CHAPTER IV.

In the Monastery.

Dame Hadwig had meanwhile performed her devotions at the grave of the holy Gallus. The Abbot was then about to propose a walk in the cloister-garden, but she asked him, first to show her the treasures of the church. The mind of woman, however intellectual, ever delights in ornaments, jewels and fine garments. The Abbot tried hard to dissuade her from this wish; saying that their's was but a poor little monastery, and that his cousin, no doubt, had seen far better things on her travels, or at court, but it was all in vain. So they went to the sacristy. Here the cupboards were first opened, revealing many purple chasubles and magnificent priest's garments, with embroidered pictures, representations of the holy history. Here and there was also some piece strongly reminding one of Roman heathenism, such as the marriage of Mercury with Philology. When the cupboards were done with, large boxes were opened, full of silver lamps, golden crowns, finely wrought frames for the holy books; and ornaments for the altar. These things had mostly been brought over the Alps by monks, who tying them round their knees, had thus slily preserved them from covetous eyes and hands.

Beautiful vessels, in all sorts of curious forms; candlesticks in the shape of dolphins; golden drinking-cups resting on silver pillars; censers and many other beautiful articles, altogether a rich treasure.

A chalice made of a single piece of amber, which glistened wonderfully when held to the light, attracted the d.u.c.h.ess' notice. At the edge a small piece was broken off.

"When my predecessor Hartmuth was dying," said the Abbot, "that little bit was powdered and given to him, mixed with wine and honey, to calm the fever."

In the middle of the amber was a tiny fly, so well preserved, as if it had but just settled down there. Probably the little insect sitting contentedly on its blade of gra.s.s, in antediluvian times, when the liquid resin streamed over it, little thought, that it would thus be bequeathed to far-off generations.

But such dumb testimonials of nature's powers, were little heeded then.

At least the chamberlain Spazzo, who surveyed and examined everything with a careful eye, was occupied the while with very different ideas.

He thought how much pleasanter it would be to be on war-terms with the pious monks, and instead of claiming their hospitality as a friend, to enter arms in hand, and carry all the treasures away. Having witnessed in his time many a reverse of friendship between the high-born, he was inwardly speculating on this possibility, and eyeing keenly the entrance to the sacristy, he murmured to himself: "Coming from the choir 'tis the first door to the right!"

The Abbot who probably thought likewise that the prolonged examination of the gold and silver, produced a hankering for their possession, slily omitted opening the last box, which contained the most magnificent things of all, and in order to divert their attention from them urgently proposed, their going into the open air.

So the party directed their steps towards the garden, which occupied a considerable s.p.a.ce, and produced much vegetable and fruit for the kitchen, as well as useful herbs for medicines.

In the orchard a large portion was divided off and reserved for wild animals and numerous birds, such as were to be found in the neighbouring Alps; and rarer ones which had been sent as presents, by stranger guests from foreign countries.

Dame Hadwig took great pleasure in looking at the rough uncouth bears, which were funny enough when climbing about on the tree in their prison. Close to these, a pug-nosed monkey, chained together with a baboon, played their merry gambols,--two creatures of which a poet of that time, says that neither one nor the other, possessed a single trace of the faculty of making itself useful, by which to establish a claim to its existence.

An old wild goat with bent down head stood immovably within its narrow boundary, for since it had been carried off from the icy atmosphere of its snowy mountain peaks and glaciers, the native of the Alps had become blind;--for it is not every creature that thrives amid low human habitations.

In another division a large family of thick-skinned badgers was living.

On pa.s.sing them the evil Sindolt exclaimed laughingly: "Heaven bless you miserable little beasts, the chosen game of pious monks."

On another side was heard a shrill whistle from a troop of marmots, which were running quickly to hide themselves in the c.h.i.n.ks and crevices of the artificial rockery, that served as their dwelling. Dame Hadwig had never beheld such amusing little creatures before. The Abbot told her of their way of living.

"These animals," said he, "sleep more than any other creature; but when awake, they show a wonderful sharpness and forethought, for when winter approaches, they gather up gra.s.s and hay wherever they find it, and one of them lies down on its back, whilst the others put on it everything they have sc.r.a.ped together, and then they seize it by the tail, and drag it like a loaded cart into their caverns."[5]

Then Sindolt said to the stout chamberlain Master Spazzo: "What a pity that you have not become a mountain-rat, that would have been a pleasant and graceful occupation for you."

When the Abbot had proceeded a few paces, the evil Sindolt began to give a new sort of explanation: "That is our Tutilo," said he, pointing to a bear, which had just thrown down one of its companions,--"that the blind Thieto,"--pointing to the wild goat, and he was just about to honour the Abbot with some flattering comparison, when the d.u.c.h.ess interrupted him by saying: "As you are so clever in finding similes, will you find one for me also?"

Sindolt became embarra.s.sed. Luckily his eye now fell on a beautiful silver-pheasant, which was in the midst of a troop of cranes, basking in the sunshine which lighted up its pearly grey feathers.

"There," said Sindolt.

But the d.u.c.h.ess turned round to Ekkehard, who gazed dreamily at the bustle and life before him.

"What do you think of it?" asked she.

He started up. "Oh, mistress!" said he in soft tones, "who is so audacious as to compare you to anything that flies or crawls?"

"But if we desire it?"

