Consuelo, page 28
"Well," said Amelia, bursting into a fit of laughter, "my dear Nina is certainly under very favorable guardianship, and I should not be astonished if we should soon have to apply exorcisms to destroy the effect of Zdenko's incantations upon her."
Consuelo was somewhat disturbed at this raillery. She was not quite certain that the devil was a chimera and hell a poetic fable. She would have been induced to share the chaplain's indignation and affright, if, provoked at Amelia's laughter, he had not been at the moment perfectly ridiculous. Confused and disturbed in all her earliest belief by the contest between the superstition of the one party and the incredulity of the other, Consuelo that evening could hardly say her prayers. She inquired into the meaning of all those forms of devotion which she had hitherto received without examination, and which no longer satisfied her alarmed mind. "From what I have been able to see," thought she, "there are two kinds of devotion at Venice—that of the monks, the nuns, and the people, which goes perhaps too far; for it accepts, along with the mysteries of religion, all sorts of additional superstitions, such as the orco (the demon of the lagunes), the sorceries of Melamocco, the gold-seekers, the horoscope and vows to saints for the success of designs, far from pious, and often far from honest. Then there is that of the higher clergy and of the fashionable world, which is only a pretense; for these people go to church as they go to the theater—to hear the music and show themselves; They laugh at every thing and examine nothing, in religion, thinking that there is nothing serious or binding on the conscience in it, and that it is all a matter of form and habit. Anzoleto was not in the least religious; that was one source of grief to me, and I was right to look upon his unbelief with terror. My master Porpora, again—what did he believe? I know not. He never explained himself on that point, and yet he spoke to me of God and of Divine things at the most sorrowful and the most solemn moments of my life. But though his words struck me forcibly, the only impression they left was one of terror and uncertainty. He seemed to believe in a jealous and absolute God, who sends inspiration and genius only to those who are separated by their pride from the sufferings and the joys of their race. My heart regrets this fierce religion, and could not adore a God who should forbid me to love. Which then is the true God? Who will show him to me? My poor mother was a believer, but with how many childish idolatries was her worship mingled! What am I to believe?—what am I to think? Shall I say, like the thoughtless Amelia, that reason is the only God? But she does not know even that God, and cannot show him to me, for there is no one less reasonable than she. Can one live without religion? Of what use then would life be? For what object could I labor? To what purpose should I cherish pity, courage, generosity, a sense of right—I, who am alone in the universe—if there be not in that universe a Supreme Being, omniscient and full of love, who judges, who approves, who aids, preserves and blesses me? What strength, what excitement, can those have in life, who can dispense with a hope and a love beyond the reach of human illusions and worldly vicissitudes?
"Supreme Being!" cried she in her heart, forgetting the accustomed form of her prayer, "teach me what I ought to do. Infinite Love! teach me what I ought to love. Infinite Wisdom! teach me what I ought to believe."
While thus praying and meditating, she forgot the flight of time, and it was past midnight, when before retiring to bed she cast a glance over the landscape now lighted by the moon's pale beams. The view from her window was not very extensive, owing to the surrounding mountains, but exceedingly picturesque. A narrow and winding valley, in the center of which sparkled a mountain stream, lay before her, its meadows gently undulating until they reached the base of the surrounding hills, which shut in the horizon, except where at intervals they opened to permit the eye to discover still more distant and steeper ranges, clothed to the very summit with dark green firs. The last rays of the setting moon shone full on the principal features of this somber but striking landscape, to which the dark foliage of the evergreens, the pent-up water, and the rocks covered with moss and ivy, imparted a stern and savage aspect.
While comparing this country with all those she had traversed in her childhood, Consuelo was struck with an idea that had not before occurred to her; viz., that the landscape before her was not altogether new to her, whether she had formerly passed through this part of Bohemia, or seen elsewhere places very similar. "We traveled so much, my mother and I," said she to herself, "that it would not be astonishing if I had already been here. I have a distinct recollection of Dresden and Vienna, and we may have crossed Bohemia in going from one of those cities to the other. Still it would be strange if we had received hospitality in one of the out-houses of this very castle in which I am now lodged as a young lady of consequence; or if we had by our ballads earned a morsel of bread at the door of some one of those cabins, where Zdenko now stretches out his hand for alms and sings his ancient songs—Zdenko, the wandering artist, who is my equal and fellow, although he no longer seems so."
Just at this moment her eyes were directed toward the Schreckenstein, the summit of which could be perceived above a nearer eminence, and it seemed to her that this fearful spot was crowned by a reddish light which faintly tinged the transparent azure of the sky. She fixed her attention upon it, and saw the flickering light increase, become extinct, and reappear, until at last it shone so clear and decided that she could not attribute it to an illusion of her senses. Whether it was the temporary retreat of a band of Zingari, or the haunt of some brigand, it was not the less certain that the Schreckenstein was occupied at that moment by living beings; and Consuelo, after her simple and fervent prayer to the God of truth, was no longer disposed to believe in the existence of the fantastic and evil-minded spirits with which the popular tradition peopled the mountain. But was it not more probably Zdenko who had kindled the fire, to shield himself from the cold of the night? And if it were Zdenko, was it not to warm Albert that the dry branches of the forest were burning at that moment? This luminous appearance was often seen upon the Schreckenstein; it was spoken of with terror, and attributed to something supernatural. It had been said a thousand times that it emanated from the enchanted trunk of Ziska's old oak. But the Hussite no longer existed; at least it lay at the bottom of the ravine, and the red light still shone on the summit of the mountain. Why did not this mysterious light-house induce them to institute a seach there for the supposed retreat of Albert?
