Chapter IV: Part THE SECOND: Memoirs (3)

—“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?”—

Such being his feelings, it was impossible for our entreaties to make 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.

Three years, which had elapsed since I parted from Count Ethelbert, had produced a change in him, which struck me with astonishment; he was no longer, as in former times, either an object of love, or of terror: his appearance was capable of exciting, even in the bosoms of those whom he had injured, no sentiment but compassion. It seemed, as if the natural consequences of his dissolute life had made a much more wretched creature of himself, than he had been able to make of the victims of his tyranny. Edith and myself had lost that pale and emaciated appearance, which we brought with us from Ravenstein, and were fast resuming our natural bloom and health; while on the contrary our persecutor seemed to have but just escaped from the dungeons of that gloomy Castle. Nor was it only his body’s strength which had suffered; his excessive libertinism, the stings of conscience, and his terror of impending punishment had broken down the fortitude of his mind completely.

No sooner did he enter the room in which I waited for him, than he threw himself at my feet, and entreated me in the most abject manner to pardon what was past. He also bathed Edith’s feet with his tears, and stammered out a long confession of the injuries which he had done her, and of which she was already but too well informed.

This excessive and unmanly degradation of himself was neither what we expected, nor wished from him. My sensations were equally composed of contempt and pity, and I could not decide, which of the two was the more powerful. The latter at length prevailed, and I suffered myself to be drawn by Ethelbert’s entreaties into making a promise, which I found in the end most painful to perform!

I am not certain, what were my uncle’s feelings on this occasion: methought I could read in his eyes a strong expression of pity for the poor victim, who was thus sacrificed to the common safety, and of anger against himself for having consented to the renewal of a connexion, whose consequences must needs prove to be the most bitter sufferings, that could have been inflicted on his unfortunate niece. Terror of his two powerful enemies had compelled him to free himself from one of them by this sacrifice; but alas! he had soon to find his regret at having made this sacrifice increased by the knowledge, that it had been made without advantage. It was only at a distance, that Count Ethelbert appeared dreadful. Our scanty troops, under the command of the martial Leopold (who in spite of his increasing age was still an hero) were of much more effective consequence, than all the thousands who were ranged under the banners of the powerful Count of Carlsheim and Sargans; for their chief was a wretch, infirm both in body and mind, made fearful of encountering the wrath of man by his consciousness of deserving the vengeance of Heaven, and who (as we had soon but too much reason to suspect) was not always in his proper senses.

This last was a circumstance, which had been carefully concealed from all our family: but I had not resumed the title of Countess of Carlsheim and Sargans more than a few days, when I made some observations respecting my husband’s conduct, which opened before me the most terrific prospects for the future. I never could ascertain, whether Ethelbert’s incurable disorder owed its origin to his imagination having been struck by any one particular circumstance, for it was seldom prudent, or indeed possible to speak to him on this subject; but why should we seek for a cause, knowing the life which he had led? Seldom does the hand of licentiousness fail at length to guide her votaries to the brink of an abyss, the very sight of which makes the brain turn giddy, and scares away reason, never to resume her seat again!

Ethelbert’s profound and fearful melancholy afflicted him at periodical intervals. There were times, when he shut himself up from every one, but more particularly from me, in order to indulge himself in solitary sufferings. In one of these hours of voluntary seclusion I was induced (not by curiosity, but by my earnest wish to afford him some relief) to intrude upon his privacy. All that I gained by this well-intended interference was, (besides beholding a sight the most heart-rending that ever was presented to the eye of woman) that I drew down on me in the present moment the whole storm of my distracted husband’s fury, and in future was compelled to witness those sufferings, which out of a sort of delicacy for my feelings he had hitherto been careful to hide from my observation. His secret being now discovered, he constrained himself no longer. Till this unfortunate day I had never seen the wretched man except in those gloomy and capricious humours, which occupied the greater part of his time. I was now forced to witness his delirious follies, which sometimes rose to such a pitch of extravagance, that Edith and myself had good reason to tremble for our lives. Often have we been pursued by the frantic Ethelbert through every chamber of the Castle, without being able to find a place secure from his fury, except on the borders of that ruined well, in which I had caused my vassals to inter the dead bodies of those, who had fallen by the swords of Edith’s ravishers.

Never did Ethelbert dare to enter the Court, in which this well was situated. The moment that he attempted to cross the threshold, he shrieked out that he saw bleeding spectres rising out of the abyss; that Lucretia was among the number; and that he could hear her threaten to drag him down with her to the grave.

Tortures of a guilty conscience, who can paint you in colours sufficiently strong! Who can endure you without sinking at last beneath your weight! The phantoms, which in his disordered moments terrified the mind of Ethelbert, presented themselves in a thousand different forms. Many of them were totally unintelligible to me, as I was not fully instructed in the history of his past errors; nor was I at all inclined to inquire further into events, whose consequences sufficiently assured me, that their knowledge would afford me no sources of consolation.

Count Venosta was at this period compelled to be often absent from the Castle of Sargans. His renewed connection with Ethelbert made it incumbent on him to become the General of those troops, whom their master’s infirmity would otherwise have left without a leader. Such preparations therefore, as were necessary for our safety, were made by the sore orders of my uncle; and alas! every succeeding day made us feel with an added certainty, that no precautions could be superfluous.

Our dreaded enemy, the fierce and incensed Donat, was now daily expected to appear. I knew well his animosity against myself; and it is not to be wondered at, that in spite of the consciousness of my innocence, I shuddered when I heard of his approach. But my anxiety was not to be compared with the horror, which shook Count Ethelbert’s frame, whenever he heard Donat mentioned. He no longer recollected, that he was his own son; he only saw in him Lucretia’s offspring and avenger; and often when his bewildered brain pictured him present, did he fly for shelter to my arms, and entreat me to save him from Donat’s imaginary dagger.

