Feudal tyrants; or, The Counts of Carlsheim and Sargans, volume 2 (of 4)

How long a period has elapsed, since a letter from your hand reached the inhabitants of these vallies! is it not wrong to mingle so much anxiety with the pleasures of your friend, or is Bloomberg’s wife less dear to you, than the play-fellow of your childhood, Melthal’s daughter?

I really begin to suspect, that there is something in wedlock which frightens all unmarried persons away from us sober matrons. Since my wedding, Amalberga seems less at her ease with me, though I spare no pains to make my house agreeable to her. Peregrine of Landenberg, the good-hearted unassuming Landenberg, frequently honours me with his visits; and it quite vexes me, that he should so seldom find my society made delightful by the presence of the “lovely stranger,” for in our valley Amalberga is known by no other name.

I confess the Lord-lieutenant (whose gentleness of manners prevents his rank from being felt as a constraint) would be a more welcome guest to me, did not his seneschal Wolfenrad follow him every where like his shadow. Yet I know not why I should have taken such a dislike to this man; he is sensible, and nothing can be more proper than his behaviour; and yet somehow or other, I cannot endure his countenance. However, I try to conquer this antipathy, since he is in high favour with my husband, and Peregrine has commissioned him to settle with me the best means of enforcing his suit with Amalberga: for you are to understand, that he has avowed himself her suitor, and that in express terms.

For Heaven’s sake, dear Emmeline, persuade your sister not to throw away her happiness. Eginhart of Torrenburg is now quite out of the question: the whole country rings with the report of the splendid balls and tournaments which are shortly to be given, in honour of his union with the youthful Helen of Homburg.

Emmeline, what dreadful tidings have reached us! it is said, that Helen has been carried off by your father, and compelled to espouse him; and that you are already ordered to depart for the Convent of St. Roswitha! Heavenly powers, should these tidings be true!—What can be done for you? what can I do? And yet Amalberga assures me, that she informed you of a means of escaping, that could not fail.——Could I but consult with your sister, or with Gertrude Bernsdorf!—but even in these once tranquil vallies there is but too much uproar and disturbance carrying on. Disputes have arisen between the Governor and the elders of our people; in consequence of which, the most distinguished of the south-western deputies have hastily quitted these parts; Gertrude and her husband have also left us unexpectedly; and neither Landenberg’s tears nor my entreaties could prevent your sister from returning to her Convent.

In my anxiety to do something towards your rescue from this impending danger, I have conquered my prejudices against Wolfenrad, and applied to him for advice; for his patron the Lord of Landenberg is too much occupied with public affairs to permit his listening to my difficulties, and my husband declares himself incapable of advising my proceedings in so delicate a business.

Wolfenrad’s counsel is, that Edmund should arm a body of his young companions, hasten to Sargans, force you from the guards who will be appointed to escort you to that abominable Convent, and then convey you hither or else to Engelberg. I was in terror and anxiety; this must plead for me, when I confess, that my fears got the better of my prudence, and that I have made Landenberg and his Seneschal acquainted with more respecting you and Amalberga, than was by any means necessary. And yet what harm was there in making a confident of the man, who (I sincerely hope) will one day conquer Amalberga’s unjustifiable obstinacy, and give my dear Emmeline a brother’s protection and a sister’s name?—oh! let but this one step be taken, and all your difficulties will speedily be at end; Landenberg is powerful; let but Landenberg once be Amalberga’s husband, and she and you will be both as happy, as your Amabel would be now, did not anxiety upon your account embitter her every moment.

In Continuation.

Misfortunes follow each other so close, that grief bewilders me! I know not how to collect my thoughts sufficiently to write down the number of wounds, which have been inflicted on my heart within these few days.—And for whom should I write them down? not for thee, sweet Emmeline, for it is but too probable; that thou art in a better world! not for thee, Amalberga, for thou art gone, gone no one knows whither! yet will I commit to paper what has past, and what I feel, in hopes that should the grave hide me without my ever again embracing my friends and sisters, they may see how much I have suffered on their account, and may do justice to the fond heart of their lamenting Amabel. And that the grave will hide me, and that soon.... Oh! is it not most probable? all around me is confusion, is uproar! all are furious, though wherefore I know not: yet surely the most pious and peaceable of all people, that the earth holds, can never be so blind to its own interests, to its own happiness, as to rise in rebellion against the Lieutenant of their imperial patron, against the most gentle and benevolent of created beings, against Peregrine of Landenberg!

