CHAPTER LXXIV

AS soon as Count Hoditz was alone with his musicians, he felt more at ease, and became quite communicative. His mania was to set up for a chapel-master, and to play the impresario. He resolved, therefore, to commence Consuelo's education at once.

"Come here," said he, "and sit beside me. We are alone; and need not sit so far apart. And do you also be seated," exclaimed he, turning to Joseph, "and profit by my instructions. You have no notion of a shake," continued he, turning to the great cantatrice; "listen, while I show you."

Here he ventured on a commonplace passage, in which he introduced that ornament several times after a very vulgar fashion. Consuelo amused herself by repeating the passage with the shake reversed.

"That is not it," roared the count with a voice of a stentor, as he struck the table. "Why did you not listen to me?"

He began again, and Consuelo cut it short this time still worse than before, preserving her gravity, however, and pretending to be all attention and docility. As for Joseph, he was on the point of suffocating, and pretended to cough in order to avoid a convulsion of laughter.

"La, la, la, trala, trala, tra, la," sang the count, imitating his awkward pupil, bounding on his chair with all the symptoms of extreme irritation, which he was far from feeling, but which he thought it right to assume, as being in keeping with his position.

Consuelo teased him this way for a good quarter of an hour, and wound up by singing the passage with faultless precision.

"Bravo! bravissimo!" exclaimed the count, falling back in his chair. "It is perfect at last! I knew I should make something of you! Give me but a peasant, and I should do more with him in a day than others in a year! Now, sing this once more, and see that you execute the notes trippingly. Better still! why, nothing could surpass that! We shall make something of you at last!"

Here the count wiped his forehead, though there was not a single drop of perspiration on it.

"Now," continued he, "let us have a falling cadence, and from the chest."

Here he set her an example, with that hackneyed facility with which the most inferior choristers ape the efforts of superior performers, fancying themselves equally skillful, because they succeed in imitating them. Again Consuelo amused herself with putting the count into one of his cool-blooded passions, when all at once she changed her manner, and finished with a cadence so perfect and so prolonged, that he was obliged to cry out:

"Enough! enough! now you have it! I was sure I should set you right. Let us go now to the roulade. You learn with wonderful facility, and I wish I had always pupils like you."

Consuelo, who began to feel overpowered by sleep and fatigue, abridged the lesson of the roulade considerably. She executed with docility all that the opulent pedagogue prescribed to her, however faulty in taste it might be; and even allowed her exquisite voice to assume its natural tone, no longer fearing to betray herself, since the count was resolved to attribute to himself all the sudden splendor and celestial purity which it every moment displayed in a greater degree.

"How much clearer his voice becomes in proportion as I show him how to open his mouth and bring out his tone!" said he, turning to Joseph with an air of triumph. "Clearness in teaching, perseverance, and example, are the three requisites with which to form, in a brief period, finished singers and declaimers. We shall take another lesson tomorrow; for you must have ten lessons, at the end of which you will know how to sing. We have the coulé, the flatté, the port de voix tenu, and the port de voix achevé, the chute, the inflexion tendre, the martellement gai, the cadence feinte, etc., etc. Now go and repose yourselves; I have had apartments prepared for you in the palace. I shall stop here on some business until noon. You will breakfast here, and follow me to Vienna. Consider yourselves from this moment as in my service. To begin, do you, Joseph, go and tell my valet to come and light me to my apartment. Do you," said he to Consuelo, "remain and go over the last roulade again which I showed you; I am not perfectly satisfied with it."

Hardly had Joseph left the room, when the count, taking both Consuelo's hands in his, endeavored to draw her to him. Interrupted in her roulade, Consuelo looked at him with much astonishment; but she quickly drew away her hands and recoiled to the other end of the table, on seeing his inflamed eyes and his libertine smile. "Come, come! do you wish to play the prude?" said the count, resuming his easy and superb air. "So, so! my sweet one, we have a little lover, eh? he is very ugly, poor fellow, and I hope that you will renounce him from this day forward. Your fortune is made if you do not hesitate, for I do not like delays. You are a charming girl, full of sweetness and intelligence; you please me greatly, and from the first glance I cast upon you I saw that you were not made to tramp about with that little vagabond. Nevertheless, I will take charge of him also; I will send him to Roswald and establish him there. As for you, you shall remain at Vienna. I will lodge you properly, and if you are prudent and modest, even bring you forward in the world. When you have learned music, you shall be the prima donna of my theater, and you shall see your little chance friend when I carry you to my residence. Is it agreed?"

"Yes, my lord count," replied Consuelo with much gravity, and making a low bow, "it is perfectly agreed."

Joseph returned at that moment with the valet-de-chambre, who carried two candles, and the count retired, giving a little tap on the cheek to Joseph and addressing a smile of intelligence to Consuelo.

"He is perfectly ridiculous," said Joseph to his companion as he was left alone with her.

"More so than you think," replied she, thoughtfully.

"No matter, he is the best man in the world, and will be very useful to me at Vienna."

