit of truth, in

your heart.'

"'Well what is God!'

"'The absolute being. "I am that I am," is the inspired answer given by

the greatest of books, the Bible.'

"'But do you know nothing more of his nature? Has the great book

revealed no more to man?'

"'Christians say God is triune--the Father, the Son, and the Spirit.'

"'What say the traditions of the old secret societies to which you

belong?'

"'The same. Has not this circumstance struck you? Official and

triumphant religion, as well as the faith that is proscribed, agree

exactly in relation to the nature of God. I might mention creeds which

existed earlier than Christianity, in whose theology you would find the

same truth. India, Egypt, Greece, have known God in three persons. We

will come to this again, however. From God, let us pass to man. What is

man?'

"'After one difficult question, you ask another, which is not less so.

The Oracle of Delphi has declared that all wisdom lay in this--"Man,

know thyself!"'

"'The oracle was right. From nature, well understood, all wisdom

emanates. So, too, does all morality, all organization, all true

politics. Let me ask again, what is man?'

"'An emanation from God----'

"'Certainly, for God is the only absolute being. However, I trust that

you are not like some philosophers I met in England, France, and even in

Germany, at the court of Frederick--that you do not resemble Locke, who

is so popular through the praise of Voltaire--that you are not like

Helvetius nor La Mettrie, whose boldness of naturalism so delighted the

court of Berlin--that you do not, like them, say that man has no

essential superiority over animals, trees, and stones. God, doubtless,

inspires all nature as he does man; but there is order in his theodicy.

There are distinctions in his conceptions, and consequently in the works

which are the realisation of his thoughts. Read that great book called

Genesis--that book which, though the people do not understand, they

truly enough call sacred--you will see that it was by divine light

establishing a difference between creatures, that his work was

consummated:--"Let there be light, and there was light." You will also

see that every creature having a name is a species:--"_Creavit cuncta

juxta genus suam et secundum speciem suam._" What, then, is the peculiar

form of man?'

"'I understand you. You wish to assign man a form like God.'

"'The divine trinity is found in all God's works; all reflect the divine

nature, though in a special manner--in a word, each after its kind.'

"'The nature of man I will now explain to you. Ages will elapse, ere

philosophers, divided as they now are, will agree in their

interpretation of it. One, infinitely greater though less famous, did so

correctly long ago. While the school of Descartes confines itself to

pure reason, making man a natural machine, an instrument of logic--while

Locke and his school make man merely a sensitive plant--while others

that I might mention, absorb themselves in sentiment, making man a

_double egotism_--if he loves, expanding him twice, thrice, or more if

he has relatives; he, the greatest of all, began by affirming that man

was all in one and indivisible. This philosopher was Leibnitz. He was

wise, and did not participate in the contempt our age entertains for

antiquity and Christianity. He dared to say there were pearls in the

dung of the middle age. Pearls, indeed, there were. Truth is eternal,

and all the philosophers have received it. With him then, I say, yet

with an affirmation stronger than his, that man, like God, is a Trinity.

This Trinity, in human language, is called Sensation, Sentiment,

Knowledge. The unity of these three things forms the divine _Tetraid._

Thence all history emanates; thence emanates all politics. There you

must recruit yourselves, as from an ever-living spring.'

"'You have passed abysses which my mind, less rapid than your own, could

not pass,' said Spartacus. 'How, from the psychological explanation you

have given me, can a method and rule of certainty be derived? This is my

first question.'

"'Easily,' said Albert. 'Human nature being known, it must be cultivated

according to its essence, if you understood that the matchless book,

whence the gospels themselves are taken--I mean _Genesis_, attributed to

Moses--was taken by him from the temples of Memphis, you would know that

human _dissolution_, by him called the deluge, meant only the separation

of the faculties of human nature, which thus emanated from unity, and

thence from their connection with divine unity or intelligence, love and

activity, have been eternally associated. Then you would see that every

organizer must imitate Noah, the _regenerator_; what the holy writ calls

the generations of Noah, their order and their harmony, will guide you.

