Christmas.
The evening on the Hohenkraehen, cast a gloom also over the following
days. Misunderstandings are not easily forgiven; least of all by him
who has caused them.
For this reason, Dame Hadwig spent some days in a very bad humour, in
her own private apartments. Grammar and Virgil had both a holiday. With
Praxedis, she took up the old jest about the schoolmasters at
Constantinople; seeming now to enjoy it much better. Ekkehard came to
ask whether he were to continue his lessons. "I have got a toothache,"
said the Duchess. Expressing his regret, he attributed it to the rough
autumnal weather.
Every day, he asked several times how she was, which somewhat
conciliated the Duchess.
"How is it," said she to Praxedis, "that a person can be of so much
more real worth, than he appears outwardly to possess?"
"That comes from a want of gracefulness," replied the Greek maid. "In
other countries I often found the reverse; but here, people are too
lazy, to manifest their individuality by every movement or word. They
prefer thinking, to acting; believing that the whole world must be able
to read on their foreheads, what is passing within."
"But we are generally so industrious," said Dame Hadwig, complacently.
"The buffaloes likewise work the live-long day," Praxedis had almost
said,--but she finally contented herself, with merely thinking it.
Ekkehard all this time, felt quite at his ease; for the idea, that he
had given an unsuitable answer to the Duchess, never struck him. He had
really been thinking of that parable in Scripture and failed to see,
that in reply to the timid expression of a friendly liking, it might
not always be quite the right thing, to quote Scripture. He reverenced
the Duchess; but far more as the embodied idea of sublimity, than as a
woman. That sublime beings demand adoration, had never struck him; and
still less that even the sublimest personage, is often perfectly
satisfied with simple affection. That Dame Hadwig was out of spirits,
he noticed however, but he contented himself by making the general
observation, that the intercourse with a Duchess was rather more
difficult than that with the brotherhood at St. Gall.
Amongst the books which Vincentius had left behind, were the Epistles
of St. Paul, which he now studied. Master Spazzo during those days, put
on a still haughtier mien than usual, when he passed him. Dame Hadwig
soon found out, that it were better, to return to the old order of
things.
"It was really a grand sight, which we had, that evening, from the
Hohenkraehen," said she one day to Ekkehard. "But do you know our
weather-signs on the Hohentwiel? Whenever the Alps appear very distinct
and near, the weather is sure to change. So we have had some bad
weather since. And now we will resume our reading of Virgil."
Upon this, Ekkehard, highly pleased, went to fetch his heavy
metal-bound book; and so their studies were resumed. He read and
translated to them, the second book of the AEneid, about the downfall of
Troy, the wooden horse and the fearful end of Laocoon. Further, of the
nightly battle; Cassandra's fate, and Priamus' death; and finally
AEneas' flight with the aged Anchises.
With evident sympathy, Dame Hadwig listened to the interesting tale.
Only, with the disappearance of AEneas' spouse Kreuesa, she was not quite
satisfied.
"That, he need not have told so lengthily to Queen Dido," she said,
"for I doubt much, whether the living woman was overpleased, that he
had run after the lost one so long. Lost is lost."
And now the winter was drawing near. The sky became dreary and leaden,
and the distance shrouded with mists. First the mountain peaks round
about, put on their snow-caps; and then valley and fields followed
their example. Small icicles fastened on the rafters under the roofs;
with the intention of quietly remaining there, for some months; and
the old linden-tree in the courtyard, had for some time, like a careful
and economical man, who disposes of his worn-out garments to the
Hebrews,--shaken down its faded leaves to the winds. They made up a
good heap; which was soon scattered in all directions, by the merry,
gambolling breezes. The bare branches of the tree, were often crowded
with cawing rooks, coming from the neighbouring woods, and eagerly
watching for a bone or crumb, from the kitchen of the castle. Once,
there was one amongst the sable brotherhood, whose flight was heavy, as
its wings were damaged; and on beholding Ekkehard, who chanced to go
over the courtyard, the raven flew screeching away. It had seen the
monk's habit before, and had no reason to like it.
