by George Sand
“No!” replied the king, indignant about the courtier’s eagerness to seize his prey. “Out! I’ll ring for you later.”
Hurt to be treated like a footman, Buddenbrock withdrew. While the king took a few seconds to meditate, Consuelo was kept under watch in the Gobelins room. At last the bell rang, and the mortified aide-de-camp promptly raced back to his master. Now the king looked mellow and talkative.
“Buddenbrock, what an admirable girl she is!” he exclaimed. “In Rome she would have deserved a triumphal procession, a chariot with four teams of horses and crowns of oak leaves! Get a post chaise hitched up, drive her out of town yourself, and put her under good escort to Spandau where she’ll be locked up and treated as a prisoner of the State, and not according to the mildest regime. You understand?”
“Yes, Sire.”
“Just a minute! Get into the carriage with her to go through town and give her a scare. It will be good to make her think that she’ll be handed over to the executioner and flogged at all the crossroads as was done during my father’s reign. While you’re telling her all these tales, bear in mind that you’re not to touch a single hair on her head, and you’ll put on a glove before giving her your hand. Away with you now, and while you’re admiring her stoic sacrifice, see how one ought to behave towards those who honor you with their trust. It won’t do you any harm.”
Chapter XIV
Consuelo was driven home in the same carriage that had taken her to the palace. Two sentries were posted at every door of her apartment inside the building. In his habitual imitation of the master’s rigid punctuality, Herr von Buddenbrock gave her, watch in hand, an hour to do her packing and warned that her bags would be searched at the fortress where she was going to live. In her bedroom Consuelo found all her possessions in picturesque disarray. During her conference with the king, the secret police had come on orders to force every lock and seize all her papers. Consuelo, who had no manuscripts aside from music, felt sad thinking that she might have seen the last of her precious, dear composers, her only treasure. She had far fewer regrets about a few pieces of jewelry that various dignitaries in Vienna and Berlin had given her in return for her evenings of song. On the pretext that there might be seditious emblems or rings with secret compartments for poison among them, the whole lot had been taken. The king never knew a thing about it, and Consuelo never saw them again. The men who did Frederick’s dirty work shamelessly indulged in such honest speculation. They were paid a pittance and knew that the king preferred to close his eyes to their plundering rather than to raise their salaries.
Consuelo first looked for her crucifix, and seeing that they had not thought to grab it, no doubt because it was not worth much, she whipped it off the wall into her pocket. The withered crown of roses was lying on the floor. She picked it up and was alarmed to see that the parchment strip with its mysterious encouragements was gone. That was the only thing that could be used against Consuelo to prove her involvement in an alleged conspiracy. But this feeble clue could give rise to how many interpretations! While her eyes were anxiously sweeping the room, she put her hand in her pocket and found it there, where she had automatically stuffed it when Buddenbrock had come for her an hour before.
With her mind at rest on that point, and sure in the knowledge that nothing in her papers could compromise anyone at all, Consuelo got busy packing what she needed. She did not hide from herself that she could be away for a very long time. There was no one to give her a hand as her maid had been arrested for questioning. Standing among the heaps of clothing that had been torn out of the wardrobes and strewn all over the furniture, she felt upset and a bit disoriented as well. All of a sudden something whistled through the air and dropped into the center of her room. It was a little note stuck through with a fat nail.
The words were few and to the point. “Do you want to escape? Show yourself at the window. In three minutes you’ll be in safety.”
Consuelo’s first impulse was to dash to the window. Halfway there she stopped, for it occurred to her that running away would amount to an admission of guilt, and that, in a case such as hers, never fails to raise the question of accomplices. “Oh, Princess Amalia,” she said to herself, “if it’s true that you’ve betrayed me, I won’t do the same to you! I’ll repay my debt to Trenck. He saved my life; if need be, I’ll sacrifice it for him.”
