Consuelo, page 49
Thus reflecting, the guide, having fed his horses, and having taken a good dram by way of rousing himself, turned again toward Riesenburg, without hurrying himself in the least, as Consuelo had foreseen and hoped, though she had recommended him to use all speed. The honest fellow was lost in conjectures upon the romantic adventure in which he found himself involved. By degrees the vapors of the night, and perhaps also the strong drink, made things appear still more wonderful to him. "It would be curious," thought he, "if this dark woman in black were to turn out to be a man, and this man the ghost of the castle—the dark spirit of the Schreckenstein. They say that he plays all sorts of scurvy tricks on night travelers, and old Hans swore that he saw him often when he was feeding Baron Frederick's horses before daybreak. The devil! it would not be so pleasant to meet the like, as something bad is sure to come of it. If my poor hack has carried Satan this night he will die for certain. I fancy there is fire coming out of his nostrils already; it is very well if he does not take the bit between his teeth. I wish I were at the castle, to see if, in place of the money which this she-devil has given me, I shall not find dried leaves in my pocket; and if they tell me that Signora Porporina is sleeping quietly in her bed, instead of being on the road to Prague, what the devil is to become of me? Truth to say she galloped like the wind, and vanished when she left me, as if she had sunk into the ground!"
CHAPTER LXIII
ANZOLETO did not fail to rise at daybreak, seize his stiletto, and perform an elaborate toilet. But when he proceeded to open the door, which he had observed previously was easily enough unlocked, he was surprised beyond measure to find that he could not turn the key. He bruised his fingers and tired himself in the attempt, at the risk of awakening some one by his violent efforts. It was of no avail; there was no other outlet from his room, and the window looked down upon the garden from a height of fifty feet, so steep and dangerous that it made him giddy only to think of it. "This is not the work of chance," said Anzoleto, after giving the door a last push, "but whether it be Consuelo (and that would be a good omen), or whether it be the count, both will have to reckon with me for it."
He endeavored to go to sleep again, but vexation, and perhaps also a certain uneasiness allied to fear, prevented him. If Albert had been the author of this precaution, he alone of all the household had not been the dupe of his pretended relationship to Consuelo. The latter had appeared really frightened when she warned him to beware of that terrible man. It did not console Ansoleto to say, that being crazy, the young count had probably not much connection in his ideas, or that being of illustrious birth, he would not be willing, according to the prejudices of the day, to commit himself in an affair of honor with an actor. These suppositions did not reassure him. Albert had appeared to him a very quiet madman, and one who was quite master of his actions; and as to his prejudices, they could not be very deeply rooted, if they permitted him to entertain the idea of marrying an actress. Anzoleto therefore began seriously to fear having any difference with him before the accomplishment of his object, and thus getting into trouble without profit. This termination of his adventure appeared to him rather disgraceful than tragic. He had learned how to handle a sword, and flattered himself that he was a match for any nobleman whatsoever. Nevertheless he did not feel easy, and could not sleep.
Toward five o'clock he imagined he heard steps in the corridor, and shortly afterward his door was opened without noise and without difficulty. It was not yet broad day-light, and on seeing a man enter his chamber with so little ceremony, Anzoleto thought the decisive moment had arrived. He darted toward his stiletto with a desperate bound. But by the glimmer of the dawn he immediately recognized his guide, who made signs to him to speak low and to make no noise. "What do you mean by your grimaces, and what do you want with me, you stupid ass?" said Anzoleto, angrily. "How did you get in?"
"Get in? How should I get in but by the door, my good sir?"
"The door was locked."
"But you had left the key outside."
"Impossible! there it is on my table."
"That is strange! then there are two."
"And who can have played me the trick of locking me in thus? There was but one key yesterday. Was it you when you came for my valise?"
"I swear that it was not; I never saw the key."
"Then it must be the devil! But what do you want with me, with your busy and mysterious air? I did not send for you."
