Consuelo, page 71
"Be assured, nevertheless, that all these evils would seem lighter than your absence. If he truly love he will bear every thing; and if he does not love you sufficiently to put up with every thing, he will forget you."
"Therefore I pause, and decide upon nothing. Inspire me with courage, Beppo, and stay beside me, that I may at least have one heart unto which I can pour my sorrows, and from which I can seek a common hope."
"Oh, my sister, trust in me!" exclaimed Joseph; "if I am so happy as to afford you this slight consolation, I shall cheerfully put up with Porpora's tirades. Were he even to beat me, I would bear it, if that would turn him aside from tormenting and afflicting you."
In planning thus with Joseph, Consuelo labored incessantly in preparing their common repast, or mending Porpora's worn-out garments. She introduced by degrees into the sitting apartment some necessary articles of furniture. A large, easy arm-chair, well stuffed, replaced the straw one in which he was wont to rest his old limbs, weakened by age. And after having enjoyed a comfortable nap in it, he was surprised, and asked with beetling brows where this good seat had come from.
"The mistress of the house sent it up," replied Consuelo; "it was in her way, and I allowed it a corner till she should ask for it again."
Porpora's mattress was changed, and he made no other remark on the goodness of his bed, save that for some nights past he had slept better. Consuelo replied, "that he might attribute this improvement to his coffee, and to his refraining from brandy." One morning, Porpora having put on an excellent dressing-gown, asked, with an anxious air, where it had been found. Joseph, who had received his lesson, replied that in settling an old trunk he had found it stuffed in a corner of it.
"I did not think I had brought it with me here," said Porpora. "It is, nevertheless, the one I had at Venice; at least it is the same color."
"And what other could it be?" replied Consuelo, who had taken care to match the worn-out garment carefully.
"Why, the fact is, I thought it was more worn," said the maestro, looking at his elbows.
"You are right," she replied, "I put in new sleeves."
"And with what?"
"With a part of the lining."
"Ah, you women are wonderful creatures, for making every thing of use."
And when the new coat had been worn a couple of days, although it was the same color as the old one, he was surprised to see it so fresh, and the buttons especially, which were very pretty, set him thinking:
"This coat is not mine," said he, in a grumbling tone.
"I desired Beppo to get it scoured," replied Consuelo, "as it was much soiled. They have refreshed it, that is all."
"I tell you it is not mine," said the maestro, enraged; "they have changed it. Your Beppo is a fool."
"That could not be, for I marked it."
"And these buttons? Do you think to make me swallow them?"
"I changed the trimming, and sewed them on myself; the old were entirely worn out."
"You are pleased to say so; but it was still very decent. How stupid! am I a Celadon, to deck myself out in this fashion, and pay twelve sequins at least for a trimming?"
"It does not cost twelve florins," replied Consuelo, "it was picked up by chance."
His garments were gradually renewed with the help of such dexterous fibs, which gave Consuelo and Joseph many a hearty laugh. Some things passed unobserved, thanks to Porpora's absence of mind, the lace and linen found their way by degrees into his drawers, and when he looked attentively at them Consuelo took credit to herself for having renovated them so well. To give a semblance of truth to what she said, she mended some of his things before his eyes, and placed them with the rest.
"That will do," said Porpora, one day tearing a ruffle out of her hands; "what nonsense! an artist must not be a drudge, and I will not have you bent double all day with a needle in your fingers. Put it past, or I shall throw it into the fire; nor will I suffer you to go on cooking, and swallowing the fumes of charcoal. Do you wish to lose your voice? Would you be a scullion? Would you make me miserable?"
"Far from it," replied Consuelo; "your things are now in good order, and my voice is quite recovered."
"Good!" exclaimed the maestro, "in that case you shall sing tomorrow at the palace of the Countess Hoditz, dowager Margravine of Bareith."
