But there is about the court a certain lady
of a dishevelled reputation, a Countess von Rosen, wife or widow of
a cloudy count, no longer in her second youth, and already bereft of
some of her attractions, who unequivocally occupies the station of
the Baron's mistress. I had thought, at first, that she was but a
hired accomplice, a mere blind or buffer for the more important
sinner. A few hours' acquaintance with Madame von Rosen for ever
dispelled the illusion. She is one rather to make than to prevent a
scandal, and she values none of those bribes - money, honours, or
employment - with which the situation might be gilded. Indeed, as a
person frankly bad, she pleased me, in the court of Grunewald, like
a piece of nature.
The power of this man over the Princess is, therefore, without
bounds. She has sacrificed to the adoration with which he has
inspired her not only her marriage vow and every shred of public
decency, but that vice of jealousy which is so much dearer to the
female sex than either intrinsic honour or outward consideration.
Nay, more: a young, although not a very attractive woman, and a
princess both by birth and fact, she submits to the triumphant
rivalry of one who might be her mother as to years, and who is so
manifestly her inferior in station. This is one of the mysteries of
the human heart. But the rage of illicit love, when it is once
indulged, appears to grow by feeding; and to a person of the
character and temperament of this unfortunate young lady, almost any
depth of degradation is within the reach of possibility.
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