Trude raised her eyes to heaven, murmuring, "I thank thee, O Lord! Her heart is not dead! It lives, for it suffers!"

"It suffers," groaned Marie, "the anguish of death."

This passionate outburst of feeling was of but short duration. Her tears were dried, and her quivering face assumed its usually calm expression.

"Trude," said she, gently, continuing to repose upon her bosom, "I am so wretched that words cannot express it or tears soothe it. If I should give myself up to sorrow and mourning I should die, and that cannot be, for I must live to wait for him—to rescue him. How I know not yet; my thoughts and resolutions are so confused that they flicker like the ignes fatui. I will force my mind to be calm, and these wandering lights shall unite in one glowing flame to destroy the walls and obstructions which confine him. He is a prisoner; I feel it in my heart, and I must live to free him. This is my task, and I will accomplish it; therefore I would be composed, and strong in myself. Wonder not that I weep or complain no more, and do not refer to my misfortune. I should die if I did not suppress this anguish, and I would become strong and active. Seek not to enfeeble me, but aid me to harden myself; refrain from complaint, that I may be silent. I think only of him, and I ask nothing further than to yield my life to free him. Let us never speak of it again, for I feel that all the firmness which I had gained has been swept from me in this giving way, and that I must begin anew."

From this hour she commenced to build, and rose upon her grief as on a column which projects toward heaven; leaned upon it, and received, as Brisaeus from the earth, the power of life and action. She had already so conquered herself as to be able to leave her own quiet room, and descend to that of her parents. There she would sit calmly for hours, listening attentively to the conversation, hoping to catch some word that might give her a clew.

They avoided every exciting topic, and were milder and more thoughtful for her. Even her mother made no reproaches, and never alluded to the past, because she feared to delay her recovery, and remove the longed-for goal in hindering the marriage with Ebenstreit. The latter carefully avoided troubling her by his presence; when he heard Marie's step in the anteroom, who descended at a certain hour every day, he withdrew by the other entrance.

"Who goes out every time I come in?" asked Marie, one day as she appeared in the sitting-room.

The general coughed with embarrassment, and glanced anxiously at his wife, whose eyes rested upon her daughter with a cold, searching expression. Their eyes met, and were riveted upon each other. A cold, cruel smile played around the thin, bloodless lips of the mother as she recognized the defiance and firmness in her child, and felt that she had recovered.

"It is your betrothed," she answered, "our dear Ebenstreit—a good, generous, and self-sacrificing son, for whom we thank God every day, who wishes to spare you the annoyance of seeing him."

"He need not inconvenience himself on my account. Nothing excites or wounds my feelings now. It would be a pity for your heartless, thankless daughter to deprive you of the society of your dear son. Let him remain; it is not necessary for us to notice one another."

Her parents regarded each other astonished, and, as she ceased, they still listened to the dying tones of her voice, which sounded so strangely to them. "She is much changed," mumbled the general to himself. "She does not seem the same person, she is so haughty and majestic. She might well inspire fear."

The following day, as Marie entered the room, Ebenstreit was there. He approached her, extending both hands smiling, and greeting her with tender words, rejoicing at her recovery.

She took no notice of his friendly demonstrations, but coldly and harshly regarded his smiling face, and particularly the broad, blood-red scar which ran from forehead to chin. Then suddenly her face lighted up, and an expression of savage triumph shot from her eyes. "How disfigured you look," she cried exultingly. "Where did you get that scar?"

"You know well, Marie," he murmured, gloomily.

"Yes," she cried, triumphantly. "I know it. He branded you, and you will wear this mark before God and man as long as you live."

"You are very cruel to remind me of it, Marie," he softly whispered.

She laughed aloud so wild and savagely, that even her mother was startled. "Cruel—I cruel!" she cried. "Ah, sir, it becomes you indeed to accuse me of it!"

Trude entered at this instant, pale and excited.

"What is the matter?"

"There is some one here who wishes to speak with you, Marie; he has something very important to tell you."

"How dare you announce any one without my permission?" cried Frau von Werrig.

"Silence, mother!—if I may be allowed, let us hear who it is.—Speak, dear Trude, who is it?"

"It is the Director Gedicke from the Gray Cloister," said Trude, with quivering voice.

Marie was startled—a glowing red overspread her cheeks, and she was obliged to lean against a chair for support.

"I forbid you to receive him," said her mother.

She suddenly ceased, and stared at the door, which opened at that moment, the tall, dignified form of a venerable old man appearing.

"Pardon me, sir," said he, with a cold, reserved manner, "if I enter before I receive permission. The command of the king, to which I believe we all yield without resistance, empowers me to do so."

"How, sir, you come by the king's order?" asked the general, who rose with difficulty. "Has his majesty given you a message for General von Leuthen?"

"No, general, I come with a communication from his majesty to Fraulein von Leuthen, the betrothed of Herr Ebenstreit, and the order runs to deliver the same personally and without witnesses."

"Professor," cried the mother, shrugging her shoulders, "you mistake us for very innocent people, if you suppose we believe this silly invention, and that you can gain a secret conversation by a ruse with our daughter. You are the director of the gymnasium, and naturally the friend of Conrector Moritz. In his name you will speak, and bring a secret message. Very sly, indeed, very sly, but it will not succeed."

For response, the director drew two large folded documents from his pocket, approaching the general. "Do you recognize this seal?" he asked.

"Yes," solemnly answered the general; "it is the royal seal from the king's private cabinet."

"Read the address upon this, and the unopened letter."

"Truly, the latter is directed to my daughter, and the other to Professor Gedicke."

Herr Gedicke opened the letter, asking the general if he could recognize the king's handwriting.

"Yes," he answered, "I know it well."

"Have the goodness to read the lines upon the margin," mid the professor, unfolding the letter, so that he could only read those referred to.

The general read: "Professor Gedicke shall go himself to Fraulein von Leuthen, and bring her to reason, reading the document to her without witnesses. I wish this affair to come to an end. Teach Mamselle mores! mores! mores! FREDERICK."

"You have heard the royal command, ladies and gentlemen; will you respect it?" said the professor, turning around with an air of proud satisfaction.

"My dear son-in-law," said the general, solemnly, "it is a royal command; give me your arm, as you know I am feeble; and you, my wife, take my other arm, and we will go into the next room. Hush! not a word—we have only to obey, and not reason."

He seized his wife's hand hastily and firmly, that she should not slip away, and winked to Ebenstreit, upon whose support he crossed the room, drawing his wife with him, and pushing open the door of the next with his foot.

Marie had stood during the whole transaction pale and rigid in the centre of the room, looking haughty and defiant as long as her parents and Herr Ebenstreit were present. Now, as the door closed, life and action were visible in this marble form; she rushed to the old gentleman, scarce respiring, and looking up at his dignified, sad face, asked: "Is he living? Tell me only this, or is he ill?"

"Yes, he lives, he does not suffer from bodily ills, but the sickness of the soul."

"And do not I also?" asked she, with quivering voice. "Oh! I know what he suffers, as we are wretched from the same cause. But tell me, have you seen him?"

"Yes, Fraulein, I have."

"Where is he? Where did you see him?"

"In prison!"

Marie grew paler, and retreated, shuddering. The director continued: "In a dark, damp prison at Spandau. The poor fellow has been there for two months without air, light, or occupation, and his only society is his own revengeful thoughts and angry love-complaints."

Marie gave one hollow moan, covering her corpse-like face with her hands.

"In this abode of torture, in this dwelling of the damned, he must remain ten long years, if death does not release him?"

"What did you say?" she groaned. "Ten long years? Have they condemned him?"

"Yes, he was guilty of a great crime—eloping with a minor—who, with the king's consent, and that of her parents, was betrothed to another. Read the sentence of the court, which was forwarded to me as the head of the college where Moritz was employed. See, here is the king's signature, which affirms the sentence, rendering it legal, and here upon the margin are the lines your father read."

Trembling, Marie perused the contents. "Ten years in the house of correction!" she murmured. "On my account condemned to a living death! No, no, it is impossible! It cannot be! Ten years of the best part of life! He condemned as a criminal! I will go to the king. I will throw myself at his feet, imploring for mercy. I am the guilty one—I alone! They should judge me, and send me to the penitentiary! I will go to the king! He must and will hear me!"

"He will not," sighed the director. "Listen to me, poor child! As I heard the sentence, I felt it my duty to summon all my powers to rescue Moritz, for I love him as a son, and had set my hopes upon him."

"I thank you for this kind word," said Marie, seizing the hand of the old man, and pressing it to her lips.

"I went immediately to Minister von Herzberg, and, upon his advice, as he explained to me the king might lighten his punishment, I betook myself to Frederick's winter-quarters at Breslau."

"You noble, generous man, I shall love you for it as long as I live. Did you speak with the king?"

"Yes, and every thing that my heart or mind could inspire, to excuse and justify my unhappy friend, I have said—but all in vain. The king was much embittered, because he had had the grace to grant him an audience, and explain the impossibility of the fulfilment of his petition. I did not cease begging and imploring, until I softened the generous heart of the king."

"Has he pardoned Moritz?" Marie asked, with brightening hopes.

"Under certain conditions he will allow that he should escape secretly from prison. They are formally written, and if Moritz consents and binds himself by oath, he will not only be freed, but provided with means to go to England, and receive immediately an appointment as translator to the Prussian embassy at London."

"What are the conditions, sir?"

"They are, first, that Moritz shall by oath renounce every wish and thought of uniting himself with Fraulein von Leuthen; secondly, that before he leaves the prison, he shall write to the young lady, in which he shall solemnly release her, and enjoin it upon her as a duty to accept the hand of the man to whom her parents have betrothed her. These were the conditions, and the king commanded me to go to Spandau, and with sensible representations, to confer with Moritz, and persuade him to accept them, and assure himself of freedom, and an honorable future, free from care."

