once looked upon as an angel of light; and I recollected several hints
of the old Seneschal, which seemed to imply a suspicion similar to that
of Minna. Yet the fact appeared to me in a light too dreadful to admit
of my giving it implicit confidence; and I judged it prudent to
contradict it with my lips, though in my heart I could not help
dreading, that the accusation was but too well-grounded.
Alas! it was not long, before I was thoroughly convinced, that my
husband was capable of many a deed, of which during the happy days of my
love-sick delusion I would have asserted his innocence with an oath, and
have suffered the weight of his guilt to have been charged upon my own
conscience! Alas! it was not long, before I had but too much reason to
confess, that there was no impossibility in his having been concerned in
that perfidious act, which his innocent accuser had alleged against him.
The persons, who had been the original means of bringing me acquainted
with the Count of Carlsheim (an acquaintance which I already began to
consider as a misfortune), the Abbot and Prior of Cloister-Curwald had
been maintained in their rights by my good uncle; and under his powerful
protection they lived in harmony with their monks from the time of my
interference. However, no sooner had the jurisdiction of this monastery
been made over by Count Venosta to my husband, than discontent and
rebellion began to resume their influence over the younger monks, who
felt themselves opprest by the restraints imposed on them by their
virtuous superiors. Often did Abbot Christian, when I knelt before him
in his confessional, return my confidence by an acknowledgment of his
secret sorrows, and explain his melancholy forebodings of what would be
his convent’s future fate, in a manner that touched me to the very
heart. But I was myself too weak to assist the venerable man; my husband
was deaf to my entreaties; and Count Venosta was at too great a distance
to admit of any good effects being produced by my applying to him.
It was long past midnight, that I once happened to be sitting alone in
my chamber, expecting my husband’s return from a carousal at a
neighbouring Baron’s; and I was endeavouring to prepare myself for the
painful scenes, which seldom failed to follow such entertainments.
Suddenly Gertrude entered the room with a terrified countenance, and
informed me that having seen from her window which overlooked the garden
some dark-looking figures, whose appearance was made still more terrific
by the contrast of the newly-fallen snow, she had descended to examine
what they really were; and that she had found it necessary to admit into
my anti-chamber the persons, who had given her so causeless an alarm.
—“Do not be terrified!” said she, “they are only poor afflicted spirits,
who hope for relief from your hands.”—
I was too well acquainted with the friendly anxiety of my faithful
attendant to spare me pain, and prepare me for unpleasant news by the
manner in which she related it, to be deceived by her assurance, that I
had nothing to fear. I waited for the appearance of these strangers with
a beating heart. What was my surprise at recognizing the excellent Abbot
of Cloister-Curwald, the venerable Matthias, and several other of the
most respectable monks, whose evident consternation already seemed to
implore my assistance, before they yet had time to give their petition
words.
—“Oh! dear good lady,” exclaimed the Abbot, “we are undone! the dreaded
storm has burst, and we must all be the prey of death, unless _you_ can
find means of preserving us! This morning while officiating at the
altar, we were seized in the name of our liege-lord, the Count of
Carlsheim, and imprisoned in a subterraneous dungeon. Our appeal to the
Bishop of Coira was treated with derision; and we collected from some
suspicious remarks of our jailor, that our doom would be finally
determined, long before our appeal could be made to a superior
jurisdiction. Alas! we know but too well, what _can_ be done in
convents! The fore-warnings of approaching death presented themselves on
all sides; the noise of revelry resounding from the chambers above us
increased our anxiety! What had we not to fear from the rage and
malignity of these intoxicated monks!—Fortunately, one of my secret
friends found means to gain admittance to our dungeon, and explain to us
the real and pressing danger of our situation. It seems, that the
enemies of order and of virtue are protected by the Count of Carlsheim;
he was himself assisting at the dissolute entertainment; and probably at
this moment we should no longer have been numbered among the living, had
not the friend who brought us this intelligence, secretly assisted us to
escape from the convent, and accompanied us in our flight. Now then our
life is in your hands; save us, dear lady, either by softening your
husband through your entreaties, or by pointing out to us some place of
concealment. To you alone could we have recourse; had we sought any
other refuge, we must surely have been overtaken before we could have
reached it.”—
—“Save you by entreaties?” I exclaimed, while I hastened to unclose a
door conducting to my baths; “entreaties to Count Ethelbert? Instant
flight is your only chance for safety! Follow me, father! Follow me, and
lose not a moment!”—
I hastened onwards, and conducted the trembling monks through a long
subterraneous passage, unknown to all in the Castle except myself and
the faithful Gertrude. The outlet was in the mountains; and here I
quitted the fugitives, convinced that they would easily find their way
through the intricate passes, with which the Prior Matthias was
perfectly well acquainted, having frequently traversed them in his
botanical pursuits.
