MARRIED? OR NOT MARRIED? FROM THE GERMAN. The Countess von Werbe became a widow very young. Her husband was old and rich when he asked her in marriage. She rejected his addresses, and wept in the arms of her father. Her father laughed at her tears. He did not conceive how it was possible to reject the count, and his daughter did conceive it. Her father reckoned the estates of the count, and she reckoned his years. She had sometime before become acquainted with Herr von Welt, who had fewer estates, and fewer years ove his head, danced well, talked tenderly, and loved ardently. But the count was pressing the father severe-the Herr von Welt was poor, and the count rich. She continued to love the Herr von Welt, and gave the count her hand. The count had no children. The gout and a cough reminded him of temperance, and he retired in the arms of Hymen to one of his estates. The young countess lived in solitude; the count coughed worse, and remained without children. His old age and his infirmities increased every day; in two years he left the world and his estates, and the young wife was a widow. She laid aside her white dresses and put on black. The countess was fair-the dark dress set off her complexion-mourning became her. The count left her all his property: but old people are often fantastical! According to a singular condition of the will, if she married again, the greatest part of the property reverted to one of his relations, living at the residence. Herr von Welt hastened to comfort the widow. He found her beautiful, and she found him as amiable as before. He talked all day long without coughing, and she listened to him all day long without yawning. He could relate a thousand little anecdotes, and the countess was curious. He spoke of the torch of love and his own feelings, and the countess felt. He described the torments of separation, and the anxieties which had martyred him, and the countess was compassionate. He lay at her feet; protestations of his passion streamed from his lips, and his tears upon her hand, and the countess loved; but she thought with tears on the conditions of the will. She was melancholy. It was already six weeks since the count had bid adieu to his gout for ever, and grief appeared now for the first time on the countenance of the countess. “My dear friend," said Herr von Welt to her in the morning, "you torment yourself with doubts, and it remains in your own power to put an end to them." "How so?" said the countess. "You believe in the possibility," continued he, "of my ceasing to love you; you consider the band of the feelings not strong enough to withstand time; but, my dear friend, how easy it is for the hand of the priest to join ours together; you will then be tranquillized.” "Have you then forgotten the will?" said she weeping. "My love, the question now is only about making you easy. We will be married privately. You and I, the priest-and love will hear our oath." "But you see, there must be a priest,” said she, hastily. "Let me manage that," said Herr von Welt. "Here in the neighbourhood lives an old man, who is borne down by poverty and close upon a century of years. He is as worthy as the times in which he was born, and as silent as the tomb which will soon receive him. will carry our secret with him to the grave, and we will bury it in our bosoms." He The countess threw herself into his arms, and entreated him to hasten. Welt did so. The conscience of the priest was tranquillized; twilight, and a distant summer-house, concealed them from the eye of suspicion, and Welt embraced with rapture-his wife. A year passed away; she no longer looked after him with inquietude when he rode out, and his eyes were no longer fixed on her window when he returned; she could yawn when he related, and he sometimes felt ennui though she was sitting by him— but they lived together. The servants had observed familiarities not warranted by friendship; yet their attachment did not appear to be ardent enough to account well for their being together. A year had made them feel secure, and they no longer paid that strict attention which they did at first to their conduct and conversation. People began to conjecture, to doubt, at last to believe, and after a time to impart their sentiments to each other. The Count von Werbe, who was to inherit the property in default of the condition of the will being observed, was at this time out of favour with the prince, through the intrigues of his numerous creditors, and had left the residence with his wife, to take refuge in the arms of nature. He had purchased the situation of grand chamberlain to the prince-had squandered his property by giving balls and The count looked thoughtful-she struck him playfully on the shoulder: "Believe me, good count, our neighbours are in the right." "When I consider well," said the count, "it appears to me probable; she was very well dressed; her toilette was certainly a few months behind the fashion, but we are in the country, and I was astonished at her taste." "And he?" asked the countess. fêtes, and destroying his health by dancing and dancers. His wife was formerly a lady of honour-people had formerly paid homage to her charms she was formerly surrounded by a circle of admirers, but the boundaries of this circle grew smaller, and it was now many years since she had found the residence empty and tiresome, and the taste of the times quite spoiled. Their estate joined that of the countess. The count attended with much interest to the "He held a long dissertation upon taste; he suspicions which were imparted to him, and went through the whole history of fashions, hastened to the castle of the countess to pay from