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.
Amabel to Emmeline.
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.