servants, and a multitude of horses and hunting hounds, at the beginning of the winter.
It happened one morning when Matilda drew water in the court, that the Count met her, and his appearance produced feelings in her heart, quite new and strange to her; the most beautiful young man she had ever seen stood before her; the cheerful fire of his sparkling eyes, his waving light hair, half concealed under the shadow of the ostrich feather in his hat, and his firm walk and noble manner, operated so powerfully on the maiden, that her heart beat quicker, and her blood rushed faster through her veins. She now perceived, for the first time, the great difference of her present station from that in which she was born, and this feeling oppressed her more than the heavy bucket; very sorrowful she went back into the kitchen, and for the first time failed in her functions, and spoiled the soup, which procured for her, from the housekeeper, a sharp reproof. By night and day the handsome knight hovered before her eyes, it pleased her to see him often, and when he went across the courtyard, and she heard his spurs jingle, she always perceived a want of water in the kitchen, and hastened with a pail to the spring; if only she might obtain a sight of the handsome young nobleman.
Count Conrad seemed to live only for enjoyment, he missed no kind of diversion and no festivity in the rich city, which intercourse with Venice had made luxurious. When Shrove-Tuesday’s mummeries began, the intoxication of joy seemed at its height. Matilda had no share in any of the sports, but sat in the smoky kitchen, and wept her languishing eyes almost sore, mourned over the caprice of fortune, which overwhelmed her favourites with the joys of life, and cast away from her despised devotees every happy moment. Her heart was sorrowful, without her properly knowing why; she was quite ignorant that love had nestled in her heart. This troublesome guest, who makes confusion in every house where he takes shelter, in the daytime whispered to her a thousand romantic thoughts, and entertained her at night with waggish dreams. Soon she wandered with the lord in a flower-garden—soon she was confined between the holy walls of a cloister, and the Count stood outside the grating, desiring to converse with her, and the strict Abbess would not allow it; soon again she was dancing with him at a ball. This delightful dream was often destroyed suddenly by the sound of Gertrude’s bunch of keys, with which in the morning she summoned the servants to their work. Still the ideas which this fantasy had excited during the night-season proved a source of enjoyment to her by day. Love shuns no danger, climbs mountains and rocks, jumps down precipices, finds ways and paths through the Libyan desert, and swims on the back of the white bull over the stormy sea. The loving Matilda mourned and philosophised long till she found a means to realize her most
