Читать книгу Ekkehard (Historical Novel) - Joseph Victor von Scheffel - Страница 11

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While Ekkehard was performing his compulsory devotions, in the church at Reichenau, Dame Hadwig had stood on the balcony, looking out into the distance;--but not on account of the setting sun, for the sun went to his rest at her back, behind the dark hills of the black-forest, and Dame Hadwig, looked with eager, expectant eyes towards the lake, and the path which led from it up to the Hohentwiel. The view however did not appear to satisfy her, for when the twilight melted into darkness, she went in, rather discontentedly; ordered her chamberlain to come, and conversed a long time with him.

Early the next morning Ekkehard stood at the threshold of the cloister, ready to continue his journey. The Abbot was also up betimes, and was taking a walk in the garden. The serious look of the judge, was no longer visible on his face. Ekkehard said good-bye to him. Then the Abbot with a meaning smile, whispered in his ear: "Happy man, who has to teach grammar, to such a fair pupil." These words stabbed Ekkehard to the heart. An old story rose in his memory; for even within cloister-walls, there are evil, gossiping tongues, and traditional stories which go round, from mouth to mouth.

"You are probably thinking of the time," replied he tauntingly, "when you were instructing the nun Clotildis in the act of dialectics, Sir Abbot."

After this he went down to the boat. The Abbot would much rather have taken a quantity of pepper for his breakfast, than have had that fact called up to his mind. "A happy journey!" he called out after his departing guest.

From that time, Ekkehard had drawn down on himself the enmity of the monks at Reichenau. This however he little heeded; and was rowed down the lake, by the same boat-man of Ermatingen.

Dreamily he gazed about from his boat. Over the lake, transparent white mists were floating, through which the little belfry of Egina's cloister, Niederzell, peeped out on the left, while on the other side, the island stretched out its farthest points. A large stone-built castle could be seen through the willow-bushes, but Ekkehard's eyes were riveted on a more distant point. Proud and grand, in steep, bold outlines a rocky mountain-peak rose above the hills on the shore, like to a mighty spirit, which, ponderous and pregnant with action, towers over the insignificant objects around. The morning sun was casting faint gleams of light on the rocky edges and steep walls. A little to the right, several lower hills of the same shape, stood modestly there, like sentinels of the mighty one.

"The Hohentwiel," said the boat-man to Ekkehard. The latter had never before beheld the place of his destination, but he did not need the boatman's information. Inwardly thinking, "thus must the mountain be, which she has chosen for her residence."

A deep, earnest expression overspread his features. Mountain-ranges, extensive plains, water and sky, in fact all that is grand and beautiful in nature always produces seriousness. Only the actions of men, sometimes bring a smile to the lips of the looker on. He was thinking of the apostle John, who had gone to the rocky isle of Patmos, and who had there met with a revelation.

The boat-man rowed steadily onwards; and they had already come to the projecting neck of land, on which Radolfszell and a few scattered houses were situated, when they suddenly came in view of a strange little canoe. It was simply made of the rough, hollow trunk of a tree; roofed over and quite covered up with green boughs and water-rushes, so that the rower inside was invisible. The wind drifted it towards a thick plantation of water reeds and bulrushes near the shore.

Ekkehard ordered his ferry-man to stop this curious little boat, and in obedience he pushed his oar into the green covering.

"Ill luck befall you!" called out a deep bass voice from the inside, "oleum et operam perdidi, all my labour lost!--Wild geese and water-ducks are gone to the Devil!"

A covey of water-fowl, which hoarsely shrieking rose up from the rushes, corroborated the truth of this exclamation.

After this, the leafy boughs were pushed aside, and a brown weather-beaten and deeply furrowed countenance, peeped out. The man it belonged to, was clothed in an old faded priest's robe, which cut off at the knees, by an unskilled hand, hung down in a ragged fringe. At his girdle, the owner of the boat wore, instead of a rosary, a quiver full of arrows; whilst the strung bow lay at the head of the boat.

The individual just described, was about to repeat his cursing, when he beheld Ekkehard's tonsure and Benedictine garment, and quickly changing his tone, he cried: "Oho! salve confrater! By the beard of St. Patrick of Armagh! If your curiosity had left me unmolested another quarter of an hour, I might have invited you to a goodly repast of the game of our lake." With a melancholy expression he cast a look at the covey of wild ducks in the distance.

