to accept any employment from the successful Albert; and as good
intentions frequently produce bad effects, the want of proper occupation
had betrayed him into that dissolute course of life, from which he was
snatched by Adelaide. This dying injunction was the cause also of his
being still unwilling to lay himself under obligations to one, whom he
had long been accustomed to call by no other name, than that of the
“regicide Albert.”
Adelaide however prevailed at length over all his objections; he entered
into the Imperial service, and endeavoured to forget, that the man, whom
he acknowledged as his master, was the murderer of the beloved and still
regretted Adolphus: yet frequently no influence less strong than
Adelaide’s would have been able to repress the ebullitions of that
struggling resentment, which still existed in his bosom, and to retain
him firm in the path of his duties. However, in spite of his
disinclination to Albert’s service, he proved himself to be a hero on
all warlike occasions; and often did he express the warmest gratitude to
his wife for having rescued him from his ignominious effeminacy, and
excited the dormant flame of valour in his bosom.
Still he lost no opportunity of showing, that Albert’s yoke sat heavy
upon him, and that he desired nothing more ardently than to exchange the
Imperial service for some other. Dissentions arose between the Emperor
and his two sons, the Margraves Dietman and Frederick; Rodolpho failed
not to side with the latter, and became their father’s prisoner. The
unfortunate Adelaide could of herself do nothing to assist her husband,
and hastened to implore for him her brother’s powerful interference.
Count Donat’s situation had undergone material changes during her
absence. She had left him, not only in possession of the large domains
bequeathed him by his maternal grandfather, but the favourite of a
Prince who loaded him with favours and wealth. Sudden death had deprived
him of this powerful protector; his unbounded extravagance had exhausted
his treasures; and no means of rescuing himself from the most degrading
state of poverty was left him, except an union with a person incapable
of inspiring him with the least affection; and who had nothing to
recommend her to his choice except her immense property, and her
childish passion for this handsome libertine. Shortly before Rodolpho’s
imprisonment had Mellusina become the wife of Count Donat; and on
Adelaide’s arrival in Italy, she understood, that her brother had at
length set out on his long-promised expedition to Ravenstein Castle.
Thither she followed him, and was politely though coldly received by her
new sister-in-law. Mellusina gave herself out to be a natural daughter
of the deceased Emperor Adolphus; and she believed herself entitled by
so illustrious an origin to treat every one else with haughtiness and
contempt. Had she had any other resource, never would Adelaide have
accepted the protection which was here afforded her with such insolent
condescension; but friendless and destitute as was her present
situation, she now could do nothing but suffer and submit.
She found her brother too much occupied by his own projects to bestow a
single thought upon the affairs of others. He listened not to the
imploring voice of his sister; he heeded not the misfortunes of his
former friend. Grief for the untimely death of his mother, who had
perished through his inattention to her prayers, and projects of revenue
against those whom he accused of her sufferings, engrossed his every
thought. Adelaide could obtain nothing from him, except a promise of
assistance when he should have satisfied his animosity against
Lucretia’s murderers; and instead of seeing him lead his forces to the
fortress in which her husband languished, she was obliged to follow him
to Sargans, where she had many a painful scene to undergo, of which you,
dear Urania, were partly a witness.
Sorrow and self-reproach; the disappointment of his too highly-raised
youthful expectations; his union with a woman whom he hated; and above
all the consequences of a life passed in scenes of the most unbridled
profligacy, a ruined constitution and an accusing conscience; all these
together had hardened Count Donat’s heart, and embittered his temper;
had annihilated his few good qualities, and had left his bad ones
visible in the full extent of their enormity. His misanthropic heart
longed for a suitable employment, and only waited for an excuse to make
others feel the tortures, which preyed upon himself. The sight of
Adelaide brought more strongly to his mind the recollection of his
wretched mother, whom he had so long forgotten, and who had so vainly
applied to her son for help: he remembered well, how often his sister
had implored him to set forward for Ravenstein, and had warned him, that
his mother’s death might probably be the consequence of his delay. The
more he reflected, the more fierce became his rage; and he determined to
proceed to Rhætia, revenge his mother, and exact from his father a
severe account respecting her long imprisonment and miserable death. It
was also his design to enforce his right to his paternal estates, from
which Count Ethelbert (incensed at the discovery of Lucretia’s artifice
in regard to her supposed possessions) had disinherited his children by
his first wife.
