Edith herself; I would gladly have comforted her, but alas! where was
comfort to be found? Even should he have escaped from the flames, which
were raging with such violence at the moment when he quitted his mother,
how difficult still did his preservation appear! We failed not on the
day after the fire to examine the place, whence Edith had caused him to
descend. The opening was not situated very high in the tower; but close
to the place, where he must have reached the ground, there yawned a
tremendous precipice; the depth of which when we vainly endeavoured to
measure with our eyes, the flesh crept upon our bones, and cold drops of
terror chased each other down our foreheads.
Bitter was our grief, but no one heeded our lamentations; our guards
attended to nothing but the adventures of the past night, and we
collected from their discourse, that the fire had been kindled by a lady
confined in the eastern wing of the Castle. Her object, as they
supposed, was to find some means of escaping during the confusion, which
her rash action had necessarily produced; she had not only failed in her
design, but had suffered so severely by springing from a lofty window,
and by the wounds which she had received from the fragments of a falling
tower, that she was not expected to outlive the night.
The Castellan too, in his endeavours to prevent the escape of this
prisoner (whose confinement seemed to be a greater object of anxiety to
him, even than that of Edith and myself) had met with a fatal accident,
and was every moment expected to breathe his last. We desired to see him
before his death. With a feeble voice he entreated our pardon for the
injustice, with which he had been compelled to treat us; but he called
Heaven to witness, that the dreadful oaths which had been exacted from
him, had deprived him of the power of acting differently. Yet did he not
think it necessary to enjoin our future jailors to treat us with greater
lenity; and they, being in all probability fettered by the same oaths
with himself, esteemed it their duty to retain us in a captivity no less
strict than before.
All we could obtain from them was, that we should not again be
separated; and also that we should be permitted to visit that
unfortunate lady, of whose existence in the Castle we were this day
informed for the first time; who had made use of such violent means to
obtain her liberty; and who (as our guards assured us) was on the point
of paying with her life, for having dared to commit so desperate an
action.
Curiosity, hope, the fear of finding some beloved acquaintance in this
wretched captive, or the desire of giving some alleviation to the
sufferings of an expiring partner in affliction, which of these motives
induced us to make this melancholy visit, I cannot pretend to decide.
When we received the permission to enter her dungeon, we were assured,
that we should find nothing that would diminish our own distress, and
the event justified the assurance.
They conducted us to a wretched pallet, on which lay a female, whose
features were totally unknown to us, but whose appearance excited in us
the deepest sentiments of pity; of that painful pity, which knows itself
unable to afford relief! On hearing our footsteps she raised with
difficulty her half-closed eyes, and with a smile of anguish extended
her hand towards us. We exerted ourselves to afford her every little
alleviation of pain, which our narrow means could furnish; and in
executing these mournful services, our tears sufficiently declared the
feelings of our hearts.
—“Forgive me!” said she, when after two or three hours our endeavours to
relieve her had produced some little effect; “I wished to rescue myself
from captivity, and had nearly brought the same fate on you, under which
I am now groaning. But long suffering is the mother of despair!”—
Shortly after she seemed to be nearly delirious; she counted the years
which she had already past in this dreary dungeon, and those during
which she expected to be detained in it by her tyrant; then she raved
about her son, for whose arrival she had so long waited in vain, and she
entreated him to hasten to the rescue of his unfortunate mother!
Towards midnight she declared, that all pain had entirely left her. With
an appearance of gaiety she thanked us for our attentions, and entreated
to know the names of those, to whom she was so much indebted. The
Countess revealed herself, and the captive in return bestowed upon her a
look of interest and compassion.
—“Edith of Mayenfield?” repeated the invalid; “oh! I know your story
well: you too have suffered much; not so much, its true, as _I_ have
suffered, yet enough to know what it is to incur a villain’s hatred.—And
your name, gentle lady?” she continued, addressing herself to me.
—“I am Urania of Carlsheim and Sargans,” was my answer.
