Chapter XXXIII

"Rich, young, and of illustrious birth, I was married at the age of twenty to Count Christian, who was already more than forty. He might have been my father, and inspired me with affection and respect, but not with love. I had been brought up in ignorance of what that sentiment is to a woman. My parents were austere Lutherans, but were obliged to practise the obligations of their faith as obscurely as possible. Their habits and ideas were excessively rigid, and had great power on the mind. Their hatred of the stranger, their mental revolt against the religious and political tyranny of Austria, their fanatical attachment to the old liberties of the country, had passed into my mind, and these passions sufficed my youth. I suspected the existence of no other, and my mother, who had never known aught but duty, would have fancied she committed a crime, had she suffered me to have the least presentiment of any other. The Emperor Charles, father of Maria Theresa, long persecuted my family on account of heresy, and placed our fortune, our liberty, and almost our life, up to the highest bidder. I might _ransom_ my parents by marrying a Catholic noble devoted to the empire, and I sacrificed myself with a kind of enthusiastic pride. Among those pointed out to me I chose Count Christian, because his mild, conciliatory, and apparently meek character made me entertain a hope of secretly converting him to the ideas of my family. Gladly did my parents receive and bless me for my devotion. Misfortune, though we may understand its extent, and be aware of its injustice, is not a means by which the soul can be developed. I very soon saw that the wise and calm Christian hid, under his benevolent mildness, an invincible obstinacy, and a deep attachment to the customs of his class and the prejudices of those around him--a kind of scornful hatred of all opposition to established ideas. His sister, Wenceslawa--tender, vigilant, generous but yet most alive to petty religious bigotry and pride of rank--was at once a pleasant and disagreeable companion for me. She was kindly but overpoweringly tyrannical to me; and her friendship, though devoted, was irritating to the last degree. I deeply suffered the want of sympathetic friends, the absence of the intellectual beings I could love. A contact with my companions destroyed me, and the atmosphere I breathed in seemed to dry up my heart. You know the story of the youth of Albert--his repressed enthusiasm, his misunderstood religion, and his evangelical ideas treated as heretical and mad. My life was the prelude to his; and you have sometimes at the Giants' Castle heard exclamations of terror and grief at the unfortunate resemblance, both in a moral and physical point of view, of the mother and son.

"The absence of love was the greatest evil of my life, and from it all others are derived. I loved Christian with deep friendship, but nothing could inspire me with enthusiasm, and an enthusiastic affection would have been necessary to repress the profound alienation of our natures. The stern and religious education I had received would not permit me to separate intelligence from love. I devoured myself. My health gave way; a strange excitement took possession of my nervous system. I had hallucinations and ecstasies called attacks of madness, which were carefully concealed instead of being cured. They sought to amuse and took me into society, as if balls, spectacles, and fetes, could replace sympathy, love, and confidence. At Vienna I became so ill that I was brought back to the Giants' Castle. I preferred this sad abode, the exorcisms of the chaplain, and the cruel friendship of the Canoness Wenceslawa, to the court of our tyrants.

"The death of my five children, one after the other, inflicted the last blow on me. It appeared that heaven had cursed my marriage. I longed anxiously for death, and expected nothing from life. I strove not to love Albert, my youngest son, being persuaded that he too was condemned like the others, and that my care would not suffice to save him.

"One final misfortune completely extinguished my faculties. I loved and was loved, and the austerity of my religion forced me to stifle even the self-knowledge of this terrible feeling. The medical man who attended me in my frequent and painful crises, was apparently not younger and not so handsome as Christian. I was not moved by the graces of his person, but by the profound sympathy of our souls, the conformity of ideas, or rather religious and philosophical instincts, and an incredible similarity of character. Marcus, I can mention only his first name, had the same energy, the same activity, the same patriotism, I had. Of him, as well as of me, might be said what Shakespeare makes Brutus assert. He was not one of those who hear injustice with an unmoved brow. The misery and degradation of the poor, serfdom, despotic laws and monstrous abuses, all the impious rights of conquest aroused tempests of indignation in his mind. What torrents of tears have we shed together over the wrongs of our country and of the human race, every where oppressed and deceived--in one place degraded by ignorance, in another decimated by avarice, and in a third, violated and degraded by the ravages of war--vile and unfortunate over all the world! Marcus, who was better informed than I was, conceived the idea of a remedy for all these evils, and often spoke to me of a strange and mysterious plan to organise an universal conspiracy against despotism and intolerance. I listened to his plans as mere things of romance. I hoped for nothing more. I was too ill and too utterly crushed to entertain hopes of the future. He loved me ardently; I saw and felt it. I partook of his passion, and yet during five years of apparent friendship and chaste intimacy, we never spoke of the lamentable secret that united us. He did not usually live in the Boehmer-wald--at least he often left it on pretence of visiting patients who were at a distance, but in fact to organise that conspiracy of which he constantly spoke to me, though without convincing me that it would be successful. As often as I saw him, I felt myself more excited by his genius, his courage and perseverance. Whenever he returned, he found me more debilitated, more completely a prey to an internal fire, and more devasted by physical suffering.

