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CONSUELO
BY GEORGE SAND
TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH
BY FRANK H. POTTER
IZN FOUR VOLUMAES
VOL. I
NEW YORK
DODD, MEAD & COMPANY
1889




Copyright, ISS9
Br DODD, MEAD & COMPANY
All rights reserved
PRESS or
BoaSt\1 anb,tnunbill
BOSTON




CONSUELO.
CHAPTER I.
" YES, yes, young ladies; shake your heads as much
as you like! The best behaved and the cleverest of
you all is - but I will not say who; for she is the
only one of my class who has any modesty, and I am
afraid that if I were to name her she would instantly
lose that rare virtue which I wish " -
"Zin nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti," sang
Costanza, impudently.
" Amen," sang all the other young girls in chorus.
" Horrid thing! " said Clorinda, pouting prettily
and giving a little tap with the handle of her fan on
the bony and wrinkled fingers which the singing master had left lying idly on the silent key-board of the
organ.
" Nonsense! said the old professor, with the profoundly disillusioned air of a man who for forty years
has been the butt of all the teasing and all the unruliness of successive generations of female children. " It
is likewise certain," he added, putting his spectacles
in their case and his tobacco-box in his pocket, without raising his eyes to the mocking, vexed swarm




2


CONSUELO.


about him, "that this well-behaved, this docile, this
studious, this attentive, this good child, is not you,
Signora Clorinda, nor you, Signora Costanza, nor yet
you, Signora Zulietta, nor Rosina, and still less
Michela "" In that case it is I!"" No, it is I! "-" Not at
all, it is I! "  " I! "  " I " "'  I! " cried the soft
or piercing voices of some fifty blondes and brunettes,
who swooped down on him like a flock of noisy gulls
on a poor shell-fish left high and dry on the strand by
the retreating tide.
The shell-fish, that is to say, the maestro (for I
maintain that no metaphor could be more appropriate
to his angular movements, his beady eyes, his cheekbones blotched with red, and, above all, to the thousand
little curls, white and stiff and pointed, of the professorial wig) - the maestro, I say, forced back three
times on the bench from which he had tried to rise,
but calm and impassive as a shell-fish, rocked and
toughened by tempests, refused for a long time to say
which of his pupils deserved the praise of which he
was usually so sparing, but of which he had just been
so prodigal. Finally, yielding as if unwillingly to the
prayers which he had slyly provoked, he took the official baton with which he was accustomed to beat time,
and with it formed his undisciplined flock into two
lines. Then, advancing with a grave air through this
double row of giddy pates, he went and stood at the
back of the organ-gallery in front of a young girl who
sat crouched on a bench, elbows on knees, and fingers




CONS UEL O.


3


in ears to keep out the noise, practising her lesson in
an undertone so as not to disturb any one. She was
twisted and doubled up like a little monkey. He, solemn
and triumphant, with foot advanced and arm extended,
resembled the shepherd Paris awarding the apple, not
to the most beautiful, but to the best behaved.
" Consuelo?  The Spaniard?" cried the young
singers with one voice, all amazement. Then a universal burst of Homeric laughter drove a flush of
indignation and anger to the majestic brow of the
professor.
Little Consuelo, whose stopped ears had not heard
a word of this dialogue, and whose eyes were wandering about without seeing anything, so absorbed was
she by her work, remained unconscious of the disturbance for some minutes. Then, perceiving at last
the attention of which she was the object, she
dropped her hands from her ears to her knees, and
her books from her knees to the floor. She sat petrified with astonishment, not confused, but a little
frightened, and ended by getting up to see if some
strange object or some ridiculous person behind her
was not the cause of this noisy gayety, and not herself.
" Consuelo," said the master, taking her hand without further explanation, "come here, my good child;
sing me Pergolese's Salve Regina, which you have
learned this last fortnight, and which Clorinda has
been studying for a year."
Consuelo, without replying and without showing




4


CONS UEL 0.


either fear, or pride, or embarrassment, followed the
master to the organ, where he sat down again,
and, with a look of triumph, gave the pitch to his
young pupil.  Then Consuelo, simply and easily,
poured forth through the lofty arches of the cathedral
the most glorious voice with which they had ever rung.
She sang the Salve Regina without a slip of memory,
without giving a note which was not absolutely true,
full, sustained, or ended at the right instant; and
following with passive exactitude the instructions
which the learned master had given her, and rendering with her vigorous powers the just and intelligent
intentions of the old man, she did, with the inexperience and carelessness of a child, what knowledge,
experience, and enthusiasm could not have caused a
consummate artist to do, - she sang faultlessly.
"Very good, my child," said the old master, always
reserved in his compliments. " You have studied
attentively, and you sang conscientiously.  Next
time you may sing the Scarlatti cantata which I
taught you."
" Si, Signore professore," replied Consuelo; "may
I go now? "
"Yes, my child. Young ladies, the lesson is finished."
Consuelo put into a small basket her books, her
pencils, and her little black-paper fan, the inseparable
plaything of Spanish as well as of Venetian women, and
which she hardly ever used, though she always had it
with her. Then she disappeared behind the organ



CONSUELO.            5


5


pipes, slipped as lightly as a mouse down the mysterious stairs which led to the church, knelt a moment
as she crossed the nave, and as she was going out,
found near the holy-water basin a handsome young
gentleman who held out the aspergill to her with a
smile.  She took some holy-water, and looking
straight in his face with the self-possession of a little
girl who does not yet think or feel herself a woman,
mixed up so drolly her sign of the cross and her
thanks that the gentleman began to laugh. Consuelo
began to laugh too, and suddenly, as if remembering
that some one was waiting, started away and was over
the threshold of the church, down the steps, and out
of the porch in a twinkling.
Meanwhile the professor had again put his spectacles in the large pocket of his waistcoat, and said to
the silent pupils, " Shame on you, my fine young ladies!
This little girl, the youngest of you all, the newest in
my class, is the only one of you capable of singing a
solo properly; and in the choruses, no matter what
absurdities you commit around her, I always find her
as firm and as true as a clavecin note. It is because
she has zeal, patience, and what you have not, and
never will have, any of you, - conscience."
"Ah! there is his great word," cried Costanza,
when he had gone out. " He only said it thirty-nine
times during the lesson, and he would be ill if he did
not reach the fortieth."
"No wonder that Consuelo makes progress," said
Zulietta, "she is so poor. She is hurrying to learn




6


C ONVS UEL O.


something as fast as possible, that she may earn her
living."
"I have been told that her mother was a Bohemian,"
added Michelina, " and that she herself used to sing
on the streets and highways before she came here. It
cannot be denied that she has a fine voice, but she has
not a shade of intelligence, poor child! She learns
by heart, follows the professor's directions slavishly,
and her good lungs do the rest."
"She may have the best of lungs and the finest intelligence to boot," said the handsome Clorinda.
"She is welcome to these advantages, so long as I do
not have to exchange faces with her."
"You would not lose so very much if you did,"
replied Costanza, who was not enthusiastic in acknowledging Clorinda's beauty.
"No, she certainly is not pretty," said another.
"She is as yellow as an Easter candle, and her big
eyes have no expression. Besides, she is always so
badly dressed! Decidedly, she is an ugly girl."
" Poor thing! She is very unlucky - no money and
no beauty."
And so they ended Consuelo's panegyric, and by
pitying her consoled themselves for having admired
her while she sang.
d


J'




CONSUEL 0.


7


CHAPTER II.
THE scene which has been described occurred in
Venice about a hundred years ago, in the Church of
the Mendicanti, where the celebrated maestro Porpora had just been rehearsing his great musical vespers, which were to be sung there on the following
Sunday, the feast of the Assumption. The young
choristers whom he had scolded so sharply were
pupils of the scuola, where they were instructed at
the cost of the State, which was to dower them later,
" either for marriage or for the cloister," says Jean
Jacques Rosseau, who admired their superb voices
about this time in this same church. Reader, you
must remember these details only too well, and a
charming incident which he tells concerning them in
the eighth book of the "Confessions."  I shall beware of transcribing these adorable pages, for after
them you would certainly not return to mine, and I
should unquestionably do as much in your place. I
shall hope, therefore, that you have not the " Confessions " within reach just now, and go on with my story.
All these young people were not equally poor, and it
is very certain that, in spite of the great integrity of the
administration, some had slipped in to whom it was
rather a speculation than a neccessity to receive at
the cost of the Republic the training of an artist,




8


CONS UEL O.


and means to establish themselves in life.  It was
for this reason that they allowed themselves to forget
the sacred laws of equality, by which they had been
allowed to take their places on the same benches
with their poorer sisters. Nor did all of them share
in the austere designs which the Republic had for
their future. One or another would break away from
time to time, and, having profited by the gratuitous
education, give up the dower to seek a more brilliant
future elsewhere. The administration, seeing that
this was inevitable, had sometimes admitted to the
school of music the children of poor artists, whose
nomadic existence did not admit of a very long stay
in Venice. Among this number was the little Consuelo, who had been born in Spain, and who had
come thence to Italy by way of St. Petersburg, Constantinople, Mexico, Archangel, or any other still
more direct route, employed peculiarly by Bohemians.
She was a Bohemian only by profession and in
name, for by race she was neither Gitana nor Hindoo,
nor yet a Jew. She was of good Spanish blood, which
was undoubtedly of Moorish origin, for she was decidedly dark, and she possessed a repose which
showed no traces of the characteristics of the wandering races. I do not wish to speak ill of these.
If I were inventing the character of Consuelo, I do
not say that I would not make her descended from
the children of Israel, or even from yet older ancestors; but she was formed from a rib of Ishmael, and




CONS UEL 0.9


9


everything in her organization showed it. I never
saw her, for I am not a hundred years old(1 yet, but
I have been told so, and I cannot question the statement. She had not that feverish petulance, broken
by fits of apathetic languor, which marks the zingarellc, nor had she the insinuating curiosity and the
persistant mendicity of the p)oor ebb-lca. She was as
calm as the water of the lagoons, and at tbe same
time as active as the light gondolas which ceaselessly
furrow their surface.
As she grew fast, and as her mother was wretchedly
poor, her dresses were always a year too short for her,
which gave to her long legs, accustomed to the public
gaze, a sort of wild grace and frankness which caused
one to feel mingled pleasure and pity. If her foot was
small, one could not know it, so badly was it shod.
On the other hand, her figure, iml)risoned in waists
which had grown too small and which were cracking
at every seam, was slender and flexible as a young
palm-tree, but without form, or roundness, or charm
of any sort. The poor child hardly thought of it, accustomed as she was to being called " monkey " and
" gypsy " by the blonde, fair, and plump daughters of
the Adriatic. Her round face, sallow and insignificant, would never have attracted attention had it not
been that her thick hair, cut short and brushed behind
her ears, and her manner, which was serious and indifferent to external affairs, lent her a somewhat disagreeable oddity. Faces which do not please lose by
degrees the faculty of pleasing. Their possessors care




IO


C CONS UEL 0.


no more for them than others do, and they take on a
carelessness of expression which becomes more and
more repulsive.  Beauty watches and arranges and
cherishes itself; it looks at itself and is eternally
posing, so to speak, in an imaginary looking-glass.
Ugliness forgets itself and takes no pains. Still, there
are tweo kinds of ugliness. One, which suffers and
protests unceasingly against the general contempt by
habitual bad temper and envy, is the true, the only
ugliness.  The other, which is frank and careless,
which accepts the situation, and neither shuns nor
invites criticism, which wins the heart while it offends
the eye, was Consuelo's ugliness. Kindly people who
took an interest in her regretted at first that she was
not pretty; then, thinking better of it, they said, as
they took her head between their hands with that
familiarity which one does not have with beauty,
"Well, you look like a good creature! " and Consuelo was satisfied, although she knew quite well that
the words meant " good, and nothing more."
Meanwhile, the young and handsome gentleman
who had offered Consuelo the holy-water, stood by
the basin until he had seen the last of the scolari go
out. He looked at each one attentively, and when
Clorinda, the most beautiful of them all, passed by
him, he gave her holy-water in his hand, that he
might have the pleasure of touching hers. The young
girl blushed with pride, and as she went by, glanced at
him with that look of mingled shame and boldness
which is not the expression of either pride or modesty.




CONS UEL O.


II


As soon as they had gone back into the convent,
the gallant patrician returned to the nave, and going
up to the professor, who was coming slowly down from
the gallery, cried out, " By the body of Bacchus, tell
me, my dear maestro, which of your pupils sang the
Salve Regina? "
" And why do you wish to know, Count Zustiniani? "
said the professor, as they left the church together.
"That I may congratulate you on her," answered
the patrician. " For a long time I have attended not
only your vespers but your rehearsals, for you know
how dilettante I am of sacred music. But really, this
is the first time I have ever heard Pergolese so perfectly sung; and as for the voice, it is the most beautiful that I have heard in my whole life."
"I believe you," replied the professor, as he
absorbed a large pinch of snuff complacently and with
dignity.
"Tell me the name of the heavenly creature who
delighted me so much. In spite of your severity and
your endless complaints, you have certainly made
your school one of the best in Italy. Your choruses
are good and your solos excellent, but the music
that you perform is so great, so severe, that it is very
rarely that these young girls can make us feel all its
beauty."
"They cannot make you feel it," replied the professor, sadly, " because they do not feel it themselves.
As far as fresh, extended, and brilliant voices are concerned, we have no lack of them, thank Heaven!




I 2


2  CONS UEL 0.


but musical organizations, alas, are rare and incomplete."
"You have one, at least, who is admirably gifted.
The instrument is magnificent, the feeling perfect, and
the skill remarkable. Tell me who it is."
"Did she not please you?" said the professor,
avoiding the question.
" She touched my heart, she drew tears from me,
and that by such simple methods and such natural
effects that I could not understand it at first. Then I
remembered what you have so often said to me in
teaching me your divine art, dear master, and for the
first time I understood how right you were."
"And what did I say to you?" asked the master,
with a look of triumph.
" You told me that the great, the true, the beautiful
in art is simplicity."
" But I told you also that there were brilliancy and
ingenuity and cleverness, and that there was often
cause to remark and admire these qualities."
"Undoubtedly. But you said that there was an
abyss between these secondary qualities and the true
manifestation of genius.  Well, dear master, your
cantatrice is on one side, and all the rest are on the
other."
" It is true, and it is well put," remarked the professor, rubbing his hands.
"Her name? " repeated the count.
"Whose name? " said the sly professor.
"Per Dio santo! the name of the siren, or rather




CONSUEL 0.


13


of the archangel, to whom I have just been listening."
" And what do you want of her name, lord count?"
asked the professor, severely.
"Why do you wish to make a secret of it, sir
professor? "
" I will tell you the reason, if you will first tell me
why you are so anxious to learn her name."
" Is it not a natural, and, indeed, an irresistible
sentiment which impels us to know and to see the
objects of our admiration? "
"W Well, that is not your only motive. Allow me,
dear count, to contradict you thus far. You are a
great lover and a good judge of music, but you are,
above all, owner of the San-Samuel Theatre. It is
for your glory still more than for your profit that you
gather the finest talents and the best voices in Italy
into your theatre. You know that we give good lessons, - that we alone work seriously, and form great
musicians. You have already stolen Corilla from us,
and as she may any day be engaged by another theatre,
you come prowling about the school to see if we have not
formed another Corilla, whom you are ready to devour
in turn. That is the real truth, count. Admit it frankly."
" Suppose it is true, dear maestro," replied the
count, smiling, " what does it matter to you, and what
harm is there in it? "
" I see a great deal of harm, count. You corrupt
and ruin these poor creatures."
" What do you mean, most moral professor? When




I4


C ONSUEL O.


did you constitute yourself the guardian of these fragile virtues? "
" You know very well what I mean, count, and that
I care neither for their virtue nor for its fragility.
But I do care for their talent, which you debase and
degrade in your theatres by making them sing music
which is vulgar and in bad taste. Is it not a shame
to see Corilla, who was beginning to have a just comprehension of serious music, descend from sacred to
profane, from prayer to jesting, from the altar to
the stage, from the sublime to the ridiculous, from
Allegri and Palestrina to Albinoni and the barber
Apollini?"
"So you refuse to tell me the name of this girl, on
whom I cannot have designs, for the matter of that,
because I do not know whether she possesses the
other qualities which a theatre demands?"
"I refuse absolutely."
"And you think that I shall not discover her? "
"Alas! you will discover her, if you have determined to. But I will do my best to prevent your
taking her away from us."
"Well, maestro, you are already half conquered,
for I have seen your mysterious divinity. I guessed
which one it was."
"Indeed!" said the master, with a reserved and
doubtful air. "Are you quite sure?"
" My eyes and my heart detected her, and I will
draw you her portrait to convince you. She is tallthe tallest, I think, of all your pupils. She is white




CONSUELO.


15


as the snow of Frioul and rosy as the horizon on a
fine morning. She has golden hair, blue eyes, and is
pleasantly plump, and she wears a little ruby on her
finger which burned my hand when it touched it like
a spark of magic fire."
"Bravo! " cried Porpora, sarcastically. "I have
nothing to conceal from you if that is the case, and
the name of your beauty is Clorinda. Go on and
make your seductive offers to her. Give her gold
and diamonds and dresses. You can easily engage
her for your troupe, and she may perhaps replace
Corilla, for the public of your theatres nowadays prefers handsome shoulders to beautiful sounds, and bold
eyes to a lofty intelligence."
"Am I mistaken then, dear master? " said the
count, a little abashed. "Is Clorinda nothing but a
commonplace beauty?"
" And if my siren, my divinity, my archangel, as it
pleases you to call her, were anything but handsome? "
"' If she were deformed, I should beg you never to
point her out to me, for my illusion would be too
cruelly destroyed. If she were only ugly, I could
still adore her, but I should not engage her for the
theatre, for talent without beauty is often only a misfortune and a torment to a woman. What are you
looking at, maestro, and why do you stop?"
" This is the landing and I do not see any gondolas.
But what are you looking at yourself, count?"
"I was looking to see if that boy sitting on the
steps of the landing beside that ugly little girl is not




CONS UEL 0.


my protege Anzoleto, the most intelligent aind the
handsomest of our little plebeians. Look at hin,
dear maestro, for this concerns you as much as it does
me. This child has the most beautiful tenor voice in
Venice, and he has a passionate love for music, joined
to extraordinary talent. I have wanted to speak to
you about him for a long time, and beg of you to give
him lessons. I intend him to be the support of my
theatre, and I hope in a few years to be well repaid
for my pains. Hola, Zoto! Come here, my child,
and let me present you to the illustrious maestro Porpora."
Anzoleto drew his naked legs from the water, in
which they had been carelessly hanging, while he was
employed in making holes with a large needle in those
pretty shells which the Venetians have poetically
named fiore di mare. His only dress was a pair of
very ragged trousers and a fine but tattered shirt,
through which one could see his white arms, modelled
like those of a little antique Bacchus. His was, indeed, the Greek beauty of a young faun, and his face
displayed that singular mixture of dreamy melancholy
and ironical indifference so common in the creations
of pagan sculptors. His hair, curly but fine, of a light
blonde, slightly reddened by the sun, fell in thick andl
short ringlets about his alabaster neck. All his features were incomparably perfect, but there was an
over-bold expression in the glance of his ink-black
eyes which did not please the professor. The child
rose quickly at Zustiniani's voice, threw all his shells




CONS UELO.


'7


in the lap of the little girl at his side, and while she,
without interrupting her work, went on stringing
them, and interspersing them with little golden pearls,
he came up and kissed the count's hand, after the
fashion of the country.
" Truly a handsome boy," said the professor, giving
him a little tap on the cheek. " But his amusement
seems a very childish one for his age, for he must be
quite eighteen."
" Nearly nineteen, sior professore," replied Anzoleto, in the Venetian dialect. " But I am not playing
with the shells, only helping Consuelo, who makes
necklaces of them."
" Consuelo," said the master, drawing near his
pupil with the count and Anzoleto, " I did not know
that you cared for dress."
"Oh, they are not for me, sir," said Consuelo, half
rising carefully, so as not to drop into the water the
shells heaped in her apron. "I make them to sell so
as to buy rice and maize."
"She is poor, and supports her mother," said Porpora.  "If you and your mother are in trouble,
Consuelo, you must come to me, but I forbid you to
beg. Do you understand? "
"Oh, you need not forbid it, sior professorc,"
replied Anzoleto, quickly. " She would not do it, and
besides, I would prevent it."
"But you have nothing yourself," said the count.
' Nothing but your bounty, illustrissimo signore, but
Consuelo and I share."




i8


CONSUEL 0.


" She is a relative of yours? "
" No; Consuelo is a stranger."
"Consuelo?   What a curious name!" said the
count.
" A beautiful name, illustrissimo. It means consolation."
"Indeed! And you are friends, it seems."
" We are engaged, signore."
"'Already? Just see these children, thinking of
marriage at their age! "
"l We are to be married on the day you sign my
engagement at the San-Samuel Theatre, illustrissizo.)"
" At that rate, you will have a long time to wait."
"c Oh, we can wait," said Consuelo, with the playful
calm of innocence.
The count and the maestro amused themselves
a few minutes longer with the frankness and the
repartees of the young couple, and then, having made
an appointment with Anzoleto for the next day, when
the professor was to try his voice, they went away,
leaving him to his serious occupation.
" What do you think of the little girl? " asked the
master of Zustiniani.
" I had already seen her, only a few minutes ago,
and I thought her ugly enough to prove the truth of
the proverb that ' all women are handsome to a boy
of eighteen.' "
" Very good! Now I can tell you that your heavenly
singer, your mysterious beauty, was Consuelo."




CONSUELO.                  19
"She! That hideous child! That thin, sallow
grasshopper! Impossible, maestro! "
" She herself, my lord count. Would she not make
a fascinating prima donna? "
The count stopped, turned about, looked at Consuelo once more, and cried, wringing his hands with a
comical expression of despair, " Merciful Heaven! how
could you commit such a mistake as to place the fire
of genius in such a shocking head? "
"So you give up your guilty projects? "
"Most assuredly."
You promise me? " added Porpora.
"Oh, I swear it! "




20


CONSUEL 0.


CHAPTER III.
BORN under the sky of Italy, brought up at haphazard like a water-fowl, poor, orphaned, abandoned,
yet happy in the present and confident in the future,
Anzoleto, this handsome lad of nineteen, who spent
all his days with little Consuelo on the streets of
Venice in the most complete liberty, was not by any
means indulging in his first love, as one might have
supposed. He was no stranger to the easy conquests
so common in Venice, and under a colder sky and
with a nature less richly endowed, he might have
been already worn out and corrupted. But his heart
was still pure and his passions were held in check by
his will. He had first chanced to meet the little
Spaniard before the Madonettes, singing hymns, and
he had sung with her the whole evening, merely for
the pleasure of exercising his voice, with only the
stars for an audience. Afterwards they had met on
the sands of the Lido, gathering shell-fish, he to eat
them, she to make necklaces and ornaments of
them. Again they met in churches, where she went
to pray to God with all her heart, and he to look at
the handsome ladies with all his eyes. In all these
meetings Consuelo had appeared so good, gentle,
obliging, and gay that he had ended by making her
his inseparable friend and companion, without exactly




CONSUELO.


21


knowing how or why. At this time Anzoleto understood
only the sensual pleasure of love. He felt a friendship for Consuelo, and as he belonged to a country
and a race in which passion is more common than
attachment, he knew no other name to give his friendship than love.  Consuelo accepted this figure of
speech after making one objection. " If you call
yourself my lover, do you mean that you wish to
marry me? " Anzoleto replied, "Certainly, we will
get married, if you like."
From that time the matter was settled. Anzoleto
may have thought it a jest, although Consuelo took
it quite seriously. It is certain that his young heart
felt already those opposing sentiments and complicated
emotions which disturb the lives of men who have
become blase. But, without understanding the charm
which drew him to Consuelo, having as yet scarcely
any feeling for the beautiful, and not knowing whether
she was ugly or pretty, child enough to amuse himself
with her at sports beneath his age, yet man enough to
respect her fourteen years, he led with her in public,
on the streets and canals of Venice, a life as happy,
as pure, and as secluded as that of Paul and Virginia under the palms of the desert. Although they
enjoyed a liberty more absolute and more dangerous,
with no families, no tender and watchful mothers to
train them in virtue, no faithful servant to seek them
at nightfall and bring them back to the fold, no dog,
even, to warn them of danger, their life was wholly
innocent. They sailed the lagoons in boats without




22


CONS UEL O.


oars or pilot, they wandered in the marshes without a
guide, and with no concern for the rising tide. They
sang before the shrines erected under vine branches
at street corners without regard for the lateness of the
hour and needing no other bed than the stones, still
warm from the midday heat. They would stand
before Polcinella's theatre and follow with passionate
attention the adventures of the beautiful Corisande,
the queen of marionettes, without remembering the
absence of breakfast and the small likelihood of supper. They plunged into the wild sports of the carnival, Anzoleto with no disguise but his coat turned
inside out, Consuelo with none but a bunch of old
ribbons. They had sumptuous feasts on the balustrades of bridges or the steps of palaces, their only
viands sea-fruit,l or raw fennel-stalks. They lived,
in short, a free and happy life, without giving more
dangerous caresses and feeling more tender sentiments than two innocent children of the same age
and sex would have done. Days and years went by.
Anzoleto had other loves, but Consuelo did not even
know that there was any love different from that of
which she was the object. She became a young girl,
yet felt no need to show greater reserve to her
lover. He saw her growing and becoming transformed without impatience or a wish for any change
in their intimacy, which knew no cloud or scruple, no
mystery or remorse.
l Different sorts of cheap shell-fish, of which the common people of
Venice are very fond.




CONSUELO.                   23
It was now four years since Professor Porpora and           j
Count Zustiniani had mutually presented their little
musicians to each other, and from that day the count
had never thought of the young singer of sacred
music. The professor had, for his part, quite forgotten
the handsome Anzoleto, in whom he had found, on
examination, none of the qualities which he required
in his pupils. These were a serious and patient intelligence, in the first place, then a modesty which
reached to the annihilation of the pupil before the
master, and finally an entire absence of previous musical studies. " Never offer me a pupil," he used to
say, "whose brain will not be like an empty page
before my will, or like virgin wax, on which I may
make the first impression. I have not time enough
to waste a year in unlearning before I begin to teach.
If you wish me to write on a slate, it must be clean,
and not only that, it must be of good quality. If it is
too hard, I cannot mark it. If it is too soft, I shall
break it at the first stroke."  In short, although he
admitted the extraordinary powers of young Anzoleto,
he announced to the count at the end of the first
lesson, rather crossly and with ironical humility, that
his method would be of no use to so advanced a
pupil, and that " the first master he might meet with
would be able to embarrass and retard the natural
progress and the invincible development of this magnificent organization."
The count sent his protege to Professor Mellifiore,
who led his pupil through roulades and cadenzas,




24


CONSUELO.


through trills and grupetti, up to the complete development of his brilliant powers. When Anzoleto was
three-and-twenty he was considered by all those who
heard him in the count's drawing-room to be competent to appear at the San-Samuel with success in the
principal parts.
One evening all the dilettante nobility and all the
artists of reputation in Venice were invited to be
present at a final and decisive trial. Anzoleto appeared for the first time in a black coat and satin
waistcoat, with his handsome hair powdered, and
buckled shoes on his feet. He assumed a tranquil air
and stepped on tiptoe to the clavecin where, under
the light of a hundred candles and the eyes of two or
three hundred people, he inflated his lungs and
plunged, with his boldness, his ambition, and his chest
C, into that dangerous career in which it is not a
judge nor a jury but a whole public that stands ready
to award glory or shame.
It is not worth while to ask whether Anzoleto felt
any inward uneasiness. It was hardly apparent, at
any rate; and no sooner had his sharp eyes detected
in the looks of the women that secret approval which
is rarely refused to one so handsome; no sooner had
the amateurs, surprised at the power of his voice and
the brilliancy of his vocalization, given utterance to a
murmur of applause, than joy and hope filled his
whole being. Until that time he had been commonly
taught and listened to by common hearers, but he now
realized for the first time in his life that he was not a




CONSUELO.


25


commonplace man, and, supported by a consciousness
of triumph and the desire for more of it, he sang with
remarkable spirit, originality, and energy. It is true
that his taste was not always pure and his execution
not always faultless, but he was able to redeem himself by feats of daring, by gleams of intelligence, an(l
by bursts of enthusiasm. He missed the effects which
the composer had designed, but he found others of
which no one had ever thought, either the author who
had composed, the professor who had interpreted, or
the artists who had rendered the music. His boldness carried every one away. They forgave him a
dozen faults for a single innovation, a dozen rebellions
against method for a single flash of originality, -so
true is it that in the matter of art the least spark of
genius or the slightest aspiration towards new conquests exercises more fascination than all the resources
of science within the limits of our knowledge.
No one, perhaps, considered the cause of this enthusiasm, but no one escaped from its effects. Corilla
had opened the evening with an air which she had
sung well and which had been warmly applauded, but
the success of the young debutant so far exceeded her
own that she was filled with rage. When Anzoleto,
loaded with applause and caresses, came back to the
clavecin near which she was seated, he leaned toward
her and said, with mingled humility and boldness,
" And you, queen of song and queen of beauty? Have
you not even a look of encouragement for the unfortunate being who fears and adores you?"




26               CONSUELO.
The prima donna, surprised by so much audacity,
looked closely at the handsome face at which she had
scarcely deigned to glance before; for what vain and
triumphant woman would condescend to look at a poor
and obscure lad? But at last she scanned his face,
and was struck with its beauty. His fiery glance met
hers, and she, fascinated and conquered, let fall on
him a long look which set the zeal to his celebrity.
During this memorable evening Anzoleto had conquered his public and disarmed his most dangerous
enemy; for the beautiful singer was not only queen
on the boards, but also in the administration and in
Count Zustiniani's study.




CONSUEL 0.


27


CHAPTER IV.
IN the midst of the unanimous and so newhat extravagant applause which the voice and the manner
of the debutant had aroused, a single listener, seated
on the edge of his chair, with his legs pressed together
and his hands motionless on his knees, after the manner of an Egyptian god, remained silent as a sphynx
and mysterious as a hieroglyph. It was the learned
professor and famous composer, Porpora. While his
gallant colleague, Professor Mellifiore, taking to himself
all the honor of Anzoleto's success, was strutting among
the women and bowing to the men to thank them for
even a look, the master of sacred song sat with his
eyes fixed on the ground, a frown on his brow, and his
mouth closed, apparently absorbed in his own reflections. When the guests, who had been invited that
evening to a great ball given by the dogaress, had
gone away one by one, and only the most enthusiastic
dilettanti remained, gathered about the clavecin with
a few ladies and the principal artists, Zustiniani came
up to the old master and said, -
" You are unjust to the modern composers, my
dear professor, and your silence does not deceive
me. You wish to close your ears to the very end
against this secular music and this new style which
delights us all, but your heart must have responded




28


C OiNSUEL O.


in spite of yourself, and your ears have drunk in the
poison."
" Come, sior professore," said the charming Corilla,
resuming with her old master the teasing manner of
the scuola, "you must do me one favor."
" Get thee behind me, wretched girl! " cried the
professor, half laughing and resisting the caresses of
his inconstant pupil. " What have we henceforth in
common? I no longer know you. Carry your pretty
smiles and your treacherous warblings elsewhere."
" Now he is becoming more amiable," said Corilla,
taking the debutant by the arm with one hand while
with the other she went on playing with the professor's
large white cravat. "Come here, Zoao,l and kneel
before the most learned master in Italy.  Humble
yourself, and disarm his severity. A word of praise
from him, if you can get it, ought to be worth more
in your eyes than all the triumphs of fame."
"You were very severe with me once, professor,"
said Anzoleto, bowing to him with mock modesty,
"yet my only thought for four years has been to
make you change your unfavorable opinion; and if
I have not succeeded this evening, I do not know
whether I shall have the courage to appear again
before the public."
" Boy, boy! " said the professor, rising quickly and
speaking with an earnestness and power which made
him appear noble and dignified, instead of crooked
1 Contraction of Anzolelo, which is the diminutive of Angelo, Anzolo
in the Venetian dialect.




CONSUELO.


29


and ill-tempered, as he seemed ordinarily, "leave
honeyed and lying words to women.   Never condescend to flattery, even to your superiors, least of all
to one whose opinion you inwardly despise. An hour
ago you were in that corner, poor, unknown, and
trembling. Your whole future hung upon a hair, -
a sound of your throat, a failure of your powers,
a caprice of your audience. A chance, an effort, an
instant, have made you rich, celebrated, insolent.
Your career is open before you; you have only to
go on in it as long as your powers sustain you. Therefore, listen; for you are going to hear the truth for
the first time, and perhaps for the last. You are in
the wrong road. You sing badly, and you like bad
music. You know nothing, and have never studied
anything thoroughly. You have no attainments but
practice and facility. You show passion in the wrong
places, and you only know how to coo and warble like
those pretty, coquettish creatures whose inability to
sing is forgiven on account of their good looks. You
do not know how to phrase, you pronounce badly,.
your accent is vulgar, and your style is false and
common. Yet do not be discouraged. You have
all these faults, but you have that with which to
conquer them, for you have a quality which neither
teaching nor labor can give you, and which neither
bad advice nor bad example can take from you,
you have the sacred fire, you have genius! The fire,
alas! will illumine nothing great; the genius will remain barren! For I see in your eyes, as I heard




30


0  CONSUELO.


in your singing, that you do not love art, that you
have no faith in the great masters, that you have no
respect for great creations. You love glory, - nothing
but glory, - and for yourself alone. You might have -
you might still -but no, it is too late! Your career
will be the flight of a meteor, like that of"And hurriedly clapping his hat on his head, the
professor turned his back and went away without
speaking to any one, absorbed in the inward development of his enigmatic sentence.
Although everybody laughed at the professor's
eccentricities, his words made a painful impression
and created a feeling of doubt and depression for a
few moments. Anzoleto was the first to appear to
forget them, although they had given rise to mingled
emotions, - joy, pride, anger, and emulation, - which
were to influence his whole future life. He appeared
to be occupied only in making himself agreeable to
Corilla, and he succeeded so well that she took a
strong fancy for him at this first meeting. Count
Zustiniani was not very jealous of her, and he had, perhaps, good reasons for not watching her too closely.
He cared more for the glory and the success of his
theatre than for anything else in the world. Not that
he was avaricious, but he was a real fanatic in his
worship of what are called the " fine arts." This is, to
my mind, an expression that exactly suits a certain
vulgar sentiment which is altogether Italian, and consequently passionate without much discrimination. " Devotion to art " - a more modern expression, and one




CONS UEL 0.


31


which everybody did not use a hundred years ago -
has a wholly different meaning from " a taste for the fine
arts." The count was, in point of fact, a " man of
taste," as they understood it at that day, an amateur
and nothing more. But the chief business of his life
was to satisfy this taste. He loved to be concerned
about the public, and to have it concerned about himself. He liked to associate with artists, to set the
fashions, to have every one talking of his theatre,
his wealth, his amiability, and his magnificence. He
was possessed, in a word, by the ruling passion of provincial celebrities,- ostentation. The easiest way to
satisfy and amuse a whole city was to own and direct
a theatre. He would have been still happier if he
could have made the entire Republic sit down at his
table. When strangers asked Porpora what sort of a
man Count Zustiniani was, he was accustomed to
reply, "' He is a man who likes to entertain, and who
serves music at his theatre just as he serves pheasants
on his table."
About one o'clock in the morning the party broke
up.
" Anzolo," said Corilla, who happened to be alone
with him for a moment on the balcony, " where do
you live? "
At this unexpected question, Anzoleto felt himself
blush and turn pale almost simultaneously, for how
could he acknowledge to this rich and brilliant beauty
that he had practically neither bed nor board? Even
that would have been better than to reveal the




32


C OINS UELO.


wretched den in which he spent the nights which he
did not pass, from choice or from necessity, under the
blue canopy of heaven.
"Well, what is there so extraordinary in my
question?" said Corilla, laughing at his embarrassment.
" I was thinking," said Anzoleto, with great presence
of mind, "what palace of kings or fairies would be
worthy of the proud mortal who could carry to it the
memory of a look of love from Corilla."
"And what do you mean by that, flatterer?" she
asked, flashing on him the most burning look that she
could find in all her arsenal of charms.
"That I have not that happiness, but if I had, I
should be too proud to live anywhere but between sea
and sky, like the stars."
"Or the cuccali " cried the cantatrice, with a peal
of laughter. As the reader doubtless knows, gulls are
birds of proverbial stupidity, and their simplicity is
equivalent in the language of Venice to our expression "stupid as a goose."
"Laugh at me! despise me!" said Anzoleto. "I
like even that better than for you not to think about
me at all."
"Come, since you will not answer me except in
metaphors, I will take you in my gondola at the risk
of carrying you farther away from your house instead
of nearer to it, and if I do serve you this ill turn, it
will be your own fault."
"Was that the motive of your curiosity, signora?




CONSUEL 0.


33


In that case my answer is short and clear: I live on
the steps of your palace."
"Go and wait for me on the steps of this one,"
said Corilla, lowering her voice, " for Zustiniani might
not like the indulgence with which I listen to your
nonsense."
In the first flush of his vanity, Anzoleto slipped
out, and sprang from the landing of the palace upon
the bow of Corilla's gondola, counting the seconds by
the beating of his heart. But before she appeared
upon the steps of the palace, a number of reflections
passed through the active and ambitious brain of the
debutant. " Corilla is all-powerful," he said to himself, " but suppose I please her so much that I displease the count? And suppose I cause her to lose
her influence over him? "
In his perplexity Anzoleto glanced at the stair by
which he could still go back, and was thinking of
making his escape, when torches flared under the
portico, and the beautiful Corilla, wrapped in her
ermine mantle, appeared upon the topmost step, surrounded by a group of gentlemen, each anxious to
support her rounded elbow in the hollow of his hand,
and thus hand her down the staircase, after the fashion
of Venice.
"Well," said the prima-donna's gondolier to the
distracted Anzoleto, " what are you doing there? Go
into the gondola quickly if you have permission, or
else run off by the bank, for the count is coming
down with the signora."




34


CONSUEL O.


Anzoleto hurried into the gondola without knowing
what he was doing. He had lost his head. But he
had hardly gone in when he began to picture to himself the count's amazement and indignation if he
should come into the gondola with Corilla and find
his upstart protege there. His agony was all the
worse that it lasted more than five minutes. The
signora had stopped half-way down the stairway.
She was talking and laughing noisily with those who
accompanied her, and discussing the method of
giving a phrase, sang it loudly in several different
ways.  Her clear and ringing voice died away
among the palaces and cupolas of the canal as the
early crow of a cock dies away in the silence of
the country.
Anzoleto, who could stand it no longer, was about
to slip into the water through the window of the
gondola which opened away from the landing. He
had let down the glass, and already had one leg outside, when the second oarsman, the one at the stem,
leaned over the little cabin towards him, and said in
an undertone, -
" When she sings it means that you are to lie low,
and wait without fear."
"Evidently I do not know the customs," said Anzoleto to himself, and he waited, but not without a lingering fear. Corilla amused herself by bringing the
count to the very bow of her gondola, keeping him
there, wishing him felicissima notte, until she was
rowed into the stream. Then she came and sat down




C ODNS UEL 0.


35


by her new adorer as calmly and quietly as if she had
run no risk whatever.
" Did you notice Corilla?"  Zustiniani was meanwhile saying to Count Barberigo, '" I would wager
my head that she is not alone in her gondola."
"What gives you such an idea as that? " answered
Barberigo.
" Because she teased me so much to go back with
her to her palace."
"And aren't you jealous?"
"I was cured of that weakness long ago. I would
give a great deal if our principal cantatrice were to
fall seriously in love with some one who would make
her prefer life in Venice to those dreams of travel
with which she is constantly threatening me. I do
not mind her little infidelities, and I could not replace
her voice or her talent, or the fascination which she
exercises over the San-Samuel public."
" I understand. But whom can she have with her
to-night?"
The count and his friend went over the list of those
to whom Corillo could have shown encouragement
during the evening, and Anzoleto was absolutely the
only one whose name was not suggested.




36


CONSUELO.


CHAPTER V.
MEANWHILE, a violent combat was raging in the
breast of the happy lover whom the waves and the
shadows were bearing away, distracted and embarrassed, by the side of the most famous beauty in
Venice. Prudent and cunning as a true Venetian,
Anzoleto had not looked forward to his debut for
six years without learning all about the domineering and capricious woman who controlled all the
intrigues of the theatre. He had every reason to
believe that her fancy for him would not be longlived, and he had not avoided this dangerous honor
simply because, not thinking it so imminent, he had
been taken off his guard. He had intended to
make her tolerate him for his courtesy, and now
she loved him for his youth, his beauty, and his
new-born glory.
" Now," said Anzoleto to himself, with that rapidity of perception and conclusion which some marvellously organized brains possess, "it only remains for
me to make myself feared, if I would escape the
troubles and contempt which would assuredly follow
my triumph.   But how can such a poor devil as
I make myself feared by the very queen of the infernal regions?"  He quickly made up his mind,
and began to display a distrust, jealousy, and bitter



CONS UE LO.


37


ness whose passionate coquetry astonished the prima
donna. Their conversation was light, yet earnest.
" I know very well that you do not love me, and
never will love me, and that is why I am sad and
constrained in your presence," said Anzoleto.
" But suppose I did love you," said Corilla.
"Then," replied Anzoleto, "I should be in utter
despair, because it would be my fate to fall from
heaven into the pit, and lose you perhaps an hour
after I had won you at the cost of all my future happiness."
" What makes you think me so inconstant? "
" My own lack of merit in the first place, and in
the second, everything that I hear about you."
"Who is it that speaks so badly of me? "
" All the men, since they are all in love with you."
" Consequently, if I were foolish enough to fall in
love with you and to tell you so, you would avoid
me?"
" I do not know whether I should have the strength
to keep away from you; but if I had, it is certain that
I would never see you again in my life."
" Well," said Corilla, " I have a great mind to
make the experiment.   Anzoleto, I really believe
that I love you."
" And I do not believe it at all," he replied. "If
I remain, it is only because I know that you are jesting, and at that game you cannot frighten me, still
less pique me."
" I really believe that you wish to try wits. with me."?'
I




38


CONSUELO.


"Why not?    I am not very dangerous, since I
have already given you a weapon with which to conquer me."
"What?"
" You have only to tell me in serious earnest what
you just said in jest to freeze me with fright and put
me to instant flight."
"You are a strange creature, and I see that you
are not to be trifled with. You are one of those men
who are not satisfied with breathing the perfume of
the rose, but who wish to pluck and wear it. I should
not have fancied you so bold or so self-willed, at your,.ge."
"And do you despise me for it? "
"On the contrary, I like you the better. Goodnight, Anzoleto, we will see each other again."
She held out her beautiful hand, which he kissed
passionately. "I came out of it rather well," he
thought, as he hurried away under the gallery which
runs beside the canaletto.
Hopeless of being able to get into the hovel in
which he usually dwelt, he thought of lying down on
the first door-step he came to, and there enjoying the
angelic repose which youth and poverty alone know.
But for the first time in his life he could not find
a stone clean enough to lie down on. Although the
pavement of Venice is cleaner than any other in the
world, such a bed was far from befitting a black coat
of the finest cloth and the latest fashion. And then
the proprieties! The very boatmen who would step




COATSUELO.


39


carefully over the stairs without touching the rags of
the young plebeian, would insult him in his sleep, and
perhaps purposely soil the livery of his parasitical
luxury thus displayed at their feet. What would they
think of a man who slept in the open air, wearing silk
stockings and fine linen, and with lace at his wrists
and his throat? Anzoleto began to wish himself back
in his brown-and-red cloak, well worn and faded, but
still half an inch thick, and proof against the unwholesome mist which rises in the morning from the waters
of Venice. It was in the latter part of February, and
although at that season of the year the sun is brilliant
and warm in that climate, the nights are still very~
cold. He thought of taking refuge in one of the
gondolas moored against the bank, but they were all
locked. At last he found one whose door was open;
but as he went in he stumbled against the barcarolle
who was sleeping there, and fell over him. " By the
devil's body!" cried a loud, hoarse voice from the
bottom of this cavern, " who are you, and what do you
want?"
"Is that you, Zanetto?" said Anzoleto, recognizing the voice of the gondolier, who was usually
good-natured enough with him; "let me lie down by
you and take a nap in the shelter of your cabin."
"Who are you? " asked Zanetto.
"Anzoleto. Don't you know me? "
" No, by Satan! You wear clothes that Anzoleto
could not have, unless he had stolen them. Get out,
get out! If he were the doge himself, I would not




40


CONS UEL 0.


take a man in my boat who had fine clothes to walk
about in and no place to sleep."
"Thus far," thought Anzoleto, " the perils and
annoyances to which I have been exposed through
Count Zustiniani's protection and favors have been
greater than the advantages which they have procured
me. It is time that my fortune should begin to correspond with my success, and I long to have some
sequins in my pocket that I may play properly the
role that has been thrust upon me."
He wandered about the streets in a very bad humor,
not daring to stop for fear of checking the perspiration
which anger and fatigue had induced. "If only I
do not catch a sore throat! " he thought. " To-morrow the count will wish to show off his young protege
before some stupid aristocrat who, if I display the
slightest hoarseness, after a night without rest or sleep
or shelter, will assert that I have no voice; and the
count, who knows better, will say, 'Ah, if you had
only heard him yesterday! '- ' Then he is unequal?'
another will say; ' perhaps his health is not good.'
'Perhaps he tired himself yesterday,' a third will say.
'He is very young to sing several days in succession.
You would be wise to wait before introducing him on
the boards until he is riper and more robust.' And
the count will cry, ' The devil! If he becomes hoarse
after singing a couple of airs, he will not do for me
at all.' Then, to be sure that I have strength and
good health, they will make me sing exercises every
day until I am out of breath, and will break my voice




CONSUELO.


