Volume 3 / Part 2 — PART II. (continued 2)

Without giving herself time to guess, what motive could have induced her husband to throw away his only guide through the gloom, or how he could have found his way out of these intricate passages without its aid, she caught it eagerly from the ground, cleared the 144wick from the dust with which it was clogged, and made the flame burn brightly; while she frequently cast a look of anxiety round her, lest some one should be advancing to rob her of this invaluable prize. This apprehension made her proceed with still greater exertion of speed; but she had not gone far, before her way was barred by large heaps of stones and earth: she fancied too, that she heard a faint murmur at no great distance, like some one groaning. She stopped; she listened;—it struck her, that from beneath a pile of stones, which seemed to have lately fallen down, there came a voice, whose accents were familiar to her; but before she could recover herself from the 145horror, which this idea occasioned her sufficiently to ascertain the truth of her suspicions, a third shock, similar to the two first, but if possible more violent and terrible, overpowered her faculties so completely, that she sank upon the earth, unable to move for several minutes. Fortunately her torch was not extinguished by her fall. She rose; the way, so lately open before her, was now completely blocked up by the earth, which had fallen in; and it seemed to her in the first moments of terror, that she saw the roof tottering above, and felt the ground giving way beneath her. Fear gave her strength, and she fled hastily down a side passage, which accident presented to her, nor rested, 146till she thought, that the place, which she had reached, was not totally unknown to her. She stopped, and looking down discovered lying on the earth, torn from its hinges, and considerably shattered the low door of that dungeon, which Donat had destined for her grave.

She now exerted her whole strength to pass onwards, without falling into an enormous chasm, which had been formed by the late convulsion, and which occupied almost the whole breadth of the passage. She shuddered, as she remarked, that the earth had fallen into the dungeon, and would infallibly have smothered her, had she remained there but a few minutes longer.

She reached the opposite side of the 147chasm with much difficulty, but unhurt. She was now certain, that the Castle was at no great distance: but she dreaded either to miss the proper road, or to find it rendered impassable by earth and rubbish. Should either happen, she had no alternative left but perishing of hunger in these frightful dungeons: nor had she much time left her for deliberation, since her torch already began to draw towards its end. Observing this, she rushed forwards with desperate resolution, and committed herself to the guidance of chance. Accident, or rather a benevolent Providence directed her footsteps; and she reached the staircase and Urania’s chamber, before her strength entirely failed 148her. Here then she rested at length; but that rest was insensibility.

After some time her recollection returned. She raised herself, and saw with surprise, that the chamber, which Donat to favour his escape had caused to be fastened so carefully, was filled with people. She felt, that they conveyed her to a couch, and rendered her every possible assistance; and she heard them make a thousand kind enquiries respecting her health and her wishes: but her strength both of mind and body was so completely exhausted, that she found it impossible to pronounce a word, or even make a sign, that she was sensible of their attentions.

It was pain, which enabled her to give 149the first token of sensation. Her arms and bosom were much bruised, and the blood streamed copiously from a wound on her head. She has never been able to recollect, whether she received these injuries, when Donat threw her down the dungeon steps, or from her being struck by the falling stones while making her escape. The persons, who surrounded her couch, lost no time in binding up her wounds, and the pain of this operation forced from her a feeble cry. Finding that she was now sensible, they repeated their enquiries as to what had happened to her, and how she had been brought into so terrible a condition. She stammered out the word “earthquake!” Where was Count Donat, was the next 150demand, which she answered by pointing to the private door conducting to the vaults.

She was soon removed to a more quiet chamber, and the care which was taken of her convinced her, that she had not fallen into the hands of enemies.

On the fourth day she was already declared to be convalescent; and it was announced to her, that the Commander of the Bishop of Coira’s forces, which had, conquered the Castle, requested an audience of her. She consented to receive him, and shortly after a young man of prepossessing appearance entered the room.

—“Noble Lady,” said he, “though you are the wife of the cruel owner of 151this fortress, we are well aware, that you are not a partner in his crimes. His people are some of them slain; others have betaken themselves to flight; and it is in vain, that we have endeavoured to find the place of his concealment. Your pointing out the door into the vaults has not been sufficient; he cannot have made his escape through that passage, since the falling-in of the roof has rendered it impracticable; and had he in his flight been overtaken by the vengeance of Heaven, how could you have avoided the sharing his fate? Be frank with us, noble Lady; I conjure you in the name of humanity, tell us, where he is concealed, and depend on our dealing 152better with him, than he has been accustomed to deal with others.”—

Helen mustered up all her strength, and endeavoured to relate the circumstances of her escape: but anxiety to be as brief as possible, and her endeavours to conceal Donat’s ill-usage of her, (which she thought, duty to her husband forbade her revealing,) rendered every thing she said obscure and improbable. She mentioned the earthquake, and to prove it showed the bruises and wounds, which it had occasioned her. The stranger, however, assured her, that she must have received them in some other manner, for that no one in the Castle had perceived the slightest symptoms of an earthquake.

153Helen, however, endeavoured to establish her assertion; and while recalling the various circumstances which had passed in the caverns, she suddenly recollected the groans, which had struck her hearing. She earnestly entreated, that the heap of rubbish might be examined; she was obeyed; the stones were removed, and beneath them was discovered the shattered and lifeless form of the Count of Carlsheim.

It was now the general opinion, that the violence which Donat had used in forcing open the dungeon-door, had shattered the rotten cavern, had made the supports crack, and had brought down the roof, whose fall had involved in it his own destruction.

154Helen’s horror at this discovery, her urgent entreaties that the corse might have christian burial, and the many hours which she past in prayers for the repose of Donat’s spirit, startled the present masters of the Castle not a little. They began to suspect, that she was not by any means so innocent a creature, and so unfortunate a victim of conjugal tyranny, as she had been represented, and as in truth she was. They therefore ceased to trouble her with questions, considering her as the confidante and accomplice of Count Donat’s crimes; but as they had no other fault to lay to her charge, and as the power of her relations compelled them to treat her with respect, as soon as she was 155sufficiently recovered, she was removed to the Convent of Zurich, and left there with a hint by no means equivocal,—“that all things considered, she would do well to pass the remainder of her days within that sanctuary.”—

Helen’s joy at understanding, that she had been conveyed to Zurich, was indescribable: she immediately requested to see the venerable Countess Urania, and discovered to the patroness of her mother both herself and all that had happened. It was now, that her fate seemed disposed to abate its severity. In an unrestrained intercourse with this excellent woman, who received her with open arms, and to whom she unveiled her whole heart, she looked forward to a 156life of tranquil happiness. Urania’s conversation poured balsam into her wounded soul, and explained to her many things, which had hitherto appeared to her unaccountable. Donat’s resolution to make her his wife was produced by a former passion, which he had entertained for her mother, and by a desire to be revenged on her father, the Count of Homburg; and that unknown cavern to which he had conducted her, was doubtless the same, in which (as it was reported) the worthy father of such a son had starved to death two of the fugitive monks of Curwald. Oh! Towers of Sargans, what crimes have been committed within your gloomy bounds! And will then the vengeance 157of the Eternal Judge sleep for ever? Will neither the heavens rain down fire to consume you, nor the earth unclose to swallow you in its womb, and thus prevent you from reminding posterity of those horrible acts, to which you have been so long a witness?—Yet the blood of your barbarous master has purified you, and you are now the abode of innocence and virtue. Peace, long peace be with you, and be with your lawful possessors; and may the curse of retribution only fall on those, who shall dare to deprive those possessors of their right!

Solitude and experience sometimes endow the soul, which has withdrawn itself from earth to devote itself to Heaven, with a prophetic power. Even 158now I see into futurity! I see, that the family of Carlsheim and Sargans, which has already suffered so much, has still much more to suffer; but again I say it—“Alas for those, by whom the descendants of Amalberga and Emmeline shall be robbed of their lawful inheritance, and compelled to experience the calamities of their predecessors.”—

I have deviated from my narrative, to which I now return.—Helen lived tranquil by Urania’s side, equally unconscious of the evil reports, which were circulated respecting her late misfortunes by her enemies, and of the benevolent intentions of her powerful friends. Her parents soon visited her at Zurich, and now that she was a 159widow, requested her to accept the hand of her former bridegroom, the Count of Torrenburg: but Helen knew but too well, that no Count of Torrenburg existed for her. She had courageously torn his image from her heart; and she avowed to her friends her knowledge of his passion for Amalberga, and declared, that to see them happy in the possession of each other was now the only wish of her heart.

Helen’s relations listened to this declaration with no trifling regret: they would willingly have rewarded her for her past sufferings by the certainty, that the remainder of her life would be past in happiness with one of the noblest of Helvetian youths. But they had brought 160with them (for the purpose of persuading Helen to the proposed marriage) some of Torrenburg’s relations, to whom his passion for Amalberga was by no means so unpleasant a subject. She was now a rich heiress; as Count Donat’s only surviving daughter, she was entitled to the extensive domains of Carlsheim and Sargans, and consequently she was a much more advantageous match than Helen. This gave rise to some disputes between the friends of the different parties: but the solemn declaration of Count Donat’s widow, that she never would lay aside that name, at length silenced every opposition; and she obtained from them all a promise, that they would mutually exert themselves 161to accomplish the only wish, which she indulged on this side of the grave; namely, the union of Eginhart of Torrenburg with Amalberga of Sargans. They were informed by her, that according to Amabel’s letter the lady was concealed in the Convent of Engelberg, and thither they hastened to apprize her of the happiness, which awaited her.

