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Updated: June 9, 2025
Her singing and acting surpassed anything which I had hitherto either heard or seen; and yet I thought the while of the miserably poor singer in the hospital of Odense: the two figures blended into the Annunciata of the novel. Italy was the back ground for that which had been experienced and that which was imagined. In August of 1834 I returned to Denmark.
The Archduchess Annunciata would have none of the palace flunkies about her when she could help it. She had had enough of men, she maintained, in the person of her late husband, whom she had detested. So except at dinner she was attended by tidy little maids, in gray Quaker costumes, who could carry tea-trays into her crowded boudoir without breaking things.
This aversion was intensified by the fact that, as the wife of a member of the order of the Annunciata, she was entitled to precedence over all the Italian nobility not so honored.
But unquestionably they plotted. As for the capital, it was a seething riot of sedition, from the reports. A copy of a newspaper, secretly printed and more secretly circulated, had brought fire to the King's eyes. It lay on his knees as his daughter entered. Annunciata touched her lips to his hand.
Especially as, at the moment he rose from his knees, the cathedral clock had chimed and then struck seven. He had found seven a very lucky number, So now he entered the boudoir of the Archduchess Annunciata, and the Countess went out another door, and closed it behind her, immediately opening it about an inch.
"We remember both our friends and our enemies, madame. And we have only friends and enemies. There is no middle course. If you would like time to think it over " "How much time?" She clutched at the words. With time all things were possible. The King might die soon, that night, the next day. Better than any one, save his daughter Annunciata and the physicians, she knew his condition.
It was merely the bugle before the attack. "Hedwig is old enough to marry. Her grandmother was not nineteen when I married her." "It would be better," said Annunciata, "to marry her while she is young, before she knows any better." "Any better than what?" inquired the King testily. "Any better than to marry at all." The King eyed her. She was not, then, even attempting to hide her claws.
Where had he seen such a head, such a flying mop of hair? Ah! He remembered. It was the flying young devil who had attacked him and the others that night in the by-street, when Peter Niburg lay stunned! Miss Braithwaite had a bad headache that afternoon, and the Crown Prince drove out with his aunt. The Archduchess Annunciata went shopping.
And those qualities, which age was beginning to soften in the King, were now, in Annunciata, in full strength and blooming. But there was more than fundamental similarity at fault. Against her father the Archduchess held her unhappy marriage. "You did this," she had said once, when an unusually flagrant escapade had come to the ears of the Palace. "You did it. I told you I hated him.
I was wandering pensively through the streets which no longer delighted my eyes, when chance led my stops into the magnificent church of the Annunciata. A celebrated painter of the day was at that moment superintending the placing of one of his pictures over an altar. The proficiency which I had acquired in his art during my residence in the convent had made me an enthusiastic amateur.
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