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diff --git a/old/69624-0.txt b/old/69624-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 1911bc1..0000000 --- a/old/69624-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5366 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Feudal tyrants, volume 3 (of 4), by -Christiane Benedicte Eugenie Hebenstreit Naubert - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Feudal tyrants, volume 3 (of 4) - The counts of Carlsheim and Sargans - -Author: Christiane Benedicte Eugenie Hebenstreit Naubert - -Translator: Matthew Gregory Lewis - -Release Date: December 23, 2022 [eBook #69624] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Barry Abrahamsen and the Online Distributed Proofreading - Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from - images generously made available by The Internet Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FEUDAL TYRANTS, VOLUME 3 (OF -4) *** - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - - - Feudal Tyrants; or The Counts of Carlsheim and Sargans. Vol. III - - ◆ ◆ ◆ - - - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - FEUDAL TYRANTS; - - - OR, - - - _The Counts of Carlsheim and Sargans_. - - - A ROMANCE. - - _TAKEN FROM THE GERMAN._ - - IN FOUR VOLUMES. - - - ◆ ◆ ◆ - - BY M. G. LEWIS, - - AUTHOR OF - - _The Bravo of Venice, Adelgitha, Rugantino, &c._ - - ◆ ◆ ◆ - - VOL. III. - - - ═══════════════════ - _SECOND EDITION_. - ═══════════════════ - - The portals sound, and pacing forth - With stately steps and slow, - High potentates, and dames of regal birth, - And mitred fathers in long order go. - - — GRAY. - - ══════════════════════════════════ - - London: - - Printed by D. N. SHURY, Berwick-Street, Soho, - - FOR J. F. HUGHES, WIGMORE STREET, CAVENDISH SQUARE. - ── - 1807 - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - FEUDAL TYRANTS, - - &c. &c. &c. - - ═════════════════════ - - - PART THE FIFTH. - - - ═════════════════════ - - COUNT DONAT’s DAUGHTERS. - - - - - PART II. - - ◆ ◆ ◆ - - - MEMOIRS - - Found in the Cell of a Nun, after her Decease, in the Convent of Zurich. - -Since Amabel Bloomberg traced the letters which will be found with this, -how many years have elapsed! how many changes have taken place! How many -persons are now insensible dust, who are described as agitated with such -anxious fears and ardent hopes, by the pens of Amabel and the Damsels of -Sargans! Accident has also made me mistress of the letters of those -unfortunate sisters. Accident, did I say? Surely, it was something more -than mere chance, which brought them into the hands of her, who is most -able to supply that chasm, which otherwise would have been left in these -adventures. - -To undertake this task I have both leisure and information sufficient. -My fate was too closely united with that of the sisters, to permit the -slightest particular concerning them to be concealed from me; and -jointly with theirs will my name be handed down to posterity. - -Yet is it not an idle vanity, a love of worldly fame, which makes me -desire this species of immortality?—Well then, I will repress the wish. -Long practised in self-denial, I will make even this last sacrifice to -my celestial spouse, and will write, as if I treated of strangers and of -interests quite foreign to myself. No one shall know my name except -Heaven, to whom alone is thoroughly known, how much I have suffered! - -When I entered the world, the course of innocence and beauty lay among a -thousand snares and pit-falls, which were the more dangerous from being -most artfully concealed. This is a truth which I learnt to my cost, -before I sought, and found, tranquillity in a convent. - -Amabel was blind to those snares; though they were spread carelessly -enough for her to have seen them, had not her own guileless nature -thrown a veil over her eyes, and had not female obstinacy made her -reject the prudent warnings of her best friends. - -The visit to Engelberg, which she had agreed upon in concert with her -brother’s wife, was made the next day; and the latter, as young, -imprudent, and unsuspicious as Amabel, undertook to excuse her -sister-in-law’s absence to the jealous Arnold, and the sick old man, who -suffered no quarter of an hour to pass without enquiring for his -daughter. However, Juttila engaged to invent some means for satisfying -him till Amabel’s return, which was delayed much longer than either of -them intended. - -How indeed could she return so speedily, since adventures encountered -her on the road, on which she little reckoned, and whose nature was of -sufficient consequence to have a fearful influence over herself, and -over all those who were most dear to her? Alas! the cottage which she -left with such a thoughtless heart, she was destined to revisit no more -with such content: the fate of the two sisters, which she was so eager -to learn, was now enveloped by such impenetrable darkness, that she in -vain.... But I am running away from the proper order of events, which in -truth it is natural for one of my profession and time of life to do. Be -it known to you, my youthful readers that it is not easy for an old -doating Nun to transcribe even a verse out of her Psalter, without -tacking to it at least a dozen of her own childish observations. - -At Engelberg Amabel found the Nun to whom Wolfenrad had directed her to -apply, and who was his confidante and the secret instrument for -effecting the carrying away of Amalberga. She assured Amabel, that her -friend had by no means been forced away; but that on account of the -assiduities of the Lord of Landenberg, and the popular disturbances -which increased with every day, Amalberga had voluntarily chosen to -withdraw herself from Engelberg. - -—“Your partiality for the governor,” said the artful hypocrite, “and -your incessant pleading in behalf of a man whom she could not love, made -the Lady unwilling to let you know her design. I was her sole confidante -on this occasion, and I think I have done well in enabling the dear soul -to escape from the temptations of the wicked world! She has taken refuge -in the Convent of Zurich, under the protection of an old Lady called -Urania, who is either her friend or some near relation, for I -understand, never was there joy known equal to that of their meeting.”— - -In this account Amabel could not discover the least vestige of deception -or improbability: still she blamed the Nun greatly for concealing the -real cause of Amalberga’s disappearance, by which means the spirit of -discontent was encouraged among the people against Landenberg, who bore -the odium of having violated the sanctuary, and forcibly carried away an -inmate of those holy walls. - -The Nun made but an indifferent defence against this charge, and Amabel -left her by no means satisfied with her conduct. However, she soon -forgot what little had displeased her in the Nun’s conversation, and -gave herself up entirely to the joy of being assured, that one of her -friends at least was safe in the arms of friendship and of maternal -love. - -—“Oh! that I could but have the same assurance respecting my beloved -Emmeline!” thus said Amabel to herself, as she hastened back to her -brother’s cottage; “Oh! that as I pass homewards, chance would but throw -Wolfenrad in my way, that I might learn from him what he knows about the -dear-one! He might just tell me in half a dozen words, and then hurry -away, in order that I might not blush too deep a crimson, when the -severe Censurer of my actions looks me in the face, and says with his -magisterial air,—‘Now, Amabel! whence do you come, and with whom have -you spoken?’—How ridiculous, that Arnold should take it into his head, -that an old man like Wolfenrad has designs upon a young creature like -me, not yet twenty! Yet ridiculous as it is, his anxiety proceeds from -the warmth of his affection for me, and I ought to forgive my good -Arnold for the faults of his head, when I recollect the kindness of his -heart.”— - -Such were the thoughts which occupied Amabel, as she hastily retraced -the long way between her home and the Convent; and as she past along, -she threw many an anxious look on every side in hopes of seeing the man, -who alone could confirm to her the fortunate escape of her friend. -Wolfenrad had frequently business that carried him to Engelberg, and it -was by no means improbable, that she should encounter him on her way. - -In fact, the tempter had long been at no great distance from the fair -pilgrim, though without her seeing him; since he stole along concealed -by a thick hawthorn plantation, which bordered more than half the road -between the village and the Convent of Engelberg. - -It is easy for the wicked to guess what steps will be taken by -unsuspecting innocence, whose proceedings are the natural result of -existing circumstances and feelings. Wolfenrad knew how warmly Amabel’s -heart was interested about her friends; he had given her hopes of -obtaining intelligence respecting them; he had pointed out the place, -where a part of those hopes might be realized; and he was therefore -certain of finding her on the road to that place, before many days were -elapsed. He had accidentally missed seeing her on her way to Engelberg; -but when on her return she was descending the Convent-hill, he espied -her from behind the watch-tower which stands at the farthest extremity -of the mount, and then hastened to shelter himself behind the hawthorn -hedge, in order that he might unseen watch her motions, and discover -what temper she was in, before he accosted her. - -And thus did he for some time steal along, examining every change of her -expressive countenance, and drawing but too just conclusions of the -subject, which employed her thoughts. Her look, now gay, now sorrowful, -and the impatient glances which she frequently threw around her, would -have been sufficient to betray her, even though a few broken sentences, -which escaped from her in the anxiety of her mind, had not left him -without a doubt of his presence being perfectly welcome. - -Wolfenrad’s plans for the innocent girl’s ruin had been so long -arranged, that they were ready to be carried into effect at a moment’s -warning; nor could he have wished for a more favourable opportunity than -the present. The fiercest passion for Amabel reigned in his bosom, and -deceived _him_ who was so well skilled in deceiving others. He fancied, -that in her impatient looks, in the tone which she used in pronouncing -his name occasionally, there was something more than mere friendship for -Emmeline, and that love was the motive that made her so anxious to meet -him! Immortal powers! Love! love from a girl, pure as innocence itself, -for such an earthly dæmon, a dæmon both in person and in mind! - -—“Yet however she may be disposed,” ’twas thus he argued with himself, -“too abrupt an appearance, too hasty a discovery of my views, might do -me a prejudice, and put her too much upon her guard. When her impatience -is worked up to the highest pitch, I shall be the more secure of her.”— - -And therefore he still remained invisible, and hastened onwards, keeping -still a little way before her; so that when the fair pilgrim reached the -end of the plantation, and emerged into the open plain, she descried him -crossing the path at some distance, as if totally unaware of her -approach. - -Amabel gave a cry of joy, called him by his name, and flew to join him. - -—“Is it you, my fair dame?” answered Wolfenrad. “What would you with -me?”—and he stopped, as waiting for her to come up to him. - -—“Oh! tell me! tell me! give me some tidings of the damsel of Sargans!”— - -—“You have been to Engelberg, and surely must have heard more there, -than I am able to tell you.”— - -“Oh! no, no, no! Emmeline! speak of Emmeline!”— - -—“Why, the Lady Emmeline.... Concealment being absolutely necessary.... -But we are close to your jealous brother’s house, and he may take -offence at our conference—Farewell! I must find an opportunity of -communicating what I know unobserved, when I return from Uri.”— - -“From Uri? Heavens! and when do you go thither, and how long shall you -remain away?”— - -—“I set out to-morrow; as to my stay, I fear the disturbances there will -make my return very distant.”— - -Amabel’s impatience to know something decisive respecting her friend now -grew beyond all bounds. She entreated him at least to put it out of -doubt that Emmeline had been saved from the flames, and hesitated not to -follow him into a bye-path, which conducted to the Castle. As they -passed along, the deceiver began a long and wonderful narrative of -Emmeline’s adventures, which occupied his auditor’s whole attention; but -as it contained not one syllable of truth, it would be superfluous to -relate it here. - -—“But one question more!” said Amabel at length, and stopped. “See! -night is approaching; we are already at the foot of the Castle-hill, and -I have still a weary way to traverse, ere I can regain my brother’s -cottage, where, I fear, I must be already missed. You assure me that -Emmeline is safe, and is concealed in the neighbourhood: Oh! tell me -then _where_ she is concealed, for my bosom pants to embrace her!”— - -—“That were easily done. You see the Castle is close at hand: thither -have I brought her, and I mean to convey her with me to Uri to-morrow, -since the disturbances which prevail in these parts render them an -unsafe abode.”— - -—“To Uri? To-morrow? Cruel, cruel Wolfenrad! Would you then have removed -her, without suffering me to see her for one moment?”— - -—“How could I have contrived an interview without betraying the secret? -Had not accident thrown you in my way, I should not have had an -opportunity of even telling you, that she is in your neighbourhood. -However, as soon as she was out of the reach of discovery, you would -have received a letter explaining every thing. I left her occupied in -writing it, and when finished it was to be delivered to your husband’s -care, who is now with her at the Castle, and who has been the chief -means of bringing her hither in safety.”— - -—“What say you? My husband? Is Edmund then with Emmeline? Oh! lead me to -him, dear Wolfenrad, I _must_ accompany you to the Castle; permit me to -pass this last evening with the dear lady; or at least suffer me to -embrace her once more, and assure her of my unchanged affection, and -then my husband can conduct me back to my brother.”— - -Wolfenrad heard this proposal with a malicious smile, and answered that -for _his_ part he had no objection; but he suggested his fears, lest her -taking such a step should displease the suspicious Arnold, who surpassed -her husband in jealousy a thousand fold. - -—“Oh! heed not that!” exclaimed Amabel; “while I am with _you_, I can -set all suspicions at defiance!”— - -She said this thoughtlessly, for she alluded to his age and ugliness. -The miscreant however interpreted it to his own taste, and saw in it the -confirmation of his insolent hopes. He was on the point of rewarding the -avowal by a tender pressure of her hand, which perhaps might have opened -her eyes, ere it was too late: but she prevented him by making a -thousand fond enquiries respecting her beloved Edmund, which put him -again upon his guard, and which were not ended till they arrived at the -Castle. The gates were closed: Wolfenrad sounded his horn; the -draw-bridge descended. He entered the Castle; Amabel followed him, and -the moment that she had passed the threshold, heard with terror the -noise of a port-cullis falling behind her. - -How strange is it, that we should frequently remain thoroughly blind -till we reach a certain point, and then be rouzed at once from our -delusions by some unimportant circumstance! Amabel has frequently told -me since, that the sound of that port-cullis (though nothing unusual in -the Castle) gave her the first indistinct idea of her imprudence and the -danger of her situation. - -Her voice faltered, as she pronounced the names of Edmund and Emmeline, -while she hastily withdrew her hand, which Wolfenrad had now seized with -an air of impetuous passion. She looked him anxiously in the face, and -her eyes read with horror in his an expression, which explained to her -the whole fearful secret. - -Yet she was still unwilling to believe that man so great a villain, whom -she had long believed so much her friend. It was not till she was -convinced, that neither Edmund nor Emmeline were in the Castle; that she -found herself totally alone with the wretch, whom she had despised as -being too insignificant to be dangerous; and that an old woman, whom (in -order to calm the first violence of her feelings) he had produced to her -as his wife, was nothing more than a domestic; it was not till then, -that she saw the whole business clearly, and the sight was one of such -danger, that perhaps had she been a woman of a common mind, it would -have thrown her into such a state of bodily insensibility, or of mental -dejection, as might effectually have prevented all endeavours to effect -an escape. But Amabel was a daughter of Helvetia! that is, she was a -woman, whose powers both of body and mind existed in their fullest -vigour; neither the first was weakened by luxurious indulgence, nor the -second liable to be subdued by imaginary terrors. In spite of all that -credulity and imprudence which had betrayed her into her present danger, -her imagination was still both clear and acute enough to suggest a means -for effecting her rescue, or at least for gaining time. - -She appeared reserved and shy, and sat down in silence to the voluptuous -entertainment, which was now served up by Wolfenrad’s confidante; the -only person, whom he suffered to penetrate into that part of the Castle. -Yet did Amabel contrive to give her silence the appearance of being -preserved much against her will; she refused not at Wolfenrad’s request -to lay aside the large hat, which overshadowed her face, and which (as -he complained) concealed from him numberless beauties; nor did she draw -away very hastily or with a look of extreme displeasure her soft white -hand, when he prest it passionately between his own. - -—“May I flatter myself,” said the deceived deceiver, “that Amabel does -not absolutely hate me?”— - -—“My religion forbids my hating any one.”— - -—“And you are not very much offended at my having employed a little -artifice to procure myself the happiness of this evening?”— - -“—Artifice?—Nay; the effect of accident, and ... and, I am afraid, my -own inclination was so much on your side, that....”— - -—“My charming Amabel! then I may hope, that Wolfenrad is not entirely -indifferent to you!”— - -—“Indifferent? Oh! that you are not _indeed_!—And as to hoping ... why, -nobody can prevent your doing that, you know.”— - -And with this kind of doubtful and flattering discourse did she long -entertain the betrayer, and forgot not to fill the silver bowls from -time to time; though the effects of his frequent draughts prevented him -from observing, that while she poured wine into his goblet, nothing but -water entered into her own. - -At the expence of a few disgusting kisses, which were forced from her -occasionally, she at length had the pleasure to see Wolfenrad fall -senseless from his chair. It was midnight; the old woman had long since -betaken herself to rest, and Amabel found herself at liberty to wander -through the vacant chambers in search of some means of escape. - -Alas! the locks and bars were immoveable, and no keys were to be -found.—She at length discovered an unfastened door opening into a -balcony; it overhung the middle court; the height was fearful; yet would -she have gladly ran the hazard of springing below, if she had not -dreaded the meeting there with a greater danger, than that from which -she was flying. The Castle-Garrison occupied this quarter. She heard -from above the conversation, which passed between the sentinels; and its -nature was such as to leave her no hope of finding from them protection -or even pity. It also informed her, that Wolfenrad’s bounty, and his -winking at their committing the most heinous offences, had united them -too closely to his interests, to admit even a chance of their acting in -opposition to his will. - -She wept in agony! She wrung her hands! At length despair took -possession of her whole soul. She eyed for a while the torch, which -flamed in her hand, and in a moment of desperate resolution she -determined to set the Castle on fire; in hopes of either being able to -effect her escape during the conflagration, or at least of saving -herself by death from existing for one instant with dishonour. - -Thus resolved, she was on the point of quitting the balcony when a -well-known name struck her ear. She stopt, and listened. Two sentinels -stood beneath the balcony, and she heard one tell the other, that it -would be necessary to wake Wolfenrad; for that he (the sentinel) was -just returned from the outer wall, and had seen a company of soldiers -crossing over the plain; that he had hailed one of them, and found them -to be part of those who had accompanied Bloomberg to Sargans, and that -their leader with the rest of his troops would follow them before -mid-day. - -—“Bloomberg their leader?” said his companion. “And since when has the -gentle peace-loving Bloomberg turned soldier, and what has Wolfenrad to -fear from a fellow, who but yesterday followed the plough?”— - -“Faith,” rejoined the first, “this is a time, when every countryman -exchanges his sickle and ploughshare for a sword and spear; and I know -enough of Edmund Bloomberg to be convinced, that the carrying off his -pretty wife will make him rage like a mad bull.”— - -—“Carrying off, d’ye call it?” said the other; “I think, she seemed to -follow Wolfenrad of her own accord; and if Bloomberg draws his sword -upon her account, the more fool Bloomberg!”— - -A burst of insulting laughter terminated this conversation, every -syllable of which pierced Amabel to the heart; and the soldiers -separated, having agreed that it was unnecessary to disturb Wolfenrad -that night, and that the news of Bloomberg’s return might safely be -delayed till the next morning. - -Amabel burst into tears; but she soon recollected, that she had better -occupation than weeping. A thousand ideas floated before her mind, -inspired by the distant hope which she derived from the assurance, that -in a few hours her husband would pass within sight of her prison. The -great object therefore was to gain time to wait for his arrival with -safety, and find means to inform him of her confinement in the Castle. - -Accident furnished her with both. She returned trembling into the -apartment, where the vile Wolfenrad still lay sleeping, the most odious -picture of intoxication that the eye ever witnessed. Despair made her -snatch a knife from the table, and she rushed to plunge it into his -heart; but here the softness of woman’s nature got the better of her -resolution and her vengeance. She threw down the knife, and hastened -into the balcony, that in the free air and under the sky thick sown with -stars, she might implore the Creator of that sky to look down upon and -assist her in this hour of fear and danger. She rose from prayer much -comforted: she turned towards the East, and looked eagerly for the -arrival of the dawn, whose approach was already announced. She soon -perceived, that the balcony in which she stood, though much too high -from the ground to admit of her throwing herself from it without being -dashed to pieces, at least commanded an extensive view over the -surrounding country, and was admirably calculated for summoning any -passing travellers to her assistance. - -Oh! now, would but the sleeping Libertine doze away the morning, all -might be well! Often did she steal softly into the chamber to see, -whether he gave any signs of waking; again the knife attracted her gaze. -She seized it, and concealed it in her bosom, as her last resource -should all others fail. - -It was now broad-day. Wolfenrad stretched himself, yawned, and opened -his red eye-lids. Amabel fled to a distant corner, but his voice soon -compelled her to return. - -—“My charming angel,” said he, “come near me. You filled my goblet last -night too generously, and this morning I feel myself still under the -influence of the too potent liquor. Beshrew me, but I am marvellously -indisposed.”— - -—“Let not that trouble you, my dear friend,” answered Amabel, while she -advanced a few paces, trembling with apprehension; “while I resided in -the Castle of Sargans, Count Donat frequently found himself unwell from -a similar indulgence in convivial pleasures; but he soon got the better -of his indisposition by using a warm bath, which never failed to restore -him to perfect health within an hour. In the next chamber there is a -large brazen cistern; the water shall be heated for you without delay, -and as soon as your bath is ready, I will call some of your attendants -to convey you thither.”— - -Without waiting for his answer, she hastened to her new occupation; she -soon returned with one pitcher of water, then went back again for -another, and thus contrived to get rid of near an hour, never failing as -she passed the balcony to cast from it a glance of enquiry, whether -there were yet no signs of her deliverer. - -It was in vain, that Wolfenrad desired her to call some of the servants -to spare her this unnecessary labour. Amabel remonstrated against the -impropriety of suffering herself to be seen by strangers in his -apartment, and at the same time protested, that she felt the greatest -pleasure in taking this trouble, since it was for _him_ that she took -it. Wolfenrad knew not how to find terms sufficiently strong to express -his gratitude for her attention, and protested, that he had not -flattered himself with the idea of possessing so warm an interest in her -heart. - -He was still expatiating on the satisfaction which this agreeable -discovery gave him, when the sound of trampling at a distance struck her -hearing. She looked towards the window, and descried a cloud of dust. -Down fell the pitcher from her hand. - -—“Your bath is ready!” she said in a voice scarcely audible from -agitation; and while Wolfenrad staggered into the adjoining chamber, she -hastened into the balcony. The horsemen came nearer; she recognized many -countenances well known to her; she recognized among them that of Edmund -Bloomberg. - -His name pronounced in her loudest tone, the cry of “Help for the -Virgin’s sake!” and her handkerchief waved in the air towards the -horsemen, soon attracted their attention. With equal surprise and terror -Bloomberg recognized his wife at a balcony of the Castle, heard her -implore assistance, and flew with his brave companions to afford it. -What followed, I shall relate briefly: the narrative of this adventure -may appear already too circumstantial, since its connexion with the -Sisters of Sargans is not at present evident; but it had too material an -influence upon the fate of all Helvetia to admit of my passing it over -with a slight mention. - -Before the Castle-Garrison had time to communicate to their Superior -that intelligence, which they ought to have conveyed to him the -preceding night, and while all hands were busily employed in guarding -against an attack on the main-quarter, Bloomberg and his friends had -already forced their way into the Castle at that neglected side, whence -Amabel had called to them for assistance. - -The bath, in which the still half-intoxicated Wolfenrad hoped to get rid -of the effects of his night’s excess, was crimsoned with his blood. -Amabel again found herself safe in the hands of her husband, in whose -bosom delight contended with indignation. The opposition of the garrison -to the complete conquest of the Castle was but trifling; and this -fortress would certainly have remained in the hands of the Helvetians (a -circumstance to them of the greatest advantage) had their numbers been -strong enough to resist the troops, who were shortly after sent against -them by the Abbot of St. Gall and other allies of the governor. -Bloomberg’s friends were inadequate to maintaining the possession of -their conquest, and in a few days afterwards he was compelled to -evacuate the Castle. - -Hitherto, the resentment of the multitude had been restrained within -some bounds: but Amabel’s adventure and the death of Wolfenrad were the -signal for open rebellion. The whole country was floated with blood: -would that I could say, that the blood which flowed was entirely that of -the foes of freedom! But alas! the number of the oppressors was too -mighty. The Helvetians were over-powered; and after displaying the -sentiments and performing the actions of heroes, Edmund Bloomberg, -Arnold Melthal, and his venerable father Henric (to whom patriotism and -his daughter’s injuries had restored some of his youthful strength) were -constrained to fly from those beloved unhappy vallies, which once had -been the favourite abodes of freedom and tranquillity. - -The name of “flight” was of itself offensive to Helvetian candour and -courage; the place to which they were compelled to address their flight, -made it no less painful than disgraceful. Altdorf, which was in the -jurisdiction of Gessler, whose tyranny had already been the cause of -such bitter sufferings to Henric and Arnold, was the only refuge which -remained to them. By remaining here quiet and concealed, till time -allowed them to find fresh means of resisting their enemies, they hoped -to escape Gessler’s notice; and accordingly they hastened to take -shelter at Altdorf, with the brave William Tell, Bloomberg’s -half-brother: here also they were sure of a powerful protector in the -person of Walter Forest, a man whose situation and native greatness of -mind struck awe into the bosom even of the insolent Gessler. - -Here then the fugitives remained concealed, and nourished hopes of -better times, which perhaps would have made even the present chearful, -had not domestic discord obtruded itself into their little circle. The -imprudence with which Amabel had thrown herself into the seducer’s -snare, in spite of all his warnings and remonstrances, had not passed -uncensured by her brother. His bitter reproaches sometimes excited -Edmund’s anger, and sometimes his jealousy; and the poor girl would have -been absolutely wretched, had not her father sustained her cause, and -had not her innocence found a most strenuous advocate in William Tell. -It is true, the language of veracity, in which she related her unadorned -story, was not to be mistaken; but still it required Tell’s cool -unprejudiced nature, and his noble guileless heart, to see every -circumstance in its real colours. - -He at length succeeded in restoring perfect harmony in Bloomberg’s -family, and Amabel blessed him for the second time as the author of all -her earthly happiness. Perhaps, her entire reconciliation with her -husband was a little forwarded by Arnold’s absence. This impetuous young -man had been the ring-leader of those, who at the Easter feast had -insulted the Abbot of St. Gall by singing the ballad of “Bishop Ulric;” -the Abbot had not forgotten it; and the unfortunate Arnold at length -fell into one of the many snares, which had been spread for him by his -priestly foe. Doubtless, he would have fallen a victim to the Abbot’s -vengeance, had not Werner Bernsdorf, by means which it is unnecessary to -relate circumstantially, contrived to release him from his dungeon, and -sheltered him in his own house. - -Though Amabel had received her husband’s full pardon, still the -reconciliation had taken place too freshly to allow her as yet to feel -quite at her ease: and now when the news arrived that her brother (whom -she loved most dearly in spite of his violence) was a prisoner, she -would have had sufficient reason to be unhappy, even had she not been -tormented by the most cruel anxiety respecting the fate of the Damsels -of Sargans. She ceased not to make enquiries concerning them; and at -length she received the confirmation of her bitterest apprehensions. -Amalberga was beyond a doubt totally in Landenberg’s power, who (in -spite of all Wolfenrad’s assertions to the contrary) kept her confined -in the Castle of Rassburg; nor was it less certain, that the Lady -Emmeline had perished in the flames of St. Roswitha’s Sanctuary. Report -spread far and wide many strange anecdotes respecting that -conflagration, which I shall relate in another place; in truth, there is -no one better able to give an account of that dreadful incident than -myself. - -The tears, which Amabel shed for herself and for her beloved friends, -were soon required by a still more painful cause: misfortunes now -awaited her, which were worthy to be mourned with tears of blood. - -The furious Gessler’s insolence increased with every succeeding day. His -most earnest care was to discover those who disapproved of him, that he -might revenge himself by their torments. At length his pride and folly -grew to such a height, that he fixed the plumed bonnet (which he usually -wore) upon a lance in the market-place of Altdorf, and ordered, that all -who passed should bow before it. The sneering populace obeyed, and -contented themselves with whispering to each other, that they had much -rather pay their respect to the empty hat, than the wicked head which it -was accustomed to decorate: but William Tell and some few others of the -principal inhabitants passed by the bonnet proudly and with unbending -necks. From that moment did Gessler mark them down as the future victims -of his revenge and rancour. - -Had the tyrant dared to lay violent hands on Tell, or had he contrived -means of stamping the mark of infamy on his reputation; had he sold the -wife of his bosom for a slave, or murdered his infants before his eyes; -still would all these atrocities have been excelled by that, which now -entered his infernal brain. A prize was to be contended for by archers. -The sport was interrupted by the arrival of Gessler. What was the horror -of all who heard him, when he commanded his guards to seize Tell’s son, -a lovely child but four years old, and bind him to the tree which had -been selected as a mark for the arrows. He then declared aloud with the -most impious execrations, that the heads of six of Tell’s relations -(whom he had confined upon some slight pretences) should fall before -night, unless the father would engage at a considerable distance to fix -a dart into an apple, which should be placed on the head of the child. - -How did the father burn with secret indignation, when Gessler dared to -lay before him this unnatural proposal! No earthly force could have -compelled him to arm his hand for the performance of an action so -uncertain and so fearful; yet in fact the bow and arrow could be -scarcely called an uncertain weapon in the hands of the most dexterous -archer in Helvetia: and after a few moments past in thought he -confidently accepted a proposal, whose atrocity (he was certain) was -thoroughly felt by all present; and whose consequence he trusted would -be the kindling the fire of liberty in every bosom till it should at -length break into open flames, and the emancipating his country for ever -from its present state of ignominious bondage. - -A glance, more expressing contempt than wrath, was darted by Tell’s dark -eyes upon the Governor, as he rocked himself backwards and forwards upon -his elevated chair of state, and looked down upon the circle of noble -Helvetians, whom the sports had attracted to Altdorf, as if they had -been creatures of an inferior kind. - -Gessler was too void of sensibility to understand the meaning of the -glance, which was darted on him by Tell’s piercing eye. He only smiled -contemptuously at having compelled the pride of this great mind to stoop -itself to his orders, when he saw him press the lovely laughing child, -his latest-born, to his heart with passion, and then bear him in his -arms to the tree, where he was destined to take his stand. The apple, -which was the nominal mark for that arrow, whose point Gessler hoped to -see crimsoned with human blood, was fixed on the child’s head by the -hands of the unhappy father. - -Gessler’s attendants prepared to bind the innocent creature to the tree; -but a spark of paternal spirit already burned in the soul of the son. - -—“I am an Helvetian!” cried he with boyish eagerness; “I am not afraid -of death, but of bonds: why, if my father _really_ wanted to kill me, do -you think I would run away?”— - -All withdrew from the place, where Death’s intended victim stood calm -and sweetly-smiling, like a second Isaac. The multitude, agonized with -terror, could scarcely be heard to breathe: Tell had already taken his -station. All were still, all dreading, lest the father’s hand, rendered -trembling and uncertain by anxiety for his darling, should for the first -time miss the mark; when the arrow whistled through the air, and fixed -itself in the apple just above the crown of the child’s head, who saw it -coming towards him, and smiled as he marked its flight. - -Now then all rushed, eagerly to learn the event of this awful scene. -Some exclaimed—“He is fallen! he is fallen!”