LI E> RAR.Y OF THE UN IVER.5ITY or ILLI NOIS L58f 1807 v. I Digitized by tine Internet Archive in 2009 witin funding from University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign http://www.archive.org/details/feudaltyrantsorc01lewi FEUrhAX TYRANTS, VOL. L FJEUBAIL TYMANTS? OR, The Counts of Carlshelm a7id Sargans. A ROMANCE. TAKEN FROM THE GERMAN^ IN FOUR VOLUMES. By M. G. lewis, AUTHOR OF The Bravo oj Venice^ AdelgUkUy Rugantino^ ^c, VOL. i. SECOND EDITION^ I'he portals sound, and.paclng forlN Withfitatcly steps and slow, * High potentates, and dames of regal birtb, And mitred fathers in long order gOf Grat^ lonuon : Mated by D. N. SHVRY, Bervrkk SCrMt, Sobe, jroR J. r. HUGHES; wiomore'streetj cavendish SQUARE. 1807, FEUDAL TYRANTS, <^c. Sy , i'i '..ii.i^i: ^ % S 10 Elizabeth to, Conrad* Confad, what am I to think of you ? —you almost iadopted in yotif first let- ters to me the tone of adoration ; I was a " model of female constancy ;'* I was " an unequalled woman.'* In your iast, the secret seems to have escaped you, "that nothing but the prepossession of a fascinated husband could have made me what I am.'* I guess your views : you hope to draw from me some decision favorable to the claims of the Damsels of Wer den- berg ; but in trutli I am not arrived at such high excellence in the science of self denial. It is easy, my good Abbot, to to give away half our property out of Yiure generosity, even though we meet in return with nothing but " ingratitude ; but it is hardj very }i2ivd to bestow that same half on those who tii^ink they h^rv^e a title to it J even though all the universe should admire andppaiseus.for. . . . hav- ing dgne our di/fy. My brother Oswald, who |ias arrived here within ' these few. days, salutes ypu, and recommends himself to your pyayers. M ^J 12 Conrad to Elizabeth. I was certain, before I read the con- clusion of your letter, that Count Os- wald was not far from you : uninflu- enced, never could Elizabeth have suf- fered her hand to trace such words ! Go then, ye innocent victims of slander, even from the generous Elizabeth have ye nothing to hope ! she terms you " the Damsels of Werdenberg," without recollecting that another name would have belonged to you, had not fortune robbed you of it in order to confer it upon her. Go then, go, ttou gentle Constantia j go too, afflicted and much belied Ida ; increase the number of the unfortunate IS unfortunate ladies of Sargans, and live upon the bounty of the vassals of your forefathers : the heiress of Torrenburg has nothing to bestow upon you, not even unavailing pity ; of justice I will not speak. Under what climate of Heaven you now exist, Elizabeth knows not, asks not, cares not ! 14 Elizabeth to Conrad, I have long remarked one fault in you, my good Abbot ; you ge^eraily press your point too eagerly, and thus ruin the cause which you support, with those whose natural inclinations would have, disposed them otherwise to do what you require. Not that this is the case with 7Jie ; to convince you of which, I now entreat you for the present, and only for the present, to be silent on a subject which (from causes as yet un- known to you) pains my heart most cruelly. I am not ignorant ofConstantia's abode ; as to Ida. ... yet why should I concern myself about the Dainsels of Werdenbcrg ? 1^ Werdenberg ? If (as you assert) I have robbed thenr of a naine wliich but for me would have belonged to- them, they perhaps have deprived me of another^ which was more precious to me than my life ; a name, which was the long- wished-for goal of all my fondest hopes j a name, for which I would have ex- changed the high-sounding title o£ '^heiress of.Torrenburg," Gbd knows how willingly ! Suffer me to chuse another subject—^ you seem to be well acquainted with the annals of the family with which I am become connected by marriage \ it is certain at least, that neither in your con- versations or letters have I ever heard you mention the knights and ladies of the houses of Carlsheim and Sargans, without 16 without applying to them some striking epithet. Even in your very last epistles, *' the unfortunate ladies,*' — " the illus- trious ladies of Sargans," — were men- tioned Who were these remarkable per- sonages,andwhatwere their misfortunes? If it lies in your power to give me any account of them, you will oblige me by making them the subject of your future letters. Otherwise I am necessitated to request a temporary interruption of our correspondence, as I am not desirous of reading more upon the subject which of late has employed your pen. 17 Conrad to Elizabeth. The annals of the ladies of Sargans are in the possession of the Abbess of Zurich, whose convent you at present inhabit. I can myself do no more than furnish you with a short supplement to this family history, and which I will readily transmit to you, whenever you think proper to renew a correspondence, which ceases for the present with this letter. IS Elizabeth to Count Oswald of March I have offended our good old Conrad : the correspondence which I have kept up for so many years with the faithful instructor of my childhood is at length laid aside 5 and many a vacant hour as this instructive intercourse has beguiled, I yet must confess, I am not sorry that it has ceased for the present. Conrad latterly began to press me too hard upon a subject, on which (in compliance, dear brother, with your advice) I am deter- mined not to come to any hasty deter- mination. Ah ! the point would have been determined long ago, had I not been compelled to hesitate by your friendly 19 friendly representations and the weak ness of my own heart ! And yet, dear Oswald, to confess the truth, the latter had more influence with me than the former. Paint to me in as brilliant colours as you chuse the advantage of being sovereign lady of such an extensive territory •, ah ! can the empty pride of governing a turbu- lent ungrateful people restore to me. the ruined tranquillity of my heart ? My wealth and power were even beyond my wishes, unaided by the liberal be- quest of my dear, my partial husband ; and long ago should Constantia have enjoyed those rights to which (so at least they say) her claitn is undoubted, were it not that Ida must necessarily have shared in the good-fortune of her jsister ; 20 sister ; Ida, who stole from me the heart of Montfort 1 Ida, who trampled on the fondest wishes of my soul ! No ! that thought is not to be endured ! The wan- ton arts of that perfidious girl forced me from the bosom of my Henry into the aged arms of the Count of Torrenburg : now then let her enjoy the fruits of her good deedl Gratitude taught me to love Frederick, and to forget Henry ; but to reward these traitors for having so successfully betrayed me ; to enrich them with all that has been bestowed on me by the la^t will of the excellent pos- sessor. . . this is a pitch of heroic virtue, of which I can be capable but in a very few moments of romantic enthusiasm. In one of those moments, you, dear Oswald, came to my assistance, rouzed me 21 me from my dream of heroism, dissi- pated the vapours which bewildered my senses, and now you may rest secure that I shall make no rash resolutions I confess, the Abbot helped to give your advice effect, by preaching to me such endless sermons dhout Justice, What then, my good Conrad ? the conferring happiness on those perfidious hypocrites by whom my confidence has been so cruelly abused, this sacrifice which but to think upon makes all my long-infiict- ed w^ounds bleed afresh^ all this would be nothing more than an every-day performance of a positive duty ? Is this the way to estimate one of the most difficult tasks of self-victory that ever was prescribed to the heart of a woman ? Agitated 22 Agitated as are my present feelings, 1 dare not trust myself to be much alone. I seek every where for subjects of amuse- ment, but find every where ennui. You, my kind friend, are at a distance, and my epistolary communication with Conrad, to which I have been so long accustomed, has for the present ceased entirely. Yet the good Abbot, to whom I am already under such obligations, is also in tJj'is instance the cause of my looking forward to some future meajis of rescuing myself from this state of tedious indolence. In hopes of leading him away from a topic, which I am at present unwill- ing to discuss, I reminded Jiim of the antient histories of the Counts of Carl- sheim and Sargans ; and I requested bini 23 him to make them the subject of his future correspondence — ^you know, the old man is generally delighted to find an opportunity of talking over such mat- ters ; but just now he is too much offend- ed with me, and too much occupied with a different business, to permit him- self to be lured away from his point by this little artifice. He has coldly refer- red me for information to the Abbess of Zurich ; and the want of other amuse- ment has actually induced me to apply to her on this subject, which, when I first took it up, wks merely a pretence for relieving myself from the pressure of Conrad's too urgent solicitations. The Abbess as yet has only given me distant hopes that my curiosity shall be indulged^ but by dint 'of repeated pe- • titions, 24 titions, I trust I shall persuade her to commi«nicate to me these " important and remarkable writings," as the Abbess calls them. Should I succeed, I shall not fail, oh ! most learned of all knights of the present day ! to lay whatever seems worthy of attention before your philosophical eyes. Sigisbert^ Bishop of Coira,- to the Abboi Conrad. Without attempting further to influence her conduct, let Elizabeth be permitted to act according to her own pleasure : I know her motives ; I know that in the end we shall have reason to be satisfied with her. I ^m informed also, that she has already taken some such steps towards settling this important business as will bear but One interpretation. Letters have been received from her by our friend the Senechal, a man whose superior for pro- bity is not to be found in Zurich ; in these letters Ehzabeth explains the VOL. I. • c whole 26 whole transaction, requests him to act as au impartial judge, and engages to obey his decision bhndly. You know well the venerable Albert Reding, to whose justice the whole country refers every dispute of consequence ; think you, he will decide to the disadvantage of inno- cence ? Not that I have obtained my knowledge of these secret particulars from Albert himself, the delicacy of Whose opinions on this species of confidence is extreme. In truth, he carries that de- licacy so far, that he anxiously avoids mentioning the disputes between the Countess and her vassals, and endea- vours, when others speak of them, to listen with a cold indifferent air ; but I read plainly on his serious brow that he meditates deeply on the subject ; he weighs 27 weighs the bequest of Count - Frederick, and the situation of the unfortunate sis- ters, and I can prophecy to which side the balance will incline. He, who never yet gave an unfair judgment ; he, who has never deserved to have an appeal made from his decision, cannot surely pronounce erroneously upon a business like this. Your intention of laying before Eliza- beth's eyes the whole history of the re- jected heiresses ofTorrenburg is well imagined, and may produce a good effect : but what shall I say to you res- pecting your imprudence, in advising her to inspect the private annals of the liouse of Sargans ? My good but incon- siderate friend, are you then ignorant of the part which your Abbey plays in c 2 these 28 these memorials of the days of yore? Is it adviseable, think you, to lay before the laity the transgressions of the church? Let us rejoice, that we walk ourselves in the paths of virtue, without endeavour- ing to make our own merits appear more shining, by contrasting them with the crimes of our predecessors. Yet I know well, that so mean a design was far from the thoughts of my good Conrad; he has only erred through want of consideration. I shall immediately endeavour, if possible^ to repair your fault ; already must letters from me have reached the Abbess of Zurich, and I hope that Elizabeth will not be suffered to peruse a single line of the papers. It is but a short time ^ince these curious Memoirs 29 Memoirs were in my possession ; and I can assure you (if, as I take for granted, you are not already conscious of it) they contain many circumstances, which for the honour of the Abbey of Curwald, and (with grief I write it) for that of some of my own ancestors, had better remain for ever unknown. c 5 30 Elizabeth to Count Oswald. In vain do I strive to turn my thoughts from Montfort ; the reflection '* wliat is to become of him" occupies my mind incessantly. Alas ! there was a time, when I loved him with such passion ! when there was nothing which I would not have given to pur- chase for him one moment's hap- piness ! and nowy oh ! what a change ! shcj who once was ready to sacrifice for this Montfort every thing, even the affection of a warning brother, who saw deeper into the deceiver's heart than herself; she now hesitates, by giving up a few super- fluous miles of territory and some high-* i^ounding 31 soundingempty titles, to rescue him from the very abyss of miser)^ and ruin 1 — and all this change in her heart is pro- duced by the sole reflection, that Mont- fort's prosperity would now be shared no longer with herself. Oh 1 Elizabeth! Elizabeth ! thou hast a groveling soul ! thy passion for Henry, so falsely called heroic, was nothing better than mere self-love ! Chide me not, dear brother, for this want of resolution ; I am conscious the expression of such feelings must be little expected by you after the temper of mind, in which you saw me when we parted : but you know not the dreadful contest between affection and duty, .which has but lately been excited in my bosom— what ! Henry imprisoned by c 4 his 32 liis uncle, as a punishment for having bestowed his heart on the portionless Ida? Henry, commanded by the in- censed Count de Monfort to purchase liberty by offering me his hand ? What then, do I live to see my nuptial bed made the alternative of a dungeon ? Oswald ! Oswald ! oh ! what a humi- liation for the proud Elizabeth, let what is required of him be refused or accept- ed by Henry ! — as for myself, my reso- lution is fixed ; but yet, through res- pect for you and your counsels, it has not been fixed till after mature delibera- tion. I will not have the appearance of acting either from an impulse of extra- vagant generosity, or from that spirit of refined vengeance, which induces us to crush our enemies under the load of obligations : obligations : no ; I will do nothing but my duty. I have submitted the whole affair to the decision of Im impartial judge : I will ascertain exactly how much I oi/gbt to do for the Damsels of Werdenberg, and exactly that much will I do, without desiring to be thanked by any one. What would be my feelings, Oswald. . . . Heaven and Earth 1 w^hat would be my feelings, were I to hear Montfort thank me for having kindly facilitated his union with his beloved Ida! 34 Elizabeth to Oswald. My brother, we will in future chuse other subjects for discussion : Mont- fort and Ida ouglit now to hold a place no longer in my private thoughts, nor shaH their names be ever again traced by my pen. To banish tliese spectres which haunt m*y mind so fearfully, and bury them for ever in obHvion, or at least only to remember them with con- tempt, surely I need but to recall that memorable day, when my dear exaspe- rated brother forgave the lovesick-girl's elopement, her elopement with this de- ceitful Montfort ; when he promised still to acknowledge her as his sister, and condescended 3S condescended to make known to the traitor with his own lips, that Count Os- wald would not disdain to honour and esteem him as his sister's husband-— and then let me remember, how Henry led the proud Elizabeth in triumph to the altar ; and how at the very moment that he prepared to swear to her eternal con- stancy, the irrevocable word refused to pass his lips, because. . . . because among her attendants he discovered a face, whose features seemed to him more lovely than his bride's. Oh ! when I recolle<^t these circum- stances, my brother ! the Damsels of Werdenberg, the chosen friends of my bosom, were invited to place the nuptial garland on my brow, and the f^ilseones tore it in pieces, and trampled it under c 6 their 36 their feet. With what a look of horror and aversion did Henry throw away my hand ! He affected to be suddenly indis- posed too ! oh ! 'twas a mere pretence ! his midnight flight from the Castle, and his consternation at hearing, that those perfidious girls were gone, ought to have left me no doubt upon the subject; yet I suspected nothing till the cruel news arrived, that Ida's fate was as closely connected with Henry's, as I once had flattered myself to have seen my own. Again 1 repeat it, I will discuss this subject no longer. My prayers had once the power of soothing Oswald's vengeance and saving the offender's life; shall my lamentations excite . afresh that sleeping vengeance ?— No ! I will be be silent ! — I thank you, dear Oswald, for all your kindness ; still love Eliza- beth, but strive not to avenge her. EUzaheth to Oswald* I doubt whether I act wisely in writ- ing to you so often ? a less interesting occupation would conduce more to the tranquillity of my bosom, and such an occupation am I earnestly endeavouring to procure. A visit to the Abbess, for the purpose of renewing my entreaties respecting the annals of SarganSj has exalted my curiosity to the very highest pitch. I am sensible, that anxiety to learn the sufferings of those who have been as unfortunate as myself, alleviates the weight of my own afflictions. The Abbess appeared to be undecided whether 39 whether she should indulge me with a sight of these writings, which she had already been drawn into an half pro- mise to communicate. — " My dear lady," said she smiling, "had you not rather obtain a personal knowledge of those ladies, who are treat- ed of in these moth-eaten ill-written leaves, and w^hose adventures, or at least as much of them as deserves your attention, I can myself relate to you concisely ? — Look 1" she continued,, at the same time removing a silken curtain which extended itself over the whole western side of her closet 3 " look ! here are the portraits of the most remark- able among those celebrated ladies, res- pecting whose lives some idle person has contrived to make you so inquisitive. I confess, 40 confess, I do possess the writings ia question ; but believe me, daughter, they are buried under such a heap of un- interesting papers relating to different matters, that to explore them would be too tedious a task for the leisure of an anchoret or the patience of a saint." I stood silent, and listened, and look- ed ; but in truth the speaking portraits of these females, the most lovely and ex- cellent of their day, and the interesting fragments of their annals which escaped from the Abbess of Zurich as she pointed them out to me by name, were by no means likely to cure me of my inclina- tion to know more of their adventures. You are not the only one of the fami- ly, Oswald, who possesses the talent of persuasion ) your sister too inherits some 41 some little portion of that for which her brother is so remarkable. I conquered ; and before evening arrived, I had the satisfaction to see brought into my chamber a large iron chest, which con- tained materials of sufficient interest to steal me from my own sorrows, and transport me into a different world from that in which I am existing — oh ! how delightful is it for a wounded heart thus to steal itself away from the theatre of its afflictions ! 