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GERMAN AUTHORS.

VOL. 21.

EKKEHAED BY JOSEPH A^CTOR SCHEFFEL.

IN TWO VOLTJMES.
VOL. I.

-tKKEHARD."

A TALE OF THE TENTH CENTURY

BY

JOSEPH VICTOR 'sCHEFFEl/

Authorized Edition.

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN

Br
SOFIE DELFFS.

iN TWO VOLUMES.— VOL. I.

LEIPZIG 1872
BERNHARD TAUCHNITZ.

LONDON: SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, SEARLE & RIVINGTON.
CnOWN BUILDINQS, 1S8, FLEET STREET.

PAJUS: C. KEINWALD, 15, BUE DBS SAINTS PERES.

J

TO HER DK.VR FRIEND

MRS. EMILY CHAMIER

THE ENGLISH VERSION OF THIS BOOK

IS DEDICATED

BY

THE TRANSLATOR.

\

CONTENTS

OF VOLUME I.

Page

Preface of the Translator ....... IX

The Author's Preface x

CHAPTER I. Hadwig, the Duchess of Suabia .... i

II. The Disciples of St. Gallus i6

III. Wiborad the Recluse 35

— 1 V. In the Monastery 57

V. Ekkehard's Departure 83

— VI. Moengal 104

VII. Virgilius on the Hohenlwiel 122

— VIII. Audifax 138

— IX. The Woman of the Wood 156

— X. Christmas 181

XI. The old Man of the Heidenhohlc ... 201

— XII. The Approach of the Huns 224

— XIII. Heribald and his Guests 249

— XIV. The Battle with the Huns 276

PREFACE

OF THE TRANSLATOR.

Heine, that sharp-witted and unsparing critic
once said that the relation of translator to author,
were about the same as that of a monkey to a human
being, — while Gcethe, a man of larger mind and
more harmonious nature, compared the translator
to a prophet, quoting a verse from the Koran
which says: "God gives a prophet to every nation
in its own tongue." — For sixteen years the following
"Tale," — which since its first appearance has made
and held its place, not only in the esteem, but in
the hearts of the German reading public, and which
has already been translated into several languages,
— has waited in vain for an English "prophet" to
render it into that tongue, which being that most akin
to the German language, is therefore, also the one
best fitted for this purpose. It is true that the
peculiarity of the style, which in the original is so
wonderfully adapted to the matter it treats, as well
as the number of old German words, might have
proved a not inconsiderable difficulty for any but
a German translator, and therefore, it is to be hoped,
that the venturesome attempt of a German girl to

X TRIil ACE.

render llie book into English, may be excused. It
need hardly be said, that with regard to expression
she may often have need to appeal to the indulgence
of the reader, but perhaps these defects may at
least in some degree be compensated, by the strict,
truthful adherence to the original, and further it
should be observed that great care has been taken
in choosing words of Saxon derivation whenever
they were to be had. Her love for the book, and
her admiration for the writer thereof, have made
her spare no trouble iir this undertaking, and if
she could but hope to win some friends to "Ekke-
hard" in an English dress, she would deem herself
amply repaid for the many hours spent over this
work. May her critics "take all in all," and treat
hex fairly !

Heidelberg, December, 1871.

THE AUTHOR'S PREFACE.

This book was written with the firm belief that
neither history nor poetry will lose anything, by
forming a close alliance, and uniting their strength
by working together.

For the last thirty years or so, the bequest of our
ancestors has been the subject of universal investiga-
tion. A swarm of busy moles have undermined the
ground of the middle-ages in all directions, and pro-
duced by their untiring industry such a quantity of

I'l^EFACE. XI

old material, as to surprise even the collectors them-
selves. A whole literature, beautiful and perfect in
itself; an abundance of monuments of the plastic
art; a well organized political and social life, lies
extended before our eyes. And yet all the labour
and goodwill spent on this subject, has hardly suc-
ceeded in spreading to wider circles, pleasure and
interest in this newly won historical knowledge. The
numberless volumes stand quietly on the shelves
of our libraries. Here and there, well-to-do spiders
have begun to spin their cobwebs, and the pitiless,
all-covering dust has come too, so that the thought
is hardly improbable, that all this old German splen-
dour, but just conjured back into life, may one
morning at cockcrow fade away and be buried in
the dust and mouldering rubbish of the Past, — like
to that weird cloister by the lake, the existence of
which is only betrayed by the faint low tinkle of
the bell, deep, deep under the waters.

This is not the place to examine how far this
result is attributable to the ways and methods of
our scientific men.

The accumulation of antiquarian lore, as well as
the accumulation of gold, may become a passion,
which collects and scrapes together for the sake and
pleasure of scraping; quite forgetting that the metal
which has been won, needs to be purified, remelted,
and put to use. For else, what do we attain by ill
Merely the being for ever confined within the narrow
limits of the rough material; an equal valuation of
the unimportant and the important; an unwilling-
ness ever to finish and conclude anything, because

XII PREFACE.

here and there some scrap might still be added,
which would lend a new significance to the subject;
— and finally a literature of scholars foi- scholars,
which the majority of the nation passes by with in-
difference and while looking up at the blue sky
feel intensely grateful to their Creator, that they need
read nothing of it. —

The writer of this book, — in the sunny days of
his youth, — once took a ramble with some friends
through the Roman Campagna. There, they lit on
the remains of an old monument, and amongst other
rubbish and fragments, there lay, half hidden by
dark green acanthus leaves^ a heap of mosaic stones,
which, united into a fine picture with graceful orna-
ments, had formerly adorned the floor of a grave.
Then, there arose a lively discussion as to what all
the dispersed square little stones might have repre-
sented, when they were still united. One, a student
of archaeology, took up some of the pieces, to examine
whether they were black or white marble. A second
who occupied himself with- historical studies, talked
very learnedly about ancient sepulchres;— meanwhile
a third had quietly sat down on the old wall, taken
out his sketch-book and drawn a fine chariot with
four prancing steeds, and charioteers, and around it
some handsome Ionic ornaments. He had discovered
in a corner of the floor, some insignificant remains
of the old picture; horses feet and fragments of a
chariot wheel, and at once the whole design stood
clearly before his mind, and he dashed it down with a
few bold strokes, whilst the others dealt in words
merely . . .

PREFACE. XIII

This little incident may serve to throw some light
on the question, how one can work with success, at
the historical resurrection of the Past. Surely, this
can be done then only, when to a creative, repro-
ducing imagination are given its full rights; when he
who digs out the old bodies, breathes upon them the
breath of a living soul, so that they may rise and
walk about, like the resuscitated dead.

In this sense, the historical novel may become
what epic poetry was in the time of the blooming
youth of the nations, — a piece of national history,
in the conception of the artist, who within a certain
space, shows us a series of distinctly-drawn, clearly
coloured figures, in whose individual lives, strivings
and sufferings, the life and substance of the time
in which they lived, is reflected as in a mirror.

Erected on the basis of historical studies, and
embracing the beautiful and important part of an
epoch, the historical novel may well claim to be the
twin brother of history; and those who, shrugging
their shoulders are inclined to reject the former as
the production of an arbitrary and falsifying caprice,
Avill please to remember, that history as it is generally
written, is also but a traditional conglomeration of
the true and the false, which merely by its greater
clumsiness is prevented from filling up the occasional
gaps, as the more graceful poesy can do.

If all the signs are not deceiving us, our present
time is in a peculiar state of transition.

In all branches of knowledge, the perception is
gaining ground, how intensely our thinking and
feeling has been damaged by the supremacy of the

XIV PREFACE.

Abstract and of Phraseology. Here and there, efforts
are being made, to return from dry, colourless, hyper-
bolical abstractions, to the tangible, living, glowing
Concrete; from idle self-contemplation, into close
relation with life and the present, and from hackneyed
formulas and patterns, to an investigating analysis
of nature, and a creative productivity, instead of
mere barren criticism.

Who knows, but our grandchildren may yet live
to see the day, when people will speak of many a
former colossus of science, with the same smiling
veneration, as of the remains of a gigantic ante-
diluvian animal; and when one may avow, without
fear of being cried down as a barbarian, that in a jug
of good old wine, there is as much wisdom, as in
many a voluminous production of dry dialectics.

To the restitution of a serene, unbiassed view of
things, adorned by poetry, the following work would
wish to contribute; taking its materials out of our
German Past.

Amongst the vast collection of valuable matter,
enclosed in the big folios of the '■'■ Monuvienta Ger-
maniae" by Pertz, are the tales of the monasteries in
St. Gall, which monk Ratpert began, and Ekkehard
the younger (called also the fourth, to distinguish him,
from three other members of the cloister, bearing the
same name), continued till the end of the loth century.

Whoever has painfully tracked his weary road,
through the many unsatisfactory dry-as-dust chron-
icles of other monasteries, will linger with real plea-
sure and inward delight, over these last named an
nals. There, one finds, in spite of manifold prejudices

PREFACE. XV

and awkwardnesses, an abundance of graceful and
interesting tales, taken from accounts of eye and ear
witnesses. Persons and circumstances are drawn with
rough, but distinct lineaments, whilst a sort of un-
conscious poetry, — a thoroughly honest and genuine
view of life and the world, as well as a naive fresh-
ness and originality, puts a stamp of truth and genuine-
ness on everything that is told; even when persons
and events are not strictly subjected to the laws of
time; and when a very tangible anachronism, causes
very slight uneasiness to the chronicler.

Quite unintentionally, these sketches lead one
far beyond the boundaries of the cloister- walls; paint-
ing the life and ways, the education and customs of
the Alle7iumnic country,* as it then was, with all the
fidelity of a picture painted from nature. Times
were pleasant then in the south-western part of Ger-
many, and everyone who prefers a striving and
healthy, though rough and imperfect strength, to a
certain varnished finish, will feel much sympathy
with them. The beginning of church and state, —
whilst a considerable roughness, tempered by much
natural kindliness, still clung to the people in
general; the feudal spirit, so pernicious to all later
development, as yet harmless, in its first stage of
existence; no supercilious, overbearing knighthood,
and wanton ignorant priesthood as yet, — but rough,
plainspoken, honest fellows, whose social intercourse
frequently consisted in an extended system of verbal

* The Allemannic land or Allemtimiia as it was then called, consisted
of part of the present Wiirtemberg, Eaden and Lothringen ; where a dialect,
called "Allema/misch" has been preserved to the present day.

XVI PKEKACE.

and real injuries, but who, under their coarse husk,
hid an excellent kernel; susceptible of all good and
noble things. Scholars, who in the morning translate
Aristotle into German, and go wolf-hunting in the
evening; noble ladies, full of enthusiasm for the old
classics; peasants, in whose memory the old heathen
beliefs of their forefathers still exist, unimpaired
and side by side with the new christian creed, — in
short, everywhere primitive but vigorous life, and
conditions under which one feels inclined without
contempt or rational ire, to put up even with sprites
and hobgoblins.

In spite of political discord and a certain in-
difference towards the empire, of which Saxony had
become the central point, there was much courage
and valour, inspiring even monks in their cells, to
exchange the breviary for the sword, in order to
resist the Hungarian invasion; and although there
were many elements opposed to science, serious study
and much enthusiasm for the classics were preserved.

The highly frequented cloister-schools were full
of zealous disciples, and the humane principles
taught there, remind one of the best times in the
1 6th century. Besides this, the fine arts began to
bud, — some eminent minds rising here and there
above the multitude; a general culture of national
history, though mostly dressed up in outlandish
garments.

No wonder then, that the author of this book, when
making some other researches concerning the first
stages of the middle-ages, chancing to meet with those
chronicles, felt like a man, who after long wander-

PREFACE. XVII

ings through a barren unfertile land, comes suddenly
upon a comfortable wayside inn; which, with ex-
cellent kitchen and cellar, and a lovely view from
the windows, offers all that heart could desire.

So he began to settle down in that cozy nook,
and by diligently exploring the surrounding land,
to gain the best possible knowledge of the country
and people who lived in it.

But the poet meets with a peculiar fate, when
trying to acquaint himself with the old Past. Where
others, into whose veins nature has instilled some
''aqua fortts," — as the result of their labours produce
many an abstract theory, and a quantity of instruc-
tive deductions, — to him appear a host of fantastic
figures, that, at first surrounded by floating mists,
become always clearer and clearer; and they look
at him with pleading eyes, dance around his couch
in midnight hours, and always whisper to him, "give
us a living form."

Thus it was here. Out of the old Latin cloister-
tales there arose, like rocks out of the water,
the towers and walls of the monastery of St, Gall.
Scores of grey-headed, venerable friars wandered
up and down in the ancient cross-passages; behind
the old manuscripts sat those who had once written
them; the cloister-pupils played merrily in the court-
yard; from the choir rose the solemn chaunts at
midnight, and from the tower the clear sound of
the bugle announced the approach of visitors. But
before all other forms, there arose in dazzling beauty,
that noble, haughty Dame, who carried off the youth-
ful master from the quiet and peace of the cloister

will PREFACE.

of St. Gall, to her rocky castle high over the Boden-
scc, there, to teach and propagate the old classics.
The simple account given by the chronicler, of that
quiet life, dedicated to the study of Virgil, is in
itself a piece of poetry as beautiful and genuine as
can be found any>vhere.

He, however, who is beset by such apparitions
cannot exorcise them otherwise, but by doing
their will; trying to condense and fix their fleeting
shapes. And not having read in vain in the old
stories, how "Notker the stutterer," once treated
similar visions, viz. by taking a strong hazel wand
and therewith belabouring the spectres, until they
revealed unto him their finest songs, — I also took
to my arms, the steel-pen, and saying good-bye to
the old folios which had been the sources of all
these visionary fancies, I betook myself to the
ground which had once been trodden by the Duchess
Hadwig, and her contemporaries.

There, I sat in the venerable library of St. Gallus;
took long rows in little rocking boats over the Bo-
densee; found a nest for myself under the old linden-
tree at the foot of the Hohentwiel, where a worthy
old Suabian bailiff has at present charge of the ruins
of the ancient fortress, and finally climbed the airy
Alpine heights of the Santis, where the " Wildkirch-
lein" hangs like an eagle's nest over the green valley
of Appenzell. There, in the wards of the ''Suabian
Sea," mind and soul filled with the life of bygone
generations; the heart refreshed by warm sunshine
and balmy mountain air, I first sketched and then
completed the greater part of this story.

PREFACE. XIX

That not much has been said therein, which is
not founded on conscientious historical studies, can
be boldly asserted; though persons and dates have
sometimes been dealt with a little freely. The poet,
in order to enhance the inward harmony of his
work, may occasionally take liberties which would
be most blameworthy, if indulged in by the strict
historian. And yet the great historian Macaulay
himself says: "I shall cheerfully bear the reproach
of having descended below the dignity of history
if I can succeed in placing before the English of
the igth century, a true picture of the life of their
ancestors."

Following the advice of some competent judges,
I have given in an appendix some proofs and refer-
ences to the sources out of which I have taken
my materials, in order to satisfy those, who might
otherwise be inclined to treat the subject as a mere
fable or idle invention. Those, however, who do
not require these same proofs to believe in the
genuineness of the matter, are requested not to
trouble themselves further with the notes, as they
are otherwise of little import, and would be quite
superfluous, if this book did not go out into the
world in the garb of a novel, which is somewhat
open to the suspicion of playing carelessly with
facts and truths.*

The attacks of the critics will be received with
great imperturbability. "A tale of the loth century?"
will they exclaim. "Who rideth so late, through

• These notes, for the greatest part have been omitted, as being of no
possible interest to the English reader.

XX PREFACE.

night and wind?" And has it not been printed in
the last manual of our national literature, in the
chapter treating of the national novel: "If we ask
which epoch in German history might be best suited
to combine the local with the national interests, we
must begin by excluding the middle-ages. Even
the times of the Hohenstaufen , can only be treated
in a lyrical style, as all efforts in other directions,
are sure to turn out utter failures."

All the scruples and objections of those who
prefer an anatomizing criticism, to a harmless enjoy-
ment, and who spend all their strength in trying to
force the German spirit into an Alexandrine or
Byzantine form, — these have already been well an-
swered by a literary lady of the tenth century, viz.
the venerable nun Hroswitha of Gandersheim, who
wrote in happy, self-conscious pleasure in her own
work, in the preface to her graceful comedies: "If
anybody should derive pleasure, from these my
modest productions, I shall be much pleased thereat;
but if on the contrary, on account of the objectivity
displayed therein, or of the roughness of an imper-
fect style, it should please no one, then at least I
myself shall take pleasure in that which I have
created."

Htidtlberg, February, 1855.

J. V. SCHEFFEL,

EKKEHARD.

CHAPTER I.

Hadwig , the Duchess of Suabia.

It was almost a thousand years ago. The world
knew as yet nothing of gunpowder or the art of
printing.

Over tjie Hegau there hung a gloomy leaden
grey sky, corresponding to the mental darkness,
which, according to general opinion, oppressed the
whole time of the middle ages. From the lake of
Constance white mists floated over the meads, cover-
ing up the whole country. Even the tower of the
new church at Radolfszell was thickly enveloped,
but the matinbell had rung merrily through mist and
fog like the words of a sensible man, which pierce
the cloudy atmosphere, that fools create.

It is a lovely part of Germany wliich lies there,
bet^veen the Blackforest and the Suabian lake. All
those who are not too strict and particular with
poetical similes, may be reminded of the following
words of the poet:

Ekkehard. I. I

EKKEHARD.

' Ah fair is the Allemaiinic land
With its bright transparent sky ;
And fair is its lake, so clear and blue
Like a bonny maiden's eye ;
Like yellow locks, the corn-clad fields
Surround this picture fair :
And to a genuine German face
This land one may compare."

— though the continuation of this allegory might tempt
one to celebrate either of the Hegau mountains, as
the prominent feature on the face of this country.

Sternly the summit of the Hohentwiel, with its
craggy points and pinnacles rises into the air. Like
monuments of the stormy stirring Past of our old mo-
ther Earth those steep picturesque mountain-pyra-
mids rise from the plains which were once covered by
undulating waves, as the bed of the present lake is
now. For the fish and sea-gulls it must have been
a memorable day, when the roaring and hissing
began in the depths below, and the fiery basaltic
masses, made their way, rising out of the very
bowels of earth, above the surface of the waters.
But that was long, long ago, and the sufferings of
those, who were pitilessly annihilated in that mighty
revolution, have long been forgotten. Only the
hills are there still to tell the weird tale. There
they stand, unconnected with their neighbours,
solitary and defiant; as those, who with fiery glow-
ing hearts break through the bars and fetters of
existing opinions, must always be. Whether the)'
in their inmost heart have still a recollection of the
glorious time of their youth, when they greeted this
beautiful upper world, for the first time with a jubi-
lant cry, who knows?

EKKEHARD. 3

At the time when our story begins, the Hohen-
twiel was crested already by stately towers and
walls. This fortress had been held during his life-
time by Sir Burkhard, Duke of Suabia. He had
been a valiant knight, and done many a good day's
fighting in his time. The enemies of the Emperor,
were also his, and so there was always work to do.
If everything was quiet in Italy, then the Normans
became troublesome, and when these were fairly
subjugated, perhaps the Hungarians would make an
invasion, or some bishop or mighty earl grew in-
solent and rebellious, and had to be put down. In
this way Sir Burkhard had spent his days more in
the saddle than in the easy-chair, and it was not to
be wondered at, that he had gained for himself the
reputation of great valour and bravery.

In Suabia it was said that he reigned like a
true despot; and in far off Saxony the monks wrote
down in their chronicles, that he had been an al-
most "invincible warrior."

Before Sir Burkhard was gathered to his fore-
fathers, he had chosen a spouse for himself, in the
person of the young Princess Hadwig, daughter of
the Duke of Bavaria. But the evening-glow of a
declining life is but ill matched with the light of
the morning-star. Such a union is against nature's
laws and Dame Hadwig had accepted the old Duke
of Suabia, merely to please her father. It is true
that she had nursed and tended him well, and held
his grey hairs in honour; but when the old man
laid himself down to die, grief did not break her
heart.

4 EKKEHARD.

When all was over, she buried him in the vault
of his ancestors, erected a monument of grey sand-
stone to his memory, placed an everburning lamp
over his grave, and sometimes, not too often, came
down there to pray.

Thus Dame Hadwig lived now all alone in the
castle of Hohentwicl. She remained in i)ossession
of all the landed property of her husband, with the
full rights to do with it what she pleased. Besides
this she was lady patroness of the bishopric of
Constance and all the cloisters near the lake, and
the emperor had given her a bill of feoffment signed
and sealed by his own hand, by which the regency
of Suabia remained her own, as long as she kept
true to her widowhood. The young widow pos-
sessed a very aristocratic mind and no ordinary
amount of beauty. Her nose however was a trifle
short, the lovely lips had a strong tendency to pout,
and in her boldly projecting chin, the graceful
dimple so becoming to women, was not to be found.
AU those whose features are thus formed, unite to
a clear intellect, a not over tender heart, and their
disposition is more severe than charitable. For
this reason the Duchess in spite of her soft beauti-
ful comple.Kion, inspired many of her subjects with
a sort of trembling awe. — On that misty day men-
tioned before, the Duchess was standing at one of
her chamber-windows, looking out into the distance.
She wore a steelgrey undergarment, which fell down
in graceful folds on her embroidered sandals; and
over this a tightfitting black tunic, reaching to the
knees. In the girdle, encircling her waist, there

EKKEHARD. 5

gliltered a large precious beryl. Her chestnut
brown hair was confined within a net of gold thread,
l)ut round her clear forehead some stray curls played
unrestrainedly. On a small table of white marble,
stood a fantastically shaped vessel of dark green
bronze, in which some foreign frankincense was
burning, sending its fragrant white little cloudlets
up to the ceiling. The walls were covered with
many-coloured finely woven tapestry.

There are days when one is dissatisfied with
everything and everybody, and if one were suddenly
transported into paradise itself, even paradise would
not give contentment. At such times the thoughts
wander gloomily from this to that subject, not know-
ing on what to fix themselves, — out of every corner
a distorted face seems grinning at us, and he who
is gifted with a very fine ear, may even hear the
derisive laughter of the goblins. It is a belief in
those parts that the universal contrariety of such
days, arises from people having stepped out of bed
with their left foot foremost; which is held to be in
direct opposition to nature.

Under the spell of such a day, the Duchess was
labouring just now. She wanted to look out of the
window, and a subtle wind blew the mist right into
her face, which annoyed her. She began to cough
hastily, but no doubt if the whole country had lain
before her bathed in sunshine, she would have found
fault with that also.

Spazzo the chamberlain had come in meanwhile
and stood respectfully waiting near the entrance.
He threw a smiling complacent look on his outward

6 EKKEHARD.

eijuipment, feeling sure to attract his mistress's eye
tu-day, for he had put on an embroidered shirt of
finest Hnen and a splendid sapphire coloured upper-
garment, with purple seams. Everything was made
in the latest fashion; and the bishop's tailor at
Constance had brought the articles over only the
day before.

The wolf-dog of the knight of Friedingen had
killed two lambs of the ducal herd; therefore Master
Spazzo intended to make his dutiful report and
obtain Dame Hadwig's princely opinion, whether
he should conclude a peaceful agreement with the
dog's master, or whether he were to bring in a suit
at the next session of the tribunal, to have him
fined and sentenced to pay damages. So he began
his well-prepared speech, but before he had got to
the end, he saw the duchess make a sign, the mean-
ing of which could not remain unintelligible to a
sensible man. She put her forefinger first up to
lier forehead, and then pointed with it to the door.
So the chamberlain perceived that it was left to his
own wits, not only to find the best expedient with
regard to the lambs, — but also to take himself off
as quickly as possible. With a profound bow he
withdrew accordingly.

In clear tones Dame Hadwig called out now;
"Praxedis!"— and when the person thus named did
not instantly make her appearance, she repeated in
sharper accents, "Praxedis!"

It was not long before Praxedis with light, grace-
ful steps entered the closet. Praxedis was waiting-
maid to the Duchess of Suabia. She was a Greek

EKKEHARD. 7

and a living proof, that the son of the Byzantine
Emperor Basihus had once asked the fair Hadwig's
hand in marriage. He had made a present of the
clever child, well instructed in music and the art
of the needle, together with many jewels and precious
stones, to the German duke's daughter, and in re-
turn had received a refusal. At that time one
could give away human beings, as well as buy and
sell them. Liberty was not everybody's birthright.
But a slavery, such as the Greek child had to
endure, in the ducal castle in Suabia, was not a
very hard lot.

Praxedis had a small head with pale delicate
features; out of which a pair of large dark eyes
looked into the world, unspeakably sad one moment
and in the next sparkling with merriment. Her
hair was arranged over her forehead in heavy
braids, like a coronet. She was very beautiful.

"Praxedis, where is the starling?" .said Dame
Hadwig.

"I will bring it," replied the Greek maid; and
she went and fetched the black little fellow, who
sat in his cage, with an important impudent air, as
if his existence were filling up a vast gap in the
universe. The starling had made his fortune at
Hadwig's wedding-feast. An old fiddler and juggler
had taught him with infinite pains, to repeat a Latin
wedding-speech, and great was the merriment, when
at the banquet the bird was put on the table, to
say his lesson, "A new star has risen on the Suabian
firmament, its name is Hadwig. Hail all hail!" and
so forth.

EKKEHARD.

IJiit this was not all the knowledge which the
starling possessed. Besides these rhymes, he could
also recite the Lord's prayer. Now the bird was
very obstinate, and had his caprices, as well as the
Duchess of Suabia.

On tliis particular day, the latter must have been
thinking of old times, and the starling was to de-
liver the wedding-speech. The starling, however,
had one of his pious moods, and when Praxedis
brought him into the chamber he called out solemnly:
"Amen!" and when Dame Hadwig gave him a piece
of gingerbread, and asked him in coaxing tones:
"what was the name of the star on the Suabian
firmament, my pretty one?" — he slowly responded:
"Lead us not into temptation." But when she
whispered to him to brighten his memory: "The
star's name is Hadwig, all hail!" — then the starling
continuing in his pious strain, said: "And deliver
us from evil." —

"What, do birds even become insolent now?"
exclaimed Dame Hadwig angrily. "Pussy, where
art thou?" and she enticed towards her the black
cat, which had long had an evil eye upon the star-
ling, and who crept near softly, but with glittering
eyes.

Dame Hadwig opened the cage, and left the
bird to its mercy, but the starling, although the
sharp claws had got hold of him already, ruffling
and tearing his feathers, yet managed to escape,
and flew out at the open window.

In a few moments he had become a mere black
speck in the mist.

EKKEHARD. 9

"Well, now really I might as well have kept
him in the cage," said Dame Hadwig, "Praxedis,
what dost thou think r'

"My mistress is always right whatever she does,"
replied the Greek maiden.

"Praxedis," continued the Duchess, "go and fetch
me my trinkets. I wish to put on a bracelet."

So Praxedis, the everwilling, went away, and
returned with the casket of jewels. This casket
was made of silver; on it a few figures had been
embossed, representing the Saviour as the good
Shepherd; St. Peter with the keys and St. Paul with
the sword, and around these, manifold leaves and
twisted ornaments. Probably it had served for the
keeping of relics formerly. Sir Burkhard had once
brought it home, but he did not like to speak about
it; for he returned at that time from a feud, in which
he had vanquished and heavily thrown some bishop
of Burgundy.

When the Duchess opened the casket, the rich
jewels sparkled and glittered beautifully on their
red velvet lining. Looking at such tokens of re-
membrance, many old memories came floating up
to the surface again. Amongst other things there
lay also the miniature of the Greek prince Constan-
tine, smooth, pretty and spiritless, it had been
painted by the Byzantine master on a background
of gold.

"Praxedis," said Dame Hadwig, "how would it
have been, if I had given my hand to that yellow-
cheeked peaknosed prince of yours,"

lO EKKEHARD.

"My liege I.ady," was the answer, "I am sure
that it would have been well."

"Well," continued Dame Hadwig, "tell me some-
thing about your own dull home. I should like to
know what my entrance into Constantinopolis would
have been like."

"Oh, princess," said Praxedis, "my home is beauti-
ful," and with a melancholy look her dark eyes
gazed into the misty distance — "and such a drear)
sky at least, would have been spared you on the
Marmora sea. Even you would have uttered a cry
of surprise, when carried along by the proud galley,
past the seven towers, the glittering masses of palaces,
cupolas, churches, everything of dazzling white
marble from the quarries of Prokonnesos, had first
burst on our sight. From the blue waves the stately
waterlily, proudly lifts her snowy petals, here a wood
of dark cypress trees, there the gigantic cupola of
the Hagia Sophia; on one side the long stretched
cape of the Golden Horn, and opposite on the Asiatic
shore, another magnificent city. And like a golden
blue girdle, the sea, freighted with its innumerable
ships, encircles this magic sight, — oh, my mistress,
even in my dreams far away here in the Suabian
land, I cannot realize the splendour of that view.
And then, when the sun has sunk down, and the
sable night steals over the glittering waves, then
everything is bathed in blue Greek fire, in honour
of the royal brides Now we enter the port. The
big chain which usually bars it, drops down before
the bridal ship, lorches burn on the shore. There
stand the emperor's body-guard, the Waragians with

EKKEHARD. II

their two edged battle-axes, and the blue-eyed
Normans; there the patriarch with innumerable
priests; everywhere one hears music and shouts of
joy, and the imperial prince in the bloom of youth,
welcomes his betrothed, and the royal train direct
their steps towards the palace of Blacharnae . . ."

"And all this splendour I have thrown away,"
sneered Dame Hadwig. "Praxedis, thy picture is
not complete, for on the following day, comes the
patriarch, to hold a sharp discourse with the western
Christian, and to instruct her in all the heresies,
which flourish on the barren, arid soil of your
religion, like deadly nightshade and henbane.
Then 1 am instructed what to believe of their monkish
pictures and the decrees of the Councils of Chal-
cedon and Nicaea. After him comes the mistress
of the ceremonies, to teach me the laws of etiquette
and court-manners; what expression to wear on my
face, and how to manage my train; when to prostrate
myself before the emperor and when to embrace my
mother-in-law. Further, how to treat this favourite
with courtesy, and to use this or that monstrous
form of speech, in addressing some wonderful
personage: 'If it please your Eminence, your High-
ness, your adorable Greatness!' — Whatever can be
called originality and natural strength is nipped in
the bud, and my Lord and Master turns out to be
a painted doll like the rest. Then perhaps some
fme morning the enemy appears before the gates,
or the successor is not to the liking of the blues
and greens of the Circus; revolution rages through the
streets, and the German duke's daughter is put into

12 EKKEIIARD,

a convent bereft of her eyesight . . . what good does
it do her then, that her children were addressed as
their Higlinesses when still in the cradle? There-
fore, Praxedis, I did not go to Constantinople!"

"The emperor is the Master of the universe, and
his will is for ever just," said the Greek, " so I have
been taught to believe."

"Hast thou ever reflected, that it is a very pre-
cious boon, for a man to be his own master?"

"No," said Praxedis.

The turn which the conversation had taken
pleased the Duchess.

"What account of me did your Byzantine painter,
who was sent to take my likeness, carry home, I
wonder?"

The Greek maid seemed not to have heard the
question. She had risen from her seat and gone to
the window.

"Praxedis," said the Duchess with asperity, "I
want an answer."

Thus questioned Praxedis turned round, and
faintly smiling said: "that was a pretty long time
ago, but Master Michael Thallelaios did not speak
over Avell of you. He told us that he had prepared
his finest colours and goldleaves, and that you had
been a lovely child, and when brought before him
to be painted, that he had felt as if he must do his
very utmost, and a thrill of awe had come over him,
as when he painted God's holy mother, for the
monastery of Athos. But Princess Hadwig had been
pleased to distort her eyes; and when he had ven-
tured to raise a modest objection, her Grace put out

I'lKKElIARD. 13

her tongue, held two openspread hands to her nose,
and said in very graceful broken Greek, that this
was the right position to be painted in. The im-
perial court-painter profited by the occasion to ex-
press his opinion, about the want of manners and
education in German lands, and has vowed never
again to try and paint a German Fraulein. And
the emperor Basilius on hearing this account growled
fiercely through his beard . . ."

"Let his Majesty growl, as long as he chooses,"
said the Duchess, "and pray to Heaven that he may
bestow the patience which I then lacked on others.
I have not yet had an opportunity of seeing a
monkey, but according to all that is told about
them, by tru3twor)4iy men, Master Michael's pedigree
must extend to those members of creation."

Meanwhile she had put on the bracelets. It
represented two serpents twisted together and kissing
each other. On the head of each rested a tiny
crown. From the mass of other trinkets, a heavy
silver arrow, had got into her hands and it also left
its prison-house for a fairer abode. It was drawn-
through the meshes of the golden threaded net.

As if to try the effect of the ornaments. Dame
Hadwig now walked with stately steps through the
chamber. Her attitude seemed to challenge ad-
miration, but the hall was empty; even the cat had
slunk away. Mirrors there were none on the walls,
and as for the furniture, its adaptation to comfort
was but small, according to our present views.

Praxedis' thoughts were still busy with the sub'

14 EKKEIIARD.

ject just discussed. "My gracious Mistress," said
she, "I nevertheless felt very sorry for him."

"Sorry for whomi"

"For the emperor's son. He said that you had
appeared to him in a dream, and that all his hap-
piness depended upon you."

"Let the dead rest," said Dame Hadwig testily,
"I had rather that you took your guitar and sang
me the Greek ditty:

"Constantine thou foolish lad,
Constantine leave off thy weeping ! "

"The lute is broken, and all the strings torn,
since my Lady Duchess pleased to . . ."

"To throw it at the head of Count Boso of
Burgundy," said Dame Hadwig. • "That \vas well
done indeed, for who told him to come uninvited to
Sir Burkhard's funeral, and to preach to me, as if
he were a saint? — So we will have the lute mended,
and meanwhile, my Greek treasure, canst thou tell
me, why I have donned these glittering ornaments
to-day 1"

"God is all-knowing," said the Greek maid, "I
cannot tell."

After this she was silent. So was Dame Hadwig,
and there ensued one of those long significant pauses
generally preceding self-knowledge. At last the
Duchess said: "Well to say the truth I don't know
myself!" — and looking dismally at the floor, added:
"I believe I did it from ennui. But then the top
of the Hohentwiel is but a dreary nest, — especially
for a widow. Praxedis, dost thou know a remedy
against dullness?"

EKKEHARD. I5

"I once heard from a very wise preacher," said
Praxedis, "that there are several remedies. Sleep-
ing, drinking and travelling — but that the best is
fasting and praying."

Then Dame Hadwig rested her head on her
lily-white hand, and looking sharply at the quick-
witted Greek, she said: "To-morrow we will go on
a journey."

1 6 EKKF.IIARD.

CHATTER II.
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 re-
ceived the duty from all those who travelled to
Italy, and tlie market-master, as well as those wht)
held any official position, came to meet their
sovereign; and calling out lustily "Hail Herro!"
"Hail Liebo"* waved big branches of mighty fir-

* Old German words.

EKKEHARD. I 7

trees over their heads. Graciously returning their
salutations, the Duchess walked through the de-
ferential 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 asser-
tion, 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

Ekkehard. 1. 2

1 8 KKKEHARD.

the Bodcnsec, through which many a wild torrent
rushed in mad flight, whilst on the other side rose
the gigantic rocks of the Alpstein, whose snow-
capped 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

EKKEHARD. 1 9

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 pre-
scribed 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, tlie pious
monks nevertheless followed this rule to the letter.

Only the guard on the watch-tower stood up-
right 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 in-
tently. "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

20 EKKEHARD,

weaving their cob-webs in it, he gave it a good
nibbing.

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 approach-
ing party with a very puzzled look. "Women-
folk?" 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 con-
clude, 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, every-
thing 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 )^oung inquisitive faces.
Many a lovely dream vanished out of the solitary
cells, without ever coming to an end, and many a

EKKEHARD. 21

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 care-
fully in his straw mattress.

The Abbot Cralo jumped up from his chair;
stretched his arms heavy with sleep, and then dip-
ping 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 un-
pleasantly 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 court-
yard.

"Can't you hasten?" called out one of the party
outside. Then the abbot commanded the door-
keeper 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

22 EKKEHARD.

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 im-
pure, 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 monaster}^ at her entire disposal."
Dame Hadwig who had been sitting on horse-
back 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

EKKEHARD. 2$

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 monostery."

Then the much afflicted man perceived that fur-
ther 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 be-
fore 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. Othmafs 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, oppo-

24 EKKKHAKD.

site 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, light-
ing up their different fixces.

They were tried men; a holy senate, well pleas-
ing 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
Ithe 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.

EKKEIIARD, ^5

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, j
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 turn-
ing-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 pre-
ferred fighting with wicked men, to wresding 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 some-
thing 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

26 EKKEHARD.

been: that in the large dictionary by Bishop Salomon,
beside the words "■rahulista 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 whoU
cisalpine world, but the greatest of St. Callus's dis
ciples, with regard to length of body, were the
Scotchmen, who had taken their stand close to the
entrance.

Fortegian and Failan, Dubslan and Brendan antl
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 as-
sembly. He had but lately administered the won-
drous remedy for the abbot's lame foot; an oint-
ment made of fish-brain, and wrapping it up, in
the fresh skin of a wolf, the warmth of which wa>
to stretch out the contracted sinews. His nick-
name 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

EKKEHARD. 27

collection of wild beasts, and Gerhard the preacher,
and Folkard the painter. Who could name them
all, the excellent masters, whose names, when men-
tioned 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 pro-
tection, which he threw over the wall, when depart-
ing well proved."

But in thi.s way, the great difficulty, — the person
asking for admittance being a woman, — could not
be got rid of. The stricter ones amongst the bro-
therhood grumbled, and Notker, the peppercorn,
said: "She is the widow of that destroyer of coun-
tries, and ravager of monasteries, who once carried
off our most precious chalice as a war-conti-ibution,
saying the derisive words: 'God neither eats nor
drinks, so what can he do with golden vessels?'
1 warn you not to unbar the gate." This advice

28 EKKEHARD.

however did not quite suit the abbot, as he wished
to find a compromise. The debate became ver
stormy, one saying this, the other that. ]3rotli'
Wolo on hearing that the discussion was about
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 tiie
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 capti-
vated 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 ne-
cessary 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."

EKKEHARD. 29

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 tluough 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
Ceroid 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 ^^Jusftcs ger-
nmiavit,'^ the monotous hymn in praise of St. Bene-
dict, was struck up by the monks, who were now
heard approaching. The heavy gate opened creak-
ing on its hinges, and out came the abbot at the

30

EKKEHARD.

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 1"

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 forth-
with 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 cham-
pions 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 direc-
tion which the abbot's forefinger indicated, then
beheld Ekkehard, and it was a long gaze, which
she cast on his taU handsome figure, and noble
countenance, glowing with youth and intellect.
"We shall not turn back," was implied by a signi-
ficant 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

EKKEHARD. 3 1

and approaching the custodian, she said: "Now
then, perform your office."

Ekkehard had been trying meanwhile to com-
pose an address, which in faultless Latin was in-
tended 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 con-
nexion 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

32 EKKEHARD.

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 con-
sidered 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

EKKEHARD. 33

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 canied 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 Had wig 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."

Ekkehard. I. 3

34 EKKEHARD.

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 per-
ceived 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.

EKKEHARD. 35

CHAPTER III.

Wiborad the Recluse.

The one who was least of all delighted, by the
arrival of the unexpected guests, was Romeias the
gate-keeper. He had a presentiment, what part of
tlie trouble was likely to fall to his share, but he
did not yet know the whole of it. Whilst the abbot
received the Duchess, Ceroid the steward, came up
to him and said:

"Romeias prepare to go on an errand. You
are to tell the people on the different farms, to send
in the fowls that are due, before evening, as they
will be wanted at the feast, and besides you are to
procure as much game as possible."

This order pleased Romeias well. It was not
the first time that he had been to ask for fowls, and
yeomen and farmers held him in great respect, as
he had a commanding manner of speaking. Hunt-
ing was at all times the delight of his heart, and so
Romeias took his spear, hung the cross-bow over
his shoulder, and was just going to call out a pack
of hounds, when Ceroid pulled his sleeve and said:
"Romeias, one thing more! You are to accompany
the duchess' waiting-women, who have been for-
bidden to enter the monastery, to the Schwarza-
Thal, and present them to the pious Wiborad, who

3*

36 EKKEHARD.

is to entertain them as pleasantly as may be, until
the evening. And you are to be very civil, Romeias,
and I tell you there is a Greek maid amongst them
with the darkest eyes imaginable . . ."

On hearing this, a deep frown of displeasure
darkened Romeias's forehead, and vehemently thrust-
ing his spear to the ground he exclaimed: "I am
to accompany womenfolk? That is none of the
business of the gate-keeper of St. Callus's monas-
tery— " but Gerold with a significant nod towards
him, continued: "Well, Romeias, you must try to
do your best; and have you never heard that watch-
men, who have faithfully performed their missions,
have found an ample jug of wine in their room of
an evening, — eh, Romeias?"

The discontented face brightened up considerably,
and so he went down to let out the hounds. The
blood-hound and the beagle jumped up gaily, and
the little beaver-puppy also set up a joyous bark,
hoping to be taken out likewise; but with a con-
temptuous kick it was sent back, for the hunter had
nothing to do with fish-ponds and their inhabitants.
Surrounded by his noisy pack of hounds, Romeias
strode out of the gate.

Praxedis and the other waiting-women of the
Duchess, had dismounted from their horses and
seated themselves on a grassy slope, chatting away
about monks and cowls and beards, as well as
about the strange caprices of their mistress, when
Romeias suddenly appeared before them and said:
"Come on!"

Praxedis looked at the rough sports-man, and

EKKEHARD. 37

not quite knowing, what to make of him, pertly
said: "Where to, my good friend?"—

Romeias however merely lifted his spear and
pointing with it to a neighbouring hill behind the
woods, held his tongue.

Then Praxedis called out: "Is speech such a
rare article in St. Gall, that you do not answer
properly when questioned?"

The other maids giggled, upon which Romeias
said solemnly: "May you all be swallowed up by
an earthquake, seven fathom deep."