"Yes, at Vienna, as much as you please, Beppo; but at Passau not in the least, I assure you. Where are our bundles, Joseph?"

"In the kitchen. I will go and carry them to our apartments, which, from what they tell me, must be charming. You will get some rest at last."

"My good Joseph!" said Consuelo, shrugging her shoulders, "go, get your bundle quickly, and give up your pretty chamber in which you expected to sleep well. We leave this house on the instant—do you understand me? Be quick, for they will certainly lock the doors."

Haydn thought she must be dreaming. "What!" cried he, "is it possible? Are these great lords kidnappers too?"

"I fear Hoditz even more than Mayer," replied Consuelo, impatiently. "Come, run! do not hesitate, or I shall leave you and go alone."

There was so much resolution and energy in Consuelo's tone and features, that Haydn, surprised and distracted, obeyed her hurriedly. He returned in a few minutes with the bag which contained their music and clothes; and three minutes afterward they had left the place, without having been remarked by any one, and reached the suburb at the extremity of the city.

They entered a small inn and hired two apartments, which they paid for in advance, in order to be able to leave as early as they wished without being detained.

"Will you not at least tell me the occasion of this fresh alarm?" asked Haydn, as he bade Consuelo goodnight on the threshold of her chamber.

"Sleep in peace," replied she, "and know in two words that we have not much to fear now. His lordship the count divined with his eagle eye that I am not of his sex, and did me the honor to make me a declaration which has singularly flattered my self-love. Goodnight, friend Beppo; we must be off before daylight; I will knock at your door to rouse you."

On the next day the rising sun saluted our young travelers as they were floating on the bosom of the Danube, and descending its rapid stream with a satisfaction as pure and hearts as light as the waves of that lovely river. They had paid for their passage in the bark of an old boatman who was carrying merchandise to Lintz. He was an honest man, with whom they were well satisfied, and who did not interfere in their conversation. He did not understand a word of Italian, and, his boat being sufficiently loaded, he took no other passengers, which gave them at last that security and repose of body and mind which they required in order to enjoy, in its full extent, the magnificent spectacle presented to their eyes every moment of their voyage. The weather was lovely. There was a remarkably clean little cabin in the boat, into which Consuelo could retire to rest her eyes from the glare of the water; but she had become so accustomed during the preceding days to the open air and beaming sun, that she preferred to pass almost the whole time lying upon the bales, delightfully occupied in watching the rocks and trees on the bank as they seemed to glide away behind her. She practiced music at her leisure with Haydn, and the droll recollection of the music-mad Hoditz, whom Joseph called the maestro-maniac, mingled much gaiety with their warblings. Joseph mimicked him to the life, and felt a malicious joy at the idea of his disappointment. Their laughter and their songs cheered and charmed the old mariner, who, like every German peasant, was passionately fond of music. He sang to them in his turn some airs which possessed a sort of aquatic character, and which Consuelo learned from him with the words. They completely gained his heart by feasting him as well as they could at the first landing-place, where they laid in their own provisions for the day—the most peaceful and the most agreeable they had yet spent since the commencement of their journey.

"Excellent Baron de Trenck!" said Joseph, changing for silver one of the shining pieces of gold which that nobleman had given him; "it is to him that I owe the power of at last relieving the divine Porporina from fatigue, from famine, from danger, from all the ills which misery brings in its train. Yet I did not like him at first, that noble and benevolent baron!"

"Yes," said Consuelo, "you preferred the count. I am glad now that the latter confined himself to promises, and did not soil our hands with his gifts."

"After all, we owe him nothing," resumed Joseph. "Who first entertained the thought of fighting the recruiter?—it was the baron; the count did not care, and only followed his companion through complaisance and for fashion's sake. Who ran all the risk and received a ball through his hat, very close to the skull?—again the baron! Who wounded and perhaps killed that infamous Pistola? the baron. Who saved the deserter, at his own expense perhaps, by exposing himself to the anger of a terrible master? Lastly, who respected you, and did not appear to recognize your sex? Who comprehended the beauty of your Italian airs and the good taste of your style?"

"And the genius of Master Joseph Haydn?" added Consuelo, smiling; "the baron—always the baron!"

"Doubtless," returned Haydn, retorting the roguish insinuation; "and it is perhaps very fortunate for a certain noble and dearly beloved absent one, of whom I have heard mention, that the declaration of love to the divine Porporina proceeded from the ridiculous count instead of the brave and fascinating baron."

"Beppo!" replied Consuelo, with a melancholy smile, "the absent never suffer wrong except in mean and ungrateful hearts. That is why the baron, who is generous and sincere, and who loves a mysterious beauty, could not think of paying court to me. I ask you yourself, would you so easily sacrifice the love of your betrothed and the fidelity of your heart to the first chance caprice?"

Beppo sighed deeply. "You cannot be the first chance caprice for any one," said he, "and the baron would have been very excusable had he forgotten all his loves, past and present, at the sight of you."

