Then
Rudimann
began to understand the strange scene.
Warner - World's Best Literature - v22 - Sac to Sha
The book is an authentic pict-
ure of the tenth century in Suabia. Even had such men and women,
such conditions, such events, never had their actual counterparts, the
work would be still instinct with life; for its vitality is in no wise
dependent upon its historical setting. Scheffel in his own charming
preface asserts that "neither history nor poetry will lose anything by
forming a close alliance. " This depends, it is true, upon the genius
of the man who makes the treaty; but in 'Ekkehard' men will long
continue to enjoy the vivid and faithful presentation of a picturesque
age, in which the elements of poetry and history are exquisitely
blended.
<
The Trumpeter' is a romantic love tale full of playful humor
and graceful trifling, sustained by a true and tender sentiment. Of
course the humble trumpet-blower marries the high-born maiden in
the end. In its rhythmic measures the poem reminds one of Heine's
'Atta Troll'; but it is kindlier and born of a serener mood than that
brilliant piece of bitterness, in which the old Romantic School, expir-
ing, laughed in frivolous self-ridicule. Gentleness, chivalry, and love
are the themes of Scheffel's Rhineland romance; and the satirical
blows of Hiddigeigei are delivered with velvet paws.
Scheffel has himself declared that the ironical flavor of his poetry
was the result of an underlying melancholy. The events of 1848,
although he was an ardent advocate of a united Fatherland, failed
to stir him; and the hopeless, reactionary period that followed made
him a political pessimist. "My soul," he said, "took on a rust in
those days which it will never wear off. " His humor was a con-
scious concealment of an essentially melancholy disposition; and as
## p. 12840 (#262) ##########################################
12840
JOSEPH VICTOR VON SCHEFFEL
the years wore on, he was less and less able to maintain his mental
disguise. He lived in an atmosphere of medievalism, and there is
a natural touch of antiquity in his style which removes the last trace
of pedantry from his historical pictures. His mild mockery and de-
lightful drollery have an old-time flavor that mellows the effect; and
his work is wholesome and refreshing through its pure and healthy
sentiment.
REJECTION AND FLIGHT
From 'Ekkehard. Copyright 1895, by Thomas Y. Crowell & Co.
E
KKEHARD remained long sitting in the garden bower; then he
rushed out into the darkness. He knew not whither his
feet were carrying him.
In the morning he found himself on the top of the Hohen-
krähen, which had stood silent and deserted since the forest
woman's departure. The remains of the burnt hut lay in a con-
fused heap. Where the living-room had once been, the Roman
stone with the Mithras was still to be seen. Grass and ferns
grew over it, and a blindworm was stealthily creeping up on the
old weather-beaten idol.
Ekkehard burst into a wild scornful laugh.
"The chapel of St. Hadwig! " he cried, striking his breast with
his clenched hand. "Thus it must be ! "
He upset the old Roman stone, and then mounted the rocky
crest of the hill. There he threw himself down and pressed his
forehead against the cool ground, which had once been touched
by Frau Hadwig's foot. There he remained for a long time.
When the scorching rays of the midday sun fell upon him, he
still lay there, and slept.
-
Toward evening he came back to the Hohentwiel, hot and
haggard, and with an unsteady gait. Blades of grass clung to
the woolen texture of his cowl.
The people of the castle timidly stepped out of his way, as if
before one on whose forehead ill-luck had set her seal. In other
times they had been wont to come toward him to entreat his
blessing.
The duchess had noticed his absence, but made no inquiries
about him. He went up to his tower, and seized a parchment,
## p. 12841 (#263) ##########################################
JOSEPH VICTOR VON SCHEFFEL
12841
as if he would read.
«<
It was Gunzo's attack upon him. Will-
ingly I would exhort you to aid him with healing medicine; but
I fear, I sadly fear, that his disease is too deeply rooted,"
what he read.
He laughed. The arched ceiling threw back an echo; he
leaped to his feet as if he wanted to find out who had laughed
at him.
Then he went to the window, and looked down into the
depths below. It was deep, deep down: a sudden giddiness came
over him; he started back.
The small phial which the old Thieto had given him stood
near his books. It made him melancholy. He thought of the
blind old man! "The service of women is an evil thing for him
who wishes to remain good," he had said when Ekkehard took
leave.
He tore the seal off from the phial, and poured the Jordan
water over his head and drenched his eyes. It was too late.
Whole floods of holy water will not extinguish the inward fire,
unless one plunges in never to rise again.
Yet a mo-
mentary feeling of quiet came over him.
"I will pray," said he. "It is a temptation. "
He threw himself on his knees: but soon it seemed to him
as if the pigeons were swarming round his head, as they did on
the day when he first entered the tower room; but now they had
mocking faces, and wore a contemptuous look about their beaks.
He got up and slowly descended the winding staircase to the
castle chapel. The altar below had been a witness of earnest de-
votions on many a happy day. The chapel was, as before, dark
and silent. Six ponderous pillars, with square capitals adorned
with leaf-work, supported the vault. A faint streak of daylight
fell in through the narrow windows. The recesses of the niche
where the altar stood were but faintly illuminated; the golden
background of the mosaic picture of the Redeemer alone shone
with a soft glitter. Greek artists had transplanted the forms of
their church ornaments to the German rock. In a white flowing
garment, with a gold-red aureole round his head, the Savior's
emaciated figure stood there, with the fingers of the right hand
extended in the act of blessing.
Ekkehard bowed before the altar steps; his forehead rested
on the stone flags. Thus he remained, wrapt in prayer.
"O Thou who hast taken the sorrows of the world on thyself,
send out one ray of thy grace on me unworthy. "
## p. 12842 (#264) ##########################################
12842
JOSEPH VICTOR VON SCHEFFEL
He raised his head and gazed up, as if he expected the earnest
figure to step down from the wall and hold out his hand to him.
