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Full text of "Herman of Unna : a series of adventures of the fifteenth century, in which the proceedings of the secret tribunal, under the emperors Winceslaus and Sigismond, are delineated"


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U N N A. 


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iTY.Tra TT5Tqr? 

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Piintcd for G. G. and J. Robinson, Patcr-nostcr Row, 



Scries of xidvc7itures of the Ffteenth 
Century, ^r. 


DAY had begun to make its appear- 
ance, and some neighbouring peasants 
were repairing to their labours, when, ar- 
riving at the chimp of oaks, near the fall 
of the brook, they saw two seemingly hu- 
man figures, whose difficult respiration, 
sounding in the throat, announced their 
dissolution at hand. On a nearer exami-. 
nation they found them to be two young 
men closely embracing, and each pierced 
•with a sword. As they slilUbreathed, the 
honest peasants instantly resolved to con- 
vey them to the castle of madam Unna, 
Vol. III. B 


who had frequently by her care saved the 
lives of the sick and wounded, and who,,, 
they, t.hought, would certainly not refuse 
her aid to these unfortunate strangers. 

Alicia had detained Senden at Pletten- 
burg^as long as she had been abk. / He 
yielded the more readily to her solicita- 
tions, as he had the same motives for re- 
maining as she for keeping him there. — 
They had not owned this to each other, 
as ility carefully avoided meeting in pri-. 
vate, but they guessed -each others thoughts, 
and felt themselves mutually obliged. 

Bernard, solely occupied with the con- 
templation of his own grandeur, saw no- 
thing in this but the honour received by 
Ulric in residing five days at his court, 
and would have had no objection to his 
remaining there as many more, if Alicia^ 
to whom he was very condescending, be- 
cause she bore the name of Urina, had de- 
sired it. 

Uiilc on his side had reasons to quit 
the lovely Alicia as soon as possible, aiid 


wl-ysii Catfierrne 'informed iihTi4nit Her- 
man would depart the Monday after the 
nativity of the Virgin, he fek the" same 
pleasure as a prisoner emancipated from 
his chains. 

Madam Unna' could not refrain from 
tears when Sendew took leave. She recol- 
lected the past, thought of Herman, and 
trembled. She requested him to return 
home by way of Ahaus ; a request at 
v;hich Bernard smiled, as it was at least 
more than a mile about; but Ulric readi- 
ly complied, fully comprehending the mo- 
tive of Alicia. 

The waters, being high, had rendered 
the road by Ahaus impassable. He ^vas 
therefore obliged to return and take the 
usual Vv'ay. He asked his servants what 
day of the week it was. They replied 
that, as it was past midnight, the day 
just begun might be called Wednesday. — 
*' Monday and Wednesday," said Ulric to 
himself, and he proceeded cheerfully. 
B 2 


Alicia presaged some misfortune. At 
supper she was melancholy; during the 
night she was restless. As sleep forsook 
her eyes, she rose, went to the balcony, 
and looked anxiously round 2s far as the 
light of the moon would permit her. The 
dawn still found her there. She endeavour- 
ed to dissipate the fatal presentiments tliat 
haunted her mind. She addressed tpj^ea,- 
ven her wonted orisons! site -prayed that a 
day mii^ht not pass withou^ affording her 
an opportunity of doing good. She knew 
by experience that the practice of virtue 
was the best means of restoring tranquillity 
to an afflicted heart. 

This duty fulfilled, she looked towards 
the valley, which the purple beams'^of 
morn had yet scarcely enlightened, and 
she discovered a company of men moving 
slowly towards the castle. One of 
them advanced before the rest and knocked 
at the gate. 


'' What misfortune has hijppened? 
" What are you bringing Iiither?" Cried 
Alicia fro n;] the balceny. 

'' Ah, noble lady!" reph'ed the peasant 
who knew her voice : '* is it you? What a 
'* lucky omen! we bring you two unforlu- 
*' nate beings, whom we found lying on 
*' yonder hill covered with blood. They 
*' still breathe. We have bound up their 
*' wounds as well as we were able; the rest 
''^ we must leave to you; God always gives 
'* a blessing to your charitable deeds." 

Alicia staid not to hear all he said, but 
ran to open the door herself, and in her 
way she awoke some of the servants who 
slept in the anti-chamber, that they might 
get ready the necessary apparatus for the 
wounded strangers. 

The domestics of this benevolent female 
hiad long known, from experience, how to 
act on such occasions. Alicia, before she 
married, had been the friend, the com- 
forter, the nurse of the sick, and she thouglu 
herself happy in having a husband who 
B 3 


allowed her full liberty in thfe.^xetcis^f^f 
her benevolent disposition. ,- ^r. hna^qo 
In those days it was accoiuitedr honovtx^ 
able to do good, and the pride of Bernard 
was not a little flattered, when his'wif^^.iwas 
styled a second Elizabeth; a saint whose 
glory, in his eyes, was greatly enhanced 
by her being descended from a royai 

,; It was not from such paltry motives that 
Alicia was prompted to benevolence; but 
she was prudent enough to avail herself of 
her husband's weakness and vanity, that she 
might pursue, unrestrained, her own incli- 

l^pns.rroow?. r ibnoS 10 oiiiU 

Having opened the gate, she weAt to 
m.qetjthe wounded, to see that they were 
earrijed gently and with care. Approach- 
ing she beheld the face of Ulric, covered 
wdlh the shades of death, Herman scarcely 
breathing, and slie fell as devoid of life as 
either of them. 

Her servants flew to her assistance, and 
she was conveyed, together with her two 


dying friends, to the castle. At length she 
opened her eyes, and reeing a crowd about 
her, she made a sign for all, who were not 
absolutely necessary, to leave her, in order 
to assist Uiric and Herman. Her fears for 
these two unfortunate beings revived her 
strength, and shevvas soon able to repair to 
their chamber to examine their situation, 
and the treatment it required. 

The steward, an expert surgeon, had 
already SO' far recovered Herman that he 
could open his eyes, and when his sister-in- 
law appeared, he was able to call her by her 
name, and convey her hand to his lips. 
Ulric of Senden was still in a swoon. A 
feeble pulsation of the lieart v.-as all that 
announced him alive. His wound was 
much deeper than Herman's. Against Her- 
nial-^ he had lifted his sword with regret; 
against himself his arm had exerted all its 


By the indefatigable cares of Alicia, and 
the skill of her servants, Senden and Her- 
man were at length both extricated from 
B 4 


tliC-ir clanger : but fo the latter she was mdritf 
particularly attentive, as Catherine 'h'ti'd- 
been sent for to superintend her husbandi 
Herman's regard for his charm-ing s'ister-in^^ 
]aw, and the confidence she reposed in him^- 
increased e^7ery day from .the habitude of 
seeing each other, and soon there waj^est**-'- 
blisbed between them as great an intimacy, 
as we have observed, in the preceding vo^ 
lume, to have subsisted between duke Al- 
bert cf Austria and the lovely Ida. There 
w.Ts this difference however ; Herman could 
not be suspected of entertaining for Alicia 
sentiments warmer than those of friendships 
^vhereas many of my readers may perhaps 
have judged otherwise respecting the feel- 
ings of Albert. 

A few weeks after their arrival at Plet- 
tenburg, Herman was able to sit up, and 
Ulric was sufficiently recovered to send Ca- 
tlierine home to prepare for his return. — 
Herman had a thousand questions to ask re- 
specting Ulric, and madam Unna was more 
inclined to answer them than form.erlv* — 


She now knew enough of her brother-in- 
law to venture to open to him her heart. 
The pains she had taken on his account had 
rendered hini^more dear to her. She con- 
fessed the history of Senden to be so inter- 
woven with hers, that it was impossible for 
her to relate what Herman v.-as desirous of 
knowing, without making him the confident 
of her own adventures. 

Hitherto Ahcia had not been able to 
gratify the impatient curiosity of Herman, 
because her husband scarcely ever quitted 
the chamber of the convalescent, with 
whose conversation he was much entertain- 
ed. At length however Bernard thought 
proper to visit Engelrading, where the lords 
of Ravensberg and Meerveldt gave^a tour- 
name-nt, and this first leisure moment was 
employed as will be seen in the following 



X [ -. i\ vi i/i ^' T- ' ' 


"HOW shall I relate to you,*' said XK- 
cia, ** events that will open all the ancient 
** wounds of my heart, and perhaps re- 
*' present me to your eyes in an unfavour- 
*' able light ! You will forgive the weak- 
'* ness of a woman, if the rxsmembrance of 
*' what is past draw from her some tears. I 
** call heaven to witness, that Uiric is no 
'* longer so dear to me as he was : yet I 
** own that I cannot see him without some 
•' degree of emotion. At sight of birii i. 
** experience a sensation which I a^m^un- 
'-'■ able to define. It is not the remnant of 
*' a lovi^ subdued ; it is a mixture of dread, 
*' fear, and compassion .... Whatever it 
'* be, you shall hear, and judge. 

'* Without doubt my sister-in-law, Ca- 
*' therine, has informed you that I am of 
** the family of Langen, pursued for some 
'' years by the secret tribunal. My fa- 


** tiler's disputes with the bishop of Csna- 
*' bruck relate not to my narrative. He 
*' fell a victim to the bishop's rancour; as 
*' did my mother, who died of grief in the 
'* flower of her a^e, in consequence of 
*' which I became the ward of my elder 
** brother. 

"• Conrad loved me; he took as much 
*' care of me as a father could have done ; 
*'^nd his confidence in me was so great, 
*' that he left me perfectly mistress of njy 
'* actions. In his castle I was as I am here ; 
" 1 was treated not as his ward, but as the 
'' mistress of the house. 

*^ My brother was frequently absent 
" from home for months toget'her, God 
" knows why. I fear he was then engaged 
'' in what brought on him the persecution 
*' he now suffers. Hi^ conduct was fre- 
** quently rash and inconsiderate; and his 
" enemies represented it in colours that 
'' made it appear still more reprehensible. 
'' 1 considered i^ as a duty incumbent oa 
'' me to repair by prayers and good deeds 


"• 2it home, the evil Conrad did abroad^;.aDcI 
*' thus to divert the divine vengeance f rmii \ 
** our house, which had already experi^enced;. 
'' so many misfortunes. My actions might 
*^ be good and laudable in themselves; the , 
•^ poor, the sick, the aged, found shelter' 
*' and relief at the castle of Laiigen; :but«I . 
*' carried my benevolence too far, I applied 
*' it not with sufficient discretion, and I was 
**, punished by the loss of my peace. 
r; , 'rUlricof Senden having been v/ounded 
'• in a single combat, at a tmall distance 
-'^' from the castle, his servants brought him 
VVto us, and begged assistance for their 
*' master. A strict regard to decorum, per- 
*' haps, would have required me to refute 
*V my aid to a handsome young knight, and 
*' to send him to the monks of a neighbour- 
*^iug convent, who also did many charitable 
'M acts. But my sensibility suffered me to 
*^ think of nothing but the danger of the 
*•• wounded young man. Senden was con- 
" sequently taken into our house ; I atlend- 
',' ed him as if lie had been a brother; he- 

*' recovered; and . . . .compassion on the 
*^ one hand, and • gratitude on the other; 
*' gave birti) to a friendship, which was not' 
** long growing up to love. - 

'' Happy in each others affection, liope 
'^ and innocence never quitted us. But, O- 
^'-celestial days! v/hither are you flown? 

**• Uh'ic staid not long at the castle after 
*' his cure. Duty and decorum called. 
'' him elsewiiere. We had seen enough of 
'^ each other to be sensible that we loved, 
*' and to imagine that we should love for 
'' ever. Tv'e exchanged mutual vows. It 
*•' was necessary, that Senden should make 
*> a. (e\v more campaigns, to acquire gl-cry 
'>,atid honours ; and I 'purposed to remain 
'' at tbiC head of my brother's household, till 
"• Beatrice of Meerveldt should assume the 
*•* charge. It was agreed, that Ulric should 
'' then demand me in marriage. I could 
*Vnot suppose Conrad would refuse me to 
'' the man whom my heart should prefer. 
'* I thought, on the contrary, that his af- 
'* fcction for me would induce him to con- 


'' tribute every thing he could to our union. 
'' my happiness being too dear to him, 
^^ my will too saered, for. him to oppose 
'^ my inclinations. Besides, he was' rich,, 
'■*' and could bestow on me a portion suffi- 
** cient to compensate the scanty fortune of 
'' UJric. 

*' Vv^inter arrived. I'he expeditions of 
"• the kniglits were less frequent. My bro- 
'' ther returned to his castle. A number 
'* of waggons laden with booty fDliowed 
*' him ! and I could not help asking, whe- 
" ther it Vv'ete honestly acquired. An 
*' austere look, the first I believe he ever 
*' gave me, preceded his answer. ' Wo- 
" men,' said he, ' know nothing of the 
'' laws of war, or the privileges of nobility : 
*^ it becomes them, therefore, on such sub- 
*' jects, to be silent.' *^- 

'* I uas silent, and had soon more oc- 
** casions than one to accustom myself to 
'' it. During the winter, Conrad never 
'' quitted his castle, except that he went 
"*' sometimes to hunt in the neighbouring 

OK rL , SUN V'X. 1 5 

'* forest. His cQnip2;^vica:;^;ip, asms visited 
*' him, frequently. They, were faces 1 had 
** never seen, the rugged features of whicii 
" confined me to the soiitucle of my cham- 
'' ber. Their noisy revelry disturbed my 
'' tranquilhty by day, and my sleep by 
*' night. I ardently wished to be no longer 
" witness to this irregular life; and I wait- 
'' ed with impatience the return of the sea- 
*' son, when the knights would again take 
*' the field. Still more eagerly did I look 
*' for the moment, when Uiric should come 
''to seek his betrothed love, the good 
'* Ulric, in whose peaceful habitation I 
'' hoped to spend days that might be en- 
*' vied. 

''Conrad, who scrupled not lo profane 
'' the eves of our festivals by his de- 
*' bauchery, was engaged, on the eve of 
*' Epiphany, in a drinking party, consisting 
" of the most dissolute young men of the 
•' country. I, who considered my charms 
'' as sacred to Ulric— yes, Herman, I 
*' could then boast some charms — and who 


'' chose net to expose them to the view of 
''drunkards, was absent on this" occasion. 
" After taking care that the guests should 
** want npthing, I retired with my woriien 
*^ to the balcony which looks towards the 
** forest, that I might be out of the- leach 
*' of the frightful clamour, with which "t^e 
*' castle resounded, and enjoy the calm of a 
*^ fine winter evening. Nature ever ap- 
'' peared'to me charming even in her un- 
'^ drjess. The light of the stars was reflected 
*' by the surrounding snow. My women 
'^ shivered with cold, and I dismissed them 
'' to their beds : for my part, love and the 
*' thoughts of Ulric rendered me insensible 
'' to the rigour of the season. I thought on - 
*• the verdant alcove where I had sat by bis- ^ 
'' side ; I thought on the garland of flowers, 
''crowned with which, he was soon to ie^d 
*Vi?ie to the altar. vino t£ '' 

*' So deeply was I absorbed in my reve-' 
*' ries, that I did not at first perceive two 
'' men .who issued from the neighbouring 
'' wood and seemed to glide towards the 
"■castle. From the whiteness of the snow, 

OF -UN X A. 17 

''ihey appeared to me to be in black. I 
*' was not rash enough to deny the appa- 
*' rition of spirits, as my brother sometiniei 
'' did, and was afraid therefore, for a pio- 
'* ment, to look a second time on these ter- 
*' rifying objects. Curiosity, however, and 
*' she possession of a good conscience, gave 
'^ me courage. I rose, and looked down. 
** The men were new so near the gate I 
*' could not see t'nein* They gave three 
'' *loud knocks, that reverberated afar from 
*^ the vaulted porch and, immediately re* 
*' tiring, tliey disappeared in the forest. 

"■ The castle was instantly alarmed.- — 
*' The centinel on the tower sounded his 
^'trumpet; lights appeared on the battle- 
*^ ments ; the vaults under me resounded 
*' with the steps ol our cavaliers, who isii 
'' to open the gate. Twenty voices spoke 
** at once, so that I could not understand a 
>' word. Soon I heard my brother and his 
'^ guests: Conrad swore, his drunken com- 
*' panions laughed. My heart throbbed; I 
'' presaged some fatal event. I called up 
*' my women, and sent them to listen.— 


' They soon returned, to inform me that 

* the company was suddenly disperStdt 
' and that my brother \v2s coming to tell 
' me himself the occasion of the alarm. 

* My attendants wept, and I wept with 

* them, distressed and disquieted by anxi- 
' ous doubts, 

'' Conrad made his appearance, pale as 

* death. He informed i^e . . . GoodGod! 
' what could be more terrible?- ,» u,i^* that 
' he was cited before the secret tribtarnal of 
' Osnabruck, to gii^e an account of certain 
' actions, concerning which I liad so often 
' remonstrated with him. I tremhted, 

* though I knew not yet the extent of our 

' misfortune. My brothsr spent ' half 
' the nicrht .in disclosing to me the hor-' 
' rors of that terrrole tribunal, and 
' to convince m<^, that he could not, and 
' durst not, appear to answer the citation 
' affixed by the free judges to the gate of 
' the castle. I was of a different opinion, 
' and we parted half in anger. 

'' The day following, I threw myself in 
' tears at my brothers feet, to intreat him 

OF Ux\NA. 19 

*' to appear before hi* judges. ' Do you 
*' know what you ask?* cried he: ' nothing 
\y less than my death. What at Osnabruck 
'* is called my crime, is as certain as if it 
'^ A\'ere proved. If I were to appear, there- 
*> fore, you would never see me again ; 
*' while, on the other hand, prudence, 
'' courage, and flight, may save me." 

. '' I leave you to guess how little such a 
'^ declaration was calculated to quiet my ap- 
*' prehensions. His crime proved; iiis 
*' death certain; flight his only resource; 
*' what a melancholy situation! — My anxi- 
*' ety, and the exertions I made to l)Kd' 
'* some method of extricating hira from his 
** danger, were near depriving me of reason 
*' and of life. In the mean time, my bro- 
'^ ther went in and out of his castle freely, 
*' and without beine: disturbed. No one in- 
*^ suited him, no one said a single word to 
'' him. He soon resumed his old habits, 
'^ and the companion*? of his debaucheries 
*^ re-appeared. I myself shared his secu- 
** rity, and had almost forgotten the affair, 
'' when the free judges came a second time 


' to knock at the gate, and tFius teneWecf 
' the terror with which they had befpV64!ii- 
' spired me. ' - '"''' 

" The fear excited in me by the ap-- 
'■ pro'dching danger was this ^tiTne"' imjVc 
' acute; but it was not cf long dotation.' 
^ ]l observed tliat the sun slione on ns as 
' bright as before, and that both nature and- 
' man treated us as kindly. At lengtbthe 
' visit of these nightly disturbers, as Con- 
' rad called them, seemed to me a childish- 
' sport, and I thought little cf it, when one- 
' morning my women came to tell me, 
' that the free judges had come that night 
' for the third time, and that my brother 
' had pulled their pkcard from the gate, 
'torn it to pieces, and forbidden any one- 
' to mention it. 

'' In fact, Conrad said not a word to me 
- on the subject. Yet his anxiety and dis- 
' tress were apparent in spite of his endea- 
' vours to conceal them. I was so little 
' accus;cmed to see him in this state, that 
' I readily perceived it, and reLipsed ipto 

OF UN N A. 21 

*,* my former fears. The consequences 
*' justified them but too well. Conrad had 
''^ hitherto enjoyed his usual tranquillity, 
^^ only from the silence that was observed 
"^jrespecting hi^ misfortune : but when, by 
" the flight of one of our domestics, it be- 
" came known that he was pursued by the 
" secret tribunal, every thing assumed a dif- 
'• ferent face. At the first citation, as Iiiow 
^' learnt, the greater part of my brother's 
"' servants, v;biO were not vassals attached to 
" tlie glepe, gaye notice that th^ey should 
'' qjfit; him, and it was only by dint of 
'' prc^mises snd RT^^^^^'^^'^^'*^'^ '^^ retained 
'■irfi^.^Ai'' V iJPyt after th^s -third ; citatic i^. qo- 
" thirng), could, iaduce them to sCav. Even 
'* my. womeu'left me, one only excepted. 
'' The neighbouring ladies avoided meet- 
'' ing me, and Beatrice of Mcerveldt, on 
'' v;hose faith Conrad had placed the (irraest 
"■ confidence, gave Inm to understand, that 
*' she i-enoiinced his alliance. 

''• ' It is ever with me,' said Conrad, one 
" day, as I entered his chamber, on 



*' sending for me: * behold the fourth cita- 
" tion! The free judges affixed it to the 
'' gate of the castle in open day, and took 
'* away with them three stones from the 
" wall. I am condemned if I do not ap- 
'' pear; and if I do, I shall never see you 
" more, till we meet in eternity. I must 
*■' be gone, my sister: have pity on me, 
'' and do not abandon me, as others have 
''done: favour my escape, conceal it as 
'' long as you can, and then fly yourself." 
*' Remain with me during this terrible in- 
"terval; remain, Alicia, or I shall be 
'' forced first to pierce thy heart, and then 
'^ niy own.' 

*' ' Fly? abandon you !' cried I^ in tears. 
'•'■ Alas! I will follow you, if you wish it: 
'' I will share your fate, though .... 
" though I partook not in your crimes. 

''Ah, do not reproach me! No: you 
'' have committed no crime, but, on the 
'' contrary, have often v/arned me of mine. 
'' Yet, Alicia, do not reproach me, or you 
" will drive me to despair. 

OF UXNA. 23 

. '' The situation of my .brother was de- 
*' plorable. It filled me at once with fear, 
' pity, and an extreme, but painful tender- 
' ness. He seemed to think only of me ; I 
' appeared to be his only consolation; and 
' he would not lose me a moment from 
' his sight, accompanying me wherever I 
' was obliged to go to make the necessary 
' preparations for his journey. 
_, *' They were soon completed. I packed 
*np all the jewels he given me, that 
' they might be a resource to him in his 
^ need. I would keep no part of those 
Vtreaj^ures, which had perhaps cost my 
' brotiier the happiness of his life. 

'' Conrad, at his departure, embraced 
' me Vv'ith the tenderest affection. He ia- 
' mented his being obliged to leave me 
' without any kind of protection. ' Wliy,' 
• said he, ' was I not allowed hrst to place 
' thee in the hands of a wcithy husband V 
' But thy beauty, thy virluer, thy atlach- 
' ment to a brother forsaken by all th.e 
' v.-orld, of which thou hast given such 


* striking proofs, will gain thee a thousand 
' hearts, and thou mayest yet be happy,* 

" ' How !' answered I, weeping, ' can I 
' tliink of love and marriage, while you are 
' unfortunate? Hear me, my brother. I 
' swear by all that is most sacred, that, 
'■ even if I knew lbie man who was one day 
' to become my husband, I would refuse 
^ him my hand, till I was assured of your 
' safety, your happiness.' 

'' ' Do not, my dear sister, do not enter 
' into so rash an engagement. You have 
' need of a protector. There is nothing I 
' so ardently wish, as that you were at- 
' tached to a man of honour, and that he 
' was here at this moment that I might in- 
' stantly confide you to his care.' 

^' The colour came into my face, and I 
' dared not answer. I thought of Ulric, 
' lately returned from a campaign in Italy, 
' vyhom I expected every day. * Why,' 
' thought I, with a sigh, ' docs he not now 
' make his appearance? Could they but 

• meet !' 

OF UNNA. 25 

'' ' I request but one favour,' said Con- 
*' rad, embracing me again, ' one single fa- 
" vour: do not give your hand to one of 
*' my persecutors; you are too good, too 
*' handsome, to become the prey of a de- 
*' mon!' 

'' I promised what he wished, and we 
'' tore ourselves from each other's arms. — 
*' Perhaps we had already wasted too much 
"time; in our critical situation every mo- 
** ment was precious. 

*' Weeping I returned to my chamber, 
*' and there found consolation: Mv dear 
*' Ulric had sent me an express, who had 
*' entered while I was accompanying my 
*' brother by a private way out of the 

'' ' O!' cried I, ' where is thy master? 
*' Why was he not here an hour sooner, 
'' if, as I hope, he is in the neighbour- 
'' hood?' 

'''He is coming, madam; he will be 
" here in a moment; he begs to speak to 
" you in private; and requests you will ad- 
" mit him by the back gate.' 
Vol. III. C 


, " 'Does he come that way!' replied,!, 
''with joy: ' then he will mee.t; n^)fj-,|iTO- 
''• ther; he will see him, and may speak to 
"him of our love! — Does h^jJ^no^Y ^^y 

" brother:' ^>]:.Um.i^. k nil "I " 

" 'No:' said the man, with a look of 
" alarm: ' No, madam, I believe not. — 
" But has Mr. Langen indeed taken the 
" road which my master is coming?' ,^ 

" ' Yes, yes; they must meet. ,^,^ i£ 
" they do but know, if they do not miss 
" each other!'' 

" ' But your brother, is he not pursued 
" by the secret tribunal?' 

",;' What a question !' replied I. " Would 
" you . , . . but no : I cannot suspect a. 
" confident of Ulric." 

" ' I must leave you, I must leave you,* 
".cried the servant, ' I must hasten to pre- 
" vent a misfortune.' 

" I saw him depart, more dead than 
" alive with fear. ' What is he going to 
"dor' thought I: 'To prevent a misforr 
" tune, or to commit a treachery? .... Yet, 

OF UNNA. 27 

*^' he is a servant of Ulric . . . . Ko: he 
'' cannot be a traitor. Is he not the sole 
'* confident of our loves? th.e sole messenger 
'' of our secrets ? Have I ever remarked in 
^' him a suspicious action'.* 

'' I vv.^lked backwards and foivv:.rJs in 
"my chamber in agitation inconceivable. 
'' Now I ran to the window, then to tlie 
'' door, to see if Ulric were coming .... 
'' ' Where can he stay*' said 1 . . . . * DA 
'''' rrot his messenger say, that he v;oiiid be 
*' here in a moment :* 

'* Evening came, but no Ulric. I v.a.5 
*' sitting in my chamber alone, without 
'^ light, and giving up myself wholly to my" 
*' grief, vv'hen suddenly the door opened; a 
^ man appeared; 1 should have taken him 
'^ for Ulric from his figure, which I could 
'-'■ yet distinguish, notwithstanding the dark- 
*' ness, and from the palpitation of my 
" heart the moment he entered, had he not, 
*' instead of running to throw himself at my 
" feet, advanced gently a few steps, then 
C 2 


"■again drawn back, and, leaning against the 
'* wall, turned his face from me. 

*' ' Who are your' said I, with a tre- 
'' mulous voice. 

" A siGfh was the only answer I XQ- 
'^ ceived. . ,1, ;.,/>.- 

'* ' Is it not you, Uiric? added I; and I 
'^ ran to him with open arms. ' Yes, it is : 
" that sigh betrays you.* 

'^ ' Retire, madam, retire : d.o not touch 
** me ; my bands are stained with blood.' 
,^^^^J^'g^' With blood! Alas, Ulric, you are 
^*-^\vounded ! Help! Help!' 

, *^ ' No, I am not wounded; but have 
*'^^ inflicted .a wound,' said he, with a furi- 
r",ous tone. 

*^ •" And whom have you wounded? 
** asked I, trembling. 

*^ ' Your brother, whom his cruel fate 
*' delivered into my hands.* 

'' My waiting woman, who had heard 
'* me cry for help, now entered w^ith a light. 
*^' Ulric and I stood facing each other, living 
" pictures of the deepest despair. My 

OF UNNA. 29 

** countenance spoke my feelings: his was 
' pale and^wan, he had a sword in his 
^' hand, and was covered with blood. 

"■ ' My brother!' replied!, after a long 
** silence: 'my brother! The blood then 
'* witli which thy hands are polluted is Con- 
*' rad's? Wretch that thou art, what has ini- 
'' pclled thee to the perpetration of so black 
"■ a deed? 

*'*Alas! dire necessity. I am bound 
'' by a lerribie oath.* 

"- ' Necessity compel thee to assassinate 
** my brother! .... Oh, villain!' 

*' ' Ah, why did I encounter him! Why 
** did you send him to meet me? You 
"^ knew that I sought to avoid him; did not 
'^ my messenger tell you so?* 

'' M'^our messeger! Necessity! a terri- 
** ble oath!' cried I, without knowing what I 
*^ said, and I fell senseless into the arms of 
*' my servant. 

'^ When I came to myself Ulric was 
*' gone. The maid who supported me said, 
'' that he hid muttered some unintelligible 
C 3 



'' v;-ords, and at last rclired, declaring, iL li 
'' he would ju:^ti fy himself, and I should be 
'* forced to Dardon hirn. 

'' ' Pardon l;im ! . . . Pardon him tlie 
••'- death of my brother!* :.:-j.y>Us /lltsig ' 

*' I passed the night in the^Hn^st'dpe^d'-*- 
'' ful 2g-t?.tion. The impossibility of de- 
'^ veloping this inextricable labyrinthi almost 
*^ distracted me. Morning brought new 
^'■'gri-eft. 'A T'e^^iort'was spread^ that Canrad 
'' Ijad been urve^sted nmv hit. muh by the 
'' free judges, and conducted to the prison 
^'-of Osnabruck. 

i^>.A'.:/\ eold sweat bedewed my face, vlien 
*^ I'h&ard the fatal news. A iemhh 
**^^m3''stery began to unfold itself to my eye?, 
*^^arid the pressure of my griefs almost reJi- 
•>dered me insensible. 

l;rr. ..*vUlric's servant, w}}o a few hours af:er 
^*>tequested to be admitted to my piesence, 
fVicOnverted ray conjectures into certainty. 
^*''He would not avow, that his master was a 
*'-ftiembef of the secret tribunal; their oath, 
'^-you kno'AV obliges them to secresy on that 

OF UNNA. 31 

*' head ; but the circumstances lie related, 
*' to justify Ulric, proved it too clearly. 

*' He owned that his master had heard 
'* of my brother's misfortune, had been 
" greatly affected by it, bad sworn to carry 
*' me away secret]?, with or without my con- 
'* sent, and that, resolved to avoid Conrad, 
'' and di-sp!aying the greatest apprehension 
** of meeting him on the road, he had sent 
'* (hi5 servant before, in order to prevent 
*' the interview he dreaded. 

*' '• But his dealiiiy,' added the servant, 
^' rendeied all these precautions vain, by 
'' f hi owing Conrad in i:is way. My master 
''■ knew hi^i n.ot : but seeing a cavalier com- 
''' ing from the castle, l:e suspected it to be 
'* your bro'Jicr, and deemed it not incom- 
" pUible wi h his duty to turn back, and 
'' th'-.s civoid t!ie sad nece.?sity of attacking 
"- him. He hid himself in the wood^ let 
'' Conrad pass, and then resumed his way, 
** hoping to arrive quietly at the castle, 
"- when another person appeared, v/ith wliom 
** he wa=: also unacquainted, but who soon 
C 4 


' made himself known' in a' mannef,^1%at 
' threw Uiric into the greatest consterria- 

* tion. He whispered in his ear the com- 
•• mission with which he was charged; de- 

* daring at the same time that, alone, he 
' was too weak to execute it, and therefore 
' claimed his assistance. My niaster 
'started some difficulties; when the 
' stranger uttered certain words that com- 

* pelled him to follow. They went toge- 

* ther, and found your brother and ano- 
' ther knight reposing under a tree. This. 
' knight seems to have been led there by 

* chance, and probably knew not with 

* whom he was in company ; yet he thought 
^ himself obliged in honour to take the 

* part of a man attacked by two at once. — 

* They fought ; my master and his com- 
Vrade were victors; your brother's second 
^' was put to flight, and himself, after be- 
'• ing severely wounded, was made prisoner, 
' and conveyed to Osnabruck.' 

