Читать книгу Ekkehard (Historical Novel) - Joseph Victor von Scheffel - Страница 7

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The next day, the Duchess crossed the Bodensee in the early glow of the morning-sun, accompanied by Praxedis and a numerous train. The lake was beautifully blue; the flags floated in the air, and much fun was going on, on board the ship. And who could be melancholy, when gliding over the clear, crystal waters; past the green shores with their many towers and castles; snowy peaks rising in the distance; and the reflection of the white sails, trembling and breaking in the playful waves?

Nobody knew where the end of the journey was to be. But then they were accustomed to obey without questioning.

When they approached the bay at Rorschach, the Duchess commanded them to land there. So the prow was turned to the shore, and soon after she crossed lightly over the rocking plank and stepped on land. Here the toll-gatherer, who received the duty from all those who travelled to Italy, and the market-master, as well as those who held any official position, came to meet their sovereign; and calling out lustily "Hail Herro!" "Hail Liebo"³ waved big branches of mighty fir-trees over their heads. Graciously returning their salutations, the Duchess walked through the deferential crowd, which fell back on either side, and ordered her chamberlain to distribute some silver coins;--but there was not much time for tarrying. Already the horses which had been secretly sent on before, in the night, stood ready waiting, and when all were in the saddle, Dame Hadwig gave the word of command: "To the holy Gallus." Then her servants looked at each other with wondering eyes, as if asking, "what business can we have there?" But there was not even time for an answer, as the cavalcade was already cantering over the hilly ground towards the monastery itself.

St. Benedict and his disciples knew very well on what places to build their monasteries. Up-hill and down-hill, wherever you find a large building, which like a fortress, commands a whole tract of land, or blocks up the entrance to a valley, or forms the central point of crossing highways, or that lies buried amongst vineyards, famous for their exquisite wines,--there the passing tourist,--until the contrary has been proved to him--may boldly advance the assertion, that the house in question belongs, or rather belonged formerly to the order of St. Benedict, for in our days monasteries become scarcer and inns, more plentiful, which phenomenon may be ascribed to the progress of civilisation.

The Irish saint Gallus, had also chosen a lovely spot, when pining for forest-air he settled down in this Helvetian solitude: In a high mountain-glen, separated by steep hills from the milder shores of the Bodensee, through which many a wild torrent rushed in mad flight, whilst on the other side rose the gigantic rocks of the Alpstein, whose snowcapped peaks disappear in the clouds, there, sheltered by the mountain, the monastery lay cradled at its foot. It was a strange thing for those apostles of Albion and Erin, to extend their missions unto the German continent, but if one examines the matter closely, their merit in doing so, is not so great as it appears at first sight.

"The taste for visiting foreign lands, is so deeply rooted in the minds of Britons, that it cannot be eradicated,"--thus wrote as early as in the times of Charlemagne, a simple, trust-worthy historian. They were simply the predecessors and ancestors of the present British tourists, and might be recognized even at a distance by the foreign, curious shape of their knapsacks. Now and then one of them would settle down for good somewhere, although the honest natives of the soil did not always look with favourable eyes on the intruder. Still their greater pertinacity, the inheritance of all Britons, the art of colonizing and the mystic veneration which all that is foreign, always inspires in the lower classes, made their missionary endeavours rather successful. With other times we have other customs! In the present day the descendants of those saints are making rail-roads for the Swiss, for good Helvetian money.

On the spot near the Steinach where once had stood, the simple cell of the Hibernian hermit, and where he had fought with bears, goblins and water-fairies, a spacious monastery had been built. Above the lower shingle-covered roofs of the dwelling and school-houses, the octagon church-tower rose in all its splendour; granaries, cellars and sheds, abounded also, and even the merry sound of a mill-wheel might be heard, for all the necessaries of life had to be prepared within the precincts of the cloister; so that the monks need not go too far beyond the boundaries, thereby endangering their souls. A strong wall, with heavy well-barred gates, surrounded the whole; less for ornament than for security, since there was many a powerful knight in those times who did not much heed the last commandment, "do not covet thy neighbours goods."

It was past the dinner-hour and a deep calm lay over the valley. The rules of St. Benedict prescribed that at that hour, everybody should seek his couch, and though on that side of the Alps, the terrible heat of an Italian sun which forces one into the arms of Morpheus is never felt, the pious monks nevertheless followed this rule to the letter.

Only the guard on the watch-tower stood upright and faithful as ever, near the little chamber-window, waging war with the innumerable flies, buzzing about him. His name was Romeias, and he was noted for keeping a sharp look out.

