PART THE THIRD.
I must begin, noble Lady, by requesting your pardon for having delayed so long to make known to you an history, which I thought would have more interest in the mouth of its heroine, than it could possibly receive from my unskilful pen. Fatal events (I grieve to say it) have for ever deprived you of that satisfaction; and you must either learn Adelaide’s adventures from me, or from no one.
Have not these few words already led you to guess the melancholy truth, which this letter is intended to break to you? Oh! that the painful task of being the first to inform you “that Adelaide is no more,” had been imposed upon another! Yet surely it is scarcely possible, that report should have been totally silent at Zurich, respecting events which have excited the attention of the whole German Empire.
Yet dry your tears, virtuous Urania! they who have lived in the world so long as we have done, should not grieve for the departure of our beloved-ones; the hope of speedily rejoining them in another world, never to be separated from them more, should console us under this temporary deprivation. Lament not, that you are prevented from shewing your gratitude to your generous deliverer; she will find the reward of her glorious deeds in Heaven; alas! she found none on earth!
Tell me, dear Adelaide, thou suffering Saint! Chaste martyr of the holiest love, say, with what feelings do you now enshrined in glory review the sorrows, which oppressed you in your mortal progress? Doubtless you review them not with such tears as obscure the eyes of your friend, while in this mournful hour of midnight solitude she retraces the transactions of your eventful life! Methinks I see your form radiant with light hover round me, and hear you with a smile bid me weep no more over afflictions, which now seem to yourself no longer deserving of a single tear!
You see, Urania, how difficult I find the task of beginning a narrative, which must rend open anew many an old and cruel wound; you see how anxiously I endeavour to delay the executing so painful a commission. But I gave you my promise! You shall be satisfied!—Permit me, however, to be as brief as possible, and to reserve the relation of minute particulars till the time, when I shall have an opportunity of explaining them to you in person.
That which I look upon as the first of our dear Adelaide’s misfortunes, was her being the daughter of Lucretia Malaspina. Lucretia (you already know but too well) was not lovely enough to bind Count Ethelbert’s heart in lasting fetters; nor did she possess that generous and almost Saint-like forbearance, with which Urania supported the misfortunes necessarily entailed upon the wife of such an husband. The discovery of an artifice, which her short-sighted policy had induced her to practice upon him, contributed to alienate Ethelbert’s affections, and to convert what already was indifference into the most positive aversion.
Lucretia’s wealth was a chief inducement with the Count of Carlsheim, when he offered her his hand. The birth of a son gave occasion to a discovery, that the estates believed to be her own absolute property were only held in trust for her eldest son, to whom they descended with the first breath of air that inflated his lungs. Within a year after Lucretia had been brought to bed for the first time, to Ethelbert’s infinite surprize he was summoned to surrender his wife’s estates to the guardians, appointed by her uncle’s will to take charge of them, till the new-born infant should arrive at years of discretion. Ethelbert’s rage was extreme; he was compelled to surrender the property, and in revenge was barbarous enough to tear the child from its mother’s arms, commit it to the care of strangers without informing her to whom, and then to abandon her with every expression of hatred and contempt. Lucretia bore this parting (dearly as she loved her incensed husband) with the more fortitude, from her secret consciousness that she nourished in her bosom another innocent creature, and from her fears that if Ethelbert were present at the time of her delivery, the new-born babe would be separated from her in the same manner, that she had been deprived of its brother. The same apprehension, on being brought to bed of twins, induced her to conceal the birth of one of them, in order that she might at least have the pleasure of seeing it grow up under her own eye, should Ethelbert’s vengeance induce him to deprive her of the other. Accident directed her choice, which fell upon Adelaide.
The event, however, proved her fears to have been for this time unfounded. At a distance from her, and totally engrossed by his own libertine pursuits, Ethelbert scarcely deigned to bestow upon her a single thought. Yet Lucretia’s partiality for her son Donat, which every day increased, prevented her from revealing the birth of his twin-sister, who would then have had a joint and equal right with him to those estates, of which at that period the death of his elder brother (while yet an infant) made him to be supposed the sole inheritor. Thus Adelaide grew up under her mother’s eyes, and was the play-mate of her brother, without having the least suspicion how nearly she was related to either of them. This was of inconceivable advantage to her in her early education. She believed herself to be a vassal’s daughter in that house, of which she ought to have shone as the joint-heiress; and as the youthful Donat enjoyed all the advantages of his rank, and made his dependents feel the whole weight of his influence, many a lesson of humility and patient suffering did Adelaide learn in her youth, which was of material service to her in the painful scenes, which she had afterwards to encounter. Donat ruled his mother with the most despotic authority; his resemblance to herself, that violence of passions which he possessed in common with her, and the docility with which he received her pernicious instructions had won Lucretia’s whole heart, and left no room in it for her neglected daughter; who thus was early afforded frequent opportunities of submitting to injustice, without being conscious that her treatment was unjust.
Lucretia had been wise enough to foresee, long before they arrived, that such events might very possibly happen, as actually did at length take place. With all her love for Ethelbert, she had discovered his faults sufficiently to make her take precautions for her own security; and she endeavoured to confine his actions by means, which though they still preserved her the title of his wife, were nevertheless insufficient to prevent her suffering the extreme of misery and disappointment.
She knew well, that little as Count Ethelbert loved religion, he greatly dreaded it: she therefore (previous to their marriage) insisted on his taking a most solemn oath, that however they might disagree, or however his sentiments might alter, he would never attempt her life, nor would (even in case of a divorce) make the offer of his hand to a rival, as long as she herself should still be in existence. She thus hoped to bind her inconstant lover in eternal chains; but she little dreamt of so tyrannical a subterfuge, as that by which the hypocrite contrived to evade the consequences of his oath.
Though she found all endeavours to regain his affection were vain, she still watched her husband’s conduct with jealous eyes. While he visited in turn every Italian state, whose reputation promised him new means of indulging his propensity to pleasure, her spies still pursued him wherever his footsteps strayed. Lucretia was accurately informed respecting his intrigues; and seldom did the objects of Ethelbert’s licentious passions escape without experiencing the vengeance of his wife. His short-lived inclination once gratified, the Count of Carlsheim heeded but little what became of his victim, and Lucretia was suffered to exercise her resentment unimpeded; but the case was altered, when Urania Venosta became the mistress of his heart. Her extraordinary beauty, her high rank, and her immense possessions made him at the same time desirous of becoming her husband, hopeless of gratifying the passion with which she inspired him, except by giving her his hand. It therefore became absolutely necessary, that Lucretia should be removed. He contrived by various well-imagined artifices to lure her into Germany; where she had no sooner set her foot, than he caused her to be seized privately, and confined in Ravenstein Castle. A plausible story was then spread of her having expired suddenly: no one was interested to dispute the fact, except her son, who in truth was fondly attached to her; but his youth and devoted attention to licentious pursuits prevented Donat from inquiring minutely into the circumstances, which attended his mother’s death. Lucretia was believed to be no more by all but Count Ethelbert, who was thus left at liberty to pursue his designs upon the lovely heiress of Sargans.