Ekkehard smilingly lifted his fore-finger: "Ne clericus venationi incumbat! No consecrated servant of God shall be a sportsman!"

"Your book-wisdom does not do for us at the Untersee," called out the other. "Are you sent hither perhaps, to hold a church examination, with the parish-priest of Radolfszell?"

"The parish-priest of Radolfszell?" enquired Ekkehard in his turn. "Do I verily see the brother Marcellus?" He cast a side-look on the sportsman's right arm, from which the sleeve was turned back, and there beheld, etched into the flesh, in rough outlines, a picture of our Saviour, encircled by a serpent, over which stood the words, "Christus vindex."

"Brother Marcellus?" laughed the other pushing his hair back from his forehead, "fuimus Troes! welcome in Moengal's realm!"

He stepped out of the canoe into Ekkehard's boat, and kissing him on cheek and forehead he said: "Health to the holy Gallus! And now we will land together, and you shall be my guest, even without the wild ducks."

"Of yourself, I had conceived a very different idea," said Ekkehard, and this was not to be wondered at.

Nothing gives a more erroneous idea of persons, than when we come to the places, where they once lived and worked, there to see fragmentary bits of their activity; and from the remarks of those left behind, to form in ourselves an impression of those that are gone. The deepest and most peculiar part of the character of a man, is frequently unnoticed by others; even though it be open to the day; and in tradition it disappears entirely.

When Ekkehard had joined the monastery, the brother Marcellus had already left it, to assume the priest's office at Radolfszell. Some neatly written manuscripts, such as Cicero's book on duty, and a Latin Priscianius with Irish characters between the lines, still kept up the remembrance of him. His name too was held in great veneration in the inner cloister-school, where he had been one of the most distinguished teachers. Besides this, he had led a blameless life, but since that time, nothing had been heard of him at St. Gall. For these reasons, instead of the lively sportsman, Ekkehard had expected to find a serious, meagre and pale-faced scholar.

The shores of Radolfszell were soon reached. A thin silver coin, stamped on one side only, satisfied the boat-man, and then the two stepped on shore. A few houses and a handful of fishermen's huts, surrounded the little church, which holds the remains of St. Radolf.

"We have reached Moengal's dwelling," said the old man. "Be pleased to enter. It's to be hoped that you will not carry tales about my house, to the Bishop of Constance, like the deacon of Rheingau, who pretended that he found the jugs and drinking-horns, of a size, which ought to have been objectionable, in any century."

They entered into a wainscoted hall. Stag-antlers and bison-horns hung over the entrance; while spears and fishing-tackle of every description, ornamented the walls in picturesque confusion. Close to a reversed tun in one corner, stood a dice-box,--in fact, if it had not been the abode of the parish-priest, it might have been that of an imperial gamekeeper.

A few moments later, a jug of somewhat sour wine as well as a loaf of bread and some butter, were placed on the oak table; and when the priest returned from an expedition to the kitchen, he held up his habit like a filled apron, and poured down a shower of smoked fish, before his guest.

"Heu quod anseres fugasti, antvogelasque et horotumblum! Alas that you should have frightened away, the wild geese, as well as the ducks and moor-fowls!" said he, "but when a person has to choose between smoked fish and nothing, he always chooses the former."

Members of the same fraternity are quickly at their ease with each other; and a lively conversation was kept up during the meal. But the old man had far more questions to put, than Ekkehard could well answer. Of many a one of his former brothers, nothing else was to be told, but that his coffin had been laid in the vault; side by side with the others; a cross on the wall, besides an entry in the death-register, being the sole traces left, that he had ever lived. The stories, jokes and quarrels, which had been told, thirty years ago, had been replaced by new ones, and all that had happened lately, did not interest him much. Only when Ekkehard told him about the end and aim of his journey he exclaimed: "Oho confrater! how could you cry out against all sport, when you yourself aim at such noble deer!"

But Ekkehard turned the subject, by asking him: "Have you never felt any longing for the quiet and study within the cloister-walls?"

At that question the parish-priest's eyes lighted up: "Did Catilina ever feel any longing for the wooden benches of the senate, after they had said to him: excessit, evasit, erupit?--Young men, like you cannot understand that. The flesh-pots of Egypt?! ille terrarum mihi praeter omnes … said the dog to the kennel, in which he had lain seven years."

"No, I certainly do not understand you," replied Ekkehard. "What was it, that created such a change in your views," casting a look at the sportsman's implements, which were lying about.

