Chapter II: Part 2

Sorrow and self-reproach; the disappointment of his too highly-raised youthful expectations; his union with a woman whom he hated; and above all the consequences of a life passed in scenes of the most unbridled profligacy, a ruined constitution and an accusing conscience; all these together had hardened Count Donat’s heart, and embittered his temper; had annihilated his few good qualities, and had left his bad ones visible in the full extent of their enormity. His misanthropic heart longed for a suitable employment, and only waited for an excuse to make others feel the tortures, which preyed upon himself. The sight of Adelaide brought more strongly to his mind the recollection of his wretched mother, whom he had so long forgotten, and who had so vainly applied to her son for help: he remembered well, how often his sister had implored him to set forward for Ravenstein, and had warned him, that his mother’s death might probably be the consequence of his delay. The more he reflected, the more fierce became his rage; and he determined to proceed to Rhætia, revenge his mother, and exact from his father a severe account respecting her long imprisonment and miserable death. It was also his design to enforce his right to his paternal estates, from which Count Ethelbert (incensed at the discovery of Lucretia’s artifice in regard to her supposed possessions) had disinherited his children by his first wife.

Count Ethelbert and Urania Venosta had been described to Adelaide in the most odious colours; notwithstanding which, she shuddered, while listening to the threats which her brother breathed against them. How did the sight rend her gentle heart, when she saw the avenger’s sword raised by the son against his father! Her prayers, her remonstrances had no effect upon Count Donat and his ambitious wife, who founded on Ethelbert’s ruin plans for their own future greatness. During her abode at Ravenstein, Adelaide discovered for the first time the natural cruelty of her brother’s disposition: report cannot have permitted you to remain ignorant, with what torrents of blood the furious Donat inundated the vales of Frutiger. The anxiety and terror, with which you received the news of his approach towards your residence, sufficiently prove that you were aware, how little hope you entertained of escaping from his frantic fury.

Adelaide was aware of it also; and she trembled, if not for her unknown step-mother, at least for her unfortunate father, who (tyrant as she believed him to be) she still thought possest from Nature an authority over his children, which no conduct of his could forfeit, however criminal. The distrest daughter would have suffered still more severely from apprehension, founded on reasons but too strong; had she not seized a lucky moment of unusual good humour to obtain a solemn oath from Donat, that Ethelbert’s life should be held sacred by him, and that she never should endure the agony of seeing her brother’s hands stained with the blood of their common father.

Dreadful is it to think, that such a promise should have ever been reckoned necessary! In truth, Count Donat himself felt the bitter reflection conveyed in Adelaide’s request; and while he yielded to her importunity, he chid her with severity for harbouring such ungrounded suspicions. I am persuaded, that Donat was not quite the monster at that time, which he appeared to be when seen in his moments of frantic passion; nay, I am inclined from a variety of motives to ascribe to him a very trifling share in that melancholy transaction, whose real circumstances are covered with a veil of impenetrable obscurity, and whose execution was too barbarous for me to attribute it even to the base Guiderius himself. Doubtless Count Ethelbert’s miserable end was effected by a sudden burst of frenzy; in a moment of terror and despair his own hand inflicted on himself the punishment of former errors, and (I fear!) of former crimes!

You appeared at Count Donat’s camp, Urania, to solicit the pardon of your wretched guilty husband. To see you was sufficient to obtain for you Adelaide’s affection, and to annihilate every prejudice, which had so carefully been instilled into her mind against you. She endeavoured to make you aware of the dangers which threatened you; but obstacles both visible and invisible interposed, to prevent your preservation. Your friend’s unwillingness to speak ill of a brother; Mellusina’s unexpected intrusion and persevering stay in your tent; and above all, that singular and inexplicable occurrence which made the whole society separate in such terror, all combined to retain you in the road, destined to lead you into long captivity.

Never could Adelaide mention without shuddering the mysterious adventure of that night. She ever anxiously avoided speaking on the subject, and referred me to you for more accurate information. However, the account which in compliance with my request you forwarded to me, was nothing more than that, which I had already heard from my sister-in-law: anxiety to unravel this mystery made me even have recourse to Mellusina, but without success. Her account of the matter was no less obscure, strange, and unaccountable.

The next morning, her brother thought it adviseable to prevent Adelaide from accompanying you to the Castle of Sargans, and therefore gave out, that she was taken ill unexpectedly. In truth, this was no pretended indisposition. The supposed interference of a spiritual being had made the strongest impression upon her imagination; and when Count Donat’s attendants delivered her up to my charge (he was then ignorant, how closely she was connected with the Abbess of St. Mary’s) her situation was such, that you cannot easily picture it to yourself too melancholy—The return of the messenger, whom she had dispatched to you, only served to increase her illness; he communicated to her without sufficient precaution the news of her unfortunate father’s miserable death, and added to it the account of your ill-treatment and captivity. Like all who are possest of sensibility too acute, she loaded herself with reproaches for not having taken measures to prevent these heavy misfortunes; and it was long, before the soothing of friendship could succeed in pacifying her. To complete her distress but one thing more was necessary, and it arrived: a report prevailed (and was universally credited) that her husband had fallen a victim to the Emperor’s resentment. As Superior of St. Mary’s cloister, I could have afforded my poor sister a secure and agreeable shelter within these tranquil walls; but the desire to weep over her husband’s grave, and her anxiety to rescue you from the dungeon in which you languished, compelled her to return once more into the hated world. She was conscious, that you were the captive of a man, whose cruelty was but too well known to her; and she vowed solemnly never to rest, till she had broken the chains imposed upon you so unjustly.