42 Elizaf?eth to Oswalds The morning broke, and found mc still occupied in examining the moth- eaten parchments j selecting those which appeared to be the most interesting, and separating them from the rest, which I purposed to reserve for a future oppor- tunity. It was fortunate, that I did riot delay this examination till the next day. Scarcely were the nuns returned from matins, when my treasure was redemanded of me> The Abbess came to make excuses in person. She talked of secrets regarding the Convent, and the commands of the Bishop of Coira, though 43 though, as far as I can make out, the, great lady (for such is the appellation which the nuns give the Domina of Zu- rich) is totally independent of him. She might as well have spared her apologies; I was angry, and scarcely could prevail on myself to answer her with common politeness. She had broken her word with me ; and therefore I feel but little compunction for having over-reached her, and kept back several of the writ- ings, which I had previously laid aside. They happen to be exactly those (at least I hope so) which the sight of those por- traits in the Domina's closet had made me mogt anxious to examine. One parcel consists of the Memoirs of Urania Venosta ; she is pale, and a black veil half conceals her features j yet the 44 the grief which is exprest in her counte- nance (the picture represents her in the decline of life) has still left her charms sufficient to make us guess, how- perfect must have been her beauty while yet in the full bloom of youth. Another packet contains some ac- count of the unfortunate Adelaide, lady of the Beacon-Tower -, she was a daughter of the house of Carlsheim, and had reso- lution enough to attend upon her unfor- tunate husband till his last breath, which he was doomed to breathe out upon the scaffold 1 Adelaide only left the place of execution to lay herself down, and die. I possess also the adventures of two Damsels of Sargans, who particularly arrested my attention yesterday in the closet of the Domina — The picture re- presented 45 presented them as two solitary pilgrims, both imprest with beauty and innocence in every feature — features, which seemed to be not totally unknown to me, and which even recalled those to my memo- ry, which my partial friendship once viewed with such fond admiration, while gazing on Constantia and her per- fidious sister ! — They were represented, as wandering on a barren mountain co- vered with snow, and endeavouring with inexpressible anxiety in different quarters to discover an out-let from this desolate pass, where they must inevitably perish, unless some higher power should graciously interpose in their behalf. In truth, I fancied that I could discover in the back-ground of the picture a faint shadow, which seemed to beckon one of 46 the poor wanderers to advance : pro- bably it meant to convey the idea • of a guardian angel, or a saint, who had descended from Heaven to guide the distressed pilgrims out of this fearful, labyrinth. Besides these, I have kept back seve- ral other fragments of less interest, which I shall not examine, till all those which I have mentioned have been gone through, and their contents communi- cated to you, dear Oswald, Into the bargain, the Domina (in hopes, I sup- pose, of softening my resentment) sent me by the hands of a lay-sister the hfe of one of her predecessors, who had ako belonged to the family of Sargans, and respecting whom she thought, that what she had told me respecting her wisdom and 47 and piety, must needs have powerfully- excited my curiosity. I took the pon- derous roll of parchment with many thanks ; I have already ran through it, and returned it, for it contained nothing except that this worthy Abbess was not only a saint, but was also a woman of great learning; that she had sacri- ilced to the Muses at the same time with Walter of Vogelfeld, the Counts of Hapsburg and Welsh-Neuburg, the Ab- bot of Einsiedel, and the Bishop of Constance, and had carried off the prize from those distinguished Authors ; and fin ally, that she had instituted a weekly meeting of literati at the house of Rudi- ger Manstein, the burgo-master of Zu- rich. These particulars possest very few ^ charms 48 charms for me ; and the moment that I was left to myself, I had recourse to my precious stolen treasure, of which I shall immediately communicate to you as much, as I have as yet had leisure to peruse. Oh ! my kind Oswald, will you not blame me, when I confess, that even this interesting occupation was insufficient to banish Montfort from my mind ? Yet to waste another thought on this paragon of human perfidy is too great a weakness — I will return to my parchments, in hopes to collecting from the sorrows of others resolution enou2:h to endure my own with patience. BART THE SFXOND, MEMOIRS OF UEIANIA VENOSTA. It afFords the mind a melancholy pleasur^ to look back in, the evening of life, and contemplate the path which conducted us to that place of shelter, where, tranquillity awaits us, an^d which at length appears ia sight. Yet in such a moment we. obtain but^an imperfect VOL. I. t) view 50 view of the scenes through which we past; and the sensations which we at the time experienced, have already lost much of their poignancy. The chillness of approaching night makes us almost forget our sufferings, while toiling un- der the heat of the mid-day sun; and our eye glides easily along the deep vallies in which we feared to lose our way, and over the lofty mountains which it cost us so much labour to ascend — The whole now seems blended together, and wc perceive scarcely any thing but a level surface ; for the distance of those ob- jects which we have left behind, and the darkness growing deeper with every moment, delude our eyes, and hide from us almost every thing, which once in- spired us with such well-founded terror. Alas » 51 Alas! the pleasures of our pilgrimage are lost to us, as well as^ itb diiliculties and its dangers ! we no longer see the flowers ot the vale, in which we loitered 5 we hear no more the murmur of the brook, whose clear streams refreshed us when fainting with fatigue and thirst ! we retain of the whole but one sensa- tion ; that the whole is past ! — and we wonder not a little, when the transient recollection of former events occasionally flits before us, how such trifles could have posses t the power of affecting u^ with violence so extreme. Such are our feelings in the decline of life"; feelings which you too, beloved- ones, for whom I trace these lines, which you, my Amalberga, and you, my gentle Emmeline, will experience at the D 2 appointed imRARY 52 appointed hour. Alas ! before that hour arrives, you must wander through a long and painful way, counting many a step of toil, and many a tear of sor- row : I feel it to be my duty once more to examine tlie road by which I have past myself ; and by explaining to you the obstacles which impeded me in my progress, I hope to enable you to over- come those, which may present them- selves before you in your own. The spring of my life was bright and lovely. I was educated with the m.ost illustrious young women of the age, and numbered tlie children of so- vereigns among my play-mates. The daughters of the Count of Hapsburg liv- ed with me like sisters ; and ev^when Rudolf was elected Emperor, and their i fatlier's father's elevation authorized them to exr pcct to share the thrones of the first Sovereigns of Europe, still did pur friendship continue in full force. What have innocence and inexperienced youth to do v/ith dignity and grandeur ? Things of this nature only furnished us with a subject for mirth ; we past in re view the Princes, both young and old, who solicited the good graces of the Em- peror's daughters ; we discussed freely their merits and defects, portioned them out among our society, and amused ourselves with jesting at the unfortunate maiden, to whom the worst lot fell. The number of these illustrious suitors was seven ; and as the Princesses with myself made exactly the same number,! D 3 necessariJy 54 necessarily came in for my share in this allotment. Unfortunately, what at first was mere jesting at length became serious. The Duke of Saxony, who at his first arrival seemed to limit all his wishes to the pos- session of the Princess Matilda, (RudolPs eldest daughter,) began to imagine, that her companion Urania was the superior beauty of the two. As it was generally believed (both on account of the unifor* mity which prevailed in our society, and of our never being separated) that I was the sister of my friends, the Duke thought it a matter of very little conse- quence, to which of the Emperor's daughters he paid his addresses ; and he showed his election in my favour so plainly 55 plainly and so publicly, that Rudolf or- dered me to quit his court. My remo- val was so sudden, that no step could be taken by the Duke in this import- ant business : my father had fallen in the late popular commotions at Basle ; I had never known my mother ; I was consigned to the guardianship of an uncle, who had purchased considerable possessions in the neighbourhood of the Rhsetian Alps, where he resided far from the tumult of the court in freedom and tranquillity. Count Leopold Venosta received me with open arms. Painful as had been my separation from the friends of my childhood, still I was not insensible to the charm of being released from the chains of court etiquette, even though D 4 the 56 the chains which I had borne had been so light and easy. The air of liberty fan- ned my cheeks at every step I took; the peasants of Rhsetia (who had now abnost universally shaken off the fetters of their lordly masters) celebrated on all sides the feast of freedom, and invited the neighbouring inhabitants of the Val- teline to participate in their hap- piness. Oh ! what delightful scenes were these for a young.and feeling heart ! —and. yet: I had not sufficient expe- rience to perceive their whole beatity and singularity. —Too often is -liberty purchased dearly by the effusion of blood; and joy at obtaining the so lopg u-ished-for blessing is sullied by niclan- choly' recollections of the means, by which that blessing was obtained. In tbis • 57 this instance, it was the reward of tem- perance and industry, which had at length succeeded in their efforts to burst the chains of luxury and oppression. Knights and Monks, the former owners of these possessions, had long indulged without reflection or restraint every caprice of their voluptuous fancies, till they became the debtors of their own vassals ; who in the mean while had been advancing silently tov/ards their, grand object through diligence in la- bour and propriety in morals, and now v/ere able to set at defiance those, whose iriaves and victims they had been so long. The impoverished libertines found themselves without resource ; they were obliged to rest contented with bestowing angry looks on their em^ran* D 5 chised .58 chised vassals, as often as accident brought them in their way, and with indulging their spleen in intemperate railing at (what they termed) the caprice of fortune. But Count Leopold belonged not to the number of these reduced Lords. His opulence grew with every day ; his possessions were increased by the pur- chase of those, which the debts of his neighbours compelled them to dispose of: Neither had the country reason to la- ment, that so much power was concen- trated in his hands. He allowed his vassals sulBcient inde- pendence to prevent their sighing after a greater share of freedom \ he parcelled out some of his estates into small farms, and bestowed them on the most indus- trious SB trious among his people ; he even in- duced several of the inhabitants of the Valteline to settle upon his possessions, by allotting to them a portion of va- luable but hitherto uncultivated land, which hberally replaced to them what little they kbandoned in their own dis- tracted country. Gh ! believe me, my children, the oc- cupation renders us almost equal to the angels, when we employ our power in. bidding some desart teem with harvest, and making it the habitation of happy creatures! I have witnessed many of these transformations, which the Princes of the earth could produce so often and so easily, had they but the inclination. It is in their power to copy the benevo- lence and might of the Creator j but they chuse rather to imitate his chastising jus- D 6 tice^ 60 tice, to convert the dwellings of men into heaps of stones, and to pour a de- luge of blood over the smiling fruitful vallies. Among the Lords of that part of Switzerland, whose chief possessions now belonged to my uncle, the Gounts of Carlsheim held the most distin- guished place. Ethelbert (the only remaining descendant of this family, at least as far as we knew) scarcely inherited from his father the tenth part of that property^ which once belong- ed to his forefathers. Grief and vexa- tion had bowed the young man to -the ground I he sought to improve his for- tune by entering into the service, of. foreign princes, failed in the attempt,) and returned sorrow^ing to repair the mined castles which still were his own, and 61 and to collect the fragments of his fallen greatness. He had no reason to re- proach himsslf as the author of his dis- tress ; yet the consciousness of his situation and the feelings of wound- ed, pride kept him in a constant state of humiliation, which became particu- larly painful at the sight of those, who had established their prosperity on the ruins of that of the house of Carl- >heim. Influenced by these sentiments, did Ethelbert most studiously avoid all in- tercourse with my uncle. On none of ihose occasions, which usually bring knights and noblemen together, did Ixe ever appear, if there was the slightest probability of Count Leopold's being present; and in spite of all my uncle's endeavours to form an acquaintance with 62 with this young warrior, (for whom more reasons than one induced him to feel a lively interest,) still would his ef- forts in all likelihood have failed of suc- cess, had not a circumstance occurred, which absolutely enjoined their meeting, and which was the first link of a con- nexion which. . . dare I say it?. . . which should never have been formed. Yet the ordinations of eternal Wisdom ought not to be censured : I press my finger on my lip, and am silent. In the bosom of a tranquil valley situated near the Rhine rose the walls^ of a monastery, which in point of wealths was only inferior to the monks of Saint Basil in Solothurn, and to the valuable- endowments and extensive possessions of the Great Lady of Zurich* Since time immemorial had this district belonged to 63 to the Lords of Carlsheim ; and they were so conscious of its worth, that when they sold the rest of their estates beyond the power of redemption, they had only parted with this as a pledge. My uncle had already entered without success into various negociations with Count Werner (Ethelbert's father) on this subject ; and after the old man's death, he had found his son equally determined never to relinquish entirely his right to " the jewel of the land,*' for such was the popular name of the Cloister in the Wood. Various means were pro- posed to my uncle (several by the monks themselves) for subduing the obstinacy of the original possessor : but Leopold's tender conscience thought some unjust, and some unfeeling, and every thing remained as it was. — *'Let 64 — " Let us not,** he always answer- ed, when prest upon this subject, " let us not rob this young man of the flatter- ing hope, that by means of his claims on this delightful territory he may one day be enabled to get a firm footing irt the land of his once opulent inheritance ! I will not be the man who deprives him of it ; far more willingly would I lend him my aid towards realizing his expectations, were I assured that he is raaliy the character for which I take him. In the mean while, bt him continue to feast his imagination with the hope of one day enjoying the treasures said to be buried in the Abbey of Curwald, and with the rest of those chimaeras which have been painted to me in such brilliant colours for the purpose of seducing me- to 65 to seize. //?^vby force of arms, to which without ^ Ethelbert's voluntary agree* inept; I;.c^n In^vqiv .ppsseas. a. satisfactory: It, is but too certain, that no means were left untried, which might exaspe- rate my uncle against Ethelbert of Garlsheim 5 >j^ho onl bis side suffered many ian interested adviser to assail his ear with stoilar representations. Things were carried to such a length, that feu- dal war would certainly have! been de- clared, and the dwellings of tranquillity must have been deluged with an ocean of blood, had not Count Venosta's genero- sity induced him^ to give way on all pos- sible, occasions. . To talk, over caknly these and similar circumstances with Ethelbert in person, such «(5 such was my uncle's object in endea- vouring to throw himself in his way ; and the obstinate care, with which the latter avoided every explanaftion, might as well be ascribed to a sentiment of false pride which made him feel humi- Eated by Count Venosta's superior wealth, or to the insinuations of ill-dis- posed advisers, as to envy, or malignity, or any other bad feature in his charac- ter. Count Leopold and myself had al- ways made it a rule to consider Ethel- bert's actions in the most favourable light. It is true, we had both been long the inhabitants of a court, the proper atm.osphere of suspicion and mis- trust ; but on our first arrival among the frank and honest children of Helvetia, we dismissed those enemies of rural peace for 67 ■ for ever, and determined to be open- hearted with those whose hearts were so open to us. The circumstance which at length brought my uncle and Count Ethelbert together, was a dispute between the monks of Curwald and their Abbot; and which at last was carried to such a pitch, that it became necessary to refer it to the cloister's liege-lord. But who was this same liege-lord ? was it Leopold, who was in actual possession of the reve- nue, or Ethelbert, in whom the legal right still vested ? The monks appealed from one to the other over and over again, and at length it became absolutely necessary that a meeting should take place between them, in order that the business might be finally adjusted. My uncle had never forbidden my in- terference 6S ference In rr.attcrs, which did not exacts ly fall within the province of women j nor indeed would it have been in my pjDWfr: to remain inactive on this occa- sion, in which the honour and welfare of those persons who (after my uncle) were most dear to me, were very deeply implicated. Christian, the persecuted Abbot of Curwald, was my father-confessor ; the Prior Matthias, who shared with him the unmerited hatred of the monks, had been my instructor in botany, one of my most favourite studies, andwhich the Rhaetian mountains afiorded me every means of cultivating with success, 1 knew the excellence of both these men, and exerted all the powers of female persuasion, which consist in tears and entreaties. 69 entreaties, to keep my uncle steady in the interests of my venerable friends. I was too anxious about the issue of this affair to suffer Count Venosta to go alone to the place, which had been ap- pointed for the interview between him and his rival. Report had informed me, that Ethelbert appeared disposed to pro- tect the persecutors of innocence ; I re- solved, that he should be made thorough- ly ia-ware of the real state of the case; nor could I suppose, that' any thing more coiild be requisite in order to obtaiit the decision, which IsD ardently desired tp hear pronounced^ I wass still to learn, that it is possible to act in opposition tp a principle, of whose justice we are thoroughly convinced. They say, th?:t Female InnpcencCyfor- get&l 70 getfiil of herself while she is occupied wdth the interests of others, was never known to supplicate without success. My uncle had exerted all his powers of argu- ment without producing conviction in the bosom of the Count of Carlsheim. He was silent, and I was now permitted to advance a few representations on the subject. I spoke not much ; but I spoke with force and feeling, and 1 flattered myself, that I could read in Ethelbert*s radiant eyes, that what I said had not totally failed of its effect. He answered not ; but he cast on me a look so full of expression, that I felt my cheeks covered with blushes, hastily let fall my veil, and retreated towards my uncle: —*^ Count Venosta," said Ethelbert at at length, " here is my hand ! decide the business according to your own pleasure. So fair and virtuous a Dam- sel would never support the ciuse of guilt! the disco xtented monks shall keep their superior — ^and if the Abbot wishes to secure their obedience for ever, let him only request his powerful advocate to exert upon them the same powers of persuasion, which she has just now em- ployed upon me^ and he cannot fail to obtain his object. Methinks the Man might make himself Lord of the whole universe, would he but use this means, and though loaded with crimes might steal himself into Paradise, covered by the protecting matitle of such a saint,—" -ybno ym bi£ " These compliments seemed to me not less 72 loss free ihan -flattering. A look- too of my uncle's inforn[)e,d,fmp, that they were by no means to his taste, and I quitted the lopvc^.