"Then I only know of one bird," said Ekkehard. "We have not got it, nor has anyone; in star-lit midnights it flies high over our heads, brushing the sky with its wings. The bird's name is Caradrion, and when its wings touch the earth a sick man is healed. Then the bird, inclining towards the man, opens its beak over his mouth, and taking the man's sickness unto itself rises up to the sun, and purifies itself in the eternal light; and the man is saved."

The Abbot's return put a stop to further similes. One of the serving brothers was sitting on an apple-tree, plucking the apples, and putting them into baskets. When the d.u.c.h.ess approached the tree, he was going to descend, but she made him a sign to stop where he was.

Now, the singing of sweet boyish voices was heard. The voices were those of the younger cloister-pupils who came to do homage to the d.u.c.h.ess. Children as they were, the little fellows wore already the monk's habit, and several even the tonsure on their eleven years old heads. When the procession of the little rosy-cheeked future abbots came in sight, with their eyes cast down and singing their sequences so seriously, a slight, mocking smile played round Dame Hadwig's lips, and with her strong foot, she upset the nearest of the baskets, so that the apples rolled about enticingly on the ground, in the midst of the boys.

But unabashed they continued their walk; only one of the youngest wanted to bend down and take up the tempting fruit, which his companion forcibly prevented, by taking a good hold of his girdle.

Much pleased the Abbot witnessed the young folks' excellent behaviour and said: "Discipline distinguishes human beings from animals, and if you were to throw the apples of Hesperides amongst them, they would remain stedfast."

Dame Hadwig was touched. "Are all your pupils so well trained?" asked she.

"If you like to convince yourself with your own eyes," said the Abbot, "you will see that the elder ones know quite as well the meaning of obedience and submission."

The d.u.c.h.ess nodding an a.s.sent, was then led into the outer cloister-school, in which the sons of n.o.blemen, and those who intended to join the secular clergy, were educated.

They entered the upper cla.s.s. In the lecturer's chair stood Ratpert, the wise and learned teacher who was initiating his pupils into the mysteries of Aristotle's logic. With bent heads the young scholars sat before their parchments, scarcely lifting their eyes to look at the party now entering. The teacher inwardly thought this a good opportunity to gather some laurels, and called out, "Notker Labeo!"

This was the pearl amongst his pupils, the hope of science, who on a weakly body carried a powerful head, with an immense protruding under-lip, the cause of his surname, the symbol of great determination and perseverance on the stony roads of investigation.

"He will become a great man," whispered the Abbot. "Already in his twelfth year he said that the world was like a book, and that the monasteries were the cla.s.sical pa.s.sages in it."

The young man in question, let his eyes glide over the Greek text, and then translated with pompous solemnity the deep intricate meaning thereof:

"If on a stone or piece of wood, you find a straight line running through, that is the mutual line of demarcation, of the even surface.

If the stone or wood were to split along that line, then we should behold two intersections, near the visible c.h.i.n.k, where there was only one line before. Besides this we see two new surfaces, which are as broad as the object was thick, before one could see the new surface.

From this it appears that this object existed as one whole, before it was separated."

But when this translation had been well got through, some of the young logicians put their heads together, and began to whisper, and the whispers became louder and louder;--even the cloister-pupil Hepidan, who undisturbed by Notker's capital translation, was employing all his skill to carve a devil with a double pair of wings, and a long curling tail, on the bench before him, stopped with his work. Then the teacher addressed the next boy, with the question: "But how does the surface become a mutual line of demarcation?" upon which he began to blunder over the Greek text; but the commotion in the school-benches became louder still, so that there arose a buzzing and booming like distant alarm bells. The translation ceased altogether and suddenly the whole ma.s.s of Ratpert's pupils rushed up noisily, towards the d.u.c.h.ess. In the next moment they had torn her from the Abbot's side, shouting "caught, caught," and making barricades with the benches, they repeated their cries: "We have caught the d.u.c.h.ess of Suabia! What shall be her ransom?"

Dame Hadwig, in the course of her life, had found herself in various positions, but that she could ever become the prisoner of school-boys had certainly never entered her head. This having however the charm of novelty for her, she submitted to her fate with a good grace.

Ratpert the teacher took out of the cupboard a mighty rod, and swinging it over his head, like a second Neptune, he recited, in a thundering voice, the verses of Virgil:

"So far has the conceit, in your pitiful powers, decoyed you, That, not awaiting my will, and rousing the heavens and waters, Ye have ventured to stir, ye rebellious winds of the ocean?

_Quos ego_!!"

A renewed shout was the answer. The room was already divided by a wall of benches and stools, and Master Spazzo was inwardly meditating the expediency of an attack, and the effect of vigorous blows on the heads of the ring-leaders. As for the Abbot, he was perfectly speechless, as this unexpected audacity had quite paralysed his faculties for the moment. The highborn prisoner stood at the other end of the school-room, in a niche, surrounded by her fifteen-years-old captors.

"What is the meaning of all this, ye wicked boys?" asked she smilingly.

Then one of the rebels advanced, bent his knee before her and humbly said: "He who comes as a stranger, is without protection or peace, and peaceless people are kept prisoners, until they have paid a ransom for their liberty."

"Do you learn that out of your Greek books?"

"No, mistress, that is German law."

"Very well, then I will ransom myself," said Dame Hadwig, and laughing merrily, she seized the red-cheeked logician, and drawing him towards her, wanted to kiss him. He however tore himself away, and joining the noisy ranks of his companions cried out: