'7 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2015 
 
 https://archive.org/details/alfvondeulmenorh21naub 
 
ALF VOX DEULMEJT; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE HISTORY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE EMPEROR PHILIP, 
 
 AND HIJ 
 
 DAUGHTERS. 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN 
 BY MISS A. E. BOOTH. 
 
 VOL. n. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PRINTED FOR J. BELL, NO. 148, OXFORD STREET, 
 OPPOSITE BOND-STREETo 
 
 1794- 
 
ALF VON DEULMEN. 
 
 — iiii w iMMi nn a n — Iii ■ W il li i Tiiäi»n rrni li<r'''"''^ 
 
 Alverda to Father CyriL 
 1208. 
 
 M Y heart wants consolation, and my conduct 
 demands a guide :— to whom therefore can I, 
 with a more confidential hope, address myself 
 than to you ? Ah, my father, the various things 
 which I have to relate to you, concern those 
 whom I once esteemed and loved ; — they con- 
 cern Philip and Otho, with whom you were 
 once so intimately connected. 
 
 Regret not that a persevering adherence to 
 your duty, and an undeviating love of virtue, 
 has driven you from court, lost you the rank 
 of Imperial ambassador, and reduced you to 
 your present humble state for you would 
 only have remained there to become a witness 
 
 VOL. II. B 
 
C 2 3 
 
 of one of the most atrocious actions that ever 
 disgraced human nature. — You may however 
 regret, with the most poignant concern, that, at 
 last, the infernal project of poisoning the heart of 
 the best of men, and impelling him to become the 
 murderer of his friend and father, has succeeded. 
 
 O Cyril, had you, at that time, when you ac- 
 companied the Count on his embassy to Rome, 
 when you were eye witness to his generous con- 
 tempt of every endeavour to irritate him against 
 the Emperor ; — had you, I say, the most dis- 
 tant suspicion that Philip would fall by his hand ? 
 — Must then vice be favoured; and, with inces- 
 sant power, oppress virtue, and triumph over 
 her ? Otho would never have become a criminal, 
 had not his judgment been corrupted by the 
 continual breath of unw^earied calumny, and his 
 mind fatally prepared for that irretrievable deed, 
 which, alas ! I shall save myself the lamentable 
 task of repeating, as you must have already 
 heard it. 
 
 To no other cause can it be attributed that 
 Otho imbrued his hands in the blood of his 
 friend and his father, but his belief of the Cas- 
 tilian marriage, which I, deceived as I was by 
 
c: 3 3 
 
 the artifice of others, innocently assisted to nou« 
 rish in his breast ; and a fictitious letter, from 
 the Emperor to the Duke of Poland, to the dis- 
 advantage of Otho, which we now know was 
 delivered by a secretary who had been cor- 
 rupted, and has since been punished for his 
 treachery. — The same means were employed 
 to give a colour of probability to the mar- 
 riage. — But it now appears, that the ambassa- 
 dors received an absolute refusal respecting the 
 Castilian marriage from the noble Phihp, on 
 account of his pre-engagement with Otho, of 
 whom he could not entertain any ilnfavourable 
 suspicion. — But, after all, does the knowledge 
 and demonstration of these things render our 
 situation more happy? Alas, it sinks us still 
 deeper in the abyss of misery! — An ambi- 
 tious tyrant would not be thus lamented as a 
 good but mistaken father; and, how is he 
 to be abhorred, who, through blind fury, mur- 
 ders his benefactor. — What a painful task it 
 is to be obliged to detest him whom we for- 
 merly loved! 
 
 Eliza*§ grief is not to be expressed-— the 
 B 3 
 
c 4 n 
 
 misfortune of losing her father in this horrid 
 manner, had already caused her the most poig- 
 nant affliction : — but to lose him by the hand of 
 Wittelsbach,— who, alas, can paint the horror of 
 such a strange and cruel circumstance ! — and 
 who can feel the least degree of astonishment, 
 that she should reproach herself for having 
 accelerated the horrid deed ; — having, from a 
 false interpretation of certain expressions in a 
 letter from Otho, thought her lover faithless, 
 and by severe reproaches stimulated his fury ? — 
 
 Tremble for the consequences of thy severity ! 
 said he at the conclusion of that letter. — All 
 seemed to depend on the answer to it. Ah, 
 who could have thought, that with such a man, 
 disappointed love would have such fatal ejpPects? 
 
 It is now known that Philip was innocent, 
 and that there was nothing to fear from him 
 respecting Castile. It is also known that Otho 
 is not faithless ; — but was only suitor to the fair 
 Adela for the Duke of Saxony ; — and that the 
 shocking action, which was produced by the 
 supposition of all these things, is only fit to be 
 written in the legends of hell. But who can 
 
C 5 3 
 
 recall it ? who can awaken the murdered Phi- 
 lip, — or purify Otho's hands from the stains of 
 blood ? 
 
 It is nevertheless a shocking reflection, that 
 such a man as Otho, himself a paragon of excel- 
 lence, should be by such an action so changed 
 and perverted! — But the commission of such a 
 crime is capable of contaminating the most no- 
 ble character. I should have thought that he 
 would have been driven, by the reflection on it, 
 to confession, to repentance, and despair. — I 
 should at least have thought that he would have 
 endeavoured to disguise or extenuate the deed ; 
 but, on the contrary, he denies it with the bold- 
 est effrontery, though he committed the horrid 
 act with so many eyes looking aghast upon 
 him. — But this is not all ; — he throws out new 
 menaces, and projects new crimes. Alas ! who 
 could have expected such a conduct from the 
 noble Count Palatine !— But read the inclosed 
 letter, which EUza received yesterday morning : 
 and when you have heard what was the issue 
 of it, be astonished, and lament the fallen state 
 of your former bright example of virtue. 
 
 By the permission of the Princess, I make you 
 the confidant of all these affairs :— she esteems 
 
you as much as I do ; and not being always 
 pleased with the seventy of her director, the 
 Bishop of Sutri, wishes to heary our opinion of 
 them. 
 
 Inclosed is Wittelsbach's letter. 
 
 The Count Otho to Eliza. 
 
 It is not sufficient that I, who never swerv- 
 ed from my vows to you^ am treated in the most 
 cruel manner by you, but you must also ac- 
 cuse me of being the murderer of your father, 
 —In the most solemn manner, I declare that 
 accusation to be false. Some man, or devil, must 
 have assumed my form, and practised a gross 
 deception on you all ; or, I must conclude the 
 whole to be a pretext, that you may abandon 
 me, without incurring the censure of the world. 
 
 But know, that I will not thus resign you ; 
 and even though you should be secreted within 
 those walls which are vsanctified by religion, the 
 sun shall not twice make its circuit, ere you 
 shall be in my arms/* 
 
 This letter filled us all with the greatest 
 
C 7 3 
 
 eonstcrnätion. — We do not, however^ give the 
 least credit to the assertion of his innocence. — It 
 is impossible, when there are so many witnesses, 
 to confirm the falsehood of it: but we trembled 
 at his menaces;— and that very evening he 
 put them in execution. A band of armed men 
 broke into the Princess's chamber, and carried 
 her off. — Wittelsbach was not himself among 
 them ; — but all his principal domestics assisted ; 
 it is not, however, possible to specify the parti- 
 cular person who put his menace in execution. 
 I, who had remained alone with Eliza that night, 
 with difficulty escaped, or they would have bound 
 me, to prevent my giving any alarm. — I knew not 
 where to seek assistance but from my dauntless 
 brother. — The Count Palatine's palace, in which 
 he resides, is contiguous to ours — a few steps 
 carried me to Adolf's chamber. I then was first 
 informed by his keeper (for, alas! the distracted 
 state of his mind, at the moment I ignorantly 
 sought assistance from the unfortunate young 
 man, had rendered a keeper necessary) ; it was 
 then, I say, that I was informed of his having 
 been missing since the preceding day. The 
 universal tumult on the assassination of the 
 
C « 3 
 
 Emperor, must have occasioned this inattention 
 to him, and he must have fled entirely naked, 
 as none of the garments that had been kept 
 from him were missing; and even the shirt in 
 which he quitted his bed, was found in a corner 
 of the room. Here again was fresh cause for 
 grief and despair ; though this brother had for 
 some time ceased to shew me any mark of fra- 
 ternal affection, and would, more than once have 
 abandoned me, because 1 did not give him the 
 assistance he required in his designs on the 
 Countess of Toulouse. 
 
 Eliza's affliction rendered me less sensible to 
 this new stroke ; but as a speedy deliverance 
 was necessary, I instantly demanded it from the 
 Castilian ambassadors; who, notwithstanding 
 they were repulsed by the late Emperor, still 
 remain here, having heard that, in his last 
 moments, he had recommended the Princess to 
 receive the propositions of their master. This 
 was the truth ; though I know not what may 
 be the event, or whether I shall have cause for 
 joy or lamentation. 
 
 By the assistance of the ambassadors, particu- 
 larly the valiant Count Castelmoro^ our Eliza 
 
C 9 3 
 
 is returned to us. They overtook licr just 
 as her conductors were going to deliver her 
 into the hand of their lord, who was waiting for 
 them. She has been extremely ill ever since, 
 from the fright that she has undergone in this 
 attempt of Otho*s frantic passion. — Her sis- 
 ter, the Princess Beatrice, is with her, and unites 
 her endeavours with those of the Bishops of Su- 
 tri. Spires, and Castile, to persuade the afflicted 
 Princess that she is in duty bound to fulfil the 
 the last will of her father, and to seek that pro- 
 tection from the assaults of the outrageous Wit- 
 telsbach, in the arms of the Prince of Castile, 
 which she cannot find even in the sacred retreat 
 of a convent. She continues to defend herself 
 against these propositions, on pretence of wait- 
 ing the consent of the Empress her mother :— 
 but how will she be able to support the afflict- 
 ing news, when she is informed that this excel- 
 lent woman is no more ! On receiving the 
 dreadful account of Philip's being murdered by 
 Wittelsbach, she immediately miscarried, and 
 her death was the hasty and fatal consequence. 
 
 When I was at the moment of concluding 
 this letter^ I received one from the chief go- 
 
verness with the melancholy intelligence, ac- 
 companied with a request that I would com- 
 municate it with the greatest circumspection to 
 the Princesses. — How shall I be able to execute 
 this cruel task! — how can I plant such daggers 
 in their hearts, and add to their accumulated 
 affliction, without driving them to the tomb of 
 their mother ! 
 
 There is also a letter from the departed saint 
 to her beloved children — how shall I sustain 
 the moment when I must deliver it to them ? 
 
 O, my reverend father ! my head is so disor- 
 dered that I scarce know -what I write — I can- 
 not speak to you of the pious Bishop Egbert, 
 and the good Margrave of Andarks, for they 
 are the brothers of Wittelsbach, and must be par- 
 takers of his guilt and his punishment. But all 
 these things must remain for more mature re- 
 flection. — O Otho! Otho! of how much worth, 
 virtue, and beauty,— art thou the curse and 
 the destroyer ! 
 
rene to her Daughters. 
 1208. 
 
 Will you be able, my dear children, to dis- 
 tinguish the writing that is formed by the trerh- 
 bling hand of your dying mother ? — I use every 
 effort to make this letter not only legible, but of 
 the most powerful effect. — These lines are writ- 
 ten to fulfil a great act of justice ere I die, — in 
 protesting to you Otho Von Wittelsbach's in- 
 nocence.— — ^At that hour when the Emperor^ 
 my husband, whom I shall soon follow to 
 a better world, fell by the steel of an assassin, 
 the unjustly accused, the calumniated Count 
 was sitting at my bed side ; and we were pleas- 
 ingly occupied in forming plans of future hap- 
 piness, which by one blow are all destroyed. — 
 Once more, I must repeat — Otho is not guilty. 
 — O my children — my dear — my unfortunate, 
 forsaken children ! my blessings ! my last bless- 
 ings-™— 
 
C 1* 3 
 
 Aiverda to Father CyriL 
 
 Will anyone presume to doubt the last 
 words of a dying person, and particularly of 
 such a saint as this excellent Empress ? Cyril^ 
 I have the letter which she wrote in my pos- 
 session, and I will afford you the melancholy 
 pleasure of reading it.— 
 
 From its contents, v/e must believe ni Wit- 
 telsbach's innocence. Indeed, we cannot do 
 otherwise ; — an^ what the consequences of this 
 discovery will be, I shall not pretend to con- 
 jecture. — Did the engagement still subsist be- 
 tween him and Eliza, she must remain his, in 
 spite of every obstacle ! I doubt not, nay, who 
 can doubt, the words of the dying Empress, nor 
 of her conviction of Wittelsbach's innocence* 
 — No one can be more sensible of this than 
 Eliza : — her heart still speaks for the Count, of 
 whose innocence she is, I doubt not, fully 
 convinced. Oh, why, why did this convictioa 
 
C 13 ü 
 
 arrive so late, that it serves only to augment 
 the suiFerings of the afflicted Eliza. — 
 
 She yesterday became the espoused Princes* 
 of Castile. I was kept away, that there might 
 be no interruption to these nuptials, which 
 werö completed with the greatest privacy. 
 They knew full well that I should not see with 
 patience any living friend of mine fill the place 
 that had been destined for my much-loved 
 Countess of Toulouse, who, alas, is no more. 
 I was too well acquainted with the Castilian 
 pomp, to desire it should be the lot of any one 
 
 who was dear to me. 1 knew also that Eliz.a 
 
 possessed those sentiments which were so se- 
 verely censured in the unfortunate Alice, and 
 which proved the cause of her death.— You un- 
 derstand me, Cyril ; in many articles you are of 
 our opinion, and I can speak to you with less 
 reserve than to any other of the fraternity. 
 
 Nobody knows my sentiments on these mat- 
 ters so well as Beatrice ; and yet she allows her- 
 self to be blinded by the bishops, and has joined 
 them in persuading her sister to consent to an 
 alliance which can never make her happy ;-— but 
 this is her temper, O Beatrice, h©w truly ex- 
 
C H 3 
 
 cellent would you be, were not your perfectioas 
 sullied with so much inconstancy, credulity, and 
 indiscretion? — A new proof of her precipitancy 
 happened in a scene, which I shall now impart 
 to you. 
 
 After two days useless endeavours to see the 
 present Princess of Castile, I at last obtained 
 access. — Eliza had just come from the altar.— 
 My senses failed me, at the step she had just 
 taken, without recollecting that the contents of 
 the Empress's letter, which gave me a distinct 
 knowledge of the whole affair, was yet unknown , 
 to her — I possessed at this affecting moment 
 presence of mind sufficient to keep my tongue 
 from utterance on the subject, and to withhold 
 the unseasonable and melancholy intelligence 
 with which my heart was so much oppressed. 
 The Princess Beatrice, who had been informed 
 of the death of her excellent, her incomparable 
 mother, had taken an opportunity to acquaint her 
 sister, in as soothing a manner as possible, of that 
 afflicting event, which made them both orphans. 
 — Irene's death happened very opportunely for 
 the ambassadors to hasten the conclusion of 
 the alliance with Castile, — Eliza had now n® 
 
C 15 3 
 
 one to whom she could apply for that consent, 
 the supposed refusal of which had delayed her 
 £nal answer.— She now found herself without 
 protection ; and the picture of her dependent 
 state and helpless situation, presented itself so 
 fully to her mind, that the refusal of a royal mar-» 
 riage appeared, in her circumstances, to be the 
 extreme of folly. Thus impressed, Eliza con- 
 sented! — though these self-delusive reason- 
 ings were not surely sufEcient to determine 
 such a noble soul as hers :— but no ; I do this 
 incomparable person injustice : it was not the 
 prospect of temporal advantages which influ- 
 enced her; but the remembrance of the last 
 words of her Imperial and murdered father; 
 which, after the death of her mother, she con- 
 sidered as the irresistible rule of her conduct. 
 Bathed in tears, she threw herself in my arms. 
 No congratulations, I beseech you, Alverda, on 
 what has this day happened ; and let my dear, 
 ever honoured, and ever lamented mother, be 
 the only subject of our present conversation 
 Oh where wert thou, Alverda, in this dread fal 
 and importajit hour? how severely have 1 felt 
 the loss of my comforter, my counsellor, and ray 
 
c: i6 3 
 
 friend ! — Were you by the death-bed of that en- 
 lightened saint^ my departed mother ? — did she 
 hot in her last moments think of us ? — did she 
 not pray for her poor Eliza ? — has she left no 
 remembrance to her unhappy daughters ? 
 
 Judge, my reverend father, what I felt at this 
 affecting exclamation ! — I was on the point of 
 giving her Irene's letter, but I suppressed the 
 impulse. — -It was my duty to console her af- 
 flicted soul, and not to aggravate its sorrows. — 
 The Princess Beatrice, however, perceived the 
 letter in my hand, and as she possesses a more 
 firm and resolute character than her sister, it 
 did not require that I should conduct myself 
 towards her with equal circumspection ; nor was 
 it possible for me to suppose that she would be 
 so indiscreet and unreflecting as to com- 
 municate the important and fatal contents at 
 such a moment as that which was passing by 
 us. — 
 
 But wherefore was I, in my turn, so indis- 
 creet and unreflecting, as to expect discretion 
 and reflection from Beatrice ? And Eliza read 
 that paper, which should for years have been 
 withheld from her sight :— her situation, instantly 
 
C 17 3 
 
 became more deplorable than you can well 
 conceive ; a raging fever soon followed, and, 
 as I am told, she raves in her delirium of Phi- 
 lip's murder, and Wittelsbach's innocence. 
 
 I, who was become an object of suspicion 
 and even hatred, on account of Alice, am now 
 considered as the cause of this misfortune, and 
 confined like a prisoner, with a prohibition 
 to see Eliza. The effect of the various suf- 
 ferings I have so long endured now begins to 
 show itself — I feel symptoms of an approaching 
 disorder, which threatens to conduct me in the 
 same path in which Alice has so lately gone be- 
 fore, and where poor Eliza will soon follow me. 
 
 Cyril, farewell,— perhaps for ever. — Pray for 
 the unfortunate Alverda, whose heart has just 
 received its last blow by the afflicting news 
 she has had from her own country.- Ah 
 Evett Von Remen— are you really flown, af-- 
 ter the loss of your Alverda,— gone—no one 
 knows whither ! — And thou, my friend— my se- 
 cond mother — my instructress, art thou no 
 more ?— art thou asleep in the silent tomb ? — 
 and am I thus bereft of parents, friends, and pro- 
 
 VOL. II. C 
 
C 18 3 
 
 tectors ? — While I remain in the world, am I 
 to find it a dreary solitude ? — Yes, hope is no 
 more, and every prospect of happiness or com- 
 fort is vanished from me for ever ! 
 
C 19 3 
 
 Alverda to Father CyriL 
 1208* 
 
 After a long and lingering delirium I am 
 again recovered;— what I foretold has happened 
 to me : — since my last letter I have suffered a 
 very tedious illness : — but I was almost insen- 
 sible of it. — I only remember that, at times, I 
 had a sensation of weakness like the approach 
 of death, and an imaginary idea that I should 
 awake in a better world. I did^ at lengthy, 
 awake, but it was on this side the grave. I 
 looked around, and all was solitude : — I inquired 
 for the Princess Eliza — " She was gone to her 
 husband's court." I inquired for the Prin- 
 cess Beatrice, — *^ They would call her, and re- 
 joice her with the prospect of my recovery." 
 What? cried I, has not the Princess of Swa- 
 bia accompanied her sister to Castile ? — *^ Does 
 Alverda believe," answered her gende voice^ 
 C 2 
 
C 20 3 
 
 " that I would abandon her in her sickness, and. 
 leave her alone and unprotected ?" Yes, Cyril, 
 Beatrice was so generous, as to stay in Germany 
 and attend on her sick friend, rather than share 
 the royal reception with her sister. — O Cyril, 
 think how I was touched by such friendship — to 
 sp©ak or thank her, I could not. But I sunk, 
 with streaming eyes, into her arms. — 
 
 Beatrice, I hope, is not so giddy as you de- 
 scribe her to your friend. I have read the let- 
 ter to him, which your sudden illness prevented 
 you from sealing ; and I afterwards dispatched 
 it. Cyril will not, I trust, censure me hastily : 
 and what I perused ought to improve my future 
 conduct. 
 
 Ah, Beatrice, I exclaimed, thy present kind- 
 jaess extinguishes all past transgressions — and 
 renders me the only criminal ! No more of this 
 now, Alverda, she replied, attend to the perfect 
 re-establishment of your health ; and trust me, I 
 can justify myself in many things which have 
 incurred your disapprobation. 
 
 The time for this justification is at length ar- 
 rived, but it will, I fear, prove imperfect. — I am 
 now convinced that the Bishops of Castile and 
 
n 21 3 . 
 
 Sutri were too powerful for the poor Beatrice. 
 To say the truth, on more mature reflection, I 
 cannot entirely blame her or them. The situa- 
 tion of a Queen of Castile is undoubtedly pre- 
 ferable to that of an unprotected princess, who 
 must live by the favour of the succeeding Em- 
 peror. Wittelsbach's innocence, at the time 
 that Beatrice joined in persuading her sister to 
 pronounce the irrevocable yes, was not known ; 
 or, at least, it was not then so strongly proved 
 as it now is. The absence of the Count Pala- 
 tine at the time of the Emperor's murder, 
 concurred with many other circumstances to 
 estabhsh it. But had we believed it then, as 
 we do now, what would it have availed ? Wit- 
 telsbach would have been exculpated but to a 
 few J and in the opinion of the great multitude, 
 he would always have been an assassin. Is 
 not this idea sufficient to dissolve the union be- 
 tween him and Ehza ?— or had Philip's daughter, 
 under such circumstancCvS, given him her hand, 
 would she not have brought on herself the con- 
 tempt and curse of the whole world, and been 
 deemed an accomplice in her father's murder ?— 
 In this manner I now judge s~in this manner 
 
C 22 3 
 
 have Beatrice and the Bishop of Sutri taught 
 xne to judge. — ^This wise man is still here, and 
 has much changed my opinion of him.— He is 
 one of those people v/ho continually improve, 
 in proportion as you become more intimately 
 acquainted with them. Indeed, at the time I 
 was afraid of him, from his uncommon sense 
 and penetrating eye, I never ceased to admire 
 his heart, of whose goodness he daily gives a 
 thousand proofs. 
 
 I once presumed to cavil with the doctrine 
 of the Evangelists, and he corrected me with 
 kindness. He continually preached to Bea- 
 trice and myself about revenge — he told her, 
 it was the duty of the daughter of the mur- 
 dered Emperor to provoke an avenger against 
 the man who shed his blood, and reminded me 
 that my own honour, the honour of my house, 
 required that I should discover and appre«- 
 hend the perpetrator. Since in many places 
 it is presumed that the Count Palatine is not 
 guilty, a report prevails, which I would not 
 pain you by mentioning, continued he, did not 
 the duty fall on you to bring it to light — your 
 brother, noble Ah erda, was away, was missing 
 
C 23 3 
 
 at the very time the murder happened ; — many 
 think it impossible that any other person could 
 transform himself into the shape or likeness of 
 Wittelsbach; so tha suspic on fa is also on 
 Alf Von Deulmen, by the great resemblance 
 he has to him. You may believe, my good 
 Cyril, that such representations as these made 
 me tremble. I defended my brother's inno- 
 cence; I proved that at that tern :1j o omenthe 
 was lying sick in Wittelsbach's palace ; — that 
 his sudden disappearance gave room for other 
 interpretations ; but above all, no probable rea- 
 sons could be alleged why he should draw his 
 sword against the Emperor, with whom he stood 
 in no connection ; — and that he was not, like 
 Wittelsbach, excited to any personal revenge. 
 
 Sutri then told me, with that tone of as- 
 surance, with which he knows how to accom- 
 pany all he says, that it was wholly needless 
 for me to defend my brother to him, as he had 
 never entertained any opinion to his disadvan- 
 tage :— nevertheless, he said, his absence made 
 it more immediately necessary to bring forward a 
 justification of him; for which purpose a me- 
 thod should be pointed out to me another time. 
 
C h3 
 
 Much of this kind of conversation I have 
 had with the Bishop of Sutri, the true interpreta- 
 tion of which, and its consequences, you shall 
 know hereafter. He also argued in the same 
 manner with the Princess Beatrice and she 
 is almost determined on attempting to engage 
 the present Emperor (the former Duke of Bruns- 
 wick) to assist her, and to ask revenge at his 
 hands for the blood that has been shed. 
 
 I tremble at the thought ! — A woman suppli- 
 cating revenge ! Alas, — what a terrible and af- 
 flicting sight ! — On all sides, however, they urge 
 the necessity of such a step; and what filial duty 
 requires of her, — sisterly affection, and the sense 
 of a brother's honour, demand of me. — Ah, the 
 beloved, the lost young man ! — where can he be ? ^ 
 and whither is he fled? — he is, perhaps, no more ; 
 and calumny and slander are thus at work 
 to disturb his ashes! — Ought I to suffer this? 
 Nay, is it not the duty I owe to nature, — to 
 employ every means in niy power to restore his 
 honour ?~If I should refuse this act of justice 
 to my brother, — whatever other title might be-^ 
 come me, I should not deserve that of sister. 
 
Elizabeth Princess of Castile to her Friend 
 Alverda, 
 
 1209. 
 
 Revenge sleeps :— But ought I to awaken 
 her ? Otho Von Wittelsbach is innocent : — 
 whose hands then are stained with the blood of 
 my father ? 
 
 Such are the thoughts which incessantly 
 haunt me, with reiterated anguish, since the 
 last fatal act of my life ; but my repentance 
 is equal to the fault I have committed. — Alver- 
 da, you and I are great sinners, and so was our 
 poor friend Alice, — may God be merciful to her 
 soul I 
 
 The pious and learned Bishop of Castile has, 
 during our journey, often alarmed my heart by 
 his exhortations, as if he had been acquainted 
 with the errors which I brought with me from 
 Toulouse. A sermon of Dominic Guzman, 
 
who, it is said, will be promoted to an high de- 
 gree of ecclesiastical honour, completed my 
 conversion. I seized, therefore, the first mo- 
 ment of tranquillity after the rejoicing , &c. Sec. 
 to ask permission to pass eight days in devo- 
 tion at the convent of St. Mary ; and was so 
 happy as to obtain it. Nor did I delay a mo- 
 ment to throw myself at the feet of all the saints. 
 Ah, my Alverda^ my heart, my poor devoted 
 heart, — for Wittelsbach still lives there, while 
 it alone belongs to the husband whom it has 
 pleased Heaven to allot me ! Nor do 1 murmur: 
 but the remembrance of things that are past 
 will not be effaced ; and my regret for those 
 which can never return is eternal. Tell me, 
 Alverda, ought I not then to seek that super- 
 natural aid, which can alone support me in my 
 weakness. I did indeed seek it at the altars ; 
 I abjured before Heaven the errors which Alice 
 had taught me to believe concerning the faith 
 of the church. I hope to succeed in banishing 
 from my heart my passion for Wittelsbach : I 
 flatter myself, at least, that it will soon slumber, 
 and God grant that it may never awake I 
 
 Indeed, another painful sensation against my 
 
C 27 3 
 
 nature has usurped a power within me an im- 
 pulse to revenge. Yes, I wish, — but no — the 
 very idea of naming what I wish to be exe- 
 cuted, throws me into a state I tremble to de- 
 scribe: — but, after all, is it not right to revenge 
 the innocent blood of my father; and that, as 
 his daughter, ought I not to demand it ? Each 
 night that I passed in the convent his bloody 
 spectre, wrapped in a silver cloud, appeared 
 before my half-sleeping eyes, and pronounced 
 words which can never be effaced from my 
 memory. — I will not repeat them — -the lan- 
 guage of spirits ought not to be uttered by 
 mortals ; I have told my confessor much as 
 I was obliged to do ; and you shall hear the 
 plan which is formed, rather by the counsel of 
 strangers, than from his own reflection, to pro- 
 cure me the means to regain my repose ; and for 
 the execution of which you must lend me your 
 aid. 
 
 The Emperor Philip's blood demands a return 
 of blood I alas, my commiserating heart would 
 spare the punishment! My sister Beatrice has, 
 as I understand, supplicated at the Imperial 
 throne for revenge. She was graciously received 
 
C 28 3 
 
 by the new Emperor, but her supplication reject- 
 ed, as God alone could know and judge of the 
 ofFence. We must therefore address the repre- 
 sentative of God, at that formidable tribunal 
 which judges every thing in secret. 
 
 Throughout the German empire there reigns a 
 clandestine power, secure in all its undertakings, 
 that brings each crime from its dark retreat^ 
 and inflicts the appointed punishment. Pre- 
 pare yourself, Alverda, to complain, in my 
 name, at the steps of this formidable throne. 
 The methods you must pursue I will tell you, 
 I did not think that these things, which I first 
 learned from one to whom it became me to un« 
 fold my sentiments,, would ever become neces- 
 sary to me.— Necessary, did I say !— can re- 
 venge bring me advantage or tranquillity ? If I 
 may trust to the assurances of others, it will : 
 — but my heart tells me the contrary.— 
 Though, as a daughter, I invoke vengeance on 
 the murderer of my father 5— yet, whether his 
 name is known or unknown to me, if he falls by 
 the sword of a private executioner^ will not my 
 own heart arise up as my accuser, and pro« 
 nounce me to be a murderess ? Can I be certain 
 
C 29 3 
 
 that these unknown judges are infallible? and 
 though a variety of examples are brought be- 
 fore me to strengthen such an opinion ; — yet 
 who knows what may be the design of the Eter- 
 nal Judge, in permitting the veil to remain that 
 as yet hides the assassin of the Emperor, whom 
 now I seek to destroy ? O Alverda, I know not 
 what I am about to do. My mind, as you may 
 perceive, is in a state of distracting perplexity, 
 — Judge yourself, I beseech you, of the pro- 
 priety of my request ; and go, with as much pri- 
 vacy as the important business requires, to advise 
 with some wise and experienced person con- 
 cerning it. On such an occasion, can I do 
 better than mention to you the Bishop of Sutri? 
 I have an unbounded confidence in that enlight- 
 ened prelate. 
 
C 30 3 
 
 Alverda to the Princess of Castiti^ 
 1209. 
 
 The step which you call upon me to take^ 
 I had been advised to pursue on my own ac-^ 
 count. — In your name^ I will demand revenge 
 for a murdered father; and, in my own, I will 
 require satisfaction for a calumniated brother.— 
 As you observe, it is a terrible task.— But they 
 now charge Alf Von Deulmen with that crime 
 of which they have already accused Von Wit- 
 telsbach, on account of the great resemblance 
 in their stature. Oh that they could both be 
 there to defend themselves! — But from that 
 formidable tribunal, of which I know more than 
 you can imagine, no one can be concealed: 
 •"—their all powerful invocation can draw forth 
 from the bosom of the earth the innocent and 
 the guilty. 
 
C 31 3 
 
 Beatrice to Alverda^ 
 1209. 
 
 I AM just returned from my unsuccessful 
 journey to Frankfort ; and I propose going im- 
 mediately to my castle at * * where I request 
 you will join me. I will then unfold my heart 
 to you. 
 
 I understand that you were here, and that 
 your departure was not only sudden, but veiled 
 in mystery. At midnight, clad in deep mourn- 
 ing, and with the most affecting silence, you 
 quitted the castle. Your woman, who came to 
 me with red eyes and wet cheeks, informs me 
 that, before you took this secret step, she had 
 observed your extreme agitation ; that you em^ 
 braced Julia, who was always your favourite, 
 and that your last words to her were, — pray for 
 me, my good girl ; for I know not whither I go^ 
 to life or death. 
 
I have severely chid the messenger of this in« 
 distinct intelligence ; as she should not have suf- 
 fered you to have gone alone. Who knows what 
 your afflictions, which since the last melancholy 
 accounts, and from your retired life, seem to be 
 your constant companions, may drive you to? I 
 understand that you have seen no one but the 
 Bishop of Sutri ; and my opinion, that he ought 
 to be instructed in every thing that concerns 
 you, is not without solid reasons. I have already 
 talked to him about you, but have not been able 
 to discover any thing. My principal uneasiness 
 on your account, respects the designs of Kalatin, 
 who I know is still lying in ambush for you : 
 he may have found a method to allure you 
 to him, and you may be fallen into his hands. 
 Sutri, however, assures me to the contrary, and 
 has promised to deliver a letter from me into 
 your own hand. He must consequently know 
 where you are, and possess the means of seeing 
 you. Who can comprehend any thing of these 
 bishops ? I have too often been ruled by 
 them, and experience the consequences of 
 my submission: sad consequences, which I 
 shall repent to the last moment of my life! 
 
C 33 3 
 
 God grant that you may not have reason to say 
 the same. 
 
 I shall now proceed to communicate to you 
 the principal part of my last adventure. Ad- 
 vised, nay impelled, by Sutri, I determined on 
 the journey to Frankfort. — I expected that I 
 should there meet my fate, as both the place 
 and the cause alarmed me.— I was to supplicate 
 revenge for the blood of him, whom no efforts 
 of his children will bring back to them.— I was 
 to make my supplication to one whom I hate, 
 though I have never yet beheld him ; — to Otho, 
 the present Emperor, the adversary of my father 
 while living, and now become the possessor of 
 hi^ throne ; — to him, concerning a marriage 
 with whom I have been tormented from my 
 infancy ; and at last, when I was proposed to 
 him, he rejected me ; — although he did not know 
 me, he^rejected me.— This I have been told a 
 thousand times, ancl a thousand wishes have 
 since escaped my lips, that I had known no 
 more of him. Alas, I have no doubt but I 
 was advised, or rather, compelled to take this 
 journey, that Otho, the Emperor Otho, might 
 see me; and the design has succeeded: the 
 
 VOL. II. D 
 
C 34 1 
 
 Emperor has seen me — In an unlucky mo- 
 ment he saw me, and he has renewed treaties 
 which he himself had broken- 
 
 I do not mean to say, Alverda, that I dislike 
 the Emperor: he is an handsome man; and if 
 I am not deceived by the common rule of phy- 
 siognomy, a worthy character. I could, per- 
 haps, have loved him ; at least he would have 
 been by no means disagreeable to me, had there 
 not been an Alf Von Deulmen in the world. O, 
 my sister, for by that dear name I shall address 
 you, forgive my repeated acknowledgements of a 
 weakness which you never approved. I love your 
 brother, I shall for ever love him : — and the grief 
 that now overwhelms me, proceeds from the 
 loss that I have sustained of all that made me 
 cherish life ; for since the death of my adored 
 parents, I can have no attachment for any other, 
 
 O Alverda, what is become of this beloved 
 Alf Von Deulmen ? — where can he stay — why 
 will he not return, and wipe away the foul asper- 
 sion with which they have stained his name? 
 To hear Otho Von Wittelsbach, the esteemed 
 friend, the favourite, of my mother, the intended 
 husband of my sister, reviled as the murderer 
 
t 35 3 
 
 of my father, was a cause of real grief to me. 
 How great then must be my affliction, and how 
 poignant my sorrow, when I understand that 
 the man of my affections, the man whom I 
 adore, the man alone of my choice, is accused 
 of the same crime, and branded with the same 
 infamous appellation. 
 
 Shall I confess to you, that my journey to 
 Frankfort, in order to solicit justice from the 
 Emperor, was, I believe, dictated rather by love 
 than filial duty. — Revenge, as I before said, 
 cannot give me back my father ; but revenge, 
 when exercised on him who is the proper ob- 
 ject of it, will, at the same time, produce his 
 justification who is thus vilely calumniated by 
 others, and so fondly loved by me. 
 
 But what am I writing ! — and whither does a 
 delusive fancy lead me? — Alas, to such pleasing 
 thoughts I must bid adieu for ever. The inten- 
 tions of the Emperor respecting me are of the most 
 serious nature ; and I am told that he is in abso- 
 lute despair at my sudden departure from Frank- 
 fort. He imagines that I so abruptly quitted 
 the place from being displeased at his refusal 
 of my solicitation, and the manner in which he 
 
 D 2 
 
C 36:3 
 
 expressed it. — " The Emperor Philip's murder 
 is enveloped in such a dark mystery, that God 
 alone can be the judge of it." — No, by Heaven, 
 this was not the cause of my hasty departure 
 from Frankfort. I scarce knew whether I 
 wished that my petition should be granted; 
 how then could the refusal disturb or ofFend me ? 
 — But I too plainly perceived the impression I 
 had made on the Emperor ; — and as I wished to 
 prevent its progress, I took my flight. The Bi- 
 shop of Spires, who was bearer of the Imperial 
 jewels to Frankfort, and whom I met on my way, 
 reproached me for my flight, pressed my re- 
 turn, and promised, when I declined his pro- 
 posal, that, if I would be governed by him, he 
 would ensure my future honour and happiness. 
 
 Happiness, Alverda,— what does this forward 
 meddling man call happiness ? — Is it that I shall 
 be Empress ? — Oh, how inadequate is such an 
 event to the wishes of my heart! — how in- 
 finitely short of that I should enjoy, to be loved 
 by my soul's first object, and to pass my days 
 by his side. 
 
C 37 1 
 
 Declaration of the Emperor Otho the First. 
 
 As it is our duty to demand, from the Impe- 
 rial throne, the blood of our predecessor, whom 
 God rest in peace, from the hands of his mur- 
 derer, and thereby wipe away the stain which 
 may be attached to our honour, we make it 
 known, in all parts of the German empire, that 
 conformable to our order, the perpetrator be 
 discovered and brought to punishment. 
 
 A daughter of the Emperor Philip has soli- 
 cited for revenge at our throne ; and though we 
 at first refused her solicitation, because we then 
 could not, according to the order of justice, 
 afford her all the satisfaction she desired. — But 
 now the Bishop of Spires and Anthony Haganau, 
 who are evidences of the murder which they 
 could not prevent, jointly name Count Palatine 
 Otho Von Wittelsbach as the perpetrator of it. 
 We therefore think it necessary to repeat once 
 more the foregoing declaration, and to add there- 
 
c 38 :\ 
 
 to, that the criminal and his brother shall forfeit 
 all their temporal possessions, honours, and titles^ 
 and the beforementioned Count Otho Von Wit-- 
 telsbach we declare proscribed ; so that every 
 one has now full liberty to take his life with im- 
 punity, wherever he may be found. Thus the 
 imputation of the Emperor's blood will be re- * 
 moved from our throne, and from our country ; 
 and the vengeance of the Eternal Judge will be 
 turned from us. 
 
C 89 1 
 
 The Emperor Otho to Beati'ice. 
 1209. 
 
 Princess, — ^your wishes are accomplished : 
 — for that revenge pursues the murderous Wit- 
 telsbach which you so anxiously solicited, and 
 the ignorance of the moment could have alone 
 caused me to refuse you. Now that the Bi- 
 shop of Spires has opened my eyes ; now that 
 two witnesses present themselves to prove the 
 crime of the Count Palatine, you shall per- 
 ceive that I am Emperor, and know how to 
 punish. Oh, might I hope that your indigna- 
 tion is not moved against me by my refusal of 
 your first solicitation ; that no personal hatred 
 exists against the former adversary of your fa- 
 ther, and that you do not scorn him whose 
 neglect of his own happiness, caused you to take 
 so sudden a flight from Frankfort. The Bi- 
 shop Conrad assures me that I have no reason 
 
c 40 :! 
 
 to apprehend your displeasure. — O that I could 
 have the confirmation of his sentiments from 
 your own mouth, or receive it from your pen. 
 
 My ambassadors have been furnished with 
 instructions to consult with you, your guardians, 
 and your relations, concerning matters on which 
 the happiness of my life depends, by exalting 
 you to the throne. How blessed shall I be in 
 exchanging a crown for ypur affection !— How 
 happy, if it should be my lot to do honour 
 to the memory of Philip, to whom nothing but 
 the chance of affairs ever made me an enemy^ 
 by placing his daughter on that throne where 
 her incomparable mother sat, and which she 
 adorned. 
 
C 41 3 
 
 Duke Bernard to Peter Von Kalatin. 
 1209. 
 
