e prince wished to give himself wholly up to the
pleasure of seeing her, and, if possible, try to make her acquaintance
in the church. Civitella was to keep out of the way altogether, as his
reputation among the women of Venice was so bad that his presence could
not have failed to excite the suspicions of the lady. You see, dear
count, it was not through any want of precaution on our part that the
fair unknown escaped us.

Never, perhaps, was there offered up in any church such ardent prayers
for success, and never were hopes so cruelly disappointed. The prince
waited till after sunset, starting in expectation at every sound which
approached the chapel, and at every creaking of the church door. Seven
full hours passed, and no Greek lady. I need not describe his state of
mind. You know what hope deferred is, hope which one has nourished
unceasingly for seven days and nights.

LETTER VII.

BARON VON F------ TO COUNT VON O-------
July.

The mysterious unknown of the prince reminded Marquis Civitella of a
romantic incident which happened to himself a short time since, and, to
divert the prince, he offered to relate it. I will give it you in his
own words; but the lively spirit which he infuses into all he tells will
be lost in my narration.

(Here follows the subjoined fragment, which appeared in the eighth part
of the Thalia, and was originally intended for the second volume of the
Ghost-Seer. It found a place here after Schiller had given up the idea
of completing the Ghost-Seer.)

"In the spring of last year," began Civitella, "I had the misfortune to
embroil myself with the Spanish ambassador, a gentleman who, in his
seventieth year, had been guilty of the folly of wishing to marry a
Roman girl of eighteen. His vengeance pursued me, and my friends
advised me to secure my safety by a timely flight, and to keep out of
the way until the hand of nature, or an adjustment of differences, had
secured me from the wrath of this formidable enemy. As I felt it too
severe a punishment to quit Venice altogether, I took up my abode in a
distant quarter of the town, where I lived in a lonely house, under a
feigned name, keeping myself concealed by day, and devoting the night to
the society of my friends and of pleasure.

"My windows looked upon a garden, the west side of which was bounded by
the walls of a convent, while towards the east it jutted out into the
Laguna in the form of a little peninsula. The garden was cha