"I am here at thy feet, like Peter, surrounded by tempest,
and the waves will not bear me up! Save me, O Lord! save me
as thou didst him when thou didst walk over the raging billows,
extending thy hand to him and saying, 'O thou of little faith,
wherefore dost thou doubt? › »
But no sign was given him.
Ekkehard's brain was giving way.
There was a rustling through the chapel like that of a woman's
garments. He heard nothing.
Frau Hadwig had come down under the impulse of a strange
mood. Since she had begun to bear a grudge against the monk,
the image of her late husband recurred oftener to her mind.
Naturally, as the one receded into the background, the other
must come forward again. The later reading of Virgil had also
been responsible for this, as there had been said so much about
the memory of Sichæus.
The following day was the anniversary of Herr Burkhard's
death. With his lance and shield by his side, the old duke lay
buried in the chapel. His tomb at the right of the altar was
covered by a rough stone slab. The eternal lamp burned dimly
over it.
A sarcophagus of gray sandstone stood near it, resting
on small clumsy pillars with Ionic capitals; and these again
rested on grotesque stone animals. This stone coffin Frau Had-
wig had had made for herself. Every year, on the anniversary
of the duke's death, she had it carried up and filled with corn
and fruits, which were distributed among the poor,- the means
of living coming from the resting-place of the dead. It was a
pious ancient custom.
―
To-day it was her purpose to pray on her husband's grave.
The duskiness of the place concealed Ekkehard's kneeling figure.
She did not see him.
Suddenly she was startled from her devotions. A laugh, sub-
dued yet piercing, struck her ear. She knew the voice. Ekke-
hard had risen and recited the following words of the Psalms:-
"Hide me under the shadow of thy wings,
From the wicked that oppress me,
From my deadly enemies who compass me about.
With their mouth they speak proudly. "
## p. 12843 (#265) ##########################################
JOSEPH VICTOR VON SCHEFFEL
12843
He spoke it in an ominous tone. It was no more the voice of
prayer.
Frau Hadwig bent down beside the sarcophagus: she would
gladly have placed another on it to hide her from Ekkehard's
view. She no longer cared to be alone with him. Her heart
beat calmly now.
He went to the door.
Then suddenly he turned back. The everlasting lamp was
softly swinging to and fro over Frau Hadwig's head. Ekkehard's
eye pierced the twilight.
With one bound,- quicker than
that which in later days St. Bernard made through the cathedral
at Speier when the Madonna had beckoned to him,- he stood
before the duchess. He gave her a long and penetrating look.
She rose to her feet, and seizing the edge of the stone sar-
cophagus with her right hand, she confronted him. The ever-
lasting lamp over her head still gently swung to and fro on its
silken cord.
·
"Blessed are the dead: prayers are offered for them," said
Ekkehard, interrupting the silence.
Frau Hadwig made no reply.
"Will you pray for me also when I am dead? " continued he.
“Oh, you must not pray for me! Have a drinking-cup made out
of my skull; and when you take another doorkeeper away from
the monastery of St. Gallus, you must offer him the welcoming
draught in it,- and give him my greeting! You may put your
own lips to it also: it will not crack. But you must then wear
the circlet with the rose in it. "
"Ekkehard," said the duchess, "you are outrageous! "
He put his right hand to his forehead.
"Oh," said he, in a mournful voice,-"oh, yes! the Rhine
is also outrageous. They stopped its course with giant rocks;
but it gnawed through them, and now rushes and roars onward
in foam and tumult and destruction! Bravo, thou free heart
for he has allowed the
Duchess of Suabia, and
of youth! And God is outrageous also;
Rhine to be, and the Hohentwiel, and the
the tonsure on my head. "
The duchess began to shiver. Such an outbreak of long-
repressed feeling she had not expected. But it was too late: she
remained indifferent.
"You are ill," she said.
"Ill? " asked he: "it is merely a requital. More than a year
ago at Whitsuntide, when there was as yet no Hohentwiel for me,
## p. 12844 (#266) ##########################################
12844
JOSEPH VICTOR VON SCHEFFEL
I carried the coffin of St. Gallus in solemn procession out of
the cloister, and a woman threw herself on the ground before
me. 'Get up,' cried I; but she remained prostrate in the dust.
'Walk over me with thy relic, priest, so that I may recover,'
cried she; and my foot stepped over her. That woman was
suffering from the heartache. Now it is reversed. "
Tears interrupted his voice. He could not go on. Then he
threw himself at Frau Hadwig's feet, and clasped the hem of her
garment. The man was all of a tremble.
Frau Hadwig was touched,- touched against her will; as if
from the hem of her garment, a feeling of unutterable woe
thrilled up to her heart.
"Stand up," said she, "and think of other things. You still
owe us a story. Overcome it! "
Then Ekkehard laughed through his tears.
"A story! " cried he; "oh, a story! But not told. Come, let
us act the story! From the height of yonder tower one can see
so far into the distance, and so deep into the valley below, so
sweet and deep and tempting. What right has the ducal castle
to hold us back? No one who wishes to get down into the depth
below need count more than three, and we flutter and glide
softly into the arms of death there. Then I should be no longer
a monk; and I might wind my arms around you. "
He struck Herr Burkhard's tombstone with his clenched
hand.