I need not say, that they sought her there in vain; the Count of Torrenburg’s endeavours to discover her were also unsuccessful, till the arrival of Bloomberg, who assured him, that she must be in Landenberg’s power, and that the most likely place to look for her was the Fortress of Rassburg. The consequence of this information was a bond of union 162between Torrenburg and the Friends of Freedom against Landenberg and his brother in iniquity, the insolent Gessler; and the Count immediately accompanied Bloomberg to Stein, that he might consult with his new allies the best means for effecting Landenberg’s overthrow and Amalberga’s deliverance.

In the mean while William Tell’s plan, for throwing off the Governor’s yoke, and asserting the liberty of his beloved country, had been gradually ripening. The impression, which he and his friends, Walter Forest, Bernsdorf, and the two Melthals, had made upon the general mind was great, and their adherents were numerous; but the 163success of their enterprise still depended entirely upon its being kept a profound secret. Those men, whose plans were soon to burst out into flames terrible as the explosion of a volcano, and to give posterity an example of heroic devotion to the cause of Freedom, were as yet compelled to work in darkness, and arrange their vast designs in corners and by stealth.

It was not till the 28th of December (being the Festival of St. Alexander) that they ventured to muster their numbers in a large meadow near the Lake of the Four Cantons; this was to be their last conference, and even this they took the precaution of holding under covert of the night. The Count of Torrenburg 164and Edmund Bloomberg were also present; but the former by his impatience had nearly ruined the whole design. Conscious of his exalted station, and of the valour of his new allies, he could not endure the degrading idea of skulking about in darkness and concealment, as if he were plotting the execution of some crime. He insisted upon an instant declaration of hostility against Landenberg, and that an attempt to rescue his beloved should be made without delay: it was not without difficulty that William Tell convinced him, how impossible it would be to rescue Amalberga any other way than by artifice, without exposing her to the most imminent danger; and that he persuaded 165him to wait patiently till St. Sylvester’s Eve, when (it was determined) the tyrant should have an open and forcible attack made upon him; though in making that attack, there would still be an absolute necessity for conducting it with the utmost caution.

Amalberga’s friends had obtained some intelligence respecting her present situation. One of Arnold Melthal’s sons, a spirited lad, equally well adapted to daring enterprise and the winding paths of artifice, found means to enter the Fortress of Rassburg in disguise, and examine whether any thing could be attempted towards the rescue of the lady. During her abode on the banks of the Lake of Thun, her sweetness and humility of manners; 166her majestic air accompanied by the condescension of an angel; the little difference which she seemed to make between herself and the girls of the village, whom she honoured with the name of her companions; all these together had made her an universal favourite; and had not every appearance of a chain been hateful in the eyes of the sons of Freedom, it would have been easy for Amalberga to have established herself as the queen of one of the best people that the earth holds, and to have mounted Helvetia’s throne by general acclamation.

To an eager desire for rescuing this adored lady from the power of Landenberg, was now united the wish to gain 167possession of the strong Castle of Rassburg; which would secure to Helvetia the success of all those mighty plans, whose accomplishment still lay concealed within the bosom of futurity.

Alwyn, Arnold Melthal’s son, when he ventured to approach the fortress in disguise, was not aware, that his was one of those countenances, which cannot pass unobserved. Fortunately, the eyes, whose notice he attracted, were those of one, by whom features like his were seldom viewed with displeasure. Landenberg happened to be absent, and had left his fair prisoner to the charge of a female attendant, who had formerly stood high in his estimation for the sake of her own beauty, and who 168now preserved her influence with him by condescending to watch over those, who were in present possession of that heart, to which she was herself become indifferent. Well skilled in manly beauty, she no sooner saw Alwyn pass along with a bucket on his head (for he had obtained entrance into Rassburg under the disguise of a common water-carrier) than she was convinced of his being something better, than his dress denoted. She accosted, and questioned him. His affected simplicity could not deceive her; and he saw himself compelled either to adopt some artifice, or to be reduced to that suspicious silence, which in such a situation would have been scarcely better than a confession of the truth.

169—“And so you continue to deny,” continued the girl, “that there is any secret reason for a man like you being here, habited in a manner to which, I am certain, you have never been accustomed? Young man, be frank with me! I should be sorry to give you over to some other questioner, who might use rough means to obtain an answer, or to order that you should be kept in custody, till the Governor returns. Then tell me honestly at once, who you are, and what motive has brought you hither?”—

Alwyn during this speech had examined the countenance of his new acquaintance, and fancied, that he could read in it marks of a partiality for him 170by no means doubtful. His resolution was taken in a moment, and he threw himself at her feet.

—“What brought me hither?” he exclaimed; “’twas Love, most beautiful of all earthly creatures! But who I am.... Ah! shall I dare to avow myself one of the lowliest among the inhabitants of yonder valley, and thus make it certain, that my suit will be rejected, and myself driven with scorn from the presence of her whom I adore?”—

—“And who is it that you adore?” demanded Ursula.

“You, lovely angel! you!” he exclaimed passionately, while he seized her hand, and prest upon it a thousand kisses; “my heart is devoted to you alone, and your cruelty will kill me!”—

171The astonished and delighted Ursula forced herself from his embrace, and fled; but it was not long before she returned, anxious to convince herself, that her half-faded charms had really made so valuable a conquest. To make a woman’s vanity believe any thing flattering, Heaven knows, is no difficult task; and half an hour was sufficient to leave her no doubt of her triumph. She soon grew weary of playing the prude, and she gave him to understand, that he would not find her heart absolutely marble; and thus did the handsome Alwyn find himself involved in an amour, at whose termination he could not guess, and of which, while it lasted, he thought, that he had but little reason to be vain.

172At present he reaped no great advantages from his artifice. It was impossible to get a sight of Amalberga, or convey to her a hint, that her friends in the valley were making preparations for her rescue. He was also soon compelled to retire by the return of the Governor, who was now frequently absent for days together from Rassburg on account of the popular disturbances, and who could only bestow a few isolated hours on the prosecution of his suit to the heiress of Sargans. As soon as the warder’s horn announced the Governor’s return, Ursula (who trembled, lest her supposed lover should be discovered by others, as he had been by her) requested him to be gone; yet still 173there was a secret means left for him to gain entrance into the fortress of the rock, which (disagreeable as it was) for Amalberga’s sake and the general advantage, he did not refuse to employ. At midnight his doating inamorata used to let a bucket down through a chasm in the wall; the rock was steep and flat; the unwilling Lover was then drawn up to the top, where he was obliged to purchase every little scrap of intelligence, which it was requisite for him to know, by a thousand lies and flattering speeches; every one of which, to an heart filled with Helvetian honesty, was scarcely less painful than the stab of a dagger.

He was rewarded, however, for this 174sacrifice by obtaining the important information, that hitherto Landenberg’s behaviour towards the Lady of Sargans had been restrained within the limits of the most respectful adoration: but that he had assured her with the most dreadful imprecations, that a period was fixed, beyond which he would no longer submit to be the patient victim of her severity. The first day of the ensuing year, he was determined, should make the cruel beauty completely his by fair means or by force. This intelligence induced Alwyn to be more frequent in his midnight visits; he repeated them, till every part of the fortress was become perfectly familiar, and till every little circumstance had been carefully 175gleaned by him, which might assist his friends in their design of storming the fort and rescuing the lovely captive.

By the Festival of St. Sylvester every necessary preparation was completed; and all the machines were ready to be worked at once in various parts of the country, which might secure the success of an enterprise, of whose views the release of an imprisoned damsel made but a very trifling part—those views were of the most extensive nature; yet if the plan had failed, in spite of the justice of Tell’s cause posterity would no doubt have branded him with the name of rebel, and confounded him with the common herd of unsuccessful adventurers, who have dared to 176attempt objects beyond their power to attain. But as his plan was arranged with the utmost foresight, and its execution was followed with the most prosperous issue, after-ages have viewed his deed with admiration, have reckoned it as the proudest triumph of the rights of nature over cruelty and oppression, and have bestowed on its author the title of a Hero: so certain is it, that actions are almost always weighed according to their result, and the most impartial judge (without being aware of it) is frequently induced to decide unfairly of events, dazzled by the lustre of the success with which they were attended.