"' Ulric, as his domestic assured me, 
' behaved nobly in the combat. He re- 

OF UNNA. 33 

*' fused to assist in conducting Conrad to 
*' prison, and hastened to me, to confess 
*' the crime he had been obHged to commit, 
*' and implore my pardon. I answered, I 
*' had no pardon to grant him, he might 
''possibly have acted agreeably to his cruel 
**.duty, but it was no longer permitted me 
*' to think of a man through whom my 
'' brother was about to die an infamous 
'• death; I had vowed beside never to be 
" the wife of one of his persecutors, and . . \ 
*■ we were separated for evex^^,j^J. desired 
"■ the servant to impart this to his master. 

'' Uiric came to me, to convince me of 
*' his innocence. Our interview was pain-. 
'' f)^!.. Love^and duty assailed me by turns;. 
" but duty conquered, and Ulric was for 
'' ever banished from my sight. 

'' I shall pass over the regret I, perhaps, . 
" afterwards felt, respecting the conduct I 
'' had pursued on this occasion, particularly 
*' when my brother had escaped from pri- 
'* son, and a more perfect acquaintance 
"• with the terrible oath, which obliged Ul- 
C 5 



*'' rlc and his comrades to commit sucii 
'' acts of savage barbarity, had taught me 
'^ to excuse him. 

'' Before the period arrived, when I 
*' might have indulged such regret, I was 
" become the wife of Bernard, and Ulric 
" the husband of Catherine. These double 
'' ties forbad us ever to think of each other, 
'' and nothing was left for us but to forget 
*' the past. 

'-'- Having recited these circumstances, I 
" need not tell you, that your situation re- j 
'^ called most painfully to my mind these 
*' early events of my life; and that I had 
'' sufficient reason to warn you not to con- 
*' tract an intimacy with Ulric. I knew 
*'him: I was aware of the rigour of his 
" duty ; and I could not but fear, what has 
'' since happened, a repetition ^of my bro- 
*' ther s catastrophe." 

'' Thanks, thanks to that fate," cried 
" Herman, pressing the hand of Alicia to 
his heart, '^ which has made you my sister- 
^' in-law, and has willed, that, though I was 

OF UNNA. 35 

" deaf to your counsel, I should still owe 
"- my life to you. 

'^ Poor young man," replied she, '' how 

» *^ did I wish, that my fears, my terrors, on 

?• *' your account, might be the means of 

O"*' sparine; vou the smallest of your sufFer- 

s'** ings! Meanwhile I too ought to thank 

*' Heaven for having given me a brother 

"• like you, and that I have at least found 

" in my husband's family one man wliom 

' I can really esteem .... indepenaently 

''of him, to whom my respect and attach- 

" ment are due." 

These last words did not escape Herman. 
" He perceived that Alicia's attention to her 
husband were founded solely on a senti- 
ment of duty, attachment, and the gratitude 
with which his tenderness^must naturally in- 
spire a mind such as her's. He could not, 
therefore, avoid asking how she had become 
his wife, 

" *-My brother's affairs,* answered she, 
" ' were in a bad state. Such of his posses- 
*' sions as were entailed, were vested in the 


*Miand$ of trustees, and a guardian was 
'' appointed me. This guardian was your 
*^ brother. You may guess the rest. He 
*' took a liking to me, and asked my hand. 
'* I was poor, forlorn, separated from my 
^* lover, and .... I married him. :^^fnid '^ 
*' Nothing has disturbed our union. — ^ 
*' Gratitude has supplied the place of love 
'* in my heart; and my husband's senti- 
** ments for me have been powerfully sup* 
'^ ported by the vanity of having become 
*' the protector of an unfortunate orphan • 
*' and by the universal applause bestowed 
*' on his choice. 1 have been happy 
''enough to conceal from him, and from 
'' all the world, my first attachment, and 
'*' to prevent any .misunderstanding be- 
'^ tween him and my former lover. My 
*' conduct has been such, that I have never 
•' received from your brother the smaljest 
*' reproach. Soon after my marriage, 
♦* Ulric became my brother-in-law : how 
V* distressing therefore would it have been, 


' had I given cause for suspicion,, .or 
' distrust!" -^ '?^'-Moq'7f ^^ 

'* But there is one circumstance, that is 
' still a mystery," said Herman. '• How 
> was it possible for Ulric so soon to console 
' himself? And how, after having lost an 
' Alicia, could he wed a Catherine?" 

'' With that I am little acquainted," an- 
' swered Alicia : '' yet, I will tell you 
' what I know, and what are my conjec- 
' tures. Catherine of Unna, having an in- 
' superable aversion to the life of a cloister 

* to which she was destined, imagined that 
' the surest way of escaping her impend- 
' ing fate v/ould be to have recourse to the 
' enemy of her family, the old count of 
' Unna. This protector of the oppressed 
' received her with open arms; he thought 
' her ill-used, that she had sufficient rea- 

* son to complain, and promised to find 
' her a husband. It was at his house she 

* became acquainted with Mr. de Senden. 
' At that time the features of Catherine 
' were more agreeable than at present; and 


'' she had the art^r concealing the defects j 
'^ of her mind. ! 

'' The heart of Ulric breathed nothing ; 
'■'■ but revenge, for the change that had .1 
" taken place in my sentiments respecting 1 
" l]im. He probably thought he should J 
" give me pain, by marrying my sister-in- 
'"* law, and thus become as it were a living 
''reproach in my eyes, of what he had 
*' termed my inconstancy. In his marriage 
** he unhappily found his own punishment ; 
" as you may judge from the manner' m ' ^ 
*'- which it was effected. The count of 
'' Unna was too warmly atUched to Ulric, 
" and knew too well the disposition of Ca- 
'" therine to disapprove the match. He 
'' married tliem, liowever, at his •earn'est 
*' entreaty, ^ and then left them to the>ir 
'' fate./ "' 

OF UNNA.- 33- 


HERMAN was not perfectly satisfied 
?with the explanation Alicia had given of 
certain particulars in her narrative; but it 
would not, he thought, have been decorous 
openly to have confessed it. His first dif- 
ficulties related to the marriage of Cathe- 
rine; the next to that part of Alicia's story 
winch respected the mysteries of the secret 
tribunal; mysteries, that are now become, 
in many respects, unfathomable, and of 
which tlie documents that have reached us 
afford but little information. 

Ulric of Senden was a principal object 
of his reflections. The unhappy adventure 
of the oaks had not extinguished in the 
heart of Herman the inclination he had 
previously felt for his brcther-in-law. — 
Though the event had nearly cost him his 
life, it lowered not Ulric in his eyes, but 
increased his esteem for him. Even his be- 


haviour towards Conrad, was, in his opi-. 
nion, easily justified. A inan,.,w(ljo Lad 
the courage to sacrifice his dearest inclina- 
tions to his supposed duty, deserved, as he 
thought, respect and admiration, or at 
least compassion. No doubt he judged er-., 
roneousiy, or at least extended his maxim, 
too far; but he lived in an age that must 
have inspired notions diiTerent from ours. ., 

Alicia, at heart, perhaps, more attac|jed ] 
to Senden than she had avowed,^ wajBylitijer - 
qualified to rectify the judgment of Herman >- 
on this occasion: she endeavoured, how- _] 
ever, to divert him from his project of cop- _ 
tinuing to seek the friendship of Ulric, ^P4iii 
tG,'tGpnvince him, that no intimacy coi^ld.^^^ ^ 
subsist between them, while the sentence,p£^ 
the secret tribunal remained in force. . -f _ 

'' But he loves me," said Herman, in- ^^ 
terrupting.her; '' he himself declared, at 
*' the dreadful moment, that his heart was . 
"irresistibly drawn towards mine .... 
'' Can he suppose that he has not already 
'* sufficiently fulfilled his cruel duty by 

OF v^^'^a: 41 

'' ifSbfdbcf 'he has shed; and that he may 
*' not henceforward live in friendship 
** with me?'* 

'' Do as you please,'* answered Alicia, 
with a sigh: ^' take it not ill of njc, how- 
*' ever/ if I never leave yon a single mo- 
'* iiient alone; and if when I cannot 
*' watch you myself, I appoint others ta 
** supply my place." 

Herman availed himself of the first in- 
stant of his perfect recovery, to visit Ulric. 
Joy sparkled in the eyes of Senden, when 
he beheld our young hero cured of his 
wound, though it was obscured by a tear. 
He advanced to meet him with open arms,, 
as if he would have pressed him to his 
bosom: but, recollecting himself, this 
cordial reception was exchanged for a cold 
and formal bow. 

^' Is it then impossible," cried Herman, 
*'• to move thy heart in my favour? Have 
'' I not been able, though at the price of 
'' my blood, to purchase thy friendsiup?" 


Ulric turned aside to conceal his emo'- 
tion. '' One dey, perhaps," answered he, 
pressing his hand; ''one day, perhaps 
''.... but at present it is impossible. — 
*' Believe me, I am more unfortunate 
'^ than yourself." 

Alicia, who was present, turned the 
conversation to Herman's adventure near 
Fritzlar; and he related, in a manner so 
clear, the false appearances which had 
occasioned him to be accused of the muf* 
der of duke Frederic ; and the motives 
which had induced the tribunal of princes 
at Nuremberg to pronounce him inno- 
eent,; ^ that tiie least suspicion respecting 
him could not remain. Ulric begged him 
not to forget tl^e cause of his flght, and 
t^he business that had brought him into 
this part of the world; and, v/hen Herman- 
hvid fully satisfied him on this subject, Sen- 
den fell into a profound reverie, from 
which the conversation of Alicia and our 
knight, could with difficulty rouse him.. 

'' Herman," said he, at length, " con- 
'^ sider, that I am not thy judge, if I 

OF UNNA. 43 

»* were, heaven knows hov/ favourable I 
'^ should perhaps be to thee!" 

'' You must, you shall be my judge I'' 
cried Herman, "- and tell mc, what you 
'' think in your heart of my character and 
'' situation I"" 

'' For God's sake," rcpliedUIric, "• speak 
"■ no mere to me of thing", respecting 
'* v/Jn"ch I am forbidden to be explicit." 

These last words vexed Alicia, and made 
Hermrui hsd. Tliey parted from Ulric. 
Bernard returned from Engelradhig ,• the 
time for confidential interviews was past; 
they met only at table. Herman, who felt 
his strength renewed, grew tired of re- 
mainincj longrer at the castle. lie reflected 
on his business with the old count of Unna; 
he had been obliged to suspend it but too 
lon^, and he hasrened to depart. 

Madam Unna, advised hini not to in- 
form her husband that he Vvas going to visit 
the enemy of their family; but, as the 
abbess of Marienhagen knew his design^ 
it was no secret to Bernard. Evaty ima- 


gi liable means were employed tb' raxfuce 
him to renaunce his intention. Bernard 
represented to him the disgrace it wotild". 
be, to demand succour and protection of 
the count, while he had such a brother as 
himself. Ursula cited the story of Cathe- 
rine, v^ho had formerly had recourse to the 
old gentleman, without obtaining.any thing, 
from him, but the hand of a man who loved 
her not. They went so far even as to in- 
vent numberless obstacles .to hinder Her- 
man from executing his design : but he re- 
mained unshaken in his resolution, and dis- 
appointed them all, by departing in the 
night, without taking leave of them. He 
ran, however, to bid adieu to the good 
nuns of Ub£rwasser, and thence repaired in 
haste to the castle of Senden, to embrace 
the children of Catherine. 

Uiric, who was perfectly cured, had 
quitted Plettenburg before Herman. The 
latter hoped to find his brother-in-law at 
home, and have a friendly interview with 
him; but he was. told by Catherine, that 

OF UNNA. 45 

he bad set out on a journey the evening be- 
fore, and that she had reason to beHeve, he 
was gone to the old count of Unna. 
-], At every inn where he stopped, Kerman 
found his sister's supposition confirmed. 
Ulric had regularly preceded him a few 
hours, and when he entered the castle of 
Unna, he perceived some of Senden's at- 
tendants in the court. 

At first he knew not what to think of 
the circumstance : but the ingenuousness of 
his. own. mind, scon removed his apprehen- 
sions. Ulric might have business with the 
count of Unna, as well as himself; in- 
4<^cd, this^ must necessarily be the case, 
^i)€ count being the chief of the secret tri- 
bunal in that district, and Senden one of 
the free judges. -iijgtij ^iIj Oi oUh6 

In those days it had not- yet bccomV 
customary to dance attendance for days to- 
gether in a great man's antichamber, v/ith- 
ont obtaining an audience. He who first 
arrived, was first introduced. Herman, 


therefore, was no sooner announced;^^ than' 
admitted. He entered, and fouud'Ulric at 
the doer. --^ c^coq^i^ 

The place rendered any convefsatron 
between them impossible. They embraced, 
indeed, as they passed ; but this embrace 
v;as so cold on the pnrt of Senden, that 
Herman was struck with it, and could not 
help suspecting the nature of the motive 
that had brought him to Unna. 

The old count, whose locks were white 
as snow, but whose eyes were animated 
v/ith all the lire of youth, cast on Herman, 
as he entered, a severe and penetrating 
look. '' Who are you, young man?" said 
he, with solemn gravity. 

The venerable aspect of the count, and 
the air of dignity imprinted on all his 
features, impelled Herman, as he named 
himself, to bow before him niore pro- 
foundly than he had been wont to kings 

'-'- What is your business?" 

'' To demand justice." 


OF UNNA. 47 

'' Rash youth ! For the murderer of 
'' diike Frederic, to demand justice, is to 
'' expose himself to the danger of losing his 
'' head." 

"■ I am not the murderer of duke Fre- 
'' deric." 

'' Prove it." 

'* My own heart, and this testimony of 
■*\ the duke of Austria, are my proofs." 

*' The first, thine heart, I am unable 
■**, to read ; and the second is insufiicient. — 
'* The duke of Austria was not present 
'* wlien the crime was committed." 

• God then, whose eye was alike open 
" both on the assassin and on me: him I 
*' call to witness. * 

'■'' Appearances are against you? ' 
*' What an equitable judge, perhaps him- 
*' self, to be determined by appearances !'* 

''I sit not here as your judge." 
, *' Be so then, as my friend, as the -friend 
*' of innocence oppressed." 

'' As your relation, if you please; as a 
*' person, who wishes to see you justified. 
'' But, why so dilatory, young man, in 


*' having recourse to me. I perceive an 
*' irresolution in your conduct which 
" agrees not with innocence. I have been 
'' informed that you came purposely to ask 
*' my advice; but that, feeling it too irk- 
'' some to wait my return, you thought 
" proper to resort to persons whom I hate, 
'*' with whom you had hitherto lived your- 
'' self on bad terms, and with whom you 
*' have now, it seems, suddenly become re- 
'* conciled. Their hatred would have re- 
*' commended you more effectually than 
'; their friendship ; they are a cursed race, 
*' from which there has not sprung a single 
*' individual worthy of esteem, for two ge- 
'' nerations." 

'' My lord, they are my brothers and 
*' sisters." 

'' Yes, unfortunately; but, for that, 
*' you would be more welcbme'to me." 

••'Can the count of Unna, the chief of 
** the first tribunal in the world, give 
"judgment so partially? Beside, there are 

OF UNNA. 49 

'* in my family an Agnes and a Petronilla, 
'' an Alicia of Langen, and an Ulric of Sen- 
"- den." 

"■ leave the women to themselves ; 
'* they enter not into the account; and as 
'^ to Ulric of Senden . . . ." 

'■'■ Upon my honour," said Herman, in- 
terrupting him, and lifting his hands to 
heaven, '* I believe him to be the noblest 
*^ of human being^s." 

"• What he whose murderous sword, had 
'* nearly deprived you of life !" 

*' He did his duty No doubt I 

*' am hated by him ; perhaps even pur- 
*' sued by him hither. Yet I cannot but 
*' love him." 

The count was silent, cast down his eyes, 
and appeared deeply absorbed in thought. 
** Yes," replied he, '' after a long interval, 
*' Ulric has been with me; he has said a 
" great deal concerning you, and has oc- 
*' casioned no small alteration in the recep- 
'* tlon I should have given you .... You 
Vol. hi. D 


" may wlthdi-aw : when I have need of .your :| 
*' presence I will send for you." _ j^ij.^ 

Herman retired, his heart filled with a 
lliousand different sensations. 

'' Beware, however, of flying," xried 
the count of Unna, as he went cut : '^ your 
" pursuers are every Vv^here." 

'' Flying!" replied Herman, with a tone 
of contempt: '•'■ innocence cannot fly." 

Thus ended an audience, from which so 
much had been expected, and on which the 
duke of Austria had built every hope for 
his favourite. In the count, Herman 
descried nothing but the haughty relation, 
^the prejudiced judge, whose good disposi- 
tion towards him he suspected had been 
poisoned by perfidious manoeuvres. 

"Fie. has said a great deal concerning 
*' me! he has occasioned no small change 
*' in my reception !'' said Herman to him- 
*' self. " xA.h! Ulric, Uiric! I could par- 
'^ don thee the shedding my blood, but 
" these false imputations against me, to a 
*^ man on whom I placed all my hope ! — 

OF UNNA. "51 

'' No: this I cannot pardon . . . .Thy 
'' duty may require thee to deprive me of 
"- life; but what laws could oblige thee to 
*' slander me r" 

In the evening, Herman was sent for by 
"^Ibe count of Unna. 

*' You no doubt know what you ought 
'■' to think of Senden," said the count. 

'' Plitherto I did not know : I have now 
c*-* learnt." 

*' You must speak to me ingenuously ; 
^'* explain yourself therefore .... Do you 
"'' think he has completely fulfilled his duty 
*■'' towards you?" 

V' I know not, precisely, of vvhat nature 
*.'* are the duties which he and his colleagues 
'' are bound to fulfill. 

■^ '' Relate to me circumstantially wliat 
" passed between you in the forest. Tell 
'' me on what terms you lived together be- 
" fore, and how he has treated you since. 
^' You have no reason to spare him: he did 
•*' not spare you." 
D 2 


Herman related the story as desired. — 
The count shook his head. '' This is^Hor- 
*' rible," said he: '' and he did not^'v^rn 
'^ you of the danger that threatened you? 
" Did not give you the least hint to induce 
*■• you to avoid him V" 

'^ He could not warn me, I imagine, 
'' without breaking the oath by which he is 
" bound." 

'-'• Yet, if he loved you, if he pitied 
*^ you, as you then imagined, it seems to 
" me he ought to have cautioned you." 

'' I considered his action as the greatest 
'' sacrifice he could make to his severe, his 
*'■ cruel duty. I thought in reality that he 
"loved me, and that it was with painful 
'' reluctance he plunged his poniard into 
*' my bosom : yet, now that he has been 
*' capable of calumniating me, that he has 
'' sought to alienate from m.e the heart of 
''my respected relation! . . ." 

'■'■ This is foreign to the purpose. One 
'^ question more. It is said you were both 
** wounded . . . .They w^ere probably those 

OF UNNA. 53 

'V slight sort of wounds, made by mutual 
V' agreement. People are at hand, ready 

.*> stationed to assist the wounded; the 
*'<,wpunds are bound up; and the parties 
** imagine they have fulfilled all that ho- 
** nour prescribes to them." 

Herman began again tlie recital of his 
terrible adventure. He described Uiric's 
previous self-conflict in the most affecting 
manner, and the violence he seemed to 
have done himself, in drenching his sword 
in his brother's blood ; and he finished with 
shewing the scar that remained in his side. 
V Large as this is," added lie, ''Sendeu 
\\ spared himself still less ; he seemed de- 
■'j_* sirous of reaching the grave before him 
*'. whom he conceived himself obliged to 
'' send thither, that he might not witness 
*' his last moments. His life long held by 

/' a single thread, when mine was already 
*' out of danger." 

'' His wound, then, was actually inflicted 
'' by his own hand, not by ycur's?" 



- *' By mine! could I possibly have lifted 
'' my hand against my dear Ulric!" : ijjo.i 

*' This is too horrible!" exclaimed tihei 
count, clasping his hands together: *' A 
*' fratricide, and a suicide! Behold the ter- ^ 
*' rible consequences of a justice which is ^ 
*' said to be the semblance of that of hea- 
'* ven! .... Wretched mortals! when will 
'* ye shake off these cruel chains?, . . 

'* Herman, my son, my dear son! 

^' Ulric of Senden, my friend, the un- 
*' happy victim of thy duty! . . . Embrace 
'* each other! your differences are for ever 
'^JSian end!'V 

As he said these words, the count open- 
ed a door, that was by his side. Uiric 
rushed forward, and closely folded Herman 
In his arms *' My brother! my friend!'' 
cried i.e: '' At length I can give utterance 
'* to thy feelings : I dare speak what I think 

Herm?.n steed as if petriaed. He com- 
prehended nothing of wha: he saw, or what 

OF UNNA. 55 

he beard, andwas undeLermined whether he 
should return the caresses he received from 

*' Young man," resumed the count, you 
**~are ignorant of wliat has been going for- 
'^ ward here to-day. You do not suspect, 
*' perhaps, that you and your friend have 
*^ been put to a most dangerous proof. — 
'' The Hfe of one, and my good opinion of 
" the other, were at stake: but- your de- 
'' position has saved both. Ulric of Sen- 
*^ den, who had already been accused of not 
*•' having properly discharged his duty, as 
** an instrument of secret vengeance, in the 
*' affair of Conrad of Langen, was charged 
*' with having failed in it a second time with 
" regard to you. It was said, that he had 
** cautione-d you, and given you arms to 
'* defend yourself ; that he had wounded 
'•'' you only to save appearances, and had, 
"' for the same reason, been wounded him- 
'' self. Such faults, alas ! to v/iiich hu- 
'' manity ought to give another name, are 
'' punished bv us with death. The con- 
D 4 


"• duct of UJric gave a plausible face to the' 
'' accusation. He arose, and contested in 
** the secret tribunal the sentence that had 
*' been passed on you; he defended' your 
'' innocence, and even demanded leave to 
*^ resign his place, to be divested or the sad 
*' dignity of executioner of the divine ven--^ 
" geance, that he might live with you in 
*' brotherly amity. Upon this he was con- 
*' deraned. For my part, I trembled at' 
*^ the injustice committed under the sacred 
*' name of our tribunal. I insisted on an 
'^ inx^estigation of the affair. Your arrival 
"" afforded me a favourable opportunity of 
'' discovering the truth. "■ Some words 
^* that I let fall gave you reason to suppose 
*' that Uiric had flandered you to me. The 
*' displeasure this excited in your mind re- 
'* moves every suspicion of your partiality 
^^ in his favour. You answered my studied 
'* questions without preparation; and your 
'* answers agree with his. Thus Ulric is 
''justified; and, as a reward for 
''• his ingenuousness, obtains the liberty of 


OF UNNA. 57 

*' being in future the friend of his brother- 
'' in-law without any apprehension, as the 
'' resignation of the latter will be accepted 
'' without difficulty." 

'' And will not Herman, too, be justi- 
*^ fied?" said Ulric, who held the hand of 
the young knight in his own. 

'' I ardently wish it: but, alas! what I 
"■ have learnt from you respecting him, 
"• though demonstration in my eyes, is not 
" so in those of others; and he must be- 
'' take himself to flight. Time renders 
*' possible thingsthat at present can scarcely 
"' be expected. One important circumstance, 
'' however, I have discovered from you, 
*' my dear Ulric : it is, that beside Kunz- 
" man, who at his death declared Herman 
'' an accomplice in his crime, two or three 
'' others engaged in the murder of duke 
"• Frederic were seen, who, perhaps de- 
'' signedly, have not been sought after with 
'' sufficient diligence. God knows how an 
"' enquiry into this important point came to 
'* be neglected when judgment was given! 


58^ HERMAN. 

*'.... But vengeance will overtake those 
*' villains, and their depositions will con- 
" firm or contradict that of Kunzman, and 
*' show where lies the truth." 

" They will be found to contradict it," 
cried Herman, '* or I am not worthy of 
** being related^ to the noble count of 
'' Unna." 

" I trust that you are worthy of it. — 
*' You shall be my relation, nay, my son, 
'' if time justify you in the eyes of the 
" world, as you are already justified in 
^^ mine." 

OF UNNA. 59 


THE two ftiends quitted the count to 
enjoy their happiness in retirement. 

'' Thou wert my defender to the count, 
''then; and not my accuser!" said Her- 
man as soon as he had a little recovered 
from his surprise. 

'' Could the generous Herman suspect 
^' his Ulric of treachery?" 

'*' From this moment then, I may call 
'' thee my brother, my friend. Thou wilt 
'' no longer persecute oppressed innocence; 
'' thou wilt no longer shut thy ears to the 
'' voice of truth." 

'' Did I ever shut them to it? No : the 
'' truth and thy innocence stood confessed 
'^^ to my sight. Thus a mortal terror seized 
'^ me, vv'hen I saw thee adorned with every 
*' manly grace, asking my friendship, con- 
" fiding in my honour with all thy native. 
'' frankness, while, on the other hand, a,^ 


^' voice within me whispered: ' the judges 
** have condemned, and thou must kill him.' 
'' Incessantly was I pursued by thine image, 
*' now pale and bloody, then smiling and 
'' begging mercy of me . . My heart 'was 
** oppressed, my reason wavered: a thou- 
" sand times was I tempted to kill myself 
" alone; but I was compelled to act as I 
"'did. — Let us, however, forget what is 
''past; the chains are broken; thou ha^t 
** pardoned me; jand we are!: 
•* ever.":'' nro{\ bv' — -^Trjt 

The joy felt by Herman, at having 
gained a place in so noble a heart, increased 
asUlric spoke; but his friend became si;l<§.i^ 
all at once and thoughtful. a^ib 

" Leave me," said he at length, *' I 
^* forgot, that, till night, till the free judges , 
'* meet, I shall not be released from mjf 
*' oath; and that in the mean time our 
" situation remains as before." 

Herman smiled at the extreme exact- 
ness of his brother-in-law, and left him in 
•ider to prepare for his journey, which the 

OF UXN'A. 61 

count had so strongly recommended to him 
to hasten, and which was no otherwise dis- 
agreeable than as it bore the odious appel- 
lation of flight. 

What passed in the secret tribunal with 
respect to Ulric of Senden, in what manner 
h^ wa5 dismissed from that great and myste- 
rious society,'- which had extended its em- 
pire over half Europe, and how he was di- 
vested both of tiie will and the power. of 
taking a part in its transactions for the fu- 
ture, remained concealed from Herman : 
and when afterwards, in their confidential 
foments, he put some questions on the 
subject to Ulric, Ulric looked at him with 
displeasure, and imposed silence-oaiiim. 

* The secrecy maintained in the society of the invi- 
sibles, fays Moeser, went so far, that not only was the 
l^ublic ignorant of the caufe of the death of a person exe- 
cuted by order of the fecret tribunal, but even the enaper6r 
himself knew not what passed in that formidable court of 
judicature. It was not even permitted him to ask the 
names of those who were condemned by it; except that, if 
he mentioned any names, he was answered by a simple 
ves, or no. ^ 


The next day Herman found his ffifend 
infinitely more amiable. His behaviour 
was free and open; bis air gay and jocund; 
and, if nothing were said respecting the so- 
ciety he had the preceding night abjured, 
there seemed no secret in his heart which 
he was not ready to disclose. 

He spoke without reserve, not only of 
the love which he had felt for the charming 
Alicia/ and w^hkh, alas! was not yet totally 
extinguished, but also of his singular mar- 
riage with Catherine. His adventures with 
the latter he recited in a manner too exten- 
sive to find a place here. Suffice it to sa}^ 
that Catherine employed all possible means 
to obtain his love, and to eradicate from 
his heart the image of his former mistress, 
of whose name she was ignorant. Vexa-' 
tion, and a wish perhaps to avenge him- i 
self of the inexorable Alicia, had seconded 
her endeavours, and by solicitations and 
secret intrigues all other obstacles were re- 

OF UXXA. 63' 

In those days there was no considerable 
family, in which were not to be found one 
or more monks, who, under the title of 
confessors, meddled in all its affairs, 
amongst which ill-suited and unhappy mar- 
riages were not the least important. Hence 
no doubt came the proverb : marriages are 
made in heaven-, for the monks always spoke 
in the name of the Lord, whenever, to 
serve their own ends, they thought proper 
to effect a union of this kind. Their ad- 
dress was far superior to that of our modern 
match-makers: and the persons whom it 
pleased these adepts to unite by indissoluble 
bonds could not escape their fate, whatever 
were the inconveniencies of the alliance. — 
On this occasion, father Boniface, Cathe- 
rine's confessor, exerted his abilities ; she 
became madam Senden ; and the rest was 
left to providence. 

The count of Unna, during the twelve- 
month that Catherine spent with him, had 
more than one occasion of observing her 
faults. His acquaintance with her disposi- 


tion confirmed him in the opinion he had 
been accustomed to form of her family in 
general, and he consented to her marriage 
-with the worthy Ulric with regret. Reader, 
thou canst form no conception of the au- 
thority, which, in those unhappy times, 
monks exercised over the best disposed^ 

The count of Unna may with justice be 
ranked among the most enlightened men of 
his age. We have heard his sentiments of 
the secret tribunal, which agree better with 
these times of general illumination, than 
with the ignorance of his own. Yet was he 
sufficiently susceptible of weaknesses and 
prejudices. Of this his invincible hatred 
towards the family of Unna, his cousins, is a 
proof. His obstinacy on this head was so 
great, that all Herman could say in favour 
of them was taken ill, and, had he persisted 
in defending them, he would have, risked 
sharing the enmity of the count. Ulric 
was so convinced of this that he thought 
proper to warn him in private to desist. 

OFUN'NA. 63^^ 

'■' *' You' are not awarie,"sald he, one day, ■ 
'''how dear tlie good understanding, that* 
"''appears to reign between you and your 
*' family, had like to have cost you. — 
'* It was true, that I made your uncle 
^".change his resolution with regard to the 
**^ reception he intended you; but in a 
'' way the reveise of that in which you un- 
*' stood it. The count, who, uithout know- 
'*- ing you, had always loved you, because 
'' you were on bad terms with his cousins, 
'' whom he detested, fell into an extreme 
*' rage, when he h.eard, that you had gone 
*' to-visit them, before you had waited upon 
'^ him, and that they were reconciled to 
'• you, and had treated you with kindness. 
'' I had great difficulty to remove the preju- 
'^ dice lie had, on this account, conceived 
" against you : and to prevent his sending 
**■ you av/ay, as was his determination, with- 
'*out seeing you." 

Herman learnt from this discourse the 
fresh obligations he lay under to Uiric: but 
he sighed to think, that the best characters 
had their faults; and conceived, tliat, in tlie 


end, he should finil it .difficult to accommo- 
date himself to the littlenesses of his uncle, 
which made him lock forwards vnth a sort 
of pleasuvs to the d^iy of his departure. 

