The Count De Fenix.
A LONG and painful silence succeeded to this narrative, during which each of the two ladies seemed absorbed in her reflections. The princess was the first to break it.
“And you lent no assistance to this man to carry you off?” said she.
“None, madame.”
“You are ignorant how you left the convent?”
“I am quite ignorant.”
“Yet a convent is kept carefully guarded; there are bars to the windows; the walls are very high; there is a portress who keeps the keys of the grates always at her side. That is especially the case in Italy, where the rules are even more severe than in France.”
“Madame. I can only reply, that from the moment of my awaking from my trance until now, I have searched my memory to discover any trace of what must have occurred; but in vain.”
“But did you not reproach him for what he had done?”
“Oh yes, madame!”
“What was his excuse?”
“That he loved me.”
“And what did you reply to that?”
“That I had a horror of him.”
“Then you did not love him?”
“Oh no, no!”
“Are you quite certain?”
“Alas, madame, what I felt for that man was singular indeed! When he was present I was no longer myself; what he willed, I willed; what he commanded. I did; my soul had no power, my mind no will; a look from him subdued and fascinated me. Sometimes he seemed to inspire me with thoughts which were not mine; sometimes he seemed to draw from me ideas so deeply hidden that I had never even guessed that I possessed them. Oh! do you not see, madame, that there was magic in all this?”
“It is certainly strange, if not supernatural,” said the princess. “But after you had been carried off, how did you live with that man?”
“He displayed the warmest affection for me, the sincerest attachment.”
“He was a vicious man, no doubt?
“I do not think he was, madame; there was, on the contrary, something lofty and inspired in his manner of speaking.”
“Come, come! you loved him; confess it!”
“No, no, madame,” said the young woman, with mournful bitterness; “no. I did not love him.”
“Then you ought to have left him; you ought to have appealed to the public authorities, and demanded to be restored to your parents.”
“Madame, he watched me so closely that I could not fly.”
“But why not write, then?”
“Wherever we stopped on the road, the house seemed to belong to him alone, and every one obeyed him. Several times I asked for pen, ink, and paper, but those to whom I applied were doubtless desired by him not to obey me, for they never even answered me.”
“And how did you travel?”
“At first in a post-chaise; but at Milan, instead of a carriage we entered a kind of moving house, in which we continued our journey.”
“But he must have sometimes left you alone?”
“Yes; but at these times, before leaving me, he approached me and said, ‘Sleep!’ I slept, and did not awake until his return.”
The princess shook her head incredulously.
“You would have been able to escape,” said she, “had you endeavored to do so with energy.”
“Alas! madame, and yet it seemed to me as if I did; but perhaps I was fascinated.”
“Yes; fascinated by words of love, and by his caresses.”
“He seldom spoke of love, madame, and except a kiss imprinted on my forehead in the morning and one in the evening, he bestowed no caresses on me.”
“Strange, strange indeed!” murmured the princess; then, as if some suspicion had crossed her mind, she said aloud; “And you are ready to assert again that you do not love him?”
“I do assert it again, madame.”
“And no earthly bond unites you to him?”
“None, madame.”
“Then should he claim you, he would have no right over you?”
“None, madame, none.”
“But,” added the princess, after a moment’s reflection. “How did you escape at last? I do not understand that.”
“Madame. I took advantage of a violent storm which occurred while we were near a town called Nancy, I think. He left the part of the carriage in which I was, to go into another compartment of it, to talk to an old man who was with us. Then I leaped on his horse and fled.”
“And why did you prefer remaining in France to returning to Italy?”
“I reflected that I could not return to Rome, since my parents and friends there would certainly imagine I had been the accomplice of that man, and perhaps refuse to receive me. I resolved therefore to come to Paris, and to endeavor to remain concealed; or to try and reach some other great city, where no eye — and, above all, his — could discover me. When I reached Paris, madame, every one was speaking of your retirement into the Convent of the Carmelites. They lauded your piety, your charity toward the wretched, your pity for the afflicted. A ray of hope darted through my soul, and I was struck with the conviction that you would be generous enough to receive me, and powerful enough to protect me.”
“You appeal always to my power, my poor child. Is he, then, so powerful?”
“Oh, yes, madame!”
“But who is he, then? Through delicacy I have until now refrained from asking his name; but if I am to defend you, I must know against whom.”
“Oh, madame, even on that point I cannot enlighten you. I know neither who he is nor what he is. All that I know is, that a king could not inspire more respect, a deity could not receive greater adoration, than he, from those to whom he deigns to reveal himself.”
