a little duchess, who one day would blossom out into the merriest Marquise in the Court of the King. She was right that she was better than all other creatures in her father’s castles, villages and estates; better than the music and dance teacher, the overseer, peasant, maid, ass, ox, serf, and all else that was there. She lived laughing and merry, and the world bent before her beauty and splendor. Just as the wind sweeps over grain fields, making them bow and bend, so crowds of people bent before her; compliments en mille. She was right to marry Marquis Massimel de la Réole de Courtroy, over whose stupidity the court laughed so that he became indispensable to the king, and was always present at his lever to ensure good humor for the day. She had lovers in plenty, men rich enough to gratify all the caprices of a Blanchefleure.
Her laughing habit of command is illustrated by the following incident. Every one knows that in the French army it was forbidden—under penalty of death—to sing the kuhreihen. The reason was because the awkward German children of the Alps—when they heard it sung or played—would either run away like a herd of cattle, or die of homesickness.
Zu Strasburg auf der Schanz,
Da ging mein Trau’ren an, . . .
Das Alphorn hört ich druhen wohl austimmen,
Ins Vaterland muszt ich hinüber schwimmen,—
Das ging nicht an.
