Moengal.
While Ekkehard was performing his compulsory devotions, in the church
at Reichenau, Dame Hadwig had stood on the balcony, looking out into
the distance;--but not on account of the setting sun, for the sun went
to his rest at her back, behind the dark hills of the black-forest, and
Dame Hadwig, looked with eager, expectant eyes towards the lake, and
the path which led from it up to the Hohentwiel. The view however did
not appear to satisfy her, for when the twilight melted into darkness,
she went in, rather discontentedly; ordered her chamberlain to come,
and conversed a long time with him.
Early the next morning Ekkehard stood at the threshold of the cloister,
ready to continue his journey. The Abbot was also up betimes, and was
taking a walk in the garden. The serious look of the judge, was no
longer visible on his face. Ekkehard said good-bye to him. Then the
Abbot with a meaning smile, whispered in his ear: "Happy man, who has
to teach grammar, to such a fair pupil." These words stabbed Ekkehard
to the heart. An old story rose in his memory; for even within
cloister-walls, there are evil, gossiping tongues, and traditional
stories which go round, from mouth to mouth.
"You are probably thinking of the time," replied he tauntingly, "when
you were instructing the nun Clotildis in the act of dialectics, Sir
Abbot."
After this he went down to the boat. The Abbot would much rather have
taken a quantity of pepper for his breakfast, than have had that fact
called up to his mind. "A happy journey!" he called out after his
departing guest.
From that time, Ekkehard had drawn down on himself the enmity of the
monks at Reichenau. This however he little heeded; and was rowed down
the lake, by the same boat-man of Ermatingen.
Dreamily he gazed about from his boat. Over the lake, transparent white
mists were floating, through which the little belfry of Egina's
cloister, Niederzell, peeped out on the left, while on the other side,
the island stretched out its farthest points. A large stone-built
castle could be seen through the willow-bushes, but Ekkehard's eyes
were riveted on a more distant point. Proud and grand, in steep, bold
outlines a rocky mountain-peak rose above the hills on the shore, like
to a mighty spirit, which, ponderous and pregnant with action, towers
over the insignificant objects around. The morning sun was casting
faint gleams of light on the rocky edges and steep walls. A little to
the right, several lower hills of the same shape, stood modestly there,
like sentinels of the mighty one.
"The Hohentwiel," said the boat-man to Ekkehard. The latter had never
before beheld the place of his destination, but he did not need the
boatman's information. Inwardly thinking, "thus must the mountain be,
which she has chosen for her residence."
A deep, earnest expression overspread his features. Mountain-ranges,
extensive plains, water and sky, in fact all that is grand and
beautiful in nature always produces seriousness. Only the actions of
men, sometimes bring a smile to the lips of the looker on. He was
thinking of the apostle John, who had gone to the rocky isle of Patmos,
and who had there met with a revelation.
The boat-man rowed steadily onwards; and they had already come to the
projecting neck of land, on which Radolfszell and a few scattered
houses were situated, when they suddenly came in view of a strange
little canoe. It was simply made of the rough, hollow trunk of a tree;
roofed over and quite covered up with green boughs and water-rushes, so
that the rower inside was invisible. The wind drifted it towards a
thick plantation of water reeds and bulrushes near the shore.
Ekkehard ordered his ferry-man to stop this curious little boat, and in
obedience he pushed his oar into the green covering.
"Ill luck befall you!" called out a deep bass voice from the inside,
"_oleum et operam perdidi_, all my labour lost!--Wild geese and
water-ducks are gone to the Devil!"
A covey of water-fowl, which hoarsely shrieking rose up from the
rushes, corroborated the truth of this exclamation.
After this, the leafy boughs were pushed aside, and a brown
weather-beaten and deeply furrowed countenance, peeped out. The man it
belonged to, was clothed in an old faded priest's robe, which cut off
at the knees, by an unskilled hand, hung down in a ragged fringe. At
his girdle, the owner of the boat wore, instead of a rosary, a quiver
full of arrows; whilst the strung bow lay at the head of the boat.
The individual just described, was about to repeat his cursing, when he
beheld Ekkehard's tonsure and Benedictine garment, and quickly changing
his tone, he cried: "Oho! _salve confrater!_ By the beard of St.
Patrick of Armagh! If your curiosity had left me unmolested another
quarter of an hour, I might have invited you to a goodly repast of the
game of our lake." With a melancholy expression he cast a look at the
covey of wild ducks in the distance.
