Consuelo, page 73
"The Princess of Culmbach was educated at Dresden by the Queen of Poland, her aunt, and it was there that Porpora knew her, and gave her, as well as the Grand Dauphiness of France, her cousin, some lessons in music. The young Princess of Culmbach was as beautiful as she was prudent. Brought up by a severe and exacting queen, far from a depraved mother, she seemed destined to be honored and happy through life. But the dowager margravine, the present Countess Hoditz, would not have it so. She brought her home, and kept her with her, under pretense of marrying her, now to one of her relatives, also a margrave of Bareith, now to another, also prince of Culmbach; for the principality of Bareith-Culmbach reckons more princes and margraves than it has villages and castles to belong to them. The beauty and modesty of the princess aroused in her mother's breast a violent feeling of jealousy; she burned to disgrace her, and for this purpose fabricated the most atrocious slanders against her, and by her representations to the other members of the family, caused her to be imprisoned in the fortress of Plasenbourg, where passed several years in the most rigorous captivity. She would have been there still, had she not been induced by the promise of the Empress Amelia's protection to abjure the Lutheran faith. She yielded, however, solely from her ardent wish to recover her liberty, and the first use she made of it was to return to the religion of her ancestors. The young Margravine of Bareith, Wilhelmina of Prussia, received her with kindness in her little court. She was beloved and respected there for her virtues, her mildness, and the correctness of her demeanor. If broken-hearted, she is still an admirable creature, and although she is not in favor at the court of Vienna, on account of her Lutheranism, no one ventures to insult her; no one, not even the lackeys, dares to utter the least slander against her. She is here on some business at present, but she usually resides at Bareith."
"That is the reason," replied Consuelo, "why she spoke so much of that country, and wished me to go there. Oh! what a history, Joseph, and what a woman that Countess Hoditz is! Never—no, never shall Porpora drag me to her house again—never shall I sing for her more!"
"Nevertheless, you would meet there the best and most estimable women at court. Such, they say, is the world. Rank and wealth cloak every vice; and provided you go to church, every thing else is tolerated."
"This court of Vienna would seem somewhat hypocritical," said Consuelo.
"I fear, between ourselves," replied Joseph, lowering his voice, "that the great Maria Theresa is somewhat of a hypocrite herself."
CHAPTER XC
A FEW days afterward, Porpora having busied himself and intrigued in the affair in his own way—that is to say, in threatening, scolding, and railing right and left—Consuelo was introduced to the imperial chapel by Reuter (Haydn's old enemy), and sang before Maria Theresa the part of Judith in the oratorio, Bertulia Liberata, a poem of Metastasio's, set to music by the aforesaid Reuter. Consuelo was magnificent, and Maria Theresa deigned to be pleased. When the sacred concert was over, Consuelo was invited, with the other singers (Caffariello among the number), to partake of a collation in the palace, at which Reuter was to preside. Hardly had she taken her seat between Reuter and Porpora, than a murmur, at once hurried and reverential, from an adjoining gallery, caused all the guests to start except Consuelo and Caffariello, who were busied in discussing a chorus, which the one would have in quick, the other in slow time. "There is no one who can settle the question but the maestro himself," said Consuelo, turning toward Reuter; but she no longer found Reuter on her right side nor Porpora on her left—all the company had risen from the table, and had ranged themselves in a row with an air of deep respect. It was then that Consuelo found herself standing face to face with a woman of about thirty years of age, beaming with health and energy, dressed in black (the usual costume for chapel), and followed by seven children, one of whom she held by the hand. This was the heir apparent, the young Cæsar Joseph II; and this handsome woman, so gracious and affable, was no other than Maria Theresa, the empress queen.
"Ecco La Guiditta?" inquired the empress, turning to Reuter. "I am highly pleased with you, my child," added she, surveying Consuelo from head to foot; "you have afforded me real pleasure, and never have I felt so deeply the sublime verses of our admirable poet as when uttered by your harmonious voice. You pronounce perfectly, a thing to which I attach great importance. What age may you be, madamoiselle? You are a Venetian, I believe—a pupil of the celebrated Porpora, whom I am pleased to see present? You wish to enter the court theater? You are formed to shine there; and Herr Kaunitz takes an interest in your welfare."