CHAPTER LXXXVIII
THE dowager Margravine of Bareith, widow of the Margrave George William, by birth Princess of Saxe Weisenfeld, and subsequently Countess Hoditz, had, "it was said, been beautiful as an angel. But she was so changed that hardly a trace of her charms remained. She was tall, and appeared to have had a fine figure, but time, that great destroyer, had made sad ravages upon it. Her face was long, as well as her nose, which latter feature disfigured her greatly, being red and frostbitten. Her eyes, accustomed to give law to those with whom she associated, were large, brown, and well set, but so dim that their vivacity was much impaired. She had false eyebrows, very thick and black as ink; her mouth, though large, was well formed and full of expression; her teeth regular and white as ivory; her complexion, though clear, was sallow, and leaden-colored; and her air and carriage were dignified but somewhat affected. She was the Lais of her time, and could have only pleased by her looks, for as to mind she had none."
If you find this portrait rather severe do not ascribe it to me, dear reader. It is word for word from the hands of a princess remarkable for her misfortunes, her domestic virtues, her petulance, and her pride—the Princess Wilhelmina, of Prussia, sister of Frederick the Great, married to the Hereditary Prince of Bareith, nephew of the Countess Hoditz. She had the most caustic tongue, perhaps, that royal blood ever produced. But her portraits, it must be confessed, are masterly, and it is difficult in reading them not to believe they are correct.
When Consuelo, her hair arranged by Keller, and dressed, thanks to his care and zeal with elegant simplicity, was introduced by Porpora into the margravine's saloon, she seated herself with him behind the harpsichord, which had been placed in a corner so as not to incommode the company. No one had yet arrived, so punctual was Porpora, and the valets had just finished lighting the candles. The maestro commenced to try the instrument, and had hardly sounded a few notes when a fair and exquisitely graceful young woman entered and approached him with graceful affability. As Porpora saluted her with the greatest respect, and called her princess, Consuelo took her for the margravine, and according to the usual custom, kissed her hand. That cold and colorless hand pressed the young girl's with a cordiality which is rarely found among the great, and which immediately gained Consuelo's heart. The princess appeared to be about thirty years of age; her form was elegant without being faultless; indeed there might be remarked in it certain deviations which seemed the result of great physical sufferings. Her features were remarkably noble and regular, but frightfully pale, and it seemed as if some concealed sorrow had imparted to them a worn and anxious expression. Her toilet was exquisite, but simple and decent even to severity. An air of melancholy sweetness and timid modesty was diffused over all her actions, and the sound of her voice had something humble and affecting which touched Consuelo to the heart. Before the latter had time to comprehend that this was not the margravine, the true margravine appeared. She was then more than fifty, and if the portrait which has been given at the beginning of this chapter, and which was drawn ten years before, was at that period a little overcharged, it certainly was no longer so at the present moment. It even required a great stretch of good nature to imagine that the Countess Hoditz had been one of the beauties of Germany, although she was painted and adorned with the skill of a finished coquette. The embonpoint of riper years had destroyed the shape which the margravine still persisted in imagining had still retained all its pristine beauty, for her neck and shoulders braved the eye of a spectator with all the proud confidence of an antique statue. She wore flowers, diamonds, and feathers in her hair, like a young lady, and her dress rustled with precious stones.
"Mamma," said the princess who had caused Consuelo's error, "this is the young person whom Master Porpora informed us of, and who will afford us the pleasure of hearing some of the fine music of his new opera."
"That is no reason," replied the margravine, measuring Consuelo from head to foot, "why you should hold her by the hand in that manner. Go and seat yourself at the harpsichord, mademoiselle. I am delighted to see you; you will sing when the company has assembled. Master Porpora, I salute you. Will you excuse my not attending to you; I perceive that something is amiss in my toilet. My daughter, converse a little with Master Porpora. He is a man of talent whom I esteem."
Having thus spoken, in a rough and masculine voice, the portly margravine turned heavily on her heel, and reentered her apartment.