What I endured at this period, is not to be believed! My friend Edith had often advised me to quit my frantic husband; and so excruciating were my sufferings, that I probably should have taken her counsel, had not compassion in the first moments of my re-union with the wretched man forced from me the inconsiderate promise, “that I never would abandon him through life, but that whatever fate was allotted to him should be shared by me;” a promise, which I had confirmed by too solemn an oath, and on which Ethelbert relied with too much confidence, to admit of my departing from it without his consent.

Previous to Donat’s approaching so near the Castle, I had been offered many opportunities of exchanging my melancholy situation for a secure retreat in the arms of friendship; but I was too strictly bound by my fatal oath to profit by the kind offices of my friends. Count Lodowick of Homburg, the declared admirer of the young Damsel of Mayenfield, had been compelled to leave us for a time, that he might support the claims of the family of his mistress against the usurping Abbot of St. Gall. Fortunately, the sudden death of this tyrant greatly facilitated the completion of his views. He now returned to Sargans, for the purpose of conducting the young Count Ludolf to Mayenfield, and seeing him re-instated in his natural rights.

It was thought necessary, that Ludolf should be accompanied by his mother; but she protested, that she could not consent to leave me exposed to such dangers, and insisted on my accompanying her to a place, where I should be in security. Oh! how gladly would my heart have embraced her offer! Nor in truth did Count Ethelbert positively forbid my leaving him: in his calmer moments he acknowledged in a tone of humility, that after his treatment of me he had no right to detain me contrary to my inclination; he left it entirely to myself to decide, whether I would go or stay; and declared, that he would not oppose my abandoning him, if after what I had sworn, I could _reconcile it to my own conscience_.

You may be certain, my dear children, that having witnessed in my husband the tortures of an accusing conscience, I had not courage to run the risque of imposing the slightest burthen upon my own. I had sworn, and was compelled to keep my oath: I even renewed it, engaged once more never to forsake my husband, and only entreated my friend, that she would yield to her daughter’s entreaties not to be separated from me at a time, when I was so much in want of consolation. Habit had attached me so tenderly to the charming girl, that to have parted with her would have seemed to me like the stroke of death; and even Ethelbert felt such reverence for the angelic innocence which beamed in her every feature, that in his unhappy moments I had frequently found a safe retreat from his violence in Minna’s arms. Minna too was resolutely determined to share my dangers: nor was it affection for _me_, which alone made her unwilling to depart from Sargans. Count Lodowick was soon to rejoin us for the purpose of defending our boundaries against the still encroaching enemy, and I extorted a confession from Minna, that she was anxious to continue near him.

We separated; I lost my Edith! Minna remained with me, and with beating hearts did we look forward to futurity, whose gloom appeared to increase with every moment. Will not my hand fail me, when I attempt to describe the most cruel blow, which ever fell upon my heart? Edith was dear to me; so was her daughter, the gentle affectionate Minna; but dearer than either, oh! dearer a thousand times, was my uncle, my second father, the venerable Count Venosta!

Count Lodowick’s appearance at the Castle of Sargans made my uncle’s return necessary. The young warrior was desirous of discussing in person with an hero of such experience in military affairs, what mode of proceeding would be most likely to produce advantage to the cause of those, whose interests were equally dear to both. Till this business was settled, the Count of Homburg did not think it prudent to quit the Castle, and leave Minna and myself exposed to the enterprizes of the enemy, under no better protection than Ethelbert’s. The venerable Leopold therefore set forward for the purpose of acquainting his ally with every thing relating to the present situation of our affairs, and at the same time to inspire our drooping spirits by his presence with hope and consolation.

Yet once more (alas! but once!) did I clasp my benefactor to my bosom; I bedewed his furrowed cheeks with tears of gratitude, and imparted to him my anxiety for a life so precious! The next tears, which I shed on his account, were destined to fall on his grave. He accompanied Count Lodowick to review his forces; here he parted with his youthful friend, and the path which he traversed on his return to Sargans conducted him to death. In the deepest part of the wood assassins were lurking; his attendants were few, and their resistance was soon overpowered. Count Venosta fell by the hands of villains, as many a brave man had fallen before him; and the dreadful news was brought to the Castle of Sargans by two or three of his followers, the swiftness of whose steeds had enabled them to escape from the massacre.

What name shall I give to my feelings, at receiving this most cruel blow of fate? Shall I say, that I sorrowed? that my senses forsook me? that despair took possession of both my head and heart?—No! no! all this would but ill describe what I suffered. The excess of agony can never be justly exprest; grief like mine can only be pictured in a veil.

I felt only how dear he was to me, how much I had lost in him. These recollections made me incapable of all others; and I reflected not, that his death was the certain pledge to me of approaching danger, and future sufferings. Count Donat was no longer more than two leagues distant from the Castle. No one doubted, that the hand which murdered my uncle, was armed by Donat: how indeed could he sooner gain possession of his destined victims, than by depriving them of their most able protector?—It is true, Count Lodowick of Homburg ... but his youth, his inexperience, even his consternation and sorrow for the loss of his heroic guide in the paths of glory, all tended to prevent his being to us of as much assistance, as he would gladly have been, and as we too fondly expected that he would be.

I will pass over in silence the days of anxiety, which followed my uncle’s death, nor will torture your tender hearts, my children, by relating how cruelly I suffered from terror while looking forward to events, which (dreadful as my imagination painted them) you will find, were far exceeded by the reality!