"Time," replied the priest, beating his fish on the table to make them tender, "time and growing experience. But this you need not repeat to your Abbot. I also was once such a man as you are now, for Ireland produces pious people, as is well known here. Eheu, what a different being I was when I returned with my Uncle Marcus, from our pilgrimage to Rome. You should have seen the young Moengal then! The whole world was not worth a herring to him, whilst psalm-singing, vigils, and spiritual exercises, were his heart's delight. Thus we entered the monastery of St. Gallus--for in honour of a countryman, an honest Hibernian does not mind, going a few miles out of his way,--and finally I stopped there altogether. Outward property, books, money and knowledge,--the whole man became the monastery's own, and the Irish Moengal, was called Marcellus, and threw his uncle's silver and golden coins out of the window; thus to break down the bridge leading back to the world. They were fine times I tell you; praying, fasting and studying, to my heart's content."--

"But then too much sitting is unhealthy, and much knowledge, gives one a quantity of superfluous work to do. Many an evening I have meditated like a book-worm, and disputed like a magpie; for there was nothing which could not be proved. Where the head of St. John the baptist was buried, and in what language the serpent had spoken to Adam,--all was investigated and demonstrated, while such ideas, as that human beings had also received flesh and blood from their Creator, never entered my head. Ohone, confrater, then there came evil hours for me, such as I hope may be spared you. The head grew heavy, and the hands restless. Neither at the writing-desk nor in the church could I find rest or peace;--hence, hence was the inward cry of my heart. I once said to the old Thieto, that I had made a discovery. What discovery, quoth he? That outside the cloister-walls there was fresh air … Then they forbade me to go out; but many a night did I steal up to the belfry, to look out and envy the bats, that could fly over into the pinewoods … Confrater, that cannot be cured by fasting and prayer, for that which is in human nature, must come out."

"The late Abbot at last took pity on me, and sent me here for one year; but the Brother Marcellus never returned. When I cut down a pine-tree in the sweat of my brow, and made myself a boat out of it, and struck down the bird flying in the air, then I began to understand what it meant to be healthy. Hunting and fishing drive away morbid fancies. In this way I have performed the priest's duties at Radolfszell for thirty years, rusticitate quadam imbutus,--liable to become a rustic, but what does it matter? 'I am like the pelican in the wilderness, and, like the owl, I have built my nest amidst ruins,' says the psalmist, but I am fresh and strong, and old Moengal does not intend to become a dead man so soon, and he knows that he is at least secure against one evil … "

"And that is?" enquired Ekkehard.

"That St. Peter will not one day give me a blow on the forehead with the blessed key of heaven, saying, 'Off with you, who have meddled with vain and useless philosophy!'"

Ekkehard did not reply to Moengal's outpourings. "I suppose," said he, "that you have often hard work with your ecclesiastical duties. Hardened hearts, heathendom, and heresy."

"'Tis not so bad, as they make it out to be," said the old man. "To be sure in the mouths of Bishops and Chamberlains and in the reports of the session and the synod, it seems terrifying enough, when they describe the heathenish idolatry, and threaten it with punishment. Here we have simply the old faith; tracing the Godhead, in tree and river and on mountain-heights. Everybody in this world must have his book of revelations, his apocalypse. Now the people hereabouts, have theirs in the open air; and really, one is capable of high and holy thoughts, when early in the morning, one stands in the water-reeds and sees the glorious sun arise. Nevertheless they come to me, on the Lord's day, and chaunt the mass; and if they were not fined so often, they would open their hearts to the Gospel, far more readily still. A bumper, confrater, to the fresh air!"

"Allow me," said Ekkehard, "I will drink to the health of Marcellus the teacher at the cloister-school, and the learned author of the Irish translation of Priscianus."

"Very well," laughed Moengal. "But with regard to the Irish translation, I am afraid that there is a hitch in the matter!"⁷

Ekkehard was very anxious to reach his destination, for anybody who is close to the end of his journey, is loth to tarry long. "The mountain stands fast enough," said Moengal, "that won't run away, you may be sure."

But Moengal's wine, and his ideas of fresh air, had nothing very tempting for him, who was about to go to a Duchess. So he rose from his seat.

