Elizabeth’s knowledge of these transactions was confined to their mere outward appearance. She knew, that she was calumniated by secret enemies, and justified by unknown friends; but little did she suspect, that these favourable judges of her conduct were those very persons, against whom she had nourished in her heart the most inveterate prejudice. Its true, that she was not without real friends, willing even to risk her displeasure, rather than suffer her to labour under such gross errors: the Abbot of Curwald often endeavoured to lay the history of the unfortunate Sisters before her eyes, but in vain: No one understood better than Elizabeth the secret of imposing silence on those, whom she suspected of an intention to say that, which it was by any means disagreeable to her to hear.
She suddenly thought fit to take up her abode in the Convent of Zurich, and there indulge her grief for the loss of Count Frederick without restraint. This was a step, which her differences with her discontented vassals rendered both agreeable to herself, and proper in the eye of the world: into the bargain, it possest the further advantage (though she thought it as well to confine this motive for her seclusion to her own bosom) of freeing her from the wearisome remonstrances of the Abbot, and from the truths, which he was so obstinately bent upon placing before her eyes. It’s true, she was still exposed to receiving letters from him; but those it was in her power not to answer; or indeed not even to read, if the first lines gave her reason to believe, that the remainder would afford her but little satisfaction.
But Elizabeth was too good, too noble, to be entirely deserted by truth and virtue, however sedulously she strove to shun them. They pursued her to the Convent, and their imploring voices often spoke to her in the stillness of her solitary cell. I know from good authority, that many a seed of good has fallen upon her heart, which she has vainly endeavoured to choak in brambles: and should I succeed in my attempt to seduce her unconsciously into perusing the history of the Damsels of Werdenberg, under the title of “The Sisters without a Name,” (a title, which describes them but too well, since injustice and error have robbed them of their proper one) I shall look upon the victory as already won.
And yet by such a victory, what will be gained? How is it in Elizabeth’s power to benefit these persecuted girls? Constantia, who (unknown to her former friend) now inhabits the same Convent with her, demands nothing in this world except permission to take the veil: Ida is contented with her humble habitation near the Lake of Thun; and far from requiring from Elizabeth anything more than mutual forgiveness, she is willing to compensate for the involuntary mortification, which she caused to her on her bridal day, by the sacrifice of every thing; even of that, which she holds dearest! Yes, Elizabeth; she is willing to sacrifice even the hand and affections of her Henry!
The proposal made by the deputies of Elizabeth’s rebellious vassals was laid before Henry by his uncle. The plan, whose object was the ruin of the unsuspecting Countess of Torrenburg, was so well laid, and the preparations were in such forwardness, that it seemed almost impossible for the design to fail. Henry gave a feigned compliance to the old Count’s proposals, and was rewarded with his liberty. The first use, which he made of it, was to hasten to Richard of Ulmenhorst, to whom Elizabeth had entrusted the government of her domains during her seclusion in the Convent. To him did young Montfort discover the conspiracy against the Heiress of Torrenburg, and they agreed upon measures for defeating it. The noble Richard had loved Elizabeth in the earliest spring of his life, and had no reason to despair, till the blooming Henry appeared and won the prize, almost before he himself desired it. Richard now first knew the real character of his so long-hated rival: and to know it, and admire it, were but the same. The conspiracy was defeated; the new friends separated; and Henry hastened to the Lake of Thun.
—“Ida!” he exclaimed, “I am thine, and for ever! I have broken through every obstacle, which divided us; I have severed every chain, which detained me from your arms. I renounce the name of Montfort, which has inflicted upon me nothing but misfortune: never shall the man, who so unjustly lords it over my possessions, hear of his persecuted nephew more. You, Ida, must renounce the title of Werdenberg, which has been the cause to you of so much sorrow, and resume that beloved name, which you bore, when we first met. This cottage, this garden, and this little flock are enough to content all the wishes of two loving hearts; and Erwin Melthal and Rosanna Tell will pass together such days, as even, the happiest might look upon with envy.”—
Ida felt in her bosom a painful conflict between love and duty. She had renounced wealth and splendour for herself without a pang; but ought she to renounce them for Henry? Ought she to suffer him to quit for her a station, on which he was calculated to confer such lustre? Such were her doubts; yet undoubtedly love would at length have triumphed, had not a report reached her, that Elizabeth’s situation was become more difficult than ever. Her vassals had given up in despair all hopes of persuading the Sisters to contest the Count of Torrenburg’s will. They found, that Elizabeth was destined to remain their sovereign: yet they protested (with such violence as gave reason to apprehend the most dangerous consequences from a refusal) that on one condition only would they return peaceably to their obedience. That condition was, that if Elizabeth was to be still their liege-lady, Henry of Montfort should become their liege-lord: and they swore, that she never should enter the Castle of Torrenburg except as Henry’s wife, unless she chose to see her way strewn with bleeding corses.
Letters from Richard of Ulmenhorst confirmed this report; and the generous Ida’s resolution was taken without a moment’s delay.
—“Go, my beloved!” she exclaimed and embraced him for the last time. “You were not born to waste your days in the obscurity of these shades. Power and splendour form the proper sphere for you to move in, and those it is not in the poor Ida’s power to bestow! Go then, Henry; protect Elizabeth; content her people; make your wife, make your vassals, make yourself happy; your praises will reach me even in this secluded valley.... Then I shall be happy too!”—
Henry obeyed her: to refuse was in truth impossible! With every hour and from every quarter fresh entreaties arrived, all assuring him, that if he meant to rescue the Countess of Torrenburg from the fury of her rebellious subjects, not a moment must be lost.—He determined to sacrifice every other consideration, to that of Elizabeth’s welfare: he is arrived at Zurich: he has renounced his claims to Ida’s affections; Ida has renounced her rights to her uncle’s inheritance; and to-morrow will see Henry of Montfort kneeling at the feet of Elizabeth, and will hear him offer her his hand for the second time.