Ekkehard smilingly lifted his fore-finger: "_Ne clericus venationi
incumbat!_ No consecrated servant of God shall be a sportsman!"
"Your book-wisdom does not do for us at the Untersee," called out the
other. "Are you sent hither perhaps, to hold a church examination, with
the parish-priest of Radolfszell?"
"The parish-priest of Radolfszell?" enquired Ekkehard in his turn. "Do
I verily see the brother Marcellus?" He cast a side-look on the
sportsman's right arm, from which the sleeve was turned back, and there
beheld, etched into the flesh, in rough outlines, a picture of our
Saviour, encircled by a serpent, over which stood the words, "_Christus
vindex_."
"Brother Marcellus?" laughed the other pushing his hair back from his
forehead, "_fuimus Troes!_ welcome in Moengal's realm!"
He stepped out of the canoe into Ekkehard's boat, and kissing him on
cheek and forehead he said: "Health to the holy Gallus! And now we will
land together, and you shall be my guest, even without the wild ducks."
"Of yourself, I had conceived a very different idea," said Ekkehard,
and this was not to be wondered at.
Nothing gives a more erroneous idea of persons, than when we come to
the places, where they once lived and worked, there to see fragmentary
bits of their activity; and from the remarks of those left behind, to
form in ourselves an impression of those that are gone. The deepest and
most peculiar part of the character of a man, is frequently unnoticed
by others; even though it be open to the day; and in tradition it
disappears entirely.
When Ekkehard had joined the monastery, the brother Marcellus had
already left it, to assume the priest's office at Radolfszell. Some
neatly written manuscripts, such as Cicero's book on duty, and a Latin
Priscianius with Irish characters between the lines, still kept up the
remembrance of him. His name too was held in great veneration in the
inner cloister-school, where he had been one of the most distinguished
teachers. Besides this, he had led a blameless life, but since that
time, nothing had been heard of him at St. Gall. For these reasons,
instead of the lively sportsman, Ekkehard had expected to find a
serious, meagre and pale-faced scholar.
The shores of Radolfszell were soon reached. A thin silver coin,
stamped on one side only, satisfied the boat-man, and then the two
stepped on shore. A few houses and a handful of fishermen's huts,
surrounded the little church, which holds the remains of St. Radolf.
"We have reached Moengal's dwelling," said the old man. "Be pleased to
enter. It's to be hoped that you will not carry tales about my house,
to the Bishop of Constance, like the deacon of Rheingau, who pretended
that he found the jugs and drinking-horns, of a size, which ought to
have been objectionable, in any century."
They entered into a wainscoted hall. Stag-antlers and bison-horns hung
over the entrance; while spears and fishing-tackle of every
description, ornamented the walls in picturesque confusion. Close to a
reversed tun in one corner, stood a dice-box,--in fact, if it had not
been the abode of the parish-priest, it might have been that of an
imperial gamekeeper.
A few moments later, a jug of somewhat sour wine as well as a loaf of
bread and some butter, were placed on the oak table; and when the
priest returned from an expedition to the kitchen, he held up his habit
like a filled apron, and poured down a shower of smoked fish, before
his guest.
"_Heu quod anseres fugasti, antvogelasque et horotumblum!_ Alas that
you should have frightened away, the wild geese, as well as the ducks
and moor-fowls!" said he, "but when a person has to choose between
smoked fish and nothing, he always chooses the former."
Members of the same fraternity are quickly at their ease with each
other; and a lively conversation was kept up during the meal. But the
old man had far more questions to put, than Ekkehard could well answer.
Of many a one of his former brothers, nothing else was to be told, but
that his coffin had been laid in the vault; side by side with the
others; a cross on the wall, besides an entry in the death-register,
being the sole traces left, that he had ever lived. The stories, jokes
and quarrels, which had been told, thirty years ago, had been replaced
by new ones, and all that had happened lately, did not interest him
much. Only when Ekkehard told him about the end and aim of his journey
he exclaimed: "_Oho confrater!_ how could you cry out against all
sport, when you yourself aim at such noble deer!"
But Ekkehard turned the subject, by asking him: "Have you never felt
any longing for the quiet and study within the cloister-walls?"
At that question the parish-priest's eyes lighted up: "Did Catilina
ever feel any longing for the wooden benches of the senate, after they
had said to him: _excessit, evasit, erupit_?--Young men, like you
cannot understand that. The flesh-pots of Egypt?! _ille terrarum mihi
praeter omnes_ ... said the dog to the kennel, in which he had lain
seven years."