"You saw Moritz?"

"Yes."

"Did you communicate the conditions?"

"Yes."

"And he?"

"He refused, with rage and indignation!"

"He refused?" cried Marie, joyfully. "Oh, my dear Philip, I thank you. You love me truly and faithfully. Your glorious example shall inspire me to be as firm as you."

"Unhappy child, you know not what you are saying!" cried the director, sadly. "If you really love him, you could not follow his example. Read what the king has written."

She took, in breathless silence, the document, and broke the seal, unfolding the paper, but her hand shook it so violently, that she could not distinguish the words.

She returned it to the director. "Read it, I cannot," she said, and sank kneeling, looking up to the old man with unspeakable anguish, and listening to every word that fell from his lips. It ran thus:

"His majesty announces to Mademoiselle Marie von Leuthen that he is exceedingly indignant at her improper and undutiful conduct, which does not at all become a maiden loving of honor, and particularly a noble one. His majesty ennobled her father for a brave deed, and he is angry that the daughter should bring shame upon the title, in giving way, not only to a passion which is beneath her, but is so little mindful of morality as to flee from the paternal house, at night, in an improper manner, with a man whose wife, according to the command of the king and the will of her father, she could never be. If his majesty did not respect the former service of her father, and the new title, he would send the daughter to the house of correction, and punish her according to the law. But he will leave her to the reproaches of conscience, and let the weight of the law fall upon her partner in guilt, Philip Moritz. He is rightly sentenced to ten years in the house of correction, and he will not be released one year or one day from the same, as he is guilty of a great crime, and his sentence is just."

"Just!" shrieked Marie, in anguish—"ten years just?"

The director continued to read: "His majesty will propose a last opportunity to the obstinate and inconsiderate young lady to reinstate her own honor, and release at the same time Conrector Moritz. His majesty has personal knowledge of the latter, and respects his scholarly attainments and capability and would bring an end to this affair for the general good. If mademoiselle, as becomes an honorable young woman, and an obedient daughter, follows the wishes of her father, and without delay marries Herr Ebenstreit, and leads a respectable life with him, the same hour of the ceremony Conrector Moritz shall be released, and a fit position be created for him. This is the final decision of the king. If the daughter does not submit in perfect obedience, she will burden her conscience with a great crime, and thank herself for Moritz's unfortunate fate. His majesty will be immediately informed of her decision. If she listens to reason, to morality, and affection, she will submit to the proposition which Director Gedicke is commissioned to make known to her, and announce to her parents in his presence that she will obediently follow their commands, Conrector Moritz will be at once set at liberty; otherwise he will be sent to Brandenburg to the house of correction. This is the unalterable will of the king. Signed, in the name of the king, FREDERICK."

"Now decide, my child," continued the director, after a solemn pause. "I know nothing to add to this royal writing. If it has not itself spoken to your heart, your reason and your honor, words are useless."

"O God, it is cruel—it is terrible!" cried Marie. "Shall I break my oath of constancy, becoming faithless, and suffer him to curse me, for he will never pardon me, but despise me!"

She sprang up like a tigress, with her eyes flashing. "Oh," cried she, "he may even believe that I have been enticed by riches, by a brilliant future! No—no! I cannot consent! May God have mercy on me if the king will not! I will not break my oath! No one but Moritz shall ever be my husband!"

"Unhappy girl," cried the old man, sadly, "I will give you one last inducement. I know not whether you have any knowledge of Moritz's past life, so tried and painful, which has made him easily excited and eccentric. A danger menaces him worse than imprisonment or death. His unaccustomed life, and the solitude of his dark, damp prison, is causing a fearful excitement in him. He is habituated to intellectual occupation. When he is obliged to put on the prisoner's jacket in the house of correction and spin wool, it will not kill him—it will make him mad!"

A piercing cry was Marie's answer. "That is not true—it is impossible. He crazy!—you only say that to compel me to do what you will. His bright mind could not be obscured through the severest proofs."

"You do not believe me? You think that an old man, with gray hair, and one foot in the grave, and who loves Moritz, could tell you a shameful untruth! I swear to you by the heads of my children, by all that is holy, that Moritz already suffers from an excitement of the brain; and if he does not soon have liberty and mental occupation, it is almost certain that he will become insane."

Almost convulsed with anguish, Marie seized the old man's hand with fierce passion. "He shall not be crazed," she shrieked. "He shall not suffer—he shall not be imprisoned and buried in the house of correction on my account. I will rescue him—I and my love! I am prepared to do what the king commands! I will—marry the man—which—my parents have chosen. But—tell me, will he then be free?"

"To-day even—in three hours, my poor child!"

"Free! And I shall have saved him! Tell me what I have to do. What is the king's will?"

"First sign this document," said the director, as he drew a second paper. "It runs thus: 'I, Marie von Leuthen, that of my own free will and consent I will renounce every other engagement, and will marry Herr Ebenstreit von Leuthen, and be a faithful wife to him. I witness with my signature the same.'"

"Give it to me quickly," she gasped. "I will sign it! He must be free! He shall not go mad!"

She rapidly signed the paper. "Here is my sentence of death! But he will live! Take it!"

"My child," cried the old man, deeply agitated, "God will be mindful of this sacrifice, and in the hour of death it will beam brightly upon you. You have by this act rescued a noble and excellent being, and when he wins fame from science and art he will owe to you alone the gratitude."

"He shall not thank me!" she whispered. "He shall live and—if he can be happy!—this is all that I ask for! What is there further to be done?"

"To announce to your parents in my presence that you will marry Herr Ebenstreit, and let the ceremony take place as soon as possible."

"You swear that he shall then be released? You are an old man—reflect well; you swear to me that as soon as the marriage takes place, Philip Moritz will be free this very day and that he will be reinstated in an honorable, active occupation?"

"I swear it to you upon my word of honor, by my hope of reward from above."

"I believe you. Call my parents. But first—you are a father, and love your children well. I have never had a father who loved me, or ever laid his hand upon my head to bless me. You say that you love Moritz as a son! Oh, love me for a moment as your daughter, and bless me!"

The old man folded her in his arms, tears streaming down his cheeks. "God bless you, my daughter, as I bless you!"

"I dare not tarry," she shuddered. "Let my parents enter."

Slowly the venerable man traversed the room. Marie pressed her hands to her heart, looking to heaven. As the door opened, and the general entered, leaning upon Ebenstreit's arm, followed by his wife, Marie approached them with a haughty, determined manner, who regarded her with astonishment.

"Father," she said, slowly and calmly, "I am ready to follow your wishes. Send for the clergyman: I consent to marry this man to-day, upon one condition."

"Make it known, my dear Marie. Name your condition. I will joyfully fulfil it," said Ebenstreit.

"I demand that we leave to-day for the East, to go to Egypt—Palestine—and remain away from this place for years. Are you agreed to it?"

"To all that which my dear Marie wishes."

"You can now weave the bridal-wreath in my hair, mother. I consent to the marriage."

Three hours later the preparations were completed. Every thing had awaited this for three months.

In the sitting-room, the decorators had quickly built a marriage-altar, and ornamented the walls with garlands of flowers, with festoons of gauze and silk, with flags and standards. The mother wore the costly silk which her rich son-in-law had honored her with for the occasion, and also adorned herself with the gold ornaments which were equally his gift. The father wore his gold-embroidered uniform, and imagined himself a stately figure, as the gout left him the use of his limbs this day.

The invited witnesses began to assemble. Just then Ebenstreit von Leuthen drove up in the handsome travelling-carriage, which was a wedding-gift to his wife, and excited the admiration of the numerous street public.

Old Trude, in her simple dark Sunday dress, had awaited the appearance of the bridegroom, and went to announce his arrival to the bride.

Marie was in her little garret-room, so unlike in its present appearance to its former simplicity and comfort—as unlike as the occupant to the rosy, smiling young girl, who, yonder by the little brown table in the window-niche, taught her pupils, or with busy, skilful hands made the loveliest flowers, the income of which she gave to her parents, joyfully and although she never received thanks or recognition for the same. Now the same little table was covered with morocco cases, whose half-open covers revealed brilliant ornaments, laces, and sweet perfumes; superb silk dresses, cloaks, and shawls, ornamented with lace, lay about upon the bed and chairs.

Herr Ebenstreit von Leuthen had truly given his bride a princely dowry, and her mother had spread the things around room.

Since Marie gave her consent to the marriage, she had followed out their wishes without opposition. She wore a white satin dress, covered with gold lace, her arms, neck, and ears, adorned with diamonds. The coiffeur had powdered and arranged her hair, without her ever casting a glance into the Psyche-mirror which her betrothed had had the gallantry to send to her room. She let him arrange the costly bridal veil; but when he would place the crown of myrtle, she waved him back.

"Your work is finished," she said; "my mother will place that, I thank you."

As Trude entered, Marie was standing in the centre of the room, regarding it with sinister, angry looks.

"There you are, Trude," she said, "I am glad to see you a moment alone, for I have something to tell you. I have spoken with my future husband, demanding that you live with me as long as I live. Immediately after the ceremony you will go to my future home and remain there as house-keeper during my absence."

Sadly the old woman shook her head. "No, that is too important a place for me. I will not lead a lazy life, and play the fine woman. I was made to work with my hands."

"Do what you will in the house," answered Marie. "Only promise me that you will not leave me, and when I return that I shall find you there. If you leave me, I will never come back. Promise me!"

"Then I will promise you, my poor child," sighed Trude.

Marie laughed scornfully. "You call me poor—do you not see I am rich? I carry a fortune about my neck. Go, do not bewail me—I am rich!"