Count Ethelbert and Urania Venosta had been described to Adelaide in the
most odious colours; notwithstanding which, she shuddered, while
listening to the threats which her brother breathed against them. How
did the sight rend her gentle heart, when she saw the avenger’s sword
raised by the son against his father! Her prayers, her remonstrances had
no effect upon Count Donat and his ambitious wife, who founded on
Ethelbert’s ruin plans for their own future greatness. During her abode
at Ravenstein, Adelaide discovered for the first time the natural
cruelty of her brother’s disposition: report cannot have permitted you
to remain ignorant, with what torrents of blood the furious Donat
inundated the vales of Frutiger. The anxiety and terror, with which you
received the news of his approach towards your residence, sufficiently
prove that you were aware, how little hope you entertained of escaping
from his frantic fury.
Adelaide was aware of it also; and she trembled, if not for her unknown
step-mother, at least for her unfortunate father, who (tyrant as she
believed him to be) she still thought possest from Nature an authority
over his children, which no conduct of his could forfeit, however
criminal. The distrest daughter would have suffered still more severely
from apprehension, founded on reasons but too strong; had she not seized
a lucky moment of unusual good humour to obtain a solemn oath from
Donat, that Ethelbert’s life should be held sacred by him, and that she
never should endure the agony of seeing her brother’s hands stained with
the blood of their common father.
Dreadful is it to think, that such a promise should have ever been
reckoned necessary! In truth, Count Donat himself felt the bitter
reflection conveyed in Adelaide’s request; and while he yielded to her
importunity, he chid her with severity for harbouring such ungrounded
suspicions. I am persuaded, that Donat was not quite the monster at that
time, which he appeared to be when seen in his moments of frantic
passion; nay, I am inclined from a variety of motives to ascribe to him
a very trifling share in that melancholy transaction, whose real
circumstances are covered with a veil of impenetrable obscurity, and
whose execution was too barbarous for me to attribute it even to the
base Guiderius himself. Doubtless Count Ethelbert’s miserable end was
effected by a sudden burst of frenzy; in a moment of terror and despair
his own hand inflicted on himself the punishment of former errors, and
(I fear!) of former crimes!
You appeared at Count Donat’s camp, Urania, to solicit the pardon of
your wretched guilty husband. To see you was sufficient to obtain for
you Adelaide’s affection, and to annihilate every prejudice, which had
so carefully been instilled into her mind against you. She endeavoured
to make you aware of the dangers which threatened you; but obstacles
both visible and invisible interposed, to prevent your preservation.
Your friend’s unwillingness to speak ill of a brother; Mellusina’s
unexpected intrusion and persevering stay in your tent; and above all,
that singular and inexplicable occurrence which made the whole society
separate in such terror, all combined to retain you in the road,
destined to lead you into long captivity.
Never could Adelaide mention without shuddering the mysterious adventure
of that night. She ever anxiously avoided speaking on the subject, and
referred me to you for more accurate information. However, the account
which in compliance with my request you forwarded to me, was nothing
more than that, which I had already heard from my sister-in-law: anxiety
to unravel this mystery made me even have recourse to Mellusina, but
without success. Her account of the matter was no less obscure, strange,
and unaccountable.
The next morning, her brother thought it adviseable to prevent Adelaide
from accompanying you to the Castle of Sargans, and therefore gave out,
that she was taken ill unexpectedly. In truth, this was no pretended
indisposition. The supposed interference of a spiritual being had made
the strongest impression upon her imagination; and when Count Donat’s
attendants delivered her up to my charge (he was then ignorant, how
closely she was connected with the Abbess of St. Mary’s) her situation
was such, that you cannot easily picture it to yourself too
melancholy—The return of the messenger, whom she had dispatched to you,
only served to increase her illness; he communicated to her without
sufficient precaution the news of her unfortunate father’s miserable
death, and added to it the account of your ill-treatment and captivity.