"You grow gallant and complimentary, Beppo! I see that you have profited by the society of his lordship the count; but may you never wed a Margravine, nor learn how love is treated when one marries for money!"

They reached Lintz in the evening, and slept at last without terror and without care for the morrow. As soon as Joseph awoke, he hastened to buy shoes, linen, and many little niceties of musculine attire for himself, and especially for Consuelo, who could thus make herself look like a smart and handsome young man, as she jestingly said, in order to walk about the city and vicinity. The old boatman had told them that if he could find a freight for Moelk he would take them on board the following day, and would carry them twenty leagues further down the Danube. They spent that day therefore at Lintz, amusing themselves by climbing the hill, and examining the fortification below and that above, from which latter they could contemplate the majestic windings of the river through the fertile plains of Austria. Thence they also saw a spectacle which makes them very merry; this was Count Hoditz's berlin, which entered the city in triumph. They recognized the carriage and the livery, and being too far off to be perceived by him, amused themselves with making low salutations down to the very ground. At last, toward evening, on returning to the river's edge, they found their boat laden with merchandise for Moelk, and joyfully made a fresh bargain with their old pilot. They embarked before daybreak, and saw the stars shining above their heads, while their reflection glistened in long lines of silver upon the rippled surface of the stream. This day passed no less agreeably than the preceding. Joseph had but one source of grief, which was the thought that he approached Vienna, and that this journey, of which he forgot all the sufferings and the dangers to recall its delightful moments, would soon be brought to a close.

At Moelk they were obliged to leave their honest pilot, which they did not do without regret. They could not find in the vessels which offered for a continuation of their voyage the same conditions of privacy and security. Consuelo, who now felt herself rested, refreshed, and strengthened against all accidents, proposed to Joseph to resume their journey on foot until some more favorable opportunity. They had still twenty leagues to travel, and this manner of journeying was not very expeditious. The truth is, that Consuelo, even while persuading herself that she was impatient to resume the dress of her sex and the proprieties of her position, was, it must be confessed, at the bottom of her heart as little desirous as Joseph to arrive at the end of their expedition. She was too much of an artist in every fiber of her organization not to love the liberty, the danger, the deeds of courage and address, the constant and varied aspect of that nature which the pedestrian alone enjoys in its full extent—in short, all the romantic activity of wandering and solitary life.

I call it solitary, dear reader, in order to express a secret and mysterious charm, which you can more easily comprehend than I define. It is a state of mind, I think, which has no name in our language, but which you must have experienced if you have ever traveled on foot to any distance, either alone or with another self, or, like Consuelo, with an accommodating companion, at once cheerful, obliging, and sympathizing. In such moments, if you were free from all immediate anxiety, from all disturbing thoughts, you have, I doubt not, felt a kind of strange delight, a little selfish perhaps, as you said to yourself, "At this instant, no person is troubled about me, and no person troubles me; no one knows where I am. Those who rule over my life would search for me in vain; they cannot discover me in this situation—unknown to all, new even to myself—in which I have taken refuge. Those over whom I exercise an influence no longer feel the agitating effects of my presence, and I, in my turn, feel relieved at ceasing to impose it. I belong solely to myself, both as master and as slave." For there is not one of us, O reader! who is not, with regard to a certain group of individuals, at the same time somewhat of a slave and somewhat of a master, independently of his own will, and often even without his own knowledge.

No one knows where I am! That is indeed a thought of loneliness which has its charm—an inexpressible charm, rude and repulsive at first sight, but in reality gentle and legitimate. We are created for a life of reciprocity. The road of duty is long, rough, and bounded by no horizon but death, which is perhaps only the repose of a single night. Let us march onward then boldly, and without sparing our feet! But if, by a rare and happy chance which may render repose and solitude blameless, some green and flowery by-path opens before us, let us profit by it to wander apart for a season from our fellow-men, and give ourselves up to silence and contemplation. These calm and peaceful moments are indispensable for the active and energetic man to recover his strength; and just in proportion as you are a zealous worshiper in the Temple of God, and, consequently, a lover of your fellow-man, will you feel the sanctifying effects of these periods of reflection and self-examination. The selfish man is alone always and everywhere. His soul is never fatigued by loving, suffering, and persevering; it is inert and cold, and has no more need of sleep and silence than a corpse. He who loves is rarely alone, and even when he is so, he is happy. His soul then enjoys a suspension of activity, which is as a deep sleep to a vigorous body, That sleep is an evidence of past fatigues, and the precursor of the new labors for which he is preparing. I can scarcely believe in the real grief of those who do not seek a refuge from their thoughts, nor in the absolute devotedness of those who have no need of rest. In the one case their grief is a sort of torpor which reveals that their spirit is broken and dead within them, and possesses no longer the power of loving; in the other, their devotedness, knowing no cessation or pause, generally conceals some low and unworthy motive.

These observations, though perhaps a little too long, are not out of place in a history of the life of Consuelo, an active and devoted spirit, if ever there was one, but who, notwithstanding, might otherwise have been accused of selfishness and frivolity by those who were unable to understand her.