Читать книгу The Countess of Rudolstadt - George Sand - Страница 6

Table of Contents

On the next day, Porporina awoke from a deep slumber, completely overpowered, and found on her bed two things which her maid had just placed there. One was a flacon of rock crystal, with a gold stopper, on which was engraved an "F." with a royal crown. The second was a sealed package. The servant, on being questioned, said that the king had come in person on the previous day to bring the flacon. When she heard the circumstances of a visit which was so naïve and respectful, Porporina was much moved.

"Strange man!" thought she. "How can so much mildness in private life be reconciled with public sternness and despotism?" She fell at once into a reverie, and gradually forgetting the king and thinking of herself, retraced confusedly the events of the previous evening. She began to weep.

"What is the matter, signora?" said the maid, who was a kind soul, and an indifferently diffuse talker. "Are you going to cry again, as you did when you went to bed. This is enough to break one's heart; and the king, who was at the door when he heard you, shook his head two or three times, as if he was much distressed. Yet, signora, many would envy you. The king does not court everybody. They say he courts no one, yet it is very certain that he is in love with you."

"In love? What do you say?" said Porporina, shuddering. "Never say such an improper and absurd thing again. The king in love with me? Great God!"

"Well, signora, suppose he were?"

"God grant he may not be! He, however, neither is nor will be. What roll is this, Catharine?"

"A servant brought it early in the morning."

"Whose servant?"

"A person picked up in the streets. At last, though, he told me he had been employed by the servants of a certain Count of St. Germain, who came hither yesterday."

"Why did you ask the question?"

"Because I wanted to know, signora."

"That is frank, certainly. Now go."

As soon as Porporina was alone, she opened the roll, which she found contained a parchment, covered with strange and unintelligible characters. She had heard much of the Count of Saint Germain, but did not know him. She examined the manuscript carefully, and as she could not understand it, and could not perceive why a person with whom she had never had any acquaintance, should send her an enigma to unravel, she fancied that he was mad. As she examined this document more closely, a separate note fell out, and she read: "The Princess Amelia of Prussia takes much interest in divination and in horoscopes. Give her this parchment, and you will be certain to secure her protection and friendship." To these lines there was no signature, the hand was unknown, and the roll bore no address. She was amazed that the Count of Saint Germain, to reach the Princess Amelia, had come to her, who had never met her; and thinking that her servant had made some mistake, began to fold it up, for the purpose of returning it. When she took up the sheet of coarse paper, which had been around it, she observed there was music printed on the other side. An old recollection recurred to her; to look at one corner of the sheet for a mark, which had been agreed on—to recognise the deep pencil lines—to see that the music was a part of a piece which she had given away, as a token of remembrance, eighteen months before—was but the work of an instant. The emotion which she experienced at the remembrance of an absent and suffering friend, made her forget her own sorrows. She was only anxious to know what was to be done with the manuscript, and why she had been charged with transmitting it to the princess. Was the object to secure for her that personage's favor and protection? For that Porporina had neither the want nor the desire. Was it for the purpose of establishing a communication between the princess and the prisoner, which might be useful to the latter? She hesitated. In her doubt she recollected the proverb, "beware;" she then remembered that there were both good and bad proverbs, some of which came to the aid of prudent selfishness and others to bold devotion. She got up at once, saying to herself:

"When in doubt, act, provided that you do not compromise yourself, and have reason to hope that you can be useful to your friend and fellow-being."

Scarcely had she finished her toilette, which required some time, for she was much enfeebled by the attack of the previous evening, (and while tying up her beautiful dark hair,) she thought how she could best convey the parchment to the princess, when a servant in an embroidered livery came to ask if she was alone, and if she was willing to receive an unknown lady, who wished to visit her. The young singer had often repined at the manner in which at that time artistes were subjected to the great: she felt at first disposed to refuse the visit, and to say that the singers of the theatre were with her. She remembered, though, that this answer might offend the prudery of some ladies, but would have the effect of making others more anxious to trespass on her. She, therefore, consented to receive the visit, and the fair Von Kleist was soon introduced.

This lady was thoroughly used to society, and had determined to please the singer, and make her forget all differences of rank. She was ill at ease, however, because she had heard that Porporina was very haughty, and Von Kleist had also excellent reasons to wish, for her own sake, to penetrate her most hidden thoughts. Though young and inoffensive, there was, at this moment, in the court-lady's mind and countenance, something false and forced, which did not escape Porporina's attention. Curiosity approximates so closely to perfidy, that it destroys the beauty of the most perfect features.

Porporina knew the face of her visitor perfectly well; and her first movement when she saw a person who appeared every evening in the box of the Princess Amelia, was to ask, under the pretext of necromancy, of which she knew she was fond, an interview with the princess. Not daring, however, to confide in a person who had the reputation of being both imprudent and disposed to intrigues, she determined to let her lead the conversation, and began to bring to bear on her the quiet penetration of the defensive, which is so superior to the attacks of curiosity.