Adelaide had accompanied her mistress (for such she was taught to believe her mother) when she quitted Italy; she refused to be separated from her, followed her courageously to the Castle of Ravenstein, and shared with her the miseries of her long captivity. Then was it, that the mother’s heart for the first time felt a sentiment of tenderness for her rejected daughter. Adelaide learnt from Lucretia’s lips her real name and rank, and while she clasped her to her bosom, was permitted for the first time to call her mother. Yet was the severity of her fate but little alleviated by this discovery. Lucretia’s heart was naturally hard; it was incapable of harbouring so pure a sentiment as that of true parental love. Long sufferings and much disappointment had still further embittered her character. To that kind of moral delirium, which ever attends on a corrupted heart, was now frequently added a temporary alienation of the understanding; and when Adelaide reflected, that the wretched woman, whose complicated misery (both mental and corporeal) was every moment before her eyes, was her own mother, the knowledge of her birth only served to make her feel a double portion of agony.
Day and night was Lucretia employed in forming plans of revenge against her cruel husband, and the innocent usurper of her matrimonial rights. She had early taught the innocent Adelaide to hate Urania Venosta: in the eyes of that deceived girl the heiress of Sargans was nothing better than Count Ethelbert’s abandoned paramour, who had insolently forced herself into the place of his lawful wife, and had been the principal and conscious cause of her mother’s being confined in that deserted castle. But in despite of these prejudices against you, which Lucretia had infused into the heart of her daughter, she found it impossible to make her enter cheerfully into the plans, which she was continually forming for your destruction. Adelaide was well aware, that her mother was totally without the power of carrying her wicked designs into execution; but still she could not prevail on herself to assume even the appearance of giving them her approbation. This obstinacy and incessant contradiction of her hopes and views at length made her so completely the object of Lucretia’s aversion, that she insisted on her daughter’s being separated from her, and confined in the deepest dungeon, which the subterraneous caverns of the Castle could supply.
You are acquainted, Urania, with the weakness of the man, who was at that time Castellan of Ravenstein. He possessed a singular kind of conscience, which frequently made his actions contradictory. Lucretia had found means to send letters to her son in Italy, of which conduct (as it was not formally prohibited in his instructions) he affected not to take notice; but as he had been ordered to confine her rigorously, she found it impossible to obtain from him the slightest alleviation of her sufferings. Again, as Adelaide had been delivered to his custody at the same time with her mother, no entreaties could prevail on him to restore her to liberty; but it required but little persuasion to make him believe, that she ought to submit to the punishment, which the person (whom he believed to be her mistress) thought proper to inflict on her.
Adelaide therefore was separated from her unnatural mother. She was removed to a subterraneous cell, whose strength proved the means of preserving her on that dangerous night, when Lucretia in despair and frenzy enveloped the whole fortress in flames. The fire raged above her; but she knew not what occasioned the confusion, which seemed to have taken place in the Castle. Her wretched mother died without mentioning her name, and her corse was committed to the earth unknown to her daughter. The deliverance of Urania and the Countess of Mayenfield was effected; the Castellan, who alone knew the place of her confinement, had been dangerously hurt during the conflagration, and in his last moments was too much occupied by the terrors of approaching dissolution to bestow a thought on his prisoner. No one knew what was become of the poor Adelaide; no one enquired, no one cared.
Scarcely had you escaped from Ravenstein through the well-imagined device of Walter Forest and his followers, before your jailors began to suspect the truth. A variety of circumstances combined to prove that they had been over-reached, and they were enabled to see the whole adventure in its true light. In truth, nothing but the rashness of the attempt and the rapidity of its execution could have prevented them from making this discovery sooner.
They were provoked beyond measure at the contemptible part, which they had played on this occasion; too much time had already elapsed to leave them any hopes of over-taking the fugitives, and to pursue them now had been only giving themselves unavailing trouble. When they reflected on the wrath of their tyrannical lord, terror almost turned their blood into ice. It was evident, that nothing could preserve them from destruction, but immediate flight from a place, whose natural horrors were increased tenfold by the ravages of the late conflagration, and by the recollection of many a cruel action, which they had committed within those dreary walls!
Flight then was resolved upon unanimously; but they thought it as well, not to quit Ravenstein with empty hands. It’s true, the whole wealth, that was to be found there above ground, consisted in chains, rusty armour, and instruments of torture; but report had assured them, that treasures of immense value lay concealed in the subterraneous parts of the Castle, and these they determined not to leave behind them.
They tore open the bosom of the rock, on which the Castle was situated, without discovering aught but Adelaide’s dungeon, in which she was found almost at the point of death, not having tasted nourishment for several days. They were humane enough to remove the unfortunate girl into a purer atmosphere, and to exert themselves in some measure to effect her recovery. Her beauty probably was of some use in persuading the younger part of the garrison to assist her the more readily; and what little wealth she possest in jewels (the only presents of her unnatural mother) purchased for her the protection of the more ancient and flinty-hearted.
While they were busied in attending upon her, she heard them talk much respecting the escape of two ladies, who as well as Lucretia and herself had been prisoners at Ravenstein: she also heard Walter Forest mentioned as their deliverer, for Count Ethelbert’s deceived soldiers had by that time discovered who their deceiver really was, and where he resided. On these hints did Adelaide build a plan for her escape from the society of these lawless ruffians, for whose temporary mercy (she saw clearly) she was only indebted to her illness and to the hurry of their preparations for flight. At the risk of her life therefore did she, in spite of her weak condition, take the advantage of a stormy night to escape from the Castle, and hasten to the tranquil valley inhabited by that friend of the opprest, Walter Forest; who failed not to receive the poor Adelaide also with the same openness and hospitality, with which he had received ourselves.
She rewarded his kindness by apprizing him of the attack, with which he had been threatened by the soldiery of Ravenstein in revenge for the artifice, by which he had contrived the escape of their captives. The warning however proved unnecessary, for the cowardly vassals of the Count of Carlsheim had already altered their plans. Adelaide’s flight had ruined their hopes of falling upon Walter by surprize; they did not dare to attack openly the brave inhabitants of the Frutiger Valley; and they judged it more prudent on many accounts to proceed without delay to request protection of the Lords of Eschenbach from the resentment of the Count of Carlsheim. Ravenstein Castle had originally belonged to the family of Eschenbach; the protection asked was readily granted; the rebellious vassals of Count Ethelbert took the oath of allegiance to their new master, and the shattered towers of Ravenstein Castle were delivered into his possession.