Half of the night was consumed in this employment. On my return, I found
the furious Ethelbert waiting for me in my apartment, and immediately a
tremendous storm of rage burst over my devoted head. Convinced that my
friends were now in safety, I attempted not to conceal my share in the
transaction; and when he loaded me with insults, I replied to him by
reminding him of the promise which he had formerly given me, to protect
the opprest Abbot in the preservation of his rights, a promise which he
had so shamefully broken. Truth and justice were on my side, but power
was on that of my adversary. There was no one to hear me, and judge
between Count Ethelbert and myself; he was the strongest; the reward of
my remonstrances was the most unworthy treatment, and my chamber became
my prison.
The vassals, who loved me, exclaimed against such an act of violence, as
soon as they understood by means of Gertrude, how cruelly I was treated;
but Ethelbert’s art soon succeeded in giving another colour to the
transaction. He justified his severity by accusing me of a shameful
intrigue with the banished Abbot of Cloister-Curwald. His assertions
were so positive, that they soon produced the desired effect; and it was
without any violent agitation, that the peasants a few days after saw me
conducted away under a strong guard, no one knew whither; nothing gave
me more pain in this abrupt departure than being deprived of the only
comfort which was still left me, the society of my faithful Gertrude,
and of my young friend, the Damsel of Mayenfield.
One man alone, one of the most distinguished inhabitants of that
quarter, a man who breathed the true spirit of Helvetic courage, and of
love of freedom, Henric Melthal alone dared openly to blame the
proceedings of my tyrant. He spread his own noble sentiments around him,
and communicated his feelings to his companions with a success, which
might have rescued me from my bondage, had not Count Ethelbert resolved
to withdraw me from public attention without a moment’s delay.
On the other side of the mountain of Halsberg, near the lake of Thun,
stands an old Castle belonging to the family of Ravenstein, a family
which has been in alliance with the Counts of Carlsheim and Sargans
since time immemorial. At the period of which I am now treating, it was
entirely deserted. The owner resided in a remote part of Italy, where he
had lived on terms of intimacy with Ethelbert; and having himself no
occasion for this mouldering castle, he consigned the use of it to his
friend the Count of Carlsheim; the use to which the Count applied it,
was the only one for which it now appeared to be adapted, the
confinement of the innocent.
Tedious and fearful was the way which conducted me to my destined abode;
but the place itself, which I looked upon as my eternal prison, far
exceeded all the horrors, which had struck my imagination so forcibly
while approaching it. It was an antient fortress, perched high on the
brow of a precipice like an eagle’s nest, which now received the
unfortunate Urania. The peculiar form of its architecture announced it
to have been raised in the time of Charlemagne; and the incessant
howling of the storm, and raging of the billows seemed with every moment
to threaten its downfall. I saw it from a distance seemingly suspended
on the very brink of a steep and barren rock, which overhung the Lake,
and I shuddered, when my conductors pointed it out as my future
dwelling!
Fool that I was! I flew with rapture into the arms of Ethelbert, where I
expected to find an earthly paradise and was deceived: with agony, keen
as that of the dying, did I enter Ravenstein Castle ... and was deceived
again! Ah! will short-sighted mortals never succeed in comprehending,
that that which _appears_, and that which _is_, but rarely coincide?