—“Urania of Sargans!” shrieked the stranger in a dreadful voice, while
she clasped her hands violently together; “Urania? Ethelbert’s beloved
Urania? Oh, Fortune, this blow was still wanting to make me completely
miserable.—Away from my sight, abandoned woman! away, and leave me to
die! But with my last breath I swear to be revenged! Even from my grave
will I shriek to Heaven for vengeance! Tremble, detested girl; thou
shalt not triumph over my corse unpunished!”—
I stood like one petrified near the bed of the sufferer; astonishment
and terror almost deprived me of my senses, and nothing but the
consciousness that she spoke in the heat of frenzy, could have preserved
me from sinking on the earth.
—“Noble lady,” I said as soon as I could recover myself, at the same
time advancing towards her, and offering to take her hand; “recollect
yourself, for pity’s sake! I never saw you till now, and can never have
offended you. You surely cannot have heard me aright. I am Urania, the
unfortunate Urania Venosta, who rejected by a cruel husband, and
undeservedly branded with shame, have been condemned in this Castle to
wear eternal fetters, which the flames of last night in vain attempted
to break.”—
—“Ha!” said the stranger in a gentler tone, “is it so?—Are you then
Ethelbert’s _rejected_ wife?—Unfortunate, let me clasp thy hand in mine;
we are sisters in calamity.”—
Already was I advancing to take the hand which she held out, when Edith
uttered a loud scream, and hastily drew me back. She had observed the
captive’s countenance change suddenly, and we now saw, that she grasped
a poniard till then concealed in her bosom. From that moment the senses
of the wretched stranger were irrecoverably lost. Her eyes full of rage
were constantly directed towards me; she foamed at the mouth; she loaded
me with execrations, and I was compelled to retire, that she might have
a chance of regaining some composure.
The meaning of this dreadful scene was to me an absolute enigma. I
lamented the poor wretch’s condition; though a secret horror, whenever I
recollected her words and manner, took complete possession of my soul.
In this painful situation did I pass the night; the morning had scarcely
dawned, when the Countess of Mayenfield rejoined me, and informed me
that the unknown lady was no more. Edith was quite exhausted by the
terrible occurrences of the past night. I enquired, whether she had made
no discoveries, which might unravel these mysterious circumstances: but
she answered by an assurance, that it was impossible for her to give me
any light upon the subject.
In mournful silence did we follow to the grave the corse of our wretched
partner in captivity. She was interred in one of the back-courts of our
prison; and we were conducted after the burial into a gloomy apartment
in a quarter of the Castle, which had escaped the violence of the
flames. Our present dungeon was in no respect better, than our former
had been; and the small portion of freedom, which we had enjoyed during
the few last days, now appeared to our stern jailors too great an
indulgence, and we were accordingly deprived of it.
We heard the door barred on the outside; we sank into each other’s arms,
and wept bitterly: then we rejoiced, that at least we had been suffered
to remain together, and then we wept again. We endeavoured to escape
from present miseries by recalling former happiness, and indulging
future hopes; but alas! this resource was but of little avail. Yet among
all the agonizing reflections which tormented us, nothing was so painful
to remember, as the loss of our little darling, Ludolf!
I will not pain your gentle hearts, my children, by dwelling on our
sufferings in this forlorn situation, during which our only support was
the soothing of mutual pity. A change at length took place in it, but we
had little reason to expect, that it would turn out to our advantage!
Our guards informed us one day, that the Count of Carlsheim had sent a
new Castellan to superintend the government of this half-ruined
fortress; and they added, we should soon find cause to regret under our
new overseer that treatment, which we had complained of as being so
harsh and rigid. We trembled, as we listened to this prophecy. Aversion
and spite against this new instrument of Count Ethelbert’s vengeance
were plainly exprest in every feature of our former jailors, yet did
they scarcely dare to express their dislike of him aloud: what then had
_we_ to expect? How dreadful must that man be, who could strike terror
even into the flinty hearts of these barbarians!
