the long and gloomy passages, nor my satisfaction at finding myself at
length safe in the dwelling of the holy Anchorets. Oh! what can surpass
the sentiment of liberty, and the consciousness of being surrounded by
none but those, who are virtuous and humane! how different, my Emmeline,
from our feelings in the Castle of Sargans! there we met at every
turning with nothing but present sorrow and anxiety for the future; with
nothing but hypocrisy, perfidy, the cruel necessity of concealing our
real sentiments from every eye, and above all the terrific toil of
wandering along a slippery path, where we dreaded with every moment to
lose our footing, and to be plunged into the same gulph with those
abandoned creatures, whom we saw endeavouring to drag us down with them
to perdition.
When we quitted the Hermitage, Gertrude conducted me into these vallies.
She was well-known to the Nuns of Engelberg, and easily obtained a
refuge for me in their Convent; and so happy did I feel myself among
these pious women, that had it not been for _one_ consideration, I
should have become a member of their sisterhood.
Can you not guess that one?—Alas! that even impossibility should be
unable to vanquish the power of love. Could I but once accustom myself
to unite inseparably the name of Eginhart of Torrenburg with that of the
happy Helen, I should soon succeed in convincing myself, that to take
the veil was now the only option left me.
Gertrude wrote me word, that the Abbot of Curwald’s suspicions
respecting my flight having fallen upon her, his secret persecution had
compelled her to repair to Stein; where her husband was occupied in
constructing a house suited to the improved state of his income, and
which displayed the good taste imbibed by him in his youthful Italian
travels. I was delighted to have my friend so near me; and my joy was
increased, when I heard, that the great meeting of the Helvetians on the
borders of the Lake of Thun would not only furnish me with an
opportunity of seeing Gertrude and her husband, but of embracing our
mutually-beloved companion, Amabel Melthal.
Oh! what a blessed day was that of our reunion! as I lay before the
altar, the most fervent prayers of gratitude for my own escape, of
entreaty for yours, flowed from my heart, and left me no leisure for
observing the little incidents which occurred during the service. The
lively Amabel assures me, that the eyes of the most distinguished person
present, of no less a man than the Emperor’s Vice-gerent, were fixed
upon me from beginning to the end. It was her prejudice in my favour,
which made her imagine this: there was nothing, which could have led him
to distinguish me from the other village-maidens, not even my dress;
since not only prudence but my natural taste has induced me to adopt the
usual garments of the Helvetian country-lasses. Still Amabel asserts,
that there was a look of distinction and nobility about me, which
attracted the eyes of the Lord of Landenberg; and it is certain, that
during the whole of that evening he seldom suffered himself to be away
from me for a single moment. Unluckily, his attentions by no means
flattered me; and should I find Amabel’s suspicions likely to be
verified, I shall lose no time in regaining the Convent of Engelberg.
Any further explanation of what has happened to me I shall reserve for
our meeting, which I now look forward to with impatience. The search
after me seems to have been given up; and Gertrude has at length
permitted me to disclose the secret, by which you may join us at your
pleasure. In spite of the good Monk’s sermons, and of advice more
savouring of prudery than sound sense, I charge you, dear Emmeline,
_not_ to wait for things being carried to the greatest extremities,
before you make use of the secret disclosed in this letter—and yet to
fly from a father’s house without the most absolute necessity.... Alas!
I know not what to _advise_; I know only, what I _wish_.
Yes! earnestly, most earnestly do I wish to see you once more my
companion, not only for _your_ sake, but for my own. I dare not entirely
confide myself to our good Amabel: how is it possible with her talents,
that she should be so partial to persons so unworthy of her esteem; and
how can she be so blind as to repose such imprudent confidence in those,
whose intentions are (at the best) extremely to be suspected? yet ’tis
her own open guileless nature, which misguides her respecting others;
and unfortunately, those others know but too well, how to turn her
weakness to their own advantage.
_Amabel to Emmeline._
How long a period has elapsed, since a letter from your hand reached the
inhabitants of these vallies! is it not wrong to mingle so much anxiety
with the pleasures of your friend, or is Bloomberg’s wife less dear to
you, than the play-fellow of your childhood, Melthal’s daughter?
I really begin to suspect, that there is something in wedlock which
frightens all unmarried persons away from us sober matrons. Since my
wedding, Amalberga seems less at her ease with me, though I spare no
pains to make my house agreeable to her. Peregrine of Landenberg, the
good-hearted unassuming Landenberg, frequently honours me with his
visits; and it quite vexes me, that he should so seldom find my society
made delightful by the presence of the “lovely stranger,” for in our
valley Amalberga is known by no other name.