"We are very much obliged to you, good friend,"
was Praxedis's reply, and the necessary preliminaries
for a conversation being thus made, Romeias in-
formed them of the commission he had received,
and the women followed him willingly enough.

After some time the gate-keeper found out, that
it was not the hardest work to accompany such
guests, and when the Greek maid, desired to know
something about his business and sport, his tongue
got wonderfully loosened and he even related his
great adventure with the terrible boar, into whose
side he had thrown his spear and yet had not been
able to kill it, for one of its feet would have loaded a
cart, and its hair stood up as high as a pine-tree,
and its teeth were twelve feet long at the least.
After 'this he grew still more civil, for when the
Greek once stopped, to listen to the warbling of a
thrush, he waited also patiently enough, though a
singing-bird was too miserable a piece of game for
him to give much heed to; and when Praxedis bent
down for a pretty brass-beetle, crawling about in

38 EKKEHARD.

the moss, Romeias politely tried to push it to-
wards her, with his heavy boot, and when in doing
so he crushed it instead, this was certainly not his
intention.

They climbed uj) a wild, steep wood-path, beside
which the Schwarza-brook flowed over jagged rocks.
On that slope the holy Gallus had once fallen into
some thorny bushes, and had said to his companion,
who wanted to lift him up: "Here let me lie, for
here shall be my resting-place and my abode for
ever."

They had walked far, before they came to a
clearing in the fir- wood, where leaning against the
sheltering rocks stood a simple chapel in the shape
of a cross. Close to it a square little stone-hut was
built against the rock in which but one tiny window
with a wooden shutter, was to be seen. Opposite
there stood another hut exactly like it, having also
but one little window.

It was customary at that time for those who in-
clined to the monastic life, and who as St. Benedict
expressed himself, felt strong enough to fight with
the Devil, without the assistance of pious com-
panions, to have themselves immured in that way.
'ITiey were called "Reclausi" that is Walled-in, and
their usefulness and aim in life, may v/ell be com-
pared to that of the pillar-saints in Egypt. The
sharj) winds of winter, and frequent fall of snow,
rendered their exposure in the open air somewhat
impossible, but the longing for an anchorite's life,
was nevertheless quite as strong.

Within those four walls on Erin-hill there lived

EK.KEHARD. 39

the Sister Wiborad, a far-famed recluse of her time.
She came from KHngnau in Aargau, and had been a
proud and prudish virgin, learned in many an art;
besides being able to recite all the Psalms in the
Latin tongue, which she had learnt from her brother
Hitto. She was not however quite opposed to the
idea of sweetening the life of some man or other,
but the flower of the youth at Aargau did not find
grace in her eyes; and one day she set out on a
pilgrimage to Rome. There in the holy city her
restless mind must have undergone some great
shock, but none of her contemporaries ever knew in
what way. For three entire days her brother Hitto
ran up and down the Forum through the halls of
the Colliseum, and the triumphal arch of Constan-
tine to the four-faced Janus near the Tiber, seeking
for his sister and not finding her, and on the morn-
ing of the fourth day, she walked in by the Salarian
gate, carrying her head very high, and whilst her
eyes gleamed strangely she said, that things would
not be right in the world until the due amount of
veneration was shown unto St. Martin.

After returning to her home, she bequeathed all
her wealth to the bishop's church at Constance, on
condition that a great festival in honor of St. Martin,
should be held every year on the nth of November.
Then she went to live in a small house where the
holy Zilia had lived before, and there led a hermit's
life, until she grew dissatisfied, and betook herself
to the valley of St. Gallus. The bishop himself
accompanied her, put the black veil on her head
with his own hands, and after leading her into the

40 EKKEHARD.

cell, he laid the first stone with which the entrance
was closed up. Then he pronounced his blessing,
imprinting his seal four times into the lead, which
joined the stones together, whilst the monks who
had accompanied him, chaunted sad solemn strains,
as if someone was being buried.

The people thereabout held the recluse in great
'honour. They called her a "hard-forged Saint"
and on many a Sunday they flocked to the meadow
before her cell, and listened to Wiborad, who stood
preaching at her window, and several women went
to live in her neighbourhood, to be instructed in all
the virtues.

"We have arrived at the place of our destina-
tion," said Romeias, upon which Praxedis and her
companions looked about in every direction; but
not a human being was to be seen. Only some
belated butterflies and beetles buzzed drowsily in
the sunshine and the cricket chirped merrily, hidden
in the grass. The shutter at Wiborad's window was
almost shut, so that but a scanty ray of sunshine
could penetrate; and from within came the mono-
tonous hollow tones of a person chaunting psalms,
with a somewhat nasal sound, breaking the silence
without. Romeias knocked against the shutter with
his spear, but this had no eifect on the psalm-
chaunting individual inside. Then the gate-keeper
said: "We must try some other way of rousing her
attention."

Romeias was rather a rough sort of man, or he
would not have behaved as he did.

EKKEHARD. 4 1

He began singing a song, such as he often sang
to amuse the cloister-pupils, when they managed to
steal off into his watch-tower, there to plague him,
by pulling his beard or by making all sorts of ab-
surd noises on his big horn. It \vas one of those
ditties, which from the time that the German tongue
was first spoken, have been sung -by the thousand,
on hills and highroads, beneath hedges and woody
dells, and the wind has carried them on and spread
them further. The words of this were as follows:

' I know an oak-tree fair to see,
In yonder shady grove,
There bills and coos the lifelong day
A beautiful wild dove.

I know a rock in yonder vale,
Around which bats are flitting
There, old and hoary in her nest
An ugly owl is sitting.

The wild dove is my heart's delight.
And with a song I greet it ;
The arrow keep I for the owl
To kill it when I meet it."

This song had about the same effect, as if Ro-
meias had thrown a heavy stone against the shutter.
Instantly there appeared a figure at the little win-
dow, from the withered and scraggy neck of which,
rose a ghastly woman's head, in whose countenance
the mouth had assumed a rather hostile position to-
wards the nose. A dark veil hid the rest, and
bending out of the little window as far as she could,
she cried aut with ominously gleaming eyes: "Art
thou come back, Satanas?"

42 EKKEHARD.

Romeias then advanced a few steps and said
complacently: "Nay, the Evil One does not know
such fine songs as Romeias, the monastery's gate-
keeper. Calm yourself Sister Wiborad, I bring you
some dainty damsels, whom the Abbot warmly
recommends to your kind reception."

"Take yourselves off, ye deceiving phantoms!"
screamed the recluse. "I know the snares of the
'J'empter. Hence, begone!"

But Praxedis now approached the window, and
humbly dropping a low curtsey to the old hag, ex-
plained to her that she did not come from hell, but
from the Hohentwiel. Showing that the Greek
maiden could be a little deceitful, she added, that
she had already heard so much of the great piety
of the far-famed Sister Wiborad, that she had availed
herself of the first opportunity of paying her a visit,
though the fact was, that she had before that day
never heard about the cell and its inhabitant.

After this the wrinkles on Wiborad's forehead
began somewhat to disappear. " Give me thy hand,
stranger," said she, stretching her arm out of the
window, which as the sleeve fell back, could be
seen in all its skinny leanness.

Praxedis held up her right hand, and as the
recluse touched with her dry fingers the soft warm
hand with its throbbing pulses, she became slowly
convinced, that the young girl was a being of flesh
and blood.

Romeias on perceiving this change for the better
rolled some big stones under the window of the
cell. "In two hours I shall be back to fetch you; —

EKKEHARD. 43

God bless you, virgins all," he said aloud and then
added in a whisper to the Greek maid, — "and don't
be frightened if she should fall into one of her
trances."

Whisding to his dogs he then quickly strode
towards the wood. The first thirty steps or so, he
got on without any impediment; but then he sud-
denly stopped; and turning first his shaggy head
round, and then the whole body, he stood leaning
on his spear, intently gazing at the spot before the
cell, as if he had lost something there. Yet he had
forgotten nothing.

Praxedis smiled and kissed her hand to the
rudest of all gate-keepers. Then Romeias quickly
turned round again, shouldered his spear, — dropped
it, took it up again, then stumbled and finally
managed to complete his retreat, after which he
vanished behind the moss-grown stems.

"Oh thou child of the world, groping in dark-
ness," scolded the recluse, "what meant that move-
ment of thy hand?"

"A mere jest," replied Praxedis innocently.

"A downright sin," cried Wiborad in rough ac-
cents, so that Praxedis started, — and then continuing
with her preaching added: "Oh the Devil's works
and delusions! There you cast your eyes slily about
until they enter a man's heart like lightning, and
kiss your hands to him as if that were nothing! Is
it nought that he looks back who ought to be look-
ing forwards'? No man having put his hand to the
plough, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of

44 EKKEHAFiD.

God. 'A jestl' O give me hyssop to take away
your sin, and snow to wash you clean!"

"I did not think of that," admitted Praxedis
deeply blushing.

"That is the misery, that you do not think of
so many things;" — then looking at Praxedis from
head to foot she continued, "neither do you think
that wearing a bright green garment, and all such
flaring colours are an abomination unto those, who
have banished all worldly thoughts; and that thy
girdle is tied so loosely and negligently round thy
waist, as if thou wert a public dancer. Watch and
pray!"

Leaving the window for a few moments, the
recluse returned presently, and held out a coarsely
twisted cord.

"I have pity on thee, poor turtle-dove," she
said. "Tear off thy silken finery and receive here-
with the girdle of self-denial, from Wiborad's own
hand; and let it be a warning to thee, to have done
with all vain talkings and doings. And when thou
feelest the temptation again to kiss thy hand to the
gate-keeper of a monastery, turn thy head east-
wards and chaunt the psalm, 'Oh Lord, deliver me
from evil!'— -and if even then peace will not come
to thee, then light a wax-candle and hold thy fore-
finger over the flame, and thou wilt be saved; for
fire alone, cures fire."

Praxedis cast down her eye.

"Your words are bitter," she said.

"Bitter!" exclaimed the recluse. "Praised be
the Lord that my lips do not taste of sweets! The

EKKEHARD. 45

mouth of saints must be bitter. When Pachomius
sat in the desert, the angel of the Lord came unto
him, took the leaves from a laurel-tree, and writing
some holy words of prayer thereon, gave them to
Pachomius and said: 'Swallow these leaves, and
though they will be as bitter as gall in thy mouth,
they will make thy heart overflow with true wisdom.'
And Pachomius took the leaves and ate them, and
from that moment his tongue became bitter, but his
heart was filled with sweetness, and he praised the
Lord."

Praxedis said nothing, and there ensued a silence
which was not interrupted for some time. The
other maids of the Duchess had all vanished, for
when the recluse had handed out her girdle, they
nudged each other and then quietly glided away.
They were now gathering bunches of heather and
other autumnal flowers, giggling at what they had
witnessed.

"Shall we also put on such a belt?" said one of
them.

"Yes, when the sun rises black," replied the
other.

Praxedis had put the cord into the grass.

"I do not like robbing you of your girdle," she
now said shyly.

"Oh, the simplicity," exclaimed Wiborad, "the
girdle that we wear is no child's play like the one,
that 1 gave thee. The girdle of Wiborad is an
iron hoop with blunted spikes, — it clinks like a
chain and cuts into the flesh, — thou wouldst shudder
at the mere sight of it."

46 EKKEHARD.

Praxedis gazed towards the wood, as if spying
whether Romcias was not yet to be seen. The
recUise probably noticed that her guest did not feel
particularly comfortable, and now held out to her
a board, on which lay about half a dozen of red-
dish green crab-apples.

"Does time pass by slowly for thee, child of
the world?" she said. — "There, take these, if words
of grace do not satisfy thee. Cakes and sweet-meats
have I none, but these apples are fair in the sight
of the Lord. They are the nourishment of the
poor."

The Greek maid knew what politeness required.
But they were crab-apples, and after having, with
an effort swallowed the half of one, her pretty mouth
looked awry, and involuntary tears started into her
eyes.

"How dost thou like them?" cried the recluse.
Then Praxedis feigned as if the remaining half fell
by chance from her hand. "If the Creator had
made all apples as acid as these," she said with a
sour-sweet smile, "Eve would never have eaten of
the apple."

Wiborad was offended. "Tis well," said she,
"that thou dost not forget the story of Eve. She
had the same tastes as thou, and therefore sin has
come into the world."

The Greek maid looked up at the sky but not
from emotion. A solitary hawk flew in circles over
Wiborad's hut. "Oh that I could fly with thee,
away to the Bodensee," she thought. Archly shak-

EKKEHARD. 47

ing her pretty head she then enquired : " What must
I do, to become as perfect as you are?"

"To renounce the world entirely," replied Wibo-
rad, " is a grace from above, which we poor mortals
can't acquire by ourselves. Fasting, drinking of
pure water, castigating the flesh and reciting of
psalms, — all these are mere preparations. The most
important thing is to select a good patron-saint.
We women are but frail creatures, but fervent prayer
brings the champions of God to our side, to assist
us. Imagine, before this little window, there he
often stands in lonely nights, — he, whom my heart
has elected, the valiant Bishop Martin, and he holds
out his lance and shield, to protect me from the
raging devils. An aureole of blue flames crowns
his head, flashing through the darkness like summer-
lightning, and as soon as he appears the demons
fly away shrieking. And when the battle is over,
then he enters into friendly communion with me.
I tell him all that weighs on my poor heart; — all
the grief which my neighbours cause me, and the
wrong which I suffer from the cloister-folk; and the
Saint nods to me and shakes his curly head, and
all that I tell him, he carries to heaven and repeats
it to his friend the Archangel Michael, who keeps
watch every Monday, before the throne of God
Almighty. There it comes before the right ear, and
Wiborad the last of the least is not forgotten. . . ."

"Then I shall also choose St. Martin to become
my patron-saint," exclaimed Praxedis. But this
had not been the drift of. W^iborad's praises. She
threw a contemptuous half jealous look on the rosy

48 EK.KEIIARD,

cheeks of the young girl. "The Lord pardon thee,
thy presumption!" cried she with folded hands—
"dost thou believe that this can be done with a
llippant word and smooth face"? Indeed! Many
long years have I striven and fasted until my face
became wrinkled and furrowed, — and he did not
favour me even with one single look! He is a high
and mighty Saint and a valiant soldier of the Lord,
who only looks on long tried champions."

"He will not rudely shut his ears against my
prayers," exclaimed Praxedis.

"But thou shalt not pray to him," cried Wibo-
rad angrily. "What has he to do with thee? For
such as thou art, there are other patron-saints. I
will name thee one. Choose thou the pious Father
Pachomius for thyself."

"Him, I don't know," said Praxedis.

"Bad enough, and it is high time for you to
make his acquaintance. He was a venerable hermit
who lived in the Theban desert, nourishing himself
with wild roots and locusts. He was so pious that
he heard during his lifetime, the harmony of the
spheres and planets and often said: 'If all human
beings would hear, what has blessed my ears, they
would forsake house and land; and he who had put
on the right shoe, would leave the left one behind,
and hasten hither.' Now in the town of Alexandria
there was a maid, whose name was Thais, and no-
body could tell, which was greater, her beauty or
her frivolity. Then Pachomius said unto himself
'Such a woman is a plague for the whole Egyptian
land,' and after cutting his beard and anointing him-

EKKEHARD. 49

self he mounted a crocodile, which by prayer he
had made subservient to himself, and on its scaly
back was carried down the Nile; and then he went
to Thais, as if he also were an admirer of hers. His
big stick, which was a palmtree, he had taken with
him, and he managed to shake the heart of the
sinner so, as to make her burn her silken robes , as
well as her jewels, and she followed Pachomius, as
a lamb does the shepherd. Then he shut her up
in a rocky grave, leaving only a tiny window in it;
instructed her in prayer, and after five years her
purification was completed, and four angels carried
her soul up to heaven."

This story did not impress Praxedis very favour-
ably.

"The old hermit with his rough beard and bitter
lips is not good enough for her," she thought, "and
therefore I am to take him for myself," but she did
not dare to give utterance to these thoughts.

At this moment the curfew bell began to ring
in the monastery, and at this signal the recluse
stepped back into her chamber and closed her
shutter. The hollow sound of psalm-chanting was
heard again, accompanied by the noise of falling
strokes. She was flagellating herself.

Meanwhile Romeias had begun his sport in the
distant wood, and thrown his spear — but he had
mistaken the trunk of a felled oak for a young deer.
Angrily he pulled out his weapon from the tenacious
wood; — it was the first time in his life, that such a
thing had happened to him.

Before Wiborad's cell total silence reigned for a

Ekkehard. I. 4

50

EKKEHARD,

considerable length of time, and when her voice
was again heard, it was quite altered; the tones be-
ing fuller and vibrating with passion: "Come down
unto me, holy Martin; valiant champion of God;
thou consolation of my solitude; thou light in
my darkness. Descend unto me, for my soul is
ready to receive thee and my eyes are thirsting for
thee."—

After this there ensued a pause, and then Praxedis
started with terror. — A hollow shriek had come from
within. She pushed open the shutter and looked
in. The recluse was prostrated on her knees, her
arms extended beseechingly, and her eyes had a
fixed, stony expression. Beside her lay the scourge.

"For God's sake," cried Praxedis, "what is the
matter with you?"

Wiborad jumped up and pressed the hand, which
the Greek maid extended to her, convulsively.
"Child of Earth," said she in broken accents, "that
lias been deemed worthy to witness the agonies of
Wiborad, — strike thy bosom; for a token has been
given. He, the elected of my soul has not come;
offended that his name has been profaned by un-
holy lips; but the holy Gallus has appeared to my
soul's eye, — he who as yet has never deigned to
visit my cell, and his countenance was that of a
sufferer and his garments were torn, and half burnt.
That means that his monastery is threatened by
some great disaster. We must pray that his disciples
may not stumble in the path of righteousness."

Bending her head out of the window she called
out, "Sister Wendelgard!"

EKKEHARD. 5I

Then the shutter was opened on the opposite
cell and an aged face appeared. The face belonged
to good Dame Wendelgard, who in that fashion
was mourning for her spouse, who had never re-
turned from the last wars.

"Sister Wendelgard," said Wiborad, "let us sing
three times 'Be merciful to us, oh Lord.'"

But the Sister Wendelgard had just been in-
dulging in loving thoughts of her noble spouse.
She still harboured an unalterable conviction, that
some day he would return to her from the land of
the Huns, and she would have liked best, there and
then to leave her cell, to go and meet him.

"It is not the time for psalm-singing," she re-
plied.

"So much the more acceptable, the voluntary
devotion, rises up to Heaven," said Wiborad, after
which she intoned the said psalm, with her rough
unmelodious voice. But the expected response did
not come. "Why dost thou not join me in singing
David's song?"

"Because I don't wish to do so," was Sister
Wendelgard's unceremonious reply. The fact was,
that during the many years of her seclusion she
had at last grown weary of it. Many thousand
psalms had she sung at Wiborad's bidding, in order
to induce St. Martm to deliver her husband, out of
the hands of the infidels; but the sun rose and set
daily — and yet he never came. And so she had
begun to dislike her gaunt neighbour, with her
visions and phantasms.

Wiborad however turned her eyes upwards,

52 EKKEHARD.

like one who thinks he can discover a comet in
clear day-light. "Oh thou vessel, full of iniquity
and wickedness!" she cried, "I will pray for thee,
that the evil spirits may be banished from thee.
Thine eye is blind as thy mind is dark."

But the other quietly replied: "Judge not, that
thou be not judged. My eyes are as clear as they
were a year ago, when in a moon-shiny night, they
beheld you getting out of your window, and going
away Heaven knows where; — and my mind still
refuses to believe, that prayers coming from such a
mouth can work miracles."

Then Wiborad's pale face became distorted, as
if she had bitten a pebble. "Woe to tliee, whom the
Devil has deluded!" screamed she and a flood of
scolding words streamed from her lips; but her
neighbour knew well how to answer her with similar
missiles.

Quicker and quicker the words came, confusing
and mixing themselves together, whilst the rocky
walls threw back unharmonious echoes, and fright-
ened a pair of little owlets, which leaving their
cranny nest flew away screeching ... in truth at the
famous quarrel beneath the portal of the cathedral
at Worms, when the tw^o queens* were scolding
and upbraiding each other, the volubility and anger
exhibited were not to be compared to that of the
pious recluses.

In mute astonishment Praxedis stood listening
to the noise, secretly wishing to interfere and make

* Chriemhilde and Brunhilde.

EKKEHARD. 53

peace; but then a soft thing fares ill between two
sharp ones.

But now the merry notes of a horn, intermingled
with the loud barking of dogs was heard from
the wood, and a moment later, the tall majestic
figure of Romeias could be seen also, approaching
slowly.

The second time that he had thrown the spear,
it had not hit a tree, but a magnificent stag of ten
antlers, which now hung over his shoulder; and
besides this, he carried fastened to his belt, six
hares which had been caught in snares.

On beholding the fight before him, the sports-
man's heart rejoiced mightily. Without saying a
word, he loosened two of the living hares, and
swinging one in each hand, he threw them so dex-
terously into the narrow little windows, that Wiborad
suddenly feeling the soft fur brushing past her head,
started back with a loud scream. The brave Sister
Wendelgard likewise got a great shock, for her black
habit had loosened itself in the heat of battle, and
the wretched little hare, getting entangled therein,
and trying to discover an outlet, caused her no
small fright. So both stopped their scolding, closed
the shutters, and there was silence again on Erin-
hill.

"We'll go home," said Romeias to the Greek
maid, "for it is getting late." Praxedis who was
not over pleased, either by the quarrelling or Ro-
meias' way of making peace, had no desire to stay
any longer. Her companions had gone back some
time ago, following their own inclinations.

54 EKKEHARD.

"Hares must be of small value here, as you
throw them away in such an unmannerly way," she
said.

"True, they are not worth much," Romcias re-
joined laughingly, "yet the present deserved thanks
at least."

Whilst still speaking, the dormer-window of
Wiborad's roof opened; about half of her gaunt
lean figure became visible, and a stone of some
weight, flew over Romeias head, without hitting
him. That was her way of thanking him for the
hare.

From this can be seen, that the forms of social
intercourse differed somewhat from the present
fashions.

Praxedis expressed her astonishment.

"Oh, such things happen about once a week,"
explained Romeias. "A moderate overflow of gall,
gives new strength to such old hags, and it is doing
them a kindness, if one helps them to efifect such a
crisis."

"But she is a saint," said Praxedis shyly.

After first murmuring some unintelligible words
in his beard, Romeias said: "Well, she ought to be
thankful if she is one, and I am not going to tear
off her garb of sanctity. But since I was at
Constance on a visit to my mother, I have heard
many a tale, that's not quite as it ought to be. It
has not yet been forgotten in those parts, how she
had to defend herself before the bishop on account
of this and that, which is none of my business; and
the Constance merchants will tell you, without your

EKKEHARD. 55

asking them, that the recluses near the cathedral
have lent them money, given to them by pious
pilgrims, on usurious interest. It was not my fault,
that once, when I was still a boy, I found in a quarry
a strange big pebble. When I knocked it to pieces
with my hammer, there was a toad in the middle,
looking very much astonished. Since then I know
what a recluse is like. Snip-snap — trari-trara!"

Romeias accompanied his new friend to the
house which lay beyond the cloister-walls and which
was destined to receive her. Before it, the other
maids were standing, and the posy of wild flower's
they had gathered lay on a stone table before the
door.

"We must say Good-bye," said the gate-keeper.

"Farewell," said Praxedis.

He then went away, and after going tliirty steps
suddenly turned round, — but the sun does not rise
twice in one day; least of all for the keeper of a
cloister-gate! No hand was being kissed to him.
Praxedis had entered the house. Then Romeias
slowly walked back, and without troubling himself to
ask leave, hastily took up the flowers from the stone
table, and went away. The stag and four hares he
brought to the kitchen. After this he toiled up to
his room in the watch-tower, fastened the nosegay
to the wall with the help of a nail, and taking a
piece of charcoal, drew a heart under it, which had
two eyes, a long stroke in lieu of a nose, and a
cross-line for a mouth.

He had just finished this, when the cloister-pupil
Burkhard came up, bent upon amusing himself.

56 EKKEHARD.

Romeias seized him with a powerful grasp, held out
the charcoal and placing him before the wall, said:
"There, write the name under it!"

"What name?" asked the boy.

"Hers," commanded Romeias.

"What do I know about her, and her name,"
testily replied the pupil.

"There one can see again, what is the use of
studying," grumbled Romeias. "Every day the boy
sits for eight hours behind his asses'-skins and does
not know the name of a strange damsel!" . . .

EKKEHARD. 57

CHAPTER IV.

In the Monastery.

Dame . Hadvvig had meanwhile performed her
devotion.s at the grave of the holy Galliis. The
Abbot was then about to propose a walk in the
cloister-garden, but she asked him, first to show her
the treasures of the church. The mind of woman,
however intellectual, ever delights in ornaments,
jewels and fine garments. The Abbot tried hard
to dissuade her from this wish; saying that their's
was but a poor little monastery, and that his cousin,
no doubt, had seen far better things on her travels,
or at court, but it was all in vain. So they went to
the sacristy. Here the cupboards were first opened,
revealing many purple chasubles and magnificent
priest's garments, with embroidered pictures, re-
presentations of the holy history. Here and there
was also some piece strongly reminding one of Roman
heathenism, such as the marriage of Mercury with
Philology. When the cupboards were done with,
large boxes were opened, full of silver lamps, golden
crowns, finely wrought frames for the holy books;
and ornaments for the altar. These things had
mostly been brought over the Alps by monks, who
tying them round their knees, had thus slily pre-
served them from covetous eyes and hands. Beautiful

58 EKKEHARD.

vessels, in all sorts of curious forms; candlesticks in
the shape of dolphins; golden drinking-cups resting
on silver pillars; censers and many other beautiful
articles, altogether a rich treasure. A chalice made
of a single piece of amber, which glistened wonder-
fully when held to the light, attracted the Duchess'
notice. At the edge a small piece was broken off.

"When my predecessor Hartmuth was dying,"
said the Abbot, "that little bit was powdered and
given to him, mixed with wine and honey, to calm
the fever."

In the middle of the amber was a tiny fly, so
well preserved, as if it had but just settled down
there. Probably the little insect sitting contentedly
on its blade of grass, in antediluvian times, when
the liquid resin streamed over it, litrie thought,
that it would thus be bequeathed to far-off genera-
tions.

But such dumb testimonials of nature's powers,
were little heeded then. At least the chamberlain
Spazzo, who surveyed and examined everything with
a careful eye, was occupied the while with very
different ideas. He thought how much pleasanter
it would be to be on war-terms with the pious
monks, and instead of claiming their hospitality as
a friend, to enter arms in hand, and carry all the
treasures away. Having witnessed in his time many
a reverse of friendship between the high-born, he
was inwardly speculating on this possibility, and
eyeing keenly the entrance to the sacristy, he mur-
mured to himself: "Coming from the choir 'tis the
first door to the right!"

EKKEIIARD. 59

The Abbot who probably thought Hkewisc that
the prolonged examination of the gold and silver,
produced a hankering for their possession, slily
omitted opening the last box, which contained the
most magnificent things of all, and in order to
divert their attention from them urgently proposed,
their going into the open air.

So the party directed their steps towards the
garden, which occupied a considerable space, and
produced much vegetable and fruit for the kitchen,
as well as useful herbs for medicines.

In the orchard a large portion was divided off
and reserved for wild animals and numerous birds,
such as were to be found in the neighbouring Alps;
and rarer ones which had been sent as presents, by
stranger guests from foreign countries.

Dame Hadwig took great pleasure in looking at
the rough uncouth bears, which were funny enough
when climbing about on the tree in their prison.
Close to these, a pug-nosed monkey, chained to-
gether with a baboon, played their merry gambols,
— two creatures of which a poet of that time, says
that neither one nor the other, possessed a single
trace of the faculty of making itself useful, by which
to establish a claim to its existence.

An old wild goat with bent down head stood
immovably within its narrow boundary, for since
it had been carried off from the icy atmosphere of
its snowy mountain peaks and glaciers, the native
of the Alps had become blind; — for it is not every
creature that thrives amid low human habitations.

In another division a large family of thick-

6o EKKEHARD.

skinned badgers was living. On passing them the
evil Sindolt exclaimed laughingly: "Heaven bless
you miserable little beasts, the chosen game of pious
monks."

On another side was heard a shrill whistle from
a troop of marmots, which were running quickly to
hide themselves in the chinks and crevices of the
artificial rockery, that served as their dwelling. Dame
Hadwig had never beheld such amusing little crea-
tures before. The Abbot told her of their way of
living.

"These animals," said he, "sleep more than any
other creature; but when awake, they show a won-
derful sharpness and forethought, for when winter
approaches, they gather up grass and hay wherever
they find it, and one of them lies down on its back,
whilst the others put on it everything they have
scraped together, and then they seize it by the tail,
and drag it like a loaded cart into their caverns.*

Then Sindolt said to the stout chamberlain
Master Spazzo: "What a pity that you have not be-
come a mountain-rat, that would have been a plea-
sant and graceful occupation for you."

When the Abbot had proceeded a few paces,
the evil Sindolt began to give a new sort of ex-
planation: "That is our Tutilo," said he, pointing
to a bear, which had just thrown down one of its
companions, — "that the blind Thieto," — pointing to
the wild goat, and he was just about to honour the
Abbot with some flattering comparison, when the
Duchess interrupted him by saying: "As you are

* This fable has its origin in the " hUtoria naturalW" of Pliaius.

EKKEHARD, 6 1

SO clever in finding similes, will you find one for
me also'?"

Sindolt became embarrassed. Luckily his eye
now fell on a beautiful silver-pheasant, which was
in the midst of a troop of cranes, basking in the
sunshine which lighted up its pearly grey feathers.

"There," said Sindolt.

But the Duchess turned round to Ekkehard, who
gazed dreamily at the bustle and life before him.

"What do you think of it?" asked she.

He started up. "Oh, mistress!" said he in soft
tones, "who is so audacious as to compare you to
anything that flies or crawls?"

"But if we desire it?"

"Then I only know of one bird," said Ekkehard.
"We have not got it, nor has anyone; in star-lit
midnights it flies high over our heads, brushing the
sky with its wings. The bird's name is Caradrion,
and when its wings touch the earth a sick man is
healed. Then the bird, inclining towards the man,
opens its beak over his mouth, and taking the man's
sickness unto itself rises up to the sun, and puri-
fies itself in the eternal light; and the man is
saved."

The Abbot's return put a stop to further similes.
One of the serving brothers was sitting on an
apple-tree, plucking the apples, and putting them
into baskets. When the Duchess approached the
tree, he was going to descend, but she made him a
sign to stop where he was.

Now, the singing of sweet boyish voices was
heard. The voices were those of the younger cloister-

62 EKKEHARD.

pupils who came to do homage to the Duchess.
Children as they were, the little fellows wore al-
ready the monk's habit, and several even the tonsun
on their eleven years old heads. When the pro-
cession of the little rosy-cheeked future abbots
came in sight, with their eyes cast down and sing-
ing their sequences so seriously, a slight, mocking
smile played round Dame Hadwig's lips, and with
her strong foot, she upset the nearest of the baskets,
so that the apples rolled about enticingly on the
ground, in the midst of the boys. But unabashed
they continued their walk; only one of the youngest
wanted to bend down and take up the tempting
fruit, which his companion forcibly prevented, by
taking a good hold of his girdle.

Much pleased the Abbot witnessed the young
folks' excellent behaviour and said: "Discipline dis
tinguishes human beings from animals, and if you
were to throw the apples of Hesperides amongst
them, they would remain stedfast."

Dame Hadwig was touched. "Are all your pupils
so well trained?" asked she.

"If you like to convince yourself with your own
eyes," said the Abbot, you will see that the elder
ones know quite as well the meaning of obedience
and submission."

The Duchess nodding an assent, was then led
into the outer cloister-school, in which the sons of
noblemen, and those who intended to join the secular
clergy, were educated.

They entered the upper class. In the lecturer's
chair stood Ratpert, the wise and learned teacher who

EKKEHARD. 63

was initiating his pupils into the mysteries of Aris-
totle's logic. With bent heads the young scholars
sat before their parchments, scarcely lifting their
eyes to look at the party now entering. The teacher
inwardly thought this a good opportunity to gather
some laurels, and called out, "Notker Labeo!" This
was the pearl amongst his pupils, the hope of science,
who on a weakly body carried a powerful head,
with an immense protruding under-lip, the cause of
his surname, the symbol of great determination and
perseverance on the stony roads of investigation.

"He will become a great man," whispered the
Abbot. "Already in his twelfth year he said that
the world was like a book, and that the monasteries
were the classical passages in it."

The young man in question, let his eyes glide
over the Greek text, and then translated with pom-
pous solemnity the deep intricate meaning thereof:

"If on a stone or piece of wood, you find a
straight line running through, that is the mutual line
of demarcation, of the even surface. If the stone
or wood were to split along that line, then we
should behold two intersections, near the visible
chink, where there was only one line before. Besides
this we see two new surfaces, which are as broad
as the object was thick, before one could see the
new surface. From this it appears that this object
existed as one whole, before it was separated."

But when this translation had been well got
through, some of the young logicians put their heads
together, and began to whisper, and the whispers
became louder and louder; — even the cloister-pupil

64 EKKEHARD.

Hepidan, who undisturbed by Notker's capital trans-
lation, was employing all his skill to carve a devil
with a double pair of wings, and a long curling
tail, on the bench before him, stopped with his
work. Then the teacher addressed the next boy,
with the question: "But how does the surface be-
come a mutual line of demarcation?" upon which
he began to blunder over the Greek text; but the
commotion in the school-benches became louder
stiir, so that there arose a buzzing and booming
like distant alarm bells. The translation ceased
altogether and suddenly the whole mass of Ratpert's
pupils rushed up noisily, towards the Duchess. In
the next moment they had torn her from the Abbot's
side, shouting "caught, caught," and making barri-
cades with the benches, they repeated their cries:
"We have caught the Duchess of Suabia! What shall
be her ransom?"

Dame Hadwig, in the course of her life, had
found herself in various positions, but that she
could ever become the prisoner of school-boys had
certainly never entered her head. This having how-
ever the charm of novelty for her, she submitted to
her fate with a good grace.

Ratpert the teacher took out of the cupboard
a mighty rod, and swinging it over his head, like
a second Neptune, he recited, in a thundering
voice, the verses of Virgil:

"So far has the conceit, in your pitiful powers, decoyed you,
That, not awaiting my will, and rousing the lieavens and waters,
Ye have ventured to stir, ye rebellious winds of the ocean ?
Qtws ego ! ! "

EKKEHARD. 65

A renewed shout was the answer. The room
was already divided by a wall of benches and stools,
and Master Spazzo was inwardly meditating the ex-
pediency of an attack, and the effect of vigorous
blows on the heads of the ring-leaders. As for the
Abbot, he was perfectly speechless, as this unex-
pected audacity had quite paralysed his faculties for
the moment. The highborn prisoner stood at the
other end of the school-room, in a niche, surrounded
by her fifteen-years-old captors.

"What is the meaning of all this, ye wicked
boys?" asked she smilingly.

Then one of the rebels advanced, bent his knee
before her and humbly said: "He who comes as a
stranger, is without protection or peace, and peace-
less people are kept prisoners, until they have paid
a ransom for their liberty."

"Do you learn that out of your Greek books 1"
"No, mistress, that is German law."
"Very well, then I will ransom myself," said
Dame Hadwig, and laughing merrily, she seized the
red-cheeked logician, and drawing him towards her,
wanted to kiss him. He however tore himself away,
and joining the noisy ranks of his companions cried
out:

"That coin, we do not understand!"
"What ransom then do you exact?" asked the
Duchess who was fast getting impatient.

"The bishop of Constance was also our prisoner,"
replied the pupil, "and he obtained for us three
extra holidays in the year, as well as a feast of

Ekkehard. I. J

66 EKKEHARD.

bread and meat, and has further secured this to us
with his name and seal."

"Oh gluttonous youth!" said Dame Hadwig.
"Then I must at least do as much for you as the
bishop. Have you ever tasted the Felchen* from
the Bodenseel"

"No!" cried the boys.

"Then you shall receive six fish as an annual
present. This fish is good for young beaks."

"Do you secure this to us with your name and
seal?"

"If it must be so, yes."

"Long life to the Duchess of Suabia! All hail!"
was now shouted on all sides. "Hail! she is free."
The school-benches were quickly removed, the pas-
sage cleared, and jumping and shouting triumphantly
they led back their prisoner.

In the background the parchment leaves of
Aristotle flew up into the air, as outward signs of
joy. Even the corners of Notker Labeo's mouth
turned down into a broad grin, and Dame Hadwig
said: "The young gentlemen were very gracious.
Please to put back the rod into the cupboard,
honoured professor."

A continuation of the translation of Aristotle,
was not to be thought of. Who can tell, whether
the uproarious outbreak of the pupils, was not in
close connexion with their study of logic? Serious-
ness is often a very dry and leafless trunk; else folly
would scarcely find room, to wind her wanton
green-leaved tendrils around it . . .

* A peculiar kind of fish in the Bodensee.

EKKEHARD. 67

When the Duchess accompanied by the Abbot
had left the school-room, the latter said; "There is
nothing now left to show you but the library of the
monastery, the well for thirsty souls, the armory with
its weapons of science." But Dame Hadwig was
tired and so declined his offer.

"I must keep my word," said she, "and make
the donation to your boys documental. Will you
be pleased to have the parchment got ready, that I
may affix my signature and seal."

Sir Cralo conducted his guest to his apartments.
On going along the cross-passage, they passed a
small room, the door of which was open. Close to
the bare wall stood a pillar, from the middle of
which hung a chain. Over the portal, in faded
colours, was painted a figure which held a rod in
its lean hand. "Him whom the Lord loveth, he
chastiseth," was written under it in capital letters.

Dame Hadwig cast an enquiring look at the
Abbot.

"The scourging room!" replied he.

"Is nbne of the brothers just now liable to
punishment?" asked she, "it might be a warning
example."

Then the evil Sindolt's feet twitched as if he had
trodden on a thorn. He turned round as if he had
been attracted by a voice calling to him, and ex-
claiming, "I am coming," he quickly vanished into
the darker parts of the passage. He well knew why
he did so.

Notker the stutterer, after the labour of years,
had at last completed a psalm-book, adorned with

5*

68 EKKEHARD.

dainty drawings. This book the envious Sindolt had
destroyed at night; cutting it to pieces, and upset-
ling a jug of wine over it. On account of this, he
liad been sentenced to be flogged three times, and
the last instalment was still due. He knew the
room, and the instruments of penance hanging on
the walls well enough, from the nine-tailed "Scorpion"
down to the simple "wasp."

The Abbot hurried on. His state-rooms were
riclily decorated with flowers. Dame Hadwig threw
herself into the primitive arm-chair, to rest from the
fatigue of all the sight-seeing. She had received
many new impressions within the space of a few
hours. There was still half an hour left before
supper.

Had anyone taken the trouble to visit all the
cloister-cells, he might have satisfied himself, that
not a single inhabitant thereof had remained un-
affected by the arrival of the high-born guests. Even
those who pass their whole lives in seclusion, feel
that they owe homage to -woman.

The hoary Tutilo had remembered with a pang,
on the arrival ot the Duchess, that the left sleeve
of his habit was adorned with a hole. Under
ordinary circumstances the sleeve would probably
have remained unpatched, until the next great festival,
but now there was no time for delay. So he sat
down on his couch, provided with needle and thread,
busily mending the rent. Being once busy with such
things he also put new soles to his sandals; fasten-
ing them with nails, and humming a tune to speed
the work. Ratold the thinker, walked up and down

EKKEHARD. 69

in his cell, with a deep frown on his forehead, hop-
ing that an opportunity would present itself to praise
the virtues of the high-born guest in an improvised
speech, and to heighten the effect of the spontaneous
effusion, he was studying it beforehand. He in-
tended to take the following lines of Tacitus, "on
the Germans," for a text: "They believe also, that
there is something holy about women, and that they
have the gift of seeing into the future. Therefore
they never disdain the advice given by them, and
often follow their warnings." This was about all
that he knew of the other sex, but his squirrel-eyes
twinkled with the hope, of being able, from the
praise of the Duchess, easily to diverge to some
spiteful criticism on his brethren. Unfortunately
the opportunity to bring in his speech never came,
or he did not know how to seize it.

In another cell, six of the brothers, sat under
the huge ivory comb, which was suspended by an
iron chain from the ceiling. This was a very useful
institution established by Abbot Hartmuth. Mur-
muring the prescribed prayers, they assisted one an-
other in the careful arrangement of each others hair.
Many an overgrown tonsure was also restored to a
shining smoothness on that day.

While these things were going on in the monas-
tery itself, no less activity was displayed in the kitchen
under the superintendence of Gerold the steward.
And now resounded the tinkling of that bell, the
sounds of which were not heard without a pleasur-
able sensation, even by the most pious of the
brethren, as it was the signal for the evening-meal.

70 EKKEHARD.

Abbot Cralo led the Duchess into the refectory.
The large room was divided in the middle by nine
pillars, and around fourteen covered tables, the mem-
bers of the monastery, priests and deacons stood
assembled, like champions of the church militant.
These however did not pay any great attention to
the noble guest.

The duty of reader for that week, before the meals,
had to be performed by Ekkehard the custodian.
In honour of the Duchess he had chosen the 45th
psalm. He arose and said: "Oh Lord, open my
lips, that my mouth may speak forth thy praise," and
all repeated these words in a low murmur, as a sort
of blessing on his reading.

After that he lifted his voice and began reciting
the psalm, which Scripture itself calls a lovely
one.

"My heart is inditing a good matter: I speak of
the things which I have made, touching the king:
my tongue is the pen of a ready writer.

Thou art fairer than the children of men: grace
is poured into thy lips: therefore God hath blessed
thee for ever.

Gird thy sword upon thy thigh O most mighty,
with thy glory and thy majesty.

And in thy majesty ride prosperously because of
truth and meekness and righteousness.

'Hiine arrows are sharp in the heart of the
king's enemies; whereby the people fall under thee.