――――――
-
"And he who sleeps here shall not prevent me! If he - the
old man
- comes, I will not let you go. And we will float up
to the tower again, and sit where we sat before; and we will
read Virgil to the end; and you must wear the rose in your cir-
clet, as if nothing whatever had happened. We will keep the
gate well locked against the duke, and we will laugh at all evil
tongues; and folks will say, as they sit at their fireplaces of a
winter's evening: That is a pretty tale of the faithful Ekkehard,
who slew the Emperor Ermanrich for hanging the Harlungen
brothers, and who afterwards sat for many hundred years before
Frau Venus's mountain, with his white staff in his hands, and
meant to sit there until the Day of Judgment to warn off all
pilgrims coming to the mountain. But at last he grew tired of
this, and ran away, and became a monk at St. Gall; and he fell
down an abyss and was killed; and he is sitting now beside
a proud, pale woman, reading Virgil to her. And at midnight
may be heard the words ringing through the Hegau: "Thou
## p. 12845 (#267) ##########################################
JOSEPH VICTOR VON SCHEFFEL
12845
And
commandest, O Queen, to renew the unspeakable sorrow. "
then she will have to kiss him, whether she will or not; for death
makes up for what life denies. '»
He had spoken with a wild, wandering look; and now his
voice failed with low weeping. Frau Hadwig had stood immov-
ably all this time. It was as if a gleam of pity shone in her
cold eyes; she bent down her head.
"Ekkehard," said she, "you must not speak of death.
madness. We live, you and I! ”
He did not stir. Then she lightly laid her hand on his burn-
ing forehead. A wild thrill flashed through his brain.
He
sprang up.
་
"You are right! " cried he. "We live
you and I! »
A dizzy darkness clouded his eyes; he stepped forward, and
winding his arms round her proud form, he fiercely pressed her
to his heart; his kiss burned on her lips. Her protest died away
unheard.
This is
――――
He raised her high up toward the altar, as if she were an
offering he was about to make.
"Why dost thou hold out thy gold glittering fingers so quietly,
instead of blessing us? " he cried out to the dark and solemn
picture.
The duchess had started like a wounded deer. One moment,
and all the passion of her hurt pride revolted within her. She
pushed the frenzied man back with a strong hand, and tore her-
self out of his embrace.
He had one arm still round her waist, when the church
door was suddenly opened, and a flaring streak of daylight broke
through the darkness; they were no longer alone. Rudimann the
cellarer, from Reichenau, stepped over the threshold; other fig-
ures became visible in the background of the court-yard.
The duchess had grown pale with shame and anger. A tress
of her long dark hair had become loosened and was streaming
down her back.
"I beg your pardon," said the man from the Reichenau, with
grinning politeness. "My eyes have beheld nothing. ”
-
Then Frau Hadwig tore herself entirely free from Ekkehard's
hold and cried out:
"Yes, I say! Yes, yes, you have seen a madman, who has
forgotten himself and God. I should be sorry for your eyes if
they had beheld nothing, for I would have had them torn out! "
## p. 12846 (#268) ##########################################
'12846
JOSEPH VICTOR VON SCHEFFEL
It was with an indescribably cold dignity that she pronounced
these words.
Then Rudimann began to understand the strange scene.
"I had forgotten," said he scornfully, "that he who stands
there is one of those to whom wise men have applied the
words of St. Hieronymus, when he says: "Their manners
more befitting dandies and bridegrooms than the elect of the
Lord. '"
are
Ekkehard stood leaning against a pillar, with arms stretched
out in the air, like Odysseus when he wanted to embrace his
mother's shade. Rudimann's words roused him from his dreams.
"Who comes between her and me? " he cried threateningly.
But Rudimann, patting him on the shoulder with an insolent
familiarity, said:-
"Calm yourself, my good friend: we have only come to de-
liver a note into your hands. St. Gallus can no longer allow
the wisest of all his disciples to remain out in the capricious,
malicious world. You are summoned home! And don't forget
-
the stick with which you are wont to ill-treat your confraters
who like to snatch a kiss at vintage-time, you chaste moralist,"
he added in a low whisper.
Ekkehard stepped back. Wild longings, the pang of separa-
tion, burning passionate love, and the added insults,- all these
stormed up in him. He hastily advanced toward Frau Hadwig;
but the chapel was already filling.
The abbot of Reichenau himself had come to have the pleas-
ure of witnessing Ekkehard's departure. "It will be a difficult
task to get him away," he had said to the cellarer.
It was easy
enough now. Monks and lay brothers came in after him.
"Sacrilege! " Rudimann called out to them. "He has laid his
wanton hand on his mistress even before the altar! "
―
Then Ekkehard boiled over. To have the most sacred secret
of his heart profaned by insolent coarseness, a pearl thrown before
swine! He tore down the everlasting lamp, and swung the heavy
vessel like a sling.
The light went out; a hollow groan was heard, the cellarer
lay with bleeding head on the stone flags. The lamp fell clat-
tering beside him. A blow, fierce struggle, wild confusion — all
was at an end with Ekkehard.
They had overpowered him; tearing off the girdle of his cowl,
they bound him.
-
## p. 12847 (#269) ##########################################
JOSEPH VICTOR VON SCHEFFEL
12847
There he stood, the handsome youthful figure, now the very
picture of woe, like the broken-winged eagle. ' He gave one
mournful, troubled, appealing look at the duchess. She turned
away.
"Do what you think right," she said to the abbot, and swept
through the throng.
IT WAS a dreary, depressing evening. The duchess had locked.
herself up in her bow-windowed room, and refused admittance to
every one.
Ekkehard had been hurried away into a dungeon by the
abbot's men. In the same tower, in the airy upper story of which
his chamber was situated, there was a damp, dark, vault; frag-
ments of old tombstones-deposited there long before when the
castle chamber had been renovated were scattered about in un-
sightly heaps. A bundle of straw had been thrown in for him,
and a monk was sitting outside to guard the entrance.
Burkhard, the monastery pupil, ran up and down, wailing and
wringing his hands. He could not understand the fate which had
befallen his uncle. The servants were all putting their heads
together, eagerly whispering and gossiping, as if the hundred-
tongued Rumor had been sitting on the roof of the castle,
spreading her falsehoods about.