The nights of winter, are long and dark. Now and then, appear the
northern lights; but far brighter than these, in the hearts of men, is
the remembrance of that night, when angels descended to the shepherds
in the fields, greeting them with:
"Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will towards
men."--
On the Hohentwiel they were preparing for Christmas, by getting ready
all sorts of presents. The year is long, and numbers many a day, in
which people can show each other little kindnesses; but the Germans
like having one especial day, set aside for that, in particular.
Therefore, before all other nations, they keep up the custom of making
Christmas presents. The good heart has its own peculiar rights.
During that time, Dame Hadwig had almost put aside the grammar
entirely; taking to sewing and embroidery. Balls of gold-thread and
black silk, lay about in the women's apartments; and when Ekkehard once
came in unawares, Praxedis rushed up, and pushed him out of the door
whilst Dame Hadwig, hid some needle-work in a basket.
This aroused Ekkehard's curiosity, and he arrived at the not
unreasonable conclusion, that some present was being made for him.
Therefore he thought about returning the kindness; intending to exert
his utmost powers and abilities for that purpose. So he sent word to
his friend and teacher, Folkard, at St. Gall, to send him parchment,
colours and brushes, as well as some precious ink; which request was
speedily fulfilled. Then Ekkehard sat up many an hour at night, in his
tower; pondering over a Latin composition, which he wanted to dedicate
to the Duchess, and which was to contain, some delicate homage.
But all this was not so easy, as he had thought. Once he began, at the
creation of the world; intending to proceed in daring flight, to the
beginning of Dame Hadwig's reign in Suabia; but he had already written
some hundred hexametres and had only got as far as King David; and the
work would probably have taken him, three years to complete. Another
time he tried to number up, all the women, who either by their strength
or their beauty, had influenced the fate of nations; such as Queen
Semiramis and the virgin Amazons; the heroic Judith and the tuneful
Sappho;--but to his great regret he found out, that by the time his pen
had worked its way to the Duchess; it would have been quite impossible,
to find anything new to say in her praise. So he went about much
downcast and distressed.
"Have you swallowed a spider, pearl of all professors?" enquired
Praxedis one day, on meeting him in the aforesaid mental condition.
"You may well be jesting," said Ekkehard sadly;--and under the seal of
secrecy, he confided his griefs to her.
"By the thirty-six thousand volumes; in the library at
Constantinopolis!" exclaimed she, "why, you are going to cut down a
whole forest of trees, when a few flowers are all that's wanted. Why
don't you make it simple and graceful,--such as your beloved Virgil
would have made it?" After this she ran away, and Ekkehard crept back
to his chamber. "Like Virgil?" he mused. But in the whole of the AEneid,
there was no example of a similar case. He read some cantos, and
dreamily sat thinking over them, when a good idea suddenly struck him.
"I've got it!" cried he. "The beloved poet himself, is to do homage to
her!" He then wrote a poem, as if Virgil had appeared to him, in his
solitude; expressing his delight, that his poetry was living again in
German lands; and thanking the high-born lady, for thus befriending
him. In a few minutes it was ready.
This poem Ekkehard now wished to write down on parchment; adorned by
some handsome illustrations. So he composed the following picture. The
Duchess, with crown and sceptre, sitting on her throne, accosted by
Virgil in white garments; who inclining his bay-crowned head, advances
towards her. He is leading Ekkehard,--who modestly walking by his side,
as the pupil with the master, is likewise humbly bowing before her.
In the strict manner of the excellent Folkard, he first drew the
sketch. He remembered a picture in a psalm-book, representing the young
David, before King Abimelech. Thus, he arranged the figures. The
Duchess, he drew two fingers breadth higher than Virgil; and the
Ekkehard of the sketch, was considerably shorter than the heathen poet.
Budding Art, lacking other means, expressed rank and greatness,
outwardly.
With the figure of Virgil, he succeeded tolerably well; for they had
always used ancient pictures as models, for their drawings at St. Gall;
and assumed a stereotype way of executing both drapery and outline.
Likewise he succeeded with his own portrait; in so far as he managed to
draw a figure in a monk's habit, wearing a tonsure; but a terrible
problem for him, was the representation of a queenly woman's form, for
as yet no woman's picture, not even God's holy Mother, had received
admittance, amongst the monastery's paintings. David and Abimelech,
which he was so well accustomed to, were of no help to him here, for
the regal mantle scarcely came down to their knees; and he knew not how
to draw it any longer. So, care once more resumed its seat on his
forehead.