Thus you will find at once in metaphysical truth a certain method to

cultivate human nature in every one, and a light to illumine you in

relation to the true organization of associations. I will tell you,

however, that I do not think the time for organization has come; there

is yet too much to be destroyed.

"'I advise you rather to attend to method than to doctrine. The time for

dissolution draws near; nay, it is here. Yes, the time is come when the

three faculties will be disunited, and their separation destroy the

social, religious, and political body. What will happen? Sensation will

produce its false prophets, and they will laud sensation. Sentiment will

produce false prophets, and they will praise sentiment. Knowledge will

produce false prophets, and they will extol mind. The latter will be

proud men, who resemble Satan; the second will be fanatics, ready to

walk towards virtue, without judgment, or with rule; the others will be

what Homer says became companions of Ulysses, when under the influence

of Circe's ring. Follow neither of their three roads, which, taken

separately, conduct, the first to the abyss of materialism, the second

to mysticism, and the third to atheism. There is no sure road to virtue.

This accords with complete human nature, and to human nature developed

under all its aspects. Do not leave this pathway; and to keep it, ever

think on doctrine and its sublime formula.'

"'You teach me things of which I have had a faint conception; yet

to-morrow I will not have you to guide me in the theoretic knowledge of

virtue, and thence to its practice.'

"'You will have other certain guides--above all, _Genesis._ Attempt to

seize its meaning; do not think it an historical book, a chronological

monument. There is nothing more foolish than opinion, which yet has

influence everywhere with _savans_ and _pupils_, and in every Christian

communion. Read the gospels and Genesis; understand the first by the

second, after having tested it by your heart. Strange is the chance.

Like Genesis, the Gospels are believed and misinterpreted. These are

important matters; yet there are others. Gather up all the _fragments_

of Pythagoras. Study, too, the relics of the holy Theosophist, whose

name I in the temple bore. Believe not, my friends, that I would

voluntarily have dared to assume the venerable name of Trismegistus. The

Invisibles bade me do so. The works of Hermes, now despised, and thought

to be the invention of some Christian of the second or third century,

contain the old Egyptian lore; yet the pedants condemn them. A day will

come in which they will be explained, and then be thought more valuable

than all Plato left behind him. Read Trismegistus and Plato, and those

who subsequently have thought of the great Republic. Among these, I

especially advise you to study the great work of Campanella. He suffered

terribly for having dreamed, as you do, of human organization, founded

on the true and real.

"'When I talk of written things,' said Trismegistus, 'think not, in

idolatry, as the Catholics do, I make an incarnation of life in death.

As I spoke of books yesterday, to-day I will speak of other relics of

the past. Books--monuments, are the traces of life by which existence

may be maintained. Life, however, is here; and the everlasting Trinity

is better impressed on ourselves than in the writings of Plato or

Hermes.'

"Though I did not mean to do so, by chance I diverted the conversation.

'Master,' said I, 'you have just said the Trinity is more deeply

impressed on the face of the stars. What would you express by that?

Indeed, as the Bible says, I see God's story uttered by the stars, but I

see in these stars no evidence of what you call Trinity.' He replied:

"'Physical science is not yet adequately advanced; you have not studied

them in their present state. Have you heard of the discoveries in

electricity? Certainly you have, for all who are educated have attended

to them. Well, have you not observed that the philosophers who so

contemned and despised the divine Trinity, have in this point of view

recognised it? Have they not said there was no electricity without heat

and light? In this they see that Trinity they will not acknowledge in

God.'

"He then began to talk of nature, and said we should refer all its

phenomena to one uniform rule. 'Life is one. There is in life one

action. The only question to ascertain is, how we live in obedience to

one universal law, without being absorbed in that law?'

"For my own sake, I would gladly have heard him elucidate this great

theme. Spartacus, though, for some time had appeared less attentive to

what he said. The reason of this was not that he did not attend to them.

