any impression on Count Venosta. He was positively determined to punish
the Count of Carlsheim, not only for the crimes which he had committed,
but for the error which (through him) he had himself been induced to
commit. For this purpose he conducted us to the strong Castle of Upper
Halbstein, on the banks of the Rhine, which was situated not far from
the scene of action, and consequently was then more convenient for our
abode than the distant vale of Munster.
Scarcely had we reached the Castle, when we received a pleasure totally
unexpected, but long most anxiously desired. In vain had we endeavoured
to discover, what was become of the youthful Minna of Mayenfield, whom I
had been compelled to leave behind in Count Ethelbert’s power. My uncle
assured us, that no sooner had he been informed of my departure from the
Castle of Sargans, than in hopes of gaining some consolation for my
loss, he had requested the Count of Carlsheim to entrust her to his
care. His application however had been unsuccessful; and the only
intelligence which he could gain respecting her was, that on the day
after my forcible departure from Sargans, Gertrude had found means to
quit the Castle privately, and had been accompanied in her flight by the
Damsel of Mayenfield. Yet when Gertrude made her appearance at Count
Venosta’s to prevail on him to attempt my deliverance, and was
questioned respecting the above report, she denied any knowledge of the
place of Minna’s concealment. The mystery was now dissolved; on the day
after our arrival at the Castle on the Rhine, I had the pleasure of
being welcomed by my faithful Gertrude!
—“Oh! my dear ladies!” she exclaimed, while she threw herself at our
feet, and prest an hand of each alternately to her lips, “how much have
I felt for your misfortunes! how much trouble has it cost me to preserve
for you that treasure, which I am now going to restore! I dared not
intrust it to the custody of the weak and credulous Count Venosta; but
under your care our lovely girl can have nothing to apprehend.”—
Scarcely had Gertrude ceased to speak, when a blooming maiden about
sixteen, whose charms perfectly answered the expectation of what was
promised by the childhood of Minna of Mayenfield, rushed into the room,
and bedewed with tears of filial affection the bosom of the delighted
Edith: it was her beloved, her long-lost daughter. Bewildered with joy,
for some time neither the mother nor myself could do any thing but gaze
upon and embrace the weeping Minna; and Gertrude recounted without being
attended to, why she had so obstinately denied any knowledge of her
concealment, and had resolved not to intrust her to the care of my
uncle, who had suffered himself to be so grossly deluded by the slanders
of the Count of Carlsheim.
It was long, before we could recover ourselves enough to thank the
trusty Gertrude, and listen to the tale of Minna’s adventures, of which
a detailed account will be found among my papers (as well as a
supplement containing what afterwards happened to her) under the title
of “_Minna of Homburg_.” Suffice it to say in brief, that I had no
sooner been torn from the arms of the afflicted Minna in order to be
conveyed to Ravenstein, than Gertrude hurried her away from Sargans, and
hastened to conceal her in the celebrated convent of Zurich. Their whole
wealth in gold and jewels was scarcely sufficient to pay for their
entrance into this consecrated retreat, which (as is well known) is
seldom open but to ladies of the highest rank; and Gertrude’s prudence
forbade her announcing her young charge as a daughter of the House of
Mayenfield.
Here they remained under feigned names quiet and concealed, unknown to,
and even scarcely remarked by their hostesses the Nuns, till Minna’s
expanding beauty began to excite attention. The Abbot of St. Gall, and
the Bishop of Coira were more frequent than usual in their visits to the
Domina, and never suffered an opportunity to escape them of bestowing a
blessing on the lovely stranger. Gertrude, who had never been observed
to judge the actions of the dignitaries of the church too favourably,
suspected that her pupil was no longer safe at Zurich, and determined to
change her abode, which she had the power of doing without difficulty.