"Well, what now?" quoth Praxedis, one day.
"The poem is finished," replied Ekkehard. "Now something else is
wanting."
"And what may that be?"
"I ought to know, in what way, women's garments cling to their tender
limbs," said he in doleful accents.
"You are really saying quite wicked things, ye chosen vessel of
virtue," scolded Praxedis. But Ekkehard then made his difficulties
known to her, in a clearer way, upon which the Greek maid, made a
movement with her hand, as if to open his eyes.
"Open your eyes," she said, "and look at the living things around you."
The advice was simple enough, and yet entirely novel to one, who had
acquired all his skill in art in his solitary cell. Ekkehard cast a
long and scrutinizing look at his counsellor. "It avails me nothing,"
said he, "for you do not wear a regal mantle."
Then the Greek took pity on the doubt-beset artist. "Wait," said she,
"the Duchess is down stairs in the garden, so I can put on her ducal
mantle, and you will be helped." She glided out, and after a few
minutes reappeared, with the purple mantle, hanging negligently from
her shoulders. With slow measured steps, she walked through the
chamber. On a table stood a metal candlestick, which she seized, and
held up like a sceptre; and thus with head thrown back, she stood
before the monk.
He had taken out his pencil and parchment. "Turn round, a little more
towards the light," said he, beginning at once to draw eagerly.
Every time however, when he looked at his graceful model, she darted a
sparkling look at him. His movements became slower, and Praxedis looked
towards the window. "But, as our rival in the realm," began she with an
artificially raised voice, "is already leaving the courtyard,
threatening to take us by surprise; we command you on pain of losing
your head, to finish your drawing within the next minute."
"I thank you," said Ekkehard, putting down his pencil.
Praxedis stepped up to him, and bending forwards, looked at what he had
done. "What shameful treason!" exclaimed she, "why, the picture has no
head!"
"I merely wanted the drapery," said Ekkehard.
"Well you have forfeited a great piece of good fortune," continued
Praxedis in her former tone. "If you had faithfully portrayed the
features, who knows, whether we should not have made you Patriarch of
Constantinople, in sign of our princely favour."
Steps were now heard outside. Praxedis quickly tore off the mantle from
her shoulders, so that it dropped on her arm; just as the Duchess was
standing before them.
"Are you again learning Greek?" said she reproachfully to Ekkehard.
"I have shown him the precious sardonyx, in the clasp of my mistress's
mantle;--it is such a beautifully cut head," said Praxedis. "Master
Ekkehard has much taste for antiquities, and he was greatly pleased
with the stone ..."
Even Audifax made his preparations for Christmas. His hope of finding
treasures being greatly diminished,--he now stuck more to the actual
things around him. Often he descended at night-time, to the shores of
the river Aach, which slowly flowed on towards the lake. Close to the
rotten little bridge, stood a hollow willow-tree; before which, Audifax
lay in ambush, many an hour; his raised stick directed towards the
opening in the tree. He was on the look-out for an otter. But no
philosopher trying to fathom the last cause of Being, ever found his
task such a difficult one, as Audifax did his otter-hunting; for from
the hollow tree, there was still many a subterranean outlet to the
river, which the otter knew, and Audifax did not. And often when
Audifax, trembling with cold, said: "Now it must come,"--he would hear
a noise far up in the river, caused by his friend the otter putting its
snout out of the water, to take a good breath of air; and when Audifax
softly crept up to the place from whence the sound had come, the otter
was lying on its back, and floating comfortably down the river.
In the kitchen on the Hohentwiel, there was great bustle and
activity;--such as there is in the tent of a commander-in-chief, on the
eve of a battle. Dame Hadwig herself stood amongst the serving maidens.
She did not wear her ducal mantle, but a white apron; and stood
distributing flour and honey for the gingerbread. Praxedis was mixing,
ginger, pepper and cinnamon, to flavour the paste with.
"What shape shall we take?" asked she. "The square with the serpents?"
"No, the big heart is prettier," said Dame Hadwig. So the gingerbread
was made in the shape of hearts, and the finest was stuck with almonds
and cardamom, by the Duchess's own hand.