The old man's mind, however, would not always last; he sought,

therefore, to improve it by bringing him back to the subjects he loved

the best.

"Rudolstadt observed his impatience. 'You no longer follow the train of

my ideas,' said he. 'Does the science of nature, as I understand it,

seem inapproachable? You are in error if you think so. I estimate the

labor of learned men as lightly as you do, when they become empirics. If

they act thus, they will build up no science, but merely a glossary.

Others beside myself are of this opinion. I became in France acquainted

with a philosopher I loved deeply, Diderot, who often blamed the

collection of scientific matter without any _idea_. Such is the work of

a stone-cutter. Yet no trace of the mason or architect is apparent.

Sooner or later, then, doctrine will come in contact with the natural

science. These are our materials. Think you, now, the naturalist really

understands nature without a perception of the living God who fills it?

Can they see or know it? They call light and sound matter, when matter

is light and sound.'

"'Think not,' said Spartacus, 'I reject what you say about nature. Not

so. I see there can be no true knowledge, except from the appreciation

of the godly unity, and the likeness of all phenomena. But you point out

the paths to us, and I tremble at the idea of your silence. Enable me to

make some progress in one of those paths.'

"'In which?' said Albert.

"'I think of humanity and the future.'

"'I see you wish,' said Albert, with a smile, 'that I should give you my

Utopia.'

"'That was what I desired to ask you,' said Spartacus. 'I wished the new

Utopia you bear in your brain and bosom. We know the society of the

Invisibles searched for and dreamed of its bases. That labor has matured

in you. Let us take advantage of it. Give us your republic, and, as far

as it seems realisable to us, we will put it in practice. The sparks

from your fire will enliven the universe.'

"'You ask me for my dreams,' said Rudolstadt. 'I will attempt to lift up

a portion of the veil which so often hides the future from me. Perchance

it may be for the last time, yet I will seek to do so, believing that

with you the golden dream of poesy will not be entirely lost.'

"Trismegistus then became divinely enthusiastic. His eyes glittered like

stars, and his voice overcame us as the hurricane would. He spoke to us

for more than four hours, and his words were pure as some hymn of the

poetic, artistic, and pious work of all ages. He composed a poem

sublimely majestic; he explained to us all the religions of the past,

all the mysteries of the temples, the poems and laws, all the efforts

and objects of men of the olden time. In those things, which to us had

ever appeared dead or condemned, he discovered the essence of life; and

from the very obscurity of fables caused the essence of life to emanate,

and the light of truth to beam forth, he translated the old myths--he

fixed, by his clear and shrewd demonstration, all the ties and points of

union of religions. He pointed out to us what humanity truly demanded,

however its requisitions might be understood or interpreted by the

people. He convinced us of the unity of life in man, of doctrine in

religion, and, from the dispersed materials of the old and new world,

formed the basis of that which was to come. Finally, he dispersed those

doubts of eternity which long had annoyed our studies. He explained the

lapses of history, which had so alarmed us--he unfolded the countless

bandages enwrapping the mummy of science; and when, in a flash, we had

received what he exhibited with the quickness of electricity--when we

saw all he had seen--when the past, parent of the present, stood before

us, like the luminous one of the Apocalypse, he paused, and said, with a

smile, 'Now that the past and present stand before you, need I explain

the future to you? Does not the Holy Spirit shine before you? See you

not that all man has fancied and wished, sublime as it may be, in the

future is certain, for the simple reason that truth, in spite of the

wish of our faculties to know and own, is simple and positive. We all,

in heart and in hope, possess it. In us it lives, and is. It exists from

all time in humanity, in the germ before fecundation.'

"He spoke again, and his poem about the future was as magnificent as

that of the past. I will not attempt to embody it in language, for, to

transmit the words of inspiration, one must himself be inspired. To

explain what Trismegistus told us in two or three hours, would require

years of thought from me. What Socrates did consumed his life, and

Jesus' labors have occupied seventeen centuries. You see that,

unfortunate and unworthy as I am, I must tremble at the task before me.

