Chapter XLIII: Epilogue (1)

Had we been able to procure faithful documents in relation to Albert and Consuelo after their marriage, like those which have guided us up to this point, we might, doubtless, have written a long history, telling of all their adventures and journeys. But, most persevering readers, we cannot satisfy you; and of you, weary reader, we only ask a few moments of patience. Let neither of you reproach nor praise us. The truth is, that the materials by means of which we have so far been able to connect the items of this story, entirely disappear from the dates of the romantic night which blessed and consecrated the union of the two great characters of our story amid the Invisibles. Whether the engagements contracted by them in the temple prevented them from yielding to friendship in their letters; or that their friends, being affiliated in the same mysteries, in the days of persecution thought it proper to destroy their correspondence, we cannot say; but henceforth we see them through the maze of a cloud, under the veil of the temple or the mask of adepts. Without examining the traces of their existence which we find in manuscripts, it would often have been difficult to follow them; contradictory evidence shows both to have been at the same time at two different geographical points, or following different objects. However, we can easily understand the possibility of their voluntarily creating such errors, from the fact that they were secretly devoted to the plans of the Invisibles, and often were forced, amid a thousand perils, to avoid the inquisitorial policy of governments. In relation to the existence of this one soul, with two persons, called Consuelo and Albert, we cannot say whether love fulfilled all its promises, or if fate contradicted those which it had seemed to make during the intoxication of what they called "_The Midsummer Night's Dream._" They were not, however, ungrateful to Providence, which had conferred this rapid happiness, in all its plentitude, and which, amid reverses, continued the miracle of love Wanda had announced. Amid misery, suffering and persecution, they always remembered that happy life, which seemed to them a celestial union, and, as it were, a bargain made with the divinity, for the enjoyment of a better existence after many toils, ordeals, and sacrifices.

In other respects, all becomes so mysterious to us that we have been quite unable to discover in what part of Germany this enchanted residence was, in which, protected by the tumult of the chase and festivals, a prince unknown in documents became a rallying point and a principal mover of the social and philosophical conspiracy of the Invisibles. This prince had received a symbolical name, which, after a thousand efforts to discover the cypher used by the adepts, we presume to be Christopher, or Chrysostom, or the Golden Mouth. The temple where Consuelo was married and initiated was particularly called _Saint Graal_, and the chiefs of the tribunal _Templists._ These were Romanesque emblems, renewed from the old legends of the age of gold and chivalry. All the world knows that in these charming fictions, Saint Graal was hidden in a mysterious sanctuary, amid a grotto unknown to men. There the _Templists_, illustrious saints of primitive Christianity, devoted even in this world to immortality, kept the precious cup which Jesus had used in the consecration of the Eucharist, when he kept the passover with his disciples. This cup doubtless contained the celestial grace, represented sometimes by blood and then by the tears of Christ; a divine ichor or eucharistic substance, the mystic influence of which was inexplicable, but which it was sufficient merely to see, to be transformed, both morally and physically, so as to be forever sheltered from death and sin. The pious paladins, who, after terrible macerations and exploits sufficient to make the earth tremble, devoted themselves to the career of _knight-errantry_, had the idea of reaching _Saint Graal_ at the end of their peregrinations. They looked for it amid the ices of the north, on the shores of Armorica, and in the depths of the forests of Germany. To realise this sublime conquest, it was necessary to confront danger, equal to those of the Hesperides--to overcome monsters, elements, barbarous people, hunger, thirst, and even death. Some of these Christian Argonauts discovered, it is said, the sanctuary, and were regenerated by the divine cup; they never, however, betrayed the terrible secret. Their triumph was known by the power of their invincible arm, by the transfiguration of all their existence: few, however, survived this glorious initiation. They disappeared from among men as Jesus did after his resurrection, and passed from earth to heaven without undergoing the bitter transition of death.

