For some years I lived in peace; my house was the rendezvous of the first people, who came to take the waters. I began to be more known among the very first and best people. I visited Professor Gellert at Leipzig, and asked his advice concerning what branch of literature he thought it was probable I might succeed in. He most approved my fables and tales, and blamed the excessive freedom with which I spoke in political writings. I neglected his advice, and many of the ensuing calamities were the consequence.

I received orders to correspond with His Majesty’s private secretary, Baron Roder; suffice it to say, my attempts to serve my country were frustrated; I saw defects too clearly, spoke my thoughts too frankly, and wanted sufficient humility ever to obtain favour.

In the year 1767 I wrote “The Macedonian Hero,” which became famous throughout all Germany. The poem did me honour, but entailed new persecutions; yet I never could repent: I have had the honour of presenting it to five reigning princes, by none of whom it has been burnt. The Empress alone was highly enraged. I had spoken as Nathan did to David, and the Jesuits now openly became my enemies.

The following trick was played me in 1768. A friend in Brussels was commissioned to receive my pay, from whom I learnt an interdict had been laid upon it by the court called Hofkriegsrath, in Vienna, in which I was condemned to pay seven hundred florins to one Bussy, with fourteen years’ interest.

Bussy was a known swindler. I therefore journeyed, post-haste, to Vienna. No hearing; no satisfactory account was to be obtained. The answer was, “Sentence is passed, therefore all attempts are too late.”

I applied to the Emperor Joseph, pledged my head to prove the falsification of this note; and entreated a revision of the cause. My request was granted and my attorney, Weyhrauch, was an upright man. When he requested a day of revision to be appointed, he was threatened to be committed by the referendary. Zetto, should he interfere and defend the affairs of Trenck. He answered firmly, “His defence is my business: I know my cause to be good.”

Four months did I continue in Vienna before the day was appointed to revise this cause. It now appeared there were erasures and holes through the paper in three places; all in court were convinced the claim ought to be annulled, and the claimant punished. Zetto ordered the parties to withdraw, and then so managed that the judges resolved that the case must be laid before the court with formal and written proofs.

This gave time for new knavery; I was obliged to return to Aix-la-Chapelle, and four years elapsed before this affair was decided. Two priests, in the interim, took false oaths that they had seen me receive money. At length, however, I proved that the note was dated a year after I had been imprisoned at Magdeburg. Further, my attorney proved the writs of the court had been falsified. Zetto, referendary, and Bussy, were the forgers; but I happened to be too active, and my attorney too honest, to lose this case. I was obliged to make three very expensive journeys from Aix-la-Chapelle to Vienna, lest judgement should go by default. Sentence at last was pronounced. I gained my cause, and the note was declared a forgery, but the costs, amounting to three thousand five hundred florins, I was obliged to pay, for Bussy could not: nor was he punished, though driven from Vienna for his villainous acts. Zetto, however, still continued for eleven years my persecutor, till he was deprived of his office, and condemned to the House of Correction.

My knowledge of the world increased at Aix-la-Chapelle, where men of all characters met. In the morning I conversed with a lord in opposition, in the afternoon with an orator of the King’s party, and in the evening with an honest man of no party. I sent Hungarian wine into England, France, Holland, and the Empire. This occasioned me to undertake long journeys, and as my increased acquaintance gave me opportunities of receiving foreigners with politeness an my own house, I was also well received wherever I went.

The income I should have had from Vienna was engulfed by law-suits, attorneys, and the journeys I undertook; having been thrice cited to appear, in person, before the Hofkriegsrath. No hope remained. I was described as a dangerous malcontent, who had deserted his native land. I nevertheless remained an honest man; one who could provide for his necessities without the favour of courts; one whose acquaintance was esteemed. In Vienna alone was I unsought, unemployed, and obscure.

One day an accident happened which made me renowned as a magician, as one who had power over fogs and clouds.

I had a quarrel with the Palatine President, Baron Blankart, concerning a hunting district. I wrote to him that he should repair to the spot in dispute, whither I would attend with sword and pistol, hoping he would there give me satisfaction for the affront I had received. Thither I went, with two huntsmen and two friends, but instead of the baron I found two hundred armed peasants assembled.

I sent one of my huntsmen to the army of the enemy, informing them that, if they did not retreat, I should fire. The day was fine, but a thick and impenetrable fog arose. My huntsman returned, with intelligence that, having delivered his message just as the fog came on, these heroes had all run away with fright.

I advanced, fired my piece, as did my followers, and marched to the mansion of my adversary, where my hunting-horn was blown in triumph in his courtyard. The runaway peasants fired, but the fog prevented their taking aim.

I returned home, where many false reports had preceded me. My wife expected I should be brought home dead; however, not the least mischief had happened.

It soon was propagated through the country that I had raised a fog to render myself invisible, and that the truth of this could be justified by two hundred witnesses. All the monks of Aix-la-Chapelle, Juliers, and Cologne, preached concerning me, reviled me, and warned the people to beware of the arch-magician and Lutheran, Trenck.