But I do not abandon it. The master will not write this out as I would.

He is a man of action, and has already condensed what Trismegistus told

him, as fully as if those subjects had been studied by himself. As if by

an electric touch, he has appropriated all the soul of the philosopher

communicated to him. It is his; it is his own, and, as a politician, he

will use it. He will be the verbatim and spiritual translator, instead

of the lifeless and obscure renderer I am. Ere my work is done, his

school will know the letter. Yes, ere two years have passed, the

strange, wild words uttered on this mountain, will have taken root in

the hearts of many adepts, and the vast world of secret societies, now

moving in night, will unite under one doctrine, receive a new law, and

resume activity by initiation into the word of life. We give you this

monument, establishing Spartacus's foresight, sanctioning all the truth

that he has yet attained, and filling his vista with all the power of

faith and inspiration.

"As Trismegistus spoke, and I listened eagerly, fearing to lose one of

those notes which acted on me like a holy hymn, Spartacus, controlling

his excitement, with a burning eye but firm hand, and with a mind more

eager than his ear, wrote on his tablets characters and signs, as if the

conception of this doctrine had been communicated under geometrical

forms. That very night he returned to those notes, which to me meant

nothing. I was surprised to see him write down and accurately organize

the conclusions of the poet-philosopher. All was simplified and summed

up, as if magically, in the alemble of our master's poetical mind.[28]

"He was not satisfied. Trismegistus's inspiration abandoned him. The

brightness left his eyes, and his frame seemed to shrink within itself.

Consuelo, by a sign, bade us say no more. Spartacus, however, was ardent

in the pursuit of truth, and did not see her. He continued his

questions.

"'You have,' said he, 'talked of God's earthly kingdom,'--and as he

spoke he shook Albert's icy hand. 'Jesus, however, has said, "My kingdom

is not of earth." For seventeen centuries man has vainly hoped for the

fulfilment of his promise. I have not been, by meditation on eternity,

as exalted as you have been. To you time enfolds, as it does to God, the

idea of perpetual action--all the phases of which, at all times, accord

with your exalted feelings. But I live nearer the earth, and count

centuries and years. I wish to study while I live. Explain to me, oh,

prophet! what I must do in this phase of life--what your words will

effect--what they have already effected. I would not live in it vainly.'

"'What matters it to you what I know? None live in vain, and nothing is

lost. None of us are useless. Let me look from the detail, saddening the

heart, and contracting the mind. I am wearied even at the thought.'

"'You, gifted with the power of revelation, should not be exhausted,'

said Spartacus, with energy. 'If you look away from human misery, you

are not the real and complete man of whom was said, "_Homo sum et nihil

humani, a me alienum puto._" You do not love men, and are not a brother,

if their sufferings at every hour of eternity do not disturb you--if you

do not search for a remedy in the unfolding of your ideal. Unhappy

artist, who does not feel a consuming fire in this terrible and pleasant

inquiry?'

"'What, then, do you wish?' said the poet, who now was excited and

almost angry. 'Are you so far vain as to think you alone toil and that I

alone can impart inspiration? I am no magician. I despise false

prophets, and long have striven against them. My predictions are

demonstrations, my visions are elevated perceptions. The poet is not a

sorcerer; he dreams with positiveness, while the other invents wildly. I

realise your activity, for I can judge of your capacity. I believe in

the sublimity of your dreams, because I feel capable of producing them,

and because humanity is vast and powerful enough to expand a hundred

times all the conceptions of one of its members.'

"'Then,' said Spartacus, 'I ask from you the fate of humanity, in the

name of that sympathy that perhaps fills my bosom more completely than

your own. An enchanted veil hides its sorrows from you, while every hour

of my life I touch and shudder at them. I am anxious to soothe them,

and, like the doctor by the bed-side of death, would rather kill by

imprudence, than suffer to die by neglect. You see I will be a dangerous

being, perhaps even monstrous, unless you change me into a saint.