"Oh, apathy of devout minds!" thought Consuelo; "are you a boon of Providence, or an infirmity of weak and imperfect natures?" She asked herself at the same time if she should have the courage to go alone at that hour to the Schreckenstein; and she decided that, actuated by benevolence and charity, she could dare all. But she could adopt this flattering conclusion with perfect safety, as the strict closing of the château left her no opportunity of executing her design.
In the morning she awoke full of zeal, and hurried to the Schreckenstein. All was silent and deserted. The grass was untrodden around the Stone of Terror; there was no trace of fire, no vestige of the presence of last night's guests. She wandered over the mountain in every direction, but found nothing which could indicate their presence. She called Zdenko on every side; she tried to whistle, in order to see if she could awaken the barkings of Cynabre, and shouted her own name several times. She uttered the word "consolation" in all the languages she knew; she sang some strains of her Spanish hymn, and even of Zdenko's Bohemian air, which she remembered perfectly. But in vain. The crackling of the dried lichens under her feet, and the murmuring of the mysterious waters which ran beneath the rocks, were the only sounds that answered her.
Fatigued by this useless search, she was about to retire after having taken a moment's rest upon the stone, when she saw at her feet a broken and withered rose-leaf. She took it up, examined it, and after a moment's reflection felt convinced that it must be a leaf of the bouquet she had thrown to Zdenko, for the mountain did not produce wild roses, even if it had been the season for them, and as yet there were none in flower except in the green-house of the château. This faint indication consoled her for the apparent fruitlessness of her walk, and left her more than ever convinced that it was at the Schreckenstein they must hope to find Albert.
But in what cave of this impenetrable mountain was he concealed? He was not then always there, or perhaps he was at that moment buried in a fit of cataleptic insensibility; or rather, perhaps, Consuelo had deceived herself when she attributed to her voice some power over him, and the veneration he had professed for her was but a paroxysm of his madness which had left no trace in his memory. Perhaps at this very moment he saw and heard her, laughed at her efforts, and despised her useless attempts.
At this last thought Consuelo felt a burning blush mount to her cheeks, and she hastily left the Schreckenstein, almost resolving never to return there. However, she left a little basket of fruit which she had brought with her.
But on the morrow she found the basket in the same place, untouched. Even the leaves which covered the fruit had not been disturbed by any curious hand. Her offering had been disdained, or else neither Albert nor Zdenko had been there; and yet the ruddy light of a fire of fir branches had again shone the previous night upon the summit of the mountain. Consuelo had watched until daylight in order to observe it closely. She had several times seen the brightness diminish, and then increase, as if a vigilant hand had supplied nourishment to the flame. No one had seen any Zingari in the neighborhood. No stranger had been remarked in the paths of the forest; and all the peasants whom Consuelo questioned respecting the luminous appearance of the Stone of Terror, answered her in bad German, that it was not good to search into those things, and that people ought not to interfere in the affairs of the other world.
Nine days had now elapsed since Albert had disappeared. This was the longest absence of the kind that had ever taken place, and this protracted delay, united to the gloomy omen which had ushered in his thirtieth birthday, was not calculated to revive the hopes of the family. At last they began to be seriously alarmed; Count Christian did nothing but utter heart-breaking sighs; the baron went to hunt without a thought of killing any thing; the chaplain offered up an extra number of prayers; Amelia no longer dared to laugh or converse as usual; and the canoness, pale and weak, unable to pursue her household cares, and forgetful of her tapestry work, told her beads from morning till night, kept little tapers burning before the image of the Virgin, and seemed stooped lower by a foot than usual. Consuelo ventured to propose a thorough and careful examination of the Schreckenstein, related what researches she had made there, and mentioned to the canoness privately the circumstance of the rose-leaf, and the careful watch which she had kept all night on the luminous summit of the mountain. But the preparations which Wenceslawa preposed to make for the search, soon caused Consuelo to repent of having spoken so frankly. The canoness wished to have Zdenko seized and terrified by threats, to equip and provide fifty men with torches and muskets, and while the chaplain should pronounce his most terrible exorcisms upon the fatal stone, that the baron, followed by Hans and his most courageous attendants, should institute a regular siege of the Schreckenstein in the middle of the night. To surprise Albert in this manner would be the sure way to throw him into a state of derangement, and perhaps even of violent frenzy; and Consuelo, therefore, by force of arguments and prayers, prevailed upon Wenceslawa not to take any step without her advice. What she proposed was, to leave the château the following night, and accompanied only by the canoness, and followed at a distance by Hans and the chaplain only, to examine the fire of the Schreckenstein on the spot. But this resolution was beyond the strength of the canoness. She was firmly persuaded that an assembly of demons was held on the Stone of Terror, and all that Consuelo could obtain was, that the drawbridge should be lowered at midnight, and that the baron with some other volunteers should follow her, without arms and in the greatest silence. It was agreed that this attempt should be concealed from Count Christian, whose great age and feeble health unfitted him for such an expedition in the cold and unwholesome night air, and who would yet wish to join it if he were informed. All was executed as Consuelo desired. The baron, the chaplain and Hans accompanied her. She advanced alone, a hundred steps in front of her escort, and ascended the Schreckenstein with a courage worthy of Bradamante. But in proportion as she approached, the brightness which seemed to issue in rays from the fissures of the rock was extinguished by degrees, and when she reached the summit, profound darkness enveloped the mountain from the summit to the base. A deep silence and gloomy solitude reigned all around. She called Zdenko, Cynabre, and even Albert, although in uttering the latter name her voice trembled. All was mute, and echo alone answered her unsteady voice.