"No, I certainly do not understand you," replied Ekkehard. "What was
it, that created such a change in your views," casting a look at the
sportsman's implements, which were lying about.
"Time," replied the priest, beating his fish on the table to make them
tender, "time and growing experience. But this you need not repeat to
your Abbot. I also was once such a man as you are now, for Ireland
produces pious people, as is well known here. _Eheu_, what a different
being I was when I returned with my Uncle Marcus, from our pilgrimage
to Rome. You should have seen the young Moengal then! The whole world
was not worth a herring to him, whilst psalm-singing, vigils, and
spiritual exercises, were his heart's delight. Thus we entered the
monastery of St. Gallus--for in honour of a countryman, an honest
Hibernian does not mind, going a few miles out of his way,--and finally
I stopped there altogether. Outward property, books, money and
knowledge,--the whole man became the monastery's own, and the Irish
Moengal, was called Marcellus, and threw his uncle's silver and golden
coins out of the window; thus to break down the bridge leading back to
the world. They were fine times I tell you; praying, fasting and
studying, to my heart's content."--
"But then too much sitting is unhealthy, and much knowledge, gives one
a quantity of superfluous work to do. Many an evening I have meditated
like a book-worm, and disputed like a magpie; for there was nothing
which could not be proved. Where the head of St. John the baptist was
buried, and in what language the serpent had spoken to Adam,--all was
investigated and demonstrated, while such ideas, as that human beings
had also received flesh and blood from their Creator, never entered my
head. Ohone, confrater, then there came evil hours for me, such as I
hope may be spared you. The head grew heavy, and the hands restless.
Neither at the writing-desk nor in the church could I find rest or
peace;--hence, hence was the inward cry of my heart. I once said to the
old Thieto, that I had made a discovery. What discovery, quoth he? That
outside the cloister-walls there was fresh air ... Then they forbade me
to go out; but many a night did I steal up to the belfry, to look out
and envy the bats, that could fly over into the pinewoods ...
Confrater, that cannot be cured by fasting and prayer, for that which
is in human nature, must come out."
"The late Abbot at last took pity on me, and sent me here for one year;
but the Brother Marcellus never returned. When I cut down a pine-tree
in the sweat of my brow, and made myself a boat out of it, and struck
down the bird flying in the air, then I began to understand what it
meant to be healthy. Hunting and fishing drive away morbid fancies. In
this way I have performed the priest's duties at Radolfszell for thirty
years, _rusticitate quadam imbutus_,--liable to become a rustic, but
what does it matter? 'I am like the pelican in the wilderness, and,
like the owl, I have built my nest amidst ruins,' says the psalmist,
but I am fresh and strong, and old Moengal does not intend to become a
dead man so soon, and he knows that he is at least secure against one
evil ..."
"And that is?" enquired Ekkehard.
"That St. Peter will not one day give me a blow on the forehead with
the blessed key of heaven, saying, 'Off with you, who have meddled with
vain and useless philosophy!'"
Ekkehard did not reply to Moengal's outpourings. "I suppose," said he,
"that you have often hard work with your ecclesiastical duties.
Hardened hearts, heathendom, and heresy."
"'Tis not so bad, as they make it out to be," said the old man. "To be
sure in the mouths of Bishops and Chamberlains and in the reports of
the session and the synod, it seems terrifying enough, when they
describe the heathenish idolatry, and threaten it with punishment. Here
we have simply the old faith; tracing the Godhead, in tree and river
and on mountain-heights. Everybody in this world must have his book of
revelations, his apocalypse. Now the people hereabouts, have theirs in
the open air; and really, one is capable of high and holy thoughts,
when early in the morning, one stands in the water-reeds and sees the
glorious sun arise. Nevertheless they come to me, on the Lord's day,
and chaunt the mass; and if they were not fined so often, they would
open their hearts to the Gospel, far more readily still. A bumper,
confrater, to the fresh air!"
"Allow me," said Ekkehard, "I will drink to the health of Marcellus the
teacher at the cloister-school, and the learned author of the Irish
translation of Priscianus."
"Very well," laughed Moengal. "But with regard to the Irish
translation, I am afraid that there is a hitch in the matter!"[7]
Ekkehard was very anxious to reach his destination, for anybody who is
close to the end of his journey, is loth to tarry long. "The mountain
stands fast enough," said Moengal, "that won't run away, you may be
sure."
But Moengal's wine, and his ideas of fresh air, had nothing very
tempting for him, who was about to go to a Duchess. So he rose from his
seat.