41


to find out if my lungs are sound. The devil take the
protection of great lords! Ah, why can I not be free,
and strong in my fame, the admiration of the public
and the rivalry of the theatres, sing in their drawingrooms as a favor, and treat with them as one power
with another!"
Talking thus to himself, Anzoleto came into one of
those little squares which are called cord at Venice,
although they are not courts at all, but rather what is
known in French as a " cite."  But these so-called
courts are far from being regular, elegant, and well
cared for, like our modem  "squares."  They are
rather little, dark enclosures, sometimes forming a culde-sac, sometimes affording passage from one quarter
to another, but little travelled, and in neighborhoods
inhabited by those of small means and low condition,
generally by the common people, by workmen, or by
laundresses, who hang their linen on lines stretched
across the street, - an inconvenience which is borne by
wayfarers with great good nature, since their right of
way is oftener from toleration than legal. Woe to the
unfortunate artist whose study-windows open on these
secluded enclosures, the home of vulgar life which
crops up with its rustic customs, noisy and somewhat
uncleanly, in the heart of Venice, only a few steps
from broad canals and sumptuous palaces! Woe to
him if silence is necessary for his work, since from
dawn till dark the noise of children, fowls, and dogs
playing and fighting, the endless chatter of women
from door-steps to door-steps, and the songs of work

t,..''*
f.);;II




42


CONSUELO.


men in their shops would not leave him a moment's
rest! Yet happy is he if an improvisalore does not
come and howl his sonnets and his dithyrambs until
he has collected a penny from every window, or when
Brighella does not plant her booth in the middle of
the yard, patiently repeating her dialogue with the
avoca/o, il tedesco e il diavolo, until she has vainly exhausted her fruitless eloquence before a mob of tattered children, - happy spectators who have no
scruples about listening and looking, though they have
not a farthing in their pockets.
But at night, when all is silence, and only the
peaceful moon lights the pavements, this collection of
houses of all periods, thrown together without symmetry and without pretension, marked by strong shadows,
full of mystery in their recesses and of instinctive
grace in their oddity, displays a disorder which is infinitely picturesque. All becomes beautiful under the
rays of the moon. The smallest architectural effect
grows and takes a new character. The tiniest vineclad balcony puts on all the airs of a Spanish romance,
and fills the imagination with startling adventures.
The limpid sky, in which are seen, beyond this sombre
and angular frame, the pale cupolas of distant buildings, leads one to endless reveries.
It was in the Corte Minelli, near the church of
San Fantin, that Anzoleto found himself as the clocks
were striking two in the morning. A secret instinct
had led his steps to the abode of a person whose
name or face had not once come into his mind since




CONS UE LO.


43


sunset. He had hardly stepped into the court, when
he heard a soft voice calling him very low by the last
syllables of his name, and raising his head, he saw a
faint figure on one of the most wretched terraces in
the enclosure. A moment afterwards the door of the
building opened, and Consuelo, dressed in a cotton
gown and wrapped in an old silk mantle which had
once belonged to her mother, came and held out one
hand to him, while she placed a finger on her lips to
caution him to silence. They went on tiptoe, feeling
their way up the old and broken winding stair which
led to the roof; and when they were seated on the
terrace, they began one of those long whisperings
broken by kisses, which one hears nightly on the housetops, like mysterious breezes, or colloquies of spirits
of the air, who flit in couples through the mist among
the odd chimneys which deck with their red turbans
all the houses of Venice.
" What, my poor Consuelo," said Anzoleto, " have
you waited for me all this time? "
" Did you not say that you would come to give me
an account of your evening? Well, tell me how you
sang, - whether you pleased them and they applauded
you, and whether your engagement is to be signed."
"And you, dear Consuelo," said Anzoleto, suddenly filled with remorse at seeing the confidence and
the sweetness of the poor child, " tell me whether you
have not been impatient at my long absence, if you
are not tired of waiting for me, whether you have not
been very cold here on the terrace, whether you have




44


CONSUELO0.


thought of supper, whether you are angry at me for
coming so late, whether you have been uneasy or
blamed me?"
"Not one of them   all," said Consuelo, frankly
throwing her arms about his neck; "if I got impatient, it was not your fault; if I was tired and cold, I
no longer feel it, now that you have come. I have
forgotten whether I had supper or not. I did not
blame you; why should I? I was not uneasy; what
was there to be uneasy at? And angry with you?
Never! "
"You are an angel!" said Anzoleto, kissing her.
"Ah, my consolation, how false and hard the hearts
of others are!"
"Alas, what has happened to you! What have
they done to the son of my soul?" said Consuelo,
mingling with her pretty Venetian dialect the bold
and passionate metaphors of her native language.
Anzoleto told her everything that had happened,
even his flirtation with Corilla, and especially her advances to him. Only, he told things in his own way,
repeating only what could not pain Consuelo, which,
since he had been faithful to her in fact and intention,
was almost the whole truth. But there is a hundredth
part of the truth on which no judicial inquiry has ever
thrown light, which no client has ever confessed to his
lawyer, which no verdict has ever punished, because
in the few facts or intentions which remain mysterious
is the cause, the motive, the end, the secret, in short,
of those great cases which are always so badly argued




CONSUEL O.


45


and so badly judged, no matter what the zeal of the
advocates or the impartiality of the judges.
To return to Anzoleto; it is not necessary to tell'
what peccadillos he passed over in silence, what
ardent emotions in the presence of the public he explained to suit himself, what longings, stifled in the
gondola, he forgot to mention. I am inclined to
think, indeed, that he did not speak of the gondola at
all, and that he represented his flattery of the cantatrice as an adroit mockery by which he avoided, without offending her, the dangerous advances with which
she had overwhelmed him. Why, since he neither
could nor would tell the whole truth, - that is to say,
the strength of the temptations which his prudence
and common sense had overcome, - why, do you say,
dear reader, did the young scamp run the risk at all
of awakening Consuelo's jealousy? Do you ask it,
madam? Tell me if you yourself are not accustomed
to tell the lover - I mean the husband - of your
choice, all the homage which has been paid you by
others, all the flatterers that you have laughed at, all
the rivals that you have sacrificed, not only before
marriage, but afterwards, the morning after every ball,
yesterday, to-day, even? Come, madam, if you are
beautiful, as I like to fancy you, you would have done
precisely as Anzoleto did, - not to enhance your own
value, not to make a jealous soul suffer, not to make
still prouder a heart already proud enough because
of your preference, but because it is pleasant to have
some one to whom you can tell these things, while




46


CO VSUEL 0.


you seem to be accomplishing a duty in confessing
them. Only, madam, you only confess almost everything. There is a tiny something of which you never
speak, - the look, the smile, which called the impertinent declaration from the presumptuous creature of
whom you complain. This smile, this look, this
nothing is exactly the gondola of which Anzoleto,
who was happy at the chance of going over in his
memory all the intoxication -of the evening, forgot to
tell Consuelo. Fortunately for the little Spaniard, she
did not as yet know the meaning of jealousy, - that
dark, bitter sentiment which comes only to souls which
have suffered deeply, -for, up to that time, Consuelo's love had been as happy as it was pure. The
only circumstance which made a deep impression on
her was the flattering yet severe prophecy delivered
by her respected master, Porpora, concerning the
future of her adored Anzoleto. She made the latter
repeat the expressions of which the master had made
use, and, after he had given them word for word, she
thought for a long time and remained silent.
" Consuelina," said Anzoleto, without much noticing her revery, "the air is extremely cool; are you
not afraid of catching cold? Remember that our
future depends even more on your voice than on
mine."
" I never catch cold; but you are so thinly dressed
in your fine clothes! Here, wrap yourself up in my
c~loak."
"What should I do with that poor little piece of




CoNs UE1 0.           4


47


taffeta, all full of holes? I should like much better
to take shelter for half an hour in your room."
" I am willing, only we must not talk, for the neighbors might hear us, and they would find fault with
us. They are not ill-natured. They see our lovemaking without annoying me much, because they
know very well that you never come to my room at
night. You had much better go home and sleep."
"Impossible! The house will not be open till
dawn, and I have still three hours to shiver. See,
my teeth are chattering."
" If that is the case, come," said Consuelo, rising.
"I will put you in my room and come back on the
terrace, so that if any one is watching us, they will
see that I give no cause for scandal."
She took him to her room; it was a large chamber,
much out of repair, in which flowers frescoed on the
walls reappeared here and there from under a second
coat of paint, more vulgar and almost as much defaced as the first. A large, square, wooden bed, with
a sea-weed mattress and a cotton spread, very clean,
but patched in a thousand places with pieces of all
colors; a straw chair; a little table; a very old guitar;
and a filagree crucifix, - the only riches which her
mother had left her; a little spinet and a great pile of
old, worm-eaten music which Porpora had had the generosity to send her; such was the furniture of the young
artist, the daughter of a poor Bohemian, the pupil of
a great master, and the betrothed of a handsome adventurer.




48


CONS UEL 0.


As there was only a single chair, and as the table
was covered with music, there was but one seat for
Anzoleto -the bed-; and he sat down on it without
ceremony.
He was hardly seated on the edge when fatigue
overcame him, and he let his head fall on a large
cushion of wool which served as a pillow, saying," Oh, my dear little wife, I would give all the rest
of the years that I have to live for an hour's sleep,
and all the treasures of the universe for the end of
this spread over my legs. I have never been so cold
as in these wretched clothes, and the discomfort of
walking has given me a chill and a fever."
Consuelo hesitated an instant.  An orphan and
alone in the world at the age of eighteen, she was responsible for her actions to no one but God. Believing in Anzoleto's word as in Holy Writ, she did not
think herself threatened with his disgust or his abandonment of her if she yielded to all his wishes. But
a sentiment of modesty which Anzoleto had never
corrupted in her made her think his request a little
coarse. She went up to him and touched his hand.
It was, indeed, very cold, and Anzoleto made her
touch his brow, which was burning.
" You are ill! " she cried, seized with an anxiety
which silenced all other considerations. "Well, sleep
an hour on the bed."
Anzoleto did not have to be told twice.
" Good as God himself!" he murmured, stretching himself on the sea-weed mattress.




CONSUEL O.


49


Consuelo wrapped him up in the spread, and taking
some poor garments from a corner, laid them on his
feet.
"Anzoleto," she said, in a low voice, as she performed these motherly offices, "this bed on which
you are about to sleep is the one in which I slept with
my mother during the last years of her life; the one
in which I saw her die, on which I wrapped her in
her winding-sheet, and on which she lay as I watched
over her body with prayers and tears until the bark of
the dead came and took her away from me forever. I
wish to tell you now what she made me promise in
her last moments. 'Consuelo,' she said, 'swear to
me upon the Christ that Anzoleto shall not take my
place in this bed before you have been married to him
by a priest.'"
"And you swore? "
"I swore; but in letting you sleep here for the first
time, I do not give you my mother's place, but my
own."
"And you, poor child! will you not sleep at all?"
said Anzoleto, half rising with a violent effort. " Ah!
I am a brute, and I will go and sleep in the street."
"No," said Consuelo, pushing him back on the
pillow with tender violence. " You are ill and I am
not. My mother, who died a good Catholic, and who
is in heaven, still watches over us. She knows that
you have kept the promise you made her not to abandon me. She knows, too, that our love has been as
pure since her death as it was during her life. She




so


0CONS UEL 0.


sees that now I am thinking and doing no evil. May
her soul rest in the Lord! "
Here Consuelo made the sign of the cross. Anzoleto was already asleep.
" I will go and say my beads up on the terrace,
that you may not have a fever," added Consuelo, as
she went off.
"Good as God!" repeated Anzoleto, faintly, and
he did not even perceive that his betrothed was leaving him alone. She went on the roof to tell her
beads, and then came back to make sure that he was
not worse, and seeing him sleeping peacefully, looked
long in meditation at his handsome, pale face, lighted
up by the moon.
Then, not wishing to fall asleep herself, and remembering that the excitement of the evening had caused
her to neglect her work, she lit her lamp, sat down
before her little table, and wrote an exercise in composition which Maestro Porpora had given out for the
following day.




CONS UELLO.


51


CHAPTER VI.
COUNT ZUSTINTANI, in spite of his philosophy, was not
so insensible to Corilla's insolent caprices as he tried
to appear.  He could not help suffering from the
ingratitude with which she repaid his generosity, and
although it was in the worst possible taste at that
period (in Venice as well as at Paris) to show the
slightest jealousy, his Italian pride rebelled against
the contemptible and ridiculous part which she compelled him to play.
Therefore, on the evening of Anzoleto's success at
the Zustiniani palace, the count, after jesting with
Barberigo about the prima-donna's infidelities, took
his cloak and his sword as soon as he saw the rooms
empty and the lights extinguished, and hurried to the
palace in which Corilla lived to satisfy his doubts.
Although he made sure that she was alone, he still
felt uneasy, and began a conversation in an undertone
with the boatman, who was putting the gondola in its
shed. A few sequins induced the man to talk, and
the count soon learned that he had not been mistaken
in supposing that Corilla had had a companion in the
gondola. But who this companion was he could not
find out, for the gondolier did not know. Although
he had seen Anzoleto a hundred times about the
theatre and the Zustiniani palace, he had not recognized




52 1


CONS UEL 0.


him in the dark, with his black coat and powdered
hair.
This impenetrable mystery completed the count's illhumor. He could not sleep, and before the hour when
Porpora began his lessons at the conservatory, he took
his way to the Scuola di Mendicanti, and entered the
room in which the young pupils were to assemble.
The count's position in relation to the learned musician had greatly changed. Zustiniani was no longer
Porpora's musical antagonist, but his associate, and
in some sense his chief. He had made large gifts to
the establishment which the master directed, and, out
of gratitude, he had been given supreme control.
Consequently, the two friends got on together as
amicably as could be expected, considering Porpora's
intolerance concerning the music then in fashion, - an
intolerance which he was obliged to modify out of
regard for the encouragement which the count gave
to serious works. Moreover, Zustiniani had produced
one of the master's operas at San-Samuel.
"My dear master," said the count, taking Porpora
aside, "you really must make up your mind not only
to allow me to take one of your pupils for the theatre,
but you must point out to me the one who is best
able to replace Corilla. Our cantatrice is worn out;
she is losing her voice, her caprices ruin us, and the
public will soon be tired of her. It is really time for
us to think of finding a successor."
" I have not got what you need," replied the professor, curtly.




CONSUELO.


53


" Really, master, I hope you are not falling back
into your old temper. After such labor and sacrifices
on my part to assist you in your musical work, will
you positively refuse me any kindness when I ask your
help and advice for my own? "
"I no longer have that right, count," replied the
professor, "and what I have told you is the truth,
spoken by a friend who has every desire to oblige you.
I have not in my school a single girl capable of taking
Corilla's place. I do not set too high a price on her,
but, while I declare that her talent has no solid value
in my eyes, I am compelled to admit that she possesses
a tact, an experience, a cleverness, and an influence
over the senses of the public which it takes years to
acquire, and which no debutante can possess for a
long while."
"That is true," said the count, "but, after all, we
formed Corilla. we saw her begin, and we made the
public accept her. Her beauty gained three parts of
her success, and you have as pretty girls in your school
as she was. You will not deny that, maestro. Come,
confess that nobody could be more beautiful than
Clorinda."
"Nor more affected and simpering and insupportable! It is true that the public may think her
grimaces charming; but then she sings false and has
neither soul nor intelligence. It is true that the public
has no ears, either; but then she has not even memory
or cleverness, and could not save herself from a fiasco
by the charlatanism which serves so many people."




54


CONSUELO.


As he said this, Porpora shot an involuntary glance
at Anzoleto, who, as the count's favorite, and under
pretence of having to speak to him, had gained admittance into the room, and was standing a short way
off, listening to the conversation.
" No matter," said the count, without noticing the
master's spiteful little thrust, " I will not give up the
idea.  It is a long time since I heard Clorinda.
Send for her, and five or six others with her, the
prettiest there are. Here, Anzoleto," he added,
laughing, " you are well dressed enough to put on the
grave look of a young professor. Go into the garden
and tell the most striking of these young beauties
that we are waiting for them here."
Anzoleto obeyed; but either from a spirit of mischief, or because he had a good reason of his own,
he brought back the ugliest, so that if Jean-Jacques
had been there, he might well have said, " Sofia was
one-eyed, Cattrina was lame."
They took Anzoleto's jest good-naturedly, and
after laughing a little in their sleeves, sent the girls
back to send in such of their comrades as were designated by Porpora. A charming group soon came,
with the handsome Clorinda as the central figure.
" What superb hair! " whispered the count to
Porpora as she passed before him.
" There is a great deal more on that head than in
it," said the rough old musician, without condescending to lower his voice.
After an hour of trials, the count, who could en-.4




CONS UEL 0.


55


dure it no longer, gave up in despair, and went away
with graceful thanks to the young ladies, but saying
in a low voice to Porpora, " These parrots will never
do."
" If your illustrious excellency will allow me to say
a word about what is troubling him "- murmured
Anzoleto in the count's ear, as they went down the
stairs.
"Speak," answered the count; " do you know
such a marvel as we are seeking?"
Yes, excellency."
"In what sea do you expect to find this pearl*"
"At the bottom of the class, where the wil professor hides her when you review your feminine battalion."
" Is there a diamond in the school whose brilliancy
my eyes have never noticed? If Porpora has played
such a trick "
"Excellency, the diamond of which I speak does
not belong to the school. It is a poor girl who
only comes to sing in the chorus when they need her,
and to whom the professor gives private lessons from
charity, and still more from his love of art."
" Then this poor girl must have extraordinary
ability, for the professor is not easily pleased, and he
is not wasteful of either time or labor. Have I ever
heard her without knowing it?"
"Your excellency heard her once, very long ago,
when she was only a child. Now she is grown up,
strong, studious, learned as the professor, and able to




56


CO5NS UEL O.


make the public hiss Corilla if she were to sing three
bars beside her on the stage."
" Does she never appear in public? Does Porpora
never have her sing motets at vespers? "
"Formerly he used to love to have her sing at
church, excellency, but since the pupils, from jealousy
and revenge, threatened to drive her out of the gallery if she came there with them " -
"Then she leads an immoral life?"
" O Dio! excellency, she is a virgin, as pure as the
gates of heaven. But she is poor and of low birth,
— like me, your excellency, whom you nevertheless
design to raise by your goodness, - and these vile
harpies threatened that they would complain to you
of the breach of the rules which the professor committed by introducing into the class a pupil who did
not belong to it."
"Where can I hear this marvel?"
"You have only to order Porpora to have her sing
for you, excellency. You can then judge of the
beauty of her voice and the extent of her talent."
" You seem so confident that I should like to hear
her. You say that I once heard her, long ago. I
cannot recollect "
" It was at a rehearsal in the Church of the Mendicanti. She sang Pergolese's ' Salve Regina.'"
" Oh, I remember! " cried the count. " Her voice
and accent and intelligence were admirable."
"And yet she was only fourteen years old, my lord
-a mere child."




CONSUEL 0.


57


" Yes, but - I seem to recollect that she was not
pretty."
"Not pretty, excellency! " said Anzoleto, taken
aback.
"Was not her name -? Yes, she was a Spaniard,
with a strange name."
" Consuelo, excellency."
"Precisely, and you were to be married to each
other, and the professor and I had a good laugh over
your love affair. Consuelo! It is certainly she,
Porpora's favorite, a very intelligent girl, but very
ugly."
"Very ugly! " echoed Anzoleto, aghast.
" Of course, my child. Are you still in love with
her?"
" She is my friend, illustrissimo."
" When we say friend, we mean either sister or mistress. Which of the two? "
" Sister, excellency."
" In that case I can tell you what I think without
hurting your feelings. Your idea is preposterous.
We need an angel of beauty to replace Corilla, and I
recollect well now that your Consuelo is more than
ugly; she is frightful."
The count was joined just then by one of his
friends, who went off with him, and he left Anzoleto
in consternation, mechanically repeating, " more than
ugly; frightful! "




58


CONSUEL 0.


CHAPTER VII.
IT may seem strange to the reader, but it is true
that Anzoleto had never formed any opinion concerning the beauty or ugliness of Consuelo.  Her life in
Venice had been so isolated and secluded that no
one had ever thought of noticing whether the form
which clothed so much intelligence and goodness was
handsome or plain. Porpora, who had lost all perception of everything but art, saw in her only the
artist.  Her neighbors in the Corte Minelli had
watched her innocent love affair with Anzoleto without being much shocked, for people in Venice are
not exacting about such matters. It is true that
they occasionally prophesied that she would in
the end be unhappy with this young fellow, who had
neither trade nor occupation, and advised her to
marry instead some honest and quiet workman.
But as she replied that, being without family and
position herself, Anzoleto suited her perfectly, and
as not a day had passed for six years without their
being seen together, never trying to hide themselves
and never quarrelling, people had at last become
accustomed to their free yet indissoluble union. No
neighbor had ever thought of making love to Anzoleto's friend. Was it because of her supposed engagement, or because of her poverty? Or was it




C 02S UE L 0


59


rather because her person had never attracted one of
them? The last hypothesis is the most probable.
As every one knows, little girls of from twelve to
fourteen are generally thin and ugly, and without harmony of feature, proportion, or movement. At about
fifteen they are made over again, if we may say so,
and she who but a little while ago was frightful to
look at, reappears after this short transformation if
not handsome, at least agreeable. It has even been
noticed that beauty in a child does not generally
promise well for good looks in a young girl.
Consuelo, having improved with adolescence, as is
commonly the case, had ceased to be called ugly,
and the truth is that she was so no longer. Only, as
she was neither a dauphiness nor an infanta, she had
no courtiers about her to proclaim the fact that the
royal offspring was visibly growing in beauty; and as
she had no family to be tenderly concerned for her
future, nobody took the trouble to say to Anzoleto,
"Your betrothed will never make you blush for her
looks."
Although Anzoleto had heard her called ugly at an
age when such criticisms have neither good sense nor
value, as he had never heard the subject mentioned
since then, he had forgotten all about it. His vanity
had taken another direction. All his dreams were of
the theatre and of fame, and he had no time to think
of displaying his conquests. Besides, the curiosity in
love which most young men feel had been satisfied in
him. As I have already said, there was nothing left




6o


CONS UEL 0.


for him to learn at eighteen. At two-and-twenty, he
was half blase, and then, as at eighteen, his love for
Consuelo was as tranquil, in spite of a few chaste
kisses, given without passion and returned without
shame, as it had been earlier.
That there may be no undue surprise at this calmness and virtue on the part of a young man who was
not remarkable for either in his general life, it may
be remarked that the great liberty in which our young
people lived at the beginning of this story had, in
the course of time, become modified and restrained
little by little. Consuelo was about sixteen, and still
led rather a vagabond life, leaving the conservatory
all alone to practise her lesson and eat her rice on
the steps of the Piazetto with Anzoleto, when her
mother, worn out with fatigue, gave up singing in the
cafes in the evening, with a guitar in her hand and a
bowl for alms before her. The poor creature withdrew into one of the most wretched garrets in the
Corte Minelli to die by inches on a miserable pallet.
Then the good Consuelo, unwilling ever to leave her,
changed the whole course of her life. Except during
the time occupied by her lesson, she worked at her
sewing or her counterpoint by the bedside of this
imperious and despairing mother, who had cruelly
maltreated her in her childhood, and who now gave
her the frightful spectacle of a death without courage
and without virtue. Consuelo's filial piety and devotion never wavered for an instant. The joys of
childhood, liberty, a wandering life, and even love




'7.


CONSUELO.                  6i
were all sacrificed without complaint and without
hesitation.
Anzoleto murmured bitterly; and seeing that his
reproaches were useless, resolved to amuse himself
and forget her, but it was impossible. He was not a
hard worker, like Consuelo. He took quickly and
carelessly the poor lessons which his teacher, to earn
the salary promised by Count Zustiniani, gave equally
quickly and carelessly. This was a very fortunate
thing for Anzoleto, because the prodigality of nature
quickly repaired the effects of wasted time and the
bad teaching which he received, but it also resulted
in long hours of idleness, during which he sadly
missed the bright and faithful companionship of Consuelo. He tried to addict himself to the passions of
his age and his class, frequenting wine-shops and gambling away the little gifts which Count Zustiniani made
him from time to time. This life pleased him for two
or three weeks, and then he perceived that his comfort, his health, and his voice had deteriorated perceptibly, that the " far niente " and dissipation were not
at all the same thing, and that dissipation was not his
element. Preserved from evil passions by a deepseated self-love, he sought solitude and forced himself
to study; but the solitude seemed unbearable to him.
He then realized that Consuelo was as necessary to his
talent as to his happiness. Studious and persevering,
living in music as a bird lives in the air or a fish in the
sea, overcoming difficulties without attaching more importance to the victory than a child would have done,




6z


CONS UEL 0.


but irresistibly impelled to combat obstacles and to
penetrate the mysteries of art by the same instinct
which causes seeds to push through the earth and reach
the light of day, Consuelo had one of those rare and
happy organizations which, by a necessity of their
nature, find in labor both pleasure and a true repose.
To such temperaments idleness would be a fatigue, if
idleness were possible for them. But they do not know
what it means, and even when apparently idle they are
still working; they do not dream, but think. You say,
dear reader, that you have known but few of these
extraordinary organizations? I answer that I myself
have known but one.
Consuelo was always at work, but she made her
work a pleasure. She would persist for hours in overcoming, either by free and capricious practice, or by
musical reading, difficulties which would have rebuffed
Anzoleto if he had been left to himself. Without any
set design and without any thought of rivalry, she
would force him to follow her, to support her, to understand and to answer her, sometimes during her
bursts of childish laughter, sometimes when carried
away by that poetical and creative enthusiasm which
is peculiar to the temperaments of the common people
in Spain and Italy. During the years that he had
been absorbing Consuelo's genius, drinking it in at its
source without understanding it, and appropriating it
without being aware of it, Anzoleto, who was held
back in other respects by his laziness, had become in
music a strange mixture of knowledge and ignorance,




CONS UEL 0.


63


of inspiration and frivolity, of power and awkwardness, of boldness and weakness, which had plunged
Porpora into a labyrinth of ideas and conjectures.
The master did not know the secret of all these
riches, borrowed from Consuelo, for after he had once
scolded her severely on account of her intimacy with
this good-for-nothing, he never again saw them together. Consuelo, who wished to remain in his good
graces, had taken care never to be seen by him when
she was with Anzoleto; and if she saw him in the
street when they were together, she would dart into a
gondola, or hide behind a column.
These precautions continued when Consuelo became
a nurse, and Anzoleto, unable to bear her absence,
and feeling that he was losing life, hope, and inspiration, came back to share her quiet life and bear with
her the dying woman's bitterness and ill-temper. A
few months before the end, the poor woman lost all
strength, and, conquered by the devotion of her
daughter, felt her heart open to softer emotions. She
grew accustomed to receiving the attentions of Anzoleto, who, in spite of his unfitness for such a part, contrived to show a sort of playful zeal and amiability
towards her weakness and suffering. His devotion
finally won her heart, and in her last moments she
made him and Consuelo swear never to separate from
each other. Anzoleto promised, and even he felt in
that solemn hour a sort of serious tenderness which
'he had never known before. The dying woman made
this promise the easier for him by saying, " Whether




64


CONSUELO.


she is your friend, your sister, your mistress, or your
wife, do not abandon her, for she knows no one and
has listened to no one but you." Then, believing
that she was taking a wise and wholesome precaution,
and without much thinking whether it was practicable
or not, she made her daughter take the oath of which
we already know, and which Consuelo had sworn without foreseeing the obstacles which might spring up
from Anzoleto's independent and irreligious character.
When she became an orphan, Consuelo continued
to work with the needle for her present needs, and to
study music that she might share in Anzoleto's future.
During the two years that she had lived alone in her
garret, he had continued to see her every day without
feeling any passion for her, and without being able to
feel it for other women, so far did the sweetness of her
friendship and the pleasure of living in her intimacy
appear preferable to anything else.
Without realizing the extraordinary talent of his
companion, he had acquired sufficient knowledge and
discrimination to be aware that she had greater cultivation and richer gifts than any cantatrice at SanSamuel, were it Corilla herself. Therefore, to his
habitual affection there was joined the hope and
almost the certainty of an association of interests
which would in course of time render their life profitable and brilliant. Consuelo was not much accustomed to think of the future. Foresight was not one
of her marked mental characteristics. She would
have worked at her music in any event, because of her




CONSUEL 0.                 65
love of it; and the community of interest which the
practice of this art created between her and her
friend meant nothing more to her than an association
of taste and happiness.  Therefore Anzoleto had,
without consulting her, conceived the hope of hastening the fulfilment of their dreams; and while Zustiniani
was considering a way of replacing Corilla, the ambitious tenor, guessing the condition of his patron's
mind with remarkable sagacity, had improvised the
proposition which he had just made.
But Consuelo's ugliness - this strange, unexpected
obstacle, which was insuperable if the count was not
mistaken - filled him with doubt and consternation.
lie therefore took his way to the Corte Minelli, stopping every few steps to recall his friend's face under a
new light, and to repeat to himself, with a point of
interrogation after each word, "Not pretty?  Very
ugly? Frightful?"




66


CONS UEL 0.


CHAPTER VIII.
"WHY are you looking at me so?" said Consuelo,
seeing him come in and gaze at her with a strange
expression, without saying a word. "One would say
that you had never seen me before."
"It is true, Consuelo," he replied, " I never have
seen you! "
" Are you crazy? I don't know what you mean!"
" Good heavens! I should think not," cried Anzoleto; " I have a great black spot on my brain through
which I cannot see you at all."
"Gracious! Are you ill?"
" No, dear child, be easy, and let us try to get at
the truth. Tell me, Consuelo, do you think me
handsome? "
"Certainly, since I love you."
"And if you did not love me, what would you
think?"
"How do I know?"
"When you look at other men, do you know whether
they are handsome or ugly? "
"Yes, but I think you more handsome than the
handsomest of them."
"Is it because I am  so, or because you love
me?"
" A little of both, I think. But every one says that




CONS UE/L O.


67


you are handsome, and you know it very well yourself.
What difference does it make?"
" I wish to know whether you would love me even
if I were frightful?"
"Very likely I should not notice it."
"Do you think that one can love an ugly person? "
" Why not, since you love me? "
"Then you are ugly, Consuelo? Tell me truly, are
you ugly?"
" I have always been told so. Do not you see it?"
"No, really, I do not."
"In that case I consider myself handsome enough,
and am quite satisfied."
"Do you know, Consuelo, that now, as you look
at me with such a good, such a natural, such a loving
expression, it seems to me that you are handsomer
than Corilla. But what I wish to know is, whether it
is the truth or the effect of an illusion. I know your
expression - I know that it is frank and pleases me,
that when I am irritated it calms me, when I am sad
it cheers me, when I am depressed it encourages me.
But I do not know your face, Consuelo; I cannot tell
whether it is ugly."
" But again I ask you, what difference does it
make?"
" I must know! Tell me, could a handsome man
love an ugly woman? "
" You loved my poor mother, who was but a ghost.
And I loved her so dearly! "
" Did you think her ugly? "




63


CONS UELO.


"No, did you? "
"I never thought about it at all. But to love really,
Consuelo - for I do really love you, do I not? I
cannot do without you, I cannot stay away from you.
That must be love; what do you think?"
"Could it be anything else?"
"It might be friendship."
"Yes, it might be friendship."
Consuelo stopped in surprise, and looked attentively
at Anzoleto, who, having fallen into a mournful reverie,
was asking himself, absolutely for the first time, whether
the feeling which he had for Consuelo was love or
friendship; whether the freedom from passion and the
chastity which he had preserved toward her were the
result of respect or indifference. For the first time
he looked at this young girl with the eyes of a young
man, examining with an analytic spirit which was
somewhat painful the brow, the eyes, the figure, and
all the details which he had never grasped save as
a sort of ideal whole, seen but dimly. For the first
time Consuelo felt embarrassed by the gaze of her
friend. She blushed, her heart beat violently, and she
turned away her eyes, unable to bear his look. At
last, as he continued to maintain a silence which she did
not dare to break, her heart was filled with unspeakable
anguish, great tears rolled down her cheeks, and hiding her face in her hands, she said, " Oh, I see what
it is! You have come to tell me that you will no
longer have me for a friend."
"No, no, I did not say that; I do not say it!" cried




CONS UEL 0.


69


Anzoleto, frightened by the tears which he had for the
first time caused to flow; and quickly recalled to his
brotherly feelings, he put his arms about Consuel.
But as her face was turned away, instead of her cool
and calm cheek, he kissed a burning shoulder, half
hidden by a fichu of coarse black lace.
When the fire of passion is suddenly lighted in a
vigorous organization which has preserved the chastity
of childhood through the entire development of youth,
the shock is violent and almost painful.
" I do not know what is the matter with me," said
Consuclo, as she released herself from the arms of her
friend with a feeling of fear which she had never yet
felt; " but I feel very badly, - as though I were
about to die."
"Do not die!" said Anzoleto, following her and
supporting her in his arms. " You are beautiful, Consuelo! I am sure that you are beautiful! "
Indeed, Consuelo was beautiful at that moment;
and although Anzoleto was not certain from an artistic
standpoint, he could not help saying it, because he felt
it deeply in his heart.
" But what has made you anxious to-day about my
beauty?" said Consuelo, pale, and suddenly prostrated.
" Would you not like to be beautiful? "
"Yes, for you."
"And for others?"
"I do not care."
"But if it were one of the conditions of our future
success?"




7o


C'ONS UEL O.


Then, seeing how anxious he had made her, Anzoleto told Consuelo frankly his whole conversation with
the count; and when he repeated the unflattering expressions which Zustiniani had employed in speaking
of her, Consuelo gave way to a great burst of laugh-cr, and finished wiping her eyes.
"Well! " said Anzoleto, surprised at such an utter
absence of vanity, " is that all you care about it? Ah,
I see, Consuelo! you are a little coquette, and know
that you are not ugly."
" Listen," she replied with a smile; " since you take
all this nonsense seriously, I must relieve your mind a
little. I have never been a coquette; for not being
beautiful, I do not care to be ridiculous. But as to
being ugly, I am no longer that."
"Have you really been told so?  Who has told
you, Consuelo? "
"My mother, in the first place. She was never
worried about my ugliness. I have often heard her
say that that would pass away, and that she had been
even uglier as a child. Yet many people who knew
her have told me that at twenty she was the handsomest girl in Burgos. And you remember that when
any one would look at her in the cafes where she used
to sing, they would say, 'That woman must have been
handsome.' You see, my poor boy, that is the way
with beauty when one is poor; it lasts but a moment. One is not yet handsome, and then, soon, is
handsome no longer. Who knows but I, too, may
be handsome, if I do not have to work too hard




CONS UE L 0.


71


and can sleep enough, and do not suffer too much
from hunger."
"Consuelo, we will never part. I shall soon be
rich, and you shall want nothing. Then you can be
handsome at your ease."
"Very well. May Heaven send it! "
"But that settles nothing for the present; and the
question is, whether the count will think you handsome
enough to appear at the theatre."
"Wretched count! If he is only not too hard to
please!
"In the first place, you are not ugly."
"No, I am not ugly. Not long ago I heard the
glass-blower who lives opposite say to his wife, ' D)o
you know that Consuelo is not bad looking? She
has a good figure, and when she smiles she brightens
one's heart. When she sings she is positively pretty.'"
"And what did the wife reply? "
" The wife said, ' What business is that of yours, imbecile? Attend to your work! Do you think a married man ought to be looking at young girls?'"
" Did she seem angry? "
"Very angry."
"That is a good sign. She felt that her husband
was not mistaken. What next? "
"Next, the Countess Moncenigo, who gives me
work, and who has always taken an interest in me,
said to Dr. Ancillo, who was with her when I came in,
'Doctor, see how this child has grown, and how fair
and well-shaped she has become! "




72


CONSUELO.


" What did the doctor say?"
"He said, 'It is true, madam, by Bacchus! I
should never have known her. She has that phlegmatic constitution which becomes fairer as it acquires
stoutness. She will be a handsome girl, you will
see.'
"And next?"
"Next, the superior of Santa Chiara, who orders
embroidery for the altars of me, said to one of the
sisters, ' Come here and see if what I told you is not
true. Consuelo looks like our St. Cecilia. When I
say my prayers before the picture, I cannot help
thinking of her, and then I pray for her, that she may
not do wrong, and may never sing except in church.'"
" And what did the sister reply? "
"The sister replied, ' It is true, my mother; it is
quite true.' Then I went into their church and looked
at the St. Cecilia, which is by a great master and
is beautiful, very beautiful."
" Does it look like you?"
" A little."
"And you never told me that! "
" I never thought of it."
"So you are beautiful, dear Consuelo?"
" I do not think that, but I am not so ugly as they
used to say. It is certain that they never say so any
more; but that may be because they think that now it
would hurt my feelings."
" Come, Consuelo, look at me. In the first place,
you have the most beautiful eyes in the world."




CONS UELO.


73


"But my mouth is large," said Consuelo, laughing,
and taking down the little cracked bit of glass which
served her as a mirror.
" No, it is not small; but what beautiful teeth you
have! " said Anzoleto.  " They are real pearls, and
when you laugh you show them all."
" Then you must say something to make me laugh
when we appear before the count."
"You have superb hair, Consuelo."
"Yes, I am quite sure of that. Would you like to
see it?"
She took out the pins and let fall a torrent of
black hair which reached to the floor, and on which
the sunlight glittered as on ice.
"Your chest is broad, your waist good, and your
shoulders- ah! mlgnificent, Consuelo!  Why do
you hide them? I only wish to see what you will
have to show the public."
" My foot is small enough," said Consuelo, avoiding
the subject, and showing a real Andalusian foot, a
beauty almost unknown in Venice.
"Your hand is charming, too," said Anzoleto,
kissing for the first time a hand which until then he
had always shaken warmly, like that of a comrade.
"Let me see your arms."
"You have seen them a hundred times," she said,
drawing off her mittens.
"No, I have never seen them," said Anzoleto,
who began to be curiously agitated by this innocent
yet dangerous examination.




74


COYVSUEL O.


He became silent again, devouring with his eyes
the young girl, who seemed to him handsomer each
time that he looked at her.
It may be that he had not been altogether blind
until then, for Consuelo had, for the first time perhaps, thrown off that look of indifference which is
only endurable when accompanied by perfect regularity of features. At that time, when she was still agitated by her past emotion, simple and trusting once
more, but preserving a faint embarrassment which
was the result, not of coquetry, but of conscious modesty, her complexion was of a transparent clearness,
and in her eyes shone a pure and serene light which
certainly caused her to resemble the St. Cecilia of
the nuns of Santa Chiara.
Unable to bear her embarrassment any longer,
Consuelo suddenly rose, and resuming her playful
manner with an effort, began to walk up and down
the room with tragic gesticulations, and singing operatic phrases in a somewhat exaggerated manner, as if
she were on the stage.
"Why, it is magnificent! " cried Anzoleto, delighted to find her capable of a charlatanism which
she had never before displayed.
" It is not magnificent," said Consuelo, sitting
down again, " and I hope you do not mean it."
" It would be superb on the stage. I assure you
that it would not be exaggerated. Corilla would die
of envy, for it is quite as striking as what she does
when they applaud her most furiously."




COINSUELO.                75
"My dear Anzoleto," said Consuelo, " I should not
care to have Corilla die for envy of clap-trap, and if
the public applauded me for mimicking her I should
not care to appear before it again."
" You could do it better still? "
"I hope so, or I should have nothing to do with
it."
"Well, how would you do? "
"I don't know."
"Try! "
"No, for all this is a dream, and we must not make
so many fine projects before it is decided whether I
am ugly or not. Perhaps we are all wrong, and as
the count says, Consuelo is frightful."
This last possibility gave Anzoleto the strength to
go away.




76


CONSUEL 0.


CHAPTER IX.
AT this period of his life, concerning which his
biographers know very little, one of the best composers of Italy, and the greatest singing-teacher of the
eighteenth century, the pupil of Scarlatti, the master
of Hasse, Farinelli, Cafarelli, La Mingotti, Salambini,
Hubert (called Porporino), La Gabrielli, La Molteni;
in a word, the father of the most celebrated school
of singing of his time, Nicholas Porpora, was living
obscurely in Venice, in a condition bordering on
indigence and despair. Yet he had formerly directed
the conservatory of the Ospedaletto in that same city,
and that period of his life had been brilliant. He had
written and brought out there his best operas, his
finest cantatas, and his principal pieces of church
music.  Summoned to Vienna in 1728, he had there
gained, after a struggle, the favor of the emperor,
Charles VI. A favorite also at the court of Saxony,
Porpora afterwards went to London, where he had
the glory of sustaining a rivalry for eight or ten
years with Handel, the master of masters, whose star
shone dimly at this time. But Handel's genius won
the day in the end, and Porpora, wounded in his pride
and broken in his fortunes, had returned to Venice to
assume quietly, and not without some difficulty, the
direction of another conservatory. He still wrote operas,




CONS UEL 0.


77


but he had great trouble in getting them produced, and
the latest, although written in Venice, was presented in
London, where it had no success. His genius had
received severe wounds, which glory and good fortune
might have cured, but the ingratitude of Hasse,
Farinelli, and Cafarelli, who more and more deserted
him, completely broke his heart, soured his character,
and imbittered his old age. He died at Naples in
his eightieth year, poor and unhappy.
At the time when Count Zustiniani, foreseeing and
almost desiring Corilla's defection, was endeavoring
to find some one to take her place, Porpora was
subject to violent attacks of ill-humor, which were not
wholly without justification. For though the music
of Jomelli, Lotti, Carissimi, Gasparini and other
excellent masters was liked and sung at Venice, the
public also enjoyed the "buffa" music of Cocchi,
Buini, Salvator Apolloni, and other composers, whose
vulgar and fluent style suited the taste of vulgar
minds. The operas of Hasse could not please his
justly incensed master. Therefore, the venerable but
unhappy Porpora, closing his ears and his heart
against the works of modern musicians, sought to
crush them under the glory and the prestige of the
older composers. His condemnation extended even
to the graceful compositions of Galuppi, and the
dainty fancies of Chiozzetto, the popular composer of
Venice. He would hear of nobody but Padre Martini, Durante, Monteverde, and Palestrina. Therefore, when Count Zustiniani made his first proposi



78


CONSUEL 0.


tions concerning Consuelo, Porpora received them
coldly and sadly. He desired her happiness and
glory, for he was too experienced a teacher not to
understand her ability and her deserts; but at the idea
of the profanation of this talent, so pure and so
richly nurtured with the sacred manna of the great
masters, he bowed his head with a look of dismay,
and said to the count, -
" Yes, take her, this spotless soul, this stainless
mind! Cast her to the dogs, throw her to the beasts
of the field! It is the fate of genius in our day."
The professor's distress, which was real, though
absurd, gave the count an idea of the pupil's merit,
from the value which so severe a master set on
it.
"Really, my dear maestro," he cried, "is Consuelo so extraordinary, so divine a creature?"
"You shall hear her," said Porpora, and then repeated, " it is her fate! "
However, the count succeeded in raising the master's drooping spirits by holding out the hope of a
reform in the choice of operas for his theatre. He
promised to exclude trashy compositions as soon as
he had gotten rid of Corilla, on whom he threw the
blame of their acceptance and their success. He
even insinuated adroitly that he would be very chary
of HIlasse, and declared that if Porpora would write an
opera for Consuelo, the day on which the pupil crowned
the master with a double glory, by giving his ideas in
the manner which befitted them, would be one of




CONS UEL O.


79


lyric triumph for the San-Samuel, and the happiest
moment of the count's life.
Porpora was fairly won over, and began to wish
secretly for the debut of his pupil, as much as he had
previously dreaded it, in the fear that she would bring
additional success to the works of his rival.  But
when the count expressed his doubts as to Consuelo's
beauty, he refused to allow him to hear her in private
and without notice.
" I do not say," he answered to the count's questions and his pressing, " that she is a beauty. But a
little dress and preparation are absolutely necessary
for a girl poorly dressed and timid, as a child of the
people, who has never been the object of the least attention, must needs be in the presence of a nobleman
and a judge like yourself. Besides, Consuelo is one
of those women whose beauty is extraordinarily enhanced by the expression of genius. You must see
her and hear her at the same time. Let me do as I
like. If you are not satisfied, you can leave her to
me, and I will make a good nun of her, and she will
perpetuate the glory of my school by training pupils
in it."
This was, indeed, the future which Porpora had
destined for Consuelo.
When he saw his pupil, he told her that she was to
be heard and judged by the count. But as she innocently expressed to him her fear of being thought
ugly, he made her believe that she would not be seen,
and that she was to sing in the grated organ-gallery,




So                 CONSUELO.
while the count was in the church. He advised her,
however, to be properly dressed, because she would
have to be presented to the count afterwards; and,
although he was poor, the noble master gave her some
money for this purpose. Consuelo, distressed and excited, concerned about her looks for the first time,
hastened to put both her toilet and hervoice in order.
She tried the latter, and finding it so fresh, so strong
and so flexible, said to Anzoleto, who was listening to
her with rapture, " Alas! why does a singer need
more than to know how to sing?"




CONS UEL 0.