The chevalier had expressed a desire to 
repair to Venice, to join tlie knights of the 
Teutonic Order, who were then makinsc a 
campaign against the Turks; and the old 
count had opposed it only from the fear, 
that he would there meet and form an inti- 
macy with his brother John. Herman 
knew, that his brother, who v/as spoken of 
as an amiable young man, liad entered into 
that order; and he could not avoid owning 
to himself, that tlie desire of meeting him 
was his principal motive for v/ishing to 5pe 
Venice ; bat the prudent Ulric advised, iilm 
not to disclose this m.otive to the count; and 
by observing this precaution, he at length 
obtained his -vincie's consent; and was pre- 
sented by him with an. equipage more splen- 
d{id, perhaps than any lord of Uima had ever 

OF UiWNA. 67 


WELL disposed as was the ccunt of 
Unna tovvards his nephew, his oflice . ob- 
liged him to act with secrecy, Herman, 
as yet, not having obtained a repeal of the 
sentence pronounced agairtst him by the 
secret tribunal. Tl^e sword of the invisi- 
bles still remained suspended over his head, 
and circumstances might occur, in which 
his uncle, with all his power, would be 
unable tc succour him. 

Both the count and Ulric must have 
been aware of tliese dangers, for the pre- 
parations fpr our hero's departure were 
urged with the utmost speed, and Senden 
could with difficulty consent to suffer him 
to depart alone. 

Herman reminded him of his children, 
who, during his absence, v^'ould be left to 
the sole care of a mother, little qualified 
to have the charge of their education; and 
stated to him, that, being alone, his fiigLc 


would be more easily accomplished. Ulric 
yielded to these arguments, embraced his 
friend, and took leave. The equipage and 
attendants given him by his uncle had, for 
the greater safety, been sent before to the 
place of their destination. 

Hitherto Herman had not been accus- 
tomed to flight; and, forgetting that his 
journey was in reality of that description, 
he travelled with as much confidence as if 
he had nothing to fear. His sole precaution 
was to choose a disguise, by means of which 
he might appear without being known in 
the midst of his pursuers, and take the 
road dictated by his heart. 

What this road was may be easily gues- 
sed. Love and friendship called him to 
Nuremberg, where he knew duke Albert 
still resided, and where he conjectured Ida 
might also be. He was ignorant of what 
had happened to the princess since his de- 
parture ; he was ignorant, that the step 
she had taken to save him, that the auda- 
city with which she had ventured to pry 

OF UNXA. 69 

into the secrets of the terrible unknown 
judges, had been attended with the most 
mabnclioly consequences to her and her 
father; and had soon constrained her to fly, 
in order to escape the vengence of her 

Herman was well acquainted with all 
the windings of duke Albert's house. — 
The first thing he did, therefore, on en- 
tering a city where he hoped to find all 
ffeat was most dear to Kim, was to repair 
ih the duke's, and make his appearance, 
when least expected, and before his gen- 
tlemen in waiting, a species of animals 
less numerous then tjian now% Had tiilieii' 
announce him. 

The disguise of Herman did not Ion? 
impose on his friend. Soon he folded him 
in his arms, exclaiming, ^* Herman! my 
'' dear, my unhappy Herman!" 

'^ Why unhappy? Ami not with'tny 
*' prince? Shall i not see myl'da, 'or iat 
'' least hear news of her? Are not my 
** prospects brightening? .... Ah, my 


'' lord! how much am I indebted to you, 
*' for sending me to my respectable rel'ation ! 
'^ What has he not done for me ! what has 
''he not promised me hereafter! That I 
*' shall become his son, if my innocence, 
*' which he considers as already proved, 
"• be publicly acknowledged. What flat- 
•■* tering hopes for my love ! . . . . Do 
'' you think the count of Wirtemberg 
'' will refuse his daughter to the son of 
*Miis old friend the count of Unna?" 

" Oh Plerman ! joy and hope mislead 
*' thee. Thy imagination transports itself 
'' to future scenes, and thou perceivest 
'' not the abyss that yawns at thy feet." - 
. '^ The abyss! .... Ah! I understand 
'' you. You mean to say, that I am not 
*' in safety, that I must not remain here, 
*' But, one day only, my dear prince, one 
'' single day, to relate to you my feli- 

'^ city . . . . and .... and if it 

*' be possible, to see Id\" 

'' Ida! ... . Where is she? . . . . 
*' Do you then know? .... Alas! shje 

OF UNNA. 71 

.Itchas been obliged to^ly. I gave h'er^some 
'^- of my people to escort her, end to-day I 
,V.!l^^i4ilvvthat she parted from then:, and 
f \thdy arrived at Ratisbon wilhout her. — 
:'-' Ah,! perhaps she is now in the hands of 
^VVj^i- enemies! .... Perhaps she is no 
''more! .... 0!i ! Herman, Henr^an! 
rj^whai: shall we do to- save her, if to save 
" her it be not ah-eady too late r" 
_; Uie duke's anxiety Vv':.s scarcely shcrt 
of the despair which, seized Hetman on 
^^4§ dipariug so unexpeciediy this ^dreadful 

. ^--When, however, . they were a little 
calm,, it, was resolved, that .Kermajl should 
^]p^e4i2f^^y repair to Ratishon, there to 
collect further information, and act as 
chcumstances should dictate. Duke Al- 
bert briefly related what Ida and her fa- 
ther had auiFered during his absence, and 
our youtii departed overwhelmed v/ith af- 

The report of the return of the cavaliers, 
who were to have escorted Ida to Hungary, 


was cciiBrmed, and Herman soon learnt the 
motive that detained them at Ratisbon.— 
He i^eaid, too, what prevented them frbm 
rel;irrning to give an account themselves of 
what liad happened to them, and to the 
princess entrusted to their cWrge. Tha^ 
the reader miv be duly informed of it, we 
shall here insert part t)f the relation given to 
Hermin, by the commander of the party. 

"" Th.e princess," said he, ** whom we 
'' were directed to escort, is, in seme mea- 
'''' sure, tiie occasion of her own njisibrtune. 
*' She did not think proper to take the road, 
'* which we had been directed to pursue, 
'* and things turned out as they generally do 
** when women pretend to be wiser than 
" their advisers. When we arrived on the 
'' frontiers of Austria, we learnt tliat Win- 
*' ceslaus had escaped from prison, and that 
" the Bohemians appeared desirous of rein- 
** stating him on toe throne. Farther re- 
'* ports coiiiiriTjed this intelligence. It was 
*' said, that Winceslaus and his wiR' had al- 
*' ready made their entry into Prague, and 

OF UNNA. 75 

^' had received anew the oaths of their sub- 
*' jects, and that this happy event was cele- 
•" brated throughout the country with joy 
" and feasting. You know the invincible 
■'^ attractions scenes of this nature have for 
" women. The princess instantly altered the 
''whole plan of our journey; and old 
*' Cunegunda, who attended her, confirmed 
*' her in her whim. They would not listen 
'*' to our intreaties, and we took with them 
** the road to Prague.'* 

Herman w^as at no loss to imagine, that 
it was not the desire of pleasure, but that of 
seeing her parents by adoption, and her 
dear Sophia, that had attracted Ida to the 
capital of Bohemia. The narrator conti- 

'' We arrived at Prague. The princess 
*' lived retired, and it was easy for us to 
*' watch over her Safety. At first, she sel- 
"- dom v;ent out of her house, which was 
'■'■ that of an humble citizen. She did not 
'■' go to court, but contented herself with 
Vol. III. E 


'* informmg tlie queen of her arrival, "by 
*' whom she was visited. We soon per- 
'* ceJved, that the riotous festivity of the 
*' place, had less attraction for her than the 
" friendship of the empress. Ida and 
*' Sophia frequently went out together to 
^' the new church of Saint Matthias, or the 
''' convent of Bethlehem.* Sophia's mis- 
*' fortunes appear to have rendered her de- 
'* vout, and our princess willingly followed 
.".her example. Their religious practices, 
i '' -bowever, could not have been perfectly 
*• conformable to the true faith, for they ex- 
*' cited the attention of the arshbishop Su- 
*Vbinko, and we had reason to believe, that 
** snares were laid by the priests for the prin- 
'' cess of Wirtemberg, whom they began to 
" consider as the seductress of the queen. 
" All our caution could not prevent her from 
"• failing into the hands of her persecutors, 
" one day when she accompanied Sophia in 

' * The church of St. Matthias, or St. Matthew, bore 
also the name of Bethlehem : there remain few traces of 
anv convent of that name. 


OF UNNA. y^ 

't one of her usual walb, during which we 
*' were forbidden to attend her. The pains 
"■ we have since ta^-en, to discover the place 
'' where she is confined, have been useless. 
''Three days after the event happened, I 
^ ^ was sent for by the queen : ^ Console 
^ '' yourself,' said she to me, * and read with 
'' attention, this letter I have just received. 
*' Preserve it carefully; it will put you in 
"• mind of what your mistress requires of 
'' you." 

At these words, the captain tcok from 
his pocket a letter, which Herman perceived 
was written by the hand of Ida. He kissed 
it, and read as follows: 

'' Have no apprehensions, my august 
II sovereign, for your Ida ; she is^^^^it of 
'' danger. The only misfortune that ha-, 
''happened to me is, the being conveyed 
*' to a convent in Hungary : but my safety 
" and the interests of duke Albert, required 
'' me to visit that country, and my per- 
" secutors are themselves obliged to assist 

E 2 


".rne in repairing to a place v/hitliei' my 
" destiny had before called me. 

'' 1 pray you to dismiss my escort, and 
" direct them to repair with speed to Ratis- 
*'■ bon,. I have just learnt, by singular ac- 
*^ cident, that one of the persons most dear 
*' to me in the world, is in a situation to re- 
" quire assistance. It is, perhaps, my fa- 
,Y ^thf I";. It may be Herman . ... . It is ne- 
^' cessary, that the cavaliers remain some 
,'J..days ,in the city I have mentioned, and 

; -^t. endeavour.? by strict inquiry, to discover 
"what I can only hint to you obscurely.' 
. . "O Sophia! Sophia! When and^' where 

^*^, shall we meet again:*' " ' o - 

*' And what have you done," said Her- 
man eagerly, '' in obedience to the prin- 
*' cess's orders •" -^-^-^^1 

*' Nothing," said the captain, 'Viftl'' a 
smile, '' but wait here for the event an- 
'* nounced, which, no doubt, must present 
*' itself; for we have not penetration enough 
** to inquire after things of which we liave 
*' no idea." 

OF UNNA. 11 

The love of knig'its for their mispresses 
was, in those d3ys,.:of soTexalteJ a natuie, 
that tiie-/ considered tl.e leust indications of 
their will ?.s laws. A pretended dream of 
the lovely Ida, had formerly, as we have seen, 
sufficient power o\'er Herman, whose mOtto 
was, iu:wc£ncc ?icuerfi'es^ to induce him to re- 
tire from his enemies. Remembering this, 
can we be surprised, that the mystericus 
words con'.ained in her le-ter, s'nould put in 
motion ail the facidties of hi.s mind, to dis- 
cover and execute her behest. His pre- 
sence roused the ne^hgent cavaliers into 
activity ; and, before the day was at zn end, 
the prophecy, or presentiment, of the prin- 
cess of WLrtcmberg, who pointed out 
Ratisbcn as the place wiiere one of her 
dearest friends was suffering, was verified, in 
ti)e Sams manner as the dream, which had 
announced the conderauation of iHerman 
by the secret tribunal. 

Idj's father had qait^ed NiireiTiberg, as 
we have seen, to conceal himself avdiile, and 
take refuge in Italy. He did not sufficiently 

■ E3 


divest himself of the appearance of./a;ik, 
and his secret enemies were too numerous 
for him to arrive, without danger, at the 
place he had chosen for his retreat. 

It was not improbable, that, ha4.lje^-re- 
mained longer at Nuremberg, Re woul4I 
have been elected emperor in preference to 
ail his competitors. To the§c, thgrefQre, 
it was of importance^! pot oii\Y..^iq^^J^pY^^ 
him from thence, but to prevent .hi^j^re— 
turn, till the choice had fallen on somq| 
other prince. The name of the, competi- \ 
tor, who was most active in this busiiues,, 
has never transpired; but certain it is, that 
the scheme succeede'/x ; count Everard had' 
befen attacked on his roule-and was actually 
a prisoner at Ratisbon. 

The imperial cities, having long been 
the declared enemies of the count of Wir- 
temberg, readily seconded the ill-designs of 
his enemies. . Each, on this occasion, 
would have wished to have acted the prin- 
cipal part; and the proud citizens of Ratis- 
bon rejoiced, that fortune had so favoured 

OF UNNA. 79 

them, as to place in their hands their an- 
cient and most inveterate enemy. The 
event was the more pleasing to them, as it 
was sure to deprive him of all hopes of the 
imperial crown. 

The people of Ratisbon confided so 
much in their own strength, and the power- 
ful assistance promised them, that they 
made no secret of his captivity. We will 
not venture to decide, whether, when the 
I knight of fidelity heard of the misfortune 
6f che count, it afforded him greater pain 
or pleasure; but his deliverance appeared 
to him a matter as certain as that he was 
imprisoned; and Vv'hat a delightful idea, to 
restore to liberty the father of Ida ! 

As fortune appears sometimes to have 
exposed a female to the danger of perishin'*- 
by fire, or by v/ater, merely to aiTord- her 
lover an opportunity of savrng her,^¥M^cf 
thus obtaining her absent to his happiness ; 
might it nut, in like m.anner, have per- 
mittcu liie captivity of a rigid father, that, 
recovering his liberty by means of the lover 
£ 4 

80 HERMAN"'^ 

of his daughter, his gratitude mighr softeit 
him, and determine him in favour of his 
deliverer. This, at least, Herman belkvfed' 
as firmly as the gospel. He accoidin'gly in- 
vented a thousand a stratagems to attain his* 
end. Though he succeeded in none of 
them, he did not despair* Time passed 
away. The imperial crown had been 
placed on the head of Robert count Palatine,' 
and count Everard v<;as no longer thought' 
or. At length fortune smiled for a mo- 
ment on the brave Herman, and the fa- 
ther of Ida found himself at liberty in hm 

The count of Wirtemberg thanked'iJu?^ 
knight with great emotion, and gave him the' 
pleasing appellation of son; an expression 
to' which' Herman probably afTixed a mean- 
ing, that the count by no means intended 
it should convey. Meanwhile he did not 
conceal from iiim, that his liberation would 
liave been infinitely more pleasing, had it 
been effected earlier: '' for," said he, •' no- 
'•' thine can now be done for me, till Ger- 

OF UNNA. 81 

*' many becomes again dissatisfied with its 
*' master; a peiiod.tbat;! ahaiiptobabiy, not 
*' live to see." • T .i^fi-^f h: ^r! T i'^'^^^tW Herman, who had no great desire of 
seeing Ida the daughter of an emperor, 
made no answer to this reflection. He se- 
cretly wished long life to the emperor Ro- 
bert; and that, on Ills death, his crown 
mi^ght descend to Sigismond. Meanwhile, 
count Everard sorrowfully prepared anew 
for liis journey to Italy, and did not seem 
to be averse to the knight of fidelity accom- 
panying him. The interest Herman had 
taken in his deliverance, the favour he was 
in with the count of Unna, the hope that he 
would, in all probability, be soon justified, 
and, above all, the total disappointment of 
his ambitious schemes, made the count feel 
less repugnance to the lover of his daughter 
than formerly, and consider it sometimes as 
a thing not impossible, that he might be- 
come his son-in-law. 

What happiness for our young hero, 
when, occasionally, a word, or a look, gave 



him reason to stispect, th^t the count en- 
tertained such a thought! Thus he joyously 
took l:iis way to Italy, and the cavaliers of 
duke Albert, of whom there was no longer 
need, were dismissed, and returned to their 
master. :.; 

Herman, enchanted, had now scarcely 
any anxiety but for Ida : and what chiefly 
consoled him was, his imagining himself 
under the protection of some benevolent 
power, who destined him to become, at the 
appointed time, the most fortunate of hus- 

OF y,^,^^^. 85 


THE relation of tlie chief of duke 
Albert's people was true; but it did not 
comprize some circumstances of wliich he 
was ignorant, and which we shall now im- 
part to the reader. 

The report of a happy cliange in the 
fortune of Sophia having reached the ears 
of Ida on the confines of Austria, the de- 
sire of participating the joy of her beloved 
friend induced the princess to change the 
road marked out for good reasons, by 
duke Albert, and to take that which led to 

She alighted at the house, which she 
still with pleasure called the dwelling of 
her father. What pen can describe the 
rapture her presence occasioned? The 
good dame Munster thought she should die 
with joy at seeing again her Ida, now prin- 
cess of Wirtemberg, yet as affectionate, a.s 
fond, and as dutiful as ever. 


'' Where is my father?" cried the prin- 
cess, v/h en the excess of her joy would per- 
mit her to speak. ' -'' ^^^^ 

Mrs. Munster without having the least 
doubt respecting whom she meant, went 
out to send for her husband, who was then 
superintending the erection of the grand 
altar of the church of St. Matthias. — She 
directed the servant not to tell him by 
whom he -was wanted^ and then hastened 
to join Ida, from whom she was not absent 
a moment without regret. ^ru ^ini-c 

They were sitting side by side, the hand 
of Maria resting on the knee of he? 
daughter, who held it closely locked in 
iier own, while the other hand of Ida's was 
passed round her mother's neck ; her eyes, 
in which were painted inexpressible affec- 
tion, v/ere fixed earnestly on her's; they 
spoke little, but tears and looks supplied 
the place of conversation. Such was the 
affecting picture tliat presented itself when 
Munster entered. 


Ida immediately avo^e to embrace him^ 
The scene of mute tenderness was renew-- 
ed : and it was not till after a considerable 
interval that there at length took place be^ 
tween tliese happy m.ortals a conversation, 
the subject of which the reader will easily 
conceive, if lie lias been whole years sepa- 
rated from the object he loves, and has ex- 
perienced, during the separation, various 
vicissitudes of good ?.nd ill: he will easily 
ironceive, that eacii wishes at once to lay 
before the other all that has happened to 
him; to relat* his prosperous and adverse 
fortune; and recite the minutest circum- 
stances he has found. interesting. 

I'he desire of seeing honest Alunster 
and liis wife was, perhaps, the chief mo- 
tive, tliut had induced Ida to visit Prague, 
though not the only one. Sophia rvas also 
an inducement; but how could l^he appear 
before her^ The situation of cur heroine 
did not permit her to shev\/ herself publicly 
at court. Munster, v/hom the queen 
knev/ and esteemed, took upon him to ac- 



quaint her with the arrival of the princess of I 
Wirtemberg, and to inform her of the pre- I 
cautions it was necessary to employ. To 
these Sophia shewed the utmost readiness j 
to conform, and declared, that, the better 
to conceal her friend s abode at Prague, 
she would see her only at his house, whi-* 
ther she would repair that very evenings 
accompanied by one of her ladies. 

The gentle and humane disposition of 
Sophia was even meliorated by misfortune. 
Her sufferings had destroyed in her every 
sentiment' of pride. " She had received too 
good a lesson on the precariousness of sub- 
lunary things not to despise the wretched 
ceremonials attached to her rank. She 
deemed it no degradation, therefore, to 
visit the abode of a simple citizen. Friend- 
ship led her to the house of Munster, as 
benevolence and generosity had already 
frequently led her to visit still more hum- 
ble dwellings. Ida threw herself into the 
arms of Sophia. Tears of joy flowed 
down the cheeks of each; all distinctions 

OF UXXA. 87 

>of rank were forgotten : so strongly did 
the queen feel the happiness of pressing 
to her bosom a true friend, that she would 
probably have given the same loose to her 
feelings, had the object been the plebeian 
Ida Munster, instead of the princess of 

The two friends reciprocally opened 
their hearts to each other. Sophia related 
the long tale of her misfortunes, and 
concluded it with the sorrowful observation, 
that her husband, the author of so m.any 
ills, of which he had himself been the vic- 
tim, was sei'l not much amended; and that 
as to herself the sole advantage she l>ad de- 
rived from, the chagrins which she had 
participated wit'i him, was to be a little 
more beloved, and a little more respected 
by him, than at tlie beginning of Iyer mar- 
riage. Indeed it would have proved \Vii>- 
ceslaus to have been a monster, hcd the 
faithful companion of his sorrow, his friend, 
Iiis comforter, not excired in him at least 
some slight feelings of gratitude; 



Sophia was said td have been rendered" 
a devotee by niisrortutte.'- Sl^e^^as' pious, 
it is true, but not what is properly called 
a devotee. It was at this- period that John 
Huss began to propagate ^Istloctrinesi^-^- 
His eloquence, and the strictriess of ^ his 
conduct, procured him a great numbet^^bFj 
followers. The lax morals of the prFests-^ 
of those days, and the virulence with whid$3 
they persecuted him, contiibuted also ti'" 
his success. The qu'een was among- Utet 
number of those who were seduced bv'the 
apparent sanctity and rectitude of this newif 
teacher. She took delight in hearing himiit 
She dared not at first indulge her inclina-j 
tion as much as she wished, because thei-^ 
archbishop v/atched all her steps ; but her ■ 
secret connexion with Ida led her, under '^ 
the veil of secrecy, insensibly to take more 
liberty than before. 

Indifferently dressed, and often on foot 
and without any attendant, the queen wenf^ 
frequently to visit her friend, who accom- 
panied her to the church of Matthias. — 

OF UNXA.. S9^ 

Sophia, in spite of lier disguise, still pre- 
served an air of dignity, that betrayed her ; 
and the good citizens' wives were delighted 
to find that their queen thus npingled vvith 
them, and shared their devotions. , . 

The doctrines of Huss naad^^,,, singular 
progress among tlie v^^omen, ...A great 
many ladies of the first rank prided tliem- 
. selves in attending his sermons, divested 
of their ornaments and clad in all the sim- 
plicity of the primitive christians. 

f The Ijand of Munster had executed a 
master-piece of sculpture, v/hich decorati54^ 
thexhurch where Huss delivered his dqc-^ 
trine; but, placed in a private chapel, ,it> 
v^s seen only a by fcv. Different groups 
of statues, that did honour to, the skilful 
and learned artist, represented, on one side 
the divine founder of the christian religion, 
with 'his humble disciples, in their genujng, . 
simplicity: and on tl:e other, the pop&of 
Rome, in ail the vain and ostentatiows 
pomp of royalty, attended by his cardinals,., . 
"^c'a requested her father to shew this per-, 


formance to the queen. Sophia was de- 
lighted at seeing before her eyes the exact 
representation of what Huss had often so 
boldly depicted in his sermons ; and em- 
ployed an able painter to copy it in minia- 
ture. This picture was placed in- the 
queen s oratory. 

Huss continued to thunder against the 
manners of the ecclesiastics of his day. — 
He frequently alluded to the fine sculp- 
ture of Munster ; thousands came to see 
it ; many followed the example of Sophia, 
and procured copies of it, which were 
publicly displayed in their houses, in testi- 
mony of the truth of the reformer's doc-» 
trine. The priests, intlamed rnth rage^ 
fixed their eyes on the queen, vvhom they^ 
chareed vvith bein? the insti(.;ator of theSj& 
diocrders ; but, placed in too elevated ^ 
station for them to wreak their vengeaiice 
on her, they accused Ida of having sedtu-; 
ced her, and, as the person dearest to So- 
phia, they determined to vent on her all 
the fury of their wrath. 

OF UNNA. 91 

Huss was attacked more openly. The 
affnir was exarnined into in due form, a 
proceeding which brought considerable 
presents to Winceslaus, whose corrupti- 
bility was well known. Nor was he un- 
grateful. Considering Huss* as the first 
cause of this new source of wealth, which 
poured into his treasury he appointed him 
his confessor. I'he two handsome here- 
tics, Ida and Sophia, became more bold ; 
but the security they felt proved fatal la 
Ida, occasioning her to fall into the hands 
of Subinko, before she suspected herself 
to be in the least danger. 

She was one day returning home, deep- 
ly meditating on a private conversation' 
she had just had with Muss, v.-hlch totally 
absorded all her faculties. Undoubtedly 
Muss was no prophet; but the great inPiii- 
ence he possessed in various places, and 
the number of his adherents throughout 

* ♦' Whzt a fine goose," was his saying, " that lays 
** mc so many golden eagsl" 

Ge^imany, procured him the knowIe^^^,,o/ 
things vv,ith.wjiich others,w'erf; unacquainted.- 
He had been informed of the misfortune of 
count Everard; he was not ignorant, tliat 
Ida was his daugliter; and he had , that 
evening warned her to think of succouring, 
the person in the world most dear to her^ 
Vv'ho was then at Ratisbon in the hands of 
his enemies. Huss thought he had spcke^ 
with suiTicient clearnesi; he was not aware, 
that, to a lovely young damsel;^ there might 
bie^^anpther persen as dear to her as her fa- 
ther, and that his mode of expression was 
precisely calculated to leave her in doubt. 
.^^,-^1-11 effect, Ida determined i:ext day to 
^k ^;^pT€-^d^r£ct explanation from the holv 
UJan; and s-liS vv-as Vv-alking slowly, and 
with9Ut..fear, to the house of Munster, 
wbe;n-: she saw a number of armed men, 
wbo^inxercepted her passage. bhe per- 
ceived presently that she was the object of 
their pursuit: she cried for help; but it 
was too late. The young princess was con- 
ducted before the archbishop, who severely 

OF UXNA. 93 

ieproached ber with heresy, and condemn- 
ed her to be confined in a convent in Hun- 
gary; a sentence vvhicli she heard with 
Tittle emotion. She felt nothing but 
anxiety for her friends; an anxiety which 
considerably increased, when she reflected, 
that it would now be impossible for her 
to do any thing to save him, cf whose 
danger she had been informed. 
. Meanwhile the goodness of her heatt; 
inspired her with a stratagem suiely excu- 
sable under such circumstances. She cor- 
sruptod one of her guards, .bv means of a 
valuable ring, to dehver to Sophia the let- 
ter we have mentioned above, which even- 
tually afforded Herman an opportunity of 
Kberating her far her. She hoped, what 
actually happened, that her commission 
would be executed; and she departed for 
the place of her destination, with so much 
the greater pleasure as it was that to which 
she would shortly have repaired of her own 

94 HERMA^. 

Ida felt no apprehension, that she Ty^s^to 
remain eternally confined in the conyetjt to j 
which she was conducted ; conceiving it im- 
possible, that a punishment so severe should 
be inflicted on a person who had committed 
no crime. She reckoned, too, on the,enjpy- 
ment of a certain degree of liberty in her 
destined abode ; and the possibility of exe- 
cuting the commission, with which she was 

charged by duke Albert, as effectually, as if 
>he had arrived there under the protection 
of that prince. At all events, she was cer- 
tain of one thing at least, namely, that she 
should be secure from the pursuits of the 
secret tribunal, which of all things in the 
world was what she most dreaded. 

It may not be superfluous to acquaint 
the reader before we proceed, with the 
commission which duke Albert had entrust- 
ed to our heroine on her departure from 
NureQiberg. The duke had received 
from Herman, some traces of queen Mary 
of Hungary, first wife of Sigismond, being 
still alive, who had long been supposed 

OF UNNA. 95 

to be dead; and the principal business of the 
princess of Wirtemberg was to inform Eh'za- 

beth of this circumstance, and endeavour to 
^ find out the convent in which her mother 
Avas confined. He had laid down a plan for 
her to pursue in this research, which we 
have already observed, was attended with 
difficulties: she was, therefore, disposed 
•to act as chance should point out, or cir- 
"Icumstances require. Besides, she thought it 
'xruel to tell an unhappy daughter, that her 
iBOther was living, before she was certain of 
_.the fact; and thus inspire a mind of sensibi- 
dlty with anxious doubts respecting the fate 
of her to whom she was indebted for ex- 
istence, without being able to give her any 
con.^olation. Ida well knew tl^.e solicitude 
of fiHal affection ; and this motive, united 
with others, made her rejoice that she did 
not visit Hnneary in the manner she had at 
tirst intended. '-" 

When the archbishop had pronounced 
her sentence, Jda asked permission to 

Irange lier convent, if she found herself 


not pleased with that appointed for her re- 
treat; which he readily granted, as he knew 
he could revoke the pennission at pleasure. . 
Such was the foundation on which ^ she had 
erected her hopes. She trusted she should 
thus have it in her power to visit a variety of 
couvents, v;iihout lier design being suspected, 
and v;i[hoat her being exposed to any 
charge, but that of fickleness of disposition. 
If by these means she could discover the 
person she sought, she proposed to acquaint 
Elizabeth with her mother's existence, and 
the place of her retreat : duke Albert and his I 
future bride, were then to come to liberate ' 
the queen, and of her who had discovered 
the place of her detention ; and thus all was 
to end happily. 

OF UNNA. 9? 


DURING a tedious journey, Ida had 
sufficient leisure to form projects, and fezist 
herself with hopes, which however began to 
droop the first day of her arrival at the con- 
vent of St. Anne. 

This convent was placed in a situation 
to which nature had been by no means kind. 
X he lofty mountains, covered with thick 
forests of gloomy pines, with ^-hich it was 
surrounded, could cherish no sentiments 
but those of grief and melancholy. The 
deep and narrow valley, from the bottom 
of which rose the walls of the monastery^ 
precluded all extent of view, and the heart 
seemed to shrink from the sad sterility that 
every wiffere presented itself to the eye. — 
Hence discontent and rancour sat brooding 
in every countenance ; and wearisomeness 
and disgust pervaded equally the parlour 
Vol. IIJ. F 

98 1-1 ER MAN 

and the cliapel, the gallery and the giVden» 
the cell and the hall of recreation. 

Ida imagined herself in a few days per- 
fectly acquainted with every inhabitant of 
this mournful abode ; and'Was convinced, here she should not find her of whom 
she was in search. The discovery would 
have driven her at once from her melan- 
choly asylum, had she not thought it de- 
coroiis to stay at least a few weeks, in a 
place "xvhere she was treated with the 
greatest respect, and vv^here she had no cause 
of complaint, but the tedium of her situa- 
tion, a feeling which she shared in common 
witli every nun. 

The time which the prudent Ida thought 
proper to remain in this convent passed 
away, without her being able to find a single 
person in whom she could place sufficient 
confidence to open her heart. It was even 
impossible for her to obtain any satisfactory 
account of the neighbouring convents; 
which would have been of some advantage 
to her in directing her choice, when she 

OF UNNA. 99 

should make known her desire of changing 
her situation. All the intelligence she 
could obtain, was, that near them was a 
convent dedicated to St. Nicholas, which 
was, in a manner, dependant on that of 
St. Anne, and the patron of which 'vas 
obliged annually to visit his superior saint. 
The time of this ceremony was near. — 
When the day arrived, tiie journeying 
saint appeared, attended by an escort of 
plump and fair damsels, who were siifficient 
contrasts to those to whom they were forced 
to pay homage. Their reception was Sy 

^no means cordial. Whilst the two aiDbesses, 
with the ancient matrons, held a ch.apter, 
the young nuns of St. Anne's formed 
themselves into parties from which' they 
were so unpoiite as to exclude those of St. 

Ida, however, joined a party of the nuns 
of St. Niclwlas. These young women 
pl#ased her much better than her present 

• laosts, and she determined to take their 
convent for her next residence. The nuns, 

F 52 


\yho penetrated, her intention, ^'n'd'%oitsl^ 

dered her as no insignificant 'acqui^i'tiOti, 

boasted of it, as a place which had always 

been an asylum for ladies of distinction. At 

present, it^ \,va^' the abode of a ptincess Gara , 

who was formerly mistress of the houselidld 

to queen Elizabeth of Hungary. 