Thy throne, before God, is for ever and ever:
the sceptre of thy kingdom is a right sceptre.

Thou lovest righteousness and hatest wicked-

EKKEHARD. 7 1

ness: therefore God, thy God hath anointed thee
with the oil of gladness above thy fellows.

All thy garments smell of myrrh, and aloes and
cassia . . ."

The Duchess seemed to understand the latent
homage and as if she herself was being addressed in
the words of the psalm, she fastened her eyes intently
on Ekkehard. But the Abbot likewise had noticed
this, and made a sign to interrupt the reading; and
thus the psalm remained unfinished, and everyone
sat down, to supper.

Sir Cralo could not however prevent Dame Had-
wig's ordering the zealous reader, to sit down by
her side. According to rank, this seat on her left
side, had been destined for the old dean Gozbert;
but he for the last few minutes had been sitting on
thorns; for he had once indulged in a very rough-
spoken dispute with Dame Hadwig's late husband,
at the time when the latter carried off the precious
chalice, as a war-contribution. On that account he
had also a grudge against the Duchess, and had no
sooner remarked her intention, than he gladly moved
downwards, and pushed the custodian into his seat.
Next to Ekkehard came Spazzo the chamberlain,
and after him the monk Sindolt.

The meal began. The steward well knowing
that the arrival of stranger guests, fully sanctioned
an enlargement of the accustomed frugal cloister-
fare, had not restricted himself to the ordinary por-
ridge. The strict bill of fare of the late Abbot
Hartmuth was also not adhered to.

To be sure there appeared at first a steaming

72 EKKEHARD.

dish of millet-porridge, that those, who preferred
strictly to adhere to the prescribed rule, might
satisfy their hunger: but after that, one dehcacy fol-
lowed another in quick succession. Side by side
with the roast stag, stood the delicious bear's ham,
and even the beaver of the upper pond, which had
been robbed of its life, in honour of the occasion.
Pheasants, partridges, turtle-doves and a rich collec-
tion of smaller birds followed; as well as an im-
mense quantity of fish of all descriptions, so that
finally every species of animal, — crawling, flying or
swimming, that was good to eat, was represented on
the table.

Many an one of the brothers, fought a fierce
battle within the depths of his heart on that day.
Even Gozbert the old dean, — after having stilled
the craving of hunger with millet-porridge, and hav-
ing pushed aside with a tremendous frown, the
roasted stag and bear's ham, as if it were a tempta-
tion of the Evil One, — -when afterwards a beautifully
roasted grouse, was put down before him, felt the
odour thereof rise temptingly into his nostrils.
And with the savory smell the memories of his youth
came back; when he himself was a first-rate sports-
man, fully two score years ago, and when he went
out in the early morning to shoot the wood-cock,
and meet the game-keeper's bright-eyed daughter;
and twice he resisted the half involuntary movement
of his arm, the third time he felt his strength going,
and a moment after, one half of the bird lay before
him, and was hastily dispatched.

Spazzo the chamberlain, had watched with an

KKKEHARD. 73

approving nod, the appearance of the many dislies.
A large Rhine-sahiion had quickly disappeared under
his hands, and he now cast his eyes about, in search
of something to drink. Then Sindolt, his neigh-
bour, seized a small stone jug, poured out its con-
tents into a metal cup and said: "Your health in
the choicest wine of the monastery."

Master Spazzo intended to take a copious draught,
but scarcely had the liquid touched his palate, when
he put down the goblet hastily, shaking all over as
with the ague, and exclaimed, "then may the Devil
be friar!"

The evil Sindolt had given him a sour cider,
made of crab-apples, and sweetened with the juice
of the blackberry. On Master Spazzo's looking in-
clined to thank him by a blow, he quickly fetched
a jug of the delicious red " Valtelliner," wherewith
to soften his ire. The "Valtelliner" is a capital
wine; in which formerly the Roman Emperor Au-
gustus, drowned his grief over the lost battle of
Varus. By degrees Master Spazzo's good humour
returned; so that without knowing him, he willingly
drank to the health of the Bishop of Chur; to whom
the monastery was indebted for this wine, and
Sindolt did not fail to keep him company.

"What may your patron say to such drinking?"
asked the chamberlain.

"St. Benedict was a wise man," replied Sindolt,
"therefore he ordained, that although it had been
written, that wine was altogether no drink for monks,
yet as not a single person, at the present day, could
be persuaded of the justness of this observation;

74 ekki:hard.

and in consequence of the weakness of the human
mind, everyone should be allowed a bottle a day.
No one however is to drink to satiety, for wine will
make even the wisest swerve from the path of wis-
dom."

"Good," said Spazzo and drained his tumbler.

"On the other hand," continued Sindolt, "those
of the brotherhood, in whose district little or no
wine grows, must resign themselves, and praise the
Lord without grumbling."

"Good also," said Spazzo again emptying his
goblet.

Meanwhile the Abbot did his best, to entertain
his princely cousin. He first began, to sing the
praises of her late husband Sir Burkhard, but Dame
Hadwig's responses were but scanty and cold, so
that the Abbot found out, that everything has its
time; especially the love of a widow for her late
spouse. So he changed the conversation, asking
her, how the cloister-schools had pleased her.

"I feel sorry for the poor fellows, who are forced
to learn so much in their early days," said the
Duchess. "Is not that a burden for them under
the weight of which they suffer all their lives'?"

"Pardon me, noble cousin," replied the Abbot,
"if both in the capacity of friend and relation, I
beg you not to indulge in such thoughtless speech.
The study of science is no disagreeable obligation
for the young; rather is it to them like strawberries,
the more they eat the more they want."

"But what can they have to do with the heathen
art of logic?" asked Dame Hadwig.

EKKEHARD. 75

"That, in proper hands, becomes a weapon to
protect God's church," said the Abbot. "With such
arts, heretics were wont to attack believers, but now
we light them with their own arms; and beUeve me,
good Greek or Latin is a much finer instrument
than our native language, which even in the hands
of the ablest, is but an unwieldy bludgeon."

"Indeed," said the Duchess, "must we still learn
from you, what is to be admiredl I have existed
until now, without speaking the Latin tongue, Sir
Cousin."

"It would not harm you, if you were still to
learn it," said the Abbot, "and when the first eupho-
nious sounds of the Latin tongue shall have glad-
dened your ear, you will admit, that compared to
it, our mother-tongue is but a young bear, which
can neither stand nor walk well, before it has been
licked by a classical tongue. Besides much wisdom,
flows from the mouths of the old Romans. Ask
your neighbour to the left"

"Is it sol" asked Dame Hadwig, turning towards
Ekkehard, who had silently listened to the fore-
going conversation.

"It would be true, liege lady," said he enthu-
siastically, "if you still needed to learn wisdom."

Dame Hadwig archly held up her forefinger:
"Have you yourself derived pleasure from those old
parchments'?"

"Both, pleasure and happiness," exclaimed Ekke-
hard with beaming eyes. "Believe me, mistress,
you do well to come to the classics for advice, in
all positions of life. Does not Cicero teach us to

76 EKKKIIARD.

walk safely, in the intricate paths of worldly pru-
dence? Do we not gather confidence and courage
from Livy and Sallust? Do not the songs of Virgil
awaken us to the conception of imperishable beauty?
The Gospel is the guiding-star of our faith; the old
classics, however, have left a light behind them,
which like the glow of the evening-sun, sends re-
freshment and joy into the hearts of men."

Ekkehard spoke with emotion. Since the day
on which the old Duke Burkhard had asked her
liand in marriage, the Duchess had not seen any-
one, who showed enthusiasm for anything. She
was endowed with a high intellect, quick and ima-
ginative. She had learned the Greek language very
rapidly, in the days of her youth, on account of the
Byzantine proposal. Latin inspired her with a sort
of awe, because unknown to her. Unknown things
easily impress us, whilst knowledge leads us to
judge things according to their real worth, which
is often much less than we had expected. The
name of Virgil besides had a certain magic about
it. . . .

In that hour the resolution was formed in Had-
wig's heart to learn Latin. She had plenty of time
for this, and after having cast another look on her
neighbour to the left, she knew who was to be her
teacher. . . .

The dainty dessert, consisting of peaches, melons
and dried figs, had vanished also, and the lively
conversation at the different tables, told of the fre-
quent passing round of the wine-jug.

After the meal, m accordance with the rules of

EKKEHARD. 77

the order, a cluvpter out of the lives of the holy
fathers, had to be read, for the general edification.

The day before, ]<>kkehard had begun a descrip-
tion of the life of St. Benedict, which had been
written by Pope Gregory. The brothers drew the
tables closer together; the wine-jug came to a dead
stop, and all conversation was hushed. Ekkehard
continued with the second chapter: "One day when
he was alone, the Tempter approached him; for a
small black bird, commonly called a crow, came and
constantly flew around his head, and approaching
so near, that the holy man, might have captured it
with his hand. He, however, made the sign of the
cross, and the bird flew away.

"No sooner however had the bird flown away,
when a fiercer temptation than the holy man had
ever yet experienced, assailed him. A considerable
time before, he had beheld a certain woman. This
woman, the Evil One caused to appear before his
mental eyes, and to influence the heart of God's
servant, to such a degree, that a devouring love
gnawed at his heart, and he almost resolved, to
leave his hermit-life, so strong was the longing and
desire within him.

"But at that moment however, a light from
heaven shone on him, compelling him to return to
liis better self. And he beheld on one side a hedge
of brambles and nettles, and he undressed and
threw himself into the thorns and stinging nettles,
until his whole body was lacerated.

"And thus the wounds of the skin had healed

78 EKKEHARD.

the wound of the spirit, and having conquered sin
he was saved." . . .

Dame Hadvvig was not greatly edified by this
lecture. She let her eyes wander about in the hall
in search of something to divert her thoughts. Had
the chamberlain, perhaps also disapproved of the
choice of the chapter, or had the wine got into his
headi — for suddenly he dashed at the book and
closing it vehemently, so that the wooden covers
clapped audibly, he held up his beaker, saying:
"To the health of St. Benedict." Ekkehard turned
a reproachful look on him, but the younger members
of the brotherhood, regarding the toast as serious,
had already echoed it noisely. Here and there a
hymn in praise of the holy man was begun; this
time to the tune of a merry drinking song, and loud
joyous voices rang through the hall.

Whilst Abbot Cralo looked about with a some-
what dubious expression, and Master Spazzo was
still busily drinking to the health of the saint with
the younger clergy. Dame Hadwig inclined her
head towards Ekkehard and said in a half whisper:

"Would you be willing to teach me Latin,
young admirer of the classics, if I felt inclined to
learn it?"

Then Ekkehard heard an inner voice, whispering
like an echo of what he had read: "throw thyself
into the thorns and netdes, and say no!" — but
heedless of the warning voice he replied: "Com-
mand and I obey."

The Duchess gazed once more on the young

EKKEHARD.

79

monk with a furtive, searching look; then turned to
the Abbot and talked of indifferent things.

The cloister-inmates did not seem inclined as
yet to let this day's unusual liberty end here. In
the Abbot's eyes there was a peculiarly soft and
lenient expression, and the cellarer also never said
"nay," when the brothers descended with their
emptied wine-jugs into the vaults below.

At the fourth table the old Tutilo began to get
jolly, and was telling his inevitable story of the
robbers. Louder and louder his powerful voice
rang through the hall: "One of them turned to fly,
— I after him with my oaken stick, — he throws away
spear and shield to the ground, — I quickly seize
him by the throat, force the spear into his hand
and cry, "thou knave of a robber, for what art thou
encumbering the world? Thou shalt fight with
me!" . . .

But they had all heard it too often already how
he had then in honest fight split open the scull of
his antagonist, — so they eagerly requested him, to
sing some favourite song, and on his giving an
assenting nod, some of them hurried out, presently
to return with their instruments. One of them
brought a lute, another a violin with one string
only, a third a sort of dulcimer with metal pegs,
which were played on with a tuning key, and a
fourth a small ten-stringed harp. This last curious-
looking instrument was called a psalter, and its three-
cornered shape was held to be a symbol of the
Trinity.

When the instruments were tuned, they gave

80 KKKF.HARD.

him his baton of ebony. Smilingly the hoary artist
received it, and rising from his seat, gave them tlv
signal to play a piece of music, which he himscll
had composed in his younger days. Gladly tli
others listened; only Ceroid the steward, becaii:.
rather melancholy on hearing the melodious sounds,
for he was just counting the emptied dishes and
stone jugs, and like a text to the melody the word
vibrated through his mind: "How much this one da\
has swallowed up in goods and money?" Softly he
beat time with his sandal-clad foot, until the last
note had died away.

At the bottom of the table a silent guest, with
a pale olive complexion and black curls, was sitting.
He came from Italy, and had accompanied the
mules loaded with chestnuts and oil, from Lom-
bardy over the Alp. In melancholy silence, he let
the floods of song pass over him.

"Well, Master Giovanni," .said Folkard the painter,
"has the fine Italian ear been satisfied? The Em-
peror Julianus once compared the singing of our
forefathers to the screeching of wild birds, but
since that time we have made progress. Did it not
sound lovelier in your ears than the singing of wild
swans?"

"Lovelier — than the singing of swans" — repeated
the stranger in dreamy accents. Then he arose
and quietly stole away. Nobody in the monastery
ever read what he wrote down in his journal that
evening.

"These men on the other side of the Alp,"
he wrote, "when they let their thundering voices

EKKEHARD. 8 1

rise up to heaven, never can attain to the sweetness
of an artistic modulation. Truly barbarous is the
roughness of their wine-guzzling throats and when-
ever they attempt by sinking and then raising their
voices, to attain a melodious softness, — all nature
shudders at the sound, and it resembles the creak-
ing of chariot-wheels on frozen ground." . . .

Master Spazzo intending to end well, what he
had so well begun, slunk away to the building in
which Praxedis and her companions were installed,
and said: "You are to come to the Duchess, and
that at once." —

The maidens first laughed at his cowl, and then
followed him into the refectory, as there was no
one to hinder their entrance; and as soon as they
became visible at the open door, a buzzing and
murmuring began, as if a dancing and jumping were
now to commence, such as these walls had never
before experienced.

Sir Cralo the abbot, however looked at the
Duchess, and exclaimed: "My Lady Cousin!" and
he said it with such a touching, woe-begone expres-
sion, that she started up from her reverie. And
suddenly she looked with different eyes than before
on the chamberlain and herself, in their monks
habits., as well as on the rows of carousing men.
The faces of the more distant ones were hidden by
their projecting hoods, and it looked as if the wine
was being poured down into empty cowls; in short,
the scene altogether with the boisterous music ap-
peared to her like a mad masquerade, that had
lasted too long already.

EkkeJtMrd. I. 6

82 EKKEHARD.

So she said: "It is time to go to bed;" and ihen
went with her suite over to the school-house, where
she was to rest that night.

"Do you know what would have been the reward
of dancingi" asked Sindolt of one of his fellow
monks, who seemed rather sorry at this sudden
termination of their festivity. He stared at him
enc^uiringly. Then Sindolt made a movement which
meant unmistakeably "scourging."

EKKEHARD. 83

CHAPTER V.

Ekkehard's Departure.

Early the next morning, the Duchess and her
attendants mounted their steeds, to ride homewards;
and when she declined all parting ceremonies, the
Abbot did not press her to the contrary. There-
fore perfect quiet reigned in the monastery, whilst
the horses were neighing impatiently. Only Sir
Cralo came over, knowing well, what good manners
demanded.

Two of the brothers accompanied him. One of
them carried a handsome crystal cup with a finely
wrought silver foot and cover, in which many a
pretty bit of onyx and emerald was set. The other
carried a small jug of old wine. The Abbot pour-
ing out some into the cup, then wished good speed
to his cousin, begging her to drink the parting-
draught with him, and to keep the cup as a small
remembrance.

In case that the present should not be thought
sufficient, he had still another curious piece in the
background, which though made of silver, had a
very insignificant appearance, as it bore close re-
semblance to an ordinary loaf of bread. This could
be opened, and was filled up to the brim with gold-
pieces. Without there being an absolute necessity

84 EKKEHARD.

for it, the Abbot did not intend to mention this;
keeping it carefully hidden under his habit.

Dame Hadwig took the proffered cup, feigned
to drink a little and then handing it back, said:
"Pardon me, dear cousin, what shall a woman do
with that drinking-vessel? I claim another parting
gift. Did you not speak of the wells of wisdom
yesterday 1 Give rne a Virgil out of your library!"

"Always jesting," said Sir Cralo, who had ex-
pected a more costly demand. "What good can
Virgil do you, as you do not know the language] "

"As a matter of course, you must give me the
teacher with it," seriously replied Dame Hadwig.

But the Abbot shook his head in sign of dis-
pleasure. "Since what time are the disciples of
St. Gallus given away as parting-gifts?"

Upon this the Duchess resumed: "I suppose
you understand me. The fair-haired custodian
shall be my teacher; and three days hence, at the
latest, he and the volume of Virgil shall make their
appearance at my castle! Mind, that the setde-
ment of the disputed land in the Rhinevalley, as
well as the confirmation of the monastery's rights,
are in my hands; and that I am not disinclined, to
erect a small cloister to the disciples of St. Gallus,
on the rocks of the Hohentwiel. — And so farewell,
Sir Cousin!"

Then Sir Cralo, with a melancholy look, beckoned
to the serving monk, to carry the chalice back to
the treasury. Dame Hadwig gracefully extended
her right hand to him, the mares pawed the ground;
Master Spazzo took off his hat with a flourish, —

EKKEHARD. 85

and the little cavalcade turned their backs on the
monastery, setting out on their way, homewards.

From the window of the watch-tower, an im-
mense nosegay w;is thrown into the midst of the
parting guests; in which there shone at least half a
dozen sun-flowers, not to mention innumerable
asters; but nobody caught it, and the horses hoofs
passed over it. . . .

In the dry moat outside the gate, the cloister-
pupils had hidden themselves. "Long life to the
Duchess of Suabia! Hail! hail!— and she must not
forget to send us the Felchen!" was loudly shouted
after her, as a parting salutation.

"He who as reward for his bad behaviour, ob-
tains three holidays, and the best fish of the lake,
may well shout," said Master Spazzo.

Slowly the Abbot went back to the monastery,
and as soon as he got there, he sent for Ekkehard
the custodian.

"A dispensation has come for you. You are to
take a volume of Virgil to the Duchess Hadwig,
and become her teacher. 'The old song of Maro
may soften the Scythian customs by their lovely
tunes' — is written in Sidonius. I know that it is
not your wish . . ." Ekkehard cast down his eyes,
with a heightened colour, "but we must not offend
the mighty ones of this earth. To-morrow, you will
set out on your journey. 'Tis with regret that I
lose you, for you were one of the best and most
dutiful here. The holy Gallus will not forget the
service which you are rendering him. Don't omit
to cut out the title-page of Virgil, on which is

86 EKKEHARD.

written the curse on him, who takes the book away
from the monaster3\"

That which our hearts desire, we gladly suffer
to be put on us, as a duty.

"The vow of obedience," said Ekkehard, "obliges
me, to do the will of my Superior, without fear or
delay, without regret or murmur."

He bent his knee before the Abbot, and then
went to his cell. It seemed to him as if he had
been dreaming. Since yesterday, almost too much
had occurred for him. It is often so in life. In a
long period, time pursues its monotonous way, but
when once we come to a turning-point, then one
change follows another. He prepared himself for
the journey.

"What thou hast begun, leave unfinished behind
thee; draw back thy hand from the work it was
employed on, and go away with thy heart full of
obedience," — he scarcely needed to remind himself
of this portion of the rules.

In his cell lay the parchment-leaves of a psalm-
book, which had been written, and illustrated by
Folkard's masterly hand. Ekkehard had been com-
missioned to finish up the first letter on each page,
with the precious gold-colour, which the Abbot had
lately bought from a Venetian merchant; and by
adding faint golden lines at the crowns, sceptres and
swords, as well as at the borders of the mantles, to
give the last touch to the figures.

He took up parchments and colours, and brought
them over to his companion, that he might put the
finishing strokes to the work himself. Folkard was

EKKEHARD. 87

just about, to compose a new picture; David play-
ing the lute, and dancing before the ark of the
Covenant. He did not look up, and Ekkehard
silently left the studio again.

After this he bent his steps to the library, there
to fetch the Virgil, and when he stood all alone in
the high-arched hall, amongst the silent parchments,
a feeling of melancholy came over him. Even life-
less things, when one is about to take leave of them,
seem to possess something of a soul, and to share
some of the feelings, which are moving our own
hearts.

The books were his best friends. He knew them
all, and knew who had written them. Some of the
handwritings reminded him of companions, whom
death had gathered already.

"What will the new life, which begins to-mor-
row, bring to me]" he thought, whilst a solitary
tear started into his eye. At that moment his gaze
fell on the small, metal-bound glossary, in which the
holy Gallus, not knowing the German language, had
had a translation of the most familiar words and
sentences, written down by the priest of Arbon.
Then Ekkehard bethought himself, how the founder
of the monastery, had once set out, with so little
help and preparation, a stranger into heathen lands;
and how his God and his courageous heart, had
protected him in all dangers and sorrows. His spirits
rose; he kissed the little book, took the Virgil from
the book-shelf, and then turned to go.

"Whoever carries away this book, shall receive o.
a thousand lashes of the scourge; may palsy and

88 EKKEHARD.

leprosy attack him," -was written on the title-page.
Ekkehard cut it out.

Once more he looked around, as if to take a
final leave, of all the books. At that moment a
rustling was heard in the wall, and the large skel( h
which the architect Gerung had once drawn, when
Abbot Hartmuth had wanted a new building to be
added to the monastery, fell to the ground, raisin l;
a cloud of dust.

Ekkehard did not regard this occurrence in the
light of a presentiment or warning.

On walking along the passage of the upper storey,
he passed an open chamber. This was the snug-
gery of the old men. The blind Thieto who had
been Abbot before Cralo, until his waning eye-
sight had forced him to resign, was sitting there.
A window was open, so that the old man could
breathe freely and enjoy the warm sunny air. Witli
him, Ekkehard had spent many an hour, in friendly
converse. The blind man recognized his step and
called him in.

"^Vhere are you going?" asked he.

"Down stairs, — and to-morrow I am going far
away. Give me your hand, I am going to the Hohen-
twiel."

"Bad, — very bad," muttered the old man.

"Why, father Thieto?"

"The service of women is an evil thing for him,
who wishes to remain good. Court service is worse
still. What then are both together?"

"It is my fate," said Ekkehard.

KKKEHARD. 89

"St. Gallus keep you and bless you, I will pray
for you. Give me my stick."

Ekkehard offered his arm, which was refused
however, and seizing his staff, the blind man rose,
and went to a niche in the wall, from which he took
out a small phial and gave it to Ekkehard.

"It's water from the river Jordan, which I took
myself. When the dust of this w^orld has covered
your face, and is dimming your eyes, then bathe
them with it. It will not help me any more. Fare-
well."

In the evening Ekkehard mounted the little hill,
which rose behind the monastery. This was his
favourite Avalk. In the fish-ponds which had been
artificially made there, to supply the necessary fish
for the fast-days, the dark fir-trees were reflected.
A gentle breeze ruffled the surface of the water, in
which the fish swam briskly about. With a smile
he gazed at them, thinking, "when shall I taste you
again?"

In the fir-wood on the top of the Freudenberg,
there was solemn silence. There he stopped, to
enjoy the extensive view before him.

At his feet lay the monastery, with all its build-
ings and walls. There, in the court-yard was the
well known fountain; the garden was full of au-
tumnal flowers, and in one long row the windows
of the many cells were presented to his view. He
knew each one, and saw also his own. "May God
protect thee, peaceful abode!"

Contemplating the place where we have spent
the days of our eager, and striving youth, works like

go EKKEHARD.

a magnet on our hearts, which require so Httle to
feel attracted. He only is poor, to whom the great
bustling life of this world, has not granted time,
bodily and mentally to find a quiet resting-place, —
a real home. —

Ekkehard raised his eyes. Far away in the dis-
tance, like the fair prospect of a distant future, the
Bodensee's placid surface, shone out like a mirror.
The line of the opposite shore, as well as the out-
lines of the hills behind it, were covered with a
light mist, only here and there a bright light and
the reflection in the water, indicating the dwelling
places of human beings.

"But what does the obscurity behind mean?"
He turned round and beheld the Santis rising with
its horns and pinnacles behind the fir-clad hills. On
the gray and weatherbeaten rocky walls, the warm
sunbeams were contending with the clouds, and light-
ing up the masses of old snow, which in its caves
and crevices lay awaiting a new winter. Right over
the Kamor, hung a heavy cloud, which Avidely ex-
tended, was obscuring the sun and throwing a grey
and sombre light on the mountain-peaks around. It
began to lighten in the distance . . .

"Is that meant as a warning for me?" said Ekke-
hard. "I don't understand it. My way is not to-
wards the Santis."

Full of thoughts, he descended to the valley
again.

In the night lie prayed at the grave of St. Gallus,
and early in the morning he bid good-bye to all.
The volume of Virgil, and the little bottle of Thieto

EKKEHARD. 9 1

were packed up in his knapsack, which also held
the few things besides that he possessed.

He, who has not even his own person, his
wishes and his desires at his free disposal, can still
less have any worldly possessions and goods.

The Abbot gave him two gold-pieces and some
silver coins, as a travelling penny.

In a ship, laden with corn, he crossed the lake;
a favourable wind filling the sail, and courage and
the love of travel swelling his bosom.

At dinner-time the castle of Constance, as well
as the cathedral with its towers, became more and
more distinct.

With a joyous bound, Ekkehard sprang on shore.
In Constance he might have stopped and claimed
the hospitality of the Bishop, but this he did not do.
The place was disagreeable to him, — he hated it
from the bottom of his heart. Not on account of
its position and scenery, for in that respect, it may
be boldly compared with any town on the lake, but
on account of a man whom he detested.

This was the Bishop Salomon, who had been
lately buried, with great pomp in the cathedral.
Ekkehard was a simple-minded, straightforward and
pious man. To become proud and overbearing in
the service of the church, se-emed very wrong to him;
to combine this with worldly tricks and knavery
highly blamable, — and in spite of wickedness of
heart, to become famous, most strange. Such how-
ever had been the Bishop Salomon's career. Ekke-
hard well remembered having heard from older com-
panions, how the young nobleman had forced his

92 EKKEHARD.

way, into the monastery, and acted as spy; how he
had managed to represent himself as indispensable
to the Emperor, until the mitre of an Abbot of
St. Gall was exchanged for that of a Bishop of
Constance.

And the fate which had befallen the messengers
of the exchequer, — that was related by the children
in the streets. These, the intriguing prelate, had
provoked and insulted so long, till they trying to
right themselves with the sword, had made him-
prisoner; but though Sir Erchanger's wife Berchta,
tended and nursed him like a Lord, during his
captivity, and begged him for the kiss of peace, and
ate out of the same plate with him, his revenge
was not appeased, until the Emperor's court of law,
at Adingen, condemned his enemies to be beheaded.

And the daughter which he had begotten in the
early days of his student-life, was even then Lady
Abbess at the cathedral in Zurich.

All this was known to Ekkehard; and in the
church where that man was buried, he did not like
to pray.

It may be unjust to transfer the hatred, which is
intended for a human being alone, to the actual spot
where he has lived and died, but still one can un-
derstand this feeling. So he shook the dust from
his feet, and walked out of the city-gate, leaving the
stripling Rhine, having but just issued from the lake,
on his right hand.

He cut for himself a strong walking stick from
a hazel-bush. "Like unto the rod of Aaron which
budded in the temple of God, distinguishing his race

EKKEHARD. 93

from that of the degenerate Jews, so may this stick,
blessed by God's grace, be my protection against
the evil ones on my way," — he said in the words
of an old blessing on walking sticks.

His heart beat with pleasure, as he briskly walked
along.

How full of hope and joy is he, who in the days
of his youth, goes out on unknown paths, to meet
an unknown future. With the wide world before
him, a blue sky over-head, and the heart fresh and
trusting, as if his walking-stick must produce leaves
and blossoms, wherever he plants it in the ground,
and must bear happiness, in the shape of golden
apples on its boughs. Walk merrily on. — The day
will come when thou also, wilt drag thyself wearily
along, on the dusty high-roads, when thy staff will
be but a dry withered stick, when thy face will be
pale and worn, and the children will be pointing
their fingers at thee, laughing and asking: where are
the golden apples'? . . .

Ekkehard was truly light-hearted and content.
To sing merry songs was not becoming for a man
of his calling; more fitting was the song of David
which he now began:

"The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he
leadeth me beside the still waters" — and this may
have been registered in heaven, in the same book
in which the guardian-angels of youth put down
the merry songs of wandering scholars, and ai)pren-
tice-boys.

His path took him through meadows, and past

94 EKKEHARD.

high reeds. A long and narrow island, called
Reichenau, extended itself in the lake. The towers
and cloister-walls were mirrored in the placid
waters, and vine-yards, meadows and orchards testi-
fied to the industry of the inhabitants. About two
hundred years ago, the island was but a barren
tract, where damp ground had been inhabited by
hideous crawling things, and poisonous snakes.
The Austrian Governor Sintlaz however, begged
the wandering Bishop Pirminius, to come over, and
to pronounce a solemn blessing on the island. Then
the snakes went away in great masses, headed by
the scolopendras, ear-wigs and scorpions; toads and
salamanders bringing up the rear. Nothing could
resist the curse which the Bishop had pronounced
over them. To the shore, on the spot where after-
wards the castle Schopfeln was built, the swarm
directed its course, and from thence they fell down
into the green floods of the lake; and the fish had
a good meal on that day. . . .

From that time the monastery founded by St. Pir-
min had thriven and flourished; a hot-bed of monastic
erudition, of considerable repute, in German lands.

" Reichenau, emerald isle, thou favourite child of kind nature,
Rich with the law of science, and all that is pious and godly,
Rich in thy fruit-bearing trees , and the swelling grapes of thy vineyards ;
Proudly, and fair from the waves, the lily lifts its white petals, —
So that thy praise has e'en reached, the misty land of the Britons." —

Thus sang the learned monk Ermenrich already
in the days of Ludwig the German, when in his
abbey of EUwangen, he was longing for the glitter
ing waters of the Bodensee.

EKKEHARD. 95

Ekkehard resolved to pay a visit to this rival of
his monastery. On the white sandy shore of Erma-
tingen, a fisherman was standing in his boat, baling
out water. Then Ekkehard pointing with his staff
towards the island, said: "Ferry me over there, my
good friend."

The monk's habit in those days, generally gave
weight to all demands, but the fisherman crossly
shook his head and said: "I will not take any more
of you over, since you fined me a shilling, at the
last session-day."

"Why did they fine you?"

"On account of the Kreuzmann!"

"And who is the Kreuzmann?"

"The Allmann."

"He likewise is unknown to me," said Ekkehard.
What is he like?"

"He is made of metal," grumbled the fisher-
man, "two spans high, and holds three water-lilies
in his hand. He was standing in the old willow-
tree at AUmannsdorf, and it was good that he stood
there; but at the last session they took him out of
the tree, and carried him into their cloister. So
now he stands on that Italian bishop's grave at
Niederzell. What good does he do there? — Does
he help dead Saints to catch fish?"

Then Ekkehard perceived, that the fisherman's
Christian faith was as yet not very strong; and also
why the bronze idol had cost him a shilling's fine.
He had sacrificed a kid to him at night-time, in
order that his nets might be well filled with felchen,
trout and perch; and the authorities had punished

y6 EKKEHARD.

these heathenish memories, according to the im-
perial laws.

"Be sensible, my good fellow," said Ekkehard,
"and try to forget the Allmann. I will restore you
a good part of your shilling, if you will row mc
over."

"What I say," replied the old man, "shall not
be turned round like a ring on a finger. I will
take none of you. My boy may do it if he likes."

He then whistled through his fingers, which
brought his boy, a tall boatman, who undertook to
row him over.

When Ekkehard landed, he directed his steps
towards the monastery, which hidden between fruit-
trees and vine-clad hills, stands in the middle of the
island.

The autumn was already advanced, and both
old and young, were occupied with the vintage.
Here and there, the hood of a serving brother stood
out in dark contrast to the red and yellow vine-
leaves. On the watch-tower the fathers of the
monastery stood assembled in groups, looking down,
and taking pleasure in the busy crowd of grape-
gatherers below. In a large marble vase, which
was believed to be one of the identical vessels,
used at the marriage at Cana, the new wine had
been earned about in the procession, to receive the
blessing. Merry shouts, and singing, were heard
from all sides.

Unobserved, Ekkehard reached the monastery,
and when he was but a few steps from it, he per-
ceived the heavy tower with its vestibule, the arches

EKKEHARD. 97

of which are ornamented alternately with red and
grey sand-stone.

In the court all was hushed and silent. A large
dog wagged its tail at the stranger, without giving
a single growl, for it knew better than to bark at a
monk's habit. All the brotherhood seemed to have
been enticed into the open air, by the beautiful
weather.

Ekkehard now entered the vaulted room for
visitors, near the entrance. Even the door-keeper's
chamber next to it, was empty. Open tuns were
standing about; some filled already with the newly
pressed wine. Behind these, near the wall was a
stone bench, and Ekkehard feeling tired from his
long walk, the fresh breeze having blown about his
head and made him sleepy, he put his staff against
the wall, lay down on the bench, and soon fell
asleep.

As he lay thus, a slow step approached the
cool recess. This was the worthy brother Rudi-
mann, the cellarer. He carried a small stone jug
in his right hand, and had come to fulfil his duty
by tasting the new wine. The smile of a man,
contented with himself and with the world, was on
his lips; and his belly had thriven well, like the
household of an industrious man. Over this, he
wore a white apron, and at his side dangled a pon-
derous bunch of keys.

"As cellarer shall be chosen some wise man of
ripe judgment, sober, and no glutton; no quarreler
or fault-finder, no idler and no spendthrift; but a
pious man, who will be to the whole brotherhood

Ekkehard. /. 7

QO EKKEilARD.

like a father," — and as far as the weakness of the
flesh allowed this, Rudimann strove to unite in him-
self the above mentioned qualities. At the same
time he had to perform the unpleasant duty of car-
rying out the punishments, and whenever one of
the brothers became liable to a flogging, he tied
him to the pillar, and nobody could then complain
of the weakness of his arm. That he, besides this,
sometimes uttered malicious speeches with a ma-
licious tongue, and tried to entertain the Abbot
with insinuations against his fellow-monks, — like the
squirrel Ratatoskr of the Edda, which ran up and
down the ash-tree called Yggdrasil, and repeated
the eagle's angry speeches at the top of the tree,
to Niddhogre the dragon at th^ bottom, — this was
none of his business; and he did it of his own free
will.

To-day, however, he wore a very benign and
mild expression, the result of the excellent vintage;-
and he dipt his drinking vessel into an open vat,
held it towards the window and then slowly sipped
its contents, without once observing the sleeping
guest.

"This also is sweet," said he, "though it comes
from the northern side of the hill. Praised be the
Lord; who taking the position and wants of his
servants on this island, into due consideration, has
given a fat year after so many meagre ones."

Meanwhile Kerhildis the upper maid-servant,
passed the door, carrying a tub full of grapes to
the press.

"Kerhildis," whispered the cellarer, "most trust-

EKKEHARD. QQ

worthy of all maids, take my jug, and fill it with
wine from the Wartberg, which you will find ovei
there, that I may compare it with this one."

Kerhildis put down her load, went away and
speedily returning, stood before Rudimann with the
jug in her hand. Archly looking up at him, for he
was a head taller than she was, she said: "to your
health."

Rudimann took a long pious draught, as a taste
so that the new wine ran down his throat, with a
low melodious gurgle.

"It will all be sweet and good," said he, lifting
his eyes with emotion, and that they then fell on
the maid-servant's beaming countenance,- — was
scarcely the cellarer's fault, as she had had plenty
of time in which to retire.

So he continued with unction: "But when I look
at thee, Kerhildis, my heart becomes doubly glad,
for you also thrive as the cloister-wine does this
autumn, and your cheeks are like the pomegranates,
waiting to be plucked. Rejoice with me, over the
goodness of this wine, best of all maids."

So saying, the cellarer put his arm round the
waist of the dark-eyed maid, who did not resist
very long; for what is a kiss at vintage-time? — and
besides she knew Rudimann to be a man of sober
character, who did everything in moderation, as it
befitted a cellarer.

The sleeper started up from his slumbers on the
stone bench. A peculiar noise, which could be
caused by nothing else, but by a well-meant and
well-applied kiss, struck his ear; and looking through

7*

100 EKKEHARD.

the opening between the vats, he saw the cellarer's
garments covered with flowing tresses, which could
not well belong to that habit. Up he sprang, for
Ekkehard was young and zealous, and moreover
accustomed to the strict discipline of St. Gall. The
idea that a man in the holy garb of the order, could
kiss a woman, had never struck him as possible
before.

Snatching up his strong hazel-wand, he quickly
advanced, and with it struck a powerful blow at
the cellarer, which extended from the right shoulder
to the left hip, and which fitted like a coat made
according to measure, — and before the astonished
Rudimann had recovered from the first shock, there
followed a second and third blow of the same de-
scription. He dropped his pitcher, which was shat-
tered to pieces on the stone floor, whilst Kerhildis
fled.

"In the name of the pitcher at the marriage at
Cana!" cried Rudimann, "what is the meaning of
this!" and turning round on his assailant, the two
looked into each other's faces for the first time.

"'Tis a present which the holy Gallus sends to
St. Pirmin," replied Ekkehard fiercely, again raising
his stick.

"Well, I might have guessed as much," roared
the cellarer, "St. Gallish crab-apples! You may be
recognized by your fruits. Rough ground, rough
faith and rougher people! Just wait for the present
I shall make thee in return!"

Looking about for some weapon, and perceiving
a good-sized broom, he took it up, and was just

EKKEIIARD. lOI

about to attack the disturber of his peace, when a
commanding voice called out from the gate:

"Stop! Peace be with you!"— and a second voice
with a foreign accent exclaimed: "What Holofernes
has sprung out of the ground here]"

It was the Abbot Wazmann, who with his friend
Simon Bardo, the former Protospathar of the Greek
Emperor, was returning from blessing the new wine.
The noise of the quarrel had interrupted a very-
learned discussion of the Greek, on the siege of
the town of Ha'i by Joshua; and the strategic mis-
takes of the king of Hai, when he went out at the
head of his army, towards the desert. The old Greek
commander who had left his home, not to lose his
strength of body and mind, in the peaceful state of
Byzantium, employed himself very zealously with
the study of tactics, in his leisure hours; and he was
jestingly called, "the Captain of Capernaum," al-
though he had adopted the garb of the Order.

"Make room for the fight," cried Simon Bardo,
who had witnessed with regret the interruption, of
the combat by the Abbot. "In my dreams last night
I saw a rain of fiery sparks. That means fighting."

But the Abbot in whose eyes the self-assumed
]jower of younger brothers was most obnoxious,
commanded peace, and desired to hear the case be-
fore him, that he might settle it.

Then Rudimann began his tale, and kept back
nothing. "A slight misbehaviour," murmured the
Abbot. "Chapter forty-six, of misbehaviour during
work-time, whilst gardening or fishing, in the kitchen

102 EKKEHARD.

or cellar. Allemannic law. of that which is done to
maids, . . . let the antagonist speak."

Then Ekkehard also told what he had witnessed;
and how he had acted on the impulse of a just and
righteous indignation.

"This is complicated," murmured the Abbot.
"Chapter seventy: no brother shall dare to strike a
fellow-brother, without the Abbot's sanction. Chapter
seventy-two: of that which is becoming in a monk;
and which leads to eternal felicity, . . . How old are
yonV

"Twenty-three."

Then the Abbot seriously resumed. "The quarrel
is ended. You brother cellarer, may look on the
received blows, asthe just retribution, for your forget-
fulness; and you stranger I might well laid to con-
tinue your journey, for the laws say: "Whenever a
stranger-monk, enters a monastery, he shall be satis-
fied with everything he meets there, allowing himself
only to reprove mildly, and not making himself
officious in any way. In consideration of your youth
however, as well as the blameless motive of your
action, you shall be allowed to pass an hour's de-
votion at the chief-altar of our church, in expiation
of your rashness, and after that you will be welcome
as the guest of the monastery."

The Abbot and his sentence, fared as many an
impartial judge has fared before. Neither of the two
were satisfied. They obeyed, but they were not re-
conciled. When Ekkehard was performing his ex-
piatory prayers, many thoughts and reflections on
timely zeal, good will and other people's judgment

EKKEHARD. IO3

thereon, crossed his mind. It was one of the first
lessons he learned, from contact with other men. He
returned to the monastery by a little side-door.

What Kerhildis the upper-maid related that
evening to her companions, in the sewing-room at
Oberzell, where they had to make a dozen new
monks' habits, by the flickering light of the pine-
wood, was couched in such very insulting terms,
regarding the disciples of the holy (rallus, that it
had better not be repeated here! . . .

I04 EKKEHARD.

CHAPTER VI.

Moengal.

While Ekkehard was performing his compulsory
devotions, in the church at Reichenau, Dame Had-
wig 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 mean-
ing 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

EKKEHARD. IO5

"You are probably thinking of the time,' repUed
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,
])eeped 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 litde 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 Ekke-
hard. The latter had never before beheld the place
of his destination, but he did not need the boat-
man's information. Inwardly thinking, "thus must

I06 F.KKEIIARn.

tlie mountain be, whicli she has chosen for her
residence."

A deep, earnest expression overspread his fea-
tures. Mountain-ranges, extensive plains, Avater 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

EKKEHARD. I07

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 ar-
rows; whilst the strung bow lay at the head of the
boat.

The individual just described, w^as about to re-
peat his cursing, when he beheld Ekkehard's tonsure
and Benedictine garment, and quickly changing his
tone, he cried: "Oho! salve confraterl 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 in.cmnbat! 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 RadolfszelU"

"The parish-priest of Radolfszelll" enquired
Ekkehard in his turn. "Do I verily see the brother
Marcellusl" 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, '■'■ Chrisius vin-
dex."