^eTffxh^rai^e^.pid uo.- ^^sy. ^,. . '-i,>rr :.-':! :)«;^8:b Off t !j[?rj;- I had the satisfaction ,tjQ 5^^ my. friends justified and/einstated in their dignities, in defiance of tjieii*. numerous foes ; but I had also the mortification tc^^^xperience some consequenceS'ipf . «iy .^JV^^eU4nteiided interference, which were ^y ^o^^means agreeable. The first was a veiy severe remonstrai>cef : frop; Count Venost^a res- pecting the ardopr;, ,9r [the ii^port unity a^ he termed. Jt, with which' I h^d pr^est my suit upon Etjiejbert. .;^ f^^^f -—'f, Had .Urania been a simple Alpine shepherdess," said my uncle, " who,:99n- c^ale4ia;9ongiier native Tiiqup|:ain§j ^ad never never heard of the insolent expectations, which men ground upon the slight- est demonstration of female good-will towards them, I might, perhaps, find some excuse for the free tone with which she spoke to a stranger, and the tender expression which she infused into her supplicating looks ; but Urania, educated in a Court, should have been more upon her guard. Handsome as are his features, the Count of Carlsheim's bold and ardent gaze was such as by no means gave me a favourable opinion of his delicacy ; and still less was I pleased by the Uberty which he took of address- ing you in a strain of flattery so undis- guised. Hitherto I have been disposed to entertain a favourable opinion of the young man ; but I confess, what I have VOL. I. E seen 74 seen of him to-day has shaken my good- will not a little." — I only answered Count Leopold's warning speech by a respectful silence ; and I afterwards reproached myself for the manner in which I had acted, though I was unconscious what I had done, for which I deserved to be reproached. My heart was innocent ; my intention was pure ; the consequences of the step which I had taken, however, soon con- vinced me that I had really committed an error. Ethelbert of Carlsheim, he who, during whole years that my uncle sought to ob- tain his acquaintance, was never to be found; he, who even now that they were at length known to each other, seemed by no means eager to cultivate a closer 2 intercourse 75 intercourse with the family of Venosta, from the time of our first meeting pre- sented himself before ?ne almost every day. If I sought the neighbouring church5it always so happened that he had chosen exactly the same hour for paying his devotions — if I sat in my balcony, he was sure to ride past the Castle — at the rural feasts, for which among our vassals an excuse was never wanting, and from which I dared not absent my- self through fcvT of mortifying the good people, Ethelbert's hand was always offered to conduct me to the dance. At length it so chanced, that I was under the necessity of confessing that it was to him, that I owed the pre- servation of my life. One evenij:ig as I was proceeding towards the Castle in the twilight, a procession of villagers, E 2 , re. 76 returning from a wedding, happened to cross my path, accompanied by a variety of instruments which produced the most noisy and discordant sounds imagi- able. The white banners fluttering before the eyes of my palfrey, and the clattering cymbals which stunned her ears, caused her to take frignt and set off at full speed ; and in all pro- bability she would have dashed with me from the brow of a neighbour- ing precipice, to which she was hasten- ing, had not Count Ethelbert fortu- nately heard my shrieks. He rescued me from my danger, and in return had the happiness (as he called it) to accom- pany me back to the Castle, and took an opportunity to make by the way a de- claration of the most passionate affection Another 77 iinother time, late at night I was alarmed by a fire breaking out in my antichamber, and the flames spread with sufficient rapidity to make me swoon through terror. When I recovered, I found myself supported by Count Ethel- bert, who advised me to save myself by flight from the threatening danger, and seemed perfectly ready to assist me in putting his advice in execution. How- ever, as I had now regained my presence of mind sufficiently to see, that there was no absolute necessity for taking such a step, my flight extended no further than to my uncle's chamber, whither I requested to be conveyed without delay. Leopold received my preserver with marked a^ldness, and concluded his expressions K 5 78 expressions of gratitude with enquiring — " by what strange though fortunate accident he had arrived there so speedily and so exactly at the time, when his assistance was most wanted ?"— Ethel- bert in his answer talked much of the good angels who watch over the favour- ites of Heaven, which my uncle heard without any great appearaijce of satis- faction ; and as soon as the Count of Carlsheim had taken his departure, I received a very serious lecture respecting him. My uncle was inclined to believe, that the accident which had lately alarmed my palfrey, and the fire which had thrown me under Ethelbert's pro- tection, were both devices intended to bind me to him by the chains of grati- tude. It was at least certain, that no sooner 79 sooner had my accident taken place, than the bridal procession disappeared; and the fire had done no other damage, than consuming part of the arras with which my antichamber was hung. — " If the Count of Carlsheim is anxious to win your affections," said my uncle, " why does he not take the straight road to obtain them ? why does he not fxplaiu his views respecting you" to me? there v/as a time, when I should not have refused you to him, and in which I intended to have done an act of justice by making him once more lord over the possessions of his ancestors, by giving him the hand of Urania, the future heiress of Carlsheim and Sar- gans." — I knew not, what intelligence or what E 4 observations 80 observations could have induced Count Leopold (who was generally so much inclined to think well of every one) so soon to view Ethelbert's actions in an unfavourable light. As for myself, I gave these accusations by no means implicit confidence ; and I strove to find excuses for the conduct of a man, who every time that I saw him made a stronger impression on my heart, and who daily rendered it more difficult for m^e to suspect him of any thing wrong. Ethelbert of Carlsheim was unfortu- nate, and had been deprived of the greatest part of those possessions, which ought to have been his birth right ; this alone w^ould have been a sufficient reason for my viewing him with inter- est ; but how much was that interest increased 81 increased by the discovery, that he employed the little power, which he still possest, in relieving the misfortunes of others ; and that by the protection which he granted the opprest, he had himself incurred the animosity of many powerful foes ? what could be more noble and more generous than such a proceeding, and how v/as it possible to suppose, that a man who could act thus, could ever deserve the most distant . appearance of suspicion ?. Edith, Countess of Mayenfield, was compelled to fly from her castle, by her bitter enemy the ambitious Abbot of St. Gall : she was a widow, and there were suspicions (and those no slight ones) that she was indebted for the removal of her husband to a present of E 5 wine 82 wine from the cellar of this dignified prelate. Willingly would he have also sacrificed the unprotected lady, who was the more dangerous obstacle to the enjoyment of his hopes, inasmuch as she was daily expected to produce a child, which (if a son) would be entitled to the whole possessions of his deceased father. Edith therefore was compelled to seek safety in flight ; the time of her delivery was near; she was beset with enemies on all sides ; nor could she doubt what would be the fate of herself and her offspring, should he fall into the Abbot's hands. In this dreadful situation she summoned up all her courage, and under the protecting mantle of the night employed the only means of 83 of saving herself from destruction, which the severity of her fate had now left her. Her wearied horses refused to bear her further, and she was still far distant from the place, in which she hoped to find shelter and assistance. She doubted not, that the Abbot would pursue her ; not a moment was to be lost; she quitted her Htter, and resolved to prosecute her painful way on foot, unaccompanied except by her orphan daughter, the young and lovely Minna. She ordered her attendants to pursue their journey with as much diligence as possible, hoping by this artifice to lead her pursuers astray. As for herself, she determined to conceal herself in the depth of thQ forest, thinking she should find E 6 there 84 there some retired cottage, in which she might recover herself from anxiety and fatigue, and give birth in tranquil secu- rity to her unfortunate fatherless infant. As to being betrayed to her tyrant, she was too well acquainted with the honest and benevolent temper of the inhabitants of these mountains to harbour any ap- prehensions on that head. The paths through which she wan- dered were solitary. At length the trampling of a steed was heard; and soon after a knight, unaccompanied, presented himself before the unfortunate lady, who, supported by the powerless hand of the youthful Minna, was scarcely able to prevent herself from sinking on the ground : this solitary knight was Count S3 Count Ethelbert; he was returning from the chace, and had sent his attendants forward. The Countess of Mayenfield found it unnecessary to represent to him, how much her situation required assistance, or to explain her name and the dangers which still menaced her. Before she had time to request his services, Ethelbert was already occupied in serving her : his pealing horn soon collected his attend- ants round him. A slight but easy litter was constructed with all diligence; and before an hour ekpsed, the fugi- tives rejoiced to find themselves within the sheltering walls of a castle, whose strength was capable of defying the malice of their enemies, in case they should S6 should attempt to deprive them forcibly of their friendly retreat. It so happened that Count Venosta also had dedicated this same day to the chace : the sport had enticed him to a distance from home. Midnight had long been past; and I still sat at my spinning \^heel surrounded by my maidens, v/aiting with most anxious expectation for my uncle's return. A thousand painful thoughts and confused images glanced across my imagination, in which, as usual, Count Ethelbert was fiot forgotten ; suddenly the folding doors of my chamber were thrown open, and the object of my thoughts stood before me, almost breathless through haste and anxiety. — " Dear lady,'* said he, " I conTe to ask 87 ask a boon of you. A guest of no mean rank has arrived at my castle, and there is no female there to bid her welcome : a litter waits at your door ; suffer me to entreat that you will let it convey you to my residence." — — " Sir Kjiight, are you in your senses ? This extraordinary request. . — " Is the boldest, the most unpar- donable, that fancy can imagine : but judge by the want of preparation with which I propose it, how urgent is the necessity for its being gratified without delay.—" The Count of Carlsheim had by no means chosen the most fortunate mo- ment for obtaining any favour at all from me, much less one of so extraor- dinary 8S- dinary a nature. In solitude I had. reflected calmly and seriously on my uncle's warning : the frightened palfrey, and the fire so easily extinguished, came into my head ; and the uneasiness in which Count Venosta's absence had obliged me to pass the last hours, by no means inclined me to view these circum- stances so much to Ethelbeit's advan- tage as usual : at that moment I saw him with my uncle's eyes •, and of course this proposal appeared to me as nothing; but a most bare-faced attempt on my lover's part to^ betray me into his power. — " You are offended'?" said Ethel- bert, who read displeasure strongly painted on my fevery feature ; *' well then ! I must have recourse to a more eloquent pleader." — Sayings; 89 Saying this, he hastened into the anti- chamber, and returned with a little beautiful child, whose countenance ex- pressed the deepest anxiety and sorrow, and whose blue eyes filled with tears strengthened the impression, which was made on me by her unexpected appear- ance. — " Ah ! dear good lady !" said the little mourner, while she sank on her knees before me, and kist my hand ; " I entreat you, do what this knight re- quests of you ! My mother and myself are alone in a gloomy castle, where there are none but stern-looking men, with great beards and heavy swords j and my mother is so very ill ! and she asked so anxiously, ' was there no lady who would comfort and assist her in her 90 her sickness!' and then this knight who, saved us from dying in the forest, an- swered, that he knew a lady whom he loved as his sister, and that he would bring her to my mother, if she could be persuaded to follow him ; and then he took me along with him, that I might help to prevail on you to come and be kind to my poor mother : and now I am here, you will be prevailed on ; I am sure of it, because you look on me so kindly ! Come, dear good lady ! Comer— I kist the pretty suppliant without thoroughly comprehending what it was that she requested me to do, and cast an inquiring look upon Ethelbcrt. He related his adventure with the Countess of Mayenfield in so interesting a manner, that 91 that it was impossible for me to hesitate a moment longer, as to what course I should pursue. Indeed, the history of this unfortunate lady was not unknown to me, when Ethelbert mentioned her name: her misfortunes had for some time been the general subject of con- versation, and had already cost me many a sympathising tear, and many an ardent wish to find some means of giving her assistance. I was deaf to all the suggestions of prudence, and threw myself into the litter, wishing that I could have given the horses wings, so eager was I to reach the illustrious sufferer. My nurse accom- panied me ; a discreet and benevolent woman, who was likely to be of much more use to the Countess than myself. So 92 So completery was I occupied by my anxiety for the poor lady, that I scarcely paid any attention to Ethelbert's tender expressions of gratitude, or to the re- presentations of my nurse, who hinted to me with some appearance of discon- tent, that I had acted with rather too much rashness in this business ; she assured me, that her presence at the Castle of Carlsheim would be quite sufficient without my giving myself the trouble to go there ; and she confest, that she thought Count Venosta would have good reason to be offended at finding on his return home, that I had quitted his house during his absence with a young knight, in spite of dark- ness and an heavy fall of snow. We reached the Castle j the sight of us. 93 US served to give new life to the ex- hausted ladyj who surrounded by none but men had met with but sorry atten- dance. She embraced me, and called me by the tender name of sister. I soon confided her to the care of my nurse, and quitted her chamber for the pur- pose of making arrangements for her treatment ; and I gave my directions in a tone of as much earnestness, as had I been in my uncle's castle. Anxiety about the Countess made me take the w^hole business upon my own hands ; I saw nothing extraordinary in what I was doing, and could by no means con- ceive, why Count Ethelbert's people ex- amined me with looks of such surprize; nor why he was himself always by my side, expressing the most excessive delight 94 delight and satisfaction at every thing that I did, and loading me with such a profusion of thanks, that it was utterly impossible for me to ascribe them all to the interest, which he felt about his unfortunate guest. Before day-break, Edith became the mother of a boy ; and never did any other mother feel equal rapture with hers, when for the first time she prest him to her bosom. In this new-born babe she embraced not merely her child, but the future conqueror of her foes, and the preserver of her family. Nothing more than the birth of this boy vras necessary to destroy every claim of the avaricious Abbot of St. Gall upon Mayenfield, and reduce him to the condition of a feudal de- pendent. 95 pendent. Count Ethelbert on his part neglected not to spread abroad the news of the birth of a young Count of Mayen- field, and to invite through his heralds both friends and foes to convince them- selves by their eyes of the existence of this infant nobleman. Count Venosta had experienced no trifling anxiety on being informed of my midnight excursion, the motive of which no one was able to explain to his satisfaction. He determined to ex- amine into the real nature of the tran- saction himself ; accordingly the first sunbeams saw him cross the drawbridge of Ethelbert's castle, accompanied by his whole train of hunters, whom he had ordered to hold themselves pre- pared for a serious engagement, in case the 96 the nature of things should make it necessary to come to hosdlities. The Count of Carlsheim was already abroad, employed in business which regarded the adventure of the past night. My uncle found me sitting by the bed-side of the newly-delivered Countess, whose ardent thanks for the assistance, which I had afforded her, instantly removed every trace of anger from his brow ; and the severe lecture which he intended to bestow on me, was softened into a gentle remonstrance against my acting in general with too much precipitation. Ethelbert returned; he shared with my uncle and myself the office of pre- senting the new-born heir of Mayen- field at the baptismal fount, and we gave the 97 the child its father's name, Ludolf. From motives of propriety, we were all anxious to remove the invalid (who earnestly entreated me not to abandon her) to my uncle's castle ; but she was at first too weak to bear the journey, and I was under the necessity of sub- mitting for some time longer to act as the mistress of Count Ethelbert's castle. Now then affairs wore that appear- ance, which I am convinced it had always been my lover's plan to give them. Doubtless had he thought proper, he might have contrived to .;how his fair gu^st all the duties of hospitality without any interference of nyne : but he eagerly made use of the oppor- tunity which presented itself, to draw me into a more intimate connection. VOL. I, F He 98 He endeavoured to convince me by his reliance on my humanity of the esteem which he entertained for. my character j and at the same time he hoped to in- spire me with a favourable opinion of his own, by making me a daily witness of the noble treatment which he afforded to a stranger, who had no claim to his protection except her need of it, and who could make him no other return for his kindness, except the involving him in her own difficulties and dangers* Ethelbert's plan succeeded with me completely, and even my uncle began to view him in a more favourable light. Both were equally interested about the Countess, and swore to exert themselves to the utmost in endeavouring to re- instate her and her new-born son in the rights. 