,,.,,. The nun^s of St. Nicholas departed with 

iheir ,55int, ai[id soon after, Ida declared 

her intention of residing at their convent. 

But she scon found the execution of her 

.projects less easy than she had imagined. — 

-^j Numberless difficulties were started, and at 

^-JLas-V^^^.w^.s obliged to wait till thb' 'abbess 

had written to Prague for the assent^ 'of "the 

archbishop Subinko. • ^-^ -^ 

''' /'His answer was long in coming, but at 

length it arrived, and contained the desired 

permission. Ida found the adieus of the 

pious sisters sufficiently cold, which ren- 

,dered her reception at St. Nicholas the 

more agreeable. 

Soon after her arrival, Ida introduced 
herself to the princess Gara. Her name 


OF UNiXA. 101 

was sufficient to en6ure her a favourable re- 
ception from that lady, who in her youth 
bad been intimate with her mother. Ida 
ii^evived in the princess's mind a thousand 
pleasing recollections ; her name, her figure, 
iier person, recalled those of Ida of Dort- 
mund, and these xemembrances laid the 
.foundation of a tender fnendship, as- far 
]ji?ideed as friendship could subsist fcletween 
.pffsons of so disproportionate nn age. 
13:: l^he p^rincess Rase Gara Avas ' a living 
-d)tya;>ide,af ancient times.' She'wi^^lrever 
j^eary of talking over the^^yefits that had 
ggliappened at the beginning of the reign of 
^ilike princes now, living, almost all of whom 
she personally knew. Ida's chief object in 
■ co;irting her acquaintance vyas-'.to. get'm- 
trmation respecting the queen of Hun- 
gry, but this seemed to be the only point 
. n which she cho.^e not to be. communi- 
• Titive*.- • . , <■ 

Ida v/ould probably never have succeed- 
*' ed in her attempt, but for a circumstance 
'which threatened totally to. exclude iier 
F 3 


from the confidence of the prindes^i^"^' Ex- 
periencing from her on a sudden, e^tfe'i'rie 
coldness, she could not avoid urging her to 
an'explanation. '' Read this, and judge," 
said the old lady, putting into her hand a 
letter slie had just received. Ida read as 
Tollovvs : 

*' My dear princess, the reports of Al- 
*' bert's infidelijty are conFxrmed. How 
*' Justlv did you wafh'ree to beware of ?fie 
"• fate of my unlVappyrnothert You already 
'; know, that Albert has appeared for sortie 
\* months to have forgotten meV.that a'^air 
" enchantress had gained' his'^liSdf^ "y^d 
'*diiven me from its pos'sess"i6'n.''|^^"'M6w 
'* learn her name. Itis^Ida, the celebrated 
*• Ida of V/irtemberg, who, condemned by 
'*tlje secret tribunal, vvas jjrotected at Nu- 
*^ rembeig by Albert, and is nbw seiit by 
■*' fc'im' into Hungarv, Vv'itif a' strong e'scbrt, 
"-there to await a change in her situation, 
•'''tie a veil knows in What m'anner. 

'' I ani indebfed for this discovery to 
" the person who gave m.e the first in for- 

OF UNNA. i03 

'-^ matloii, my intimate fnend, the daughter 
'' of the princess of Ratibor. She too, lost 
'' a lover by the av!:ifice of that seductress. 
'• Grief and despair have driven her to this 
'' convent^ which I fear will be also my last 
''' asylum. 

'' I wish to know more of my enemy. — 
'' Imago's motlier has promJsed me further 
\\ accounts, and even ti^e name of the place 
*; to which Ida is conducted. Tiie prin- 
Wcess of Ratibor has an extensive acquaint- 
•V' ance, and great interest : slie knows al^ 
V* most every thing that passes throughout 
'^ the empire of Germany, and her infor- 
'* Illation may be depended on. 

.,''■, Malicious Ida! what have I done to 
' thee, that; thou shouldst deprive me of 
^^ the affections of A.lbert V .... ^[\q. is be- 
'\ sides an heretic! .... She remains at 
'' present concealed at Prague; the queen 
•' visits her in secret; but ti]e princess of 
" Ratibor is endeavouring to separate them, 
'•' and for that purpose means to draw oa 

IB4 HEKi^AN'^ 

'* sickness and sorrow preventdi tri^'^^cbiir- 
" municating it earliei. - ^'^^^ ^^^ '^^^ 

It is possible' tTiat Ida's 16bks, dti i^^d?^ 
ing such an unexpected accusation,^ 'Wt«i^d 
have confirmed ' the su'^^ici'ons^blP^^'pdtsoli 
less saga (ifo us than the fiHnt^^s^tt'afe^ ^b'tit 
she had patience enough lo wait fSr h'et an- 
swer, and then judge with impartiality, 
''•' Animated with the wish to remove ffiS 

cit&A'^lnt "hisicny bf ' Her- acquaint atfi^fe^wlfli 
Ifie diiie,' his friendship for her,and¥he: 
commission v/ith which she was charged by 
liTni.^ When she had finished, she ran to 
hWclfaniber for the letter Albert had giveii 
h<ir for Elizabetl], and^ which luckily she had 
in her pocket vv^hen she was carried off. 
- The princess read it. Ida could not 
have produced a stronger proof of her in- 


nocence. Every lipe spoke love to her to 
whx)m it was addressed, to the bearer no- 
thing but friendship. It contained a cir- 
cumstantial account of what Albert hoped 
t9 ,effectuat:e in Hungary by,the,gssis^^nce oi 
Ida; the news of the existence- of ,qUpeTi 
Mary; a,nd schemes for discovering the 
place of Ler retreat; and concluded \vilh. a 
request to Elizabeth to protect their com- 
moa. friend, the princess of , Wirteipberg, 
^id deliver her into the hands of no, qi^e 
but Herman of Unna. -^n^^h.^a h^n ^\i^ 

The princess Gara was convinced. She 
embraced Ida, made an apology for her 
conduct, and begged leave to send the let- 
ter of duke Albert to Elizabeth, in order to 
dispel her apprehensions and justify her 
supposed rival in her affections. 

Ida readily complied, as she had now 
lost all desire of delivering the letter her- 
self. '' This gentle^ innocent, angelic princess," 
said she to herself, *' is, however, prone to 
''jealousy and injustice. This mind, de- 
'* scribed to me as so elevated and sensible, 



" is subject to error, and dkposed to listen 
" to the insinuations of malice. Poor Al- 
*' bert! Heaven grant thy union with her 
'' may be happy !'* ■*■ ■ 

-i^Ida was wrong. In; similar circum^ 
stances, she would hax^e been guilty of >the. 
same faults with which she reproached Eli- 
zabeth, who was in reality good and amia- 
ble. She had forgotten, that she had her- 
self been once intimate with the perfidious 
Imago, who was' now poisoning the mind o£ 
tUe daughter of Mary* 

•/ 'liW-'eSlkv/ ii^iyU: 

d'77 bni: 
i^orfa /' 

OF UNNA. 107 


FROM the preceding event the inti- 
macy between Ida and the princess Gara 
increased. Ida had no secrets for her re- 
spectable friend; and the princess, finding questions were not prompted by idle 
curiosity, readily consented to satisfy her re- 
specting the early part of the history of 
queen Mary, of whose existence, bow^yei^, 
she still continued to entertain doubts^://;!-. jH.' 
*^ It is not without mingled sentiments 
'' of pleasure and regret," said she, '' that 
** I recall to mind the first years of my 
" youth, spent within these walls, which 
'' now afford a retreat to my old age. Eliza- 
*' beth, queen of Hungary, who seldom 
** quitted her husband, and who th. ought it 
'' dangerous to habituate her daughter Mary 
'' too early to the bustle of a court, chose 
"this convent for the place of her educa- 
*' tion, and entrusted to me the care of her 
'' infancy. I was then of a proper age to 

108' ^ HERMAN^ 

*** fe5C(jfm(S"t3ie groverness of a^hildV-to whotii' 
•* instfuctioii ought to be playfully convey- 
**^e(3j not administered with the ordinaryse- 
'* verity of school discipline. I had beeil 
*' six months married, having espoused': 
** prince Stephen Gara, to whom my hand 
** was given merely that I might one day be- 
*^ come mistress of the royal houselioid.--- 
*' The old gentleman was obliged by his' 
*' pi^ce to attend constantly at court; and 
'•' bis young wife regretted not in her pleas- 
''"ing fetireraent'the honour of figuring by: 
'* his side. ^'^ ^ioy 

' ' ' '' Mkry had few att^rjdaiftbr itideed 
'' none beside myself, Ida of Dortmufid, 
" your mother, and little Barbe of Tirnan; 
*' From her infancy she gave no promise of 
''beauty; though, as she grew up, a fi'ne 
" shape and dignified air in some measure 
*^ supplied its plac^. Barbe was nfuch 
*' handsomer; and I own, I disliked her 
** for this advant?ge over my princess. Bet- 
'* ter informed tco, and more lively, she 
'* had a thousand little talents that Mary 

OF UN.N.A. lost; 

*^ could never attain... I would gladly have, 
'^' separated them; and» had I succeeded, £ 
•^•^ should probably have spared my pupil 
^' many misfortunes, and her companion a 
*' multitude of crimes. 

*' Mary was the only child of king 
^'' Lewis, and consequently heiress to the 
*' throne, and it was thought proper to 
*"' strengthen her right by a powerful alliarice. 
•'VWith this view she was betrothed, at the 
^^age of nine years, to Sigismund, second 
^"^ son of the emperor Charles IV. and only 
•"' a year or two older than herself.* 

^' Sigismoiid came to - visit his future 
" bride. From his youth and rank he cpuJd 
>' not be denied free admission i;^tp, tile 
/^convent. Unfortunately he there, saw 
*'' Barbe also, and» though so young, could 
•'^ not avoid being extremely .pleased with 
'""her. This I observed, and tookc^re she 
♦^' should be removed from hjs sight. ,. 

^' Sigismond came often to see- us. He 
^' was now no longer a child ; he knew how 
. *^ it .became- .to behave to her who 


'-' was one day to place the crown of Hun-^ 
"on his head; and the princess, who be- 
*' gan to love him, easily believed all he 
'' said. {i-i^i 81. at-' 

'' I saw however, his attentions nn^'a 
•^^ truer light; and I frequently assured 
''Mary it was not her he loved, but the 
*' heiress of the Hungarian throne. ' Let 
'^ us put him to the test,' said she, 'and 
*' we shall see.' 

I *VThe king frequently visited his daughter, 
*'•' of whom he was so fond he could refuse 
*' her nothing. Availing herself of the 
'' power she had over him, she requested a " 
*-\ favour, which evinced less prudence than 
*' predilection for Siglsmond, and which the 
"■ king would unquestionably have refused, 
•-' had he not been blinded by paternal 
' 'affect ion. 

*' Her request was, that her father would 
*' adopt Sigismond, and acknowledge him 
'Vfor his successor. ' I will not be loved 
*' by, him,' said she, ^ for the sake of a 
''.crown. I v;ould rather, owe it to l^im, 

OF UNNA. 112 

*'.than place it on his head. I believe that 
*' he loves me ; but I would have ethers 
"• believe so too, I would have it said that, 
** it is Mary, not the he^rebS of Hungary, 
'' that he courts." 

"• The king smiled, consented, and we 
'' soon heard that he had adopted Sigis- 
'Vmond. The princess was delighted with 
*^ the pleasuse she had procured her lover. 
•^^ She expected a speedy vis^t from him, 
*' and the warmest thanks. Yet Sigismond 
''came not; but contented hinjself with 
*' sending a letter, which was a political 
*' chef-d*oeuvre. 

** Mary was enchanted with it ;' but-^"^! 
'^ desired her to notice the name of sister, 
'^ which was foisted into almost every line. 
*' I could not, however, make her imbibe 
'' my suspicions, though they were soon 
"'' too plainly verified. 

>' Barbe was now maid of honour to 
"queen Elizabeth, and her ripened charms 
'' revived the inclination she had form.erly 
*' excited in young Sigismond. This was 

lit HERMANn, 

•' soon no secrct»,.and tk^:f^p^^ inup^^e^i- 
^^ ately, though -^oo^jlat^^ .^ent fox, her 
*^' daughter to court, to repair the ill that 
*^"' had been done in her absence. .;,.,. ,^^2 ** 
'•*' The report of Mary's coming ,^as 
'^ soon spread. Sigismond, finding his-,in- 
*^^ trigue with Barbe was remarked, and 
^* that he should now be under some re- 
*' straint, pretended urgent business in Po- 
'>,la;3d; and^ when Mary appeared in the 
Vr^carpitait s;b? was met .with joy by every 
^V;Qne» ex,ceptby him for whom alone she 
** cared. 



^^ The loyal Hungarians celebrated the 
** arrival of their princess with enthusiasm, 
*' and intreated the old king to have her 
*■' crowned whilst he was living, that no 
'* one might dispute the throne with her 
'* after his death. 

'' The law which declared Sigismond 
*' heir to the crown was not irrevocable. 
*^' The voice of the people, and the intrea- 
^'' ties of the queen, to which mine were 

OF UNNM: >13 

•'^dded, prevailed, and Msry was pro- 
'' claimed queen of Hungary. 

"" Sidsmond was one of the first to con- 
*' gratulate her. He even returned from 
"■ Poland to pei-foVm 'tliis dut^^ in person. 
'' Mary -was no' Ion ger styled sister: he 
" \Vas now not her brother, but her lover, 
'' her future spouse. Had Mary followed 
" rhy advice, slie would have disiinss'ed 
'' ' hitn as he' deserved. But who does not 
*•' kh6-0;^ the' w^aiiness of love? She took 
'■^ care not tb ascribe Ins return to th« 
'' crown she had just obtained, and' loved 

.iiau.oiifJQj'y'citiA tibV •peTcerve,''\siid she^ 
*^ ''^ thSr'h^'' is "attached solely to md? Is 
'' ther^ a single lady of the court vvho 
"'can obtain so much as a smile from, 
-him?" ^:a.3MA- 

'^ '*^'Mary was right. Sigismond'^appear- 
'• ed to have no eyes but for her; for 
'' Barbe v/as not present. Thl.s' 'w6'nlan 
''' had heard that the beauties' of Polahd 
'* had cured him of his pa:sion for her^ 


*' and believing this, she had consen'iecl, at, 
" the earnest solicitation of her faiiiijy, 
"- and in order to retrieve her reputation, 
*' to an _ honourable marriage. The per- 
''son destined for her husband, was Jphn 
*■' Hervv'ott, governor of Crcatan, upon one 
'' of whose estates she at this time actually 
'' lived as his, betrothed wife. 

'' Meanwliiie: Slgismond sougin her 
" every wdiere,. .She was the only person 
'.'for who^p>,:a.fjLe^, .iium^ijqiis, liofidelities, 
" he :.sjtiU| :i^etained an inclination. Her 
'/absence therefore was insupportable to 
'• him. At length heaiin.g of her intended 
" marriage, he became dejected, ^^^nd find- 
^' ing it impossible to ccQ.tinue his dull 
" c*urt to Mary, he resolved on a second 
'' journey into Poland ? 

'' Lewis died, and Mary ascended the 
" throne. She would certainly have been 
'•' a good queen had she governed alone : 
'^ but there is a proverb which says: 
'' \yjaere a woman reigns, men are sure to 
i'^qld the sceptre. The Garas had the 
" effective sv/ay in the the time of the late 

OF UNNA. 115 


*idng, nnd they maintained if under 
Mary. Their oppressions provoked the 
people to revolt; and Barbe prevailed 
on John Hervvott, to r.ei?e the queen 
and her mother, and confine them in 
** hi3 castle. 

' "• With this I acquainted Sigismond, 
'■' vvhoi]] the Garas had prevented from re- 
' ' turning from Poland. He released Mary : 
I '' hut Elizabeth already fallen a saeri- 
"■ fice to this diabolical conspiracy. Ker- 
•' wott fell in tliC conflict ; and Barbe was 
, '' sufficiently artful, to pretend, that slie 
"• too was a prisoner there, and indebted 
'' to Sigismcnd for her deliverance. 

'^ Sigismond was sufEciently powerful 
" to quell the mal-contents, and rc-eka- 
'' hlish Mary on tlie throne. She became 
•' liis wife; but from that time I never 
*■ saw a smile on her countenance. The 
'' f^cenes that had passed in the castle of 
'* Hervvott were continually before her eyes, 
'' and slie Vv'as always repeating -'^ herself 
'•'the name of her unfortun; ■ ■ —other^ 


^*^he grief which inwardly devoured her 
^^ destroyed the remains of her feeble at- 
*' tractions. Sigismond, to whom spright- 
" liness and gaivity alone were pleasing, 
'^ used to call her, to his confidential 
" friends, moping melancholy, without reflect- 
'* ing on the causes which had renderecT 
'* that title applicable to her. 

. '' Barbe appeared at court. Mary suf- 
'• fered it. It was necessary she should ;^ 
^* nor had she any objection; for sh^ en- 
"^l^tertained not of her those thoughts \vli-icFV 
^"^1 concealed in my heart. I-Jeavetf-'-fbr- 
'^ give me, if I impute to the \vretch' nipre 
"crimes than she committed f '"'■'''' 

'^ That the king's intrigue witii Barbe 
''might be the better concealed, '^^''rhatch 
'V was made up for her with count Peter 
*VCyly, surnamed the Weak. But the^ 
'* tnotive became too apparent ; and the 
'* sorrows to which the queen had long 
'* been a prey, added to the vexation at 
'' having so worthless a rival, induced her 
'' to retire to a convent. She was at this 

OF UNNA. 117 

'' time pregnant, and her health was so im- 
*' paired, that apprehensions both for her 
"^ life and the child's were entertained. I 
" accompanied her to this place, where it 
*Vwas hex wish to bring her infant into the 
^^ world, and die. It was my firm resolve 
*' to be her only nurse, and to trust to no 
'* one besides, but I was taken danger- 
i|,ously ill just as her delivery was daily 
** expected. The good nuns of St. Nicho- 
*' las saved my life; and when I recovered 
*' they did not conceal from me^, that they 
** suspected I had ben poisoned. Possibly 
*' they were right: the symptoms of my 
''disorder were terrible, and there were 
'' certainly persons who felt j:io jq^.z^i'my 
^' recovery. ' ', , . 

"■ My first care was to enquire a'ftfef'the 
** queen. They informed me that she was 
" dead; and this news had like to have 
'' effected what sickness failed to accom- 
/' plish. I asked the particulars. The 
*' nuns could only tell me, that, on being 
*' taken ill, the countess of Cyly had come 


*' to supply my place, and that the queen 
'' was removed to another convent, where 
'' she was delivered of a daughter^ whose 
" birth cost her her llffe. 

'' The child was the next object of my 
*' inquiry. Her mother, they told me, 
'' had desired, on her death bed, that she 
*' should be entrusted to my care; and the 
'* king had resolved to comply with this, 
" her last request, in spite of the remon- 
" strances of the countess of Cyjy. In 
" fact, I had soon the pleasure of folding 
'' in my arms this precious legacy of my 
*' unfortunate mistress. One of the nuns 
'' of St. Anne's had been commissioned to 
*' deliver her to me with a letter, which I 
'' opened, and read as follows: 

'''' I am dying my dear Garai I have only time 
" to give ike loved name of EUzahetk to my child^ 
" and recommend her to your care. The nun who 
** writes these fec^ words for me x^ill tell you more." 

*' I frequently asked after this nun, bi^t 
*' no one could tell me her name. The 
'' suspicion, that the death ofMary might 

OF UNNA. 119 

^ be a pretence of Barbe, induced me to 
' make various researches, from which I 
' desisted not for many years. They have 
'ended in nothing; jndge, then, my 
' dear Ida, what may be expected from 
' yours." 

*' And do you imagine," said the prin- 
cess of Wirtemberg, '' that yotir relation 
'' has convinced me of the queen's death? 
. . . . On the contrary my iiopes are greciter 
thiSn ever." 

'' I know not, my child, on what \'ou can 
'* foimd them. Elizabeth is now sixteen 
" years old. Is it possible, that her mother 
'' could have found no m.eans of acquaint- 
" ing her v;ith her situation in ail that 
" time? Consider, too, my fruitless re- 
**^ searches: and remember, that Mary was, 
*' at a dangerous period, entirely ijci the 
** hands of Barbe. Surely that remorseless 
" woman would never suffer her rival to 
'* live, when so favourable an opportunity 
*' of getting rid of her presented itself." 


" How then came she to spare the 
" young princess, who was equally in her 
'' power?" 

'' If Mary had been delivered of a son, 
" no doubt Barbe would have taken care 
** of him: but a daughter was by no 
*' means an equal obstacle to her ambi*» 
** tious projects. Perhaps, too, Sigismond 
'* might have arrived earlier than he was^ 
'-'■ expected ; or Barbe might have thought 
'* of ingratiating herself with him by act- 
*' ing as a mother to her, instead of me, 
" whom she must have supposed dead." 

'* It is difficult to form any judgment 
'* on a business so involved in obscurity," 
said Ida, with a pensive air; *' time, how- 
*' ever, may yet clear it up." 

The princess Gara was silent. But, 
presently, to satisfy Ida, she gave her a 
more particular account of the infancy of 
Elizabeth. if : 

The young princess, to whom, in con- 
formity to her dyin^ mother's request, she 
was to supply the place of a parent, was 

OF UNNA. 121 

left in her charge but a few years. At an 
early period she was called to court, to be 
betrothed to the young Albert of Austria: 
as Sigismond found such a support neces- 
sary to prop his shaking credit. After 
Mary's death, the hearts of his subjects 
were greatly alineated from him. Barbe 
was obliged to quit the court, and retire to 
her husband's country seat. The king 
went to make a campaign against the Turks ; 
and in the mean time sent his daughter to 
Klausenburg, Barbe having instilled into 
his mind suspicions concerning the princess 
Gara and the nuns of St. Nicholas. 

The return of the king ; his imprison- 
ment; his amour with the princess Flelen, 
at the castle of Soclos; his adventures at 
Cyly ; and many other events, of which we 
have already given an account, succeeded, 
and were crowned by his marriage with 
Barbe, who thus became the step-mother of 

This union.was fatal to the daughter of 
Mary. She was closely confined at Klau- 
Voi. III. G 


senburg ; her hopes founded on duke Al- 
bert diminished; her heart became a prey- 
to jealousy; and her mind was filled with j 
•a thousand disagreeable reflections. .In 
fact, Albeit had vvT?.itten, :i<)j;her;ie|3 fre- 
quently, on account of the diet at, Nurein- 
berg, and perhaps too, because his, atten- 
tion had been much occupied by his^friend- 
ship for Ida. The princess of Ratibor, 
Avhom some malevolent getdus had con- , 
ducted to Klausenburg, and thus brought ' 
acquainted with Elizabeth, had framed, 
with her mother's assistance, the calumny 
wbiclii Ida had so sensibly felt^ atid vvhich^ 
-had nearly deprived her of the frdenvj^l^ip 
ie£th£ princess Gara. aiovnox 

moi) bin'="' - ,^duoi 

OF UN N A. 123 


THE princess of Wirtemberg reflected 
seriously on what she heard, and ultimately 
resolved to employ the permission given 
her by the archbishop in continuing her 
search amongst the neighbouring convents, 
-ii' Her first choice fell on St. Emery, a 
^House which enjoyed the reputation of hav- 
ing formerly served as a prison to a queen 
of Hungary, and which slie imagined might 
a second time have a claim to that distinc- 
tion. That Mary was alive, and tljat^a 
convent was her al ode, she could not 
doubt, after what Herman had heard from 
the mouth of Barbe. On that she found 
all her hopes were founded, and she pro- 
mised herself in the end to execute the 
commission of duke Albert, and gratify 
her own wishes by the liberation of the 
imprisoned queen, 

G 2 


She expected no difficulty in 4eg^;[,U||g 
from St. Nicholas, and was not a^rJi/ft^lie 
surprized, when the superior, to whom. she 
communicated her intention, informed hei;, 
that she must first acquaint the abbess ^^f 
St, Anne, on whom she was dependent, 
and who had expressly enjoined her, un- 
der pain of being excommunicated by the 
archbishop, not to let the princess escape. 

Thus was the poor Ida as much a cap- 
tive: here as in the melancholy convent of 
^St^^ Anne^^^ though her situation was not 
quite so disagreeable. The abbess sent for 
answer, that as the archbishop was soon ex- 
pected in that district, the princess of Wir- 
temberg must wait his arrival, when she 
would have an opportunity of making her 
tequest to him in person. 

We have yet given the reader no sketch 
of the chara<:ter of Subinko; nor indeed is 
it of much importance. He was a little red 
faced old man, who had nothing of dignity 
about him, but the mitre that covered his 
thin grey locks; and had certainly never 


OF UNNA. 125 

before been expected with impatience by a 
voiino- and beautiful damsel. He was con- 
sidered in his day as a pious' and learned 
man; though in fact he knew no virtues 
but the insignificant forms of a cloister, no 
learning but that of a monk. In short he 
was totally without morals, and equally 
devoid of every quality which renders 
outh amiable, or age respected. 

At length this personage arrived at St. 
Mcholis, and was announced to the prin- 
cess of Wirtemberg, before he bad seen 
ihe superior. Ida received him with her 
natural gracefulness, and the pleasure oc- 
casioned by his arrival -rendered :heyTS^iil 
more attracting. •«:• •*-;?-- ^-t-^^frr-^t 

'' May I ask, sir," said she, the moment 
slie saw him, '' your permissian to leave the 
'' convent of St, Nicholas r" 

''Leave St. Nicholas!" answered he. 
'* Are you not, young lady, som.ewhat too 
*' fickle in your disposition? This is already 
'' the second convent to which you have 
** taken a dislike during your short abode 



** in this country. — What would be {t<iic 
*' consequence if God had called ycu'td-^' 
*' religious life, and it were necessary th^t 
'* you should pass all ^'our days in one of 
** these pious retreats? ' .asJaiq '- 

*' Happily that is not the case:" re'pli-ed' 
Ida, with a smile. v^ .'^^-^^ '{'^V ' 

"• But supposing it w!is¥*^^^^ '' "^''^ 

The princess was alarmed. Suich^a 
supposition could not be indifferent to ^ife-r.' 
.30 «^'^lt is iar'ffota impossibk," dontiiiiied 
SulDinko. ''The affairs of your prophet 
'' at Prague have taken a very bad turn.- — 
'* Our holy father has excommunicated 
'* hiniand hh adherents. Ic was with dif- 
"■iictiHy^ he -escaped the stake, at which I 
^^ hope, * by' the' grace of God, to see him 
" one day expire." 

Ida could not help slieading tears at the 
iaie that tlireatened the venerable Huss, 
from whose mouth she bad received so 
many useful lessons. 

'*' Fie!" cried the archbishop: "' Those 
'•'• tears are criminal, and render you dou- 

OF UNNA. 127 

'' bly an heretic. Would you attempt to 
'' defend the errors of a man who causes 
'• such charming eyes to weep?" 

'' I can only hear, learn, and pity; I 
''pretend not to defend: God alone is 
^^ judge." =;3rr-, jd? torr 

''Very well, my child: I perceive tliat 
'• you are mild and docile ; your case is not 
'•desperate. Yet the fate reserved for 
" the adherents of that heretic threatens 
'' you. The least punishment that can be 
'' inflicted on you is that of being im- 
''• mured in a convent for life; without 
'' having tjie liberty of changing every 
••iiji.o,nth. . Probably that of St. Anne dis- 
'* pleased you, because its rules are too op- 
'' posite to your worldly and sinful incli- 
'" nations." 

Ida began to weep afresh, clasping her 
hands with a suppliant air. 

" Besides this," continued the archbi- 
sliop, ''" there is a circumstance I scarcely 
'' dare mention, which cannot but render 
*' your situation worse. I am told, you 



^.zre Condemned by the setrcttrlbiifta] J I* 

Af bit possible, tbat,'SD yomjtg] feCJ^hattdsCfthe, 

*' so innocent in, appearance, you should Be 

*■ so enormous a sinner 1 . . .;t Thus theje 

** seems scarcely any ctotGeiifor ■y.oi^.i^but 

''death or a conven!tf^"5vsd yliasa id^tm ** 

.-. vThe. archbishop perceived the alarms of 

Ida, and knew so well how to- heighten her 

fears, that she t&llat;his.feefe-to int4?eat-kiixi 

to Sav:^ lier. lo bD^m^n rr^dv/ vliKhjoitiEu " 

7nic>.t!iTbeiieye you to be neither rigid, nor 

*' cruel," said she. " Your eyes assure me, 

'' that you wish rae well, and would be dis- J 

^ posed to assit me if you could. Is there % 

^' any thing impossible to the powerful Su- 

V^Mnko?! I ask only to fly, to bide myself, 

**.>tili happier times. I could wish, too, to 

''inform Sophia, duke Albert, or my fa- 

*^jther, of my situation. Oh, do not aban- 

j^f^don me! Once more bestow on one that 

** paternal look which tells me that you 

^* wish not my ruin." 

*' And does it tell you so?" replied the 
prelate with inexpressible joy, "• Suppose 

OF UNTnTA. 129 

■'-'' I were now to assure you that it spoke 
'' truth; that I am come purposely to de- 
** liver you; and that I was prejudiced in 
'^ your favour the first moment of your be- 
*' ing presented to me at Prague? — You 
*' might easily have guessed this from the 
*' liberty I have permitted you to enjoy. — 
'' No one else in your place would have 
''• 6btained from me the same indulgence, 
*' particularly when accused of heresy." 

'' Ah confirm, then, my pleasing 
"- hopes'." said Ida, still on her knees. — 
" Let my father know where I am; it is 
" with him I should believe myself most ift 

'* Why should you go so far,' my child, 
*' for succour?" replied he, taking her by 
the hand. '^ If you have need of a fa- 
'' ther, cannot I supply the place of one? 
'' You see I am g^o\^ing old .... thougli 
'' not so very old neither . , . but old 
" enough to stand in need of a young and 
■' obliging governante. Are you willing to 
' take upon you the office? .... I am at 
^ 5. 


'^'present disengaged from all the fatiguing 
^"*j^uti€s"I had to fulfill at Prague,— 
" For the future I shall reside at my rnag- 
'' nificent palace on the borders of the 
'' Danube. Come, and share with |ne, 
*' during the remainder of my lifejjtbfe 
*•■ pleasures of that delightful retirement. 
'' You shall be my daughter, my friend; 
*•" and, at my death, heiress o£ all my 
.^' riches;^^§^> r^d L^jinunoc> '',??')orinq *■■' 
Ida listened v/ith great attention, with- 
out perfectly comprehending what she 
beard. To be the daughter, the gorer- 
nante, the friend of a good old man, and 
to await happier times under the protec- 
tion of the pontiff of Hungary, were pro- 
posals not to be rejected by a mind free 
from suspicion : yet an internal sentiment, 
and the knowledge she had of themaniiers 
tof the age, whispered, tliat the arrange- 
ment was not practicable. Besides, the 
familiarity of the prelate, and the manner 
in which he ga^ed on her, whilst she was at 

OF UNNA. 131 

his.kneeSv.clispleysed her. She withdrew 

her hand from between his, and arose. She 
had already remained too long in that hu- 
miliating situation, which was perhaps pleas- 
ing to him, bectuse it reduced her to a 
level Avith his own diminutive figure, and 
thus enabled him to contemplate her 
charms more at ease. 