Like all who are possest of sensibility too acute, she loaded herself
with reproaches for not having taken measures to prevent these heavy
misfortunes; and it was long, before the soothing of friendship could
succeed in pacifying her. To complete her distress but one thing more
was necessary, and it arrived: a report prevailed (and was universally
credited) that her husband had fallen a victim to the Emperor’s
resentment. As Superior of St. Mary’s cloister, I could have afforded my
poor sister a secure and agreeable shelter within these tranquil walls;
but the desire to weep over her husband’s grave, and her anxiety to
rescue you from the dungeon in which you languished, compelled her to
return once more into the hated world. She was conscious, that you were
the captive of a man, whose cruelty was but too well known to her; and
she vowed solemnly never to rest, till she had broken the chains imposed
upon you so unjustly.
She saw too plainly, that the united forces of the Counts of Mayenfield
and Homburg would be unable to force you out of the power of the mighty
Lord of the domains of Carlsheim and Sargans, besides both Edith and her
daughter were persuaded of your death, and looked on Adelaide’s
assertions of your existence in Donat’s dungeons, as being the mere
effusions of that enthusiastic affection, which easily believes whatever
it wishes to be true. But no representations, no neglect could induce
your protectress to lay aside her hopes of effecting your deliverance;
and she addrest herself to the Emperor Rudolf’s daughters, whose
powerful interference she trusted would easily obtain your release.
Of all those powerful Princesses, the Duchess of Saxony alone (the
virtuous Matilda, whose own domestic misfortunes might have furnished
her with a sufficient excuse in the world’s estimation, for declining to
embarrass herself with the affairs of others) exerted herself seriously
in your behalf. Her sister Euphemia, retired in a convent and forgotten
by the world, had little to offer toward your release except good
wishes; yet what little she _could_ offer, she offered gladly, and
shared her sister’s joy at the news of your deliverance. I understand,
that this royal Nun will soon exchange her convent at Tull for that
which you inhabit, solely from the wish to end her life in your society.
Oh! Urania, how greatly does all that I hear of you increase my desire
to know you personally! What unusual merit must that woman possess, who
could obtain so warm and unabating an interest in the hearts of three of
the noblest of created beings, Euphemia, Matilda, and my poor Adelaide!
Yet I forget too long the heroine of my history, while occupying myself
with Urania; I resume the thread of my narrative. Adelaide found at
Emperor Albert’s court, (whither she repaired to plead in your behalf in
person) that an happiness was reserved for her, which she had never
expected to enjoy again on this side the grave: her husband was still
living. The same false report, which had persuaded her of his death, had
taken no less pains to persuade Rodolpho, that she was faithless. Her
journey to Italy for the purpose of persuading her brother to interfere
in behalf of her imprisoned Lord; the expedition to Sargans, in which
she was obliged to accompany Count Donat; the length of time, which
elapsed without his knowing what had become of her, and which she had
past in my convent almost at the point of death; these and a variety of
other circumstances had all been represented to Rodolpho in the most
odious light. In his dungeon (whence he had but lately been released on
the reconciliation between the Emperor and his sons) it was impossible
for him to detect the falsehood of these reports; but Adelaide needed
but to shew herself to the man who loved her with such unbounded
affection, and all his injurious suspicions were annihilated at once. A
few words were sufficient to persuade him of the truth; a truth, which
was confirmed by the testimony of those, under whose eyes she had been
residing.
What tongue is capable of describing the reunion of two lovers long
separated; it is a fore-taste of that reunion, which we expect to enjoy
with the objects of our affection beyond the grave, in another world
better and happier. The one saw her belief in the untimely death of her
beloved dissolved like a painful dream; the other saw those stains
removed, which had sullied her purity on whom his soul doated; both
felt, that the turbulent raptures of their early love were less sweet,
than this renewal of their long-tried affection! Forgive me, Urania; a
cloistered Nun ought not to describe such emotions, though she cannot
help feeling them: doubtless, you understand such things better than we
do, who have been confined from our earliest years within the walls of a
convent, and shut out from the most precious rights of human nature.