What have we to do with the evil reports, which reach us from that unhappy Province, where Gessler rules and rages? we are secure under Landenberg’s protection; we can even expect from his generosity succour and compassion for our less fortunate brethren. To all of them, but above all to my venerable father and to my brother’s family, (who consider themselves as no longer safe in the neighbourhood of Gessler’s jurisdiction) has Landenberg voluntarily offered an asylum among our mountains, which (I trust) will still long remain the abode of peace! I must lay down my pen! my heart is too full at present to admit of my writing intelligibly; besides, I see Wolfenrad approaching, who (now that my husband has departed to see what can be effected towards your preservation) is my only comforter, and who doubtless comes to tell me, what has been done on your behalf, and whether anything remains for me yet to do.

In Continuation.

I am something more composed: there are hopes, that my Emmeline may have escaped from this dreadful scene! Wolfenrad has promised to hasten in person after my husband, and assist him in the researches, which are making respecting you: he engages also, should you be found, to deliver this and my former letters into your hands. Heavens! how one may be deceived at first sight! there was a time, when I could not endure this man, and now that all others have forsaken me, he proves the most active of my friends!

There are many parts of my former letters, which will appear to you mysterious; I will now explain them. I received on the same day your written narrative of what had past in your father’s Castle, and further tidings respecting you, which overpowered me with horror. Your letter, which you left with Bertha, must have remained in wrong hands for whole months together; and the condition, in which it at length reached me, has left me no doubt, that its seal has been forced, and its contents perused by more persons than myself.

Scarcely had I recovered from my alarm at finding, that you must have set forward long since for St. Roswitha’s Convent; scarcely had I received my good kind husband’s promise, that he would immediately set out and make closer enquiries respecting you, when the dreadful report reached me, that flames had consumed that very Convent; flames not kindled by chance or the vengeance of offended Heaven, but by sacrilegious cruel men! nor was the sword less active than the conflagration; it is said, that few have escaped with life from this horrible outrage, whose instigator’s name is still unknown to us. Much too is said respecting the secrets of this Convent, by no means to the credit of its inmates; we have even been assured, that the Abbot of Cloister-Curwald, and the chief part of his brethren were involved in the Convent’s destruction, though whether they came there on the news of the danger, or were found with these wretched Nuns at the moment when their habitation was attacked, I will not pretend to judge. Every malicious speech, which relates to the Convent in which (according to all accounts) you must necessarily have past two whole months, seems to plant a fresh thorn in my bosom.

Bewildered by these dreadful tidings, I believe, that I must for a time have lost my senses: for I suddenly found myself at the gate of Amalberga’s sanctuary, without being conscious how I came there, or what was my object in coming. Probably I wished to unburthen to her my full heart, and indulge myself in bewailing with her our mutual misfortune; but I could not hope to obtain either assistance or advice from her, whom the tidings which I had to communicate must needs make, if possible, still more wretched and more helpless than myself.

I rang the bell, and the Porteress appeared. Conceive what I felt at hearing from her, that that very morning during matins a band of armed men had rushed into the church, had seized Amalberga, and had forcibly borne her away. By whom this atrocious outrage was committed, no one yet knows: the people on hearing of it broke into universal uproar, and raved against this violation of the Sanctuary! now, all voices but mine unite in laying the blame upon Landenberg; and to prove the probability of his being the offender in this instance, innumerable deeds of infamy, said to have been secretly committed by him, have been alledged against him; some of them of a nature, that makes even Gessler’s most infernal actions appear but trifles. Alas! is it possible, that I have been so grossly deceived by the simplicity of my heart?—Even Wolfenrad, the most faithful of his vassals, does not venture to assert positively, that he is innocent: but let who may be guilty, that worthy man has promised to assist us, and I hasten to finish this letter, that I may commit it to his care. Oh! should he be so fortunate as to find you, hesitate not to confide in him, and follow him to these vallies; alas! I can no longer call them these happy vallies, for peace is banished, and discord and confusion have usurped her place. Its true, as yet open hostilities have not taken place; but the cry against Landenberg is loud, and the public voice scruples not to compare him to Gessler, the inhuman governor of Uri.—“Freedom! freedom!”—is now the word in every mouth; but it sounds no longer so melodious, as when it formed the burthen of our Sunday-songs! it seems to me, as were it spoken in the dying groans of those, who must purchase with their blood the small portion still left of this treasure!

