I SI > m*m u ^ ^ ^ HERMAN O F V N N A, VOLU.ME 11. HERMAN OF UNNA: A SERIES OF ADVENTURES OF THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY, IN WHICH THE PROCEEDINGS OF THE SECRET TRIBUNAL UNDER TH2 EMPERORS WINCESLAyS AND SIGISMONIT^ ARE DELINEATED. IN THREE VOLUMES. \\' R I T T E N IN GERMAN BY PROFESSOR KRAMER. THE SECOND EDITION. VOLUME II. I. O N D O N : Prin'ed for G. G. aiul J. Robimsox, Pa!er-noiter Row, lo^^bn. HERMAN OF UNNA. — A Series of Adventures of the Fifteenth Century^ ^c. CHAPTER L B Y degrees Ida recovered from her swoon. Day had begun to appear. The adventures of the precedhig night seemed a dream to her. She looked round and found herself under the portico of St. Bartholo- mew's. She raised herself upon her knees, and would have gotten upon her feet; but she was unable. In one of the four streets a man approached, whom she perceived to be Walter. She stretched out her arms and called to him as loudly as her strength would permit. He hastened to her assis- tance. '' Come." said he, '' let me conduct Vol. II. B 2 HERMAN *' you to your convent. But I had almost *' forgotten to ask, what has brought you '' hither?" — '' Alas! do you not then re- '" member," said Ida, whose recollection now began to return, '' do you not remem- '* ber the events that have just passed ; for *' surelyyou were present as well as myself?" '' Talk not to me thus incoherently. *' Ask jiot such useless questions :" replied Walter, with some displeasure. *' Let us '* begone before any one sees us here." ''Heavens!" exclaimed Ida, ''what '' will become of me? Oh, tell me what I *' am to do ! you know my unhappy situa- ^* tion ; you know that my last hopes are *' now annihilated." Walter was silent, and meditated for some time how h^ should act. But be knew, that, to perform his part with fideli- ty, he must pretend not to understand her. Ida besought him to have pify on her, and to be her friend : *^ adding, '' you can "best advise me, for you will never con- ** vince me that you are not acquainted OF UNNA. b *' with every circwmstance that has taken \' place." At this Walter grew impatient. She appealed to the deficiency of his left hand, as a proof that he was her conductor.-^ He to his dress, which bore no resemblance to that worn by the man in the mask, Ida having far greater subjects of disquietude, was at length silent, and they arrived at the convent. Fain would I draw a charitable veil over the manner in which the young Munster was received by the Ursulines, who expect- ed not to see her otherwise than honoura- bly acquitted. At first they were offended that the tiibunal had not more favourably treated a person, to whom they had paid such distinguished marks of respect. By degrees, however, doubts crept into their mind; and they began to ask one another, whether Ida were really as Innocent as they liad supposed her. From that moment she experienced neglect ; they endeavoured not to console her, they went not to converse with her in solitude, and soon things were B 2 4 HERMAN carried so far, that old Walter, who daily visited the parlour, was her only resource. Ida was at a loss what to think. She felt how alarming was her situation; and yet were her thoughts still more occupied by the stranger who had appeared laefore the tribunal in her defence. *' Do you not suspect," said she to Wa?!- ter, '* that it was my fatber?" — Walter shook his head. — *' Who was it then? who »* -could it be?"— '^^ I know not."— O Wal- tcr! *' I conjure you tell me. You know: ** I am sure you do.'" — *^* Do you wish, by ■*' talking thus, Jio drive me from you?"—- *'Oh! rip: but promise me, at least, that •^ you will befriend my generous, my un- *^ fortunate ^lefender; and that you will seek *' to discover what is become of my father." ** Your father ! do you know then who *' your father is?" Ida looked at him with astonishment, and repeated her demand : and Walter, perceiving that she had not at- tended to what the stanger had said respect- ing her birth, but still believed herself the OF UNNA. 5 daughter of Munster, ag^in relapsed into his ijiysterious taciturnity. Ida began to v./eefv, reproaching the old man with cruelty. Drawn by this charge fram his silence, he begged her to be calm, and of good courage, as it was probable her fate would soon undergo a change. *' See my prediction accomplished!" said he to her one morning that he came earlier than usual to visit her.. Ida had already seen too many placards- of the secret tribunal,^ not to know, at the first glance, that the paper he held in his hand was- one? but, notwithstanding the agreeabre manner in- which it was present-, ed, she feared to peruse it, and Walter was obliged to read it to her. It contained . . . imagine, dear reader, the transport of Idii .... it contained a solemn declaration of her innocence, and a general acquittal from every charge exhibited against her. Joy now produced on her the effect she liad so often experienced from grief. Recovered from her fainting, she a thousand times B 3 1 6 HERMAN asked if it were indeed true ; if they were Hot deceiving her. — The happy news soon spread, and immediatery she was surrounded by nuns, who loaded her with conipli- ments, assurances of friendship, and en- treaties never to quit the convent, but ta spend the remainder of her life in their tranquil abode. Ida had not forgotten that the day before she had been given to un- derstand, that, as her innocence was not acknowledged, her residence in the convent could not be of long duration ;. but she was too hnppy to think of resenting it. She re- plied therefore to their civilities with her wonted good-n?ture, though she was re- solved instantly to quit a house, the inha-- bitants of which could pass so easily from one extreme to the other. At this moment she was informed that tliere was a coach at the gate of the con- vent, which had orders to convey ber to the house of count Wirtemberg. It was natural for Ida to suppose, that, her justification being known, the former OF UNNA. 7 friendship of those who had abandoned iier in her misfortune would revive; and it was highly pleasing to her to find that the count of Wirtemberg, who had always treated her with marks of attachment, was one of the first to think of her on this occasion. She hastened therefore to the coach, and amused her fancy on the way with a thousand- agreeable reveries. She hoped to find, at Wirtemberg's house, her father and her urf- known defender, and to be rellored by the count to the favour of the empress. She hoped a thousand things beside: for what indeed will not young persons hope, who are prone to consider the slightest smile of fortune as an infallible earnest of the most signal favours? Every thing seemed to indicate thatlda- would not be wholly deceived in her ex- pectations. She saw the old count of Wir- temberg hasten to meet her, and clasp her in his arms, with an ardour, that would have appeared strange, if in her present situation she had had time to reflect. The B 4 "'8 HERMAN. count led her to his closet, through a crowd of courtiers, who bowed to the ground to salute her as she passed. Having shut the door : '' Ida, my dear Ida !" cried he pres- sing her in his arras, "- my heart did not *' deceive me!" The timidity of our heroine was alarm- ed at these lively testimonies of affection? and disengaging herself from his embrace^ she fell on her knees before him. "- My lord," said she, '* the flatteririg " reception with which you honour me, the '* goodness with which you condescend to '' inlereft yourself in my happiness, lead '' me to believe that you will not refuse to '• carry it one degree farther, that my hap- '' piness may be complete. I wish, my '' lord, to see my deliverer, that I may *■• thank him : 1 wish also to see my father *' whom I have loft. The first I imagine '' can be at no great distance, and to find *' the latter will be no difficult task to a *' prince so pov;erful as you." '' Thy deliverer! thy father!" replied the count ; " behold them both in' the same ^person,'* — Id i looked round and per- ceived herself alone with the count, who pressed her again to his bosom. She look- ed at him with surprise* and dared not re- turn his caresses. — " Thou does not believe ** me! thy heart speaks not for me{ I am- '* thy father. Behold this ornament, which* *^ has discovered to me the secret of thy- - birth/* Ida perceived in the hands of the countr •the chain she had formerly given to Her- man; and the recollection of her lover strved ftili more to confound her ideas re- specting things which were not, to her, easily comprehensible.. The count took pity on her embarrass- ment. '' You still have doubts," cried he : *Vl must convince you." And ringing a bell, the door opened, and Munster en- tered. ^ Neither Munster ' nor the count had time to utter a syllable; for she instantly ran to throw herself in the arms of the ve- nerable old man, exclaimins : '' O mv B5 10 HERMAN ** father? 'db i indeed see you again?" — *' No, madam," answered Munster, taking, her by the hand, and leading her to' the count, who was at the other end of the apartment,- and whose looks expressed dis- satisfaction : No, madam, that honour is too *' great forme; you are the daughter of •■^ this prince. I was only your foster-fa- "" ther, or rather, to speak the truth, a- ra- " visher, a robber. Behold, my lord," con- tinued he, placing the left hand of Ida into the right hand of the count, 'V a; new testis *^ mony of the truth of what I have told '' you. This hand still bears the mark be- '' stowed OP her when she first saw the light, ^' and the ring also which you see cannot **^ fail to call to your remembrance that *' amiable consort, to whom the birth of '' your daughter cost her life."—'' Ah! I '' need no other proofs," replied the count, "■ than the proofs I feel in my heart,, and ♦' those features, so perfectly resembling her. **- mother's, that I cannot conceive how I *' have so long been blind to them. Yet OF UNNA. ' II ** oertaiii it is, that I have ever been drawn ** towards her by an irresistable sympathy. *' You know, my child, the emotions that "• were excited in me when I first heard "• your name, and the preference with ** which I have distinguished you from *' your companions, in spite of your ene- *' mies," Joy succeeded to the astonishment of Ida. Presently she saw herself drawn irre- sistably towards count Everard; she fell on his neck, round which she threw one arm, while she held out the other to Munster, who wss still too dear for any one to <:laim precedence to him in her heart. When the first transports were oyer, Ida requested an explanation of this mystery, which the reader perhaps is equally impatient to learn. But how can it be given satisfactorily amidst the tumult of a thousand different passions? We will chuse therefore, with thy leave, dear reader, some calmer moment to im-- part to thee. the various circumstances of so cgmplicated an events 12 HERMAN Ida perceived with regret, that Munster was far less esteemed by the count than by herself. The count regarded him as a rob- ber who had stolen from him his ehild; Ida as her guardian, her faithful counsellor, her protector, ^hen abandoned by all the world beside. Count Everard v/as jealous of the caresses she bestowed on him ? while Ida could not forget that she had so long called him by the endearing name of father* A strange circumstance! it must be con- fessed,- and sure' I am that many of my readors will be at a loss to comprehend how the pleasure of finding herself the daughter of a prince could fail to .obliterate ill- her every other sentiment. .?>':'7'^ -^^i^ni lurn^'^-i Still there remained in the breast of our heroine one desire unsatisfied, and which prevented her from fully enjoying the tefti- monies she received of paternal affection. She had often enquired after her defender, and shown an eagerness to see him, calling him her saviour, and expressing- towards him the warmest gra.titude ; and as often OF UNNA. 13 had' the 'count assured her that she owed her safety solely to himself. This indeed she believed from the proofs that were given her; but it did not prevent her from asking continually new questions respecting the generous stranger, who had unquestionably been the first instrument in effecting her deliverance. As the count seemed averse to giving her the desired information, she ceased to urge him, and endeavoured to conceal her dissatisfaction, that she might not appear to repay wUh.ingratitude the affection shown her by her. new father. Munster, wiio, at: the request of Ida, had been permitted tO; remain in the apartment, was. silent and re- served, fearful of exciting the jealousy of the count ; and the count found the caresses, of his daughter cold in comparison . with, what he expected, : Thus they parted for the night, pleased with having escaped past dangers, and loofeing forward to new eii-. joyraents; though the sensations they felt \vcxe not altogether uninixed .-with bitter^, ness; 14 HERMAN CHAPTER 11, IDA received orders no more to quit the house of her father, and was conducted to her chamber, happy at length to be able to repose herself, and^ collect her scattered ideas, after a day of such extraprdinary ad- ventures. She soon dismissed her attend- ants, and flung herself dressed as she was, into a chair,, to reflect anew on the incidents- that had happened to her in so short a space of time. A gentle noise at the door inter- rupted her meditations, and instantly a man made his appearance. At first she was alarmed, and would have, fled and called her servants : but the person who entered^ fell at her feet, laid hold of her gown^ and with a voice that penetrated her inmost soul, supplicated her for a moment to listen to him. — "• What voice do I hear?" exclaimed Ida: " whom do I see! .... ^* Herman ! "- O.HeavensI . , . ." OF UNNA. 15 '' Yes, princess, it is Herman. You '' see him compelled to be rash, to be ini- *' portunate. But he must speak to you '' now, or forego the hope of it for ever." Saying this, he gently slmt the door,, and approached Ida, who stood resting with her liand on a table, experiencing at once the opposite sentiments of uneasines and joy, and not knowing how to act, A young woman familiarised with the customary ceremonials of virtue, would have been offended at the step taken by Her- man, or at least would have appeared so to be. To be alone with a lover at midnight, and the door shut, was surely enough to taint with suspicion the most unblemished reputation : but Ida, in the first transports of her joy, thought not of consequences like these. Bending towards Herman, who had embraced her knees, she held out her arms, then suddenly drew them back, con- fused and blushing. The young knight too well guessed her intention, not to avail him- self of it. He took courage therefore, and 16 HERMAN folded her in his arms; but, dissatisfied with her conduct, she soon disengaged herself, and ran to a door, which led, she supposed, to the apartment of her women. Herman followed her, and they found themselves in a balcony, beyond which they could not pass. *' Ah! do not fly from me!" said' her *^ do not reduce me to despair!. I m-usr '' speak to you, and I hope you have suf-- ** ficient eonfidenee in me to believe, that I ** would not have sought you at such art •^^ hour, had I any other means of inforrn- '' ing you of what it is absolutely necessary. '" you should know, before a long and per- *' haps eternal separation." *' An eternal separation!" said Ida, in- terrupting him, and casting her eyes on the- ground. '' Yes, an eterna:l separation from him^ '' whom once yoii looked on with an eye of '* favor. And hasyour exaltation so speedily " changed your sentiments ?" '* Herman." exclaimed Ida, in the most impassioned tone, ^* you know me uot,,^ OF UNNA. 17 ** Changed! changed with every respect to ♦^ him, who, when I was so much his in- ♦•- ferior, loved me so ... . '' Say so ardently, so tenderly," conti- nued the youth, finding her hesitate ; '' and '' who, were you sovereign of the world, '^ could not love you otherwise than he *^ loved you when Ida Munster : when . . ." ■ '' Stop:" said the princess, with a look of severity. '^ Regard to my honor re- '' quires, that your visit should be as short *' as possible: leave this subject, therefore, *^ and hasten to tell me that which you say " it is so necessary I should know." Herman obeyed. They seated thera^ selves in the balcony, which commanded a fine prospect over a retired garden, then en- lightened by the moon, and he thus began : "■ It is incumbent upon me to warn you '' not to confide too securely in your pre- *' sent happiness. You saw what happened *^ to' me when I undertook your defence '' before the secret tribunal ..... ." 18 HERMAN *^ What !" exclaimed Ida, '' was it you, *' that would have died for me? Yoh, that '* risked every thing to save me, vvhenaban- '* doned by all the world besides? O Hea- '^ vens! shall I ever be capable . . . . ? No- '' never!" A flood of tears then fell from her eyes; she raised her hands to Heaven^ and cast on Herman a look, that forcibly expressed the emotions of her heart. '' You did not know it then? You were *' not informed of it? In this I clearly '* perceive the character of the count: and '' you see what we have . . . pardon me, I *' meant to say .... -vvhat I have to expect ** from him." *' You must tell me, Herman, every ^' thing that has passed, from the moment •'^ of our separation. The night is lon^i *' we are alone ; nobody will interrupt us." Ida seemed totally to have forgotten what she had said a minute before, that re- gard to her honour required his visit to be brief, and Herman had no great desire. o£ reminding her of it. OF UNXA. 19 '' When I took leave of you, at Mun- *"* star's," resumed oin hero, '' or rather, '' when you had quitted me, cruel as ap- '^ peared to me the necessity of separating *' myself from every thing I held dear in the '' world, there yet remained for me another *' severe stroke, to be inflicted by her, whom '' whom you called your mother. It was '' she who gave me the first intimation of '.' what you have lately learnt, and of which ? no one is now ignorant; that it was not V without reason you possessed that dignity •'of mien, that announces exalled rank; *' and that you really were, wiiat you ap- *' peared to be, the daughter of a prince. '* The haste in which she was obliged to. '' impart to me this secret, and the pre. ence **.of Munster, who narrowly watched iis^ '^ prevented my hearing the name of the ** happy mortal, who had a right to call you *' his daughter; and thus I found myself *' more uncertain than ever of what I had to '* hope.. But we are ever ready to flatter *' Qutselves ; and I confess, however by 2^ HERMAN' '•^ birth you might be exalted above me, *•• that I was not deterred from relying on ** my courage and on my sword, which I *' trusted would one day enable :ae to look ** up to the daughter of a prince with confi- *' dence. Vast projects then opened to my ** mind: I lost myself in reverie, aud forgot **" every thing; so that 1 was at some distance ** from Prague when I recollected the request ** of your supposed mother, the good Mrs. ** Munster, who, when she bid me adieu». *' had urged me to remain another day, *' in order to second a step she meant to **^ undertake in your favour with the enipe- *^ ror. 1 returned lo Prague ; thence re- ^* paired to Conradsbourg; and thence to *^ numerous other places, to which I was •* sent by persons who were playing the fool' •^ v/ith me. I could meet with the empe- * ror no where. My unexpected return j '* after having formally taken leave, and the ** anxiety I displayed, excited curiosity, and '^ exposed me to malicious remarks. The *^* not being able lo acquit mysself belter^ OF UNNA, 21 •* and with less delay, of an affair that relat- *' ed to you, urged me to desperation. It *' might have concerned your birth, which '' possibly Mrs. Munster wished to reveal; *' it might have required the utmost promp- '*' titude; I was altogether in ignorance of ^^ what was to be done ; and my extraordina- *' ry behaviour occasioned probably the ** strange report which was circulated or my '* being bereft of my senses: a report '*''' which I first heard from the secret tribunal "*' when it was aliedged as one of theaccusa- -** tions against you. '' I imagined 1 had still one friend at ** court, and of him I at length obtained an *' audience. He advised me to depart fioin ^' the country ^"^ith speed, as my life was not ** in fafety, and assured me, that he would *' discharge my commission as faitlifully as f *' could do it myself. I have since learnt, '' that this was intended to frighten me, in *' order to keep me from the court, as tlie *' emperor, from whom at first my return ** had been concealed, having at length 22 HERMAN *' heard of it, expressed a wish to speak *' with me. I had long been envied -the **" feeble remains of the favour I once enjoy- *' ed with him; and the eager pursuers of *Vhis smiks feared, that I should regain my *■■ former influence, if I made my appearance *' anew. They sought, therefore, to drive '' me away, by the pretence, that there was a *' design against my hfe ; and, to put an ^' end to the questions of Winceslaus^ con- *' cerning me, they spread a report of my *•' my death, which you know passed for *' certain even with the judges of the secret *Viribunal, who pretend to be ignorant of *' nothing. ,. ^ ^.,., '^ I was thus induced to resume my jour- *' ney towards the court of king Sigismond. '*' There I found my old friend, Nicholas *' Gara, the Hungarian general, under whom " I had served against the rebels of Prague, '' but the extent of whose power I now first " learned. With joy he received me into " his suit. The court of Hungary was pre- *' paring for a war against the Turks. Si- OF UNXA. 23 ** gismond had lost his consort, the good ** queen Mary, who was exceedingly beloved *' and with her more than half the affections *' of his people. He was suspected even, *' by his ill treatment, or at least by his want *' of kindness, of having occasioned her '' death. -He was hated: the debaucheries '' of his court were made the subjects of pas- ''•quinades; tliey styled him a second Win- *•• ceslaus; and though, as I then believed, *' he deserved but in part these reproaches, '^ he found himself under the necessity of *' endeavouring toobliteratesucli unpleasing *' impressions by some splendid atchieve- ^' ments, that would add lustre to his repu- *' tation. A war against the infidels he '*' considered as the surest way of attaining " his purpose, and inconsequence he resolv- '*' to unite with those who had sworn them- ' " selves enemies to the standard of " Mohammed. '"■ What a prospect for one whose aim *' was bent on glory, in order to merit Ida! *' What laurels did I not hope to gather, 24 HERMAN *' to what heights did I not aspire, that I *' might raise myself, celestial maid, to an *' equality with thee ! No prince I thought *' would hesitate to choose me for his son- *' in-law, when, covered with the blood of '* the infidels, and enriched with their spoils. *' I returned to the court of Sigismond, to *^ fiil the brilliant offices, with which my *■■ vanity, relying on the attachment of my *' friend Gara, flattered my imagination. — '^ And perhaps these hopes would have been *' realised, had 1 been willing blindly to *' close with the projects of this general, who *'^ had every thing in his disposal. *' Our Inarch was begun, and we joined *' the enemies of the grand SIgnior. Wc '' We attacked him vigorously, performed *' prodigies of valour, yet seldom came off ** conquerors. Some malignant deity seem- ** ed to reign over our fate, and to snatch *' victory from our hands, even at the mo- '* ment we thought it secure. '* Our ill success was ascribed to the se- *' cret crimes of the king ; and the general OF UNNA. 25 '* seemed to countenance such seditious dis- ** course. I had good reason before to *' suspect, that Gara endeavoured to defeat '' the designs of his master by secretly fa- " vouring the enemy. My suspicion was "• converted into certainty, when he dis- *-* closed to me the hatred he bore the king, *' and attempted to detach me from his in- " terest. He was the eldest son of old Ni- " cholas Gara, whom Sigismond had for- ** merly beheaded. He therefore breathed \' nothing but vengeance against the mur- " derer of his father; nor could Sigismond '■'• have been guilty of a greater imprudence, *^ than to commit to one of the sons of the '•deceased, the supreme power over the *' army, and to the other, Andrew Gara, '' the regency of the realm during his ab- *^' sence. But the principal features in Si- *' gismond's character are openness, magna- '^ nimity, and imprudence. He delights *' to make reparation for his faults, and he ' loaded his enemies with honours, think- •' ing thereby to render them his friends. Vol.. 11. C 26 HERMAN *' The ill intentions of the general becaine ** to me daily more evident. I loved the *' king with all my soul ; and 1 shewed ^' Gara, without disguise, the horror I felt ** at his proposal to assist him in dethroning '* his master. Had not my youth and in^ '' experience blinded me, I had, at the' '* commencement of our acquaintance, suf- ** ficient reasons to suspect his integrity. *' Was it not he, who had formerly dared *' to justify Winceslaus for his execrable ** murder of the principal inhabitants x)f ** Prague! ** I concealed not from Gara the opi- ** nion I conceived of him. My sincerity ** displeased him; he grew cool towards me ; *' imputed to me imaginary faults; ceased •* to promote me-^ went even so far as to ** take from me the offices I held, to beftow *^ on me others inferior to them ; and at *' length I received permission to quit the '' army. As it was however but a permis- " sion, not an order, I paid no regard to it, *' choosing rather to serve my king in the OF UNNA. §7 '* capacity of a common soldier, than co- '* wardly to leave him in the hands of his ''enemies. Heavens! how much did I *' wish to inform him of the perfidy that *-' v;as hatching against liim ! But how was if *' to be done? All his steps, as well as mine, *' were watched ; he had also been preju« ** diced against me; and it was impossible '* for me to speak to him in private. ** Meanwhile I shall ever retain the ** pleasing remembrance of having had it *' in my power to render him a signal ser- ** vice, before my destiny separated me *' from him. According to custom, we had ** foughtbravely against the infidels, without '* obtaining the victory. To lose the battle *' was unavoidable, for so it pleased Nicholas '-' Gara. The duke of Burgundy had al- *' ready fallen into the Hands of the Turks, ** and a similar fate threatened the king. *' His attendants had deserted him, and " left him engaged in single combat with '' the valiant Achmet, who was far his su- '* perior. I had received orders from the C 2 28 HERMAN '' general to retire, and repair to another '^ post. But I was deaf to his command, " collected twenty loyal Hungarians, and " extricated Sigismond from his perilous " situation. '' How did I regret, that I was obliged *' almost the same instant to quit him! But *' love called xiie, and I was unable to resist ** the summons. The danger you ran, '' dear Ida, had reached my ears : I felt the " the necessity of saving you, and the at- '' tachment I bore my king yielded, ^tpithe '' more powerful sentiment with which you " had inspired me. I left Sigismond, how- ^^ ever, in the protection of such faithful '* subjects that no one durst opeply attempt " any thing against his person*, .vi^^vyould *' iiave taken this opportunity of informing \' him of the snares that were spread for '* him, had he been capable of listening to '' me; but he was grievously wounded, and *' had a considerable fever, which affected '* his brain. In consequence I charged.his *' loyal attendants to communicate to him OF UNNA. 29 •* what I could not, and with speed I repair- *^ ed to you: ... to you, whom I knew to *' be threatened by the pitiless arm of the *'• secret tribunal." '' May I ask," said the princess, inter- rupting him, '' how, at so great a diftance, '' you heard of my misfortune?" '' It is a circumstance I do not yet fully '' understand myself: however, I will