“But how do they address him? What is his name?”
“ I have heard him addressed by different names; at present, however, I remember only two of them. One is given him by the old man, who, as I told you, traveled with us from Milan; the other he gives himself.”
“What does the old man call him?”
“Acharat — is not that a heathenish name, madame?”
“And what is his other name?”
“Joseph Balsamo.”
“And what can you tell me of him?”
“That he seems to know all persons, to penetrate into all things; he is contemporary with all times, has lived in all ages. He speaks — may Heaven pardon such blasphemies! — he speaks of Alexander, Caesar, and Charlemagne, as if he had known them, yet I am sure they have been dead a very long time. But what is worse, he will talk of Caiaphas, Pilate, and our blessed Saviour, as if he had been present at the crucifixion.”
“He is same charlatan, I perceive,” said the princess.
“I do not know exactly what that means, madame; but what I do know is, that he is a dangerous, terrible man. All yield to him, all bend before him, all fall prostrate at his word. You think him defenseless, he is armed; you think him alone, and he causes men to rise out of the earth; and that without an effort; by a gesture, a word, a smile.”
“It is well,” said the princess. “Whoever he be, take courage, my child, you shall be protected from him.”
“By you, madame, by you?”
“Yes, by me; so long as you yourself do not abandon my protection. But cease from this time to believe, and above all cease to endeavor to make me believe, in the superstitious visions which are the offspring of your diseased imagination. The walls of St. Denis will guard you securely against infernal powers, and against powers even more to be feared, those of wicked men. And now, madame, what are your intentions?”
“With these jewels, which belong to me, madame, I wish to pay my dowry to some convent — to this convent, if possible.”
And Lorenza laid on a table precious bracelets, valuable rings, a magnificent diamond and other jewels, the whole worth about twenty thousand crowns.
“Are those ornaments your own?” asked the princess.
“Yes, madame. He gave them to me, and I devote them to the church. I have only one wish with regard to his property.”
“What is that?”
“That his Arabian horse, Djerid, the instrument of my deliverance, be restored to him if he demand it.”
“But with regard to yourself, you will on no account return to him?”
“On no account.”
“Then what will you do? Am I to assume that it is your wish to enter this convent and continue in the practice of those duties which were interrupted at Subiaco by the extraordinary circumstances you have related to me?”
“It is my dearest wish, madame; at your feet I supplicate its fulfillment.”
“Be tranquil, my child; from this day you shall live with us; and when, by the exemplary conduct which I expect from you, you have shown that you deserve that favor, you shall take the vows, and I answer for it, no one shall carry you away from St. Denis while your abbess watches over you.”
Lorenza threw herself at the feet of her benefactress, and poured forth expressions of gratitude the most tender and the most sincere; but all at once, rising on one knee, she listened, turned pale, and trembled.
“Oh, heavens! Oh, heavens!” she exclaimed.
“What is the matter?” asked Madame Louise.
“My whole frame trembles. He is coming! He is coming!”
“Who is coming?”
“He who has sworn to destroy my soul.”
“That man?”
“Yes, that man — do you not see how my hand trembles. Oh!” continued she, in a tone of anguish, “he approaches! — he is near!”
“You are mistaken.”
“No, madame, no! Hold me! He draws me to him against my will. Hold me! Hold me!”
Madame Louise seized her by the arm.
“Courage! courage! my poor child,” said she; “were it even he, you are in safety here.”
“He approaches! He approaches!” cried Lorenza, with despair and horror in her voice, her eyes fixed, and her arms extended toward the door of the room.
“This is madness. Dare any one, think you, enter unannounced the apartment of Madame Louise of France? To obtain admittance, he must be the bearer of an order from the king.”
“Oh, madame, I know not how he procured an entrance,” cried Lorenza, recoiling with terror; “but I do know that he is ascending the stairs — that he is scarcely ten paces distant — that he is here.”
At that moment the door opened. Alarmed at such a strange coincidence, the princess could not prevent herself from starting back. A nun appeared.
“Who is there?” asked the abbess, hurriedly, “and what do you want?”
“Madame, a gentleman has just arrived who wishes to speak to your royal highness?”
“His name?”
“The Count de Fenix.”
“Is that he?” asked the princess, turning to Lorenza, “and do you know that name?”
“I do not know that name — but it is he, madame — it is he!”
“What does this gentleman want?” inquired the princess, addressing the nun.
“Having been sent on a mission to the king of France by his majesty the king of Prussia, he wishes, he says, to have the honor of a moment’s conversation with your royal highness.”
