While we sank on our knees, and silently offered up our gratitude to Heaven, the men arrived.—I was still kneeling by the side of our conductress (our hearts were full; much had we to return thanks for on that day) when the solemn hymn began around us, and compelled us to change our attitude. The chorus of a thousand voices, whose united melody made the vaulted pavement tremble beneath our feet, informed us, that the assembly had increased greatly during our prayers. We hastily drew back, for all eyes were fixed upon us; but alas! I found it impossible to withdraw my attention from the objects which surrounded us, and restore my heart entirely to that devotion, from which the commencement of the hymn had rouzed me.
Alas! dear lady, your poor Amabel, who past so grave a censure on the sudden inclination conceived by yourself and your sister for two knights, with whose merits you were well acquainted; that very Amabel has been still more weak and hasty in her choice! it was a man who stole my thoughts from Heaven, and who made it difficult for me to withdraw my eyes from his countenance. In truth, it was scarcely possible not to look at him now and then; for he was placed exactly opposite, and forgetting the motive which had brought us together, he seemed to make me the only object of his contemplation.
It was now, Emmeline, that I envied you one of the privileges of your rank; I mean, your veil which we simple country-girls, who love to look unimpeded at the Almighty’s lovely world, and who have no reason to conceal our countenances, consider in general as an unnecessary piece of dress. For the first time I wished for a veil at once to conceal my confusion, and to restore the man (who continued to gaze on me with fixt glances), to that devotion, which he seemed to have lost.—However, he soon recovered himself; but as for me, I still felt during the remainder of the service that kind of uneasiness, of which I have so often heard others speak, and which I have so often treated with derision.
Well! say, that it be love, which has excited such emotions in my bosom, why should I grieve? the path of the humble children of the soil is not so rough and uneven, as that of the mighty-ones; the inclinations of the one are not so subject to difficulties, as those of the other; our inclinations and acknowledgements are embarrassed by no superfluous considerations of decorum and etiquette; and unless the eyes of my unknown friend have deceived me, I am far from indifferent to him, and we may hope for mutual happiness.
Yet you will smile, when I describe to you the person, of whom I speak. The youthful Amabel has given her heart to no stripling: the noble-looking exalted man, with his heroic mien and with that look of true Helvetian frankness which attracts the observer’s confidence so irresistibly, is already in the Autumn of life; and yet....
But what am I doing? you cannot suppose, that this transient feeling can affect my heart seriously?—Oh! no, no! everything is forgotten, or must be forgotten, and it shall be done without a single tear. The object of my attention disappeared immediately after the service, nor have I seen him since. Perhaps, the whole business was a fabrication of my fancy, for the fair stranger, who stood next to me, cannot recollect to have observed such a person.—But then she was so entirely absorbed in her devotions, that she did not even remark, that Peregrine of Landenberg never removed his eyes from her during the whole ceremony; and when the procession set forward on our return, he followed her with looks that were by no means equivocal: at least this is asserted by several of my village-companions.
Emmeline, how happy would it make me, should such a heart as Landenberg’s be bestowed on your ... I would say, on my fair and unhappy friend. She loves without hope; and Peregrine of Landenberg, very handsome, very good, and very powerful, is in every respect calculated to make her happy. The persons, whom the good emperor sends among us as his deputies, are not inferior in power to princes, and in birth are as illustrious as Count Donat; and Peregrine is so mild, so pious, so noble! in truth, the condescending manner in which he treats all who are subject to his authority, and the little distinction which he makes between his station and ours, have won me to his interests completely.
You will chide me for writing on no other subject than love; but liberty, health, and the contemplation of the beauties of nature are the best nourishers of that sweetest of all feelings! and be comforted, dear lady; for you too shall one day bless the hour, when your heart first learnt to love. Let but this fair stranger be once the bride of Peregrine of Landenberg, and we shall soon find means of rescuing you from your captivity: then shall Herman of Werdenberg (in whose union with the Damsel of Eschenbach there is not one syllable of truth, and to whom I am certain you are still as dear, as before he knew your name) be compelled to do justice to your excellence, and every trace of misunderstanding shall for ever be cleared away.
The word “misunderstanding” reminds me, that the day whose beginning I have described to you, did not conclude quite so well as was expected. While the youths and maidens under the care of some of our matrons past the evening with songs and dances, there arose some little discord among the men. I mentioned to you in a former letter the prejudices of some of them, among whom I am sorry to count my father. The Lord of Landenberg had prepared a splendid feast at the Castle; but our elders thought proper to decline partaking of it, and Landenberg was obliged to consent instead to become a guest at their rustic table in the valley. Peregrine showed us this mark of condescension with a good grace. Unluckily during the entertainment there arrived the emperor’s lieutenant of the next Province, by name Gessler; and with him came the Abbot of St. Gall, one of the most abandoned characters existing. These began to reproach our worthy governor for his complaisance, and to treat our elders with contempt; till the indignation of the latter was excited, and they gave the scoffers such answers, as they deserved. The worst treated however was the Abbot, who thought proper to defend Gessler’s conduct without having either eloquence or common sense in his discourse, nor indeed even breath sufficient to utter it. Upon this several of our young men (my brother Arnold was one of the foremost) interrupted him by singing in chorus the ballad called “Bishop Ulric of Constance;”[[2]] and at the end of every stanza they introduced an extempore chorus applying the ballad to the present Abbot. This at length offended him so much, that he left the place almost distracted with passion; but Gessler thought proper to remain behind, and is still a guest at the Castle, from which many of our wise-ones augur no good.—Farewell, dear lady, and Heaven’s blessing be with you.
[2]. About the middle of the 10th Century, Bishop Ulric of Constance bequeathed “a very large hogshead of good old wine” to the Convent of St. Gall, on condition that the Monks should themselves be at the trouble of bringing it home. Unluckily, the waggon broke not far from the Convent, and the hogshead fell into a deep pit: it was recovered with great difficulty, and conveyed home in triumph; where in remembrance of this event a great feast was held, at which the Monks, wearied with their exertions in its rescue, did not spare the Bishop’s bequest. About midnight (when all were buried in sleep, overcome by fatigue and the strength of liquor) a fire broke out in the Convent, and consumed it, the Monks however escaped with their lives; and the Abbot is said to have fallen on his knees and thanked Heaven for its mercies, on hearing that though the Convent was destroyed, he had saved his strong-box, and the remainder of the Bishop’s hogshead.—This probably furnished the subject of the satirical ballad, mentioned above.