“Countess Melanie,” the prince picked up the conversation, “how relieved I am now that you offer your hand so trustingly, so I may bind us together all the more closely in friendship by helping lessen your distress.”
“If you interpret my words in this manner, Prince, I ask you to be merciful to me in your evaluation of what I am to tell you.”
“When the sun sinks beneath the peaks of the Sierra Nevada, the stars bow and send a farewell to the Queen of Heaven,” the prince responded with fantastic gallantry, blinded by the brilliance of Melanie’s fine spirit. He rose from his place, and, after Melanie’s permission, with her husband’s approval, he kissed her hand before seating himself again.
At his father’s nod, Hugo left his place at his sister’s side and filled the old count’s pipe.
Then he sat down again at Constanze’s side.
The old count seemed to think more than he spoke, and he conceded the entire conversation to the prince and his wife.
Constanze and Hugo listened, nudging each other now and then or teasing back and forth when their mother was too frank to the prince.
Suzie sucked on her little hand, keeping her eyes closed like a newborn kitten. Time and again Aunty Celestine rushed up to Suzie and put her hatbox back into a secure position.
Celestine otherwise did nothing, she simply stared straight ahead. The Bolognese dog played with Hugo’s silver scabbard, a remnant from better days.
The prince appeared not to pay any attention to Aunty.
Amelie ran in and out, hauling oyster shells from the street to build a little house.
“About two weeks after your departure, Prince,” Melanie resumed, “we decided to go to Wisconsin and buy property in that young, blossoming state. We committed the thoughtless error of withdrawing our small capital, which you know consisted of fifteen thousand dollars, from Finley and Matthews. To make matters worse, my husband has a peculiar dislike of keeping money in a bank, so he preferred to turn this entire amount into notes and lock it up in a desk. Part of this sum was supposed to purchase a farm and the utensils and tools necessary for it, and part was to take care of our other living expenses. But our fate willed otherwise.”
Melanie was silent for a moment.
The prince made use of this pause to say, “I have no notion what is coming, my dear Countess, but allow me to anticipate you a bit. How did it happen that you did not enter the firm we had discussed earlier, which would have been to your advantage in a few years with the proper leadership? As far as I recall, you could have purchased that firm for fifteen thousand dollars.”
“I lost my two thousand dollars too!” Aunty Celestine suddenly cried out during the pause.
“Calm down, Aunty, the prince will learn this too, soon,” Melanie requested.
“Man thinks and God leads, my Prince—our plans often fall through even when the controls for carrying them out have been set with great care,” Melanie said as she turned to the prince.
“You certainly aren’t a fatalist, are you, my dear Countess? In this country you have to do your thinking and guiding for yourself, and you should not trust Providence at all or leave anything to it so long as you are able to act on your own,” he responded.
“Even storming heaven, Prince?”
“Yes—taking power from fate and placing it in your own hands!”
“We are moving away from the subject, my Prince—allow me to complete my sad story.”
“Pardon me, my Countess, for interrupting you.”
“On the day the catastrophe I am about to describe took place, Hugo went out to get a really good look at the city, since we had decided to leave New Orleans in a few days. We knew from the newspapers that the western waters were not navigable yet, due to ice, so we wanted to make a stop in St. Louis. There we would pass the winter, until the ice was no longer a hindrance to our entry into the Promised Land—as we called Wisconsin. You will accuse me in silence for my slowness, my Prince, and perhaps blame me for hesitating to tell the whole story. That is the way it is with us women, as it is hard for us to give away cheaply what had such a dreadful result for our family’s life.”
“It would hurt me, my dear, if you had the slightest doubt as to my understanding of women’s ways of thinking. Women love preliminaries, and they are more conscientious in these than philosophers of the modern school, whose logic consists of proving what is obvious.”
“I see, my Prince, that we belong in the age of the Medici,” Melanie responded with a smile.
“And I would join Franz von Sickingen,” the count declared in pathos, looking at his wife and expecting some acknowledgment of the sharpness of his comment.
“Continue your story, Mother—what Hugo saw and how it happened,” Gertrude asked. She was still sitting at the prince’s side.
“One day, while we were basking in sweet dreams of the future, Hugo stormed up the steps and told us that the splendid St. Charles Hotel was in flames and that the Methodist church on Poydras Street had also been consumed by fire. He gave us such a dreadful description of the fire, how the monopteros in the cupola of the hotel fell down into the entry and how one of the great columns fell right across the street, crushing two children, and much more. This upset me to a degree such as I had never experienced as evening fell. Once some people’s imaginations are stimulated, they can be uncontrollable, creating images and phantoms that belong to a world for which we cannot account. That was how it was for me that night. In my spirit I saw nothing but rising flames, fire hoses, temples turned to ashes, columns falling down, and thick clouds of smoke. Often it seemed to me that I saw myself in the midst of a lake of fire—I screamed for help, calling for my husband, my children, then I saw myself alone, separated from and bereft of all my beloved.”
Melanie spoke these words with such intensity that her entire face reddened and her eyes sparked with a liveliness the prince had never seen before.