This excellent woman had been long courted by a man of no small
consequence in the village of Stein; he was in every respect deserving
of a reciprocal attachment, and she had long since acknowledged her
consciousness, of his merit; but still the affection which she felt for
me, with whom she had lived even from my infancy, was so great, that she
could not prevail on herself to quit me. After the loss of me and Edith,
when the young Minna was left entirely to her care, she was less
disposed than ever to think of altering her situation. A cloister seemed
to her the only proper retreat for herself and her adopted daughter; and
she contented herself with only seeing her faithful lover at such few
hours, as she could steal from her attentions to Minna. Then she
confided to him her grief for our loss, and her anxiety for the fate of
her pupil. He was her only confident; and now that the holy walls seemed
to afford no longer a secure retreat, Werner Bernsdorf became more
urgent in his entreaties, that Gertrude would exchange her abode at the
Convent for an husband’s house.
Gertrude at length consented to become his wife, and accepted the
protection, which he offered for herself and her lovely charge. She
quitted the Convent privately; and they had already past a year in his
dwelling at Stein in a manner which left them nothing to desire, except
that which they now enjoyed, the embraces of those dear friends whose
loss they had never ceased to lament.
No sooner had the intelligence reached her of our release and arrival at
Upper Halbstein, than Gertrude hastened to restore Minna to our arms,
and give us an account of the manner, in which she had preserved this
treasure. Her husband, the worthy Werner Bernsdorf, accompanied her, and
brought with him a considerable number of his country neighbours to
assist my uncle against the Count of Carlsheim, whose conduct had made
him the object of universal detestation.
Here Minna eagerly interrupted Gertrude’s narrative.
—“Oh!” said she, “however good Werner’s intentions may be, we are
already provided with a much more powerful ally. You are not aware, dear
mother, that Count Lodowick of Homburg....”—
—“Forgive me, lady,” said Gertrude smiling, “for having so long omitted
the mention of that favourite name!”—then turning again to us, “you must
know, my dear mistresses, that the assistance, which the Count of
Homburg prepares to give you, is given solely, because one of the
persons injured by Ethelbert is the mother of Minna. Count Lodowick is
my husband’s declared patron; he saw the Damsel of Mayenfield in one of
his visits at Stein, and from that moment his heart....”—
—“Have mercy on me, dear Gertrude,” exclaimed the blushing Minna; “you
punish me too severely for my imprudence!”—
Gertrude was silent, but we insisted on an explanation. We now heard all
the circumstances of an attachment, which are detailed at length in
Minna’s history, but which I could not relate in this place without
breaking the thread of my narrative, which I shall now pursue without
interruption.
The arrival of the forces of the Count of Homburg and of Werner
Bernsdorf was highly acceptable to Count Venosta. A variety of
circumstances had already convinced him, that by the gift of his estates
to Ethelbert he had purchased a dangerous enemy, too powerful for him to
subdue without assistance. Long was the contest doubtful; but the
vengeance of Heaven at length was made manifest, and the balance
inclined towards the rightful cause.
Ethelbert was now reduced to solicit an accommodation. He enquired, what
satisfaction for the injuries, which I had suffered, would content Count
Leopold; and he flattered himself, that an acknowledgement of my
innocence, and the offer of receiving back his repudiated wife, would
cancel all offences: but the demands of Count Venosta extended much
farther. He required the restoration of the whole of that property,
which he had made over to Ethelbert with such imprudent generosity;
property, to which the latter had only a right in quality of my husband,
and to which he had forfeited his right, when he ceased to consider me
as his wife. The negotiation continued for some time; each side abated
something in their respective demands; large sums were offered to
facilitate the conclusion of the business; but I doubt much, whether an
adjustment involving so many difficulties on both sides could ever have
been brought, to an amicable termination, had not fate collected some
few bitter dregs still remaining in the cup of sorrow, that cup which I
could not have _completely_ emptied, without submitting to a re-union
with my barbarous husband!
Almighty Providence, if ever I have murmured against thy decisions, if
even now a tear of discontent steals down my cheek, oh! think on the
weakness of human nature, and pardon mine! Still, still I suffer!—But
doubtless there will one day come an hour, when time, or oblivion, the
shadows of the grave, or the brightness of eternal life, will efface the
memory of what I have endured. Till I can learn forgetfulness, I can
never forbear to sorrow!
