 Chapter 32 of Balsamo the Magician by Alexander Dumas, translated by Henry L. Williams, this LibriVox recording is in the public domain. THE NONE'S HUSBAND A deep silence long surrounded the two women, one in painful meditation the other in astonishment readily understood. "'If you were removed out of the nunnery,' said Lady Louise to break this silence, you are unaware of how it was done. Yet a convent is well enclosed and guarded, with bars to the windows, walls of height and a warder who keeps the keys. In Italy it is particularly so, where the regulations are stricter than in France. "'What can I tell your ladyship, when I puzzle my brains without finding a clue?' "'But if you saw this man, did you not blame him for the abduction?' "'I did, but he excused himself on the plea that he loved me. I told him that he frightened me, and that I was sure that I did not like him. The strange feeling is another kind. I am not myself when he is by, but his. Whatever he wills, I must do. One look fascinates me and subdues me. "'You see, lady, this must be magic. At least it is strange, if not supernatural,' said the princess. "'But you are in the company of this man?' "'Yes, but I do not love him. Then why not appeal to the authorities, your parents, the ecclesiastical powers?' "'He so watched me that I could not move.' "'But you could have written?' "'On the road he stopped at houses where everything is owned by him, and he is master of everybody. When I asked the people about for writing materials, they gave no answer. They were his bond women.' "'But how did you travel?' "'At first, in a post-chase, but at Milan, he had a kind of house on wheels to continue the journey on. "'Still, he must have left you alone sometimes.' "'Yes, but then he made me sleep, and sleep I did, only waking up when he returned.' "'You could not have strongly wanted to get away,' observed Princess Louise, shaking her head. "'Or else you would have managed it.' "'Alas, I was so fascinated.' "'By his loving speech and endearments?' "'Seldon did he speak of love, and I remember me of no caresses save a kiss night and morning.' "'Really, this is very strange,' muttered the Abbas, but as a suspicion struck her, she resumed, "'Repeat to me that you do not love him, and that as no worldly tie unties you, he would have no claim on you if he came.' "'He has none.' "'But tell me how you came here through all, for I am in a fog,' said the Princess. "'I took advantage of a violent thunderstorm, which broke on us near a town called Nancy, I believe. He left me to go into a part of his travelling-house, which is inhabited by an old man. I leaped upon his horse and fled. My resolution was to hide in Paris, or some great city, where I could be lost to all eyes, especially to his. When I arrived here, all were talking of your highnesses, the retirement into the Carmelite convent. All extolled your piety, solitude for the unhappy, and compassion for the afflicted. This was a ray of heavenly light showing me that you alone were generous enough to receive me, and powerful enough to defend me.' "'You continually appealed to power my child, as though he were powerful. I am ignorant what he is. I only know that no king inspires more respect, no idol commands more adoration, than he from those to whom he deigns to reveal himself.' But his name? How is he entitled?' I have heard him called by many names, but only two remain in my memory. One is used by the old man who is travelling-companion from Milan to where I left him, the other that he gives himself. The aged man calls him Akkarat, and that sounds anti-Christian. Does it not, lady? He calls himself Joseph Balsamo. What does he say of himself? He knows everything and devines what he knew not. He is the contemporary of all time. He has lived through all ages. He speaks—the Lord forgive me, and forgive him for such blasphemy. Not only of Alexander the Great, Caesar, and Charlemagne, as though he had known them, albeit I believe they were dead ever so long ago, but also of the high priest Caiaphas, Pontius Pilate, and our Lord himself, whose martyrdom he claims to have witnessed. He is some quack, said the Princess Louise. I do not clearly understand the word, madame, but he is a dangerous man, terrible too, before whom everything bends, snaps, and crumbles away. When he is taken to be defenseless, he is armed at all points. When believed alone, he stabs his foot, and an army springs up, or at the back of the finger, smiling the while. Very well, soothed the daughter of France. Take cheer, my child. You will be protected against him, so long as you desire the protection, of course. But do not believe any longer in these supernatural visions, born of a sick brain. In any case, the walls of Saint Denis Abbey are a sure rampart against infernal power, and what is more to be dreaded mark you against human power. Now what do you propose doing? With this property of mine, in jewels, I mean to pay for my repose in a convent, if possible, in this one. Lorenzo placed on the table some twenty thousand crowns worth of bracelets, rings, and earrings of price. These jewels are mine, as Balsamo gave them to me, and I shall turn them over to heaven's use. I have nothing of his but his steed at Jared, which was the instrument of my deliverance, but I should like him to have it. So I solicit the favour of staying here, on my knees. Rest easy, my child, said the Lady Superior. From this time forth you may dwell among us, and when you shall have shown by your exemplary conduct that you deserve the favour, you may again be the bride of the Lord, and I will answer for it, that you will not be removed out of Saint Denis without knowledge of the Superior. Lorenzo fell at the princess's feet and poured forth the most affectionate and sincere thanks, but suddenly she rose on one knee, and listened with trembling and pallor. Oh, God! How I shake! He is coming! He means to be my destroyer! That man is at hand! Do you not see how my limbs quiver? I see this, indeed! Now I feel the stab in my heart. Continue the Italian. He comes nearer and nearer. You are mistaken. No, no. In spite of myself, he draws me to him, hold me back from him. Princess Louise sees the speaker in her arms. Recover your senses, child! she said. Even if anyone came, even he, you would be in safety here. He approaches. I tell you, he approaches. Screamed Lorenzo, terrified into inertia, but with her hands and her eyes directed toward the room door. Madness, said the Abes, do you think that anybody can intrude on the Royal Lady of France, none but the bearer of an order from the King? I do not know how he entered. Stammered, the fugitive recoiling. But I am certain that he is coming up the stairs. He is not ten steps off. There he is! The door flew open, so that the princess receded, frightened in spite of herself by the odd coincidence, but it was a nun who appeared. What do you want? Who is there? cried her superior. Madame, it is a noble man who presents himself to have speech with your royal highness. His title? Count Phoenix, please, your highness. Do you know the name of his? inquired the princess of the fugitive. I do not know the name, but it is he. She replied. Charged with a mission to the King of France from the King of Prussia. Said the nun, he wishes the honour of a hearing by your highness. Princess Louise reflected in instant, then turning to Lorenza and bidding her go into her inner room, she ordered the sister to show in the visitor. She went and took her chair, waiting, not without emotion, for the sequel of the incident. Almost instantly reappearing, the carmelite ushered in a man whom we have seen under the title of Phoenix, at the presentation of Jean du Parrier court. He was garbed in the same Prussian uniform of severe cut. He wore the military wig and the black stock. His expressive black eyes lowered in presence of Princess Louise, but only with the respect of any man for a princess of the royal house, whatever his rank. He raised them rapidly, as though he feared showing too much timidity. I thank your royal highness for the favour kindly done to me. He said, though I reckoned upon it from knowing that your highness always upholds the unfortunate. I endeavour so to do, my lord, replied the lady with dignity, for she hoped in ten minutes to defeat the man who impudently came to claim outside help, to oppress where he had abused his powers. The count bowed as if he did not see any hidden meaning in the rejoinder. What can I do for your lordship? continued the lady in the same tone of irony. Everything. I should like your highness to believe that I would not without grave motives vex you in the solitude as she has chosen, but you have sheltered a person in whom I am interested in all points. What is the name of this person? Lorenzo Feliziani. What is this person to you? A relative? Sister? She is my wife. Lorenzo Feliziani, wife of Count Phoenix, said the abbess raising her voice, so as to be heard in the inner room. No Countess Phoenix is in St. Denis Abbey, she dryly added. It may be, said the Count, who was not yet acknowledging his defeat. That your highness is not persuaded that Lorenzo and Countess Phoenix are the same person. Kindly give the order that Lorenzo shall be brought before you, and all doubt will cease. I ask pardon for being so persistent, but I am tenderly attached to this wife of mine, and I believe she is sorry we are separated, poor as is my merit. Thought the Princess, Lorenzo spoke the truth, for this man is highly dangerous. The Count stood with a calm bearing, strictly according to court etiquette. I must pervericate, thought Princess Louise before she said. My Lord, I am not in the position to restore a wife who is not here. I understand your seeking her with such persistency, if you love her as dearly as you say, but you will have to seek elsewhere if you want success. On entering the Count had glanced round the closet, and his gaze had caught a reflection, however slight, of the jewels placed by Lorenzo on the little table in the darkest corner. By the sparkling Phoenix recognized them. If your royal highness would kindly collect your memory, though I have to ask her to do such violence, it will be recalled that Lorenzo Friziani was here, for she laid those jewels on yonder table before she retired into the next room. The Princess colored up as the Count continued, so that I wait solely for your highness's leave for me to order her to come forth, for I cannot doubt that she will immediately