In the mean while Adelaide, under the escort of some of Walter Forest’s people, arrived in safety at the place, to which she had desired to be conducted. She knew in what part of Italy Donat was then resident; and as the prejudices, with which she had been inspired against Count Ethelbert and his second wife, prevented her seeking a refuge in her paternal mansion, there seemed for her no proper abode except with her brother. Her reception was kinder, than she had expected from her experience of Donat’s unfeeling nature. He was young, and indulged himself to excess in the pleasures of voluptuous Italy: if his dissolute mode of life had not bettered his heart, it had at least made it softer, and more accessible to compassion, when the indulgence of that sentiment did not interfere with his own gratifications. Therefore though he listened with impatience to Adelaide’s melancholy account of her mother’s sufferings in Ravenstein Castle, and suffered his pleasures to make him put off from day to day the affording Lucretia that aid, of which her daughter (who was still ignorant of her decease) never ceased to assure him, she stood so much in need: still was he not without compassion for the helpless situation of his sister, nor so blind to merit, as to reject the title of brother to a creature so amiable and so deserving. Of their relationship he had no doubt; Adelaide had brought with her the acknowledgment of her birth written by Lucretia’s own hand; and had other proofs been wanting, the strong resemblance imprest by Nature on the features of Donat and his sister would have left the spectator no doubt, that they sprang from the same parents.
Adelaide, however, soon discovered, that she could not long accept with propriety the protection afforded her in her brother’s house. Count Donat was surrounded day and night by a swarm of youthful libertines, who sported in the sunshine of his wealth, assisted him in his licentious pursuits, and were his companions in all the excesses of his unrestrained habits of enjoyment. His lovely sister became the general object of their insolent addresses; and Donat had neither firmness of mind nor love of reputation sufficient to guard her against their importunities.
She entreated permission to retire into a convent; but this was refused her with too much anger and determination to permit her making the request a second time. She therefore found herself compelled to give her hand to one of her admirers, who might at least protect her from the insults of the rest; and fortunately both for him and for myself, the man who was least displeasing to her among the number, was Rodolpho of the Beacon-Tower; was my brother. I have to thank him for the happiness of calling one of the best of created women by the name of friend; I have to thank her for having snatched from the jaws of ruin the dear but erring youth, whom I loved, though but his sister, with affection not less fervent than a mother’s!
At that time I resided in an Italian cloister, sufficiently near the theatre of Count Donat’s exploits for the report of them to reach me, and to make me bewail the fate of those, who were drawn by his example into the whirlpool of licentiousness.
Alas! the intelligence at length reached me, that my unfortunate brother was one of the young Count of Carlsheim’s most distinguished companions in his profligate career. Mutual friendship united them; and Rodolpho’s warm heart and too yielding nature made him look upon it as the highest pitch of human glory, when he trod in the footsteps of his abandoned friend.
My warnings and remonstrances had no effect upon the poor misguided youth. You must be well aware, dear Urania, that instructions coming from the mouth of a Nun are little regarded by the worldly, merely because it is a Nun who speaks them. Very different was the effect of those reproofs, which the lovely Adelaide condescended to bestow on her admirer. I have already told you, that among the Damsel of Carlsheim’s suitors my brother was the man who displeased her the least; and this is the strongest term which can be applied to her sentiments towards him at that period. It is true, Rodolpho was esteemed (and that justly) the handsomest youth in Italy; but Adelaide’s mind was too elevated to suffer her heart to be captivated by the mere glare of a pleasing exterior. The man, whom she now honoured with her choice, would undoubtedly have been seen by her with as much indifference as his worthless companions, had she not found some traces of manly sense in his bewildered brain, and in his erring heart some still surviving sparks of the love of virtue.
What cannot female beauty, when united with solid sense and a feeling mind, effect upon a being, who is not yet totally lost to every sense of goodness? Guided by the hand of Adelaide, already had Rodolpho retraced many a step in the paths of vice: she made his immediate departure from the theatre of his follies the only condition, on which she would bestow on him her hand. He loved her; he complied: Adelaide became my sister, and my brother was entirely rescued.
Oh! dearest Adelaide, how heartily did I thank you (when bidding you farewell) for removing from the dangers of Italy a man, whom I knew to be as safe in your arms, as under the wings of his protecting angel! Willingly did I part with him, since he left me but to follow the path of virtue, in which you knew how to guide him so well!
She was no sooner Rodolpho’s wife, than Adelaide insisted on his immediately performing his promise to quit Italy: she saw, that her personal remonstrances had no power to hasten Donat’s departure for Ravenstein; and she was obliged to content herself with receiving from him the most solemn assurances, that he would proceed to liberate his unfortunate mother without further delay; assurances, which he had frequently made before, and which were performed no better on this, than they had been on former occasions.
Adelaide, advised her husband (who could refuse nothing to her entreaties) to accompany her to the Court of the German Emperor, where there was no doubt of his easily obtaining an employment suited to his rank and talents. Rodolpho had but one objection to offer against taking this step. Rudolf of Hapsburg had been succeeded in the imperial throne by Adolphus of Nassau. This unfortunate monarch, who was long the friend and benefactor of our family, was cut off in the middle of his glorious career by the sword of Albert of Austria; and his crown became the prey of the powerful conqueror, whose brows it still decorated. My father lost his life in defence of his sovereign at the battle of Worms; and his last words commanded his son Rodolpho (who together with many other young Knights made on that day his first trial in arms) to revenge the deaths of his father and his sovereign.
This dying injunction was the reason, why Rodolpho had hitherto refused to accept any employment from the successful Albert; and as good intentions frequently produce bad effects, the want of proper occupation had betrayed him into that dissolute course of life, from which he was snatched by Adelaide. This dying injunction was the cause also of his being still unwilling to lay himself under obligations to one, whom he had long been accustomed to call by no other name, than that of the “regicide Albert.”
Adelaide however prevailed at length over all his objections; he entered into the Imperial service, and endeavoured to forget, that the man, whom he acknowledged as his master, was the murderer of the beloved and still regretted Adolphus: yet frequently no influence less strong than Adelaide’s would have been able to repress the ebullitions of that struggling resentment, which still existed in his bosom, and to retain him firm in the path of his duties. However, in spite of his disinclination to Albert’s service, he proved himself to be a hero on all warlike occasions; and often did he express the warmest gratitude to his wife for having rescued him from his ignominious effeminacy, and excited the dormant flame of valour in his bosom.
Still he lost no opportunity of showing, that Albert’s yoke sat heavy upon him, and that he desired nothing more ardently than to exchange the Imperial service for some other. Dissentions arose between the Emperor and his two sons, the Margraves Dietman and Frederick; Rodolpho failed not to side with the latter, and became their father’s prisoner. The unfortunate Adelaide could of herself do nothing to assist her husband, and hastened to implore for him her brother’s powerful interference.