This magical symbol was, in fact, well adapted to the object of the Invisibles. For many years, the new Templists hoped to make Saint Graal accessible to all mankind. Albert toiled constantly to diffuse the true ideas of his doctrine. He reached the highest grades of the order, for we find the list of his titles showing that he had time enough to reach them. Now all know that eighty-one months are needed to pass through the twenty-three degrees of masonry, and we think it certain that a much longer time was required for the higher grades of Saint Graal. The number of masonic degrees are now a mystery to no one; yet it will not be out of place here to recount a few, as they paint the enthusiastic genius and smiling fancy which presided over their first creation:

"Apprentice and Master Mason, Secret and Perfect Master, Provost and Judge, English and Irish Master, Master in Israel, Master Elect of the Nine and Fifteen, Elect of the Unknown, Grand Master Architect, Royal Arch, Grand Scotch Master of the Sublime or Master Masons, Knight of the Sword, Prince of Jerusalem, Knight of Orient and Occident, Rose-Cross of France, Heredom and Kilwinning, Grand Pontiff or Sublime Scot, Architect of the Sacred Roof, Pontiff of Jerusalem, Sovereign Prince of Masonry and Master _ad vitam_, Naochite, Prince of Libon, Chief of the Tabernacle and Knight of the Iron Serpent, Trinitarian Scot or Prince of Mercy, Grand Commander of the Temple, Knight of the Gun, Patriarch of the Crusades, Grand Master of Light, Knight Kadosch, Knight of the White Eagle and of the Black Eagle, Knight of the Phœnix and Knight of the Argonauts, Knight of the Golden Fleece, Grand-Inspector-Inquisitor-Commander-Sublime, Prince of the Royal Secret and Sublime Master of the Luminous King," &c.[16]

These titles, or at least the majority of them, we find connected with the name of Albert Podiebrad, in the most illegible rolls of the freemasons. There are also many less known; such as Knight of St John, Sublime Johannite, Master of the New Apocalypse, Doctor of the Gospel, and Elect of the Holy Ghost, Templist, Areopagite, Magus, and Man of the People, Man-Pontiff, Man-King, and New-man, &c.[17] We have been surprised here to find some titles which seemed anticipated from the illuminatism of Weishaupt: this peculiarity, however, was explained at a later day, and will not, when this story is concluded, need any explanation to our readers.

Amid this labyrinth of obscure facts--which, however, are profound, and connected with the labor, success, and apparent extinction of the Invisibles--we can with difficulty follow the adventurous story of the young couple. Yet by supplying what we need by a prudent imagination, the following is nearly the abridged commentary of the chief events of their lives. The fancy of the reader will supply the deficiency of the text, and following our experience, we doubt not that the best _dénoûements_ are those for which the reader and not the narrator will be responsible.[18]

Probably, after leaving _Saint Graal_, Consuelo went to the little court of Bareith, where the Margravine, sister of Frederick, had palaces, gardens, kiosques, and cascades, in the same style as those of Count Hoditz at Roswald, though less sumptuous and less expensive. This intellectual princess had been married without a dower to a very poor prince; and not long before she had worn robes with trains of reasonable length, and had pages whose doublets were not threadbare, her gardens, or rather her garden, to speak without metaphor, was situated amid a beautiful country, and she indulged in the Italian Opera in an antique temple _à la Pompadour._ The margravine was fond of philosophy--that is to say, she was a disciple of Voltaire. The young hereditary margrave, her husband, was the zealous head of a masonic lodge. I am not sure whether Albert was connected with him, or whether his incognito was observed by the secresy of the brothers, or whether he remained away from this court and joined his wife afterwards. Certainly Consuelo had some secret mission there. Perhaps, also, for the purpose of preventing attention from being attracted to her husband, she did not live publicly with him for some time. Their loves, then, had all the attraction of mystery; and if the publicity of their union, consecrated by the fraternal sanction of the Templists, seemed gentle and edifying to them, the secrecy they maintained in a hypocritical and licentious world, at first, was a necessary _ægis_ and kind of mute protestation in which they found their enthusiasm and power.