I confess the Lord-lieutenant (whose gentleness of manners prevents his
rank from being felt as a constraint) would be a more welcome guest to
me, did not his seneschal Wolfenrad follow him every where like his
shadow. Yet I know not why I should have taken such a dislike to this
man; he is sensible, and nothing can be more proper than his behaviour;
and yet somehow or other, I cannot endure his countenance. However, I
try to conquer this antipathy, since he is in high favour with my
husband, and Peregrine has commissioned him to settle with me the best
means of enforcing his suit with Amalberga: for you are to understand,
that he has avowed himself her suitor, and that in express terms.
For Heaven’s sake, dear Emmeline, persuade your sister not to throw away
her happiness. Eginhart of Torrenburg is now quite out of the question:
the whole country rings with the report of the splendid balls and
tournaments which are shortly to be given, in honour of his union with
the youthful Helen of Homburg.
_In Continuation._
Emmeline, what dreadful tidings have reached us! it is said, that Helen
has been carried off by your father, and compelled to espouse him; and
that you are already ordered to depart for the Convent of St. Roswitha!
Heavenly powers, should these tidings be true!—What can be done for you?
what can I do? And yet Amalberga assures me, that she informed you of a
means of escaping, that could not fail.——Could I but consult with your
sister, or with Gertrude Bernsdorf!—but even in these once tranquil
vallies there is but too much uproar and disturbance carrying on.
Disputes have arisen between the Governor and the elders of our people;
in consequence of which, the most distinguished of the south-western
deputies have hastily quitted these parts; Gertrude and her husband have
also left us unexpectedly; and neither Landenberg’s tears nor my
entreaties could prevent your sister from returning to her Convent.
In my anxiety to do something towards your rescue from this impending
danger, I have conquered my prejudices against Wolfenrad, and applied to
him for advice; for his patron the Lord of Landenberg is too much
occupied with public affairs to permit his listening to my difficulties,
and my husband declares himself incapable of advising my proceedings in
so delicate a business.
Wolfenrad’s counsel is, that Edmund should arm a body of his young
companions, hasten to Sargans, force you from the guards who will be
appointed to escort you to that abominable Convent, and then convey you
hither or else to Engelberg. I was in terror and anxiety; this must
plead for me, when I confess, that my fears got the better of my
prudence, and that I have made Landenberg and his Seneschal acquainted
with more respecting you and Amalberga, than was by any means necessary.
And yet what harm was there in making a confident of the man, who (I
sincerely hope) will one day conquer Amalberga’s unjustifiable
obstinacy, and give my dear Emmeline a brother’s protection and a
sister’s name?—oh! let but this one step be taken, and all your
difficulties will speedily be at end; Landenberg is powerful; let but
Landenberg once be Amalberga’s husband, and she and you will be both as
happy, as your Amabel would be now, did not anxiety upon your account
embitter her every moment.
_In Continuation._
Misfortunes follow each other so close, that grief bewilders me! I know
not how to collect my thoughts sufficiently to write down the number of
wounds, which have been inflicted on my heart within these few days.—And
for whom should I write them down? not for thee, sweet Emmeline, for it
is but too probable; that thou art in a better world! not for thee,
Amalberga, for thou art gone, gone no one knows whither! yet will I
commit to paper what has past, and what I feel, in hopes that should the
grave hide me without my ever again embracing my friends and sisters,
they may see how much I have suffered on their account, and may do
justice to the fond heart of their lamenting Amabel. And that the grave
_will_ hide me, and that soon.... Oh! is it not most probable? all
around me is confusion, is uproar! all are furious, though wherefore I
know not: yet surely the most pious and peaceable of all people, that
the earth holds, can never be so blind to its own interests, to its own
happiness, as to rise in rebellion against the Lieutenant of their
imperial patron, against the most gentle and benevolent of created
beings, against Peregrine of Landenberg!
What have we to do with the evil reports, which reach us from that
unhappy Province, where Gessler rules and rages? we are secure under
Landenberg’s protection; we can even expect from his generosity succour
and compassion for our less fortunate brethren. To all of them, but
above all to my venerable father and to my brother’s family, (who
consider themselves as no longer safe in the neighbourhood of Gessler’s
jurisdiction) has Landenberg voluntarily offered an asylum among our
mountains, which (I trust) will still long remain the abode of peace! I
must lay down my pen! my heart is too full at present to admit of my
writing intelligibly; besides, I see Wolfenrad approaching, who (now
that my husband has departed to see what can be effected towards your
preservation) is my only comforter, and who doubtless comes to tell me,
what has been done on your behalf, and whether anything remains for me
yet to do.
