THE CLOISTER OF CAMENS.
It was a still, lovely morning. The sun gilded the lofty, giant
mountain and irradiated its snow-crowned top with shifting and many-
colored light; it appeared like a giant lily, luminous and odorous.
The air was so clear and pure, that even in the far distance this
range of mountains looked grand and sublime. The spectator was
deluded by the hope of reaching their green and smiling summits in a
few moments. In their majestic and sunny beauty they seemed to
beckon and to lure you on. Even those who had been for a long time
accustomed to this enchanting region would have been impressed to-
day with its exalted beauty. Grand old Nature is a woman, and has
her feminine peculiarities; she rejoices in her beaux jours, even as
other women.
The landscape spread out at the feet of those two monks now walking
in silent contemplation on the platform before the Cloister of
Camens, had truly to-day her beau jour, and sparkled and glittered
in undisturbed repose.
"How beautiful is the world!" said one, folding his hands piously,
and gazing up into the valley; "created by wisdom and love, adapted
to our necessities and enjoyments, to a life well-pleasing to God.
Look now, brother, at the imposing majesty of that mountain, and at
the lovely, smiling valley which lies at its feet. There, in the
little village of Camens, this busy world is in motion, and from the
city of Frankenstein I distinguish the sound of the bells calling to
early morning prayer."
"That is, perhaps, the alarm-bell," said the second monk; "the wind
is against us; we could not hear the sound of the small bells. I
fear that is the alarm-bell."
"Why should the Frankensteiners sound the alarm-bell, Brother
Tobias?" said his companion, with a soft, incredulous smile.
"Why, Brother Anastasius, because the Austrians have possibly sent
their advance guard to Frankenstein. The Frankensteiners have sworn
allegiance to the King of Prussia, and probably desire to keep this
oath; they sound the alarm, therefore, to call the lusty burghers to
arms."
"And do you truly believe that the Austrians are so near us, Brother
Tobias?"
"I do not believe--I know it. Before three days General Count Wallis
will enter our cloister with his staff, and, in the name of Maria
Theresa, command us to take the oath."
"You can never forget that we were once Austrians, Brother Tobias.
Your eyes sparkle when you think that the Austrians are coming, and
you forget that his excellency the Abbot Stusche is, with his whole
heart, devoted to the King of Prussia, and that he will never again
subject himself to Austrian rule."
"He will be forced to it, Brother Anastasius. The star of the
Prussian king has declined; his war triumphs are at an end; God has
turned away His face from him, because he is not a true Christian;
he is, indeed, a heathen and an infidel."
"Still, still, Brother Tobias! if the abbot heard you, he would
punish you with twenty pater-nosters, and you know very well that
praying is not the business of your choice."
"It is true; I am fonder of war and politics. I can never forget
that in my youth I was a brave soldier, and have more than once shed
my blood for Austria. You will understand now why I am an Austrian.
I declare to you, I would cheerfully say thirty pater-nosters every
day, if we could be once more subject to Austria."
"Well, happily, there is no hope of that."
"Happily, there is great hope of it. You know nothing about it. You
read your holy prayers, you study your learned books, and take but
little interest in the outward world. I know all, hear all, take
part in all. I study politics and the world's history, as diligently
as you study the old Fathers."
"Well, Brother Tobias, instruct me a little in your studies. You are
right; I care but little for these things, and I am heartily glad of
it. It grieves me to hear of the wrath and contentions of men. God
sent us into the world to live in peace and love with one another."
"If that be so, why has God permitted us to discover gunpowder?"
said Brother Tobias, whistling merrily. "I say to you that by the
power of gunpowder and the naked sword Silesia will soon be in
possession of the faithful believer Maria Theresa. Is it not
manifest that God is with her? The devil in the beginning, with the
help of the Prussian king and his wild army, did seem more powerful
than God himself! Only think that the gates of Breslau were opened
by a box on the ear! that the year before, Prague was taken almost
without a blow! It seemed indeed like child's play. Frederick was in
possession of almost the whole of Bohemia, but like a besieged and
suffering garrison he was obliged to creep away. God sent an enemy
against him who is more powerful than all mortal foes, his army was
perishing with hunger. There is no difference between the bravest
soldier and the little maiden when they fall into the hands of this
adversary. Hunger drove the victorious King of Prussia out of
Bohemia; hunger made him abandon Silesia and seek refuge in Berlin.
[Footnote: Preuss's "History of Frederick the Great."] Oh, I assure
you, we will soon cease to be Prussians. While King Frederick is
refreshing and amusing himself in Berlin, the Austrians have entered
Glatz, and bring us greetings from our gracious queen, Maria
Theresa."
"If the King of Prussia hears of these greetings, he will answer
them by cannon-balls."