CHAPTER X.
ON the afternoon before the important day, Anzoleto found Consuelo's door bolted, and, after waiting
nearly a quarter of an hour on the stairs, he was at
last admitted, to find his friend in her new dress,
which she had put on to see how it pleased him. She
wore a pretty muslin gown, with large figured flowers,
and a lace fichu, and her hair was powdered. She
was so changed that Anzoleto stood silent for a few
moments, uncertain whether she had gained or lost
by the transformation. The doubt which Consuelo
read in his eyes was a cruel blow to her.
"Ah! " she cried, " I see that I do not please you
in this dress. Who could think me endurable if he
who loves me finds no pleasure in looking at me? "
"Just wait a little," said Anzoleto. "In the first
place, I am surprised at the beauty of your figure in
these long stays, and at the air of distinction which
the lace gives you. The heavy folds of your gown
are marvellously becoming. But I miss your black
hair, - at least, I think I do. But that is the costume
of the common people, and to-morrow you must be a
lady."
"Why must I be a lady? As for me, I hate this
powder, which fades and ages even the most beautiful
women. All these furbelows look like borrowed plu



CONSUEL 0.


mage. I uo not like myself in this dress at all, and I
see that you are of the same opinion. Do you know,
I went to rehearsal this morning and saw Clorinda,
who was trying on a new gown, too. She was so
smart and fine and handsome, that I am afraid to
appear beside her before the count. She is really
happy, for one does not have to look at her twice to
know that she is beautiful."
"Don't worry yourself. The count has seen her,
but he has heard her, too."
"Did she sing badly?"
"As she always sings."
"Ah, my friend, these rivalries spoil one's heart!
A little while ago, if Clorinda, who is a good girl, in
spite of her vanity, had made a fiasco before the
judge, I should have felt almost as sorry and ashamed
as she herself. And now I find myself glad of it 1
To struggle, to envy, to try to ruin each other, and
all for a man whom one does not love, whom one does
not even know! I feel dreadfully sad, dear love, and
I am as much frightened at the idea of succeeding
as at that of failing. It seems as if our happiness was
drawing to an end, and that to-morrow, after the trial,
no matter what the result of it may be, I shall come
back to this poor room wholly changed from what I
have been heretofore."
Two great tears rolled down Consuelo's cheeks.
"Are you going to cry now?" cried Anzoleto.
"What are you thinking about! You will dim your
eyes and swell your lids. Your eyes, Consuelo!




CONS UEL 0.


83


don't spoil your eyes, which are the handsomest thing
you have!"
"Or the least ugly," she said, wiping away her
tears. "Ah, well, when one gives one's self to the
world, one has no longer the right even to weep!"
Her friend did his best to console her, but she was
bitterly sad all the rest of the day; and in the evening,
when she was once more alone, she carefully brushed
out the powder, uncurled her black hair and coiled
it up, and tried on a simple black dress, which was
still fresh, and which she usually wore on Sundays.
When she saw herself in the glass, looking as she
ordinarily did, she recovered confidence. Then she
prayed fervently, thought of her mother, grew sad
again, and finally cried herself to sleep. When Anzoleto came the next day to take her to church, he found
her at her spinet, in her usual Sunday dress, trying
over the solo which she was to sing.
"What!" he cried, "not dressed yet, and your hair
not done! It is almost time! What are you thinking
about, Consuelo? "
"Dear friend," she answered resolutely, "I am all
dressed, my hair is arranged, and I am quite easy. I
intend to go as I am. These fine dresses do not suit
me, and you like my black hair better than powder.
Besides, this waist does not interfere with my breathing.
Do not try to persuade me; I have made up my mind.
I asked God to inspire me, and my mother to watch
over me. God has inspired me to be modest and
simple. My mother came to me in a dream and said,




84


CONSUELO.


'Just try to sing well; God will do the rest.' Then
I saw her take my fine dress, my laces, and my ribbons,
and fold them away in a wardrobe, and afterwards
she placed my black gown and my white-muslin mantilla on the chair beside my bed. As soon as I waked
up, I laid away the dress as I had seen her do in my
dream, and I put on the black gown and the mantilla.
So I am all ready. I feel braver since I have given
up trying to please by means which I do not know
how to use. Listen to my voice; everything depends
on that."
She sang a phrase.
"Good heavens! we are ruined!" cried Anzoleto.
"Your voice has lost its brilliancy and your eyes are
red.  You must have cried last night, Consuelo.
This is a fine state of affairs! I tell you that we are
ruined, and your idea of dressing in mourning on a
festival is absurd. It is unlucky, and besides it is
unbecoming. Quick, quick! put on your handsome
dress again, while I go and buy you some rouge.
You are pale as a ghost."
A rather sharp discussion sprang up between them.
Anzoleto was somewhat brutal. The poor girl felt
her heart grow sad again, and her tears flowed afresh.
Anzoleto grew still more irritated at this, and in the
midst of the argument the fatal hour struck, the
quarter before two o'clock, leaving them just time to
hurry to the church and get there all out of breath.
Anzoleto uttered an energetic oath. Consuelo, paler
and more trembling than the morning star which is




COS UEL 0.


85


mirrored in the water of the lagoons, looked at herself once more in her little broken glass, and then
turning around, she threw herself impetuously into
Anzoleto's arms.
"Oh, my love," she cried, "do not scold me, do
not curse me! Kiss me hard, rather, to drive this
dreadful paleness from my cheeks. May your kiss
be like the fire of the altar on the lips of Isaiah, and
may God forgive us for doubting his goodness! "
She quickly threw her mantilla over her head, took
her books, and dragging away her appalled lover, hurried to the Mendicanti, where a crowd was already
assembled to listen to Iorpora's fine music. Anzoleto, more dead than alive, went to join the count,
who had told him to meet him in his gallery, and
Consuelo went up into the organ-loft, where the
chorus was already in line of battle, with the maestro
at his desk. Consuelo did not know that the count's
gallery was so situated that he could see much less
into the church than into the organ-loft, that he already had his eyes fixed on her, and that he was not
losing one of her gestures.
But he could not yet distinguish her, features, for
she knelt down as soon as she came in, hid her face
in her hands, and began to pray earnestly. "My
God," she said, from the bottom of her heart, " Thou
knowest that I do not seek to rise above my rivals to
humble them. Thou knowest that it is not to abandon the love of Thee and to wander in the paths of
vice that I am about to give myself to the world and




86


CONS UYEL 0.


to secular art. Thou knowest that pride does not fill
my heart, and that it is only that I may live with him
whom my mother permitted me to love, that I may
never be separated from him, and that I may insure
his welfare and happiness, that I ask Thee to support
me, and to glorify my voice and my thought while I
sing Thy praises."
WVhen the first chord of the orchestra called Consuelo to her place, she rose slowly. Her mantilla fell
to her shoulders, and at last her face was visible to
the anxious and impatient spectators in the neighboring gallery. But what a marvellous transformation
had taken place in this young girl, who but a moment
ago was so pale and cast down, crushed by fatigue
and fear!  A heavenly radiance seemed to float
about her broad brow, and a soft languor still overspread the sweet and noble lines of her serene and
generous face. Her look revealed none of those
small passions which seek and covet a trivial success.
There was in her whole appearance something solemn,
mysterious, and exalted, which compelled respect and
love.
"Courage, my daughter!" said Porpora, in a
low voice. "1 You are about to sing the music of a
great master, and that master is here to listen to you."
"Is it Marcello?" said Consuelo, seeing the old
man lay Marcello's psalms on his desk.
" Yes, Marcello. Sing as you always do, with
nothing more or less, and all will be well."
Marcello, then in the latest year of his life, had in




CONS UEL O.


87


fact come to pay a last visit to Venice, his fatherland,
which was proud of him, whether as a composer, a
writer, or a magistrate. He had been full of courtesy
towards Porpora, who had begged him to listen to his
pupils, and who had, moreover, arranged a surprise
for him by having Consuelo, who knew it perfectly,
sing his magnificent psalm, " I cieli immensi narrano."
No selection could have been more appropriate to the
species of religious exaltation which then filled the
soul of this noble girl. As soon as the first words of
this broad and spirited air appeared before her eyes,
she felt herself transported into another world. She
forgot Count Zustiniani, the curious looks of her rivals,
and even Anzoleto, and thought only of God and of
Marcello, who seemed to take the place of an interpreter between herself and that splendid heaven whose
glory she was about to sing. What nobler theme could
there be, indeed, or what grander idea?
I cieli immensi narrano
Del grande Iddio la gloria;
II firmamnento lucido
All universo annunzia
Quanto sieno mirabili
Della sua destra le opere.
A divine fire rose to her cheeks and a sacred flame
flashed from her eyes as she filled the building with
that unequalled voice and that victorious accent,
pure and truly grandiose, which can spring only from
a great intelligence united to a great heart. After




Ss


CONSUEL 0.


Marcello had listened to a few bars, a torrent of
delicious tears flowed from his eyes. The count,
unable to master his emotion, cried out, -
" Sangue di Christo! This woman is beautiful!
She is St. Cecilia, St. Theresa, St. Consuclo! She is
poetry, music, and faith personified!"
As for Anzoleto, who had risen, and who could only
support himself on his shaking knees by clinging to
the grating of the gallery, he fell back on his seat
choking, ready to faint, and drunk with joy and
pride.
It required all their respect for the holy place to
keep the numerous dilettanti and the crowd which
filled the church from breaking into frantic applause,
as if they had been in a theatre. The count had not
the patience to wait for the end of the service before
going into the organ-loft to express his enthusiasm to
Porpora and Consuelo. The latter was obliged, during the chanting of the officiating clergy, to go into
the count's gallery to receive Marcello's thanks and
praises. She found him still under the influence of a
powerful emotion.
" My child," he said, in a broken voice, " receive
the thanks and the blessing of a dying man. You
have made me forget in an instant years of mortal
agony.  It seems as though a miracle had been
worked in me, and this incessant, frightful pain had
disappeared forever at the sound of your voice. If
the angels above sing as you do, I long to quit the
earth to go and enjoy an eternity of the pleasure




CONS UE L O.              89
which you have just revealed to me. Therefore may
you be blessed, my child, and may your happiness in
this world be equal to your merits. I have heard
Faustina, Romanina, Cuzzoni, - all the great singers
of the world; but not one of them is fit to be mentioned in the same breath with you. It has been reserved for you to give the world to hear that which it
has never heard, and to feel that which man has never
felt."
Consuelo, overwhelmed and almost crushed by this
magnificent praise, bent her knee nearly to the ground
without being able to utter a word, and raised to her
lips the livid hand of the dying man. But as she
rose, she glanced at Anzoleto with a look which
seemed to say, "Yet you, ungrateful fellow, never
guessed what was in me! "




go


CONS UEL 0.


CHAPTER XI.
DURING the rest of the service, Consuelo displayed
an energy and a richness of powers which forestalled
all the objections which Count Zustiniani might yet
have made. She led, sustained, and gave life to the
choruses, taking each part in turn, showing in this
way the prodigious range and the various qualities of
her voice, as well as the inexhaustible power of her
lungs, or, to speak more properly, the perfection of
her method; for those who know how to sing never
tire themselves, and Consuelo sang with as little effort
and labor as others show in breathing. Her clear and
full tone could be heard above the hundred voices of
her companions, not because she screamed like those
singers who have neither brains nor breath, but
because the quality was of irreproachable purity and
her delivery faultlessly distinct. Besides that, she
felt and understood the finest shades of meaning in
the music which she was interpreting. She alone, in
short, was a musician and a master in the midst of
this herd of vulgar minds, fresh voices, and weak
wills. Therefore it was instinctively and without ostentation that she exerted her power; and as long as
the singing lasted she exercised an authority which the
others felt to be necessary. But after the service was
over, they were impatient and angry with her for




CONSUELO.


91


it, and one who, a moment before, feeling herself
weaken, had almost implored her help by a look, now
calmly appropriated to herself all the praise which
was given to Porpora's school as a body. The master smiled at this praise without saying anything, but
he looked at Consuelo, and Anzoleto understood the
look right well.
After the benediction, the chorus-singers partook
of a rich collation which the count had served in one
of the parlors of the convent. A grating separated
two large tables, in the shape of a half-moon, and an
opening, the size of an enormous pasty, was made
in the centre of the grating, through which the count
gracefully served the principal nuns and the pupils.
The latter, dressed like Beguines, came in turn by
dozens to take the empty seats within the cloister.
The superior, who sat next the grating, was thus
on the right of the count, who was in the outer
apartment. But on Zustiniani's left there was a vacant place. Marcello, Porpora, the curate of the
parish, the principal priests who had just officiated,
and a few patrician dilettanti and lay managers of the
school, and finally, the handsome Anzoleto, in his
black coat and with a sword at his side, filled up the
count's table. Ordinarily, on such occasions, the
young singers were very animated. The pleasure of
eating, that of talking to men, and the desire to be
admired, or, at any rate, to attract attention, gave them
plenty of life and vivacity. But that day the luncheon
was dreary and constrained. The count's project had




92


CONSUEL 0.


become known (how could there be any secret in a
convent without its leaking out in one way or another?), and each of the young girls secretly flattered
herself that she was to be presented by Porpora as
Corilla's successor. The master had even encouraged
some of them in their illusions, either to induce them
to sing better before Marcello, or to avenge himself,
by their future disappointment, for all that they had
inflicted on him in their lessons. It is certain that
Clorinda, who was only an out-door pupil of the
school, had made an elaborate toilet, and expected
to take her place on the count's left hand. But when
she saw that tatterdemalion, Consuelo, with her plain
black dress and her quiet manner, that ugly creature
whom she affected to despise, proclaimed the only
musician and the only beauty in the school, and seated
between the count and Marcello, she became ugly with
anger, - ugly as Consuelo had never been, and as Venus
herself would be if she were filled with low and wicked
feelings.  Anzoleto looked at her attentively and,
triumphing in his victory, sat down by her and overwhelmed her with ironical attentions which she had
not the wit to understand, and which quickly comforted her. She thought that she was being revenged
on her rival by attracting the attention of her betrothed,
and she spared no pains to intoxicate him with her
charms. But she was too shallow, and Consuelo's
lover too clever, for this unequal contest not to cover
her with ridicule.
Count Zustiniani was surprised to find, when he




CONS UEL O.


93


talked to Consuelo, that the tact, good sense, and
charm of her conversation were as remarkable as the
talent and power which she had shown in church. Although she was absolutely free from coquetry, there were
a playful frankness and a confiding simplicity in her
manner which inspired sudden and irresistible sympathy. When luncheon was over, the count invited
her to come and enjoy the cool of the evening with
his friends in his gondola. Marcello was excused
because of his bad health; but Porpora, Count Barberigo, and several other patricians accepted the
invitation, and Anzoleto was allowed to go along.
Consuelo; who felt a little embarrassed at being alone
with so many men, begged the count in an undertone
to ask Clorinda; and Zustiniani, who did not understand Anzoleto's devotion to the poor girl, was not
sorry to see him turn his attentions to another than
his betrothed. The noble count, thanks to the frivolity
of his character, his good looks, his wealth, and his
theatre, as well as to the loose morals of his age and
country, was not without a good share of conceit.
Heated with Greek wine and musical enthusiasm, and
impatient to be revenged on his faithless Corilla, he
thought it the most natural thing in the world to make
love to Consuelo. He sat down beside her in the
gondola, after placing every one so that Clorinda and
Anzoleto we:e at the opposite end of the boat, and
began to look' at his new victim in a highly significant
fashion. '1 good Consuelo, however, did not understand it.'.i  le-ast. Her frankness and her honesty U




94


CONS UEL 0.


would never have permitted her to suppose that the
protector of her friend could have such evil designs,
and her native modesty, which had not been in the
least affected by her brilliant triumph, would have
forbidden her even to believe such designs possible.
She continued to revere in her heart the gentleman
who had adopted her as well as Anzoleto, and innocently gave herself up to enjoying the excursion without suspecting any ulterior motive for it.
Such calmness and ingenuousness surprised the
count, and he could not make out whether it was the
willing submission of an unresisting heart or the stupidity of absolute innocence. Yet in Italy a girl of
eighteen must know, or, I should say, a hundred
years ago must have known, a good deal, especially
with such a friend as Anzoleto. Everything, therefore, appeared to favor the count's hopes. Yet every
time that he took his protege's hand, every time that he
stretched out his arm to put it about her waist, an indefinable fear made him pause, and he was filled with
a feeling of doubt, and almost of respect, which he
could not understand.
Barberigo also found Consuelo very fascinating, and
he would gladly have established pretensions like those
of the count, had he not thought it more delicate on
his part not to interfere with his friend's designs.
" Honor to whom honor is due," he thought, seeing
Zustiniani's eyes floating in an atmosphere of voluptuous intoxication; " my turn will come later." Meanwhile, as young Barberigo was not much in the habit




CONS UELO.


95


of gazing at the stars when he was in the company of
ladies, he asked himself what right Anzoleto had to
monopolize the blonde Clorinda, and sitting down
beside her, tried to make the tenor understand that
he would be better employed in rowing the boat than
in making love to the young girl. Anzoleto was not
well bred enough, in spite of his marvellous acuteness,
to understand a hint, and, moreover, his pride towards
patricians bordered on insolence. He hated them
cordially, and his servility to them was merely a mask
which concealed his inward contempt. Barberigo,
seeing that Anzoleto was amusing himself by annoying
him, devised a cruel vengeance.
"By heaven! " said he aloud to Clorinda, "see
what a success your friend Consuelo is having! I
wonder where she will stop to-day? Not satisfied
with creating a sensation through the whole town by
the beauty of her singing, she is turning the poor
count's head with the fire of her glances. If he is not
mad already, he soon will be, and then there will be
an end to Madam Corilla."
" Oh, you need not worry," said Clorinda, with a
sly look. " Consuelo is in love with Anzoleto here.
She is engaged to him. They have been devoted to
each other for I don't know how many years."
"Yes, but the devotion of any number of years
may be forgotten in the twinkling of an eye, especally
when that eye happens to be Zustiniani's. Do you
not agree with me, lovely Clorinda?"
Anzoleto could not bear this raillery very long.




96


CONS UELO.


His heart became filled with all sorts of unpleasant
ideas. Until then, he had never suspected or dreaded
anything of the kind. He had given way blindly to
the joy of seeing his friend triumph, and it had been
as much to conceal his raptures as to enjoy a refinement of vanity that he had been amusing himself for
a couple of hours in making sport of the victim of this
intoxicating day.
After jesting a little with Barberigo, he pretended
to take an interest in the musical discussion which
Porpora was carrying on in the middle of the boat
with the other guests. He left the place which he no
longer cared to keep, and slipped in the dark up to the
bow. At the first attempt that he made to break into the
count's tete-a-tete with his betrothed, he quickly perceived that Zustiniani did not welcome the interruption, for he answered him coldly, and even shortly.
At last, after several idle questions which were badly
received, he was advised to go and listen to the deep
and learned remarks which the great Porpora was
making on the subject of counterpoint.
"The great Porpora is not my master," replied
Anzoleto, in a jesting tone, under which he concealed
his inward rage as well as he was able. " He is Consuelo's, and, if it might please your dear and wellbeloved lordship," he added very low, bending
towards the count with an insinuating and caressing
manner, "that my poor Consuielo should take no
other lessons than those of her old professor ""Dear and well-beloved Zoto," said the count, in




CONSUEL 0.


97


an equally caressing, but profoundly suggestive, tone,
" let me whisper a word to you; " and, leaning over
to him, he added, " your betrothed must have received
from you lessons in virtue which would make her invulnerable. But if I had a fancy to give her others, I
should have a right to try it for at least one evening."
Anzoleto grew cold from head to foot.
" Will your gracious excellency deign to explain? "
he asked, in a choking voice.
" It can be quickly done, my gracious friend," replied the count, in a clear tone: " gondola for gondola."
Anzoleto was terrified to see that the count knew
about his interview with Corilla. That mad and
reckless creature had boasted of it to the count in a
furious quarrel which they had recently had.  The
culprit tried in vain to appear not to understand.
"f Go and listen to what Porpora is saying about the
principles of the Venetian school," went on the
count. " You can come back and tell us all about it;
it interests me greatly."
" So I see, excellency," said Anzoleto, who was
furious, and fast losing control of himself. s
"XVell, are you not going? " said the innocent Consuelo, surprised at his hesitation. " I will go myself,
count. You shall see how obedient I am," and before the count could stop her, she had bounded
lightly over the thwart which separated her from the
old master, and was sitting by his side.




98


CONSUELO.


The count, seeing that he had not made much
headway with her, thought it best to dissemble.
" Anzoleto," he said, smiling, and pulling his protege's ear rather hard, "my vengeance shall stop
here, though it has not gone nearly as far as your
crime."
"Lord count, I protest upon my honor"- cried
Anzoleto, violently agitated.
Where is your honor? " asked the count. "Is it
in your left ear?" And at the same time he threatened this unfortunate member with a lesson like that
which the other had just received.
" Have you so poor an opinion of your protege's
brains," said Anzoleto, recovering his presence of
mind, "as not to know that he would never commit
such a piece of stupidity? "
" I am perfectly indifferent at present whether he
committed it or not," said the count, dryly, and he
went and sat down by Consuelo.




CO VSUEL O.


99


CHAPTER XII.
THE musical discussion lasted until they reached
the drawing-room of the Zustiniani palace, where they
returned about midnight to partake of chocolate and
ices. From the technique of art they had passed to
style, to ideas, to the ancient and modern forms;
then to expression, and from that to artists, and their
different ways of feeling and expressing. Porpora
spoke with animation of his master Scarlatti, who had
been the first to give a pathetic character to religious
compositions. But he drew the line there, and would
not admit that sacred music might trespass on the
domain of the profane, by making use of ornaments,
fiorituri, and roulades.
"Does your excellency object," said Anzoleto, "to
those difficult fiorituri and ornaments which nevertheless gave success and fame to your illustrious pupil
Farinelli?"
"I only object to them in church," replied the
professor. "I approve of them in the theatre, but I
want them in the right place, and I especially condemn the abuse of them. They should be in good
taste, moderate, ingenious, elegant, and appropriate in
their modulations, not only to the subject under treatment, but to the character which is being represented,
to the passion which is being expressed, and to the




100


02CONS UEL 0.


situation in which the person happens to be. Nymphs
and shepherdesses may coo like birds or tune their
accents to the murmur of fountains, but Medea and
Dido can only sob, or moan like a wounded lioness.
A coquette may load her sportive cavatina with capricious and ingenious ornaments. Corilla is excellent
in this style; but when she tries to express profound
emotions and great passions, she never rises to the
height of her part. In vain she works herself up, in
vain she forces her voice and her lungs; a misplaced
ornament, an absurd roulade, change in an instant
the sublime effect which she thought she was achieving into a ridiculous parody. You have all heard
Faustina Pardoni, now Madam Hasse. In certain
roles which were suited to her brilliant qualities she
was without a rival. But let Cuzzoni, with her pure
and lofty feeling, give expression to grief, prayer, or
love, and the tears which she drew from you washed
from your hearts the memory of all the marvels with
which Faustina had filled your ears. There is a
material talent and a genius of the soul, that which
amuses and that which moves, that which astonishes
and that which delights. I know very well that vocal
gymnastics are popular just now, but as for me, although I teach them to my pupils as useful accessories,
I almost regret it when I see most of them use their
ornaments without discretion, and sacrifice a necessity
to a luxury, the lasting emotion of an audience to
exclamations of surprise and the applause which
springs from a feverish and short-lived pleasure."




CONSUELO.


IOI


Nobody contested the truth of this conclusion,
which is eternally true in every art, and which will be
always applied to the different manifestations of all
arts by people of pure taste. Nevertheless, the count,
who was curious to know how Consuelo would sing
secular music, pretended to object a little to the
austerity of Porpora's principles. But seeing that the
modest girl, instead of answering his heresies, turned
her eyes towards her old master as if to beg him to
reply to them, he resolved to attack her directly, and
to ask her if she knew how to sing on the stage as
well and as purely as she did in church.
"I do not think," she answered with sincere
humility, "that I should find the same inspiration
there, and I am afraid that I should please you far
less."
" This modest reply reassures me," said the count,
"and I am certain that the presence of an enthusiastic, curious, and, I admit, rather spoiled public will
inspire you sufficiently for you to condescend to study
these brilliant difficulties for which the taste of the
public seems to increase every day."
"Study! " said Porpora, with a mocking smile.
"Study! " cried Anzoleto, with sublime contempt.
"Yes, certainly, study," said Consuelo, with her
wonted sweetness.   "Although I have sometimes
practised this kind of work, I do not believe that I
am yet fit to compete with the illustrious singers who
have appeared on our stage."
"It is not true! " said Anzoleto, greatly excited.




102


CONSUEL 0.


" Monsignore, it is not true! Make her sing the most
elaborate and difficult airs in the repertory, and you
will see what she can do."
"If I were not afraid of tiring her," -said the
count, whose eyes were sparkling with impatience and
curiosity.
Consuelo looked ingenuously toward Porpora, as if
to take his orders.
"After all," said the master, " as she is not so easily
fatigued, and as we are in small but excellent company, we may as well examine her talent in all its different aspects. Come, count, choose an air, and
accompany her on the clavecin yourself."
"The emotion which her voice and her presence
cause me would make me play false notes. Why not
you, professor? "
"I wish to watch her sing," said Porpora, "for
between you and me, I have always listened to her
without thinking of watching her. I must know how
she carries herself, and what she does with her mouth
and her eyes. Come, get up, my child. The trial is
for my benefit, too! "
"Then I will accompany her," said Anzoleto, as he
sat down at the clavecin.
"You will frighten me too much, my master," said
Consuelo to Porpora.
"Only fools are frightened," replied the old man.
"Whoever feels a real love of his art can never be
afraid. If you tremble, you have nothing but vanity;
if your powers fail you, they are only artificial; and if




CONSUEL O.


103


that is the case, I will be the first to say, ' Consuelo is
good for nothing! '"
And without concerning himself about the disastrous effect that such tender encouragement might
produce, the master put on his spectacles, sat down
directly in front of his pupil, and began to beat time
on the case of the clavecin to give the proper movement to the ritornello. They had chosen a brilliant,
odld, and difficult air from a comic opera by Galuppi,
"La Diavolessa," so as to plunge at once into a style
as different as possible from that in which Consuelo
had won her triumph in the morning. The young
girl had such marvellous facility that she had succeeded
in performing with her flexible and powerful voice all
the known vocal feats, and that almost without practice. Porpora had advised her to study these exercises, and from time to time had gone over them with
her, to be sure that she did not neglect them. But
he had never given them enough time and attention
to know how much his wonderful pupil could do in
this direction. To pay him back for his roughness,
Consuelo overloaded the extravagant air from "La
Diavolessa " with a multitude of ornaments and fiorituri which had before that been considered impossible,
and which she improvised as coolly as if they had
been written out in advance and carefully studied.
These ornaments were so learned in their modulations,
so energetic in character, so infernal, and mingled in
the midst of their most impetuous gayety with such
mournful tones, that a thrill of terror was joined with




104


CONAS UEL 0.


the enthusiasm of the audience, and Porpora, springing suddenly to his feet, cried in a loud voice, -
"You are the devil himself! "
Consuelo finished her air with a powerful crescendo
which called forth shouts of enthusiasm, and then sat
down on her chair with a burst of laughter.
"You bad child!" said Porpora, "you ought to
be hanged for playing me such a trick. You have
made a fool of me. You have concealed from me the
half of your studies and your abilities. It is a long
while since I have been able to teach you anything,
and yet you have taken my lessons from hypocrisy, or
perhaps to extract from me all my secrets of composition and teaching, so as to excel me in everything,
and then make me pass for an old pedant."
" My master," said Consuelo, "I have only imitated your trick on the Emperor Charles. Did you
not tell me the story, how His Imperial Majesty did
not like trills, and forbade you to introduce a single
one in your oratorio, and how, having scrupulously
obeyed his orders to the very close of the work, you
introduced a divertimento at the end, beginning the
final figure with four trills in an ascending scale, and
then repeating them afterwards by all the parts in the
stretto, ad infinitum? This afternoon you condemned
the abuse of ornaments, and then ordered me to
employ them. I used too many, to show you that I
too can exaggerate, as I am willing enough to admit."
"I repeat that you are the devil himself," replied
Porpora.  "Now sing us something human, and




CONS UEL O.


I05


sing it as you choose, for I see that I can no longer
be your master."
"You will always be my dear and revered master;"
she cried, as she threw her arms about his neck and
almost choked him in her embrace. " For the last
six years I have owed you my bread and my teaching.
Oh, my master, they say that your pupils are ungratefll. May heaven take from me all its gifts if pride or
ingratitude ever finds a place in my heart! "
Porpora became pale, stammered a few words, and
placed a fatherly kiss upon her brow. But with it he
left a tear, and as Consuelo did not dare to wipe it
away, it dried slowly, this cold and mournful tear of
deserted old age and unfortunate genius. She felt a
deep emotion and something like a religious awe
which swept away all her gayety and stilled her animation for the rest of the evening. An hour later,
when they had exhausted all the expressions of admiration, surprise, and delight, without being able to
dispel her sadness, they asked her for a specimen of
her dramatic powers. She sang an air by Jomelli,
from the opera of "Didone Abbandonata."  Never
had she felt so strongly the need of giving expression
to her sadness. She was sublime in her pathos,
her simplicity, and her grandeur, and her face was
even more beautiful than it had been in church. A
feverish flush had crimsoned her cheeks, and her
eyes sent forth lurid gleams. She was no longer a
saint, but what was still better, a woman utterly
possessed and carried away by the passion of love.?'




io6              CONS UELO.
The count, his friend Barberigo, Anzoleto, all the
listeners, even old Porpora himself, I fancy, came
near losing their heads. Clorinda was choking with
envy. Consuelo, when the count declared that her
engagement should be drawn up and signed on the
next day, begged him to pledge his word, like the
knights of old, without knowing what he promised.
He did it, and the party broke up, worn out by that
delightful emotion which can only be caused by
something truly great, springing from a great intelligence.




CONS UEL O.


Io7


CHAPTER XIII.
WHILE Consuelo was winning all these triumphs,
Anzoleto had shared so entirely in them that he had
quite forgotten himself.  But when the count announced the engagement of his betrothed without
saying a word about his own, he noticed the coldness
with which he had been treated during the last few
hours, and the dread of losing Zustiniani's favor
spoiled all his pleasure. He thought of leaving Consuelo on Porpora's arm upon the stairs, and of returning to fall at the feet of his protector; but as he
hated him at the moment, it must be said to his
credit that he resisted the temptation to humble himself before him.  As he was saying good-night to
Porpora, and was preparing to start along the canal
with Consuelo, the count's gondolier stopped him,
and said that, in accordance with his master's orders,
the gondola was waiting to take Signora Consuelo
home. A cold sweat stood on Anzoleto's brow.
" Signora Consuelo is accustomed to travel on her
legs," he replied roughly.  "She is greatly obliged
for the count's politeness."
"By what right do you refuse for her? " asked the
count, who was at his heels.
Anzoleto turned and saw him, not with his head
bare, like one who is showing his guests out, but with




IO8


COANSUELO.


his cloak over his shoulders, his sword in one hand,
and his hat in the other, as if going out for a night's
adventures.  Anzoleto was seized with such a rage
that he thought of plunging into the count's vitals
that slender and sharp-pointed knife which every
Venetian man of the people always carries concealed
in some invisible pocket of his apparel.
"I hope, madam," said Zustiniani firmly, " that
you will not affront me by refusing to allow my gondola to take you home, and grieve me by not allowing me to offer you my arm to get in."
Consuelo, who was as innocent as ever, and did not
in the least suspect what was going on about her,
thanked the count, and, placing her pretty, rounded
elbow in his hand, sprang into the gondola without
ceremony. Then a silent but energetic dialogue took
place between the count and Anzoleto. Zustiniani,
with one foot on the bank, looked Anzoleto over from
head to foot, and the latter returned the look, but
with a savage expression, and holding his hand hidden in his breast, clasping the handle of his knife.
Had the count made a motion towards the boat, he
would have been a dead man. The most Venetian
feature of this rapid and silent scene was that the two
rivals watched each other without doing anything to
hasten the threatened catastrophe.  The count intended simply to torture his rival by an apparent hesitation, and he did it at his leisure, although he saw
well enough and understood still better the gesture
made by Anzoleto, who was on the point of poniard



CONSUEL O.


og09


ing him.  On his part, Anzoleto had self-control
enough to wait, without betraying himself openly,
until the count should decide whether to end his saVage jest, or to throw away his life. This lasted two
minutes, which seemed an age to him, and which the
count bore with stoical contempt. Then Zustiniani
made a profound bow to Consuelo, and, turning to
his protege, said, -
" I will allow you to go along in my gondola. In
the future you will know how a gentleman behaves."
He drew back to leave room for Anzoleto to pass.
Then he told the gondoliers to row to the Corte
Minelli, and remained standing on the bank, motionless as a statue. He seemed to be firmly awaiting
another murderous impulse on the part of his humbled
rival.
" How did the count know where you live?" was
the first thing Anzoleto said to his friend when the
Zustiniani palace was out of sight.
", Because I told him," replied Consuelo.
" Why did you tell him?"
' Because he asked me."
"Cannot you guess why he wanted to know? "
"Apparently to send me home."
' You think that is all?  Do you not think he will
come to see you? "
"Come to see me? What an absurd idea! In
such a wretched place! It would be an excess of
politeness on his part which I do not at all care for."
"You are wise not to care for it, Consuelo; for this




InO


CONS UEL 0.


excess of honor might result in an excess of shame
for you."
"Shame! Why shame?     Really, Anzoleto, I cannot understand your talk at all this evening; and I
think it is very strange that you keep saying things
which I do not understand, instead of telling me how
glad you are of the unhoped for and incredible success
of our day."
" Unhoped for, indeed! " murmured Anzoleto, bitterly.
" It appeared to me that at vespers, and again this
evening, when they were applauding me, you were
more intoxicated with happiness than I. You looked
at me so passionately, and I took so much pleasure in
my good fortune when I saw it reflected in your
face. But for the last few minutes you have seemed
sad and strange, as you sometimes are when we have
nothing to eat, and our future appears dark and
uncertain."
" And now you wish me to be glad of the future?
It is possible that it may not be uncertain, but I assuredly see nothing in it very pleasant for me."
" What more can you ask? It is hardly a week
since you made your debut at the count's with immense success " -
" My success with the count has been pretty thoroughly eclipsed by yours, my dear, as you know very
well."
" I hope not! Besides, even if it were, we could
never be jealous of one another."




CONS UEL O.


III


This speech, made in an irresistible tone of tenderness and truth, restored Anzoleto's tranquillity.
"Oh, you are right 1" he cried, pressing his betrothed in his arms; "we can never be jealous of
one another, for we could never deceive each other."
But as he pronounced these last words, he remembered remorsefully his adventure with Corilla, and it
suddenly occurred to him that the count, to complete
his punishment, would not fail to reveal it to Consuelo
whenever he thought that she had encouraged his
hopes in the smallest degree.  He fell back into
his mournful reverie, and Consuelo also became
thoughtful.
"W hy do you say that we can never deceive each
other?" she said, after a moment's silence. " It is
very true, but what made you think of it? "
" Let us not talk any more in this gondola," he said
in a low voice, " I am afraid that they may listen to
what we say and repeat it to the count. This roof of
silk and velvet is very thin, and these private boatmen
have ears four times wider and deeper than the public
ones. Let me go up to your room with you," he
said, when they had landed on the quay at the entrance of the Corte Minelli.
t" You know that it is contrary to our custom and
our agreement," she replied.
"Oh, do not refuse me that! You will fill my
heart with rage and despair," said Anzoleto.
Frightened by his tone and his words, Consuelo did
not dare to refuse, and when she had lighted her lamp




112


CONS UEL O.


and drawn her curtains, seeing him still gloomy and
sunk in his reflections, she wound her arms about his
neck and said to him sadly, -
" How unhappy and anxious you seem this evening!
What is the matter?"
"Do you not know, Consuelo? Do you not suspect?"
"t No, upon my soul!"
"Swear that you cannot guess! Swear it by the
soul of your mother and by the Christ to whom you
pray morning and night! "
"Oh! I swear it by Christ and by the soul of my
mother! "
"And by our love?"
"By our love, and by our eternal salvation."
"I believe you, Consuelo; for if you utter an untruth it would be the first which you had ever told
me."
"And now will you explain? "
" I will explain nothing. Perhaps I may soon have
to tell you. Ah, when the time comes for that, you
will already have understood only too well! Woe,
woe to us both when you know what I suffer now! "
" 0 heaven! what dreadful misfortune is threat'lng us? Alas! was it ordained that a curse should
hang over us when we came back to this poor room,
where neither of us has ever before had a secret from
the other? Something warned me when I went out
this morning that I should return with a blight upon
my heart. What have I done that such a successful




CONSUELO.


113


day should bring no joy to me? Have I not prayed
God earnestly and sincerely? Have I not put away
all proud thoughts? Have I not sung as well as' I
could? Did I not grieve because of Clorinda's humiliation? Have I not obtained from the count, without
his suspecting it and without his being able to retract,
his promise that she should be engaged as secondadonna with us? Again I ask, what wrong have I done
to feel the sorrow of which you warn me, and which I
already feel, because you feel it? "
" Really, Consuelo, did you think of having Clorioda
engaged?"
"I have made up my mind that she shall be, if the
count is a man of his word. The poor girl has always
dreamed of the theatre, and there is no other life
possible for her."
"Do you think that the count will send away
Rosalba, who knows something, to take Clorinda, who
does not know anything? "
" Rosalba will follow the fortunes of her sister
Corilla; and as for Clorinda, we will give her lessons,
and show her how to make as much as possible out
of her voice, which is pretty. Besides, if I could
secure her an engagement as third woman only, it
would still be an engagement, an opening to
career."
" You are an angel, Consuelo! But do you not see
that this creature, who ought to be grateful if she is
even third or fourth woman, will never forgive you for L
being first?"




I 14


4CONS UCEL 0.


" What do I care for her ingratitude? Ah! I know
a great deal about ingratitude and ungrateful people."
" You? " cried Anzoleto, with a burst of laughter,
and kissing her with all his old brotherly warmth.
" Yes," she answered, delighted at having diverted
his thoughts from his anxieties. " I have always had
before my eyes, and I shall always have graven on my
heart, the picture of my noble master, Porpora.
Often in my presence, bitter and meaning words have
fallen from him which he thought I could not understand, but which sank deep into my soul. He is a
man who has suffered bitterly, and is wasting away
with grief. From his sadness, from his concentrated
indignation, from speeches which I have heard him
make, I have learned that artists are more dangerous and more spiteful than you think, dear love; that
the public is inconstant, forgetful, cruel, and unjust;
that a great career is a heavy cross to bear, and that
glory is a crown of thorns. Yes, I know all that, and
I have thought of it so often, I have reflected about
it so much, that I feel myself strong enough not to be
much astonished, and not to be too easily cast down
when I go through the experience myself. That is
why I was not intoxicated by my triumph to-day, and
that also is why I am not discouraged now by your
dark forebodings. I do not yet know what they are,
but I know that with you, and as long as you love
me, I can struggle so bravely that I shall never come
to hate the whole human race, like my noble but
unfortunate master."




CONVSUEL 0.


II5


Hearing his friend speak in this way, Anzoleto recovered his courage and serenity. She had a strong
influence over him, and he always found in her a firnmness of character and an uprightness of purpose which
made up for what he himself lacked. The terrors
with which jealousy had filled him vanished from his
memory after he had talked to her for a quarter of
an hour, and when she questioned him anew, he was
so ashamed of having suspected so pure and calm a
being that he gave other reasons for his agitation.
" I have but one fear," he said, " and that is that
the count may find you so superior to me that he may
not think me worthy to appear beside you. He did
not make me sing this evening, although I expected
that he would ask us for a duet. He seemed to have
forgotten my very existence. He did not even notice
that I accompanied you, and yet I played the clavecin
rather nicely. And when he told you that you would
be engaged, he did not say a word about me. How
is it that you did not notice such a curious thing?"
" It never occurred to me that he could possibly
wish to engage me without you. Does he not know
that nothing could induce me to do it, that we are
betrothed, that we love each other? Have you not
told him that already? "
"I have told him, but he may have thought I was
boasting, Consuelo."
"Then I will boast of my love myself, Anzoleto;
I will tell him all this so distinctly that he can have
no doubt. But you are mistaken, my friend. The




Ii6


CONSUELO.


count did not think it necessary to speak of your engagement, because it is all settled and decided upon,
since the evening when you sang at his palace with
such success."
"But it is not signed! And yours is to be signed
to-morrow," he said.
"Do you think that I would sign first?  Oh, no
indeed! You are right to put me on my guard.
My name shall only be written beneath yours."
"You swear it?"
" Oh, fie! Do you wish to make me swear to a
thing which you know so well? Really, you do not
love me this evening, or you wish to make me unhappy, for you pretend to believe that I do not love
you."
At this idea Consuelo's eyes filled with tears, and
she sat down with a pout which made her look
charming.
" It is true; I am a fool, an ass," thought Anzoleto.
"How could I imagine that the count could triumph
over such a pure soul and such a perfect love? Is he
not experienced enough to see at a glance that Consuelo is above his reach? No, no! My future is
assured, and my position impregnable. Suppose Consuelo does please him, and he loves her and pays
court to her. All that will only serve to advance my
fortune, for Consuelo will easily be able to get from
him whatever she wishes without exposing herself to
danger. She is wise and prudent. The dear count's
pretensions will only redound to my profit and glory."




CONSUELO.


II7


And flinging his doubt to the winds, he threw himself at his friend's feet, and gave way to the passionate
enthusiasm which he felt that day for the first time,
but which jealousy had repressed in him for the last
few hours.
" Oh, my beauty, my saint, my queen!" he cried,
"forgive me for thinking of myself instead of casting
myself at your feet to adore you, as I should have done
as soon as we were alone in this room. I went from
here this morning scolding you. Yes, yes, I ought
never to have come back but upon my knees. How
can you still love and smile upon such a brute as I
am? Break your fan on my face, Consuelo! Place
your pretty foot upon my head! You are a thousand
times better than I, and I am your devoted slave forever."
"I do not deserve all these fine speeches," she
answered, as she gave herself up to his embrace, " and
I forgive your preoccupation, because I can understand it. I know that it was the fear of being separated from me, and of seeing our lives divided, which
filled you with grief and anxiety. You have failed in
faith in God, which is worse than if you had accused
me of a meanness. But I will pray for you and say,
'Lord, forgive him, as I forgive him! ' "
As she thus gave expression to her love, freely and
simply, mingling with it, as was her wont, that Spanish
devotion which is full of human tenderness, Consuelo
was so beautiful that Anzoleto was wholly carried away.
Pressing her rapturously to his heart, he cried, -




I i8


CONSUEL 0.


" Oh, my love, my love! Be my wife! Be mine
wholly and forever! "
" Whenever you wish," replied Consuelo with a
heavenly smile. " To-morrow, if you like."
" To-morrow? W;hy to-morrow? "
"You are right; it is more than midnight. So we
can be married to-day. As soon as it is dawn we can
go and find the priest. Neither of us has any family,
so we do not need much preparation for the ceremony.
I have my muslin dress, which I have never worn.
Do you know, my friend, that as I made it I said to
myself, ' I have no more money to buy another, and
if my friend makes up his mind to marry me one of
these days I shall have to wear to church a dress that
has already been worn.' That is unlucky, they say;
and when my mother, in my dream, took it from me
and folded it away, she knew what she was about,
poor soul! Therefore I am all ready. To-morrow
at sunrise we will plight our troth. Were you only
waiting, you rogue, till you knew I was handsome? "
"Ah, what a child you are, Consuelo! " cried
Anzoleto. "We cannot be married suddenly in this
way without letting any one know, for the count and
Porpora, whose protection is still so necessary to us,
would be greatly incensed if we were to do it without
consulting or even notifying them. Your old master
is not fond of me, and I know on good authority that
the count does not like married singers. We must
take time to induce them to consent to our marriage,
or, if we are married secretly, we shall need a few




CONSUELL O.


II9


days at least to arrange it safely. We cannot go
carelessly off to San-Samuel, for if any old woman
were present, the whole parish would know it in -an
hour."
" I had not thought of all that; but it was not I who
suggested getting married, Anzoleto. Although I have
often thought that we are old enough to be married,
and had never thought of the obstacles you mention,
I preferred to leave the decision to your prudence,
and - must I say it - to the promptings of your
heart; for I saw that you were in no hurry to call me
your wife. Yet I was not hurt at it, for you had often
told me that before marrying we must insure the comfort of our future family by securing a livelihood ourselves. My mother told me the same thing, and I
thought it quite reasonable. So, everything considered,
it is still too soon. We must both have our engagements with the theatre signed, and we must even be
sure of the favor of the public. We will talk about it
again after our debut. Why do you turn so pale? O
heaven! you hurt my hand, Anzoleto. Are we not
happy? Do we need to be bound by an oath to love
and trust each other?"
"0 Consuelo! how calm, how pure, how cold you
are! " cried Anzoleto, in a sort of rage.
"Cold!   I cold?" cried the young Spaniard
astounded, and scarlet with indignation.
" Alas! I love you with a passion which you cannot understand! You do not know what love is;
you think only of friendship. I am suffering, burning,




120


CONSUEL 0.


dying at your feet, and you talk to me of gowns and
the theatre! "
Consuelo, who had risen impetuously, sat down
again, embarrassed and trembling. She was silent for
a long while, and when Anzoleto wished to clasp her
once more in his arms, she gently repelled him.
"Cold? Yes, if you like," she said, at last; " but
God, who sees my heart, knows how well I love you! "
"Then cast yourself on his bosom," said Anzoleto,
angrily, " for mine is not a safe enough refuge for
you, and if I do not go away, I shall become impious."
He ran to the door, thinking that Consuelo, who
had never been willing to part from him in a quarrel,
no matter how trifling, without trying to be reconciled
to him, would hasten to call him back. She did,
indeed, make an impulsive movement as if to go after
him; then she stopped, saw him go out, hurried to the
door and put her hand on the latch to open it and
call him. But clinging to her resolution by a superhuman effort, she bolted the door, and exhausted by
the severity of the struggle, fell fainting on the floor,
where she lay motionless until daybreak.




CONSUELO.