9^ rigTits, which were still detained from them by the Abbot of St. Gall; the similarity 6t their objects naturally induced a sort of confidence between them; and Ethelbert lost no oppor- tunity of turning this confidence to the best account. Perhaps he already reckon- ed himself on the point of obtaining that, which had long been the mark at which he aimed, though he had never acknowledged it in words ; namely, the possession of my hand : but my uncle soon gave a fresh proof, that at present he by no means looked forward to, or desired a connection between the fami- lies of Carlsheim and Venosta. The history of my nocturnal journey (many gave it the name of an elope- ment,) had not been kept a secret ; the F 2 situation 100 situation of the Countess's affairs made it necessary for her to receive several strangers ; they always fou*:^ me at her side, saw that I acted as the mistress of Count Ethelbert's house, and the re- marks to which all this gave occasion were frequently by no means to my credit. Some asserted, that I was already betrothed to the Lord of Carlsheim j others fabricated out of facts and guesses such a story, as offended my feelings too severely J;o. admit of my repeating it here, and which no sooner came to my uncle's knowledge, than he resolved at all events to remove me from so unusual a situation. The invalid was now sufficiently recovered to bear the fatigue of a journey 5 and an abode in the house of the potent Count Venosta was likely to 101 to furnish her both with more conse- quence and security, than she could expect to find at the Castle of Carl- sheim. My uncle and Ethelbert looked gloo- mily; my heart was heavy and sad: the fair Edith of Mayenfield alone ex- prest in w^ords, what no one else was willing to declare to the other. — " Oh! Heaven," she cried at taking leave of him, who had till then been her protector, while she prest mine and Ethelbert's hands fast together, between her own " unite these two noblest souls, with which you ever blest huma- nity : this is the best recompense for such generosity and such disinterested friendship, as I have experienced from them both !" — f3 Edith's 102 Edith's expressive eyes were directed towards heaven; Ethelbert and myself blushed as we gazed on each other, without being able to pronounce a syllable. Methought, Ethelbert should have spoken on this occasion ; — but he was silent. The Countess was long our guest. Open feud was declared between her defenders and the obstinate Abbot of St. Gall, who was worsted in every skirmish without ever being entirely subdued. The contest was carried on for a considerable time : in the mean while my uncle (to whom age advanced with steps so lingering, that no one could easily have guest his years) dis- covered, that the charms of the fair widow were still of great power : yet perhaps 103 perhaps it was I, to whom the idea first suggested itself, that an union between t^em would be productive of happiness on both sides. I soon observed, that my hints were far from disagreeable to either party ; and I exulted in the hope of soon beholding my friend and my benefactor united in a new course of domestic happiness. When I imparted my designs to Count Ethelbert, (who was now a frequent visitor at our castle) he listened to me with the greatest astonishment. His countenance at this moment assumed an expression, which I had never seen it wear before. •— " Lady ! " said he, " am I awake, or dreaming? — An union, which must deprive you of your fairest expectations, F 4 and lot* and will put a stranger in possession 'of all those rights which ought to be your own, is such an union contrived by yourself.?'' — — " And when did Count Ethelbert/* I answered with a look of surprise not inferior to 'his own, '* wlien did Count Ethelberf discover tli^ 'least trace 'rif selfishness in my character? it is impos- sible, that such mean considerations should really hold a place in his bosom; or is this only intended as a trial of his friend?''— He bit his lip, and was for some time Silent. My eyes were fixed upon him steadily; and it was long, before he could recover himself suiEciently to assume a different air, and explain to me, that in an affair in which he had not 105 not personally the slightest concern, he could only be anxious about my inter- est j and he advanced many arguments to prove, that the most noble and gener- ous soul might feel very differently on occasions which regarded his friend, than he would have felt in affairs, which only related to himself. I believed every thing that Ethelbert told me ; in fact he was soon after complaisant enough to allow, that my reasons were not entirely without weight, and at length even went so far as to decla;re that on consideration it appeared to :him)fvery possible, that an union between the Count Veno^ta and the widow of Ludolf. of Mayenfield might be an advantageous event fqr all. parti^. He also promised, J:hj\,t as soon ; as the F 5 nest 106 next expedition against the Abbot of St. Gall should have taken place, he would come to my assistance, and use every power of entreaty and persuasion to forward this connection, which I so ardently desired. This expedition was directed against one of the Castles, which our common enemy detained from its rightful owner; on the morning appointed for its taking place, out forces set out before day- break, in pursuit of a victory of which they reckoned themselves secure. . My friend and myself had already seen our heroes return victorious from ^heir excursions too often, to make i*s think it necessary to accompany their departure with signs and expressions of anxiety. "We had exactly ascertained the 107 the time, when we might expect them back, and^ had laid a plan (with the as • sistance of such warriors as were left •behind) for receiving them with all the pageantry and honours of conquest, A procession of knights and. ladies was intended to welcome them; on their return, and at the head pf- the joyous band was to wave a bannejE adojme4 with mottos and emblems ; this gorge^ ' 110 — " Ah! noble lady!" answered the messenger/* my lord your uncle the Count of Carlsheim too. ... an am- buscade among the mountains. . . . both taken prisoners. • . . . help ! help for heaven's sake !" — Our people hastened to assist the soldier, who seemed to be desperately wounded, and could scarcely hold him- self upright through loss of blood; the agony, which this news occasioned me, instead of overpowering me like my friend, gave me additional strength, and I lost not a moment in hastening tp^ attempt the rescue of our knights. L directed the preparations myself, and before an hour had elapsed, all the arriors whom my uncle had left be- ^(f£i protect the Castle, were com- hind xd.f , ^ ^ r ^d, and ready tp set out. I pletely armtv- ^ de- Ill determined to head them myself; and being accoutred in a light suit of armour, I hastened to bid farewell to my afflicted friend (whom I had committed to the care of her women), and to comfort her with the hope of my^ returning crowned with success. — " What, Urania ?" exclaimed Edith wringing her hands ; " and do you too leave me ? — ^Heavenly mercy! what will become of me ! take me with you, Urania, or stab me before you go! foreboding terrors weigh down my heart ! dreadful as my sufferings have been already, I feel that I have still much more to endure ! Urania, we shall never meet again!" — I prest my trembling friend to my heart with affection, recommended her to 112 the kindness of her attendants, and then hastened, where I was far less invited by courage and resolution than by urgent necessity and despair* We gave tlie reins to our coursers, flew over the plain, and soon reached the winding pass through the mountains, where our brave friends had been subdued by treachery and malice. Ah! what a dreadful sight 1 the place of combat floated with blood! various were the occasions presented to induce our pity to stop, in the hope "of rescuing from death some of his yet lingering victims: but still more weighty considerations compelled us to close bur ears against the cries of suffering humanity, and pursue our ^progress without delay. However, I failed not to leave some of my 113 people behind to discharge those offices, which I would so much more gladly have fulfilled myself; and I charged them (in case any thing of importance could be learned from those who still survived) to lose no time in bringing me the information. It was from them, that I learned the road, which the forces of the Abbot of St. Gall (whose number trebled ours) had taken with the captive knights. It was not yet evening, when I reached the fortress, which had been pointed out to me as the prison of my friends. We prepared for storming the walls. I possest among my followers several experienced v/arriors, who supplied my want of intelligence in affairs of this ^nature, and who seemed to derive double 114 double strength from witnessing my resolution, the resolution of a distracted woman! It was not lorig, before we saw a white flag waved by the beseiged; and soon after (having received our solemn promise for the security of his invaluable person) we beheld on the battlements the robber of my beloved friends, the oppressor of the unprotected innocent, in short the execrable Abbot of St. Gall. I had taken off my helmet to cool ray burning cheeks ; and my ringlets still adorned with flowers, w^hich in my haste I had forgotten to remove, stream- ed freely in the wind of evening: the Abbot therefore easily guest at my sex and name. — " You are welcome, fair damsel of Sargans !'* 115 Sargans !'* said the monk with a malici- ous smile ; " the friends, of whom you are in pursuit, are no longer inmates of these walls : then forbear to persecute the innocent ! lay aside that heavy armour, which so ill befits your sex, and enter to partake with us, poor monks, of a friendly though frugal entertainment !'' — I was already preparing to return the insulter such an answer, as his insolent speech demanded ; but ere I had time to speak, — " treachery ! treachery !'* — was shrieked in my ears by an hundred voices. I looked round, and saw the glittering of hostile swords. My people were beaten back, and the ground was strewed with their corses — the soldiers of the perfidious Abbot had stolen upon us 116 us through secret passages, had taken my followers by surprise, and were hewing for themselves a \^ay to me with their faulchions. Terror deprived me of my senses! what would have become of me in this dreadful moment of confusion and fear I know not, had not my faithful Gertrude, who had followed me to battle with undaunted courage, been close to my side ; and ere I fell, she caught me in her arms. The loss of my helmet made it easy for me to be recognized by my pale and femi- nine features. She seized the casque of one of the Abbot's soldiers, who hap- pened to be struck down near us, and concealed my face with it ; she then wrapped me in his cloak, on which the Abbot's coat of arms was emblazoned j and .117 and under favour of this disguise she succeeded in exiricating me from the throng, and in conducting me in safety towards the side5frorn which the combat seenied at that time to be rGtiring. I recovered myself, and we hastened to seat ourselves on horseback. Ger- trude convinced me that my presence was now quite unavailing, and that my beivig taken prisoner would be unavoid- able, if I suffered the least delay. In truth, my nerves had been too much shaken by this last dreadful piece of treachery to admit of my adopting any other resource than flight, the woman's constant refuge. The darkness of the night enabled us to escape; and we arrived in safety at the Castle, which (while unacquainted with US with my own want of strength and ability, and the power and perndy of the foe with whom I had to deal) I had left with such sanguine hopes of victory. We were obliged to traverse the narrow pass through the mountains, where the fatal ambuscade had been stationed in the morning : as I hastened through it, met bought the groans of dying men sounded in my ears, and my hair stood erect, and my blood ran cold, as I listened. Woman's weakness re-assumed it's rights ; and she, who so lately had dared to trust herself among hostile faulchions, now trembled at a sound, at a shadow, which only existed in her over-heated imagination. I reached the Castle more dead than alive. We found the Castle-gates closed. We 119 We called in vain for admittance ; no signal was attended to; every thirg within seemed to be silent as the grave: no glimmering of light was visible in the high-arched casements, and we were compelled to pass the night in a small ruined chapel at no great distance from the Castle. Convinced, that nothing but the fear of being surprised by the enemy could have induced the Castle's inhabitants to observe such obstinate discretion, we waited for morning with the utmost impatience and anxiety. Perhaps the enemy might pursue the fugitives hither, and make himself master of the Castle, before our vassals could be summoned to its defence? perhaps, it might already have 120 have been attacked, and might be at that very moment in possession of the foe ? I had left the Countess of Mayenfield but ill-protected. My anxiety to rescue my uncle and Count Ethelbert had induced me to leave no one behind, except our women, the old seneschal, the warder, and a few domestics. At break of day we again approached the Castle 5 we then perceived (what the extreme darkness of the night had. before prevented our discovering) that the draw-bridge had not been raised. We crost it, and on approaching the gates had the satisfaction to see them opened for our admittance by the Se- neschal. We were received by the weak old man with every appearance «f alarm: the first questions which were 1^21 wereasked on both sides related to our return unaccompanied, and to the ghastly- appearance of the old man ; but neither of us could restrain impatience suiEciently to give an answer. I hastened into the court yard, anxious to embrace my friend, and consult with her, what pre- cautions should be taken for our future safety ; but the first thing, which met my eyes on entering^ was an heap of bleedii\g corses ! I started back in horror, and wished to ask, what dreadful events had taken place in my absence j but fear and agoiiy choaked my words. Besides, I \^-as soon summoned to the assistance of Gertrude, at whose feet the Seneschal (who probably had exhausted his httle remaining strength in opening the gates) had now fallen senseless. VOL. I. G Yet 123 Yet while so ir.any scenes of terror ar^ reserved for my pen, why do I dwell with such niinuteness on the first r I win not describe, how the whole shock- ing mystery gradually unfolded itself ; I will rather state at once and briefly the total 5um of my misfortune. The only object which after the loss of Ethelbert and my uncle was still dear to me, my friend," my Edith, she too had been torn from me during my unfor- tunate expedition. Scarcely had I quitt- ed her, when a troop of unknown enemies had forcibly gained entrance ; had either slain or mortally wounded the few male inhabitants of thd Castle ; had confined the women in the upper apartments j and when they retired after their bloody work, had conveyed away with them the Countess of May en field S and 123 :and I^er weeping children ! The robbers dosed the doors after them and fl...., leaving the Castle in that fearful solitude, which had occasioned me so much anxiety and surprise. The Warder and the Seneschal were the only men, whose wounds had not already terminated their existence ; but fainting through loss of blood they heard not the signals, which I made to obtain admittance, k was morning, before they were sufficiently recovered to examine into the circum- stances of the former . day ; and while the, first had dragged his feeble steps towards the Countess's apartment, the other had sought the Castle-portal, with the intention of obtaining assistance from the neighbouring villagers. The Countess'6 women, with their G 3 hands 124 hands still fettered, now threw them- selves at my feet, and enquired, what was become of their beloved mistress, whom I had imprudently left behind under such inadequate protection. Grief for her loss overpowered our apprehen- sions of further danger ; and had our foe thought proper to make use of the present opportunity, he would have found us an easy prey. About mid-day, some peasants in die neighbourhood arrived, and brought , with them the young Minna of Mayen- field, whom they had found weeping and bewildered among the mountains. — " Oh! dear, dear lady!" she ex- claimed, while she threw herself into my arms " my mother ! oh ! what have the villains done with my mother !'* — I 125 I could only answer with my tears. The child too was in such dreadful agita- tion, that it was long before I could obtain from her an explanation of the manner, in which the Countess had been conveyed away : as for herself, the ravishers became weary of her incessant tears and shrieks, and abandoned her among the mountains. How painful must the unhappy mother have felt this parting with her only daughter! nothing could have induced her to submit to it, except the threat of her persecutor to deprive her also of the baby at her bosom. The evening was far advanced, before I could recover myself sufficiently to take some precautions for our security, and make such enquiries, as appeared G 3 to 126 to me highly necessary ; the gates were xarefuliy fastened ; the draw-bridge was- raised. As our strength was unequal to the task of burying the dead, we were obliged to throw the corses into a ruined well, situated in a^ back-corner in a remote part of the Castle : and this HielanchQly duty being performed, we employed ourselves in collecting every circumstance, which might assist us^ to guqss cvt the auth«^ My friend ! my preserver ! why pain me by recollecting at such a time . » . . but you shall be satisfied! — ^Ncw then, all the world may know, that I freely offer my neice's hand to the Count of Carlsheim^ supplicate him to accept it, and wait his answer with im- patiencQ."— ^ — " And you, lady r" siiid Ethelbert.. " — Urania! pronounce my doom!" — '■ I was silent j I blushed and cast down my 130 my eyes. Oh 1 this noble pride, which made him hesitate to accept the hand of the richest heiress in Helvetia, lest he should be suspected of having sought it through interested motives, would have gained him my heart, had it not already long been his ! my uncle was the interpreter of my looks ; I did not contradict him ; my lover cksped me in his arms for the first time, and I heard myself called by the title, which was dearest to me in the world. These moments were heavenly ! alas! how soon were they interrupted by the most bitter recollections ! — my uncle turned from the scene of our happiness, and enquired — " where he should find the Countess of Mayenfield !"— Oh Heaven ! wliat did I suffer at hearing 137 hearing that question ! what did I suf- fer, when compelled to answer it ! vainly should I attempt to describe Count Venosta's situation, when in- formed of the loss of his beauteous Edith! Men express grief and resentment in a different manner from us, helpless females. My narrative of Edith's carry- ing off was followed not by idle com- plaints, but by active exertions to re- cover her. The wearied soldiery again seated themselves on horseback, and were ordered to scour the country round in pursuit of the ravishers. I w^as myself too much interested in the business to oppose my uncle's orders ; but Count Ethelbert, who retained morc^ presence of mind than the rest, en- quired, J3S quired 5 whither we should first dii-ect our course in hopes of delivering the Count- ess? -—"Doubtless,'* answered my uncJe,^ *' the place most ,likely to be convertecl into her prison must needs be the near- est fortress belonging to the perfidious Abbot ; no one can doubt, that this misfortune is a work of his hand.