Hardly had she disappeared, when the princess, her daughter, approaching Consuelo, once more took her hand with a delicate and touching kindness, as if to make it apparent that she protested against her mother's impertinence. She then engaged in conversation with her and Porpora, and testified a graceful and unaffected interest in them. Consuelo was still more sensible of this kind proceeding when, several persons having been introduced, she remarked in the habitual manners of the princess a coldness and reserve at once proud and timid, which she evidently laid aside when addressing the maestro and herself.
When the saloon was almost filled, Count Hoditz, who had dined from home, entered in full dress, and, as if he had been a stranger in his own house, proceeded respectfully to kiss the hand and inquire after the health of his noble spouse. The margravine pretended to be of a very delicate constitution; she reclined upon a couch, inhaling every instant the perfume of a smelling-bottle, and receiving the homage of her guests with an air which she thought languishing, but which was only disdainful, and in short, she was so completely ridiculous, that Consuelo, although at first irritated and indignant at her insolence, ended by being highly amused, and promised herself a hearty laugh in drawing her portrait to her friend Beppo.
The princess had once more approached the harpsichord, and did not lose an opportunity of addressing either a word or a smile to Consuelo when her mother was not observing her. This situation allowed Consuelo to overhear a little family scene, which disclosed the state of matters in the household. Count Hoditz approached his daughter-in-law, took her hand, carried it to his lips, and kept it there for some instants with a very expressive look. The princess withdrew her hand, and addressed a few words to him in a cold and deferential manner. The count did not listen to them, and continuing to gaze upon her: "What! my beautiful angel," said he, "always sad, always severe, always muffled to the chin? One would imagine that you wished to become a nun."
"It is quite possible I shall come to that," replied the princess in a low voice. "The world has not treated me in such a manner as to inspire me with much attachment for its pleasures."
"The world would adore you, and would throw itself at your feet, if you did not affect to keep it at a distance by your severity; and as to the cloister, could you endure its horrors at your age, and with your charms?"
"In more joyous days, and when far more beautiful than I am at present," replied she, "I endured the horrors of a more rigorous captivity; can you have forgotten it? But do not talk to me any longer, my lord; mamma is looking at you."
Immediately the count, as if moved by some piece of mechanism, quitted his daughter-in-law and approached Consuelo, whom he saluted very gravely; then, having addressed some words to her as an amateur respecting music in general, he opened the book which Porpora had placed upon the harpsichord, and pretending to be in search of something which he wished her to explain to him, he leaned upon the stand, and spoke thus to her in a low voice: "I saw the deserter yesterday morning, and his wife gave me a note. I request the beautiful Consuelo to forget a certain meeting, and in return for her silence I will forget a certain Joseph whom I just now saw in my ante-chamber."
"That certain Joseph," replied Consuelo, whom the discovery of the conjugal jealousy and constraint to which the count was subjected had made quite easy respecting the consequences of the adventure at Passau, "is an artist of talent who will not long remain in antechambers. He is my brother, my comrade, and my friend. I have no reason to blush for my sentiments toward him; I have nothing to conceal in that respect, and I have nothing to request from your lordship's generosity but a little indulgence for my voice, and a little protection for Joseph in the outset of his musical career."
"My interest is pledged for the said Joseph, as my admiration is already so for your beautiful voice; but I flatter myself that a certain jest on my part was never taken as serious."
"I was not so stupid, my lord; and besides, I know that a woman has never any reason to boast of having been made the subject of a jest of that nature."
"It is enough, signora," said the count, from whom the dowager never removed her eyes, and who was in a hurry to change his position in order not to excite her suspicion; "the celebrated Consuelo must know how to make allowances for the gaiety and abandonment of a journey, and she may depend in future upon the respect and devotion of Count Hoditz."