She returned toward her companions, completely disheartened. They praised her courage to the skies, and ventured in their turn to explore the spot she had just quitted, but without success; and all returned in silence to the château, where the canoness, who waited for them at the gate, felt her last hope vanish at their recitals.
CHAPTER XXXIX
CONSUELO, after receiving the thanks of the good Wenceslawa, and the kiss which she imprinted upon her forehead, proceeded toward her apartment cautiously, in order not to awaken Amelia, from whom the enterprise had been concealed. She slept on the first floor, while the chamber of the canoness was in the basement story. But in ascending the stairs she let her light fall, and it was extinguished before she could recover it. She thought she could easily find her way without it, especially as the day began to dawn; but whether from absence of mind, or that her courage, after an exertion too great for her sex, abandoned her of a sudden, she was so much agitated that on reaching the story on which her apartment was situated, she did not stop there, but continued to ascend to the upper story, and entered the gallery leading to Albert's chamber, which was situated almost immediately over hers. But she stopped, chilled with affright, at the entrance of the gallery, on seeing a thin dark form glide along before her, as if its feet did not touch the floor, and enter the chamber toward which Consuelo was hastening under the idea that it was her own. In the midst of her terror she had presence f mind enough to examine this figure and to ascertain by a rapid glance in the indistinct light of the dawn that it wore the form and dress of Zdenko. But what was he going to do in Consuelo's apartment at such an hour, and with what message could he have been entrusted for her? She did not feel disposed to encounter such a tête-à-tête, and descended the stairs to seek the canoness; but upon reaching the flight below she recognized her corridor and the door of her apartment, and perceived that it was Albert's into which she had just seen Zdenko enter.
Then a thousand conjectures presented themselves to her mind, which had now become somewhat composed. How could the idiot have penetrated at night into a castle so well guarded and so carefully examined every evening by the canoness and the domestics? The apparition of Zdenko confirmed her in the idea which she had always entertained, that there was some secret outlet from the château, and perhaps a subterranean communication with the Schreckenstein. She ran to the door of the canoness, who was shut up in her gloomy cell, and who uttered a loud cry on seeing her appear without alight, and somewhat pale. "Be not disturbed, my dear madam," said the young girl; "I have just met with a strange occurrence, but one which need not terrify you in the least. I have just seen Zdenko enter Count Albert's chamber."
"Zdenko! you must be dreaming, my child; how could he have got in? I closed all the gates with the same care as usual, and during the whole of your trip to the Schreckenstein I kept good guard; the bridge was raised, and when you had all crossed it on your return, I remained behind to see it raised again."
"However that may be, madam, Zdenko is nevertheless in Count Albert's chamber. You have only to go there to be convinced of it."
"I will go immediately," replied the canoness, "and drive him out as he deserves. The wretched creature must have come in during the day. But what object could he have in coming here? Most probably he is looking for Albert, or has come to wait for him—a sure proof, my poor child, that he knows no more where he is than we do ourselves."
"Well, let's question him, however," said Consuelo.
"In one instant," said the canoness, who in preparing for bed, had taken off two of her petticoats, and who considered herself too lightly dressed with the remaining three; "I cannot present myself thus before a man, my dear. Go and look for the chaplain or my brother the baron, whichever you can find first—we must not expose ourselves alone before this crazy man. But what am I thinking of? A young person like you cannot go and knock at the doors of these gentlemen. Wait a moment, I will hurry; I shall be ready in an instant."
And she began to rearrange her dress, the more slowly because she was hurried, and because, her regular habits being deranged, she hardly knew what she was about. Consuelo, impatient at so long a delay, during which Zdenko might have time to leave Albert's chamber, and hide himself in the castle so that he could not be found, recovered all her energy. "Dear madam," said she, lighting a candle, "will you please to call the gentlemen? I will go in the meantime and see that Zdenko does not escape us."