We had not long been informed of his arrival, when this dreaded
Castellan entered our dungeon, accompanied by several of our former
guards. We trembled, as we gazed on the gloomy brow of the man, to whose
hands our fate was consigned. Walter Forest, for (so was our jailor
called) scarcely deigned to honour us with a look, while he informed us,
that we must prepare ourselves to quit Ravenstein at midnight, the Count
of Carlsheim not thinking the Castle safe enough, since the late fire,
for the confinement of prisoners of our consequence. We wished to
address a few words to him, imploring better treatment for the future;
but he turned away from us rudely, blamed the attendants for having
suffered us to remain unfettered, and having caused heavy shackles to be
brought immediately, he saw them rivetted before he left the dungeon.
The doors were fastened after him more cautiously, if possible, than
before. Yet in spite of his vigilance and positive commands, the former
chief of our guards (who seemed to look on his being deprived of his
cruel office as an insult) contrived to gain admission to us privately,
and to confirm by his warnings the dreadful suspicions, with which our
imaginations were but too strongly imprest already.
—“I advise you by every means in your power,” said he, “to avoid
committing yourselves to the power of this intruder: depend upon it,
this removal to a different place of confinement is only a pretence to
persuade you to follow him without trouble; and I doubt not, he intends
to convey you to some solitary spot, and put an end at once to your
captivity and your lives. But take my counsel, and you shall be rescued
from this danger: Walter is accompanied but by few attendants, and those
badly armed; our people are treble the number of his, and we can easily
overpower him, if you will but give us the command. Call to us for
assistance; we will all be on your side; and as we have carefully
avoided asking to see our master’s orders for giving you into Walter’s
custody, we can easily make it believed that we took him for an
impostor, and thus shall we escape Count Ethelbert’s vengeance, if you
will but engage not to betray our secret!”—
The fellow, who hitherto had seldom deigned to hold a parley with us,
said much more to the same effect. He left us undecided, what we ought
to think of this proposal, and what mode of conduct it would be most
prudent for us to pursue: yet after mature deliberation, and having
completely canvassed the business by ourselves, the consideration, that
in a situation so desolate as ours, any change must be for the better,
made us resolve to submit quietly Ethelbert’s lately-issued
commands.—New situations might furnish new resources, perhaps even an
opportunity for flight; at all events our present condition was so
hopeless, that we could not wish it to continue; and when at midnight
Walter Forest unbarred our dungeon door, we followed him without a
murmur.
In all probability the enemies of our new comptroller had agreed, that
our resistance should be the signal for falling upon him. We found our
anti-chamber filled with them; all were armed, and the threatening
looks, which they threw on our conductor, sufficiently declared their
purpose.—But when they saw that we accompanied him willingly, their
courage appeared to fail them. Some few indeed unsheathed their swords,
and made a faint show of resistance; but Walter’s people were neither
cowards nor ignorant of the use of arms, and we were soon permitted to
quit the Castle unimpeded.
—“Tremble!” we heard Walter exclaim, as we crost the threshold,
“tremble, rebels, when I return! You shall not have opposed our master’s
will without reward, and you shall find, that I am able to preserve the
office, which Count Ethelbert has thought fit to intrust to my care!”—
At the entrance of the steep and narrow path, by which we descended the
rock on whose brow the fortress was situated, stood a close litter, to
which we were conducted. We entered it; the carriage moved on with
rapidity; and now it was, that I ventured to discover to my friend my
astonishment, at a circumstance which had just occurred. In quitting the
Castle one of Walter’s people had raised the visor of his casque for a
moment, and had shewn me what seemed to be the countenance of Henric
Melthal! My narrative had already made Edith acquainted with the
character of this man. In the whole circle of the ten jurisdictions
there existed not a heart more honest or more brave. He had been one of
my uncle’s most faithful vassals; and even when that domain where he
resided was made over to the Count of Carlsheim, Henric still remained
most tenderly attached to the interests of Count Venosta and his unhappy
niece.
—“Henric Melthal?” exclaimed the Countess; “Oh! Urania, if this honest
man is among our attendants, we are already more than half at
liberty.—He surely knows not the prisoners whom he is guarding, and
doubtless if we can but find an opportunity of discovering to him our
names and danger, he will omit no endeavour to free us from our
chains.”—
To confirm her in these pleasing hopes I was on the point of informing
her, that when I was forcibly removed from the Castle of Sargans, this
very Henric was the only person who dared to assert my innocence; when
Walter Forest rode up to the side of the litter.