Had nothing but the Count of Torrenburg’s 177inclination been consulted, the attempt, which was to decide upon his future happiness or despair, would not have been deferred till the latest day possible; neither when it was made, would so small a number of men have been employed to carry it into effect. Perhaps in this respect something would have been sacrificed in consideration of the impatience natural to a lover; but Helvetia’s deliverers were not without a certain portion of that obstinacy, which so often accompanies valour and resolution. Torrenburg’s opinion would doubtless have had more influence with them, had he not been a nobleman and one who was able to bring so powerful a force either to their aid or against 178them. They considered the most distant trace of authority over them with abhorrence, and were determined, that every step, which they made in the service of liberty, should be taken of their own free will. It was certain, that the fortress was but ill garrisoned, and that its security consisted solely in its inaccessible situation: in spite therefore of Torrenburg’s entreaties and anger, they resolved, that no more than one hundred men should be allotted for this service; and among these the jealous Helvetians, who could not endure that any hands but their own should break their fetters, would not suffer one of Torrenburg’s warriors to be introduced. It was not without some difficulty, that 179the Count obtained permission to accompany the party himself, and to be the next to Alwyn Melthal, who should penetrate into the Castle of Rassburg.

Never did any summer’s day seem so long to the Count as St. Sylvester’s, while he waited with impatience for the departure of light. No sooner was it dark, than the allies began to assemble by twos and threes from different quarters. It was one of the most gloomy winter nights, that ever favoured a secret enterprise; and the glimmering taper, which was the usual signal for Alwyn to ascend the wall, was not yet discernible. Midnight was already past; still there was no token of Ursula’s approach; when suddenly the trampling 180of horses was heard, and the gleam of approaching torches showed them a body of soldiers coming from the Castle by a path, which was well guarded by sentinels and provided with several draw-bridges. Landenberg was at the head of the troop. Unmoved by her tears and fainting, he had just informed Amalberga, that he should return the next day to hear her final decision; and he was now bending his course to Sarno, in order to exact the usual new-year’s gift from the inhabitants of the Valley, and hear them renew the oath of submission to their Leige-Lord, the Emperor. It was an established custom of the vice-gerents to receive from the hands of the vassals on the first day of 181the new year, what little had escaped their extortion during the old one; in return for which they never failed to promise greater indulgence for the future, nor in spite of that promise to conduct themselves with increased oppression.

As he journeyed onwards, Landenberg recapitulated to himself the advantages, which this year had produced to him; the quantity of wealth which he had collected in gold, jewels, and other valuables; the possession of the lovely Amalberga, whom he already looked upon as his own; and above all, the power of throwing off the wearisome mask of hypocrisy, which he had at first been compelled to assume.

182—“As to Gessler’s death,” said he to himself, “that has rather improved my situation, than done me any harm. It has relieved me from the rival of my greatness, and authorises me to exercise that severity, which is necessary for my own views, under the fair-sounding name of just revenge. These late unavailing efforts to oppose my will have convinced me, that I have to do with a weak, powerless people, who may be incensed indeed so far as to make some show of resistance at first, but whom firmness and chastisement will soon reduce within the limits of abject submission. There are not many Tells among them, God be thanked! He was the only man whom I feared, and luckily 183he is either dead, or a voluntary exile in some distant country; report says the former; but let him be where he will, so he be not here to spirit up my slaves against me with his poisonous influence. My slaves? Right; they are mine, no other’s. The ensuing year will, I trust, make clear to the world, for whom I am labouring, and whose advantage and peril are most implicated in the business! Then when I have attained the height at which I aim, doubtless my new dignity being shared with their adored Amalberga will have no slight influence in reconciling these people to my authority; and her popularity will induce them to protect her husband against the wrath of the deceived Emperor. 184The precious prize once secure, I shall then have no need of this assumed severity; the affection of my subjects will suffice to preserve them in obedience; I shall be at liberty to follow the bent of my inclinations by ruling with a gentle sway; and all of us will at once be made happy, Amalberga, myself, and the country which we govern.”—

Such was the subject of Landenberg’s reflections, many of which he occasionally imparted to some of his confidential attendants, as he rode along, totally unconscious of the foes so near him, and of the danger which threatened the speedy overthrow of all his ambitious hopes and projects. Here and there a sentence or two spoken in a louder 185voice than ordinary reached the hearing of the Helvetians, who were concealed among the various caverns Of the Castle-rock: and then was many a sword half drawn from the scabbard to impose eternal silence upon the insolent boaster. The vigilance of the prudent chiefs, however, and consideration for the public welfare compelled them to repress their unseasonable zeal. An over-hasty attack would have been sufficient to ruin every thing. Landenberg, it’s true, would probably have perished, but only to make room for a successor perhaps even worse than himself. The object here was not to make away with a single tyrant; no, it was to throw off a disgraceful yoke for ever, and to bequeath 186the precious treasure Liberty to their children, and to the children of their children even down to the latest posterity. Landenberg therefore was suffered to proceed with his attendants unmolested; nothing gave them warning of the danger, which lurked so near, except now and then a low whispering noise among the brambles, which made their hair stand an end, for it was now the ghostly hour; and as they dreaded its being something supernatural, the sound only served to make those who heard it pursue their course with the greater speed.

Scarcely had the last horseman disappeared in the farther part of the Valley, or rather scarcely had darkness 187dropt her thick curtain between the enemies; scarcely had the mountain-echoes ceased to reverberate the last sound of the hoofs of their steeds, when Alwyn’s guiding-star made its appearance: Ursula’s lamp was seen glimmering on the battlements above. A few hasty words were spoken among the confederates respecting the conduct of the enterprise; the last directions were given; and then young Melthal sprang into the bucket destined to convey him to her who expected him so impatiently, and whom he now met for the last time with expressions of pretended love. It was no trifling sacrifice, which poor Alwyn made on this occasion to the general welfare. To conceal the feelings of 188his honest guileless heart; to dissemble love for one who was totally indifferent to him; in many a rude tempestuous night to encounter dangers, such as nothing but the most sincere and ardent passion would have induced any other man to risk; and then at last to throw aside the mask, and to hear himself called a betrayer and a hypocrite, and called so with justice; this task was a most painful one, and keenly did Alwyn feel that his situation was disgraceful. Yet he thought, that even this sacrifice was not too much to make for his native land; and duty and patriotism made him submit to do that, which was of all things the most cruel to his feelings, and repugnant to his nature; 189they made him submit to play the hypocrite.

Silently lamenting the ignominious character which he was obliged to sustain, Alwyn followed his supposed mistress to a retired chamber, where (she told him) they should be secure from disturbance till morning; for hitherto the fear of discovery had only suffered their interviews to last for a few minutes. But at the moment when she expected to receive the kiss of ardent love, and when she turned to her lover after having carefully closed the door, to her utter astonishment a gag was forced into her half-opened mouth; and then seizing her arms, her supposed admirer fastened them with strong 190cords to the bed-posts. It is true, that the general safety had been declared to require the death of this wretched creature; but the noble heart of Alwyn revolted at the idea. Even the precautions, which circumstances now made it absolutely necessary for him to take, caused his cheeks to burn with indignation against himself; he took care to confine Ursula’s hands in such a way, that the pressure of the bonds could give her no pain; nor could he resolve to leave even a creature, whom in his heart he despised, a prey to absolute despair.

—“Fear nothing, Ursula,” said he in a gentle voice, while quitting the room; “every thing shall be explained 191shortly, and on my soul no harm shall happen to you”—a promise, which was religiously fulfilled.

Alwyn now hastened back to the battlements, and drew up the Count of Torrenburg in the same manner, by which he had ascended himself; and anxious as Eginhart was to fly to Amalberga’s assistance, still did he not quit his station, till two more of the confederates were safely landed on the platform of the Castle. These in their turn rendered the same service to their companions, and a sufficient number were soon mustered within the wails to authorize their proceeding to more hazardous attempts. Half of them seized the sleeping sentinels, while the rest 192without noise made the best of their way to the great gate. They opened it, and the approach through the rock was soon made practicable for the remainder of their friends, whom time had not permitted to ascend in the bucket.

No slight expectations had been entertained by the Helvetians, that this midnight attack would have made them masters of Rassburg, without its costing them a single drop of blood; but they had miscounted the strength of the garrison. Sufficient opposition was made to compel the besiegers to purchase their conquest dearly. Many a brave Helvetian bit the dust, and shared the grave of the enemy, who had just 193expired at his feet. The dawn of morning discovered the walls of the Castle of the Rock dyed with the blood both of friends and foes. By the time that the sun was fully risen, the work was completed; Helvetia’s sons had achieved their object, and the sheaths once more received their bloody swords. The chiefs now employed themselves in giving orders and making dispositions to preserve their conquest, while Torrenburg flew to deliver his Amalberga. He found her in a stately chamber; she was on her knees praying for him. The noise of the combat had roused her from sleep; yet convinced that her situation could not alter for the worse, she experienced no alarm for herself, till as the clash of arms occasionally drew nearer to her chamber door, she 194heard the name of Torrenburg shouted, and concluded, that he was among the combatants: then indeed she trembled, and sought refuge from her terrors in supplication to her Patron-Saint. The heart of the pious girl was full of confidence in the Divine justice: she doubted not, that the Ruler of all things had decreed every thing for the best; she knew, that neither herself nor Torrenburg had merited to suffer, and she trusted, that Heaven would act towards her with gentleness. In her supplications therefore she rather spoke of the goodness of Providence, than implored its help: or if she prayed for any thing, it was that a speedy stop might be put to the shedding of blood, of whose flowing she was but too well convinced by the clashing of arms, and the dying groans of 195some, who were slaughtered at no great distance from her chamber.