Revived by that valiant notion, she fixed her mind on packing and was ready to go by the time Buddenbrock came for her. He seemed even meaner and more hypocritical than usual. Servile and haughty at the same time, Buddenbrock was jealous of his master’s affections, like those old dogs that bite all the family friends. Still smarting from the lesson the king had meted out to him while prescribing the victim’s torture, he was more than willing to take it out on her.
“I’m greatly distressed, Mademoiselle, to have been given such harsh orders. It’s been a very long time since Berlin has seen the like. . . . Indeed, not since the time of King Frederick Wilhelm, the august father of His Majesty now on the throne. It was a cruel example of the severity of our laws and the dreadful power of our princes. I’ll remember it my whole life long.”
“What example do you mean?” asked Consuelo, starting to think that her life was in jeopardy.
“Nothing in particular,” replied Buddenbrock. “I was referring to the entire reign of Frederick Wilhelm, which from one end to the other was an example of rigor never to be forgotten. Back then neither age nor sex mattered when there was a serious crime to be punished. I remember a very pretty, well-bred, and lovely young lady who occasionally received a visit from a certain distinguished person against the king’s wishes. She was handed over to the executioner, flogged, and driven out of town.”
“I know that story,” said Consuelo, torn between terror and indignation. “The young lady was pure and virtuous. Her only crime was making music with His Majesty now on the throne, as you say, and then the crown prince. Has this same Frederick really suffered so little from the catastrophes he’s brought down on others that he now wants to horrify me with threats of some equal infamy?”
“I don’t think so, Signora. His Majesty does only great and righteous things. It’s up to you to know if your innocence will shield you from his wrath. I’d like to think so. Yet a little while ago the king seemed perhaps angrier than I’ve ever seen him. He exclaimed that he’d been wrong to want to rule with indulgence, that never would a woman have been so bold while his father was alive. His Majesty uttered a few other words that make me fear that he’s got some degrading punishment in mind for you, which one I don’t know. . . . I don’t want to try and guess. My role in this is very painful. I was ordered to take you straight to Spandau, and if we were to learn at the city gate that the king had given other orders, I would hasten to withdraw, as it would be beneath the dignity of my position to watch. . . .”
Seeing that the desired effect had been produced, that poor Consuelo was about to faint, Herr von Buddenbrock stopped. At that instant, she came close to repenting her devotion to others and could not help calling in her heart upon her unknown protectors. Yet, while staring at Buddenbrock with a haggard eye, she detected signs of a liar’s hesitation on his face and began to feel less alarmed. All the same, her heart was pounding hard enough to rupture her rib cage when a policeman appeared at the city gate to have a word with Buddenbrock. Meanwhile, one of the grenadiers riding alongside the carriage approached the opposite door and hurriedly whispered, “Don’t worry, Signora, there would be a lot of blood shed before anyone puts a hand on you.”
Consuelo was in such a state that she could not make out the features of that unknown friend who promptly withdrew. The carriage went galloping off toward the fortress. An hour later Porporina was incarcerated at Spandau Castle according to all the usual formalities, or rather the few formalities required by absolute power.
The citadel, which was then considered impregnable, sits in the middle of the lake formed by the confluence of the Havel and the Spree. Th
e day had turned dark and foggy, and Consuelo, having consummated her sacrifice, experienced that listless exhaustion that follows acts of energy and enthusiasm. Without so much as a glance at her surroundings, she was led to the dreary abode assigned to her. It was scarcely midday, yet she felt so drained that she threw herself down on the bed fully clothed and fell fast asleep. Her fatigue was accompanied by that delicious sense of security that is the fruit of a good conscience. Even though the bed was very hard and narrow, she enjoyed the best sleep. Consuelo had only been half asleep for a while when the citadel clock tolled midnight. A musician’s ears are so sensitive that the bells roused her altogether. Sitting up in bed, she understood that she was in prison and that she would have to spend her first night there doing nothing but thinking since she had slept all day long. The prospect of such insomnia in idle darkness was far from pleasant, and she told herself that she had no choice but to resign herself to the fact and start getting used to it right away. Amazed not to feel cold, she was at least glad not to be suffering that bodily discomfort that paralyzes the mind. Outside the wind howled mournfully, the rain beat down on the panes, and through her narrow window Consuelo could see nothing but a dense network of iron bars against the murky depths of a cloudy, starless night.