Count Donat’s situation had undergone material changes during her absence. She had left him, not only in possession of the large domains bequeathed him by his maternal grandfather, but the favourite of a Prince who loaded him with favours and wealth. Sudden death had deprived him of this powerful protector; his unbounded extravagance had exhausted his treasures; and no means of rescuing himself from the most degrading state of poverty was left him, except an union with a person incapable of inspiring him with the least affection; and who had nothing to recommend her to his choice except her immense property, and her childish passion for this handsome libertine. Shortly before Rodolpho’s imprisonment had Mellusina become the wife of Count Donat; and on Adelaide’s arrival in Italy, she understood, that her brother had at length set out on his long-promised expedition to Ravenstein Castle.
Thither she followed him, and was politely though coldly received by her new sister-in-law. Mellusina gave herself out to be a natural daughter of the deceased Emperor Adolphus; and she believed herself entitled by so illustrious an origin to treat every one else with haughtiness and contempt. Had she had any other resource, never would Adelaide have accepted the protection which was here afforded her with such insolent condescension; but friendless and destitute as was her present situation, she now could do nothing but suffer and submit.
She found her brother too much occupied by his own projects to bestow a single thought upon the affairs of others. He listened not to the imploring voice of his sister; he heeded not the misfortunes of his former friend. Grief for the untimely death of his mother, who had perished through his inattention to her prayers, and projects of revenue against those whom he accused of her sufferings, engrossed his every thought. Adelaide could obtain nothing from him, except a promise of assistance when he should have satisfied his animosity against Lucretia’s murderers; and instead of seeing him lead his forces to the fortress in which her husband languished, she was obliged to follow him to Sargans, where she had many a painful scene to undergo, of which you, dear Urania, were partly a witness.
Sorrow and self-reproach; the disappointment of his too highly-raised youthful expectations; his union with a woman whom he hated; and above all the consequences of a life passed in scenes of the most unbridled profligacy, a ruined constitution and an accusing conscience; all these together had hardened Count Donat’s heart, and embittered his temper; had annihilated his few good qualities, and had left his bad ones visible in the full extent of their enormity. His misanthropic heart longed for a suitable employment, and only waited for an excuse to make others feel the tortures, which preyed upon himself. The sight of Adelaide brought more strongly to his mind the recollection of his wretched mother, whom he had so long forgotten, and who had so vainly applied to her son for help: he remembered well, how often his sister had implored him to set forward for Ravenstein, and had warned him, that his mother’s death might probably be the consequence of his delay. The more he reflected, the more fierce became his rage; and he determined to proceed to Rhætia, revenge his mother, and exact from his father a severe account respecting her long imprisonment and miserable death. It was also his design to enforce his right to his paternal estates, from which Count Ethelbert (incensed at the discovery of Lucretia’s artifice in regard to her supposed possessions) had disinherited his children by his first wife.
Count Ethelbert and Urania Venosta had been described to Adelaide in the most odious colours; notwithstanding which, she shuddered, while listening to the threats which her brother breathed against them. How did the sight rend her gentle heart, when she saw the avenger’s sword raised by the son against his father! Her prayers, her remonstrances had no effect upon Count Donat and his ambitious wife, who founded on Ethelbert’s ruin plans for their own future greatness. During her abode at Ravenstein, Adelaide discovered for the first time the natural cruelty of her brother’s disposition: report cannot have permitted you to remain ignorant, with what torrents of blood the furious Donat inundated the vales of Frutiger. The anxiety and terror, with which you received the news of his approach towards your residence, sufficiently prove that you were aware, how little hope you entertained of escaping from his frantic fury.
Adelaide was aware of it also; and she trembled, if not for her unknown step-mother, at least for her unfortunate father, who (tyrant as she believed him to be) she still thought possest from Nature an authority over his children, which no conduct of his could forfeit, however criminal. The distrest daughter would have suffered still more severely from apprehension, founded on reasons but too strong; had she not seized a lucky moment of unusual good humour to obtain a solemn oath from Donat, that Ethelbert’s life should be held sacred by him, and that she never should endure the agony of seeing her brother’s hands stained with the blood of their common father.
Dreadful is it to think, that such a promise should have ever been reckoned necessary! In truth, Count Donat himself felt the bitter reflection conveyed in Adelaide’s request; and while he yielded to her importunity, he chid her with severity for harbouring such ungrounded suspicions. I am persuaded, that Donat was not quite the monster at that time, which he appeared to be when seen in his moments of frantic passion; nay, I am inclined from a variety of motives to ascribe to him a very trifling share in that melancholy transaction, whose real circumstances are covered with a veil of impenetrable obscurity, and whose execution was too barbarous for me to attribute it even to the base Guiderius himself. Doubtless Count Ethelbert’s miserable end was effected by a sudden burst of frenzy; in a moment of terror and despair his own hand inflicted on himself the punishment of former errors, and (I fear!) of former crimes!
You appeared at Count Donat’s camp, Urania, to solicit the pardon of your wretched guilty husband. To see you was sufficient to obtain for you Adelaide’s affection, and to annihilate every prejudice, which had so carefully been instilled into her mind against you. She endeavoured to make you aware of the dangers which threatened you; but obstacles both visible and invisible interposed, to prevent your preservation. Your friend’s unwillingness to speak ill of a brother; Mellusina’s unexpected intrusion and persevering stay in your tent; and above all, that singular and inexplicable occurrence which made the whole society separate in such terror, all combined to retain you in the road, destined to lead you into long captivity.
Never could Adelaide mention without shuddering the mysterious adventure of that night. She ever anxiously avoided speaking on the subject, and referred me to you for more accurate information. However, the account which in compliance with my request you forwarded to me, was nothing more than that, which I had already heard from my sister-in-law: anxiety to unravel this mystery made me even have recourse to Mellusina, but without success. Her account of the matter was no less obscure, strange, and unaccountable.
The next morning, her brother thought it adviseable to prevent Adelaide from accompanying you to the Castle of Sargans, and therefore gave out, that she was taken ill unexpectedly. In truth, this was no pretended indisposition. The supposed interference of a spiritual being had made the strongest impression upon her imagination; and when Count Donat’s attendants delivered her up to my charge (he was then ignorant, how closely she was connected with the Abbess of St. Mary’s) her situation was such, that you cannot easily picture it to yourself too melancholy—The return of the messenger, whom she had dispatched to you, only served to increase her illness; he communicated to her without sufficient precaution the news of her unfortunate father’s miserable death, and added to it the account of your ill-treatment and captivity. Like all who are possest of sensibility too acute, she loaded herself with reproaches for not having taken measures to prevent these heavy misfortunes; and it was long, before the soothing of friendship could succeed in pacifying her. To complete her distress but one thing more was necessary, and it arrived: a report prevailed (and was universally credited) that her husband had fallen a victim to the Emperor’s resentment. As Superior of St. Mary’s cloister, I could have afforded my poor sister a secure and agreeable shelter within these tranquil walls; but the desire to weep over her husband’s grave, and her anxiety to rescue you from the dungeon in which you languished, compelled her to return once more into the hated world. She was conscious, that you were the captive of a man, whose cruelty was but too well known to her; and she vowed solemnly never to rest, till she had broken the chains imposed upon you so unjustly.