 Yo u R zeal for our private tribunal was laud- 
 able. Your intimation of what was begun at 
 Pamiers in my absence, in the hope, perhaps, 
 that death would be the consequence of my 
 illness, merits the warmest acknowledgements. 
 Know likewise, that we have written several 
 menacing letters to those, who, from a false 
 Themis^ the imitator of ours, received the com- 
 mission to pollute their hands in <the blood of 
 Philip ; who, though he might have his failings, 
 as we all have, — -was entirely innocent, as he 
 was altogether incapable, of the crime of which 
 he has been accused. 
 
 x\lf Von Deulmen and Otho Von Wittels- 
 bach were summoned before our throne, to ex- 
 culpate themselves of the crime with which their 
 enemies have charged them and, at the same 
 
C 42 3 
 
 time, to justify themselves against other accu- 
 sations ; for both of them are accused of having 
 acted in matters of consequence, ^vithout the 
 knowledge of the secret tribunal. The Count 
 Palatine is particularly charged with having un- 
 folded its secrets. But as these several accusa- 
 tions^ whetherjust or ill-founded, were sufficient 
 to oblige us to summon them, it became them 
 immediately to appear. But our summons has 
 either not reached them, or they have paid no 
 attention to it. 
 
 The black and most infernal crime, the Em- 
 peror's murder, calls upon us, in the strongest 
 manner to pursue the blood-thirsty perpetrators 
 of it with the sword of revenge. A thick mist, 
 however, as yet appears to hover round those 
 who are suspfected of the crime ; and to render 
 doubtful their guilt or their innocence. Even 
 our eyes,w^hich can penetrate so far, are too weak 
 to see distincdy into this horrid transaction. — 
 Otho V on Wittelsbach is thought by the whole 
 empire to be the assassin. The Bishop of Spires 
 has appeared against him at Frankfort, and pro- 
 clamations are issued both against him and his 
 brothers. 
 
C 43 3 
 
 The Emperor Philip's daughters have carried 
 their complaints to our throne, but not against 
 Wittelsbach, whose innocence they probably 
 know. They invoke revenge from every corner 
 of the world to discover the murderer of their 
 father, and to do them justice : and behold — 
 Alf Von Deulmen comes forward and acknow- 
 ledges the crime. Arise, Kalatin, you well 
 know the rights of vengeance. — Arise then, 
 for on you the lot is fallen to be the avenger, 
 and to execute the murderer wherever he 
 may be found. Delay not, — or public justice 
 may claim the sacrifice i and snatch the victim 
 from your hands« 
 
C 44 3 
 
 Alverda to Beatrice. 
 1209. 
 
 I AM lying sick at Ratisbon: if Beatrice loves 
 me, she will come and receive my last sigh.— 
 They think me, it is true, verging towards a re- 
 covery, and the physician, whom they sent for 
 against my will, declares his opinion that I am 
 so far re-established as to be capable of making 
 use of my pen. But this flattering appearance 
 will soon subside ; for I cannot live, — nor would 
 I, though it were in my power to command im- 
 mediate and continuing health. — The day de- 
 ceives my attendants, because I do not seem to 
 suffer. But the night is my tormentor ! — in its 
 dark hours a fury stalks around my bed, and re- 
 peats in my ears all that I have seen and heard, 
 and tortures me with the horrid presages of the 
 future. It reproaches me with fratricide, and 
 hurries through an animated representation of 
 
c 45 ;] 
 
 what 1 have, and what I ought not to have, done. 
 Such things as these being repeated to me every 
 night of my lingering life, will hasten its end : 
 I may be in eternal silence ere you, my dear 
 Beatrice, can fulfil my last request, or even be- 
 fore you can peruse the letter that contains it. 
 Lest then it should be forbidden me to see you 
 on this side the grave, — and impressed with the 
 awful belief that I shall not possess an opportu- 
 nity to give you, from my lips, the communi- 
 cations which I have in charge for the Princess of 
 Castile, your sister ; let me beseech you, to tell 
 her distinctly, and in my words, what I now write. 
 They will be full of enigma to you ; but if you 
 wish not to wound your own heart, I most ear- 
 nestly entreat you not to aim at penetrating 
 into them. Forget Alf Von Deulmen ; — forget 
 Alverda his unfortunate sister, and prepare to 
 be the wife of the worthy man whom Heaven 
 allots you. The title of Emperor is Otho's least 
 merit ; — this opinion I have often repeated to you, 
 when I have so anxiously endeavoured to make 
 you conquer a blind passion, by representing 
 to you the value of that illustrious and excel- 
 lent man who is destined for vou. 
 
c 46' n 
 
 O my Beatrice, do we always know the state 
 of our own mind, or what is the real object of 
 our wishes ? What ignorance do the wisest of 
 us continually betray of what is best for us !— 
 When fate opposes our choice, we raise a migh- 
 ty clamour, and seldom, too seldom reflect that 
 the object of our presumptuous murmurings, 
 so far from being, as we idly apprehend, our 
 greatest misfortune, may finally become our 
 greatest blessing. Once more I implore you, 
 my dearest Princess, to accept Otho's proffered 
 hand. Forget Alf Von Deulmen, and consent 
 to be Empress. 
 
 The fortune* which has made you richer than 
 your sister, will not quicken your enjoyment of 
 life, if you are so capricious and unwise as to 
 refuse the son of Henry of Louvain, the noble 
 Otho ; and, by such an infatuation, draw down 
 upon you the censure of the whole world. 
 The rank which Heaven sets before you, gives 
 you at least the consolation of fulfilling the wishes 
 of your parents, and taking the charge of your 
 
 * It is said that Beatrice brought to Otho, at her mar« 
 riage, besides very valuable treasures, one hundred and 
 fifty castles ; which had come to her by succession. 
 
t^7 3 
 
 youngest sister.* Receive this as the last counsel 
 of a departing friend ; and it is my last request, 
 that you should attend to the important commu- 
 nications I give you for Eliza. 
 
 After my mind had suffered many a torturing 
 struggle, I had at length almost brought myself 
 to perform what she had demanded of me. Still, 
 however, I had my moments of doubt and he- 
 sitation ; I felt myself also deeply interested in 
 the awful business : — the voice of friendship 
 urged me on ; — the feelings of my agitated heart 
 turned me towards the same object,— and when I 
 consulted the Bishop of Spires, he approved the 
 design, and inspired me with that resolution 
 which was necessary for so awful an undertaking. 
 Thus prepared, I disguised myself in a garment 
 of the deepest mourning, which I then consi- 
 dered as a suitable formality : — but was it not 
 a presage, that I should ever after wear it ? 
 
 It is possible, my friend, that, from the in- 
 explicable state of my sensations while I am 
 writing to you, some expressions may escape me, 
 which I may not understand myself, — and 
 
 ♦ She was afterwards married to the Duke of Brabant. 
 
! 
 
 ! 
 
 C 48 -2 
 
 will of course be unintelligible to you— if so^ 
 pass them over^ and forgive and pity me, 
 
 I was seized with a secret and severe terror 
 at the way I had to go : but I set out alone, 
 according to the instructions which were given 
 me. I soon met the person who was to be 
 my conductor;— and whether the way was long 
 or short ; — whether we were an hour, or a week 
 in our passage— is of little consequence — it 
 is sufficient to say, that he led me on to an in- 
 closed place, where the judges were sitting in 
 awful assembly. If in the character of an ac- 
 cuser, I entered with fear and trembling — what 
 then must be the condition of the accused ?— 
 
 It was immediately signified to me, that I 
 was not to utter a single word, till I received 
 especial commandrnxnt; and that things would 
 be said in my hearing, which no motive on 
 earth should induce me to divulge. Nor 
 was this all ; an oath was administered to me, 
 which was formed to seal my lips for ever, re- 
 specting what might pass before this awful tri- 
 bunal. From every circle of the German em- 
 pire witnesses appeared, and discovered unheard 
 of crimes. The appointed ministers of revenge 
 
C 49 3 
 
 were called in, and executed the fatal cotnmis- 
 sions which had been assigned them. Others 
 advanced to render an account of the bloody 
 deeds, which the ensanguined steel they grasped 
 in their trembling hands had completed ! — Alas, 
 the blood of brothers and friends had not been 
 spared by many of them ; and tears flowed 
 adown their cheeks as they gave in the afflict- 
 ing recital. My blood grew cold at the scene, 
 and could scarce pace along my veins !— O, 
 my dear Eliza, could you have known all the 
 horror of that commission which you gave the 
 poor Alverda, you would, I am sure, have 
 spared her the terrifying execution of it. 
 
 One of the men amongst whom I stood, for 
 not a woman was to be seen but myself, had 
 compassion on my agitated condition, and kindly 
 supported me, when I was no longer able to 
 support myself. Another broke the awful si« 
 lence, to express his astonishment at beholding 
 a woman there : — while a third expressed an 
 equal surprise at the courageous spirit which 
 brought me thither. I made no answer; — but 
 that courageous spirit, whatever it might be, 
 grew weaker every moment ; and when I was 
 
 VOL, II, E 
 
C 50 3 
 
 ordered to speak, entirely abandoned me. I 
 was conducted to the foot of the throne, but I 
 immediately fell to the ground, and had strength 
 only to pronounce the first word of my petition. 
 It was then demanded of me, whether I was a 
 daughter of the Emperor Philip ? I answered 
 in the negative, and named the Princess at 
 whose command I presented myself to that 
 mysterious assembly. A long examination then 
 followed ; and it appeared that there were ma- 
 ny persons present, who were well acquainted 
 with the awful business which led me thither, 
 and could have answered concerning it far 
 better than myself. — Nay, it appears that no 
 event can happen within the limits of their 
 power, but some of the assembly can give in- / 
 formation and instructions concerning it. 
 
 When the inquisition was finished, which it 
 had been the object of my mission to demand, 
 Otho Von Wittelsbach was unanimously named. 
 
 -At this moment I recovered sufficient 
 
 strength, and recollected sufficient courage, to 
 undertake his defence : — In short, I produced 
 the Empress Irene's letter as the strongest proof 
 I could give of his innocence. One of the mem- 
 
C 51 3 
 
 befs arose^ wlio had before fixed my attention, 
 to prove that Wittelsbach was not guilty. — They 
 instantly demanded the proofs in his possession. 
 —The place, answered he, with which I am in- 
 vested in this tribunal entitles me to give no 
 other proof than my oath. — Wittelsbach was 
 therefore immediately acquitted. But no sooner 
 was his acquittal declared, than a voice loudly 
 invoked punishment on Philip's murderer in 
 every part of the world. — My heart fluttered 
 as if I had been the criminal. — They were even 
 disposing every thing to make him appear at 
 the next meeting of the tribunal, when one of 
 the chiefs stood forth, and loudly exclaimed 
 — I am the murderer! — and may my frenzy 
 
 plead for me ! A dreadful murmur was 
 
 now heard throughout the awful space which 
 the assembly occupied. It was an event with- 
 out example, that a judge of the formidable 
 tribunal should present himself as a criminal 
 —The whole assembly rose at the same mo- 
 ment; all the seats were thrown back with 
 the noise of thunder, — every light was extin-^ 
 guished— and the moon was left to throw its 
 pale beam on this scene of horror I— 
 E 2 
 
C 52 3 
 
 Overpowered with terror, I had sunk to the 
 earth.— He who had confessed himself to be 
 the murderer, — he against whom I had invok- 
 ed the vengeful sword, — he who had risen 
 to defend the Count Palatine, was,-— — O Eliza, 
 spare me, I beseech you, — for I cannot name 
 him — and my pen trembles in my hand 
 
 A total insensibility would, at this sad mo- 
 ment, have been a blessing to me, — but Heaven 
 
 refused the boon I implored. Agitated as 
 
 I was, I still was capable of hearing the bit- 
 terest curses poured forth on one I most dearly 
 loved, as .he was dismissed, and sent from the 
 assembly, — that his blood might be shed, and 
 his offence punished, by any member of the 
 tfibunal who might chance to find him. 
 
 I rose in haste to follow him; — but I was 
 compelled to return ; when lots were drawn, 
 to determine who should be the executioner of 
 the unfortunate man, for I cannot inscribe his 
 name, against whom I had awakened the re- 
 venge that threatened him. — Nature was, how» 
 ever, at length conquered by despair, and I sunk 
 into a state of mental deprivation ; from which I 
 am but just recovered, at the house of a relation 
 
C 53 Ü 
 
 in Ratisbon ; whither I was carried from the 
 dreadful place, and the sad scene which I have 
 described to you. I lament, — yes, with tears I 
 lament, that I am recalled to life from the verge 
 of eternity ; — but the hope of dying, of sinking 
 soon into the peaceful grave is not yet ex- 
 tinguished. — How is it possible that my poor 
 frame can long continue to bear its sufferings! 
 
 Hasten, oh hasten, my beloved Beatrice, if 
 you would afford me the happiness of embra* 
 cing you yet again on this side the tomb. — 
 Come then immediately to Ratisbon — when you 
 are here, you will be far advanced on your 
 journey to Frankfort ; and, from the funeral of 
 your friend, you may hasten to the benedictions 
 of the altar. 
 
 O Eliza, why cannot I once more embrace 
 you ? but wherefore should I wish that your 
 happiness should be interrupted by seeing my 
 iffliction, the cause of which, however, you 
 would better comprehend than any other.— 
 Farewell — -In those blessed mansions of eternal 
 peace, where I shall shortly see my beloved 
 Alice, we shall, I trust, meet again. 
 
 Your last letter suggested many reflections 
 
C 54 D 
 
 concerning the Countess of Toulouse, which I 
 should be glad to communicate to you, and to 
 hear your sentiments concerning them. But 
 I enjoy the consolation of believing, that the 
 errors of the heart, and not those of the un- 
 derstanding, will be remembered above.— 
 Woe be to those who have wrought a change 
 in the opinions which you formerly maintained 
 with so much zeal : be assured, that you 
 have no cause to repent of one of those mo- 
 ments which you passed with Alice. Nor do I 
 call myself a sinner ; — alas, the sin rests on him 
 who has thus quickened my sad passage to the 
 dust. — Yet more, — I should now be destitute 
 of all consolation, did I not feel the power of 
 that knowledge which I received when I was at 
 Toulouse. 
 
 My beloved Eliza — and you, my dearest Bea- 
 trice, hasten to me, I beseech you, — let me see 
 you once more ere I die :— there is but a short 
 space between your Alverda and the sepulchre 
 that awaits her.— Hasten then, my friends^ or 
 its gates will be for ever closed upon me. 
 
c: 3 
 
 Beatrice to Eliza. 
 1209. 
 
 I COMPREHEND Alvcrda's letter, which you 
 must already have received, much better than 
 either of you imagine. — It scarce leaves me the 
 power to undertake the hasty journey which 
 our friend earnestly demands of us. I have, 
 however, without any great struggle, determined 
 no longer to reject the Emperor's proposition, 
 to share the Imperial throne with me. 
 
 In a short time, I shall be Empress j— I 
 have also a duty to fulfil that will require my 
 utmost exertions, and which I cannot so com- 
 pletely accomplish as when I shall have attained 
 the exalted situation that awaits me. 
 
 Would to Heaven that I was at this moment 
 the wife of Otho ! would to God I could now 
 declare from the throne, — that I, the daughter 
 oi Philip, promise my pardon to his murderer. 
 
C 56 3 
 
 —I will not hearken to revenge in my first ap« 
 peal to justice. — The Emperor himself will also 
 spare him, and grant his indulgence to the 
 guilty as well as to the innocent. Do you not 
 think, Eliza, that the Emperors power can 
 equally forbid revenge, and suspend justice, — be 
 the object cf them who it may ? — You cannot 
 misunderstand me. 
 
 Ah ! my poor unfortunate sister — often do I 
 think what tears you must have shed since the 
 last letter you received from Germany.^I can- 
 not but lament that you should have been so 
 incautiously informed of the proscription against 
 Wittelsbach, who is guilty of no crime. — Alas, 
 we have both of us cause for weeping calum- 
 niated virtue is the object of your tears; — but 
 mine flow for the perpetrator of a deed that 
 makes me tremble : — who then is the most de-» 
 serving of pity P — Gracious Heaven ! — where- 
 fore have we been thus deceived, — wherefore 
 have we been made the accusers of those for 
 whom we would willingly have shed our own 
 blood ? Otho the Emperor thinks he cannot 
 offer a greater proof of love to me, than the as« 
 surance that Wittelsbach should die— The Inno« 
 
C 57 3 
 
 cent Wittelsbacb ; — he who was once my friend 
 ^he whom I hoped to have called my brother. 
 — There is another also whom 1 lament almost 
 as much, but whom I dare not name. I have 
 written to the Emperor to request his pardon. — 
 Oh how I long for the day that shall make me his 
 wife, and give me an ascendancy over his heart 
 and actions.— O that it may not be too late ! — 
 But revenge has wings, — they are already 
 
 spread, — and who can stop its flight! 
 
 I look with detestation on every one who has 
 helped to conduct me thus unwarily into the abyss 
 of misery in which I am now plunged. — When 
 I reflect on all our misfo tunes — it seems as if 
 some malignant spirit had secretly exerted his 
 power against us, and made us the instruments 
 of our own destruction. — Hands unseen have 
 surely been employed in counteracting our hap- 
 piness, — and involving us in those perplexities 
 and misfortunes, which we had no reason to 
 expect! — and which, thank Heaven, we have 
 not deserved. But it can be no secret to you, 
 that they whn led us like children in leading- 
 strings, were the Bishop of Sutri and Spires. 
 The latter, indeed, I can forgive ; I have been 
 
C5n 
 
 long enough acquainted with the old man to 
 have a confidence in him. The fidelity he ma- 
 nifested to his unfortunate Emperor, and the 
 wishes he always expressed to render his daugh- 
 ter happy, were the motives of his actions : but 
 are we justified, my sister, in entertaining the 
 same opinion of the other ? 
 
 In direct opposition to my will, Sutri fol- 
 lowed me to Ratisbon. He is continually 
 tormenting the poor sick Alverda, to impart 
 to him certain mysterious matters which are 
 locked up in her bosom. — -He, whose arts have 
 discovered so many secrets, imagined he should 
 be informed of every thing by a weak young 
 woman ; but he finds himself mistaken. Al- 
 verda, as she said in her let:;er, had been obliged 
 to swear not to divulge the secrets with which 
 she had been entrusted, and she did not want 
 firmness to maintain her oath. She now con- 
 siders this man in a point of view very different 
 from her opinions of him, when he employed so 
 much artifice to deceive us all. — She hates and 
 shuns him now; — and he perhaps will soon 
 throw off the mask of friendship, with which he 
 has endeavoured to win her confidence. ^ 
 
c: 59 3 
 
 Do you not think, Beatrice, said poor AI- 
 verda, that I shall be soon laid in eternal sleep ; 
 and that though death lingers a litde, he will 
 soon put a period to my sufferings ? — No, said 
 I, taking her in my arms, when Beatrice is Em* 
 press, no one will dare to disturb her bosom 
 friend. — Alas, answered she, you deceive your- 
 self ; — for I have not an hope in my heart that 
 the good you meditate will ever be accom- 
 plished. 
 
 We spoke little of those things which lay 
 nearest our hearts, and did not mention a word 
 about the contents of her last afflicting letter.— I 
 see the absolute necessity there is to spare her in 
 every respect — she must know, however, that I 
 comprehend every word of it : and it was, per- 
 haps,her intention, in not immediately addressing 
 her letter to you, that I should read it, and be 
 urged by its contents to do my duty. She did 
 right ; she actedlike herself : — ^nor shall her zeal- 
 ous friendship be employed in vain. The band 
 which has so strongly attached me to Alf Von 
 Deulmen shall be broken, and the Emperor 
 shall not be rejected. — O Alf Von Deulmen ! 
 Alf Von Deulmen ! — -who would have thought 
 
C6o3 
 
 that thy hand could have borne the dagger of an 
 assassin, and have reddened it with the blood 
 of an Emperor, and the best of men ? — yet to 
 me you are still incomprehensible : — seduction 
 and revenge made you a murderer, sayst thou ? 
 —Alas, seduction, indeed, it might be ! — We all 
 are fallen into the same snare, for if you and 
 the Count Palatine are not saved from the fate 
 that threatens you, — the blood of you both will 
 be on us : and our names will be inscribed 
 with the horrid deed on the records of eternal 
 justice. 
 
C 6i 3 
 
 Fiter Von Kalaiin to the Duke Von 
 1209. 
 
 Is this then the completion of all my hopes ! 
 — Yes, I hate that Otho Von Wittelsbach, for he 
 treated me with contempt and scorn-, I hate that 
 Alf Von Deulmen, as he calls himself, because 
 he attained a more exalted situation than I 
 shall ever reach, — and, at the same time, with 
 an air of imperious indignity, refused me his 
 sister's hand. Were the lovely Alverda mine, 
 were both my enemies humbled in the dust; 
 in short, had I the least reason for content- 
 ment, I should not wish to become their mur=> 
 derer. Fate, however, destines me to act this 
 dreadful part; as a member of the grand alliance, 
 it is my lot to be the executioner of that secret 
 revenge, which excited the sister to become the 
 accuser of the brothen 
 
 As sub-marshal of the empire, it is my duty 
 
e; 
 
 to make preparations for the persecution of 
 the Count Palatine, which I must personally 
 perform. Thus is my life interwoven with 
 his. — -I must die,— or with this hand dismiss 
 
 him to the shades of death !- An office 
 
 full of horror, but which the tremendous di- 
 vinity, whom we call Justice, requires me to 
 fulfil. Are they both, or only one of them pro- 
 nounced to be guilty? — and is it just that both 
 should suffer for the crime of one ? — Why, alas, 
 am I doomed to be their executioner ? — I did 
 not foresee to what excess my enmity might in- 
 cite me.— I could not then have imagined, for a 
 moment, that I should ever have been influenced 
 by Roman gold to become the writer of ficti- 
 tious letters. — That I wished to humble them is 
 most true, — but, in my most intemperate mo- 
 ments, I never wished to shed their blood. You 
 say, however, that I was the first to awaken the 
 suspicion that these men were the perpetrators 
 of the Emperor's murder. No, my Lord ! it 
 was you who gave the watchword in all this 
 cruel business. You allowed yourself, with re- 
 prehensible confidence, to be guided by Ro-- 
 mish spies.- — ^With an unpardonable indis-- 
 
cretion, you mentioned things which should 
 have remained in eternal silence. You exposed 
 the secrets of our judicature, as through a 
 painted glass, instead of keeping the sacred 
 phial closed which concealed them ; and there- 
 by afforded our enemies the means of deceiv- 
 ing us. 
 
 Before your tribunal was brought the un- 
 exampled impeachment of the murdered Em- 
 peror.— You armed revenge to punish him 
 for a crime he had not committed ; — the deed 
 was done, and now the perpetrator must die, 
 for a crime of which you are alone the cause, 
 - — Do not you, my Lord, also fear the revenge 
 that hovers over you? — I do not doubt that 
 you were deceived ; and that you were irre- 
 sistibly attracted by a vortex of false proceed- 
 ings, without perceiving your situation. — But 
 — should the eyes of a judge be so easily daz- 
 zled? should his feet so unwarily stray from 
 the right path? — You cannot deny that you have 
 proved yourself unworthy to continue the re- 
 presentative of the wise Bernard of Saxony. — 
 Remove yourself instantly from the tribunal : for 
 how can you occupy such a dignified situation. 
 
C 3 
 
 when the blood of the innocent Philip, of Wittels- 
 bach, of Count Adolf, and my blood also, vmy 
 pollute your hands ? — Stay away, my Lord, from 
 the sacred throne— lest you should be driven 
 from it with disgrace and dismay. 
 
 To state to you, in the strongest terms^ that 
 you are the cause of those calamities which op- 
 press us, and to warn you, ere it be too late, of 
 your own danger, is the object of this letter. — • 
 Abandon, therefore, the Roman alliance, in 
 which as I am informed you every day be- 
 come more deeply engaged. — Hence it is that 
 the private regulations of our tribunal are pried 
 into, with the design of undermining its power, 
 and transfeiTing it to another place ; and if 
 this project should succeed, it will assume a new 
 form, be clothed with new authority, and involve 
 our alliance in one common destruction. 
 
 Once more, my Lord, let me urge you to 
 resign your dignity, before an irresistible au- 
 thority obliges yoo to it. Our chief is al- 
 ready informed of the greatest part of your in- 
 considerate conduct ; — and iiiformed by me. — 
 Reflect then on the consequences of it, and 
 tremble. 
 
t 65 3 
 
 ötho Von Wittelsbach to Eliza and Beatrice, 
 1210. 
 
 What horrid ofFence have I committed 
 against you, daughters of Philip, that I am thus 
 become the object of your vindictive persecu- 
 tions ? Ye demand the blood of your father at my 
 hands, one drop of which was never shed by me, 
 or any of my house,— I am conscious of no guilt, 
 but the vain attempt to force into my arms, 
 that faithless Eliza, who now revels in the em-» 
 braces of another. — If this design were criminal, 
 it should, at least, be pardoned by her whose 
 beauty, whose thousand charms incited me to it. 
 Nay, in the height of my raging passion, I for- 
 warned you of my design, and implored you 
 not to force me into any dreadful extremity, by 
 your obdurate disdain of me. Hence am I be-- 
 come the object of those menaces which threaten 
 me with destruction. — Hence it is that I am 
 
 VOL. II. F 
 
i: 66 :i 
 
 accused of the murder of your father. Of that 
 I am innocent as the lamb that is yet too young 
 to crop the grass ; and my innocence the Al- 
 mighty will judge, and hereafter make manifest 
 in the presence of men and angels. 
 
 But enemies are blinded by their resent- 
 ments, and will not see that innocence which so 
 many circumstances testify for me. Hence it is 
 that I am doomed to live in exile in my native 
 country ; — that my castle is rased to the ground ; 
 — that my possessions are become the booty of 
 robbers ; and my vassals released from their 
 obedience to me. My brothers and relations, 
 as innocent as myself (more so they cannot be) 
 must also share my unhappy fate — My bosom 
 friends fly from me : — the Emperor's proscrip- 
 tion is blazed abroad against me ; a formid- 
 able enemy follows my footsteps ; glides into 
 the miserable habitation that I am obliged to 
 seek in woods, and amongst the rocks; and 
 threatens me, even when I snatch moments of 
 feverish repose, to plant the dagger in my heart. 
 But death, which I have a thousand times chal- 
 lenged in the field of fame, and whose most 
 grisly form had never yet inspired me with 
 
C 67 3 
 
 terror, now fills me with alarm in the secret 
 cave, where my fears have impelled me to seek 
 a dreary refuge. For the avenger may find me 
 tliere, and destroy me on the road to the infal- 
 lible power, where I go to prove my innocence. 
 
 I will quit, yes, I will for ever abandon my 
 country. — But, alas, must Wittelsbach, who 
 never even oppressed an enemy, fly like a 
 malefactor ? — Does Philip's haughty daughter 
 expect, — can she wish, that I should implore 
 mercy at the foot of that throne to which blind 
 fortune and infidelity have raised her ? No, — I 
 would sooner meet that death, which I should al- 
 ready have found, had not a friend, or guardian 
 angel come to my protection, whose worth I 
 have always so highly prized, — and whose ex- 
 alted character was the object of my regard 
 and warmest affection, — when prosperity glit^ 
 tered around me. 
 
 O Alf Von Deulmen, what a friend have I 
 found in thee ! — thou alone stayest by me : 
 when abandoned by all the world, you alone 
 remain to support and console me. — You seek 
 me in my dark and dreary solitude, and share 
 F 2 
 
C 68 3 
 
 with me my wretched habitation : — you gather 
 for me the wild fruits of the forest, that I may 
 not venture from the security that my cave af- 
 fords me : — you watch by me, that I may sleep, 
 if it were possible, without alarm ; and have 
 sworn to defend me against the enemy that 
 seeks my life, — or revenge my blood on him 
 who spills it.— O Jonathan, my brother, my love 
 for thee is more tender than the love of wo- 
 men ! The perfidious bride, now on the throne 
 of Castile, and the haughty Empress Beatrice, 
 must with blushes yield you the pre-eminence. 
 Yet you, my best, my only friend, continually 
 tell me that you are yourself an out-law, and a 
 criminal ; — that you are the author of all my 
 misfortunes ; that your life is but a poor and 
 trivial sacrifice : and thus you evade my imper- 
 fect thanks for your fidelity to me. 
 
 Farewell, obdurate women ; you were once 
 my friends, but are now become my inveterate 
 persecutors, and thirst after my blood. 
 
 By the assistance of my faithful companion, 
 this paper will be conveyed to your hands ; 
 it will inform you that your unjust revenge has 
 
C % 3 
 
 not yet attained its object; — that I have a 
 friend, who saves me from despair, and whose 
 hand will defend that life which your cruelty 
 has devoted to the murderer's sword, or the 
 poignard of an assassin. 
 
C 70 
 
 fieatrice to the Princess Elizabeth of Castile. 
 
 1210. 
 
 My lot is cast.— To-morrow I depart for 
 Frankfort^ to join him who is to be my future 
 husband. Ah ! my sister, wherefore is my 
 heart so oppressed ? Otho is a virtuous and an 
 honourable man, — he loves me with a tender 
 affection, and will not refuse me any boon I 
 shall require of him. I wish only to share the 
 Imperial throne, that I may be able to justify 
 the Count Palatine, and to obtain a pardon for 
 Alf Von Deulmen, whose name will cause mc 
 eternal grief, and ever-flowing tearsi^ cannot, 
 indeed I cannot forget my feelings for him ; 
 but my heart incessantly demands the cause 
 of this strange predilection for a man whom I 
 must consider as the fatal cause of those sor- 
 rows that afflict me.— Is it possible that he can 
 be a criminal, whose features bear the stamp of 
 
C 71 1 
 
 the most exalted virtue ? — Such are the reflec- 
 tions that continually and inexpressibly torment 
 me, — while duty and decorum demand from me 
 
 the most perfect serenity.— What will be 
 
 thought of the tears of an Imperial bride ; and 
 to dry them up. I must cast these reflections 
 from me for ever. 
 
 Alverda, having recovered from a severe and 
 dangerous illness, will be my companion and 
 my counsellor. — She is already displeased that, 
 by writing to you, I interrupt that feigned com- 
 posure which is so necessary to me. It is 
 some time since she forced from me my per- 
 mission to receive all my letters ; and now she 
 usurps also an authority over my pen — It is her 
 opinion that to write on past events to others 
 is as prejudicial to me, as if I were reminded of 
 them by letters from my friends. — From whom, 
 alas, could I receive any letters but you or Ku- 
 nigund ? — yet Alverda received one yesterday, 
 which was also addressed to you, as well as my- 
 self, and it gave her some suspicions, as its seal 
 bore the arms of Wittelsbach, and was delivered 
 to her by a person unknown to any of us. She 
 received one also from the unfortunate Count 
 
C 72 3 
 
 Palatine, and will inform us of all that is proper 
 for us to know. — -I doubt whether, in your pre- 
 sent situation, it will be permitted you to receive 
 a letter from your former lover. — May this, how- 
 ever, which Alverda has in her possession, con- 
 tain intelligence of his safety, and tell the au- 
 thoress of all his sufferings that Beatrice may 
 be able to protect and restore him. 
 
 Console yourself, Wittelsbach, your castles 
 shall all be rebuilt ; you and your relations shall 
 be acquitted of every charge, as soon as my 
 voice can reach the ear of the Emperor ; — my 
 first prostration before his feet shall be to ob- 
 tain your pardon. In a letter I lately received 
 from him, he says, imploring beauty cannot meet 
 a refusal ; and that Beatrice, as she knelt before 
 him, first touched his heart ! — And for what did 
 I then kneel, what did I then solicit — but re- 
 venge ?~And ought I not to have more power, 
 and possess a far more winning influence, when 
 I supplicate a good and gracious monarch for 
 indulgence and for mercy ? I questioned AU 
 verda about the contents of those letters ; she 
 was silent : but I perceived when she came 
 from her closet, in which she had locked herself 
 
C 73 1 
 
 to read them, that her eyes were red with 
 weeping. 
 
 On my asking her, with repeated earnestness, 
 whethet she had been reading any thing that 
 was still to augment our sufferings ? — no, she re- 
 plied, far otherwise, for Wittelsbach has found 
 a friend and a comforter ; and an impenetrable 
 retreat secures him from danger. This, said 
 she, is sufficient to mitigate your uneasiness. — 
 It is indeed, Alverda! — but I wished also to 
 add, where is your brother ? and what is the for- 
 tune of one who is yet so dear to me ? — I dared 
 not, however, to speak to her of Alf Von Deul- 
 men. Though she is yet very weak, her unparal- 
 leled affection and friendship induces her to ac- 
 company me to Frankfort, and to quit her present 
 state of retirement and seclusion. She flatters 
 herself, but more for my sake than her own, that 
 the noise and bustle of a court, will quench the 
 poignancy of that silent grief which preys upon 
 her, and forward the re-establishment of her 
 health ; in which I, above all others, must take 
 so tender a concern. 
 
 Adieu, my dear Eliza ; think no more, I be- 
 seech you, of our friends at Toulouse ; — they 
 
t 74 1 
 
 are sadly persecuted on account of that doctrine 
 which they have adopted, and is considered as 
 heresy. Prudence forbids me to enlighten my- 
 self on these dubious matters. — One question, 
 however, I shall venture to ask you, — whether 
 fire and sword are the means which Heaven ap- 
 proves to convert the heretic ? 
 
 O Eliza, — " supplicating beauty is irresist- 
 ible.'* — Do you also kneel to your husband, 
 as I propose to prostrate myself before mine : — 
 his influence can govern the fate of the unfor- 
 tunate adherents of these persecuted opinions. — 
 The Bishop of Castile is among their principal 
 persecutors ; — ^and is to be one of the chief 
 judges of the tribunal, which the Pope has lately- 
 instituted for the extirpation of heresy : soli- 
 cit him, I entreat you, — nay, kneel to him, if 
 kneehng will avail ; — no humiliation will de- 
 grade your rank, v^^hen its object is to deliver 
 the innocent from oppression.— 
 
 Alverda shakes her head at what I have 
 written ; as she fears it may add to our trou- 
 bles. I have therefore yielded to her repeated 
 requests, and resigned the letter to her disposal. 
 —If her discretion approves of it^ she will for« 
 
n 75 3 
 
 ward it to you. — She thinks that all I have said, 
 would be more effectually communicated, and 
 with much less danger, when we meet hereafter. 
 But, my sister, shall we ever meet, — shall I be 
 so happy as to see you again on this side the 
 tomb ?— Is such a blessing in store for us? — 
 
 Indeed I feel that the moment in which I am 
 conducted to the altar, will be clouded with the 
 thoughts of death ; and gloomy presages already 
 haunt my soul! Adieu, my dearest Eliza! 
 Heaven grant that this may not be an adieu for 
 ever ! 
 
C 76 3 
 
 Alf Von Deulmen to Otho Von Wittelshach, 
 1210. 
 
 Your letter to the Princesses is delivered^ 
 and I was the bearer of it.— I am so regardless 
 of my life, that I boldly approached the place, 
 where the moment of my discovery would have 
 brought with it my eternal doom. Such an 
 embassy as mine did not seem to demand a 
 bloody sacrifice.— To bear to your enemies the 
 tidings of your misery, was, as you yourself 
 confessed, a welcome office. — Oh fate, — why 
 hast thou made those our enemies by whom we 
 were once beloved. — I delivered your letter 
 myself into Alverda's hands ; — I saw her who 
 was once my sister, and is now become my 
 cruel persecutress and accuser, — nor did she 
 know the man who was once her brother ! The 
 great preparations for escorting the royal bride 
 prevented observation, and rendered misery un- 
 perceived. 
 
 Otho, you do not comprehend many things 
 which I have now written. A very small part 
 
C 77 3 
 
 of my history is known to you. Alas, you are 
 not sensible what an heinous offender you have 
 suffered to approach you. — Can there be a 
 greater criminal than the man who has mur- 
 dered the Emperor? though he may find an 
 excuse for the deed. — Philip had shed so much 
 blood, that it was but just he should repay it. 
 O Alice, Alice — beloved Alice I — since I have 
 again seen those, who in happier times were 
 dear to me, since I have quitted my solitude 
 once more to associate with mankind, my head 
 can scarce sustain the change,— and my for- 
 mer disease threatens me with reiterated vio- 
 lence. You shall, at some future period, have 
 this enigma unfolded to you, when I have 
 purified myself by devotion from the heavy 
 sin that oppresses me-— and for which I suffer 
 a severe and unceasing remorse. I was once 
 almost seduced by my passion for the lovely 
 Alice to join the religion of the heretics, — 
 who have no belief in that purification, which 
 is now my only hope and comfort. No, my 
 Otho, we will not despair at the holy tomb — 
 we shall find repose for our souls, and occupa- 
 tion for our swords. 
 
C 78 3 
 
 My journey to Ratisbon has not been fruit-* 
 less. — I hope that, after to-morrow, I shall be 
 able to bring you sufficient for our expences on 
 the important journey that wc meditate. I have 
 found the old wall, where you secreted your 
 treasures, on your first flight after the Emperor's 
 proscription. 
 
 I write this chiefly to acquaint you with the 
 history of my expedition. You will find it 
 in the hollow^ tree, that was pointed out to 
 me by yourself, at a small distance from the 
 banks of the Danube. — Let not an impatient 
 desire to hear from me, induce you to stir from 
 your retreat. Recollect, that the hand of re- 
 venge is at your back ; and that he who has 
 sworn to die for you is now afar off. — -At night 
 only venture to seek the willow which will se- 
 crete this paper. 
 
 You will, I doubt not, perceive that the 
 conclusion of my letter will be far more rea- 
 sonable than its beginning,— though my senses 
 very frequently wander when I dwell long on 
 the recollection of past events : — but have pa- 
 tience with me ; — and time, that draws aside the 
 veil from all mystery, will one day explain QYcry 
 
C 79 3 
 
 thing to you. Wait for me at the place where 
 you will find this letter, — but venture not from 
 your hiding-place till the dark hour of mid- 
 night; — we will then settle the order of our 
 flight, and every minute circumstance con- 
 nected with it. In the day we will seek some 
 secret covert for our repose; and at night 
 pursue our journey till we reach the sea, which 
 will transport us to a more peaceful region. 
 
 The guilt of blood, it is said, does not follow 
 the murderer across the seas ; — but remains on 
 the spot of earth which drank the crimson 
 stream ; — but should it follow us — repentance 
 at the holy tomb effaces all. 
 
Juttas, an Attendant of Alverda^ to the Bishop 
 of Sutri. 
 
 I SHOULD not have hesitated a moment to 
 execute your commission, by telling you all 
 that has passed on our journey to Frankfort, 
 even if the adventures of it had been far dif- 
 ferent from those which, alas ! we have experi- 
 enced. Attend, I beseech you, to all our mis- 
 fortunes : — the royal bride is sick ; the Count 
 Kalatin, whom the Emperor sent to conduct the 
 Princess, is murdered; and my poor young 
 lady is at the point of death. 
 
 I sometimes doubt whether I ought to re- 
 quest your last holy admonition to her — and 
 she is too bad to know what would be proper 
 for herself ; but as her faithful servant, it surely 
 becomes me, as far as my power extends, to 
 take care of her eternal salvation. I must 
 
C 8i 3 
 
 therefore solicit you, reverend Sir, to afford your 
 holy assistance ; and more particularly, as she 
 often told me that she wavered in her faith, and 
 was strongly disposed to heretical opinions. 
 Such a circumstance considerably abated my at- 
 tachment to her, but it increases my wishes to 
 witness her present conversion. 
 
 I am persuaded, reverend Sir, that you will 
 condescend to receive even such superficial in- 
 telligence, as will be conveyed by me : and I 
 avail myself of the night, before the departure 
 of the messenger, to relate to you all that has 
 befallen us. Dreadful things have happened j 
 though I am not in a situation to comprehend 
 them all. I had, however, received your par- 
 ticular commands, to relate every thing which 
 might happen to you, though it should appear 
 altogether unintelligible to me ; and it is your 
 wisdom alone that can develop this painful ex^ 
 ercise of an understanding so weak and con- 
 fused as mine. 
 
 You are not ignorant of the melancholy with 
 which my young lady has been for some 
 time afflicted ; and I still maintain the opinion 
 which I Goramunicated to yoUj when you 
 
 vox. II, G 
 
C 82 3 
 
 deigned to converse with me on certain sub- 
 jects, that this affliction must be caused by 
 something more than the reproaches of con- 
 science. 
 