"I will accompany you to the borders of my district," said the priest,
"for to-day you may still walk by my side, in spite of my torn and
faded garments; but when you are once settled down on yonder mountain,
you will believe yourself transfigured, and that you have become a
grand lord; and on the day that you will pass Radolfszell on horseback,
and will behold old Moengal standing on the threshold, then perhaps,
you will hardly deign to wave your hand to him,--that is the way of the
world. When the 'heuerling' has become big, then it is called
'felchen,' and devours the small ones of its own race."
"It is not fair that you should speak thus," said Ekkehard, kissing his
Irish brother.
Then they set out together, Moengal taking his lime-twigs with him,
therewith to ensnare birds on his return. It was a long distance
through the pine-wood, and no sound was stirring.
Where the trees were less crowded together, they could see the dark
mass of the Hohentwiel, throwing its shadow over them. Moengal's sharp
eyes now looked searchingly along the path, and shaking his head he
muttered: "there's something coming."
They had proceeded a short way, when Moengal seized his companion's
arm, and pointing forward, he said: "these are neither wild ducks nor
animals of the forest!"
At the same moment was heard a sound like the neighing of a horse in
the distance. Moengal sprang aside, glided through the trees, and lying
down on the ground, listened intently.
"Sportsman's folly," muttered Ekkehard to himself, quietly waiting till
Moengal came back and enquired: "brother, do you know whether St.
Gallus is at war with any of the mighty ones in the land?"
"No."
"Then may be that you have offended some one?"
"No."
"Strange," said the old man, "for three armed men are coming towards
us."
"Most likely they are messengers sent by the Duchess, to receive me,"
said Ekkehard, with a proud smile.
"Oho!" muttered Moengal, "you've not hit the mark there. That is not
the livery of the Duchess's vassals. The helmet has no distinguishing
mark, and no one on the Hohentwiel wears a grey mantle!"
He stood still now.
"Forwards," said Ekkehard. "He whose conscience is clear, is protected
by the angels of the Lord."
"Not always, at least in the Hegau," replied the old man. There was no
more time for continuing the dialogue, for the tramp of horses' feet,
and the clattering of arms was heard, and the next moment, three men on
horseback, with closed visors and drawn swords, became visible.
"Follow me!" cried the priest, "_naturate fugam!_" He threw his
lime-twigs on the ground, and tried to drag Ekkehard along with him,
but when he resisted, Moengal sprang into the bushes alone. The thorns
added new rents to the old ones in his well worn garments, but this he
heeded not, and tearing himself free, he escaped into the thicket, with
the agility of a squirrel. He knew the tricks!
"It is he!" called out one of the riders; upon which the others jumped
out of their saddles. Ekkehard stood proudly waiting for them. "What do
you want?"--no answer. Then he seized the crucifix suspended from his
girdle, and was just beginning with "in the name of our Saviour" ...
when he was already thrown on the ground. Rough, strong hands held him
as in a vice; a cord was twisted round his arms, which were then tied
behind his back; a white handkerchief bound over his eyes, so that he
could see nothing, and then the command "forwards" was given.
Surprise and consternation at this strange treatment had quite
paralysed him, so that he advanced with tottering steps, upon which
they took him up, and carried him to the opening of the wood, where
four men were waiting with a sedan-chair.
Into this, they threw their victim and then the train sped onwards;
Ekkehard noticing by the tramp of the horses' feet, that his captors
remained at his side.
Whilst Moengal was fleeing through the wood, the blackbirds and linnets
flew about so confidingly from bough to bough; and the thrushes' clear
notes sounded so tempting, that he forgot all danger, and his heart
upbraided him, for having dropped the lime-twigs.
When even the quail now sang out its "Quakkera! quakkera!"--it sounded
downright provoking, and he turned his steps back towards the spot,
where he had left his companion. Everything was quiet there, as if
nothing had happened. In the distance he could see the sun shining on
the helmets of the departing knights.
"Many that are first, shall be last," said he, shaking his head, and
bending down to pick up his lime-twigs. "He expected to go to a
princess's castle, and a prison opens to receive him. Holy Gallus, pray
for us!"
Further reflections did not trouble Moengal's brains. Such deeds of
violence were as plentiful as primroses in spring-time.
Once a fish swam about in the Bodensee, and could not understand, what
the cormorant meant by coming down on it, and the black diver had
already got it in its beak, and flew away with it, and the fish could
still not understand it.
