Oh! how can I sufficiently express my gratitude to that dear woman for the unwearied care, with which she watched over me. It was not enough to have put me on my guard: she saw, that I needed more to be done, and she hastened to do it.
Deep in the bosom of the hill which rises to the north-west of Sargans, there exists a small society of pious Hermits. Their community is indebted for its origin to a deposed Abbot of Curwald, who, accompanied by five partners in the same calamity, found shelter and tranquillity in this unknown solitude. The excellent Urania was their preserver. Two of their companions who lost their way while following them through the subterraneous caverns, which they traversed in their flight from persecution either fell into the hands of their pursuers, or must have perished accidentally by some miserable death; since no tidings of them could ever be obtained. The rest reached the place of refuge in safety, and commenced a tranquil and holy life in the wilderness, which their industry soon converted into a terrestrial paradise. Here they long existed unknown to any one. Some travellers, whom chance conducted to their abode, were struck by the air of innocence and happiness which prevailed around them, and consented to fill up the chasms left in their society by the loss of their two unfortunate brethren, and by the death of the eldest of the fugitives named Matthias, which shortly followed. The three, who first offered themselves were accepted; but the founder’s rules having restricted the number of Hermits to six, the others were compelled to withdraw their request.
Yet ever as death gradually removed those, whom Urania had rescued, the will of Heaven still conducted to them some new associate; so that it almost seemed, as if the society was kept complete by a kind of miracle. Of those who belonged to the original institution, only one now remained in existence.
Four years before her paying me this midnight visit, had my protectress accidentally been bewildered among the mountains, and found her way to these holy Hermits, who received her kindly, and made her acquainted with the origin and constitution of their order. These circumstances were already known in part to my friend, who had shared with Urania in the good deed of saving the persecuted Monks from destruction. She declared her name to them, and promised them eternal secrecy on the one hand, as they did eternal friendship to her on the other. The banished Abbot and two of his companions were at that time still alive; and looking on the power of once more thanking one of their preservers on this side of the grave as a signal and most unexpected blessing of Providence, they earnestly entreated her to make frequent visits to their solitude, and enjoy with them a fore-taste of that tranquil happiness, which awaits the blessed in another world.
She gladly accepted the invitation, and (except to her husband, on whose discretion she could depend) mentioned to no one the existence of that Hermitage, whither friendship and reverence attracted her steps so willingly and so often. The pious men became the confidants of her most secret designs; and I was too dear to her, for her not to mention my name to them and the difficulties in which I was involved. This proved the means of my preservation. The principal Hermit, the only one of the six fugitives now existing, remembered well the subterraneous passage, by which he had fled from destruction; and it was resolved, that this passage should now furnish me also with the means of escape; that Count Ethelbert had walled up the entrance to the Castle was no obstacle to this scheme: the three youngest of the Brotherhood provided themselves with proper tools; and their labours were carried on with so much effect, that I now saw myself under the protection of my friend, and the road to escape open before me.
One only reflection embittered my flight: oh! my Emmeline, how gladly would I have made you the partner of it! surely, some indistinct suspicion of what was to happen must have floated before your mind, and made you entreat my father with such extreme earnestness to be permitted to pass only that one night in my apartment.
Your prayer was refused, and my wish to rescue you rendered fruitless. The day was breaking; expedition was necessary. My friend too comforted me by the assurance, that your situation was not so immediately dangerous as mine, and that at all events your escape could be effected by the same passage, should such a measure be hereafter found adviseable.
While we within the chamber were busily engaged in arranging my flight, the assisting Monks had been employed on the outside in repairing the broken wall and the wainscot, through which was the passage to my room; and they had performed their task so dexterously, that though to enter it from without was still easy, it was almost impossible for persons unacquainted with the mechanism to discover from within any door leading out of the apartment. Nothing however can be more simple than this secret. On the south-west side of our chamber, there runs a sort of frame of carved ornaments round a picture of the “Flight from Egypt.”—Count the seventh pomegranate from the bottom, and using some little strength to force it back, you will possess the key of the whole mystery. A slight push will make the pannel recede; a broad staircase of five-and-twenty steps will then present itself, and if you keep always to the right, you cannot possibly miss your way. Yet the passage is long, and fatigue or anxiety, lest you should have mistaken the road, may give you much disquietude, should you traverse the caverns without a guide to comfort and sustain you. I advise you therefore only to escape alone, should you be in some most urgent danger. The good Hermit has promised also to watch over your safety; he will keep a spy continually in the Castle, who can inform him of all that happens to you; and (should he find it unavoidable for you to take so desperate a step as the quitting your father’s protection) then lest his unexpected appearance should seriously alarm you, he will prepare you for flight by a written warning, and afterwards assist you to carry his warning into effect.
Yet in spite of these assurances, I could not resolve on parting from you, my beloved girl, without many a tear. I still loitered, wishing that I could at least leave some token behind me to convince you, that I was in safety, and thus spare you the anxiety, which doubtless my disappearance must have cost you. But my deliverers insisted, that any such measure was too pregnant with danger to be adopted, and at length I was compelled to obey and follow them.
I will not describe to you what I suffered during my pilgrimage through the long and gloomy passages, nor my satisfaction at finding myself at length safe in the dwelling of the holy Anchorets. Oh! what can surpass the sentiment of liberty, and the consciousness of being surrounded by none but those, who are virtuous and humane! how different, my Emmeline, from our feelings in the Castle of Sargans! there we met at every turning with nothing but present sorrow and anxiety for the future; with nothing but hypocrisy, perfidy, the cruel necessity of concealing our real sentiments from every eye, and above all the terrific toil of wandering along a slippery path, where we dreaded with every moment to lose our footing, and to be plunged into the same gulph with those abandoned creatures, whom we saw endeavouring to drag us down with them to perdition.