 The Princess, who displayed such peculiar 
 serenity when she set out to receive her des- 
 tined elevation, has been seized with the same 
 silent grief that tortures her friend, and has 
 involved them both in one common and ex- 
 treme affliction. That I might be able to 
 explain to you the reasons of this extraordi- 
 nary circumstance, I endeavoured to get pos- 
 session of two letters : one of them was written 
 by the Princess, and which, after some struggles, 
 she resigned to Al verda. — The other was brought 
 the day before by an unknown person, whom 
 I did not see ; nor do I know any thing more 
 concerning these epistles than that one of thern 
 was addressed to the Princesses Eliza and Bea- 
 trice ; and that when my mistress opened it, 
 the perusal cost her a flood of tears. You 
 might, indeed, have made important disco- 
 veries from these letters; but they vanished 
 from my sight ; and I have reason to think that 
 they were inclosed in a packet, with other 
 
papers^ and sent to a convent, the name of 
 which I have not been able to learn; as the 
 messenger was dispatched with the utmost ex- 
 pedition. Whether these circumstances can 
 have any connection with those I am now go- 
 ing to communicate, your superior knowledge 
 and sagacity will, I doubt not, enable you to 
 decide. The splendid train, and dazzHng ho- 
 nours which attended the Princess and my mis- 
 tress, did not appear to produce the least mitiga- 
 tion of their grief. Our conductor, the Count 
 Kalatin, who is one of the most charming 
 knights of the Imperial court, seemed also to be 
 infected with the same contagion. He did not 
 once approach Alverda. The change which 
 has taken place in her person may, perhaps, 
 Tiave abated his fortner love ; for it is evident to 
 every one who formerly knew her, that grief 
 has made very cruel inroads on her beauty. 
 
 The Count Kalatin restrained us not by his 
 presence ; though I well know that he received 
 orders from you to observe a different con- 
 duct—He passed the greatest part of his time 
 alone, absorbed in thought and meditation ; and 
 left us to pursue our own inclinations. The 
 
 G 2 
 
C 84 3 
 
 retinue appointed for our guard were fre- 
 quently at a loss to know in what manner, or 
 by what route, they should pursue their jour- 
 ney; and, on searching after our noble con- 
 ductor, they frequendy found him in the even» 
 ing, or at the morning's dawn, in the fields and 
 woods, wandering about like one in despair. 
 Our ladies also, who were in a temper to 
 demand the same vigilance, would sometimes 
 vanish, as it were, from their attendants, and 
 seek a retired shade wnere they might, unob- 
 served, indulge their sorrows. In short, so 
 melancholy a company on such an occasion-— 
 and a royal bride, so overwhelmed with afflic- 
 tion, were never seen, I believe, since the world 
 began. 
 
 I seldom accompanied my mistress in her so- 
 litary wanderings; — to say the truth, the fa- 
 vour with which she formerly honoured me is 
 evidently diminished, since you, gracious Sir, 
 were pleased to manifest a confidence in me. — 
 However, it was my fate to be with her at the 
 important moment which forms the principal 
 subject of this letter. 
 
 It was one of the finest moonlight nights that 
 
C 853 
 
 we have had this summer ; our retinue reposed 
 themselves under the tents^ which had been 
 pitched in an open ground near the Danube ; 
 but that we did not long remain there, is need- 
 less to tell you. The Princess and her friend, 
 impelled by the restless and disturbed state of 
 their minds, stole away, as usual, from the spot 
 where they were stationed ; and I, to breathe 
 the fresh air, or perhaps from curiosity, and my 
 wishes to fulfil your commands, took the same 
 path, though at too great a distance to be ob- 
 served by them. The ladies pursued their way 
 towards the river, whose waters, silvered by the 
 faint beams of the moon, formed an object of 
 uncommon beauty. The place to which they 
 strayed was silent and solitary ; and on a low 
 bank, shaded with ancient willows, near a small 
 inlet of the river, they sat them down. There 
 they talked, and sighed, and wept.— I would 
 have given the world to have been able to com- 
 prehend the subject of their conversation, and 
 the cause of their sorrows : — but the distance 
 between us, which I was obliged to keep, 
 was not favourable to my curiosity ; and but 
 once the names of Wittelsbach, and Alf Von 
 
C86:3 
 
 Deulmen, reached my ears: indeed it made 
 me tremble, to hear the Emperor Philip's 
 daughter, and the Emperor Otho's bride repeat 
 these names -but you have yet more to hear. 
 
 While I was thus endeavouring, though in 
 vain, to catch something that I might commu- 
 nicate to you, a gentle languor stole on my 
 senses, and I sunk unconscious into sleep. 
 How long I slept, I know not, but I was 
 awakened by the noise of arms. No sooner had 
 I recovered from the violent agitation of my 
 spirits, than I looked eagerly around for §ie 
 Princess and Alverda ; for my only apprehen^ 
 sions were for them; — but I saw them no more 
 at the place where they had been sitting. 
 While, however, I stood in wild amazement, 
 the plaintive voice of the Princess directed me 
 where I should find her. A small but deep 
 valley, shaded by thick trees, concealed for a 
 few moments the sad spectacle from my sight. 
 I had already heard the clashing of arms, and 
 the voice,-— the Princess continually repeating 
 the names of Otho Von Wittelsbach, and Alf 
 Von Deulmen ; and when I entered the valley, 
 I saw two armed knights engaged in combat.— 
 
C 87 J 
 
 I saw the royal Beatrice throw herself between 
 the combatants, and then leave them to kneel 
 down by a wounded man, whom as yet I did not 
 know. My lady I saw not ; — for she was in a 
 deep swoon, and they had laid her beneath the 
 willows. The hearts of women are formed for 
 compassion : — I flew, therefore, to the w^ounded 
 person, and assisted the Princess in her endea- 
 vours to stop the blood that streamed from him ; 
 but to separate the combatants, one of whom I 
 knew, by the light of the moon, to be the Count 
 Kalatin, was not in our power. 
 
 O Jutta ! exclaimed she, in a trembling voice 
 and with an agonizing look, help me, I beseech 
 you, to save the Count Palatine ! he is not guilty ; 
 and the Emperor will pardon him? — No, by 
 Heaven I am not, articulated the dying Count. 
 — But the Emperor's pardon is now of litde 
 avail, — I only crave that of the supreme Judge, 
 before whom I shall shortly appear. 
 
 Beatrice beciewed the pale face of Wittels- 
 bach with her tears. — Go, Princess, said he, 
 gently pushing her from him — go and preserve 
 Alf Von Deulmen, ere it be too late! O Alf 
 Von Deulmen! Alf Von Deulmen! — exclaimed 
 
n 3 
 
 the Princess, and, springing up in an instant, 
 threw herself between the combatants, who as 
 they continued the contest had unconsciously 
 approached the bank of the river. At that mo- 
 ment, the Count Palatine expired in my arms. 
 
 The shrieks of the Princess, which now called 
 to me for help, at once dried up the tears which 
 were flowing so fast for the charrping Otho,— 
 even although he died in a state of exconimu- 
 nication. I flew to the place from whence I 
 was called. — -The Count Kalatin was now fallen 
 into the river — -Beatrice had sunk down sense- 
 less to the earth.— I, alas, could scarce sustain 
 myself, when we were suddenly surrounded by 
 our own people, who carried the Princess and 
 Alverda to their pavilion. 
 
 The confusion which since reigns here is in- 
 credible. The body of the Count Kalatin is, by 
 order of the Emperor, taken to the convent of 
 Saint Paul ; that of Wittelsbach, on account of 
 his being under the excommunication of the 
 church, is thrown into the river. It cost a 
 great deal of trouble to one of your trusty ser» 
 vants, to save Alf Von Deulmen from the stream. 
 The Princess is lying senseless— Alverda is 
 
C 89 3 
 
 dying.— The Emperor, who had set out to 
 meet his bride, is himself arrived here; and as 
 the ladies are not in a condition to inform him 
 of the whole proceedings, I have told him 
 what I saw at the conclusion of the scene. 
 
 I find a security in my ignorance. Any opi- 
 nions of mine on such subjects as these might 
 render me liable to suspicions, and, in the end, 
 endanger my life. 
 
 You, reverend Sir, will be better able to solve 
 these enigmas than I am. — -The day appears. — 
 I must therefore conclude, that the messenger 
 who promised to take a letter for you may not 
 depart without it. 
 
c 90:3 
 
 Alverda to the Abbess of the Celestine Convent 
 at F anders, 
 
 1210. 
 
 Preserve those papers which you will either 
 receive before, or with this letter : they are do- 
 cuments of unexampled misfortunes well wor- 
 thy of your attention. 
 
 Alverda is the assassin of her only brother! 
 Beatrice and Eliza are the murderers of him they 
 most loved in the world!- — will posterity con- 
 ceive, will posterity believe, what is compre- 
 hended in these words ? 
 
 This will be delivered to you by the hand of 
 a faithful servant, but not Jutta, v/ho, sifice she 
 is become the confidante of Sutri, is suspected 
 by me.— Sutri is now here; probably incited 
 by her to add new pangs to my last moments. 
 May God in his mercy call me hence, ere the 
 voice of that man thunders forth his decrees, to 
 
C 91 1 
 
 rob me of the small consolation which is yet left 
 
 ifne! 
 
 Yes, reverend mother, my short and wretch- 
 ed existence is almost at an end. The mo- 
 ments are precious : — you must therefore be 
 content with the few words, and the short space 
 of time, which I can spare you. 
 
 To relate all the sufferings of my friend and 
 myself would be too much for me, who am on 
 the brink of the grave ; and I refer you, for the 
 sad history of them, to those papers which I al- 
 ready mentioned, and you may have already re- 
 ceived. Our enemies have succeeded in all their 
 vile attempts — Wittelsbach is dea4> and it was 
 our misfortune to find him dying on the shore 
 of the Danube. Kalatin, authorized to commit 
 the bloody deed by the awful sanctions of the 
 secret tribunal, was his murderer. While we 
 were affording an unavailing assistance to the 
 dying Otho, Alf Von Deulmen appeared; Wit- 
 telsbach's late companion in misery, who had 
 been a few days absent from him, and returned 
 at this moment to meet the avenger's sword, 
 
 Alf Von Deulmen, — for I must not call him 
 
brother,~found his friend mortally wounded^ 
 and beheld us by his side. After a few horrible 
 words, that I cannot repeat, but which made me 
 sink down senseless on the grass!— he flew to 
 seek Wittelsbach's murderer, and soon found 
 him. But I was not in a state to witness their 
 angry encounter and I know of its fatal 
 consequences but from the lips of Beatrice^ 
 from whom you may receive a more particular 
 history, if it shall please God to spare her life„ 
 I am too weak to write, or even to dictate, the 
 fatal narrative. 
 
 Beatrice also is in sucli a state, that they des- 
 pair of her recovery. —The Emperor, who pas-= 
 sionately loves her, has insisted that she shall 
 be his Empress, whether she lives or dies.-— 
 The ceremony was, therefore, in obedience to 
 the Imperial will, privately performed this morn^ 
 ing. Beatrice solicited for the bodies of Wit- 
 telsbach and his friend, the former of which had 
 been thrown into the Danube ; but the inter- 
 cession came too late for Alf Von Deulmen. 
 The proscription against Wittelsbach's relations 
 is also retracted ; his body has been founds 
 
C 93 3 
 
 and interred with those honours due to his 
 illustriotts character and injured virtue. All 
 search after Alf Von Deulmen has been vain. 
 
 Ö, my reverend mother, you will see by my 
 writing how weak I am : my only hope is for 
 repose in a better world ! and I trust that God, 
 in his mercy, will not permit a Sutri to rob me 
 of it. Do not refuse a tear to my sad destiny, 
 —It will console me in my last moments to 
 know, that you will not forget the unfortunate 
 Alverda. 
 
C 94 3 
 
 Bernard Duke of Saxony to the Duke Von 
 
 1 musT receive a very awful account from 
 you : — and may God grant that when you have 
 delivered it to me, your conscience may be at 
 rest. 
 
 Philip, —Wittelsbach, — Count Adolf, — his^ 
 sister,— and the poor Beatrice, who has borne the 
 title of Empress but during the short space of 
 four days, and perhaps many others, owe their 
 unhappy fate to the disorder and abuses which 
 you have allowed to creep into the mysteries 
 which were entrusted to you ! 
 
 The power of doing any further mischief 
 must be taken from you you must be sen- 
 sible that the mere dismission from your office 
 is a very moderate punishment for the misfor« 
 tunes which you have occasioned, and the ir~ 
 reparable injury you have done to us and our 
 
C 95 1 
 
 successors. Our laws must in future be held 
 more sacred, and observed with greater rigour. 
 The breaking that silence which is imposed by 
 the rules of our alliance, and disclosing its se-» 
 crets, of which you and the unfortunate Count 
 Palatine (God knows whether you are as 
 innocent as he) are accused, shall hencefor- 
 ward be punished with death ; like any other 
 irremissible crime that is brought before our 
 tribunal. 
 
 He who shall have the audacity hereafter to 
 imitate our sacred ceremonials, and, by assum- 
 ing our name and authority, hold up the terrors 
 of that power with which we are invested, shall 
 die. — Whoever, under the mask, and in the cha- 
 racter of a secret avenger, shall dare to exercise 
 revenge, shall die, wherever he shall be found, 
 and without the warning of a moment. — He 
 who shall take upon him the ofRce of judge, to 
 terrify the innocent with his name, or give the 
 slightest information to those who are the ob- 
 jects of our revenge, shall suffer death. 
 
 My heart bleeds at the dreadful laws which 
 the representatives of a godlike tribunal must 
 decree ; — and that I am under the fatal necessity 
 
C 90 3 
 
 of confirming them. — I tremble at the terrible 
 consequence which must arise from the abuse 
 of them. — But I am inevitably compelled to this 
 unwelcome part of my duty. 
 
 We communicate to you an account of those 
 statutes which are preparing by the wisdom of 
 our tribunal, that you may judge of the real na- 
 ture and consequences of those offences which 
 you have committed; and be convinced that you 
 can no longer remain a member of our alliance, 
 in which you once occupied only an inferior sta- 
 tion. — If, however, you should separate your- 
 self from us altogether, as I advise you to do 
 be on your guard against the Romans ; — place 
 no further confidence in them, or you may be- 
 come the object of that revenge, from which 
 theii^ power, that professes to imitate our alliance, 
 cannot preserve you.— -You must not expect, as 
 you will not find, any favour or protection from 
 me, if our tribunal, offended at your mis- 
 deeds, should declare you to be a victim devoted 
 to its vengeance. 
 
t 97 D 
 
 Alf Von Deulrnen's Confession to Posterity, 
 
 12 lO. 
 
 Yes, I was preserved :-~ — but, good God, 
 what has my preservation brought along with it ! 
 —Can the power to breathe the air of a prison 
 be called life ? were I now to have my chains 
 unloosed, and to be told that I was free ; were 
 my prison doors to be unbarred, could I asso- 
 ciate with mortals, but as a shade returned from 
 the other world ? The sun has long been a 
 stranger to me ! — my eyes, that have for so 
 many years (of which I can no longer keep an 
 account) been accustomed to the darkness of a 
 dungeon, or rather of a living tomb, can no 
 more endure its rays. I am forgotten in the 
 world. — If my former friends and acquaintance^ 
 who have survived the long course of years 
 since I saw them, were to meet me, would they 
 say it was Alf Von Deulmen ? the greatest 
 
 VOL. II, H 
 
C98 3 
 
 and most honourable among them, and to whom 
 my heart was more peculiarly devoted, were 
 lost to me before I was buried in this dismal 
 seat of darkness ; — the remaining few may, per- 
 haps, have been long removed from the great 
 theatre of misery ; — while to me alone, it has 
 pleased Heaven to allot a long life of pain and of 
 despair.- — —But, have not my sins merited 
 this cruel respite ? — Alas ! does not my heart 
 compel me to answer— that the world cannot 
 
 contain a greater offender than myself? 
 
 These hands were polluted with sacred blood. 
 O my heart, attempt not to palliate thine of- 
 fences — thou knowest well what years of night 
 and solitude have taught thee !— night and so- 
 litude!— these potent and searching monitors, 
 which awakened my conscience, and unveiled all 
 my crimes. The dark abode, into which I am 
 precipitated, quenches the self-deceiving powers 
 of the heart, gives to every thought its real 
 shape, and calls every deed by its own name. 
 
 A slave to ambition, a slave to extravagant 
 and tumultuous passions, I entered on the ca- 
 reer of honour j^but alas, it was soon closed, 
 and terminated in the blood of an Emperor and 
 
C 99 3 
 
 a friend ! O Philip,--^0 Kalatin, haunt me not 
 thus ! your avenging spectres, who incessantly 
 torture my aching sight, may at length be ap- 
 peased by my long and unexampled sufferings. 
 
 O that the Danube had been my grave !— 
 and wherefore was I preserved from the waters, 
 to grow old in solitude and darkness ?^ — What a 
 long and dismal night have I passed! — I be- 
 came wearied even with counting the years I 
 was left to suffer in this loathsome dungeon : 
 and, in the present moment of tranquillity, I 
 look back on all that has passed, and it appears 
 like a dream. 
 
 The first period of misery, when I was free, 
 was of short duration : — another succeeded, 
 which taught me to perceive that liberty and 
 happiness v^ere not to be purchased by perjured 
 faith it was terrible indeed This was fol» 
 lowed by a long night of many years, passed in 
 the burning fever of despair. At length, wea- 
 ried and worn out with sorrow, it seemed as if 
 my nature sighed for repose; — ^and it came at 
 last in the form of an oblivious dream. My 
 existence seemed to be dissolved in a kind of 
 slumber, which, by the slow decline of the facul-- 
 H 2 
 
ties of nature, would have ended in death but 
 I was strangely awakened to a new life. Where 
 is he who cannot judge of the feelings of a man, 
 who being on the brink ofbis grave, was roused 
 at once into a sense of existence ?-^Who will 
 not conceive the terror of that night, when^ amid 
 the rolling thunder, methought 1 heard the 
 last trumpet of the Almighty call me from my 
 bed of death !-*-when the chains fell from my 
 hands, and the falling vault threatened so soon 
 to put a period to that liberty which I had scarce 
 received? — Thou pious, tender Ademar, wast 
 the first object I saw after I recovered from 
 the amazement which had stupified every fa- 
 culty of my nature :— it was not surprising that 
 I took you for an angel, and the place to which 
 you carried me, the residence of saints. —To 
 one who had suffered like me, any alleviation 
 of his fate is the extreme of happiness. 
 
 Good Ademar ! how much I thank thee for 
 the mitigation of my misery — thou must not at- 
 tempt to frame excuses for not having before 
 granted it to me-*-thou wast my keeper — thou 
 wast made to swear not to break my chains.— 
 Thou didst not know thy unfortunate prisoneri 
 
m inspiration from Heaven could alone have 
 made me known to thee; — and it must have 
 been an inspiration from Heaven that could have 
 told thee what thou shouldst have done for 
 me. If thou hadst come to visit me, it must 
 have been by the assistance of a suspicious 
 guide : none of thy predecessors in thirty long 
 years thought it a duty to raise me from my 
 grave ; how came it then to fall to thee, who wast 
 under the same obligation to act with equal 
 rigour, to alleviate the misery of one whom 
 a sacred oath had bound thee not to spare. 
 Now that Heaven has sent you to me; now 
 Heaven itself has broken my chains, thou art at 
 liberty to act according to the benevolence of 
 thy nature. — Thou hast not sworn to put new 
 chains on these wounded hands, — these legs, 
 grown stiff with age and confinement, remain free 
 from the galling fetters. — My former tomb is 
 fallen to ruin, why shouldst thou build me ano» 
 ther ?— Thou kindly gavest me this spacious ha« 
 bitation, and granted me the prospect from the 
 casde, on which I have gazed as the fields of 
 Elysium.— Thy tender care may perhaps re- 
 store my lost faculties to me ; — and with the 
 
added pleasure of sometimes passing an hour in 
 thy company, this spot may become a paradise 
 to me. — The occupation of books, and the 
 pen which thou hast granted me, will dissipate 
 the melancholy of a prison, and rob the te* 
 dious time of all its horrors.— Yet I sometimes 
 see that tormenting fury, which was the terrify-, 
 ing companion of my solitude, and I sometimes 
 appear to be in the same state as when I lay en- 
 tombed in the darksome dungeon : but the 
 sight of thee at once chases these cruel phantoms 
 from my gloomy imagination. 
 
 O Ademar ! Ademar ! may Heaven for ever 
 bless and preserve thee to me 1 — should adverse 
 fate unlcindly snatch thee away ;— what will be 
 my doom ?-*-Oh take my life, rather, I beseech 
 thee, than deliver me up to another, who may 
 be cruel as thou art kind. — Thou wast obliged 
 to swear before inexorable men, when I was 
 consigned to thy care, that thou wouldst take 
 my life when there was any danger of discover- 
 ing the sad victim of their secret cruelty. 
 
c n 
 
 O Ademar ! how have I wished to possess 
 the power of rewarding your goodness to me : 
 and how painful the recollection that I have no- 
 thing to give, hut a faithful confession of all that 
 I dare relate of my miserable life. — -Nor must 
 you despise this present, which will cost me 
 many a bitter sacrifice.— I do not reckon the 
 time and strength it will require to write this 
 sad narrative, — for how can I better dedicate 
 them, than to you and posterity, if you permit 
 posterity to partake of it. 
 
 You must also consider, my friend, the ad- 
 vantages which you may derive from the know- 
 ledge of these things. — I am sixty years old : 
 . — (gracious Heaven ! thirty years have passed 
 away, since I was cast into the dark cavern 
 from whence I have been so lately delivered] 
 and compared with me, you are but an appren- 
 tice in the school of calamity ! — you will find 
 many things in the catalogue of Alf Von Deul- 
 men's sufferings, which will be a consolation 
 and guide to you in the future part of your life. 
 J3ut I will say no more to enhance the value of 
 my gift, but at once begin the history of my life 
 and of my crimes. 
 
1 104 3 
 
 My native country is Westphalia — and tifl f 
 had attained my twentieth year/ 1 believed my« 
 self to be the son of a private gentleman, with- 
 out rank, and without pretensions; and was 
 happy in that idea : I would to God that no- 
 thing had ever happened to deprive me of it ! 
 
 In the younger part of my life I soared af-= 
 ter fame, and indulged my imagination in dreams 
 of ambition. A natural instinct seemed to 
 whisper me, that I must walk in an higher 
 sphere ; and far from endeavouring to silence 
 the pleasing flatterer, I listened with secret de» 
 light to its fond suggestions. — The path by 
 which I was to arrive at the object of my 
 wishes lay, as I imagined, open to my view : I 
 had learned from history, in which my tutor, a 
 monk of a neighbouring convent, diligently in- 
 structed me, that many youths, of small fortune, 
 had by their sword and their virtues attained to 
 honours, wealth, and pre-eminence. I had al- 
 ready testified an inclination for great actions, 
 and, inflamed by the historic page, I exulted in 
 the hope that I should one day be crowned with 
 rank and riches, 
 
 O fate, why didst thou thus mislead me^ 
 
C ^^5 3 
 
 from the secure, the delightful path which would 
 have led me to the attainment of my wishes ?— 
 and at the same time turn me into a track full 
 of danger^ and on the precipice of misfortune ? 
 Yet let me not presumptuously scrutinize into 
 the decrees of providence, but with all humility 
 confess that my unexampled misfortunes were 
 created by myself. 
 
 I longed with the utmost impatience for the 
 arrival of that period, when my father promised 
 me that I should take arms, and be sent to the 
 court of some other country. I ardently seized 
 every opportunity that offered to instruct my- 
 self in military discipline and the use of arms. 
 The society of an inestimable youth in our 
 neighbourhood often procured me these oppor- 
 tunities. — Of him I cannot think, without the 
 most bitter remorse. Alas ! how severe are the 
 reproaches of my conscience when I reflect on 
 the fond friend of my youth, Evert Von Remen. 
 
 Indefatigable in employing my arrows and 
 my sword, I became a wild and wandering hunts- 
 man. — -Day and night I inhabited the woods. 
 The use of arms gave me new strength ; and I 
 became uncommonly robust by continual exer^ 
 
eise. — My good father, who had been in bis 
 youth a brave warrior, centered all his joy and 
 all his hopes in me, and often called me by the 
 animating name of " his young hero," before 
 Conrad, Evert Von Remen's father. Being thus 
 excited by praise and approbation, I became 
 ambitious to give new proofs of my prowess^ 
 and regretted that in the woods and forests 
 of Europe there were neither lions nor tigers 
 to encounter, and that wolves and bears did 
 not frequently appear to exercise my skill and 
 my courage. — I seldom returned to my father's 
 house ; and whenever I paid a short visit to 
 the paternal mansion, it was late at night ; and I 
 never failed to quit it at the dawn of the morn- 
 ing ; for the woods became my favourite ha^ 
 bitation. 
 
 I had a sister, younger than myself : — anc} 
 though I loved her well, it displeased me that 
 the weakness of her sex prevented her from be- 
 ing the companion of my wild excursions. — =1 
 was angry with our friend the young Evert Von 
 Remen for his attachment to her : for, his tem- 
 per being composed of female gentleness, he 
 preferred to stay with Alverda rather than share 
 
C 3 
 
 the toils and dangers of the chase with his friend, 
 I was alone in all my wanderings, and frequently 
 remained in the most solitary places for many 
 days together, seeking new pleasure and new 
 spoils by the employment of my arms, and 
 without returning to the house of my father. 
 
 Far to the north, at the mouth of the river 
 Weser, between a group of barren rocks, was 
 inclosed a narrow valley, in which passed many 
 extraordinary things, as I had heard related in 
 my boyish days. It was very generally sup-- 
 posed to be haunted by evil spirits, who at cer- 
 tain appointed times held their orgies there : it 
 was also said, that many persons who had pene^ 
 trated into it had never returned that horrid 
 noises were often heard there during night; — 
 that streams of blood and livid meteors, and 
 other extraordinary visions had been seen there. 
 All these things I interpreted in many different 
 ways. I believed also the accounts of large 
 herds of white bears, who at certain periods left 
 the forests to take up their habitation there. 
 In short, all the various stories of supernatural 
 beings who sometimes visited this valley, were 
 sufficient to deter any one from entering the 
 
C 108 2 
 
 confines of it. — But I knew no fear,— the idea of 
 new dangers was a feast for my imagination, and 
 the certainty that I should escape unhurt, from 
 my uncommon strength, habitual skill, and con« 
 scious prowess, determined me to undertake 
 the awful journey. As my family were now 
 accustomed to, the habits of my life, and my 
 absence from home was so frequent, the exe- 
 cution of my plan, which required a consider- 
 able portion of time, met with no difficulty or 
 obstruction^ 
 
 I therefore set out on this anxious and secret 
 expedition. It happened one evening, after I 
 had made a very fatiguing journey, that on 
 looking down from a mountain, tke last of 
 a long succession which I had passed, I be- 
 held a valley, that I imagined to be a beau- 
 tiful large forest, where I should find plenty 
 of that which was the particular object of 
 my pursuit. — —-But on descending into it, I 
 found that there were neither v/olyes or boars ; 
 —there were, indeed, among the bushes great 
 numbers of hares ; but those I could find in our 
 own woods, and. they were not the animals which 
 I sought to destroy. "Sometimes indeed I used 
 
to catch tliem in full chase with my hand, in 
 order to give proofs of my superior agility.™ 
 Being much disappointed that I found nothing 
 to gratify my expectations, I was preparing to 
 return, when a covey of partridges rose before 
 me. — -I let fly several arrows, took up my game 
 which had fallen by them, and pursued my way 
 towards my father's house, fully resolved never 
 to revisit a place, to which, however, I was af- 
 terwards so often obliged to return. 
 
 I discovered a shorter road than that by 
 which I went* — -The family found my game 
 exquisite : the ladies, in particular, had never 
 tasted such delicious food ; and to please the 
 Lady Von Remen, I went every week to the 
 same place to bring home a provision of the fa* 
 vourite game, 
 
 I was now obliged to make a more strict 
 search for these birds.— I penetrated farther 
 into the country — I pried into every corner 
 which was concealed by the scattered mountains; 
 and one day I found a place which most cer- 
 tainly had never been remarked before by any 
 huntsman ; but which drew my attention under 
 a different character. 
 
Clio:! 
 
 I had studied, among other things, the history 
 of the ancient Romans; I was acquainted with 
 every thing that books and my preceptor could 
 teach me concerning that great and extraordi- 
 fiary people.— Hence I learned that they had left 
 mmy traces of their incursions into Germany^ 
 ' — and the circumstances of that part of the 
 country which I now so frequently visited, in- 
 spired me with the hope that I should find some 
 remains of their ancient amphitheatres and 
 temples. —This idea was flattering to my ima- 
 gination, and my whole mind was occupied with 
 the future discoveries I should make of these 
 monuments of antiquity. 
 
 Such books as were necessary to my new 
 pursuits, and Vi^hich I was never refused from 
 the library of a convent near my father's house^, 
 became a part of my hunting equipage. I 
 passed whole days in reflecting on the manners^ 
 the learning, and the virtues of the ancients 
 and many an idle but pleasing dream, the ef» 
 fervescence of youthful enthusiasm^ did I in- 
 dulge on these subjects. 
 
 The place which I now visited, for about a 
 league round, was quite a desert : — and being 
 
C ill 3 
 
 Gne day awakened from my reveries by r 
 heavy shower of rain, I found myself entirely 
 without shelter, as the ruins of old walls which 
 were scattered about the spot were entirely 
 open : I therefore took refuge in an hollow tree, 
 in which I usually secreted whatever I carried 
 with me. It was a willow of prodigious size, in 
 whose trunk two persons might without incon- 
 venience have taken slielter, and where I was- 
 fully protected from the inclemency of the storm. 
 I sat there warm and dry, and when the rain 
 had ceased, I sunk down into a calm and 
 pleasing slumber. — I had been fatigued with 
 the toil of the day ; and the approach of night 
 brought with it the desire of rest. 
 
 I was awaked, as well as I could judge by 
 the situation of the moon, which shone full and 
 clear, a little after midnight, by a noise that I 
 could not comprehend ; when looking about 
 me to discover the cause, I saw the place ani- 
 mated by the forms of men. — I shuddered and 
 shrunk within myself ; and all those idle tales 
 which I had formerly heard of ghosts and evil 
 spirits rushed into my mind ! This alarm, how- 
 ever, continued but a short time.—Accustomed 
 
^'^'s, I was to encounter every thing without fe?*^ 
 I quitted my narrow habitation, and, disdain- 
 ing any particular precaution, approached the 
 assembly : when I hear d and saw things, a cir- 
 cumstantial account of which I am prohibited 
 by the most awful engagements from exposing 
 to any human being. It must suffice therefore 
 for you to know that, as it were on a sudderr, 
 1 found myself in the midst of an assembly^ 
 which I afterwards knew to be that formidable 
 tribunal, which within the circuit of its enor- 
 mous power, was an invisible scourge, or a se- 
 cret blessing. 
 
 When, however, I recovered from my first 
 astonishment, I found that I was among men, 
 and not in the region of spirits; although all their 
 transactions wore the appearance of something 
 very different from the usual- proceedings of 
 human beings. It was, indeed, impossible not 
 to feel surprise at seeing such an assembly, 
 clad, as it were, in that awful melancholy; 
 which denoted the serious tenor of their de- 
 liberations. In the midst of the circle which 
 contained this unintelligible multitude, I per- 
 ceived a man seated on a throne, who, by the 
 
n "3 D 
 
 dignity of his deportment, and the wise opinions 
 which he delivered, appeared to possess qualifi- 
 cations to preside in the first tribunals of the 
 world. 
 
 Every person seemed deeply interested in 
 the business that was then in a state of awful 
 agitation. -My attention every moment in- 
 creased as their proceedings became more im- 
 portant. — I, though courageous by nature as 
 well as habit, could not resist the trepidations 
 of alarm — I, who was in the vigour of youth, 
 and possessed nerves of iron, frequently be- 
 came powerless and stupified. — What I saw, 
 and what I heard, is known to God; but 
 never can be revealed by me; Quite lost in 
 stupid amazement, and scarce respiring, from 
 the eager desire to know how all these strange 
 and incomprehensible proceedings would ter^ 
 minate, I stood, as it were, entranced in si- 
 lence. At length, however, I was impelled, I 
 know not how, to take a part in them 
 and as the judge had made a speech from 
 the throne, which was not altogether conform- 
 able to my opinions — " Is this the throne of 
 infallibility/' I exclaimed, " and does any one 
 
 VOL, lU 1 
 
1 114 1 
 
 appeal to it as the judgment-seat of unerring 
 wisdom ■ Though I stood in the front of the 
 tribunal, leaning against a low wall, I was in 
 such a state of obscurity, from the higher 
 walls around me, that I might have remained 
 concealed, if I had possessed the prudence to 
 avail myself of my situation. The words 
 which I thus loudly uttered, and the declaration 
 they contained against the supreme justice of 
 the place, drew the eyes of all towards the spot 
 where I stood. — A low murmur then com- 
 menced, which rose by degrees to the noise of 
 thunder, that the surrounding hills reverberated, 
 and made me tremble. -Among these con- 
 fused and mingled sounds, I too plainly heard 
 the alarm that a stranger had intruded, — that 
 he n^ust be instantly found, and satisfy with his 
 blood the guilt of prying into these awful mys- 
 teries. As I shrunk within myself at what I 
 heard, I received a blow on the hinder part of 
 my head, which laid me senseless on the earth. 
 
 This blow, I had reason to beheve, was 
 given me rather to deprive me of my senses, 
 than to destroy my life — or wherefore was it 
 Dot repeated, when I was so near the verge of 
 
C 115 1 
 
 änother being. At length, however, I revived, 
 ^and on lifting up my eyes, I observed that all 
 the place, which had been before enlightened 
 with weak phosphorus, was now without any 
 light, but the pale glimnaering of the moon that 
 shone on the spot where I lay, which I perceived 
 to be at the foot of the throne. 
 
 The judge ordered me to arise, and at the 
 same time informed me, that my life depended 
 on the answers I should give to such questions 
 as should be offered to me. 
 
 In the first place, I was asked how I came 
 to that consecrated place ? — whether curiosity 
 or chance had brought me hither ; and where- 
 fore I did not take my flight at the menaces 
 which the secret tribunal is accustomed to make 
 to those who have the boldness to glide into 
 the recesses of it ? In answer to these interro- 
 gatories, I protested in the most solemn manner, 
 that I was asleep in the willow from the fatigue 
 of the day, and was awakened by the noise of their 
 deliberations ; wholly unconscious who they 
 were, and what was the object of such an ex- 
 traordinary assembly in such a solitary place. — 
 I then added, that to any other questions which 
 
 I 2 
 
C ii6 3 
 
 they should think proper to put to me, I 
 was ready to give the judges such answers as 
 would at once exculpate me, and satisfy them, 
 I was then interrogated relative to those things 
 which I had just heard and seen, — but which my 
 lips must never repeat.— But wherefore, conti- 
 nued the judge, were you so rash as to interrupt 
 our deliberations by any exclamation of yours ? 
 The love of justice. 
 
 But do you not think that the judgments of 
 the throne whereon I sit are infallible ? — 
 
 I think that I am before a tribunal of men^ 
 whose judgments cannot be perfect and un- 
 erring, unless they are inspired by God, the su- 
 preme Judge of the world. 
 
 Do you doubt the rectitude of our judg- 
 ment in that case which called forth your ex- 
 clamation ?— 
 
 The exclamation proved my opinion ? 
 
 Are you in any way interested in the life of 
 the person condemned by us ? 
 
 No,— until this moment, I never knew that 
 such a person existed. 
 
 Have you any desire that the sentence should 
 be deferred, or do you wish it should be changedf 
 
e: ^ 
 
 As long as I hold it unjust, I must con-> 
 demn it. 
 
 Yet another question. — Do you know by 
 what means you can repair your present errors, 
 or misfortune, call it what you please, in having 
 intruded on this secret assembly ?^ — - 
 
 No. 
 
 There is only one mode to preserve youj 
 and that is by being initiated into our holy 
 league and solemn alliance. 
 
 I accepted the proposition, without taking any 
 time for reflection. It was not, however, through 
 fear, which was a stranger to my bosom ; but 
 because I had that night heard many things which 
 pleased me, and suited the secret impulse of my 
 nature. 
 
 You have heard a great deal this night from 
 us : but do you think that you are acquainted 
 with the various occupations which every mem- 
 ber of this mysterious fraternity is obliged to 
 perform. 
 
 Yes. — I understand that, besides judges and 
 assessors, you have also informers and execu-» 
 tioners among you. 
 
 Tell me then what office you imagine will be 
 
 i 
 
1 118 n 
 
 yours, if it should please me to honour you 
 with a nomination to immediate service ?— 
 
 I should suppose that it would be to some 
 menial and inferior duties ; — which, however, 
 would not suit with the pride of my nature. 
 
 By what act would you wish to begin your 
 probation ?— 
 
 By a re-examination of that business, on which 
 I declared an opinion that your injustice forced 
 from me. 
 
 Young man, your declarations are unre^ 
 served; — and testify a brave and exalted cha^ 
 racter. — Who are you ?— 
 
 I instantly told my name, and every other 
 circumstance of my situation, which it would 
 now be needless to repeat : it is enough to say 
 that I was accepted as a member of the tribu- 
 nal :— my lips were sealed by an oath that can- 
 not be violated ; and I found myself enrolled 
 in a great confederation, of whose existence I 
 had never before heard. 
 
 I, who had passed my life in solitude and re^ 
 tirement, suddenly found myself at once in^ 
 volved in an alliance which appeared to com- 
 prize half the race of mankind I, who owed 
 
C 119 1 
 
 obedience but to a father, and a tender one he 
 was, now found myself subject to a chief whom 
 I did not know, and whose authority was so un- 
 limited, that I was bound to obey every exer- 
 tion of it. 
 
 I did not dare to acquaint my father with 
 what had passed during this important night. — 
 I was attached to that excellent man by such 
 unbounded affection, respect, and confidence, 
 that I should not have entered into this ex- 
 traordinary league, if time had been given 
 me to make my reflections on the nature of 
 such a solemn engagement. But when the 
 dreadful oath was sworn, it was too late to re- 
 cede. 
 
 The Duke of Saxony, Duke Bernard's fa- 
 ther, the reigning sovereign of the secret tribu- 
 nal, the same judge whose wisdom that night I so 
 much admired, whose deep penetration excited 
 so much awe, took it on himself to calm the dis- 
 content which he perceived in me. My son, 
 said he, with condescending goodness, the obe- 
 dience which you owe your father is incom- 
 patible with that which is my due, and which 
 you have sworn to me : — be punctual in fulfilling 
 
your duty, and you will find me a kind master. 
 — And he fulfilled his promise ; for a kind 
 master I ever found him. But I experienced a 
 very contrary character in the Duke Von * 
 who is next in dignity to the Duke of Saxony^ 
 and in all cases of necessity, his representative. 
 
 From my first appearance in the great circle, 
 the Dtike Von * * had conceived a violent 
 hatred against me, and was become implaca- 
 ble on my open disapprobation of a sentence 
 given by him. — I have too much reason to 
 think him the principal instrument of my ruin, 
 and the leading cause of that misery which has 
 accompanied my wretched existence. 
 
 I have already related that, my having rashly 
 given my opinion on a sentence pronounced in 
 the great tribunal was the cause of my having 
 been initiated into it. — Such an opposition, 
 from whomsoever it might come, could not be 
 rejected, when the person accused did not at 
 the same time acknowledge himself guilty. — 
 Were the sword of justice already hanging over 
 his head, the execution must be delayed, and 
 
 more strict examination must succeed ; an 
 
 examination, in which he who had appeared 
 
to demand it was to act the principal part.~ 
 The result of such an inquiry was, whether the 
 life of the accused, 15r the person who undertook 
 his defence, should be spared ; — or whether 
 they both should die. — Thus I ignorantly in- 
 volved myself in a business of great difficulty 
 and equal danger, and for one whom I did not 
 know. The Duke Von * * * contended ear- 
 nestly for his execution ; and his malignant 
 wishes would have obtained their object, had I 
 not discovered an irregularity in the proceed- 
 ing, which delayed, at least, thie avenging hand 
 that was uplifted against him. 
 
 But another and more difficult task remained 
 behind ; for having tliusTdelayed his punishment, 
 it became me to prove his innocence, or to suffer 
 myself the sentence of death. 
 
