CHAPTER XXX

THE incredible history which she had just heard, kept Consuelo, in fact, long awake. The dark, rainy, and tempestuous night also contributed to fill her with superstitious fancies which she had never before experienced. "Is there then some incomprehensible fatality," said she to herself, "which impends over certain individuals? What crime against God could that young girl have committed, who was telling me so frankly just now of her wounded self-love and the vanishing of her fairest dreams? What evil have I myself done, that the sole affection of my heart should be torn from my bleeding bosom? But, alas! what fault has this savage Albert of Rudolstadt been guilty of, that he should thus lose his consciousness and the power of governing his life? What hatred has Providence conceived for Anzoleto, thus to abandon him as it has done, to wicked and perverse inclinations."

Overcome at last by fatigue, she slept, and lost herself in a succession of dreams without connection and without end. Two or three times she awoke and fell asleep again, without being able to understand where she was, and thinking she was still traveling. Porpora, Anzoleto, Count Zustiniani, Corilla, all passed in turn before her eyes, saying sad and strange things to her, and reproaching her with some unknown crime, for which she was obliged to undergo punishment, without being able to remember that she had ever committed it. But all these visions disappeared to give place to that of Count Albert, who passed continually before her with his black beard, his fixed and motionless eyes, and his suit of mourning trimmed with gold, and sometimes sprinkled with tears like a funeral pall.

On opening her eyes in the morning, fully awake, she found Amelia already dressed with elegance, fresh and smiling, beside her bed.

"Do you know, my dear Porporina," said the young baroness, as she imprinted a kiss upon her brow, "that there is something strange about you? I must be destined to live with extraordinary beings, for you also are certainly one. I have been looking at you asleep for the last quarter of an hour, to see by daylight if you are handsomer than I am. I confess to you that this matter is of some consequence to me, and that notwithstanding I have entirely abjured my love for Albert, I should be somewhat piqued if he looked upon you with interest. Do you think that strange? The reason is, he is the only man here, and hitherto I have been the only woman. Now we are two, and we shall pull caps if you extinguish me completely."

"You are pleased to jest," replied Consuelo, "and it is not generous on your part. But will you leave aside your raillery, and tell me what there is extraordinary in my appearance? Perhaps all my ugliness has come back. Indeed that must be the case."

"I will tell you the truth, Nina. At the first glimpse I caught of you this morning, your paleness, your large eyes only half closed and rather fixed than asleep, and your thin arm which lay stretched on the coverlet, gave me a moment's triumph. And then, looking at you longer, I was almost terrified by your immobility and your truly regal attitude. Your arm I will maintain is that of a queen, and your calmness has in it something commanding and overpowering, for which I cannot account. Now, I think you are fearfully beautiful, and yet there is a sweetness in your countenance. Tell me who you are. You attract and intimidate me. I feel ashamed of the follies I related of myself last night. You have not yet told me anything of yourself, and yet you are acquainted with nearly all my defects."

"If I have the air of a queen, of which I never was aware," replied Consuelo, smiling sadly, "it must be the piteous air of a dethroned one. As to my beauty, it has always seemed to me very problematical; and as to the opinion I have of you, dear Baroness Amelia, it is all in favor of your frankness and good nature."

"I am indeed frank—but are you so, Nina? Yes, you have an air of grandeur and royalty. But are you confiding? I do not believe that you are."

"It was not my place to be so first—that you will allow. It was for you, protectress and mistress of my destiny as you are at this moment, to make the first advances."

"You are right. But your strong sense terrifies me. If I seem a scatter-brain, you will not lecture me too much, will you?"

"I have no right to do so. I am your mistress in music, and in nothing else. Beside, a poor daughter of the people, like me, will always know how to keep her place."

"You a daughter of the people, high-spirited Porporina! Oh! you deceive me; it is impossible. I should sooner believe you the mysterious offspring of some family of princes. What was your mother?"

"She sang, as I do."

"And your father?"

Consuelo was struck dumb. She had not prepared all her answers to the rather indiscreet questions of the little baroness. In truth she had never heard her father spoken of, and had never even thought of asking if she had one.

"Come," said Amelia, bursting into a laugh, "I was sure I was right; your father is some grandee of Spain, or some doge of Venice."

This style of speaking seemed to Consuelo trifling and offensive.

"So," said she, with some displeasure, "an honest mechanic or a poor artist has no right to transmit natural distinction to his child? Is it absolutely necessary that the children of common people should be coarse and misshapen?"

"That last word is an epigram for my aunt Wenceslawa," replied the baroness, laughing still more loudly. "Come, my dear, forgive me if I do plague you a little, and permit me to fashion in my own brain a more attractive romance about you. But dress yourself quickly, my child; for the bell will soon ring, and my aunt would let the family die of hunger rather than have breakfast served without you. I will help you to open your trunks; give me the keys. I am sure that you have brought the prettiest dresses from Venice, and I am dying to see all the new fashions—I have lived so long in this country of savages."