She saw too plainly, that the united forces of the Counts of Mayenfield and Homburg would be unable to force you out of the power of the mighty Lord of the domains of Carlsheim and Sargans, besides both Edith and her daughter were persuaded of your death, and looked on Adelaide’s assertions of your existence in Donat’s dungeons, as being the mere effusions of that enthusiastic affection, which easily believes whatever it wishes to be true. But no representations, no neglect could induce your protectress to lay aside her hopes of effecting your deliverance; and she addrest herself to the Emperor Rudolf’s daughters, whose powerful interference she trusted would easily obtain your release.
Of all those powerful Princesses, the Duchess of Saxony alone (the virtuous Matilda, whose own domestic misfortunes might have furnished her with a sufficient excuse in the world’s estimation, for declining to embarrass herself with the affairs of others) exerted herself seriously in your behalf. Her sister Euphemia, retired in a convent and forgotten by the world, had little to offer toward your release except good wishes; yet what little she could offer, she offered gladly, and shared her sister’s joy at the news of your deliverance. I understand, that this royal Nun will soon exchange her convent at Tull for that which you inhabit, solely from the wish to end her life in your society. Oh! Urania, how greatly does all that I hear of you increase my desire to know you personally! What unusual merit must that woman possess, who could obtain so warm and unabating an interest in the hearts of three of the noblest of created beings, Euphemia, Matilda, and my poor Adelaide!
Yet I forget too long the heroine of my history, while occupying myself with Urania; I resume the thread of my narrative. Adelaide found at Emperor Albert’s court, (whither she repaired to plead in your behalf in person) that an happiness was reserved for her, which she had never expected to enjoy again on this side the grave: her husband was still living. The same false report, which had persuaded her of his death, had taken no less pains to persuade Rodolpho, that she was faithless. Her journey to Italy for the purpose of persuading her brother to interfere in behalf of her imprisoned Lord; the expedition to Sargans, in which she was obliged to accompany Count Donat; the length of time, which elapsed without his knowing what had become of her, and which she had past in my convent almost at the point of death; these and a variety of other circumstances had all been represented to Rodolpho in the most odious light. In his dungeon (whence he had but lately been released on the reconciliation between the Emperor and his sons) it was impossible for him to detect the falsehood of these reports; but Adelaide needed but to shew herself to the man who loved her with such unbounded affection, and all his injurious suspicions were annihilated at once. A few words were sufficient to persuade him of the truth; a truth, which was confirmed by the testimony of those, under whose eyes she had been residing.
What tongue is capable of describing the reunion of two lovers long separated; it is a fore-taste of that reunion, which we expect to enjoy with the objects of our affection beyond the grave, in another world better and happier. The one saw her belief in the untimely death of her beloved dissolved like a painful dream; the other saw those stains removed, which had sullied her purity on whom his soul doated; both felt, that the turbulent raptures of their early love were less sweet, than this renewal of their long-tried affection! Forgive me, Urania; a cloistered Nun ought not to describe such emotions, though she cannot help feeling them: doubtless, you understand such things better than we do, who have been confined from our earliest years within the walls of a convent, and shut out from the most precious rights of human nature.
From this moment began the most fortunate part of our friend’s life. Adelaide found her husband improved by years and corrected by adversity; absence and misfortune had made him still dearer to her; and she now first felt towards him the whole excess of love, of which her affectionate heart was capable. She now had no other wish, than to enjoy her happiness in quiet and retirement. The Lords of Eschenbach had new-built the fortress of Ravenstein, and proffered it to her husband (who had long been united with them in amity) as a fit residence, should it be no longer agreeable for him to remain at the Court of the offended Emperor. Gladly would Adelaide have hastened thither; but Rodolpho had contracted obligations, which at that time prevented him from immediately quitting the Court. He was indebted for life, for freedom, for opulence, to the favour of a princely youth, whom it was only necessary to see in order to admire; and whose situation it was only necessary to know, in order to feel interested for him, even had Rodolpho not been so closely bound to him by the ties of gratitude. This man was the cause, why Adelaide’s husband found it impossible to comply with her request.
Need I name to you this noble, this dangerous youth? Alas! who has not heard of the unfortunate John of Swabia; who does not pity and detest in him at once the injured Prince, and the lawless avenger of those injuries?—Wretched youth! what have you gained by that rash and detestable action, to which you were guided by evil counsellors? In what climate do you wander accursed like the first murderer, without being able to fly from your own conscience, and what will be at last the goal to which your painful wanderings lead?
The young Duke of Swabia, at the period when Rodolpho attached himself to his fortunes, was not the criminal, which he is now become through passionate rashness, and through impatience under the pressure of adversity: the epithet, which is now affixed to his name, and which probably will be transmitted to the latest posterity, at that time would have made him recoil with horror. Young, amiable, and unfortunate, he created an interest in every bosom. Even Adelaide (whose prudent foresight made her from the very beginning augur some misfortune to arise from this close intimacy between the Prince and her husband) could not prevent herself from feeling well-disposed towards him: she was compelled to own, that in his complaints against his unjust guardian the Emperor, who withheld from him his paternal inheritance, he had justice on his side; and she earnestly wished, that he might soon obtain the redress of his crying injuries.
I told you, that Adelaide had from the first observed with uneasiness her husband’s intimacy with the Duke of Swabia; in truth, when the situation and characters of both were considered, it was impossible for her to feel otherwise on the subject. Prince John was fiery and impatient, an avowed lover of pleasure, and provided by his crafty uncle with ample means for indulging in every excess. The Emperor Albert saw his own advantage in leading the youth (whose happiness he sought to undermine) into labyrinths, whence he would find it an hard task to extricate himself. He thought, that the errors, which he furnished Prince John with opportunities of committing, would excuse his own unjust proceedings towards his nephew; and unfortunately to lead the youth into the snare was a task but too easily effected.
With grief of heart must I confess it, in the principal features of his character Rodolpho resembled his friend very closely. Adelaide’s influence, it’s true, had for a time represt those inclinations to libertinism, which he so early contracted in Count Donat’s school: still had she not succeeded in extirpating them so completely, as to prevent their obtaining their former mastery over his better judgment occasionally, now that opportunities for their indulgence were continually in his way. Rodolpho had a sufficient advantage over the young Prince in point of years, to have entitled him to be his guide in the paths of virtue; but instead of leading his friend to good, he too often suffered himself to be seduced by him into actions, which were very far from being the most respectable. You may conceive, how much anxiety her husband’s want of steadiness must have excited in the mind of our friend; and that anxiety was increased by the dark clouds, which she could perceive rising in another quarter.