"He tried to murder the duchess," said one.
-
"He has been practicing the Devil's own arts with that big
book of his," said another. "To-day is St. John's day, when the
Devil has no power, and so he could not help him. "
At the well in the court-yard stood Rudimann the cellarer, let-
ting the clear water flow over his head. Ekkehard had given
nim a sharp cut; the blood obstinately and angrily trickled down
into the water.
She was the only
Praxedis came down looking pale and sad.
soul who felt sincere pity for the prisoner. On seeing the cel-
larer, she ran into the garden, tore up a blue corn-flower with the
roots, and brought it to him.
•
"Take that," said she, "and hold it in your right hand till it
gets warm: that will stop the bleeding. Or shall I fetch you
some linen to bind up the wound? "
He shook his head.
«<
"It will stop of itself when the time comes," said he. 'Tis
not the first time that I have been bled. Keep your corn-flowers
for yourself. "
## p. 12848 (#270) ##########################################
12848
JOSEPH VICTOR VON SCHEFFEL
But Praxedis was anxious to conciliate Ekkehard's enemy.
She brought some linen: he allowed his wound to be dressed.
Not a word of thanks did he proffer.
"Are you not going to let Ekkehard out to-day? " she asked.
"To-day! " Rudimann repeated sneeringly. "Do you feel in-
clined to weave a garland for the standard-bearer of Antichrist,
-the leading horse of Satan's car, whom you have petted and
spoiled up here as if he were the darling son Benjamin ?
day! In a month ask again over there! "
He pointed toward the Helvetian mountains.
Praxedis was frightened. "What are you going to do with
him? "
"What is right," replied Rudimann with a dark look. "Wan-
tonness, deeds of violence, disobedience, haughtiness, sacrilege,
blasphemy-there are scarcely names enough for all his nefarious
acts; but thank God, there are yet means for their expiation! "
He made a gesture with his hand like that of flogging. "Ah,
yes, plenty of means of expiation, gentle mistress! We will write
the catalogue of his sins on his skin. "
"Have pity! " said Praxedis: "he is a sick man. ”
"For that very reason we are going to cure him. When
he has been tied to the pillar, and half a dozen rods have been
flogged to pieces on his bent back, then all his spleen and his
devilries will vanish! "
"For God's sake! " exclaimed the Greek girl.
"Calm yourself: there are better things yet. A stray lamb
must be delivered up to the fold it belongs to. There he will
find good shepherds who will look after the rest. Sheep-shearing,
little girl, sheep-shearing! There they will cut off his hair,
which will make his head cooler; and if you feel inclined to
make a pilgrimage to St. Gall a year hence, you will see on
Sundays and holidays some one standing barefooted before the
church door, and his head will be as bare as a stubble-field,
and the penitential garb will become him very nicely. What do
you think? The heathenish practices with Virgil are at an end
now. "
"He is innocent! " said Praxedis.
«< Oh," said the cellarer sneeringly, we shall never harm a
single hair of innocence! He need only prove himself so by
God's ordeal. If he takes the gold ring out of the kettle of boil-
ing water with unburnt arm, our abbot himself will give him the
blessing; and I will say that it was all a delusion of the Devil's
## p. 12849 (#271) ##########################################
JOSEPH VICTOR VON SCHEFFEL
12849
own making when my eyes beheld his Holiness, Brother Ekke-
hard, clasping your mistress in his arms. "
Praxedis wept.
•
•
·
"Cellarmaster, you are a wicked man! " she cried; and turned
her back on him.
"Have you any further commands? " she asked, once more
looking back.
"Yes, thou Greek insect! A jug of vinegar, if you please. I
want to lay my rods in it: the writing is clearer then, and does
not fade away so soon. Never before have I flogged an inter-
preter of Virgil. He deserves particular attention. "
Burkhard, the monastery pupil, was sitting under the linden-
tree, still sobbing. Praxedis, as she passed, gave him a kiss. It
was done to spite the cellarer.
She went up to the duchess, intending to prostrate herself
and intercede for Ekkehard; but the door remained locked against
her. Frau Hadwig was deeply irritated. If the monks of the
Reichenau had not come in upon them, she might have pardoned
Ekkehard's audacity, for she herself had indeed sowed the seeds
of all that had grown to such portentous results; but now it had
become a public scandal, it demanded punishment. The fear of
evil tongues influences many an action.
The abbot had caused to be put into her hands the summons
from St. Gall. St. Benedict's rules, said the letter, exacted not
only the outward forms of a monastic life, but also the actual
conformity of body and soul to its discipline. Ekkehard was to
return. Passages from Gunzo's diatribe were quoted against him.
It was all the same to her. What his fate would be in the
hands of his antagonists, she knew quite well. Yet she was
determined to do nothing for him.
Praxedis knocked at her door a second time, but it was not
opened.
"O thou poor moth," said she sadly.
Ekkehard lay in his dungeon like one who had dreamt some
wild dream. Four bare walls surrounded him; above there was
a faint gleam of light. Often he trembled as if shivering with
cold. After a while a melancholy smile of resignation began to
hover round his lips, but it did not settle there; now and again
he would clench his fists in a fit of fierce anger.
It is the same with the human mind as with the sea: though
the tempest may have blown over for a long time, the billowing
surge is even stronger and more impetuous than before; and
XXII-804
## p. 12850 (#272) ##########################################
12850
JOSEPH VICTOR VON SCHEFFEL
some mighty chaotic breaker dashes wildly up and drives the
sea-gulls away from the rocks.
But Ekkehard's heart was not yet broken. It was still too
young for that. He began to reflect on his position. The view
into the future was not very cheering. He knew the rules of
his order, and monastic customs, and he knew that the men from
Reichenau were his enemies.