“Countess, I begin to suspect—it was prophetic,” the prince said with quiet seriousness.
“The closer the hour approached in which we would normally go to bed, the more my anxiety and tension rose. I said this to my husband, and he attributed my anxious condition to the description of the fire, predicting peace and improvement for me on the following day.”
“I thought it silly to believe in prophecy, but when I think back over that terror, it mocks the practical explanations I had once given for such things,” the count added.
“We went to bed. But I was unable to rest and could not get to sleep. I went to the next room and asked Constanze to lie down with me and talk a bit, to pass the time until gentle slumber could descend on my eyes. Constanze was still making trouble over her unwillingness to take a position with the old Scotswoman. This evening she seemed literally dedicated to tormenting me with her views. But I let her ramble, since it was only to pass the time. We even spoke of you that evening, my Prince …”
If the prince and Melanie had looked at the count at this instant, they would have seen that these last words had not pleased him, for he made a sour face and snapped the cover on his pipe bowl several times—which he normally never did.
He was like all men who have beautiful, attractive, spirited wives. They love to see their better halves make an impression due to beauty and allure, they like to hear them praised on account of the size and richness of their thought, the blinding beauty of spirit, the splendor of heart, for love of children, tender devotion to their spouses. What they don’t like is being called the most enviable of mortals—no husband can accept that, even if he was born on the icecap of Greenland.
But the count’s displeasure was short-lived.
“Constanze,” Melanie continued, “could not understand why we had encouraged her to enter service, since she could rightly claim a servant for herself. She did not want to see that we only wanted this in order to bring her into an intimate relationship with the influential Scotswoman. Mistress Evans liked her, as you told us yourself, Prince, and she long
ed to have Constanze with her. If Constanze had just gone there, the rest would have followed. We all knew that there was no other way we could gain entry, for other than yourself, Prince, she has not received anyone in years.”
“Other than monsieur Dubreuil, the confessor for both her and her daughter,” the prince interjected. “And if Mistress Evans had known that I’d visited her only in order to get around the disgusting plotting of that clergyman, she would certainly have shown me the door—for, since she holds that priest to be a particularly pious and honorable man, even the slightest mistrust concerning the holiness of his person would appear to her a great crime.”
The prince then said the following words quietly to Melanie and turned and said the same to the count.
“Constanze was to have been a guardian angel for the mother and the daughter, since their confessor forbade any male presence in the house whatsoever. He did not even permit a female friend to enter, so I bestowed the office of rescuing angel on the serving maid.”
Husband and wife stared at the prince without being able completely to decipher the meaning of his words.
Aunty raised her head at the mention of the name of Dubreuil. Then she folded her hands and returned to staring into space like she was catatonic.
“You must explain that to us once more, Prince, when we are alone,” Melanie said while looking at her spouse, pressing toward the prince.
“I will be pleased to do so,” the prince assured her.
“Why did you only start complaining yesterday when I was unable to make up my mind to go to Mistress Evans? Earlier it was not a matter of money, and now that we are impoverished, it turns out I am to investigate some sort of conspiracy,” Constanze remarked. Despite the fact that she had seemed indifferent to her mother’s conversation with the prince, she had followed everything, even the softly spoken words.
“Earlier it would have been proper and nice of you to conform to our wishes, but after our misfortune sheer necessity cried out for you to silence all contradiction,” Melanie responded to her daughter in a punitive manner.
“Mother, if you had said that before, I would have gone into service with Mistress Evans without protest,” Constanze grumbled.
“Constanze!” the count retorted in a severe tone.
“The prince would be so good as to use me as a tool to cross some sort of intrigue or destroy a conspiracy,” Constanze said softly to her brother.
Melanie took up the threads of her narrative: “If you are determined to sleep, then you can just about figure that you will remain awake. On the other hand, when one tries to prevent slumber, it comes all the more certainly. That was how it happened on that fateful night. First of all, Constanze fell asleep at my side. Then it was my turn in a matter of minutes. It was a peaceful, still night, not disturbed by the slightest sound in the street. I only heard the low breathing of my other children from the next room.
“You usually dream at night about those things that have most occupied you during the day.
“My senses were occupied in the world of dreams with flames reaching to the sky, collapsing houses, giant columns of smoke rising on all sides, leaving me no way out—then I suddenly jolted out of my sleep, and as my eyes opened I saw yellow light glittering in front of the windows, and the mirror that hung opposite the bed was bathed in flames. I rubbed my eyes, opened and closed them, to be sure I was awake. Then I heard the noise of the watchmen’s rattles and the uncanny fire cry. I shook Constanze, who fell back on her pillow still asleep, babbling incomprehensible words. I jumped out of bed, woke my husband, my children, Aunty—it was just in time, Prince! The panes of one window blew in and flames poured through the opening. Prince, it was a dreadful moment.”
Melanie was silent for a moment, pressing her hands against her breasts.
The prince watched her face with the greatest attention.