'' You must not be offended, charming 
'* princess/' continued he, again taking 
her hand. ))1k ^E'^^^ f^.t(v/ h'^n^v-'' 

\?, *':liA.i convent, if it must be so, will be 
'*the most suitable retreat for me, till bet- 
'*'ter times. My rank . . . ." 

..** Speak not of your rank; we know 
'' you to be the princess of Wirtemberg: 
'' but history informs us, that persons of 
'' far siiperior station have not disdained 
'' tlie frienship of a bishop .... Thxink of 
''Matilda, marchioness of Tuscany: she 
'' was proud of being the spiritual daughter 
•' of pope Gregory VII; and on that ac- 
•' count is still venerated, though more 

152 HERMiAN 

•'- than three centuries have elapsednlsincc: 
'* her death." sifaijfioopJt 

• ^le archbishop needed not have spoken 
more clearly, to let Ida into the knowledge 
of bis designs. She stood petrified, her 
eyes cast down, without answering a word. 
Her face was by turns reddened with scar- 
let, and covered with a deadly paleness; 
whilst the holy prelate, all on fire, seemed 
to expect a favourite decision from her 

*' Matilda of Tuscany !" said Ida^ to 
terself: ^'Horrible! I and Matilda !" 

In those days, it is true, the story of 
Matilda and her only lover was not deemed 
as scandalous as it now is; though it was. 
then appreciated with sufficient justice to be 
an object of detestation to every honest 
mind. Ida trembled : she repulsed the: 
archbishop's hands, which were continually 
endeavouring to lay hold of her's ;. an in- 
voluntary tear stole from her eye ; and 
she turned away from him in manifest 


OF UNNA. 133- 

The amorous old prelate did not for this 
discontinue his solicitations; and Ida, dri- 
ven to the extreme, cou'ld scarcely forbear 
bursting into a rage, if it were possible that 
such a sentiment could have found place in 
so gentle a breast. Both, however, were 
highly displeased, and they parted with 
mutual asperity and threats. 




CHAPTER X. ,. . 

^' WHAT will become of irier"^'^-^ 
claimed Ida when she was aiorife t'^*' H&a-' 
*' vens!' What wili become" of tiie'T'Tl^e' 
'^ vengeance of this wretch will not fail to 
" pursue me. Never, O never, shall' t 
*' again see those I love." '* 

She repaired to the princess Gara'-'to' 
impart to her her unhappiness, and ask 
her advic. Her words expired on her lips. 
She blushed to acquaint another with the 
humiliating proposal that had been made 

•''• The archbishop has been with you ;" 
said the princess Gara : '' Did you observe 
'' no aheration in him?" 

'' I know too little of him to judge .... 
'''He appeared to be out of humour, de- 
'Ejected, absent . . . Do you know the cause 
'' of it?" 

Can he have had the assurance, thought 
Ida, to speak of what has passed between us?: 
and the blood fie?; to her face. 

OF UxNNA. 135 

"Yes," continued llie princess Gara, 
'' the abbess coaimunicateJ to me the cause, 
'' bat, under the strictest charge of jecrecy. 
''-.You are not ignorant of the disputes he 
'' has had with the new Bohemian preacher. 
'' Subinko carried matters so far, that Win- 
*' ceslaus at length v.'as orfended, and ordered 
*' him to be privately informed, no doubt at 
"■ the instigation of Sophia, that his presence 
'',;\VQuld be dispensed with. In fact, he is, 
'' as 'it were, deprived of liis dignities in 
"Bohiemia. King Sigisraond, it is true, 
'' protects him still; and he will remain 
*' what he was in Huna^arv: but hc.v Ions: 
*^ will that continue?" 

'' Can it be true !'"' said Ida, interrupt- 
ii^ her: '' k this unworthy being really de- 
*' prived of all his authority? And shall I 
'' have nothing to fear from him?" 

Attributing the joy Ida manifested at the 
archbisiiop's fall, to former reasons she had 
to complain of him, the gave her 
a more circumstantial account of what ap- 
peared to afford her so much plea-ure.— 


During this narration, Ida -found .all^l^pX 
fe^rs vanish; and she resolved to av^.!^ fLf ff * 
self of her liberty to go the next day;>t0,St. 
Ornery. -^. .;<.:•. k .., b^iunn^q 

She communicated to thfi: ntuns; -her [<4^i 
sign ; and they informed her, that the arcl>4 
bishop^ had ordered them, if she persisted 
in it, to let her go. cifroom 

The alarms of Ida respecting the coih- 
duct of her persecutors, were thus intirely 
dissipateiji^Fj |^V,The power of this wretch is 
*,' so curtailed," said she to herself, '' he 
** da^res not even oppose my wanderings.— 
*'':X will continue them, till I find what I 
^^see,kvi;and then will be happy in. spite -,qf 
Mihtoi and of all the enemies of innocence. 
*/' — It is true, 1 might repair to Italy to my 
** Jather; or choose any other place, where 
** I might think myself safe : but no, I will 
** remain true to the. point I have under- 
*r;take;n: Iwill first execute the commission 
*^*^ of duke Albert, and then think of my- 
^* self." 

Ida departed, . The journey to St. 
Emery was too long to be performed on 

OF UNNA. 137 

Foot, as the fair traveller wished, and a 
carriage was therefore procured her. She 
requested that one of the nuns might be 
permitted to accompany her ; but she was 
told, that the arclibishop had forbidden it. 
His'^uthority is still great, thought the prin^ 
cess of Wirlemberg, as she descended the 
mountain, on which the convent was situa- 
nted, and entered the valley that separated 
i-t'fi^om St. Anne'?, 

At a distance she perceived armed raert 
approaching. Their number, however," 
was small; and their peaceable appearance 
was little alarming. As they approached, 
she discovered, that they w^ore the same 
armour as she had noticed the' day before 
on the attendants of the archbishop. A 
cold sweat seized her. If they had any de- 
signs on her, to escape was impossible. 

One of the cavaliers, an elderly man,' 
of a venerable appearance, came up to the" 
carriage, and raid, they were charged to 
escort her. 

'' To escort me! Wliither?" 
;) ^^n<A 00 : 

138 HERMAN^ 

" To the place where ybtl^^ife Agoing,- tm 
** tlie covent." '-^'"^^ ^" ^^^'^^ ^W ' 

''• Is it indeed to the convent? I conjtire 
'' you, my /honest old friend, teir i^e the 

'^ trUthV" "■■■ ^' - -:'-^q .V:;; 

'' It is as true, as i pray God -Si'M'^lh^ 
" holy Virgin may be my protectors, "''^r^^ 
plied he, putting his hand to his heart, 
with a devout air. " * 

"■'An honest open cdtintenanc'e^-getif^allyJ-' 
removes distrust, Ida' believed what fie 
said, -and was tranquillised. But she was 
not ]t)ng deceived. The journey^ was | 
sooner finished than she expected. The \ 
distance to St. Emery was considerable-' 
yet she heard one of her conductors say, 
^ We shall soon be there : I see already 
'• tlie wails of the convent." 

The princess put her head out -df Hie 
carriage, and perceived tl^e steeple cf St^.^^ 
Anne's. '' Whither are )/^j. carrying n^?' 
cried she. 

'• To the convent of St. Anne';?; as we' 
*^ told \cu before.*' • 

OF UNiVA. 139- 

;. '• I, ^,m. going to Su Emery's." 
'' V/e had no orders for that." 
Ida attempted to leap out of the carri- 
i}L;e. But the old man who first spoke to 
her, prevented her. She called him by 
llie name of traitor, without reflecting, that 
siie had not inquired to what coiiVeni: they 
were going to conduct her. 

The cavalier assured her, he had not 
d^fielvi^d her intentionally. '' V/hy should 
" I?" said he, '' Were you not in our. 
■ povvcr? And must you not have gone. 
'■ vviiiLher u-e had orders to conduct youi?" , 
I'he princess drew back,^nd burst into 
tears. ..'JJUe carriage entered the gate of the 
convent*. ;-JShe -was obliged to alight; and 
found herself once more in a place which 
an abode of a fev/ weeks had rendered so 
disagreeable, and which she could not nov^ 
soon -hope to quit. 

She v;:i3 conducted to the abbess. — 
'' V/elcom.e princess," said .die: '' I find 
''• our sisters of St. Nich.olas have had the 
'• same fortune as ourselves : you were soon 

140 HERMAN^"' 

'■' * Yrfed o F t'lie m':^~-We , indeed , ha vei dp- 
'^ parently the advantage : you visit us- a 
*' second time, whereas you have quitted 
" them for ever." 

*' For ever?" said Ida. ; J.£]ic:f:r: 

*' Yes : if I- may believe 'thie "^Trch- 
'' bishop — you are going to commence 
'^ your noviciate with us. You will-bft 
^^ permitted to enter into our order^ ^nd 
'^' share all the rlght^ -and privikg.^-'ifig 
*' 'etndyr*^^^^ '^- '"''''^'^'^ ^'9nr-'v ■^If^r'^^nr^tiL 
'• I have no desire to embrace a religi- 
* ^ bus lifeV'^nd in this convent less than 
^* any where.*' :--'^'Ko:jt, i:- r-. c::-?:naj.i . i 

'' Princess, fM-f^ttc'iiih to^mf^^n^^ 
'^'tliat will not please you. V/ould yoti 
"'ti^H^fe me openly declare, that you are 
'* pursued by the secret tribunal? And 
'* that there is no safety for you but in a 
'' convent? None of oiu* ladies will treat 
'^^ you as a sister, if this be known. Per- 
^* sons like you should be confined in houses 
^* of correction. You may thank the arch- 
^* bishop, who is desirous of saving you,. 


OF'U!^NAi 141 

*V for- having kept it a secret, and enjoined 
'•' nie to do the same: yet in spite ot these 
*' precautions, I fear you will scarcely be 
'" secure even within the wails of our holy 
'• habitation." 

To this Ida gave no answer but tears. 
Ascribing them to repentance, the abbess 
assured her of her protection, and gave her 
her hand to kiss; a proof that she already 
considered her as of the number of those 
unfortunate beings subject to her religious 

History does not inform us, whether 
the princess acted according to etiquette on 
this occasion ; but v/e have great reason to 
doubt it. The misfortune to which she 
found herself at this moment obnoxious, 
was yet too new, for her to yield to what 
\yas expected of her, or consent volunta- 
rily to humble herself before hefp4^sBQti£;. 
sovereien. ... 

'' Ah!" said she, with a sigh, when she 
arrived in her cell : '' how could I be so 
*' weak as to believe, that an offence given 

142 HERMAN^' 

. '' an ecclesiastic prince would remain un- 
** revenged? How imprudent was "J'^lfb 
'* quit those good nuns of St. Nicholas^ tb 
*' make myself a prisoner in a place like 
" this! There I should have been less' ex~*- 
*' posed to the archbishop's cruelty rthfer^ 
** at least I should have had the princess 
'' Gara to witness my treatment, and be 
'Mny adviser: and had I absolutely been 
^^^'obliged to embrace a religious life, nVy 
^*'^"ia'te''^w5uld have been infinitely mbrfe 
^^ bearable in the convent of St. Nicholas, 
''than ill that of St. Anne. . . , . How 
'* much do I regret, that I did not at least 
"inform the princess Gara of th6 scene 
'*'that took place between m.e and my-|yer- 
" secutor! The knowledge of this would 
'' have rendered her attentive to my desti- 
'^ ny, and made her perhaps suspect the 
** truth, when she shall find that I am not 
*' at St. Emery." 

Thus complained Ida, till convinced 
that regret was no remedy for ills, and 
that patience and activity alone could enar 
ble her to surmount the calamity with 
which she was threatened. 

OF UNNA. J 43 

Ida's situation was nov/ far different from 
'what it. had formeriv been. Before, she 
was treated with respect, had the best 
chamber in the house, and enjoyed every 
possible liberty. Now every thing was 
changed, every thing was poisoned by the 
reflection, that here she was to remain 

for ever. 

Her sole consolation was the year of her 
noviciate, before the expiration of which 
she could not be constrained to pronounce 
the irrevocable vov;. '' How many 
*• things," said she, '* may happen in that 
*' period! my life has already been so 
"■ crowded with vicissitude, that Provi- 
*' dence may still perhaps bring about 
^' events which will produce a happy 
'' change in my lot." Hope, svveet bles- 
sing of heaven, how does thy presence, the 
instani thou approachest the unfortunate, 
comfort and relieve them! Their sufferings 
become supportable, their chains appear 
light, they but half feel the troubles of the 


present moment, and ^they smile ^t the 

Expecting deliverance, Ida resolved 
not to give way to sorrow and unavailing 
grief. The first six months of her novi- 
ciate were spent as usual in ertile, though 
tiresome practices ; when she heard witk 
pleasure, that a task more fatiguing, and 
more mournful, though far nobler, was aU 
jotted her. She was appointed to attend 
the infirmary. To comfort the afflicted, 
and to weep with the unhappy, had ever 
been with her favourite employments. The 
insalubrious situation of St. Ann's rendered 
30 many sick, that one nurse would scarcely 
suffice. Ida's care and attention, however, 
diminished the number, and patients were 
restored to the community, who had long 
been, as it were, buried in this noisome 

The gratitude of those who were thus 
snatched from the jaws of death, was not 
the sole recompence of our heroine. She 
became acquainted with nuns she had never 

OF UNNA. 145 

before seen, and who were, in many re- 
spects, the most estimable in the house. — 
Afflicted, oppressed, abandoned, they went 
but too soon to inhabit the infirmary, where 
they respired impure air and received bad 
.aliment, whilst their companions in health, 
made a jest of their misfortunes, or saw 
their last momeufs approaching with the 
most cruel unconcern. To recover them, Ida 
employed moral as well as physical reme- 
dies, and prepared them to support with 
more courage, the evils to which they were 
again to be exposed, evils that would cease 
but with their live?. 

Vol. III. H 



AMONGST the sick, whose num- 
ber, thanks to the care and sympatlietic 
khidness of our heroine, was now reduced 
to three or four; one remained, wIjo, from 
the first, had particularly attracted her -at- 
tention. She was extremely patient, ancV 
never complained. Her disease seemed 
incurable. It consisted in a total decay (jf 
the vital powers, a state of debrlity which 
old age produces ; though the good nun 
had at most but reached the meridian of^ 
life. Her sufferings were not solely cor- 
poreal ; her mind bore it's full share, htiP 
not, as she frequently confessed to Ida, in 
their moments of more familiar conversa-^ 
tion, from fear of the future, to which she'* 
looked forward as promising her one con-' 
tinued day of serenity in the mansions of' 
eternal peace ; but from sad remembrance' 
of the past, the griefs and terrors of which 
were constantly recurring to her thoughts. 


OF UNNA. 147 

^me words, which dropped from her, 
seemed to hint, that she had lost all she 
held dear in the world, and lost it in a cruel 
and extraordinary manner. 

Ida could not help entertaining suspi^ 
cions, though they were very slight, that 
tliis nun might possibly be the person she 
sought; but she could by no means get 
from her any particulars from her history. 
Conceiving, that the best means of ej^cit- 
ing her confidence would be to relate her 
own, she seized the first opportunity that 
presented itself when they were alone to- 

}Vhen she arrived at that par.trtJf li<^^; 
stqry wiiere Herman related his adventi^r^s, 
at the castle of Cyly, she observed th,e lum" 
much affected. There were two persoias/^ 
that figured conspicuously in her tale, whpse' 
names -must make a forcible impres;5ion, if 
she were the person suspected. jPurnipo-,. 
therefore, to develope this mastery, she^ 
continued her recital in the fQliQwing' 
terms: ' - 

,148 HERMAN 

-211;" I have already informed you, that it 

■^^^Xvas duke Albert of Austria, who took 

*' me under his protection at Nuremberg, 

''and promised to obtain me protection in 

*' a convent in Hungary. Into this coun- 

" try I was brought^ as you know, in a 

**-faanner very different from what I expect- 

*' ed. I iiave not however forgotten thp 

'^ commission with which I was charged. 

' 'Ah, my dear sister! a commission, on which 

■^'''' the happiness of many depends. Ought 

'' 1 to entrust it to you? Yes, certainly,, I 

'* may without danger. r 

D.Lr^ti Dulce Albert— I am astonished, you 

^♦^'^Sfeem not to know it, is betrothed, to an 

Y*^-atniable young princesji. .'That princess 

"■ had a mother, who for sixteen years was 

-*' supposed to be dead, and of whose exist- 

* ** ence the duke thea for the first time 

'■-*'* heard. Now it is my business to find 

♦^ out this mother. Her name is Mary; 

*' her daughter's Elizabeth. - m 

"Elizabeth! Mary!" exclaimed the" 

nun, in a tone niore easily fonc^ived than | 

described. . i 

OF UNNA. 149 

^' '"""^i^Efr^atfeir a^ughter of king Sigis- 
^* mond," replied Ida; ''and Mary, the 

t^*^: unfortunate queen of Hungary." 
^^^ ^^*^'ttnfortunate indeed!" cried the nun, 
'^ciasping her hands together. '' But you 
^' talk of persons who are no more.— 
'' Mary is dead ; she must be so, and Eli- 
*' zabeth .... did she not die in her in- 
*^ fancy?" -i:iv/ iinv/ iiouiimmoo ' 

'* Elizabeth!— O rio'^: she is alive, heir- 
*' ess to the kingdom of Hungary, and 
'' betrothed to the noblest prince upon 
'' earth." 

*' Impossible ! impossible! Ah, would 
*' it were true! How I could wish once 
"■ more to clasp the dear infant^^o. my 
'* bosom!" Tf H hnrj " 

|r_' '.' Ida now perceived as clearly as the 
'reader, what they both probably have for 
fcome time suspected. Her heart beat with 
anxious joy : yet she concealed her emo- 
tion, and continued thus : 

'' I wish with all my heart, I could 
' immediately introduce to you tbepji^i- 
H 3 ". 

150 ^ 'tiERMAM 

**^ cess of whom yoii seem so fond : but 
*' she resides at some distance, in the con- 
*' vent of Klausenburg. There Is however 
*^^'6ne' of her friends in tti^ neighbourhood, 
'^ the princess Gara." """'.^ ' 1, V 

*' Ihe prmcess GaraT— Vision ary! She 
'* too is dead'. You know she died a little 
'^"^^ after t^a irffle aTfeir'Mary vVas delivered 
*' of Elizabeth." ' 

'' The princess J^ara is living. She is 
*♦' at St. Nicholas's. I left her there when 
*' r came to this cohvenr." 

" ,''Gara living ! my dear Gara living!— 
^''and Elizabeth riot dead!-— Whkt Tdyl— 
** No, no : it is impossible !" 

As Mary uttered these words, she faint- 
^ed. Tlie^^princessof WIrtemberg, kneeling 
by her side, endeavoured to recover hej.—- 
**., August queen," cried she, '' dear unhap- 
'* PV Marv, arouse yourself, davs more 
*' fortunate await you." ; ' 
,VMary opened Iier eyes, looked round 
Jier with an air of astonishment, asked new 
questions, could no longer conceal who she 

OF UNNA. 151 

was, a hundred times desired Ida to assure 
her whether what she had said were really- 
true; and at length, convinced, she gave 
herself up to the most pleasing sensations. 

This interesting discovery could not 
have been effected with more caution; yet 
v;ere its consequences severe. The queen 
became dangerously ill. Ida wept by her 
bedside, and despaired of presenting her 
alive to her daughter. 

The princess repaired to the abbess^ 
and Tvith much humility, a virtue to which 
she had been obliged to habituate herself, 
begged permission that Veronica, which 
vv^as the name adopted by Mary when she 
took the veil, might be removed to St. Ni- 
cholas, for the benefit of the air, hoping 
she might there recover more speedily, or 
at least die more at ease^ 

Her request was refused with some pe- 
tulence; and she was asked, if her inclina- 
tion for wandering were again returned. 

'' I ask it not for myself," said Ida, 
*' but for a sick person. Let me only 



** have permission to attend her thither, 

•* deliver her into thel^^lnds of the nurses 

** of the infirmary of St. Nicholas, and 

** acquaint them how she ought to be treat- 

**ed;'I will imrhediately returri ^6 St. 

•* Ahtte'^ Hvhith^ I humbly ^dciiowledge i^ 

** the* place of my destination.** -'-^ " 'P^'^ ^ 

'The abbess did not seem t6 tfeftS fhe 

life of a nun worth so much attention.^— ^ 

Ida - re xa arked t hat Mary was «ot^ ^nowk 

Mre'iif&T'^^ liame^ ^i^ dfirst libt (ii^ 

cover it," ariff^he sorrowftilly teturried^lftf 

her patient;"'"'; "' ' ^ - ^ ' '^'^^- 

-ais ^Ui^^OLli zBbl ai^w irig^ bns yfiQ 

2Wono2 ^dl §ni}£ivslk ^o zn^^ca no bayolq 

--ioini £!£ i3f{ gniiDDOiq hns ;n33L<p sdi 1o 

z'^d IfA ediadBxilS I5 'ris'-:cb isrl diiw wai'/ 

lo sliaiv Ifiiion isinao esqorl 

io BislBia Tsbia ilad C "::,;:; 

ifil Jon a£w doiriw lo ^uiiJ i;i;i f23;inA .Jd 

bafi jrlgirri aila sld'-:-"^ -' '^ .'!c->*: 

sde modw ol f p't - 

-»3t)Dariq 9i: - 

om\jmsi:m m 

bciB »2fiioH:>^p^^p^£j^ XII. 

THE princess devQted,, herself entirely 
to the service of the unfortunate queen. — - 
They were humane enough in the convent 
not to disturb her in the exercise of her 
charity : her noviciate drew towards an end ; 
she had behaved irreproachably during it; 
and it was contrary to rule to begin anew to 
torment a candidate for the veil, when the 
time of her probation was nearly expired. 

Day and night were Ida's thoughts' em- 
ployed on means of alleviating the sorrows 
of the queen, and procuring her an inter- 
view with her daughter Elizabeth. AH her 
hopes centered in the annual visits of the 
nuns of St. Nicholas to their elder sisters of 
St. Anne's, the time of which was not far 
distant. It was possible she might find 
amongst the visitors some nun to whom she 
could entrust a message for the princes€- 



In the mean time her affectionate^ cqres 
were not lost; and the queen begatnUbnre- 
cover. The princess of Wirtemberg kept 
up her spirits, by endeavouring to inspire 
her with the hopes she herself felt. De- 
spondency gradually diminished. She had 
fancied she had lost every thing dear to her : 
already she had found something to make 
her in love with life ; why should - slieiibot 
indulge this consolotary sentiment,?,T32fm * ' 

Ida had heard a considerable^ part!©!' the 
queen's adventures from the princess Gara; 
yet the end of her story remained a mystery, 
which no one could explain to her but Mary 
herself. This from a person so feeble, she 
could not desire; it would be tearing' el jfieh 
her yet bleeding wounds. She suffered not 
therefore her curiosity to escape her. It 
was observed, however, by the queen, whom 
she had inspired with the tenderest attach- 
ment. ^'' 
'i- '' I perceive your wish, my dear Ida, 
iaid she one day, '* and, heaven be pra*sed, 
:V I-can gratify it, without giving myself 


OF UNNA. 195 

'-pain. You sliall know all. I have coni- 
*' mitted it to writing. My pen was 1117 
^*' sole consolation in tUis melancholy abode. 
'' To recite my griefs was an amusement; 
'' and I was willing to leave behind me tlie 
^* remembrance of my cruel sufferings, that 
*^ my tears might not be wholly confounded 
** with the fearful torrent of those that are 
** incessantly flowing on the world of 
'' misery, and that their traces. miglit^ot be 
*^ totally obliteratecl.'*b:> ^ hu*^^ b£rf sM 

*' Where is this precious writing to be 
*■ found, that contains the misfortunes of a 
• ■' saint?" : .:. ^r- r, ^!riw 

:, '% There is but one place f|r th^-coiif- 
'* v^nt,, held inviolate by malignant curi^ 
'' osity. There have I concealed my 
"' journal. — -The tomb covers my secret^^*^ 
;' Agreeably to the custom of the convent, I 
' '. have with my own hands digged my grave : 
*' frequently have I watered it with n)y 
^ tears ; and to it have I confided my sor- 

':V rows. You will easily find the place.. A 

'*" cross, on which is inscribed the name of 

i:5& HERMAN 

''^yermiica, Pinpoint it out to yod^otaiwia 
*^%ie 'mdcSh will enable you to discover itt?'n 

o"it %as midnight, and every one wase; 
asleep. Ida ran to the cemetery. Wkfeg 
eager curiosity she wandered amongst^^^ 
tombsj^^^t ^^S'^btee time' before she^is- 
covered the grave of Veronica, which -'s We 
had been too long in the infirmary to keep in 
order, and no friendly hand had undertaken 
that office.' -^^he earth had fallen in, the 
cross had 'tumbled down, and Ida would not 
have discovered it, had not she possessed sa- 
gacity enough to distinguish it by its disot^ 
devzd state. She replaced the cross, threw 
OSil the e^rth^ foutid the journal^ andlwas 
returning 16 the infirmary, whea ^ noise '»t 
one end of theeiemetery caught her atteh- 
. -tion.- -^ 'y'' 0-^ '.:' .■ 

as7/ijn tlK)$edays it was doubly meritorious 
-for ayoung person to have courage to walk 
at midnight smongst the habitations of the 
■dead. The persuasion, that the spirits of 
the departed continued to haunt those man- 
;.5ions. where their mortal vesture was depo- 
sited, ejcisted in full force. The pious Ida 

OF UNNA. 167 

sincerely believed it : yet had she courage 
not to fly. She hid heiself und^r an old 
alder tree, close to the wall oF the burying 
ground, and jy^fjiich scarcely exceeded it in 
height. '...'.r 

- The leaves trembled over h^r head ; and. 
on the ground she perceived a shadow pro- 
jected by the light oi'the moon. It was not 
the wind that shock the leaves; for the night 
was perfectly calm. Some w^ords uttered ia 
alow-voice increased her. fears. The trunk 
of the tree, against which she leaned, re- 
ceived a violent shock, and at a small 
distance from her descended a human figure, 
gl^rge, and of a fearful aspect. Had she pos- 
t^ssed the will she had no longer the power to 
fly. What she saw, and what she shortly after 
heard, bore so little analogy to the ideas she 
had formed of apparitions, that her fear was 
now of a nature totally diflerent. from that 
of ghosts. .1 5nj :- d^uibitn U. 

'' This way,**^ said the figure, with ' a 
low voice, and looking to the top of the 
tree: '' Lay hold of that branch, and then 


*Meap boldly, -and you- wiH^-liglafe safeJy 
'* where I am." :>!? ol '^d h^uovr '>» ,rn5Hj lo 
Ida again perceived the same itib^eiia'^rif 
as before, and a second person d^sdend^dv'^i '* 
''You see," said I'he fim,' **^tBat*our 
*' enterprize is not impracticable'. Ltn::bs 
^' now consider what is to be done. Observe' 
'* those grate'd windows, where you percejv^ 
*va light. They are those of the infirmaryV 
"-'Jn which, for some time past, s^he has al- 
•'^ int)st constantly resided. They are not 
'' so high, but we . . . ." 

The men were now gone too far for Ida 
to hear more. She would willingly have 
fled : but fear restrained her more than curi- 
osity. To arrive at the gate of the converit, 
she must have passed these men, who^ap-i'- 
peared to have no good design. Under heir 
tree she was safe, and there she remained. - 
At length the men returned. The hc'e^ 
of one of them seemed not altogether un-' 
known to her^ that of the other she could^ 
Tiot see. '- 

. . •■; 

^ ^M'he safest way, no doubt," said one 
Oi them, *' would be to acquaint her with 
** your design: but how can we procure an 
** interview with herV" 
K, .''The feast of St. Nicholas," said the 
other, '' is at hand. On that day the nuns 
** have more liberty, and it will be possible 
"■ perhaps to speak with her either in the 
'' garden, or in the cemetery. Yet why 
*■' should we delay. The period of her tak- 
•' ing the veil approaches, and there ie no 
'' time to be lost, it will be prudent, there 
*' fore^ to proceed immediately to action." 

. Whilst they vvere thus talking, Ida re- 
cognized one of them for a cavalier belong- 
ing to the archbishop^ The author of the 
stratagem was no longer a mystery to iier» 
It appeared, evident, that her old persecutor, 
deceived in his expectation, that the miser- 
able life she led at St. Anne's would induce 
her to co-mply with his desires, was unwil* 
ling to let things go too far, and chose ra- 
ther to carry her off before she took the 
veil, than to lose her for ever. 

165)] HERMAMv^ 

"Vo Tlie men being gone to a; distant, f^itt of 
the cemetery, Ida stole, frpn^h.qr,:J^di^g 
place, reached the gate safely, shut it after 
her, and arrived almost breathless at the in- 
firmary, where she found the queen uneasy- 
at her long absence. This, however, 
soon removed, when she appeared, bring-* ^ 
ing with her the journal, which fortunateiy 
she had not forgotten. ^^i-ial. ' 

- Much as she had pitied the unhappy 
queen, -she was still more affected at hei: 
fate, when she reflected, that her last com- 
fort was attempted to be ravished from her. 
What Would have become of Mary, if her 
dear companion had that night been car- 
xie«l';oir,;;^nd she had expected her return 

in vain?jjoTfLt n^:£ti yiiS5>ri Etjajjiq ynficn 

It was with' difficulty the princess con- 
cealed from the queen her extreme agita- 
tion, under the appearance of the emotion 
excited by reading the journal. When 
Mary was asleep, Ida gave free scope to her 
reflections, and almost sunk under the 
dread of the danger which threatened, them. 

lo ^t Gh!-said sfie, »^lMt*^tii^-f;gsfival of 
*&St. Nicholas were past! Would that I had 
''^put the fate of Mary beyond the power 
'* of t^ah€frr'A^3^tV>' myself, if other re- 
'V^Mffees failv tlie 'enunciation of my vov/ 
'*Avill at least give nie security; and I 
'' would rather make this cloister ray abode 
'' fbr ever, than become the Matilda of this 
■* detestable Gregory." -^-^ ^'''^ 

' Idavvent to the window, to see whfefher 
the nocturnal visitants of the cemetery 
were yet gone. All was quiet. She ob- 
served, however, that it was not impra«^ 
ticable, with a little management, to carry 
offa pferson'frjc>m that part of the conventt^ 
The windows were not high, the bars were 
in many places nearly eaten through with 
rust, and it was plain that the ^all- was no 
m^utmsiintable barrkr. • p ^'^' "iJii bi>i'^oy 
'TGilofTi:^ : -'ocrcf? nr!? Tsbrjjj ,fioll 

i. ^i~- '. > M 



THE remainder of the night was em- 
ployed by the princess in considering \^hi^ 
steps it would be most prudent to take.-— 
Day was no sooner broken, than she re- 
paired to the abbess, to acquaint her with 
the events of the night, suppressing only 
certain circumstances, which the reader will 
be at no loss to conjecture, arid the name 
of the archbishop^ which she did not think | 
proper to mention. She had not forgotten I 
what she had heard the new Bohemian ' 
preacher say of the dissolute lives of the * 
clergy, and the good understanding that 
secretly prevailed between the nuns and 
their ecclesiajstical superiors. She knew not | 
how far the designs she ascribed to the 
archbishop, might succeed, and therefore 
she spoke only in general terms of what 
had happened. 