the fig-leaf of the first lady to the last his respects to her as a relative, and to convince gala-dress of the grand-duchess. He particuhimself of the truth of the opinion of his neigh-larly admired the Grecian costume." bours; but he did not convince himself. The "And was she dressed like a Greek?" said countess was prepared for his visit. The Herr the countess quickly. von Welt was tender and attentive-his eyes riveted on her. The countess showed all the cordiality of friendship and the attentions of a warmer affection. The count returned home sorrowful. "Dear Augusta," said the count, as he entered the chamber of his wife, "our neigh. bours are not prudent. It is only necessary to see them both to give no credit to the tale they have amused us with. I was there two hours, and he had not the courage to come within three steps of her." "But that proves for us," cried the countess; "he would have sat at one end of the room and she at the other." "Not so, my love," said the count; "respect seemed to keep him at a distance. Their eyes sought each other-her countenance appeared to complain of my presence. Then the interest with which they spoke of each other! No, my love, we see each other-we talk to each other, but believe me, on my word they are not married." "But," said the countess, "our neighbours have eyes; did you never, then, observe nothing which can justify their opinion?" "My love," replied the count, "you may suppose that I observed everything very attentively. It is not my fault if our creditors are not paid." "Trifles often betray us," said the countess. "Reflect a little; did she not once drop her pocket-handkerchief?" "Her pocket-handkerchief?" said the count, and considered a little; "no, but her fan fell down." "And she picked it up again?" said the countess, quickly. "Truly yes, she picked it up," said the count, looking at her with astonishment. "And he was there, and suffered it?" said the countess. "Oh no," said the count: "she was true German-buried up to the chin." "They are man and wife," said the countess, throwing herself into his arms. "But her eyes," said the count, shaking his head. "You are a keen observer," said the countess. "What proofs do you wish to have? The lover would have fallen to the ground with the fan, the husband remained quietly seated; the lover would have had eyes only to admire, the husband had time for a long conversation; the lover would have been delighted to see a German woman he admired dressed in the German fashion, and the husband praised the Greek women. My dear count, are you not aware of all that?" The count laughed. "Well," said he, "we are invited to-morrow to our neighbour the chamberlain; the Herr von Welt and the countess will likewise be there. In a large society we fancy ourselves less remarked, and give ourselves up more to our ease; we can therefore both observe them. You may be in the right, but her countenance, and her eyes. I have had the honour, during the last fifteen years, of presenting many married men to his royal highness, and I know mankind well! Matrimony has a peculiar look, something like despair-if you are right, my knowledge of mankind is good for nothing." The next day all the company was assembled at the chamberlain's except the countess and Herr von Welt. The chamberlain was impatient, all eyes turned toward the road; at last a cloud of dust was observed, and then the carriage of the countess driving quickly said in a low voice, "I believe you are right." The carriage stopped; Welt sprang out, the servants assisted the countess; he stood quietly by and brushed the dust from his coat. "They are man and wife," said the grand chamberlain's lady softly. "Yes, yes, I begin to doubt my knowledge of mankind," said the count. The countess made excuses for being so late; Welt knit his brow in vexation. Dinner was announced; the master of the house offered his arm to the lady of the grand chamberlain. The grand chamberlain and Welt, the countess and a strange lady remained. Welt offered his arm to the strange lady, and left the countess to the grand chamberlain. His wife looked back and smiled; the grand chamberlain nodded significantly. The society was gay. Welt sat between the countess and the strange lady. He conversed with the stranger on fashion and feeling, and left the countess to be amused by the grand chamberlain. The latter smiled, his wife looked at him good-humouredly. After dinner Welt approached the countess. He talked of the influence of the body over the mind, which occasioned satiety in everything. The countess yawned. "That is the body," said she. Welt continued calmly talking, and the body of the countess yawned again. The grand chamberlain stole up to his lady. "They are man and wife," she whispered. "It is certain," said the grand chamberlain. The chamberlain proposed a walk in the garden, and the company went. A narrow plank led to a fine waterfall. The grand chamberlain had brought his vertigo with him from the residence; the chamberlain was too lusty to trust himself on the plank, and the ladies were timid. Welt sought to tranquillize them. He escorted them over the plank; but he offered his services last to the countess. The grand chamberlain stood smiling on one side, and his wife stood smiling at him from the other. It was evening, and the company hastened back to the house. The countess was behind, Welt near her. He walked on thoughtfully; she followed him fatigued. The grand chamberlain pressed the hand of his wife. The carriages were ordered; the party separated, and hastened home. "You are a clever woman, my love," said the grand chamberlain; "it is certain they are man and wife." "Now, my