Chapter 25
But at this moment a small curtained door which Ribas had not remarked and hence not fastened, was suddenly opened, and Carlo rushed in.
“I am here, Natalie!--I am here!”
Rushing upon the stranger, and grasping him with gigantic strength, he thrust him down from the bed.
Joseph Ribas turned toward his new and unexpected enemy. The lamp lighted his face, and falling back Carlo shrieked, “My brother!”
Joseph Ribas broke out into a loud, savage laugh. “At length we meet, my brother,” said he. “But this time you shall not hinder me in my work. This time I am the conqueror!”
“No, no, that you are not!” cried Carlo, beside himself with pain and rage. “Confess what you want in this house--confess, or you are a dead man!”
And with a drawn dagger he rushed upon his opponent!
A frightful struggle ensued. Natalie, in her night-dress, pale as a lily, knelt upon her bed and prayed. She had folded her hands over her breast, directly over the place where the papers confided to her by Paulo, in a little silken bag, always hung suspended by a golden chain.
“Grant, O my God,” prayed she--“grant that I may keep my promise to Paulo, and that I may defend these papers with my life!”
And the two brothers were still struggling and contending; like two serpents they had coiled around each other, and held each other in their toils.
“Flee, flee, Natalie!” groaned Carlo, with a weakened voice--“flee away from here! I yet hold him, you are yet safe! Flee!”
But in this moment the maiden thought not of her own danger. She thought only of Carlo. Springing from her bed, with flashing eyes she boldly threw herself between the contending men.
“No, no,” said she, courageously, “I will not flee--I shall at least know how to die!”
A shriek resounded from Carlo’s lips, his arms relaxed and fell from his enemy, leaving his brother free.
“Ah, finally, finally!” gasped the panting Joseph. “That was an amusing carnival farce, my virtuous brother! Farewell! I am this time triumphant!”
With a wild leap he sprang to the door; brandishing his bloody dagger in his right hand, he ran through the corridor, down the stairs, and out into the garden.
“Saved!” said he, breathing more freely. “I think this Russian will be satisfied with me! I bring the money and the diamonds, and at the same time have effectually opened a vein for this troublesome protector! Ah, it seems to me I have very successfully put in practice my studies in the high-school of the galleys!”
And, humming a jovial song, Joseph Ribas swung himself into a tree close to the wall, and let himself down on the other side.
Above, in Natalie’s chamber, Carlo long lay stretched on the floor, pale, with the death-rattle in his throat. In a bright stream flowed the blood from the wound made by his brother’s dagger. Natalie knelt by him. No tear was in her eye, no lamentation escaped her lips. She seemed perfectly calm and collected in her excess of sorrow; she only sought with her robe and her hair to cover Carlo’s wound and stop the flow of blood.
A happy smile played upon Carlo’s blue lips.
“I die,” he murmured, “but I die for thee! Thy _vapo_ has kept his word, he has defended thee until his last breath! How good is God! He lets me die in thy service!”
“No, no, you must not die!” cried Natalie, her calmness giving way to the wildest sorrow. “No, Carlo, you must live! Oh, say not that you die! Ah, you love me, and yet you would leave me alone! Only live, and I also will love you, Carlo, as warmly and as glowingly as you love me! Do but remain with me, and my heart, my life shall be yours!”
“Too late! too late!” murmured Carlo, with dying lips. “Remember me, Natalie--I have dearly loved you. I die happy, for I die in your arms!”
“No, no, you shall live in my arms!” sobbed she. “I will be yours--your bride!”
“Kiss me, my bride,” he falteringly stammered.
She bent over him, and with hers she touched his lips, already stiffening in death. She laid her warm, glowing cheek to his cold and marble-pale face; that full, fresh life pressed that which was cold and expiring to her bosom in an ardent struggle with death! In vain!
Death is inexorable. What he has once touched with his hand, that is past recovery, it is his.
The blood no longer flowed from Carlo’s wound, the breath no longer rattled in his throat--it was silent; but a blessed smile still lay upon his lips. With this smile had he died, happy, blessed in the embrace of her he had so truly loved.