On a future occasion, this belief I turned to merriment. I went to hunt the wolf in the forests of Montjoie, and invited the townsmen to the chase. Towards evening I, and some forty of my followers, retired to rest in the charcoal huts, provided with wine and brandy. “My lads,” said I, “it is necessary you should discharge your pieces, and load them anew; that to-morrow no wolf may escape, and that none of you excuse yourselves on your pieces missing fire.” The guns were reloaded, and placed in a separate chamber. While they were merry-making, my huntsman drew the balls, and charged the pieces with powder, several of which he loaded with double charges. Some of their notched balls I put into my pocket.

In the morning away went I and my fellows to the chase. Their conversation turned on my necromancy, and the manner in which I could envelope myself in a cloud, or make myself bullet-proof. “What is that you are talking about?” said I.—“Some of these unbelieving folks,” answered my huntsman, “affirm your honour is unable to ward off balls.”—“Well, then,” said I, “fire away, and try.” My huntsman fired. I pretended to parry with my hand, and called, “Let any man that is so inclined fire, but only one at a time.” Accordingly they began, and, pretending to twist and turn about, I suffered them all to discharge their pieces. My people had carefully noticed that no man had reloaded his gun. Some of them received such blows from the guns that were doubly charged that they fell, terrified at the powers of magic. I advanced, holding in my hand some of the marked balls. “Let every one choose his own,” called I. All stood motionless, and many of them slunk home with their guns on their shoulders; some remained, and our sport was excellent.

On Sunday the monks of Aix-la-Chapelle again began to preach. My black art became the theme of the whole country, and to this day many of the people make oath that they fired upon me, and that, after catching them, I returned the balls.

My invulnerable qualities were published throughout Juliers, Aix-la-Chapelle, Maestricht, and Cologne, and perhaps this belief saved my life; the priests having propagated it from their pulpits, in a country which swarms with highway robbers, and where, for a single ducat, any man may hire an assassin.

It is no small surprise that I should have preserved my life, in a town where there are twenty-three monasteries and churches, and where the monks are adored as deities. The Catholic clergy had been enraged against me by my poem of “The Macedonian Hero;” and in 1772 I published a newspaper at Aix-la-Chapelle, and another work entitled, “The Friend of Men,” in which I unmasked hypocrisy. A major of the apostolic Maria Theresa, writing thus in a town swarming with friars, and in a tone so undaunted, was unexampled.

At present, now that freedom of opinion is encouraged by the Emperor, many essayists encounter bigotry and deceit with ridicule; or, wanting invention themselves, publish extracts from writings of the age of Luther. But I have the honour of having attacked the pillars of the Romish hierarchy in days more dangerous. I may boast of being the first German who raised a fermentation on the Upper Rhine and in Austria, so advantageous to truth, the progress of the understanding, and the happiness of futurity.

My writings contain nothing inimical to the morality taught by Christ. I attacked the sale of indulgences, the avarice of Rome, the laziness, deceit, gluttony, robbery, and blood-sucking of the monks of Aix-la-Chapelle. The arch-priest, and nine of his coadjutors, declared every Sunday that I was a freethinker, a wizard, one whom every man, wishing well to God and the Church, ought to assassinate. Father Zunder declared me an outlaw, and a day was appointed on which my writings were to be burnt before my house, and its inhabitants massacred. My wife received letters warning her to fly for safety, which warning she obeyed. I and two of my huntsmen remained, provided with eighty-four loaded muskets. These I displayed before the window, that all might be convinced that I would make a defence. The appointed day came, and Father Zunder, with my writings in his hand, appeared ready for the attack; the other monks had incited the townspeople to a storm. Thus passed the day and night in suspense.

In the morning a fire broke out in the town. I hastened, with my two huntsmen, well armed, to give assistance; we dashed the water from our buckets, and all obeyed my directions. Father Zunder and his students were there likewise. I struck his anointed ear with my leathern bucket, which no man thought proper to notice. I passed undaunted through the crowd; the people smiled, pulled off their hats, and wished me a good-morning. The people of Aix-la-Chapelle were bigots, but too cowardly to murder a man who was prepared for his own defence.

As I was riding to Maestricht, a ball whistled by my ears, which, no doubt, was a messenger sent after me by these persecuting priests.

When hunting near the convent of Schwartzenbruck, three Dominicans lay in ambush behind a hedge. One of their colleagues pointed out the place. I was on my guard with my gun, drew near, and called out, “Shoot, scoundrels! but do not kill me, for the devil stands ready for you at your elbow.” One fired, and all ran: The ball hit my hat. I fired and wounded one desperately, whom the others carried off.

In 1774, journeying from Spa to Limbourg, I was attacked by eight banditti. The weather was rainy, and my musket was in its case; my sabre was entangled in my belt, so that I was obliged to defend myself as with a club. I sprang from the carriage, and fought in defence of my life, striking down all before me, while my faithful huntsman protected me behind. I dispersed my assailants, hastened to my carriage, and drove away. One of these fellows was soon after hanged, and owned that the confessor of the banditti had promised absolution could they but despatch me, but that no man could shoot me, because Lucifer had rendered me invulnerable. My agility, fighting, too, for life, was superior to theirs, and they buried two of their gang, whom with my heavy sabre I had killed.

