The Countess von Rudolstadt

by George Sand

  “And an artist for ever!” Consuelo replied, “meaning independent, virginal and dead to all feelings of love, finally just what Porpora had ceaselessly portrayed to me as the ideal for a priestess of the Muses! He has won, my terrifying master! And now I’m right where he wanted me to be! I don’t find that I’m any happier or better for it. Without loving, without feeling able to love any more, I no longer feel the flame of inspiration, the thrill of the theater. This icy climate and the atmosphere at court have thrown me into dreary despond. Porpora’s absence, the sort of isolation I feel, and, if I may be so bold, Madame, the king’s desire to extend my engagement here against my will. . . .”

  “I should have guessed as much! Poor child, people think you’re proud of the king’s predilection for you, but you’re his prisoner and his slave, like me, like his whole family, like his favorites, his soldiers, his pages, his little dogs. Oh, the prestige of kings, the halo of great princes, what a sullen face you show to those whose life is drained to supply your radiant beams! But, dear Consuelo, you still have lots of things to tell me which interest me as well. I expect you, sincere as you are, to tell me exactly on what terms you are with my brother, and I’ll call forth your sincerity with my own. Believing that you were his mistress, and flattering myself that you could wheedle out of him a pardon for Trenck, I sought you out to place our cause in your hands. Now that we don’t need you for that, thank Heaven, and I’m delighted to love you for yourself, I think that you can tell me everything without compromising yourself, all the more because my brother doesn’t seem to have made much headway with you.”

  “Your way of saying that makes me shudder, Madame,” said Consuelo, growing pale. “For a week now people with solemn looks have been whispering around me about this so-called inclination of our king and master for his sad, trembling subject. Up to that point I had never seen as a possibility between us anything more than lively conversation, obliging on his part, deferential on mine. He showed me friendship and excessive gratitude for such a simple gesture at Roswald. Yet there’s a huge gulf between that and love, and I certainly hope he hasn’t bridged it in his mind.”

  “I think the opposite. He’s abrupt, teasing, and familiar with you. He talks to you as if you were a little boy and pats you on the head as he would one of his greyhounds. For the last few days he’s been claiming to his friends that he’s less enamored of you than of anyone else. All this proves that he’s starting to fall in love. I know him well, and I’m telling you that in a short while you’ll have to make a decision. What will you do? If you resist, you’re done for. If you surrender, you’re in even bigger trouble. What will you do, should the occasion arise?”

  “I’ll neither resist nor surrender, Madame. Like his recruits, I’ll desert.”

  “That’s not easy, and I don’t much like the idea, for I’m growing uncommonly attached to you, and I think I’d rather send the recruiters back out after you than see you go. Come on, we’ll find a way. This is a serious matter, requiring careful thought. Tell me everything that has happened since Count Albert died.”

  “A few bizarre and inexplicable events in the middle of a monotonous, gloomy life. I’ll give you the bare facts, and perhaps Your Highness can help me understand them.”

  “I’ll try, as long as you call me Amalia, as you were doing a little while ago. It’s not midnight, and I don’t want to be Your Highness before broad daylight tomorrow.”

  So Porporina went on with her story.

  “I already told Mme von Kleist, when she first paid me a visit, that on our way from Bohemia I was separated from Porpora at the Prussian border. Even now I still don’t know if there was something wrong with his passport, or if the king had anticipated our arrival with one of those prodigiously fast orders forbidding Porpora’s entry into his realm. That was my first thought, reprehensible perhaps, for I remembered the brusque levity and rebellious sincerity with which Porpora had defended Trenck’s honor and blamed the king’s harsh treatment of the man. We were having supper at Count Hoditz’s castle in Moravia, and the king, passing himself off as Baron von Kreutz, had just told us about Trenck’s alleged treachery and his imprisonment at Glatz. . . .”

  “You don’t say!” exclaimed the princess. “So Trenck is the reason why the king is displeased with Professor Porpora?”