She saw too plainly, that the united forces of the Counts of Mayenfield and Homburg would be unable to force you out of the power of the mighty Lord of the domains of Carlsheim and Sargans, besides both Edith and her daughter were persuaded of your death, and looked on Adelaide’s assertions of your existence in Donat’s dungeons, as being the mere effusions of that enthusiastic affection, which easily believes whatever it wishes to be true. But no representations, no neglect could induce your protectress to lay aside her hopes of effecting your deliverance; and she addrest herself to the Emperor Rudolf’s daughters, whose powerful interference she trusted would easily obtain your release.

Of all those powerful Princesses, the Duchess of Saxony alone (the virtuous Matilda, whose own domestic misfortunes might have furnished her with a sufficient excuse in the world’s estimation, for declining to embarrass herself with the affairs of others) exerted herself seriously in your behalf. Her sister Euphemia, retired in a convent and forgotten by the world, had little to offer toward your release except good wishes; yet what little she _could_ offer, she offered gladly, and shared her sister’s joy at the news of your deliverance. I understand, that this royal Nun will soon exchange her convent at Tull for that which you inhabit, solely from the wish to end her life in your society. Oh! Urania, how greatly does all that I hear of you increase my desire to know you personally! What unusual merit must that woman possess, who could obtain so warm and unabating an interest in the hearts of three of the noblest of created beings, Euphemia, Matilda, and my poor Adelaide!

Yet I forget too long the heroine of my history, while occupying myself with Urania; I resume the thread of my narrative. Adelaide found at Emperor Albert’s court, (whither she repaired to plead in your behalf in person) that an happiness was reserved for her, which she had never expected to enjoy again on this side the grave: her husband was still living. The same false report, which had persuaded her of his death, had taken no less pains to persuade Rodolpho, that she was faithless. Her journey to Italy for the purpose of persuading her brother to interfere in behalf of her imprisoned Lord; the expedition to Sargans, in which she was obliged to accompany Count Donat; the length of time, which elapsed without his knowing what had become of her, and which she had past in my convent almost at the point of death; these and a variety of other circumstances had all been represented to Rodolpho in the most odious light. In his dungeon (whence he had but lately been released on the reconciliation between the Emperor and his sons) it was impossible for him to detect the falsehood of these reports; but Adelaide needed but to shew herself to the man who loved her with such unbounded affection, and all his injurious suspicions were annihilated at once. A few words were sufficient to persuade him of the truth; a truth, which was confirmed by the testimony of those, under whose eyes she had been residing.

What tongue is capable of describing the reunion of two lovers long separated; it is a fore-taste of that reunion, which we expect to enjoy with the objects of our affection beyond the grave, in another world better and happier. The one saw her belief in the untimely death of her beloved dissolved like a painful dream; the other saw those stains removed, which had sullied her purity on whom his soul doated; both felt, that the turbulent raptures of their early love were less sweet, than this renewal of their long-tried affection! Forgive me, Urania; a cloistered Nun ought not to describe such emotions, though she cannot help feeling them: doubtless, you understand such things better than we do, who have been confined from our earliest years within the walls of a convent, and shut out from the most precious rights of human nature.

From this moment began the most fortunate part of our friend’s life. Adelaide found her husband improved by years and corrected by adversity; absence and misfortune had made him still dearer to her; and she now first felt towards him the whole excess of love, of which her affectionate heart was capable. She now had no other wish, than to enjoy her happiness in quiet and retirement. The Lords of Eschenbach had new-built the fortress of Ravenstein, and proffered it to her husband (who had long been united with them in amity) as a fit residence, should it be no longer agreeable for him to remain at the Court of the offended Emperor. Gladly would Adelaide have hastened thither; but Rodolpho had contracted obligations, which at that time prevented him from immediately quitting the Court. He was indebted for life, for freedom, for opulence, to the favour of a princely youth, whom it was only necessary to see in order to admire; and whose situation it was only necessary to know, in order to feel interested for him, even had Rodolpho not been so closely bound to him by the ties of gratitude. This man was the cause, why Adelaide’s husband found it impossible to comply with her request.

Need I name to you this noble, this dangerous youth? Alas! who has not heard of the unfortunate John of Swabia; who does not pity and detest in him at once the injured Prince, and the lawless avenger of those injuries?—Wretched youth! what have you gained by that rash and detestable action, to which you were guided by evil counsellors? In what climate do you wander accursed like the first murderer, without being able to fly from your own conscience, and what will be at last the goal to which your painful wanderings lead?

The young Duke of Swabia, at the period when Rodolpho attached himself to his fortunes, was not the criminal, which he is now become through passionate rashness, and through impatience under the pressure of adversity: the epithet, which is now affixed to his name, and which probably will be transmitted to the latest posterity, at that time would have made him recoil with horror. Young, amiable, and unfortunate, he created an interest in every bosom. Even Adelaide (whose prudent foresight made her from the very beginning augur some misfortune to arise from this close intimacy between the Prince and her husband) could not prevent herself from feeling well-disposed towards him: she was compelled to own, that in his complaints against his unjust guardian the Emperor, who withheld from him his paternal inheritance, he had justice on his side; and she earnestly wished, that he might soon obtain the redress of his crying injuries.