One morning Audifax entered the kitchen, half frozen with cold, and
crept up to the fire-place. His lips trembled as in a fever; but he
seemed to be merry, and in high spirits. "Get ready, my boy," said
Praxedis, "for this afternoon, thou must go to the forest and hew down
a fir-tree."
"That is none of my business," proudly said Audifax, "but I will do it,
if you will also do me a favour."
"And what does Master goat-herd desire?" asked Praxedis.
Audifax ran out, and on returning, triumphantly held up, a dark-brown
otter's skin; glossy and soft to the touch.
"Where did you get that from?" asked Praxedis.
"I caught it myself," replied Audifax, looking with sparkling eyes at
his booty. "You are to make a fur-cap out of it for Hadumoth."
The Greek maid, who liked the boy well, promised to fulfil his request.
The Christmas-tree was brought home, and adorned with apples and
wax-lights. The Duchess arranged everything in the great hall. A man
from Stein on the Rhine, had arrived and brought a basket, tightly sewn
up in linen. He said that it was from St. Gall, and destined for Master
Ekkehard. Dame Hadwig had the basket put unopened on the table with the
other gifts.
Christmas-Eve had arrived. All the inhabitants of the castle were
assembled, dressed in their best; for on that day, there was to be no
separation, between masters and servants. Ekkehard read to them the
story of Christ's nativity; and then they all went, two and two, into
the great hall. There the Christmas-tree, with its many candles,
lighted up the room splendidly. The last to enter were Audifax and
Hadumoth. A little bit of tinsel, with which the nuts had been gilt,
lay on the threshold. Audifax took it up. "That has fallen off, from
the wings of the Christ-child," whispered Hadumoth.
On large tables, the presents for the serving people, were laid out; a
piece of linen, or cloth, and some cakes. They rejoiced at the
generosity of their mistress, which was not always so manifest. Beside
the share allotted to Hadumoth, verily lay the fur-cap. She cried, when
Praxedis kindly betrayed the giver to her. "I have got nothing for
thee, Audifax," said she.
"It is instead of the golden crown," whispered he.
Men and maid-servants then offered their thanks to the Duchess, and
went down again to the servants' hall. Dame Hadwig taking Ekkehard by
the hand, led him to a little table apart. "This is meant for you,"
said she.
Between the almond-covered, gingerbread heart and the basket; there lay
a handsome, velvet priest's cap, and a magnificent stole. Fringe and
grounding were of gold thread, and embroideries of black silk,
interwoven with pearls, ran through the latter; which was worthy indeed
of a bishop.
"Let me see, how it becomes you," said Praxedis, and in spite of their
ecclesiastical character, she put the cap on his head, and threw the
stole over his shoulders. Ekkehard cast down his eyes. "Splendid,"
exclaimed she, "you may offer your thanks!"
Shyly Ekkehard put down the consecrated gifts; and then drawing the
parchment roll from out his ample garment, he timidly presented it to
the Duchess. Dame Hadwig held it unopened in her hand. "First we must
open the basket," she said. "The best"--smilingly pointing to the
parchment,--"must come last."
So they cut open the basket. Buried in hay, and well-preserved by
winter's cold,--there lay a huge mountain-cock. Ekkehard lifted it up.
With outspread wings, it measured above six feet. A letter accompanied
this magnificent piece of feathered game.
"Read it aloud!" said the Duchess, whose curiosity was aroused.
Ekkehard breaking the clumsy seal then read as follows:
"To the venerable Brother Ekkehard on the Hohentwiel,
through Burkard the cloister-pupil, from Romeias the
gate-keeper.
"If there were two of them, one would be for you; but as I have not
been lucky enough to get two, this one is not for you, and yours will
come later. It is sent to you, on account of not knowing her name; but
she was with the Duchess in the monastery on that day, and wore a dress
of the colour of the green wood-pecker; and her tresses were fastened
round her head.
"For her,--the bird; on account of continual thinking, on the part of
him who shot it, of the walk to the recluses. It must be well macerated
and roasted, because otherwise tough. In case of other guests, she is
herself to eat the white flesh on the back-bone, because that is the
best; the brown often having a resinous taste.