The princess reflected for a moment; then, turning to Lorenza, “Retire into that cabinet,” said she. Lorenza obeyed. “And you, sister,” continued the princess, “admit this gentleman.” The nun curtseyed low and left the room.
Having ascertained that the door of the cabinet was securely fastened, the princess seated herself in her armchair, and awaited the termination of the strange scene in which she found herself involved. Yet she could not subdue a certain degree of agitation.
Almost immediately the nun reappeared, followed by the person whom we have already seen, on the day of the presentation, announce himself as the Count de Fenix.
He was dressed in the same costume, a Prussian uniform, with the military wig and black stock. His large expressive eyes were cast down at first in the presence of the royal abbess, but only in a manner to indicate the respect which any gentleman, how high soever his rank, was called on to exhibit before a princess of France. But immediately raising them again, with a look which almost implied that he had already shown too great humility.
“Madame,” said he, “I thank your royal highness for the favor you have shown me; but I did not doubt that I should obtain this favor, knowing that your royal highness is the generous patron of the unhappy.”
“Sir, I endeavor to assist all such,” replied the princess, with dignity; for she felt certain that she should, before the lapse of many minutes, put to shame this man, who so impudently dared to claim her protection, after having deceived and ill-treated one confided to his care.
The count bowed, without betraying any consciousness of understanding the double meaning of her words.
She then continued, with something of irony in her tone; “In what way can I render you any assistance, sir?”
“You can aid me in a matter of the greatest moment, madame.”
“Speak, sir!”
“None but weighty considerations could have induced me, madame, to intrude on your royal highness in this retreat which you have chosen; but you have, I believe, given shelter here to a person in whom I am deeply interested.”
“The name of that person, sir?”
“Lorenza Feliciani.”
“And how does her fate concern you? Is she your relation, your sister?”
“She is my wife.”
“Your wife?” said the princess, raising her voice so that she might be heard in the cabinet. “Lorenza Feliciani is the Countess de Fenix?”
“Yes, madame, Lorenza Feliciani is the Countess de Fenix,” replied the count with the utmost coolness.
“I have no Countess de Fenix in this convent, sir,” replied the princess.
But the count was not to be so repulsed. “Perhaps, madame,” said he, “your royal highness is not convinced that Lorenza Feliciani and the Countess de Fenix are one and the same person;”
“I confess, sir, that you have guessed my thoughts; I am not well convinced on that point.”
“If your royal highness will but command Lorenza Feliciani to be brought hither, you will soon have all doubts on that head cleared away. I entreat your highness’s pardon for urging the matter thus, but I am tenderly attached to the young lady, and she herself, I think, regrets being separated from me.”
“Do you think so, sir?”
“Yes, madame, unworthy as I am, I think so.
“Ah!” thought the princess, “Lorenza was right; this is indeed a most dangerous man.”
The count preserved the most perfect calmness of demeanor, and adhered to the most courtly politeness.
“I must temporize,” thought the princess to herself.
“Sir,” said she. “I cannot give up to you a woman who is not here. If you love, as you say you do, the person whom you seek, I can easily understand why you thus persist in endeavoring to find her; but believe me, to be successful you must seek elsewhere.”
The count, on entering the room, had cast a rapid glance on every article in it, and his eyes had rested for a single instant only, but that had been sufficient, on a table in a dark corner, on which Lorenza had placed those jewels which she had offered to pay as her dowry to the convent. He knew them again instantly.
“If your royal highness would have the goodness to recollect, and I venture to entreat you to do so, you will remember that Lorenza Feliciani was very lately in this room, that she placed on that table those jewels, and that, after having had the honor of conversing with your royal highness, she withdrew.”
Just then he caught the eye of the princess turning unconsciously toward the cabinet. “She withdrew,” he continued, “into that cabinet, so that now I only wait for the permission of your royal highness to order her to return hither, which she will do immediately, I feel certain.”
The princess colored with shame at the thought that she had lowered herself so far as to attempt to deceive this man, from whom, as it seemed, nothing could be hidden; and she could not conceal her vexation at the uselessness of all her efforts. She recollected, however, that Lorenza had fastened the door from within, and that, consequently, nothing but the impulse of her own free will could induce her to leave the cabinet.
“But even suppose she were here,” said she, “what would she do?”
“Nothing, madame; she would merely tell your highness that she wishes to go with me, being my wife.”
This last word reassured the princess, for she recollected the protestations of Lorenza.
“Your wife!” exclaimed she, with indignation. “Are you sure of that?”
