Читать книгу The Countess of Rudolstadt - George Sand - Страница 11

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"Thenceforth," continued Porporina, "I never saw the king at home. He sometimes sent for me to come to Sans Souci, where I even passed several days with my companions, Porporino or Conceolini; and here I used to play the piano at his little concerts, and accompany the violin of Braun or Benda, or the flute of Quantz, and sometimes the king himself."

"It is less pleasant to accompany him than any of the others," said the Princess of Prussia. "I know, by experience, that whenever my dear brother plays a false note, or loses the time, he does not fail to scold all the concertanti."

"That is true," said Porporina, "and his skilful master, Quantz, himself, has not always been able to avoid his injustice. His majesty, however, when thus led astray, soon repairs the injury by acts of deference and delicate praise, which pour balm on wounded self-love. Thus, by a kind word, by an exclamation of admiration, he causes his severity and his anger to be excused, even by artists, who are the most susceptible people in the world."

"But could you, after you knew of him, suffer yourself to be fascinated by this basilisk?"

I will own, madame, that often, without knowing it, I felt the influence of his ascendancy. As trickery has ever been foreign to me, I may always be the dupe, and only ascertain the meaning of disingennousness too late. I also saw the king very frequently on the stage and sometimes even, when the performance was over, in my dressing-room. He was always paternal in his conduct towards me. I was never alone with him more than two or three times in the gardens of Sans Souci, and I must confess that then I had found out his hour of walking, and went thither expressly to meet him. He then called or came courteously to me, and I took advantage of the opportunity to speak to him of Porpora, and renew my request. I always received the same promises, but never reaped any advantage. Subsequently I changed my tactics, and asked leave to return to Vienna. He heard my prayer, sometimes with affectionate reproaches, sometimes with icy coldness, and often with yet greater ill-humor. The last attempt was not more fortunate than the others, and even when the king said, drily—'Go, signora; you are free,' I could obtain no settlement of accounts, nor permission to travel. This is the state of affairs, and I see no resource but in flight, should my situation here become too grievous to be borne. Alas! madame, I have often been wounded by Maria Theresa's small taste for music, but never suspected that a king, almost fanatic for the art, was more to be feared than an empress without any ear.

"I have told you briefly all my relations with his majesty. I never had occasion to fear or even to suspect that your highness would think he loved me. Nevertheless, I was proud, sometimes, when I thought that, thanks to my musical talent and the romantic incident which led to my preserving his life, the king seemed to have a friendship for me. He often told me so with the greatest grace, and most perfect simplicity; he seemed to love to talk with me with such perfect bonhommie, that I became used, I know not how, to love him with perfect friendship. The word is, perchance, bizarre, and a little misplaced in my mouth; but the sentiment of affectionate respect and timid confidence which the presence, glance, eye, words and tone of the royal basilisk, as you call him, inspired me with, is strange as it is sincere. We are here to make a full confession, and we have agreed that I shall shrink from nothing: well, I protest that I am afraid of the king, and almost have a horror of him, when I do not see him, yet breathe the rarified air of his empire. When I see him, however, I am charmed, and am ready to give him every proof of devotion, which a timid, but affectionate girl, can give to a rigid, yet kind father."

"You frighten me," said the princess. "Good God! what if you were to suffer yourself to be controlled and cajoled so as to destroy our cause?"

"Ah! madame, have no apprehensions about that. When the affairs of my friends or of any other persons arc concerned, I am able to defy the king, and others even more shrewd than he, if there be such, and yet fall into no snare."

"I believe you. You exercise over me by your frankness the same influence which Frederick exerts over you. Well, do not be excited for I do not compare you together. Resume your story, and tell me of Cagliostro. I have heard that at one of his magic representations, he recalled to you one who had long been dead. I suppose that person was Albert?"

"I am ready to satisfy you, my noble Amelia; but, if I consent to reveal to you a painful story, which I would willingly forget, I have the right to address a few questions to you, according to the arrangement we have made."

"I am ready to answer you."

"Well, madame; do you think the dead can leave the tomb, or, at least, that a reflection of their forms animated by the appearance of life, may be evoked, at the will of sorcerers, and so take possession of our fancy, that it may be reproduced before our eyes and take possession of our reason?"

