by George Sand
The princess hesitated a second, then said in a determined voice, “As there’s nothing supernatural about that, I want to know if it’s a footman walking in his sleep or a page out for mischief. Pull down your veil, Porporina. You mustn’t be seen with me. As for you, von Kleist, go ahead and faint, if that amuses you. I’m warning you, you’re on your own. Come on, brave Rudolstadt, you who have faced worse things. Follow me if you love me.”
Amalia marched confidently toward the stairs. Consuelo followed, not being allowed to hold the candlestick for the princess. Mme von Kleist, no less terrified to be left alone than to move forward, trailed behind, hanging on to Porporina’s mantlet.
The infernal broom was no longer audible. The princess arrived at the banister and leaned over it with her candleholder in order to see further on down. Perhaps she was less calm than she wished to appear or saw some terrifying object. In any case, her hand slipped, and the vermeil candleholder along with its candle and indented crystal collaret went crashing down into the resounding depths of the spiral staircase. At that point, Mme von Kleist lost her head. Without a single thought to the princess or Consuelo, she took to her heels back through the dark and sought refuge at her mistress’s door. The princess, meanwhile, torn between feelings of insuperable fear and shameful defeat, began a slow retreat with Consuelo, then gradually quickened her pace; for she could hear other footsteps behind her, and they weren’t those of Consuelo, who was marching along beside her perhaps with a bit more resolve, yet without any swagger. With every passing second these strange footsteps were closer on their heels, echoing in the dark like those of an old woman clattering over tiles in high-heeled slippers, and the broom went on thudding against the wall, now on the right, now on the left. The short way back seemed long indeed to Consuelo. If there is something that can overwhelm the courage of truly resolute, sound minds, it is danger that can be neither anticipated nor understood. She had no use for bravado and didn’t turn her head even once. The princess later maintained that she had to no avail turned around for a look in the darkness, and this could be neither confirmed nor denied. Consuelo only remembered that the princess did not slow down or say a single word to her during this forced retreat and that she rushed into her apartment and was so eager to shut the door that she nearly slammed it in Consuelo’s face. Yet Amalia would not admit to her weakness. She soon regained her composure and began to mock Mme von Kleist, nearly in convulsions, and to rebuke her for being so cowardly and impolite. Consuelo’s compassionate nature was pained by the favorite’s violent state, and she managed to revive some pity in the princess’s heart. Amalia deigned to see that Mme von Kleist, lying in a faint on the sofa, her face sunk in the cushions, was incapable of listening. By the time the poor thing, still weeping tears of fright, had pulled herself together, it was after three. Now tired of not being a princess, Amalia no longer cared to undress herself and see to her own needs. Perhaps she had also been struck by some sinister foreboding. She therefore decided to keep Mme von Kleist until morning.
“By then we will have found some way to gloss things over just in case my brother hears about this,” said the princess. “As for you, Porporina, your being here would be much harder to explain, and I’d hate for anyone to see you leaving my rooms. So you’ve got to go right now all by yourself, for people are up and around terribly early in this dreadful joint. Come now, von Kleist, calm down. You’re staying here with me. If you can make any sense at all, tell us what entrance you used and where you left your footman so that he can see Porporina home.”
Fear makes people so profoundly selfish that Mme von Kleist, delighted not to have to face the terrors of the hallway once again and quite indifferent to any anxiety that Consuelo might be feeling about making her way alone, recovered all her wits and explained exactly where to go and what signal to use to meet up with her trusty servant in the lonely, sheltered spot outside the palace where he had been ordered to wait for his mistress.
Provided with these instructions and very sure not to get lost in the palace this time, Consuelo paid her respects to the princess, who took no pleasure in the idea of escorting her down the hall. The girl set out alone, feeling her way, and reached the forbidding staircase without hindrance. Guided by the light of a lantern burning on a lower level, she went down without any unpleasant encounters, even without fear. Armed with her will this time, she felt that she was fulfilling a duty toward the unfortunate Amalia, and in such circumstances Consuelo was always strong and courageous. At long last she let herself out of the palace by means of a mysterious little door for which Mme von Kleist had given her a key and found herself in a corner of a back courtyard. Once she was altogether beyond the palace, she followed the outside wall looking for the footman. As soon as she gave the signal, a shadow moved away from the wall and came straight toward her. A man wrapped in a huge cloak bowed and respectfully offered her his arm in silence.
Chapter XI
Consuelo remembered that Mme von Kleist, in order to make her many secret visits to Princess Amalia even more secret, often came to the castle on foot in the evening, leaning on the arm of her servant, with a black bonnet on her head and a dark cloak over the rest of her. No one there took any notice of her in this disguise, and she could pass as one of those women in distress who covertly beg and receive a bit of help from the generosity of princes. Yet, despite all the precautions taken by the princess and her confidante, their efforts were something of a stage secret. The king took no offense as it is better to leave some little scandals alone rather than noisily trying to put them down. He knew full well that the two ladies were more interested in Trenck than in magic. Even though his condemnation of both subjects was nearly equal, he closed his eyes and felt inwardly grateful that his sister’s airs of mystery shielded him from responsibility in certain eyes. Playing the fool was fine with him, as he didn’t want to give the impression that he approved of his sister’s love affair and follies. That meant that the unfortunate Trenck had become the target of Frederick’s severity, and even then it had been necessary to accuse him of imaginary crimes so that people wouldn’t guess the real reasons for his disgrace.