I told you, that Adelaide had from the first observed with uneasiness her husband’s intimacy with the Duke of Swabia; in truth, when the situation and characters of both were considered, it was impossible for her to feel otherwise on the subject. Prince John was fiery and impatient, an avowed lover of pleasure, and provided by his crafty uncle with ample means for indulging in every excess. The Emperor Albert saw his own advantage in leading the youth (whose happiness he sought to undermine) into labyrinths, whence he would find it an hard task to extricate himself. He thought, that the errors, which he furnished Prince John with opportunities of committing, would excuse his own unjust proceedings towards his nephew; and unfortunately to lead the youth into the snare was a task but too easily effected.

With grief of heart must I confess it, in the principal features of his character Rodolpho resembled his friend very closely. Adelaide’s influence, it’s true, had for a time represt those inclinations to libertinism, which he so early contracted in Count Donat’s school: still had she not succeeded in extirpating them so completely, as to prevent their obtaining their former mastery over his better judgment occasionally, now that opportunities for their indulgence were continually in his way. Rodolpho had a sufficient advantage over the young Prince in point of years, to have entitled him to be his guide in the paths of virtue; but instead of leading his friend to good, he too often suffered himself to be seduced by him into actions, which were very far from being the most respectable. You may conceive, how much anxiety her husband’s want of steadiness must have excited in the mind of our friend; and that anxiety was increased by the dark clouds, which she could perceive rising in another quarter.

That the Lord of the Beacon-Tower was no partial admirer of the Emperor, was a fact well known to every one. In unguarded moments his own tongue had often avowed his real sentiments respecting the regicide Albert, and the deceased Adolphus; the readiness with which he embraced the quarrel of the young Margraves had proved, that he was not unwilling to shew his resentment by actions as well as words; and it was not necessary for him to connect himself so intimately with the young Duke of Swabia, in order to make himself an object of hatred and suspicion at the imperial court. Albert was silent, but his silence was menacing and terrible; and Adelaide had already acquired sufficient knowledge of the manners of the great to guess, that the anger (which regard for his own safety restrained him from venting on the prince) would one day burst on the heads of his unprotected friends; among whom the Lord of the Beacon-Tower being the most distinguished, would not fail to receive the largest share of vengeance.

—“Oh! let us fly, my beloved!” often exclaimed Adelaide in her moments of apprehension; “let us away to the tranquil vale of Frutiger. Here we breathe no air but such sultry parching blasts, as seem to warn us of an approaching tempest. With every moment the gloom increases; the clouds collect together; the lightning will soon break loose and destroy us!”——

Rodolpho’s answers to these remonstrances were seldom such as to give her cause for satisfaction. He talked much of the future greatness of his friend, never spoke of Albert without attaching the word “Regicide” to his name, and frequently recalled to mind his father’s dying command to revenge the murder of Adolphus. Adelaide’s anxiety grew daily more acute: she redoubled her importunity, that her husband should quit the court; and as she was now in such a situation as gave Rodolpho hopes of an event, which he had long desired in vain, he trembled, lest the too violent agitation of her mind should injure her health materially. He therefore determined for the first time to conceal his sentiments from the woman whom he adored, and to lead her into an error respecting the real state of affairs, which became with every day more critical and serious.

Among his dependents was a young man of noble birth but fallen fortunes, by name Russeling; he had formerly been in the service of the Duke of Swabia, and had been employed by him to effect Rodolpho’s deliverance from the emperor’s chains. This circumstance had greatly endeared him to his present patron, who did not perceive that he harboured in Russeling a seducer, whose object was to guide him to the commission of a crime the most atrocious. This man was one of those concealed enemies, who are frequently more dangerous to princes, than those whose armies ravage their dominions, and who openly threaten the subversion of their thrones. Ancient animosity, which had descended from father to son through a long line of ancestors undiminished, lived in his rancorous heart against the emperor: he secretly fanned every spark of hatred, which existed in other bosoms; his every word infused additional bitterness towards his uncle into the heart of the Duke of Swabia, to whose person he had still free access; and he kindled again in the heart of my unfortunate brother that flame, which Adelaide with her soothing had so anxiously laboured to extinguish.

The betrayer perceived, that no one crossed him in his evil designs more than the wife of his patron; he therefore exerted his utmost skill to effect her removal from the scene of action.

Rodolpho had frequently advised her to quit the turbulent court, and pass the time of her approaching confinement in the retired Castle near the Lake of Thun, which she had herself marked out as the future scene of her domestic happiness. Hitherto his entreaties had been in vain: she could not resolve to abandon her husband while exposed to all the dangers, in which the Duke of Swabia’s intimacy had involved him. But now that Rodolpho had prevailed on himself to use dissimulation with her, who had never deceived him in the slightest trifle; and now that Russeling with his serpent’s tongue had thrown out hints respecting the views of the Duke of Swabia, which led her to suspect (perhaps unjustly) that his marked attention to her proceeded from a passion disgraceful both to her and to the prince; Adelaide however reluctantly was compelled to give up her opinion. Flight, she now thought, would be the only remaining means of destroying the duke’s presumptuous hopes, without drawing down his resentment upon her husband. Besides, she greatly needed some respite from the tumultuous and turbulent residence of the court; and every anxiety respecting Rodolpho was removed by his solemn assurance, that it should not be long, ere he rejoined her, never again to quit the repose and security of rural life.

