The Countess of Rudolstadt / A Sequel to "Consuelo"

by George Sand

"Last night! What do you say, madame?" said Consuelo, blushing with shame and chagrin.

Amelia shed tears; and when the kind Consuelo had succeeded in calming her jealousy, she obtained in spite of her diffidence, the confession of this unfortunate passion. Amelia had heard Anzoleto sing at Prague, and became intoxicated with his beauty and success. Being ignorant of music, she took him for one of the first musicians in the world. At Prague he was decidedly popular. She sent for him as her singing-master, and while her father the old Baron Frederick, paralysed by inactivity, slept in his chair dreaming of wild boars, she yielded to a seducer. Ennui and vanity ruined her. Anzoleto, flattered by this illustrious conquest, and wishing to make the scandal public in order to secure popularity, persuaded her that she might become the greatest singer of the age, that an artist's life was a paradise on earth, and that she could not do better than fly with him, and make her début at the Haymarket Theatre in Handel's operas.

Amelia at first viewed with horror the idea of deserting her old father, but when Anzoleto was about to leave Prague, feigning a despair he did not feel, she yielded to his solicitations, and fled with him.

The intoxication of her love for Anzoleto was but of brief duration. His insolence and coarse manners, when he no longer played the part of seducer, recalled her to her senses; and it was not without a feeling of pleasure mingled with remorse at her conduct, that, three months after her escape, she was arrested at Hamburg, and brought back to Prussia, where, at the instance of her Saxon kin, she was incarcerated in the fortress of Spandau. Her punishment was both long and severe, and in a measure rendered her mind callous to the agony she would otherwise have felt at hearing of her father's death. At last her freedom was granted, and it was not till then that she heard of all the misfortunes which had afflicted her family. She did not dare to return to the canoness, and feeling utterly incapable of leading a life of retirement and repose, she implored the protection of the Margravine of Bareith; and the Princess of Culmbach, who was then at Dresden, assumed the responsibility of taking her to her kinswoman. In this frivolous yet philosophical court she found that amiable toleration of vice which then was the only virtue. Here she again met with Anzoleto, and again submitted to the ascendancy which he seemed to have acquired over the fair sex, and which the chaste Consuelo found so difficult to resist. At first she avoided him, but gradually became again fascinated, and made an appointment to meet him one evening in the garden, and once more yielded to his solicitations.

She confessed to Consuelo that she yet loved him, and related all her faults to her old singing mistress with a mixture of feminine modesty and philosophical coolness.

It seems certain that Consuelo by her earnest appeals found the way to her heart, and that she made up her mind to return to the Giants' Castle, and to shake off her dangerous passion in solitude, by soothing her old aunt in her decline.

After this adventure Consuelo could remain at Bareith no longer. The haughty jealousy of Corilla, who was always imprudent, yet at the same time kind-hearted, induced the prima donna sometimes to find fault, and then to humble herself. Anzoleto, who had fancied that he could avenge for her disdain by casting himself at Amelia's feet, never pardoned her for having removed the young baroness from danger. He did her a thousand unkind offices, contriving to make her miss the cue on the stage, preventing her from taking up the key in a duo, and by a self-sufficient air attempting to make the unwary audience think she was in error. If he had a stage effect to perform with her, he went to her right instead of her left hand, and tried to make her stumble amid the properties. All these ill-natured tricks failed, in consequence of Consuelo's calmness. She was, however, less stoical when he began to calumniate her, and when she knew that there were persons, who could not believe in the chastity of an actress, to listen to him. Hence libertines of every age were rude towards her, refusing to believe in her innocence; and she had to bear with Anzoleto's defamation, influenced as he was by mortification and revenge.

This base and narrow-minded persecution was the commencement of a long martyrdom which the unfortunate prima donna submitted to during all her theatrical career. As often as she met Anzoleto, he annoyed her in a thousand ways. Corilla, too, from envy and ill-feeling, gave her trouble. Of her two rivals, the female was the least in the way, and most capable of a kind emotion. Whatever may be said of the misconduct and jealous vanity of actresses, Consuelo discovered that when her male companions were influenced by the same vices, they became even more degraded, and less worthy of their relative position. Arrogant and dissipated nobles, managers and people of the press, depraved by such connection, fine ladies, curious and whimsical patronesses, ready to deceive, yet offended at finding in an actress more virtue than they could themselves boast of—in fact, and most unjust of all, the public rose en masse against the wife of Leverani, and subjected her to perpetual mortification. Persevering and faithful in her profession as she was in love, she never yielded, but pursued the tenor of her way, always increasing in musical knowledge, and her virtuous conduct remaining unaltered. Sometimes she failed in the thorny path of success, yet often won a just triumph. She became the priestess of a purer art than even Porpora himself was acquainted with; and found immense resources in her religious faith, and vast consolation in her ardent and devoted love to her husband.

The career of her husband, though a parallel to her own, for he accompanied her in her wanderings, is enwrapped in much mystery. It may be presumed that he was not sentenced to be the slave of her fortune and the book-keeper of her receipts and disbursements. Consuelo's profession was not very lucrative. At that time the public did not reward artists with as much munificence as it does now. Then they were remunerated by the presents they received from princes and nobles, and women who knew how to take advantage of their position had already begun to amass large fortunes. Chastity and disinterestedness are, however, the greatest enemies an actress can have. Consuelo was successful, respected, and excited enthusiasm in some, when those who were about her did not interfere with her position before the true public. She owed no triumph to gallantry, however, and infamy never crowned her with diamonds or gems. Her laurels were spotless, and were not thrown on the stage by interested hands. After ten years of toil and labor, she was no richer than when she began her career. She had made no speculations, for she neither could nor would do so. She had not even saved the fruit of her labors, to get which she often had much trouble, but had expended it in charity, or for the purposes of secret but active propagandism, for which her own means had not always sufficed. The central power of the Invisibles had often provided for her.

What may have been the real success of the ardent and tireless pilgrimage of Albert and Consuelo, in France, Spain, England and Italy, there is nothing to tell the world; and I think we must look twenty years later, and then use induction, to form an idea of the result of the secret labors of the societies of the Invisibles. Had they a greater effect in France than in the bosom of that Germany where they were produced? The French Revolution loudly says Yes. Yet the European conspiracy of Illuminism, and the gigantic conceptions of Weishaupt, prove that the divine dream of Saint Graal did not cease to agitate the German mind for thirty years, in spite of the dispersion and defection of the chief adepts.