“Your highness does not seem to believe me. Nevertheless, it is not quite incredible that the Count de Fenix should have married Lorenza Feliciani, and that, having married her, he demands back his wife.”
“His wife!” she repeated impatiently; “you dare to say Lorenza Feliciani is your wife?”
“Yes, madame, I dare to say so,” answered the count, with the most natural air in the world, “because it is true.”
“You are married to her?”
“I am.”
“Legitimately?”
“Certainly, and if your royal highness thus persists in doubting my word, I shall place before your eyes the register of my marriage, signed by the priest who united us.”
The princess started; so much coolness and self-possession shook all her convictions.
The count opened his pocket-book and unfolded a paper. “This is the register of my marriage, madame, and the proof that I have a right to claim that woman us my wife; if your royal highness will read it and note the signature—”
“The signature!” repeated the princess, in a tone of doubt more insulting to the stranger than her indignation had been, “but if this signature —
“This signature is that of the vicar of Saint Jean de Strasbourg, who is well known to Prince Louis, Cardinal de Rohan, and if his highness were here —
“His highness is here!” cried the princess, fixing her flashing eyes on the count. “He has not yet left St. Denis, and is now with the canons of the cathedral; so that nothing is easier for us than to ascertain the truth of what you assert.”
“That is indeed a fortunate circumstance for me.” replied the count, coolly putting up the paper again in his pocketbook. “When your royal highness has heard the cardinal’s testimony, I trust that your highness’s unjust suspicions will be dispelled.”
“Sir, this impudent perseverance is most revolting to me,” said the princess, ringing her bell violently.
The nun who had introduced the count appeared.
“Let my groom mount his horse instantly, and carry this note to his highness the Cardinal de Rohan; he will be found at the chapter of the cathedral. Let him come hither without a moment’s delay — I wait his arrival anxiously.”
While giving these directions, the princess wrote hastily a few words on a slip of paper, and, handing it to the nun, she added in a whisper—”Let a couple of archers of the guard he placed in the corridor, and take care that no one leave the convent without my permission.”
The count had followed all the movements of the princess, whom he now saw determined to contest the point with him to the very last; but, evidently decided not to yield the victory to her, he drew nearer to the door of the cabinet while she was writing, fixed his eyes on it, pronounced some words in a low voice, and extending his hands toward it, moved them to and fro with a regular and steady motion.
The princess, turning, saw him in this attitude, and exclaimed—”What are you doing there, sir?”
“Madame,” said the count, “I am adjuring Lorenza Feliciani to appear, and declare to you of her own free will that I am not an impostor nor a forger. But this is not to prevent your royal highness from requiring the other proofs you have mentioned.”
“Sir!”
“Lorenza Feliciani,” cried the count, overpowering all opposition, even that of the princess, “leave that cabinet and come hither — come!”
But the door remained closed.
“Come forth! — it is my will!” repeated the count.
Then the key was heard turning in the lock, and the princess, with inexpressible alarm, saw the young girl enter, her eyes fixed on the count without any expression either of anger or hatred.
“What are you doing, my child?” cried the princess. “Why do you return to the man from whom you fled? You were in safety here — I told you so.”
“She is also in safety in my house, madame,” answered the count. “Are you not, Lorenza? Are you not safe with me?”
“Yes!” replied the young girl.
The princess, overcome with astonishment, clasped her hands and sank back in her chair.
“And now. Lorenza,” added the count, quietly, but yet with a tone of command, “I am accused of having made you act contrary to your wishes. Say, have I ever done so?”
“Never,” answered the young girl, clearly and distinctly, yet without accompanying the denial by any movement.
“In that case!” cried the princess, “what do you mean by all that tale of your having been carried off?”
Lorenza remained silent, and looked at the count as if life and speech hung on his lips.
“Her highness wishes doubtless to know how you left the convent, Lorenza. Relate to her all that happened, from the moment of your fainting until you awoke in the post-chaise.”
Lorenza was still silent.
“Relate all that occurred from first to last — do not omit anything,” continued the count; “it is my will that you should do so.”
“I do not remember,” she replied.
“Search your memory, and you will recollect all.”
“Ah, yes, yes!” said Lorenza, in the same monotonous tone, “now I remember.”
“Speak, then.”
“When I fainted, at the very moment that the scissors touched my hair, I was carried back to my cell and laid on my bed. My mother remained with me until night, then, seeing that I continued in the same state of insensibility, they sent for the village surgeon. He felt impulse, passed a looking-glass before my lips, and, discovering no sign of life in me, pronounced me dead.”
