on this impudent plebeian; the Jesuits
encouraged him; and thus all lay in eager watch. An opportunity ere
long occurred. One week in 1778, there appeared in Schubart's
newspaper an Extract of a Letter from Vienna, stating that 'the
Empress Maria Theresa had been struck by apoplexy.' On reading which,
the General made instant application to his Ducal Highness, requesting
that the publisher of this 'atrocious libel' should be given up to him
and 'sent to expiate his crime in Hungary,' by imprisonment--for life.
The Duke desired his gallant friend to be at ease, for that _he_ had
long had his own eye on this man, and would himself take charge of
him. Accordingly, a few days afterwards, Herr von Scholl, Comptroller
of the Convent of Blaubeuren, came to Schubart with a multitude of
compliments, inviting him to dinner, "as there was a stranger wishing
to be introduced to him." Schubart sprang into the _Schlitten_ with
this wolf in sheep's clothing, and away they drove to Blaubeuren.
Arrived here, the honourable Herr von Scholl left him in a private
room, and soon returned with a posse of official Majors and Amtmen,
the chief of whom advanced to Schubart, and declared him--_an arrested
man_! The hapless Schubart thought it was a jest; but alas here was no
jesting! Schubart then said with a composure scarcely to be looked
for, that "he hoped the Duke would not condemn him unheard." In this
too he was deceived; the men of office made him mount a carriage with
them, and set off without delay for Hohenasperg. The Duke himself was
there with his Duchess, when these bloodhounds and their prey arrived:
the princely couple gazed from a window as the group went past them,
and a fellow-creature took his farewell look of sun and sky!

If hitherto the follies of this man have cast an air of farce upon his
sufferings, even when in part unmerited, such sentiments must now give
place to that of indignation at his cruel and cold-blooded
persecutors. Schubart, who never had the heart to hurt a fly, and with
all his indiscretions, had been no man's enemy but his own, was
conducted to a narrow subterraneous dungeon, and left, without book or
pen, or any sort of occupation or society, to chew the cud of bitter
thought, and count the leaden months as they passed over him, and
brought no mitigation of his misery. His Serene Transparency of
Wuertemberg, nay the heroic General himself, might have been satisfied,
could they have seen him: physical