Finally I tried on the symbolical white robe, under a heavenly veil, a _chef d'oeuvre_ of Brussels lace, and I was acknowledged fit to manage my long train and to make my curtsies equally as well as the most graceful of the famous young ladies of Saint Cyr. Loaded with jewels, I soared higher and higher, flattered by homage, congratulations and good wishes, without perceiving that, although my fiancé was so much older than myself, I had now become a certain personality in his dreams and in his thoughts. I was praised on all sides in verse and in prose, with or without music, and it seemed that I was a "flower of radiant beauty." I was quite taken with this phrase. As for my husband--his bearing, his nobility and his prestige were also praised. I remember that he wore his Hungarian military uniform when we received the burgomaster of Brussels, the celebrated M. Ausbach, who came on February 4, 1873, to marry us by the civil code. Then with great pomp we appeared before the Cardinal Primate of Belgium. An altar was erected in the large drawing-room next the ballroom. I will say nothing about the decorations. The chants and the prayers carried me to heaven, although I by no means forgot the ritual of my marriage and that I was the cynosure of all eyes. It was not a public of kings, but of princes. In the place of sovereigns, whose greatness kept them away, their next of kin were present; the Prince of Wales, the Crown Prince Frederick, the Archduke Joseph, the Duc d'Aumale, the Duke of Saxe-Coburg, and, finally, a large crowd of those notables who figure in the pages of the _Almanach de Gotha_. If I once began to describe the details of a ceremony of this magnitude I should never finish. Personally I was not much attracted by it. I am always surprised when, on opening a modern novel, I notice the pains which clever people take to describe the sumptuous ritual of modern marriage. I only know one appropriate description of this nature: that of the "Sleeping Beauty." Fortunate Beauty, whose Court and herself were put to sleep just at the crucial moment of a marriage which might not have been a happy one. But where are the fairies now and where are the beasts who know how to talk? Alas! the fairies have vanished and the beasts speak no more, except the hidden beasts in our souls, and they do not relate pretty fables and stories. They indulge rather in unpleasant realities. I have taken a long time in coming to the point, but no matter at what cost, it is necessary for me to speak about things which have as yet never been told, but which will explain how the foundations were laid for the drama of my life. There were hints as to this drama in former days, but I will not refer to the vague tittle-tattle which amused rather than saddened Brussels and its Court.