II.—­In Bohemia

Among the mountains which separate Bohemia from Bavaria stood an old country house, known as the Castle of the Giant, the residence of the Lords of Rudolstadt.  A strange mystery reigned over this ancient family.  Count Christian Rudolstadt, the head of the house, a widower, his elder sister, the Canoness Wenceslawa, a venerable lady of seventy, and Count Albert, the only son and heir, lived alone with their retainers, never associating with their neighbours.  The count’s brother, Baron Frederick Rudolstadt, with his daughter Amelia, had for some time past taken up their abode in the Castle of the Giants, and it was the hope of the two brothers that Albert and Amelia would become betrothed.  But the silence and gloom of the place were hateful to Amelia, and Albert’s deep melancholy and absent-mindedness were not the tokens of a lover.

Albert, in fact, had so brooded over the horrors of the old wars between Catholic and Protestant in Bohemia, that when the fit was on him he believed himself living and acting in those terrible times, and it was this kind of madness in his son which made Count Christian shun all social intercourse.  Albert was now thirty, and the doctors had predicted that this year he would either conquer the fancies which took such fierce hold on him, or succumb entirely.

One night, when the family were assembled round the hearth, the castle bell rang, and presently a letter was brought in.  It was from Porpora to Count Christian, and the count, having read it, passed it on to Amelia.

It seemed that Christian had written to Porpora, whom he had long known and respected, to ask him to recommend him a companion for Amelia, and the letter now arrived not only recommended Consuelo, but Consuelo herself had brought it.

The old count at once hastened with his niece to welcome Porporpina, as the visitor was called, and the terror which the journey to the castle and the first impressions of the gloomy place had struck upon the young singer only melted at the warmth of Christian’s praises of her old master, Porpora.

From the first the whole household treated Consuelo with every kindness, and Amelia very soon confided in her new friend all that she knew of the family history, explaining that her cousin Albert was certainly mad.

Albert himself seemed unaware of Consuelo’s presence until one day when he heard her sing.  Amelia’s singing always made him uneasy and restless, but the first time Consuelo sang—­she had chosen a religious piece from Palestrina—­Albert suddenly appeared in the room, and remained motionless till the end.  Then, falling on his knees, his large eyes swimming in tears, he exclaimed, in Spanish:  “Oh, Consuelo, Consuelo!  I have at last found thee!”

“Consuelo?” cried the astonished girl, replying in the same language.  “Why, senor, do you call me by that name?”