obey. The abbess remembered that Lorenzo had locked the door behind her, and consequently that she could not be prevailed upon except by her own will to come out, no longer trying to dissimulate her vexation and having been lying uselessly to this man, from whom nothing could be concealed, she said, were she to enter? What would be done to her? Nothing, your highness. She will merely tell you that she wishes to go with her husband. This encouraged the Princess, recalling the Italian woman's protests. It would seem that your highness does not believe me. Said the Count, in answer to her apparent indignation, is there anything incredible in Count Phoenix marrying Lorenzo Friziani and claiming his wife? I can easily lay before your royal highness's eyes the marriage certificate, properly signed by the priest who performed the ceremony. The Princess started. For such calmness shook her conviction. He opened a portfolio and took out a twice-folded paper. This is the proof of my claim on my wife. He said, the signature altercary belief, it is that of the curator St. John's in Strasburg, well known to Prince Louis of Rohan for one, and were his eminence the cardinal here. He is here at this very time! exclaimed the abbess, fastening fiery looks on the Count. His eminence has not left the abbey, where he is with the cathedral canons, so nothing is more easy than the verification you challenge. This is a great boon to me, said the Count, coolly replacing the document in the pocketbook. I hope this verification will dispel your royal highness's unjust suspicions against me. Indeed! impudence does disgust me, said the Princess, ringing her handbell quickly. The nun in waiting entered hastily. Send my courier to carry this note to Cardinal Rohan, who is in the cathedral chapter. Let his eminence come hither as I await him. While speaking she scribbled a couple of lines on paper, which she handed to the nun whispering. Post two archers of the royal guard in the corridor, and let not a soul issue without my leave. Go! The Count had watched all the Princess's preparations to fight out the battle with him. While she was writing, he approached the inner room, and he muttered some words while extending and working his hands in a movement more methodical than nervous, with his eyes fastened on the door. The Princess, turning, caught him in the act. Madam, said the Count, I am adjuring Lorenza Flitiani to come personally and confirm by her own words, and by her free will, whether I am or not a forger and an imposter, without prejudice to the other proofs your highness may exact. Lorenza called out the Count, rising above all, even to the Princess's will. Come forth! The key grated in the lock and the Princess beheld with unspeakable apprehension, the coming of the Italian beauty. Her eyes were fixed on the Count, with no show of hatred or anger. What are you doing, child? faltered the Lady Louise. And why do you come to the man whom you shunned? I told you that you were in safety there. She is also in safety in my house, my lady. Replied the nobleman. Are you not in safety there, Lorenza? He demanded of the Refugee. Yes, was the other's answer. At the height of amazement the Princess clasped her hands and dropped into her chair. Lorenza went on the Count, in a soft voice but one with the accent of command. I am accused of doing you violence. Tell me, if I have ever acted so toward you. Never. Replied the woman in a clear and precise voice, but without any gesture accompanying the denial. Then what did the story about the abduction mean? Questioned the Princess. Lorenza remained dumb but, looking at the Count as though all her life and speech, which is its expression, must come from him. Her Highness doubtless wishes to know how you came to leave your nunnery. Relate what happened from your fainting in the choir until you awoke in our post-chase. I remember, said Lorenza in the same monotonous voice. Speak, for I wish it. When I fainted, as the scissors touched my hair, I was carried into my cell and placed in bed. My mother stayed with me until evening, when the village doctor declared that I was dead. How did you know this? inquired the Princess. Her Highness wishes to know how you were aware of what went on. Said the Count. Strange thing, said Lorenza. I could see and hear, but without having my eyes open, I was in a trance. In fact, said the FS, I have heard Dr. Trunchin speak of patients in catalepsy who were buried alive. Proceed, Lorenza. My mother was in despair and would not believe in my death. She passed six and thirty hours beside me without my making a move or uttering a sigh. The priest came three times and told my mother that she was wrong to dispute the interment as her daughter had passed away, just as she was speaking the vow, and that my soul had gone straight from the altar to heaven. But my mother insisted on watching all Monday night. Tuesday morning, I was in the same insensibility, and my mother retired, vanquished. The nuns hooted her for the sacrilege. The death candles were lighted in the chapel, where the custom was for the exposure of the body to repose a day and a night. I was shrouded, dressed in white, as I had not taken the vow. My hands crossed on my bosom, and the wreath of white blossoms placed on my brow. When the coffin was brought in, I felt a shiver pass over my body, for, I repeat, I saw all that happened as though I were my second self, standing invisibly beside my counterpart. I was placed in the coffin, and after my time of lying in state, left with only their hospital sister to watch me. A dreadful thought tormented me in this lethargy, that I should be buried living on the morrow, unless some interposition came. Each stroke of the time bell echoed in my heart, for, I was listening, doleful idea, to my own death knell. Heaven alone knows what efforts I made to break the iron bonds which held me down on the beer, but it had pity on me in my frozen sleep, since here I am. Midnight rang. At the first stroke, I felt that convulsion experienced whenever Akkarat approached me. A shock came to my heart. I saw him appear in the chapel doorway. Was it fright that you felt? asked Count Phoenix. No, no, it was joy, bliss, ecstasy, for I knew that he came to tear me from the desperate death which I so abhorred. Slowly he came up to my coffin. He smiled on me as he gazed for a moment, and he said, Are you glad to live? Then come with me. All the bonds snapped at his call. I rose, extricated myself from the beer as from the grave-clothes, and passed by the slumbering nun. I followed him, who for the second time had snatched me from death. Out in the courtyard I beheld the sky spangled with stars, which nevermore had I expected to see. I felt that cool night air which blesses not the dead, but which is so refreshing to the living. Now, said my liberator, before quitting the convent, choose between it and me. Will you be a nun, or will you be my wife? I wanted to be his wife, and I followed him. The tower gate was closed and locked. He asked where were the keys, and as I said in the pocket of the wardress, who slept within, he sent me there to get them. Five minutes after, we were in the street. I took his arm, and we ran to the end of Subiaco village. A hundred paces beyond the last house, a post-chase was waiting already. We got in, and off it went at a gallop. And no violence was done you? No threat was proffered? You followed the man willingly? Lorenza remained mute. Her royal highness asked you, Lorenza, if by threat or act I forced you to follow me. No. I went because I loved you, darling. With a triumphant smile Count Phoenix turned round to the royal princess. End of Chapter 32 Recording by John Van Stan Savannah, Georgia Chapter 33 of Balsam of the Magician by Alexander Dumas translated by Henry L. Williams. This sleeper-box recording is in the public domain. Count and Cardinal What took place under the Princess Abbas's sight was so extraordinary that her mind, strong and yet tender, questioned if she did not face a true magician who disposed of sentiments and wills as he liked. But Count Phoenix was not going to leave things with us. As your royal highness has heard only part of the story from my wife's lips, doubts might linger if the rest was not spoken by them. Dear Lorenza, he said, turning again to the Italian, after leaving your country we went on tour to the Alps and to the Rhine, the magnificent Tiber of the North. Yes, Lorenza has seen these sights, said the woman. Lord by this man, led by a power-resistless of which you spoke my child, suggested the Princess. Why should your highness believe this, when all you hear is to the contrary? I have a palpable proof in the letter my wife wrote me when I was obliged to leave her at Mainz. She sorrowed and longed for me, so that she wrote this note which your highness may read. She looked at the letter which the Count took out of the letter case. Return, Akkarot, for all goes when you leave me. When shall I have you for eternity? Lorenza. With the flame of color on her brow the Princess went up to the fugitive holding out this letter. The other allowed her to approach without seeming to see or hear any but the Count. I understand. Said the letter, decided to clear up matters completely. Your highness doubts and wishes to be sure the writing is Lorenza's. She herself shall enlighten you. Lorenza, answer, who wrote this note? On his putting the paper in her hand, she pressed it to her heart. It was Lorenza? She said. Lorenza knows what is in it. Of course. Well, then tell the Princess what it says, that she may not believe that I deceive her in asserting that you love me. I want you to tell her. Appearing to make an effort but without looking at the note, unfolding it or bringing it to her eyes, she read word for word what the Princess had seen without speaking it aloud. This is hard to believe, said the Superior. And I do not believe you, from what is supernatural and inexplicable in what happens. It was this very letter which determined me to hurry on our wedding, said Count Phoenix, without heeding the interruption. I love Lorenza as much as she loves me. In our roaming life accidents might happen. If I died, I wanted my property to be my dear ones, so we were united when we reached Strasburg. But she told me that she was not your wife. Lorenza, said the Count without replying to the abyss and turning to the Italian, do you remember where and when we were married? Yes, in the St. John's Chapel of Strasburg, Cathedral, on