Feudal tyrants; or, The Counts of Carlsheim and Sargans, volume 2 (of 4)Naubert, Benedikte
General
Feudal tyrants; or, The Counts of Carlsheim and Sargans, volume 2 (of 4)
Naubert, Benedikte
German fiction -- Translations into English
Amabel, you already know, what disgraceful reports are circulated
respecting this man; reports, of whose justice his conduct towards
myself has left me no doubt! the modesty of Innocence is always ashamed
to own, that she has been made the object of an improper attachment: I
have therefore hitherto avoided the confession, that Luprian (whose
religious vows forbid his laying any claims to the indulgence of
honourable love) has been daring enough to avow a passion for me! this
it is, which makes his advice so hateful to me; and this it is, which
makes me so determined to watch every word which falls from his lips, in
order that I may act exactly contrary.
The neighbourhood of his monastery would make me averse to entering the
Convent of St. Roswitha, did not his endeavours to put me out of conceit
with it convince me, that my abode there will lay obstacles in the way
of his designs: he naturally foresees, that I shall be better guarded
against his importunities when protected by the good Abbess and her
pious train, than in this Castle where there is no compassionate being
to listen to my entreaties and complaints.
Before he left me, the Miscreant again mentioned the Convent of Zurich;
he again advised me to hasten thither, and had the insolence to propose
to be the companion of my flight! you will not therefore wonder, that I
repeated my commands to be left alone in a tone the most peremptory—I
was obeyed.
I past a great part of the night in melancholy reflections. It was late,
when I retired to bed; but after the adventure of that evening not
thinking myself in safety, I took care to fasten every window most
carefully, and trebly turned the key of every lock.
I started from my slumbers in alarm: methought, a cold hand had touched
me! I uttered a loud scream on perceiving, that the gloom of my chamber
was dissipated by a glimmering light, and that a tall figure was
standing at the foot of my bed. My first thought was, “this is a new
artifice of the Abbot;” but there was something in the appearance of
this figure so singular, that my earthly terrors gave place to others of
a much more awful nature.
It was a tall pale man, his countenance bearing the marks of extreme old
age, and wrapped in a monk’s habit. The blue faint glare of a lamp in
his right hand gave so strange and frightful an appearance to the deep
cavities of his cheeks and eyes, that I was certain of being in the
presence of a Denizen of the other world, and in terror I concealed my
face beneath the coverlet.
The fearful vision stood long by my bedside. It muttered much in a
melancholy and imploring voice; but the bed-cloaths, in which my head
was enveloped, prevented my distinguishing what was said, till I caught
something which sounded like “Amalberga:” that beloved name brought me
in some measure to myself. After a few moments’ hesitation I ventured to
lower the coverlet, and to look up.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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