—But the boy had only -stooped to pick up the apple which the force of the blow had struck from -his head; and he now presented it to his father, who had flown to -embrace his rescued darling with speed scarce inferior to that of his -arrow. - -—“I was certain, father,” cried the child, as he hung round the neck of -the breathless Tell, “I was certain, that you were not _really_ going to -kill your own William!”— - -—“Kill _thee_?” exclaimed the father; “sooner would I have driven the -arrow into my own heart! But eternal curses and sudden death to him, who -would have made a man the murderer of his own child! Look!” he -continued, while he clasped the boy to his breast with one hand, and -with the other drew from his bosom a dart, which he held towards -Gessler, “Look, monster! had the first arrow pierced my son’s breast, -_this_ should have been buried to the very beard in _thine_.—For this -time thou art safe; but yet rest thou assured, that at the last thou -shalt not escape unpunished! Though _I_ may spare thee, Heaven will -_not_.”— - -—“Vengeance! vengeance! death and curses to the tyrant! Eternal -destruction to the infernal Gessler and all the miscreants who assist -him!” thus exclaimed the multitude with one voice; while they closed -round Tell in order to conduct him home in safety, and protect him from -the Governor’s guards, to whom a signal had been given to fall upon him -without delay. - -But the friends of liberty were too weak in numbers to resist their -powerful oppressors. Before the gallant Tell had retraced half the way -to his cottage, his companions were dispersed, and himself delivered -into the hands of his enemy. Gessler commanded, that he should be bound, -thrown into a vessel which was ready for sailing, and conveyed to the -dungeons of Kussnach, as a violator of the respect due to imperial -dignity. - -No one was suffered to accompany Tell; but his little son clung to the -bonds which were cutting the flesh of his father, and cried, that he -would throw himself into the flood, if they tore him from him. Gessler’s -soldiers had no objection to taking two victims instead of one, and -yielded to the child’s request, whom Amabel followed into the vessel -without being questioned. The boy was her darling, and it was she who -had conducted him to the fatal archery, where it was his destiny to play -so principal a part. The cry that he was safe had rouzed her from the -swoon into which the sight of his danger had thrown her; and she now -found it impossible to part so soon from the cherub, whom she had -expected never more to clasp to her bosom but as a corse. She had also -no slight grounds for apprehending new dangers for the rescued victim, -should she leave him in the hands of his enemies with no other protector -than his captive father. Gessler’s servile ministers could not have well -pitched upon a more skilful or certain means of inflicting pain on Tell, -than by murdering his son before his face. - -Amabel was aware of this; and dreading lest this horrible plan of -vengeance should occur to the soldiers, she took the first opportunity -of enticing the child away from his father, and concealing him in a dark -corner of the vessel. Here she charged the little William to remain -quiet, and pointing to Tell, bade him observe how quiet his father was -lying on the floor, his fettered hands clasped together and raised -towards Heaven, whither his eyes directed devout and imploring glances, -which reached the Preserver of innocence above the clouds. - -—“What is my father doing?” enquired the child at length in a whisper. - -—“He is praying for himself and for us,” answered Amabel. - -—“Oh! then God will hear him, and help him; and then you know, we can -creep out, and take away those ugly cords from his poor bleeding -hands.”— - -Amabel replied in the manner, which she thought most likely to satisfy -the child; and a conversation was carried on in whispers between her and -her little companion which gradually became interesting enough to -prevent their observing that a dreadful storm was rising, that thick -clouds had changed the day into night, and that the light vessel was -forced far out of its intended course. The rolling of the thunder, the -frequent flashes of lightning, and the heavy torrents of rain at length -made both attentive and silent; till William proposed that he should -steal to his father under covert of the thick darkness, and spread his -little coat over him, for Tell lay entirely exposed to the tempest. -Amabel burst into tears as she listened to the kind-hearted boy, then -gave him her own cloak, and bade him hasten to alleviate the prisoner’s -sufferings. - -But Tell showed by no sign, that he was conscious of this affecting -testimony of his child’s care: he remained with his hands clasped, and -his eyes still fixed upon the heavens. Perhaps, the transactions of that -day had blunted all his feelings; perhaps, he was revolving plans of -escape, which never fail to occupy the thoughts of the captive hero, and -whose future execution frequently prevent his being sensible of the -weight of present calamities. - -The tempest continued to rage: with every moment the danger of the -slight vessel became more imminent. Tell, Amabel, and the child were now -left by themselves. The other persons were employed in various quarters, -endeavouring if possible to save the ship, which was already deprived of -sail and mast. The prisoners were now the happiest of the party: they at -least rejoiced in the hope of perishing together. The child too, who had -no clear idea of the danger, and fancied that everything went wrong only -because his father was in bonds, ceased not to exert all his little -powers in endeavouring to untye the cords; but even with Amabel’s -assistance he found the task too difficult for his strength. - -While they were still employed in this unavailing labour, they heard the -cry of distress increase with tenfold violence: presently some one on -the upper deck exclaimed—“Now then all is lost! What winds and waves -have failed in doing, will be done by the hidden rocks which abound upon -this coast, and with which not a soul of us is acquainted. Oh! what -would I now give to be as good a pilot as Tell, and to possess his -knowledge of these shores!”— - -Amabel started up, and listened with more attention. She heard the name -of Tell frequently mentioned; and after a few minutes past in -contention, some of the sailors approached the place, where she stood by -the side of her unfortunate friend. - -—“Tell,” said the Captain, “you know, that your life is forfeit to the -law; but if you will engage to conduct the vessel safe to land, as a -favour we will unbind you, and promise to do our utmost to obtain a -milder sentence for you from the Emperor’s mercy.”— - -—“I have saved many a vessel,” answered Tell, “in a more desperate -situation than the present; and that which has succeeded with me ten -times before, I trust, will not fail with me now.—As to what you say -about favours, bestow them on those who ask them; I expect mercy from no -one, save from Him under whose hand we all now tremble!”— - -Tell was unbound, and the rudder committed to his care. William and -Amabel still remained close by his side, while the rest of the ship’s -company dispersed to their several stations. - -Tell’s rudder seemed to command the tempest: he steered confidently -through the foaming waves, and already the companions of his danger -shouted with joy at the certainty of their escape. - -—“And what will be the reward of our preserver?” asked one of the most -compassionate among Gessler’s soldiers. - -—“What _should_ it be?” answered their leader angrily. “The most he can -lay claim to is a speedy death without being previously tortured; or -perhaps his sentence may be softened into that of eternal -imprisonment.”— - -Tell was silent, and cast a despairing look through the dark clouds of -the storm towards the Only-one, from whom he had hopes of assistance! - -—“Oh! that I had no one here to tremble for, except myself!” said Tell -to the afflicted Amabel, who knelt beside him after a silence of some -minutes—“how quickly should I be safe from the malice of my enemies!”— - -—“And what then would you do?”— - -—“The rocks are not lofty! One bold and lucky spring, and I were in -safety!”— - -—“Throw me into the waves, father!” cried the boy, “throw me into the -waves, for _I_ am a hindrance to you!”— - -At that moment a tremendous flash of lightning illuminated the whole -scene. Tell descried an immense tree at a slight distance growing out of -a rock which they were approaching, and extending its arms far over the -foaming flood— - -“Amabel!” cried Tell, “dare you seize a bough of that tree as we pass -under it, suffer the bark to be carried away from you, and cling fast to -the branch, till I have time to come to your assistance?”— - -—“I dare! I dare!” cried Amabel in the tone of desperation—“But the -child! Oh! God! the child!”— - -—“Be that my care!—Be prepared!—Now then!” he cried, and was obeyed. He -saw that she had fast hold of the bough, and in the same moment he -seized the boy with his left arm, with his right turned the rudder -to-wards the rock, then sprang boldly from the deck, and left the vessel -with its unthankful freight a prey to the raging flood. The tempest -seized it; the rudder was broken in the shock, and dreadful was the -shriek of the crew, as the fury of the winds and waves drove it far away -over the roaring billows. Tell sprang upon the rock unhurt; he hastily -climbed up the upper part of the coast, and having placed the boy on the -ground, he flew to give Amabel his assistance. But she, who was -deficient neither in strength of body or presence of mind, had already -found means to gain the rock in which the tree was rooted, had forced -her way through all impediments, and had nearly reached the loftiest of -the broken cliffs, before he could arrive. He assisted her to attain the -summit, when she instantly sank on her knees, and returned thanks to God -with all the joy of one just rescued from destruction. - -But I forget, that Tell and Amabel are in fact foreign to my story, and -I have already suffered myself to dwell on their adventures too long, to -the prejudice of my real heroines. I will therefore pass over in silence -the circumstances which followed their escape from the vessel, and those -which again threw them into Gessler’s power. Suffice it to say, that the -dart which the Avenger of human nature seemed to have reserved for that -express purpose, the dart which Tell had shown Gessler, in the first -burst of his indignation, that very dart pierced the tyrant’s bosom; and -thus was Helvetia freed from a monster, who had laid waste her tranquil -vallies with circumstances of much greater cruelty, than were ever -attributed to fabled dragons in the Legends of Romance. - -After performing this dangerous act of justice, Tell betook himself to -Stein, where he intended to take refuge with Werner Bernsdorf. Here he -found new cause to rejoice at having rid the world of Gessler. -Bernsdorf’s new-raised edifice, the admiration of the whole country, lay -an heap of ashes! Gessler had thought it too good for a private man, and -had threatened to pull it down. Werner laughed at his threats, for it -seemed to be no trifle to destroy the property of a man of his -consequence, while living in the midst of a neighbourhood, where every -arm and every heart were devoted to his service: but he did not reflect, -that villany can find a hundred secret means for effecting its purposes. -In the depth of the night a fire broke out, which, from its bursting all -at once from the four corners of the building, and at a time when all -were buried in sleep, gained ground too rapidly to admit of its being -got under. Werner and Gertrude saved nothing from the flames, except -their lives. Every one exclaimed against secret incendiaries, and no one -doubted by whose orders this shameful action had been committed: in -fact, there were proofs sufficient to make it morally certain, that the -author of this mischief could be no other than Gessler. - -The sight of his friend’s distress (for this fire had reduced Werner to -beggary) raised Tell’s indignation to the highest pitch. He left Amabel -and his son to the care of Gertrude, and hastened with Bernsdorf in -disguise back to Altdorf, to consult with Walter Forest and Henric -Melthal on the best and speediest means of rescuing Helvetia from her -disgraceful yoke. Arnold Melthal also, who had but lately escaped from -the dungeons of the Abbot of St. Gall, increased their band; and the -union of five men so remarkable for courage and for prudence produced -such fortunate and such glorious consequences, as will immortalize their -names to the latest posterity[1]. - -Footnote 1: - - Bernsdorf’s real name was Staufacher. - -Bloomberg hastened to Stein, to rejoice with his wife at her escape, and -to efface in her embraces the injurious impressions, to which his too -easy heart had given way during their separation. Spite and Envy had not -neglected the opportunity of calumniating one of Amabel’s noblest -actions. Her frank and guileless nature had prevented her from making it -a secret, that the admirable William Tell had been the first love of her -innocent heart; and her voluntary forsaking her family, in order that -she might share the fate of that gallant prisoner (a circumstance of -which all Altdorf had been an eye-witness) had found that -misinterpretation, which Calumny is always so eager to bestow on those -heroic actions, of which she feels herself incapable. - -Fortunately the heart of Edmund Bloomberg was not more prone to jealous -doubts, than open to conviction. Nothing more than the sight of his -excellent brother, and the relation of the true circumstances of the -case, was necessary to make him feel the folly of suspecting the -integrity of such a man. He requested his lovely wife to forgive his -unjust suspicions; and the temporary separation of their hearts seemed -to have renewed his former love with such violence, that he could not -resolve to tear himself away from her, in spite of his earnest desire to -participate with his friends in the glorious attempt to rescue Helvetia -from her chains. - -Yet was not Edmund entirely idle. His wife’s anxiety respecting the -Damsels of Sargans had formerly induced him to make enquiries respecting -their fate; but Wolfenrad (whose sole view was to remove the husband, in -order that the unprotected wife might fall a prey during his absence) -had taken care to direct his search, where he well knew that it must be -fruitless. Edmund at length discovered the trick, and incensed at having -been sent on such a wild-goose-chase, he hastened back accompanied by a -band of well-armed companions, determined to revenge the insult. His -vengeance was complete, and now at Amabel’s request he again resumed his -search after the Damsels of Sargans: nor was it long before he -ascertained, that report had said no more than the truth, when she -asserted that Amalberga was a captive in the dungeons of Rassburg, and -that Emmeline had really perished among the flames. To rescue the one -and to revenge the other now formed the only subject of the -conversations, which passed between Gertrude, Amabel, and her husband. - -The more they discussed the circumstances, the more dreadful did the -fate of the two sisters appear, and the more difficult of execution did -they find their plans respecting them. They were conscious, that without -some powerful supporter, their strength was insufficient for the -undertaking; and Amabel’s thoughts immediately suggested to her the -names of two young knights, to whom at a former period the Damsels of -Sargans had been by no means indifferent, and who (she doubted not) -would still feel so much interest about them, as to forward her wish to -avenge the death of the one and procure the deliverance of the other. - -On enquiry, it appeared, that but few hopes could be grounded upon the -aid of Count Herman of Werdenberg. Suspicions, injurious to Emmeline’s -character, had made him resolve to conquer his passion for her: but to -eradicate her from his heart had not been found a task so easy, as he -imagined; and at length he had quitted Germany, tormented by his -unsatisfied love, and by anger at himself for not having succeeded in -overcoming it. He was at this time in England, whence his relations had -solicited his return most earnestly, but in vain. - -But little as was to be expected from Count Herman, so much the more was -to be hoped from the noble Eginhart of Torrenburg, and it was resolved -that Edmund should hasten to him without delay: it was not long before -he returned accompanied by the youthful hero. - -There are reasons, which it is unnecessary to disclose, which make it -particularly painful to me to trace the name of Torrenburg, and to -recollect how closely his fate is interwoven with that of Amalberga of -Sargans: but it must be done, and I will not complain. Yes, there ought -to be now no sacrifice too difficult for my heart to make: there _shall_ -be none! - -Eginhart of Torrenburg, who had formerly been as closely bound to Helen -of Homburg through motives of policy, as he was now attached by -affection and his own choice to the lovely Amalberga, was at length free -from his engagements to the former, and at liberty to bestow his hand -according to the dictates of his heart. - -Helen (alas for that poor Helen!) had been carried off on her bridal-day -by that fierce terrific tyrant, Donat, Count of Carlsheim and Sargans: -force had compelled her to become his wife! Angels of innocence, where -were you then lingering, that you gave the unfortunate no warning-sign -of the danger, into which she was on the brink of falling? Yet scarcely -can I decide, which would have been the harder fate; to become the -victim of Count Donat, or with a heart glowing with love to be delivered -into the arms of a husband, whose soul was in secret devoted to another, -and whose hand was only given to the wretched Helen from motives of -honour and respect for his plighted word. - -Instead of the expected bride, the news of her being carried off reached -the Castle of Torrenburg, where the wedding was to have been celebrated. -Though love had no share in his concern on this occasion, compassion for -the unfortunate girl, and the insult thus offered to himself, made the -young Count immediately place himself at the head of his vassals, and -hasten to rescue the intended victim from Donat’s clutches. - -Helen, who had been compelled to assent to this unhallowed union at the -Castle of Upper Halbstein, was now ordered to follow her unamiable Lord -to another of his fortresses situated southwards among the Rhœtian Alps. -She received the command with joy, for at the Castle of Sargans she -hoped at least to receive the consolations of friendship. Her -step-daughters had been the play-fellows of Helen’s childhood during -several weeks; and since their separation occasional letters and -messages conveyed by third persons had frequently assured her, that she -still lived in the remembrances of her early friends. In their embraces -she hoped to find some alleviation of her sufferings: she flattered -herself also, that the station which she was now to fill in their house, -would give her frequent opportunities of making the situation of the -poor girls more happy than it had been hitherto; and this reflexion -prevented her from feeling herself quite miserable. - -Cruel fate decreed, that her journey, which was made in company with her -husband and under the protection of a numerous retinue, should be -interrupted by the arrival of the Count of Torrenburg and his forces. It -was now, that for the first time she saw the bridegroom, whom fortune -had destined never to be hers; for whose character she had ever been -taught to entertain the highest admiration; and whose sight (for oh! -there never yet was man more formed to captivate the soul of woman) was -sufficient to make her feel, how near her happiness had been, and how -completely it was now lost to her for ever. - -Torrenburg’s valour forced Count Donat to seek his safety in flight, and -the trembling Helen was brought before the conqueror. Helen (who -believed herself to be no less dear to her destined bridegroom, than He -was dear to Her) for a few moments forgot her duty; but melancholy -reflexion soon made her tear herself away from the embraces of the -beloved warrior, and she commanded him to leave her. - -—“My rescue comes too late!” she exclaimed, wringing her hands in agony; -“I am Count Donat’s wife, and must remain so, though it should break my -heart! Oh! Eginhart, restore me to my husband, and forget the -unfortunate, whom fate has separated from you for ever.”— - -Tears stood glittering in the warrior’s eyes. He advanced, as if he -would have detained her, but she peremptorily forbade his nearer -approach. She hastened to her palfrey, and giving the reins to the -animal, she soon reached the valley, whither Donat and his vassals had -directed their flight. - -Helen’s conduct on this occasion, which might well have been termed a -difficult effort, if virtue and duty did not make every effort easy, was -rewarded by her stern husband with coldness, with sarcasms, with -reproaches. She arrived at Sargans; and here was Helen destined to find -the disappointment of her last poor promised pleasure, the society of -her two friends. - -Count Donat held out to her as a mark of his complaisance and of his -consideration for her happiness, that he had ordered the only one of his -daughters who remained to him (for the other had unaccountably -disappeared) to quit the Castle. In vain did Helen implore him to recall -Emmeline of Sargans from the Sanctuary of St. Roswitha: he was deaf to -her entreaties, and she was left a prey to solitude and despair. - -Nor had the husband, who had gained her hand by such unworthy means, -reason to be entirely satisfied with his situation. The Counts of -Torrenburg, Mayenfield, and Homburg, mortally offended at the carrying -off of Helen, like a deluge over-ran with their forces the territories -of Count Donat. His fortresses were forced and plundered one after -another, and they now advanced to attack the Castle of Sargans. But -Helen, whose only remaining consolation was derived from the most -punctilious discharge of her duties, came forth to throw herself at the -feet of her relations; and she implored for peace so fervently and so -earnestly, and she asserted with so much solemnity her belief, that -being once become the Count of Carlsheim’s wife, it was her duty to live -and die with him, (a duty, which she was resolved to fulfill, whatever -might be the consequences,) that her intercession was found -irresistible. Dearly was Helen beloved by her parents; earnestly did -they desire her happiness, which they well knew she never could find in -the arms of Donat: but it was by themselves, that she had been taught -the merit of sacrificing all other considerations to that of fulfilling -her duties; how then could they advise her now to break through the -rules, which they had themselves laid down for her?—Peace was granted, -and granted solely to Helen’s intercession. The ravisher was left in -possession of his unwilling bride; and her relations quitted his -territories, having first exacted from him the most solemn and dreadful -oath to recompense her for the happy station, of which he had deprived -her, by unchanging love and never-ceasing anxiety for her welfare. - -Donat took the oath: how he kept it, is a secret to all save the -Almighty and Helen: but she has sworn in the presence of God to be -silent on this subject, and she will carry that dreadful secret with her -to the grave unpublished. - -She was very—oh! _very_ miserable! On those days only, when her stern -husband was from home, had she any gleams of sunshine. On one of these -days an unknown messenger arrived, and desired to speak with the Lady -Emmeline of Sargans. He was informed, that she was not at the Castle, -and he was conducted to Helen. He brought letters from the Lake of Thun, -which he at length confided to her, though unwillingly, and only (as he -said) induced by the frank expression of her countenance. - -—“But,” said he, “will you deliver them to the Lady Emmeline with your -own hands?”— - -Helen, who lived at Sargans almost in a state of captivity, knew too -well that she was not authorised to give such a promise, and only -answered by a melancholy shake of the head. Her look, the suspicious -countenances of the attendants, and the well-known character of her -husband, alarmed the messenger, and made him suspect that his life was -in danger: he stole unperceived to the gate, and hastened away. The -packet was thus left in Helen’s possession. She knew, that it would be -impossible to deliver it into the hands of her, for whom it was -intended; she long sought for opportunities of doing so in vain; and at -length ennui, and her anxiety to obtain some further information -respecting the Sisters, which might possibly furnish her with the means -of alleviating their cruel destiny, induced her to open the letters. - -They were from Amabel Melthal and the lost Amalberga. Heavens! what -unexpected discoveries did Helen make while perusing them; discoveries, -which had no slight connexion with her own situation! God be thanked, -that among other things they made it known to her, that nothing but duty -to his parents, and consideration for his plighted word, had induced -Eginhart of Torrenburg to offer her his hand, while every fond sentiment -of his heart had long been Amalberga’s. This discovery at first wounded -her to the very soul; but after a time she drew from it reasons for -being better satisfied with her fate, and she resolutely banished the -beloved youth from her memory, in which till then he had too frequently -occupied a place. - -Determined to abstract herself entirely from every thing which regarded -herself, Helen now determined to consider the happiness of her two -friends as her only object in life. She endeavoured to make herself -mistress of every circumstance belonging to them. Mention was made in -one of Amabel’s letters of an old maid-servant at Sargans, called -Bertha, who had been Emmeline’s confidante during the latter days of her -abode at her father’s mansion; and in hopes of gaining some further -information Helen desired, that Bertha might be brought before her. She -was answered, that the old woman had been sick for several weeks, and -was now drawing near her end. To the great astonishment of the domestics -Helen immediately hastened to Bertha’s chamber, saying, that she would -go and comfort her in her last moments. - -Helen had but little time allowed her to perform this charitable office: -yet that little she employed to the best advantage, and in return -Bertha’s gratitude rewarded her more amply, than she had hoped. Bertha, -who had fallen ill soon after Emmeline’s departure, had only had time to -forward the letter for Amabel; another packet, intended for the Countess -Urania Venosta, was still in her possession. She gave it to Helen, and -implored her to take care, that it reached its destination. That was not -in Helen’s power; she kept it for some time, in constant terror lest her -tyrant husband should discover it, and lest it should be the means of -drawing down on herself and Emmeline fresh anger and increased -sufferings. At length, she resolved at least to put the contents out of -Count Donat’s power to bury in oblivion: she broke the seal, and what -she read exalted her impatience to rescue the unfortunate writer to a -degree, that was almost too strong to admit of concealment. - -What Helen suffered at this period is not to be expressed; perhaps her -own misfortunes had made her still more compassionate towards those of -others, than it was her nature otherwise to be. Three objects were now -never out of her thoughts for a moment. The first was, since the Count -of Torrenburg was now lost to her for ever, to make known to him the -present residence of Amalberga; but how to convey to him that -intelligence, she in vain sought to discover. The second was, if -possible, to rescue Emmeline from the detested Convent of St. Roswitha; -but alas! she had but little hopes of delivering others, while she was -herself a captive in the Castle of Sargans. The last was, to obtain -possession of the key to that chamber, in which was the secret entrance -to the subterraneous passages leading to the dwellings of the Anchorets. - -The last seemed to afford her the most probable means of gratifying her -two former wishes; perhaps too, she was unconsciously desirous of -securing a means of escaping from the Castle, should she ever find such -a step necessary. It is at least certain, that in her eagerness to carry -her point, she took many steps, which prudence would not justify. -Frequently did she repair to that chamber; she found the door guarded by -seven locks. Frequently in the dead of the night, when all slept, or -seemed to sleep, did she try the house-keys, which were in her charge; -and when at length two of the locks shot back from their fastenings, she -sank on her knees, and thanked Heaven with a flood of tears. She doubted -not, that the rest of the locks would yield to her perseverance; but a -sudden noise at no great distance prevented her from pushing the attempt -farther that night, and she hastened back to her chamber with a heart -filled with delight and expectation. - -Joy, at being so near the accomplishment of her wishes, prevented her -from sleeping during the remainder of the night, and she employed the -vacant hours in revolving her future plans. - -—“If,” said she to herself, after giving the matter her most serious -consideration; “if I should be so fortunate as to obtain an entrance -into the mysterious chamber to-morrow night, I will hasten to the -subterraneous passage without losing a moment. A torch, and the clear -description of the way given in Amalberga’s letter will guide me to the -Hermitage to a certainty, and I need only use more than ordinary -diligence, in order to be back at the Castle before day-break; for -precious as liberty appears to me, I will not obtain it by improper -means. I am Donat’s wife, and privately to withdraw myself from his -protection were to commit an act of infidelity and treason against my -husband. I will content myself therefore with relating what I know to -the good hermits, and entreating them to take the best and speediest -means of rescuing Emmeline from her dangerous abode, and for placing the -fortunate Amalberga in the arms of Torrenburg!”— - -On second thoughts, she reflected, that merely to give this intelligence -to the hermits would not be to do enough; it would also be necessary to -give some explanation to the Countess Urania respecting the letters -which she had opened, and by advising Torrenburg to make Amalberga his -wife, to render it clear to him, that she had herself forgotten the tyes -which once existed between them. Perhaps too, a threatening letter to -the Abbot of Curwald (should all other means fail) might have some -weight in inducing him to surrender Emmeline. In order that nothing -might delay her on the ensuing night, she rose instantly from her bed, -and began to write. But before her letters were concluded, it was -morning, and her attendants, or rather her jailors, entered the -apartment to wake her. They exprest no little surprise at finding her -already out of bed. - -—“I presume, noble Lady,” said the eldest of them, “either some joyous -foreboding, or some prophetic dream has roused you from your couch so -early. Our Lord will return to-day; in truth, we knew this yesterday, -but we kept it to make our morning-greeting the more welcome, and also -through apprehension lest your joy at this intelligence should spoil -your night’s rest.”— - -Helen only answered the speaker by one of those expressive glances, with -which the open-hearted repay words, which belie the secret mind. She was -well aware, that her women who had been so often the witnesses of her -sufferings, could not but know the nature of those feelings, which -Donat’s return was likely to excite in her bosom. Nor did she alone -tremble in the presence of the fierce Count of Carlsheim; every creature -that existed in the Castle listened to his name with terror, and nothing -but irony had dictated this speech of the insolent Jutta. Yet dared not -Helen find the least fault with any one of her female attendants, who -were chiefly composed of her husband’s former favourites, and the -meanest of whom had more influence with him still, than was allowed to -his unhappy wife. - -The news of Donat’s return was soon confirmed: it was scarcely mid-day, -when she heard the drawbridge resounding beneath the hasty trampling of -his black steed. She hastened to receive him at the gate with that smile -of submissive duty, which she had accustomed herself always to wear in -his presence. He repulsed her offered hand with a furious look, and shut -himself up in his own chamber with such of his dependents, as were most -in his confidence. An hour elapsed; his chamber-door was thrown open, -and Donat rushed out again, to all appearance more incensed, if -possible, than before. - -—“Arm! arm!” cried he with a voice of thunder, which resounded through -the whole fortress, and which soon collected all his soldiers around -him, who, wearied with the journey from which they were just returned, -were better fitted for repose than for a second expedition; “to horse, -and away this instant; business of importance summons us, and which -admits of no delay. Talk not of weariness, or exhausted strength! the -deed, which now demands your faulchions, could be executed, if your arms -were half useless; for I lead you not against stout warriors, but -cowardly monks, on whom I swear to be revenged before sun-set!”— - -They were too well accustomed to obey Count Donat at the first motion of -his finger, to make any remonstrances. In a few minutes all were -mounted, and their horses galloped over the echoing draw-bridge into the -valley below, whence they disappeared from the eyes of those, who gazed -after them, with the rapidity of lightning. - -The Castle-inhabitants looked on each other in silent astonishment. The -similarity of their present feelings produced a kind of confidence -between the Countess and her women; and one of them confessed to her, -her being almost certain, that she knew the cause of all this uproar. -She would however only impart thus much of her knowledge: on his return -homewards the Count had received a letter from one who was in the habit -of sending him intelligence, and this letter most probably contained the -spark, which had kindled such flames in the bosom of Count Donat; for as -soon as he had read it to his confidents, he tore it in a thousand -pieces, and trampled it under his feet. Besides this, in the midst of a -torrent of execrations he had been heard to mention the Abbot of Curwald -and his daughter Emmeline. - -—“Emmeline and the Abbot?” exclaimed Helen delighted. “Is it possible, -that some benevolent Being should have opened his eyes to the miseries -of his daughter? Is it to rescue her, that he departed in such haste? -Ah! then why have I so long delayed to take the nearest and surest way -for effecting her deliverance? Had I but confest her danger to Count -Donat.... Surely the worst of men could not endure, that his child -should be overwhelmed in shame and ruin! The depravity of the Nuns of -St. Roswitha must have been concealed from Count Donat, or he never -would have made his daughter a member of their society!”