Consuelo, page 9
At this thought Consuelo's eyes filled with tears, and she sat down with a pouting air, which rendered her charming. "I am a fool—an ass!" thought Anzoleto. "How could I for one instant suppose that the count could triumph over a soul so pure—an affection so full and entire? He is not so inexperienced as not to perceive at a glance that Consuelo is not for him, and he would not have been so generous as to offer me a place in his gondola, had he not known that he would have played the part of a fool there. No, no; my lot is well assured—my position unassailable. Let Consuelo please him or not, let him love, pay court to her—all that can only advance my fortunes, for she will soon learn to obtain what she wishes without incurring any danger. Consuelo will soon be better informed on this head than myself. She is prudent, she is energetic. The pretensions of the dear count will only turn to my profit and glory."
And thus abjuring all his doubts, he cast himself at the feet of his betrothed, and gave vent to that passionate enthusiasm which he now experienced for the first time, and which his jealousy had served for some hours to restrain.
"O my beauty—my saint—my queen!" he cried, "excuse me for having thought of myself in place of prostrating myself before you, as I should have done, on finding myself again with you in this chamber. I left it this morning in anger with you. Yes, yes; I should have re-entered it upon my knees. How could you love and smile upon a brute like me? Strike me with your fan, Consuelo; place your pretty foot upon my neck. You are greater than I am by a hundredfold, and I am your slave forever from this day."
"I do not deserve these fine speeches," said she, abandoning herself to his transports; "and I excuse your doubts because I comprehend them. It was the fear of being separated from me—of seeing our lot divide—which caused you all this unhappiness. You have failed in your faith in God, which is much worse than having accused me. But I shall pray for you, and say, 'Lord, forgive as I forgive him.'"
While thus innocently and simply expressing her love, and mingling with it that Spanish feeling of devotion so full of human affection and ingenuous candor, Consuelo was beautiful. Anzoleto gazed on her with rapture.
"Oh, thou mistress of my soul!" he exclaimed, in a suffocated voice, "be mine for evermore?"
"When you will—tomorrow," said Consuelo, with a heavenly smile.
"Tomorrow? and why tomorrow?"
"You are right: it is now past midnight—we may be married today. When the sun rises let us seek the priest. We have no friends, and the ceremony need not be long. I have the muslin dress, which I have never yet worn. When I made it, dear Anzoleto, I said to myself, 'Perhaps I may not have money to purchase my wedding dress, and if my friend should soon decide on marrying me, I would be obliged to wear one that I have had on already.' That, they say, is unlucky. So, when my mother appeared to me in a dream, to take it from me and lay it past, she knew what she did, pour soul! Therefore, by tomorrow's sun we shall swear at San Samuel fidelity forever. Did you wish to satisfy yourself first, wicked one, that I was not ugly?"
"O Consuelo!" exclaimed Anzoleto, with anguish, "you are a child. We could not marry thus, from one day to another, without its being known. The count and Porpora, whose protection is so necessary to us, would be justly irritated if we took this step without consulting or even informing them. Your old master does not like me too well, and the count, as I know, does not care much for married singers. We cannot go to San Samuel where every body knows us, and where the first old woman we met would make the palace acquainted with it in half an hour. We must keep our union secret."
"No, Anzoleto," said Consuelo, "I cannot consent to so rash—so ill-advised a step. I did not think of the objections you have urged to a public marriage: but if they are well founded they apply with equal force to a private and clandestine one. It was not I who spoke first of it, Anzoleto, although I thought more than once that we were old enough to be married; yet it seemed right to leave the decision to your prudence, and, if I must say it, to your wishes; for I saw very well that you were in no hurry to make me your wife, nor had I any desire to remind you. You have often told me that before settling ourselves, we must think of our future family, and secure the needful resources. My mother said the same, and it is only right. Thus, all things considered, it would be too soon. First, our engagement must be signed—is not that so? Then we must be certain of the goodwill of the public. We can speak of all this after we make our debut. But why do you grow pale, Anzoleto? Why do you wring your hands? O Heaven! are we not happy? Does it need an oath to insure our mutual love and reliance?"
