Consuelo, page 89
"And you are not at the end yet!" replied the count, enchanted at this eulogium.
"We ought to be prepared for everything on the part of your excellency," said the Baron de Kreutz, with the same irony as the professor; "though after this I know not in truth what we can hope for better."
At the end of the gallery the ghost struck a blow upon a kind of tom-tom, which gave forth a sullen sound, and a vast curtain drawing aside disclosed to view the body of the theater decorated and illuminated as it was to be on the following day. I shall not give a description of it, though it were an inviting occasion for flowery verse or prose.
The curtain rose; the scene represented Olympus—neither more nor less. The goddesses were busy disputing the heart of the shepherd Paris, and the competition of the three principal divinities constituted the main subject of the piece. It was written in Italian, on hearing which Porpora whispered to Consuelo: "The Hottentot, the Chinese and the Lilliputian were nothing; here is the Iroquois at last." Verses and music—all were the count's manufacture. The actors and actresses were quite worthy of their parts. After half an hour of forced metaphors and trifling conceits upon the absence of a divinity more charming and more powerful than all the others, but who disdained to compete for the prize of beauty, Paris having decided in favor of Venus, the latter took the apple, and descending from the stage by a flight of steps, came to lay it at the feet of the margravine, declaring herself unworthy to keep it, and apologizing for having aspired to it before her. It was Consuelo who was to perform this character of Venus, and as it was the most important (including as it did a cavatina of great effect), Count Hoditz, not willing to intrust it to any of his coryphées, undertook to fill it himself, as well to carry on the rehearsal as to make Consuelo feel the spirit, the intention, the wit and the beauty of the part. He was so ridiculous while gravely personating Venus and singing with emphasis the insipid airs pilfered from all the bad operas then in fashion, and badly stitched together, out of which he pretended to have composed a score—that no one could keep his countenance. He was too much excited by the task of scolding his troop, and too much inflamed by the divine expression he gave to his acting and singing, to perceive the gaiety of the audience. They applauded him to the skies, and Porpora, who had placed himself at the head of the orchestra, and who was obliged to stop his ears secretly from time to time, declared that all was sublime—poem, score, voices, instruments, and the temporary Venus above all!
It was agreed that Consuelo and he should read this masterpiece attentively together that very evening and the next morning. It was neither very long nor very difficult to learn, and they flattered themselves that on the next evening they would have mastered it completely. They afterward visited the ball-room, which was not yet ready, because the dances were not to take place till the second day after, the fête being intended to last two days, and to offer an uninterrupted succession of diversified entertainments.
It was now ten o'clock. The weather was serene and the moon shone brilliantly. The two Prussian officers insisted on recrossing the frontier that very evening, alleging in excuse a superior order which forbade their passing the night in a foreign country. The count was therefore obliged to yield, and having given orders to get their horses ready, he insisted on their accompanying him to drink the stirrup-cup—that is to say, to partake of coffee and excellent liquors in an elegant boudoir, whither Consuelo thought it best not to follow them. She took leave of them, therefore, and after advising Porpora in a low voice to be more guarded than he had been during supper, proceeded toward her apartment, which was in another wing of the château.
But she soon lost her way in the windings of that vast labyrinth, and at last found herself in a sort of cloister, where, to complete her dismay, a current of air extinguished her taper. Fearful of losing her way still farther, and of falling through one of those surprise trapdoors, with which the mansion was filled, she endeavored to return, feeling her way until she could reach the lighted part of the building. In the confusion caused by the numerous preparations for committing absurdities, the comforts of that sumptuous dwelling were entirely neglected. There were savages, ghosts, gods, hermits, nymphs, laughter and plays, but not a domestic to provide a torch, nor a being in his senses to guide her.
Meantime she heard a person approach, who seemed to walk cautiously and purposely keep in the shade, which did not inspire her with sufficient confidence to call out and pronounce her name, more particularly as it was the heavy step and loud breathing of a man. A little agitated, she advanced, keeping close by the wall, when she heard a door open not far off, and the light of the moon gleaming through the aperture fell upon the lofty figure and brilliant costume of Karl.