He replaced the book upon the harpsichord, and hastened to receive most obsequiously a personage who had just been announced with much pomp. It was a little man, who might have been taken for a woman in disguise, so rosy was he, so curled, trinketted, delicate, genteel, and perfumed; it was he of whom Maria Theresa had said that she wished she could have set him in a ring; it was he also whom she said she had made a diplomatist, because she could make nothing better of him. It was the Austrian plenipotentiary, the prime minister, the favorite, some even said the lover of the empress; it was no less a personage, in short, than the celebrated Kaunitz, that statesman who held in his white hand, ornamented with rings of a thousand colors, all the tangled strings of European diplomacy.
He appeared to listen with a grave air to the would-be grave personages who were supposed to converse with him on serious and important subjects. But suddenly he interrupted himself to ask Count Hoditz, "Who is that young person I see there at the harpischord? Is that the little girl I have heard of, Porpora's protegée? That Porpora is an unfortunate wretch! I wish I could do something for him; but he is so exacting and so fanciful, that all the other artists fear or hate him. When I speak to them of him, it is as if I showed them a Medusa's head. He tells one that he sings false, another that his music is good for nothing, and a third that he owes his success to intrigue. And he expects, with these savage and cutting remarks, that people will listen to him and do him justice! What the devil! We don't live in the woods. Frankness is no longer in fashion, and we cannot lead men by truth. That little one is not amiss; I rather like her face. She is very young, is she not? They say she had great success at Venice. Porpora must bring her to me tomorrow."
"He wishes," said the princess, "that you would procure her the honor of singing before the empress, and I hope that you will not refuse him this favor. I ask it of you on my own account."
"There is nothing so easy as to procure her an audience of the empress, and it is sufficient that your highness desires it, to induce me to exert myself to forward the matter. But there is a personage more powerful at the theater than even the empress. It is Madam Tesi; and even if her majesty should take this girl under her protection, I doubt if the engagement would be signed without the approval of the all-powerful Tesi."
"They say it is you who spoil those ladies, my lord, and that without your indulgence they would not exert so much influence."
"What can I do, princess? Every one is master in his own house. Her majesty understands very clearly that if she were to interfere by an imperial decree in the affairs of the opera, the opera would go all astray. Now her majesty wishes that the opera should go on well, and that people should be amused there. But how could that be, if the prima donna takes cold on the very day she is to make her début? or if the tenor, in the very middle of a scene of reconciliation, instead of throwing himself into the arms of the bass, gives him a smart cuff on the ear? We have quite enough to do to satisfy the caprices of M. Caffariello. We have enjoyed some tranquility since Madame Tesi and Madame Holzbaüer have come to a good understanding with each other; but if you throw an apple of discord upon the stage, our cards will be in a worse confusion than ever."
"But a third woman is absolutely necessary," said the Venetian ambassador, who warmly protected Porpora and his pupil, "and here is an admirable one who offers her services."
"If she be admirable, so much the worse for her. She would excite the jealousy of Madame Tesi, who is also admirable, and wishes to be so alone; she would enrage Madame Holzbaüer, who wishes to be admirable also——"
"And who is not so?" retorted the ambassador.
"She is very well born; she is a person of good family," replied M. de Kaunitz, diplomatically.
"But she cannot sing two parts at a time. She must needs let the mezzo-soprano take her proper part in the operas."
"There is a lady called Corilla who offers herself, and who is certainly one of the most beautiful creatures I have seen."
"Your excellency has already seen her, then?"
"The very day she arrived. But I have not heard her yet. She is ill."
"You will hear this candidate, and you cannot hesitate to give her the preference."
"It is possible. I even confess to you that her face, although less beautiful than that of the other, seems to me more agreeable. She has a gentle and modest manner. But my preference will do her no good, poor child! She must please Madame Tesi, without displeasing Madame Holzbaüer; and hitherto, notwithstanding the close friendship that unites those two ladies, every thing that has been approved of by the one, has always had the misfortune to be strongly disapproved of by the other."
"A very trying crisis, indeed!" said the princess, with a slight expression of irony, on seeing the importance which these two statemen attributed to green-room dissensions. "Here is our poor little protegée weighed in the balance with Madame Corilla, and it is M. Caffariello, I wager, who will throw his sword into one of the scales."
