I attempted to express my disapprobation of the Bishop’s inconsiderate conduct, and to disclaim the permission which he asserted me to have given; but vexation choaked my utterance, and I was obliged to quit the chamber, unable longer to restrain my tears from gushing.
—“This is not to be endured!” I said to myself, as I hastened to take refuge in my own apartment. “Good Heavens! then interest is the only motive, which can persuade Herman to connect his fate with that of Emmeline! let her be as fair, as kind, as amiable as she can be, Emmeline will still be nothing in the eyes of Herman, but the Heiress of Carlsheim and Sargans.—Alas! poor slighted girl! hide yourself to-morrow in your thickest veil, nor let the public eye perceive the blush of shame on your cheek, when every one who sees Count Herman’s mail decorated with the sky-blue scarf, will cast on you a look of congratulation, and believe that you are the most fortunate of your sex while you are in fact the most wretched and despised.”—
Much as it cost me, I resolved to deny myself the satisfaction of witnessing Count Herman’s exploits, and under pretence of indisposition I absented myself from the Tournament. My sister alone distributed the prizes; but Herman had gained the first, and according to the regulations of the lists he was under the necessity of laying it at the feet of the lady, whose colours he had thought proper to wear.
I was compelled to go through this painful scene, and to see him kneeling before me: but it was evident, that he performed his task with the utmost reluctance; and his manner provoked me to such a degree, that I could not refrain from assuring him—“that I ascribed no part of this compliment to my own merits, but attributed it entirely to my bearing the title of an Heiress of Carlsheim and Sargans.”—
—“Oh! lady,” exclaimed Herman with all that impetuous warmth which is usual in young warriors, and which frequently borders on imprudence and rudeness; “how much are you mistaken! the title, which you have mentioned, has no charms for me; besides, you cannot be unconscious, that only in consequence of my Uncle’s positive command did I tender my services to a daughter of Count Donat.”—
Could any human being have spoken with more contempt and insolence? From that moment I really began to abhor the very sight of the youthful Count of Werdenberg, though the Bishop redoubled his exertions to influence me in his favour. At length finding me deaf to all his insinuations, and that I persisted on all occasions in avoiding his nephew, he plainly declared his resolution of making me his niece, whether my father should consent or not; since the gift of my hand would make young Herman lord of all those extensive domains, which are generally known by the name of the Twelve Cantons.
In reply, I declared my father’s intention of making me take the veil; I also mentioned, that my sister being older than myself had much stronger claims than mine to the paternal inheritance; but above all I dwelt upon Herman’s behaviour to me, which became more insulting with every succeeding day. The Bishop treated the two first objections very lightly, declaring, that the mild and bashful Amalberga seemed designed by nature for a Nun, and that her embracing a religious life, would leave me sole heiress to my father’s possessions: but when I declared my full persuasion, that I was the object of his nephew’s aversion, the Bishop gave way to an involuntary fit of laughter.
—“The youth is an ideot!” exclaimed he. “Lady Emmeline, I protest to you, that in the very first moment of beholding you his heart was made your own, and he spoke of your charms with rapture, as long as he was ignorant of your name: in truth, his passion was so evident, that it was this alone, which suggested to me the idea of making him happy by bestowing you upon him. But no sooner was he informed, that his adored Emmeline was the daughter of that Count Donat, whose cruelty and licentiousness have made him an object of abhorrence throughout Helvetia, than he changed his intentions, and swore to extinguish in his breast every spark of affection for one, who from her birth and mode of education could not possibly be worthy of the love of a man of honour. The youth spoke much about the dissolute manners of Sargans, about libertine associates, and unprincipled courtezans, to whom the care of your youth had been committed: nay, (to conceal nothing from you) he even found fault with your amiable gaiety of character, which he called by the harsh name of levity; and which (according to him) showed him but too plainly what your husband must expect, fascinating as are the outward charms, with which you have been so liberally endowed by nature.”—
Such, Urania, were the Bishop’s words; but how shall I explain to you the effect, which they produced upon my mind! at the outset of this conversation, the Uncle’s unjust and interested views had increased my resentment against the nephew; and I was prepared to express my disapprobation of both in the strongest terms, when this last speech gave a sudden turn to my thoughts, and rendered it impossible for me to utter a syllable more respecting the business, which was then in deliberation.
—“Herman’s heart once was mine!”—Such was the sentence, which now occupied my whole mind.—“His heart once was mine,” I repeated to myself, as soon as I was alone; “was mine, before he knew my name and expectations! and it is on this name and these expectations, that his whole aversion is now grounded!”—“the licentious manners of Sargans.”—“My education committed to unprincipled courtezans.”—“Oh! that is true, too true; but yet Herman, does the mariner, who gains the land amidst the fury of winds and waves, deserve less praise, than he whom favouring gales have wafted into the haven? and is it just, that Amalberga and Emmeline should be objects of contempt and abhorrence, because even in the very bosom of vice, surrounded by a thousand snares, a thousand dangers, they never yet wandered for a moment from the paths of virtue?—but it seems, my levity shows but too plainly, what my husband may expect from me! oh! Herman, that was cruel, was unjust! it’s true, nature gave me a light heart and a fondness for amusement, which (having but just escaped from my paternal prison) perhaps I may have sometimes suffered to carry me too far; but was this a reason sufficient for condemning me? alas! perhaps these very spirits, with which you now reproach me as a crime, are but a precious gift of Providence to enable me to bear with fortitude the weight of future woes!”—