by George Sand
May 13th.—Yes indeed, I trust in destiny, in Providence that has sent me help out of the blue. I’m leaving, I’m leaning on the strong arm that shields me! . . . While walking on the esplanade this morning, where I had ventured in hopes of receiving some new revelation from the spirits all around me, I cast an eye at the bastion where the sentry stands. There were two of them, one keeping watch, shouldering his gun; the other marching to and fro, as if he were looking for something. The second one attracted my attention because he was so tall; I had the feeling that he wasn’t a stranger to me. But I could only throw him furtive glances, and at each lap around the esplanade I had to turn my back to him. Finally, once when I was advancing toward him, he was also coming toward us, as if by chance; and even though he was on a level much higher up, I recognized him perfectly. I had to stifle a cry. It was Karl the Bohemian, the deserter I rescued from Mayer’s clutches in the Bohemian Forest; Karl whom I saw next at Roswald, in Moravia, at Count Hoditz’s estate, and who gave up for my sake a dreadful design for revenge. . . . This man is devoted to me, body and soul, and today, with his ferocious face, flat nose, red beard, and porcelain-blue eyes, to me he looked as beautiful as the angel Gabriel.
“That’s him!” Gottlieb whispered to me, “the Invisibles’ emissary. He’s an Invisible himself, I’m sure of it! At least, he would be if he wanted to. He’s your liberator, he’s the one who’s going to get you out of here tomorrow night.”
My heart was pounding so hard that I could barely stand; tears of joy were streaming from my eyes. To hide my emotion from the other sentry, I moved away from the bastion toward the parapet and pretended to contemplate the weeds in the moat. Even so I managed to spy Karl and Gottlieb who, without much trying to cover it up, exchanged a few words that didn’t reach my ears. A few seconds later Gottlieb returned and hurriedly said, “He’s going to come down here, he’s going to come to our place and drink a bottle of wine. Pretend not to pay him any attention. My father is out. While my mother is fetching the wine from the canteen, return to the kitchen as if you were going back to your room, and you’ll have a chance to speak to him for a second.”
Indeed, after Karl had chatted for a few minutes with Frau Schwartz, who doesn’t sniff at the chance to make some money by providing refreshment to the citadel’s veterans, I saw Gottlieb appear at the door. I understood that this was the signal. I went in and found myself alone with Karl. Gottlieb had followed his mother to the canteen. Poor child! It seems that friendship has suddenly revealed to him the cunning and presence of mind necessary in real life. He deliberately blundered around, dropping the candle, exasperating his mother, and keeping her out long enough so that I could reach an understanding with my savior.
“Signora,” he said, “here I am! And here you are at long last! The recruiters nabbed me again, it was my fate. But the king recognized me and took mercy on me, maybe because of you. Then he let me go, even promising me money, which by the way I never saw. I was on my way home when I learned that you were here. I went to see a famous sorcerer to find out how to go about helping you. The sorcerer sent me to Prince Heinrich, and Prince Heinrich sent me back to Spandau. We’re surrounded by powerful people that I don’t know, but they’re working for you, not sparing money or effort, to be sure. Everything is finally ready. Tomorrow night the doors will open in front of us all by themselves. Every possible obstacle has been overcome. The Schwartzes are the only ones who aren’t with us. But tomorrow they’ll be sleeping heavier than usual, and by the time they wake up, you’ll be long gone. We’re taking Gottlieb, who has asked to follow you. I’m clearing out with you, we’re not taking any risks, everything has been taken care of. Be ready, Signora, and now get back to the esplanade so that the old woman doesn’t find you here.”
Expressing my gratitude to Karl with tears alone, I hurried away to hide them from Frau Schwartz’s inquisitorial eye.
O my friends, so I’ll see you once again, and I’ll hold you in my arms! Once again I’ll get away from this dreadful Mayer! I’ll see again the full sweep of the firmament, lovely countrysides, Venice, Italy; I’ll sing again, once again I’ll find hearts and minds in sympathy with mine! Oh, this prison has renewed my life and revived my heart which was languishing in dull indifference. How I’m going to live, love, be pious and good!
