—“As to Gessler’s death,” said he to himself, “that has rather improved my situation, than done me any harm. It has relieved me from the rival of my greatness, and authorises me to exercise that severity, which is necessary for my own views, under the fair-sounding name of just revenge. These late unavailing efforts to oppose my will have convinced me, that I have to do with a weak, powerless people, who may be incensed indeed so far as to make some show of resistance at first, but whom firmness and chastisement will soon reduce within the limits of abject submission. There are not many Tells among them, God be thanked! He was the only man whom I feared, and luckily he is either dead, or a voluntary exile in some distant country; report says the former; but let him be where he will, so he be not here to spirit up my slaves against me with his poisonous influence. _My_ slaves? Right; they are mine, no other’s. The ensuing year will, I trust, make clear to the world, for _whom_ I am labouring, and whose advantage and peril are most implicated in the business! Then when I have attained the height at which I aim, doubtless my new dignity being shared with their adored Amalberga will have no slight influence in reconciling these people to my authority; and her popularity will induce them to protect her husband against the wrath of the deceived Emperor. The precious prize once secure, I shall then have no need of this assumed severity; the affection of my subjects will suffice to preserve them in obedience; I shall be at liberty to follow the bent of my inclinations by ruling with a gentle sway; and all of us will at once be made happy, Amalberga, myself, and the country which we govern.”—