The Countess of Rudolstadt / A Sequel to "Consuelo"

by George Sand

"'You ask me for my dreams,' said Rudolstadt. 'I will attempt to lift up a portion of the veil which so often hides the future from me. Perchance it may be for the last time, yet I will seek to do so, believing that with you the golden dream of poesy will not be entirely lost.'

"Trismegistus then became divinely enthusiastic. His eyes glittered like stars, and his voice overcame us as the hurricane would. He spoke to us for more than four hours, and his words were pure as some hymn of the poetic, artistic, and pious work of all ages. He composed a poem sublimely majestic; he explained to us all the religions of the past, all the mysteries of the temples, the poems and laws, all the efforts and objects of men of the olden time. In those things, which to us had ever appeared dead or condemned, he discovered the essence of life; and from the very obscurity of fables caused the essence of life to emanate, and the light of truth to beam forth, he translated the old myths—he fixed, by his clear and shrewd demonstration, all the ties and points of union of religions. He pointed out to us what humanity truly demanded, however its requisitions might be understood or interpreted by the people. He convinced us of the unity of life in man, of doctrine in religion, and, from the dispersed materials of the old and new world, formed the basis of that which was to come. Finally, he dispersed those doubts of eternity which long had annoyed our studies. He explained the lapses of history, which had so alarmed us—he unfolded the countless bandages enwrapping the mummy of science; and when, in a flash, we had received what he exhibited with the quickness of electricity—when we saw all he had seen—when the past, parent of the present, stood before us, like the luminous one of the Apocalypse, he paused, and said, with a smile, 'Now that the past and present stand before you, need I explain the future to you? Does not the Holy Spirit shine before you? See you not that all man has fancied and wished, sublime as it may be, in the future is certain, for the simple reason that truth, in spite of the wish of our faculties to know and own, is simple and positive. We all, in heart and in hope, possess it. In us it lives, and is. It exists from all time in humanity, in the germ before fecundation.'

"He spoke again, and his poem about the future was as magnificent as that of the past. I will not attempt to embody it in language, for, to transmit the words of inspiration, one must himself be inspired. To explain what Trismegistus told us in two or three hours, would require years of thought from me. What Socrates did consumed his life, and Jesus' labors have occupied seventeen centuries. You see that, unfortunate and unworthy as I am, I must tremble at the task before me. But I do not abandon it. The master will not write this out as I would. He is a man of action, and has already condensed what Trismegistus told him, as fully as if those subjects had been studied by himself. As if by an electric touch, he has appropriated all the soul of the philosopher communicated to him. It is his; it is his own, and, as a politician, he will use it. He will be the verbatim and spiritual translator, instead of the lifeless and obscure renderer I am. Ere my work is done, his school will know the letter. Yes, ere two years have passed, the strange, wild words uttered on this mountain, will have taken root in the hearts of many adepts, and the vast world of secret societies, now moving in night, will unite under one doctrine, receive a new law, and resume activity by initiation into the word of life. We give you this monument, establishing Spartacus's foresight, sanctioning all the truth that he has yet attained, and filling his vista with all the power of faith and inspiration.

"As Trismegistus spoke, and I listened eagerly, fearing to lose one of those notes which acted on me like a holy hymn, Spartacus, controlling his excitement, with a burning eye but firm hand, and with a mind more eager than his ear, wrote on his tablets characters and signs, as if the conception of this doctrine had been communicated under geometrical forms. That very night he returned to those notes, which to me meant nothing. I was surprised to see him write down and accurately organize the conclusions of the poet-philosopher. All was simplified and summed up, as if magically, in the alemble of our master's poetical mind.[28]

"He was not satisfied. Trismegistus's inspiration abandoned him. The brightness left his eyes, and his frame seemed to shrink within itself. Consuelo, by a sign, bade us say no more. Spartacus, however, was ardent in the pursuit of truth, and did not see her. He continued his questions.

"'You have,' said he, 'talked of God's earthly kingdom,'—and as he spoke he shook Albert's icy hand. 'Jesus, however, has said, "My kingdom is not of earth." For seventeen centuries man has vainly hoped for the fulfilment of his promise. I have not been, by meditation on eternity, as exalted as you have been. To you time enfolds, as it does to God, the idea of perpetual action—all the phases of which, at all times, accord with your exalted feelings. But I live nearer the earth, and count centuries and years. I wish to study while I live. Explain to me, oh, prophet! what I must do in this phase of life—what your words will effect—what they have already effected. I would not live in it vainly.'

"'What matters it to you what I know? None live in vain, and nothing is lost. None of us are useless. Let me look from the detail, saddening the heart, and contracting the mind. I am wearied even at the thought.'

"'You, gifted with the power of revelation, should not be exhausted,' said Spartacus, with energy. 'If you look away from human misery, you are not the real and complete man of whom was said, "Homo sum et nihil humani, a me alienum puto." You do not love men, and are not a brother, if their sufferings at every hour of eternity do not disturb you—if you do not search for a remedy in the unfolding of your ideal. Unhappy artist, who does not feel a consuming fire in this terrible and pleasant inquiry?'

"'What, then, do you wish?' said the poet, who now was excited and almost angry. 'Are you so far vain as to think you alone toil and that I alone can impart inspiration? I am no magician. I despise false prophets, and long have striven against them. My predictions are demonstrations, my visions are elevated perceptions. The poet is not a sorcerer; he dreams with positiveness, while the other invents wildly. I realise your activity, for I can judge of your capacity. I believe in the sublimity of your dreams, because I feel capable of producing them, and because humanity is vast and powerful enough to expand a hundred times all the conceptions of one of its members.'

"'Then,' said Spartacus, 'I ask from you the fate of humanity, in the name of that sympathy that perhaps fills my bosom more completely than your own. An enchanted veil hides its sorrows from you, while every hour of my life I touch and shudder at them. I am anxious to soothe them, and, like the doctor by the bed-side of death, would rather kill by imprudence, than suffer to die by neglect. You see I will be a dangerous being, perhaps even monstrous, unless you change me into a saint. Tremble at the idea of my death, unless you give the enthusiast a remedy. Humanity dreams, sings, and beseeches in you. With me it suffers, bewails, and laments. You have expanded your future, though, in the distance before me. You may say what you please, yet it will require toil, labor, and sweat to gather something of your remedy for my bleeding wounds. Generations and language may pass away, inert and lifeless; I, the incarnation of suffering humanity—I, the cry of distress, and the longing for salvation—wish to know whether I shall do good or injury. You have not looked so far from wrong as to be unaware of its existence. Whither must we go first? what must I do to-morrow? Must I oppose the enemies of virtue by mildness or violence? Remember your idolised Taborites saw before the gates of the terrestrial paradise a sea of blood and tears. I do not think you a magician, but in your symbols I see a mighty logic and perfect lucidity. If you can foretell with certainty things far away, you can more certainly lift up the veil of the horizon of my sight.'