Many male and female Italian singers at that time delighted the little court of Bareith. Corilla and Anzoleto appeared there, and the vain prima donna again became enamored of the traitor she had previously devoted to all the furies of hell. Anzoleto, however, while he cajoled the tigress, sought with a secret and mysterious reserve to find favor with Consuelo, whose talent, enhanced by such profound revelations, now eclipsed all rivalry. Ambition had become the dominant passion of the young tenor; love had been stifled by mortification, and voluptuousness by satiety. He then loved neither the chaste Consuelo nor the passionate Corilla, but kept terms with both, ready to attach himself to either of the two, who would serve his purpose, and make him advantageously known. Consuelo treated him kindly, and neither spared good advice nor such instructions as would enable him to exhibit his talent. She never, though, felt uneasy when she was with him, and the completeness of her pardon exhibited how completely she had mastered her passion. Anzoleto was not re-installed, and having listened with emotion to the advice of his friend, lost all patience when he lost all hope, and his deep mortification and sorrow, in spite of himself, became evident in his words.

Under these circumstances, it appears that Amelia of Rudolstadt came to Bareith with the Princess of Culmbach, daughter of the Countess Von Hoditz. If we may believe some exaggerating and indiscreet witnesses, some strange scenes took place between Consuelo, Amelia, Corilla, and Anzoleto. When she saw the handsome tenor appear unexpectedly on the boards of the opera of Bareith, the young baroness fainted. No one observed the coincidence, but the lynx-eyed Corilla discovered on the brow of Anzoleto a peculiar expression of gratified vanity. He missed his _point_; the court, disturbed by the accident, did not applaud the singer, and instead of growling between his teeth, as was his fashion on such occasions, there was an unequivocal smile of triumph on his face.

"See," said Corilla, in an angry voice to Consuelo, as she went behind the scenes, "he loves neither you nor me, but that little fool who has been playing her part in the boxes. Do you know her? who is she?"

"I do not know," said Consuelo, who had observed nothing: "I can assure you, however, neither you, nor she, nor I, occupy him."

"Who then does?"

"Himself _al solito_," said Consuelo with a smile.

The story goes on to say that on the next day Consuelo was sent for to come to a retired wood to talk with Amelia. "I know all," said the latter, angrily, before she permitted Consuelo to open her mouth; "he loves you, unfortunate scourge of my life--you, who have robbed me of Albert's love and his."

"_His_, madame? I do not know----"

"Do not pretend. Anzoleto loves you. You were his mistress at Venice, and yet are----"

"It is either a base slander, or a suspicion unworthy of you."

"It is the truth. I assure you; he confessed it to me last night."

"Last night! What do you say, madame?" said Consuelo, blushing with shame and chagrin.

Amelia shed tears; and when the kind Consuelo had succeeded in calming her jealousy, she obtained in spite of her diffidence, the confession of this unfortunate passion. Amelia had heard Anzoleto sing at Prague, and became intoxicated with his beauty and success. Being ignorant of music, she took him for one of the first musicians in the world. At Prague he was decidedly popular. She sent for him as her singing-master, and while her father the old Baron Frederick, paralysed by inactivity, slept in his chair dreaming of wild boars, she yielded to a seducer. _Ennui_ and vanity ruined her. Anzoleto, flattered by this illustrious conquest, and wishing to make the scandal public in order to secure popularity, persuaded her that she might become the greatest singer of the age, that an artist's life was a paradise on earth, and that she could not do better than fly with him, and make her _début_ at the Haymarket Theatre in Handel's operas.

Amelia at first viewed with horror the idea of deserting her old father, but when Anzoleto was about to leave Prague, feigning a despair he did not feel, she yielded to his solicitations, and fled with him.