Yet bitter was the parting between these married lovers. Both were tormented by forebodings of misfortune; both felt the pangs of an affection, which made them wish never to be separated; and yet each was still compelled to acknowledge, that to separate was necessary!

With difficulty did they tear themselves from each other’s arms. By his patron’s desire, Russeling conducted the Lady of the Beacon-Tower to the place appointed for her abode: but as soon as he had seen her established there, he hastened back to the imperial residence, anxious to lose no opportunity of advancing his projects. As unfortunately every circumstance combined to favour them, his detestable schemes were but too soon carried into execution.

In the mean while, Adelaide in the solitude of Ravenstein led the kind of life best adapted to her melancholy situation. The present posture of affairs rendered her heart doubly accessible to every sort of inquietude: she had left her dear but unsteady husband entangled in a chain of circumstances, which authorized her to see the future in the most gloomy light; nor was it long before she discovered, that in fixing her abode at the fortress of Ravenstein, she had by no means selected a residence the best fitted for dissipating the melancholy ideas, which perpetually obtruded themselves upon her imagination.

In the spring of her life this Castle had been long her prison; there had she narrowly escaped perishing by famine and by the flames; there too was the grave of her unfortunate mother. It was impossible, that these sad recollections should not have considerable effect upon a mind, which already was tortured by a thousand causes for anxiety. It is true, the lords of Eschenbach had almost entirely rebuilt the ruined fortress at considerable expence, and had made it so different from its former self, that it was scarcely to be recognized; but Adelaide’s enthusiastic imagination saw less what was before her eyes, than what sorrow had engraved on her remembrance indelibly.

The time of her delivery was at hand; and the presence of some sympathising friends enabled Adelaide to look forward to the moment of danger with less fear. Indeed, the laws of our order did not permit either you or myself to leave our convents, and hasten to the assistance of our beloved Adelaide. The Countess Mellusina was no more; and even had she been still in existence, her presence would have been but little wished or expected by her sister-in-law. I doubt much too, whether (even had we been able to come to her aid) with all our good intentions we should have been able to afford so much real help and comfort, as she received from the female inhabitants of the vale of Frutiger: during the time which she past with Count Donat at Ravenstein, Adelaide by her exertions to moderate the fury of her incensed brother had won their hearts completely; and no sooner did the grateful women hear, that their benevolent protectress stood in need of it, than they hastened to afford her their friendly assistance. Walter Forest’s mother, and the wife of Henric Melthal, (for Donat’s increasing tyranny had compelled the family of Melthal to withdraw from his dominions) were among the first to proffer their services; nor did Gertrude Bernsdorf neglect the daughter of her former lord. It was from these good matrons, that I received the account of the following transactions; alas! I was not permitted to hear them from the lips of the dear Adelaide herself!

The Lady of the Beacon-Tower was safely delivered of a son; and the sight of this little smiling innocent was sufficient to relieve his anxious mother from more than half the weight of her melancholy.

—“Now then,” she exclaimed frequently, while she kissed her baby with rapture, “now then I only need to see Rodolpho partaking my delight, and every fear which now distracts my bosom will at once be destroyed for ever.”——

Her wish was granted, sooner than she could have expected. Alas! it brought not with it the joy, which (she fondly hoped) would accompany her husband’s arrival.

Reports which agitate the great world, are slow in reaching the dwellings of retirement; yet there are _some_ transactions, which fame spreads about with the rapidity of lightning, because they are strange and terrible enough to attract the attention of the universal globe.

Who trembles not at hearing the dreadful word, _Regicide_? the emperor Albert was dead; he had fallen by the hands of the unfortunate John of Swabia and his friends! this dreadful report had been long circulated in whispers among the mountains, where Adelaide had fixed her residence; it at first obtained little credit, but with every succeeding day it seemed to assume more consistency. It had not yet reached the ears of Adelaide; but her attendants saw, that it would be impossible to keep it from her knowledge much longer; the prudent Gertrude therefore, as the person among them to whom the others looked up with the greatest deference, undertook to give the invalid some insight into these melancholy events; observing every possible precaution, that might weaken their effect, and carefully concealing the share, which the Lord of the Beacon-Tower was reported to have taken in the business. Chance unfortunately prevented her from executing her kind intentions.

One evening, Adelaide was sitting with her child at her bosom near a window, which commanded the spacious court-yard. On a sudden a single warrior rushed into the court on horseback. Adelaide sprang from her seat with a cry of joy, and flew towards the portal.

—“Whither would you go, lady?” exclaimed Gertrude, and hastened to follow her.

But Adelaide was already in the court, and before he had time to enter, had placed her child on the bosom of his father.

Rodolpho kissed his baby and its mother, and then amidst the joyful shouts of the domestics who crouded round their master, he followed Adelaide into the great castle-hall: there was he received with renewed embraces, with questions, blessings, wonderings, and all the delightful confusion of unexpected and overflowing joy.

Rapture at clasping in her arms the man, whom she had so long sighed to see, and at a moment so unlooked-for, prevented Adelaide from observing, that the rapture was not mutual. The eager prattling of affection concealed from her, that she was the only speaker; and many hours had elapsed, before she was sufficiently recovered from the delirium of her joy to ask the question—“Oh! Rodolpho, why thus silent? why thus pale?”—

It was not so long, before his attendants had remarked this alteration in their Lord’s appearance; and the alarming consternation displayed in his countenance seemed to confirm the reports to his disadvantage, which for some time had been so prevalent. The pleasure, with which his arrival had inspired them at first, soon vanished; and all drew back with shuddering from the man, on whose hands they fancied that they could discover the stains of royal blood.