At last, the ice was broken; and the lady having presented the princess's request for music; the singer, concealing her satisfaction at this happy chance, went to get many unedited arrangements. Then, with an appearance as if suddenly inspired, she said, "I will be delighted, madame, to place all my treasures at her highness's disposal; and would feel honored were she to consent to receive me."

"And do you, indeed," said Madame Von Kleist, "wish to speak to her royal highness?"

"Yes, madame," said Porporina. "I would throw myself at her feet, and ask a favor which I am sure she would not refuse me. She is, they say, a great musician, and must protect artists. I have also heard that she is good as she is beautiful. I hope, then, if she deign to hear me, that she will aid me in obtaining from his majesty the recall of my master, who having been invited to Berlin, with the king's consent, was, when he reached the frontier, driven away, in consequence of a defect in his passport. Since then, in spite of the king's promises and assurances, I have been unable to bring this affair to an end. I dare no longer annoy the king with a request in which he takes but little interest, I am sure, for he always forgets it. But, if the princess would deign to say a word to the officers to whom such matters belong, I will have the happiness of being again with my adoptive father, the only friend I have in the world."

"What you say amazes me greatly," remarked Von Kleist. "What! the beautiful Porporina, whom I thought exerted an all-powerful influence over the king's mind, is obliged, forced, to obtain elsewhere a favor which seems so simple. Suffer me to conclude from these circumstances, that his majesty expects to find in your adoptive father, too vigilant a surveillance, or some counsel which will be of too much influence against his wishes."

"I strive in vain, madame, to understand what you honor me by saying," said Porporina, with a gravity which entirely disconcerted the baroness.

"Then, apparently, I have mistaken the extreme benevolence and limitless admiration which the king professes for the greatest of living singers."

"Does it become the dignity of the Baroness von Kleist to ridicule a poor artiste, like myself, without any influence, and perfectly inoffensive?"

"I ridicule!—who would think of ridiculing so angelic a being as you are? You are ignorant, signora, of your merit, and your candor fills me with surprise and admiration. Listen to me: I am sure that you will make a conquest of the princess. She always acts from the impulse of the moment, and it is only necessary for you to meet her, to take as perfect possession of her with your person as you have with your mind."

"It has, on the contrary, been said that her royal highness has always been severe in relation to me; and that, unfortunately, my poor face displeased her, and also, that she was much dissatisfied with my method of singing."

"Who on earth can have told you such falsehoods?"

"If any have been told, the king is guilty," said the young girl, with a slight tone of malice.

"It was a snare—a test of your modesty and gentleness," said the baroness, "as though I intend to prove to you that being a simple mortal, I have no right to be false, like a mighty and ill-tempered king, I wish to take you at once to the princess, that you may give her the music in person."

"And do you think, madame, that she will receive me kindly?"

"Will you trust me?"

"Yet, if you be mistaken, on whom will the humiliation fall?"

"On me alone: I authorise you to say everywhere, that I am proud of the princess's friendship, and that she entertains both esteem and deference for me."

"I will go with you, madame," said Consuelo, ringing for her mantle and muff. "My toilette is very simple, but you have entirely surprised me."

"You are perfectly charming, and will find the princess in a yet more simple toilette.—Come."

Porporina put the mysterious roll in her pocket, filled the carriage of the baroness with music, and followed her resolutely.

"For a man who risked his life for me," thought she, "I might run the risk of waiting in vain in the antechamber of a princess."

Having been introduced into a dressing-room she waited for five minutes, during which the abbess and her confidant exchanged these few words in the next room.

"Madame, I have brought her. She is there."

"So soon? You are an admirable ambassadress. How must I receive her? What sort of person is she?"

"Reserved, prudent, or simple. She is either intensely artful, or strangely simple."

"Oh! we will see," said the princess, the eyes of whom glittered with the influence of a mind used to penetration and distrust. "Let her come in."

During her short stay in the dressing-room, Porporina saw the strangest array of furniture which ever decorated the boudoir of a beautiful princess: spheres, compasses, astrolabes, astrological charts, vials filled with nameless mixtures and deaths-heads—in fine, all the materials of sorcery. "My friend is not mistaken," said she, "and the public knows all about the secrets of the king's sister. She does not even seem to conceal them, as she suffers me to see all this apparatus.—Well—courage!"