** — Here I interrupted him by stating, that I had heard the Seneschal very posi- tively contradict this supposition ; and I entreated^ that befoi*e the expedition set out, the old domestic might be exa* mined, as he seemed to possess more information on the subject, than he had yet imparted to r?ie. Unfortunately, we found on enquiry, that shortly after my uncle's arrival the Seneschal had expired of ia9 ef hh waunds; and Count Venosta. (who in the vioknc^ ©f l^s despair p*e,r fered acting upon unceytainties to re^ maining entirely idle) immediately en* tered upon his search after tlie unfortu- nate Edith. At the end of several ijionths of fruitless enquiry, we were obliged to abandon all hopes of success. It was during this period of anxiety, whicli seldom permitted my uncle and Ethelbert to lay aside their armour, that I received the name of Countess of Carl*' sheim. The ceremony was sad and so^ lemn, prognosticating the daysy whicli: were so soon to follow it. I was now the wife of my lover, and enjoyed tluit sort of happiness, wliich most women enjoy who marry a war- rior-husband j I was the object of a wild tempestuous 140 tempestuous passion, whose expressions were sometimes -so rough and violent, that they might have been mistaken for those of hatred. In truth, I had fancied, that the happiness of marriage was some- what different ; but alas ! what girl does not fancy the same, and find at length that she has been deceived ? No information could be obtained respecting the Countess of Mayenfield, The Abbot of St. Gall persevered in asserting his claim to her possessions ; and the deep melancholy, which took possession of my uncle, betrayed but too plainly, that his love for the dear lost-one was stronger, than he had dared to ac- knowledge either to her, or to himself. — " My children," said he one day to me and Ethelbert, " Edith is lost to me, and 141 and with her the joys of life ! It was folly in me to expect on the brink of the grave, that I should be so singularly fortunate, as to feel my eyes closed by the hand of affection. I have suffered for that folly ; I feel that my powers of life are hourly growing weaker, feel that the day of death is at hand. The fev/ evening hours which remain, before the night of the grave closes around me, will I dedicate to solitude and repose. All that I possess is now your property ; I only reserve for myself the pleasant vale of Munster^and the Castle of Upper Halbstein on the banks of the Rhine. I will hide myself in the distant shades of the frst., when opprest by serious me- lancholy thoughts, and repair to the second^ whenever more lively moments make 142 make me wish for the society and com- fort of Ethelbert and his beloved Urania."— I opposed this determination of Count Leopold ; but my husband did not se- cond me. He saw, that this arrange- ment was greatly to his advantage ; and I had already found on several occasions, that he was not quite so incapable of attention to his own interest, as I had formerly supposed. It by no means occurred to him, that Count Venosta proposed to do too much for us ; on the conti^ary, he lost no time in giving solidity to my uncle's kind declarations, and only appeared to lament, that the deed of gift had not included his whole property. The weaving shades of the vale of Munster and tlie proud castle on the the Rhine seemed to have acquh'ed double charms in his eyes, siiice Leopold declared his intention of retaining them for himself; and their value was in- creased beyond bounds on Ethelbert's being given to understand, that my uncle did not intend to leave them to us even at his death, but destined them for a bequest to that beloved woman, whom he could not resolve to give up all hopes of recovering. Count Venosta (that honest open- hearted man, who withheld no senti- ment from those, whom he looked on as his children) was amusing himself one day with the youthful Minna, whom the recollection of her mother rendered in- expressibly dear to him. Ethelbert remarked, as if by accident, that the child J 44 child Lilready had acquired the sedate appearance of the station, which she was hereafter to occupy. — " What station ?" asked my uncle with surprize. Minna, who had been accustomed to hear her future lot pronounced by my husband almost daily, answered with her accustomed candour — " What other -shelter can a poor orphan expect to find, except a cloister ?" — — " What ?" exclaimed Count Leo- pold, while he prest her still closer to his bosom, "you poor? you an orphan, while Venosta lives ? No, no, my child ; I know too well, what I owe to the memory of your excellent mother ! Let who will forsake you, never shall )'0u be forsaken by me !" — Count 14^ Count Ethelbert had never been par- tial to the Damsel of Mayenfield ; front that day he began to hate her, Minna too on her side seemed to har- bour towards my husband a secret aver- sion ; whose expressions she would have been unable to restrain, had he not also inspired her with sentiments of the most unbounded terror. — " Ah! dear Countess!" she said to me one day, when she found me weeping at having made new discoveries •of his evil dispositions, discoveries which almost every day aflbrded ; *' you know not yet, what a bad, bad man he is ! Scarcely do I dare to tell it you ; but that voice which I heard among my mother's ravishers .... I am certain, quite certain, that voice was Count Ethelbert's — I had VOL. I, H iben tJjen never heard it speak but so gently and so kindly But the first time that I heard him rage, I recollected it that instant. How could I have been deceived ? Oh ! I remember too well the terrible sound! But I have been silent till now, for I tremble when I but think of the cruel manner, in which he used me, when (while imploring him to take pity on my mother) I let fall, that I was sure of having heard his voice before.''— I was now better acquainted with the character of the man, whom I had once looked upon as an angel of light ; and I recollected several hints of the old Sene- schal, which seemed to imply a suspicion similar to that of Minna. Yet the fact appeared to me in a light too dreadful to admit 147 admit of my giving it implicit conjS- dence ; and I judged it prudent to con- tradict it with my lips, though in my heart I could not help dreading, that the ■accusation was but too well-grounded. Alas ! it was not long, before I was thoroughly convinced, that my husband was capable of many a deed, of which during the happy days of my love-sick delusion I would have asserted his inno- cence with an oath, and have suffered the weight of his guilt to have been charged upon my own conscience ! Alas ! it was not long, before I had but too much reason to confess, that there was no impossibility in his having been concerned in that perfidious act, which his innocent accuser had alledged against him. H 2 " The 148 The persons, who had been the origi- nal means of bringing me acquainted with the Count of Carlsheim (an ac- quaintance which I already began to consider as a misfortune), the Abbot and Prior of Cloister-Curwald had been maintained in their rights by my good uncle ; and under his powerful protec- tion they lived in liarmony with their monks from the time of my interference. However, no sooner had the jurisdiction of this monastery been made over by Count Venosta to my husband, than discontent and rebellion began to re- sume their influence over the younger monks, who felt themselves opprest by the restraints imposed on them by their virtuous superiors. Often did Abbot Christian, when I knelt before hiip in his 149 his confessional, return my confidence by an acknowledgment of his secret- sorrows, and explain his melancholy forebodings of what would be his con- vent's future fate, in a manner that touched me to the very heart. But I was myself too weak to assist the vene- rable man ; my husband was deaf to my entreaties j and Count Venosta was at too great a distance to admit of any ^ good effects being produced by my ap- plying to him. It was long past midnight, that I once happened to besitting alone in my cham- ber, expecting my husband's return from a carousal at a neighbouring Baron's; and I was endeavouring to prepare myself for the painful scenes, which seldom failed to follow such entertainments. Sud- H 3 denly 150 denly Gertrude entered the room with a terrified countenance, and informed me that having seen from her window which overlooked the garden some dark-look- ing figures, whose appearance was made still more terrific by the contrast of the newly-fallen snow, she had descended to examine what they really were; and that she had found it necessary to admit into my anti-chamber the persons, who had given her so causeless an alarm. — " Do not be terrified !" said she, " they are only poor afflicted spirits, who hope for relief from your hands." — I was too well acquainted with the friendly anxiety of my faithful attendant to spare me pain, and prepare me for unpleasant news by the manner in which she related it, to be deceived by her assurance. 151 assurance, that I had nothing to fear. I waited for the appearance of these strangers with a beating heart. What was my surprise at recognizing the ex- cellent Abbot of Cloister-Curwald, the venerable Matthias, and several other of the most respectable monks, whose evident consternation already seemed to implore my assistance, before they yet had time to give their petition words. — " Oh ! dear good lady,'' exclaimed the Abbot, " we are undone! the dreaded storm has burst,and we must all be the prey of deaths unfess you can find means of preserving us ! This morn- ing while officiating at the altar, we were seized in the name of our liege -lord, the Count of Carlsheim, and imprisoned ia a subterraneous dungeon. Our appeal IT 4 to 152 to the Bishop of Coira was treated with derision 5 and we collected from some suspicious remarks of our jailor, that our doom would be finally determined, long before our appeal could be made to a superior jurisdietioc Alas! we know but too well, what can be done in con- vents ! The fore-warnings of approach- ing death presented themselves on all sides ', the noise of revelry resounding from the chambers above us increased our anxiety ! What had we not to fear from the rage and malignity of these intoxicated monks 1 — Fortunately, one of my secret friends found means to gain admittance to our dungeon, and explain to us the real and pressing danger of our situation. It seems^ that the*enemies of order and of virtue are 1S3 are protected by the Count of Garlsheim ; he was himself assisting at the dissolute entertainment J and probably at this moment we should no longer have been numbered among the living, had not the friend who brought us this intelli- gence, secretly assisted us to escape from the convent, and accompanied us in our flight. Now then our life is in your hands ; save us, dear lady, either by softening your husband through your entreaties, or by pointing out to us some place of concealment. To you alone could we have recourse j had we sought any other refuge, we must surely have been overtaken before We could have reached it.*' — — " Save you by entreaties ?" I ex- il aimed, while I hastened to unclose ^ H S door 154 door conducting to my baths ; " en- treaties to Count Ethelbert ? Instant flight is your only chance for safety ! Follow me, father! Follow me, and lose not a moment !" — I hastened onwards, and conducted the trembling monks through a long subterraneous passage, unknown to all in the Castle except myself and the faithful Gertrude. The outlet was in the mountains ; and here I quitted the fugitives, convinced that they would easily find their way through the intri- cate passes, with which the Prior Mat- thias was perfectly well acquainted, having frequently traversed them in his botanical pursuits. Half of the night was consumed in this employment. On my return, I 2 ' found 155 found the furious Ethelbert waiting for me in my apartment, and immediately a tremendous storm of rage burst over my devoted head. Convinced that my friends were now in safety, I attempted not to conceal my share in the transac- tion 'y and when he loaded me with insults, I replied to him by reminding him of the promise which he had for- merly given me, to protect the opprest Abbot in the preservation of his rights^ a promise which he had so shamefully broken. Truth and justice were on my side, but power was on that of my ad* versary. There was no one to hear me, and judge between Count Ethelbert and myself ; he was the strongest ; the re- ward of my remonstrances was the most H 6. un- 136 unworthy treatment, and my chamber became my prison. The vassals, who loved me, exclaimed against such an act of violence, as soon as they understood by means of Ger- trude, how cinielly I was treated ; but Ethelbert's art soon succeeded in giving aaiother colour to the transaction. He justified his severity by accusing me of a shameful intrigue with the banished Abbot of Cloister Curwald. His asser- tions were so positive, that they soon produced the desired effect ; and it was without any violent agitation, that tha peasants a few days after saw me con- ducted away under a strong guard, no one knew whither ; nothing gave me more pain in this abrupt departure than 3 being 157 being deprived of the only comfort which was still left me, the society of my faithful Gertrude, and of my young friend, the Damsel of Mayenfield One man ^alone, one of the most dis-^ tinguished inhabitants of that quarter^ a man who breathed the true spirit of Helvetic courage, and of love of freedom, Henric Melthal alone dared openly to blame the proceedings of my tyrant. He spread his own noble sentiments around him, and communicated his feelings to^ his companions with a success, which might have rescued me from my bond- age, had not Count Ethdbert resolved to withdraw me from public attention without a moment's delay. On the other side of the mountain of HsJsberg, near the lake of Thun, stands an 158 an old Castle belonging to the family of Ravenstein, a family which has been in. alliance with the Counts of Carlsheim. and Sargans since time immemorial. At the period of which I am npw treating, it was entirely deserted. The owner re« sided in a remote part of Italy, where he had lived on terms of intimacy with Ethelber t ; and havin g himself no occasion for this mouldering castle, he consigned the use of it to his friend the Count of Carlsheim j the use to which the Count applied it, was the only one for which it now appeared to be adapted, the con- finement of the innocent. Tedious and fearful was the way which conducted me to my destined abode ^ but the place itself, which I looked upon as my eternal prison, far exceeded 159 exceeded all the horrors, which had struck my imagination so forcibly while approaching it. It was an antient for- tress, perched high on the brow of a precipice like an eagle's nest, which now received the unfortunate Urania. The peculiar form of its architecture an^ nounced it to have been raised in the time of Charlemagne ; and the incessant howling of the storm, and raging of the billows seemed with every moment to threaten its downfall. I saw it from a distance seemingly suspended on the very brink of a steep and barren rock, which overhung the Lake, and I shud- dered, when my conductors pointed it out as my future dwelling ! Fool that I was ! I flew with rapture into the arms of Ethelbert, where I exr pected 160 pGCted to find an earthly paradise and was deceived : with agony, keen as that of the dying, did I enter Rdvenstein Castle and was deceived again ! Ah! will short-sighted mortals never succeed in comprehending, that that which appears, and that which />, but rarely coincide ? Yet, when we have experienced these deceptions twice or thric^ the experience makes us in future calm and resigned; and we acquire from it that indifference which raises us above the frowns and smiles of fortune, and enables us to repress with equal strength groundless apprehensions andT unavailing wishes. During the first days of my confine- tti^nt I was in truth most wretched. My situation was rendered almost in- supportable 161 supportable by the want of every coik venience and comfort, and by the tedi- ousness of unbroken solitude. I sighed after society of any kind, even though it had been such as (to judge from it* outward appearance) would have pro- mised ine but little entertainment. Some days had thus elapsed, when I observed through the bars of my closely- grated window, that a boy apparently between three and four years old, was sometimes suffered to amuse himself by playing in the neglected garden, which I was myself forbidden to visit. The innocent gaiety of the child made an impression on me, which frequently filled my eyes with tears. — " Happy unthinking creature !" I exclaimed, wringing my hands in the bitterness 162 bitterness of grief, " this garden appears to you a paradise, because you know none better. You are poor, forsaken, perhaps menaced by a thousand dangers which every moment brings nearer; but you see them not ! Regret for the past troubles you as little as anxiety for the future ; and it were difficult for a monarch with all his power to make you more happy, than you are even now ! Oh ! that I were like you. Ob ! that at least I could clasp you in my arms, and learn from your sweet smile the art of smiling though in prison T* — My wish to become more intimate with the happy trifler was too ardent to remain concealed. I entreated my jailor to gratify me with a nearer sight of him, and after a few difficulties I was at 163 at length permitted to receive the little Ludolf in my gloomy chamber. — " Ludolf r'* I exclaimed, when the child first told me his name — " Ludolf ?" I repeated still more anxiously, while I examined his features, and fancied that I could trace a resemblance, which ex- cited hopes in my bosom so sweet that I trembled to indulge them. What then was my emotion, when the lovely boy convinced me that this was not the first time of our meeting, by naming as Kis mother, " Edith of -Mayenfield !" Yes! this dear, this long-lost friend was like myself an inmate of this place of terror ! I breathed the same air with her ; I was allowed to hope, that every succeeding day would afford me an op- portunity 164 portunity of beholding her : the pleasure, which I felt from these reflections, was too great to admit of my observing, that Count Ethelbert's confining me in the same place with a captive, whom he had secured in a manner so treacherous, was •a proof that he designed my imprison- ment to be eternal. Whatever might have originally been his motives for treat- ing lis with such severity, it was at least certain, that he would not permit either to regain her liberty, lest she should dis* cover the mystery of his inhuman con- duct, or take measures for rescuing from his power her companion in misfor- tune. Considerations of this kind did not at first suggest themselves; I felt nothing but the joy of being once more united to 165 to my friend, an event which I now looked forward to with the most eager expectation. Heaven knows, it would have been no trifling comfort to me, had I met with the most insignificant of created beings, would but that being have listened to me with compassion, and endeavoured to soothe me in the paroxisms of my despair ; but to dare to hope that Edith would now be my comforter in this dreary prHoii, oh ! who can express the countless sources of satisfaction, which that single thought contained ! But alas ! the completion of my hopes was not so easy as I expected. The Countess of Mayenfield was confined not less closely than myself; and our jailor was not to be prevailed on to depart 166 depart in one single instance from the instructions of his inhuman lord. Yet methinks this man was not cruel by nature. Perhaps, it grieved him to be compelled to treat us with so much harshness ; but he made it a point of conscience to adhere in the most punc- tual manner to the oath, which (as he frequently assured me, in answer to my complaints and reproaches) he had been compelled to give to the Count of Carlsheim. — " You see," said he, " that where- ever it is in my power, I refuse no in- dulgence. I received no particular com- mand respecting the child's imprison- ment, who was delivered to my custody at the same- time with his mother, and therefore t allow him to enjoy all those advantages, 167 advantages, from which I am compelled to debar her and yourself. Neither was it forbidden me to furnish the Countess of Mayenfield with such sources of men- tal amusement, as might beguile her solitary hours. She has a variety of books, has her spinning-wheel and her embroidery frame ; if she clmses it, she may lay these aside, and employ herself with her pen ; this indulgence, lady, shall also be granted to you\ and me- thinks, it must be almost the same thing, \\ hether what you have to say to each other is imparted in writing, or in person." Here then did our jailor kindly open a door for those communications, for which we