—“What troubles you, my beloved?” Adelaide at length demanded of her husband, who sat with his eyes fixed stedfastly on the earth, and seemed not to hear her question; “answer me for pity’s sake! what troubles you?”—

—“Oh! nothing, nothing!” he exclaimed, then sprang up suddenly, and advanced towards the window—“all is as it should be; nothing has happened but what _ought_ to have happened. It is only my foolish heart, that cannot be persuaded to let me be at rest.”—

—“All has happened, that ought to have happened?” repeated Adelaide, whose anxiety became more painful with every moment; “and what then _has_ happened?”—

Rodolpho without answering her question, remarked that night was coming on; he then desired a domestic to take good care, that all the gates were well locked and barred, and ordered that the portcullis should be let down to guard the narrow path, whose steps were hewn in the rock, and which was the only avenue to the Castle.

—“Dearest Rodolpho,” said Adelaide, while she took his hand with mingled tenderness and apprehension “what need of these precautions? are you not safe in the arms of love? surely, we now have no enemies to dread.”—

—“Adelaide, while Albert lived, we had but _one_ enemy: now that he is no more, his death has created a thousand avengers, who wait with impatience for an opportunity to destroy us!”—

—“His death?” exclaimed Adelaide in a tone expressing the utmost horror, and betraying that she already guest the misfortune, which she was soon to hear confirmed; “is then the emperor dead? alas! and by whom?”—

Her husband gazed upon her with a gloomy frowning air, and without replying prepared to quit the apartment.

Adelaide followed him, detained him, and in a voice scarcely audible repeated her question.

Rodolpho bent himself towards her, and whispered somewhat in her ear; yet not so gently, but that Gertrude (who was the only person then present) could distinguish the emperor’s name, the Duke of Swabia’s, and Rodolpho’s own.

—“Now then” said he, with a loud voice and terrible look; “Now then is Adelaide aware, by what name she must henceforth greet her husband?”—

It is easy to guess, how violent an effect this dreadful explanation must have made upon the criminal’s unfortunate wife! life is subject to moments, in which a single word is sufficient to bring at once before the mind the whole wide extent of our future fate; in which with a single look and in a single feeling we embrace the whole; and (be they of sorrow or be they of joy) in which man’s feeble nature is compelled to sink beneath the gigantic strength of his sensations.

Adelaide lay at her husband’s feet deprived of animation. His caresses and the care of her attendants only awakened her to the sense of suffering. It is true, the total deprivation of her intellects for a time preserved her mind from feeling the wretchedness of her situation; but her health was cruelly affected by the violent attacks of a malady, which soon brought her to the very brink of the grave.

Many months past before she was pronounced out of danger; it required no less a period to elapse, before she was able to accustom her mind sufficiently to seeing all her gloomy apprehensions justified, without relapsing into that melancholy state from which she had just escaped with so much difficulty.

While Rodolpho through his wife’s illness suffered both for himself and for her, his situation had become more critical with every day. The favourable hour for flight had been consumed by the side of Adelaide’s sick-bed. With no kind friendly hand to pour balm into the wounds of his conscience, their agony was become most acute; and he was now compelled to see (what is seen by every criminal) the deed that was done with very different eyes from those, with which he saw the deed while it was yet to do. He was without comfort, without hope; and already did the emperor’s avengers tread close upon his footsteps.

There was no longer any security for the unfortunate family of Rodolpho at Ravenstein Castle: concealment was the only chance for preserving his life from the many swords, that were in search of him. Adelaide’s first care therefore on her recovery was to quit her abode; nor did her still weak state of health deter her from immediately executing her resolution. Rodolpho followed whither she thought proper to conduct him, less from the hope of saving his wretched existence, than from feeling it impossible to part any more from Adelaide. The horror, which had taken possession of all her faculties on first hearing of this dreadful act, had now given place to sorrow and compassion: she tortured herself to find some apology for his crime; and when she felt that the excuses of love avail nothing at any judgment-bar except its own, though she found herself compelled to confess Rodolpho guilty, she still vowed, that all guilty as he was she loved him still, and that all guilty as he was she would perish with him.

Willingly did the grateful inhabitants of the Vale of Frutiger afford a shelter to her, from whom they had formerly received such essential services; but it was not without much secret murmuring, that they granted the same favour to her blood-polluted husband. How indeed could that innocent and open-hearted race of people willingly support the presence of a murderer?

In the shelter of their huts Rodolpho ran no risque of being betrayed; but it was clear to every one, and most so to himself, that the sacrifice made by them in this instance to humanity, was a sacrifice which cost them very dearly. His own afflicted conscience too prevented him from long remaining quiet in the same place; and he at length suddenly told his wife, that he was determined on hastening to Rome, and on soliciting absolution for his crime at the feet of the holy father. This, he believed, was the only balsam capable of calming the inexpressible anguish, which preyed upon his heart.

Unwillingly did Adelaide suffer him to tear himself from her arms. She would fain have accompanied him in his pilgrimage; but her weakness which still continued, and the caution which it was necessary for a proscribed man to observe upon his journey, compelled her to give up her generous design. Rodolpho set forward in disguise for Rome; Adelaide remained in the Vale of Frutiger with her little son, mingling the milk, which she gave him, with many a tear of bitterness.