When Marianne, after long and vain efforts to open the door, had finally managed, by tying her bed-clothes together, to let herself down into the garden, and had thence hastened into the house, and up into Natalie’s chamber, she found there all silent and still. Nothing stirred. Natalie lay in a deathlike swoon.
He, Carlo, already stiffened in death, and she, the senseless Natalie, with her head reclining against the marble face of her friend!
Poor Natalie! Why must Marianne succeed in awakening thee from thy swoon? Why did you not let her continue in her insensibility, Marianne? In sleep, she at least would not have realized that she was now left entirely alone, entirely abandoned, with no one to defend her against her cruel and artful enemies, of whose existence she never once dreamed!
INTRIGUES
Count Orloff lay in a comfortable, careless position upon his divan, leisurely smoking his long Turkish pipe. Before him stood Joseph Ribas, laughingly relating in his own comic manner the occurrences of the preceding night.
“You are a wonderful man,” said Orloff, when Joseph had finished. “You have honestly earned your epaulets, and to-day you will for the first time appear at my dinner-table as a Russian officer. Ah, I prophesy a great future for you. You have the requisite skill and address to make your fortune. You are shrewd, daring, and you recoil from no means, finding them all good and useful when they forward your aims. With such principles one may go far in this world, and Russia in fact offers you the best opportunity for bringing all these fine talents into use.”
“And, moreover, I commenced my Russian career with a good omen,” said Joseph. “I have placed a murder at the head of my Russian deeds! That is a promising commencement, is it not, Sir Count? You must know that better than any one.”
“Indeed yes, I must best know that,” said the count, laughing, and continually stroking his long black beard. “By a fair and well-timed murder one can always make his fortune in Russia. A well-timed and well-executed murder is with us often rewarded with a barony and the title of count. Indeed, sometimes with the highest and tenderest imperial favor and grace. Ah, a murder at the right moment is an excellent thing, only one must be quite sure of himself, and not fail of hitting the right man. An unsuccessful murder is a very bad, and, indeed, a very dangerous thing. I would have nothing to do with one, and never have had any thing to do with one. Whatever I have undertaken I have always boldly and successfully accomplished. The good Emperor Peter III. knew that, and consequently trembled when I, with Passeb and Bariatinsky, entered his chamber. The good emperor! He did not tremble long, it was soon finished. Yes, yes, that was a deed done at the right time, and therefore has the great Catharine been so grateful to us, and honoured us above all the illustrious grandees of her empire.” (*)
(*) Of the tragic and horrible events connected with Catharine’s accession to the throne, and of the strangulation of Peter, in which he took so active a part, Orloff spoke in Rome with the greatest freedom and evident pleasure.
“My little opening murder has, indeed, less significance,” sighed Joseph Ribas. “What was it but to help a humble musician to the blessedness and harmony of the spheres!”
“But that musician was your brother!”
Ribas shrugged his shoulders. “That is, he was so considered; but in reality I believe he was only a half-brother. My mother, of blessed memory, had many little adventures, and I think Carlo’s birth was somewhat connected with them. Nor am I sure that it was not a necessary work to kill him, as it was surely my duty to avenge my father’s injured honor, which is all I have done! Upon these grounds has a good, honest priest this day given me absolution, and I now stand before you pure and sinless as a maiden! We can therefore begin anew, your excellency. Have you still any commands for me?”
“You now have a very noble and sublime part to play,” said Orloff, laughing. “You must now appear as the benefactor of our Russian princess, and as the mediating forerunner of my own person!”
“That will be indeed a charming role,” said Ribas, rubbing his hands with delight. “I shall admirably acquit myself as benefactor and mediator. But give me some details, Sir Count!”
“You shall have them,” said Orloff, “from the mouth of Stephano.--Stephano!”
The person called immediately appeared at the door of a side-room.
“Stephano,” said Orloff, “now to work, friend. The courier who arrived to-day has brought us good news and full powers. Count Paul Rasczinsky is sent to Siberia for high-treason--his property is confiscated and falls to the state. I have an unlimited power, signed by the empress herself, to seize and sell his possessions here in the name of the empress. Take with you some attorney and officers and go to his villa. But, first of all, help our little Joseph Ribas to his uniform and epaulets, that he may be properly costumed for a rescuer and benefactor. And now, away with you! Instruct him well, Stephano. Ah, I should like to be present at this delightful comedy!”