With big strides he paced up and down the narrow room.
"Great God, whom we may invoke in the hour of affliction,
how will all this end? "
He shut his eyes and threw himself on the bundle of straw.
Confused visions passed before his soul, and he saw with his
inward eye of the spirit how they would drag him out in the
early morning. The abbot would be sitting on his high stone.
chair, holding the crosier as a sign that it was a court of judg
ment; and then they would read out a long bill of complaints
against him. All this in the same court-yard in which he had
once sprung out of the litter with such a jubilant heart, and in
which he had preached his sermon against the Huns on that sol-
emn Good Friday; and the men of the court would be gnashing
their teeth against him!
"What shall I do? " thought he. "With my hand on my
heart and my eyes raised toward heaven, I shall say,
is not guilty! ' But the judges will say, 'Prove it! ' The big
copper kettle will be brought; the fire lighted beneath; the water
will hiss and bubble up. The abbot draws off the golden ring
from his finger. They push up the right sleeve of his habit;
solemn penitential psalms resound. I conjure thee, spirit of the
water, that the Devil quit thee, and that thou serve the Lord
to make known the truth, like to the fiery furnace of the King.
of Babylon when he had the three men thrown into it! ' — Thus
the abbot addresses the boiling water; and 'Dip thy arm and
fetch forth the ring,' says he to the accused. - Righteous God,
what judgment will thy ordeal give? "
Wild doubts beset Ekkehard's soul. He believed in himself
and his good cause, but his faith was less strong in the dreadful
means by which priestcraft and church laws sought to arrive at
God's decision.
In the library of his monastery there was a little book bear-
ing the title, 'Against the Inveterate Error of the Belief that
through Fire, Water, or Single Combat, the Truth of God's Judg
ment can be Revealed. '
## p. 12851 (#273) ##########################################
JOSEPH VICTOR VON SCHEFFEL
12851
This book he had once read; and he remembered it well. It
was to prove that with these ordeals, which were an inheritance
from the ancient heathen time, it was as the excellent Gottfried
of Strassburg has expressed it in later days:
"Der heilig Christ
Windschaffen wie ein Ärmel ist. ” *
"And if no miracle is performed? »
His thoughts were inclined to despondency and despair.
"With burnt arm and proclaimed guilty, condemned to be
flogged, while she perhaps would stand on the balcony looking
on, as if it were done to an entire stranger! - Lord of heaven
and earth, send down thy lightning! "
-
Yet hope does not entirely forsake even the most miserable.
Then again he imagined how, through all this shame and
misery, a piercing "Stop! " would be heard: she comes rushing.
down with disheveled locks and in her rustling ducal mantle,
and drives his tormentors away, as the Savior drove out the usur-
ers from the temple. And she presents him her hand and lips
for the kiss of reconciliation.
Long and ardently his fantasy dwelt on that beautiful possi-
bility; a breath of consolation came to him; he spoke in the
words of the Preacher: "As gold is purified from dross in the
fire, so the heart of man is purified by sorrow. ' We will wait
and see what will happen. "
He heard a slight noise in the antechamber of his dungeon.
A stone jug was put down.
"You are to drink like a man," said a voice to the lay brother
on guard; "for on St. John's night all sorts of unearthly vis-
itors people the air and pass over our castle. So you must take
care to keep your courage up.
There's another jug for you
too. "
It was Praxedis who had brought the wine.
Ekkehard did not understand what she wanted. "Then she also
is false," thought he. "God protect me! "
He closed his eyes and fell asleep. After a good while he
was awakened. The wine had evidently been to the lay brother's
taste: he was singing a song in praise of the four goldsmiths
who once on a time had refused to make heathenish idols at
Rome, and suffered martyrdom. With his heavy sandal-clad foot
he was beating time on the stone flags. Ekkehard heard another
*«The good Lord is as much the sport of the wind as a sleeve. "
## p. 12852 (#274) ##########################################
12852
JOSEPH VICTOR VON SCHEFFEL
jug of wine brought to the man. The singing became loud and
uproarious. Then he held a soliloquy, in which he had much
to say about Italy and good fare, and "Santa Agnese fuori le
mura. " Then he ceased talking. The prisoner could distinctly
hear his snoring through the stone walls.
·
The castle was silent. It was about midnight. Ekkehard
lay in a doze, when it seemed to him as if the bolts were softly
drawn. He remained lying on his straw. A figure came in; a
soft hand was laid on the slumberer's forehead. He jumped up.
"Hush! " whispered his visitor.
« The
When all had gone to rest, Praxedis had kept awake.
ure of the tenth century in Suabia. Even had such men and women,
such conditions, such events, never had their actual counterparts, the
work would be still instinct with life; for its vitality is in no wise
dependent upon its historical setting. Scheffel in his own charming
preface asserts that "neither history nor poetry will lose anything by
forming a close alliance. " This depends, it is true, upon the genius
of the man who makes the treaty; but in 'Ekkehard' men will long
continue to enjoy the vivid and faithful presentation of a picturesque
age, in which the elements of poetry and history are exquisitely
blended.
<
The Trumpeter' is a romantic love tale full of playful humor
and graceful trifling, sustained by a true and tender sentiment. Of
course the humble trumpet-blower marries the high-born maiden in
the end. In its rhythmic measures the poem reminds one of Heine's
'Atta Troll'; but it is kindlier and born of a serener mood than that
brilliant piece of bitterness, in which the old Romantic School, expir-
ing, laughed in frivolous self-ridicule. Gentleness, chivalry, and love
are the themes of Scheffel's Rhineland romance; and the satirical
blows of Hiddigeigei are delivered with velvet paws.
