The Sun.
London, England, 1858-10-27 00:00:00

A PARIS ROMANCE.

A romantic correspondent tells of a marriage
about to take place between a Russian lady, of high
birth and large fortune, and an artist of obscure
birth, but illustrious name now-a-days, whose
humble fortune would for ever have placed a bar-
rier between him and his now affianced bride, had
not chance, and the merriest fellow in the world,
drawn them together by the most mysterious and
unaccountable succession of circumstances. The
artist in question, as well known in London as in
Vienna, in Lisbon as in Paris, in St. Petersburg as
in Madrid, had been engaged to give accompanying
lessons to the youngest daughter of Prince V. (lur-
ing the stay of the family at Baden. The lessons
gave great delight to the pupil, and still more to
the master, and it seems that a mutual attachment
sprang up between them, and that before they were
either of them aware of the consequences, Cupid
held them both beneath his wings, as a hen gathers
her litter in the same snug quarter, only it wasn't
to make them warm and snug and comfortable—
just the reverse. The attachment had been going
on for some time. As usual, no one dreamt of such
a thing—the Prince-father and the Princess-mother
least of all. The artist came each afternoon, played
his fiddle for an hour, was paid his napoleon, and
went his way to play and be paid somewhere else.
Perhaps no one would have ever dreamt of such
an enormity as a high-born, well-bred young
lady falling in love with one of God's more
gifted creatures, handsome in person, polished
m mind, and beaming with intelligence.
seeing that he was " only a fiddler," had.
not Chance, that mighty mother of our des-
tinies, came suddenly to the aid of all parties, and
determined a position which had become no longer
tolerable.

One evening, by way of a farewell entertainment,
the princess bad invited a few guests to make
merry, and judge of her daughter's progress, under
the instruction of her accompanying master's in-
struction. But all merriment seemed impossible;
the young lady was overcome by sadness, and the
company were disposed to join in the gloomy dis-
position of the moment. Mozart was played, and
so was Haydn, with Beethoven and Mendelssohn,
and a lot more; yet, strange to say, the dulness
continued, and right glad was the company when
the boute en train, the fun-maker of Baden, was
announced. This arrival put life and spirit into
the party, and people began to look up with a little
more life in their veins. Of course our fun-making
friend could not fail to perceive the dulness which
had set upon the party, and, of course, could not
fail, according to his word, to seek some means of
dispelling it. He sang comic songs. and he recited
comic verses ; and, in short, succeeded in dispelling
everybody's sadness but that of the daughter of the
house, who grew more perturbed as the evening
advanced. In spite of all his efforts, nothing could
cheer up the musician either, and he was thin to
leave him to his fate. As soon as he was gone, the

lugubrious tone in which he had uttered his fare-
well, and the misery depicted on his countenance,
becamethe theme of conversation. " How dreadfully
miserable poor S. looks to-night," said one. " What
ails our gay musician ?" said another. " Did
you see how nervous he was ?" said a third.
"He fumbled for his hat on the piano, till
poor Mdlle. P. looked quite annoyed, as she help('
him in the search. He had left it in the vestibule
after all." And thereupon the conversation became
animated about the detestable habit which men
have of laying their hats down upon the tail of a
grand piano, until it looks like the counter in an
old Jew clothes shop. The conversation was not
lost upon our wag • neither, somehow, was the pale-
ness and emotion of the young lady. He said no•
thing, but resolved to test the matter in his own
way. One by one the gentlemen disappeared, until
but few were left, when he, too, approached to
leave, and began to fumble for his hat upon the
piano, as the others had done before him. • While
he was thus engaged, he uttered a joyous cry—
" Why, here it is ! Here is our po,or musician's hat,
after all ! Why, he is gone away without it. Just
like him—so absent ! He will catch his death of
cold." Thereupon he drew out a hat from among
the group, and held it to the light—" Ah ! there is
a written paper inside. What does it say ?" He
approached nearer to the lamp, and, perusing the
paper, seemed suddenly seized with a giddy faint-
ness. " Excuse me," exclaimed he, rushing to the
door, "there is not a moment to be lost. Poor S—,
poor —; let me hasten, or I shall be too late." Of
course every one crowded around, while Mdlle. P—
stood pale and motionless by the piano. The paper
dropped from the hat ; it was picked up and read
aloud—" Before this meets your eye, I shall be no
more ; I hasten hence to terminate a life no longer
bearable. Keep this hat, which I shall want no

more, and remember me." Of course every
one was aghast, and most of the men rushed out
into the street, while Mdlle. P fell upon the
floor in a violent fit of hysterics, and, .with all the
consternation which filled the place, none were so
completely overcome as the poor wag himself, who
had only meant to play a pleasant trick, and not to
raise a house about his ears, as he had done. Mean-
while Mdlle. P was conveyed from the room,
but not before she had betrayed her secret, amid
the most dismal wailing, and just as the musician
was brought back in triumph by his friends, having
been found at his hotel quietly stepping into bed,
He heard his own name pronounced with every
epithet of endearment and term of self-reproach in
the voice he loved best to hear, and with an earnest-
ness which must have comforted his heart.

It was thus that this singular marriage, of which
so much has been said and -written, has been
brought about. The bridal party are to arrive in
Paris for the purchase of the trousseau, and the
fulfilment of the ceremony, in the early part of
next week.