"O Consuelo! how calm you are! how pure! how cold!" exclaimed Anzoleto, with a sort of despair.
"Cold!" exclaimed the young Spaniard, stupified, and crimson with indignation. "God, who reads my heart, knows whether I love you!"
"Very well," retorted Anzoleto, angrily; "throw yourself into his bosom, for mine is no safe refuge; and I shall fly lest I become impious."
Thus saying he rushed toward the door, believing that Consuelo, who had hitherto never been able to separate from him in any quarrel, however trifling, would hasten to prevent him, and in fact she made an impetuous movement as if to spring after him, then stopped, saw him go out, ran likewise to the door, and put her hand on the latch in order to call him back. But summoning up all her resolution by a superhuman effort, she fastened the bolt behind him, and then, overcome by the violent struggle she had undergone, she swooned away upon the floor, where she remained motionless till daybreak.
CHAPTER XV
"I MUST confess that I am completely enchanted with her," said the Count Zustiniani to his friend Barberigo, as they conversed together on the balcony of his palace about two o'clock the same night.
"That is as much as to say that I must not be so," replied the young and brilliant Barberigo, "and I yield the point, for your rights take precedence of mine. Nevertheless, if Corilla should mesh you afresh in her nets, you will have the goodness to let me know, that I may try and win her ear."
"Do not think of it, if you love me. Corilla has never been other than a plaything. I see by your countenance that you are but mocking me."
"No, but I think that the amusement is somewhat serious which causes us to commit such follies and incur such expense."
"I admit that I pursue my pleasures with so much ardoor that I spare no expense to prolong them; but in this case it is more than fancy—it is passion which I feel. I never saw a creature so strangely beautiful as this Consuelo: she is like a lamp that pales from time to time, but which at the moment when it is apparently about to expire, sheds so bright a light that the very stars are eclipsed."
"Ah!" said Barberigo, sighing, "that little black dress and white collar, that slender and half devout toilet, that pale, calm face, at first so little striking, that frank address and astonishing absence of coquetry—all become transformed, and, as it were, grow divine when inspired by her own lofty genius of song. Happy Zustiniani, who hold in your hands the destinies of this dawning star!"
"Would I were secure of the happiness which you envy! But I am discouraged when I find none of those passions with which I am acquainted, and which are so easy to bring into play. Imagine, friend, that this girl remains an enigma to me even after a whole day's study of her. It would almost seem from her tranquility and my awkwardness, that I am already so far gone that I cannot see clearly."
"Truly you are captivated, since you already grow blind. I, whom hope does not confuse, can tell you in three words what you do not understand. Consuelo is the flower of innocence; she loves the little Anzoleto, and will love him yet for some time; but if you affront this attachment of childhood, you will only give it fresh strength. Appear to consider it of no importance, and the comparison which she will not fail to make between you and him will not fail to cool her preference."
"But the rascal is as handsome as Apollo; he has a magnificent voice, and must succeed. Corilla is already crazy about him; he is not one to be despised by a girl who has eyes."
"But he is poor, and you are rich—he is unknown, and you are powerful. The needful thing is to find out whether they are merely betrothed, or whether a more intimate connection binds them. In the latter case Consuelo's eyes will be soon opened; in the former there will be a struggle and uncertainty which will but prolong her anguish."
"I must then desire what I horribly fear, and which maddens me with rage when I think of it. What do you suppose?"
"I think they are merely betrothed."
"But it is impossible. He is a bold and ardent youth, and then the manners of those people!"
"Consuelo is in all respects a prodigy. You have had experience to little purpose, dear Zustiniani, if you do not see in all the movements, all the looks, all the words of this girl, that she is pure as the ocean gem."
"You transport me with joy."
"Take care—it is folly, prejudice. If you love Consuelo, she must be married tomorrow, so that in eight days her master may make her feel the weight of her chain, the torments of jealousy, the ennui of a troublesome, unjust, and faithless guardian; for the handsome Anzoleto will be all that. I could not observe him yesterday between Consuelo and Clorinda without being able to prophesy her wrongs and misfortunes. Follow my advice, and you will thank me. The bond of marriage is easy to unloose between people of that condition, and you know that with women love is an ardent fancy which only increases with obstacles."
