Gunzo verso Ekkehard.
During the time in which all that has been told until now, was
happening on the shores of the Bodensee, far away in the Belgian lands,
in the monastery of the holy Amandus _sur l'Elnon_, a monk had been
sitting in his cell. Day after day, whenever the convent rules
permitted it, he sat there transfixed as by a spell. The rough and
cheerless winter time had come; all the rivers were frozen up, and snow
covered the plain as far as eye could see,--he scarcely noticed it.
Spring followed and drove away winter,--he heeded it not. The brothers
talked of war, and evil tidings, which had reached them from the
neighbouring Rhine-lands,--but he had no time to listen to these tales.
In his cell, every article of furniture, nay even the floor was covered
with parchments, for almost all the monastery's books had emigrated to
his chamber. There, he sat reading and thinking, and reading again, as
if he wanted to find out the first cause of all being. On his right,
lay the psalms and holy Scriptures; on his left the remains of
heathenish wisdom. Everything he peered over assiduously; now and then,
a malicious smile interrupting the seriousness of his studies, upon
which he would hastily scribble down some lines, on a narrow strip of
parchment. Were these, grains of gold and precious stones, which he dug
out of the mines of ancient wisdom? No.
"What on earth, can be the matter with brother Gunzo?" said his
fellow-monks amongst themselves. "In former times his tongue rattled on
like a millwheel, and the books were seldom disturbed in their rest, by
him; for, did he not often say with boasting mien: 'They can only tell
me, what I know already?'--and now? Why, now his pen hurries on,
sputtering and scratching, so that you may bear the noise it makes,
even in the cross-passage. Does he hope to become notary or prime
minister of the Emperor? Is he trying to find the philosopher's stone,
or is he perhaps writing down, his journey in Italy?"
But brother Gunzo, continued his labours undisturbed, whatever they
were. Untiringly he emptied his jug of water and read his classics. The
first thunder-storms came, telling of summer's heat; but he let thunder
and lightning do as they pleased, without minding them. His slumbers at
night were sometimes broken by his rushing up to his inkstand, as if he
had caught some good ideas in his dreams; but often they had vanished
before he had succeeded in writing them down. Still his perseverance in
trying to attain his aim, never wavered, and consoling himself with the
prophetic words of Homer: "Yet though it tarry long, the day is
certainly coming," he crept back to his couch.
Gunzo was in the prime of life; of moderate height and portly
dimensions. When he stood before his well-polished metal mirror in the
early morning, and gazed somewhat longer than was necessary, on his own
image, he would often stroke his reddish beard with a threatening
gesture, as if he were going out there and then, to fight in single
combat.
In his veins, flowed Franconian as well as Gallic blood, and this
latter gave him something of the liveliness and sprightliness, which is
wanting in all those of pure Teutonic race. For this reason, he had
bitten and torn a good many more goose quills, whilst writing, than any
monk in a German monastery would have done, besides holding many a
soliloquy, in the same space of time. In spite of this he mastered the
natural restlessness of his body, and forced his feet to keep quiet,
under the heavily laden writing desk.
On a soft, balmy summer evening, when his pen had again flitted over
the patient parchment, like a will-o'-the-wisp, emitting a soft
creaking sound, it suddenly began to slacken its pace,--then made a
pause; a few strokes more, and then he executed a tremendous flourish
on the remaining space below, so that the ink made an involuntary
shower of spots, like black constellations. He had written the word
_finis_, and with a deep sigh of relief he rose from his chair, like a
man from whose mind, some great weight has been taken. Casting a long
look on that which lay before him, black on white, he solemnly
exclaimed, "praised be the holy Amandus! we are avenged!"
At this great and elevating moment, he had finished a libel, dedicated
to the venerable brotherhood on the Reichenau, and aimed at,--Ekkehard
the custodian at St. Gall. When the fair-haired interpreter of Virgil
took leave of his monastery, and went to the Hohentwiel, he never,
though he searched the remotest corners of his memory, had an inkling
of the fact, that there was a man living, whose greatest wish and
desire was to take vengeance on him; for he was inoffensive and
kindhearted, never willingly hurting a fly. And yet so it was, for
between Heaven and Earth, and especially in the minds of learned men,
many things will happen, which the reason of the reasonable, never
dreams of.