dear," said the countess, "only take the pains to get certain proofs." "Leave me alone," said the count. "The thing is clear, and when that is the case, there VOL. III. must be proofs." Accordingly he went round the neighbourhood to obtain more information; but he wanted proof, and could only procure conjectures. People had heard this, and seen that; one referred to another; and when he wanted proofs, the one had said nothing, and the other had heard nothing. He came back sorrowful. "My dear," said he, "I return just as rich in conjectures, and as poor in proofs." "Indeed!" said the countess. "Can the people yet doubt that they are married?" "Alas! no," said the count; "but no one can prove it. However, I will try what I can do; the day after to-morrow Herr von Welt has business in the residence; I will send immediately to my lawyer. We must take advantage of the moment, for conjectures lead to nothing." The lawyer was called; they were shut up together, and on the second day he drove to the chateau of the countess. "All alone?" said the grand chamberlain, as he entered the room with an appearance of surprise. "Herr von Welt is in town," said the countess; "he will be sorry that he was not at home when he finds that you have been here." The grand chamberlain took a seat near her; he admired the arrangement of the house, and some pictures which were in the room. "My husband was a connoisseur," said the countess. "The collection of paintings he has made proves his taste." "Ah! his taste proves other things still more," said the count, smiling; and he kissed her hand. "But he was an extraordinary man; he had caprices, which he showed even to the last; his will proves that." The countess looked at him surprised. The grand chamberlain appeared not to observe it, and continued, "So young as you are, to remain a widow can only be the caprice of an old jealous husband, who wishes to torment you after his death. The poor man forgot that the heart is very susceptible at your age." The countess cast down her eyes and blushed. "Herr von Welt is an old acquaintance, at least I think so," said the grand chamberlain. "I have known him above four years," said the countess embarrassed. "He was remarked at court for his talents and affability," continued the grand chamberlain, smiling, and his smile was expressive; "but the last year he has been quite lost to the court and to the world. How is it possible for him not to forget the caprices of an old man who is dead?" 52 The countess was evidently more embarrassed. "Why were you not sincere with me?" said he, softly, and took her hand. "Your secret is known in the neighbourhood, why would you conceal it from me?" The countess started up terrified. "Is it possible?" said she and her voice faltered. "Can the old man have-Oh, count! what do you know-what is known?" "Do you think," said the count, "that I watch my advantage so servilely?" and his tone was tender and sincere. "I will see and hear nothing. Enjoy in peace what you have dearly enough bought, by a sacrifice of two years. But, dear countess, I have children, who may hereafter complain of my pliability and indulgence. I must therefore do something to fulfil the duty of a father. Another in my place would here require-he would lay before you proofs on which to ground his claims, but I spare your heart, and respect your secret. The friend is silent-it is the father only entreats." "Alas!" cried the countess, and tears streamed from her eyes, "what do you require of me?" The grand chamberlain drew a paper out of his pocket. "You know," he continued calmly, "that my property is greatly embarrassed. Your husband left you large estates, and a great fortune; I am silent on his will, of which I make no use; but this wound which I give to my interest must not continue bleeding in my children. Sign, therefore, this writing, my dear friend. You undertake therein to discharge a part of my debts, which have been occasioned by my service in the state, and your secret will ever remain concealed." He fetched a pen. The countess in the meantime recovered her presence of mind. "Allow me," said she, more tranquilly, "to request that you will present me the proofs on which you ground your suspicions?" "Why so?" said he, smiling, "the government will, perhaps, soon communicate some to you." "The government?" said the countess, terrified. "You know," continued he, "the steady course of justice; you will be cited. It is cer The countess seized the pen hastily. "Your children shall lose nothing," said she, and signed. The grand chamberlain kissed the hand which returned him the paper, and went gaily to his carriage. Herr von Welt returned the next day. "We are betrayed," said the countess, and threw herself weeping into his arms. "Betrayed?" said he, astonished. "The old priest must have chattered," said the countess. "Indeed!" says Welt, "he has not spoken these nine months, for he is dead." The countess looked confounded. She related to him the visit of the grand chamberlain, his behaviour, and her signature. "That is a deception," cried Welt, "he has taken you by surprise; but he shall not long enjoy his triumph." He hastened out of the room, ordered his horse, and rode to the grand chamberlain. The count came to meet him on the steps. "I have a word to say to you, count," said Welt; "but I should wish it to be in private." "A word also with you, for it is time to sit down to dinner, and you must be our guest,' said the grand chamberlain affably, and led him into the room. "Count," said Welt, "you expressed a suspicion yesterday to the countess, in which I am concerned." "Quite right," replied the count; "people told me of these