"With it, I wish her all blessings and happiness. To you venerable
brother, likewise. If on your castle were wanting a watchman, porter or
gamekeeper, you might recommend Romeias to the Duchess; who, on account
of being mocked at by the steward, and of the complaints of that
dragon, Wiborad, would gladly change his service. Practice in the
office of gate-keeper, both giving admittance, and pitching out of
strange visitors, can be testified to. The same with regard to hunting.
He is already now looking towards the Hohentwiel, as if a cord were
drawing him thither.--Long life to you and to the Lady Duchess.
Farewell!"
A merry peal of laughter followed the reading of this curious epistle.
Praxedis had blushed all over. "That is a bad reward," angrily
exclaimed she, "that you write letters in other people's name, to
insult me!"
"Stop," said Ekkehard, "why should the letter not be genuine?"
"It would not be the first, that was forged by a monk," was Praxedis'
bitter reply. "Why need you laugh at that rough sportsman? He was by no
means so bad!"
"Praxedis, be reasonable!" urged the Duchess. "Look at that
mountain-cock,--that has not been shot in the Hegau; and Ekkehard
writes a somewhat different hand. Shall we give the petitioner a place
on the Hohentwiel?"
"Pray don't!" cried Praxedis eagerly. "Nobody is to believe that----"
"Very well," said Dame Hadwig, in a tone bespeaking silence. She then
opened Ekkehard's parchment-roll. The painting at the beginning had
succeeded pretty well; and any doubt of its meaning, was done away
with, by the superscription of the names: Hadwigis, Virgilius and
Ekkehard. A bold initial, with intricate golden arabesques headed the
poem.
The Duchess was highly pleased. Ekkehard had never before given her any
proof of his skill in art. Praxedis looked with an arch smile at the
purple mantle, which the Duchess wore on the picture, as if she could
tell something more about it.
Dame Hadwig made a sign to Ekkehard, to read and explain the poem. So
he read out the following verses; which rendered into English are as
follows:
"In nightly silence sat I once alone,
deciphering some parchments old and deep;
When suddenly, a bright unearthly light,
Lit up my room. 'T was not the moon's pale ray,
And then, a radiant figure did I see.
Immortal smiles were playing round his mouth,
And in his rich and sable-coloured locks,
He wore a crown of everlasting bay.
And with his finger pointing to the book,
He then spoke thus; 'Be of good cheer, my friend,
I am no spirit, come to rob thy peace,
I merely came to wish thee all that's good.
All that which the dead letters here relate,
I once have written with my own heart's blood:
The siege of Troy, and then AEneas' flight
The wrath of Gods, and splendid Roma's birth.
Almost a thousand years have since gone by.
The singer died,--his nation died with him.
My grave is still; but seldom do I hear
The distant shouts, at merry vintage time
Or roar of breakers from the Cape Misene.
Yet lately was I call'd up from my rest,
By some rough gale, which coming from the North
Brought me the tidings, that in distant lands,
AEneas' fate was being read again;
And that a noble princess, proud and fair
Had kindly deigned, to dress my epic song
In the bold accents of her native tongue.
We once believed, the land beyond the Alps
Was peopled by a rough, uncultured race;--
But now at home we long have been forgot,
And in the stranger land we live again.
Therefore I come, to offer you my thanks;
The greatest boon, a minstrel can obtain
It is the praise from noble woman's lip.
Hail to thy mistress, who in union rare,
Has strength and wisdom, in herself enshrined,
And like Minerva in the ranks of Gods,
In steel-clad armour sitteth on the throne,
Fair patron yet of all the peaceful arts.
Yet many years may she the sceptre wield,
Surrounded by a strong and loving race.
And when you listen to the foreign strains,
Like armour rattling, and the clash of steel,--
Then think of me, it is Italia's voice,
'Tis Virgil greets the rock of Hohentwiel.'
Thus spoke he, waved his hand and disappear'd.
But I wrote down, still on that very night
What he had said; and to my mistress now
I shyly venture to present these leaves,
A humble gift, from faithful Ekkehard."
A short pause ensued, after he had finished the reading of his poem.
Then the Duchess approached him with outstretched hand, "Ekkehard I
thank you." They were the same words, which she had once said to him in
the cloister courtyard at St. Gall; but the tones were still milder
than at that time; her eyes sparkled and her lips wore a wondrous
smile, like that of sweet-eyed fairies, which is said to be followed by
a shower of delicious roses.