the third of May. Did you oppose any resistance to the marriage? No, I was only too happy. The fact is, Lorenza, continued the Count taking her hand. The Princess thinks you were constrained to it. I hate you? she said, shivering all over with delight. Oh no, I love you. You are good, generous, and mighty. Seized with a fright, the Princess recoiled to wear an ivory crucifix gleamed on a black velvet background. Is this all your Highness wishes to know? asked Phoenix, letting Lorenza's hand fall. Keep away, gasped the abyss, and she too. A carriage was heard to stop before the nunnery door. The Cardinal exclaimed the Lady Superior, we shall see how things stand at last. Phoenix bowed, said a few words to the Italian woman, and waited with the calmness of one who directs events. In another instant the door opened and Cardinal Rohan was announced. Show him in, said the abyss, encouraged by the new addition to the party being a churchman. The Prince had no sooner saluted the Princess than he exclaimed with surprise on seeing Balsimo. Are you here, my lord? Are you acquaintances? cried the Princess, more and more astonished. Then you can tell me who this is. Nothing is easier, the gentleman is a magician. His eminence will make this clear presently and to everybody's satisfaction. Said the Count. Has the gentleman been telling your Highness's fortune that I see you so affected? questioned the Cardinal. The marriage certificate at once cried the Princess to the astonishment of the newcomer, ignorant of the illusion. What is this? My lord, the question is whether this paper is real and the signature valid. Said the Princess as Balsimo held out the document. Rohan read the paper as presented by the abyss and nodded. It is improper form, and the signature is curate Saint Remise of Saint John Strasburg, one of my appointees, but what does this matter to your Highness? Considerable, but… The signature might have been exhorted. True, that is possible. How about Lorenzo's consent then? Said the Count sarcastically. By what means could a priest have been induced? By the magic in the gentleman's powers? Your Eminence is jesting? Not at all, and the proof is that I want to have a serious explanation from this gentleman. Do not forget, my lord, that I shall do all the questioning. added the Cardinal with haughtiness. And remember that I was quite willing to answer aloud, even before her royal highness, if your Eminence desired so, but I am certain you will not desire it. The Cardinal had to smile. My lord, said he, It is hard to play the wizard nowadays. I have seen you perform and with great success, but everybody has not the patience, and still less the generosity of the dalfiness. The dalfiness? queried Princess Louise. Yes, your Highness, I had the honour of presentation to her, said the Count. But how did you repay the honour? Answer that, my lord. Alas, with more evil than I liked, said Phoenix, for I have no personal hate to men and less to women. My misfortune was that I was compelled to tell your august niece the truth, she craved. A piece of truthfulness which caused her to faint. It is fault of mine. Retorted the mesmerist, in that voice which he could sometimes make thunderous. That truth is so awful as to produce such effects. Did I seek out the princess and beg to be presented to her? No. I was avoiding her, when they almost dragged me before her, and she ordered me to answer her interrogation. But what was the dreadful truth you told her, my lord? inquired the princess. She saw it in the gap which I tore in the veil over the future. Rejoined the mysterious man, that future which has appeared so awful to your royal highness, that you have fled into a cloister to wrestle against it at the altar with tears and prayers. It is fault of mine, I say, if this future, revealed to you as a holy woman, should be shown to me as a precursor. And if the Dauphiness, alarmed at the fate personally threatening her, swooned when it loomed upon her. Do you hear this? said the cardinal. Who is me? moaned the Carmelite superior. For her reign is doomed, as the most fatal and unfortunate of the entire monarchy. Continued the count, my lord, cried the Abes. Purchance your prayers will earn your grace. Proceeded the prophet. But then you will see nothing of what comes to pass, as you will rest in the arms of the angels. Pray, lady, continue to pray. Overcome by this prophetic voice, which harmonized so well with the terrors in her soul, the princess dropped kneeling before the crucifix and began indeed to pray, and with fervor. Now, our turn, cardinal. Said the count, turning to the prince and leading him into a window recess. Speak as to your want of me. I want to know what you are. You do know, you say that I am a magician. I mean that you are called Joseph Balsamo in the south? And here Count Phoenix? That merely proves that I changed my name. Yes, but I would have you know that such changes on the part of such a man will set chief of police Sartina to thinking. This is petty warfare for a Rohan. Said the other smiling. Your eminence stoops to wrangle over words. Thereby at Volce says the Latin. Is there nothing worse to fling at me? You are railing, my lord. Always. It is my style. Then I shall make you change your note, which will help me in the good graces of the Dauphiness whom you have offended. Do so, as it will not be a useless act, considering the delicate ground on which you stand as regards her. Return to Balsamo flagmatically. What will you say if I have you arrested straight away, my lord, the horoscopist? You would do yourself injury, my lord Cardinal. Really? How do you make that out? Demanded the proud peer with crushing scorn. You would un-make yourself. At least we shall know who really is Baron Joseph Balsamo, alias Count Phoenix, a sprig of a family tree of which I have never seen the picture in any heraldic work in Europe. You should have asked to see it in the portfolio of the Duke of Bretauia, your friend. His grace is no friend of mine. He was, and an intimate one, or your eminence would never have written him that letter. But draw closer, my lord, lest we are overheard in what may compromise you. That letter, written from Vienna to Paris, to dissuade the Dauphine from making his marriage. That letter gasped to the Prince, starting with fright. I know it by heart. Bretauia has betrayed, because he said it was burned when I asked it back, when the marriage was settled. He did not like to admit that he had lost it. A lost letter may be found, and indeed I found it in the marble court at Versailles. I took good care not to restore it to the Duke, for I knew your eminence was ill-disposed toward me. If you were going through the woods and expected highwaymen to attack you, and you found a loaded pistol, would you not pick it up to use it? A man would be an idiot not to do so. The cardinal felt giddy, and leaned on the windowsill. After hesitation, during which the Count watched the play of his features, he said, Granted thus, but it shall never be said that a prince of my line yielded to the threats of a mountabank. Though this letter may have been lost and found, and will be shown to the Dauphiness herself, and may ruin me as a politician, I will stand to it that I am still a loyal subject and a faithful ambassador. I will speak the truth, that I thought the alliance injurious to the interests of my country, and that it defend me, or blame me. But what will be the answer of this faithful subject and loyal envoy, if somebody asserts that this gallant young bow of an ambassador, never doubting his winning all before him with his title of prince and name of Rohan, did not say this from any opinion that the alliance would be hurtful to his country. But because, being graciously welcomed by Marie Antoinette, this coxcomb of an envoy had the vanity to think the feast was fitter for Jack than his master. He would deny it, for of this feeling which you pretend to have existed, no proof can be exhibited. You are wrong. The token is in the Dauphiness's coldness toward you. The cardinal, wavered, believe me, prince, went on the count, instead of quarreling as we have done, only for my having more prudence than you we had better be friends, good ones, for such do one another service. Have I ever asked art of your lordship? Just there you are wrong. For you might have called on me during the two days you spent in town. You cannot conceal from a sorcerer what you have been about. You left the Austrian princess at Soissons, once you rushed post-haste to Paris, where you done your friends for help, which they all refused you. This left you desperate. What kind of help could I expect from you had I applied? asked the Rohan confounded, such as a man gives who can make gold, and you ought to want gold when you have to pay five hundred thousand francs in forty-eight hours. You want to know what good a man is who makes gold? Why, he is the very one where you will find the cash demanded. You could easily tell my house in St. Claude Street in the swamp, as the knocker is a brass griffin. When could I call? Six, tomorrow afternoon please your eminence, and whenever after if you like. But we have finished our chat in time, for the princess has concluded her devotions. The cardinal was conquered. Your Highness, he said, I am forced to acknowledge that Count Phoenix is quite right. The document he produces is most reliable, and the explanations he has furnished have completely satisfied me. Your Highness's orders. Ask the Count bowing. Let me put one last question to this young lady. Again the Count bowed an assent. Is it of your own free will that you quit the Abbey of St. Denis, where you came to seek refuge? Her Highness, repeated Phoenix quickly, asks you whether you are leaving this place of your own free will. Speak out, Lorenza. I go of my own free will, replied the Italian. In order to accompany Count Phoenix, your husband prompted the magician to accompany my husband. In this case I retain neither of you, said the princess, for it would be running counter to my feelings. But if there be anything in all this out of the natural order of things, may the divine punishment fall on whomsoever disturbs the harmony of nature for his profit or interests. Go, my Lord Count Phoenix, and you, Lorenza Fliciani, I detain you no more, but take back your jewels. They are for the poor, replied Balsamo. Distributed by your hands, the alms will be doubly agreeable to God. All I ask is to have my horse, Jared. Take him