"Brother Marcellus]" laughed the other pushing

108 EK.KEHAUD.

his hair back from his forehead, '■'■fuimus Troes! wel-
come 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."

"Oi yourself, I had conceived a very different
idea," said Ekkehard, and this was not to be won-
dered 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
blamele.ss 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.

EKKEHARD. lOQ

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, sur-
rounded 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 objec-
tionable, 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 horo-
tumblum! 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."

no EKKEHARD,

Members of the same fraternity are quickly at
their ease with each other; and a lively conversa-
tion 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 in-
terest him much. Only when Ekkehard told him
about the end and aim of his journey he exclaimed :
" Oho conf rater! 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 terrartun 7nihi 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.

EKKEHARD. 1 1 I

"Time," replied the priest, beating his fish on
tlie 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, fo^ Ireland produces pious people, as is \vell
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! Tlie 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 Avindow; 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

tt2 EKKEttARD.

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 1
had made a discovery. What discovery, quoth hel
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 pine-
woods . . . Confrater, that cannot be cured by fast-
ing and prayer, for that which is in human nature,
myst^cpme out."

"The late Abbot at last took pity on me, and
sent me here for one year; but the Brother Mar-
cellus 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, rustici-
tate qtiadam 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 be-
come a dead man so soon, and he knows that he
is at least secure against one evil . . ."

"And that is?" enquired Ekkehard.

EKKEHARD. tl^

"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 outpour-
ings. "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 apoca-
lypse. 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 re-

EkMiard. I. 8

114 EKKEHARD.

gard to the Irish translation, I am afraid that there
is a hitch in the matter!"*

Ekkehard was very anxious to reach his destina-
tion, 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 trans
figured, 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 hardl\
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 tl^
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

• This it had, surely enough; for when lately a learned son of the
emerald isle, paid a visit to the librarj' of St. Gallus, there to inspect the
work of his pious countryman, he soon burst into a merry laugh, and then
the Rector of Dublin, translated some of the Irish comments a.s follows :

"God be thanked that it is getting dark!" "St. Patrick of Armagh re-
lease me from this book- writing." " Oh, that I had a glass of good old wme
beside me" etc.

EKKEHARD. II5

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 him-
self, 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 landl"

"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,

8»

Il6 EKKEllARD.

and no one on the Hohentwiel wears a grey
mantle!"

He stood still now.

"Forwards," said Ekkehard. "He whose con-
science 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 continuini;
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.

"Followme!" cried the priest, " maturate 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. Ekke-
hard stood proudly waiting for them. "What do
you wantl" — no answer. Then he seized the cru-
cifix suspended from his girdle, and was just be-
ginning 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 be-
hind his back; a white handkerchief bound over
his eyes, so that he could see nothing, and then
the command "forwards" was given.

EKKEHARD. II7

Surprise and consternation at this strange treat-
ment 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 "Quak-
kera! 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

Il8 EKK.EHARD.

coming down on it, and the black diver had aheady
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 ex-
chequer, might live in the Hegau, and revenge their
death, on the innocent disciple of St. Gallus; for
Solomon who had occasioned their shameful execu-
tion, 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 Ekke-
hard now felt new courage and confidence rising

EKKEHARD, IIQ

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 Al-
mighty.

"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 Ekke-
hard.

"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

I20 EKKEHARD.

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 cer-
tainly 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

EKKKHARD. 12 1

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 com-
forts 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 baiked loudly, and
everybody awoke. Yet there was no one asking ad-
mittance. 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.

122 KKKKHARD.

CHAPTER VII.

Virgilius on the Hohentwiel.

After one has got over the trouble and fatigue
of a migration to a new residence, it is very plea-
sant work, to make everything around cozy and
comfortable.

No one ought to think it a matter of indifference,
in what place he lives, and what his surroundings
are. He whose windows for instance, look out on
a high-way, where carts and carriages are constantly
passing, and on which stones are being ground to
pieces, is certainly oftener visited by gray, dusty
thoughts, than by gay many-coloured fancies.

With regard to situation, Ekkehard might well be
contented; for the ducal castle on the Hohentwiel,
was high, airy and lonely enough; — but still he was
not quite satisfied, when on the day after his arrival,
Dame Hadwig showed him his domicile.

It was a spacious chamber, with arched winders
supported on pillars, and was entered by the same pas-
sage, which also led to the Duchess's hall and cham-
bers. Now the impressions which a man takes with
him, from his lonely cloister-cell, are not to be shaken
off in one single night, and Ekkehard reflected how
often he might be disturbed in his meditations , if
the tread of armour-clad men, or the softer footstep

EKKEHARD. 1 23

of serving maids, were to pass his door; where he
might even hear the mistress of the castle, passing
up and down, in her chambers. So he simply ad-
dressed himself to the Duchess saying: "I have a
favour to ask of you, my liege lady."

"Speak," said she mildly.

"Could you not give me besides this grand
room, a more distant and solitary little chamber, no
matter whether it be high up under the roof, or in
one of the watch-towers? One great requirement
for the study of science, as well as the exercise of
prayer, is perfect quiet, according to the rules of the
cloister!"

On hearing this, a slight frown overshadowed
Dame Hadwig's fair brow. It was not a cloud, — only
a cloudlet. "If you wish to be often quite alone,"
said she with a satirical smile, "why did you not
stay at St. Galll"

Ekkehard bowed his head and remained silent.

"Stay," cried Dame Hadwig, "your wish shall be
fulfilled. You can look at the room in which Vin-
centius, our chaplain lived till his blessed end. He!
also had the taste of a bird of prey, and prefened!
being the highest on the Hohentwiel, to being the
most comfortable. Praxedis, get the large bunch of
keys and accompany our guest."

Praxedis obeyed. The chamber of the late
chaplain, was high in the square tower of the castle.
Slowly she ascended the winding staircase, followed
by Ekkehard. The key grated in the long unused
lock, and creaking on its hinges the heavy door

1 : |. EK.KEHAKD.

swung back. They entered, — but what a sight was
before them!

Where a learned man has lived, it takes some
time to destroy all traces of him. The room in
question, of moderate size and with white-washed
walls, contained but little furniture; dust and cob-
webs covering everything. On the oak table in the
middle stood a small pot, that had once served as
an inkstand, but the ink had long been dried up.
In one corner stood a stone jug, which in former
times had probably held the sparkling witte. On a
rough book-shelf were some books, and close by,
some open parchments; — but oh misery! — a storm
had broken the little window; so Vincentius's room,
after his death, had been open to sunshine and rain,
to insects and birds. A flock of pigeons taking un-
disputed possession, had snugly settled down, among
all the book-wisdom. On the epistles of St. Paul
and Julius Caesar's Gallic wars, they had built their
nests, and now looked with surprise at the intruders.

Opposite the door, was written with charcoal on
the wall: "Martha, Martha, thou art careful and
troubled about many things." — Ekkehard read it and
then asked his lovely guide, "was that the late
chaplain's last will?"

Praxedis laughed merrily. "He was a pleasant
and peace-loving man the late Master Vincentius.
'Comfort and rest are better than many a pound of
silver,' was what he often said. But my lady the
Duchess, worried him a good deal with her ques-
tions; one day she was wanting to know about the
stars; the next about herbs and medicine; the day

EKKEHARD. I25

after, about the Holy Bible and the traditions of the
church. — ' What have you studied for, if you cannot
tell me anything?' — she would say, and Master Vin-
centius's patience was often sorely tried."

Praxedis pointed archly to her forehead.

"In the middle of Asia," he often replied, "there
is a black marble stone; and he who can lift it,
knows everything and need not ask any more ques-
tions." He was from Bavaria, Master Vincentius,
and I suppose that he wrote down, the quotation
from Scripture, to console himself."

"Does the Duchess ask so many questions?"
said Ekkehard absently.

"That you will soon find out for yourself," replied
Praxedis."

Ekkehard examined the books on the shelves.
"I am sorry for the pigeons, but they will have
to go."

"Why?"

"They have spoilt the whole of the first book
on the Gallic wars; and the epistle to the Corinthians
is hopelessly and irreparably damaged."

"Is that a great loss?" asked Praxedis.

"A very great loss!"

"Oh, you naughty doves," said Praxedis jest-
ingly. "Come to me, before yonder pious man
drives you out, amongst the hawks and falcons,"
and she called the birds which had quietly remained
in their niche; and when they did not come, she
threw a ball of white worsted on the table; the
male dove flew towards it, believing that it were a
new dove. With stately steps he approached the

1^6 EKKEHARD.

white ball, greeting it with a gentle cooing; and
when Praxedis snatched it up, the bird flew on her
head.

Then she began to sing softly a Greek melody.
It was the song of the old, yet ever young singer
of Teus.

"Tell me, thou pretty birdie,
Tell me, from whence thou comest.
And whence the balmy fragrance
Which from thy snowy pinions
Drips down upon the meadow ;
Who art thou ? and what wilt thou ?"

Ekkehard started up with surprise from the
codex, in which he was reading, and threw an al-
most frightened look on the young girl. If his eye
had been more accustomed to see natural grace
and beauty, it would probably have rested some-
what longer on the Greek maid. The dove had
hopped upon her hand, and she lifted it up with a
bended arm. Anacreon's old countryman, who out
of a block of Parian marble, created the Venus of
Knidos, would have fixed the picture in his memory,
if he had witnessed it.

"What are you singing," asked Ekkehard, "it
sounds like a foreign language."

"Why should it not be foreign?"

"Greek?"—

"And why should I not sing Greek," perdy re-
joined Praxedis.

"By the lyre of Homer," exclaimed Ekkehard,
full of surprise, "where in the name of wonder did
you learn that; the highest aim of our scholars?"

"At home," quietly replied Praxedis.

EKKEHARD. 13 7

Ekkehard cast another look, full of shy respect
and admiration at her. While reading Aristotle
and Plato he had hardly remembered, that any liv-
ing persons still spoke the Greek tongue. The idea
now dawned upon him, that something was here
embodied before him, that in spite of all his spiritual
and Avordly wisdom, was beyond his reach and
understanding.

"I thought I had come as a teacher to the
Hohentwiel," said he almost humbly, "and I find
my master here. Would you not now and then
deign to bestow a grain of your mother-tongue on
meV'

"On condition that you will not drive away the
doves," replied Praxedis. "You can easily have a
grating put up before the niche, so that they do
not fly about your head."

"For the sake of pure Greek" — Ekkehard was
beginning to say, when the door opened, and the
sharp voice of Dame Hadwig was heard.

"What are you talking here about doves and
pure Greek? Does it take so much time to look
at four walls? — Well, Master Ekkehard, does the
den suit your tastel"

He bowed in the affirn(iative.

"Then it shall be cleaned and put in order,"
continued Dame Hadwig. "Be quick, Praxedis,
and see about it, — and to begin with, let us drive
away these doves!"

Ekkehard ventured to put in a word on their
behalf.

"Indeed!" said the Duchess, "you desire to be

128 EKKEHARD.

alone, and yet wish to keep doves! Shall we per-
haps hang a lute on the wall, and strew rose-leaves
into your wine? Well, they shall not be driven
out; but they shall appear roasted on our supper-
table, this evening."

Praxedis appeared, as if she heard nothing of
all this.

"And what was that about the pure Greek?"
enquired the Duchess. And Ekkehard simply told
her the favour, he had asked of Praxedis. Upon
this, the frown returned to Dame Hadwig's forehead.
"If you are so very anxious to learn," said she,
"you can ask me; for I also speak that language."
Ekkehard made no objection, for in her speech
there was a certain sharpness, which cut off all
y replies. The Duchess was strict and punctual in
everything. A day or two, after Ekkehard's arrival,
she worked out a plan, for learning the Latin language,
and so it was settled that they should devote one
hour each day to the grammar, and another to the
reading of Virgil. This latter was looked forward
to with great pleasure by Ekkehard. He intended
to apply the whole of his faculties to the new study
and to summon up all his erudition and knowledge,
in order to make the task easy to the Duchess.

"It is certainly no useless work which the old poets
have left behind," he said. "How difficult it would
be to learn a language, if it were bequeathed to us,
merely through a dictionary, like corn in a sack,
which we should first have to grind into flour, and
then to make into bread. Now the poet puts every-
thing in its right place, and the whole is clothed in

EKKEHARD. 1 2 (J

harmonious forms; so that what otherwise would
prove a hard and tough matter for our teeth, we
can now drink in Hke honey-dew."

To mitigate the bitterness of the grammar, Ekke-
liard could find no means. Every day he wrote a
task for the Duchess on parchment, and she proved
a very eager and industrious pupil; for each morning
when the sun rose over the Bodensee, and cast its
early rays on the Hohentwiel, she stood already at
her window, learning her task; silenriy or loud as
might be. Once her monotous reciting of af/io,
ainas, amat, amamus etc. reached even Ekkehard's
ear in his chamber.

Poor Praxedis was heavily afflicted, as the
Duchess to heighten her own zeal, ordered her to
learn always the same task with her, which she con-
sidered a great nuisance. Dame Hadwig, only a
beginner herself, delighted in correcting her hand-
maiden, and was never so pleased, as when Praxedis
took a substantive for an adjective, or conjugated
an irregular verb as a regular one.

In the evening the Duchess came over to Ekke-
hard's room, where everything had to be ready for
the reading of Virgil. Praxedis accompanied her, and
as no dictionary was found amongst the books which
Master Vincentius had left behind, Praxedis who
was well-versed in the art of writing, was ordered
to begin to make one, as Dame Hadwig did not
know so much of that. "What would be the use
of priests and monks," said she, "if everybody knew
the art belonging to their profession"? Let the black-
smiths wield the hammer, the soldiers the sword, and

Ekkeh.ird. I. 9

1 30 EKKEHARD.

the scriveners the pen, and everyone stick to his
own business." She had however well practised
writing her name, in capital letters, artistically en-
twined; so that she could affix it, to all documents
to which she put her seal, as sovereign of the land.

Praxedis cut up a big roll of parchment, into
small leaves; drawing two lines on each, to make
three divisions. After each lesson she wrote down
the Latin words they had learned in one, the German
in the next, and the Greek equivalent in the third
column. This last was done by the Duchess's desire,
in order to prove to Ekkehard, that they had ac-
quired some knowledge, already before he came.
Thus the lessons had fairly begun.

The door of Ekkehard's room, leading into the
passage, was left wide open by Praxedis. He rose
and was about to shut it, when the Duchess prevented
him, by saying: "Do you not yet know the world 1"

Ekkehard could not understand the meaning of
this. He now began to read and translate the first
book of Virgil's great epic poem, ^neas the Trojan
rose before their eyes; how he had wandered about
for seven years on the Tyrian sea, and vv^hat un-
speakable pains it had cost him to become the
founder of the Roman people. Then came the
recital of Juno's anger, when she went to entreat
Aeolus to do her bidding; promising the fairest of
her nymphs to the God of the winds, if he would
destroy the Trojan ships. — Thunder-storms, tempests,
and dire ship- wrecks; — the turbulent waves scatter-
ing weapons and armour, beams and rafters, of what
had once been the stately fleet of the Trojans. And

EKKEHARD, Ijl

the roar of the excited waves, reach the ears of
Neptune himself, who rising from his watery depths,
beholds the dire confusion. The winds of Aeolus
are ignominiously sent home; the rebellious waves
settle down; and the remaining ships, anchor on the
Lybian shores . . .

So far Ekkehard had read and translated. His
voice was full and sonorous, and vibrating with
emotion; for he perfectly understood what he had
read. It was getting late; the lamp was flickering
in its socket, and Dame Hadwig rose from her seat
to go.

"How does my gracious mistress like the tale
of the heathen poef?" asked Ekkehard.

"I will tell you to-morrow," was the reply.

To be sure, she might have said it there and
then; for the impression of what she had heard, was
already fixed in her mind; but she refrained from
doing so, not liking to hurt his feelings.

"May you have pleasant dreams," she called out
as he was departing.

Ekkehard went up to Vincentius's room in the
tower, which had been restored to perfect order;
all traces of the doves having been removed. He
wanted to pray and meditate, as he was wont to do
in the monastery, but his head began to burn and
before his soul stood the lofty figure of the Duchess;
and when he looked straight at her, then Praxedis's
black eyes, also peeped at him from over her mis-
tress's shoulders. — What was to become of all this?
— He went to the window where the fresh autumn
air cooled his forehead, and looked out at the dark

9*

132 EKKEHARD.

vast sky, 'stretching out over the silent earth. The
stars twinkled brightly, some nearer, some farther
off, more or less brilliant. He had never before
enjoyed such an extensive view of the starry firma-
ment; for on the top of the mountains, the appear-
ance and size of things change much. For a long
time he stood thus, until he began to shiver; and
he felt as if the stars were attracting him upwards,
and that he must rise towards them as on wings . . .
He closed the window, crossed himself, and went to
seek his resting place.

On the next day. Dame Hadwig came witli
Praxedis to take her grammar lesson. She had learnt
many words and declensions, and knew her task
well; but she was absent withal.

"Did you dream anything?" she asked her teacher
when the lesson was over.

"No."

"Nor yesterday 1"

"Neither."

"'Tis a pity, for it is said, that, what we dream
the first night in a new domicile comes true. Now
confess, are you not a very awkward young man?"
she continued after a short pause.

"I?" asked Ekkehard greatly surprised.

"As you hold constant intercourse with the poeis,
why did you not invent some graceful dream, and
tell it mel Poetry and dreams, — 'tis all the same,
and it would have given me pleasure."

"If such is your command," said Ekkehard, "1
will do so the next time you ask me; even if I have
dreamt nothing."

EKKEIIARD. 13,1

Such conversations were entirely new and mystical
for Ekkehard. "You still owe me your opinion of
Virgil," said he.

"Well," returned Dame Hadwig, "if I had been
a queen in Roman lands, I do not know whether I
should not have burnt the poem, and imposed
eternal silence on the man . . ."

Ekkehard stared at her, full of amazement.

"I am perfectly serious about it," continued she,
"and do you wish to know whyl — because he reviles
the Gods of his country. I paid great attention,
when you recited the speeches of Juno yesterday.
That she, the wife of the chief of all the Gods, feels
a rankling in her mind, because a Trojan shepherd
boy, does not declare her to be the most beautiful,
■ — and being powerless to call up a tempest at her
will, to destroy a few miserable ships, must first
bribe Aeolus by the offer of a nymph! And then
Neptune, who calls himself the king of the seas,
and allows strange winds to cause a tempest in his
realms; and only notices this transgression, when it
is well nigh over! — What is the upshot of all that]
— I can tell you, that in a country whose Gods are
thus abased and defamed, I should not like to wield
the sceptre!"

Ekkehard could not very readily find an answer.
All the manuscripts of the ancients, were for him
stable and immovable as the mountains; and he was
co-ntent to read and admire , what lay before him —
and now such doubts!

"Pardon me, gracious lady," he said, "we have
not read very far as yet, and it is to be hoped, that

I3|. EKKEHARD.

the human beings of the ^neid will find greater
favour in your eyes. Please to remember, that at the
time when the Emperor Augustus, had his subjects
counted, the light of the world began to dawn at
Bethlehem. The legend says, that a ray of that
light had also fallen on Virgil, which explains why
the old Gods could not appear so great in his
eyes."

Dame Hadwig had spoken according to her first
impression, but she did not intend to argue with
her teacher.

"Praxedis," said she in a jesting tone, "what
may thy opinion bel"

"My powers of thought are not so great," said
the Greek maid. Everything appeared to me to be
so very natural; and that made me like it. And
what has pleased me most, was that Mistress Juno
gave Aeolus to one of her nymphs for a husband;
for though he was somewhat elderly, he was after
all, king of the winds, and she must certainly have
been well provided for."

"Certainly," — said Dame Hadwig, making a
sign to her to be silent. "'Tis well that we have
learnt in what way waiting-women can appreciate
Virgil."

Ekkehard was only provoked into 'greater zeal,
by the Duchess's contradiction. With enthusiasm
he read, on the following evening, how the pious
vEneas goes out to seek the Lybian land; and how
he meets his mother Venus, dressed in the habit
and armour of a Spartan maid; the light bow hang-
ing over her shoulder, and her fair heaving bosom,

EKICEIIARD. 135

scarcely hidden by the looped-up garment; and how
she directs her son's steps, towards the Lybian prin-
cess. Further he read, how ^neas recognized his
Divine mother but too late, — calling after her in
vain; but how she wrapped him up in a mist, so
that he could reach the new town unseen, where
the Tyrian queen is building a splendid temple in
honour of Juno. There he stands transfixed with
admiration, gazing at the representation of the
battles before Troy; painted by the hand of the
artist; and his soul is refreshed by the recollections
of past battles.

And now Dido, the mistress of the land, herself
approaches, urging on the workmen, and performing
her sovereign's duties.

"And at the gate of the temple, in Juno's honour erected,
There on her throne sat the queen, surrounded by arms-bearing warriors,
Dealing out jirstice to all, and dividing the labours amongst them.
With an impartial hand, allotting his share to each one . . ."

"Read that over again," said the Duchess. Ekke-
hard complied with her wish.

"Is it written thus in the bookl" asked she. "I
should not have objected if you had put in these
lines yourself; for I almost fancied I heard a descrip-
tion of my own government. Yes, with the human
beings of your poet, I am well satisfied."

"It was no doubt easier to describe them, than
the Gods," said Ekkehard. There are so many men
in this world . . ."

She made him a sign to continue. So he read
on, how the companions of .^neas came, to im-
plore her protection, and how they sung their leader's

136 EKKEHARD.

praise; who, hidden by a cloud, stood close by. And
Dido opens her town to the helpless ones; and the
wish arises in her, that ^neas their king, might also
be thrown by the raging waves on her shores; so
that the hero feels a great longing to break through
the cloud that is veiling him.

But when Ekkehard began with:

"Scarce had she uttered this wish, when the veiling cloud, floated back-
wards ..."

a heavy tread was heard, and the next moment, in
came Master Spazzo the chamberlain; wanting to
have a look at the Duchess, taking her lesson. Most
liiely he had been sitting with the wine-jug before
him, for his eyes were staring vacantly, and the
salutation-speech died on his lips. It was not his
fault though; for quite early in the morning, he
had felt his nose burn and itch dreadfully, and
that is an unmistakeable sign, of a tipsy evening to
come.

"Stop there," cried the Duchess, "and you Ekke-
hard continue!"

He read on with his clear expressive voice.

"Showing yEneas himself, in all the bloom of his beauty,
High and lofty withal ; godlike, for the heavenly mother.
Having with soft flowing locks, and glorious features endowed him,
Breathing, into his eyes, sereneness and radiance for ever.
Like, as the ivory may, by dexterous hands be embellished,
Or as the Parian stone, encircled by red, golden fillets.
Then he, adressing the queen, to the wonder of all the surrounders,
Suddenly turned, and said : Behold then, him you were seeking,
Me, the Trojan yEneas, escaped from the Lybian breakers."

Master Spazzo stood there, in utter confusion;
whilst an arch smile played around the lips of
Praxedis,

EKKEHARD. 137

"When you honour us next with your presence,"
called out the Duchess, "please to choose a more
suitable moment for your entrance; so that we are
not tempted to imagine you to be, '^neas the Trojan
escaped from the Lybian breakers!'"

Master Spazzo quickly withdrew, muttering:
"^neas the Trojan] has another Rhinelandish ad-
venturer forged some mythical pedigree for himself!
Troyi! — and clouds floating backwards? . . . Wait
^neas the Trojan; when we two meet, we shall
break a lance together! Death and damnation!"

138 EKKEHARD.

CHAPTER VIII.

Audifax.

In those times, there also lived on the Hohen-
twiel a boy, whose name was Audifax. He was the
child of a bondsman, and had lost both his parents
early in life. He had grown up like a wild moun-
tain-ash, and the people did not care much about
him. He belonged to the castle, as the house-leek
did that grew on the roof; or the ivy which had
fastened its tendrils to the walls. As he grew older
he was entrusted with the care of the goats; and
this office he fulfilled faithfully enough; driving
them out and home again, every day. He was a
shy and silent boy, with a pale face, and short-cut
fair hair, for only the free-born were allowed to
wear long waving locks.

In the spring, when trees and bushes put forth
their new shoots, Audifax loved to sit in the open
air; making himself pipes out of the young wood,
and blowing thereon. It was a doleful, melancholy
music, and Dame Hadwig had once stood on her
balcony, listening to it for hours. Probably the
plaintive notes of the pipe had suited her fancy
that day; for when Audifax came home with his
goats on the evening, she told him to ask a favour
for himself; and he begged for a little bell for one

EKKEHARD. 139

of his favourite goats, called blackfoot. Blackfoot
got the little bell, and from that time nothing
particular had broken the monotonous routine of
Audifax's life. But with increasing years he became
shyer, and since the last spring he had even given
up blowing on his pipe. It was now late in the
autumn, but the sun was shining brightly still, and
he was driving his goats as usual down the rocky
mountain slope; and sitting on a rock, looked out
into the distance. Through the dark fir-trees he
could see the glittering surface of the Bodensee.
All around, the trees were already wearing their
autumnal colours, and the winds were playing merrily
with the rustling red and yellow leaves on the
ground. Heaving a deep sigh, Audifax after a
while began to cry bitterly.

At that time, a little girl, whose name was Hadu-
moth, was minding the geese and ducks belonging
to the castle poultry-yard. She was the daughter
of an old maid-servant, and had never seen her
father. This Hadumoth was a very good little girl, with
bright red cheeks and blue eyes; and she wore her
hair in two tresses falling down on her shoulders.
The geese were kept in excellent order and training,
and though they would stick out their long necks
sometimes, and cackle like foolish women, — not one
of them dared to disobey its mistress; and when
she waved her hazel-wand, they all went quietly
and decently along; refraining from useless noise.
Often they picked their herbs in company with the
goats of Audifax; for Hadumoth rather liked the
short-haired goat-herd, and often sat beside him;

140 EKKEHARD.

and the two looked up together at the bhie sky;
and the animals soon found out the friendly feelings
between their guardians, and consequently were
friendly also.

At that moment Hadumoth was likewise coming
down the hill with her geese, and on hearing the
tinkling of the goat-bells, she looked about for the
driver. Then she beheld him sitting on the stone,
in his distress; and going up to him, sat down by
his side and said: "Audifax, what makes thee cry?"

But the boy gave no answer. Then Hadumoth
put her arm round his shoulders, drew his little
smooth head towards her and said sorrowfully:
"Audifax, if thou criest, I must cry also."

Then Audifax tried to dry his tears, saying:
"Thou needest not cry, but I must. There is some-
thing within me, that makes me cry."

"What is in thee, tell me'?" she urged him.

Then he took one of the stones, such as were
lying about plentifully, and threw it on the other
stones. The stone was thin and produced a ringing
sound.

"Didst thou hear it?"

"Yes," replied Hadumoth, "it sounded just as
usual."

"Hast thou also understood the sound?"

"No."

"Ah, but I understand it, and therefore I must
cry," said Audifax. "It is now many weeks ago,
that I sat in yonder valley on a rock. There it
first came to me. I cannot tell thee how, but it
must have come from the depths below; and since

EKKEHARD. I4I

then, I feel as if my eyes and ears were quite changed,
and in my hands I sometimes see gUttering sparks.
Whenever I walk over the fields, I hear it murmur-
ing under my feet, as if there were some hidden
spring; and when I stand by the rocks, I see the
veins running through them; and down below, I
hear a hammering and digging, and that must come
from the dwarfs, of which my grandfather has told
me many a time. And sometimes I even see a red
glowing light, shining through the earth. . . . Hadu-
moth, I must find some great treasure, and because
I cannot find it, therefore I cry."

Hadumoth made the sign of the cross, and then
said: ''Thou must have been bewitched somehow,
Audifax. Perhaps thou hast slept after sunset on
the ground, in the open air; and thus one of the
goblins below, has got power over thee. Wait, 1
know something better than crying."

She ran up the hill, speedily returning with a
small cup full of water, and a bit of soap, which
Praxedis had once given her; as well as some straws.
Then she made a good lather, and giving one of
the straws to Audifax she said: "There,' let us make
soap-bubbles, as we used to do. Dost thou remember,
when we made them last time, how they always grew
bigger and more beautifully coloured; and how they
flew down the valley, glittering like the rain-bowl
And how we almost cried when they burst?"

Audifax had taken the straw without saying a
word, and had blown a fine bubble, which fresh
like a dew-drop was hanging at the end of the

I \2 EKKEHARD.

straw; and he held it up into the air to let the sun
shine on it.

"Dost thou recollect, Audifax," continued the
girl, "what thou saidst to me once, when we had
used up all our soap-water, and it became night,
with the stars all coming out? — 'These are also
soap-bubbles,' thou saidst, 'and the good God is sit-
ting on a high mountain, blowing them, and he can
do it better than we can.' "...

"No, I do not remember that," said Audifax.

He hung down his head again, and began to
cry afresh. "What must I do, to find the treasure?"
sobbed he.

"Be sensible," said Hadumoth, "what wilt thou
do with the treasure, if thou couldst find iti"

"I should buy my liberty, and thine also; and
all the land from the Duchess; mountain and all;
and I should have made for thee a golden crown,
and for every goat a golden bell, and for myself a
flute made of ebony and pure gold." . . .

"Of pure gold," laughed Hadumoth. "Dost
thou know, what gold looks like?"

Audifax pointed with his fingers to his lips.
"Canst thou keep a secret?" She nodded in the
affirmative. "Then promise me with your hand."
She gave him her hand.

"Now I will show you, how pure gold looks,"
said the boy, diving into his breast-pocket, and
pulling out a piece like a good-sized coin, but
shaped like a cup. On it were engraven mystic,
half-effaced characters. It glistened and shone

EKKEHARD. I43

brightly in the sun, and was really gold. Hadu-
nioth balanced it on her forefinger.

"That I found in yonder field; far over there,
after the thunderstorm," said Audifax. "Whenever
the many-coloured rain-bow descends to us, there
come two angels, who hold out a golden cup, so
that its ends should not touch the rough and rain-
drenched ground; and when it vanishes again, they
leave their cups on the fields, as they cannot use
them twice; for fear of offending the rain-bow."

Hadumoth began to believe that her companion
was really destined to obtain some great treasure.
"Audifax," said she, giving him back his rain-bow
cup, "this will not help thee. He who wants to
find a treasure, must know the spell. Down in the
depth below, they keep a good watch over their
treasures, and don't give up anything, unless they
are forced to do it."

"Oh, yes, the spell!" said Audifax with tearful
eyes. "If I only knew that!"

"Hast thou seen the holy man already T' asked
Hadumoth.

"No."

"For some days a holy man has been in the
castle, who is sure to know all spells. He has
brought a great book with him, out of which he
reads to the Duchess; in it is written everything;
how one conquers all the spirits in air, earth, water
and fire. The tall Friderun told the men-servants;
and that the Duchess had made him come, to
strengthen her power; and to make her remain for
ever young and beautiful, and live to eternity."

144 EKKEHARD.

"I will go to the holy man then," said Audifax

"They will beat you perhaps," warned Hadumoth.

"They will not beat me," replied he. "I know
something which I will give him, if he tells me the
spell."

Meanwhile the evening had set in. The two
children arose from their stony seat; goats and geese
were collected; and then, in well organized troops,
like soldiers, were driven up the hill, and into their
respective sheds. —

That same evening, Ekkehard read out to the
Duchess, the end of the first book of the .^neid,
which had been interrupted by Master Spazzo's un-
timely entrance. — How Dido greatly surprised by
the hero's unexpected appearance, invites him as
well as his companions into her hospitable halls; —
and Dame Hadwig gave an approving nod, at the
following words of Dido:

" I, by a similar fate, with many a sorrow acquainted,
Wearily erring about, till I found a home in this country,
Grief is no stranger to me, and has taught me to help the afHicted."

Then ^neas sends back Achates to the ships,
that he might bring the good news to Ascanius; for
on him was centred all the care and affection of
his father. But Dame Venus, whose head is rife
with new cunning, wishes to enflame Dido's heart
v/ith love for ^neas. So she removed Ascanius to
the distant Idalian groves and gave his form to the
God of love; who divesting himself of his wings,
and imitating the carriage and gait of Ascanius, fol-
lowed the Trojans sent to fetch him, and thus ap-
peared before the queen in her palace at Carthago.

EKKEHARD. 145

"Often she thus could be found, with her soul in her eyes, gazing at him,
Then too, many a time, she presses him close to her bosom.
Little knowing, poor queen, to what God she is giving a shelter.
Bent on his mother's designs, in her heart he efftices the image
Of Sichseus her spouse ; then tries to rekindle her pas.sions,
Calling up feelings within her, which long had slumber'd forgotten."

"Stop a moment," said Dame Hadwig. "This
part, I think, is again very poor, and weakly con-
ceived."

"Poor, and vpeakly conceived?" asked Ekkehard.

"What need is there of Amor," she said, "Could
it not happen without using cunning and deceit,
and without his interference that the memory of her
first husband could be effaced in the heart of a
widow?"

"If a God himself made the mischief," said
Ekkehard, "then queen Dido's behaviour is excused,
or even justified; — that I believe is the intention of
the poet." Ekkehard probably thought this a very
clever remark, but the Duchess now rose, and
pointedly said: "Oh that of course alters the matter!
So she needed an excuse! — really that idea did not
strike me! Good night."

Proudly she stepped through the chamber; her
long flowing garments rustling reproachfully.

"'Tis strange," thought Ekkehard, "but to read
Virgil with women, has certainly its difficulties."
Further his reflections did not go . . .

The following day he was going over the court-
yard, when Audifax the goat-herd came to him;
kissed the hem of his garment, and then looked up
at him, with beseeching eyes.

"What dost thou wanti" asked Ekkehard.

Ekkehard. I 10

146 EKKEHARD.

"I should like to know the spell," replied Audifax
timidly.

"What spelll"

"To lift the treasure, out of the deeps."

"That spell I should like to know also," said
Ekkehard laughing.

"Oh, you have got it, holy man," said the boy
eagerly. "Have you not got the great book, out of
which you read to the Duchess, in the evening?"

Ekkehard looked at him sharply. He became
suspicious; remembering the way, in which he had
come to the Hohentwiel. "Has anybody prompted
thee, — thus to interrogate mel"

"Yes."

" Who."

Then Audifax began to cry, and sobbed out,
"Hadumoth."

Ekkehard did not understand him. "And who
is Hadumothl"

"The goose-girl," faltered the boy,

"Thou art a foolish boy, who ought to mind his
business."

But Audifax did not go.

"You are not to give it me for nothing," said
he. "I will show you something very pretty. There
must be many treasures in the mountain. I know
one, but it is not the right one; and I should so
like to find the right one!"

Ekkehard's attention was roused. "Show me
what thou knowest." Audifax pointed downwards;
and Ekkehard going out of the court-yard followed
him down the hill. On the back of the mountain,

EKKKHARD. I 47

where one beholds the fir-clad Hohenstoffeln and
Hohenhowen, Audifax quitted the path, and went
into the buslies, towards a high wall of grey rocks.

Audifax pushed aside the opposing branches,
and tearing aAvay the moss, showed him a yellow
vein, as broad as a finger, running through the grey
stone. The boy then managed to break off a bit of the
yellow substance, which stuck in the chinks of the
rock, like petrified drops. In the bright gold-coloured
mass, small opal crystals, in reddish white globules,
were scattered.

Closely examining it, Ekkehard looked at the
detached piece, which was unknown to him. It was
no precious stone; the learned men in later years,
gave it the name of Natrolith.

"Do you see now, that I know something?" said
Audifax.

"But what shall I do with kV enquired Ekke-
hard.

"That you must know better than I. You can
have them polished, and adorn your great books
with them. Will you now give me the spell?"

Ekkehard could not help laughing at the boy.
"Thou oughtest to become a miner," he said, turn-
ing to go.

But Audifax held him fast by his garment.

"No, you must first teach me something out of
your book."

"What shall I teach you?"

"The most powerful charm."

An inclination to allow himself an innocent joke,
now came into Ekkehard's serious mind. "Come

io»

148 EKKEHARD.

along with me then, and tliou shalt have the most
])o\verfal charm."

Joyfully Audifax went with him. Then Ekke-
hard laughingly told him the following words out
of Virgil:

"Auri sacra fames, quid non mortalia cogis pectora?"

With Stubborn patience, Audifax repeated the foreign
words, over and over again, until he had fixed them
in his memory.

"Please to write it down, that I may wear it on
me," he now entreated.

Ekkehard wishing to complete the joke, wrote
the words on a thin strip of parchment, and gave
it to the boy; who gleefully hiding it in his breast-
pocket, again kissed his garment, and then darted
off; with innumerable mad gambols, outrivalling the
merriest of his goats.

"This child holds Virgil in greater honour, than
the Duchess," thought Ekkehard to himself.

At noon-tide Audifax was again sitting on his
rock; but this time there were no tears glistening in
his timid eyes. For the first time, after a long while,
his pipe was taken out, and the wind carried its
notes into the valley, where they reached his friend
Hadumoth; who came over at once, and gaily asked
him: "Shall we make soap-bubbles again?"

"I will make no more soap-bubbles," said Audi-
fax, and resumed his pipe-blowing; but after a while,
he looked about carefully, and then drawing Hadu-
moth quite close to him, he whispered in her ear,

EKKEHARD. I4Q

his eyes glistening strangely: "I have been to sec
the holy man. This night we will seek the treasure.
Thou must go with me." Hadumoth readily pro-
mised.

In the servants' hall, the supper was finished;
and now they all rose from their benches at the
same time, and arranged themselves in a long file.
At the bottom stood Audifax and Hadumoth, and
it was the latter who used to say the prayers, before
these rough, but well-meaning folks. Her voice was
rather trembling this time.

Before the table had been cleared, two shadows
glided out, by the yet unlocked gate. They be-
longed to Hadumoth and Audifax; the latter going
on before. "The night will be cold," he said to
his companion, throwing a long-haired goat's skin
over her.

On the southern side where the mountain wall
is steepest, there was an old rampart. Here Audifax
stopped, as it afforded them a shelter against the
keen night-wind of autumn. He stretched out his
arm and said: "I think this must be the place. We
have yet to wait a long time, till midnight."

Hadumoth said nothing. The two children sat
down side by side. The moon had risen, and sent
her trembling light, through airy, scattered cloudlets.
In the castle some windows were lighted up; they
were again reading out of their Virgil. Everything
was quiet and motionless around; only at rare in-
tervals, the hoarse shriek of an owl was heard.
After a long while, Hadumoth timidly said: "How
will it be, Audifax "J "

150 EKKEHARD.

"I don't know," was the answer. "Somebody will
come and bring it; or the earth will open, and we
must descend; or . . ."

"Be quiet, I am frightened."

After another long interval, during which Hadu-
moth had slumbered peacefully, her head resting on
Audifax's bosom, — the latter, rubbing his eyes hard,
to drive away sleepiness, now awakened his com-
panion,

"Hadumoth," said he, "the night is long, wilt
thou not tell me something?"

"Something evil has come into my mind," replied
she. "There was once a man, who went out in the
early morning, at sunrise, to plough his field; and
there he found the gold-dwarf, standing in a furrow
and grinning at him, who spoke thus: 'take me with
you. He who does not seek us, shall have us; but
he who seeketh us, we strangle him . . .' Audifax, I
am so frightened."

"Give me thy hand," said Audifax, "and have
courage."

The lights on the castle had all died out. The
hollow bugle-notes of the watchman on the tower,
announced midnight. Then Audifax knelt down,
and Hadumoth, beside him. The former had taken
off his wooden shoe from his right foot, so that the
naked sole touched the dark earth. The parchment
strip he held in his hand, and with a clear firm voice
he pronounced the words, the meaning of which he
did not understand,

"Auri sacra fames, quid non mortalia cogis pectora."

EKKEHARD. 151

He remembered them well. And on their knees
the two remained, waiting for that which was to
come. But there came neither dwarf nor giant, and
the ground did not open either. The stars over their
heads, glittered coldly, and the chill night-air blew
into their faces . . . Yet a faith so strong and deep,
as that of the two children, ought not to be laughed
at, even if it cannot remove mountains, or bring up
treasures from the deep.

Now a strange light was seen on the firmament.
A shooting star, marking its way by a trailing line
of light, fell down; followed by many others. "It
is coming from above," whispered Audifax, con-
vulsively pressing the little maiden to his side. ^'Aiiri
sacra fames . . ." he called out once more into the
night. Then the golden lines crossed each other;
and soon one meteor after another became ex-
tinguished, and everything in the sky, was again
quiet as before.

Audifax looked with anxious eyes around; then
he rose sorrowfully, and said in faltering tones:
"'Tis nothing; they have fallen into the lake. They
grudge us everything. We shall remain poor."

"Hast thou said the words, which the holy man
gave thee, quite right "?"

"Exactly so as he taught me."

"Then he has not told thee the right spell. Pro-
bably he wants to find the treasure for himself. Per-
haps he has put a net in the place where the stars
fell down . . ."

"No, I don't believe that," said Audifax. "His
face is mild and good, and his lips are not deceitful."

1^2 EKKEHARD,

Hadumoth was thoughtful.

"Perhaps he does not know the right words?"

"Why not?"

"Because he has not got the right God. He
prays to the new God. The old Gods were great
and strong also."

Audifax pressed his fingers on the lips of his
companion. "Be silent."

"I am no longer afraid," said Hadumoth. "I
know someone else, who knows all about spells and
charms."

"Who is it?"

Hadumoth pointed to a steep dark mountain,
opposite. "The woman of the wood," replied she.

"The woman of the wood?" repeated Audifax
aghast. "She, who made the great thunder-storm,
when the hailstones fell as big as pigeon's eggs,
into the fields; and who has eaten up the count of
Hilzingen, who never returned home?"

"Just on account of that. We will ask her. The
castle will still be closed for some hours, and the
night is cold."

The little goose-girl had become bold and ad-
venturous; for her sympathy with Audifax was great,
and she wanted so much to help him to the fulfil-
ment of his wishes. "Come," said she eagerly, "if
thou art frightened in the dark wood, thou canst
blow on thy pipe; and the birds will answer thee,
for it will soon be dawn.