"Marie, do not laugh so, it makes me feel badly," whispered the old woman. "I came to tell you the bridegroom and the clergyman are there."

"The time has arrived for the marriage of the rich and happy bride. Go, Trude, beg my mother to come up and adorn me with the myrtle-wreath."

"Dear Marie, can I not do it?" asked Trude, with quivering voice.

"No, not you; touch not the fatal wreath! You have no part in that! Call my mother—it is time!"

Trude turned sadly toward the door, Marie glancing after her, and calling her back with gentle tone.

"Trude, my dear, faithful mother, kiss me once more." She threw her arms around Marie's neck and imprinted a loving kiss upon her forehead, weeping. "Now go, Trude—we must not give way; you know me; you well understand my feelings, and see into my heart."

The old woman went out, drying her eyes. Marie uttered her last farewell. "With you the past goes forth, with you my youth and hope! When the door again opens, my future enters a strange, fearful life. Woe to those who have prepared it for me—woe to those who have so cruelly treated me! They will yet see what they have done. The good angel is extinct within me. Wicked demons will now assume their over me. I will have no pity—I will revenge myself; that I swear to Moritz!"

Her mother rustled in, clothed in her splendid wedding-garments. "Did you send for me, dear Marie?" she whispered.

"Yes, mother—I beg you to put on my myrtle-wreath."

"How! have you no endearment for me?" she asked, smilingly. "Why do you say 'you' instead of 'thou?'"

"It is better so, mother," she coldly answered. "Will you adorn me with the bridal-wreath?"

"Willingly, my dear child; it is very beautiful and becoming."

"Do you realize, mother, what you are doing? You place the wreath to consecrate me to an inconsolably unhappy life with the man that I hate and despise!"

"My dear child, I know that you think so to-day; but you will soon change, and find that wealth is a supportable misfortune."

"Mother, one day you will recall these words. Crown me for the hated bridal. The sacrifice is prepared!"



BOOK IV. THE VISIBLES AND THE INVISIBLES.

CHAPTER XXVIII. OLD FRITZ.

The war terminated, the hostile armies returned to their different German countries. Frederick the Great had gained his point, forcing Austria to renounce the possession of Bavaria. The Prince of Zweibruecken had been solemnly recognized by him as the rightful heir to the electorate, and the lawful ruler and possessor of Bavaria. The Emperor Joseph had submitted with profound regret and bitter animosity to the will of his mother, the reigning empress, and consented to the peace negotiations of Baron von Thugut. Having signed the document of the same, in his quality of co-regent, he angrily threw aside the pen, casting a furious glance at the hard, impenetrable face of Thugut, saying: "Tell her majesty that I have accomplished my last act as co-regent, and I now abdicate. From henceforth I will still lie her obedient son, but no submissive joint ruler, to only follow devotedly her imperial will. Therefore I resign, and never will trouble myself in future about the acts of the government." The emperor kept his word. He retired, piqued, into solitude, wounded in the depths of his soul, and afterward travelled, leaving the government entirely to the empress and her pious confessors.

Bavaria was rescued! It owed its existence to the watchfulness, sagacity, and disinterested aid of Prussia's great king. The Elector Maximilian vowed in his delight that he, as well as his successors and heirs, would never forget that Bavaria must ascribe its continuance to Prussia alone, and therefore the gratitude of the princes of this electorate could not and never would be extinguished toward the royal house of Prussia. Frederick received these overflowing acknowledgments with the calmness of a philosopher and the smile of a skeptic. He understood mankind sufficiently to know what to expect from their oaths; to know that in the course of time there is nothing more oppressive and intolerable than gratitude, that it soon becomes a burden which they would gladly throw off their bent shoulders at any price, and become the enemy of him to whom they had sworn eternal thankfulness. Frederick regarded these oaths of Bavaria not as a security for the future, but as a payment on account of the past.

"I did not go forth to render the Bavarian princes indebted to me," said he, to his only confidante, Count Herzberg, as he brought to him, at Sans-Souci, the renewed expression of thanks of the prince elector. "I would only protect Germany against Austria's grasp, and preserve the equilibrium of the German empire. Believe me, the house of Hapsburg is a dangerous enemy for the little German principalities, and if my successor does not bear it in mind, and guard himself against their flatteries and cat's-paws, Austria will fleece him as the cat the mouse who is enticed by the odor of the bacon. Prussia shall be neither a mouse in the German empire, nor serve as a roast for Austria. But she shall be a well-trained shepherd's dog for the dear, patient herd, and take care that none go astray and are lost."

"Your majesty has drawn an unfortunate character for the future of our country," sighed Herzberg, thoughtfully, "and I must grant that it is sketched with severe but correct outlines so it follows that poor Germany has many combats and hardships in store."

"What do you mean?" asked the king. "What characteristic did I name?"

"Your majesty pointed out Austria as the cat watching for prey in Germany. Prussia, on the contrary, as the shepherd's dog, which should watch the native herd, and occasionally bite those who wander from the flock. The comparison is apt, and clearly exposes the natural hostility of the two nations. Nature has placed the cat and the dog in eternal enmity, and there is no compromise to be thought of, to say nothing of friendship. There may, now and then, be a truce; the cat may draw in her claws, and the dog may cease to howl and growl, but the combat will renew itself, and never end, but in the death of one party, and the victorious triumph of the other."

"You are right," said the king, nodding slightly. "From this natural hostility will proceed many combats and storms for our land, and much blood will be shed on its account. Let us look to the future, and try to ward off the coming evil, in erecting high barriers against the cat-like springs of the enemy. I will think out a security for Germany. But first, mon cher ami, we have to care for our own country and people. The war has greatly injured my poor subjects. Industry is prostrated and prosperity disturbed. We must seek new sources of acquisition, and sustain those which are exhausted. For this, we must think of fresh taxes, and other sources of income."

"Sire," said Herzberg, shrugging his shoulders, "the taxes are already so heavy that it will be difficult to increase them."

"You are greatly mistaken," cried the king, with increased animation. "I will impose a tax upon those things which are now exempt, and establish a capable administration for the purpose. Bread, flour, meat, and beer, the sustenance of the poor, shall remain as they are, for I will not that they shall pay more. But tobacco, coffee, and tea, are superfluous things, which the prosperous and rich consume. Whoever will smoke, and drink tea or coffee, can and shall pay for being a gourmand!"

"I beg pardon, but it is just these taxes which will create the greatest discontent," answered Herzberg. "Your majesty will remember that the duty on coffee was complained of and criticised by every one, and the poor people grumbled more than all. In spite of the resistance of government, coffee has become, more and more, a means of nourishment and refreshment for the lower class."

"I will teach them to renounce it," cried the king, striking the table violently with his staff "I will not suffer so much money to go out of the country for this abominable beverage! My people shall re-learn to drink their beer, instead of this infamous stuff, as I had to do when a young man. What was good enough for the crown prince of Prussia, will to-day suffice for his subjects. I tell you, Herzberg, I will teach them to drink their beer, or pay dearly for this bad, foreign stuff. Then we will see which will conquer, Prussian beer or foreign coffee."

"It is possible that the former will be victorious on account of their poverty and the high duties; but in any case the people will be discontented, and grumble against your majesty."

"Do you suppose that I care for that?" asked the king, with a quick, fiery glance at the calm, earnest face of his confidant. "Do you think that I care for the applause of the people, or trouble myself about their complaints? I regard their shouting or their grumbling about as much as the humming or buzzing of a fly upon the wall. If it dares to light upon my nose, I brush it off; and if I can, I catch it. Beyond that, it is its nature to hum and buzz. Herzberg, you understand that if a ruler should listen to the praises or discontent of his subjects, he would soon be a lost man, and would not know his own mind. The people are changeable as the weather; to-morrow they crush under their feet what to-day they bore aloft, and praise one day what they stone the next. Do not talk to me about the people! I know this childish, foolish mass, and he is lost who counts upon their favor. It is all the same to me whether they like or hate me. I shall always do my duty to my subjects according to the best of my knowledge and ability, as it becomes an honorable and faithful officer. As the chief and most responsible servant of my kingdom, I should be mindful to increase her income and diminish her expenses—to lay taxes upon the rich, and lighten them for the poor. This is my task, and I will fulfil it so long as I live!"

"Oh," cried Herzberg, with enthusiasm, "would that the entire nation might hear these words, and engrave them upon their hearts!"

"Why that, mon cher?" asked Frederick, shrugging his shoulders. "I do not ask to be deified; my subjects are perfectly welcome to discuss my acts, so long as they pay me punctually, and order and quiet are respected and preserved."

"All that is done," said Herzberg, joyfully. "The machine of state is so well arranged, that she has fulfilled her duty during the war, and will soon reestablish prosperity."

"Particularly," cried the king, "if we rightly understand the art of agriculture. In the end every thing depends upon him who best cultivates his field. This is the highest art, for without it there would be no merchants, courtiers, kings, poets, or philosophers. The productions of the earth are the truest riches. He who improves his ground, brings waste land under the plough, drains the swamps, makes the most glorious conquests over barbarism."

"And those are also conquerors, sire," said Herzberg, smiling, "who drain the mental swamps, and improve the waste mental ground. Such are those who increase the schools and instruct the people. I have caused the school authorities to report to me, according to your majesty's command. A happy progress has been noticed everywhere. Cultivation and education are advancing; and since our teachers have adopted the principles of Rousseau, a more humane spirit is perceptible throughout our schools."

"What principle do we owe to Jean Jacques?" asked the king.

"Sire, the principle that man is good by nature!"

"Ah, mon cher, who says that knows but little of the abominable race to which we belong!" [Footnote: The king's words.—See "Prussia." vol. iv., p. 221.]

"Do you not believe in this doctrine?" asked Herzberg.

