"A singer--a singer," replied Lieberg--"the famous cantatrice. But, as I was saying, when first she appeared at Naples, all the dissolute old nobles of that kingdom, and half-a-dozen others of your own, Morley, thought no expense would be too great to add this fair linnet to their aviary. Various were the proposals made to her, more flattering to her avarice than her virtue; but to every offer of the kind Veronica returned but one answer--that of silent contempt. Then came the young, and the gay, and the fascinating; and many a woman, Morley, as you well know, surrenders to the wordy siege of a penniless young libertine, who has resisted the golden bombardment of his grandfather. But it was all in vain: Veronica gave them to understand that she objected to young fools just as much as to old ones. Some were driven into the despair of matrimony, and made what they called honourable proposals, after having made what, by a plain inference, she was bound to consider the reverse. But Veronica answered that whatever she thought of their former offers, she thought still worse of these, adding, that whatever folly she did commit, it should not at least be the folly of marriage. Every one then said that she would make her own choice, and would select some one, either for his rank, his person, or his mind. But four years and more have since passed; all ranks, classes, conditions, and degrees, have been at her feet, and Veronica has continued to shew herself exactly the same piece of ice which she from the first declared herself to be."
"In fact," said Morley, "a cold coquette."
"No," answered Lieberg gravely--"no. I was at Naples the time the thing first began, and I must do her the justice to say, she gave no encouragement to any one. People always will seek what is difficult to be had; and that quality, together with her singing, her fine eyes, and her beautiful figure, were the great attractions. She sets up for a sort of Corinne, too, writes poetry, goes about and sees the world, makes an immense deal by her singing, and is a person very much recherchée in Venice, I can assure you."
"Is she a Venetian?" demanded Morley.
"No," replied Lieberg--"she is a Milanese, but she lives principally in Venice, because, as she says truly, it is a city without noise, and there is nothing she abhors so much as the rolling of carriage-wheels, except the plaudits of a theatre."
"Then the fact simply is," said Morley, "she is a woman without passions, and whose vanity takes a high tone."
"In the last, you are right," answered Lieberg--"with regard to the first, I doubt. There is something in the flashing of her eye, in the brightness of her smile, and, occasionally, in the impetuous torrent of her song, that gives the lie to her whole conduct. But as I do not know her in private life, and never intend to know her either, I cannot say, with any certainty, what is really beneath the appearance of coldness. I never put myself in a situation to fall in love with a woman with whom I am not likely to succeed; and if you will take my advice, Morley, you will keep out of the way of Veronica Pratesi, especially as you are very fond of music."
"I am not at all afraid," replied Morley; "there is not the least chance of my ever falling in love with a barrel organ, let the tunes be ever so pretty."
Lieberg smiled, well pleased to see that a bitterness not natural to his young companion still held possession of him, so far as to affect even his speech upon ordinary occasions. The conversation dropped there, and at the end of about ten days, once more in full companionship, their carriages were rolling down into the valley of the Inn.
I forget who it is that has said, that there is consolation in all things. Perhaps he meant for all things; but I believe that the observation were more just when taken in the most apparent sense--namely, that from all things that do surround us, we may extract consolation if we will. I have dwelt upon this topic already perhaps at too great length; and what I have said respecting the scenery on the Rhine, and its effect upon the mind of Morley Ernstein, need be repeated here in regard to the scenery of the Tyrol: only, as the objects around him were here grander and wilder, so the impressions conveyed were more strong, more elevating, and also more permanent.