conjectures, and I repeated them to the countess." "Count!" said Welt, "by what can you prove your conjectures?" "We will talk about it after dinner," said the grand chamberlain; "it is already on the table. Our conversing longer may occasion surprise, and you do not, of course, wish that we should furnish the people with more materials for conjectures?" Welt bowed embarrassed. "After dinner, then," said he, and his tone was somewhat milder. The grand chamberlain opened the dining-room door, and introduced him to his wife. Two sons of the count were at table with them. The youngest, the mother's darling, sat next her, and amused himself by getting under the table to pinch the calf of his father's leg. The count drew up his feet several times, making a wry face; but the strength of the "Oh heavens!" cried the countess, and her darling seemed to increase, for he clung like a voice faltered again. tainly only a form, but still unpleasant. You must appear and take your oath." "You take your oath," said the grand chamberlain, "and remain in possession of your property." crab to the calf. The grand chamberlain at last kicked him from him with an exclamation, and the darling fell screaming at his mother's feet. "The child grows unbearable," cried the grand chamberlain, as he rubbed the calf of his leg, which was smarting with pain; and the mother wiped the tears from the cheeks of the little one. "Poor child!" said she, "has he hurt you?" "Go on spoiling him," said the count, "and he will one day give your heart as much pain as he has now done my calf." "Only do not torment him," said the mother, stroking his cheeks; "he must be allowed to grow like the tree of the field. It was so that Jean Jacques wished boys to be educated." "But he is to be a gentleman of the chamber," said the father, "and you will at last make a Jean Jacques of the boy. He will then be good for nothing at most but to be a stableboy." "When the children are grown up," said she, coldly, "you may present them at court; that you may understand, but do not interfere in their education. You do not wish the tender plants to wither before their time." The grand chamberlain was silent, and looked vexed; the countess expatiated on the virtues of her children, and the cruelties of certain fathers, who had no steady principle of education. The storm subsided by degrees, and they rose from table. Welt impatiently reminded the count of his promise, who conducted him into his room. "Herr von Welt," said the grand chamberlain, as he begged him to be seated, "am I married?" "Precisely so," continued the grand chamberlain, "the ardour of first love is gone by, but we live together, we bestow our attention on strangers, and leave our wives to be entertained by others: we walk onwards lost in thought, and forget that a wife is following." "Count!" said Welt embarrassed, "you describe the most minute features of the picture. But we have digressed from the main point of our conversation." "And I think we have been constantly discussing it," said the grand chamberlain; he went to his bureau and took out a paper"will you have the kindness to deliver this to the countess? You may read it, Herr von Welt; it is the ratification of my promises. You see I therein renounce my claim according to the will." "The countess will be astonished at your generosity," said Welt; "but she delivered you a contract yesterday which she requires back." "Indeed!" said the grand chamberlain, "then I beg you to return me my writing.— But, Herr von Welt, you have withdrawn yourself entirely from court.-Do you know that people have made observations upon it? Thence arise conjectures; you must have rendered a few people jealous. I give you warning, my dear friend; no one can hurt you, but they seek to revenge themselves on the countess." "How is that possible?" said Welt, astonished. "I am entreated to ground a complaint on the conjectures I have heard: I have not done so, but have explained my apprehensions to Herr von Welt looked at him with astonish- the countess. The ecclesiastical court, which ment. "I do not know what this question means, count?" "You were not a witness at our marriage; you did not accompany us to the altar: may I be allowed to ask by what means you know we are married?" "I think you must be joking," said Welt; "how I know?-people have told me so." "You consider that as a proof, then?" said the grand chamberlain quickly. "You embarrass me," said Welt; "I knew it before I had the honour of seeing you, and my eyes convinced me. "What have you seen, then?" asked the count. "Oh!" said Welt, "there are certain trifles which soon discover that connection. One is more familiar together, one is not so attentive to the choice of expressions when speaking together, and sometimes one differs about the mode of education." puts the consciences of his royal highness's subjects to proof, can put her upon her oath." Welt looked over the paper much agitated. "I will give your renunciation to the countess," said he, getting up. "And if she wishes her contract again," said the grand chamberlain, smiling, "it lies here amongst my papers." "Count," said Welt, "the countess will not be behind you in generosity. Her property comes from her husband, who bore your name, and I am convinced she will be happy to appropriate a part of the property to support the splendour of his family.' He took a friendly leave of the count, who accompanied him to the hall door. "Will you not soon travel?" said the grand chamberlain, as they descended the steps. "Possibly very soon," said Welt; "I mean to accompany the countess, who is anxious to be in a warmer climate." "Well, the observations you make on your |