The king raised his large blue eyes musingly to the busts placed upon the bookcases, and around the walls. They lingered long upon those of Homer, Plato, and D'Alembert; then turned to that of Voltaire, with its satyr-like face. "No, I do not believe it," he sadly responded. "Mankind is an ignoble race; still one must love them, for among the wicked are always some worthy ones, whose light beams so brightly clear, that they change night into day. During my life I have learned to know many base, miserable creatures, but I have become reconciled to them, as I have also found some who were virtuous and excellent—some who were noble and beautiful, as the grains of wheat among the chaff. You belong to the latter, my Herzberg; and as in heaven many unjust will be forgiven for one just person, so will I upon earth forgive on your account the Trencks, Schaffgotschs, Goernes, Voltaires, Wallraves, Glasows, Dahsens, and all the traitors, poisoners, and perfidious ones, as they may be called. Remain by my side and sustain me, to prevent many a wicked thing and bring to pass much that is good. I shall always be grateful to you in my heart for it; that you can depend upon even if my weather-beaten face looks ill-humored, and my voice is peevish. Remember that I am a fretful old man, who is daily wasting away, approaching that bourne from which no traveller has ever returned."

"God grant that your majesty may be far removed from this bourne!" said Herzberg, with emotion. "And He may grant it on account of your subjects, who are so much in need of your care and government."

"There is no one upon earth who could not be replaced," said the king, shaking his head. "When I am gone, they will shout to my successor. I trust my subjects will exchange a good ruler for their fretful old king. I have been very well satisfied with him during the campaign, and he has shown ability in the diplomatic mission to St. Petersburg. He has proved himself a soldier and a diplomat, and I hope he will become a great king. Herzberg, why do you not answer me, but cast down your eyes? What does your silence mean?"

"Nothing at all—truly nothing! The crown prince has a noble, generous heart, a good understanding; only—"

"Why hesitate, Herzberg? Go on—what is your 'only?'"

"I would only say that the crown prince must beware and not be governed by others."

"Oh, you mean that he will be ruled by mistresses and favorites?"

"I do fear it, your majesty! You well know that the crown princes are generally the antipodes of those ascendant to the throne. If the ruler has only an enlightened mind, and is free from prejudices, so—"

"Is his crown prince an obscurer," added quickly the king, "having the more prejudices, and is capable of being ruled by mystics and exorcists. Is not that your meaning?"

Count Herzberg nodded. The king continued with animation: "Some one has told me of a new friend who returned from the war with the prince, and who belongs to the Rosicrucians and exhorters, and hopes to find many adherents here for such deceptions. Is it true?"

"Yes, sire. It is Colonel Bischofswerder, a Rosicrucian and necromancer and of course of very pleasant address. He has indeed already gained much power over the impressible mind of Frederick William, and his importance is greatly on the increase."

"What does the crown prince's mistress say to it? Is she not jealous?"

"Of which one does your majesty speak?"

The king started, and his eyes flashed. "What!" he cried with vehemence, "is there a question of several? Has the crown prince others besides Wilhelmine Enke, whom I have tolerated?"

"Sire, unfortunately, the prince has not a very faithful heart. Besides, it is Bischofswerder's plan, as I suppose, to separate him from Wilhelmine, who will not subordinate herself to him, and who even dares to mock the necromancers and visionaries, and oppose them to the crown prince."

"Does Enke do that?" asked the king.

"Yes, sire," answered Herzberg, as the king rose and slowly paced the room. "And one must acknowledge that in that she does well and nobly. Otherwise one cannot reproach her. She leads a quiet, retired life, very seldom leaving her beautiful villa at Charlottenburg, but devotes herself to the education of her children. She is surrounded with highly-educated men, savants, poets, and artists, who indeed all belong to the enlightened, the so-called Illuminati, and which are a thorn in the eye to Colonel Bischofswerder. Your majesty will perceive that I have some good informants in this circle, and the latest news they bring me is that the bad influence is upon the increase. The Rosicrucians reproach the prince for his immoral connection with Wilhelmine Enke, as they would replace her by one who gives herself up to them."

"That shall not take place," cried the king. "No, we will not suffer that; and particularly when we are forced to recognize such abominable connections, we should endeavor to choose the most desirable. I cannot permit that this person, who has at least heart and understanding, should be pushed aside by Bischofswerder. My nephew shall retain her, and she shall drive away the Rosicrucians with all their deviltries. Herzberg, go and tell the crown prince, from me, that I order—"

His majesty suddenly stopped, and looked at Herzberg with surprise, who was smiling.

"Why do you laugh, Herzberg?"

"I was not laughing, sire. If my lip quivered against my will, it was because I stupidly and foolishly dared to finish the broken sentence."

"Well, how did you manage to conclude it?"

"Sire, your majesty said, 'Tell the crown prince that I order him'—and there you ceased. I added 'order him to love Wilhelmine Enke, and be faithful to her.' I beg pardon for my mistake. I should have known that your majesty could never command the execution of that which is not to be forced; that my great king recognizes, as well as I, that love is not compulsory, or fidelity either. Pardon me for my impertinence, and tell me the order which I shall take to the crown prince from my beloved king and master."

The king stepped close up to the minister, and gazed with a half-sad, half-tender expression in the noble and gentle face of Herzberg, and in the sensible brown eyes, which sank not beneath the fiery glance of Frederick. Then, slowly raising his hand from the staff, he menaced him with his long, bony forefinger.

"Herzberg, you are a rogue, and will teach me morals. Indeed, you are right—love is not compulsory, but one can sometimes aid it. Say nothing to the prince. The interior of his house must, indeed, be left to himself, but we will keep our eyes open and be watchful. Do so also, Herzberg, and if you discover any thing, tell me; and if Wilhelmine Enke needs assistance against the infamous Rosicrucians, and with her aid this mystic rabble can be suppressed, inform me, and I am ready to send her succor. Ah! Herzberg, is it not a melancholy fact that one must fight his way through so much wickedness to obtain so little that is good? My whole life has passed in toil and trouble; I have grown old before my time, and would rest from my labors, and harvest in the last few years, what I have sown in a lifetime. Is it not sad that I hope for no fruit, and that the seed that I have scattered will be trodden under foot by my successor? I must gaze at the future without joy, without consolation!"

The king turned to the window, perhaps to hide the tears which stood in his eyes. Herzberg did not presume to interrupt the sad silence, but gazed with an expression of the deepest sympathy at the little bent form, in the threadbare coat. Grief filled his heart at the thought that this head was not only bowed down by the weight of years and well-deserved laurels, but also from its many cares and griefs, and hopeless peering into the future.

The king turned again, and his eyes were bright and un-dimmed. "We must never lose courage," said he, "and we must have a reserve corps in life as well as upon the field of battle. For the world resembles the latter, and the former is a continual war, in which we must not be discouraged nor cast down, if there is not hope in our souls. I will cling to As you have said, and I have also found it true, that crown prince is a good and brave man, and possesses a keen understanding, we may succeed in bringing him from the erroneous ways in which his youth, levity, and the counsels of wicked friends have led him. We will try with kindness and friendliness, as I believe these have more effect upon him. Let us not even scorn to aid Wilhelmine in so far as is compatible with honor. If a mistress is necessary to the happiness of the prince, this one seems the most worthy of all to encourage. Beyond the clouds the stars are still shining, and it appears to me as if I see in perspective in the heaven of Prussia's future, a star which promises a bright light with years. Do you not think with me, the little Prince Frederick William is a rising star?"

"Yes, your majesty," answered Herzberg, joyfully, "He is a splendid little boy, of simple and innocent heart, and bright, vigorous mind, modest and unpretending."

"You see," cried the king, evidently cheered, "there is one star and we will watch over it, that it is not obscured. I must see the prince oftener. He shall visit me every month and his governors and teachers shall report to me every quarter. We will watch over his education, and train him to be a good king for the future, and guard ourselves against being pusillanimous, foolish, and fretful, and not be discouraged in life. I have entered my last lustrum, or five years. Hush! do not dispute it, but believe me! My physique is worn out, and the mental grows dull, and although I live and move about, I am half in the grave. There are two coffins in this room, which contain the greater part of my past. Look around, do you not see them?"

"No," said Herzberg, as he glanced at the different articles of furniture, "I see none."

"Look upon the table by the window—what do you there see?"

"Your majesty, there is an instrument-case and a sword-sheath."

"They are the ones I refer to. In the case lies my flute, that is to say, my youth, love, poesy, and art, are encoffined there. In the sheath is my sword, which is my manhood, energy, laurels, and fame. I will never play the flute or draw the sword again. All that is past!"

"But there still remains for the great king a noble work to perfect," cried Herzberg. "Youth has flown, and the war-songs are hushed. The poet and hero will change to the lawgiver. Sire, you have made Prussia great and powerful externally; there remains a greater work, to make her the same within. You have added new provinces, give them now a new code of laws. You will no longer unsheath the sword of the hero; then raise that of justice high above your subjects!"

"I will," cried the king, with beaming eyes. "You have rightly seized and comprehended what alone seems to me worthy of will and execution. There shall be but one law for the high and the low, the poor and the rich. The distinguished Chancellor Carmer shall immediately go to work upon it, and you shall aid him. The necessity of such a reform we have lately felt in the Arnold process, where the judge decided in favor of the rich, and wronged the poor man. How could the judge sustain Count Schmettau against the miller Arnold, who had been deprived of the water for his mill, when it was so evident that it was unjust?"

