The arrival of the worthless Anzoleto at the Castle of the Giants drove Consuelo once more to flight.  Anzoleto had enjoyed some success at Venice, but having incurred the wrath of Zustiniani, he was escaping to Prague.  Passing through Bohemia, the fame of a beautiful singer at the castle of the Rudolstadts came to his ears, and Anzoleto resolved to recover the old place he had once held in Consuelo’s heart.  He gave himself out as Consuelo’s brother, and was at once admitted to the castle and treated kindly.  For Consuelo, the only course open now was to flee to Vienna, and take refuge with Porpora, and this she did, leaving in the dead of night, after writing explanations to Christian and Albert.

III.—­In Vienna

The greater part of the journey to Vienna was accomplished on foot, and Consuelo had for her travelling companion a humble youth, whose name was Joseph Haydn, and whose great musical genius was yet to be recognized by the world.

Many months had elapsed since Consuelo had seen her master and benefactor, and to the joy which she experienced in pressing old Porpora in her arms a painful feeling soon succeeded.  Vexation and sorrow had imprinted their marks on the brow of the old maestro.  He looked far older, and the fire of his countenance seemed chilled by age.  The unfortunate composer had flattered himself that he would find in Vienna fresh chances of success and fortune; but he was received there with cold esteem, and happier rivals were in possession of the imperial favour and the public admiration.  Being neither a flatterer nor an intriguer, Porpora’s rough frankness was no passport to influence, and his ill-humour made enemies rather than friends.  He held out no hopes to Consuelo.

“There are no ears to listen, no hearts to comprehend you in this place, my child,” he said sadly.  “If you wish to succeed, you would do well to follow the master to whom they owe their skill and their fortune.”

But when Consuelo told him of the proposal made by Count Albert, and of Count Christian’s desire for her marriage with his son, the tyrannical old musician at once put his foot down.

“You must not think of the young count!” he said fiercely.  “I positively forbid you!  Such a union is not suitable.  Count Christian would never permit you to become an artist again.  I know the unconquerable pride of these nobles, and you cannot hesitate for an instant between the career of nobility and that of art.”

So resolute was Porpora that Consuelo should not be tempted from the life he had trained her for, that he did not hesitate to destroy, unread, her letters to the Rudolstadts, and letters from Count Christian and Albert.  He even wrote to Christian himself, declaring that Consuelo desired nothing but the career of a public singer.

But when, after many disappointments and rebuffs, Consuelo at last was appointed to take the prima donna’s place for six days at the imperial opera house, she was frightened at the prospect of the toils and struggles before her feverish arena of the theatre seemed to her a place of terror and the Castle of the Giants a lost paradise, an abode of peace and virtue.