as you go forth. Be gone. Bowing to the speaker the Count presented his arm to Lorenza, who leaned upon it and walked out without a word. Alas! my Lord Cardinal! sighed the Abess, sadly shaking her head. In the very air we breathe our fatal and incomprehensible things. On parting from young Tavernet, Gilbert had plunged into the crowd, but not with a heart bounding with glee and expectation. Rather, with the soul ulcerated by grief which the noble's kind welcome and obliging offers of assistance could not molify. Andrea never suspected that she had been cruel to the youth. The fair and serene maiden was completely unaware that there could be any link between her and her foster brother, for joy or sorrow. She soared over earthly spheres, casting on them shine or shadow according to her being smiling or gloomy. This time a chance that her shadow disdain had killed Gilbert, as she had merely followed the impulse of her temper, she was ignorant that she had been scornful. But Gilbert, like a disarmed gladiator, had received the proud speech and the scorning look straight in the heart. He was not enough of a philosopher yet not to console himself with despair while the wound was bleeding. Hence, he did not notice men or horses in the press. Gathering up his strength, he rushed into it at the risk of being crushed like a wild boar cutting through the pack of hounds. At length, breathing more freely, he reached the green sward, waterside, and loneliness. He had run to the river Zen, and had came out opposite St. Denny Island. Exhausted, not by bodily fatigue, but by spiritual anguish, he rolled on the grass and roared like a lion transfixed by a spear, as if the animal's voice better expressed his woes than human tongue. Was not all the vague and undecided hope which had flung a little light on the mad ideas, not to be accounted for to himself, now extinguished at a blow? To whatever step on the social ladder Gilbert might rise by dint of genius, science and study, he would always be a man or a thing, according to her own words, for which her father was wrong in paying any attention, and not worth her lowering her eyes upon. He had briefly fancied that, on seeing him in the capital and learning his resolution to struggle till he came up through the darkness, Andrea would applaud the effort. Not only had the cheer failed the brave boy, but he had met the haughty indifference always had for the dependent by the young lady of the manor. Furthermore, she had shown anger that he should have looked at her music-book. Had he touched it, he did not doubt that he would be thought fit to be burned at the stake. As he writhed on the turf, he knew not whether he loved or hated his torturer. He suffered and that was all. But as he was not capable of long patience, he sprang out of his prostration, decided to invent some energetic course. Granted that she does not love me, he reasoned. I must not hope that she never will. I had the right to expect from her the mild interest attached to those who wrestle with their misfortune. She did not understand what her brother saw. He thought that I might become a celebrity. Should it happen so, he would act fairly and let me have his sister in reward of my earned glory, as he would have exchanged her for my native aristocracy had I been born as equal. But I shall always be plain guilt-bear in her eyes, for she looks down in me upon what nothing can afface, guilt or cover, my low birth. As though supposing I attained my mark, it would not be greater of me than if I had started on her high level. Bad creature, senseless being. Woman, woman, your other name is imperfection. Do not be diluted by the splendid gaze, intelligent smile and queenly port of Andrei in a tavernet, whose beauty makes her fit to rule society. She is but a rustic dame, straight-laced, limited, swayed in aristocratic prejudices. Equals for her are those empty-headed fops with effet minds, who had the means to learn everything and know nothing. They are the men to whom she pays heed. Guilt-bear is but a dog, less than a dog. For I believe she asked after Mahon and not about my welfare. She is ignorant that I am fit to cope with them. When I wear their like coats, I shall look as well, and that with my inflexible determination I shall grasp. A dreadful smile was defined on his lips, where the sentence died away unfinished. Frowning, he slowly lowered his head. What past in that obscure soul? What terrible plan bent the pale forehead already shallow with sleepless nights and furrowed by thinking? Who shall tell? At the close of half an hour's profound meditation Guilt-bear rose, coldly determined, he went to the river, drank a long draught, and looked around, saw the distant waves of the people in a sea coming out of St. Denis. They so crowded in upon the first coaches that the horses had to go out a walk on the road to St. Owen. The Dauphine wanted the ceremony to be a national family festival, so the French family abused the privilege. A number of Parisians climbed on the footboards and hung there without being disturbed. Very soon Guilt-bear recognized the taverné carriage, with Philip holding in his capering horse by the side. I must know where she goes, thought the lover, and so shall follow them. It was intended that the Dauphinès should sup with the royal family in private at Muette, but Louis XV had broken the etiquette so far as to make up a large party. He handed a list of guests to the Dauphinès with a pencil, and suggested she should strike out the names of any not liked to come. When she came to the last name, Countess Daubari's, she felt her lips quiver and lose blood. But sustained by her mother's instructions, she summoned up her powers to her aid, and with a charming smile returned the paper and pencil to the king, saying that she was very happy to be let into the bosom of all his family at the very first. Guilt-bear knew nothing about this, and it was only when he got to Muette that he recognized the coach of Daubari, with Zamor mounted on a high white horse. Luckily it was dark, and Guilt-bear threw himself on the ground in a grove and waited. The king then shared supper between mistress and daughter-in-law, and was merry especially on seeing that the newcomer treated the usurper more kindly, even then at Campania. But the Dauphinès, gloomy and care-worn, spoke of having the headache and retired before they sat at table. The supper was prolonged to eleven o'clock. The king sent a band of music to play to the repast for the gentry of the retinue, of which our proud Andrea had to admit she was a member. As the accommodation was limited, fifty masters had to picnic on the lawn served by men in royal livery. In the thicket, Guilt-bear lost nothing of this scene. Taking out a piece of bread, he ate along with the guests while watching that those he attended to did not slip away. After the meal, the Dauphinès came out on the balcony to take leave of her hosts. Near her stood the king. Countess Dubahi kept out of sight in the back of the room with that exquisite tact which even her enemies allowed she had. The courtiers passed under the balcony to salute the king, who named such of them to the Dauphinès as she did not already know. From time to time some happy illusion or pleasant saying dropped from his lips to delight those who received it. Seeing this servility, Guilt-bear muttered to himself, I am a touch above these slaves, for I would not crouch like that for all the gold in the world. He rose on one knee when the turn came for the tavernès to pass. Captain Tavernès said the Dauphinès, I grant you leave to conduct your father and sister to Paris. In the nightly silence and amid the attention of those drinking in the august words, Guilt-bear caught the sound coming in his direction. My Lord Baron, continued the princess, I have no accommodation yet for you among my household, so guard your daughter in town until I set up my establishment at Versailles. Keep me in mind, my dear young lady. The Baron passed on with son and daughter. Others came up for whom the princess had pretty stuff to say, but that little matter to Guilt-bear. Gliding out of the covert, he followed the Baron among the two hundred footmen shouting out their master's names. Fifty coachmen roaring out an answer to the lackeys while sixty coaches rolled over the pavement like thunder. As Tavernès had a royal carriage, it waited for him aside from the common herd. He stepped in with Andrea and Philip, and the door closed after them. Get on the box with the driver, said Philip to the footmen. He has been on his feet all day and must be worn out. The Baron grumbled some remonstrance not heard by Guilt-bear, but the lackey mounted beside the driver. Guilt-bear went nearer. At the time of starting, a trace got loose and the driver had to alight to set it right. It is very late, said the Baron. I am dreadfully tired, sighed Andrea. I hope we shall find a sleeping-place somewhere. I expect so, replied her brother. I sent Lebris and Nicole straight to Paris from soissons. I gave him a letter to a friend for him to let us have a little house in the rear of his, where his mother and sister live when they come up from the country. It is not luxury, but it is comfortable. You do not want to make a show while you are waiting for the coming out in the suitable style. Anything will easily beat Tabernet, said the old Lord. Unfortunately, yes, added the captain. Any garden? asked Andrea. Quite a little park for town with fine trees. However, you will not long enjoy it, as you will be presented as soon as the wedding is over. We are in a bright dream. Do not awaken us. Did you give the coachman the address? Yes, father, replied the young noble, while Guilt-bear greedily listened. He had hoped to catch the address. Never mind, he muttered. It is only a league to town. I will follow them. But the royal horses could go at a rattling gate when not kept in line with others, the trace being mended, the man mounted his box and drove off rapidly, so rapidly that this reminded poor Guilt-bear of how he had fallen on the road near the hooves of Chan's post-horses. Making a spurt, he reached the untenanted footboard and hung on behind for an instant. But the thought struck him that he was in the menial's place behind Andrea's carriage, and he muttered, No, it shall not be said that I did not fight it out to the last. My legs are tired but not my arms. Seizing the edge of the footboard with both hands, the inflexible youth swung his feet up under