had so long thirsted ; we re- turned him our most ardent thanks for the 168 die hint, and lost no time In making use of it. We wrote to each other daily ; and as the conscientious feelings of this trusty domestic of my tyrant would not allow him to deliver our letters himself 5^hey were confided to the care of the little Ludolf. The lovely boy soon became attached to me ; he was ever ready to visit my narrow chamber ; and besides tlxe information which Edith's letters contained, I gleaned from him in conversation many interesting anecdotes, which however serious their subject, frequently assumed so whim- sical an appearance through his infantine mode of relating them, that it was im- possible either for his mother or myself to tefrain from smiling. Heavens ! we smiled i little did our t)Tant imagine, that 169 fh-at in the gloomy walls of Ravenstein Castle his captives would have ever found cause for mirth ! Edith's letters contained explanations of many circumstances, which till then had appeared to me quite unaccountable^ These precious memorials of the most sacred friendship are still in my posses- sion. You, my dear children, for whom I write this narrative of my sufferings, will find them after my death, as docu- ments serving to corroborate the vera- city of my statements. Oh ! how will you blush for your ancestor, when you read that Ethelbert had never been th« chara^cter, which we (poor deceived ones!) believed him to be, and that from the very beginning his whole con- duct had been an artifice ! . Vol. I. 1 Its J 70 Its true, my person at first was the object of his desires ; but much more so were the possessions, which I was ex- pected to inherit. Anxiously did he seek to bring about our union; but circumstances, with which Edith herself was unacquainted, forbade the explana- tion of his wishes, and compelled him to wait, till my uncle should actually force him to accept my hand. Fear, lest my expectations of being raised to power and wealth (on which his own depended)" should be overturned by Count Ve- nosta's second marriage, induced him privately to remove the dreaded Edith. He had chosen the time for carrying her off admirably well. A secret under- standing with the Abbot of St. Gall, (whose enemy he profest to be in public) enabled in enabled him at on<^ to get rid of Count Venosta's vigilance, entice me out of the fortress, and thus leave Edith totally without protection. It also afforded him an opportunity to establish himself In my uncle's favour, by rendering him so essential a service as the restoring him to liberty ; a service, which my too grateful uncle thought could only be r ewarded by the gift of my hand, with* out allowing Ethelbert time to solicit it* Alas 1 my fortitude fails me, while endeavouring to unravel the v/hole web of artifice and villainy, which our perse, cutor had woven to ensnare us with no less cunning than success. He contrived to cheat the Abbot of the prisoner, whom he had first himself betrayed into his power J Count Venosta of his possessions, I 2 his 172 his iTiistress, and his niece; poor Edith of her liberty; and me of the happiness and tranquillity of my whole hfe ! Never had Count Ethelbert felt for me one spark of real affection. Even the passion, with which my person had inspired him, was subordinate to his desire of becoming master of my large possessions. No sooner was this point accomplished, no sooner had the daily sight of it deprived what little beauty was mine of the charm of novelty, than the continual presence of a virtuous wife . appeared to him a check upon his pleasures. He therefore seized with eagerness the first opportunity of deli- vering himself from my presence ; nor did he forget to sully my reputation by mputations so disgraceful, that I ap- peared 173 peared to the world unworthy of either. relief or pity. Even my, good uncle, wept, and resigned me to my fate. The Countess of Mayenfiel.d had learned the greatest part of the circum- stances, which she related in her letters, from the wife of the Castellan of Raven- stein J this good-hearted matron (who died a few days before my arrival -at the Castle) had a son in Count Ethelbert's service, by whom she was informed of most of his lord's proceedings. The con- versation of this compassionate woman had beguiled many of the, heavy hou rs of Edith's imprisonment ; nor had she ever neglected an opportunity of evading the too conscientious adherence of her husband to his oath, and of furnish- ing to the noble captive many allevia- 1 3 tions 174 tiORS of her sorrows, all of which va- nished at her death. Ohl had I but faund her still in existence on my arriviil at Ravenstein, what might we not have hoped from her friendly aid ! what would have been too difficult for three women to accom- plish, of whom the one possessed power, the second prudence, and the third reso- lution ! Surely it would have been easy for us ta have obtained our freedom ; at least, I should not have been so long deprived of the happiness of clasping my faithful Edith to my bosom. Often in our epistolary conversations did we lament over the great loss, which we had sustained in being deprived of this worthy creature ! yet the Countess comforted herself with the pleasure of knowings 175 knowing, that I was near her and in a place, where she looked upon me as en- joying both more happiness and more safety, than would have been my lot in the arms of Count Ethelbert. — As for myself, I wept, and prayed for better times. And better times arrived ! We had long suspected, that we were not the only unfortunates confined at Raven- stein ; and in the truth of this suspicion we now were fully confirmed^ though our curiosity was by no means fully satisfied. The Castle, as I before stated, was built on the summit of a lofty rock, whose point appeared designed as a mark for the assaults of all the four winds of heaven. Storms here were frequent and tremen- I 4 dous. 176 dous. In the middle of a tempestuous night, when the whirlwind was raging with its greatest violence, suddenly a remote wing of the Castle burst into^ flames ! the wind set towards our quar- ter ; the sparks flew in at our grated windows ; our danger increased with every moment, and every human being seemed to have totally forgotten us. No one had consideration enough to unlock our dungeons; no one showed the slight- est disposition to come to our assistance. The general attention was directed to- wards the eastern wing of the fortres?s, which was entirely in flames. Our terror is not to be described ; yet certainly mine was far inferior to that of Edith, who had not to fear for herself alone. The preservation of a life, 177 a life, which was infinitely dearer to her than her own, occupied all her thoughts y she "trembled for the-hfe of her son ! She was desperate j she felt, that his destruction was inseparably united with her own, and resolved to dare every thing to preserve him. In the wall of her dungeon was an opening, barely large enough to suffer the child to pass through ; she fastened her bed cloatlis together ; she resolved to let him dov/n by.them to the ground, and charged him, as soon as he should have reached it, to release himself and fly, or else to fincj some hiding place, where he might re- main till the danger was past. The risque was dreadful ; nothing but des- pair could have induced her to adopt such a resolution. 15 Edith's Edith's endeavours to preserve her little darling were not unsuccessful. He reached the ground in safety ; but scarcely had she parted with him, when the increasing heat (for by this time the balconies of the neighbouring buildings were in flames) and the volumes of smoke, which poured into her chamber, overpowered her senses, and she sank without animation on the floor.. My situation was exactly similar. At the moment when I fainted, the only thought, which employed my mind, was the hope of an happy meeting with Edith in another better world ; an hope which (I fully believed) was accom- plished, when on once more unclosing my eyes, I found myself breathing pure air in a light and spacious chamber, and perceived* 179 perceived by my side the friend whom I loved so tenderly, and for whose sight I had so long and so anxiously sighed in vain. — « Oh ' Edith !"— « Urania 1 my Urania I" — we both exclaimed at once, while we sank into each others' arms j " What has happened ? are we rescued from captivity on earth, or released from the fetters of mortaUty ? Where is it that we meet, in freedom, in cap- tivity, or in the life beyond the grave?" — Too soon were our doubts removed: too soon were we compelled to feel, that we were rescued from death, but not restored to liberty. The still smoking ruins, which met our eyes from afar, told us but too plainly, that we were still 1 6 within 180 within tlie walls of Ravenstein ; and the unremitting vigilance, wath which we were observed, made us well aware, that we had reaped no other advantage from the transactions of the night, cx<:ept the delight of seeing and ein- bracing a long lost friend. But alas ! what cruel reflections embittered this delight. Edith sorrowed for her son, and reproaclied herself for having suf- fered herself to part with him in despair, wheA had she detained him with her in the dungeon, he would have been pre- served as well as his mother. I felt scarcely less sorrow for the loss of the beloved child, than Edith herself; I would gladly have comforted her, but alas ! where was comfort to be founds? Even should he* have escaped from the 2 flames. flames, which were mging with such violence at the moment when he quitted his mother, how difficult still did his pre- servation appear ! We failed not on the day after the fire to examine the place, whence Edith had caused him to de- scend. The opening was not situated very high in the tower ; but close to the place, where he must have reached the ground, there yawned a tremendous precipice ; the depth of which when we vainly endeavoured to measure with our eyes, the flesh crept upon our bones, and cold drops of terror chased each other down, our foreheads. ' 'Bitter was our grief, but no one heeded our lamentations -y our ; guards atteiided to nothing but the adventured of the past night, and we collected from their 182 th^ir discourse, that the fire had been kindled by a lady confined in the eastern wing of the Castle. Her object, as they supposed, was to find some means of escaping during the confusion, which her rash action had necessarily produced; she had not only failed in her design, but had suffered so severely by springing from a lofty window, and by the wounds which she had received from the frag- ments of a falling tower, that she was not expected to outlive the night. The Castellan too, in his endeavours to prevent the escape of this prisoner (whose confinement seemed to be a greater object of anxiety to him, even than that of Edith and myself) had met with a fatal accident, and was every moment expected to breathe his 3 last.^ IBS last. We desired to see him before his death. With a feeble voice he entreated our pardon for the injustice, with which he had been compelled to treat us ; but he called Heaven to witness, that the dreadful oaths which had been exacted from him, had deprived him of the power of acting diiferently. Yet did he not think it necessary to enjoin our future jailors to treat us with greater lenity ; and they, being in all probability fettered by the same oaths with himself, esteemed it their duty to retain us in z captivity no less strict than before. All we ccHild obtain from them was, that we should not again be separated j and also that we should be pei'mitted to visit that unfortunate lady, of whose existence in the Castle we were this day informed 184 informed for the first time; who had made use of such violent means to ob- tain her Hberty ; and who (as our guards assured us) was on the point of paying with her life, for having dared to cx)m- mit so desperate an action. Curiosity, hope, the fear of finding some beloved acquaintance in this wretched captive, or the desire of giving some alleviation to the sufferings of an expiring partner in affliction, which of these motives induced us to make this melancholy visit, I cannot pretend to decide. When we received the permis- sion to enter her dungeon, we were assured, that we should find nothing that would diminish our own distress, and the event justified the assurance. They conducted us to a wretched pallet. 1S5 pallet, on which lay a female, whose fea- tures were, totally unknown, to us, buit whose appearance excited in us the deepest sentiments of pity ; of that pain- ful pity, which knows itself unable to afford relief! On hearing our footsteps she raised with diiEculty her half-closed eyes, and with a smile of anguish ex- tended her hand, towards us. : We ex- erted ourselves to afford her every little alleviation of pain^ which our narrow means could furnish 5 and in executing these mournful services, our tears suiE- ciently declared the feelings of our hearts. ' ^ 1- ;" '^Ar-.' . —"Forgive me ! -^ said she, when after tivo or three hours our endeavours to relieve her had produced some little effect ; " I wished tojescue myself from captivity, 186 captivity, and had nearly brought the same fate on you, under which I am now groaning. But long suffering is the mother of despair!" — Shortly after she seemed to be nearly delirious ; she counted the years which she had already past in this dreary dun- geon, and those during which she expected to be detained in it by her tyrant ; then she raved about her son, for whose arrival she had so long waited in vain, and she entreated him to hasten to the rescue of his unfortunate mother ! Towards midnight she declared, that all pain had entirely left her. With an appearance of gaiety she thanked us for our attentions, and entreated to know the names of those, to whom she was so much 2S7 much indebted. The Countess revealed herself, and the captive in return be- stowed upon her a look of interest and compassion. — " Edith of Mayenfield ?" repeated the invalid; "oh! I know your story- well : you too have suffered much ; not so much, its true, as /have suffered, yet enough to know what it is to incur a villain's hatred.— And your name, gen* tie lady?'' she continued, addressing herself to me. — "" I am Urania of Carlsheini and Sargans," was my ansv/er. — " Urania of Sargans !'* shrieked the stranger in a dreadful voice, while she clasped her hands violently together j *' Urania? Ethelbert*s beloved Urania ? Oh, Fortune^ this blow was still want- ing 188 ing to make me completely miserable* —Away from my sight, abandoned woman ! away, and leave me to die ! But with my last breath I s\^'ear to be revenged ! Even from my grave will I shriek to Heaven for vengeance I Trem- ble, detested girl ; thou shalt not: tri- umph over my corse unpunished !** — I stood like one petrified near the bed of the sufferer ; astonishment and terror almost deprived me of my senses, and nothing but the consciousness that she spoke in the heat of frenzy, could have preserved me from sinking on the earth, — ^' Noble lady," I said as soon as I could recover myself, at the same time advancing towards her, and offering to take her hand ; *^ recollect yourself, for pity's 189 pity's sake 1 I never saw you till row, and can never have offended you. You surely cannot have heard me aright. I am Urania, the unfortunate Urania Venosta, who rejected by a cruel hus- band, and undeservedb'- branded with shame, have been condemned in this Castle to wear eternal fetters, which the flames of last night in vain attempted to break."— — "Hal** said the stranger in a gentler tone, " is it so ? — Are you then Ethelbert's rejected wife ? Unfortu- nate, let me clasp thy hand in mine ; we are sisters in calamity.*' — Already was I advancing to take the hand v/hich she held out, when Edith uttered a loud scream, and hastily drew me back. Sl^e had observed the cap- tive's 190 tive's countenance change suddenly, and we now saw, that she grasped a poniard till then concealed in her bosom. From that moment the senses of the wretched stranger were irrecoverably lost. Her eyes full of rage were constantly directed towards me ; she foamed at the mouth; she loaded me with execrations, and I was compelled to retire, that she might have a chance of regaining some com^ posure. The meaning of this dreadful scene was to me an absolute enigma. I lamented the poor wretch's condition ; though a secret horror, whenever I recollected her words and man- tier, took complete possession of my souL In this painful situation did I pass the night j the morning had scarcely dawned. 191 dawned, when the Countess of Mayen- field rejoined me, and informed me that the unknown lady was no more. Edith was quite exhausted by the terrible oc- currences of the past night. I enquired, whether she had made no discoveries, w^hich might unravel these mysterious circumstances : but she answered by an assurance, that it was impossible for her to give me any light upon the subject. In mournful silence did we follow to the grave the corse of our wretched partner in captivity. She was interred in one of the back-courts of our prison ; and we were conducted after the burial into a gloomy apartment in a quarter of the Castle, which had escaped the vio- lence of the flames. Our present dun- geon was in no respect better, than our former 192 former had been; and the small portion of freedom, which we had enjoyed during the few last days, now appeared to our stern jailors too great an indul- gence, and we were accordingly de-» privedofit. We heard the door barred on the outside; we sank into each other's arms, and wept bitterly : then we rejoiced, that at least we ,had been suffered to remain together^ and then we wept again. We endeavoured to escape from present miseries by recalling former hap- piness, and indulging future hopes ; but alas! this resource was but of little avail Yet among all the agonizing reflections whi(ph tormented us, nothing was so painful to remember, as the loss of Gur little darling, Ludolf ! I will 193 I will not pain your gentle hearts, my children, by dwelling on our sufferings in this forlorn situation, during which our only support was the soothing of mutual pity. A change at length took place in it, but we had little reason to expect, that it would turn out to our advantage ! Our guards informed us one day, that the Count of Carlsheim had sent a new Castellan to superintend the government of this half-ruined for- tress y and they added, we should soon find cause to regret under our new overseer that treatment, which we had complained of as being so harsh and rigid. We trembled, as we listened to this prophecy. Aversion and spite against this new instrument of Count Ethelbert's vengeance were plainly ex- VOL. I. K prest 194 prest in every feature of our former jailors, yet did they scarcely dare to express their dislike of him aloud : what then had we to expect ? How dreadful must that man be, who could strike terror even into the flinty hearts of these barbarians 1 We had not long been informed of his arrival, when this dreaded Castellan entered our dungeon, accompanied by several of our former guards. We trembled, as we gaz;ed on the gloomy brow of the man, to whose hands our fate was consigned. Walter Forest, for (so was our jailor called) scarcely deigned to honour us with a look, while he informed us, that we must prepare our- selves to quit Ravenstein at midnight, the Count of CarlsLeim not thinking the 195 the Castle safe enough, since the late fire, for the confinement of prisoners of our consequence. We wished to address a few words to him, imploring better treatment for the future ; but he turned away from us rudely, blamed the attend- ants for having suffered us to remain unfettered, and having caused heavy shackles to be brought immediately, he saw them rivetted before he left the dungeon. The doors were fastened after him more cautiously, if possible, than before. Yet in spite of his vigilance and positive commands, the -former chief of our guards (who seemed to look on his being deprived of his cruel office as an insult) contrived to gain admission to us privately, and to confirm by his v/arn- K 2 ings 196 iiigs the dreadful suspicions, with which our imaginations were but too strongly imprest already. — " I advise you by every means in your powjer," said he, " to avoid com- mitting yourselves to the power of this intruder : depend upon it, this removal to a different place of confinement is only a pretence to persuade you to follow him Without trouble ; and I doubt not, he intends to convey you to some soli- tary spot, and put an end at once to your captivity and your lives. But take my counsel, and you shall be res- cued from this danger : Walter is accom- panied but by few attendants, and those badly armed ; our people are treble the number of his, and we can easily over- power him, if you will but give us the 2 command. 