When Consuelo was eighteen Count Zustiniani, having heard her sing in Porpora’s choir, decided she must come out as a prima donna in his theatre.  For the fame and success of this theatre Zustiniani cared more than for anything else in the world—­not that he was eager for money, but because he was an enthusiast for music—­a man of taste, an amateur, whose great business in life was to gratify his taste.  He liked to be talked about and to have his theatre and his magnificence talked about.

The success of Consuelo was assured when she appeared for the first time in Gluck’s “Ipermnestra.”  The debutante was at once self-possessed and serious, receiving the applause of the audience without fear or humility.  For her art itself, and not the results of art, were the main thing, and her inward satisfaction in her performance did not depend on the amount of approbation manifested by the public.

But Zustiniani, gratified as he was by the triumph of his new prima donna, was not content with Consuelo’s success on the stage; he also wanted her for himself.  Consuelo gravely refused the jewels and ornaments he offered her, and the count was strangely annoyed.  He was thrilled with unknown emotions by Consuelo’s singing, and his patrician soul could not realise that this poor little pupil of Porpora’s was not to be won by the ordinary methods, which he had hitherto employed successfully in the conquest of opera singers.

Porpora saved Consuelo from the count’s threatening attentions.

The prima donna suddenly disappeared, and it was said she had gone to Vienna, that she had been engaged for the emperor’s theatre, and that Porpora was also going there to conduct his new opera.

Count Zustiniani was particularly embarrassed by Consuelo’s flight.  He had led all Venice to believe this wonderful new singer favoured his addresses.  Some, indeed, maintained for a time that, jealous of his treasure, the count had hidden her in one of his country houses.  But when they heard Porpora say, with a blunt openness which could never deceive, that he had advised his pupil to go to Germany and wait for him, there was nothing left but to try and find out the motives for this extraordinary decision.

To all inquiries addressed to him Porpora answered that no one should ever know from him where Consuelo was to be found.

In real truth, it was not only Zustiniani who had driven Consuelo away.  A youth named Anzoleto, who had grown up in Venice with Consuelo so that the two were as brother and sister, and who lacked both heart and constancy, made life too hard for Consuelo.  Anxious to get all the advantages of Consuelo’s friendship, and to be known as her betrothed, so that he could procure an engagement in the opera through her generous influence, he yet made love to another singer, a former favourite of Zustiniani’s.  Learning of Anzoleto’s heartless unfaithfulness, and pressed by Zustiniani, Consuelo had turned to her old master for help, and had not been disappointed.