The
world was to her a vast tomb, and she despised all those who had the
mad and blasphemous courage to dance on its brink.
Amelia avenged herself on those who avoided her, by pursuing them
with spiteful jests and bitter sarcasm, hoping in this way to be
relieved wholly from their presence. She wished to be alone and
always alone. Her soul within her was desolate, and the outward
world should take the same dark hue. She lived like a prisoner
secluded in her own apartments; and when some great court festival
compelled her to appear in public, she revenged herself by wounding
all who approached her. The sufferings of others were a balsam to
her heart, and she convinced herself that the pain she inflicted
assuaged her own torments.
Amelia was alone; her maid of honor had just read aloud one of
Moliere's biting, satirical comedies, and received leave of absence
for a few hours. The princess had also dismissed her chamberlain
till dinner, and he had left the castle; only two pages waited in
the anteroom, which was separated by two chambers from the boudoir.
Amelia had the happy consciousness of being alone in her grief, and,
fearing no disturbance, she could sigh and lament aloud.
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