"I beg pardon, majesty, but I believe the judge obeyed the very letter of the law, and—"

"Then this law must be annulled," interrupted the king. "This is why I revoked the judge's sentence, and sent the obstinate fellows to the fortress, sustaining the miller in his right deposing the arrogant Chancellor Furst. I had long resolved upon it, for I knew that he was a haughty fellow, who let the poor crowd his anteroom, and listened to the flattery of the high-born rabble who courted him. I only waited an occasion to bow his haughty head. This offered, and I availed myself of it, voila tout. It is to be hoped that it will be good example for all courts of justice. They will remember that the least peasant and beggar is a human being as much as the king, and that justice should be accorded to if they do not, they will have to deal with me. If a college of justice practises injustice, it is more dangerous than a band of robbers; for one can protect himself from the latter but the former are rascals wearing the mantle of justice, to exercise their own evil passions, from whom no man can protect himself, and they are the greatest scoundrels in the world and deserve a double punishment. I therefore deposed the unjust judge, and sent him to the fortress at Spandau, that all might take warning by his fate." [Footnote: The king's own words.—Seo "Prussia, Frederick the Great," vol. iv.]

"This Arnold trial belongs to history," said Herzberg. "The lawyers will refer to it after the lapse of centuries, and the poor and the oppressed will recall and bless the thoughtfulness of the great king, who would open just as wide a gate for them to enter the heaven of justice as to the rich and noble. This new code of laws will beam above the crown of gold and of laurels, with the splendor of the civil crown, whose brilliants are the tears of gratitude of your people."

"May it be so," said Frederick, with earnestness. "Now tell me, do you know what day of the month it is?"

"Sire, it is the 30th of May.'"

"Yes, you will remember it is the anniversary of Voltaire's death, and after I have quarrelled for two years with the priests and so-called holy fathers at Rome, I have gained my point, and the honor shall be shown him here in Berlin which the priests and friars have refused to the immortal poet in his own country. To-day, exactly at the hour which Voltaire died, the mass for the dead will be read in the Catholic church, to free his immortal soul from purgatory. I have, indeed, no idea of an immortal soul. If there are any, and if it has to endure the threefold heat of which Father Tobias, of Silesia, related to me, I do not believe that the priests, for a few thalers, can loose the unhappy spirit from the bake-oven. But as they refuse burial to the spirit of Voltaire, in order to insult him after death, so must I avail myself of this occasion to offer a last homage to the great poet, which will take place at four o'clock. Go to the mass, Herzberg, and tell me to-morrow how it went off—whether the priests make right pious faces and burn much incense. Adieu. Au revoir, demain."

As the king dismissed, with a friendly wave of the hand, his confidential minister, he passed into his cabinet, remaining an hour with his counsellors. At dinner appeared some of the generals, weather-worn and bent, with wrinkled faces and dull eyes. Souvenirs of the glorious years of fame and victory. The king nodded kindly to them, but during the entire meal, he only let some indifferent questions fall from his lips, which were devotedly and tediously answered by some one of the old generals. As their dry, peevish voices resounded through the high, vaulted room, it seemed to reawaken in Frederick's heart the souvenirs of memory and become the echo of vanished days. He gazed up at the little Cupids, in the varied play of bright colors, looking down from the clouds, and the goddesses trumpeting through their long tubes the fame of the immortal, the same as formerly, when they smiled from the clouds upon the beaming face of the young king, dining in the distinguished circle of his friends Voltaire, D'Argens, Algarotti, La Melbrie, and Keith.

The Cupids were fresh as ever, and the goddesses had not removed the trumpets from their lips. But where were the of the merry round-table? Returned to dust. The jests and poesy have died away—all have sunken to decay and darkness. The king silently raised his glass of Tokay, gazing up to the clouds and Cupids, draining it slowly in sacrifice for the dead. Then with a vehement, contemptuous movement, he threw the glass over his shoulder, shivering it into a thousand pieces. The old generals, after dessert, had gently sunk into their afternoon nap, and now started, frightened, looking wildly around, as if they expected the enemy were approaching. Alkmene crept from under the king's chair muffing with her long, delicate nose, the glistening pieces of glass, and the footman bent himself to carefully pick them up.

The king rose silently, saluting the old generals, pointing with his staff to the large folding-doors which led to the garden.

The footmen hastened forward to open them, and stand in stiff, military order upon each side. Frederick walked slowly out, mounting the two steps which led to the upper terrace, signing to the attendants to close the doors.

He was alone. Only Windspiel was there to spring about joyfully, barking, and turning to meet him, who wandered on the border of the terrace, where he had formerly walked with his friends. Now he stopped to gaze up the broad, deserted steps which led from terrace to terrace, as if he could re-people them with the well-known forms, and could see them approach and greet him with the look of endless love and constancy. Then he raised his eyes to heaven, as if to seek there those he in vain sought upon earth.

"Do you not see me, my friends?" he asked, in a gentle but sad voice. "Do you not look down wonderingly where you saw a cheerful, smiling king, upon the now bent, shrunken old man, cold and phlegmatic, who seldom speaks, and then causes every one to yawn? Oh, where have you fled, beautiful spring-time of life—wherein once we used to enliven our conversations with the wit of the Athenians, and the jest fluttered upon our lips as we glided through life in the bold enjoyment of youth? Banished is the dance, and I creep about, leaning upon my staff, enfeebled in body, and with saddened heart! Oh, awful change, unhappy old age! What does it aid me that I am a king? I have won many a battle, but now I am vanquished by age and death and am alone!" [Footnote: The king's words.—See "Posthumous Works," vol. x., p. 100.]

A slight breeze rustled through the trees, fanning, caressingly, the cheeks of the king. The perfume of sweet flowers rose from the terrace, and below rushed the cascade. The marble groups around the fountain glistened in the golden rays of the sun, and in the dark foliage fluttered and sang the merry birds of summer.

Suddenly the wind wafted from the church at Potsdam the clear tones of a bell, announcing to the king the hour of four, the death of Voltaire.

The king walked along to the rose-arbor, to the temple of friendship, where the bust of his sister Frederika was placed. He seated himself near the entrance, listening to the ringing voice of the bell, and recalling that the death-mass had now commenced in Berlin.

The service sacred to memory! The prayer for the immortal soul! As the lonely king sat there, calm and bowed down, a solemn prayer and holy mass rose from his own soul. He bowed lower his head, and, without realizing it himself, traced letters in the sand at his feet, with no witness but the blue heavens above him, and Windspiel who curiously eyed the lines. Thinking of the prayer for Voltaire's undying soul, the king had written the word of profoundest mystery and revelation, of hope and prophecy—"Immortality."

The wind gently rustled in the trees, wafting the perfume of flowers. Sweet stillness reigned around, and lowly sang the birds as if not to waken the king, who slept by the marble form of his beloved sister—Windspiel upon his knees, and in the sand at his feet the word traced by his own hand, "Immortality."



CHAPTER XXIX. CAGLIOSTRO'S RETURN.

Wilhelmine Enke was still living at her villa at Charlottenburg. She was, as formerly, the "unmarried" daughter of the hautboy-player, the favorite and friend of the crown prince; the same as two years previous, when he presented her before the Bavarian campaign, with this house and There was no change in her outward circumstances; her life passed regularly and calmly. The once fresh and beautiful cheek had lost somewhat of its youthful, roseate hue, and the smile of the ruby lips was less haughty, and the warmth of those brilliant eyes was subdued. This was the only perceptible difference wrought by the little vexations and troubles incident to her position. She had found some bitter drops in the golden goblet which the prince in his love pressed to her lips—drops which were uncongenial to lips accustomed to the sweets of life.

To-day she had awaited him at dinner, and had just received a very friendly but laconic letter, excusing himself until the following morning. This was an unpalatable drop. Wilhlemine paced back and forth the solitary, gloomy path, at the foot of the garden, re-reading this letter, and examining every word to search out its hidden meaning.

"They have brought this about," she murmured, tearing the letter into little pieces, which lighted upon the shrubbery like butterflies. "Yes, it is their work. They have sought by all possible means to draw him into their power, and away from me. And they will succeed, as there are two of them, and the princess sustains them; and I am alone, unsupported. I am entirely alone—alone!"

"If you are alone, then, it is surely your own fault," said an earnest, solemn voice, and at the same instant a tall form approached from the shrubbery which bordered the side of the garden.

"Cagliostro!" shrieked Wilhelmine, shrinking terrified away. "Oh, mercy upon me, it is Cagliostro!"

"Why are you so frightened, my daughter?" he asked, gently. "Why do you withdraw from me, and cast down your eyes?"

"I thought you were in Courland," she stammered, confused.

"And whilst you thought me afar, you forgot your sacred oath and holy duty," he replied, in a harsh, severe tone. "Oh my daughter, the Invisibles weep and lament bitterly over you."

"I am curious to see these tears," said Wilhelmine, who had now recovered her self-composure. "Do you think, Herr Magus, any of them could be found in the eyes of Colonel Bischofswerder and his intimate friend Woellner? Do you pretend that they also weep over me?"

"They do not belong to the Invisibles, but the Visibles. But their souls are true and faithful, and would have to mourn over the unhappy one who could forget her vows."

"Then allow me to say that I abjure these tears, and laugh at the idea that these hypocrites and necromancers weep over me."

"My daughter, what words are these, and how strangely altered you are! I have come from the far north, and but just alighted from the travelling-carriage. I came at once to see you, and hoped to be greeted joyfully with a kiss of love, and what do I hear instead? Harsh words filled with scorn and mockery, and disobedience against the Invisible Fathers, to whom you have sworn fidelity and submission!"

"You have forced me to it!" she cried, impetuously. "In my own house you came upon me and compelled me to take part in your mystic assembly."

"If one loves humanity, he must insist upon its accepting happiness," said Cagliostro, solemnly. "We recognized in you one of the elect, one of the great souls which are worthy to see the light, and sun themselves in the rays of knowledge. Therefore we accepted you among the spirits of the alliance, and—"

"And made great promises, of which not one has been fulfilled. Where is the title of countess, the influence, position, honor, and dignity, which you prophesied to me?"

