Upon the slope of the hill, half-way between the castle and the lake, was a chapel built of white stone, which had stood there, according to tradition, from the ninth century. It was said to have been erected by Charlemagne, on his second expedition against the Saxons. The Baron of Hers had ornamented and repaired it with much taste and at great expense, until it was celebrated throughout the circle of Suabia for its richness and elegance. It had been dedicated to Mary the Morning Star, as appeared from a statue of the Blessed Virgin surmounted with a star, and was called the Pilgrim's Chapel. It was in charge of Herman, a priest, who had studied at Monte Ca.s.sino under the Benedictines, with Father Omehr, whom he loved as a brother. They had spent their period of training and had been ordained together; and, for forty years they had labored in the same vineyard, side by side, yet seldom meeting. When they did meet, however, it was with the joy and chastened affection which only the pure-minded and truly religious can know; and they would recall with tears of happiness the scenes of other days--the splendid convent, whose church shone like a grotto of jewels and precious stones--the learned and devout monk, and the theological difficulties over which they had triumphed hand in hand.

After taking some slight refreshment (for the baron could ill brook a refusal of his cheer), Father Omehr left the father and son to each other, and began to descend the path to the chapel. Herman had gone to administer the last Sacraments to a distant parishioner. Father Omehr knelt down in the chapel and awaited his return. It did not seem long before his brother missionary entered through the sacristy and knelt beside him. The little chapel was very beautiful, with its branching pillars, supporting cl.u.s.ters of Angels carved in stone. The images of the Saints served to awaken many fine emotions--and the princ.i.p.al statue of Our Lady, which the artist had designed to represent the immaculate purity of the Mother of G.o.d--gave an indescribable sweetness to that consecrated spot: but more beautiful still, and more acceptable to G.o.d, were the two holy men who, bent with age and grown gray in the service of a heavenly Master, bowed down together before the altar of the Most High, and for a time forgot each other in the contemplation of the majesty and infinite goodness of Him they served.

At length they rose; and when in the open air gave way to the impulse of human love, which until then had yielded to a loftier feeling.

There was a room in the Castle of Hers in which Herman spent the hours not required for the active duties of his ministry, and to this the two friends retired. There for more than an hour, they discussed topics of mutual interest--compared the condition of their flocks--and wandered back to Naples and Monte Ca.s.sino. The introduction of this last subject seemed to remind Herman of something he had forgotten; for he started up and went to a shelf, which was filled with extracts he had been permitted to make from the celebrated library of the convent, and taking down a small piece of parchment, gave it to his companion. It was an illuminated ma.n.u.script of the _Salve Regina_.

"It was sent me yesterday across the lake by a Benedictine monk," he said, when Father Omehr had finished reading and raised his eyes in wonder and delight.

"And who has written it?"

"A namesake of mine--a Benedictine. It was not seen until after his death, when the ma.n.u.script was discovered in his cell. What is more remarkable is that the monk was distinguished for nothing but his piety, and had never made any pretension to learning or accomplishment."

Much to the surprise of Herman, his friend, though deeply moved by that beautiful effusion of Catholic piety, seemed not to give the entire attention which it so eminently deserved.

"Listen!" he said, repeating the lines. "What melody! what tenderness!

what love! You certainly must feel its exalted piety?" he added, appealing to Father Omehr.

"I do, indeed; but you perceive that I am disturbed. In brief, then--for I could not bring myself to say until now--Anno of Cologne is dead."

Anno, Archbishop of Cologne, was revered throughout Europe in the eleventh century for his virtue and wisdom. It is said of him that, when others slept, he rose, filled with a holy zeal, and visited many churches, carrying with him his pious offerings. In the halls of kings, says the poet who celebrates his virtues, he sat with the haughtiness of the lion; in the hut of the peasant, he stood with the humility of a lamb. So obnoxious was he to the king, that Henry at one time a.s.saulted him sword in hand; and he was only saved from death by the interposition of a monk. Alone, he founded five monasteries, including that of Siegberg, his favorite residence, where he died, and where his tomb was long pointed out to the traveller. He was said to have emitted a light, the splendor and beauty of which spread around like the l.u.s.tre of a precious stone in a ring of gold.

"O G.o.d, the giver of all!" exclaimed Herman, after a pause, "in taking him to Thyself, do not leave us desolate!"

Father Omehr then described the fearful ulcers which had tormented Anno's body, and the celestial visions and brilliant apparitions that delighted his soul and foreshadowed the bliss awaiting him in the life to come.