Consuelo, in a hurry to arrange her hair, gave the keys, without hearing what had been said, and Amelia hastened to open a trunk which she imagined was full of dresses; but to her great surprise she found only a mass of old music, printed rolls worn out by long use, and apparently illegible manuscripts.

"Ah? what is all this?" cried she, hastily shaking the dust from her pretty fingers. "You have a droll wardrobe there, my dear child."

"They are treasures; treat them with respect, my dear baroness," replied Consuelo. "There are among them the autographs of the greatest masters, and I would rather lose my voice than not return them safely to Porpora, who has confided them to me." Amelia opened a second trunk, and found it full of ruled paper, treatises on music, and other books on composition, harmony, and counterpoint.

"Ah! I understand," said she laughing; "this is your jewel-box."

"I have no other," replied Consuelo, "and I hope you will use it often."

"Very well: I see you are a severe mistress. But may one ask, without offending you, my dear Nina, where you have put your dresses?"

"At the bottom of this little box," replied Consuelo, opening it, and showing the baroness a little dress of black silk, carefully and freshly folded.

"Is that all?" said Amelia.

"That is all," replied Consuelo, "with my traveling dress. In a few days I shall make a second black dress, for a change."

"Ah! my dear child, then you are in mourning?"

"Perhaps so, signora," replied Consuelo, gravely.

"In that case forgive me. I ought to have known from your manner that you had some sorrow at your heart, and I shall love you quite as well for it. We shall sympathize even sooner; for I also have many causes of sadness, and might even now wear mourning for my intended husband. Ah! my dear Nina, do not be provoked at my gaiety; It is often merely an effort to conceal the deepest suffering." They kissed each other, and went down to breakfast, where they found the family waiting for them.

Consuelo saw, at the first glance, that her modest black dress and her white neckerchief, closed even to the chin by a pin of jet, gave the canoness a very favorable opinion of her. Old Christian was a little less embarrassed and quite as affable toward her as the evening before. Baron Frederick, who through courtesy had refrained that day from going to the chase, could not find a word to say, although he had prepared a thousand fine speeches to thank her for the attentions she would pay to his daughter. But he took a seat beside her at the table, and set himself to help her with an importunity so child-like and minute, that he had no time to satisfy his own appetite. The chaplain asked her in what order the patriarch arranged the procession at Venice, and questioned her upon the appearance and ornaments of the churches. He saw by her answers that she had visited them frequently; and when he knew that she had learned to sing in the divine service, he testified the utmost respect for her.

As for Count Albert, Consuelo hardly dared to raise her eyes to him, precisely because he was the only one who inspired her with a lively feeling of curiosity. She did not even know what sort of a reception he had given her. Once only she looked at him in a mirror as she crossed the saloon, and saw that he was dressed with some care, although still in black. But although possessing all the distinguished appearance of a man of high birth, his untrimmed beard and hair, and pallid complexion, gave him rather the pensive and neglected air of a handsome fisherman of the Adriatic, than that of a German noble.

Still, the harmony of his voice, which pleased the musical ear of Consuelo, gave her courage by degrees to look at him, and she was surprised to find in him the air and manners of a very sensible man. He spoke little, but judiciously; and when she rose from the table, he offered her his hand, without looking at her it is true (he had not done her that honor since the day before), but with much ease and politeness. She trembled in every limb on placing her hand in that of the fantastic hero of the tales and dreams of the preceding evening, and expected to find it cold as that of a corpse. But it was soft and warm as that of a healthy man. Consuelo could hardly conceal her amazement. Her emotion gave her a sort of vertigo; and the glances of Amelia, who followed her every motion, would have completed her embarrassment, if she had not called all her powers to her aid, in order to preserve her dignity in presence of the mischievous young girl. She returned Count Albert the profound bow which he made after conducting her to a chair; but not a word, not a look, was exchanged between them.

"Do you know, perfidious Porporina," said Amelia to her companion, seating herself near her in order to whisper freely in her ear, "that you have produced a wonderful effect upon my cousin?"

"I have not perceived much of it yet," replied Consuelo.

"That is because you have not deigned to notice his manner toward me. For a whole year he has not once offered me his hand to lead me to or from the table, and now he conducts himself toward you with the most marked attention. It is true that he is in one of his most lucid moments, and one might say that you have brought him health and reason. But do not trust to appearances, Nina. It will be the same with you as it was with me: after three days of cordiality he will not even remember your existence."

"I see that I must accustom myself to your jesting," said Consuelo.