"You drive me to despair," replied the count; "nevertheless, I feel that you are right."
Unhappily for the designs of Count Zustiniani, this dialogue had a listener upon whom they did not reckon, and who did not lose one syllable of it. After quitting Consuelo, Anzoleto, stung with jealousy, had come to prowl about the palace of his protector, in order to assure himself that the count did not intend one of those forcible abductions then so much in vogue, and for which the patricians had almost entire impunity. He could hear no more; for the moon, which just then rose over the roofs of the palace, began to cast his shadow on the pavement, and the two young lords, perceiving that a man was under the balcony, withdrew and closed the window.
Anzoleto disappeared in order to ponder at his leisure on what he had just heard; it was quite enough to direct him what course to take in order to profit by the virtuous counsels of Barberigo to his friend. He slept scarcely two hours, and immediately when he awoke, ran to the Corte Minelli. The door was still locked, but through the chincks he could see Consuelo, dressed, stretched on the bed and sleeping, pale and motionless as death. The coolness of the morning had roused her from her swoon, and she threw herself on the bed without having strength to undress. He stood for some moments looking at her with remorseful disquietude, but at last becoming uneasy at this heavy sleep, so contrary to the active habits of his betrothed, he gently enlarged an opening through which he could pass his knife and slide back the bolt. This occasioned some noise; but Consuelo, overcome with fatigue, was not awakened. He then entered, knelt down beside her couch, and remained thus until she awoke. On finding him there Consuelo uttered a cry of joy, but instantly taking away her arms, which she had thrown round his neck, she drew back with an expression of alarm.
"You dread me now, and instead of embracing, fly me," said he with grief. "Oh, I am cruelly punished for my fault; pardon me, Consuelo, and see if you have ever cause to mistrust your friend again. I have watched you sleeping for a whole hour; pardon me, sister—it is the first and last time you shall have to blame or repulse your brother; I shall never more offend you by my hastiness and ill-temper. Leave me, banish me, if I fail in my oath. Are you satisfied, dear and good Consuelo?"
Consuelo only replied by pressing the fair head of the Venetian to her heart and bathing it with tears. This outburst comforted her; and soon after falling back upon her pillow, "I confess," said she, "that I am overcome; I hardly slept all night, we parted so unhappily."
"Sleep, Consuelo; sleep, dear angel," replied Anzoleto, "Do you remember the night that you allowed me to sleep on your couch; while you worked and prayed at your little table? It is now my turn to watch and protect you. Sleep, my child; I shall turn over your music and read it to myself whilst you repose an hour or two; no one will disturb us before the evening. Sleep, then, and prove by this confidence that you pardon and trust me."
Consuelo replied by a heavenly smile. He kissed her forehead and placed himself at the table, while she enjoyed a refreshing sleep, mingled with sweet dreams.
Anzoleto had lived calmly and innocently too long with this young girl, to render it difficult after one day's agitation to regain his usual demeanour. This brotherly feeling was, as it were, the ordinary condition of his soul; besides, what he had heard the preceding night under the balcony of Zustiniani, was well calculated to strengthen his faltering purpose. "Thanks, my brave gentleman," said he to himself; "you have given me a lesson which the rascal will turn to account just as much as one of your own class. I shall abstain from jealousy, infidelity, or any weakness which may give you an advantage over me. Illustrious and profound Barberigo! your prophecies bring counsel; it is good to be of your school."
