The Abbot was obliged to be more communicative with the Domina of Engelberg. He found no great difficulty in obtaining her permission, that Mary (or Constantia, as she was now called, while Rosanna resumed her baptismal name of Ida.... Yes, Elizabeth! Ida and Constantia were their real names!) that Mary should for a time make trial of a worldly life, and should postpone her adoption of the veil till after the unravelling of her destiny. Three conditions however were annexed to the permission; first, that in case her call to a religious profession should be confirmed, that she should pronounce her vows in no other Convent than Engelberg; secondly, that in remembrance of her cloister-duties she should always wear the habit of the Order; lastly, that in case of the worst (by which the pious lady meant an union with an earthly bridegroom) she should not assume a worldly dress till her wedding-day, and should purchase the permission of renouncing the veil by a handsome benefaction to the Convent of Engelberg. The abbot understood the manners of the cloister, and agreed to these conditions on behalf of his wards; who in the mean while heaved many a sigh, while preparing for a journey, from which their hearts boded no good.
In the sphere in which they now moved, every thing appeared strange to them, and consequently disagreeable, from their not being accustomed to such manners and appearances. The splendour of Bishop Sigisbert’s court (at which they now resided) was too dazzling to be pleasant to eyes, which were only used to admire the simple charms of Nature; and when compared with those scenes, in which their childhood had past so happily, everything which now offered itself to their notice seemed ridiculous and frequently disgusting.
The Bishop, who felt the greater interest in the welfare of his young wards on account of their simplicity and want of relish for the dissipations of the world, was soon obliged to consent to their retiring from his court, and taking refuge in the tranquillity of a Convent at Zurich. Here Constantia was perfectly at ease; but Ida, who had been always accustomed to liberty, was but half satisfied with the restraints of her abode. Nay, she would have found them insupportable, had not the recollection of Erwin Melthal followed her to the Convent, and made solitude and silence agreeable, by suffering her to indulge unrestrained the melancholy of her heart. In truth, Ida had so little of that lofty spirit, which should have been united with her lofty station, that the remembrance of the son of an humble peasant, who had perished as an undistinguished warrior, still was sacred to her affection; and often did she assure Constantia, that were he still in existence, she would rather have renounced her birth-right than the hope of being one day called his wife.
—“I concealed my rank from Erwin,” said she, “that his love might not take the alarm at hearing the proud title of the Countess of Werdenberg: but I will not conceal the affection which I felt, and still feel for this Erwin, this humble peasant’s son, this undistinguished warrior, from any one, should any one hereafter think proper to demand my hand. No! I will avow my passion openly and firmly; and doubtless this confession will be enough to make my noble suitors abandon a girl, whose folly sets so little value on illustrious birth and titles handed down by a long line of ancestors.”—
Constantia was a little embarrassed in answering these declarations. Not being in love, she could not easily reconcile the union of two such names as Erwin Melthal, and Ida, Countess of Werdenberg: yet still she could not efface from her memory the solemn vows, which had passed between them; and in particular she could not but lay great stress upon their having been affianced before the altar of St. Engeltruda; a transaction, in which she had herself borne so principal a part. However the sum of her reflections was (though the goodness of her heart made her sigh, as she confest it) that it was fortunate, that Erwin’s death had solved all the difficulties, which would otherwise have arisen; and she could not but fancy, that in this event she saw the hand of Providence, which had preserved from degradation the honour of the illustrious House of Werdenberg.
In the mean while the Bishop and Abbot Conrad were consulting, how they might best advance the interests of their young favourites. As they were not influenced by the prejudices, which made the late Countess of Werdenberg refuse all intercourse with the family of Torrenburg, and as they laid no stress upon the before-mentioned prophecy, they soon agreed to take the straight road (which indeed is always the best) and make the generous Frederick of Torrenburg immediately acquainted with the existence and adventures of his long-forgotten relations. The Count was old, and without children; and it was not unlikely, that he would adopt these orphans, and bring them up as the future heiresses of his domains. Under this impression they set forward for his Castle, well provided with letters and other documents to establish the veracity of their assertions.
The Abbot has been heard to say, that when the Count was first informed of the nature of their embassy, he started and turned pale; as the Bishop proceeded and made the fact certain beyond the possibility of dispute, this paleness gave place to a burning crimson, and when the tale was finished, the Count sat for a few moments lost in silent meditation; circumstances, from which the friends of the two Sisters augured nothing good to their cause. The event however proved that they were mistaken in imagining, that the generous Frederick would wilfully close his eyes against a truth, because it was unpleasant to him; though what made it so unpleasant to him, they were then at a loss to conceive.
He bestowed a noble heart-drawn sigh upon the memory of the Countess of Werdenberg. He blamed her for having suffered her prejudices to interfere so much with the welfare of her daughters, and engaged to repair the injury, which she had done them. Accompanied by the two Prelates he hastened to the Convent of Zurich, and entreated his new-found relations to make his abode their own. Deep was the emotion exprest in his honest countenance, when he first saw the Sisters. In them he beheld renewed in their most brilliant colours the charms of their mother, whom he had loved so long and so dearly without success; and he clasped them to his bosom with tears, which he vainly struggled to conceal. The girls too felt their hearts attracted towards the excellent man, and found no difficulty in considering him in every respect as their father.
They followed him to his Castle with willingness, were grateful for the kindness which he showed them, nor did it ever enter their thoughts, that it was in his power to show them more: but the Bishop was extremely surprised, that although the Count had acknowledged the validity of the documents which testified their birth, and had adopted them as his nieces, he made no mention of their being entitled to any part of his inheritance, nor seemed to have it in his contemplation to bestow them on proper bridegrooms.
—“The little eagerness,” said the Abbot, “which the Count shows for the wedding of his nieces confirms the report, that he is thinking of one for himself. I have already heard it whispered, that he is attached to a young person, with whom we are both well acquainted. She is lovely and virtuous; nobody can blame Count Frederick’s choice, though perhaps some people may blame him for making at his time of life any choice at all.”—