Her reception was flattering. The ab- 
bess rejoiced, that Ida at length began to 

OF UNNA. 163 

give proofs of her, religious vocation, and 
and exhorted her to persevere. Measures 
too were taken to repair the old wall; and it 
was thought proper to remove the nurse and 
her patient from the dangerous chamber 
they had hitherto inhabited, to one more 

As the festival of St, Nicholas approach^ 
xedyJda's agitation increased* The wis he d- 
[for day at length arrived; the nuns made 
their appearance. Mary,- who had ac- 
,qiiired strength sufficient to go to her win- 
dow, saw them eome, aiKi heard their song. 
jS'rGo, my cliild," said she to the princess, 
'^ and lose no tim,e; who knows how short 
'■'• the moments may be, that you- will be 
*• able to dedicate to the emancipation of 
'' us both?" 

Ida went. As a novice, she had sup- 
posed she should have been excluded from 
the assembly of the nuns, and should be 
obliged to seize for the execution of her 
project some moQient offered by chance: 
in consequence, however, of the adventure 

164 , , , HERMAN^ ^ ^ 

of the cemetery, she was admitted to e^^oy 
the privileges of a professed liun. She had 
feared, too, that her residence in th^ c^n-r 
vent would be kept, secret, as she had been 
brought thither in some respect by force; 
but she soon discovered^ that the votaries 
of St. Anne were vain of having seduce;d[ 
one of those of St. Nicholas,, and pro^ad of 
having inspired the worldly minded priiir 
cess of Wirtemberg with aa iacii;xa.:atioiv,fo?iF 
a monastic hfe. i:;! ';:vt 3 n r; ^rli 

News like this could not be v^ry pleas- 
ing to the servants of St. Nicholas* Though, 
in other respects, good sort of girls, they 
were not wholly exempt from jealousy, 
which singularly prevails within the walls 
of a convent, where it springs and flourishes 
as in its native soil. Of course they envied 
their venerable sisters this conquest. 

*' I could not have thought this of you,." 
said one of the principal nuns of St. Ni- 
cholas to Ida ; '' I could never have ima- 
"■ gined that the princess of Wirtemberg 
^' would have preferred another convent 

OF UNNA. 165 

*' to ours, had she been disposed to take the 
*^ veil." 

*' Oh," answered Ida, " if you knew 
I ''vt^hat has happened to me!" -iot^bsi' • 

The nun's countenance changed from 
the expression of discontent to that of com- 
ipaision. She was about to ask some ques- 
tion; and Ida, who had no time to lose^ 
"was preparing to'communicate to her those 
s^ecr^ts with which her heart was oppressed, 
Mien a nun of St. Anne's came to interrupt 
the conversation. It was not judged pru- 
dent to permit the new sister to be much 
alone with the amiable seducers of St. Ni- 
'cfeolas ; and she was so carefully watched, 
ttiat^Eibe- feared she should have no opportu- 
nity of accomplishing her purpose. Siie 
r. scaped for a few moments to visit the 
queen ; imparted to her her embarrassment, 
and a new scheme she liad formed ; obtain- 
ed her consent ; and returned to join the 

'' In the name of God," whispered the 
tiun of St. Nicholas, who appeared to have 


waited for her m a corner of the cloister, 
'' tell me by what means you were brought 
'•'■ to this convent. The princess Gara and 
'' and I have sought you every where, and 
'■'- this is the last place in which, we should 
'' have expected to find yotisv^j.Iiow, then, 
*' came you hither i" ; -v!-. 

'' Almost by force," answered Ida. — 
She would have said more, but she was in- 
stantly called by the abbess, and the con- 
versation was again interrupted. During 
the frugal repast, when Ida was observed 
by a thousand eyes, the abbess delivered a 
public eulogy of the manner in which the 
new sister had voluntarily submitted to take 
the veil, of her conduct during lier noviciate 
and of her having herself discovered that a 
design was formed of stealing her^t « 
convent. '' I entreat you my dear sisters," 
added she with an air of devotion, ''to pray 
*' God and his saints to preserve her from 
'' temptation, and from every desire of re-** 
''turning to a corrupt world, till the time 
'' of her taking the habit, which we will .fix 

OF UNNA. 167- 

*\£Qr.thb day iriOnth, being the festival of 
*' saint Scholastica." 

The nuns of St. Nicholas begged per- 
mission to assist at the ceremony. This) 
appeared contrary to rule, and u'as refused. 

Towards evening, however, the princess 
found an opportunity of saying a few words 
by stealth to her friend, the nun of St. Ni- 
cholas: "' Tell the princess Gara," said she, 
*' that I have discovered Mary, "' and that 
*' she expects speedy relief." The nun 
lifted her eyes to heaven with a look of 

'-'• May I confide in you without dan- 
*^ ger?' added Ida. 

The nun answered in the affirmative, 
with an air of frankness, and seemed to 
reproach her for doubting it. 

*' Take this writing then, and deliver 
** it to the princess Gara. Recommend 
'' her above all things to be diligent. The 
*' queen is living : she is in this convent, 
"" but extremely weakened by a tedious 
'' illness." 


Scarcely had the nun time to conceal 
in her bosom the journal of the queen, 
when a messenger frOm the abbess came to 
inform our novice, with a look of some 
dissatisfaction, that it was time to retire to 
her cell; adding, that she had made too 
free with the liberty allowed her, to be 
permitted longer to enjoy it. 

Ida immediately retired to join Mary, 
to whom she gave an account of the suc- 
cess of her enterprize. They discoursed 
of nothing else till night was far advanced; 
they formed conjectures, expressed doubts, 
and gave v/ay to fears, but ultimately che^ 
rished hopes, that heaven would prosper 
their virtuous endeavours. 

The next day the abbess sent for the 

** My daughter," said she, '' we had 
*' good reasons yesterday for wishing to 
'^ prevent all communication between you 
*' and our dangerous sisters of St. Nicholas. 
''It is not impos-ible but they may be 
'* secretly in league with your persecutors. 

OF UNNA. 169 

•** Consider the cu'pable desire they mani- 
** fested of assisting at your taking the habit ; 
'* and besides, sister Margaret declares she 
'* saw the nun who last spok'e to you con- 
*' ceal in her bosom a paper; probably a 
*' viFe letter from one of your friends in 
^^'tbe great world, who wishes to draw you 
*' anew into its pollution." 

Ida, fearing that Mary's journal had 
been discovered, blushed and was so em- 
barrassed that she could scarcely ask if any 
thing had been found upon the nun. 

'* No/' replied the abbess, '' we have 
" found nothing; and indeed we should be 
''sorry to pollute our hands with such pro- 
'' fane writings. What I told you was more 
'' conjecture .... But tell me," added the 
abbess, "- for your change of colour looks 
'' suspicious, vvhat did she say to your" 

'' She .... she .. . she . . . proposed 
*•' to me to take a walk in the cemetery," 
said Ida trembling. 

'' 1 was right," replied the old lady, 
*' If you had complied, you would havebeen 

Vol. III. I 


*Most for ever: for know, unhappy child, 
"-when satan so eagerly pursues, that oUr 
'•'■ walls are not too lofty for our energies. 
"■ Yesterday evening one of our sisters wa-s 
'' seized by two men, and dragged towards 
'' a ladder which they had placed rea([}y. 
'' Fear prevented her crying out; but-^ier' 
'' veil falling off saved her. The sanctity 
'*^.and devotion imprinted on her counte- 
*' r^arice awed, her ravishers. — It was cer- 
*:yfrin]y one of St, Anne's greatest miracles. 
'fvT-^The mistake was, no doubt, fortunate 
''for you, for the falling off of your veil 
'' would by no means have produced the 
'.'j^me effect: your countenance is yet too 
'';\^lPfJdiy to inspire such respect. Do not^ 
*' however, be cast down,- age and rigid 
*' mortifications of the flesh may one day 
*^ enable you to enjoy the same advantages." 
Ida could scarcely refrain from laughter 
at this recital, and the reflections that ac- 
companied it, notwithstanding the fear and 
forrov/ with which her mind was agitated. 


*' You see,'* continued the abbess, '' we 
, '"' begin to treat you with mere confidence, 
f *' and to consider you already as one of our 
*' sisters. I must inform you, therefore, 
*' that the snares laid for you become daily 
'^ more and more evident. This morning 
"- two bars of the infirmary window were 
''found cut through wMth a file. You must 
*' consequently be kept more recluse, till 
*' the day when you will triumph over the 
'' world. Be comforted, however: our pro- 
'' tector, the archbishop, shall be informed 
''of all, who will take care that you shall 
'' be safe." 

At the name of the arclibishop, Ida 
clasped her hands together with an expres- 
sion of the most lively terror. This action 
appeared highly edifying to the abbess, who 
knew not its true moti\e, and she dismissed 
our novice with extreme kindness. 


-g^^ bo .============— ± Oil w 330ffi io *- 


-. h /■^ 

THE minds of Ida and Mary were zgu 
tated with fear and anxiety, in expectation 

of the effect that would be produced at 5t. 
Nicholas by the information they had sent 
thither. A long and melancholy week pas- 
sed away, without the least gleam of hope 
?ppearing. At the end of it, however, Ida 
vva'S sent for by the abbess. 
'l:*r'*^ Daughter," said she, ^' I have some 
''very extraordinary news to impart to 
** you. Your enemies, finding they can- 
** not force you from your holy vocation 
'* by violence, have recourse to stratagem. 
'' But, praised be St. Anne, we are too 
*' mighty for them ; and shall know how to 
'^ frustrate their pernicious designs." 

Ida trembled at these words, and at per- 
ceiving in the hands of the abbess a writing 
to v/hich the archbishop's seal was affixed. 

*' It is now incontrovertibiy demon- 
*' strated," continued the abbess, '' that the 
'* nuns of St. Nicholas are of the number 


QF'tJ^WA. 173 

^' of those who have conspired against tlie 
*' salvation of your soul. This morning 
'* the princess Gara, who resides in that 
" convent, sent us this order from our holy 
** father, which we permit you with due re- 
'*'spect to peruse." 

Ida took the paper as she was directed, 
that is to say, with a reverend genuflection, 
and read as follows : 

'' Holy and devout mother in Gcd, lady 
"■ and abbess of the convent of St. Anne, 
•'' we give you our benediction, and wi;h 
*' you all prosperity. 

'' In virtue of these presents you are 
** ordered to deliver, without making any 
'' dilficulty, into the hands of the nuns of 
*"^ St. Nicholas, your sisters, the reverend 
■■^' mother Veronica, who resides in your 
*' ccnvent, and demands.this change en ac- 
'• count of her extreme weakness, and tlie 
''■ young novice N. N. (called in the world 
'' by the name of Ida of Wirtemberg); 
'' which doing, you will fulfil our will. 



'The princess trembled with joy and fear, 
and returned the letter, without being able 
to utter a word. ^'^^ '^^ 

*^ Your emotion, your silence," resum- 
ed the abbess ''sufficiently evince your 
'' thoughts. But do not fear, my child; 
*' you shall remain with us. In this- letter 
** the holy father directs us what conduct to 
" pursue. Observe these characters, uiiin- 
''^'telligible to every one except his holinegs 
*'and nayseif, and which the nutis of St. 
''Nicholas probably noticed ar, little as you. 
" 'Fhey acquaint us with his real interim 
'qiioBs." -*^ oaow siij xo ' 

^ iiliooking again at the MteV^ IdSi^-^eT- 
cdved a line of small figures, which she 
had before regared as one of the ornaments 
then in use. Her fear increased, and she 
was able only to cast upon the reverend mo- 
xiter a look of dread. 

^/<- -f" You do not understand it," said the 
old lady, bursting into a laugh. " I believe 
" so . . . Th.ese iiieroglyphics signify, that 
" Veronica may be delivered to the nuns 

OF UNMA. 175 

''without diffieulty: but that the ycnng 
*' novice N, N. whom his holiness designs 
'' to honour with his protection, must be 
" detained under some plausible pretext. 
/■>, )*' Agreeably to this order, the sick nun, 
*Vwho has long been a burden to you, will 
*' be delivered in the course of the morning 
*' to those whom the princess may send. It 
*' is a matter of total indifference, whetlier 
'* she be buried at St. Nicholas's or St. 
"" Anne's. You, child, will remain here, 
" and patiently await the day that will de^ 
'' liver you from all the persecutions both 
** of the world and the devil. The ap- 
*' preach of the moment when you are to 
'* pronounce your v^o^vs is a sufficient pre- 
*' text for refusing your departure." 

This terrible sentence affected Ida ex- 
tremely. Her joy at the queen's -deliver- 
ance, sorrow at being separated from her, 
despair at seeing herself compelled to take 
the veil, agitated lier so much, that her legs 
trembled under her, and ^he was ready to 

I 4 

l-je HERMAN 

'A ^^•. Why-are you thti^-«n&asy; uly^^eteMt'" 
-a^id the abbess^ rising to suppbrt-'hei^i-^^ 
::>A..You see that your enemies ■will not'^t- 
*' ceed in their designs, Xet-^hgtn^'fkfee 
:-*' their course : W^e will %eian" ovetfnat^cfh 
*> for them or I am mistaken; Poor Verb* 
'^ nica is obviously a mere pretext ' td get 
*' you into their hands. We will grant 
''them, what they falsely announce to be 
-^^'the grand point cftlieir demand; and we 
'**^ will keep you, whom they would appear 
** to ask incidentally. Make yourself easy, 
*' therefore : go and prepare for Veronica's 
'^ d:^parture; and then come and join me. 
'' In the mean time I shall assemble the whole 
•■-''i^bmmunity, to compliment you as well 
•■' as myself, on our having so happily ex- 
•^ tricated ourselves from this dilemma." 

Ida retired with weeping eyes, acquaint-* 
ed Mary with her deliverance, who could 
scarcely contain herself for joy, parted 
from her with many tears, warmly recom- 
mended her to the care of those who came 
to seek her, and, as she bad her adieu, 


begged^her not wholly to forget ber. If 
any thing could check the queen's happi- 
ness, it certainly was her inability to take 
with her the person who had effected it, 
and to participate with Ida the pleasure she 
was about to enjoy. She promised not to 
lose sight of her affairs, and quitted her 
with fervent expressions of her wish for 
their speedy re-union. iv/ ^fn^di '' 

^^ j^'^What will our sisters at St. Nicholas 
^'..say,,? and what our princess?" whispered 
sec^retjy to Ida the persons sent to fetch her : 
'' .w,hen we tell them you refuse to come to 
'',, their convent, and prefer remaining at 
^Vbt. Anne's." 

'' Refuse!" said Ida. *' Oh ! tell them 
''of my tears; my despair. They will 
'' gue^s the rest." 



SCARCELY could our heroine exert • 
sufficient command over herself tQ.,receiY^ -•: 
with due civility the compliments ^L|b^ '* 
jealous nuns: for here the least advantag.e • 
vv^as a matter of jealousy. As soon as pos- 
sible she quitted the hall, and hastened -to 
retiirnto her cell, there to give a loose^t^j^i^rs. I;3fr::'i 

,*'. O Herman, Herman!'' cried she: 
'^ didst thou know, that thy beloved was on 
' > ■ t b^,- -b ra n k of . b e i n g t o r n f r o m thee fo r 
'• evei^ir-^-'^il^^ y^t does it not seem as if 
''>^i'^ore interested in my fate than ' 
" Love? — To deliver me the archbishop l;as- 
'■' made attempts, on which thou hast never 
*' once,thOjUght. He perhaps will invent 
'' some means of preventing my taking the 
•' veil, and get me into his power: but 
'-* thou . . . Yet could I pardon thee an ac- 
*' tion contrary to the laws? Should I fol- ■ 

^ low tne'v^ wtit thou now to present thy- 
'' self before nie? — Alasf No. — Surely I 
*' do not in reality des"re to be emancipated 
*' from this frightful captivity, or un- 
*' doabtedly I should have discovered some 
'* means of breaking my chains, or at least 
*' have availed myself of those furnished me 
*' by chance. But I want courage and re- 
'' solution. — O Herman, Herman T* 

^nrJif^ name, so frequently invoked by 
Ida in her sorrow, will no doubt recal our 
knight to the remembrance of tlie reader. 
We have for some time amused his atten- 
tion with events in some sort foreign to the 
chevalier of Unna : perhaps he has forgot- 
ten, that Herman is the hero of our story.' 
L'et us therefore return to his adventures, 
though, to do so, we must go back a whole 
year fri '6dr tiarrat i ve. 

It was with great regret he quitted Ratis- 
ben, to follow into Italy the count of Wir- 
temberg, whom he had liberated. 

What would he not have given to have 
obtained some satisfactory news of Ida 


before his departure? But time to make in- 
quiries was wanting. Tlie count of Wir- 
temberg durst not, and would not, longer 
delay his journey. Paternal tenderness was 
far from inspiring him with so lively an in- 
terest in the fate of Ida, as love inspired 
Herman. Besides he had not yet wholly 
pardoned his daughter for her imprudence 
in introducing herself to the meeting of the 
secret tribunal; an imprudence to which 
Ida owed her proscription, and her father 
his being compelled to quit Germany. 

Neither had Herman anytime to lose. 
He one day received a note containing only 
the following words. ^' Fly, Herman!, The 
^ "avengers are at thy heels!" ; .rrjhj 

It was easy to guess the author of this 
billet, which was signed Alexis of the Oaks^ 
a name that instantly recalled to Herman's 
memory the fair AHcia, and the adventure 
that befel him near the clump of oaks. -In 
this advice, therefore, he readily discovered 
the friendly hand of Ulric of Senden. 

OF UNNA. 18), 

'^ Adieu! Adieu! dear country t' .at con- 
'^ tains ail I iove!** cried Hennan, as jie 
quitted the confines oF Geniiany..-i'.'v-51^all I 
*' ever behold thee again? Alas! my blood 
'' will probably be spilt on some foreign 
** land, where no one will bestow a tear 
*' on my corpse. My ashes, collected by 
*' no friendly hand, will be scattered by the 
** wind: and what will become of Ida?" 

Herman, however, arrived safe at the 
camp of the Teutonic Knights. His name 
was a sufficient recommendation, and en- 
sured him a flattering reception. He was in- 
formed, that amongst the knights was a per- 
son, whom they supposed to be related to 
him, as his name was John of Unna. He 
was one of the grand crosses of the order. 
His l^eart beat at this intelligence ; but he 
said nothing. He was introduced to this 
officer. The two brothers.iecpgnige^.-wh 
other, and embraced. -: r f-}"^ ' - { 

*' It was you," whom I sought here, said 
Herman : ''it was you alone by whom I \\'as 
'* drawn hither. How happy to find you so 

The little Her man, •for^%ICkito|was 'v^'lieii'^sl 
he last saw him, had always. been more=-^ 
loved by him than any of his brothers; 
in like manner as to their sisters, he had 
prefered Agnes and Petronilla. A thou- 
sand questions concerning the family werei 
put to Herman, who was not tardy in his 
answers. The recital of his adventures was 
reserved for a private conversation the next 
day. Of these the Teutonic Knight ap- 
peared to be perfectly ignorant. 

Herman felt much respect for his bro- 
ther John, whose situation and manners 
tended equally to inspire it. He asked 
Herman what induced him to leave Ger- 
many. Thi"s might have been fully an- 
swered in seven word: '' I am pursued by 
*' the secret tribunal:" but Herman could 
not venture to render himself suspected by 
his brother at first sight. He answered, 
therefore, still more shortly: '' my mis- 
'' fortunes." 

John, \viiiK;i;'. i;.^^ '.liii^ hko p^iiiCu- 
lars, and supposing misfortLine had inspired 
liis brother with a wish to take the habit of 
the order, contented hiiLseif with promising 
him advancement byway of consohng him. 

To this Herman answered nothing. — 
! The brothers parted. For the mutual rela- 
tion of their adventures, the next day had 
been fixed, and the whole of the night was 
spent by Herman in considering how he 
should arrange the long series of events that 
had befa.len him, so as to leave on his bro- 
ther's mind no doubt of his innocence. He 
was. not Ignorant, that the simplest tale is 
ah/.-ays the best, as bearing the stamp of in- 
genuousness: but he had too ofcen had the 
misfortune to have his actions misconstrued 
by those he loved not to have become, 

1-n tli^.mean time, both his hopes of 
happiness, founded on the conversation he 
was to have with his brother, and his anxiety 
to maintain a place in his esteem, scon va- 
nished. TiiC moment lie was preparing to 

quit his tent, in order to wait on him, he 
received information, that John had sud- 
denly set off on business of emergency; 
and that all he had been able to do before 
his departure, had been to recommend hiin 
to the grand master. .^ ..^.v-'r 

To the grandmaster, whose napaewas 
Ulric of Jungingen, he was accordingly in- 
troduced, and met a favourable reception. 
Supposing him desirous of wearing the 
cross, he was informed of the conditions on 
which it was to be obtained. In those days, 
it was still more difficult to be admitted 
a knight of the Teutonic Order, than even 

at present. ..v-^cpb :>^nc 

Herman saw without regret this , ftyo^i^ 
deferred, which at bottom he did notdesirCpv 
It was enough for him to have obtained per- 
mission to share, in some measure, the glo- 
rious achievements of the order, by serving 
under its standard : and he resolved by his 
conduct to prevent, at least, any prejudice 
in his disfavour, if, what he so carefully 
concealed, should be discovered. 

OF UNKA, l':3f5 

Oar manu^cfipf 'does hot'ibehtlon tWe 

actions at whicliour hero was present dur- 
ing the seven months he served in this ar- 
my : it says only, that on all occasions he 
behaved with prudence and courage ; that 
from accidental circumstances "he became 
extremely intimate with the two Jungin- 
gens, the one actual, the other late grand 
master : that the famous Henry Huss, for- 
Siyrl]^^^ftep6scd; appeared not fe^'i%^"^'tiiiri^ 
• fWeficfly'iro him : and that there was ei^ery 
. riii'sdn^ to believe he would soon have ^'had 
T Aothing to oppose his admission into the 
order, when an event arrived, which^t 
once deprived him of the safety he e'njoyetJ 
amongst the Teutonic Kniglus, and'tfitew 
liim again on a stormy sea, on which he 
vas like to have perished. • ' ^^§^^^"3 ^^w )i 
Amongst the candidate knights;' '-fJeW' 
man made acquaintance v/ith a ni^^^,'f6i^ 
whom he felt himself singularly intete^fedl 
He was a stern unpolished soldier, whoF^ 
countenance appeared to have been roughv- 
ened by misfortune. He was sileiit' arncj- 


reserved to everyone but Herman, who 
had more than once saved his life in battle, 
employed his interest with the grand mas- 
ter to procure him justice against the cabals 
of his enemies, seemed to attach himself to 
liim for the same reasons which led others 
to avoid him, and sought his society be- 
cause he was un'^appy* 

Naturally inclied to console the afflict- 
ed, Herman had long edeavourei tQ,di^' 
cover the cause of this knight's sorrows, 
that be might apply the balm of comfort to 
his wounds. At last accident effected a 
mutual confidence. 

The friend of Herman revealed tO' him 
his name. He was Conrad of Langen, 
brother to the fair Alicia, who, pursued by 
the secret tribunal, here found a kind of 
asylum. The remernbrande of his sister, 
and the resemblaiice of their destiny, f4n- 
creased Herman's attachment to him. He 
embraced him affectionately, called him' 
his brother, informed him of the alliance-, 
that^had taken place between their families, 

anJ promised to acquaint him without de- 
lay with the events of his lifcr 

Herman kept his word, and related his 
adventures with as much frankness as h^ 
would have done to his brother the com- 
mander. Conrad, also, not with-held by 
tlie fear of a rigid censor, concealed not the 
least circumstance of his own. His history 
proved, that he was far from not having 
committed any of the crimes for ivhich he 
was pursued by the secret tribimal ; where- 
as Herman, perfectly innocent, might bold- 
ly present him :elf and say, I ara free from 

Conrad, after Herman hai tlnished his 
tale, was for a while silent. ''■ You are 
^' more innocent than I," said he, at length : 
" your affair is not to be compaired with 
^' mine; yet is our fate nearly the sam'^.— 
'' Might not one be tempted almost to re- 
'•'• nounce virtue, wiien we consider, that it 
'' is frequently as obnoxious to misfortune' 
'• as vice? The best thing we can d':>, how- 
*' ever, is to quit this country, before the 

183 HERMAN^ 

^' rigid Teutonic knight shallknow oiir sttu- 

** ation. Their eyes uUimately penetrate 1 
*' every thing: they are nearly as clear- 
" sighted as our enemies the free judges.— 
'■^'Po not hope to be admitted into tfi^ir 
*''ordef, without a strict inquiry' being 
*"' made into your conduct: and, if they 
'' learn the motives of your arrival here^ 
'' expect to be judged with severity^ for 
'^neJ^"(^elicacy is so eieat, tKatrwith thi^m 
*"*^ an accusation js as great a blot as •^^pQ^^ 
•*' monstrated crime/' 

,*'Does Conrad think then," j;eplled 
Herifian, *^''that I am desirous of obtain- 
•^^ lAg'tfie cross of the order?" '" ' 7 . '\ 
i ^ I suppose so, because X im-^gmed, 
^^^lllat we, whose fate is so similar, niisht 
^*^. seek, the same resources." ' '. ^,^ 

'''*' You design, then^ to fix yousself 

■ '* Before I answer your question, hear 
*^* the part of my adventures which is un- 
** known to you.. When the persecutiGii 

^^- VM^- ^s^ 

*^' of the free judges constrained me to quit 
'' my castle, and leave an unfortunate sis- 
*' ter without protection, fortune offered 
'^ me, in the midst of my afflictidns, a 
** treasure, which she frequently refuses to 
'' lier greatest favourites; I mean a faithful 

*' friend My deliverer, my dear 

" John of Unna appeared, and saved me 
'' from despair, which was urging me to 
" put an end to my days, and thus consign 
'' mysclf, laden with sins, to eternal per- 
"" dition. 

*' John of Unna ! my brother-?" 

'* Yes, he! Anxiety and watching had 

exhausted my strength. I was scarcely 

three miles from my castle, when sleep 

' began to overpower me. It was necessa- 

' ry that I should continue my way, or lose 

' all hope of escape. I reached a wood, 

' that, in happier days, had often lent me 

* it's friendly shade under which to enjoy 

' the pleasures of repose after fatigue. I 

' knew, if I went farther, I should find an 

' cpen country for m .ny miles, where 1 


-" must sleep in the face of day, unsheltered 
*' by a single tree. It is true there were 
" villages and inns: but ^ under what roof 
•-' could a traveller like me sleep securely? 

'* I lay down, therefpre, under the first 
*^ tree, and fell asleepc How long I slept, 
*' I know xp^": but when I awoke, the first 
'' object jtnat^met^^iiiy €yes was a man with 
" a drawn sward. Instantly I arose, and 
■'-'• put myself into a posture of defence. — 
'' My enemy was the strongest, and I was 
'\on the point of being over powered, 
*' when a cavalier came up, and im- 
'' mediately undertook my defenjce. — 
'^ This was your brother, John of Unna. 
*' ile had never before seen me: but* to 
"- find a man in distress was sufficient in- 
'* ducement withhim to goto his assistance. 

*^ My antagonist was soon obliged to 
*'- quit the field to our united forces. I 
" thanked your brother, as my guardian an- 
*'gel; we embraced; we told each other 
'' our names ; and mine, though the name 

OF'uNNA. 191 

'' of one condemned by the secret tribunal, 
'' for I was known so to Le all over the 
'^country, did not incite hirn to withdraw 
"• from me his friendship. 

'' He treated me as a brother, and sat 

*' down by my side 'I, too, am a 

'■'• ' fugitive,* said he: ' I am fleeing from 
'^ my kindred, who would compel me to 
**-embrace a way of life to which I have an 
" invincible repugnance. Let us repair, 
'* then, my friend, to join the Teutonic 
'' Knights. Their order may protect us 
'^ from violence, and iead us some day to 

'* honour.' I struck hands with 

'* him, assuring him, that I would follow 
'^ him any where, and we reposed on the 
'^ grass to make a slight repast on the pro- 
*•■ vision your brother had in his portman- 
*^ teau. We drank out of the neighbour- 
*' ing brook : we formed projects for our 
** future lives ; and dicamt not of the dan- 

'* ger that might frustrate them To 

'' that danger, the danger of death, we had 
*^ nearly fallen victims. The innocent 


'' .was obliged to share in it, because lie as- 
^' sociated with the guilty. The foe, from 
^' whom John had delivered me, appeared 
'' anew, bringing with him a companion, 
*' that he might engage us on even terms. 
'' In an instant we were on our feet. Our 
'' sabres, by an unpardonable negligence, 
" we had left at some distance on the grass; 
" so that we had no weapons but the knives 
" with which we were eating. 

"' The combat was very unequal, though 
*' one of our antagonists, he whom the 
*' first had brought with him, seemed to 
'* fight with reluctance. No doubt it was 
** Ulric of Senden, the lover of Alicia, who 
" was forced to draw his sword against his 
" mistress's brother. He carefully avoided 
'^ wounding me, and soon turned from me 
*' to my second, who, unable to stand long 
*' against an enemy armed vjiih a sword, 
'* was obliged to betake himself to flight. 
'^ I was then easily taken prisoner by the 1 
*'• other who led me to Osnabruck. I know 

OF UNNA. 193 

** not what prevented him from taking my 
'' Hfe on the spot. From my prison I 
'' found means to escape, and thus avoided 
** the disgrace of an ignominious death. — 
"• Immediately I repaired to the place 
** where I conjectured I should find my 
'' friend, John of Unna. Already was he 
*' decorated with the cross cf the Teutonic 
** Order. Being now better acquainted 
'' with the statutes of the order, than when 
** we first met, he knew it would be impos- 
'' sible for me to obtain it, and lie advised 
** me to relinquish my projects, and thus 
^^ avoid the strict scrutiny that would be 
** made into my actions. By his advice, 
'* also, I changed my name: my real one 
'' would have exposed me to the greatest 
•* dangers. My misfortune was not, like 
*' yours, involved in obscurity: it would 
*' have been over with me, were I once 
** known be Conrad of Langen. 

" Your noble brother could not serve 
*' me as he wished; yet, notwithstanding 
*' the circumstances that tied his hands, he 
Vol. hi. K 


'' did much in my favotiri W^oWirvt^ zm I 
" indebted for life, for honour, for the 
** means of subsistence; nay, more, for thfi 
'' opportunity of signalizing myself'" by 
" glorious deeds ! and, perhaps, it will not 
'' be impossible, by continuing to distin- 
*'• guish myself, to efface the remembrance 
'' of my past life. 

" Some business of the order having 
*' called your brother away, I could certain- 
*' ly not have remained here without a pro- 
*' tector. In that respect you have suppli- 
*' ed his place ; and whilst your adventures 
** remain unknown, your name and repu- 
'* tation will support me. But, Oh! what 
" a man is your brother! How great and 
*' noble a character! .... Friend of the 
** oppressed, whom the whole world rejects! 
*' . . . A faithful guide, who has led me 
" into the path of virtue ! Can I ever re- 
*' pay what I owe him? Surely, no: my 
'' life w^ould be too little to compensate such 
'' benefits." 