History has its caprices, both in preserving and destroying. The German
songs and epics, which the great Emperor Charles had so carefully
collected, were to perish in the dust and rubbish of the following
ages; whilst the work of Brother Gunzo, which never benefited any one
of the few who read it, has come down to posterity. Let the monstrous
deed, which so excited the Gallic scholar's ire, therefore be told in
his own words.
"For a long space of time,--thus he wrote to his friends on the
Reichenau,--the revered and beloved King Otto, had carried on
negotiations with the different Italian princes, to let me come over to
his lands. But as I was neither of such low birth, or so dependent upon
any, that I could have been forced to this step, he himself sent a
petition to me, of which the consequence was, my pledging myself to
obey his call. Thus it happened, that when he left Italy, I soon
followed him, and when I did so, I did it with the hope, that my
coming,--whilst harming no one, might benefit many; for what sacrifices
does the love of one's fellow-creatures, and the desire to please, not
entice us into? Thus I travelled onwards, not like a Briton, armed with
the sharp weapons of censure, but in the service of love and science.
"Over high mountain-passes and steep ravines and valleys, I arrived at
last at the monastery of St. Gall, in a state of such bodily
exhaustion, that my hands, stiffened by the icy mountain air, refused
me their service, so that I had to be taken down from my mule by
stranger hands. The hope of the traveller, was to find a peaceful
resting-place, within the monastic walls; which hope was strengthened,
on beholding the frequent bending of heads, the sober-coloured
garments, soft-treading steps, and sparing use of speech, prevalent
there. So I was wholly unprepared for what was to follow; although by a
strange chance, I happened to think of Juvenal's saying with regard to
the false philosophers.
'Sparing and soft is their speech,--but malice is lurking
behind it!'
and who would have believed that the said heathen was gifted with a
prophetic vision of future cowl-bearing wickedness?
"Yet I was still harmlessly enjoying my life, waiting to see, whether
amongst the scanty murmurs of the brothers, some sparks of
philosophical wisdom would shine forth. All remained dark however, for
they were preparing the arms of cunning.
"Amongst their numbers, there was also a young convent-pupil and his
uncle, who--well, who was no better than he should be! They called
him a worthy teacher of the school; although to me he appeared rather
to look at the world with the eyes of a turtle-dove. Of this
languishing-looking wiseacre I shall have to say more, presently.
Listen, and judge of his deed!
"Walking up and down, he instigated the convent-pupil to become a
partaker of his base design.
'Night had come, and with it the time for grief-stilling slumber:
After the sumptuous meal, Bacchus exacted his rights'----
when an evil star prompted my making a mistake in the use of a _casus_,
in the Latin table speeches we held together; using an _accusativus_,
where I ought to have put an _ablativus_.
"Now it became evident, in what kind of arts, that far-famed teacher
had instructed his pupil, all day long. 'Such an offence against the
laws of grammar, deserved the rod,' mockingly said that little imp, to
_me_ the well-tried scholar; and he further produced a rhymed libel,
which his fine teacher must have prompted him to, and which caused a
rough cisalpine burst of laughter in the refectory, at the expense of
the stranger guest.
"But who does not know what the verses of a set of overbearing monks,
must be like? What do such as they know of the inner structure of a
poem, where all must be artistically built up, to produce a fine and
pleasing effect? What of the high dignity of poetry?--They pucker up
their lips, and spout forth a poem, like to that Lucilius, who has been
branded by Horace; and who, whilst standing on one foot only, dictated
two hundred verses and more, before an hour had elapsed.
"Judge now, ye venerable brothers, what insults have been heaped
on me; and what must be the character of the man, who can upbraid his
fellow-creature for mistaking an _ablativus_!"
The man, who intending only a harmless jest, had committed this fearful
crime, was Ekkehard. But a few weeks before the sudden turn in his fate
brought him to the Hohentwiel, the terrible deed had been done. With
the coming morn on the next day, he had forgotten the conversation that
had taken place at supper with the overbearing Italian, but in the
bosom of him, who had been convicted of the wrong _ablativus_, was
matured a rancour as fierce and gnawing as that, which, caused by the
war-deeds of Achilles, drove the Telamonian Aias, to destroy himself,
and which followed him even into the Hades.
