to obtain his acquaintance, was never to be found; he, who even now that
they were at length known to each other, seemed by no means eager to
cultivate a closer intercourse with the family of Venosta, from the time
of our first meeting presented himself before _me_ almost every day. If
I sought the neighbouring church, it always so happened that he had
chosen exactly the same hour for paying his devotions—if I sat in my
balcony, he was sure to ride past the Castle—at the rural feasts, for
which among our vassals an excuse was never wanting, and from which I
dared not absent myself through fear of mortifying the good people,
Ethelbert’s hand was always offered to conduct me to the dance. At
length it so chanced, that I was under the necessity of confessing that
it was to him, that I owed the preservation of my life. One evening as I
was proceeding towards the Castle in the twilight, a procession of
villagers, returning from a wedding, happened to cross my path,
accompanied by a variety of instruments which produced the most noisy
and discordant sounds imagiable. The white banners fluttering before the
eyes of my palfrey, and the clattering cymbals which stunned her ears,
caused her to take fright and set off at full speed; and in all
probability she would have dashed with me from the brow of a
neighbouring precipice, to which she was hastening, had not Count
Ethelbert fortunately heard my shrieks. He rescued me from my danger,
and in return had the happiness (as he called it) to accompany me back
to the Castle, and took an opportunity to make by the way a declaration
of the most passionate affection.
Another time, late at night I was alarmed by a fire breaking out in my
anti-chamber, and the flames spread with sufficient rapidity to make me
swoon through terror. When I recovered, I found myself supported by
Count Ethelbert, who advised me to save myself by flight from the
threatening danger, and seemed perfectly ready to assist me in putting
his advice in execution. However, as I had now regained my presence of
mind sufficiently to see, that there was no absolute necessity for
taking such a step, my flight extended no further than to my uncle’s
chamber, whither I requested to be conveyed without delay.
Leopold received my preserver with marked coldness, and concluded his
expressions of gratitude with enquiring—“by what strange though
fortunate accident he had arrived there so speedily and so exactly at
the time, when his assistance was most wanted?”—Ethelbert in his answer
talked much of the good angels who watch over the favourites of Heaven,
which my uncle heard without any great appearance of satisfaction; and
as soon as the Count of Carlsheim had taken his departure, I received a
very serious lecture respecting him. My uncle was inclined to believe,
that the accident which had lately alarmed my palfrey, and the fire
which had thrown me under Ethelbert’s protection, were both devices
intended to bind me to him by the chains of gratitude. It was at least
certain, that no sooner had my accident taken place, than the bridal
procession disappeared; and the fire had done no other damage, than
consuming part of the arras with which my anti-chamber was hung.
—“If the Count of Carlsheim is anxious to win your affections,” said my
uncle, “why does he not take the straight road to obtain them? why does
he not explain his views respecting you to _me_? there was a time, when
I should not have refused you to him, and in which I intended to have
done an act of justice by making him once more lord over the possessions
of his ancestors, by giving him the hand of Urania, the future heiress
of Carlsheim and Sargans.”—
I knew not, what intelligence or what observations could have induced
Count Leopold (who was generally so much inclined to think well of every
one) so soon to view Ethelbert’s actions in an unfavourable light. As
for myself, I gave these accusations by no means implicit confidence;
and I strove to find excuses for the conduct of a man, who every time
that I saw him made a stronger impression on my heart, and who daily
rendered it more difficult for me to suspect him of any thing wrong.
Ethelbert of Carlsheim was unfortunate, and had been deprived of the
greatest part of those possessions, which ought to have been his birth
right; this alone would have been a sufficient reason for my viewing him
with interest; but how much was that interest increased by the
discovery, that he employed the little power, which he still possest, in
relieving the misfortunes of others; and that by the protection which he
granted the opprest, he had himself incurred the animosity of many
powerful foes? what could be more noble and more generous than such a
proceeding, and how was it possible to suppose, that a man who could act
thus, could ever deserve the most distant appearance of suspicion?
Edith, Countess of Mayenfield, was compelled to fly from her castle, by
her bitter enemy the ambitious Abbot of St. Gall: she was a widow, and
there were suspicions (and those no slight ones) that she was indebted
for the removal of her husband to a present of wine from the cellar of
this dignified prelate. Willingly would he have also sacrificed the
unprotected lady, who was the more dangerous obstacle to the enjoyment
of his hopes, inasmuch as she was daily expected to produce a child,
which (if a son) would be entitled to the whole possessions of his
deceased father.
