Consuelo, page 35
"And will you, on your part," replied Consuelo, leaning on his shoulder, and smiling expressively, "swear never to return hither without me?"
"Will you indeed return with me!" he rapturously exclaimed, looking earnestly in her face, but not daring to clasp her in his arms; "only swear this to me, and I will pledge myself by a solemn oath never to leave my father's roof without your command or permission."
"May God hear and receive our mutual promise!" ejaculated Consuelo, transported with joy. "We will come back to pray in your church; and you, Albert, will teach me to pray, as no one has taught me hitherto; for I have an ardent desire to know God. You, my friend, will reveal heaven to me, and I when requisite will recall your thoughts to terrestrial things and the duties of human life."
"Divine sister!" exclaimed Albert, his eyes swimming in tears of delight, "I have nothing to teach you. It is you who must be the agent in my regeneration. It is from you I shall learn all things, even prayer. I no longer require solitude to raise my soul to God. I no longer need to prostrate myself over the ashes of my fathers, to comprehend and feel my own immortality. To look on you is sufficient to raise my soul to heaven in gratitude and praise."
Consuelo drew him away, she herself opening and closing the doors. "Here, Cynabre!" cried Albert to his faithful hound, giving him a lantern of better construction than that with which Consuelo was furnished, and better suited to the journey they were about to undertake. The intelligent animal seized the lamp with an appearance of pride and satisfaction, and preceded them at a measured pace, stopping when his master stopped, increasing or slackening his speed as he did, and sagaciously keeping the middle of the path, in order to preserve his precious charge from injury by contact with the rocks or brushwood.
Consuelo walked with great difficulty, and would have fallen twenty times but for Albert's arm, which every moment supported and raised her up. They once more descended together the course of the stream, keeping along its fresh and verdant margin.
"Zdenko," said Albert, "delights in tending the Naiad of these mysterious grottoes. He smooths her bed when encumbered as it often is with gravel and shells: he fosters the pale flowers which spring up beneath her footsteps, and protects them against her kisses, which are sometimes rather rude."
Consuelo looked upward at the sky through the clefts of the rock, and saw a star glimmer in its blue vault. "That," said Albert, "is Aldebaran, the star of the Zingari. The day will not dawn for an hour yet."
"That is my star," replied Consuelo, "for I am, my dear count, though not by race, by calling, a kind of Zingara. My mother bore no other name at Venice, though, in accordance with her Spanish prejudices, she disclaimed the degrading appellation. As for myself, I am still known in that country by the name of the Zingarella."
"Are you indeed one of that persecuted race," replied Albert; "if so, I should love you yet more than I do, were that possible."
Consuelo, who had thought it right to recall Count Rudolstadt to the disparity of their birth and condition, recollected what Amelia had said of Albert's sympathy for the wandering poor, and, fearing lest she had involuntarily yielded to an instinctive feeling of coquetry, she kept silence.
But Albert thus interrupted it in a few moments:
"What you have just told me," said he, "awakens in me, I know not by what association of ideas, a recollection of my youth, childish enough it is true, but which I must relate to you: for since I have seen you, it has again and again recurred to my memory. Lean more on me, dear sister, while I repeat it.
"I was about fifteen, when, returning late one evening by one of the paths which border on the Schreckenstein, and which wind through the hills in the direction of the castle, I saw before me a tall thin woman, miserably clad, who carried a burthen on her shoulders, and who paused occasionally to seat herself, and to recover breath. I accosted her. She was beautiful, though embrowned by the sun and withered by misery and care. Still there was in her bearing, mean as was her attire, a sort of pride and dignity, mingled, it is true, with an air of melancholy. When she held out her hand to me, she rather commanded pity than implored it. My purse was empty. I entreated her to accompany me to the castle, where she could have help, food, and shelter for the night.