— - -These reflections, which were only half pronounced by Helen, were -totally unintelligible to her attendants, who continued to discuss what -had past, and to conjecture what was to follow; this occupied them so -entirely, that they did not perceive, that their mistress had left them. -She had hastened to her husband’s chamber, where she hoped to obtain -some insight into the circumstance, which at once both rejoiced and -alarmed her. - -The fragments of the important letter still lay upon the floor; she -eagerly seized them, and having secured herself against interruption, -put them again together carefully. She learned from them the truth of -what she had just been told; the writer warned Count Donat to beware of -the Abbot’s artifices; discovered to him, that St. Roswitha’s Sanctuary -was little better than the harem of the Monks of Curwald; and that by -enclosing the Lady Emmeline within these sacrilegious walls, he had -delivered up his daughter to the passion of her licentious lover. - -No wonder, that information like this should have given a deadly wound -to Count Donat’s pride: nor (in spite of his own excesses) was he so -totally lost to shame as to endure patiently, that his daughter should -become the prey of a libertine. He was almost frantic with rage, and for -the first time in his life he drew his sword to punish the insulters of -virtue. - -Helen sank on her knees, and thanked God for this unexpected -accomplishment of her wishes. She sent a thousand prayers after her -husband for the good success of his expedition: she even went so far, as -to begin to make preparations for receiving the rescued Emmeline, whom -in fancy she already prest to her heart; and when this agreeable -occupation was finished, she turned her thoughts towards guessing at the -benevolent writer of the letter, which had induced the father to hasten -to preserve his child. - -Poor simple Helen! it entered not into her thoughts (and it was not till -long after, that she made the discovery) that villainy often performs a -seemingly virtuous action, in order to forward its own unholy designs. -She knew not, that the author of that letter was Wolfenrad. It seems, -that those oppressors of Rhœtian and Helvetian liberty, the lord -governors and their assistants, carried on a very close though secret -understanding with some of the most potent noblemen, whose object it was -equally to bring the inhabitants of these unfortunate countries still -more beneath the yoke, and to build upon their subjection the fabric of -their own power and grandeur. Among the secret allies of Gessler and -Landenberg, Count Donat and the Abbot of Curwald were the most -distinguished; and Wolfenrad on account of his well-known skill in -penmanship was frequently employed by both the governors to carry on -their correspondence both with Curwald and Sargans. - -Still the fact was, that neither of these parties meant honestly to each -other. Donat and the Abbot were determined only to go hand in hand with -the vice-regents so long, as it suited their own views; and _these_ on -the other side intended, as soon as they had derived as much benefit as -they could from the assistance of the Count and his ecclesiastical ally, -to excite a quarrel between them, and then join with the one in -plundering the other. - -We have already seen, how imprudently Amabel had laid her secrets open -to Wolfenrad. Her letters to Emmeline passed through his hands, and he -missed not this opportunity to increase his knowledge of the affairs of -the Count of Carlsheim; and though Emmeline’s letters to Amabel were not -_confided_ to him, by one artifice or another he had not failed to -obtain a sight of them. Bloomberg’s simple wife observed indeed, that -the seal of Emmeline’s packet had been forced; but she little guest by -whom. - -The contents of this letter immediately furnished him with the most -certain means for producing an irreconcileable hatred between Count -Donat and the potent Abbot of Curwald. The power of the latter was -beginning to appear dangerous to the Lord Governors; but they could -expect nothing but an accession of strength to themselves, while the -Count of Carlsheim and the Abbot were mutually weakening themselves in -feudal skirmishes. Such was Wolfenrad’s object in writing this -warning-letter, whose author was loaded with blessings by the -unsuspicious Helen, while waiting with a throbbing heart for the return -of her Lord. - -The night arrived. She now thought no longer of attempting to open the -door of the mysterious chamber, which she had meant to attempt at this -hour, since a principal object of her wish to visit the Hermitage was -already accomplished. Besides, the design could not then have been -possibly executed, since every one in the Castle was still awake, and -waiting with impatience for Count Donat’s return. - -It was almost morning, when some of her attendants rushed with looks of -terror into Helen’s apartment, and entreated her to ascend the upper -platform, whence she would discern towards the west indubitable marks of -some dreadful conflagration. - -—“God preserve us from some mishap!” exclaimed Helen, while she followed -her women to the battlements; the whole quarter of the heavens towards -Curwald seemed one blaze of red!—“Oh! Donat, Donat, what hast thou done? -Were there no gentler means?—Emmeline, my poor Emmeline, where art thou -at this moment?”— - -Helen’s fears were but too well-founded. Donat, in doing what he thought -it right to do, had done it in his usual manner. Wolfenrad’s letter had -given him some hints of the midnight revels, which were frequently -carried on between the inhabitants of the adjacent Convents of Curwald -and St. Roswitha. He made enquiries of the neighbouring peasants, who -were no friends of these ecclesiastical libertines; their report -confirmed the truth of Wolfenrad’s assertions; and an old man (who -declared himself particularly well informed respecting these disgraceful -secrets) added—“that on that very night there was to be a superb -entertainment given to celebrate the conversion of a Nun, who was the -last admitted.”— - -—“You may easily guess, valiant knight,” continued the old man, “what -they mean by her _conversion_. I suppose the lady (I saw her brought -into the Convent myself, and she seemed to be an angel of innocence and -beauty) was a little violent at first; and so they have at last -succeeded in taming her stern morality, as many another has been tamed -in the same way before her.”— - -—“Good heavens!” exclaimed one of the least depraved among Count Donat’s -knights; “are such things spoken of in these parts so openly, and yet is -Justice silent, and does the Bishop of Coira take no notice of such -abominations?”— - -—“Oh! the Lord have mercy on me, Sir Knight,” answered the old man, -“such things are not talked of _openly_, or so many fathers would not -plunge their children into yonder abyss of infamy! I warrant you, the -parents of this converted damsel little thought, when they sent her to -St. Roswitha, that they were placing the sweet creature in Satan’s own -claws. But when one is speaking to gallant warriors like yourselves, who -are able, and perhaps willing to help us, one must be open-hearted. I -see that you are all well-armed, and yonder tall gentleman with his -eye-brows bent so sternly and his hands clenched seems to feel for what -we poor country-folks must suffer under the dominion of these voluptuous -Monks, who make us contribute the chief part of our hard-earned gains to -the support of their luxury. As to the Bishop of Coira.... I am afraid, -you are in the right about him! The notice which _he_ takes.... Aye; -were old Hugo of Werdenberg still bishop indeed.... But the present -Bishop.... Well! well! he and his boon-companion, the Abbot of St. Gall, -make a pair of worthies indeed!”— - -While his knights were carrying on this discourse with the peasants, -their Lord, whom fury had almost deprived of his senses, was considering -what was to be done: the resolution which he took was worthy of his -character, was worthy of no one but himself. Entrance into either of the -two convents was demanded in vain; every other proposal which his -attendants suggested, was rejected as incompetent to effect his object; -at length his commands were obeyed, and by midnight St. Roswitha’s -Sanctuary was enveloped in flames. It’s true, that a spark of paternal -love still glimmered in his heart for the unfortunate Emmeline; but the -idea, that in all probability _she_ also had been _converted_ after the -fashion of the sisterhood, soon extinguished it, and he resolved to hide -her and his shame together in the ashes of St. Roswitha. Impressed with -this idea—“Drive them back into the flames!” roared the inhuman Donat, -whenever either Friar or Nun tried to rescue themselves from the -conflagration, without deigning to examine whether Emmeline might not be -one of those unfortunates. The number of monks, whom the flames -compelled to attempt their escape from St. Roswitha at this undue time -of night, confirmed the reports of the mode of life practised in the -convents; and the dresses of the Nuns, who had been arrayed for the -feast, proclaimed how little their hearts were estranged from worldly -vanities. The fire continued to spread; it now caught the adjacent Abbey -of Curwald, and before day-break there remained of both the Sanctuaries -and their infamous inhabitants nothing but heaps of smoaking ruins[2]. - -Footnote 2: - - Some historians date the burning of Cloister-Curwald several years - later than the period adopted in this narrative. - -Such was the cause of those flames, whose reflexion on the sky excited -so much consternation at Sargans: Helen’s heart had not throbbed with -sad forebodings without necessity. In the course of the morning Donat -returned home, and returned without Emmeline! - -Helen flew to meet him, and eagerly enquired, where was his daughter? -His answer was a short and cold narrative of the dreadful transaction, -which had just taken place, and the consequence was, that overpowered -with horror Helen fell senseless at the monster’s feet. When she -recovered, her first words were to ask, where he had placed Emmeline, -(for she doubted not, that previous to firing the Convent he had -provided for his daughter’s safety,) and unfortunately her question was -so worded, that it betrayed her more intimate knowledge of the business, -than was by any means suspected by Donat. This discovery converted his -unfeeling coldness into a degree of fury, that nearly approached -delirium. He seized her roughly by the arm, and demanded, in a voice of -thunder, how she came to be so well acquainted with his affairs? The -unfortunate knew no other way of extricating herself from this dilemma, -than repeating what she had heard mentioned by one of her attendants -respecting Wolfenrad’s letter, which (she confest) had so strongly -excited her anxiety about Emmeline, that she had not scrupled to piece -the fragments again together. The storm of rage was now diverted from -Helen to the woman, who had given her mistress this intelligence, and -who had it in her power to disclose much more important secrets, if she -had thought proper. - -Incensed at Count Donat’s ill-treatment of her, for which she considered -herself as indebted to Helen, Jutta resolved to disclose in her turn all -that she thought most likely to injure her mistress. Accordingly she -began an accusation, which among a thousand falsehoods contained some -truths, calculated to make Helen shudder as she listened to them. - -The Countess (Jutta said) had some time before received a packet from an -unknown messenger, who afterwards quitted the Castle with all speed, and -whose arrival she ordered to be concealed from her husband. She had also -received several letters from the hands of the dying Bertha; after -reading which she had been frequently seen loitering about the door of -that chamber, which (on account of the strange noises frequently heard -within) was supposed to be haunted. Nay, on the night before last she -had actually tried to force back the locks, but had been scared away, by -hearing Jutta’s rosary fall on the ground, while she was watching her -Lady’s proceedings concealed behind St. Martin’s statue. She had -afterwards seen through the key-hole the Countess busily employed in -writing, and during the confusion which followed Count Donat’s arrival, -had found means to get the letters into her possession; which to confirm -her story Jutta was now ready to lay before him. - -These heavy charges against Helen failed not to produce the effect -intended. Donat ordered the letters to be brought immediately: He was no -scholar; yet was he not so totally deficient in the knowledge of -writing, but that he could clearly decypher the addresses, which were -written in large characters. His eyes flashed fire, while he spelt the -names of “Eginhart of Torrenburg,” “the Abbot of Curwald,” and “Urania -Venosta, the widowed Countess of Carlsheim and Sargans.” These -directions would have been sufficient to condemn the poor Helen, even -had she been tried by a more impartial judge. It was certain, that these -three persons were her husband’s bitterest enemies; with what propriety -then could she be engaged in a secret correspondence with them? In -particular, what motive could she have for writing to the Count of -Torrenburg, who was her former lover, and had been so long her destined -bridegroom? Alas! poor Helen! appearances were sorely against thee! Nor -would Donat’s fury give him time to enquire further into the business. -In a paroxysm of rage he tore the letters into a thousand fragments, and -pronounced Helen to be in a secret correspondence with his implacable -foe, the Countess Urania for the purpose of betraying him to his -enemies; he asserted also, that she had been privy to the Abbot’s -designs upon his daughter, and had encouraged them in order to be -revenged on the father; and that she was still in love with the Count of -Torrenburg and meant to have fled to him from Sargans, an intention -which was sufficiently proved by her midnight efforts to obtain entrance -into that chamber, which concealed a private outlet from the Castle. -It’s true, that finding Emmeline had quitted that chamber of her own -accord, and thinking the knowledge of the secret passage might be of use -to himself on some future occasion, the Abbot had not mentioned to Count -Donat his suspicions, that such a passage existed; and the room had been -merely shut up from the report of its being haunted. But Wolfenrad had -learned this secret from the perusal of Amalberga’s letter to Emmeline, -and had communicated it to the Count, hoping thereby to increase the -merit of his services. Now then Donat had no doubt, that the noises, -which had been heard in that chamber, proceeded from no ghosts, but from -persons who were waiting to assist his wife in her projected flight. -Under the influence of these impressions, Helen was held convicted of -the most infamous designs, and condemned to suffer the most exemplary -chastisement. She was instantly confined in one of the strongest -dungeons, probably in that where Urania had shed so many tears; in the -mean while her tyrant with his confidents and those women of the Castle -who were most her enemies, sat in council to decide, what punishment -would be sufficiently severe to suit her crime. - -I am in doubt as to Donat’s reasons for not immediately proceeding to -the last extremities with his wife: that sentiment towards her, which he -had chosen to dignify with the name of love, had long ago disappeared; -and his late atrocious act, which had proved the destruction of the -whole Orders of Curwald and St. Roswitha, had left him no scruples to -overcome. One murder more or less, what did that signify to a man, who -had arrived at so dreadful a height of guilt?—The most probable cause -for Donat’s moderation was, _fear_: Helen was the Count of Homburg’s -daughter; was niece to the Count of Mayenfield; and had been affianced -to the Count of Torrenburg, who it was well known, would not suffer her -to be injured with impunity. These considerations made Donat hesitate, -as to the course which he was now to pursue. - -Donat past two days in resolving, whether it would not be possible to -bring Helen to confess herself guilty. This would justify him in the -eyes of her relations for any severity, which he might think proper to -inflict upon her; but when he considered his wife’s character, he saw -little prospect of persuading her to declare herself infamous. In the -mean while Helen was suffered to remain tranquil in her dungeon; and her -husband was still meditating how to avoid the vengeance of her friends, -when the Castle was unexpectedly attacked by enemies incensed upon a -different account. He might indeed have foreseen, that the Bishop of -Coira would not pass over the destruction of Cloister-Curwald in -silence; occupied however by his anger against Helen, Donat had bestowed -no thought upon the Bishop; and the avengers of the Monks of Curwald -were at the gates of Sargans, before any one had even bestowed a thought -on the possibility of such an attack. - -Helen heard from her prison the noise of the assault, the shouts of the -victors, and the expiring groans of those who fell beneath their swords; -but her spirit was too much broken to enable her to guess at what was -passing, or to offer up prayers or wishes for the success of either -party. She lay almost in a state of insensibility, when the door of her -dungeon was thrown open. The Count of Carlsheim entered, snatched her -rudely from the earth, and more by gestures than speech, commanded her -attendance. She followed her conductor in silence, like a lamb to the -slaughter; he saw, that she was scarcely able to move through weakness, -and either out of compassion or cruelty compelled her to swallow a -cordial. She gradually recovered herself sufficiently to remark, that -her husband was habited like a pilgrim on the point of setting out on -some long journey, and that he guided her towards a part of the Castle -remote from the clamour of the combat. Here they found a domestic -waiting with a torch, who in a low voice and with few words assured his -Lord, that the passage was still safe. A door, artfully concealed in the -wall, was now unlocked, and Helen was commanded to ascend the -stair-case, which presented itself before her. - -She was too wreak, too hopeless, to think it worth while to make any -reflections on Donat’s unaccountable conduct in regaining the upper -apartments of the fortress, (which, she was convinced, was already in -the enemy’s possession,) instead of employing these precious moments to -effect his escape. They now arrived at the door of that chamber, which -concealed the entrance to the subterraneous passages: the touch of a -single key was sufficient to make all the seven locks fly back. Donat -entered, and compelled his unhappy wife to follow him; he then took the -torch from the domestic, and commanded him to execute his orders without -delay, and then to provide for his own safety. The servant bowed, and -retired. - -Now then Helen was at length in that very spot, which she had so -anxiously wished to visit, but not with such a companion. Donat paused -for a moment; and she could hear distinctly, that the domestic fastened -the door through which she had entered, not omitting a single lock. Her -tyrant left her no time for reflecting on the purpose for which she had -been conducted hither; he hastened to unclose the secret door which led -to Urania’s baths, dragged her through it, and then commanded her to -proceed, having first taken care to fasten the door after him. - -Helen obeyed, and as she moved slowly forwards, through the -subterraneous passages, she observed that her husband occasionally -examined the side-walls with his hand or foot. At length he stopped -before a small door half sunk in the ground; he forced it open with a -violence which shook the whole cavern, and held his torch within, in -order to examine it. - -—“Yes, yes!” said he, “this is it! Found in good time!—Helen, return! or -canst thou find the way through these vaults without assistance?”— - -She dragged her feeble steps towards him: he grasped her arm, and dashed -her with violence down a few steps terminating in a small cave. She sank -on the ground with a shriek of pain, which her tyrant answered by a -burst of diabolical laughter. - -—“Here, traitress!” he exclaimed; “here is the place of your punishment -and your perdition; and here is the last nourishment, which you shall -ever receive on this side the grave. I give it not out of compassion, -but that you may not perish in your present state of stupor, and thus -escape the sense of what I have doomed you to suffer.—Eat! revive to the -full consciousness of your misery; then die in agony, as others have -died here before you!”— - -Thus saying, he placed by her side a loaf of bread and a small flask of -water, which he had brought with him in his pilgrim’s scrip. She was not -in a condition to make him any answer, and listened in morbid silence, -while he quitted the cave, flinging the door after him with violence, -and carefully barricading it on the outside to prevent her escape. - -Nothing now animated the frame of Helen but mere animal life; and even -that was half extinguished by the shock which she had sustained the day -before and by long abstinence from all nourishment. She was scarcely -conscious of what had past, and it afterwards cost her no little -difficulty to recall the recollection of it. Instinct made her seize -eagerly the food, of which she had so long been deprived; and the -relief, which this afforded her, was the first thing, which brought her -to herself, and gave her spirits to ask the question—“What has happened -to me? Whither have I been conveyed?”—She thought, that she must be the -sport of some fantastic vision, and with the sensation of being totally -exhausted she closed her eyes, and endeavoured to end her dream. - -A violent shock, which made the hollow ground tremble beneath her, -forced her to start up in terror; and she now had strength and -recollection sufficient to rush forward a few paces, which brought her -to the steps, down which Count Donat had so lately dashed her. An -instant after she was sensible of a second shock like that of an -earthquake, and which was accompanied by a noise so loud, that for a few -moments she was completely stunned. On recovering herself, she was -sensible of a strong current of air blowing into the cave: her heart -beat violently with hope and fear, while she thought it possible, that -the late earthquake might have forced the dungeon open. She hastened up -the steps, and with rapture ascertained by the touch that the door had -been driven from its fastenings, and that nothing prevented her from -quitting her prison. With as much speed, as her extreme weakness and the -total obscurity would permit, she hastened to profit by this -interposition of Providence. She crept along slowly and cautiously, when -on turning a corner she perceived a distant gleam of light. With -increased hopes she made the best of her way towards it, and found, that -it proceeded from Count Donat’s torch, as it lay half extinguished in -the rubbish, among which it had fallen. - -Without giving herself time to guess, what motive could have induced her -husband to throw away his only guide through the gloom, or how he could -have found his way out of these intricate passages without its aid, she -caught it eagerly from the ground, cleared the wick from the dust with -which it was clogged, and made the flame burn brightly; while she -frequently cast a look of anxiety round her, lest some one should be -advancing to rob her of this invaluable prize. This apprehension made -her proceed with still greater exertion of speed; but she had not gone -far, before her way was barred by large heaps of stones and earth: she -fancied too, that she heard a faint murmur at no great distance, like -some one groaning. She stopped; she listened;—it struck her, that from -beneath a pile of stones, which seemed to have lately fallen down, there -came a voice, whose accents were familiar to her; but before she could -recover herself from the horror, which this idea occasioned her -sufficiently to ascertain the truth of her suspicions, a third shock, -similar to the two first, but if possible more violent and terrible, -overpowered her faculties so completely, that she sank upon the earth, -unable to move for several minutes. Fortunately her torch was not -extinguished by her fall. She rose; the way, so lately open before her, -was now completely blocked up by the earth, which had fallen in; and it -seemed to her in the first moments of terror, that she saw the roof -tottering above, and felt the ground giving way beneath her. Fear gave -her strength, and she fled hastily down a side passage, which accident -presented to her, nor rested, till she thought, that the place, which -she had reached, was not totally unknown to her. She stopped, and -looking down discovered lying on the earth, torn from its hinges, and -considerably shattered the low door of that dungeon, which Donat had -destined for her grave. - -She now exerted her whole strength to pass onwards, without falling into -an enormous chasm, which had been formed by the late convulsion, and -which occupied almost the whole breadth of the passage. She shuddered, -as she remarked, that the earth had fallen into the dungeon, and would -infallibly have smothered her, had she remained there but a few minutes -longer. - -She reached the opposite side of the chasm with much difficulty, but -unhurt. She was now certain, that the Castle was at no great distance: -but she dreaded either to miss the proper road, or to find it rendered -impassable by earth and rubbish. Should either happen, she had no -alternative left but perishing of hunger in these frightful dungeons: -nor had she much time left her for deliberation, since her torch already -began to draw towards its end. Observing this, she rushed forwards with -desperate resolution, and committed herself to the guidance of chance. -Accident, or rather a benevolent Providence directed her footsteps; and -she reached the staircase and Urania’s chamber, before her strength -entirely failed her. Here then she rested at length; but that rest was -insensibility. - -After some time her recollection returned. She raised herself, and saw -with surprise, that the chamber, which Donat to favour his escape had -caused to be fastened so carefully, was filled with people. She felt, -that they conveyed her to a couch, and rendered her every possible -assistance; and she heard them make a thousand kind enquiries respecting -her health and her wishes: but her strength both of mind and body was so -completely exhausted, that she found it impossible to pronounce a word, -or even make a sign, that she was sensible of their attentions. - -It was pain, which enabled her to give the first token of sensation. Her -arms and bosom were much bruised, and the blood streamed copiously from -a wound on her head. She has never been able to recollect, whether she -received these injuries, when Donat threw her down the dungeon steps, or -from her being struck by the falling stones while making her escape. The -persons, who surrounded her couch, lost no time in binding up her -wounds, and the pain of this operation forced from her a feeble cry. -Finding that she was now sensible, they repeated their enquiries as to -what had happened to her, and how she had been brought into so terrible -a condition. She stammered out the word “earthquake!” Where was Count -Donat, was the next demand, which she answered by pointing to the -private door conducting to the vaults. - -She was soon removed to a more quiet chamber, and the care which was -taken of her convinced her, that she had not fallen into the hands of -enemies. - -On the fourth day she was already declared to be convalescent; and it -was announced to her, that the Commander of the Bishop of Coira’s -forces, which had, conquered the Castle, requested an audience of her. -She consented to receive him, and shortly after a young man of -prepossessing appearance entered the room. - -—“Noble Lady,” said he, “though you are the wife of the cruel owner of -this fortress, we are well aware, that you are not a partner in his -crimes. His people are some of them slain; others have betaken -themselves to flight; and it is in vain, that we have endeavoured to -find the place of his concealment. Your pointing out the door into the -vaults has not been sufficient; he cannot have made his escape through -that passage, since the falling-in of the roof has rendered it -impracticable; and had he in his flight been overtaken by the vengeance -of Heaven, how could _you_ have avoided the sharing his fate? Be frank -with us, noble Lady; I conjure you in the name of humanity, tell us, -where he is concealed, and depend on our dealing better with him, than -he has been accustomed to deal with others.”— - -Helen mustered up all her strength, and endeavoured to relate the -circumstances of her escape: but anxiety to be as brief as possible, and -her endeavours to conceal Donat’s ill-usage of her, (which she thought, -duty to her husband forbade her revealing,) rendered every thing she -said obscure and improbable. She mentioned the earthquake, and to prove -it showed the bruises and wounds, which it had occasioned her. The -stranger, however, assured her, that she must have received them in some -other manner, for that no one in the Castle had perceived the slightest -symptoms of an earthquake. - -Helen, however, endeavoured to establish her assertion; and while -recalling the various circumstances which had passed in the caverns, she -suddenly recollected the groans, which had struck her hearing. She -earnestly entreated, that the heap of rubbish might be examined; she was -obeyed; the stones were removed, and beneath them was discovered the -shattered and lifeless form of the Count of Carlsheim. - -It was now the general opinion, that the violence which Donat had used -in forcing open the dungeon-door, had shattered the rotten cavern, had -made the supports crack, and had brought down the roof, whose fall had -involved in it his own destruction. - -Helen’s horror at this discovery, her urgent entreaties that the corse -might have christian burial, and the many hours which she past in -prayers for the repose of Donat’s spirit, startled the present masters -of the Castle not a little. They began to suspect, that she was not by -any means so innocent a creature, and so unfortunate a victim of -conjugal tyranny, as she had been represented, and as in truth she was. -They therefore ceased to trouble her with questions, considering her as -the confidante and accomplice of Count Donat’s crimes; but as they had -no other fault to lay to her charge, and as the power of her relations -compelled them to treat her with respect, as soon as she was -sufficiently recovered, she was removed to the Convent of Zurich, and -left there with a hint by no means equivocal,—“that all things -considered, she would do well to pass the remainder of her days within -that sanctuary.”— - -Helen’s joy at understanding, that she had been conveyed to Zurich, was -indescribable: she immediately requested to see the venerable Countess -Urania, and discovered to the patroness of her mother both herself and -all that had happened. It was now, that her fate seemed disposed to -abate its severity. In an unrestrained intercourse with this excellent -woman, who received her with open arms, and to whom she unveiled her -whole heart, she looked forward to a life of tranquil happiness. -Urania’s conversation poured balsam into her wounded soul, and explained -to her many things, which had hitherto appeared to her unaccountable. -Donat’s resolution to make her his wife was produced by a former -passion, which he had entertained for her mother, and by a desire to be -revenged on her father, the Count of Homburg; and that unknown cavern to -which he had conducted her, was doubtless the same, in which (as it was -reported) the worthy father of such a son had starved to death two of -the fugitive monks of Curwald. Oh! Towers of Sargans, what crimes have -been committed within your gloomy bounds! And will then the vengeance of -the Eternal Judge sleep for ever? Will neither the heavens rain down -fire to consume you, nor the earth unclose to swallow you in its womb, -and thus prevent you from reminding posterity of those horrible acts, to -which you have been so long a witness?—Yet the blood of your barbarous -master has purified you, and you are now the abode of innocence and -virtue. Peace, long peace be with you, and be with your lawful -possessors; and may the curse of retribution only fall on those, who -shall dare to deprive those possessors of their right! - -Solitude and experience sometimes endow the soul, which has withdrawn -itself from earth to devote itself to Heaven, with a prophetic power. -Even now I see into futurity! I see, that the family of Carlsheim and -Sargans, which has already suffered so much, has still much more to -suffer; but again I say it—“Alas for those, by whom the descendants of -Amalberga and Emmeline shall be robbed of their lawful inheritance, and -compelled to experience the calamities of their predecessors.”— - -I have deviated from my narrative, to which I now return.—Helen lived -tranquil by Urania’s side, equally unconscious of the evil reports, -which were circulated respecting her late misfortunes by her enemies, -and of the benevolent intentions of her powerful friends. Her parents -soon visited her at Zurich, and now that she was a widow, requested her -to accept the hand of her former bridegroom, the Count of Torrenburg: -but Helen knew but too well, that no Count of Torrenburg existed for -_her_. She had courageously torn his image from her heart; and she -avowed to her friends her knowledge of his passion for Amalberga, and -declared, that to see them happy in the possession of each other was now -the only wish of her heart. - -Helen’s relations listened to this declaration with no trifling regret: -they would willingly have rewarded her for her past sufferings by the -certainty, that the remainder of her life would be past in happiness -with one of the noblest of Helvetian youths. But they had brought with -them (for the purpose of persuading Helen to the proposed marriage) some -of Torrenburg’s relations, to whom his passion for Amalberga was by no -means so unpleasant a subject. She was now a rich heiress; as Count -Donat’s only surviving daughter, she was entitled to the extensive -domains of Carlsheim and Sargans, and consequently she was a much more -advantageous match than Helen. This gave rise to some disputes between -the friends of the different parties: but the solemn declaration of -Count Donat’s widow, that she never would lay aside that name, at length -silenced every opposition; and she obtained from them all a promise, -that they would mutually exert themselves to accomplish the only wish, -which she indulged on this side of the grave; namely, the union of -Eginhart of Torrenburg with Amalberga of Sargans. They were informed by -her, that according to Amabel’s letter the lady was concealed in the -Convent of Engelberg, and thither they hastened to apprize her of the -happiness, which awaited her. - -I need not say, that they sought her there in vain; the Count of -Torrenburg’s endeavours to discover her were also unsuccessful, till the -arrival of Bloomberg, who assured him, that she must be in Landenberg’s -power, and that the most likely place to look for her was the Fortress -of Rassburg. The consequence of this information was a bond of union -between Torrenburg and the Friends of Freedom against Landenberg and his -brother in iniquity, the insolent Gessler; and the Count immediately -accompanied Bloomberg to Stein, that he might consult with his new -allies the best means for effecting Landenberg’s overthrow and -Amalberga’s deliverance. - -In the mean while William Tell’s plan, for throwing off the Governor’s -yoke, and asserting the liberty of his beloved country, had been -gradually ripening. The impression, which he and his friends, Walter -Forest, Bernsdorf, and the two Melthals, had made upon the general mind -was great, and their adherents were numerous; but the success of their -enterprise still depended entirely upon its being kept a profound -secret. Those men, whose plans were soon to burst out into flames -terrible as the explosion of a volcano, and to give posterity an example -of heroic devotion to the cause of Freedom, were as yet compelled to -work in darkness, and arrange their vast designs in corners and by -stealth. - -It was not till the 28th of December (being the Festival of St. -Alexander) that they ventured to muster their numbers in a large meadow -near the Lake of the Four Cantons; this was to be their last conference, -and even this they took the precaution of holding under covert of the -night. The Count of Torrenburg and Edmund Bloomberg were also present; -but the former by his impatience had nearly ruined the whole design. -Conscious of his exalted station, and of the valour of his new allies, -he could not endure the degrading idea of skulking about in darkness and -concealment, as if he were plotting the execution of some crime. He -insisted upon an instant declaration of hostility against Landenberg, -and that an attempt to rescue his beloved should be made without delay: -it was not without difficulty that William Tell convinced him, how -impossible it would be to rescue Amalberga any other way than by -artifice, without exposing her to the most imminent danger; and that he -persuaded him to wait patiently till St. Sylvester’s Eve, when (it was -determined) the tyrant should have an open and forcible attack made upon -him; though in making that attack, there would still be an absolute -necessity for conducting it with the utmost caution. - -Amalberga’s friends had obtained some intelligence respecting her -present situation. One of Arnold Melthal’s sons, a spirited lad, equally -well adapted to daring enterprise and the winding paths of artifice, -found means to enter the Fortress of Rassburg in disguise, and examine -whether any thing could be attempted towards the rescue of the lady. -During her abode on the banks of the Lake of Thun, her sweetness and -humility of manners; her majestic air accompanied by the condescension -of an angel; the little difference which she seemed to make between -herself and the girls of the village, whom she honoured with the name of -her companions; all these together had made her an universal favourite; -and had not every appearance of a chain been hateful in the eyes of the -sons of Freedom, it would have been easy for Amalberga to have -established herself as the queen of one of the best people that the -earth holds, and to have mounted Helvetia’s throne by general -acclamation. - -To an eager desire for rescuing this adored lady from the power of -Landenberg, was now united the wish to gain possession of the strong -Castle of Rassburg; which would secure to Helvetia the success of all -those mighty plans, whose accomplishment still lay concealed within the -bosom of futurity. - -Alwyn, Arnold Melthal’s son, when he ventured to approach the fortress -in disguise, was not aware, that his was one of those countenances, -which cannot pass unobserved. Fortunately, the eyes, whose notice he -attracted, were those of one, by whom features like his were seldom -viewed with displeasure. Landenberg happened to be absent, and had left -his fair prisoner to the charge of a female attendant, who had formerly -stood high in his estimation for the sake of her own beauty, and who now -preserved her influence with him by condescending to watch over those, -who were in present possession of that heart, to which she was herself -become indifferent. Well skilled in manly beauty, she no sooner saw -Alwyn pass along with a bucket on his head (for he had obtained entrance -into Rassburg under the disguise of a common water-carrier) than she was -convinced of his being something better, than his dress denoted. She -accosted, and questioned him. His affected simplicity could not deceive -her; and he saw himself compelled either to adopt some artifice, or to -be reduced to that suspicious silence, which in such a situation would -have been scarcely better than a confession of the truth. - -—“And so you continue to deny,” continued the girl, “that there is any -secret reason for a man like you being here, habited in a manner to -which, I am certain, you have never been accustomed? Young man, be frank -with me! I should be sorry to give you over to some other questioner, -who might use rough means to obtain an answer, or to order that you -should be kept in custody, till the Governor returns. Then tell me -honestly at once, who you are, and what motive has brought you hither?”