"Is it not true, my dear aunt," said Amelia, in a low voice, to the canoness, who came forward and took a seat near her and Consuelo, "that my cousin is extremely amiable toward our dear Porporina?"

"Do not jest about him, Amelia," said Wenceslawa, gently; "the young lady will soon enough perceive the cause of our sorrows."

"I am not jesting, good aunt. Albert is perfectly well this morning, and I rejoice to see him as I have never before seen him since I came here. If he were shaved and powdered like other people, you would think he had never been ill."

"His air of calmness and health strikes me very agreeably in truth," said the canoness; "but I dare not flatter myself that so happy a state of things will last."

"What a noble and benevolent expression he has!" said Consuelo, wishing to touch the heart of the canoness in its most tender point.

"Do you think so?" said Amelia, transfixing her with a saucy and incredulous look.

"Yes, I do think so," replied Consuelo firmly; "and as I told you yesterday evening, never did a human face inspire me with more respect."

"Ah! my dear daughter," said the canoness, suddenly casting off her constrained air, and pressing Consuelo's hand tenderly, "good hearts at once understand each other! I feared lest my poor child should terrify you. It is a source of great pain to me to read in the countenances of others the aversion inspired by such maladies. But you have great sensibility, I perceive, and have at once comprehended that in his wasted and diseased frame dwells a sublime soul, well worthy of a happier lot."

Consuelo was moved even to tears by the words of the excellent canoness, and kissed her hand affectionately. She already felt more confidence and sympathy with that old deformed lady than with the brilliant and frivolous Amelia.

They were interrupted by Baron Frederick, who, relying more upon his courage than his conversational powers, approached with the intention of asking a favor from the Signora Porporina. Even more awkward in the presence of ladies than his elder brother (this awkwardness was, it would seem, a family complaint, which one need not be much astonished to find developed, even to boorishness, in Albert), he stammered out some words, which Amelia undertook to comprehend and translate to Consuelo.

"My father asks you," said she, "if you feel courage enough to think of music after so painful a journey, and if it would not be an imposition on your good nature, to request you to hear my voice and judge of my style?"

"With all my heart;" replied Consuelo, rising immediately, and opening the harpsichord.

"You will see," said Amelia to her in a low voice, as she arranged her music on the stand, "that this will put Albert to flight, notwithstanding your good looks and mine." In fact, Amelia had hardly played a few bars, when Albert rose and went out on tip-toe, like a man who flatters himself that he is not perceived.

"It is astonishing," said Amelia, still talking in a low voice while she played out of time, "that he did not slam the door furiously after him, as he sometimes does when I sing. He is quite amiable, one might almost say, gallant, today."

The chaplain, thinking to cover Albert's departure, approached the harpsichord and pretended to listen attentively. The rest of the family formed a half-circle at a little distance, waiting respectfully for the judgment which Consuelo should pronounce upon her pupil.

Amelia courageously chose an air from the Achille in Scyro of Pergolese, and sang it with assurance from beginning to end in a shrill, piercing voice, accompanied by so comical a German accent, that Consuelo, who had never heard any thing of the kind, was scarcely able to keep from smiling at every word. It was hardly necessary to hear four bars, to be convinced that the young baroness had no true idea and no knowledge whatever of music. She had a flexible voice, and perhaps had received good instruction; but her character was too frivolous to allow her to study any thing conscientiously, For the same reason she did not mistrust her own powers, and, with German sang froid, attempted the boldest and most difficult passages. She failed in all, and thought to cover her unskillfulness by forcing her intonation and thundering the accompaniment, eking out the measure as best she could, by adding time to the bars which followed those in which she had diminished it, and changing the character of the music to such an extent, that Consuelo could hardly recognize what she heard, although the pages were before her eyes.

Yet Count Christian, who was a perfect connoisseur, but who attributed to his niece all the timidity he would have felt in her place, exclaimed from time to time to encourage her: "Very well, Amelia, very well indeed! beautiful music." The canoness, who did not know very much about it, looked anxiously into the eyes of Consuelo, in order to anticipate her opinion; and the baron, who loved no other music than the flourishes of the hunting-horn, believing that his daughter sang too well for him to understand, waited in confidence for the expression of the judge's satisfaction. The chaplain alone was charmed by these gargouillades, which he had never heard before Amelia's arrival at the château.

Consuelo very clearly saw that to tell the plain truth would distress the whole family. Resolving to enlighten her pupil in private upon all these matters which she had to forget before she could learn any thing, she praised her voice, asked about her studies, approved the choice of masters whose works she had been made to study, and thus relieved herself of the necessity of declaring that she had studied them incorrectly.

The family separated, well pleased with a trial which had been painful only to Consuelo. She was obliged to go and shut herself up in her apartments with the music she had just heard profaned, and read it with her eyes, singing it mentally; in order to efface the disagreeable impression she had received.