Scheffel has himself declared that the ironical flavor of his poetry
was the result of an underlying melancholy. The events of 1848,
although he was an ardent advocate of a united Fatherland, failed
to stir him; and the hopeless, reactionary period that followed made
him a political pessimist. "My soul," he said, "took on a rust in
those days which it will never wear off. " His humor was a con-
scious concealment of an essentially melancholy disposition; and as
## p. 12840 (#262) ##########################################
12840
JOSEPH VICTOR VON SCHEFFEL
the years wore on, he was less and less able to maintain his mental
disguise. He lived in an atmosphere of medievalism, and there is
a natural touch of antiquity in his style which removes the last trace
of pedantry from his historical pictures. His mild mockery and de-
lightful drollery have an old-time flavor that mellows the effect; and
his work is wholesome and refreshing through its pure and healthy
sentiment.
REJECTION AND FLIGHT
From 'Ekkehard. Copyright 1895, by Thomas Y. Crowell & Co.
E
KKEHARD remained long sitting in the garden bower; then he
rushed out into the darkness. He knew not whither his
feet were carrying him.
In the morning he found himself on the top of the Hohen-
krähen, which had stood silent and deserted since the forest
woman's departure. The remains of the burnt hut lay in a con-
fused heap. Where the living-room had once been, the Roman
stone with the Mithras was still to be seen. Grass and ferns
grew over it, and a blindworm was stealthily creeping up on the
old weather-beaten idol.
Ekkehard burst into a wild scornful laugh.
"The chapel of St. Hadwig! " he cried, striking his breast with
his clenched hand. "Thus it must be ! "
He upset the old Roman stone, and then mounted the rocky
crest of the hill. There he threw himself down and pressed his
forehead against the cool ground, which had once been touched
by Frau Hadwig's foot. There he remained for a long time.
When the scorching rays of the midday sun fell upon him, he
still lay there, and slept.
-
Toward evening he came back to the Hohentwiel, hot and
haggard, and with an unsteady gait. Blades of grass clung to
the woolen texture of his cowl.
The people of the castle timidly stepped out of his way, as if
before one on whose forehead ill-luck had set her seal. In other
times they had been wont to come toward him to entreat his
blessing.
The duchess had noticed his absence, but made no inquiries
about him. He went up to his tower, and seized a parchment,
## p. 12841 (#263) ##########################################
JOSEPH VICTOR VON SCHEFFEL
12841
as if he would read.
«<
It was Gunzo's attack upon him. Will-
ingly I would exhort you to aid him with healing medicine; but
I fear, I sadly fear, that his disease is too deeply rooted,"
what he read.
He laughed. The arched ceiling threw back an echo; he
leaped to his feet as if he wanted to find out who had laughed
at him.
Then he went to the window, and looked down into the
depths below. It was deep, deep down: a sudden giddiness came
over him; he started back.
The small phial which the old Thieto had given him stood
near his books. It made him melancholy. He thought of the
blind old man! "The service of women is an evil thing for him
who wishes to remain good," he had said when Ekkehard took
leave.
He tore the seal off from the phial, and poured the Jordan
water over his head and drenched his eyes. It was too late.
Whole floods of holy water will not extinguish the inward fire,
unless one plunges in never to rise again.
Yet a mo-
mentary feeling of quiet came over him.
"I will pray," said he. "It is a temptation. "
He threw himself on his knees: but soon it seemed to him
as if the pigeons were swarming round his head, as they did on
the day when he first entered the tower room; but now they had
mocking faces, and wore a contemptuous look about their beaks.
He got up and slowly descended the winding staircase to the
castle chapel. The altar below had been a witness of earnest de-
votions on many a happy day. The chapel was, as before, dark
and silent. Six ponderous pillars, with square capitals adorned
with leaf-work, supported the vault. A faint streak of daylight
fell in through the narrow windows. The recesses of the niche
where the altar stood were but faintly illuminated; the golden
background of the mosaic picture of the Redeemer alone shone
with a soft glitter. Greek artists had transplanted the forms of
their church ornaments to the German rock. In a white flowing
garment, with a gold-red aureole round his head, the Savior's
emaciated figure stood there, with the fingers of the right hand
extended in the act of blessing.
Ekkehard bowed before the altar steps; his forehead rested
on the stone flags. Thus he remained, wrapt in prayer.
"O Thou who hast taken the sorrows of the world on thyself,
send out one ray of thy grace on me unworthy. "
## p. 12842 (#264) ##########################################
12842
JOSEPH VICTOR VON SCHEFFEL
He raised his head and gazed up, as if he expected the earnest
figure to step down from the wall and hold out his hand to him.
"I am here at thy feet, like Peter, surrounded by tempest,
and the waves will not bear me up! Save me, O Lord! save me
as thou didst him when thou didst walk over the raging billows,
extending thy hand to him and saying, 'O thou of little faith,
wherefore dost thou doubt? › »
But no sign was given him.
Ekkehard's brain was giving way.
There was a rustling through the chapel like that of a woman's
garments. He heard nothing.
Frau Hadwig had come down under the impulse of a strange
mood. Since she had begun to bear a grudge against the monk,
the image of her late husband recurred oftener to her mind.
Naturally, as the one receded into the background, the other
must come forward again. The later reading of Virgil had also
been responsible for this, as there had been said so much about
the memory of Sichæus.
The following day was the anniversary of Herr Burkhard's
death. With his lance and shield by his side, the old duke lay
buried in the chapel. His tomb at the right of the altar was
covered by a rough stone slab. The eternal lamp burned dimly
over it.
A sarcophagus of gray sandstone stood near it, resting
on small clumsy pillars with Ionic capitals; and these again
rested on grotesque stone animals. This stone coffin Frau Had-
wig had had made for herself. Every year, on the anniversary
of the duke's death, she had it carried up and filled with corn
and fruits, which were distributed among the poor,- the means
of living coming from the resting-place of the dead. It was a
pious ancient custom.