Audifax did not raise any further objection. So
they walked on northwards, through the dark fir-
wood. They both knew the path well. Not a human

EKKEHARD. I 53

creature was stirring about; only an old fox, lying
in ambush, for some rabbit or partridge, caught
sight of them and was as little satisfied with their
appearance, as they had been with the shooting
stars.

Foxes also, have to bear their disappointments
in life; therefore it drew in its tail, and hid itself in
the bushes.

The two children had gone on for about an hour,
when they reached the top of the Hohenkrahen.
Hidden amongst trees, there stood a small stone
hut, before which they stopped. "The dog is sure
to bark," said Hadumoth. But no dog was heard.
They approached nearer and saw that the door stood
wide open.

"The woman of the wood is gone," they said.
But on the high rock on the Hohenkrahen, a small
fire was still faintly burning; and dark shadows could
be seen gliding about it. Then the children crept
along the steep path leading up to the rock.

The first gleam of the coming dawn, was already
visible over the Bodensee. The path was very nar-
row, and a projecting piece of rock, over which a
mighty oak-tree spread out its branches hid the
fire from their view. There, Audifax and Hadu-
moth cowered down, and peeped round the corner.
Then they saw, that some big animal had been
killed. A head, apparently that of a horse, was
nailed to the stem of the oak; and weapons as well
as a quantity of bones, lay scattered about; while a
vase filled with blood, stood beside the fire.

Around a roughly hewn piece of rock, serving as

154 EKKEHARD.

table, a number of men were sitting. On it, stood a
big kettle of beer, out of which they filled and re-
filled their stone jugs.

At the foot of the oak, sat a woman, who was
certainly not so lovely, as the AUemannic virgin Bis-
sula; who inflamed the heart of the Roman states-
man Ausonius, in spite of his age, to such a degree
that he went about in his prefecture, spouting poetry
in her praise: "her eyes are blue as the colour of
the Heavens, and like gold is her wavy hair. Superior
to all the dolls of Latium, is she, a child of the bar-
barians; and he who wants to paint her, must blend
the rose with the lily." * The woman on the 'Hohen-
krahen was old and haggard.

The men were looking at her; whilst the dawn
was evidently spreading in the east. The mists hang-
ing over the Bodensee, began to move, and now the
sun was casting his first ray on the hills, burnishing
their tops with gold. The fiery ball itself had just
risen on the horizon, when the woman jumped up;
the men following her example. She swung a bunch
of mistletoe and fir-tree branches over her head,
and then dipping it into the vase, three times sprinkled
the bloody drops towards the sun; three times also
over the men, and then poured out the contents of
the vase, at the foot of the tree.

The men all seized their jugs, and rubbing them
in a monotonous way, three times on the smooth
surface of the rock, to produce a strange humming
noise, lifted them together towards the sun, and then
drained them at one draught. The putting them

* Ausonius. Idyll. 7.

EKKEHARD. 155

down again, sounded like one single blow, so simul-
taneous, was the movement. After this everyone put
on his mantle, and then they all went silently down
hill.

It was the first night of November.

When all had become quiet again, the children
stepped out of their hiding-place, and confronted
the old woman. Audifax had taken out the slip of
parchment, — but the hag snatching up a brand out
of the fire, approached them with a threatening look;
so that the children hastily turned round, and fled
down the hill, as fast as their feet could carry them.

156 EKKEHARD.

CHAPTER IX.

Tlie Woman of the Wood.

AuDiFAX and Hadumoth had returned to the
castle on the Hohentwiel, without anybody having
noticed their having made this nightly expedition.
They did not speak of their adventures, even to
each other; but Audifax brooded over them night
and day. He became rather negligent in his duties,
so that one of his flock got lost in the hilly ground
near where the Rhine flows out of the Bodensee.
So Audifax went to look for the goat; and after
spending a whole day in the pursuit, he triumphantly
returned with the truant, in the evening.

Hadumoth welcomed him joyfully; delighted at
his success, which saved him from a whipping. By
and by, the winter came, and the animals remained
in their respective stalls. One day the two children
were sitting alone before the fire-place in the ser-
vant's hall.

"Dost thou still think of the treasure and the
spell?" said Hadumoth.

Then Audifax drew closer to her and whispered
mysteriously. "The holy man has after all got the
right God."

"Why so?" asked Hadumoth. He ran away
to his chamber where, hidden in the straw of his

EKKEHARD.

157

mattress, were a number of different stones. lie
took out one of these and brought it to her.

"Look here," he said. It was a piece of grey
mica-slate, containing the remains, of a fish; the
dehcate outUnes of which, were clearly visible.
"That's what I have found at the foot of the
Schiener mountain, when I went to look for the
goat. That must come from the great flood, which
Father Vincentius, once preached about; and this
flood, the Lord of Heaven and Earth sent over the
world, when he told Noah to build the big ship.
Of all this, the woman of the wood knows nothing."

Hadumoth became thoughtful. "Then it must
be her fault, that the stars did not fall into our lap.
Let us go and complain of her, to the holy man."

So they Avent to Ekkehard, and told him all
that they had beheld that night on the Hohenkriihen.
He listened kindly to their tale, which he repeated
to the Duchess in the evening. Dame Hadwig
smiled.

"They have a peculiar taste, my faithful subjects,"
said she. "Everywhere handsome churches have
been erected, in which the Gospel is preached to
them. Fine church-music, great festivals and pro-
cessions through the waving corn-fields, with cross
and flag at their head, — all this does not content
them. So they must needs sit on their mountain-
tops in cold, chilly nights, not understanding what
they're about, except that they drink beer. 'Tis
really wonderful. What do you think of the matter,
pious Master Ekkehard ]"

"It is superstition," replied he, "which the Evil

158 EKKEHAKD.

lOne SOWS in weak and rebellious hearts. I have
read in our books about the doings of the hea-
thens, how they perform their idolatrous rites in
idark woods; by lonely wells and even at the graves
lof their dead."

: "But they are no longer heathens," said Dame
Hadwig. They are all baptized and belong to some
parish-church. But nevertheless some of the old
traditions still live among them; and though these
jhave lost their meaning, they yet run through
their thoughts and actions, as the Rhine does in
winter, flowing noiselessly on, under the icy cover
jof the Bodensee. What would you do with them?"
( "Annihilate them," said Ekkehard. "He who
forsakes his christian faith and breaks the vows of
his baptism, shall be eternally damned."

"Not so fast, my young zealot!" continued Dame
Hadwig. "My good Hegau people are not to lose
their heads, because they prefer sitting on the cold
top of the Hohenkrahen , on the first night of No-
vember, to lying on their straw-mattresses. For all
that, they do their duties well enough, and fought
under Charlemagne against the heathenish Saxons,
as if everyone of them had been a chosen combat-
ant of the Church itself."

"With the Devil there can be no peace," cried
Ekkehard hotly. "Are you going to be lukewarm
in your faith, noble Mistressl"

"In reigning over a country," returned she with
a slight sarcasm in her voice— "one learns a good
deal that is not written down in books. Don't you
know that a weak man is often more easily defeated

EKKEHARD. 159

by his own weakness, than by the sharpness of ihe
sword"? When the holy GaUus one day visited the
ruins of Bregenz, he found the altar of St. Aurclia
destroyed, and in its place three metal idols erected;
and around the great beer-kettle the men sat drink-
ing; for this is a ceremony which is never omitted
when our Suabians wish to show their piety in the
old fashion. The holy Gallus did not hurt a single
man amongst therii; but he cut their idols to pieces,
threw them into the green waves of the lake, and
made a large hole into their beer-kettle. On this
very spot he preached the Gospel to them, and
when they saw that no fire fell down from the
Heavens to destroy him, they were convinced that
their Gods were powerless, and so became con-
verted. So you see that to be sensible is not to
be lukewarm." . . .

"That was in those times," began Ekkehard, but
Dame Hadwig continued: "And now the Church |
has been established from the source of the Rhine'
to the North Sea, and far stronger than the ancient!
castles of the Romans, a chain of monasteries,;
fortresses of the christian faith, runs through the
land. Even into the recesses of the Black-forest
the Gospel has penetrated; so why should we wage
war so fiercely against the miserable stragglers of
the olden times'?"

"Then you had better reward them," said Ekke-
hard bitterly.

"Reward them?" quoth the Duchess. "Between
the one and the other, there is still many an expe-
dient left. Perhaps it were better if we put a stop

l6o EKKEHARD,

to these nightly trespasses. No reahii can be power-
ful in which two different creeds exist, for that leads
to internal warfare, which is rather dangerous, as
long as there are plenty of outward enemies. Be-
sides, the laws of the land have forbidden them
these follies, and they must find out, that our
ordinances and prohibitions are not to be tampered
with in that way."

Ekkehard did not seem to be satisfied yet; a
shadow of displeasure being still visible on his

^countenance.

! "Tell me," continued the Duchess, "what is
your opinion of witchcraft in general?"

"Witchcraft," said Ekkehard seriously, taking a
deep breath, which seemed to denote the intention
of indulging in a longer speech than usual — "witch-
craft is a damnable art, by which human beings
make treaties with the demons inhabiting the ele-
ments, whose workings in nature are everywhere
traceable; rendering them subservient by these com-
pacts. Even in lifeless things there are latent living
powers, which we neither hear nor see, but which
often tempt careless and unguarded minds, to wish
to know more and to attain greater power, than is
granted to a faithful servant of the Lord. That is
the old sorcery of the serpent; and he, who holds
communion with the powers of darkness, may ob-
tain part of their power, but he reigns over the
Devils by Beelzebub himself, and becomes his pro-
perty, when his time is at an end. Therefore witch-

, craft is as old as sin itself, and instead of the one
true faith, the belief in the Trinity reigning para-

EKKEHAJiD. l6l

mount, fortune-tellers and interpreters of dreams, (
wandering actors and expounders of riddles, still'
infest the world; and their partisans are to be found
above all among the daughters of Eve."

"You are really getting polite!" exclaimed Dame
Had wig.

"For the minds of women," continued Ekke-
hard, "have in all times been curious and eager to
attain forbidden knowledge. As we shall proceed
with our reading of Virgil, you will see the excess
of witchcraft embodied in a woman, called Circe,
who passed her days, singing, on a rocky headland.
Burning chips, of sweet-scented cedar-wood, lighten
up her dark chambers, where she is industriously
throwing the shuttle, and weaving beautiful tapestry;
but outside in the yard, is heard the melancholy
roaring of lions and tigers, as well as the grunting
of swine, which were formerly men, whom by ad-
ministering to them her potent magic philters, she
has changed into brutes." s _J

"I declare, you are talking like a book," said
the Duchess pointedly. "You really ought to ex-
tend your study of witchcraft. To-morrow you shall
ride over to the Hohenkrahen and examine, whether
the woman of the wood is a Circe also. We give
you full authority to act in our name, and are
truly curious to ascertain what your wisdom will
decree."

"It is not for me to reign over a people and to
settle the affairs of this world," replied he evasively.

"That will be seen," said Duchess Hadwig.
"I do not think that the power of commanding has

Ekkehard. I. "

l62 EKKEHARD.

ever embarrassed anyone, least of all a son of the
Church."

So Ekkehard submitted; the more readily, as the
commission was a proof of confidence on her part.
Early on the next morning he rode over to the
Hohenkrahen on horseback, taking Audifax with
him, to show him the way

"A happy journey. Sir Chancellor!" called out
a laughing voice behind him. It was the voice of
Praxedis.

1 They soon reached the old hag's dwelling, which
!was a stone hut, built on a projecting part of the
high rock, about half way up. Mighty oaks and
beech-trees spread their boughs over it, hiding the
summit of the Hohenkrahen. Three high stone
steps led into the inside, which was a dark, but airy
chamber. On the floor, there lay heaps of dried
herbs, giving out a strong fragrance. Three bleached
horses' skulls grinned down fantastically from the
walls; whilst beneath them hung the huge antlers
of a stag. In the door-post was cut a double, intri-
cate triangle; and on the floor, a tame wood-pecker,
and a raven with cropped wings, were hopping
about.

The inhabitant of this abode, was seated beside
the flickering fire on the hearth; sewing some gar-
ment. By her side stood a high, roughly hewn
weather-beaten stone. From time to time, she bent
down to the hearth, and held out her meagre hand
over the coals; for the cold of November was be-
ginning to be felt, especially on the mountains.
The boughs of an old beech-tree came almost into

EKKEHARD, 1 63

the room through the window. A faint breeze was
stirring them; and the leaves being withered and
sere, trembled and fell off; a few of them falling
right into the chamber.

The woman of the wood was old and lonely;
and suffering probably from the cold.

"There you are lying now, despised and faded
and dead," she said to the leaves — "and I am like
you." A peculiar expression now came to her old
wrinkled face. She was thinking of former times,
when she also had been young and blooming, and
had had a sweetheart of her own. But his fate
had driven him far away from his native fir-woods.
Plundering Normans, coming up the Rhine, robbing
and burning wherever they came, had carried him
off as a prisoner, like so many others; and he had
staid with them more than a year, and had become
a seaman, and in the rough sea-air he had got to
be rough and hard also. When at last they gave
him his liberty, and he returned to his Suabian
woods, he still carried with him the longing for the
North-Sea, and pined for his wild sailor life. The
home-faces were no longer pleasant to his eyes;
those of the monks and priests least of all; and as
misfortune would have it, in the heat of passion he
slew a monk who had upbraided him, so that he
could no longer remain in his home.

The thoughts of the old woman were constantly
recurring that day, to the hour when he had parted
from her for ever. Then, the servants of the judge
led him to his cottage in the wood of Weiterdingen,
and exacted six hundred shillings from him, as a

1 64 EKKEHARD.

fine for the man he had slain. Then he had to
swear a great oath, that beside his cottage and acre,
he had nothing left, either above or underground.

After that he went into his house, took a hand-
ful of earth, and threw it with his left hand over
his shoulder, at his father's brother, in sign that his
debt was thus to pass on to this his only remaining
relation by blood. This done, he seized his staff,
and dressed in his linen shirt, without shoes or
girdle, he jumped over the fence of his acre, for
such was the custom of the ^^Chrene Chruda,"* and
thus he became a homeless wanderer, free to go
out into the wilderness. So he went back to Den-
mark to his own Northmen and never returned any
more. All that had ever reached her, was a dark
rumour that he had gone over with them to See-
land, where the brave sea-kings, refusing to adopt
the christian faith with its new laws, had founded
a new home for themselves.

All this had happened long, long ago; but the
old woman remembered it all, as if it were but
yesterday, that she had seen her Friduhelm going
away from her for ever. Then she had hung up a
garland of vervain at the little chapel of Weiter-
dingen, shedding many tears over it; and never had
another lover been able to efface his image from
her heart. The cold dreary November weather,
reminded her of an old Norman song, which he

* The curious custom, that by this act, called the " Chrene Chruda,"
the debt passed on to the next relation by blood , who was able to pay it , is
described in Merkel's "lex Salica." The origin of "Chrene Chritda" has
not yet been sufficiently explained.

EKKEHARD. 1 65

had once taught her and which she now hummed
to herself:

" The evening comes, and winter is near,
The hoar-frost on fir-trees is lying ;
Oh book, and cross and prayers of monk —
How soon shall we all be a dying.

Our homes are getting so dusky and old
And the holy wells desecrated.
Thou god-inhabited, beautiful wood.
Wilt thou, even thou be prostrated ?

And silent we go, a defeated tribe.
Whose stars are all dying and sinking,
Oh Iceland, thou icy rock in the sea,
With thee, our fates we'll be linking.

Arise and receive our wandering race.
Which is coming to thee, and bringing
The ancient Gods, and the ancient rights.
To which our hearts are still clinging.

Where the fiery hill is shedding its light,
And the breakers are shorewards sweeping,
On thee thou defiant end of the world 1
Our last long watch, we'll be keeping."

Ekkehard meanwhile had got down from the
saddle, and tied his horse to a neighbouring fir-
tree. He now stepped over the threshold, shyly-
followed by Audifax.

The woman of the wood threw the garment she
had been working at, over the stone, folded her
hands on her lap, and looked fixedly at the intruder
in his monk's habit, but did not get up.

"Praised be Jesus Christ," said Ekkehard, by
way of greeting, and also to avert any possible spell.
Instinctively he drew in the thumb of his right hand,
doubling his fingers over it, being afraid of the evil
eye and its powers. Audifax had told him how

1 66 EKKEIIARD.

people said, that with one look she could wither up
a whole meadow. She did not return his greeting.
"What are you doing there," began Ekkehard.
"I am mending an old garment that is getting
worn," was the answer.

"You have been also gathering herbs'?"
"So I have. Are you an herb-gatherer] Here
are many of them, if you wish for any. Hawk-weed
and snail-clover, goats-beard and mouse-ear, as well
as dried wood-ruff."

"I am no herb-gatherer," said Ekkehard. "What
use do you make of those herbs'?"

"Need you be asking what is the use of herbs'?"
said the old woman. "Such as you, know that well
enough. It would fare ill with sick people and
sick hearts, and with our protection against nightly
sprites, as well as the stilling of lover's longings, if
there were no herbs to be had!"

"And have you been baptized?" continued Ekke-
hard.

"Aye, they will have baptized me, likely enough.". . .
"And if you have been baptized," he said rais-
ing his voice, "and have renounced the devil with
all his works and allurements, what is the meaning
of all this?" He pointed with his stick towards the
horses' skulls on the wall, and giving a violent push
to one, caused it to fall down on the floor, where
it broke to pieces, so that the white teeth rolled
about on the ground.

"The skull of a horse," quietly replied the old
woman, "which you have shivered to pieces. It
was a young animal, as you may see by the teeth"

EKKEHARD. 167

"And you like to eat horse-flesh'?"

"It is no impure animal, nor is it forbidden to
eat it."

"Woman!" cried Ekkehard approaching her
closer, "thou exercisest witchcraft and sorcery!"

Then she arose and with a frowning brow and
strangely glittering eyes, she said: "You wear a
priest's garment, so you may say this to me; for
an old woman has no protection against such as
you. Otherwise it were a grave insult which you
have cast on me, and the laws of the land punish
those that use such words." . . .

During this conversation, Audifax had remained
timidly standing at the door, but when the raven
now made its way towards him, he was afraid and
ran up to Ekkehard; from thence he saw the stone
by the hearth, and walked up to it; for the fear
even of twenty ravens would not have prevented
him from examining a curious stone. Lifting the
garment which was spread over it, he beheld some
strange, weather-beaten figures cai-ved on it.

At that moment Ekkehard's eye fell also on the
stone. It was a Roman altar, and had doubtless
been erected on those heights by cohorts, who at
the command of their Emperor had left their camp
in luxurious Asia, for the inhospitable shores of the
Bodensee. A youth, in a flowing mantle and with
Phrygian cap, was kneeling on a prostrate bull, —
the Persian God of light, Mithras; who gave new
hope and strength to the fast sinking faith of the
Romans.

An inscription was nowhere visible. For a

i

1 68 EKKEHARD.

considerable time Ekkehard stood examining it; for
with the exception of a golden coin bearing the
head of Vespasian, which had been found in the
moor at Rapperswyl, by some dependants of the
monastery, and some carved stones among the
church treasures, his eye had never before beheld
any carving of the olden times; but from the shape
and look of the thing, he guessed at its being some
silent witness of a bygone world.

"Whence comes the stone 1" asked he.

"I have been questioned more than enough
now," defiantly said the old woman. "Find an
answer for yourself"

The stone might have said a good deal for it-
self, if stones were gifted with speech, for a goodly
piece of history often clings to such old and weather-
beaten ruins. Wliat do they teach us? That the
races of men, come and go like the leaves; that
spring produces and autumn destroys, and that all
their thinkings and doings, last but a short span of
time. After them, there come others, talking in
other tongues and creating other forms. That which
was holy before, is then pulled down and despised,
and that which was condemned, becomes holy in
its place. New Gods mount the throne, — and it is
well if their altars are not erected on the bodies of
too many victims. . . .

Ekkehard saw another meaning in the stone's
being in the hut of the woman of the wood.

"You worship that man on the bull!" he cried
vehemently. The old woman took up a stick stand-
ing by the fire-place, and with a knife made two

EKKEHARD. l6g

notches in it. "'Tis the second insult you have
offered me," she said hoarsely. "What have we
to do with yonder stone image?"

"Then speak out. How is it that the stone
comes to be here?"

"Because we took pity on it," replied she.
"You, who wear the tonsure and monk's habit,
probably will not understand that. The stone
stood outside, on yonder projecting rock, which
must have been a consecrated spot, on which many
have knelt probably, in the olden times. But in
the present days nobody heeded it. The people
here about, dried their crab-apples, or split their
wood on it; just as it suited them; and the cruel
rain has been washing away the figures. 'The sight
of the stone grieves me,' said my mother one day.
It was once something holy, but the bones of those,
who have known and worshipped the man on it,
have long been bleached white, — and the man in
the flowing mantle looks as if he were freezing with
the cold. So we took it up, and placed it beside
the hearth, and it has never harmed us as yet. Wei
know how the old Gods feel, when their altars zrelio^iuiwn
shattered; for ours also have been dethroned. You
need not begrudge its rest to the old stone." I

"Your Gods?" said Ekkehard, "who are your
Gods?"

"That you ought to know best, for you have
driven them away, and banished them into the
depths of the lake. In the floods below, everything
has been buried. The ancient rights and the ancient
Gods! We can see them no more, and know but

1 70 EKKEHARD.

Ithe places where our fathers have worshipped them,
before the Franks and the cowl-bearing men had
come. But when the winds are shaking the toj)s
of yonder oak-tree, you may hear their wailing
voices in the air; and on consecrated nights, there-
is a moaning and roaring in the forest, and a shin-
ing of lights; whilst serpents are winding themselves
round the stems of the trees; and over the moun-
tains you hear a rustling of wings, of despairing
j spirits, that have come to look at their ancient
home."

Ekkehard crossed himself.

"I tell it thus as I know it," continued the old
[woman. "I do not wish to offend the Saviour,
but he has come as a stranger into the land. You
Iserve him in a foreign tongue, which we cannot

i understand. If he had sprung up from our own
ground, then we might talk to him, and should be
his most faithful worshippers, and maybe things
would then fare better in Allemannia."

"Woman!" cried Ekkehard wrathfully, "we will
have thee burned . . ."

"If it be written in your books that trees grow
up, to burn old woman with, very well. I have lived
long enough. The lightning has lately paid a visit
to the woman of the wood," — pointing to a dark stripe
on the wall, — "the lightning has spared the old
woman."

After this she cowered down before the hearth,
and remained there motionless like a statue. The
flickering coals threw a fitful, varying light on her
wrinkled face.

EKKEHARD. I 7 I

"'Tis well," said Ekkehard as he left the chamber.
Audifax was very glad when he could see the blue
sky again over his head. "There they sat together,"
said he pointing upwards.

"I will go and look at it, whilst thou goest back
to the Hohentwiel, and sendest over two men with
hatchets. And tell Otfried the deacon of Singen to
come and bring his stole and mass-book with him."

Audifax bounded away, whilst Ekkehard went
up to the top of the Hohenkrahen.

In the castle on the Hohentwiel, the Duchess
had been sitting meanwhile taking her midday meal.
She had often looked about, as if something were
missing. The meal was soon over, and when Dame
Hadwig found herself alone with Praxedis she began:

"How dost thou like our new teacher, Praxedis 1"

The Greek maid smiled.

"Speak," said the Duchess in a commanding
voice.

"Well I have seen many a schoolmaster before
this, at Constantinopolis," said Praxedis flippantly.

Dame Hadwig threatened her with her finger,
"I shall have to banish thee from my sight, if thou
indulges! in such irreverent speeches. What hast
thou to say against schoolmasters?"

"Pardon me," said Praxedis. "I did not mean
any offence. But whenever I see such a bookman,
wearing such a very serious expression, and assum-
ing such an important air, drawing out of his manu-
script some meaning which we have already nearly
guessed; and when I see how he is bound up in
his parchments, his eyes seeing nothing but dead

172 EKKEHARD.

letters, having scarcely a look to spare for the human
beings around him, — then I always feel strongly
tempted to laugh. When I am in doubt whether
pity would be the proper feeling, I take to laughing.
And he certainly does not require my pity, as he
knows so much more, than I do."

"A teacher must be serious," said the Duchess.
"Seriousness belongs to him, as the snow does to
our Alps."

"Serious, — ah well! in this land where the snow
covers the mountain-peaks, everything must be seri-
ous," resumed the Greek maid. "If I were only
as learned as Master Ekkehard to be able to express
all that I want to say! I mean that one can learn
many things jestingly, without the sweat-drops of
hard labour on one's brow. All that is beautiful
ought to please, and be true, at the same time. I
mean that knowledge is like honey, which can be
got at in different ways. The butterfly hovers over
the flowers and finds it; but such a learned German
appears to me like a bear, who clumsily puts his
paws into a bee-hive and then licks them. I for
my part don't admire bears."

"Thou art a frivolous minded maiden and not
fond of learning. But how does Ekkehard please
thee otherwise, — I think him very handsome."

Praxedis looked up at her mistress. "I have
never yet looked at a monk, to see whether he were
handsome."

"Why not?"

"Because I thought it quite unnecessary."

"Thou givest queer answers to-day," said Dame

EKKEHARD. 173

Hadwig, getting up from her seat. She stepped to
the window and looked out northwards; where from
the dark fir-trees rose the heavy mass of the steep,
rocky Hohenkrahen.

"The goat-boy has just been here, and has told
some of the men to go over," said Praxedis.

"The afternoon is mild and sunny," observed
the Duchess. "Tell them to saddle the horses and
we will ride over, and see what they are doing.
Ah — I forgot that thou complainedst of the fatigue
of riding, when we returned from St. Gallus. So I
will go there alone . . ."

Ekkehard meanwhile had inspected the scene of
the nightly revel, of which but few traces remained.
The earth around the oak-tree was still wet and
reddish looking, and a few coals and ashes indicated
where the fire had been.

With astonishment he beheld here and there,
hanging in the branches of the oak, small wax
effigies of human limbs. There were feet and hands,
as well as images of cows and horses, — offerings for
the recovery of sick men and beasts, which the
superstitious peasantry, preferred hanging up on old
consecrated trees, to placing them on the altars of
churches.

Two men, with hatchets, now came up.

"We have been ordered to come here," they said.

"From the Hohentwiell" asked Ekkehard.

"We belong to the Duchess, but we live yonder
on the Hohenhowen; where you can see the smoke
rise from the charcoal-pile."

1 74 EKKEHARD.

"Good," said Ekkehard. "You arc to cut down
this oak for me."

The men looked at him. Embarrassment was
visible in their faces.

"Begin at once, and make haste, for before
nightfall, the tree must be felled to the ground."

Then the two men walked up to the oak. Witli
gaping mouths they stood before the magnificent
tree. One of them let his axe fall.

"Don't you know the spot, Chomulil" quoth he
to his companion.

"How should I know it, Woveli?"

The former pointed towards the east, and lifting,
one of his hands to his mouth, imitated the act of
drinking. " On account of that, Chomuli."

Then the other looked downhill where Ekkehard
was standing, and winking cunningly with one eye,
said: "We know nothing, Woveli."

"But he will know, Chomuli."

"That remains to be seen," was the reply.

"It is really a sin and a shame," continued the
other. "That oak is at least tw^o hundred years old,
and has lived to witness many a bright May- and
Autumn-fire. I really can't do it."

"Don't be a fool," said his companion making
the first stroke. "The more readily we hew away
at the tree, the less yonder monk will believe, that
we have sat under its branches in nightly worship.
Remember the shilling fine! A man must be cau-
tious, Woveli!"

This last remark did not fail to have its effect.
"Yes, a man must be cautious," he repeated aiming

EKKEIIARD. 175

a blow at the tree of his devotion. But ten days
ago, he had hung up a wax effigy himself, in order
to cure his brown cow of fever.

The chips flew about, and keeping regular time,
their blows quickly followed each other.

The deacon of Singen had also arrived with
stole and mass-book. Ekkehard beckoned to him
to go with him into the hut of the woman of the
wood. She was still sitting motionless as before,
beside her hearth. A sharp gust of wind, entering
as the door opened, extinguished her fire.

"Woman of the wood," called out Ekkehard im-
periously, "put your house in order and pack up
your things, for you must go!"

The old woman seized her staff and cut a third
notch. "Who is it, that is insulting me for the third
time," growled she, "and who wishes to cast me
out of my mother's house, like a stray dog?"

"In the name of the Duchess of Suabia," con-
tinued Ekkehard solemnly, "and on account of your
practising heathenish superstitions, and nightly idola-
tries, I banish you herewith from house and home;
and bid you leave the land. Your chair shall be
placed before the door of your hut, and you shall
wander restlessly about, as far as the sky is blue,
and christians visit the church; as far as the falcon
flies on a day of Spring when the wind is carrying
him along, faster than his wings. No hospitable
door shall be opened to you; no fire be lighted to
give you warmth; and may the wells deny you water,
until you have renounced the powers of darkness,

176 EKKEHARD.

and made your peace with the almighty God; the
judge of the living and dead."

The woman of the wood had listened to him,
without showing great emotion.

"An anointed man, will insult thee three time.,
under thy own roof," muttered she, "and thou shall
make a sign on thy staff, in witness of this; and
with that same staff, thou shalt go out towards the
setting sun, for they will not give thee sufficieni
ground, to rest thy head upon. Oh mother! My
mother!"

She then scraped her scanty belongings together,
making a bundle of them; and taking her staff, pre-
pared herself to go. The heart of the deacon of
Singen was touched. "Pray God through his ser-
vants to have mercy on you, and perform some
christian penance," he said, "so that you may find
forgiveness."

"For that, the woman of the wood is too old,"
she replied. Then she called her wood-pecker, which
flew about her head; the raven followed, with a
scared frightened look, and she had already opened
the door and cast back one last look on the walls
and fire-place, the herbs and horses' skulls, when
she struck her stick violently on the threshold; so
as to make the stone flags resound. "Be cursed ye
dogs!" cried she; then followed by her birds, took
the path leading into the woods, and disappeared.

"And silent we go, a defeated tribe,
\Vhose stars are all dying and sinking,
Oh Iceland, thou icy rock in the sea.
With thee, our fates we'll be linking ! "

EKKEHARD.

177

was her low chaiint; slowly dying out, among the
leafless trees.

Ekkehard now put on the stole; and the deacon
of Singen carrying the mass-book before him, they
proceeded through chamber and closet. The walls
were sanctified by the sign of the cross, so as to
banish the evil spirits for ever; and finally, with
prayers, he pronounced the mighty exorcism over
the place.

The pious work had lasted long; and when the
deacon took off Ekkehard's stole, the cold sweat-
drops stood on his brow; as he had never before
heard such impressive words. Just when all was
over, the tramping of horses' feet was heard.

It was the Duchess, accompanied by one servant
only. Ekkehard went out to meet her; and the
deacon directed his steps homewards.

"You were so long away, that I had to come
hither myself, to see how you had settled everything,"
graciously called out the Duchess.

The two wood-cutters had in the meanwhile
finished their job, and made their retreat by the
back of the hill. They stood in awe of the Duchess.
Ekkehard then told her about the life and doings
of the woman of the wood, and how he had driven
her away.

"You are very severe," said Dame Hadwig.

"I thought I was very mild," replied Ekkehard.

" Well, we approve of that which you have done.
What do you intend to do with the deserted hut,"
casting a hasty look at the stone walls.

"The power of the evil spirits has been banished

Ekkehard. I. 12

178 EKKEHARD.

and exorcised," said Ekkehard. "1 mean to con-
secrate it as a chapel to St. Hadwig."

The Duchess looked at him with a well pleased
expression.

"How did you hit upon that idea?"

"The thought struck me just now, ... the oak
I have had cut down."

"We will examine that spot; and I think that
we shall approve also, of the felling of the oak."

She climbed the steep path, leading up to the
top of the Hohenkrahen, accompanied by Ekkehard.

There lay the oak on the ground; its mighty
branches almost preventing their further ascent. A
flat stone, but a few paces in circumference, crowned
the top of the strangely shaped hill. They were
standing on the rocks, which formed a declivitous
wall beneath their feet. It was a giddy height, on
which was neither stone nor tree for support, and
the two figures stood out picturesquely, against the
blue sky; the monk in his dark garment and the
Duchess, wrapped up in her bright coloured mantle.
Silently they stood thus; looking at the splendid
view before them. In the depth below, the plain
lay stretched out before them, through the green
meadows of which, the river Aach ran in serpentine
lines. The roofs and gables of the houses in the
valley, looked like tiny dots on a map. Opposite
rose darkly, the proud, well-known peak of the
Hohentwiel; blue, flat mountain-ridges rising like
walls, behind the mighty one; hiding the Rhine after
its escape from the Bodensee.

The Untersee with the island of Reichenau lay

EKKKHARD.

179

bathed in light; and in the fai off distance, the faint
outHnes of gigantic mountains were visible, through
transparent clouds. They became clearer and clearer
as the sun s^a^nk down, a golden glow surrounding
them like a halo of glory . . . the landscape becoming
softer, shadows and glittering lights melting into each
other . . .

Dame Hadwig was touched, for her noble heart
could feel and appreciate nature's beauty and
grandeur. But the feelings lie very close to each
other, and at that moment, a certain tenderness,
pervaded her whole being. Her looks from the
snowy Alpine peaks fell on Ekkehard. "He is going
to consecrate a chapel to St. Hadwig," something
whispered within her, over and over again.

vShe advanced a step, as if she were afraid of be-
coming giddy, and putting her right arm on Ekke-
hard's shoulder, leaned heavily on him; her sparkling
eyes looking intently into his. "What is my friend
thinking about"?" said she in soft accents.

Ekkehard who had been lost in thought started.

'•I have never before stood on such a height,"
said he, "and I was reminded of the passage in Scrip-
ture: 'Afterwards the devil, taking him up into a
high mountain, shewed unto him all the kingdoms of
tlie world in a moment of time. And the devil said
unto him: All this will I give Thee, and the glory of
them, if thou wilt worship me. But Jesus answered
and said unto him: Get thee behind me Satan, for
it is written, thou shalt worship the Lord thy God,
and Him only shalt thou serve.'"

With a strange look the Duchess stepped back-

l8o EKKEIIARD.

wards; the light in her eyes changing, as if she
would have liked to push the monk down into the
abyss.

"Ekkehard!" cried she, "you are either a child —
or a fool!"

Then she turned round, and hastily and displeased
descended the path. Mounting her horse, she rode
back to the Hohentwiel, at a gallop, so furious, that
her servant could scarcely follow her.

Ekkehard full of consternation, remained where
he was. He passed his hand over his eyes, as if to
remove a mist from before them.

When late at night he sat in his tow^er on the
Hohentwiel, thinking of all that had happened that
day, he beheld a distant gleam of fire. He looked
out and saw that the fiery blaze, arose from the fir-
trees on the Hohenkrahen. The woman of the wood,
had been paying her last visit to the future chapel
of St. Hadwig.

EKKEHARD. l8l

CHAPTER X.

Cliristmas.

The evening on the Hohenkriihcn, cast a gloom
also over the following days. Misunderstandings arc
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 apart-
ments. 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 tooth-
ache," 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," re-
plied 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

I $2 EKKEIIARD.

the whole world must be able to read on their fore-
head f,, 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 sti'V
less that even the sublimest personage, is often per-
fectly satisfied with simple affection. That Dame
Hadwig was out of spirits, he noticed however, but
he contented himself by making the general observa-
tion, 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 Hohenkrahen, "said she one day

EKKEHARD. 183

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 vEneid, 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
./Eneas' flight with the aged Anchises.

With evident sympathy. Dame Hadwig listened
to the interesting tale. Only, with the disappear-
ance of .Eneas' spouse Kreilsa, 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 in-
tention 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

104 EK.KK11ARD.

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 Ekke-
hard, 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 remem-
brance 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 Christ-
mas, 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 tiie women's apartments; and when
Ekkehard once came in unawares, Praxedis rushed

EKKEHARD. I 85

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, v/hich 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; intend-
ing 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 pro-

t86 f.kkkiiart).

fossors?" enquired Praxedis one day, on meeting
him in the aforesaid mental condition.

"You may well be jesting," saidEkkehard 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 itl" After this she ran
away, and Ekkehard crept back to his chamber.
"Like Virgin" he mused. But in the whole of the
.^neid, 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 illustra-
tions. 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 walk-
ing by his side, as the pupil with the master, is like-
wise humbly bowing before her.

F.KKF.IIARD, 1 87

In the strict manner of the excellent Folkard, he
first drew the sketcli. 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 great-
ness, 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 out-
line. 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

I 88 EKKEUARD.

chosen vessel of virtue," scolded Praxedis. But Ekke-
hard 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 grace-
ful model, she darted a sparkling look at him. His
movements became slower, and Praxedis looked to-
wards the window. "But, as our rival in the realm,"
began she with an artificially raised voice, "is al-
ready leaving the courtyard, threatening to take us
by surprise; we command you on pain of losing

EKKF.HARD. 1 89

your head, to finish your drawing within t]ie next
minute."

"I thank you," said Ekkehard, putting down his
])encil.

Praxedis stepped up to him, and bending for-
wards, looked at what he had done. "What shame-
ful 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 stand-
ing before them.

"Are you again learning Greek?" said she re-
proachfully to Ekkehard.

"I have shown him the precious sardonyx, in the
clasp of my mistress's mantle; — it is such a beauti-
fully 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 Christ-
mas. 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

igO KKKKIIARD.

l;iy in ambush, many an hour; liis 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
se^'ving 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 al-
monds and cardamom, by the Duchess's own hand.

One morning Audifax entered the kitchen, half

EKKEHARD. I9I

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 1" 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, pro-
mised 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 Ekke-
hard. 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 nat'vity; and then they

ig2 EKKEHARD.

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 be-
trayed 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 ground-
ing 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

EKKEHARD. I 93

shoulders. Ekkehard cast down his eyes. "Splen-
did," 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
liand. "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 out-
spread 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

Ekkehard. I. 13

194 EKKEHARD.

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 game-
keeper, 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

EKKEHARD. IQ5

shot in the Hegau; and Ekkehard writes a somewhat
different hand. Shall we give the petitioner a place
on the Hohentwieir'

"Pray don't!" cried Praxedis eagerly. "Nobody
is to believe that "

"Very well," said Dame Hadwig, in a tone be-
speaking silence. She then opened Ekkehard's parch-
ment-roll. The painting at the beginning had suc-
ceeded 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 jlinea.s' flight

The wratli of Gods, and splendid Roma's birth.

13'

ig6 EKKEHARD.

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

'I'lie distant shouts, at merry vintage time

Or roar of breakers from the Cape M isene.

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,

i'Eneas' 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 wc 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 strams.
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,

KK.KEHARD. IQ7

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 enter-
tain 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.

ig8 EKKEHARD.

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 un-
intelligible 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 glim-
mered 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 Hadu-
moth 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

EKKEIIARD, IQQ

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 inhar-
monious sounds from a lute, which was hanging
over his shaggy shoulders, suspended on a red rib-
bon; 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 em-
bibing 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
liead up to the stars, as if he wanted to send a
greeting to his namesake in the firmament; —the
great bear.

200 EKKEHARD.

The dark figure stood out in clear outlines against
the pale starry sky, and his growls soimded 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 be-
fore the altar of the castle chapel, softly chaunting
the Christmas-matins, as the church rules prescribed.

EKKEHARD. 20I

CHAPTER XI.

The old Man of the lleidenhohle

The remainder of the winter passed by mono-
tonoiisl}'; and in consequence swiftly enough. Tliey
1 1 rayed and worked; read Virgil and studied the
grammar, every day. Dame Hadwig had quite given
up asking dangerous questions. During the Carnival,
the neighbouring nobility came to pay their respects
to the Duchess. Those of Nellenburg and of Verin-
gen; the old Count of Argengau with his daughters,
the Guelphs from over the lake, and many others;
;ind in those days there was much feasting, accom-
\)anied by more drinking. After that, it became
lonely again on the top of the Hohentwiel.

March had come, and heavy gales blew over the
land. On the first starlight night, a comet was seen
in the sky; and the stork which lived comfortably
on the castle-gable, had flown away again, a week
after its return. At all these things, people shook
their heads. Further, a shepherd, driving his flock
past the hill, told how he had met the army-worm,*
which was a sure sign of coming war.

A strange, uncomfortable feeling took possession
of all minds. The approach of an earthquake is

' A kiiid ol caterpillars, migrating in large numbers.

202 EKKEIIARD.

often felt at a considerable distance; here, by the
stopping of a spring; there, by the anxious flying
about of birds; and in the same way the danger of
war makes itself felt beforehand.

Master Spazzo who had bravely sat behind the
wine-jug in February, now walked about with a
downcast expression. "You are to do me a favour,"
said he one day to Ekkehard. "I have seen a dead
fish in my dream, floating on its back. I wish to
make my last will. The world has become old and
is left standing on its last leg; and that also will
soon give way. Good-bye then Firnewine! Besides
we are not very far off from the Millenium; and
have lived merrily enough. Perhaps the last years
count double. At any rate, mankind cannot go on
much longer in that way. Erudition has gone so
far, that in this one castle of Hohentwiel, more than
half a dozen books lie heaped up; and when a
fellow gets a good thrashing, he goes up to court
and makes his complaint, instead of burning down
his enemy's house, over his head. With such a
state of affairs, the world must naturally soon come
to an end."

"Who is to be your heir, if all the world is to
perish," was Ekkehard's reply.

A man of Augsburg, coming to the Reichenau,
also brought evil tidings. Bishop Ulrich had pro-
mised a precious relic to the monastery — the right
arm of the holy Theopontus, richly set in silver
and precious stones. He now sent word that as
the country was unsafe at present, he could not
risk sending it.

EKKEHARD. 2O3

The Abbot ordered the man to go to the Hohen-
twiel; there to inform the Duchess of the state of
things.

"What is the good news?" asked she, on his
presenting himself.

"There's not much good in them. I would
rather take away better ones from here. The
Suabian arrier-ban is up in arms; horses and riders,
as many as have a sword and shield hanging on
their walls, are ready. They are again on the road,
between the Danube and the Rhine."