To such excess of cruelty may the violence of priests be carried! I attacked only gross abuses—the deceit of the monks of Aix-la-Chapelle, Cologne, and LiÉge, where they are worse than cannibals. I wished to inculcate true Christian duties among my fellow-citizens, and the attempt was sufficient to irritate the selfish Church of Rome.

From my Empress I had nothing to hope. Her confessor had painted me as a persecutor of the blessed Mother Church. Nor was this all. Opinions were propagated throughout Vienna that I was a dangerous man to the community.

Hence I was always wronged in courts of judicature, where there are ever to be found wicked men. They thought they were serving the cause of God by injuring me. Yet they were unable to prevent my writings from producing me much money, or from being circulated through all Germany. The Aix-la-Chapelle Journal became so famous, that in the second year I had four thousand subscribers, by each of whom I gained a ducat.

The postmasters, who gained considerably by circulating newspapers, were envious, because the Aix-la-Chapelle Journal destroyed several of the others, and they therefore formed a combination.

Prince Charles of Sweden placed confidence in me during his residence at Aix-la-Chapelle and Spa, and I accompanied him into Holland. When I took my leave of him at Maestricht, he said to me, “When my father dies, either my brother shall be King, or we will lose our heads.” The King died, and Prince Charles soon after said, in the postscript of one of his letters, “What we spoke of at Maestricht will soon be fully accomplished, and you may then come to Stockholm.”

On this, I inserted an article in my journal declaring a revolution had taken place in Sweden, that the king had made himself absolute. The other papers expressed their doubts, and I offered to wager a thousand ducats on the truth of the article published in my journal under the title of “Aix-la-Chapelle.” The news of the revolution in Sweden was confirmed.

My journal foretold the Polish partition six weeks sooner than any other; but how I obtained this news must not be mentioned. I was active in the defence of Queen Matilda of Denmark.

The French Ministry were offended at the following pasquinade:—“The three eagles have rent the Polish bear, without losing a feather with which any man in the Cabinet of Versailles can write. Since the death of Mazarin, they write only with goose-quills.”

By desire of the King of Poland, I wrote a narrative of the attempt made to assassinate him, and named the nuncio who had given absolution to the conspirators in the chapel of the Holy Virgin.

The house was now in flames. Rome insisted I should recall my words. Her nuncio, at Cologne, vented poison, daggers, and excommunication; the Empress-Queen herself thought proper to interfere. I obtained, for my justification, from Warsaw a copy of the examination of the conspirators. This I threatened to publish, and stood unmoved in the defence of truth.

The Empress wrote to the Postmaster-General of the Empire, and commanded him to lay an interdict on the Aix-la-Chapelle Journal. Informed of this, I ended its publication with the year, but wrote an essay on the partition of Poland, which also did but increase my enemies.

The magistracy of Aix-la-Chapelle is elected from the people, and the Burghers’ court consists of an ignorant rabble. I know no exceptions but Baron Lamberte and De Witte; and this people assume titles of dignity, for which they are amenable to the court at Vienna. Knowing I should find little protection at Vienna, they imagined they might drive me from their town. I was a spy on their evil deeds, of whom they would have rid themselves. I knew that the two sheriffs, Kloss and Furth, and the recorder, Geyer, had robbed the town-chamber of forty thousand dollars, and divided the spoil. To these I was a dangerous man. For such reasons they sought a quarrel with me, pretending I had committed a trespass by breaking down a hedge, and cited me to appear at the town-house.

The postmaster, Heinsberg, of Aix-la-Chapelle, although he had two thousand three hundred rix-dollars of mine in his possession, instituted false suits against me, obtained verdicts against me, seized on a cargo of wine at Cologne, and I incurred losses to the amount of eighteen thousand florins, which devoured the fortune of my wife, and by which she, with myself and my children, were reduced to poverty.

The Gravenitz himself, in 1778, acknowledged how much he had injured me, affirmed he had been deceived, and promised he would try to obtain restitution. I forgave him, and he attempted to keep his promise; but his power declined; the bribes he had received became too public. He was dispossessed of his post, but, alas! too late for me. Two other of my judges are at this time obliged to sweep the streets of Vienna, where they are condemned to the House of Correction. Had this been their employment instead of being seated on the seat of judgment twenty years ago, I might have been more fortunate. It is a remarkable circumstance that I should so continually have been despoiled by unjust judges. Who would have had the temerity to affirm that their evil deeds should bring them to attend on the city scavenger? I indeed knew them but too well, and fearlessly spoke what I knew. It was my misfortune that I was acquainted with their malpractices sooner than gracious Sovereign.

Let the scene close on my litigations at Aix-la-Chapelle and Vienna. May God preserve every honest man from the like! They have swallowed up my property, and that of my wife. Enough!