"Did I not tell you that Frederick of Prussia was idling away in
Berlin, and recovering from his disastrous campaign in Bohemia? The
Austrians will have taken possession of all Upper Silesia before the
king and his soldiers have satisfied their hunger, I tell you, in a
few days they will be with us."
"God forbid!" said Brother Anastasius; "then will the torch of war
burn anew, and misfortune and misery will reign again throughout
Silesia."
"Yes, that is true. I will tell you another piece of news, which I
heard yesterday in Frankenstein; it is said that the King of Prussia
has quietly left Berlin and gone himself into Silesia to look after
the Austrians. Would it not be charming if Frederick should make our
cloister a visit, just as General Count Wallis and his troops
entered Camens?"
"And you would call that charming?" said Brother Anastasius, with a
reproachful look.
"Yes, most assuredly; the king would be taken prisoner, and the war
would be at an end. You may rest assured the Austrians would not
give the king his liberty till he had yielded up Silesia for
ransom."
"May God be gracious, and guard us from war and pestilence!"
murmured Brother Anastasius, folding his hands piously in prayer.
The thrice-repeated stroke of the bell in the cloister interrupted
his devotions, and the full, round face of Brother Tobias glowed
with pleasing anticipations.
"They ring for breakfast, Brother Anastasius," said he; "let us
hasten before Brother Baptist, who is ever the first at the table,
appropriates the best morsels and lays them on his plate. Come,
come, brother; after breakfast we will go into the garden and water
our flowers. We have a lovely day and ample time--it will be three
hours before mass."
"Come, then, brother, and may your dangerous prophecies and
expectations not be fulfilled!"
The two monks stepped into the cloister, and a deep and unbroken
silence reigned around, interrupted only by the sweet songs of the
birds and the light movements of their wings. The building was in
the noble style of the middle ages, and stood out in grand and
harmonious proportions against the deep blue of the horizon.
It was, without doubt, to observe the beauty and grandeur of this
structure, that two travellers who had toiled slowly up the path
leading from the village of Camens, now paused and looked with
wondering glances at the cloister.
"There must be a splendid view from the tower," said the oldest and
smaller of the travellers to his tall and slender companion, who was
gazing with rapture at the enchanting landscape.
"It must indeed be a glorious prospect," he replied with a
respectful bow.
"It affords a splendid opportunity to look far and wide over the
land, and to see if the Austrian troops are really on the march,"
said the other, with a stern and somewhat hasty tone. "Let us enter
and ascend the tower."
The youth bowed silently, and followed, at some little distance, the
hasty steps of his companion. They reached the platform, and stood
for a moment to recover breath.
"We have reached the summit--if we were only safely down again."
"We can certainly descend; the question is, under what
circumstances?"
"You mean, whether free or as prisoners? Well, I see no danger; we
are completely disguised, and no one knows me here. The Abbot
Amandus is dead, and the new abbot is unknown to me. Let us make
haste; ring the bell."
The youth was in the act of obeying, when suddenly a voice cried
out: "Don't sound the bell--I will come myself and open the door."
A man had been standing at the upper story, by an open window, and
heard the conversation of the two travellers. He drew in his head
hastily and disappeared.
"It seems I am not so unknown as I supposed," said the smaller of
the two gentlemen, with a quiet smile.
"Who knows whether these monks are reliable and true?" whispered the
other.
"You certainly would not doubt these exalted servants of God? I, for
my part, shall believe in their sincerity till they convince me of
the contrary. Ah! the door is opened."
The small door was indeed open, and a monk came out, and hastily
drew near to the two travellers.
"I am the Abbot Tobias Stusche; I am also a man wholly devoted to
the King of Prussia, though he does not know me."
The abbot laid such a peculiar expression upon these last words,
that the strangers were forced to remark them.
"Do you not know the King of Prussia?" said the elder, fixing his
eagle eye upon the kindly and friendly face of the abbot.
"I know the king when he does not wish to be incognito," said the
abbot, with a smile.
"If the king were here, would you counsel him to remain incognito?"
"I would counsel that; some among my monks are Austrian in sympathy,
and I hear the Austrians are at hand."
"My object is to look out from your tower after the Austrians. Let
us enter; show us the way."
The abbot said nothing, but entered the cloister hastily, and cast a
searching glance in every direction.
"They are all yet in the refectory, and the windows open upon the
gardens. But no--there is Brother Anastasius."
It was truly Brother Anastasius, who stood at the window, and
regarded them with astonished and sympathetic glances. The abbot
nodded to him and laid his forefinger lightly upon his lips; he then
hastily crossed the threshold of the little door.
The stranger laid his hand upon the shoulder of the abbot, and said
sternly, "Did you not give a sign to this monk?"
"Yes, the sign of silence," answered the abbot; and turning back, he
looked calmly upon the strangers.
"Let us go onward." And with a firm step they entered the cloister.