Suddenly he heard the tramp of horses' feet in the neighbouring firwood, to which he listened intently. "Eight or ten horsemen," muttered he, and upon this, quickly dropped down the portcullis from the gate, drew up the little bridge leading over the moat, and then from a nail in the wall took his horn. Finding that some spiders had been weaving their cob-webs in it, he gave it a good rubbing.

At that moment the out-riders of the cavalcade became visible on the outskirts of the pine-wood. When Romeias caught sight of them, he first gave a rub to his forehead and then eyed the approaching party with a very puzzled look. "Womenfolk?" he exclaimed aloud, but in that exclamation there was neither pleasure nor edification.

He seized his horn and blew three times into it, with all his might. They were rough, uncouth notes that he produced, from which one might conclude, that neither the muses nor the graces had kindly surrounded the cradle of Romeias, when he first saw the light of this world at Villingen in the Blackforest.

Anyone who has often been in a wood, must have observed the life in an ant-hill. There, everything is well organized; each ant attending to its business and perfect harmony reigning in all the bustle and movement. Now you put your stick into it frightening the foremost ants, and instantly all is wild confusion, and a disorderly running hither and thither ensues. And all this commotion has been brought about by one single movement of your stick. Now the sounds coming from the horn of Romeias, had just the same disturbing effect in the monastery.

The windows of the great hall in the school-house were filled with young inquisitive faces. Many a lovely dream vanished out of the solitary cells, without ever coming to an end, and many a profound meditation of half-awake thinkers as well. The wicked Sindolt who at this hour used to read the forbidden book of Ovid's "art of love," rolled up hastily the parchment leaves and hid them carefully in his straw mattress.

The Abbot Cralo jumped up from his chair; stretched his arms heavy with sleep, and then dipping his forefinger into a magnificent silver washing-basin, standing before him on a stone table, wetted his eyes to drive away the drowsiness that was still lingering there. After this he limped to the open bow-window, but when he beheld who it was that had occasioned all this disturbance, he was as unpleasantly surprised, as if a walnut had dropt on his head, and exclaimed: "St. Benedict save us! my cousin the Duchess!"

He then quickly adjusted his habit, gave a brush to the scanty tuft of hair which his head still boasted of and that grew upwards like a pine-tree in a sandy desert; put on his golden chain with the cloister seal on it, took his abbot's staff made of the wood of an apple-tree adorned with a richly carved handle of ebony, and then descended into the courtyard.

"Can't you hasten?" called out one of the party outside. Then the abbot commanded the doorkeeper to ask them what they demanded. Romeias obeyed.

A bugle now sounded and the chamberlain Spazzo in the capacity of herald, rode up close to the gate, and called out loudly:

"The Duchess and reigning sovereign of Suabia sends her greeting to St. Gallus. Let the gates be opened to receive her."

The abbot heaved a deep sigh, then climbed up to Romeias' watch-tower and leaning on his staff, he gave his blessing, to those standing outside and spoke thus:

"In the name of St. Gallus, the most unworthy of his followers returns his thanks for the gracious greeting. But his monastery is no Noah's ark into which every species of living thing, pure and impure, male and female may enter. Therefore, although my heart is filled with regret, to sanction your entrance, is an impossibility. On the last day of judgment, the abbot is held responsible for the souls of those entrusted to him. The presence of a woman although the noblest in the land and the frivolous speech of the children of this world, would be too great a temptation for those who are bound, to strive first after the kingdom of Heaven and its righteousness. Do not trouble the conscience of the shepherd who anxiously watches over his flock. The canonical laws bar the gate. The gracious Duchess will find at Trojen or Rorshach a house belonging to the monastery, at her entire disposal."

Dame Hadwig who had been sitting on horseback impatiently enough hitherto, now struck her white palfrey with her riding-whip, and reining it so as to make it rear and step backwards, called out laughingly:

"Spare yourself all your fine words, Cousin Cralo, for I will see the cloister."

In doleful accents, the abbot began: "Woe unto him by whom offence cometh. It were better for him … "

But his warning speech did not come to an end; for Dame Hadwig, entirely changing the tone of her voice, sharply said: "Sir Abbot, the Duchess of Suabia, must see the monastery."

Then the much afflicted man perceived that further contradiction could scarcely be offered without damaging the future prospects of the monastery. Yet his conscience still urged him to opposition.

Whenever a person is in a doubtful position, and is uncertain how to act, it is a great comfort to the vacillating mind, to ask the advice of others; for that expedient lessens the responsibility, and is a solid support to fall back upon.