Having thus interrogated Consuelo without waiting for her replies, Maria Theresa, looking alternately at Metastasio and Kaunitz, who accompanied her, beckoned to one of her chamberlains, who presented the songstress with a rich bracelet. Before the latter had time to utter her thanks, the empress had already left the saloon, and the splendor of royalty had vanished from her sight. The empress retired slowly, followed by her train of princesses and archduchesses, addressing a kind word to each of the musicians as she passed them, and leaving behind her as it were a luminous track, which dazzled the eyes of the spectators with her glory and her power. Caffariello was the only one who pretended to preserve his equanimity. He resumed the discussion just at the point where he had left off, and Consuelo, thrusting the bracelet in her pocket without so much as looking at it, met him with the same objections, to the astonishment and scandal of the other musicians, who, bewildered by the fascination of the imperial presence, could think of nothing else for the rest of the day. We need hardly add that Porpora, both from habit and from principle, was an exception to this general prostration. He knew how to conduct himself respectfully toward the sovereign, but in his heart he hated and despised slaves. Reuter, now appealed to by Caffariello on the subject of the debated chorus, screwed up his lips in a hypocritical style, and it was only on being repeatedly questioned by Caffariello that he at last replied, with marked coldness:
"I confess, sir, that I did not follow your conversation. When Maria Theresa is present I forget the whole world; and even long after she has disappeared I remain under the influence of an emotion which does not suffer me to think of myself."
"Mademoiselle does not appear at all dazzled by the honor she has procured us," said Holzbaüer, who was present, and whose veneration for royalty evinced more acuteness and reserve than that of Reuter. "It would seem an every-day matter with you, signora, to converse with crowned heads; one would think you had done nothing else all your life."
"I never spoke to a crowned head in my life," replied Consuelo, quietly, and without seeming to perceive the ill-nature of Holzbaüer's insinuations, "and her majesty did not procure me this felicity, for her mode of questioning denied me the honor as well as the trouble of replying."
"You would perhaps have wished to chat a little with the empress," said Porpora, in a reproving tone.
"No indeed," replied Consuelo, "I never thought of such a thing."
"Mademoiselle is more careless than ambitious," observed Reuter, with cold disdain.
"Master Reuter," said Consuelo, with frank confidence, "are you dissatisfied with the manner in which I rendered your music?"
Reuter confessed that no person had ever sung it better, even under the reign of the august and ever-to-be-lamented Charles VI.
"In that case," said Consuelo, "do not reproach me with indifference. I am ambitious to satisfy my masters, to perform my part well; what other ambition could I have? What other would not be absurd and ridiculous for me to entertain?"
"Oh! you are too modest, mademoiselle," said Holzbaüer; "there is no ambition too lofty for talents such as yours."
"I accept that as a polite compliment," replied Consuelo; "but I shall not believe I have satisfied you till the day when you invite me to sing in the court theater."
Holzbaüer, caught in his own trap, pretended to cough, in order to avoid the necessity of replying, and got out of the scrape by a courteous and respectful bow; then bringing back the conversation to the point at which it had commenced:
"Your calmness and disinterestedness," said he, "are truly unexampled; you do not seem even to have examined her majesty's beautiful present."
"Ah! it is true," said Consuelo, drawing it from her pocket, and handing it round for the inspection of her neighbors, who were eager to estimate its value.
"It will serve to buy wood for my dear master's stove," thought Consuelo, "if I have no engagement this winter. A little additional comfort in lodging will stand us in better stead than toys and trinkets."
"What a celestial beauty is her majesty!" said Reuter, with a touching sigh, as he glanced a hard and sidelong look at Consuelo.
"Yes, she seems very beautiful," replied Consuelo, not understanding and not heeding Porpora's nudges with his elbow.
"Seems?" replied Reuter; "you are hard to please!"
"I scarcely saw her, she passed so rapidly."
"But then her dazzling intellect—the genius which is revealed at every word she utters!"
"I had scarcely time to hear her, she spoke so little."
"You must be made of brass or adamant, mademoiselle; I do not know what would touch your feelings!"
"I felt deeply touched when singing your Judith," replied Consuelo, who could give a tolerably cutting retort when occasion required it, and who began to comprehend the unfriendly feelings of the Viennese composers toward her.
"This girl has wit and spirit, with all her simplicity," whispered Holzbaüer to Master Reuter.