Yet, when we have experienced these deceptions twice or thrice, the
experience makes us in future calm and resigned; and we acquire from it
that indifference which raises us above the frowns and smiles of
fortune, and enables us to repress with equal strength groundless
apprehensions and unavailing wishes.
During the first days of my confinement I was in truth most wretched. My
situation was rendered almost insupportable by the want of every
convenience and comfort, and by the tediousness of unbroken solitude. I
sighed after society of any kind, even though it had been such as (to
judge from its outward appearance) would have promised me but little
entertainment.
Some days had thus elapsed, when I observed through the bars of my
closely-grated window, that a boy apparently between three and four
years old, was sometimes suffered to amuse himself by playing in the
neglected garden, which I was myself forbidden to visit. The innocent
gaiety of the child made an impression on me, which frequently filled my
eyes with tears.
—“Happy unthinking creature!” I exclaimed, wringing my hands in the
bitterness of grief, “this garden appears to you a paradise, because you
know none better. You are poor, forsaken, perhaps menaced by a thousand
dangers which every moment brings nearer; but you see them not! Regret
for the past troubles you as little as anxiety for the future; and it
were difficult for a monarch with all his power to make you more happy,
than you are even now! Oh! that I were like you. Oh! that at least I
could clasp you in my arms, and learn from your sweet smile the art of
smiling though in prison!”—
My wish to become more intimate with the happy trifler was too ardent to
remain concealed. I entreated my jailor to gratify me with a nearer
sight of him, and after a few difficulties I was at length permitted to
receive the little Ludolf in my gloomy chamber.
—“Ludolf?” I exclaimed, when the child first told me his name—“Ludolf?”
I repeated still more anxiously, while I examined his features, and
fancied that I could trace a resemblance, which excited hopes in my
bosom so sweet that I trembled to indulge them.
What then was my emotion, when the lovely boy convinced me that this was
not the first time of our meeting, by naming as his mother, “Edith of
Mayenfield!”
Yes! this dear, this long-lost friend was like myself an inmate of this
place of terror! I breathed the same air with her; I was allowed to
hope, that every succeeding day would afford me an opportunity of
beholding her: the pleasure, which I felt from these reflections, was
too great to admit of my observing, that Count Ethelbert’s confining me
in the same place with a captive, whom he had secured in a manner so
treacherous, was a proof that he designed my imprisonment to be eternal.
Whatever might have originally been his motives for treating us with
such severity, it was at least certain, that he would not permit either
to regain her liberty, lest she should discover the mystery of his
inhuman conduct, or take measures for rescuing from his power her
companion in misfortune.
Considerations of this kind did not at first suggest themselves; I felt
nothing but the joy of being once more united to my friend, an event
which I now looked forward to with the most eager expectation. Heaven
knows, it would have been no trifling comfort to me, had I met with the
most insignificant of created beings, would but that being have listened
to me with compassion, and endeavoured to soothe me in the paroxisms of
my despair; but to dare to hope that Edith would now be my comforter in
this dreary prison, oh! who can express the countless sources of
satisfaction, which that single thought contained!
But alas! the completion of my hopes was not so easy as I expected. The
Countess of Mayenfield was confined not less closely than myself; and
our jailor was not to be prevailed on to depart in one single instance
from the instructions of his inhuman lord. Yet methinks this man was not
cruel by nature. Perhaps, it grieved him to be compelled to treat us
with so much harshness; but he made it a point of conscience to adhere
in the most punctual manner to the oath, which (as he frequently assured
me, in answer to my complaints and reproaches) he had been compelled to
give to the Count of Carlsheim.
