Excerpt from Three Tales
Any one who, in the year 1824, frequented the "King of England" hotel in Stuttgart, or who promenaded the broad walk in the pleasure-grounds between two and three o'clock in the afternoon, must, if his memory be not of the shortest, still recollects me figures who drew all eyes upon them at that time. These were two men who did not at all resemble the usual customers and pedestrians in Stuttgart, but seemed rather to belong to the Prado of Madrid or to a cafe in Lisbon or Seville. Imagine a tall, thin, old man with iron-grey hair, deepset, fiery eyes of a dark-brown colour, a hooked nose, and thin compressed mouth. He moves slowly; erect and proud. To his black-silk breeches and stockings, to the large rosettes upon his shoes, and the broad buckles of his garters, to the long thin rapier at his side, to the high and somewhat peaked hat pressed sideways over his forehead, you long (even if only possessed of a small portion of imagination) to add a short slashed doublet and a Spanish cloak in place of the black frock-coat in, which the old man has dressed himself.
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