A long and fearful silence now succeeded. Suddenly her door was thrown open, and a knight in complete armour entered the room. He hastened towards her, raised his visor, and well did she recollect the noble countenance of him, whose portrait was engraved on her heart in characters indelible: but she recollected also his engagements to Helen; she was conscious of her danger and the weakness of her heart, and attempted to force away the hand, which he had seized, and prest to his lips with passion. It was long, before she recovered from her surprise and confusion sufficiently to comprehend the whole extent of those delightful views, which were now presented before her by indulgent Fortune.

196A Nun is but a sorry describer of love-scenes; and she, who traces this narrative, though she may not perhaps have always been a stranger to tender sentiments, still is unwilling to dwell longer than is necessary upon those, which filled the heart of the happy Amalberga, when she sank into her lover’s arms, and murmured—“Torrenburg, I am thine!”—I have since been assured, that in these first moments of rapture the name of Helen was not forgotten. In truth some trifling recollection, some little portion of gratitude at least was due to the unfortunate, who to procure the happiness of Amalberga and Torrenburg had not hesitated to immolate her own. The sacrifice was indeed a most difficult and painful one; but never did Helen once regret, that she had made it.

197While the lovers forgot every thing in the contemplation of those flattering prospects, which futurity showed them on all sides; and while the Helvetians were employed in taking every possible precaution, that might preserve to them the Fortress, of which they had so valiantly obtained possession; the other Patriots (as had been previously arranged) were carrying their glorious designs into execution in different parts of the country.

Peregrine of Landenberg had reached Castle-Sarno before day-break. He slept for a few hours, and then rose to welcome the day, which, he was determined, should see him the husband of the Heiress of Sargans. He had commanded, that towards evening a strong guard should conduct her thither from Rassburg, when a Friar, belonging 198to the Abbot of St. Gall, and who was entirely devoted to the Governor, had engaged to perform the marriage ceremony between them: whether with her consent, or without it, the good father cared but little.

Anxious to give as creditable an appearance as possible to this most important transaction of his life, Landenberg thought it best for the general edification to open the day’s business by walking in solemn procession to the neighbouring church. For this purpose he was already descending the great staircase accompanied by a numerous train of courtiers, when he was informed, that the inhabitants of the adjacent districts had assembled in the valley below, each bringing the accustomed New-year’s offering.

199Landenberg had great confidence in omens; he looked upon it as a pledge of future good fortune, that before he had set his foot without the Castle-walls, his course was impeded by presents. The procession to the church was deferred for awhile: part of his attendants were sent to take charge of the gifts, which had been brought to him; of the fatted oxen, the corn, the fruit, the cloth woven by the skilful hands of the industrious Helvetian housewives; the casks of wine; and here and there a few bags of coin, which were not the least welcome part of the offerings. In the mean while the Governor himself remained in the front-court, attended by a few of his most confidential attendants, and prepared for the reception of “the slaves of his servants,” as it 200was usual for him to term the brave Helvetians.

The deputation arrived. It consisted of fifty persons, with Henric Melthal at their head, Henric, on whose locks eighty winters had now shed their snows.

—“Lord Governor,” said the venerable man, approaching Landenberg, “the old year expired yesterday; the new one begins to-day. How you have sustained the character of Imperial Majesty among the opprest children of a free-born nation, that is your affair. How we begin the new, is our’s! Be God the judge between you and us, Peregrine of Landenberg; God, who has already judged Gessler, as he will judge you! But as for you, my sons, do as ye see me do, nor hesitate to lay down your lives in the cause of liberty and justice.”—

201It is inconceivable to me, how the daring old man was suffered to proceed so far in his speech. The Almighty must have struck a panic into the tyrant and his base dependents; but now recovering themselves, they hastily drew their side-weapons, which (from being rather intended for ornament than use, and able to do but little injury) were generally called “holy-swords.” Some, who were unprovided with even these weak instruments, hastened into the Castle in search of arms; in the mean while old Melthal and his trusty companions had drawn concealed pike-heads from under their cloaks, which they fixed dexterously and with promptitude on the tops of their long white staves; and now was the signal given for beginning a massacre, which 202once commenced was not concluded hastily. Among the first who fell was the Governor. The feeble arm of Henric Melthal, strengthened by Heaven and the justice of his cause, gave the decisive blow; and Edmund Bloomberg hastened to extricate his father-in-law from the crowd of those, who (now that they were recovered from their first consternation) prest on him to destroy the slayer of their chief. Landenberg cursed his fate, that he should fall so disgracefully by the arm of a dotard, and poured out his last breath in execrations. The combat became general. The Friends of Liberty were attacked by the Governor’s remaining attendants, who were now better armed; but this opposition was not of much avail, since at a given signal a second party of Helvetians, 203who were in waiting on the outside of the Castle, hastened to support their confederates.

The superiority of numbers being now on their side, the conquerors proclaimed quarter in the name of Henric Melthal. The loss of their chief had deprived the scanty band of his adherents of all their courage: they were glad to sheathe their weapons, and the conquering Helvetians took them under their protection, and conducted them uninjured to the boundaries. The gallant men were unwilling to stain their native soil with blood shed unnecessarily, and doubted not, that such a barbarous measure would have induced the Almighty to withdraw his blessing from their enterprise. They lost no time in taking measures for maintaining themselves 204in the possession of Castle-Sarno. Towards evening intelligence arrived, that Rassburg also had been attacked with success, and during the three or four succeeding days similar tidings were received from other parts of the country: Schwannau, Kussnach, Zinguri (which was not yet finished) and many other places of importance, had been wrested from the hands of Helvetia’s tyrants. Such universal success testified, that the arm of the Protector of innocence had fought in their cause; and they thought, the best means of showing their gratitude for such powerful aid to him, who detests unnecessary bloodshed, was to use their victory with mildness and moderation. They had expelled their enemies, and reinstated themselves in their natural rights: more they 205sought not, more they desired not; and it was this laudable moderation, which, by preventing them from aiming to obtain further advantages, enabled them to secure, what they had won already.

Peace after so long an absence returned once more to these happy vallies; and a firm fraternal union for offence and defence was established, which I pray, that God may grant to last, as long as the world exists.

Has not the ignorant Nun suffered herself to be enticed out of her proper sphere, while she described scenes of war and the efforts of Liberty? She, a weak defenceless woman, a slave bound in lasting fetters? Yet Heaven be thanked for it, those fetters are light: pious submission enables me to bear them, and they will 206ere long be loosened by the hand of Death.

Count Donat’s widow lived in tranquil seclusion at Zurich in the society of the Countess Urania; and their prayers were frequently offered up for the success of the honest Helvetians. They rejoiced to hear of their victories, of Amalberga’s rescue, and of her union with the Count of Torrenburg. But Helen did not wish to be herself a spectatress of their felicity; nor (when shortly after their marriage the happy pair visited her to express their mutual gratitude) could she be prevailed upon to pass more than one hour in their society; and many, many of the succeeding days were for her days of anguish. Poor Helen was but a weak mortal, no saint, no angel: and alas! to forget is a task not so easy, as some may think!

207Yet in recompence for her past sorrows Heaven had still reserved one pleasure for her future life. Oh! Blessed Virgin, what a pleasure was that! what a surprise! what an unexpected re-union!—But let me proceed regularly.

The good Domina of Zurich was dead; the Princess Euphemia had already been appointed Abbess of Tull, and therefore could not accept the vacant dignity. No persuasion could induce Urania, at her advanced age, to fill so laborious a situation, and the lot now fell upon Count Donat’s widow. She obeyed the general voice, and was well-pleased to have a means for exerting benevolence in a more extended circle. She became (what I say of her ought not to be counted to her as a merit, since she did but her duty) she became 208the mother of the opprest; and the man, who intrusted to her a daughter, a sister, or a mistress, knew, that she could be no where safer than in her arms. This was universally known; and many a knight, before he set out on some distant expedition, secured under her protection those treasures, which he valued dearer than all others, which the world contained.

One day a knight requested an audience of her: as soon as she saw him, it struck her, that his features were not altogether unknown to her.

—“Sir Knight,” said she, “it appears to me, that we have met before.”—

—“You say truly, holy mother,” answered he; “it was I, who by the Bishop of Coira’s command took the Castle of Sargans by storm, and afterwards conducted 209you to this Convent. Methinks, you placed but little confidence in me on that occasion, though perhaps it would have been for your advantage, had you shown more: but its true, you knew not my name; knew not, that never had any one reason to repent the trust, which he reposed in Herman of Werdenberg. I will not follow your example; I am now preparing to reveal to you my dearest secrets, and solicit you to become the guardian of my most precious treasure. Grief of heart some time ago drove me from my native land: my uncle’s death necessitated my return; and being once more in Germany, I suffered myself to be persuaded to remain there: nay, under a borrowed name I consented to act as the knight-protector of the new Bishop’s subjects, 210and to become the assertor of his rights and privileges.