197 ^ - command. Call to us for assistance ; we will all be on your side ; and a? we have carefully avoided asking to see our master's orders for giving you into Waiter's custody, we can easily make it believed that we took him for an im- postor, and thus shall we escape Count Ethelbert's vengeance, if you will but engage not to betray our secret !"> — 1 he teliow, who Hitherto naa seiaom deigned to hold a parley with us, said much m.ore to the same effect. He left us undecided, what we ought to think of this proposal, and what mode of con- duct it would be most prudent for us to pursue: yet after mature deliberation, and having completely canvassed the business by ourselves, the consideration, that in a situation so desolate as ours, K 3 any 198 any change must be for the better, made us resolve to submit quietly to Ethelbert's. lately-issued commands. — New situations might furnish new re- sources, perhaps even an opportunity for flight ; at all events our present condi- tion was so hopeless, that we could not wish it to continue ; and when at mid- nip-ht Walter Forest unbarred our dun- geon door, we followed him without a murmur. In all probability the enemies of our new comptroller had agreed, that our resistance should be the signal for falling upon him. We found our anti-chamber filled with them ; all were armed, and the threatening looks, which they threw on our conductor, sufllciently declared their purpose. — But when tliey saw that 199 that we accompanied him willingly, their courage appeared to fail them. Some few indeed unsheathed their swords, and made a faint show of resistance ; but Walter's people were neither cow- ards nor ignorant of the use of arms, and we were soon permitted to quit the Castle ur impeded. — " Tremble!" we heard Walter exclaim., as we crost the threshold, " tremble, rebels, when I return ! You shall not have opposed our master's will without reward, and you shall find, that I am able to preserve the office, which Count Ethelbert has thought fit to in- trust to my care !" — At the entrance of the steep and nar- row path, by which we descended the rock on whose brow the fortress was K 4 situated. 2C0 situated, stood a close litter, to which we were conducted. We entered it ; the car- riage moved on with rapidity ; and now it was, that I ventured to discover to my friend my astonishment, at a circum- stance which had just occurred. In quitting the Castle one of Walter's peo- ple had raised the visor pf his casque for a moment, and had shewn me what seemed to be the countenance of Henric Meithal ! My narrative had already made Edith acquainted with the cha- racter of this man. In the whole circle of the ten jurisdictions there existed not a heart more honest or more brave. He had been one of my uncle's most faithful vassals 5 and even when that domain where he resided was made over to the Count of Carlsheim, Henric . still re- mained 201 mained most tenderly attached to the interests of Count Venosta and his un- happy niece. — " Henric Melthal ?" exclaimed the Countess ; " Oh ! Urania, if this honest man is among our attendants, we are already more than half at liberty. — ^He surely knows not the prisoners whom he is guarding, and doubtless if we can but find an opportunity of discovering to him our names and danger, he will omit no en/deavour to free us from our chains." — To confirm her in these pleasing hopes^ I was on the point of informing her, that when I was forcibly removed from the Castle ofSargans, this very Henric was the only person who dared to assert K 5 my 202 my innocence; when Walter Forest rode up to the side of the litter. — " Noble ladies," said he, while the moon showed us, that the gloom, w hich had overspread his countenance, was replaced by the smile of benevolence, and while the tone in which he addresf us was the most gentle and respectful, " Fear nothing ; you are safe, and here is the person, whom you have to thank for your rescue.'' — I will not attempt to describe our feelings at hearing these words, which were no sooner spoken, than Walter again withdrew. The litter was dark ; we could not see the person who entered it ; but how were our doubts converted into rapture, when Edith felt her neck 1 encircled 203 encircled by two little arms, and heard herself called by the name of mother 1 With one voice we both pronounced the name of the dear lost child, who was now restored to us so unexpectedly. Rapture almost deprived the Countess of speech and recollection ; and I was myself too much bewildered with the joy of having recovered the little Ludolf and my own liberty at the same time, to be capable of affording my friend much assistance. As soon as we could recollect ourselves, we endeavoured to call Walter to the side of the litter, in order that he might explain these mys- terious transactions ; but he paid no attention to us. This was not a fit time for explanations and expressions of gra- titude. Not a moment was to be lost, K 6 and !204. and we traversed the valley with the rapidity of the tempest. Till we were safe on the other side of the mountains, or had crost the lake of Thun, we were desired not to expect our curiosity to be fully gratified -, in the mean while we were obliged to content ourselves with such circumstances, as we could collect from Ludolf's unconnected account, which however left us no doubt, that we Vv^ere indebted for our rescue to the courage and address of Walter Forest. Providence had made use of Edith's desperate resolution of dropping her little darling from the prison-window, to effect our deliverance. You see in this an example, my children, what in- significant trifles furnish the Omnipotent Ruler of all things with the means of blessing his creatures ! Our impru- dences. 205. dences, nay even our very faults are not without their use in the great chain of accidents ; and managed by a hand of superior power they often produce con- sequences totally different from those, which might naturally have been expect- ed to follow ! In that night of terror Ludolf 's better angel had guided him safely through a dangerous path .on every side beset with steep precipices and vast tremendous chasms. Weeping and exhausted with fatigue, he was found at the foot of a rock by a peasant from the vale of Fru- tiger. On being informed that he had just made his escape from the burning Castle, and was unwilling to return thi- ther, the honest countryman conducted him to the house of Walter Forest, one of the most distinguished inhabitants of those 206 those parts. He received the child with that hospitable kindness, which no true Helvetian ever refuses to the unfortu- nate. Walter was indeed a true Hel- vetian ; and he felt double pleasure in giving protection to a child like I.udolf, who to the beauty of a cherub united the most unprotected helplessness : surely there is no chain more powerful to bind a noble heart. It was long, before his new guardian could comprehend the meaning of the child's broken narrative ; but the names of his mother and myself (both of whom Ludolf supposed to have perished in the conflagration) and his calling himself the Count of Mayenfield, roused Walter's attention suiEciently to induce him to enquire farther into the business ; and 207 and those enquiries at length made hirn master of the whole truth. The virtuous inhabitants of that tran- quil valley troubled themselves but little about what past in the rock-founded Castles of the neighbouring lords. They looked upon them as the abodes of vice and of injustice, loathed their possessors for the one, and feared them for the other. Their power was too weak to permit their preventing the commission of those crimes, which frequently took place in these fortresses, though the report of such deeds of horror occasion- ally reached them ; therefore their most earnest wish, respecting these dens of robbers, was to escape the notice of their owners, who might otherwise have been tempted 208 tempted to make them also experience the weight of their oppression. ^ But Walter Forest fa man, whose sentiments and actions were in every respect far superior to those of his co- temporaries) needed only to be informed, that two unhappy women stood in need of his protection, to make hinx resolve on granting it. By making enquiries cautiously and discreetly among the Jiousehold of the Count of Carlsheim, he ascertained the truth of what he had collected from the child's narration, and also that the c^tives of whom he spoke had been rescued from the flames. His resolution was immedia^tely adopted, and swift and successful was the execu- tion of his design. Henric 209 Henric Melthal was an old acquaint- ance and friend of Walter ; and it was to him, that the latter applied for mfor- mation respecting the history of Edith and myself. That faithful vassal of Count Venosta had long lamented in secret the fate of his former mistress, and anxiously wished to discover the place of her confinement. Readily therefore did he enter into Walter's plan for my deliverance; .and in the mean while (through fear of losing time) he dispatched his san in all haste to give my uncle information of every thing that had taken place. The measures adopted for our rescue by these two honest Helvetians is easy to be guest from what has been already related. Henric brought with him a small 210 small band of faithful frknds from the neighbourhood of Sargans, which Wal- ter strengthened with some of the bravest inhabitants of the vale of Frutiger. They were daring enough to present themselves at Ravenstein, as Envoys from the Count of Carlsheim ; and the very rashness of the design made it pass without suspicion. The firm and com- manding tone, which they assumed, overawed the numerous soldiers of Ravenstein ; our friends were well aw^are, that their artifice could not remain long undiscovered, and there- fore thev lost not a moment in endea- vouring to reap the fruits of it ; they were successful, and the captives were once more free ! Edith ! Ludolf ! dear partners in affliction, 211 affliction, ye were restored with me to liberty! — Walter! Henricl our bene- volent deliverers, what thanks could suffice to reward your services! — But the generous men expected neither rewards nor thanks. What they had done appeared to them an act so simple, that they rather supposed, we should complain that our rescue had been de- layed so long ; and they thought it necessary to assure us a thousand times, that ignorance of our situation and want of power to assist us had unavoid- ably prevented their coming sooner to break our cliains ; excuses, which we (only awake to sentiments of gratitude and joy) thought perfectly unsuited to the occasion. These excellent men, who had bravely hazarded 212 hazarded their lives in a manner so perfecdy disinterested, belonged to the inferior class of people ; they were the sons of labour, and strangers to the refinements of wealth and grandeur. Yet does there really exist an inferior class among a people, who inhale with •every breath of air the spirit of generosity and the love of free- dom r un ! rocks ot Helvetia, 'tis only among you^ that we find that mixture of magnanimity of soul and unaffected simplicity, which attracts to your children so large a portion of our admiration and our love at once ! Prevented by distance and by the increasing infirmities of age, Count Venosta had not yet completed his pre- parations for attempting our rescue, when 213 when we threw ourselves at his feet. Arnold Melthal (Henric's son, whom his father had dispatched with the account of our situation) had assured him, that it was unnecessary for him to collect his i forces, since we should certainly be delivered without their assistance ; but when those we love are concerned, who ever believes, that too many precau- tions can be taken ? The news, that Edith still lived, and that his niece was innocent, had agitated the venerable warrior's mind so violently, that had he .been master of it, he would have sum- moned the whole v/orld to our assist- ance. The small estate, which Count Leo- pold had alone reserved for himself out of all the wide-extended possessions, which 214 which his generosity had bestowed on my ungrateful husband, was in a perfect uproar, and his few vassals were already in arms. As our arrival made these preparations unnecessary for our rescue, it was determined that they should be employed for our revenge. As for Edith and myself, we entjeated that peace might be preserved ; we implored my uncle to recollect the great superior- ity of strength and riches, which our foes possest : but how difficult is it to prevail on an antient warrior to lay aside the sword long accustomed to victory ! — " Oh ! Edith," he replied to our supplications, " spare me these entreat- ies ; the unm.anly conduct of your tyrant is too base to be permitted to pass' unpunished. unpunished. Reflect, of how many happy years the monster has deprived us, which we might have passed toge- ther in peace and joy 5 reflect too, that he robbed you, my innocent Urania, of your good name, and by that means of the assistance of your best, your only friend. Fool that I was, how could I have been so credulous as to beheve his calumny ! How artfully did he long contrive to keep me ignorant of his separation from you ! and when at length the remonstrances of Henric Melthal, and the cries of your faithful Gertrude, penetrated to my solitude, how skilfully did he lull to rest my love and my anxiety by slanderous tales, to which your uncle (under whose eye you had so long past a life of the purest inno- cence) 216 cence) ought never to have gi\'en credit ?"— Such being his feelings, it was impos- sible for our entreaties td make any impression on Count Venosta. He was positively determined to punish the Count of Carlsheim, not only for the crimes which he had committed, but for the error which (through him) he had himself been induced to commit. For this purpose he conducted us to the strong Castle of Upper Halbstein, on the banks of the Rhine, which was situ- ated *not far from the scene of action, and consequently was then more con- venient for our abode than the distant vale of Munster. Scarcely had we reached the Castle, when we received a pleasure totally unex- 217 unexpected, but long most anxiously . desired. In vain had we endeavoured to discover, what was become of the youthful Minna of Mayenfield, whom I had been compelled to leave behind in Count Ethelbert's power. My uncle assured us, that no sooner had he been informed of my departure from the Castle of Sargans, than in hopes of gaining some consolation for my loss, he had requested the Count of Carlsheim to entrust her to his care. His appli- cation however had been unsuccessful 5 and the only intelligence which he could gain respecting her was, that on the day after my forcible departure from Sargans^ Gertrude had found means to quit the Castle pri's^ately, and had been accompanied in her flight by the Damsel VOL. I. L of •218 of Mayenfield. Yet when Gertrude ;made her appearance at Count VenoSta's to prevail on him to attempt my deli- verance, and was questioned respecting the above' report, she denied any know- ledge of the place of Minna's conceal -ment. The mystery was now dissolved ; on the day after our arrival at the Castle on the Rhine, I had the pleasure of being welcomed by my faithful Gertrude ! — " Oh ! my dear ladies !" she ex- claimed, while she threw herself at our feet, and prest an hand of each alter- nately to her lips, " how much hav^e I felt for your misfortunes ! how much , trouble has it cost me to preserve for you that treasure, which I am now going to restore ! ^ I dared not intrust it to the custody of the weak and credulous Count 219 Count Venosta ; but under your care our lovely girl can liavc notMng to apprehend.'* — ■ Scarcely had Gertrude ceaa^ed tp, speak, when a blooming maiden about sixteen, whose charms perfectly answered the expectation of what was promised by the childhood of Minna of Mayenfield, rushed into the room, and bedewed with tears of fiUal affection the bosom of tlie delighted Edith : it was her beloved, her long-lost daughter. Bewildered v/ith joy, for some time neither the mother nor myself could do any thing but gaze upon and embrace the weeping Minna ; and Gertrude recounted with- out being attended to, why she had so obstinately • denied any knowledge of her concealment, and had resolved. noife L 2 to 2^0 to intrust her to the care qF my uncle, who had suffered hnnself to be so grossly deluded by the slanders of the Count of Carlsheim. It was long, before we could recover ourselves enough to thank the trusty Gertrude, and listen to the tale of Min- na's adventures, of which a detailed account will be found amon^ my papers (as well as a supplement containing what afterwards happened to her) under the title of '^^ Mimia of Ho?nburg.'*^ Suffice it to say in brief, that I had no sooner been torn from the arms of the afflicted Minna in order to be conveyed to Ra- venstein, than Gertrude hurried her away from Sargans, and hastened to conceal her in the celebrated convent of Zurich. Their whole wealth in gold 1 ' , and 221 and jewels was scarcely suiEcient to pay for their entrance into this consecrated retreat, which (as is well known) is seldom open but to ladies of the highest rank ; and Gertrude's prudence forbade her announcing her young charge as a daughter of the House of Mayenfield. Here they remained under feigned names quiet and concealed, unknown to, and even scarcely remarked by their hostesses the Nuns, till Minna's expand- ing beauty began to excite attention. The Abbot of St. Gall^ and the Bishop of Coira were more frequent than usual in their visits to the Domina, and never suffered an opportunity to escape them of bestowing a blessing on the lovely stranger. Gertrude, who had never been observed to judge the actions of 1. 3 the theidignitaries of the church too favour- ably, suspected that her pupil ^^as no longer safe at Zurich, and determined to change her abode, which she had the pow^r of doing v/ithout difficulty. • ITiis excellent woman had been long coui'ied by^' man of no small conse- quence in the village of Stein ; he was in -ev^y rei^pect'desei^V'ing of a reciprocal attachment^' arid she had lon^'since ac- knovvTledgM 4er consciousness, of his merit ; but still the affection Which she felt 'for me, with whem &he-had lived eVerifi^om my infaiicy, iv^as sb great, that she could not prevail on herself to quit me. After the loss of nie and Edith, when the young Minna was left entirely to her care, she was less disposed than ever to think of altering hei*' situation. A cloister 223 A cloister seemed to her the only proper retreat for herself and her adopted dan gh-. ter; and she contented herself with only seeing her faithful lover at such few hotirs, as shexould steal from her atten- tions to Minna. Then she confided to' him her grief for our loss, and her anx- iety for the fate of her pupil. He v/as h^r only confident ; and now that the holy walls seemed to afford no longer a secure retreat, Werner Bernsdorf be- came more urgent in his entreaties, that Gertrude would exchange her abode at the Convent for an husband's house. Gertrude at length consented to be- come his wife, and accepted the protec- tion, which he offered for herself and hey lovely charge. She quitted the Convent L 4 priviitcly,* 224 privately ; and they had already past a year in his dwelling at Stein in a manner which left them nothing to flesire, ex- cept that which they now enjoyed, the embraces of those dear frientls whose loss they had never ceased to lament. No sooner had the intelligence reached her of our release and arrival at Upper Halbstein, than Gertrude hastened to restore Minna to our arms, and give us an account of the manner, in which she had preserved this treasure. Her hus- band, the worthy Werner Bernsdorf, accompanied her, and brought with him a considerable number of his country neighbours to assist my uncle against the Cpunt of Carlsheim, whose conduct had made him the object of universal detestation. Here 225 Here Minna eagerly interrupted Ger- trude's narrative. — " Oh 1" said she, " however good Werner's/ intentions may be, we are already provided with a much more powerful ally. You are not aware, dear mother, that Count Lodowick of Hom- burg " — — " Forgive me, lady," said Ger- trude smiling, " for having so long omitted the mention of that favourite name !