"You did not give me time to speak! However, you see me, and you must of course know very well what I want of you. The signora reached Tusta without accident, and according to her directions I am here with my horses to conduct you thither."
It was some minutes before Anzoleto could comprehend what was the matter, but when he did so, he joined in the deception quickly enough to prevent his guide, whose superstitious fears had completely vanished with the shades of night, from again falling into his perplexities about it being a trick of the devil. The knave had begun by examining and ringing Consuelo's money on the pavement of the stable, and felt himself well satisfied with his part of the bargain with Satan. Anzoleto understood in a moment what had occurred, and imagined that the fugitive on her side had been so closely watched as not to be able to inform him of her resolution, and that threatened, urged to extremity perhaps, by her jealous lover, she had seized a favorable moment to baffle his projects, escape, and seek the open country. "However that may be," said he to himself, "there is no room for doubt or hesitation. The direction which she has sent to me by this man, who has conducted her on the road to Prague, is clear and precise. Victory! that is, if I can get out of this house without being obliged to cross swords!"
He armed himself to the teeth; and while he was hastening to get ready, he sent his guide as a scout to see if the road was clear. Upon his bringing intelligence that all seemed to be still buried in sleep, except the bridge-keeper who had just opened the gate for him, Anzoleto descended without noise, remounted his horse, and met in the court-yard only a single stable-boy, whom he called to give him some money, in order that his departure might not bear the appearance of a flight. "By Saint Wenceslas!" said the servant to the guide, "how strange it is! your horses on coming out of the stable are covered with sweat, as if they had been traveling all night."
"It must have been that your black devil came and dosed them," replied the other.
"That must he the reason," returned the stable-boy, "why I heard such a horrible noise in this direction all night! I did not dare to come and see what was the matter; but I heard the portcullis creak and the drawbridge lowered, just as I see it now; I certainly thought you were going away, and I did not expect to see you this morning."
The warder at the drawbridge was also surprised. "Your lordship is double then?" asked the man, rubbing his eyes. "I saw you depart about midnight, and now I see you again."
"You must have been dreaming, my honest fellow," said Anzoleto, making him a present also. "I should not have gone without asking you to drink my health."
"Your lordship does me too much honor," said the porter, who spoke a little broken Italian. "But, for all that," said he to the guide in his own tongue, "I have seen two tonight."
"And take care that you do not see four tomorrow night," replied the guide, galloping over the bridge after Anzoleto. "The black devils always play such tricks with sleepers like you."
Anzoleto, who got full instructions from his guide, reached Tusta, or Tauss—for they are, I believe, the same town. He passed through it, after having discharged the man and taken post-horses, abstained from making any inquiries for ten leagues, and at the appointed place stopped to breakfast (for he was now nearly worn out), and asked for one Madam Wolf, who was to meet him there with a carriage. But no one could give him any news of her, and for a very good reason.
There was indeed a Madam Wolf in the village, but she had been established there fifty years, and kept a mercer's shop. Anzoleto, tired and exhausted, concluded that Consuelo had not thought it best to stop in this place. He inquired for a carriage to hire, but there was none. He was therefore obliged to mount on horseback again, and ride post once more. He thought every moment that he was certain to overtake the welcome carriage, into which he could throw himself, and be recompensed for his anxieties and his fatigues. But he met very few travelers, and in no carriage did he see Consuelo. At last, overcome by excess of fatigue, and finding no vehicle to be hired anywhere, he resolved to stop, although with much reluctance, and to wait in a little town on the roadside until Consuelo should join him, for he was certain he must have passed her. He had plenty of time during the rest of the day and the following night to curse the women, the inns, the roads, and all jealous lovers. The next day he found a public passenger coach, and continued to hurry toward Prague, but without being more successful. Let us leave him traveling toward the north, a prey to rage, impatience, and despair not unmixed with hope, and return for an instant to the château, in order to observe the effect of Consuelo's departure upon the inhabitants of that abode.
