by George Sand
They sped along for two hours, then stopped in the middle of a dark wood. The relay that they were to find there had not yet arrived. The stranger wandered off a short way to see if it was coming or to conceal his impatience and worry. Consuelo stepped down as well and strolled on a sandy path nearby with Karl, for whom she had a thousand questions.
“Thank God, Signora, here you are alive,” said the faithful squire.
“And you yourself, dear Karl?”
“I couldn’t be better, now that you’re safe.”
“And Gottlieb, how is he doing?”
“I suppose that he’s just fine in his bed at Spandau.”
“Good heavens! You mean Gottlieb stayed back? Does that mean he’s going to pay for us?”
“He won’t be paying for himself, for anybody else either. When somebody raised the alarm, I don’t know who, I ran over to be with you, just in case, seeing that it was time for the big gamble. I crossed paths with Adjutant Nanteuil, that is Mayer the recruiter, who was looking terribly pale. . . .”
“You crossed paths with him, Karl? He was up and around?”
“Why not?”
“He wasn’t hurt?”
“Ah! Indeed, he was. He said he’d fallen over a stack of guns in the dark and bunged himself up a bit. But I didn’t pay much attention to that and asked him right away where you were. He didn’t have a clue, he’d lost his head. It even looked to me that he meant to betray us, since the alarm bell I had heard, whose sound I recognized, is the one from his room, for his quarters. But he seemed to have changed his mind, for the rascal knew that he’d earn a bundle for getting you out. So he helped me divert the storm by telling everyone we met that Gottlieb the sleepwalker had once again set off a false alarm. As a matter of fact, as if Gottlieb had wanted to prove him right, we found him asleep in a corner, in that strange sleep that often comes over him right in the middle of the day, wherever he may be, even on the parapet of the esplanade. The idea of taking off apparently put him in such a tizzy that he was asleep on his feet, which I find really amazing, unless at supper he accidentally drank a few drops of the potion I poured out so generously to his dear parents. This I know, we locked him up in the first room we found so that he wouldn’t go wandering around on the fortifications, and I thought it best to leave him there until further notice. Nobody will be able to accuse him of anything, and my escape will explain yours well enough. As for the Schwartzes, they were too sound asleep to hear the bell, and nobody will have gone to see if your room was open or locked. So there won’t be a serious alert until tomorrow. Nanteuil helped me calm things down, and I went looking for you, pretending to be on my way back to my barracks. I had the good luck to find you three steps away from the gate we had to use for our getaway. The jailers in that area were all on our side. At first I was really scared to find you almost dead. But dead or alive, I didn’t want to leave you there. I had no trouble carrying you to the boat waiting for us along the side of the moat. And then . . . I had a rather nasty little adventure that I’ll tell you about some other time, Signora. . . . You’ve had enough excitement today as it is, and what I’ve got to say might give you a bit of a start.”
“No, no, Karl! Tell me everything, I can take it.”
“Oh, I know you, Signora! You’ll put the blame on me. You’ve got your way of seeing things. I remember Roswald, where you stopped me from. . . .”
“Karl, your refusal to talk is cruel torture. Tell me, I beg you, I insist.”
“Well, Signora, it’s a little problem, after all, and if sin there be, it concerns me and me alone. As I was ferrying you under a low arch, very slowly so that I wouldn’t make too much noise with my oars in that spot where every sound is magnified, all of a sudden, at the end of a little pier that half blocks the passage, there were three men who grabbed me by the neck and jumped into the boat. I’ve got to tell you that your fellow passenger in the carriage, who was already one of ours,” Karl added, lowering his voice, “had been so reckless as to give Nanteuil two thirds of the appointed sum at the last postern. Nanteuil, thinking he could make do with that amount and get the remainder by betraying us, was lying in wait along with two scoundrels of his own kind to recapture you. First he was hoping to get rid of your protector and me so that nobody could say a thing about the money he’d got. That’s no doubt why these rascals were ready to murder us. Yet your traveling companion, Signora, however peaceable he may look, is a lion in combat. That I’ll remember for a long time to come, I swear. In short order the first scoundrel hit the water; the second one, cowed, jumped back onto the path alongside and kept his distance to see how my struggle with the adjutant would wind up. My word, Signora, I didn’t settle things as gracefully as his excellent lordship. . . . I don’t know what his name is. It took half a minute, to be sure, which does me no honor, since Nanteuil, who is usually strong as a bull, seemed soft and unstrung, as if he’d had a scare or the wound that he’d mentioned were worrying him. Finally, when I felt him losing hold, I picked him up and dipped his feet in the water. Then his lordship said, “Don’t kill him, there’s no point.” But I knew exactly who he was; I knew how well he swims, how tenacious and cruel he is, how he stops at nothing; at another time and place I had known the power of his fists, and I had old scores to settle with him. So I couldn’t help giving him a good knock on the head with my clenched fist . . . a knock that will preserve him from ever giving