—“Noble ladies,” said he, while the moon showed us, that the gloom,
which had overspread his countenance, was replaced by the smile of
benevolence, and while the tone in which he addrest us was the most
gentle and respectful, “Fear nothing; you are safe, and here is the
person, whom you have to thank for your rescue.”—
I will not attempt to describe our feelings at hearing these words,
which were no sooner spoken, than Walter again withdrew. The litter was
dark; we could not see the person who entered it; but how were our
doubts converted into rapture, when Edith felt her neck encircled by two
little arms, and heard herself called by the name of mother!
With one voice we both pronounced the name of the dear lost child, who
was now restored to us so unexpectedly. Rapture almost deprived the
Countess of speech and recollection; and I was myself too much
bewildered with the joy of having recovered the little Ludolf and my own
liberty at the same time, to be capable of affording my friend much
assistance. As soon as we could recollect ourselves, we endeavoured to
call Walter to the side of the litter, in order that he might explain
these mysterious transactions; but he paid no attention to us. This was
not a fit time for explanations and expressions of gratitude. Not a
moment was to be lost, and we traversed the valley with the rapidity of
the tempest. Till we were safe on the other side of the mountains, or
had crost the lake of Thun, we were desired not to expect our curiosity
to be fully gratified; in the mean while we were obliged to content
ourselves with such circumstances, as we could collect from Ludolf’s
unconnected account, which however left us no doubt, that we were
indebted for our rescue to the courage and address of Walter Forest.
Providence had made use of Edith’s desperate resolution of dropping her
little darling from the prison-window, to effect our deliverance. You
see in this an example, my children, what insignificant trifles furnish
the Omnipotent Ruler of all things with the means of blessing his
creatures! Our imprudences, nay even our very faults are not without
their use in the great chain of accidents; and managed by a hand of
superior power they often produce consequences totally different from
those, which might naturally have been expected to follow!
In that night of terror Ludolf’s better angel had guided him safely
through a dangerous path on every side beset with steep precipices and
vast tremendous chasms. Weeping and exhausted with fatigue, he was found
at the foot of a rock by a peasant from the vale of Frutiger. On being
informed that he had just made his escape from the burning Castle, and
was unwilling to return thither, the honest countryman conducted him to
the house of Walter Forest, one of the most distinguished inhabitants of
those parts. He received the child with that hospitable kindness, which
no true Helvetian ever refuses to the unfortunate. Walter was _indeed_ a
true Helvetian; and he felt double pleasure in giving protection to a
child like Ludolf, who to the beauty of a cherub united the most
unprotected helplessness: surely there is no chain more powerful to bind
a noble heart.
It was long, before his new guardian could comprehend the meaning of the
child’s broken narrative; but the names of his mother and myself (both
of whom Ludolf supposed to have perished in the conflagration) and his
calling himself the Count of Mayenfield, roused Walter’s attention
sufficiently to induce him to enquire farther into the business; and
those enquiries at length made him master of the whole truth.
The virtuous inhabitants of that tranquil valley troubled themselves but
little about what past in the rock-founded Castles of the neighbouring
lords. They looked upon them as the abodes of vice and of injustice,
loathed their possessors for the one, and feared them for the other.
Their power was too weak to permit their preventing the commission of
those crimes, which frequently took place in these fortresses, though
the report of such deeds of horror occasionally reached them; therefore
their most earnest wish, respecting these dens of robbers, was to escape
the notice of their owners, who might otherwise have been tempted to
make them also experience the weight of their oppression.
But Walter Forest (a man, whose sentiments and actions were in every
respect far superior to those of his co-temporaries) needed only to be
informed, that two unhappy women stood in need of his protection, to
make him resolve on granting it. By making enquiries cautiously and
discreetly among the household of the Count of Carlsheim, he ascertained
the truth of what he had collected from the child’s narration, and also
that the captives of whom he spoke had been rescued from the flames. His
resolution was immediately adopted, and swift and successful was the
execution of his design.