Not the most distant rumour had ever led me to believe, that there
existed another Count of Carlsheim besides Ethelbert. Now all at once
the assurance reached me from all quarters, that Count Donat of
Carlsheim was arrived from Italy; that after having made many enquiries
respecting Ethelbert’s situation, (whom he called his father) he had
established himself in the old Fortress of Ravenstein; and that he was
there collecting a considerable military force, whose destination was
still a profound secret.
We, poor anxious females, trembled in our solitary Castle, while we
listened to this account of the proceedings of one, whose very name made
us already look upon him as our enemy. Yet I could by no means
understand, how he should be the son of Ethelbert, never having heard,
that my husband had been married, till I gave him my hand, nor that he
had any natural children, whose existence (I had no cause to flatter
myself) he would have concealed out of respect for me!—Edith sighed,
when I stated to her my reasons for disbelieving, that Ethelbert had a
son; and my uncle, who just at that moment happened to return from one
of his daily skirmishes with his enemy, explained to me the cause of her
sighing.
—“Alas, my child,” said he, “it is not without reason, that you look
with terror on this newly-arrived Count of Carlsheim. It is but too
probable, that he is Ethelbert’s son, and is come to strengthen his
father’s party. Before your union with him a report had reached me, that
Count Ethelbert was already the husband of another, though his passion
for you induced him to conceal his marriage. This story, making me look
upon him as a seducer, was the motive of my unexplained antipathy
towards him, and of the displeasure with which I observed your growing
attachment. I therefore took an opportunity of questioning him seriously
respecting the report; but no sooner had the first hint escaped my lips,
than his pride took the alarm.
—“To justify myself from such an accusation,” said he haughtily, “is
beneath me; thus much I will answer, and no more. Yes; some years ago I
married a noble Italian lady (alas! now she will never claim her
rights!) rich and beautiful. Before I was deprived of her, she bore to
me a son, whom I left to the guardianship of his mother’s relations;
they were anxious to retain him with them, as being all that remained of
a person so justly dear to them. The partiality of his mother has made
this boy already master of very large possessions; nor would his birth
at all interfere with the rights of any future children, should ever a
second wife.... But why do I thus condescend to explain the
circumstances of my private life to one, who looks on me as a
seducer?—You have suspected me of artfully endeavouring to ensnare your
niece’s affections for the basest purposes; here then I solemnly swear
in the face of Heaven that nothing shall ever tempt me to offer her my
hand, or condescend to seek a connexion with a man, who has exprest an
opinion of me so degrading! I love Urania, love her passionately; but
never will I become her husband, unless you solicit me with your own
lips to accept her hand, and thus wipe off the injurious aspersion,
which you have cast upon the character of one, whose sentiments are as
elevated, and whose honour is as strict as your own.”—
—“At hearing this declaration,” continued my uncle, “I could not
restrain a smile; so impossible did it appear to me at that time, that a
situation should ever occur, which could induce me to force the heiress
of all my possessions on the noblest and most powerful man on earth.—But
from that moment Ethelbert never missed an opportunity or working
himself into my heart. The services, which he rendered me, increased in
number so rapidly, and were of such material consequence; and his
countenance bore so plainly the melancholy impression of hopeless love,
that I could not avoid wishing to gratify him with your hand. I now
began to make all possible enquiries respecting his former marriage.