―
To-day it was her purpose to pray on her husband's grave.
The duskiness of the place concealed Ekkehard's kneeling figure.
She did not see him.
Suddenly she was startled from her devotions. A laugh, sub-
dued yet piercing, struck her ear. She knew the voice. Ekke-
hard had risen and recited the following words of the Psalms:-
"Hide me under the shadow of thy wings,
From the wicked that oppress me,
From my deadly enemies who compass me about.
With their mouth they speak proudly. "
## p. 12843 (#265) ##########################################
JOSEPH VICTOR VON SCHEFFEL
12843
He spoke it in an ominous tone. It was no more the voice of
prayer.
Frau Hadwig bent down beside the sarcophagus: she would
gladly have placed another on it to hide her from Ekkehard's
view. She no longer cared to be alone with him. Her heart
beat calmly now.
He went to the door.
Then suddenly he turned back. The everlasting lamp was
softly swinging to and fro over Frau Hadwig's head. Ekkehard's
eye pierced the twilight.
With one bound,- quicker than
that which in later days St. Bernard made through the cathedral
at Speier when the Madonna had beckoned to him,- he stood
before the duchess. He gave her a long and penetrating look.
She rose to her feet, and seizing the edge of the stone sar-
cophagus with her right hand, she confronted him. The ever-
lasting lamp over her head still gently swung to and fro on its
silken cord.
·
"Blessed are the dead: prayers are offered for them," said
Ekkehard, interrupting the silence.
Frau Hadwig made no reply.
"Will you pray for me also when I am dead? " continued he.
“Oh, you must not pray for me! Have a drinking-cup made out
of my skull; and when you take another doorkeeper away from
the monastery of St. Gallus, you must offer him the welcoming
draught in it,- and give him my greeting! You may put your
own lips to it also: it will not crack. But you must then wear
the circlet with the rose in it. "
"Ekkehard," said the duchess, "you are outrageous! "
He put his right hand to his forehead.
"Oh," said he, in a mournful voice,-"oh, yes! the Rhine
is also outrageous. They stopped its course with giant rocks;
but it gnawed through them, and now rushes and roars onward
in foam and tumult and destruction! Bravo, thou free heart
for he has allowed the
Duchess of Suabia, and
of youth! And God is outrageous also;
Rhine to be, and the Hohentwiel, and the
the tonsure on my head. "
The duchess began to shiver. Such an outbreak of long-
repressed feeling she had not expected. But it was too late: she
remained indifferent.
"You are ill," she said.
"Ill? " asked he: "it is merely a requital. More than a year
ago at Whitsuntide, when there was as yet no Hohentwiel for me,
## p. 12844 (#266) ##########################################
12844
JOSEPH VICTOR VON SCHEFFEL
I carried the coffin of St. Gallus in solemn procession out of
the cloister, and a woman threw herself on the ground before
me. 'Get up,' cried I; but she remained prostrate in the dust.
'Walk over me with thy relic, priest, so that I may recover,'
cried she; and my foot stepped over her. That woman was
suffering from the heartache. Now it is reversed. "
Tears interrupted his voice. He could not go on. Then he
threw himself at Frau Hadwig's feet, and clasped the hem of her
garment. The man was all of a tremble.
Frau Hadwig was touched,- touched against her will; as if
from the hem of her garment, a feeling of unutterable woe
thrilled up to her heart.
"Stand up," said she, "and think of other things. You still
owe us a story. Overcome it! "
Then Ekkehard laughed through his tears.
"A story! " cried he; "oh, a story! But not told. Come, let
us act the story! From the height of yonder tower one can see
so far into the distance, and so deep into the valley below, so
sweet and deep and tempting. What right has the ducal castle
to hold us back? No one who wishes to get down into the depth
below need count more than three, and we flutter and glide
softly into the arms of death there. Then I should be no longer
a monk; and I might wind my arms around you. "
He struck Herr Burkhard's tombstone with his clenched
hand.
――――――
-
"And he who sleeps here shall not prevent me! If he - the
old man
- comes, I will not let you go. And we will float up
to the tower again, and sit where we sat before; and we will
read Virgil to the end; and you must wear the rose in your cir-
clet, as if nothing whatever had happened. We will keep the
gate well locked against the duke, and we will laugh at all evil
tongues; and folks will say, as they sit at their fireplaces of a
winter's evening: That is a pretty tale of the faithful Ekkehard,
who slew the Emperor Ermanrich for hanging the Harlungen
brothers, and who afterwards sat for many hundred years before
Frau Venus's mountain, with his white staff in his hands, and
meant to sit there until the Day of Judgment to warn off all
pilgrims coming to the mountain. But at last he grew tired of
this, and ran away, and became a monk at St. Gall; and he fell
down an abyss and was killed; and he is sitting now beside
a proud, pale woman, reading Virgil to her. And at midnight
may be heard the words ringing through the Hegau: "Thou
## p. 12845 (#267) ##########################################
JOSEPH VICTOR VON SCHEFFEL
12845
And
commandest, O Queen, to renew the unspeakable sorrow. "
then she will have to kiss him, whether she will or not; for death
makes up for what life denies. '»
He had spoken with a wild, wandering look; and now his
voice failed with low weeping. Frau Hadwig had stood immov-
ably all this time. It was as if a gleam of pity shone in her
cold eyes; she bent down her head.
"Ekkehard," said she, "you must not speak of death.
madness. We live, you and I! ”
He did not stir. Then she lightly laid her hand on his burn-
ing forehead. A wild thrill flashed through his brain.
He
sprang up.
་
"You are right! " cried he. "We live
you and I! »
A dizzy darkness clouded his eyes; he stepped forward, and
winding his arms round her proud form, he fiercely pressed her
to his heart; his kiss burned on her lips. Her protest died away
unheard.