He rode towards the north out of the valley along through which the
Sitter rushes; he saw the Bodensee and the Rhine, and thought of the
_ablativus_! He entered the grey and ancient gates of Cologne, and
crossed the frontiers of Belgium,--but the false _ablativus_ sat behind
him on the saddle like an incubus. The cloister-walls of the holy
Amandus could not exclude it; and in the early psalms at morning, and
during the litany and vespers, the _accusativus_, rose before his mind,
exacting its expiatory sacrifice.
Of all the unpleasant days of one's life, those imprint themselves
deepest in our minds, in which by our own fault, a humiliation has
befallen us. Instead of being angry with one's self, one easily bears
an ill will towards all those, who were the involuntary witnesses of
our defeat. The human heart is so very unwilling to confess its own
failings; and many a one who unmoved can think of past battles and
dangers, feels his blood rush into his cheeks, at the recollection of
some foolish word, which escaped him just then, when he would have
liked so much to have made a brilliant remark.
Therefore Gunzo was bent on taking his revenge on Ekkehard, and he had
an able and sharp pen, and had spent many a month over his work, so
that it became a master-piece of its kind. It was a black soup, made up
of hundreds of learned quotations, richly seasoned with pepper and
worm-wood, and all those spicy, bitter things, which before all others,
give such a delicious flavour to the controversies of ecclesiastical
men.
Besides this, a delightful undercurrent of rudeness pervaded the whole;
so that the reader feels as though a man were being thrashed with
regular flails, in a neighbouring barn. This makes a very pleasant
contrast to our present times, in which the poison is presented in the
shape of gilt pills; and when the combatants first exchange a polite
bow, before they break each others heads.
The treatise was divided into two parts; the first serving to prove,
that only an ignorant and uncultivated mind could be shocked by so
slight an error, as the mistaking of a _casus_; whilst the second was
written in order to convince the world that the author himself, was the
wisest, most learned, and at the same time most pious of all his
contemporaries.
For this end he had read the classics and the holy Scriptures, in the
sweat of his brow, so that he could make a list of all the places in
which the caprice, or negligence of the author, had also misplaced an
_ablativus_. So he managed to name two in Virgil, one in Homer, Terence
and Priscianus. Further an example out of Persius, where the ablative
stands in the place of the genitive, besides a number of instances out
of the books of Moses, and the Psalms.
And if a number of such instances, can be found even in the holy
Scriptures, who is so wicked, that he would dare to blame or change,
such a mode of expression? Wrongly, therefore believes the little monk
of St. Gall, that I was not well versed in the grammar; although my
tongue may sometimes be impeded, by the habits of my own language,
which, though derived from the Latin, is yet very different from it.
Now, blunders are made, through carelessness, and human imperfection in
general; for, says Priscianus very truly: "I do not believe, that of
all human inventions, a single one, can be perfect in all respects, and
on all sides. In like manner, Horace has often taken it on himself, to
excuse negligences of style and language, in eminent men: '_sometimes
even the good Homer is slumbering_,' and Aristotle says in his book on
the _hermeneia_: 'All that, which our tongue utters, is merely an
outward expression of that which is stamped on our mind. The idea of a
thing, therefore is always pre-existent before the expression, and
therefore the thing itself is of far greater importance, than the mere
word. But whenever the meaning is abstruse, thou shalt patiently, and
with thy reasoning powers, try to find out the real import.'"
Then there followed innumerable classical examples of awkward and
negligent expressions of thought, which ended with the words of the
Apostle, who calls himself, "unskilled, with regard to speech, but not
unskilled in knowledge."
"If one therefore examines the behaviour of my antagonist of St. Gall,
one feels tempted to believe, that he had once invaded the garden of
some wise man; from one of whose hot-beds he had stolen a radish, which
had discomposed his stomach and increased his gall. Let everybody
therefore keep a sharp look-out on his garden. Evil communications,
corrupt good manners.
"Yet it is possible also, that he could not have done otherwise; for
having perchance rummaged the whole day long, in the remotest folds of
his cowl, to find something wherewith to regale the stranger guest, and
not finding anything else, but cunning and malice, he let his guest
taste a bit of that. Bad men have evil possessions.
"With his behaviour, his outward appearance,--which we did not fail
carefully to investigate,--was in strict harmony. His countenance bore
a pale lustre, like bad metal, used for the adulteration of the
genuine; his hair was crimped; his hood finer and daintier than
necessary, and his shoes of light make,--so that all the signs of
vanity were found on him, which were a vexation in the eyes of St.