the body of the coach so as to get them on the foresprings. Thus suspended, he was carried on, spite of the jerking, over the wretched, rutty road. He stuck to the desperate situation by strength of arm, rather than capitulate with his conscience. I shall learn her address, he thought. It will be another wakeful night, but tomorrow I shall have repose, seated while I am copying music. I have a trifle of money, too, and I will take a little rest. He reflected that Paris was very large and that he might be lost after seeing the Baron to his house. Happily it was near midnight, and dawn came at half-after-three. As he was pondering, he remarked that they crossed an open place, where stood an equestrian statue in the midst. Victory's place, he thought gleefully. I know it. The vehicle turning partly round and Andrea put her head out to see the statue. The late King explained to her brother, we are pretty nearly there now. They went down so steep a hill that Gilbert was nearly scraped off. Here we are! cried the dragoon captain. Gilbert dropped and slipped out from beneath to hide behind a horse-block on the other side. Young Tavernay got out first, rang at a house doorbell, and returned to receive Andrea in his arms. The Baron was the last out. Are those rascals going to keep us out all night? He snarled. At this the voices of Libri and Nicole were heard, and a door opened. The three Tavernays were engulfed in a dark courtyard where the door closed upon them. The vehicle in attendance went their way to the royal staples. Nothing remarkable was apparent on the house, but the carriage-lamps had flashed on the next doorway which had a label. This is the mansion of the Arminonville. Gilbert did not know what street it was as yet, but going to the far end, the same the carriage had gone out of, he was startled to see the public fountain at which he drank in the mornings. Going ten paces up the street, he saw the baker's shop where he supplied himself. Still doubting, he returned to the corner. By the gleam of a swinging lamp he could read on a white stone the name read three days before, when coming from Moidaw Wood with Rousseau. Plastry had a street. It followed that Andrea was lodged a hundred steps apart, nearer than she was to him at Tavernay. So he went to his own door, hoping that the latchet might not be drawn altogether within. It was pulled in, but it was frayed, and a few threads stuck out. He drew one and then another so that the thong itself came forth at last. He lifted the latch and entered, for it was one of his lucky days. He groped up the stairs one by one without making any noise, and finally touched the padlock on his own bedroom door in which Rousseau had thoughtfully left the key. End of Chapter 34 Recording by John Van Stan Savannah, Georgia Chapter 35 of Balsamo the Magician by Alexander Dumas, translated by Henry L. Williams This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The Garden House From coming home so late and dropping off to sleep so soon and heavily, Gilbert forgot to hang up the linen cloth which served as curtain to the garret window. The undintercepted sunbeam struck his eyes at five and speedily woke him. He rose, vexed at having overslept. Brought up in the country, he could tell exactly the time by the sun's inclination and the amount of heat it emitted. He hastened to consult this clock. The pallor of the dawn, scarcely clearing the high trees, set him at ease. He was rising too early, not too late. He made his ablutions at the skylight, thinking over what had happened overnight, and gladly barring his burning and burdened forehead to the fresh morning breeze. Then it came to his mind that Andrea was house next door to our Menonvillea house, in an adjoining street. He wanted to distinguish this residence. The sight of shade trees reminded him of her question to her brother. Was there a garden where they were going? Why, may it not be just such a house in the back garden as we have yonder? He asked himself. By a strange coincidence with his thought, a sound and a movement quite unusual drew his attention where it was turning. One of the long fastened-up windows of a house, built at the rear of the one on the other street, shook under a rough or clumsy hand. The frame gave way at the top, but it stuck probably with the damp swelling at the bottom. A still rougher push started the two folds of the sash, which opened like a door, and the gap showed a girl, red with the exertion she had to make and shaking her dusty hands. Gilbert uttered an outcry and astonishment, and quickly drew back, for this sleepy and yawning girl was Nicole. He could harbor no doubt now. Philip Tavernay had told his father that he had sent on lebris and their maid-servant to get a lodging ready in Paris. Hence, this was the one. This house in Coquhair Hall Street, where the travellers had disappeared, was this with the extra building in the rear. Gilbert's withdrawal had been so marked that Nicole must have noticed it, only for her being absorbed in that idle fit, seizing one just arisen. But he had retired swiftly, not to be caught by her while looking out of a garret window. Perhaps if he had lived on the first floor and his window had given a view within a richly furnished apartment, he would have called her attention on it. But the fifth flat still clasped him among social inferiors so that he wanted to keep in the background. Besides, it is always an advantage to see without being seen. Again, if Andrea saw him, might she not consider that enough to induce her to move away, or at least not to stroll about the garden? Alas, for Gilbert's conceit, it enlarged him in his own eyes. But what mattered, Gilbert, to the patrician, and what would make her move a step nearer or further from him? Was she not of the class of women who would come out from a bath with a peasant or a footman by, and not regard them as men? But Nicole was not of this degree, and she had to be avoided. But Gilbert did not keep away from the window. He returned to peep out at the corner. A second window exactly beneath the other opened also, and the white figure appearing there was Andrea's. In a morning gown she was stooping to look after her slipper fallen under a chair. In vain did Gilbert, every time he saw his beloved make a vow to resist his passion within a rampart of hate. The same effect followed the cause. He was obliged to lean on the wall with his heart throbbing as if to burst and the blood boiling all over his body. As the arteries cooled gradually, he reflected. The main point was to spy without being seen. He took one of Madame Rousseau's old dresses off the clothesline, and fastened it with a pin on a string across his window so that he might watch Andrea under the improvised screen. Andrea imitated Nicole in stretching her lovely arms, which by this extension parted the gown in instant, then she leaned out to examine the neighboring grounds at her leisure. Her face expressed rare satisfaction, for while she seldom smiled on men, she made up for it by often smiling on things. On all sides, the rear house was shaded by fine trees. Rousseau's house attracted her gaze like all the other buildings, but no more. From her point the upper part alone could be aspired, but what concern had she in the servants' quarters in a house? Andrea therefore came to the conclusion that she was unseen and alone, with no curious or joking face of Parisians on the edge of this tranquil retreat so dreaded by country ladies. Leaving her window wide open for the sunshine to flush the remotest corners, the young lady went to pull the bell-rope at the fireplace side, and began to dress in the twilight. Nicole ran in and opening the straps of a chagrin dressing-case dating from a previous rain, took a tortoise-shell comb, and disentangled her mistresses' tresses. Gilbert smothered a sigh. He could hardly be said to recognize the hair, for Andrea followed the fashion in powdering it, but he knew her a hundred times fairer without the frippery and in the most pompous decorations. His mouth dried up, his fingers scorched with fever, and his eyes ceased to see from his staring too hard. Chance ruled that Andrea's gaze, idle as it was from her sitting still to have her hair brushed, fell on Rousseau's attic. Yes, yes, keep on staring, uttered the youth, but you will see nothing, and I shall see all. But he was wrong, for she described the novel screen of the old dress which floated round the man's head as a kind of turban. She pointed out this odd curtain to her maid. Nicole stopped and pointed with a comb to the object to ask whether that were the reason for her mistresses' amusement. Without his suspecting it, this had a fourth spectator. He suddenly felt a hasty hand snatch Madame Rousseau's dress from his brow, and he fell back thunder-stricken at recognizing the master. What the dew saw you up to? queried the philosopher, with a frowning brow and a sour grin as he examined the gown. Nothing, stammered the other, trying to divert the intruder's sight from the window. Then why hide up in this dress? The sun was too bright for me. The sun is at the back of us, and I think it is you who are too bright for me. You have very weak eyes, young man. Rousseau walked straight up to the window, by a very natural feeling to be a veil to his beauty, Gilbert, who had shrunk away, now rushed in between. Bless me, the rear house is lived in now. The tone froze the blood in Gilbert's veins, and he could not get out a word. And by people who know my house, for they are pointing up to it, added the suspicious author. Gilbert, fearful now that he was too forward, retreated. Neither the movement nor its cause escaped Rousseau, who saw that his employee trembled to be seen. No, you don't, young man. He said, grasping him by the wrist, there is some plot afoot, for they are pointing out your garret. Stand here, pray. He placed him before the window in the uncovered glare. Gilbert would have had to struggle with his idol, and respect restrained him from thus being free. You know those women, and they know you, continued Rousseau, or why did you shrink from showing yourself? Mr. Rousseau, you have had secrets in your life? Pity for mine. Traitor, cried the writer, I know your sort of secret. You are the tool of my enemies, the grims and hull-box. They taught you a part to captivate my benevolence, and sneaking into my house. You are betraying me, threefold fool that I am, stupid lover of nature, to think I was helping one of my kind, and to