"During one of his absences I had terrible convulsions, to which the ignorant and vain Doctor Wetzelius, whom you know, and who attended me during my absence, gave the name of _malignant fever._ After these crises, I fell into so complete a state of _annihilation_ that it was taken for death. My pulse ceased to beat, my respiration was not perceptible. Yet I retained my consciousness. I heard the prayers of the chaplain, and the lamentations of the family. I heard the agonising cry of poor Albert, my only child, and could not move. I could not even see him. My eyes had been closed, and it was impossible for me to open them. I asked myself if this could be death, and if the soul, having lost all means of action on the body in death, preserved a recollection of earthly sorrows, and was aware of the terrors of the tomb. I heard terrible things around my death-bed: the chaplain, seeking to calm the deep and sincere grief of the canoness, told her God should be thanked for all things, and it was a blessing to any husband to be freed from my continual agony, and the storms of a guilty mind. He did not use terms quite so harsh, but that was the sense. I heard him afterwards seek to console Christian with the same arguments, yet more softened in expression, but to me the sense was identical and cruel. I heard distinctly, I understood thoroughly. It was, they thought, God's will that I should not bring up my child, and that in his youth he would be removed from contact with the poison of heresy. Thus they talked to my husband when he wept and clasped Albert to his bosom, saying--'Poor child! what will become of you without your mother?' The chaplain's reply was, 'You will bring him up in a godly manner.'

"Finally, after three days of mute and silent despair, I was borne to the tomb, without having the power of motion, yet without for an instant having any doubt of the terrible death about to be inflicted on me. I was covered with diamonds--I was dressed in my wedding robe--the magnificent costume you saw in my portrait. A chaplet of flowers was placed on my head, a gold crucifix on my bosom, and I was placed in a white marble cenotaph, cut in the pavement of the chapel. I felt neither cold, nor the want of air. I existed in the mind alone.

"An hour after, Marcus came. His consternation deprived him of all thought; he prostrated himself on my grave, and they had to tear him away. At night he returned, bringing a lever and chisel with him. A strange suspicion had passed through his mind. He knew my lethargic crises. He had never seen them so long or so complete. From a few brief attacks which he had observed, he was satisfied of the possibility of a terrible error. He had no confidence in the science of Wetzelius. I heard him walking above my head, and I knew his step. The noise of the lever, as it lifted up the pavement, made my heart quiver, but I could not utter a cry, or make a sound. When he lifted up the veil which covered my face, I was so exhausted by the efforts I made to call him, that I seemed dead forever. He hesitated for a long time; he examined my extinct breath, my heart, and my icy hands. I had all the rigidity of a corpse. I heard him murmur, in an agonising tone--'All, then, is over! No hope! Dead--dead! Oh, Wanda!' Again there was a terrible silence. Had he fainted? Did he abandon me, forgetting, in the tremor inspired by the sight of one he loved, to shut up my sepulchre?

"Marcus, while in moody meditation, formed a scheme melancholy as his grief, and strange as his character. He wished to wrest my body from the outrage of destruction. He wished to bear it away secretly, to embalm and enclose it in a metallic case, keeping it ever with him. He asked himself if he would be bold enough to do so, and suddenly, in a kind of fanatic transport, exclaimed, that he would. He took me in his arms, and, without knowing if his strength would enable him to bear me to his house, which was more than a mile distant, he laid me down on the pavement, and with the terrible calmness which is often found in persons who are delirious, replaced the stones. Then he wrapped me up, covered me entirely with his cloak, and left the castle, which then was not shut so carefully as it now is, because at that time the bands of malefactors, made desperate by war, had not shown themselves in the environs. I was become so thin, that he had not a very heavy burden. Marcus crossed the woods, and chose the least frequented paths. He twice placed me on the rocks, being overcome with grief and terror, rather than with fatigue. He has told me since, more than once, that he was horrified at this violation of a grave, and that he was tempted to carry me back. At last he reached his home, going noiselessly into his garden, and put me, unseen by any one, into an isolated building, which was his study. There the joy of feeling myself saved, the first feeling of pleasure I had experienced in ten years, loosened my tongue, and I was able to make a faint exclamation.