— - -Alwyn during this speech had examined the countenance of his new -acquaintance, and fancied, that he could read in it marks of a -partiality for him by no means doubtful. His resolution was taken in a -moment, and he threw himself at her feet. - -—“What brought me hither?” he exclaimed; “’twas Love, most beautiful of -all earthly creatures! But who I am.... Ah! shall I dare to avow myself -one of the lowliest among the inhabitants of yonder valley, and thus -make it certain, that my suit will be rejected, and myself driven with -scorn from the presence of her whom I adore?”— - -—“And who is it that you adore?” demanded Ursula. - -“You, lovely angel! you!” he exclaimed passionately, while he seized her -hand, and prest upon it a thousand kisses; “my heart is devoted to you -alone, and your cruelty will kill me!”— - -The astonished and delighted Ursula forced herself from his embrace, and -fled; but it was not long before she returned, anxious to convince -herself, that her half-faded charms had really made so valuable a -conquest. To make a woman’s vanity believe any thing flattering, Heaven -knows, is no difficult task; and half an hour was sufficient to leave -her no doubt of her triumph. She soon grew weary of playing the prude, -and she gave him to understand, that he would not find her heart -absolutely marble; and thus did the handsome Alwyn find himself involved -in an amour, at whose termination he could not guess, and of which, -while it lasted, he thought, that he had but little reason to be vain. - -At present he reaped no great advantages from his artifice. It was -impossible to get a sight of Amalberga, or convey to her a hint, that -her friends in the valley were making preparations for her rescue. He -was also soon compelled to retire by the return of the Governor, who was -now frequently absent for days together from Rassburg on account of the -popular disturbances, and who could only bestow a few isolated hours on -the prosecution of his suit to the heiress of Sargans. As soon as the -warder’s horn announced the Governor’s return, Ursula (who trembled, -lest her supposed lover should be discovered by others, as he had been -by her) requested him to be gone; yet still there was a secret means -left for him to gain entrance into the fortress of the rock, which -(disagreeable as it was) for Amalberga’s sake and the general advantage, -he did not refuse to employ. At midnight his doating inamorata used to -let a bucket down through a chasm in the wall; the rock was steep and -flat; the unwilling Lover was then drawn up to the top, where he was -obliged to purchase every little scrap of intelligence, which it was -requisite for him to know, by a thousand lies and flattering speeches; -every one of which, to an heart filled with Helvetian honesty, was -scarcely less painful than the stab of a dagger. - -He was rewarded, however, for this sacrifice by obtaining the important -information, that hitherto Landenberg’s behaviour towards the Lady of -Sargans had been restrained within the limits of the most respectful -adoration: but that he had assured her with the most dreadful -imprecations, that a period was fixed, beyond which he would no longer -submit to be the patient victim of her severity. The first day of the -ensuing year, he was determined, should make the cruel beauty completely -his by fair means or by force. This intelligence induced Alwyn to be -more frequent in his midnight visits; he repeated them, till every part -of the fortress was become perfectly familiar, and till every little -circumstance had been carefully gleaned by him, which might assist his -friends in their design of storming the fort and rescuing the lovely -captive. - -By the Festival of St. Sylvester every necessary preparation was -completed; and all the machines were ready to be worked at once in -various parts of the country, which might secure the success of an -enterprise, of whose views the release of an imprisoned damsel made but -a very trifling part—those views were of the most extensive nature; yet -if the plan had failed, in spite of the justice of Tell’s cause -posterity would no doubt have branded him with the name of rebel, and -confounded him with the common herd of unsuccessful adventurers, who -have dared to attempt objects beyond their power to attain. But as his -plan was arranged with the utmost foresight, and its execution was -followed with the most prosperous issue, after-ages have viewed his deed -with admiration, have reckoned it as the proudest triumph of the rights -of nature over cruelty and oppression, and have bestowed on its author -the title of a Hero: so certain is it, that actions are almost always -weighed according to their result, and the most impartial judge (without -being aware of it) is frequently induced to decide unfairly of events, -dazzled by the lustre of the success with which they were attended. - -Had nothing but the Count of Torrenburg’s inclination been consulted, -the attempt, which was to decide upon his future happiness or despair, -would not have been deferred till the latest day possible; neither when -it _was_ made, would so small a number of men have been employed to -carry it into effect. Perhaps in this respect something would have been -sacrificed in consideration of the impatience natural to a lover; but -Helvetia’s deliverers were not without a certain portion of that -obstinacy, which so often accompanies valour and resolution. -Torrenburg’s opinion would doubtless have had more influence with them, -had he not been a nobleman and one who was able to bring so powerful a -force either to their aid or against them. They considered the most -distant trace of authority over them with abhorrence, and were -determined, that every step, which they made in the service of liberty, -should be taken of their own free will. It was certain, that the -fortress was but ill garrisoned, and that its security consisted solely -in its inaccessible situation: in spite therefore of Torrenburg’s -entreaties and anger, they resolved, that no more than one hundred men -should be allotted for this service; and among these the jealous -Helvetians, who could not endure that any hands but their own should -break their fetters, would not suffer one of Torrenburg’s warriors to be -introduced. It was not without some difficulty, that the Count obtained -permission to accompany the party himself, and to be the next to Alwyn -Melthal, who should penetrate into the Castle of Rassburg. - -Never did any summer’s day seem so long to the Count as St. Sylvester’s, -while he waited with impatience for the departure of light. No sooner -was it dark, than the allies began to assemble by twos and threes from -different quarters. It was one of the most gloomy winter nights, that -ever favoured a secret enterprise; and the glimmering taper, which was -the usual signal for Alwyn to ascend the wall, was not yet discernible. -Midnight was already past; still there was no token of Ursula’s -approach; when suddenly the trampling of horses was heard, and the gleam -of approaching torches showed them a body of soldiers coming from the -Castle by a path, which was well guarded by sentinels and provided with -several draw-bridges. Landenberg was at the head of the troop. Unmoved -by her tears and fainting, he had just informed Amalberga, that he -should return the next day to hear her final decision; and he was now -bending his course to Sarno, in order to exact the usual new-year’s gift -from the inhabitants of the Valley, and hear them renew the oath of -submission to their Leige-Lord, the Emperor. It was an established -custom of the vice-gerents to receive from the hands of the vassals on -the first day of the new year, what little had escaped their extortion -during the old one; in return for which they never failed to promise -greater indulgence for the future, nor in spite of that promise to -conduct themselves with increased oppression. - -As he journeyed onwards, Landenberg recapitulated to himself the -advantages, which this year had produced to him; the quantity of wealth -which he had collected in gold, jewels, and other valuables; the -possession of the lovely Amalberga, whom he already looked upon as his -own; and above all, the power of throwing off the wearisome mask of -hypocrisy, which he had at first been compelled to assume. - -—“As to Gessler’s death,” said he to himself, “that has rather improved -my situation, than done me any harm. It has relieved me from the rival -of my greatness, and authorises me to exercise that severity, which is -necessary for my own views, under the fair-sounding name of just -revenge. These late unavailing efforts to oppose my will have convinced -me, that I have to do with a weak, powerless people, who may be incensed -indeed so far as to make some show of resistance at first, but whom -firmness and chastisement will soon reduce within the limits of abject -submission. There are not many Tells among them, God be thanked! He was -the only man whom I feared, and luckily he is either dead, or a -voluntary exile in some distant country; report says the former; but let -him be where he will, so he be not here to spirit up my slaves against -me with his poisonous influence. _My_ slaves? Right; they are mine, no -other’s. The ensuing year will, I trust, make clear to the world, for -_whom_ I am labouring, and whose advantage and peril are most implicated -in the business! Then when I have attained the height at which I aim, -doubtless my new dignity being shared with their adored Amalberga will -have no slight influence in reconciling these people to my authority; -and her popularity will induce them to protect her husband against the -wrath of the deceived Emperor. The precious prize once secure, I shall -then have no need of this assumed severity; the affection of my subjects -will suffice to preserve them in obedience; I shall be at liberty to -follow the bent of my inclinations by ruling with a gentle sway; and all -of us will at once be made happy, Amalberga, myself, and the country -which we govern.”— - -Such was the subject of Landenberg’s reflections, many of which he -occasionally imparted to some of his confidential attendants, as he rode -along, totally unconscious of the foes so near him, and of the danger -which threatened the speedy overthrow of all his ambitious hopes and -projects. Here and there a sentence or two spoken in a louder voice than -ordinary reached the hearing of the Helvetians, who were concealed among -the various caverns Of the Castle-rock: and then was many a sword half -drawn from the scabbard to impose eternal silence upon the insolent -boaster. The vigilance of the prudent chiefs, however, and consideration -for the public welfare compelled them to repress their unseasonable -zeal. An over-hasty attack would have been sufficient to ruin every -thing. Landenberg, it’s true, would probably have perished, but only to -make room for a successor perhaps even worse than himself. The object -here was not to make away with a single tyrant; no, it was to throw off -a disgraceful yoke for ever, and to bequeath the precious treasure -Liberty to their children, and to the children of their children even -down to the latest posterity. Landenberg therefore was suffered to -proceed with his attendants unmolested; nothing gave them warning of the -danger, which lurked so near, except now and then a low whispering noise -among the brambles, which made their hair stand an end, for it was now -the ghostly hour; and as they dreaded its being something supernatural, -the sound only served to make those who heard it pursue their course -with the greater speed. - -Scarcely had the last horseman disappeared in the farther part of the -Valley, or rather scarcely had darkness dropt her thick curtain between -the enemies; scarcely had the mountain-echoes ceased to reverberate the -last sound of the hoofs of their steeds, when Alwyn’s guiding-star made -its appearance: Ursula’s lamp was seen glimmering on the battlements -above. A few hasty words were spoken among the confederates respecting -the conduct of the enterprise; the last directions were given; and then -young Melthal sprang into the bucket destined to convey him to her who -expected him so impatiently, and whom he now met for the last time with -expressions of pretended love. It was no trifling sacrifice, which poor -Alwyn made on this occasion to the general welfare. To conceal the -feelings of his honest guileless heart; to dissemble love for one who -was totally indifferent to him; in many a rude tempestuous night to -encounter dangers, such as nothing but the most sincere and ardent -passion would have induced any other man to risk; and then at last to -throw aside the mask, and to hear himself called a betrayer and a -hypocrite, and called so with justice; this task was a most painful one, -and keenly did Alwyn feel that his situation was disgraceful. Yet he -thought, that even _this_ sacrifice was not too much to make for his -native land; and duty and patriotism made him submit to do that, which -was of all things the most cruel to his feelings, and repugnant to his -nature; they made him submit to play the hypocrite. - -Silently lamenting the ignominious character which he was obliged to -sustain, Alwyn followed his supposed mistress to a retired chamber, -where (she told him) they should be secure from disturbance till -morning; for hitherto the fear of discovery had only suffered their -interviews to last for a few minutes. But at the moment when she -expected to receive the kiss of ardent love, and when she turned to her -lover after having carefully closed the door, to her utter astonishment -a gag was forced into her half-opened mouth; and then seizing her arms, -her supposed admirer fastened them with strong cords to the bed-posts. -It is true, that the general safety had been declared to require the -death of this wretched creature; but the noble heart of Alwyn revolted -at the idea. Even the precautions, which circumstances now made it -absolutely necessary for him to take, caused his cheeks to burn with -indignation against himself; he took care to confine Ursula’s hands in -such a way, that the pressure of the bonds could give her no pain; nor -could he resolve to leave even a creature, whom in his heart he -despised, a prey to absolute despair. - -—“Fear nothing, Ursula,” said he in a gentle voice, while quitting the -room; “every thing shall be explained shortly, and on my soul no harm -shall happen to you”—a promise, which was religiously fulfilled. - -Alwyn now hastened back to the battlements, and drew up the Count of -Torrenburg in the same manner, by which he had ascended himself; and -anxious as Eginhart was to fly to Amalberga’s assistance, still did he -not quit his station, till two more of the confederates were safely -landed on the platform of the Castle. These in their turn rendered the -same service to their companions, and a sufficient number were soon -mustered within the wails to authorize their proceeding to more -hazardous attempts. Half of them seized the sleeping sentinels, while -the rest without noise made the best of their way to the great gate. -They opened it, and the approach through the rock was soon made -practicable for the remainder of their friends, whom time had not -permitted to ascend in the bucket. - -No slight expectations had been entertained by the Helvetians, that this -midnight attack would have made them masters of Rassburg, without its -costing them a single drop of blood; but they had miscounted the -strength of the garrison. Sufficient opposition was made to compel the -besiegers to purchase their conquest dearly. Many a brave Helvetian bit -the dust, and shared the grave of the enemy, who had just expired at his -feet. The dawn of morning discovered the walls of the Castle of the Rock -dyed with the blood both of friends and foes. By the time that the sun -was fully risen, the work was completed; Helvetia’s sons had achieved -their object, and the sheaths once more received their bloody swords. -The chiefs now employed themselves in giving orders and making -dispositions to preserve their conquest, while Torrenburg flew to -deliver his Amalberga. He found her in a stately chamber; she was on her -knees praying for _him_. The noise of the combat had roused her from -sleep; yet convinced that her situation could not alter for the worse, -she experienced no alarm for herself, till as the clash of arms -occasionally drew nearer to her chamber door, she heard the name of -Torrenburg shouted, and concluded, that he was among the combatants: -then _indeed_ she trembled, and sought refuge from her terrors in -supplication to her Patron-Saint. The heart of the pious girl was full -of confidence in the Divine justice: she doubted not, that the Ruler of -all things had decreed every thing for the best; she knew, that neither -herself nor Torrenburg had _merited_ to suffer, and she trusted, that -Heaven would act towards her with gentleness. In her supplications -therefore she rather spoke of the goodness of Providence, than implored -its help: or if she prayed for any thing, it was that a speedy stop -might be put to the shedding of blood, of whose flowing she was but too -well convinced by the clashing of arms, and the dying groans of some, -who were slaughtered at no great distance from her chamber. - -A long and fearful silence now succeeded. Suddenly her door was thrown -open, and a knight in complete armour entered the room. He hastened -towards her, raised his visor, and well did she recollect the noble -countenance of him, whose portrait was engraved on her heart in -characters indelible: but she recollected also his engagements to Helen; -she was conscious of her danger and the weakness of her heart, and -attempted to force away the hand, which he had seized, and prest to his -lips with passion. It was long, before she recovered from her surprise -and confusion sufficiently to comprehend the whole extent of those -delightful views, which were now presented before her by indulgent -Fortune. - -A Nun is but a sorry describer of love-scenes; and she, who traces this -narrative, though she may not perhaps have always been a stranger to -tender sentiments, still is unwilling to dwell longer than is necessary -upon those, which filled the heart of the happy Amalberga, when she sank -into her lover’s arms, and murmured—“Torrenburg, I am thine!”—I have -since been assured, that in these first moments of rapture the name of -Helen was not forgotten. In truth some trifling recollection, some -little portion of gratitude at least was due to the unfortunate, who to -procure the happiness of Amalberga and Torrenburg had not hesitated to -immolate her own. The sacrifice was indeed a most difficult and painful -one; but never did Helen once regret, that she had made it. - -While the lovers forgot every thing in the contemplation of those -flattering prospects, which futurity showed them on all sides; and while -the Helvetians were employed in taking every possible precaution, that -might preserve to them the Fortress, of which they had so valiantly -obtained possession; the other Patriots (as had been previously -arranged) were carrying their glorious designs into execution in -different parts of the country. - -Peregrine of Landenberg had reached Castle-Sarno before day-break. He -slept for a few hours, and then rose to welcome the day, which, he was -determined, should see him the husband of the Heiress of Sargans. He had -commanded, that towards evening a strong guard should conduct her -thither from Rassburg, when a Friar, belonging to the Abbot of St. Gall, -and who was entirely devoted to the Governor, had engaged to perform the -marriage ceremony between them: whether with her consent, or without it, -the good father cared but little. - -Anxious to give as creditable an appearance as possible to this most -important transaction of his life, Landenberg thought it best for the -general edification to open the day’s business by walking in solemn -procession to the neighbouring church. For this purpose he was already -descending the great staircase accompanied by a numerous train of -courtiers, when he was informed, that the inhabitants of the adjacent -districts had assembled in the valley below, each bringing the -accustomed New-year’s offering. - -Landenberg had great confidence in omens; he looked upon it as a pledge -of future good fortune, that before he had set his foot without the -Castle-walls, his course was impeded by presents. The procession to the -church was deferred for awhile: part of his attendants were sent to take -charge of the gifts, which had been brought to him; of the fatted oxen, -the corn, the fruit, the cloth woven by the skilful hands of the -industrious Helvetian housewives; the casks of wine; and here and there -a few bags of coin, which were not the least welcome part of the -offerings. In the mean while the Governor himself remained in the -front-court, attended by a few of his most confidential attendants, and -prepared for the reception of “the slaves of his servants,” as it was -usual for him to term the brave Helvetians. - -The deputation arrived. It consisted of fifty persons, with Henric -Melthal at their head, Henric, on whose locks eighty winters had now -shed their snows. - -—“Lord Governor,” said the venerable man, approaching Landenberg, “the -old year expired yesterday; the new one begins to-day. How you have -sustained the character of Imperial Majesty among the opprest children -of a free-born nation, that is _your_ affair. How we begin the new, is -_our’s_! Be God the judge between you and us, Peregrine of Landenberg; -God, who has already judged Gessler, as he will judge you! But as for -you, my sons, do as ye see me do, nor hesitate to lay down your lives in -the cause of liberty and justice.”— - -It is inconceivable to me, how the daring old man was suffered to -proceed so far in his speech. The Almighty must have struck a panic into -the tyrant and his base dependents; but now recovering themselves, they -hastily drew their side-weapons, which (from being rather intended for -ornament than use, and able to do but little injury) were generally -called “holy-swords.” Some, who were unprovided with even these weak -instruments, hastened into the Castle in search of arms; in the mean -while old Melthal and his trusty companions had drawn concealed -pike-heads from under their cloaks, which they fixed dexterously and -with promptitude on the tops of their long white staves; and now was the -signal given for beginning a massacre, which once commenced was not -concluded hastily. Among the first who fell was the Governor. The feeble -arm of Henric Melthal, strengthened by Heaven and the justice of his -cause, gave the decisive blow; and Edmund Bloomberg hastened to -extricate his father-in-law from the crowd of those, who (now that they -were recovered from their first consternation) prest on him to destroy -the slayer of their chief. Landenberg cursed his fate, that he should -fall so disgracefully by the arm of a dotard, and poured out his last -breath in execrations. The combat became general. The Friends of Liberty -were attacked by the Governor’s remaining attendants, who were now -better armed; but this opposition was not of much avail, since at a -given signal a second party of Helvetians, who were in waiting on the -outside of the Castle, hastened to support their confederates. - -The superiority of numbers being now on their side, the conquerors -proclaimed quarter in the name of Henric Melthal. The loss of their -chief had deprived the scanty band of his adherents of all their -courage: they were glad to sheathe their weapons, and the conquering -Helvetians took them under their protection, and conducted them -uninjured to the boundaries. The gallant men were unwilling to stain -their native soil with blood shed unnecessarily, and doubted not, that -such a barbarous measure would have induced the Almighty to withdraw his -blessing from their enterprise. They lost no time in taking measures for -maintaining themselves in the possession of Castle-Sarno. Towards -evening intelligence arrived, that Rassburg also had been attacked with -success, and during the three or four succeeding days similar tidings -were received from other parts of the country: Schwannau, Kussnach, -Zinguri (which was not yet finished) and many other places of -importance, had been wrested from the hands of Helvetia’s tyrants. Such -universal success testified, that the arm of the Protector of innocence -had fought in their cause; and they thought, the best means of showing -their gratitude for such powerful aid to him, who detests unnecessary -bloodshed, was to use their victory with mildness and moderation. They -had expelled their enemies, and reinstated themselves in their natural -rights: more they sought not, more they desired not; and it was this -laudable moderation, which, by preventing them from aiming to obtain -further advantages, enabled them to secure, what they had won already. - -Peace after so long an absence returned once more to these happy -vallies; and a firm fraternal union for offence and defence was -established, which I pray, that God may grant to last, as long as the -world exists. - -Has not the ignorant Nun suffered herself to be enticed out of her -proper sphere, while she described scenes of war and the efforts of -Liberty? She, a weak defenceless woman, a slave bound in lasting -fetters? Yet Heaven be thanked for it, those fetters are light: pious -submission enables me to bear them, and they will ere long be loosened -by the hand of Death. - -Count Donat’s widow lived in tranquil seclusion at Zurich in the society -of the Countess Urania; and their prayers were frequently offered up for -the success of the honest Helvetians. They rejoiced to hear of their -victories, of Amalberga’s rescue, and of her union with the Count of -Torrenburg. But Helen did not wish to be herself a spectatress of their -felicity; nor (when shortly after their marriage the happy pair visited -her to express their mutual gratitude) could she be prevailed upon to -pass more than one hour in their society; and many, many of the -succeeding days were for her days of anguish. Poor Helen was but a weak -mortal, no saint, no angel: and alas! to _forget_ is a task not so easy, -as some may think! - -Yet in recompence for her past sorrows Heaven had still reserved one -pleasure for her future life. Oh! Blessed Virgin, what a pleasure was -that! what a surprise! what an unexpected re-union!—But let me proceed -regularly. - -The good Domina of Zurich was dead; the Princess Euphemia had already -been appointed Abbess of Tull, and therefore could not accept the vacant -dignity. No persuasion could induce Urania, at her advanced age, to fill -so laborious a situation, and the lot now fell upon Count Donat’s widow. -She obeyed the general voice, and was well-pleased to have a means for -exerting benevolence in a more extended circle. She became (what I say -of her ought not to be counted to her as a merit, since she did but her -duty) she became the mother of the opprest; and the man, who intrusted -to her a daughter, a sister, or a mistress, knew, that she could be no -where safer than in her arms. This was universally known; and many a -knight, before he set out on some distant expedition, secured under her -protection those treasures, which he valued dearer than all others, -which the world contained. - -One day a knight requested an audience of her: as soon as she saw him, -it struck her, that his features were not altogether unknown to her. - -—“Sir Knight,” said she, “it appears to me, that we have met before.”— - -—“You say truly, holy mother,” answered he; “it was I, who by the Bishop -of Coira’s command took the Castle of Sargans by storm, and afterwards -conducted you to this Convent. Methinks, you placed but little -confidence in me on that occasion, though perhaps it would have been for -your advantage, had you shown more: but its true, you knew not my name; -knew not, that never had any one reason to repent the trust, which he -reposed in Herman of Werdenberg. I will not follow your example; I am -now preparing to reveal to you my dearest secrets, and solicit you to -become the guardian of my most precious treasure. Grief of heart some -time ago drove me from my native land: my uncle’s death necessitated my -return; and being once more in Germany, I suffered myself to be -persuaded to remain there: nay, under a borrowed name I consented to act -as the knight-protector of the new Bishop’s subjects, and to become the -assertor of his rights and privileges. - -“It was in this capacity, that I became acquainted with you, Lady, in -the Castle of Sargans: report, and mysterious circumstances respecting -your conduct, I confess, had not prejudiced me in your favour; and -perhaps I did not treat you with so much respect and attention, as (I am -now well convinced) was justly due to your merits. After escorting you -hither, I returned to Sargans, being commissioned to defend the Castle -against Landenberg and his associates, in the name of Count Donat’s -daughters; whom the Bishop had adopted as his wards, and whom he -publicly declared his intention of reinstating in their rights, as soon -as the place of their concealment could be ascertained. It seems, the -rebellious Landenberg thought, that this was the fit time for making -himself master of all Rhœtia, while the Ten Jurisdictions were torn to -pieces by the tumults and confusion, to which his artifices had given -rise; but report must have already informed you, how soon those vain -hopes were crushed by the noble efforts of the assertors of Liberty. - -“In order that I might not be quite idle during my undisturbed residence -at Sargans, the Bishop (who has no antipathy to gold) commissioned me to -enquire into the truth of an old tradition very current among the -people, that immense treasures lie buried in the foundation of that -antient fortress. Upon asking some questions, I was conducted to an old -and ruined well in a remote court, and assured that it contained wealth -inexhaustible. The Bishop on this report desired me to cause the well to -be cleared out; but its contents furnished nothing but venomous -reptiles, filth, and some human bones, the melancholy memorials of -former cruelties, whose commission Heaven no doubt had long since -punished. - -“Other places were afterwards pointed out to me as the repository of -this buried wealth; but no better success attended their examination. At -length I resolved to set my workmen to clear out that subterraneous -passage, the falling-in of whose roof had so nearly proved your -destruction. It seemed to me much more probable, that I should find here -that of which I was in search, than in those places which I had already -examined; but it was my full determination, in case of discovering the -supposed treasures, not to give them up to the Bishop, but to reserve -them for the heiress of Carlsheim and Sargans, who had lately been -rescued from Landenberg’s power, and was now Countess of Torrenburg. It -was however less my object to find wealth which I despised, than to -furnish my followers with a harmless occupation, and by restoring the -concealed passage (which in our turbulent times is absolutely necessary -in every fortress) to render a trifling service to posterity. The work -was difficult and tedious; however, I was just rejoicing in the -reflection, that a few days would suffice to finish it, when the Bishop -of Coira found it impossible to delay any longer with common decency the -restoring of Sargans to the Countess Amalberga and her husband. One -branch of the passage alone remained in ruins, and I would gladly have -completed my task; but Count Eginhart was already at the gates of -Sargans. I hastened to deliver up every thing, which had been committed -to my custody, and we renewed our former friendship; a friendship, which -in the earlier part of our lives had been most intimate. - -“It was my intention to request his permission to finish the repairs of -the subterraneous caverns: unluckily, as we sat conversing together, and -recalling the events of former days over our flowing goblets, he -mentioned the sister of his bride, who had once made upon my heart a -very forcible impression; but my passion was not strong enough to make -me consent to commit my honour to the keeping of a daughter of Count -Donat. The Count painted in glowing colours the happiness, which he -enjoyed with Amalberga; and he finally accused me of having treated the -Lady Emmeline unworthily, and of having driven her into the jaws of -perdition by my rigour and contempt. As her relations have always wrapt -in mystery the latter scenes of Emmeline’s life, I am even at this -moment ignorant, as to what is become of Her, who was once so dear to -me; nor could I understand, to what the Count alluded in the conclusion -of his speech. I could not, however, allow, that I had acted by her with -injustice, and asserted, with that warmth which is natural to me, that -no man of prudence and honour would have acted otherwise. Our -conversation grew bitter; and at length we parted in such anger, that it -was impossible for me to submit to asking of him as a favour, that I -might prosecute my subterraneous labours. - -“Perhaps you will be surprised at my being so anxious about such a -trifle, as the repairs of these vaults; I must therefore confess to you, -that the real motive of my wish to examine this passage thoroughly, was -nothing more than a dream; but that dream was in truth a very remarkable -one. - -“The first time that I broke a lance at a public tournament, it was my -fortune to obtain the prize, a ring apparently of considerable value. I -was pleased both with the jewel, and with the manner in which I obtained -it, and never failed to wear it on all solemn festivals; till a person -well skilled in precious stones convinced me, that the diamond was false -and the ring itself scarcely worth three golden shields[3]. Incensed at -having been so grossly imposed upon, I snatched it from my finger, and -threw it over the battlements: the circumstance of its having been the -reward of my address soon made me wish to recover it; but though my -squire was immediately dispatched, he returned without having been able -to find it. I had quite forgotten this ring and all its circumstances; -but on both the two nights preceding Torrenburg’s entry into the Castle -of Sargans, I dreamt, that in traversing the subterraneous passage I -found my lost ring, and that the false stone was changed into a diamond, -which illuminated the whole cavern with its radiance. - -Footnote 3: - - A coin so called, from its bearing a shield imprest upon it. - -“I cannot account for the strong impression, which this dream made upon -my fancy; yet (Heaven knows!) I set but little store upon the treasures -of this world, and were I possest of all the diamonds which the earth -contains, I should only employ them to adorn our Redeemer’s cross; that -cross, which it is my firm resolution to wear in future against the -Saracens, and other enemies of our holy religion. Yet in spite of this -contempt of wealth, and of the little faith which I put in omens, the -repetition of this dream struck my imagination so forcibly, that I could -not rest without ascertaining, whether the vaults did really contain the -ring, which I had so long lost. - -“My disagreement with Torrenburg had made it impossible for me to -satisfy my doubts by means of the Castle-entrance: but I thought it by -no means unlikely, that there might be some communication between the -passage and the ruined Abbey of Curwald, which was situated at no great -distance, and was just beginning to be rebuilt. - -“I was well acquainted with Father John; a worthy man, who had lately -been appointed the Superior of those few Monks, who had escaped from -Count Donat’s barbarity. He readily acceded to my request, and I -immediately began my work. - -“For several days the ruins were examined without success: yet the -assurance of one of the elder Monks, that he remembered having heard -(but merely as a tradition) that a private communication had formerly -existed between the Convent and Sargans, made me unwilling to give up -the pursuit. It was frequently my custom after dismissing my labourers -(wearied with their fruitless endeavours to discover that, which they -were firmly persuaded had no existence) to wander by myself, and mark -the melancholy contrast made by the slowly-rising walls of the new -building, with the ruins of the old one which had not yet been removed. -The vaults beneath the Convent being generally the scene of our -enquiries, as affording us the best chance for finding the so much -wished-for passage, I frequently loitered here alone, after my workmen -had left me for the evening, A fixed melancholy had taken possession of -my soul: in truth, it could not well be otherwise, surrounded as I was -on all sides by memorials of mortality, and the marks of celestial -judgments! - -—“Where,” said I often to myself, “where are now the voluptuous -pleasures of the Monks of Curwald? where the pride and power of the -tyrants of Carlsheim and Sargans? The grave has swallowed them all; -nothing remains of them, but the memory of their crimes and the -detestation of posterity!