nourish a spy. A spy? repeated the other in revolt. When are you to deliver me to my murderous old Judas? Demanded Rousseau, draping himself into Rase's dress, which he had mechanically kept in hand, and looking droll when he fancied he was sublime with sorrow. You columniate me, sir, said Gilbert. Columniate this little viper, said the philosopher, when I catch you corresponding in dumb show with my enemies, I dare say, acquainting them in signs with my latest work. Had I come to steal your story, sir, I should better have made a copy of the manuscript, lying on your desk then to convey it in signs. This was true, and Rousseau felt that he had made one of those blunders which escaped him in his moments of fear, and he became angry. I am sorry for you, but experience makes me stern, he said. My life has passed amid deceit. I have been betrayed by everybody, denied, sold, and martyrized. You know I am one of those illustrious, unfortunate, whom governments outlaw. Under such circumstances I may be allowed to be suspicious. As you are a suspicious character, you must take yourself out of this house. Gilbert had not expected this conclusion. He was to be driven forth. He clenched his fists and a flash in his eyes made Rousseau start. Gilbert reflected that in going he would lose the mild pleasure of seeing his loved one during the day, and lose Rousseau's affection. It was shame, as well as misfortune. Dropping from his fierce pride, he clasped his hands and implored, listen to me, if only one word. I am merciless, replied the author. Man's injustice has made me more ferocious than a tiger. Go, and join my enemies with whom you correspond. League yourself with them, which I do not hinder, but do all this beyond my domicile. Those young women are no enemies of yours. They are Mademoiselle Andrea of Tavernay, the young lady I told you of on whose estate I was born, and her maid, Nicole, excuse me, troubling you with such matters, but you drive me to it. This is the lady whom I love more than you ever loved all your flames. It is she whom I followed a foot penniless in wanting bread until I fell exhausted on the highway and wracked with pain. It is she whom I saw once more yesterday at Saint Denis, and behind whose coach I came till I housed her in the place yonder. In short, it is she for whom I wish one of these days to be a great man, a Rousseau. His hero knew the human heart and the gamut of its exclamations. The best actor could hardly have Gilbert's tearful voice and the feverish gesture accompanying the effusion. So this is your lady love. My foster sister, yes. Then you lied a while ago when you said you knew her not, and you are a liar, if not a traitor. You are racking my heart, and you would hurt me less were you to slay me on the spot. Who? That is a mere piece of fustion out of the diddlerow, my Montelpooks. You are a liar, sir. Have it so. And the worse for you that you do not understand such white lies. Retorted Gilbert, I shall go. Heartbroken, and you will have my despair on your conscience. Rousseau smoothed his chin and regarded the youth whose case had so much analogy with his own. He is either a great rogue or a lad with a big heart. He mused, but, after all, if he is in a plot against me, it will be best to have the wires of the puppets in my hand. Gilbert strode to the door, but he paused with his hand on the knob waiting for the last word to recall or banish him. Enough on this head, my son. Said the man of letters, it is hard enough for you to be in love, to this degree. But it is getting on, and we have thirty pages of music to copy this day. Look alive, Gilbert! Look alive! Gilbert grasped the speaker's hand and pressed it to his lips as he would not at King's. While Gilbert leaned up against the door-jam with emotion, Rousseau took a last peep out of the window. This was the moment when Andrea stood up to put on her dress. But seeing a person up at the attic window, she darted back and bade Nicole shut the sashes. My old head frightened her, mumbled the philosopher. His youthful one would not have done that. Oh youth, lovely youth! And he broke forth singing, Spring is the love-time of the year, Love is the spring-time of life. Hanging up the dress, he melancholically descended the stairs at the heels of Gilbert, for whose youth he would at that time have battered his reputation, at that juncture counter-balancing voltaires, and with it sharing the admiration of the entire world. The house in St. Cloud Street, to which Joseph Balsimo invited the Cardinal Prince of Rohan, did not look strange in his day, but it resembled a fortress to such an extent that it would be remarkable at present. Strongly built and with barred windows and grated doors, to say nothing of the ditch in front and high balconies, it was in keeping with this part of the town pretty unsafe at this epic after dark. There were scarcely a dozen houses on the quarter of a league to the Bastille, and the municipal authorities did not think it worth while to supply lamps. Along this deserted and unlighted highway, a carriage was driven after nine one evening, which stopped at the low, deep doorway where gleamed the brazen griffin for a knocker which Count Phoenix had described. The arms of the noblemen were on the carriage-panels. He proceeded it by some yards, riding a jaret, who whisked his long tail till it whistled in the dust of the dirty pavement. Behind the clothes blind slumbered Lorenza on the cushions. At the rolling of the wheels the door opened as by enchantment, and the carriage vanished in the black gulf of the mansion courtyard. There was no need of any mystery, for nobody was about to see the Count come home or mark what he brought, even if it were the treasure chest of St. Denis Abbey. A skillful calculator, given the size of the building lot and that of the house on street, would be surprised how so small a one covered so much ground. The fact of the matter was that there stood a house behind the outer house, known only to the tenant. A German servant aged about thirty closed the coachway door and bolted it. Opening the coach door while the emotionless driver unharnessed the team, he drew from within the senseless Lorenza, whom he carried indoors to an anti-chamber. He laid her on a table and discreetly wrapped her in her long veil to the feet. He went out to light at the coach lamp say seven candle chandelier with which he came back. During that short space, Lorenza had disappeared. In fact, Count Phoenix had entered after the ballet went out. He had taken up the girl in his arms, carried her out by a secret passage into a room furnished with trophies of outlandish weapons. With his foot he pressed the spring of the backplate of the high fireplace, which turned on well-oiled hinges, so that the Count could go forth as he did while the secret panel slid to behind him. On the other side of the chimney was another flight of steps. Mounting a dozen covered with eutracked velvet carpet, he reached the sill of a room elegantly tapestryed with satin so wonderfully embroidered in high relief with flowers and their natural colors that they seemed real. The extremely rich furniture was of a boudoir and toilet chamber leading to a parlor. Curtains hid two windows, but as it was night they were not wanted to give light. Lamps burning perfumed oil burnt here night and day, for the room had no external openings. They were drawn up through apertures in the ceiling by unseen hands when they needed replenishing. Not a sound penetrated here, and one might feel as a thousand miles out of the world. But gilding flashed on all sides and bohemian glass mirrors sparkled, dissatisfied with the light after having placed Lorenza on a sofa, the Count struck a fire with the silver phosphorus matchbox so startling to Gilbert, and kindled two pink-candled chandeliers on the mantelpiece. Returning to Lorenza and kneeling with one knee on a pile of cushions beside her, he called her my name. Though her eyes remain closed, she rose on one elbow, but without replying. Are you sleeping naturally or through the magnetic spell? Lorenza sleeps in the magnetic sleep, she replied. Then you can answer my questions. Look into the room of the Princess Louise which we have just quitted, and tell me if the Cardinal of Rohan is there. No, the Abbas is praying before going to rest. Look through the house for the Cardinal. Is his carriage at the door? Is it on the road? Come along nearer to Paris as we drove. Nearer. Ah, I see it. It has stopped at the toll-bar. A footman gets down to speak with his master. Listen to him, Lorenza, for it is important that I should know what the Cardinal says to this man. You did not order me to listen in time, for he has done speaking to the man, but the man speaks to the coachman, who is told to drive to St Claude Street in the swamp by the rampart road. Thank you, Lorenza. The Count went to the wall, pulled aside an ornament which disclosed an ivory mouthpiece, and spoke some words in a tube of unknown length and direction. It was his way of corresponding here with his man of trust, Fritz. Are you content with me? asked the medium. Yes, dear Lorenza, and here is your reward. He said, giving her a fond caress. Oh, Joseph, how I love you! she said with an almost painful sigh. Her arms opened to enfold Balsamo on her heart. End of Chapter 36 Recording by John Van Stan Savannah Georgia Chapter 37 of Balsamo The Magician by Alexander Dumas Translated by Henry L. Williams This sleep-a-box recording is in the public domain. The Double Existence But he recoiled swiftly, and the arms came together air-falling folded on her bosom. Would you like to speak with your friend? he asked. Yes, speak to me often. I like to hear your voice. You have often told me, dearest, that you would be very happy if we could dwell together afar from the world. That would indeed be bliss. Well, I have realized your wish, darling. We are by ourselves in this parlor, where none can hear and none intrude. I am glad to hear it. Tell me how you like the place. Order me to see it. Does it please you? asked the count after a pause. Yes. Here are my favorite flowers. Thank you, my kinder Joseph. How good you are. I do all I can to please you. Oh, you are a hundred times kinder to me than I deserve. You confess that you have been wicked? Very badly so. But you will overlook that. After you explained the enigma which I have struggled against ever since I knew you. Harken, Balsamo. In me are two Lorenzes, quite distinct. One loves