"I will accompany you to the borders of my district," said the priest, "for to-day you may still walk by my side, in spite of my torn and faded garments; but when you are once settled down on yonder mountain, you will believe yourself transfigured, and that you have become a grand lord; and on the day that you will pass Radolfszell on horseback, and will behold old Moengal standing on the threshold, then perhaps, you will hardly deign to wave your hand to him,--that is the way of the world. When the 'heuerling' has become big, then it is called 'felchen,' and devours the small ones of its own race."

"It is not fair that you should speak thus," said Ekkehard, kissing his Irish brother.

Then they set out together, Moengal taking his lime-twigs with him, therewith to ensnare birds on his return. It was a long distance through the pine-wood, and no sound was stirring.

Where the trees were less crowded together, they could see the dark mass of the Hohentwiel, throwing its shadow over them. Moengal's sharp eyes now looked searchingly along the path, and shaking his head he muttered: "there's something coming."

They had proceeded a short way, when Moengal seized his companion's arm, and pointing forward, he said: "these are neither wild ducks nor animals of the forest!"

At the same moment was heard a sound like the neighing of a horse in the distance. Moengal sprang aside, glided through the trees, and lying down on the ground, listened intently.

"Sportsman's folly," muttered Ekkehard to himself, quietly waiting till Moengal came back and enquired: "brother, do you know whether St. Gallus is at war with any of the mighty ones in the land?"

"No."

"Then may be that you have offended some one?"

"No."

"Strange," said the old man, "for three armed men are coming towards us."

"Most likely they are messengers sent by the Duchess, to receive me," said Ekkehard, with a proud smile.

"Oho!" muttered Moengal, "you've not hit the mark there. That is not the livery of the Duchess's vassals. The helmet has no distinguishing mark, and no one on the Hohentwiel wears a grey mantle!"

He stood still now.

"Forwards," said Ekkehard. "He whose conscience is clear, is protected by the angels of the Lord."

"Not always, at least in the Hegau," replied the old man. There was no more time for continuing the dialogue, for the tramp of horses' feet, and the clattering of arms was heard, and the next moment, three men on horseback, with closed visors and drawn swords, became visible.

"Follow me!" cried the priest, "naturate fugam!" He threw his lime-twigs on the ground, and tried to drag Ekkehard along with him, but when he resisted, Moengal sprang into the bushes alone. The thorns added new rents to the old ones in his well worn garments, but this he heeded not, and tearing himself free, he escaped into the thicket, with the agility of a squirrel. He knew the tricks!

"It is he!" called out one of the riders; upon which the others jumped out of their saddles. Ekkehard stood proudly waiting for them. "What do you want?"--no answer. Then he seized the crucifix suspended from his girdle, and was just beginning with "in the name of our Saviour" … when he was already thrown on the ground. Rough, strong hands held him as in a vice; a cord was twisted round his arms, which were then tied behind his back; a white handkerchief bound over his eyes, so that he could see nothing, and then the command "forwards" was given.

Surprise and consternation at this strange treatment had quite paralysed him, so that he advanced with tottering steps, upon which they took him up, and carried him to the opening of the wood, where four men were waiting with a sedan-chair.

Into this, they threw their victim and then the train sped onwards; Ekkehard noticing by the tramp of the horses' feet, that his captors remained at his side.

Whilst Moengal was fleeing through the wood, the blackbirds and linnets flew about so confidingly from bough to bough; and the thrushes' clear notes sounded so tempting, that he forgot all danger, and his heart upbraided him, for having dropped the lime-twigs.

When even the quail now sang out its "Quakkera! quakkera!"--it sounded downright provoking, and he turned his steps back towards the spot, where he had left his companion. Everything was quiet there, as if nothing had happened. In the distance he could see the sun shining on the helmets of the departing knights.

"Many that are first, shall be last," said he, shaking his head, and bending down to pick up his lime-twigs. "He expected to go to a princess's castle, and a prison opens to receive him. Holy Gallus, pray for us!"

Further reflections did not trouble Moengal's brains. Such deeds of violence were as plentiful as primroses in spring-time.

Once a fish swam about in the Bodensee, and could not understand, what the cormorant meant by coming down on it, and the black diver had already got it in its beak, and flew away with it, and the fish could still not understand it.

So it was with Ekkehard, lying with tied hands in the sedan-chair; for the more he reflected about this sudden change in his fate, the less could he comprehend it.