She hastened to call him by his name.
"Is it you, signora?" said he, in an altered voice. "Ah! I have been endeavoring for some hours to speak to you, and perhaps it is now too late."
"What have you to say to me, my good Karl? and whence this emotion?"
"Let us leave this corridor, signora; I must speak to you in some place where no one can overhear us."
Consuelo followed Karl, and found herself in the open air on the summit of one of the turrets attached to an angle of the mansion.
"Signora," said the deserter, in a cautious tone, for he had only arrived that morning at Roswald, and was almost as ignorant of the localities as Consuelo herself—"have you said nothing today that could excite the anger of the King of Prussia, and which you might afterward have occasion to regret at Berlin, if the king were informed of it?"
"No, Karl, nothing of the kind. I was aware that every Prussian whom one does not know, is a dangerous companion, and I watched every word I uttered."
"Ah! I am so glad to hear you say so, for I was uneasy about you. Two or three times I endeavored to speak to you in the ship, when you were sailing on the lake. I was one of the pirates that pretended to board your vessel, but I was so disguised that you could not know me. I stared and signed at you, but you took no notice of me, and I could not slip in a single word. That officer never left you. During the whole time you continued on the water, he was not once from your side. One would have said he guessed you were a charmed buckler to him, and that he hid behind you, lest a ball should perchance have got into one of our harmless guns."
"What say you, Karl? I do not understand. What officer? I do not know what you mean."
"There is no need to tell you; you will know soon enough. Are you not going to Berlin?"
"And why make a secret of it in the meantime?"
"Because it is a terrible one, and I must keep it for another hour."
"You seem uneasy, Karl—what is passing in your mind?"
"Oh! great deeds! hell burns in my heart!"
"Hell?—one would say that you are meditating some dreadful crime."
"Perhaps so."
"In that case you must speak; you must not keep a secret from me, Karl. You have promised me unhesitating submission."
"Ah! signora, what is that you say? It is true I owe you more than life; you did what you could to save my wife and child—but they perished and they must be revenged!"
"Karl, in the name of your wife and child who pray for you in heaven, I implore you to speak. You are pondering on some mad and vengeful deed—the sight of these Prussians distracts you."
"Yes, they make me mad—furious. But no; I am calm as a saint. It is heaven, signora, not hell, which leads me on. Come! the hour is at hand; adieu, signora! most probably I shall never see you more. All I ask is when you pass through Prague to pay for a mass for me at the chapel of St. John Népomuck, one among the greatest of the patron saints of Bohemia."
"Karl, you must speak—you must confess the wicked thoughts which torment you, or I will never pray for you. On the contrary, I will invoke on your head the malediction of your wife and child, now angels in the bosom of the merciful Jesus. How do you expect to be forgiven in heaven if you do not forgive upon earth? You have a carbine under your cloak, Karl, and you watch to see these Prussians leave the castle."
"No, not here," said Karl, all trembling and agitated; "I would not shed blood in my master's dwelling, nor before you, my sweet young lady; but yonder, do you see, there is a mountain pass—I know it well, for I was there when they passed this morning—but I was there by chance—I was unarmed, and besides I did not at first know that it was he! By and by, however, he will pass, and I—I will be there! I can soon reach it by crossing the park, and shall get there before him though he be on horseback; and as you have said, signora, I have a carbine, a right good carbine, and in it a ball for his heart. It has been there for some time, for I was in earnest when I acted the pirate. I had a good chance, and leveled at him ten times, but you were always there, and I would not fire. By and by you will not be there, and he will not be able to skulk behind you like a coward as he is—for he is a coward, as I well know. I have seen him grow pale and turn his back on the field of battle. One day when he made us advance against my countrymen, against my brethren of Bohemia, oh, what horror I felt! for I am Bohemian in heart and soul, and that is a deed never to be forgiven. But if I be a poor peasant, having never learned to handle aught but the hatchet in my native forests, he has made me, thanks to his corporals, a Prussian soldier, and I know how to take an aim."