_In Continuation._
I am something more composed: there are hopes, that my Emmeline may have
escaped from this dreadful scene! Wolfenrad has promised to hasten in
person after my husband, and assist him in the researches, which are
making respecting you: he engages also, should you be found, to deliver
this and my former letters into your hands. Heavens! how one may be
deceived at first sight! there was a time, when I could not endure this
man, and now that all others have forsaken me, he proves the most active
of my friends!
There are many parts of my former letters, which will appear to you
mysterious; I will now explain them. I received on the same day your
written narrative of what had past in your father’s Castle, and further
tidings respecting you, which overpowered me with horror. Your letter,
which you left with Bertha, must have remained in wrong hands for whole
months together; and the condition, in which it at length reached me,
has left me no doubt, that its seal has been forced, and its contents
perused by more persons than myself.
Scarcely had I recovered from my alarm at finding, that you must have
set forward long since for St. Roswitha’s Convent; scarcely had I
received my good kind husband’s promise, that he would immediately set
out and make closer enquiries respecting you, when the dreadful report
reached me, that flames had consumed that very Convent; flames not
kindled by chance or the vengeance of offended Heaven, but by
sacrilegious cruel men! nor was the sword less active than the
conflagration; it is said, that few have escaped with life from this
horrible outrage, whose instigator’s name is still unknown to us. Much
too is said respecting the secrets of this Convent, by no means to the
credit of its inmates; we have even been assured, that the Abbot of
Cloister-Curwald, and the chief part of his brethren were involved in
the Convent’s destruction, though whether they came there on the news of
the danger, or were found with these wretched Nuns at the moment when
their habitation was attacked, I will not pretend to judge. Every
malicious speech, which relates to the Convent in which (according to
all accounts) you must necessarily have past two whole months, seems to
plant a fresh thorn in my bosom.
Bewildered by these dreadful tidings, I believe, that I must for a time
have lost my senses: for I suddenly found myself at the gate of
Amalberga’s sanctuary, without being conscious how I came there, or what
was my object in coming. Probably I wished to unburthen to her my full
heart, and indulge myself in bewailing with her our mutual misfortune;
but I could not hope to obtain either assistance or advice from her,
whom the tidings which I had to communicate must needs make, if
possible, still more wretched and more helpless than myself.
I rang the bell, and the Porteress appeared. Conceive what I felt at
hearing from her, that that very morning during matins a band of armed
men had rushed into the church, had seized Amalberga, and had forcibly
borne her away. By whom this atrocious outrage was committed, no one yet
knows: the people on hearing of it broke into universal uproar, and
raved against this violation of the Sanctuary! now, all voices but mine
unite in laying the blame upon Landenberg; and to prove the probability
of his being the offender in _this_ instance, innumerable deeds of
infamy, said to have been secretly committed by him, have been alledged
against him; some of them of a nature, that makes even Gessler’s most
infernal actions appear but trifles. Alas! is it possible, that I have
been so grossly deceived by the simplicity of my heart?—Even Wolfenrad,
the most faithful of his vassals, does not venture to assert positively,
that he is innocent: but let who may be guilty, that worthy man has
promised to assist us, and I hasten to finish this letter, that I may
commit it to his care. Oh! should he be so fortunate as to find you,
hesitate not to confide in him, and follow him to these vallies; alas! I
can no longer call them these _happy_ vallies, for peace is banished,
and discord and confusion have usurped her place. Its true, as yet open
hostilities have not taken place; but the cry against Landenberg is
loud, and the public voice scruples not to compare him to Gessler, the
inhuman governor of Uri.—“Freedom! freedom!”—is now the word in every
mouth; but it sounds no longer so melodious, as when it formed the
burthen of our Sunday-songs! it seems to me, as were it spoken in the
dying groans of those, who must purchase with their blood the small
portion still left of this treasure!
To complete my misery, my good old father and my brother are arrived at
my cottage in a condition, that makes my heart bleed. My father has been
cruelly mis-used by Gessler, and his lands are confiscated; Arnold has
been obliged to fly, on account of having committed the mighty crime of
striking the officer of justice, who seized our father’s oxen, and then
contemptuously bade the poor old man yoke _himself_ to the plough in
future, and do the office of the beasts which he had lost.—Oh! dear
Emmeline, I sink beneath the weight of griefs, which my Edmund’s absence
makes me feel doubly heavy.