When Mme von Kleist’s servant offered Porporina his arm, she assumed that he was lending himself to her incognito as he did for his mistress. For that reason she did not hesitate to accept his services and let him help her over the icy cobblestones. Yet she had scarcely taken three steps when the man casually inquired, “Well, my lovely Countess, in what kind of a mood did you leave your whimsical Amalia?”
Despite the cold and the north wind, Consuelo felt blood rush to her cheeks. To all appearances, the servant had taken her for his mistress and betrayed a revolting intimacy with her. Porporina, seized with disgust, withdrew her arm and curtly replied, “You’ve made a mistake.”
“I’m not in the habit of making mistakes,” said the cloaked man, totally unruffled. “People may not be aware that the divine Porporina is the Countess von Rudolstadt, but the Count de Saint-Germain knows better.”
“So who are you?” asked Consuelo, dumbfounded. “Aren’t you one of Mme von Kleist’s servants?”
“I belong to no one but myself and serve only the truth,” said the stranger. “I’ve just said my name, but I see that it is unknown to Mme von Rudolstadt.”
“You are the Count de Saint-Germain in person?”
“Who else could give you the name that no one knows as your own? Now, Countess, twice you’ve tried to take a step without my help, and both times you’ve nearly fallen. Please take my arm again. I know very well the way to your place, and I consider it a duty and an honor to get you home safe and sound.”
“How kind of you, Count,” replied Consuelo, too curious to refuse the offer made by this intriguing, bizarre man. “Now will you kindly explain why you call me by that name?”
“Because I want to earn your trust right away by proving that I am worthy of it. For a long time I’ve known about your marriage to Albert. I’ve kept it an inviolable se
cret and shall continue to do so for as long as you wish.”
“I see that Monsieur Supperville has hardly respected my wishes in that regard,” said Consuelo, jumping to conclusions about the count’s source of information.
“Don’t accuse poor Supperville. He didn’t say a word, except to Princess Amalia, to pay her homage. He’s not the one who told me.”
“So who did?”
“Count Albert von Rudolstadt himself. Yes, I know you’re going to say that he died during the final moments of the religious ceremony of your wedding. But I’ll reply that there is no death, that no one, that nothing dies, that it is still possible to communicate with the departed, as the vulgar herd likes to say, when one knows their language and their life secrets.”
“Since you know so much, Monsieur, you may also be aware that I am not easily persuaded by such assertions. I find them very painful, for they always bring to mind a misfortune that I know to be beyond remedy, despite the deceitful promises of magic.”
“You’re right to be wary of magicians and impostors. I know that Cagliostro frightened you with an apparition that was at least untimely. He surrendered to the vainglory of demonstrating his power without giving a thought to the state of your soul or the sublime nature of his mission. Yet Cagliostro is no impostor, far from it! But he’s vain, which is why he’s often deserved being called a charlatan.”
“The same has been said about you, Count; and yet, as people generally add that you’re a man of superior qualities, I’ll be so bold as to tell you frankly what prejudices are working against the respect I have for you.”
“Such noble words suit Consuelo, and I’m grateful for this appeal to my honesty,” he calmly replied. “I’ll prove myself worthy of it and speak to you without mystery. But here we are at your door, and the cold as well as the advanced hour forbid me to keep you out here any longer. If you want to learn matters of the utmost importance, on which your future depends, please allow me to speak to you freely.”
“If you wish to come see me during the day, you’ll find me home at the hour of your choosing.”
“I must speak to you tomorrow. And tomorrow you’ll have a visit from Frederick, whom I have no desire to see since I have no respect for him.”
“Which Frederick do you mean, Count?”
“Oh, I’m not talking about our friend Frederick von Trenck, whom we managed to spring from his clutches, but the nasty little king of Prussia who is courting you. Now, tomorrow there’s to be a grand masked ball at the Opera. Be there. No matter how you’re disguised, I’ll recognize you and see to it that you recognize me. In that crowd we can be safely alone together. Otherwise, my dealings with you would heap great misfortunes on sacred heads. So, until tomorrow, Countess.”
With these words the Count de Saint-Germain made a deep bow and disappeared, leaving Consuelo petrified with amazement on her doorstep.
“In this kingdom of reason there is obviously a permanent conspiracy against reason,” Consuelo muttered to herself as she was falling asleep. “No sooner do I escape one threat to my reason than another one looms up. Princess Amalia explained away the last mysteries and put my mind at rest, but at the same instant we meet or at least hear the ghostly sweeper knocking about this castle of doubt, this fortress of unbelief no differently than she would have done two centuries ago. I rid myself of the terrible fright that Cagliostro gave me, and now here’s another magician who seems to know even more about my business. I can understand why these seers take note of every little thing about kings and influential or famous people, but why on earth should a poor girl like me, humble and discreet, find it impossible to keep anything secret from their investigations? This has me baffled and bewildered in spite of myself. Now then, let’s take the princess’s advice and assume that the future will explain this prodigy as well, and in the meantime, refrain from judgment. But it might be even more extraordinary if the king really were to pay me a visit tomorrow, as Saint-Germain predicted! It would be only the third time. Is this Saint-Germain his confidant? It is said that one must particularly beware of those who speak ill of the master. I’ll try not to forget it.”