“I drove my husband, my children, and Aunty through the door, barely half-dressed, and I did not relent until they had all rushed down the stairs. As I later learned, Aunty Celestine returned and threw some featherbeds into the courtyard below. I had already gone halfway down the stairs myself when I thought of the money my husband had locked in the desk next to my bedroom. There was not a moment to lose. I flew rather than ran to the room, when my eyes fell on that picture, Prince, that hangs on the chimney, which shows my Emil in his costume as page.”
Hot tears formed in Melanie’s eyes at these words, and fell on her beautiful hands.
“‘Mother, Mother,’ my Emil seemed to be saying, ‘do you want me to perish here? Mother, Mother! Protect your child!’ Prince, my son’s face shone as if transformed in the flames licking the windowsills. I reached at once for a chair, easily took the heavy picture down, and, with this treasure in my arms, I intended to rescue the money from the desk, our entire fortune.”
Melanie placed her right hand on her forehead as she seemed to take thought.
“It will always seem strange to me, Prince, whenever I think about what happened next. I have tried with all my spirit to give a clear picture—I already had the money in my hands when a figure as pale as death clutched me with one hand on my arm, while he took the money with the other, like a bolt of lightning. I fell down, a troop of firemen emerged at the top of the stairs—I could no longer see the figure. Prince, in an instant we were poor people—only my maternal heart had preserved one treasure, the souvenir of a lost son, whose image hangs there on the gray wall.”
Melanie left her seat, went to the chimney, and stared into her son’s blue eyes for a long, long time.
The prince was moved to tears.
The old count let his pipe fall from his mouth as he looked at his wife with concern.
Hugo and Constanze ceased teasing and whispering to each other. Gertrude lay her little blonde head in the prince’s lap and sighed.
Little Amelie let the miniature house that she had constructed with such care from oyster shells fall down. She rushed to her mother, weeping.
Only Aunty Celestine remained cold, toying with the Bolognese dog, whose ears she pinched until it crawled under her skirt, whimpering.
The prince lifted Gertrude’s head from his lap and went to Melanie. “Leave the sorrows and pains in the past, Countess, and hope for the joys of the future,” he consoled her.
“Prince, I am a rich woman, and my sorrows will be transformed into joys the moment I see my son with my own eyes. The artist who made this portrait never imagined that there would come a time when a mother’s heart would find her son there.”
“Your heart will find the original, Countess, trust in me and in the future. I will not part from your side until I know you are all safe and happy.”
“Your Royal Majesty, how you warm my heart—how good it is to find such support in a land that does not know compassion for the sorrows and problems of others,” the count said.
“And you can still recall the form and face, Countess?” the prince asked Melanie, as he recovered his equilibrium enough to return to the conversation.
“It was only a moment, Prince, and yet his entire exterior so impressed itself on me that I could choose him from thousands. That face is unforgettable to me, Prince—I have never seen such an evil, truly satanic gaze. The figure wore long hair, black as pitch, a dark beard and—strange how it often happens that one sees everything in a single instant—I saw a wide scar on his cheek …”
“You had never seen this person before?”
“No, Prince, which makes it all the more inconceivable to me that he knew of the money.”
“He perhaps did not know of its existence until he saw it. He was certainly one of the professional thieves who swarm by the thousands in New Orleans, and, wherever a fire breaks out, they are always the first to enter the houses and steal from the beset people, often with the greatest boldness, under the pretext of offering to help. When he entered the room, you had already taken the money from the desk, and he saw at once with his thief’s eyes that it was good booty,
so he took it, Countess. You see, this robbery can be explained quite naturally. This thief also might not have looked so dreadful—the pale, satanic quality was probably a product of your overheated imagination. The worst, most depraved scoundrels often have the most guiltless faces.”
“Oh no, Prince, my imagination did not cause me to see anything other than what I actually saw. When I think of it, I still feel the horror that dreadful face inspired in me.”
“Countess, allow me to interrupt your chain of thought to pose a question whose answer will clarify me concerning something.”
“Do as you please, Prince.”
“How did it happen that the people in whose house you lived then responded to my question whether you were still around in an ambiguous manner, shrugging their shoulders and doubting whether you were still in New Orleans? Was it the house where the fire broke out?”
“I will be able to satisfy you on that, Prince. As soon as the fire was extinguished—it demolished only the top floor, which was soon rebuilt—my husband had to tell the owners that we were now unable to pay the rent, since we had lost all his money in the fire.”
“Their action was still not necessary,” the prince remarked, turning to the count.
“But they were still very upset about it—yes, when we left the landlord had words with us which caused me great upset. He remarked, in short, that it seemed strange that the fire had broken out specifically on our floor, and that there were people who were wont to have convenient fires which gave them an excuse when they were too closely beset by their creditors.”
“That is disgusting!” the prince cried out.
At the same instant there was a knock on the door, and in stepped a small, slight man who bowed with courtesy and greeted the prince in French.
Aunty Celestine had hardly glanced at the new arrival before she leaped into the air and began howling like a person possessed.
Chapter 5
AUNTY CELESTINE
who gives up his old intention
The Mysteries of New Orleans (The Longfellow Series of American Languages and Literatures) Page 31