A considerable space of time elapsed, and yet no news arrived from the unfortunate pilgrim: her friends the worthy matrons of Helvetia endeavoured to give this delay, which so justly was the cause of much anxiety to Adelaide, a favourable interpretation; and their husbands solemnly promised, should Rodolpho return with the Holy Father’s pardon, they would refuse him no service, which an honest man could require at their hands.

Adelaide’s tranquillity began to return: absolution even from crimes, whose mention makes humanity shudder, is no uncommon thing in our days; this is a circumstance, which gives the laity opportunities of throwing much reproach upon the church; but on which, as belonging to a religious society, it becomes _me_ to remain silent—the hopes of our friend were also greatly strengthened by an event, which (when Adelaide communicated it in one of her letters) appeared even to myself as meriting no slight attention; it was, that persons of inferior consequence having all desisted from the pursuit, the only person, who still demanded Rodolpho’s punishment, was Johanna, the reigning queen of Hungary, and daughter of the murdered emperor. We trusted, that the gentle soul of a woman would be easily awakened to compassion; and this flattering persuasion received additional force, when Adelaide received an assurance, that it was unnecessary for her to continue in concealment, and that she might return to her abode at Ravenstein, in perfect security from meeting with injury or insult.

Adelaide and her friends naturally considered, this permission as a fore-runner of still greater favours—“It is clear then,” said she, “that the place of my concealment was well known to my husband’s enemies. It was in their power, had they thought fit to take the most severe vengeance, to have punished Rodolpho’s crime on me and on his son; but they molested us not, and I am now permitted to return to my former residence. Besides, Rodolpho is in truth not so _very_ culpable; he was seduced into guilt by the artifice of others. He drew not his sword to revenge his own injuries, but to protect his friend against injustice and oppression. Perhaps he was selected as an instrument of the Divine Vengeance, and commissioned by Heaven to punish Albert’s crime, who was himself his sovereign’s murderer.”—

Oh! Adelaide, how could your pure and generous heart persuade itself even in a single thought or by a single word to palliate an offence, too atrocious to admit of pardon? vainly did you strive to deceive yourself; one serious glance falling on the veil, which affection would fain have thrown over the crime of your beloved, was frequently enough to make you tremble and blush at being employed in such an office.

For some time the Lady of the Beacon-Tower resided at Ravenstein in a situation, whose apparent tranquillity was more artificial than real, but which still was rendered supportable by the hope of better days. A thunder-clap suddenly rouzed her from her pleasing dreams, and a tempest hurried her towards the termination of her sorrows.

Every attempt to obtain intelligence of the guilty wanderer had hitherto been unsuccessful. Adelaide’s messengers returned not; Rodolpho was unable to dispatch messengers in return, for he had no sooner set his foot within the precincts of the Vatican, than he was delivered into the hands of avenging justice. What was his present fate, and what would be that which was still reserved for him, was already well-known to every one in the neighbourhood of Ravenstein. Concealed from her by the cruel tenderness of her attendants, her husband’s situation was a secret to Adelaide alone. Surely it was cruel to hide from her an event, which she could not escape knowing in the end, till the whole consciousness of her misfortunes burst upon her at once, and with the violence of the shock crushed her.

The Lady of the Beacon-Tower entertained no apprehensions for herself; happen what would, she believed her own person to be safe. The inhabitants of the Helvetian mountains, in which she resided, had been long dissatisfied with the government of princes, who only employed their power to rob them of their liberty; and they had secretly resolved to seize the first opportunity of breaking their chains. They were prepared to run every hazard in defence of their adored Adelaide; and they counted it unnecessary to warn her of the approach of dangers, which they were firmly determined to prevent from ever reaching her. But where are the mountains so inaccessible, the protection so powerful, and the valour so impossible to be subdued, that calamity cannot overcome all obstacles in pursuit of her destined victim!

Johanna, the Queen of Hungary, who with the fury of a tigress burned to revenge her father’s death, demanded admission into these tranquil vallies, whose inhabitants, from their having granted Rodolpho a temporary asylum, she considered as adherents to the guilty Duke of Swabia. One fortress after another fell into her power: she became mistress by degrees of the whole country; and at length Adelaide heard the sound of hostile trumpets, ere she had yet been made aware, that the most revengeful of all women had penetrated into Helvetia.

Johanna’s mildness towards the murderer’s family had been only assumed, in hopes of discovering where Rodolpho himself was concealed. His seizure had rendered further artifice unnecessary, and she was now permitted to show the violence of her resentment without disguise. She led her troops in person against Ravenstein. Though lately repaired and internally fitted up with elegance and splendour, the fortress no longer possest those strong means of defence, which in its antient state had enabled it to set the attacks of foes so often at defiance. Walter Forest, however, had engaged to undertake the command of it; but at the time when Johanna unexpectedly appeared before the Castle, this brave man was detained by patriotic duties in a distant part of the country. The garrison were capable of making but a sorry resistance; the gates were thrown open; and Johanna made her triumphal entrance into Ravenstein over the bleeding corses of those, who had fallen the innocent victims of her thirst for vengeance.

