The Castle of Ehrenstein / Its Lords Spiritual and Temporal; Its Inhabitants Earthly and Unearthly

by G. P. R. James

"I am ready, and quite willing," answered Adelaide, following; and the lady led her on along the passage to the back of the house, where appeared a low arch, and a heavy door covered with iron plates. It was not locked; but, as soon as it was drawn open, Adelaide beheld a ponderous key and manifold bolts and fastenings within, and another door beyond, while overhead, between the two, was a space open to the air, but above which hung the lower edge of an iron portcullis ready to descend. The lady saw her young companion's eyes turned up, and answered her thoughts by saying, "The touch even of so weak a hand as mine upon the machinery behind this other door will cause that gate to descend in an instant, and cut off all communication between this cottage and the convent garden. Thus, you see we have a sure escape always nigh." As she spoke, she opened the other door, and Adelaide following her as she advanced, found herself in the garden of the convent of Heiligenstein. It was a calm and thoughtful-looking place, surrounded by high walls of massive masonry, which towered up almost to a level with the tops of the old trees. Of these there were many; beeches and oaks, and elms, with here and there a dark yew, contrasting strongly and solemnly with the light green foliage of the rest. They were, nevertheless, not planted thick together; but each tree stood detached, shadowing its own spot of ground; and beneath the branches no brushwood was suffered to grow, nor weeds to encumber the earth. The lower boughs, too, were cut away, to the height of six or seven feet up the stem, so that those who wandered in the garden in the summer could sit or stand in the cool shade, and meditate at their leisure. The ground was generally covered with soft turf; but there were many paths of pebbles laid side by side, and here and there was a bed of such simple flowers as then ornamented the gardens of Europe. Except where some of the nuns were seen walking two and two, and speaking together in a low tone,--or where a solitary sister stood cultivating some one particular bed which she had taken under her especial care, all was still as death; and the only thing that seemed endued with life and energy was the little stream, which, entering from the hill above, flowed through the convent garden.

The nuns nodded kindly to the lady when she passed any of them, and gazed on Adelaide with inquiring eyes, turning the one to the other, and talking glibly. The outward world visited them too rarely for even an occasional glance of one of its denizens not to afford matter for busy speculation. The young lady of Ehrenstein and her conductor, however, went on in silence, under the green old quiet trees, and over the soft cool turf, towards a pile of building with long curved windows, ornamented in a lighter style than the rest of the convent. Under a low, but wide-spreading tree, was a pointed door, apparently ever open, and through it the two passed into the chapel. It was lofty, if not spacious; and there was an air of misty gloom spread through it which disposed the heart to prayer, while through the stained glass windows of the chancel streamed a red and yellow light, as if from the glories of a world beyond this life. Advancing slowly to a chapel dedicated to "Our Lady of Good help," Adelaide's new friend bent her knees, and offered up the prayer of the heart. Adelaide knelt down also, and, though she spoke not aloud, her lips moved, and thanks and praise, and entreaty, rose up from before that altar to the Giver of all good, and the Protector from all evil. She felt more comfort and refreshment from that prayer than sleep or food had given; and, when she rose, her thought was, "One can bear much, with hope and faith in God."

She was yet destined, and that speedily, to need such support; but we must turn to what had been passing elsewhere, but not far off. When the mistress of the little cottage beneath the convent walls had left her dwelling with her fair guest, all was quiet and peaceful; the careful maid was busily engaged in the small entrance hall, brushing the dust from the rare old furniture, raising, as she did so, a thin cloud of motes, that went dancing away in a long line of sunshine which streamed through the open door. The other servant was preparing breakfast for her lady, on her return. Nought stirred in the garden but the lizard on the wall, and the gay birds moving amongst the leaves of the vines. The two ladies could not have reached the chapel, however, when a head was raised over the garden wall at the corner farthest from the entrance. Had there been doubt or suspicion, no eye would have been turned in that direction; for there the moat that enclosed the ground was broad and deep; and, whoever it was, who now gazed quickly round that quiet little spot, he must have found some means, by plank or ladder, of crossing the wide ditch. The maids in the house continued their work, unconscious; no one saw the intruder, no ear caught any sound of his proceedings; and, after having made his furtive examination of the premises, he raised himself upon his arms, swung himself over the wall, and, dropping down within the limits of the garden, hid himself behind the vines. A moment after, another head appeared; but the proceedings on this occasion were shorter than before. There was no long scrutiny of the ground; but, leaping over at once, this new visitor took up his position beside his companion. A third, a fourth, followed; and Heaven knows how many more might have thus poured in unperceived, had not a sudden ringing of the bell been heard at the garden-gate, which as the reader is aware, lay on the other side of the house, towards the village. So loud and sharp was the sound, that the maid who was in the passage ran out at once, and drew back the little wooden screen from the wicket. The face that presented itself was that of one of the peasants of the neighbouring village; and it was full of anxiety and apprehension.

