CHAPTER XI

DURING the remainder of the service, Consuelo displayed energy and resources which completely removed any hesitation Count Zustiniani might have felt respecting her. She led, she animated, she sustained the choir, displaying at each instant prodigious powers, and the varied qualities of her voice rather than the strength of her lungs. For those who know how to sing do not become tired, and Consuelo sang with as little effort and labor as others might have in merely breathing. She was heard above all the rest, not because she screamed like those performers without soul and without breath, but because of the unimaginable sweetness and purity of her tones. Beside, she felt that she was understood in every minute particular. She alone, amid the vulgar crowd, the shrill voices and imperfect trills of those around her, was a musician and a master. She filled therefore instinctively and without ostentation, her powerful part, and as long as the service lasted she took the prominent place which she felt was necessary. After all was over, the choristers imputed it to her as a grievance and a crime; and those very persons who, failing and sinking, had as it were implored her assistance with their looks, claimed for themselves all the eulogiums which were given to the school of Porpora at large. At these eulogiums the master smiled and said nothing; but he looked at Consuelo, and Anzoleto understood very well what his look meant.

After the business of the day was over, the choristers partook of a select collation which the count had caused to be served up in one of the parlors of the convent. Two immense tables in the form of a half moon were separated by the grating, in the center of which, over an immense paté, there was an opening to pass the dishes, which the count himself gracefully handed round to the principal nuns and pupils. The latter, dressed as Beguines, came by dozens alternately to occupy the vacant places in the interior of the cloisters. The superior, seated next the grating, was thus at the right hand of the count as regarded the outward hall; the seat on his left was vacant. Marcello, Porpora, the curate of the parish, and the officiating priests, some dilletanti patricians, and the lay administrators of the school, together with the handsome Anzoleto with his black coat and sword, had a place at the secular table. The young singers, though usually animated enough on such occasions, what with the pleasure of feasting, of conversing with gentlemen, the desire of pleasing, or at least of being observed—were on that day thoughtful and constrained. The project of the count had somehow transpired—for what secret can be kept in a convent without oozing out?—and each of these young girls secretly flattered herself that she should be presented by Porpora in order to succeed Corilla. The professor was even malicious enough to encourage their illusions, whether to induce them to perform better before Marcello, or to revenge himself for the previous annoyance during their course of instruction. Certain it is that Clorinda, who was one of the out-pupils of the conservatory, was there in full attire, waiting to take her place beside the count; but when she saw the despised Consuelo, with her black dress and tranquil mien, the ugly creature whom she affected to despise, henceforth esteemed a musician and the only beauty of the school, she became absolutely frightful with anger—uglier than Consuelo had ever been—ugly as Venus herself would become were she actuated by a base and degrading motive. Anzoleto, exulting in his victory, looked attentively at her, seated himself beside her, and loaded her with absurd compliments which she had not sense to understand, but which, nevertheless, consoled her. She imagined she would revenge herself on her rival by attracting her betrothed, and spared no pains to intoxicate him with her charms. She was no match, however, for her companion, and Anzoleto was acute enough to load her with ridicule.

In the meantime Count Zustiniani, upon conversing with Consuelo, was amazed to find her endowed with as much tact, good sense, and conversational powers, as he had found in her talent and ability at church. Absolutely devoid of coquetry, there was a cheerful frankness and confiding good nature in her manner which inspired a sympathy equally rapid and irresistible. When the repast was at an end, he invited her to take the air in his gondola with his friends. Marcello was excused on account of his failing health; but Porpora, Barberigo, and other patricians were present, and Anzoleto was also of the party. Consuelo, who felt not quite at home among so many men, entreated the count to invite Clorinda; and Zustiniani, who did not suspect the badinage of Anzoleto with this poor girl, was not sorry to see him attracted by her. The noble count, thanks to the sprightliness of his character, his fine figure, his wealth, his theater, and also the easy manners of the country and of the time, had a strong spice of conceit in his character. Fired by the wine of Greece and by his musical enthusiasm, and impatient to revenge himself on the perfidious Corilla, he thought there was nothing more natural than to pay his court to Consuelo. Seating himself therefore beside her in the gondola, and so arranging that the young people should occupy the other extremity, he began to direct glances of a very significant character on his new flame. The simple and upright Consuelo took no notice. Her candor and good principle revolted at the idea that the protector of her friend could harbor ill designs; indeed, her habitual modesty, in no way affected by the splendid triumph of the day, would have made it impossible for her to believe it. She persisted therefore in respecting the illustrious signor, who adopted her along with Anzoleto, and continued to amuse herself with the party of pleasure, in which she could see no harm.

So much calmness and good faith surprised the count, who remained uncertain whether it was the joyous submission of an unresisting heart or the unsuspiciousness of perfect innocence. At eighteen years of age, however, now as well as a hundred years ago, especially with a friend such as Anzoleto, a girl could not be perfectly ignorant. Every probability was in favor of the count; nevertheless, each time that he seized the hand of his protegée, or attempted to steal his arm round her waist, he experienced an indefinable fear, and a feeling of uncertainty—almost of respect—which restrained him, he could not tell how.