And Count Orloff broke out into a hearty laugh.
“This whole affair is very entertaining and romantic,” he said to himself, as soon as he was alone. “I am truly very thankful to Catharine for intrusting it to me. I love the adventurous and romantic. Indeed, whom else could she have chosen for this business? I should like to know who would dare to enter the lists with me, the Russian Hercules, and who would be so bold as to contend with me for this prize?”
Thus speaking, he rose from the divan and stepped to the great Venetian mirror, before which he long remained attentively viewing himself.
“Ahem! this tender Empress Catharine knows how to judge of manly beauty,” murmured he, with a self-satisfied smile, “and I cannot blame her for so often giving me the preference over my brother Gregory. Besides, I shall first appear before this little Princess Natalie in my antique dress. Catharine has often told me I was enchanting in my antique costume. Well, we will also let this enchantment work a little here. But first we must think of what is nearest to us. This Corilla has rendered us a service, and we must be grateful. They say she loves diamonds. I shall therefore send her these diamonds which her _eleve_ Joseph Ribas last night made the property of the Russian crown. And with them I will send a little billet, written with my own hand. Who knows but that this will give her more pleasure than the sparkling brilliants!”
In that, however, the handsome Count Orloff was mistaken. The poetess Corilla therein resembled to a hair the prima-donnas and heroines of the stage of the present day. She attached a great value to diamonds, and knowing that Russia was very rich in gold and diamonds, she always had an especially bewitching smile for Russian grandees. Had Count Orloff come in person to bring the diamonds, she would undoubtedly have more admired him, apparently been more pleased with his presence than with his costly gift; but, as he was not there, there was no necessity for dissimulation.
She read Count Orloff’s billet with a satisfied smile; but soon laid it aside for the delight of examining the jewels.
“How that shines, and how that sparkles,” said the exhilarated poetess; “not even a lover’s eyes flash so brightly, nor is his smile so proud, so full of rich certainty, as the sparkling of these gems! They are enchanters, and a word from me can change these _solitaires_ and rosettes into a beautiful villa, or into a fragrant park with silent arbors, intoxicating odors, and sweetly-singing birds. All that is promised me by these stones--a lover’s promises do not express half so much. And only to think that it is Carlo, my former lover, to whom I am indebted for these diamonds! From love to him I wished to destroy Natalie, and that wish procured me the favor of the Russian count, and consequently these brilliants. Poor Carlo! these diamonds outlast you. How bright and beautiful were your glances that are now extinguished by death--but this cruel, inexorable death has no power over diamonds! It cannot strangle these as thou wert strangled, poor Carlo! I shall remember thee this evening, Carlo, and hope the thought of thee may inspire me for a right beautiful improvisation on death! I shall take pains to bring to mind thy beautiful form overflowed with blood. Yes, it will inspire in me a very effective improvisation, and I will at the same time make a selection from my dear poets of some striking rhymes upon death and the grave. And when I have the rhymes, the thoughts and words will come of themselves. Rhymes, rhymes, these are the main things with poets!”
And while the improvisatrice was thus speaking to herself, she had mechanically adorned her person with the brilliants, attaching the beautiful collar to her neck, the long pendants to her ears, and placing the splendid diadem upon her brow.
She looked exceedingly beautiful in these ornaments, and consequently rejoiced that her friend Cardinal Francesco Albani came at this precise moment.
“He will be ravished?” said she, with a smile, advancing to meet him with the proud and imposing dignity of a queen.
“You are beautiful as a goddess!” exclaimed the cardinal, “and whoever sees you thus has seen the protecting divinity of ancient Rome, the sublime Juno, queen of heaven!”
“Were I Juno, would you consent to be my Vulcan?” roguishly asked Corilla.
“No,” said Albani, laughing; “the noble Juno was not exactly true to her Vulcan, and I require a faithful love! Would you be that, Corilla?”
“We shall see,” said she, changing the arrangement of the diadem before the glass--“we shall see, my worthy friend. But forget not the conditions--first the laurel-crown!”