“It was in this capacity, that I became acquainted with you, Lady, in the Castle of Sargans: report, and mysterious circumstances respecting your conduct, I confess, had not prejudiced me in your favour; and perhaps I did not treat you with so much respect and attention, as (I am now well convinced) was justly due to your merits. After escorting you hither, I returned to Sargans, being commissioned to defend the Castle against Landenberg and his associates, in the name of Count Donat’s daughters; whom the Bishop had adopted as his wards, and whom he publicly declared his intention of reinstating in their rights, as soon as the place of their concealment could be ascertained. 211It seems, the rebellious Landenberg thought, that this was the fit time for making himself master of all Rhœtia, while the Ten Jurisdictions were torn to pieces by the tumults and confusion, to which his artifices had given rise; but report must have already informed you, how soon those vain hopes were crushed by the noble efforts of the assertors of Liberty.

“In order that I might not be quite idle during my undisturbed residence at Sargans, the Bishop (who has no antipathy to gold) commissioned me to enquire into the truth of an old tradition very current among the people, that immense treasures lie buried in the foundation of that antient fortress. Upon asking some questions, I was conducted to an old and ruined 212well in a remote court, and assured that it contained wealth inexhaustible. The Bishop on this report desired me to cause the well to be cleared out; but its contents furnished nothing but venomous reptiles, filth, and some human bones, the melancholy memorials of former cruelties, whose commission Heaven no doubt had long since punished.

“Other places were afterwards pointed out to me as the repository of this buried wealth; but no better success attended their examination. At length I resolved to set my workmen to clear out that subterraneous passage, the falling-in of whose roof had so nearly proved your destruction. It seemed to me much more probable, that I should find here that of which I was in search, than in those places which I had 213already examined; but it was my full determination, in case of discovering the supposed treasures, not to give them up to the Bishop, but to reserve them for the heiress of Carlsheim and Sargans, who had lately been rescued from Landenberg’s power, and was now Countess of Torrenburg. It was however less my object to find wealth which I despised, than to furnish my followers with a harmless occupation, and by restoring the concealed passage (which in our turbulent times is absolutely necessary in every fortress) to render a trifling service to posterity. The work was difficult and tedious; however, I was just rejoicing in the reflection, that a few days would suffice to finish it, when the Bishop of Coira found it impossible to delay any longer with common decency 214the restoring of Sargans to the Countess Amalberga and her husband. One branch of the passage alone remained in ruins, and I would gladly have completed my task; but Count Eginhart was already at the gates of Sargans. I hastened to deliver up every thing, which had been committed to my custody, and we renewed our former friendship; a friendship, which in the earlier part of our lives had been most intimate.

“It was my intention to request his permission to finish the repairs of the subterraneous caverns: unluckily, as we sat conversing together, and recalling the events of former days over our flowing goblets, he mentioned the sister of his bride, who had once made upon my heart a very forcible impression; but my passion 215was not strong enough to make me consent to commit my honour to the keeping of a daughter of Count Donat. The Count painted in glowing colours the happiness, which he enjoyed with Amalberga; and he finally accused me of having treated the Lady Emmeline unworthily, and of having driven her into the jaws of perdition by my rigour and contempt. As her relations have always wrapt in mystery the latter scenes of Emmeline’s life, I am even at this moment ignorant, as to what is become of Her, who was once so dear to me; nor could I understand, to what the Count alluded in the conclusion of his speech. I could not, however, allow, that I had acted by her with injustice, and asserted, with that warmth which is natural to me, that no man of prudence 216and honour would have acted otherwise. Our conversation grew bitter; and at length we parted in such anger, that it was impossible for me to submit to asking of him as a favour, that I might prosecute my subterraneous labours.

“Perhaps you will be surprised at my being so anxious about such a trifle, as the repairs of these vaults; I must therefore confess to you, that the real motive of my wish to examine this passage thoroughly, was nothing more than a dream; but that dream was in truth a very remarkable one.

“The first time that I broke a lance at a public tournament, it was my fortune to obtain the prize, a ring apparently of considerable value. I was pleased both with the jewel, and with the manner in which I obtained 217it, and never failed to wear it on all solemn festivals; till a person well skilled in precious stones convinced me, that the diamond was false and the ring itself scarcely worth three golden shields^[3]. Incensed at having been so grossly imposed upon, I snatched it from my finger, and threw it over the battlements: the circumstance of its having been the reward of my address soon made me wish to recover it; but though my squire was immediately dispatched, he returned without having been able to find it. I had quite forgotten this ring and all its circumstances; but on both the two nights preceding Torrenburg’s entry into the Castle of Sargans, I dreamt, that in traversing the subterraneous passage I found my lost ring, and 218that the false stone was changed into a diamond, which illuminated the whole cavern with its radiance.

“I cannot account for the strong impression, which this dream made upon my fancy; yet (Heaven knows!) I set but little store upon the treasures of this world, and were I possest of all the diamonds which the earth contains, I should only employ them to adorn our Redeemer’s cross; that cross, which it is my firm resolution to wear in future against the Saracens, and other enemies of our holy religion. Yet in spite of this contempt of wealth, and of the little faith which I put in omens, the repetition of this dream struck my imagination so forcibly, that I could not rest without ascertaining, whether the vaults did really contain the ring, which I had so long lost.

219“My disagreement with Torrenburg had made it impossible for me to satisfy my doubts by means of the Castle-entrance: but I thought it by no means unlikely, that there might be some communication between the passage and the ruined Abbey of Curwald, which was situated at no great distance, and was just beginning to be rebuilt.

“I was well acquainted with Father John; a worthy man, who had lately been appointed the Superior of those few Monks, who had escaped from Count Donat’s barbarity. He readily acceded to my request, and I immediately began my work.

“For several days the ruins were examined without success: yet the assurance of one of the elder Monks, that he remembered 220having heard (but merely as a tradition) that a private communication had formerly existed between the Convent and Sargans, made me unwilling to give up the pursuit. It was frequently my custom after dismissing my labourers (wearied with their fruitless endeavours to discover that, which they were firmly persuaded had no existence) to wander by myself, and mark the melancholy contrast made by the slowly-rising walls of the new building, with the ruins of the old one which had not yet been removed. The vaults beneath the Convent being generally the scene of our enquiries, as affording us the best chance for finding the so much wished-for passage, I frequently loitered here alone, after my workmen had left me for the evening, A fixed melancholy had 221taken possession of my soul: in truth, it could not well be otherwise, surrounded as I was on all sides by memorials of mortality, and the marks of celestial judgments!

—“Where,” said I often to myself, “where are now the voluptuous pleasures of the Monks of Curwald? where the pride and power of the tyrants of Carlsheim and Sargans? The grave has swallowed them all; nothing remains of them, but the memory of their crimes and the detestation of posterity!—Herman, still preserve in your heart unshaken the love of virtue, and not less the hatred of vice: be at once the terror of the profligate and the friend of the innocent and the helpless. Bring equally before the world’s eye the rights of the opprest and the crimes of the oppressor, and unite in one person the protecting and the avenging angel.”—

222“These ideas prest themselves upon my mind with more than ordinary force, as I sat one evening in one of the Convent-vaults upon a heap of stones. It was in the vault nearest to those of Sargans; and despairing of finding the old secret communication, I had at length resolved to employ my workmen in digging out a new one. They had already commenced their labours, and were retired after making no inconsiderable progress. The hour was late; darkness had closed round me, but an iron lamp was fixed against the wall and guided my steps, as I slowly traversed to and fro this abode of religious melancholy. The scene was congenial to the state of my feelings; I consecrated it to secret sorrow; and here it was that I offered up my prayers for the future, here 223it was that I poured forth my tears, while dwelling upon the past. Yes, holy Mother, my tears! The stern and haughty Herman of Werdenberg has wept frequently; has wept, when if any eye had witnessed the drops, his cheek would have blushed with shame at the unworthy cause of his sorrow; to you alone, to the ear of indulgent pity, he scruples not to disclose the secret of his weakness.

“Lady, my tears streamed for having formed an early attachment for one, who deserved not my affection. I once adored Emmeline of Sargans; but I tore her from my heart, convinced that it was impossible for her to be virtuous, who had been educated in the very lap of vice. Yet Amalberga, Emmeline’s sister, and who had been educated with her, was 224modest, pure, and irreproachable; then why not Emmeline? What had since happened to that unfortunate was unknown to me; and my disagreement with her brother-in-law prevented my obtaining that information from him, which I was now most anxious to obtain; for one of his expressions had cut me to the very soul, and I strove in vain to banish it from my memory. He told me, “that my rigour had driven Emmeline into the jaws of perdition;” and while his words lay heavy upon my heart, I could not but own, that it was possible for his accusation to be well-founded. An union with an honest man, such as Herman of Werdenberg boasts himself to be, would have been the best and most certain means of rescuing her from the power of her licentious 225father and the contagion of his example. Yet what could I do? Say, that I was mistaken in my judgment of Emmeline; still was it incumbent on me to run so great a risque to preserve her, as to entrust the care of my honour to one, who I feared would prove a wanton?