Now the idea rose dimly within him, that some friend or relation, of those messengers of the exchequer, might live in the Hegau, and revenge their death, on the innocent disciple of St. Gallus; for Solomon who had occasioned their shameful execution, had once been Abbot of St. Gall. In that case, Ekkehard had to prepare himself for the worst; as he well knew, that neither tonsure, nor monk's habit would be any protection, against having his eyes burnt out, or hands cut off, if it was a question of revenge.

He thought of dying. With his conscience he was at peace, and death itself had no terror for him; but yet in his heart there arose the faint murmur; "why not a year later, after my foot had been set on the Hohentwiel?"

Now his bearers were moving more slowly, as they were walking uphill. Into which of their robbers' nests, were they carrying him? They had ascended for about half an hour, when the tramp of the horses' feet made a hollow sound, as if they were going over a wooden bridge. Still everything was quiet; there was no call even of the watchman on the tower. The decisive moment was close at hand, and Ekkehard now felt new courage and confidence rising within his heart, as he remembered the words of the psalmist:

"He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.

"I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in Him will I trust."

Another bridge was crossed, then a gate opened and the sedan-chair was put down; after which they took out their prisoner. His foot touched the ground; he felt grass, and heard a faint whispering, as if there were many people around him. At the same time the cords were loosened.

"Take away the bandage from your eyes," said one of his companions. He obeyed, and--oh heart, do not break with too much happiness!--he stood in the court-yard on the Hohentwiel.

The wind was rustling in the boughs of the old linden-tree, to which a tent-like linen cloth was fastened, from which garlands of ivy and vine-leaves were hanging. All the inhabitants of the fortress were assembled, and on a stone bench in the midst, sat the Duchess. From her shoulders the princely mantle of dark purple descended in heavy folds; a sweet smile softened her haughty features, and now the stately figure rose, and advanced towards Ekkehard.

"Welcome to Hadwig's domains!"

Ekkehard had as yet scarcely realized his position. He was about to kneel down before her, but she prevented him, by graciously extending her hand to him. Throwing aside his grey mantle, the chamberlain Spazzo, now likewise came forwards, and embraced Ekkehard like an old friend.

"In the name of our gracious mistress, please to receive the kiss of peace."

A faint suspicion that he was being played with, crossed Ekkehard's mind; but the Duchess now called out laughingly: "You have been paid in your own coin. As you did not allow the Duchess of Suabia, to cross the threshold of St. Gallus otherwise, it was but fair that she also should have the man of St. Gall, carried through the gateway into her castle."

Master Spazzo again shook hands with him, and said: "I hope you're not angry; we were but acting up to our mistress's commands!"--He had first headed the attack, and was now helping to welcome Ekkehard, doing both with the same pompous air, for a chamberlain must be flexible, and even know how to reconcile contradictions.

Ekkehard smiled. "For a mere jest, you have acted your part very seriously." He remembered how one of the riders had given him a good thrust between the ribs, with the butt-end of his lance, when they threw him into the sedan-chair. This had certainly not been the Duchess's order; but the lancer had once been present, when Luitfried the nephew of one of the exchequer's messengers, had thrown down the Bishop Solomon; and from that time had kept the erroneous notion, that a good blow or kick, was absolutely necessary to throw down anybody belonging to the church.

Dame Hadwig now took her guest by the hand and showed him her airy castle with its beautiful view of the Bodensee, and the distant mountain peaks. Then all the people belonging to the castle, came and asked for his blessing; amongst them also the lancers; and he blessed them all.--

The Duchess accompanied him to the entrance of his chamber, where new clothes and other comforts awaited him; there she told him to rest himself from the fatigues of the journey; and Ekkehard felt happy and light-hearted, after his strange adventure.

The following night, it occurred in the monastery of St. Gall, that Romeias the gate-keeper, without any reason started up from his couch, and fiercely blew his horn; so that the dogs barked loudly, and everybody awoke. Yet there was no one asking admittance. The Abbot concluded, that it was the doing of evil spirits; but at the same time, ordered Romeias's evening drink, to be reduced to one half, for six days;--a measure which was based however on very wrong suppositions.

⁷ This it had, surely enough; for when lately a learned son of the emerald isle, paid a visit to the library of St. Gallus, there to inspect the work of his pious countryman, he soon burst into a merry laugh, and then the Rector of Dublin, translated some of the Irish comments as follows:

"God be thanked that it is getting dark!" "St. Patrick of Armagh release me from this book-writing." "Oh, that I had a glass of good old wine beside me" etc.