—“You see,” said he, “that where ever it is in my power, I refuse no
indulgence. I received no particular command respecting the child’s
imprisonment, who was delivered to my custody at the same time with his
mother, and therefore I allow him to enjoy all those advantages, from
which I am compelled to debar her and yourself. Neither was it forbidden
me to furnish the Countess of Mayenfield with such sources of mental
amusement, as might beguile her solitary hours. She has a variety of
books, has her spinning-wheel and her embroidery frame; if she chuses
it, she may lay these aside, and employ herself with her pen; this
indulgence, lady, shall also be granted to _you_; and methinks, it must
be almost the same thing, whether what you have to say to each other is
imparted in writing, or in person.”
Here then did our jailor kindly open a door for those communications,
for which we had so long thirsted; we returned him our most ardent
thanks for the hint, and lost no time in making use of it. We wrote to
each other daily; and as the conscientious feelings of this trusty
domestic of my tyrant would not allow him to deliver our letters
himself, they were confided to the care of the little Ludolf. The lovely
boy soon became attached to me; he was ever ready to visit my narrow
chamber; and besides the information which Edith’s letters contained, I
gleaned from him in conversation many interesting anecdotes, which
however serious their subject, frequently assumed so whimsical an
appearance through his infantine mode of relating them, that it was
impossible either for his mother or myself to refrain from smiling.
Heavens! we smiled! little did our tyrant imagine, that in the gloomy
walls of Ravenstein Castle his captives would have ever found cause for
mirth!
Edith’s letters contained explanations of many circumstances, which till
then had appeared to me quite unaccountable. These precious memorials of
the most sacred friendship are still in my possession. You, my dear
children, for whom I write this narrative of my sufferings, will find
them after my death, as documents serving to corroborate the veracity of
my statements. Oh! how will you blush for your ancestor, when you read
that Ethelbert had never been the character, which we (poor deceived
ones!) believed him to be, and that from the very beginning his whole
conduct had been an artifice!
Its true, my person at first was the object of his desires; but much
more so were the possessions, which I was expected to inherit. Anxiously
did he seek to bring about our union; but circumstances, with which
Edith herself was unacquainted, forbade the explanation of his wishes,
and compelled him to wait, till my uncle should actually force him to
accept my hand. Fear, lest my expectations of being raised to power and
wealth (on which his own depended) should be overturned by Count
Venosta’s second marriage, induced him privately to remove the dreaded
Edith. He had chosen the time for carrying her off admirably well. A
secret understanding with the Abbot of St. Gall, (whose enemy he profest
to be in public) enabled him at once to get rid of Count Venosta’s
vigilance, entice me out of the fortress, and thus leave Edith totally
without protection. It also afforded him an opportunity to establish
himself in my uncle’s favour, by rendering him so essential a service as
the restoring him to liberty; a service, which my too grateful uncle
thought could only be rewarded by the gift of my hand, without allowing
Ethelbert time to solicit it.
Alas! my fortitude fails me, while endeavouring to unravel the whole web
of artifice and villainy, which our persecutor had woven to ensnare us
with no less cunning than success. He contrived to cheat the Abbot of
the prisoner, whom he had first himself betrayed into his power; Count
Venosta of his possessions, his mistress, and his niece; poor Edith of
her liberty; and me of the happiness and tranquillity of my whole life!
Never had Count Ethelbert felt for me one spark of real affection. Even
the passion, with which my person had inspired him, was subordinate to
his desire of becoming master of my large possessions. No sooner was
this point accomplished, no sooner had the daily sight of it deprived
what little beauty was mine of the charm of novelty, than the continual
presence of a virtuous wife appeared to him a check upon his pleasures.
He therefore seized with eagerness the first opportunity of delivering
himself from my presence; nor did he forget to sully my reputation by
imputations so disgraceful, that I appeared to the world unworthy of
either relief or pity. Even my good uncle wept, and resigned me to my
fate.
The Countess of Mayenfield had learned the greatest part of the
circumstances, which she related in her letters, from the wife of the
Castellan of Ravenstein; this good-hearted matron (who died a few days
before my arrival at the Castle) had a son in Count Ethelbert’s service,
by whom she was informed of most of his lord’s proceedings. The
conversation of this compassionate woman had beguiled many of the heavy
hours of Edith’s imprisonment; nor had she ever neglected an opportunity
of evading the too conscientious adherence of her husband to his oath,
and of furnishing to the noble captive many alleviations of her sorrows,
all of which vanished at her death.