From this moment began the most fortunate part of our friend’s life.
Adelaide found her husband improved by years and corrected by adversity;
absence and misfortune had made him still dearer to her; and she now
first felt towards him the whole excess of love, of which her
affectionate heart was capable. She now had no other wish, than to enjoy
her happiness in quiet and retirement. The Lords of Eschenbach had
new-built the fortress of Ravenstein, and proffered it to her husband
(who had long been united with them in amity) as a fit residence, should
it be no longer agreeable for him to remain at the Court of the offended
Emperor. Gladly would Adelaide have hastened thither; but Rodolpho had
contracted obligations, which at that time prevented him from
immediately quitting the Court. He was indebted for life, for freedom,
for opulence, to the favour of a princely youth, whom it was only
necessary to see in order to admire; and whose situation it was only
necessary to know, in order to feel interested for him, even had
Rodolpho not been so closely bound to him by the ties of gratitude. This
man was the cause, why Adelaide’s husband found it impossible to comply
with her request.
Need I name to you this noble, this dangerous youth? Alas! who has not
heard of the unfortunate John of Swabia; who does not pity and detest in
him at once the injured Prince, and the lawless avenger of those
injuries?—Wretched youth! what have you gained by that rash and
detestable action, to which you were guided by evil counsellors? In what
climate do you wander accursed like the first murderer, without being
able to fly from your own conscience, and what will be at last the goal
to which your painful wanderings lead?
The young Duke of Swabia, at the period when Rodolpho attached himself
to his fortunes, was not the criminal, which he is now become through
passionate rashness, and through impatience under the pressure of
adversity: the epithet, which is now affixed to his name, and which
probably will be transmitted to the latest posterity, at that time would
have made him recoil with horror. Young, amiable, and unfortunate, he
created an interest in every bosom. Even Adelaide (whose prudent
foresight made her from the very beginning augur some misfortune to
arise from this close intimacy between the Prince and her husband) could
not prevent herself from feeling well-disposed towards him: she was
compelled to own, that in his complaints against his unjust guardian the
Emperor, who withheld from him his paternal inheritance, he had justice
on his side; and she earnestly wished, that he might soon obtain the
redress of his crying injuries.
I told you, that Adelaide had from the first observed with uneasiness
her husband’s intimacy with the Duke of Swabia; in truth, when the
situation and characters of both were considered, it was impossible for
her to feel otherwise on the subject. Prince John was fiery and
impatient, an avowed lover of pleasure, and provided by his crafty uncle
with ample means for indulging in every excess. The Emperor Albert saw
his own advantage in leading the youth (whose happiness he sought to
undermine) into labyrinths, whence he would find it an hard task to
extricate himself. He thought, that the errors, which he furnished
Prince John with opportunities of committing, would excuse his own
unjust proceedings towards his nephew; and unfortunately to lead the
youth into the snare was a task but too easily effected.
With grief of heart must I confess it, in the principal features of his
character Rodolpho resembled his friend very closely. Adelaide’s
influence, it’s true, had for a time represt those inclinations to
libertinism, which he so early contracted in Count Donat’s school: still
had she not succeeded in extirpating them so completely, as to prevent
their obtaining their former mastery over his better judgment
occasionally, now that opportunities for their indulgence were
continually in his way. Rodolpho had a sufficient advantage over the
young Prince in point of years, to have entitled him to be his guide in
the paths of virtue; but instead of leading his friend to good, he too
often suffered himself to be seduced by him into actions, which were
very far from being the most respectable. You may conceive, how much
anxiety her husband’s want of steadiness must have excited in the mind
of our friend; and that anxiety was increased by the dark clouds, which
she could perceive rising in another quarter.
