Mysteries of Paris -- Volume 03

L, August

ring this period we are fatally distant from each other; we inseparables, we brothers, both of us the most fervent apostles of thrice holy friendship, we, who were so proud of proving that the Cazlas and Posa of our Schiller are not idealities, and that, like those divine creations of the great poet, we know how to taste the sweet delights of a tender and mutual attachment! Oh, my friend, why were you not there, why were you not there! For three months my heart has been overflowing with emotions at the same time inexpressibly sweet and sad. And I was alone; I am alone now. Pity me; you, who know my sensibility, at times so fancifully expansive; you, who have often seen my eyes moistened with tears at the simple recital of a generous action, at the simple view of a beautiful sunset, or in a quiet and starry summer night. You remember the past year, during our excursion to the Ruins of Oppenfeld-the borders of the great lake-our silent reveries during that magnificent evening, so calm, so poetical, so serene. Strange contrast! it was three days before that bloody duel, in which I would not take you for my second, for I should have suffered too much for you if I had been wounded under your eyes-that duel, for a quarrel at play, in which my second unfortunately killed that young Frenchman, the Viscount St. Rémy. Apropos, do you know what has become of that dangerous siren St. Rémy brought to Oppenfeld, and whose name was, I think, Cecily David? You will smile with pity, my friend, to see me wander thus among these vague remembrances of the past, instead

m Lord Dudley, who saw her at Gerolstein about a year since, spoke to us so often at Vienna last winter. You recollect we accused him of exaggeration. Strange chance! If any one had then told me-But though you have undoubtedly now almost divined my secret, let me follow the march of events without interruption. The Convent of Saint Hermangilda, of which my aunt is the abbess, is hardly a quarter of a league distant from Gerolstein, for the abbey gardens border on the suburbs of the city. A charming house, completely isolated from the cloister, had been placed at my disposition by my aunt, who loves me, as you know, with a maternal tenderness. The day of my arrival she informed me that there was the next day to be a solemn reception and court ceremony; the grand duke on that day was to make the official announcement of his approaching marriage with the Marchioness d'Harville, who had recently arrived at Gerolstein, acc

ion, which I was to attend the day after my arrival, "my dear chil

u mean, my

incess

nd-duke? Lord Dudley tol

enthusiasm which we call

s the Princess Amelia. I might speak to you of her angelic beauty, if she were not endowed with an inexpressible charm which is superior even to her beauty. Figure to yourself candor with dignity, and grace in modesty. From the first day in wh

pe her biting pleasantries. At Vienna she was dreaded like t

now one thing,' said this dreaded archduchess to me, with her abrupt frankness, 'I have a mind singularly disposed to satire, have I not? Well, if

, an enchantress?" said

that mingling of gentleness, modesty, and dignity, of which I have spoken

quality in a princess so yo

position which is incontestably acquired for her; her elevation is recent." [ Footnote: On arriving in Germany, Rudolph

r aunt, has the princess ever made

sovereign, her ingenuous distress, mingled with gratitude and veneration for me, have deeply moved me; for her reserve, at the same time noble and affabl

tact, my dear aunt, to obs

A PAGE OF THE S

ablishment for little orphan girls of five or six years old, and for young girls, also orphans or abandoned by their parents, who have reached the age of sixteen, an age so fatal for the unfortunate who have no one to defend them from the seductions of vice or the pressure of want. The noble nuns of my abbey teach and direct the daughters of this house. In going to visit it, I h

must be an angel,"

over them-I have never seen the susceptibility of misfortune more delicately treated; it seems as if an irresistible sympathy especially attracts the princes

nd something beautiful and holy in this conduct of the princess? You know my sincerity, I protest to you

to her to-morrow; you know my insurmountable timidity, you know that elevation of character overpowers me more even th

take pity on you, my dear child, and the more s

r au

tain

w s

a journey to Russia and England with your father, I had your portrait painted in t

a German page of th

that period. A few days after her arrival in Germany, the Princess Amelia having come to visit me with her father, remarked your portrait, and asked me with great simplicity what this charming picture of the olden time was? Her father smiled, and making a signal to me, answered

It is hard for me to do it, you may suppose, but the sequel of this narrative will prove to you that these puerile

hen owned to her our deception, telling her that the fair page of the sixteenth century was simply my nephew, Prince Henry d'Herkausen Oldenzaal, now twenty-one years of age, captain of his Majesty the Emperor of Austria's Guards, and in everything, excepting, the costume, very like his portrait. At these words, the Princess Amelia," added my

in. I then left my aunt, and returned to my apartment. I have never hidden from you my most secret thoughts, good or evil; I am therefore about