you, and the other detests you, as if I lived two existences, one during which I enjoy the delights of paradise, the other when I suffer the opposite. These two existences are your waking mood and your magnetic sleep? Yes. Why do you hate me when in your waking senses and love me when in the charmed sleep? Because Lorenza is the superstitious Italian girl who believes that science is a crime. And love a sin. Then she is afraid of the sage Balsamo and the loving Joseph. She has been told that to love would destroy her soul, and so she flees from the lover to the confines of the earth. But when Lorenza sleeps? It is another matter. She is no longer a Roman girl and superstitious, but a woman. She sees that the genius of Balsamo dreams of sublime themes. She understands how pretty an object she is compared with him. She longs to live by him and die at his side. In order that the future shall breathe her name while it trumpets the glory of Cochleostro. Is that the name I am to be celebrated under? The name. Dear Lorenza, so you like our new home? It is richer than any you have found for me, but that is not why I like it more. But because you say you will be often here with me. So, when you sleep you know how fondly I adore you. Yes, she said with a faint smile. I see that passion then, and yet there is something you love about Lorenza. She sighed. Your dream. Rather say my task. Well, your ambition. Say my glory. Oh, heaven! And her heart was laboring, her closed lids allowed tears to struggle out. What is it you see? Inquired Balsamo astounded at the lucidity which frightened even him. I see phantoms gliding about among the shadows, some holding their own hands their severed crowned heads, like St. Denis and that Abbey. And you stand in the heart of the battle, like a general in command. You seem to rule, and you are obeyed. Does that not make you proud of me? Inquired the other joyfully. You are good enough not to care to be great, besides in looking for myself in this scene, I see nothing of me. Oh, I shall not be there. She sighed. I shall be in the grave. You dead, my dearest Lorenza, said Balsamo frowning. No, we shall live and love together. No, you love me no more, or not enough. Crowding upon his forehead held between her hands a multitude of glowing kisses. I have to reproach you for your coldness. Look now how you draw away from me as though you fled my fondlings. Oh, restore me to my maidened quietude in my nunnery of Subiaco, when the night was so calm in my cell. Return me, those kisses which you sent on the wings of the wind coming to me in my solitude like a gold-pinion's silt, which melted on me in delight. Do not retreat from me. Give me your hand, that I may press it. Let me kiss your dear eyes. Let me be your wife, in short. Lorenza, sweetest, you are my well-beloved wife. Yet you pass by the chaste and solitary flower and scorn the perfume. I am sure that I am nothing to you. On the contrary, you are everything, my Lorenza. For it is you who give me strength, power and genius. Without you I should be nothing. Cease, then, to love me with this insensate fever which wrecks the knights of your people and love me as I love you. Thus I am happy. You call that happiness? Scornfully said the Italian. Yes, for to be great is happiness. She heaved along sigh. Oh, if you only knew the gladness in being able to read the hearts of man and manipulate them with the strings of their own dominant passions. Yes, I know that in this I serve your purpose. It is not all. Your eyes read the sealed book of the future. You sweet dove, pure and guideless, you have taught me what I could not ascertain in twenty years' application. You enlighten my steps, before which my enemies multiply traps and snares, on my mind depend my life, fortune and liberty. You dilate it, like the lynx's eye which sees in the dark. As your lovely orbs close on this world, they open in superhuman clarity. They watch for me. It is you who make me rich, free and powerful. And in return you make me unhappy. Reply Lorenza, wrapped up in her frenzy. More fiery than ever she unfolded him in her arms so that he was impregnated with a flame which he feebly resisted. But he made such an effort that he broke the living bondage. Have pity, Lorenza! he sued. Was it too pity you that I left my native land, my name, my family, my faith? She said, almost threatening with her lovely arms, rising white and yet muscular amid the waves of her long black tresses coming down. Why have you laid on me this absolute empire, so that if I am your slave and have to give you my life and breath, was it to mock me ever with the name of the virgin, Lorenza? Balsamos sighed, himself crushed by the weight of her immense despair. Alas, is it your fault or that of the creator? Why were you made the angel with the infallible gaze by whose aid I should make this universe submit? Why is it that you are the one to read a soul through its bodily envelope as one may read a book through a glass? Because you are an angel of purity, Lorenza, and nothing throws a shadow upon your soul. In your radiant and immaculate bosom the divine spark may be enshrined, a place without sullying where it may fitly nestle. You are a seer because you are blameless, Lorenza. As a woman, you would be but so much substance. And you prefer this to my love? continued the Italian, clapping her hands with such rage that they became impurpled. You set my love beneath these whims that you pursue and fables that you invent. You snatch me out of the cold cloister, but in the bustling hours in the world you condemn me to the conventional chastity. Joseph, you commit a crime, I tell you. Do not blaspheme, said Balsamo, for I suffer too. Read in my heart and never again say that I love you not. I resist you because I want to raise you on the throne of the world. Huck, your ambition! sneered the young Roman. Will your ambition ever give you what you might have in my love? He yielded to her and his head rested in her arms. Huh, yes, she cried, I see at last that you love me more than your ambition, than power, than your aspiration. Oh, you love me as I love you. But at the touch of their lips reason came to him who would be master of Europe. With his hands he beat aside the air charged with magnetic vapor. Lorenza, awake! I bid you. Thereupon the chain which he could not break was relaxed, and the opening arms were dropped while the kiss died away on the paling lips of Lorenza, languishing in her last sigh. Her closed eyes parted their lids, the dilated pupils resumed their normal size. She shook herself with an effort and sank in lassitude, but awake on the sofa. Seated three paces from her, the mesmerist sighed deeply. Good-bye to the dream. He said, Good-bye to happiness. Lorenza's sight had recovered its power, she glanced rapidly around her. After examining everything without one of the many knickknacks which delight woman, brightening her brow, she stopped with her look upon Balsamo and nervously shuddered. You again! she said receding. On her physiognomy appeared all the tokens of alarm, her lips became white and perspiration came as pearls at the root of her hair. Where am I? she asked as he said nothing. As you know where you came from, you can readily guess where you are. He responded, You are right in reminding me. I do indeed remember. I know that I have been pursued by you, and torn from the arms of the royal intermediary whom I chose between heaven and you. Then you ought to know that this princess has been unable to defend you, however powerful she may be. You have overruled her by some witching violence, said Lorenza, wringing her hands. Oh, saints of Marzi deliver me from this demon! Where do you see anything demoniical in me? Returned Balsamo shrugging his shoulders. Once for all I beg you to lay aside this pack of pure royal beliefs brought from Rome, and all the rubbish of absurd superstitions which you have carted about with you since you ran away from the nunnery. Oh, my dear nunnery, who will restore me to my dear nunnery? cried the Italian bursting into tears. Indeed, a nunnery is much to be deplored. Said Balsamo. Lorenza ran to one of the windows, opened the curtains and then the sash, but came against iron bars which were there unmistakably, however many flowers were masking them. If I must live in a prison, she said, I prefer that whence one goes to heaven, to that which has a trap door into Hades. And she began trying the bars with her dainty hands. Were you more reasonable, Lorenza? You would find only flowers at your window and not bars. Was I not reasonable when you confined me in that other prison, the one on wheels, with the vampire you call atotis? But you still kept your eye on me, went by, and never left me till you had breathed into me that spirit which possesses me, and I cannot shake it off. Where is that horrid old man who frightens me to death, in some corner, I suppose? Let us hush and listen till his ghostly voice be heard. You let your fancy sway you, like a child, said Balsamo. My friend and preceptor, Altatis, my second father, is an inoffensive old man who has never seen you, let alone approached you, or if he did come near he would not heed you being absorbed in his work. His work? Tell me, what the work is? muttered the Roman. He is seeking the elixir of long life, for which superior minds have been seeking these two thousand years. What are you working for? Human perfection. A pair of demons, said Lorenza, lifting her hands to heaven. Is this your fit coming on again? You are ignorant of one thing. Your life is divided into two parts. During one you are gentle, good, and sensible. During the other you are mad. And you shut me up under the vain pretext of this malady? It had to be done. Oh, perperian, be cruel without pity. Imprison me and kill me, but do not play the hypocrite, and pretend to feel for me while you tear me to pieces. Do you call it torture to live in a luxurious suite of rooms? Said Balsamo with a kindly smile, and not at all disturbed. With bars to all the issues. Put there for the sake of your life, Lorenza. Oh, he roasts me to death at a slow fire, and he talks of my life's sake. exclaimed the Italian. Approaching, he offered to take her hand, but she repelled his as if it were a serpent. Do not touch me, she said. Do you hate me so much, Lorenza? Ask the victim how he likes the executioner. It is because I do not want to be one that I restrict your liberty a little. Could you come and go as you like who can tell what your