Therefore Sir Cralo now called down: "As you insist so peremptorily, I must put the case first before the assembled brotherhood. Until then, pray have patience."

He walked back through the courtyard, inwardly wishing, that a second great flood might come, and destroy the highway, on which such unwelcome guests had come. His limping gait was hurried and excited, and it is not to be wondered at, if the chronicler reports of him, that he had fluttered up and down the cloister-walk at that critical moment, like a swallow before a thunder-storm.

Five times the little bell of St. Othmar's chapel, near the great church rang out now; calling the brothers to the reading-room. The solitary cross-passages filled quickly with cowl-bearing figures; all going towards the place of assembly, which, opposite the hexagonal chief-building, was a simple grey hall, under the peristyle of which a graceful fountain shed its waters into a metal basin.

On a raised brick-floor, stood the abbot's marble chair; adorned with two roughly carved lions' heads. With a very pleasurable sensation the eye, from under these dark arches and pillars, looked out on the greenness of the little garden in the inner court. Roses and holly-hocks flourished and bloomed in it; for kind nature even smiles on those, who have turned their backs on her.

The white habits and dark-coloured mantles, contrasted well with the stone grey walls, as one after the other, noiselessly entered. A hasty bend of the head was the mutual greeting. Thus they stood in silent expectation, while the morning sun came slanting in through the narrow windows, lighting up their different faces.

They were tried men; a holy senate, well pleasing in God's sight.

He, with the shrunk figure, and sharp-featured pale face, bearing the traces of much fasting and many night-vigils, was Notker the stutterer. A melancholy smile played about his lips. The long practice of asceticism, had removed his spirit from the present. In former times he had composed very beautiful melodies; but now he had taken a more gloomy tendency and at night was constantly challenging demons to fight with him. In the crypt of the holy Gallus he had lately encountered the devil himself and beaten him so heartily that the latter hid himself in a corner, dismally howling. Envious tongues said, that Notker's melancholy song of "media vita" had also a dark origin; as the Evil One had revealed it to him in lieu of ransom, when he lay ignominiously conquered, on the ground, under Notker's strong foot. Close to him, there smiled a right-honest, and good-natured face, framed in by an iron-grey beard. That was the mighty Tutilo, who loved best to sit before the turning-lathe, and carve exquisitely fine images of ivory. Some proofs of his skill even now exist, such as the diptychon with the virgin Mary's ascension, and the bear of St. Gallus. But when his back began to ache, humming an old song, he would leave his work, to go wolf-hunting, or to engage in an honest boxing match, by way of recreation; for he preferred fighting with wicked men, to wrestling with midnight ghosts and often said to his friend Notker: "he who like myself, has imprinted his mark on many a Christian, as well as heathen back, can well afford to do without demons." Then came Ratpert the long tried teacher of the school, who left his historical books most unwillingly, whenever the little bell called him to an assembly. He carried his head somewhat high, yet he and the others, though their characters differed so much, were one heart and one soul; a three-leaved cloister shamrock. Being one of the last who entered the hall, he had to stand near his old antagonist, the evil Sindolt, who pretending not to see him, whispered something to his neighbour, a little man with a face like a shrew-mouse, who, puckering up his lips, tried hard not to smile; for the whispered remark had been: that in the large dictionary by Bishop Salomon, beside the words "rabulista signifies someone, who cannot help disputing about everything in the world" some unknown hand, had added, "like Ratpert our great thinker."

Now in the background there towered above the rest, the tall figure of Sintram the famous calligraphist; whose letters were then the wonder of the whole cisalpine world, but the greatest of St. Gallus's disciples, with regard to length of body, were the Scotchmen, who had taken their stand close to the entrance.

Fortegian and Failan, Dubslan and Brendan and so on; inseparable compatriots; secretly grumbling over what they considered the neglect shown them. The sandy-haired Dubduin was also amongst them, who in spite of the heavy iron penitential chain which he wore, had not been elected prior. As a punishment for the biting satirical verses, which he had composed on his German brothers, he had been sentenced to water the dead peach-tree in the garden for three years.

Notker, the physician, had also joined the assembly. He had but lately administered the wondrous remedy for the abbot's lame foot; an ointment made of fish-brain, and wrapping it up, in the fresh skin of a wolf, the warmth of which was to stretch out the contracted sinews. His nickname was peppercorn, on account of the strictness with which he maintained the monastic discipline;--and Wolo who could not bear to look at a woman or a ripe apple, and Engelbert the founder of the collection of wild beasts, and Gerhard the preacher, and Folkard the painter. Who could name them all, the excellent masters, whose names, when mentioned called up in the next generation of monks, feelings of melancholy and regret, as they confessed, that such men were becoming scarcer everyday?