“You shall have it!” triumphantly responded the cardinal.
“Are you certain of that?” asked Corilla, with flashing eyes and glowing cheeks.
Cardinal Francesco Albani smiled mysteriously.
“Pope Ganganelli is ill,” said he, “and it is thought he will die!”
THE DOOMING LETTER
Groaning, supported by his faithful Lorenzo’s arm, Pope Ganganelli slowly moved through the walks of his garden. Some months had passed since the suppression of the order of the Jesuits--how had these few months changed poor Clement! Where was the peace and cheerfulness of his face, where was the sublime expression of his features, the firm and noble carriage of his body--where was it all?
Trembling, shattered, with distorted features, and with dull, half-closed eyes, crawled he about with groans, his brow wrinkled, his lips compressed by pain and inward sorrow.
No one dared to remain with him; he spoke to no one. But Lorenzo was yet sometimes able to drive away the clouds from his brow, and to recall a faint smile to his thin pale lips.
He had also to-day succeeded in this, and for the first time in several weeks had Ganganelli, yielding to his prayers, consented to a walk in the garden of the Quirinal.
“This air refreshes me,” said the pope, breathing more freely; “it seems as if it communicated to my lungs a renewed vital power and caused the blood to flow more rapidly in my veins. Lorenzo, this is a singularly fortunate day for me, and I will make the most of it. Come, we will repair to our Franciscan Place!”
“That is an admirable idea,” said Lorenzo, delighted. “If your holiness can reach it, you will recover your health, and all will again be well.”
Ganganelli sighed, and glanced toward heaven with a sad smile.
“Health!” said he. “Ah, Lorenzo, that word reminds me of a lost paradise. The avenging angel has driven me from it, and I shall never see it again.”
“Say not so!” begged Lorenzo, secretly wiping a tear from his cheek. “No, say not so, you will certainly recover!”
“Yes, recover!” replied the pope. “For death is a recovery, and in the end perhaps the most real.”
They silently walked on, and making a path through the bushes, they at length arrived at the place, with the construction of which Lorenzo had some months before surprised the pope, and which Ganganelli had since named the “Franciscan Place.”
“So,” joyfully exclaimed Lorenzo, while the exhausted pope glided down upon the grass-bank--“so, brother Clement, now let us be cheerful! You know that here we have nothing more to do with the pope. You have yourself declared that here you would be brother Clement, and nothing more; now brother Clement was always a healthy man, full of juvenile spirits and strength.”
“Ah, my friend,” responded Ganganelli, “I fear the pope has secretly followed brother Clement even to this place, and even here no longer leaves him free! No, no, it is no longer brother Clement who sits groaning here, it is the vicegerent of God, the father of Christendom, the holy and blessed pope! And if you knew, Lorenzo, what this vicegerent of God has to suffer and bear, how his blood like streams of fire runs through his veins, carbonizing his entrails and parching the roof of his mouth, so that the tongue fast cleaves to it, and he has no longer the power to complain of his misery! And such a crushed earth-worm this miserable, infatuated people call the vicegerent of God, before whom they bow in the dust! Ah, foolish children, are you not yourselves disgusted with your masquerade, and do you not blush for this jest?”
“See you not,” said Lorenzo, with forced cheerfulness, “that since you are here you have, against your will, again become brother Clement, and inveigh against God’s vicegerent who holds his splendid court in the Vatican and Quirinal! Yes, yes that was what brother Clement used to do in the Franciscan convent; he was always scolding about the pope.”
“And yet he let men befool him and make a pope of him,” said Ganganelli. “Ah, Lorenzo, they were indeed good purposes that decided me, and good and holy resolutions were in me when I bore this crown of St. Peter for the first time. Ah, I was then so young, not in years, but in hopes and illusions. I was so enthusiastic for the good and noble, and I wished to serve it, to honor and glorify it in the name of God!”
“And in the end you have done so!” solemnly responded Lorenzo.