The next day, at the stroke of one, a carriage without livery or coat of arms entered the courtyard of the house where Consuelo was living. The king, who just two hours before had let her know that she was to await his visit alone, marched in with his cap over his left ear, a smile on his lips, and a little basket in his hand.
“Here’s Captain Kreutz bearing fruit from his garden,” announced the king. “Evil-minded folks will say it’s from Sans-Souci and meant for the king’s dessert. But the king, thank God, isn’t giving a thought to us, and this humble baron has come to spend an hour or two with his little friend.”
This pleasant greeting, instead of putting Consuelo at ease, left her feeling strangely unsettled. Ever since she had begun conspiring against him by listening to Princess Amalia’s secrets, it had been impossible for her to brave the royal inquisitor with unflinching frankness. From that point on she ought to have humored the king, maybe even flattered him and resorted to clever coquetries in order to divert his suspicions. Consuelo felt that this role did not suit her, that she would do a poor job of it, especially if it were true that Frederick had a taste for her, as one said at court, for fear of belittling the king’s majesty by suggesting that he might feel love for an actress. Anxious and disconcerted, Consuelo awkwardly thanked the king for his excessive kindness. His physiognomy immediately changed, now as glum as it had been radiant.
“What’s wrong?” he snapped, furrowing his brow. “Are you in a bad mood? Or ill? Why are you calling me sire? Am I interrupting some flirtation?”
“No, Sire,” replied the girl, with a serenely frank look. “There’s neither love nor flirtation in my life.”
“That’s good! Even so, what would I care? Yet I’d insist that you confess as much.”
“Confess! Surely the captain meant to say ‘confide’?”
“Explain the difference.”
“The captain knows the difference.”
“As you wish, but splitting hairs is no answer. If you were in love, I’d want to know.”
“I don’t understand why.”
“You don’t understand at all? Look me straight in the face. You’ve got a very vague look about you today.”
“Captain, I think you’re trying to ape the king. I hear that when he’s interrogating a suspect, he stares him right in the eye. Believe me, he’s the only one who can do that. Even so, if he came to my place to try that on me, I’d ask him to go back to work.”
“Right. You’d just say, ‘Get lost, Sire.’ ”
“Why not? The king belongs on his horse or his throne. If he dropped in on a whim, I’d be entitled not to put up with any surliness.”
“Agreed. But I still don’t have an answer to my question. You don’t want to confide in me about your next love affair?”
“There is no next love affair for me. I’ve often told you that, Baron.”
“Yes, but you were laughing, because that was the way I asked you the question. But if I’m now speaking seriously?”
“My answer is the same.”
“Do you know that you’re an odd person?”
“How so?”
“Because you’re the only actress who is not taken up with some fine passion or love affair.”
“You take a dim view of actresses, Captain.”
“Not so! I’ve known some who were very well-behaved, but they were aiming to marry money. You, on the other hand, nobody knows what you’ve got in mind.”
“My mind is on singing this evening.”
“So you just live from day to day?”
“Nowadays.”
“So it’s not always been the case?”
“No, sir.”
“You’ve been in love?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And for a long time?”
/> “Yes, sir.”
“And what happened to him?”
“He’s dead!”
“But you’ve found consolation?”
“No.”
“Oh! You’ll surely find consolation one day?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“That’s strange. So you don’t want to marry?”
“Never.”
“And you’ll never love again?”
“Never.”
“Not even a friend?”
“Not even a friend as fine ladies understand the term.”
“Nonsense! If you went to Paris, and King Louis XV, that gallant chevalier. . . .”
“I don’t like kings, Captain, and I detest gallant kings.”
“Ah, I see! Their pages are more to your liking. A handsome gentleman like Trenck, for example!”
“I’ve never given a thought to his looks.”
“Yet you’ve remained in touch with him!”
“If so, only for reasons of pure, honest friendship.”
“So you admit that you’re still in touch?”
“I didn’t say that,” replied Consuelo, fearing that this one bit of information might compromise the princess.
“So you deny it?”
“If it were the case, I wouldn’t have any reason to deny it. But why is Captain Kreutz asking me all these questions? How can all this be interesting to him?”
“It’s apparently interesting to the king,” Frederick shot back, removing his cap and slamming it down on the head of an ancient white marble bust of Polyhymnia on the console.
“If the king were to honor me with a visit at home,” said Consuelo, rising above her mounting terror, “I would assume that he wanted to hear some music, and I’d sit down at my harpsichord to sing him the aria from Ariadne Abandoned. . . .”
“The king doesn’t like niceties. When the king is conducting an interrogation, he wants clear, simple answers. What did you go do at the palace last night? You can see that the king has the right to come lord it over you at your house, since you go to his house at all hours without his permission.”