"The question is very complicated, and all that I can say is, that I do not believe in the impossible. I do not think that a resurrection of the dead can be produced by magic. As far as our poor foolish imagination is concerned, I think it capable of everything."

"Your highness—excuse me—your highness has no faith in magic yet. . . But the question is indiscreet beyond doubt."

"Go on—yet I have devoted myself to magic; that is well known. Well, my dear girl, let me explain this inconsistency, which appears so strange both in place and time. After being aware of the nature of the scroll sent by Saint Germain, which, to tell the truth, was but a letter sent to me by Trenck, you can understand that necromancy is a pretext for many other things. To reveal to you, however, all that it conceals from the vulgar eye, all that it hides from courtly espionage and legal oppression, would be but the affair of an instant. Be patient, for I have resolved to initiate you into all my secrets. You are far more deserving of this confidence than my dear Von Kleist, who is timid and superstitious. Yes, I tell you this angel of goodness, this tender heart, has no common sense. She has faith in the devil, in sorcerers, ghosts, and presages, just as if she did not have in her hands and under her very eyes, the mysterious clues of the great work. She is, like the alchemists of the past, who created patiently and wisely, all kinds of monsters, but who then became afraid of their own handicraft, so that they became the slaves of demons, originated in their own alembic."

"Perhaps I may not be braver than the Baroness Von Kleist," said Porporina, "and I confess I am under the influence, if not under the power of Cagliostro. Imagine, that after having promised to show me the person of whom I thought, the name of whom he pretended to read in my eyes, he showed me another. Besides, he showed me as living, whom he did not know to be dead. Notwithstanding this double error, he resusicated the husband I had lost, and that will ever be to me a painful and inexpressible enigma."

"He showed you some phantom, and fancy filled up the details."

"I can assure you that my fancy was in no respect interested. I expected to see in a mirror some representation of Maestro Porpora, for I had spoken often of him at supper, and while deploring his absence, had seen that Cagliostro paid no little attention to my words. To make his task more easy, I chose in my mind the face of Porpora, as the subject of the apparition, and I expected him certainly, not having as yet considered the test as serious. Finally at perhaps the only moment in my life in which I did not think of the Count, he appeared. Cagliostro asked me when I went into the magic closet, if I would consent to have my eyes bandaged and follow him, holding on to his hand. As he was a man of good reputation, I did not hesitate; but made it a condition, that he would not leave me for an instant. 'I was going,' said he, 'to address you a request, not to leave me a moment, and not to let go my hand, without regard to what may happen, or what emotion you may feel.' I promised him; but a simple affirmative did not suffice, he made me solemnly swear that I would make no gesture nor exclamation, but remain mute and silent during the whole of the experiment. He then put on his glove, and having covered my head with a hood of black velvet, which fell over my shoulders, he made me walk about five minutes without my being able to hear any door opened or shut. The hood kept me from being aware of any change in the atmosphere, therefore I could not know whether I had gone out of the room or not, for he made me make such frequent turns, that I had no appreciation of the direction."