The Abbess of Quedlimburgh was then twenty-eight or thirty years of age. She had been beautiful as an angel, and yet was when seen by candlelight at a distance. When she was close to her, however, Porporina was amazed to find her face wrinkled and covered with blotches. Her blue eyes, which had been beautiful as possible, now had a red rim around them, like those of a person who had been weeping, and had an evil glare and deep transparency, not calculated to inspire confidence. She had been adored by her family and by all the court, and for a long time had been the most affable, the most joyous and benevolent king's daughter ever described in the romances of royal personages, of the old patrician literature. During the few last years, however, her character had changed as much as her person had. She had attacks of ill-humor, and even something worse, which made her like Frederick in his worst point of view; without seeking to resemble him, and even while in secret she criticised him severely, she was irresistibly led to contract all the faults she censured in him, and to become an imperious and absolute mistress, a skeptical, bitter, learned and disdainful person. Yet, amid these fearful characteristics, which every day look fatal possession of her, there was yet seen to pierce a native kindness, a correct mind, a courageous soul, and passionate heart. What then was passing in the mind of this unfortunate princess? A terrible cause of suffering devoured her, which she was yet forced to conceal in her heart, and which she hid from the eyes of the curious, malicious, or careless world, under the disguise of a stoical and joyous bearing. By means, therefore, of dissimulation and constraint, she had unfolded in herself two different beings, one which she dared reveal to scarcely any one, and the other which she exhibited with a kind of hatred and despair. All observed that in conversation she was become more keen and animated: this uneasy and forced gaiety, though, was painful to the observer, and its icy and chilling effect cannot be described. Successively excited, almost to puerility, and stern even to cruelty, she astonished both others and herself. Torrents of tears extinguished the fire of her anger, and then a savage irony, an impious disdain, snatched her from those moments of salutary depression, she was permitted neither to feel nor to know.

The first thing that Porporina observed, when she met her, was this kind of duality. The princess had two aspects and two faces: the one was caressing, the other menacing: two voices, one soft and harmonious, which seemed to have been vouchsafed her by heaven that she might sing like an angel, and the other hoarse and stern, apparently coming from a burning heart, animated by some devilish inspiration. Our heroine, surprised at so strange a being, divided between fear and sympathy, asked herself if an evil genius was about to take possession of her.

The princess, too, found Porporina a far more formidable person than she had imagined. She had hoped that, without her theatrical garb and the paint which makes women so very ugly, whatever people please to say about it, she would justify what the Baroness von Kleist had said—that she was rather ugly than beautiful. Her clear dark complexion, so uniform and pure; her powerful and dark eyes; her fresh mouth; her suple form; her natural and easy movements—the array of all the qualities of an honest, kind and calm being, or, at least, of one possessed of that internal power conferred by justice and true wisdom, filled the uneasy Amelia with a species of respect, and even of shame, as if she knew herself in the presence of a person of unimpeachable loyalty.

Her efforts to hide how ill at ease she was were remarked by the young girl, who, as we may conceive, was amazed to see so great a princess intimidated before her. She began, then, to revive the failing conversation, to open a piece of the music into which she had placed the cabalistic letter, and arranged it so that the great sheet covered with large characters, should meet the princess's eye. As soon as the effect was produced, she pretended to wish to withdraw the sheet, just as if she had been surprised at its being there. The abbess took possession of it immediately, however, saying—

"What is the meaning of this signora? For Heaven's sake, whence had you it?"

"If I must own all to your highness," said Porporina, significantly, "it is an astrological calculation I have been intending to present, when it shall be your highness's wish to question me about a matter to which I am not entirely a stranger."

The princess fixed her burning eyes on the singer, glanced at the magic characters, ran to the embrasure of a window, and, having examined the scroll for a time, uttered a loud cry, and fell almost suffocated into the arms of the Baroness von Kleist, who, when she saw her tremble, had hurried to her.

"Leave the room, signora," said the favorite, precipitately. "Go into that cabinet, and say nothing. Call no one. Do you understand?"

"No, no; she must not go!" said the princess, faintly. "Let her come hither—here, near me. Ah! my friend," said she, "how great a service you have rendered me!"

Clasping Porporina in her thin white arms, which were animated with a convulsive power, the princess pressed her to her heart, and covered her cheeks with eager burning kisses, which flushed her cheek and terrified her heart.

"Certainly people become mad in this country," thought she. "I have often feared this would be the case with me, and I see more important personages than I am run the same risk. There is madness in the air!"

"The princess at last loosened her neck to clasp her favorite's, crying and weeping, and shouting in the strongest voice;—

"Saved! saved!—my friends!—my kind friends! Trenck has escaped from the fortress of Glatz! He escapes! He is yet—yet at liberty!"

The poor princess had an attack of convulsive laughter, interrupted by sobs, terrible to see and hear.

"Madame! for heaven's sake!" said the baroness, "restrain your joy! Take care lest you be heard!"

Taking up the pretended magic scroll, which was nothing but a letter in cypher from Trenck, she aided her mistress in reading it, in spite of a thousand interruptions of forced and feverish laughter.