121


CHAPTER XIV.
"I CONFESS that I have fallen madly in love with
her," said Count Zustiniani to his friend Barberigo
that evening, as they sat on the balcony of his palace
in the darkness and silence of the night.
"That is a warning to me that I must take care not
to do the same thing myself," said the young and
brilliant Barberigo, " and I submit, for your rights take
precedence of mine. Still, if Corilla were to succeed
in again entangling you in her net, be good enough to
let me know, and I can try my own luck."
" Do not think of it, if you love me! Corilla has
never been anything more than a pastime for me. I
see by your face that you are laughing at me."
" No, but I think it a pretty serious pastime which
makes you spend such enormous sums and commit
such follies."
" I grant that I am rather extravagant in my amusements. But in this case it is more than a desire; it is,
I fancy, a real passion. I have never seen any one
so strangely beautiful as this Consuelo. She is like a
lamp which grows dim from time to time, but just
when it seems about to go out, shines up with so great
a brightness that the stars, as our poets say, pale
beside it."
"Ah!" said Barberigo, with a sigh, "that little




I 22


CONSUEL 0.


black gown and white collar; that pale, calm face, inexpressive at first sight; those frank and straightforward manners; that astonishing absence of coquetry,
-how they are all transformed and glorified when
she becomes inspired by her own genius and sings!
Happy Zustiniani, who hold in your hands the fate of
this dawning ambition! "
"Would that I were sure of the happiness which
you envy me! But, on the contrary, I am alarmed at
not finding any of the feminine passions with which I
am familiar, and which are so easy to work upon.
Can you understand, dear friend, that this girl remains
an enigma to me after a whole day of study and observation? It seems to me, from her calmness and
my own awkwardness, that I must be already so much
in love with her that I cannot see clearly."
"You are certainly more in love than need be if
you have become blind. I, who am not disturbed by
any hopes at all, will tell you in three words what you
do not understand. Consuelo is a pearl of innocence.
She loves little Anzoleto, and will still love him for a
few days longer; and if you interfere with this childish
attachment, you will give her new power of resistance.
But if you pay no attention to it, the comparison
which she must make between you and Anzoleto will
quickly cool her love."
" But he is as handsome as Apollo, the little rascal!
He has a magnificent voice, and he will make a success. Corilla is wild about him already. He is not a
rival to be despised when a girl has eyes."




COnr SUEL O.


23


" But he is poor and you are rich; unknown, and
you are all-powerful," said Barberigo. "The important thing is to know whether they are lovers or
friends. In the formerca se the disillusion will come
more quickly. You must marry Consuelo to hi:n at
once, so that within a week her master will have made
her feel the weight of a chain, the torments of jealousy,
and the annoyance of a guardian who is teasing, unjust and unfaithful —for the handsome tenor will be
all these. I watched him carefully enough yesterday
to be able to prophesy his faults and his misfortunes."
"Your plan is a disagreeable one," replied the
count, "but I feel that you are right."
Unfortunately for Count Zustiniani's designs, this
conversation had a listener on whom they had not
counted, and who did not lose a syllable of it. After
leaving Consuelo, Anzoleto, tormented afresh by his
jealousy, had come back to wander near the palace of
his protector, to make sure that he was not planning
one of those abductions which were so much the
fashion in those days, and for which impunity was
almost assured to patricians. He could hear no further, for the rising moon began to throw his shadow
on the pavement more and more clearly, and the two
gentlemen, perceiving in this way the presence of
a man under the balcony, went in and closed the
window.
Anzoleto slipped away and went home to think
quietly over what he had just heard. It was quite
enough to make the situation clear to him, and to




14


CONvSUEL 0.


enable him to profit by the virtuous advice of Barberigo
to his friend. He slept scarcely two hours just before
dawn, and then hurried off to the Corte Minelli. The
door was still bolted, but through the cracks he could
see Consuelo, fully dressed, lying asleep on her bed,
as pale and still as death. The coolness of the early
morning had drawn her from her swoon and she had
thrown herself down on her bed, without having the
strength to disrobe. Anzoleto watched her for some
moments with mingled anxiety and remorse. But soon
becoming impatient and frightened at this lethargic
sleep, so unlike the wakeful habits of his friend, he
softly enlarged with his knife a crack by which he could
slip in the blade and push back the bolt. He did not
succeed in this without some noise, but Consuelo was
not awakened. He went in, closed the door, and knelt
by her bedside, where he remained until she opened
her eyes. Consuelo uttered a cry of joy at seeing him,
but quickly withdrawing her arms, which she had
thrown about his neck, she drew back with a gesture
of aifright.
" So you are afraid of me now, and instead of embracing, you draw away from me," said Anzoleto,
mournfully.  "Ah, how cruelly am  I punished for
my fault! Forgive me, Consuelo, and see whether
you ought to be afraid of your friend. I have been
here watching your sleep for a whole hour! Oh,
forgive me, my sister! It is the first and last time
in your life that you will have had to blame and repel
your brother. Never again will I offend the holiness




CONSUELO.


I25


of our love by guilty longings. Forsake me, drive
me away, if I am not true to my oath. See! here
upon your virgin couch, upon your mother's deat-hbed, I swear to respect you as I have always respected
you, and never to ask you even for a kiss, if you wish
it so, until the priest has blessed us. Are you satisfied with me, dear and holy Consuelo? "
Consuelo's only reply was to press the Venetian's
blond head to her heart and bedew it with tears.
This outburst quieted her, and soon, falling back on
her hard little pillow, she said, "I confess that I am
worn out, for I could not close my eyes all night,
we parted so painfully! "
" Sleep, Consuelo! sleep, dear angel! " replied Anzoleto. "Remember the night when you allowed me
to sleep on your bed, while you prayed and worked
at this little table. It is my turn to watch over and "
guard your rest. Sleep again, my child. I will look
over your music and read it to myself while you slumber for an hour or two. Nobody will trouble themselves about us before evening, if at all to-day. So
go to sleep, and prove to me by this confidence that
you forgive me and trust me."
Consuelo replied to him by a blissful smile. He
kissed her brow, and sat down at the little table,
while she enjoyed a refreshing repose, full of the
happiest dreams.
Anzoleto had lived so long with this young girl in a
condition of calmness and innecence,thatitwas not
difficult to resume his accustomed role after a single


AL



I 26


CONSUELO.


outbreak of his passions. Besides, what he had heard
the night before under Zustiniani's balcony had been
of a nature to strengthen his resolutions. " I thank
you, my fine gentlemen," he said to himself; "you
have given the little rascal a lesson in morals by
which he will not fail to profit. Since possession
chills love, and the rights of marriage bring with
them satiety and disgust, we will take good care to
keep bright this flame which you think it so easy to
extinguish. WVe will abstain from jealousy and faithlessness, and even from the joys of love. Illustrious
iarberigo, your prophesies are full of sound advice,
and it is a good thing to go to school to you."
In the midst of these reflections, Anzoleto, who
was weary from an almost sleepless night, fell into a
doze, with his head on his hands and his elbows on
the table. But his sleep was light, and when the sun
began to go down, he rose to see if Consuelo was still
sleeping. The rays of the setting sun, coming through
the open window, threw a superb purple veil over the
old bed and the beautiful sleeper. She had made a
curtain of her white muslin mantilla, which she had fastened to the feet of the filigree crucifix hanging above
her head. This light veil fell gracefully over her flexible and admirably proportioned figure, and in the rosy
half-light, drooping like a flower at eventide, with her
beautiful dark hair spread over her white shoulders,
and her hands folded upon her breast like a marble
saint upon a tomb, she was so chaste and so divine
that Anzoleto exclaimed, inwardly, "Ah, Count Zus



CONS UEL O.


127


tiniani! why cannot you see her now, with me beside
her, the jealous and prudent guardian of a treasure
which you covet in vain!"
At that moment a little noise was heard outside,
and Anzoleto recognized the plashing of water against
the building in which Consuelo lived. Gondolas very
rarely stopped at this poor Corte Minelli, but a demon
had awakened all Anzoleto's suspicions. He climbed
on a chair and looked out of a little window near the
ceiling on the side next the canaletto. He saw Count
Zustiniani get out of his boat and question the halfnaked children who were playing on the bank. He
was uncertain whether he should awaken his friend
or bolt the door. But during the few minutes which
the count lost in making inquiries and seeking Consuelo's room, he had time to assume a diabolical
coolness and go and set the door ajar, so that any
one could come in without noise or trouble. Then
he sat down again at the table, took a pen, and pretended to be making notes. His heart beat violently,
but his face was calm and impenetrable.
The count came in on tiptoe, taking a strange
pleasure in surprising his protege, and delighted at
this appearance of poverty, which he considered the
most favorable condition possible for his designs.
He brought Consuelo's engagement already signed,
and thought that with such a passport he ought not
to be too coldly received. But at the first glimpse of
this singular sanctuary, in which an adorable girl slept
the sleep of the angels beneath the watchful eye of




I 28


CONSUELO.


her respectful lover, poor Zustiniani lost countenance,
became entangled in his cloak, which he wore over
one shoulder with a conquering air, and made two or
three steps awkwardly between the table and the bed
without knowing whom  to address.  Anzoleto was
revenged for the scene at the gondola on the previous
night.
"My lord and my master! " he exclaimed, rising
as if surprised at this unexpected visit, " I will wake
my betrothed."
"No," replied the count, already recovered fromn
his embarrassment, and ostentatiously turning his back
to look at Consuelo, " I am only too glad to see her
thus. I forbid you to wake her."
"Yes, yes; look at her well," thought Anzoleto;
"that is all I wished."
Consuelo did not awake, and the count, lowering
his voice, and putting on a gracious and serene expression, gave utterance unconstrainedly to all his
admiration.
" You were right, Zoto," he said, quite at his ease;
"Consuelo is the first singer in Italy, and I was wrong
to doubt that she was the most beautiful woman in
the world."
"Yet your excellency thought her frightful," said
Anzoleto maliciously.
" You have, no doubt, repeated all my rude speeches
to her; but I shall secure my pardon by an amendehonorable so complete that you will never be able to
injure me by recalling my impertinence."




CONS UEL 0.


I29


" Injure you, my lord! How could I do that, even
if I wished it?"
Consuelo moved a little.
" Let her wake up without too much surprise," said
the count, " and clear off that table that I may lay her
engagement on it and read it over. See," he said,
when Anzoleto had obeyed his orders, " you can cast
your eyes over this paper while she is opening her
own."
"An engagement before the trial of the debut!
Why, this is magnificent, my noble patron! And the
debut at once, before Corilla's engagement has expired! "
"That does not trouble me. There is a forfeit of
a thousand sequins to Corilla, and we will pay it. That
is of no account."
"But suppose Corilla creates a cabal? "
" We will have her put in the Leads if she cabals."
"By Jove! your excellency stops at nothing."
"Yes, Zoto," said the count firmly, " what we desire,
we desire in spite of everything and everybody."
"And the conditions of the engagement are the
same as for Corilla? The same terms for a debutante
without fame and reputation as for an illustrious
singer who is adored by the public? "
"Consuelo will be still more adored; and if the old
terms do not suit her, she has only to speak to have
her salary doubled. Everything depends on her," he
added, raising his voice a little as he saw that she was
waking up. " PIer fate is in her own hands."




I30


CONSUELO.


Consuelo had heard all this while half-asleep. When
she had rubbed her eyes, and made sure that it was
not a dream, she slipped from her bed without thinking much of the strangeness of her situation, coiled up
her hair without caring much for its disorder, wrapped
herself in her mantilla, and joined in the conversation
with frank confidence.
"You are too kind, count," said she; "but I could
not have the impertinence to take advantage of your
goodness. I do not wish to sign an engagement before I have tried my powers in public. It would not
be considerate of me. I may not please; I may make
a fiasco and be hissed. I have only to be hoarse, or
embarrassed, or very ugly that evening; and then
your word would be pledged. You would be too
proud to retract it, and I too proud to hold you to it."
"Ugly that evening, Consuelo?" cried the count,
with blazing eyes.  "You ugly?   Come, look at
yourself here," he added, taking her by the hand and
leading her before her glass. "If you are adorable
in this costume, what will it be when you are covered
with jewels and dazzling in the light of your triumph?"
The count's impertinence made Anzoleto grind his
teeth, but the playful indifference with which Consuelo
listened to these compliments quickly quieted him.
" My lord," she said, putting away the bit of mirror
which he was holding before her face, " take care not
to break the remains of my glass. I value it because
it has never deceived me. Ugly or handsome, I refuse your prodigal offers. And then I must tell you




CONSUEL 0.


131


frankly that I will not make a debut or sign an engagement unless my betrothed here is engaged also,
for I will have no theatre and no public but his. We
will not be separated because we are to be married."
This sudden declaration somewhat disconcerted the
count, but he quickly recovered.
"You are right, Consuelo," he replied, "and it was
never my intention to separate you. Zoto and you
shall make your debut together. But we must not
conceal from ourselves the fact that his talent, although remarkable, is still greatly inferior to yours""I do not agree with you at all, monsignore,"
quickly replied Consuelo, flushing up as if she had
received a personal insult.
" I know that he is your pupil, much more than of
the teacher whom I gave him," replied the count with
a smile. " Do not deny it, lovely Consuelo. When
he learned of your intimacy, Porpora exclaimed, 'Now
I am no longer surprised at certain qualities which he
possesses, and which I could not reconcile with so
many faults."'
"Many thanks to the sior professore," said Anzoleto with a forced laugh.
" He will change his mind," said Consuelo. " Besides, the public will prove to this good and dear
master that he is wrong."
"This good and dear master is the first critic of
singing in the world," said the count. " Anzoleto will
go on profiting by your lessons, and he will do well.
But I repeat that we cannot settle the terms of his




132


CONSUELO.


engagement until we know the opinion of the public
about him. Therefore, let him make his debut and
we will do by him what is just, as well as what is
prompted by our good-will, on which he can count."
"He will make his debut then, and I too," said
Consuelo. "We are at your orders, lord count. But
there shall be no contract, no signatures, before the
trial; I am determined of that."
" You are not satisfied with the conditions I offer
you, Consuelo? Very well, make your own, then.
See, here is the pen; erase and add as you please.
My signature is at the bottom."
Consuelo took the pen. Anzoleto turned pale, and
the count, who was watching him, bit from very pleasure the end of his lace cravat, which he was twisting
between his fingers. Consuelo made a great X across
the contract, and wrote on the white space which remained below the count's signature, "Anzoleto and
Consuelo engage themselves jointly upon the terms
which Count Zustiniani shall be pleased to make with
them after their debut, which shall take place during
the next month at the San-Samuel Theatre." She
signed quickly, and then handed the pen to her betrothed.
" Sign without reading," said she. "You cannot do
less to prove your gratitude and your trust in your
benefactor."
Anzoleto had read at a glance before signing. The
count read over his shoulder.
" Consuelo," said he, "you are truly a strange girl,




CONSUELO.


133


an admirable creature. Come and dine with me, both
of you," he said, tearing up the contract and offering
his hand to C-Qusuelo, who accepted the invitation,
but begged him to go and wait in the gondola with
Anzoleto while she dressed.
"Well," said she, when she was alone, "I shall
certainly be able to buy a wedding dress." She put
on her new gown, arranged her hair, and sprang into
the stairway singing a phrase with startling power and
brilliancy. The count, from excess of politeness, had
insisted on waiting for her on the stairs. She thought
him below in the gondola, and almost fell into his
arms. But freeing herself quickly, she raised his hand
to her lips with the respect of an inferior who wishes
to keep her proper place. Then, turning about, she
threw herself on Anzoleto's neck, and sprang, full of
happiness and gayety, into the gondola, without waiting for the ceremonious escort of her somewhat mortified protector.




134


COiVSUEL 0.


CHAPTER XV.
THE count, seeing that Consuelo was indifferent to
gain, tried to play upon her vanity, and offered her
jewels and dresses; but these she refused. At first
Zustiniani thought that she understood his secret intentions; but he soon perceived that it was only a
rustic pride with her, and an unwillingness to receive
a reward before earning it through the prosperity of
his theatre. Nevertheless, he insisted on her accepting a costume of white satin, saying that she could
not decently appear in his drawing-room wearing her
muslin gown, and begging her, out of regard for him,
to leave off the dress of the common people. She
consented, and submitted her handsome figure to the
fashionable dressmakers, who made the most of it,
and did not spare the material. Thus transformed in
a couple of days into a woman of the world, and compelled also to accept a pearl necklace which the count
gave her in payment for the evening when she had
sung for him and his friends, she was handsomely
dressed - not in a way, perhaps, which suited her style
of beauty, but as she must be to be approved by the
eyes of the vulgar. But this, after all, was a comparative failure. At the first glance, Consuelo did not
impress or dazzle any one. She was always pale, and
her retired and studious life robbed her eyes of that




CONSUEL O.


I35


brilliancy which one sees in the look of women whose
only desire is to shine. Her face, like her character,
was serious and reflective. One could see her eat,
talk upon subjects which did not interest her, or be
bored politely by the commonplaces of society, without suspecting that she was handsome. But if she
smiled with that joyous expression which sprang from
the serenity of her mind, people began to think her
attractive. Then, when she became still more animated, when she took a lively interest in anything,
when she was touched or excited, or when she displayed her inward feeling and exerted her hidden
powers, she grew radiant with all the light of genius
and love. She was another creature, and people were
charmed, thrilled, or depressed at her will, without
her being able to understand the mystery of her power.
Consequently, the feeling which the count had for
her astonished and disturbed him greatly. There
were artistic chords in his nature which had never
been struck, but which she caused to vibrate with
sensations before unknown. But this revelation could
not penetrate deeply enough into his mind for him to
realize the weakness and insufficiency of the means of
seduction which he intended to employ with a woman
who was wholly different from those he had been able
to corrupt.
He took patience, and resolved to try on her the
effect of emulation. He had her in his box at the
theatre, that she might witness Corilla's success and
have her ambition aroused. But the result of the ex



I136


CONSUEL 0.


periment was altogether different from what he expected.  Consuelo left the theatre cold, silent and
wearied, and not in the least excited by the noise and
the applause. Corilla had seemed to her lacking in
solid talent, exalted passion and real power. She felt
competent to judge this talent, which was factitious,
forced and tainted at its very source by a life of
dissipation and selfishness. She applauded indifferently, said a few words of reserved approval, and disdained to play the comedy of a generous enthusiasm
for a rival whom she could neither fear nor admire.
For a moment the count thought her secretly jealous
of Corilla's success, if not of her talent.
"This success is nothing to what you will win,"
he said to her, " but it may serve to show you what
triumphs are awaiting you if you sing for the public as
you sang for us. I hope that you are not frightened
at what you have seen? "
"No, count," she said with a smile, "the public
did not frighten me, for I did not think of it. I was
thinking of how much might be made of the role
which Corilla fills brilliantly indeed, but in which
there are many effects which she does not see at all."
"What! you did not think of the public? "
"No; I thought of the score and the composer's
intentions, of the spirit of the part, of the orchestration, which has its good and bad qualities, which one
must sometimes make use of, and sometimes cover
up. I listened to the chorus, which was not always
satisfactory, and needs stricter drilling. I examined




CONS UEL O.


I37


the passages where one must use all one's power, and
consequently those where one must spare one's self.
You see, count, that I had many things to think of
before thinking of the public, which knows nothing
about all this, and can teach me nothing."
This serious judgment and thoughtful consideration
so surprised the count that he could not ask her a single question, and he wondered secretly what hold such
a gallant as he could have on a mind of this temper.
The appearance of the two debutants was prepared
for by all the customary preliminaries, which were a
source of continual wrangling between the count and
Porpora, and of endless discussions between Consuelo
and her betrothed. The professor and his brilliant
pupil despised the quackery of the pompous announcements and the thousand vile little devices which we
have so greatly improved in point of impertinence and
dishonesty. Newspapers did not play a prominent
part in such matters at Venice in those days. The
composition of the audience was not so skilfully
arranged as now, and they did not understand the
enormous power of advertising, the fictions of biographical sketches, or even the strength of that mighty
machine which is called a "claque."  There were
lively intrigues and vigorous cabals, but these were
managed privately, and sprang solely from the devotion of the public to some artists, or its sincere
hostility to others. Nor was art always the true motive. Great and little passions, wholly foreign to art
and to talent, struggled together in the temple then as




138


38CONS UEL 0.


to-day. But they were less skilled in hiding the reasons of this discord, and in laying it all to a strict love
of art. There was then, in short, the same essentially
vulgar human basis as now, with a surface less complicated than ours by civilization.
Zustiniani managed affairs of this sort rather like a
great nobleman than the director of a theatre. His
ostentation was a more powerful incentive than the
cupidity of ordinary speculators.  His public was
schooled and the success of his performances assured
in drawing-rooms. His methods were never low nor
disgraceful; but his efforts were inspired by his childish vanity and his heated passions, and he made adroit
use of the gossip of good society. He went about
artfully destroying, little by little, the temple which he
had formerly erected with his own hands to the glory
of Corilla; and as everybody saw that he wished to
build up another reputation, they credited him with
the entire possession of the marvellous creature whom
he intended to bring out. Therefore, while poor Consuelo was still unsuspicious of the nature of the count's
sentiments towards her, all Venice was saying that
Zustiniani, disgusted with Corilla, was preparing for
the debut of a new mistress in her place. Many people
added that it was an insult to his public and an injury
to his theatre, for his new favorite was a little streetsinger, who knew absolutely nothing, and had only a
fine voice and a pretty face.
From this sprang cabals in favor of Corilla, who
went about playing the role of a victimized rival, and




CONSUEL 0.


39


calling upon her many adorers and their friends to
mete out summary justice to the Zingarella. Cabals
were also formed in favor of Consuelo by the women
whose admirers or husbands had been enticed away or
fascinated by Corilla, by sundry husbands who preferred to have the Venetian Don Juans devote themselves to the debutante rather than to their wives, and
by aspirants to Gorilla's favor who had been rejected
or betrayed by her, and who wished to be revenged on
her by seeing her rival triumph.
As for the true lovers of music, they were equally
divided by the approval of the serious masters, such
as Porpora, Marcello, Jomelli, and the rest, who declared that with the appearance of a good musician
there would be a return to the good traditions and to
good scores, and by the dislike of the secondary composers, whose easy music had always been preferred
by Corilla, and who felt that her cause was their own.
The musicians of the orchestra, who were threatened
by a return to scores which had been long neglected,
and the consequent necessity for hard work; and, indeed, the whole company, down to the very machinists,
dressers, and wig-maker, took sides for or against the
new singers.  In fact, the Republic at large took
more interest in this musical event than in the new
administration of the doge Pietro Grimaldi, who had
just succeeded his predecessor, Luigi Pisani, without
any excitement whatever.
Consuelo was deeply grieved and troubled by the
delays and annoyances which attended her new career.




I40


CONSUELO.


She would have preferred to make her debut at once,
with no aids save her own genius and the necessary
study of the new opera. She did not at all understand
the thousand intrigues which seemed to her more
dangerous than useful, and with which she felt that
she could safely dispense. But the count, who had a
deeper insight into the secrets of the trade, and who
wished to be envied rather than ridiculed for his
supposed conquest, spared no pains to gain partisans
for her. He made her come to his palace every day,
and presented her to all the aristocracy of the city
and the neighboring country. Consuelo's modesty
and her mental distress prevented her being of much
help to his designs until he made her sing, but then
the victory was brilliant, decisive and unquestionable.
Anzoleto, however, by no means shared his friend's
dislike for these secondary means of success. His
own prospects were far from being as assured as hers.
The count was not so anxious about him, in the first
place, and in the second, the tenor whom he was to
succeed had talent of the first order, which it would
be no easy thing for him to banish from the memory
of the public. It is true that he sang at the Zustiniani palace every evening, that Consuelo set off his
voice admirably in the duos, and that he sometimes
rose to a great height, uplifted and supported as he
was by the magnetic power of a genius greater than
his own. He was accordingly much applauded ant
greatly encouraged. But after the surprise created
by his beautiful voice had died away, and especially




CONS UEL 0.


141


after Consuelo had revealed her marvellous powers,
people recognized the imperfections in the young
tenor, and he perceived them himself with a feeling
of dread. Now, if ever, was the time to work with
redoubled ardor; but it was in vain that Consuelo
made appointments with him every day in the Corte
Minelli, where she insisted on remaining in spite of
the entreaties of the count, who wished to place her
in more suitable lodgings.  Anzoleto plunged into
such a quantity of negotiations, visits, solicitations
and intrigues, and burdened his mind with such
wretched cares and anxieties that he had neither the
time nor the courage to study.
In the midst of these perplexities, foreseeing that
the most serious opposition to his success would come
from Corilla, and knowing that the count no longer
either visited her or concerned himself about her in
any way, he resolved to go to see her, and gain her
favor. He had heard that she accepted Zustiniani's
desertion and vengeance with the utmost gayety and
a philosophic irony, that she had received brilliant
offers from the Italian opera in Paris, and that, while
awaiting the failure of her rival, on which she seemed
to count, she was openly laughing at the illusions of
the count and his friends.  He thought that with
prudence and deceit he might disarm this dangerous
enemy, and, having decked and perfumed himself to
the best of his power, he went to her apartments one
afternoon at an hour when the habit of the siesta
makes visits few and palaces silent.




143


CONS UEL 0.


CHAPTER XVL
HE found Corilla alone in an exquisite boudoir, halfasleep on her sofa, and in a most gallant undress, as
the expression was in those days. But the change in
her face made him think that her indifference to
Consuelo was not so great as her faithful partisans
pretended.  Still, she received him with a sportive
manner, and said, tapping him archly on the cheek
and motioning to her maid to go out and close the
door, -
" Ah! is it you, little scamp? Have you come to
say more pretty things to me, and to try to make me
believe that you are not the most deceitful of flatterers
and the most intriguing of aspirants for glory? You
were terribly conceited, my young friend, if you
thought I cared for your sudden desertion after all
your fine speeches, and you were a great fool to hope
that you could make me wish for you by staying away,
for I forgot all about you in twenty-four hours."
"Twenty-four hours?   It is immense!" replied
Anzoleto, as he kissed Corilla's large and heavy arm.
" Oh, if I could believe that, I should be very proud!
but I know well that if I had allowed myself to believe
you when you said "
" I advise you to forget what I said, and if you had
come to see me, you would have found my door




CONSUEL O.


143


closed. But what gives you the impudence to come
to-day?"
"It is not in good taste to refrain from prostrating
one's self before those who are in favor, but to come
and offer one's heart and one's devotion to those
who "
" Go on-to those who are in disgrace? It is very
generous and very humane of you, my illustrious
friend!"  And Corilla threw herself back on her
pillows with sharp peals of laughter which seemed
hardly sincere.
The disgraced prima donna was not in her first
freshness, and the light of midday was not very favorable to her, while her handsome face had suffered
somewhat from her concentrated fury during the last
few days. But Anzoleto, who had never been alone
with so beautiful and so famous a woman, felt moved
in those regions of his soul into which Consuelo had
never been willing to descend, and from which he had
voluntarily banished her pure image. When Corilla
saw that he was really impressed, she grew gentle and
rallied him more kindly.
" You did please me for a whole evening, I confess,"
said she, "but I do not really esteem you. I know
that you are ambitious, and consequently false and
ready to commit any infidelity. I could never trust
you. You pretended to be jealous one night in my
gondola, and you posed as a tyrant. That would have
amused me after all the insipid gallantries of our
patricians, but you were deceiving me, wretched child!




I144


CONSUELO.


You were then, and you still are, in love with another
woman, and you are going to marry - whom? Oh,
I know very well! my rival, my enemy, the debutante,
Zustiniani's new favorite."
" Cruel creature! You ought to understand what
happened to me when I first saw you, and not care
for what I intended before that fateful moment. As
for what has happened since then, can you not guess
it? What need is there for us to think about it now?"
"I will not be satisfied with hints and reservations.
Do you still love the Zingarella? Are you going to
marry her? "
" If I love her, how is it that I am not married to
her already? "
"Then I can have her hissed without making you
unhappy?"
" Alas, madame! do you wish to prevent my debut?
You surely know that I come out at the same time as
Consuelo. If you have her hissed, I too shall fail,
and be a victim of your anger. And what have I
done to displease you? Alas, I dreamed a delicious
and fatal dream! I fancied that you took some interest in me, and that I should grow famous under
your protection. Yet now I am the object of your contempt and your hatred, - I, who loved and respected
you so much that I fled from you. Well, madame,
satisfy your dislike; cause me to fail, ruin me, spoil
my future. If you will only tell me in private that I
am not odious to you, I will accept all the public
marks of your disdain."




CONSUEL 0.


145


"Serpent that you are!" cried Corilla, "where did
you find the poisonous flattery that lurks in your
tongue and in your eyes? I would give a great deal
to know and to understand you, but I am afraid of
you, for you are either the most fascinating of lovers
or the most dangerous of enemies."
" I your enemy? How could I ever dare to be
that, even if I were not a slave to your charms?
Have you enemies, divine Corilla? Have you enemies
in Venice, where every one knows you, and where
you have always reigned without a rival? A lover's
quarrel irritates the count. HIe wishes to drive you
away; he wishes to cease to suffer. He finds a little
girl who seems to possess some ability, and who asks
nothing better than to make her debut. Is that a
crime in a poor child who never hears your illustrious
name without terror, and who never speaks it but with
respect? You attribute to the poor thing insolent
pretensions which she never thought of setting up.
The count's efforts to make his friends like her,
the kindness of these friends, who exaggerate her
merits, the injustice of your own friends, who spread
abroad calumnies to imbitter and to afflict you, when
they ought to be restoring peace to your noble mind
or pointing out your unapproachable glory and the
terrors of your rival, - these are the causes of the
prejudice which I find in you, and at which I am so
astonished, so stunned, that I do not know how to
set about combating it."
" You know how only too well," said Corilla, look



146


CONSUEL 0.


ing at him with mingled tenderness and distrust.
" I listen to your soft words, but my reason still
tells me to fear you. Consuelo is divinely beautiful, although they tell me the contrary; and she
must have a certain merit in a style unlike my own,
since Porpora, whose judgment is so severe, proclaims
it openly."
" You know Porpora, and you must understand his
oddities - his manias, one might say. He is an enemy
to all originality in others, and to all innovations in
the art of singing; and if a little pupil is very attentive to his maunderings and submissive to his pedantic
lessons, he will declare that a scale nicely sung by her
is superior to all the marvels which the public adores.
How long have you troubled yourself about the
crotchets of this old fool? "
"Then she has no talent?"
"She has a fine voice, and she sings respectably in
church.  But she cannot know anything about the
stage, and as for the power which she must display
there, she is so paralyzed with terror that it is greatly
to be feared that she will lose what few faculties Heaven
has given her."
"She is afraid? They told me, on the contrary,
that she was strangely bold."
" Oh, the poor child! Alas, how they must hate
her! You will hear her, divine Corilla, and you will
be so moved by a noble pity that you will encourage
her instead of hissing her, as you threatened in jest a
moment ago."




CONS UEL 0O.


147


" Either you are lying to me, or my friends have
greatly deceived me about her."
" Your friends have been deceived themselves. In
their indiscreet zeal, they are frightened at the idea of
a rival to you. Afraid of a child! Afraid for you!
Ah, they must love you little, since they know you
so little! If I had the happiness to be your friend,
I should know better what you are, and I should not
do you the injustice to fear any rivalry for you, even
that of a Faustina or a Molteni."
" Do not fancy that I have been frightened. I am
neither jealous nor spiteful; and as the success of
others has never interfered with my own, I have never
cared about it. But when I think that they wish to
brave me, and to make me suffer "" Do you wish me to bring little Consuelo to your
feet? If she had dared, she would already have come
to ask your support and your advice. But she is such
a timid child! And then, they have slandered you
to her. They have told her that you were cruel and
vindictive, and intended to cause her to fail."
"They have told her that? Then I can understand why you are here."
"No, madame, you cannot understand it, for I
never believed it for a moment, and I never shall
believe it. Oh, no, madame! You do not understand me."
As he spoke, Anzoleto flashed his dark eyes upon
Corilla and bent his knee before her with an incomparable expression of languor and tenderness.




148


CONSUELO.


Corilla was not without cleverness and penetration;
but as often happens to women excessively in love with
themselves, vanity sometimes placed a thick bandage
over her eyes, and caused her to fall into very clumsy
snares. Besides, her heart was inflammable, and Anzoleto was the handsomest fellow she had ever seen.
She could not resist his honeyed words, and within
a week of this first interview she was madly in love
with him. Anzoleto was somewhat frightened at the
too rapid and too complete success of his enterprise.
Still, he flattered himself that he would be able to
control her long enough for him to accomplish his
end, which was to prevent her interfering with his
debut and Consuelo's success.  He showed great
cleverness in dealing with her, and as he had a faculty of lying with a diabolical appearance of truth, he
was able to enchain her, to persuade her, to master
her. He even made her believe that what he admired above everything in a woman was generosity,
sweetness, and sincerity, and he adroitly marked out
for her the course which she was to follow in public
towards Consuelo, if she did not wish him to hate and
despise her. He knew how to be severe with an
appearance of tenderness, and, concealing a threat
under words of praise, pretended to take her for an
angel of goodness. Poor Corilla had played all sorts
of parts in her boudoir except this one, and this she
had always played badly upon the stage. But she
submitted, from fear of losing Anzoleto, who also
mnade her think that the count was still in love




CONSUEL O.


149


with her, in spite of his anger, and secretly jealous,
although he boasted the opposite, and Corilla's vanity
loved to be deceived. She thought that she had
nothing to dread in Anzoleto's feelings for Consuelo,
and there was such an appearance of truth in his protestations that her jealousy was quite lulled to sleep.
As the great day drew near, the cabal which she had
formed was broken up. For Anzoleto's sake, she
now worked in their favor, convinced that Consuelo
would fail in any case, and that Anzoleto would be
infinitely grateful to her for not having contributed
to her fall. Besides, he had already had the tact to
embroil her with her firmest champions, by pretending
to be jealous of their attentions, and by forcing her to
turn them away rather rudely.
While he was thus working in the dark to disappoint the hopes of the prima donna, the wily Venetian boasted to the count and Consuelo that he had
disarmed the dangerous enemy of their triumph by
adroit measures, courteous visits and bold lying. The
count, who was frivolous and somewhat given to
gossip, was infinitely amused by the stories of his
protege. His vanity triumphed in the regrets which,
according to Anzoleto, Corilla felt because of their
separation, and he urged the young tenor on to new
treacheries.
Consuelo was surprised and grieved. "You would
do far better," she said, "to practise and to study
your part. You think you have done a great deal
in disarming the enemy; but a note well delivered,




150              CONSUEL 0.
an inflection well understood, will have more effect
on the impartial public than the silence of your enemies. You should think of this public alone, and I
am sorry to see that you do not think of it at all."
" Be easy, dear Consuelo," he replied. "Your
mistake is in thinking that the public is both impartial and intelligent. Those who know anything are
hardly ever fair, and those who are fair know so little
that boldness is enough to dazzle them and carry them
away."




CONSUEL 0.


I51


CHAPTER XVII.
THE anxieties accompanying his thirst for fame had
put to sleep Anzoleto's jealousy of the count. Fortunately, Consuelo had no need of a more moral or
more vigilant defender. Protectcd by her innocence,
she was still safe from Zustiniani's advances, and held
him at a distance simply by her indifference. At the
end of a fortnight, this Venetian Lovelace realized that
she had as yet none of the worldly passions which are
useful aids to seduction, and he spared no pains to
awaken them. But as he was no further advanced,
even in this respect, than at the very first, he did not
wish to ruin his chances by precipitancy. If Anzoleto
had annoyed him by his watchfulness, his irritation
might have impelled him to more rapid advances.
But Anzoleto left him a free field, and Consuelo suspected nothing; therefore, all that he had to do was
to make himself agreeable, in the hope that he might
ultimately make himself necessary. Consequently, he
neglected no means of pleasing, neither thoughtful
attentions nor refined gallantries. Consuelo accepted
all this devotion, and obstinately ascribed it to the
elegant manners and liberality, to the passionate
dilettanteism and natural kindness of her protector.
She felt for him true friendship and sincere gratitude,
and he, made happy, yet anxious, by this self-sur



152


CONSUELO.


render of a pure heart, began to be frightened at the
sentiment which he might inspire when he should
speak at last.
While he was yielding himself with fear, yet not without pleasure, to a sentiment wholly new to him (consoling himself a little for his disappointment by the opinion
which all Venice held concerning his triumph), Corilla
also felt a sort of transformation taking place in her
heart. She loved with ardor, if not nobly, and her
irritable and imperious nature bent beneath the yoke
of her young Adonis. She was, in truth, the immodest Venus in love with the handsome hunter, and
timid before a mortal for the first time. She even
went to the length of assuming virtues which she did
not possess, and she did not affect them without feeling a sort of soft and pleasing tenderness; for the
idolatry which one withdraws from one's self and gives
to another, elevates and ennobles for a moment even
souls least susceptible of generosity and devotion.
The emotion which she felt reacted on her talent,
and it was noticed at the theatre that she played.pathetic roles more naturally and with more feeling.
But as her character and the very springs of her nature
were poisoned, and as it required a violent and painful inward struggle to accomplish this metamorl)hosis, her physical strength gave way under the effort.
Every day it was seen, with malicious pleasure by
some, and by others with sincere regret, that she was
losing her powers. Her voice grew weaker at each
appearance. The brilliant caprices of her improvisa



CONS UE L 0.


153


tion were spoiled by shortness of breath and doubtful
intonation. The grief and terror which she felt completed her undoing, and at the last performance before.
the debut of Consuelo, she sang so false and failed in
so many brilliant passages that her friends could applaud but weakly, and were soon reduced to a terrified silence by the murmurs of her opponents.
The great day arrived at last, and the theatre was
so full that one could hardly breathe in it. Corilla,
clad in black, pale, agitated, more dead than alive,
divided between the fear of witnessing the failure of
the man she loved and that of beholding the triumph
of her enemy, sat down in her little dark stage-box.
All the ban and arriere-ban of Venetian beauty and
aristocracy came to display their flowers and jewels
in a dazzling triple semicircle.  The men of fashion
crowded the passages and part of the stage, as the
custom was in those days. The doge appeared in a
proscenium-box, with all the great dignitaries of State.
Porpora conducted the orchestra in person, and Count
Zustiniani waited at the door of Consuelo's dressingroom until she should finish her toilet, while Anzoleto,
decked out as an ancient warrior with all the absurd
coquetry of the period, stood half-fainting in the wings,
d-inking a great glass of Cyprus wine to steady his
shaking knees.
The opera was not the work of a strict classic
master nor of a bold modern innovator. It was the
unknown work of a stranger. To avoid the cabals
which his own or any other famous name would not




154


CO-7VS UEIL O.


have failed to excite among the rival composers,
Porpora, who desired the success of his pupil before
everything, had suggested the score of " Ipermnestra,"
the lyric debut of a young German who, as yet, had
neither friends nor enemies in Italy or anywhere else,
and who was named simply Christopher Gluck.
When Anzoleto appeared upon the stage, a murmur
of admiration ran through the audience. The tenor
whom he succeeded was an admirable singer, but he
had been unwise enough to remain on the stage until
age had injured his voice and destroyed his good
looks, so that he was but little missed by an ungrateful
public, and the fair sex, which listens oftener with its
eyes than with its ears, was charmed to see in the
place of this stout, red-faced man, a lad of four-andtwenty, fresh as a rose, blond as Phoebus, shaped as
if Phidias himself had modelled him; in short, a true
child of the lagoons, " bianco, crespo e grassotto."
He was too much agitated to sing his first air well,
but his magnificent voice, his fine attitudes, and some
happy and original effects were enough to gain him
the good-will of the women and the populace. It
was clear that the debutant had great powers, and that
there was a future before him. He was warmly applauded, and twice called out after leaving the stage,
as is customary in Italy, and especially in Venice.
His success restored his courage, and when he reappeared with Ipermnestra, he was no longer afraid.
But all the effects of this scene belonged to Consuelo;
she alone was looked at and listened to. People said




CONS UEL (0.


I55


to each other, " There she is! Yes, it is she! Who?
the Spaniard? Yes, the debutante, Zustiniani's mistress."
Consuelo came on gravely and coldly. She looked
over her public, received the applause of her protectors with a courtesy which was free from humility
and coquetry alike, and delivered her recitative with
so firm a voice, so grandiose a manner and so
triumphant a confidence, that at her first phrase
shouts of admiration arose from all parts of the building.
"Ah, the treacherous wretch has been deceiving
me! " cried Corilla, casting a terrible look at Anzoleto,
who could not help glancing at her just then with an
ill-disguised smile. She threw herself back in her
box and burst into tears.
Consuelo sang a few phrases more, and then the
cracked voice of the aged Lotti was heard crying
from his corner," Amici miei, questo e un portento."
She sang her great opening air, and was repeatedly
interrupted by applause. They cried," Bis! " and recalled her to the stage seven times. There were per'fect screams of delight.  In short, the madness of
Venetian dilettanteism broke forth in all its force, ridiculous yet intoxicating.
"X Why are they shouting so?" asked Consuelo, as
she went behind the scenes, only to be recalled before
the footlights by the roars of the pit. "One would
think that they wanted to stone me."




I56               CONS UEL 0.
From that moment, they concerned themselves but
little about Anzoleto.  He was kindly treated, because the public was in a good humor; but the indulgent coldness with which they passed over his defects,
without consoling him by immoderate applause for
the passages which he did really well, proved to him
that, while his face pleased the women, the noisy and
enthusiastic majority -the male spectators -made
little account of him, and reserved its transports of
delight for the prima donna. Among all those who
had come with hostile intentions, not one dared to raise
a murmur; and in truth, there were not three people
in the house who could resist the enthusiasm and irresistible desire to applaud the marvel of the evening.
The score had a great success, although it was not
much listened to, and nobody cared much about it.
It was purely Italian music, graceful and moderately
pathetic, and giving little promise, they say, of the
author of "Alcestis " and " Orpheus."  There were
not enough striking beauties in it to displease the
audience. After the first act, the German maestro was
called before the curtain with the two debutants, and
even Clorinda shared in the call. The latter, thanks
to Consuelo's protection, had sung the second role;
and, though she had performed it with a dull voice
and a vulgar style, her handsome arms had disarmed
the public. Rosalba, whose place she took, was extremely thin.
During the last intermission, Anzoleto, who had
been watching Corilla carefully, and had noticed her




CONSUELO.


157


increasing excitement, thought it prudent to visit her
in her box, so as to prevent an explosion. As soon as
she saw him, she flew at him like a tigress, and gave
him two or three violent slaps, the last of which was
enough of a scratch to draw a few drops of blood,
and leave a mark which no amount of paint could
hide. The indignant tenor put an end to this outburst by a sharp blow in the breast with his fist, which
knocked the half-fainting cantatrice into the arms of
her sister Rosalba.
" Brute, traitor, buggiardo!" she murmured in a
choking voice, (" your Consuelo and you shall die by
my hand! "
"If you dare to make a step, a gesture, an outbreak of any kind this evening, I will poniard you
before the eyes of all Venice," said Anzoleto, pale,
and with clenched teeth, as he flourished before her
his faithful knife, which he knew how to throw with all
the dexterity of a son of the lagoons.
" lie will do as he says," said the terror-stricken
Rosalba. " Be quiet! Let us go; our lives are not
safe here."
" No, they are not, and beware how you forget it,"
replied Anzoleto, and he went out, slamming the door
of the box behind him and locking it.
Although this tragi-comic scene had passed in a
mysterious and rapid undertone, like all such scenes
in Venice, when the debutant was seen hurrying
through the passages with his handkerchief to his face,
people suspected some little quarrel, and the hair



158


CONS URL O.


dresser, who was called to arrange the Greek prince's
ringlets and plaster up his wounds, told the whole
band of chorus singers and supernumeraries that
some love-lorn kitten had been using her claws on
the hero's face. The anecdote ran all over the stage,
leaped, I know not how, across the footlights, spread
from the orchestra into the balcony and from there
into the boxes, from which it descended again, somewhat grown in its journey, into the depths of the pit.
Anzoleto's relations to Corilla were still unknown, but
as his attentions to Clorinda had been noticed, the
story was that the seconda donna, jealous of the
prima donna, had just put out the handsome tenor's
eye and broken three of his teeth.
It was a source of regret to some, and a delightful
little scandal to most. They wondered whether the
performance would be interrupted, or whether the old
tenor, Stefanini, would finish the opera with a book in
his hand. The curtain rose, and everything was forgotten when Consuelo was seen, as calm and sublime as at the beginning. Although her role was not
extremely tragic, she made it so by the power of her
acting and the expression of her singing. She drew
tears from every one, and when the tenor appeared,
his trifling scratch only called forth a smile. But this
ridiculous incident nevertheless prevented his success
from being as brilliant as it might otherwise have
been, and all the honors of the evening fell to the
share of Consuelo, who was recalled at the close and
madly applauded.




COSUEL 0.


159


After the opera, there was a supper at the Zustiniani
palace, and Anzoleto quite forgot Corilla, whom he
had locked up in her box, and who was obliged to
break her way out. Amid the noise which follows so
brilliant a performance, no one noticed her retreat;
but the next day, the broken door, combined with
Anzoleto's scratch, put the public on the track of an
intrigue which had been until then carefully concealed.
He was seated at the sumptuous banquet which the
count was giving in Consuelo's honor, and was listening to the abbes, who were reciting to the triumphant
singer sonnets and madrigals which they had been a
couple of days in improvising, when a servant slipped
under his plate a little note from Corilla, which he
read by stealth, and which was as follows: -
" If you do not come to me at once, I will seek you
out and make a scene, though you were at the end
of the world, or in the arms of your thrice-accursed
Consuelo."
Anzoleto pretended to be taken with a fit of
coughing and went out to write this answer on a bit
of ruled paper which he tore from a music-book: -
" Come if you like; my knife is ready, and with it
my contempt and my hatred."
The despot knew that with such a nature as hers
fear was the only bridle, and a threat the only possible
expedient. But in spite of himself, lie was sombre
and preoccupied during the supper, and as soon as
they rose from the table he slipped away and hurried
to Corilla.




i6o


CO Nis UEL 0.


