Chapter XXIV

More than anything else, Consuelo was anxious for, and in need of, liberty, after having passed so many days in slavery. She was then delighted at being able to wander amid a vast space, which the efforts of art and the effect of long avenues made appear yet vaster. After walking about two hours, she felt herself becoming sad by the solitude and silence which reigned in these beautiful spots. She had already gone several times around it, without seeing even a human foot-print on the fine and well-raked sand. Lofty walls, masked by immense vegetation, prevented her from passing into unknown paths. She already had become acquainted with those she had passed. In some places the wall was interrupted by large fosses, filled with water, which allowed the eyes to lose themselves in extensive lawns, which were bounded by wooded mountains, or by the entrance into mysterious and charming alleys, ending in thick glades. From her window, Consuelo saw all nature open to her, but when she came down-stairs, she found herself shut in on every side, and all the inside luxury could not extinguish the sensations of again feeling herself a prisoner. She looked around for the enchanted palace in which she had awaked. The house was a small one, in the Italian style, luxuriantly furnished and elegantly decorated. Its site was a pointed rock, picturesque as possible, but which was a natural enclosure to all the garden, and was as impenetrable an obstacle to a prospect as the high walks and heavy glacis of Spandau.

"My fortress," said Consuelo, "is beautiful, but it is evident that I am not on that account less the prisoner."

She was about to rest herself on the terrace of the house, which was adorned with flowers, and surmounted by a fountain. It was a delicious place, and as it commanded only a view of the interior of the garden, a few eminences in the park, and high mountains, the cliffs of which towered above the trees, the prospect was beautiful and enlivening. Consuelo, instinctively terrified at the care taken to establish her, perhaps for a long time, in her new prison, would have given all the catalpas and flowers, all the garden beds, for some quiet country nook, with a modest cot, rough roads, and a district amid which she was free to wander, and which she could explore at will. Between her residence and the lofty mountains in the distance, there were no intermediate plains to explore. Nothing met her eye but the indistinct dentillated horizon, already lost in the mist of the setting sun. The nightingales sang admirably, but not a human voice announced the presence of a single habitant. Consuelo became aware that her house, at the verge of a large park, or perhaps unexplored forest, was but a dependence of some vast manor. What she now saw of the park inspired her with no wish to extend her acquaintance with it. She saw nothing but flocks of sheep and goats feeding on the flanks of the hills, with as much security as if the approach of a mortal had been unknown to them. At last the evening breeze agitated the poplar-wood which enclosed one of the sides of the garden, and Consuelo saw, by the last light of day, the white towers and sharp roofs of a large castle, half-hidden behind a hill, at perhaps the distance of a quarter of a league. Notwithstanding her wish to think no more of the chevalier, Consuelo persuaded herself that he must be there, and her eyes were anxiously fixed on the imaginary castle perhaps, which it seemed she was prohibited to approach, and which the veil of twilight gradually hid.

When night had come, Consuelo saw the reflection of lights from the lower story of her house pass beneath the neighboring shrubbery, and she hastily descended, with the expectation of seeing some human, face around her dwelling. She had not this pleasure. The servant she found busy in lighting the lamps and fixing the table, was like the doctor, clothed in the uniform of the Invisibles. He was an old servant, in a coarse white wig, resembling wool, and clad in a full suit of tomato-colored material.

"I humbly beg your pardon, madame," said he, with a broken voice, "for appearing before you thus; but such are my orders and the necessity of them are not matter of thought for me. I am subject to your commands, madame, and my masters'. I am steward of this pavilion, director of the garden, and _maitre d'hôtel._ They told me that madame, having travelled a great deal, was used to wait on herself, and would not require the services of a female. It would be difficult, madame, to procure one, as I have none, and all those at the castle are forbidden to come hither. A servant woman will arrive shortly to assist me, and a gardener's lad, from time to time, will water the flowers and keep the walks in order. About this I have a very humble observation to make. This is, that any other servant than myself, with whom madame is suspected of having spoken, or have made any sign, will at once be dismissed--a great misfortune to them, for the service is good, and obedience is well rewarded. Madame, I am sure, is too generous and too just to tempt these poor people."

"Rest assured, Matteus," said Consuelo, "I will never be rich enough to reward them, and I am not the person to lead any one to neglect their duty."

"Besides," said Matteus, as if he were talking to himself, "I will never lose sight of them."

"Precaution in that respect is useless. I have too great an obligation to repay to the persons who brought me hither, and to those who have received me to attempt to do anything to deceive them."

"Ah! is madame here of her own accord?" asked Matteus, whose curiosity seemed deprived of nothing but the power of expression.