*' — then turning again to us, " you must know, my dear mistresses, that the assistance, which the Count of Homburg prepares to give you, is given solely, because one of the persons injured by Ethelbert is the mother of Minna. Count Lodowick is my husband's de- clared patron 5 he saw the Damsel of L 5 May- 226 Mayenfield in one of his visits at Steb, and from that moment his heart — -" Have mercy on me, dear Ger- trude, " exclaimed the blushing Minna ; "^^ you punish me too severely for my imprudence !" — Gertrude Vv as silent, but. we insisted on an explanation. We now heard all the circumstances of an attachment, which are detailed at length in Minna's lijstory, but which I could not relate in this place without breaking the thread of my narrative, which I shall now pursue v/ithout interruption. The arrival of the forces of the Count of Homburg and of Werner Bernsdorf was highly acceptable to Count Venosta* A variety of circumstances had already 2 con- 227 GOnvinced him, that by the gift of his estates to Ethelbert he had purchased a dangerous enemy, too powerful for him to subdue without assistance. Long was the contest doubtful ; but the ven- gjeance of Heaven at lens-th was made o o manifest, and tlie balance inclined to- wards the rightful causes EthelbsrtVas now reduced' to solicit an accommodatian. He enquired, what satisfaction for the injuries, which I had suffered, would content Count Leopold; and he flattered himself^ that an acknow- ledgement of my innocence, and tlic 'offer of receiving back his repudiated wife, would caned all offences : but :th<3 demands of Count Venosta extended much farther.' He required the rcsto-* U.6 ration. 228 ration of the whole of that pi'operty, which he had made over to Ethelbert with such imprudent generosity ; pro- perty, to which the latter had only a right in quality of my husband, and to which he had forfeited his right, when he ceased to consider me as his wife. The negociation continued for some time; each side abated something in their respective demands ; large sums were offered to facilitate the conclusion of the business ; but I doubt much, whe- ther an adjustment involving so many difficulties on both sides could ever have been brought, to an amicable termina- tion, had not fate collected some few bitter dregs still remaining in the cup of sorrow, that cup which I could not - - have 229 have completely emptied, without submk- ting to a re-union with my barbarous husband i Almighty Providence, if ever I have murmured against thy decisions, if even now a tear of discontent steals down my cheek, oh 1 think on the weakness of human nature, and pardon mine ! Still, still I suffer I — But doubtless there will one day come an hour, when time, or oblivion, the shadows of the grave, or the brightness of eternal life, will efface the memory of what I have en- dured. Till I can learn forgetfulness, I can never fjorbear to sorrow ! Not the most distant rumour had ever led me to believe, that there existed another Count of Carlsheim besides Ethelbert. Now all at once the assur- ance 230 ance reached me ftom all quarters, that Count Donat of Carlsheim was arrived' from Italy; that after having made many enquiries respecting Ethelbert's situation , (whom he called his father) he had esta- blished himself in the old Fortress of Ravenstein ; and that he was there col- lecting a considerable military forcCj whose destination was still a profound secret. V/e, poor anxious females, trembled in our solitary Castle, while we listened to this account of the proceedings of one^ wJiose very name made us already look upon liim as our- enemy. Yet I could by no means understand, how he should be the son of Ethelbert, never^having heard, that my husband had been mar- ried, till I gave him my hand^ nor that ha 231 he had any natural children, whose ex- istence (I had no cause to flatter myself) he would have concealed out of respect for me !— Edith sighed, when I stated to her my reasons for disbelieving, that Ethelbert had a son ; and my uncle, who just at that moment happened ta return from one of his daily skirmishes' with his enemy, explained to. me the cause of her sighing. — ^' Alas, my child," said he, " it is not without reason, that you look with terror on this newly-arrived Count of Carlsheim. It is but too probable^ that he is Ethelbert's son, and is come to strengthen his father's party. Before your union vAih him a report had reached me, that Count Ethelbert was already the husband of another, thougii his 232 his passion for you induced him to con- ceal his marriage. This story, making me look upon him as a seducer, was the motive of my unexplained antipathy towards him, and of the displeasure with which I observed your growing attach- ment. I therefore took an opportunity of questioning him seriously respecting the report ; but no sooner had the first hint escaped my lips, than his pride took the alarm. — " To justify myself from such an accusation," said he haughtily, " is be- neath me ; thus much I will answer, and no more. Yes ; some years ago I married a noble Italian lady (alas ! now she will never claim her rights !) rich and beautiful. Before I was deprived of her, she bore to me a son, whom I ' left 233 left to th€ guardianship of his mother's relations ; they were anxious to retain him with them, as being all that remained of a person so justly dear to them. The partiality of his mother has made this boy already master of very large possessions ; nor would his birth at all interfere with the rights of any future children, should ever a second wife. ... But why do I thus condescend to explain the circumstances of my private life to one, who looks on me as a seducer ? — You have suspected me of artfully en- ' deavouring to ensnare your niece's affections for the basest purposes ; here then I solemnly swear in the face of Heaven that nothing shall ever tempt me to offer her my hand, or condescend to seek a connexion with a man, who has 234 has cxprest an opinion of me so degra- ding ! I love Urania, love her passion- ately; but never vvill I become her husband, unless you solicit me with your ov/n lips to accept her hand, atH thus Wipe ofT the injurious aspersion', which you have cast upon the characteif of one, whose sentiments are as elevateds, an:d whose honour is as strict as your own."— — " At hearing this declaration,*' continue^ my uncle, " I could not re- <♦ - strain a §'mile ; so impossible did it appear to me at that time, that a situation should ever occur, which could induce me to force the heiress of all my posses- sions on the noblest and most powerful man on earth. — But ^'om that moment Ethclbert never missed an opportunity - . ' of \;t working himself into my heart. The :.ef vices, which he rendered me, increased in Tiumber so rapidly, and were of such material consequence; and his coun- tenance bore so plainly the miclancholy impression of hopeless love, that I could not avoid wishing to gratify him with your hand. I now. began to make all possible enquiries respecting his former tfiarriage. Proof upon proof met me at every slepi that he had acted by me with candour; I daily received fresh assur- ances, that he had indeed been married lu an Italian heiress ; but that his w^ife was dead, and his son . richly provided for. The last and most essential service which he rendered me, the delivering me from^the chains of the Abbot of St, Gall, put the iini^hing-hand to my reso- 230 resolution in his favour. I solicited him to become your husband ; cursed be the hour, in which I did so ! Ah ! what did it avail, that Ethelbert's wife was no more, since her death only left him at ^liberty to contract an union with one, who has with every hour had fresh cause to lament the moment, in which that union was formed ?" — — " And are you then quite certain,** interrupted his wife (for Edith was now the Countess Venosta) " that when Ethelbert became Urania's husband, his hand was really free? — Oh! Leopold, how much have we all reason to lament, that your own guileless nature should have made you so unwilling to suspect, that others were deceivers! that even when your suspicions were so justly excited 237 excited, your inclination to find them groundless should have so lightly made you afcandon them, and resume your good opinion of a man, whose only talent consisted in concealing his vices with dexterity ! — Alas ! alas ! even from the grave thy voice, unfortunate Lu- cretia, calls Ethelbert a murderer ! Soon may the curse, w^hich you breathed against him in your last moments, fall on the tyrant's head ; but far be its accomplishment from her, whom your unjust fury joined with hixri' in the ma- lediction. Urania is guiltless of your sufferings; Surely had not frenzy and despair made you deaf to all conviction, you could not have resisted the argu- ments, which I advanced in pr6bf of her unconscious innocence!" — Struck 238 Struck dumb with astonishment stood my uncle and myself, and gazed in silence on Edith. Her arms were crossed upon her bosom ; her eyes were raised towards Heaven ; the^ tears streamed down her cheeks. She replied not to the anxious enquiries, which her extraordinary agitation and incoherent exclamations at length compelled us to make. — " Be patient with me for a few moments V said she after some time ; " the dreadful scene, which I witnessed at Ravenstein Castle, stands before me exprest in such strong and lively colours, that horror almost robs me of my senses ! Allow me time to recover myself, in pity !*'— We now remained in anxious expec- tation 239 tation of the moment, when Edith should be sufficiently herself to clear up this mystery. My uncle was totally in the dark as to her meaning ; but certain obscure suspicions flitted before my recollection, which Edith's narrative soon confirmed. That unfortunate captive, who had endeavoured to destroy by fire the gloomy prison, in which she had groaned away so many wretched years ; she, in whom the bare mention of my name had produced so violent an emotion, that it thre\-:' her into the deli- rium,, in which she ended her life ; she, that unhappy one, had a claim to Ethel- bert's hand prior to that of the betrayed Urania ! In her last moments she called me the cause of her misfortunes ! In her 240 her last moments she cursed me and I was innocent ! Edith's tenderness had induced her to conceal from me the dreadful scene which she had witnessed, and in which Lucretia had made known to her this important secret. She w^as well ac- quainted with the weakness of my nature ; she thought, that for an heart so tender and so fond as mine, to remain ignorant of the whole extent of the misfortunes, which had been the con- sequence of my so earnestly desired marriage would be more supportable, than to know that \ had been the cause (however innocent) of Lucretia's sufier- ings, and had been myself so grossly deceived by a man, whom I had once loved Q41 loved so passionately, and whom in spit^ of all his cruelty I could not yet bring myself to hate. The veil was now withdrawn ! I now found, that I . had for many years been the unlawful consort of one, v/ho only deserved my love so long, as I remained ignorant jof his real character. I now found, that I who would not willingly have crushed a worm, who would gladly have banished from the earth every trace of sorrow, had for many years caused the sufferings of an unknown, who perhaps was good and ■amiable . — But no ! that \^'as not Lucre- tia's character. Of this you will be convinced, my children, on reading her story traced by the hand of Edith, and entitled " Lucreiia Malasi)'uhiJ' You VOL. I. - M will 242 will there see, that she had obtained Ethelbert's hand by a series of the vilest artifices ; that her conduct afterwards had been such, as almost justified his treatment of her ; that the son (whose arrival she so eagerly expected, though in vain) had been abandoned by her to early licentiousness, and bred up in hatred of his father ; and her miserable death was exactly such an end, as was best adapted to a life so destitute of virtue. But alas ! this knowledge of her want of merit was still insufiicient to support me under the weight of her dying malediction. Methinks, undeserved as it was by me, her curse still hangs over my head, and sooner or later I shaH experience its effects. My childi*en, I must 243 I must here break off for a few- moments — Dreadful emotions overpower mec I am unable to proceed ! Edith possest still more information respecting Count Ethelbert's family. She knew, that by some means or other the news of Lucretia's sufferings had at length reached her son in Italy; but sunk in voluptuousness and totally engrossed by his libertine pursuits, he had delayed from day to day the hasten- ing to succour his imprisoned mother. At length he arrived at Ravenstein, and demanded the liberty of her, whose bones were already mouldering among the ruins of the half-burnt Castle, 'Die M 2 ro- 244 reflection — " badst thou come sooner^ she bad been saved^' — drove him almost frau-- tic, and in the violence of his despair he committed the most inRuman outrages. The whole garrison of the fortress was sacrificed to the shade of Lucretia ; the remaining towers of the Castle were converted into her funeral pile, and were consumed to ashes ! He was in- formed, that the unfortunate Urania (whom he, as well as his mother accused of having caused all these misfortunes) had once been an inmate of these wails ; and he foamed with rage at not fmding her still there, that he might have sacri- ficed her also to his hatred and revenge I The inhabitants of the tranquil vale of Frutiger, to whom I had formerly bcen indebted for my rescue, did not escape escape without feeling the weight of liis' fury. They too suffered for the dilatori- ness, with which he had fulfilled his duty to an unfortunate mother; a crime, which he punished in those guiltless people, but of which he could accuse no one justly but himself. Every one fled before the raging Donat, whose cruekies were supported by a strong army composed of his Italian vassals. He now was advancing towards the place of our abode by rapid marches, though no pne yet knew, against whom in particular his fury would be directed. We trembled at his approach, for our feuds with Count Ethelbert had greatly diminished our strength, and we were ill-prepared for encountering troops so fresh and nu- M 3 merous^ 246 uierous, as those which accompanied our new enemy. Neither was Ethelbcrt without his fears. He imagined with no small probability, that his son was coming to demand the. blood of his mother at his hands ; and he was him- self already engaged in a contest \\dth the Count Venosta, whose military provv-ess supplied the deficiency of num- bers in his army. Nothing could save both us and him, but an union of our forces against the common enemy -, and now it was, that I was compelled to place myself in a situation, than which no otiier could ever have entailed on me even half such misery. In the anxiety of his heart Count Ethelbert made proposals, which my uncle (who had scarcely less cause for anxiety) 24 7 anxiety) judged it imprudent entirely to reject. A negociation was entered into ; an alliance was concluded against Donat between Ethelbert and Count Leopold ; and the wretched Urania was the victim sacrificed to their mutual fears. Almighty Heaven ! the man who had deceived my uncle, imprisoned Edith, murdered Lucretia, and branded myself with shame, this man was I obliged for the second time to call by the name of husband. — It Vv-as in vain, that I resisted; that 1 wept, and knelt at the feet of my uncle. He bade me remember, that I had for many years lived with Ethelbert as his wife, and that should I go to my grave without a legal claim to that title, it would leave such a stain upon the family honour, as M 4 all 248 all the waters of the Rhine and Danub<* could never wash away. — Nor was thi< reflection without its weight in my own balance — to be handed down to poste- rity as the licentious votary of pleasure ! " Urania Venosta, the concubine of the Count of Carlsheim 1" was such the de- scription, by which I must be known in after ages ? As the hateful thought glanced upon my imagination, I recoiled with horror ; a crimson blusli suffused my checks, and the blood as it rushed through my veins, seemed boiling. — And yet to prevent this odious image from being realized, there existei.1 no possible means except the consenting to give the most inhuman of men a second legal claim to torture and insult mc! — Yet still did I resist; and still did 249 did the dreaded Donat advance to- wards us. Count Venosta's persuasions became every hour more urgent. Entreaties, threats, anger, kindness, were employed alternately to obtain my unwilling consent. — Edith felt for me, and aided not her husband ; but she felt too for the dangers of her situa- tion, and shuddered involuntarily at the bare mention of Donat's name. Her silent terrors affected me to the very soul : I was not insensible to apprehen- sions on my own account : Ethelbert's arm.s at least afforded me a refuge from disgrace : I yielded, and with my eyes open doomed myself to a life of wilful surerino;. Yes \ I became again the wife oi Ethclbert 1^ — Expect not from me a cir- M 5 cujnstantial 250 cumstantial account of my first mterview with a man, whose crimes had now made him as much the object of my aversion, as he had once been the object of my lo\^e. The news of his approach made me shrink with terror ! I painted to myself this imperious tyrant in the most frightful colours, which imagina- tion could supply ; but in the present instance, as had been the case on many former ones, I was deceived in my ex- pectations. Its true, the scene which I had to go through was a most painful one, but very different from that for which I had prepared myself. Three years, which had elapsed since 1^ parted from Count Ethelbert, had produced a change in him, which struck me v/ith astonishment ; he was no lon- 2 ' ger. 251 ger, as in former times, either an object of love, or of terror : his appearance was capable of exciting, even in the bosoms of those whom he had injured, no sentiment but compassion. It seemed,, as if the natural consequences of his dissolute life had made a much more- wretched creature of himself, than he had been aole to make of the victims of his tyranny. Edith and myself had lost that pale and emaciated appearance, which we brought with us from Raven- stein, and were fast resuming our natural; bloom and health; white on the contrary* our persecutor seemed to have but jugt escaped from the dungeons of that gloomy Castle. Nor v/as it only his body's strength which had suffered ; his. excessive libertinism, the stiugs of eon- M 6 science, 252 science, and Iiis terror of inpencUng punishment had broken down the for- titude of his mind completely. No sooner did he enter the room i-tr which I waited for him, than he threw himself at my feet, and entreated me in the most abject manner to pardon what was past. He also batlied Edith's feet with his tears,, and stammeicd out a long confession of the injuries which he had dane her, and of which she was already but too well informed. This excessive and unmanly degrada- tion of himself was neither what we expected, nor wished from him. My sensations were equally composed of contempt and pity, and I could not de- cide, which of the two was the mor