Edith therefore was compelled to seek safety in flight; the time of her
delivery was near; she was beset with enemies on all sides; nor could
she doubt what would be the fate of herself and her offspring, should he
fall into the Abbot’s hands. In this dreadful situation she summoned up
all her courage, and under the protecting mantle of the night employed
the only means of saving herself from destruction, which the severity of
her fate had now left her. Her wearied horses refused to bear her
further, and she was still far distant from the place, in which she
hoped to find shelter and assistance. She doubted not, that the Abbot
would pursue her; not a moment was to be lost; she quitted her litter,
and resolved to prosecute her painful way on foot, unaccompanied except
by her orphan daughter, the young and lovely Minna. She ordered her
attendants to pursue their journey with as much diligence as possible,
hoping by this artifice to lead her pursuers astray. As for herself, she
determined to conceal herself in the depth of the forest, thinking she
should find there some retired cottage, in which she might recover
herself from anxiety and fatigue, and give birth in tranquil security to
her unfortunate fatherless infant. As to being betrayed to her tyrant,
she was too well acquainted with the honest and benevolent temper of the
inhabitants of these mountains to harbour any apprehensions on that
head.
The paths through which she wandered were solitary. At length the
trampling of a steed was heard; and soon after a knight, unaccompanied,
presented himself before the unfortunate lady, who, supported by the
powerless hand of the youthful Minna, was scarcely able to prevent
herself from sinking on the ground: this solitary knight was Count
Ethelbert; he was returning from the chace, and had sent his attendants
forward.
The Countess of Mayenfield found it unnecessary to represent to him, how
much her situation required assistance, or to explain her name and the
dangers which still menaced her. Before she had time to request his
services, Ethelbert was already occupied in serving her: his pealing
horn soon collected his attendants round him. A slight but easy litter
was constructed with all diligence; and before an hour elapsed, the
fugitives rejoiced to find themselves within the sheltering walls of a
castle, whose strength was capable of defying the malice of their
enemies, in case they should attempt to deprive them forcibly of their
friendly retreat.
It so happened that Count Venosta also had dedicated this same day to
the chace: the sport had enticed him to a distance from home. Midnight
had long been past; and I still sat at my spinning wheel surrounded by
my maidens, waiting with most anxious expectation for my uncle’s return.
A thousand painful thoughts and confused images glanced across my
imagination, in which, as usual, Count Ethelbert was not forgotten;
suddenly the folding doors of my chamber were thrown open, and the
object of my thoughts stood before me, almost breathless through haste
and anxiety.
—“Dear lady,” said he, “I come to ask a boon of you. A guest of no mean
rank has arrived at my castle, and there is no female there to bid her
welcome: a litter waits at your door; suffer me to entreat that you will
let it convey you to my residence.”—
—“Sir Knight, are you in your senses? This extraordinary request....”—
—“Is the boldest, the most unpardonable, that fancy can imagine: but
judge by the want of preparation with which I propose it, how urgent is
the necessity for its being gratified without delay.—”
The Count of Carlsheim had by no means chosen the most fortunate moment
for obtaining any favour at all from me, much less one of so
extraordinary a nature. In solitude I had reflected calmly and seriously
on my uncle’s warning: the frightened palfrey, and the fire so easily
extinguished, came into my head; and the uneasiness in which Count
Venosta’s absence had obliged me to pass the last hours, by no means
inclined me to view these circumstances so much to Ethelbert’s advantage
as usual: at that moment I saw him with my uncle’s eyes; and of course
this proposal appeared to me as nothing but a most bare-faced attempt on
my lover’s part to betray me into his power.
—“You are offended?” said Ethelbert, who read displeasure strongly
painted on my every feature; “well then! I must have recourse to a more
eloquent pleader.”—
Saying this, he hastened into the anti-chamber, and returned with a
little beautiful child, whose countenance expressed the deepest anxiety
and sorrow, and whose blue eyes filled with tears strengthened the
impression, which was made on me by her unexpected appearance.