So it was with Ekkehard, lying with tied hands in the sedan-chair; for
the more he reflected about this sudden change in his fate, the less
could he comprehend it.
Now the idea rose dimly within him, that some friend or relation, of
those messengers of the exchequer, might live in the Hegau, and revenge
their death, on the innocent disciple of St. Gallus; for Solomon who
had occasioned their shameful execution, had once been Abbot of St.
Gall. In that case, Ekkehard had to prepare himself for the worst; as
he well knew, that neither tonsure, nor monk's habit would be any
protection, against having his eyes burnt out, or hands cut off, if it
was a question of revenge.
He thought of dying. With his conscience he was at peace, and death
itself had no terror for him; but yet in his heart there arose the
faint murmur; "why not a year later, after my foot had been set on the
Hohentwiel?"
Now his bearers were moving more slowly, as they were walking uphill.
Into which of their robbers' nests, were they carrying him? They had
ascended for about half an hour, when the tramp of the horses' feet
made a hollow sound, as if they were going over a wooden bridge. Still
everything was quiet; there was no call even of the watchman on the
tower. The decisive moment was close at hand, and Ekkehard now felt new
courage and confidence rising within his heart, as he remembered the
words of the psalmist:
"He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide
under the shadow of the Almighty.
"I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in
Him will I trust."
Another bridge was crossed, then a gate opened and the sedan-chair was
put down; after which they took out their prisoner. His foot touched
the ground; he felt grass, and heard a faint whispering, as if there
were many people around him. At the same time the cords were loosened.
"Take away the bandage from your eyes," said one of his companions. He
obeyed, and--oh heart, do not break with too much happiness!--he stood
in the court-yard on the Hohentwiel.
The wind was rustling in the boughs of the old linden-tree, to which a
tent-like linen cloth was fastened, from which garlands of ivy and
vine-leaves were hanging. All the inhabitants of the fortress were
assembled, and on a stone bench in the midst, sat the Duchess. From her
shoulders the princely mantle of dark purple descended in heavy folds;
a sweet smile softened her haughty features, and now the stately figure
rose, and advanced towards Ekkehard.
"Welcome to Hadwig's domains!"
Ekkehard had as yet scarcely realized his position. He was about to
kneel down before her, but she prevented him, by graciously extending
her hand to him. Throwing aside his grey mantle, the chamberlain
Spazzo, now likewise came forwards, and embraced Ekkehard like an old
friend.
"In the name of our gracious mistress, please to receive the kiss of
peace."
A faint suspicion that he was being played with, crossed Ekkehard's
mind; but the Duchess now called out laughingly: "You have been paid in
your own coin. As you did not allow the Duchess of Suabia, to cross the
threshold of St. Gallus otherwise, it was but fair that she also should
have the man of St. Gall, carried through the gateway into her castle."
Master Spazzo again shook hands with him, and said: "I hope you're not
angry; we were but acting up to our mistress's commands!"--He had first
headed the attack, and was now helping to welcome Ekkehard, doing both
with the same pompous air, for a chamberlain must be flexible, and even
know how to reconcile contradictions.
Ekkehard smiled. "For a mere jest, you have acted your part very
seriously." He remembered how one of the riders had given him a good
thrust between the ribs, with the butt-end of his lance, when they
threw him into the sedan-chair. This had certainly not been the
Duchess's order; but the lancer had once been present, when Luitfried
the nephew of one of the exchequer's messengers, had thrown down the
Bishop Solomon; and from that time had kept the erroneous notion, that
a good blow or kick, was absolutely necessary to throw down anybody
belonging to the church.
Dame Hadwig now took her guest by the hand and showed him her airy
castle with its beautiful view of the Bodensee, and the distant
mountain peaks. Then all the people belonging to the castle, came and
asked for his blessing; amongst them also the lancers; and he blessed
them all.--
The Duchess accompanied him to the entrance of his chamber, where new
clothes and other comforts awaited him; there she told him to rest
himself from the fatigues of the journey; and Ekkehard felt happy and
light-hearted, after his strange adventure.
The following night, it occurred in the monastery of St. Gall, that
Romeias the gate-keeper, without any reason started up from his couch,
and fiercely blew his horn; so that the dogs barked loudly, and
everybody awoke. Yet there was no one asking admittance. The Abbot
concluded, that it was the doing of evil spirits; but at the same time,
ordered Romeias's evening drink, to be reduced to one half, for six
days;--a measure which was based however on very wrong suppositions.