"'I would prefer remaining here,' replied she, with a foreign accent, which I conceived to be that of the wandering Egyptians, for I was not at that time acquainted with the various languages which I afterward learned in my travels. 'I could pay you,' she added, 'for the hospitality you offer, by singing songs of the different countries which I have traversed. I rarely ask alms unless compelled to do so by extreme distress.'
"'Poor creature!' said I, 'you bear a very heavy burden; your feet are wounded and almost naked. Entrust your bundle to me; I will carry it to my abode, and you will thus be able to walk with more ease.'
"'This burden daily becomes heavier,' she replied, with a melancholy smile, which imparted a charm to her features; 'but I do not complain of it. I have borne it without repining for years, and over hundreds of leagues. I never trust it to any one besides myself; but you appear so good and so innocent, that I shall lend it to you until we reach your home.'
"She then unloosed the clasp of her mantle, which entirely covered her, the handle of her guitar alone being visible. This movement discovered to me a child of five or six years old, pale and weather-beaten like its mother, but with a countenance so sweet and calm that it filled my heart with tenderness. It was a little girl, quite in tatters, lean, but hale and strong, and who slept tranquilly as a slumbering cherub on the bruised and wearied back of the wandering songstress. I took her in my arms, but had some trouble in keeping her there; for, waking up and finding herself with a stranger, she struggled and wept. Her mother, to soothe her, spoke to her in her own language; my caresses and attentions comforted her, and on arriving at the castle we were the best friends in the world. When the poor woman had supped, she put her infant in a bed which I had prepared, attired herself in a strange dress, sadder still than her rags, and came into the hall, where she sang Spanish, French, and German ballads, with a clearness and delicacy of voice, a firmness of intonation, united to a frankness and absence of reserve in her manner, which charmed us all. My good aunt paid her every attention, which the Zingara appeared to feel; but she did not lay aside her pride, and only gave evasive answers to our questions. The child interested me even more than its mother; and I earnestly wished to see her again, to amuse her, and even to keep her altogether. I know not what tender solicitude awoke in my bosom for this little being, poor, and a wanderer on the earth. I dreamed of her all night long, and in the morning I ran to see her. But already the Zingara had departed, and I traversed the whole mountain around without being able to discover her. She had risen before the dawn, and, with her child, had taken the way toward the south, carrying with her my guitar, which I had made her a present of, her own, to her great sorrow, being broken.
"Albert! Albert?" exclaimed Consuelo, with extraordinary emotion; "that guitar is at Venice with Master Porpora, who keeps it for me, and from whom I shall reclaim it, never to part with it again. It is of ebony, with a cipher chased on silver—a cipher which I well remember, 'A. R.' My mother, whose memory was defective, from having seen so many things, neither remembered your name nor that of your castle, nor even the country where this adventure had happened; but she often spoke of the hospitality she had received from the owner of the guitar, of the touching charity of the young and handsome signor, who had carried me in his arms for half a league, chatting with her the while as with an equal. Oh, my dear Albert, all that is fresh in my memory also. At each word of your recital, these long slumbering images were awakened one by one; and this is the reason why your mountains did not appear absolutely unknown to me, and why I endeavored in vain to discover the cause of these confused recollections which forced themselves upon me during my journey, and especially why, when I first saw you, my heart palpitated and my head bowed down respectfully, as if I had just found a friend and protector, long lost and regretted.
"Do you think, then, Consuelo," said Albert, pressing her to his heart, "that I did not recognize you at the first glance? In vain have years changed and improved the lineaments of childhood. I have a memory wonderfully retentive, though often confused and dreamy, which needs not the aid of sight or speech to traverse the space of days and of ages. I did not know that you were my cherished Zingarella, but I felt assured I had already known you, loved you, and pressed you to my heart—a heart which, although unwittingly, was from that instant bound to yours forever."
CHAPTER XLVII
THUS conversing, they arrived at the point where the two paths divided, and where Consuelo had met Zdenko. They perceived at a distance the light of his lantern, which was placed on the ground beside him. Consuelo, having learned by experience the dangerous whims, and almost incredible strength of the idiot, involuntarily pressed close to Albert, on perceiving the indication of his approach.