“But at all events, these considerations came too late. Nothing was now left for me but to banish recollections which, (Heaven only knows, why) intruded themselves upon me so forcibly, and which certainly were the most absurd and fruitless, with which I could have employed my mind. Yet still they did employ it in spite of all my efforts, as I sat with my eyes sometimes fixed on the dark vaults which frowned above me, sometimes on the glimmerings of the distant lamp, without being conscious 226what it was, at which I was gazing. At length incensed at my own folly I started from my seat, and was quitting the vault abruptly, when a faint murmur struck my hearing.

“I stopped. It was not the first time, that I had heard something like a groan, while traversing these vaults; but I had always supposed the noise to be occasioned by the wind, or else to be the echo of my own heart-drawn sighs. But now it was not only more loud and more distinct, but I almost fancied, that it was followed by sounds resembling words spoken by one in agony.

“I hastened back to the place, which I had just quitted. I shouted, to observe whether an echo would answer me, but all was silent.—I removed to a distance; 227I came back again; I placed my head against the wall of the cavern; I knelt, and laid my ear to the ground; I heard the noise again. I endeavoured to trace it; still it continued, sometimes louder, sometimes weaker; till at length it conducted me to a small iron grating inserted in the ground, and from whence the wind, which blew upon me, seemed to be more heavy and chilling, than that which I breathed in the vaults above.

“And through this opening did a voice now reach me, whose melancholy tones seemed those of a female! It sounded so audibly, that all my doubts vanished at once, and all my sensations resolved themselves into the single eager enquiry—‘By what means I could assist the sufferer?’—

—“Are you then come at last?” answered 228the voice; “but speak louder, for I cannot understand what you say!—My senses are so confused ... and my brain seems to whirl round and round so rapidly!”—

“I repeated my enquiries, but with no better effect.”

—“I hear the sound of your voice, but not your words,” answered the captive; “and weakness prevents my dragging myself nearer to the grate—Do you bring me food?—Alas! it is so long since you last visited me!—I was afraid, that you had died suddenly—Afraid, did I say?—Oh! Heaven, who would have suspected, that I should ever have dreaded Luprian’s death!”—

“These words were pronounced slowly, and in broken sentences. I now stretched my voice to its utmost extent, and dwelt 229with peculiar emphasis on the words “Help” and “Liberty.”

—“Liberty?” she repeated; “no, Luprian; at your price it would be too dearly purchased. Urge me no more to be the partner of your flight: could I have ever stooped to disgrace, I need not have languished so long in this dreary dungeon. If I have no choice left but death or infamy, I prefer the former; leave me, and let me die!—And yet.... Oh! God in Heaven! To part with even the most miserable existence is so bitter.... Oh! it is still so bitter!”

“I saw, that it would be vain for me to labour any more at making myself understood; and the faint tone, in which these last words were uttered, alarmed me. Yet I spoke once again, but no answer was returned; 230I doubted not, that the unfortunate had fainted.

“How I might effect her delivery with the utmost celerity, I knew not; yet in my anguish and uncertainty I accidentally struck upon that, which was most prudent: I hastened to the small temporary building inhabited by Abbot John and his Monks; I related in a few words what had happened, and requested their advice.

“The Fraternity one and all hastened with me to the vault, every one bearing a mattock, a pick-axe, or some such instrument. They were holy benevolent men, resembling the original founders of their Order, and had escaped as it were by a miracle from the flames, in which their guilty brethren had perished. They were eager to redeem by their own conduct 231the slur, which the crimes of others had brought upon their Convent, and were as greedy of good actions, as most other Monks are of rich legacies and well-stored cellars.

“We were now near the vault, and already the beams of the distant lamp struck our eyes; but on our entrance, those among us who were best-sighted were aware, that the vault was not so totally unoccupied, as I had left it. By the glimmerings of a small lanthorn a tall dark figure was descried, kneeling on the before-mentioned grating. I sprang forward. The stranger heard my steps, started from the ground, and rushed by me so suddenly, that I attempted to stop him in vain. I called to the approaching Monks not to let him pass; but before 232they could reach him, his foot stumbled, and he fell prostrate on the ground.

“Totally engrossed by their impatience to rescue the prisoner, my companions were hastening forwards without paying any attention to the stranger; but a thought, which passed through my mind like a flash of light, made me conceive, how important it was to examine him. I flattered myself, that I should discover in him that same Luprian, whom the unfortunate had mentioned, and who in all probability was her gaoler. Should my conjecture prove correct, I considered this meeting as a great step towards her deliverance: I therefore grasped him firmly by the arm, and dragged him towards the lamp, in order that I might examine my prize.

233“I beheld a miserable creature, enveloped in the ragged habit of a monk, and whose bloodless cheeks, sunk eyes, and emaciated limbs would have excited my deepest compassion, had I not had good cause to harbour suspicions, that compassion was a sentiment, of which he was but little deserving.

—“Art thou Luprian?” said I in a thundering voice.

“He sank at my feet, and stammered out an avowal.

—“Wretch!” I continued; “what motive could induce thee to confine an unfortunate woman in yonder subterraneous dungeon?”—

“He was silent for a few moments; then suddenly starting from the ground—“You know that she is confined there,” 234said he with a furious look, “and knowing that, you know enough to destroy me! Ask me no more questions; I will answer none!”—

“He threw himself sullenly upon the heap of ruins, and maintained an obstinate silence. Unwilling to own that I knew no more than his name, I first endeavoured to terrify him into a disclosure of this mystery; and finding my threats produce no effect, I had recourse to persuasion, painting in as strong colours as possible the cruelty of suffering the unfortunate to remain longer in her prison, and exhorting him to atone in some degree for his faults towards his captive, by being himself the instrument to effect her release. In the mean while my companions had fallen to work with their spades and mattocks; 235but large pieces of stone frequently fell into the dungeon below; and the cries of the sufferer, who dreaded being crushed beneath their weight, convinced them, how dangerous was this mode of procuring her deliverance, and finally compelled them to desist from the attempt.

“What was now to be done? While we agitated this question, Luprian stood with his arms folded, silent and thoughtful, as if He too had been resolving some difficult point; at length he threw himself on his knees before us; and on condition that his life and liberty should be secured to him, he made a proposal, which he swore to fulfil conscientiously.

—“No one but myself,” said he, “can enable you to set that captive free, and it is in my power to show you such means 236as are most sure and speedy. You see how rotten is this vault, and you may judge from the faint murmur of her complaints, how deep her dungeon is sunk into the ground. It will at any rate be long, ere you can force your way to her; and from her extreme weakness it is unlikely, that she should live till your arrival, even should she escape the imminent danger of having her brains dashed out by some fragment of the crumbling roof. But only speak one word to assure me of life and forgiveness, and I will immediately furnish you with explanations, which (should you refuse my offer) this dagger shall enable me to take with me to the grave.”—

“The naked steel, which Luprian now pointed towards his bosom, inspired us 237with no alarm. It would have been easy to wrest the weapon from his grasp; but our impatience to assist the unfortunate captive compelled us to give the required promise. Her complaints had now again ceased to be audible; and we felt, that not a moment was to be lost, if we meant to find her still in existence.

“As soon as we had solemnly engaged not to attempt either his life or freedom, Luprian resigned his dagger to one of the Monks, and informed us, that in order to accomplish our object it would be necessary to quit the vault, and seek a different entrance to the lady’s dungeon, which was well known to him. Accordingly we followed him for some time, till we arrived at a remote part of the Convent ruins.

238—“Here,” said he, stopping before a ruined wall, from which he removed a few loose stones, and showed us a narrow flight of stairs; “here you must descend, and these steps will conduct you to the place, of which you are in search. Now then I have performed my promise, and require the performance of yours: permit me to retire.”—

“I hastily seized a torch from one of the Monks, and was hastening down the staircase, without giving myself a moment’s reflection: but the more prudent Abbot detained me, gave the torch to Luprian, and commanded him to finish the work which he had begun, before he claimed the reward of his services.

“Nothing was left for him but to obey. He guided us down about fifty steps, and 239after reaching the foot of the stairs we had a subterraneous passage to traverse of the same length with that, which had led us from the grating to the ruined wall. It was terminated by an iron door strongly fastened on the outside, and which had we not detained Luprian, we should have found no little difficulty, and lost no little time, in opening. As I made this observation, I cast upon him an accusing glance; but the door unclosing left me no time to express in words my indignation at this proof of his intended treachery. We rushed eagerly into the dungeon, and found it to be a large vaulted cell, of which darkness had taken such complete possession, that the beams of our torches were insufficient to dissipate the gloom, and could only shed a faint glimmering 240around us. Its only recommendations were its loftiness and space. By holding our lights on high, we could discern (but with difficulty) the iron grating inserted in the roof, through which the complaints of the prisoner had so seasonably reached me. Exactly beneath it stood a loaf and a flask of wine, which Luprian had just let down into the dungeon; and in a corner of it stretched on a miserable pallet the object of our search lay fainting, as indeed we had suspected from her silence. With the assistance of one of the younger Monks I raised her from the ground, and bore her to the upper air, which we considered as the most likely means of bringing her to herself.

“This hope however proved vain. Animation was lost too completely to be so 241easily recalled. Above an hour had elapsed since our conveying her to the Abbot’s dwelling (where no means were neglected that could restore animation) before we had the least reason to flatter ourselves with hopes of her recovery. At length with inexpressible delight we saw her half unclose her eyes; but she instantly shut them again on account of the pain caused in them by the light, to which they were now quite unaccustomed.