“But how do you know all that?” asked the princess.
“Her highness wishes to know how you know that,” repeated the count.
“Strange!” replied Lorenza, “I was able to see and hear, but I could not open my eyes, nor speak, nor move. I was in a sort of lethargy.”
“In fact,” said the princess, “Tronchin has sometimes spoken to me of persons who had fallen into a lethargy, and who, being to all appearance dead, were interred alive.”
“Proceed, Lorenza.”
“My mother was in despair, and would not believe that I was dead; she said that she would pass that night and the following day by my side. She did so; but the thirty-six hours during which she watched over me passed away without my making the slightest movement, or without a sigh having escaped my lips. Thrice a priest came to visit my mother; and each time he told her that it was rebelling against the will of God thus to persist in keeping my body on earth when He possessed my soul; for, as I had died at the moment when I was pronouncing my vows, he did not doubt, he said, but that my soul had winged its flight to heaven. My mother, by her entreaties, prevailed on him to allow her to watch by me another night — that of Monday. On Tuesday morning they found me still insensible.
“My mother withdrew, vanquished, leaving me to the nuns, who by this time were loud in their exclamations against her impiety. The tapers were lighted in the chapel, in which, according to custom. I was to be laid out during one day and night. As I had not pronounced my vows, the sisters dressed me in a white robe, put a crown of white roses on my head, crossed my arms on my bosom, and placed my coffin on a bier. During this last operation a thrill of horror ran through my veins; for I repeat, although my eyelids were closed. I saw everything as if they had been wide open.
“The bier was carried into the church, and there — my face still uncovered, as is the custom in Italy — I was placed in the middle aisle, with lighted tapers around me, and a vase of holy water at my feet. During the day the peasants of Subiaco entered the church, prayed for me, and sprinkled my body with the holy water. Night came on; and, as the visitors had ceased, the doors of the church were closed, except a little side door, and the nun who took care of the sick remained alone beside me.
“One terrible thought never left me during my trance, and now it became more dreadful; on the morrow I was to be buried — buried alive, if some unknown power did not come to my aid! I heard the hours strike, one after another; first nine, then ten, then eleven. Each stroke found an echo in my trembling heart; for, oh, horror! I listened to my own death-knell.
“What efforts did I not make to break my icy sleep — to burst the iron bonds which held me down in my coffin! But Heaven at last had pity on me. Midnight struck. At the very first stroke, my frame was shaken by a convulsive shudder, like that which I always experienced when Acharat approached me; then my heart was stirred, and I beheld him appeal at the door of the church.”
“Were your feelings at that moment those of fear?” asked the Count de Fenix.
“No; they were feelings of happiness, joy, ecstasy! For I knew that he came to snatch me from the dreadful death which seemed before inevitable. He advanced slowly toward my coffin, looked on me for a moment with a melancholy smile — then he said, ‘Arise, follow me!’ The bonds which fastened me were broken at that powerful voice; I rose, and I put one foot out of the coffin. ‘Are you glad to live?’ he asked. ‘Oh, yes!’ I replied. ‘Follow me, then,’ said he.
“The sister who was appointed to watch the dead had fulfilled this duty toward so many of the nuns that she had become careless and indifferent, and slept soundly in her chair. I passed close by her without awaking her, as I followed him, who, for the second — time, had saved me from death. We reached the outer court and once more saw the cloudless firmament, studded with stars, and felt the cool night-breeze, which the dead feel not, but which is so grateful to the living.
“‘And now,’ said he, ‘before leaving the convent, choose for yourself. Do you wish to be a nun or to follow me?’ ‘I will follow you,’ I replied. We reached the entrance gate; it was locked. ‘Where are the keys?’ he asked. ‘In the pocket of the portress, on a chair near her bed,’ I replied. ‘Enter the lodge,’ said he, ‘and bring them without making any noise to awake her.’ I obeyed, entered the lodge, found the key, and brought it to him.
“Five minutes afterward the gate was opened, and we were in the street. I took his arm, and we hurried toward the outskirts of the village of Subiaco. About a hundred paces from its last house, a postchaise was in waiting; we entered it and drove off at a rapid pace.”
“And no force was used — no threat was uttered — you followed him voluntarily?”
Lorenza remained mute.
“Her royal highness asks you, Lorenza, if by any threat, any violence, you were forced to accompany me?”
“No.”
“And why did you do so?”
“Say, why did you accompany me?”
“Because I loved you,” said Lorenza.
The Count de Fenix turned toward the princess with a triumphant smile.