"Where are the deeds you promised to perform, the witnesses of your fidelity and devotion?" he thunderingly demanded. "You have dared to rebel against the holy alliance! Your short-sighted spirit presumes to mock those eyes which perceive that you are straying away! Beware—Wilhemine, beware! I came to-day to warn you, when I return it will be to punish you. Turn, oh turn while there is yet time! Submit your will to the Fathers, as you have sworn to do! The promised reward will not fail, and Wilhelmine Enke will become a countess, a princess, and the most distinguished and powerful will bow before her. The Fathers demand of you repentance, and renunciation of the worst enemies of the Rosicrucians. Members, and even chiefs and pioneers of the Illuminati and Freemasons are welcomed at your house."

"Why should they not be?" asked she, smiling. "They are happy, cheerful spirits, void of mysteries, and do not torture people with mysticisms. They have but one aim, a great and glorious one, to free the mind from superstition and hypocrisy. They encounter with open countenance the false devotees who would force men into spiritual servitude, that they may become the slaves of their will. You call them 'Illuminati,' while they have undertaken to illuminate the minds with the beams of knowledge which the Rosicrucians obscure in a mystical fog."

"Unhappy one, do you dare to say that to me?" cried Cagliostro, menacingly.

"Yes," she responded, keeping her large, brown eyes firmly fixed upon Cagliostro's angry face. "That I dare to repeat to you, and I would also remark that we are not in the mystical assembly of the Rosicrucians, and your familiar 'Du' is out of place. I belong to the Illuminati, and mingle with the freethinkers. They have not, indeed, promised me titles, honors, or dignities, but they have amused me, have driven ennui from the house, and instead of mysticisms, brought me poesy, and instead of the invisible holy church, the Greek temple. It is possible my life may not be a godly one, but it is as happy as the gods, and that is something in this tedious world."

"I regard you with astonishment," said Cagliostro, "for I recognize in your countenance that the devil has won you over to his power, and in you he speaks with the bold insolence of the sinful. Subdue, unhappy child, your rash speech, that the Fathers may not hear of it, and crush you in their wrath."

"I do not fear their thunderbolts, permit me to tell you. We are in Prussia; the great king watches over all his subjects; neither the Romish Church nor the Rosicrucians can obscure the light of knowledge. He will not suffer a ghost, sneaking in the dark, to exercise power here, and he will not refuse the protection to me which is accorded to the least of his subjects. I do not fear you, and I will tell you the truth entire, I believe you to be a hypocrite and a charlatan, who—"

"Miserable one!" interrupted Cagliostro, as he furiously rushed to her, seizing her by the arm—"cease, unhappy one, or your life is forfeited to the invisible avengers!"

Wilhelmine shook her head, and encountered his flaming eyes with a proud glance. "I repeat your own words—cease, or your life will be forfeited! Perhaps you think I do not know what happened to you in Mittau, where you were recognized as a charlatan, who fooled the poor creatures into the belief of his miraculous acts, which consisted in lightening their purses to the benefit of his own. You were obliged to flee from Mitlau in the night, to save yourself, your treasures, and wonderful man-traps, and the beautiful Lorenza Feliciana. Beware! The Empress of Russia had a certain Joseph Balsamo pursued, who had practised great deception, and people pretend that he resembles Count Cagliostro. The Empress Catherine is a good friend and ally of the King of Prussia, and if the happy idea should occur to me to propose seeking the necromancer here, the Great Kophta might come a miserable end."

"On the contrary, it would only be a welcome occasion for the Great Kophta to reveal himself, and hurl his despicable, malicious enemy into the dust at his feet," replied Cagliostro, calmly. "Try it, you faithless, fallen daughter of the Invisibles—try to unloose the pack of my enemies, to recognize that all their yelling and barking does not trouble the noble stag to whom God has given the whole world for His forestward that He should rule therein. I have listened to you unto the end, and I regard your invectives and accusations as not worthy of a reply or justification, and I laugh at your menaces. But I warn you, Wilhelmine Enke, defy not the Invisibles, and offend not the Holy Fathers, by your continued resistance. Turn, misguided child of sin—turn while there is yet time! In their name I offer you a last chance, their forbearance is without bounds, and their mercy long enduring."

"I neither desire your forbearance nor mercy," cried she, proudly. "I will have no companionship with my enemies, and the Rosicrucians are such, for Bischofswerder and Woellner both hate me, and would put me aside. There is no reconciliation where only hostility is possible."

"The heavenly listen not to the voices of the earthly, and prove themselves, the most noble when the least deserved. They will protect and watch over you, even against your will, and never will they be deaf to your cry for aid in the hour of Here is a token of their grace toward you. Take this ring—do you recognize it?"

Wilhelmine regarded it attentively. "This is the ring which I gave at the tribute-altar instead of gold, which you desired."

"The Invisibles sent it to you to-day as the precious pledge of their favor. You shall keep it, and wear it as a token of their heavenly forbearance, and when you turn back from the erroneous ways into which the Illuminati have led you, send it to the circle of Berlin directors, either Bischofswerder or Wollner, and they will come to your rescue. Farewell! I forgive you all your wicked words, which fall like spent arrows from the helmet of my righteousness."

Cagliostro turned proudly away, and disappeared in the bushes.

Wilhelmine placed the ring upon her finger, turning it to watch the play of colors. "I do not know why," said she, "but it has not the same brilliancy as formerly. I will take it to the jeweller Wagner, and ask him if it is the same stone. Perhaps the Great Kophta has tried some of his miracles upon it. I will at once send the servant to Minister von Herzberg, and inform him that Cagliostro is here. He has promised me protection in the name of the king, and I feel that I shall now have need of it."

She hurried to the house, and devoted herself to the writing of the said letter—a task she was but little accustomed to. She had learned to speak French very prettily, and to express herself skilfully and wittily in German, and under her royal master, the crown prince Frederick William, gained much valuable scientific knowledge. But to write fluently was quite another thing, and it was a long time before the epistle was finished. However, happily accomplished, she commanded the servant to take it to Berlin.

He bowed with silent submission; but once having quitted the house, a cunning smile was visible upon his face, and he availed himself of a stage-coach which was going in the same direction. "I can afford this expense," said he, arranging himself comfortably. "When I have money in my pocket why should I walk the long distance? I was very clever to tell Bischofswerder that the Minister von Herzberg had secretly visited my mistress, and it was equally clever of him to give me a louis d'or, and promise me the same every time that I should bring him important news. Indeed, I think to-day he may well thank me, and I believe, if I often inform him, he will advance me a degree, and at last I shall be admitted to the circle of the elect, while I now belong to the outside circle, who know nothing and hope every thing."



CHAPTER XXX. THE TRIUMVIRATE.

While Wilhelmine's servant gave himself up to his hopes, slowly down the broad avenue, an elegant four-in-hand carriage rolled past him, and stopped at the house where lived Colonel Bischofswerder, long before he had reached the Brandenburg Gate. A gentleman sprang out, hastening past the footman into the house, where a servant evidently awaited his arrival, and preceded him with devout mien, throwing open the wide folding-doors and announcing, in a solemn voice—"His excellency, Count Cagliostro." He then respectfully withdrew, bowing profoundly as the count passed, and closed quickly and noiselessly the doors behind him.

The two gentlemen within hastened to meet the count, who nodded smilingly, and extended to them with a gracious condescension his white hand sparkling with diamonds. "My dear brothers," said he, "you have unfortunately announced me the truth—Wilhelmine Enke is faithless—is an apostate."

"A courtesan, ensnared by the devil of unchastity," murmured the elder of the two—a man of long, lank figure, pale, pock-marked face, the broad high forehead shaded with but little hair, the watery blue eyes turned upward, as if in pious ecstasy, and the large, bony hands either folded as if in prayer, or as if in quiet contemplation, twirling his thumbs around each other. "I have always said so," said he, with a long-drawn sigh; "she is a temptress, whom Satan, in bodily repetition of himself, has placed by the prince's side, and his salvation cannot be counted upon until this person is removed."

"And you, my beloved brother, think otherwise—do you not?" asked Cagliostro, gently.

"Yes," answered Bischofswerder, "you know well, sublime master and ruler, how much I esteem and love the worthy and honorable Wollner, and how much weight his opinion has with me. In all my reports to the Invisible Fathers I have always particularly mentioned him, and it was upon my wish and proposal that they appointed him director of one of the three Berlin circles. He is occupied near me in the confederacy, and is also in the service of the crown prince, for it was by my especial, earnest recommendation that his highness called him to Berlin from the exchequer of Prince Henry at Rheinsberg, that he might give him lectures in politics and other branches of administration, I do not say it to boast, although I have always regarded it as an honor to have opened the way to a distinguished man, to have his great talents properly valued. I only say it to prove my high appreciation of dear brother Wollner, and to defend myself, master, in your eyes, that I differ in opinion from him, and do not advise a violent removal of this person, to whom the prince is more attached than he himself knows of."

"It is not necessary to excuse yourself to me, my son," said Cagliostro, pompously. "The eyes which the Invisibles have lighted up with a beam of revelation, see into the depths of things, and reveal the most hidden. I have glanced into your hearts, and I will tell you that which I have therein read. You, Hans Rudolph von Bischofswerder, belong to the world; its joys and sorrows agitate you. You have a longing for science and the knowledge of the Invisibles, and you would also enjoy the Visibles, and take part in the pleasures of life. What you would allow yourself, that you would also grant to your royal master, whose friend and leader you are, and who, one day, will be the future king and ruler of the visible world, and a faithful son and servant of the Invisibles. Is it not thus?"