That the Lord of the Beacon-Tower was no partial admirer of the Emperor, was a fact well known to every one. In unguarded moments his own tongue had often avowed his real sentiments respecting the regicide Albert, and the deceased Adolphus; the readiness with which he embraced the quarrel of the young Margraves had proved, that he was not unwilling to shew his resentment by actions as well as words; and it was not necessary for him to connect himself so intimately with the young Duke of Swabia, in order to make himself an object of hatred and suspicion at the imperial court. Albert was silent, but his silence was menacing and terrible; and Adelaide had already acquired sufficient knowledge of the manners of the great to guess, that the anger (which regard for his own safety restrained him from venting on the prince) would one day burst on the heads of his unprotected friends; among whom the Lord of the Beacon-Tower being the most distinguished, would not fail to receive the largest share of vengeance.
—“Oh! let us fly, my beloved!” often exclaimed Adelaide in her moments of apprehension; “let us away to the tranquil vale of Frutiger. Here we breathe no air but such sultry parching blasts, as seem to warn us of an approaching tempest. With every moment the gloom increases; the clouds collect together; the lightning will soon break loose and destroy us!”——
Rodolpho’s answers to these remonstrances were seldom such as to give her cause for satisfaction. He talked much of the future greatness of his friend, never spoke of Albert without attaching the word “Regicide” to his name, and frequently recalled to mind his father’s dying command to revenge the murder of Adolphus. Adelaide’s anxiety grew daily more acute: she redoubled her importunity, that her husband should quit the court; and as she was now in such a situation as gave Rodolpho hopes of an event, which he had long desired in vain, he trembled, lest the too violent agitation of her mind should injure her health materially. He therefore determined for the first time to conceal his sentiments from the woman whom he adored, and to lead her into an error respecting the real state of affairs, which became with every day more critical and serious.
Among his dependents was a young man of noble birth but fallen fortunes, by name Russeling; he had formerly been in the service of the Duke of Swabia, and had been employed by him to effect Rodolpho’s deliverance from the emperor’s chains. This circumstance had greatly endeared him to his present patron, who did not perceive that he harboured in Russeling a seducer, whose object was to guide him to the commission of a crime the most atrocious. This man was one of those concealed enemies, who are frequently more dangerous to princes, than those whose armies ravage their dominions, and who openly threaten the subversion of their thrones. Ancient animosity, which had descended from father to son through a long line of ancestors undiminished, lived in his rancorous heart against the emperor: he secretly fanned every spark of hatred, which existed in other bosoms; his every word infused additional bitterness towards his uncle into the heart of the Duke of Swabia, to whose person he had still free access; and he kindled again in the heart of my unfortunate brother that flame, which Adelaide with her soothing had so anxiously laboured to extinguish.
The betrayer perceived, that no one crossed him in his evil designs more than the wife of his patron; he therefore exerted his utmost skill to effect her removal from the scene of action.
Rodolpho had frequently advised her to quit the turbulent court, and pass the time of her approaching confinement in the retired Castle near the Lake of Thun, which she had herself marked out as the future scene of her domestic happiness. Hitherto his entreaties had been in vain: she could not resolve to abandon her husband while exposed to all the dangers, in which the Duke of Swabia’s intimacy had involved him. But now that Rodolpho had prevailed on himself to use dissimulation with her, who had never deceived him in the slightest trifle; and now that Russeling with his serpent’s tongue had thrown out hints respecting the views of the Duke of Swabia, which led her to suspect (perhaps unjustly) that his marked attention to her proceeded from a passion disgraceful both to her and to the prince; Adelaide however reluctantly was compelled to give up her opinion. Flight, she now thought, would be the only remaining means of destroying the duke’s presumptuous hopes, without drawing down his resentment upon her husband. Besides, she greatly needed some respite from the tumultuous and turbulent residence of the court; and every anxiety respecting Rodolpho was removed by his solemn assurance, that it should not be long, ere he rejoined her, never again to quit the repose and security of rural life.
Yet bitter was the parting between these married lovers. Both were tormented by forebodings of misfortune; both felt the pangs of an affection, which made them wish never to be separated; and yet each was still compelled to acknowledge, that to separate was necessary!
With difficulty did they tear themselves from each other’s arms. By his patron’s desire, Russeling conducted the Lady of the Beacon-Tower to the place appointed for her abode: but as soon as he had seen her established there, he hastened back to the imperial residence, anxious to lose no opportunity of advancing his projects. As unfortunately every circumstance combined to favour them, his detestable schemes were but too soon carried into execution.
In the mean while, Adelaide in the solitude of Ravenstein led the kind of life best adapted to her melancholy situation. The present posture of affairs rendered her heart doubly accessible to every sort of inquietude: she had left her dear but unsteady husband entangled in a chain of circumstances, which authorized her to see the future in the most gloomy light; nor was it long before she discovered, that in fixing her abode at the fortress of Ravenstein, she had by no means selected a residence the best fitted for dissipating the melancholy ideas, which perpetually obtruded themselves upon her imagination.
In the spring of her life this Castle had been long her prison; there had she narrowly escaped perishing by famine and by the flames; there too was the grave of her unfortunate mother. It was impossible, that these sad recollections should not have considerable effect upon a mind, which already was tortured by a thousand causes for anxiety. It is true, the lords of Eschenbach had almost entirely rebuilt the ruined fortress at considerable expence, and had made it so different from its former self, that it was scarcely to be recognized; but Adelaide’s enthusiastic imagination saw less what was before her eyes, than what sorrow had engraved on her remembrance indelibly.
The time of her delivery was at hand; and the presence of some sympathising friends enabled Adelaide to look forward to the moment of danger with less fear. Indeed, the laws of our order did not permit either you or myself to leave our convents, and hasten to the assistance of our beloved Adelaide. The Countess Mellusina was no more; and even had she been still in existence, her presence would have been but little wished or expected by her sister-in-law. I doubt much too, whether (even had we been able to come to her aid) with all our good intentions we should have been able to afford so much real help and comfort, as she received from the female inhabitants of the vale of Frutiger: during the time which she past with Count Donat at Ravenstein, Adelaide by her exertions to moderate the fury of her incensed brother had won their hearts completely; and no sooner did the grateful women hear, that their benevolent protectress stood in need of it, than they hastened to afford her their friendly assistance. Walter Forest’s mother, and the wife of Henric Melthal, (for Donat’s increasing tyranny had compelled the family of Melthal to withdraw from his dominions) were among the first to proffer their services; nor did Gertrude Bernsdorf neglect the daughter of her former lord. It was from these good matrons, that I received the account of the following transactions; alas! I was not permitted to hear them from the lips of the dear Adelaide herself!