ex- '' plain it to you as well as I can. You *' doubtless remember old Andrew, whom '' Munster gave me for my esquire, on my *' departure from Prague?" '^ Certainly I do. There were more "' persons than one in our house who re- '' joiced at the circumstance, as it freed " them from the inspection of a vigilant spy, **• whom nothing escaped. Me you as- *''suredly will not rank in the number of *' the persons who hated him: on the con- *' trary, I esteemed him for his fidelity; *' though, I confess, his simplicity w^as so *' singularly contrasted with traits of appa- *^' rent art and cunning, which sometimes C3 30 HERMAN '^ escaped him from want of attention, that *' I was at a loss what to think of him." '* I made myself precisely the same re- '' mark, on his conduct, and he gave me a *"' thousand occasions for repeating them. '' You shall hear by what extraordinary " means he became the primary cause of *• my sudden appearance before you, and, '' if I may be permitted so to say, of your ** deliverance." *' We were arming for battle, the -ddy V* on which, as I have just mentioned to *' you, I had the happiness to save the life *' of the king. Andrew, who commonly, ** in spite of his age, yielded not in courage *' and intrepidity to the most resolute of *' our youth, appeared, while buckling oil '^ my armour, sad and dejected. '* Sir,* ** said he, ' the road we are about to take *' may lead to the tomb* It is possible I *' may fall, and where can I die better than *' in the field of honour? But in case it *' should happen, I ought to infotm you of *' something which it imports you to know. OF UNNA. 31 *' When the battle is over, do not stay long '* in this country; I have a presentiment, ** that things do not go so well as they ought *' in the house ci^ my old master. The " life of a person who is not indifferent to *' you is in danger.' I looked at him '* {leadily, and asked the reason of his ap- 'Vprehensions: but he refused to explain '* himself more clearly, resumed his wonted *'* air of simplicity, and attributed what he •"' had said to some melancholy dream. *' Though I v;as never weak enough to gf* have faith in such things, I yet was a little ** disturbed at what he said, and I put to .,,'* him fresh quetions. '■ L^t us drop the V' subject for the present,' replied Andrew : ** ' we have now to meet the enemy : If I ** never return, you know enough: if I do, ** you will know more.' '^ The attack commenced. Andrew ** was one of the first who fell by my side. ** I directed him to be carried out of the *^ throng, that his wounds might be dressed. ** Ihe principal events of the battle I have C4 I '32 HERMAN '' related; but I have not told you, that the '' first news I heard, after quitting the tent *' of SigisiBond, was the death of poor An- *^d^ew. His comrade, who came to ac- "■ quaint me 7/ith it, told me, that as he " was' dying, he spoke of a certain lady of *' the name of Ida, and charged him totell *^ me to hasten to her succour, as she was *' in danger of perishing by the secret tri- *' bunal. At the same time he delivered ''me a- billet, v»?hich the dying man h'dd "" taken from his bosom, and directed him " to give me, as it would inform me of the '• time I had for my journey, and the place '• where you would be found. You may '' easily conceive the eagerness with which '' I set off, Vv'ithout staying for further in- '' telligence. '' I did not reflect on the circumstances '' of this strange adventure till afterwards; '• when I was led to believe Andrew to have '' belonged to thcit formidable society, the *' members of which, spread over the earth, ** are informed, ahnost in the twinkling of OF UN N A. 33 *^ an eye, of what passes in the most distant *' parts of their invisible empire, as if they '* were connected together by some magic '"■ cliain. You have seen how numerous are '' the judges and associates of this tribunal; •' and I have reason to believe, that it has '' more adherents among the people, than '' among the nobiHty. "• Those of the '* former class constitute the links of that " immense chain, tiie secret wheels of that " fearful engine, with the thousanc^eyes of *' which the SEERS, as they call themselves, '' obtain knowledge of- every thing that is '' done, and discover mysteries that seem '" impenetrable. I doubt not but Andrew ** was one of the associates of this class; ^' but attachment to the family of his an- '^ cient master led him, as fai: as he could^, '* to overstep the limits of that religious *' silence to which he was bound by his *' oath. '' I travelled on, without well knowing. " in what consisted the danger thatthreaten- *' ed you, and consequently what was to be. C 5 34 HERMAN ** done to extricate you from it. Dmihg ** my journey, nothing v/as talked of biit ** your adventure. In every town and vil- ** lage I saw stuck up against the buildings *' an invitation to undertake your defence; *' and I soon learnt the conduct I had to "' pursue. There were two days still to in- *' tervene between the time of my arrival *' and that of your trial. These I spent in *' the manner pointed out to me by a man *' of the name of Walter, with whom chance '* brought me acquainted. I would have ** waited on you at your convent, but he ^* dissuaded me, saying, that no one was ad- ** mitted to defend a person accused before ** the secret tribunal, unless he could prove, ** that there had not been the most distant ** connection between him and the party *' for the space of a year. By Walter I was *' further informed, that you had nobody ** to accompany you to the appointed place '' whither the stranger came to fetch you; '* and, as it was forbidden me to offer you "■ my haiid, I planted myself on the road «' you were to tak^, that I might seci^etly "j,\ watch over and protect you from insult. V* 1 saw you pass, accompanied by the nuns, ** and if any thing could have augmented ** the opinion I had formed of you, it must '* have been the venerable attendance of '' tho6^ pious maidens, who, by tfce attention ''they paid you, showed in a striking man- *' ner their persuasion of your innocence; '' and I have also since learnt, that this pro- .'Vcedure of the nuns made no small im- *Vpression on yowr judges.'* >vAnd yet," said Ida, interrupting him, '*» ray eloquent defender was refused a hear- VV iqg. Matters were carried so far, that he *^.Vw3=^ arrested as a criminal^ which, I sup- *VpQsed, would render my justification im- ^' possible. I could not support the cruel *' idea; I swooned at that dreadful moment; *' aLid_; even now .... when 1 think of *' Who can explain all the manoeuvres '' of people who are themselves a mistery ?" said iicrmaii to the gensive and dejected 36 HERMAN Ida. ** For my part, I cannot ; and, even ^' if I could, I stilhshould not dare. Whilst •'■ you were insensible, you were carried ** away, and the person v/ho brought you to^ *' the tribunal set you down at the place *' where he had received you from the- hands *' of the nuns : I know, however, that he *' secretly watched over your safety. In '' the mean time I was interrogated, and '' treated with rigour. I had said, that you *"• were the daughter of a prince, and I was ** required to prove it. Of the faet I had *^ no farther certainty than the assertion of *'' Mrs. Munster. The chief of the tribu- '' nal then rose, drew near to me, and, in *' a tone of voice that betrayed the greatest *' emotion, put to me questions, which I '* knew not how to answer. I had been '' stripped, as is customary on such occa- *' sions, and. conducted before the judg(is '' with my head and feet bare, and my bo^ '* dy wrapped round with woollen cloth, " My cloaths had been examined, and the *' chain you formerly gave me was in the OF UNXA. 37 ^' hands of the president. This chain was-. " one principal subject of his questions. '' He asked, ' How I came "by it : if I knew *•'• count Everard of Wirteinberg, whose •''•pdftrait Was fastened to it: if I had not: *"' received witlr it a ring also: if I knew '' the party accused : if I had ever observed *^*- on her left hand a small mark, resem- *' bJing a cross: and if I could not guess *-^ the narhe of the prince whose daughter ^'•she was?' All these questions I answered '"'briefly and ingenuously; as well as many '' others, particularly the following: ' Why *' I defended you with so much warmth: ^' whether I loved you : whether I had any *-'' hopes : whether I had spoken to yoa '* lately, kc' At length I was set at liberty, ■ ^ and my cloaths were returned; but they ^'^ kept the precious jewel which I received '^ from your hand, and which, according '' to appearance, was the token by which ■'^ vou were known. '"•I. was ordered not to quit the city, '^ and to appear again the moment I should 38 HERMA.N *•' be cited. This however,- has not taken *' place; and I have just learnt, in a way *' whibh I am not at liberty to disclose, "■that last night the secret tribunal met " once more on your affair, when the chief '* arose from his throne, and answered for *' your innocence, on his terrible oath, af- *^ ter which you were formally acquitted '^ of every accusation. - "- On the other hand, I was this morn- '^'^iiTg sent for by the count of Wirtemberg,. ^* who gave me a very flattering reception, *' informed me, that the young person I had *' so ably defended, was discovered to be *■* his daughter, and, in recompence of the *' service 1 had rendered him^ offered me *' a present that did honor to his generosity.^ ** But, alas! the words that accompanied itv ^' were far from being equally generous.;-: " 'I am not surprised,* said he, ' at ^* your having loved the charming Ida Mun- *' ster : it was natural, and suitable to your ** station. I hope, however, that you will *■ henceforth cease to think of a person, OF UNNA. 39 *^whdm fortune has raised so eminently V above you, and with whom it is impossi- "■ ble you should have the sh'ghtest inter- '' course? particulary as you are of the fa- *' miiy of Unna, and consequently related •"* to him who attacked count Everard at " Wisbaden.'^ — The answer I made your *' proud father, was dictated by the rage '' that possessed nje. We parted highly *' displeased with each other. He sent me V- his humiliating present, which I instantly *' returned. In no case would I have ac- V' cepted a reward for saving your life, and ♦^ much less in this." Herman had risen from his seat, and was walking with hasty strides backwards and forwards in the balcony. Ida perceiv- ed how much he was offended; she was her- self also extremely agitated, if not by anger^ at least by secret dissatisfaction, which pre- vented Iter speaking, lest she should betray the sentiments she felt. *' Sir," said sh^ at length, with a trem- blitig voice, '* I imagine you hav9.ii,ijiished 40 HERMAN ** the recital of your adventures : day Is on *' the point of appearing; we must part; '* and you have not yet informed me .of-thc ■*'' motive of your visit. You said, that you '' had to tell me of a danger with which I " was threatened, or . . . .'* '' Oh Ida!" cried Herman, approaching^ her, with an accent of the most endearing tenderness : *•' Do you perceive no danger ■*•' in what I have related? If there be none •-' to you, to me at least there is that of an '' eternal separation. And is the fate of '' him to whom you .... is the fate of ''Herman become so indifferent to you? •''Meanwhile,"' continued he, whilst Ida timidly drew back from him, '' this is not "'' all I have to tell you : hear what has hap- ^^ pened to me to-day, and judge what you " have to do. " When I quitted the count, yoqr fa- *-' ther, though he deserved not the appel- '*lation, I met the honest Munster. Alasi •''he too has treated m.e with severity, yet ^' I would to heaven you were still. hi& f OF UNNA. 41 't daughter I I related to him what had pas- -V sed between me and him, of whom nry '■'■ hps wish not to pronounce the 'name; and '.' I was desirous also of giving him an ac- *•' count of what had previously happened '' to me, but he appeared to be in a great *' measure already acquainted v/ith it. At '' length he took me home with him, and *"* satisfied all my questions concerning you^ *-' as far as was in liis po^ver. Hrs sole mo- •"* tive for quitting you so hastily at the con- " vent, was to go in quest of me, to demand *^ the chain, which you informed him was *' in my possession, and which was necessa- " ry to prove your birlh. But soon relin- '' quishing this design, the execution of ** which would have required too much time *' he formed another project for your de^i- *' verance* I cannot say, 'with certainty, "• what this project was, as he did not fully '' explain himself on the subject. As far "" hoAever as I can judge from appearances, " it is probable he took some steps to be *' admitted into the number of associates of 42 HERMAN *' the secret tribunal, as be bad beard, that *' an oath taken by a free judge, in affirma- *' tion of the Innocence of a person accused, **vvas sufficient for his acquittal. Munster *' was Htile aware of the difficulty of being *V admitted a member of this terrible tribu- 'V nal ; that it was previously necessary to be ** put to the proof, and to fill inferior sta- *' tions, before he could arrit^e to any influ- '' ence in it: and this required time, where- *"" as your situation demanded the mostspee- *' dy succour. But as he had taken the ** first steps, he could not be permitted tO' ** retract, and was kept in confinement. — *' Unable, therefore^ to seek any means of *^ delivering his dear Ida, he found himself *' obliged to abandon to Providence her •vfate. ^' At this juncture I arrived. H^ knew >* that I wa-s here, yet was not at liberty to '* speak tome. I declared to the judges, *' what I had heard of your birth. He, who *'^ had hitherto passed for your father, was" *'- interrogated on the subject, and obliged to OF UNNA. 43 '* appear before the count of Wiitemberg, " who, in all appearance, is the chief of *^ the secret tribunal in this district ; for I '' I perfectly recollect his voice and gait, in '^ spite of his disguise. '' The answers of Munster removed *' every doubt respecting your birth ; and *' the count was so firnily convinced of the *' innocence of his daughter, that he hesi- " tated not an instant to make himself re- '^ sponsible for it. What has iince been ^* executed^ was then resolved on, and you '' were set free. The greater part of this '* account 1 have received from a person *' whom I dare not name, for the discourses '.' of the reserved Munster turned chiefly on '^ the necessity of renouncing you, and the '' impossibility of my attachment ever be- *' ing crowned with success. '' '- You know,' said he, ' the observa- " tions I often made on the subject, when '' you believed me to be the father of Ida : "- you would not then give credit to them, '* yet now you must be convinced tliey were 44 HERMAN '* well-founded. I will not enquire wbe- *'' tber a princess of Wirteinberg be too ele- *' vated a matcb for you: but you cannot *■'' conceal from yourself the determined en- '•'• mity of count Everard to your house- '' Tbougb you took no part in the affair of " Wi-baden, he will never forgive you, for *"• the crimes of your relations. Beside, he '* has other views for his daughter. As he "'has little hope himself of attaining the *' first dignity in tlie empire, he wishes at '^ least to be aUied to him, to whom it is *' probably destined. Now it is generally '' supposed, that duke Frederick of Bruns- *' wick, will one day afcend the throne of '' Bohemia ; and him therefore has count *' Everard chosen for his son-in-law. — '' Death lately deprived the count of a " daughter, whose hand had been promised '* 10 the duke ; it will therefore, he thinks, *' be easy to substitute Ida in her place; *' and as Ida is far superior in beauty, the ** execution of this scheme appears to him ^' certain. After this, ' Would you prevent OF UNNA. 45 '^•the happiness of her you love? Would '* you take from her the prospect of wear- '' iiig the first diadem ki the world:' '' I will not repeat te you, the answer I "•'made: it is of little importance. But '' permit me, madam, to ask you one '' question : Are you inclined to give your '' hand to a prince, who knows you not? *' To .a man, who, should he prefer you, " will be determined only by reasons of *' state? To a man who having placed else- '' where his affections, despised and treated *' with neglect your sister, whose hand was '' offered to him, and prcfbably caused her '* to die of grief? To a man, in short, who, '* if dazzled by your chariAs, though he *^ may experience for you sentiments more '* tender than thosje with which she in- *' spired him, will not fail to ^ive vou '' rivals, who . . . ." Redoubled knocks at the door of Ida's chamber interrupted the conversation of the two lovers, and alarmed them ex- tremely, Tlie princess hastily rushed from 46 HERMAN the balcony, and ran to the door. Heavens! it was her father. '\ What!" said he, with a look of asto- nishment : '' so early! day scarcely broken, *' and dressed already !" *' My father, I am . . . . I am accus- ^' tomed to ri^re early." '' You were in the balcony. Where are "** your women ? You were talking : are ** you also accustomed to talk to yourself?" These questions threw Ida into the most cruel perplexity ; she knew not what she ought to say ; and had her father put to her a single question more, he would have learnt 2iU, that, under the present circumstances, it was so important to conceal from him. But fortunately, too eager to continue coolly this examination, he flew to the balcony. Finding no one there, he returned perfectly calm, and 'begged the trembling Ida, who durst not yet look up to him, no more to expose herself to the chill morning air, and still less to the tongue of calumny, by talk- ing to herself, as she had done. *' The OF UNNA. 47 ** little sleep you have taken," added he, '' has made you pale ; you have deranged *' my projects ; I intended to-day to have '^.presented you at court, but I perceive ** that you must have anotiier day to re- ^' cover yourself." He then embraced her tenderly, and begged her to go to bed again, as the sun was scarcely risen, and she had need of jepose. 48 HERMAN CHAPTER II L SATISFIED at being so happily extri-» - cated iTom the aukvv'ard situation in which she Ibund herself, Ida ran to the balcony, to see what was become of Herman. He bad disappeared. She could form no conjecture, hut he had ventured to leap from it into the garden to escape the count, whose voice he no doubt heard. She looked down : all was quiet and motion- Jess, except that, at a distance, she perceived a centinel parading backwards and forwards, which rendered her uneasy about the escape of her lover, and the injury her reputation might suffer. ''Alas!'' said she, with^.^^^ sigh, '^ must the great every where havor '' witnesses of their mofl secret actions?, '' And can they never be permitted to ^o '' any thing without being observed, of a^. '' least without being under constraint? " How preferable u'as the peaceful life I '* led in the house of Munster, to the hu- OF UNNA. 49 " miiiating confinement in wliich it appears *^* I am to be held here; a confinement *' even greater than what I experienced at *' the court of the empress !" Ida willingly followed the advice of her father, in retiring to bed; for she had need of repose : but the reflections that occupied her mind, totally prevented her from sleep- ing. Having remained some time in bed to no purpose, she at length resolved to rise and call her women. That day she re- ceived no visit: the count of Wirtemberg himself came to see her but for a moment. She was melancholy and dejected, and durst not compare h€r present situation with that she had quitted, lest she should find the comparison too unfavourable to the former. The sole circumstances from which she de- rived consolation, were the thought of the danger she had just escaped, and her pre- sent security; the shame and disgrace to which she had been exposed, and her inno- cence now acknowledged: her heart then palpitated with joy and gratitude to heaven. Vol. II, ' D 56^ HERMAN and the person, whom next to heaven she considered as her saviour. The narrative of Herman afforded her matter for fresh re- flections; and these were insensibly repla- ced by the tender remembrance of the em- pjress, to whom she was next day to be pre- sented. To behold Sophia, to see her again after being completely justified, to relate what she had suffered for love of her, and to humble her enemies by the lustre of her innocence and her rank, formed such a pro- spect, that Ida must have been more than woman, nay, more than mortal, to have been indifferent to its enjoyment. The wished-for day appeared. Ida \vmr dressed in a manner suitable to her ranki She was naturally beautiful; and the im- pression of her late sorrow, which was ycO.: not entirely obliterated, served bpt^oreor:.^ der her more interesting. ":'f ' ' _ ':"i rl^-^'JiL Count Everard had acquainted the. em- press with his. intention of presenting to hex his daughter. The princess of Ratibor was. accordingly deputed to fetch the young OF un'SJa;' m pYh^ce'M of Wirtemberg, in Sopkia's st^te cdach, and to assure her of the impatience with which she expected her. Who has' not seen; who does not know^ how brazen is the forehead of an ej^periencied courtief'?^ rhe princess of Ratibor felt ivo embarrass^^' ment from the commission with which she was charged to her, whom she had so cruel- ly injurfed: and the sole vengeance that the ■ ndble-minded Ida took of the impudence*f- with which she pretended to participate ill ■ her unexpected happiness, was a look of dig-' dainful pity, which she cast on her enemy. The count, however, was not equally.' forbearing. The character of envoy from the empress, in which the princess of Rati-- bor appeared, had some restraint upon him ; but he said enough to remind her of the in- famous part she had acted with regard to his daughter; and the princess of Ratibor, for- the first time in her life, habituated as she was to dissimulation, knew dot how to a€t^ odiJ£^ io zi^otinq 9dT .laJd 52 HERMAN The princess of Wirtemberg was received ia the empress's anti-chamber by the duke of Bavaria. He embraced her, and made an apology for having been so slow in perceiv- ing her innocence. The great have the pri- vilege, or at least fancy they have the privi- lege, of making reparation for every injury by a few civil expressions. But Ida paid little attention to what was said by the duke, for her heart was on the wing to meet Sophia, who, still somewhat feeble from her illness, was sitting at the farther end of the chambi^r and, attempting to rise, held out her arrris to her young friend. The daughter of the count threw h^rsHf at her feet. — '' Pure, spotless sbulT*cfiefd the empress, pressing her to her boscfnri: *' how much hast thou suffered for the love "of me! how hast thou supported it? woe '* to those wlio availed themselves of rriy **,weak state, to seek the ruiri of my best and •' dearest frii i." Ida bathed the knees of her sovereign with her tears. *' Rise," said Sophia, rise: OF UNNA. 53 '* that posture becomes only your persecu- *' tors. How I regret, that they are in reali- '^ ty forced to pay to your rank that respect '* which they owe to your innocence; how ** I regret, that you are no longer Ida Mun- *' ster, that I might raise you to the height *' of my wislics! Why has fortune done *' what I could so ardently have desired to *' do for you myself!" Joy rendered Sophia eloqent, while it bereft Ida of words; probably because she felt it more forcibly than the empress. In^ fact, few persons were capable of loving like her ; and the lively remembrance of her misfortunes, and her glorious deliverance contributed, perhaps, still farther to height- en the intensir^y of b.er feelings. The empress ordered all the ladies of the court to embrace the princess of Wirtem- berg. The princess of Ratibor and her daughter, whose yellow and livid visages be- trayed the envy that inwardly gnawed their hearts, presented themselves foremost; the rest followed with an air of somewhat less 3 j-j _ • i^*i A* c^ HERMAN 1 constraint ; nor was there one, who did not assure the charn3itiig;Ida, -that she had obtain- ed nothing more than she merited, and that, the day they first heheldher, they could not help confessing, that she was worthy of, ?.nd '^woiil'd do'- honor to the most elevate^d rank, •-iii I Sophia, cwhO'Was not ignorant of their j.eaIousies and secret persecutions, smiled wilh an air of disdain, and bade them retire^ SiSjsbe wished to be alone with the di^keof Bavaria, count Ev,eriard and hjs da^ghtei*?!:! ou:: Our manuscript does not inform us what subject engaged the attention of these Jour personages; but it says that the conversation 4id; npt ]become truly interesting till Sophia and Ida were left by themselves; a.nd tli at then took place between them, all the reci- procal endearments, all the tender effusions, ■)j.'Snuily felt by two hearts, formed for each Others when, haying been ^separated by.oijis^ •fortLUie, they find thems£lves happily .re- united. Ida TiC marked too, though Spp^i^ \youid not acquiesce inthe Xrutji of, th<:.pj^^ ^efva)ign, t,hat lipr fijend o.|>eppil bfi h^^ OF XJNNA. -55 v;ith much TeSs i^eserv-e to the princes of V/irtemberg, than to the humble Ida Mun- fcter, a discovery which it is not possible for tis to say whether it afforded her greater pain or pleasure. Certain however it is that this renewal of friendship so transported the new prin- cess, that slie hesitated not, in her turn, 'to disclose her inmost thoughts to Sophia; iior was ^ven her love for Herman, or the late noctuiiial visit he had paid her omitted: she alloVved herself anly a few alterations and curtailments, as there were circunw stances in the case that related not to her- ^te •:aJoI^^,oand whkli-she kt^w not how i^ey tt^%ht-^€ riecl^iV^d.- ^l^i ai^w sbl btiB . '• — -^gph'Vi prothised to favour Ivith all her fftlklfencfe,' h6r ffieud's attachmenl to Her- Itea^n.-^ Obliged to become the wife of Wincieslau5;'s]ie had perhaps frequently la- li^entM that shfe had iiot herself enjoyed the liberty of chusing a hns'band; it may be presumed, therefore, that she meant to "Iceep her word, and that she was anxious to D4 56 HERMAN I devise the surest means of arriving at the desired end. Ma's cscendency over the empress was unbounded, and she could do with her as she pleased. By her recommendation Munster was called to court andjoaled Vvdth" favours: a circumstance, by no means to be wondered at, when we consider the grateful and feeling heart of her who had so long thought herself his daughter, and v/hich w^e. should scarcely have mentioned, had it not led to a recital which we shall no longer detain from the reader. Sophia was as curious as perhaps, he may be, to hear the history of the infancy of her friend, and the manner in which she had been taken from her parents; and one day, there- fore, when Driunster found himself alone with Ida and the empress, they requested him to relate the particulars of this history, a request with with which he complied, as will be seen in the following chapter. i[i#. UNNA. 57 CHAPTER iLVv^ History of the Infancy of Ida. '' O princess;* said Munsler, after some mon^ents of reflection^ '^ what a task ^ do you impose upon a man who values so •"highly your affection, and the favour of *^ the empress I You require me to confess '* faults that will perhaps ruin me in your '' esteem. They have plunged you into ^an* abyss of misfortune, and have no '^^other excuse but my blind regard for a *^ womanr, who, beautiful as Eve, might *^\vfell seduce to evil a frail child of Adam.^ **'^6ti, Ida, know her whom you believed '* to'be your mother, and can judge, from **^'what she is now, how beautiful she must ''^Xhave been at four and twenty. I loved '*%cr"; but the difference of our conditions' ** rendered my happiness next to impossi- ^' ble. I was one of the principle officers "• of the count of Wirtemberg, and Maria D 5 ' 58 HERMAN ^vwas a vassal. Become at so early an age '* a widow, the death of her husband and ** of her only child, an infant at the breast, *^ excited compassion, and she was taken ** into the service of the< countess, as.the ** mirse of her daughter. Ida, was but a '* few weeks old wheii her mother died.