Tremble at the idea of my death, unless you give the enthusiast a

remedy. Humanity dreams, sings, and beseeches in you. With me it

suffers, bewails, and laments. You have expanded your future, though, in

the distance before me. You may say what you please, yet it will require

toil, labor, and sweat to gather something of your remedy for my

bleeding wounds. Generations and language may pass away, inert and

lifeless; I, the incarnation of suffering humanity--I, the cry of

distress, and the longing for salvation--wish to know whether I shall do

good or injury. You have not looked so far from wrong as to be unaware

of its existence. Whither must we go first? what must I do to-morrow?

Must I oppose the enemies of virtue by mildness or violence? Remember

your idolised Taborites saw before the gates of the terrestrial paradise

a sea of blood and tears. I do not think you a magician, but in your

symbols I see a mighty logic and perfect lucidity. If you can foretell

with certainty things far away, you can more certainly lift up the veil

of the horizon of my sight.'

"Albert appeared to suffer deeply. Perspiration fell from his forehead,

and he looked at Spartacus, now with terror, and then with enthusiasm; a

fearful contest oppressed him. His wife in alarm clasped him in her

arms, and silently reproached the master by her glances--instinct,

however, with respect as well as fear. Never was I more impressed with

Spartacus's capacity. He was overpowered with his fanaticism of virtue

and truth, the tortures of the prophet striving with inspiration, the

distress of Consuelo, the terror of the children, and upbraidings of his

own heart. I too trembled, and thought him cruel. I feared that the

poet's soul would be crushed by a last effort, and the tears in his

wife's eyes fell deeply and hotly on my heart. All at once Trismegistus

arose, and putting aside both Spartacus and Consuelo, made a gesture to

his children to go. He seemed transformed. His eyes, from an invisible

book, vast as the universe, and written in characters of light on the

arch of heaven, seemed to read.

"He then said aloud--

"'Am I not human? Why should I not say what nature demands and therefore

will have. I am a man, and therefore I have a right to express the will

of the human family, and to declare their intention. One who witnesses

the gathering of the clouds can predict the lightning and the storm. I

know what is in my heart, and what it will bring forth. I am a man, and

I live in an age when the voice of Europe murmurs trumpet-tongued.

Friends, these are not dreams. I swear by the name of human nature they

are dreams merely in relation to the present formation of our moral and

social systems. Which of the two, spirit or matter, will take the lead?

The gospel says, the spirit bloweth where it pleaseth. The spirit will

do so, and will alter the face of the universe. It is said in

Genesis--"When all was dark and chaotic, the Spirit blew on the waters."

Now, creation is eternal. Let us create, or, in other words, obey the

Spirit. I see darkness and chaos. Why should we remain in darkness?

"_Veni, Creator Spiritus._"'

"He paused, and then began again.

"'Can Louis XV. contend with you, Spartacus? Frederick, the pupil of

Voltaire, is less powerful than his master; and were I to compare Maria

Theresa to my Consuelo, it would be almost blasphemous.'

"He again paused for a short time; and resumed--

"'Come, Zdenko, my child, descendant of the Podiebrad, bearing the name

of my second self and dearest friend, prepare to aid us. You are a new

man, and must choose for yourself. Which side will you take,--that of

your parents, or in the ranks of the tyrants of the earth? The power of

a new generation is in you. Which will you subscribe to, slavery or

liberty? Son of Consuelo, child of the Zingara, godson of the Sclave, I

trust your choice will be with the advocates of liberty, not in the

ranks of the enslavers, else I will renounce you. Though I am a

descendant of the proud ones who sit on thrones, I have long since

despised the bauble, and you, my son, must follow in my footsteps.'