  “The king never mentioned it to me again, and I was afraid to bring it back up. But it is certain that, despite all my pleas and His Majesty’s promises, Porpora has never been called back.”

  “And never will be,” said Amalia. “The king forgets nothing and never forgives frank words when they hurt his pride. The Solomon of the North hates and persecutes anyone who doubts the infallibility of his judgments, especially when his decree is just a crude sham, an odious pretext for getting rid of an enemy. So, go ahead and grieve, my child. You’ll never see Porpora in Berlin.”

  “Despite my sadness at his absence, I no longer wish to see him here, Madame, and I won’t do anything more to try and get the king to pardon him. This morning I had a letter from my teacher telling me that the Imperial Theater of Vienna has accepted one of his operas. After a thousand setbacks he has finally achieved his goal, and the casting is about to begin. Now I’d rather think about joining him there than getting him here, but I’m very much afraid that I’m no freer to leave than I was free not to come.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “At the border, when I saw Porpora being forced into his carriage and made to turn back, I wanted to go with him and give up my engagement in Berlin. I was so outraged about the brutality and obvious bad faith of such a reception that I would have paid the penalty with the sweat of my brow rather than going one step farther into a country ruled so despotically. Yet at the first sign I gave of my intentions, the policeman ordered me to get into another express coach that was brought out and hitched up in a flash. Finding myself surrounded by soldiers who were very determined to use force if necessary, I kissed Porpora with tears in my eyes and decided to allow myself to be driven to Berlin where I arrived at midnight, overwhelmed with exhaustion and distress. I was deposited in a pretty little house nearby the palace and not far from the Opera. It belonged to the king and was set up in such a way that I’d be absolutely alone. There were servants at my disposal, with supper ready and waiting. I learned that Herr von Poelnitz had received orders to arrange everything for my arrival. I had scarcely got settled when Baron von Kreutz asked if I could receive a visit. I had him immediately shown in as I was eager to complain about Porpora’s treatment and ask for amends. For that reason I pretended not to know that Baron von Kreutz was Frederick II. This was plausible since Karl, the deserter, had told me without naming names that he had planned to assassinate a senior Prussian officer, and Count Hoditz hadn’t told me who that really was until after the king had left Roswald. He entered the room looking pleasant and affable, different from the way I’d seen him in disguise. Under a false name and in a foreign land, he had been a bit ill at ease. It seemed to me that in Berlin he had slipped back into all the majesty of his role, that is, the sheltering kindness and generous amiability with which he can so skillfully adorn his omnipotence on occasion. He came forward offering me his hand and asking if I remembered seeing him somewhere. ‘Indeed, Baron,’ I replied, ‘and I remember that you offered and promised me your services in Berlin if I ever happened to need them.’ Then I gave him a lively account of my experiences at the border and asked if he couldn’t transmit to the king a request that amends be made for the outrage inflicted upon an illustrious professor and the coercion exercised upon my person. ‘Amends!’ replied the king with a mischievous smile. ‘Nothing less? Monsieur Porpora wishes to challenge the King of Prussia to a duel! Perhaps Mlle Porporina will require that the king approach her on bended knee!’

  “This mockery made me even angrier. ‘Your Majesty may add irony to injury,’ I replied, ‘but I’d rather have to bless the king than to fear him.’

  “The king gave my arm
a bit of a rough shake. ‘Ah ha! you too are trying to outfox me!’ he said fixing his penetrating eyes on mine. ‘I thought you were simple and straightforward. But you knew exactly who I was at Roswald, right?’ ‘No, Sire,’ I replied, ‘I didn’t know you, and would to heaven that I had never known you!’ ‘I can’t say the same myself,’ he said in a sweet tone of voice. ‘Had it not been for you, I might have remained in some ditch on the grounds of Roswald. Success on the battlefield is no shield against an assassin’s bullet, and I’ll never forget that if I still hold Prussia’s destiny in my hands, I owe it to a fine little soul who is the enemy of cowardly plots. For that reason, my dear Porporina, your bad temper won’t make me ungrateful. Calm down please, and tell me all your complaints, for I haven’t understood much thus far.’