Hieronymus, when he wrote: 'To my great regret, there are some of the
clergy in my parish, who are very anxious for their garments to be well
scented and their nails well polished; who anoint their curled hair
with precious ointments, and who wear dainty, embroidered shoes. Such
garments, however, are scarcely fitted for a dandy and bridegroom, let
alone for one of the Lord's elected.'
"Further I have reflected, whether the sound of his own name, was not
in harmony with his actions likewise. And what now? Ekkhard, or Akhar,
was his name,--as if already at his baptism, by dint of a prophetic
providence, he had been stigmatized with the name of a malefactor; for
who does not know of that Akhar who appropriated to himself a purple
mantle, as well as two hundred bags of silver, and a golden wedge, out
of the booty at Jericho, so that Joshuah, had him led out into a remote
valley, where he was stoned to death, by all Israel; and all he
possessed was given up to the flames?--Of such a man his namesake of
St. Gall, has shown himself to be a worthy successor; for he who
disregards the laws of politeness and good breeding, acts as badly as a
thief. He purloins the gold of true wisdom.
"If it were permitted to believe in the transmigration of souls, such
as Pythagoras has taught, it would be beyond all doubt, that the soul
of the Hebrew Akhar, had entered the frame of this Ekkehard, and in
this case one ought to pity it, as it were better to dwell in the body
of a fox even, than in that of a crafty and cunning monk. All this
which I have said until now, has been said without any personal hatred.
My hatred is directed only against the man's inherent wickedness.
Consequently I only detest an attribute of his and not the substance
itself, which we are bound to honour, as God's likeness, according to
Scripture.
"Please to observe now," continued Gunzo in the second part of his
book, "how insanely my enemy has acted against the benefits of science
and knowledge. More than a hundred written volumes, had I brought with
me, over the Alps; weapons of peace, such as Marcianus' flowery
instructions in the seven liberal arts; Plato's unfathomable depth in
his _Timaeus_; the obscure wisdom of Aristotle, hardly lighted up in our
present days, in his book on the _hermeneia_, and Cicero's eloquence in
the _Topica_.
"How serious and faithful might our conversation not have been, if they
had questioned me, about these treasures! How could I imagine that such
as I, whom God has so richly gifted, would be ridiculed on account of
mistaking a _casus_! I who know Donat and Priscianus almost by heart!
"It is probable that that empty coxcomb believes, that he carries the
whole of the _Grammatica_, in his hood,--but beloved brethren, believe
me--he has scarcely had a glimpse of her back in the distance, and if
he were to try, to catch sight of her radiant countenance, he would
stumble, and fall to the ground, over his own awkward feet. The
_Grammatica_ is a noble woman, who wears for a woodcutter an aspect
very different from that she has for an Aristotle.
"But how shall I speak to you of grammar's sister, of dialectics, whom
that Greek sage has called, the nurse of intellect? Oh noble art! that
entangles the fool in her nets, whilst showing the wise man how to
evade them, and discloses to our wondering eyes, the hidden threads,
by which being and not-being are linked together! But of that, yon
cowl-bearing monk knows nothing! Nothing of that subtle fineness, which
with nineteen kinds of syllogisms, knows how to explain all that, which
has ever been thought before, as well as all that which can be thought
hereafter. God is wise, and deprives him of such knowledge; knowing
beforehand that he would only use it for deceitful and wicked ends ..."
In this way the learned Italian proved his superiority in all the
liberal arts. To rhetoric and all its treasures, a whole chapter was
dedicated, in which certain persons, to whom the Goddess Minerva had
once appeared in their dreams; and fools who believed that brevity of
expression is a proof of wisdom, were pointedly alluded to. Then
arithmetic, geometry and astronomy were discussed; interspersed with
deep investigations, on the questions, whether the stars were gifted
with intellectual souls, and a claim on immortality; and further
whether at the time when Joshuah had said: "Sun stand thou still upon
Gibeon; and thou moon in the valley of Ajalon," he had also imposed
immobility on the other five planets; or whether these had been allowed
to continue their circular motion.
A profound sounding of this problem, offered an opportunity of speaking
first of the harmony of the spheres, and then of music in general, as
the last of the liberal arts; and thus the vengeance-fraught little
ship, carried along by the billowy floods of learning, could at last
reach the goal, it had so long been aiming at.