"I beg you to think me a voluntary prisoner, on parole."

"Ah, thus I understood it. I have never had charge of persons who were here in any other way, though I have often seen my prisoners on parole weep and torment themselves, as if they regretted having bound themselves. God knows they were well attended to here. But under such circumstances their liberty was always restored to them, for no one is retained here by force. Madame, supper is ready."

The last observation of the tomato-colored major-domo at once restored all Consuelo's appetite, and the supper was so good that she highly complimented her attendant. The latter was much flattered at being appreciated, and Consuelo saw that she had won his esteem. He was not a whit more confiding, or less circumspect, on that account. He was both shrewd and cunning. Consuelo soon saw into his character, for she appreciated the mixture of kindness and address with which he anticipated her questions, so as to avoid annoyance, and arrange his replies. She therefore learned from him all she did not desire to know, without in reality learning anything. "His masters were rich, powerful, and very generous personages. They were, however, very strict, especially in all that related to discretion. The pavilion was a dependence on a beautiful residence, sometimes inhabited by its owners, and sometimes confided to faithful, well-paid, and discreet servants. The country was rich, fertile, and well governed, and the people were not wont to complain of their lords. Did they do so, they would not get on very well with Matteus, who consulted his master's interests, and who never talked foolishly." Consuelo was so annoyed at his wise insinuations and officious instructions, that directly after supper she said, with a smile--

"I am afraid, Master Matteus, I am myself indiscreet in enjoying the pleasure of your conversation so long. I need nothing more tonight, and wish you good evening."

"Will madame do me the honor to ring when she needs anything? I live at the back of the house, under the rock, in a kind of hermitage around which I cultivate magnificent water-melons. I would be pleased if madame would encourage me by a glance; but I am especially forbid ever to open that gate to madame."

"I understand, Master Matteus. I am to confine myself to the garden, not being subjected to your caprices, but to the will of my hosts. I will obey."

"There is especial reason, madame, why you should, as the difficulty of opening the heavy gate is very great. There is a spring in the lock which might injure madame's hands, if she were not informed of it."

"My promise is a better security than all your bolts, Matteus. You may rest assured on that point."

Many days rolled by, without Consuelo seeing anything of her hosts, and without her eyes falling on the features of any individual; Matteus yet wearing his mask, which, perhaps, was more agreeable than his face.

The worthy servitor attended on her with a zeal and punctuality for which she could not be too thankful. He annoyed her terribly, however, by his conversation, which she was forced to submit to, for he refused positively and stoically every present she offered him, and she had no other way to exhibit her gratitude than by suffering him to gossip. He was passionately fond of the use of his tongue, a thing especially remarkable, from the fact that his very employment required the most absolute reserve, which he never laid aside. He possessed the art of touching on many subjects, without ever referring to forbidden matters. Consuelo was informed how much the kitchen-garden of the castle produced every year--the quantity of carrots, of asparagus, &c.--how many fawns were dropped in the park, the history of the swans in the lake, the number of pheasants, and the details of harvest. Not one word was said to enable her to understand in what country she was, if the owners of the castle were absent or present, if she was ever to see them, or was to remain for an indefinite time in the pavilion. In a word, nothing that really interested her, ever escaped from the prudent though busy lips of Matteus. She fancied she would have violated all propriety, had she come even within ear-shot of the gardener or servant-girl, who, moreover, came early in the morning and disappeared almost immediately after she got up. She restricted herself to looking from time to time across the park, without seeing any one, and watching the outlines of the castle, which was illuminated with a few lights, which, by-the-bye, were soon extinguished.

She soon relapsed into a state of deep melancholy, which, she had vigorously striven against at Spandau. These feelings attacked her in this rich abode, where she had all the luxuries of life around her. Can any one of the blessings of life really be enjoyed alone? Prolonged solitude wearies us of the most beautiful objects, and fills the strongest mind with terror. Consuelo soon found the hospitality of the Invisibles as annoying as it was strange, and intense disgust took possession of all her faculties. Her noble piano seemed to sound too loudly through the vast and echoing rooms, and she became afraid of the sound of her own voice. When she ventured to sing, if she were surprised by twilight, she thought she heard the echoes reply angrily to her, and fancied she saw flitting around the silk-hung walls and silent tapestry, uneasy shadows, which faded away when she sought to watch them, and hid themselves behind the hangings, whence they mocked, imitated, and made faces at her. All this was but the effect of the evening breeze, rustling amid the leaves, or the vibration of her own voice around her. Her imagination, weary of questioning the mute witnesses of her _ennui_--the statues, pictures, and Japan vases, filled with flowers, and the gorgeous mirrors--became the victim of a strange terror, like the anticipation of some unknown misfortune. She remembered the strange power attributed to the Invisibles by the vulgar, the apprehensions with which Cagliostro had filled her mind, the appearance of _la balayeuse_ in the palace at Berlin, and the wonderful promises of Saint Germain in relation to the resurrection of Albert. She said all these unexplained matters were perhaps the consequence of the secret action of the Invisibles in society, and on her particular fate. She had no faith in their supernatural power, but she saw they used every means to acquire influence over the minds of men, by attacking the imagination through promises and menaces, terror or seductions. She was then under the influence of some formidable revelation or cruel mystification, and, like a cowardly child, was afraid at being so timid.