_Amabel to Emmeline._
I hoped to derive some comfort from the presence of my relations, but my
hope has proved vain. My father lies ill and helpless on his bed from
the consequences of Gessler’s ill-usage; and Arnold.... You will
suppose, that I can receive but little augmentation of my tranquillity
from this impetuous young man, when you recollect, with how much
violence and passion he used to watch over me in former times. If he
surprised a youth gazing on me with rather too much earnestness though
but for a moment, that moment was sufficient to make him almost frantic
with resentment, and vow vengeance against the offender; nay, he even
dared to extend his vigilance to yourself and Amalberga. Do you
recollect a particular evening, when you had both privately stolen with
me to my father’s cottage in hopes of passing a few gay and pleasant
hours, which seldom occurred at the Castle of Sargans? it is as present
to my recollection, as had the scene past but yesterday!—it chanced,
that some stranger-knights, who were going to a tournament at the court
of the Bishop of Coira, had seen us on the road; as we were all three
arm in arm, they supposed us to be of the same rank; they delayed their
journey, got themselves introduced into our joyous circle, and proposed
to us to dance; but Arnold.... Ah! you cannot have forgotten, how
sharply he answered them; how bluntly he gave them to understand, that
their departure was desirable; and how (as he conducted us back to the
Castle) he made no scruple (without heeding your rank) of reading you
both a severe lecture upon the necessity of reserve towards strangers,
and the propriety of living retired under your paternal roof.
Well! the part which he then thought proper to play, he has now taken up
afresh, but with more warmth than ever. One would think, he might find
other things to do now, than to watch his sister’s conduct; but not the
most trifling of my actions passes unobserved by him, and very few of
them pass uncensured. He forgets, that it is solely on your account,
that I have any intercourse with Wolfenrad; and that it is absolutely
necessary for an intercourse to be kept up, as long as he journeys
backwards and forwards about your affairs, and brings me tidings
respecting you, which hitherto (Heaven be thanked!) have been
favourable. My brother insists upon it, that I ought never to exchange a
syllable with this man; although he is much too old and too ugly to be
an object of danger or suspicion, even were I not protected by such good
preservatives against the arts of a seducer, as an heart full of love
for Edmund, and veins full of that blood, whose every drop is true
Helvetian!
What Arnold may _think_, I cannot say; but I _know_, that love is never
mentioned in my conversations with Wolfenrad. He is married as well as
myself, and at all events it would be unwise to offend him just at
present, when he has the power of doing us so much harm; for during
Landenberg’s absence he can act exactly as he pleases.
However, I have given up the point. Arnold has taken a cottage near me,
and as my own is solitary and unsafe during Edmund’s absence, I have
removed to my brother’s, where I share with my sister-in-law the office
of nurse to my poor sick father. Here there is no chance of seeing
Wolfenrad, for there has lately been an open quarrel between him and
Arnold, whose threshold he has sworn never to cross again. Yet I am
impatient to find an opportunity of conversing with him; for I collect
from some hints (which he has occasionally thrown out, though there was
not time to explain himself) that he has not only proofs of your having
escaped from the conflagration, but that he has actually conveyed my
letters to your hands. As to Amalberga, he referred me to a Nun at
Engelberg, who is better informed than himself; but he said, that in
what regarded you, dear Emmeline, the intelligence, which he had to
communicate, could be given by no one but himself, and was of a nature
too delicate to be conveyed through a third person.
I have told every thing to my sister-in-law, who is my confidante: she
disapproves of her husband’s strictness, and agrees with me, that I
ought to take the earliest opportunity of going to Engelberg, and
learning some news of your sister. She cannot approve of my having any
intercourse with Wolfenrad in defiance of my brother’s positive
commands; but she has kindly consented to see him herself, and endeavour
to learn from him the good tidings respecting you, which I am too
anxious to hear, to permit my waiting for them with patience. Whatever
may be the consequence, I _must_ be informed, and that speedily, how and
where you are at present, and by what blessed means you escaped from the
hands of your persecutors, and from the fiery death which menaced you in
the Convent.
END OF THE SECOND VOLUME.
Printed by D. N. SHURY, Berwick-street, Soho.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
● Transcriber’s Notes:
○ Errata listed in volume IV have been applied to this volume.
○ Missing or obscured punctuation was silently corrected.
○ Typographical errors were silently corrected.
○ Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only
when a predominant form was found in this book.
○ Text that was in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_).