— '* Maria, before the death of her mistress, ^' had been promised her liberty, and the *' office of nurse to the young princess giv- -*'^ ing her a farther claim to the favour, in- >*'- creased the hopes of my love.2aoi3r;sg *' ^£L. ..^' Unfortunately the welfare: of . their *->-' dependant s is generally deemed .of ; too ^> trivial importance to merit tiie: attention *' of princes. A single word woy Id have ** made two human beings happy, and fix- ** ed indelible impressions of gratitude in ''* our hearts : but that word \vas withheld. ,^il was sent toa distance from the place •** where the object of .my wishes raided; (*^ and she was^ treated with a severity that *^ excited in her breast feelings of hatred, . *V fto4:¥.'^S?4i^-:!l%% ^J^^ .V'^^^c^. :t^^ she OF UNNA. 59 1*^ not been provoked by ill treat meot,/'shie ^* would never have taken. " The charming little Ida, admired by *' every body, and adored by her nurse, -*' was scarcely two years old, when the de- .'*' ceased countess of Wittemberg was airea- " dy forgotten, and the count had chosen, ^^ to fill het place, a young woman whose '* beauty and tank were her only pretfen- *^ sions. '* Her sentiments wer6 sufficiently un- '• generous to separate from the title of wife '* 6f coiint Everard, that of mother to his '* children. She loved, or at least pretend- -*-' M to love, the first, while the others she -' detested. Maria, who contrived some- *' times the means of writing to me by *^ stealth, acquainted tti^ with the evil pro- ^^ ceedings of this step-mother. The sons '* of her husband, who began to grow up, ^* were sent to the army, equipped in a '* manner unsuitable to their rank. No *-* attention was paid to their yOuth and itl- ** experience which defnanded sdrtie indul- m HERMAN O *^ gence. His daughters were shamefully '* obtruded upon inferior princes, who maf-^ 1 V' ried them solely from the consideration of *' their birth. .It was evidently the iiiten- *' tion of the new countess to encrease her '' fjortune at the expence of the children of *? her husband. The youngest but one of *' these children, died for want of care, and *' Maria did not fail to impute to the wick- '' edness of the step-mother this accident as VV well as the ill health of Ida, whom, she as- *■ serted, it was the v/ish of the countess pri- *';yately to get rid of: accusations perhaps ** totally devoid of proof, and which nothing '* but the infatuation of love could have in- *\duced me to credit. ^' One day I was invited by Maria, to '•repair secretly to the count's in order to *^advi8e with her about the means of saving *^ her little favourite, and removing the ob- *^;stacl€9 that opposed themselves to our •* .union. The latter became daily more •' difficult, from the severity of the countess, *V'yvlio. continually protracted the ^mancipa- OF UNNA. 61 Mion of Maria, and, at iast^ absolutely* le- ' fused to consent to it. ' ;^ »' - -.: .d : ',' '' The letter which she sent me was ' dated at Wisbaden, wheie tlie count then * resided with; his court. He had retired ' thither,after the long, and in son^.e respect?^ ^ unfortunate war he- liad waged with the ' imperial cities, in order to enjoy a Httie ' repose. As 1 had positive orders from V my master, not to quit the place where I > was stationed, it was necessary that my y arrival should be concealed ; so that we ' could meet only at night, when we had no '•other witness than the little Ida, who, V^ince:-the pregnancy of her step-mother, ' was le>s noticed than ever. She was kepti Vjjiiut up like a prisoner, with her nurse, ' ia :a remot:e apartment, where they were Vfjiequentl-y suffered to be in want almcst of Lthe.nece^ssaries ofiife. . .y*' Our secret conversations were not *" solely occupied by the unfortunate cir-/ Vcupnstances of our attachment. The des-' Vtiny,9f Ida .wa^ much more .alaimingto" 62 HERMAN ' •** Maria than her own. ' Munster,* said '' she, ' you must not flatter yourself that 1 '* will ever assent to any project for our ^* union, till this infant is in safety. You ^'^ must cither save us both, or renounce me '* for ever. ' Poor little innocent,* added ** she, pressing Ida to her bosom, who was ** asleep in her arms, ' shall I abandon *' thee! shall I leave thee in the hands of ** thy step-mother! jrliall I suffer the feeble '* Efpark of life that remains in^ thee to be '* extinguished by neglect. Look, my .•'friend, at this pale and einaciated coun- ** tenance! V/ha would suppose it to be V the little cherub, the once rosy and '* healthful Ida? And yet she eats nothing •*' t^iat Ido not prepare with my own hands. -** No doubt the air we breathein this place *^. is empoisoned. I dread the very looks- vvof this abominable c6untess, lest they ** should wither this delicate flower. It is *' true that, at present, she avoidsthe child ; >* but should she seek her, I shotild shudder I OF UNNIA. & *' at her perfidious caresses, thinking every i*S|^brace was intended to stifle her.' ,. " Love and mistrust sharpened the feel- *Virjgs of Maria. Every day she fancied "that she discovered new proofs of the '' countess's cruelty, and maintained, that " when she became a mother, things would '* be worse; that the count would feel him- '' selfless interested than at present for.the '' fate of hia daughter, and that she would '* Uidubitably be sacrificed to tiie. ofi^pi.ing V\of her step-mother. /:•;.-;:/'; nu )'''^ It: was easy to divine what were Maria's '''intentions. She wished that^ by 5ome V, daring attempt, I should procure .h^r -V- her. liberty,, and save the princess from the ,*> danger that impended over her, by taking 3*^J^r..\yith,us, .On -these conditions alone \* wpuld^^ie ^ive rae her hand. I loved the ^r'^jittle Ida, but I could not resolve to steal .''her frqm. her father, and thus deprive >*, her Qf t:he, rights of, be^r birth. . Things ^♦*^)Jid;HOjj. appear so desperate as Nfeiia had ♦^represented. I attributed part of her ap- M HERMAN **"prehfehsio'ns to 'her extreme fondness for *^ the child, and her no less ardent anti-* *' pathy to her who occupied the place of ^'^^ her former miistress,' towards whom she *' preserved the firmest'" attachment. I *' hoped that the fate of the young princess "would be meliorated in a way more ho- '^'nourable and just; and I resolved nevet '* to commit a theft, which I considered as' *' of the number of those that ought never '' to be pardoned. '^^^ vr-' i^' i^-^IqqKii 3 i' '^ *^ An unexpected event induced me to **'change my opinion, and realised the pro- ** ject of Maria, without its being necessary' ** to take the smallest precaution. What' *' shall I say? Love and compassi<:Jn vaii- " qitished my scruples; I' was imposed on *' by the semblancfe-of aii order from Hea- *^ ven; rhy mistress wa5 sufficiently adroit '* to avail herself of my weakness; and I ** determined on that dangerous step, which *' has since occasioned me such pangs ofre- •* nuM?se, and the princess such a multitude OF.LNNA. 65 *' of evils; a step of which,., I tru$t, the '*. melancholy corisequences are nov at *' an end. •"*• Arraid o^ ueing kPiOwn, I had taken '* up my residence at the distance of a '' league from Wisbaden. Every evening, ** as soon as it was dark, I set out to visjt '' Maria, and that I might not be surprised •'by the approach of day, returned after '' a conversation of a few hours, assuredly '' the happiest of my life. 1 constantly, in *' my wav, passed through a forest, consi- *' dered by the coimtry people as the. haunt '' of malignant spirits, and which 1 should ** never have dared to enter, had I not. ** been supported by the invincible courage. ^' tliat love can inspire. Indeed I had par- "" ticular.reasons to avoid it, as frequently *^ things had liappened to me there, for '* which I knew^pot how to account. ''*' God knows, said I>more than once to. '' Maria, what passes in the bosom of that. *' forest. Lonesome as it is by day, ,at. •' night it swarms with living beings, I hear i^^RMAN I *"'in"ft a'cionfused hum of voices, speic^res ^''pass and repass: stimetimes they come. so *' near, that they seem to touch me. But, ^^*'l:hank Heaven, they do no injury to the j '^* harmless traveller; so I }ct them pa?s, ] '^'* cross myself, and pret?eiid iiot to see ^* them. >,/£ bloifi^ad -bfc. *^' One night thai; I had quitted Maria ** earlier than usual, on account of the in- '**"' disposition of Ida, which would not per- *•' mit us to have any conversation, I made *''a discovery/ that removed my doubts re- "•^'^pecting that solitary wood.^^'^ ^ ^t^iiy^ '■ /• ^^ It was one oi" those daik iiigMfe'^HIiiit' t^'i'umn, when lb e fogs are soHhicIc 'a:^'i6- *^ tally to obsrcure tlie light- heth ' t^ * i Hi ** moofj ^nd 'srjars. A dank vaiyofu-r Wev- '*■ i^pread the earth ; I walked as in-aiclo'ud'; !**:and could perceive nothing b; ^Vt.d oi ciS \in:. ' ,-j pj^jj^hadscarp^^y rested myself an hour, "• when I heard the noise, that had so, fre- *Vquently alarmed me, and which at a .*,> jdis;tance resembled the mar9Ji of a body ^Jipfwen c;l^d.h:\,ari^pur. They seemed to "approach, to separate, to rest, .and then to *' begin their march again. I fancied they *' took differeni roads, and soon I distin- ^'.guished the V0:ices of two of those beings, *> ;whoi?i I bad fcjtherto supposed to be '' sprites. They stopped just behind the *' bush, under which I was Jying; and I ** then found, that those voices, of which €8 HER MAN *^'the echo of the wood had conveyed to *^ my ears but inarticulate sounds, pro- '*■ nounced a language like my own. This "" discovery changed my opinion, concern- ^' ing the nature of the persons with whom — I. had to deal, for I had always conceived, *' that the peaceable inhabitants of the invi- *^ dble world must have some other mode of *; communicating: their ideas, than the use .^Vof human speech. ^ ^VMy courage uo\y began to return; I *' listened with eager attention, that my ears *** m^ight Supply. the de^ciency of my eyes; ** and I was soon completely convinced,, *' that those phantoms, at which I had been '' so often intimidated, were no other than *' men like myself, Ih.ey comphined of *' the badness of the weather, cursed their '* masters, and expressed their inipatielice '• for the arrival of day. I was on the point *' of^ discovering myself, that I might ^' abridge the lediousness of the niglu by ,'V conversation, when a few v/ords whicli ** they dropped ,i3[ia4^ me first wi,^b^to .kr^\V OF UNNA. 69 ** more concerning them, and in conse- '* quence I endeavoured to approach '* nearer. >' ' What noise did I hear?' cried one of *' them. * Something certainly stirred be- " hind the bush. Is the man, who crosses '' the wood, gone by?' '' ' Once,' answered the other: *• and '' he commonly does not return till near '* sun rise. ^Besides, he never does harm '' to any bodv, so you- have nothing to fear, •' even were it he.' ''' ' But perhaps, it is John Herdsman, '^ who,. .'-they say, was executed here — ^ .i^- Wherever I meet him, I turn out of his ^' w^ : be J is dressed in white, except that his coT- ■^' lar is' st^ined^ with blood. Poor soul! *' perhaps he Xvas innocent.' '^ These words, and sorhe others similar *'' to them, induced me to believe, that my '''neighbours were talking of me. My :?&■ HERMAN k *' Whhc cloak with a red collar was plainly *' described, and I could not avoid laughing *'- to myself, to think I was acting the part *' of sprite to those, who had so long ^* Sct^d ii toward' nife;^;^' - ii^^aa^ ''■^'*'^ '"Cid not I Kcar the spirit laiigh?' '•'continued one of them. ' He is endea- '' vouring to provoke us: let us get out of , * ^ his way.' '^'^"" ^ '"^ i^bn£m - : 2ifU^^We dare not quli'^iS^'di^t^i'^^' '^'Irtowwe must wait here for our masters.* vf *t i. ^j-g |.j^gy gQj^e again, do you think, **^tt) Wisbadenr ^ f.Til^^-h zld Ih ^' bna i^Yes: God knows what will be 'tlfe'' '*^^nd of this enterprise/^; ' ^' 'y ^ ^^^"^f^ " * ' So m e other p ersbn s ' 'sfrrive^ ' sboti *' after, and my neighbours relinquished to '^ them their places, after having spread ''their cloaks under the trees for them to " '' repose on. My new companions ordered "• the former to retire, and I found myself '' within hearing of a conversation far more ' *' interesting than the preceding one, and ' OF UNN.^.. 74, *' wliicb indeed so engaged my attention, '*_that I was on the point of betraying my- •*self. /* I, learned, that they had formed the- *' design of surprising the count of Wirtem- *^ berg at Wisbaden, where he beHeved him- " self in security. One of them, whom I ''judged from his discourse to be the com- *' mander of a numerous band, frankly con-^ '' fessed, that he was not tempted, like his *' followers, by the hope of the immense '' booty they must infaUibiy gain; but that *' all his desires centered in the beauteous 'V wife, of count Everard, by whom he had '' formerly been beloved, and who, in a fit *' of disgust, had since given her hand to *' the count. '' My att(?utionwas every moment more *' and more excited; for one calculated the *V number of count Everard's enemies, while **"another recited their names amongst *' which were two of the house of Unna, 'Vtbe father and the brother of Herman. *' When the dawn began to peep, a greater 72 HERMAN ^' number appeared, and a council was *-' held. Two of them related what they '' had observed at Wisbaden : the day of ''• attack was fixed, and, and, to my distrac- ''' tion, it was the day that was then ap- *■' proaching. Instantly I formed the reso- " lutian of warning the count of his daji- '' ger; but to enable him to escape not a '* moment was to be lost. ^v "- Without allowing myself farther time ** for recollection, I rose gently, resolving ""■ to avail myself of the error into which the '' servants had fallen respecting me, and of "- which 1 had perceived some traces in the '' conversation of their masters. 1 turned "" my coat, that it's red lining migiit appear '' the more terrible, and slowly stalked across '' a path, that led close by them. I found *V that they perceived me, notwithstanding '' the gloom of the wood, and that my ap- '' pearance occasioned a general alarm. — '' They were all at once dumb, as if struck *^ with thunder, and I was at some distance ^' when I heard the following words, ' It is OF UNNA. 73 ij '** almost day, and yet tliere is the spectre *' gone by! he is in red too ; an oinen that '' can bode no good : we shall certainly have "■ a bloody day.* '' As soon as I was out of their sight, I *' qukkened my pace, and arrived almost I '' breatliless at Wisbaden. I demanded to *' speak to the count. The persons in " waiting were astonished to see me, and " ran instantly to tcU him, that Munster, ''Vnyho was supposed to be in Italy, was ar- *'. rived, and announced his having some- '• thing of importance to communicate. *' I was well received by the count, '' though I had returned without his per- '' mission. Well knowing my fidelity, he '' presumed, that I had not quitted my pofl *^;without reason. I spoke not therefore, '^ of the real motives of my journey, bur '^ inflantly disclosed tl^e plot I had over- "• heard in the forest from the knights of '* St. Martin (a name they assumed from '' having formed their defign on the eve of Vol. IL E 7^ HERMAN 'Vtbat faint), and the mn '' intended to put it into execution. "- Unfortunately I related also what the " discarded lover of the countess of Wir- " temberg had said of his former intimacy '^ with her: and the countess was present. '^ She pretended, that I insulted her, and ** that my whole story was a falsehood fa- " bricated for some ill design ; declaring, '* that she had not been ignorant of my ar- *■' rival, notwithstanding all my precautions "• to keep it secret ; that several of her peo- '^ pie had seen me for some days roaming v^ about the neighbourhood, and adding '*' many other complaints of a similar na- *' ture, which so prejudiced the count '' against all I could say, that he gave or- *' ders for my being imprisoned. '-' Conceive what must have been my *'* situation. Not only was I suspected by "' my master, and punished for l^^ving ful- '' filled the duty of a faithful subjecl, but ^* I beheld the count himself, through his *' own fault, exposed to the most immi- OF UNNA. 75- *" nent clanger, and with him my Maria, *' and the dear infant whom she loved more '' than life. '' The hour of attack arrived. My ** heart audibly palpitated within me. Yet *' I received a sort of consolation, when I *' heard in the court of the castle the sound '' of horses and carriages, and the clamour '*' of the people who seemed eager to go *•'• out : for I then supposed my information *' had not been wholly disregarded, and " that it was still possible the object of my -'" love might be saved. '' To this tumult a profound silence suc- *^ ceeded, that strengthened my hopes, and '*5irendered me more tranquil: but soon '' the clashing of arms and neighing of '* steeds informed me, that the knights of *' St. Martin were engaged in their at- '' tempt. ''I was perfedly ignorant of what pas- sed, except that I could hear the groans of *' the dying, and the shouts of the vidors, *' when, on a swdden, some words, that<:on- E 2 1 76 HERMAN '* fusedly struck my ears, led me to sap- " pose, that the conquerors were resolved ^' to crown their enterprize, by committing '' the castle to the flames. The threat '-'• chilled my blood; and my senses pre- '' sently told me, that it was a6lually car- " ried into execution. The smoke entered ''■ the little grated window of my dungeon, '* which was illuminated by the light of the- ''•conflagration. A prisoner, I was left to '' perish without succour, unless some \m ;ac]e should come to my deliverance. *' Not conceiving myself sufficiently *' favoured by Heaven to expect such an *' event, I tried the strength" of my own *' shoulders in bursting the door of my pri- '' son, and succeeded. Traversing the sub- " terraneous passage that led to it, I reach- ** ed one of the courts of the caflle. One *' wing was entirely in flames ; my eyes '' mechanically turned to the other, in '' which was the apartment of Maria. This *' too the flames had already caught in se- '' veral places. •' Fortunately/ said I OF UNNA. 77 •' Avithin myself, ' she is safe : for there t*,can be no doubt she was amongst those, .V who fled in time from the danger. But '• has she actually escaped? added I, as if '' by secret inspiration! and without fur- " iher reflection 1 flew to the place, w^hich '' I had never before visited with similar '' feelings, lioping not to find in it my '' Maria. '' \\\ fact, that part of the caftle was " sufficiently quiet; I saw nobody; but the '' smoke and the heat was scarcely support- *' able. * Surely Maria cannot be here *' alone, when all the reft of \\\t family ^i^^ave escaped,' whispered the desire oJP ** self-preservation, roused by the danger •'that threatened me at every step: but '' love spoke in a louder tone, boldly urg- J ing me on in despite of peril; and love * was victorious. I was determined to be ' convinced by my own eyes^ and I . ' hastened to ascend the hundred stepjEi, ' that led to the miserable apartment of ' my mistress. As I drew near, I heard I f8 HERMAN' ^^'jtli-e plaintive cries of an infant. I re- j ** doubled my speed, and soon distinguished '* the voice of the little Ida. Arrived at ^•^Hhe door .... distraction! it was fasten- '' ed within. The bolts, however, gave '^ way to my exertions, and I found Maria -** extended senseless on the floor. The *' 'window, at which no doubt she had at- '' tempted to escape, but had been terrified '' by its height, was open, and the cihild had ** crawled along the floor to her nursey, '' w-liom she endeavoured to awake wiih *■* crying. What a spectacle! . . . But I -*>-'Stopped not long to contemplate it. I ^*^' threw Maria across my shoulders, took -'* the infant in my arms, and having thus -* gained tiie court in safety, I set down my •"^ burden to take breath. It seemed as if '* an angel had lent me wings ^ so difficult , •* did it appear," without supernatural assist- .i* ance, to have passed unhurt through r*^-those volumes of flame and of srnoke, *^ that on all sides surrounded me. OP U^NA. 79 *' Alaria coming to herself, we seized *- the first moment of her being able to '' walk to remove from this place of terror ; '' for, large as was the court, we were far '' from being in saf.ty there. We soon " or^ined the forest, to which, the nisiht be- '• fore, these incendiary banditti had re- '' sorted, and there we ventured to take a "' little rest, believing ourselves secure from '' the fire and sword of the enemy. '* I asked Maria how it had been pos- '* sible for her and the young princess to *' have been thus cruelly abandoned. By '' her answers I found, that she knew no- *' thing of what had passed; that the sight '' of the flames alone had informed lier of *' the danger th.at threatened her life: that '' she had in vain called for assistance, beg- '' ging. the door might be opened ; that she "had attempted to leap out of the window ; '' and, that, at length, finding herself lost •vv;ithout resource, she had swooned with *' despair. E 4 •80 HERMAN ** It was not till afterwards that I kariil " the true circumstances of the affair. Count„ *' Everard, deceived by his wife, God knows ** with what view, gave no credit to my in- *' formation till some hours after my im- *'• prisonment. It was then confirmed by a " neighbouring, shepherd, who, as well as I, *' had discovered the project of the knights '' of St. Martin, and hastened to inform *' the count. He then lost not a moment '•in endeavouring to place his family in "■safety, v/hile he determined himself to *' remain in his castle, assemble his men, *' and wait the approach of the enemy. '' The shepherd ofiered himself as a guide to " the fugitives, and to conduct them, by a " secret road, over the hills. The count, "as he hastily took leave of his wife, or- '' dered her to take with her every thing '' that was worth carrying off, and repaired '' immediately to his post. The countess *' obeyed her husband's injunctions; she *' leftbehindher nothing she thought worthy '' her care; the little Ida was forgotten by OF UNNA. ol '' mistake, or perhaps by design; a circinn- *' stance not to be wondered at, if we con- *' sider the sentiments and feelings of this '* cruel step-mother. *' Of all this, however, Maria was igno-. " rant. She remarked, indeed, that there. '' was a bustle in the court, into which her I ajV window looked, and preparations making '' for a journey, but she supposed it to be " nothing more than one of those vi.sii'?, *' that were occasionally ipaid to tiie gta- •' tlemens' seats in the neiglibourhocxl ; -' during which she and her charge always ^' enjoyed greater liberty, and which, of. '"' course^ she beheld with sensations cf plea- '' sure. Betides, the height of her apart- '* ment was too great to suffer her to hcvi -Iw what was said below ; as was the court too- ' ^ distant from the principal front of the •' castle, for her to perceive the attack of *' ihe enerny. '' Ihe little she heard, hov/ever, reu- '' dered her sufficiently curious to enJea- ' vour to get out of the prison allotted lor E5 82 HERMAN *' her residence; but she found the door *' fastened ; at tbis she was by no means *' surprised, as it frequently happened when *' the countess was in- an ill humour. She .*', waited therefore, hoping that the girl, *' who usually brought her supper, would " tell her what was going forward. The '^ girl did not make her appearance: it grew " late: Maria and the little Ida, to whom; '' it had before happened more than once *' to go to bed supperless, fell asleep, and ^' were at length awakened by the fire. In '-'• vain she sought to escape ; despair and '* terror bereft her of all sensation ; and ••' when she awoke from her swoon, she saw- v herself saved,' saved by me, without- *Vknowing the occasion of the danger she- ^> had run, or the manner in which she had. ** been extricated from it. ., "' After having entered into a full ex*- *' planation of all these subjects, we began V* to form schemes for our future conduct. ** Mine were totally repugnant to those of ^'^^ Maria, I insisted on Ida's being re- OF UNNA. S3 ^* stored to her father, while she, exasper- •** ated at the barbarity with which the ''poor child had been deserted, swore, *' that she would never more have itlter- '' course with m^v *f ^I persisted in -my de- '^ iign. ^' To those, who do me the honour to ** listen to my narrative, I leave it to be *' decided, whether, as Maria declared to *' me, to deliver the young princess in>o ^'the hands of her step-mother, and to de- •' prive her of life, would not be one and- " the same thing. For my own part, I was "then of a different opinion. I confided '* in count Everard's affedion for his '' daughter, and hoped, that he would be- ** come a more adive protector of her "' helpless infancy, when his eyes were *' opened to the perfidious designs of his ''wife. Necessity, however, conspired '^ with Jove, to prevent the performance^ "of what appeared to me so just. I could * • not bear the thoughts of renouncing ^' Maria; andto join count Everard, and 84 HERMAN-^ '' restore to him his daughter, "^^^as for :rh^ *' present impracticable. The knights of '^ St. Martin so infested the roads, that ^ every passage was intercepted ; and the '* animosity of the imperial towns for a '' long time prevented the count of Wir.- *' temberg from having any settled abode. '' He had great difficulty to recover his wife ^' from the hands of his enemies, into ":which she had fallen, notwithftanding the ^' precaution that had been employed. At *' length the bishop of Strasburg. afforded ^' them an asylum ; but, being a relation ^^'(ofthe countess, we were afraid of ert- "^^^ trusting Ida to his care. '' Our residence in the forest was of '' short diiration, and the first place to ''which we repaired was Nuremberg. The '^'loquacity of Maria, quickly discovered. .*' that we were fugitive and alienated vassals *^' of the court of Wirtemberg, and we were •'' accordingly received with civility and '* even with kindness. Here I espoused '*'her, having, however, been previously i OF UiXNA. 8J ^* obliged, before I could obtain her con- "' sent, to bind myself by an oath, not to '' restore Ida, to her parents till- she should i' be ten years of age, and in the *' mean time to let her pass for my daugh- *' ter. I immediately resumed the profes- '' sion of a sculptor, to which I had been t*^ bred. Some pieces which I executed i*' were considerably admired and gained ■*' jiie reputation. I was chiefly employed " in decorating churches and convents. At '' length I was invited to Prague, where the '' construction of the cathedral detained me '' so long, that I became attached to the " city, wliere I had reaped considerable '' emoluments, ,and I determined to make ''it my future abode. Meanwhile Ida *' grew up. Her beauty, and an education 'V which v;e gave her suitable to her birth, '' occasioned her to be noticed, so that we '' could not admit her to appear in public *'- Once however, my imprudent wife urg- " ed me to depart from the rule of conduct *•' I had laid down, and our supposed daugh- 1 ^ HERMAN >^ ter made her appearance at your majesty's ^'^^ nuptials; a step, young princess, that ** proved the source of all the misfortunes ~*- which has since befallen you." ' '-Say rather of all my felicity," cried Ida, tenderly pressing the hand of Sophia- to her lips - -fo-^n ^^ ''My wife," continued Munster, '■' had *i her schemes. She was continually rc- '^* proaching herself for having deprived *'^ her dear princess of the advantages of *' her birth, and yet was far from consent- *' ing that I should restore her to her fathef*« "She was in reality desirous of raising her ** to distinction^ and obtaining her a for^ ** tune, without the succour of the count. ** She could not forgive his blind attachment '' to his second v;ife, and consequent neg-' *' iect of his child, and she therefore hated' *' him, too cordially to consent that he *Vshouldhave tlie pleafure of contributing ** to the future happiness of Ida. The *i'hopes of my wife were chiefly grounded *' on the favour of the empress; and she OF UN N A. ^7 >* felicitated herself on tlie passion for Ida, '' which she soon discovered in the young *' Herman of Unna, and seconded it the *' more readily, because she knew that he ** was an object of enmity to the count o^ ^' Wirtemberg. She formed a thousand '' projects, commited a thousand indiscre- *' tions, till at length she so involved in '' difficulties her, whom she was endea- *^ vouring to render happy, that she was on '' the point of falling a victim to her ill-ad^ '' vised measures, when I happily interpos- *' ed, and took perhaps the only step that- *■' could have saved her. I discovered her 'V birth to her father. There was no diffi- '' culty in convincing him of the fact; her " features, and the marks she had brought- ** into the world with her, being too well ** known to him to permit him to doubt. — • '' His wife had been dead above a twelve- "• moaitl]; and, having lately lost the only '' daughter that he supposed remaijaed to " him, and who had been betrothed to the '' duke of Brunswic, he was not displeased SS HERMAN *' at thus unexpectedly finding anotben-^ ** Tlius the heart of count Wirtemberg was " sufficiently at liberty for him to see with *' pleasure, her whom, he had formerly *' abandoned, whom he believed to be dead^ *' or at least for ever lost to him, and to *' whom he has just vowed, that every trace '' of what she has suffered, shall be obiite- " rated by his kindness." Here Munster closed his recital-. Ida sighed, and Sophia promised to act the part of a parent to her, and take her under her under her immediate care, should the count prove unf:uthful to his word. '' The point '' m.ost important at present/* added she^, *' is to devise, my dear friend, the means of '■' expediting your union with Herman. — ** Life is short; wc cannot begin too sooa '' to be happy. Fathers are often caprici- '' ous. They conceive that they consult " sufficiently the happiness of their chil- *'dren, by marrying them to great lords,. "' who possess neither love, nor virtue, nor, •' accomplishments, and whose sole merit is. I OF UNNA. .