Proof upon proof met me at every step, that he had acted by me with
candour; I daily received fresh assurances, that he had indeed been
married to an Italian heiress; but that his wife was dead, and his son
richly provided for. The last and most essential service which he
rendered me, the delivering me from the chains of the Abbot of St. Gall,
put the finishing-hand to my resolution in his favour. I solicited him
to become your husband; cursed be the hour, in which I did so! Ah! what
did it avail, that Ethelbert’s wife was no more, since her death only
left him at liberty to contract an union with one, who has with every
hour had fresh cause to lament the moment, in which that union was
formed?”—
—“And are you then quite certain,” interrupted his wife (for Edith was
now the Countess Venosta) “that when Ethelbert became Urania’s husband,
his hand was _really_ free?—Oh! Leopold, how much have we all reason to
lament, that your own guileless nature should have made you so unwilling
to suspect, that others were deceivers! that even when your suspicions
were so justly excited, your inclination to find them groundless should
have so lightly made you abandon them, and resume your good opinion of a
man, whose only talent consisted in concealing his vices with
dexterity!—Alas! alas! even from the grave thy voice, unfortunate
Lucretia, calls Ethelbert a murderer! Soon may the curse, which you
breathed against him in your last moments, fall on the tyrant’s head;
but far be its accomplishment from her, whom your unjust fury joined
with him in the malediction. Urania is guiltless of your sufferings;
surely had not frenzy and despair made you deaf to all conviction, you
could not have resisted the arguments, which I advanced in proof of her
unconscious innocence!”—
Struck dumb with astonishment stood my uncle and myself, and gazed in
silence on Edith. Her arms were crossed upon her bosom; her eyes were
raised towards Heaven; the tears streamed down her cheeks. She replied
not to the anxious enquiries, which her extraordinary agitation and
incoherent exclamations at length compelled us to make.
—“Be patient with me for a few moments!” said she after some time; “the
dreadful scene, which I witnessed at Ravenstein Castle, stands before me
exprest in such strong and lively colours, that horror almost robs me of
my senses! Allow me time to recover myself, in pity!”—
We now remained in anxious expectation of the moment, when Edith should
be sufficiently herself to clear up this mystery. My uncle was totally
in the dark as to her meaning; but certain obscure suspicions flitted
before my recollection, which Edith’s narrative soon confirmed. That
unfortunate captive, who had endeavoured to destroy by fire the gloomy
prison, in which she had groaned away so many wretched years; she, in
whom the bare mention of my name had produced so violent an emotion,
that it threw her into the delirium, in which she ended her life; she,
that unhappy one, had a claim to Ethelbert’s hand prior to that of the
betrayed Urania! In her last moments she called me the cause of her
misfortunes! In her last moments she cursed me ... and I was innocent!
Edith’s tenderness had induced her to conceal from me the dreadful scene
which she had witnessed, and in which Lucretia had made known to her
this important secret. She was well acquainted with the weakness of my
nature; she thought, that for an heart so tender and so fond as mine, to
remain ignorant of the _whole_ extent of the misfortunes, which had been
the consequence of my so earnestly desired marriage would be more
supportable, than to know that I had been the cause (however innocent)
of Lucretia’s sufferings, and had been myself so grossly deceived by a
man, whom I had once loved so passionately, and whom in spite of all his
cruelty I could not yet bring myself to hate.
The veil was now withdrawn! I now found, that I had for many years been
the unlawful consort of one, who only deserved my love so long, as I
remained ignorant of his real character. I now found, that I who would
not willingly have crushed a worm, who would gladly have banished from
the earth every trace of sorrow, had for many years caused the
sufferings of an unknown, who perhaps was good and amiable!—But no! that
was not Lucretia’s character. Of this you will be convinced, my
children, on reading her story traced by the hand of Edith, and entitled
“_Lucretia Malaspina_.” You will there see, that she had obtained
Ethelbert’s hand by a series of the vilest artifices; that her conduct
afterwards had been such, as almost justified his treatment of her; that
the son (whose arrival she so eagerly expected, though in vain) had been
abandoned by her to early licentiousness, and bred up in hatred of his
father; and her miserable death was exactly such an end, as was best
adapted to a life so destitute of virtue.
But alas! this knowledge of her want of merit was still insufficient to
support me under the weight of her dying malediction. Methinks,
undeserved as it was by me, her curse still hangs over my head, and
sooner or later I shall experience its effects.—My children, I must here
break off for a few moments—Dreadful emotions overpower me: I am unable
to proceed!
* * * * *
Edith possest still more information respecting Count Ethelbert’s
family. She knew, that by some means or other the news of Lucretia’s
sufferings had at length reached her son in Italy; but sunk in
voluptuousness and totally engrossed by his libertine pursuits, he had
delayed from day to day the hastening to succour his imprisoned mother.
