An Austrian nobleman, one of the handsomest and most accomplished young
men in Vienna, was passionately in love with a young girl of almost peerless
beauty. She was the daughter of a man of great rank and influence at court,
and on these considerations, as well as in regard to her charms, she was
followed by a multitude of suitors. She was lovely and amiable, and treated
them with an affability which still kept them in her train, although it
was generally known that she had avowed a predilection for the Count, and
that preparations were making for their nuptials. The Count was of a refined
mind and delicate sensibility: he loved her for herself alone - for the
virtues which he believed dwelt in a beautiful form. Like a lover of such
perfection he approached her with timidity, and when he touched her a fire
shot through his veins, that warned him not to invade that sanctuary of
her lips. Such were his feelings, when one night at the house of his intended
father-in-law, a party of young people were met to celebrate a certain festival.
Several of the young ladies rejected suitors were present. Forfeits were
one of the pastimes, and all went on with the greatest merriment, till the
Count was commanded by some witty young lady to redeem his glove, by sainting
the cheek of his intended bride.
The Count blushed - trembled - advanced to his mistress - retreated - advanced
again and at last, with a tremor that shook every fibre of his frame, with
a modest grace he put his lips to the soft ringlet that played upon her
cheek, and in evident confusion retired to demand his redeemed pledge. his
mistress gaily smiled, and the game went on. One of her rejected, who was
of a merry, unthinking disposition, was adjudged by the same indiscreet
crier of the forfeits "as his last retreat before he hanged himself,"
to snatch a kiss from the lips of the object of his recent vows. A lively
contest ensued between the lady and the gentleman, - it lasted for a minute,
when the lady yielded, though in the midst of a convulsive laugh, and the
Count had the mortification, the agony, to see the lips, which his delicate
love would not allow him to touch, kissed with roughness and repetition
by another man, and one whom he despised. Without a word, he rose from his
chair - left the room and the house, - and by that good-natured kiss the
fair boast of Venice lost her husband and her lover. The Count never saw
her more.