OF UNXA. 195 

At these words Conrad melted into 
tears. Herman closely embraced him, and 
they consulted together what course they 
should pursue; but fortune sparing them 
the trouble of carrying it into execution, 
the result of their deliberation has never 
reached us. 

K 2 



OUR two knights should have been 
more cautious in their discourse. They 
lived in a coun^ry, where neither darkness nor 
retirement could secure them from treacliei^)^.. 
TK'eif bl-aveVj/; the respect shewn them.'t)^' 
tFj'e gmnd hiaster and the rest of the ;kn!ghts, 
the supposii-jon that they were both candi- 
dates for the cr03F, and that it could not be 
refused';'fliem,Vhad excited envy. Th^ir 
ruin w;ds sougiU; then- steps Were watcn^a^ 
and it was matter of exultation to thei? ene- 
mies, that their imprudence had disclosed 
things, \which must cover them with con- 
f isrdris and drive them from a place where 
their presence v/as unv;clcome. 

The grandmaster was informed of what 
Keiman and Conrad had entrusted to each 
other under the veil of night. Hcmy 

OF y^^^. 197 

Rf i.v.^s was at bct'-om no gieat friend to the 
kiiight of ndcliiyj^ajid^tiiese two unfoitunafe 
victims cf secret veng^eance would have been 
ticated wiiii severity, and particubrly Her- 
man, the most innocei^t of tb.e two, bii-dnot 
tijc: count of Wiitemberg iiJteriered. 

The count: and Herman had, since tb.eT 
arrivah always resided toeelher. Thcv hc-d 
both fouc^ht under the sianddiid of the 
Teutonic Knighits. The foFraer bad, thus- a 
thousand opportun.ities of becoming ac- 
quainied with the heroic qualities of our 
young hero, and began to be greatly attach- 
ed to him whom he had once so much hated. 
Independently of the liberation of the count 
at Ratisbon, Herman had fiequentlv r^en- 
dered him essential services. 

Tiie count was grateful, and pleacled 
Herman's cause with ardour. Probably he 
would have been completely justified, l^ad 
jiot the count of Wirtemberg himself lived 
in a kind of banishment, which was not 
completely done away till at Icr.'t a 


193 HERxMAN* 

month after, and which, for the present, xoti- 
siderably abated the influence of his media** 
tion. "^'-"t ^d 

The terrible tribunal, which pursued- 
Herman and Conrad, had ministers every' 
where. No sooner was their situatioh known, 
than numbers of secret avengers prepared to 
execute the sentence pronounced against 
them. Neither the grand master nor the 
count could save them from this peHi'i'^^- 
The only favour the latter could obtain, in 
consequence of the authority he had form^er- 
]y enjoyed in that society, and whiclilie^iVa^' 
sli0]rtiy to resume, Mzs that Herman should 
be conduct edlh safety to Weslphalia, foWs 
nnc^,, the old count of Unna, who, he fiad 
everv reason to believe, would protect and 
favour li!;n, even if he could not procnve 
hiiil justice. .-' 

The hopes of count Ev^r^Yd v/ere not 
williout foundation. A report prevailed, 
that soiiit trace of the murderers of duke 
Frederic v-ie discoveied; th?t one of then), 
-named Failienberg, was already in ihe hands 

OF UNNA. 199 

of iiistice; an.l that throusrh him there was no 
doubt but the rest of the accomplices would- 
be foiuid out and arrested. 

'' Go, my son," said the count to Her- 
man; '* if you have not deceived me, if you 
'' can completely justify yourself from hav- 
v ing borne a part in that infamous crime, 
"- and appear as innocent in the eyes of the' 
"• pubhc as in mine, I promise you the ac- 
*' comphshment of your dearest wishes." 

'* What, that Ida sliall b? miner" asked 
theyouth, transported with joy, and throwing 
iiimself at count Everard's feet. 

" Softly, softly," said the old count, who 
seemed to regret in some measure what, 
he had just said. ''You ask too much. — ' 
'* A knight of Unnn, and a princess of Wir- 
'' teiuberg, would be a match too dispropor- 
" tionate. If, however, the count of Unna 
'^ lulFiJl his promise, and adopt you for hh 
'' fon . . . then perhaps I should not be. so 
"" unjust as to refuse my daughter to the heir 
"■ of so great a name, to the son too of my 
'' ancient friend." 


200- HERMAN 

5^rA smile was on the lips of Everardr'as 
he pronounced the last words. Herman^ feU> 
at his knees a second time. '^ She is mihev: 
*' then/' cried he; *' she is mine! O^myj 
" father! how shall I thank you^'; -i b^^oq 
*' Extravagance of youth!. where are;thef. 
'' proofs of your innocence? Who can say • 
*Vw-lTether your uncle will keep his word? . 
" And, indeed, where is Ida herself, whom 
*V9jDe would suppose you had alreadyoin^ 
'\.^Qur arms?" 
^..^idai:! Ah ! v/ere she at the extremity of 
ibe.glpbie, were she at hell itself, I wouklf 
'' go tl;itherin quest of her. Bui she ,iS;ii7-a • 
'' convent in Hungar}^ as I am gi\^en to unr' 
*\cle^rstand,.by a letter s'.ie has writ ten. to the 
'* qii^en of Bohem;?. 1 wili.,¥isit.,|BH€r^nf 
'* monastery in the kingdom; I will spare 
''.neither prayers nor threats; I will be pro- , 
" digal of bribes; I will employ force, if i 
"- necessary, till I have discovered her, and 
'• brought her wilh me to your feet, the:e 
*' 10 receive your benediction." 


OF UNNA. 201 

The count shook bis head. Things 
that seem easy to youth appear far otherwise 
to the experience of age. Herman informed 
Everard, that his daughter had been ex- 
posed to the sword of the secret tribunal, 
and that nothing could have saved her but 
lier abode in Hungary, where she -was shel- 
tered from its pursuit. ** And will not the 
*' return of her father, re-established in his 
''right*," added Herman, *'• necessarily pro- 
'* duce the justification of Ida? No, my 
" lord, you will not succeed in weakening 
'' my hopes; be you but favourably disposed 
''' towards me, and I fear not the whole 
" world." 

Everard and Herman parted; the former 
tolerably content, the latter perfectly en- 
chanted. The count had once formed 
greater plans for his daughter. To see her 
duchess of Brunswic, and perhaps empress, 
would, unquestionably, have been more 
fluttering to his pride, than the title of coun- 
tess of Unna ; but he had already found 
Inmself obliged to abate something of his 



The emperor, Robert, was firmly esta- 
blished on the throne, which the count once 
thought himself on the point of ascending. — 
There was no appearance of the German 
princes making another choice. Every thing 
was so arranged, that, on his death, the im- 
perial crown could not fail of descending to 
king Sigismond, whose successor, Diitke Al- 
bert of Aubtria, was too powei' be sup- 
planted by another; and what probability 
was there, that an old man, li];e count 
rard, should survive the youthlul Albert? 

OF UNNA. 203 


HERMAN of Unna and Conrad of Lan- 
gen were both delivered into the hands of 
their persecutors. The former was treated 
wiih much indulgence, no doubt because 
he was supposed to be innocent; and the 
latter, though charged with numerous 
crimes, in some degree participated the 
treatment of his friend. 

Langen probably knew his situation bet- 
ter than did those who were appointed to 
conduct him before his judges. He knew, 
tliat the moment he arrived at the place of 
his destination, all the ancient accusations 
against him would be renewed, particularly 
that relating to the bishop of Osnabruck. 
He knew that he had no resource but in 
flight, and this had so often succeeded with 
him, that he flattered himself it would not 
fail now. Fertile in stratagems, and not very- 
scrupulous in the means he employed, he 


accomplished his design. One evening he 
embraced his friend with great emotion,o 
spcke of the pleasure of meeting after a! 
long separation, and .... the next morn- 
ing he was not to be found. Strict search 
was made after him; but to no purpose: 
no one could discover what was become of 
him. 'Ohnizid 

y; Herman regretted his departurevyet re- 
joiced that he had recovered his liberty.— 
Lest he should be inclined to follow Con- 
rad's example, he was himself watched 
more strictly. Superfluous precaution! — 
Conrad had often urged him to betake him- 
self to flight, and he had as often refused. 
Why should he have fled? His conscience 
was clear: the judge to whom he was to be 
conducted was his relation, his friend: and 
inmost places through which he passed 
rumours prevailed, that gave him hopes of 
being completely justified. Of these his 
guards made no secret: for one day he was 
informed by them, that Falkenberg, the 
known assassin of the duke of Brunswic» 

OF UNNA. 20f 

bad denounced, as his accomplices, "Werner 
of Ilaatstein, and Henry count of Waldeck,' 
both, as well as himself, in the service of 
the elector of Mentz. Kence it was easy to 
divine on whom the suspicion must fall ; 
and as to Herman he was no way accused. 

He rejoiced at these striking proofs of 
his innocence. His guards were not insen- 
sible of them, and tlicy proposed to leave 
hifn at liberty to go where he plea-s^d. The' 
loyal knight smiled at this propose]; Iundcef:ce 
nei.'er files, said he once more, and calmly- 
suffered himself to be conducted to the 
castle of his uncle, tl:e old count of UiiriaV ' 

It was not as a prisoner, but as a friend,"^ 
tliat Herman was conducted to the house' 
of his relation, who received him with open 
arms. '' What, already arrived to enjoy 
*'y-oirr, triumph?" cried the count, as he 
saw him entering. '' I linve but just writ- 
"• ten to Italy, to inform you of the man- 
*' ner in which the truth has been discover- 
" ed : is it possible the news can have 
" reaciied vou so soon?" 


The young knight acquainted his uncle 
Vv'ith the circumstances that occasioned his 

'' I am happy to assure you," replied 
the count, "^ tliat the manner in which 
'" you have been thus brought to meet your 
'* justification is the last trouble you will 
'' experience from a crime in which you 
"■ had no sliare. Hautstein, Falkenberg, 
'' and Waldeck were the accomplices of 
'• Hertingshausen, and perpetrators of the 
''deed. None of them accuse you : they 
" all declare on the contrary, that they 
'•'■ knew not "your name, except by having 
** heard Hertingshausen, when intoxicated, 
'' say you were his enemy, and svvcar he 
" v;ouli be avenged of you, should it cost 
*' him his happiness here and hereafter. — 
'^ It is not surprising, therefore, that his 
*' malignant disposition sugges:ed to him, 
'' on his meeting you near Fritzlar, to ac- 
*•' cuse vou of the crime for which he suf- 
*^ fered. In this accusation he persisted to 
'■ ibe last : and hence sprung all your mis- 
** fortunes." 

OF UNJKA. 207 

' Horror seized Herman when he heard a 
circumstantial relation of the conspiracy, 
to which duke Frederic fell a victim. He 
trembled when the names were repeated of 
those who were concerned in the crime. 
....*' V/eii, and what is the punishment 
'' of those murderers?" said he with eager- 

'' A fine," ai:swered the count, shruo-- 
ging up his shoulders: ''■ A fine only!" 

''A fine! and I was to be put to death 
" merely on sus^i^icion !" 

''' They are princes," replied ti:e count : 
V'l you were only Herman of Unna." 

The old count had a long conversation 
wlh his nephew on this event : and, Her- 
man on his part, related his adventures 
amongst tiie Teutonic Knights, and the pro- 
mise made him by the count of Wirtem- 
berg. As much as the latter part of his nar- 
rative pleased his uncle, so much did he ap- 
pear displeased with tiie former; and Her- 
man was obliged to undergo a strict exami- 
nation on the manner in which he had lived 


with his brother John. The coiint^'biP 
Unna's iiatred to the younger branch of his 
family was inextinguishable ; and nothing 
could have preserved his nephew from the. 
displeasure of the old gentlemanV'^Biif^^fr^'^ 
affurance which he gave him, with trutfe^^'^ 
that he had spoken to his brother but once. 
'' And what is his situation there?" asked 
the count. '' No very respectable one, I 
'' presume/' ^'^^ 

*' He is grand cross, and has a c^rt^^-" 
•"^ mandery." ^^;!nn = 

'' Ah indeed! I know thei^ to whaf-iitf^*^-^ 
" owes his advancement: not to liis ser^^^^ 
*' vicesr bu4:^^to the expectation that,-aFte¥ ^■ 
'' my death, he will be count of Unna.— -' 
'* Yet I shall deceive them. This John, 
*' and the vain glorious Bernard . . . But 
*' they are right ; as I have no child,^ your 
"- family, or the empire, must be my heir. 
'' Patience, however! I will choose one 
*' they least expect; the youngest, the most ^ 
'* despised of them all ; him v;hom they 

OF y N.NA. £0^ 

*' thoHght to bury in the dust of a cloister, 
" in order to raise themselves at his ex- 
" pence." 

During this speech the old man's anger 
kindled into a flame. With a tone of us- 
peritVi he ordered Herman to witlidraw, 
who knew not what to think, till an ancient 
domestic of the house, whose probity he 
had discovered on his first visit to Unna, 
told him that the count, having been at- 
tacked with a dangerous disease, a few 
months before Herman's arrival. Bernard of 
Unna, and the abbess of Marienhsgen . 1 ad 
talked so publicly of their expectations, that 
it reached liis ears,- and confirmed|hioi,iii ■' 
the resolution he had formed in f^,yp^J pf^ 
Herman, ; . i t ^ ,v 

I'he wrath of the count soon subsided,- 
and the day on v.hich Herman \y;as sc]^iiua>. 
Iv proclaimed innocent of the crime oi 
which lie had been accused, he adopted him 
for his son, and declared him ius- heir — 
Herman's gratitude for such*-.^ b^' 
wldch no one more fully feh. the f.xiijox- 

210: HERMAN- 

tance, sensibly sfFected the old. man: he 
thought he observed in the eyes of his ne- 
phew nothing but the astonishment excited 
by an extraordinary favour to which he 
had no pretension ; and this extrenaely' 
pleased him. .^;-;i:.:.:.;. .::;;!• ivuui' 

Neither was the count much • mist ai-e mi- 
lt is true expected what he had juat 
obtained: his uncle's promise had giveti 
him the idea; and his conversation witli; 
the count of Wirtemberq had recalled it tc 
bis memory: yet Vv^as lie not less surprised 
to "find himself tlius suddenly at the summit 
of his hopes. He knew, that lie was in- 
debted for it to no claim of right, but 'soie- 
ly to the kindness of his uncle : and to se^ 
the foundations of his happiness, of whicli 
his generous relation ktiew not all the ex- 
tent, .thus securely laid, excited in him the 
most lively effusions of gratitude. ■ .■ 
' "• Yes, thou art my son, my only son," 
cried i:.e, pressiiig Herman to his bosom. 
'* All the world sliali kno'.v how much I 
*' love thee. I am proud of thee, and by 

OF UNNA. 211 

*' the splendor with which I will equip thee, 
'' I will humiliate those who envy thee, and 
*' who so eagerly expected my death." 

There appeared in tliese words .ome- 
thing mysterious: but Herman scon under- 
stood their meanincr. The count i^ave him 
notice to prepare the next day to visit his 
brothers and sisters attended by a magni- 
ficent retinue. This news afflicted his good 
and gentle heart. What pleasure indeed 
could he feel, at being thui sent merely to 
brave his family? He submittc*.!, however, 
to his uncle's will; after haviiig prevailed 
on him, b/ dint of intreaties, to omit v^'^.at 
would too sensibly liave v;cundcd the pride 
of his relations* 

Agnes and Petroniila were delighted to 
see him, and sincerely p:.rticipated his. 
happiness. Uiric also ihrev/ hi. y. self into 
his arms transported with joy. The abbess 
aiid the canoness made him a thousand pic us- 
compliments; v;hilst the ill-dissembled 
jealousy of L'ernard and Gather "ne were 
visible in their eyes, Herman, however, 

f!2 irERMA>r 

dvtWx&t^^ Xh^iTiW^y his polfteiiess 
ahd sincere expre'ssibris oF' fnendshipr"'But 
to none did he give^ so mnch pleasure ks 16 
his sister-in-law Alicia; to whom he brought 
news of her brother. ■''^' ^ ■ 

"''■Conrad had reached Hungary 'witHi^W 
fhe least accident. The king received hinf 
into his service, though he concealed not 
froitf'^fiiiii ought respecting his sitaatio'il': 
Sigismond was not more nice in the choice 
of his servants than of his mistresses; and 
his queen Barbe saw with pleasure her 
court increased by the addition of a famous 
knight, of whom she hoped in time to 
ni^^^a conquest. , sun 3d '' 

" •' AgVee'-ible as t'ne society cf Ulrlc jind' 
Alicia, of Agnes and Petronilla, was to 
Herman, he could not long remain Vvdth 
thbm. A passion far stronger than friend- 
ship, his love for Ida, the desire of disco- 
vering her asylum, and his anxiety for her 
fate, scion tore him from the arms of his 


OF UXNA. £13 

, 'His.^nQJe;, informed, of bis love 2nd his 
hopes,, h^d given him leave to depart in 
quest of the princess. Borne on the wings 
of love, he arrived ^t Prague, hopirg that 

I the queen vouid acquaint him wiih the 
place of Ida's abode : but Sophia was equally 
anxious and ignorant of her situation. — 
I'hence he flew to the liouse ,<of honest 
JVIunsler, uhere, instead. of the Jnformatiou 
lie hoped, he found nothing but tear§^*,- ;p 
bni:"". She is in the hands of the old arcli- 
-;V'bishop,*' said the fosterfai.her of Ida ; '* out 

f^.^ ci vvjiich no human force can rescue her. 
f^lSubinko, h.aving lest all hjis power in 13o- 
-'' hernia, exerci.^es with the more rigour 
*' what he has left in Hur.gary. Ke Jives 
'' at the court of Sigismond; Barbe is his 
'* friend; and no one dares oppose him." 

7 hjs was encngh for Heiman. flis 
coarse was instantly resolved on. He swore 
to move fjeaven and earth for ilie delivery 
of his niislress from ilic persecution to 
v.hich slie was exposed; ai;d repicached 
hiniseif for having so long remained 
ca=v her late. He had' supposed 


a Gonvent the safest possible asylutn' for an 
innocent young woman : a bishop, he inia- 
gined, could have no other views, no de- 
signs, in imprisoning an heretic, then in- 
structing her, and making her renounce her 
errors : but be soon changed his opinioh 
when he had heard Mnnster. From that 
moment every hour appeared an age till 
Ida Vv-as delivered. His distance frorn 
her seemed greater every step he took. — 
Happily Munster accompanied him, whose 
cool judgment prevented or repaired the 
numerous follies to which our young knight, 
from his eager precipitancy, was exposed. 

The court of Hungary, detestable as it 
must have appeared to him by the presence 
of an ungrateful king, and a wicked queen, 
of whom he could not think without recol- 
lecting the adventures of the castle of Cyly, 
was th^ place to which he would fain, on 
magic wings, have been instantaneously 
transported. There he expected to hear 
news of Ida ; there awaited him a new 
pleasure, which he had frequently desired 

OF UNNA. 215 

since the bappy issue of his misforiiines: 
Duke Albert of Austria was expected at 
Presburg. To see him, to be protected, 
counselled by him, and at lengt'.i to save 
Ida, formed a prospect highly pleasing to 
Herman, who sincerely respected the prince, 
and was fully convinced, that Albert would 
warmly espouse whatever couid contribute 
tto.tjhe accomplishment of his desires. 

On his appearance at the court of Hun- 
gary, Herman found that he was treated 
with far more respect as count of Unna, 
than he had been as the simple knight of 

Queen Barbe received him graciously, 
and had the effrontery, though she knew 
he was acquainted with her infamous con- 
duct, to look him boldly in the face. She 
was accustomed to suppose that others had 
no better memory than herself; and that 
the witnesses of her former irregularities 
had forgotten them since her advancement. 

It was painful to Herman to piy her the 
homage due to a queen of Hungary, lecol- 


lecting that she to whofti that'^honoilt 
Tightly peitained was still living. He re- 
tired with horror from the goaleress of 
Mary, though he knew not a tenth part of 
the cruelties she had inflicted on that un- 
happy victim of her ambition. 

King Sigismond paid to the. young count 
of Unna the most flattering attention. — No 
doubt he had entirely forgotten the kiss im- 
printed on the lips of Barbe, with which 
Herman had once falsely been charged; or 
he must since have been accus omed to 
•know, that others beside himself were ad- 
mitted to that familiarity : report at least 
spoke pretty loudly, that Barbe was not 
very scrupulous on the head of gallantry, 
and it was almost impossible that her in- 
trigues sh.mld remain totally concealed 
from her husband. 

Herman v/as disappointed in his expec- 
tation cf finding duke Albert at Presburg. 
lie had gone, it was said, to Klausenburg, 
to see the princess Elizabeth, whence they 
were both set off to visit the princess Gara 

OF UNNA. 217 

ft the convent of St. Micholas: a journey 
that appeared not to have .given satisfac- 
tion at court, owing to the princess of Rati- 
bor, who, in disgrace with Sophia, and 
obhged to retire to the same convent with 
her daughter, iiad in her way passed thro' 
Presburg, and, according to custom, pro- 
pagated calumnies and excited discontent. 

Oh! had Herman known that Gara, the 
friend of the young Eh'zabeth, was the 
friend also of Ida, and lived but a fe\Y 
miles from her; and that the latter was- in 
the most imminent danger, while others 
were enjoying happiness for which they 
w-ere indebted to her, he would instantly 
have flown to her succour, and implored 
the assistance of all her friends to emanci- 
pate her from her frightful danger. 

Vol. III. I 

sis' HERMAN 


QUEEN MARY, as the reader has se^n, 
bad been liberated from her long and severe 
captivity. Already she tasted the delicious 
satisfaction of being once in the company 
of the princess Gara, and expected, with 
impatience, the happy moment, when she 
should fold her child in her arms. A mes- 
senger had been secretly dispatched to Eli- 
zabeth v;ith the news. Duke Albert, who 
was then at Klausenburg, immediately set 
off with her, to convince himself with his 
own eyes of the almost incredible deliver- 
ance of Mary. At the period of the history 
at which we arc arrived, the interview be- 
tween the mother and daughter had taken 
place. After the first transports of joy 
were over, their spirits being a little cahn- 
ed, they gave themselves up to the sweet 
pleasure of reflecting on their happiness. 
Yet it would be wrong to suppose, that in 

OF UNNA. 219 

these delightful moments, she who had 
occasioned them was forgotten: had every 
one else been capable of such forgetfulness, 
it was impossible that the heart of the queen 
should harbour such ingratitude. She spoke 
to her daughter, with enthusiasm, of the 
princess of Wirtemberg, and prayed duke 
Albert to devise some means of rescuing 
her, whom she called her only deliverer, 
her tutelary angel. Albert and Eliza 
blushed. Why the former did so, we knew 
not : the blush of the latter no doubt arose 
from a secret shame at having received the 
greatest benefit from a person, whom, 
through the insinuations of a perfidious 
friend, she had once so unjustly hated. 

The princess Gara remarked the emo- 
tion of Elizabeth, and observed, tl^t nei- 
tlier force nor cunning could rescue Ida, 
and that the consent of the archbishop alone 
could restore her to liberty. To obtain 
this, therefore, every probable step was 
immediately taken : though the particular 
reasons of Subinko for detaining her inpri- 
-son were not yet known to them, the deli- 

L 2 


cate Ida having never explained herSetf 
fully on that head even to Maiy. 

In the mean time Herman could not 
avoid experiencing a secret inquietude re- 
specting the fate of his mistress ; but how 
much greater would have been his anxiety, 
had he known the sad situation in which she 
was, and the inefficacy of the means em- 
ployed to deliver her. In a fortnight she 
was to pronounce her vows. The archbi- 
shop answered duke Albert's letter in favour 
of the princess of Wirtemberg, in an equi- 
vocal manner: this answer demanded a 
reply; and thus S-ubinko imaginied'hc 
should spin out the affair, till she had irre- 
vocably dedicated herself to God, and an 
insurmountable barrier, which would effec- 
tually destroy the happiness of Flerman, was 
placed between her and the world. 

One evening as Herman sat alone ab- 
sorbed in thought, and revolving in his 
mind a variety of schemes for the discovery 
of Ida, the door opened^ and a person en- 
tered, whom he supposed to be at the court 


OF UNNA. 221 

of Sigismond, but whom he had sought with 
eagerness without being able to find him. 

*' Conrad, dear Conrad!" cried Her- 
man, running to him witli open arms, 
'' you arrive at one of the most perplexing 
*' moments of my life, to console, perhaps 
■' to assist me." 

** Would it were in my power!" an- 
swered Conrad, taking off his hat and sword, 
and throwing himself into a chair: '* but lam 
*' come with the utmost speed to inform 
^* you, tiiat there are no farther hopes." 

Herman stood before his friend, his arms 
hanging lifeless by his side, and his eyes 
wildly starting, as if he had just heard pro- ' 
nounced the sentence of his death; when 
he suddenly recollected, that the sad news 
Conrad had to impart to liim might not re- 
late to Ida. 

'' What have you to tell rae," said he 
at last, '' in which 1 am concerned? I am 
'' indjfferent to every thing but Ida, and of 
'' her you surely know nothing." *" 

'' Vet it is of her, and her only, I have 
" to speak. I- am just arrived from the 
^ 3 


** place where she is detained, from the coir^ 
*' vent of St. Anne, to tell you that all is 
" over, that she is lost to you, if. . 'i . but 
*' how is it possible to accomplish iri a few 
.*' days, what has employed me whole weeks 
** in vain?" 

'' You know then her abode; you bring 
me news of her : yet you pretend she is 
ravished from me for ever! impossible L 
impossible! happiness and misery at 
once I — I tell you it cannot be, since we 
*' know where she is, she mrust be saved: 
'* she must, or we must both perish." 
,^,^Herftian, as he-^ uttered these words, 
caught up his sword, and cried to his people 
to come and arm him. 

** Ee persuaded once for ail," resumed 
Conrad, forcing him to sit down on his 
chair^ '' that I have dong every thing which 
** it is possible for man to do.'* 

*' B'at did you not say, that in a few 
-''days there would be no remedy? We 
*^ have not then a moment to lose. Let us 
*' fly, let us fly instantly, to her succour." 


OFUNNA. 223 

'' But what could you do? — -Do you 
*' even know in what her danger consists? 
*t — Do you know any thing more than the 
•"^ name of the convent in which she dwells? 
'' Let me assure you that any step you 
*' could take to night would be useless. — It 
•' is necessary, that you should first wait the 
" result of a new attempt I have made ; 
'• and you have nothing to do for the pre- 
'■' sent, but seriously attend to the account 
*' I am going to give you of your mistress." 

Herman walked up and down the room, 
almost beside himself. The representa- 
tions of Conrad at length prevailed on him 
to abstain from setting off at a venture, with- 
out knowing what measures were necessary 
to his success, if indeed any hope of success 
were left. 

'' Tell me then ;" cried he with eager- 
ness: ^' you see I am calm; calm enough 
" to hear any thing you have to say." 

L 4 

90 3n 2Ev; ni 

. , , chapter; jffitl^ , ,, 

c J ** you remember;" said Goqradv- how' f 

.•'■parted from you on the frontiers of Ger^ 
*' many. You refused to fly with me; my 
*' presence was of no service to you; and I 
** knew that elsewhere it might be useful. 
i?:. " My thoughts were occupied with your 
**:Ida.-^' Herman/ said I to myself, ' will 
** arrive at his uncle's, his innocence will be 
^^ acknowledged, and nothing will be want- 
*' ing to his happiness but the possession of 
*Mier he loves. How sad an employment, 
'^ should he be obliged to seek her» and per- 
ps long seek her in vain? Now, Conrad, 

ti I 


*Van opportunity offers of repaying bis 
'-''.kindness, undertake this task for him. — 
*' What triumph, if th(;u canst restore to 
" thy friend his intended bride-, before he 
*' considers it as an event barely possible.' 

,..,'' At first the only light 1 had to guide 
'* J3ay steps was, that Ida was in a convent in 

OF UNNA. 225 

*' Hungary. 1 tarried no longer at Prague 
'' than was necessary to get farther informa- 
*' tion. There I learnt, that the archbishop 
*' had carried off the princess of Wirtemberg 
*^ under pretence of heresy, and perhaps 
** on account tDf a pair of bright eyes which 
'' had captivated him ; for different persons 
*' gave different characters of Subinko, and 
" God know.^ which were in the -right. 
' "At the demand of Sopina, Winces- 
** laus had banished Subinko from Bohemia, 
" and the prelate was gone to reside in 
*' Hungary at the court of Sigismond. — 
'^ This was enough to induce me with all 
"" speed to repair thither. 

''I found no difficulty in being admit- 
*' ted into the king*s service : an honour 
'^ which I desired at bottom only as a means 
^* of access to the archbishop, which I ob- 
'' tained with equal ease. 1 formed an ac- 
'^ quaintance with some of his domestics ; 
'' I drank with them, and amused them v^ith 
" stories of my campaigns. You know how 
*' much the attendants of a bishop, wlio 
L 5 


'* have seen no service, and been exposed 
-*^tono dangers themselves, love to hear 
'' the hair-breadth escapes of others. 

*' My scheme succeeded to a marvel. 
*' The men became communicative, and, 
'' dissatisfied with their master, told me 
'' more than I wished to know. My only 
*' aim was to discover the retreat of the 
'* princess of Wirtemberg, which by in- 
*' direct questions I effected. 1 learnt from 
*'' them that the archb'shop had been to see 
*^ her at the convent of St. Nicholas, which 
''he quitted in very ill humour, and swore, 
f> before his valet de chambre, that he 
'^"Would never see her again till she had ta- 
"■ ken the veil. Ida since that had been 
"- removed to St. Anne's, and the year of 
•■^ her noviciate was nejrly expired. 
-'■ - ''■ I had formed a more particular inh- 
*' macy with one of the archbishop's cava- 
-*:^/:iiers. He was a man from whom any 
V' thing might be obtained by means of 
''^ money and promises. To Rudger, th<& 
l6:a,ttraction of a handful of gold was irre- 

OF UNNA. ^2? 

*•• sistible: he promised to conduct me to 
'' St. Anne's, and to do whatever I desired 
*' him. 

'' When wc reached the convent, I told 
*' him my purpose of carrying off Ida. I 
'^ was at first afraid, that the rape of a nun 
" would startle him: but I soon found that 
'^ he was used to such expeditions. In his 
*' youth he had assisted at more adventures 
'* than one of that kind; and he boasted 
*' of having formerly himself had an in- 
*^^ trigue with a lay-sister in this self-same 
** convent, which, though it did not indeed 
** terminate in carrying^ off the fair, had ex- 
"• posed him to more risk, during the year 
*' it continued, than if he had ventured at 
'* once on so bold a measure. 

'' He informed me, that near the wall 
'* of the burying ground was an old tree, 
'*- which used to cover some breaches ia it, 
'-' by which, with proper caution, easy ac- 
'* cess might be had to the convent. There 
''he said he would reconnoitre, arid en- j 
*' deavour to get some information respect- 


'' iTfg the interiour of the^ ' WbnvfeiVt^; ■ lot 
'* amongst those wlio have renounced' tile 
''world, there arc always individuals with 
*' whom connections may be formed; the 
" caterers, door-keepers, and the like, are 
" not incorruptible, and a few trifling pre- 
'* sfents will not fail of seducing them. 