He found the poor creature in a pitiable state.
Torrents of tears had followed convulsions; she was
seated at her window with dishevelled hair and eyes
swollen with weeping, and her dress, which she had
torn in her fury, fell in rags over her heaving bosom.
She sent away her sister and her maid, and in spite of
herself, a ray of joy lit up her face when she saw beside her him whom she had feared to see no more.
But Anzoleto knew her too well to try to console her.
He well knew that at the first sign of pity or repentance her fury would revive and turn to vengeance.
He resolved to persevere in his role of inflexible
cruelty, and although he was touched by her despair,
he loaded her with the bitterest abuse, and declared
that he had come to bid her an eternal farewell. He
compelled her to throw herself at his feet, and drag
herself on her knees to the door, and beg his forgiveness in the anguish of mortal sorrow. When he had thus
completely broken her he pretended to be touched,
and set about calming her. But as he grew more
gentle with this tamed lioness, he never forget that she
was, after all, a wild beast, and preserved to the end
the attitude of an offended master who forgives.
Day was beginning to dawn when Corilla, leaning
her marble arm on the balustrade, all cold with the
morning dew, and hiding her pale face in her long
black hair, began to complain in a gentle and caressing
voice of the tortures which her lover had caused her.
" Yes," she said, " I am jealous, if you insist upon
it. I am worse than that - I am envious. I cannot




CONVSUEL O.


see my ten years' glory eclipsed in a moment by a new
power, before which a forgetful and cruel public sacrifices me without consideration and without regret.
When you have known the transports of triumph and
the humiliation of decay, you will not be so exacting
and so severe towards yourself as you are towards me
to-day. I am still powerful, you say? Vain, successful,
rich, and with splendid hopes, I can go to new countries, conquer new worshippers, charm a new public.
But even if that were true, do you suppose that anything in the world would console me for being abandoned by all my friends, and driven from my throne,
or for seeing a new idol set up in my place? And
this disgrace, the first in my life, the only one in my
whole career, is inflicted upon me in your sight. In
your sight? It is inflicted by you; it is the work of
my lover, of the first man whom I ever loved wholly
and madly. You will say that I am false and spiteful;
that I have affected a hypocritical nobleness, a lying
generosity before you; but it was you who wished it
so, Anzoleto. I was offended, but you bade me appear
quiet, and I kept quiet. I was distrustful, but you
commanded me to believe you sincere, and I believed
in you. I had rage and bitterness in my heart, but you
told me to smile, and I smiled. I was furious and
despairing, but you ordered me to keep silent, and I
was silent. What more could I do than assume a
character which was not my own, and put on a courage
which I could not retain? And when this courage
deserts me, when my torture grows unbearable, when




I 62


CONVSUELO.


I am becoming mad, and my wretchedness ought to
cut you to the heart, you trample me under foot, and
wish to leave me to die in the mire into which you
have cast me.   0 Anzoleto, you have a heart of
bronze, and I am as little in your eyes as the sand of
the sea-shore! Ah! scold me, beat me, insult me,
since it must be so; but at least pity me in the bottom
of your heart, and from the bad opinion you have of
me, judge of the immensity of my love, since I suffer
all this, and wish still to suffer it.
"But listen, my friend," she said to him  more
gently, and putting her arms about him; " what you
have made me suffer is nothing to what I feel when I
think of your future and your happiness. You are
ruined, Anzoleto, dear Anzoleto, ruined without hope!
You do not know it, you do not suspect it, but I see
it, and say to myself, ' If I had only been sacrificed
to his ambition, if my fall had only contributed to his
glory! But no! it has but contributed to his ruin,
and I am the instrument of a rival who is putting her
foot on both our necks.'
"What do you mean?" asked Anzoleto; "I do
not understand you."
" Yet you ought to understand me! You ought at
least to understand what happened this evening. D)id
you not see how the public, which had been made
enthusiastic by your first air, became cold towards you
after she had sung as she always will sing, alas!
better than I, better than any one, and - must I say it?
- better than you, a thousand times, dear Anzoleto.




CO NVS UE LO.             I63
Ah! (1o you not see that this woman will crush you,
that she has already crushed you at your first appearance? You do not see that your beauty is eclipsed
by her ugliness, - for she is ugly, I maintain, - but I
know well that ugly women, when they do please,
arouse more furious passions and more intense devotion than the most perfect beauties upon earth. Do
you not see that they idolize her, and that whenever
you are beside her, you will pass unnoticed? You do
not know that to develop itself and to soar, the talent
of an artist needs praise and success, as a new-born
babe needs air to live and grow; that the smallest
rivalry absorbs part of the life which an artist breathes
in; and that a dangerous rivalry is a vacuum about
one, - is death to us! Yet you ought to see it by
my sad example. The mere dread of this rival whom
I did not know, and whom you did not wish me to
fear, has been enough to paralyze me for a month;
and the nearer I drew to the day of her triumph, the
more my voice deserted me, the more I felt myself
fail. And yet I hardly thought this triumph possible!
What will it be now that I have seen it certain,
dazzling, unassailable? Do you know that I can
never appear again in Venice, perhaps even in Italy,
because I should be demoralized, trembling, impotent?
Who knows where this memory may not reach me,
where the name or presence of this victorious rival
may not follow me and put me to flight? I, alas!
am ruined; but so are you, Anzoleto. You are dead
before having lived; and if I were as bad-hearted as




i64


COVS UEL 0.


you say, I should rejoice at it, and urge you on to
your destruction, and be revenged. But instead, I
say to you despairingly, if you appear once more beside her in Venice, you have no longer a future in
Venice; if you follow her in her travels, shame and
contempt will keep you company. If, living on her
earnings and sharing in her wealth, you drag out a
pale and miserable existence by her side, do you
know what will be your title with the public? They
will say, ' Who is that handsome young man behind
her?' And the answer will be, ' Nobody - less than
nobody! He is the husband or the lover of the
divine cantatrice! '
Anzoleto became as sombre as the stormy clouds
that were rising in the east.
"You are mad, dear Corilla," he replied. "Consuelo is not so dangerous to you as your fevered
imagination makes you think to-night. As for me, I
have told you that I am not her lover, and assuredly
will never be her husband; and I will not live, like a
puny bantling, under the shadow of her broad wings.
There is air and space enough in the sky for all those
whom a powerful flight raises from the earth. See
that swallow! Does he not fly as well over the canal
as the largest gull over the sea? Come, a truce to
these reveries, and farewell! If you wish me to return,
resume that sweetness and that patience which charm
me, and which become you so much better than all
the ravings of jealousy."
Anzoleto, still absorbed in dark thoughts, went to




CO1NSUELO.                I65
his house, and it was only when he was in bed and
almost asleep that he wondered who had accompanied
Consuelo home from the Zustiniani palace. It was an
office which he had never left to any one else.
"After all," he said, as he punched his pillow to
arrange it under his head, " if fate wills it that the
count should accomplish his ends, it is little odds to
me whether it happens sooner or later! "




I 66


CONS UEL 0.


CHAPTER XVIII.
WHEN Anzoleto awoke, his jealousy of Count Zustiniani revived.  A thousand conflicting sentiments
filled his heart. The strongest of these was the envy
of Consuelo's genius and success which Corilla had
aroused in him, and which sank more deeply into his
heart as he compared the triumph of his betrothed
with what, in his disappointed ambition, he termed
his own failure. Then came the humiliation of being
possibly supplanted in fact, as he already was in the
belief of the public, in the affections of this woman,
who would henceforth be famous and all-powerful, and
whose only and sovereign love he yesterday flattered
himself that he was. These jealousies strove with
each other in his heart, and he did not know which
to sacrifice to the other. He had to choose between
two courses, - either to remove Consuelo from Venice
and from the count's attentions, and seek fortune with
her elsewhere, or to abandon her to his rival, and go
off himself to strive for a success which she would not
overshadow. In this state of doubt, which grew more
and more painful, instead of seeking repose in the
society of his true friend, he plunged again into the
storm by returning to Corilla, who increased his apprehensions by showing him more clearly than at first
the disadvantageous side of his position.




CONSUEL O.


I67


" ' A prophet is not without honor save in his own
country,'" she said to him, " and in any case you would
not be well off in your native city, where you have
been seen running ragged about the streets, and where
any one can say (an(l Heaven knows how the nobles
love to boast of their benefactions to artists, even
though they are imaginary!), ' I was his protector; I
first discovered his talent; I recommended him to this
one, or preferred him to that one.' You have lived
too much in the light, my poor Anzoleto. Your
charming face struck every one who saw it before they
knew you had a future. How can you expect to
dazzle people who have seen you rowing their gondolas and singing Tasso's verses the while to gain a
few pence, or running their errands to earn your
supper? Consuelo, who is ugly and has led a retired
life, is a foreign marvel to them. Besides, she is a
Spaniard, and her accent is not Venetian. Her beautiful, though somewhat strange, pronunciation would
please them, even if she were detestable, for it is
something with which their ears are not surfeited.
Your beauty gained three-fourths of your little success
in the first act, and by the last they were already
accustomed to it."
"And you might add that the fine scratch you gave
me, and for which I ought never to forgive you, did
not a little to deprive me of this last, though trifling,
advantage."
"Trifling in the eyes of men, but important in
those of women. With the help of the latter, you




I68


CONS UEL 0.


may triumph in drawing-rooms, but without the
former, you will fail on the stage. And how can you
expect to win them when your rival is a woman, who
not only conquers the serious dilettanti, but who intoxicates by her grace and the prestige of her sex all
the men who are not judges of music?  Ah, what
talent and knowledge have been necessary to Stefanini,
to Saverio, and to all those who have appeared upon
the stage with me! "
" In that case, dear Corilla, I should run as great a
risk in appearing with you as with Consuelo. If I
should take a fancy to go to France with you, that
would be a wholesome warning:"
This remark was a revelation to Corilla. She saw
that her random shot had struck home, since the idea
of leaving Venice was already taking shape in Anzoleto's mind. As soon as she conceived a hope of carrying him with her, she spared no pains to make the
project attractive to him. She depreciated herself as
much as she could, and set herself below her rival
with boundless modesty. She was even willing to say
that she was neither beautiful enough nor sufficiently
a great singer to arouse the passion of the public.
And since she spoke more truly in this than she
thought, as Anzoletc knew quite well, and since he
had never deceived himself about the immense superiority of Consuelo, she had little trouble in persuading him. Consequently, their partnership and their
departure were pretty well decided upon at this interview. Anzoleto thought of it seriously, although he




CONTS UE L O.


I69


carefully kept open a way of escape from the arrangement, if need should be.
Corilla, seeing that he still preserved a trace of
uncertainty, urged him strenuously to continue his
debut, flattering him with the hope of a greater success at the other performances, but quite sure in her
heart that the disastrous result of these trials would
disgust him with Venice and with Consuelo.
When he left Corilla, he went to visit his friend.
An irresistible need of seeing her impelled him. It
was the first time for years that he had ended and
begun a day without her chaste kiss upon his brow.
But as he would have blushed for his fickleness, after
what had happened with Corilla, he strove to persuade himself that he was going to seek proof of her
faithlessness. "Without any doubt," he said to himself, "the count will have taken advantage of the
opportunity and the irritation caused by my absence."
But the mere idea called great drops to his brow. If
it was true, the certainty of Consuelo's remorse and
regret would break his heart, and he hastened his
steps, expecting to find her bathed in tears. Yet an
inward voice, stronger than all else, told him that so
swift and shameful a fall was impossible for so pure
and noble a being, and he stayed his pace as he
thought of himself, of the hatefulness of his conduct,
of the selfishness of his ambition, and of the falsehood
and remorse with which he was loading his life and
his conscience.
He found Consuelo in her black gown, seated




170


CONSUEL 0.


before her table, as serene and pure in her attitude
and look as she had always been. She ran to him
with her usual expansiveness and questioned him
anxiously, but without reproach and without distrust,
concerning his absence.
" I have not been well," he replied, with profound
dejection, caused by his inward humiliation. "When
I struck my head against the scene last night, the
blow, which I told you was nothing, brought on so
severe a headache that I had to leave the Zustiniani
palace, and I have been in bed all morning with it."
"0 heavens!" cried Consuelo, kissing the wound
made by her rival, " you have been suffering, and are
still in pain? "
" No; my rest has done me good. Never mind
about it, and tell me how you managed to get home
all alone last night? "
"Alone? Oh, no! The count brought me back in
his gondola."
" Ah! I was sure of it," said Anzoleto, in a strange
voice. " And he said all sorts of pretty things to you
in this tete-a-tete? "
" What more could he say than he has already said
in public a hundred times? He spoils me, and would
make me vain, if I were not on my guard against that.
Besides, it was not a tete-a-tete; my good master
wished to accompany me, too.   Ah, what a true
friend he is! "
" What master? what true friend?" asked Anzoleto, reassured and already preoccupied.




CONS UEL 0O.


171


"Porpora, of course!   What are you thinking
about?"
" I was thinking about your triumph last night, dear
Consuelo. Have not you thought of it? "
"I ess than of yours, I assure you."
"Mine? Ah, do not mock me, dear friend! Mine
was so pale that it was very like a failure."
Consuelo changed color with surprise. In spite of
her remarkable self-control, she had not been cool
enough to perceive the difference between the applause which had greeted her and that which her lover
had received. There is an excitement in ovations of
this sort from which the most self-possessed artists
cannot escape, and which sometimes causes them to
mistake the support of a cabal for the clamor of success. But, instead of over-estimating the admiration
of her public, Consuelo, frightened by so terrible a
noise, could hardly understand it, and had not perceived that she was preferred to Anzoleto.   She
scolded him naively for his dissatisfaction with his success, and seeing that she could neither persuade him
nor drive away his sadness, she reproached him gently for his excessive thirst for glory, and for valuing
too highly the approval of the public.
" I have always told you," she said," that you cared
more for the results of art than for art itself. When
one has done one's best, when one feels that one has
done well, it seems to me that a little applause, more
or less, can neither add to nor take from one's inward
satisfaction.  Do you remember what Porpora told




17 2


CONS UEL 0.


me the first time that I sang at the Zustiniani palace?
'XVhoever is filled with a true love for his art can
never fear anything.'"
" You and your Porpora," replied Anzoleto irritably,
"are all very well, with your fine maxims. Nothing is
so easy as to philosophize on the ills of life when one
knows only its bright side. Porpora, although he is
poor, and his merits are disputed, has still a great
reputation. He has gathered so many laurels that
his old head may grow white in their shade. You,
who know that you are invincible, can feel no fear.
You leap to the top of the ladder at the first bound,
and you reproach those who are not so strong as
you for being gi(ldy. It is not very charitable, Consuelo, and it is supremely unjust. And then, your
argument does not apply to me. You say that we
ought to despise the approval of the public as long
as we have our own. But suppose I have not this
inward consciousness of having done well? Do you.
not see that I am horribly dissatisfied with myself?
Did you not see that I was detestable? Did you not
hear that I sang pitifully? "
" No, that is not true. You were neither better nor
worse than usual. The nervousness which you felt
hardly interfered  with your powers.  Besides, it
quickly left you, and what you knew well, you did
well."
"And what did I not know well?" said Anzoleto,
fixing on her his great eyes, hollow from fatigue and
chagrin.




CONSUEL O.


I173


She sighed and was silent for a moment, 'and then
said, kissing him,"What you do not know, you must learn. If you
had been willing to study seriously during the rehearsals -did I not tell you? But this is not the
time for reproaches, but, on the contrary, the time to
repair everything. Come, let us take only two hours
a day, and you will see how quickly you overcome
what now hinders you."
"Can I do it in a day?"
"You can do it in a few months, at the outside."
" And yet I sing to-morrow! I have to go on with
my appearances before a public which will judge me
by my faults far more than by my merits."
"But it will quickly perceive your improvement."
"Who knows?     Suppose it takes a dislike to
me? "
"It has shown you the contrary."
"Ah! you think it was indulgent to me?"
"Well, yes, it was, my friend. Where you were
weak, it was kindly; where you were strong, it gave
you credit."
"But, meanwhile, they will give me a wretched
engagement."
"The count is generous in everything, and never
spares money. Besides, do they not offer me more
than we both need to live handsomely? "
"That is it! I am to live on your success!"
"Have I not lived long enough on your favor?"




174


CONSUEL O.


" It is not a question of money. I care little how
small my salary is. But he will engage me for the
second or third roles."
"He has no other first tenor available. He has
long counted on you and thought only of you. Besides, he is wholly disposed in your favor. You said
that he would be opposed to our marriage. Far from
that, he seems to desire it, and often asks me when I
shall invite him to our wedding."
"Ah, indeed! That is good. A thousand thanks,
my lord count! "
"What do you mean? "
"Nothing; only, Consuelo, you were very wrong
not to prevent my appearing until I had, by careful
study, corrected my faults, which you know so well.
For you do know my faults, I repeat."
" Have I been lacking in frankness? Have I not
often warned you? But you have always insisted that
the public knew nothing; and when I heard what a
success you won the night you first sang in the count's
drawing-room, I thought "
" That the world of society knew no more than the
common public? "
" I thought that your good qualities made more
impression than your faults; and it has proved as true
of the one as of the other, it seems to me."
" It is true," thought Anzoleto, " she speaks truth;
and if I could postpone my appearance -but I should
run the risk of having another tenor called in my
place, who might not yield to me later. Come," said




CONS UEL 0.


175


he, after walking across the room several times, "what
are my faults? "
"Those that I have often told you of, - too mVich
boldness and not enough of preparation, an energy
which is rather feverish than real, dramatic effects
which are the result rather of your will than of
your heart. You are not filled with the spirit of your
part as a whole. You learn it in fragments, and see
in it only a succession of more or less brilliant numbers. You do not grasp either the gradation, the development or the result.  In haste to show your
beautiful voice and the skill which you have in certain respects, you revealed all that was in you almost
as soon as you came on the stage. You strove for an
effect at the least chance, and all your effects were
alike. At the end of the first act, they knew you by
heart; but they did not know that it was all, and they
expected something prodigious at the end. That
something was not in you. Your emotion was exhausted and your voice no longer fresh. You felt it,
and you forced both voice and emotion. The public
felt it, and remained unmoved, to your great surprise,
when you thought yourself most pathetic. The trouble
was that they saw, not an artist inspired by passion,
but an actor determined on success."
"And how is it with others?" cried Anzoleto,
stamping his foot. " Have I not heard them, - all
those that have been applauded in Venice these ten
years?  Did not old Stefanini shout when his voice
gave out? And did not they applaud him furiously? "




i76


CONSUEL 0.


" It is true, and I always wondered how the public
could be so mistaken. No doubt they remembered
the timne when he had more power, and did not like
to make him feel the misfortune of old age."
" And Corilla, too, that idol you have overthrown,
did not she force situations? Did she not make
efforts which it was painful to see and to hear? Was
she really impassioned when they applauded her to
the skies?"
" It is because I thought her methods artificial, her
effects detestable, and her singing and her acting both
devoid of taste and breadth, that I appeared on the
stage so calmly, persuaded, as you were, that the
public did not know much about it."
"Ah," said Anzoleto, with a deep sigh, "you lay
your finger on my wound, poor Consuelo! "
" How so, my well-beloved? "
"How so, do you ask?   We were both mistaken,
Consuelo. The public does know. Its heart teaches
it what its ignorance would conceal. It is a great
child which must have amusement and emotion. It
is satisfied with what is offered it; but if something
better is given, it compares and understands. Corilla
could still charm it last week, although she sang false
and was short of breath. But you appear, and Corilla
is ruined; she is crushed and buried. If she were to
appear again, she would be hissed. If I had made
my debut beside her, I should have had as complete
a success as I had at the count's the first time I sang
after her. But beside you, I was eclipsed. It had




CONS UEL 0.


I77


to be thus, and it always will be thus. The public
liked tinsel. It mistook paste for jewels, and was
dazzled. It is shown a fine gem, and at once it cannot understand how it could have been so grossly deceived. It can no longer bear imitation jewels, and
it sees through them. That is my misfortune, Consuelo 3 it is to have been brought forward, a bit of
Venetian glass, beside a pearl from the depths of the
sea."
Consuelo did not understand all the bitterness and
truth there was in these reflections. She set them
down to the love of her betrothed, and did not reply
to what she took for flattery save by smiles and
caresses. She pretended that he would surpass her
whenever he would take the trouble, and revived his
courage by persuading him that nothing was easier
than to sing as she did. She was quite sincere in
this, for she had never been hindered by any obstacle, and she did not know that labor itself is the very
first obstacle for those who do not love it and are
not persevering.




I78


CONSUEL O.


CHAPTER XIX.
ENCOURAGED by the frankness of Consuelo and the
perfidy of Corilla, who urged him to appear again,
Anzoleto began to work earnestly, and at the second
representation of " Ipermnestra " he sang his first act
much more purely. The public was grateful for it.
But as Consuelo's success increased in equal proportion, he was not satisfied with his own, and began to be
demoralized by this new proof of his inferiority. From
that moment, everything put on a sinister appearance.
It seemed to him that the audience did not listen to
him, that the spectators seated near him were whispering scornful criticisms, and that the kindly amateurs
who encouraged him behind the scenes were pitying him
profoundly. All their praises had for him two meanings,
the worst of which he took to himself. Corilla, whom
he went to consult in her box between the acts, pretended to be frightened, and asked him if he was not ill.
"Why? " he said impatiently.
"Because your voice is muffled to-day, and you
seemed tired. Take courage, dear Anzoleto! give
full scope to your powers, which are paralyzed by
fear or discouragement."
" Did I not sing my first air well? "
"Not nearly so well as the first time. I was so
disturbed by it that I was almost ill."




CONSUELO.


I79


"But still they applauded me."
"Alas! - but never mind; I am wrong to destroy
your illusions. Go on. Only, try to give your voice
more brilliancy."
"Consuelo," he thought, "intended to give me
good advice. She acts from instinct, and is successfill. But where could she have gained enough experience to teach me how to master this unfavorable
public? By following her directions, I lose my advantages, and they do not give me credit for the improvement in my method. Come, let us go back to our
former boldness! Did I not prove at my debut at
the count's that I could dazzle those whom I could
not persuade? Did not old Porpora tell me that I
had the faults of genius? Let the public pass over
the faults and bow to the genius!"
He strained his lungs, performed prodigies in the
second act, and was listened to with surprise. A few
clapped their hands, but others silenced the applause.
The mass of the public asked itself whether this was
sublime or detestable.
With a little more boldness, Anzoleto might, perhaps, have won the day. But this check disturbed
him so much that he lost his head, and failed shamefully in all the rest of his part.
At the third performance, he had recovered his
courage, and, resolving to follow his own ideas without listening to Consuelo's advice, he ventured on
the strangest caprices and the most impertinent innovations. 0 horror! two or three hisses broke




ISO


oCOVS UEL 0.


the silence with which these desperate efforts were
received. The good and generous public silenced the
hisses and began to applaud, but there was no mistaking this good-will towards the person and blame
of the artist. Anzoleto tore his costume when he
returned to his dressing-room, and as soon as the
piece was finished he went and shut himself up with
Corilla, filled with bittcr rage, and determined to fly
with her to the end of the earth.
Three days went by without his seeing Consuelo.
It was not hatred that he felt for her, nor coldness
(at the bottom of his remorse-laden heart he still
loved her, and suffered mortally at not seeing her),
but a real terror. He felt the domination of this
being who crushed the public with her grandeur, and
who in secret took possession of his confidence and
his will as she chose. In his agitation, he had not
the strength to conceal from Corilla how much he
was attached to his noble betrothed, and how much
control she still had over his convictions. This filled
Corilla with bitter rage, which she concealed. She
condoled with him, and drew the whole truth from
him; and when she knew the secret of his jealousy,
she struck a master-stroke by secretly informing
Zustiniani of her own intimacy with Anzoleto, being
sure that the count would not lose so fine an occasion
of enlightening the object of his desires, and thus
making Anzoleto's return to her impossible.
Surprised at seeing a whole day go by in the solitude of her garret, Consuelo became anxious; and




CONSUEL0.


181


after two days of vain waiting and mortal anguish, as
night fell she wrapped herself up in a thick mantle
(for the famous cantatrice was no longer protected by
her obscurity against slanderous tongues) and hurried
to the house where Anzoleto had lived for some
weeks, in lodgings more suitable than the old ones,
and which the count had given him in one of the
numerous houses which he owned in the city. She
did not find him at home, and learned that he
rarely spent the night there.
This circumstance did not enlighten her. She
knew his habits of poetic wandering, and thought
that, unable to become accustomed to this splendid
dwelling, he had returned to one of his old haunts.
She was about to venture in search of him, when, as
she turned about to go out, she found herself face to
face with Porpora.
" Consuelo," he said, in a low voice, " it is useless
to hide your face from me. I have heard your voice.
What are you doing here at this hour, my poor child,
and whom are you seeking in this house? "
"I am seeking my betrothed," replied Consuelo,
taking her old master's arm, "and I do not know
why I should blush to own it to my best friend. I
know that you do not approve of my love for him,
but I could not lie to you. I am uneasy. I have
not seen Anzoleto since the day before yesterday, at
the theatre. I am afraid he is ill."
" Ill? He! " said the professor, shrugging his
shoulders. "Come with me, poor girl, I must speak




IS23


COVS UEL O.


to you. And since you have made up your mind to
open your heart to me, I must open mine to you, also.
Take my arm; we can talk as we go. Listen, Consuelo, and understand well what I am going to say.
You can not, you must not, be the wife of this young
man. I forbid it in the name of the living God, who
has given me a father's heart for you."
"Oh, my master!" she replied, sorrowfully, "ask
me the sacrifice of my life, but not that of my love."
"I do not ask it, I demand it," replied Porpora,
firmly. "This lover is accursed. He will be a torment and a shame to you if you do not give him up
at once."
"Dear master," she said, with a sad and gentle
smile, "you have often told me that, but I have tried
in vain to obey you. You hate this poor child. You
do not know him, and I am sure that you will change
your mind about him."
"Consuelo," said the maestro, more forcibly, "I
have made vain objections and useless warnings, I
know. I spoke to you as an artist to an artist, and
I saw only an artist in your betrothed. To-day I
speak as a man of a man, and I speak to you as a
woman. This woman has given her love badly, that
man is unworthy of it, and he who tells you so is
certain."
"O God! Anzoleto unworthy of my love?   He,
my only love, my protector, my brother? Ah, you
do not know how he has helped me, and how he has
respected me all my life! I must tell you! "




CONSUEL O.


I83


Then Consuelo told the tale of her life and of her
love, which were but one. Porpora was moved, but
not shaken.
"In all this," he said, " I see nothing but your innocence, your fidelity, your virtue. As for himn, I see
the need that he has had of your society and your
teaching, to which, whatever you may think, I know
that he owes what little he has learned, what little he
is worth. But none the less is it true that this lover,
so chaste and so pure, is the sport of all the lost
women of Venice!"
"Take care what you say " replied Consuelo in a
stifled voice; " I am accustomed to believe in you as
in God, my master! But in what concerns Anzoleto,
I am determined to close my ears and my heart
against you. Ah, let me leave you! " she said, trying
to remove her arm from his; " you are killing me! "
" I wish to kill your fatal passion, and by the truth
to restore you to life," he said, pressing her arm against
his generous and indignant breast. " I know that I
am rough, Consuelo. I know not how to be otherwise; and it is because of that that I have put off as
long as I could the blow I have to give you. I hoped
that you would open your eyes, that you would understand what is going on about you; but instead of
learning by experience, you are plunging blindly into
the abyss. I cannot let you fall! You are the only
creature that I have esteemed for ten years. You
shall not perish - no, you shall not!"
"But, my friend, I am not in danger. Do you




IS4


CONS UEL 0.


think that I am lying when I swear to you by all that
is holy, that I have kept the oath I took at my
mother's death-bed? Anzoleto has kept it, too. I
am not his wife yet, but I am not his mistress."
" But if he says a word, you will be the one or the
other."
"My mother herself made us promise it."
"And yet you were coming this evening to find this
man who will not and can not be your husband? "
"Who told you so?"
"Would Corilla ever permit him ""Corilla? What has he to do with Corilla? "
"We are only a step from her house -you are
looking for your betrothed - let us go find him there!
Do you feel brave enough? "
"No, no! a thousand times, no!" replied Consuelo, staggering and leaning against the wall.
"Leave me my life, my master! Do not kill me
before I have lived! I tell you that you are killing me."
"You must drink of this cup," said the inexorable
old man. " I fill here the role of fate. Having only
made people ungrateful and consequently unhappy
by my tenderness and kindness, I must tell the truth
to those I love. It is the only good that can be done
by a heart dried up by misfortune and hardened by
suffering. I pity you, my poor girl, for not having a
more tender and humane friend to support you in this
dreadful crisis. But as I am, must I deal with others,
and reveal by a flash of lightning, since I cannot vivify




CONSUELO.


iS5


by sunlight. Therefore, Consuelo, let there be no
weakness between us. Come to this palace. I wish
you to suprise your betrothed in Corilla's arms. If
you cannot walk, I will drag you. If you fall, I will
carry you. Ah! old Porpora is still strong when the
fire of divine anger burns in his veins 1 "
" Mercy, mercy! " cried Consuelo, more pale than
death. " Let me still doubt! Give me one day, -
one day more to believe in him! I am not ready for
this torture " -
"No, not a day, not an hour! " he replied in an
inflexible tone; " for I shall never find again this
hour to lay the truth before your eyes; and the infamous wretch would employ the day for which you ask
to place you again beneath the yoke of his falsehood.
You shall come with me - I command it! "
"Yes, I will go with you! " said Consuelo, recovering her strength by a violent revulsion of love. " I
will go with you to prove your injustice and the truth
of my betrothed; for you are outrageously mistaken,
and you wish me to be mistaken with you! Go on,
then, butcher that you are! I follow you, and fear
nothing!"
Porpora took her at her word, and, seizing her arm
in his iron grasp, drew her into the house in which he
lived.  After leading her through passages and up
stairways, he brought her out on an upper terrace,
from which Corilla's palace could be seen. It was
dark from top to bottom, except for a single window,
which seemed to be invisible from all points. A bal



I86               CONSUELO.
cony shut it out from beneath, there was nothing on
a level, and above it, only the roof of Porpora's house,
which faced so that it did not appear that any one
could look from it into the cantatrice's palace. But
Corilla did not know that there was a recess in the
angle of this roof, a sort of niche in mid-air, where
the maestro came nightly, from an artistic caprice, to
escape from his fellow-men, to gaze at the stars, and
to ponder over sacred and dramatic themes. Chance
had thus made him discover the mystery of Anzoleto's
love affair, and Consuelo had only to look in the
direction in which he pointed to see her betrothed in
the arms of her rival. She turned away quickly, and
Porpora, who, fearing the dizziness of despair, had
held her with superhuman strength, led her below,
and brought her into his study, whose door and window he closed, that he might bury in mystery the
explosion which he foresaw.




COVNSUEL 0.


I87


CHAPTER XX.
Bur there was no explosion. Consuelo remained
silent and crushed. Porpora spoke to her. She did
not reply, but motioned to him not to question her.
Then she rose, went to the clavichord and drained a
pitcher of iced water which stood upon it, and then
sat down before the master without a word.
The stern old man could not comprehend the
depth of her suffering.
"Well," he said, "did I deceive you? What do
you intend to do now? "
A painful shudder shook the statue, and after passing her hand over her brow, she said, " I do not intend
to do anything until I can understand what has happened to me."
"And what is there left to understand? "
" Everything! For I can understand nothing, and
I am trying in vain to find a cause for my misfortune.
What have I done to Anzoleto that he no longer loves
me? What fault have I committed to render me
contemptible in his eyes? You cannot tell me, for I,
who can read my own conscience, see nothing there
which gives me the key to this mystery. Oh, it is an
inconceivable marvel! My mother believed in the
power of philters; is Corilla a witch? "
" Poor child! " said the maestro, " there is, indeed,




188


CONS UEL 0.


a magician here, but it is called Vanity, and a poison,
but it is called Envy. Corilla could pour it out, but
it was not she who made his heart so ready to receive
it. There was poison already in Anzoleto's veins.
One dose more has made a traitor of him, from the
deceiver that he always was; he has always been ungrateful; it made him unfaithful."
"What vanity? what envy?"
"Vanity to surpass all others, envy at being surpassed by you."
" Is it possible? Can a man be jealous of a woman's
advantages? Can a lover hate the success of her he
loves? There seem to be many things which I do
not know and cannot understand."
"You never will; but you will see them every hour
of your life. You will know that a man can be jealous
of the advantages of a woman when that man is a
vain artist, and that a lover can hate the success of
her he loves when the world they live in is the stage.
For an actor is not a man, Consuelo, he is a woman.
He only lives upon a sickly vanity; he works only to
get drunk upon vanity. A woman's beauty injures
him. A woman's talent eclipses or rivals his own. A
woman is his rival, or rather he is the rival of a
woman. He has all the meannesses, all the caprices,
all the exaction, all the absurdities, of a coquette.
That is the character of most actors. There are
great exceptions, but they are so rare, so praiseworthy,
that one should bow before them and honor them
more than the greatest philosophers. Anzoleto is not




CONS UL 0.


189


an exception; he is simply the vainest of the vain.
There lies all the secret of his conduct."
"But what an incomprehensible revenge! How.
poor and insufficient! In what way can Corilla compensate him for his failure with the public? If he
had told me frankly of his suffering (ah, it needed
only a word for that ) I should have understood him,
perhaps; at any rate, I should have felt sorry for
him, and I should have given way to make room
for him."
"It is the nature of envious souls to hate people in
proportion to the happiness of which they rob them.
And it is the nature of love, alas! to hate the pleasures which it does not procure for the person loved.
While your lover hates the public which covers you
with glory, do you not hate the rival who now makes
him happy?"
"No, I do not; and you prove to me that it would
be unworthy and shameful to do so."
"Well, it is not revenge and hatred with which I
wished to fill your breast, but calmness and indifference. The character of this man dictates the actions
of his life. You can never change him. Make up
your mind to it, and think of yourself."
"Of myself? That is, of myself alone? Alone,
without hope and without a lover? "
"Think of music, the divine art, Consuelo. Dare
you say that you love it only for Anzoleto's sake? "
"I have loved the art for its own sake, too, but I
have never separated in my mind those two indivisible




I go


CONSUEL 0.


things - my life and Anzoleto's. And I do not see
what part of me will be left to love anything, when
the necessary half of my life has been taken away."
" Anzoleto was only an idea for you, and that idea
gave you life. You will replace him by another idea,
grander, purer, more vivifying. Your soul, your genius, your whole being, will no longer be at the mercy
of a fragile, deceitful form. You will see the sublime
ideal, freed from this earthly veil. You will wing your
flight into heaven, and live in sacred wedlock with
God himself."
" You wish me to become a nun, as you advised me
formerly? "
" No; that would be to limit the exercise of your
artistic faculties to a single school, and you should
embrace them all. Whatever you do or wherever you
are, on the stage as in the cloister, you can be a saint,
a heavenly virgin, the betrothed of a sacred ideal."
" What you say presents a sublime thought, enveloped in mysterious figures. Let me go home, my
master. I need to collect and to study myself."
"That is it, Consuelo; you need to know yourself.
Thus far you have under-estimated yourself, and given
your heart and your future to one who is your inferior
in every respect. You have mistaken your destiny,
because you have not seen that you were born without an equal, and consequently without any possible
companion in this world. You need absolute solitude
and liberty. I would have for you neither husband
nor family, nor passions nor ties of any sort. It is




CONSUEL 0.


I9I


thus that I have always thought of your life and understood your future. The day that you give yourself
to a mortal, you will lose your divinity. Ah, if only
Mingotti or Molteni, my illustrious pupils, my mighty
creations, had been willing to listen to me, they would
have lived without rivals! But woman is weak and
inquisitive; vanity blinds her, vain desires agitate her,
a fancy carries her away. They satisfied their curiosity -but what did they receive in return? Storms,
weariness, the loss or the deterioration of their genius!
Would you not be more than they, Consuelo?  Will
you not have an ambition superior to all the false
needs of this life? Will you not drive out the vain
longings of your heart, that you may grasp the noblest
crown that genius has ever had for an aureole? "
Porpora went on speaking for a long while, but with
an energy and an eloquence which I could never reproduce. Consuelo listened with her head bent and her
eyes fixed on the ground. When he had finished, she
replied, " Master, your ideas are exalted, but I am not
great enough to understand you. It seems to One that
you outrage human nature by proscribing its noblest
passions. It seems to me that you would stifle the
instincts which God himself has given us, to deify a
monstrous and cruel selfishness. Perhaps I should
comprehend you better if I were a better Christian.
I will try to become one; that is all I can promise
you.11
She rose, calm in appearance, but inwardly a prey
to frightful agitation. The great and austere artist




192               CONSUELO.
accompanied her home, urging his views upon her,
without being able to convince her. Nevertheless, he
did her good by opening before her mind a vast field
of deep and serious meditations, amid which Anzoleto's crime appeared but as a single fact, serving as a
sad but solemn introduction to endless reveries. She
passed hours in praying, weeping and reflecting, and
then went to sleep, full of the consciousness of her
own virtue and of trust in a merciful and protecting
God.
The next day Porpora came to tell her that there
would be a rehearsal of " Ipermnestra " for Stefanini,
who was to take the tenor's part. Anzoleto was ill
in bed, and complained that he had lost his voice.
Consuelo's first thought was to hurry to him to take
care of him.
"You may save yourself the trouble," said Porpora; "he is perfectly well, as the theatre's physician
knows, and he will, no doubt, go to see Corilla this
evening. But Count Zustiniani, who understood very
well what it all meant, and who consents to the postponement of his appearance without much regret, forbade the doctor to unmask the deception, and has
begged Stefanini to return to the stage for a few days."
" But, good heavens! what does Anzoleto intend to
do?  Is he so discouraged that he intends to leave
the stage?"
"Yes, the stage of San-Samuel. He is going to
France with Corilla within a month. Does that ~urprise you?  He is fleeing from under the shadow




CONS UEIL 0.


193


which you cast upon him. He is placing his fate in
the hands of a less dangerous woman, whom he will
betray in her turn when he no longer needs her."
Consuelo turned pale and placed her hand over her
breaking heart. Perhaps she had hoped to bring
Anzoleto back by reproaching him gently with his
fault, and by offering to postpone her own appearance.
This news was the cruelest blow of all to her, and
she could not realize that she would never again see
him whom she had so dearly loved.
"Ah, it is all a bad dream," she exclaimed; "I
must go and find him, and have him explain it to
me. He must not go away with this woman; it would
be his ruin. I cannot let him do it. I will make
him perceive his real interest, if it is true that he no
longer cares for anything else. Come with me, dear
master, let us not give him up thus!"
"I will give you up, and forever," cried the indignant Porpora, "if you are guilty of so cowardly an
act! You, to implore this wretch, and to strive for
him with such a creature as Corilla. Ah! St. Cecilia,
beware of your Bohemian blood, and try to get the
better of your blind and vagabond instincts! Come,
follow me! They are waiting for you to rehearse.
You will, in spite of yourself, have a certain pleasure
this evening in singing with a master like Stefanini.
You will meet a learned, modest and generous artist."
He dragged her to the theatre, and then, for the
first time, she felt the horror of an artist's life,
bound to the will of the public, compelled to stifle




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CONS UEL 0.


her feelings and to trample her emotions under foot,
that she might give expression to the feelings and
emotions of another. The rehearsal, then her toilet,
and finally the performance, were an atrocious torture
to her. Two days later she had to appear in a comic
opera by Galuppi, " Arcifanfano, re de' matti."  The
work had been chosen to please Stefanini, who was
very droll in it. Consuelo was compelled to struggle
to make those laugh whom she had but lately made
weep. She was brilliant, charming, amusing in the
highest degree, with death in her soul. Two or three
times sobs rose from her heart to her throat, and
passed off in forced gayety which would have been
frightful to any one who could have understood it.
When she returned to her dressing-room she fell in
convulsions. The public wished to see her again to
applaud her, and when she delayed, made a frightful
noise; they threatened to break the benches and
scale the stage. Stefanini went and fetched her,
half-dressed, with her hair in disorder, and pale as
a ghost. She allowed herself to be dragged upon
the stage, and, overwhelmed with an avalanche of
flowers, she was obliged to stoop down and pick up
a crown of laurels.
" Ah, the wild beasts! she murmured, as she went
behind the scene.
" My child," said the old singer, "you are suffering greatly; but these little things," he added, handing a bunch of flowers which he had picked up for
her, "are a powerful specific for all our ills. You




CONS UEL 0.


I95


will become accustomed to it, and the time will come
when you will never remember your ailments or your
fatigue unless they forget to crown you."
"Oh, how vain and small they are!" thought
poor Consuelo.
When she returned to her dressing-room, she
fainted literally on a bed of flowers, which they had
gathered on the stage and thrown pell-mell on the
sofa. The dresser hurried out to call a physician.
Count Zustiniani remained alone for a few moments
with the beautiful singer, who lay pale and crushed as
the jasmines which bestrewed her couch. In this
moment of anxiety and excitement, Zustiniani lost his
head, and yielded to a mad impulse to recall her to
herself by caresses. But his first kiss was hateful to
the pure lips of Consuelo. She recovered sufficiently
to repel it as if it had been the bite of a serpent.
"Ah, far from me," she said, writhing in a sort of
delirium -" far from me love and caresses and soft
words! No love, no husband, no lover, no family!
My master has said it! Liberty, the ideal; solitude,
glory!"
She burst into such heart-rending sobs that the
count was frightened and threw himself on his knees
beside her to try to calm her. But he could say
nothing helpful to this wounded soul, and his passion,
which had reached its highest paroxysm, found expression in spite of him. He understood only too
well the despair of betrayed love. He gave voice to
the enthusiasm of a lover who hopes. Consuelo




i96


CONS UEL 0.


seemed to listen to him, and mechanically withdrew
her hand from his with a vague smile which he took
for a faint encouragement. Some men, who are full
of tact and penetration in society, are ridiculous in
such situations. The physician arrived, and administered a sedative. Then Consuelo was wrapped in
her cloak and carried to her gondola. The count
went with her, supporting her in his arms, and still
speaking of his love, and that with a certain eloquence
which he thought must carry conviction.- After a
quarter of an hour, getting no reply, he begged for
a word, a look.
"To what must I reply?" asked Consuelo, as if
awakening from a dream.
Zustiniani was discouraged at first, but he thought
that he would never find a better opportunity, and
that this wounded heart would be more accessible
then than after reflection and reason had returned to
her. So he spoke on, and found the same silence,
the same preoccupation, only with a sort of instinctive effort to repel his caresses.  When the gondola
landed, he tried to detain Consuelo for a moment,
to obtain a word of encouragement.
"Ah, lord count," said she, with gentle coldness,
"pardon my weakness. I have not heard all, but I
understand. Oh, yes, I understand perfectly! I ask
only the night to reflect, to recover from my emotion.
To-morrow, - yes, to-morrow, I will answer you
frankly." '
"To-morrow, dear Consuelo?  It is an age; but




CONSUEL 0.


I97


I submit if you allow me to hope that at least my
friendship "" Oh, yes, yes! you may hope!" said Consuelo, in
a strange tone, as she stepped ashore; " but do not
follow me," she said, with an imperious gesture, " if
you do, you can hope no more!"
Shame and indignation had given her back her
strength; but it was a nervous, feverish strength,
which vanished in a frightful, sardonic laugh as she
went up the stairs.
"You are very happy, Consuelo," said, out of the
darkness, a voice which almost stunned her. "Let
me congratulate you on your gayety!"
"Ah, yes," she said, as she seized Anzoleto's arm
violently, and hurried on to her room with him, " I
thank you, Anzoleto; you are right to congratulate
me, for I am truly happy; oh, altogether happy! "
Anzoleto had already lighted the lamp. When the
bluish light fell upon their distorted features, they
were frightened at one another.
"We are very happy, are we not, Anzoleto?" she
asked, bitterly, while her face was contorted by a
smile which ended in a flood of tears. "What do
you think of our happiness?"
" I think, Consuelo," he replied, with a hard smile
and dry eyes, "that we have had some trouble in
making up our minds to it, but that we shall become accustomed to it in the end."
" You seemed to me quite accustomed to Corilla's
boudoir."




I98


CONSUE LO


"And it appears to me that you are quite at home
in the count's gondola."
"The count? Then you knew that the count
wished to make me his mistress?"
" It was that I might not interfere with you that I
discreetly kept in the background."
" Ah, you knew it? And you chose that very time
to abandon me?"
"Did I not do wisely, and are you not satisfied
with your lot? The count is magnificently generous,
and a poor, unsuccessful debutant could never cope
with him."
" Porpora was right; you are an infamous creature!
Out of my room! You do not deserve that I should
justify myself, and I should defile myself by a regret
for you! Out, I say! But first know that you can
return to San-Samuel with Corilla. Never again will
my mother's daughter set foot on those vile boards
which they call a stage! "
" Then the daughter of your mother the zingara is
to play fine lady in Zustiniani's villa on the shores
of the Brenta? It will be a noble life, and I rejoice
at it!"
" Oh, my mother! " said Consuelo, turning to the
bed and falling on her knees beside it, with her face
pressed to the coverlet which had been the zingara's
winding-sheet.
Anzoleto was terrified and shocked by this energetic movement and the terrible sobs which rose from
Consuelo's breast. Remorse was knocking loudly at




CONS UELO.


I99


his own, and he went to his friend, to take her in his
arms and raise her up. But she rose of herself, and
pushing him away with wild strength, she forced him
out of the door, crying, " Out of my room, out of my
heart, out of my memory, forever! Farewell, farewell! "
Anzoleto had come to seek her with an atrociously
selfish motive, yet it was the best thought that he
could have had. He had not felt brave enough to
leave her, and he had found a middle course, which
was to tell her that her honor was threatened by Zustiniani's designs, and thus remove her from the theatre. This resolution was a homage to the pride and
purity of Consuelo. He knew that she was incapable
of remaining in a compromising situation, or of accepting a protection for which she would have to
blush. In his guilty and corrupted heart there was
still an unshakable faith in her innocence, and he expected to find her as chaste, as faithful, and as devoted
as he had left her a few days before. But how reconcile this adoration of her with the settled design of
deceiving her, and remaining her friend, her betrothed,
without breaking with Corilla?  Her he wished to return to the stage with him, and he could not think of
leaving her at the moment his success would depend
wholly on her. Yet still this bold but cowardly plan
had taken shape in his brain, and he had treated
Consuelo as Italian women treat their Madonnas,
whose protection they implore in the hour of repentance, but whose faces they veil in the hour of guilt.