"There are men getting over into the garden," he cried; "and a number more down beyond the corner of the wood. Run and tell the good lady."

The woman turned round, with a scream; for the first glance to the opposite side showed her three or four persons running from the far angle of the garden. Darting back into the house, she rushed along the passage, and through the doors which led to the convent. In her terror, she said not a word to her fellow-servant; but the moment she was within the convent-garden, she cast off the chain that upheld the portcullis, and it fell with a tremendous clang, cutting off the grounds of the nunnery from the cottage built against their walls.

In the mean time, three of the men had entered the dwelling where Adelaide had taken refuge the night before, and were searching it in no very ceremonious manner; while the fourth rushed to the garden gate, threw it open, and, running round to the angle, from which he could see the neighbouring wood, took off his steel cap, and waved it over his head as a signal to some persons at a distance. The moment after, a large party of horse drew out from amongst the trees, and rode up at a quick pace towards the cottage. A circumstance had occurred, however, which the leader of that party had wished to avoid; for the Count of Ehrenstein, though, as we have shown, a man of strong and violent passions, was more cautious, both by habit and by nature, than is usual with persons of his disposition. The peasant who had given the alarm to the good woman at the cottage instantly hurried to the great gates of the monastery, rang the bell, spoke a few words to the portress, and then ran away to the village.

In a minute or two after, the great bell of the convent rang loud and clear, sending the deep waves of sound far over forest and field, giving notice to a great distance round, that the nuns of Heiligenstein were in danger, and required aid. Ere it had rung for three minutes, the Abbess and several of the sisters appeared on the battlemented portal of the gate, and made signs to some of the horsemen who were now surrounding the cottage garden, expressive of a desire to speak with them. No notice was taken for some time; but at length, with a moody and disappointed brow, the Count of Ehrenstein himself came out from the cottage, with a number of men who had entered with him, and springing on his horse, rode up direct to the gates of the convent.

He seemed about to speak, but the Abbess, as well aware as any woman of the advantage of the first word in a dispute, exclaimed, before he could open his lips, "What seek you here, bold man; and how dare you enter, like a thief, the grounds and dependencies of this convent?"

"I seek for my own, my good lady and mother," replied the Count of Ehrenstein, "and will take it wherever I find it, by fair means, if peaceably yielded--by force, if withheld. You seem not to know me, though we have seen each other before; and what you have heard of me should make you understand that I am not one to be trifled with. You have my daughter within these walls; that fact I have learned beyond all doubt. Bring her out to me within five minutes, and all shall go well. I will take off my bonnet, like a good and humble servant of the Church, and thank you right courteously. But if you do not, my men with their axes will, in half an hour, hew down these gates of yours, and I will take boldly what I now ask reverently, though the night and a wolf or two may find their way in through the holes I am obliged to make."

"This is all pretence," answered the Abbess. "You seek to plunder the convent. I have never seen your daughter since she was an infant; and you forge your cause of complaint, Count of Ehrenstein, in order to commit violence against a body of women whom you think helpless. But, thank God and our holy Mother, we are not without defence; and if you attempt to touch the gates, the consequences be upon your own head. Bid the men come up there, sister Louisa, and garnish the walls. I take Heaven to witness, that if blood be shed, it is this man's doing, for he seeks a vain pretence against me."