Thus reflecting, Anzoleto, overcome by a sleepless night, dozed in his turn, his head supported on his hand and his elbows on the table; but his sleep was not sound, and the daylight had begun to decline as he rose to see if Consuelo still slumbered. The rays of the setting sun streaming through the window, cast a glorious purple tinge on the old bed and its beautiful occupant. Her white mantilla she had made into a curtain, which was secured to a filagree crucifix nailed to the wall above her head. Her veil fell gracefully over her well-proportioned and admirable figure; and, bathed in this rose-colored light as a flower which closes its leaves together at the approach of evening, her long tresses falling upon her white shoulders, her hands crossed on her bosom as a saint on her marble tomb, she looked so chaste and heavenly that Anzoleto mentally exclaimed, "Ah, Count Zustiniani, that you could see her this moment, and behold the prudent and jealous guardian of a treasure you vainly covet, beside her!"
At this moment a faint noise was heard outside, and Anzoleto, whose faculties were kept on the stretch, thought he recognized the splashing of water at the foot of Consuelo's ruined dwelling, although gondolas rarely approached the Corte Minelli. He mounted on a chair, and was by this means able to see through a sort of loophole near the ceiling, which looked toward the canal. He distinctly saw Count Zustiniani leave his bark, and question the half-naked children who played on the beach. He was uncertain whether he should awaken his betrothed or close the door; but, during the ten minutes which the count occupied in finding out the garret of Consuelo, he had time to regain the utmost self-possession and to leave the door ajar, so that any one might enter without noise or hindrance; then reseating himself, he took a pen and pretended to write music. He appeared perfectly calm and tranquil, although his heart beat violently.
The count slipped in, rejoicing in the idea of surprising his protegée, whose obvious destitution he conceived would favor his corrupt intentions. He brought Consuelo's engagement ready signed along with him, and he thought with such a passport his reception could not be very discouraging; but at the first sight of the strange sanctuary in which this sweet girl slept her angelic sleep under the watchful eye of her contented lover, Count Zustiniani lost his presence of mind, entangled his cloak which he had thrown with a conquering air over his shoulders, and stopped between the bed and the table, utterly uncertain whom he should address. Anzoleto was revenged for the scene at the entrance of the gondola.
"My lord," he exclaimed, rising as if surprised by an unexpected visit, "shall I awaken my betrothed?"
"No," replied the count, already at his ease, and affecting to turn his back that he might contemplate Consuelo; "I am so happy to see her thus, I forbid you to awaken her."
"Yes, you may look at her," thought Anzoleto; "it is all I wished for."
Consuelo did not awaken, and the count, speaking in a low tone and assuming a gracious and tranquil aspect, expressed his admiration without restraint. "You were right, Zoto," said he with an easy air; "Consuelo is the first singer in Italy, and I was wrong to doubt that she was the most beautiful woman in the world."
"Your highness thought her frightful, however," said Anzoleto, maliciously.
"You have doubtless complained to her of all my folly; but I reserve to myself the pleasure of obtaining pardon by so honorable and complete an apology that you shall not again be able to injure me in recalling my errors."
"Injure you, Signor Count!—how could I do so even had I the wish?"
Consuelo moved. "Let us not awaken her too suddenly," said the count, "and clear this table that I may place on it and read her engagement. Hold!" said he when Anzoleto had obeyed him; "cast your eyes over this paper while we wait for hers to open."
"An engagement before trial!—it is magnificent, my noble patron. And she is to appear at once, before Corilla's engagement has expired?"
"That is nothing; there is some trifling debt of a thousand sequins or so due her, which we shall pay off."
"But what if Corilla should cabal?"
"We will confine her under the leads."
"'Fore Heaven! nothing stops your highness."
"Yes, Zoto," replied the count coldly; "thus it is: what we desire we do, toward one and all."
"And the conditions are the same as for Corilla—the same conditions for a débutante without name or reputation as for an illustrious performer adored by the public?"
"The new singer shall have even more; and if the conditions granted her predecessor do not satisfy her, she has only to say a word and they shall be doubled. Every thing depends upon herself," continued he, raising his voice a little as he perceived that Consuelo was awake: "her fate is in her own hands."
Consuelo had heard all this partially, through her sleep. When she had rubbed her eyes and assured herself that she was not dreaming, she slid down into the space between the bed and the wall, without considering the strangeness of her position, and after arranging her hair, came forward with ingenuous confidence to join in the conversation.