"Karl! Karl! be silent—you rave! You do not know this man, I am sure. He is called the Baron de Kreutz; I wager you did not know his name before. You must mistake him for some one else. He is no recruiter; he never did you any harm."
"It is not the Baron de Kreutz; no, signora, I knew him well. I have seen him a hundred times on parade; he is the grand master of men-stealers, and destroyers of families; he is the scourge of Bohemia; he is my enemy. He is the enemy of our church, our religion, and of all our saints. It is he who profaned by his impious laughter the statue of St. John Népomuck on the bridge of Prague. It is he who stole from the castle of Prague the drum covered with the skin of John Ziska, the greatest warrior of his time—that which was at once the safeguard, the honor, and the object of respect of the whole country! Oh! no, I am not mistaken, and I know him well! Besides St. Wenceslas just now appeared to me as I prayed in the chapel; I saw him as plainly as I see you, signora, and he said to me, 'It is he, strike him to the heart!' I have sworn before the Holy Virgin, on the tomb of my wife, and I must keep my oath. Ah! signora, look! there is his horse at the door! It was that I waited for. I go to my post—pray for me; sooner or later my life must pay the penalty; but it matters little so that God saves my soul!"
"Karl!" exclaimed Consuelo, inspired with superhuman strength, "I believed you generous, sensible, pious, but now I see that you are impious, base, and cowardly. Whoever this man may be whom you would assassinate, I forbid you to follow or to harm him. It is the enemy of man who has taken the form of a saint to pervert your reason; and Heaven permits you to fall into his snares for having sworn an impious oath. You are ungrateful and a coward, I tell you; for you no longer think about your master, who has loaded you with favors, who will be accused for your crime, and who, good and generous as he is, will suffer for it with his life. Go, hide yourself, Karl, you are not worthy of the light. Repent, for merely to harbor such a thought is a deadly crime. Stay, at this moment I see your wife, who weeps beside you, and who vainly tries to hold in her embrace your good angel, ready to abandon you to the wicked one forever."
"My wife! my wife!" exclaimed Karl wildly, now completely vanquished; "I see her not. My wife, if you be there, speak to me—let me see you once again ere I die!"
"You cannot see her, for crime is in your heart, and darkness seals your eyelids. Down on your knees! you may yet redeem your soul. Give me this carbine, which stains your hands, and offer up an humble and contrite prayer."
Thus saying, Consuelo took from his hands the carbine, which he did not seek to retain, and hastened from the deserter, who, as she disappeared, fell on his knees and burst into tears. She left the turret in order to hide the weapon instantly in some other spot. She felt exhausted with the efforts she had made to impress the imagination of the fanatic and influence his mind by means of the chimeras which governed him; for time pressed, and she had no leisure to address him with arguments more humane and enlightened. She uttered what first occurred to her mind, inspired perhaps with somewhat of sympathy for the unhappy man, whom she wished to serve at all risks from an act of insanity, and whom she loaded with feigned reproaches while she really deplored a madness which he was unable to control.
She hastened to lay aside the fatal piece, purposing to return and keep him on the turret till the Prussians were far away, when, just as she opened the door which communicated with the corridor, she met the Baron de Kreutz face to face. He was on his way to his apartment, in order to procure his pistols and his cloak. Consuelo had only time to let the weapon fall in the angle behind the door and to rush into the corridor, closing the door between herself and Karl, lest the sight of the enemy might light up all his fury afresh.