^9 •^* their rank. Ah! Ida, I knovy more in- *' stances than one of such alliances!'* As she said this,, a profound sigh escap- ed her, which her friend knew perfectly -how to interpret. Ida thanked her for the interest she took in her welfare, and en- treated her to attempt nothing in her favour at present, but to wait rather the operation of time, which frequently brought things ftio pass^' that, in prospect, appeared im- practicable: a reflection dictated by piu- dencey which however, Soph.ia quickly forg;^ot^ m HERMAI^ CHAPTER V. i IDA took leave of the empress; and Munster, to whom she was fond of paying, every mark of respect, having nothing so much at heart a« to display to the world that she still retained for him a filial regard, and was not ashamed of having been reputed liis daughter — Munster, I say, accompanied- her home, where they spent together some delightful hours in conversation. The old man's narrative had excited in her bres^st the liveliest gratitude. The variety of dangers from which he had extricated her ; tlie affection, more than parental, with which he had received her, when abandoned by every human being; the uniform disin- terestedness Vv ith which he bad ever preferr- ed her welfare to his own ;— what subjecU of reflection to a heart glowing like her s with sensibility! At his request however^ she put some little restraint upon herself in public, but, alone with. him, she gave vent OF UNNA. "^ to her feelings, and let loose all the tender- ness of her soul. In their present interview, hours had glided away unpercelved, and to finish .what they had to say would have required •^s many more ; for the princess took this opportunity of discloshig to Munster the desire she felt of hav.ng ccnsrantly near her llie person whom she had so long called by •llie endearing name of mother, and to whom the owed such great obligations : a desire with which, she had no doubt, the count of Wiriemb^rg would readily comply. Munster shook his head: he seemed neither to desire nor to hope this honour fbr his wife ; and he was about to assign his reasons, when the arrival of the count was announced. Immediately they both rose to meet him. Reentered invisible agitation; his countenance portended a storm. x Ke received the caresses of Ida with coldness, and made a sign to her venerable old friend to withdraw. „: J v».I am a3tonishe chase; to remain to eternity a simple " knight, who can never think of becoming *' the son-in-law of the proud count of Wir- , jV temberg ; to let flip a thousand oppor- '' tunities of acquiring glory; to endanger '' your life, your honour, and even t!ie •• honour of your mistress, should you '' be discovered; and should you not be pi' discovered, to spend whole years in *' useless labours, in order to arrive at an end which can never be so attained, and to *^ discover, too late, that you have followed F 4 104 HERMaI^' *' the shidow; wheii^iou^inigb^^^^ ■'**['gia-nt strides towards happiness; • ^ N^/%ir '''*' kniglit, this must not be. Talce the ad- ^ •* vice of an old friend, and quit this plac^;, **^quit it instantly, before she who may ** shake your resolution shall ■ arrive. Go, ** resume the ofEce you quitted, when yon ** hasteneil to the succour of Ida. You left *' Siglsmond in evil hands. Love hitherto *^ may be a sufficient excuse for your con- *' duct; but nothing can justify your longer *' delaying to fulfil the duty you Owe to *' your sovereign. Strange rumours are *' current concerning him; if well founded, *' your means of serving him will I fear be *' of little avail ; but your fidelity may re- '' animate the hopes of this unfortunate *' prince. Perhaps at this moment you '* are the only person sincerely attached to '' him : and can yon have the cruelty to ''abandon him? Vv^ould you leave him *' wholly deftitute of a friend r" In this manner did the eld man endea- vour to awaken in the soul of Herman a OF UNNA. ^105 love of glory, of duty, and of fidelity to his sovereign; to guard him against a hope- Jess passion, and to rouse him from the life of indolence, so unworthy of him, to which [ ^he was on the point of devoting himself. And he had the satisfaction to see his en- deavours crowned wit^h success. Herman vowed to remain eternally faithful to Ida, but promised at the same time that it should .-not be at the expence of his other duties. Munster, on his part, engaged to watch un- remittingly over the young princess, and they took leave of each other sincere and cordial friends. 5 106 HERMAN CHAPTER VIL HERMAN departed. The informa- tion given him by Munster of the doubtful situation of Sigismond was confirmed to him on the road. In one place it was said, that he was yet not returned from the cam- paign againft the infidels, and probably had fallen into their hands ; in another, that he was in the power of flill more danger- ous enemies at home; sometimes that he was mortally wounded ; then that he, 'was dead. These rumours however decreased as Herman advanced into Hungary, and totally died away before he reached the ca- pital, where he found that preparations were making with royal magnificence for the reception of his mafler. As I am not writing the hiflory of Sigis- mond, I shall speak of his concerns so far only as they have an immediate relation with the adventures of Herman. I shall therefore s^y nothing of the king's entrance OF UNNA. 1C7 into Presbiirg, where he was rec^^ived with- Joud acclamations by the people, who loved I him in spite of his faults: iieitlver shall I notice the crowd of nobles that surroimdei bim, or the mutual promises that were made in order to establish a good understanding between them and the monarch. No doubt, the levity, the libertinism, the propensity to drinking, and the occasional cruelty of Sigismpnd, were sufficient causes of dis- content; to a considerable number of his subjects; and he had obtained no victory, he had made no conquest^ the splendor of which might have thrown these qualities ^nto shade : yet, for some reason or other, the past was promised to be forgotten on both sides, and Sigismond was but too ready to shut his eyes against a thousand marks of disloyalty and treason manifefled by the principal lords of his court, and particularly tlie two Garas. The numerous guefts who were affem- bled in the place on the, evening of the king's arrival, kept Herman, who burned 103^ HERMAN with the desire of seeing him, at a distance.: —His situation was embarrassing, and he:- tnew not how to act. To his former pa- tron geiieral Gara, who had found him^ in- corrupcible in the late campaign against the Turks, he was an object of detestation ; and Herman, in his turn, felt no esteem for a man whom he knew to be the secret enemy of his master, much less could he bring* himself to ask him a favour. At length the young knight determined to be his own in- troducer. Accordingly he placed himself near the king. Sigismond observed him.' The face of Herman was not of that insipid' and common-place sort which one may' meet twenty times without recollecting a feature; the king beside, when he last saw^ 4iim, was in a situation too critical for him to forget a single individual of those who surrounded him, and much less the person who had been the principal actor. At first Sigismond had some difficulty in ceHbcting his ideas. He appeared thought-' fsrl, rubbed his forehead, and then turning' OF UNNv^ » 109 to Andrew Gava, who was seated by ;, his,- side: '' Whence comes it," said he, "' that "often in the midst of our joy and convivi- ** ality, melancholy remembrances so sud- *^ denly assail us? One of the most perilous ',' events of my life at this moment presents '' itself to my eyes. Can you not guess '* what I mean ? Know you not who that *' young man is?" Andrew bowed, and was silent. " But "perhaps," continued Sigismond, ''you '' may be ignorant of the transaction ; you V^ were not present ; it was your brother. ** You would not so cowardly have deserted " me. 1 have promised to forget the *' treachery of my enemies, but never will *^ I forget the services of my friends. I *' was, as I have said, cowardly deserted. "• Already was my head exposed to the faul- "- chion of Achmet, and there was but a, " step between me and death, whena troop '* of chevaliers came to my deliverance. *' My horse had been killed under me; my *\ helmet and buckler were hacked to pieces^ •I 110 HERMAN ■ '' and I had no weapon but riiy~sabre, llie' *' leader of tli'.s brave troop leaped fionfi^ *' his horse, gave me his shield, and with' '' his own helmet covered my head. What ** happened afterwards I know not, for I- *' became insensible to every thing around **■ me. But there remains deeply engraven *' in my mind, the remembrance of my ** deliverer, whose countenance seemed ra- *' diant as that of an angel descended from *' Heaven. It is that countenance, which ** nov/ recalls to my mind the particulars oiF ^^ the horrid scene : I discern it amongst *•■ the crowd of those v;ho surround my^- *^ fable: it displays the features of my loyal ** serX'^nt Herman of Unna, sooften calum- '^ niated. Draw near, intrepid youth, by '^ whom my life has been saved! receive '* the thanks of thy king, and assurance of " his favour ^' While Sigismond was speaking, Herman had listened with attention, that he might not lose a word of what concerned him so nearly. When the king had finished, our OF UNNA. Ill hero, transported with joy, fell at his feet, kissed his hand, and bathed his hiees with tears. What glory for him, what satis- faction, to be thus praised before a thou- sand witneffes by a sovereign, who had al- ways appeared to slight him, and to whom he had given a hundred proofs of attach- ment, without his seeming to have paid them the least attention ! After these effusions of joy, our young knight modestly retired amongst the gen- tlemen in waiting; but Sigismond fre- quently turned to look for him, and at length forbad him to quit his side. The proud nobles, who were at table with the king, appeared to have taken no part in the scene they witnessed. They kept a profound silence, and deigned not to pay the least compliment to the young warrior, whom Sigismond had so distin- guishingly honoured. Thus he received no congratulations, but from those who waited with him at table, among whom he recognized many 1 112 HERMAN an old friend and comrade. But of all the persons he met at this festival, none gave'' him so much pleasure as a young man, whom he had known when a child, and with whom he had formerly a misunder- standing at the court of Winceslaus. He : was in the number of knights attendants of king Sigismond ; and as, in the war against the Mussulmen, Herman had seen j him act with valour, the remembrance of i past wrongs was entirely obliterated in his mind, and replaced by a sincere attach- ment and esteem. It was Kunzman of Hertingshausen, who had ascribed to Her- man, when page to Winceslaus, the ne- cessity he was under of flying from the em- peror's court. The reader will no doubt recollect the circumstance, related to Mun- ster by the knight of fidelity, when he gave . him the history of his younger years. ! Kunzman, who, when he met with Herman in the course of the campaign against the Turks, appeared to have for- gotten his ancient enmity, accosted him on- OF UNNA. 113 this occasion as a real fiiend. The place was not calculated for a long con\^ersation ; ;C squeeze by the hand, and '' my dear l<^' Herman," '' my dear Hertingshausen," jwrere all that passed ; the rest was postponed lb the interview they promised themselves tlie succeeding night. The king, engaged for some time in a serious conversation with the two Gara's, iiad ceased to look after Herman: the ;guests had drunk largely: it was not the cup of pleasure that circulated round the table» it was the cup of infernal discord. Herman Irad long observed with pain, that the j^bles who sat opposite his master paid hiii^ not the respect which was due to liini. Grim discontent, or malignantjoy, was legi- ble in their countenances, enfiamed by the intoxicating wines of Hungary. Much too was he displeased with the discourse v.hich the two brothers directed to the king. — They appeared to liave entirely forgotten to whom they were speaking. The subject was the late unfortunate campaign, ia 114 HERMAN which the king wns so near losing his hTe.^ Reproaches passed on both' sides; these re- proaches were repelled with mutual warmth ; but soon the general and his brother spoke in so loud and lofty a tone, as tQ^dro\\n the single voice of the monarch. .,...,;:, ^.-/, ''What!" said Herman to Herting- shausen, putting his hand to his sword, "'' shall we suffer cur master to be thus in- suited?" The uproar,-Tncreased; all rose from their seats ;.j3^jre^ -audi there sabres were drawn, and the king was. at length so pressed, that the ill designs harboured against his perscn were no longer doubtful.. Instantly Herman drew his swcrd, and his example was followed by Herlingshauseiv and all the other young kt=iights who were present. Sigismond was thrown down, and his enemies dared employ against him weapons, which to r.li true knights are pro- hibited. Upon this Herman seized Andrew Gara by the throat and plucked him forcibly from the body of his master; and others did the same by tlie general ; the king w??. OF UNNA. 115 '"iescaed, and the knights gained the field of "battle. But soon the match becairie too unequal : a considerable body of cavaliers was introduced, and the defenders of Sigis- mond were soon beaten to the ground, others disarmed, and all, as well as the king, treated with the utmost indignity, and loaded with chains. Two only however of these had the honour eventually to share his fate, Her- man and Hertingshausen. The others, almost all effeminate courtiers, were easily turned from their duty, either by promises, or by threats; and none of them envied the two loyal servants of Sigisnicnd the ad- vantage of participating their master's mis- fortunes, of being like him ill-treated, fet- tered, put ii:ito a covered waggon, and con- 'ducted to a place where the artful nobles hoped they should be able to deal with the king as they pleaded, witi^out having any thing to apprehend from the people. U& HERMAN: CHAPTER VIII. THE prisoners were conducted to the- * castle of Soclos. Herman knew this castle to be the principal seat of the Gara family, and could therefore easily imagine wliat treatment his unfortunate master had to ex- pect in a place where his enemies enjoyed unlimted power. His expectations, how- ever, which foreboded nothing but iuMk and death to Sigismoad^. were for once dis- appointed. The event which led to the seizure of the king was by no means accidental, but the result of a previously concerted scheme. It had been rejclved to secure his person, dethrone him, and put another in his place:: but in the execution of this plan, the liitfe ' chalked out had been outrageously depart- ed from, and it was presently thought advise- able to r^Esume some appearance of decency and moderation. Intoxication had m;-ide the enemies of Sig^ism^ond forget, that -lie OF UNNA. 117 Avhom they thus treated as a vile slave was -still their sovereign, and that this disgrace- JFul proceeding would bring public dishonor CO themselves. When the fumes of wine therefore had somewhat evaporated, though -the Garas did not less burn with the desire of vengeance than before, they were asham- ed to persevere in a conduct, that might ruin their pretensions to the crown of Hungary, and induce the people to take the part of the contemptible son of Charles IV. The king's fetters v/ere accordingly taken off; and, from the dungeon to which he had at first been consigned, he was transferred to a splendid apartment: he was even asked, if he wished to be waited on by those gentlemen of his court, v/ho were prisoners with him; and, en liis an- swering in the affirmative, they were en- larged for that purpose. The situation of Sigismond was now supportable; and it became still more so, when Nicholas and Andrew, the two Ga- ras, obliged to quit the castle on account of 118 HERMAN some affairs, that required their attendance, at the capital, relinquished to their mother- in-law the care of the royal prisoner. Before I proceed with my narrative, it may not. be amiss to give the reader some account of this lady, Helen Gara, widov/ of the deceased Nicholas, whom Sigismond had formerly put to death, and step-mother to the general and the governor. She was a young and handsome widow of twenty- five, who had not been so inconsolable at the loss of her old and decrepid husband, as to retain any very durable hatred against his murderer. It is true she had talked of nothing but vengeance as long as her sons- in-law were within hearing, and appeared to enter into their views, because she found it necessary to the compassing her own : but the imprisonment of Sigismond in the castle of Soclos, inspired her with designs very different from those entertained by his enemies. The love of pleasure and the love of sway constituted' the grand features of her OF UNNA. 119 •character. Sigismond, notv/ithstanding his age, was one of the handsomest princes of his time ; he was a king, he was brother to the emperor, and would in all probability succeed him, if Winceslaus should die or be dethroned. What subjects for reflec- tion ; what allurements to a woman such as we have described the mistress of the castle! Could she hesitate? could she re- main in doubt, whether to favour the unjust designs of her sons-in-law, the accomplish- ment of wliich might probably be remote, even did they ever succeed, or to ingratiate herself with a prince, who might repay her kindness 'by instantly sharing with her his bed and his throne? In imagination Helen already saw her- self the wife of Sigismond, and swaying with him the first sceptre in the world: nor was she tardy in taking such steps, as she •deemed most conducive to the attainment of her wishes. She enjoyed the perfect con- fidence of both her step-sons : she knew 120 HEUMAN that they would be some time absent, en- deavouring to place the crown on the head of young Ladislaus: and she hastened to execute the projects she had formed. The king had one whole wing of the castle appropriated to h-k-use. His court, hitherto composed solely of Runs man and Herman of Unna, was now augmented. — He was treated as a sovereign, had per- mission to walk in the gardens, and there was nothing to remind him of his being a prisoner, but the* guards that ahvays ac- companied, at a certain distance, him and his two gentlemen. Sigismond rejoiced at this change in his lot, which elated him with hope. He sought to develope the cause; and he was r.ot long in discovering, that it originated, in the benevolence of the princess. The portrait of Helen decorated all his apart- ments, and he had sometimes seen tlie ori- ginal, at a distance in the garden, not with- out admiration. OF UNNA. 121 There was no snare so dangerous to Si- gismond, as female beauty. ^Vhilst, Iiow- •ever, he paid homage to its charms, he had -too high an opinion of himself to think any woman could resist him. With the senti- 1 ments of Helen he was soon acquainted; her action spoke a language sufficiently plain. His love of ease, and the suscepti- •bility of his heart, were daily flattered by new attentions; and his gratitude, his in- -clination for the fair enchantress, who had the art of rendering his prison so agreeable, were heightened by her having the address to avoid him, and give him no opportunity ■tDf thanking her in person. The view of her portrait, and the praises continually be- stowed on her by those about him, trans- formed his gratitude into the most violent love. He burned with the desire of see- ing her. Secret proposals were then made, -emissaries sent from one to the other, and meetings took place, till the parties were perfectly agreed. Decency led them to en- deavour to throw a veil over their proceed- Vol. II. G 122 HERMAN ings; but the veil was so transparent, that it left the inmates of the castle little to divine. In this affair, Kunzman of Hertingshau^ sen acted the principal part. He displayed peculiar talents for such negociations, and completely acquired by it the confidence of his master. -*^ ^^ ^* Herman had no concern in the business ; nor was there a man in the world less pro-*' per for the office. He knew but one spe- cies of love, that which he felt for Ida^ and of which pure hearts alone are suscep- tible. xA.n amorous intrigue was deemed by him incompatible with virtue ; and he was not politic enough to conceal the dis- gust with which it inspired him. When yet a page in the court of Winceslaus, im- pudence and libertinism had been seen by him under all their most odious forms, and he sincerely regretted, that similar scenes were about to be renewed here, by a prince whom he loved, and in whom he discovered with sorrow, the same proneness to de- OF UNNA, 123 bauchery, as had disgusted him in his im- perial brother. Sigismond, not being accustomed to read in the eyes of those about him, a secret disapprobation of his conduct, Herman was kept at a distance, and the wily messenger of love, the complaisant Hertingshausen, employed on every occasion. As Herman's attachment to his master had considerably diminished, he was less sensible to the preference 'given another, I and envied not Kunzman the favour of a prince whom he would now willingly have quitted. " To what purpose is the effe- ! 4^mmate life I am leading here r" would he say to himself. '' Is this the way to raise \glt myself to distinction, and render myself '4J, worthy of the princess of Wirtemberg? ^i Oh! fly, Herman, fly! thou art here wast- j)*-iing thy time in a manner still more re- gJVprehensible, than that depicted by Mun- «5^' ster, in colours so disadvantageous." I G2 [24 HERMAN CHAPTER IX. EVERY thing has an end: a passion of the nature of that of Helen and Sigismond, is beside seldom of long duration, and we are almost tempted to give the princess some credit for its brevity, by attributing it to her little experience on such subjects. Ho\y could she think to fix for ever her lover? How hope, at some future period, to share his throne? Love, and her confidence in her cliarms, must have certainly blinded her, and she could never have heard o/;th€ former adventures of the faithkiS Sigis- mond. She had calculated too much on his constancy ; and so completely had he sub- jugated her, that, instead of being a pri- soner in the castle of Soclos, he was become in reality its master. It never entered the mind of Helen, that Sigisraond v;as secretly contriving to deliver himself at once, both from his pri- son and his mistress, of whom he was now OF UNNA. 125 uually weary; and her surprise was ex- treme, when one day he entered her cham- ber equipped for a journey. At first she was thunderstruck; but supposing he might be going a hunting, she offered to accom- pany him. '' No, my charming princess," '' said Sigismond, '' I must leave you." '' Leave me? I am answerable with my " life for your person!" '' And is mine in no danger, if I re- ** main longer here? Your rebellious sons *' are informed of the kindness with which '' you treat me : they will soon arrive, and •-'^ will load mc with chains, somewhat '• heavier than those in which you have *"' held me captive." ^- ** Alas! I perceive they are too light; *^^' you- will easily shake them off." *^ Dear-Helen! is it possible for me in ^"'this place, in the arms of love, to take ** the necessary steps to regain the throne, *' from which I have been hurled? Think '' what you require! Think of the happi- '' ness, the reputation of him whom you ** love !" "- 3 126 HERMAN Helen fell into a profound reverie, from which at length she recovered to ask, '' whe- ther, if fortune favoured him, he would Still think of her, and would not forget the love and constancy he had sworn?" Sigismond, who gave himself little trouble about the vows he made to a mis- tress, readily acquiesced, and his language was in other respects so tender, that she was duped by his artifice, and consented to his escape. She then prayed him at least to stay a few days longer before he left her. The kip"' W2' to defend myself, if thou shouidst *' awake." Herman looked, and saw near the place where he had been sleeping, a sabre reek- ing with blood. ''V/rejLch!" said he, tak- ing the stranger by the throat, what " means that bloody weapon? .... But» OF UKNA. 159 *' heavens? .... whom do I sec? Kunz- '' man of Hertlngshausen, ihe murderer of ^* count Peierl" Strucic \viti:i horror, Herman let go his hold, and Kunzman no sooner found him- self disengaged than he fled with all speed, leaving oiu- knight in the most inconceiva- ble astonishment. At the same instant a dreadful clamour was heard in the wood. One lamented the loss of his good master. Another exclaim- ed, ''it is here the murder must have ''been committed!" while a third cried,' '' No, it was not here that he fell : we "■ found his body at a distance. The assar.- *''sin however cannot be far; we had once '' almost taken him, but he escaped, and " bears in his hand the instrument of his * History says, "that duke Frederic entered the n-ood alone, leaving his attendants at the distance of a bow-shot. Kurd, the chief of his guards, impatient at his ceiay, fol- lowed him and found him assassinated. He was time enough to fee the murderers escape, and even came up I with one of them, whose name was Hertlngshausen. 