The Disciples of St. Gallus.
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.