"It is so," answered Bischofswerder, who, with wondering astonishment, drank in every word that fell from Cagliostro's lips as a revelation. "You have read the inmost thoughts of my heart, and what I scarcely suspected myself, you are knowing of, lord and master."

"Toil and strive, my son, and you shall rise to the highest grade, in which presentiment and recognition, thinking and knowing, are one."

He extended to Bischofswerder his hand, who fervently pressed it to his lips; then turned to Wollner, who, with upturned gaze and folded hands, might have been praying, for his thumbs were not turning around, but rested, quietly crossed.

"You, my son and brother," continued Cagliostro, with his lofty, haughty reserve, "your thoughts are diverted from earth, and the joys of this world have no charm for you!" "I have laid the oath of virtue and chastity upon the altar of the Invisibles," replied Wollner, with a severe tone of voice. "I have given myself to a pious life of abstinence, and sworn to employ every means to lead those that I can attain to upon the narrow path which leads to the paradise of science, of knowledge, and heavenly joys. How could I forget my oath, which is to win the prince, who is to become a light and shield in the holy order, from the broad course of vice, to the pathway of the blest? How can I bear to see him lost in sin who is elected to virtue, and who longs for the light of knowledge?"

"But, in order to bear the light in its brightness, he must have passed through the darkness and gloom of sin," said Cagliostro. "After the days of error follow those of knowledge. This is what causes the mildness of our brother Theophilus, whom the earthly world calls Bischofswerder, whilst you, brother Chrysophorus, demand from the prince the severest virtue, which is the first great vow of the brothers advancing in the holy order of the Rosicrucians. You are both wrong and both right. It is well to be lenient as brother Theophilus, but that must have its limit, and the night wanderer who stands upon the brink of a precipice must be awakened, but not with violent words, or calling loudly his name, because a sudden awakening would only hasten his fall. Slowly and carefully must he be roused; as one would by degrees accustom the invalid eyes to the mid-day, so must the light of virtue and knowledge dawn upon the eyes, ill from vice, with prudent foresight. Hear my proposal. Summon the three circles of the brothers of the highest degree to a sitting to-night. You have told me that the prince desires to belong to the seeing ones, and be in communion with the spiritual world. This night his wish shall be fulfilled, to see the spirits, and a new future shall rise before him. My time is limited; let us arrange every thing, for the voices of the Invisibles already call me home."

At this instant a modest knocking was heard at the door, which was repeated at different intervals.

"It is my servant," said Bischofswerder, "and he has undoubtedly an important communication for me."

He opened the door, speaking with the person outside in a low tone, and returned with a sealed note.

Cagliostro, apparently, was lest in deep thought and indifferent to the conversation without, directing quietly and calmly, in the mean time, a few questions to Wollner, and, as it seemed, listening only to his answers. Yet as Bischofswerder approached him, saying, "it is, indeed, important news; I have proof in hand that—" he interrupted him with a commanding motion, and finished the broken sentence: "—that Wilhelmine Enke is a powerful adversary, having connection with the court, as this letter from her is directed to Minister Herzberg. Is it not this that you would say, Theophilus?"

Astonished, he replied in the affirmative, begging his master to read it.

"It is unnecessary," replied Cagliostro, waving back the letter; "to the seeing eyes every thing is revealed. This person announces to Minister von Herzberg that the deceiver and necromancer, Cagliostro, in his flight from Mittau, has visited her to menace her. She begs protection for herself and an arrest for me; that I am known as Count Julien, at the hotel King of Portugal, at Berlin, and that haste is necessary."

Both gentlemen glanced astonished and enraptured, first at the sealed epistle and then at the great Magus.

"Open the letter and convince yourselves of the contents!" commanded Cagliostro.

"It is unnecessary," cried Bischofswerder, with enthusiasm. "We recognize in you truth and knowledge; you have revealed to us the contents."

"Nay, there is a lingering doubt in the mind of brother Chrysophorus!" said Cagliostro, regarding Woellner fixedly, who stood with downcast eyes before him.

"My ruler and master," stammered Woellner, in confusion, "I dare not doubt, only—"

"You would only be convinced, open then the letter," interrupted Cagliostro, sarcastically.

With a sharp knife, Bischofswerder cut the end of the envelope, and handed the letter to him.

"Give it to Chrysophorus," commanded the count. "He shall read it, and may the incredulous become a believer!"

Woellner perused the epistle with a slightly tremulous voice, stopping now and then, at an illegible word, which his master quickly supplied to him, finishing the sentence as correctly as if he held the writing in his hand.

The contents were exactly as Cagliostro had given them, and the farther Wollner read, the more his voice quivered and Bischofswerder's enthusiasm increased.

As the reading was finished, the former sank, with uplifted hands, before his master, as if imploring mercy from a mighty, crushing power.

"I have been unbelieving as Tobias, doubting as Paul; have mercy on me, O master! for in this hour the divine light of belief and knowledge banishes doubt from my sinful heart. I acknowledge thy supernatural power and heavenly wisdom! My whole being bows in humility before you and your sublimity, and henceforth I will only be your humble scholar and servant, the tool of your will. Forgive me, all-knowing one, if my heart doubted. Breathe upon me the breath of knowledge, and lay thy august right hand upon my head, and penetrate me with thy heavenly power."

"Have mercy upon me also," cried Bischofswerder, as he kneeled beside Woellner, and, like him, raised his hands imploringly to Cagliostro. "Breathe upon me the breath of thy grace, and regard me, the repentant and unworthy, with thy heavenly glance!"

Cagliostro looked to heaven, and from his lips there fell disconnected words of exhortation; suddenly he drew forth his hands, which he had pushed into his gown and crossed upon his breast, stretching them out with wide-spread fingers.

"Come to me, ye spirits!" he cried, in a loud, thundering voice. "Ye spirits of fire and air, come to me! Ye shall flame and burn upon the heads of these two persons and announce to them that the Invisibles are with us. Come to me, ye spirits of fire!"

He clinched his fingers, extending them again, and upon the points there danced and flickered a blue light. A heavenly smile shone upon the beautiful face of the Magus, his hands slowly sank upon the heads of the kneeling ones, the flames gliding upon their heads, resting there a moment, and then dying away.

"The Invisibles have proclaimed themselves to you through the sign of fire," cried Cagliostro. "The sacred flame has glowed upon your heads, and I now press upon your brow the solemn kiss of consecration and knowledge!"

He bowed down to the kneeling ones. It seemed as if a cloud of perfume had passed over their glowing faces, or as if an odorous lily had been pressed upon their foreheads, and their hearts quivered with delight. He passed his hand lightly over their faces, and a feeling of rapture spread through their whole being. Then as he commanded them to rise, they obeyed, without realizing that they had limbs or body, but regarded the miracle-worker, entranced with his smile.

Cagliostro, with hasty decision and earnest, commanding air, made a few opposite strokes in the air, and immediately the faces of the magnetized looked as if they had awakened from a dream of splendor and delight to insipid, flat reality.

"I have permitted you to behold, for an instant, the mysteries and miracles which are serviceable to the knowing ones," said Cagliostro, with calm earnestness. "Your souls were in communion with the Invisibles, and from the source of knowledge a spark of illumination fell upon your heads. Guard it as a heavenly secret that no one should know of, and now let us continue our conversation."

"Permit me once more to lay my head at your feet, and receive power from the touch thereof," implored Bischofswerder.

"Let me embrace your knees, and entreat pardon and grace," begged Woellner, as he sank down to clasp them, and the former threw himself at the feet of his master, passionately kissing them.

Smilingly he received their homage, and assisted them to rise.

"Now let us speak in a human, reasonable manner, my friends. Brother Theophilus, you, first of all, return the letter to the envelope and seal it."

Bischofswerder obeyed; taking from the table a little bottle and a small brush, he carefully applied an adhesive substance to the edges, pressing them firmly together.

"Master, no one could discover that it had been opened. Command what shall be done with it."

"Give it to your servant, that he may return it to him who brought it, and the latter can now deliver it at its address."

"To the Minister Herzberg!" they both cried, amazed. "It is impossible; he is a sworn enemy of the holy order and your own heavenly person. He could take the most violent measures, and cause your excellency to be arrested."

"I believe it," smiled Cagliostro. "The great Frederick would announce triumphantly that he had had the great Semiramis of the North taken, which the Russian police had failed to accomplish. It would be a welcome triumph for unbelievers and fools, and they would trumpet it joyfully through the world! It must not be; although my spirit in its power and might would soon release my body, yet I will not grant this momentary triumph to my enemies. My time is limited; I must forth to Egypt, where the Brothers of the Millennium will assemble in the course of a week in the pyramids, to announce to me their will for the coming century. I am the Spirit of God, which the Invisibles have willed to enter a human form, therefore it must be regarded as sacred and protected."

"Allow me to guard, with my life, your sublime person!" cried Bischofswerder.

"And I also implore you to grant me the happiness to watch over the security of your heavenly self, and defend it to the last drop of my blood!" cried Woellner; "only tell us what we have to do."

"Above all things obey my command concerning the letter," replied the count, smiling.

Bischofswerder submissively went out with the epistle, returning in a few moments. "It is as you have ordered: in a quarter of an hour it will be in the hands of Minister Herzberg."

"No," replied the count, fixing his eyes upon empty space, "it will not be there, for Herzberg is not at home. I now see him driving in a carriage with four black steeds to the country. At this instant he is crossing a bridge, now he enters a town, turning down one of the streets, where the noise of the wheels is lost. Again I hear him, leaving by the gate, ascending a broad avenue."