"Why do you fear this mild and affectionate creature?" said the young count, surprised, yet secretly gratified at her terror. "Poor Zdenko loves you, although since yesternight a frightful dream has made him refractory and rather hostile to your generous project of coming to seek me. But he is, when I desire it, as submissive as a child, and you shall see him at your feet if I but say the word."
"Do not humiliate him before me," replied Consuelo; "do not increase the aversion which he already entertains for me. I shall by and bye inform you of the serious reasons I have to fear and avoid him for the future."
"Zdenko," replied Albert, "is surely an ethereal being, and it is difficult to conceive how he could inspire any one whatever with fear. His state of perpetual ecstasy confers on him the purity and charity of angels."
"But this state of ecstasy when it is prolonged becomes a disease. Do not deceive yourself on this point. God does not wish that man should thus abjure the feeling and consciousness of his real life, to elevate himself—often by vague conceptions—to an ideal world. Madness, the general result of these hallucinations, is a punishment for his pride and indolence."
Cynabre stopped before Zdenko, and looked at him affectionately, expecting some caresses, which his friend did not deign to bestow upon him. He sat with his head buried in his hands, in the same attitude and on the same spot as when Consuelo left him. Albert addressed him in Bohemian, but he hardly answered. He shook his head with a disconsolate air; his cheeks were bathed in tears, and he would not even look at Consuelo. Albert raised his voice and addressed him with a determined air; but there was more of exhortation and tenderness than of command and reproach, in the tones of his voice. Zdenko rose at last, and offered his hand to Consuelo, who clasped it, trembling.
"From henceforward," said he in German, looking at her kindly, though sadly, "you must no longer fear me; but you have done me a great injury, and I feel that your hand is full of misfortune for us."
He walked before them, exchanging a few words with Albert from time to time. They followed the spacious and solid gallery which Consuelo had not yet traversed at this extremity, and which led them to a circular vault, where they again met the water of the fountain, flowing into a vast basin, formed by the hand of man and bordered with hammered stone. It escaped thence by two currents, one of which was lost in the caverns, the other took the direction toward the cistern of the château. It was this which Zdenko had closed by replacing with his Herculean hand three enormous stones which he removed when he wished to dry the cistern to the level of the arcade, and the staircase which led to Albert's terrace.
"Let us seat ourselves here," said the count to his companion, "in order to give the water of the cistern time to drain off by a waste way——"
"Which I know but too well," said Consuelo, shuddering from head to foot.
"What do you mean?" asked Albert, looking at her with surprise.
"I will tell you by and bye," said Consuelo, "I do not wish to grieve and agitate you now by the relation of the perils which I have surmounted——"
"But what does she mean?" cried Albert, looking at Zdenko.
Zdenko replied in Bohemian with an air of indifference, while kneading with his long brown hands lumps of clay, which he placed in the interstices of his sluice, in order to hasten the draining of the cistern. "Explain yourself, Consuelo," said Albert, much agitated. "I can comprehend nothing of what he says. He pretends that he did not conduct you to this place, but that you came by subterranean passages which I know to be impassable, and where a delicate female could never have dared to venture, nor have been able to find her way. He says (Great God! what does the unfortunate not say?) that it was destiny winch conducted you, and that the archangel Michael, whom he calls the proud and domineering, caused you to pass safely through the water and the abyss."