"He continued--

"'He who dares assert that the divine essence--beauty, goodness, and

power--is not to be found on earth, is Satan.'

"Again he added--

"'He who dares assert that man's likeness to his Creator, in sensation,

sentiment, and knowledge, is not, as the Bible says, to be realised on

earth, is Cain.'

"Here he was silent for a time, and added--

"'Your mind, Spartacus, by its strength of purpose in the good cause,

has delighted me. Feeble are enthroned kings. They fancy themselves

mighty, because the slaves of the earth kneel to them; but they see not

what threatens. Their destruction has already begun. To promulgate our

doctrines is to overthrow kings, nobles, armies, and to silence the

profane priests who pander to the tyrants. Neither their courtiers, nor

mistresses, nor their church's influence will protect them. Hurry, then,

to France, my friend, where the work of destruction will soon begin. If

you would share in the good work, do not delay. France is the

pre-ordained of nations. Join the friends of humanity. Throughout France

the words of Isaiah are now being shouted--"Arise! and be enlightened,

for the light is come, and the glory of the Eternal has descended on

thee, and the nations will come to thy light!" Thus the Taborites sang

of Tabor, and France is the Tabor of our era.'

"For a time he was silent, and his face was kindled with joy. He

continued--

"'I am happy! Glory to God! Glory to God on high! as the gospel says;

and peace and good-will on earth! Thus sing the angels; and, feeling as

they do, I would sing like them. What has happened? I am yet with you,

my friends! I am yet with thee, my Eve!--my Consuelo! These are my

children--souls of my soul! We are not, however, on the mountains of

Bohemia, nor amid the ruins of the castle of my fathers. I seem to

breathe, see, feel, and taste of eternity. It is said: How beautiful is

Nature--life--humanity--these which tyrants have perverted.

Tyrants!--There are none! Men are equal; and human nature is understood,

appreciated, and sanctified. Men are free--they are equals--they are

brothers. There is no longer any other definition of man. He masters no

slaves. Hear you that cry--_Vive la République?_ Hear you that crowd

proclaiming liberty, equality, and fraternity? That formula in our

mysteries was uttered in a low voice, and communicated only to adepts of

the higher grades. There is no secret now. The sacraments are for all.

Our Hussite ancestors said----'

"All at once he began to weep.

"'I know the doctrine is not far enough advanced. Too few wear it in

their hearts, and understand it. Horror!--war!--such a war everywhere!'

"He wept long. We did not know what visions passed before his eyes; but

we thought he again saw the Hussite contest. All his faculties seemed

disturbed, and his soul was troubled like as Christ's on Calvary.

"The sight of his trouble distressed me. Spartacus was firm as one who

consults an oracle. 'Lord! Lord!' said the prophet in agony, 'have mercy

on us! We are in thy power. Do with us according to thy will.'

"Trismegistus reached out his hands to grasp those of his wife and son,

as if he had suddenly become blind. The girls rushed in terror to his

bosom, and silently clung there. Consuelo was alarmed; and Zdenko looked

anxiously at his mother. Spartacus saw them not. Was the poet's vision

yet before his eyes? At length he approached the group, and Consuelo

warned him not to excite Albert, whose eyes were open and fixed, as if

he slept a mesmeric sleep, or saw slowly fade away the dreams which

agitated him. After fifteen minutes his eyes relaxed their rigidity,

when he drew his wife and Zdenko to his heart. Ho embraced them for some

time; and afterwards rose up, expressing himself willing to resume his

travels.

"'The sun is very hot,' said Consuelo. 'Had you not rather sleep beneath

these trees?'

"'The sun is pleasant,' he said, with a sweet smile; 'and unless you

fear it more than usual, it will do me good.'

"Each took up his burden, the father a large bag, and the son the

musical instruments, while Consuelo led her daughters by the hand.

"'We suffer thus in the cause of truth,' said Consuelo to Spartacus.