This hurried movement, and the agitation with which she supported herself against the door, as if she were on the point of fainting, did not escape the penetrating gaze of Baron de Kreutz. He carried a taper, and stopped before her, smiling. His countenance was perfectly calm, yet Consuelo thought she saw his hand tremble and the flame of the torch oscillate very sensibly. The lieutenant was behind him, pale as death, and with his sword drawn. These circumstances, as well as the certainty she acquired a little later that a window of the apartment which the baron had occupied opened upon the turret, convinced Consuelo afterward that the two Prussians had not lost a word of her conversation with Karl. Nevertheless the baron saluted her with a courteous and tranquil air, and as the agitation she felt at being placed in such a situation made her forget to return his salutation and deprived her of the power of saying a single word, Kreutz, after having examined her for an instant with a look that expressed rather interest than surprise, said to her in a gentle voice, taking her hand: "Come, my child, recover yourself. You seem very much agitated. We must have frightened you in passing suddenly before this door at the moment you opened it, but be assured we are your servants and your friends. I hope we shall see you again at Berlin, where perhaps we can be of some use to you."
The baron partly drew Consuelo's hand toward him, as if his first impulse had been to carry it to his lips; but he contented himself with pressing it gently, saluted her a second time, and withdrew, followed by his lieutenant, who did not seem even to see Consuelo, so much was he bewildered and agitated. His countenance confirmed the young girl in the opinion that he was aware of the danger which had threatened his master.
But who was this man, the responsibility for whose safety weighed so heavily upon another's shoulders, and whose destruction had seemed to Karl so complete and so intoxicating a revenge? Consuelo returned to the terrace to draw this secret from him, at the same time that she continued to watch him; but she found that he had fainted, and, not able to raise his huge frame, she descended the stairs and called the other domestics to come to his assistance. "Ah! it is nothing," said they as they hastened toward the place she pointed out; "he has merely drunk a little too much hydromel this evening and we will carry him to his bed." Consuelo longed to accompany them, as she feared Karl might betray his secret on returning to consciousness; but she was prevented by Count Hoditz, who was passing, and who took her arm, congratulating himself that she had not yet retired and that he could show her a new spectacle. She was obliged to follow him to the porch, and from thence she saw, relieved against the sky on a lofty hill, and precisely in the direction which Karl had pointed out as the one he intended to take, an immense arch blazing with light, in the midst of which some characters could be distinguished formed of colored lamps.
"Yes," said she, with an absent air, "that is a splendid illumination."
"It is a delicate attention, a respectful adieu, to the guest who has just left us," he replied; "he will pass in a quarter of an hour by the foot of the hill, through a deep gorge which we do not discern from this, where he will find as by enchantment this triumphal arch raised over his head."
"My lord," exclaimed Consuelo, rousing herself from her reverie, "who is this individual who has just now quitted us?"
"You shall know hereafter, my child."
"If it be not right to ask, I am silent; meantime I suspect his real name is not Baron de Kreutz."
"I was not deceived for an instant," replied Hoditz, who in this matter prided himself no little on his penetration. "However, I religiously respected his incognito; I know it is a fancy of his, and that he is offended if you do not take him for what he seems. You saw that I treated him merely as a simple officer and nevertheless——" The count was dying to speak, but etiquette forbade him to utter a name apparently so sacred. He adopted a middle course, and presenting a glass to Consuelo, "Look!" said he, "how well yonder arch has succeeded. It is upward of two miles off, and yet with this excellent glass you will be able to read the inscription on the summit. The letters are twenty feet high, although they are hardly perceptible to the naked eye. Now look attentively!"
Consuelo looked, and easily deciphered this inscription, which revealed the secret:
"Long live Frederick the Great!"
"Ah! my lord," she exclaimed, much agitated, "there is great danger in such an exalted personage traveling thus, and it is even more dangerous to receive him."
"I do not understand you," said the count; "we are now at peace; no one in all the empire would think of injuring him, and it could disparage no one's patriotism to treat with honor a guest such as he."
Consuelo remained plunged in thought. Hoditz roused her from her reverie by saying that he had an humble request to make; that he feared indeed to take advantage of her kindness, but the matter was so important that he was obliged to importune her. "The request I have to make," said he, with a grave and mysterious air, "is, that you will kindly perform the part of the Shade."