And yet, the human heart is such an enigma! I feel terrified and almost sad at the idea of leaving this cell where I’ve spent three months perpetually striving to be brave and resigned, this esplanade where I’ve gone round and round with so many melancholy reveries, these old walls that look so high, so cold, so serene by moonlight! And this great moat whose dismal waters have been such a beautiful shade of green, and the thousands of woebegone flowers that spring sowed on its banks! And most of all, my robin! Gottlieb claims that he will follow us, but at that hour he’ll be asleep in the ivy and won’t notice our leaving. O dear little creature! May you be the companion and consolation of the one who takes my place in this cell, and may she look after you and respect you as I have!
Now, let’s try and get some sleep so that I’ll be strong and calm tomorrow. I’m sealing this manuscript that I want to take with me. Gottlieb helped me get a fresh supply of paper, pencils, and candles, which I want to leave in my hiding place, so that these priceless treasures for prisoners will make somebody else happy after me. . . .
Here ends Consuelo’s diary. We’ll resume a faithful narration of her adventures.
The reader needs to be informed that Karl was not telling a lie when he boasted about being aided and employed by powerful individuals. The invisible knights working toward our heroine’s deliverance had distributed huge amounts of gold. Several members of the prison staff, eight or ten veterans and even an officer, had promised to keep quiet, to see nothing, and, if there were an alarm, to go after the fugitives purely as a matter of form. On the evening appointed for the escape Karl had supper with the Schwartzes. Pretending to be drunk, he invited them to drink with him. Frau Schwartz had a parched throat like most women given to the culinary art. Her husband had no aversion to schnapps from his own canteen when he drank it at somebody else’s expense. A narcotic drug that Karl secretly put in the flask enhanced the effects of the strong drink. Herr and Frau Schwartz had a hard time getting to bed and snored so loudly that Gottlieb, who attributed everything to supernatural influences, thought that somebody had cast a spell over them when he came to steal the keys; Karl had gone back to the bastion to keep watch. Consuelo had no trouble getting there with Gottlieb and intrepidly climbed up the rope ladder that the deserter tossed down to her. But poor Gottlieb, who stubbornly insisted on escaping with her despite all her objections, became a great problem at this point. During his bouts of somnambulism he could run like a cat over roofs and gutters, but awake he was not able to take three nimble steps over the most even ground. Convinced that he was following a heavenly messenger, he had no fear and would not have hesitated to jump down off the ramparts if Karl had advised him to do so. Yet his reckless confidence added to the dangers of his awkwardness. He climbed without method or forethought, refusing to see or calculate anything. After having made Consuelo shudder twenty times, certain each time that he was doomed, he finally reached the platform of the bastion. From there our three fugitives made their way through the corridors of that part of the citadel where the functionaries who were in on their plot had their quarters. Things were going along fine when all of a sudden they found themselves face to face with Adjutant Nanteuil, in other words, the ex-recruiter Mayer. Consuelo thought she was doomed, but Karl stopped her from running away by saying, “Never fear, Signora, the adjutant is on your side.”
“Stop right here,” Nanteuil said to them hurriedly. “There’s a snag. Wouldn’t you know, Adjutant Weber took it into his head to come have supper in our quarters with that old fool of a lieutenant. They’re in the hall that you’ve got to go through, and we’ve got to get them out of there. Karl, hurry back to your post, somebody might see too soon that
you’re gone. I’ll come fetch you when it’s time. Madame will step into my room, and Gottlieb will come along with me. I’ll say that he’s sleepwalking; my two boobies will tear off to go have a look, and when they’ve vacated the premises, I’ll take the key so that they can’t come back.”
Gottlieb, unaware that he walked in his sleep, looked at him reproachfully, but when Karl motioned that he should obey, he submitted blindly. Consuelo felt insurmountable revulsion at the idea of entering Mayer’s room.
“Why are you afraid of the man?” whispered Karl. “He stands to earn too much money to think of betraying you. His advice is good, and I’m going back to the bastion. Too much haste could be our ruin.”
“Too much composure and caution could also be our ruin,” Consuelo thought to herself. Yet she gave in. She was carrying a weapon. On her way through the Schwartzes’ kitchen she had grabbed a little knife whose company reassured her a bit. She had turned over to Karl her money and her papers, keeping only her crucifix, nearly an amulet in her mind.
