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.

Resolved to seek carefully for the road leading to Vienna, and follow it at all risks, she paused in a shady and retired spot, where a spring gushed from between rocks sheltered by lofty trees. The ground around seemed marked by the footsteps of animals. Were they those of the neighboring flocks, or of beasts of prey who occasionally came to quench their thirst at this secluded fountain? Consuelo knelt down on the dripping stones, and satisfied both hunger and thirst with a draught of the cool and limpid water; then remaining in her kneeling posture, she reflected on her situation. "I am a weak and helpless creature," thought she, "if I cannot carry out what I have planned. What! shall it be said that my mother's child is no longer able to bear cold or hunger, fatigue or danger? I have dreamed to little purpose of freedom and poverty in the bosom of that plenty from which I always longed to free myself, if I am to be thus terrified. Was I not born to suffer and to dare? Or am I changed since the time when I used to journey on foot, sometimes before daybreak and often hungry, with my poor mother, and when all the nourishment we had was perhaps a draught at some roadside fountain? I am a worthy Zingara truly, who can only sing in a theater, sleep upon down, and travel in a coach! What dangers did I incur with my mother? Did she not say to me, when we met doubtful characters, 'Fear nothing; those who possess nothing have nothing to dread; the wretched do not prey upon each other,' She was young and handsome in those days, yet was she ever insulted by the passers-by? Even the worst men respect the defenseless. How do those poor mendicant girls do, who go about with nothing but the protection of God? Shall I be like those damsels who cannot move out of doors without thinking that the whole world, intoxicated with their charms, hastens in pursuit of them? Shall it be said that, because alone, and journeying on the broad and free highway, I must be degraded and dishonored, without some guardians to watch over me? My mother was as bold as a lion, and would have defended herself like one. Am not I also strong and courageous, with nought but good plebeian blood flowing in my veins? Besides, I am in a quiet country, with peaceful inhabitants; and were I even in some unknown land, I should be very unfortunate if in the hour of need I did not meet some of those upright, generous spirits, whom God has placed everywhere, as a sort of providence for the weak and helpless. But, courage! this day I have incurred no worse evil than hunger, I shall enter no cabin to purchase bread till toward the evening, when it becomes dark, and when I shall be far, far from this. I know what hunger is, and how to combat it, notwithstanding the constant feasting at Riesenberg. A day soon passes over. When it begins to get warm, and my limbs grow weary, I shall recall the saying which I heard so often in my infancy, 'He who sleeps dines.' I shall hide in some cave in the rocks, and you shall see, O my poor mother, who watchest over me, and journeyest at this hour invisible by my side, that I am able to repose without pillow or couch!"

While thus engaged in devising plans for her conduct, the poor girl forgot for a short time her distress. She had gained a victory over herself, and Anzoleto was already less dreaded. From the very moment when she had resisted his solicitations, she felt her soul partially relieved from her fatal attachment; and now, in putting into execution her romantic project, she experienced a sort of mournful gaiety, which made her repeat each instant to herself, "My body suffers, but it saves my soul. The bird which cannot defend itself by strength has wings to flee; and when it soars through the fields of air it laughs at nets and stratagems."

The recollection of Albert, and the picture she drew of his suffering and terror, presented themselves very differently to Consuelo; but she combated with all her might the tenderness which this thought was calculated to inspire. She determined to repel his image, until she should be beyond the reach of sudden repentance or imprudent emotion. "Dear Albert! noble friend!" said she, "I cannot help sighing deeply when I think of thee! But in Vienna alone shall I pause to sympathize with thee; here I shall only permit my heart to say how much it venerates and regrets thee."

"Forward!" continued Consuelo, endeavoring to rise, "I must proceed on my journey." But in vain she attempted, twice or thrice, to leave the wild and pretty fountain, whose pleasant murmur invited her to repose. Sleep, which she had purposed putting off till midday, weighed heavy on her eyelids, and hunger, which she was unable to resist so well as she had supposed, added to her exhaustion. She would gladly have deceived herself on this point, but in vain. She had been too much agitated to take any refreshment the evening before. A mist crept over her eyes, while languor and uneasiness took possession of her frame. She yielded to fatigue without being aware of it, and, firmly resolving to get up and proceed on her journey, she gradually sank on the grass, her head fell upon her little bundle, and she slept soundly. The sun, warm and glowing as it often is during the short summers of Bohemia, rose gaily in the sky, the fountain murmured over the pebbles, as if it had wished to lull the slumbers of the traveler, while the birds fluttered overhead, warbling their melodious carols.