Before this letter can reach you, doubtless the occurrences of this evening will be already known to you: but learn from me some circumstances, which are as yet a secret to all but myself and the principal actors in them.—Erwin Melthal, that peasant youth on whose perfections and on whose attachment you have heard Ida dwell with such enthusiasm, proves to be no other than Henry of Montfort.—Elizabeth is still ignorant of this previous acquaintance, and must remain so: with the sisters she is likely to have no immediate intercourse, and by my management Henry has left the Castle of March in pursuit of Ida; though to gain time, I thought it prudent to give him a false direction, and he is now upon the road to the half-ruined Fortress, which the Count of Torrenburg possesses in Thuringia.
Let your patron lose no time in hastening hither—I will take care, that he shall find the family disposed to consider his renewed proposals as a most honourable and fortunate event; and I doubt not, in the first tumult of her passions, of disappointed love, violated friendship, and raging jealousy, Elizabeth may be easily persuaded to an union, which will make her mistress of that rival’s fate, to whose pernicious beauty she ascribes the loss of her own promised happiness.
Be assured, it will be greatly both for your advantage and for mine, that Elizabeth should become Count Frederick’s wife. He is advanced in years; it is highly improbable, that he should have children; and a rich bequest is already secured to our convent in the event of his dying without legitimate descendants. On the other hand, should he remain unmarried, there is every probability of his acknowledging the Damsels of Werdenberg as his heiresses; a step, which would ruin all our hopes for ever, but which (you may depend upon it) he will never be suffered to take, if the jealous and incensed Elizabeth becomes Countess of Torrenburg.
With regard to these hated girls, whose intrusion is so greatly adverse to our interests, no means must be neglected for expelling them from their guardian’s house and favour. As to Constantia, I look upon her as little dangerous, being (to judge by every appearance) entirely devoted to a religious life: it would therefore be unnecessary to molest her, were not her fate so closely connected with her sister’s, that it is impossible to separate the one from the other. But it is against Ida that all your skill must be directed.—Doubtless, Elizabeth’s letters are still in her possession—Seize them, either by art or violence, it matters not which: they must necessarily contain matter sufficient to convince Count Frederick, that it was by her advice, that her friend was persuaded to elope from him with young Montfort: he will look upon her as the traverser of his views upon Elizabeth, and that will be sufficient to banish her from his favour—this will be greatly confirmed by the appearance of the sisters at Elizabeth’s wedding, which he cannot but consider as highly disrespectful to himself and his feelings; but you must carefully conceal from him, that Ida confined in the solitude of Torrenburg Castle, and Constantia buried in the silence of her Convent, were both ignorant of the rejected lover’s name till after their arrival at the Castle of March. The Count is noble-minded; but he is proud, irascible, easily induced to believe the worst of those who surround him, and obstinate in retaining prejudices once received—these are the parts of his character, upon which it must be your care to work, till you have kindled a flame against Ida in his bosom, which all her tears will be unable to extinguish. On the other hand, you must assail Ida with terrors of her uncle’s indignation, and with threats of an immediate union with her superannuated admirer, Count Egbert: and when you have terrified her sufficiently to prevent her conduct from being regulated by her understanding, assure her, that there is no way of avoiding Count Frederick’s wrath and old Montfort’s marriage-bed, except flight from the Castle of Torrenburg.—That step once taken, Ida is ruined; Constantia may easily be convicted of participation in her sister’s actions; the ungrateful girls will be banished from their uncle’s favour irrevocably, and then the game will be all our own.—Farewell, and let me hear from you with all diligence.
The unconscious subject of these abominable artifices was in the mean while journeying homewards with a heavy heart, doubly afflicted by the injustice of her friend, and the supposed perfidy of her lover. She had ascertained no more before her departure from the Castle of March, than that the man, whom she had so long believed to be a peasant’s son, was Count Henry of Montfort; but it still remained unexplained, how Henry could have so totally forgotten his former vows, and have offered his hand to another. The more that she reflected, the less reason did there appear to doubt, that upon discovering his own noble origin he had abandoned all thoughts of an union with the low-born daughter of William Tell. In the opinion of love this fault was not to be excused; she in some degree obtained a forced tranquillity by resolving, that his conduct had rendered him totally unworthy of her; and that even should the inconstant Henry return to her chains, it would be beneath Ida of Werdenberg to accept that hand, which he had insolently withdrawn from the humble Rosanna Tell.
Constantia accompanied her sister for some part of her journey, but was at length unwillingly compelled to separate from her and return to her convent, attended by the vassals whom the Abbess of Zurich had sent for her protection. Ida reached her guardian’s Castle without meeting any adventure; but a mistake of her attendants occasioned her to go considerably out of her road, and this delay gave time for Father Jacob’s letter to precede her at the Castle of Torrenburg. Father Hilarius lost no time in searching for Elizabeth’s letters; he found them, and found them also such, as he wished. Some, which would have exculpated Ida, and made against Elizabeth, he committed to the flames, and then lost no time in communicating the rest to his patron.
Count Frederick had returned home on Elizabeth’s bridal day, which he intended to pass with his niece in silent melancholy. He had resolved to inquire into her character with more attention, than he had done hitherto; and as his late disappointment had made him give up all thoughts of marriage for himself, it was his intention to declare that the damsels of Werdenberg were his future heiresses, in case they should prove to deserve so great a distinction.
On his arrival he inquired for Ida; he was informed, that she was gone to the wedding of the young Countess of March.—He started in astonishment, and father Hilarius shook his head with a smile. Frederick enquired, how the girl could have ventured to take a step, which he could not but look upon as a marked token of disrespect? or if she were ignorant of his having payed his addresses to Elizabeth, why had not father Hilarius prevented her from unconsciously offering him this public affront? the worthy Chaplain shrugged his shoulders, and answered that—“Good-lack! he was too old and too simple to look after a young wanton girl with the devil (heaven bless us!) in her head.”—
—“She slipped away,” continued he, “without saying a word of her intention to me, or to any one—and as to her ignorance of your adresses.... Blessed St. Barnabas! she knew much more about them, than I did myself!—Why, my lord, I have just discovered, that she has long kept up a secret correspondence with the Lady Elizabeth; and I can bring you the most undeniable proofs, that you would at this moment have been happy in the possession of your bride, had it not been for Ida, for the self created heiress of Torrenburg; who instigated her innocent friend to refuse your hand; who fooled her into an imaginary passion for young Montfort; and when she had entangled the poor Elizabeth too closely in this intrigue to admit of her retreating with honour, who finally persuaded her to adopt the disgraceful measure of an elopement.—Yet to say truth, there is some excuse for Ida’s conduct, since she could not but heartily wish to prevent a marriage so extremely detrimental to her own views and interests.”—