It may readily be conceived that Count Albert did not sleep, any more than the other two personages engaged in this hurried adventure. After having provided a second key to Anzoleto's chamber, he had locked him in from the outside, and was no longer anxious about his attempts, knowing well that unless Consuelo herself interfered, no one would go to deliver him. Respecting this possibility, the bare idea of which made him shudder, Albert had the extreme delicacy not to wish to make any imprudent discovery. "If she loves him so well," thought he, "I need struggle no more; let my destiny be accomplished; I shall know it soon enough; for she is sincere, and tomorrow she will openly refuse the offers I have made her today. If she is merely persecuted and threatened by this dangerous man, she is now sheltered from his pursuits for one night at least. In the meantime, no matter what passing noise I hear around me, I will not stir; I will not make myself odious, and inflict upon that unfortunate the punishment of shame, by presenting myself before her without being called. No! I will not play the part of a cowardly spy, of a suspicious and jealous lover, since hitherto her refusals and irresolution have given me no claim over her."
The courageous Albert religiously kept the resolution he had made, and although he imagined he heard Consuelo's footsteps in the lower story at the moment of her flight, and some other more inexplicable noises in the direction of the portcullis, he prayed and suffered in silence, and restrained with clasped hands the throbbings of his heart.
When the hour arrived at which Count Christian was accustomed to rise, Albert hastened to him, with the intention, not of informing him of what was passing, but of persuading him to enter into a fresh explanation with Consuelo. He was certain that she would speak the truth. He thought that she must even desire such an explanation, and he prepared to comfort her in her trouble, and to pretend a resignation which would qualify the bitterness of their farewell. Albert did not ask what would become of himself afterward. He felt that neither his reason nor his life could support such a shock, but he did not shrink from undergoing suffering beyond his strength.
He found his father at the moment when the latter was entering the oratory. The letter placed upon the cushion struck their eyes at the same instant. They seized and read it together. The old man was deeply dejected, thinking that his son could not endure the shock; but Albert, who was prepared for a much greater misfortune, was calm, resigned, and unshaken in his confidence.
"She is pure," said he; "and she wishes to love me. She feels that my love is true, and my faith immovable. God will protect her from danger. Let us accept this promise, my father, and remain tranquil. Fear not for me; I shall be stronger than my sorrow, and will subdue any anxiety that might disturb me."
"My son," said the old man, deeply affected, "we are here before the image of the God of your fathers. You have chosen another form of belief, and I have never reproached you for it, although, as you well know, my heart has suffered deeply. I am about to prostrate myself before that God in whose presence I promised you, the night before this, to do all that was in my power in order that your love might be heard, and sanctified by an honorable union. I have kept my promise, and I now renew it to you. I am again about to pray that the Almighty may fulfill your wishes; my own will not oppose them. Will you not unite with me in this solemn hour, which will perhaps decide in heaven the destiny of your love upon the earth? O my noble son! in whom the Eternal has preserved every virtue, notwithstanding the trials He has permitted your first faith to undergo—whom I have seen in your childhood kneeling by my side at the tomb of your mother, and praying like a young angel to that Sovereign Master whom you did not then doubt!—will you this day refuse to raise your voice toward Him, that mine may not be in vain?"
"Father," replied Albert, folding the old man in his arms, "if our faith differs, our souls are in unison as to the divine and eternal principle. You adore the God of wisdom and purity, the ideal of perfection, knowledge, justice, truth; I have never ceased to do so. O thou Crucified One!" he exclaimed, kneeling with his father before the sacred image, "Thou whom men have worshiped, and whom I too worship, as the purest and most noble manifestation of divine love—Thou who dwellest in God and in us, hear my prayer—bless just impulses and upright intentions, defeat triumphant wickedness, sustain oppressed innocence! Let the issue of my affection be as Heaven wills; but let Thy influence direct and animate those hearts who have no other strength or support than Thy sojourning and example upon earth!"