or getting another one, Signora! May God rest his soul and forgive mine! He went down straight as a post, leaving a big ring in the water, and never coming back up, as if he were made of marble. His pal, after being knocked out of the boat by his lordship, had taken a dive and was already at the edge of the pier where the last one, the most cautious of the three, was helping him get back on his feet. This was no easy task; the pier is so narrow right there that the one dragged down the other, and they both fell back in. While they were flailing about, swearing at each other, and having a little swimming party, I pulled on the oars with all my might, and soon I reached the spot where a second oarsman, a good man who fishes for a living, had promised to come help me row across the water. By the way, Signora, it’s a good thing I’d learned something about being a sailor on the ponds at Roswald. I had no idea when you saw me taking part in such a fine rehearsal that one day I’d be fighting a naval battle, a bit less magnificent, but a bit more serious, for your sake. That memory crossed my mind when I found myself far out on the water, and I started laughing like mad . . . but what awful laughter it was! I didn’t make the slightest sound; at least I didn’t hear a thing. But my teeth were chattering in my mouth: I felt as though a hand of steel were at my throat, and sweat, icy cold sweat, was running down my forehead! Oh, it’s clear that one doesn’t kill a man as easily as a fly. Still he’s not the first one, for I’ve seen combat, but that was war! Yet like that, in a corner at night behind a wall, without saying a word to each other, that’s like premeditated murder. And yet it was a case of legitimate defense! Even though it wasn’t the first assassination I’d premeditated! You remember, Signora? Had it not been for you, I would have done it! But I don’t know if I wouldn’t have felt bad about it later. Yet this much is certain: it was a nasty laugh I had out there on the water . . . And even now I can’t help it. . . . He was so funny, plummeting into the moat! like a reed slipping down into the muck! And when there was nothing more to be seen but the tip of his head sinking fast, his head flattened by my fist. . . . Mercy, he was so ugly! And I was so scared! I can still see him!”
Consuelo, fearing the effects of this dreadful emotion on poor Karl, tried to master her own feelings in order to calm him down and distract his mind. Karl was born gentle and patient like a true Bohemian serf. He was not made for the tragic life into which fate had thrown him, and his acts of energy and revenge cost him the horror of remorse and the terrors of religious fervor. Consuelo diverted him from his gloomy thoughts, perhaps to give her own the slip. She too had armed herself for murder that same night. She too had struck a b
low and drawn a few drops of blood from the impure victim. An upright, pious soul cannot approach the thought of homicide and form that resolve without cursing and bewailing the circumstances that turn a dagger into the defender of honor and life. Consuelo was deeply distressed and appalled, and she no longer dared tell herself that her freedom was worth the price of blood, even the blood of a scoundrel.
“My poor Karl,” she said, “we’ve both acted as executioners tonight, and that’s dreadful! Console yourself with the thought that we neither planned nor anticipated what necessity drove us to do. Now tell me about this nobleman who worked so unselfishly to help deliver me. You don’t know who he is?”
“Not a clue, Signora. Tonight is the first time I’ve ever seen him, and I don’t know his name.”
“But where’s he taking us, Karl?”
“I don’t know, Signora. I’ve been forbidden to ask. Plus, I’ve even been told to tell you this: If you were to make the slightest effort to find out where you are and where you’re going, they would have no choice but to abandon you along the way. It’s clear that they only mean to do us good. So, as far as I’m concerned, I’ve made up my mind to let them lead me like a child.”
“Have you seen this nobleman’s face?”
“I caught a glimpse by lamplight while depositing you in the boat. He’s got a handsome face, Signora, I’ve never seen handsomer. He looks like a king.”
“Merely that, Karl? Is he young?”
“Around thirty.”
“What language does he speak to you?”
“Plain Bohemian, the true language of Christians! He only said four or five words to me. But what a pleasure it would have been to hear them in my language . . . had it not been such an ugly moment! ‘Don’t kill him, there’s no point.’ Oh, he was wrong, it was truly necessary, right, Signora?”
“So what did he say when you arrived at this terrifying decision?”
“I think, God forgive me, he didn’t notice. He’d thrown himself down in the boat where you were looking dead. Fearing that you’d been hit, he used his body as a bulwark to protect you. And when we were far out on the water and safe, he raised you up in his arms, wrapped you in a warm cloak that he must have brought along for that purpose and held you against his heart, like a mother holding her child. Oh, you’re obviously very dear to him, Signora! It can’t be that you don’t know him.”
“Perhaps I do, but since I haven’t managed to catch sight of his face!”
“How strange that he keeps himself hidden from you! Nothing, however, ought to surprise anyone about these folks.”
“What folks? Tell me.”
“The ones known as the chevaliers, the black masks, the Invisibles. I don’t know anything more about them than you do, Signora, even though for the last two months they’ve been holding me by the traces and guiding me step by step to help and rescue you.”