The intoxication of her love for Anzoleto was but of brief duration. His insolence and coarse manners, when he no longer played the part of seducer, recalled her to her senses; and it was not without a feeling of pleasure mingled with remorse at her conduct, that, three months after her escape, she was arrested at Hamburg, and brought back to Prussia, where, at the instance of her Saxon kin, she was incarcerated in the fortress of Spandau. Her punishment was both long and severe, and in a measure rendered her mind callous to the agony she would otherwise have felt at hearing of her father's death. At last her freedom was granted, and it was not till then that she heard of all the misfortunes which had afflicted her family. She did not dare to return to the canoness, and feeling utterly incapable of leading a life of retirement and repose, she implored the protection of the Margravine of Bareith; and the Princess of Culmbach, who was then at Dresden, assumed the responsibility of taking her to her kinswoman. In this frivolous yet philosophical court she found that amiable toleration of vice which then was the only virtue. Here she again met with Anzoleto, and again submitted to the ascendancy which he seemed to have acquired over the fair sex, and which the chaste Consuelo found so difficult to resist. At first she avoided him, but gradually became again fascinated, and made an appointment to meet him one evening in the garden, and once more yielded to his solicitations.

She confessed to Consuelo that she yet loved him, and related all her faults to her old singing mistress with a mixture of feminine modesty and philosophical coolness.

It seems certain that Consuelo by her earnest appeals found the way to her heart, and that she made up her mind to return to the Giants' Castle, and to shake off her dangerous passion in solitude, by soothing her old aunt in her decline.

After this adventure Consuelo could remain at Bareith no longer. The haughty jealousy of Corilla, who was always imprudent, yet at the same time kind-hearted, induced the prima donna sometimes to find fault, and then to humble herself. Anzoleto, who had fancied that he could avenge for her disdain by casting himself at Amelia's feet, never pardoned her for having removed the young baroness from danger. He did her a thousand unkind offices, contriving to make her miss the cue on the stage, preventing her from taking up the key in a _duo_, and by a self-sufficient air attempting to make the unwary audience think she was in error. If he had a stage effect to perform with her, he went to her right instead of her left hand, and tried to make her stumble amid the properties. All these ill-natured tricks failed, in consequence of Consuelo's calmness. She was, however, less stoical when he began to calumniate her, and when she knew that there were persons, who could not believe in the chastity of an actress, to listen to him. Hence libertines of every age were rude towards her, refusing to believe in her innocence; and she had to bear with Anzoleto's defamation, influenced as he was by mortification and revenge.

This base and narrow-minded persecution was the commencement of a long martyrdom which the unfortunate prima donna submitted to during all her theatrical career. As often as she met Anzoleto, he annoyed her in a thousand ways. Corilla, too, from envy and ill-feeling, gave her trouble. Of her two rivals, the female was the least in the way, and most capable of a kind emotion. Whatever may be said of the misconduct and jealous vanity of actresses, Consuelo discovered that when her male companions were influenced by the same vices, they became even more degraded, and less worthy of their relative position. Arrogant and dissipated nobles, managers and people of the press, depraved by such connection, fine ladies, curious and whimsical patronesses, ready to deceive, yet offended at finding in an actress more virtue than they could themselves boast of--in fact, and most unjust of all, the public rose _en masse_ against the wife of Leverani, and subjected her to perpetual mortification. Persevering and faithful in her profession as she was in love, she never yielded, but pursued the tenor of her way, always increasing in musical knowledge, and her virtuous conduct remaining unaltered. Sometimes she failed in the thorny path of success, yet often won a just triumph. She became the priestess of a purer art than even Porpora himself was acquainted with; and found immense resources in her religious faith, and vast consolation in her ardent and devoted love to her husband.