The Lady of the Beacon-Tower was safely delivered of a son; and the sight of this little smiling innocent was sufficient to relieve his anxious mother from more than half the weight of her melancholy.
—“Now then,” she exclaimed frequently, while she kissed her baby with rapture, “now then I only need to see Rodolpho partaking my delight, and every fear which now distracts my bosom will at once be destroyed for ever.”——
Her wish was granted, sooner than she could have expected. Alas! it brought not with it the joy, which (she fondly hoped) would accompany her husband’s arrival.
Reports which agitate the great world, are slow in reaching the dwellings of retirement; yet there are some transactions, which fame spreads about with the rapidity of lightning, because they are strange and terrible enough to attract the attention of the universal globe.
Who trembles not at hearing the dreadful word, Regicide? the emperor Albert was dead; he had fallen by the hands of the unfortunate John of Swabia and his friends! this dreadful report had been long circulated in whispers among the mountains, where Adelaide had fixed her residence; it at first obtained little credit, but with every succeeding day it seemed to assume more consistency. It had not yet reached the ears of Adelaide; but her attendants saw, that it would be impossible to keep it from her knowledge much longer; the prudent Gertrude therefore, as the person among them to whom the others looked up with the greatest deference, undertook to give the invalid some insight into these melancholy events; observing every possible precaution, that might weaken their effect, and carefully concealing the share, which the Lord of the Beacon-Tower was reported to have taken in the business. Chance unfortunately prevented her from executing her kind intentions.
One evening, Adelaide was sitting with her child at her bosom near a window, which commanded the spacious court-yard. On a sudden a single warrior rushed into the court on horseback. Adelaide sprang from her seat with a cry of joy, and flew towards the portal.
—“Whither would you go, lady?” exclaimed Gertrude, and hastened to follow her.
But Adelaide was already in the court, and before he had time to enter, had placed her child on the bosom of his father.
Rodolpho kissed his baby and its mother, and then amidst the joyful shouts of the domestics who crouded round their master, he followed Adelaide into the great castle-hall: there was he received with renewed embraces, with questions, blessings, wonderings, and all the delightful confusion of unexpected and overflowing joy.
Rapture at clasping in her arms the man, whom she had so long sighed to see, and at a moment so unlooked-for, prevented Adelaide from observing, that the rapture was not mutual. The eager prattling of affection concealed from her, that she was the only speaker; and many hours had elapsed, before she was sufficiently recovered from the delirium of her joy to ask the question—“Oh! Rodolpho, why thus silent? why thus pale?”—
It was not so long, before his attendants had remarked this alteration in their Lord’s appearance; and the alarming consternation displayed in his countenance seemed to confirm the reports to his disadvantage, which for some time had been so prevalent. The pleasure, with which his arrival had inspired them at first, soon vanished; and all drew back with shuddering from the man, on whose hands they fancied that they could discover the stains of royal blood.
—“What troubles you, my beloved?” Adelaide at length demanded of her husband, who sat with his eyes fixed stedfastly on the earth, and seemed not to hear her question; “answer me for pity’s sake! what troubles you?”—
—“Oh! nothing, nothing!” he exclaimed, then sprang up suddenly, and advanced towards the window—“all is as it should be; nothing has happened but what ought to have happened. It is only my foolish heart, that cannot be persuaded to let me be at rest.”—
—“All has happened, that ought to have happened?” repeated Adelaide, whose anxiety became more painful with every moment; “and what then has happened?”—
Rodolpho without answering her question, remarked that night was coming on; he then desired a domestic to take good care, that all the gates were well locked and barred, and ordered that the portcullis should be let down to guard the narrow path, whose steps were hewn in the rock, and which was the only avenue to the Castle.
—“Dearest Rodolpho,” said Adelaide, while she took his hand with mingled tenderness and apprehension “what need of these precautions? are you not safe in the arms of love? surely, we now have no enemies to dread.”—
—“Adelaide, while Albert lived, we had but one enemy: now that he is no more, his death has created a thousand avengers, who wait with impatience for an opportunity to destroy us!”—
—“His death?” exclaimed Adelaide in a tone expressing the utmost horror, and betraying that she already guest the misfortune, which she was soon to hear confirmed; “is then the emperor dead? alas! and by whom?”—
Her husband gazed upon her with a gloomy frowning air, and without replying prepared to quit the apartment.
Adelaide followed him, detained him, and in a voice scarcely audible repeated her question.
Rodolpho bent himself towards her, and whispered somewhat in her ear; yet not so gently, but that Gertrude (who was the only person then present) could distinguish the emperor’s name, the Duke of Swabia’s, and Rodolpho’s own.
—“Now then” said he, with a loud voice and terrible look; “Now then is Adelaide aware, by what name she must henceforth greet her husband?”—
It is easy to guess, how violent an effect this dreadful explanation must have made upon the criminal’s unfortunate wife! life is subject to moments, in which a single word is sufficient to bring at once before the mind the whole wide extent of our future fate; in which with a single look and in a single feeling we embrace the whole; and (be they of sorrow or be they of joy) in which man’s feeble nature is compelled to sink beneath the gigantic strength of his sensations.
Adelaide lay at her husband’s feet deprived of animation. His caresses and the care of her attendants only awakened her to the sense of suffering. It is true, the total deprivation of her intellects for a time preserved her mind from feeling the wretchedness of her situation; but her health was cruelly affected by the violent attacks of a malady, which soon brought her to the very brink of the grave.
Many months past before she was pronounced out of danger; it required no less a period to elapse, before she was able to accustom her mind sufficiently to seeing all her gloomy apprehensions justified, without relapsing into that melancholy state from which she had just escaped with so much difficulty.
While Rodolpho through his wife’s illness suffered both for himself and for her, his situation had become more critical with every day. The favourable hour for flight had been consumed by the side of Adelaide’s sick-bed. With no kind friendly hand to pour balm into the wounds of his conscience, their agony was become most acute; and he was now compelled to see (what is seen by every criminal) the deed that was done with very different eyes from those, with which he saw the deed while it was yet to do. He was without comfort, without hope; and already did the emperor’s avengers tread close upon his footsteps.
There was no longer any security for the unfortunate family of Rodolpho at Ravenstein Castle: concealment was the only chance for preserving his life from the many swords, that were in search of him. Adelaide’s first care therefore on her recovery was to quit her abode; nor did her still weak state of health deter her from immediately executing her resolution. Rodolpho followed whither she thought proper to conduct him, less from the hope of saving his wretched existence, than from feeling it impossible to part any more from Adelaide. The horror, which had taken possession of all her faculties on first hearing of this dreadful act, had now given place to sorrow and compassion: she tortured herself to find some apology for his crime; and when she felt that the excuses of love avail nothing at any judgment-bar except its own, though she found herself compelled to confess Rodolpho guilty, she still vowed, that all guilty as he was she loved him still, and that all guilty as he was she would perish with him.