“I have wished to do so!” sighed Ganganelli, “but there it has ended. I have been hemmed in everywhere; wherever I wished to press through, I have always found a wall before me--a wall of prejudices, of ancient customs, once received as indifferent, and at this wall my cardinals and officials held watch, taking care that my will should be broken against it, and not be able to speak through, in order to let in a little freedom, a little fresh air, into our walled realm! They have curbed and weakened my will, until nothing more of it subsists, and of my holiest resolutions they have made a scarecrow before which foreign kings and princes cry murder, and prophesy the downfall of their kingdoms if I adhere to my innovations. Ah, the princes, the princes! I tell you, Lorenzo, it is the princes who have undermined the happiness of the world with their ideas of absolute power; they are the robbers of all mankind; for freedom, which is the common property of all men, that have they, like regular lawless highwaymen, appropriated for themselves alone. They plundered the luck-pennies of all mankind, and coined them into money adorned with their likenesses, and now all mankind run after this money, thinking: ‘If I gain that, then shall I have recovered my part of human happiness which once belonged to all in common!’ It has come to this, Lorenzo, through the rapacity of princes, and yet they still tremble upon their thrones, and fear that the people may one day awake from their stupid slumber, all rising as one man, and cry in the paling faces of their robbers: ‘Give back what you have taken from us--we will have what is ours; we require freedom and human right; we will no longer remain slaves to tremble before a bugbear; we will be free children of God, and have no one to fear but the God above us and the consciences within our own breasts!’ Come down, therefore, from your usurped thrones, become once more human--labor, enjoy, complain, and rejoice, as other men do; live not upon the sweat of your subjects, but nourish yourselves by your own efforts, that justice may prevail in the world, and humanity regain its rights!”
And Ganganelli’s eyes flashed, his sunken cheeks were feverishly flushed, while he was thus speaking. Lorenzo observed it with anxious eyes; and when the pope made a momentary pause, he said: “You are again altogether the good and brave brother Clement, but even he should think about sparing himself!”
“And to what end should he spare himself?” excitedly exclaimed Ganganelli; “Death sits within me and laughs to scorn all my efforts, burying himself deeper and deeper in my inward life. You must know, Lorenzo, that my cause of sorrow is precisely this, that I now live in vain, and that I cannot finish what I began! I wished to make my people happy and free; that was what alarmed all these princes, that was an unheard-of innovation, and they have all put their heads together and whispered to each other, ‘He will betray to mankind that they have rights of which we have robbed them. He wishes to give back to mankind his inherited portion of the booty! But what will then become of us? Will not our slaves rise up against us, demanding their human rights? We cannot suffer such innovations, for they involve our destruction!’ Thus have they cried, and in their anxiety they have decided upon my death! Then they threw me in a crumb exactly suited to my dreams of improving the happiness of the people; they all consented that I should relieve mankind from that dangerous tapeworm, Jesuitism, and with secret laughter thought, ‘It will be the death of him!’ And they were right, these sly princes, it will be the death of me! I have abolished the order of Jesuits--in consequence of which I shall die--but the Jesuits will live, and live forever!”
The echo of approaching footsteps was now heard, and, sinking with fatigue, he directed Lorenzo to go and meet the intruder, and by no means to let any one penetrate to him.
Returning alone, Lorenzo handed the pope a letter.
“The courier whom you sent out some days since has returned,” said he. “This is his dispatch.”
Taking the letter, with a sad smile, the pope weighed it in his hand. “How light is this little sheet,” said he, “and yet how heavy are its contents! Do you know what this letter contains, Lorenzo?”
“How can I? A poor cloister brother is not all-knowing!”
“This letter,” said the pope, with solemnity, “Brings me life or death. It is the answer of the learned physician, Professor Brunelli, of Bologna!”
“You have written to him?” asked Lorenzo, turning pale.
“I wrote him, particularly describing my condition and sufferings; in God’s name I conjured him to tell me the truth, and Brunelli is a man of honor; he will do it! Am I right, therefore, in saying that the contents of this letter are very heavy?”
Lorenzo trembled, and, grasping the pope’s hand, he hastily and anxiously said: “No, read it not. Of what use will it be to learn its contents? It is tempting God to endeavor to learn the future in advance! Let me destroy this fatal letter!”
And, while his faithful servant respectfully stood back, Ganganelli broke the seal.