"Who?"

"The old enemies from yonder. The small
fellows with the deep-set eyes and blunt noses. A
good deal of our meat will again be ridden tender
under the saddle this year."

He drew out of his pocket a strangely shaped
.small horse-shoe, with a high heel to it. "Do you
know that? — A little shoe, and a little steed, a crooked
sabre, and arrows fleet; — as quick as lightning, and
never at rest; oh Lord, deliver us from this pest!"

"The Huns?" exclaimed the Duchess, in startled
tones.

"If you prefer to call them Hungarians, or
Hungry-ones, — 'tis the same to me," said the mes-
senger. "Bishop Pilgrim sent the tidings from Pas-
sau to Freising; whence it reached us. They have
already swum over the Danube, and will be fal-
ling like locusts into the German lands; and as
quick as winged Devils. 'You may sooner catch
the wind on the plain, or the bird in the air,' is
an old saying with us. May the plague take their

204 EKKEIIARD.

liorses! — I for myself, only fear for my sister's child
at Passau; the fair little Bertlia." . . .

"It is impossible!" said Dame Iladwig. "Can
they have forgotten already, what answer the mes-
sengers of the Exchequer, returned them: 'we have
iron and swords and five fingers to our hands'?'
In the battle on the Inn, their heads were made
acquainted with the truth of these words."

"Just for that very reason," said the man. "He
who has been beaten once, likes to come back and
beat the enemy in his turn. The messengers of
the Exchequer, in reward for their bravery, have
had their heads cut off; — so who will like taking
their places in the foremost ranks'?"

"We likewise know the path, which has been
trodden by our ancestors, going to meet the enemy,"
proudly returned the Duchess.

.She dismissed the man from Augsburg with a
present. Then she sent for Ekkehard.

"Virgil will have to rest a while," said she, tell-
ing him of the danger that was threatening from
the Huns. This state of things was by no means
pleasant. The nobles had forgotten, in their many
personal feuds, how to act and stand up together;
whilst the Emperor, of Saxon origin and not over
fond of the Suabians, was fighting in Italy, far away
from the German frontier. So the passage to the
Dodensee was open to the invaders; whose mere
name caused a terror wherever it was pronounced.
For years their tribes swarmed like will-o'-the-wisps,
through the unsettled realm, which Charlemagne
had left in the hands of unqualified successors.

EKKEIIARD. 205

From the shores of the North-Sea, where tlie ruins
of Bremen spoke of their invasion, down to the
southern point of Calabria, where the natives had
to pay a ransom for each head, — fire and phinder
marked their way.

"If they are not ghosts which the pious Bishop
Ulrich has seen," said the Duchess, "they are certain
to come to us also; so what is to be done? To
meet them in open battle?— Even bravery is folly,
when the enemy is too numerous. To obtain peace,
by paying tribute and ransom, thus driving them
over to our neighbours' territory? — Others have
done that before, but we have other ideas of honour
and dishonour. Are we to barricade ourselves on
the Hohentwiel, and leave the land at their mercy,
when we have promised our protection to our sub-
jects?— never! What do you advise?"

"My knowledge does not extend to such matters,"
sorrowfully replied Ekkehard.

The Duchess was excited. "Oh schoolmaster,"
cried she reproachfully, "why has Heaven not made
you a warrior? Many things would be better then!"

Ekkehard, deeply hurt, turned to go. The words
had entered his heart like an arrow, and remained
there. The reproach had some truth in it, so it
hurt him all the more.

"Ekkehard," called out Dame Had wig, "you
must not go. You are to serve the country with
your knowledge, and what you do not know as
yet, you may learn. I will send you to some one
who is well versed in these matters. \Vill you
undertake this mission for me?"

2o6 EKKEHARD.

Ekkcliard liad turned round again. "I never have
been unwilling to serve my mistress," said he.

"But then you must not be frightened, if he gives
you but a rough and unfriendly reception. He has
suffered many a wrong from past generations; and
he does not know the present. Neither must you
be shocked, if he should appear very old and fat to
you."

He had listened attentively: "I do not quite un-
derstand you . . ."

"Never mind," said the Duchess. "You are to
go over to Sipplingen to-morrow; close to Ueber-
lingen, where the rocky shore shelves down into
the lake. These caverns were made, in the olden
times, to serve as hiding-places. When you see the
smoke of a fire rising out of the hill, go to that
spot. There you will find the person 1 want you to
see; and you must then speak with him about the
Huns."

"To whom is my mistress sending mel" enquired
Ekkehard, eagerly.

"To the old man of the Heidenhohle," replied
Dame Hadwig. "One does not know any other
name for him hereabouts. — But stop," continued she,
"I must give you the watchword, in case of his re-
fusing you admittance."

She opened a cupboard, and searching about
amongst her trinkets and other small things, took
out a tiny slate, on which were scrawled a few letters.
"That you are to say to him, besides giving him my
kindest greetings."

Ekkehard looked at the slate. It contained only

EKKEHARD. 207

the two insignificant Latin words, '■^neque enim!"
— nothing else.

"That has no meaning," said he.

"Never mind, the old man knows well, what it
means for him."

Before cockcrow the next morning, Ekkehard
passed out of the gate on the Hohentwiel, on horse-
back. The fresh morning air blew about his head,
over which he now drew his hood. "Why has Heaven
not made you a warrior; many things would be better
then." These words of the Duchess accompanied
him, like his OAvn shadow. They were for him a
spur to courageous resolutions. " When danger comes,
she shall not find the schoolmaster, sitting behind
his books," thought he.

His horse went on at a good pace. In a few
hours, he rode over the woody hills, that separate
the Untersee from the lake of Ueberlingen. At the
ducal tenement of Sernatingen, the blue mirror of
the lake lay stretched out before his eyes. There
he left his horse in the care of the steward, and
continued the path leading along the sliore, on foot.

At a projecting point, he stopped a while, to
gaze at leisure at the fine view before him. The
eye, here meeting with no obstacle, could glance over
the waters to the distant Rhstian Alps, which like
a crystal wall, rise heavenwards; forming the back-
ground of the landscape.

Where the rocks of red sandstone steeply arise
out of the lake, the path mounted upwards. Steps,
hewn in the rocks, made the ascent easier. Here
and there, apertures serving as windows, broke the

208 EKKEHARD.

uniformity of the walls; indicating by their deep
shadows, the places, where in the times of the Roman
supremacy, unknown men, had dug these caverns
as an asylum, in the same way as the catacombs.

The ascent was fatiguing enough. Now he had
reached a level, only a few steps in circumference,
on which young grass was growing. In front, there
was an entrance into the rock, about the height of
a man. Out of this, there now rushed, violently
barking, a huge black dog, which stopping short
about two paces from Ekkehard, held itself ready
with teeth and fangs to fly at him; keeping its eyes
steadily fixed on the monk, who could not move,
without risk of the dog's attacking him. His
position was certainly not an enviable one; retreat
being impossible, and Ekkehard not carrying arms
about him. So he remained immovable, facing his
enemy; when at an opening, there appeared the
head of a man, with grey hair, piercing eyes, and a
reddish beard.

"Call back the dog!" cried Ekkehard.

A few moments afterwards, the grey-haired man
appeared at the entrance, armed with a spear.

"Back, Mummolin!" cried he.

The huge animal reluctantly obeyed; and not
until the old man had threatened it with his spear,
did it retreat growling.

"Your dog ought to be killed, and hung up
nine feet over your door, until it fell to pieces,"
said Ekkehard angrily. "It nearly made me fall
over into the lake," turning round, and beholding

EKKEHARD. 20g

the lake lying at his feet, from the perpendicular
height.

"In the Heidenhohlen the common laws have
no force," defiantly replied the old man. "With us,
'tis — keep off two steps, or we split your skull."

Ekkehard wanted to go on.

"Stop there," continued the stranger, barring the
passage with his spear. "Not so fast if you please.
Where are you going to?"

"To the old man of the Heidenhohle."

"To the old man of the Heidenhohle 1" angrily
repeated the other. "Have you no more respectful
term for that personage, you yellow-beaked cowl-
bearer 1"

"I know no other name," replied Ekkehard some-
what abashed. "My greeting is, negue enim."

"That sounds better," said the old man in a
softer tone. "From whence do you come?"

"From the Hohentwdel. I am to tell you . . ."

"Stop, I am not he whom you seek. T am merely
his servant Ranching. I will announce you."

Considering the appearance of those barren,
rocky walls and the black dog, this formality seemed
somewhat out of place. Ekkehard was kept waiting
some time. It was as if preparations for his recep-
tion were being made. At last Ranching made his
reappearance. "Be pleased to enter." So they walked
along a dark passage that widened at the end, ad-
mitting them into a chamber, which had been hewn
in the rocks by human hands, high and spacious,
with an arched ceiling. A rough panelling partly
covered the walls. The openings for the windows

Ekkehard. I. H

2IO KKKEHARD.

were wide and airy; showing a piece of the lake
and hills, like a picture in a frame. Some bright,
warm sunbeams streamed in, lighting up the other-
wise dark chamber. Here and there, traces of stone-
benches were visible; while a high-backed chaii.
likewise of stone, and resembling a bishop's seat in
old churches, stood beside the window. In it a
figure was seated. It was a strange, human form,
of mighty dimensions. The huge head rested heavily
between the broad shoulders; forehead and cheeks
were deeply furrowed. Round his temples were a
few scanty white curls; whilst his mouth was almost
entirely toothless, — signs which spoke of the wondrous
age of the man. Round his shoulders hung a cloak
of undecided colour, the back of which, hidden by
the chair, was no doubt threadbare enough; the
seams showing here and there, many a patch. He
wore a pair of coarse boots, and by his side lay an
old hat, with a dusty old trimming of fox's fur. In
a niche in the wall, stood a chess-board with carved
ivory pieces. A game seemed just to have been
finished; the king mated by a knight, and two
bishops . . .

"Who comes to the forgotten one?" asked the
old man, in a trembling voice. Then Ekkehard
bowing his head before him, told his name, and
who had sent him there.

"You have brought an evil watchword with you.
Do people still speak of Luitward of Vercelli?"

"Whose soul be damned," added Ranching.

"I have never heard anything about him," said
Ekkehard.

EKKEHARD. 211

"Tell him, Rauching, who Luitward of Vercelli
was. It would be a pity if he were to die in the
memory of men."

"He was the greatest rascal, that ever the sun
shone upon," was Rauching's reply.

"Tell him also, Avhat is the meaning of neque
enim."

"There is no gratitude in this world; and of an
Emperor's friends, even the best is a traitor."

"Even the best is a traitor," murmured the old
man, lost in thought. His eye now fell on the chess-
board. "Ah yes," muttered he faintly, "checkmated,
mated by bishops and knights" ... he clenched his
fist, and made a movement as if to rise; then falling
back with a deep sigh, he raised his shrivelled hand
to his forehead, resting his heavy head on it.

"The headache" . . . said he, "the cursed head-
ache ! "

"Mummolin!" cried Rauching.

With bounding steps the black dog came in;
and on seeing the old man with bent-down head,
he whiningly crept up to him, and licked his fore-
head. "'Tis well," said the old man, after a while,
lifting himself up again.

"Are you ill?" kindly asked Ekkehard.

"111?" rejoined he, — "may be that it is a sort of
illness! I have been visited by it such a long time,
that it seems quite like an old acquaintance. Have
you ever had the headache? I advise you, never
to go out to battle, when you are attacked by a
headache; and by no means to conclude a peace.
It may cost you a realm, that headache . . ."

14*

2 I 2 EKKEHARD.

"Could not some physician" . . . began Ekke-
hard.

"The wisdom of physicians, has in this case,
long come to an end. They have done theii best
for me," pointing to his forehead, where two old
scars crossed each other.

"Look here! — If they want you to try that remedy,
you must not do so. In my younger days they hung
me up by the feet; — then they made some cuts in
my head; thus taking away some blood, and part
of my intellects, without helping me. At Cremona
(Zedekias was the name of the Hebrew^ sage), they
consulted the stars, and placed me on a mulberry-
tree at midnight. It was a long exorcism with
which they drove the headache into the tree, but
it did not help me. In the German lands, they
ordered me to take powdered crabs' eyes, mixed
with the dust of St. Mark's grave; and a draught of
wine from the lake after it: all in vain! Now I've
got used to it. The worst is licked away by Mum-
molin's rough tongue. Come here my brave Mum-
molin, who has never betrayed me yet . , ."

He stopped, almost breathless, and caressed the
dog.

"My message" . . . Ekkehard was beginning — , but
the old man waved his hand to hiin and said: "Have
patience yet awhile; 'tis not well to speak with an
empty stomach. You must be hungry. Nothing is more
awful and more holy than hunger — said that dean
of yore, when his friend and guest, ate up five of the
six trouts before him; leaving only the smallest on
the plate. He who has had something to do with

EKKEHARD. 213

the world, does not easily forget that saying. Rauch-
ing, prepare our meal."

So Rauching went into a neighbouring closet,
which had been fitted up as a kitchen. The pro-
visions were kept in different niches, and a few
moments later, a white wreath of smoke curled up,
from the rocky chimney. Shortly after, the cooking
was done. A stone slab served as table. The
crowning piece of the frugal repast was a pike; but
the pike was old; moss growing on its head, and its
flesh was tough, as leather. A jug of reddish look-
ing wine, was also brought by Rauching; but thai
had grown on the Sippling hills, a vintage which
still enjoys the reputation of being the most sour
of all the sour wines produced on the lake. Rauching
waited upon them during the meal.

"Well, what may your business be?" asked the
old man, when the meagre repast was ended.

"Evil tidings; the Huns are invading the country.
Their hoofs will soon be treading the Suabian
ground."

"Good!" cried the old man. "That serves you
right. Are the Normans also approaching?"

"You speak strangely," said Ekkehard.

The eyes of the old man lighted up. "And
if enemies were to spring up around you, like
mushrooms, you have deserved it well; you and
your masters. Rauching, fill the glass; the Huns
are coming, — neque enim! Now you will have to
swallow the soup, which your masters have salted for
you. A great and proud empire had been founded,
extending from the shores of the Ebro. to the Raab

214 EKKEHARD.

' in the Danish land, into which not a rat could have
'entered, without faithful watchmen catching it. And
this, the great Emperor Charlemagne . . ."

"God bless him," exclaimed Ranching.

". . . left behind him; strong and powerful. The
tribes which had once put a stop to the Roman
supremacy, were all united as they ought to be; and
in those days, the Huns slily kept behind their
hedges on the Danube, the weather not being favour-
able for them; and as soon as they tried to move,
their wooden camp-town in Pannonia, was destroyed
to the last chip, by the brave Franks. Later, the
great ones in Germany, began to feel sorely, that
not every one of them could be the master of the
world; so each one must needs establish a govern-
ment in his own territory. Sedition, rebellion and
high-treason, well suited their tastes; and so they
dethroned the last of Charlemagne's descendants,
who held the reins of the world.— The representative
of the unity of the realm has become a beggar;
who must eat unbuttered water-gruel; — and now,
your lords who preferred Arnulf the bastard and
their own arrogance, have got the Huns on their
.heels, and the old times are coming back, as King
jAttila had them painted. Do you know the picture
m the palace at Milan 1 . . .

"There the Roman Emperor was painted sitting
on the throne, with Scythian princes lying at his
feet; till one day King Attila, chancing to ride by,
gave a long and stedfast look at the picture, and
laughingly said: 'quite right; only I'll make a small
alteration.' And he had his own features, given to

EKKEHARD. 215

the man on the throne; those kneeling before him,
pouring out bags of tributary gold, — being now
the Roman Caesars . . . The picture is still to be
seen."

"You are thinking of bygone tales," said Ekke-
hard.

"Of bygone tales'?" exclaimed the old man. "For
me there has been nothing new, these last forty years,
but want and misery. Bygone tales! 'Tis well for
him, who still remembers them, in order that he may
see how the sins of the fathers, are visited on the
children and children's children. Do you know why
Charlemagne shed tears once in his life? — When they
announced to him, the arrival of the Norman sea-
robbers: 'as long as I live,' said he, "tis mere child's
play, but I grieve for my grandsons.'"

"As yet we have still an Emperor and a realm,"
said Ekkehard.

"Have you still one?" said the old man, drain-
ing his glass of sour Sippling wine, and shivering
after it, "well I wish him joy. The corner-stones are
dashed to pieces; and the building is crumbling away.
With a clique of presumptuous nobles, no realm can
exist. Those who ought to obey are lording it over
the others; and he who ought to reign, must wheedle
and flatter, instead of commanding. Methinks, I
have heard of one, to whom his faithful subjects,
sent the tribute in pebbles, instead of silver, and
the head of the count who was sent to collect it,
lay beside the stones, in the bag. Who has avenged
itl" . . .

2l6 EKKEHARD.

"The Emperor is fighting and gathering laurels
in Italy," rejoined Ekkehard.

"Oh Italy! Italy!" continued the old man. ''That
will still become a thorn in the German flesh. That
was the only time the great Charles . . ."

"Whom God bless," exclaimed Ranching.

". . . allowed himself to be entrapped. It was
a sad day, on which they crowned him at Rome;
and no one has chuckled so gleefully, as he on
St. Peter's chair. He was in want of us, — but what
have we ever had to do in Italy? Look there!
Has that mountain-wall been erected heavenwards,
for nothing? — All that, which lies on the other side,
belongs to those in Byzantium; and it is all right so;
for Greek cunning is better there than German
strength; but later generations have found nothing
better to do than to perpetuate the error of Charle-
magne. The good example he left them, they have
trampled upon; and whilst there was plenty to do
in the East and North, they must needs run off to
Italy, as if the great magnet lay behind the Roman
hills. I Ixave often thought about it, what could
have driven us, in that direction; and if it was not
the Devil himself, it can only have been the good
wine."

Ekkehard had become saddened by the old man's
speeches, who, seeming to feel this, said: "Do not
regard what a buried man tells you. We here in
the Heidenhohlen, cannot make it any better; but
the truth has many a time taken up her abode in
caverns; whilst ignorance was striding at a great
pace through the land."

EKKEHARD. 2 I 7

"A buried man?" said Ekkehard enquiringly.

"You may for all that, drink a bumper with
him," jestingly replied the mysterious stranger. "It
was necessary that I should die before the world;
for the headache and the rascals had brought me
into discredit. You need not therefore, stare at me
so, little monk. Sit down here on the stone bench,
and I will tell you about it and you can make
a song of it, to play on the lute . . . There once")
lived an Emperor, who had few happy days; for his ^ f^t^"^'
realm was large, and he himself was big and stout, il-,'.'^
and the headache tormented him; ever since the
day that he mounted the throne. Therefore he took
unto himself a chancellor, who had got a fine head,
and could think better than his master; for he was
thin and meagre like a pole, and had no headache.
The Emperor had raised him from obscure birth,
for he was only the son of a blacksmith; and he
bestowed favours on him, doing all that his chan-
cellor advised him to do. Aye, he even concluded
a miserable peace with the Normans; for his coun-
sellor told him, that this matter was too insignificant;
and that he had more important things to do, than
to worry himself about a handful of pirates. At the
same time, the chancellor went to the Emperor's
spouse, and beguiled her weak heart; playing on the
lute before her. Besides this he carried off by force,
the daughters of some noble Allemannians; and
finally joined in a league, with the Emperor's enemies.
And when the Emperor at last called together a great
diet, to remedy the state of affairs, his gaunt chan-i
cellor was among the foremost who spoke againstl

2 1 8 EKKEHARD.

him. With the words, 'iieque enim' he began his
'speech, and then he proved to them, that they must
dethrone their Emperor; and he spoke so venomously
and treacherously against the peace with the Normans,
which he had himself concluded, — that they all fell
off from their master, like withered leaves when the
autumn winds are shaking the tree. And they cried
that the time for the stout ones was at an end; and
then and there they dethroned him; so that he who
had entered Tribur, with a threefold crown on his
head, had nothing when he went away that he could
call his own, but what he wore on his back; and at
Mainz he sat before the Bishop's castle, glad when
they presented him with a dish of soup. The brave
chancellor's name was Luitward of Vercelli. May
God reward him according to his deserts, and the
Empress Richardis and the rest of them, likewise." —
"But when later the people in Suabia took pity
on the poor outlaw, and gave him a little bit of
land, whereby to earn a scanty livelihood; and when
they thought of sending an army to fight for his
rights, Luitward dispatched murderers against him.
It was a wild night for the tenement of Neidingen;
the storm was breaking the branches of the trees,
and the shutters were rattling violently. The de-
throned Emperor not being able to sleep on ac-
count of the headache, had mounted on the roof,
to let the storm cool his burning forehead, when they
broke in to murder him. It is not a very pleasant
feeling I can tell you, to ffit in the cold night-air
on the roof, with a heavy aching head, and hear
ihow people are regretting downstairs, that they

EKKEHARD. 2 I Q

cannot strangle you, or hang you over the draw-)
well." ... I

"He who has lived to hear that, had better dieV
at once. The stout Meginhard at Neidingen, had
fallen down from a tree and was killed just at the
right time; so that they could lay him on the bier,
and spread the news in the country that the de-
throned Emperor had paid his tribirte to grim King
Death. They say that it was a fine procession, when
they carried him to the Reichenau. The Heavens
are said to have opened, casting a ray of light on
the bier; and the funeral must have been touching
indeed, when they buried him on the right side of
the altar. 'That he had been stript of his honour,
and bereft of his kingdom, was a trial imposed from
above, to cleanse and purify his soul, and as he
bore it patiently, it is to be hoped that the Lord
rewarded him, with the crown of eternal life; to
comfort him for the earthly crown which he had
lost' . . . thus they preached in the cloister-church,
not knowing that he, whom they imagined they had
buried, was at that same hour entering the solitude
of the Heidenhohlen; laden with all his trifling be-
longings; and leaving behind him a curse on the
world." . . .

The old man laughed. "Here it is safe and
quiet enough, to think of old times. Let's drink a
bumper to the dead! And Luitward has been
cheated after all; for though his Emperor wears an
old hat instead of a golden crown, and drinks the
sour juice of the Sippling grape, instead of the
sparkling Rhinewine, he is still alive; whilst the

220 EKKEHAKD.

meagre ones and all their race are dead, long
ago. And the stars will prove right after all, in
prophesying at his birth, that he would leave this
false world, in the roar of battle. The Huns are
coming! Oh, come thou also soon, thou joyful
^end!"

Ekkehard had listened with the utmost attention.
"Oh Lord, how wonderful are Thy ways," he ex-
claimed, attempting to kneel down and kiss the
old man's hands; but he prevented him, saying:
"All these things have been done away with, long
ago. Take an example , . ."

"Germany has greatly wronged you, and your
race," Ekkehard was beginning to say, but the old
man interrupted him, saying: "Germany! I do not
bear her a grudge. May she prosper and flourish,
undisturbed by enemies; and find some ruler who
will make her powerful again; and who is not plagued
with the headache when the Normans come back;
and not have a chancellor whose name is Luitward
of Vercelli. But those who have divided his gar-
ments amongst them; and cast lots for his ves-
ture." . . .

"May Heaven punish them with fire and brim-
stone," said Rauching in the background.

"And what answer shall I give to my mistress?"
asked Ekkehard, after having finished his beaker.

"With regard to the Huns?" said the old man.
"I believe that is simple enough. Tell the Duchess
to go into the woods, and to see what the hedge-
hog does, when an enemy is coming too near. It
curls itself up into a ball, and presents its prickles;

EKKEHARD. 221

and he who lays hands on it, is wounded. Suabia
has got plenty of lances. Let them do the same. —
You monks will also not be the worse for carrying
the spear. And if your mistress wishes to know!
still more; then you may tell her the adage which j
rules in the Heidenhohlen. Ranching, what is it?"|

"Keep two steps off, or we'll break your head,"|
he replied. \

"And if there should be a question of peace,
then tell her, that the old man of the Heidenhohle
once concluded a bad one, and that he would never
do so again; although his headache were as bad as
ever; and that he would much rather saddle his own
horse, at the sound of the war-trumpet,— if you out-
live his last ride, you may say a mass for him."

The old man had spoken with a strange excite-
ment. Suddenly his voice broke off; his breath be-
came short, almost groaning, and bending his head,
he said: "it is coming on again."

Ranching hastily presented him with a draught
of water; but the oppression did not subside.

"We must try the remedy," said Ranching.
From a corner of the chamber, he rolled forwards
a heavy block of stone, about a man's height, bear-
ing some traces of sculpture, which they had found
in the cavern; a mystic monument, belonging to
former inhabitants. He placed it upright against
the wall. It appeared as if a human head bearing
a bishop's mitre, had once been represented on it.
Ranching now seized a thick, knotty stick, and
placing another in the hands of the old man, began
thrashing away at the stone image, and pronouncing

222 EKKEHARD.

slowly and solemnly the following words. "Luitward
of Vercelli! Traitor and adulterer, neque enim!
Ravisher of nuns, and foul rebel, neque enim!"
Heavily fell the blows, and a faint smile lighted up
the withered features of the old man. He arose
and began striking away at it also, with feeble
arms.

"It has been written, that a bishop must lead a
blameless life," said he in the same tone as Ranching,
— "take this for the peace with the Normans! This
for the seduction of the Empress Richardis, 7ieque
enim! This for the diet at Tribur, and that for the
election of Arnulf! 7ieque enim!"

The cavern rang with the resounding blows; the
stone image standing immovable, under the fierce
attacks. The old man became more and more re-
lieved; warming himself by giving vent to the old
hatred, which for years had nourished his miserable
life.

Ekkehard did not quite understand the meaning
of what he saw. He began 'to feel uncomfortable
and so took his leave.

"I trust you have been enjoying yourself, at the
expense of the old fool up there," said the steward
of Sernatingen to him, when he brought out his
saddled horse. "Does he still believe, that he has
lost a crown and a kingdom? Ha, ha!"

Ekkehard rode away. In the beech-wood, the
new green leaves were sprouting forth, telling of the
coming Spring. A young monk from the Reichenau
was going the same road. Bold and gay, like the

EKKEHARD. 22;^

clashing of arms, his song floated through the soh-
tary wood:

"Arise ye men of Germany, ye warriors gay :
With warlike song, and watchman's call, drive sleep away!
At ev'rj' hour make the round, from gate to wall.
Lest unawares the enemy, upon you fall.
From walls and towers then be heard, eia vigila !
The echoes all repeating, eia vigila I "

It was the song which the night-guards sang
at Mutina in Italy, while the Huns were attacking
the town in which the Bishop resided. The monk
had stood himself on guard at the gate of St. Ge-
minianus, three years ago, and well knew the hissing
of the Hunnic arrows; and when a presentiment of
new battles, is so to say in the air, the old songs
rise again in the minds of men.

224 EKKEHARD.

CHAPTER XII.

The Approach of the Huns.

"The old man is right," said Dame Hadwig,
when Ekkehard reported to her, the result of his
mission. "When the enemy threatens, — prepare,
and when he attacks us,— beat him; that is so simple
that one really need not ask anyone's advice. I
believe that the habit of long thinking and wavering
in critical moments, has been sown by the enemy,
like weeds in the German lands. He who doubts,
is near falling; and he who misses the right mo-
ment for action, often digs his own grave. We will
get ready."

The exciting and dangerous position, put the
Duchess into high spirits; just as trout delight in
the turbulent waters, rushing over rocks and stones;
while they sicken in a still lake. An example of
courage and energy given by one in power, is never
lost on inferiors. So they were all busy, making
preparations for the reception of the enemy. From
the tower on the Hohentwiel, visible at a great
distance, the war-flag floated forth upon the air;
and through the woods and fields, unto the remotest
farm-steads, hidden in lonely mountain-glens, the
war-trumpet was heard; calling together all those
capable of bearing arms; poverty alone freeing any-

EKKEHARD. 225

one from the military service. Every man possessing
more than two acres of land, was obliged to place
himself under arms, and to present himself at the
first call. The Hohentwicl was to be head-quarters;
nature herself having made it a fortress. Swift mes-
sengers were riding on horseback through theHegau;
and people began stirring everywhere in the land.
Behind the dark fir-woods, the charcoal-burners had
formed a corps. "This will do," said one of them,
swinging a heavy poker over his head, as if about
to strike down an enemy. "I will also fight with
the rest of them."

At the doors of the priests, and at those of the
old and sick, the messengers also knocked. Those
who could not fight, were to pray for the others. —
This decree resounded through the land; reaching
also the monastery in St. Gall.

Ekkehard, likewise went to the peaceful little
island of Reichenau, as the Duchess had desired.
This mission would have been highly distasteful to
him, if the reason for it had been a different one.
He was to bring an invitation to the brotherhood,
to come to the Hohentwiel, in case of danger.

There, he found everything already in a state of
excitement. The brothers were promenading beside
the fountain, in the mild spring air; but not one of
them was seriously thinking of enjoying the fine
weather and blue sky. They were talking of the
evil times, and holding counsel, what was to be
done. The idea of leaving their quiet cells, did not
appear to please them at all.

"St. Mark," one of -them had said, "will protect

Ekkehard. I. 1 5

226 EKKEHARD.

his disciples, and by striking the enemy witli blind-
ness, cause them to ride past; or he will raise the
waves of the Bodensee, to devour them, as the Red
Sea swallowed up the Egyptians."

But old Simon Bardo replied: "This calcu-
lation is not quite safe; and when a place is not
fortified by towers and walls, a retreat might after
all, be the better plan. Wherever a shilling's worth
is still to be got, no Hun will ride by, and if you
put a gold piece on the grave of a dead man, his
hand will grow out of the earth to seize it."

"Holy Pirminius!" said the gardener, in doleful
accents, "who then is to mind the fruits and vege-
tables in the garden,, if we must gol"

"And the chickens," said another, whose chief
delight was in the poultry-yard,— "have we then,
bought the three dozen turkeys merely for the enemy?"

"If one were to write an impressive letter to
them," proi»osed a third, — "they surely cannot be
such barbarians, as to harm God and His saints."

Simon Bardo, with a pitying smile, then said:
"Thou hadst better become a shepherd, and drink
a decoction of camomile, — thou who wouldst write
impressive letters to the Huns! Oh, that I had
brought my old firework-maker Kedrenus with me,
over the Alps! Then we should cast a light on
the enemy, far brighter than the mild moonshine
in the flower-garden, which called up such tender
recollections in the soul of Abbot Walafrid. We
should then sink ships; and command the whole
shore with our long fire-tubes. Hurrah! How they
would be scattered to the winds, when our missiles

EKKEHAKD. 227

would be flying through the air like fiery dragons,
pouring down a rain of burning naphta. But what
does any of you, know about such fire! Oh Kcdre-
nus, thou paragon of firework-makers!"

Ekkehard had entered the monastery, and asked
for the Abbot. A serving brother showed him up
to his apartments; but he was neither there, nor
was he to be seen anywhere else.

"He will most likely be in the armoury," said a
monk passing by. So the serving brother led Ekke-
hard to the armoury, which was situated high up in
the tower. There, quantities of arms and harness
were heaped up; with which the monastery provided
its warriors for the arrier-ban. Abbot Wazmann
stood there, hidden by a cloud of dust. He had
had the armour taken down from the walls, to
examine it. Dust and cobwebs bore witness to its
having rested for a long while. During the examina-
tion, the Abbot had not forgotten to provide for
himself. His upper garment lay on the ground be-
fore him; and in its place, he had donned a coat
of mail, with the help of a fair-haired cloister-pupil.
He was now stretching out his arms, to see whether
it fitted him tightly and comfortably.

"Come nearer!" cried he, on seeing Ekkehard.
"The reception is fitted to the times!"

Ekkehard then communicated the Duchess's in-
vitation, to him.

"I should have asked for this, myself," replied
he, "if you had not come." He had seized a long
sword, and made a cut in the air with it; so that
Ekkehard started back a pace or two. From the

15*

2 28 EKKEHARD.

swift, whizzing sound whicl-i it produced, one could
guess that the hand which held it, was not unaccus-
tomed to its use.

"Yes, 'tis getting serious," said he. "Down in
Altdorf in the Shussenthal, the Huns have already-
effected their entrance; and we shall soon see the
flames of Lindau, reflected in the water. Do you
wish to choose a suitable armour for yourself alsol
This one, with the shoulder-strap, will defeat every
blow or thrust as well, as the finest linen shirt, ever
spun by a virgin in holy nights."

Ekicehard courteously declined the offer, and
then went down, accompanied by the Abbot; who
seemed to enjoy his coat of mail thoroughly. Throw-
ing his brown habit over it, like a true champion of
the Lord, he made his appearance amongst the
anxious brotherhood still assembled in the garden.

"St. Mark appeared to me this night, pointing
to the Hohentwiel," cried the Abbot. "Thither,
thou shalt bring my remains, to save them from
desecration by the hands of the heathen," he said.
"Be up and get ready! With prayers and fasting
your souls have fought to the present moment with
the Evil One; but now your fists are to prove that
you are warriors indeed; for those who come, are
the sons of the Devil. Witches and demons begot
them in the Asiatic deserts. All their doings are
vile wickedness, and when their time comes, they
will all go back to hell!"

During this appeal, even the most careless of
the brothers became convinced that danger was
near. A murmur of approbation ran through the

EKKEHARD. 22g

ranks; for the cultivation of science had not yet
made them so effeminate, but that they looked on a
warlike expedition, as a very desirable pastime.

With his back leaning against an apple-tree,
stood Rudimann the cellarer; an ominous frown on
his forehead. Ekkehard went up to him, wishing to
embrace him, as a sign that a general calamity was
wiping out the old quarrel; but Rudimann, waving
him off, said: "I know what you mean." Then draw-
ing a coarse thread out of the seam of his garment,
he threw it to the ground, and placed his foot on it.

"As long as a Hunnic horse is treading German
ground, all enmity shall be torn out of my heart, as
this thread is out of my garment; but if we both
outlive the coming battles, we will take it up again,
as it were meet." After these words he turned round,
and descended into the cellar, there to attend to im-
portant business. In due order, the large tuns lay
there in the arched vaults; and not one of them
gave back a hollow sound, when struck. Rudimann
had ordered some masons, and now had a small
antichamber, which generally served for the keeping
of fruit and vegetable, arranged, as if it were the
cloister-cellar. Two small casks, and one larger one,
were put there. "If the enemy finds nothing, he
becomes suspicious," said the cellarer to himself,
"and if the Sipplinger choice wine, which I sacrifice,
only does its duty, many a Hun will find some
difficulty in continuing his journey."

The masons had already got ready the square
stones, to wall up the inner cellar-door, — when Rudi-
mann once more stepped in. Walking up to an old

230 EKKEHARD.

rotten-looking tun, he tapped it; and filling a small
jug, emptied this with a most melancholy expression;
and then, folding his hands as in prayer, he said:
"May God protect thee, noble red wine of Meers-
burg!" — A solitary tear stood glistening in his eye . . .

In all parts of the monastery, busy hands were
preparing for the coming danger. In the armoury,
the harness and arms were being divided. Unfor-
tunately there were many heads, and but few helmets.
Then, the leather-work was in a somewhat dilapidated
condition, and stood in great need of repair.

In the treasury, the Abbot was superintending
the packing up of precious articles, and holy relics.
Many heavy boxes were thus filled. The golden
cross with the holy blood; the white marble vase,
which had once held the wine at the marriage of
Cana; coffins with the remains of martyrs; the
Abbot's staff, and the golden pixes, — all were care-
fully packed up, and brought over to the ships.
Some, were also carrying off the heavy green emer-
ald, weighing fully twenty-eight pounds.

"The emerald, you may leave behind," said the
Abbot.

"The parting gift of the great Emperor Charles?
— The rarest jewel of the cathedral? Another such
the bowels of the earth do not contain 1" asked the
serving brother.

" I know a glass-maker in Venetia, who can easily
make another, if the Huns should carry this one
away," carelessly replied the Abbot. So they put
the jewel back into the cupboard.

Before evening had set in, everything was ready

EKKEHARD. 23 1

for the departure. Then the Abbot commanded tlie
brothers to assemble in the courtyard. All appeared,
with the exception of one.

"Where is Heribaldl" asked he.

Heribald was a pious monk, whose ways had
many a time cheered up a desponding brother. In
his infancy, his nurse had let him fall on the stone
floor, and from that time, he had had a weakness
of the brain; a certain softness, — but he possessed
an excellent heart, and took as much delight in
God's beautiful world, as any stronger-minded being.

So they went to look for Heribald, and found
him up in his cell. The yellow and grey cloister-
cat, seemed to have offended him in some way; for
he had fastened the cord which generally served
him as a girdle, round its body; and hung it up on
a nail in the ceiling. The poor old animal hung
thus suspended in the air; screeching and mewing
pitifully; whilst Heribald rocked it gently to and fro,
talking Latin to it.

"Come on Heribald!" called out his companions.
"We must leave the island."

"Let him fly, who will," replied the idiot. "Heri-
bald won't go away."

"Be good, Heribald, and follow us; the Abbot
commands you."

Then Heribald pulled off his shoe, and held it
out to the brothers. "The shoe was already torn
last year," said he. "Then Heribald went to the
camerarius and said: 'give me my yearly portion of
leather, that I may make myself a new pair of shoes.'
But the camerarius replied: 'if thou didst not tread

2^2 EKKEHARD.

thy shoes all awry, tlien they would not tear,' — and
so he refused the leather. Upon this, Heribald com-
plained of the camerarius to the Abbot, but he said:
' a fool, as thou art, can well go barefoot.' Now Heri-
bald has no decent shoes to put on; and he will
not go amongst strangers with his torn ones."

Such sound reasons could not well be argued
away; so the brothers seized him, intending to carry
him off by force; but no sooner had they reached
the passage, than Heribald broke away from them,
and rushed as quick as lightning to the church and
from thence up the stairs, that led to the belfry.
When he had reached the very top, he drew up the
small wooden ladder after him; so that there was
no possibility of getting at him.

They reported to the Abbot, how matters stood.
"Well, then we must leave him behind," said he.
"Children and fools, are protected by a guardian-
angel of their own."

Two large barges lay waiting at the shore, to
receive the fugitives. They were strong, well-built
ships; furnished with oars and masts. In some
smaller boats, the serving people, and all others who
lived on the Reichenau, sailed, with all their chat-
tels and belongings. The whole looked a strange
medley.

One bark, filled by the maid-servants, and com-
manded by Kerhildis the upper maid, had already
steered off; without its crew knowing what place
they were bound for; but fear, this time was stronger
than their curiosity to see the moustaches of strange
warriors.

EKKEHARD. 2^^

And now the brotherhood was approaching the
shore; presenting a strange sight. The greater part
were armed; some chaunting the litany, others car-
rying the coffin of St. Mark; the Abbot with Ekke-
hard walking at the head of the cloister-pupils.
They all cast back a sorrowful look towards the
home where they had spent so many years; and then
they went on board.

No sooner had they fairly started, than all the
bells began to ring merrily. The weak-minded Heri-
bald, was ringing a farewell-greeting to them. After-
wards, he appeared on the top of the cathedral-tower,
and called down with a powerful voice '■'■domimis
vobiscu??i," and here and there, one of the monks
responded in the accustomed way: "^/ ct(?n spiritu
tuo:'

A keen breeze was curling the waves of the lake,
which had only lately thawed. Numerous, large ice-
blocks were still floating about, so that the ships
often had great difficulty in proceeding.

The monks who were taking care of St. Mark's
coffin, anxiously cowered down, when the waves
sometimes entered their boat; but bold and erect
Abbot Wazmann's tall figure towered above the rest';
his habit fluttering in the wind.

"The Lord is at our head," said he, "as He was
in the fiery pillar before the people of Israel. He
is with us on our flight, and He will be with us, in
the hour of our happy return."

In a clear, moonshiny night the monks of the
Reichenau ascended the Hohentwiel, where they
found everything prepared for their reception. In

234 EKKEHARD.

the small castle-church, they deposited the coffin of
their saint; six of the brothers being ordered to stay
beside it; watching and praying.

The courtyard, on the next morning, was trans-
formed into a bustling bivouac. Some hundred armed
vassals, were already assembled, and from the Rei-
chenau, ninety more combatants were added to their
numbers. They were all eagerly preparing, for the
coming contest. Already before sunrise, the hammer-
ing of the blacksmiths, awakened the sleepers. Ar-
rows and lances were being made. Near the foun-
tain in the yard, stood the big grinding-stone, on
which the rusty blades were sharpened. The old
basketmaker of Weiterdingen, had also been fetched
up; and was sitting with his boys under the great
linden-tree; covering the long boards destined for
shields, with a strong platting of willow branches.
Over this, a tanned skin was fastened, and the shield
was complete. Round a merry fire, others were
seated, melting lead, to make sharp pointed missiles
for the slings. Bludgeons and heavy clubs of ash
were also hardened in the flames. "If one of these
knocks at the skull of a heathen," said Rudimann
swinging a heavy club over his head, "it is sure to
be admitted."

All who had served before in the arrier-ban, were
put under the command of Simon Bardo, the Greek
fieldmarshal. "A man who wants to pass his old
days peaceably, must come to Germany," he had
jestingly said to the Duchess; but in reality the
clatter of arms, strengthened his mind, like old
Rhinewine. With an untiring zeal, he drilled the

EKKEHARD. 235

unexperienced men, in the use of arms; and every
day for many an hour, the stone flags of the court-
yard resounded with the heavy, regular tramp of the
monks, who in closed ranks, were being taught the
art of a spear-attack. "With you, one could verily
knock down walls, when once your blood is up,"
said the old soldier with an approving nod.

Those of the younger men, who possessed a
good eye and flexible sinews, were enlisted among
the archers. These also, practised industriously,
shooting at a target. Once, a loud cry of delight
was heard in the courtyard, where the jolly fellows
had manufactured a straw figure, wearing a crown
of owl's feathers, and holding a six-corded whip in
its hand. A small piece of red cloth in the shape
of a heart, fastened in front, was the mark.

"Attila the King of the Huns!" cried the archers,
"who can hit him right in the heart?"