Barberigo found Consuelo sufficiently attractive, and he would in his turn gladly have maintained his pretensions, had he not been restrained by motives of delicacy toward the count. "Honor to all," said he to himself, as he saw the eyes of Zustiniani swimming in an atmosphere of voluptuous delight; "my turn will come next." Meanwhile the young Barberigo, not much accustomed to look at the stars when on excursions with ladies, inquired by what right Anzoleto should appropriate the fair Clorinda; and approaching he endeavored to make him understand that his place was rather to take the oar than to flirt with ladies. Anzoleto, notwithstanding his acuteness, was not well bred enough to understand at first what he meant; besides, his pride was fully on a par with the insolence of the patricians. He detested them cordially, and his apparent deference toward them merely served to disguise his inward contempt. Barberigo, seeing that he took a pleasure in opposing them, bethought himself of a cruel revenge. "By Jove!" said he to Clorinda, "your friend Consuelo is getting on at a furious rate; I wonder where she will stop. Not contented with setting the town crazy with her voice, she is turning the head of the poor count. He will fall madly in love, and Corilla's affair will soon be settled."

"Oh, there is nothing to fear," exclaimed Clorinda, mockingly; "Consuelo's affections are the property of Anzoleto here, to whom in fact she is engaged. They have been waiting for each other, I don't know how many years."

"I do not know how many years may be swept away in the twinkling of an eye," said Barberigo, "especially when the eyes of Zustiniani take it upon them to cast the mortal dart. Do you not think so, beautiful Clorinda?"

Anzoleto could bear it no longer. A thousand serpents already found admission into his bosom. Hitherto such a suspicion had never entered into his mind. He was transported with joy at witnessing his friend's triumph, and it was as much to give expression to his transports as to amuse his vanity, that he occupied himself in rallying the unfortunate victim of the day. After some cross-purposes with Barberigo, he feigned a sudden interest in a musical discussion which Porpora was keeping up with some of the company in the center of the bark, and thus leaving a situation which he had now no longer any wish to retain, he glided along unobserved almost to the prow. He saw at the first glance that Zustiniani did not relish his attempt to interrupt his tête-à-tête with his betrothed, for he replied coolly, and even with displeasure. At last, after several idle questions badly received, he was advised to go and listen to the instructions which the great Porpora was giving on counterpoint.

"The great Porpora is not my master," said Anzoleto, concealing the rage which devoured him. "He is Consuelo's master; and if it would only please your Highness," said he in a low tone, bending toward the count in an insinuating manner, "that my poor Consuelo should receive no other lessons than those of her old teacher."

"Dear and well beloved Zoto," replied the count caressingly, but at the same time with profound malice, "I have a word for your ear;" and leaning toward him he added: "your betrothed has doubtless received lessons from you that must render her invulnerable; but if I had any pretension to offer her others, I should at least have the right to do so during one evening."

Anzoleto felt a chill run through his frame from head to foot.

"Will your gracious Highness deign to explain yourself?" said he, in a choking voice.

"It is soon done, my good friend," replied the count in a clear tone—"gondola for gondola."

Anzoleto was terrified when he found that the count had discovered his tête-à-tête with Corilla. The foolish and audacious girl had boasted to Zustiniani in a violent quarrel that they had been together. The guilty youth vainly pretended astonishment. "You had better go and listen to Porpora about the principle of the Neapolitan schools," said the count, "you will come back and tell me about it, for it is a subject that interests me much."

"I perceive, your Excellency," replied Anzoleto, frantic with rage, and ready to dash himself into the sea.

"What?" said the innocent Consuelo, astonished at his hesitation, "will you not go? Permit me, Signor Count; you shall see that I am willing to serve you." And before the count could interpose, she bounded lightly over the seat which separated her from her old master, and sat down close beside him.

The count, perceiving that matters were not far enough advanced, found it necessary to dissemble. "Anzoleto," said he, smiling, and pulling the ear of his protegé a little too hard, "my revenge is at an end. It has not proceeded nearly so far as your deserts; neither do I make the slightest comparison between the pleasure of conversing in the presence of a dozen persons with your betrothed, and the tête-à-tête which you have enjoyed in a well-closed gondola with mine."

"Signor Count!" exclaimed Anzoleto, violently agitated "I protest on my honor——"

"Where is your honor?" resumed the count; "is it in your left ear?" and he menaced the unfortunate organ with an infliction similar to that with which he had just visited the right.

"Do you suppose your protegé has so little sense," said Anzoleto, recovering his presence of mind, "as to be guilty of such folly?"

"Guilty or not," rejoined the count, drily, "it is all the same to me." And he seated himself beside Consuelo.