The career of her husband, though a parallel to her own, for he accompanied her in her wanderings, is enwrapped in much mystery. It may be presumed that he was not sentenced to be the slave of her fortune and the book-keeper of her receipts and disbursements. Consuelo's profession was not very lucrative. At that time the public did not reward artists with as much munificence as it does now. Then they were remunerated by the presents they received from princes and nobles, and women who knew how to take advantage of their position had already begun to amass large fortunes. Chastity and disinterestedness are, however, the greatest enemies an actress can have. Consuelo was successful, respected, and excited enthusiasm in some, when those who were about her did not interfere with her position before the true public. She owed no triumph to gallantry, however, and infamy never crowned her with diamonds or gems. Her laurels were spotless, and were not thrown on the stage by interested hands. After ten years of toil and labor, she was no richer than when she began her career. She had made no speculations, for she neither could nor would do so. She had not even saved the fruit of her labors, to get which she often had much trouble, but had expended it in charity, or for the purposes of secret but active propagandism, for which her own means had not always sufficed. The central power of the Invisibles had often provided for her.

What may have been the real success of the ardent and tireless pilgrimage of Albert and Consuelo, in France, Spain, England and Italy, there is nothing to tell the world; and I think we must look twenty years later, and then use induction, to form an idea of the result of the secret labors of the societies of the Invisibles. Had they a greater effect in France than in the bosom of that Germany where they were produced? The French Revolution loudly says Yes. Yet the European conspiracy of Illuminism, and the gigantic conceptions of Weishaupt, prove that the divine dream of Saint Graal did not cease to agitate the German mind for thirty years, in spite of the dispersion and defection of the chief adepts.

Old newspapers tell us that Porporina sang with great success in Pergolese's operas at Paris, in the oratorios and operas of Handel at London, with Farinelli at Madrid, with La Faustina at Dresden, and with Mergotti at Venice. At Rome and Naples she sang the church music of Porpora and other great masters, with triumphant applause.

Every item of Albert's career is lost. A few notes to Trenck or Wanda prove this mysterious personage to have been full of faith, confidence, and activity, and enjoying in the highest degree lucidity of mind. At a certain epoch all documentary information fails. We have heard the following story told, in a coterie of persons almost all of whom are now dead, relative to Consuelo's last appearance on the stage.

"It was about 1760, at Vienna. The actress was then about thirty years old, and it was said was handsomer than she had been in her youth. A pure life, moral and calm habits, and physical prudence, had preserved all the grace of her beauty and talent. Handsome children accompanied her, but no one knew their father, though common report said that she had a husband, and was irrevocably faithful to him. Porpora having gone several times to Italy, was with her, and was producing a new opera at the Imperial Theatre. The last twenty years of the maestro's works are so completely unknown, that we have in vain sought to discover the name of his last productions. We only know Porporina had the principal part, that she was most successful, and wrung tears from the whole court. The empress was satisfied. On the night after this triumph, Porporina received from an invisible messenger news that filled her with terror and consternation. At seven in the morning--that is to say, just at the hour when the empress was awakened by the faithful valet known as the sweeper[19] of her majesty, (for his duty consisted in opening the blinds, making the fire, and cleaning the room, while the empress was awaking,) Porporina, by eloquence or gold, passed through every avenue of the palace, and reached the door of the royal bed-chamber."

"'My friend,' said she to the servant, 'I must throw myself at the empress's feet. The life of an honest man is in danger. A great crime will be committed in a few days, if I do not see her majesty at once. I know that you cannot be bribed, but also know you to be generous and magnanimous. Everybody says so. You have obtained favors which the greatest courtiers dared not ask.'

"'Kind heaven! my dear mistress! I will do anything for you,' said the servant, clasping his hands and letting his duster fall.

"'Karl!' said Consuelo. 'Thank God I am saved! Albert has a protecting angel in the palace!'

"'Albert! Albert!' said Karl. 'Is he in danger? Go In, madame, if I should lose my place. God knows I shall be sorry; for I am enabled to do some good and serve our holy cause better than I could do anywhere else. Listen! The empress is a good soul, when she is not a queen. Go in: you will be thought to have preceded me. Let those scoundrels bear the burden of it, for they do not deserve to serve a queen. They speak lies."

"Consuelo went in; and when the empress opened her eyes, she saw her kneeling at the foot of the bed.