"Wherefore now do you think, that I have expounded all this?" asked he
finally.
"Not to expound the elements of the liberal arts, but to expose the
folly of an ignorant man, who preferred pecking away at grammatical
blunders, to deriving true wisdom, from his guest; for though his
inward nature may for ever be shut out from the realms of art, he might
at least have caught an outward reflection of my light. But he was
swelling with insolent pride, so that he preferred to pass for a sage
amongst his fellow-monks; like to that frog which sitting in the mire,
thought to rival the bull in greatness. Ah, never has the pitiful
creature, stood on the heights of science, hearing God's own voice
speak to him. Born in the wilderness and grown up amidst silly,
prattling people, his soul has remained on the level of the beasts of
the field. Unwilling to dwell in the active life of this world, and
incapable of a life of inward contemplation, he has been marked by the
enemy of mankind, as his own. Willingly I would exhort you to try what
could be done for him, with the aid of healing medicine, but I sadly
fear that his disease is too deeply rooted.
"'For on a hardened skin, even sneeze-wort will prove, unavailing,'
says Persius.
"And now, after having read all this, please to judge ye venerable
brothers, whether I am the man to have merited such treatment and
ridicule, from the hands of a fool. I deliver both him and myself into
your hands, for before the judgment of the just, the fool falls back
into his own nothingness. _Finis!_"
"... Praised be the holy Amandus!" said Gunzo once more, when the last
word of his work had been written down. The old serpent would certainly
have swelled with joy, if it could have watched him, in the full glory
of his likeness to deity, when he added the last dot. 'And God looked
on all that he had made, and behold, it was good.' And Gunzo?--He did
the same.
Then he walked up to his metal looking-glass, and gazing for a long
time at his own reflection, as if it were of the greatest importance
for him, to study the countenance of the man who had annihilated the
Ekkehard of St. Gall, he finally made a deep bow to himself.
The bell in the refectory had for some time been announcing the
supper-hour. Psalm and grace were finished, and the brotherhood was
already seated before the steaming millet-porridge, when Gunzo at last
came in with a radiant countenance. The dean, silently pointed to a
remote corner away from his customary seat; for he, who missed the
regular hour too often, was, as a punishment, separated from the
others, and his wine was given to the poor. But without the least
murmur, Gunzo sat down, and drank his Belgian pump-water,--for his book
was lying finished in his cell, and that made up to him for everything.
When the meal was over, he invited some of his friends to come up to
his cell, in as mysterious a way, as if they were about to dig for some
hidden treasure, and when they were all assembled, he read his work out
to them. The monastery of St. Gallus, with its libraries, schools and
learned teachers, was far too famous in all Christendom for the
disciples of St. Amandus not to listen to the whizzing of Gunzo's
arrows, with a secret joy. Cleverness and a blameless life, are often
far more offensive to the world, than sin and wickedness. Therefore
they nodded their hoary heads approvingly, as Gunzo read out the choice
bits.
"It would have been well before this, to have taught these Helvetian
bears a lesson!" said one. "Insolence joined to roughness does not
deserve any gentler treatment."
Gunzo continued. "_Bene, optime, aristotelicissime!_" murmured the
assembled monks, when he had ended.
"May the dish please you, Brother Akhar!" exclaimed another. "Belgian
spice, to flavour the Helvetian cheese!"
The brother head-cook, embracing Gunzo, actually wept with joy. Nothing
so learned, profound and beautiful, had ever gone out into the world
before, from the cloister of St. Amandus. Only one of the brothers was
standing immovable near the wall.
"Well?" said Gunzo interrogatively.
"And where is charity?" softly asked the brother, and after these few
words he relapsed again into silence The reproach struck home.
"Thou art right, Hucbald," said he. "This want shall be supplied.
Charity requires us to pray for our enemies. Therefore I will add a
prayer for the poor fool, at the end. That will have a good appearance,
and impress all tender minds favourably. Ay?"
But the brother did not reply. It had become very late, and they all
left the cell now on tip-toe. Gunzo tried to retain him who had spoken
of charity, as he cared a good deal for his opinion; but Hucbald turned
away and followed the others.
"Matthew twenty-three, verse twenty-five," he murmured when his foot
had crossed the threshold. Nobody heard it.