The poor captive spent the first hour of this new and unfamiliar torture for her in a very lucid mode, her thoughts imbued with logic, reason, and philosophy. Yet bit by bit the effort wore her down, and the night started to feel gloomy. Her positive reflections became vague, weird reveries. Assailed by fantastic images, painful memories, and frightening anxieties, she found herself in a state that was neither waking nor sleeping, where all her thoughts took form and seemed to float through the darkness of her cell. Sometimes in her mind she was on stage singing an entire role that exhausted her, that gripped her memory obsessively, without her being able to get rid of it; sometimes she saw herself in the clutches of an executioner who was flogging her, tearing her bare shoulders to shreds, in front of a stupid, curious mob while the king threw her wrathful looks from high in his balcony and Anzoleto snickered in a corner. At last she fell into a kind of torpor where the only thing before her eyes was Albert’s ghost lying in his tomb and vainly struggling to get up and come to her aid. Then that image vanished, and she thought she was sleeping on the ground in the Schreckenstein cave while the sublime, heartrending strains of Albert’s violin sang an eloquent, plaintive prayer farther on back. Consuelo was in fact half asleep, and the sound of the instrument caressed her ear and calmed her soul. Even though the music was faint and far away, it went on so steadily, with such distinct modulations that she, without feeling any surprise, thought it was real. It seemed to her that this fantastic concert went on for over an hour, then began imperceptibly fading away. Consuelo had fallen back asleep, and it was dawn when she opened her eyes.
Consuelo’s first concern was to examine her room. The day before she had not even given it a glance since her inner life had so totally absorbed her sense of physical existence. The cell in which she found herself was totally bare, but clean and well heated by a brick stove that was lit from outside and provided no light within. Yet it maintained a very tolerable temperature. Although a single arched window was the only source of light, the room was not too dark. The walls were white-washed and rather low.
There were three knocks, and the jailer bellowed through the door, “Prisoner number three, get up and dressed. Your cell will be visited in fifteen minutes.”
Consuelo hastened to obey and tidy up her bed before the jailer returned. He brought her bread and water for the day, looking very respectful. With the starchy bearing of a butler in a fine house, he set the frugal prison fare down on the table as neatly and carefully as if he were serving an exquisite meal.
Consuelo studied the elderly man, finding nothing repulsive at first sight in his fine, kindly physiognomy. He had been designated as the women’s attendant on account of his high morals, good manners, and unfailing discretion. Schwartz was his name, he said.
“I live down below,” he said. “If you become ill, just call out your window.”
“Don’t you have a wife?” asked Consuelo.
“Indeed I do,” he replied. “And if you absolutely require her care, she’ll be at your service. Yet she’s forbidden to communicate with the lady prisoners except in case of illness, and that’s up to the doctor. I also have a son who’ll share with me the honor of serving you. . . .”
“I have no need of so many servants. If it’s all right with you, Herr Schwartz, I’ll just deal with you or your wife.”
“I know that my age and appearance reassure the ladies. Yet my son is no more to be feared than I am. He’s an excellent boy, very pious, sweet, and firm.”
The jailer pronounced the last word in a clear, meaningful way that the prisoner understood very well.
“Herr Schwartz,” she said, “you’ll have no need to be firm with me. I’m here almost of my own accord, and I have no intention to try and escape. As long as I’m treated decently, as one seems disposed to do, there’ll be no complaints from me about the prison regime, whatever its rigors.”
With these words Consuelo, who had eaten nothing for twenty-four hours and suffered pangs of hunger all night long, broke the dark bread and began gobbling it down.
Then she noticed that her resignation had made an impression on the old man, who looked both amazed and disgruntled.