Mayer locked her in his room for greater safety and went off with Gottlieb. Ten minutes later, which felt like a hundred years to Consuelo, Nanteuil returned, and she noted with terror that he locked the door behind him and put the key in his pocket.
“Signora,” he said to her in Italian, “you must be patient for half an hour still. The rascals are drunk and won’t raise the siege till the clock strikes one. Then the guard who looks after these quarters will put them out.”
“And what have you done with Gottlieb, Signore?”
“Your friend Gottlieb is safe behind a pile of firewood where he can get some sleep. Maybe that will make him lighter on his feet, all the better to follow you.”
“Karl will be alerted, won’t he?”
“Unless I wish to have him hanged,” said the adjutant with a look that struck Consuelo as diabolical, “I’ll take good care not to leave him there. Are you pleased with me, Signora?”
“I am not in a position to demonstrate my gratitude just now, Signore,” replied Consuelo in a chilly voice, vainly trying to conceal her disdain, “but I hope that I’ll soon be able to give you proper thanks.”
“Good lord, you can thank me right now (Consuelo shuddered with horror) by showing me a little affection,” added Mayer, his wheedling tone heavy and coarse. “Now, look here, if I weren’t such a passionate lover of music . . . and if you weren’t so pretty, it would be very wrong of me to fail in my duty by letting you escape. Do you think I’m doing it for the money? Basta! I’m rich enough to get along without you folks, and Prince Heinrich doesn’t have enough clout to save me from hanging or spending the rest of my life in prison if I’m found out. In any case, as a result of my negligence I’ll be disgraced and transferred to a fortress that’s not so nice, not so near the capital. . . . All this requires some consolation. Come on, don’t be so proud. You know I’m in love with you. I’ve got a tender heart, I do! That’s no reason to take advantage of my weakness. Hell, you’re no nun, no prissy little saint! You’re a charming theater girl, and I’ll just bet that you didn’t get your leading roles without bestowing a few tender favors on your directors. By God, if you’ve sung for Maria Theresa, as they say, you’ve been through Prince von Kaunitz’s boudoir. Now here you are in less splendid digs, but your freedom is in my hands, and freedom is even more precious than an empress’s blessing.”
“Is that a threat, Signore?” replied Consuelo livid with indignation and disgust.
“No, it’s a plea, lovely Signora.”
“It’s no condition, I hope?”
“By no means! How shabby! Never! That would be an outrage!” said Mayer with impudent irony, approaching Consuelo with open arms.
Horrified, Consuelo ran to the far side of the room. Mayer followed. She was doomed, it was clear to her, unless she were to sacrifice humanity to honor. Suddenly inspired by the formidable pride of Spanish women, she received the scoundrel’s embrace and stuck the point of the blade into his chest. Mayer was very plump, and the wound was not dangerous. Yet, when he saw his own blood, since he was as much a coward as a voluptuary, he thought he was dead and fainted, belly down on his bed, muttering, “I am murdered! I am doomed!” Consuelo thought that she had killed him and nearly fainted herself. Yet after a few seconds of silent terror she dared approach him. Seeing that he was not moving, she ventured to pick up the key that had dropped at his feet. It was scarcely in her hand when she felt her courage reborn. Without a moment’s hesitation she left the room and ran haphazardly through the halls. All of the doors in front of her were standing open, and she went down a flight of stairs without knowing where they might lead. Yet her legs buckled when she heard the alarm bell, then the drum and the cannon that had given her such a turn the night that Gottlieb’s sleepwalking had set off an alert. She fell to her knees on the last steps, joined her hands, and prayed for poor Gottlieb and generous Karl. Separated from them after having let them risk death for her sake, she had no more strength, no desire for deliverance. Heavy, hurried footsteps rang in her ears, bright torches flashed before her frightened eyes, and she no longer knew whether they were real or the product of her delirium. She let herself sink into a corner and completely blacked out.
1. In an earlier paragraph Consuelo gave a few details about the Schwartz family. We have eliminated from her manuscript everything that would be a repetition for the reader.