At length he arrived at Ravenstein, and demanded the liberty of her,
whose bones were already mouldering among the ruins of the half-burnt
Castle. The reflection—“_hadst thou come sooner, she had been
saved_,”—drove him almost frantic, and in the violence of his despair he
committed the most inhuman outrages. The whole garrison of the fortress
was sacrificed to the shade of Lucretia; the remaining towers of the
Castle were converted into her funeral pile, and were consumed to ashes!
He was informed, that the unfortunate Urania (whom he, as well as his
mother accused of having caused all these misfortunes) had once been an
inmate of those walls; and he foamed with rage at not finding her still
there, that he might have sacrificed _her_ also to his hatred and
revenge!
The inhabitants of the tranquil vale of Frutiger, to whom I had formerly
been indebted for my rescue, did not escape without feeling the weight
of his fury. _They_ too suffered for the dilatoriness, with which he had
fulfilled his duty to an unfortunate mother; a crime, which he punished
in those guiltless people, but of which he could accuse no one justly
but himself.
Every one fled before the raging Donat, whose cruelties were supported
by a strong army composed of his Italian vassals. He now was advancing
towards the place of our abode by rapid marches, though no one yet knew,
against whom in particular his fury would be directed. We trembled at
his approach, for our feuds with Count Ethelbert had greatly diminished
our strength, and we were ill-prepared for encountering troops so fresh
and numerous, as those which accompanied our new enemy. Neither was
Ethelbert without his fears. He imagined with no small probability, that
his son was coming to demand the blood of his mother at his hands; and
he was himself already engaged in a contest with the Count Venosta,
whose military prowess supplied the deficiency of numbers in his army.
Nothing could save both us and him, but an union of our forces against
the common enemy; and now it was, that I was compelled to place myself
in a situation, than which no other could ever have entailed on me even
half such misery.
In the anxiety of his heart Count Ethelbert made proposals, which my
uncle (who had scarcely less cause for anxiety) judged it imprudent
entirely to reject. A negotiation was entered into; an alliance was
concluded against Donat between Ethelbert and Count Leopold; and the
wretched Urania was the victim sacrificed to their mutual fears.
Almighty Heaven! the man who had deceived my uncle, imprisoned Edith,
murdered Lucretia, and branded myself with shame, this man was I obliged
for the second time to call by the name of husband.—It was in vain, that
I resisted; that I wept, and knelt at the feet of my uncle. He bade me
remember, that I had for many years lived with Ethelbert as his wife,
and that should I go to my grave without a legal claim to that title, it
would leave such a stain upon the family honour, as all the waters of
the Rhine and Danube could never wash away.—Nor was this reflection
without its weight in my own balance—to be handed down to posterity as
the licentious votary of pleasure! “Urania Venosta, the concubine of the
Count of Carlsheim!” was such the description, by which I must be known
in after ages? As the hateful thought glanced upon my imagination, I
recoiled with horror; a crimson blush suffused my cheeks, and the blood
as it rushed through my veins, seemed boiling.—And yet to prevent this
odious image from being realized, there existed no possible means except
the consenting to give the most inhuman of men a second legal claim to
torture and insult me!—Yet still did I resist; and still did the dreaded
Donat advance towards us. Count Venosta’s persuasions became every hour
more urgent. Entreaties, threats, anger, kindness, were employed
alternately to obtain my unwilling consent.—Edith felt for me, and aided
not her husband; but she felt too for the dangers of her situation, and
shuddered involuntarily at the bare mention of Donat’s name. Her silent
terrors affected me to the very soul: I was not insensible to
apprehensions on my own account: Ethelbert’s arms at least afforded me a
refuse from disgrace: I yielded, and with my eyes open doomed myself to
a life of wilful suffering.
Yes! I became again the wife of Ethelbert!—Expect not from me a
circumstantial account of my first interview with a man, whose crimes
had now made him as much the object of my aversion, as he had once been
the object of my love. The news of his approach made me shrink with
terror! I painted to myself this imperious tyrant in the most frightful
colours, which imagination could supply; but in the present instance, as
had been the case on many former ones, I was deceived in my
expectations. It’s true, the scene which I had to go through was a most
painful one, but very different from that for which I had prepared
myself.