“We gave her every possible assistance, and after some time she gained strength and recollection enough to enable her to comprehend the favourable change, which had taken place in her situation. Tears of joy, and her clasped hands raised in gratitude to Heaven, were her only answer. She strove to thank us for the 242service which we had rendered her; but emotion choaked her utterance, and to express her sense of our kindness by looks was not in her power, since the beams of the sun (who was now risen) were so painful to her eyes, that she had been obliged to cover her face with a thick veil to save herself from relapsing into insensibility.

“We therefore carefully excluded day-light from her chamber, and left her to repose. While she slept, we resolved to take the opportunity of making Luprian explain a business, which we conceived to be of some importance, and respecting which our curiosity was raised to the highest pitch by hearing some of the Monks assert their persuasion, that Luprian’s features were not unknown to them. The last Abbot of Curwald, who 243was supposed to have perished in the conflagration, had borne that name, and in spite of his pale countenance and meagre form they verily believed my prisoner to be no other. We were now all impatience to ascertain this point; but we found, that in order to effect our object we ought to have been more upon our guard. Occupied by the melancholy situation of the lady, which excited universal interest and compassion, not one of us had paid the least attention to her gaoler: now that we recollected him, he was not to be found. It appeared probable, that he had forsaken us immediately upon our entrance into the subterraneous dungeon, since no one remembered to have seen him since that time, nor indeed to have bestowed a thought upon him. We had now nothing 244left for it but to rail at our inattention, and to lay the blame upon each other. However, we did not think our loss of any material consequence, since we doubted not the lady’s ability to clear up the mystery; and at all events the captive was at liberty, and we had effected a good deed.

“She awoke, greatly strengthened by her refreshing slumber: her first request was to be removed from the society of men, and committed to the charge of persons of her own sex. We had already agreed with a respectable widow in one of the neighbouring villages, that the invalid should be taken to her house, as soon as she was able to bear the removal. The good woman soon made her appearance, and the stranger’s impatience to quit the 245Monastery was so extreme, that we judged her likely to suffer less detriment from the journey than from delay. The distance was not great; she was placed in an easy litter; and her nurse took such good care of her both during her removal and afterwards, that she was quickly pronounced out of all danger. Her eyes again became accustomed to day-light; her hearing was no longer hurt by the loudness of human voices, and she could speak without difficulty: yet has she never thought proper to disclose her name either to myself, or to the Abbot who visited her daily.—But let it still remain concealed; there is at least one title, which after hearing the brief relation of her sufferings I know well to be her proper right; the title of the purest and most heroic of virtuous martyrs, a 246name which deserves to be engraved on marble, and employed to add sanctity to altars!

“You are surprised, holy Lady, to hear the cold and serious Herman speak with such enthusiasm; but let it not injure me in your opinion. The rescued prisoner perhaps was once beautiful, but now she is so no longer. Sorrow and confinement have robbed her person of every charm, which could inspire the voluptuary’s heart with passion: yet were I ever to love again, my soul should be devoted to the perfection of female virtue, not of female loveliness. Emmeline, the enchanting Emmeline, with all her train of charms and graces, perhaps, I may in time cease to remember; but never, oh! never shall I forget the form of my pale emaciated captive, 247sinking into the grave the victim of her principles; never while he has breath, shall that interesting countenance fade from the recollection of Herman of Werdenberg!

“But I have wandered widely from the object of this long discourse; I came hither to make a request, to which all that I have said is but an introduction: the health of this noble persecuted creature, of my friend, my sister, my preserved one, is now almost re-established. She begins to consider, what it will hereafter be most expedient for her to do; and as she says, that she has no relation in the world to whom she dares confide her interests, she has condescended to ask my advice respecting her future proceedings. We both agreed, that a convent is the most proper 248retreat for her in her present circumstances; and on my mentioning to her that, which is under your direction, holy Mother, she received the proposal with rapture.

—“Oh! surely,” she exclaimed, “my mind cannot yet be quite itself again, or I could not have hesitated a moment respecting my choice.—Helen of Homburg!—the Convent of Zurich!—Heavenly powers, how could I have forgotten those dear dear names so long?”—

“She then enquired eagerly, whether Urania Venosta still lived within these walls; and when I answered in the affirmative, she discovered such strong emotion, as her gentle despondent manners had little led me to expect her being capable of feeling. She clasped her hands in ecstacy; 249a shower of tears rolled down her pale cheeks, while she sank on her knees, and returned thanks to Heaven; she then entreated me to leave her without delay, and prepare a reception for her in your Convent. I would willingly have first ascertained, whether she was already known to you; but her impatience would not admit of my postponing my journey for an instant, and I was compelled to depart unsatisfied.

“Now then may I hope, that my request will not be rejected? Shall I be authorised to assure my friend of a welcome reception within these walls? Speak but one gracious word, and a few hours will be sufficient to bring her to your feet. Conducted by the good Abbot she has followed my steps hither, and I need only your 250permission to deliver her up to your protection,”—

It is superfluous to say, that Herman’s request was granted with readiness; but how great was the emotion, which his narrative had excited in his auditress, how ardent her impatience for the arrival of the unhappy lady! She was unable to restrain her tears, and a thousand joyful exclamations escaped her lips, whose import was unintelligible to Herman.

—“Am I right,” said he, “in supposing, that my friend is not unknown to you?”—

—“Heaven grant, that it may prove so,” answered the Abbess, while she hastily wiped away her tears. “But as yet you have allowed me so little insight into her history, that I scarcely dare give credit to 251my hopes. Oh! furnish me with more light; tell me every thing that you know about her; and prevent my nourishing the sweet but deceitful dreams, which now occupy my fancy. Alas! alas! it is impossible that they should be verified; in pity then destroy them at once, before these fond hopes have time to take such root in my heart, that to tear them out again would almost break it.”—

—“All that I know respecting this stranger,” answered Herman, “is, that she was immured by her friends in the Convent of St. Roswitha several months before the fatal conflagration. It was not long, before she became acquainted with the manners, which prevailed in this polluted Sanctuary. Luprian, the unworthy Abbot of Curwald, who even under the 252protecting roof of her father had insulted her by a declaration of his passion, renewed his persecution with increased ardour in a place, which was completely under his dominion. Much time was not suffered to elapse, before her resistance was punished by confinement in the cell, whence I released her: yet she was occasionally compelled to return to the Convent, in order that her virtue might be assailed by art, flattery, and every power of the most refined seduction, as well as by severity and persecution.

“The day preceding the dreadful night, in which these dwellings of sin were purified by fire, had witnessed such a scene of temptation, as Luprian thought could not possibly fail of success. But it was defeated in a manner so disgraceful for 253the enemies of innocence, that spite and fury took the place of seduction and love. The heroine was compelled to endure a variety of the most cruel insults and injuries, and then was dragged back to her dungeon so exhausted with her sufferings, that she could scarcely be called alive.

“To her return to this prison was she indebted for existence. It was sunk so deep within the earth and so remote from the inhabited parts of the Convent, that she only had a slight suspicion from different circumstances, that something unusual was passing above her head. She was confirmed in this idea by several days elapsing without any nourishment being brought to her. She was reduced to the greatest extremity; and hunger would soon have put a period to her sufferings, 254when the prison-door was unlocked, and the Abbot entered. A cordial of great power, which he gave her, restored her strength sufficiently to enable her at length to comprehend the object of his visit. He first informed her of the events which had lately taken place, and then proceeded to propose to her the terms, on which she might obtain her liberty.

—“It is universally believed,” said he, “that I, as well as the rest of my Order, have fallen a prey to the flames; I encourage this opinion, since it enables me with security to quit a profession, for which I am ill calculated, and which I have always held in detestation. I acknowledge it, my passion for you has hitherto been such, as you ought not to have complied with; but I now come to declare sentiments so 255pure, that you may safely listen to them without doing the least injury to your honour. I have rescued the Abbey-treasure from the ruins; I have also secured such considerable funds in other countries, as will enable me to support the establishment of a temporal prince in any place which you may prefer, provided it be one where my person is not known. Nothing is wanting to complete my happiness, except the possession of your hand, and I trust, you will not be so blind to your own advantage, as to reject my honourable suit. But one choice is allowed you; either you must perish in this dungeon, whose existence is now a secret to every human being except myself; or else you must take a solemn oath upon the cross to share my flight from Germany, and become 256 my wife, as soon as we are safe in some foreign climate. There is no time for deliberation; the success of my plans depends upon their speedy execution, and you must instantly and at once pronounce the sentence, which decides both your fate and my own.—I wait your answer.”—

“That answer was such, as might have been expected from one, by whom the licentious Luprian was held in as much abhorrence, as virtue was held dear and idolized. She asserted the indissoluble nature of his vows to religion, and repaid his tender speeches with such scorn, that he left her with a threat never to repeat his offer, but to suffer her to perish of hunger without compassion or remorse. But the captive was too dear to him to permit his keeping that resolution. He tormented 257her with frequent visits, and desisted not from his fruitless endeavours to reconcile her to his plans; though to her great satisfaction he was latterly compelled to abstain from entering her dungeon. A suspicion existed, that considerable treasures were buried among the ruins of the Monastery; it was therefore judged prudent to place sentinels about them, and thus was the execrable Monk debarred all intercourse with his prisoner, except such as could be carried on by favour of the iron grating.