Then turning to Praxedis she continued, "and thee I ought to condemn to
ask his pardon on thy very knees, for having but lately spoken with so
little veneration of learned and ecclesiastical men." But the Greek
maiden's eyes sparkled archly, well knowing that without her help and
advice, the shy monk would scarcely have been able to attain this
success.
"In future I will give him all the reverence that's due," said she. "I
will even weave him a garland if you desire it."
After Ekkehard had gone up to his little chamber, the two women still
sat up together, and the Greek maid fetched a basin filled with water;
some pieces of lead and a metal spoon. "The lead-melting of last year,
has prophesied well," said she. "We could then, not quite understand,
what the strange shape was, which the lead assumed in the water;--but
now I am almost sure that it resembled a monk's cowl; and that, our
castle can now boast off."
The Duchess had become thoughtful. She listened to hear whether
Ekkehard might not be returning.
"It is nothing but an idle amusement," said she.
"If it does not please my mistress," said the Greek, "then she might
order our teacher to entertain us with something better. His Virgil, is
no doubt a far better oracle, than our lead; when opened on a
consecrated night, with prayers and a blessing. I wonder now, what part
of his epic would foretell to us, the events of the coming year."
"Be silent," said the Duchess. "He spoke but lately so severely on
witchcraft; he would laugh at us ..."
"Then we shall have to content ourselves with the old way," returned
Praxedis; holding the spoon with the lead in it over the flame of the
lamp. The lead melted and trembled; and muttering a few unintelligible
words, she poured it into the water; the liquid metal making a hissing
sound.
Dame Hadwig, with seeming indifference, cast a look at it, when
Praxedis held the basin up to the light. Instead of dividing into
fantastic shapes, the lead had formed a long pointed drop. It glimmered
faintly in Dame Hadwig's hand.
"That is another riddle, for time to solve," laughed Praxedis. "The
future, this time closely resembles a pine-cone."
"Or a tear," said the Duchess seriously, leaning her head on her right
hand.
A loud noise from the ground-floor, interrupted the further
investigation of the omen. Giggling and screams of the maid-servants,
rough sounds of male voices, interspersed with the shrill tones of a
lute, were heard in dire confusion, coming up the passage. Respectfully
but beseechingly, the flying troop of the maids stopped at the
threshold. The tall Friderun could scarcely refrain from scolding; and
little Hadumoth was crying audibly. A groping, fumbling step was heard
behind them, and presently there appeared an uncouth figure, wrapt in a
bearskin; with a painted mask, in the form of a bear's snout; snarling
and growling like a hungry bruin, seeking for its prey. Now and then,
this apparition drew some inharmonious sounds from a lute, which was
hanging over his shaggy shoulders, suspended on a red ribbon; but as
soon as the door of the hall was thrown open, and the rustling dress of
the Duchess was heard approaching, the nightly phantom turned round,
and slowly tumbled back into the echoing passage.
The old housekeeper then began; telling their mistress, how they had
sat merrily together, rejoicing over their presents, when the monster
had come in upon them, and had first executed a dance, to his own
lute's playing, but how he had afterwards blown out the candles,
threatening the frightened maidens with kisses and embraces; finally
becoming so wild and obstreperous, that they had all been obliged to
take flight.
Judging from the hoarse laughter of the bear, there was strong reason
for suspecting Master Spazzo's being hidden under the shaggy fur; who
after embibing a considerable quantity of wine, had concluded his
Christmas frolics in that way.
Dame Hadwig appeased her exasperated servants, and bade them go to bed.
From the yard however was soon heard another cry of surprise. There
they all stood in a group; steadfastly looking up at the tower; for the
terrible bear had climbed up, and was now promenading on the top of it,
lifting his shaggy head up to the stars, as if he wanted to send a
greeting to his namesake in the firmament;--the great bear.
The dark figure stood out in clear outlines against the pale starry
sky, and his growls sounded weirdly through the silent night; but
no mortal was ever told, what the luminous stars revealed to the
wine-clouded brains of Master Spazzo the chamberlain.
At the same midnight hour, Ekkehard knelt before the altar of the
castle chapel, softly chaunting the Christmas-matins, as the church
rules prescribed.