—Herman, still preserve in your heart unshaken -the love of virtue, and not less the hatred of vice: be at once the -terror of the profligate and the friend of the innocent and the -helpless. Bring equally before the world’s eye the rights of the opprest -and the crimes of the oppressor, and unite in one person the protecting -and the avenging angel.”— - -“These ideas prest themselves upon my mind with more than ordinary -force, as I sat one evening in one of the Convent-vaults upon a heap of -stones. It was in the vault nearest to those of Sargans; and despairing -of finding the old secret communication, I had at length resolved to -employ my workmen in digging out a new one. They had already commenced -their labours, and were retired after making no inconsiderable progress. -The hour was late; darkness had closed round me, but an iron lamp was -fixed against the wall and guided my steps, as I slowly traversed to and -fro this abode of religious melancholy. The scene was congenial to the -state of my feelings; I consecrated it to secret sorrow; and here it was -that I offered up my prayers for the future, here it was that I poured -forth my tears, while dwelling upon the past. Yes, holy Mother, my -_tears_! The stern and haughty Herman of Werdenberg has wept frequently; -has wept, when if any eye had witnessed the drops, his cheek would have -blushed with shame at the unworthy cause of his sorrow; to _you_ alone, -to the ear of indulgent pity, he scruples not to disclose the secret of -his weakness. - -“Lady, my tears streamed for having formed an early attachment for one, -who deserved not my affection. I once adored Emmeline of Sargans; but I -tore her from my heart, convinced that it was impossible for _her_ to be -virtuous, who had been educated in the very lap of vice. Yet Amalberga, -Emmeline’s sister, and who had been educated with her, was modest, pure, -and irreproachable; then why not Emmeline? What had since happened to -that unfortunate was unknown to me; and my disagreement with her -brother-in-law prevented my obtaining that information from him, which I -was now most anxious to obtain; for one of his expressions had cut me to -the very soul, and I strove in vain to banish it from my memory. He told -me, “that my rigour had driven Emmeline into the jaws of perdition;” and -while his words lay heavy upon my heart, I could not but own, that it -was possible for his accusation to be well-founded. An union with an -honest man, such as Herman of Werdenberg boasts himself to be, would -have been the best and most certain means of rescuing her from the power -of her licentious father and the contagion of his example. Yet what -could I do? Say, that I was mistaken in my judgment of Emmeline; still -was it incumbent on me to run so great a risque to preserve her, as to -entrust the care of my honour to one, who I feared would prove a wanton? - -“But at all events, these considerations came too late. Nothing was now -left for me but to banish recollections which, (Heaven only knows, why) -intruded themselves upon me so forcibly, and which certainly were the -most absurd and fruitless, with which I could have employed my mind. Yet -still they _did_ employ it in spite of all my efforts, as I sat with my -eyes sometimes fixed on the dark vaults which frowned above me, -sometimes on the glimmerings of the distant lamp, without being -conscious what it was, at which I was gazing. At length incensed at my -own folly I started from my seat, and was quitting the vault abruptly, -when a faint murmur struck my hearing. - -“I stopped. It was not the first time, that I had heard something like a -groan, while traversing these vaults; but I had always supposed the -noise to be occasioned by the wind, or else to be the echo of my own -heart-drawn sighs. But now it was not only more loud and more distinct, -but I almost fancied, that it was followed by sounds resembling words -spoken by one in agony. - -“I hastened back to the place, which I had just quitted. I shouted, to -observe whether an echo would answer me, but all was silent.—I removed -to a distance; I came back again; I placed my head against the wall of -the cavern; I knelt, and laid my ear to the ground; I heard the noise -again. I endeavoured to trace it; still it continued, sometimes louder, -sometimes weaker; till at length it conducted me to a small iron grating -inserted in the ground, and from whence the wind, which blew upon me, -seemed to be more heavy and chilling, than that which I breathed in the -vaults above. - -“And through this opening did a voice now reach me, whose melancholy -tones seemed those of a female! It sounded so audibly, that all my -doubts vanished at once, and all my sensations resolved themselves into -the single eager enquiry—‘By what means I could assist the sufferer?’— - -—“Are you then come at last?” answered the voice; “but speak louder, for -I cannot understand what you say!—My senses are so confused ... and my -brain seems to whirl round and round so rapidly!”— - -“I repeated my enquiries, but with no better effect.” - -—“I hear the sound of your voice, but not your words,” answered the -captive; “and weakness prevents my dragging myself nearer to the -grate—Do you bring me food?—Alas! it is so long since you last visited -me!—I was afraid, that you had died suddenly—Afraid, did I say?—Oh! -Heaven, who would have suspected, that I should ever have dreaded -Luprian’s death!”— - -“These words were pronounced slowly, and in broken sentences. I now -stretched my voice to its utmost extent, and dwelt with peculiar -emphasis on the words “Help” and “Liberty.” - -—“Liberty?” she repeated; “no, Luprian; at your price it would be too -dearly purchased. Urge me no more to be the partner of your flight: -could I have ever stooped to disgrace, I need not have languished so -long in this dreary dungeon. If I have no choice left but death or -infamy, I prefer the former; leave me, and let me die!—And yet.... Oh! -God in Heaven! To part with even the most miserable existence is so -bitter.... Oh! it is still so bitter!” - -“I saw, that it would be vain for me to labour any more at making myself -understood; and the faint tone, in which these last words were uttered, -alarmed me. Yet I spoke once again, but no answer was returned; I -doubted not, that the unfortunate had fainted. - -“How I might effect her delivery with the utmost celerity, I knew not; -yet in my anguish and uncertainty I accidentally struck upon that, which -was most prudent: I hastened to the small temporary building inhabited -by Abbot John and his Monks; I related in a few words what had happened, -and requested their advice. - -“The Fraternity one and all hastened with me to the vault, every one -bearing a mattock, a pick-axe, or some such instrument. They were holy -benevolent men, resembling the original founders of their Order, and had -escaped as it were by a miracle from the flames, in which their guilty -brethren had perished. They were eager to redeem by their own conduct -the slur, which the crimes of others had brought upon their Convent, and -were as greedy of good actions, as most other Monks are of rich legacies -and well-stored cellars. - -“We were now near the vault, and already the beams of the distant lamp -struck our eyes; but on our entrance, those among us who were -best-sighted were aware, that the vault was not so totally unoccupied, -as I had left it. By the glimmerings of a small lanthorn a tall dark -figure was descried, kneeling on the before-mentioned grating. I sprang -forward. The stranger heard my steps, started from the ground, and -rushed by me so suddenly, that I attempted to stop him in vain. I called -to the approaching Monks not to let him pass; but before they could -reach him, his foot stumbled, and he fell prostrate on the ground. - -“Totally engrossed by their impatience to rescue the prisoner, my -companions were hastening forwards without paying any attention to the -stranger; but a thought, which passed through my mind like a flash of -light, made me conceive, how important it was to examine him. I -flattered myself, that I should discover in him that same Luprian, whom -the unfortunate had mentioned, and who in all probability was her -gaoler. Should my conjecture prove correct, I considered this meeting as -a great step towards her deliverance: I therefore grasped him firmly by -the arm, and dragged him towards the lamp, in order that I might examine -my prize. - -“I beheld a miserable creature, enveloped in the ragged habit of a monk, -and whose bloodless cheeks, sunk eyes, and emaciated limbs would have -excited my deepest compassion, had I not had good cause to harbour -suspicions, that compassion was a sentiment, of which he was but little -deserving. - -—“Art thou Luprian?” said I in a thundering voice. - -“He sank at my feet, and stammered out an avowal. - -—“Wretch!” I continued; “what motive could induce thee to confine an -unfortunate woman in yonder subterraneous dungeon?”— - -“He was silent for a few moments; then suddenly starting from the -ground—“You know that she _is_ confined there,” said he with a furious -look, “and knowing that, you know enough to destroy me! Ask me no more -questions; I will answer none!”— - -“He threw himself sullenly upon the heap of ruins, and maintained an -obstinate silence. Unwilling to own that I knew no more than his name, I -first endeavoured to terrify him into a disclosure of this mystery; and -finding my threats produce no effect, I had recourse to persuasion, -painting in as strong colours as possible the cruelty of suffering the -unfortunate to remain longer in her prison, and exhorting him to atone -in some degree for his faults towards his captive, by being himself the -instrument to effect her release. In the mean while my companions had -fallen to work with their spades and mattocks; but large pieces of stone -frequently fell into the dungeon below; and the cries of the sufferer, -who dreaded being crushed beneath their weight, convinced them, how -dangerous was this mode of procuring her deliverance, and finally -compelled them to desist from the attempt. - -“What was now to be done? While we agitated this question, Luprian stood -with his arms folded, silent and thoughtful, as if He too had been -resolving some difficult point; at length he threw himself on his knees -before us; and on condition that his life and liberty should be secured -to him, he made a proposal, which he swore to fulfil conscientiously. - -—“No one but myself,” said he, “can enable you to set that captive free, -and it is in my power to show you such means as are most sure and -speedy. You see how rotten is this vault, and you may judge from the -faint murmur of her complaints, how deep her dungeon is sunk into the -ground. It will at any rate be long, ere you can force your way to her; -and from her extreme weakness it is unlikely, that she should live till -your arrival, even should she escape the imminent danger of having her -brains dashed out by some fragment of the crumbling roof. But only speak -one word to assure me of life and forgiveness, and I will immediately -furnish you with explanations, which (should you refuse my offer) this -dagger shall enable me to take with me to the grave.”— - -“The naked steel, which Luprian now pointed towards his bosom, inspired -us with no alarm. It would have been easy to wrest the weapon from his -grasp; but our impatience to assist the unfortunate captive compelled us -to give the required promise. Her complaints had now again ceased to be -audible; and we felt, that not a moment was to be lost, if we meant to -find her still in existence. - -“As soon as we had solemnly engaged not to attempt either his life or -freedom, Luprian resigned his dagger to one of the Monks, and informed -us, that in order to accomplish our object it would be necessary to quit -the vault, and seek a different entrance to the lady’s dungeon, which -was well known to him. Accordingly we followed him for some time, till -we arrived at a remote part of the Convent ruins. - -—“Here,” said he, stopping before a ruined wall, from which he removed a -few loose stones, and showed us a narrow flight of stairs; “here you -must descend, and these steps will conduct you to the place, of which -you are in search. Now then I have performed my promise, and require the -performance of yours: permit me to retire.”— - -“I hastily seized a torch from one of the Monks, and was hastening down -the staircase, without giving myself a moment’s reflection: but the more -prudent Abbot detained me, gave the torch to Luprian, and commanded him -to finish the work which he had begun, before he claimed the reward of -his services. - -“Nothing was left for him but to obey. He guided us down about fifty -steps, and after reaching the foot of the stairs we had a subterraneous -passage to traverse of the same length with that, which had led us from -the grating to the ruined wall. It was terminated by an iron door -strongly fastened on the outside, and which had we not detained Luprian, -we should have found no little difficulty, and lost no little time, in -opening. As I made this observation, I cast upon him an accusing glance; -but the door unclosing left me no time to express in words my -indignation at this proof of his intended treachery. We rushed eagerly -into the dungeon, and found it to be a large vaulted cell, of which -darkness had taken such complete possession, that the beams of our -torches were insufficient to dissipate the gloom, and could only shed a -faint glimmering around us. Its only recommendations were its loftiness -and space. By holding our lights on high, we could discern (but with -difficulty) the iron grating inserted in the roof, through which the -complaints of the prisoner had so seasonably reached me. Exactly beneath -it stood a loaf and a flask of wine, which Luprian had just let down -into the dungeon; and in a corner of it stretched on a miserable pallet -the object of our search lay fainting, as indeed we had suspected from -her silence. With the assistance of one of the younger Monks I raised -her from the ground, and bore her to the upper air, which we considered -as the most likely means of bringing her to herself. - -“This hope however proved vain. Animation was lost too completely to be -so easily recalled. Above an hour had elapsed since our conveying her to -the Abbot’s dwelling (where no means were neglected that could restore -animation) before we had the least reason to flatter ourselves with -hopes of her recovery. At length with inexpressible delight we saw her -half unclose her eyes; but she instantly shut them again on account of -the pain caused in them by the light, to which they were now quite -unaccustomed. - -“We gave her every possible assistance, and after some time she gained -strength and recollection enough to enable her to comprehend the -favourable change, which had taken place in her situation. Tears of joy, -and her clasped hands raised in gratitude to Heaven, were her only -answer. She strove to thank us for the service which we had rendered -her; but emotion choaked her utterance, and to express her sense of our -kindness by looks was not in her power, since the beams of the sun (who -was now risen) were so painful to her eyes, that she had been obliged to -cover her face with a thick veil to save herself from relapsing into -insensibility. - -“We therefore carefully excluded day-light from her chamber, and left -her to repose. While she slept, we resolved to take the opportunity of -making Luprian explain a business, which we conceived to be of some -importance, and respecting which our curiosity was raised to the highest -pitch by hearing some of the Monks assert their persuasion, that -Luprian’s features were not unknown to them. The last Abbot of Curwald, -who was supposed to have perished in the conflagration, had borne that -name, and in spite of his pale countenance and meagre form they verily -believed my prisoner to be no other. We were now all impatience to -ascertain this point; but we found, that in order to effect our object -we ought to have been more upon our guard. Occupied by the melancholy -situation of the lady, which excited universal interest and compassion, -not one of us had paid the least attention to her gaoler: now that we -recollected him, he was not to be found. It appeared probable, that he -had forsaken us immediately upon our entrance into the subterraneous -dungeon, since no one remembered to have seen him since that time, nor -indeed to have bestowed a thought upon him. We had now nothing left for -it but to rail at our inattention, and to lay the blame upon each other. -However, we did not think our loss of any material consequence, since we -doubted not the lady’s ability to clear up the mystery; and at all -events the captive was at liberty, and we had effected a good deed. - -“She awoke, greatly strengthened by her refreshing slumber: her first -request was to be removed from the society of men, and committed to the -charge of persons of her own sex. We had already agreed with a -respectable widow in one of the neighbouring villages, that the invalid -should be taken to her house, as soon as she was able to bear the -removal. The good woman soon made her appearance, and the stranger’s -impatience to quit the Monastery was so extreme, that we judged her -likely to suffer less detriment from the journey than from delay. The -distance was not great; she was placed in an easy litter; and her nurse -took such good care of her both during her removal and afterwards, that -she was quickly pronounced out of all danger. Her eyes again became -accustomed to day-light; her hearing was no longer hurt by the loudness -of human voices, and she could speak without difficulty: yet has she -never thought proper to disclose her name either to myself, or to the -Abbot who visited her daily.—But let it still remain concealed; there is -at least _one_ title, which after hearing the brief relation of her -sufferings I know well to be her proper right; the title of the purest -and most heroic of virtuous martyrs, a name which deserves to be -engraved on marble, and employed to add sanctity to altars! - -“You are surprised, holy Lady, to hear the cold and serious Herman speak -with such enthusiasm; but let it not injure me in your opinion. The -rescued prisoner perhaps was once beautiful, but now she is so no -longer. Sorrow and confinement have robbed her person of every charm, -which could inspire the voluptuary’s heart with passion: yet were I ever -to love again, my soul should be devoted to the perfection of female -virtue, not of female loveliness. Emmeline, the enchanting Emmeline, -with all her train of charms and graces, perhaps, I may in time cease to -remember; but never, oh! never shall I forget the form of my pale -emaciated captive, sinking into the grave the victim of her principles; -never while he has breath, shall that interesting countenance fade from -the recollection of Herman of Werdenberg! - -“But I have wandered widely from the object of this long discourse; I -came hither to make a request, to which all that I have said is but an -introduction: the health of this noble persecuted creature, of my -friend, my sister, my preserved one, is now almost re-established. She -begins to consider, what it will hereafter be most expedient for her to -do; and as she says, that she has no relation in the world to whom she -dares confide her interests, she has condescended to ask my advice -respecting her future proceedings. We both agreed, that a convent is the -most proper retreat for her in her present circumstances; and on my -mentioning to her that, which is under your direction, holy Mother, she -received the proposal with rapture. - -—“Oh! surely,” she exclaimed, “my mind cannot yet be quite itself again, -or I could not have hesitated a moment respecting my choice.—Helen of -Homburg!—the Convent of Zurich!—Heavenly powers, how could I have -forgotten those dear dear names so long?”— - -“She then enquired eagerly, whether Urania Venosta still lived within -these walls; and when I answered in the affirmative, she discovered such -strong emotion, as her gentle despondent manners had little led me to -expect her being capable of feeling. She clasped her hands in ecstacy; a -shower of tears rolled down her pale cheeks, while she sank on her -knees, and returned thanks to Heaven; she then entreated me to leave her -without delay, and prepare a reception for her in your Convent. I would -willingly have first ascertained, whether she was already known to you; -but her impatience would not admit of my postponing my journey for an -instant, and I was compelled to depart unsatisfied. - -“Now then may I hope, that my request will not be rejected? Shall I be -authorised to assure my friend of a welcome reception within these -walls? Speak but one gracious word, and a few hours will be sufficient -to bring her to your feet. Conducted by the good Abbot she has followed -my steps hither, and I need only your permission to deliver her up to -your protection,”— - -It is superfluous to say, that Herman’s request was granted with -readiness; but how great was the emotion, which his narrative had -excited in his auditress, how ardent her impatience for the arrival of -the unhappy lady! She was unable to restrain her tears, and a thousand -joyful exclamations escaped her lips, whose import was unintelligible to -Herman. - -—“Am I right,” said he, “in supposing, that my friend is not unknown to -you?”— - -—“Heaven grant, that it may prove so,” answered the Abbess, while she -hastily wiped away her tears. “But as yet you have allowed me so little -insight into her history, that I scarcely dare give credit to my hopes. -Oh! furnish me with more light; tell me every thing that you know about -her; and prevent my nourishing the sweet but deceitful dreams, which now -occupy my fancy. Alas! alas! it is impossible that they should be -verified; in pity then destroy them at once, before these fond hopes -have time to take such root in my heart, that to tear them out again -would almost break it.”— - -—“All that I know respecting this stranger,” answered Herman, “is, that -she was immured by her friends in the Convent of St. Roswitha several -months before the fatal conflagration. It was not long, before she -became acquainted with the manners, which prevailed in this polluted -Sanctuary. Luprian, the unworthy Abbot of Curwald, who even under the -protecting roof of her father had insulted her by a declaration of his -passion, renewed his persecution with increased ardour in a place, which -was completely under his dominion. Much time was not suffered to elapse, -before her resistance was punished by confinement in the cell, whence I -released her: yet she was occasionally compelled to return to the -Convent, in order that her virtue might be assailed by art, flattery, -and every power of the most refined seduction, as well as by severity -and persecution. - -“The day preceding the dreadful night, in which these dwellings of sin -were purified by fire, had witnessed such a scene of temptation, as -Luprian thought could not possibly fail of success. But it was defeated -in a manner so disgraceful for the enemies of innocence, that spite and -fury took the place of seduction and love. The heroine was compelled to -endure a variety of the most cruel insults and injuries, and then was -dragged back to her dungeon so exhausted with her sufferings, that she -could scarcely be called alive. - -“To her return to this prison was she indebted for existence. It was -sunk so deep within the earth and so remote from the inhabited parts of -the Convent, that she only had a slight suspicion from different -circumstances, that something unusual was passing above her head. She -was confirmed in this idea by several days elapsing without any -nourishment being brought to her. She was reduced to the greatest -extremity; and hunger would soon have put a period to her sufferings, -when the prison-door was unlocked, and the Abbot entered. A cordial of -great power, which he gave her, restored her strength sufficiently to -enable her at length to comprehend the object of his visit. He first -informed her of the events which had lately taken place, and then -proceeded to propose to her the terms, on which she might obtain her -liberty. - -—“It is universally believed,” said he, “that I, as well as the rest of -my Order, have fallen a prey to the flames; I encourage this opinion, -since it enables me with security to quit a profession, for which I am -ill calculated, and which I have always held in detestation. I -acknowledge it, my passion for you has hitherto been such, as you ought -not to have complied with; but I now come to declare sentiments so pure, -that you may safely listen to them without doing the least injury to -your honour. I have rescued the Abbey-treasure from the ruins; I have -also secured such considerable funds in other countries, as will enable -me to support the establishment of a temporal prince in any place which -you may prefer, provided it be one where my person is not known. Nothing -is wanting to complete my happiness, except the possession of your hand, -and I trust, you will not be so blind to your own advantage, as to -reject my honourable suit. But one choice is allowed you; either you -must perish in this dungeon, whose existence is now a secret to every -human being except myself; or else you must take a solemn oath upon the -cross to share my flight from Germany, and become my wife, as soon as we -are safe in some foreign climate. There is no time for deliberation; the -success of my plans depends upon their speedy execution, and you must -instantly and at once pronounce the sentence, which decides both _your_ -fate and my own.—I wait your answer.”— - -“That answer was such, as might have been expected from one, by whom the -licentious Luprian was held in as much abhorrence, as virtue was held -dear and idolized. She asserted the indissoluble nature of his vows to -religion, and repaid his tender speeches with such scorn, that he left -her with a threat never to repeat his offer, but to suffer her to perish -of hunger without compassion or remorse. But the captive was too dear to -him to permit his keeping that resolution. He tormented her with -frequent visits, and desisted not from his fruitless endeavours to -reconcile her to his plans; though to her great satisfaction he was -latterly compelled to abstain from entering her dungeon. A suspicion -existed, that considerable treasures were buried among the ruins of the -Monastery; it was therefore judged prudent to place sentinels about -them, and thus was the execrable Monk debarred all intercourse with his -prisoner, except such as could be carried on by favour of the iron -grating. - -“Luprian now found it absolutely necessary for him to visit Italy, where -he had deposited the chief part of his wealth. He entrusted the care of -the lady to his sole Confident. As his absence was protracted longer -than he had himself expected, she enjoyed some respite from his infamous -addresses, and was not without hopes, that her entreaties and sufferings -would at last induce his representative to take some steps towards -effecting her deliverance. Those hopes however were continually -disappointed. His heart was not more flexible than his associate’s; he -remained immutably faithful to the trust reposed in him; and in answer -to her enquiries respecting the transactions of the regions above her, -he gave her such accounts of the successes of her enemies and of the -destruction of all those who were dear to her, as almost extinguished -her anxiety to escape from her dungeon. She saw, that nothing but sorrow -would welcome her return to liberty, and the natural love of life -struggled but faintly against the certainty of present sufferings, and -the apprehension of those, which were still to come. - -“Day after day crept away, during which the dreadful uniformity of her -unhappy situation was uninterrupted, except by moments of utter despair, -whose power frequently was on the point of subduing the poor prisoner; -or else by those gleams of ungrounded hope, with which Providence -strengthens and comforts those whom he means finally to preserve, in -order that they may not quite sink beneath the burthen of their -calamities. Luprian still returned not: the lady’s complaints seemed -gradually to make their impression on the mind of his deputy. He -occasionally suffered hints to escape him, that it would not be -impossible to obtain his consent to her liberty: and at length at her -earnest request he was induced to declare, that he was ready that -instant to put an end to her sufferings, provided she would consent to -share with him as his wife the enjoyment of that wealth, which the Abbot -had placed in his custody. - -“Here then her hopes again were disappointed. Vexation added bitterness -to the manner, in which she indignantly rejected his infamous proposal: -and the wretch, exasperated by her cutting expressions, swore, that he -would put his plan in execution without her that very day, and would -leave her to her fate. He kept his oath; and the captive must have -perished, had not the Abbot fortunately returned at this identical -moment. His expedition had been attended with nothing but -disappointment. The wealth, which he had vested in foreign hands, had -disappeared from a variety of causes, some through mischance, more -through treachery; and he now only returned to find his associate fled, -his treasure plundered, and his mistress as inflexible as ever. -Vexation, poverty, and fatigue threw him on the bed of sickness. Many -days frequently past, during which the captive was totally neglected; -when at length her gaoler appeared, it was only to throw to her a loaf -of that bread, of which he now could with difficulty procure a -sufficiency for his own sustenance, and with every time to assure her, -that this nourishment was the last, which she would ever receive from -his hands. He spoke no longer of flight, or indeed of his passion for -her; in truth, the former now seemed to be almost impracticable, for the -rebuilding of the Monastery was begun; people were constantly employed -in the neighbourhood of the dungeon’s entrance; and the outlets from the -ruins were watched with more vigilance than ever. The sufferer -frequently entreated him to promise, that he would at least reveal to -some one the place of her confinement before his death; since in order -to increase her terrors he never mist an opportunity of assuring her, -that he had not many days to exist. But in vain did she represent to -him, that when he should be in another world, her sufferings in this -could by no means be to him of any advantage: he was deaf to her -supplications. Bitter and contemptuous irony was his only answer; and it -seemed as if he solely enabled her to support life, in order that he -might still have a human being in his power to torment. - -“It was about this time, that the vaults above her prison became an -object of examination: they were completely clogged up with rubbish, -except one narrow passage conducting to the grate. She had often -determined on ending her sufferings by a voluntary death, and for -several days persisted in refusing sustenance; but now that she -frequently heard a noise above her head, and even once or twice caught -the gleam of distant torches through the iron opening, her fearful -resolutions were laid aside, and their place occupied by the hope, that -accident perhaps might effect her deliverance. - -“These hopes she concealed most sedulously from her tyrant; and so often -had her sweetest dreams disappointed her, that despair still was able at -times to regain his former influence over her mind. Yet she was now so -accustomed to mark by some piteous sound, that there was a suffering -creature buried in these caverns who implored assistance, that she -continued her groans and cries, even when she had long given up the -expectation of their reaching the ear of compassion. In truth, the -workmen, during the intervals of their labours, had caught the faint -murmurs of her complaints; but they put no other interpretations upon -the sound, than such as were suggested by terror and superstition. -Fortunately our enterprise necessarily brought us every day nearer the -place of her seclusion; till at length some good Angel made me attentive -to the cry of sorrow, and guided me to the performance of an action, -which I shall never cease to consider as the most blessed and fortunate -event of my whole life.”— - -Herman of Werdenberg here ended his long narrative; the emotions which -it had produced in Helen were so violent, that every similitude would -fall short of expressing their strength. - -—“Emmeline!” said she in that internal voice, which is only audible to -the soul, “thou liv’st then, and I shall once more clasp to my bosom the -poor forlorn orphan, the persecuted dove, the pious martyr of chastity -and religion!—And Herman is your deliverer! that very Herman of -Werdenberg, who once was unjust to your merits, and who now (if I may -judge by every possible evidence) adores you with the warmest, purest -affection, ever kindled in the bosom of a mortal! Oh! Helen, Helen, what -unexpected joy! You will see two of the best of human beings made happy -after long and cruel sufferings, and will yourself assist in forwarding -their happiness! My own plans of worldly bliss have all been ruined; in -reward for my not murmuring at their destruction, grant me, ye powers of -mercy, that wisdom and that foresight, which may enable me to establish -the felicity of my friend on the firmest foundations and with the least -delay.”