160 HERMAN Herman was yet standing with his arm^ folded, before the sabre of Kanzman, when these frightful sounds assailed his ears, and he now stepped forward to ascertain whe- ther they were real, or a continuance only of the illusions of his dream; but scarcely bad he advanced a single step, when twenty voices cried out at once, '' Tliere he^isf ** behold, behold the assassin!" and twenty sabres glittered in his eyes, ready to be drenched in his blood. Some evil genius seemed to have arrang- ed matters for the very purpose of throw- ing suspicion on the innocent and favouring the guilty: for v/ho would suppose they be- held a murderer in a person, who, iiistead .of flying, approached with an a.r of tran- quillity, which a villain, after tlie commis- sion of a crime, is incapable of assuming; in a young man whose every feature spoke innocence and candour?" The only resem-- blance between him and Kunzman, the au- thor of the murder, consisted in their ar- mour, and the rose coloured sleeve worn by OF UNNA. 161 ^a-pb^ both of them belonging to the same order of kiiighlhood. Herman bad been Jittle accustomed to yield to an enemy without defending him- self. He accordingly snatched up the sabre of K'jnzman, having no resource but to use the blocdy and murderous weapon of thatassrissin^ Ills own sabre having been taken from him Vv'hile he had slept, aiid tbirown by, Kunzman into the wood. In those days it was by no means unccm- mofi for a man so far to carry liis bmvery as ■ to.prcfjer dying in combat, to begging favour ( f .an enemv; as tlie custom of surrendering voiuntarily, in consequence of having dis- covered a superiority of number, or of strength, was yet not established. Her- man laid about him like a true and valor- ous knight. Two of his opponen's were already dead at his feet, and ethers so se- verely wounded as to be incapable of res"st- ance; when at length the whole troop rush- ed on hiim in a body, threu- him to tlie ground, and would iiiraliibly have deprived 162 HERMAN him of life, had not their chief interfered^ and forbidden them to kill him. " *' Stop ! ' cried Kurd, commander of the guards of the unfortunate duke: ''The '' villain deserves not to die by the hands ol '' brave men like you." ■■''■ "- Ah" said one of them, who had ran his sword through the body of Herman afier he had been beaten to the ground :- '' Your interference is too late. I have* *' given him his dose. See how his life *•' escapes with l]is blood! Sweet sacrifice or '' vengeance to the departed manes of ''* Frederic!" "•What hsst thou done?" replied Kurd r *' Haste instantly to bind up his wound. — *' He is not the only criminal; the rest " have fl-ed ; and he must not die till he '' has discovered his infamous accom-^, '•'' plices." y , Herman was lying senseless on tFiM ground. His wound being bound up, he" was conveyed to an inn in a neighbouring ,'^ village, v^rhither Rodolph of Sv^x.cny, incon-| %' '1. OF UN\A. 163 lable for the loss of his friend, had pro- , iiiiseJ to repair. "- Rodolph shall be thy judge," cried Kurd, perceiving as they weut that Her- man began to recover a little from his swoon : '' Thy soul sliall not take its fliglit '* to hell, till we have learned from thy *' mouth the names of tliy companions in " iniquity, that vve may have ample ven- ** geance." Herman made no answer. Probably he heard not the cruel Vv'ords that v/ere ad- dressed to him. Kis head fell on one shoulder, while his features were expressive Cf the acutest anguish; and presently, as they placed him on the straw at the inn, his senses a second time fcrsook him. >. Meanwhile enquiries were made respec- ting duke Rodolph. Is'o person in the village liavjng heard of him, Kurd dispatched Iralf his comrades in search of him, remaining himself with the rest to take c.^re of tlie wounded prisoner, and eudeavcur to pre- 164 irfci^iAt^ serve the feeble spark of life ttlk ?^c?iied every moment about to be extinguished. . Towards evening, however, the senses of Herman returned, and he asked for drink. Wine v;as ^iven him, and he was presently thought suiSciently strong to an- swer any questions that might be put to him. '• It is possible," said Kurd, to his fel- low guard?, ''that he may die before ther " duke of Saxony arrives, who has per- *' haps taken anothiCr road. I will inter- ** rogate him, therefore, myself, and you^ ** shall be witnesses of his deposition.'^ ''' •"^ An assassin! the murderer of difke •» ** Frederic ! I !" replied Herman, but with a feeble voice, to the first question that w^as put to him. *' O God, the protector "■ of innocence ....!' '' Wilt thou add falsehood to thy crime? " Does not this sabre testify against theeV" *' It was smeared v.'ith i^ore," cried 'all the witnesses at once, '' when we saw thee^ *■' take it from the ground to employ it OF UNNA. 165 *^ against us: the blood oFour good master, *' which it had shed, has been mingled with *' ours!" *' Let us be just," said Kurd : " This *' circumstance alone is not sufficient to ** convict him : the sword of an innocent *' person may be made bloody by acci- *' dent. There are things which plead *' more strongly against him. I will even '/ suppose that I might be mistaken as to *^ his figure and his dress, though I observed ** them too well when I first came up with *' him, and tore off the cloak in which he '•' had wrapped himself. But look at the ^Vsabr^ ; it is that of duke Frederic; and ';,the m.urderers seized his own sword to *! bathe it in his blood." The witnesses drew near: havins: exa- 'mined it, they kissed the homicide Reel, ^jcclaiming, "■ It is indeed ihe sabre of our *> good duke, as sure as there is a God who V reigns in Heaven! Let us take vengeance, *' instant vengeance, on his murderer!" 166 HEJUMAN As the light of a lamp, whose wick, ^l^m most consumed, when replenished with oiS. suddenly revives, throws out for an instant a more brilliant splendor, and then is en- tirely extinguished, such was the effect produced on Herman by the wine he had swallowed. This drink, in his present situation, was actual poison; but for the moment it revived him, and gave him a de- gree of strength and vivacity almost equaL to a person in heakh. Perhaps, too, his. desperate situation, of which he now first, became sensible, made so lively an im-, pression on him, that he exerted ail his^ powers, resolving not to die accused of^ murder without havingjustified himself. Herman raised himself, therefore, oUr his feet, and the inn-keeper with some of? his people came to support him. . "- No,*' said he, with firmness, '' I amr '-'■ not the assassin of duke Frederic. The '' sabre in question had never been in my " hands till you saw me take it up to defend ^ | '■' myself. . Long .... And you must OF UNNA. 167 ^* surely have perceived me . . . Long had *' I contemplated it with horror, without *' daring to touch it ; for I had a present!- '' nient that it was stained with innocent ** blood . . . ." ''Wretch!' said Kurd, '^ and hast '' thou then the effrontery to aver this? *' hast thou the effrontery . . . ." It is unneceffary to relate to the reader word for word the conversation that passed. Suffice it to say that the accents of truth issuing from the mouth of the almost ex- piring youth, produced at least the effect of exciting doubts, in the minds of the guards, of what they had hitherto considered as cer- tain. He related at length all that hap- pened to him in the course of the day; and both the judges and the spectators found so much probability in what he said, tiiat they looked at one another with astonishment, and were at a loss how to act. Kurd now recollected a circumstance, which, in the first impulse of his rage, he had foro;otten; a circum:)tance that could 168 HERMAN not fail either to justify or convict the ac- cused. We have observed that he had once nearly apprehended the assassin : he had torn off his cloak, which he seized v/ith one hand, while with the other he grasped so strongly the hair of the murderer that he ' could not escape without leaving a handful of it with his adversary. This hair Kurd had taken care to preserve, and he drew it ' from his pocket, in order at once to con- found his prisoner, to whom he no longer . knew what to say. But hov/ great was his' surprise when, looking at this hair, which was black, he compared it with the light ringlets that shadowed the pale face of Her- man ! — '^ And am I indeed," cried he, '•' mistaken? is it possible this man can be ''• innocent?" The inn-keeper, who had hitherto sup- ported Herman on his feet, now let him sink gently on the straw, and thus interpo-; sed, '' I would lay my life," said he, that the '' person you have apprehended is not the "■ criminal. It appears to me .... Com.e OF UNNA. 169 '' here, my lads, and look ... .it appears '* to me that he is the young knight who '' has lodged with us for three or four days past. Hie servants of the inn-keeper ap- proached. '' It is ! ' cried they at once ; *' It is the good sir Herman of Unna. In- *' deed, sir, he is not, he cannot be an '' assassin." Herman had in reality staid several days in this village, v/here he had given a thousand proofs of the goodness of his lieart. In every place in which he sojourned he had made himself friends. It is not therefore te be wondered at, that, in consequence of the disputewhich now arose between the guards and the people of the inn, and of the re- port, spread through the village, that the young knight had been wounded by the at- tendants of duke Frederic ; it is not, I say, to be wondered at, that the inhabitants flocked together to see him and avenge his cause. On this occasion the women acted the most conspicuous part. They abused Vol. II. I 170 HERiMAN and mal-treated the guards', and actually took possession of the unfortunate Herman, who had suffered extremely from the exer- j tions he had made to justify himself, and from the little care that had been taken of him during the uproar excited on his ac* count. Kurd being at length softened, endea- voured to re-establish peace. " All yoii '' have urged," said he, " is still insuffici- nt to prove the innocence of this young' man. If he be indeed not guilty, I ar- '' dently wish to make reparation for what " he has suffered. But, as you yourselvei '' know, he may be sir Herman of Unna, " your benefactor, and yet the murderer *' of the duke. This handful of hair proves ^' more than all your vociferation; but even '* this is not enough to save him. There *' were more persons than one, and thoughj *-' not the assassin, he m>ay be an accom-' '^ plice. The affair must be carried before *' a tribunal more capable of judging; and •'if his innocence be there acknowledged, OF UNNA. 171 '' we shall be satisfied. For the present I "" leave him to your care. Two of my '' men shall stay to guard him ; and if you ' permit him to escape you must take the 1^ consequence. So imprudent a step, while *-* it would be of no service to him, would be certain ruin to yourselves." A horseman now arrived, bringing in- formation that Rodolph was made prisoner, and that his people were assembled within three miles of Fitzlar to fly to his assitance. The brave Kurd quitted the inn without losing a moment. As faithfully attached to Rodolph as to the unfortunate Frederic, he would on no account have been absent from so important an expedition. 172 HERMAN CHAPTER XIV. HERMAN remained in tlie care of bis former liost. Though his wounds were not mortal, the great quantity of blood he had lost, the efforts he had made, and the wine he had drank, rendered them dangerous. — He was for several days between life and death, and would infallibly have perished but for the humanity of the honest pea-r sants. An old shepherd, the oracle of the village, v/as his surgeon, and cured him hy^ an ointment composed of various simples,' among v;hich our manuscript mentions, as the principal, mpss taken from adeadman's skull and blanched by the rays of the sun ; a fact which we pretend not to dispute, bav- ins: little skill in such matters.* * The moss which grows on the skull of a man un- buricd, was celebrated, in the days of superstition, for its medicinal virtues, and made a grand ingredient of the i famous fym pathetic pcwier, which was faid to cuie the OF UNNA. 173 By degrees our hero recovered so as to be able to walk. He conversed freely with his hosts on the terrible adventure that had so nearly cost him his life, on the gratitude he owed them, and the recompense that was due to their generosity: but he had neither speech nor ears when they advised him se- cretly to make his escape. In vain was it represented to him, that he might find it difficult to clear himself before prejudiced judges; in vain was he told that there was nobody to detain him, the men left to guard him having withdrawn : he remained true ^to the principle he had lately avowed at the castle of Cyly, innocence never fiies^ and resol- ved to wait for his accusers; or, if they did not come, to repair to Nuremberg, and take for his judges the princes who were there assembled. The latter was the measure he adopted. The people of duke Rodolph, among whom most desperate wound, at the distance of half the globe, .merely by being applied to the weapon with which the wound was inflicted. T. I3 174 . HERMAN was now the faithful Kurd, more attentive ro the means of delivering their mastler^V than of avenging duke F'rederic, appeared to have wholly forgotten him. He was forced, therefore, to proceed to Nuremberg, and deliver himself up to the princes of the German empire, in whose justice he had the fullest confidence; or submit to bear the disgrace of being suspected of murder. His arguments at length brought over his hosts to his opinion, and they accorapaniea him on his way to a distance from the village, not leaving him till they arrived at the fatal tree, where treacherous sleep had been so near delivering him into the arms of death. '' Let this tree, said he, as he quitted the crowd that accompanied him, *' Let this '' tree testify my innocence ! You, iny '' friends, believe it only from attach- '* ment to me: but why cannot this »' trunk speak, this trunk, under the '^branches of which I so peaceably slept, ^' when the lion that had devoured duke '^ Frederic presented itself before me in my OF UNNA. 175 '' dream, and atteaipted to cover nie with " his blood? Wby<^re not tliese leaves so '^ many tongues to attest the truth? Why '^ do not those aerial spirits, that invisibly *' hovered over Kunzman and me, appear, *' and bear v.'itness against the murderer?" *' Give, me leave, sir knight," said one of the oldest of the company, " to give you 'Va word of advice. You know what we *^ think of you ; but the princes into whose '* hands you are going to place yourself, are ** not all Roberts count palatine, or Alberts *' of Austria. There are amongst them *' many, whose penetration is not clear *' enough to discover innocence enveloped *' in such obscurity ; and perhaps there may ^* be others, who would not be sorry to see 'Vthe innocent suspected of their own hor- *V rid crime. Above all, trust not to the ^\ elector of Mentz. Since the assassination *' of duke Frederic, strange reports have ^* been spread in the neighbourhood; and '' of this at least we are certain, that he and **'the duke were never friends," ' I 4 I76 HERMA>f Having received this advice, Plernian pursued his way to Nuremberg; where, on his arrival, his first business was to inquire after Ida: a circumstance from which the reader may possibly infer, that the hope of seeing her was as great an inducement to him to visit that city, as the desire of justi- fying his innocence. He soon learnt that the count of Wir- temberghad just departed on a short jour- ney, and that in the mean time his daugh- ter remained alone at his house, out of which, however, she was never seen. He longed to have an interview with her ; he was avvare of the difficulty of the enterprize; but ought he, because success was uncertain, to hazard the never seeing her more? Love rendered him bold and ingenious, and the project with which it inspired him was so simple, and so easy of execution, that it appeared impossible for him not to succeed. Who, indeed, would dare shut the door against a knight, professing to be sent to the princess from the count of Wir~ OF UNNA. 177 temberg, her father? He was introduced, therefore, without delay, and presented himself before her. '' Herman!" exclaimed Ida, the instant he fell at her feet ; '' Herman sent here by '' my father!" '' Would Ida be offended, should love "' have dictated to me this innocent strata- '' gem?" *^ O Herman! Herman!" resumed the princess, stooping towards him: •' where '' hast thou been wandering so long? And '' whence that deadly paleness? Whence '' those languid eyes?" We have already more than once had occasion to remark, that our hero was never so well received by his mistress as when he came upon her unexpectedly. Of this she now gave a fresh proof. It was some time before she withdrew herself from his em- brace, before she represented to him what decorum required of her ; and he was too ^ensible of his advantage, to recal her from I r. 178 HERMAN her pleasing self-forgetfulness by any ill-, timed question. *' Rise, sir Herman: said Ida at length,, blushing and turning away her lovely face: ^' how strangely are we acting! .... You *^ said you brought news of my father : *' is he well? will he be soon at home?" Herman had yet not mentioned the name count Everard, but he did not think fit to tell her so : he thought, no doubt, that, either she knew not what she said, or to hide her emotion asked the first question that oc- curred. \ a3bifi> On her invitation he sat down by her side, and, after a short intervaj, during, which, neither well knew what to say, a kind of conversation between them began,, which became imperceptibly more regular^ and they reciprocally informed each other of what it v/as of most importance for them to know. Ida's tale was not long. Her life, under the direction of a rigid father, was as uni- form as that of other young ladies of her OF UNNA. 179 time. In those rude and unpolished days, young women were seldom permitted to show themselves in public, and their con- duct was scrupulously watched, that nothing might occur to tarnish their reputation. — Though the daughters of princes were sometimes an exception to this rule, count Everard was resolved, respecting Ida, to pursue the established custom. He had ahvays present to his imaginasion that Her- > man of Unna, who had leaped from the balcony of his daughter's apartment into the garden to escape being seen, and who had so pow^erfui an advocate in the empress. — Besides, Ida was far too handsome to be ex- posed to the eyes of all the libertine youths whom the diet had attracted to Nuremberg, The late duke of Brunswic himself had seen her but twice, tho''the count had cast his eyes upon him for a son-in-law; but the duke was to become the spouse of Ida only on condition of his obtaining the im- perial crown. 180 HERMAN Herman was delighted with the prin- cess's recital, which she delivered with her wonted frankness. In his heart, he thanked count Everard for having so carefully- watched over his treasure, and he openly applauded himself, on the cunning with which he had cheated the vigilance of her guards. She hinted to him, not to be too much elated, as he was indebted for his success solely to chance, and the absence of a strict duenna, who was gone to church, and whose return she expected every mo- ment. The most important subject of conver- sation, had not yet been touched by our two lovers, and there was no time to lose. Herman, therefore, hastened to relate his adventures, and the motives of his arrival at Nuremberg. It would be superfluous to mention, the deep impression -made on the heart of the young princess by his tale. Of all the dangers her dear Herman had run, that to which he was at present exposed, appeared OF UNNA. 181 to her the most terrible. She trembled to think that he was going vokintarily to pre- sent himself before judges, whom she was far from knowing well enough to be certain, that they would effectually protect him. — She prayed, she iiitreated him, with tears in her eyes, to wait for his accusers, adding, that he ought to consider himself as fully justified, if they did not appear; God, and his own conscience, completely acquitting him. At any rate, prudence required him to provide for his safety by flight, till the particulars of the engagement, which had been reported to have taken place between the ravishers of duke Rodolph and his peo- ple were known, as perhaps, it would then be found, that not one of his accusers re- mained alive to testify against him. Her looks were expressive of the mingled sentiments of love and fear, as she thus en- deavoured to convince him, by reasons of every kind, good as well as bad, of the necessity of his absconding: but his resolu- tion was unshaken. 182 HERMAN '* Should I be worthy of thee," cried lie, '' could I foi a moment deserve thy "• hand, thou model of perfection, if I *•'- soughtnotto clear myself from the charge '* of murder? .... No: it suffices not that " God and my own conscience, that you *' and other virtuous minds are assured of "■ my innocence; the whole world ought to *' know, that Herman of Unna is not an *' assassin ; that at least it is not on such an '' account, he is forbidden to aspire to the ''hand of the princess of Wirtemberg." OF UNNA. 183 I;„ CHAPTER XV. ' THE lovers now separated. Herman- quitted the princess, with a determination to proceed in the execution of his design; and Ida remained plunged in the pro- foundest sorrow. I'he remembrance, how- ever, of a similar danger, to which she had herself been exposed, and the sur- prising manner in which she had been extricated from it, prevented her fears from being converted into despair. — '' The *' tribunal before which I was cited, was it '' not infinitely more formidable?" said she to herself. '' This at least will be " held in open day, and in the face of the ** world; whereas mine was covered with '■' eternal night .... Yet I escaped .... '' Be not discouraged, Ida; he is innocent; *' he appears voluntarily, without being *' accused; and, should every other means '' of defence be wanting, still he has his ''sword. No: do not despair. The or- '' deal to which he submits himself, will re- '' down to his glory, and perhaps contri- *' bute to his happiness and thy own!" 184 HERMAN Herman had quitted the apartment but a few minutes, when the Duenna returned, who seldom left her, except when, to pro- cure a few hours relief from her company, Ida feigned indisposition. The princess had been a stranger to falsehood and dissi- mulation, till a strict and suspicious watch over her, had in a manner compelled her to have recourse to them. She trembled lest the name of the young man who had visited her should be asked. He had entered and gone out in presence of all the people who waited in the anti-chamber. She was too noble-minded to desire her domestic to conceal the circumstance; and she expect- ed every moment, that Cunegunda would put some question to her, which she should not know hovv' to answer. For this time, however, her alarms were false; even her melancholy did not appear to be observed ; nor was it till the evening of the following day, that the old lady introduced a conver- sation, little calculated to give consolation to our fair mourner. OF UNNA. 185 *' Will your tears never cc?.£c, piin- ' cess?" said the duenna; *' It appeais to ' me, that they flow more copiously within "■ this day or two." " It may be so." " And for what reason? .... Why '* conceal it from me? Is it a crime for a ** young lady of your age to be in love ; or, ** when sq unforlun.a^ In h^r altaehment, ^' to lament the loss of her lover i" The tears of Ida increased. ** Poor child! To lose hun in fo terrible ^* a manner too, bv murder! . , . . Tet you ** have one comfort left;- the crime will be '*• levenged; his death will not go unpunish- ** ed; the criminal has surrendered himself.'* Ida dried her tears'", and looking sted- fastly at the duenna, with a countenance of despair: ^' Of • whom," said she, ^' art *' thou talking?" '' The assassin of duke Frederic, your *^ betrothed husband, I say, has surrendered '' himself into the hands of justice," 186 HERMAN >'>'tsWell! And he has been acquitted, I '* hope? You know- 1 know . . . . • *' No matter, he is known to be innocent." *' Permit me, princess, to ask, in my ** turn, of whom you are talking r" '* OF sir ... . Oh! my head is bewil- '' dered ! I know not what I say.. Pray, if *^ you must talk, talk by yourself, for you see " I am not in a state to answer you." The old lady began a tale, which made so deep an impression upon Ida, that at its conclusion her senses forsook ker.. How, was it possible for her to hear without emo- tion, that Herman liad appeared before the tribunal of princes; that he had; Riiibfully related every circumstance both for and against himself; and that, instead of being instantly acquitted, he had been sent to pri- son, and ordered to be closely confined, till farther information could be obtained. '' I entreat you," said Ida, after she had come to herself, and been tormented with a thousand questions respecting her sudden indisposition, which she answered, no OF UNNA. IS7 doubt, incoherently enough. '' I entreat *' you to begin your tale again. If the de- "" sire of seeing duke Frederic avenged, be, '' as you suppose, the cause of my ilhiess, "■ you ought to conceal nothing from mc. *' Tell me then, in the first place, who were '* h!s . . . i . who were the judges of the ** stranger':" ''judges, indeed! God and all his *' saints ffjrgive tl^em:" cried ihe duenna : *' Such judges were surely never seen since *•" the world began! 