 I now asked permission of my father to go 
 and spend a few weeks in the chase, among 
 some distaait forests ; but I employed the time 
 in other researches. — I was successful in them, 
 and produced such a mass of incontrovertible 
 evidence in favour of the impeached person, 
 that it saved his life and my own. — Nor was my 
 ti iumph lessened by the praise and approbation 
 
Vilich the Duke of Saxony himself condescend- 
 ed to bestow upon me. 
 
 As the Duke Von * * * had sworn an eternal 
 hatred against me ; whenever it depended upon 
 him, the commissions with which I was charged 
 were full of difficulty and danger : — but my 
 fidelity and my courage never failed of success; 
 and in defiance of my enemy, I continued to 
 perform the most important services, and to 
 acquire new honour as I proceeded in the va- 
 rious discharge of my duty. 
 
 It once happened that certain records which 
 were written in the time of Charles the Great, 
 and had been lost, were so essential to some im«, 
 portant objects of the league, that every means 
 were employed to discover them. 1, among the 
 rest, had my commission to begin the search • 
 and I succeeded so soon in their discovery, 
 that our chief told me to make any request of 
 him, which my wishes should suggest, and that 
 nothing but an impossibility should prevent its 
 being immediately granted. 
 
 Impressed with the liveliest gratitude to the 
 Duke for his generous conduct to me, I with- 
 drew from his presence, to consider of the privi». 
 
c; 1 
 
 lege with which he had indulged me. I was now 
 approaching my twentieth year ; and my father's 
 promise that I should enter the service was, from 
 many circumstances, as yet unaccomplished. — > 
 I determined therefore to demand of the Duke 
 of Saxony the sword of knighthood, and that I 
 might serve in his army. — Nor did he fail in his 
 promise ; for he not only granted my request, 
 but accompanied it with such an elevation of 
 military rank as the vainest wishes of my heart 
 had never contemplated. 
 
 Every one at my father's house knew of my 
 repeated absences from home, which had been 
 more or less frequent from my boyish days.— - 
 But Conrad Von Remen, my young friend's fa- 
 ther, would at times shake his head, and ap- 
 peared to have a mind burdened with thoughts 
 and suspicions, which he dared not to confide 
 to any other. 
 
 As I had such continual employment in my 
 secret office, I began to apprehend that I should 
 not be long able to maintain the secresy to 
 which I was bound by an oath which it might 
 be death to break. — It w^ould be useless to re- 
 mark that my situation was attended with very 
 
peculiar, extraordinary^ and alarming circum«. 
 stances. I formed a thousand different schemes 
 to reconcile my fihal duty with the oath I had 
 taken as member of the secret tribunal. The 
 open, honest sincerity of my nature long re- 
 volted at the idea of veiling my heart to him 
 who gave me birth but I was compelled to 
 yield to the necessities of my situation,— and to 
 deceive my father. At the same time, as if to 
 punish my olfence, I became engaged in an 
 office which I must consider as the cause of all 
 my woes. 
 
 As the beginning of them, this dear father and 
 best of friends was seized with a fit of illness, 
 and soon reduced to that state which banished 
 all hope of hu recovery.— My young friend 
 Evert Von Remen, my sister, and myself, were 
 incessantly weeping in his chamber, and dread- 
 ing the moment when we were to be separated 
 from him for ever- On the morning of his death, 
 he desired that I should be left alone with him i 
 when he addressed the following discourse to 
 me, of which every word is imprinted on my 
 memory. 
 
 My son/* said he, I cannot, nay, I dare 
 
C 3 
 
 not quit this world, without depositing in your 
 bosom a family secret, which my father also 
 confided to me. — To me it has been of no ad- 
 vantage — but, on the contrary, has filled my 
 soul with restless endeavours after unattainable 
 wealth : — it has embittered my days, and the con- 
 sequence is a premature grave ; in whose cold 
 bosom I shall shortly rest from all my troubles. 
 — Could I foretell that this would be your al- 
 lotment, I would forswear the oath by which 
 I am bound to communicate such a source of 
 sorrow. — Know then, that you are not the youth 
 of obscure birth and ordinary pretensions which 
 
 you imagine yourself;- -you are a branch 
 
 of the house of the Count Von . The 
 
 property and tide of this house, which the Bi- 
 shops of Bremen and Munster have shared be- 
 tween them, are your right. — They robbed your 
 father of them, and almost reduced us to the 
 state of the poorest citizen. — My father, the 
 first victim of this injustice, found security and 
 peace by concealing his great name; yet he 
 would not die without discovering to me our 
 pretensions, and the means to realize them» He 
 
conjured me either to employ them myself^ 
 which he had been afraid to do, or to recom- 
 mend such a conduct to his descendants, who 
 perhaps might be more fortunate than their an- 
 cestor had been." 
 
 Almost breathless with astonishment, 1 knelt 
 down by the bed on which he lay, pale and dy- 
 ing ; while my heart, which had long thirsted 
 after greatness, now began to swell with an en- 
 thusiastic pride at the discovery ; nor were the 
 afflicting circumstances which accompanied it 
 sufficient to extinguish the sudden ardour of my 
 bosom. " How," cried I, " how, my father, arc 
 you the Count Von - — ^ ! and is it at this melan-= 
 choly period, and from your dying hps that I 
 am to learn the wondrous tidings " Unhappy 
 young man!'* returned he, " how violent and 
 extreme must be the thirst after empty honours 
 in your soul, when the discovery of your birth 
 fills it with such powerful emotions, at a moment 
 in which all the greatness and grandeur of the 
 world should appear but as dust in the balance/* 
 
 I blushed at the reproof I had so jusdy me- 
 rited.— I was sensible of the truth of my father's 
 
words; and yet I could not suppress the fervent 
 desire I had to know the means by which I was 
 to regain what he had lost. 
 
 " The method I took," replied he, " led mc 
 into many errors. — I sought justice at the 
 throne of the prince, but found it not. — Your 
 grandfather informed me there was yet another 
 throne, where I might find immediate assistance ; 
 but he felt an abhorrence at prostrating himself 
 before it. — I have been governed by the same 
 principle, and I flatter myself you will follow 
 the example of your fathers. — In the German 
 empire there reigns a clandestine power, which 
 is at once the friend and foe of justice, and 
 while it often punishes the innocent, will assist 
 the oppressed, when they seek its assistance." 
 — " And why did you not," cried I in haste, 
 and with a glowing countenance, " seek its 
 powerful aid?" for I too well knew the power 
 of which he spoke. 
 
 " Those unknown men, it is true, possess a 
 most formidable power; but I cannot advise 
 you," said my father in a feeble voice, to 
 address yourself to it. Inquire what fame says 
 
öf them. But it is my firm belief, that dangc/ 
 and dishonour attends an alliance with them.*'— 
 
 " Gracious Heaven ! — what powerful reasoi> 
 can urge my dearest father to entertain snch 
 notions of this seat of secret justice? — Is not 
 the Duke of Saxony its chief?'* — 
 
 " It is n\ost true, my son, that the Duke of 
 Saxony is a good man, but what can be said of 
 the Duke of — his representative ? While 
 your grandfather lived, such men presided also 
 in the secret tribunal— but where authority is 
 without control, though justice may be some- 
 times administered^ innocence will suffer op- 
 pressioa«" 
 
 I felt an anxious desire to soften these pre- 
 judices in the mind of my father; but this was 
 not a moment to indulge such a hope;- — his 
 virtuous spirit was departing from him — he 
 had fainted, from the exertions he had already- 
 made : and though nature seemed to rally for 
 a moment, to repeat some further instructions 
 concerning my fortune and my name, he soon; 
 gave me the last look of paternal affection, and 
 expired in my arms. 
 
It is impossible to describe my affliction, 
 when I saw him dead before me ; who, if 
 Heaven had spared him, might have enjoyed 
 all that his heart had languished in vain to pos- 
 sess.— Oh! why did I not sooner learn these 
 things ? My departed parent had passed a mi- 
 serable life, in fruitless hopes of attaining that 
 which I could now command by a word! From 
 the power of the secret tribunal, in which I was 
 incorporated, and the protection of the Duke 
 of Saxony, I well knew that every obstacle 
 would sink before me,-^and that my paternal 
 rights and honours would, in a very short time, 
 be restored to me. 
 
 I was almost inflamed to madness,-^and as I 
 beat my forehead with my hands, I continued to 
 exclaim, Why did he so long withhold the im- 
 portant secret? — and wherefore did I fear to 
 speak ? — Too late, alas ! too late does happiness 
 approach me ; when he who was dearest to me 
 in the world cannot share it with me.— Oh, my 
 father ! my ever honoured father! what supreme 
 delight would it have been to have adorned 
 you, in your latter days, with the splendour of 
 that station to which you were born !-^ Must I 
 
 VOL, II. K 
 
now enjoy it alone ! and shall I not be ashamed 
 to possess rank and riches, when you lived and 
 died in retirement and obscurity ?" 
 
 I became so outrageous, that my friend 
 Evert Von Remen, was convinced I had lost 
 my senses ; and he was confirmed in his opi- 
 nion, when I caused a magnificent funeral for 
 my deceased father, — which was by no means 
 suited to his apparent rank and situation.— I 
 was wholly employed about that melancholy ce-, 
 remonial, and the purchase of a vault in an ad- 
 jacent convent, where I deposited his remains 
 among the princes who had founded it. 
 
 On examining the papers that my father 
 had left, I found certain writings which dis- 
 posed me to doubt, in some degree, the suc^ 
 cess which I had hitherto imagined would in- 
 stantly wait upon my petition to our tribunal. 
 
 The professed hatred of the Duke of , 
 
 and his extensive authority, alarmed me. — 
 That opinion of him, and some other of the 
 members, which I had read amongst my father's 
 writings, was but too well founded. — I asked^ 
 as he had done, why such people should be ad- 
 mitted into so sacred an alliance? and found 
 
c :! 
 
 what his opinion was of those who had any 
 connection with such a strange and incompre- 
 hensible system. What he had written on the 
 subject was of such importance, that I felt an 
 inward tremor, perhaps the prediction of what I 
 was one day doomed to suffer. — I had, however, 
 determined on ray journey to what was called the 
 infallible throne ; and I recommended my sister 
 to the care of the Lady Von Remen, uncertain 
 in what manner and character I should return. 
 How I opened the affair, which caused so 
 much astonishment; in what manner it was re- 
 ceived; the obstacles that opposed me, and how 
 I surmounted them, in defiance of my enemies, 
 ' — these are circumstances which it is not neces- 
 sary to relate ; and by those w^ho are unac-= 
 quainted with our mysteries, the greatest part 
 of the narrative would not be understood.— 
 It will be sufficient to say that the sentence was 
 given in my favour; and that I received no 
 small aid from the extensive authority of my 
 protector. To those who had possession of my 
 property, it was of no advantage that they had 
 relations and friends in our circle» — -The Arch^^ 
 bishop of Bremen being brother to the Duke 
 
C ^32 ] 
 
 of , was of little use to him, and I returned 
 
 the acknowledged heir to the Count of 
 and lawful proprietor of all his titles and 
 estates. 
 
 The astonishment of some, and the joy of 
 others on this event, shewed itself in a thou- 
 sand different ways. — Amongst all my friends, 
 there were none who rejoiced so little at my 
 acquired greatness as Evert Von Remen. My 
 sister had been promised to him from her in- 
 fancy, and, in her former situation, this al- 
 liance would have been a brilliant fortune for 
 her: but in her present change of situation. 
 Evert had reason to doubt whether he could 
 presume to look up to her. — I loved my friend, 
 and immediately endeavoured to satisfy his 
 
 mind, and soothe his doubting spirit. 
 
 He was a young man of extraordinary virtue, 
 and more noble in sentiment than in birth. 
 I felt it, therefore, as an happy and auspicious 
 moment, when I had the power to render him 
 happy, by encouraging his pretensions to my 
 sister. 
 
 Unfortunately for him (alas ! should I not ra- 
 ther say for myself?) our tempers had not been 
 
formed in the same mould : — he was gentle — I 
 was ardent and hasty — he, notwithstanding his 
 undaunted courage and skill in arms, loved 
 tranquillity. I, on the contrary, aspired after 
 military glory ; and should have been pleased if 
 the judge of the secret tribunal had given me 
 more employment for the sword. Evert had a 
 decided aversion to all secrecy ; and I had too 
 many secrets which I was obliged to conceal 
 from him. — He would frequently speak to me 
 on this subject, and often said, that between 
 such friends as we were there should be no re- 
 serve. — He had sagacity enough to dive into 
 many of my secrets— he inquired when he 
 should not have been curious; — he followed 
 me when I wished to be alone ; disputed with me 
 about things which he did not understand ; and 
 contradicted others which I knew better than 
 him, without daring to convince him of my su- 
 perior knowledge: — thus arose a jealousy be- 
 tween us, which was fomented by frequent disa- 
 greements ; we afterwards, indeed, agreed that 
 it was a folly for such friends to be at variance, 
 and ever more to avoid in our conversation 
 those subjects that might beget contention. — 
 
Nevertheless, the foundation of our friendship 
 was undermined; and the coolness which suc- 
 ceeded soon ended in a total separation. 
 
 My new situation, and the rank which, as Count 
 of***, I supported in the empire of the invisibles, 
 brought new connections with them. — Friends 
 and enemies intruded : some on the pretence of 
 business, others for my particular conversation ; 
 some with good, others with evil designs, pressed 
 their services on me. He, whom I already knew 
 
 to be my enemy, the Duke and his party, I 
 
 could avoid : in regard to others, I received them 
 either as chance or the prejudice of the mo- 
 ment might direct.— I chose, from the great mul- 
 titude by which I was encompassed, two friends, 
 who afterwards possessed a powerful influence 
 on my destiny.— The one waited to be sought 
 for by me ; he was the noble Count Palatine, 
 Otho Von Wittelsbach, a young man who had 
 a short time since been initiated in our league : 
 the other was forward in forcing himself on my 
 friendship, and derived the art of pleasing from 
 his numerous accompHshments. His name was 
 Peter Von Kalatin, an unfortunate young man, 
 whose fate it was to fall by my sword^—A man 
 
1 135 3 
 
 who to this day I am ignorant in what light to 
 consider, so often did he wear the semblance of a 
 traitor: yet a voice whispers to my soul, and 
 tells me, " he was thy friend, and thou art his 
 murderer ! — all the endeavours of thy heart to 
 prove him a traitor are so many artifices to ex- 
 cuse thine own guilt."— Oh, conscience! con« 
 science ! will thy scourge never rest ! must thy 
 groans continually defeat every purpose which 
 I meditate for my repose ? — But let me pro- 
 ceed ; let me speak of this Peter Von Kalatin 
 as he deserves. 
 
 Besides his personal qualifications, and the 
 art he possessed of making himself agreeable, he 
 had that also, in a peculiar degree, of conciliat- 
 ing friendship. I discovered in his conduct, as 
 I thought, the most generous intentions towards 
 me: at the time I was first sworn into one of the 
 lowest offices in the secret tribunal, he had al- 
 ready enjoyed an high rank in the council ; and, 
 on the frequent occasions I had of being em- 
 ployed with him, he never gave me the least cause 
 of complaint: he had always been as assiduous 
 and attentive to me as he possibly could be to 
 any one even of the chiefs 1 and now that fortune 
 
C 3 
 
 had raised me to my newly discovered rank and 
 property, and that I had stepped over him, and 
 a thousand others, and was exalted to a dignity 
 which he could never have hoped to attain, he 
 did not testify the smallest degree of that envy 
 or jealousy which inflamed the bosom of the 
 
 Duke Von — ; Kalatin still was the same, 
 
 with this only difference, that his former affabi- 
 lity towards me as an inferior, was now changed 
 into equal friendship. 
 
 This is a phaenomenon which by experience 
 I knew was rarely to be found, and his conduct 
 won me to him. I became partial to him, be- 
 cause I thought that he was so much more esti- 
 mable than the generality of mankind ; and when 
 I experienced so many proofs of his virtue, my 
 heart became wholly attached to him.— As Ka- 
 latin was sensible of the fast possession he had 
 of my affection, he unveiled his own ; nor did 
 he hide from me his love for my sister, and his 
 hopes of possessing her ; a discovery that filled 
 me with the deepest concern. — Pride was my 
 predominant passion ; and though I greatly es- 
 teemed him, still I thought his rank in life so 
 inferior to mine, as not to justify the connectiors 
 
1 137 n 
 
 to which he aspired. Indeed, had I consented 
 that my sister should marry beneath her, it could 
 only be to an Evert Von Remen. — Evert was 
 the friend of my infancy, and possessed my 
 sister's affections, which had been sanctioned by 
 the favour and engagement of my father. Ka- 
 iatin had not these pretensions; my answers, 
 therefore, to him on this interesting business 
 were repeated refusals. Nor did I forget to 
 urge the pretensions of Evert Von Remen, 
 which had been, in some measure, sanctioned 
 by my father, my sister, and myself, 
 
 I know not whether Kalatin was offended 
 with my rejecting him, but he seemed to look 
 on Evert as the principal obstacle to his happi- 
 ness, and used every art to remove him from 
 my confidence and regard. — How artful must 
 he have been in his designs against his rival, 
 when I was not conscious that it was he who 
 had imperceptibly alienated my heart from the 
 friend of my youth!— When, indeed, I after- 
 wards discovered that his machinations had been 
 the cause of our disunion, 1 began to doubt of 
 I his honour ; and other circumstances arose to 
 confirm my suspicions. 
 
 i 
 
At this time, however, I was so attached to 
 him, that Even's company became at first indif- 
 ferent, and at last tiresome to me. I attributed 
 less to the witty sarcasms of Kalatin, than to the 
 comparisons I made between my two friends, 
 when I thought of them in my solitary hours, — 
 and in which Evert was thrown into shade by 
 the superior lustre of Kalatin. How could I 
 put in competition the simple, honest, and un- 
 reserved philosopher, with the artful and elo-.- 
 quent courtier?-^how smoath and flattering was 
 each word which he uttered, and each action 
 which he performed ! — how harsh and morose 
 those of Evert, particularly when he perceived 
 that my friendship for him daily decreased.— 
 Curious in his inquiries, his opinions were de- 
 cisive, and sometimes the cause of offence. — I, 
 indeed, thought him altogether changed from 
 what he once was. He who was so gentle and 
 condescending, now on a sudden became gloomy, 
 suspicious, and discontented.- — —I wondered 
 at a change of which I alone was guilty ; and 
 did not reflect that such negligence on my 
 part was sufficient to effect it in an heart like 
 his; 
 
t 139 ;3 
 
 My sister made the same complaints of our 
 old friend ;— nor did Kalatin lose such an op*, 
 portunity to pursue his own advantage, and 
 prejudice his rival. By degrees, I began to 
 think that I was neither bound by oath ,or duty 
 to Evert V^on Remen ; and that far better for- 
 tune than an union with him might smile on 
 Alverda, particularly when she was once pre- 
 sented at court ; which, as she had attained the 
 necessary age, was become an indispensable ce- 
 remonial to a person of her birth and station, 
 i cannot conceive why Kalatin endeavoured so 
 much to withdraw me from my own country ; 
 but he continually urged the necessity of it, 
 cither to introduce my sister into the world,— 
 which she herself pretended to demand, or for 
 other reasons, to which he endeavoured to give 
 a fallacious weight and importance. I paid, 
 however, but little attention to them. — " You 
 know, Kalatin," I often said, " that I am not 
 my own master : the Duke of Saxony must ab- 
 solutely be informed if I quit my country; 
 and I doubt whether he would approve of it. 
 But my presence here is necessary to my own 
 private concerns : — one year's enjoyment of my 
 
C HO D 
 
 heritage has not so confirmed me in the rights 
 of it, but that the former oppressing usurpers, 
 especially the Archbishop of Eremen, may me- 
 nace me with danger, should I at this time with- 
 draw myself from my possessions.*' 
 
 Kalatin, being unable to answer my objec- 
 tions, was silent. — He pretended to let every 
 thing go on as usual, and lived peaceably in my 
 house, which I desired him to consider as his 
 own. — In short, his being ever with me, 
 and the amiable character which he maintained, 
 combined to exalt him in my eyes : besides, he 
 appeared to have so entirely subdued his unap- 
 proved passion for my sister, that he often talked 
 to me of other alliances which he had in view. 
 — In all this time I discovered nothing in him 
 that could be suspected, but a punctual corre- 
 spondence with Rome, and the Duke Von 
 ; which he artfully contrived to justify. 
 
 As we were one day conversing on his in- 
 tention of choosing a wife from among the 
 young women of our country, and I was jesting 
 with him on the occasion, he asked me, with 
 an arch, sagacious look, if I had never been in 
 love? 
 
C Hl D 
 
 « Never, Kalatin : my acquaintance with wo^ 
 men has been very confined and, among those 
 with whom I have conversed, I have never met 
 with one who awakened in my bosom any symp- 
 toms of the tender passion." 
 
 And what quahties would you require in a 
 future Countess of***?" 
 
 ** Not only those which every man wishes in 
 a companion for life, but there must be also 
 rank and high birth: I would rather prefer one 
 above, to one below me, or who even was 
 my equal. I find among my ancestors more 
 princesses than persons of inferior rank; and 
 if I were to aggrandize the splendour of our 
 house, I must choose with the spirit and ambi- 
 tion of my ancestors." 
 
 " These sentiments, my dear Count, are wor- 
 thy of your own noble mind ; — but how should 
 you ever find those ladies who might answer to 
 your wishes, when you are determined to re- 
 main in your own country ?" 
 
 I am not yet very old, Kalatin," replied I, 
 laughing : " let another ten years pass away, and, 
 during that time, many beautiful flowers will 
 expand their charms for rae,*^^ — 
 
And many/* interrupted he, " will be 
 withered, which Heaven now offers to yoiM" 
 choice in all their bloom and fragrance.— Eiiw 
 rope is now rich in beautiful princesses, whom^. 
 if you continue in your present resolutions, you 
 will never see in the pride of their beauty, if 
 your servant Kalatin, and the painter's skill, 
 did not place before your eyes those charms 
 which you think unworthy of your research." 
 
 " What, Kalatin, have you a cabinet that 
 contains the portraits of all the living beauties 
 of royal descent^ in the different courts of Eu- 
 rope?" 
 
 Not all of ihem^ — but I can boast of hav- 
 ing exact representations of five of our most ce« 
 lebrated princesses; and, when it suits your plea- 
 sure, you may see them." 
 
 Is there now, think you, or has there ever 
 been, an human being so lost to the finest sen- 
 sibilities of nature, as not to be desirous of 
 seeing the great masterpiece of the creation, 
 a beautiful woman, — though it were only in a 
 picture? 
 
 I was charmed with the animated zeal of my 
 friend ; and began to conceive it possible that. 
 
t HS 1 
 
 among these promised portraits, I might be- 
 hold the image of a woman I could love.— 
 I expected, therefore, the interesting paint- 
 ings with the utmost impatience; and when 
 the casket was brought which contained them, 
 we retired to a saloon in the garden, and I 
 opened it with all the eager hope of impetuous 
 youth, 
 
 " Fortify yourself,*' said Kalatin, while he 
 drew aside the curtain which concealed the 
 painter's art: " prepare yourself to see what our 
 time has produced most exquisite in female 
 beauty.— I now present to your eyes the three 
 daughters of Philip, who are named the three 
 Heroines, the Princess Adela of Poland, and 
 the beautiful Alice of Toulouse: — you may 
 now make your choice ; and be assured, at the 
 same time, that no prince will refuse you his 
 daughter, if you think it right to demand her." 
 
 I was so entirely occupied in contemplating 
 the objects he had placed before me, that I re- 
 turned no answer.— I saw the blooming Prin-. 
 cess Adela of Poland, the daughter of King 
 Premislaus; I saw the majestic Eliza, and the 
 enchanting Kunigunde j who, notwithstanding all 
 
her charmSj pleased me the least, from the wan- 
 ton cast of her countenance : I beheld also the 
 young Beatrice, lovely and in her first bloom, like 
 the goddess of youth, and beaming with smiles 
 that would have enlivened the goddess of mirth. 
 All these I saw :— but what name shall I give 
 that sense of sight, when I beheld the picture of 
 the beautiful Alice of Toulouse.— 1 more than 
 saw her charms, for I felt them too;— and they 
 struck deep into my heart.— All the admiration, 
 all the enthusiastic astonishment which the other 
 beauties had excited in me, were dissipated in 
 a moment by the exquisite sentiments with 
 which this supernatural charmer inspired me.— 
 Oh Heavens! — ^when I remember how I then 
 saw her, only in a picture, which was so inferior 
 to herself, and fell so infinitely short of her 
 real beauty,— it is as if a celestial light illumined 
 my dreary dungeon. — Oh, Alice! Alice! my 
 long lost Alice! is it for thee that I drag these 
 chains ?— Alas ! to what sad allotment has that 
 unbounded, unhappy passion for thee reduced 
 
 me?- Thou art with thy God — thou couldst 
 
 not long be separated from Heaven, which was 
 thy native country, — Thy innocent^» angelic 
 
C H5 3 
 
 countenance, thy cherub smile, the celestial 
 looks of those heavenly eyes ; — alas ! thy every 
 feature so enchanted me, — that in adoring thee, 
 I felt as if I adored an object who was not des- 
 tined for the love of mortals. — Ah, why did not 
 this sentiment pervade my heart when I first 
 contemplated thy divine charms? I surveyed 
 them, as it were, with my soul ; nor could be 
 satisfied with the sight, until the impression be- 
 came too deep to be effaced.— I was not sen- 
 sible of my danger : ah ! who is he that 
 
 should have warned me of it ?— was it not Ka- 
 latin ? — Alas, he it was who sought to ensnare 
 me in an unhappy passion, by the magic power 
 of this enchanting picture ! — he knew that it 
 must be the source of misery to me : — for of all 
 these royal and beauteous women, not one of 
 
 them could be mine. Adela was beloved by 
 
 the Duke Bernard of Saxony; Eliza was pro- 
 mised to Otho Von Wittelsbach ; Kunigunde was 
 already married to the Count Richard of Segni ; 
 Beatrice was destined for the Duke of Bruns- 
 wick ; and Alice, my heavenly, my never to be 
 forgotten, my eternally beloved Alice, was the af- 
 fianced Queen of Castile.— These circumstances 
 
 VOL. II, L 
 
C 146 3 
 
 were, at this very time, well known to the 
 wily courtier; but had never reached the so- 
 litude and retirement wherein I passed my days. 
 
 Letters which I regularly received from 
 
 Count Wittelsbach, then at court, would have 
 explained these things ; but the greatest part of 
 them were written in the Roman tongue, which 
 1 very imperfectly understood; and the traitor 
 Kalatin, to whose assistance I applied, inter- 
 preted them in a manner which best suited 
 those views that governed every action of his 
 life. 
 
 Spirit of Kalatin, pardon me if I do you in- 
 justice !■ — but did you not, by the most insidious 
 arts, entangle me in all the miseries of fruitless 
 love ? — and, at this moment, after so many sad 
 years of sorrow and distress, my suspicions of 
 your faithless conduct still remain with me. — 
 It was you who bid me choose, amongst five 
 different roads which lay open to me ; being 
 assured, as you then were, that every one of 
 them would infallibly lead me to destruction : 
 — and I fell into the snare which this perfidi- 
 ous friend had laid for me. -I could not 
 
 remain cold and insensible to all the charms 
 
C 147 1 
 
 that were displayed before me : to have for- 
 tified my heart, I must have perceived the 
 treachery of a friend whom I loved, — of an 
 heart which I considered as devoted to me.— 
 But Kalatin had conducted himself with such 
 consummate artifice, that my young, inexpe- 
 rienced heart became at once the slave of a 
 tyrannic passion. 
 
 " You are caught, then," said he, in a tone 
 of exultation, when he saw me lost in contem- 
 plation of my beloved picture; " and the lovely 
 Alice of Toulouse has the honour of bearing 
 away the palm from the rival beauties. — I most 
 sincerely congratulate you on your choice — > 
 and let me now request, that you will make no 
 delay in setting oft for the place where your di- 
 vinity resides : then you will know that ladies 
 of her rank cannot be reserved for a particular 
 lover; but that you must hasten to seize the 
 object, if you would wish to possess it." 
 
 I was sensible of the necessity of following Ka- 
 latin's advice: — the journey to France became 
 the constant subject of my conversation with him; 
 but how it was possible to accomplish it, with- 
 out interfering with the duties I owedto the secret 
 L 2 
 
tribunal, filled me with perplexity,— till an order 
 from our chief to go to Pamiers, under an as-* 
 
 sumed name, settled the business. A more 
 
 agreeable proposition could not have been made 
 me : — I joyfully accepted it ; and did not then 
 observe, what I afterwards discovered, — that 
 there were many circumstances in the form and 
 manner of my instructions, which might have 
 induced me to suspect them. — But my wishes 
 
 made me careless and confident.- Besides, 
 
 I knew that many of the principal persons 
 amongst us, for some private cause, would se- 
 cretly go to the assembly of bishops, which was 
 then held at Pamiers ; and I thought it pro- 
 bable, because I wished it, that I should also be 
 called there. I was equally persuaded that the 
 Duke Bernard would himself be there, and sa- 
 tisfy any doubts I might have on the object of 
 my commission. Alas ! I was ignorant that this 
 noble Prince was then confined by sickness, and 
 
 that the malicious Duke of was gone to 
 
 France as his representative.— My preparations 
 for taking this journey were eagerly accom- 
 pUshed:— love and duty called; — how thea 
 could I delay ? 
 
t H9l 
 
 My first intention, on my arrival, was to par 
 a visit to the Count of Toulouse, in hopes of 
 seeing his charming sister, and to have an op- 
 portunity of commencing my suit, which Kala- 
 tin, who must have been better informed, left 
 me to suppose would be granted to my wishes. 
 — i hoped to terminate the important con- 
 cern of ray heart; and at the same time to 
 be able to join the assembly at Pamiers on the 
 day appointed by my chief. 
 
 My design was to confide to my friend Von 
 Remen, whom I still esteemed, although my af- 
 fection for him was diminished, the care of my 
 property; and to his noble mother the guar- 
 dianship of my sister, who, to this period, had 
 lived almost continually with her. This would 
 have been the most eligible plan for us all ; but 
 it did not suit Kalatin: he disapproved, and 
 found the way to prevent it. 
 
 A variety of circumstances happened at this 
 time to make me suspect the probity of my friend 
 Von Remen, and to doubt the sincerity of his 
 excellent mother. — I should mention, however, 
 that they were the machinations of Kalatin, 
 jhough, at the time, there was not sufficient reason 
 
C 150 3 
 
 to entertain such a suspicion of him : yet to what, 
 or to whom, can I attribute these artful designs ? 
 when at a subsequent period the friendship of 
 Von Remen was proved to me. — I was at that 
 time blind to the innocence of the one, and the 
 guilt of the other ; and Kalatin did not fail to 
 take the advantage of my unfortunate confi- 
 dence in him. 
 
 Your sister, my dearest Count," said he, 
 cannot be so improperly situated in any place 
 as in Von Remen's house : — you would do well 
 even to send for her this very evening : she may 
 follow you to France, and I myself v/ill be her 
 conductor. — Nor is this all,- — she may be of use 
 to you in regard to the Countess of Toulouse, 
 who resides in a convent at Lyons: we will 
 carry Alverda there, that the charming Alice 
 may, through the sister, become acquainted with 
 the brother. — ^Thus may her heart be capti- 
 vated ere she receives an order to be yours, 
 and you be in possession of her by her own 
 ready consent, and not by the cold, formal re- 
 commendation of her family." 
 
 In this manner Kalatin urged his persuasive 
 eloquence : with what views it was dictated the 
 
C 151 3 
 
 judge of human hearts only knows.— I was 
 blinded by love and prejudice, and gave a 
 ready assent to every proposition he was pleased 
 to make me.— I gave myself no time whatever 
 to consider on the circumstances of my passion, 
 and the possibility of attaining its object.- I 
 did not feel my ingratitude to Von Remen 
 and his mother, by making Alverda suddenly 
 quit the house in which she had been so kindly 
 cherished and protected from her infant years : 
 - — I did not suffer my mind to examine the ill 
 opinions which I had been persuaded to enter- 
 tain of the friend of my youth : — I did not con- 
 sider the gross impropriety of trusting my sister 
 to a man who had once loved her : every con- 
 sideration of reason and of honour was swal- 
 lowed up by the unlimited confidence which I 
 placed in Kalatin, and the hopes of possessing 
 the beautiful Countess of Toulouse. 
 
 I gave my sister the necessary directions for 
 the execution of our plans : -^I shewed her tht 
 picture of the Countess of Toulouse, and told 
 her of the necessity she was under of quitting 
 the Lady Von Remen to follow me. — But I 
 found more reluctance in the dear girl to com-- 
 ply than I had imagined.— Her heart was free 
 
C 
 
 from the tumult of passion ; her understanding 
 was not clouded by the delusions of love ; she 
 therefore saw with a more sagacious eye, and 
 formed a far better judgment of such projects, 
 than her brother. — She was obliged, however, 
 to yield.- — It was considered as absolutely ne« 
 cessary to inform her of all our schemes, as well 
 as the grounds of them. — The most rigid se-. 
 crecy was enjoined herj and the doubts which 
 still governed her mind were suppressed by the 
 almost filial awe which she had of me ; and by 
 the conviction that in obeying my will, she was 
 fulfilling the duty of an obedient and aifec- 
 tionate sister. Even now, I can scarce con- 
 ceive how it was possible, I could suffer myself 
 to be so deceived by Kalatin.— As to my pro- 
 perty, I had setded it in such a manner, that I 
 thought it secure : — but I have long since 
 heard that it would have been retaken from me, 
 had not the honest Evert Von Remen risen up 
 in its defence, and preserved it to me.— The 
 Archbishop of Bremen, who only waited my 
 departure to invade my domains, was, through 
 the courage and prudence of Evert, driven 
 from his designs,^ — at the moment when I per- 
 mitted myself to be guided by his enemy, whew 
 
1^53 3 
 
 I was acting treacherously towards him ; — had 
 broke my faith with him, and snatched his mis- 
 tress from him. 
 
 The departure from my own country, of 
 which I repented too late, was the temptation 
 that brought these enemies against me ; and, if 
 I dare to trust my own suspicions, they were 
 encouraged by Kalatin. — Nay, as I have since 
 heard, their object was not merely to rob me of 
 my possessions, but also, God only knows for 
 what purpose, to have seized my person. 
 
 I was but five miles from my castle, when I 
 had notice given me of a private conspiracy. — 
 I escaped all the snares that had been laid for 
 me on my journey ; sometimes by being on the 
 watch, and sometimes by my good sword, which 
 was ever fortunate, until I arrived on the fron- 
 tiers of ; where, from false intelligence, 
 
 I fell into those of enemies whom I did not 
 then know, and whom I have known too late. 
 
 It was towards evening, after a fatiguing day's 
 journey, that I came to a very solitary road : I 
 
 was unattended, and the way unknown to me. 
 
 But an old man was sitting there, who asked my 
 charity. — 
 
 " Good father,'* said I, while I bestowed my 
 
bounty on him, " can you direct me to any 
 place where I may find a comfortable recep- 
 tion ?" 
 
 You must take a by-way, most worshipful 
 knight," answered he, — 
 
 " I do not understand you." — 
 
 " You want to know where you can repose 
 to-night, do you not; — and be accommodated 
 with lodging and refreshment?" 
 
 You are right, old man, and it is about 
 that I ask you." — 
 
 That narrow path will lead you to the wood, 
 and though it is frequently unsafe on account 
 of robbers, yet as it will be the shortest way to 
 reach the town before midnight, it will be the 
 safest for you." 
 
 " Why particularly for me?" 
 
 " Because, young knight, you have enemies 
 lurking here. — I saw many armed men lying in 
 the thickets, heard them mention your name, 
 and talk of you as of their destined booty." 
 
 " Mention my name, do you say ?— how 
 came my name to be known to you?" 
 
 Can the countenance of that family from 
 which you are descended be denied ? I saw also, 
 when you gave me a more than princely gift, 
 
C 155 1 
 
 ühe ring that you wear on your finger, which 
 bears the arnns of your ancestors. — Thirty years 
 I served under your grandfather, sometimes in 
 the Emperor's wars, and sometimes in his own 
 with the Bishop of Bremen : ought I not, there- 
 fore, to know his grandson? Count Raimond 
 
 Von was, at your age, like you ; I could 
 
 almost think myself young again, and that he 
 was alive standing before me ; if this decaying 
 body, this shrivelled skin, and this old ragged 
 coat, did not tell me another tale." 
 
 " What," I exclaimed, " did you serve un- 
 der the banners of my house, and is all that you 
 have gained in its service a beggar's crutch ?" 
 
 "Do not reproach me with my miserable 
 trade ; I do not pursue it for myself, but for an 
 aged uncle, who has no other support but me*" 
 
 " Good God," I cried, " can I know that, 
 and not afford you my assistance ? No, old man, 
 I will not quit this place until I have repaired 
 the debt of my ancestors : — I am also in your 
 debt, you warned me of the dangers which I 
 believe surround me." 
 
 " And what, most noble Count, is your pre« 
 sent purpose .^"-^ 
 
I will go with you, and lodge this night in 
 your humble cottage, and, at my departure, 
 will enable you to change it for a more conve- 
 nient habitation :— nor shall the means be want- 
 ing to enable you to pass the remainder of your 
 days in it with comfort and independence." 
 
 **Alas," said the old man, at the same time 
 raising himself gendy, and carefully leaning on 
 his crutches, you will be but badly lodged 
 under my roof, which can scarcely shelter me 
 and mine from the wind and rain : it is, however, 
 better that you should be with me, than expose 
 yourself to the dangers that attend you in seek- 
 ing a better habitation.-' 
 
 I dismounted and followed my venerable 
 guide, who led my horse, that I might keep 
 pace with him. Indeed he entertained me 
 so pleasantly with relating anecdotes from the 
 history of my family, that I hardly perceived 
 the sun was sunk beneath the horizon, and 
 that we were walking by twilight. In the midst 
 of his interesting narrations we met a well 
 dressed man, with whom my conductor seemed 
 to be acquainted, and spoke to him in the Ro- 
 man tongue, of which, as I have already said, I 
 
C 157 -2 
 
 understood but little. I grew impatient at theif 
 long conversation ; when the old man said to me 
 — " This person is one of the domestics of our 
 gracious lord^ the proprietor of this place : he has 
 asked me where I was taking you, as he sup- 
 posed from your appearance that you were too 
 high a guest for me, and proposed to invite 
 you to the castle in the name of his master, 
 where you will find far better accommodations 
 than in a beggar's hovel." 
 
 The stranger bowed very respectfully to me, 
 and assured me, in bad German, that although 
 I was unknown to his lord, I should be a very 
 welcome guest ; — that he never omitted inviting 
 strangers of consequence to his castles, and that 
 all his people had absolute orders, when they 
 should happen to meet with any who were of a 
 distinguished appearance, to invite and conduct 
 them to his table, with the same attention as him- 
 self. — The appearance of the speaker pleased 
 me as little as his speech ; I neither knew him 
 nor his master : — experience had taught me pre- 
 caution ; and a refusal to his invitation was on my 
 lips, for I preferred a lodging under the humble 
 roof of my honest warrior, to the proudest 
 
c; 158 J 
 
 chamber in the castle of a person totally on- 
 known to me. — But as I turned to speak to the 
 old man, — it was with inexpressible astonishment 
 that I perceived his crutches lying at my feet, 
 and himself on my horse, galloping, vnth the 
 swiftness of a bird, over an adjoining field. 
 
 " Good sir,'' stammered out the unknown 
 person, your surprise convinces^me that yoii 
 are ignorant to whom you have thus con- 
 fided yourself.— This man is the leader of a 
 band of robbers, who make it their business, 
 under various disguises, to draw unfortunate 
 travellers into their net. He fears nothing 
 here but the authority of my lord, who has 
 saved many victims from his treachery ; and 
 you have reason to thank your patron saint, who 
 sent me to your deliverance.'* 
 • I stared with amazement at the stranger; and 
 that the old man should so deceive me, com- 
 pleted the measure of my astonishment. But 
 whether I had any thing better to expect from 
 the person who seemed to have driven him 
 away, and who perhaps was in a secret intelli- 
 gence with him, I was at a loss to conjecture. — 
 He pretended not to observe nor understand 
 
C 159 3 
 
 my looks, which, however, perfectly expressed 
 my thoughts — and he went slowly on before 
 me, and necessity compelled me to follow him. 
 He talked of the vicinity of the castle ; the 
 company which were there, and various other 
 things. — Though I but half understood what 
 he said, as he spoke very bad German, and 
 used many words in his discourse which I could 
 not comprehend. 
 