"But let us not weep for him whose epitaph is in the mouths of the widow and the orphan, and whose soul is in the hand of G.o.d!" said the pious chaplain of Hers, grasping the hand of his friend.

"Not for him I weep," was the reply; "nor yet for the bereaved people of Cologne." The missionary paused, unable to proceed, and then hurriedly exclaimed, "Who is to be his successor? Who is to appoint him?--Gregory VII or Henry of Austria!"

"He will not dare!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the other, who not until this moment clearly understood his more keen-sighted friend.

"He who has dared to fill the sees of Liege and Milan may not scruple to dishonor the see of Cologne! But let us pray and hope; for suffer what we may, we cannot be conquered."

This long interview was here terminated by the bell of the Benedictine, summoning to dinner. The Baron of Hers was noted for his fine person and his polished address, and saluted them with even more than his usual politeness as they entered the dining-room. He was the only one of the group who seemed at ease; for the two missionaries could not forget the death of Anno--and Gilbert, from some cause or other, had lost his sprightliness.

"I fear," said the knight to Father Omehr, "that you have half made a traitor of Gilbert, for he will no longer let me abuse my friends at Stramen, but sides with them against me. It is hard to fight our battles all alone, and against our friends, after forty."

"The Lady Margaret, who dressed his wound, must be blamed--not I,"

replied the priest.

The handsome face of the Baron of Hers, in an instant, became black as night, and as quickly recovered its former mildness; but the change, apparently, was not noticed by him who had caused it.

"I have heard," resumed the knight, in a careless tone, "that the young lady possesses much virtue, intelligence, and beauty, and is wise enough to prefer the cloister to the court."

"You have not been misinformed; yet her health is so feeble, that the grave will probably antic.i.p.ate her choice of either."

It was not until the close of the meal that the Lord of Hers was informed of the death of the Archbishop of Cologne, and from that time until they rose the conversation turned wholly upon the venerated and saintly prelate.

Toward sunset they descended the hill and walked along the picturesque banks of the lake. The n.o.ble sheet of water stretched away to the south far as the eye could reach, burnished by the sun, and forming part of the horizon.

"This lake of ours," said the baron, "has obtained a reputation which the best man cannot expect--and, indeed, would not desire: no one has ever breathed a word against it."

"There is a boat!" interposed Gilbert, pointing to a speck in the distance, which his father discovered after a long search, and was invisible to their two older companions. They stood in the shadow of some trees, and watched the object as it increased in size and gradually a.s.sumed the undeniable outline of a boat. It came from the direction of Zurich, and pointed directly to the castle. As it neared, they could distinguish four stout rowers and a person seated in the stern. With increased speed it seemed--for it was now within hailing distance--the boat darted straight to where they were standing; and, before it was made fast, the gentleman in the stern sprang ash.o.r.e, and, removing the cloak in which he had been enveloped, discovered the princely features of Rodolph, Duke of Suabia. Rodolph was descended from the counts of Hapsburg, on the father's side--and, on the mother's, from the ill.u.s.trious family of Otto the Great. He was styled King of Arles, and resided for the most part at Zurich. He was connected with Henry of Austria by a double tie, Matilda, his first wife, having been the sister of the king, and Adelaide, to whom he was then married, being the sister of the queen. But, though thus allied to Henry, he neither loved nor respected him. Once, indeed, the emperor had summoned him to court, on the charge of entertaining projects hostile to the house of Franconia, but Rodolph, well knowing the treacherous character of the monarch, and always a hero, boldly refused, preferring the fortune of arms to the fate of an investigation. Subsequently, filled with horror at the impiety of the Saxons in burning the Cathedral at Hartzburg, hallowed by numerous relics, and filled with the rich offerings of the faithful, he had united with Henry to chastise their sacrilege. At the battle of Hohenburg, in the van--the privilege of Suabia--he distinguished himself above all others by his impetuous valor, and only left the field when covered with wounds. Rodolph was equally remarkable for the size and beauty of his person, and the elevation of his soul. The Teutonic antiquities contain many songs of the Minnesingers, in which he is invested with all the qualities of mind and heart and body that can adorn the knight; but one fault is imputed to him--ambition. His subjects almost worshipped him, and his power is said to have been built upon their hearts. So conspicuous was he among his brother dukes, that, at the Diet of Gerstungen, in 1073, he had been offered the imperial crown, but he declined it unless awarded by the unanimous suffrages of the confederation.