CHAPTER LXIV
ANZOLETO pursued his way toward Prague to no purpose, for Consuelo, after having given the false instructions to the guide which she deemed necessary to the success of her enterprise, had taken a road to the left which she was acquainted with, from having twice accompanied the Baroness Amelia to a castle in the neighborhood of the little village of Tauss. This castle was the most distant journey which Consuelo had undertaken during her stay at Riesenburg. The aspect of the country, therefore, and the direction of the roads which traversed it, naturally occurred to her when she projected and executed her bold and hasty flight. She recollected also that, when walking on the terrace, the lady of the castle, in pointing out the vast extent of country which could be seen from it, had said: "That noble road bordered with trees which you see yonder, and which is lost in the distance, joins the great southern highway, and leads direct to Vienna." Consuelo, with this direction in her mind, was certain of not going astray. She reached the castle and grounds of Biela, which she skirted, and found without much difficulty, notwithstanding the darkness, the road bordered with trees; so that before daybreak she had accomplished a distance of three leagues as the bird flies. Young, active, and accustomed from childhood to long walks, and supported moreover by a resolute will, she saw the day dawn without experiencing much fatigue. The sky was clear, the roads were dry, sandy, and pleasant under foot. The rapid pace of the horse, to which she was not accustomed, had somewhat exhausted her; but in such cases it is better to go on than pause, for with energetic temperaments one species of fatigue is the best alleviation of another.
However by degrees as the stars grew pale, and the dawn brightened into day, she became frightened at being alone. She felt tranquil so long as it was dark, since, always on the watch, she was certain of being able to hide herself before she could be discovered; but during the day, obliged as she would be to cross extensive plains, she dared no longer follow the beaten track, the more so as she now began to perceive groups of persons in the distance, spreading like dark spots over the white line which marked the road on the yet obscure surface of the adjoining country. So near Riesenburg she might be recognized by the first person she met, and she therefore resolved to take a path which promised to shorten her journey by avoiding a circuit which she would otherwise be obliged to make round the hill. She proceeded in this direction for about an hour without meeting any one, and at last entered a thicket where she could easily conceal herself, if necessary. "If I could thus advance," thought she, "some eight or ten leagues unobserved, I would then proceed quietly along the high road, and at the first favorable opportunity hire a carriage and horses."
This reflection caused her to examine her purse, and see what was left for the remainder of her journey after her generous donation to the guide from Riesenburg. She had not yet had time for reflection; but had she reflected, and listened to the suggestions of prudence, would she have set out on such an expedition? But what were her surprise and consternation when she found that her purse contained a great deal less than she had supposed. In her haste she had only taken the half of the small sum which she possessed, or else she had given gold in place of silver to the guide; or perhaps, in opening her purse, she had dropped some of the money on the ground. However it might be, it was evident that she had no alternative but to proceed to Vienna on foot.
This discovery discouraged her a little, not so much on the score of the fatigue which it would occasion her, as the danger to which a young woman would be inevitably exposed in going on foot so long a journey. The fear which she had hitherto surmounted, under the impression that she could procure a conveyance, and thus avoid any risk of danger, overpowered her to such a degree, that, overcome by a sense of weakness and vague apprehension, she hurried forward, seeking the deepest shade, in order to conceal herself in case of attack.
To add to her disquietude, she saw that she had lost her way, and that she was wandering at random in the pathless forest. If the solitude reassured her in some respects, how could she be certain, on the other hand, that she might not take a direction the very opposite of what she wished, and so return to Riesenburg. Anzoleto might still be there, detained by suspicion, chance, or the hope of revenge; even Albert himself might be dreaded in the first moment of his agitation and despair. Consuelo knew that he would submit to her decision; but suppose she were to present herself in the neighborhood of the castle, would he not hasten to assail her with supplications and tears? Ought she to expose this noble young man and his family, as well as to her own pride, to the scandal and ridicule of an enterprise abandoned as soon as undertaken? Anzoleto's return in the course of a few days might plunge every thing into fresh confusion, and so renew the danger which she had so generously and boldly obviated. Every thing must be hazarded rather than return to Riesenburg.