At Spandau she had aroused her will against external perils and real suffering: she had triumphed, by means of courage, over all, and there resignation seemed natural to her. The gloomy appearance of the fortress harmonized with the solemn meditations of solitude, while in her new prison all seemed formed for a life of poetical enjoyment or peaceful friendship. The eternal silence, the absence of all sympathy, destroyed the harmony, like a monstrous violation of common sense. One might have compared it to the delicious retreat of two lovers, or an accomplished family, become, from a loved hearthside, suddenly hated and deserted, on account of some painful rupture or sudden catastrophe. The many inscriptions which decorated it, and which were placed on every ornament, she did not laugh at now as mere puerilities. They were mingled encouragements and menaces, conditional eulogiums corrected by humiliating accusations. She could no longer look around her, without discovering some new sentence she had not hitherto remarked, and which seemed to keep her from breathing freely in this sanctuary of suspicious and vigilant justice. Her soul had retreated within itself since the crisis of her escape and instantaneous love for the stranger. The lethargic state which she had, beyond doubt, been intentionally thrown into, to conceal the locality of her abode, had produced a secret languor and a nervous excitability resulting from it. She therefore felt herself becoming both uneasy and careless, now terrified at nothing, and then indifferent about everything.

One evening she fancied that she heard the almost imperceptible sound of a distant orchestra. She went on the terrace, and saw the castle appearing beyond the foliage in a blaze of light. A symphony, lofty and clear, distinctly reached her. The contrast between a festival and her isolation touched her deeply; more so than she was willing to own. So long a time had elapsed since she had exchanged a word with rational or intelligent beings, for the first time in her life she was anxious to join in a concert or ball, and wished, like Cinderella, that some fairy would waft her through the air into one of the windows of the enchanted palace, even if she were to remain there invisible, merely to look on persons animated by pleasure.

The moon was not yet up. In spite of the clearness of the sky, the shade beneath the trees was so dense, that Consuelo, had she been surrounded by invisible watchers, might have glided by. A violent temptation took possession of her, and all the specious reasons which curiosity suggests, when it seeks to assail our conscience, presented themselves to her mind. Had they treated her with confidence by dragging her insensible to this prison, which, though gilded, was severe? Had they the right to exact blind submission from her which they had not deigned to ask for? Besides, might they not seek to tempt and attract her by the simulation of a festival--all this might be, for all that related to the Invisibles was strange. Perhaps, in seeking to leave the enclosure she would find an open gate, or a boat which passed through some arch in the wall of the park. At this last fancy, the most gratuitous of all, she descended into the garden, resolved to tempt her fate. She had not gone more than fifty paces, when she heard in the air a sound similar to that produced by the wings of a gigantic bird, as it rises rapidly to the clouds. At the same time, she saw around her a vivid blue blaze, which after a few minutes was extinguished, to be reproduced with a sharp report. Consuelo then saw this was neither lightning nor a meteor, but the commencement of a display of fireworks at the castle. This entertainment promised her, from the top of the terrace a magnificent display, and like a child, anxious to shake off the _ennui_ of a long punishment, she returned in haste to the pavilion.

By the blaze of these factitious lights, sometimes red and then blue, which filled the garden, she twice saw a black man standing erect and near her. She had scarcely time to look at him, when the luminous bomb falling with a shower of stars, left all more dark than ever, after the light which had dazzled her eyes. Consuelo then became terrified, and ran in a direction entirely opposite to that in which the spectre had appeared, but when the light returned, saw herself again within a few feet of him. At the third blaze, she had gained the door of the pavilion, but again found him before her and barring her passage. Seized with irrepressible terror, she cried aloud, and nearly swooned. She would have fallen backward from the steps, had not her mysterious visitor passed his arm around her waist. Scarcely had he touched her brow with his lips, than she became aware it was the stranger--the _Chevalier_--the one whom she loved, and by whom she was beloved.