—“Ah! dear good lady!” said the little mourner, while she sank on her
knees before me, and kist my hand; “I entreat you, do what this knight
requests of you! My mother and myself are alone in a gloomy castle,
where there are none but stern-looking men, with great beards and heavy
swords; and my mother is so very ill! and she asked so anxiously, ‘was
there no lady who would comfort and assist her in her sickness!’ and
then this knight who saved us from dying in the forest, answered, that
he knew a lady whom he loved as his sister, and that he would bring her
to my mother, if she could be persuaded to follow him; and then he took
me along with him, that I might help to prevail on you to come and be
kind to my poor mother: and now I am here, you _will_ be prevailed on; I
am sure of it, because you look on me so kindly! Come, dear good lady!
Come!”—
I kist the pretty suppliant without thoroughly comprehending what it was
that she requested me to do, and cast an inquiring look upon Ethelbert.
He related his adventure with the Countess of Mayenfield in so
interesting a manner, that it was impossible for me to hesitate a moment
longer, as to what course I should pursue. Indeed, the history of this
unfortunate lady was not unknown to me, when Ethelbert mentioned her
name: her misfortunes had for some time been the general subject of
conversation, and had already cost me many a sympathising tear, and many
an ardent wish to find some means of giving her assistance.
I was deaf to all the suggestions of prudence, and threw myself into the
litter, wishing that I could have given the horses wings, so eager was I
to reach the illustrious sufferer. My nurse accompanied me; a discreet
and benevolent woman, who was likely to be of much more use to the
Countess than myself. So completely was I occupied by my anxiety for the
poor lady, that I scarcely paid any attention to Ethelbert’s tender
expressions of gratitude, or to the representations of my nurse, who
hinted to me with some appearance of discontent, that I had acted with
rather too much rashness in this business; she assured me, that _her_
presence at the Castle of Carlsheim would be quite sufficient without my
giving myself the trouble to go there; and she confest, that she thought
Count Venosta would have good reason to be offended at finding on his
return home, that I had quitted his house during his absence with a
young knight, in spite of darkness and an heavy fall of snow.
We reached the Castle; the sight of us served to give new life to the
exhausted lady, who surrounded by none but men had met with but sorry
attendance. She embraced me, and called me by the tender name of sister.
I soon confided her to the care of my nurse, and quitted her chamber for
the purpose of making arrangements for her treatment; and I gave my
directions in a tone of as much earnestness, as had I been in my uncle’s
castle. Anxiety about the Countess made me take the whole business upon
my own hands; I saw nothing extraordinary in what I was doing, and could
by no means conceive, why Count Ethelbert’s people examined me with
looks of such surprise; nor why he was himself always by my side,
expressing the most excessive delight and satisfaction at every thing
that I did, and loading me with such a profusion of thanks, that it was
utterly impossible for me to ascribe them all to the interest, which he
felt about his unfortunate guest.
Before day-break, Edith became the mother of a boy; and never did any
other mother feel equal rapture with hers, when for the first time she
prest him to her bosom. In this new-born babe she embraced not merely
her child, but the future conqueror of her foes, and the preserver of
her family. Nothing more than the birth of this boy was necessary to
destroy every claim of the avaricious Abbot of St. Gall upon Mayenfield,
and reduce him to the condition of a feudal dependent. Count Ethelbert
on _his_ part neglected not to spread abroad the news of the birth of a
young Count of Mayenfield, and to invite through his heralds both
friends and foes to convince themselves by their eyes of the existence
of this infant nobleman.
Count Venosta had experienced no trifling anxiety on being informed of
my midnight excursion, the motive of which no one was able to explain to
his satisfaction. He determined to examine into the real nature of the
transaction himself; accordingly the first sunbeams saw him cross the
draw-bridge of Ethelbert’s castle, accompanied by his whole train of
hunters, whom he had ordered to hold themselves prepared for a serious
engagement, in case the nature of things should make it necessary to
come to hostilities.
The Count of Carlsheim was already abroad, employed in business which
regarded the adventure of the past night. My uncle found me sitting by
the bed-side of the newly-delivered Countess, whose ardent thanks for
the assistance, which I had afforded her, instantly removed every trace
of anger from his brow; and the severe lecture which he intended to
bestow on me, was softened into a gentle remonstrance against my acting
in general with too much precipitation.
