And Helen was the spectatress of their felicity, nay is so still at the moment that I trace these lines! Dear as they were to her, so dear to her are still the sisters and their worthy husbands!—Lo! how in this world every thing passes away; God be thanked for it, even our passions pass away, as well as the rest. Tranquil age succeeds the impetuosity and hurry of youth; the summer, whose every day was disturbed by tempests, is replaced by the mild and mellow autumn.—Much as it had suffered, bitter as had been its disappointments, cruel as had been its sacrifices, even the heart of Helen at length was at rest.
All my friends still flourish; all who are dear to me still live, even the venerable Urania. My native land smiles all around in blessed peace; not one of those, who are near to my heart, has as yet been obliged to pay with his blood the price of precious Freedom! Guilt begins to be a stranger among our citizens; the dwellings of luxury and indolence are converted into sanctuaries of virtue and religion. The Monastery of Curwald has risen from its ashes with increased lustre; no Luprian, no Guiderius now rules there over proud voluptuous Monks; no sisters of Love[[4]] now inhabit the cells of the neighbouring Convent. The good Abbot John has admitted into his fraternity none but such men, as look on vice with no less detestation than himself; and their holy conduct has completely removed the stigma, which the remembrance of their abandoned predecessors had fixed upon the whole brotherhood of Cloister-Curwald.
[4]. Sorores Agapetæ.
In the subterraneous vaults of Sargans has Herman lately raised a splendid monument sacred to the sufferings of his wife. Thirty silver lamps blaze before it; an easy and unguarded entrance admits every one, who chooses to approach it; and there does many a pilgrim often loiter to hear with pious admiration the history of a still living saint.
Amalberga was desirous of opening the communication between the vaulted caverns and the south-western mountains, where the fugitive Monks established their hermitage: but hitherto all attempts to discover the outlet have been unsuccessful. The old Gertrude is no more; the Countess Urania’s age and infirmity forbids her visiting the Castle; and the directions, which her memory could furnish, are rendered of no avail, the vaults being completely altered in appearance by the falling-in of the roof. Researches made on the outside of the mountain have been equally fruitless, nor has even the Hermitage itself been discovered. Probably the holy Society has been dissolved by death: Fame will not hand down their good works to the admiration of after-ages, but that is of but little consequence; they stand inscribed in letters of flame in the book of the Everlasting!
ELIZABETH OF TORRENBURG
[CONTINUED.]
Elizabeth, Countess of Torrenburg, to Count Oswald of March.
By this, my dear brother, you must be as well informed of the history of the Ladies of Sargans, as myself; I am impatient to know your opinion of these papers, and whether the effect which they have produced upon your mind is as strong, as that which during their perusal I experienced upon my own.—Yet that is impossible; my peculiar situation makes these annals inexpressibly interesting to me; and did not the parchments, from which I have copied them, bear unequivocal marks of their antiquity, I should suspect their having been written for the purpose of being laid before me. While I read, I was half tempted to believe, that the good old Abbot, who recommended them to my notice, had inserted all those passages, which apply so well to my own situation, in order to lead me unconsciously to the point, where he has been labouring to place me; and if this were the fact, how would he triumph in the success of his design! But the circumstances of these memoirs are alas! but too authentic; as to their antiquity I have such proofs of it, that I would boldly match them against the title-deeds of my domains, and other old documents of that period, at which these annals are stated to have been composed.