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Updated: June 9, 2025
Before going to Wildbad in the summer of 1863 I had a serious conversation with my teacher and friend. Hitherto, he said, he had avoided any discussion of my future; but now that I was so decidedly convalescing, he must tell me that even the most industrious work as a "private scholar," as people termed it, would not satisfy me.
"Read that," he said; "and, for Christ's sake, pity me when you know who I am." He laid a letter of many pages on the table. It was the letter that Mr. Neal had posted at Wildbad nineteen years since. THE first cool breathings of the coming dawn fluttered through the open window as Mr. Brock read the closing lines of the Confession. He put it from him in silence, without looking up.
Since leaving the West Indies he has lived principally in Italy, with no benefit to his health. From Italy, before the last seizure attacked him, he removed to Switzerland, and from Switzerland he has been sent to this place. So much I know from his doctor's report; the rest I can tell you from my own personal experience. Mr. Armadale has been sent to Wildbad too late: he is virtually a dead man.
During that summer was formed the bond of friendship which, to his life's premature end, united me to Moritz Hartmann, and led to a correspondence which afforded me the greater pleasure the more certain I became that he understood me. We met again in Wildbad the second and third summers, and with what pleasure I remember our conversations in the stillness of the shady woods!
Crawley was particularly down on her luck, she gave concerts and lessons in music here and there. There was a Madame de Raudon, who certainly had a matinee musicale at Wildbad, accompanied by Herr Spoff, premier pianist to the Hospodar of Wallachia, and my little friend Mr.
Before the door of the principal inn, waiting the arrival of the first visitors of the year, were assembled the three notable personages of Wildbad, accompanied by their wives the mayor, representing the inhabitants; the doctor, representing the waters; the landlord, representing his own establishment.
But even in this direction we have raised no objections and declared ourselves satisfied with the places which have been mentioned. They were Vienna, Brussels, Baden-Baden, Wiesbaden, Wildbad, a place in Switzerland I should, however, say Wildbad was mentioned by no one but itself. Stuttgart was also mentioned. Any of these places would have been agreeable to us.
After my return from Wildbad Lepsius continued his Thursday visits, and during the succeeding winters still remained my guide, even when I had also placed myself, in the department of the ancient Egyptian languages, under the instruction of Heinrich Brugsch. At school, of course, I had not thought of studying Hebrew.
We must have him for us, with us, near us. God has destined us for each other." A telegram replied: "Bravissimo! I am on my way to join you." And to the Countess, fighting rheumatism at the waters of Wildbad in the Black Forest, he wrote: "The rain has passed, the long fog has gone. The mountains stand out mighty and dazzling, peak beyond peak, like the heights of a life. What a sunset!
In the fourteenth century several Knights of Suabia having associated themselves together for chivalrous engagements, endeavoured to seize a rich Count of Wirtenburg, as a means of procuring a noble sum of money for the ransom of himself and his family. For this purpose they attacked him in his castle at Wildbad, but were repulsed.
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