right hand. Robust and florid as she was, no belle attracted such universal notice or admiration as this fortunate milkmaid. Her glowing hair was called golden, her ruddy cheeks blooming, and her form was admired for its strength, if it was not exactly extolled for grace. Success is your true beautifier—the elixir which bestows youth and beauty, and which fails in its effect only when the sun of Fortune sets. The girdle of Good Luck once thrown round the thickest waist, it becomes to every beholder as slender as Venus’s own, and those whom the blind goddess has mystified by the bandage of her own eyes, are, at any time, ready to swear black is white, or, as in Johanna’s case, red is yellow.
And amidst all this, Caroline’s name was not heard.
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One heart at least was captivated by this heroine in spite of herself. The big Prussian colonel must have his fancy captivated by this close approximation to the heroic maid of his heated brain. Among the toasts drank to Johanna Stegen, his response was the loudest, his praise the most broadly expressed.
But—every medal has its reverse side—what a pity!
In the midst of all these rejoicings, and just as great things were in contemplation for Johanna, who seems to have been regarded as a second Joan of Arc, just when one may suppose the Prussian colonel was beginning to find leisure to prosecute his romantic suit—Lo! the French returned and retook Lüneberg. Dire event! which the poor Lünebergers deplored, and which was positive ruin to our heroine, whose temporary elevation had served to point her out as a mark for the vengeance of the infuriated French soldiery. Johanna, thrown down from her lofty pedestal, was, metaphorically speaking, obliged to grovel in the mud, and literally, might have been trampled to death, except for hiding herself, which she did for many days, in a dark dismal cellar, indebted for sustenance solely to the good offices of neighbours, and to Caroline, who brought her in milk from Grimm, and who, unnoticed and unrewarded, was no doubt much happier than the heroine cowering in her dismal cellar, expecting hourly death—or worse.
But this terrible condition, which lasted many bitter days, was terminated at length by the report of a large body of Prussians advancing on Lüneberg,; and now, as the French at last evacuated Lüneberg, our heroine once more emerged from her obscurity, and threw herself at the king’s feet.
Her sorrows ended there. Her merits were at once recognised; she was patronised by some of the female connections of her Prussian admirer. Following the army subsequently into Prussia, she was at once placed on the full-pay of a colonel, and sent to a pension to be educated for her future rank in life—a Prussian nobleman’s spouse. Henceforth the life of Johanna Stegen became one of uninterrupted prosperity. At the close of the war