"A new emotion violently succeeded the depression. I was suddenly gifted with excessive powers, and uttered cries and groans. The servant and gardener of Marcus came, thinking that he was being murdered. He had the presence of mind to meet them, saying that a lady had come to his house, to give birth secretly to a child, and that he would kill any one who saw her, and discharge any one who was so unfortunate as to mention the circumstance. This feint succeeded. I was dangerously ill in the study for three days. Marcus, who was shut up with me, attended to me with a zeal and intelligence which were worthy of his will. When I was cured, and could collect my ideas, I threw myself in alarm into his arms, remembering only that we must separate. 'Oh, Marcus!' said I, 'why did you not suffer me to die here in your arms? If you love me, kill me, for to return to my family is worse than death!'

"'Madame,' said he firmly, 'I have sworn before God that you never shall return there. You belong to me alone. You will not leave me; if so, it will cause my death.' This terrible resolution at once terrified and charmed me. I was too much enfeebled to be able to comprehend its meaning for a long time. I listened to him, with the timid submission and compliance of a child. I suffered him to cure and attend to me, becoming gradually used to the idea of never returning to Riesenberg, and never contradicting the belief of my death. To convince me, Marcus made use of a lofty eloquence, he told me, with such a husband I could not live, and had no right to undergo certain death. He swore that he had the means of hiding me for a long time, and even forever, from all who would know me. He promised to watch over my son, and to enable me to see him in secret. He gave me, even, certain assurances of these strange possibilities, and I suffered myself to be convinced. I lived with him, and was no longer the Countess of Rudolstadt.

"One night, just as we were about to part, they came for Marcus, saying that Albert was dangerously ill. Maternal love, which misfortune seemed to have suppressed, awoke in my bosom. I wished to go to Riesenberg with Marcus, and no human power could dissuade me from it. I went in his carriage, and in a long veil waited anxiously at some distance from the house, while he went to see my son, and promised me an account of his state. He soon returned, and assured me that my child was in no danger, and wished me to go to his house, to enable him to pass the night with Albert. I could not do so. I wished to wait for him, hidden behind the walls of the castle, while he returned to watch my son. Scarcely was I alone, than a thousand troubles devoured my heart. I fancied that Marcus concealed Albert's true situation from me, and perhaps that he would die without receiving my last farewell. Under the influence of this unhappy persuasion, I rushed into the portico of the castle. A servant I met in the court let his light fall, and fled when he saw me. My veil hid my face, but the apparition of a woman at midnight was sufficient to awake the superstitious fears of these credulous servants. No one suspected that I was the shadow of the unfortunate and impious Countess Wanda. An unexpected chance enabled me to reach the room of my son without meeting any one, and it happened that Wenceslawa had just left to procure some remedy Marcus had ordered. My husband, as was his wont, had gone to the oratory to pray, instead of trying to avert the danger. I took my child in my arms; I pressed him to my bosom. He was not afraid of me, for he had not understood what was meant by my death. At that moment the chaplain appeared at the door. Marcus thought that all was lost. With a rare presence of mind, however, he stood without moving, and appeared not to see me. The chaplain pronounced, in a broken voice, a few words of an exorcism, and fell half dead, after having made a single step towards me. I then made up my mind to fly through another door, and in the dark reached the place where Marcus had left me. I was reassured; I had seen Albert restored, and the heat of fever was no longer on his lips. The fainting and terror of the chaplain were attributed to a vision. He maintained that he had seen me with Marcus, clasping my child to my bosom. Marcus had seen no one. Albert had gone to sleep. On the next day he asked for me, and on the following nights, satisfied that I did not sleep the eternal slumber, as they had attempted to persuade him, he fancied that he saw me yet, and called me again and again. Thenceforth, throughout his whole youth, Albert was closely watched, and the superstitious family of Riesenberg made many prayers to conjure the unfortunate assiduities of my phantom around his cradle.

"Marcus took me back before day. We postponed our departure for a week, and when the health of my son was completely established we left Bohemia. Always concealed in my places of abode, always veiled in my journeys, bearing a fictitious name, and for a long time having no other confidant than Marcus, I passed many years with him in a foreign country. He maintained a constant correspondence with a friend, who kept him informed of all that passed at Riesenberg, and who gave him ample details of the health, character, and education of my son. The deplorable condition of my health was a full excuse for my living in retirement and seeing no one. I passed for the sister of Marcus, and lived long in Italy, in an isolated villa, while during a portion of the time Marcus travelled and toiled for the accomplishment of his vast plans.