Oh! Urania, I know well, that justice required the punishment of Albert’s murderers; I know well, that it was the remembrance of her father’s death, which transformed his daughter into a Feind; but still ... still I feel it impossible for me without horror and disgust to unite a thirst for blood with the name of woman. Johanna, that Saint-like princess, that builder of cloisters, that worker of miracles; that young and beautiful Johanna who, as ’tis whispered, is secretly by no means averse to the tender passions; even that very Johanna pursued her way over heaps of mutilated corses, and said with a triumphant smile to those who followed her,—“that it seemed, as if her path had been strown with roses.”—

The doors of the Great Hall were thrown open; Adelaide lay senseless in the arms of her attendants. She was half stretched across the cradle of her sleeping child, as if even in the moment of swooning she had still been aware, that enemies were approaching too pityless to spare even slumbering innocence.

The pale countenance of the Lady of the Beacon-Tower, the beauty of whose features even sorrow had not been able to destroy, and the helplessness of whose present situation served only to render her more interesting, would have touched even the hearts of dæmons with compassion; but on the incensed Johanna this very beauty produced quite a contrary effect. In the eyes of her who gladly would have seen all other charms eclipsed by her own, to be as lovely as Adelaide in itself was a crime of no inconsiderable magnitude: nor could the queen observe without extreme displeasure, that among the warriors in her train, many an eye (whose approbation she would gladly have engrossed entirely) dwelt with looks of tenderness and admiration on the fair lifeless statue, which lay extended in the dust, overthrown by fear and sorrow.

—“Who is this woman?” demanded the queen.

—“Adelaide, Lady of the Beacon-Tower.”—

—“Ha! say’st thou? the Regicide’s wife then?—and yonder brat in the cradle?”—

—“It is Adelaide’s only son,” exclaimed Gertrude, at the same time throwing herself at the feet of the Fury, whose arm was already extended towards the slumbering infant, as it lay half-concealed by its mother’s robe.—“Mercy, mercy for the poor babe; he has been guilty of no crime; be satisfied with revenging yourself on his unfortunate father!”—

A scream uttered by the little Rodolpho rouzed his mother from her insensibility; she looked up; she saw her baby in the arms of the furious queen, who childless herself and unworthy to have children, knew not and cared not, how such tender creatures should be handled.

Gertrude had quitted her kneeling attitude, to hasten to the assistance of her awakening friend, who now took the place which she had left unoccupied, and embraced in Gertrude’s stead the knees of the queen.

—“My child!” she exclaimed; “give me my child! what would you do with it? why do you grasp it so rudely? oh! it is tender, and you will kill it! you will kill it!”—

—“What would I do with it?” repeated the implacable Johanna; “I would dash the little serpent against the ground, that it may not grow up to be a regicide like its father!”—

—“Oh! mercy! mercy! what crime can the innocent babe have committed?”—

—“None, lady, none,” replied Johanna, while she cast upon the suppliant a look of mingled anger and disdain; “’tis out of mere compassion, that I use your infant thus. Had your husband the regicide been treated in his cradle as I will soon treat this screaming worm, he had not been at this moment on his road to the place of execution, where he must soon end his guilty life upon the rack.”—

—“Say you?—my husband ... the place of execution ... the rack too ... my child! oh! God, my poor child!”—thus shrieked Adelaide, who had now sprang from the earth, and was endeavouring to force her infant from the grasp of this female Dæmon; but her exertions were too feeble, and she again sank insensible upon the pavement.

—“Lady,” exclaimed one of the warriors, who seemed to be of most distinction among her attendants, “you forget your sex!”—at the same time he forcibly rescued the crying baby from her hands, and placed it on the bosom of Gertrude.

This bold protector of innocence must have possest no trifling influence with Johanna, since she dared only punish his action by an angry frown, and immediately commanded (probably through fear of his making still further use of his power over her) that the still fainting Adelaide should be removed from her presence.

The poor sufferer was conveyed to one of those dungeons, with which you, unfortunate Urania, are but too well acquainted; Dungeons, whose massy walls had rendered them impenetrable to the flames, which had laid all above them in ruins. But what fortress is so strong, what abyss of the earth is so deep, that its approach is inaccessible to the generous activity of friendship? Gertrude had no sooner clasped in her arms the poor ill-treated babe, than she lost not a moment before she quitted the Castle, and fled with him to implore the honest inhabitants of the vale to afford their assistance to his unfortunate mother.

As more than half the attendants of the barbarous Queen of Hungary disapproved of her late treatment of the wretched and the helpless, and were favourable to the cause of opprest innocence, Gertrude met with but little difficulty (when she secretly returned to Ravenstein) in gaining admission to the dungeon of her friend: but she found the unfortunate in a situation, which made her escape almost impracticable—the Queen had that morning condescended to enter her cell, possibly thinking that it was right to fulfill one of the most sacred duties of her faith, the visiting the prisoner: but what she brought with her was not, according to the divine precept, hope and consolation. No; much rather was it her business to heap on the head of her heart-broken captive an additional weight of motives for affliction. An animated picture of the enormity of Rodolpho’s crimes, and an horrible enumeration of the tortures to which his sentence condemned him, nearly robbed the wretched Adelaide of her senses; and she only retained recollection sufficient to feel the last stab inflicted by her tormentor, when the unfeeling woman named the day, on which Rodolpho was to suffer. Well did she hear that cruel word, and that moment of horror inscribed itself on her bewildered brain in characters of fire.

Gertrude, when she hastened to her friend’s bedside, could not help fancying that she already embraced her corse: her feelings had been strained beyond their utmost boundaries, and were followed by a total cessation of her powers both of body and of mind.

