"Bring in the sibyl," said the orator to Marcus.
A tall woman, dressed in white, with her face hid beneath her veil, entered and sat in the middle of the half circle formed by the judges. By her nervous tremor Consuelo recognised Wanda.
"Speak, priestess of truth," said the orator; "speak, interpreter and revealer of the greatest secrets, the most delicate movements of the heart. Is this woman the wife of Albert of Rudolstadt?"
"She is his faithful and respectable wife," said Wanda; "but you must pronounce his divorce. You see by whom she is brought hither. You see that of the children, one who holds her hand, is the man she loves, and to whom she must belong, by the imperscrutable right of love."
Consuelo turned with surprise towards Leverani, and looked at her hand, which lay passive and deathlike in his. She seemed to be under the influence of a dream, and to attempt to awaken. She loosed herself with energy from his embrace, and looking into the hollow of her hand, saw the impression of her mother's cross.
"This is, then, the man I love," said she, with a melancholy smile and holy ingenuousness. "Yes, I loved him, tenderly and sadly; yet it was a dream. I fancied Albert was no more, and you told me this man was worthy of my respect and my confidence. But I have seen Albert. I fancied that I understood from his language that he no longer wished to be my husband, and did not blame me for loving this stranger, whose words and letters filled me with enthusiastic affection. They told me, however, that Albert yet loved me, and relinquished all claim, from an exertion of love and generosity. Why did Albert fancy I would be less magnanimous than himself? What have I done that was criminal, that should induce him to think me capable of crushing his heart by arrogating purely selfish pleasure to myself? No, I will never defile myself by such a crime. If Albert deems me unworthy of him, because I have loved another—if he shrinks from effacing that love, and does not seek to inspire me with a greater, I will submit to his decree—I will accept the sentence of divorce, against which both my heart and conscience revolt; but I will never be either the wife or mistress of another. Adieu, Leverani—or whosoever you be—to whom, in a moment of mad delirium, with fills me with remorse, I confided my mother's cross. Restore me that token, that there may exist between us nothing but the memory of mutual esteem, and the feeling that, without bitterness and without regret, we have done our duty."
"We recognise no such morality, you know," said the sibyl. "We will accept no such sacrifice. We wish to consecrate and purify that love the world has profaned, the free choice of the heart, and the holy and voluntary union of beings loving each other. We have the right to instruct the conscience of our children, to redress errors, to join sympathies, and tear apart the bonds of old society. You can not determine to sacrifice yourself—you cannot stifle the love in your bosom, or deny the truth of your confession."
"What say you of liberty? what say you of love and happiness?" said Consuelo, advancing a step towards the judges, with an outbreak of enthusiasm and a sublime radiation of countenance. "Have you not subjected me to ordeals which have made my cheek pale and my heart tremble? What kind of a base senseless being do you think me? Fancy you that I am capable of seeking personal satisfaction after what I have seen, learned, and know to be the life of men in their earthly affairs? No! neither love, marriage, liberty, happiness, or glory are anything for me, if it be at the expense of the humblest of my fellows. Is it not proved that every earthly pleasure is obtained at the expense of the suffering of another? Is there not something better to do than to satisfy ourselves? Albert thinks so, and I have the right to follow his example. Let me avoid the false and criminal illusion of happiness. Give me toil, fatigue, grief, and enthusiasm. I understand no longer the existence of joy, otherwise than in suffering. I have a thirst for martyrdom, since you have exhibited to me the trophies of punishment. Shame to those who understand their duty, and who yet seek to share earthly happiness and repose. I now know my duty. Oh, Leverani! if you love me after all the ordeals I have gone through, you are mad—you are but a child, unworthy of the name of man—certainly unworthy of my sacrificing Albert's heroic love to you. And you, Albert, if you be here—if you hear me—you should not refuse to call me sister, to offer me your hand, and teach me to walk in the rude pathway that leads me to God."
The enthusiasm of Consuelo had reached the acme, and words did not suffice to express it. A kind of vertigo seized her; and, as happened to the Pythonesses, in the paroxysms of their divine crises, when they uttered cries and strange madness, she manifested her emotion in the manner which was most natural to her. She began to sing in a brilliant voice, and with an enthusiasm at least equal to that she had experienced when she sang the same air in Venice, on the first occasion of her appearance in public, when Marcello and Porpora were present.
"I cieli immensi narrono
Del grande Iddio la gloria!"