When all were assembled, the abbot mounted his chair, and the consultation began forthwith. The case however proved to be a very difficult one.

Ratpert spoke first, and demonstrated from history, in what way the Emperor Charlemagne had once been enabled to enter the monastery. "In that instance," he said, "it was presumed that he was a member of the order, as long as he was within our precincts, and all pretended not to know who he was. Not a word was spoken of imperial dignity, or deeds of war, or humble homage. He walked about amongst us like any other monk, and that he was not offended thereby, the letter of protection, which he threw over the wall, when departing well proved."

But in this way, the great difficulty,--the person asking for admittance being a woman,--could not be got rid of. The stricter ones amongst the brotherhood grumbled, and Notker, the peppercorn, said: "She is the widow of that destroyer of countries, and ravager of monasteries, who once carried off our most precious chalice as a war-contribution, saying the derisive words: 'God neither eats nor drinks, so what can he do with golden vessels?' I warn you not to unbar the gate." This advice however did not quite suit the abbot, as he wished to find a compromise. The debate became very stormy, one saying this, the other that. Brother Wolo on hearing that the discussion was about a woman, softly slunk out, and locked himself up in his cell.

At last one of the brothers rose and requested to be heard.

"Speak, Brother Ekkehard!" called out the abbot, and the noisy tumult was hushed, for all liked to hear Ekkehard speak. He was still young in years, of a very handsome figure, and he captivated everybody who looked at him, by his graceful mien and pleasing expression. Besides this he was both wise and eloquent, an excellent counsellor and a most learned scholar. At the cloister-school he taught Virgil, and though the rule prescribed, that none but a wise and hoary man, whose age would guard him from the abuse of his office, and who by his experience would be a fit counsellor for all,--should be made custodian, yet the brothers had agreed that Ekkehard united in himself all the necessary requirements, and consequently had entrusted him with that office.

A scarcely perceptible smile had played around his lips, whilst the others were disputing. He now raised his voice and spoke thus: "The Duchess of Suabia is the monastery's patron, and in such capacity is equal to a man, and as our monastic rules strictly forbid that a woman's foot shall touch the cloister-threshold, she may easily be carried over."

Upon this the faces of the old men brightened up, as if a great load had been taken off their minds. A murmur of approbation ran through the assembly, and the abbot likewise was not insensible to the wise counsel.

"Verily, the Lord often reveals himself, even unto a younger brother! Brother Ekkehard, you are guileless like the dove, and prudent like the serpent. So you shall carry out your own advice. I give you herewith the necessary dispensation." A deep blush overspread Ekkehard's features, but he quietly bowed his head in sign of obedience.

"And what about the female attendants of the Duchess?" asked the abbot. But here the assembly unanimously decided that even the most liberal interpretation of the monastic laws could not grant them admittance. The evil Sindolt proposed that they should meanwhile pay a visit to the recluses on Erin-hill, because when the monastery of St. Gallus was afflicted by a visitation, it was but fair that the pious Wiborad should bear her share of it. After having held a whispering consultation with Gerold the steward about the supper, the abbot descended from his high chair, and accompanied by the brotherhood, went out to meet his guests. These had meanwhile ridden three times round the cloister-walls, banishing the ennui of waiting by merry jests and laughter. The air of "justus germinavit," the montonous hymn in praise of St. Benedict, was struck up by the monks, who were now heard approaching. The heavy gate opened creaking on its hinges, and out came the abbot at the head of the procession of friars, who walking, two and two together, chanted the hymn just mentioned.

Then the abbot gave a sign to stop the singing.

"How do you do, Cousin Cralo?" flippantly cried the Duchess from her saddle. "I have not seen you for an age! Are you still limping?"

Cralo however replied with dignity: "It is better that the shepherd should limp than the flock. Be pleased to hear the monastery's decree." And forthwith he communicated the condition on which she was to enter.

Then Dame Hadwig replied smilingly: "During all the time that I have wielded the sceptre in Suabia, such a proposition has never been made to me. But the laws of your order shall be respected. Which of the brothers have you chosen to carry the Sovereign over the threshold?" but on casting her sparkling eyes over the ranks of the spiritual champions and beholding the dark fanatical face of Notker the stutterer, she whispered to Praxedis: "May be we shall turn back at once."