— - -Herman was at a loss to comprehend the long silence of the Abbess, and -the deep meditation, into which his narrative seemed to have plunged -her. At length she recollected herself, and at her request he retired in -search of the stranger, Helen having previously stipulated that he -should not be present at their meeting. She was not certain, that in the -first moments of emotion she should be sufficiently mistress of herself -to conceal Emmeline’s name; and from what he had said, she collected, -that it was not her friend’s intention at present to discover herself to -her deliverer. - -A few hours elapsed, before Emmeline appeared leaning on the good Abbot: -Helen now was no longer surprised, that in her present situation she had -not been recognized by her former lover. She was sadly, sadly changed. -It was necessary to have been quite as lovely as Emmeline, in order not -to have lost every charm of person during the long and cruel period of -her captivity; it was necessary to have possest as wonderful a strength -of mind as hers, in order to escape with her senses unimpaired from the -fearful shipwreck of all that was then most dear to her. Ah! Herman, -Herman! that youthful vivacity, which appeared to you so high a crime, -and for which you so unjustly blamed the innocent girl, was now fled for -ever; its place was supplied by a mild and serious look of resignation, -whose melancholy it’s true was sometimes illumined by a benevolent -smile; but the smile was but momentary, and its lustre soon faded away. -Yet thus it was, that you wished her to be; and thus must Emmeline needs -appear to you a thousand times more pleasing, than while she yet shone -with all the brilliant powers of unfaded youth, vivacity, and beauty. -Beautiful in truth was Emmeline no more; but Emmeline was still -interesting beyond expression. A slight frail nymph-like form, so light -that it seemed as if air could have sustained her; a face, robbed of its -roseate colour, but so dazzling fair, that she resembled a marble -statue; a countenance, from which a painter might have formed a portrait -of Christian Humility, and to which the consciousness of heroic -self-denial and of long abstraction from all earthly hopes and -pleasures, had given a saint-like expression that was almost -supernatural; such now was the once brilliant Emmeline of Sargans! - -But Helen did not make these observations during the first moments of -their meeting; she could attend to nothing but the joy of once more -embracing her persecuted friend, whom she prest to her bosom with -pleasure too great for utterance. Emmeline was more composed; it was -long since she had seen Helen, who had never been to her more than a -beloved play-fellow, whom she sometimes remembered with a wish to meet -again, and sometimes quite forgot in contemplation of nearer interests -and impending dangers: but much more was she to Helen. The sufferings of -amiable persons, with whom we have ever had even the slightest -acquaintance, give them an extraordinary value in our eyes; and they -inspire us with an affection for them which rises to the highest pitch, -if we feel that it is at all in our power to show them kindness, and to -repair in some degree the past injustice of their fate. - -What happened at this interview between the re-united friends; with what -rapture Emmeline was received by the infirm Urania, whose life was now -drawing towards its close; the recapitulation of what had past during -their separation, and the plans which they arranged for the future; all -this I shall pass over in silence, and shall only relate so much of the -latter, as may be absolutely necessary. Time and grief had made -alterations in Herman’s appearance scarcely less surprising than in -Emmeline’s. His assumed name; his gentle manners softened by melancholy -recollections and by compassion for the invalid, so different from the -sternness and contempt with which he had ever treated her at the -Bishop’s court; the dimness of her still-enfeebled sight; the darkened -chamber, whose half-light only afforded her an indistinct view of her -deliverer, when he visited her; these circumstances had contributed to -conceal Herman from her knowledge, and she only entertained a suspicion, -that the sound of his voice was not totally unknown to her. But she -remarked his growing affection; and being unwilling to encourage it, she -abstained from making those enquiries, which might perhaps have -satisfied her curiosity, but which also might have led him to believe, -that she was interested respecting him. - -She was perfectly ignorant of all, that had passed during her captivity. -She had given her gaoler’s assertions implicit credit, and firmly -believed, that the few persons whom she loved were numbered among the -dead.—With what joy did she hear from Helen’s lips the assurance, that -Amalberga was alive and happy, and that she herself was indebted for her -release to no other than Herman of Werdenberg!—In truth, she had -hitherto been resolved to discourage the attachment of this unknown -warrior; but this resolution only lasted, till she discovered his real -name. Present gratitude and former affection now gave him a double -interest in her heart: yet did it not so totally overpower all other -feelings, as to determine her to forget entirely the injustice of his -former conduct. She was resolved to put him to a severe trial; she was -besides not quite certain, that his ancient prejudices might not still -have some influence over him; but a few conversations with the Knight -were sufficient to efface every suspicion on this subject. He frequently -visited his unknown mistress at the Convent-grate, where (the better to -elude a discovery) she never appeared without a veil: with every visit -his attachment evidently increased in strength; yet even in her presence -he frequently bestowed a sigh upon the rejected Emmeline, whom he never -mentioned but in terms of interest and compassion. This conduct was not -without its advantage, and when he was soon after compelled to fulfill -his vow of assisting in the crusade against the infidel Albigese, he did -not depart without hopes of being welcome at his return. - -During his absence the meeting took place between Emmeline and her -beloved sister. Helen had at length gained such perfect mastery over her -feelings, as to endure without agony the presence of Torrenburg and the -happy Amalberga; and she and Urania were the delighted witnesses of a -scene, which appeared rather calculated for the regions of light beyond -the grave, than for the habitation of wretched mortality. Amalberga, -clasped in the arms of that sister, whom she had so long numbered with -the dead; Torrenburg, Urania, and Helen, the spectators of and the -partners in their joy; and then the relation of Emmeline’s cruel -sufferings; and then the description of Amalberga’s unclouded happiness; -and then the brilliant prospects for the future which displayed -themselves to both, and which for _this_ time were no illusions.... No, -I will not trust my feeble pen with the description! - -The report soon circulated through the country, that the lost daughter -of Count Donat was still in existence. The sisters shared the -inheritance amicably, like two lovers dividing some scarce and delicious -fruit, each anxious that the other should receive a full proportion. -From every quarter of the free and happy Helvetia thronged the ancient -friends of the family of Sargans to congratulate the co-heiresses. At -length came also Herman of Werdenberg in quest of his unknown mistress, -whom he understood to be resident at Sargans; he returned from his -expedition, crowned with glory, and rewarded by the Pope with absolution -from his sins; a favour, of which the pious warrior stood but little in -need. Count Torrenburg proffered him the hand of his sister, of the rich -heiress of Sargans, of her whose beauty had formerly fascinated his -eyes; but his heart was now possest by the poor and friendless stranger, -and the hand of the rich heiress was respectfully declined. Indignation -at this refusal was the reason assigned by Amalberga for the -non-appearance of her sister; the stranger however was not equally -invisible, though her veil was not yet laid aside; and her consent to -become his bride soon repaid him for his constancy. It was not till the -espousals had taken place, that she revealed to him her real name, which -Herman now grown wiser heard without repugnance; for his early -prejudices had at length lost their influence in his bosom, and -Emmeline’s past sufferings left him no doubt respecting the purity of -her future conduct. He believed, that he had plighted his faith to a -needy friendless orphan; and the orphan in giving him her hand made him -the powerful Lord of Upper-Carlsheim, of Ortenstein, and of many other -fruitful territories. Happy were their days; happy was she through him, -and he through her! He had found once more the long-lost jewel, of whose -value he was so long unconscious; he had found the attachments of his -early youth and of his maturer manhood, the choice both of his heart and -of his head, and had found them all united in the person of his adored -Emmeline! - -And Helen was the spectatress of their felicity, nay is so still at the -moment that I trace these lines! Dear as they were to her, so dear to -her are still the sisters and their worthy husbands!—Lo! how in this -world every thing passes away; God be thanked for it, even our passions -pass away, as well as the rest. Tranquil age succeeds the impetuosity -and hurry of youth; the summer, whose every day was disturbed by -tempests, is replaced by the mild and mellow autumn.—Much as it had -suffered, bitter as had been its disappointments, cruel as had been its -sacrifices, even the heart of Helen at length was at rest. - -All my friends still flourish; all who are dear to me still live, even -the venerable Urania. My native land smiles all around in blessed peace; -not one of those, who are near to my heart, has as yet been obliged to -pay with his blood the price of precious Freedom! Guilt begins to be a -stranger among our citizens; the dwellings of luxury and indolence are -converted into sanctuaries of virtue and religion. The Monastery of -Curwald has risen from its ashes with increased lustre; no Luprian, no -Guiderius now rules there over proud voluptuous Monks; no sisters of -Love[4] now inhabit the cells of the neighbouring Convent. The good -Abbot John has admitted into his fraternity none but such men, as look -on vice with no less detestation than himself; and their holy conduct -has completely removed the stigma, which the remembrance of their -abandoned predecessors had fixed upon the whole brotherhood of -Cloister-Curwald. - -Footnote 4: - - Sorores Agapetæ. - -In the subterraneous vaults of Sargans has Herman lately raised a -splendid monument sacred to the sufferings of his wife. Thirty silver -lamps blaze before it; an easy and unguarded entrance admits every one, -who chooses to approach it; and there does many a pilgrim often loiter -to hear with pious admiration the history of a still living saint. - -Amalberga was desirous of opening the communication between the vaulted -caverns and the south-western mountains, where the fugitive Monks -established their hermitage: but hitherto all attempts to discover the -outlet have been unsuccessful. The old Gertrude is no more; the Countess -Urania’s age and infirmity forbids her visiting the Castle; and the -directions, which her memory could furnish, are rendered of no avail, -the vaults being completely altered in appearance by the falling-in of -the roof. Researches made on the outside of the mountain have been -equally fruitless, nor has even the Hermitage itself been discovered. -Probably the holy Society has been dissolved by death: Fame will not -hand down their good works to the admiration of after-ages, but that is -of but little consequence; they stand inscribed in letters of flame in -the book of the Everlasting! - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - ELIZABETH OF TORRENBURG - - [CONTINUED.] - - - _Elizabeth, Countess of Torrenburg, to Count Oswald of March._ - -By this, my dear brother, you must be as well informed of the history of -the Ladies of Sargans, as myself; I am impatient to know your opinion of -these papers, and whether the effect which they have produced upon -_your_ mind is as strong, as that which during their perusal I -experienced upon my own.—Yet that is impossible; my peculiar situation -makes these annals inexpressibly interesting to me; and did not the -parchments, from which I have copied them, bear unequivocal marks of -their antiquity, I should suspect their having been written for the -purpose of being laid before me. While I read, I was half tempted to -believe, that the good old Abbot, who recommended them to my notice, had -inserted all those passages, which apply so well to my own situation, in -order to lead me unconsciously to the point, where he has been labouring -to place me; and if this were the fact, how would he triumph in the -success of his design! But the circumstances of these memoirs are alas! -but too authentic; as to their antiquity I have such proofs of it, that -I would boldly match them against the title-deeds of my domains, and -other old documents of that period, at which these annals are stated to -have been composed. - -Nevertheless, feeling it to be of no slight importance to me to know, -whether what I had read was authentic or a mere fabrication, I spared no -pains to ascertain the fact. You are aware, that I became possest of -these writings by little better than a piece of theft; and in truth -there may be good reasons for not communicating to one of the laity -these papers, which contain such frightful memorials of ecclesiastical -guilt.—I could not therefore attack the Abbess on the subject directly; -but as in hopes of pacifying me for my disappointment she had proposed -to relate such particulars respecting the Ladies of Sargans, as were -most worthy of my attention, (an offer, which I at first rejected out of -obstinacy, and through vexation at the denial of my request) I now -summoned her to perform her promise, for the purpose of comparing what I -should hear from her with the particulars contained in the stolen -parchments. - -The Abbess bestowed upon me a few hours every day in that closet, where -the portraits of the Ladies of Sargans had first attracted my attention -to those models of virtue and patient suffering: her account of them did -not greatly vary from that, which I had already obtained. I confess, -that where-ever a clerical person would have appeared in rather an -odious light, whether it was a Monk or a Nun, a Bishop or an Abbess, the -good lady never failed to soften matters and wrap the transgressors up -carefully in the veil of mystery; but those examples of misfortune and -heroic self-command, which appeared so peculiarly applicable to myself, -she confirmed most fully, and exactly as I had read them: nor can I -decide, whether they made most impression on me while reading them alone -and for the first time by the glimmerings of a midnight lamp, or when -they were pronounced by the lips of this holy woman, this earthly saint, -whose head within a few short years (too soon alas! for those who like -me know her worth) will be crowned with wreaths of celestial glory. - -Though scarcely in the autumn of her life, the excellent Abbess already -stands upon the brink of her grave. A slow consumption insensibly -destroys her noble powers, and the repetition of these adventures was a -real sacrifice which she made to friendship. Her present state adds -weight to her testimony. Think you, Oswald, that so near the transit -from time to eternity, she would waste away her hours in relating tales, -which she knew to be mere fabrications?—Impossible! - -No! oh, no! What I have read, is true! The venerable Urania, on whose -image my eye rests with such soft melancholy, and thou too, poor -Adelaide, whose bitter fate beguiled me so often of my tears! you both -once lived and suffered, you both once thought and acted, exactly as I -have read and believed; and these examples of heroic patience, under -afflictions far heavier than mine, shall serve _me_ as guides in the -conduct, which it now becomes me to pursue. - -But for thee, generous Helen! for thee whose fortune so thoroughly -resembles my own, from this moment thou shalt be the model, after which -I will form my whole heart and character; and when my resolution -staggers under the weight of human weakness, to thy portrait will I turn -my eyes for comfort and support. - -My brother, I am convinced beyond the power of doubting, that Helen -herself, and no other, was the authoress of the concluding manuscript. -Every page of it betrays marks of an interest, which none but an actor -in the tale could be capable of feeling; and oh! how much has this -persuasion increased in my eyes the value of the writing! - -At my request the Abbess pointed out to me Helen’s picture; and such was -my enthusiastic partiality, that I was weak enough to fancy a striking -likeness between her features, and those which my mirror shows me. I -made the observation to my venerable friend; she assented to it with a -smile, and added, “that it was not in person alone, that I resembled -Helen of Homburg.”—I started, and requested an explanation as to the -parts of Helen’s history, which were so like my own. Again the idea of -an imposition flitted across my mind; I believed, what had passed -between myself and Ida to be a total secret in the Convent; and if the -Abbess was acquainted with my story, it was still possible, that all -which I had heard from her had been dictated by Abbot Conrad. Her -answer, however, soon removed this suspicion. - -—“Helen,” said she, “was not only fair, illustrious, benevolent, and -pious, like Elizabeth, but she was also learned like Her. I understand, -that the exercise of your pen is your favourite amusement; and there -still exist writings of Helen, which are well-deserving your attention, -and which I would willingly communicate to you, my dear Lady, had I not -been positively enjoined to the contrary by superior orders.”— - -The recollection of my treachery forced the colour into my cheeks. To -prevent my confusion being remarked, I hastened to enquire—“why I was -prohibited this pleasure, and who was my secret enemy?”—The Abbess shook -her head, and confest, that the writings of ecclesiastical persons -frequently contained circumstances improper to be made known to the -laity, for fear of giving a shock to their orthodox opinions. - -—“But only resolve,” she added smiling, “to become one of our -Sisterhood, and when I die, I will bequeath you my station, and full -permission to peruse all the manuscripts deposited in the spacious -archives of this Convent.”— - -Ah! my dear brother, were Montfort a Torrenburg and Ida an Amalberga, -how easy would it be for me to take such a step! But the ill opinion -which I entertain both of Henry and his mistress, and my still lively -sense of the perfidy and injustice with which they repaid my affection, -will perhaps make me yet longer hesitate to act, as would best become -me, and to follow the glorious example of self-denial, set forth in -Helen’s conduct.—Farewell, dear Oswald; my heart is sad, but loves you -tenderly. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - _Elizabeth of Torrenburg to Count Oswald._ - -I have confided my secret history to the Abbess. In whom can I more -properly confide, than in her who will soon stand before the Almighty’s -throne, and before whose eyes all concealed things will soon be made -manifest? To whom can I better apply for advice, than to a soul so near -the boundaries of earthly being, that a ray of celestial light already -illumines it, and enables her mental vision to see the things of this -world in their proper likeness? - -She is now informed of every thing; and I must acknowledge, I was -frequently embarrassed by some questions, with which she every now and -then interrupted my narrative. - -—“Then you are certain, _quite_ certain of having been the first object -of Montfort’s affection?”— - -—“I am to understand then, that the attachment between you was equally -strong, and that his whole soul was as much devoted to you, as yours was -to him?”— - -“What? and could he really be so base as to desert you at the very foot -of the altar, merely because at that moment he happened to be struck by -the charms of one of your bridemaids? This seems to me very strange, my -daughter; and me-thinks, it does not well harmonize with the -acknowledged probity of Montfort’s former conduct.—If he had not loved -you, to be sure he would not have persuaded you to fly with him from -your brother’s Castle—and yet, if I recollect right, you mentioned, that -his carrying you off prevented your being compelled to espouse the aged -Count of Torrenburg, who was then as much the object of your aversion, -as (when his virtues became, known to you) he was afterwards the object -of your esteem?—You were young, amiable, in distress, partial to -Montfort ... it is very possible, that love induced him to advise your -flight; but then again it is also possible, that mere sympathy and -compassion _might_ have led him to give the very same counsel, and to -take the very same step.”— - -Such was the vexatious mode of arguing and of seeing things adopted by -the Abbess. I recapitulated the strong reasons which I had to believe, -that in offering me his hand Montfort was prompted by affection.——The -Abbess acknowledged their force; but she added—“that it was very easy -for that, which was at _first_ nothing more than compassionate interest -for the beautiful Elizabeth, to be in time _converted_ into love.”— - -This compliment so ill-timed put me more out of patience, than her -humiliating questions and remarks. It was with difficulty, that I -concealed my ill-humour, and hastily endeavoured to change the subject -of our discourse. - -Alas! my dear brother, everyone seems to be in Montfort’s interests, and -averse to mine. The decision of my venerable counsellor Albert Reding -has just been communicated to me, and I find.... But I will not repeat -to you, what he says: what do wealth and power, what do vassals and -domains concern me now?—My peace is fled, my heart is broken!— - -The Abbess was not easily persuaded to quit the subject: and at length -she put some enquiries, which cut me to the very heart.—They regarded -the friend and companion of my earliest youth, the worthy Richard of -Ulmenhorst, whose love I had rejected, solely influenced by my -partiality for Montfort. I was thrown into such confusion by this -unexpected home-attack, that ... I set all politeness fairly at -defiance, and without replying, abruptly spoke upon another subject. - -We were sitting in the Abbess’s private closet; and I now compelled -those portraits, which had at first excited my curiosity respecting the -secrets of this Convent, to furnish me with an excuse (good or bad) for -eluding questions, which I felt but little inclination to answer. - -—“Holy Mother,” said I, “among all the histories respecting the Ladies -of Sargans which you have related, there is one still unknown to me. You -have always past over the picture, which represents two female pilgrims, -bewildered among the barren wilds of a snow-covered mountain; a picture, -which when I first entered this room, drew more of my attention, than -any of its companions. I at first believed them to represent the -unfortunate sisters, Emmeline and Amalberga; but I do not recollect to -have heard (I had nearly said “to have _read_”) any circumstances in -their history according with the scene before me. How anxiously they -seem to be looking for the right path!—Good Mother, inform me, whether -they found it, and what untoward accident brought them into their -present distress? You really must make me better acquainted with their -adventures, for my whole heart already speaks in their favour.”— - -—“Does it in truth?” said the Abbess, smiling at my eagerness. “Oh! that -good heart!—But look at the picture nearer; see whether you can find in -the countenances nothing to justify your partiality, except the -expression of distress?”— - -I drew near, and examined the picture carefully; but I soon turned away -again, and felt, that my cheeks were burning; in truth something till -then unobserved struck me in the features, but the effect produced was -by no means pleasing. - -—“Well!” enquired the Abbess; “have you discovered any thing?”— - -—“That general family-likeness,” I replied carelessly, “which is -peculiar to the House of Sargans. But I entreat you, Mother, inform me, -who do those figures represent?”— - -—“Two innocent and unfortunate sisters,” was the Abbess’s answer, -“driven from their proper station, and compelled even to conceal their -very names by a succession of untoward circumstances, not by any fault -of their own committing. I could tell you much respecting them, that -perhaps would not appear to you uninteresting; but I am too weak to -undertake the task at present. However, not to leave your curiosity -quite unsatisfied, such an account of them as exists in our archives -shall be looked out, and delivered to you in the course of this evening. -Probably, you will find this narrative more instructive, and in every -respect better worth your inspection, than those which I am compelled to -withhold from you, since the latter were written by Females but little -skilled in literature; while the history, of which I speak, was -transmitted to posterity by the learned pen of an Abbot of -Cloister-Curwald.”— - -—“Of Curwald?” I repeated, with a smile of contempt and incredulity. - -—“Nay, nay, good Countess,” said the Abbess with some warmth; “no -prejudices, I implore you! The author of that manuscript, a copy of -which I propose entrusting to you, was no Guiderius, no Luprian, believe -me! No, daughter, he was one of the wisest and holiest men of the age, -in which he lived; a man in short, whose virtues conferred honour on the -rank of a prelate, and who was in fact, as well as in name, a true -dignitary of the church.”— - -I am now waiting in momentary expectation of receiving the promised -manuscript. The situation, in which I exist at present, is such, as -makes it necessary for me to seize every means of diverting the natural -current of my thoughts into a different channel: it is to this -necessity, that a great portion must be ascribed of the impatience, with -which I look forward to the arrival of this narrative. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - _Elizabeth of Torrenburg to Count Oswald._ - -I have received the manuscript; I have read it, and have read it more -than once.—I send it to _you_, my brother; read it, as _I_ have done; -feel, what _I_ have felt; then will nothing surprise you which you may -hear, respecting the actions of your sister - - ELIZABETH. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - _PART THE SIXTH._ - - THE SISTERS WITHOUT A NAME. - - - _Written by the Abbot of Cloister-Curwald._ - -Above a century has passed away, since the last heroines of that family, -to whose annals I am preparing to add, quitted the scene of human -action. I say, the _last_, because no accounts exist of their -successors; but during that long and vacant period, who knows, but that -many excellent persons may have acted in a manner which did credit to -their ancestors, though no written or traditional memorial remains to -communicate to posterity their virtues and their woes, their trials and -their victories? My heart delights in the tale, which records examples -of heroic excellence; and I have frequently censured the indolence of -cotemporary writers, for suffering this period to remain a blank. Lest I -should deserve that censure myself, which I have not scrupled to inflict -upon others, I now take up my pen, and proceed to execute a task, which -(should I live to finish it) will, I trust, rescue from oblivion some -circumstances well-deserving to be remembered. What I shall set down -will be truth, pure unadorned truth. A just cause demands not the aid of -ornament; and should these leaves ever meet the eye of persons, who may -think themselves more nearly interested in their contents than others, -let them not for an instant suspect, that one syllable is either -inserted or retrenched upon _their_ account, or with a view to produce -any other sentiment in their bosoms, than a conviction of the truth. It -is not before _their_ tribunal, that I plead the cause of two -unfortunates, but before that of the whole world: I write not for them, -whose prejudices may perhaps make them refuse to peruse more than a few -pages of this narrative, and who may close their eyes obstinately -against the light, which shews them that, which they are unwilling to -see. No; I write for impartial judges, and will state my case with as -pure and rigid fidelity, as were I stating it to the ear of Heaven. - -In the tranquil vales, which border the lakes of Thun and of the Four -Cantons, those lakes where Helvetian Liberty first threw her fetters -away, still do the families exist of those best friends of their native -country, the Melthals, the Forests, the Bernsdorfs, and the Tells. Their -different branches have spread themselves on all sides, and almost form -a little nation of their own; whose sons and daughters, even in a land -where honour, bravery, and truth are so universal, still distinguish -themselves from their compatriots by the superiority of their virtues. -It were an easy task for me to point out many Williams, Walters, and -Henrics, many Gertrudes and Amabels in this amiable community, so -perfectly have the good qualities of their fore-fathers been inherited -by their children: but at present I shall only mention the inhabitants -of one particular house, which sheltered the infancy of the heroines of -my tale. - -’Twas the peaceful cottage of a younger William and a younger Amabel, -the descendants of that Tell, who offered up the tyrant Gessler as a -sacrifice to the insulted liberties of Helvetia: here among a crowd of -blooming sons and daughters two lovely girls were remarked, whose -appearance made it evident, that their origin was not the same with that -of their play-mates. It is true, that they called themselves their -sisters, and were persuaded, that in fact they were so; but yet the -truth was quite otherwise. The real children of the family were healthy -and strong like the generality of their kindred; but these two girls -were fair and delicate, and rather resembled beautiful exotic plants -surrounded by meadow flowers, to which they condescended to allow the -honour of a common origin: and however they might themselves esteem the -merits of these simple children of nature, to all other eyes it was -plain, that their own perfections were far superior. - -I have entitled this narrative “the Sisters without a Name,” for it was -long before they knew the family, from which they sprung; and when it -was at length revealed to them, they found, that their rights were in -the possession of strangers. Nay, at the moment that I am writing, they -are still denied the privilege of calling themselves by the name of an -illustrious House, whose dignity would be disgraced by the inferior -station, in which they are at present compelled to exist. - -In the early and happiest period of their lives, the Sisters were -totally unconscious of the magnitude of their claims, and their minds -encouraged no wish to be greater than they were. Happy in the humble -sphere for which they believed themselves ordained, happy in the shades -of their mountains, in the tranquillity of their flowery vallies and -glassy lakes, they considered the scenes which surrounded them, and -which appeared to them so enchanting, as a beautiful specimen of the -whole world; nor did they ever trouble their heads with a thought, -whether beyond those mountains, and on the outside of those vallies, -there existed objects which were deserving of a wish to be acquainted -with. This fortunate unconsciousness was assiduously preserved in their -minds by those, to whose care they were confided; and on -winter-evenings, when William Tell had collected all his children around -him (among whom the Sisters were still reckoned) the stories, with which -he entertained them, always respected some hero or heroine of ancient -Helvetia; so that nothing was made known to them except the country -which gave them birth, and they were led to consider nothing as of -importance but what related to that country, because of that country -alone had they ever been told any thing important. In the same manner -were they instructed respecting the concerns of human life: every -illustration was selected from the lower or middling classes of society -and the manners and customs of the great would have been totally unknown -to them, had it not been for an old man, over whose head near a century -had past, and who was a member of the happy family, in which the Sisters -resided. This good father would often take the two girls apart from -their playmates, and recount to them particulars of the ancient Houses -of Carlsheim, Torrenburg, and Homburg. Mary and Rosanna (so were the -Sisters called, while under Tell’s roof) listened to him with the -greatest interest, and each selected a heroine from among the Helens, -Emmelines, and Uranias, as the object of her peculiar admiration. - -But such ladies of those illustrious families, as had finished their -lives in a cloister, were sure of obtaining the favour of the gentle -serious Mary. She was not fourteen, when she made a pilgrimage to the -Convent of Engelberg for the purpose of kissing the stone, on which -Amalberga was kneeling, when surprised by Landenberg’s emissaries; and -she frequently expressed a wish, that she might one day be permitted to -take the veil in that Convent, which had so long given shelter to the -heiress of Sargans. - -The laughing Rosanna often added to this wish an assertion, that her -sister hoped like Amalberga to exchange in due time the cloister for a -bridal garland; but Mary’s conduct sufficiently proved, that her -religious vocation was at that time no affectation. She was just -sixteen, when William Tell was obliged to comply with her entreaties, -and suffer her to reside at Engelberg. He seemed to consent to this step -unwillingly: but he comforted himself with the reflection, that the -rules of this House permitted no one to pronounce the irrevocable vow, -who had not completed her twenty-fifth year; a period, before whose -arrival a thousand accidents must necessarily have taken place, capable -of shaking the most determined resolutions and the most ardent zeal. - -Rosanna accompanied her sister to the Convent, and for a few days forced -herself to be pleased and satisfied with the religious tranquillity of -her new abode. But at length she could no longer conceal from herself, -that nothing save Mary’s society could have made the manners of a -convent endurable; and that in fact she was much better calculated for -singing and dancing with her young companions on the village green, than -for attending the Abbess and her Nuns to the midnight mass. She -therefore endeavoured to give her occupations some variety by taking an -active part in the internal arrangements of the Convent. - -Rosanna was beautiful, but as yet no one had told her so. None of the -neighbouring youths pleased her enough to make any impression upon -_her_, and the consequence was, that her charms made but little -impression upon _them_. With all her vivacity, there was a certain -something in Rosanna’s manner, which kept the multitude in awe. Every -one admired her, wished her well, was pleased to see her join in their -amusements, but she produced no warmer sentiment. A kind of dignity, of -which she was herself unconscious, prevented the young men from being as -much at their ease with her, as with her companions, and kept even the -least abashed of them at a distance: at length the society was increased -by the arrival of a person, who only required to be seen, in order to -inspire her with a wish to obtain from him something more than -indifference, or mere dispassionate approbation. - -The ancient friendship established between the families of William Tell -and Henric Melthal was kept up by their descendants in all its original -vigour. A son of that Alwyn Melthal, who played the chief part at the -capture of Rassburg, was still alive, and nearly of the same age with -that old relation of William Tell, whom I formerly mentioned. Both these -venerable men were still fresh and hearty in spite of their advanced -time of life; such is indeed the natural effect of breathing the pure -mountain air, and living far from the vices and excesses of cities. The -two families often met together, and their days of festivity were always -observed in common. - -Old Melthal had several children; but now it was rumoured, that one of -them called Erwin (whom no one recollected to have ever heard of before) -was just returned from foreign parts, and that a great feast was shortly -to be given in honour of his safe arrival. Accordingly, the venerable -chief of the Melthals made a tour through the neighbouring districts, -for the purpose of inviting his relations and intimates to assemble on -the green lawn before his house on an appointed day; thence to accompany -his newly-arrived son to the old church on the banks of the Lake, and -return thanks to Heaven for his prosperous return; and finally, to pass -the remainder of the day and a good portion of the following night at -his expence in various festivities and amusements. - -Tell’s family was one of the first invited: the expectation of the -approaching entertainment gave a look of joy to every countenance. In -the great world, no one looks forward to a day marked out for some -amusement with half this enthusiasm: the hurry of tiresome and expensive -preparations; recollections, how often on similar occasions we have -expected more amusement, than we received; the frequent recurrence of -such pleasures, which robs them of the charm of novelty; the suggestions -of mortified vanity or dissatisfied pride; all these combine to embitter -the festivals of the great. But here in the land of innocence and -gaiety, here where no one looks for any pleasure, but that which he is -sure of finding; where pride and vanity have nothing to do; where every -recollection is delightful, and the whole expence and preparation -consist in a wreath of fresh-gathered flowers; here it is, that an -invitation to a party of pleasure is really welcome, and seldom fails of -justifying its name. - -The sun was not yet risen, and the youths and damsels of Tell’s family -were already on their road to Melthal’s cottage. Lots were cast among -the girls to decide, who should have the honour to conduct the -procession; the chance fell upon Rosanna. In consequence, she added to -that which confined her locks, a second wreath of flowers which she hung -round her arm, ready (as was the custom on such occasions) to crown the -hero of the entertainment. It was a special privilege enjoyed by that -company of young people, which arrived first at the place of rendezvous, -that a similar garland to that, with which themselves were adorned, -should ornament the head of the principal personage, whereas the -garlands of the others could only be worn by relations of that -particular family; and this privilege was one, which they valued highly. - -Tell’s children, therefore, entreated their sister Rosanna to hasten -forwards, in order that no one might arrive before them; and obliging as -she ever was, she quickened her steps, though solely from the desire to -comply with their wishes: for she little guessed the sort of youth, for -whom her garland had been woven. She expected to see a person, who would -be as indifferent to her as all those were, whom she had already seen; -and it was a matter of little concern to her, whether she ornamented -with her garland the locks of the young Melthal, or of one of her own -relations. - -But how were her sentiments changed, when at the head of her company she -arrived on the brow of a little hill, and looked down upon Melthal’s -cottage! There sat the old man on a stone bench before the door; and -near him stood a youth, whose countenance was illumined by the rosy -light of the rising sun, and whose figure excelled in manly beauty every -thing that she had ever seen, nay that she had ever thought or dreamt -of.