The dull thud of horses galloping over grass reached their ears. In two minutes the horses had been changed, also the postilion who was not part of the king’s service. The latter stepped aside for a few quick words with the stranger, who then came and offered his hand to Consuelo, and she climbed back into the carriage with him. He sat in the back, as far away from her as possible, and he interrupted the solemn silence of the night only to have his watch strike two. Dawn was still far off even though one could hear quail singing in the heather and farm dogs barking in the distance. The night was magnificent, the constellation of the Great Bear spread out as it dipped down over the horizon. The rumbling of the carriage smothered the harmonious chorus of the countryside, and they turned their backs to the great stars of the northern skies. Consuelo understood that she was going south. Karl, up in the driver’s seat, did his best to repel Mayer’s ghost that seemed to come floating before his eyes at every intersection in the forest, at the foot of every cross, or beneath the towering groves of firs. Thus he scarcely gave a thought to seeing in what direction his good or his evil star was leading him.
Chapter XXI
Porporina, judging that her companion had resolved not to exchange one single word with her, decided that she could do nothing better than to respect the strange vow he apparently meant to observe, like knights-errant of old. To escape the gloomy images and dismal reflections that Karl’s tale called to mind, she tried to focus on nothing but the unknown future opening up before her. Little by little she fell into a charming reverie. Only a few privileged constitutions have the gift of keeping their thoughts under control when they find themselves in a state of contemplative idleness. Consuelo had often had, and mainly during her three months of isolation at Spandau, the opportunity to exercise that faculty, which is granted less to the fortunate of this world than to those who spend their lives vying with toil, persecution, and danger. For one must recognize the providential mystery of graces of state, those special graces granted to people in particularly trying circumstances, without which the strength and serenity of certain hapless beings would seem impossible to those who have had only a passing acquaintance with adversity.
Besides, the circumstances in which our fugitive found herself were strange enough to give rise to many a castle in Spain. This mystery that enveloped her like a cloud, this fate that was drawing her into a fantastic world, this sort of paternal love that surrounded her with miracles was quite enough to enchant a young imagination richly endowed with poetry. She remembered these words of Scripture that she had set to music during her days in captivity:
I shall send thee one of my angels who will hold thee in his arms lest thou dash thy foot against a stone.
I walk through the shadows, and I walk without fear, for the Lord is with me.
These words took on a clearer, more divine meaning for her. In a time when people no longer believe in God’s direct revelation and tangible manifestation, heavenly protection and help are translated as aid, affection, and dedication on the part of our fellow creatures. It is so sweet to turn over the conduct of our own destiny to those who love us and to feel ourselves being carried, so to speak, by others. It is such great happiness that it would soon corrupt us unless we ourselves struggled not to abuse it. It is the happiness of a child whose golden dreams upon his mother’s breast are untroubled by any real worries.
These thoughts, which came like a dream to Consuelo at the sudden, unexpected end of such a cruel existence, lulled her into a state of saintly pleasure; then sleep came washing over them, mixing them all together in that state of rest for soul and body that could be called a sense of nothingness known and relished. She had totally forgotten the presence of her silent traveling companion when she woke up right beside him, her head on his shoulder. At first it did not occur to her to move; she had just been dreaming about riding in a cart with her mother, and it seemed to her that the arm around her was the Zingara’s. When she was more awake, she felt embarrassed by her inadvertence, but the stranger’s arm seemed to have become a magic chain. In vain she made furtive attempts to free herself. Apparently asleep himself, the stranger had automatically taken his companion into his arms when fatigue and the moving carriage had caused her to slip toward him. He had joined his two hands around Consuelo’s waist, as if to keep her from sinking down to his feet while he was nodding off. Yet sleep had not relaxed the strength of his grip, and it would have been necessary to wake him up altogether to loosen his fingers. Consuelo did not dare. She hoped that he would unwittingly free her all by himself and that she would be able to return to her place without seeming to have taken positive notice of all the delicate circumstances of their tête-à-tête.
Yet, while waiting for the stranger to fall into a deeper sleep, Consuelo, reassured by his calm respiration and motionless repose, overcome as well by the exhaustion that follows great turmoil, fell back asleep herself. The next time she woke up, her companion’s head was bent down over hers, his mask had come off, their cheeks were touching, their breath commingled. She jerked away, without thinking to take a look at the stranger’s face. Besides, it
would have been rather difficult to see anything, given how dark it was outside and especially so inside the carriage. The stranger drew Consuelo to his breast, whose heat inflamed her own by some magnetic force, depriving her of the strength and desire to pull back. Still there was nothing violent or brutal about the man’s sweet, burning embrace. Her chastity felt neither alarmed nor sullied by his caresses; and Consuelo, as if a spell had been cast over her, forgetting the control, one could even say the virginal coldness that she had never been tempted to abandon, even in the arms of impetuous Anzoleto, returned the enthusiastic, penetrating kiss that the stranger was seeking on her lips.