"There he stands," said the abbot.

Dame Hadwig following with her eyes the direction which the abbot's forefinger indicated, then beheld Ekkehard, and it was a long gaze, which she cast on his tall handsome figure, and noble countenance, glowing with youth and intellect. "We shall not turn back," was implied by a significant nod to Praxedis, and before the short-necked chamberlain, who in most cases was willing enough but was generally too slow, had dismounted, and approached her palfrey, she had gracefully alighted and approaching the custodian, she said: "Now then, perform your office."

Ekkehard had been trying meanwhile to compose an address, which in faultless Latin was intended to justify the strange liberty he was about to take,--but when she stood before him, proud and commanding, his voice failed him, and the speech remained where it had been conceived,--in his thoughts. Otherwise, however, he had not lost his courage, and so he lifted up his fair burden with his strong arms, who, putting her right arm round his shoulder, seemed not displeased with her novel position.

Cheerfully he thus stepped over the threshold which no woman's foot was allowed to touch; the abbot walking by his side, and the chamberlain and vassals following. The serving ministrants swung their censers gaily into the air, and the monks marching behind in a double file as before, sung the last verses of the unfinished hymn.

It was a wonderful spectacle, such as never occurred, either before or after in the monastery's history, and by those prone to useless moralising many a wise observation might be made, in connexion with the monk's carrying the duchess; on the relation of church and state in those times, and the changes which have occurred since,--but these reflections we leave each one to make for himself.--Natural philosophers affirm, that at the meeting of animate objects, invisible powers begin to act, streaming forth and passing from one to the other, thus creating strange affinities. This theory was proved true at least with regard to the Duchess and her bearer, for whilst she was being rocked in his arms, she thought inwardly: "Indeed, never the hood of St. Benedict has covered a more graceful head than this one," and when Ekkehard put down his burden with shy deference in the cool cross-passage, he was struck by the thought, that the distance from the gate had never appeared so short to him before. "I suppose that you found me very heavy?" said the Duchess.

"My liege lady, you may boldly say of yourself as it has been written, 'my yoke is easy and my burden is light,'" was the reply.

"I should not have thought, that you would turn the words of Scripture into a flattering speech. What is your name?"

"They call me Ekkehard."

"Ekkehard, I thank you," said the Duchess with a graceful wave of her hand.

He stepped back to an oriel window in the cross-passage, and looked out into the little garden. Was it mere chance that the image of St. Christopher now rose before his inward eye? He also considered his burden a light one, when he began to carry the child-stranger through the water, on his strong shoulder; but heavier and heavier the burden weighed on his back, and pressing him downwards into the roaring flood, deep, and deeper still; so that his courage began to fail him, and was well nigh turned into despair? …

The abbot had ordered a magnificent jug to be brought, and taking it in his hand, he went himself to the well, filled it and presenting it to the Duchess said: "It is the duty of the abbot to bring water to strangers for them to wash their hands, as well as their feet and … "

"We thank you, but we do not want it," said the Duchess, interrupting him, in her most decided accents.

Meanwhile two of the brothers had carried down a box, which now stood open in the passage. Out of this the abbot drew a monk's habit, quite new and said: "Thus I ordain our monastery's mighty patron, a member of our brotherhood, and adorn him, with the holy garb of our order."

Dame Hadwig complied, lightly bending her knee, on receiving the cowl from his hands, and then she put on the garment, which became her well, being ample and falling in rich folds; for the rule says: "The abbot is to keep a strict look-out that the garments shall not be too scanty, but well fitted to their wearers."

The beautiful rosy countenance looked lovely in the brown hood.

"And you must likewise follow the example of your mistress," said the abbot to the followers of the Duchess, upon which the evil Sindolt gleefully assisted Master Spazzo to don the garb.

"Do you know," he whispered into his ear, "what this garment obliges you to? In putting it on, you swear to renounce the evil lusts of this world, and to lead a sober, self-denying and chaste life in future."

Master Spazzo who had already put his right arm into the ample gown, pulled it back hastily and exclaimed with terror, "I protest against this,"--but when Sindolt struck up a loud guffaw, he perceived that things were not quite so serious and said: "Brother, you are a wag."

In a few minutes the vassals were also adorned with the garb of the holy order, but the beards of some of the newly created monks, descended to the girdle, in opposition to the rules, and also they were not quite canonical as to the modest casting down of their eyes.

The abbot led his guests into the church.

³ Old German words.