  “Either the king was pretending to know nothing about it, or maybe his police truly thought there was some procedural problem with my teacher’s papers. In any case, he listened to my tale very attentively. Then, like a judge who doesn’t want to pronounce a verdict without due consideration, he said, ‘I’ll look into all this and get back to you with a proper account of the matter. I’d be most surprised if, for no reason, my men had picked a quarrel with someone whose papers were in order. There must be some misunderstanding. I’ll find out, rest assured, and if somebody went beyond his mandate, he’ll be punished.’

  “ ‘Sire, that’s not what I’m asking. I’m asking you to call Porpora back here to Berlin.’ ‘And that’s what I’m promising you,’ he replied. ‘Now, stop looking so glum, and tell me how you penetrated the mystery of my disguise.’

  “Then I began talking freely with the king, and I found him so kind, so amiable and his words so seductive that I forgot all my biases against him and just admired that judicious, brilliant mind, that easy benevolence that I had never found in Maria Theresa; in short, that delicacy of feeling expressed on every topic he broached in our conversation.

  ‘Listen,’ he said, picking up his cap on his way out, ‘Here’s a piece of friendly advice on your arrival here. Don’t tell a single soul about the good turn you did me, and don’t mention my visit tonight either. Although my eagerness to thank you only speaks highly for both of us, it would create a very false impression about the relations of intellect and affection I want to have with you. People would think you eager to curry, as they say in courtly circles, the master’s favor. Some would be suspicious of you; others would be jealous. At the very least, you’d find yourself surrounded by a swarm of supplicants wanting to make you a conduit for their silly requests, and as you would probably have the good sense not to want to play this role, you’d be exposed to their obsessions or their enmity.’ ‘I promise Your Majesty that I’ll do as ordered,’ I replied. ‘I haven’t given you any orders, Consuelo, but I’m counting on your wisdom and rectitude. When I first set eyes on you, I saw a beautiful soul and a just mind; and it’s because I wanted to make you the true pearl of my department of fine arts that I ordered from the depths of Silesia that immediately upon your arrival at the border you should be supplied with a carriage at my expense and driven to Berlin. It’s not my fault if they made it a sort of prison on wheels and separated you from your protector. While you’re waiting for him to be rendered to you, I’ll take his place if you find me worthy of the same confidence and affection.’ ”

  “I have to admit, my dear Amalia, that I was deeply moved by these fatherly words and delicate feelings. Perhaps there was also a touch of pride. Tears came to my eyes when the king gave me his hand in parting. I nearly kissed it, as was probably my duty. Yet, since I’m in the middle of a confession, I must say that just then I was gripped with terror and nearly paralyzed by the chill of suspicion. I felt that the king was making a fuss over me and flattering my pride to prevent me from telling others about that scene at Roswald, which could produce, in certain minds, an impression contrary to his interests. I also felt that he was afraid of looking like a fool for having shown me kindness and gratitude. Then, in a flash I thought of Prussia with its terrifying military regime, which Baron Trenck had described to me in such minute detail—the recruiters’ ferocity, Karl’s misfortunes, noble Trenck’s imprisonment, which I attributed to the poor deserter’s freedom; the screams of a soldier whom I saw being thrashed one morning while crossing a village; and the whole despotic system that makes the great Frederick’s strength and glory. I could no longer feel any personal hatred for him. Yet I was already seeing him again as the absolute master, the natural enemy of those hearts that fail to understand the need for inhuman laws, that will never know how to penetrate the arcane mysteries of empires.”

  Chapter IX

  “Since that day,” Porporina went on, “the king hasn’t paid me any more visits at home. He has, however, summoned me to Sans-Souci a few times, where I’ve even stayed several days in a row with my colleagues Porporino and Conciolini; and here at the palace, to play the harpsichord at his little concerts, accompanying Herr Graun or Benda on the violin, Herr Quantz on the flute, or even the king himself.”