Slumber that night, however, obstinately refused to close the eyes of
Gunzo the learned. So he read the production of his industry over and
over again. He soon knew in what place every word stood, and yet he
could not withdraw his eyes from the well-known lines. At last he
seized his pen, saying: "A more pious ending,--so be it!" He reflected
a while, pacing up and down his cell with slow measured steps. "It
shall be done in hexametres, for who has ever before, retaliated an
insult received, in so worthy a manner?"
So he sat down and wrote. He wished to write a prayer for his
enemy,--but then nobody can act contrary to his nature. Once more he
glanced over the written pages. They were really too good! Then he
penned the supplement. When the cock was announcing the dawn of day,
this also was finished. Two dozen and a half of rattling monks' verses.
That his thoughts, from the prayer for his antagonist, by degrees,
diverged on himself and his glorious work, was but a natural transition
for a man gifted with so much self-esteem.
With complacent unction, he wrote down the five last stanzas.
"Go then into the world, my book; and wherever, thou findest,
Shameful, slanderous tongues, which my glorious life are defiling,
Crush them without remorse, and humble them with thy just censure,
Until thy author one day, will enter the kingdom of Heaven,
Such as is promised to him, who has not buried his talents."
The parchment was rough, and resistant, so that he had to press the
goose-quill, in order to make it receive the letters.
On the next day, Gunzo packed up his epistle in a tin box, and this
again in a linen bag. A bondsman of the monastery, who had slain his
brother, had taken a vow of a pilgrimage to the grave of the twelve
Saints, with his right arm chained to his right hip; and to pray there
until some heavenly sign of grace, was shown to him. His way led
up the Rhine. So, Gunzo put the tin case round his neck, and a few
weeks later, it was delivered safe and sound into the hands of the
gate-keeper at Reichenau. Gunzo well knew his friends there. Therefore
he had dedicated the libel to them.
Moengal the old parish-priest had also some business to transact in the
monastery, on that day. In the stranger's room sat the Belgian pilgrim.
They had given him some fish-soup, which he managed to eat with much
difficulty; his chains clinking whenever he lifted his arm.
"Thou hadst better go home again, and marry the widow of the man thou
hast slain," said Moengal. "That would be a far better expiation, than
to make a fool's journey into the wide world, with your rattling
chains."
The pilgrim shook his head silently, as if he thought that such chains
might prove heavier still, than any which the blacksmith could forge.
Moengal asked to be announced to the Abbot. "He is very busy with some
book he is reading," was the answer. Nevertheless he was ushered into
his presence.
"Sit down, parish-priest," graciously said the Abbot. "I know that you
are rather fond of salty and peppery things. Here's something for you."
He read out to him Gunzo's libel which had just arrived. The old man
listened attentively, but his eyebrows contracted and his nostrils
expanded during the lecture.
When he had come to the description of Ekkehard's curly hair and fine
shoes, the Abbot was nearly convulsed with laughter, but Moengal sat
there, rigid and serious, and on his forehead a frown had gathered,
like clouds before a thunderstorm.
"Well I reckon, that his pride will be well whipped out of him!" said
the Abbot. "Sublime! really sublime! And an abundance of knowledge.
That will strike home, and cannot be answered."
"But it can though," grimly said the parish-priest.
"And in what way?" eagerly asked the Abbot.
Moengal made a gesture of evil import. "A good stick from a holly-bush,
or a brave hazel-wand, is all that's wanted, and then to go down the
Rhine, until there is but an arm's length left between the Suabian wood
and the Italian writer's back. And then." ... He concluded his speech
figuratively.
"You are somewhat rude, parish-priest, and have no appreciation of
learning," said the Abbot. "To be sure--such a treatise as that can
only be written by a refined intellect. Respect, I say!"
"Fine learning that, indeed!" exclaimed Moengal, who had worked himself
into a downright rage. "'Puffed-up lips, and a bad and wicked heart, are
like an earthen pot, covered with tinsel,' says Solomon. Learned? Why,
the wood in my parish is as learned as that, for it also repeats, what
you call out to it, and that is at least a melodious echo. We know
these Belgian peacocks, which are to be found though, also in other
parts. Their feathers are stolen, and their singing, in spite of tail
and rainbow-colours behind, is hoarse, and will always be hoarse; no
matter what airs the creatures may give themselves. Before my great
recovery, I also believed that it was singing, instead of croaking,
when a fellow puffed up his cheeks with grammar and dialectics, but
now: 'Farewell, _Marcianus Capella_,' say we now at Radolfszell!"