Ethelbert returned; he shared with my uncle and myself the office of
presenting the new-born heir of Mayenfield at the baptismal fount, and
we gave the child its father’s name, Ludolf. From motives of propriety,
we were all anxious to remove the invalid (who earnestly entreated me
not to abandon her) to my uncle’s castle; but she was at first too weak
to bear the journey, and I was under the necessity of submitting for
some time longer to act as the mistress of Count Ethelbert’s castle.
Now then affairs wore that appearance, which I am convinced it had
always been my lover’s plan to give them. Doubtless had he thought
proper, he might have contrived to show his fair guest all the duties of
hospitality without any interference of mine: but he eagerly made use of
the opportunity which presented itself, to draw me into a more intimate
connection. He endeavoured to convince me by his reliance on my humanity
of the esteem which he entertained for _my_ character; and at the same
time he hoped to inspire me with a favourable opinion of his own, by
making me a daily witness of the noble treatment which he afforded to a
stranger, who had no claim to his protection except her need of it, and
who could make him no other return for his kindness, except the
involving _him_ in her own difficulties and dangers.
Ethelbert’s plan succeeded with me completely, and even my uncle began
to view him in a more favourable light. Both were equally interested
about the Countess, and swore to exert themselves to the utmost in
endeavouring to reinstate her and her new-born son in the rights, which
were still detained from them by the Abbot of St. Gall; the similarity
of their objects naturally induced a sort of confidence between them;
and Ethelbert lost no opportunity of turning this confidence to the best
account. Perhaps he already reckoned himself on the point of obtaining
that, which had long been the mark at which he aimed, though he had
never acknowledged it in words; namely, the possession of my hand: but
my uncle soon gave a fresh proof, that at present he by no means looked
forward to, or desired a connection between the families of Carlsheim
and Venosta.
The history of my nocturnal journey (many gave it the name of an
elopement,) had not been kept a secret; the situation of the Countess’s
affairs made it necessary for her to receive several strangers; they
always found me at her side, saw that I acted as the mistress of Count
Ethelbert’s house, and the remarks to which all this gave occasion were
frequently by no means to my credit. Some asserted, that I was already
betrothed to the Lord of Carlsheim; others fabricated out of facts and
guesses such a story, as offended my feelings too severely to admit of
my repeating it here, and which no sooner came to my uncle’s knowledge,
than he resolved at all events to remove me from so unusual a situation.
The invalid was now sufficiently recovered to bear the fatigue of a
journey; and an abode in the house of the potent Count Venosta was
likely to furnish her both with more consequence and security, than she
could expect to find at the Castle of Carlsheim.
My uncle and Ethelbert looked gloomily; my heart was heavy and sad: the
fair Edith of Mayenfield alone exprest in words, what no one else was
willing to declare to the other.
—“Oh! Heaven,” she cried at taking leave of him, who had till then been
her protector, while she prest mine and Ethelbert’s hands fast together,
between her own “unite these two noblest souls, with which you ever
blest humanity: this is the best recompense for such generosity and such
disinterested friendship, as I have experienced from them both!”—
Edith’s expressive eyes were directed towards heaven; Ethelbert and
myself blushed as we gazed on each other, without being able to
pronounce a syllable. Methought, Ethelbert _should_ have spoken on this
occasion;—but he was silent.
The Countess was long our guest. Open feud was declared between her
defenders and the obstinate Abbot of St. Gall, who was worsted in every
skirmish without ever being entirely subdued. The contest was carried on
for a considerable time: in the mean while my uncle (to whom age
advanced with steps so lingering, that no one could easily have guest
his years) discovered, that the charms of the fair widow were still of
great power: yet perhaps it was I, to whom the idea first suggested
itself, that an union between them would be productive of happiness on
both sides. I soon observed, that my hints were far from disagreeable to
either party; and I exulted in the hope of soon beholding my friend and
my benefactor united in a new course of domestic happiness.
When I imparted my designs to Count Ethelbert, (who was now a frequent
visitor at our castle) he listened to me with the greatest astonishment.
His countenance at this moment assumed an expression, which I had never
seen it wear before.