Henric Melthal was an old acquaintance and friend of Walter; and it was
to him, that the latter applied for information respecting the history
of Edith and myself. That faithful vassal of Count Venosta had long
lamented in secret the fate of his former mistress, and anxiously wished
to discover the place of her confinement. Readily therefore did he enter
into Walter’s plan for my deliverance; and in the mean while (through
fear of losing time) he dispatched his son in all haste to give my uncle
information of every thing that had taken place.
The measures adopted for our rescue by these two honest Helvetians is
easy to be guest from what has been already related. Henric brought with
him a small band of faithful friends from the neighbourhood of Sargans,
which Walter strengthened with some of the bravest inhabitants of the
vale of Frutiger. They were daring enough to present themselves at
Ravenstein, as Envoys from the Count of Carlsheim; and the very rashness
of the design made it pass without suspicion. The firm and commanding
tone, which they assumed, overawed the numerous soldiers of Ravenstein;
our friends were well aware, that their artifice could not remain long
undiscovered, and therefore they lost not a moment in endeavouring to
reap the fruits of it; they were successful, and the captives were once
more free!
Edith! Ludolf! dear partners in affliction, ye were restored with me to
liberty!—Walter! Henric! our benevolent deliverers, what thanks could
suffice to reward your services!—But the generous men expected neither
rewards nor thanks. What they had done appeared to them an act so
simple, that they rather supposed, we should complain that our rescue
had been delayed so long; and they thought it necessary to assure us a
thousand times, that ignorance of our situation and want of power to
assist us had unavoidably prevented their coming sooner to break our
chains; excuses, which we (only awake to sentiments of gratitude and
joy) thought perfectly unsuited to the occasion.
These excellent men, who had bravely hazarded their lives in a manner so
perfectly disinterested, belonged to the inferior class of people; they
were the sons of labour, and strangers to the refinements of wealth and
grandeur. Yet does there really exist an _inferior_ class among a
people, who inhale with every breath of air the spirit of generosity and
the love of freedom? Oh! rocks of Helvetia, ’tis only among _you_, that
we find that mixture of magnanimity of soul and unaffected simplicity,
which attracts to your children so large a portion of our admiration and
our love at once!
Prevented by distance and by the increasing infirmities of age, Count
Venosta had not yet completed his preparations for attempting our
rescue, when we threw ourselves at his feet. Arnold Melthal (Henric’s
son, whom his father had dispatched with the account of our situation)
had assured him, that it was unnecessary for him to collect his forces,
since we should certainly be delivered without their assistance; but
when those we love are concerned, who ever believes, that too many
precautions can be taken? The news, that Edith still lived, and that his
niece was innocent, had agitated the venerable warrior’s mind so
violently, that had he been master of it, he would have summoned the
whole world to our assistance.
The small estate, which Count Leopold had alone reserved for himself out
of all the wide-extended possessions, which his generosity had bestowed
on my ungrateful husband, was in a perfect uproar, and his few vassals
were already in arms. As our arrival made these preparations unnecessary
for our rescue, it was determined that they should be employed for our
revenge. As for Edith and myself, we entreated that peace might be
preserved; we implored my uncle to recollect the great superiority of
strength and riches, which our foes possest: but how difficult is it to
prevail on an antient warrior to lay aside the sword long accustomed to
victory!
—“Oh! Edith,” he replied to our supplications, “spare me these
entreaties; the unmanly conduct of your tyrant is too base to be
permitted to pass unpunished. Reflect, of how many happy years the
monster has deprived us, which we might have passed together in peace
and joy; reflect too, that he robbed you, my innocent Urania, of your
good name, and by that means of the assistance of your best, your only
friend. Fool that I was, how could I have been so credulous as to
believe his calumny! How artfully did he long contrive to keep me
ignorant of his separation from you! and when at length the
remonstrances of Henric Melthal, and the cries of your faithful
Gertrude, penetrated to my solitude, how skilfully did he lull to rest
my love and my anxiety by slanderous tales, to which your uncle (under
whose eye you had so long past a life of the purest innocence) ought
never to have given credit?”—