"'Who is that?' said Maria Theresa, as, gathering the counterpane over her shoulders, she rose up as proud and as haughty in her night-dress, and on her bed, as if she sat on her throne, decked with the Imperial crown on her brow, and the sword by her side.

"'Madame,' said Consuelo, 'I am your humble subject, an unfortunate mother, a despairing wife, who begs on her knees her husband's life and liberty.'

"Just then Karl came in, pretending to be very angry.

"'Wretch,' said he, 'who bade you come hither?'

"'I thank you, Karl, for your vigilance and fidelity. Never before was I awakened with such insolence.'

"'Let not your majesty say a word, and I will kill this woman at once.'

"Karl knew the empress. He was aware that she liked to be merciful before others, and that she always played the great queen and the great woman before even her valets.

"'You are too zealous,' said she, with a majestic smile. 'Go, and let this poor weeping woman speak. I am not in danger in the company of my subjects. What is the matter, madame? But, are you not the beautiful Porporina? You will spoil your voice, if you weep thus.'

"'Madame,' said Consuelo, 'ten years ago I was married in the Catholic Church. I have never once disgraced myself. I have legitimate children, whom I have educated virtuously. I dare to say----'

"'Virtuously I know you have, but not religiously. You are chaste, they tell me, but you never go to church. Tell me, however, what has befallen you?'

"'My husband, from whom I have never been separated, is now in Prague, and I know not by what infamous means he has been arrested in that city on the charge of usurping a name and title not his own, of attempting to appropriate an estate to which he had no claim--in fine, of being a swindler, a spy, and an impostor. Perhaps even now he has been sentenced to perpetual imprisonment, or to death.'

"'Prague? and an impostor?' said the empress. 'There is a story of that kind in the reports of the secret police. What is your husband's name? for you actresses do not bear them.'

"'Leverani.'

"'That is it! My child, I am sorry that you are married to such a wretch. This Leverani is in fact a swindler and a madman, who, taking advantage of a perfect resemblance, attempts to personate the Count of Rudolstadt, who died ten years ago. The fact is proved. He introduced himself into the home of the old Canoness of Rudolstadt, and dared to say he was her nephew, he would have succeeded in getting possession of her inheritance, if just then the old lady had not been relieved of him by friends of the family. He was arrested and very properly. I can conceive your mortification, but do not know how I can help it. If it be shown that this man is mad, and I hope he is, he will be placed in an hospital, where you will be able to see and attend him. If, however, he be a scamp, as I fear, he must be severely treated, to keep him from annoying the true heiress of Rudolstadt, the young Baroness Amelia, who I think, after all her past errors, is about to be married to one of my officers. I hope, _mademoiselle_, that you are ignorant of your husband's conduct, and are mistaken in relation to his character, otherwise I would be offended at your request. I pity you too much to humiliate you, however. You may retire.'

"Consuelo saw she had nothing to expect, and that in seeking to establish the identity of Albert and Leverani she would injure his position. She arose and walked towards the door, pale as if she was about to faint. Maria Theresa, however, who followed her with an anxious eye, took pity on her, and called her back.

"'You are much to be pitied,' said she, in a less dry tone. 'All this is not your fault, I am sure. Be at ease and be calm. The affair will be conscientiously investigated; and if your husband does not ruin himself, I will have him treated as a kind of madman. If you can communicate with him, have this understood. That is my advice.'

"'I will follow it, and thank your majesty, without whose protection I am quite powerless. My husband is imprisoned at Prague, and I am engaged at the Imperial Theatre at Vienna. If your majesty will but give me leave of absence and an order to see my husband, who is in strict confinement----'

"'You ask a great deal. I do not know whether Kaunitz will give you leave of absence, or if your place at the theatre can be supplied. We will see all about it in a few days.'

"'A few days!' said Consuelo, boldly. 'Then, perhaps, he will be no more. I must go now!--now!'