Between him and the Baron of Hers a close friendship of long standing had existed, which had been interrupted by the baron's refusal to accompany him the preceding year in the expedition against Saxony. This refusal had been dictated by the knight's invincible repugnance to Henry, and by the politic move of conciliating all who opposed the emperor. Since the battle of Hohenburg they had not met.

After receiving the formal salutation due to his rank, Rodolph cordially embraced the Lord of Hers, and extended his regards to Gilbert, who could not sufficiently admire the hero of Hohenburg.

"But for your father's obstinacy," he said to the youth, "you would now be a knight. But I will see you win your spurs yet."

The greetings over, they all began to ascend the hill. The duke would not pa.s.s the chapel without entering. The pavement upon which they knelt had been worked with many a rich and curious device; but time and the knees of the faithful had worn away most of the finest tracery. At the foot of one of the columns still remained this fragment of an inscription:

_Hoc pavimentum ... feci ... ductus amore Dei._

This was the spot upon which the duke loved to kneel. Before rising, he drew from under his robe a golden chalice, and gave it to Herman, who was beside him. The priest took it and carried it to the sanctuary.

"I would almost give the decade of Jura," exclaimed Rodolph, as he approached the castle gate, "to know who made that superb pavement."

"It resembles more the pavement of a cathedral than the simple floor of a chapel," said Father Omehr. "I wish we had such an one to our little church at Stramen."

"Trust that to your successor," replied the duke; "you have given him the walls, the pillars, the windows, and the roof, and are well ent.i.tled to a pavement and alabaster altar at his hands."

They were now at the gate, into which were cut two niches containing statutes of SS. Victor and Apollinaris. The bars, which yielded to every stranger and to every peasant, flew open before the high-born group, and the almoner, as he recognized the duke, bent his knee in reverence. They mounted a heavy flight of stairs, and, traversing an arched gallery, were ushered into the princ.i.p.al hall. This large room was hung with solemn tapestry, reaching from the ceiling to the floor. The characteristic piety of these ages displayed itself in the beautiful recesses in the walls, adapted to the reception of holy water, and in the devices upon the floor and ceiling, which always conveyed some pious meaning. The walls were covered with paintings chiefly relating to the exploits of the lords of Hers, or filled up with heraldic blazonry.

In the cathedral or in the castle, in the monastery or in the chapel, durability was the princ.i.p.al object of the architect. It is true that the genius of the age contrived to combine the greatest strength with the greatest elegance; but durability was the great end. The pious men of the Middle Ages did not erect mere sh.e.l.ls, which, though sufficient for their own brief lives, would crumble over their posterity; but looked to the wants of future generations. And, then, there was a reliance upon posterity which is neither felt nor warranted now. Thus, in the minor Church of the Nativity in the lordship of Stramen, which had been designed by Father Omehr, and which had exhausted the revenues of the barony, the missionary had conceived it upon a scale to which his present means were insufficient, but to which the charity of another generation would be adequate. This was always the case with the cathedrals. Even the castles themselves had so many rooms set apart for recluses and wanderers, that it was easy to convert them into monasteries; and the Castle of Hers, with very little alteration, would have made an excellent convent.

Rodolph was about to throw himself into one of the large high-back chairs of state; but yielding a graceful respect to the aged priests, he motioned them to be seated, and placed himself between them.

"You are rather pale, my lord duke, from your wounds," said the baron, as an attendant entered with some wine-cups--"and I beg you to accept from my son a draught of the vintage you used to relish."

Rodolph received the goblet from the youth, and replied, as he raised it to his lips, "How I missed you at Hohenburg!"

"I would have given my lordship," returned the baron, "to have seen you outstripping all the chivalry of Austria, and charging where none dared to follow!"

"My fair cousin, the Margrave Udo, would have atoned for the thrust at my face, which made me see more stars than were ever created, had you been at my side."

"But to aid you was to a.s.sist Henry; and I was loth to break our league with Saxony."

"That league was merely defensive, and _they_ broke it by aggression and sacrilege."

"But we could not punish their crime without strengthening the power of that greater criminal, the emperor."

"You acted uncharitably," said the duke; "but you judged aright, and I have forgiven you."

"For which; my liege," replied the baron, "I cannot be too grateful."

"Listen," continued the King of Arles, "ye true pastors of the Church of G.o.d, and you, Albert of Hers, that Henry of Austria has nominated a successor to Anno of Cologne!"