"It is possible," said Consuelo, with a smile, "that the archangel Michael had something to do with it; for it is certain that I came by the waste-way of the fountain, that I fled before the torrent, that I gave myself up for lost two or three times, that I traversed caverns and abysses where I expected at every step to be swallowed up or suffocated; and yet these dangers were not more fearful than Zdenko's anger, when chance or Providence caused me to find the true route." Here Consuelo, who always expressed herself in Spanish with Albert, related to him in a few words the reception which his pacific Zdenko had given her, and his attempt to bury her alive which he had almost succeeded in accomplishing at the moment when she had the presence of mind to appease him by the singular watchword of the heretics. A cold perspiration burst out upon Albert's forehead on hearing these incredible details, and he often darted terrible glances at Zdenko, as if he would have annihilated him. Zdenko, on meeting them, assumed a strange expression of revolt and disdain. Consuelo trembled to see these two insane persons excited against each other; for notwithstanding the profound wisdom and lofty sentiments which characterized the greater part of Albert's conversation, it was evident to her that his reason had sustained a severe shock, from which perhaps it would never entirely recover. She tried to reconcile them by addressing affectionate words to each. But Albert, rising and giving the keys of his hermitage to Zdenko, said a few cold words to him, to which Zdenko submitted on the instant. He then resumed his lantern and went his way, singing his strange airs with their incomprehensible words.
"Consuelo," said Albert, as soon as he had retired out of sight, "if this faithful animal which lies at your feet should become mad—yes, if my poor Cynabre should endanger your life by an involuntary fury, I should certainly be obliged to kill him; and do not think that I would hesitate, though my hand has never shed blood, even that of beings inferior to man. Be tranquil, therefore, no danger will menace you hereafter."
"Of what are you speaking, Albert?" replied the young girl, agitated at this unlooked-for allusion. "I fear nothing now. Zdenko is still a man, though he has lost his reason by his own fault perhaps, and partly also by yours. Speak not of blood and punishment. It is your duty to restore him to the truth, and to cure him, instead of encouraging his insanity. Come, let us go; I tremble lest the day should dawn, and surprise us on our arrival."
"You are right," said Albert, continuing his route. "Wisdom speaks by your lips, Consuelo. My insanity has smitten that unfortunate as if by contagion, and it was quite time for you to arrive, and save us from the abyss to which we were both hastening. Restored by you, I will endeavor to restore Zdenko. And yet if I do not succeed, if his insanity again puts your life in danger, although Zdenko be a man in the sight of God, and an angel in his tenderness for me—though he be the only true friend I have hitherto had upon the earth—be assured, Consuelo, I will tear him from my heart, and you shall never see him again."
"Enough, enough, Albert?" murmured Consuelo, incapable after so many terrors of supporting a fresh one; "do not let such ideas dwell upon your mind. I would rather lose my life a hundred times, than inflict upon yours such a fearful necessity and such a cause for despair."
Albert did not heed her, and seemed absent. He forgot to support her, and did not perceive that she faltered and stumbled at every step. He was absorbed by the idea of the dangers she had incurred for his sake; and in his terror at picturing them to himself, in his ardent solicitude and excited gratitude, he walked rapidly, making the gallery resound with his hurried exclamations, and leaving her to drag herself after him with efforts which became every moment more painful. In this cruel situation, Consuelo thought of Zdenko who was behind her, and who might follow them; of the torrent which he always held, as it were, in his hand, and which he could again unchain at the moment when she was ascending the well alone, deprived of Albert's assistance; for the latter, a prey to a new fancy, thought he saw her before him, and followed a deceitful phantom, while he abandoned her to darkness. This was too much for a woman, and even for Consuelo herself. Cynabre trotted on as fast as his master, and bounded before him carrying the lantern. Consuelo had left hers in the cell. The road made numerous turns behind which the light disappeared every instant. Consuelo struck against one of those angles, fell, and could not rise again. The chill of death ran through all her limbs. A last apprehension presented itself to her mind. Zdenko had probably received orders to open the sluice-gate after a certain time, in order to conceal the staircase and the issue of the cistern, so that even if hatred did not inspire him, he would obey this necessary precaution from habit. "It is accomplished then," thought Consuelo, making vain attempts to drag herself forward on her knees. "I am the victim of a pitiless destiny. I shall never escape from this cavern—my eyes will never again behold the light of day."