To complete my misery, my good old father and my brother are arrived at my cottage in a condition, that makes my heart bleed. My father has been cruelly mis-used by Gessler, and his lands are confiscated; Arnold has been obliged to fly, on account of having committed the mighty crime of striking the officer of justice, who seized our father’s oxen, and then contemptuously bade the poor old man yoke himself to the plough in future, and do the office of the beasts which he had lost.—Oh! dear Emmeline, I sink beneath the weight of griefs, which my Edmund’s absence makes me feel doubly heavy.

I hoped to derive some comfort from the presence of my relations, but my hope has proved vain. My father lies ill and helpless on his bed from the consequences of Gessler’s ill-usage; and Arnold.... You will suppose, that I can receive but little augmentation of my tranquillity from this impetuous young man, when you recollect, with how much violence and passion he used to watch over me in former times. If he surprised a youth gazing on me with rather too much earnestness though but for a moment, that moment was sufficient to make him almost frantic with resentment, and vow vengeance against the offender; nay, he even dared to extend his vigilance to yourself and Amalberga. Do you recollect a particular evening, when you had both privately stolen with me to my father’s cottage in hopes of passing a few gay and pleasant hours, which seldom occurred at the Castle of Sargans? it is as present to my recollection, as had the scene past but yesterday!—it chanced, that some stranger-knights, who were going to a tournament at the court of the Bishop of Coira, had seen us on the road; as we were all three arm in arm, they supposed us to be of the same rank; they delayed their journey, got themselves introduced into our joyous circle, and proposed to us to dance; but Arnold.... Ah! you cannot have forgotten, how sharply he answered them; how bluntly he gave them to understand, that their departure was desirable; and how (as he conducted us back to the Castle) he made no scruple (without heeding your rank) of reading you both a severe lecture upon the necessity of reserve towards strangers, and the propriety of living retired under your paternal roof.

Well! the part which he then thought proper to play, he has now taken up afresh, but with more warmth than ever. One would think, he might find other things to do now, than to watch his sister’s conduct; but not the most trifling of my actions passes unobserved by him, and very few of them pass uncensured. He forgets, that it is solely on your account, that I have any intercourse with Wolfenrad; and that it is absolutely necessary for an intercourse to be kept up, as long as he journeys backwards and forwards about your affairs, and brings me tidings respecting you, which hitherto (Heaven be thanked!) have been favourable. My brother insists upon it, that I ought never to exchange a syllable with this man; although he is much too old and too ugly to be an object of danger or suspicion, even were I not protected by such good preservatives against the arts of a seducer, as an heart full of love for Edmund, and veins full of that blood, whose every drop is true Helvetian!

What Arnold may think, I cannot say; but I know, that love is never mentioned in my conversations with Wolfenrad. He is married as well as myself, and at all events it would be unwise to offend him just at present, when he has the power of doing us so much harm; for during Landenberg’s absence he can act exactly as he pleases.

However, I have given up the point. Arnold has taken a cottage near me, and as my own is solitary and unsafe during Edmund’s absence, I have removed to my brother’s, where I share with my sister-in-law the office of nurse to my poor sick father. Here there is no chance of seeing Wolfenrad, for there has lately been an open quarrel between him and Arnold, whose threshold he has sworn never to cross again. Yet I am impatient to find an opportunity of conversing with him; for I collect from some hints (which he has occasionally thrown out, though there was not time to explain himself) that he has not only proofs of your having escaped from the conflagration, but that he has actually conveyed my letters to your hands. As to Amalberga, he referred me to a Nun at Engelberg, who is better informed than himself; but he said, that in what regarded you, dear Emmeline, the intelligence, which he had to communicate, could be given by no one but himself, and was of a nature too delicate to be conveyed through a third person.

I have told every thing to my sister-in-law, who is my confidante: she disapproves of her husband’s strictness, and agrees with me, that I ought to take the earliest opportunity of going to Engelberg, and learning some news of your sister. She cannot approve of my having any intercourse with Wolfenrad in defiance of my brother’s positive commands; but she has kindly consented to see him herself, and endeavour to learn from him the good tidings respecting you, which I am too anxious to hear, to permit my waiting for them with patience. Whatever may be the consequence, I must be informed, and that speedily, how and where you are at present, and by what blessed means you escaped from the hands of your persecutors, and from the fiery death which menaced you in the Convent.