2. God preserves me from those I trust; Myself I’ll preserve from those I mistrust.
3. Perhaps Weishaupt, who was born in 1748. [Translator’s addition: A professor at Ingolstadt, Adam Weishaupt founded in 1776 a philosophical society called the Illuminati. It had close affinities with the Freemasons and was organized along Masonic lines.]
4. Jacob Boehme’s expression.
Chapter XX
When Consuelo regained consciousness, she felt an incomparable sensation of well-being without being able to tell where she was nor how she had gotten there. She was lying down out in the open, and without feeling the slightest chill from the cold night air, she could look all around at the stars shining in the vast, cloudless sky. This enchanting sight was soon followed by the sensation of rather swift, but smooth and pleasant motion. From the sound of an oar dipping into water at short intervals she understood that she was in a boat crossing the lake. A gentle warmth suffused her limbs, and in the calm of the still waters where the breeze ruffled the various reeds and rushes there was something suave that reminded her of the lagoons of Venice on lovely spring nights. Consuelo lifted her languid head, glanced around and saw two oarsmen, one in the bow and the other in the stern, rowing with all their might. She looked for the citadel and saw it already far away, dark as a mountain of stone amid the transparency of air and water. She told herself that she was saved, but just then she thought of her friends and anxiously uttered Karl’s name. “I’m right here! Not a word, Signora. Complete silence!” said Karl, pulling on the oars in front of her. Consuelo thought that the other oarsman was Gottlieb, and too weak to worry any longer, she let herself sink back into her initial state of mind. A hand drew back around her the soft, warm cloak in which she had been wrapped, but she gently pushed it aside from her face so as to contemplate the boundless expanse of star-spangled blue that fanned out over her head.
While feeling her strength and flexibility return after a violent, paralyzing attack of nerves, she gathered her thoughts; and the recollection of Mayer rose up horrible and bloody in front of her. She again tried to sit up and noticed that her head was lying on someone’s knees, her body supported by his arm. She had not yet seen this third passenger, or to be more exact, she had taken him for some kind of bundle, since he was stretched out behind her, all covered up, hidden and motionless, at the bottom of the boat.
Consuelo was seized with terror when she recalled the reckless confidence that Karl had shown Mayer and wondered if the person beside her might not be that wretched man. Her suspicions were aggravated by the apparent care he took to remain
concealed. It mortified her to think that she had reclined against his breast, and she almost reproached Providence for having let her enjoy a few moments of salutary oblivion and ineffable well-being under his care.
Fortunately the boat reached land at that moment, and Consuelo jumped up to take Karl’s hand and leap onto shore, but there was such a jolt upon landing that she staggered and fell back into the arms of the mysterious man. She saw him standing just then, and by the faint light of the stars she was able to discern a black mask over his face. But he was a full head taller than Mayer, and despite the long cloak enveloping him, his elegant bearing suggested a sleek, supple body. This completely reassured the fugitive. She accepted the arm he offered her in silence and walked with him some fifty paces on the shore. Following behind were Karl and the other person, both of whom had gestured to her once again that she was not to say a single word. The countryside was silent and desolate; things seemed to have quieted down at the citadel. Behind a thicket they found a carriage hitched up with four horses. The stranger climbed in with Consuelo. Karl took the driver’s seat. The third person vanished without Consuelo’s taking notice. She yielded to the silent, solemn haste of her liberators, and soon the carriage, excellent and exquisitely smooth, took off into the night with lightning speed. The noise of the wheels and the galloping horses hardly encouraged conversation. Alone with the stranger, Consuelo felt very intimidated and even a bit frightened. Yet, seeing that it was no longer dangerous to break the silence, she felt duty-bound to tell him her gratitude and joy, but there was no reply. He had taken a seat across from her, as a sign of respect; he took her hand and pressed it between his own, without saying a single word; then he sank back into a corner of the carriage; and Consuelo, who had hoped to start up a conversation, dared not insist in the face of this tacit refusal. She was very eager to know to what generous, devoted friend she owed her deliverance, but she felt for him, without knowing him, an instinctive feeling of respect mingled with fear, and her imagination lent this strange traveling companion all the romantic qualities appropriate to the circumstances. Finally it occurred to her that he was a minor agent of the Invisibles, perhaps a faithful servant who feared that he might breach the duties of his rank by having a conversation alone with her at night.