Oh! had I but found her still in existence on my arrival at Ravenstein,
what might we not have hoped from her friendly aid! what would have been
too difficult for three women to accomplish, of whom the one possessed
power, the second prudence, and the third resolution! Surely it would
have been easy for us to have obtained our freedom; at least, I should
not have been so long deprived of the happiness of clasping my faithful
Edith to my bosom.
Often in our epistolary conversations did we lament over the great loss,
which we had sustained in being deprived of this worthy creature! yet
the Countess comforted herself with the pleasure of knowing, that I was
near her and in a place, where she looked upon me as enjoying both more
happiness and more safety, than would have been my lot in the arms of
Count Ethelbert.—As for myself, I wept, and prayed for better times.
And better times arrived! We had long suspected, that we were not the
only unfortunates confined at Ravenstein; and in the truth of this
suspicion we now were fully confirmed, though our curiosity was by no
means fully satisfied.
The Castle, as I before stated, was built on the summit of a lofty rock,
whose point appeared designed as a mark for the assaults of all the four
winds of heaven. Storms here were frequent and tremendous. In the middle
of a tempestuous night, when the whirlwind was raging with its greatest
violence, suddenly a remote wing of the Castle burst into flames! the
wind set towards our quarter; the sparks flew in at our grated windows;
our danger increased with every moment, and every human being seemed to
have totally forgotten us. No one had consideration enough to unlock our
dungeons; no one showed the slightest disposition to come to our
assistance. The general attention was directed towards the eastern wing
of the fortress, which was entirely in flames.
Our terror is not to be described; yet certainly mine was far inferior
to that of Edith, who had not to fear for herself alone. The
preservation of a life, which was infinitely dearer to her than her own,
occupied all her thoughts; she trembled for the life of her son!
She was desperate; she felt, that his destruction was inseparably united
with her own, and resolved to dare every thing to preserve him. In the
wall of her dungeon was an opening, barely large enough to suffer the
child to pass through; she fastened her bed cloaths together; she
resolved to let him down by them to the ground, and charged him, as soon
as he should have reached it, to release himself and fly, or else to
find some hiding place, where he might remain till the danger was past.
The risque was dreadful; nothing but despair could have induced her to
adopt such a resolution.
Edith’s endeavours to preserve her little darling were not unsuccessful.
He reached the ground in safety; but scarcely had she parted with him,
when the increasing heat (for by this time the balconies of the
neighbouring buildings were in flames) and the volumes of smoke, which
poured into her chamber, overpowered her senses, and she sank without
animation on the floor.
My situation was exactly similar. At the moment when I fainted, the only
thought, which employed my mind, was the hope of an happy meeting with
Edith in another better world; an hope which (I fully believed) was
accomplished, when on once more unclosing my eyes, I found myself
breathing pure air in a light and spacious chamber, and perceived by my
side the friend whom I loved so tenderly, and for whose sight I had so
long and so anxiously sighed in vain.
—“Oh! Edith!”—“Urania! my Urania!”—we both exclaimed at once, while we
sank into each others’ arms; “What has happened? are we rescued from
captivity on earth, or released from the fetters of mortality? Where is
it that we meet, in freedom, in captivity, or in the life beyond the
grave?”—
Too soon were our doubts removed: too soon were we compelled to feel,
that we were rescued from death, but not restored to liberty. The still
smoking ruins, which met our eyes from afar, told us but too plainly,
that we were still within the walls of Ravenstein; and the unremitting
vigilance, with which we were observed, made us well aware, that we had
reaped no other advantage from the transactions of the night, except the
delight of seeing and embracing a long-lost friend. But alas! what cruel
reflections embittered this delight. Edith sorrowed for her son, and
reproached herself for having suffered herself to part with him in
despair, when had she detained him with her in the dungeon, he would
have been preserved as well as his mother.