“Your Ladyship doesn’t find this coarse fare repugnant?” he asked, somewhat abashed.
“I won’t hide from you that in the interests of my health I’d eventually like something more substantial. Yet if this is all that’s available, I can make do.”
“But weren’t you used to living and eating well?”
“Of course.”
“Well then,” asked Schwartz with an insinuating look, “why don’t you have yourself served proper food here, at your own expense?”
“Is that allowed?”
“Certainly!” exclaimed Schwartz, his eyes sparkling at the prospect of working out one of his little deals with her. He had feared that she was either too poor or too temperate to assure him this extra income. “If your Ladyship took care to conceal a bit of money on her person upon arriving here. . . . I’m not forbidden to provide her with the food she likes. My wife is a very good cook, and we have a very nice silver service.”
“How very kind of you,” said Consuelo, more disgusted than gratified to discover how greedy Schwartz was. “But the question is knowing if I indeed have any money. I was searched when I got here. I know that I was left a crucifix that means a lot to me, but I didn’t notice if they took my purse.”
“Your Ladyship didn’t notice?”
“No. Does that surprise you?”
“But Your Ladyship no doubt knows what was in her purse?”
“Very nearly,” said Consuelo, checking out her pockets, which she found completely empty. “Herr Schwartz,” she announced with good cheer, “they cleaned me out, from what I can see. That means that I’ll just have to content myself with the usual regime. So you mustn’t get your hopes up.”
“Well, Madame,” replied Schwartz, visibly straining himself, “I’m going to give you proof that my family is honest and that you’re dealing with people worthy of respect. Your purse is in my pocket, and here it is!” He flashed the purse in front of her eyes, then imperturbably put it back in his waistcoat pocket.
“May it bring you profit!” said Consuelo, stunned by his cheek.
“Hold on!” Schwartz continued, no less greedy than meticulous. “My wife is the one who searched you. She is under orders not to let the women prisoners keep any money, lest they try and corrupt their jailers. Yet when the jailers are incorruptible, that’s a useless precaution. For that reason she didn’t consider herself duty bound to turn your money over to the commanding officer. Yet, since one must in conscience obey the letter of the law, your purse cannot be returned directly to your care.”
“So
keep it, since that’s your pleasure!” exclaimed Consuelo.
“Indeed, I’m going to keep it, and you’ll wind up thanking me. I am the trustee of your funds, and I’ll use them, as you see fit, to satisfy your needs. You’ll have meals to your liking, a well-tended stove, even a better bed and all the linens you want. Every day I’ll draw up a bill and pay myself out of your purse for that amount.”
“Well done!” said Consuelo. “I see that one can bargain with the powers on high, and I have all due respect for the honesty of Herr Schwartz. And when this modest sum runs out, you’ll help me replenish my purse?”
“I beg your Ladyship not to put it that way! That would be a breach of duty, to which I’ll never stoop. But there’ll be no problem, for Your Ladyship will let me know with whom she deposits her funds, in Berlin or elsewhere, and I’ll settle up with him on a regular basis. My orders don’t forbid that.”
“Very good. You’ve found the fix for that regulation which is most inconsistent, since it allows you to treat us well, yet deprives us of the means to make you decide to do it. When my gold ducats are all gone, I’ll see about arranging to have you paid. You can start by bringing me some chocolate. For dinner I’ll have a chicken and vegetables. During the day you’ll get me some books and at night provide me with light.”
“Your Ladyship will have her chocolate in five minutes. Dinner will be no trouble at all, and I’ll add a good soup, some little delicacies that please the ladies, plus coffee, which always helps against the humidity of this residence. As for the books and lamps, there’s no way. I’d be fired immediately, and my conscience won’t allow me to disobey orders.”
“But aren’t fancy food and delicacies prohibited as well?”
“No. Humane treatment for the ladies, particularly your Ladyship, is allowed in all matters relating to health and well-being.”
“But boredom is just as detrimental to one’s health!”