God has given us during these last days to see, as I verily believe,
some glimpses into Eden. The mountains with snowy summits, like the
white steps of His throne; the rivers which flow from them and enrich
the land; the crystal seas, like glass mingled with fire, when the
reflected snow-peaks burn in the lakes at dawn or sunset; and then this
Lombard plain, watered with rivers which make its harvests gleam like
gold; this garner of God, where the elms or chestnuts grow among the
golden maize, and the vines festoon the trees, so that all the land
seems garlanded for a perpetual holy day. We came through the Tyrol by
Fuessen, and then struck across by the mountains and the lakes to Milan.
Now we are entertained like princes in this rich Benedictine abbey. Its
annual income is 36,000 florins. "Of eating and feasting," as brother
Martin says, "there is no lack;" for 12,000 florins are consumed on
guests, and as large a sum on building. The residue goeth to the convent
and the brethren.
They have received us poor German monks with much honour, as a
deputation from the great Augustinian Order to the Pope.
The manners of these southern people are very gentle and courteous; but
they are lighter in their treatment of sacred things than we could wish.
The splendour of the furniture and dress amazes us; it is difficult to
reconcile it with the vows of poverty and renunciation of the world. But
I suppose they regard the vow of poverty as binding not on the
community, but only on the individual monk. It must, however, at the
best, be hard to live a severe and ascetic life amidst such luxuries.
Many, no doubt, do not try.
The tables are supplied with the most costly and delicate viands; the
walls are tapestried; the dresses are of fine silk; the floors are
inlaid with rich marbles.
Poor, poor splendours, as substitutes for the humblest _home_!
BOLOGNA, _June_.
We did not remain long in the Benedictine monastery, for this reason:
Brother Martin, I could see, had been much perplexed by their luxurious
living; but as a guest, had, I suppose, scarcely felt at liberty to
remonstrate, until Friday came, when, to our amazement, the table was
covered with meats and fruits, and all kinds of viands, as on any other
day, regardless not only of the rules of the Order, but of the common
laws of the whole Church.
He would touch none of these dainties; but not content with this silent
protest, he boldly said before the whole company, "The Church and the
Pope forbid such things!"
We had then an opportunity of seeing into what the smoothness of these
Italian manners can change when ruffled.
The whole brotherhood burst into a storm of indignation. Their dark eyes
flashed, their white teeth gleamed with scornful and angry laughter, and
their voices rose in a tempest of vehement words, many of which were
unintelligible to us.
"Intruders," "barbarians," "coarse and ignorant Germans," and other
biting epithets, however, we could too well understand.
Brother Martin stood like a rock amidst the torrent, and threatened to
make their luxury and disorder known at Rome.
When the assembly broke up, we noticed the brethren gather apart in
small groups, and cast scowling glances at us when we chanced to pass
near.
That evening the porter of the monastery came to us privately, and
warned us that this convent was no longer a safe resting-place for us.
Whether this was a friendly warning, or merely a device of the brethren
to get rid of troublesome guests, I know not; but we had no wish to
linger, and before the next day dawned we crept in the darkness out of a
side gate into a boat, which we found on the river which flows beneath
the walls, and escaped.
It was delightful to-day winding along the side of a hill, near Bologna,
for miles, under the flickering shade of trellises covered with vines.
But Brother Martin, I thought, looked ill and weary.