—She started back. - -—“What!” said she to herself; “can this be a son of the old Henric -Melthal? No, no! ’tis certainly some angel, or some saint or martyr at -the least. In truth, I never saw one of the beings, to whom those names -are applied; but I have been told much respecting such supernatural -Existences, and surely if they ever deign to visit the earth in human -form, they must needs resemble yonder youth.”— - -Erwin Melthal appeared to be in earnest conversation with his father: -but no sooner was he aware of the approaching guests, than he hastened -towards them, and delivered a welcome with such unaffected grace and -easy dignity, that Rosanna’s delight and astonishment were raised to the -very highest pitch. - -Tell’s family was in fact the first arrived, and Rosanna’s garland was -without a competitor for the honour of adorning Erwin’s head; an honour, -which she now no longer looked upon as a matter of indifference, and -which she could not have consented to make over to one of her companions -without some little movements of jealousy and dissatisfaction. - -She approached the stranger, while her cheeks were suffused with -blushes, and her hand trembled, as she drew the garland from her arm. He -stood before her like some well grown cedar, and bowed down his head a -little to be crowned by the lovely stranger. She hesitated, retired a -few steps, and looked anxiously round to her female companions, as if -she would willingly have given up her office to one of them: while -Erwin, either out of respect and admiration at the heavenly vision which -now stood manifest before him, or from the more earthly consideration of -the difference between her stature and his own, sank upon one knee -before her, and in this attitude was crowned by her trembling hands. - -It was an established custom, that the conductress of the first company -that arrived, on these occasions should be the partner of the king of -the festival during the whole of the day. Rosanna, who loved to enjoy -the earliest breath of morning and the glories of the rising sun, had -already frequently obtained this privilege without its causing her much -emotion; but now when she reflected, that for a whole day she should be -by the side of Erwin Melthal; that she should kneel on the same step -with him at church; should join at the same time and almost in the same -breath with him in the most solemn offices of devotion; should blend her -voice with his in prayers and anthems; and that at table, in the dance, -at every kind of festivity, she should still have no associate but -Erwin, all this was too much for her to conceive at once, and her -feelings scarcely permitted her to breathe. - -Still she only dared to express those feelings by looks and blushes: but -Erwin, who felt the same, was not confined like her by the restraints of -decorum. He made use of the privilege of his sex, and not only spoke, -but spoke so plainly, that little as Rosanna was skilled in the language -of love, which she then first heard from his lips, she still understood -his meaning; and little as she ventured to answer, still before the -entertainment concluded, she had left no doubt upon his mind, that their -affection was mutual. The embarrassment, which took place at their first -meeting; the gift of her garland; the religious ceremonies in which they -had been engaged together, and in which each had stolen a little from -that which was destined for Heaven, for the purpose of bestowing it on -the other; all these circumstances and a thousand other trifles, which -occurred in the course of the entertainment, assured them, that an -exchange of hearts had taken place, that their sentiments were -sanctioned by the approbation of Heaven, and that every thing would turn -out as they wished and expected. - -From this day forwards Erwin’s leisure was totally engrossed by Rosanna. -The habitations of Tell and Melthal were not so very distant, but that -by setting out at the same time the lovers were certain to meet halfway, -time enough to pass some hours together undisturbed: besides the -intimate connection, which subsisted between the two families, furnished -too many opportunities of intercourse, to admit of their often -complaining of long absence from each other. The passion, which grew -stronger in their bosoms with every hour, was carefully concealed from -every one; not that they had any reason to apprehend censure from their -superiors; but because secrecy seemed to give an additional charm to the -correspondence of their hearts, and because the goal of their desires -seemed to be still at a considerable distance. - -The venerable Melthal, the youth’s great-grandfather, had caused him to -be educated in a foreign country, and intended him for the profession of -arms. Erwin had been long suffered to remain ignorant, both to what -family he belonged, and to what country he owed his origin: but the good -antient (whom the number of his years rather than any sensible infirmity -made conscious, that the close of his existence could not be far -removed) now thought proper to summon his grandson to a private -conference, in which he disclosed to him many particulars of great -importance. - -—“One more campaign,” said Erwin to his mistress, the first time that he -saw her after holding this conversation with old Melthal, “one more -campaign under the Emperor’s banners, in whose service I am at present -engaged; and then will I hasten back to lay my laurels at the feet of my -Rosanna, confess my love for her, and fix my habitation with her in that -quarter of the globe, which her fancy shall prefer. If she thinks proper -still to reside in the shades of her native vallies, there too will I -take up my abode: if she rather desires to see the world (which in truth -has its charms and can show some scenes, with which even these -enchanting solitudes must not come in competition) perhaps her happy -Erwin may succeed in procuring for her there a situation better suited -to her merits, than that which she must fill in the obscurity of these -retired mountains.”— - -—“Dear Erwin,” interrupted Rosanna, “speak no more of this; speak not of -my merits, or of removing me to the great world! Ah! why must you needs -yourself go thither? Is it not enough to make me hate that world, that -it soon must rob me of your society? and alas! who knows, whether you -will return from that wild tumult, which I only know by description, -with sentiments as kind and as honest and true an heart, as you will -bear away with you!”— - -Poor Rosanna was bathed in tears, while she made these representations. -She had had dreams, and omens, and forebodings, which promised nothing -good, and which her lover soon banished by means, which every lover (the -false as well as the true) equally practises on similar occasions. But -Erwin was true as the truest; and his oaths were heard and registered in -the Book of Eternity by the Angel, who suffers no perjury to escape -unpunished. - -There was one person in the world, with whom Rosanna had been too long -accustomed to share all her joys and all her sorrows, all her hopes and -all her fears, not to make her feel uneasy under the profound secrecy, -which she had hitherto imposed on herself respecting her attachment: -that person was Mary. In fact, she had already suffered some distant -hints to escape her, that she had a secret to communicate; and at length -she summoned up all her resolution, and (with Erwin’s approbation) set -forward one morning for the Convent of Engelberg, determined to lay her -whole heart open to her sister’s inspection. - -Though Mary found her own felicity within the bounds of cloistered -retirement, her notions were too liberal to make her consider it as -improper, that Rosanna should seek for happiness in the arms of an -affectionate husband. With folded hands and a countenance bright with -tranquil joy, she piously invoked a blessing on her sister’s union with -the honest-hearted Erwin; though she could not help lamenting with a -sigh, that he should have adopted the profession of Blood! Before they -separated, it was settled between the Sisters, that on an appointed day -Rosanna should conduct her lover to the Convent, in order that Mary -might become personally acquainted with her future brother. - -This interview was not difficult to be procured; Mary had not yet -pronounced her vows, and was left at perfect liberty to employ her time, -as she thought proper. Yet partly from a wish to make the business no -more public than could be avoided, and partly from a movement of -religious enthusiasm which forcibly operated upon her imagination, Mary -desired, that the meeting should not take place, till the evening was on -the point of closing. - -It was in autumn, and the weather proved gloomy. Mary had provided -herself with a key of the Chapel, and it was in this awful place, that -she received the lovers. A small porch, faintly lighted by the -glimmerings of a distant lamp, witnessed their first meeting. Mary (who -in spite of her extreme youth had already adopted the dignity and grave -character appropriate to her destined station) spoke long and seriously -to the warrior, respecting the sincerity of his attachment and the -sacred nature of his engagement to Rosanna. His answers were such as she -most desired to hear; and she now conducted them into the Chapel, where -she had already placed two burning tapers before an altar consecrated to -Saint Engeltruda. - -—“Kneel,” said she, “kneel upon the stone, on which Amalberga was -kneeling when seized by the sacrilegious Landenberg; kneel, and swear in -the presence of God and of this chapel’s Patron-Saint, never even in -thought to swerve from the strictest rules of eternal truth and -unsullied virtue: so shall this place be cleansed from the pollution, -which it contracted from the impure steps of the virgin’s ravisher!—May -Landenberg’s fate be thine, Erwin, shouldst thou ever for one instant -prove faithless to Rosanna!—Never may’st thou, Rosanna, find in the time -of need such a preserver as Amalberga found in Eginhart, shouldst thou -ever forget the man, to whom I now solemnly betroth thee in the face of -listening Heaven.—Let nothing part you, but the grave!—And should -hereafter either of you from inconstancy or caprice rend asunder the -sacred bonds, with which I now unite your fates for ever, that instant -shall my form (be I living, or be I dead) stand before you threatening -and awful, and warn you to return to the paths of propriety and -duty!—But peace, everlasting peace be with the bosoms of faith, and may -the wings of angels overspread them and preserve them!”— - -Erwin and Rosanna, as they gazed on the lovely form, which stood before -them illuminated by the pale light of the consecrated tapers, fancied -themselves in the presence of some celestial being. They thought, that -in her words they heard the voice of her Patron-Saint; they swore -fidelity while life should last, and Mary kissed and blessed them. - -She then accompanied them to the Chapel-porch; and the betrothed or -rather the espoused lovers (for as such they now considered themselves) -bent their course homewards beneath a sky heavy with the dews of an -autumnal evening. Not one syllable did they exchange, as they past -along; a gentle pressure of the hand occasionally was the only manner, -in which they gave token of their feelings. Yet was their joy not quite -unclouded; a secret heaviness weighed down their hearts: melancholy -forebodings forbade their abandoning themselves entirely to the -delightful thought—“We are united for ever!”— - -The three actors in this solemn and singular scene had not enveloped -their secret in so impenetrable a veil, as they imagined; and this -transaction was the means of their meeting with many severe reproofs -from those, to whom they were in subjection. The youthful devotee had -been watched by an inquisitive Nun; and the respectable office, which -she had thought proper to perform on this occasion, was made known to -the Abbess the next morning. Severe were the censures past by that -good lady on Mary’s boldness, in assuming a character so ill adapted -to her time of life. On the other hand, each of the lovers was -closeted by the chief of their respective families; and many -representations were laid before them in these private conferences, -which seemed to make great impression on the minds of both, though -they had not the smallest effect in diminishing their mutual -attachment. At their next meeting Erwin revealed not to Rosanna one -word of the conversation, which he had held with his grandfather -Melthal; neither on _her_ side was Rosanna more communicative of the -information, which she had gained from the old William Tell. They only -confest to each other, that the main-topic of both these secret -conferences had been reasons for their renouncing their so lately -contracted union; and the question was exchanged—“Whether what each -had heard, but which neither revealed, was of such force, as to -authorize their breaking vows, which had been pronounced with such -solemnity”—“No!”—uttered in a tone so positive, as to convey in it a -renewal of all their former oaths, was the reply on both sides: yet -they agreed to commit their cause to Heaven and Time, and to suffer, -to hope, and to believe, what (in secret each was compelled to own) -appeared then to be impossible. - -That Erwin and Rosanna were mutually attached to each other, had been -long suspected; but the fact was now made known throughout the Province, -and the prejudice ran universally in favour of the lovers. The youths -and damsels exclaimed loudly against the severity of the two fathers; -and even the old people shook their heads, and let a few words escape -them now and then about inexplicable obstinacy. They declared, that -Melthal’s son and Tell’s daughter seemed to be formed for one another, -that they ought to be united, and that united they would be some day or -other, happen what might. Whenever they encountered the dejected lovers, -they never failed to whisper some kind exhortations to be faithful, and -to hope for better times; while on the other hand their young companions -were anxious to furnish them with opportunities of meeting, and -frequently in their village festivals the lovers suddenly found -themselves encircled by the same chain of flowers, and heard every voice -unite in singing the praise of their tender attachment and their wishes -for its happy issue. A thousand ballads were made upon them, some -plaintive, some gay, and they circulated from mouth to mouth with -rapidity; for the love of Erwin and Rosanna was an affair, in which the -whole Province felt itself interested. - -This universal good-will, however, advanced their cause but little. When -they were alone, each spoke of eternal fidelity and insurmountable -difficulties; each made it evident, that a secret sorrow weighed heavy -upon the heart; each found fault with the father of the other, and -declared him to be extremely in the wrong; while the father of the -speaker was asserted to be perfectly in the right, at the same time that -to obey him was acknowledged to be impossible. As to the two old men, -they took no steps towards an explanation. It was rather observed, that -from this time forward they shunned each other’s society, and seemed by -the mutual distance thus suddenly created between them, to give their -children a hint of the conduct, which they expected them also to adopt. - -Sooner than they were aware, chance relieved them from the troublesome -employment of watching over the lovers. Erwin was unexpectedly summoned -to join the Emperor’s army, and the orders were so pressing, as not even -to permit his taking leave of his mistress. Yet as he past by it on his -road, he said a short but fervent prayer in the Chapel of Engelberg; he -commended himself and his fortunes to the protection of that Saint, who -had heard his vows pronounced; and Mary being fortunately among the -Nuns, and within reach of his eye, he implored her by signs to bear his -melancholy greeting to her sister. Mary perfectly understood the meaning -of those signs; though it was long, before an opportunity presented -itself for complying with his wish. Ever since her culpable interference -in unhallowed love-affairs, the virtuous Lady Abbess had caused a strict -watch to be kept over Mary; and though Rosanna’s heart was full and -greatly needed the consolations of a sister’s tenderness, she still -hesitated to visit Engelberg. The secret, which the old Tell had -revealed to her, was a dead weight upon her heart; she knew well, that -it was her duty to make it immediately known to Mary, who was no less -interested in it than herself; and she trembled to hear the decision, -which (she doubted not) would be pronounced even by her truest friend -and the partial favourer of her love, as soon as she should be made -acquainted with the real nature of the case. - -The useful art of penmanship, which a century before had been familiar -in these parts, and practised by persons totally unconnected with -learned pursuits, even by women, (as the annals of the Ladies of Sargans -testify,) at the present period was fallen into neglect. With the -exception of some few characters of distinguished merit, it was confined -to the clergy, and alas! in this respect Erwin and Rosanna were -completely laical: neither was it safe or prudent to confide their -tender secrets to the discretion of chance messengers; and it -necessarily followed, that the lovers were but seldom informed of the -proceedings of each other. Common fame however occasionally brought the -maid tidings of her warrior not less strange than satisfactory; and the -girls of the Valley frequently were able to comfort their sorrowing -companion with reports, which asserted Erwin’s heroism to be only -equalled by his good fortune. Rosanna’s heart readily gave credit to -assertions so flattering; and she was too well disposed to believe them, -to require much proof of their veracity; nay, she sometimes was so -completely fascinated by the illusions of Fancy, that she could not -refrain from communicating her hopes to the venerable Tell. - -—“Surely, my good father,” would she say to him, “should Erwin return to -me crowned with honour and renown; should he be really what Fame -asserts, the favourite of his Emperor, what is more probable, than that -the lowness of his origin should be sunk in the splendour of some -new-acquired title, and his merits be rewarded by his elevation to some -station of importance? and in that case, where would be the impropriety -of my giving him my hand? and what obstacle would my mother’s -injunctions oppose any longer to our union?”— - -The old man on hearing such observations never failed to exclaim against -the credulity of young minds, and to warn the exulting girl against the -painful effect, which evil tidings would produce upon her mind with as -much facility and with still greater violence. They say, that Age often -possesses the gift of second-sight; it is at least certain, that what -Tell foreboded, happened but too soon. On a sudden, Rosanna’s Companions -greeted her arrival no more with chearful songs of encouragement and -hope; the name of the heroic Erwin now was never suffered to pass their -lips; when she enquired, whether no tidings of him had reached the -Valley, her question was evaded. At length the deep mourning, in which -the Melthal family appeared, made public the dreadful intelligence, -which her friends had so long concealed from her, and the relation of -which struck her senseless to the earth, as if it had been a flash of -lightning. Erwin had accompanied his sovereign to relieve the Fortress -of Bender, which was besieged by Sultan Amurath, and in an unsuccessful -attack upon the enemy’s camp had fallen as became a warrior. The whole -Valley was afflicted at his loss; the old Melthal was inconsolable. -Shortly afterwards he left his home to visit the Castle of a nobleman, -who had been long his patron and his friend, and he returned no more. -Death surprised him on his journey; and his children brought nothing -back but his bones, which they buried in his native land, that land -which through life he had ever loved so dearly! - -It seemed, as if at this period every kind of misfortune had conspired -to ruin this once so happy Province. It was visited by continual storms, -such as had never before taken place within the memory of man: the -mountain-torrents deluged the country with unusual fury; nor was it -possible for the cultivators, industrious as they were, to bring their -ruined fields into order again, till a considerable time had elapsed. -The crops failed; prices rose; at length the distress became universal, -and it was soon followed by the twin-sisters of Death, Famine and -Disease. - -Rosanna saw so many of the venerable fathers of the Valley sink into the -grave, and wept over the tombs of so many of her youthful friends, that -she could not but expect the lot soon to fall upon herself and her good -old grandfather. The first was as earnestly desired by Her, who -languished to embrace her Erwin in the land of shadows, as the latter -was looked forward to with terror. She anxiously wished to lengthen the -days of one, who was now almost her only friend, and she implored him to -retire for a while from a spot become so dangerous. It was not far from -Tell’s habitation to the Convent of Engelberg, and there the plague had -not as yet commenced its ravages. Mary obtained permission from the -Abbess to take possession of an uninhabited monastery, which made part -of the domains of Engelberg; and she now hastened like some benevolent -Angel to guide her sickening relations to the place of refuge, which she -had found for them, and where she proposed to be their nurse herself. As -many as were still capable of moving, blest her, and followed her to the -Monastery; Rosanna and Tell made part of the melancholy caravan, which -Death had taken care to prevent from being numerous. In defiance of the -extreme danger, Mary resided with them, and administered to their -necessities with her own hands. Her exertions were crowned with their -deserved success; she had the happiness of rescuing all her patients -from the grave, except the grey-headed Tell. Yet even He did not fall a -martyr to the plague; Mary’s unceasing efforts had relieved him from -that poisonous enemy; but the weight of near an hundred years prest him -down, and forbade his ever rising again from that bed, from whose side, -during the time of his most imminent danger, he had vainly entreated -Mary and her sister to retire and attend to their own preservation. - -—“My children,” said he at length, when no doubt remained that the hour -of his death was at hand, “I feel, that we must part: and long as my -worldly course has lasted, still at its close does nothing press heavy -on my heart except the reflection, that I leave your fate and fortunes -undecided. Rosanna, have you communicated to your sister those -circumstances, which I thought fit to lay before you, in order that you -might be convinced, that an union with Erwin Melthal would be ill-sorted -and improper in every point of view?”— - -Rosanna replied in the negative; she had of late found but few -opportunities, she said, of seeing her sister; and even when they were -together, the Lady Abbess (whose notions of decorum had been greatly -shocked at the share, which Mary had taken in the Chapel-scene) had -watched them with such vigilance, as effectually prevented any -confidential communications. She concluded her apology for having so -long neglected to obey his injunctions, by entreating him to suffer Mary -to retain the pleasing illusion that she had a right to his affection; -an illusion, with which she herself had parted so unwillingly. - -—“It must not be,” answered the expiring Tell; “it is necessary, that -both of you should be aware, that you are no grandchildren of mine. The -story of your birth is long; Rosanna is informed of all the -circumstances, and will relate them to you, my gentle Mary, at some hour -of leisure: at present learn from me such points, as are most essential. - -“You and your sister are the sole remaining descendants of the younger -branch of the ancient and illustrious families of Carlsheim and Sargans. -That you have past so large a portion of your lives in obscurity, and -that your great expectations are still in so questionable a state, you -must accuse the superstitious obstinacy of the Countess, your deceased -mother. She was a daughter of the Count of Mayenfield, and her -extraordinary beauty made her the object of universal admiration. Among -her suitors were numbered the heads of the two families of Torrenburg -and Werdenberg, both equally descended from the united House of -Carlsheim and Sargans. The latter was accepted; the former was not only -rejected, but even held by your mother in the most absolute detestation. -On the contrary, the Count of Torrenburg (who is still alive, and whose -excellent heart never harboured resentment against any human being,) not -only forgave the slight, but continued on the most friendly terms with -his successful rival. He succeeded in expelling from his bosom his -unfortunate passion, bestowed his heart on another lady more capable of -estimating its worth, and his marriage was blest with two sons, as was -that of the Count of Werdenberg with two daughters. On this fortunate -occurrence taking place, the fathers entered into the most solemn -engagements to unite their children in marriage, and by this means blend -inseparably their mutual claims upon the inheritance of each other. - -“My lovely girls, you were these daughters thus betrothed while in the -cradle: I cannot express to you the repugnance, with which your mother -entertained the idea, that she should one day hear you call the sons of -the Count of Torrenburg by the name of husband. The antipathy, which she -bore that family, was increased a thousandfold by the death of her -husband; on which event the great domains of your father (according to -the long-established customs of the Houses, to which you owe your -origin) fell to the only remaining male heirs of the Counts of Carlsheim -and Sargans, the Count of Torrenburg and his sons. The prospect of -recovering the whole of this inheritance by your union with those sons, -and the generous offers made by their father for her accommodation, had -no effect in softening her animosity: she felt, that it was less -disagreeable to lose every thing and sacrifice both herself and you, -than to depart in any degree from her obstinate resolution. - -“Accordingly she quitted the Castle of Werdenberg in the greatest -privacy, and concealed herself in my humble habitation. I had been long -known to her, and in general had been honoured with her confidence; but -she carefully hid from me the real situation of her affairs and the true -motives of her conduct. She did not long survive the loss of her -husband; grief for his death and vexation at the good fortune of -Torrenburg rapidly destroyed her health. On her death-bed she demanded -from me a solemn oath, that I would adopt her orphan-daughters for my -own, and would bring them up according to the instructions, which after -her decease I should find conveyed in writing. - -“That your prudent mother should prefer your being educated in the lap -of rural innocence and tranquillity, rather than in the tumult of the -great world, did not surprise me in the least, and I readily gave the -oath demanded. But when after her death I learned from her papers the -whole extent of my promise, and found myself enjoined to spread the -report of your death, and never to disclose your real names, unless -circumstances should give you a just claim to the inheritance of your -ancestors, my surprise was extreme; and gladly would I have called back -the oath, which your mother had carried with her into the grave, and -which therefore was irrevocable. - -“As the case stood, no choice was left me, and I was compelled to obey -your mother’s injunctions respecting your education. It greatly -comforted me to find, that the secret of your real station was not -confined to myself. The deceased Countess mentioned in her will, that -the Bishop of Coira and the Abbot of Cloister-Curwald (both of them -related to her though but distantly) were aware of her design, and had -sanctioned it with their consent; and I concluded, that since her -determination had found favour in the eyes of such learned and -respectable persons, it must needs have claims to approbation, which my -own understanding was too short-sighted to discover. - -—“It is possible,” it was thus that the Countess exprest herself in her -last will; “it is possible, however trifling the probability seems at -present, that the family of Torrenburg may become extinct; or that it -may please Heaven to deprive it of male heirs, as it has been pleased to -deprive the family of Werdenberg. In that case, let the claims of my -daughters be advanced, and the documents produced, which are deposited -in the hands of the Bishop of Coira, and in the archives of -Cloister-Curwald: for the rights of these consolidated families are so -ordained, that the daughters can only lay claim to the inheritance of -their ancestors, in case no male heir should exist; a regulation, on -whose justice I am too little learned to give an opinion, and whose -effect I possess too little power to counteract. - -“But as it is possible, that my orphan daughters may one day become the -heiresses of Sargans, care must be taken to prevent their adopting any -measure, which may make them blush at recollecting the obscurity, in -which they are to pass their early years. I desire therefore, that you -William Tell (whom I appoint their guardian) should not only bring them -up innocently and virtuously, but should make them mistresses of as many -elegant accomplishments, as circumstances will admit. Above all I -command you on no account to suffer them to contract a marriage -unsuitable to their illustrious birth. Unless a mother’s fondness -deceives me, they will be singularly beautiful. Providence ever watches -over the orphan’s destiny; and perhaps even in their humble station -their charms may attract the observant glance of some young nobleman. -Should such be the case, William Tell is at liberty to remove all -obstacles to such an union, by revealing to the lover the real name of -the parents of my daughters; and I also absolve him from his oath in so -far, as to authorize him to disclose to themselves the secret of their -illustrious origin, whenever they are sufficiently arrived at years of -discretion, to make such a disclosure necessary or useful.”— - -—“Here is this important paper,” resumed Tell after a short pause, for -this long discourse had greatly exhausted him; “you will read it over -together at your leisure: but one thing more I must observe to you. The -Countess was no less averse to the seclusion of a convent than to -ill-assorted marriages.—In one place (which I have pointed out for -Mary’s observation by three crosses) she writes thus—“Be the veil the -last refuge of my children, and on no account must either of them be -suffered to assume it before her six-and-twentieth year. Then, if no -more inviting prospect presents itself, their real rank may be revealed -to the Superior, and the sums (which I leave for that purpose in the -hands of William Tell) appropriated to the endowment of the Convent, in -which they think proper to pronounce their vows.”— - -—“I trust,” continued the old man, “that I have not abused the -confidence with which your noble mother honoured me. Anxiety to leave no -part of her commands unexecuted made me lose no time in hastening to the -Bishop of Coira and the Abbot of Cloister-Curwald, and requesting their -advice respecting your future education. I found them already fully -acquainted with the intentions of the deceased Countess; I also gathered -from some words which escaped them, that all the singular injunctions of -that lady’s will related to an old prophecy, by which the daughters of -Werdenberg were threatened with the most severe mortifications and -persecutions through the means of the family of Torrenburg. For my own -part, I cannot say, that I lay any great stress upon these old -traditions, and even look upon belief in them as little better than rank -superstition: nay, I am almost persuaded, that the very means taken to -avoid the dangers with which such prophecies menace us, frequently -produce their accomplishment, of which (unless I am much deceived) your -own history will furnish an additional proof. The two reverend -gentlemen, however, were quite of a different opinion from me on this -point; in truth, they received so ill a hint of this nature which -escaped me, that if I had not held my tongue in good time, I verily -believe, they would have excommunicated me as an arch-heretic. Luckily, -the business was not to decide, whether your mother’s opinions were -right, but whether her will should be obeyed; and on this head all three -were of the same way of thinking. - -“Annually I made them a visit to lay before them my proceedings, and -receive instructions respecting your future conduct. At length they -died, both nearly at the same time, and were succeeded by Bishop -Sigisbert, and Abbot Conrad the Fourth, who also succeeded to the -knowledge of your secret. The latter of those prelates (as you probably -remember) once visited our cottage, as it seemed, by accident. He saw -you, and felt himself greatly interested in your welfare. I have -informed him of my illness, and also of the melancholy occurrences which -have lately taken place, and which render these vallies no longer a safe -retreat. In his answer, the good Abbot promises you his protection, -proposes to remove you to those scenes where your noble ancestors once -ruled, and engages (when the proper time shall be arrived) to support -your claims to the utmost of his power. - -“The sons of the Count of Torrenburg are dead; the Count himself is a -widower, but is not quite so far advanced in years as to make his -contracting a second marriage highly improbable. Still you have much to -expect from his known generosity of mind, and I cannot but flatter -myself, that you may look forwards to more fortunate times! Oh! with -what content could I lay my head down in my grave, were I but certain -that this hope will soon be realized! But alas! every thing shows itself -to me, as if still at a fearful distance! Every thing seems covered with -a gloomy veil of clouds. Many and many a bitter sigh must you heave, -many and many a painful step must you tread, ere you regain that -station, whence you have been degraded by maternal obstinacy and -superstitious prejudice.