That the Lord of the Beacon-Tower was no partial admirer of the Emperor,
was a fact well known to every one. In unguarded moments his own tongue
had often avowed his real sentiments respecting the regicide Albert, and
the deceased Adolphus; the readiness with which he embraced the quarrel
of the young Margraves had proved, that he was not unwilling to shew his
resentment by actions as well as words; and it was not necessary for him
to connect himself so intimately with the young Duke of Swabia, in order
to make himself an object of hatred and suspicion at the imperial court.
Albert was silent, but his silence was menacing and terrible; and
Adelaide had already acquired sufficient knowledge of the manners of the
great to guess, that the anger (which regard for his own safety
restrained him from venting on the prince) would one day burst on the
heads of his unprotected friends; among whom the Lord of the
Beacon-Tower being the most distinguished, would not fail to receive the
largest share of vengeance.
—“Oh! let us fly, my beloved!” often exclaimed Adelaide in her moments
of apprehension; “let us away to the tranquil vale of Frutiger. Here we
breathe no air but such sultry parching blasts, as seem to warn us of an
approaching tempest. With every moment the gloom increases; the clouds
collect together; the lightning will soon break loose and destroy us!”——
Rodolpho’s answers to these remonstrances were seldom such as to give
her cause for satisfaction. He talked much of the future greatness of
his friend, never spoke of Albert without attaching the word “Regicide”
to his name, and frequently recalled to mind his father’s dying command
to revenge the murder of Adolphus. Adelaide’s anxiety grew daily more
acute: she redoubled her importunity, that her husband should quit the
court; and as she was now in such a situation as gave Rodolpho hopes of
an event, which he had long desired in vain, he trembled, lest the too
violent agitation of her mind should injure her health materially. He
therefore determined for the first time to conceal his sentiments from
the woman whom he adored, and to lead her into an error respecting the
real state of affairs, which became with every day more critical and
serious.
Among his dependents was a young man of noble birth but fallen fortunes,
by name Russeling; he had formerly been in the service of the Duke of
Swabia, and had been employed by him to effect Rodolpho’s deliverance
from the emperor’s chains. This circumstance had greatly endeared him to
his present patron, who did not perceive that he harboured in Russeling
a seducer, whose object was to guide him to the commission of a crime
the most atrocious. This man was one of those concealed enemies, who are
frequently more dangerous to princes, than those whose armies ravage
their dominions, and who openly threaten the subversion of their
thrones. Ancient animosity, which had descended from father to son
through a long line of ancestors undiminished, lived in his rancorous
heart against the emperor: he secretly fanned every spark of hatred,
which existed in other bosoms; his every word infused additional
bitterness towards his uncle into the heart of the Duke of Swabia, to
whose person he had still free access; and he kindled again in the heart
of my unfortunate brother that flame, which Adelaide with her soothing
had so anxiously laboured to extinguish.
The betrayer perceived, that no one crossed him in his evil designs more
than the wife of his patron; he therefore exerted his utmost skill to
effect her removal from the scene of action.
Rodolpho had frequently advised her to quit the turbulent court, and
pass the time of her approaching confinement in the retired Castle near
the Lake of Thun, which she had herself marked out as the future scene
of her domestic happiness. Hitherto his entreaties had been in vain: she
could not resolve to abandon her husband while exposed to all the
dangers, in which the Duke of Swabia’s intimacy had involved him. But
now that Rodolpho had prevailed on himself to use dissimulation with
her, who had never deceived him in the slightest trifle; and now that
Russeling with his serpent’s tongue had thrown out hints respecting the
views of the Duke of Swabia, which led her to suspect (perhaps unjustly)
that his marked attention to her proceeded from a passion disgraceful
both to her and to the prince; Adelaide however reluctantly was
compelled to give up her opinion. Flight, she now thought, would be the
only remaining means of destroying the duke’s presumptuous hopes,
without drawing down his resentment upon her husband. Besides, she
greatly needed some respite from the tumultuous and turbulent residence
of the court; and every anxiety respecting Rodolpho was removed by his
solemn assurance, that it should not be long, ere he rejoined her, never
again to quit the repose and security of rural life.