1 except, however, the *' elector of Mentz ; he did his duty ; it w-as ** he who ordered tlie murderer to be seized *' nnd sent toprlsun," ihuufj'ni '' Seized and sent to prison ! Were 'ybu ** pre se tit:" *' Yes: the juJges were sitting in open ^* court as I came this morning horn m^Zh" '- It is impossible! The world cannot '' be so blind, as not to see his innocence *^ . . . . But tell me, who were the rest of *>' his judges V" 188 MERMAN '' The mdjority were favourable to hiai, '' and would have acquitted him, but they '' were over-ruled." '* Worthy, virtuous men! ..... But '' their names, th^eir names, Cunegunda !" "■ You knov^, as well as I, the prince ''who has the ^ most influence here, and " v;ho is sure to take care, that no good '^ shall be done. You must not, there- '' fore, expect to be the daughter of an era- *' peror, as long as . , , ." '* Oh! do not thus urge my patience ^'beyond bearing! Let who will be em- '\ peror, so this poor . . . ." *'Ah! princess, princess! interrupted Cunegunda, holding up her finger in an action of threatening .... '' But, no *' matter; I will indulge you for once. — • '^ The persons most inclined to favour tliis *' man, for whom, God knows why, you '' are so greatly interested, were Robert '*• count Palatine, duke Albert, and old ''• Jadcc of Moravia; all rivals, and' secret OF UXXA. 189 "enemies of your father; perhaps, too, " accomplices in the death of your pro- '' mised husband, and therefore, defenders '' of the assassin, who certainly would not '' have presented himself, had he not been '■'■ sure of finding in them an unjust pro- '' tection." '' And the elector of Mentz ?" said Ida. ** He alone did in's duty. He ordered '' the murderer to be detained, in spite of '' the opposition of his partisans, the num- '^ her of whom increased every moment, " and who would forthwith have set him '' at liberty. ■■' " And do you think, my dear Cune- '' gunda, he runs no risk of being assassi- '' nated in his prison?" **■ What the murderer?". '' Oh, do not give Inm so odious an an- '' pellation! How can you be so imbittered '' against a stranger?" " A stranger! In truth, prince?, I be- '' iicve the ciieva.ier Unna is moie a 190 HERMAN *' stranger to me than to you : but .... I wish your father was returned." From this period there subsisted a cool- ness between the princess and her gover- nante. Ida, ashamed of having suffered her secret to be thus penetrated, hated the enemy of the innocent Herman ; while the old duenna, having learnt all she wanted to know, and having no need of any fresh explanation, took care to be silent respect- ing the farther proceedings in this affair. Indeed she had nothing to communicate but what would have been pleasing to t^e empress, and her heart was too black, too malevolent, to think of affording consola- tion, however oppreffed might be the mind that wanted it. Herman had presented himself before the princes. His simple and ingenuous tale, clothed in the artless language of truth; his interesting figure; his open countenance, no equivocal index of the candour and goodness of his heart; his vo- luntary appearance ; allspoke in his favour, OF UNNA. 191 and would have been sufficient to exculpate liim from the crime of which he was ac- cused, had even no other witnesses ap- peared to attest his innocence. But the peasants of the village where Herman had been cured of his wounds, having his safety at heart, had followed him, and presented themselves in court the moment he ap- peared before his judges. In those days justice was administered in a more expeditious and summary way than at present. The friends of Herman, who were at the same time the friends of virtue, Robert, Albert and Jadoc; had too ardent a desire of rendering innocence triumphant, and of humbling the elector of Alentz, not to insist on the trial's being resumed the next day; and it was then that our hero was completely acquitted and obtained his dis- charge. Kurd, commander of the guards of the murdered prince, appeared, and was examined apart. His deposition agreed perfectly with that of Herman, and he de- clared, that he had no complaint to make 192 HERMAN against him, but, on the contrary, that he believed him innocent. He produced the lock of hair which he had torn from the head of the assassin as he escaped, and which evidently belonged not to the pri- soner. The friends of our knight listened with great pleasure to this deposition; but the elector of Mentz did not appear to be satis- fied till he learnt that Kunzman had ulti- mately escaped, as well as an accomplice that was w^ith him. The enemies of Her- man were then desirous of inferring that he" niighi: be the accomplice who fled. But Jadoc observed, that it was for them, not the prisoner, to prove this; which, from the testimonies exhibited of his in- nocence, he was sure they would find im- possible. To relate all that was urged on both sides the question would be tedious: suf- iice it therefore to say, that Herman's in- noceiKe was judicially acknowledged, and thut many of the princes could not avoid OF UNNA. 193 entertaining suspicions of John of Mentz, to whom they scrupled not to hint them. — It may be proper also to add, that Kunz- man, the murderer of duke Frederic, was in the service of the elector. Of the several princes, whose affection our hero had gained on this occasion, not one was more attached to him than the young Albert of Austria, whose character was regarded as a miniature likeness of Her- man. History speaks highly of the virtues of Albert, and particularly of his genero- sity. Judge, reader, from this, what must have been the character of the chevalier- Unna. The young knight had the good fortune to please duke Albert at first sight. His great qualities, far from exciting envy in this prince, determined him to unite him- self to our youth by the bonds of the ten- dcrest friendship, and to set aside all dif- ference of rank and birth. The trial being at an end, duke Albert gave Herman an invitation to come and see Vol. n. K 194 HERMAN him. It was with difficulty he could re- frain from testifying at once the inclina- tion he felt for him ; but prudence required •that he should avoid, by a too sudden dis- closure, exciting pride in him, and jealousy perhaps in others. Herman was requested to relate his adventures; a request with which he complied, and he spoke with so much frankness of whatxoncerned himself, and so muchdiscretion of those who figured in his story, that the good opinion Albert had conceived of him was so far increased as to make him forget his resolution ; and Herman, ere he quitted the house, where a few hours before his fate vfes pending, was received into the number of the prin- cipal gentlemen of that prince, justly esteemed one of the most virtuous of his time. Ida knew nothing of this happy change. Her governante, as we have observed, did mot think proper to acquaint her with any thing pleasing respecting her lover, of OF UNNA. 195 whom count Everard, when lie gave his daughter to her charge, had particularly- directed her to be cautious, but who, not- withstanding, as the duenna learnt, had been adroit enough to elude her vigilance, and procure an interview with the prin- cess. The sole thing of which Ida was in- formed was, that Herman's fate was that day to be decided. It is not to be wonder- ed at, therefore, that she passed the night which preceded it without sleep, and the morning in extreme agitation. From her window she had seen the princes assembled at the house of old Jadoc. She felt, as she saw those dmter whom Cunegunda had mentioned as friend- ly to Herman, a sentiment of gratitude, and of hatred at sight of the others, particularly the elector of Mentz. The prisoner was brought under a strong guard. By their armour she could distinguish the people of the late duke of Brunswic. The duenna K 2 196 HERMAN explained to her their intentions with tlie most provoking malignity. The trial had lasted for some hours, yet nothing could in- duce her to quit the window but her ex- treme weariness, which at length she could no longer support. The princess had been put to bed, and Cunegunda, who believed her to be asleep, had gone out in quest of news to satisfy her malicious curiosity. She soon learned, what would have imparted instant ease and revived the drooping spirits of her charge, but she was too cruel to administer the re- medy. Meanwhile Ida had Iain on her bed without sleeping. An uncommon noise, which she heard in the street, excited her attention; she forgot her feebleness, and ran to the window. The people were rushing in crowds from the house of Jadoc, and she fancied that she could distinguish in their shouts some words of comfort. The crowd increased. Presently duke Albert appeared on horseback with his at- OF UNNA. 197 teiidants. The person nearest to him, and who seemed rather to ride by his side than to follow him, was a young man of the size and (lature of Herman, and accoutred like him. The duke was in familiar conversa- tion with him, and appeared to pay him particular attention. Ida opened the window to obtain a bet- ter view. The cavalcade now pafled near her. The young man, whose rose-coloured sleeve she could easily distinguish, was no other than Herman himself. She felt as if ehe should expire with joy. The moment our knight of fidelity perceived her, he kissed the badge of his order, as if to say: *' for thee only do I wear it." Duke Albert also saw and respectfully saluted the prin- cess. A confused murmur v/as heard among the people, which presently broke out into shouts of '' long live duke Albert, " the protector of innocence! long live the ** good sir Herman, so honourably ac- ♦' quitted!" K3 158 HERMAN The rapture of Ida was so great that she could no longer support it. She turned round, and flesv with open arms to Cunegunda, who at that mome;it entered. ** He is saved!" cried she; " he is saved!" and instantly fainted. OF UNNA. 199 CHAPTER XVI. DAYS and weeks passed away. Ida thought herself happy in knowing that her beloved chevalier was secure under the pro- teclicn of duke Albert, and in seeing him pass every day beneath her window. Yet she could not help regretting that she was not permitted to speak to him. She saw him, but she saw him only at a distance ; all his endeavours to obtain access to her being frustrated by the vigilance of Cune- guuda. Sweet mixture of pleasure and pain Wi]ich, connoisseurs tell us, enhances the enjoyments of love. Meanwhile Ida continually hoped to see her lover still nearer, and beyond this she had scarcely a desire. It was possible, she thought, that, by some lucky chance, he might again deceive the Argus' eyes of the duenna; or that they might meet at church, or at some place of entertainment, which Ida now seemed extremely desirous of fre- K4 200 HERMAN quentlng. But Cunegunda was inexorable. She could not conceive how so virtuous a princess should imbibe all at once a taste for balls and other amusements, v/here yt)ung libertines of fashion were sure ta assemble, or at least she pretended not to be able to conceive it; and consoled her with the hope of the speedy return of her father. At length the count of Wirtemberg ar- rived. He had a long conference with the governante, of wiiich his cold and reserved behaviour to Ida was not the only conse- quence ; for whenever he returned from the assembly of the princes, whether they had met on business or on pleasure, he ap- peared extremely out of humour, and fre- quently treated her with harshness and as- perity. One day Ida happened to be at the win- dow with her father, when Herman and duke Albert passed by. As his mistress was not alone, the knight kissed not his rose- coloured sleeve, but he made her a re- OF UNNA. 201 spectful obeisance. Ida blushed, and was silent. But presently, refledling that her silence might appear like affectation, and that it would be more natural to make some remark on what was then the universal topic of conversation, she said, with some hesitation: "• Sir Herman of Unna is ... . *' is much. to be pitied .... is deserving " of the highest commendation .... his *' situation was extremely perilous . . . .How -'' happy . . that. . . he is so warmly esteem- '* ed by duke Albert .... and .... that his *' innocence has been acknowledged." Count Everard pretended not to remark the confusion of his daughter. He an- swered only, in a tone of peevishness, to the latter part of her speech : that duke Albert was fond of every man that at all resembled him, and that with respect to Herman's in- nocence, new charges were continually rising up against him, which rendered it ex- tremely dubious. — Ida requested an expla- nation, but the count left her without giv- ing her an answer. K5 202 HERMAN She now exerted herself for some days, so far to master her feelings, as to be able to speak of Herman without emotion; an at^ tempt in which she at length succeeded. — This was a necessary step, as she had en- quiries to make, which, without the prac- tice of a little address, she could not have satisfied. *' Sir Herman, I find, is not so innocent *' as he appeared to be," said she to Cune- gunda one day, when, after their return from mass, the chevalier had bowed to her . as he passed. ** 1 told you so at first," replied the duenna. *' But what new proofs have they al- '' ledged against him?" "- Oh, enough, princess, proof enough ! ** Has not a sabre, with his name engraved '* on it, been found in the forest, a very *' little wav from the spot where the duke *' of Brunswic was assassinated. And did *^ not Kunzman of Hertingshausen, who ^' has since been apprehended, and who, a OF UNNA. 203 *' few days ago, received the reward of his *' crime, declare, before he died, that Her- ** man was his accomplice?'* Ida turned pale, fixed her eyes on the duenna, and was unable to speak. ** Beside, was not Herman in the ser- ** vice of king Sigismond, who, at the insti- *' gation of his v/icked wife, hated, it seems, *' duke Frederic, and sought to take his '* life." The princess recollected, that Herman had mentioned this circumstance in the ac- count he had given her of his history. She trembled, her paleness increased. She re- collected also, that one of the motives which had induced her lover to repair to Nurem- berg, was to acquaint duke Frederic with the conspiracy forming against him. '' But what tends most to throw suspi- '' cion on him," continued Cunegunda, *' is " the advantage he would have reaped '' from the death of the duke or rather *' which he foolishly promised himself he *' should reap»" 204 HERMAN '* Advantage! what advantage?" Cried Ida with trepidation, seizing the hand of Cunegunda. '' Sweet simplicity! said the governante. *' And you really cannot guess? You do not " know that the duke of Brunswic was " betrothed to the princess of Wirtemberg, '' and that Sir Herman of Unna is her *Ooverr" Cunegunda, as she uttered these words, %vhich were accompanied with a mahcious smile, withdrew, and left Ida in a state diffi- cult to describe. It will not be supposed that the venom which fell from the lips of this fury, was capable of infecting the mind of the princess with doubts respecting the young knight*s innocence ; but this much is certain, that from the manner in which the accusa- tion had been stated to her, she feared it might be made to assume a face very unfa- vourable to her lover, and that thus he would be plunged into fresh misfortunes. What indeed could be more alarming?' Meanwhile there was one thing, and but one OF UNN^A. 205 that tended to quiet her appreheiisions : she had heard that a person once declared innocenf, could not be tried* again on the" same charge. The calm produced bv this reflection was ho a ever, of short duration. A considerable intimacy took ph\ce between her father and John of Mentz. She trem- bled whenever she saw this enemy of her lover enter the house. At length his visits became so frequent, that suspicion crept in- to her mind, and she sought to discover their motive. The delicate Ida, while the daughter of a simple citizen, had never so far degraded herself as to act the mean part of a listener. Whether she had acquired this new talent from her acquaintance with courts, or whe- ther love had endowed her with it, or whe- ther it were the mere effects of chance that she had fallen asleep behind the hangings in her father's closet, one day when the duke of Mentz had a private conference with him, we pretend not to decide : the reader may solve the enigma as he thinks 206 HERMAN best. She overheard however a conversa- tion in which the name of Herman was fre- quently repeated; and from the following letter we rmy guess what was its nature, what she thought of it, and how she determined to act. We say, guess, because, the mystery having never been fully explained, we have only our penetration to guide us. Letter from Ida of Wirtemberg, to Herman of Unna. HERMAN, is it a dream? Or is it a reality? I have learnt things that most near- ly concern you. Consider what I am going to tell you at least as a truth. Obey my injunctions: it is your Ida who exacts obe- dience .... Fly, Herman, fly! Vengeance pursues thee! .... Thy prince, exalted as„ is his goodness, great as is his power, will not dare be thy protector. The invisibles. are thine enemies! This single sentence, I first thought would be isufBcient to induce you to depart, the OF UNNA. 207 only step that now remains for you, and I had intended to close with it my letter. I am obliged to steal fiom sleep the moments I devote to you, and, in my present situa- tion, I am unable to write much. But my fears whisper that you may refuse to obey me, that you may regard my dream as one of the ordinary reveries to which no faith is to be given. I will therefore te-ll you all, that you may judge for yourself of the dangers that threaten you. I heard two men talking of you. One of them appeared to be my father. But no, it could not be he ! for can the father of Ida be the enemy of innocence? Could he be influenced by the perfidious insinua- tions of a villain, who wishes perhaps to escape the punishment of his own crime by charging it on you? .... I listened, secret- ly listened .... in a dream, as it seems to me, for your Ida is not accustomed to such practices when awake . . . and I heard these men say to one another, that you were the murderer of duke Frederic. Your sabre 208 HERMAN found near the place where he had fallen, the deposition of Kunzman at the scaffold, and the secret enmity you were supposed to bear to the betrothed spouse of Ida of Wir- temberg, were the argumenls employed to prove your guilt: it was. added, that the princes having acquitted you would be of no avail ; your crune wa&^^f a nature to come within the cognizance of another tribunal .... Oh, Herman I That infernal tribunal, which your Ida too well knows. My dream is not yet finished. You know there are dreams which have the same duration and the same consistency as the events of our lives which pass when we are awake .... 1 heard, I thought, the- conversation I have related, word for word; and I immediately began to reflect on the means of saving yon. Some days elapsed. I saw a number of strangers in my father's house, among whom I once observed Walter, the man with one hand, I remember him well. A journey was talked of, which my father was about to OF UNNA. 20^ undertake. I guessed what was its object. I bribed one of the servants, appointed to attend him, and with difficuUy prevailed on him to let me take his place. I dis- guised myself in the black dress which he brought me, and repaired to my post. — We set off. The count of Wirtemberg was attended only by me and another do- mestic. Our way was not long. Strange as ic may seem, we entered, I thought, thr.t ruinous building, wliich perhaps you have observed, at a little distance north of the city .... But for heaven's, sake, Herman be discreet ; occasion not our ruin ! You are not ignorant how important it is to keep silence on this subject. Eeslde, is it not all a dream? The count and his principal domestic entered without any question being asked. My figure probably appearing new to the three persons who guarded the gate, they examined me by some very extraordinary questions. They asked me the four ways 210 HERMAN to hell, and I answered in the words I haa been taught the same evening by the ser- vant who yielded me his place. They far- ther asked me, how many steps led to the judgment seat on which sat the Eternal to administer justice. I answered thirty ; for I recollected that to be the number I coun- ted, you knew upon what occasion, and which I had been obliged to ascend with such feelings of horror. They shook their heads, blindfolded me, and let me pass. The number thirty saved my life. I wan-- dered in the dark : 1 had neither supporter nor guide. I counU-d llie steps, and hav- ing ascended thirty, the way became level. My eyes were then uncoveied. I found myself in a place similar to what you have perhaps seen. The signal was given, and the session commenced. Ac- cusations were read and some witnesses de- posed against a prince, whom they charged with being the murderer of duke Frederic. Immediately one of the judges rose and swore that he was innocent. An oath of OF UNNA. ^U this nature, you know, once saved the life of an innocent person ! why might it not l^e equally capable of saving that of a guilty one? To these accusations, to these witnesses, others succeeded. Your name, Plerman, your name was pronounced! But no one would swear for you. I was going to ad- vance, when the man with one hand, whom I then first observed by my side, lield me back, threatening me wiih his finger. In short, you were accused and condemned. .*'*JL?t vei^S^^i^cej secret as the niglu, pur- '' sue his steps! Let punishment invisibiy *^ await him!" cried a voice from the throne. '' When awake, deceive him by false pre- ''• fences, and draw him into some snare *' that may facilitate the execution of his '' sentence. Let the poignard watch the " moment of his sleep. Let him. be put to *' death wherever he be found alone. let *^ his bosom-friend become his executioner; *' let him entice him into some solitary '' place, and massacre him in open day, in 212 HERMAN *" the face of that lieaven which he has '' offended by the sight of innocent blood. ** Frederic lost his life in secret, and with- *' out any warning: so perish, with all his *' sins upon his head, Herman of Unna !" As the last words were uttered I should certainly have screamed with terror, had not my protector stopped my mouth. It was he also, I bell-eve, who conveyed me more dead than alive out of this assembly of demons. Fie had discovered me not- withstanding my disguise. He loaded me with reproaches on my imprudence ; and left me at the gate of my father's house, after having exacted a promise of silence, which I have kept as faithfully as was possible. What was I now to do? Escape and fly to you ; or wait the rerarn of my father, and abide his wrath? Already by the light of the moon I sav/ him at a distance ac- companied by his domestic, I adopted the most ready expedient : I knocked at the door; it was opened; and I rushed to ray OF UNNA. 213 apartment. Cunegunda was astonished at my having so completely deceived her vigilance, and that, while she believed me asleep .... But what am I doing? Is it not, however, a dream .... Yet again I charge you to fly. Fly, Herman, fly! The secret avengers pursue you: they thirst for your blood! .... I ought not to warn you of this; but surely I may relate a dream. S14 HERMAN CHAPTER XVII. HERMAN, as we have observed, was sufficiently happy to have found, in his master, a friend. No sooner had he reco- vered himself from the perturbation in which he was thrown, by the preceding letter, brought to him by a stranger, than he hastened to duke Albert, presented him the fatal scroll. They consulted together, and duke Albert was finally of opinion, that Herman had no other means of saving himself from his pursuers than by flight ; and that even this would be futile, unless he could keep himself concealed, or obtain the protection of some superior power. — " We must part, Herman," said he, *' We *' must part. Ida is in the right. Thy '■'- prince is too weak to defend thee against -' the arms of these invisible avengers." '' What, leave you," replied Herman,, '' on account of a dream!" OF UNNA. 215 ** And can you seriously, my friend, ■^^ believe it to be a dream? No, no : obey *' the princess then, and begone." '-' But .... whither can I go?" " To king Sigismond." '•'• I, become the slave of the vilest of '' women!" replied Herman, forgetting that Albert was r^oon to be related to the royal house, by m.arrying Elizabeth, daughter of Sigismond and Mary. Albert smiled, and thus continued: — ^' Go then to the duke of Saxony, the chief "of all the secret tribunals. He is best '' able to protect you, if you can prove to '* him, satisfactorily, your innocence." '' But Rodolph, being the friend and '' relation of the unfortunate duke of •' Brunswick, is perhaps already too much *' prejudiced against me, to listen to the *' language of truth." '' What think you, of your relation. *' the old count of Unna? Fie is one of the " chiefs of the secret tribunals of Westpha- 216 HERMAN '^ lia, and will surely not refuse you pio- '' tection." "- What! the avowed enemy of our fa- '^ inily! .... I dare not trust him." '' Have you ever seen him? Do you at *' all know how he is disposed towards "- you?" - No." *^ Herman, I know him. The count *' of Unna is a man of frankness, sin- *' cerity and truth. You have never, I *' think, offended him? Go to him then: '^ you may rely on his protection." '' His enmity against the house of Unna, " was occasioned by the contention of the *•'• knights of St. Martin with count Wir- *' temberg. I was then but eight years '^ old." '* Take my advice, Herman, throw *^ thyself into his arms; he will defend thee, " and render thy innocence triumphant." Herman obeyed, and the next night set off for WestphaHa, without having been able, notv/ithstanding the many efforts he OF UNNyV. 217 made, to tliank the princess of Wirtem- berg, either personallv or by letter. Mean- while Ida passed her days in sorrow, in the house of her father. Cunegunda watched iier more narrowly than ever, and the count of V/irtemberg manifested in his be- haviour to her the utmost distrust. The flight of Herman, which was soon known, operated to render her situation still worse. Incessantly tormented with captious ques- t ions and oblique reproaches, she lamented Iier rank, and regretted that she was not [ still, wi]at she had so long been supposed to '^ be, the daugliter of a virtuous citizen. O Munster, how many sighs were drawn from her, by the remembrance of thy peaceful habitation at Prague! How many tears at- tesied her ardent desire to see thee, to ask thy counsel, and to obtain thy assistance, in circumstances so diilicult! '' Ah!" said she, '' he promised Herman never to forsake me, ^' and yet years are passed away !...." Ida had forgotten, that, to save her life, Munster had entered into that secret society, * Vol. II. L 213 HERMAN which despotically ruled its members^ and could, with absolute authority, determine the place where they should reside, and the employments they should undertake. Mun- ster had before obeyed no laws but those of virtue and his own heart. But since his taking this rash step, of entering into a so- ciety of the nature of which he was igno- rant, the count of Wirtemberg had been bis master; and we have had more proofs than one, that the count had much rather he should be at Prague, than near his daughter. The heart of count Everard, since the occurrence of a late event, of which he, as well as Ida, avoided any mention, seemed alienated from his daughter. His conduct displayed something more than indifference, it appeared to border on hatred. His mind was in a constant state of disquietude, and every instant he was changing his designs. At length he one day declared, all of a sud-. den, that he was under the necessity of OF UNNA. 219 quitting Germany, to seek his safety in some foreign land. ** Your safety!" replied Ida, with asto- nishment and trembling. *' Yes, traitress! And it is you, or at *' least your imprudence that drives me ** hence. The crimes of children are im- *' puted to their parents." '' Is it possible," cried Ida, clasping her hands and weeping : *' Is it possible, I can " have such a fault to reproach myself ^'with!" *' You have sacrificed your father, to '' save your unworthy lover." '' Alas! I knew not the consequences of "• what I did, and .... Herman was in- *^ nocent!" '* I thought otherwise. His crime was *' represented to me so clearly, that I could *^ not doubt. But I can now almost be- '' lieve him innocent, since I am myself '■'■ likely to become the victim of appear- 220 HERMAN "What are those appearances, then? " Oh, tell me!" exclaimed Ida, failing at his feet. " Of having taken you to a place, where *' you had no right to appear; of having *V acquainted Herman with the sentence '' that was passed upon him, and assisted ^'- his escape." -• " It is I, it is I alone who am guilty! *' and to save you, I Vv'ill declare it before *' the whole world." '■• It is too late ! It is too late!" replied count Everard, pushing her from him. — '^ Farewell Be happy if thou canst! I must '' leave thee to thy fate." The count departed, leaving his daugh- ter in the utmost anguish, Grief for the situation of her lover, and her father, and the severe reproaches she made herself, were almost too much for the human frame to support:, and in a few days reduced her to tlie brink of the grave. We may doubt whfctber the danger to which she was per- sonally exposed, was considered by her as OF UNNA. 221 any augmentation of her sufFerings. Self seemed ont of the question, seemed to be a thing to which she was totally indiifereht, and some strong external impulse was necessary to excite her to think of her security. One night, when it was late, Cunegunda, the mo§t obliging of creatures, now that Ida was her own mistress, entered, and an- nounced a stranger. The stranger stood at the door, and asked to speak with the prin- cess in private. ''Do you know me? said he, after looking at her for some time. She hesitated. *' Do you recollect this arm?" added he, throwing back his cloak. Ida observed the deficiency of the hand, and recognized Walter. '' Can you not guess what brings me '' hither? .... Your safety .... I '^ com.e to warn you .... Since the de- *' parture of your father, you are yourself " in the greatest danger. If you persist in L 3 222 HERMAN ' remaining here, the past, as Well as the ' present, will be examined anew. It is ' absolutely necessary that you should fly * O princess! what unhappi- ' ness has your imprudence been the oc- * casion of! ... . Where is the pre- ^ sumptuous man that dared lend you his ' dress for this adventure? Where is your ^ father, who is suspected of having been ' privy to it? And what is to become of ' me, who was totally ignorant of the affair, ' but am now involved in it by my com- ' passion? .... You know, that I did ' not discover you, till it was too late, till * you had actually seen what no profane ' eye ought to behold.'