—Yet take courage, my children; an invisible -hand still guides the steps of the innocent, and you will find a -powerful friend and safe adviser in the Abbot of Cloister-Curwald.”— - -Here the old man concluded; his adopted daughters were silent, and -wept.—All that they had heard, all the glorious prospects, which were -just presented before them, were unable to overpower the melancholy -conviction, that the hour was arrived, when they must close the eyes of -that venerable man, who had for so many years cherished them with all -the fondness of a father. In losing him, they foresaw too the loss of -those simple pleasures, which had made their childhood glide away so -gaily, and for which they feared to find the advantages of their new -situation but a sorry and incomplete exchange. - -Tell visibly became weaker, that is, his body became so; but his mind -preserved its strength unimpaired, and to the last moment of sensibility -possest its gaiety and freedom. He had indeed got the better of that -illness, which at first confined him to a sick couch, but he sank under -the burthen of his years. His heart at length felt the arrow of death; -though in truth that metaphor is here inapplicable, for he felt no -wound, he endured no pain. His existence ended in a gradual peaceful -slumber; the lamp of his life was extinguished gently and imperceptibly. - -Abbot Conrad arrived before the decease of Tell, for the purpose of -removing the Sisters: but they implored a short respite. Gladly would -they have remained Tell’s daughters all their lives; it was no light -blow, that could sever the bonds, by which they were connected with the -good old man; even Death was unable to effect this completely, and their -affection still followed him even beyond the grave. Neither was Conrad -anxious to remove them from the dying man: it was a blessed sight for -him to witness the gentle departure of a just spirit, and for once to -behold the so-dreaded form of Death arrayed in the peaceful appearance -of a beneficent Angel. Neither was it an uninteresting sight, to see two -girls in the bloom of youth and beauty turning away from the brilliant -prospects of the world, to dwell with their whole souls on one of the -most sorrowful and painful scenes, which can meet the eye of human -nature; to see two highly-born princesses weep at resigning for such -sounding titles the dearer-ones of daughters and sisters in the abode of -rustic innocence; and to hear them at the grave of their common ancestor -vow to their former play-mates, that they should ever hold their -relationship as the most close and precious, though the whole universe -should unite in endeavouring to efface the recollection of it from their -minds. - -Tell’s children could not understand rightly, what their supposed -sisters meant by such assurances; and the Abbot thought it unnecessary -to explain to them a mystery, which their approaching separation from -the young Countesses of Werdenberg would soon make sufficiently clear. - -The Abbot was obliged to be more communicative with the Domina of -Engelberg. He found no great difficulty in obtaining her permission, -that Mary (or Constantia, as she was now called, while Rosanna resumed -her baptismal name of Ida.... Yes, Elizabeth! Ida and Constantia were -their _real_ names!) that Mary should for a time make trial of a worldly -life, and should postpone her adoption of the veil till after the -unravelling of her destiny. Three conditions however were annexed to the -permission; first, that in case her call to a religious profession -should be confirmed, that she should pronounce her vows in no other -Convent than Engelberg; secondly, that in remembrance of her -cloister-duties she should always wear the habit of the Order; lastly, -that in case of the worst (by which the pious lady meant an union with -an earthly bridegroom) she should not assume a worldly dress till her -wedding-day, and should purchase the permission of renouncing the veil -by a handsome benefaction to the Convent of Engelberg. The abbot -understood the manners of the cloister, and agreed to these conditions -on behalf of his wards; who in the mean while heaved many a sigh, while -preparing for a journey, from which their hearts boded no good. - -In the sphere in which they now moved, every thing appeared strange to -them, and consequently disagreeable, from their not being accustomed to -such manners and appearances. The splendour of Bishop Sigisbert’s court -(at which they now resided) was too dazzling to be pleasant to eyes, -which were only used to admire the simple charms of Nature; and when -compared with those scenes, in which their childhood had past so -happily, everything which now offered itself to their notice seemed -ridiculous and frequently disgusting. - -The Bishop, who felt the greater interest in the welfare of his young -wards on account of their simplicity and want of relish for the -dissipations of the world, was soon obliged to consent to their retiring -from his court, and taking refuge in the tranquillity of a Convent at -Zurich. Here Constantia was perfectly at ease; but Ida, who had been -always accustomed to liberty, was but half satisfied with the restraints -of her abode. Nay, she would have found them insupportable, had not the -recollection of Erwin Melthal followed her to the Convent, and made -solitude and silence agreeable, by suffering her to indulge unrestrained -the melancholy of her heart. In truth, Ida had so little of that lofty -spirit, which should have been united with her lofty station, that the -remembrance of the son of an humble peasant, who had perished as an -undistinguished warrior, still was sacred to her affection; and often -did she assure Constantia, that were he still in existence, she would -rather have renounced her birth-right than the hope of being one day -called his wife. - -—“I concealed my rank from Erwin,” said she, “that his love might not -take the alarm at hearing the proud title of the Countess of Werdenberg: -but I will not conceal the affection which I felt, and still feel for -this Erwin, this humble peasant’s son, this undistinguished warrior, -from any one, should any one hereafter think proper to demand my hand. -No! I will avow my passion openly and firmly; and doubtless this -confession will be enough to make my noble suitors abandon a girl, whose -folly sets so little value on illustrious birth and titles handed down -by a long line of ancestors.”— - -Constantia was a little embarrassed in answering these declarations. Not -being in love, she could not easily reconcile the union of two such -names as Erwin Melthal, and Ida, Countess of Werdenberg: yet still she -could not efface from her memory the solemn vows, which had passed -between them; and in particular she could not but lay great stress upon -their having been affianced before the altar of St. Engeltruda; a -transaction, in which she had herself borne so principal a part. However -the sum of her reflections was (though the goodness of her heart made -her sigh, as she confest it) that it was fortunate, that Erwin’s death -had solved all the difficulties, which would otherwise have arisen; and -she could not but fancy, that in this event she saw the hand of -Providence, which had preserved from degradation the honour of the -illustrious House of Werdenberg. - -In the mean while the Bishop and Abbot Conrad were consulting, how they -might best advance the interests of their young favourites. As they were -not influenced by the prejudices, which made the late Countess of -Werdenberg refuse all intercourse with the family of Torrenburg, and as -they laid no stress upon the before-mentioned prophecy, they soon agreed -to take the straight road (which indeed is always the best) and make the -generous Frederick of Torrenburg immediately acquainted with the -existence and adventures of his long-forgotten relations. The Count was -old, and without children; and it was not unlikely, that he would adopt -these orphans, and bring them up as the future heiresses of his domains. -Under this impression they set forward for his Castle, well provided -with letters and other documents to establish the veracity of their -assertions. - -The Abbot has been heard to say, that when the Count was first informed -of the nature of their embassy, he started and turned pale; as the -Bishop proceeded and made the fact certain beyond the possibility of -dispute, this paleness gave place to a burning crimson, and when the -tale was finished, the Count sat for a few moments lost in silent -meditation; circumstances, from which the friends of the two Sisters -augured nothing good to their cause. The event however proved that they -were mistaken in imagining, that the generous Frederick would wilfully -close his eyes against a truth, because it was unpleasant to him; though -what made it so unpleasant to him, they were then at a loss to conceive. - -He bestowed a noble heart-drawn sigh upon the memory of the Countess of -Werdenberg. He blamed her for having suffered her prejudices to -interfere so much with the welfare of her daughters, and engaged to -repair the injury, which she had done them. Accompanied by the two -Prelates he hastened to the Convent of Zurich, and entreated his -new-found relations to make his abode their own. Deep was the emotion -exprest in his honest countenance, when he first saw the Sisters. In -them he beheld renewed in their most brilliant colours the charms of -their mother, whom he had loved so long and so dearly without success; -and he clasped them to his bosom with tears, which he vainly struggled -to conceal. The girls too felt their hearts attracted towards the -excellent man, and found no difficulty in considering him in every -respect as their father. - -They followed him to his Castle with willingness, were grateful for the -kindness which he showed them, nor did it ever enter their thoughts, -that it was in his power to show them more: but the Bishop was extremely -surprised, that although the Count had acknowledged the validity of the -documents which testified their birth, and had adopted them as his -nieces, he made no mention of their being entitled to any part of his -inheritance, nor seemed to have it in his contemplation to bestow them -on proper bridegrooms. - -—“The little eagerness,” said the Abbot, “which the Count shows for the -wedding of his nieces confirms the report, that he is thinking of one -for himself. I have already heard it whispered, that he is attached to a -young person, with whom we are both well acquainted. She is lovely and -virtuous; nobody can blame Count Frederick’s choice, though perhaps some -people may blame him for making at his time of life any choice at all.”— - -—“I am sorry to hear this,” replied the Bishop; “should children spring -from this union, the claims of our wards will be completely -annihilated.”— - -—“In which case will they be made unhappy?” said the Abbot (who thought -liberally on the subject, and to whom the lady, on whom the Count’s -choice was supposed to have fallen, was even more dear than Constantia -and her sister).—“Their rank is acknowledged; the sums left by their -mother in our charge are sufficient to secure them against absolute -want; their desires are moderate; neither will Frederick’s generosity -fail to provide for them in a manner suitable to their station. But to -expect that he should sacrifice the point, on which he grounds the -happiness of his whole future life, in order that his inheritance may -descend unimpaired to these unexpected newcomers, is really more than I -can possibly justify to myself.”— - -This conversation was communicated to the Sisters: they heard it with -indifference. They were too little acquainted with the world to think -much about events, which might affect their future interests, and were -too grateful to their benefactor to wish for more favours from him, than -such as he could grant without injury to his own feelings. But had they -known on _whom_ their uncle’s choice had fallen, they would have offered -up their most fervent prayers for the success of his suit; and would -have looked forward to the wedding-day with as much heart-felt pleasure, -as to any which they had ever witnessed, while they were still the -daughters of old Tell and Inhabitants of the happy Vale of Rutelis. - -In the circle of young women, with whom their near relationship to the -Count of Torrenburg necessarily brought them acquainted, none attracted -their affection so strongly, as the beautiful Elizabeth of March. The -interest, which Ida felt for this charming stranger was shortly -reciprocal: yet it is probable, that Constantia would in the end have -obtained the largest share of Elizabeth’s friendship and confidence, on -account of that winning softness of manner and gentleness of temper, -which made her a much more universal favourite than her gay and -thoughtless sister, had she not thought proper to retire for a while -from the world not long after the commencement of her acquaintance with -Elizabeth. In spite of Ida’s remonstrances, Constantia entreated her -uncle to suffer her to pass some time in the Convent of Zurich, and -easily obtained her request. - -It seems, that lovely as were the Ladies of Werdenberg, and general as -was the admiration which they excited, still there was not so violent a -contest for the possession of their hands, as the good Bishop had -expected. It was known, that they were dowerless orphans; and as their -uncle’s marriage (though not publicly spoken of) was much circulated in -whispers, this event, which was likely to annihilate at once all the -lofty claims of the Sisters, made their admirers think it to the full as -prudent to confine their admiration for the present to their own -breasts. The gentle Constantia alone found in the young Count of -Thuringia one, who would have chosen her as his bride, had she been -still the daughter of the peasant Tell. Constantia on her side felt, how -generous was the youth’s conduct, and could not doubt the sincerity of -his love: her heart inclined her to listen to him: but she could not -consent to break her religious determinations so quickly and so lightly; -and she retired into the Convent, that she might at least weigh the -matter maturely, and try her suitor’s patience and perseverance a little -by the test of time. - -After her departure, the friendship of Elizabeth and Ida acquired -strength daily; though their intercourse was much restricted by Count -Frederick’s evident dissatisfaction at it, which the unsuspecting Ida -attributed to some unaccountable antipathy conceived by her uncle -against her lovely friend. The fact was, that with all his excellent -qualities the Count was not without his weaknesses; among the chief of -which maybe reckoned suspicion, bigotry, and a fondness for mystery even -in the most innocent things. The last induced him carefully to conceal -the proposals which (under the seal of secrecy) he had laid before -Elizabeth’s father: the first, made him fancy, that Ida had fathomed his -purpose, and from interested motives had endeavoured to set her friend -against him; and his superstitious enthusiasm led him to believe that -the best means of obtaining Elizabeth’s heart and hand was to tell his -rosary more frequently than ever, and bestow enormous donations on the -Church. He gave much; he promised more; and those promises were not -breathed in inattentive ears. The Count’s domestic Priest and the -chaplain of the March family found, that their own advantage was -concerned in the accomplishment of Count Frederick’s wishes; and they -held many a secret and serious conference on the means of bringing about -this union. Besides the grand inducement of avarice, Father Hilarius (so -was the priest of Torrenburg named) had additional motives for action. -He looked on the Damsels of Werdenberg with all that aversion, which old -family-servants ever bear to new-comers; whom they generally consider as -intruders, and whom they fear, lest by _their_ influence their own -should be diminished. But with most invincible antipathy did the Monk -regard the gay and thoughtless Ida, who had sometimes indulged her mirth -at his expence, and whom he was determined to expel from her uncle’s -heart, whatever trouble it might cost him. - -Elizabeth by this time had no secrets for Ida. She informed her, that -her parents had promised her hand to a powerful nobleman, and had -ordered her in the most peremptory manner to prepare for the reception -of her future husband, without even condescending to inform her of his -name or situation. However, she was in truth little curious respecting -him, for her heart was already bestowed upon another. - -—“Yes!” said she to Ida, “I love Count Henry of Montfort, and have every -reason to believe, that I am beloved in return most sincerely. Be this -unknown bridegroom whom he may, he will find himself only an object of -aversion in the eyes of Elizabeth of March.”— - -Ida, judging by her own attachment to the deceased Erwin, agreed, that -to banish from the heart the image of an adored lover was quite -impossible: and Elizabeth was so well-pleased with her friend’s mode of -reasoning, that she embraced her with redoubled affection. Ida advised -her by no means to give up Count Henry; and Elizabeth on the other hand -promised solemnly to follow that advice, which was so perfectly in -unison with her own inclinations. - -—“I am grieved to think,” said Elizabeth, “that probably in future we -shall be suffered to meet but seldom! I have already received some -hints, that my parents suspect you of not giving me such counsels, as -they could wish; and yet in the present situation of my affairs it is so -necessary for me to possess some feeling heart, to whom I can apply for -sympathy and advice!—However, we shall still be able to correspond -privately; and those communications may be made in writing, which the -enemies of our friendship forbid us to impart in conversation.”— - -Ida unluckily knew nothing of the art of writing on her first arrival at -the Castle of Torrenburg; and since that time she had made but little -progress under the tuition of Father Hilarius. She blushed, while she -confest this ignorance; however, on examination Elizabeth was of -opinion, that her friend was already sufficiently advanced to answer all -necessary purposes. - -—“I shall require no circumstantial answers from you,” said she; “a -single expressive word will be enough to convey to me your opinion of my -situation, and guide me in my difficulties: a “yes” or “no” will in -general be sufficient to decide my conduct. On my side, I will take care -to write so large a hand that it can be easily read, and to express -myself in a manner that shall be intelligible only to yourself. Then if -you are _quite_ at a loss respecting any part of my letters, you may -show the isolated passage to your chaplain Father Hilarius. He is a -simple good kind of man, whose understanding is not keen enough to -pierce through our mystery, and who may easily be deceived by two young -girls with all their wits about them.”— - -This “simple good kind of man,” as Elizabeth called him, the pious -Father Hilarius, was perfectly astonished at the diligence, with which -Ida now prosecuted her studies under his direction. Hitherto he had -found her a very inattentive pupil, and as long as his lessons lasted, -Ida was accustomed to yawn without intermission: on a sudden she was -seized with the greatest fondness for that, which hitherto had inspired -her with nothing but disgust: she even requested, that an additional -hour’s instruction might be allowed her every day; and as Father -Hilarius was not _quite_ so simple as the girls had imagined, he -concluded, that there must be some secret cause for this unexpected love -of literature. An epistolary intercourse, arising from some love-affair, -naturally suggested itself to his mind; and he determined to watch with -the eyes of an Argus, whether he could not make some discovery to the -prejudice of his detested pupil. - -Ida soon received a pressing invitation to visit Elizabeth; the Count’s -permission was requested; but as he was now on the point of declaring -himself, and conceived that the presence of his lineal heiress could by -no means be advantageous to his suit, that permission was refused. -Elizabeth therefore had recourse to her pen, and Ida soon received the -following letter. - -—“I told you, that I had every reason to think that he loved me: alas! I -fear, that I deceived myself. He knows my situation; knows, how I am -persecuted; and yet he offers no friendly advice for my relief, nay even -seems to decline every opportunity of visiting the Castle. He is at -present with his uncle, who is too closely connected with my parents to -favour an attachment, which would disappoint their views. Perhaps, he -even insists upon Henry’s giving up every thought of me!—The bridegroom -of my father’s choice has not yet revealed himself: I am still ignorant -of all, except that he is rich, powerful, and _old_; but I am threatened -with his speedy arrival, and have been assured, that the day in which I -am presented to him, shall be that of my nuptials.—Write to me, dear -Ida, and say, what course I should follow: the danger is urgent.”— - -The messenger, who brought this letter, waited for an answer: it was -with infinite difficulty, that Ida contrived to scrawl the following -words. - -—“Write to your Henry: if he loves you, he will hasten to your relief.”— - -Several letters followed the foregoing; though Ida was frequently unable -to decypher whole sentences of Elizabeth’s, and Elizabeth was sometimes -completely at a loss to guess the meaning of Ida’s pot-hooks. But the -next letter of any consequence ran as follows— - -—“Though he is the friend of my parents, my lover’s uncle is not my -enemy. He read the letter which I addrest to Henry, and permitted him to -obey it. Henry has done so: Henry is here, and says that he is come to -save me: but how?—Many a bold resolution presents itself to my thoughts, -but all are too desperate to be adopted without advice. Decide for me, -my friend; I will follow your judgment implicitly.”— - -To this, Ida answered—“Fly with your Henry, and take refuge in his -uncle’s Castle. In _your_ situation, _I_ would not have hesitated to -follow Erwin through the world!”— - -This reply was not received, till the Count of Torrenburg had been -presented to Elizabeth as the man, to whom her hand was destined. The -repugnance, with which she listened to his declaration, was too visible -to escape his notice; but as her parents gave him the most solemn -assurances, that her heart (though not yet disposed in his favour) was -still free from any other attachment, he persisted in his addresses. He -persuaded himself, that his assiduities must in the end make him master -of her affections, if once her hand became his property; and he looked -forward with impatience to the nuptial-day, which was already fixed, and -at no great distance. - -Ida’s reply arriving at this critical moment, produced a rejoinder from -her friend, which put her in no slight embarrassment; for the greatest -part of it was totally unintelligible to her. Of Elizabeth’s former -letters she had frequently failed in decyphering the _words_; but in the -present epistle, even where she had overcome that difficulty, the -_sense_ frequently appeared to her as obscure as ever. - -—“Ah! my sweet friend! how precious should I esteem your last advice, -could I but be certain, that in giving it you were prompted by no motive -but affection for Me. You cannot be ignorant, that all mystery is now -laid aside; the dreaded bridegroom is arrived; and doubtless _you_ must -have been made aware of his intentions, long before my parents thought -proper to communicate them to myself. When therefore you counsel me to -shun this marriage by flight, can I avoid apprehending lest -_interest_.... Ah! forgive me these suspicions, dear Ida! I will not -doubt the sincerity of your friendship.—Yet flight is difficult, -dangerous, disgraceful; Henry himself is unwilling to resort to this -clandestine means of rescue! On the other hand, this hated -Bridegroom.... Why do they tell me of his wealth and power? What are -they to _me_? What are the domains of Carlsheim, Torrenburg, and -Sargans, when balanced against Henry’s heart?—I know not what to -do!—Once more, dear Ida! but _once_ more advise me! Lay aside every -interested motive, which might prompt your counselling me to flight; -assure me, that friendship alone dictates your decision; and then if you -still bid me trust my fate to Henry, I will throw myself into his arms, -and bid adieu to the Castle of March.... alas! perhaps for ever!”— - -Again and again did Ida read this letter, and still found herself as far -as ever from understanding it. She would gladly have submitted it to -some more learned head than her own; but her sister was absent, and -prudence forbade her communicating it to the chaplain. Above all, the -line which contained the three difficult words “_Torrenburg_,” -“_Carlsheim_,” and “_Sargans_” set all her skill at defiance; and she -could not but fancy, that were she once mistress of the meaning of that -one line, it would make the rest of the letter quite intelligible.—And -then what harm could there be in showing a stranger that single passage? -The reader would certainly be able to gain but little information from -it; and arguing thus, she cut the passage out of the letter, and -hastened to request Father Hilarius to give her the interpretation. - -Father Hilarius (whose activity was quite indefatigable, when exerted to -find out what could injure his enemies, among whom he numbered the -innocent Ida) already suspected the secret correspondence between his -pupil and Elizabeth. The subject of it, however, was still unknown to -him; but now the whole was as clear as day-light. He read what was shown -to him, guest the remainder, and malicious pleasure sparkled in his -eyes. To put the matter beyond a doubt, he pretended, that it was -impossible to understand the meaning of a passage so detached, and -demanded a sight of the whole epistle. This, however, was refused him: -upon which he declared it to be his opinion, that “the difficult words -in question must be Greek; for _his_ part, he could make neither head -nor tail of them.”— - -Ida went away out of all patience! However, as she could not discover, -that her friend’s situation had undergone any material alteration since -her last letter, she at length determined at all events to send her the -same answer: accordingly the messenger was despatched with a note -containing only——“Flight! instant flight.”— - -Ida’s belief, that the bands of love once formed could never be broken -(together with other romantic notions, which she had imbibed among the -Helvetian mountains, respecting justice and injustice, liberty of the -heart, and suitability in marriage) must plead her excuse for the rash -advice, which in the simplicity of her nature she gave her friend; -advice, which afterwards operated to her prejudice so strongly, that it -nearly ruined her reputation and her whole happiness in life. She -counselled Elizabeth to take that step which (had she been herself the -heroine of the adventure) she would herself undoubtedly have taken: this -was the utmost extent of her error; this, and no more! - -The advice was given; the advice was followed. A few days elapsed, and -she heard, that the whole country was in an uproar. The beautiful -Elizabeth of March had eloped with Henry of Montfort; and her brother -Oswald, assisted by the forces of the Count of Torrenburg, had set -forward in pursuit of the fugitives. - -Ida was delighted to find, that her advice had been carried into -execution with so much success: she only feared, lest the lovers should -be overtaken by their pursuers, among whom she grieved to hear her uncle -numbered; she was still ignorant, how deeply he was interested in this -affair, and concluded that he was actuated to take a part in it by the -friendship, which had so long subsisted between himself and the old -Count of March. - -Her prayers and wishes were half accomplished, half rejected. The lovers -were overtaken: but Count Oswald of March was fondly attached to his -sister; some well-disposed persons kindly interfered; Count Frederick -voluntarily resigned his pretensions; and it was finally resolved, that -the errors of love should be pardoned, and the fugitives united in a -public and customary manner. In truth, no one could deny, that Henry was -a much more suitable partner for the blooming Elizabeth, than her -destined bridegroom, the age-stricken Count of Torrenburg. - -Ida was not long without hearing from her friend: this letter, (the last -which she ever received from Elizabeth,) induced her to take a step, -which filled up the measure of her mischances, and not only deprived her -of the favour of her deceived uncle, but totally ruined her in the -general opinion. - -—“Ida! dear Ida! authoress of all my present happiness! How wise was -your advice! How perfectly has it succeeded! Yet a few days, and I shall -become the wife of Henry. Still I shall feel my pleasure incomplete, -unless I can thank you for it with an embrace on my bridal-day. Come -then, my friend! come to place the garland on my brow[5], and rejoice in -the work of your prudence! You will find your sister with me: it was -easy for her to obtain a dispensation from her Abbess. I rejoice, that -your uncle is now in a distant part of the country, as in the present -moment you would certainly have been refused permission to come to me. -As it is, resolve to brave the hazard of a few frowns at his return; he -will soon forget his displeasure at your witnessing my nuptials, being -totally ignorant of every thing which might seriously make him offended -with you, and which (you may be assured) shall never come to his -knowledge.—But though concealed from all others, the friendly part which -you have acted in this business, shall never be forgotten by the -grateful heart of your Elizabeth. - -Footnote 5: - - This alludes to a custom still preserved in many parts of Germany: the - bride wears a myrtle-wreath during the nuptial-ceremony, and it is - usual for her on the day after her marriage to present this wreath to - that female friend, to whom she is most attached. - -“Then haste to me, my friend! I burn with impatience to make my Henry -known to you: he too is impatient to see the friend of his Betrothed, -the kind adviser, to whom the Happy-ones owe their happiness. I have -resolved, that this wished-for introduction shall take place at the -altar, before which I am to pronounce the nuptial vow. I confess, this -decision is in some degree dictated by selfish motives: were Henry to -see the lovely Ida of Werdenberg, before it is too late for him to -retract with honour, who knows but her charms might make him faithless -to the less fair Elizabeth?—Ah! dearest Ida, you are conscious, that I -do but jest; I know well the heart of my friend, and the honour of my -lover! Forgive then the fantastic humours of a girl already half wild -with her happiness, and refuse not to make by your presence that -happiness still greater.”— - -A great part of this letter was as little understood by Ida as the -former one; however, she took good care not to employ the Chaplain to -explain the meaning. She doubted not his opposing her departure for the -Castle of March, since her uncle (though for what reason she could not -imagine) would disapprove of her visit; and in the Count’s absence she -was totally under the direction of Father Hilarius. Ida therefore -contented herself with understanding from the letter, that she was -invited to a wedding, at which the successful counsels which she had -given (together with other friendly services which she had rendered the -happy pair) would make _her_ an important personage; at which she should -meet her sister Constantia, and doubtless many other of her youthful -friends; and where she should exhibit her beauty to the best advantage, -and should dress, dance, sing, and laugh, as she had frequently done on -similar occasions on the blooming lawn of Rutelis. This was enough for -her to know, and to determine her proceedings. On the appointed day -Elizabeth sent a small body of attendants to wait for her friend in a -wood at no great distance from the Castle of Torrenburg. Ida failed not -to join them there; and without bidding adieu to Father Hilarius, she -very quietly set forward for the Castle of March. - -She reached it in safety, and soon found herself clasped in the arms of -her delighted friend. There too she had the happiness of once more -embracing Constantia. The two Sisters past the intervening time between -their arrival and the wedding-day with Elizabeth in her apartment; where -(according to the custom of our times) on such occasions no man was -permitted to show himself, not even the bridegroom. - -The important day arrived. Followed by her lovely companions, herself -the most lovely, Elizabeth with trembling steps and a fluttering heart -approached the altar, where Henry of Montfort waited her arrival. Ida -now stepped forward; she threw back her veil, and prepared to fasten the -wreath of Innocence among the golden ringlets of her friend: a similar -garland hung on her arm, with which she was afterwards to present the -bridegroom. Occupied entirely with the task of decorating Elizabeth, she -had not yet cast her eyes on young Montfort; she had not observed, that -he started on beholding her; she had not heard the name of “_Rosanna_,” -which escaped from his trembling lips. She now turned to him for the -purpose of offering him the other wreath; she already extended her hand; -when fixing her eyes on his countenance, she uttered a cry expressive at -once of the utmost surprise and terror, attempted but in vain to -pronounce the name of Erwin Melthal, and would have sank upon the -ground, had not Constantia rushed forward and received her in her -supporting arms. - -Constantia still wore the habit of a Nun; the altar was adorned exactly -in the same manner, and the blazing lamps shed the same mysterious light -along the fretted roots and gloomy arches, as on that day when Erwin and -Rosanna knelt at the shrine of St. Engeltruda, poured forth the most -solemn vows of eternal fidelity, and heard Constantia devote the breaker -of those vows to unceasing shame and sorrow.—Erwin Melthal (or rather -Henry of Montfort, for alas! they formed but one) had long believed the -lovely Sisters to be no more the inhabitants of earth: Constantia on the -other hand was in the same error respecting Erwin. The sudden appearance -of one, whom she had long since numbered with the dead, imprest upon her -countenance something of that serious, that strangely awful expression, -which struck him so forcibly, when she united his hand with Rosanna’s in -the Chapel of Engelberg. He recollected her words—“Should either of you -rend asunder the bonds, with which I now unite your fates for ever, that -instant shall my form (be I living, or be I dead) stand before you -threatening and awful, to reproach you with your crimes.”—These -recollections, and the unexpected appearance of the Sisters, at the very -moment when he was on the point of giving his hand to another, made him -consider the whole scene as a supernatural vision! He believed, that the -forms which stood before him, were creatures of another world; his brain -was unable to support the shock; the surrounding objects floated before -his eyes, his senses forsook him, and he sank without animation at the -feet of his astonished bride. - - - END OF THE THIRD VOLUME. - - - - - PRINTED BY D. N. SHURY, BERWICK-STREET, SOHO. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - ● Transcriber’s Notes: - ○ Errata listed in volume IV have been applied to this volume. - ○ Missing or obscured punctuation was silently corrected. - ○ Typographical errors were silently corrected. - ○ Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only - when a predominant form was found in this book. - ○ Text that was in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_). - - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FEUDAL TYRANTS, VOLUME 3 (OF -4) *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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