CHAPTER LXXV

ON the first day of their new journey, as our young travelers were crossing a small river by means of a wooden bridge, they saw a poor beggar-woman, who held a little girl in her arms, seated upon the parapet and extending her hand to the passers-by for alms. The child was pale and ill, the woman wan and shaking with fever. Consuelo was seized with a deep feeling of sympathy and pity for those unfortunates, who recalled to her mind her mother and her own childhood. "That is the condition we were in sometimes," said she to Joseph, who immediately understood her, and stopped with her to look at and question the beggar woman.

"Alas!" said the latter, "only a few days ago I was very happy. I am a peasant from the neighborhood of Harmanitz in Bohemia. I was married five years since to a tall and handsome cousin of mine, who was the most industrious of workmen and the best of husbands. About a year after our marriage, my poor Karl, who had gone to cut wood on the mountain, disappeared suddenly, without any one knowing what had become of him. I sank into poverty and grief. I thought that my husband had fallen from some precipice, or that the wolves had devoured him. Although I had an opportunity of being married again, the uncertainty of his fate and the affection I felt for him prevented my thinking of it. Ah! I was well rewarded, my children. Last year, some person knocked at my door one evening; I opened it and fell on my knees on seeing my husband before me. But in what a condition, good God! He looked like a specter. He was withered up, sallow, his eyes haggard, his hair stiffened with ice, his feet all bleeding—his poor feet which had traveled I know not how many hundreds of miles over the most horrible roads, and in the most severe weather! But he was so happy at once more finding his wife and his poor little daughter, that he soon recovered his courage, his health, his strength, and his good looks. He told me that he had been kidnapped by banditti, who had carried him far, very far away, even to the sea, and had sold him to the King of Prussia for a soldier. He had lived for three years in that most gloomy of all countries, suffering severe hardships and receiving blows from morning to night. At last he succeeded in escaping—deserting, my good children. In fighting desperately against those who pursued him, he had killed one and put out the eye of another with a stone; then, traveling day and night, hiding in the swamps and in the woods like a wild beast, he had crossed Saxony and Bohemia—he was saved, he was restored to me! Ah! how happy we were during the whole winter, in spite of our poverty and the rigor of the season. We had but one anxiety, that of again seeing in our neighborhood those birds of prey who had caused all our sufferings. We formed the project of going to Vienna, presenting ourselves to the empress, and relating our misfortunes to her, in order to obtain her protection, military service for my husband, and some subsistence for myself and child. But I fell ill in consequence of the shock I had experienced at again seeing my poor Karl, and we were obliged to pass the whole winter and all the summer in our mountains, always waiting for the moment when I could undertake the journey, always on our guard and sleeping with watchful eyes. At last this happy moment arrived: I felt myself strong enough to walk, and our little girl, who was also suffering, was to make the journey in her father's arms. But an evil destiny awaited us on leaving the mountains. We were walking tranquilly and leisurely by the side of a much-frequented road, without paying attention to a carriage which, for a quarter of an hour, had been slowly ascending in the same direction with ourselves. Suddenly the carriage stopped, and three men got out. 'Is that he?' cried one. 'Yes,' replied another, who was blind of an eye, 'that is he! quick! quick!' My husband turned at these words. 'Ah!' said he, 'those are Prussians; that is the man whose eye I put out; I recognize him!' 'Run! run!' said I, 'save yourself!' He commenced to fly, when one of those abominable men rushed upon me, threw me down, and presented one pistol at my head and another at my child's. But for that diabolical idea, my husband would have been saved, for he ran better than the ruffians and had the start of them. But at the shriek which escaped me on seeing my child under the muzzle of the pistol, Karl turned, uttered loud cries to prevent him from firing, and retraced his steps. When the villain who had his foot on my body saw Karl within reach, 'Yield,' cried he, 'or I kill them. Make but an attempt to fly and it is done!'

"'I yield, I yield! here I am!' replied my poor man, running toward them with greater speed than he had fled, notwithstanding the prayers and signs I made that he should let us die. When the tigers had him in their grasp, they overwhelmed him with blows and left him covered with blood. I endeavored to defend him; they maltreated me also. On seeing him bound before my eyes, I shrieked, I filled the air with my cries. They told me they would kill my little one if I did not keep still, and they had already torn her from my arms, when Karl said to me, 'Silence! wife, I command you; think of our child!' I obeyed, but the effort was so violent that I fell as if dead upon the road. When I opened my eyes it was night; my poor child was lying upon me, and was sobbing so bitterly that it nearly broke my heart. There was no trace of what had occurred but my husband's blood on the road and the mark of the wheels which had carried him away. I remained there an hour or two more, trying to console and warm Maria, who was benumbed and half dead with fear. At last when my senses returned, I thought that the best plan was not to run after the kidnappers whom I could not overtake, but to go and make my declaration to the officers of Wiesenbach, the nearest city. I did so, and then I resolved to continue my journey to Vienna, throw myself at the feet of the empress, and beseech her to prevent the King of Prussia from having the sentence of death executed upon my husband. Her majesty could claim him as her subject, in case the recruiters should not be overtaken. Aided by some alms which had been given me in the territory of the Bishop of Passau, where I related my disaster, I succeeded in reaching the Danube, and thence I descended in a boat to the city of Moelk. People to whom I tell my story are not willing to believe me, and suspecting me to be an impostor give me so little that I must continue my journey on foot—happy if I can arrive in five or six days without dying of fatigue, for illness and despair have exhausted me. Now, my dear children, if you have the means of giving me some little assistance, do so immediately, for I cannot remain here any longer; I must travel on and on, like the wandering Jew, until I have obtained justice."