"'That is enough,' said the empress. 'Your urgency would injure you in the minds of judges less calm than I. Go, _mademoiselle._'

"Consuelo went to the old Canon ***, and entrusted her children to his charge, at the same time saying she was about to leave for she knew not how long a time.

"'If you go for a long time,' said he, 'so much the worse for me. As for the children, they will give me no trouble, for they are perfectly well brought up, and will be company to Angela, who begins to be subject to _ennui._'

"The good canon did not attempt to ascertain her secret. As, however, his quiet easy mind could not conceive a sorrow without a remedy, he attempted to console her. Finding that he did not succeed in inspiring her with hope, he sought at least to make her easy about her children.

"'Dear Bertoni,' said he, kindly, and striving in spite of his tears to smile, 'remember, if you do not come back, your children are mine. I take charge of their education. I will marry the girl, and that will diminish Angela's portion a little, and make her more industrious. The boys, I warn you, I will make musicians.'

"'Joseph Haydn will share that burden with you,' said Consuelo, 'and old Porpora will yet be able to give them some lessons. My children are docile and seem intellectual; so that their physical existence does not trouble me. They will be able to support themselves honestly. You must replace my love and advice.'

"'I promise to do so,' said the canon. 'I hope to live long enough to see them established. I am not very fat, and I can yet walk steadily. I am not more than sixty, although Bridget insists that I should make my will. Then have courage, my daughter, and take care of your health. Come back soon, for God takes care of the pure-hearted.'

"Consuelo, without any trouble about her leave of absence, had horses put to her carriage. Just as she was about to set out, Porpora came to know whither she was going. She had been unwilling to see him, knowing as she did that he would seek to prevent her departure. He was afraid, notwithstanding her promises, that she would not be back in time for the opera next day."

"'Who the devil dreams of going to the country in the winter time,' said he, with a nervous tremor caused as much by fear as old age. 'If you take cold you will endanger my success. I do not understand you. We succeeded yesterday, and you travel to-day.'

"This conversation made Consuelo lose a quarter of an hour, and enabled the directors to inform the authorities of her intention. She was in consequence forced to submit to a picket of Hulans, who immediately surrounded the house and stood sentinels at her door. She was soon seized with fever caused by this sudden check on her liberty, and frantically paced the room while she replied to the questions of Porpora and the directors. She did not sleep that night, but passed it in prayer. In the morning she was calm, and went to the rehearsal as she was desired. Her voice was never more melodious, but she was so mentally abstracted that Porpora became alarmed.

"'Cursed marriage! Cursed lovers' folly!' murmured he to the orchestra, striking the keys of his instrument as if he would break it. Porpora was unchanged, and would have willingly said, 'Perish all lovers and husbands in the world, so that my opera succeeds.'

"At night Consuelo made her toilet as usual, and went on the stage. She placed herself in proper attitude, and she moved her lips, but the voice was gone--she could not speak!

"The audience was amazed. The court had heard something vague about her attempt at flight, and pronounced it an unpardonable whim. There were cries, hisses, and applause at every effort she made. Still she was inaudible. She stood erect not thinking of the loss of her voice, nor feeling humiliated by the indignation of her tyrants, but resigned and proud as a martyr condemned to an unjust punishment; while she thanked God for having so afflicted her, that she could leave the stage and join her husband.

"It was proposed to the empress that the rebellious artist should be imprisoned, there to recover her voice and good temper. Her majesty was angry for a moment, and the courtiers thought to ingratiate themselves with her by advising cruelty; but the empress did not like unnecessary severity, though she could connive at remunerative crime.

"'Kaunitz,' said she, 'permit the poor woman to leave, and say nothing more about it. If her loss of voice is feigned, her duty seems to require it. Few actresses would sacrifice professional success at the altar of conjugal affection and duty.'

"Consuelo thus authorised set out. She was unwell, without being apparently aware of it."