 I knew not what to do — and as we walked on 
 together I could not repress my fears : — for I 
 was in a strange country, where some great 
 misfortune seemed to threaten me. — My guide 
 remarking that I loitered, turned towards me, 
 and perceiving that I had my sword drawn in 
 my hand, said to me, with a dissembling smile, 
 " Do not you see that I have no arms ? you 
 need not beun easy."- — Then throwing his cloak 
 aside, he convinced me he had neither sword or 
 dagger. I was ashamed of my suspicions, and 
 approached him with more confidence. — We 
 now both of us remained silent, like persons 
 who were doubtful what to think of each other. 
 — I asked him his master's name, but he re« 
 turned no answer; and muttered something 
 
between his teeth in his own language, of which 
 I could only comprehend the words, " stay or 
 go.'* I concluded this behaviour to be the re- 
 sentment of an honest man, who felt himself 
 injured by false suspicions. — I, therefore, put up 
 my sword, fully persuaded there was no cause 
 for apprehension. — After some time, " Yonder 
 is the castle," said he, as we approached a large 
 plain, situated behind a little hill," you can now 
 determine whether you prefer passing the night 
 beneath its sheltering roof, or in the open air.'* 
 
 " I will go with you," replied I, " and I pray 
 you, pardon me if, through an excess of precau- 
 tion, I have done you injustice." — 
 
 Wc had now reached a large castle, when we 
 entered a spacious court, where a great number 
 of servants with flambeaux came forward to meet 
 us. — " Is there a numerous company?** asked 
 my guide, — We have no strangers to-day, 
 but him you bring with you,** answered they; 
 
 he will be very welcome to my lord and his 
 friends.** — All my apprehensions were now dis- 
 sipated. — I could plainly observe that I was not 
 in a den of robbers, as I had apprehended, but 
 on the contrary, found myself in the palace of 
 
a person of distinction, where every thing wore 
 the appearance of wealth, pomp, and magnifi- 
 cence. 
 
 The door of a grand illuminated hall now 
 flew open, where a numerous company were 
 sitting, with each a full goblet before him ; and 
 which would have been a less suspicious and 
 more pleasing sight to me, had not their gar- 
 ments testified that they were ecclesiastics; a set 
 of people with whom, as I well knew, I stood 
 in no favour, and whose character I had ever 
 been more disposed to fear than reverence; — in- 
 deed, I had too much reason to believe that I had 
 powerful enemies amongst them. 
 
 The lord of the castle was a fat man, of oblig- 
 ing manners ; but bore in his countenance the 
 characteristic marks of cunning and intrigue, 
 — He wore an elegant ecclesiastical undress, 
 without any of the ornaments of the church 
 dignities, but a prelate's gold cross, which de- 
 noted him to be a bishop. — I was received by him 
 with a most friendly welcome ; was invited to the 
 table, and the most honourable place assigned 
 me. By the cordiality and hospitality which 
 
 VOL. II. M 
 
were shewn me by every one, I became wholly 
 composed respecting my situation. — The gay 
 repast, which did not end till midnight, was one 
 of the most agreeable I ever experienced, from 
 the wit and good humour which presided at it. 
 A peaceful night, and gentle repose in a splen- 
 did chamiber succeeded. The next morning I 
 received the most friendly salutation from my 
 hospitable host, and a pressing solicitation to be 
 his guest that day.— I staid, because I was 
 obliged to stay; for, amid the repeated entreaties 
 that I would make my visits frequent, I was now 
 convinced that I could not quit the place, and 
 that, at my first entrance into the castle, when 
 my fears were not ill-grounded, I had lost my 
 liberty. — 
 
 In vain did I form conjectures concerning 
 my present situation ; nor could I comprehend 
 the immediate object of detaining me. At 
 length, however, but by slow degrees, the de- 
 sign began to disclose itself. I discovered 
 that they knew me, and all the methods that art 
 and cunning, and sometimes authority, could 
 suggest, were used to make me discover things 
 
which they supposed I knew, and which had I 
 not even been bound by a solemn oath, I would 
 not have divulged to their interrogatories. 
 
 I must be brief, for it is not possible to de- 
 scribe the particular temptations employed to 
 seduce me. It is sufficient to say, that they at- 
 tacked me with those weapons which were most 
 likely to destroy me.— By love and ambition 
 they sought to effect my ruin. With respect 
 to the first, they did not exactly know me ; as my 
 heart was alone devoted to the lovely Countess 
 of Toulouse. — The seducing enchantress whom 
 they employed to tempt me to break my oath, 
 failed in all her aims. — This, however, they soon 
 discovered ; and AHce of Toulouse was at length 
 promised to be the price of my seduction. — 
 They first informed me (and the information al- 
 most bereft me of my senses), that Alice was un- 
 attainable by me ; and that she was already af- 
 fianced to the Prince of Castile. — They then, 
 with their usual art, would raise me from the 
 depth of despair, by promising that, in spite of 
 this engagement, I should obtain her, and that 
 no human power should take her from me, if 1 
 would submit to what they required of me.— 
 M 2 
 
C 3 
 
 The temptation was great; and it may be 
 asked, if I was victorious ? When I could van- 
 quish this, it required no struggle to resist all 
 allurements which they could possibly hold out 
 to my ambition. They, however, presented to 
 my imagination the highest rank in the German 
 empire, or the first dignity at the court of 
 Rome ; and, on the other hand, the loss of all my 
 lands and property, imprisonment, and an igno- 
 minious death. I laughed alike at all their 
 promises and threats : I still remained firm to 
 my oath, and faithful to the inscrutable secrecy 
 of the grand alliance. 
 
 My situation daily grew worse ; I shut my eyes, 
 however, on the dangers that surrounded me,—- 
 or rather, I despised them, for they could only 
 take my life,— and was that worth a wish, when 
 Alice was lost for ever to me ? Had death then 
 struck me with his shafts, I should have died 
 innocent, and happier than I shall hereafter 
 quit this world, stained as I am with the guilt 
 of blood.— Oh that it had pleased Heaven to 
 have taken me then to itself — I should have 
 sunk guiltless into a long night of death.— Nay, 
 it would now perhaps have been already passed 
 
C 165 3 
 
 Äway ; and I should have awakened to a better 
 life, blessed with the eternal presence of my be- 
 loved Alice. 
 
 But I was not to die ; — the hand of love, the 
 hand even of rejected love delivered me. — 
 One of those beautiful enchantresses whose of- 
 fice it was to have allured my secrets from me, 
 possessed more noble sentiments than her sister- 
 hood, and she found the way to bribe the fi- 
 delity of the jailer.— The bars were taken off the 
 
 doors, which were left open for her:- she 
 
 came to me at midnight, — and staid but to con- 
 duct me where liberty and the means of flight 
 awaited me. 
 
 " Fly with me, generous maid," cried I, 
 " save yourself from the shameful services of 
 this castle ; you well deserve to be delivered 
 
 from the snares which surround you." 
 
 " No," replied she, " never will I become an 
 attendant of the beloved Alice, or consent to 
 be confined Vv^ithin the walls of a convent." 
 As she spoke, she flew from me, and rejected 
 the grateful sentiment I was offering her for 
 my liberty. 
 
 I had got but a few miles from the castle. 
 
C 3 
 
 when I perceived that my persecutors were in 
 pursuit of me. The night, however, came to my 
 aid ; but the morning discovered me to my op- 
 pressors,while I lay behind a thicket, which I had 
 sought to conceal me : they instantly seized on 
 me, as if I had been a convicted criminal : they 
 loaded me with chains, and dragged me along, 
 without paying the least attention to my appli- 
 cation for justice and humanity. — But they 
 took a road that proved most fortunate for me : 
 it was a narrow unfrequented path through fields 
 and woods, which they chose in order to be the 
 more secure of their prey ; as they did not know 
 but that I might have some adherents or protec- 
 tors in that country. — Alas! I did not expect to 
 meet with any assistance ; but Heaven sent me a 
 deliverer ; of whom I could have no hopes, as 
 he was a perfect stranger to me. — 
 
 We had not proceeded far in this narrow road, 
 when we met a travelling carriage, conducted 
 by a person on horseback, well armed and ap- 
 pointed : an old venerable man was within it, 
 and seemed wholly occupied in devotion. It 
 was not possible to avoid him in such a road, 
 and my guards seemed to think it of little con- 
 
C 3 
 
 sequence, as he did not appear to be a person 
 whom they could have any reason to fear.— At 
 the sight of this respectable man, I was inspired 
 with a degree of hope, and I soon formed a re- 
 solution, which I executed with success. 
 
 Our little troop was obliged to stop in order 
 to let the traveller pass. I was so near him 
 that the wheel of his carriage touched my gar- 
 ment ; and, as he raised his eyes towards me, I 
 could discover the rays of compassion in them. — 
 " O deliver me, deliver me, good sir!" — cried 
 I, " deliver, I beseech you, an unfortunate man, 
 " who innocently wears these chains !" 
 
 Who are you, my son ?'* returned the old 
 man, and as he spoke commanded the carriage 
 to stop, that he might have a nearer view of me. 
 " Sir," answered he who was chief of the band 
 that conducted me, " I hope you will give no 
 car to the lies of a wicked man, whom we are 
 now conducting to his long merited punish- 
 ment." 
 
 " You are not the one to whom I addressed 
 myself," repHed the old man, with a command- 
 ing look, " I desire the young man may answer 
 me ; he does not wear the appearance of an 
 
I 168 3 
 
 offender. — Once more, my son, I ask of yoo 
 your name and character ?" 
 
 " Sir," exclaimed my conductor, " you would 
 do well to give yourself no trouble about the 
 prisoner, as he belongs to the Bishop of — — 
 who has just pretensions to him." 
 
 " The Bishop of ," replied the traveller, 
 
 ^' if this be so, the affair is subject to my juris- 
 diction. — I am the Archbishop of Mayence, 
 and desire an explanation on the spot, either 
 from you or him." 
 
 The name of the Archbishop of Mayence, 
 who had but lately returned from Palestine, 
 spread a deathlike terror amongst the whole 
 party ; but the chief of them, after a short pause, 
 continued the discourse. 
 
 " Gracious Sir," said he, " if you wish to 
 discover the true cause of this man's impri- 
 sonment, it will be better that you should be 
 informed by us of his crime, and not by the 
 perpetrator of it."— 
 
 What crime am I accused of?"— cried I, dis- 
 engaging myself at the same time from those who 
 held me, " declare it if you can, before this saint^ 
 whom Heaven has sent for my deliverance." 
 
C 
 
 ^ How," said my adversary, can you deny, 
 reprobate as you are, that you attempted to 
 carry off a young lady last night from my lord's 
 castle 
 
 " That's an idle story," said the Archbishop, 
 with a contemptuous smile ; " such an event 
 could not now have happened in the castle of a 
 bishop, — as the principal prelates of Europe are 
 now transacting things of the first importance ; 
 and I am come from offering my tribute of devo- 
 tion at the holy tomb, to assist their counsels." — 
 " I only request," said my accuser, that 
 the man should declare whether what I have 
 advanced be true or false." 
 
 " Speak then, my son,*' continued the vene- 
 rable prelate : " this examination in the open 
 fields, may have an unusual appearance ; but 
 he to whom the power is given of administer- 
 ing justice, ought to exercise it when and where 
 the occasion presents itself. — Besides, I have 
 read in our holy books, that sovereignty should 
 not carry the sceptre in vain, and be ever pre- 
 pared to decide with justice." 
 
 When I first heard myself accused of an in- 
 dention to escape with my fair deliverer, I had 
 
C 170 1 
 
 determined to deny it ; but as there were circum- 
 stances on which to ground the accusation, 
 and might be brought in evidence against mc 
 by some of the band, I thought it best to relate 
 all the circumstances of my arrival at the castle, 
 my abode in it, and escape from it ; — and I 
 did it in such a manner as to interest the Arch- 
 bishop entirely in my favour. 
 
 " This history bears every appearance of 
 truth,'* said he, shaking his head, " I will have a 
 stricter examination into the whole of this extra- 
 ordinary business. — There is so much mystery 
 in the manner of ensnaring this knight into the 
 castle, and holding him as a prisoner there, — that 
 I shall myself engage in a very strict inquiry 
 concerning it. Release the young man : — I will 
 take him with me to Mayence, and you may tell 
 your lord, that if he will come there to me, he 
 shall have all the justice to which he can make r 
 an honourable claim.'* 
 
 I was now at liberty, and under the protection 
 of a saint, who dismissed my enemies from his 
 presence confounded and abashed. — I was or- 
 dered to seat myself by the Archbishop's servant ; 
 but. in my astonishment at the sudden change 
 
c 171 :i 
 
 of my fortune, I did not understand what had 
 been said to me ; and from a sense of my true 
 quality and name, I involuntarily forced myself 
 into the carriage with the Archbishop, and 
 placed myself in the vacant seat by him. — He 
 did not attempt to prevent me, and appeared 
 for some time to please himself with looking 
 at me ; while I internally rejoiced at my deli- 
 verance, and full of resentment against my per- 
 secutors, sat down by him, and forgot to make 
 those acknowledgements which were so pre- 
 eminently due to him. 
 
 " I think, young man,*' said he, after a short 
 pause, " you seem to know the place which 
 should belong to you. — Come, once more I 
 desire you to place a confidence in me, and let 
 me know the circumstances of your life." 
 
 My heart was full, and this encouragement 
 to unburden it, seemed to proceed as from a ten- 
 der father. — I complied, and gave such circum- 
 stantial answers, as my oath and conscience 
 would permit. — The Archbishop saw that I 
 sometimes changed colour, and hesitated ; he 
 therefore most kindly spared me, by not press- 
 ing me to continue my narration. 
 
" It is wellj Count," said he^ " I now know 
 who you are, ! also know your persecutors, and 
 am convinced of your innocence. — They thus 
 conspire against you on account of those secrets 
 which they cannot force you to reveal. — I do 
 not so particularly desire to know all those things 
 which are the objects of their inquiry. — Here- 
 after, perhaps, you will feel the necessity of dis- 
 covering them to me, and of seeking consolation 
 and advice from those who are qualified to give 
 you both." The period to which this vene- 
 rable worthy man alluded, this Archbishop Con» 
 rad of Mayence, whose memory I shall eter- 
 nally revere, soon arrived. 
 
 I accompanied him to his court.— -His un- 
 feigned piety, and the interest he took in every 
 thing that concerned me, entirely gained my 
 heart. I who, till now, could never place con« 
 fidence in any ecclesiastic, and was thereby de- 
 prived of much consolation, disclosed my 
 whole soul to this saint; and I shall never repent 
 of the confidence I reposed in him. He cau- 
 tioned me in the voice of wisdom, and with the 
 zeal of friendship, against the dangers that sur- 
 rounded me— and had I paid that attention to 
 
L m 3 
 
 iliem which they so well deserved, it Would 
 have been happy for me.— But Ci^uld I shake 
 ofF my alliance with the formidable tribunal, 
 and subdue my love for the adorable Alice ? — 
 was it possible for me to tear my honour and 
 my heart from objects in which they were both 
 so deeply engaged? — But how could such a 
 saint as Conrad be sensible of the difficulty of 
 disdaining terrestrial allurements, and of un- 
 loosing the chains of love and ambition ? 
 
 From Mayence I pursued my journey to 
 Toulouse, without encountering any disagree- 
 able adventure on my way. As my enemies 
 feared my protector the Archbishop, or had 
 lost my route, they appeared to have dropped 
 their evil designs against me. 
 
 My heart burned with an insurmountable 
 passion for the charming Alice. — Although I 
 was sensible she did not live for me, — every 
 thing combined to strengthen the impression 
 her picture had made on me. I now arrived 
 in the country, where the inhabitants were 
 making preparations to do honour to the happy 
 bridegroom as he travelled through it.— Here 
 she had passed some years of her life, and had 
 
c 174 ;] 
 
 gained all hearts. — The affection which every 
 body entertained for her, was not for her rank 
 and station, it was the tribute of aflPection for 
 her virtues, which approached to adoration.— I 
 was conducted to the chapel of a neighbouring 
 convent, where she had been first formed under 
 the tuition of the religious ladies who were its 
 inhabitants. 
 
 Among other memorable acts of benevolence 
 and piety, it was related to me, that a fire hap- 
 pening to break out in this convent at midnight, 
 her humane spirit saved one of the lay sisters, 
 who was sick, and had been forgotten in her 
 cell. — The young heroine snatched her from the 
 flames, and then returned to the church to ren- 
 der the same pious service to the image of our 
 Blessed Virgin, for whom her devout soul had 
 a superior veneration. — But she arrived too late ; 
 it was already in flames, and the living saint 
 had nearly found her own death, in a pious en- 
 deavour to extinguish them. — Half smothered 
 with the smoke, she was found on the steps of 
 the altar, and she had already formed the reso- 
 lution of resigning the sacrifice of herself, to 
 prove the ardour of her piety. 
 
C 175 1 
 
 " Do you know the Princess Alice ?'* said 
 the person who had undertaken to explain the 
 representation of the new altar to me ? — but if 
 you have never seen her, behold/* said he, 
 pointing to the altar,—" her attracting form, 
 and the perfect resemblance of her beautiful 
 countenance. The holy lady cannot be offend- 
 ed that she is represented by such a celestial 
 beauty, as the lady Alice." What, think you, 
 were the feelings, and the emotions of my 
 heart when I saw Alice portrayed in the 
 sacred place, with the divine glory beaming 
 around her, and heard the actions of an angel 
 related of her?- — can it excite a moment's won- 
 der, that I quitted the company of my conductor 
 to throw myself at the foot of the altar, there to 
 offer up my prayers, which I fondly imputed to 
 my zeal for the Blessed Virgin ; but who in reality 
 was not so much the object of my adoration as 
 her beautiful representative. — I arose from the 
 place, that may with justice be called the tomb of 
 my reason, the want of which afterwards ren- 
 dered me a melancholy spectacle to the world. 
 
 Thus intoxicated with my fruitless passion, 
 I continued to journey on ; but I heard of 
 
C 176 3 
 
 nothing but the charms and virtues of the adör=* 
 able Ahce.— Into an hospital which she found- 
 ed by the sale of her jewels, I demanded admis- 
 sion ; and when I was refused, from my robust 
 * appearance, I left all I had there, and entered 
 Toulouse a wretch and a beggar. 
 
 The Castilian bride, (gracious Heaven,— how 
 did I tremble when I heard her every where 
 called by this name ?) after she quitted the con- 
 vent, she had for a short time resided at her bro- 
 ther's court, and was then gone to meet her 
 destiny. — My situation prevented me from im- 
 mediately presenting myself to her brother^ 
 though I ardently longed to see any one to 
 whom she was allied, or with whom she was con- 
 nected. — I should most certainly have become 
 a prey to want, had I not previously made the 
 necessary provisions for my residence at Tou- 
 louse. 
 
 Before I entered on my journey, I had 
 wisely reflected on the many accidents that 
 might deprive a pilgrim of the means of sub- 
 sistence. — One of my oldest and most faithful 
 servants, named Roger Alden, had received 
 orders to precede me with large sums of money. 
 
and to wait my arrival at Toulouse.— This ho« 
 oest man was become so uneasy at my absence, 
 that he let no traveller pass without making in- 
 quiries concerning me, describing my person, 
 and telling my borrowed name ; so that he soon 
 found me, and no small occasion had I for his 
 services. I was now, in a short time, qualified 
 to present myself at court, and, in the brother of 
 the beloved Alice, to become acquainted with 
 a man who was worthy, and what more can I 
 say, of such a sister. In a few days we con- 
 ceived a mutual friendship j he was the most ami- 
 able prince I had ever seen, and I transferred 
 so much of my affection from the sister to the 
 brother, and took such pains to please and 
 render myself agreeable to him, that we could 
 not fail of entertaining an affection for each 
 other. 
 
 The Count was the avowed protector of a 
 certain sect which then began to appear ; and as 
 soon as he thought me worthy of his confidence, 
 he frequently conversed about their doctrines ; 
 which I, from my partiality for him, approved and 
 commended : — but whether they were founded 
 in truth or error, the situation of my mind was 
 
 VOL. II, N 
 
c 178 :i 
 
 such, at that time, as rendered me incapable of 
 forming a right judgment of them. — I assented, 
 as the brother of my stdored AUce approved 
 them : and as I understood that she, who once 
 risked her life to preserve an image of the 
 Virgin from the flames, was now an adherent 
 of those doctrines which opposed the worship ! 
 of images, — I became so entirely convinced of 
 their being founded in truth, that I would have 
 died a martyr to them. 
 
 The Count of Toulouse loved me exceed- 
 ingly, and I have reason to think, had he known 
 me before the treaty of marriage with Castile 
 had been concluded, that I might, without fear of 
 a refusal, have demanded his sister's hand.— But 
 to have given the most distant hint of my pas- 
 sion for her, would now have been the extreme 
 of folly ; and I was still sufficiently master of 
 myself not to betray it. 
 
 The good advice of the Archbishop of May- 
 ence was quite forgotten, notwithstanding he so 
 often repeated it in his subsequent letters. — I 
 too well knew that Alice could not be mine ; 
 and nevertheless I continued to cherish the 
 passion that led me by degrees to the abyss of 
 
C 179 3 
 
 destruction.— I had as yet never beheld Alice 
 but in her picture, and known her only in the 
 universal description of her. I wished for a 
 personal acquaintance with that lovely woman^ 
 without considering that it would aggravate my 
 misery. I received therefore with pleasure cer- 
 tain commissions and letters from the Count to 
 his sister at Pamiers, where she had for some 
 time resided. — It was a special charge, that re«. 
 quired the utmost precaution. I was also to de- 
 liver to the Princess certain books, full of in» 
 terdicted opinions, which could not be trusted to 
 an inferior messenger, and were to be secreted 
 with the greatest care from the superstitious Cas- 
 tilians. — But this part of my commission entirely 
 escaped my memory ; so completely were my 
 thoughts engrossed by the hope of seeing Alice, 
 speaking with her, and, perhaps, receiving some 
 kind words from her lips. 
 
 My old and faithful servant Roger, who, in 
 my present situation, acted the part of a friend 
 and counsellor, did not approve of any of my 
 wandering excursions so much as of that to 
 Pamiers. To be informed respecting the pro- 
 ceedings of the assembly which was now held 
 
 N 2 
 
in that town, was the principal cause of quitting 
 my country ; or rather, it should have been so, 
 after the orders of my chief to that effect, which 
 I received by Kalatin. — But in the tumult and 
 agitations of my mind, this special charge was 
 forgotten. — I went to Pamiers merely for the 
 sake of the lovely Alice ; though I had very 
 peculiar occupations in that place ; and Roger, 
 who was only an inferior officer of the secret 
 tribunal, found it necessary to remind me of 
 them, though I was one of its judges and as- 
 sessors. 
 
 At that time I received several lettefs from 
 the Count Otho Von Wittelsbach, to which 1 
 paid no particular attention so much were my 
 heart and senses possessed by another object. — > 
 In these letters he invited me to go to the Im- 
 perial court, and expressed his earnest wishes 
 that I should form an acquaintance there with 
 the Bishop of Sutri. — But my acquaintance with 
 bishops had already been of a nature to make 
 me very averse indeed to renew or increase it, 
 
 I also received a letter from Evert Von Re- 
 men, which was forwarded to me by Wittels- 
 bach ; but it was thrown aside and disregarded. 
 
tsor did I break the seal that inclosed it. The 
 unfavourable opinions with which Kalatin had 
 inspired me against the friend of my youth, were 
 not yet extinguished ; and I was then too much 
 occupied with other things to desire any parti- 
 cular justification of him, and even to think of 
 his neglected epistles.-^All my thoughts,r--all 
 my wishes were turned towards Pamiers, and J 
 arrived there intoxicated with mad and sense-» 
 less hopes of unattainable happiness. — With- 
 out the least precaution or preparation, which 
 were both so necessary, I procured an audience 
 of the Castilian bride ; and, without the most dis- 
 tant expectation of such an improbable event, 
 I was presented to her by my sister. This ex- 
 cellent and affectionate girl, whom I had cruelly 
 forced from her native country, remained so 
 faithful to all my wishes, that she never enjoyed 
 the respite of a moment till she had found the 
 beloved of my heart, and obtained a place 
 in her service. — Alverda, it must be confessed, 
 felt the absolute impossibility that I should 
 acquire the love of one who was already 
 engaged to another. She therefore advised 
 and warned me, in the iriost affecting manner^ 
 
C 182 3 
 
 to avoid the destruction that awaited a nearer 
 contemplation of beauty, which had thus at 
 a distance, and unseen, so bewildered my un- 
 derstanding, and changed my nature. 
 
 But I was deaf to all her entreaties, — my cruel 
 fate impelled me on. — I at length saw Alice,— 
 the divine Alice, and I beheld her the intended 
 bride of another ! — The sight of her almost de- 
 prived me of the small portion of reason that 
 was left me. I can scarce remember the parti- 
 cular circumstances of this extraordinary au- 
 dience, which completed my misfortunes. — I 
 only recollect that when I first beheld the di- 
 vine Alice, I was ready to sink down before 
 her. My sister Alverda, who was at her side, 
 was just going to throw herself into my arms; 
 when a look from me forbade her to call me bro- 
 ther.^ — Why I wished to avoid this discovery, I 
 cannot tell ; as the title of brother to the first 
 lady of the Princess might have procured me a 
 more frequent sight of this forbidden object of 
 my idolatry. But all my conduct was incoherent 
 and contradictory, and how should I give an 
 account of it to others, when it is unintelligible 
 to myself. 
 
My commissions from the Count of Tou- 
 louse were executed without any order or reflec- 
 tion. Ah! I tremble when I think that the 
 
 follies I then committed^ were perhaps the sig- 
 nal given for the ruin of that angelic woman, 
 for whom I would have died a thousand deaths. 
 — This reflection fills me with horror, and 
 curdles my blood as I describe it on the paper 
 
 before me. Oh that it could be eternally 
 
 blotted from my memory ! — I sought a second 
 time to be presented, and was refused: — the 
 third and fourth visits were equally unfortu- 
 nate. — When I asked to be admitted to the 
 Countess of Toulouse, I was informed that that 
 Princess wholly belonged to the Count of 
 Castile, and that even her brother had no fur- 
 ther right to communicate with her. I now 
 found that it was impossible to obtain a sight of 
 Alice; bat in her attendance at the altar, or on 
 the public walks, and from thence I was driven 
 by the severe and gloomy countenances of the 
 ladies her companions. — Even Alverda seemed 
 to have conspired against my happiness: — but I 
 was mistaken ; for one day on the walk she ex- 
 pressed herself kindly to me, and slipped a letter 
 
C 184 3 
 
 into my hand full of excellent counsel and kind 
 remonstrance. — By means of an hollow tree a 
 correspondence was carried on between us, 
 which brought me great relief, as it alForded 
 me an opportunity of giving vent to my sorrows.. 
 But I did not forsee the danger that was lurk- 
 ing, from my conduct, both to the adorable Alice 
 and myself. 
 
 Whilst I was thus occupied in the indulgence 
 of my vain imaginations, I forgot those things 
 which my reason would 'have told me that I 
 ought to have remembered. — I was informed 
 by my faithful servant, that we waited here in 
 vain for t^ie arrival of the Duke Bernard of 
 Saxony, who was confined by sickness, and 
 whose place was filled by my former enemy 
 
 the Duke of . Of this event I was too 
 
 soon informed by a letter, which he officially 
 wrote to me in a menacing tone, and was ad« 
 dressed to me in the name which I had assumed. 
 -^He accused me not only of being at Pamiers, 
 but of passing under a fictitious character ; both 
 of which I conceived myself authorized to do 
 by the order of my chief. I was amazed at 
 these reprehensions of my conduct ; but when I 
 
C 185 3 
 
 suffered my reason to operate, my suspicions 
 fell on Kalatin ; who, I was now convinced, had 
 deceived me by a forged summons. — I never- 
 theless returned an haughty answer to the Duke, 
 wherein I told him that I was not at all inclined 
 to bear such insults from him, or from any one, 
 whoever he might be. — But this indulgence of 
 my resentment gratified me only for a moment, 
 • — and the insult which had been offered me con- 
 tinued to harass and afflict my soul. 
 
 I had just received intelligence from the Im- 
 perial court that my friend, my instructor, my 
 spiritual father, the excellent Archbishop of 
 Mayence, from whom I had recently had a 
 letter full of kind and friendly counsel, had died 
 suddenly. The Duke of — 's letter also men- 
 tipned his death, with the shocking addition of 
 his having been poisoned by the Emperor Philip. 
 - — One of Wittelsbach's half read, unheeded let- 
 ters this day fell into my hands, and alas ! it con- 
 tained the same afflicting intelligence. It is im- 
 possible to conceive the horror and indignation 
 I felt on the occasion ; and every faculty of my 
 soul was now absorbed in revenge. My faith- 
 ful servant, not being able to curb it, instantly 
 
set about inquiring into the truth of an affair, 
 which I, with a creduHty bordering on madness^ 
 considered as certain, and by the belief of it 
 fed my wild imagination. 
 
 In this situation of my mind I had recourse 
 to a person of the name of Sutrino, with whom, 
 during my residence at Pamiers, I had formed 
 a very intimate connection, and who, by a 
 thousand artifices, was become my confidential 
 friend. — Roger, who hated him, and was mor- 
 tified whenever he saw him with me, took every 
 opportunity to persuade me that he was a crea- 
 ture of a certain bishop of Sutri, whom Wittels- 
 bach often mentioned in his letters to me ; and 
 who, from various circumstances, was known to 
 us as a very dangerous man ; though Wittels- 
 bach had formed a different and more favour- 
 able opinion of him. 
 
 Notwithstanding the continual remonstrances 
 which were urged by my faithful servant and 
 friend, Sutrino passed with me the evening of the 
 day in which I received this melancholy and af- 
 flicting information. — I unfolded to him all the 
 grief of my heart— told him that the Archbishop 
 of Mayence had been poisoned; — named the 
 
perpetrator of the horrid deed ; and declared the 
 bitter revenge which I meditated against him. 
 —The crime of which I accused the Emperor 
 Phihp instantly became the subject of Sutrino's 
 inexhaustible and malicious eloquence. He 
 related many dreadful and very improbable 
 things of the chief of the German empire, in or- 
 der to strengthen me in my suspicions, and com- 
 pleted his discourse on the subject by repre- 
 senting the character of that sovereign in such an 
 odious and horrid light, as to work me up to 
 the highest pitch of rage and revenge. 
 
 " The Emperor Philip,'' said he, " thinks of 
 tiothingbutthe aggrandizement of his own house^ 
 and the oppression of others. — The various in- 
 sults the holy church has received from him, is 
 not our present business : — but the great injury 
 he has done you by the murder of the Archbi- 
 shop of Mayence, falls solely on him. In what 
 deep cavern of the earth does revenge sleep, 
 that it comes not this way to prevent his out- 
 stretched arms from seizing Alice, that angei 
 of Heaven, to drag her from her throne, that 
 he may place his children there ? — Know then, 
 that Philip envies every one their greatness ; — 
 
c 188 :3 
 
 that he envies the innocent Countess of Tou^ 
 louse the Castilian throne, and wishes to place 
 one of his own daughters on it, — Wait a little, 
 and you will see Alice expelled from it : — you 
 will see that adorable woman in her grave, 
 when the Princess Eliza will take her place." 
 
 " Expelled!*' cried I, in an agony of rage,— 
 " see Alice expelled^ or in her grave ! — ex- 
 pelled !— -that were well : but in her grave !— 
 deadly horror and fierce alarm are in that 
 thought !— Speak, speak, Sutrino ! tell me, oh 
 tell me what inspires you with that fatal pre- 
 diction ?— Expelled, let her be,— but she must 
 not die!" 
 
 " The one is as probable as the other.— 
 Philip is not accustomed to hesitate in employing 
 any means to effect his purpose.— But he is in 
 Germany, is he not, while Alice is in France?" 
 
 " Alas, the arms of princes extend far and 
 near ; and the blow which they give ^t a distance 
 is more sure, because it is least expected. — Be- 
 lieve me, Alf Von Deulmen, each succeeding 
 day may bring us the melancholy tidings of the 
 death of the Castilian bride." 
 
 " And is there no one to save the menaced 
 
Princess ? — -speak, Sutrino, what can be done ? 
 what can I do? I will risk my life with pleasure 
 to preserve hers.** 
 
 It would, indeed, be a rash and perilous 
 undertaking; and who is there that has the 
 courage to attempt it?*' 
 
 That will I; and let danger assume its most 
 horrid form, I will meet it with delight, so that 
 I could give liberty and life to the adorable 
 Alice. — I would then conduct her to the arms 
 of her brother, and my recompence ! — Oh I 
 will leave you to guess what my recompence 
 would be — Oh Sutrino, Sutrino, you are the 
 creator of my happiness !** 
 
 Sutrino made some weak and artful efforts to 
 oppose my extraordinary projects : but my re~ 
 solution was taken, and I was unalterably de- 
 termined to execute it. Twice I attempted 
 to carry off the Princess, and as often failed, 
 as I imagine, through the vigilance of Al- 
 vcrda — Cruel vigilance ! Alas, that ill-fated 
 girl seemed to make it the duty of her life to 
 oppose all the projects of her unfortunate bro- 
 ther. But I no longer feel any resentment 
 against her. — Alas! I am no more the same 
 
C 190 3 
 
 Alf Von Deulmen ! my passions are at rest 1 
 and my judgment is in full possession of itself. 
 Reason now tells me, that Alverda acted as be- 
 came her when she laboured to oppose my rash 
 designs.— Oh that the result had been according 
 to her wishes, both for the devoted Alice, and 
 her yet more unhappy brother ! 
 
 My being given up to the custody of the 
 Bishop of Castile, on the failure of my last at- 
 tempt to seize the Princess, was no more ex- 
 pected by Alverda, than her ov/n separation 
 from her angelic mistress.— The same day that 
 I was taken to prison, she received her dismis-- 
 sion; our secret correspondence having been 
 discovered, and the poor Alice was left exposed 
 to the assaults of her cruel enemies, without a 
 friend to protect her. 
 
 Is it not incomprehensible that such an angel 
 should have enemies ?— future events proved that 
 those of the unhappy Alice were very numerous. 
 — I was therefore once again the prisoner of a bi- 
 shop ; and the attempt to carry off a royal bride, 
 sufficiently justified all the severity which my 
 persecutors employed against me. — They took 
 care to bind me to silence, by an oath, on all the 
 
C 190 
 
 scenes of which they supposed I had been a wit- 
 ness, and which are no less sacred than those 
 of the secret tribunal. 
 
 The designs which they had formed concerning 
 me were still the same. — By their superior cun- 
 ning they had brought the Duke of to 
 
 explain himself to the Count Segni concerning 
 certain mysteries. — They had also drawn from 
 the artless unsuspecting Otho Von Wittelsbach 
 some of our secrets ; Peter Von Kalatin, pro- 
 bably, they knew how to work up to their pur- 
 pose, and they now sought to force the rest from 
 me.— Those crimes, to which they with infer- 
 nal art seduced me, involved me in that of 
 death ; — but they flattered me with a respite, if I 
 would comply with their wishes. -My under- 
 standing had been impaired by unfortunate 
 passion, and I was misled by it to act the 
 traitor. These artful men flattered themselves 
 with the hope that I would repeat things in my 
 unguarded moments, which at another time, on 
 mature reflection, I should shudder to mention. 
 — They considered my mind as a cabinet con- 
 taining a treasure, which they might rifle at 
 pleasure v^hile I was asleep; — but my senses 
 alone slumbered, and they soon awoke.-^Alf 
 
C 192 3 
 
 Von Deulmen, either through more firmness or 
 obstinacy than the others, remained dumb, and 
 his silence increased his torments.-- — —They 
 wished to overthrow the empire of the secret 
 tribunal, and the representative of the supreme 
 judge, and on its ruins to build another, which 
 would not be governed by the principles of jus- 
 tice.— The manner by which we punished and 
 suppressed crimes and criminals, they wished to 
 employ in order to chain the opinions of mankind, 
 and to make any deviation from their faith pu-^ 
 nishable with death.— -Their desire was to learn 
 from us the way to supreme knowledge and in- 
 fallibility; but suffice it to say, they failed in 
 all their attempts on me. — Whether they have 
 succeeded in their great design, I know not ; 
 but Alf Von Deulmen is innocent of any sys- 
 tem of injustice and oppression which they may 
 have established. 
 
 My senses, which had been almost annihi- 
 lated by the tumult of passions, began to re- 
 vive, from the very cruelty which was designed 
 to suppress them for ever.-*-I awoke as from 
 a frightful dream ; when I felt the necessity of 
 recovering my spirits and resolution ; and I did 
 recover them ;— and maintained myself against 
 
C 193 3 
 
 the arts of mine enemies. — Thus I drew the 
 full force of their rage upon me, and it was 
 determined by them that I should die; — but 
 without knowing the power that was to give me 
 the fatal blow. 
 
 From the tower in which I was confined 
 there was a small passage that led to another, 
 which was called the Tower of Liberty, as 
 the prisoners who happened to be confined 
 in it were more kindly treated than in that 
 where I suffered imprisonment. 1 was in- 
 formed that, at the request of the Princess Alice, 
 the door of this tower should be opened for me ; 
 and that the change in my situation, which I 
 should now experience, must be attributed to 
 her solicitations for me : — I was, in short, to find 
 a passage, which no one ever passed a second 
 time.-*-I did not suspect the fatal snare which 
 had been laid for me; and the hope of liberty, 
 a present, as I thought, from the hands of Alice, 
 intoxicated me ; and I should immediately have 
 rushed to the fatal precipice of revenge and 
 death, if a very singular accident had not pre» 
 ierved me. 
 
 I had a dog of an extraordinary size, which 
 
 VOL. II. O 
 
c: m 3 
 
 the Duke of Brunswick brought from England, 
 and gave to the Duke of Saxony, from whom I 
 received it. This faithful animal, whose at- 
 tendance was so necessary on so dangerous 
 and solitary a journey, and who would seize 
 any thing with the fierceness of a lion that of- 
 fered to attack or touch me, I found at Pa- 
 miers with my faithful servant, who by my orders 
 bad taken him thither.— On the day of my im- 
 prisonment this animal was removed from me,that 
 I might be confined with the greater security, 
 w-I had never seen him all the time I was in 
 prison; but that morning, the man who came to 
 me with the intelligence of my removal to a 
 more comfortable situation, brought the dog 
 
 with him. But I no more suspected that, 
 
 under this appearance of kindness, a snare was 
 laid for me, than my enemies did that they had 
 sent me the means of my escape. 
 
 The jailer gave a scornful smile at the joy I 
 expressed at seeing my dog. — " You may keep 
 him with you, and take him to the new apart- 
 ment that you will shortly possess; and a door 
 will be opened, through which you will find a 
 passage to it.'* — -Nor had this man left me many 
 
C 195 3 
 
 minutes, when a side door of my prison flew 
 open, and presented to my view a long narrow 
 passage to a spacious room, where the windows, 
 which were lofty, unlatticed, and open, gave a 
 prospect of the country ; — a delightful sight foe 
 one who had so long been debarred the benefit 
 of sun or air. — I clasped my hands, and, with up- 
 lifted eyes, addressed Heaven with grateful ac- 
 knowledgements for what I thought the fore- 
 runner of my liberty. 
 
 My dog, who lay at my feet shivering from 
 the damp vapours of my prison, suddenly 
 arose, and eagerly snuffed up the fresh air: 
 he then went to the door that was open, and ran 
 to the room beyond it ; but he had scarce made 
 the first spring in the gallery, when the door, 
 through which I was also about to pass, shut 
 between him and me ; and, instantly, there was 
 above and below an horrid noise, as if twenty 
 wheels were creaking in the passage ; and I 
 could but faintly distinguish the agonizing cries 
 of my poor dog. — I knew not what to think at 
 this moment ; but I soon began to entertain 
 suspicions of the most alarming nature. 
 