"Oh, my good woman, my poor woman!" cried Consuelo, clasping the poor creature in her arms, and weeping with joy and compassion; "courage! courage! Take hope and comfort! Your husband is delivered. He is galloping toward Vienna on a good horse, with a well-lined purse in his pocket."

"What do you say?" cried the deserter's wife, her eyes becoming red as blood, and her lips trembling with a convulsive movement. "Are you certain you have seen him? Oh, my God! Oh God of goodness!"

"If you should inspire her with false hopes? If the deserter whom we assisted to save, should be another than her husband? Alas! what have you done?" said Joseph to Consuelo.

"It is himself, Joseph! I tell you it is he. Remember the man with the one eye; remember Pistola's style of proceeding. Remember that the deserter said he was the father of a family and an Austrian subject. Besides, we can easily ascertain exactly. What sort of a man is your husband?"

"Red haired, with gray eyes, a large face, six feet and an inch high; his nose a little flattened, his forehead low. A superb man!"

"That is he," said Consuelo, smiling, "and his dress?"

"A green frock, much worn, brown breeches, and gray stockings."

"That is he again; and the recruiters? Did you remark them?"

"Do you ask me if I remarked them? Holy Virgin! their horrible faces will never leave my memory." The poor woman then gave with much exactness a description of Pistola, the One-eyed, and the Silent Man. "There was also a fourth," continued she, "who remained by the horse, and took no part in the deed. He had a great unmeaning face, which seemed to me even more cruel than the others; for, while I was weeping, and they were beating my husband, and tying him with cord like an assassin, that brute sang and made a noise with his mouth, as if he were sounding a charge on the trumpet: broum, broum, broum, broum. Ah! he had a heart of iron!"

"Ha! that must have been Mayer," said Consuelo to Joseph. "Do you still doubt? Has he not that trick of singing and playing the trumpet with his mouth every moment?"

"It is true," said Joseph. "Then it was Karl whom we saw delivered? Thank Heaven."

"Oh! yes, thanks to the good God before all!" said the poor woman, throwing herself upon her knees. "Maria," said she to her little girl, "kiss the earth with me to thank the guardian angels and the Holy Virgin. Your father is found, and we shall soon see him again."

"Tell me, my good woman," observed Consuelo, "has Karl also the custom of kissing the ground when he is well pleased?"

"Yes, my child, he never fails to do so. When he returned after having deserted, he would not pass the door of our house until he had kissed the threshold."

"Is that the custom of your country?"

"No; it is a manner of his own, which he taught us, and which has always brought us luck."

"Then it was certainly he whom we saw," returned Consuelo; "for we saw him kiss the earth to thank those who had delivered him. You remember that, Beppo?"

"Perfectly! It was he; there is no longer any doubt of it."

"Oh? let me press you to my heart," cried the wife of Karl, "angels of paradise! who bring me such good news. But tell me all about it."

Joseph related all that had happened; and when the poor woman had breathed forth all her transports of joy and gratitude toward Heaven, and thanked Joseph and Consuelo over and over again, whom she rightly considered as the primary cause of her husband's deliverance, she asked them what she must do to find him again.

"I think," said Consuelo, "that the best thing you can do is to continue your journey. You will find him at Vienna, if you do not meet him on the road. His first care will be to make his declaration to his sovereign, and to request of the offices of the administration that you may be informed in whatever place you happen to be. He will not fail to make the same declaration in every important town through which he passes, and obtain information of the route you have taken. If you reach Vienna before him, do not fail to communicate to the administration the place where you lodge, that notice may be given to Karl as soon as he presents himself."

"But what offices? what administration? I know nothing of these customs. And such a great city! I shall lose myself, I, a poor peasant!"

"Oh!" said Joseph, "we have never had an opportunity of knowing any more than yourself, but ask the first person you meet to show you the Prussian embassy. Ask for his lordship, the Baron——"

"Take care what you are about to say, Beppo!" said Consuelo in a low voice to Joseph, as a hint that he must not compromise the baron in this adventure.

"Well, Count Hoditz?" returned Joseph.

Yes, the count; he will do from vanity that which the other would have done from charity. Ask for the dwelling of the Margravine Princess of Bareith, and present to her husband the note I am going to give you."

Consuelo tore a blank leaf out of Joseph's memorandum book, and wrote the following words on it with a pencil:

"Consuelo Porporina, prima donna of the San Samuel Theater at Venice, ex-Signor Bertoni, and wandering singer at Passau, recommends to the noble heart of the Count Hoditz-Roswald the wife of Karl the deserter, whom his lordship rescued from the hands of the recruiters and covered with benefits. The Porporina promises to thank his lordship the count for his protection in presence of madame the margravine, if his lordship will permit her the honor of singing in the private apartments of her highness." Consuelo wrote the address with care, and then looked at Joseph, who understood her, and drew out his purse. Without any further consultation and by a spontaneous movement, they gave the poor woman the two gold pieces which remained of Trenck's present, in order that she might pursue her journey in some vehicle, and they then conducted her to the neighboring village, where they assisted her to make a bargain with an honest vetturino. After they had made her eat something and bought her some clothes, an expense which was defrayed from the remainder of their little fortune, they sent off the poor creature whom they had just restored to life. Consuelo then asked, laughingly, how much remained at the bottom of their purse. Joseph took his violin, shook it at his ear, and replied, "Nothing but sound."

Consuelo tried her voice in the open air with a brilliant roulade and cried, "There is still a good deal of sound remaining!" Then she joyously stretched out her hand to her companion, and clasped his heartily, saying, "You are a brave lad, Beppo!"

"And you also!" replied Joseph, wiping away a tear, and bursting into a loud shout of laughter.