200


CONS UEL 0.


When he saw her at the theatre, so brilliant and
apparently so gay in her comic role, he began to fear
that he had lost too much time in carrying out his
plan. When he saw her return in the count's gondola, and come in with a convulsive laugh, not understanding the distress of this distracted heart, he
thought that he was too late, and his rage got the
better of him. But when he saw her repel his insults
and drive him away with contempt, he was seized with
mingled respect and dread, and he waited near for a
long while, hoping that she would call him back. He
even ventured to knock and implore her pardon through
the closed door. But a profound silence reigned in
this room, whose threshold he was never to cross again
in Consuelo's company. He went away, confused and
angry, determined to return on the morrow, and flattering himself that he would be better received. " After
all," he thought, " my plan must succeed. She knows
of the count's love, and the work is half done."
Overwhelmed with fatigue, he slept late, and in the
afternoon went to visit Corilla.
" Great news! " she said, holding out her arms to
him, " Consuelo is gone! "
"Gone? with whom, great heavens! where?"
"To Vienna, where Porpora has sent her to wait
for him. She has deceived us all, the little cheat!
She was engaged for the emperor's theatre, where
Porpora is to bring out his new opera."
" Gone! gone without a word to me! ' cried
Anzoleto, hurrying to the door.




CONSU EL 0.               201
" Oh, you need not look for her in Venice! " said
Corilla, with an evil laugh and a look of triumph,
" she embarked for Palestrina at daybreak, and is
already a long way on the mainland. Zustiniani,
who thought she loved him, and was deceived, is
furious. He is in bed with a fever. But he has just
sent me Porpora, to beg me to sing this evening, and
Stefanini, who is tired of the theatre and anxious to
go and enjoy his well-earned repose in his countryhouse, is eager to have you go on with your performances. So be ready to sing 'Ipermnestra' to-morrow
night. I am,going to rehearsal; they are waiting for
me. If you do not believe me, you can take a turn
in the city and convince yourself."
"t Ah, you fury! " cried Anzoleto, " you have won,
but you have destroyed my life! "
And he fell fainting to the floor.




202


CONS UEL O.


CHAPTER     XXI.
THE person most embarrassed by Consuelo's flight
was Count Zustiniani. After causing all Venice to
say and believe that the marvellous singer was his favorite, how was he to explain in a manner flattering to
his vanity the fact that at his first words of love she
had escaped swiftly and mysteriously from his hopes
and desires? It was thought by some that, jealous of
his treasure, he had hidden her in one of his countryhouses. But when Porpora told, with his well-known
truthfulness, how his pupil had determined to go and
wait for him in Germany, nothing was left but to seek
the motive of this strange resolution. To deceive the
public, Count Zustiniani pretended to be neither angry
nor surlrised; but his annoyance was evident in spite
of himself, and people ceased to credit him with a
good fortune for which he had been so much envied.
The greater part of the truth became clear to every
one; that is to say, Anzoleto's faithlessness, Corilla's
rivalry, and the despair of the poor Spaniard, whom
they began to pity and regret.
Anzoleto's first impulse was to rush to Porpora; but
the old man sternly repulsed him.
"Cease to question me," the indignant master had
replied; "heartless, faithless, ambitious as you are,
you never deserved the love of this noble girl, and




CONSUE LO.


203


you shall never learn from me where she has gone. I
will do my best to prevent your getting on her track,
and I hope that if you meet her some day by chance;
your image will be completely effaced from her heart
and her memory."
From Porpora's house, Anzoleto went to the Corte
Minelli. He found Consuelo's room already given up
to a new occupant, and littered with materials of his
trade. He was a glass-blower who had long lived in
the house, and who was gayly moving in his tools.
"Ah, ha! Is it you, my lad?" he said to the
young tenor. " You have come to see me in my new
shop? I shall be very comfortable here, and my
wife is delighted to have room to lodge all the children downstairs. What are you looking for?  Has
Consuelo forgotten anything?  Look, my lad, look!
I do not mind."
"Where is her furniture?" asked Anzoleto, deeply
moved, and cut to the heart at no longer finding a
trace of Consuelo in this place, consecrated by the
purest pleasures of his whole past life.
" Her furniture is down in the court. She gave it
to Mother Agatha, and she did well. The old woman
is poor, and it will give her a little money. Oh,
Consuelo always had a good heart! She did not
leave a penny of debts in the Corte, and she made
a little present to every one when she left. She took
nothing but her crucifix. But her departure was
strange, - to go in the middle of the night without
telling any one. Maestro Porpora came here this




204


CONSUEL 0.


morning to settle all her affairs; it was like carrying
out a will. It grieved all the neighbors; but, after
all, they were consoled by thinking that she had, no
doubt, gone to live in a handsome palace on the
Canaletto, now that she is rich and a fine lady. I
always said that she would make her fortune with her
voice. She worked so hard! And when is the wedding to be, Anzoleto? I hope that you will buy me
something to make little presents to the young girls
in the quarter."
" Yes, yes! " said Anzoleto, quite dazed.
He went down, and in the yard saw all the old
women of the neighborhood bidding on Consuelo's
table and bed, -the bed on which he had seen her
asleep, the table at which he had watched her work!
"0 God! nothing left of her already! " he cried,
wringing his hands. He felt like poniarding Corilla.
Three days later he reappeared at the theatre with
Corilla. Both were outrageously hissed, and they had
to lower the curtain without finishing the piece. Anzoleto was furious, and Corilla calm.
" This is what your protection is worth! " he cried,
threateningly, when they were alone together.
" You are disturbed for very little, my poor boy,"
replied the prima donna very unconcernedly; " it is
clear that you do not know the public, and that you
have never faced its ill-temper. I was so well prepared for this evening's failure that I did not take the
trouble to read over my part, and I did not 'tell you
what was going to happen only because I knew that




CONS UEL O.


205


you would not have the courage to go on the stage
with the certainty of being hissed. Now you may as
well know what is still awaiting us. The next time
we shall be even worse treated. Three, four, six, eight
performances, perhaps, will be like this; but during
these storms an opposition will arise in our favor. If
we were the vilest strollers in the world, the spirit
of contradiction and independence would still create
partisans for us. There are so many people who think
they give themselves importance by abusing artists,
that there are others who think they make themselves
important by protecting them. After a dozen trials,
during which the theatre will be a battlefield between
hisses and applause, the angry will get weary, the obstinate will sulk, and we shall enter on a new phase.
That portion of the public which has sustained us
without knowing exactly why will listen to us coldly
enough; it will be like a new debut for us, and then,
thank Heaven! it will be our business to warm up the
audience and remain masters of the field. I can predict a great success for you then, Anzoleto, for the
spell which has lately been over you will be broken.
You will breathe an atmosphere of praise and encouragement which must give you back your power. Remember the effect you produced at the Zustiniani
palace the first time you sang there. You did not
have time to follow up your victory; a more brilliant
star came to eclipse you. But this star has sunk
again beneath the horizon, and you must prepare to
mount the empyrean with me."




206


CONSULLO.


Everything happened as Corilla had predicted.
The public, it is true, made the lovers pay heavily for
the loss it had sustained in the person of Consuelo.
But their courage in facing the tempest wore out an
anger which was too noisy to be lasting. The count
encouraged Corilla's efforts. As for Anzoleto, after
trying in vain to attract a first tenor to Venice so late
in the season, when all the engagements were made in
the principal theatres of Europe, the count submitted
to the inevitable, and accepted the young tenor as his
champion in the struggle which began between the
public and the management of his theatre. The SanSamuel had had too brilliant a success to be seriously
injured by the loss of a single singer. Nothing of the
kind could overthrow the established habits of the
public. All the boxes were rented for the season.
The ladies entertained their friends and chatted there
as usual. The true dilettanti sulked for a while, but
their number was too small for them to be noticed.
Besides, they got tired of being ill-tempered, and one
fine evening Corilla, who had sung with passion, was
unanimously recalled. She appeared, leading Anzoleto, who had not been called at all, but who seemed
to yield to a gentle violence with a modest and timid
air. He received his share of the applause, and the
next day was himself recalled. Finally, before a
month was gone, Consuelo was clean forgotten, like a
flash of lightning which shoots athwart a summer sky.
Corilla was as enthusiastically applauded as of old, and
perhaps deserved it better, for emulation had given




CONSUEL 0.


207


her more spirit and earnestness, and love sometimes
inspired her with a truer feeling. As for Anzoleto,
although he had not lost his faults, he had succeeded
in displaying his unquestionable merits. The public
had become accustomed to the one and admired the
other. His charming person fascinated the women,
who fought for him in drawing-rooms, and this all the
more that Corilla's jealousy lent a spice to the coquetries of which he was the object. Clorinda had also
developed her attractions at the theatre; that is to
say, her heavy beauty and the sensual indifference of
a stupidity which was without equal, but not without
charm  for some of the spectators. Zustiniani had
covered her with diamonds, and was urging her for
the principal roles, hoping that she might succeed
Corilla, who had made a definite engagement with
Paris for the following season.
Corilla was indifferent to this rivalry, from which she
had nothing to fear, either in the present or in the
future; and she even took a malicious pleasure in
showing off the coldly impudent incapacity of Clorinda, which dared everything. Consequently, the two
women lived together amicably enough, and ruled the
management with a rod of iron. They thrust aside
all really good scores, and revenged themselves on
Porpora by refusing his operas and by patronizing and
winning success for his meanest rivals. They united
to injure those who displeased them, and to protect
those who humbled themselves before their power.
Thanks to them, the works of the decadence were




208


CONS UEL 0.


applauded that year in Venice, and people forgot that
true, great music had once reigned there.
In the midst of his success and his prosperity (for
the count had made a liberal engagement with him)
Anzoleto was overwhelmed by a profound disgust, and
was sinking under the weight of his good fortune.
Spoiled and corrupted by Corilla, he had begun to
turn against her the feelings of selfishness and ingratitude with which she had inspired him against the
world at large. There remained in his heart but one
true and irresistibly pure sentiment, - the indestructible love which, in spite of his vices, he felt for Consuelo. He could forget it, thanks to the levity of his
nature, but he could not be cured of it, and it came
back to him like a remorse in his guiltiest moments.
Plunging into the wildest dissipation, he appeared
to be striving to stife every memory of the past.
But in the midst of this dissipation a spectre seemed
to dog his footsteps, and great sobs would rise from
his breast as he passed at night with his noisy companions beside the sombre walls of the Corte Minelli.
Corilla, who had been long subjugated by his harsh
treatment, and who, like all base souls, loved in proportion to the contempt and abuse which she received,
began at last to weary of this fatal passion. She had
hoped to subdue and enchain his wandering fancy, and
labored earnestly to this end, sacrificing everything to
it. When she found that she could not succeed, she
began to hate him, and to seek amusement with others.
One evening, as Anzoleto was drifting about in a




CONS UEL 0.


209


gondola with Clorinda, he saw another bark gliding
swiftly by, as if to some secret appointment. He paid
little attention to it, but Clorinda, who was always 'on
the watch, said, -
" Let us go more slowly. It is the count's gondola;
I recognized the boatman."
" In that case, let us go faster. I should like to
catch up with him, and see who is with him this
evening."
"No, no, let us go back!" exclaimed Clorinda.
"His eye is so sharp, and his ear so acute! Let us
not disturb him."
" Go faster, I say! " cried Anzoleto to his gondolier. "I wish to catch that boat ahead of us."
It was the work of a moment. The two boats
touched each other, and Anzoleto heard a half-stifled
laugh from the count's gondola.
"Good! " said he, "it is Corilla, taking a sail with
the count."
As he spoke, Anzoleto sprang to the bow of his
boat, took the oar from his gondolier, and following
swiftly after the other gondola, caught up with it, and
brushed against it anew, and, whether he heard his
name amid Corilla's laughter, or whether a sudden fit
of madness seized him, he began to say aloud,"Dear Clorinda, you are without question the most
beautiful and the best beloved of all women! "
" I was just saying the same thing to Corilla," said
the count, coming out of his cabin with an easy grace,
and stepping towards the other boat; "and now that




2IO


CONS UEL 0.


our excursions are over, we might make an exchange,
like honest men who deal in goods of equal value."
"You do justice to my integrity, lord count," said
Anzoleto, in the same tone. " If you will allow me, I
will offer you my arm to come and take your own
property."
The count stretched out his arm to lean on Anzoleto, when the tenor, mad with hatred and furious with
rage, sprang with all his might on the count's gondola,
and swamped the frail bark as he exclaimed savagely, -
" Mistress for mistress, count, and gondola for
gondola! "
Then, abandoning his visitors to their fate, and leaving Clorinda to take the consequences of the adventure, he swam to the nearest bank, hastened through
the dark and winding streets to his lodging, and
changed his clothes in the twinkling of an eye. Taking all the money he had, he sprang into the first boat
which was to sail, and speeding towards Trieste, he
snapped his fingers triumphantly as he saw the towers
and domes of Venice sink beneath the waves, under
the rays of the rising sun.




CONS UEL 0.


21 I


CHAPTER XXII.
ON the western spur of the Carpathian Mountains,
which separates Bohemia from Bavaria, and which is
known in those countries as the Boehmerwald, there
stood, a hundred years ago, a vast old manor called
from some tradition, I know not what, the Castle of X
the Giants. Although from a distance it had the appearance of an ancient fortress, it was no more than
a country-house, decorated within in the dignified,
though even then somewhat antiquated, style of Louis
XIV. The feudal architecture of its exterior had also
undergone some pleasing modifications in the part of
the building occupied by the Lords of Rudolstadt, the
masters of the domain.
This family, which was of Bohemian origin, had
Germanized its name when it abjured the reformed
religion at the most tragic period of the Thirty Years'
War. A noble and valiant ancestor, an inflexible Protestant, had been butchered on the neighboring mountain by a fanatic soldiery. His widow, who was of
a Saxon family, saved the fortune and the lives of her
little children by declaring herself a Catholic, and by
intrusting the education of the heirs of Rudolstadt
to the Jesuits. Two generations later, when Bohemia
lay silent and crushed, when the Austrian power was
firmly established, and the glories and the misfortunes




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CONS UEL O.


of the Reformation were forgotten, at least in appearance, the Lords of Rudolstadt modestly practised the
Christian virtues, professed the Roman faith, and lived
on their estates with sumptuous simplicity, like good
aristocrats and faithful servants of Maria Theresa.
They had amply proved their bravery in the service
of the Emperor Charles VI. But people were surprised that the last of this illustrious and valiant race,
the young Albert, had not taken up arms in the
War of Succession, which had just ended, and that he
had reached the age of thirty without seeking other
distinction than was afforded by his birth and his
fortune. This strange conduct had caused the Rudolstadts to be suspected by their sovereigns of complicity with their enemies. But Count Christian, having
the honor to receive the empress in his castle, had
given her such an explanation of his son's conduct as
had seemed to satisfy her. A singular mystery hung
over this religious and charitable family, which for ten
years had had no constant visitor; which no business,
no pleasure, no political excitement, could draw from
its estates; which paid its war subsidies generously
and uncomplainingly, but without showing any concern for the public dangers or misfortunes; which, in
short, seemed no longer to live the same life as other
nobles, and which was distrusted by them, although
its outward acts had consisted only of good and noble
deeds. Not knowing to what to attribute this reserved and retired life, people accused the Ridolstadts
sometimes of misanthropy, sometimes of avarice; but




CONS UE L 0.


213


as their conduct gave the lie to these imputations,
people were reduced to charging them simply with
excessive apathy and indifference.  They said that
Count Christian did not wish to risk the life of his
only son, the last of his name, in these dangerous
wars, and that the empress had accepted, in exchange
for his military services, a sum of money sufficient to
equip a regiment of hussars. The noble dames who
had marriageable daughters said that the count had
done wisely; but when they learned of his design to
marry his son in his own family, by giving him the
daughter of the Baron Frederick, his brother, and
when they knew that the young Baroness Amelia had
left the convent at Prague in which she had been
brought up, and had gone to dwell in the society of
her cousin in the Castle of the Giants, these noble
ladies declared that the Rudolstadts were a pack of
wolves, each more unsociable and more ferocious than
the others. A few incorruptible servants and devoted
friends alone knew the secret of the family, and kept
it faithfully.
This noble family was gathered one evening about
a table loaded with game and those substantial dishes
which still formed the food of our ancestors in
Slavonic countries at that period, in spite of the
refinements which the court of Louis XV. had introduced into the customs of a great part of the aristocracy of Europe. An immense fireplace, in which
burned huge logs of oak, heated the large and sombre
apartment. Count Christian had recited aloud the




214


CONS &TEL 0.


Benedicte, to which the other members of the family
had listened standing. Numerous servants, all aged
and grave, in large Turkish trousers and with long
mustaches, moved solemnly about their honored
masters. The chaplain of the castle took his place
on the right of Count Christian, while his niece, the
young Baroness Amelia, was at the count's left, the
"side next his heart," as he would sometimes say
with austere and paternal gallantry. Baron Frederick,
whom he always called his " young brother," because
he was barely sixty, was opposite him. The Canoness Wenceslawa, his elder sister, a venerable lady of
seventy, frightfully thin, and afflicted with an enormous hump, sat at one end of the table; and Count
Albert, the son of Count Christian, Amelia's betrothed
and the last of the Rudolstadts, came, pale and
gloomy, and sat down with an absent look opposite
his noble aunt.
Of all these silent persons, Albert was certainly the
least disposed and the least accustomed to lend animation to the others. The chaplain was so devoted
to his masters and so respectful to the head of the
family that he hardly ever spoke unless prompted by
a look from Count Christian; and the count was so
quiet and thoughtful that he seldom felt the need of
seeking in others a distraction from his own meditations.
The character of Baron Frederick was more shallow, and his temperament more active, but his mind
was scarcely more animated. As gentle and benevo



CONS UEL 0.


215


lent as his brother, he had less intelligence and enthusiasm. He was religious from, habit and a sense
of propriety. His only passion was the chase. He
passed his days in hunting, and returned each evening, not weary, - for he had an iron frame, - but red,
out of breath, and hungry. He ate for ten, drank
for thirty, and at dessert brightened up a little as he
told how his dog Saphyr had started a hare, how
Panther had tracked a wolf, or how his falcon Attila
had made her flight; and when he had been listened
to with inexhaustible courtesy, he dozed quietly beside the fire in a great chair of black leather, until
his daughter told him that the hour of retiring had
struck.
The canoness was the most talkative of the family.
She might almost have been called garrulous, for
twice a week would she discuss with the chaplain
for full a quarter of an hour the genealogies of
Bohemian, Hungarian and Saxon families, which she
knew by heart, from king down to simple gentleman.
As for Count Albert, the others watched his every
motion with solemn and fearful attention, as if each
of his gestures were a prophecy, each of his words a
doom. By a peculiarity which would have been inexplicable to any one who did not know the secrets
of the house, the eyes of masters and servants alike
were fixed upon him when he spoke, which did not
always happen once in four-and-twenty hours. Then
profound anxiety and tender and painful solicitude




2i6


CONSUELO.


were expressed on every face, save that of the young
Baroness Amelia, who often received his words with
impatience or ridicule, and alone dared to reply to
them with a familiarity which was contemptuous or
playful, as her humor prompted.
This young girl, fair, and rather high in color,
trimly built and animated, was a little pearl of beauty;
and when her maid would tell her so to dissipate her
ennui, she would reply, "Alas! I am a pearl shut up
in this dreary family as in an oyster, whose shell
is this frightful Castle of the Giants." This will be
enough to show the reader what a restless bird was
confined in this iron cage.
That evening, the solemn silence which weighed
upon the whole family, especially at the first course
(for the two old gentlemen, the canoness, and the
chaplain had a solidity and constancy of appetite
which never failed them), was broken by Count
Albert.
"What frightful weather!" said he, with a deep
sigh.
The rest looked at each other with surprise, for if
the weather had become dark and threatening, no
one could know it, since they had been inside the
castle for an hour, and the thick oaken shutters were
closed. A profound stillness reigned without the castle as within, and nothing indicated that a tempest
was about to burst.
Still, no one thought of contradicting Albert, and
Amelia alone shrugged her shoulders, while the play




CONSUELO.


2I7


of the forks and the clatter of the dishes, slowly
changed by the servants, began again after a moment
of anxiety.
" Do you not hear the howling of the wind through
the pines of the Boehmerwald, and the roar of the
torrent? " said Albert, looking fixedly at his father.
Count Christian did not reply. The baron, in a
conciliatory tone, replied, without raising his eyes from
the piece of venison which he was cutting with his
athletic hand as one would carve a block of granite,
"It is true; the wind promised rain at sunset, and
we may very likely have bad weather to-morrow."
Albert smiled with a strange expression, and all
became gloomy again. But five minutes had scarcely
passed when a terrible gust of wind shook the panes
of the immense windows, roared savagely as it beat
the waters of the moat like a scourge, and lost itself
in the heights of the mountain with a moan so sharp
and so plaintive that all faces paled at it except that
of Count Albert, who smiled with the same undefinable expression as before.
" At this moment," he said, " the storm is bearing
a stranger guest to us. You would do well, Sir Chaplain, to pray for those who are faring through our
rough mountains amid the raging tempest."
"Always, and from the bottom of my heart," said
the chaplain, all a-tremble, "am  I praying for those
who journey through the rough paths of life, amid the
tempest of human passions."
" Do not answer him, chaplain," said Amelia, with



2IS               CONS UEL 0.
out regarding the looks and signs which warned her
on every side not to follow up the conversation.
" You know very well that my cousin likes to torment
people by speaking in riddles. As for me, I care
very little for the answers to them."
Count Albert appeared to pay no more attention
to the sarcasm of his cousin than she pretended to
pay to his remarks. He leaned his elbow in his
plate, which almost always lay empty before him, and
gazed fixedly at the damask cloth, as if counting its
figures, although he was absorbed in a sort of ecstatic revery.




CCNSUELO.


2I9


CHAPTER XXIII.
A FURIOUS tempest burst during the supper, which
always lasted two hours, neither more nor less, even on
fast days, which were religiously observed, but which
did not release the count from the yoke of his habits,
which were as sacred to him as the rules of the Romish
church. Storms were too frequent in these mountains,
and the immense forests which still covered their sides
at this period gave to the noise of the wind and the
thunder reverberations and echoes too well known to
the lords of the castle for an incident of this sort to
affect them greatly. Still, the extraordinary agitation
which Count Albert showed was shared involuntarily
by the rest of the family; and the baron, thus disturbed in the enjoyment of his meal, would have been
somewhat put out if it had been possible for his kindly
disposition to be ruffled even for an instant. He only
sighed deeply when a frightful crash of thunder, which
came as the entremets were brought on, frightened
the carver so that he mangled the boar's ham which
he was just cutting.
"What is done, is done," said he, with a sympathizing smile to the poor carver, who was horrified at
his mishap.
" Yes, my uncle, you are right! "cried Count Albert
in a loud voice, as he rose from his seat; " what is




220


CONSUEL O.


done is done. The Hussite is blown down. The
lightning is consuming it, and never again will the
spring clothe it with green."
" What do you mean, my son?" said the old count,
sadly; "are you speaking of the great oak of the
Schreckenstein?" '
"Yes, father; I mean the great oak on whose
branches we hanged more than twenty Augustine
monks a few weeks ago."
"Now he is taking centuries for weeks!" said the
canoness in a low voice, as she crossed herself. " If
it is true, dear child," she said aloud to her nephew,
"that something which you have seen in a dream has
really occurred, or is about to occur (as has sometimes happened, curiously enough), we should not care
much for the loss of this withered old oak, which,
along with the stone which it shades, recalls to us such
painful memories."
"As for me," said Amelia, glad of the chance to
exercise her little tongue, " I should be grateful to the
storm for ridding us of the sight of this frightful gallows, whose branches are like a skeleton, and whose
trunk, covered with red moss, always seems to be
sweating blood. I can never pass beneath it in the
evening without shuddering at the sound of the wind
which moans through its leaves like the sigh of a dying
man, and I commend my soul to God as I hurry by,
turning away my head."
"Amelia," replied the young count,'who for the
1" Rock of Terror." Several places in Bohemia bear this name.




CONSUEL O.


221


first time, perhaps, in many days, had listened attentively to his cousin's words, " you have done well not
to remain beneath the Hussite as I have for hours.:
yes, for whole nights. You would have seen and
heard there things which would have frozen you with
affright, and which would never be effaced from your
memory."
"Be silent!" cried the young baroness, shifting
about on her chair as if to move away from the table
on which Albert was leaning, " I cannot understand
the pleasure which you take in frightening me whenever you are pleased to open your mouth."
"Would to Heaven, dear Amelia," said old Christian, gently, " that it were indeed a pleasure for your
cousin to say these things! "
" No, father, I am speaking very seriously," replied
Count Albert. "The oak of the Rock of Terror is
overthrown, and you can send your woodmen to cut
it up. I will plant a cypress in its place, and call it,
not the Hussite, but the Penitent, and the Rock of
Terror should long since have been called the Rock
of Atonement."
"Enough, enough, my son! " said the old man,
with bitter anguish. "Put away from you these sad
pictures, and leave it to God to judge the actions of
men."
"The sad pictures have disappeared, father. They
have vanished into nothing, along with the instruments
of torture which the breath of the storm and the fire
of heaven have just laid in the dust. I see, instead of




222


CONSUELO.


the skeletons which hung on it, flowers and fruits
waving in the breeze, growing on the branches of a
new stem. Instead of the man in black who nightly lit
the pyre, I see a white and heavenly soul, hovering
over your head and mine. The storm is breaking,
the danger is past! Those who are journeying are in
safety, and my soul is at peace. The period of expiation is nearing its end. I feel myself being born
anew! "
" God grant that you speak truly, my beloved son,"
said old Christian, in a trembling voice, and with an
accent of profound tenderness; " God grant that you
may be freed from the visions of the phantoms which
haunt your slumbers! May he in his mercy restore
to my dear Albert peace, hope, and the light of
faith! "
Before he had finished these words, Albert bent
gently over the table, and seemed to fall suddenly into
a tranquil sleep.
" What does he mean now? " asked the young baroness of her father; " there he is, going to sleep at
the table! It is really very polite! "
"This sudden and deep sleep," replied the chaplain, looking at the young man with interest, " is
a favorable crisis, which promises a happy change in
his condition, for some time at least."
" Let no one speak to him," said Count Christian,
C or try to arouse him from his slumber."
" 0 merciful Father! " said the canoness ardently,
clasping her hands, " grant that his constant prediction




CONS EL 0.


223


may be realized, and that his thirtieth birthday may
be the day of his final recovery."
" Amen! " added the chaplain with unction. " Let
us lift up our hearts to the God of pity, and as we
thank him for the food of which we have just partaken, let us implore him to grant the deliverance
of this noble youth, the object of our solicitude."
They rose to say grace, and every one remained
standing for a few moments, praying for the last of
the Rudolstadts. The supplications of old Christian
were so fervent that two great tears rolled down his
withered cheeks.
The old man had just directed the servants to bear
his son to his apartment, when Baron Frederick, who
had sought for some means of contributing to the welfare of his nephew, said to his brother with childish
satisfaction, " I have a good idea, brother; if your
son awakes alone in his own room, before he has
digested his supper, more sombre ideas may come
to him as the result of bad dreams. Have him carried into the drawing-rooln and placed in my chair.
There is no other in the house so good to sleep in.
He will be more comfortable there than in his bed,
and when he awakes he will at least find a good fire
to refresh his sight, and friendly faces to gladden his
heart."
" You are right, brother," replied Christian. "He
can be taken into the drawing-room and placed upon
the sofa."
" It is very unhealthy to sleep lying down after




224


CONS UEL O.


supper," cried the baron.  "Believe me, brother,
I know it by experience. He must have my chair.
Yes, I wish him positively to have my chair."
Christian saw that to refuse would be to cause his
brother real unhappiness. They placed the young
count, therefore, in the old hunter's leathern chair,
without his being in the least disturbed, so closely did
his sleep resemble a state of lethargy. The baron sat
down, proud and happy, on another chair, warming
his shins before a fire worthy of heroic days, and
smiling triumphantly whenever the chaplain would
remark that Count Albert's sleep ought to be productive of the best results. The good man designed to
give up his nap as well as his chair, and to join with
the rest of the family in watching over the young
count; but before a quarter of an hour had expired,
he became so accustomed to his new seat that he
began to snore loud enough to drown the last rumblings of the thunder, which was dying away in the
distance.
The sound of the great bell of the castle, which was
never rung save upon the occasion of extraordinary
visits, was suddenly heard, and old Hans, the butler,
came in shortly after, bearing a large letter, which he
presented without a word to Count Christian. Then
he went out to await his master's orders in a neighboring room.
Christian opened the letter, and having glanced at
the signature, handed the paper to 'the young baroness, begging her to read it to him. Amelia, curious




CONSUEL 0.


2,25


and excited, sat down by a candle, and read as follows:
"MIustrious and wvcZl- beloved Lord Count, - Your
excellency does me the honor to ask a service of me.
In this you confer upon me one still greater than all
those that I have received of you, the remembrance
of which my heart preserves and cherishes. In spite
of my zeal to carry out your honored instructions,
I nevertheless could not hope to find the person for
whom you ask as promptly and as satisfactorily as
I wished. But favorable circumstances coinciding in
an unforeseen manner with the wishes of your lordship,
I hasten to send you a person who fulfils a part of
your conditions. She does not, however, fulfil them
all. Therefore, I only send her provisionally, to enable your illustrious and amiable niece to await without too much impatience a more satisfactory result
of my researches and endeavors.
"The person who will have the honor of handing
you this letter is my pupil, and in some sort my
adopted daughter. She will be, as the amiable Baroness Amelia desires, both an obliging and agreeable
companion, and a learned instructor in music. In other
respects, she has not the education which you need in
a governess. She speaks several languages fluently, but
she does not, perhaps, know them correctly enough to
teach them. She understands music thoroughly, and
sings remarkably well. You will be satisfied with her
talent, her voice and her bearing, no less than with




226


CONSUELO.


the sweetness and the dignity of her character, and
your lordship can admit her to your intimacy without
fear of her ever being guilty of ill-breeding or giving
evidence of an unworthy sentiment. She desires to
be as free as her duty to your noble family will permit,
and to receive no salary. In a word, it is neither
a duenna nor a maid that I am sending to the amiable
baroness, but a companion and a friend, as she does
me the honor to ask of me in the postscript added by
her beautiful hand to your excellency's letter.
"Signor Corner, who had been appointed to the
Austrian embassy, is awaiting the order for his departure, but he is almost certain that he will not receive
this order for two months.  Signora Corner, his
noble spouse and my generous pupil, wishes to take
me with her to Vienna, where, in her opinion, my
career will be more prosperous. Without believing
in a better future, I have accepted her generous offer,
anxious as I am to quit this ungrateful Venice, where
I have met with nothing but disappointment, affronts,
and mishaps of all sorts. I long to see again that
noble Germany, where I have known happier days,
and the honored friends whom I left there. Your
lordship well knows that you occupy one of the most
prominent places in the memories of this old heart,
harassed, but not chilled, which you filled with a lasting affection and profound gratitude; I therefore
commend and intrust to you, most illustrious sir, my
adopted daughter, asking in her 'behalf hospitality,
protection and good-will. She will repay your kind



CONSUELO.


227


ness by her zeal in making herself useful and agreeable to the young baroness. In three months at the
outside I will go to seek her, and to present to you
in her place a governess who can contract a longer
engagement with your illustrious family.
" Awaiting the fortunate day when I may press between my hands those of the best of men, I venture to
call myself, with pride and respect, the most humble
of the servants and the most devoted of the friends
of your excellency chiarissima, stimatissima, illustrissima, etc.
"NICHOLAS PORPORA,
" Chapel master, composer, and teacher of singing.
" VENICE,, 17-."
Amelia leaped with joy when she ended the letter,
while the old count repeated several times, "s Worthy
Porpora, excellent friend, estimable man! "
" Certainly, certainly," said the Canoness Wenceslawa, divided between the dread of seeing the habits of
the family disturbed by the arrival of a stranger, and
the desire to show a generous hospitality, " we must
receive her and treat her well. I only hope she may
not find the,life here too irksome."
" But, uncle, where is my future friend, my precious
mistress?" cried the young baroness, without listening to her aunt's observations. " Will she not soon
arrive herself? I am impatient to see her! "
Count Christian rang. " Hans," said he to the old
servant, " who handed you this letter?"




228


CONS UELO.


"A lady, my lord."
"Is she here already?" cried Amelia. "Where,
where!"
" In her post-chaise, at the drawbridge."
"And you have left her cooling her heels at the
door, instead of bringing her in at once? "
"Yes, madame; I took the letter, and forbade the
postillion to take his foot out of the stirrup, or to lay
down his reins. I had the drawbridge lifted behind
me, and I delivered the letter to my lord and master."
" But it is absurd, unpardonable, to keep our guests
waiting outside in such bad weather. One would say
that we were in a fortress, and whoever came near
was an enemy. Hurry, Hans! "
Hans remained motionless as a statue. His eyes
alone expressed his regret at his inability to fulfil the
desire of his young mistress; but a cannon-ball passing over his head would not have changed by an inch
the impassible attitude in which he awaited the orders
of his old master.
"Faithful Hans knows only his duty and his instructions, my dear child," said Count Christian at
last, with a deliberation which made the baroness's
blood boil. " Hans, go and open the gate, and lower
the drawbridge. Let every one go with torches to
receive the traveller. May she be welcome here! "
Hans did not show the slightest surprise at having
to introduce suddenly an unknown visitor into this
house, to which the nearest relations and the most
faithful friends were not always admitted without de



CONSUELO.                 229
lay and precautions. The canoness went to give her
orders for the stranger's supper. Amelia wished to
hurry to the drawbridge, but her uncle, desiring to do
the honors of his house to his guest himself, offered
her his arm, and the impatient little baroness was
compelled to march majestically to the porch, where
the post-chaise had just set down the wandering
fugitive, Consuelo.




230


CONSUEL 0.


CHAPTER XXIV.
THREE months had passed since the Baroness
Amelia had taken it into her head to have a companion, much less to instruct her than to amuse her in
her loneliness; and during that time she had painted
in her imagination the portrait of her future friend a
hundred times. Knowing Porpora's morose temper,
she had feared that he would send her a stiff and
pedantic governess. She had, consequently, written
secretly to the musician to tell him that she would
accord but a poor reception to any governess of more
than five-and-twenty, - as if it would not have been
enough for her to express her desire to her kinsfolk,
whose idol and queen she was.
When she read Porpora's letter, she was so delighted that she improvised on the moment the portrait of the musician, Porpora's adopted daughter,
young, and above all a Venetian; that is to say, in
Amelia's fancy, created for her precisely as she would
have wished.
She was a little disconcerted, therefore, when, instead of the playful girl, fresh and rosy, of whom she
had been dreaming, she saw a pale, melancholy and
much embarrassed young woman;,for to the bitter
grief by which Consuelo's poor heart was torn, and to
the fatigue of a long and rapid journey, had been




CONSUELO.


23I


added a most painful impression, caused by the vast,
storm-beaten forests, by the darkness of the night,
broken only by livid lightning-flashes, and above all
by the appearance of the gloomy castle, to which the
howling of the baron's hounds, and the light of the
torches carried by the servants, lent a truly sinister
aspect. What a contrast with Marcello's " firmamento
lucido," the harmonious silence of Venetian nights,
and the trustful liberty of her life passed in the light
of love and poetry! When the carriage had passed
slowly over the drawbridge, which sounded hollow
beneath the horses' hoofs, and when the portcullis
had fallen behind her with a mournful cry, it seemed
to her that she had entered Dante's hell, and, filled
with terror, she commended her soul to God.
Her face was consequently discomposed when she
appeared before her hosts, and when Count Christian
suddenly appeared, with his long, pale face, withered
by age and grief, and his thin, erect form, in its antique costume, she thought she saw the ghost of a
baron of the Middle Ages; and, taking all that she
saw about her for a vision, she started back with a
stifled cry of fright.
The count, attributing her hesitation and her paleness to the exhaustion and fatigue of her journey,
offered her his arm to ascend the steps, attempting
at the same time to say to her a few words of interest
and politeness. But the worthy man was not only
outwardly cold and reserved by nature, but the many
years which he had spent in retirement had so in



232


CONSUELO.


creased his timidity that under a grave and austere
appearance he concealed the embarrassment and confusion of a child. The necessity which he felt of
speaking in Italian, a tongue which he had formerly
known moderately well, but in which he was quite
out of practice, added so much to his embarrassment
that he could only stammer a few words which Consuelo could scarcely hear, and which she took for the
unknown and mysterious language of spirits.
Amelia, who had determined to fall upon her neck
and make her feel at home at once, could find nothing to say to her, as often happens to the boldest
natures, when the timidity of another seems ready to
take fright at their advances.
Consuelo was shown into the large room in which
they had supped. The count, divided between the
desire to do her honor and the fear of having her
see his son while in his lethargic sleep, paused irresolute, and Consuelo, feeling her limbs fail her, fell
trembling upon the nearest chair.
"Uncle Christian," said Amelia, who understood
the count's embarrassment, "I think that it would be
best to receive the signora here. It is warmer than
in the drawing-room, and she must be chilled by the
storm-wind of our mountains. I am sorry to see that
she is faint with fatigue, and I am sure that she needs
a good supper and a good sleep far more than all
our ceremony. Am I not right, dear signora?" she
added, sufficiently emboldened to clasp Consuelo's
wearied arm in her dimpled hand.




CONS UEL 0.


233


The sound of this fresh voice, pronouncing Italian
with frank German roughness, reassured Consuelo.
She raised her grateful eyes to the young baroness's
pretty face, and the look they exchanged broke the
ice at once. The traveller understood that this was
her pupil, and that her charming face was not that of
a ghost. She replied to the pressure of the hand, and
admitted that she was quite stunned by the noise of
the carriage, and that the storm had frightened her
greatly. She yielded to all the attentions which
Amelia showered upon her, drew up to the fire, allowed her to relieve her of her cloak, accepted the
offer of supper, although she was not in the least hungry, and, being more and more reassured by the increasing amiability of her young hostess, recovered at
last the power of seeing, hearing and answering.
While the servants were preparing supper, the conversation naturally turned upon Porpora. Consuelo
was happy at hearing the old count speak of him as
his friend, his equal, and almost his superior. Then
they spoke of Consuelo's journey, of the road which
she had followed, and especially of the storm, which
must have frightened her.
"We are accustomed in Venice," said Consuelo,
"to tempests which are more sudden and much more
dangerous, for in our gondolas we run the risk of
shipwreck as we go through the streets, and even at
our very doors. The water, which is our pavement,
grows rough like the waves of the sea, and drives our
frail barks against the walls so violently that they may




2,34


CONSUELLO.


be sunk before we can land. But, though I have
seen accidents of this sort, and am not very timid, I
was more frightened this evening than ever before in
my life by the fall of a great tree which the lightning
threw down the mountain across our road.   The
horses reared, and the postillion cried, 'The Tree of
Misfortune has fallen! it is the Hussite!' Can you
tell me what he meant, baroness? "
Neither the count nor Amelia thought of answering the question. They shuddered as they looked at
each other, and the old man said,
"M My son was not mistaken! Strange, strange, in
truth! "
And, with his anxiety for Albert awakened afresh,
he went out, while Amelia murmured as she clasped
her hands,"There is magic in this, and the devil himself is
among us! "
These strange remarks brought back to Consuelo
the feeling of superstitious awe which she had experienced when she entered the dwelling of the Rudol.
stadts. Amelia's sudden paleness, the solemn silence
of the old servants in red trousers, with crimson
faces, all alike, all large and square-cut, having those
expressionless and lifeless eyes which come from a
love and a lifetime of slavery; the height of the
room, wainscoted with black oak, in which the light
of a chandelier loaded with candles could not dispel the darkness; the hooting of an owl, hunting near
the castle after the storm; the large family portraits,




CONSUELO.


235


the enormous heads of stags and wild boars carved
in relief upon the wood-work, - everything, to the
smallest details, revived in her the gloomy impressions
which had hardly been dispelled. The reflections of
the young baroness were not of a nature to reassure
her greatly.
" hMy dear signora," said Amelia, as she made ready
to wait on her, "you must prepare yourself to see in
this castle things which are unheard of, inexplicable,
sometimes frightful, - true scenes from a romance
which no one would believe if you were to tell, and
which you will be pledged upon your honor to keep
inviolably secret."
As the baroness was speaking, the door opened,
and the Canoness Wenceslawa, with her hump, her
angular figure, and her severe costume, set off by the
grand cordon of her order, which she never laid aside,
entered with the most majestically affable air which
she had worn since the memorable day on which the
Empress Maria Theresa, returning from a journey to
Hungary, had done the Castle of the Giants the signal
honor of taking there a cup of hippocrass and an
hour's rest. She came towards Consuelo, who, surprised and terrified, was looking at her with distended
eyes without thinking of rising, made two courtesies
to her, and after a speech in German which she
seemed to have learned by heart, so formal was it,
drew near to her to place a kiss upon her brow. The
poor child, colder than marble, thought that she was
receiving the kiss of Death, and, half fainting, mur



236


CONSUEL O.


mured her thanks unintelligibly. When the canoness,
seeing that her presence frightened the traveller, had
gone into the drawing-room, Amelia burst into a peal
of laughter.
"I will wager," said she, " that you thought you
saw the ghost of Queen Libussa. But be quite easy.
That good canoness is my aunt, the most tiresome and
the best of women."
Consuelo had hardly recovered from this shock when
she heard behind her the creaking of thick Hungarian
boots. A tread, heavy and slow, shook the floor, and
a face, so massive, so red, and so square that those
of the old servants seemed pale and delicate beside
it, passed through the room in silence, and went out
by the door, which the domestic opened respectfully.
Again did Consuelo shudder, and again the baroness
laughed.
"That," said she, "is the Baron of Rudolstadt, a
great hunter, a great sleeper, and the tenderest of
fathers. He has just finished his nap in the drawingroom. At the stroke of nine he rises from his chair,
but without waking up, goes through this room without
seeing or hearing anything, ascends the stairs, - still
asleep, - goes to bed without knowing it, and awakes
before day, as bright, alert and active as a young man,
to go and make ready his dogs, his horses and his falcons for the chase."
Hardly had she finished this explanation when the
chaplain went by. He, too, was stout, but short and
pale. A life of contemplation does not agree with




CONSUIELO.


237


these heavy Slav natures, and the holy man's stoutness
was not healthy. He only bowed to the two ladies,
spoke in an undertone to a servant, and disappeared
by the same road the baron had taken. Then Hans
and another of the automata whom Consuelo could
not tell apart, so much alike were they, went towards
the drawing-room. Consuelo, who could no longer
find the strength to pretend to eat, turned about to
follow them with her eyes; but before they had
reached the door behind her, a new apparition stood
upon the threshold, more striking than the others. It
was a young man of commanding figure and handsome
face, but frightfully pale. He was clad in black from
head to foot, and a rich pelisse, trimmed with sable, was
fastened to his shoulders by loops and hooks of gold.
His long hair, black as ebony, fell in disorder over his
pale cheeks, which were shaded by a silky, curling
beard. He made an imperious gesture to the servants
who were coming towards him, forcing them back and
holding them motionless at a distance, as if his look
had fascinated them. Then, turning to Count Christian, who was following him, he said, in a sweet voice
and with a dignified manner," I assure you, father, that I have never been so
calm.  Some great thing is accomplished in my
destiny, and the peace of heaven has descended upon
our house."
" May God grant it, my son! " said the old man,
stretching out his hand to bless him.
The young man bent low beneath his father's hand;




23S


8CONS UEL 0.


then, standing erect with a sweet and serene expression, he stepped into the middle of the room, smiled
faintly as he touched with the end of his fingers the
hand which Amelia held out to him, and looked fixedly at Consuelo for several seconds. Struck with
involuntary respect, Consuelo bowed to him with
downcast eyes. But he did not return her bow, and
continued to look at her.
" This young person," said the canoness to him in
German, " is the " -
He interrupted her with a gesture which seemed
to say, "Do not speak to me, do not disturb my
train of thought." Then he turned away without
giving the slightest sign of surprise or interest, and
went slowly out of the door.
" My dear young lady," said the canoness, " you
must excuse "
" I beg your pardon for interrupting you, aunt,"
said Amelia, "but you are speaking German to the
signora, who does not understand it."
" Pardon me, good signora," said Consuelo in
Italian; "I spoke many languages in my childhood,
for I travelled much.  I recollect enough German to understand it perfectly. I dare not attempt
to speak it yet, but if you will give me a few lessons,
I hope that I shall recover it before long."
" Really, that is my case," said the canoness. "I
understand all that the young lady says, though
I could not speak her language. Since she understands me, I wish to say to her that my nephew, by




CONS UZE L 0.


2,39


not returning her bow, has been guilty of a rudeness
which I am sure she will excuse when she knows that
he has been severely indisposed this evening, and
that after his swoon he is still so weak that no doubt
he did not see her -is it not true, brother?" said
the good Wenceslawa, quite disturbed by the white
lies she had been telling, and seeking her pardon in
the eyes of Count Christian.
" My dear sister," replied the old man, " you are
generous to excuse my son. The signora will no
doubt be good enough not to be too much surprised
at certain things which we will frankly explain to
her to-morrow, with the confidence which we must
needs feel in the adopted daughter of Porpora, and,
I hope soon to be able to say, in the friend of our
family."
It was the hour when every one retired, and the
habits of the house were so regular that if the two
young girls had remained longer at the table, the
servants, like veritable machines, would probably
have set away their chairs and blown out the candles
without regard to their presence. Besides, Consuelo
was anxious to retire, and Amelia conducted her to
an elegant and comfortable chamber next her own,
which she had had prepared for her.
"I should greatly like to talk to you for an hour
or two," said she, as soon as the canoness, who had
gravely done the honors of the apartment, had retired.
" I am anxious to explain to you what is going on
here, before you have to endure our eccentricities.