 I had in my infancy often heard the story of 
 O2 
 
the unfortunate Margrave Egbert of Saxony^ 
 who in the year 1090, by the savage wicked- 
 ness of a woman, fell into a sword mill at Ei« 
 senbattle, a machine invented by imps of hell i 
 where^ by the slightest touch of a secret spring^^ 
 military arms, and other instruments of death, 
 springing from the ground, and darting from the 
 wall, cut to pieces in an instant any one who 
 was so unfortunate as to be in the horrid cham- 
 ber where such diabolic engines were placed„ 
 Though this idea prevailed, my thoughts were 
 too confused and alarmed for me to be accurate 
 in the relation of them ; but I nevertheless well 
 recollect, that I called my poor dog, and en- 
 deavoured to open the door that had shut 
 against him with a mechanical motion, but in 
 vain. At length, the execrable ratding of the 
 wheels ceased : the cry of the poor animal, who 
 was become a prey for me, I heard no more. I 
 again repeated my efforts, and at last burst open 
 the door; when I found all my suspicions jus- 
 tified.— In the middle of the gallery, which no 
 longer offered the decoying prospect, I could 
 just discover the body of my poor dog ly- 
 ing convulsed, and bleeding from a thousand 
 
Cm 1 
 
 wounds.— It may be believed that my curiosity 
 was not awakened to further inquiry, when I 
 did not know how long the diabolical machirie 
 might repose from its bloody office. — I there- 
 fore ,shut the door, covered my face with both 
 my hands, and resigned myself to affliction and 
 horror. 
 
 Many hours, I believe, had passed away be- 
 fore I perfectly recovered from by astonish- 
 ment.— I found myself seated on the ground, 
 and at length I opened my eyes, which till now 
 I had kept shut. I breathed freer, and began 
 to reflect with gratitude on my escape,— if es- 
 cape it could be called, when I was still in the 
 hands of my executioner ; from whose sword, 
 if I was delivered at one time, had a thousand 
 other means to torment and destroy me ! 
 
 My next thoughts, as may be supposed, 
 turned on Alice;—" How,'* cried I, " can this 
 infernal blow come from thee, thou heavenly 
 saint ? — must all that I have this day experienced 
 be ascribed to thee ?— Never will I suffer my heart 
 to be contaminated by such a thought ! — Alas ! 
 how had I sinned against thee ? that I loved thee 
 is most true ; but that you never knew : and 
 
Alverda assured me in all her letters that you 
 never should know it. — But you solicited for 
 me ? Yes, yes, I will believe thy generous soul 
 found every sufferer worthy of its compas- 
 sion !— Perhaps you did not only solicit my 
 persecutors, but also sent your supplications to 
 Heaven for me, and it is to your prayers that I 
 owe my deliverance." 
 
 My imagination became inflamed by these 
 reflections, of which Alice was the object. 
 I was convinced that from her supplications 
 alone to the throne of Heaven I yet lived. — 
 I now endeavoured to recollect, whether at 
 my several examinations any thing had fallen 
 from me that could in any respect have in- 
 jured her. I had been frequently interrogated 
 about her, concerning my passion for her, and 
 her adherence to the new doctrines; but I 
 flattered myself that I had never answered in 
 such a manner as could have produced an ill 
 efl'ect to her. 
 
 While I was absorbed in these reflections, a 
 noise from without quickly roused me.— I heard 
 the jailer's keys jingling at the outward gallery, 
 and I was soon convinced that somebody was 
 
with him. I shudder, noble Sir, said the agent of 
 malice to open this do^r, for you will have a sight 
 the horror of which you cannot well conceive. 
 My servant who carried breakfast to the prisoner 
 whom you would set free, returned full of hor- 
 ror, and informed us of the fatal event that has 
 happened ; — for the monster sprung with bloody 
 rage upon him, and it was with great difficulty 
 that he escaped from his voracious jaws. — But, 
 said a voice like that of the Duke of 
 what madness was it to leave a dog with him, 
 whose fury must be well known, and who it 
 must be presumed w^as ill fed j — as nothing 
 but raging hunger could tempt him to fall 
 on his master. — There may have been, an- 
 swered the jailer, some inattentions respecting 
 the prisoner whom you came to set free, but I 
 am not guilty of them. — I have done every 
 thing in my power to lessen the rigours of his si- 
 tuation ; and I experienced a real satisfaction 
 when I this morning removed him to a better 
 apartment, at the intercession of the Princess 
 Alice. — Your friendship would have complet- 
 ed his wishes, and restored him to freedom ; 
 but the decrees of Heaven are wonderful ; its 
 
C 200 3 
 
 I'evenge must have pursued this man in a most 
 extraordinary manner : and it will ever be a 
 subject for reflection to me, that, in going to that 
 part of the castle, called the Tower ofI.iberty> 
 he lost his life in a manner at once so uncom- 
 mon and disastrous. 
 
 The Duke made some reply, v^-hich I did not 
 comprehend but at that moment the jailer 
 turned the key, observing at the same time that 
 they would find me in the middle of the gallery, 
 torn to pieces by my dog, as my mangled corpse 
 had not yet been transported to another place. 
 He therefore exhorted the Duke to draw his 
 sword, in order to defend himself against the fu- 
 rious animal, which in all probability would at- 
 tempt to seize them on opening the door. But 
 how different was the spectacle which presented 
 itself to them! — When the door flew open, I ap- 
 peared, to their astonishment, alive and unhurt. 
 Nor shall I deny that my intention was to snatch 
 one of their swords, and plunge it into the 
 heart of the hypocritic jailer : yet he was but the 
 submissive instrument of infernal malice ; and it 
 now rejoices me that I did not shed the corrupt 
 blood of such a wretch. I arose, and stood 
 
I 201 3 
 
 ^ith folded arms in the middle of my prison,whilc 
 they entered with an alarm of danger which 
 did not exist. The manner in which they stared 
 at each other, their astonishment, their confused 
 manner of speaking when they saw me alive, it 
 is impossible for me to describe. — I fixed my 
 eyes on the Duke, because I was not certain 
 whether he had a share in the abominable inven^ 
 don which they had contrived for my destruc- 
 tion. He did not, indeed, manifest any parti- 
 cular satisfaction on finding me alive ; nor did I 
 see any thing in his looks or manner that gave 
 me reason to believe he had the least intelli- 
 gence of the diabolical designs which had been 
 formed against me. He appeared to have given 
 credit to the story which had been invented to 
 deceive him. — But, without answering the ques- 
 tions he put to me on the subject of my situa- 
 tion and deliverance, I led him to the door of 
 the destructive gallery, and having forced it 
 open, I told him in a few words the history of 
 my strange escape. He then cast a look full of 
 suspicion at the jailer, who stood as it were 
 thunderstruck in a corner of the room, and left 
 it to one of his servants to release my limbs from 
 
the chain which fettered them. I then went 
 slowly out of the door that was open, and left 
 the Duke to follow me. 
 
 " Count Adolf/* said the Duke, as we ap- 
 proached the stairs, " I hope you do not suspect 
 that I have had any share in this abominable 
 transaction ?** " Had such a suspicion been en- 
 tertained by me for a moment," I replied, at the 
 same time drawing a sword which I had seized 
 on quitting the prison, " you should not have left 
 this place alive." The Duke bit his lips, without 
 making any answer ; and we went together to 
 the gate, where a carriage was waiting for us. 
 
 He now informed me, that a letter from 
 our chief had contained an absolute order for 
 my immediate releasement.—- ~I was, indeed, 
 firmly persuaded that I owed my companion 
 at least but few thanks for his concern in it. 
 As we proceeded onward, he told me he 
 had without any difficulty obtained my liberty • 
 
 from my persecutors. The jailer, however, 
 
 was now sent for in order to give some ac- 
 count of this cruel business. But he knew 
 
 nothing of it ; — though the fabricated tale of my 
 having been destroyed by my dog, was not only 
 
improbable, but would have been confuted by 
 an examination of my wounds, had I been so 
 unfortunate as to have fallen a prey to their vile 
 mventions. 
 
 The report of my shocking death having been 
 spread abroad, the town was full of it, and every 
 one was seized with astonishment at seeing me 
 alive. — While we were at table, the Duke, who 
 could not conceal his malice, said to me with a 
 contemptuous air, that I was surely very happy 
 on finding the fair sex were so much in- 
 terested for me;— as I manifestly owed my 
 liberty to a lady, who was a stranger, and re- 
 sided in the Celestine convent in this town : — 
 it could be no other, added he, than the Princess 
 Alice ; who, when she heard of my being released, 
 exclaimed to her ladies, God be praised, — ■ 
 God be praised that he has escaped!" 
 
 The malicious man knew not how much he 
 enchanted me, by those taunts with which he in- 
 tended to mortify me. I made no reply, — and 
 intended, though with no common impatience, to 
 confer with my faithful servant Roger about it. 
 — His joy at seeing me once again, and that I 
 had escaped such imminent danger, cannot be 
 
C !3 
 
 described ; and I found, at last, that to him prin-- 
 cipally I owed my deliverance. His first care 
 on my being imprisoned was to inform our chief 
 of my misfortune. But as he had heard, from 
 more particular inquiry, into what hands I had 
 fallen, and how pressing my danger might be- 
 come, he fled to my sister to give heran account 
 of my situation, and to consult with herabout the 
 means of obtaining some speedy assistance.— AI- 
 verda had, on the same day, been dismissed kom 
 her attendance on the Princess; he therefore 
 did not find her, — but urged by the sad ne- 
 cessity of my situation, solicited Alice to in- 
 terest herself for me. This was the source of 
 her generous concern for me, which I would 
 rather have owed to the natural impulse of love, 
 than to the request of a stranger, or to the cold 
 operation of compassion.— He at last discovered 
 Alverda*s retreat ; for at court they were ignorant 
 of it, and believed that she had quitted Pamiers» 
 — It was, however, to her that my thanks were 
 due for the Te Deum which was sung on 
 account of my release : It was, indeed, an in- 
 considerate proceeding of the good girl, to tes- 
 tify her joy so openly, which might have hem 
 
C 205 3 
 
 attended with the worst consequences^ and could 
 alone be justified by the very great affection 
 she bore me.— My pen hesitates as I write the 
 confession, that, though I well knew her excel- 
 lent heart, I afterwards considered this amiable 
 creature to be my most bitter enemy. But I 
 cannot account for the extravagance that predo- 
 minated in all my actions. 
 
 As the happiness of pouring forth my grati- 
 tude at the feet of the divine Alice was denied 
 me, my sister had the next pretensions to it : 
 and I accordingly repaired to the Celestinc 
 convent, where I found her, overcome by the 
 excess of her joy.- — She had heard from Alice 
 of my death, and the intelligence of my being 
 alive, and at liberty, immediately succeeding, 
 was a vicissitude too powerful for her tender 
 heart, and delicate frame ; and she would have 
 sunk beneath it— if she had not entertained 
 doubts, from other authority, concerning the re^ 
 port of my being dead. She had therefore soli- 
 cited one of the members of our alliance in my 
 behalf — She had also written, some time be- 
 fore, to the Count Von Wittelsbach, and 
 through him the Duke of Saxony exerted and 
 
c: 206 3 
 
 interested himself for me. — Good Heavens ! 
 how many great and noble persons were oc- 
 cupied about me ! — should I not, alas, should I 
 not have sunk for ever, had they not supported 
 
 me? nor can I express the pride I felt, 
 
 and still feel, in the kind care and esteem of 
 such excellent persons! — Alice, Alverda, Ber- 
 nard, and Otho, loved me. — And now, oh Hea- 
 vens! — to reflect, that in the whole world there 
 
 exists not one by whom I am beloved ! To 
 
 live unknown— to die, and not a tear be shed for 
 me ; — this — this alone is sufficient to drive me to 
 the deepest abyss of despair ! A short time I was 
 so rich in worldy blessings, and now I have not 
 even my faithful Roger, in whose affection and 
 fidelity I might have found consolation. Yet I 
 am wrong, — I have thee, kind, humane, and 
 benevolent Ademar, in whom indeed I have 
 comfort; and to whom I now address these 
 pages, if thou wilt accept them, stained as they 
 are with the sad history of my misdoings. 
 
 I cannot, indeed, tell whether I did not 
 flatter myself too much, when I imagined that 
 Alice felt more for me than kind compassion ; 
 at least, I never had any particular proof that 
 
c 207 :3 
 
 I inspired her with esteem, or that she even 
 knew who I was. Alverda must have been 
 well acquainted with this circumstance : but 
 she saw my desponding situation, and with a 
 view to console me, and at the same time to re- 
 move me from thence, flattered me with the 
 accomphshment of all my wishes. How fre- 
 quently would she feed me with the hope ; and 
 yet advise me to go to the Imperial court, 
 where I might meet with more happiness than 
 was in the power of Alice to confer upon me ? 
 — Her grief and anxiety at seeing me continue in 
 the place where my enemies had sent me, ex- 
 cuses the inconsistency of her conduct: — she ar- 
 dently pressed me to leave Pamiers, in which it 
 is not probable she would ever have succeeded, 
 had she not represented that Alice might suffer 
 by my stay :— as, on account of my well known 
 passion for her, she might be more severely and 
 stricdy confined than if I were absent. At last 
 I suffered myself to be persuaded to depart, and 
 only requested a short respite of some days. 
 I was obliged to insist on this delay, as the day 
 drew nigh on which the members of the secret 
 tribunal had agreed to meet ; a day on which. 
 
c 208 :i 
 
 the Duke of * * *, the woeful representative 
 of our chief, told me business of the greatest im- 
 portance was to be transacted. There was a 
 very striking contradiction in the conduct of 
 this man : he insisted that I should not presume 
 to miss the sitting of the great tribunal, and at 
 the same time informed me, that it would be ne- 
 cessary for me to give a very strict account of the 
 reasons which induced me to appear there. 
 
 He did not, however, deceive me, for I was 
 challenged as an offender at the tribunal where 
 I was accustomed to occupy a very different si- 
 tuation.— My appearance there, contrary to the 
 knowledge of my chief, and a want of taci- 
 turnity, were the principal offences of which I 
 was accused. But with less experience than I 
 had of the ways of our tribunal, I could have 
 exposed the malice of my persecutors. — I was 
 indeed victorious in the first of the infamous 
 accusations ; for I proved that I had left my 
 country by a summons from Kalatin, and all 
 the blame fell upon him. — In regard to my 
 breach of taciturnity, all the torments which I 
 endured to maintain secrecy for them, suffi- 
 ciently justified me : indeed it was refused me tc 
 
give the many additional proofs it was in my 
 power to offer. For the Duke himself was ap- 
 prehensive I should mention circumstances^ 
 which would have involved him in a charge, at 
 least, of indiscretion and imprudence. 
 
 On my acquittal I resumed my place amongst 
 the judges, and with amazement discovered 
 that Kalatin had also been exculpated. I per- 
 mitted all these things to go on without inter- 
 ruption from me, and reserved myself to speak, 
 before the throne, when the Duke of Saxony 
 should be seated on it, as the persons present 
 were all suspected by me.-^But the trials of 
 this dreadful night were not yet completed: 
 that which the artifice of my enemies had 
 particularly devised for my destruction was yet 
 to follow. — To me these things ever remained 
 an indissoluble secret ; and I must believe 
 that the Duke himself had been most grossly 
 deceived, or he would not have suffered the 
 majesty of our sacred tribunal to have been 
 thus insulted ; he would not have voluntarily 
 favoured those horrible accusations; nor could 
 he have favoured the calumny that was thun- 
 dered out against a crowned head, who wds. 
 
 VOL. ir, P 
 
innocent: — innocent indeed; — for Philip was 
 innocent! God grant that he were not; — or 
 how shall I be able to palliate my crimes, or 
 purify my sinful hands from the stains of blood ! 
 
 The time which was to be dedicated to our 
 mysteries was half over ; the moon was on the 
 decline, and the dawning light announced the 
 approach of day. The standard of criminal 
 justice was erected, and the herald proclaimed 
 attention and silence.— Accusers arose, and 
 gave their testimony against Philip of Swabia. 
 the unworthy possessor, as he was styled, of the 
 Imperial throne. — He was called the murderer 
 of the Archbishop Conrad, and they invoked 
 calamity on him. This shocking accusation 
 against Philip was not altogether new to me* 
 The Duke of — had already mentioned it, and 
 even wrote to me about it ; but I was now as 
 much penetrated with horror as if it had been un- 
 known to me. When I first heard of this strange 
 crime, I could not conceive it possible; but 
 I was soon deceived into a belief, by proofs 
 which, however fallacious they might be, were 
 satisfactory to my understanding. Poor Alf 
 Von Deulmen, what were your feelings when 
 
C •} 
 
 you not only reflected that your venerable 
 friend, your reverend father, the Archbishop 
 Conrad of Mayence was no more, but that he 
 had been poisoned, and that his blood called 
 aloud for revenge! — Was rage and a desire for 
 revenge against the supposed murderer unpar- 
 donable ? was that impatience to be blamed, 
 with which you waited to hear him named 
 who was to be charged with the sword of ven- 
 geance and justice ? Judgment was pronounced 
 against Philip ; his guilt was deemed so atrocious, 
 that he was sentenced to die without the prepa- 
 ration of a moment. Lots were drawn for an 
 avenger. No common sword could be raised 
 against a crowned offender, and one of the 
 judges must prepare himself to be the execu- 
 tioner. The lot at length fell on me ; and Otho 
 Von Wittelsbach, who was absent, was given 
 me as an assistant in this great deed of unex- 
 ampled justice. 
 
 l| A tremor seized my whole frame, as if it 
 were innocent blood I was about to shed. — Re- 
 venge and fury against the murderer of Conrad 
 seemed, as it were, to die away in my heart ; 
 — methought I saw the shade of the deceased 
 saint at my side, urging me not to draw the 
 
 I P 2 
 
sword, which according to the custom of the 
 tribunal, was the formality that marked im- 
 plicit obedience to its commands. " Why de- 
 lays Count Adolf?" demanded the Duke of 
 " does he refuse justice from his arm ? or doeshe 
 doubt of that guilt which has been proved be- 
 fore the throne?"---" Neither one nor the other," 
 said I, in a surly tone ; " but I protest against 
 one of the appointed executioners; for what i 
 has Otho Von Wittelsbach done, that he must 
 become the murderer of his father?" 
 
 " Who can answer that Philip will be the fa* 
 ther of Otho?— Yet if it were so, — does not obe- 
 dience to our justice break all bonds, and dis- 
 solve all connections ?" 
 
 " I again protest against Otho's being chargedE 
 with that guilt with which his conscience would 
 hereafter reproach him." 
 
 " You will therefore take it on yourself alone.' 
 Let Philip but fall, it is equal to us from whose 
 hands he receives his doom.— But woe be to 
 him to whom the sword is entrusted, if Con- 
 rad's blood, which calls aloud for vengeance, 
 be not satisfied. The third change of thej 
 moon must not find Philip among the living." | 
 
 The morning now began to dawn, and km 
 
i: 3 
 
 rays must not profane the dark sittings of the 
 bloody tribunal.* The assembly dissolved like 
 the clouds, but the sentence remained. It was 
 pronounced, and all opposition was vain and 
 impracticable. 
 
 My situation is not to be described when I 
 heard myself charged by the tribunal Vv^ith the 
 dreadful commission : — I incessantly weighed 
 in my mind the innocence or guilt of him 
 whom I was charged to execute. At one time 
 my heart burned with rage against the murderer 
 of Conrad and at another, my whole frame 
 trembled with horror and grief, that my sword 
 should be appointed to take the life of an inno^ 
 cent man. — One resolution, however, remained 
 fixed in my soul; that Otho Von Wittelsbach 
 should not have a part in this horrible transac- 
 tion. — I loved him too well not to restrain his 
 
 * The writers of dark ages, to whom we are in- 
 debted for the circumstantial (and possibly improba- 
 ble) account of these mysterious things, maintain that 
 Charles the Great ordained that the night only should be 
 privy to the transactions of the bloody jurisdiction, and 
 that the morning dawn should never be permitted to 
 break in upon it. 
 
C 214 3 
 
 unspotted hands; and determined to engage 
 alone in the bloody enterprise. But do we not 
 continually sacrifice ourselves for the honour, 
 the welfare, in a word, for the worldly happiness 
 of a friend ; how far greater the motive and 
 the merit to do the same for his eternal fe- 
 licity? 
 
 The members of the tribunal with whom I 
 was particularly connected, in whom I could 
 have placed the utmost confidence, and to whom 
 I could have opened my heart, were no longer at 
 Pamiers; the Duke of — — I would not trust ; 
 and Roger, who was present that same night as 
 well as myself, dared not to give his opinion on 
 those things which passed there. 
 
 My duty now compelled me to leave Pamiers. 
 Alverda urged me to do the same; but for 
 different reasons. — She constantly talked to me 
 about the Imperial court, and the Princesses 
 there, and eagerly pressed me to hasten thither : 
 —alas ! she knew not that by me she sent distress 
 and death to her dearest friends. Count Otho 
 also wrote and urged my speedy arrival. 
 
 To depart myself from the place where Alice 
 resided was worse than death to me ;— I made 
 
C J 
 
 attempts to see her once more ; — ycs^ once more 
 to behold that paragon of beauty; — but she 
 was concealed from me. On the other hand, 
 the Duke of * * * thought it proper, that, before 
 1 left Pamiers, I ought to present myself to 
 those who had persecuted and imprisoned me ; 
 to the Bishop of Castile and his council ; who 
 would have made me die the most cruel of 
 deaths. — The forms of civility, he said, required 
 that we should sometimes wear a friendly ap- 
 pearance even to our enemies,- and besides, he 
 added, it was not certain that the design of 
 taking away my life, of which I accused them, 
 could be laid to their charge, or to their ser- 
 vants. — Cursed policy ; worthy of such a man as 
 the Duke of * * *. All the answer I made to his 
 recommendation was a contemptuous silence, 
 and without delay I departed from Pamiers. 
 
 My senses now but rarely wandered, and 
 were in general clear enough to perceive the 
 futility of those hopes with which the tender 
 hearted Alverda sought to flatter me. — My head 
 was free, but my heart suffered inexpressible an- 
 guish, when I reflected on the reasons for which 
 alone I visited the Imperial court, to which my 
 
C 216 3 
 
 friends allured me, with the fond hope of making 
 me happy. Their ideas projected a thousand 
 plans for me, from which they, ignorant as they 
 were of my real situation, hoped to derive a 
 source of happiness to me. 
 
 Otho and Alverda, in the hope of tearing me 
 for ever from my beloved Alice, endeavoured to 
 form an union between the Princess Beatrice 
 and me ; a circumstance which could never 
 take place between the daughter and the ap- 
 pointed murderer of her father. — When I saw 
 this Princess, the handsomest woman, after Alice, 
 that I had ever beheld, the lively image of 
 mirth and innocence ; — when I saw the graceful 
 Eliza, whose condescending gentleness filled me 
 with the most sincere admiration — when I saw 
 the noble and majestic form of Irene, the mother 
 of these matchless sisters, whom nature imitated 
 in forming them : — and, after these, when I saw 
 the Emperor, whose looks and manners dis- 
 played the grandeur and magnanimity of his 
 character, my heart sunk within me I con- 
 sidered myself with horror, my blood curdled 
 in my veins, at the idea of being the author of 
 irretrievable misery to this great and royal 
 
Family. Like the first murderer, I was always wan- 
 dering about, in a state of restless misery that I 
 could scarce support. I avoided my best friends : 
 —I flew even from the inestimable Count Otho ; 
 » — he perceived my inward grief, and whenever 
 he could see me, with manly tenderness he 
 pressed me to open my heart to him. But all 
 his friendly efforts were in vain, for it was not 
 in the nature of things forme to receive consola- 
 tion. I have reason to believe that I externally 
 wore the impression of my wretched situation ; 
 I thought I read it in all eyes. The Empress 
 seemed to discover an inward, perhaps fore- 
 boding, terror at the sight of me. Eliza, perhaps 
 for the sake of her Wittelsbach, seemed to think 
 me worthy of her friendship : Beatrice however 
 loved me ; but, as I learned, would ask herself in 
 private, why she beheld the object of her affection 
 with such apprehension and terror. — So deeply 
 affected was I with the bloody office I had to 
 perform, and the horror of it so continually in- 
 creased, that I could not fulfil the dreadful coai- 
 mand I received at Pamiers : I could not be 
 the assassin of the Emperor ; of him in whom I 
 discovered so much excellence. 
 
C 218 2 
 
 To free myself from the afflicting duty, I 
 strove to prove Philip innocent, and to make 
 the justice which comdemned him suspected. 
 At length, my faithful servant Roger and I had 
 some conversation on this important subject. 
 His mind entertained the same doubts which agi- 
 tated mine ; and he proposed to take a journey 
 to the Duke of Saxony, to explain to him this 
 dark and bloody business : — a thought which then 
 appeared to me to have been inspired by Heaven. 
 : To send a messenger to the Duke of Saxony 
 was necessary for other reasons. Kalatin, for 
 whom I now possessed no remains of friendship, 
 was gone to him : he might meditate mischief 
 against me, which the presence of Roger would 
 probably prevent.— On my arrival at the Im- 
 perial court, Kalatin stood as a spectre, and 
 then disappeared. — The man who once had 
 asked Alverda's hand, but which I refused him, 
 was now turned against me : I heard that he was 
 gone to Saxony, and this I thought sufficient to 
 make me careful, if possible, to counteract his 
 intentions. It was Roger's business to oppose 
 him, and to bring me an immediate explanation 
 to all my doubts,- — a most impprtant object: 
 
though, after all, it would have been better if 
 he had remained with me, to have served as a 
 guide to my wandering steps. — For when the 
 honest old man, under whose eyes I had been 
 brought up, and who, by his zeal and fidelity, 
 was become more my friend than my servant, 
 left me, I was seduced to commit crimes, in my 
 moments of frenzy, which have been succeeded 
 by a bitter, tormenting, and ceaseless remorse. 
 In vain, alas, do I represent them as a duty im- 
 posed on me that I was compelled to discharge j 
 in vain do I strive to believe that the Empe- 
 ror Philip was yet but a murderer, and that I 
 employed the sword which shed his blood as 
 from the arm of offended and avenging justice. 
 • — But it is no such thing : — and my heart re- 
 fuses to exculpate the horrid deed. 
 
 In the hope that, by a word from the Duke 
 of Saxony, I should be freed from this horrible 
 commission, I already pleased myself with fu- 
 ture prospects : the thought that Alice was not 
 to be Queen of Castile was never out of my 
 mind. — ^^Alverda had promised me to watch 
 every thing at Pamiers, and to recall me on the 
 slightest appearance of the marriage being 
 
C 320 3 
 
 broken dlF, and of Alice being to be sent back 
 to her brother.— I should then be her conduc- 
 tor to Toulouse ; — and being arrived there, I 
 would lend my arm to the succour of her bro- 
 ther against his enemies.— Victory would wait 
 on my prowess; and then she would be the 
 recompense of my valour, 
 i In the midst of these flattering dreams which 
 began to fill my heart with joy, when I was re- 
 covering from the distress which had so long 
 tormented me, I received a letter from Sutrino 
 at Parniers, containing a justification of himself, 
 in consequence of my having accused him, on 
 the representation of Roger, of being a creature 
 of the Bishop of Sutri 5 and, in order to make 
 his innocence manifest, he gave me many cau- 
 tions as to my conduct, and desired that I 
 would mention them to Otho Von Wittelsbach ; 
 to whom he wished me also to intimate, that a 
 design was forming to rob him of his Eliza.— He 
 also added other matters of information, which 
 were calculated to obtain a renewal of my con- 
 fidence in him. He referred me for further 
 instruction to the bearer of the letter, who was 
 of the same serpent race as himself. This man 
 
had the art to insinuate himself into my heart, 
 and to infuse into it all its venom. — -He induced 
 me to credit the Emperor's designs on the 
 throne of Castile ; of his dispossessing another 
 to place his daughter on it, and did not leave 
 me until he thought that he had completed his 
 work. 
 
 At length I determined to have some con- 
 versation with Wittelsbach on the subject. 
 
 I had diligently avoided all conversation 
 with this excellent man, from an apprehension 
 of betraying the horrid secret.-— A letter warned 
 him against the Emperor and Sutri ; a more 
 explicit declaration was promised to follow, but 
 it came not. Very urgent business obliged the 
 Count Palatine to go on a sudden to Poland ; 
 and I received a letter from him containing an 
 invitation to occupy his palace during his ab- 
 sence; by which means I should be near to 
 guard his EHza, from whom he was now obliged 
 to suffer a temporary separation. What a com- 
 mission for him whom fate had destined to 
 plant so deep a wound in the heart of this noble 
 Princess ! I, however, accepted his offer, for I 
 could not do otherwise j and entered his palace. 
 
to behold from it the most melancholy scene of 
 my life. 
 
 On the day of my taking possession of it, as 
 I was standing in the balcony, which was in the 
 front of the building, and commanded a view 
 of the Princesses' palace, I saw a carriage arrive 
 conducted only by one servant : he opened the 
 door, and a lady descended from it. The cir- 
 cumstance very much surprised me, as she bore, 
 to my imagination, the exact resemblance of my 
 sister. 1 immediately ordered people to in- 
 quire concerning her; and they confirmed me 
 in my opinion. — The lady called herself Al- 
 verda, and was just arrived from Pamiers with 
 news of consequence to the Imperial court. 
 For the Imperial court ? said I to myself, — why 
 not to her brother ? — what she may have to com- 
 municate can relate to no one but the beloved 
 Alice. Good God ! if the attainment of my 
 wishes should be so near ! if she should be 
 come to demand my aid for the expelled Coun- 
 tess of Toulouse ! — But why should Alverda her- 
 self come ; how could she leave her friend alone 
 in a situation which, in every respect, must be 
 so precarious ? there must be something more in 
 
C 223 3 
 
 this business than I can conjecture. Some 
 
 base designs, perhaps, have been formed against 
 Alice, and the regular application for my assist- 
 ance was too tedious. — The two friends may 
 have been obliged to depend on each other for 
 help, they may have both flown, and Alice has 
 sent Alverda forward to ask an asylum at Phi- 
 lip's court J — and should he grant it, there will 
 be a new and more powerful motive than all 
 the rest to attach me to him whom I am bound 
 to destroy. — No, Philip ; — and I swear to thee 
 in the face of Heaven, — grant but thy protection 
 to the object of my love, against her enemies, 
 and nothing shall tempt me to lift up my hand 
 against thee. — No, were you guilty of all the 
 crimes of which you are accused, and were the 
 Duke Bernard himself to present the sword to 
 me, and order me to see justice fulfilled against 
 thee — it should drop bloodless from my hand. 
 
 I waited all day, — all the evening I waited in 
 vain ; no intelligence came from my sister. I 
 watched the street where according to my idea 
 i| Alice must pass ; — but no one appeared : — I saw 
 Alverda standing at a window of the palace, and 
 weeping bitterly. My blood was congealed at 
 
C 224 3 
 
 the sight. — I had scarce power to order the 
 newly arrived lady to be informed that her bro- 
 ther resided in the adjacent palace, and wished 
 much to see and speak to her. An answer was 
 immediately returned, that the lady found her- 
 self exceedingly ill, and could neither see nor 
 speak to either brother or friend. Good Hea- 
 vens, what an answer ! either falsely delivered, 
 or misunderstood, or given confusedly, which, 
 in poor Alverda's melancholy condition, could 
 not be wondered at, and might be excused. 
 I was almost beside myself, and in such a state 
 of perturbation that I with difficulty crept to 
 the window, on hearing a rumbling noise 
 in the street, as the hope of Alice's arri- !| 
 val yet occupied my imagination. I now per- 
 ceived two magnificent equipages move along 
 towards the palace. I recollected in them 
 the fatal countenances of the Bishop of Cas- 
 tile and the Count Castelmoro. What is 
 
 that ? called I to my domestics, — at the same 
 time cold sweats trickled down my face. — 
 It is the Castilian ambassadors, replied one 
 of my people, who stood behind me: they 
 have been expected for some days; but they 
 
C 225 3 
 
 Stopped for a short time at an adjacent castle, 
 and from thence sent to demand an audience, 
 which was immediately granted. — I was just 
 going to ask a question which would have been 
 difficult to answer, but was prevented in that, 
 and all further inquiries, by the entrance of a 
 person to inform me of the arrival of a mes- 
 senger on horseback, who desired to speak with 
 me : it being added, that he came from Sutrino 
 with the embassy from Pamiers, he obtained in- 
 stant admittance 1 when I snatched a letter out 
 of his hand, broke it hastily open, and read — 
 
 Sutrino to Alf Von Deulmen. 
 
 " Alice is dead, and the father of the future 
 Queen of Castile, the Princess Elizabeth^ is her 
 murderer. — Oh the horrid and barbarous poi- 
 soner of the holy Conrad, and this angel ! Alf 
 Von Deulmen ! where sleeps revenge ?~Can 
 you be so calm towards him who first snatched 
 your venerable friend from you, and has now 
 torn from your arms the object of your most 
 tender affections ?«-my hand is almost frozen to 
 
 VOL, IIo O 
 
C 3 
 
 ftiy pen, but I trust that yours will not be fro2;ei^ 
 to the sword.— I refer you to the bearer for ä 
 more particular account of this shocking catas- 
 trophe. -*-Conceal yourself from all those whom 
 you think your friends ; conceal yourself from 
 your sister, who is not entirely free from guilt, 
 respecting the untimely fate oF her unfortunate 
 friend.— Trust that man alone whom I now send : 
 he will explain all these terrible mysteries." 
 
 When I received this explanation, it threv/ 
 me into the wildest despair. — Spare me a re- 
 petition of it, that my understanding may not 
 
 again be wrecked.— Alice was dead — dead 
 
 by poison ! — After the account that was given 
 me, it was not easy to mistake the hand which 
 removed her to make a place for the Princess 
 Eliza on her appointed throne. 
 
 The arrival of the Castilian embassy con- 
 firmed Philip's guilt, and from this moment I 
 considered him as a criminal condemned to ' 
 death ; and who was to fall by my hand. — -I 
 fancied he stood before me, and drew my sword 
 to revenge the blood of the dear, unfortunate || 
 Alice, — »when my hand sunk down as I made 
 
C 227 3 
 
 the fruitless blow, and I dropped entirely sense- 
 less. What passed from that moment to the 
 most dreadful period of my life appeared to me 
 as a dream :— transports of rage, and a death- 
 like stupor alternately seized me. Alverda's 
 name I frequently heard repeated ; and it acted 
 as a charm to give a short illum.ination to the 
 powers of my remembrance. 
 
 " What does she want with me?" said I, 
 grinding my teeth with fury. 
 
 " Honoured Sir, she wishes to see you, to 
 take care of you in your sickness, notwithstand- 
 ing she herself is very ill." 
 
 " Away with the murderess !" cried I, " she 
 has delivered Alice into the hands of Philip ei- 
 ther through malice or negligence." A dread- 
 ful raging fit ensued; I talked in such a manner 
 against Philip that it was thought to be improper 
 for strangers to hear me; and no one was per- 
 mitted to enter my chamber. 
 
 My natural strength, which was augmented 
 in a twofold degree by my disorder, made it 
 necessary for my people to bind me, as I was 
 perfecdy ungovernable, and would yield to no- 
 thing but superior force. A thousand means 
 
were employed to soothe me.«*-In my calmer 
 moments I often repeated the Duke Beri1ard*s 
 name, and cried like a child at the long absence 
 of my friend Otho, and my faithful servant 
 Rcger : — they told me that the former was ex« 
 pected in a few days on his return from Poland, 
 and that the latter was confined to his bed a few 
 miles from town in consequence of a fall from his 
 horse.— These symptoms served to convince 
 them of the continuation of my malady. — They 
 gave me a letter from the Duke Bernard; it 
 brought to my mind that of Sutrino, and instead 
 of reading it, I tore it into a thousand pieces. 
 
 Rage and grief alternately possessed me, till 
 at last the latter conquered. — They then treated 
 me with more gentleness I was unbound, and 
 not so closely watched, but that they occasionally 
 left me alone : though they took care to secret 
 both my arms and apparel. — Alverda was no 
 more mentioned to me ; but my aversion for her 
 remained unalterable. — I ordered her to be told 
 that I would not see her, and by that message 
 proved how little hope there was of the recovery 
 of my senses. — She sent me a letter, with a re- 
 quest that I would open and read it, and then dis« 
 
pose of it as I thought proper : I threw it aside 
 with disgust, and it would have met with the 
 most contemptuous fate, had it not been mislaid. 
 —Thus my unfortunate state led me to destroy 
 every thing that could have saved me, and to 
 precipitate myself into ruin. 
 
 Oh! that I could defend myself by the frenzy 
 which possessed me? — Oh that I could urge 
 my having been intoxicated by drink, when I 
 committed the deed I had so long delayed, and 
 which I at last perpetrated! — but away with 
 all pretence to disguise an action, of which no 
 colour can conceal the dreadful names of high 
 treason and murder ! — When I recall each cir- 
 cumstance of that horrid hour,-^I cannot shield 
 myself under the cloak of frenzy.— The state 
 of my health daily improving, my attendants 
 began to be more remiss in their vigilance 1 
 and trusted me too much to myself. — Sutrino*s 
 letter again fell into my hands ; my rage against 
 Philip revived, and 1 made many endeavours 
 to regain my liberty. — After a night spent in 
 dreaming of Alice, of blood and revenge, I 
 arose to prepare myself for the execution of the 
 purpose which the visions of the night inspired. 
 
—I observed that I was not so closely watched, 
 and congratulated myself on the arrival of that 
 hour wMch I had been so impatiently expect- 
 ing — I felt the impropriety and danger of going 
 out in my night-gown; — I therefore searched 
 for my arm ^ and clothes, but they had been 
 taken from u e. 
 
 I knew the way to Wittelsbach's armoury— 
 I looked into the court which led to that part 
 of the palace where I wanted to go,— it was 
 quite empty — I hastened there unseen, threw 
 ofF my night clothes, flew into the armoury 
 which stood open, put on the best armour 
 which I could find ; covered my head with 
 the helmet, locked close the visor; took Wit- 
 telsbach's sword and shield, and hurried into 
 the street accoutred for war ; — and, alas, I was 
 only going to destroy a single and a defence- 
 less man ! 
 
 I reached *the Imperial palace without the 
 least interruption, and notwithstanding my 
 strange appearance was permitted to enter. Big 
 with the horrid project of murder and assassi- 
 nation, I did not sufficiendy reflect that by my 
 wearing Wittelsbach's armour^ and the great 
 
C 231 ] 
 
 •resemblance" there was in our stature, I might 
 be taken for him. — His arrival, of which I had 
 already been informed, was expected on that 
 day; and as the intended son-in-law of the 
 Emperor, had not only had free access to every 
 part of the palace, — but had been particularly 
 sent for to receive a private audience. 
 
 I was ignorant of all this : — I considered not 
 the consequences of the fury that drove me on : 
 — I alone lived and moved in the thought of 
 completing the revenge that had so long boiled 
 within me, and which I thought myself bound 
 to satisfy, when I recollected the commission 
 with which I had been charged at Pamiers by 
 a decree of the tribunal. 
 
 As I arrived at the great staircase I met the 
 Bishop of Castile, who was there also to have 
 audience of the Emperor. — I retired on one 
 side to let him pass ; my sword was drawn to 
 revenge on him also the death of the Countess 
 of Toulouse, but recollecting that, in the smaller 
 sacrifice I might fail in the greater, I permitted 
 him to live. — At the bottom of the stairs he met 
 the Princess Eliza, who was likewise sent for to 
 court, and had just descended from her carriage i 
 
C ^3» ^ 
 
 he made her a very humble salutation, and re-^ 
 quested she would walk with him into the hail^ 
 where he had matters of great importance to 
 communicate to her. 
 