folly might drive you to? Wait till I am free some day, and see what I shall do. Lorenza, you are behaving badly toward the husband whom you chose. You are my wife. That was the work of Satan. Poor crazy creature, said the mesmerist with a tender look. I am a daughter of Rome, continued she, and some day I shall take revenge. Do you say that merely to frighten me? He asked, gently shaking his head. No, no, I will do what I say. What are you saying? And you, a Christian woman, exclaimed Balsimo with surprising authority in his voice, is your creed which bids you return good for evil but a hypocrisy, that you pretend to follow it, and you boast of revenge, evil for good? Oh, replied Lorenza, for an instant struck by the argument, it is duty not revenge to denounce society's enemies. If you denounced me as a master in the black art, it would not be as an offender against society but against heaven, were I to defy heaven, which need but comprise me as one atom in the myriad slain by an earthquake or pestilence, but which takes no pains to punish me, why should weak men like myself undertake to punish me? Heaven forgets or tolerates waiting for you to reform, said the Italian. Meanwhile, said the other smiling, you are advised to tolerate your husband, friend, and benefactor. Husband? Oh, that I should have to endure your yoke. Oh, what an impenetrable mystery. Mothered the magician, pursuing his thought rather than heeding the speaker, let us have done. Why do you take away my liberty? Why, having bestowed it on me, would you take it back? Why flee from your protector? Why unceasingly threaten one who never threatens you with revelation of secrets which are not yours, and have aims beyond anything you can conceive? Oh, said Lorenza, without replying to the question, the prisoner who yearns for freedom eventually obtains it, and your house-bars will no more hold me than your wagon-sides. Happily for you they are stout. Replied balsamo with ominous tranquility. Heaven will send another such storm as befall us in Lorraine, and some thunderbolt will shatter them. Take my advice to pray for nothing of the kind, Lorenza. Distrust these romantic transports. I speak to you as a friend. Listen to me. Stunned at the height of her rebellion, Lorenza listened in spite of herself from so much concentrated wrath being in his voice, and glue me fire in his eye while his white but powerful hand opened and shut so strangely, as he slowly and soundly spoke. Mark this, my child, that I have tried to have this place fit for a queen, and with nothing lacking for your comfort. So calm your folly. Live here as you would do in your convent cell. You must become habituated to my presence. As I have great sorrows I will confide in you. Dreadful disappointment, for which I will crave a smile. The kinder more patient and attentive you are, the more of your bars I will remove, so that in some months, who knows how soon. You will become perhaps more free than I am in the sense that you will not want to cartel my liberty. No. No. Replied the Italian, unable to understand that firm resolution could be applied to such gentle words. No more professions and falsehoods. You abducted me, so that I am my own property still. Restore me to heaven, if you will not let me be my own mistress. I have borne with your despotism so far from remembering that you saved me from the robbers, who would have ruined me. But this gratitude is much enfeebled. A few days more of this captivity against which I revolt, and I shall no longer feel obliged to you. A few more, and I shall perhaps believe you were in concert with those highwaymen. So you honour me with a captaincy of brigands, sneered Valsimo. I do not know about that, but I noticed secret signs and peculiar words. But, replied the other losing colour, you will never tell them, never to a living soul. You will bury them in the remotest place in your memory, so that they shall die there, smothered. Just the other way, retorted Lorenza, delighted as angry persons are at having found the antagonist's vulnerable point. My memory shall piously preserve those words, which I will repeat over and over again when alone, and to say aloud when the opening comes, as already I have done. To whom? To the Princess Royal. Lorenza mined this well, said he, clenching his nails in his flesh to subdue his fury, and check his rushing blood at the thought that his brothers were in danger through the woman, whom he had selected to aid them all. If you said them, never again will you do so, for the doors will be kept fastened, those bars pointed at the head, and those walls reared as high as babbles. I have already told you, Valsimo, that any soul wherein the love of liberty is reinforced by the hate of tyranny must escape from all prison houses. Well and good. Try it, woman, but mark this well. You will only twice try it. For the first time, I will punish you so severely that you will weep all the tears in your body, and for the second, I will strike you pitilessly that you will pour forth all the blood in your veins. Help! Help! He is murdering me! shrieked the woman at the last paroxysm of wrath, tearing her hair and rolling on the carpet. For an instant, Valsimo considered her with mingled rage and pity the latter overcoming the other. Come, come, Lorenza. Return to your senses and be calm. A day will come when you will be rewarded amply for what you have suffered, or fancy. Imprisoned, screamed the Italian, and beaten. These are times to try the mind. You are mad, but you shall be cured. Better throw me into a madhouse at once. Shot me up in a real jail. No. You have warned me what you would do against me. Then, said the infuriate, let me have death straight away. Springing up with the suppleness and rapidity of the wild beast, she leaped to break her head against the wall, but Valsimo had merely to stretch out his hands toward her and utter a single word rather with his will than with his lips to stop her dead. She stopped, indeed, reeled and dropped sleep-stricken in the magnetizer's arms. The strange enchanter, who seemed to rule all the material part of the woman, though the mental portion baffled him, lifted up Lorenza in his arms and carried her to the couch. There he laid a long kiss on her lips, drew the curtains of bed and windows and left her. A sweet and blessed sleep enveloped her like the cloak of a kind mother, wrapping the willful child who as much suffered and wept. CHAPTER 39 Of Valsimo the Magician by Alexander Dumas, translated by Henry L. Williams, this leaperbox recording is in the public domain. THE PREDICTED VISIT Lorenza was not mistaken. A carriage going through St. Denis Gateway and following the street of the same name turned into the road leading out to the Bastille. As the clairvoyant had stated, this conveyance enclosed the cardinal prince of Rohan, the ship of Strasburg, whose impatience had caused him to anticipate the hour fixed for his visit to the Magician in his cave of mystery. The coachman who had been enured to obscurity, pitfalls and dangers of some darksome streets by the prelates' love adventures, was not daunted at least when, after leaving the part of the way still populated and lighted, he had to take the black and lonesome Bastille boulevard. The vehicle stopped at the corner of St. Claude Street, where it hid along the trees twenty paces off. Prince Rohan in plain dress glided up the street and rapped three times on the door which he easily recognized from the indication that the Count had afforded. Fritz's steps sounded in the passage and he opened the door. Is it here resides Count Phoenix? inquired Rohan. Yes, my lord, and he is at home. Say, a visitor is here. Shall I announce his eminence cardinal prince to Rohan? asked Fritz. The prince stood aghast, looking round him and at himself to see if anything about him in costume or surroundings betrayed his rank. No, he was alone and in civilian dress. How do you know my name? he inquired. My lord just told me now that he expected your eminence. Yes, but tomorrow or the day after. Not so, please, your highness, this evening. Announce me, anyway, said the prelate, putting a double Louis gold piece in his hand. Fritz intimated that the visitor should follow him, and he walked briskly to the door of the antechamber, which a large candelier with a dozen tapers illuminated. The visitor followed surprised and meditative. There must be some mistake, my friend. He said, pausing at the door. In which case I do not wish to disturb the Count. It is impossible he can expect me, as he could not know I was coming. As your highness's cardinal prince, Rohan, you are certainly expected by my lord. Lighting the other candelabra, Fritz bowed and went out. Five minutes elapsed, during which the prelate, the prey to singular emotion, scanned the elegant furniture of the room and the half-dozen paintings by masters on the tapestry walls. When the door opened, Count Phoenix appeared on the threshold. Good evening to your highness. He simply said, I am told that you expected me. Observe the visitor without replying to the welcome. Expected this evening. Impossible. I ask your pardon, but I was expecting your highness. Returned the host. I may be doubted, seeing how paltry is my reception, but I have hardly got settled yet from being but a few days in town. I hope for your eminences excusing me. My visit expected. Who could have forewarned you? Yourself, my lord, when you called your footman to the carriage door did you not say to him, drive to St. Claude Street and the swamp by St. Ennis Street and the boulevard? Words which he repeated to the driver. Yes, but how could you see this and hear the words, not being present? I was not there, but I saw and heard at this distance, as I am, you must not forget, a wizard. I had forgotten. By the way, am I in to entitle you Baron Balsamo or Count Phoenix? In my own house I have no title. I am plainly the master. Ah, the title in alchemy. So, my master in hermitics, if you expected me, the fire would be lit in the laboratory. The fire is always kept burning, my lord, and I will have the honor to show your highness into the place. I follow you on the condition that you do not personally confront me with the devil. I am dreadfully afraid of his satanic majesty, Lucifer. My lord, my familiar friends, replied Balsamo, never forget how to deal with princes, and they will behave properly. This encourages me. So, ho! for the laboratory! End of Chapter 39, Recording by John Van Stan, Savannah, Georgia