"It is the route to Sans-Souci," murmured Bischofswerder, in a low voice, but the count must have understood him, as he repeated aloud:

"Yes, that is the route to Sans-Souci, and the lonely, fretful old king will keep his minister the entire day, and will not receive the missive from his secret female accomplice until his return in the evening, and then he will dispatch his bailiffs in all haste to the hotel to arrest Count St. Julien, and forward an order to every gate to forbid his departure. It will be too late, however—he will have already departed."

"Departed!" cried the two gentlemen, frightened. "Will you, then, forsake us?"

"Hush, my brothers, be quiet!" answered Cagliostro. "I shall have departed for the profane, but I will remain here for the consecrated until to-morrow morning. It oft happens that the lofty even must come down, and the brilliant obscure themselves. To-day I must descend from my spiritual height, and humble myself in the dust of lowliness. When the unholy and unconsecrated essay to behold that which they should not with their earthly eyes; they must be blinded with earthly dust, and for those which are not worthy of miracles, we must sometimes condescend to jugglers' tricks. By the latter I will mislead my enemies to-day. How many gates are there to the city of Berlin?"

"There are nine, master."

"Send immediately messengers around in your circles to order eight travelling-carriages and sixteen large black trunks. Further, send me eight confidential discreet men of my height and size, with eight perukes, exactly the cut of mine. Command four post-horses, with two postilions for eight different addresses. This is all that is necessary for the moment."

"All shall be faithfully and quickly accomplished," said Bischofswerder, humbly. "We will divide the execution of your orders, and there only remains to appoint the time and place when and where to direct the postilions."

"All this will follow; forget not, in trifling, earthly things, the great heavenly circumstances. Summon the consecrated of the highest degree of your circle to go to-night to the palace of Prince Frederick William at Potsdam, and under the very eyes of the old freethinking king we will open to the crown prince the doors of the spiritual world, and consecrate him to the highest degree. But first the Invisibles shall speak with him, and announce the heavenly region of the unapproachable. Finish the preparations, my brothers—fulfil exactly and punctually my orders, and then come to the hotel to receive my last commands."



CHAPTER XXXI. FUTURE PLANS.

Cagliostro quitted the two confidants, entered his carriage awaiting him before the door, and drove to the hotel. The host and chief waiter received him with extreme deference, both accompanying him up the stairs—the latter throwing wide open the large doors of his room. The count turned, and, in addressing some indifferent question to the host, opened his gold-embroidered blue satin vest.

The host turned pale, and shrank back, as if seized with a sudden fright. Cagliostro passed on, motioning him to follow, which he humbly obeyed, sinking upon his knees as the door closed.

"Have you recognized the sign which I wear upon my breast?"

"Yes, master," he stammered, bowing down with the greatest reverence.

"Then you belong to the elect of the Inner Temple, for the sign of knowledge is only made known to them."

"I do, indeed, understand its mysteries, master, and I know that one of the Invisibles, in infinite condescension, appears in a visible form before me. Immeasurable as the happiness, is my obedience! Command me, master; my life and riches belong to the holy alliance!"

"Rise and receive my orders," replied Cagliostro, with great dignity. In a brief, dictatorial manner he communicated the necessary arrangements; then dismissed him with a haughty nod, and entered the adjoining room of his wife, Lorenza Feliciana.

She had thrown herself upon the divan, in charming neglige. Her head was encircled with black ringlets, which she wore unpowdered, despite the fashion. Her eyes were closed, and her beautiful shoulders were but half concealed by a black lace veil.

She slept so quietly and soundly that the count did not awaken her upon entering. He approached her lightly upon the soft carpet, and stood regarding her attentively. A pleasant smile spread over his face, softening its expression, and his eyes beamed with passionate tenderness.

"She is indeed beautiful," he murmured, softly. "No one could withstand the charm of this wonderful woman. Ah, would that I could crush these wicked spirits within me, silence all these seductive, sinful voices, and fly to some secluded valley of our dear fatherland, and there, reposing on her love, let life glide calmly on and smile at the past without regret, as a fading dream! Would that I could forget, and become again pure and innocent, blest in my affection, simple in my tastes, and without wants! But no, it is too late! I cannot retreat, the demons will not be driven out; to them my soul belongs, and I must fulfil my destiny!—Awake, Lorenza, awake!" Her beautiful form shook with fright; she started, opened her eyes, demanding, "What is the matter? Who is here?"

"It is I, Lorenza," he said, sadly; "I was obliged to awaken you, to tell you something important."

"Are the pursuers here? Have they discovered us? Are they coming to take us to prison?"

"No, no; be quiet, Lorenza, no one has discovered us!"

"Quiet!" she repeated, with a scornful laugh. "We have travelled day and night the last ten days, hiding ourselves in miserable holes and dens, under assumed names, believing our pursuers were at our hacks; and now that we are showing ourselves publicly, you ask me to be quiet! I have slept for the first time since that fearful night in Mittau, and it is very cruel and thoughtless of you to wake me, if the bailiffs are not here, and danger does not menace us."

"For the moment we are safe, but I have something important to tell you."

"Important?" she cried, shrugging her shoulders. "What is of consequence to me, since that night? Oh, when I think of it, I could shriek with rage, I could annihilate myself in despair!"

"It was indeed a dreadful experience, and my heart quakes when I think of it," said Cagliostro, gloomily. "The secret assembly consisted of the highest and most influential of the Courland nobility. Suspecting no wrong, not even that there could be traitors among the believers who would falsify my spirit apparatus, I gave myself up to conjuring the departed."

"And I upon my fairy throne," added Lorenza, "couched in the innocent costume of the celestial, only veiled with a silvery cloud, heard a sudden shriek. The room was quite dark; I saw, upon opening my eyes, that no spirits enlivened it."

"Every thing failed—that is to say, my assistants let it fail," said the count, "and the assembly began to murmur. Suddenly, instead of the departed princes and heroes, what fearful forms arose!"

"Apes, cats, and other animals," cried Lorenza, with a loud laugh. "Oh, what an irresistible sight! In spite of my anger I had to laugh, and laugh I did upon the fairy throne, like—"

"Like a foolish child who neither knows nor understands danger," interrupted the count. "Your laughing soon ceased in the fearful tumult and uproar. They shrieked for light, the ladies fled, and the men menaced me with loud curses, calling me a charlatan, and threatening my life!"

"Mine also," cried Lorenza; "oh, what insults and ill-treatment I was forced to listen to! They rushed upon me, shrieking for the brilliants and money which they had brought me as an offering. How they scolded and called me a deceiver! I was only very beautiful and coquettish, and that was no deception! I charmed them with my coyness, and they brought me the most costly presents, because I was a virtuous woman. Now they reproached me, demanding a return of them all, which they had forced upon me of their own free will. I was obliged to bear it silently in my costume of innocence, and as goddess I could not defend myself and speak with human beings—who pushed up to the throne. It was a very ridiculous position; happily I did not quite lose my senses, but let the apparatus play, and disappeared into my dressing-room below, which fortunately closed above me. I dressed, and rushed to your room to rescue my treasures."

"Even in this extreme danger you only thought of your riches, not of me," said Cagliostro, with a bitter smile.

"Have you not taught me yourself that money was the only thing worth striving to possess? Have you not revealed to in wisdom that riches alone make us happy, and procure for us honor, power, love, and constancy? Ah! Joseph, have you not made me the miserable, heartless creature that I am? Can you reproach me that your teaching has borne such good fruit? I am happy to be the priestess of wealth, and grateful for what you have made known to me."

"It is true," sighed Cagliostro, "I have taught you the truth of things; I have disclosed to you the world's motive power. Riches are indeed the god upon earth, toward whom all are pressing, rushing on. We must all follow and serve him as slaves, or be crushed under the wheels of his triumphal car. Men talk and reason about the storm and pressure which is spreading through the world, and finally will reduce every thing to storm the eternal and undying bliss of wealth, and press on for gold."

"To think that we have lost every thing!" cried Lorenza, springing up and stamping with her silken-shod foot; "every thing is lost that I have been years gaining, by hypocrisy, deception, and coquetry. They have robbed me! The shameful barbarians have seized all our effects. The police surrounded the house, guarding every entrance, and we were obliged to escape by the roof into the house of one of the brothers, leaving all our treasures behind."

"You exaggerate, Lorenza, and represent it worse than it is. Look around; you are surrounded with luxury and comfort. Our great undertakings in Courland and St. Petersburg have failed, it is true, and the Russian empress has ordered me to be driven away and pursued. But the Invisible Fathers have not forsaken me, as they know that I am a useful tool in their hands. They have carefully provided me with money, passports, and instructions. We have lost thousands, but we will regain them, for the future is ours. I am protected by the order, and called to a new and important mission in Paris, to strive for the sacred aim of the Church."

"And have they no mission for me?" asked Lorenza. "Is there nothing further for me to do in that city than to be a beautiful woman, and play tricks for my dear husband?"

"Great events await you in Paris, which we will aid you to prepare. The Invisible Fathers send you before me to the Cardinal de Rohan. You are going to Paris in the service of the revolution of minds. The carriage is ordered, and you are to set off this very hour."

"And when are you going, Joseph?" Lorenza asked, with a touch of melancholy.

"I shall officially depart in an hour, but in reality at the same time that the Baroness von Balmore leaves the hotel in her travelling-carriage. Near the waiting-maid will a servant sit upon the box. I shall be he."

"Officially you depart in an hour; what does that mean?" Cagliostro smiled. "It is a long story and a comical one. Come, seat yourself by me upon the sofa; repose your head upon me, and listen to what I will relate to you."



CHAPTER XXXII. MIRACLES AND SPIRITS.

Late in the afternoon of the same day a travelling-carriage drove up before the hotel "King of Portugal," in the Burgstrasse, with two large black trunks strapped upon it behind the footman's box, and the postilion, sitting by the coachman, playing the beautiful and popular air, "Es ritten drei Reuter cum Thore hinaus!"