"Boasting is easy enough," said Dame Hadwig,
who was looking down from her balcony; "but
though on an evil bridal night. Death felled him,
his spirit is still living in the world; and I fear, that
even those coming after us, will yet have trouble
enough, to banish his dread memory."

"If they could only shoot away at him, as well
as they do now down there," said Praxedis, when a
triumphant shout was heard. The straw-figure tot-
tered and fell; an arrow having hit the heart.

Ekkehard came up to the hall. He had exer-
cised with the others, and his face glowed with the
unwonted exertion; whilst the helmet had left a
red stripe on his forehead. In the excitement of

236 EKKEHARD.

the moment, he had forgotten to leave his lance,
outside the door.

With evident pleasure Dame Hadwig stood look-
ing at him. He was no longer the timid teacher of
Latin. Bowing his head before the Duchess, he
said: "Our brothers in the Lord, from the Reichenau,
bid me tell you that a great thirst is besetting their
ranks."

Dame Hadwig laughed merrily. "Let them put
a tun of cool beer in the courtyard. Until the Huns
are all driven out of the country, our cellarer is not
to complain about the emptying of his tuns." Then
pointing at the bustling life in the courtyard, she
added: "Life after all, brings us richer and more
manifold pictures than all poets can paint. You
were hardly prepared for such a change of things,
ehV

But Ekkehard would allow nothing approaching
a slight, to come near his beloved Virgilius.

"Allow me," said he, leaning on his spear, "all
that we now see, you will find word for word in
the ^neid; as if there was to be nothing new under
the sun. Would you not fancy that Virgil stood
here on this balcony, looking down on yonder busy
crowd;— when he sang, at the beginning of the war
in Latium:

"Yonder the shields for the head, are with willowy branches surrounded;
Others the armour of ore, are to shining polish restoring.
There, the protecting greaves, of glittering silver are forged.
Sickle and plough for the time, are dishonoured and wholly forgotten,
All are busily mending the rusty swords of their fathers ;
Bugles are heard in the la id, and the watch-word to ail is now given."

EKKEHARD. 237

"Yes, that really fits the situation wonderfully
well," said Dame Hadwig, "but can you also predict,
the issue of the coming battles, from your epic," —
she w^as going to ask; but in times of such busy
confusion, 'tis somewhat difficult to speak about
poetry. At that moment the steward came in, to
report that all the meat was eaten up; and to ask
whether he might kill two more oxen.

After a few days, Simon Bardo's men were so
well drilled, that he could let them pass muster be-
fore the Duchess; — and it was time, for they had
already been disturbed in their rest, last night. A
bright red light was illuminating the sky, far over
the lake. Like a fiery cloud, the dread sign hung
there for several hours; the conflagration being pro-
bably far off in Helvetia. The monks began to
dispute about it. Some said that it was a heavenly
apparition; a fiery star, sent as a warning unto all
Christendom. Others said that there must be a
great conflagration in the Rhine-valley; and one
brother, gifted wath a particularly fine nose, even
pretended to perceive the smell of burning. It was
long past midnight, when the red light died out.

On the southern declivity of the mountain, there
was a moderate sized grove, where the first spring-
flowers were blooming already, while the snow was
still lying in the nooks and crevices of the valleys.
This was to be the place for the mustering. Dame
Hadwig was seated on her noble palfrey, surrounded
by a small troop of well-armed knights, who had
also joined the party on the Hohentvviel; the Barons
of Randegg, of Hoewen and the gaunt Friedinger.

238 EKKEHARD.

The Abbot from Reichenau, was likewise proudly
sitting, on his ambling-nag; a well-mounted cham-
pion of the Lord. Master Spazzo the chamberlain,
was taking great pains to equal him, with regard to
carriage and movements, which were both highly
aristocratic and knightly. Ekkehard who was like-
wise to have accompanied the Duchess on horse-
back, had declined the honour; that he might not
raise envy in the hearts of the other monks.

And now the outer castle-gate slowly opened on
its heavy hinges, and out strode the archers; who
with the cross-bow-men, headed the march. Amidst
the merry sounds of music, they walked on in closed
ranks; Audifax, with a very serious expression, being
amongst the horn-blowers, in the capacity of bag-
piper. Suddenly, Simon Bardo ordered a signal to
be given; at the sound of which the ranks swiftly
deployed; skirmishing about, like a swarm of wild
bees. They had soon occupied every bush and
hedge in the neighbourhood.

Then there came the troop of monks, firmly
treading the ground, with helmets and armour under
their habits; the shields hanging on their backs.
With couched lances, they were a redoubtable force.
Their flag floated merrily, high in the air; a red
cross in a white field. They marched on as regu-
larly, as if they had been soldiers these many years;
for with strong-minded men, mental discipline, is
an excellent preparation for the warrior's life. Only
one in the left wing, was not able to keep pace with
the others; his lance protruding beyond the straight
line preserved by his companions. "It is not his fault,"

EKKEHARD. 239

said Abbot Wazmann to the Duchess. "He copied
a whole mass-book, in the space of six weeks,
so that he has got the writing-cramp in his hand."

Ekkehard was marching in the right wing, and
when his troop passed the Duchess, he caught a
look from the radiant eyes,, which could scarcely
have been intended for the whole corps.

Divided into three bodies, then came the vassals
and bondsmen. Their musical instruments were
huge bulls' horns; emitting strange, uncouth sounds,
and many a singular looking weapon was seen that
day, which had already been used under the great
Emperor Charles. Some of them were merely armed
with a heavy bludgeon.

Master Spazzo with his sharp eyes meanwhile
looked down into the valley. '"Tis well that we
are all together, and well prepared; for I verily be-
lieve that we shall soon get some work to do," said
he, pointing downwards in the direction, where the
roofs of Hilzingen were peeping out from the
wooded dells. A dark line was seen approaching.
Then Simon Bardo ordered his troops to stop, and
after casting a searching look in that direction, said :
"these are not Huns, for they are not on horseback."
Still, taking all needful precaution, he commanded
his archers to occupy the foot of the hill.

As the ranks of the strangers approached, the
garb of St. Benedict became visible. A golden
cross, in lieu of a standard, was towering above the
lances, and the ^^Kyrie eleisoti," was now heard
quite plainly. "My brothers!" exclaimed Ekkehard.
Then the ranks of the Reichenau monks broke up,

240 EKKEHARD.

and running down tlie hill wiih shouts of delight,
they soon met, and were joyfully embracing each
other. To meet again in the hour of danger, makes
the heart doubly glad. Arm in arm with those of
the Reichenau, the stranger guests now ascended
the hill, headed by their Abbot, Cralo. On a heavy
cart in the rear-guard, they were transporting the
blind Thieto.

"May God bless you, most noble cousin," said
the Abbot bowing his head before the Duchess.
"Who would have thought half a year ago, that
we should return your call, with the whole of the
brotherhood? But the God of Israel says, 'let my
people leave their home, so that they may remain
faithful unto me.'"

Dame Hadwig held out her hand to him, with
visible emotion. "Yes, these are times of trial,"
said she. "Be welcome!"

Thus fortified by the new-comers, the troop be-
took themselves back again, behind the protecting
walls of the Hohentwiel Praxedis had descended
into the courtyard. There she stood under the
linden-tree, gazing at the men as they came in.
Those of St. Gall had all arrived, yet her eyes were
still riveted on the door, as if there were still some-
one missing. He, however, whom her eyes sought,
was not amongst the last entering guests either.

In the castle, they were busying themselves to
make room for the new-comers. For the number
of men, now assembled, the space was but scanty.
In the round, principal tower, there was an airy hall,
in which they heaped up straw, for a temporary

EKKEHARD. 24 1

nights quarter. "If things go on in this way,'"
grumbled the steward, whose head was nearly turned
with all the demands that were being made on him,
— "we shall soon have the whole priesthood of
Europe, up here."

Kitchen and cellar gave all they could. In the
liall downstairs, monks and warriors were sitting,
noisily taking their meal. Dame Hadwig had in-
vited the two Abbots as well as those of noble birth
amongst her guests, into her own reception room.
There was a great deal to be discussed, and the
questions and answers, quickly given and often cross-
ing each other, made a strange confusion of voices.

As soon as an opportunity offered, Abbot Cralo
told them about the fate of his monastery.

"This time," he began, "the danger came upon
us almost unawares. Scarcely had one spoken of
the Huns, when the ground was already resounding,
with the tramp of their horses hoofs. 'Sharp,' was
the word now. The pupils of the cloister-school, I
hastily sent over to the fortress of Wasserburg.
Aristotle and Cicero will probably get somewhat
dusty; the boys catching fish in the Bodensee, in-
stead of studying the classics, — if they do not get
more serious work to do. The old teachers fled
with them over the water, in good time. We
others had made ourselves a sort of stronghold, as
a refuge. Where the Sitter-brook rushes through
the narrow, fir-grown valley, we found an excellent
hiding-place, which we thought no heathenish blood-
hound would ever sniff out. There, we built our-
selves a strong house, with towers and walls j and

Ekkehard, I. 1 6

242 KKKEHARD.

wc consecrated it to the holy Trinity, — who I trust
will protect it.

"We had scarcely finished it, when the mes-
sengers from the lake came, crying: 'fly, the Huns
are coming 1' Then there came others from the
Rhine valley, and 'fly!' was again the word. The
sky was already dyed red, from conflagrations and
camp-fires; the air was filled with the shrieks of
people flying and the creaking of retreating cart-
wheels. So we also set out. Gold and jewels;
St. Gallus' and St. Othmar's coffins, in fact all our
treasures were first safely hidden; the books being
carried off before to the Wasserburg, by the boys.
So we left the monastery; not thinking much about
eating and drinking; some scanty provisions, only
having been brought to our retreat in the wood,
beforehand. Thither we now went in great haste.
Only on the road, the brothers perceived that we had
left the blind Thieto behind in his cell; but nobody
ventured to return for him, as the ground was so to
say, already burning under our feet. Thus we re-
mained for several days quietly hidden in our fir-
wood; often jumping up at night, to seize our arms,
fancying the enemy were outside; but it was but
the rushing of the Sitter, or the rustling of the wind
in the tree-tops. One evening however, a clear voice,
demanded admittance; and on opening the door,
in came Burkhard, the cloister-pupil; haggard and
tired to death. Out of friendship for Romeias the
cloister-watchman, he had remained behind, without
our noticing it. He was the bearer of evil tidings.
The terror of that which he had seen, had turned

EKKEHARD. 243

some of the hairs on his young head, quite grey." —
Abbot Cralo's voice here began to tremble. He
stopped a moment to take a draught of wine. "The
Lord be merciful to all christian departed ones,"
said he with emotion. "His blessing be with them,
and may He let them rest in peace."

"Amen," said tlie others.

"Of whom are you thinking? " asked the Duchess.
Praxedis had left her place and gone behind her
mistress's chair, where she stood breathlessly watch-
ing Abbot Cralo's lips.

"It is only when a man is dead and gone," con-
tinued the Abbot, taking up again the thread of his
tale, "that the remaining ones appreciate his value.
Romeias, the best of all watchmen, did not leave the
monastery with us. 'I will keep my post to the
last,' said he. He then barred and locked all the
gates; hid all that was valuable, and went his round
on the walls; accompanied by Burkhard the cloister-
pupil. The remaining time he kept watch on the
tower; his arms by his side. Soon after we had
left, a large body of Huns on horseback, carefully
prying about, approached the walls. Romeias gave
the ordinary bugle sounds, and then quickly running
to the other end of the courtyard, blew the horn
again there; as if the monastery were still occupied,
and well prepared. 'Now the time has come, for
us to depart also,' said he to the pupil. He had
fastened an old withered nosegay to his helmet,
Burkhard told us; and tluis the two went over to the
blind Thieto, who, being loth to leave his accustomed

i6'

244 EKKEIIARD.

corner, was placed on two spears, and thus carried
away. Letting themselves out by a secret little gate,
they fled up the Schwarzathal.

"Already the Huns had sprung from their horses,
and had begun to climb the walls, and when they
saw that nothing stirred, they swarmed in like flies
on a drop of honey. Romeias meanwhile, quietly
walked on with his hoary burden. 'Nobody shall
say of the cloister- watchman,' said he, 'that he
quickened his step, to please a pack of heathenish
blood-hounds.' Thus he tried to encourage his young
friend; but only too soon, the Huns were on their
track. Wild cries came up the valley, and soon after,
the first arrows whizzed through the air. So they
reached the rock of the recluses; but here, even
Romeias was surprised; — for as if nothing uncom-
mon had happened, Wiborad's hollow psalm-singing
was heard as usual. In a heavenly vision, her speedy
suffering and death had been revealed to her, and
even the pious Waldramm, could not persuade her
to fly. 'My cell is the battle-field on which I have
fought against the old enemy of mankind, and like a
true champion of the Lord, I will defend it to the last
breath,' said she; and so she remained quite alone
in that desolate spot, when all others left it. As the
cloister's refuge in the firwood was too far to be
reached, Romeias picked out a remote little hut, and
in it carefully deposited the blind Thieto; letting
him in by the roof. Before leaving him, he kissed
the old man, and then told the cloister-pupil to fl}^,
and save himself.

"'You see something may happen to me,' he said,

EKKEHARD.

245

'and so you must tell those in the refuge, to look
after the blind one' Burkhard in vain besought him
to fly likewise; quoting Nisus and Euryalus, who had
also fled into the woods, before the greater numbers
of the Volskian horse-men. 'I should have to run
too fast,' replied Romeias, 'and that would make
me too warm, and give me pains in the chest. Besides
I should like to speak a word or two with the chil-
dren of the Devil.'

"He then went up to Wiborad's cell, and knock-
ing at the shutter, called out: 'Give me thy hand
old dragon; we will make peace now,' upon which
Wiborad stretched out her withered right hand.
Finally, Romeias blocked up the narrow passage of
the Schwarzathal with some huge stones, and then
taking his shield from his back, and holding his
spears ready, he seized his big bugle-horn, to blow
once more on it. With flying hair he thus stood
behind his wall, expecting the enemy. At first the
sounds were fierce and warlike, but by degree they
became softer and sweeter, until an arrow, flying
right into the opening, produced a sharp dissonance.
The next moment, a whole shower of arrows covered
him and stuck fast in his shield; but he shook them
off like rain-drops. Here and there, one of the Huns,
climbed up the rocks to get at him, but Romeias's
spears, fetched them down quickly. The attack be-
came fiercer and louder, but undaunted, Wiborad
was still chaunting her psalm:

"'Destroy them in Thy anger, oh Lord. Destroy
them that they do no more exist, so that the world

246 KKKEHARD.

knows that God is reigning in Israel, and over the
whole earth, Sela.' . . .

"So far Burkhard had witnessed the fighting; then
he had turned and fled. On hearing his account
in the refuge, we were all very much grieved, and
sent out a troop that ,very night, to look after the
blind Thieto. Perfect quiet reigned on the hill of
the recluses, when they reached it. The moon w^as
shining on the bodies of the slain Huns, and amongst
them, the brothers found also . . ."

Here the recital was interrupted by loud sobs.
Praxedis was with difficulty supporting herself, on
the back of the Duchess's chair, and was weeping
bitterly.

". . . There they found the dismembered body
of Romeias," continued the Abbot. "His head was
hewn off and carried away by the enemy. He lay
on his shield; the faded flowers which had adorned
his helmet, tightly clutched in his hand. May God
reward him: for he, whose life was lost in doing his
duty, is surely worthy to enter heaven. Wiborad's
shutter was knocked at in vain, and the tiles of her
roof were mostly broken. So one of the brothers
climbed up, and on looking down, beheld the recluse
lying in her blood, before the little altar of her cell.
Three wounds were visible on her head; which proved
that the Lord had deemed her worthy to die a mar-
tyr's death, by the hands of the heathen."

Everyone was too much moved to speak. Dame
Hadwig also, was deeply touched.

"I have brought you the veil of the martyr," said
Sir Cralo, "consecrated by the blood of her wounds.

EKKEHARD. 247

You might hang it up, in the castle-church. Only
Thieto, the blind one, had remained unharmed.
Undiscovered by the enemy, he was found soundly
sleeping in the little hut by the rock. 'I have been
dreaming that an eternal peace had come over the
world,' said he to the brothers, when they awoke
him. But even in our remote little valley, we were
not to have peace much longer; as the Huns found
their way to us also. That was a swarming, piping
and snorting, such as had never been heard before
in the quiet firwood. Our walls were strong, and
our courage likewise; but hungry people soon get
tired of being besieged. The day before yesterday
our provisions were eaten up; and when the evening
came, we saw a pillar of smoke rise from our
monastery. So we broke through the enemy, in the
middle of the night; the Lord being with us and
our swords helping likewise. And so we have come
to you," — with a bow towards the Duchess, "home-
less and orphaned, like birds whose nest has been
struck by lightning; and bringing nothing with us,
but the tidings that the Huns, whom the Lord
destroy, are following on our heels." . . .

"The sooner they come, the better," defiantly
said the Abbot of the Reichenau, raising his
goblet.

"Here's to the arms of God's own champions,"
said the Duchess, ringing her glass, against his.

"And revenge for the death of the brave Ro-
nieias," ad.ded Praxedis in a low voice and with
tears in her eyes, when her glass vibrated against
that of the gaunt Fridinger.

248 EKKKHARD.

It was getting late. Wild songs and warlike
cries, were still resounding in the hall on the first
floor. The young monk who had come to the Rei-
chenau from Mutina in Italy, had again struck up
his sentinel's song.

The opportunity for valiant deeds, was no longer
very far off. —

EKKEIIARD. 249

CHAPTER XIII.

Heribald and his Guests.

On the little island of Reichenau, it was silent
and lonely after the departure of the inhabitants of
the cloister. The weak-minded Heribald was lord
and master of the whole place, and was much pleased
with his solitude. For hours he now sat on the
shore, throwing smooth pebbles over the waves, so
that they danced merrily along. When they sank
at once, he scolded them loudly.

With the poultry in the yard, wliich he fed very
regularly, he also talked a good deal. "If you are
very good, and the brothers do not return," he once
said, "Heribald will preach you a sermon." — In the
monastery itself, he also found plenty of amusement,
for in a single day of solitude, a man can hatch a
good many useful ideas. The camerarius had
angered him, by refusing to give him the necessary
shoe-leather; so Heribald went up to the cell of the
camerarius, smashed to pieces his large, stone water-
jug, as well as his three flower-pots, and then open-
ing the straw mattress, he took out some of the
straw, and put in the broken crockery instead.
Having achieved this feat, he lay down on it, and
on feeling the hard and sharp-edged contents toler-

250 EKKEIIARIX

ably unpleasant, lie smiled contentedly and betook
himself to the Abbot's apartments.

Towards the Abbot he also bore a grudge, as
he was indebted to him for many a sound whip-
l)ing; but in his rooms, everything was locked up,
and in excellent order. So nothing was left to him,
but to cut off one of the legs of the cushioned easy-
chair. Having done this, he cunningly placed it
back in its old place, as if nothing whatever had
happened. "That will break down nicely with him,
when he comes home, and sits comfortably on it.
'Thou shalt castigate the flesh,' says St. Benedict.
But Heribald has not cut off the chair's foot. — The
Huns have done it."

The duty of prayer and psalm-singing he per-
formed regularly, as the rules of the order prescribed.
The seven times for prayer each day, the solitary
man strictly adhered to, as if he could be punished
for missing them; and he descended also every
night into the cloister-church, there to hold the mid-
night vigil.

At the same hour, when his brothers were carous-
ing in the hall of the ducal castle with the monks
of St, Gall, Heribald was standing in the choir.
The dark, dreary shadows of night enveloped the
aisle, in which the everlasting lamp was dimly
burning; but fearlessly and with a clear voice,
Heribald intoned the first verse: "Oh Lord, deliver
me from evil" — and then sang the third psalm,
which David had once sung, when he fled before
his son Absalon. When he came to the place
where the antiphon was to fall in, according to

EKKEIIARD. 25 1

custom, he stopped, waiting for the responses. Every-
thing remained silent and still, however. Heribald
passed his hand over his forehead, and said: "Ah,
I forgot! They are all gone, and Heribald is alone."
Then he wanted to sing the forty-ninth psalm, as
the nightly service required, — when the everlasting
lamp went out, a bat having extinguished it with
its wings. Outside, storm and rain were raging.
Heavy drops fell on the roof of the church, and beat
against the windows. Heribald began to shudder.

"Holy Benedict," exclaimed he, "be pleased to
see that it is not Heribald^s fault, that the antiphon
was not sung. He then rose and walked with care-
ful steps through the dark aisle. A shrill wind
whistled through a little window of the crypt under
the high-altar, producing a howling sound; and as
Heribald advanced, a draught caught his garment.
"Art thou come back, thou hellish tempter?" said
he, "must I fight thee once morel"

Undauntedly he stepped back to the altar and
seized a wooden crucifix, which the Abbot had not
had taken away. "In the name of the Holy Trinity,
I defy thee, Satanas. Come on, Heribald awaits
thee!" With unabated courage he thus stood on
the altar-steps; but though the wind continued to
howl dismally, the Devil did not appear.

"He still remembers the last time," smilingly
said the idiot. About a year ago the Evil One had
appeared to him in the shape of a big dog, barking
furiously at him; but Heribald had attacked him
with a pole; and had aimed his blows so well, that
the pole broke.

252 KKKF.HARD.

Then Hcribald screamed out a number of choice
invectives, in the direction where the wind was
moaning; and when even after this, nothing came
to tempt him, he replaced the crucifix on the altar,
bent his knees before it, and then went back to his
cell, murmuring the ^^ Kyrie eleison.'' There he slept
the sleep of the just until late in the morning. The
sun was already high in the heavens, when Heribald
was complacently walking up and down, before the
monastery. Since the time, when he had enjoyed an
occasional holiday at school, he had seldom had an
opportunity of resting himself. "Idleness is the soul's
worst enemy," St. Benedict had said, and in con-
sequence strictly ordered his disciples, to fill up
the time which was not claimed by devotional tasks,
by the work of their hands. Heribald, not knowing
any art or handicraft, had been employed in cutting
wood and in rendering similar useful, but tiring
services; — but now, he paced up and down with
crossed arms before the heaped up log-wood; look-
ing up smilingly at one of the cloister-windows.

"Why don't you come down. Father Rudimann,
and make Heribald cut the wood? You, who used
to keep such excellent watch over the brothers; and
who so often called Heribald a useless servant of
the Lord, when he looked at the clouds, instead of
handling the axe. Why don't you attend to your
duty?"

Not even an echo gave answer to the half-witted
creature's query; so he drew out some of the under
logs, thus making the whole pile fall noisily down.
"Tumble down if you like," continued he in his

EK.KEHARD. 253

soliloquy, "Heribald has got a holiday, and is not
going to put you up again. — The Abbot has run
away, and the brothers have run away also; so it
serves them right, if everything tumbles down."

After these laudable achievements, Heribald di-
rected his steps to the cloister-garden. Another
project now occupied his mind. He intended to
cut a few delicate lettuces for his dinner, and to
dress them a good deal better than they would ever
have been done, during the time of the father head-
cook's superintendance. Temptingly the vision rose
before him, how he would not spare the oil-jug, and
would pitilessly cut to pieces some of the biggest
onions; when a cloud of dust rose on the opposite
shore and the forms of horses and riders became
visible.

"Are you there, already?" said the monk, mak-
ing the sign of the cross and then mumbling a
hasty prayer; but a few moments later, his face had
resumed its customary smile of contentment.

"Strange wanderers and pilgrims are to meet
with a christian reception, at the gate of any house
of the Lord," murmured he. "I will receive them."

A new idea now crossed his brain, and again
passing his hand over his forehead, he exclaimed:
"Have I not studied the history of the ancients, in
the cloister-school, and learned how the Roman
Senators received the invading Gauls'? — Dressed in
their mantles, the ivory sceptre in their hands, the
venerable men sat in their chairs, immovable like
bronze idols. Ah well, the Latin teacher shall not

254 EKKKHARD.

have told us in vain, that this was a most worthy
reception. Heribald can do the same!"

A mild imbecility may be an enviable dower,
now and then in life. That, which appears black
to others, seems to the half-witted, blue or green,
and if his path be zig-zag, he does not notice the
serpents hidden in the grass; and the precipice into
which the wise man inevitably falls, he stumbles over,
without even perceiving the threatening danger. . , \
A curule chair not being just then in the mona-
stery, Heribald pushed a huge oak stem towards the
gate which led into the court-yard. "For what end
have we studied secular history, if we cannot even
take counsel by it?" said he, seating himself quietly
on his block, in expectation of that which was to
come.

Opposite on the near shore, a troop of horsemen
had stopped. With their reins slung round their
arms, and their arrows ready fastened on their bowS;
they had gone on ahead, to reconnoitre the land.'
When no ambuscade came out from behind the
willows bordering the lake, they stopped a while to
rest their horses. Then the arrows were put back
into their quivers; the crooked sabres taken between
the teeth, and pressing the spurs into the horses
sides, they went into the lake. Quickly the horses
crossed the blue waves. Now the foremost men had
touched the land, and jumping from their saddles,
shook themselves three times, like a poodle coming
out of its bath, and then with piercing, triumphant
shouts they approached the monastery.

Like an image of stone, Heribald sat at his post.

EKKEHARD. 255

gazing undauntedly at the strange figures before him.
As yet he had never passed a sleepless night, mus-
ing over the perfection of human beauty, but the
faces which now met his view, struck him as being
so very ugly, that he could not suppress a startled,
"Have mercy upon us, oh Lord!"

Partly bent, the strange guests were sitting in
their saddles; their shrunk, meagre little bodies
dressed in beasts' skins. From their square-shaped
skulls, black, shaggy hair hung down in wild dis-
order; and their unshapely yellow faces, glistened
as if they had been anointed with tallow. One of
the foremost had enlarged his coarse-lipped mouth
considerably, by a voluntary cut at the corners, and
from their small, deep-set eyes they looked out
suspiciously at the world.

"To make a Hun, one need only give a square
shape to a lump of clay, put on a smaller lump for
a nose, and drive in the chin" — Heribald was just
thinking, when they stood before him. He did not
understand their hissing language, and smiled com-
placently, as if the whole gang did not regard him
in the least. For a while they kept staring with un-
bounded astonishment, at this puzzling specimen of
humanity, — as critics are apt to do at a new poet, of \
whom they do not as yet know, in what pigeon-
hole of ready made judgments they are to put him.
At last one of them beheld the bald place on Heri-
bald's pate, and pointing at it with his sabre, — upon
which the others raised a hoarse laugh, — he seized his
bow and arrow to aim at the monk. But now Heri-
bald's patience had come to an end, and a feeling

256 EKKEflARD.

of AUemannic pride coming over him as he con-
fronted this rabble, he jumped up calling out: "By
the tonsure of St. Benedict, the crown of my head
shall not be mocked at, by any heathenish dog!"
He had seized the reins of one of the foremost
riders, and snatching away his sabre, was just going
to assume an aggressive attitude, when quicker than
lightning, one of the Huns threw a noose over his
head and pulled him down. Then they tied his
hands to his back, and were already raising their
death-bringing arms, when a distant tramping was
heard, like the approach of a mighty army. This
occurrence for the moment completely drew off their
attention from the idiot. They threw him like a
sack against his oak-trunk, and quickly galloped
back to the shore. The whole body of the Hunnic
legion had now arrived on the opposite shore. The
vanguard, by a shrill whistle, gave the signal that all
was safe. At one of the extremities of the island,
overgrown with reeds, they had spied a ford, which
could be crossed on horseback with dry feet. This
they showed to their friends, who now swarmed
over like wild bees; many hundred horsemen.
Their united forces had availed nothing against the
walls of Augsburg and the Bishop's prayers; so,
divided into several troops, they now ravaged the
land. Their faces, figures and manner of sitting
on horseback w^ere all alike, for with uncultivated
races, the features are mostly cast in one mould;
indicating that the vocation of the individual lies
in conforming itself to the mass, instead of con-
trasting with it.

EKKEHARD. 257

In the orchards and gardens, where the monks
used to recite their breviaries, Hunnic arms now
glistened for the first time. In serpentine lines, their
armed ranks now came up towards the monastery;
a wild din of music, a mixture of cymbals and
violins, preceded them; but the sounds were shrill
and sharp, as the ears of the Huns were large, but
not sensitive, and only those, who from some reason
or other were unfit for the duties of a warrior, be-
came musicians.

High over their heads floated their standard,
showing a green cat in a red field, around which
some of the chieftains were gathered; EUak's and
Hornebog's tall figures towering above the rest.

EUak, with clear features and a straight nose,
very unlike that of a Hun, had had a Circassian
mother, to whom he was indebted for his pale in-
telligent face with penetrating eyes. He represented
the ruling intellect of the mass. That the old world
must be ploughed afresh with fire and sword, and
that it was better to be the plough-man, than to
serve as manure, was his deep-rooted conviction.
Hornebog, lean and lank of figure, wore his long
black hair in two solitary curls, one at each side.
Above these, rose the glittering helmet, adorned with
two widely spread out eagles' wings, the emblem of
Hunnic horsemanship. To him the saddle served
as home, tent and palace. He shot the bird flying,
and with his sabre could sever the head of an enemy
from its trunk, while galloping past. At his side,
hung the six-corded whip, an ingenious symbol of
executive power.

Ekkehard. I. ^7

258 EKKEHARD.

On the backs of the horses belonging to the
chieftains, beautifully woven carpets, as well as
chasubles were hanging; a clear proof that they had
already paid visits to other monasteries. The booty
was transported in several waggons, and a consider-
able and modey crowd of followers closed the train.

In a cart drawn by mules, amongst copper camp-
kettles and other kitchen-utensils, an old wrinkled
woman was sitting. She was shading her eyes with
.ler right hand, looking towards the sun, in the direc-
tion where the mountain peaks of the Hegau rose
into the air. She knew them well, for the old hag,
was the woman of the wood. Banished by Ekke-
hard, she had wandered away into stranger lands;
vengeance being her first thought when she awoke
in the morning, and her last before she fell asleep
in the evening. Thus she came as far as Augsburg.
At the foot of the hill on which the wooden temple
of the Suabian Goddess Zisa had once stood, the
Huns' camp-fires were burning, and with them she
remained.

On a prancing black steed, by the side of the
old woman, a young maiden was gaily riding along.
Her skirts were looped up, and she also, seemed to
feel herself perfectly at home in the saddle. Under
her short litde nose, there was a lovely pair of red
lips; her dark eyes were bright and sparkling, and
her long raven hair hung down in wavy tresses,
interwoven with red ribbons, which merrily floated
in the air, like the streamers of a ship. Over her
loose bodice, bow and arrow were hanging, and
thus she manacred her horse, a true Hunnic Artemis.

EKKEHARD. 259

This was Erica, the flower-of-the-heath. She was
not of Hunnic origin, having been picked up as an
abandoned child, by some Hunnic riders on the Pan-
nonian heaths. Thus she had accompanied the Huns
and had grown up, hardly knowing how. Those
whom she liked, she caressed, and those who dis-
pleased her, she bit in the arm. Botund the old
Hunnic chieftain had loved her, and was killed for
this reason by Irkund the young one. But wheji
Irkund wanted to enjoy the fruit of this deed, Zo-
bolsus' sharp lance did him the same service which
Irkund had rendered Botund, without the latter ask-
ing for it. Thus Erica's fate had been varied, new
ways! new countries! and new loves! — and she had
become part and parcel of her troop. She was its
good spirit and was held in high veneration.

"As long as the flower-of-the-heath, blooms in
our ranks, we shall conquer the world," said the
Huns. "Forwards."

Meanwhile, poor Heribald was still lying in his
fetters at the monastery gate. His meditations were
very sad. A big gad-fly, which he could not drive
away with his bound hands, was buzzing round his
head. "Heribald has behaved with dignity," thought
he. "Like one of the old Romans he has sat at
the gate to receive the enemy, and now he is lying
bound on the stones, and the gad-fly may sit on his
nose quite unmolested. That is the reward of
dignified behaviour. Heribald will never again be
dignified! Amongst hedgedogs, dignity is a most
superfluous thing."

Like a mountain-torrent when the flood-gate has

17'

26o EKKEHARD.

been removed, the Hunnic tide now streamed into
the cloister-yard. At this spectacle, the good Heri-
bald began to feel really uncomfortable. " Oh, Came-
rarius," continued he in his meditation, "and if thou
wouldst refuse me the next time even the shirt and
habit, besides the shoe-leather, then should I fly
nevertheless, a naked man!"

Some of the vanguard then reported to Ellak
in what state they had found the solitary monk. He
made a sign for them to bring the prisoner up be-
fore him, upon which they loosened his cords, set
him on his feet, and indicated the direction in which
he was to go, by heavy blows. Slowly the poor
wretch advanced, emitting a complaining grunt.

An unspeakably satirical smile played round the
Hunnic chieftain's lips, when the idiot at last stood
before him. Negligently dropping his horse's reins
on its neck, he turned round. "See, what a repre-
sentative of German art and science looks like,"
called he out to Erica.

On his numerous piratical expeditions, Ellak had
required a scanty knowledge of the German lan-
guage. "Where are the inhabitants of this island?"
asked he in a commanding voice.

Heribald pointed over to the distant Hegau.

"Are they armed?"

"The servants of God are always armed, for the
Lord is their shield and sword."^

"Well said," laughed the Hun. "Why hast thou
remained behind?"

Heribald became embarrassed. He had too much
pride to betray the true reason, viz. his torn shoes, so

EKKEHARD. 26 1

he replied: "Heribald is curious, and wanted to see
what the sons of the Devil were like."

Ellak translated the monk's polite speech to his
companions, who struck up a loud guffaw.

"You need not laugh," cried Heribald angrily.
"We know very well what you are! Abbot Waz-
mann has told us."

"I shall have thee killed," said Ellak carelessly.

"That will only serve me right," returned Heri-
bald. "Why did I not fly with the others ]"

Ellak, casting a searching look at the queer fel-
low, was struck with another idea. He made a sign
to the standard-bearer, who approached, swinging in
the air his flag with the green cat, which had once
appeared to King Attila in his youth. In a dreamy
mood, he was sitting in his uncle Rugilas' tent, re-
flecting whether he had not better become a Christian
and serve God and science, when the cat came in.
Amongst the treasures of Rugilas, it had found the
golden imperial globe, which had made part of the
booty at Byzantium; this it held in its paws and
played with it, rolling it about on the floor. And
an inward voice said to Attila: "Thou shalt not be-
come a monk, but thou shalt play with the globe of
the universe, as the cat does with that golden bauble,"
Then he became aware that Kutka, the god of the
Huns, had appeared to him, and so he swang his
sword in the direction of the four quarters of the
world, — let his finger-nails grow, and became what
he was destined to become, Attila, King of the Huns,
the scourge of God! . . .

262 EKKEHARD,

"Kneel down, miserable monk," cried Ellak,
"and worship him, whom thou seest in this flag!"

But Heribald stood immovable.

"I don't know him," said he with a hollow laugh.

"'Tis the God of the Huns!" angrily cried the
chieftain. "DoAvn on thy knees cowlbearer, or" ...
he pointed to his sword.

Heribald laughed once more, and putting his
forefinger to his forehead, said: "If you think that
Heribald is so easily imposed upon, you are vastly
mistaken. It has been written, when God created
Heaven and Earth, and darkness was upon the face
of the deep, He said: let there be light! Now if
God were a cat he would not have said: let there
be light! Heribald will not kneel down . . ."

A Hunnic rider, who had stealthily approached
the monk, now pulled his garment, and whispered
in an excellent Suabian dialect in his ear: "country-
man, I would kneel down, if I were in your place.
They are dangerous people." The warner's real
name was Snewelin, and his birthplace was EU-
wangen in Riesgau, but in the course of time he had
dropt his Suabian nationality and had become a
Hun; which transformation had rather improved his
outward fortunes. When he spoke, his voice had
something windy about it, which was caused by his
having lost four front-teeth, besides several back
ones; and this had been the principal reason why
he had became a Hun. In his younger days namely,
when he was still earning a peaceful livelihood in
the capacity of cart-driver of the Salvator convent,

EKKEHARD, 263

he had been sent northwards, with a cart-load of
choice Neckar-wine, to the great market at Magde-
burg; a well armed escort, accompanying him. To(
that town, the priests of the heathenish Pomeranians I
and Wends, always resorted to buy their libation-
wine, and Snewelin made an excellent bargain, when
he sold his wine to the white-bearded upperpriest
of the three-headed God Triglaff, for the great temple
at Stettin. But afterwards, he remained sitting over \
the wine with the white-bearded heathen, who, being
a great friend of the Suabian nectar, soon became
enthusiastic, singing the praises of his native land,
and saying that the world was infinitely more ad-
vanced in their parts, between the Oder and the
Spree. He tried moreover to convert Snewelin to
the worship of Triglaff the three-headed one, and
to that of the black and white Sun-god Radegast,
as well as to Radomysl, the Goddess of lovely
thoughts,— but this was rather too much for the man
of EUwangen. " You infamous heathenish swindler,"
exclaimed he, first upsetting the wine-table, and
then flying at him — as the young knight Siegfried
did at the wild, long-bearded dwarf Alberich, — he
wrestled with him, and at one strong tug pulled out
the half of his grey beard. But his antagonist, call-
ing on Triglaff to help him, dealt him a blow on
the mouth with his iron-plated staff, which for ever
destroyed the beauty of his teeth; and before the
toothless Suabian cart-driver had recovered from the
blow, his white-bearded antagonist had vanished,
so that he could not take revenge on him. But
when Snewelin walked out of the gates of Magde-

264 EKKEIIARD.

burg, he shook his fists northwards, and said: "we
two shall meet again, some day!"

In his native town, he was much laughed at on
account of his lost teeth, and so, to escape the con-
tinual ridicule, he went amongst the Huns, hoping
that perhaps some day, when these should direct
their steps northwards, he would be able to settle a
heavy account with the three-headed Triglaff and
all his worshippers.

Heribald, however, did not heed the curious
horseman's warning. The woman of the wood had
meanwhile got down from her cart, and approached
EUak. With a sinister grin she looked at the monk.
"I have read in the stars, that by the hands of such
bald-headed men, evil will befall us," cried she.
"To prevent the coming danger, you ought to hang
up this miserable creature before the cloister-gate,
with his face turned towards yonder mountains!"

"Hang him up," echoed many voices in the
crowd, the pantomime of the old woman, having
been understood. EUak once more turned his head
towards Erica. "This monster has also got prin-
ciples," said he tauntingly. "It would save his life,
and yet he refuses to bend his knees. Shall we
have him hanged, flower-of-the-heath?"

Heribald's life was hanging on a very slender
thread. Round about, he saw nothing but stern
pitiless faces; his courage began to fail him, and
the tears came into his eyes; but in the hour of
danger, even the most foolish are often guided by
a happy instinct. Like a star, the red-cheeked face
of Erica shone before him, and with frightened

EKKEHARD. 2O5

steps he quickly approached her. To kneel before
her, was not such a difficult task to him; her sweet
looks inspiring him with confidence. With out-
stretched arms he implored her assistance.

"There!" cried the flower-of-the-heath, "the man
of the island is by no means so foolish as he looks.
He prefers kneeling to Erica, instead of the green
and red flag." She smiled graciously on the pitiful
suppliant, and jumping from the saddle, she patted
him as if he were some half wild animal. "Don't
be afraid," said she, "thou shalt live, poor old
black-coat!" and Heribald could read in her eyes,
that she meant what she said. He pointed to the
woman of the wood, who had frightened him most.
Erica shook her head; "she shall not harm thee."
Then Heribald briskly ran to the wall, near which
lilacs and spring-roses were already blooming, and
hastily tearing off some of their branches, he pre-
sented them to the Hunnic maiden.

A loud shout of delight rang through the cloister-
yard. "Hail to the flower-of-the-heath," cried they
all, clashing their arms together.

"Why don't you shout likewise," whispered the
man from Ellwangen into Heribald's ear. So he
also raised his voice to a hoarse "hurrah!" with
tears glistening in his eyes.

The Huns had unsaddled their horses, and very
much resembled a pack of hounds, which, in the
evening at the end of the sport, are waiting for the
entrails of the deer which has been killed. Here
and there, one is pulling at the cord that restrains
him, — there another is barking fiercely with impa-

266 EKKF.IIARD.

lience. Willi similar feelings the Huns stood before
the monastery. At last Ellak gave the signal, that
the pillage might begin. In wild disorder they then
ran forwards, up the staircase, and along the pas-
sage into the church. Confused cries, of expected
booty and disappointed hopes, resounded every-
where. Then they examined the cells of the bro-
therhood, but here also, nothing was found, except
the scanty furniture.

"Show us the treasury," said they to Heribald,
who complied with this wish willingly enough, as he
well knew that all that was precious had been taken
away. Only a few plated candlesticks, and the big
emerald of coloured glass, was still there.

"Miserable convent! The set of beggars!"
called out one, giving a kick with his iron-clad foot
to the false jewel, so that it became cracked. Heri-
bald was rewarded by sundry heavy blows, so he
stole sorrowfully away, as soon as an opportunity
offered.

In the cross-passage he met Snewelin, who ac-
costed him, with: "countryman, I am an old wine-
merchant, tell me where your cellar may bel" Heri-
bald led him down and chuckled contentedly when
he saw that the chief entrance had been walled up.
With a knowing look he winked at the fresh lime,
as if to say, that he well knew its secret. The man
of EUwangen without much ado, now cut off the
seals on one of the tuns, tapped it and filled his
helmet. This he raised to his lips, and took a long,
long draught. "Oh Hahnenkamm and Heiden-

EKKEHARD. 267

helm!"* exclaimed he, shivering as with the ague,
"for this beverage, I verily need not have become
a Hun!" He then ordered his companions to carry
up the vats, but Heribald stepping forwards, pulled
his gown, and anxiously said: "Allow me, good
man, but what am I to drink when you are gone
away 1 "

Snewelin laughingly reported the monk's scruples
to the others. "The fool must keep something,"
they said, putting back the smallest tun unopened.
This kindness touched Heribald so much, that he
fervently shook hands with them.

