"
"Indeed, I have thought of nothing else: you must forgive me. I am
very stupid, Mr. Constantine, at learning languages; and German is so
harsh--at least to my ears! Cannot you teach me any other thing? I
should like to learn of you of all things, but do think of something
else besides this odious jargon! Cannot you teach me to read poetry
elegantly?--Shakspeare, for instance; I doat upon Shakspeare!"
"That would be strange presumption in a foreigner?"
"No presumption in the least," cried she; "if you can do it, pray
begin! There is Romeo and Juliet."
Thaddeus pushed away the book with a smile.
"I cannot obey. I understand Shakspeare with as much ease as you,
madam, will soon do Schiller, if you apply; but I cannot pretend to
read the play aloud."
"Dear me, how vexatious!--but I must hear you read something. Do,
take up that Werter. My sister got it from the Prussian ambassador,
and he tells me it is sweetest in its own language."
The count opened the book.
"But you will not understand a word of it."
"I don't care for that; I have it by heart in English; and if you
will only read his last letter to Charlotte, I know I can follow you
in my own mind."
To please this whimsical little creature, Thaddeus turned to the
letter, and read it forward with a pathos natural to his voice and
character. When he came to an end and closed the volume, the cadence
of his tones, and the lady's memory, did ample justice to her
sensibility.
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