Page:Court and Lady's Magazine (vol 3, 1839).djvu/132

 of youth, health, and beauty. Her uncle did not derive the expected benefit from the baths, and his physician urged his departure. My stay being concluded, the countess proposed that I should pursue my journey with them, making a slight détour to the old gentleman’s landhaus. The fact was, the lady feared what at the time she did not own, namely, that some mortal accident would occur on the road; for the old housekeeper, who prided herself on her second sight, had been heard to say, that ‘the party would find a corpse upon the journey.’ The very weak state of the invalid did not allow us to perform the journey at once, so we resolved to rest at the pretty little village of Rastag. We had cause to be satisfied with our determination. The young hostess was all attention to our invalid, and her activity and sprightliness so much interested and amused him, that he requested his niece to take a walk accompanied by myself, and leave him in charge of his charming little nurse. We entered upon a beautiful path behind the gardens of the village; the slight improvement in her uncle’s health had so exhilarated the countess’s spirits, that she was more animated than I had ever known her before, and enlivened the walk by relating many scenes and passages from her own life, and those of some distinguished friends. Suddenly, we heard the tolling of a bell: ‘Hark!’ she exclaimed; ‘that’s for a death; come, it is long since I have seen a village funeral. Poor little Minna cried bitterly, and begged her mamma not to go into the churchyard amongst the dead people; but her’s were childish fears, and we went. The coffin, according to custom, was placed beside the grave, with the lid open for the last for the last time; it contained the corpse of a young and lovely girl. An old peasant, leading by the hand a little child attired like himself, in deep mourning, brought fruit to lay beside the corpse, whilst the child placed fresh flowers within the folded hands. ‘Sleep sweetly,’ sighed the old man; ‘I thought thy hands would have closed these eyes; but God’s will be done.’

“The minister, an elderly, but remarkably fine man, then approached, and pronounced a funeral discourse full of grace and dignity. The countess was delighted with him, and signified her approbation by frequent remarks to myself. Just before the conclusion, we observed her uncle coming towards us. ‘Oh! dear sir,’ exclaimed the countess; ‘how much I regret that you should have lost so beautiful a service;’ and when the clergyman, after the sad rites were over, drew near to pay his respects to his distinguished auditors, she instantly addressed him: ‘Pastor, accept my best thanks; your eloquence has charmed me; none other than yourself shall be my funeral orator.’

“Little Minna seized her mother’s hand, and entreated her not to talk so; while the uncle gravely remarked, that such a topic was more applicable to himself. The lady smiled: ‘This,’ she said, is not the place for an explanation of my seemingly hasty speech,’ then addressing the minister—‘favour us, sir, with your company to dinner at the hotel; we will then finish the conversation.’

“The invitation was accepted, and it then appeared that the countess destined for him the vacant and very lucrative living on her own estate. The pastor requested time to consider of it; for notwithstanding his very narrow income, his present flock was dear to him. It was therefore settled that the affair should be concluded in future correspondence; but the letters never passed.

“On the following morning, when the travelling carriage was ordered, the countess complained of severe head-ache, and begged to postpone their departure; the pain increased, followed by symptoms of so dangerous a nature, that no medical aid could counteract them: death ensued. Exactly eight days from the scene in the churchyard, the minister again performed mournful ceremony at the grave of that lovely and amiable young woman. I will not attempt to describe my feelings as I contemplated the old uncle, and the now poor little orphan, Minna, standing beside the coffin of Amalia, forming so exact a repetition of the scene we had all witnessed together on the same spot, but a few short days before. The old gentleman lived for several years after, and often have we recurred to the past,