Upstairs in the court-yard, a wild shouting was
now heard. Some , who had searched the church, I
had also lifted a grave-stone, from under which a
bleached skull grinned at them, out of its dark
cowl. This spectacle frightened even the Huns.
Two of the gang went up to the belfry, the steeple
of which was adorned with a gilt weathercock, ac-
cording to custom. Whether they took it to be the
protecting God of the monastery, or imagined it to
be real gold, they climbed up the roof, and auda-
ciously sitting there, tried to bring the cock down
with their lances. But now a sudden giddiness
came over them. One, let his raised arm sink; — a
stagger, — a cry; and he fell down, quickly followed
by the other. With broken necks they lay in the
cloister-yard.

"A bad omen," said Ellak to himself. The
Huns uttered a dismal howl, but a few moments
later, the accident was entirely forgotten. The

* Places notorious for their sour bad wines.

268 EKKEIIARD.

sword had ravished so many of tlioir companions
from their side; so what mattered two more, or less?
The bodies were carried into the cloister-garden.
With the logs which Heribald had upset in the
early morning, a funeral-pile was erected; the books
which had been left in the libraries, were thrown
down from the windows, and were made use of in
filling up the gaps between the logs, — an excellent
burning material!

Ellak and Hornebog were walking together
through the ranks. Squeezed in between the logs,
a neatly written manuscript with shining golden
initials, peeped out. Hornebog, drawing his sword,
pierced the parchment with it, and presented it to
his companion, stuck on the point of the blade.

"What do these hooks and chickens' feet mean,
Sir Brother]" asked he.

Ellak took the manuscript, and glanced over
some of its pages. He also knew Latin.

"Western wisdom," replied he. "A man, named
Boethius, wrote it, and it contains many fine things
about the comfort of Philosophy."

"Phi— losophy," slowly repeated Hornebog, "what
does that mean, Sir Brother?"

"It does not mean a fair woman, nor yet fire-
water either," was Ellak's reply. "It will be dif-
ficult to describe it in the Hunnic language . . . but
if a man does not know wherefore he is in the
world, and stands on his head to find out the reason,
that is near about what they call Philosophy in
these western lands. He, who comforted himself with

EKKEHAliD. 269

it, in his tower at Pavia, was after all killed for
it." . . .

"And that served him right!" exclaimed Horne-
bog. "He, who holds a sword in his hand, and
feels a horse between his thighs, knows why he is
in the world; and if we did not know the reason
better than those, who smear such hooks on asses'
skins, then they would be on our heels at the
Danube, and our horses would not drink their fill
out of the Suabian sea."

"Don't you think, that it is very lucky that such
trash is madel" continued Ellak, throwing back the
manuscript on to the funeral-pile.

"Why sol" asked Hornebog.

"Because the hand which guides the pen isl
never fit to handle the sword so as to make a good
gash in the flesh; and when once the nonsense-
which is concocted by one single head, is written}
down, then at least a hundred others will muddle
their brains with it. A hundred blockheads more,
make a hundred solrhers less, which is clearly enough!
our advantage, whenever we choose to make anj
invasion. 'As long as they write books and holdj
synods in the West, my children may safely carryi
their tents forwards!' that's what the great Attila
himself said."

"Praised be the great Attila!" said Hornebog,
reverently, when a voice called out, "Let the dead
rest!" and with dancing steps, Erica came towards
the two chieftains. She had mustered the cloister-
booty, and an altar-cloth of red silk, finding grace

270 EKKEIIARD.

in her eyes, she put it on like a mantle; the corners
lightly thrown back over her shoulders.

"How do I look?" said she, turning her little
head complacently about.

"The flower-of-the-heath does not require any
tinsel belonging to Suabian idolators, to please us,"
sternly replied Ellak. Upon this, she jumped up
at him, to pat and stroke his lank black hair, and
then called out, "come along, the meal is ready
prepared."

Then they went all three to the court-yard. All
the hay which could be found, the Huns had strewn
about, lying down on it and waiting for the repast.
With crossed arms, Heribald stood in the back-
ground, looking down at them. "The heathenish
dogs cannot even sit down like Christians, when
they are about to eat their daily bread," he thought,
taking good care, however, not to utter his thoughts
aloud. The experience of former blows, had taught
him silence.

"Lie down blackcoat, thou mayest eat also,"
cried Erica, making a sign to him to follow the
example of the others. He looked at the man of
Ellwangen, who was lying there with crossed legs,
as if he had never known what it was to sit other-
wise. So Heribald tried to follow his example; but
he very soon got up again, as this position seemed
too undignified to him. So he fetched a chair out
of the monastery, and sat down upon it.

A whole ox had been roasted on a spit, and
whatever else they had found in the cloister-kitchen,
served to complete the repast; and they fell to, raven-

EKKEHARI). 2/1

ously. The meat was cut off with their short sabres,
the fingers serving as knife and fork. In the middle of
the court-yard, the big wine-tun stood upright, every-
one taking as much as he liked. Here and there,
a finely wrought chalice was used as a drinking
cup. Heribald also, had as much wine as he wished
for, but when with inward contentment he was just
beginning to sip at it, a half gnawed bone flew at
his head. With a sorrowful look of surprise, he
gazed up, and beheld that many another met with
the same fate. To throw bones at each other, was
a Hunnic custom, which served as dessert.

When the wine was beginning to tell on them,
they began a rough and unmelodious singing. Two
of the younger horsemen sang an old song in
honour of King Attila, in which it was said, that he
had not only been a conqueror with the sword, but
also a conqueror of hearts. Then followed a taunt-
ing verse, on a Roman Emperor's sister, who, charmed
with him by hearsay, fell in love with him at a dis-
tance, and offered her heart and hand to him, which
however he refused.

The chorus which followed it, strongly resembled
the screeching of owls and the croaking of toads.
When this was finished, some of the men approached
Heribald, and made him understand that he also was
expected to give them a song. He began to refuse,
but this availed him nothing. So he sang in an al-
most sobbing voice, the antiphon in honour of the
holy cross, beginning with the '■^ sanctifica «m."

With mute astonishment, the drunken men,
listened to the long-drawn notes of the old church-

272 EKKEHARD.

music, which sounded hke the voice of the preacher
in the wilderness. With rising anger, the woman
of the wood, sitting beside the coppcrkettle, heard
it. Grasping her knife, she stealthily approached
Heribald from behind, and seizing his hair, wanted
to cut off his curls, — -the greatest insult that could
be offered to a consecrated head. But Heribald
vigorously pushed her back, and chanted on, nothing
daunted, which mightily pleased the assembly, so
that they gave a shout of delight. Cymbals and
violins also resounded again, and now Erica, who had
become tired of the monotonous chant, approached
Heribald. With a look that combined both archness
and pity, she seized him by the arm, and drawing
him into the midst of the wild dance which was
now beginning, she called out. "Singing must al-
ways be followed by dancing!" Heribald did not
know what to do, while the flower-of-the-heath was
all eagerness to begin. "It matters little whether
Heribald dances or not, it will be only another
small link in the chain of abominations," he finally
thought; so he bravely stamped the ground with his
sandal-clad feet, his habit flying about him. Tighter
and tighter he pressed the Hunnic maiden's waist,
and who knows what might still have happened, if
she had not, with heightened colour and panting
bosom, finally stopt herself. Giving her partner a
little parting slap in the face, she ran off to the
chieftains, who with serious faces were looking on
at the frolics.

The shouts were dying out now; the fumes of
the wine being danced off. So Ellak gave the order

EKKEHARD. 273

to burn the dead. In a moment's time, the whole
troop were seated on horseback, and riding in closed
ranks to the funeral-pile. The horses of the two
deceased men, were then stabbed by the eldest
amongst the Huns, and laid beside their late masters
bodies. Calling out some monstrous conjurations,
he lifted the firebrand and lighted the pile. Eoethius'
"comfort of Philosophy," pinelogs, manuscripts and
corpses vied with each other, which could burn the
brightest, and a mighty pillar of flames and smoke,
rose up to the sky.

With wrestling, warlike exercises and races, the
memory of the dead was celebrated. The sun had
sunk far down in the west, and sc the whole body
of Huns entered the monastery, there to pass the
night. —

It was on the Thursday before Easter, when all
this happened on the island of Reichenau. The
tidings of this invasion soon reached the fishermen's
huts around Radolfszell. When Moengal, the parish-
priest, held the early morning-sen'ice, he still counted
six of his flock, but in the afternoon, there were only
three; including himself.

Gloomily he sat in the little room in which he
had once hospitably entertained Ekkehard, when
the pillar of smoke from the Hunnic funeral-pile
rose into the air. It was dense and black enough
for him to suppose the whole monastery to be in
flames, and the scent of burning came over the
lake.

"Hihahoi!!" cried Moengal, '■'■jam proximus ardet
Ucalegon, already it is burning at neighbour Uca-

Ekkehard. I. 1 8

274 EKKEHARD.

legon's! Then it is time for me also to get ready.
Out with ye now, my old Cambutta!"

Cambutta, however, was no serving maid, but a
huge bludgeon, a real Irish shilelah, and Moengal's
favourite weapon. The chalice and ciborium, he
packed up and put into his leathern game-bag.
This was all he possessed of gold or silver. Then
he called his hounds, his hawk and two falcons to-
gether, and giving them all the meat and fish his
pantry boasted, he said: "Children, eat as much as
ever you can, so that nothing is left for those cursed
plagues, when they come!"

The vat in the cellar, he knocked to pieces, so
that the sparkling wine streamed forth. "Not a drop
of wine shall the deviLs drink, in Moengal's house."
Only the jug which contained the vinegar, was left
in its place. On the fresh, delicious butter in the
wooden tun, he emptied a basket full of ashes. His
fishing-tackle and other sporting-utensils he buried
in the ground; then he smashed the windows, and
strewed the fragments about in the room. Some
he even put into the chinks of the floor, with the
points turned upwards, — all in honour of the Huns!
Hawk and falcons then received their liberty. "Fare-
well!" cried he, "and keep near, for soon you will
get dead heathens to pick!"

So his house was put in order. Hanging the
game-bag, as well as a Hibernian canteen, over his
shoulders, with two spears in his hands, and Cam-
butta fastened on his back, — thus old Moengal walked
out of his parsonage, which had been his home
for so many years; a valiant champion of the Lord!

EKKEHARD. 275

He had already gone on a few paces through
the smoke-darkened atmosphere, when he suddenly
stopped short, saying: "Wait a bit, I have forgotten
something."

So he quickly retraced his steps, murmuring:
"The yellow-faced rascals shall at least find some
written words of welcome."

Arrived at his door, he drew a piece of red chalk
from his pocket, and therewith wrote in large Irish
characters a few words on the grey sandstone slab
over the portal. Later rains have washed them away,
and nobody has ever read them, but no doubt it
was a significant greeting, which old Moengal left
behind him in Irish runes. — Quickening his pace, he
then took the direction of the Hohentwiel.

iZ*

76

EKKEHARD.

CHAPTER XIV.

The Battle with the Huns.

Good Friday had come; but the anniversary of
our Saviour's death, was not kept on the Hohentwiel
this time, in the silent way which the prescriptions
of the church require. By the arrival of old Moengal
all doubts about the enemy's approach were dis-
persed. Late in the night a war-council was held,
at which it was determined that they should go
out to meet the Huns in open battle.

The sun rose drearily on that day; soon being
hidden again in mist. A fierce gale was blowing
over the land, chasing the clouds along, so that they
sank down on the distant Bodensee, as if water and
air were to mingle together. Now and then, a soli-
tary sun-beam struggled through. It was the as yet
undecided battle which Spring was waging against
the powers of Winter. The men had already risen,
and were preparing for a serious day's work.

In his closet, up in the watch-tower, Ekkehard
was silently pacing up and down, his hands folded
in prayer. A highly honourable commission had
devolved on him. He was to preach a sermon to
the united forces before they went out to battle,
and so he was now praying for strength and inspi-
ration, that his words might be like sparks, kindling

EKKEHARD. 277

the warlike flame in each breast. Suddenly the
door opened, and in came the Duchess, unaccom-
panied b)' Praxedis. Over her morning-dress she
had thrown an ample cloak, to protect herself against
the cool air; perhaps also that she might not be
recognized by the stranger guests, while going over
to the watch-tower. A faint blush mantled on her
cheeks, when she thus stood alone, opposite her
youthful teacher.

"You are also going out to battle, to-day"?"
asked she.

"Yes, I go with the others," replied Ekkehard.

"I should despise you, if you had given me any
other reply," said she, "and you have justly pre-
sumed, that for such an expedition, it would not
be necessary to ask my leave. But have you not
thought of saying Good-b3^e?" added she, in low
reproachful accents.

Ekkehard was embarrassed. "There are many
nobler and better men leaving your castle to-day.
The Abbots and knights will surround you;— how
then could I think of taking a special leave of you,
even if . . ." his voice broke off.

The Duchess looked into his eyes. Neither said
a word.

"I have brought you something which is to
serve you in battle," said she after a while, drawing
out a precious sword with a rich shoulder-belt, from
under her mantle. A white agate adorned the hilt.
"It is the sword of Sir Burkhard, my late husband.
Of all the arms he possessed, he valued this the
most. ' With that blade one could split rocks, with-

278 EKKEHARD.

out breaking it,' he said many a time. You will
wear it to-day with honour."

She held out the sword to him; Ekkehard re-
ceived it in silence. His coat-of-mail he had al-
ready put on under his habit. Now he buckled on
the shoulder-belt, and then seized the hilt with his
right hand, as if the enemy were already facing
him.

"I have got something else for you," continued
Dame Hadwig. On a silk ribbon, she wore a golden
locket round her neck. This she now drew forth.
It was a crystal, covering an insignificant looking
splinter of wood.

"If my prayers should not suffice, then this relic
will protect you. It is a splinter of the holy cross,
which the Empress Helena discovered. Wherever
this relic is, wrote the Greek patriarch who attested
its genuineness, there will be peace, happiness and
pure air. — May it now bring a blessing to you in
the coming battle."

She leaned towards him, to hang the jewel round
his neck. Quickly he bent his knees to receive it;
but it had long been hanging round his neck, and
still he knelt before her. She passed her hand
lightly over his curly hair, and there was a pecu-
liarly soft and half sad expression on the usually
haughty countenance.

Ekkehard had bent his knee at the name of the
holy cross, but now he felt as if he must kneel down
a second time before her, who was thus graciously
thinking of him. A budding affection requires some
time to understand itself clearly, and in matters of

EKKEHARD. 279

love, he had not learned to reckon and count, as
in the verses of Virgil, or he might have guessed,
that she who had taken him away from his quiet
cloister-cell, — that she who on that evening on the
Hohenkrahen, had looked on him so tenderly, and
now again on the morning of batde, was standing
before him, as Dame Hadwig was at that moment,
might well have expected some words out of the
depth of his heart, — perhaps even more than words
only.

His thoughts quickly followed each other, and
all his pulses were throbbing. When on former oc-
casions anything like love had stirred his heart,
then the reverence for his mistress had driven it
back, nipping it in the bud, as the cold winds of
March wither and blight the early spring-flowers.
At this moment however, he was not thinking of
that reverence, but rather how he had once carried
the Duchess boldly over the cloister-yard. Neither
did he think of his monastic vow, but he felt as if
he must rush into her arms, and press her to his
heart with a cry of delight. Sir Burkard's sword
seemed to burn at his side. "Throw aside all re-j
serve, for only the bold will conquer the world."
Were not these words to be read in Dame Hadwig's ;
eyes?

He stood up; strong, great and free, — she had
never seen him look so before, . . . but it lasted only
a second. As yet not one sound betraying his in-
ward struggle had escaped his lips, when his eye
fell on the dark, ebony cross, which Vincentius had
once hung up on the wall. "It is the day of the

280 EKKEHARD.

Lord, and thou shalt open thy lips to-day before his
people," — the remembrance of his duty drove away
all other thoughts. . . .

There once came a frost, on a bright summer-
morning, and grass and leaves and blossoms be-
came black and seared, before the sun rose over
them. . . .

Shyly as in former times, he took Dame Had-
wig's hand. "How shall I thank my mistress?" said
he in broken accents.

She cast a searching look at him. The soft ex-
pression 'had vanished, and the old sternness had
returned to her brow, as if she meant to say: "if
you don't know how, I am not going to tell you," —
but she said nothing. Still Ekkehard held her hand
in his. She drew it back.

"Be pious and brave," said she, turning to leave
the chamber. It sounded like mockery. . . .

Scarcely longer than a person needs to say the
Lord's prayer, had the Duchess been Avith him,
but far more had happened in that time, than he
knew of.

He resumed his walk up and down his small
abode. "Thou shalt deny thyself and follow the
Lord," thus St. Benedict's rules began, and Ekke-
hard felt almost proud of the victory he had won;
but Dame Hadvvig had gone away with wounded
feelings; and if a haughty mind believes itself to be
disdained, evil days must follow.

It was the seventh hour of the morning, and in
the court-yard on the Hohentwiel they were all at-
tending divine service, before setting out. The altar

EKKEHARD. 28 1

had been erected under the old linden-tree, and on
it were placed the sacred relics, to comfort the hearts
of all believers. The court-yard was entirely filled
with armed men, standing in close, orderly groups,
just as Simon Bardo had arranged them. Like the
roll of distant thunder arose the introductory chaunts
of the monks. The Abbot of Reichenau, wearing
the black pall with the white cross, celebrated high-
mass.

After him, Ekkehard mounted the altar-steps.
With deep emotion his eye glided over the crowded
assembly; once more the remembrance of how he
had but a short while ago, stood face to face with
the Duchess in the solitary chamber, passed through
his mind,— and then he read the gospel of the suffer-
ing and death of our Saviour. As he read on, his
voice became always clearer and more distinct, and
when he had finished, he first kissed the book and
then handed it to the deacon, for him to put it back
on its silk cushion. For a moment he looked up
heavenwards, and then began his sermon.

The assembly listened to his words with breath-
less attention.

"Almost a thousand years have come and gone,"
cried he, "since the Son of God, bent his head on
the cross, saying: 'it is finished!' but we have not
yet prepared our souls to receive the redemption,
for we have lived in sin, and the offences which we
have committed through the hardness of our hearts,
cry out against us, towards Heaven. Therefore a
time of affliction has come upon us; glittering swords

282 EKKEUARD.

are raised against us; heathenish monsters have in-
vaded the christian territories.

"But instead of angrily enquiring, 'how long will
the Lord forbear, before He interferes and delivers
our beloved homes from the hands of such heathenish
idolaters,' let everybody strike his own bosom and
say: on account of our sins this chastisement has
been sent upon us. And if ye would be delivered
from them, think of our Saviour's painful death,
and as he took up his cross, bearing it himself
to the place of skulls, seize the sword, and choose
your own Golgotha!" . . .

Pointing over to the shores of the lake, he
poured out words of comfort and prophecy, strong
and powerful, as the lion's call in the desert.

"The times are coming of which it has been
written: 'And when the thousand years are expired,
Satan shall be loosed out of his prison, and shall
go out to deceive the nations, which are in the four
quarters of the earth, Gog and Magog, to gather
them together to battle: the number of whom is as
the sand of the sea. And they went up, on the
breadth of the earth, and compassed the camp of
the saints about, and the beloved city: and fire came
down from God, out of heaven, and devoured them.
And the devil that deceived them, was cast into the
lake of fire and brimstone, where the beast and the
false prophet are, and shall be tormented day and
night, for ever and ever.' *

"And all this, which the seer beheld and revealed
at Patmos, is for us a promise of the victory that is

* Revelation XX, 7.

EKKEHARD, 283

to come, if we go out with purified hearts, to meet
the enemy. Let them come, on their swift horses;
what does it matter? The Lord has marked them
as the children of the devil, therefore their face is
but a mockery of the human countenance. They
can destroy the harvest on our fields, and desecrate
our altars, but they cannot resist the powerful arms
of those, whom God himself has inspired. There-
fore keep in mind, that we Suabians, must always
be in the foremost ranks, when the fatherland has to
be defended; and if in other times, it would be a
dire sin in the eyes of the Lord, to buckle on the
sword on His holy day, — to-day He will bless our
weapons, and send down his saints to assist us, and
fight Himself in our ranks; He the Lord of hosts,
who sends down his destroying lightnings, and opens
the bowels of earth itself, when the right time has
come."

With choice examples of glorious warlike deeds
Ekkehard then tried to inspire his auditors; and
many a hand fiercely grasped the spear, and many
a foot was lifted impatiently from the ground, when
he spoke of Joshuah, who with the Lord's help had
conquered thirty-one kings, on the other side of the
Jordan; — and of Gideon, who with loud sounding
trumpets, entered the camp of the Midianites, and
drove them before him unto Bethesda and Tebbath;
—and of the sally of the men of Bethulia, who after
Judith's glorious deed, smote the Assyrians with
the edge of the sword.

But at the end, he quoted the words, which
Judas Maccabseus, had spoken to his people, when

284 EKKEHARD.

they erected their camp at Emaus, before going
out to fight the army of King Antiochus. "Arm
yourselves and be valiant men, and see that ye be
in readiness against the morning, that ye may fight
with these nations, that are assembled together
against us to destroy us and our sanctuary."

For a moment, after he had ended, there was
perfect silence, but soon arose a great stir among
the men, and a rattling and clashing of arms was
heard. Swords and shields were knocked together,
spears lifted and badges waved in the air; all, as
signs of hearty approval, according to old custom.
"Amen," was repeated from all sides, whilst the
whole assembly fell on their knees, as the high-mass
was reaching its close. The wooden rattles, instead
of the usual church-bells, thrilled them with awe.
Everyone who had not yet taken the holy sacra-
ment, went up to the altar, to receive it. But now
from the watch-tower was suddenly heard the cry,
"to arms! to arms! the enemy is coming! A dark
mass of riders and horses are moving towards us
from the lake!" and now there was no longer any
possibility of keeping back the eager men, who were
all pressing towards the gate; Abbot Wazmann
having scarcely time to pronounce a blessing over
them.

So, in our days does the fisher-man of the north,
run out of the church on a Sunday, at the time when
the shoals of herrings are approaching. "The fish
are coming," cries the watch-man on the shore, and
the moment afterwards, every man is hurrying away,
towards the boats. Forsaken and alone, stands the

EKKEHARD. 285

clergyman, — so his devotions are also at an end and
he seizes the nets likewise to wage war upon the
scaly tribe.

Thirsting for the coming battle, the troops left
the court-yard; each heart swelling with the soul-
stirring conviction, that a great and important moment
was at hand. The monks of St. Gall, mustered sixty
four, those of the Reichenau ninety, and of the
arrier-ban men, there were above five hundred. Close
by the standard of the cross of the brotherhood of
St. Gall, walked Ekkehard. It was a crucifix, veiled
in black crape, with long black streamers; as the
monastery's banner had been left behind.

On the balcony stood the Duchess, waving her
white handkerchief. Ekkehard, turning round, looked
up at her, but her eyes evaded his, and the parting
salutation was not meant for him.

St. Mark's coffin had been carried down to the
lower castle-gate, by some of the serving brothers
Everyone touched it with the points of his lance
and sword, and then silently passed on.

In the wide plain, stretching out towards the
lake, Simon Bardo drew up his troops, and one
could see how pleased the old field-marshal was,
that his scar-covered breast again wore the ac-
customed mail, instead of the monk's habit. His
head was covered by a strangely shaped, pointed
steel morion; his broad, jewel-set girdle, as well as
the gilt handle of his sword, indicated the ancient
general.

" Vou read the classics, on account of the gram-
viar," said he to the Abbots, "but / have learnt my

286 EKKEHARD.

handicraft from them. With the military advice of
Frontinus and Vegetius, one may still achieve some-
thing even now-a-days. First we will try the battle-
array of the Roman legions; for in that position one
can best await the enemy, and see what he means
to do. Afterwards, we are still at liberty to change
our tactics, for affairs will not be settled between us
in half an hour."

The light corps of the archers and sling-bearers
were ordered to occupy the border of the wood,
where they would be sheltered by the fir-trees,
against any attack on horseback. "Take low aims,"
said he, "for even if you should merely hit the
horse instead of the rider, it is always something."
At the sound of the bugle, the troop advanced to
execute his commands. As yet, nothing was to be
seen of the enemy.

The men of the arrier-ban, he arrayed in two
close ranks. With levelled lances they slowly ad-
vanced; a space of a few steps remaining between
the two files. The knight of Randegg, and the
gaunt Friedinger, commanded them.

The monks, Simon Bardo collected into one
compact body, placing them in the rear.

"Why this?" asked Abbot Wazmann, inwardly
hurt, at losing the honour of heading the attack.
But Bardo, experienced in war, smilingly replied:
"Those are my Triarians; not because they are
veteran soldiers, but because they are fighting for
their own warm nests. To be driven out of house
and home and bed, makes swords cut deepest, and

EKKEHARD. 287

spears thrust fiercest. Don't be afraid, the tug of
war, will yet draw the disciples of St. Benedict into
the strife."

The Huns had left the monastery of Reichenau
at early dawn. The provisions were all consumed,
the wine drunk, and the cloister pillaged; so, their
day's work was done. Heribald's forehead lost
many a wrinkle, when the last of the Hunnic riders
had passed out of the cloister-gate. He threw after
them a golden coin which the man from Ellwangen,
had secretly thrust into his hand. "Countryman,
if thou shouldst hear that a mishap has befallen
me," said Snewelin, "I trust that thou wilt let a
dozen masses be read for my poor soul. I have
always befriended you and your fellow-monks, and
how I have fallen amongst the heathens, I scarcely
can understand myself. The soil of Ellwangen is
unfortunately too rough and stony, for producing
saints."

Heribald, however, would have nothing to do
with him. In the garden, he shovelled up the bones
and ashes of the burnt Huns and their horses,
throwing them into the lake, whilst the Huns were
still visible on the other side. "No heathen dust
shall remain on the island," said he. Then he went
to the cloister-yard, and thoughtfully stared at the
place, where he had been forced to dance on the
day before.

Meanwhile, the Huns were riding through the
dark fir-wood towards the Hohentwiel. But as they
were thus cantering along, heedless of all danger,
here and there a horse began to stagger, and arrows

288 EKKEHARD.

and other sharp missiles flew into their ranks, sent
by invisible hands. The vanguard began to slacken
rein and to halt; but Ellak, giving the spurs to his
horse, cried out: "Why do you care for the stinging
of gnats? forwards, the plain is a better field of
battle!"

A dozen of his men were ordered to stay be-
hind, in order to protect the baggage and camp
followers, against their hidden enemies. The ground
echoed with the tramp of the advancing horde, and
as soon as they reached the plain, they spread their
ranks, and uttering a wild howl, advanced to meet
the approaching column of the arrier-ban.

Far ahead rode Ellak, accompanied by the Hunnic
standard-bearer, who was waving the green and red
flag over his head. Uttering a piercing cry, the
chieftain now lifted himself high in the saddle, and
then shot off the first arrow, thus opening the battle
according to old custom; and now the bloody fight
began in good earnest. Little availed it to the
Suabian warriors, that they stood firm and immov-
able like a wall of lances; for although the horses
recoiled before it, a shower of arrows were sent at
them from the distance. Half raised in the stirrups,
with the reins hanging over their horses necks, the
Huns took aim, and generally their arrows hit the
mark.

Others, came on from the sides, and woe to the
wounded, if his companions did not take him into
the centre.

Then the light troops intended to come out of
the fir-wood, and attack the Huns from behind.

EKKEHARD. 289

The sound of the bugle again collected them to-
gether; they advanced,— but quick as thought, their
enemies' horses were turned round, and a shower
of arrows greeted them. They staggered, only a
few advanced, but these also were thrown back, so
that finally Audifax was left alone, bravely marching
along. Many an arrow whizzed round his head,
but without minding them, or once looking back,
he blew his bag-pipe, as was his duty, Thus he
came right into the midst of the Hunnic riders.
But now his piping stopped suddenly, for in passing,
one of the Huns had thrown a noose over his head.
Trying hard to resist, Audifax looked around, but
not a single man of his troop was to be seen. "Oh
Hadumoth!" cried he mournfully. The rider took
pity on the brave fair-haired boy; so instead of
splitting his head, he lifted him up into the saddle,
and galloped away to the place where the Hunnic
train had stopped, under the shelter of a hill. With
erect figure, the woman of the wood stood on her
cart, intently gazing at the raging battle. She had
dressed the wounds of the first Huns who fell, pro-
nouncing some powerful charms over them, to stop
the bleeding.

"Here I bring you someone to clean the camp-
kettles!" cried the Hunnic rider, throwing the boy
over, so that he fell right into the cart, and at the
feet of the old woman.

"Welcome, thou venomous little toad," cried
she fiercely, "thou shalt get thy reward sure enough,
for having shown the way up to my house, to that
cowl-bearer!" She had recognized him at once,

Ekkehard. I. ^9

290 EKKEHARD.

and dragging him towards her, tied him fast to the
cart.

Audifax remained silent, but scalding tears fell
from his eyes. He did not cry though on account
of being taken prisoner, but he cried from another
heavy disappointment. "Oh Hadumoth!" sighed
he again. Yesterday at midnight he had sat to-
gether with the young goose-driver, hidden in a
comer of the fire-place. "Thou shalt become in-
vulnerable," Hadumoth had said, "for I will give
thee a charm against all weapons!" She had boiled
a brown snake, and anointed his forehead, shoulders
and breast with its fat. " To-morrow evening I shall
wait for thee in this same corner, for thou wilt
surely come back to me, safe and sound. No metal
can do anything, against the fat of a snake." Audifax
had squeezed her hands, and had gone out so joy-
ously into battle, — and now! . . .

The fighting was still going on in the plain, and
the Suabian combatants not being used to battle,
began to get tired already. With an anxious ex-
pression Simon Bardo was watching the state of
affairs; and with an angry shake of the head, he
grumbled to himself: "the best strategy is lost on
these Centaurs, who come and go, and shoot at a
distance, as if my threefold flanks stood there only
to anmse them. It would really be well, if one
were to add a chapter to Emperor Leo's book on
tactics, treating of the attack of the Huns."

He now approached the monks, and dividing
them again into two bodies, ordered the men of

EKKEHARD. 2gi

St. Gall to advance on the right, and those of
Reichenau, on the left; then wheeling about, so that
the enemy, having the wood at his back, was shut
in by a semicircle. "If we do not surround them,
they will not let us get at them," cried he, flourish-
ing his broad sword in the air. " So now to the
attack!"

A wild fire was gleaming in all eyes; and on
the point of starting, they all dropt down on their
knees; each took up a clod of earth, and threw it
over his head that he might be consecrated and
blessed by his native earth; and then they rushed
on to battle. Those of St. Gall struck up the pious
war-song of "media viia." Notker the stutterer,
once passed through the ravines of the Martistobel,
in his native land, when a bridge was just being
built over the yawning precipice. The workmen
were hanging suspended over the giddy height, and
at that sight, the idea rose in his soul, how in our
life we are always walking on the edge of the abyss
of Death, and so he composed those verses. Now
they served as a sort of magic song, which was to
protect them, and bring death to their enemies.
Solemn, sounded its strains from the lips of the
men going into battle:

"Though yet we hve, by Death we are surrouncied,
And ever near, his messengers are staying.
Whom could we choose, to help us m great danger,
But Thee, oh Lord! The judge of all the living!
Almighty God ! "

And from the other wing the monks of the
Reichenau were singing:

'9*

2g2 EKKEHARD.

" Long our fathers for Thy corning panted,
And 'I'hou redccniedst them from ain and sorrow,
Up to Thy throne arose their waihng voices,
And Thou didst not reject their tears and prayers.
Thou Lord of hosts ! "

And from both sides, was then heard together:

" Forsake us not, when our strength is failing.
Be our stafif, when courage is departing.
Oh, not to bitter Death, give up Thy children.
Almighty God, in whom we all are trusting,
Merciful God, great God of all the Heavens,
Oh Lord forsake us not ! Have mercy on us ! "

Thus they stood in close combat. With un-
mitigated surprise the Huns had beheld the ap-
proaching columns. Howls, and the hissing, devilish
cry of "hui! hui!" was their response to the '■'■ media
vita." EUak likewise, now divided his horsemen
for a regular attack, and the fighting continued
fiercer than ever. The Hunnic horsemen soon
broke through the ranks of the small body of the
monks of St. Gall, and a close fight then began. It
was strength, wrestling with swiftness, German awk-
wardness, against Hunnic cunning.

The earth of the Hegau was then dyed red,
with the blood of many a pious man. Tutilo, the
strong, was slain. He had pulled down a Hun from
his horse by the feet, and swinging the wry-faced
wretch through the air, split his skull against a
stone; but a moment afterwards, an arrow pierced
the temple of the hoary warrior. Like the victorious
hymns of the heavenly host, it sounded through his
wounded brain, — then he fell down on his slain
foe. Sindolt the wicked, atoned for many a bad trick
which he had played his brothers in former times,

EKKEHARD. 293

by the death-wound in his breast; and nothing did
it avail Dubslan the Scot, that he had made a vow
to St. Minwaloius, to go bare-foot to Rome, if he
would protect him in this battle, — for he also was
carried dead out of the tumult.

When the blows rained down on the helmets
like hail-stones on slate-roofs, old Moengal drew
his hood over his head, so that he could look
neither to the right nor to the left; then throwing
away his spear, he cried, "out with thee now, my
old Cambutta." Unbuckling his beloved shilalah,
which had accompanied him, fastened to his back,
he now stood like a thrasher on the barn-floor. For
some time a horseman had capered around him.
"■ Kyrie eleyson" sang out the old man, breaking the
horses' skull at one blov^^ With both feet the rider
jumped to the ground: grazing Moengal's arm with
his crooked sabre. "Heigho," exclaimed he, "in
spring 'tis a good thing to be bled; but take care,
little surgeon!" aiming a blow at him, as if he
wanted to strike him ten fathom deep into the
ground. But the Hun evaded the blow, and whilst
doing so, the helmet fell off and disclosed a soft
and rosy face, framed in by long wavy tresses, inter-
woven with red ribbons. Before Moengal could
think of aiming another blow, his antagonist jumped
up at him like a tiger-cat; the young, fresh face
approached his, affording him as it were in his old
days an opportunity of culling a kiss from coral
lips; but the moment after, he received a sharp bite
on his cheek. Clasping his assailant, he felt a soft
and slender waist. "Take thyself away, goblin,"

294 EKKEHARD.

cried he. "Has hell sent out her she-devils also?"
Here, another bite, for the sake of symmetry, saluted
him on the left cheek. He started back, but before
he had raised his bludgeon again, Erica had jumped
on a horse which had lost its rider, and gaily laugh-
ing she rode away, swift as a dream that vanishes
at cockcrow. . , .

In the middle of the arrier-ban fought Master
Spazzo the chamberlain, heading a troop. The slow
advance had rather pleased him, but when the fight
seemed to come to no conclusion, and men were
clinging to each other, like the hounds to the deer
in a chase, — then it became rather too much for
him. A dreamy, pensive mood came over him in
the midst of the raging battle, and only when a
passing rider pulled off his helmet, as an acceptable
booty, was he roused from his meditations, and
when the same, renewing the experiment, tried to
drag off his mantle, he cried out angrily: "is it not
yet enough, thou marksman of the Devil?" deahng
him at the same time a thrust with his long sword,
which pinned the Hun's thigh to his own horse.
Master Spazzo then thought of giving him the death-
blow, but on looking into his face, he found it so
very ugly, that he resolved to bring him home to
his mistress, as a living memento of the battle. So
he made the wounded man his prisoner. His name
was Cappan, and putting his head under Master
Spazzo's arm, in sign of submission, he grinned
with delight, showing two rows of shining white
teeth, when he perceived that his life had been
spared.

EKKEHARD. 2g5

Hornebog had led his troops against the brothers
of the Reichenau. Here also, grim Death was reap-
ing a rich harvest. The cloister-walls glistened in
the distance over the lake, like an appeal to the
combatants to exert their utmost strength; and many
a Hun who came within reach of their swords, found
out that he was treading on Suabian ground, where
heavy blows are as plentiful as wild strawberries in
summer. But the ranks of the brothers also were
considerably thinned. Quirinius the scrivener was
resting for ever from the writing-cramp, which had
caused the spear in his right hand to tremble. Beside
him, there fell Wiprecht the astronomer, and Keri-
mold the master of salmon-fishing, and Witigowo the
architect; — who knows them all? the nameless heroes,
who met a glorious end, on that day!

Only one of the monks had reason to be grateful
to a Hunnic arrow, and that was brother Pilgeram.
He was born at Cologne on the Rhine, and had
carried his thirst of knowledge, as well as a mighty
goitre to St. Pirmin's isle; where he was one of the
most learned and most pious monks; but his goitre
increased and he became hypochondriac over the
ethics of Aristotle, so that Heribald had often said
to him: "Pilgeram I pity thee." But now a Hunnic
arrow pierced the excrescence on his throat. "Fare-
well, friend of my youth!" cried he on sinking down;
but the wound was not dangerous, and when his
consciousness returned, he felt his throat as well as
his head considerably lightened, and from that
moment, he never opened Aristotle again.

Round the standard of St. Gall, a select body

296 EKKEHARD.

of men had rallied. The black streamers still floated
in the air from the image on the cross; but the con-
test was doubtful. With word and action, Ekkehard
encouraged his companions not to give way, but it
was Ellak himself who fought against them. The
bodies of slain men and horses cumbered the ground
in wild disorder. He, who survived had done his
duty, and when all are brave, no single heroic deed
can claim its special share of glory. Sir Burkhard's
sword had received a new baptism of blood in
Ekkehard's hands, but in vain had he fiercely at-
tacked Ellak the chieftain; for after having exchanged
a few blows and thrusts, they were separated again
by other combatants. Already the cross, towering
on high, began ;to stagger, aimed at by unceasing
arrows, when a loud cry of surprise rang through
the ranks; for from the hill on which stood the tower
of Hohenfriedingen, two unknown horsemen in
strange looking armour, came galloping at full speed
towards the scene of battle. Heavily one of them,
who was of mighty bulk, sat on his steed. Both
shield and harness were of antiquated shape, but
the faded golden ornaments indicated the high birth,
of the wearer. A golden band encircled his helmet,
from which a tuft of red feathers waved. His mantle
fluttering in the wind, and his lance levelled, he
looked like a picture of the olden times; like King
Saul in Folkard's psalm-book riding to meet David.
Close by his side rode his companion, a faithful
vassal, ready to succour and protect him.

'"Tis the archangel Michael!" cried some in the
christian ranks, and with this their strength rallied.

EKKEHARD. 297

The sun was shining brightly on the strange rider's
arms,— like an omen of victory,— and a few moments
later the two were in the midst of the battle. He,
with the gilt armour was looking about for a worthy
antagonist, which he soon found, for when the Hunnic
chieftain's keen eyes had spied him out, his horse's
head was turned towards him. The spear of the
stranger knight passed harmlessly by him, missmg
its aim; and Ellak's sword was already raised to
deal him the death blow, when the vassal threw
himself between the two. His broad sword merely
struck the enemy's horse, so, bending his head for-
wards, to catch the blow meant for his master, the
faithful shield-bearer found his death.

With a loud, clattering sound Ellak's horse fell
to the ground, but before the sound had quite died
out, the Hun had already recovered his feet. The
unknown knight raised his mace, to break his
enemy's head, but Ellak, with his left foot placed
tightly on the body of his dead courser, pressed
back the raised arm with his sinewy hands, trymg
at the same time to pull him down. Then, face to
face, the two mighty ones began wrestling, so that
those around them ceased fighting, to look on.

With a cunning movement, Ellak now seized his
short sword, but just when he lifted his arm, his
antagonist's mace came down slowly but heavily on
his head. Yet his hand still dealt the thrust, and
then lifting it up to his forehead, over which the
blood was running in streams, Ellak reeled back on
his war-horse, on which a moment later the Hunnic
chieftain angrily gave up the ghost.

2g8 EKKFJIARD.

"Here, sword of God and St. Michael!" triumph-
antly rose again the joint cry of monks and arrier-
ban-men! Rallying their strength, they rushed on
to one last despairing attack. The knight in the
gilt armour was still the foremost in the fight. The
death of their leader, caused such a panic to the
Huns, that they turned round, and sped away in
wild, disorderly flight.

f. ■ The woman of the wood, had already perceived
the unfavourable turn which the battle was taking.
Her horses were ready harnessed, and casting one
last angry glance at the victorious monks and the
rocky mountain which had once been her home, she
drove on the horses at a quick pace, in the direc-
tion of the Rhine, followed by the rest of the train.
"To the Rhine!" was the watch-word of the flying
Huns. Homebog was the last, who, unwillingly
turned his back on the battle-field, and the Hohen-
twiel.

"Farewell, till next year!" cried he tauntingly.

The victory was gained; but he, whom they
believed to be the archangel Michael, sent to their
rescue, now let his heavy head sink down on his
horse's neck. Reins and arms, had both fallen from
his hands, and whether the cause was the last thrust
of the Hunnic chieftain, or suffocation in the heat
of the battle, he was lifted down from his horse, a
dead man. On opening his visor, a happy smile was
still visible on his wrinkled old face, and from that
hour the headache of the old man of the Heiden-
hohlen, had ceased for ever.

A black dog ran about searching on the battle-

EKKEHARD. 299

field, till he found the old man's body. Dismally
howling he then licked his forehead; Ekkehard stand-
ing near, with a tear in his eye, saying a prayer for
the welfare of his soul. . . .

The conquerors returned to the Hohentwiel, their
helmets adorned with green fir-twigs, and leaving
twelve of the brothers behind, to watch the dead on
the battle-field. Of the Huns, one hundred and
eighty had fallen in battle, whilst the Suabian arrier-
ban had lost ninety six; those of the Reichenau eigh-
teen, and those of St. Gall twenty, besides the old
man and Rauching his bondsman.

With a handkerchief tied round his face, Moengal
stalked over the field, using his shilalah like a staff.
One by one he examined the dead. "Hast thou
not seen a Hun amongst them, who in reality is a
Hunnic woman?" asked he of one of the watch-
keeping brothers.

"No," was the reply.

"Then I may as well go home," said Moengal,

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