"'Do you not fear that this excitement will injure your husband?' said

I. 'Let me go farther with you. I may be able to render you some

assistance.'

"'I thank you for your kindness,' she said; 'but do not follow us. I

apprehend nothing but a few sad hours. There was danger in the sad

recollections connected with this spot, from which you have preserved

him by occupying his mind. He wished to come hither, but did not

remember the way. I thank you, then, for your many kindnesses, and wish

you every facility for performing God's will.'

"To prolong their stay, I sought to caress the children; but their

mother took them away, and I felt when she was gone as if deserted by

all I held dear on earth.

"Trismegistus did not bid us adieu. He seemed to have forgotten us; and

Consuelo did not arouse him. He walked firmly down the hill; and his

face was expressively calm and even cheerful as he assisted his daughter

to spring over the bushes and rocks.

"The young and handsome Zdenko followed with the Zingara and youngest

child. We looked long after them, as they threaded their way on the

gold-colored forest-path without a guide. At length they were hidden

from our sight. When about to disappear, we saw the Zingara place

Winceslawa on her shoulders, and hasten to join her husband. She was

strong and active as a true Zingara, and as poetical as the goddess of

Poverty.

* * * * * * * *

"We, too, are on the road. We walk on our journey of life, the end of

which is not death, as is grossly said by materialists, but true life.

"We consoled the people of the hamlet as well as we could, and left old

Zdenko to abide his _to-morrow._

"We shortly after joined our friends at Pilsen, whence I write this

letter; and am about to go on other business. You, too, must also

prepare for the restless journey, for action without feebleness. We

advance, my friend, to success or martyrdom!"[29]

[Footnote 23: Probably the famous Baron Knigge known as Philo, in the

Order of the Illuminati.]

[Footnote 24: This is well known to have been the assumed name of Adam

Weishaupt. Is he really referred to? All induces us to think so.]

[Footnote 25: Certainly Zavier Zwack, who was Autic Councillor, and

exiled as one of the chiefs of the Illuminati.]

[Footnote 26: Bader, who was the medical attendant of the

electress-dowager, an Illuminatus.]

[Footnote 27: Massenhousen, a councillor at Munich, and an Illuminatus.]

[Footnote 28: Weishaupt, it is known, and he was eminently an organizer,

used material signs to explain his system, and sent to some of his

pupils an explanation of his whole system, expressed by squares and

circles on a small piece of paper.]

[Footnote 29: This letter was written to Martinowicz a great savant and

member of the Illuminati. He, with several other Hungarian nobles, his

accomplices in conspiracy, was beheaded in Buda, in 1795.]

Note--See note 22.--We will recall to the reader, that we may no longer

have occasion to return to the subject, the rest of Trenck's story. He

grew old in poverty, and busied himself in the publication of

newspapers, of remarkable energy for the times. He married a woman he

loved, became the father of many children, was persecuted for his

opinions, his writings, and doubtless for his affiliation with secret

societies. He took refuge in France when he was very old, and during the

early days of the revolution was received with enthusiam and confidence.

Destined, however, to be the victim of unhappy mistakes, he was arrested

as a foreign agent during the Reign of Terror, and taken to the

scaffold. He met his fate with great firmness. He had previously seen

himself described in a drama, retracing the incidents of his life and

imprisonment. He had enthusiastically welcomed French liberty, and on

the fatal car, said, "This, too, is a comedy!"

For sixty years he had seen the Princess Amelia but once. When he heard

of tho death of Frederick the Great, he hurried to Berlin. The lovers

were terrified at the appearance of each other, shed tears, and vowed a

new affection. The abbess bade him send for his wife, took the

responsibility of his fortune, and wished to take one of his daughters

as reader or lady-in-waiting. Before many days, however, had passed, she

was dead. The memoirs of Trenck, written with the passion of youth and

prolixity of age, are one of the most noble and touching items of the

records of the last century.

End of Project Gutenberg's The Countess of Rudolstadt, by George Sand