 "Ha!** said I to myself, with distorted fea- 
 tures, do I see the future Queen of Castile, 
 for whom the poor Alice was made a sacrifice, 
 and Wittelsbach*s faithless mistress!— the hellish 
 monk will doubtless absolve her from the oath 
 she has broken to my friend, and which her 
 impious father has commanded her to violate^ 
 -—Oh Otho! Otho! to revenge you alone, 
 Philip's blood ought to flow i and the order of 
 a free judge is not wanting :— every man of 
 noble birth has a right to revenge such injuries 
 with his own sword/* 
 
 Uttering these wild and savage thoughts, I 
 took the way which led to the Emperor*s apart« 
 ment, with the spirit of an avenger, and continued 
 raving in the antichamber. Opposite to one of 
 the doors hung a picture of the Emperor, which 
 I fancied to be himself, and drew my sword to run 
 it through him: a looking-glass reflected the 
 likeness, and 1 as vainly made a second thrust at 
 tbc reflection*— Thus did I continue to brandish 
 
n ^33 D 
 
 and employ irjy sword, till the door of the cabinet 
 flew open, and presented to my sight the real 
 object of my rage.— I rushed in, made a pass 
 at the Emperor (who came forwards to meet 
 me), which immediately threw him to the grounds 
 —I then first remarked, by the many voices 
 that joined in the cry of alarm,, that I did not 
 find the object of my revenge alone ; but I was 
 still so mad as to rejoice at the accomplishment 
 of my purpose. The sight of the fallen almost 
 always disarms the murderer of his rage ; but 
 my soul thirsted after more blood. — I flew out 
 of the apartment — -the horror and astonishment 
 of every one !— But their eager solicitude to suc- 
 cour the Emperor deprived them of all thought 
 of stopping me.— I hastened down stairs, where 
 I hoped to find the Bishop of Castile, whom I 
 should also have sacrificed to the shade of the 
 unfortunate Alice ; but I only saw his carriage 
 drive away,— and the Princess Eliza coming 
 towards the stairs from hej consultation with 
 himo— The sight of her occasioned in me very 
 particular sensations: she walked along with 
 a tranquil mien, and an air of innocence 5 
 while the majesty of an angel appeared in her 
 
C ^34 1 
 
 whole deportment what was I to think of her ? 
 and what horrors was she now going to en-, 
 counter! Already the increasing alarm reached 
 the other apartments ; the whole palace was in 
 confusion, and, on the domestics running back- 
 wards and forwards, and passing her, she quick- 
 ened her steps ; — I rushed by her unobserved 
 into the street ; — the guard let me pass with- 
 out inquiry. By being clad in Wittelsbach's 
 
 armour, I had, without my knowledge, a pass- 
 port, which took away all suspicion from the 
 absconding murderer. 
 
 After I had seen Eliza, very contrary sensa« 
 tions possessed my soul.— But they were such 
 as no words can paint : I was like one just 
 awakened from a state of intoxication ; — I did 
 not at the moment recollect what I had done, 
 or know what I intended to do. — An unde- 
 scribable sensibility troubled me ; to fly — to fly 
 was my sole endeavour, — not from danger, of 
 which there was no appearance, but from a 
 something, within myself, I know not how to 
 name. Thus I passed the streets, flew, as it 
 were, through the gates, and hastened to the 
 open country; nor did I stop until my breath 
 
C 235 1 
 
 failed me, and I fell down senseless by the side 
 of an huge stone. 
 
 It was almost dark when I began to revive ; 
 I heard somebody stirring — I could only see by 
 the twilight that it was a man, but without being 
 able to distinguish whom— this entirely roused 
 me. — Ah! gracious God!" cried a well known 
 voice, is then all in vain ? my dear, dear mas- 
 ter! is it thus that I must again find you?" 
 
 " Roger ! " I exclaimed, and feeling at the 
 same time a momentary impulse of joy, " Ro- 
 ger, is it really you ? — oh wherefore, wherefore 
 did you not arrive before 
 
 <f My good master, my illness prevented me; 
 but great Godi what has happened to you?" 
 
 Happened to me! nothing. — But let me 
 recollect myself. — I dreamed last night that I 
 had killed the Emperor, and am obliged to fly." 
 
 God be praised that this frightful dreain is 
 not verified. — Oh my I ,ord ! how lucky it was 
 that you sent to the Duke of Saxony ! you have 
 then received his letter?" 
 
 " Why, what did it contain ? I did not read 
 it. I have been very ill, Roger, and in my 
 illness, I believe I have torn it to pieces."— 
 
 i 
 
" Poor gentleman! and ill you are! thank 
 God that I am here to take care of you.«- 
 But be composed, my dear master ; all will go 
 well that caused your sickness.— The Duke of 
 Saxony releases you from the shocking duty 
 imposed upon you by the tribunal at Pamiers 1 
 
 and the Duke of will bitterly repent either 
 
 his wickedness or imprudence.** 
 
 Ah Roger/* cried I, interrupting him in 
 his conversation, which I scarce comprehend- 
 ed or regarded, " all would go well were but 
 the dear Alice alive, and Philip not her mur« 
 derer.*' 
 
 " Alice dead ! the Emperor her murderer!— 
 It is not possible/* 
 
 " It is possible, I tell thee ; and the crime aU 
 ready revenged. — Dost thou not see Philip? 
 dost thou not see how he bleeds ? — no, no, it 
 was no dream, — the murderer of Conrad and 
 Alice has fallen by my hand.** 
 
 Roger, from the little remains I yet had of 
 understanding, seemed to doubt the truth of 
 my exclamations. But retiring from me a few 
 paces, repeated, *^ The Emperor murdered!"— 
 in a tone which rent my heart and soul, — I 
 
E: «37 D 
 
 gave a loud shriek, and fell senseless on the 
 earth. 
 
 I cannot better coTpare my strange situa- 
 tion than to that of a man who thinks he is 
 dreaming of fire, while the real flames are raging 
 about his bed : from time to time he seems 
 on the moment of waking — but sleep maintains 
 its right, till at last a violent blow from some 
 falling beam rouses him to perceive the fright« 
 ful prospect of danger, which he cannot escape^ 
 and is at once laid prostrate on the earth. 
 
 " The Emperor murdered!" exclaimed my 
 faithful servant ! alas, that was the blow which 
 struck me, and I sunk into the same state as 
 when I received the afflicting news of the death 
 of Alice. Roger's presence was my only re« 
 lief : — he carried me, with other assistance, to his 
 lodging at the cottage of a peasant, on the op« 
 posite side of the road, and laid me on a bed^ 
 where I languished many a day.~My illness 
 was not now accompanied with the same pa« 
 roxysms of fury as before; for nature was quite 
 J exhausted in me. — I lay almost the whole time 
 ' senseless ; and nothing but such an affection as 
 Roger had for me, could inspire him with any 
 I hope of my recovery. 
 
C 238 -] 
 
 Yes, indeed, Roger's affection for rae was 
 sincere ; or wherefore should he manifest it for 
 a man whom he had every reason to abandon ? 
 -^Alas, what a wicked deed had I done! what 
 Gould palliate my crime ? it haunted me like a 
 ghost, and brought despair with it ! 
 
 Roger had heard from report the particular 
 circumstances of the Emperor's murder, and 
 therefore it was not necessary for him to trou- 
 ble me with needless, questions on the subject. 
 — One circumstance caused no common pain 
 in his honest heart ; but still he remained silent : 
 this was the general opinion that Otho Von 
 Wittelsbach was the assassin of his sovereign. 
 Such a belief, he well knew, if I should be 
 informed of it, would add, if possible, to my 
 despair ; and the fatal intelligence at length 
 reached me, and heightened my distractions. 
 
 Otho's innocence could not be justified but 
 by my declaration that I committed the crime j 
 which I would immediately have made, but 
 Roger prevented me : — no, he would say, — I 
 will save you : nor shall you, while I live, pre- 
 sent yourself to the danger of such an avowal. 
 The way to avoid it was by flight ; but what pre- 
 text could he make for proposing it ? the very 
 
c 239 n 
 
 proposition to fly, he well knew, would awaken 
 those sentiments, and stir up those feehngs t^^at 
 might be fatal to me ; and, instead of adding 
 fresh alarms to my conscience, he wished to 
 hush it, if possible, into an oblivious slumber. 
 
 As soon, therefore, as my health permitted 
 that I should be removed, he proposed my re- 
 turn to my own country, as my absence had 
 occasioned a great derangement in miy affairs 
 there.^ — The greatest part of my possessions had 
 fallen into the hands of the Bishops of Bremen 
 and Munster ; but as I had still numerous vas- 
 sals, who were not attached to those lands, on 
 their assistance Roger founded his hopes of 
 re-establishing me in the possession of my 
 violated domains. With an humane view of 
 turning my reflections to other objects, he con- 
 tinually talked to me of the execution of this 
 design ; and he succeeded in bringing my debi- 
 litated intellects to forget, in appearance, the 
 last sad adventures, and to fix my thoughts on 
 other and better times. 
 
 The recollection of that country where I had 
 passed the innocent years of my youth ,* when 
 I had not experienced love, ambition, or falla^ 
 
t no 3 
 
 cious friendship j when Alice, Philip, and Kala-» 
 tin, and ?ll those persons who afterwards were 
 so connected with my fate, were unknown to 
 me ; — the remembrance of that uninterrupted 
 joy, never more to return, naturally brought to 
 my mind Evert Von Remen I inquired af- 
 ter him, as of a long lost friend i the calumny 
 with which Kalatin had alienated my affection 
 and friendship from him was entirely forgotten i 
 and the history that Roger gave me of the fi- 
 delity and courage with which he opposed my 
 enemies in my absence, quickened the impulse of 
 returning friendship. I rejoiced in the hope 
 of once more seeing him in that country, and 
 Roger did not discourage it, as he was as 
 ignorant as myself of Evert's design to visit 
 
 the Holy Land. He had indeed imparted 
 
 to me his intention of undertaking that pil- 
 grimage in a long neglected letter, which, with 
 many others, was never read.— The tumult of 
 passions wherein I had spent the years of my 
 life since I saw him, the many prejudices by 
 which I was governed, the various adventures 
 in which I had been engaged, so entirely 
 occupied all my thoughts and wishes^ that I 
 
reflected on nothing else, and neglected the very 
 sources of my fortune and happiness. 
 
 Roger, who could not give any satisfactory 
 answers to my questions concerning Evert Von 
 Remen, had promised that, if I continued to 
 encourage the recovery of my spirits, he would 
 give me a small box of letters, that might very 
 much amuse me ; but which I had thrown by 
 unnoticed and disregarded, without having cast 
 my eye on the contents of them. This packet, 
 which he had carefully preserved for me, con- 
 sisted of letters from Wittelsbach, from Evert, 
 and other honourable persons, which my excel- 
 lent servant and friend had thought might turn 
 my mind from its afflictions, and give to my 
 wounded spirit somewhat of its former tran- 
 quillity. — 
 
 Alas ! alas ! how this good fellow deceived 
 himself, and wounded me! — for these letters, 
 instead of composing my distempered mind, had 
 well nigh thrown me bacjc into all the distrac- 
 tion from whence I had so lately been, in some 
 degree, recovered. — Several letters of Evert and 
 Wittelsbach, which had not been half read, 
 brought things back to my observation, on the 
 
 T0L. II. R 
 
forgetting of which the restoration of my heahh 
 seemed principally to depend. A fragment of 
 that letter from the Duke of Saxony, which I 
 tore when I was disordered, presented to mc 
 in the blackest colours that horrid crime, which 
 made me a wretch indeed,— and against which 
 he so sincerely cautioned me. — There was a 
 very interesting note from Alverda, and a letter 
 from Kalatin in the collection, which were 
 among the last that I received ; and as they eack 
 of them contained but a few lines, I have borne 
 them in my memory, and will now repeat them. 
 What my feelings were on the perusal, may be 
 better conceived than described ; at least it is 
 not in my power to describe them. 
 
 Alverda to her Brother, 
 
 " What have I done, Adolf, that you should 
 thus drive me from your door, and refuse me 
 admittance ? Alas, I fear that the loss of the 
 unfortunate Alice disorders your senses, or you 
 would not act as you have done. — Oh, could 
 I but charm the violence of your grief into a 
 
C ^43 1 
 
 calm and submissive sorrow; you would then, 
 perhaps, receive my counsel and consolation— 
 you would then weep for Alice as becomes a fond 
 and affectionate mourner, instead of dishonour- 
 ing her and yourself by those violent paroxysms 
 of rage, of which we continually hear so much. — - 
 I inclose a letter written by Alice ;-^take it ; — it 
 has often given me relief by the consolatory tears 
 it has caused me to shed.— It may possibly have 
 the same effect on you. — Preserve it with care; 
 it is addressed to her brother the Count of Tou- 
 louse ; and was written on the day before her 
 death : — she desired me to deliver it to him ; — 
 you may perhaps have an earlier opportunity 
 than the disconsolate and dying 
 
 Alverd a/' 
 
 A letter written by AHce's hand ! — Oh Ade- 
 mar, what a tremor I — Yes — Alverda was right, 
 it had the same effect ; it dissolved my heart to 
 tears ; — it taught me to reflect with deliberation 
 on the manner of her death : — but it was not 
 therefore a salutajy balsam to me. — Alverda 
 appears to have been the friend of the unhappy 
 Alice to the moment of their eternal separation* 
 
 R2 
 
C H4< ] 
 
 —That the Emperor Philip had a share in the 
 shocking scene at Pamiers, became doubtful 
 to me : but could that console my aching bo-* 
 som, — when my offence was equally irretriev^ 
 able! 
 
 Kalatin's letter aggravated the dangerous im- 
 pression : and 1 give the purport of it. 
 
 Kalatin to Count Adolf. 
 
 " You are my enemy, Count Adolf : — the 
 perverseness with which you again refuse me 
 your sister, is a proof of it. — How I am affected 
 towards you, I shall not now explain ; I shall only 
 render you the service of a friend, which, how- 
 ever, is less through regard for you, than atten- 
 tion to the honour of our community. 
 
 Hear and attend well to what I now say töl 
 you V — trust not the transactions of the tribul 
 nal at Pamiers, guard yourself against perform- 
 ing a bloody scene, with which it is there designed 
 to charge you; wait the decision of the Duke 
 Bernard, which must shortly follow. 
 
 Kalatin." 
 
C H5 3 
 
 Oh why did I, full of rancour against the 
 writer, throw this letter away unread? I received 
 it the day before my hands were polluted with 
 Philip's blood ; it was then in time to prevent 
 the deed, if I had but attended to the admoni- 
 tions which were given me. Philip fell by my 
 
 hand; but the Duke of gave me the sword. 
 
 As I thought him the destroyer of my beloved 
 Alice; — was it the revenge of justice, or self- 
 revenge that shed his royal bloo4 ? 
 
 My thoughts wandered and wavered on this 
 sad subject. — I jknew not what I did, or what I 
 ought to think ; — whether Philip were innocent 
 or guilty. — All I felt was, that I was a most 
 miserable being, who had no refuge for his sor- 
 rows but the grave, 
 
 I now gave up all thoughts of again seeing 
 my native country : by one of Evert' s ne- 
 glected letters, I learned that he, who alone could 
 induce me to return thither, had through grief 
 for his beloved Alverda left it, and was gone 
 to Palestine, where he perhaps had long since 
 escaped from all his sorrows and disappoint- 
 ments. 
 
 I at length formed the resolution to quit my 
 
faithful servant's habitation, and to encounter 
 my fate in any manner that might offer itself to 
 me. — My flight soon succeeded — and in the 
 wild and mountainous country through which 
 I was guided by despair, I soon found an op- 
 portunity to complete my purpose. — I every 
 where heard Wittelsbach announced as the Em- 
 peror's assassin, and that he was proscribed 
 and persecuted. — I then felt, in added horrors, 
 the dreadful consequence of my crime, — and 
 that another, and my best and bosom friend, was 
 to be the innocent victim of my offences. I 
 dropped, therefore, all immediate resolution of 
 ending my life by my own hands. — " No,'' said 
 I, " I cannot, dare not, die, until Otho is saved 
 and justified — my soul is already charged with 
 too much guilt; — and I will not add to it by 
 the blood of a friend, who suffers the disgrace, 
 and is menaced with the punishment, due alone 
 to me. I will away to the great tribunal ; I 
 will there loudly proclaim, Otho Von Wit- 
 telsbach is not guilty, and I alone am the mur- 
 derer : — here I am — take me — punish me — but 
 let him be saved!" 
 
 Those who have any cognizance of the throne 
 
C 247 3 
 
 of the secret tribunal, well know that it is soon 
 formed in all parts of the empire, and I rejoiced 
 that I had not long to wait for what my soul so 
 ardently desired : — justice for my friend, — and 
 judgment and death for myself. 
 
 The day arrived, on the night of which I was 
 to enter the sacred assembly :— slowly and sor- 
 rowfully I walked into the great circle, where 
 I had so frequently taken my place as a king 
 on his throne: — the whole crowd surrounded me, 
 " There's Count Adolf whom we have not seen 
 so long," whispered they to each other, ^' our 
 chief will be rejoiced to see him." 
 
 The Duke Bernard was himself present ; we 
 could, however, exchange but a few words toge- 
 ther ere the business began. I took my place 
 next him, as several of the judges were absent ; — ^ 
 an exalted seat for a criminal, who, when once 
 known to the tribunal, must be cast into the 
 deepest dungeon that justice can find for him. 
 
 My senses being confused and disordered, I 
 did not hear what was passing around me. — My 
 mind was wholly absorbed in my own approach- 
 ing fate, and in contriving how I should bring 
 
c 248 n 
 
 forward the subject of my crimes. Criminal 
 as I was, and hating and detesting myself, I 
 could not but tremble at the thought of that 
 sentence which was shortly to be pronounced 
 against me. — I too well knew the rigid justice of 
 our tribunal not to shudder with alarm : fate, 
 however, came in due time to aid my weak and 
 irresolute spirit. 
 
 At the conclusion of the sitting, a young wo- 
 man threw herself at the foot of the throne, and 
 
 stammered out, Revenge '* 
 
 On what bloody deed," asked the chief, 
 
 do you cry for revenge ?** 
 
 " The murder of the Emperor Philip.*' 
 
 " Are you one of his daughters ?" 
 
 " No ; but I speak in their names, and by 
 their order." ' 
 
 " Whom do you accuse?" 
 
 " I accuse no one ; but I demand of the judge 
 .to discover the criminal." 
 
 " He is already found — it is the Count Otho 
 Von Wittelsbach." 
 
 " No, it is not him ;" I exclaimed in a trem- 
 bling and agitated voice ; at the same time I 
 
t H9 3 
 
 sprang forth, and held up my hand as a token 
 of opposition to such a calumny. 
 
 " No, he is not the person cried the young 
 woman, " see and hear my proofs.'* 
 
 The Count Palatine was exculpated j and the 
 accuser was called to demand revenge against 
 the unknown offender from the four corners of 
 the world. — She threw her veil aside, and, with 
 a faltering voice, repeated the words which were 
 pronounced to her. 
 
 Her face and voice instantly discovered her 
 to me, and my whole frame was seized with a 
 sudden and involuntary trembling ! 
 
 " Alverda,*' cried I, quitting my seat, " Al- 
 verda, my sister !— dost thou invoke vengeance 
 on thy brother? I— I am the Emperor Philip's 
 murderer !— here I am — -take my life — Count 
 Palatine Otho is innocent!" 
 
 Alverda fainted away, and was carried off. — 
 My sword was taken from me; — -justice sat on 
 me, — and I was condemned. 
 
 A man from the inferior orders arose to de- 
 fend me ; it was the good Roger, who, after 
 having so long lost me, at length found me here. 
 =— But his word could do me no service ; as 
 
powerful truth and my own testimony were 
 against me. He was ordered to be silent, and 
 privately kept in chains as a prisoner, until the 
 murderer of the Emperor had received his re- 
 ward. — I was afterwards condemned, and went 
 out a restless wanderer in the world, until I 
 should meet an avenger who should take my 
 weary life. I immediately went from thence, 
 that the lots might be cast for the man who should 
 be trusted with the avenging sword against me. 
 — Ah, little did I think it would fall on him 
 whom I had for. some time esteemed as a faith- 
 ful friend— on Kalatin, who by his kind pre- 
 caution before the horrid catastrophe, which 
 now precipitated my destruction, had revived 
 my regard for him. — To paint my situation is 
 impossible !— I was cut off as a corrupt member 
 from the society of mankind ; while a secret 
 avenger continually followed my steps. Alas ! 
 such a situation was far, far more dreadful than 
 death itself! 
 
 It was some relief to my mind to think that 1 
 had done an act of justice before my death (of 
 which I was in hourly expectation), in restoring 
 to my friend Otho his honour, reputation, and 
 
innocence. I hoped to hear of his being rein- 
 stated in all his rights, of his nnarriage with 
 the Princess Eliza, and the recall of his friends 
 who had been proscribed with him; but my 
 hopes were vain — justice was not content with 
 one sacrifice, she preferred two. — I heard that 
 the Princess Beatrice had also carried her com- 
 plaints to the new Emperor against him. — His 
 intended bride the Princess Eliza was granted 
 to the Castilian, and Otho wandered a fugitive, 
 destitute of an home as well as myself, until he 
 should meet his executioner, and his innocent 
 blood should be shed as mine, and for my of- 
 fences. 
 
 If any thing could possibly precipitate me 
 yet deeper into the abyss of misery, it was the 
 sad state in which I beheld my friend.— But 
 no, I was not yet sunk to the earth, and it 
 was still left me to give a ray of virtue to my 
 beclouded spirit, ere we were eternally se- 
 parated. — I would not, I dared not sink into 
 eternity charged with Otho*s innocent blood ; 
 I had blood enough already on my soul. — In 
 short, I was resolved to save him, and hoped to 
 perish at the moment in which I had completed 
 
c: «52 :] 
 
 his preservation. By possessing a knowledge of 
 the interior secrets which with so much subtilty 
 governed our association, I discovered the de- 
 serted abode of Otho, having already been ap- 
 pointed his executioner.— Alas, why should not 
 the eyes of friendship be more vigilant and dis- 
 cerning than those of revenge ?— 
 
 I found my poor, unhappy, guiltless friend in 
 a wild forest on the borders of the Danube : — 
 a cave was his refuge — a stone his pillow — roots 
 were his food, and despair the companion of his 
 solitude. Despair, did I say ? I recall the 
 word, for the innocent can never despair. — I, 
 as an offender, could not be appeased ; and were 
 even the des^r Alice, for whose sake I offended, 
 to have risen from her grave, and offered to ad- 
 minister consolation, her attempts would have 
 been fruitless. — How little consoled the inno- 
 cent Otho, when he derived comfort from the 
 visit of such an abandoned wretch as me ! 
 
 " How,*' cried he, when on finding him I 
 threw myself in his arms, declaring I would be 
 the companion of his misery, and share his fate, 
 " How is this,— has Otho yet a friend? and 
 a friend who desires to be the guardian of his 
 
C 2.53 3 
 
 exile^ when he is confirmed by all the world a 
 criminal, and who alone believes him innocent ? 
 Ye cruel persecutors, I can now bid ye defi- 
 ance! — friends, relations, and faithless, yet still 
 loved, mistress ! now I wall forget your incon- 
 stancy ; — I have Alf Von Deulmen, a friend 
 who will live and die with me!" 
 
 Oh, how litde did I merit so kind a recep- 
 tion ! how joyfully would I have cast myself at 
 his feet, and confessed that I was the author of 
 all his misery ! but this I could not do, with- 
 out rendering abortive all my plans for his 
 Safety. The incomparable Otho willingly ac- 
 cepted me for his companion in affliction — but 
 could he have had any indulgence for a mur- 
 derer, and a murderer of an Emperor ?- — must 
 he not have expected the avenging lightning 
 from heaven to strike him, should he even es- 
 cape the sword of revenge that was unsheathed 
 against him ? In associating with him, I had 
 not those fears to disturb me : — hoped that 
 Heaven would grant the last prayers of a wretch, 
 and give him the power to save his friend who 
 was brought to destruction by his offences. My 
 sword should protect Otho ; my eyes watch for 
 
C 254 3 
 
 him; my hands should labour for himi and 
 my tongue endeavour to administer that com- 
 fort to his oppressed heart which was a stranger 
 to mine I began with vigour, and it succeeded 1 
 yet my mind was not always equal to my occu- 
 pation, my reason w^as often absent, which I en- 
 deavoured to conceal from Otho, or to attribute 
 it to my sorrow and affliction for the lost Alice. 
 The unsuspecting heart of my friend believed 
 all, and often endeavoured to console me ; but 
 his words, though so full of power and energy, 
 were not in season : he was ignorant of the com- 
 fort which I required : — the secret wound in 
 my heart could not find a cure in any part of 
 the earth, but that small spot which should con- 
 tain my grave. 
 
 To secure my friend, I would not suffer him 
 to quit his retirement. I undertook to supply him 
 with every thing necessary for his sustenance; 
 and I continually exposed my life, which was not 
 worth keeping, to preserve his, which would be 
 honourable to himself, and might become use- 
 ful to the world. I was indeed sometimes too 
 adventurous, and in my wanderings had suffi- 
 cient opportunity to hear the occurrences of 
 
the world. It was reported that Wittelsbach's 
 life was to be the sacrifice to love ; and with 
 which the new Emperor would purchase the 
 heart of the Princess Beatrice. I told him as 
 much as was necessary for him to know, that he 
 might be better acquainted with the danger of 
 his situation, and the necessity there was for the 
 most rigid precaution. We seriously delibe- 
 rated whether we should not be in more se- 
 curity by flying from our own country. Otho 
 could seek protection under the standard of the 
 cross at Palestine ; and I promised to accom- 
 pany him, not for the sake of preserving my 
 own life, but to protect his; and when he 
 should be in safety, I could die. I also wished 
 to purify myself at the holy tomb, and then 
 meet with a glorious death by the sword of the 
 Saracen. 
 
 Although I was sensible that my crime could 
 never be effaced, yet I did not think it a duty 
 incumbent on me to deliver my life into the 
 hands of the common executioner. Death, in 
 the cause of Christianity, was in my opinion 
 better and more meritorious, though undoubt- 
 edly too good for such a wretch as me. I had 
 
not yet demanded of Otho any account of 
 what had happened from the time of his depar- 
 ture from the Emperor's court, to his arrival in 
 Poland J but one evening, as we were engaged 
 in mutual confidence with each other, he, un- 
 asked, related the particular circumstances of 
 that period. 
 
 Litde did I think (began my unfortunate 
 friend), little did I think, on the day that I was 
 separated from my dearest friend and beloved 
 mistress, that it was to be the last time I should 
 ever behold her; and that I should see him in 
 this wretched state. O Adolf, the preparations 
 for our eastern expedition make it requisite that 
 we must now separateT—- aud how will it be with 
 us when we meet again,— if >gain our eyes 
 should behold each other? — I conclude that my 
 promised bride is, by the Castilian marriage, 
 lost to me for ever.- — I did all in my power to 
 ensure her constancy, but in vain. 1 will say 
 nothing of the particular intention of my jour- 
 ney to Poland, not through mistrust, as my heart 
 well knows that I have confided many things to 
 you, on which, perhaps, I ought to have been 
 silent ; but I judged the business of Duke Ber- 
 
c 257 : 
 
 nard, for ^vhich I went to Poland, could not be 
 particularly interesting to you ; and as you must 
 have heard so much ah'cady from the mouth of 
 fame, it did not appear to me that I could com- 
 municate any thing new to you in repeating the 
 love of my friend for the beautiful Adela, and 
 his treaty of marriage with her : he had loved her 
 long, but had, by a thousand accidents, been 
 frustrated in his wishes, of which, for aught I 
 know, the world was not ignorant. Adela's 
 youth and other obstacles had delayed the happy 
 time that was to unite him to her for ever. The 
 time, however, now arrived, and Duke Bernard 
 wrote to me to beg I w^ould undertake to nego- 
 tiate for him a promise which had long been 
 made him on the part of the Duke of Poland^ 
 uncle to Adela. 
 
 1 with pleasure complied with the request of 
 my friend : I had asked of the Emperor all that 
 was necessary : I obtained of him letters to the 
 Duke of Poland, which he himself first read to 
 me ; and they contained all that the Duke Ber- 
 nard and I could desire for the attainment of 
 our wishes. There were circumstances with 
 which I imagined Eliza must have been gene- 
 
 VOL. 11. S 
 
C 258 3 
 
 rally acquainted, and I did not feel it necessary 
 to enter into particulars with her about them ; 
 especially at such a parting as ours was, when 
 every moment was precious to us ; when every 
 moment was so fraught with love, tenderness, and 
 grief at separating, that there was no interval 
 to think of any thing but the situation of our 
 own hearts. Thus, however, my unreflecting 
 silence on things so apparently indifferent to her, 
 was the cause of all my incomprehensible mis- 
 fortunes. Alas,- — but who can so discern those 
 fine and slender threads that compose the delicate 
 web of our fate, as not to break or entangle 
 them? When threatened by danger, which 
 often, lurks beneath the most trifling circum- 
 stances, nothing can so soon tranquillize our 
 spirits, as the belief that the power which per- 
 mits us ignorantly to act against our own happi- 
 ness, can change our confusion to order, and our 
 greatest misfortune to real blessings. How, and 
 when my unswerving faith will be justified, I 
 know not: it will be, I should think, in another 
 ^^Torld ; — for in this, not a ray of hope is left me, 
 io illumine the dark passage through which it 
 appears that. I am destined to pass. 
 
1 set out on my journey to Poland, completely 
 satisfied with Eliza's promise, that there was 
 nothing for me to apprehend from a marriage 
 with Castile, which w^as at that time the chief 
 object of my fears ; nor did she fail to promise 
 that she would ever remain faithful to me, if I 
 would be so to her.— Could her fidelity be fixed 
 on a more solid foundation than mine ? could 
 any thing so powerfully calm my fears, as 
 the conviction that we possessed each other's 
 heart. With perfect satisfaction I therefore 
 conducted my measures at the negotiation 
 for the Polish court ; nor did any thing in this 
 business particularly attract my notice, until the 
 Duke's countenance changed in an uncommon 
 manner while he was perusing the letter that I 
 had delivered to him. He then fixed his eyes 
 on me, and in a tone of the kindest compassion, 
 " Count Palatine," said he, " my niece has not 
 been refused to the Duke of Saxony ; at the 
 same time, I cannot but acknowledge, that I 
 might have been as well pleased to be allied to 
 you as to him. I know well that the duty of 
 friendship, ana a prior engagement with the 
 Princess Eliza, render the accomplishment of 
 
C 260 3 
 
 these wishes impossible. I hope, with all my 
 heart, that your fidelity to her may not be over- 
 reached, as it is the anxious desire of certain 
 persons to keep her from you/* 
 
 " I know how much I can depend on my 
 beloved bride,*' I answered, with some dis- 
 pleasure : " can you depend as inuch on your 
 future father-in-law 
 
 " You perhaps allude to the Castilian mar- 
 riage with which that vile tribunal is occupied. 
 I am indeed ignorant of all these transactions, 
 and only judge from what I have immediately 
 before my eyes. — Read this letter which you 
 have brought me from the Emperor, — read it, 
 and then give me your opinion of the contents ; 
 and whether you think that you have not every 
 thing to fear from such a man as the writer of 
 it?- 
 
 I took the letter ; I read it, and found it 
 quite different from what Philip had himself 
 read to me : and, amongst many other am- 
 biguous phrases, was that which follows. On 
 considering the thing politically, nothing can be 
 said, after £he foregoing instructions, against 
 the proceedings respecting the treaty of mar- 
 
C 261 ] 
 
 riage performed by the Count Palatine Otho ; 
 and a Duke of Saxony is well worthy a Prin» 
 cess of Poland. — But Duke Bernard and his 
 friends the Wittelsbachs, are most certainly 
 dangerous persons, turbulent fiends, and un- 
 fortunate firebrands in whatever country they 
 may be. The Duke of Poland and his beau- 
 tiful niece are too much beloved to be ad- 
 vised to make such an alliance ; the best thing, 
 indeed, that he could do, would be to gain 
 time, and to prevent the Duke of Saxony's fur- 
 ther suitorship for the Princess Adela, in the 
 same manner as they do at the Imperial court 
 by Wittelsbach — as he is thought too power- 
 ful to receive an abrupt refusal, they choose 
 father to promise him every thing, and leave 
 the accomplishment to time." 
 
 " And did Philip vv^rite that?'* I exclaimed, 
 while I threw the letter in a rage on the ground, 
 and trampled it under my feet. " I will away,'* 
 cried I, " to the court of the traitor; — -I will 
 speak to him myself ; and make him imme- 
 diately explain these treacherous words, and de- 
 mand the full accomplishment of his promise. 
 But^ Philip's daughter, I am certain, knows 
 
t 3 
 
 nothing of all this :— but, could I suppose it for 
 a moment,— much as I love her, I would chase 
 her from me with disgust and contempt. Eli- 
 za ! O, my Eliza ! who art so unlike thy de- 
 generate father, that I can scarcely think thee 
 to be his child ! No, it is impossible ; I will fly 
 and claim you as my own, and then be revenged 
 on those who would rob me of you.** 
 
 The Duke of Poland encouraged me in my 
 resolution, gave all possible assistance for ac- 
 celerating my departure, and, at parting, made 
 many kind promises respecting the Duke of 
 Saxony. But before I could reach the Impe- 
 rial residence I received my doom from the 
 Castilian ambassadors, who had proposed a 
 treaty of marriage for the Princess Eliza ; and 
 it appeared to be the general opinion that their 
 proposals would not be rejected, as it was a 
 more advantageous alliance than that which 
 had been projected with Wittelsbach, — who 
 might yet be satisfied, as the Emperor had other 
 daughters. 
 
 Flames and furies !— and who were these 
 daughters ? one was already promised to ano» 
 ther,— already another had avowed his passion 
 
C 263 3 
 
 for Beatrice, whose temper besides so little 
 suited with mine. Agnes was an infant, and 
 before she could attain to years of maturity 
 I should be an old man : and with these mi- 
 serable hopes was I to change the certain pos- 
 session of my angelic Eliza? No: — my re- 
 solution was fixed — though the general opi- 
 nion was, that the generous Wittelsbach would 
 condescend to let himself be supplanted. This 
 brought the tumult of my heart to the utmost: 
 — but I swear by the great God, that I did not 
 feel the slightest symptom of a design to be- 
 come an assassin, which has been so falsely and 
 so barbarously imputed to me. 
 
 I wrote to Eliza, as well as I can remember, a 
 menacing letter : — by Heavens I know not pre- 
 cisely what I wrote ; — my blood boiled ~my 
 senses wandered ; and, at the moment I wrote it, 
 I received a message from the Emperor, which 
 informed me that he had heard of my safe ar- 
 rival from Poland :~he desired me also to 
 come to court on a certain day, and at a cer- 
 tain hour, to be in private with him ; as he 
 had affairs of the last importance to trans- 
 act with me.— This letter completed my rage, 
 
C 264 3 
 
 and convinced me of the truth of all that I had 
 feared. I could not doubt but that I was to 
 be informed of the Prince of Castile's proposals, 
 and to be requested to renounce all pretensions 
 to my promised bride, that she might be a 
 queen.— 
 
 I answered Philip, that I would ere long ap- 
 pear before him in a manner very different from 
 that which he expected; nor was I less deter- 
 mined to fulfil the contents of my letter to Eliza, 
 which solicited her to go with me, and threat- 
 ened her with force if she refused. When I 
 was once possessed of her, I resolved, with the as- 
 sistance of my friends, to fall on the perfidious 
 Emperor with a numerous army, compel him to 
 avow his falsehood, and make his throne to totter 
 under him. This was my design : but assassina- 
 tion never once debased my thoughts for a mo- 
 ment. Eliza must be mine ere I could execute 
 such a resolution. I must be very certain, that if 
 I began hostiUties with her father, she would think 
 herself under the necessity of breaking with me; 
 but being her husband, she could not be answer- 
 able for my actions, and would remain faithfully 
 mine, notwithstanding my hostilities against her 
 
father. Indeed, I doubted not that while I gavehcr 
 no cause to change, she would ever be the same. 
 
 O ! how I erred — her answer to my letter 
 gave me an eternal dismission. She upbraided 
 me with infidelity ; refused to comply with ray 
 demand, and derided my menaces. My rage now 
 became as violent against her as it had been 
 against her father : and I should have done 
 some desperate deed, had I not thought of the 
 Empress Irene. The idea of that excellent 
 woman recalled my wandering reason : she had 
 always been my friend ; I always found her sin- 
 cere ; and she was ever faithful, when others were 
 false. This reflection gave me comfort ; and 
 I wrote her an account of all my distresses. I 
 received for answer, that she was too weak to 
 write, and that I must therefore go to her my- 
 self with all possible expedition, and hear an 
 explanation of ail my doubts from her lips.- — I 
 flew to the casde, which was not at a areat dis- 
 tance, where she was waiting in a very weak 
 state, on the approach of her lying-in. From her 
 mouth, I well knew that I should hear nothing 
 but the truth ; and I wept by the sick-bed of 
 her who had ever been a mother to me. — When 
 
C 266 ;] , 
 
 1 entered the room, she reached out her hands^ 
 full of joy to see me; " Are you come, my son?*' 
 said she, your arrival gives me a twofold plea- 
 sure ; as I did not wish it merely for your sake, 
 but my own. Forgive the weakness of a sick 
 woman ; for things that at another time would 
 not trouble me for a moment, now fill me with 
 alarm. Think what has happened to me, after 
 I received your distressing letter. — I fell into a 
 light slumber, w^hen it appeared to me, with the 
 same distinctness as if I had been awake, that 
 some one approached my bedside, and said, Irene, 
 • — Wittelsbach is guilty of treason, in the death 
 of the Emperor.-— I then thought myself in the 
 Imperial cabinet, when a person entered, who 
 by his arms^ i took for you, and approaching the 
 
 Emperor, stabbed him to the heart. This 
 
 dream, and your desponding letter, were the 
 cause of my pressing to see you ; that I might 
 prevent you from realizing the frightful spec- 
 tacle of my imagination.** 
 
 " What,** exclaimed I, can Irene think mc 
 capable of such an action, that would eternally 
 separate me from my Eliza ?'* 
 
 " Once more, my son, forgive a weakness in 
 
a sick woman ; be composed, and tell me all that 
 troubles you, that I may give you consolation.** 
 
 I now began to pour forth my whole heart 
 into the bosom of this faithful friend ; and most 
 certainly the comfort she gave me had a very 
 healing effect on my troubled soul. This good 
 Empress had an unlimited influence over me; 
 but I with these eyes had read Philip's trea- 
 cherous letter to the Duke of Poland — had 
 with these ears heard the story of the Castilian 
 marriage, and was confirmed in all these things, 
 to me so dreadful, by the Emperor's message to 
 me, and Eliza's subsequent refusal of me when 
 I so little expected it, I listened with confi- 
 dence to the exceptions that Irene made to all 
 these circumstances, and of the doubts she en- 
 tertained of them. She observed my composure, 
 and concluded in the following manner. 
 
 " My dear son, do not, I beseech you, be 
 angry with Eliza, and break not with the Em- 
 peror, till you have talked to both ; the Duke 
 Bernard's love for the Polish Princess, was 
 probably as unknown to EHza as it was to me : 
 either through prudence or accident you said 
 nothing of it ; you wrote to her something in a 
 
very precipitate manner, about a treaty of mar- 
 riage for Adela, and she has misinterpreted that 
 in such a way as sincerity is most apt to do ; and 
 thus proceeded her injurious declaration against 
 you. In regard to the Emperor, you are sen- 
 sible that it is a long time since your friend- 
 ship for him has been displeasing to others. 
 That letter is certainly a base contrivance, and 
 you must have a verbal explanation of it. — 
 Perhaps he has already (for you were never 
 accustomed to conceal your sentiments) heard 
 something of your discontent, and desires to see 
 you, that he might be reconciled to you. 
 
 " Respecting the Castilian marriage, be not 
 uneasy about it ; the Emperor does not approve 
 of it sufficiently to give his consent. Eliza is 
 yours ; but if I am deceived, observe what I 
 say- — I will give you leave to urge Eliza's flight 
 in my name. The oath that binds you both is 
 irrevocable ; nothing can dissolve it ; to trans- 
 gress it would be as unpardonable in the one as 
 the other; and should any hand threaten to cut 
 the band that unites you, were it even that of a 
 father, you would be at liberty to act without fear ; 
 and, exempt from any duty, Eliza flies with you ; 
 
she becomes your wife, and will at least receive 
 my blessing, even should Philip refuse her his. 
 These things, however, according to my judg- 
 ment, are not real, and I tell you what you 
 
 must do for your own peace. But I can 
 
 speak no more : — and my weak frame sinks be- 
 neath the present exertion. You must go im- 
 mediately to the Emperor, where you have 
 been already summoned take an opportunity 
 also to see Eliza ; and afterwards set ofF as 
 quickly as possible to Saxony to the Duke Ber- 
 nard, from whom you say you had a pressing 
 letter." 
 
