But alas! the completion of my hopes was not so easy as I expected. The Countess of Mayenfield was confined not less closely than myself; and our jailor was not to be prevailed on to depart in one single instance from the instructions of his inhuman lord. Yet methinks this man was not cruel by nature. Perhaps, it grieved him to be compelled to treat us with so much harshness; but he made it a point of conscience to adhere in the most punctual manner to the oath, which (as he frequently assured me, in answer to my complaints and reproaches) he had been compelled to give to the Count of Carlsheim.
—“You see,” said he, “that where ever it is in my power, I refuse no indulgence. I received no particular command respecting the child’s imprisonment, who was delivered to my custody at the same time with his mother, and therefore I allow him to enjoy all those advantages, from which I am compelled to debar her and yourself. Neither was it forbidden me to furnish the Countess of Mayenfield with such sources of mental amusement, as might beguile her solitary hours. She has a variety of books, has her spinning-wheel and her embroidery frame; if she chuses it, she may lay these aside, and employ herself with her pen; this indulgence, lady, shall also be granted to you; and methinks, it must be almost the same thing, whether what you have to say to each other is imparted in writing, or in person.”
Here then did our jailor kindly open a door for those communications, for which we had so long thirsted; we returned him our most ardent thanks for the hint, and lost no time in making use of it. We wrote to each other daily; and as the conscientious feelings of this trusty domestic of my tyrant would not allow him to deliver our letters himself, they were confided to the care of the little Ludolf. The lovely boy soon became attached to me; he was ever ready to visit my narrow chamber; and besides the information which Edith’s letters contained, I gleaned from him in conversation many interesting anecdotes, which however serious their subject, frequently assumed so whimsical an appearance through his infantine mode of relating them, that it was impossible either for his mother or myself to refrain from smiling. Heavens! we smiled! little did our tyrant imagine, that in the gloomy walls of Ravenstein Castle his captives would have ever found cause for mirth!
Edith’s letters contained explanations of many circumstances, which till then had appeared to me quite unaccountable. These precious memorials of the most sacred friendship are still in my possession. You, my dear children, for whom I write this narrative of my sufferings, will find them after my death, as documents serving to corroborate the veracity of my statements. Oh! how will you blush for your ancestor, when you read that Ethelbert had never been the character, which we (poor deceived ones!) believed him to be, and that from the very beginning his whole conduct had been an artifice!
Its true, my person at first was the object of his desires; but much more so were the possessions, which I was expected to inherit. Anxiously did he seek to bring about our union; but circumstances, with which Edith herself was unacquainted, forbade the explanation of his wishes, and compelled him to wait, till my uncle should actually force him to accept my hand. Fear, lest my expectations of being raised to power and wealth (on which his own depended) should be overturned by Count Venosta’s second marriage, induced him privately to remove the dreaded Edith. He had chosen the time for carrying her off admirably well. A secret understanding with the Abbot of St. Gall, (whose enemy he profest to be in public) enabled him at once to get rid of Count Venosta’s vigilance, entice me out of the fortress, and thus leave Edith totally without protection. It also afforded him an opportunity to establish himself in my uncle’s favour, by rendering him so essential a service as the restoring him to liberty; a service, which my too grateful uncle thought could only be rewarded by the gift of my hand, without allowing Ethelbert time to solicit it.
Alas! my fortitude fails me, while endeavouring to unravel the whole web of artifice and villainy, which our persecutor had woven to ensnare us with no less cunning than success. He contrived to cheat the Abbot of the prisoner, whom he had first himself betrayed into his power; Count Venosta of his possessions, his mistress, and his niece; poor Edith of her liberty; and me of the happiness and tranquillity of my whole life!
Never had Count Ethelbert felt for me one spark of real affection. Even the passion, with which my person had inspired him, was subordinate to his desire of becoming master of my large possessions. No sooner was this point accomplished, no sooner had the daily sight of it deprived what little beauty was mine of the charm of novelty, than the continual presence of a virtuous wife appeared to him a check upon his pleasures. He therefore seized with eagerness the first opportunity of delivering himself from my presence; nor did he forget to sully my reputation by imputations so disgraceful, that I appeared to the world unworthy of either relief or pity. Even my good uncle wept, and resigned me to my fate.
The Countess of Mayenfield had learned the greatest part of the circumstances, which she related in her letters, from the wife of the Castellan of Ravenstein; this good-hearted matron (who died a few days before my arrival at the Castle) had a son in Count Ethelbert’s service, by whom she was informed of most of his lord’s proceedings. The conversation of this compassionate woman had beguiled many of the heavy hours of Edith’s imprisonment; nor had she ever neglected an opportunity of evading the too conscientious adherence of her husband to his oath, and of furnishing to the noble captive many alleviations of her sorrows, all of which vanished at her death.
Oh! had I but found her still in existence on my arrival at Ravenstein, what might we not have hoped from her friendly aid! what would have been too difficult for three women to accomplish, of whom the one possessed power, the second prudence, and the third resolution! Surely it would have been easy for us to have obtained our freedom; at least, I should not have been so long deprived of the happiness of clasping my faithful Edith to my bosom.
Often in our epistolary conversations did we lament over the great loss, which we had sustained in being deprived of this worthy creature! yet the Countess comforted herself with the pleasure of knowing, that I was near her and in a place, where she looked upon me as enjoying both more happiness and more safety, than would have been my lot in the arms of Count Ethelbert.—As for myself, I wept, and prayed for better times.