At last he paused; and, with one hand removed the hood, so lightly that I was not even aware of it. My respiration having become more free, he informed me that I might look around. I found myself, however, in such intense darkness that I could ascertain nothing. After a short time, I saw a luminous star, which at first trembled, and soon became brilliant before me. At first, it seemed most remote, but, when at its brightest, appeared very near me. It was produced, I think, of a light, which became more and more intense, and which was behind a transparency. Cagliostro made me approach the star, which was an orifice pierced in the wall. On the other side of that wall I saw a chamber, magnificently decorated and filled with lights regularly arranged. This room, in its character and ornaments, had every air of a place dedicated to magical operations. I had not time, however, to examine it, my attention being absorbed by a person who sat before a table. He was alone, and hid his face with his hands, as if immersed in deep meditation. I could not see his features, and his person was disguised by a costume in which I had hitherto seen no one. As far as I was able to remark it, it was a robe or cloak of white satin, faced with purple, fastened over the breast with hieroglyphic gems, on which I observed a rose, a triangle, a cross, a death's-head, and many rich ribbons of various kinds. All that I could see was that it was not Porpora. After one or two minutes, this mysterious personage, which I began to fancy a statue, slowly moved its hands, and I saw the face of Count Albert distinctly, not as it had last met my gaze, covered with the shadows of death, but animated amid its pallor, and full of soul in its serenity; such, in fine, as I had seen it in its most beautiful seasons of calm and confidence. I was on the point of uttering a cry, and by an involuntary movement, crushing the crystal which separated him from me. A violent pressure of Cagliostro's hand, reminded me of my oath, and impressed me with I know not what vague terror. Just then a door opened at the extremity of the room in which I saw Albert; and many unknown persons, dressed as he was, joined him, each bearing a sword. After having made strange gestures, as if they had been playing a pantomime, they spoke to him in a very solemn tone words I could not comprehend. He arose and went towards them, and replied in words equally strange, and which were unintelligible to me, though now I know German nearly as well as my mother tongue. This dialogue was like that which we hear in dreams, and the strangeness of the scene, the miracle of the apparition, had so much of this character, that I really doubted whether I dreamed or not. Cagliostro, however, forced me to be motionless, and I recognised the voice of Albert so perfectly that I could not doubt the reality of what I saw. At last, completely carried away by the scene, I was about to forget my oath and speak to him, when the hood again was placed over my head and all became dark. 'If you make the least noise,' said Cagliostro, 'neither you nor I will see the light again.' I had strength enough to follow him, and walk for a long time amid the zig-zags of an unknown space. Finally, when he took away the hood again, I found myself in his laboratory which was dimly lighted as it had been at the commencement of this adventure. Cagliostro was very pale, and still trembled, for, as I walked with him, I became aware of a convulsive agitation of his arm, and that he hurried me along as if he was under the influence of great terror. The first thing he said was to reproach me bitterly about my want of loyalty, and the terrible dangers to which I had exposed him by wishing to violate my promises. 'I should have remembered,' said he, 'that women are not bound by their word of honor, and that one should forbear to accede to their rash and vain curiosity.' His tone was very angry.

"Hitherto I had participated in the terror of my guide. I had been so amazed at Albert's being alive, that I had not enquired if this was possible. I had even forgotten that death had bereft me of this dear and precious friend. The emotion of the magician recalled to me, that all this was very strange, and that I had seen only a spectre. My reason, however, repudiated what was impossible, and the bitterness of the reproaches of Cagliostro caused a kind of ill-humor, which protected me from weakness. 'You feign to have faith in your own falsehood,' said I, with vivacity; 'ah! your game is very cruel. Yes; you sport with all that is most holy, even with death itself.'

"'Soul without faith, and without power,' said he angrily, but in a most imposing manner. 'You believe in death, as the vulgar do, and yet you had a great master—one who said: "We do not die. Nothing dies;—there is nothing dies." You accuse me of falsehood, and seem to forget that the only thing which is untrue here, is the name of death in your impious mouth.' I confess that this strange reply overturned all my thoughts, and for a moment overcame the resistance of my troubled mind. How came this man to be aware of my relations with Albert, and even the secrets of his doctrine? Did he believe as Albert did, or did he make use of this as a means to acquire an ascendancy over me?

"I was confused and alarmed. Soon, however, I said that this gross manner of interpreting Albert's faith, could not be mine, and that God, not the impostor Cagliostro, can evoke death, or recall life. Finally, convinced that I was the dupe of an inexplicable illusion, the explanation of which, however, I might some day find, I arose, praising coldly the savoir-faire of the sorcerer, and asked him for an explanation of the whimsical conversation his phantoms had together. In relation to that he replied, that it was impossible to satisfy me, and that I should be satisfied with seeing the person calm, and carefully occupied. 'You will ask me in vain,' added he, 'what are his thoughts and actions in life. I am ignorant even of his name. When you desired, and asked to see it, there was formed between you two a mysterious communication, which my power was capable of making able to bring you together. All science goes no farther.'

"'Your science,' said I, 'does not reach that far even; I thought of Porpora, and you did not present him to me.'

"'Of that I know nothing,' said he, in a tone serious and terrible. 'I do not wish to know. I have seen nothing, either in your mind, or in the magic mirror. My mind would not support such a spectacle, and I must maintain all my senses to exercise my power. The laws of science are infallible, and consequently, though not aware of it yourself, you must have thought of some one else than Porpora, since you did not see the latter.'"