“Luprian now found it absolutely necessary for him to visit Italy, where he had deposited the chief part of his wealth. He entrusted the care of the lady to his sole Confident. As his absence was protracted longer than he had himself expected, she 258enjoyed some respite from his infamous addresses, and was not without hopes, that her entreaties and sufferings would at last induce his representative to take some steps towards effecting her deliverance. Those hopes however were continually disappointed. His heart was not more flexible than his associate’s; he remained immutably faithful to the trust reposed in him; and in answer to her enquiries respecting the transactions of the regions above her, he gave her such accounts of the successes of her enemies and of the destruction of all those who were dear to her, as almost extinguished her anxiety to escape from her dungeon. She saw, that nothing but sorrow would welcome her return to liberty, and the natural love of life struggled but faintly against the certainty of 259present sufferings, and the apprehension of those, which were still to come.

“Day after day crept away, during which the dreadful uniformity of her unhappy situation was uninterrupted, except by moments of utter despair, whose power frequently was on the point of subduing the poor prisoner; or else by those gleams of ungrounded hope, with which Providence strengthens and comforts those whom he means finally to preserve, in order that they may not quite sink beneath the burthen of their calamities. Luprian still returned not: the lady’s complaints seemed gradually to make their impression on the mind of his deputy. He occasionally suffered hints to escape him, that it would not be impossible to obtain his consent to her liberty: and at length at her 260earnest request he was induced to declare, that he was ready that instant to put an end to her sufferings, provided she would consent to share with him as his wife the enjoyment of that wealth, which the Abbot had placed in his custody.

“Here then her hopes again were disappointed. Vexation added bitterness to the manner, in which she indignantly rejected his infamous proposal: and the wretch, exasperated by her cutting expressions, swore, that he would put his plan in execution without her that very day, and would leave her to her fate. He kept his oath; and the captive must have perished, had not the Abbot fortunately returned at this identical moment. His expedition had been attended with nothing but disappointment. The wealth, 261which he had vested in foreign hands, had disappeared from a variety of causes, some through mischance, more through treachery; and he now only returned to find his associate fled, his treasure plundered, and his mistress as inflexible as ever. Vexation, poverty, and fatigue threw him on the bed of sickness. Many days frequently past, during which the captive was totally neglected; when at length her gaoler appeared, it was only to throw to her a loaf of that bread, of which he now could with difficulty procure a sufficiency for his own sustenance, and with every time to assure her, that this nourishment was the last, which she would ever receive from his hands. He spoke no longer of flight, or indeed of his passion for her; in truth, the former now seemed to be almost 262impracticable, for the rebuilding of the Monastery was begun; people were constantly employed in the neighbourhood of the dungeon’s entrance; and the outlets from the ruins were watched with more vigilance than ever. The sufferer frequently entreated him to promise, that he would at least reveal to some one the place of her confinement before his death; since in order to increase her terrors he never mist an opportunity of assuring her, that he had not many days to exist. But in vain did she represent to him, that when he should be in another world, her sufferings in this could by no means be to him of any advantage: he was deaf to her supplications. Bitter and contemptuous irony was his only answer; and it seemed as if he solely enabled her to support life, in 263order that he might still have a human being in his power to torment.

“It was about this time, that the vaults above her prison became an object of examination: they were completely clogged up with rubbish, except one narrow passage conducting to the grate. She had often determined on ending her sufferings by a voluntary death, and for several days persisted in refusing sustenance; but now that she frequently heard a noise above her head, and even once or twice caught the gleam of distant torches through the iron opening, her fearful resolutions were laid aside, and their place occupied by the hope, that accident perhaps might effect her deliverance.

“These hopes she concealed most sedulously from her tyrant; and so often had 264her sweetest dreams disappointed her, that despair still was able at times to regain his former influence over her mind. Yet she was now so accustomed to mark by some piteous sound, that there was a suffering creature buried in these caverns who implored assistance, that she continued her groans and cries, even when she had long given up the expectation of their reaching the ear of compassion. In truth, the workmen, during the intervals of their labours, had caught the faint murmurs of her complaints; but they put no other interpretations upon the sound, than such as were suggested by terror and superstition. Fortunately our enterprise necessarily brought us every day nearer the place of her seclusion; till at length some good Angel made me attentive to the cry of sorrow, 265and guided me to the performance of an action, which I shall never cease to consider as the most blessed and fortunate event of my whole life.”—

Herman of Werdenberg here ended his long narrative; the emotions which it had produced in Helen were so violent, that every similitude would fall short of expressing their strength.

—“Emmeline!” said she in that internal voice, which is only audible to the soul, “thou liv’st then, and I shall once more clasp to my bosom the poor forlorn orphan, the persecuted dove, the pious martyr of chastity and religion!—And Herman is your deliverer! that very Herman of Werdenberg, who once was unjust to your merits, and who now (if I may judge by every possible evidence) 266adores you with the warmest, purest affection, ever kindled in the bosom of a mortal! Oh! Helen, Helen, what unexpected joy! You will see two of the best of human beings made happy after long and cruel sufferings, and will yourself assist in forwarding their happiness! My own plans of worldly bliss have all been ruined; in reward for my not murmuring at their destruction, grant me, ye powers of mercy, that wisdom and that foresight, which may enable me to establish the felicity of my friend on the firmest foundations and with the least delay.”—

Herman was at a loss to comprehend the long silence of the Abbess, and the deep meditation, into which his narrative seemed to have plunged her. At length 267she recollected herself, and at her request he retired in search of the stranger, Helen having previously stipulated that he should not be present at their meeting. She was not certain, that in the first moments of emotion she should be sufficiently mistress of herself to conceal Emmeline’s name; and from what he had said, she collected, that it was not her friend’s intention at present to discover herself to her deliverer.

A few hours elapsed, before Emmeline appeared leaning on the good Abbot: Helen now was no longer surprised, that in her present situation she had not been recognized by her former lover. She was sadly, sadly changed. It was necessary to have been quite as lovely as Emmeline, in order not to have lost every charm of person 268during the long and cruel period of her captivity; it was necessary to have possest as wonderful a strength of mind as hers, in order to escape with her senses unimpaired from the fearful shipwreck of all that was then most dear to her. Ah! Herman, Herman! that youthful vivacity, which appeared to you so high a crime, and for which you so unjustly blamed the innocent girl, was now fled for ever; its place was supplied by a mild and serious look of resignation, whose melancholy it’s true was sometimes illumined by a benevolent smile; but the smile was but momentary, and its lustre soon faded away. Yet thus it was, that you wished her to be; and thus must Emmeline needs appear to you a thousand times more pleasing, than while she yet shone with all the brilliant 269powers of unfaded youth, vivacity, and beauty. Beautiful in truth was Emmeline no more; but Emmeline was still interesting beyond expression. A slight frail nymph-like form, so light that it seemed as if air could have sustained her; a face, robbed of its roseate colour, but so dazzling fair, that she resembled a marble statue; a countenance, from which a painter might have formed a portrait of Christian Humility, and to which the consciousness of heroic self-denial and of long abstraction from all earthly hopes and pleasures, had given a saint-like expression that was almost supernatural; such now was the once brilliant Emmeline of Sargans!

But Helen did not make these observations during the first moments of their 270meeting; she could attend to nothing but the joy of once more embracing her persecuted friend, whom she prest to her bosom with pleasure too great for utterance. Emmeline was more composed; it was long since she had seen Helen, who had never been to her more than a beloved play-fellow, whom she sometimes remembered with a wish to meet again, and sometimes quite forgot in contemplation of nearer interests and impending dangers: but much more was she to Helen. The sufferings of amiable persons, with whom we have ever had even the slightest acquaintance, give them an extraordinary value in our eyes; and they inspire us with an affection for them which rises to the highest pitch, if we feel that it is at all in our power to show them kindness, 271and to repair in some degree the past injustice of their fate.

What happened at this interview between the re-united friends; with what rapture Emmeline was received by the infirm Urania, whose life was now drawing towards its close; the recapitulation of what had past during their separation, and the plans which they arranged for the future; all this I shall pass over in silence, and shall only relate so much of the latter, as may be absolutely necessary. Time and grief had made alterations in Herman’s appearance scarcely less surprising than in Emmeline’s. His assumed name; his gentle manners softened by melancholy recollections and by compassion for the invalid, so different from the sternness and contempt with which he had ever treated 272her at the Bishop’s court; the dimness of her still-enfeebled sight; the darkened chamber, whose half-light only afforded her an indistinct view of her deliverer, when he visited her; these circumstances had contributed to conceal Herman from her knowledge, and she only entertained a suspicion, that the sound of his voice was not totally unknown to her. But she remarked his growing affection; and being unwilling to encourage it, she abstained from making those enquiries, which might perhaps have satisfied her curiosity, but which also might have led him to believe, that she was interested respecting him.