The Countess of Rudolstadt / A Sequel to "Consuelo"

by George Sand

Opposite this inscription was thus written—

"Neophyte, the light earth on which you tread is twenty feet deep. It is neither sand nor clay, but the ashes of man. This was the ossuary of the castle. Here were thrown those who died in the grave above, when there was no room. It is all that remains of twenty generations of victims. Blessed and rare are the nobles who can reckon among their ancestors twenty generations of murderers and executioners!"

Consuelo was less terrified at these funereal ensignia than she had been in the jail at the phantoms of her own mind; there is something so grave and solemn in the very appearance of death, though the weakness of fear and the lacerations of pity obscure the enthusiasm and serenity of strong and believing souls. In the presence of these relics, the noble adept of Albert's religion felt respect and charity rather than terror and consternation. She knelt before the martyr's remains, and feeling her moral strength failing, cried, as she kissed the lacerated hand, "Oh, it is not the august spectacle of a glorious destruction which fills us with horror and pity, but the idea of life disputing with the torments of agony. It is the thought of what passes in these broken hearts that fills the souls of those who live with bitterness and terror. You, unfortunate victim, dead, and with your head turned to heaven, are not to be feared, for you have not failed. Your heart has exhaled itself in a transport which fills me with exultation."

Consuelo rose slowly, and with a degree of calmness unloosed the veil which covered the dead bones by her side. A narrow and low door opened before her. She took her lamp, and forbearing to look back, entered a corridor which descended rapidly. On her right and left she saw cells, the appearance of which was entirely sepulchral. These dungeons were too low for one to stand erect, and scarcely long enough for a person to sleep in them. They appeared the work of Cyclops, so massive and so strong was their masonry. They seemed to be intended for dens of wild and savage animals. Consuelo, however, would not be deceived. She had seen the arenæ veronia; she was aware that the tigers and bears kept for the amusements of the circus, for the combats of the gladiators, were a thousand times better furnished. Besides she read over the iron gates that these impenetrable dungeons were appropriated to conquered princes, to brave captains, to the prisoners who were most important from rank and intelligence. Care to prevent their escape exhibited the love and respect with which they had inspired their partisans. There had been stifled the voices of the lions whose roaring had filled the world with terror.

Their power and will had been crushed against an angle in the wall. Their herculian breasts had been burst in aspirations for air at an imperceptible window, cut through a wall twenty-four feet. Their eagle glance was exhausted in seeking for light amid darkness. There were buried alive persons whom they dared not kill by day. Illustrious men, noble hearts, there suffered from the use, and possibly the abuse, of power.

Having wandered for some time amid the dark and damp galleries, Consuelo heard a sound of running water, which reminded her of the terrible cavern of Riesenberg. She was, however, too much occupied by the misfortunes and crimes of humanity, to think of herself. She was forced for a time to pause and go around a cistern on the level of the ground, lighted by a torch she read on a sign-board these words:

"There they drowned them."

Consuelo looked down to see the interior of the well. The water of the rivulet, over which an hour before she had glided so peacefully, fell down into a frightful gulf, and whirled angrily round, as if it was anxious to take possession of a victim. The red light of the resinous torch made the water blood-colored.

At last Consuelo came to a massive door, which she sought in vain to open. She asked if, as in the initiations in the pyramids, she was about to be lifted in the air by invisible chains, while some cavern suddenly opened and put out her lamp. Another terror seized her, for as she walked down the gallery, she saw that she was not alone, though the person who accompanied her trod so lightly that she heard no noise. She fancied that she heard the rustling of a silk dress near her own, and that, when she had passed the well, the light of the torch reflected two trembling shadows on the wall instead of one. Who, then, was the terrible companion she was forbidden to look back on, under the penalty of losing the fruit of all her labors, and never being able to cross the threshold of the temple? Was it some terrible spectre, the appearance of which would have frozen her courage, and disturbed her reason? She saw his shadow no more, but she imagined she heard his respiration near her. She waited to see the terrible door reopen. The two or three minutes which elapsed during this expectation, seemed an age. The mute acophyte terrified her. She was afraid that he wished to test her by speaking, and forcing her by some ruse to look back. Her heart beat violently. At last she saw that an inscription above the door was yet to be read:

"This is your last trial, and it is the most cruel. If your courage be exhausted, strike thrice on the left of the door. If not, strike thrice on the right. Remember, the glory of your initiation will be in proportion to your efforts."