"Such is the talk of madmen of that kind," said the princess, shrugging her shoulders. "Each one has his peculiar mode; though all, by means of a captious reasoning, which may be called the method of madness, so contrive by disturbing the ideas of others, that they are never cut short, or disturbed themselves."

"He certainly disturbed mine," said Consnelo, "and I was no longer able to analyse them. The apparition of Albert, true or false, made me more distinctly aware that I had lost him forever, and I shed tears.

"'Consuelo;' said the magician in a solemn tone, and offering me his hand, (you may imagine that my real name, hitherto unknown to all, was an additional surprise, when I heard him speak it,) 'you have great errors to repair, and I trust you will neglect nothing to regain your peace of mind.' I had not power to reply. I sought in vain to hide my tears from my companions, who waited impatiently for me in the next room. I was more impatient yet to withdraw, and as soon as I was alone, after having given a free course to my grief, I passed the night in reflections and commentaries on the scenes of this fatal evening. The more I sought to understand it, the more I became lost in a labyrinth of uncertainty; and I must own that my ideas were often worse than an implicit obedience to the oracles of magic would have been. Worn out by fruitless suffering, I resolved to suspend my judgment until there should be light. Since then, however, I have been impressionable, subject to the vapors, sick at heart, and deeply sad. I was not more sensibly aware of the death of my friend than I had been; the remorse which his generous pardon had lulled to rest, again began to torment me. By constantly exercising my profession, I grew weary of the frivolous intoxication of success; besides, in this country, where the mind of man seems sombre as the climate——"

"And the government?" said the abbess.

"In this government, where I felt overcome and chilled, I saw that I would not make the progress I dreamed of."

"What do you wish to do? We have never heard anything that approached you, and I do not think there is a more perfect singer in the world. I tell you what I think, and this is not a compliment à la Frederick."

"Even if your highness be not mistaken, a matter of which I am ignorant," said Consuelo, with a smile, ("for except La Romanina and La Tesi, I have heard no other singer than myself,) I think there is always something to be attempted, and something more than has been done to be accomplished. Well, this ideal, which I have borne in myself, I might have been able to approach in a life of action, strife, and bold enterprise, of mutual sympathy, and in a word, of enthusiasm. The chilly regularity which reigns here, the military discipline, which extends even to the theatre, the calm and constant benevolence of a public, which minds its own business while it listens to us, the high protection of the king, which guarantees to us successes decreed in advance, the absence of rivalry and novelty in the artists themselves, and in the performances—above all, the idea of indefinite captivity, this every day and icy labor-life, sadly glorious yet compulsory, which we lead in Prussia, has deprived me even of the desire of perfecting myself. There are days when I feel myself so utterly without energy, and so void of that touchy self-love which aids the artist's conscience, that I would pay for the excitement of a hiss. Alas! let me be deficient at my entry, or fail towards the end of the performance, I always receive the same applause. Applause, when I do not deserve it, gives me no pleasure, and it afflicts me sometimes when I really do deserve it, because they are officially measured out and ordered, and I feel that I deserve voluntary praise. All this may seem puerile to you, noble Amelia; but you ask to know the profundity of an actor's life, and I conceal nothing from you."

"You explain all this so naturally, that I feel as if I had experienced it myself. To do you good I would hiss you when you do not sing well, and throw you a crown of roses when you are thereby aroused."

"Alas! kind princess, neither would please the king. The king is unwilling that his actors should be offended, because applause and hisses follow close together. My ennui has on that account no remedy, in spite of your generous friendship. United to this languor is regret at having preferred a life so false and void of emotion, to one of love and devotion. Especially, since the adventure with Cagliostro, a black melancholy took possession of my breast. No night passes that I do not dream of Albert, and fancy him offended or irritated with me, busied, or speaking an incomprehensible language—a prey to ideas altogether foreign to our love—as when I saw him in the magic scene. I awake, covered with cold perspiration, and weep when I think that in the new life into which death has ushered him, his moody and disconsolate heart cares neither for my grief, nor for my disdain. At all events, I killed him, and it is in the power of no man, even one who had made an agreement with the powers of light and darkness, to restore him to me. I can, therefore, repair nothing in the useless and solitary life I lead, and I have no other wish but to die."