 The Empress was right ; on my way to her I 
 received a letter from the Duke of Saxony, who 
 urged my speedy arrival, but which, in the agi- 
 tation of my mind, I had but slightly read, or 
 half understood. By the Empress's desire I 
 read it again, and ere I mounted my horse 
 gave it another perusal. I could, however, 
 make but little of it; as it treated of a sum- 
 mons to Pamiers, of which I was wholly igno- 
 rant. I could only discover that it had been 
 a long time written, and that I ought to have 
 received it much sooner, and most probably 
 
t 270 3 
 
 through the carelessness of the courier, or 
 some other accident, it must have miscarried. 
 You, Count Adolf, to whom the Duke wrote at 
 the same time, can perhaps give me some reason 
 for it ; but of this another time present 1 
 shall continue my narration. 
 
 But wherefore should I recommence it 
 when by the repetition of my accumulated mis- 
 fortunes, I only revive the repetition of these 
 events so full of alFliciion and horror? I now 
 almost think it a dream, that, animated by 
 fresh hopes from the mouth of a saint, I set out 
 to encounter new misfortunes ; and when I 
 thought I was ensured the possession of Eliza^ 
 by following the counsel of her excellent mo~ 
 ther, that she was lost to me for ever : nay, when 
 almost reconciled to Philip, and inspired with 
 the most enlivening confidence, I was openly 
 denounced as his enemy and murderer. 
 
 How and in what manner all this was ma- 
 naged, I hardly know myself. Each stroke of 
 misfortune burst upon me in such rapid succes- 
 sion, that I could not distinguish the order of 
 them. 
 
 Before I reached the Imperial residence, I 
 
heard the report of the Emperor's murder; 
 
 —and by me. Good Heavens, by me ! — - 
 
 who was going to him with a pure heart and 
 reconciling spirit; with the dehghtful hope 
 that his own mouth would confirm me to be his 
 son. I scarce had time to contemplate the hor- 
 rors of this incomprehensible news, when the 
 sword was sent in pursuit of me — as if to pro- 
 claim, this is to strike Wittelsbach, the murderer 
 of the Emperor, who cannot escape its rage. 
 
 " I the Emperor's murderer," cried I, tear- 
 ing my helmet from my head, and exposing my 
 uncovered face ; " are these the features of a 
 criminal ? such an one w^ould not have taken 
 the direct road to meet his fate." 
 
 I have in my life frequently heard that rage 
 , and despair incredibly exalts our faculties, and 
 j I am now convinced of it j I was quite alone— 
 i I had dismissed my guide, to wait for me at a 
 [ distance, where I should have occasion for him, 
 and was obliged to defend myself against a 
 number of armed men, who were sent to destroy 
 me : but I shall not name them, for they were 
 persons whom, after all, I do not wish to accuse. 
 I indeed escaped; but was, however, severely 
 
i: 272 :i 
 
 wounded in the left arm and right shoulder. 
 But in the place where I lay concealed I heard 
 my pursuers, who. remained about it till late at 
 night, invoking curses and imprecations on the 
 Emperor's murderer, and threatening him with 
 the most dreadful punishment, whenever he 
 should fall into their hands.— I was sometimes 
 almost tempted to deliver myself up to them : 
 conscious of my innocence, it appeared to me 
 that flight and concealment cast an odium on my 
 honour. Death I did not shun ; but my heart 
 fluttered at the thoughts of the base treatment 
 I should meet with from a set of unfeeling vil- 
 lains. I determined therefore to wait a better 
 opportunity, to put my cause into the hands of 
 justice ; there to demand a proof of my crime, 
 and to shame them by a display of my innocence. 
 Something whispered me, that this was not the 
 time to expect to be justified; as the word of a free 
 man is of far more force than that of a prisoner. 
 
 It was night, and my persecutors were obliged 
 to quit their pursuit. — And after I had miser- 
 ably bound up my wounds, and refreshed my- 
 self with a draught of water from the nearest 
 spring, I bent my way forward, and directed my 
 
c: 273 1 
 
 steps toward the Imperial residence, the gates 
 of which I found open, notwithstanding it was 
 very late at night, and the streets crowded with 
 people. — A general confusion prevailed ; every- 
 one was exclaiming concerning Phihp and his 
 murderer ; I had the boldness, as I was wrapped 
 in my cloak, to ask the particular circumstances : 
 when I appeared to be so minutely described, 
 that my blood chilled in m.y veins,—- and .1 al- 
 most doubted my own innocence. God only 
 knows whether man or devil had transformed 
 himself to my likeness to accomplish this hor- 
 rid act, for it will ever be an enigma to me. 
 In my disguise I slipped into the hall of the 
 Emperor's palace, where his body had been ex- 
 posed in order to excite the revenge of the po- 
 pulace. — I saw lying on a couch, near the body, 
 a glove and a sword-belt that the assassin had 
 dropped in his flight, and which, on a nearer 
 inspection, I knew to be mine. 
 
 An uncommon horror seized me at this strong 
 
 o 
 
 hut fallacious demonstration of my guilt; and I 
 deemed myself obliged to lay before God and 
 myself a solemn testimony that I had no part in 
 the bloody deed. I accordingly approached the 
 
 VOL. II. " T 
 
c 274 n 
 
 coffin, where several monks were employed in 
 sprinkling holy water, and performing other reli- 
 gious ceremonies. After I had for some time 
 contemplated the Emperor's bloody form, I said, 
 but in a low voice,— poor Philip! alas poor Phi- 
 lip! how art thou fallen ! ought thy friend to be 
 thy murderer ? — See, I lay my hand on thy fore- 
 head,- open thy mouth, — let thy blood flow 
 afresh, if it were this hand that gave the deadly 
 wound. — Curse, curse on him who has killed 
 thee, and hath branded an innocent person with 
 his shame! 
 
 The monks, who did not know me, remarked 
 my actions, and might very well have understood 
 what I had said. They looked at me with as- 
 tonishment, and the people who had been at some 
 distance were crowding around me. It is, said 
 they whispering, the Duke of Brunswick, who 
 would purify his conscience, and vindicate his 
 innocence, before us. He has no occasion to 
 do this, as we know for certain that Wittelsbach 
 committed this horrid treason. I indeed after- 
 wards learned that some turbulent people repre- 
 sented the Duke of Brunswick, Philip's opponent, 
 as an accomplice in the crime ; but this report 
 
c: ^75 i 
 
 made so little impression, that he was acknow- 
 ledged and bore the title of Emperor without 
 any opposition ; nor can I entertain the least sus- 
 picion against him. 
 
 When I had hurried from this sad spectacle, 
 in every corner, and in every place I continued 
 to hear myself named as the perpetrator of a 
 crime of which I was innocent. At length I 
 took my way to my own palace, which was 
 strongly guarded, the mob having been several 
 times inclined to raze it to the ground. But 
 I knew a secret passage, through an old cellar 
 in the garden, that also led to a summer house 
 which belonged to the adjacent palace, where 
 the Princess Eliza generally resided. I had fre- 
 quently enjoyed opportunities of contemplating 
 her in her solitude, as her cabinet was contiguous 
 to a wall, where, through a crevice that time 
 had wrought, 1 had often observed that angel 
 in various occupations : sometimes I saw her 
 as she slept; at others when engaged in devo- 
 tion, or indulging her griefs ; or jesting with her 
 ladies. Sometimes she spoke of me ; but. Hea- 
 vens, in what a voice ! — she wept and prayed for 
 me, but I imagined she prayed for revenge on 
 T 2 
 
C 276 3 
 
 the guiltless Wittelsbach. Alverda was with 
 her, I could not particularly distinguish what 
 they said ; only of this I was certain, that nought 
 was left me but despair. I had however re- 
 solved to carry off Eliza by force, if she would 
 not consent to follow me, were it only to ex- 
 culpate myself to her, and then put an end to 
 my life in her presence. 
 
 I tore myself from the cruel spectacle. I 
 could no longer behold the tears flow down the 
 cheeks of such an angel, and of which I was the 
 cause. I therefore quitted the place, and hast- 
 ened to join my people, whom I had ordered 10 
 wait my coming in a certain village. 
 
 I am Wittelsbach, said I, when I arrived 
 amongst them : do ye also think me the Empe- 
 ror's murderer? They shouted with joy at the 
 sight of me, and swore that they would never 
 harbour the thought for a moment ; — but even 
 if I should be what was rumoured of me, they 
 would still live and die in my service. The 
 fidelity of these good people, who were now my 
 only friends, in some measure appeased me. I 
 conversed with them openly respecting my 
 cruel situation ; and demanded of them, as the 
 
C 277 3 
 
 first proof of what they had just sworn, that one 
 of them should carry a letter from me to Eliza, 
 while the others should be prepared to execute 
 a design which should be hereafter announced 
 to them. It was my intention also to have 
 been at the execution of it ; but my people, who 
 had perceived my wounds, were anxious about 
 me, and pressed me to submit myself to the care 
 of a surgeon, while they engaged to carry into 
 complete effect the meditated project. 
 
 It v^as, indeed, necessary to get advice re- 
 specting my wounds, which from negligence, an 
 unsetded state of mind, and my nocturnal w:an-. 
 derings, were become much inflamed. I fainted 
 under the dressing of them, and was soon after- 
 wards a.ttacked by a fever which for a long 
 time deprived me of my senses. When I was > 
 sufficiendy recovered to distinguish my situa- 
 tion, I was surprised to see myself in a place 
 wholly unknown to n^e : it was a small dark 
 room, dimly lighted by a solitary lamp : an old 
 woman was situng on my bed, who shewed much 
 satisfaction at my speaking, and, without making 
 any reply, went, as she said, to inform her mas- 
 ter of these first symptoms of my recovery. 
 
c :i 
 
 " And who is your master ?'* said L 
 " Master Paul of Eisenburg the surgeon/^ 
 returned she, in whose house you have been 
 carefully attended and nursed for these three 
 weeks." 
 
 Master Paul now made his appearance, and 
 I perceived him to be a good man by the com- 
 passion he shewed for my sufferings, joy brightr 
 ened in his countenance on finding that he had 
 50 far advanced my recovery ; but to all my 
 questions I could not obtain any satisfactory 
 answer, except signs forme to remain composedj» 
 and to attend to my cure. 
 
 But, gracious Heaven ! what a discovery 
 awaited that cure, which was at length es- 
 tablished. I had foreseen trouble enough, but 
 not so much as I have since suffered : for the 
 good hearted Paul not being perfectly acquainted 
 with my situation, and what most oppressed my 
 soul, innocently unfolded many circumstances 
 to me which should have remained in secret, 
 
 " Tell me, for God's sake," said I one day 
 to him, " where am I ?" 
 
 " You are in perfect safety — you are in my 
 house." 
 
c ;] 
 
 " Do you know who I am?" 
 You are the Wittelsbach of whom every 
 one has such horrid suspicions, but whom I be- 
 lieve to be perfectly innocent." 
 
 Is then the real assassin of the Emperor 
 discovered ?" 
 
 " No ; but they persecute him in your person 
 with proscription and the ban." 
 
 " Where is the Princess Eliza?" 
 
 " She set out eight days ago with the ambas- 
 sadors on her way to Castile." 
 Where are my people ?" 
 
 " The best of them were killed on an expe- 
 dition, the design of which I do not exactly 
 know ; the others — but every one has quitted 
 you as a proscribed person." 
 
 Alas ! he told me but too true ; I was robbed 
 of Eliza ; she was forced from the hands of my 
 people by the Count Castelmoro ; the bravest 
 of them had lost their lives ; the rest had fol- 
 lowed their fortunes and were fled. I should 
 have been quite lost had not the honest Paul 
 taken compassion on me, and humanely pro- 
 tected and concealed me , as the whole world 
 seemed ip thirst after my blood. I had nothing 
 
to reward this good man, when I left his house, 
 but a valuable ring, which he unwillingly ac- 
 cepted, because he thought that in my situation 
 it might be necessary to me, I quitted him 
 with regret ; nor was it without some difficulty 
 that I hindered him from following me to share 
 my misfortunes ; and I could only prevent his 
 accompanying me by the declaration that the 
 safety of my flight depended on my being alone. 
 — At night, therefore, I quitted his house, and 
 had the wide world before me to make choice 
 of a place of refuge : but this gave me no great 
 concern, for I did not yet know all the horrors 
 of my situation. 
 
 My first intention was to go immediately to the 
 Empress Irene, in whose sincerity I promised 
 myself consolation and justice, when I was 
 condemned and abandoned by the rest of the 
 world ; but alas, I was ignorant that she did not 
 survive the death of her husband the Emperor ; 
 and that, in a short time after this dreadful news, 
 a premature dehvery put an end to her exem- 
 plary life. The next asylum I proposed to seek 
 was with my brother the Bishop of Bamberg, 
 or Henry of Andocks ; but they, as well as my- 
 
C 281 3 
 
 self^ were outlawed and banished jnen.— Home- 
 less diey wandered, and, like me, persecuted by 
 the sword; how then could I get that protec- 
 tion from them which they wanted for them- 
 selves ? 
 
 I was now without the least resource ; — the 
 accusers had carried their complaints to the 
 formidable tribunal ; — the judge was obliged to 
 act against his friend. While I lay sick and 
 senseless, I was summoned three times before 
 that tribunal where I had been seated as a judge. 
 As I was ignorant of the summ.ons, I could not 
 appear; but I became, nevertheless, subject to 
 that vengeance from which nothing could save 
 nie. In all my casdes, which I visited by 
 stealth and in fear, I found the officers had al- 
 ready been there, who had stripped off pieces 
 of the pillars, and carried away with them stones 
 from the thresholds of the gates, and thereby 
 gave the signal of that proscription which was 
 denounced against the murderer of Philip. The 
 fury of the people burned against me, I was the 
 destroyer of him whom they almost deified. 
 Slow he was no more. 
 
 Some of my fortresses and castles were razed. 
 
some reduced to ashes, others abandoned : — like 
 a frightened bird I wandered from one to the 
 other, without finding a place whereon to rest ; 
 but in the gloom of the night I brought away, 
 like a thief, what little I could find of those 
 treasures that belonged to me, and which hap- 
 pened not to be discovered by the avarice of my 
 enemies : and, as I passed through Ratisbon, I 
 secreted all I had got in an old wall there. At 
 last I found safety in this wild forest; a pitiable 
 refuge, where I should have no desire to pro- 
 long life, had not friendship appeared to ren- 
 der it more dear to me. I found thee, my 
 Adolf, or rather thou foundest me ; thou sought- 
 est me when I was abandoned by all the world : 
 I was faint and weak through want of food,— 
 and on the brink of despair, when you became 
 a guardian angel to me. 
 
 O Adolf, Adolf, how do I merit this mark of 
 thy affection ! Our friendship was, it is true, so- 
 lid and sincere ; but there were many who 
 pressed to be near my heart in happier days, 
 and they have now forsaken me: — but you 
 alone stay by me, firm as a rock on the shores 
 of the ocean. May God reward your unshaken 
 
C 283 3 
 
 lidelity for a banished wretch, for I cannot. 
 I now think of nothing but of charging you 
 with a new burden, which you must undertake 
 for me: you cannot, you must not refuse me; 
 and I have three requests to make to you, 
 which you, who have already sacrificed yourself 
 for me, will never refuse. 
 
 Our journey to the Holy Land is determined ; 
 a ray of hope still beams on my dejected soul on 
 quitting this place, thanks to thy good counsel ; — 
 but how shall we provide against the exigencies 
 of such a journey ? you afe'poor as I am, you 
 
 well as myself have been robbed of your pro- 
 perty : — this then is my first request, that you 
 will go to Ratisbon, and dig up, from the place 
 which I shall point out to you, the treasure that 
 I have buried there. Secondly, you must take 
 this letter to the Emperor Philip's daughters, 
 who have excited the enemy against me ; as if 
 the sword of revenge were not already drawn for 
 my destruction. This letter is to reproach them 
 for their injustice to me, and to make them feel, 
 if possible, some little remorse for the misery I 
 suffer, and which they yet seek to augment. Go 
 to them, that they may bestow on the wretched. 
 
C 284 3 
 
 unfortunate Otho a tear of repentance, and he 
 will be contented. But if Alf Von Deulmen 
 will but grant my third request, I shall feel a 
 degree of satisfaction I know not how to ex- 
 press.^ — O Adolf— Adolf i I conjure you by our 
 friendship, by all the mysteries of the formid- 
 able tribunal which cruelly persecutes me, by 
 thine and my own innocence, I conjure thee to 
 discover the real murderer of the Emperor Phi- 
 lip ; to discover that infernal villain, who has 
 charged me with this black deed, and thus cast 
 me into the abyss of misery : drag him before 
 my deluded judges, that he may meet with the 
 punishment due to his ofFence and that I may 
 have the heartfelt satisfaction of being justified. 
 Could this be accomplished ere our journey to 
 Palestine, the avowal of my innocence should 
 not prevent it. My faithless country I have, at all 
 events, renounced ^but what a triumph v/ill it 
 be to me to greet the sacred place, not as a fugi- 
 tive, but as a voluntary servant of the cross ! O 
 Adolf, is the life and peace of thy Otho yet 
 dear to thee? then promise to grant me these 
 three requests :-^but the last is the chief of them^ 
 and occupies all my heart. 
 
C ^85 3 
 
 Here the unfortunate Count concluded his 
 narrative; it had already deeply moved me; 
 moved me to the soul ; but the conclusion sur- 
 passed all that I had ever heard or felt of hor- 
 ror : when he made this awfuWemand I thought 
 that I should have dropped senseless at his feet. 
 This murderer, this devil, on whom he invoked 
 curses and revenge, against whom he w^ould 
 turn my arms, was no other than myself! — the 
 dreadful confession hung on my tongue, but I 
 had not power to utter it. I forced myself from 
 him, that I might vent my despair at liberty. — 
 My life hung on a thread : more than once I was 
 tempted to put an end to it : my anxiety and fears 
 for him who unknowingly thirsted for my blood, 
 alone induced me to procrastinate the action. 
 What was to become of Otho had I then bu- 
 ried my crime and my shame in eternal night, 
 and have left him alone, exposed as he was to 
 the malicious power both of his avowed and se- 
 cret persecutors ? 
 
 In the evening I returned to our cave ; Otho, 
 cried I, grasping his right hand with mine, and 
 laying my left on my sword, thy demands shall 
 be fulfilled even the last and most difficult 
 
C 285 '2 
 
 sliall not dismay me j the murderer shall die, 
 shall die by this hand, but not until you are in 
 perfect security. When you shall no longer see 
 Alf Von Deulmen with you ; then think of the 
 revenge with which you have charged him, and 
 be satisfied ! 
 
 Wittelsbach gazed at me for some time, and 
 could not comprehend why I declared my com- 
 pliance to his demands in such an extraordinary 
 manner, as it required but litde reflection, and 
 less ceremony. He began to search into the 
 meaning; and when, after a short time, he con- 
 cluded that I must know the criminal, — I feared 
 his farther inquiry, — for he had but to ask, — 
 the secret of my heart would instantly have 
 been divulged, and I should have appeared be- 
 fore him, to behold his astonishment, to trem- 
 ble at his struggles, and to receive his male- 
 dictions ! 
 
 To avoid such an alarm, I set out the same 
 night on my journey to Ratisbon, with the hope 
 that when this was finished, the preparations for 
 our pilgrimage to Palestine would give us suffi- 
 cient employment, and leave us no time to exa- 
 mine into a business so dangerous to our friend- 
 
ship. It was my intention that he never should 
 know it ; even my own death, which 1 had pro- 
 mised him, he should never have learned, that 
 his days might not be clouded with new afflic- 
 tions, that my memory might remain sacred to 
 him, and that he should never discover the 
 wide extent of my lamentable fate till we should 
 meet in another world; where the actions of 
 mankind are judged by different powers : not 
 that such a crime as mine is pardonable in 
 the sight of Heaven : no ! but there we are to 
 hope that no afflictions can interrupt the joys 
 of the blessed ; — and the remainder of Otho's 
 earthly life w^ould have been embittered, had he 
 learned the real situation of his friend Alf Von 
 Deulmen. 
 
 I determined to suppress my feelings at our 
 separation, as they might have betrayed me. 
 I expostulated with the dejected Otho on the 
 hopes of meeting again, and proposed to him a 
 correspondence by means of a hollow willow, 
 at the mouth of the Danube. This secret re- 
 posit for our letters lay half way between our 
 eave and Ratisbon, and afforded us the means 
 of our important communications. 
 
 I reached Ratisbon without meeting with 
 
n 288 n 
 
 any adventure; my knowledge of the mysteries 
 of the secret tribunal enabled me to avoid the 
 roads which the avengers are accustomed to 
 take, who, nevertheless, were always at ray heels-, 
 though I was so fortunate as to escape their vi- 
 gilance. — I found the hidden treasure of the 
 Count without dißiculty, and carried it to our 
 place of security. His letter I myself delivered 
 to the Princess Beatrice, whose love il was 
 said the Emperor Otho had purchased at the 
 price of Wittelsbach's death: she was. then at 
 Ratisbon an her way to join her Imperial con- 
 sort.— Her I did not see, but I saw Alverda^ 
 saw the sister who gave the sword into the hand 
 of revenge against her brother : but she knev/not 
 the ruin to v/hich she devoted me. Be silent^ 
 Alf Von Deulmen, and let not a complaint es- 
 cape thee, but at thy own transgressions I 
 
 Alverda saw me, but she, did not know me : 
 alas, how could Alverda recollect her brother 
 in the disguise of a pale v^orn out skeleton, m 
 rags (which I put on for my better security) ; for 
 I w^as no more the blooming young man, the 
 admiration of princesses, the haughty noble of 
 whose society even his enemies were vain. 
 
 Various circumstances detained me at Ratis- 
 
C 3 
 
 bon ; the preparations I had to make for our 
 Oriental journey demanded the greatest circum- 
 spection, and much time. The retinue for es- 
 corting the Imperial bride was preparing with 
 the greatest magnificence. I saw this beautiful 
 Princess, so highly and so universally admired, 
 I saw her move on in all her grandeur ; but deep 
 sorrow sat on her lovely countenance; those 
 sparkling eyes, and that enchanting mouth had 
 forgot their wonted smile. Alverda, her com- 
 panion, concealed a thin pale face under a rich 
 veil ; and I was told that she had just recovered 
 from a severe sickness. I then felt my heart rise 
 with compassion towards both these lovely crea- 
 tures, and reflected whether it were possible they 
 should be so culpable as Otho and I supposed 
 them : of this I never had a perfect explana- 
 tion, until the approach of that unhappy mo- 
 ment which was to separate me from my friend 
 for ever. 
 
 How can I paint these events, which seem to 
 have passed like a dream ? events which were 
 the work of a few minutes, and yet were des- 
 tined to end the lives of two faithful friends. 
 My correspondence, by meai>$ of the tree, had 
 
 VOL. II. U 
 
continued uninterrupted with the Count, and 
 it informed him of all that I was doing, and the 
 time appointed for my return. From the in- 
 creasing danger of our situation, which became 
 more and more precarious, as I perceived some 
 of our persecutors had followed our traces, I 
 never concluded my letters without an earnest 
 admonition to be extremely circumspect : his 
 excursions from the cave I limited to midnight, 
 as at this hour the secret tribunal was accus- 
 tomed to be employed in taking information 
 against criminals, and forming plans of revenge, 
 instead of executing them. After our next 
 meeting at the willow, we were to set out from 
 thence, and pursue the safest road in order to 
 avoid the avenging arm of justice : but, gra- 
 cious Heaven, that this should be the place, and 
 that this should he the hour, which fate had pro- 
 nounced for our irrevocable doom ! — At night I 
 arrived at the place agreed on with my friend ; 
 I saw him, by the mild glimmering of the moon, 
 at a great distance, but its decei4ful brightness 
 afterwards discovered to me very different ob- 
 jects from those I expected to see. Instead of 
 the form of a man, I discovered those of two 
 
V/omen, — I thought I must be deceived, and 
 hastened towards them ; when I distincdy saw 
 them wringing their hands, and hanging over 
 a body that was stretched on the earth. My 
 heart was rent when I heard their lament- 
 able voices, which were not unknown to me : 
 one of them, who saw me approaching, arose in 
 an instant, and advancing to meet me, asked, in 
 the most affecting tone, my help for a wound- 
 ed man. — Where is he, returned I, I will do 
 what I can to assist him. No ! no ! you can- 
 not assist him, you are a knight — what can 
 you do ? it must be a surgeon ; a surgeon must 
 be found, or he is lost: — my attendants are not 
 far off, — go — they are encamped in the adjoining 
 valley ; you have an horse and will soon be there. 
 The clear light of the moon discovered to me 
 that I was talking to Beatrice : I was terrified, I 
 know not why — and, as I was turning my horse 
 to fulfil her desire, the other, whom I knew to 
 be my sister, exclaimed with a shriek, it is too 
 late, it is too late ! the unfortunate Wittelsbach 
 is no more! — Wittelsbach! repeated I, quickly 
 dismounting and running to the wounded per- 
 son : — the women, as well as myself, threw them.- 
 
 U 2 
 
selves down by the side of Otho, who once more 
 raised his languid eyes at the sound of my voice, 
 and gently pressed my hand; Adolf, articulated 
 he, I die. And by whom? cried I. By Ka- 
 latin, faltered he, and closed his eyes for ever. 
 —Will the Emperor's daughter be now con- 
 tented ? said I, turning from my departed friend 
 and going up to the weeping Beatrice; Kalatin, 
 the conductor of your retinue, has committed 
 this murder at your command. 
 
 Spare! oh spare her, Adolf! cried Alverda, 
 who knowing me, threw her arms about my 
 neck. Away, thou serpent, said I, away fratri- 
 cide ! flinging her from me, and mounting my 
 horse, to go in search of Wittelsbach's mur- 
 derer. I found him not far from the scene of 
 the combat ; he knew me immediately, as I did 
 him : he said something, but I understood him 
 not. We drew ; I pressed him ; he flew, and I 
 followed him, but my sword did not yet hurt him. 
 We were now returned within sight of the wo- 
 men. Beatrice threw herself between us; blinded 
 by rage, I should have wounded her, had not 
 Kalatin protected her with his shield ; but he at 
 length bled from a mortal wound I had given him 
 
C ^93 3 
 
 in his side, and I seized his horse's bridle, which 
 his hand could no longer grasp. Yonder, cried 
 I, go and pour forth every drop of thy blood o^i 
 the body of the innocent man thou hast slain, 
 
 I was obliged to cut him off, cried he in a fal- 
 tering voice, he fell in the name of the avenging 
 tribunal, who gave me the sword against him. — - 
 These words were the cause of new despair. 
 I left the dying Kalatin, again to throw my self 
 on the body of Otho; but his noble spirit was ' 
 fled for ever. Possessed with horror, I threw 
 myself off iny horse, and hanging over him I 
 
 groaned out these words, Dead I dead — for 
 
 me dead! and he on whom I swore to revenge 
 Philip's murder, is now thine and Kalatin's 
 murderer; — and still he lives! 
 
 Beatrice, who was very near me, and who 
 must have apprehended something terrible from 
 my looks and demeanour, clung around me, 
 and conjured me to spare myself; but I tore 
 away from her arms, with one spring reached 
 the shore, and threw myself into the Danube, 
 where I had hoped to finish my existence, and 
 to find an end of my misery. 
 
 Alas! alas ! I found it not, but in its stead a 
 
C 294 3 
 
 new and long epocha of wretchedness ; my suf- 
 ferings were to begin afresh. 
 
 Frenzy and despair had precipitated me into 
 the flood, where I hoped to drink an instant 
 death ; but in vain ; — and through many long 
 years have I cursed the hand that saved me. I 
 owe my deliverance to the Bishop of Sutri*s 
 people, who, at the risk of their lives, preserved 
 me from the rapid current of this famous river : 
 but they only lavished their care and attention 
 on me, that by my death certain secrets might 
 not be lost, which they wished to be known. 
 
 I have already said, at the commencernent of 
 this history, that my tongue and my pen were 
 restricted by an horrid oath, and can never de- 
 clare distinctly certain events that now befell me. 
 As soon as I was able to reflect on what had 
 happened to me, 1 instantly conjectured what 
 would be my fate : I found myself under the 
 same power which had formerly seized me ; 
 and that I was again the prisoner of the Bishop 
 of "^^ * from whom the Archbishop of Mayence 
 had rescued me. 
 
 My conjectures indeed were soon verified i 
 the same conduct was required of me, the same 
 
C 295 3 
 
 questions asked me as formerly, the same me- 
 thods taken to make me divulge those things 
 which they in part already knew, but wished 
 still to be more fully informed of by me. My 
 enemies at last grew tired of questioning, but 
 not of tormenting me. 
 
 Ademar, 1 have told you the number of years 
 I groaned beneath their torments. Death seemed 
 continually to approach me ; and must I then 
 still live, live for mine, perhaps, for your mis- 
 fortune, while so many others have, one after 
 another, left the world ! Some quitted life 
 by the slow progress of lingering disease ; — 
 others were suddenly taken off, until at last I 
 saw nothing but new faces about me.' A circle 
 of men established themselves as my judges, 
 who at appointed times would have heard and 
 dismissed me, liad they not been informed by 
 their predecessors that I was a person of conse- 
 quence, and therefore expected to learn things 
 of importance from me. 
 
 What these things were 1 could never parti- 
 cularly understand : why I was imprisoned in 
 this castle, was the most extraordinary interro- 
 gatory I had yet heard from my tormentors : 
 
it was the same I had myself frequently asked 
 my judges at an earlier period of my impri- 
 sonment, but asked in vain. It was evident, 
 however, that I had not so many years been 
 loaded with chains from having my hands 
 polluted with the blood of an Emperor, but 
 from some other cause unknown to me, and 
 on which, when they interrogated me, I could 
 give no satisfaction. — -They accordingly sup- 
 posed the ignorance by which I defended my- 
 self to be perverseness and obstinacy, and gave 
 orders to afflict me with new torments. They 
 then left me, perhaps to laugh away, at some 
 merry meeting, the tediousness of my obstinacy 
 and perverseness. — At my next examination I 
 related for my justification as much of my his- 
 tory as I thought consistent, by which I ren- 
 dered my situation more intolerable. God 
 knows from what circumstances in it, they held 
 me to be an adherent to certain doctrines ; un- 
 der the appellation of Heretic I endured added 
 torments ; no satisfaction that I could give my 
 executioners was of any avail to me. The soli- 
 citude to find out what I knew of the secret pro-» 
 ceedings again appeared^ and my chains became 
 
C ^97 H 
 
 indissoluble. I was innocently suspected of be- 
 ing concerned in all those enigmatical proceed- 
 ings of the tribunal, of which they demanded 
 an explanation ; and, on my not complying, they 
 augmented my misery. No one at last knew 
 what they ought to think of me ; and this mys- 
 tery gave me a personal importance which in- 
 creased the rigours of my confinement. It was 
 the custom, even after I had suffered twenty 
 years in this prison, strictly to charge the keeper 
 (who had been changed ten times since I had 
 been here), on his entrance into his office, to ag- 
 gravate the horrors of my sad situation. They 
 would allow of no mitigation to my long series 
 of griefs, although they knew not my crimes : 
 they were determined to take my life rather 
 than grant me my liberty. 
 
 O Uberty! liberty! thou most inestimable of 
 all blessings, how should I conduct myself with 
 thee after having been so long separated from 
 thee ? Poor and dispirited,— grown old in afflic- 
 tion, and goaded by remorse of conscience, why 
 should 1 again wish to enter the world, to which 
 I am a stranger, and where I have so long been 
 forgotten ? O liberty, it is long since I wished 
 
c n 
 
 for thee. — Many a year has passed away since 
 thou wouldst have been a blessing to me. 
 
 I am now arrived at the last period of my im- 
 prisonment, when I was almost sunk into the 
 insensibility of a brute. All my feehngs, all my 
 faculties were blunted; I was not insane, but 
 my reason was too weak for reflection : I found 
 myself in a state of stupefaction and lethargy, 
 from whence nought but some very extraordi- 
 nary event could awaken me. Then Ade- 
 mar, like a guardian angel, appeared. — You 
 know, Ademar, the issue of this resuscitation. 
 I had then lived thirty years in that dungeon : 
 you had guarded me during eleven months, as 
 keeper of the castle ; and had not once seen 
 your prisoner. — You had also been obliged to 
 take the dreadful oath on your entrance, and 
 such horrid representations had been made of 
 me, that I had no right to complain of you. 
 On the contrary, I could not fail of being sen- 
 sible that I was under the government of a milder 
 guardian: your servant was under the influence 
 of a gentler master, and was therefore more at- 
 tentive to my misery. 1 remarked a degree of 
 cleanliness and regularity in every thing that 
 
L 209 ] 
 
 surrounded me^ the love of which was not yet 
 extinguished in me ; and from which I derived 
 the hope of some approaching good. The small- 
 est ray ,of Hght which presses into a dark prison 
 finds access to the bosom of the wretched pri- 
 soner, and gives him comfort : I was, however, 
 too deeply sunk in distress to feel, in any great 
 degree, the sweets of such pleasing ideas, and the 
 conscious amendment of my fate, which, Ade- 
 mar, through thy humanity I enjoyed, found me 
 quite unprepared to receive the change that 
 awaited me ; and the stroke of wonder and asto- 
 nishment that awoke me from my stupefaction. 
 
 Ademar, you well know the condition in 
 which you found me, when the lightning shewed 
 you the way into my dungeon: you also know 
 how I recovered by your care : you were told 
 that the storm which had fallen on the out parts 
 of the castle, had also done much damage to the 
 subterraneous vaults ; and that part had fallen on 
 the old man, and broken his fetters for ever. 
 
 Here your heart was moved for the wretch 
 whom you had never seen ; you came to me 
 yourself, and endeavoured to restore me to life. 
 As your care of me increased^ your pity aug- 
 
merited, and I became dear to you. Instead 
 of returning me to my dungeon, you did every 
 thing in your power to alleviate my misery : 
 you did all you could do without perjury, and 
 I am contented: greater happiness, perhaps, 
 would have been beyond the powers of my en- 
 feebled nature. 
 
 Thanks to thee, good Ademar, for all the 
 comfort thou hast procured me ; for the power 
 to thank thee, which thou hast awakened in me ; 
 for the faint glimmering light, as I am now 
 almost blind, by which I write these pages, 
 after thirty long years of uninterrupted night ; 
 for all, all that I have since received of comfort 
 and satisfaction. I thank thee also, for the pre- 
 caution and care you employed in saving and 
 protecting me : — alas ! why can I not owe to thee 
 the oblivion of past sufferings ; but that is im* 
 possible. For thy sake I have awakened in 
 my soul the remembrances of those sufferings ; 
 through love for thee I have transcribed all that 
 terrifies my mind! — Oh! Ademar! Ademar! 
 what I have now done for thee surpasses my 
 strength; I must lay down the pen, and repose 
 from my labour. 
 
C SOI 3 
 
 Evert Von Remen's Conclusion, 
 
 Posterity, you now know the man whom 
 
 1 deliver to your tribunal. You know him 
 
 from his own confessions, and from various 
 events that were little known to himself, and 
 which after his death, with much trouble, at the 
 risk of my life, with the loss of safety and re- 
 pose, I collected together from their conceal- 
 ment, to justify his memory to the world. 
 
 O Adolf! Adölf ! thou hast fallen a victim 
 to ambition; which elevated you to a rank, 
 from whence envy instantly endeavoured to 
 pull you down. You were allured to quit 
 your possessions, that others might with greater 
 security rob you of them : you had secret ene- 
 mies, who, to attain their aim, imperceptibly en- 
 snared you in the destiny of the great ; you 
 were made the engine of their fall, — but were 
 not destined to fall with them. You were then 
 
 / 
 
trodden in the dust ; you were forgotten, until 
 the expiration of near fifty years, when thy friend 
 unexpectedly found thee, and indulged the hope^ 
 the fruidess hope, to restore thee to all which 
 once was thine. You smiled at the promise I 
 had made, saying, Evert, it is a task you cannot 
 perform ; — all that you can give me are a peace- 
 ful grave and an heart-felt tear : — think of these 
 things alone, my friend, for I shall soon want 
 them. What he foretold shordy happened. 
 He who survived the unheard of torments of a 
 thirty years rigorous imprisonment ; he whom 
 the humane Ademar during the ten succeeding 
 years taught to cherish life, and learn to forget 
 his sufferings, alas ! he could not support the 
 added portion of happiness which I brought him. 
 The friend of his youth, his faithful Evert Von 
 Remen was again given to him : all the advan- 
 tages which solicitous friendship and affection, 
 which anxious zeal and adequate power could' 
 ensure to him, were his. But when I beckon- 
 ed him, as it were, to come and receive 
 them, it was too late. On the eighth day after 
 our re-union he died in my arms. Oft have I 
 thought that his being again united to the friend 
 
C 303 3 
 
 and companion of his infancy, excited in his 
 mind those powerful emotions which his weak 
 condition could not support; and that the 
 sight of me accelerated his end. — Some of 
 his last words will live for ever in my remem- 
 brance. O my friend, my friend, said he, after 
 one of those pleasant hours we mutually enjoyed, 
 you are wrong if you imagine my joy at seeing 
 you is as pure as yours. — The sight of you is 
 a bitter reproach to me : what have you not 
 done, what have you not endured for my sake ! 
 ' — and how have I rewarded you ? alas ! in re- 
 turn for all your kindness, I disowned, aban- 
 doned, and forgot you. What a different path 
 in lire should I have pursued, had I been led 
 by thy friendly hand. The first step I made 
 without thee, conducted me to that long misery, 
 from which thou wouldest now deliver me. 
 
 I felt the truth of these sentiments ; but I en- 
 deavoured to turn it from his mind. For my 
 sake he feigned a tranquillity, as if he had ba- 
 nished these melancholy reflections : but they 
 returned, I fear, with redoubled violence in his 
 solitary moments, and soon broke the slender 
 thread of his life. 
 
C 3^4 3 
 
 Ademar, who on my taking possession of the 
 castle was released from his ofBce, through 
 friendship for the unfortunate prisoner, still re- 
 mained with us, and joined me in my care of 
 him. He was almost inseparable from my 
 ever to be regretted friend. Ten years con- 
 verse in the solitude of a eastle, and the in- 
 terchange of congenial sentiments, had so 
 strictly united them, that the one could not 
 survive the other : Ademar, who in comparison 
 with Adolf, then seventy years of age, was a man 
 in the vigour of life, died three months after their 
 separation. He left me the writings which my 
 unfortunate friend had compiled for him, and 
 asked, as a return, to be buried in the same 
 grave with Alf Von Deulmen. I thank him for 
 these inestimable remembrances of our mutual 
 friend ; I thank him for the various pictures he 
 has drawn from his history, and in which his 
 pencil (for he was a proficient) so finely deli- 
 neated and so affectingly represented the most 
 interesting passages of it. I also thank him for 
 the suggestions which have induced me to make 
 researches in all these records, which I have 
 collected for the justification of our friend. 
 
1 fpund the principal part of them in the Celes« 
 tink convent at Pamiers ; but what, for my own 
 consolation, now on the brink of the grave, I 
 wished to find, that I could not. — I know that 
 my adored Alverda, after the untimely death of 
 the Empress Beatrice, returned to this convent; 
 I flattered myself with the fond hopes of find- 
 ing her still alive, but — I was disappointed ; the 
 poor Alverda had suffered too much to reach 
 this distant period.— Eliza, the Queen of Castile, 
 unhappy under the tyranny of an husband, who 
 was entirely governed by monks, survived her 
 sister Beatrice but one short year ; and the in- 
 nocent Alverda quickly followed her to the 
 grave. All that they could shew me, that re- 
 mained of her, were her tomb, and her letters ; 
 which, besides many other authentic writings, I 
 obtained and brought away with me :- — and each 
 faint sketch, which tells me that the unfortunate, 
 the calumniated Evert Von Remen was not en- 
 tirely forgotten by her, will ever be most dear 
 and sacred to me. 
 
 THE END. 
 
I