Herald Of The Times

WHO COULD HAVE BELIEVED IT!
A GERMAN TALE.

There lived in Vienna a young man of rank and fortune, who bore a strong resemblance to many other young men of that and every city, for he was a dupe to all the follies of fashion and high life. He combined a flexible heart with a handsome person; it had cost his mother a great deal of trouble to make him what is called a puppy—but, by indescribable diligence, she had at last effected her purpose. All the ladies, consequently, loved him, and he loved them all in return. It has been said that once or twice his attachments have even been of more than a mother's duration, but never did he impose any restraint upon himself or the object of his affection, by an irksome fidelity. He possessed the nicest powers of perception, whenever any word or look summoned him to victory; but he always had the good manners to pay every attention to the clock, when it summoned the hour of parting. With these qualifications, he was certain of success with the ladies. He paid his devoirs to all, enjoyed all, and was at last tired of all. In one of his moments of torpid satiety, our hero had returned home before supper. Happy is he who feels the time less oppressive when at home, he belongs to the better kind of man. Our young count threw himself upon the sofa, stretched his limbs, yawned, and so forth. Suddenly it occurred to him that he was married. No wonder that we should have forgotten it, since he himself only just now recollected it. 'Apropos,' said he, and rung the bell; a servant entered. 'Go to your mistress and ask if I may have the pleasure of seeing her.' The servant listened attentively, and not believing the testimony of his own ears. The count repeated his orders, which the servant at length obeyed, shaking his head as he went. The countess was the amiable daughter of a country gentleman, she was a flower which, from the pressure of the court atmosphere, drooped but did not quite wither; to avoid ennui, she had no resource but to swim with the tide of high life. She and her husband sometimes met,—they never avoided, nor ever courted each other's society. Before marriage they had seen little of each other, and after it they had no time for such an employment. There were people enough who spared the count the trouble of admiring his wife's perfections, and if they made no impression on her heart, they at least gratified her vanity. Her husband's message was delivered to her at a moment when her state of mind was much the same as his: she knew not what to think of this unexpected visit; she replied however, that she should be happy to see him. He entered—hoped he was not troublesome—took a chair—made remarks upon the weather, and recounted the news of the day. The conversation as far as he related it, was quite common but his vivacity, and Aurelia's genius, inspired it with interest. The time passed they knew not how. The count looked at his watch—was surprised to find it so late, and requested permission to sup with his wife. 'With all my heart,' replied Aurelia, 'if you can be content with my lonely fare.' Supper was brought—they ate, and were merry without being noisy. This calm pleasure possessed to them the charm of novelty: they were both pleasant without wishing to seem so, as is generally the case with most people.—They were quite new acquaintances—the hour flew swiftly away, and the time for retiring to rest being arrived the count took leave of the countess highly pleased with his visit.

The next day he was invited to a concert and did not learn till it was too late, that one of the virtuosos being ill. the concert was deferred. How was he to pass the tedious evening? he inquired, as he asked after his wife, and was informed she was somewhat indisposed. 'Well,' thought he. 'common civility requires that I should wait upon her, and ask her personally how she does.' He sent a message, requesting that he might be allowed to sit with her till supper. and was politely received. He was cheerful, polite and gallant. The supper hour arrived. and this time Aurelia begged him to stay. He had been invited to a casino party after the Concert, notwithstanding which he remained with his wife, and their conversation was quite as pleasant, and less reserved than the preceding visit.

'Do you know,' said Aurelia, that the party to which you were invited would find a little trouble in discovering the cause of your absence?' He smiled, and paused for a moment. 'I must tell you something in confidence,' began he at length, while he was playing with his fork, 'something which you will perhaps think rather candid than gallant; you cannot imagine how much you are improved since your marriage.' 'My marriage!' answered Aurelia in a jocose tone, 'I believe it took place about the same time as your own.' 'Very true, my lady,' replied he, 'but it is inconceivable how so happy an alteration can have taken place in you. At that time—pardon me—you had so much rustic bashfulness it is scarce possible to recognize you;—your genius is no longer the same; even your features are much improved.' 'Well, my lord, replied the countess, 'without wishing to return the compliment, all that you have said of me I thought of you. But upon my word,' added she, 'it is well that no one hears us; for it almost seems as if we were making love.' The dialogue continued long in the same style, till Aurelia looked at her watch, and in a fascinating tone remarked that it was late. The count arose unwillingly, slowly took his leave, and as slowly returned to the door,—suddenly he again turned round. 'My lady,' said he, 'I find it very tedious to breakfast alone—may I be allowed to take my chocolate with you?' 'If you please?' answered Aurelia; and they parted still more in humor with each other.

The next morning it occurred to the count that these frequent visits to his wife might give rise to scandalous reports. He therefore desired his valet not to mention the circumstance to any one. He then put on an elegant morning gown, and went cozily over to Aurelia. Aurelia had just risen in the most cheerful humor. The bloom upon her cheek rivalled the blush of morning. She was animated and witty—in short, she was enchanting, and her husband in an hour discovered how much pleasanter it was to breakfast in company than to sit alone, opposite a glass, gazing at his own person, and looking into his yawning mouth. 'Why don't you come here every day?' said Aurelia, if my company is pleasing to you.' He answered that he feared that his presence might prevent the visits of others. 'I shall miss no one,' replied she, 'so long as you indemnify me by your society. Upon my word,' said the count, 'I have more than once wished that I was not your ladyship's husband.' 'Why so?' demanded Aurelia. 'That I might be allowed to tell you how much I love you.' 'Oh! tell me so I beg, cried she, 'if only for the sake of novelty.' 'Fear not.' answered the count, 'I hope my lady, I shall never so far forget myself: but we have had, I think two very agreeable tete a tetes at supper—how if you were this evening to allow me a third?' 'With all my heart, answered the countess. The appointment was on both sides exactly adhered to. The conversation at this time was less lively, less brilliant—they gazed at each other oftener, and spoke less: the heart began to assert its influence, and even arrived so far, that they once, during a pause, squeezed each other's hand across the table, although the servants were still in the room. Who could have believed it? Aurelia very plainly perceived that it was late, but she did not look at the watch. Her husband made not the smallest effort to depart, he complained that he was somewhat tired but not sleepy. In a word, from this day they parted in the morning instead of midnight, because they were then both ready to breakfast together.

The count enchanted with his new conquest eloped with Aurelia into the country where they, with astonishment, discovered that the theatre of nature, and the concert of nightingales, surpassed all other theatres and concerts. They at first thought of staying only a few days; every morning they changed their intentions. When autumn, however, approached, they returned to Vienna. The same evening they went to the play; and our hero had the courage to sit in the same box with Aurelia. Who could have believed it? To such a dreadful extent may a man be led by one thoughtless step. Ye happy husbands in high life, take warning by the mournful example of our count.