  “Which is much less pleasant than accompanying the others,” said the Prussian princess, “for I know from experience that whenever my dear brother hits a wrong note or loses the rhythm, he blames the people he’s playing with and picks a quarrel.”

  “That’s true,” said Porporina. “And his clever teacher, Herr Quantz, hasn’t always been safe from his petty injustices. Yet, when His Majesty lets himself go like that, he soon makes amends with marks of deference and delicate praise that are balm to wounded pride. With a fond word or just a whoop of admiration, he gets even artists, who are the touchiest people in the world, to forgive his harsh treatment and tantrums.”

  “But you, with everything you knew about him as well as your modest rectitude, you could allow yourself to be charmed by this basilisk?”

  “I’ll confess, Madame, I’ve quite often fallen under his sway without realizing it. These little tricks have never been part of my trade, I never fail to fall for them, and it’s only later, when I’m thinking things through, that I see them for what they are. Also, I’ve often seen the king on stage and even sometimes in my dressing room after the performance. He’s always been fatherly with me. But I’ve been alone with him just two or three times in the gardens at Sans-Souci, and only then, I must confess, after keeping my eye on the time of his walks and deliberately putting myself in his path. Then he would hail me or courteously approach, and I’d seize the occasion by the forelock to bring up Porpora and renew my request. Each time I’d get the same promises, but never any results. Later on I changed tactics and asked permission to go back to Vienna, but the king would listen to my pleas with fond reproach or icy silence, but most often with rather marked displeasure. My last try got me no further than the others; and even after the king had snapped, ‘Leave, Mademoiselle, you are free,’ I received neither the wages owed me, nor a passport, nor permission to travel. That’s how things stand now, and I see nothing but flight as a resort if my position here becomes unbearable. Alas, Madame, though I was often hurt by Maria Theresa’s lack of taste for music, it never occurred to me then that a music-loving king could be a far worse problem than an empress with a tin ear.

  “That’s the gist of my relations with His Majesty. Never have I had any reason to fear or even suspect this whim of loving me that Your Highness wants to ascribe to him. Yet I’ve sometimes taken pride in thinking that the king felt some sort of affection for me, thanks to my modest musical talent and the romantic episode in which I had the good fortune to save his life. He’s often said as much to me, and with such grace, an air of such sincere abandon; and he’s seemed to take such good-natured pleasure in our conversations that I’ve grown accustomed, perhaps unwittingly and certainly quite in spite of myself, to feeling some sort of affection for him too. That word may be odd and no doubt out of place in my mouth, but the fond respect and timid trust that this royal basilisk, as you call him, inspires in me with his presence, gaze, voice, and sweet words are
as strange as they are sincere. We are not to hold anything back here, and it’s agreed that I won’t stand on ceremony. Well, I declare that I’m afraid of the king, almost horrified when he is out of sight, and I’m breathing the rarefied air of his empire; but when I see him, I’m under the spell and ready to give him all the proof of devotion that a shy but dutiful daughter can give an inflexible but kindly father.”

  “You’re making me shudder,” exclaimed the princess. “Good God, what if you gave him the upper hand or let him cajole you into betraying our cause!”

  “Oh, Madame! Have no fear! That will never happen! When it’s a matter of my friends or simply people other than myself, I challenge the king and even craftier sorts, if there be, to make me fall into a trap.”

  “That I believe. You are working on me, with your air of sincerity, the same spell that Frederick works on you. Now, don’t get all excited; I’m not making any comparisons. Go on with your story and tell me about Cagliostro. I’ve heard tell that while doing his magic he showed you a dead man who was Count Albert, I suppose?”

  “I’m prepared to satisfy you, noble Amalia, but if I decide to tell you yet another painful adventure, one that I’d like to be able to forget, I have the right, by our agreement, to ask you a few questions.”

  “I’m prepared to answer.”

  “Well, Madame, do you believe that the dead can leave the grave? Or, at least, that a reflection of their form, animated by the semblance of life, can be conjured up by a magician and take such hold of our imagination that it appears before our eyes and unsettles our minds?”