Clear perception follows quickly upon
her first triumphs in art. They have given her a rival, and a mean
rival, in her betrothed, whose talent, though great, is of an inferior
grade to hers; who is vain, every way impure. Her master, Porpora,
tries to avail himself of this disappointment to convince her that the
artist ought to devote himself to art alone; that private ties must
interfere with his perfection and his glory. But the nature of
Consuelo revolts against this doctrine, as it would against the
seclusion of a convent. She feels that genius requires manifold
experience for its development, and that the mind, concentrated on a
single object, is likely to pay by a loss of vital energy for the
economy of thoughts and time.
Driven by these circumstances into Germany, she is brought into
contact with the old noblesse, a very different, but far less
charming, atmosphere than that of the gondoliers of Venice. But here,
too, the strong, simple character of our Consuelo is unconstrained, if
not at home, and when her heart swells and needs expansion, she can
sing.
Here the Count de Rudolstadt, Albert, loves Consuelo, which seems, in
the conduct of the relation, a type of a religious democracy in love
with the spirit of art.
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