Here again we lose the thread of events. The cause of Albert may have been public or secret. It is probable that it was analogous to the suit which Trenck made and lost, after so many years' dispute. Who in France would not know the details of this affair, had not Trenck himself published and spread his complaints abroad for thirty years? Albert left no documents. We must then turn to Trenck's story, he too being one of our heroes. It is probable his troubles may throw some light on those of Albert and Consuelo.

About a month after the meeting at St. Graal, of which in his memoirs Trenck says nothing, he was recaptured and imprisoned at Magdenbourg, where he passed ten years of his life, loaded with eighty pounds of irons. The stone to which he was bound bears the inscription "Here lies Trenck." All know his terrible fate, and the sufferings he underwent, as also his wonderful attempts at escape, and his incredible energy, which never left him, but which his chivalric imprudence counteracted. His sister was subjected to the cruelty of paying for the erection of a dungeon for him, because she afforded him a refuge in his flight. Trenck's works of art in prison, the wonderful engravings he made with the point of a nail on the tin cups, which are allegories or verses of great beauty, are also well known.[20] In fine, from his secret relations with the princess Amelia--the despair in which she wasted away, and her care to disfigure her face by means of a corrosive fluid, which almost destroyed her sight--the deplorable state of health to which she reduced herself to avoid marriage--the remarkable change effected on her character--the ten years of agony, which made him a martyr, and her an old woman, ugly and malicious, instead of the angelic creature she was, and would have been had she been happy[21]--the misfortunes of the lovers are historical; but they are generally forgotten when the character of Frederick the Great is written. These crimes, committed with such refined cruelty, are indelible spots on the character of that monarch.

At length Trenck was released, as is known, by the intervention of Maria Theresa, who claimed him as her subject. This was accomplished by the influence of Karl, her majesty's valet. In relation to the curious intrigues of this magnanimous man with his sovereign, some of the strangest, most touching and pathetic pages of the memoirs of the age have been written.

During the first part of the captivity of Trenck, his cousin, the famous Pandour, a victim of truer though not less hateful accusations, died it is said at Spielberg of poison. As soon as Trenck was free, the Prussian came to ask for his cousin's vast estate; but Maria Theresa had no idea of yielding it. She had taken advantage of the exploits of Pandour, and profited by his death. Like Frederick and other crowned tyrants, while the power of position dazzled the masses, she paid no attention to the secret offences for which God will call her to account at the day of judgment, and which will at least weigh as heavy as her official virtues.

The avarice of the empress was exceeded by her agents, the ignoble persons she had made curators of Pandour's estate, and the prevaricating magistrates who decided on the rights of the heir. Each had a share of the spoil, but the empress secured the largest. It was in vain that, years after, she sent to prison and the galleys all her accomplices in this fraud, as she never made complete restoration to Trenck. Nothing describes the character of the empress better than that portion of Trenck's book, in which he speaks of his interviews with her. Without divesting himself of the loyalty which was then a kind of patrician religion, he makes us feel how very avaricious and hypocritical this deceitful woman was. He exhibits an union of contrasts, a character at once base and sublime, innocent and false, like all those naturally pure hearts which become captivated by the corruption of absolute power--that great river of evil, on the breakers of which the noblest impulses of the human heart have been dashed to pieces. Resolved to thwart him, she yet afterwards deigned to console and encourage him, and promise him protection against his infamous judges;--and, finally, pretending not to have been able to discover the truth she sought, she bestowed on him the rank of major, and offered the hand of an ugly old woman who was both devout and gallant. On the refusal of Trenck, the royal _matrimomaniac_ told him he was a presumptuous madman, that she had no means of gratifying his ambition, and coldly turned her back upon him. The reasons assigned for the confiscation of his estate varied under circumstances. One court said that Pandour, undergoing an infamous sentence, could make no will. Another, that if there were a will, the claimant, as a Prussian, could not benefit by it; and that the debts of the deceased absorbed everything. Incident after incident was got up; but after much disputing Trenck never received justice.[22]

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.