"I believe that it is time for you to think of going home, as the
clouds are fast gathering over Constance," said the Abbot.
Then the parish-priest found out, that he had not chosen a suitable
individual, for expounding his views on healthy opinions and science
to. So he took leave.
"For the matter of that, thou mightst have remained as well in thy
monastery at Benchor on the emerald isle, thou Irish wooden-head,"
thought Abbot Wazmann, whilst taking leave with evident coolness.
"Rudimann!" he called out through the passage, when Moengal was gone.
Rudimann, instantly made his appearance.
"I suppose you remember the last vintage-time," began the Abbot, "as
well as a blow given to you by a certain milk-sop, to whom a fanciful
Duchess, is now about to give certain lands?"
"I remember the blow," replied Rudimann with a bashful smile, like a
maiden who is questioned about her lover.
"That blow has been returned by someone, with a strong and unrelenting
hand. You may be satisfied. Read this," handing Gunzo's parchment to
him.
"By your leave," said Rudimann, stepping up to the window. He had
tasted many a noble wine in his life, during the time that he had
occupied his present post of cellarer, but even on the day, when the
bishop of Cremona had sent him some jugs of sparkling brown Asti, his
countenance had not shone so radiantly, as it did now.
"What a precious gift from above, is extensive knowledge, and a fine
style," exclaimed he. "The brother Ekkehard is done for. He cannot dare
to show his face again."
"Tis not quite so far yet," said the Abbot. "But then, that which is
not, may yet be in the future. The learned brother Gunzo is helping us.
His epistle must not be allowed to rot unread. So you can have some
copies taken; better six than three. That fine young gentleman must be
driven away from the Hohentwiel. I am not overfond of yellow-beaked
birds, who pretend to sing better than their elders. Some cold water,
poured on his tonsure, will benefit him. We will send a note to our
brother in St. Gall, urging him to command his return. How is it with
the list of his sins?"
Rudimann slowly raised his left hand, and began to count on his
fingers. "Shall I recount them? First he has disturbed the peace of our
monastery, during the vintage, by, ..."
"Stop," said the Abbot, "that is past and done away with. All that,
which happened before the battle with the Huns, is buried and
forgotten. That is a law which the Burgundians made, and which we will
adhere to, also."
"Then without the help of my fingers," said the cellarer. "The
custodian of St. Gallus has become subject to haughtiness and
insolence, since the day on which he left his monastery. Without moving
his lips to frame a greeting, he passes by, brothers, whose age and
intellect, ought to claim his reverence. Then, he presumed to preach
the sermon, on the holy day when we beat the Huns; although such an
important and solemn office, ought to have been performed by one of the
Abbots. Further, he presumed to baptize a heathenish prisoner; although
such a baptism should have been superintended by the regular priest of
the parish and not by one, who ought to attend at the gate of the
monastery of St. Gallus.
"What may still arise out of the constant intercourse of the forward
youth with his noble mistress, He Who searcheth all hearts, alone can
tell! Already at the wedding-feast of that baptized heathen, it was
observed that he did not shun meetings with that beauteous dame, in
solitary places; and that he heaved frequent sighs, like a shot buck.
Likewise it has been remarked with heartfelt sorrow, that a Greek
maiden, as fickle and unstable as a will-o'-the-wisp, is flickering
about him; so that, that which is left undone by the mistress, may be
finished by her hand-maiden, of whose orthodoxy even, one is not fully
assured. Now, a frivolous woman is bitterer than death, according to
Scripture. She is a bait of the evil one, and her heart is a net, and
only he who pleases God, can escape her wiles."
It was a most becoming and just thing, for Rudimann, the protector of
the uppermaid Kerhildis, to be so well versed, in the words of the
Preacher.
"Enough," said the Abbot. "Chapter twenty-nine, treating of the calling
back of absent brothers. It will do, and I have a sort of presentiment,
that the fickle lady will soon flutter about on her rock, like an old
swallow, whose nestling has been taken away. Goodbye sweetheart!... and
Saspach will yet become ours!"
"Amen!" murmured Rudimann.