—“Lady!” said he, “am I awake, or dreaming?—An union, which must deprive
you of your fairest expectations, and will put a stranger in possession
of all those rights which ought to be your own, is such an union
contrived by yourself?”—
—“And when did Count Ethelbert,” I answered with a look of surprise not
inferior to his own, “when did Count Ethelbert discover the least trace
of selfishness in my character? it is impossible, that such mean
considerations should really hold a place in his bosom; or is this only
intended as a trial of his friend?”—
He bit his lip, and was for some time silent. My eyes were fixed upon
him steadily; and it was long, before he could recover himself
sufficiently to assume a different air, and explain to me, that in an
affair in which he had not personally the slightest concern, he could
only be anxious about my interest; and he advanced many arguments to
prove, that the most noble and generous soul might feel very differently
on occasions which regarded his friend, than he would have felt in
affairs, which only related to himself.
I believed every thing that Ethelbert told me; in fact he was soon after
complaisant enough to allow, that my reasons were not entirely without
weight, and at length even went so far as to declare that on
consideration it appeared to him very possible, that an union between
the Count Venosta and the widow of Ludolf of Mayenfield might be an
advantageous event for _all_ parties. He also promised, that as soon as
the next expedition against the Abbot of St. Gall should have taken
place, he would come to my assistance, and use every power of entreaty
and persuasion to forward this connection, which I so ardently desired.
This expedition was directed against one of the Castles, which our
common enemy detained from its rightful owner; on the morning appointed
for its taking place, out forces set out before daybreak, in pursuit of
a victory of which they reckoned themselves secure.
My friend and myself had already seen our heroes return victorious from
their excursions too often, to make us think it necessary to accompany
their departure with signs and expressions of anxiety. We had exactly
ascertained the time, when we might expect them back, and had laid a
plan (with the assistance of such warriors as were left behind) for
receiving them with all the pageantry and honours of conquest. A
procession of knights and ladies was intended to welcome them on their
return, and at the head of the joyous band was to wave a banner adorned
with mottos and emblems; this gorgeous ornament was to be embroidered by
our own hands, and our needles were plyed with unwearied industry, in
order that it might be finished at the appointed time.
While engaged at this delightful and now half completed task,
infrequently termed the lovely Edith in jest “my most venerable aunt;”
and in revenge she embroidered upon a vacant shield the united initials
of Ethelbert and Urania. By degrees our discourse took a more serious
turn. She declared to me her surprise at Ethelbert’s persisting in not
publicly declaring his love for me, a circumstance which had long been
the cause of much secret uneasiness and curiosity to myself. She assured
me also, that she had no wish more ardent in becoming Countess of
Vonosta, than to be authorized to insist on an explanation from the
bashful knight (as she called the Count of Carlsheim,) and to become the
instrument of accomplishing his happiness and mine.
It was at this moment, that a sudden noise in the court of the Castle
interrupted our work and our discourse. We sprang from our seats: the
trampling of horses would have led us to suppose, that our lovers were
returned, had so speedy a termination of their business been possible.
We bade our maidens hasten to enquire the news, and flew ourselves to
the window in order to learn (if possible), with our own eyes, what had
happened.
Instantly the Countess started back with a loud shriek, and fainted; nor
was my own condition much better on beholding in the court a single
warrior covered with blood, and holding two unmounted horses, whose
trappings spoke too plainly the fate of their riders!
—“What has happened?” I cried from the balcony, in a voice half choaked
by anxiety.
—“Ah! noble lady!” answered the messenger, “my lord your uncle ... the
Count of Carlsheim too ... an ambuscade among the mountains ... both
taken prisoners ... help! help for heaven’s sake!”—
Our people hastened to assist the soldier, who seemed to be desperately
wounded, and could scarcely hold himself upright through loss of blood;
the agony, which this news occasioned me, instead of overpowering me
like my friend, gave me additional strength, and I lost not a moment in
hastening to attempt the rescue of our knights. I directed the
preparations myself, and before an hour had elapsed, all the warriors
whom my uncle had left behind to protect the Castle, were completely
armed and ready to set out. I determined to head them myself; and being
accoutred in a light suit of armour, I hastened to bid farewell to my
afflicted friend (whom I had committed to the care of her women), and to
comfort her with the hope of my returning crowned with success.