240               CONSUELO.
But you are so tired that you must desire rest above
everything."
" Never mind that, signora," replied Consuelo;
" my limbs are very weary, it is true, but my brain
is so heated that I am sure not to sleep at all. So
talk to me as much as you like, only let it be in
German. That will serve me as a lesson, for I see
that neither the lord count nor the canoness is familiar
with Italian."
"Let us make a bargain," said Amelia. "You
will go to bed to rest your poor, wearied limbs, and
meanwhile I will put on my dressing-gown and send
away my maid. Then I will come back and sit
beside you, and we will speak German until we
become sleepy. Is it agreed?"
" With all my heart," replied the new governess.




CONSUEL 0.


241


CHAPTER XXV.
"You must know, my dear," said Amelia, when
she had finished her arrangements, - " but it occurs
to me that I do not know your name," she added,
smiling. " We must have no titles or ceremony between us. I wish you to call me Amelia in future, as
I intend to call you "" My name is foreign, and difficult to pronounce,"
replied Consuelo. " My excellent master, Porpora,
when he sent me here, directed me to take his own,
as is the custom of protectors or masters with their
favored pupils; therefore for the future I share with
the great singer Huber (called Porporino) the honor
of calling myself Porporina. But you had better
abbreviate it and call me, if you like, simply Nina."
" Very well, then, Nina - between ourselves. Now
listen to me, for I have a very long story to tell you,
and if I do not begin rather far back you will never
understand what is now going on in this house."
" I am all attention," said the new Porporina.
" I suppose you know a little about Bohemian history? " said the young baroness.
"Alas! " replied Consuelo, "I am altogether uneducated, as my master must have written you. I
know a little about the history of music, but I am as
ignorant of the history of Bohemia as of every other."




242


CONSUEL 0.


"In that case, I will tell you what you need to
know that you may understand my story. More than
three hundred years ago, the crushed and oppressed
race into which you have been transplanted was a bold,
unconquerable, heroic people. It had even then,
indeed, alien masters, and a religion which it did not
understand, and which they wished to force upon it.
Innumerable monks oppressed it, and a cruel, debauched king mocked at its dignity and outraged its
feelings.  But secret rage and deep hatred grew
stronger and stronger, and one day the storm burst.
The alien masters were driven away, religion was reformed, the convents were pillaged and torn down, and
the drunkard Wenceslas was thrown into prison and
deprived of his crown. The signal for the revolt was
the torture of John Huss and Jerome of Prague, two
brave, learned men of Bohemia, who wished to examine and clear up the mystery of Catholicism, and who
were summoned, condemned and burned after they
had been promised safety and liberty of discussion.
This treason and disgrace touched the national honor
so deeply that a bloody war raged throughout Bohemia and a great part of Germany for many years.
This war of extermination was called the War of
the Hussites. Odious and innumerable crimes were
committed by both sides. The customs of the age
were savage and pitiless all over the earth. Partyspirit and religious fanaticism made them still more
terrible, and Bohemia was pointed at with horror by
all Europe. I will not harrow up your mind, which




CONS UEL O.


243


the wild appearance of the country has already disagreeably impressed, by relating the frightful scenes
which took place here. On one side they committed
murders, burnings and tortures; churches were desecrated, monks and nuns were mutilated, hung, cast
into boiling pitch; on the other, towns were burned
and whole districts devastated. Hussites were sent
to the mines by thousands, filling the pits with their
corpses, and strewing the earth with their bones and
those of their enemies. These frightful Hussites were
long invincible, and to-day we speak their name with
dread; yet their patriotism, their intrepid constancy,
and their fabulous exploits fill us with a secret feeling
of pride and admiration which young people like me
sometimes have difficulty in concealing."
"But why conceal it?" asked Consuelo innocently.
"Because Bohemia has again fallen, after many
struggles, under the yoke of slavery.  There is no
longer a Bohemia, my poor Nina.    Our masters
knew well that religious liberty for our country meant
political liberty. That is why they have stifled them
both."
"See how ignorant I am," said Consuelo. "I had
never heard of all this, and I did not know that men
could be so wicked and so unhappy."
" A hundred years after John Huss came another
learned man, - a new sectary, - a poor monk named
Martin Luther, who aroused the national spirit, and
inspired Bohemia and all the independent provinces
of Germany with hatred of a foreign tyranny, and




244


CONSUEL 0.


caused them to rebel against the popes. The most
powerful kings remained Catholic, not because they
loved religion, but because they loved absolute power.
Austria fell upon us to crush us, and in the Thirty
Years' War overthrew our independence. From the
beginning of that war, Bohemia was at the mercy of
the strongest side.  Austria treated us like a conquered province, and took away from us our religion,
our liberty, our language, even our very name.  Our
fathers resisted bravely, but the imperial yoke has
lain heavier and heavier upon us. More than a hundred years ago our nobility, ruined and decimated by
confiscation, war and the scaffold, was obliged either
to fly from the country or to give up its nationality by
forswearing its ancestry, by Germanizing its family
names (remember this fact), and by renouncing religious liberty. Our books were burned, our schools
were destroyed; in short, we were made Austrians.
We are now only a province of the empire, and you
hear German spoken by a Slav race. This fact
alone tells the whole story."
"And now you sorrow and blush at this slavery.
I can well understand it, and I already hate Austria
with all my heart."
"Oh, speak lower! " cried the young baroness.
"No one can safely speak thus beneath the dark
sky of Bohemia; and in this castle there is only
one person who has the boldness and the folly to
say what you have said, dear Nina. It is my cousin
Albert."




CONSUEL 0.


245


" Is that the cause of the grief which one reads in
his face? I was filled with respect when I saw him."
"Ah, my handsome lioness of St. Mark! " said
Amelia, surprised at the generous impulse which suddenly illumined the pale face of her companion;
" you take matters too seriously. I greatly fear that
in a few days my poor cousin will fill you more with
pity than with respect."
"The one need not prevent the other," replied
Consuelo. " But pray explain, dear baroness."
" Mark this," said Amelia. "W We are a very Catholic family, and very faithful to the Church and State.
We bear a Saxon name, and the Saxon branch of our
ancestors has always been most orthodox. If my
aunt some day undertakes, to your sorrow, to detail
to you the services which our ancestors, the Saxon
counts and barons, rendered to the cause of Rome,
you will see that, according to her, there is not the
slightest blot of heresy upon our escutcheon. Even
when Saxony was Protestant, the Rudolstadts chose to
abandon their Protestant electors rather than leave
the bosom of the Roman Church. But my aunt will
never venture to boast of this in the presence of
Count Albert, for in that case you would hear him
tell the most surprising things ever heard by human
ears."
"You greatly excite my curiosity, without satisfying it. I understand this, that I must never appear
in the presence of your noble relatives to share your
and Count Albert's sympathies for old Bohemia. You




246


COArSUEL O.


may trust to my prudence, dear baroness. Besides, I
was brought up in a Catholic country, and the respect
which I have for my religion, as well as that which I
owe your family, would cause me to be silent."
" It would be wise, for I must remind you once
more that we are exceedingly exacting on that point.
So far as I personally am concerned, dear Nina, I am
more liberal. I am neither Protestant nor Catholic.
I was brought up by nuns, whose sermons and paternosters wearied me terribly. The same weariness
has followed me here, for my Aunt Wenceslawa is pedantic and superstitious enough for a whole convent.
But I have too much of the spirit of the age to sympathize with the no less wearisome doctrines of the
Lutherans; and as for the Hussites, theirs is such
ancient history that I care no more for it than for
the glory of the Greeks and the Romans. French
thought is my ideal, and the only reason, philosophy
or civilization I admire is that which obtains in that
charming land whose books I sometimes read in secret,
and whose pleasures, liberty and happiness I behold
from afar, as in a dream, through the bars of my prison."
"You surprise me more and more every moment,"
said Consuelo simply. "How is it that a moment
ago you appeared to me full of enthusiasm as you
recalled the exploits of your ancient Bohemians? I
thought you something of a Bohemian and a heretic."
" I am more than a heretic and more than a Bohemian," replied Amelia, laughing. " I am something of a doubter and altogether a rebel. I hate




CONS UEL 0.


247


rulers of every sort, and especially Austria, who is the
most bigoted and straitlaced of duennas."
"And is Count Albert also a doubter? Does he
admire French thought? If that is so, you must get
on famously."
" Oh! we do not get on at all, and now that I have
given you the necessary explanations, it is time for
me to speak of him. Count Christian, my uncle, had
no children by his first wife. He married again at
the age of forty, and had five sons, all of whom died,
as well as their mother, of some sort of disease of the
brain. This second wife was of pure Bohemian blood,
and had, they say, great beauty and a brilliant intellect. I never knew her. You will see her portrait,
with a jewelled bodice and scarlet mantle, in the large
drawing-room. Albert is wonderfully like her. iHe
is the sixth and last of her children, and the only one
who lived to the age of thirty. It has been no easy
matter to preserve him even thus far, for he has gone
through severe trials, and strange symptoms of a
brain trouble still make us fear for his life. Between
ourselves, I do not believe that he will long survive
the fatal age at which his mother died. Although
his father was well advanced in years when Albert
was born, he nevertheless has a strong constitution;
but as he himself says, the seeds of disease are in
him, and this disease has steadily increased. From
his earliest infancy, his mind has always been filled
with strange and superstitious ideas. When he was
four years old, he used to assert that he often saw




:48


CONS UEL_ 0.


his mother beside his cradle, although she was dead,
and he had seen her buried. At night he would awake
to answer her, and my Aunt XVenceslawa was so
frightened by it that she always had several women
in her room with the child, while the chaplain used
quantities of holy water in exorcising the phantom,
and said masses by dozens to compel it to keep
quiet. But everything was in vain; for the child,
who had not spoken of the apparition for a long time,
one day admitted to his nurse that he still saw his
'little mother,' but that he did not care to tell of it,
because then the chaplain would come into the room
and say bad words to prevent her from revisiting him.
" He was a gloomy and silent child. They tried
every means to amuse him, and plied him with playthings and sports which, for a long time, only made
J'im sadder. At last they resolved not to thwart a
taste for study which he displayed, and indulgence
in this passion did, indeed, give him more animation,
but only changed his calm and languishing melancholy into a strange excitement, mingled with paroxysms of grief, the causes of which it was impossible
to foresee or avert. For instance, when he saw poor
people, he would burst into tears, and give them all
his little wealth, grieving the while, and reproaching
himself because he could not give them enough. If
he saw a child beaten or a peasant misused, he would
become so indignant that he would fall into a swoon,
or into convulsions which lasted for hours together.
All this showed that he had a kindly nature and a




CONS UE- 0.24


249


good heart; but the best qualities, when carried to
excess, become faults or follies. Albert's reason did
not develop as rapidly as his feelings and his irnagination. The study of history excited without enlightening him. Wohen he read of the crimes or
injustice of men, he was always moved by too simple
emotions, like the barbarian king who, as he listened
to the story of our Saviour's passion, brandished his
lance and cried, ' Ah! if I had been there with my
soldiers, all this would not have happened! I would
have cut those wicked Jews in a thousand pieces! '
" Albert could not accept men for what they have
been and for what they still are. He thought Heaven
unjust in not making them all good and compassionate, like himself, and could not see that his very tenderness and goodness made him impious and misanthropic.
He understood nothing but what he felt, and at eiP
teen he was as incapable of living among men and filling the position in society which his rank exacted, as
if he had been but six months old. If any one gave
expression in his presence to one of those selfish
thoughts which are so common in our poor world,
and without which it could not exist, he would instantly show an invincible aversion to him, no matter
who he was or what respect was due to him from the
family, and nothing could induce him to show the
man the slightest attention. His companions were
vulgar beings, little favored by fortune or even by
nature. In his childish sports he was happy only in
the society of poor children, and, above all, those




250
D


C ONAS UEL O.


whose stupidity or infirmities would have wearied or
disgusted any one else.
" As, in spite of these oddities, he showed plenty
of cleverness and a good memory, and as he had a
taste for art, his father and his Aunt Wenceslawa, who
were watching over his education with devoted tenderness, had no reason to blush for him in society. His
peculiarities were attributed to the timidity incident
to his country life, and when he was disposed to carry
them too far, they took care to conceal them from any
one who could take offence. But in spite of his admirable qualities and good disposition, the count and
the canoness were frightened at seeing Albert, who
was independent and in some respects indifferent,
more and more inclined to disobey the laws of society
and the customs of the world."
"But I see nothing in all this," said Consuelo,
" which shows the insanity of which you spoke."
"It is, I think," replied Amelia, "because you have
yourself a pure, candid nature. But perhaps you are
tired of my chattering, and wish to go to sleep."
"Not at all, dear baroness," said Consuelo, "go
on, I beg of you; " and thus requested, Amelia continued her story.




CONSUELO.


251


CHAPTER XXVI.
"You say, dear Nina, that thus far you see nothing
extravagant in my poor cousin's behavior. I will
give you better evidence of it. My uncle and my
aunt are certainly the best Christians and the most
charitable souls in the world. Their alnsgiving has
always been most generous, and it is impossible to
employ wealth with less pride or ostentation than are
shown by them. Well, my cousin thought that their
manner of life was wholly opposed to ihe true evangelical spirit; and that, after the example of the early
Christians, they ought to sell all that they had and
give to the poor, and become beggars themselves.
Though he did not precisely say this, being restrained
by the love and respect he bore them, he made it
clear that this was his idea by bitterly compassionating
the lot of those poor wretches whose lives are made
up of toil and suffering, while the rich live in idleness
and ease. When he had given away all the money
which they allowed him to spend, it was, to his mind,
but a drop in the ocean, and he asked for larger sums,
which they hardly dared refuse him, and which flowed
through his hands like water. He has given away so
much that you cannot find a pauper in the country
about us; and I must say that we are no better off
for it, for the demands and the needs of the poor




252


CONSUEL O.


increase in proportion to the concessions which are
made to them, and our good peasants, who were once
so humble and meek, now hold their heads much
higher, thanks to the prodigality and the fine speeches
of their young master. If we had not the imperial
power to protect us on the one hand, while it oppresses us on the other, I believe that our lands and
our castles would have been pillaged and laid waste
twenty times by bands of peasants from the neighboring districts who have been left starving by the war,
and whom Albert's inexhaustible pity, which is well
known for thirty leagues around, has brought down on
us, and especially since the troubles about the succession of the Emperor Charles.
"When Count Christian made wise objections to
Albert, saying that to give everything to-day was to
leave one's self without the power of giving anything
to-morrow, he would reply, ' Well, my beloved father,
have we not a roof to shelter us which will last longer
than we, while thousands of unfortunate wretches have
nothing but the cold, stormy sky above their heads?
Have we not each of us more raiment than would
serve to clothe a whole ragged family? Do I not
every day see upon our table more food and more
good Hungarian wine than would suffice to feed and
warm these beggars, worn out by want and fatigue?
Have we a right to refuse to give what we have above
our own needs? Are we permitted to use even what
is strictly necessary when others are in want? Has
Christ's law changed?'




CONSUELO0.


2,53


"1 What answer could be made to these fine words
by the count, or the canoness, or the chaplain, who
had brought up this young man in such fervent and
austere religious principles?  They were therefore
greatly embarrassed at seeing him take everything literally, refusing to make any of those compromises on
which, nevertheless, it seems to me that our whole
social fabric rests.
"1 It was far worse when it was a question of politics.  Albert thought those laws monstrous which
allowed sovereigns to slaughter millions of men and
devastate whole districts to avenufe their wounded
pride or gratify their vanity. His intolerance on this
point was dangerous, andi they did not dare to take
hi,-n to Vienna, or Prague, or any other large city,
where his fanatical virtue would assuredly have involved him ill difficulties. They felt hardly more
tranquil on the subject of his religious belief, for
there were inl his exalted piety all the materials for a
most outrageous heretic. He hated the pop~es, those
apostles of Jesus (Christ, who leagued themselves with
kings to disturb the repose and outrage the dignity
of the people.   He blamed the bishops for their
luxury, the abbes for their worldliness, and all churchmen for their ambition. He would preach to the
poor chaplain sermons in the style of Luther and
John Huss, and yet he would spend hours p~rostrate
on the floor of the chapel, plunged in meditations
and ecstasies worthy of a saint. They say that he
even wore a hair-shirt, and that it required all the




254


C 2ONS UEL O.


authority of his father and all the influence of his
aunt to induce him to give up his macerations, which
had no small effect in exciting his poor brain.
"When these good and wise friends saw that he
was in a fair way to waste his whole patrimony in a
few years, and to be cast into prison as an enemy to
Church and State, they took at last the painful resolution to have him travel, hoping that when he had
seen something of society and the action of its fundamental laws, which are nearly identical in all civilized
countries, he would become accustomed to living in
it, and conforming to its customs. They intrusted
him to a tutor, an acute Jesuit, a man of the world,
— and a clever man, if ever there was one, —who
understood his task on a hint, and who took upon
himself to do all that they wished without daring to
ark it. To speak clearly, they wished him to corrupt
and tame this wild nature, and break it to the yoke
of society, by inoculating it drop by drop with those
sweet and necessary poisons, -vanity, ambition, and
religious, political, and moral indifference. Do not
frown at my words, dear Porporina.  My worthy
uncle is a simple and good man, who in his youth
accepted all these things as he found them, and who
through his whole life has known how to reconcile
tolerance with religion and his duty as a Christian
with his duty as a nobleman. In a world and an age
where but one such man as Albert is found among
millions like the rest of us, the wise man is he who
keeps in harmony with his age and with his environ



CONS UE L O.


255


ment; and he who wishes to go back two thousand
years into the past is a madman who offends his fellow-men, and converts nobody.
" Albert travelled for eight years. He visited Italy,
France, England, Prussia, Poland, Russia, and even
Turkey. He came home by way of Hungary, Southern Germany and Bavaria. He behaved excellently
during this long excursion, never spending more than
the ample allowance which his relatives made him,
writing them sweet and affectionate letters, in which
he spoke only of what he had seen, without making
profound observations on anything whatever, and
without giving the abbe, his tutor, cause for complaint
or annoyance.
" When he returned home at the beginning of last
year, he retired after the first salutations, they say,
into the room in which his mother had lived, remained
there alone for several hours, and came out, very pale,
to walk upon the mountain.
" During this time the abbe was having a confidential conversation with the Canoness Wenceslawa and
the chaplain, who had exacted of him entire frankness
concerning the physical and moral condition of the
young count. 'It may be,' he said, 'that the effect
of travelling suddenly changed Count Albert, or it may
be that I had formed an entirely mistaken impression
of him from what your lordship told me concerning
him, but since the very first day of our association he
has been as you see him to-day, - gentle, calm, courteous, patient and exquisitely polite. This excellent




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CONS UEL 0.


bearing has not varied for a single instant, and I
should be the most unjust of men if I were to complain of him in the slightest degree. Nothing of what
I feared has happened,-neither extravagant expenditure, violent outbursts, declamatory speeches, nor excessive asceticism. He has never desired to manage
himself the little fortune you intrusted to me, and has
never expressed the slightest dissatisfaction. It is true
that I always anticipated his wishes, and when I saw
a beggar come towards the carriage, made haste to
send him away satisfied before he could hold out his
hand. This course of action succeeded perfectly, and
I may say that as the spectacle of poverty and disease
hardly ever met his lordship's sight, he has not once
seemed to me to recollect his old anxiety on this
point. Never have I heard him scold any one, find
fault with any custom, or utter an unfavorable criticism.  The ardent devotion, whose excesses you
dreaded, seems to have given place to a regularity of
conduct and religious observance altogether suitable
to a man of the world. He had seen the most brilliant courts of Europe and the most illustrious assemblies without appearing either intoxicated or shocked
by anything. His handsome face, his noble bearing
and his quiet politeness have everywhere been remarked, as well as the unfailing good taste of his
conversation. His habits have remained as pure as
those of a young girt, though he has never shown any
ill-bred prudishness. He has seen theatres, museums
and public monuments, and he has conversed soberly




CONSUELO.


257


and judiciously on the subject of art. In short, I am
wholly unable to understand the anxiety which he gave
your lordships, for I have always found him a reasonable man. If there is anything extraordinary about
him, it is just this moderation, this prudence, this
coolness, this absence of impulses and passions, which
I have never met in a young man so richly endowed
by nature, birth and fortune.'
"This was, indeed, only a confirmation of the abbe's
frequent letters to the family; but they had always
dreaded some exaggeration on his part, and they were
not relieved until he asserted the moral cure of my
cousin, without fear of being contradicted by the conduct which he should show under the eyes of his relatives. They overwhelmed the abbe with presents
and courtesies, and impatiently awaited Albert's return
from his walk. He was long absent, and when at last
he sat down to supper, they were struck by the paleness
and gravity of his countenance. In the first effusion
of his return, his features had expressed a gentle and
deep satisfaction which could now no longer be read
on them. They were astonished, and anxiously spoke
to the abbe about it in an undertone. He looked at
Albert, and turning about with surprise to those who
had questioned him, said, 'I see nothing extraordinary
in the count's face. It wears the same dignified and
peaceful expression that I have always seen for the
eight years that I have had the honor of accompanying
him.'
" Count Christian was satisfied with this answer.




258


CONSUFsL, 0O.


" 'When he left us,' he said to his sister, ' he was
still adorned with the roses of youth, and often, alas!
the victim of a mental fever which gave resonance
to his voice and fire to his eye. He has come back
to us bronzed by a southern sun, worn a little by
fatigue, perhaps, and wearing the gravity which befits
a man of his years. Do you not think, dear sister,
that he is better thus? '
"' I think him very sad beneath his gravity,' replied my good aunt, and I have never seen a man of
eight-and-twenty so phlegmatic and so silent; he
only answers us in monosyllables.'
"'The count has always been very sparing of
words,' said the abbe.
"' He was not so formerly,' replied the canoness;
'if he had weeks of silence and meditation, he had
days of communicativeness and hours of eloquence.'
"' Never,' said the abbe, 'have I seen him lay aside
the reserve which your excellency has noticed.'
"'Did you like him better when he talked too
much, and said things which frightened us?' said
Count Christian to his anxious sister; 'that is like
a true woman!'
"' But he did exist,' said she, 'and now he is like
an inhabitant of the other world, who has no interest
in the affairs of this one.'
" ' It is Count Albert's invariable character,' replied the abbe. ' I-e is a reserved man, who conmunicates his impressions to no one, and who, if I
must say so, is impressed by very few external occur



CO1VS UEZ O.


259


rences. This is the case with all cool, deliberate,
thoughtful people. It is his nature, and I think that
if you were to try to excite him, it would only do
harm to a nature which is opposed to action and all
dangerous innovation.'
"'Oh, I will swear that that is not his real character ' said the canoness.
" The lady canoness will change the unfavorable
opinion which she is forming concerning so rare an
advantage.'
"' It is true, sister,' said the count; 'I think the
abbe is right. Has he not obtained by his care and
his devotion the result which we so greatly desired?
Has he not averted the misfortunes which we dreaded?
Albert bade fair to be a spendthrift, an enthusiast, a
visionary. He comes back to us all that he should be
to deserve the esteem, the confidence and the consideration of his fellow-men.'
"'But faded like an old book,' said the canoness,
'or perhaps prejudiced against everything, and despising all that is not to his mind.  He did notseem glad to see us, who were so impatient for his
return.'"
"'The count was himself impatient to return,' said
the abbe. 'I could see it, though he did not manifest
it openly. He is so undemonstrative! Nature has
made him reserved.'
"' Nature has made him  demonstrative, on the
contrary,' replied my aunt. 'He was sometimes violent, sometimes tender to excess. He would often




260


COANSUEL 0.


make me angry, but he would throw himself into my
arms, and I was disarmed.'
"' With me,' said the abbe, 'there was never anything to atone for.'
"' Believe me, sister, it is better as it is,' said my
uncle.
"' Alas!' said the canoness, 'will he always have
that face, which frightens me and wrings my heart?'
"' It is the noble and haughty face which befits a
man of his rank.'
"' It is a face of stone! ' cried the canoness. 'It
seems to me that I see his mother, not as I knew her,
sensible and kindly, but as she is painted, motionless
and stiff in her oaken frame.'
"'I repeat to your excellency that it has been
Count Albert's habitual expression for the last eight
years.'
"' Alas! then it is eight years since he has smiled
at any one,' said my good aunt, giving free course to
her tears; ' for during the two hours that I have been
watching him I have not seen the slightest smile
enliven his pale and pinched lips. Ah! I long to go
to him and press him warmly to my heart, reproach
him for his indifference, and scold him as I used to
do, to see if he will not, as of old, throw himself
sobbing on my heart.'
"'Beware of such imprudences, dear sister,' said
Count Christian, forcing her to turn away from Albert,
at whom she was still looking with tearful eyes. ' Do
not yield to the weakness of your maternal heart; we




CONSS UEL O.


26l


have proved only too well that excessive sensibility
was the scourge of our child's life and reason. By
distracting his mind, and keeping him from all lively
emotion, the abbe, in accordance with our advice and
that of the physicians, has succeeded in calming this
agitated nature. Do not destroy his work by the
caprices of a childish tenderness.'
"The canoness submitted to this reasoning, and
tried to become accustomed to Albert's icy manner;
but she could not succeed, and often she would
whisper in her brother's ear, ' You may say what you
like, Christian, but I am afraid that they have made
him stupid by treating him, not like a man, but like
a sick child.'
"That evening, as they were about to separate,
they embraced each other.    Albert received his
father's blessing respectfully, and when the canoness
pressed him to her breast, he saw that she was moved
and that her voice was trembling. He began to
tremble also, and he tore himself quickly from her
arms, as if he felt an acute pain."
" ' You see, sister,' murmured the count, ' he is not
accustomed to these emotions, and you hurt him.'
"At the same time, far from being reassured, and
deeply moved himself, he followed Albert with his
eyes, to see whether, by his manner towards the abbe,
he could detect an exclusive preference for that person. But Albert bowed to his tutor with cold politeness.
"' My son,' said the count, 'I think that I have




262               CONS UEL 0.
acted according to your wishes and the promptings
of your heart in begging the abbe not to leave us, as
he already designed, but to remain with us as long as
possible. I would not have your happiness in returning home poisoned by a regret, and I trust that your
honorable friend will help us to give you this unmixed
pleasure.'
"c Albert only answered by a profound bow, while a
strange smile passed over his face.
"' Alas! ' said the canoness when he had left them,
'is it thus that he smiles now? '"




CONS UIL O.


263


CHAPTER XXVII.
"DURING Albert's absence, the count and the canoness had made many plans for their dear child's future,
and especially for his marriage. With his handsome
face, his illustrious name, and a considerable fortune,
Albert might aspire to a distinguished match. But in
case a remnant of indolence or timidity should prevent him from appearing favorably in society or
making a good impression, they held in reserve a
young person who was as well born as he, since she
was his cousin german, and bore his name - less rich
than he, but an only child, and pretty as one is at
sixteen, when one is fresh and adorned with what in
France is called the 'beaut6 du diable.' This young
person was Amelia, the Baroness of Rudolstadt, your
humble servant and your new friend.
"' Amelia,' they said to each other, ' has never seen
any men. Brought up in a convent, she will no doubt
be glad enough to leave it to marry. She can hardly
hope for a better match; and as for the peculiarities
which may still mark her husband's character, the old
familiarity of childhood, the relationship, and a few
months of his society will surely overcome any repugnance to them, and induce her, if only from family
pride, to bear in silence what a stranger would not,
perhaps, endure.'  They were sure of my father's




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CONS UEL 0.


consent, for he had never wished differently from his.
elder brother and his sister, having, indeed, no will
of his own.
" When, after a fortnight of careful examination, my
uncle and aunt were compelled to admit that constant
melancholy and extreme reserve formed the basis of
my cousin's character, they understood that this last
representative of the family would never reflect any
glory upon it by his personal achievements.  He
showed no inclination to play any brilliant part in the
world, either in the army, in diplomacy, or in the civil
service. To all their suggestions, he replied with a
resigned air that he would carry out the wishes of the
family, but that for himself he desired neither wealth
nor glory. After all, this indolent nature was but an
exaggerated reproduction of that of his father, - that
calm man, whose patience borders on apathy, and
whose modesty is a sort of abnegation. What gives
to my uncle a character which his son does not possess is his strong sense of his duty to society. His
father and mine had borne arms under Montecuculli
against Turenne. They had brought to the war a
sort of religious feeling, inspired by the imperial
majesty. This age, which is more enlightened, has
deprived kings of this aureole, and the youth of
to-day no longer allow themselves to believe in either
crown or tiara. When my uncle attempted to revive
the ancient chivalric ardor in his son, he found that
his arguments had no force in the eyes of this contemptuous reasoner.




CONS UELO.


265


"' Since this is the case,' said my uncle and aunt,
'let us not thwart him. Let us not endanger this
questionable cure which has given us a lifeless man
instead of a furious one. Let him live peacefully in
his own way and be a studious philosopher, as some
of his ancestors have been, or an enthusiastic sportsman, like our brother Frederick, or a just and beneficent master, as I strive to be. Let him henceforth
lead the quiet and inoffensive life of an old man; he
will be the first of the Rudolstadts who has had no
youth. But as he must not be the last of his race,
let us make haste to marry him, that the inheritors of
our name may speedily fill up this blank in the glories
of our family. Who can tell? Perhaps the generous
blood of his ancestors is reposing in his veins by the
will of Providence, that it may revive prouder and
more fiery in the veins of his descendants.'
" So it was decided that they should propose marriage to my Cousin Albert. The matter was broached
gently at first, and when they found him as little
disposed to this step as to any other, they spoke
more seriously and earnestly. He objected his timidity and awkwardness with women. 'It is certain,' said
my aunt, 'that in my youth so serious a lover as Albert
would have frightened me rather than attracted me,
and that I would not have exchanged my hump for
his society.'
"c Then,' said my uncle, ' we must fall back on our
last resource, and marry him to Amelia. He knew
her as a child, he regards her as a sister, and he will




266


CONS UEL 0.


be less timid with her. Besides, her character is vivacious and energetic, and she may correct, by her brightness, the melancholy which seems to be growing on
him more and more.'
"Albert showed no repugnance to the project,
and without acquiescing positively, consented to see
me and know me. It was agreed that I should not
be informed of anything, to save me from the mortification of a possible refusal on his part. They
wrote to my father, and as soon as they received his
assent, began to take the steps needful to obtain from
the pope the dispensation which our consanguinity
made necessary. At the same time, my father withdrew me from the convent, and one fine morning
we arrived at the Castle of the Giants, -I very glad
to breathe the free air and impatient to see my betrothed, my good father full of hope, and fancying
that he had concealed from me a project which he
had unwittingly fully revealed to me on the journey.
"The first things which struck me in Albert were
his handsome face and his dignified bearing. I confess,
dear Nina, that my heart beat violently when he kissed
my hand, and for some days I was charmed by his
look and his slightest word. His serious manner did
not displease me, and he did not seem the least in
the world constrained with me. He called me ' thee'
and 'thou' as in our childhood, and when he wished
to correct himself, for fear of committing a breach
of the proprieties, our family authorized him, and
almost begged him, to continue his old familiarity with




CONS UEI O.


267


me. My gayety sometimes made him smile, and my
good aunt, transported with joy, ascribed to me a
cure which she believed to be radical. In short, he
treated me with the kindliness and gentleness that
one has for a child, and I was satisfied with that,
thinking that he would soon pay more attention to
the sprightliness of my manner, and the charming
costumes which I wore to please him.
" But I soon had the mortification to see that he
cared little for the one and did not even notice the
other. One day my aunt called his attention to a
charming blue gown which I had worn, and which
fitted me to perfection. He asserted that it was red.
The abbe, his tutor, who always had a honeyed compliment at the end of his tongue, aid who wished to
give him a lesson in gallantry, cried that he could
easily understand why Count Albert did not notice
the color of my gowns. It was an excellent opportunity for Albert to say something pretty to me about the
roses on my cheeks or the gold in my hair; but he
contented himself by remarking dryly to the abbe
that he was entirely competent to tell the color of my
gowns, and that this one was blood red.
" I do not know why this rudeness and this oddity
gave me a shudder. I glanced at Albert, and saw a
look in his eyes which frightened me. From that dlay
I began to fear rather than to love him. Soon I did
not love him at all, and now I neither fear nor love
him. I simply pity him. You will see why, little by
little, and you will understand me.




268


CONSUELO.


" The next day we were to go to Tauss, the nearest
town, to do some shopping. I anticipated a great
deal of pleasure from this excursion, for Albert and I
were to go on horseback. I was dressed and waiting
for him. The carriages were ready in the courtyard,
but he had not yet appeared. His valet said that he
had knocked at his door at the usual hour. They
sent him to see if Albert was getting ready. It was
one of my cousin's fancies always to dress alone, and
never to allow a servant in his room until he had
come out of it himself. But it was in vain that they
knocked; there was no answer. His father, uneasy at
this silence, went up to his room, and could neither
open the door, which was locked on the inside, nor
obtain any reply. They began to be greatly frightened, when the abbe remarked tranquilly that Count
Albert was subject to long fits of heavy sleep, and that
when he was suddenly aroused from them he was nervous and unwell for several days.
"'But this is a real disease,' said the canoness
anxiously.
"' I do not think so,' replied the abbe. 'The
physicians whom I called in when he was sleeping in
this way found no symptoms of fever, and attributed
his 'exhaustion to the effects of excessive labor or reflection. They advised me not to oppose this desire
for rest and forgetfulness.'
" 'And this happens frequently?' asked my uncle.
"' I have not noticed the phenomenon more than
five or six times in eight years,' replied the abbe, ' and




CONSUEL O.


269


having never disturbed him, I have never observed
any unfortunate results.'
"' Does it last long?' I asked, very impatiently.
"' That,' said the abbe, ' depends on the length of
the sleeplessness which has preceded or occasioned
this fatigue; but it is impossible to tell, for the count
never remembers the cause of these attacks, or will
not reveal it. He is a remarkably hard worker, and
conceals it with rare modesty.'
"' Then he is very learned? ' I said.
"' He is extremely learned.'
"' And he never displays his learning?'
"' He hides it, and is hardly conscious of it
himself.'
"' Then of what value is it?'
"'Genius is like beauty,' replied this Jesuitical
courtier, looking at me gallantly; 'both are gifts of
Heaven which evoke neither pride nor emotion in those
who possess them.'
"I understood the implied lesson, and was only
the more angry, as you may suppose. They resolved
to wait till my cousin should awake before going out;
but when I saw no signs of him at the end of a couple
of hours, I went and took off my handsome ridinghabit, and sat down at my embroidery frame, where
I broke a great deal of silk and dropped many stitches.
I was furious at the impertinence of Albert, who forgot himself over his books when he was to ride with
me, and was now enjoying a peaceful slumber while
I waited for him. The day drew on, and we had to




270


CONSUELO.


give up the excursion. My father, trusting to the
abbe's account, took his gun and went out to shoot
a hare or two. My aunt, more anxious, went upstairs more than twenty times to listen at her nephew's
door, without being able to hear even the sound of his
breathing. The poor woman was greatly distressed
at my anger. As for my uncle, he took a book of
devotion to occupy his mind, and began to read it in
a corner of the drawing-room with a resignation which
made me want to leap from the window. At last,
towards evening, my aunt came in quite joyful, and
told us that she had heard Albert get up and begin
dressing. The abbe advised us not to appear anxious
or surprised, not to question the young count, and to
try to divert him if he showed any annoyance at his
misadventure.
"' But if my cousin is not ill, he must be a maniac!'
I cried, a little carried away.
"At this hard speech I saw my uncle's face change,
and I was instantly filled with remorse. But when
Albert came in without apologizing to any one, and
without at all appearing to suspect our annoyance, I
was enraged, and received him very coldly. He did
not even notice it, but appeared absorbed in his
reflections.
" That evening my father thought that a little music
would enliven him. I had not yet sung for Albert,
for my harp had only arrived the day before. I will
not boast to you, learned Porporina, of knowing a
great deal about music, but you will see that I have




CONSUEL 0.


27t


a pretty voice, and am not lacking in natural taste.
I had to be pressed, for I felt more like crying than
singing. Albert did not say a word to encourage me.
At last I yielded; but I sang very badly, and Albert
had the rudeness to go out at the end of a few bars,
as if my voice set his teeth on edge. It took all the
strength of my pride to prevent me from bursting
into tears, and to enable me to finish my air without
breaking the strings of my harp. My aunt had followed her nephew, my father was asleep, my uncle
was waiting near the door for his sister to return and
tell him about his son. The abbe alone remained to
pay me some compliments which irritated me more
than the indifference of the others.
" 'It seems,' I said to him, ' that my cousin is not
fond of music.'
"' On the contrary, he is very fond of it,' he replied; ' but it depends '"'It depends on how it is sung?' I said, interrupting him.
"'It depends,' he replied, without being in the
least disconcerted, ' upon the condition of his mind.
Sometimes music does him good, sometimes harm.
You must, I am sure, have moved him so deeply that
he feared he could not contain himself. His departure is more flattering for you than the highest eulogiums.'
"There was something so sly and so sarcastic in
these compliments that I hated the abbe. But I was
soon freed from his presence, as you will learn."




2732


CONSUELO.


CHAPTER XXVIII.
" THE next day my aunt, who rarely speaks unless
her heart is deeply moved, unfortunately engaged in
a conversation with the abbe and the chaplain. Besides her family affections, which almost wholly absorb
her, there is but one thing for which she cares; that
is, her family pride. Consequently she did not fail
to indulge it by discoursing about her genealogy, and
by proving to the two priests that our family is the
purest, the most illustrious and the most excellent in
all Germany, especially on the female side. The
abbe was listening to her patiently and the chaplain
reverently, when Albert, who did not seem to be listening at all, interrupted her with some animation.
"' It seems to me, my dear aunt,' said he, 'that
you are somewhat mistaken about the excellence of
our family. It is true that the nobility and the titles
of our ancestors date far enough back; but a family
which loses its name, which, in a certain sense, abjures
it, to take that of a woman alien in race and religion,
gives up all right to boast of its ancient virtue and its
fidelity to the glory of its country.'
"This remark greatly annoyed my aunt, but as the
abbe had appeared to prick up his ears, she felt that
she ought to reply to it.
"' I do not agree with you, my dear child,' said




CONSUEL O.


273


she. 'Illustrious families have often been known to
make themselves still more illustrious, and very properly, by adding to their own name that of a maternal
branch, that the heirs may not be deprived of the
honor which belongs to them  as being descended
from a woman of glorious parentage.'
"'But this rule does not apply to our case,' replied Albert, with a tenacity which was unusual to
him. 'I can understand the union of two illustrious
names. I think it very proper for a woman to transmit to her children her own name, joined to that of
her husband. But the entire suppression of the man's
name seems to me an outrage on the part of her who
asks it, a cowardice on the part of him who submits
to it.'
" ' You are recalling very ancient history, Albert,'
said the canoness, with a deep sigh,' and you apply
the rule more wrongly than I. The abbe might
think, to listen to you, that one of our male ancestors
had been guilty of a cowardice; and as you know so
well things of which I thought you ignorant, you
should not have made such a remark about political
events which happened long before our time, thank
Heaven!'
"' If my remark disturbs you, I will recount the
facts, so as to free our ancestor Withold, the last
Count of Podiebrad, of any injurious imputation.
This seems to interest my cousin,' he added, seeing
me listen, with wide-eyed surprise, at his engaging in
a controversy so foreign to his philosophic ideas and




274


CONS UEL 0.


habitual silence. 'You must know, Amelia, that our
great-grandfather Wratislaw was not more than four
years old when his mother, Ulrica, of Rudolstadt,
thought it her duty to deprive himn of his own name,
the name of his fathers, which was Podiebrad, and to
inflict upon him the Saxon name which you and I
bear to-day, - you without blushing for it; I without being proud of it.'
" It is quite useless,' said my Uncle Christian, who
appeared very ill at ease, ' to recall events which
happened so long ago.'
"' It seems to me,' said Albert, ' that my aunt went
much farther back into the past when she was recounting the mighty deeds of the Rudolstadts, and I
do not see why it should be in bad taste for one of
us to speak of events which are hardly a hundred and
twenty years old, if he happens to recollect that he is
by birth a Bohemian and not a Saxon, and that his
name is Podiebrad and not Rudolstadt.'
I knew,' said the abbe, who had been listening
to Albert with a certain interest, ' that your family was
allied in the past to the royal house of George Podiebrad, but I did not know that you were so directly
descended from it as to bear its name.'
" ' My aunt, who knows how to construct family
trees, has seen fit to cut down in her own mind the
ancient and venerable one from whose stock we are
sprung. But a family tree, on which our glorious but
gloomy history has been written in letters of blood,
still stands on the neighboring mountain.'




COA S UEL O.


275


" As Albert became more excited as he spoke, and
as my uncle's face grew darker and darker, the abbe
attempted to change the conversation, although. his
curiosity was greatly excited. But I was too much
interested to let it drop.
" 'What do you mean, Albert? ' I cried, drawing
near him.
"' No Podiebrad should be ignorant of what I
mean,' he replied. 'I mean that the old oak of the
Rock of Terror, which you see every day from your
window, Amelia, and under which I advise you never
to sit down without commending your soul to God,
bore, three hundred years ago, somewhat heavier fruit
than the dried-up acorns which it can hardly bring
forth to-day.'
"' It is a frightful narrative,' said the appalled
chaplain, and I do not know who can have told it
to you.'
"' The traditions of the country, and perhaps something still more trustworthy,' replied Albert; ' for it
is useless to burn family archives and historical documents, chaplain; it is useless to educate children in
ignorance of the past, to impose silence on the simple
by sophistry, on the weak by threats; for neither the
fear of despotism nor the dread of hell can silence
the thousand voices of the past which we hear on
every side.  No, no! Terrible as they are, they
speak too loud for a priest to silence them! They
speak to our souls in sleep by the mouth of the
spirits who rise to warn us, and to our ears in every




276


CONS UEL 0.


sound of Nature; they issue even from the trunks of
trees, like the voices of gods in the sacred woods, to
relate to us the crimes, the exploits and the misfortunes of our fathers.'
" I And why, my poor child,' said the canoness, ' do
you fill your mind with these bitter thoughts and
mournful memories? '
"' It is your genealogies, aunt, - the excursion which
you made into the past ages, - which revived in me
the memory of the fifteen monks hanged upon the
branches of the oak by the hands of one of my ancestors, -oh! the greatest, the most persevering, the
most terrible; him whom they called the redoubtable
blind man, the invincible John Ziska the Calixtine!'
" The sublime and abhorred name of the chief of
the Taborites, a sect who, in the Hussite War, excelled
the other reformers in energy, bravery, and cruelty,
fell like lightning upon the abbe and the chaplain.
The latter crossed himself, while my aunt pushed back
her chair, which was close to Albert's.
"'Good Heaven!' she cried, 'what does the child
mean? Do not listen to him, abbe. Never, no, never
has our family had connection or association with the
reprobate whose abominable name he has just pronounced.'
"c' Speak for yourself, aunt,' said Albert, energetically, 'you are a Rudolstadt at heart, though in fact
you are a Podiebrad. But as for rme, I have in my
veins a few drops more of Bohemian, and a few drops
less of alien blood. My mother had neither Saxons




CONSUEL O.                277
nor Bavarians nor Prussians in her family tree. She
was of pure Slav blood. And as you do not seem to
care much for a nobility to which you do not belong,
I, who am proud of my nobility, will tell you, if you
do not know it, will remind you, if you have forgotten
it, that John Ziska left a daughter, who married a
Prachalitz; and that my mother, being a Prachalitz,
descended in direct line from John Ziska by the
female side, as you are descended from the Rudolstadts, aunt! '
" ' This is a dream, a mistake, Albert!'
" ' No, dear aunt; I leave it to the chaplain, who
is a truthful and God-fearing man. He has had in his
hands the parchments which proved it.'
" '? ' cried the chaplain, pale as death.
"'You may admit it without blushing before the
abbe,' replied Albert with bitter irony, ' since you
did your duty as a Catholic priest and an Austrian
subject by burning them the day after my mother's
death.'
"'This action, ordained by my conscience, had
none but God to witness!' said the chaplain, still
paler yet. 'Count Albert, who could have revealed to
you '"' I have already told you, chaplain - the voice
which speaks yet louder than a priest's.'
" 'What voice, Albert? ' I asked, deeply interested.
" 'The voice which speaks in sleep,' said Albert.
"'But that explains nothing,' said Count Christian,
sad and thoughtful.




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" The voice of blood, father! ' said Albert in a
tone which made us all tremble.
" ' Alas! ' said my uncle, clasping his hands, ' these
are the same dreams, the same imaginations, which
tormented his poor mother. She must have spoken
of all this before the child during her illness,' said he,
leaning towards my aunt, ' and his mind must have
been impressed by them then.'
"' Impossible, brother! ' replied the canoness;
'Albert was not three years old when he lost his
mother.'
"' Rather,' said the chaplain, in a low voice, ' must
there have remained in the house some of those accursed heretical writings, filled with lies and impiety,
which she preserved from family pride, but which she
sacrificed in her last hours.'
"' No, none of them remain,' said Albert, who had
not lost one of the chaplain's words, although the
good man had spoken low, and Albert, who was walking about excitedly, was at the opposite end of the
large drawing-room. ' You well know, chaplain, that
you destroyed them all, and that you searched in
every part of her chamber the day after her death.'
"' Who can have assisted your memory in this way
or led it astray, Albert?' asked Count Christian severely.  ' What faithless or imprudent servant has
troubled your young mind by the account, no doubt
exaggerated, of these domestic incidents? '
" ' Not one of them, father. I swear it upon my
religion and my conscience.'