* "• You too involved?" cried Ida, raising her hands to heaven. '•'■ Yes, I too. I am suspected of hav- ** ing procured your admittance. There '*• are yet no proofs against me, but, as *' they wish to get rid of a person, already '^ blackened by suspicion, they are busily *^ inquiring into things, which . ..." I can- OF UXNR. 2ia not wholly deny, Walter wotikl have said, but a sorrowful shrug of the shoirlders, sup- plied the deficiency of the sentence. The reader may perhaps have observed, that Walter had not always the art of fram- ing his answers suitable to the inviolable reserve of a free judge. He had more tliau once infringed on the duty imposed on him by the title, in favour of Munster, of Ida, and perhaps even of Herman. It could be proved too, that he was the steward of Conrad of La n gen, condemned by the se- cret tribunal, and there v.ere strong pre- sumptions, that his oblique hints had fur- nished Conrad v.-jth the means of so fre- quently escaping its vengeance. This in- deed, was his true crime ; the adventure of Ida being only a pretext employed in order to lead to its discovery. But the princess, as if she had not sorrow enough of her own, understood v/hat he had said in its literal sense, and considering herself as the sole cause of the misfortune that threatened him, L 4 224 HERMAN bhe became thereby plunged still deeper in the abyss of misery. She forgot the motive of Walter's visit; she forgot to ask what means she was to take for her safety; and remained in a state of absolute insensibility till the next day, when a visit from duke Albert restored to her her feelings. The noble duke of Austria had fre- quently visited tl^e princess since the ab- sence of count Everard. Ele had always esteemed her; and Herman might have saved himself the trouble of requesting the duke to watch over her and not leave her to her fate, as he felt himself voluntarily dispored to it. Ida had already bestowed her confidence on the friend of her lover. I'o discover the cause of her new unhappiness, he had only to ask the question, which he did, and was immediately informed of v;hat had passed the preceding night. Though duke Albert was not affiliated to the secret tribunal, he knew enough on the subject to console her. He had before OF UNNA. 225 calmed in a manner her apprehensions re- specting her fathers fate, and he now at- tempted the same respecting that of lionest Walter, to whom she owed too many obli- gations not to be interested in it. *' As to the count of Wirtemberg, I '' have already observed," said he, '' that '' the place he holds in the society of the '• invisibles, is probably too elevated for '' him to have any thing to fear from his "• brethren, on a simple suspicion, farther *' than a temporary deposition from his dig- ''- nities, and orders to retire to some place " of secrecy, as well from regard to appear- *' ances, as to inspire the inferior mem- '' bers of the tribunal with wholesome fear, "• and induce them to discharge with punc- "- tuality the duties of their oath. This in- '' deed, at the present moment, cannot ''but be extremely disagreeable to your fa- '' ther, as it obliges him to quit the assem- '■ bly of competitors for the imperial crown '' before the accomplishment of his grand '' design : but there is no reason to enter- 1-5 226 HERMAN *' tain any apprehensions for his life. — "' And as to Walter, it is much easier for a " subaltern to escape, than a judge of " distinction; and his only punishment '■'- will probably consist in being deprived "- of his office, a deprivation that I can *^ easily repair by my protection and boun- '" ty." It was absolutely necessary that Albert should begin with removing the fears of the princess respecting those whom she had re- duced to difficulties and dangers, if he would rouse her attention, and point it to herself. For how could he ever have pre- vailed on her to seek her own safety, while s6 strongly alarmed for that of others? Having thus paved the way, he entered on what he conceived to be the most im- portant subject. He pointed out to the piincess the peril to which she was exposed, and endeavoured to convince her that it was not so slight as she imagined. *' Reflect," said he., *' reflect once more on the words of *' Walter : ' Both the present and the pa^t will be OF UXNA. 227 ^' exami'ied anew/ Probably you will not be *' brought to account solely for ... . what '•' shall I call it? . . . .your imprudent *^ dream. Your innocence on a former oc- '' casion was acknowledged only in conse- *^ quence of the oath of the count of Wir- *' temberg, and as he is divested of his dig- "■ nities, tlie oath is now perhaps annulled, " so that you may be exposed afresh to the '' malice of your enemies. How many V- things may happen before your father is '' in a situation to come to your succour! " Who knows whether secret plans be not '' already forming to entrap youV Who 'V knows whether, like Herman, you are not ^'- condemned to be put to death secretly *' and without warnipgi:" In this manner did the good Albert con- tinue to talk to the young princess till he succeeded in convincing her of the necessi- ty of flight.. She even resolved not to de- fer it for a day, and to chuse for her re- treat whatever place he should recommend ; giving him however to understand, that, as 223 HERMAN to the latter point, she believed she had a plan better than any thing he could pro^ pose. Albert smiled, and asked where she wished to direct her steps? *' It is not a duty incumbent on me," said she, "• to repair, in her present misfor- '' tune, to my friend Sophia, and prove to *' her that, formerly, when surrounded with " all the splendor of a throne, she did not " bestow her favour on one capable of in- *" gratitude?" " The sentiment," replied the duke, *'• does honour to your heart : but consider *' princess, that your 'object is to remain *' concealed, and that this is impossible in " a place in which the depraved Winces- '^ laus resides." '' Well then," said Ida, '* I have a se- *' cond plan that is not liable to this objec- *' tion. The peaceful habitation in which *' I was educated at Prague will be an *' asylum perfectly secure. I will visit him y- whom I once called my father, her who OF UNNA. 229 ''acted to me as a mother; I will again '' become the humble Ida Minister, and I '' shall then once more be happy. ' '' And will it not be there chat your '' pursuers will first diret their search after " youV The idea of retiring to a place *' where you spent the happiest days of *' your life, is so natural, that, believe me, '' princess, it will occur to them as well as '" to you." ''Alas! where then am I to go; V/hi- " ther, whither am I to wander? Is there ''on earth no safety for persecuted inno- " cence?" " Yes, I will tell you where you may " be safe. There is a young lady, a wor- " thy and amiable creature to whom I " have, been betrothed from my infancy. " My love for her could alone enable m.e " to converse with the charming princess of " Wirtemberg in the unimpassioned lan- " guage of friendship. It is the daughter " of Sigismond by his former queen Mary. " She lives in Hungary, in the retirement 5>30 HERMAN '* of a convent, situated in the depth of a *' forest amidst the Carpathian moiult-dins. '' Thither I wish you to be conducted. She '■ will love you as a sister; no one will '' suspect your retreat; and ir by chance- it '' should be discovered, the sanctity of the *' place, and the respect due to her whose '- friend you will become, will beyour pro- " tection. O Ida, if you knew my Eliza- " beth, you would think her v;orthy of your *' confidence. She is yet young, but early '' misfortune has rendered her wise. She '' possesses not perhaps all the personal '' beauty of the princess of Wirteixiberg; " but her mind! her angelic mind! . . . . *' is the counterpart of yoar own!" The emotion of duke Albert, as he pro- nounced these words, was visible. He rose hastily, pressed the hand of Ida, and quit- ted the apart :nent. The heart of our heroine was not less moved She was penetrated with the live- liest gratitude towards her friend, theagli there was somethins in 'his'-iiianner which OF UNNA. 231 made her not sorry for his departure. — Meanwhile she thought too modestly of her own charms, she had too good an opinion of the constancy of a knight like Albert, to fear his failing, on her account, in his fide- lity to Elizabeth. No; that appeared to her as impossible as for herself to forget her beloved Herman. The good genius however, which ever accompanies innocence, whispered not- withstanding frequently in her ear, and particularly on this occasion, that Albert's attentions to her were too lively, too ten- der, and .... that flight was tlie best mea- sure she could take. In the afternoon he returned. *' Prin- *' cess,'' said he, '' I interpreted your si- '' lence this morning into consent. Ac- '' Gordingly every thing is ready for your ''•journey; you may depart this very night. '' In the mean time, permit me, till the '' hour arrives, to bear you company. It '' would be painful to me to leave you, and ''' 1 liave besides things of importance to 232 HERMAN^ ''^ communitate,' :'vvhic}i'^l-'(iduld wish my '' Elizabeth to learn from your mouth. — *'• You will perhaps be the means of ren- "" dering us happier than we had hopes of '' being, and of our finding a motlier ''whom, alas! we have long supposed '• dead; but who, I have lately been given '' to understand by Herman, is still alive." The conndence v;hich duke Albert re- posed in the princess of V/irtemberg claim- ed of itself some attention, and the man- ner in which he expressed himself interested her still more. She lost therefore not a syllable of the project which, during the fev7 hours they spent together, he imparted to her. She alreadv knew from Herman that the countess of Cyiy had declared queen Mary to be living ; but she now first heard where this unfortunate queen re- sided, and by what means it was intended to draw her from her obscurity, and restore her to the place which belonged to her, now occupied by the worthless Barbe. OF UNNA, 235 'The project of Albert appeared vast and difficult of accoinplishment to tlie princess of Wirtediberg; but she promised punc- tually to observe the directions he gave her; and, having taken leave of hiui, she at lengtli set off on her journey, which was prolonged n:iore than half by the precau- tions she thought herself obliged to take to prevent being surprised. 234 HERMA^nT CHAPTER XVIIL HERMAN'S journey v^^as shorter and less hazardous. To avoid the snares that might belaid for him, he generally tra- velled by night, and had disguised him- self so as not to be known. Thus he ar- rived without the smallest accident' in the territories of the old count of Unna. Eager to recover the inprescriptible rights of man, namely, security and the liberty- of appearing with undisguised and open coun- tenance among his brethren of mankind, he delayed not a moment the visit he purposed to make to a person, who, ac- cording to duke Albert, was able to restore him to the enjoymejitof those blessings. — Divesting himself therefore of every un- favourable prejudice towards his relation, that had been instilled into his infant mind, and endeavouring to recollect all that would awaken confidence, he no sooner arrived than he demanded audience of the OF UNNA. 235 old count for a stranger, commissicned by duke Albert of Austria to impart to him an affair of the greatest importance. The count of Unna was absent. Some new disputes that had ariseii between tlie count of Tecklenburg and the bishop of Munster, in which he was chosen arbiter, had called him some weeks from home, and Herman was obliged to wait with pa- tience his return. Accordingly he had sufficient leisure to reflect on the singularity of his situation. He found himself in his native country; he saw around him a hundred places he had known when a child. Mixed ideas, pleasing and un- pleasing, were recalled to his mind. The sole motive of his visit to this district was to ask succour of a man against whom he had imbibed prejudices that he could not yet entirely surmount. In the neighbour- hood lived his brothers and sis:ers with whom his infancy had been spent, but on whom, in his present difficulty, he dared not confide. 236 HERMAN The redder (vill recollect, that, at the age of twelve or thirteen years, Herman had fled from tlie terrors of a convent, in v;hich he was on the poin: of being im- mured, to become one of the pages of the emperor Winceslaus. So libertine a step could not fail to displease his relations,, most of whom, male as well as female, had em.braced a monastic life; accordingly they had since held little correspondence witb the graceless fugitive. Herman had been at first too happy, and afterwards too much occupied by his various adventures to concern himself much about his family. He had had little communication with any of them, except his sisters, Agnes and Petronilla, once the loved companions of his tender years, but vv^ho since, sacrificed to the interest of their elder brother, had taken the veil in the convent of Uberwasser. The art of letter-writing was then not much in use, and few attended to it so little as those decorated v/ith the order of OF Ux\NA. 237 Ivnighthcod. We may presuirje, ihererore, tliat Herman was no vcvy punctual cor- respondent. Yet our manuscript informs us, that no important event happened t-O him, with which he did not acquaint the nuns of Uber^vasser; and tiiat he received no present, however small, in which Agnes and Petronilla did not share. I will not enquire, whether these nuns v;ere always so prudent as not to betray the confidence he placed in thein ; but certain it is, that his eider brothers and sisters were acquainted with all the leading ocQurrences of his life. From these Her- man received on different o:cusions,^an'i totally unac- quanited. , The remonstrance? with which these I letters were filled, had never been well re- 238 HERMAN ceived by our mettlesome youth; and he had uniformly been so unpoHte as to leave them unanswered ; a circumstance from which he bad reason to presume that the regard these personsges of his family fbx:- merly entertained for him must be totally extinguished, and their displeasure, on ac- count of his escape to the court of Winces- laus, considerably augmented. These therefore were not the relations^ that, on his arrival in his native soil, he was desirous of seeing. But he felt differently respecting another brother, destined like himself for a cloister, and his sisters Agnes and Petronilla, with whom he frequently wished to beguile the hours, while he solita- rily waited the return of the old count of Unna. At length he ventured to enquire after them, and was informed that his bro- ther John had quitted the convent to enter into the teutonic order of knights, but that the nuns of Uberwasser were still in their monastery. OF U>CXA. 239 The count's stay being protracted, and Herman finding himself perfectly in the midst of strangers, he resolved to visit the monastery. He wanted some friendly bo- som into which he might pour the over- flowings of his heart. He presented himself and was admitted to the grate of the parlour. Agnes and Petronilla were there, but they were not alone. His heart was on the wing to meet them ; but the presence of a third person was a restraint on hini, and induced him to withhold the effusions of brotherly af- fection till she should withdraw. ^^^^Yhe stranger, whose countenance could bo^st no great expression, kept her eyes in- tently fixed on him, and seemed so anxious to discover his name, by endeavouring to recollect his features, that, for a while, she addressed not a word to the nuns, whom sl^e v/as just come to see. Herman, extremely agitated, was e- qually silent. 240 HERMAl^^- '^ *' I perceive you can dispense' with liiy *^'presence," said the lady at last to the nuns, at the same time rising from her chair. " The knight, I presume, is not ''•come merely to look at you : or are you " such adepts in the language of the eyes, '^ that you can understand what he would '■' say, without its being necessary for him " to open his mouth?" " V/e have not the honour of know- '- ing the gentleman," answered Agnes, '^ though there is certainly somethingin " his features . . . ." '' That very much pleases vou:" added the lady with a sneer. '' A pretty frank 'vV confession for a couple of nuns, I must 'Vown." " I appeal to yourself, sir knight,'' said Agnes in a tone of some displeasure, '' Say, ll^^re you at all known to us?" . ^* Agnes and Petronilla then do not "Vknow me? And have they no presenti- ^.ment?" replied Herman, v/itii a smile of tenderness. OF UNNA. 241 '* Come, explain yourselves, young la- "*^ dies," said the visitor, who, by degrees, as she fancied she recollected Herman, viewed him v/ith eyes still more unfavour- able : '* You ought to have some presenti- ''ment; the knight himself acknowledges ^' it." '' Ah! if suspicions, if presentiments "*' were to determine," answered Petronilla, ** it is so long since I heard from my bro- *' ther Herman, I should say you came " from him." *' M3/ brother, indeed!" cried the lady with petulance. '' Are you then the only ''sister of the little urchin? But your '' brothers and sisters will have no great '' objection to relinquish to you the ho- "• nour." '* And who is this little urchin of whom "you speak?" Asked the knight, giving her a look of contempt. *' Pray, sir, pardon her!" said the gentle Agnes. '*• We frequently give this *' appellation to those whom we have seen Vol. n. M §4^ HERMAN ^^ v/hen children. I suspect that you are ^^ the friend of our Herman; and I trust " you will not be offended at what has been *-'' said. The lady is . . . ." ■ , '* None of your excuses, Miss," .said the lady interrupting her: '' None of your *' excuses forme, I shall not so far de- *' grade myself as to make any -either to '' Herman or any of his friends. And as *' to pardon, it is he I think who stands *' most in need of that. His scandalous '' return to the world, and the total forget- " fulness of his relations and benefactors,. '' are not yet effaced from our memory: ■*' nor is the life he has since led at all cal- ^' culatcd to remove these unfavourable im- *' presslons." " Fie, Catherine!" said Petronilla in a suppliant rather than a reproving tone. "• V/hat harm has Herman done you that '' you should thus speak ill of him before '■'' a stronger?" *' Before a stranger! Did you not say, "• that you supposed him to be the friend OF UNNA. 243 *■* and envoy of your brother? Be this how- *' ever as it may, every body knows his '* shameful adventures with the paltry little *' Munster, v/ho, God knows how, is on a *' sudden become a princess ; the share he '' had in the murder of the duke of Binns- '' wic; and a variety of other crimes that '-'' have occasioned him to be condemned " by the secret tribunal, and that ouglit ''tor ever to alienate the heart of his re- " lations." Saying this, she rose, and flounced out of the parlour, while Her- man, With arms folded, loolced at her with horror! '' May I ask," said Herman, when she was gone, " who this fury isV" '' Our sister, Catherine of Senderi," re- plied Petronilla with a sigh. '' Your sister! Your sister! Good Hea- '' vens can it be! And if yours, conse- '' qiiently mine! Alas, alas !" " Who then are you r" cried i\gnes, ad- vancing nearer the grate in order to ob- serve him more distinctly. M 2 244 HERMAN y " '*!0 Herman, Herman!" exclaimed Petronilla, clasping her hands, '* Yes it is " indeed our Herman! My heart did^ not '' deceive me." ^--vfoov ?:k'"- ''My brotbe'r! My good angel! Our ''only comfort under all our afflictionsj-' said Agnes weeping. Ah! why cannot I fold thee in my arms !" The rapture of these kind and virtuous *ouls at sight of a brother .whom they fondly loved, and from whom they had so Jong been separated, is not to be described, and for a while it bereft Herman of the •power of speech .... At lengih;,their joy becoming more calm, he again spoke of 'her who had u^.ade on him so unfavourable gn impiesdon, who had so furiously re- viled, and strove with so much malice to dishorxour him. He was astonished that such a woman could be his sistervand the nnns were obliged to give hitn- a thousand different proofs before they could convince him. of; jy^MA. 245 *^ Good God!" cried he, *' and are " the rest of the family like her? If so, I *' will never make myself known to any ''^ but yourselves.'* '* Judge not so hastily/' said the good Agnes. '' Catherine is unhappy. Mis- '' fortune frequently renders us unjust, and '* we ought to make allow.ince for those '*' who are the butt of its shafts, whatever '' reason we may have to complain of ** them." This reflection softened Herman. He asked farther -questions.- '' You know," said Petroniila, '' that she was preparinij^ '■'' for a religious life when we took the ''veil; but she preferred an indifferent ''• match, and now suffers from the poverty *^' and neglect of her husband and the re- '' proaches of her elder brothers and ^^ sisters, particularly the abbess of Marien- '' hagen. lU -treated, as she conceives, '' by them, she is disposed to take her *' revenge on others : but she would pro- '' bably not have displayed her ill-humour M 3 246 HERMAN *' in the manneT she has just done, had not *' her dissatisfaction been excited the mo- '' ment before you came in by a conversa- '' tion respecting you." *' Respecting me !" *^' Yes, respecting you, my dear bro- *' ther. But, Heavens! can it be true? *' Is it possible that you are pursued by the *' secret tribunal?" *' Be not uneasy, my dea- sister, on that '* account. Supposing it tr .e, God is the v safeguard and protector oi innocence." The nuns began to v/eep, and it was dif- ficult for Herm?ai so far to tranquilize their feeb'ngs as to obtain from them the infor- mation he wanted. " Picture to yourself our despair when **" we heard the dreadful intelligence. Ag- V* nes expressed a wish, that you might take. ** refuge in your own country; a wish in ** which I sincerely joined, hoping that you *"* would find an asylum with our brother *^ Bernard, or at least assistance to enable you to seek your safety elsewhere, for we I i.S OF UNNA. 247 '' had no dcubt of your poverty. And "- wheie, added I, can he apply with '* greater confidence than to the head of *' his family, his own brother, who ought "■ to act the part of a father to him? Ca- '' therine at this became enraged. She *-' has a numerous family, and she con- '' ceived that whatever Bernard might give "• you would be taken from lier children, "■ who, she- hopes, will one day inherit the ** whole of hi'3 fortune." Herman directed towards his sisters a look, that expressed his gratitude, and tl.e regret he felt at not being able to testify it as he could wish. The sorrow he displayed in his countenance was misinterpreted. — •■ '' Do not afflict yourself, my dear brother," said Agnes with emotion, holding out to him her hand. "" If Bernard refuses, we *' will assist you ourselves; we are not so ''poor as you may imagine; all the pre- *^ sents we have received from you are still '' in our possession; and will perhaps prov^' "■ sufficient. But ah! whiiher will you goV M 4 248 HERMAN '' Where can you be safe from your "■ averigfers? Petronilla, do you advise him ; '^' you are generally fertile in expedients: •■' but be quick; a moment's delay may be *' ruinous/' i , Herman had no tnearis of ~ qufetin^ th^^ apprehensions of his sisters, but by a rela*- tion of his adventures, from which they saw that the danger, at least as he flattered himself, was not so imminent as they had been told, that he had wherewith to pro- vide for his support, and that discretion was all that was necessary to his safety. Our party was in no haste to separate. The rules of the convent were not very rigid, and our nuns besides w'e re so ex- tremely beloved that they might remain in tl^e parlour as long as they pleased. The conversation however, v^'hich had lasted some hours, was at length interrupted by the arrival of the abbess of Marienhagen, who came to visit her sisters, and acquaint, them v;ith the reports that were spread con- cerning Herman. , , OP UNNA. 249 ' She recollected him the mpraent she an- te reel, and was as. readily recollected by him. Nuns, they say, have a quicker sight and" stronger memory than your profane worldlings. It was impossiblejfor our knight to conceal himself from the abbess:, nor did it become him, he thought, to show distrust of a sister whom, in his infancy, he had been taught to revere as a mother. '^^tjrsula embraced him. Her kiss wa^ coldl yet was it preferable to the conduct, of madam Senden. She presently related, in pious and measured phrases, nearly the same things which Catherine had mentioned ivkliacrimony and passion. He perceived th'at at bottom neither of them loved him: but while the rage of madam Senden ex- cited his indignation, the behaviour of the abbess was entitled to some respect, and he resolved to relate to her his adventures, iu order to disprove the injurious reports pro- pagated concerning him. Ursula, having heard his story, shrug- ged up her shoulders, and expressed a hope^ M 5 250 HERMAN that it might be true: but he had better, she said, have sought his safety in some other country, as it was impossible to find an asylum among his relations ; and that the utmost they could do for him was to favour his flight. Sentiments so unnatural revolted the mind of Herman. He was silent and fell into a profound reverie. Meanwhile Pe- tronilla related to the abbess the discourse of Catherine, which kindled tl:Le, hal,y ma- tron into a flame. - - . *-^ I penetrate herdesigns," cried Ursula. '' The moment she is sure of the arrival of *' Herman, she will exert herself to pre- ** vent the lord of Unna," [such was the respectful title under v/hicli Bernard was always spoken of by his sisters J '' from ^' having an interview with him, lest he *' should be induced to do something for *' his distressed brother. But she shall not ''succeed in her plan: and though flight '' is certainly the most advisable step for " Herman, yet I see no reason why he^ OF UNNA. 251 '' may not stay a few days and be intro- *' duced to his relations, as he has Certainly '■'- as much right to the assistance of his bro- '' ther as the selfish Catherine." Herman trembled at the enmity Ursula displayed for her sister, though at the same time she was testifying her goodness to- wards him. He assured her that he was not come to ask assistance, or to remain many days losing the time which was of import- ance to his flight; that he wished not to give umbrage to any one by his presence; and that he had undertaken this journey by the advice of the duke of Auflria, who had led liim to hope, that the old count of Unna, chief of the secret tribunal in those parts, could effect a farther investigation of his unhappy affair, and procure him an op- portunity of proving his innocence. The name of the count of Unna was to the abbess of Marieniiagen as an electrical shock. She vowed that she would never suffer a brother whom she had brought up and always loved as her own child, to claim 252^ HERMAN the prot€€tion of the declared enemy of hmh family. All their ancient feuds, which Her-'" man had been obliged so often to hear re- peated as to be sick with disgust, were now recited anew. She told him how the old * count of Unna had, both publicly and pri- vately, persecuted the lords of Unna on account of the affair of Wirtemberg; how he had seized their property, and obliged the greater part of them, herself among' the rest, to embrace a religious life for want of means to support with proper dig- nity the rank to which they were born; how he continued still to hate and despise them to such a degree, that he was resolved, as he had no children, rather than leave to them his earldoni of Unna, with its do- mains, to bequeath them to some foreign house, or suffer them to devolve on the emperor. Herman was satiated with the verbose prolixit}'' of this narration. He attempted to reply, but the abbess would not listen to jiim, and made liim consent to be intra- OF UNNA. 253 duced the next day to his elder brotherii^ who resided at PietceDburg. V.l It grew late, and Herman was obh'ged to quit the sisters he loved, together with her towards whom he felt no partiahty. At liis departure Ursula embraced him more tenderly than at first, and she obtained per- mission for the door of the parlour to be opened that Agnes and Petronilla might have the same pleasure: marks of bene- volence that would have touched the, sus- ceptible heart of our chevalier, had he not been aware that ihe desire of giving pain to others: was. their true moUve. ^b3Vi02'i)I : 254 HERMxlN CHAPTER XIX. HOW much must Flerman have re- gretted the agreeable society of the duke of Austria, the interesting Ida, and the wor- thy Munster, on comparing it with that of some of his relations, whose way of think- ing was to him equally new and disgusting. It is true, that it fell short of the extreme depravity he had observed in a fev/ other persons, as Kunzman, and the countess of Cyly, for instance : but the meanness of their souls inspired him with a certain an- tipathy, which never fails to be accompa- nied v/ith contempt; though the feeling vv^as in a manner softened by his reflecting on the amiable nuns of Uberwassr.r, Indeed his desire of seeing these once m.ore, had greater weight in prolonging his stay, than the promise he had made to the abbess of Marlenhagen: for he feared he might find other disagreeable originals in his family, and should at last be obliged to suspect his OF UXXA. 255 own goodness, the branches of the tree from which he descended being so corrupt. The so much dreaded day at length ar- rived, and he set ofF for Marienhagen, where he had promised to call for his sister, the abbess. With her he found the whole family assembled, except the important personage to whom he was to be introduced. Agnes and Petronilla ran with open arms to meet him. The phlegmatic canoness of Munster, coldly held out to him her hand^ and madam Senden, by the positive order of the devout Ursula, stammered her ex- cuses. Herman had long before pardoned her, and he was sorry he had been offended with her for a single moment; the deep humiliation impressed on her countenance gave him pain, and he embraced her with warmth, calling her by the tender name of sister. By her side was lier husband, Ulric of ■ Senden, whose figure was one of those, which nature rarely forms, displaying that model of human beauty in its utmost per- 256 HERMAN fection, which the Grecian artist Imagined for his Apollo, while the expression of his features bespoke a mind not at all inferior. He embraced our knight with dignity; and Herman, won, as is usual with young per- sons, by the impressiort of external charms, pressed him with ardour to his bosom. He was suprised at finding a physiognomy of this description, in a circle of persons, the majority of whom had little to boast in poitit" of beauty, and still more, that such a man should be the husband of Catherine^ and hd ' looked at the two nuns to express to them* his astonishment. They smiled and whis- pered to him to prepare himself to see^' m ^ another relation, a person far surpassing aH his imagination could conceive. . : r: At length the cavalcade set out for Plet^ ' tenburg. Ulric appeared as much dissatis-'- ficd as Herman, with the attention so nu- ' merous a company would excite, and had a serious conversation with the abbess on the subject, to whom he observed^ that such parade v/as by no means prudent, consi- OF UNxX.A. 237 cfering^-the situatioo of the young stnup^er. But his remonstrances were useJess. No one would dare tp talk openly of the danger of Herman, now that the devout abbess of Marienhagen treated liim with kindness, and had taken him under her protection ; and the reports of his misfortune were to be blotted from remembrance, the mo- ment she iasued the injunction, though before, no one had propagated it with so much imprudence as herself, and Cathe- rine, whom she hated, though so strongly resembling her. Herman had resided at the courts of the first princes of his time; he had been i^,.