Gertrude had received some plain hints, that the compassionate servants of an inhuman mistress were disposed to shut their eyes to any thing, which she might undertake in favour of the captive. Walter Forest’s mother had accompanied her to Ravenstein; these two kind-hearted women raised the unconscious Adelaide in their arms, and not without much difficulty conveyed her from the dungeon. The guards appointed to watch the door appeared to be buried in sleep, while the fugitives past them; and they reached a narrow portal in the back part of the fortress without meeting any impediment. The good porter turned the lock for them in silence, and (conscious that the veil of darkness would conceal his benevolent action from the queen, who would not easily have been persuaded to pardon it), he assisted Gertrude to place her rescued friend in the litter, which waited for them at a few paces from the Castle-gate. Swiftly did they now descend the mountain-pass, and it was not long, before the Castle of Ravenstein was left far behind them.

The good peasants, to whom Gertrude applied for shelter and concealment, granted it without hesitation: but many days elapsed, before they succeeded in snatching Adelaide from the shadows of the grave, towards which her unbroken stupor appeared to be conducting her. On the fourth day, she discovered the first symptoms of consciousness; she started up suddenly, and asked several hurried questions, which were faithfully answered.

Adelaide again sank back upon her couch, and remained for some time silent, with her eyes staring wildly, and directed towards Heaven.

—“Then it was not a dream!” she said at length aloud; “it was not in a vision, that I saw those dreadful scenes at Ravenstein! it was but yesterday, that all this happened, and yet it seems to me, as if since then there had past half a century!”—

—“Pardon me, noble Lady. It is now three days, since you have been in safety: to-day is the first Monday after the Nativity, and....”—

—“Monday, say’st thou? the first Monday after ... Rodolpho! oh! Rodolpho!”—

She attempted to quit her bed, but Gertrude prevented her.

—“Dear Lady,” said she, “recollect your weak condition: the sudden chill or the morning-air would be enough to kill you.”—

—“Right, right! then it is only morning yet? oh! yes; I now see myself that it is no more. Look, where the sun rises from behind yonder mountain! ha! how red and how gloomy he burns, foreboding that it will be a bloody day!”—

Gertrude comprehended not her meaning, and replied not. Adelaide repeated her request that she might be permitted to rise, with such earnestness that her attendants were compelled to obey her. She suddenly drew her arm from Gertrude’s, and walked a few paces without assistance.

—“Yes, it will do well,” said she, after a pause with a look of satisfaction. “Now then bring my child; let me once again embrace him.—But alas! it must not be. My boy is very young, and needs much attention; even in your hands, good Gertrude, he will not be taken sufficient care of, and I must remain here. Oh! my poor husband, I am forbid to follow you; but peace, peace to your tortured bones; repose and pardon to your afflicted spirit!”——

Adelaide with folded hands had sunk on her knees before the cottage-window, whose casement was illuminated by the beams of the morning sun. She now rose up, and again demanded, that her baby should be brought to her.

Her attendants delayed to obey the order. That delay alarmed her; she insisted with increased earnestness on seeing her child, and they were at last compelled to acknowledge, that on the evening before it had expired.

—“Dead!” she exclaimed, and the tone in which she spoke it exprest by that single word at once all the feelings of agony, which a mother’s heart can suffer.—“Dead!” she again repeated, after some moments of silence. Then as if she had suddenly discovered a ray of comfort, she added—“that is right! quite right!—but still I must see it!—my child! show me my child!”—

They conducted her to the cradle, in which the pallid infant lay, and appeared to smile even in death. She kist it without shedding a single tear, and desired to be conducted back to her couch, and to be left alone.

Gertrude was too much on her guard to grant the sufferer more than the first half of her request. She seated herself by her bedside, and for some time watched unremittingly.—But wearied with her long vigils during Adelaide’s insensibility, she at length found her powers inadequate to fulfill her good intentions. About midnight sleep completely overcame her; and now was an opportunity afforded to the wife of my unfortunate brother, to execute that wild resolution whose consequences soon re-united her to the husband whom she adored.

Adelaide rose silently from her bed, and left the house without being observed. Through the shadows of night she wandered towards the place, where her broken heart panted to arrive. Her weakness made her long in accomplishing this painful journey. On the day before her arrival Rodolpho had already undergone the torture of the rack; yet did Adelaide reach the place of execution time enough to receive his last breath and his last blessing. His breaking eyes recognized her well-known features, before they closed for ever; he murmured her name, and she sank upon his bleeding bosom[1].

Footnote 1:

Some historians assert, that the sufferings of Rodolpho of the
Beacon-Tower lasted for three whole days. During this time his wife
could not be persuaded to quit the place of execution, and it was not
till he had breathed his last, that she suffered herself to be
conveyed to Basle, where she soon after expired.

They forcibly removed her from the scaffold; whether out of cruelty or compassion I cannot pretend to say. Understanding how closely I was connected with her, the new Emperor Henry of Luxemburg caused her to be removed to my convent, that she might end her days in my arms. God be thanked, they were ended soon! death and eternal rest were all, that it was left us to wish the poor sufferer. Scarcely had she strength to reach the place of my abode. The lay-sister informed me that a lady ill and weary requested to see me. I hastened to the convent-gate; it was Adelaide. Wearied in truth she was, alas! wearied even unto death! it was on my bosom, that the angel breathed her last.