CONS UE L 0.


279


" ' The enemy of mankind has had a hand in this,'
said the frightened chaplain.
"'It would be more charitable and more Christian
to think,' remarked the abbe, 'that Count Albert has
an extraordinary memory, and that events which do
not usually impress children of his tender years have
remained graven on his mind. What I have seen of
his rare intelligence makes me believe that his reason
developed very early; and as for his faculty for remembering, it has often appeared to me prodigious.'
"' It appears prodigious to you because you are
absolutely devoid of it,' said Albert, dryly.  'For
instance, do you recollect what you did in the year
1619, after Withold Podiebrad, the Protestant, the
valiant, the faithful (your ancestor, dear aunt), the
last who bore our name, had dyed with his blood
the Rock of Terror? I would wager that you have
forgotten what you did on this occasion, abbe.'
"' I have entirely forgotten it, I confess,' replied
the abbe, with a mocking smile, which was not in
good taste at a moment when it was becoming evident
to us all that Albert was completely wandering.
"' Well, I will recall it to you,' Albert went on.
'You quickly advised the imperial soldiers who had
committed the deed to fly or conceal themselves,
because the workmen of Pilsen, who had the courage
to avow themselves Protestants, and who adored
Withold, were coming to avenge the death of their
master, and preparing to cut them to pieces. Then
you came and found my ancestor, Ulrica, Withold's




2s0


CONS UEL 0.


trembling and frightened widow, and you promised to
make her peace with the Emperor Ferdinand II., and
to preserve her estates, her titles, her liberty, and the
lives of her children, if she would follow your advice
and pay you for your services. She consented. Her
maternal love prompted this act of weakness. She
did not respect the martyrdom of her noble husband.
She had been a Catholic, and had abjured only for
love of him. She could not accept poverty, proscription, and persecution to preserve for her children a
faith which her husband had just sealed with his blood,
and a name which he had rendered more illustrious
than all his ancestors, - Hussites, Calixtines, Taborites, Orphans, United Brethren, or Lutherans. [All
these names, dear Porporina, are those of various
sects which united the heresy of John Huss to that
of Luther, and to which our branch of the IPodiebrads had probably belonged.]  In short,' Albert
went on, ' the Saxon woman was afraid, and yielded.
You took possession of the castle, you sent away the
imperial troops, you protected our estates.  You
made an immense auto-da-fe of our title-deeds and
our archives. That is why my aunt, happily for her,
cannot reconstruct the family tree of the Podiebrads,
and is reduced to feeding on the more digestible pasture of the Rudolstadts. As the price of your scrvices, you were made rich - very rich. Three months
afterwards, Ulrica was allowed to go to Vienna to kiss
the hand of the emperor, who graciously permitted
her to denationalize her children, to have them brought




CONS UELO.


28I


up by you in the Roman faith, and to enlist them
later under the same flag against which their father
and their ancestors had fought so valiantly. We were
enrolled, my sons and I, in the ranks of Austrian
tyranny,' -
"'Your sons and you!' cried my aunt, despairingly, seeing that he was all astray.
"'Yes, my sons Sigismund and Rudolph,' replied
Albert, very seriously.
"'They are the names of my father and uncle,'
said Count Christian. 'Albert, what are you thinking
about? Come to yourself, my son. More than a
century has passed since these painful events were ordained by Providence.'
"Albert would not admit that he was wrong. He
thought, and tried to make us believe, that he was
Wratislaw, the son of Withold, and the first of the
Podiebrads who bore the maternal name of Rudolstadt. He told us the story of his childhood, the distinct recollection that he had of Count Withold's
death, which he attributed wholly to the Jesuit Ditmar (who, according to him, was none other than the
abbe, his tutor), the deep hatred that, in his childhood, he had felt for Ditmar, for Austria, for the imperialists, and for the Catholics.  After that, his
recollections appeared to become confused, and he
added a thousand incomprehensible things concerning
eternal life and the reappearance of men upon earth,
quoting that article of the Hussite belief which declared that John Huss was to return to Bohemia a




282


CONSUELO.


hundred years after his death and finish his work;
claiming that the prediction had been realized, since
Luther was John Huss resuscitated. What he said
was a mixture of heresy, superstition, obscure metaphysics and poetical raving; and he declaimed it all
with such an appearance of conviction, with such detailed, exact and interesting reminiscences of what he
insisted that he had seen, not only in the person of
Wratislaw, but also in that of John Ziska, and I know
not how many others, who, he asserted, had been his
own embodiments during the past, that we were
aghast at hearing him, and not one of us had the
courage to interrupt or contradict him. My uncle
and aunt, to whom his derangement caused frightful
suffering, for it seemed blasphemous to them, wished
at least to understand it thoroughly; for it was the
first time that it had been displayed openly, and it
was necessary to know its cause, that an attempt
might be made to conquer it. The abbe tried to
turn the affair into a jest, and make us believe that
Count Albert had a sarcastic bent, which caused him
to take pleasure in mystifying us with his incredible
learning.
"The canoness, whose ardent devotion is not far
removed from superstition, and who was beginning to
believe implicitly what her nephew said, received the
abbe's suggestions very coldly, and advised him to
keep his jesting explanations for a more festive occasion. Then she made a violent effort to induce Albert to retract the errors which crowded his brain.




CONSUEL O.


283


"" 'Fake care, aunt,' cried Albert, impatiently,
'that I do not tell you who you are. I have never
been willing to know, but something warns me that
now the Saxon Ulrica is somewhere near me.'
"' What, my poor boy! ' said she, ' do you think
that that prudent and devoted ancestor, who was able
to preserve the lives of her children, the inheritance
of her descendants, and the lands and honors which
they enjoy, lives again in me? Well, Albert, I love
you so much that for you I would do more. I would
give my life, if at that cost I could calm your troubled
spirit.'
" Albert looked at her for some moments with an
expression which was both severe and tender. At last
he drew near to her, knelt at her feet, and said, -
"' No, no! You are an angel, and you once partook of the communion in the wooden cup of the
Hussites. But the Saxon is here, nevertheless, and I
have heard her voice several times to-day.'
"'Let us suppose that I am she, Albert,' said I,
attempting to divert him, 'and do not blame me too
much for not having given you to the scaffold in
i6I9.'
"c 'You, my mother!' said he, looking at me with
a frightful expression; 'do not say that, for I could
never forgive you. God has caused me to be born
again from the womb of a stronger woman; he has
strengthened me with the blood of John Ziska, and
restored to me my own substance, which had gone
astray, I know not how. Amelia, do not look at me;




2S4


22CONS UE L 0.


above all, do not speak to me! It is your voice
which causes me all the pain I feel to-day.'
" As he said this, Albert went out hurriedly, leaving
us in consternation at the dreadful disclosures which
he had just made to us of the derangement of his
intellect.
" It was then two o'clock. We had dined quietly,
and Albert had drank nothing but water, so that we
could not hope that his madness was the effect of
intoxication. My aunt and the chaplain rose at once
to follow him and care for him, thinking that he must
be very ill. But strange to say, Albert had already
disappeared, as if by enchantment. They could not
find him in his own room or in that of his mother -
where he would often lock himself up - or anywhere
else in the castle. They sought for him in the
garden, in the preserves, in the neighboring woods,
and upon the mountains. Nobody had seen him,
high or low. His footprints were not visible anywhere.
That day and night went by in this way. No one
went to bed, and the servants were afoot till daybreak, seeking him with torches.
"The whole family betook itself to prayer. We
passed the next day in the same anxiety, and the
night which followed in the same consternation. I
cannot tell you what a terror I felt, - I, who had never
suffered in my life, or been frightened at domestic
occurrences of such importance. I believed seriously
that Albert had either killed himself or fled forever,
and I was seized with convulsions and a violent fever.




CONSUEL O.


285


I still retained traces of my love amid the fright which
so strange and awful a being inspired in me. My
father still had strength to go hunting, fancying that
he might find Albert in the depths of the wood. My
poor aunt was overwhelmed with grief, but she remained active and courageous, taking care of me, and
endeavoring to reassure every one. My uncle spent
his whole time in prayer, night and day. When I saw
his faith and his stoical submission to the will of
Heaven, I was sorry that I was not religious.
"The abbe affected some sorrow, but pretended to
feel no anxiety. It was true, he said, that Albert had
never before disappeared in this way; but he often
felt the need of solitude and contemplation. He
thought that the only remedy for these singular symptoms was never to thwart them, and to appear not to
pay too much attention to them. The truth is, that
this scheming and profoundly selfish man had cared
only for the large salary attached to his position as
tutor, and had made his engagement last as long as
possible by deceiving the family in regard to the good
results of his efforts. Occupied with his business and
pleasures, he had abandoned Albert to his own
devices. Perhaps he had often seen him ill, often
excited. He had undoubtedly left his fancies unchecked. One thing is certain, and that is that he
had had the adroitness to conceal Albert's aberrations
from every one who could have told us of them; for
in all the letters which my uncle received concerning
his son, there was never anything but praise for his




2S6


COATSUEL 0.


bearing, and compliments on his personal appearance.
Albert had nowhere the reputation of an invalid or a
madman. Whatever it may have been, his inward
life during those eight years has remained to us an
impenetrable secret. The abbe, seeing that he had
not reappeared at the end of three days, and fearing
that he himself might suffer some disadvantage from
this occurrence, set out in search of him, saying that
he would look for him in Prague, where he had no
doubt been drawn by the desire to seek some rare
book.
"'He is like those learned men,' he said, 'who
become absorbed in their studies, and forget the
whole world in satisfying their innocent passion.'
"The abbe departed, and never returned.
"After seven days of mortal anguish, and just as
we were beginning to despair, my aunt was passing
before Albert's room about evening, when she saw the
door wide open and Albert sitting in his chair, patting
his dog, which had accompanied him on his mysterious journey. His garments were neither soiled nor
torn, only the silver lace upon them was somewhat
blackened, as if he had come from a damp place, or
had been spending his nights in the open air. His
shoes did not indicate that he had walked much, but
his hair and his beard showed that he had long been
careless of his person. Since that day he has always
refused to shave or to wear powder like other men;
that is why you took him for a ghost.
" My aunt sprang toward him with a great cry.




CONSUEL0.


287


" ' What is the matter, dear aunt? ' he said, as he
kissed her hand. ' One would say that you had not
seen me for an age.'
"c' But, my poor child! ' she cried, ' it is seven
days since you left us without saying a word, - seven
mortal days, seven dreadful nights, that we have spent
in seeking, weeping and praying for you!'
"'Seven days?' said Albert, looking at her with
surprise, 'seven hours, you mean, dear aunt, for I
went out this morning for a walk, and have returned
in time to sup with you. How could you have been
so anxious about so short an absence? '
"c' Oh, certainly,' said she, fearing to aggravate his
ill by revealing it to him; ' my tongue slipped. I
meant to say seven hours. I was anxious because
you are not accustomed to such long walks, and then
I had a bad dream last night. I was very foolish.'
" 'Dear aunt! excellent friend! ' said Albert, as
he covered her hands with kisses, ' you love me like a
little child! I hope my father did not share your
anxiety.'
" ' Not at all. He is waiting for you to join him at
supper. You must be very hungry?'
"'Not in the least. I dined very well.'
"'XVhere, how, Albert?'
"' Here, this morning, with you, dear aunt. You
have not quite recovered yourself yet, I see. Oh,
how grieved I am that I caused you such a fright!
How could I have guessed it?'
"'You know that I am naturally nervous. But




288


CONS UEL 0.


where have you eaten and slept since you have been
away?'
"' How could I need to eat or sleep since this
morning?'
"' You do not feel ill?'
"' Not the least in the world.'
"' Nor tired? You must have walked a great deal
and climbed mountains. It is very hard work. Where
have you been?'
"Albert placed his hand over his eyes, as if to
recollect, but he could not tell.
" ' I confess,' he said, ' that I really do not know. I
was greatly preoccupied. I walked without seeing anything, as I used to do when a child. Do you not remember? I could never tell you when you asked me.'
" ' And during your travels, did you not pay more
attention to what you saw?'
" 'Sometimes, but not always. I remember many
things, but I have forgotten many others, thank God!'
" ' And why thank God?'
"'Because one sees frightful things in this world,'
said he, rising with a sombre expression which my
aunt had never seen before.
" She saw that it would not do to make him talk
any longer, and hurried to tell my uncle that his
son was found again. Nobody in the house knew it,
for no one had seen him come in. His return had
been as mysterious as his departure.
" The courage which had supported my poor uncle
in misfortune failed him in his first moment of happi



CONS UEL O.


289


ness. He lost consciousness, and when Albert appeared, his face was more deeply marked than his
son's. Albert, who since his long journey had not
appeared to observe the emotions of those about him,
seemed that day wholly changed and different. He
was very tender towards his father, became anxious
at seeing the alteration in his face, and wished to know
the reason. But when they tried to hint it to him,
he could not understand them, and all his replies were
made with a sincerity and assurance which proved
that he was entirely ignorant of where he had been
during the seven days of his absence."
"What you are telling me seems like a dream," said
Consuelo, "and makes me feel more like talking than
sleeping, dear baroness. How is it possible for a man
to live seven days without being conscious of anything?"
"This is nothing in comparison with what I shall
have to tell you; and until you have seen for yourself
that I am extenuating rather than exaggerating, you
will find it hard to believe me. Even I, who repeat
to you what I have seen, sometimes ask myself
whether Albert is a sorcerer, or is making sport of
us. But it is very late, and I am really afraid of
wearying you."
" It is I who am wearying you," replied Consuelo,
"you must be tired with talking. Let us postpone
the rest of this incredible story until to-morrow night,
if you like."
"Very good, then, till to-morrow," said the young
baroness, kissing her.




290


CONSUEL 0.


CHAPTER XXIX.
THE story to which Consuelo had been listening,
and which was indeed incredible, kept her from sleeping for a long while. The night, which was dark,
rainy, and filled with strange noises, also helped to inspire her with a superstitious dread which she had
never before known. "Is there, then," she said to
herself, "an incomprehensible fatality which hangs
over certain beings? In what way has God been
offended by this young girl, who has just been telling
me so frankly of her wounded vanity and her vanished
dreams? What have I done myself, for my only love
to be so terribly wounded and broken?  And, alas!
what has this unhappy Albert of Rudolstadt done,
that he should lose consciousness and the power of
directing his own life? Has Providence come to
abhor Anzoleto, that it abandons him thus to his
wicked instincts and the power of temptation?"
Overcome at last by fatigue, she fell asleep and lost
herself in a series of disconnected and endless dreams.
Two or three times she awoke and went to sleep
again without being able to determine where she was,
thinking herself still on her journey. Porpora, Anzoleto, Count Zustiniani and Corilla passed in succession
before her eyes, reproaching her with some crime for
which she was undergoing punishment, but which she




CONVs UJELO               29


291


could not remember having committed. But all these
visions vanished before that of Count Albert, who
continually reappeared before her, with his black
beard, his staring eyes and his mourning garments set
off with gold, like a pall besprinkled with tears.
When she awoke at last, she found Amelia beside
her bed, elegantly dressed and fresh and smiling.
"D Do you know, dear Porporina," said the young
baroness, as she kissed her brow, " that there is something strange about you? I seem destined to live
with extraordinary beings, for certainly you are one.
I have been watching you asleep for a quarter of an
hour, to see whether you were handsomer than I. I
confess that this gave me some anxiety, and that in
spite of the fact that I have wholly resigned all claim
on Albert, I should be a little piqued if he were to
take an interest in you. What would you have? He
is the only man here, and thus far I have been the
only woman. Now that there are two of us, we shall
have a bone to pick together if you eclipse me too
much."
" You are laughing at me," said Consuelo. "It is
hardly generous of you. But will you be good enough
to stop your teasing, and tell me what there is so extraordinary about me? Perhaps my ugliness has suddenly come back. I suppose it must be that."
"I will tell you the truth, Nina. When I first
looked at you this morning, your pallor and your halfopened eyes, which seemed rather staring than asleep,
and your thin arm which hung out of the bed, made




292


292COVS UEL 0.


me feel relieved for a moment. Then, as I looked at
you, I became almost frightened by your immobility
and your truly royal attitude. Your arm is that of a
queen, and there is something imposing in your calmness which I cannot understand. Now I am beginning to find you horribly beautiful, and yet your look
is mild. Tell me what sort of being you are. You
attract and frighten me at the same time, and I am
ashamed of all the nonsense I told you last night.
You have confided to me nothing about yourself, and
yet you know all my faults already."
" If I have the air of a queen, which I should never
have suspected," said Consuelo with a sad smile, "it
must be the pitiful air of a dethroned queen. As for
my beauty, it has always seemed to me very doubtful;
and as to the opinion which I have of you, dear
baroness, it is altogether in your favor, from your
frankness and your goodness."
" I certainly am frank; but are you, Nina? Yes, you
seem noble and loyal, but are you communicative? I
do not think so."
" Surely it was not for me to take the initiative,
you must admit that. It was for you, who are the
protectress and mistress of my destiny at present, to
make the first advances."
" You are right. But your wise look frightens me.
If I appear giddy, you will not scold me, will you? "
" I have no right to do that. I am your music
teacher, and nothing more. Besides, a poor child of
the people like me should always keep her place."




CONS UEL O.


293


" You, a child of the people, Porporina? Oh, that
is not true! it is impossible! I should take you rather
for the mysterious scion of some race of princes.
What did your mother do? "
"She was a singer, like me."
"And your father?"
Consuelo was taken aback. She had not prepared
all her replies to the indiscreet questions of the little
baroness. The truth is that she had never heard her
father spoken of, and had never thought of asking if
she had one.
"Come! " said Amelia laughing. "That is it, I
am sure. Your father was some Spanish grandee or
some doge of Venice."
This manner of speaking seemed to Consuelo trifling and unkind.
"So," said she, " an honest workman or a poor
artist would not have the right to transmit any natural gifts to his offspring? A child of the people must
absolutely be coarse and ill-shapen? "
"That is an epigram for my Aunt Wenceslawa,"
said the baroness, laughing still louder. " Come, dear
Nina, forgive me if I have made you a little angry,
and allow me to build in my mind a fine romance
about you. But make your toilet quickly, my child,
for the bell will soon ring, and my aunt would let
the whole family die of hunger rather than have
breakfast served without you.  I will help you to
open your trunks; give me your keys. I am sure
that you have brought the prettiest toilets imaginable




294


CONS UELO.


from Venice, and that you will show me all the latest
fashions.  I have lived so long in this land of
savages!"
Consuelo, who was putting up her hair, gave her
the keys without listening to her, and Amelia hastened
to open a trunk which she expected to find full of
feminine finery; but to her surprise she found only
a mass of old music, printed sheets half effaced by
use, and manuscripts which appeared undecipherable.
"Ah, what is all this?" she cried, as she quickly
wiped her pretty fingers. "This is a singular wardrobe, my dear."
" Those are my treasures; treat them with respect,
dear baroness," replied Consuelo. "Some of them
are autographs of great masters, and I would rather
lose my voice than not return them to Porpora, who
intrusted them to me."
Amelia opened a second trunk, and found it filled
with ruled paper, musical treatises, and other works
on composition, harmony, and counterpoint.
" Ah, I understand! " said she laughing. "This is
your jewel-case."
"I have no other," replied Consuelo, " and I hope
that you will often make use of it."
" Good! I see that you will be a strict mistress.
But may I ask you, without offence, where you have
put your gowns?"
"There, in that little box," said Consuelo, going to
fetch it, and showing the baroness a simple black-silk
dress, carefully folded.




CONVSUELL 0.


2,95


"Is that all? " asked Amelia.
"That is all," said Consuelo, "except my travellingdress. In a few days I will make another black gown
like the first one, to have something to change."
" Ah, dear child! then you are in mourning?"
" Perhaps, Signora," replied Consuelo gravely.
"Then I beg your pardon. I ought to have understood from your manner that you had some sorrow in
your heart, and I like you better so. We will sympathize more quickly, for I too have much to make me
sad, and I might well be wearing mourning for the
husband they intended for me. Ah, dear Nina, do
not be angry at my gayety! It is often an effort to
hide profound distress."
They kissed each other, and went down to the
drawing-room, where the family was awaiting them.
Consuelo saw at once that her modest black dress
and her white fichu, fastened at her chin with a jet
pin, gave the canoness a very favorable opinion of
her. Count Christian was a little less embarrassed,
and quite as affable as he had been the night before.
Baron Frederick, who had abstained from hunting
that day through courtesy, could not find a word to
say to her, although he had prepared a thousand
graceful speeches about the good which she had come
to do his daughter. But he sat beside her at table,
and busied himself in serving her with such elaborate
care that he had not time to satisfy his own appetite.
The chaplain asked her in what order the Patriarch
made the procession in Venice, and questioned her




2,96


CONSUJILO.


concerning the wealth and the adornments of the
churches. He saw by her replies that she had visited
them assiduously, and when he found that she had
learned to sing in church, he conceived a great regard
for her.
As for Count Albert, Consuelo had scarcely dared
to look at him, precisely because he was the only one
who excited a lively curiosity in her. She had glanced
at him in a mirror as she passed through the drawingroom, and had seen that he was rather carefully
dressed, though still in black. He had the bearing
of a nobleman; but his long hair and his beard,
together with his dark and yellowish complexion, gave
him the appearance of having the pensive but neglected head of a handsome fisherman of the Adriatic
set upon the shoulders of a lord.
Nevertheless, the sonority of his voice, which pleased
Consuelo's musical ear, emboldened her enough to
look at him. She was surprised to find that he had
the look and manner of a perfectly sensible being.
He spoke little, but judiciously; and when she rose
from the table, he offered her his hand without looking
at her (he had not done her this honor since the
evening before), but with perfect ease and politeness.
She trembled in all her limbs when she placed her
hand in that of the hero of the stories and dreams of
the preceding night. She expected to find it cold like
that of a corpse, but it was soft and warm, like that
of a healthy man. Consuelo could hardly tell this,
indeed. Her suppressed emotion gave her a sort of




CONS UELL O.


297


vertigo, and Amelia's look, which followed all her
movements, would have disconcerted her completely
if she had not called to her aid all the strength which
she felt she needed to preserve her dignity towards
this mischievous young girl. She returned the profound bow which Count Albert made her as he conducted her to a seat, and not a word or a look passed
between them.
" Do you know, faithless Porporina," said Amelia to
her companion, as she sat down close beside her, that
she might whisper to her easily, "that you have made
a marvellous impression on my cousin?"
"I do not see much sign of it so far," replied
Consuelo.
"That is because you do not condescend to notice
his manner towards me. For a year he has not once
offered me his hand, to lead me to table or from it, yet
he does it most gracefully with you! This is evidently
one of his lucid intervals. One would say that you
had brought him health and reason. But do not trust
to appearances, Nina. It will be with you as it has
been with me. After three days of politeness, he will
not even recollect that you exist."
"I see that I must become accustomed to your
jesting," said Consuelo.
"Is it not true, dear aunt," said Amelia in a low
voice to the canoness, who had come and sat down
beside them, " that my cousin is altogether charming
to dear Porporina? "
" Do not laugh at him, Amelia," replied Wences



298


CONS UEL 0.


lawa gently.  "Signora Porporina will discover the
cause of our sorrow soon enough."
" I am not laughing at him, dear aunt. Albert is
extremely well this morning, and I am delighted to see
him better than he has ever been, perhaps, since I have
been here."
" His calm and healthy air has indeed struck me
very agreeably," replied the canoness; "but I dare
no longer hope to see such a favorable condition
continue."
"I How noble and good he looks! " said Consuelo,
wishing to win the canoness's heart.
"You think so? " said Amelia, transfixing her with
a mocking look.
" Yes, I think so," said Consuelo, " and I told you
so last night, signora. Never has a human face filled
me with more respect."
" Ah, dear child!" said the canoness, dropping all
her stiffness, and warmly pressing Consuelo's hand;
" good hearts understand each other! I was afraid that
my poor boy would frighten you. It is such a pain for
me to read on the faces of others the repulsion which
such suffering always inspires. But you are sympathetic, I see, and understand that in this diseased and
afflicted body there is a sublime soul, well worthy of a
better lot."
Consuelo was moved to tears by the words of the
good canoness, and kissed her hand with emotion. She
already felt more sympathy and confidence in this old
hunchback than in the brilliant and frivolous Amelia.




coNS UEL o.


299


They were interrupted by Baron Frederick, who had
plucked up enough courage to come and ask a favor
of Signora Porporina. He was still more awkward
with women than his elder brother (it seems that this
awkwardness was a family failing, so that its extraordinary development in Albert was not astonishing), and
he stammered some words, mingled with apologies,
which his daughter undertook to interpret to Consuelo.
"My father wishes to ask you," she said, " if you
feel brave enough to return to music, after so trying a
journey, and if it will not be trespassing too far on
your kindness to ask you to listen to my voice and
criticise my singing."
" With all my heart," said Consuelo, rising quickly,
and going to open the clavichord.
" You will see," whispered Amelia, as she arranged
her music on the rack, " that this will put Albert to
flight, in spite of your bright eyes and mine."
And indeed, Amelia had hardly begun the prelude
when Albert got up and went out on tiptoe, like one
who flatters himself that he is not noticed.
"It is a great deal," said Amelia, still in a low
voice, as she played out of time, "that he did not
slam the doors furiously, as he often does when I
sing. He is quite amiable, one might even say gallant, to-day."
The chaplain, thinking that he was masking Albert's
retreat, drew near the clavichord, and pretended to
listen attentively. The rest of the family formed a




300


CONSUEL 0.


semicircle and awaited respectfully the judgment
which Consuelo should pronounce on her pupil.
Amelia bravely chose an air from Pergolese's
"Achille in Scyro," and sang it boldly from one
end to the other, with a fresh and piercing voice,
and such a comical German accent that Consuelo,
who had never heard anything like it, had all she
could do not to smile at every other word. She did
not need to listen to four bars to know that the young
baroness had no true notion of music, nor any musical
intelligence. She had a flexible voice, and might have
been well taught; but her character was too flighty
for her to study anything conscientiously. For the
same reason, she had no doubt of her own powers,
and plunged with German cold-bloodedness through
the most involved and difficult passages. She failed
in them all without being in the least disconcerted,
and fancied that she was concealing her awkwardness
by forcing her voice and pounding the accompaniment. She recovered the time when she could by
adding beats to the measures which followed those
she suppressed, and she changed the character of the
music so entirely that Consuelo would not have recognized it if she had not had it before her eyes.
Meanwhile, Count Christian, who understood music
perfectly, but thought that his niece was as embarrassed
as he would have been in her place, kept saying, to
encourage her, " Good, Amelia, good! Very pretty,
indeed."
The canoness, who knew but little about it, looked




CONSUEL O.


30o


anxiously in Consuelo's eyes to guess her opinion; and
the baron, who cared for nothing but the music of
his hunting-horn, thought that his daughter sang too
well for him to understand it, and waited confidently
for the judge's expression of approval. The chaplain
alone was charmed by this screaming, for he had
never heard anything like it till Amelia came to the
castle, and he kept nodding his large head with a blissful smile.
Consuelo saw that to tell the naked truth would be
to appall the whole family. She waited to enlighten
her pupil in private concerning all that she would
have to forget before she could learn anything, praised
her voice, asked her about her work, and approved
of the masters whom they had given her to study,
avoiding in this way the necessity of saying that she
had studied them all wrong.
The family separated, well satisfied with a trial which
had been painful to nobody but Consuelo. She had
to go and shut herself up in her own room with the
music which she had just heard profaned, and read it
over to herself, singing it in her mind, before she could
drive away the disagreeable impression which she had
received.




302,


CONS UELO.


CHAPTER XXX.
WHEN the family came together again towards
evening, Consuelo, feeling more at ease with all
these people whom she was beginning to know, replied
less reservedly and laconically to the questions which
they on their side were emboldened to ask her concerning her art, her country and her travels. She
carefully avoided speaking of herself, as she had
resolved, and described the scenes and events amid
which she had passed her life without in the least
revealing the part which she had taken in them. The
curious Amelia endeavored in vain to turn the conversation upon herself. Consuelo did not fall into her
traps or betray the incognito which she had decided
to preserve.  It would, be difficult to say why this
mystery had an especial charm for her. Many reasons
prompted her to it. In the first place, she had sworn
to Porpora to keep herself so completely concealed
that it would be impossible for Anzoleto to obtain
any trace of her, in case he should attempt to find
her. This was a very unnecessary precaution, for
Anzoleto, after having had some idea of seeking for
her, which he had speedily abandoned, was wholly
occupied with his debuts and his success in Venice.
In the second place, Consuelo, who wished to gain
the affection and esteem of the family which was




CONS UEL 0.


3o3


affording her a temporary refuge in her sorrow and
loneliness, understood perfectly that they would receive
her far better as a simple musician, Porpora's pupil,
and a teacher of singing, than as a celebrated prima
donna and a favorite of the footlights. She realized
that if her history were known, she would have a much
more trying position in a simple and pious family, and
it is probable that in spite of Porpora's recommendation, the arrival of Consuelo the debutante, the marvel
of San-Samuel, would have somewhat frightened these
good people. But if these two powerful motives had
not existed, Consuelo would still have felt a desire to
be silent, and to let no one into the secret of her brilliant but unhappy past. Everything in her life was
inextricably intermingled, - her power with her weakness, her glory with her love. She could not raise
a corner of the veil without revealing one of her
wounds, and these wounds were too painful and too
deep for any human power to heal. The only solace
which she felt, on the contrary, was in the sort of
barrier which she had erected between her painful
memories and the calm of her new life. The change
of country, of surroundings and of name bore her
suddenly into an unknown world, where, by playing
a new part, she hoped to become a new being.
This surrender of all the vanities which would have
consoled another woman was the salvation of this
courageous soul. When she renounced all human
pity as well as all human glory, she felt a heavenly
strength came to her aid. " I must find at least a




304


CONS UEL 0.


part of my old happiness," she said to herself, " that
part which consisted in loving others and in being
loved by them. When I sought their admiration
they withdrew their love, and the honors which they
gave me in place of their affection were too dearly
bought. I will become obscure and humble again,
so that I may have no enemies, no one to envy me
or to wound my heart by ingratitude. The smallest
mark of sympathy is sweet, but the greatest display of
admiration is mingled with bitterness. If there are
strong and haughty souls for which praise is allsufficient, and which a triumph can console, mine
is not one of them, as I have learned to my sorrow.
Alas! glory has robbed me of my lover's heart;
may humanity, at least, repay me with a few
friends! "
This was by no means Porpora's idea. In removing Consuelo from Venice and from the dangers and
sufferings of her passion, he had intended only to
give her a few days of rest before recalling her to the
scene of ambition, and launching her anew amid the
storms of an artist's life. But he did not know his
pupil. He believed her more of a woman, that is,
more changeable than she was. As he thought of
her at that moment, she did not appear to him calm,
affectionate, and busied about the welfare of others,
as she had already had the strength to become. He
pictured her drowned in tears and filled with regrets.
But he thought that a great reaction would soon take
place in her, and that he would find her cured of




CONS UELO.


305


her love and eager to renew the practice of her art
and the exercise of her genius.
The pure and religious conception which Consuelo
had formed of the part which she was to play in the
Rudolstadt family endued her words, her actions and
her appearance with a holy serenity from the very first.
Any one who had seen her in the old days, radiant
with love and joy in the sunshine of Venice, would
not easily have understood how she could suddenly
become quiet and affectionate among entire strangers,
in the heart of sombre forests, with her love blasted
in the past and hopeless for the future. It was
because goodness gathers strength where pride would
yield to despair. Consuelo was beautiful that evening
with a beauty which she had not yet revealed. H-er
loveliness was neither the torpidity of a great nature
which does not yet know itself and awaits awakening, nor the expansion of a power which, surprised
and delighted, is preparing to wing its flight. It
was neither the half-concealed and incomprehensible
beauty of the gypsy scholar, nor the splendid and
radiant beauty of the triumphant prima donna: it
was the sweet, winning charm of a woman who knows
herself and rules herself by holy purposes.
Her old hosts, who were simple and affectionate,
needed no aid save that of their generous instincts to
perceive, if I may use the figure, the mysterious perfume which the angelic soul of Consuelo exhaled in
their intellectual atmosphere. As they looked at her
they experienced a sense of moral well-being for




3o6


CONvS UEL 0.


which they could not account, but whose comfort
filled them with a new life. Albert himself seemed
for the first time in the full and free enjoyment of
his faculties. He was considerate and affectionate
towards every one, and he spoke to Consuelo several times in a way which showed that he had not
lost, as they had feared, the lofty intelligence and
enlightened judgment with which nature had endowed
him. The baron did not go to sleep, the canoness
did not once sigh, and Count Christian, who was
accustomed to sink melancholy into his chair, crushed
by age and sorrow, stood with his back to the fire in
the midst of his family circle, taking part in the unconstrained and almost playful conversation which
lasted without pause until nine o'clock.
" God seems to have granted our fervent prayers,"
said the chaplain to the count and the canoness, who
had remained in the drawing room after the baron
and the young people had withdrawn.     " Count
Albert entered this morning upon his thirtieth year,
and this solemn day, which we have all awaited anxiously, has passed off with inconceivable calmness
and happiness."
"Yes; let us give thanks to God," said the old
count. " I do not know whether it is a happy dream
which he has sent us to comfort us for a moment;
but I have been convinced during this whole day,
and especially this evening, that my son is permanently restored."
" I beg your pardon, brother," said the canoness,




CONSUELO.


3oy


" and yours, chaplain, who have always thought that Albert was tormented by the enemy of mankind. I have
ever believed him the victim of two opposing powers
which were fighting for his poor soul; for often when
he seemed to be repeating the words of the evil spirit,
I-leaven would speak by his mouth a moment later.
Recollect what he said last night during the storm,
and his last words when he left us, ' The peace of the
Lord has descended upon this house.' Albert felt
that a miracle of grace was being accomplished in
him, and I have faith in his cure as in the divine
promises."
The chaplain was too timid to accept suddenly
such a bold proposition. He extricated himself from
his embarrassment, as he always did, by saying, "Let
us trust in eternal wisdom; God reads the hidden
things of this world; the mind should seek refuge in
Goad," and other remarks which were more consoling
than novel.
Count Christian was divided between a desire to
accept the somewhat exaggerated mysticism of his
sister and the respect inspired by the scrupulous and
prudent orthodoxy of his confessor. He changed the
subject by speaking of Porporina, and praising her
admirable bearing. The canoness, who already loved
her, spoke yet more highly of her, and the chaplain
gave his sanction to the affection which they felt for
her.
It did not occur to them that the miracle which
had taken place among them might be due to her




308


CONSUEL O.


presence. They were grateful for the benefit without
knowing whence it came; and this is all Consuelo
would have asked of God, if she had been consulted.
Amelia's observations had been a little more accurate.
She knew that her cousin, when he chose, had enough
self-control to hide the disorder of his mind from
people whom he distrusted, as well as from those for
whom he had especial regard. In the presence of
certain members of his family, or of friends who inspired him with like or dislike, he had never by any
outward action betrayed the eccentricity of his character. Therefore, when Consuelo expressed her surprise at what she had heard the night before, Amelia,
who was secretly irritated, endeavored to revive in
her the fear of Count Albert which the stories had
already created.
"Ah, my poor friend," said she, "do not trust to
this deceitful calmness! It is the interval which always
occurs between two attacks. You saw him to-day as
he was when I came here last year. Alas! if you
were destined by the will of another to become the
wife of such a visionary, and if, to overcome your
tacit resistance, they had tacitly agreed to keep you
a captive in this frightful castle, with a continual diet
of surprises, terrors and anxieties, and with tears, exorcisms and extravagances for your only diversion,
while they await a cure which they are always expecting, but which will never happen, you would be as
disenchanted as I am with Albert's fine manners and
with the sweet speeches of the rest of the family."




CONS UEL 0.


3~9


" It is not possible," said Consuelo, " that they can
wish to marry you against your will to a man whom
you do not love. You seem to me to be the idol of
the family."
"They will not force me to do anything; they
know very well that it would be impossible. But
they will forget that Albert is not the only husband
who may suit me, and Heaven knows when they will
give up the vain hope of seeing me recover the affection for him which I felt at first. And then my poor
father, who has a passion for the chase, and has an
opportunity to gratify it here, is very well satisfied in
this wretched castle, and always puts forward some
pretext to delay our departure, which has been discussed twenty times, but never decided upon. Ah!
if you only knew, dear Nina, some secret for destroying in a night all the game in the neighborhood, you
would do me the greatest service which any human
being could render me."
"Unfortunately, I can only try to amuse you by
making music with you, and by talking with you in
the evenings when you do not feel like sleeping. I
will try to be an anodyne and a narcotic to you."
"You remind me," said Amelia, "that I have the
rest of my story to tell you. I will begin, that I may
not keep you up too late.
" Several days after his mysterious absence, which
he still believed had lasted only seven hours, Albert
suddenly noticed that the abbe was no longer at the
castle, and asked where they had sent him.




"oI


CONSUELO.


"' His presence being no longer necessary,' they
replied, ' he has gone about his business. Had you
not noticed it before? '
" ' I noticed,' said Albert, 'that something was
wanting to my suffering, but I did not know what it
was.'
" 'Do you suffer a great deal, Albert?' asked the
canoness.
" ' A great deal,' he answered, in the tone of a man
who had been asked how he had slept.
" 'X Vas the abbe very disagreeable to you?' asked
Count Christian.
"'Very,' replied Albert, in the same tone.
W"'hy did you not tell us this sooner, my son?
How could you bear so long the presence of a man
who was disagreeable to you without letting me know
of your dislike? Can you doubt, dear child, that I
would have put an end to your suffering as soon as
possible? '
" ' It was but a trifling addition to my sorrows,'
said Albert, with frightful tranquillity, ' and your kindness, which I never doubted, dear father, could have
lightened them but little in giving me another keeper.'
" 'Say rather another travelling-companion, my
son. The expression you use does but scant justice
to my love.'
" ' It was your love which caused your anxiety,
dear father! You could not know the pain you gave
me in sending me away from you and this house,
where my place was appointed by God until the time




CONS UEL 0.


311I


set for the accomplishment of his designs concerning
me. You thought that you were laboring for my cure
and my well-being; I, who understood better.than
you what was proper for us both, knew that I ought
to assist and obey you. I knew my duty and I have
done it.'
" ' I know your goodness and your affection for us,
Albert, but can you not explain your meaning more
clearly.? '
" ' That is very easy,' said Albert, ' and the time to
do it has come.'
"He spoke so calmly, that we thought we had at
last reached the happy moment when his nature
would cease to become a painful enigma to us. We
pressed about him and encouraged him by our looks
and our caresses to unburden himself entirely for the
first time in his life. He appeared finally decided to
show us this confidence and spoke as follows: -
" 'You have always considered me, and you still
consider me, an invalid and a madman. If I had not
an infinite veneration and love for you all I should,
perhaps, dare to measure the depth of the abyss
which separates us, and show you that you are in a
world of error and prejudice, while Heaven has
opened to me a sphere of light and truth. But you
could not understand me without giving up all that
constitutes your faith, your religion and your security.
When, carried away in spite of myself by bursts of
enthusiasm, a few imprudent words escape me, I
quickly perceive that I have inflicted a frightful pain




312


CONSUEL O.


upon you in wishing to banish your chimeras and hold
up before you the dazzling light which I bear in my
hands. All the details and habits of your lives, all
the fibres of your hearts, all the springs of your intelligence are so bound, interlaced, and riveted to the
yoke of lies and the law of darkness, that I seem to
be giving you death when I wish to give you faith.
Yet there is a voice which cries to me, waking and
sleeping, in storm and in sunshine, to enlighten and
convert you. But I am too loving and feeble a man
to undertake it.  When I see your eyes filled with
tears, your heaving bosoms, and your mournful faces;
when I feel that I fill you with grief and terror, I fly
and hide myself, to resist the calls of my conscience
and the commands of my destiny. That is my ill,
that is my torment, that is my cross and my punishment. Do you understand me now?'
"My uncle, my aunt and the chaplain understood,
up to a certain point, that Albert had constructed for
himself a morality and a religion wholly different
from theirs; but, timid like all devout people, they
were afraid of going too far, and no longer dared to
encourage his frankness. As for me, who then knew
but vaguely the particulars of his childhood and early
youth, I did not understand at all. Besides, at that
time I was nearly in the same position as you, Nina.
I knew very little about Hussitism and Lutheranism,
of which I have heard so often since then, and the
controversies concerning which, waged between Albert
and the chaplain, have wearied me so intolerably. I




CONS UEL 0.


313


therefore waited impatiently for a fuller explanation,
but it did not come.
I see,' said Albert, struck by the silence about
him, ' that you do not wish to understand me, for fear
of understanding me too well. Let it be as you will!
Your blindness long ago pronounced my sentence.
Eternally unhappy, eternally alone, eternally a stranger
amid those I love, I have no refuge and support but
the consolation which has been promised me.'
"'What is this consolation, my son?' said Count
Christian, mortally grieved; 'can it not come from
us, and can we never understand each other?'
"'Never, father. Let us love each other, since
that alone is permitted us. God is my witness, that
the immense, the irreparable difference between us
has never diminished the love I bear you.'
"'And is not that enough?' said the canoness, takino one of his hands, while his father pressed the other
between his own. 'Can you not forget your strange
ideas, your odd beliefs, to live in affection among us?'
' I I do live in affection. It is a blessing which
brings sweetness or bitterness as our religious beliefs
are alike or opposed. Our hearts are united, dear
aunt, but our intelligences are at war, and it is a great
misfortune for us all. I know that it will not enl for
several centuries, and that is why I am awaiting the
blessing that is promised me in this century, and which
gives me strength to hope.'
" 'W What is this blessing, Albert? Can you not tell
me?'




314


CONSUELO.


"' No, I cannot tell you, because I do not know.
But it will come. My mother has never let a week go
by without telling me of it in my sleep, and all the
voices of the forest repeat it to me when I question
them. An angel often hovers above the Rock of
Terror, and shows me her pale and luminous face.
In this sinister spot, beneath the shade of the oak,
where, when my contemporaries called me Ziska, I
was filled with the wrath of the Lord, and became
for the first time that instrument of his vengeance;
at the foot of that rock where, when I was called
Wratislaw, I saw the mutilated and disfigured head of
my father, Withold, fall beneath a sabre-stroke, - a
terrible expiation, which taught me the meaning of
grief and pity, - that fatal day of atonement, when the
Lutheran blood washed away the Catholic, and which
made of me a weak and tender man instead of the
fanatic and destroyer I had been a hundred years
before -
" ' Merciful Heaven!' cried my aunt, crossing herself, 'there is his madness coming back!'
"' Do not interrupt him, sister,' said Count Christian, with a great effort to control himself; 'let him
explain. Speak, my son; what did the angel say to
you at the Rock of Terror?'
"' It told me that my consolation was drawing
nigh,' said Albert, his face radiant with enthusiasm,
' and that it would visit my heart when I had finished
my nine-and-twentieth year.'
"My uncle let fall his head upon his breast.




CONSUEL0.


315


Albert seemed to allude to his death, when he spoke
of the age at which his mother had died, and it
appears that she had often predicted in her illness
that neither she nor her son would reach the age of
thirty. I have been told that my Aunt Wanda had
supernatural powers also, but I have never been able
to learn much about this. It is too painful a memory
for my uncle, and no one ventures to recall it.
" The chaplain endeavored to banish the sad
thoughts to which this prediction had given rise by
inducing Albert to explain himself concerning the
abbe. It was in regard to him that the conversation
had begun.
" Albert made an effort to reply to him. 'I speak
to you of things divine and eternal,' he said, after a
little hesitation, 'and you recall me to the short
moments which are passing, to puerile and fleeting
cares which I was already forgetting.'
" ' Speak on, my son, speak on,' said Count Christian, 'we must understand you to-day.'
"'You have never understood me, father, and you
never will, in what you call this life. But if you wish
to know why I travelled, why I endured this faithless
and careless guardian whom you attached to my steps
like a greedy and lazy dog to a blind man's arm, I
will tell you in few words. I had made you suffer
enough. It was necessary to relieve you of the sight
of a son who was disobedient to your teachings and
deaf to your remonstrances. I knew well that I
should never be cured of what you called my mad



316


CONS UEL O.


ness, but it was needful to leave you peace and hope,
and I consented to go away. You made me promise
that I never would leave without your consent the
guide you had given me, and that I would allow him
to conduct me through the world. I wished to keep
my promise, and I also wished him to be able to maintain your hope and your tranquillity by recounting
to you my calmness and my patience. I have been
calm and patient. I closed my ears and my heart
against him, and he had the wit not even to try to
make me open them. He led me about, dressed and
fed me like a child. I relinquished the life I preferred;
I have become accustomed to seeing misfortune,
injustice and madness rampant through all the earth.
I saw men and their institutions, and indignation gave
place in my heart to pity when I perceived that the
unhappiness of the oppressed was less than that of
the oppressors. In my childhood I loved only the
victims, but I have been filled with charity for the
executioners, wretched penitents who undergo in this
generation the punishment for crimes which they
committed in former existences, and whom God
condemns to be wicked, - a torture a thousand times
worse than to be their innocent victims. That is why
I no longer give alms except to relieve myself personally of the weight of riches, without tormenting you
with my sermons, knowing that it is not yet time to
be happy, since, to speak humanly, the time to be
good is still afar.'
"' And now that you are free from this keeper, as




CONS UEL 0.             317
you called him, now that you can live quiet without
having beneath your eyes the spectacle of that
wretchedness which you relieve without having any
one to interfere with your generosity, can you not
make an effort to banish you inward agitation?'
"'Ask me no more, dear friends,' replied Albert,
'I will say no more to-day.'
" He kept his word, and better, for he did not open
his mouth for a week."
END OF VOLUME I.




A -?Z,
4' 1, i,