"Yes, she is of Porpora's school," replied the other; "nothing but disdain and mockery."
"If we do not take care, the old recitatives and such antiquated stuff will flood us worse than ever," replied Holzbaüer; "but do not fear, I know how to prevent this minion of Porpora's from ever raising her voice in my theater."
When they rose from table, Caffariello whispered in Consuelo's ear:
"Look you, my child; these fellows are all a set of paltry scoundrels. You will have great difficulty in making your way here. They are all against you. They would oppose me too if they dared."
"And what have we done to annoy them?" said the astonished Consuelo.
"We were both educated by the greatest professor of singing on earth. They and their creatures are our natural enemies. They will prejudice Maria Theresa against you, and all you have said here will be repeated with malicious commentaries and additions. They will tell her that you did not think her beautiful, and that you despised her gift as mean and unworthy of you. I know their tricks. Take courage, nevertheless—the opinion of Caffariello as regards music is well worth that of Maria Theresa."
"Between the ill-nature of the one party and the folly of the others, I am fairly meshed," thought Consuelo to herself. "O! Porpora!" exclaimed she in her heart, "I will do all that I can to return to the stage; but, O Albert! Heaven grant that I may be unsuccessful in my attempts!"
The following day Master Porpora, having business in the city which would occupy him during the whole day, and finding Consuelo rather pale, requested her to take a walk outside the town to the Spinnerin am Kreutz with Keller's wife, who had offered to accompany her whenever she wished. As soon as the maestro had gone out:
"Beppo," said the young girl, "go quickly and hire a carriage, and we will both take a drive to see Angela and thank the canon. We promised to do so earlier, but my cold must be our excuse."
"And in what dress will you present yourself to the worthy man?" said Beppo.
"In the one I have on," replied she. "The canon must know and receive me under my real character."
"The excellent canon! I shall sincerely rejoice to see him again."
"And I, too."
"The poor canon! it vexes me to think——"
"What?"
"That his head will be completely turned."
"And why so? Am I a goddess? I did not flatter myself so far."
"Consuelo, remember he was almost crazy when we left him!"
"And I tell you that it is only necessary for him to know that I am a woman, and to see me as I really am, to recover all his self-possession, and again become what God made him—a reasonable man."
"It is true that the dress does something. Therefore, when I saw you again transformed into a young lady, after having been accustomed for a fortnight to treat you as a boy, I experienced a vague sense of terror and constraint for which I cannot account; and it is certain that during our journey if you had permitted me to fall in love with you——But I am talking nonsense."
"Certainly, Joseph, it is nonsense, and besides, you lose time while you are chatting. It is ten leagues to the priory and back. It is now eight o'clock, and we must be back here again by seven in the evening, in time for the maestro's supper."
Three hours afterward Beppo and his companion alighted at the gate of the priory. The day was lovely, and the canon was contemplating his flowers with a melancholy air. When he saw Joseph, he uttered a cry of joy and advanced hastily to meet him, but he remained speechless on recognizing his dear Bertoni in a woman's dress. "Bertoni! my well-beloved child!" cried the simple and venerable old man, "what means this masquerade, and why do you appear disguised in this manner? We are not now in the carnival."
"My respected and revered friend," replied Consuelo, kissing his hand, "you must forgive me for having deceived you. I never was a boy; Bertoni never existed, and when I had the happiness of becoming acquainted with you, I was really disguised."
"We thought," said Joseph, who feared to behold the canon's consternation change to dissatisfaction, "that your reverence was not the dupe of our innocent artifice. That disguise was not assumed to deceive you; it was a necessity imposed upon us by circumstances, and we have always thought that your reverence had the generosity and the delicacy to overlook it."
"You thought so?" resnmed the canon, astonished and terrified; "and you, Bertoni—I should say, mademoiselle—did you think so too?"
"No, reverend sir," replied Consuelo, "I did not think so for an instant. I saw plainly that your reverence had not the least suspicion of the truth."
"And you only did me justice," said the canon, in a tone of severity tempered with regret, "I cannot tamper with my good faith, and if I had guessed your sex, I should never have thought of insisting, as I did, on your remaining with me. There has indeed been circulated in the neighboring village, and even among my own flock, a vague report, a suspicion which made me smile, so determined was I to deceive myself respecting you. It was said that one of the two little musicians who sang the mass on the day of our patron saint's fête, was a woman in disguise. And then it was asserted that this report was only a malicious falsehood circulated by the shoemaker Gottlieb to annoy and vex the curate. I myself contradicted it stoutly. You see that I was completely your dupe, and that no one could be more sincerely mistaken.
