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The Confessions of the Celebrated Countess of Lichtenau, Late Mrs. Rietz

Note 2 — ORIGINAL PAPERS OF THE COUNTESS LICHTENAU, COMMONLY CALLED MINNA ENCKE.

Richard B--t--n translation

Mademoiselle Voss has a kind of natural wit, some information, is rather more wilful than firm, and is very obviously aukward, which she endeavours to disguise by assuming an air of simplicity. She is ugly, and that even to a degree; and her only excellence is the goodness of her complexion, which I think rather wan than white, and a fine neck; over which she threw a double handkerchief the other day, as she was leaving Prince Henry’s comedy, to cross the apartments, saying to the Princess Frederica, “I must take good care of them, for it is after these they run.” It is this mixture of eccentric licentiousness (which she accompanies with airs of ignorant innocence) and vestal severity, which the world says has seduced the King. Mademoiselle Voss, who holds it ridiculous to be German, and who is tolerably well acquainted with the English language, affects the Anglomania to excess, and thinks it a proof of politeness not to love the French. Her vanity, which has found itself under restraint, when in company with some amiable people of that nation, hates those it cannot imitate, more especially because her sarcasms are returned with interest. Thus, for instance, the other day I could not keep silence when I heard an exclamation, “Oh, heavens! when shall I see, when shall we have an English play! I really should expire with rapture!” For my part, Madam, said I drily, “I rather wish you may not, sooner than you imagine, stand in need of French plays.” All those who began to be offended by her high airs, smiled; and Prince Henry, who pretended not to hear her, laughed aloud. Her face was suffused with blushes, and she did not answer a word, but it is easy to punish, difficult to correct.

She has hitherto declared open war against the mystics, and detests the daughters of the chief favourite, who are maids of honour to the Queen. But as amidst her weaknesses she is transported by devotion even to superstition, nothing may be depended on for futurity.—Mirabeau’s Secret History of the Court of Berlin.

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