"I was not Marcus's mistress: I remained under the influence of my scruples, and I needed ten years' meditation to conceive the right of a human being to repudiate the yoke of laws, without pity and without intelligence, such as rule human society. Being thought dead, and being unwilling to endanger the liberty I had so dearly purchased, I could not invoke any civil or religious power to break my marriage with Christian, and I would not have been willing to arouse again his sorrow, which had long been lulled to sleep. He was not aware how unhappy I had been with him; he thought I had gone for my own happiness, for the peace of my family, and for the health of my son, into the deep and never-ending repose of the tomb. Thus situated, I looked on myself as sentenced to eternal fidelity to him. At a later day, when by the care of Marcus the disciples of the new faith were reunited and constituted secretly into a religious church, when I had so changed my opinions as to accept the new communion, and had so far modified my ideas as to be able to enter this new church which had the power to pronounce my divorce and consecrate my union, it was too late. Marcus, wearied by my obstinacy, had felt the necessity of another love, to which I had attempted to persuade him. He had married, and I was the friend of his wife; yet he was not happy. This woman had not mind enough, nor a sufficient intelligence, to satisfy such a man as Marcus. He had been unable to make her comprehend his plans or to initiate her in his schemes. She died, after some years, without having guessed that Marcus had always loved me. I nursed her on her death-bed; I closed her eyes without having any reproach to make against her, without rejoicing at the disappearance of this obstacle to my long and cruel passion. Youth was gone; I was crushed; my life was too sad, and had been too austere, to change it when age had begun to whiten my hairs. I at last began to enter the calm of old age, and I felt deeply all that is august and holy in this phase of female life. Yes; our old age, like our whole life, when we understand it, is much more serious than that of men. _They_ may forget the course of years--they may love and become parents at a more advanced period than we can, for nature prescribes a term after which there seems to be something monstrous and impious in the idea of seeking to awaken love, and infringing, by ridiculous delirium, on the brilliant privileges of the generation which already succeeds and effaces us. The lessons and examples which it also expects from us at this solemn time, ask for a life of contemplation and meditation which the agitation of love would disturb without any benefit. Youth can inspire itself with its own ardor, and find important revelations. Mature age has no commerce with God, other than in the calm serenity which is granted to it as a final benefit. God himself aids it gently, and by an irresistible transformation, to enter into this path. He takes care to appease our passions, and to change them into peaceable friendship. He deprives us of the prestige of beauty, also removing all dangerous temptations from us. Nothing, then, is so easy as to grow old, whatever we may say and think of those women of diseased mind, whom we see float through the world in a kind of obstinate madness, to conceal from each other and from themselves the decay of their charms and the close of their mission _as women._ Yes; age deprives us of our sex, and excuses us from the terrible labors of maternity, and we will not recognise that this moment exalts to a kind of angelic state. You, however, my dear child, are far from this terrible yet desirable term, as the ship is from the port after a tempest, so that all my reflections are lost on you. Let them serve, therefore, merely to enable you to comprehend my history. I remained, what I had always been, the sister of Marcus, and the repressed emotions, the subdued wishes which had tortured my youth, gave, at least, to the friendship of matured age a character of force and enthusiastic confidence not to be met with in vulgar friendships.

"As yet I have told you nothing of the mental cares and the serious occupations which during the last fifteen years kept us from being absorbed by our suffering, and which since then have given us no reason to regret them. You know their nature, their object, and result; all that was explained to you last night. You will to-night learn much from the Invisibles. I can only tell you that Marcus sits among them, and that he himself formed their secret council with the aid of a virtuous prince, the whole of whose fortune is devoted to the grand mysterious enterprise with which you are already acquainted. To it I also have consecrated all my power for fifteen years. After an absence of twelve years, I was too much changed and too entirely forgotten not to be able to return to Germany. The strange life required by certain duties of our order also favored my incognito. To me was confided, not the absolute propagandism which is better suited to your brilliant life, but such secret missions as befitted my prudence. I have made long journeys, of which I will tell you by-and-bye. Since then I have lived here totally unknown, performing the apparently insignificant duties of superintending a portion of the prince's household, while in fact I was devoting myself to our secret task, maintaining in the name of the council a vast correspondence with our most important associates, receiving them here, and often with Marcus alone, when the other supreme chiefs are absent, exercising a marked influence on those of their decisions which appeared to appeal to the delicate views and the particular qualities of the female mind. Apart from the philosophical questions which exist and exert an influence here, and in relation to which I have by the maturity of my mind taken an active part, there are often matters of sentiment to be discussed and decided. You may fancy, from your temptations elsewhere, circumstances often occur where individual passions--love, hatred, and jealousy--come into contact. By means of my son, and even in person, though under disguises not unusual to women in courts, as a witch or _illuminatus_, I have had much to do with the Princess Amelia, with the interesting and unfortunate Princess of Culmbach, and with the young Margravine of Bareith, Frederick's sister. Women must be won rather by the heart than by the mind. I have toiled nobly, I must say, to attach them to us, and I have succeeded. This phase of my life, however, I do not wish to speak of to you. In your future enterprises you will find traces of me, and will continue what I have begun. I wish to speak to you of Albert, and to tell you all that part of his existence of which you are ignorant. Attend to me for a brief time. You will understand how, in the terrible and strange life I have led, I became alive to tender emotions and maternal joys."