"There has been a great mistake, sir," replied Consuelo with modest dignity; "but their has been no dupe. I do not think I departed for a single instant from the respect due to you, nor from the proprieties which sincerity and self respect impose. I was overtaken by night on the road, without shelter, overcome by thirst and fatigue, after a long journey on foot. You would not have refused hospitality to a beggar woman under such circumstances. You granted it to me from your love of music, and I paid my scot in kind. If I did not depart the next day, in spite of your persuasions, it was owing to unforeseen circumstances which imperatively demanded of me a paramount duty. My enemy, my rival, my persecutor, fell as it were from the clouds at your gate, and, deprived of the care and assistance of others, had a right to my assistance and my care. Your reverence must well remember the rest; you know that if I took advantage of your benevolence, it was not on my own account. You know also that I departed as soon as my duty was accomplished, and if I return today to thank you in person for the kindness you have shown me, the reason is, that sincerity and good faith made it incumbent on me to be myself the means of undeceiving you and giving you the explanations which were necessary to your dignity as well as my own."
"In all this," said the canon, half convinced, "there is something very mysterious and extraordinary. You say that the unfortunate woman, whose child I have adopted, was your enemy, your rival. Who are you then yourself, Bertoni?—Forgive me if that name continually recurs to my lips, and tell me how I must call you from henceforth."
"I am called the Porporina," replied Consuelo; "I am the pupil of Porpora; I am a singer. I belong to the stage."
"Ah! yes;" said the canon with a deep sigh. "I ought to have guessed so from the manner in which you performed your part; and as to your prodigious talent for music, I am no longer astonished at it; you have been educated in a good school. May I ask if my friend Beppo is your brother or—your husband?"
"Neither the one nor the other. He is my brother by affection. No closer tie binds us, reverend sir; and if my soul had not felt itself as chaste as your own, I should not have stained by my presence the sanctity of your dwelling."
Consuelo's manner was in truth irresistible, and the canon yielded to its power, as pure and upright minds always do to the words of sincerity. He felt as if an enormous weight had been taken from his breast, and, while walking slowly between his two young protegés, he questioned Consuelo with a returning gentleness and affectionate sympathy against which he had gradually ceased to struggle. She related to him rapidly, and without mentioning any names, the principal occurrences of her life; her betrothal at the death-bed of her mother to Anzoleto, the latter's infidelity, the hatred of Corilla, Zustiniani's outrageous designs, Porpora's advice, her departure from Venice, the attachment which Albert had conceived for her, the offers of the Rudolstadt family, her own hesitations and scruples, her flight from the Castle of the Giants, her meeting with Joseph Haydn, her journey, her terror and compassion at Corilla's bed of suffering, her gratitude for the protection granted by the canon to Anzoleto's child, and lastly her arrival at Vienna, and even her interview with Maria Theresa the day before. Joseph had not until then known all Consuelo's history, she had never spoken to him of Anzoleto, and the few words she had just said of her past affection for that wretched man did not strike him forcibly; but her generosity toward Corilla, and her solicitude for the child, made such a deep impression on him, that he turned away to hide his tears. The canon did not attempt to restrain his. Consuelo's narrative, concise, energetic, and sincere, produced the same effect upon him as if he had read a stirring romance; but this was a style of reading which the canon had never ventured on, and this was the first time in his life that he had been thus initiated into the feelings and emotions of others, as evinced in their lives and actions. He seated himself upon a bench in order to listen better; and when the young girl had finished all, he exclaimed, "If all you have said is true, as I believe and feel in my heart it is, you are truly a sweet and angelic creature! You are St. Cecilia come once more to visit the earth! I confess to you frankly," added he, after an instant of silence and reflection, "that I never had any prejudice against the stage, and you prove to me that one's salvation can be secured there as well as elsewhere. Certainly if you continue to be as pure and generous as you have been hitherto, you will have deserved your reward in Heaven, my dear Bertoni!—I speak with perfect sincerity, my dear Porporina!"