*' Rudger soon returned, and brought 
" me good news. Happily for the poor- 
*' nuns, the breaches in the wall remained 
"is they were ten years before. He liad 
"learned that Ida was commonly in the in- 
" firmary, the windows of which looked 
"into the burying-ground, and that she 
*» sometimes took a nocturnal walk among 
'^'the tombs, which was favourable to our 
" enterprize. 

' ••' One doubt remained, which was, that 
*' I was unacquainted with the person.. of 
" her whom I was desirous of carrying off; 
'^ a difficulty which my trusty companion 
" soon removed, by assuring me, that he 
" knew the princess. ' 1 was one of the 
"attendants,' said he, ' who accompanied 

OF UNNA. 229 

'^ her to St. Anne's. Her slender and ma- 
'* jestic shape will distinguish her at once f 
*' and the moment we have removed her 
*' veil; her angeJic countenance will dis- 
'Spel every doubt/ " 

'At these words Herman sighed. Who^ 
indeed, could have once beheld the charms 
of Ida, and heard them mentioned without, 
e.mption? ,,,^.^ ^^ 

• ^ Conrad continued ; *^-3^a. convince 
^^ me of the truth of what he had. asserted, 
^v Rudger, introduced me that Very even- 
\^ iug into the cemetry. We easily scaled 
*bthe wail. His plan was good, but I pre- 
'^tended to doubt it, the more to excite 
*' him to surmount ail difficulties. I su.c- 
'' ceeded in this, and he himself encouraged 
'' me, and endeavoured to persuade me of 
V* the facility of the enterprise. He was cx- 
** tremely pressing for me to use dispatcii, 
'* as the archbishop was soon to make his 
'' visitation, and it would probably not be 
'* long before Ida took the veil. He gave 
'*• me hopes, that it would perhaps be po&-. 


'* slble to carry off the princess on the day 
*' of an approaching festival, when the nuns 
'' enjoyed more liberty than usual : but I 
'^ was still of opinion, that it was absolutely 
'* necessary to acquaint Ida with our de- 
'' signs, in order to insure their execution. 

*' ' "Would it take much time,' said I to 
^ him, * to cut through a feiv*" bars of the 
'* window? We could then gain admittance 
'* to her, acquaint her with our scheme, 
'* and carry her off at once, or at least make 
'' the necessary arrangement,' 

^-'Tothis Pvudger started some objec- 
" tions. We returned again to thecemeter};^ 
'••to make further observations, when we 
'' saw something, white pass by u?, that va- 
*' nishedlike lightning through a door which 
'' we had not observed to be open, and 
" which immediately shut with some 
" noise. 

'' ' What is that?' said I to my com- 
'* panion with surprise. ' Let me die,* said 
'' he, ' if it was not she herself. I am sure 
*^ of it from her shape, and the lightness of 

OF UNNA. 231 

'^ lier step : the nuns of this convent have 
>' long ago lost all their alertness.' 

'' ' How unlucky,' exclaimed I, * that 
** we have missed so fair an opportunity! 
" we shall , never be blessed with such 

'^ * Come, come,' said he do not des~ 
''pair. We may be more successful to- 
'' morrow/ 

*' We left the burying place, with de- 
" sign to return thither the nex-t night; 
'*' whicli we did ; but to our extreme regret 
" we found that the u-ali behind the tree 
^ had been considerably heightened. It 
*''was plain that our scheme was suspected, 
*' and that measures were taken to coun- 
*' ter?ct it. Some breaclies, however, still 
'* remained : possibly they had not been 
*' observed, or thty might have been left 
'* by design. 

■' '•^'' We entered boldly, resolved to risk 
** every thiiig to accomplish our purpose. 
'^VJe ascended to the window of the infir- 
*-' mary ; though we missed our guide, tLe 


*' lamp which usually burnt there, Aeci- 
'* dent we thought, might have extinguish- 
*' ed it, and at any rate darkness was favour- 
" able to our design. ,^,i ,>at .jij ' 

'* Having cut through the barsy-we^n* 
'Vtered the chamber. Conceive our de- 
*' spair, when we found it empty. There 
'^ was neither nurse nor patient ; all had 
*' disappeared, and the door that commu- 
*'^ nicated with the convent was firmly se- 
V' rured. V/e returned sorrowfully as we 
^' came, convinced that we were disco- 

' ' '* On the festival of St. Nicholas, when^ 
*• as Rudger assured me, the nuns of the 
'* convent enjoyed more liberty, and there 
*■* was some probability of our being able 
"• to meet with the princess, we ma4e an- 
'' other attempt. rr/bh; 

"- We concealed ourselves and were on 
'* the watch all day. Many of the nuns 
*^ came in our way, but none that were for 
*' our purpose. At length, towards even- 
" ing, we perceived one whose figure per- 

OF UN^NA. 233 

-' snaded us it was Ida. We rushed on 
-' her, and conducted her away, without 
*' her uttering a single cry. She was half 
'* up the ladder, when, luckily, her veil feH- 
'* off, and discovered to us a face so desti- 
*^ tute of the bewitching charms of IdaV, 
"'■ as descr.bed to me by Rudger, that we 
" had nearly betrayed durselves by a cry of 
'* astonishment. 

*' We quitted Our prize, cursed cur 
''* fate, and hastened away ; not, indeed, 
''renouncing our project, but disposed to 
'' undertake something still more daring 
" and rash. Fortune at this period brought 
'' to my aid a man wonderfnliy calculated 
''•to assist me in my undertaking. It was 
" my old and faithful Walter, who, being 
•* disengaged from his oaths, could openly 
'' advice and serve me. He knew Ida, 
''' and wished to save her, though his inven- 
'' lion was not very fertile in stiatag;ems : 
^' mine, indeed, he frequently termed rash, 
'Vyet he was always ready to second me in 
*' iheir execution. 

£3^ HERlVTAlvr 

'' To recount all the means we -employ- 
'^ ed would be tedious ; but instead of- sue- 
♦•' ceeding I fear they liave contributed to 
'-'- render the fate of the princess more se- 
'-'- vere, a-nd her deliverance next to impos- 
'' sible.'" 

Conrad had scarcely finished thes^ 
words, when Herman started from his seat 
and exclaimed : ''^ Madman, that thou ait, 
''thou pretendest to serve me, andT^by thy 
*^' impatience hast ruined nie. Tell me, 
'^ tell me this instant where is Ida? I will 
" yet, I will yat save her." 

Langen had great difficulty to calm his 
friend, and induce him to hear his recital 
to the end. *' In short," resumed he, '' let 
*' me tell you then, that I formed the de- 
'^ sign of setting fire to the convent, and 
"■ of availing, myself of the confusion ta 
*' carry off Ida. 

'' Rudger and Walter, my companions, 
*' had more judgment than I; and the 
'^■' scheme was so modified, and changed, 
'^ that finally we determined to kindle a 

OF irisTNA. 235 

'•* little straw, and other combustibles, easy 
" to be extinguished, in one of the courts 
" of the convent, at which we could arrive 
'' through the cemetery. 

** This we carried into execution. The 
*-' flaijjes ascended into the air in a terrible 
*' manner. With a hollow voice Rudger 
'' gave the alarm of fire. All the nuns 
'* were roused; all the cells opened. — 
** Once more, during the tumult, we laid 
'* hold of a nun, whom, in the dark, we 
" took for the princess. Walter in the 
" mean time extinguished the fne and fol- 
*' lowed us. We took off the veil of the 
*' nun, who had fainted, and found our- 
*' selves a second time mistake-n. We left 
" her in the cemetery and fled. 

•^^ The consequences of so bold an at- 
'' tempt were certainly to be dreaded. To 
'' terrify the nuns by setting fire to their 
*' convent, to carry off one of them, and 
'^ then contemptuously to desert her, were 
^' too many insults for one time. The 
'"' whole neighbourhood resounded witlv 


** outcrks against the sacrilegious robbere^ 
** and we should certainly have: been torn 
*•* to pieces had we been suspected. Thus 
'' all furtheratteinpts became impracticable. 
*' The convent of St. Anne was guarded 
*' by armed men, and the report was spread, 
*' that the nuns well knew who was the oc- 
** casion of these attempts, and that they 
" would soon get rid of her, by sending 
'•^ her to some distant and unknown con- 
•^Vetif, where it would be impossible to 
•^findiier.^ \ 'X 

*' I cannot better describe the 'despair 
** into which this news threw me, than by 
•^'comparing it to that which I read at this 
^.moment in your eyes." 

In fact Herman was no longer master 
of himself; yet could he not utter a single 
word ; and Conrad finished his nanative 
without interruption. 

'' Fortunately," continued he, '' Rud- 
** ger discovered that duke Albert of Austria 
*'* was at the neighbouring convent of St. 
" KIchoIas, to which he had accompanied 


OF UNNA. 237 

*' the princess Elizabeth. Knowing, from 
*■* your story, the duke's friendship both for 
** you and Ida, I hastened to him, gave an 
'' account of every thing, and asked his ad- 
*^ vke and assistance. 

''He had already taken many steps ii; 
*' Ida's favour. Wliat I related to him 
\' heightened the danger in his eyes ; yet 
^* he immediately took measures both to 
^^,3 seer tain her situation, and find means of 
"" delivering her. Having learnt that sh-e 
" was still at St. Anne's, the duke dispatch- 
\\ ed me with a pressing letter to the arch- 
*V Jiisfiop : a letter which he conceives must 
'''have a good effect, unless the prelate be 
" determined to risk every thing. To 
" execute the commission am I come hither, 
*^ Could a more trusty or expeditious 
'•* courier have been chosen?" 

'' And what effect has this letter pro- 
'' duced V" said Herman in a tone of despair. 

" The answer I received was very sin- 
" gular," replied Conrad: '^ The day which 
''' is fast approaching will inform us what 


'**-we are to think of it. I found every 
■" thing in confusion in the archbishop's 
*' palace; and nothing less than the name 
*' of the duke of Austria would have gained 
'^ my packet admittance. 1 was assured, 
*/ that his holiness was extremely ill, and 
'' incapableof reading a letter, much more 
'*'of answering one, 

" I insisted, however, on not quitting 
*' the palace without an answer for the 
*' duke. At length the grand almoner 
\' made his appearance, and informed me 
*' that the archbishop was really very ill, 
*' but, however things went, that I should 
*' have an answer early in the morning* — r'' 
'''■ I then came to you. The servant, who 
'■'• let me out, confidently assured me, that 
" the archbishop was at the point of death 
" and could not possibly live to see the day: 
*' an event, which, I am persuaded, will 
'* be of no advantage to our affair.** 

'^ Why not? Ida's persecutor dead, who 
*• will oppose her liberatioii ?" 

'' Do you know the successor of Subin- 
'•' ko? . . . . ]\^ew comers generally defend 

OP UNNA, 2ir 

^' the rights of Ihe church more obstinately 
'' than those v;ho have been Jong in place." 

"- We shall at least have no private in- 
•■^ terest to combat relative to Ida. And if, 
'* as has been generally presumed, the co- 
'' vetous Aibikus succeed, from his venal 
*' disposition I have every thing to hope 
"'.... O Conrad, your news you thought, 
*' v;ould be death to me; on contrary 
** it restores me to life and happiness!" 

Thus did the two friends spend the 
night without sleep, revolving in their 
minds the past, and forming projects for- 
the future. It is true they reckoned upon 
an event which generous minds seldom take 
into their xalculations; but, as the de^th 
of the archbishop would be a happy cir- 
cumstance for a number of persons groan- 
ing under oppression, the friends of Ida 
were surely excusable, and fortune accord- 
ingly effected the accomplishment of their 


In the morning they heard, that Su- 
binko had finished his detestable carreer, 
and that Aibikus his successor.-— 

2^ HERMAN ^ 

The new archbishop resided at Prague, and 
Herman's resolution was soon taken. 

" Repair with all speed," said he to 

Conrad, "to the place where my Ida is 

''imprisoned; and watch, that she do not 

"" escape me, that she be not secretly con- 

<t veyedto some place where it will require 

"' ages for me to find her^ I shall myself 

'• f!y to Prague, to the new archbishop, of 

•"^ whom money will purchase, every thing, 

*' and shall offer. him for her enlargement 

**" all I possess, nay all of which I may 

** liope the possession. The count of Wir- 

-'•■ temberg, who ere this is at the court of 

'' king Winceslaus, will second my wishes, 

'* If 1 succeed, I will soon be with you.-— 

•'-* Her father, duke Albert, and you, who 

*' are all dear to her as well as to me, shall 

*' then join me, to lead her in triumph 

** from her horrible dungeon." 

The spirits of Herman were elevated to 
the highest pitch. His resolution had been 
formed with the quickness of lightning; 
and with equal rapidity was it p«t in exe- 



THE anxiety of Herman and Conrad 
was but too well founded. The situation 
of the princess of Wirtemberg since we left 
her had every day grown worse. 

The attempts made to carry her off 
came not, as has been seen, from the arch- 
bishop, but from Conrad of Langen, who, 
to serve his friend, had employed all possi- 
ble means, prudent or imprudent. 

His schemes, however, would have in- 
fallibly succeeded, had he acted with less 
precipitancy, or had they not been opposed 
by her who might have favoured them.— 
But Ida believed Subinko to be the author 
of this enterprise; and, besides, had sho 
even been informed of the benevolent hand 
that wished to free her from her dungeon, 
her principles would probably have revolted 
at such a mode of deliverance. To escape 
from a convent, to elope from it with a 
stranger, however considered, must shock 
Vol. hi. M 


the delicacy of a modest young womaii, 
and might irretrievably stain her reputa- 
tion. -^-^-^ ^''^ ^^^^ 

Ida neither expected nor hoped for de- 
liverance, but through the solicitations of 
her friends. She knew not how cold and 
indifferent was common friendship, when 
sacrifices are to be made. Elizabeth , and 
the princess Gara, her new acquaintance, 
happy in the possession of Mary, employed 
all their cares in re-establishing her health. 
Wlien they thought of Ida, they quieted 
their apprehensions for her fate, by the 
hope that it would soon change, and thus 
spared themselves the trouble of any exer- 
tion to meliorate it. 

,'^'^- The queen, it is true, had the name 
of her deliverer always in her mouth ; but 
they endeavoured to tranquilize her, by 
hopes of which she could not know the slight- 
est foundation . 

Duke Albert, the ardent admirer of Ida, 
was obliged to conceal his anxiety, lest he 
should rekindle in the^r^-rt of his future 

OF UNJyJA- 243 

bride those embers of jealousy whicli uere 
yet scarcely extinguished. There was no 
one but Conrad, therefore, the imprudent 
Conrad, who engaged with ardor in our 
heroine's cause, though, alas! with little 

The last stratagem to which he had re- 
course, occasioned the utmost tumult in 
the convent. The whole community unit- 
jcd against it's innocent cause. .All the 
nuns exclaimed, " What! daily new alarms! 
^^'' cells forced! nuns ravished! the house set 
.A^oniire! must we ail then become the 
^*V victims of one? Let her depart from 
''these holy walls ; let her be sent to some 
'' remote place, where no one can discover 
*' her, there to undergo rigid penances, 
*' capable of expiating the evils we have 
■'' suffered on her account." Such was the 
unanimous desire of those pious maidens. 

The abbess, assured that Ida was far 

from consenting to the rash wishes of those 

who had attempted to violate the sacred in- 

closure of the convent, and believing that 

M 2 

M -..AVT^T-^ 'Tro 

244 HERMAN' 

she had at lenghth inspired her Adtlf a^^aiti 
for a life which she at first abhorred, \^oilld 
wiHingly have protected her. Biit evea 
the attachment she manifested iiv^erfa^ 
vour, rendered her^idbilBiy bdid^s ft<y the 
sisters, to whom it was an object bf -envy. 
They insisted, therefore, on the novices 
removal to another house, that they might 
avoid the misfortunes of whi^bh ' he^ j)rd- 
sence might still ^)e the occaii((Sy^^^^' Y''"^^ 
.^ The, princess was obliged to keep her- 
.self closely confined in her cell, and-w^ 
forbidden to appear in the choir. By de- 
grees siispicrbris ^ere 'insitiuMed''iri!tb^€^he 
•s piind of the abbess.''" *^' Is ^ it so '' very -eeiv 
,.*Vtain,'Vsaid they, '' that'^tie-is imioceiit of 
^Vwhat has been done on her accolint.^-— 
^.v* May not her repugnance to be cari*i«d 
.;M a^ay be a feint? And niay shdTlot^b^'in 
'' concert with these bold men, wh6-, if 
»' she remain heie, will, sooner or later; be 
.-.the ruin of our houser '^^^ .^^rl T^^ti 
.o- Accusations like these had not th^ le^st 
shadow of probability; yet were they Ikt^u- 

OF; UNNA. 245 

^d to, and at length produced, what is call- 
ed in convents, a grand interrogatory. 

Ida was summoned; a thousand ques- 
tions were put to her, which she answered 
,4n a manner to produce conviction of her 
innocence, and to humble her enemies; 
.one only excepted, to which it was impos- 
sible for her to make the reply which her 
situation seemed to require, and her sin- 
cerity was her ruin. 

How, indeed, could the princess'^!- 
;,swer in the affirmative, when asked if she 
\.thought herself really called, if she were 
r-ready to take the veil without reluctance, 
.and if she preferred the convent of St. 
lAnne to all the pleasures of the world? 
.Was there even among her judges a single 
individual, who, from the bottom of her 
heart, could have said yes to such a ques- 
tion? Ida avowed, therefore witli frank- 
ness, that the means only employed to de- 
liver her, and the place to which she was 
probably to have been conducted, were 
displeasing to her; and that, but for these, 

■ M3 

£46^ flERMAM 

she wo^Id be happy to se« Her friends.,— rr 
She, besides, solemnly declared, that,' if ^ 
she made heryows* necessity, alone would 
compel her to it, as she felt hot the >mall- 
est^^iicjination lor a r^^^^ life. 

At these wofdstne whole com fnunify 
was transported with pious rage, and the 
term hypocrite issued at once from every 
mouth . She was reptoachecT with ha\^ihgf ' 
not long since, held a diHereiit' l^ngiiag^^'^ 
or of having, by her silence, at least, giveii" 
reason to suppose, that she would willingly 
remain at St. Anhe*s. Ida shrugged up 
her shoulders, and held hei^ peacei '^'Nb 
dUpbt she had appeared satisfied ivitH Her 
dungeon from attachment to Mary, that 
she niight succour and save that unfortu- 
nate queen* How could she confess this? 
and what indeed would it have availed her, 
lo enter into an explanation of her conduct? 

** You say nothing,"' said the abbess . . . 
** There is some mystery in this which wii 
^^ cannot penetrate." 

OF UNNA. 247 

'' And what does she mean," added one 
of the sisters, '' by the place to which she 
'' was afraid of being conducted, ■ had the 
*' men succeeded in carrying her off? . . . 
*' She knew the place, then; is not this 
*^ a proof, that she has some secret intelli- 
'' gence with persons out of the convent." 

The princess being rigorously enjoinedr 
to explain herself fully oil this head, at last 
found herself obliged to name the arcli-^ 
bishop, and own the designs he had mani-" 
fcsted respecting her. 

This confession at once determined the.' 
sentence to be pronounced on her. •' -^^o*. 
'Vminable slanderer," cried the abbess,^' 
•' thou art unworthy to live. 'Tis an ab-' 
*' solute impossibility, that a man so holy^ 
'^ a prelate so aged, so rigidly devout, 
'* could be tempted by the worldly charms 
'^ of such a sinner," As she said this, she 
turned with an air of disdain, from the' 
princess, and ordered her to be immedi- 
ately confined in the place appropriated for, 
such criminals. 

243 HERxMAN 

Accoidingly Ida was conveyed to one 
of those subterranean dungeons, vestiges of 
which are yet to be seen^in the majority :of 
convents ; thougb, « those /:lay5^ np^o^fefi 
they were far m ore terrible than af>y,th:^| 
subsist at present. Her conductors were 
the two nuns who had like to have bieen 
carried <>fF in her stead, and who had shewn 
thernselves -rnost eager for lier condemna- 
tion, desirous of avenging on her the dis- 
grace of being rejected with contempt, 
when alsiost. delivered from the precincts 
of tl^reir convents. 

. 'Ida's imprisonment was interrupted only 
byf> new interrogatory. I'he archbishop, 
possibly, feeling a presage of approaching 
death, <:ame that day to visit St. Anne's, 
and knowing nothing of what had passed, 
lie .demanded a private conversation with 
the young .novice. This the abbess, wljo- 
appeared to i have ;g]?eat influence over his 
mind, thought proper to refuse; and o;> 
dered Ida to be brought before^, J] J^ji|-ji^ 
presence of the whole communit^^.. |.>! 

* 'Thi ^Hiiccss was obliged to repeat what 
«he had already declared; which she did 
with courage and discretion, observing, 
that what related to the attempt to carry 
her off was purely conjectural. 

The eyes of Subinko sparkled with rage 
and indignation. He proved at least with 
respect to the latter point, the falsehood of 
th8 accusation against him, atid Ida was 
reconducted to het prison. <^ ouoth^b ,ijoLl 
-^ ' The nuns were now ordere<f to w^fhdraw; 
^nd' leave the archbishop alone with the 
abbess. What passed on this occasion be- 
t^beii tlfose pious personages has not trans- 
pired : but it is certain that the prelate^ 
soon quitted the convent, and apparently' 
in the greatest agitation. Perhaps the 
rights of the abbess authorized her to tell 
him, without disguise, certain sever* 
truths, the shock of which his feeble frame 
was inadequate to sustain, and which had 
the most serious consequences on the oJd 
gentleman's health. 



He had quitted Presburg in. secret, and 
as secretly did he return thither. The. re- 
port of his illness was soon spread ; and it 
was not long before the news of his death 
v/as made puohc; whicl;j,gave the friends^ofi 
Ida hopes of effecting her deliverance. ^^ 3 

In the raean time the situauon of the; 
princess of Wirtemberg daily grew worse. 
The abbess to hate her mortally^;! 
A few words dropped occasionally from her 
jailers,, that inspired her with the utmost 
teri;pr» From them she hadresson to suspect, 
that there was an intention of shutting her 
up in a cavern that had formerly been diig 
be.neath the very foundations of the convent.' 
Of thi^ fearful abode Ida had frequently" 
l:eard : for twenty years it had never been 
used; and she had new reason to fear that 
s,he would be the first unhappy wretch,' 
defined to finish her days in it. 

She was on the brink of giving way to 
despair. There were moments in which ^er 
senses were entirely lost .... *' z^las I" said 
she. in her lucid intervals, *^ I am abandoa- 

OF UNNA, 251 

" e.d, then, by all the world! . . . Herman ! 
"^ Albert! Mary! my father! no one, no 
*' one comes to my assistance." 

Slie was no longer interrogated. Every 
instant she trembled, lest the abbess should 
come to remove her from her dungeon to 
this terrible cavern. One day, v;l.en cruelly 
tormented by this apprehension, she heard 
the door open: the abbess appeared; Ida 
fainted at the sight of her. 

*'' I must see her myself," cried the holy 
matron .... *' Where is she? . . . Good 
" God, what an accident! . . . Senseless on 
'' the ground! . . . Perhaps dead! . . . Godr 
"• forbid! O St. Anne, hare pity on us?— ^ 
*' Take her up quickly, and convey her to , 
'' one of the chambers above." 

'' Holy mother," said one of the sisters-,^ 
who accompanied her, 'Met her remain in' ^ 
*' peace where she is. If dead; it may be 
" well : the dead, you know, tell no 
" taies." 

*' True. But what a terrible spectacle ! 
'* her emaciated body will bear testiipotiy 

^2 H^kMkN 

^'against usr^fq?^g :{%Setm^ee['h6vkvhT 
*^ . . . . Ahv sbe'breath^s! she is yet alive 
** Take her instantly away, ati'd- give her 
""' every possible assistance. "^^^'''^"^^ ^•' 
iui )4;fter r^maining'a' whole hour insensible','^ 
Ida came to herselfv^ She was astonished)! 
to perceive a cFean and well lighted cham-^ 
ber. Fancying herself in a dream, she en- 
dieatdu'red to rise from the bed of ddwr?,- 
6^'.v^rllith she -had been placed'. '• It'was^th? 
bed of the abbess herself; '^'^ ''■ ^'"^^ ^'^' 
^-'-u Be still, be still, my dear daugTif^,* 
^td^^he - abbsss, v/ho sat at the bedside,' 
anxiously -feeling her pulse. ^^^^^^"^^^^^^^^ 
" ' '^V^hete am I V" said the princess. ' 

*' In the midst of your friends." "The^* 
*' term of your trial is finished. Yes, we 
V' wished not to punish, but to try you. — 
'' You know how much you were beloved 
*' by us." • 

Ida turned impatiently to the other side 
of the bed. 

*' She wants rest," said the abbess to 
one of the nuns. *' I will leave her to 


*VmaIce the necessary preparations. Let 
" her want fur nothing, and call me when 
*Vshe awakes." 

The princess had indeed" neeif of resr, of 
tranqaijlity, though not of sleep. What 
passed around her, too much engaged her 
attention for her to think of sleeping. Her 
w.eakness would not yet permit her to 
talk : she pressed the hand of the niul who 
«3t by her, and fixed her languid eyes o« 
the face of her compassionate nurse, whiclt 
was wet with tears. She was one of Ida's 
friends, one of those whom her generous 
care had snatched from the jaws of death. 

*' What means this change?" ^^\d. the 

princess, after some time. 

. . /I'he nun made a sign for her to be sir, 

lent, and .crept so.ftly to the door^ to. see, 

if anyone were listenino:.- ' r •> •. 

'' To-morrow," said she, returning to. 
the side of the bed, '' vve expect our new 
'' archbishop, who is comine with the 
*V count of Wirtemberg, duke Alber^, ^^nd 
*' the cooint of Unna, to deliver, fro 19 the 


'* convent a young lady who is uuforta-. 
''' nate but not guilty." 

Ida had never heard of the arGhblshop^s. 
death, consequently could not comprislienc^; , 
his having a successor: her father, she. sup- 
posed to be at a great distance; and of the 
count of Unna she knev/ nothing. She- 
was far from suspecting, that the person in 
queslipn was her beloved Herman. Takings 
therefore, what was said for a dream, she 
ciQs^d her the longer to enjoy it, 

• Soon, ho'vever, abe op^ijsdthem agaiii, 
and put a fresh question to her companion.. 
The nun made no answer, but pointed to 
the door. A moraeiit,^a;^f, t[ie,j3j>l^gff.. 
appeared. ,'..,... ' :f^ ^■" ..:;. h : ' j,- 

,.,*' Have you slept, my child?" said she^-^ 
*' She has but this moment awaked," 
answered the nun. 

"• Sleep, sleep, my dear," continued the- 
abbess, '' Those pale cheeks must regain 
*- their bloom against to-morrow: those 
'' languid eyes must sparkle with their usual 
^' vivacity. You do not know whom you 

OF UNNA. 255 

''' will see .... a father .... a friend . . . 
*' a .... a ... . what shall I say?" 

The pioiii lips of the abbess refased to 
utter the word lover, which was on the tip of 
her tongue. Ida had heard enough however^ 
to be transported with joy. 

*' It is then, it is really true?" cried she, 
clasping her hands together. 

*"- What means this transport ofjoy ? hav^ 
^^yt^u- already been informed oF tlie newsr'*^ 

"•No, no; but I huVe been dreaming 
'* of such an event.'* 

The abbess answered, that heaven fre- 
quently held a communication with the vir- 
tit'tjus during their sleep, *' I too dreamt,** 
added she, '* that you must be made to 
'^ undergo trials, and very severe ones, in 
*' order to give you a more exquisite sen- 
'^ sation of happiness.'* 

Out of respect to this, dream, and the 
long exhortations that were made her to be • 
reconciled, to keep the secrets of the con- 
vent, and to think only of her future felicity, 
the princess promised not to disclose the 

255 HERIvMN^ 

ills she had endured, to fo^e'go^all-tlloelght3 
of revenge, and to endeavour to peistiade 
herself, that what she . had suffered was 
meant, as the abbess had said^ as a trialj not 
2s a punishment; and was the. effect ^-c| 
friendship,not the consequence of hatred* . 

The happy day^ the day of a union so 
long wished for,, at length began tg dawn. 
So miieh had been said to Ida of her -hap- 
piness^ that she became imensibly famili- 
arized to the idea. Restoratives, liberahy ad- 
ministered, had given her sufficient strength 
to rise, and be led to meet her friend%<r— 
She might be compared to a beautiftal fos#"a 
]rttle withered, and just revived by the 
morning dew. By turns she received ex- 
pressions of affection from her father, and 
from her lover* What appellations of en- 
^'dearment were interchanged ! what quۤ- 
^•lions put! what emotions felt ! V/ith difficuJ- 
hy could Herman and Ida support their 
^^cstacy. The joy of the count of Wirtem- 
'berg was scarcely. short of theirs; duke Al- 
bert turned aside to conceal a tear? ^and the 

OF UNNA. 257 

arcbbisliiop Albikus was so pleased with the 
present he had received for the princess's 
•liberty, that he offered to marry her to th-s 
;i*ount of Unna on the spot. But this tlie 
Abbess obfitinateiy opposed. '' How horrid,c* 
said she, ** to think of performing such a 
'* ceremony within ,the. sacijed ..walk^Lof a 
■** conventV" "'"^"'5 tf; ^lo] bornvi sn^^^ 

Next day the princess joffWittemberg 
'found herself jn the arms of Mary, Eliza- 
beth, and Rose Gara : she had the pleasure 
.also of embracing Munster, and testifying 
het gratitude to. the generous Couyad.n— 
cWhat «xcess of happiness! To paint it, yfkiz> 
^ill dare take the pencil?! jLjiodjiv/ siihl 
'-■ ■■ At length Herman espoused his- belov.ed 
^Ida, He presented her to his respected 
uncle ; he introduced her to the acquaint- 
ance of the reet x)f his family; of Ahcia,:Of 
'Agnes, and of Petronilla. Uiric of Senden 
•vbecame her friend. John of Unna appeared 
also to share his brother's happiness ; and 
Herman succeeded in reconciling him to the 
old count. 


We are unable to give the xeadeT far- 
ther particulars, the latter part of our manu- 
script being illegible. Two leaves only 
have escaped the ravages of time. In th« 
first is a letter from Mrs. Munster to her 
husband, dated in the year 1419, which 
informs us, that the young countess of Unna 
had just been delivered of a son. Jda was 
then at the court of her friend,, queen So- 
phia. It v;as the last year that Sophia wore 
the crown : become a widow, by the death 
of Winceslaus, she retired to a convent, in 
hopes of there finding that repose she had 
vainly sought on a throne. 

In the second leaf is an invitation from 
Herman, count of Unna, to Alicia of Sen- 
den, and her husband Ulric, to come to 
Ratisbon to be sponsors for his -second son. 
From which it appears, that Bernard and 
Catherine were both dead, and that fortune 
had thus taken care to unite, after a long se- 
ries of unhappiness, two virtuous beings, 
who had so little deserved to be separated. 

OF UNNA, 259 

' "We find also a few fragments, which 
indicate, that Herman, by the advice of 
his faihcr-in-law and uncle, had determined 
to enter into that society, which had given 
his past life so many alarms. An anecdote 
which will appear by no means improbable.; 
if we consider, that, at that period, whoever 
v/ould put his hfe in surety, nv^<t be linked, 
either in his own person or by means of 
some dependant, to thr.t foiinidable chain 
Vv'hich, while it encircled all, was invisible to 
every eye.