^. the service of an emperor, and of a king of Hungary ; at Nuremberg he had been fa- miliar with personages who had pretensions to the first throne in the world; yet had he no where witnessed that ostentatious display of grandeur, which obtruded itself on the eye, at the castle of a mere country gentleman. f5Q HERMAN Bernard must surely have thought, that the honour of bemg chief of the younger branch of tha house ofUnna, was the most exalted to which human vanity could aspire, or. he could never have endured the ridi- culous pomp that surrounded him; could never have been pleased with- the humble homage of his relations and domestics; could never have treated, with such haughtiness, all who approached him. - -'^ V^-'' The court of Pietteiuburg, as' Befmfd% residence v;astiien styled, w^as certainly too splendid for a lord of Unna; but it wzs a splendor by which Herman, who had seen the world, was not to be dazzled, and wl:ich could not fail to excite, in a philosophic mind, the most melancholy reflections. All this magnificence was supported by the un- paid dowries of unhappy sisters, and the with-hoiden fortunes of brothers scarcely more happy, who had sacrificed them.selves, or been forcibly sacrificed, to enable the first born of the family to live in the style of a petty sovereign. OF UNNA. 239 Displeasing as was to Herman the house which he entered; its master, though his brother, proved equaily displeasing. The audience he obtained was by no means fa- vourable. He ought, if he would conform to established rules, to have bowed himself as lowly in the presence of Bernard, as be- fore king Sigismond, or the emperor Win- ceslaus. This he avoided, accosting him only with the respect which he conceived due to an elder brother ; but he soon per- ceived the dissatisfaction occasioned by this conduct, which v^as deemed irreveieiit. The eyes of Flerman were soon attracted from this haughty gentleman, to a young woman seated by his side, who, as soon as the abbess had announced the name of the chevalier, rose with inimitable grace to em- brace him. It was the wife of Bernard. She was unknown to Herman, as she had not been united to the family till after his his elopement. He looked at her with astonishment. His Ida excepted, he had never beheld so ^0 ITCRM AIsT perfect' a b^auty.^ -'Her chat rris' were lieight-i cned by angelic sweetness,, spread over every feature of her face, and forming a perfect contrast to the stiff and formal de- meanour of ber imperioias spouse ; as . w^Jl as by a trait of melancholy, an inler-e^ting paleness, that plainly bespoke her to be unhappy, and which, to the eye of sensi- bility, is irresistibly attracting. to snufi ^ Alicia took the hand of Herman^ and called him a second time her brother, and that in a tone so endearing that the heart of our knight was inexpressibly movsd^ and he could not refrain from falling at her feet. ii iJ^fiqoT "'I dO Bernard beheld whh' skthfactiott this mark of respect, which he supposedvvas'paid^ rather to the consort of the lord" of Unna, than to the beautiful Alicia: Imagining therefore that Herman did not altogether disdain the etiquette of his court, he held- jout his hand, with a tolerable grace, to •^^ssist hitn to rise. lliat of his charming sister>in-law Herman presumed to kiss, and OF UNNA. 261 having seated himself inu cbair by her side, which was negligently offered him by Ber- nard, he was honoured with a few questions, which he, took care to answer so as not to -offend the pride of his brclher. . Shortly after^ the lord of XJnna being •engaged in a private conversation with his sister, the abbess, Alicia, made a sign to the nuns of Uberwasser, her intimate and bo- som friends, to approach, in order to cou- A^erse with Herman. '' Well, my dear brother," said Pe- trpiiilla with a smile, '^ is our prediction M verified r ** Oh !" replied Herman, ^* I am asto- .'^'..nished, enchanted! I could fancy my- '*V5elf in the company of my beloved Ida, '' and I esteem myself happy in ha\ing so '* loveiy a sister." ..rAlicia Avas about to make a civil reply to this compliment, but, having cast her eye on Ulric of Senden, who was leaning against a pillar opposite to her, and who 262 HERMAN seemed'as in a trance with the pleasure of beholding her, she blushed, and was silent. The mind of Herman was too busily occupied to notice her embarrassment. — Every thing surprised him ; and a whole day spent in his brother's house served only to convince him that he was far from being acquainted with the history of all the individuals of his family. That of Ulric of Senden he was least able to decypher. His figure, his manner, were extremely prepossessing; yet, in his behaviour to Herman, was there some- thing singularly forbidding. Grave and cold when he talked to him; and, at the same time, when he spoke of him to a third person, his ardent admirer. All the ef- forts of our young chevalier to induce Ulric to unite himself to him by the ties of friendship were vain; on the contrary he appeared to shun every opportunity of en- tering into private conversation with Her- man, and smiled on him only when he saw him in the midst of a numerous circle. — OF UNNA. 263 • His behaviour to madam Uiina was equally strange. If he found himself obliged to speak to her, it was in a tone of indiffer- ence bordering on contempt; yet were his eyes, when he thought himself unobserved, incessantly fixed on her. He carefully avoided meeting her, yet could not refrain from watching her every motion, listening to her every word. Having observed all tiiis, it appeared by no means extraordinary to Herman, that so singular a character should express no great tenderness to Catherine; but he was at a loss to conceive how she could have become his wife. To clear his doubts he had re- course to the nuns, his sisters; who shrug- ged their shoulders, and assured him that they were not sufficiently acquainted with the affair to give him the information he wished. Madam Uana displayed a great predi- lection for her ncvv brother-in-law. He and his t-.vo sisters, Agnes and Petronihn, formed her select socieiv. Never did she 264 HERMAX so much strive to engage him to herse?f as when she perceived him making attempts -to gain the friendship of Ulric, who could with difficalty preserve the cool air he as- sumed towards him. '* Why," said she to liim one day, *-' are you always courting the '-'' friendship of that singular being? I must '' insist on your promising me never to *'■ contract any intimacy with him : he k *' honest enough to reject your overtures, *' and 1 dare affirm he has reasons for it." Herman seized this opportunity of put- ting some questions to Alicia respecting Ulr'c ; but, instead of answering them, she blushed, and endeavoured to give another turn to the conversation. 0^"UNNA, 265 ■CHAPTER XX, THE different members of the family of Unna remained at the castle of Piettenburc- for some days. Bernard seemed insensibly to take a liking to Herman. The younpj chevalier could relate so many anecdotes of kings and emperors, of dukes and princes, that the haughty loid began to feel some veneration for him, and to ex- cuse his not having humbled himself more before the head of his house; he \^^as also inwardly flattered by the profound respect paid by Herman to the beautiful Alicia. At length the abbess of Marienhagen, and the nuns of Uberwasser were obliged to return to their respective convents. — . The unwieldy canoness of Munster also quitted the castle, so that of Bernard's guests none remained but Herman and the fa»nly of Senden. N 256 HERMAN .^n^lCatherine availed herself of tlie absence of the abbess, her mortal enemy, to show herself to the brother, ivhom at first she had so highly offended, in a more favour- able point of view. She perceived that his endeavours to obtain the frien(^hip of Bernard were perfectly disinterested ; some considerable presents which he made her children, proved also that he neither sought nor needed assistance:; and this was suuicienl to inspire her with regret for having given him so ill a reception. — She made him therefore many advances, and one day said, that she Shoald never think he had forgiven her, unless he v/ould promise to accompany her home, and thus afford lier an opportunity of repairing the injury. Herman had nothing so much at heart iii to ahtain an audience of the old count of Unna, who, he had heard, was returned. It v;as the sole business that had brought him into this country; the visits he had paid hi? family were me:e]y casual, and had al- OF UNNA. 26? ready occupied more time than v.-as prudent in his situation. He would therefore unques- tionably have refused madam Senden's re- quest, in which her husband had no part, had he not feared that she might think he still harboured resentment in his breast for the manner in which she had treated him. He accordingly consented, a step which occasioned madam Unna, who was present, a degree of uneasiness which slie could with difficulty conceal. "" Is then every entreaty I have made *' you, not to contract an intimacy with '* Ulric of Senden, uselessi" said she to him the moment they were alone. *' It is not Ulric that I am going to visit; :*' it is my sister." '' But when you are in his house, will *' you be able to prevent a certain degree '' of familiarity from taking place between '' you?" '' And would not the friendship of such *' a man be a happiness to me?" N 2 '-^^SO vi- 268 .HERMAN , ** I tell you no, Herman, no. You *• must never be alone with him for a single ''•moment; if, * 5^01^ are, some calamity will '' Lef^ilyou." ,: '' I do not comprehend yoii, madam. — *' Would you have me entertain suspicions *' injurious to the honour of Ulricr" '' Ceit:iinly not. Ulric may be a man " of the nicest honour ; but . . , . I dare '' not be more explicit vT-s^^'^iPelieye me, 'Mtiriuan, the most prudent step you can *' takeisto repair with all speed to thae old '..' coimt of Unna, to finish your .business *' with him, and then to depart." ''I have nothing ..madam, nearer at " l]eart,than to see the count.of Unna ; but *'• I cannot dispense with visiting my sister; -'' it would be cruel to treat her with un- -.' kindness." '' 1 have no hatred to Catherine; I pity " her, and ascribe many of her faults to the *' unpleasantness of her situation." *' And yet you give me to understand, ■^' that I have something to apprehend from Q^ifn^A. 269 *' lier which oughl-^to deter me from enter- ^'" ]P7^ her house." '^'-"^ •^'-j '■'^' *' Not from her. God ft)rfeid ! not from *' lier. I do not think her wicked enoiiorh ** secretly to injure you .... But Uhic of *^ Senden ! Uhic !" '' Is a worthy and virtuous character: '' i^- to our sex, what the divine Alicia is to '^ hers!" '*^"^Hefilay be virtuous, he may be Vv'cr- ^^ ihfi- md' yet .... havs I not known ** him'Ionger than you?^ '* Certainly, certainly, you are best ac- ** qualnted with him. I have observed '* your looks ; I have observed his also ; I '' have noticed things that make me wiih '' to know more .... Ah'cia, frank and •■• amiable Alicia ! my sister, my friend! '' will you not trust me? My advice may ^' possibly be of service to you. Possibly, " by telling me your real sentiments of '-^ Uiric I may be induced to embrace your '•" counseL Will you then not listen to my ■ 'N 3 r 270 HERMAN *' prayer? Say, will you not condescend to ** explain yourself? Alicia shed a torrent of tears ; but dis- engaging herself from Flerman, who held her hands in his, she declared that she would have no farther conversation with him on the subject. ** Remember how- "" ever," added she, " remember that I '' have warned you. You must now act " as you please. I have nothing more to *' say." She appeared seriously offended with our chevalier for his too urgent importuni- ties, and would not address a single word to him during the remainder of the day, the last he was to spend at her house. Mean- while she had yet not abandoned the hope of separating him from Ulric. Herman persisted in his intention orac- companying his sister home, and as soon as it was known, Ulric was invited to stay a few days longer at Plettenburg. A deadly paleness overspread the coun- tenance of Ulric, the moment our young OF UNNA. ^71 man informed him that he purposed to pay him a visit; but, upon receiving this in- vitation from Bernard and Alicia, his cheeks again resunied their wonted animation. — Herman obsjerved, for the first time,, that he kissed tl)e iiand of liis sister-in-law, and spoke to her with poHteness. AHcia bluslied, and cast down her eyes, while Ul- ric fixed on her a look of the liveliest gra- titude. "• What means this chansje?" said Her- man to himself. '' Am I deceived respect- '* ing these two characters? Are tliey less , ** scrupulous, less delicate than I had ima- /' gioed? .... Ah! they are certainly en- SV gaged in a secret, a guilty commerce. — '' Their stolen looks, their sudden blushes, '' their mutual intelligence attest that they i^^iave formerly loved, and that their love *' is yet not extinguished .... Was it for '' this, dissembling Alicia, thou soughtest '' to separate me from Ulric? No doubt, '' thou wert afraid I should discover thy *' criminal passion, and seek to avenge a - N 4 272 HERMAN '* brother's injured hcnour. No doubt ^ *' thou wishest to retain him at Plettenburg *' that thou mayest tranquilly enjoy thy ** illicit attachment, free from the eyes of *' a jealous wife, and a suspicious brotber- ** in-law." :^>d^>>;>T ]^ou^^l To Herman appearances pleaded ^6 strong against Alicia, that he was astonishicd at the blindness of Bernard, who seemed not to remark things, that, in his opinion, must be perceived by all the world; and it was, 'perhaps, happy for the suspected par- ties that Herman was not eager to con>- municate to his brother his leflections. The chevalier departed with Catherine and her children. They were handsome and diverting little creatures, more resem-. bring their father than their mother, and with them he beguiled the vvearisomeness of his sister's insipid conversation. He v/as every instant more convinced of the depravity of this woman's heart. Her slanderous tongue spared not an individual of her relations, whom she endeavoured to OF UNNA. 27Z rain in the mind of her young brother, not excepting even the innocent nuns of Uber- wasser, Agnes and Petronilla. Siie vaunted', with great self-complacency, the dexterity with which she could discover evil in the inmost recesses of the heart, and adduced proofs of her talent that were really singular in their kind. She had found means to procure the pa- per on which madam Unna had written the examination of her conscience, and Her- man expected nothing less from this cir- -cumstance than a confirmation of his suspi- cions; but, to his extreme surprise, he- found them removed,^ > :;ii i ^' This Alicia," said Catherine, *'"t'poor- '* descendant of the house of Langen, be- '^ com.e obnoxious to the secret tribunal, •-' has entered into our family to cur sorrow. •'But for her, Bernard would probably '' never. have thought of marrying. How- ^' ever she is faithfully attached to him, and' ^' is scarcely ever from his side, which '^ renders her the plague of all. the wives ix\ N.5 : *• • 274 HERMAN '^ the neighbourbocd, whose huffcands are '^ continually citing her as a model. — She *' is not disagreeable in her person, as you ''have seen; neither has she wanted ad- '' mirers; and for a while I could not help *• thinking that she indemnified herself in '' private for the strict decorum she affected '' in public : but having narrowly watched *''• her for some years, lam at length convinced ** that she is a woman devoid both of spirit ** and sensibility, to v/hom such kind of '* virtue costs little." Herman looked at Catherine with eyes of astonishment, and would have asked, but knew not how, the reason of the cH3- derstanding he observed between Alicia and Ulric. '' Is she friendly to you and your hus- *' bandr" said he at length with an affecta- tion of ind.fierence. '' To me she is certainly friendly. You *' see I have a good opinion of her; con- ** sequentiy I merit her attachment. Be- ^^ sides, she loves my children, and often OF UNNA. 275 "■ makes them presents. Diit for my hu^> *' band she appears to entertain tlie most '' profound contempt. Of this, at ieast, '''- I am certain, that a civil word has never '* passed between th.em till to-day. You '' were witness to the invitation she gave *' him : it astonished me, for to say the "" trulh, he cares as little for her,- as she '' for him. Ke always avoids her, and I '' do not recollect, that, since our marriage, '' he has three times set his foot within the ^' doors of Plettenburg castle." Hern^ian could not avoid shaking his head, and seeking, by a number or adroit questions, to discover son:ie traces of what he suspected. Ke learnt, however, no- thing niore, and with pleasure, found him- self deceived in the opinion he had formed of Ulric and Alicia. ¥/hat better proof in- deed could he have had of their innocence, than the testimony of Catherine? Even in the enumeration of her ccmolaints ac^airist her irasband, she said not a word that could cast on him the least suspicion of iahdelity. 276 HERMAN Her griefs all centered in his discontent, and uncivil treatment of her, to which the good lady herself might have given, sufficient occasion, by the mahgnancy of her dispo- sition, of which she had just exhibited, no v-ery equivocal proofs. OF UNNA. T'l CHAPTER XXr. HERMAN had already so amply en- joyed tlie conversation of hia benevolent sisters on the road, that he was little desir- ous of renewing: it, during: his short abode at her house, and preferred the innocent prattle of her children, who had easily gained his rdTect;Gn. He talked to tlicai continually of their father, and what chey said, exhibited him in so favourable a point of view, that all his suspicions vanished, and were succeeded by a new desire of hav- ing him for a friend. To this desire was joined, that of knowing the motive of All- tia's mysterious advice. He determined, tr.erefore, to have a private intervievv^ witli him, and to trium.nh over the efforts of his brother-in-law to avoid him. ^ '* My husband,' says Catherine, ''seems '' resolved not to return till his presence *' shall be necessary to dissipate the solitude ra^ HERMAN "• in which I live. To speak frankly, I *' scarcely feel the absence of an ill-natured '' spouse, in the company of so agreeable a '' brother. Let him stay, therefore, at Plet- " tenburg, and strengthen our intimacy- '''with Bernard and his wife, which sooner "• or later, may be of advantage to us." She then shewed Herman a letter she had -just received from Ulric, in which she was desired to inform him of the departure of her brother, the instant it took place, as he should then quit Plettenburg, and return home. Herman resolved to be gone the next day. He accordingly took leave of his vgister and her children, after having given the latter proofs of his generosity, that de- prived him of almost ail he possessed. He knew the road to Unna to be that by which Ulric must return, and he Vv^aited for him a whole day in the forest through which he was to pass. The delay shew^ed, that Ujric took every possible precaution not to meet, ^or to see him again. GF UNNA. ^79 ^'^ Heavens I" cried Herman, " whnt " can be the cause of this insuperable aver- *•' sion? At Piettenburg, I read in his eyes ^' the hatred he bore me. The coldness of " his manner, and the reserve of his con- '' versation, convinced me I was not mlsta- '' ken. Net once could I prevail upon him *•• to take a walk with me. He seemed de- *' voured with chagrin whenever at table, '' or in company, I was accidentally seated ^'' by his side. Surely, some fearful my- '' stery lurks beneath all this. I must fa- '' thorn it. I must give this man, for I '* love him, a better opinion of me, though ^' it cost me my life. Perhaps my misfor- '' tune has instilled suspicions into his mind, '' Perhaps he thinks me guilty of the crime *' of which I am accused. Yes, yes, I will '^ see him, I will gain his affection, by '-'■ proving to him nry innocence. The good opinion of the whole world would be nothing to me, while Ulric should think me capable of murder." 6' ^80 HERMAN Yoti, wild liaf^e^bee^'sdmefiftfes drawn by an irresistible iilipulse towards a soul In unison with your own, without being able to comprehend the charm that atLracted you; you, whose effort^'; ' W' obHVifr* flie good-will of hiim whom^^-ydu have chosen among a thousand, have'increased in pTo- portion as tlie loved object seemed to re- ject your advance?; you alone can judge of the inchhi'dtion fc-lr by bur chevalier for Uific of Senden. The IVlgld be&rc wbicli- never experienced this sentiment, would in vain attempt to form an idea of it. ]l]\ As evening approached, the anxiety of Herman increased.- The longer he vainly waited for bini whom he wished to see, the more ardent became his desire. Meat}- while his mind was disturbed; a thousand melancholy pres.-iges crowded to hxicthoughts;; his heart bad Iiim remain, wliile a Secret voice v/hi-^pered to him. to fly. '^ But why ** should I Irly ■'" said he to himself; and hfi remained; OF ^TXXA. £81 The moon arose. Cur hero had ad- vanced so far to meet Senden, that he could perecive, from. a hill he had ascend- ed, the turrets of the castle of Piettenburg. He beheld around him nothing but deserts. The stillness of the night was interrupted by no other sound, than the monotonous murmuring of a brool:. The night was far spent, and the moon was hastening to the western horizon, when the sound of horses feet were heard in a nar- row valley. They drew so near, that Pier- man could distinguish the voice of Ulric, directing his servants to go on before to Senden house, and bring. him word, whe- ther the young knight v/ere yet gone. He then alighted, and seated himself at the foot of a tree. Herman, who watched his mo- tions, immediately presented himself, and said to him: "■ Why dost thou shun meV '' What has Herman done, that it seems *' poison to thee, to breathe the same air '' with him?"' 282 ^HERMAN "• God of Heaven T exclaimed Ulric, wrapping himself in his cloak, '^ what a " misfortune! Waking or dreaming he is " every where present to my sight; and *-' nO;V a voice within me tells me that I ^^ must kill him.'* *' That tliOLi nrjst kill me!" said Her- m.an, folding him in his arms : " That thcu *' must assassinate thy brother! . , , , "' What, then, what have I done?" '' Begone, villain!" replied Ulric, dis- *•'• engaging himself from his embrace.-— *' Who art tbouV .... Is it not a vision *■' that I see?^ Speak, who art thou?" "" Thy brother, Herman of Unna, who '^ asks thy friendship or death. To be '* despised, to be rejected by thee, is more *' than he can support." '' Herman? Herman of Unna? .... ^* Fly, fly! I am thy murderer .... Yet ** no, fly not. It is forbidden me to give *'- thee such advice; still less can I suffer '* thee to execute it. Are we not alone? *' . . .r . No, we are not .... God be prais- '^ ed! see, v»here come thy deliverers!" OF UNNA. 233 J-ierman looked, and saw nothing .... '^ Tliey aie the shadows of the trees, rny " brother. But I need no deliverer when '' thou art with me. O UlricJ Thou uit *"* ill, very ill! Thy heart is distressed! . . . *' I feared it was haired that kept thee '^ from me; but it was melancholy. . . . " Heaven be pra'sed! Thy melancholy *' will be dispelled, thy sufferings relieved, *' and thou wilt then lovq thy brotlier!" "• Love thee? Can I love thee more '* than I do? O Herm.n! My heart is *' witii thee, and yet must I asoassinale '' thee.'' "• Why:" cried. Herman, whom Ulric for a moment closely pressed in his arms, andthen ^s rudely repulsed : '' Why assassi- '■' nate me? What is my crime?" '-' Thou must die," replied Senden draw- ing his sabre: '' Thou art the murderer " of duke Frederic." '' I swear by him, to whom all things '' are known, that I am not." 234 MERMAN '-'- The charge has been made, the wlt- " nesses have deposed, and the judges ^'■have pronounced thy condemnation. — '' Thou art, tliou must be the murderer cf ''•the duke. Thousands of secret execu- '' tloners burn with the desire of shedding -*' thy -blood: but, O Heavens! Fate has de- *-' creed that the task shall devolve on thy *"* unfortunate brother. 1 have bound my- '' self by an oath, an oath the most terrible, *^ not to spare these whom the secret tribu- •^^ nal shall condemn .... This then to *' thy heart . . . . This to my own!*^ They staggered; they fell side by side. '' Oh my brother," said Herman embrac- ing Ulric, '' the thread of my life is at an "•end. Yet I will be thine, I will ever be '' thine, in those realms above, the abode of '' peace and everlasting friendship." END OF THE SECOND VOLUME, / 1*