Willingly did the grateful inhabitants of the Vale of Frutiger afford a shelter to her, from whom they had formerly received such essential services; but it was not without much secret murmuring, that they granted the same favour to her blood-polluted husband. How indeed could that innocent and open-hearted race of people willingly support the presence of a murderer?
In the shelter of their huts Rodolpho ran no risque of being betrayed; but it was clear to every one, and most so to himself, that the sacrifice made by them in this instance to humanity, was a sacrifice which cost them very dearly. His own afflicted conscience too prevented him from long remaining quiet in the same place; and he at length suddenly told his wife, that he was determined on hastening to Rome, and on soliciting absolution for his crime at the feet of the holy father. This, he believed, was the only balsam capable of calming the inexpressible anguish, which preyed upon his heart.
Unwillingly did Adelaide suffer him to tear himself from her arms. She would fain have accompanied him in his pilgrimage; but her weakness which still continued, and the caution which it was necessary for a proscribed man to observe upon his journey, compelled her to give up her generous design. Rodolpho set forward in disguise for Rome; Adelaide remained in the Vale of Frutiger with her little son, mingling the milk, which she gave him, with many a tear of bitterness.
A considerable space of time elapsed, and yet no news arrived from the unfortunate pilgrim: her friends the worthy matrons of Helvetia endeavoured to give this delay, which so justly was the cause of much anxiety to Adelaide, a favourable interpretation; and their husbands solemnly promised, should Rodolpho return with the Holy Father’s pardon, they would refuse him no service, which an honest man could require at their hands.
Adelaide’s tranquillity began to return: absolution even from crimes, whose mention makes humanity shudder, is no uncommon thing in our days; this is a circumstance, which gives the laity opportunities of throwing much reproach upon the church; but on which, as belonging to a religious society, it becomes me to remain silent—the hopes of our friend were also greatly strengthened by an event, which (when Adelaide communicated it in one of her letters) appeared even to myself as meriting no slight attention; it was, that persons of inferior consequence having all desisted from the pursuit, the only person, who still demanded Rodolpho’s punishment, was Johanna, the reigning queen of Hungary, and daughter of the murdered emperor. We trusted, that the gentle soul of a woman would be easily awakened to compassion; and this flattering persuasion received additional force, when Adelaide received an assurance, that it was unnecessary for her to continue in concealment, and that she might return to her abode at Ravenstein, in perfect security from meeting with injury or insult.
Adelaide and her friends naturally considered, this permission as a fore-runner of still greater favours—“It is clear then,” said she, “that the place of my concealment was well known to my husband’s enemies. It was in their power, had they thought fit to take the most severe vengeance, to have punished Rodolpho’s crime on me and on his son; but they molested us not, and I am now permitted to return to my former residence. Besides, Rodolpho is in truth not so very culpable; he was seduced into guilt by the artifice of others. He drew not his sword to revenge his own injuries, but to protect his friend against injustice and oppression. Perhaps he was selected as an instrument of the Divine Vengeance, and commissioned by Heaven to punish Albert’s crime, who was himself his sovereign’s murderer.”—
Oh! Adelaide, how could your pure and generous heart persuade itself even in a single thought or by a single word to palliate an offence, too atrocious to admit of pardon? vainly did you strive to deceive yourself; one serious glance falling on the veil, which affection would fain have thrown over the crime of your beloved, was frequently enough to make you tremble and blush at being employed in such an office.
For some time the Lady of the Beacon-Tower resided at Ravenstein in a situation, whose apparent tranquillity was more artificial than real, but which still was rendered supportable by the hope of better days. A thunder-clap suddenly rouzed her from her pleasing dreams, and a tempest hurried her towards the termination of her sorrows.
Every attempt to obtain intelligence of the guilty wanderer had hitherto been unsuccessful. Adelaide’s messengers returned not; Rodolpho was unable to dispatch messengers in return, for he had no sooner set his foot within the precincts of the Vatican, than he was delivered into the hands of avenging justice. What was his present fate, and what would be that which was still reserved for him, was already well-known to every one in the neighbourhood of Ravenstein. Concealed from her by the cruel tenderness of her attendants, her husband’s situation was a secret to Adelaide alone. Surely it was cruel to hide from her an event, which she could not escape knowing in the end, till the whole consciousness of her misfortunes burst upon her at once, and with the violence of the shock crushed her.
The Lady of the Beacon-Tower entertained no apprehensions for herself; happen what would, she believed her own person to be safe. The inhabitants of the Helvetian mountains, in which she resided, had been long dissatisfied with the government of princes, who only employed their power to rob them of their liberty; and they had secretly resolved to seize the first opportunity of breaking their chains. They were prepared to run every hazard in defence of their adored Adelaide; and they counted it unnecessary to warn her of the approach of dangers, which they were firmly determined to prevent from ever reaching her. But where are the mountains so inaccessible, the protection so powerful, and the valour so impossible to be subdued, that calamity cannot overcome all obstacles in pursuit of her destined victim!
Johanna, the Queen of Hungary, who with the fury of a tigress burned to revenge her father’s death, demanded admission into these tranquil vallies, whose inhabitants, from their having granted Rodolpho a temporary asylum, she considered as adherents to the guilty Duke of Swabia. One fortress after another fell into her power: she became mistress by degrees of the whole country; and at length Adelaide heard the sound of hostile trumpets, ere she had yet been made aware, that the most revengeful of all women had penetrated into Helvetia.
Johanna’s mildness towards the murderer’s family had been only assumed, in hopes of discovering where Rodolpho himself was concealed. His seizure had rendered further artifice unnecessary, and she was now permitted to show the violence of her resentment without disguise. She led her troops in person against Ravenstein. Though lately repaired and internally fitted up with elegance and splendour, the fortress no longer possest those strong means of defence, which in its antient state had enabled it to set the attacks of foes so often at defiance. Walter Forest, however, had engaged to undertake the command of it; but at the time when Johanna unexpectedly appeared before the Castle, this brave man was detained by patriotic duties in a distant part of the country. The garrison were capable of making but a sorry resistance; the gates were thrown open; and Johanna made her triumphal entrance into Ravenstein over the bleeding corses of those, who had fallen the innocent victims of her thirst for vengeance.
Oh! Urania, I know well, that justice required the punishment of Albert’s murderers; I know well, that it was the remembrance of her father’s death, which transformed his daughter into a Feind; but still ... still I feel it impossible for me without horror and disgust to unite a thirst for blood with the name of woman. Johanna, that Saint-like princess, that builder of cloisters, that worker of miracles; that young and beautiful Johanna who, as ’tis whispered, is secretly by no means averse to the tender passions; even that very Johanna pursued her way over heaps of mutilated corses, and said with a triumphant smile to those who followed her,—“that it seemed, as if her path had been strown with roses.”—