This is
――――
He raised her high up toward the altar, as if she were an
offering he was about to make.
"Why dost thou hold out thy gold glittering fingers so quietly,
instead of blessing us? " he cried out to the dark and solemn
picture.
The duchess had started like a wounded deer. One moment,
and all the passion of her hurt pride revolted within her. She
pushed the frenzied man back with a strong hand, and tore her-
self out of his embrace.
He had one arm still round her waist, when the church
door was suddenly opened, and a flaring streak of daylight broke
through the darkness; they were no longer alone. Rudimann the
cellarer, from Reichenau, stepped over the threshold; other fig-
ures became visible in the background of the court-yard.
The duchess had grown pale with shame and anger. A tress
of her long dark hair had become loosened and was streaming
down her back.
"I beg your pardon," said the man from the Reichenau, with
grinning politeness. "My eyes have beheld nothing. ”
-
Then Frau Hadwig tore herself entirely free from Ekkehard's
hold and cried out:
"Yes, I say! Yes, yes, you have seen a madman, who has
forgotten himself and God. I should be sorry for your eyes if
they had beheld nothing, for I would have had them torn out! "
## p. 12846 (#268) ##########################################
'12846
JOSEPH VICTOR VON SCHEFFEL
It was with an indescribably cold dignity that she pronounced
these words.
Then Rudimann began to understand the strange scene.
"I had forgotten," said he scornfully, "that he who stands
there is one of those to whom wise men have applied the
words of St. Hieronymus, when he says: "Their manners
more befitting dandies and bridegrooms than the elect of the
Lord. '"
are
Ekkehard stood leaning against a pillar, with arms stretched
out in the air, like Odysseus when he wanted to embrace his
mother's shade. Rudimann's words roused him from his dreams.
"Who comes between her and me? " he cried threateningly.
But Rudimann, patting him on the shoulder with an insolent
familiarity, said:-
"Calm yourself, my good friend: we have only come to de-
liver a note into your hands. St. Gallus can no longer allow
the wisest of all his disciples to remain out in the capricious,
malicious world. You are summoned home! And don't forget
-
the stick with which you are wont to ill-treat your confraters
who like to snatch a kiss at vintage-time, you chaste moralist,"
he added in a low whisper.
Ekkehard stepped back. Wild longings, the pang of separa-
tion, burning passionate love, and the added insults,- all these
stormed up in him. He hastily advanced toward Frau Hadwig;
but the chapel was already filling.
The abbot of Reichenau himself had come to have the pleas-
ure of witnessing Ekkehard's departure. "It will be a difficult
task to get him away," he had said to the cellarer.
It was easy
enough now. Monks and lay brothers came in after him.
"Sacrilege! " Rudimann called out to them. "He has laid his
wanton hand on his mistress even before the altar! "
―
Then Ekkehard boiled over. To have the most sacred secret
of his heart profaned by insolent coarseness, a pearl thrown before
swine! He tore down the everlasting lamp, and swung the heavy
vessel like a sling.
The light went out; a hollow groan was heard, the cellarer
lay with bleeding head on the stone flags. The lamp fell clat-
tering beside him. A blow, fierce struggle, wild confusion — all
was at an end with Ekkehard.
They had overpowered him; tearing off the girdle of his cowl,
they bound him.
-
## p. 12847 (#269) ##########################################
JOSEPH VICTOR VON SCHEFFEL
12847
There he stood, the handsome youthful figure, now the very
picture of woe, like the broken-winged eagle. ' He gave one
mournful, troubled, appealing look at the duchess. She turned
away.
"Do what you think right," she said to the abbot, and swept
through the throng.
IT WAS a dreary, depressing evening. The duchess had locked.
herself up in her bow-windowed room, and refused admittance to
every one.
Ekkehard had been hurried away into a dungeon by the
abbot's men. In the same tower, in the airy upper story of which
his chamber was situated, there was a damp, dark, vault; frag-
ments of old tombstones-deposited there long before when the
castle chamber had been renovated were scattered about in un-
sightly heaps. A bundle of straw had been thrown in for him,
and a monk was sitting outside to guard the entrance.
Burkhard, the monastery pupil, ran up and down, wailing and
wringing his hands. He could not understand the fate which had
befallen his uncle. The servants were all putting their heads
together, eagerly whispering and gossiping, as if the hundred-
tongued Rumor had been sitting on the roof of the castle,
spreading her falsehoods about.
"He tried to murder the duchess," said one.
-
"He has been practicing the Devil's own arts with that big
book of his," said another. "To-day is St. John's day, when the
Devil has no power, and so he could not help him. "
At the well in the court-yard stood Rudimann the cellarer, let-
ting the clear water flow over his head. Ekkehard had given
nim a sharp cut; the blood obstinately and angrily trickled down
into the water.
She was the only
Praxedis came down looking pale and sad.
soul who felt sincere pity for the prisoner. On seeing the cel-
larer, she ran into the garden, tore up a blue corn-flower with the
roots, and brought it to him.
•
"Take that," said she, "and hold it in your right hand till it
gets warm: that will stop the bleeding. Or shall I fetch you
some linen to bind up the wound? "
He shook his head.
«<
"It will stop of itself when the time comes," said he. 'Tis
not the first time that I have been bled. Keep your corn-flowers
for yourself. "
## p. 12848 (#270) ##########################################
12848
JOSEPH VICTOR VON SCHEFFEL
But Praxedis was anxious to conciliate Ekkehard's enemy.
She brought some linen: he allowed his wound to be dressed.
Not a word of thanks did he proffer.
"Are you not going to let Ekkehard out to-day? " she asked.
"To-day! " Rudimann repeated sneeringly. "Do you feel in-
clined to weave a garland for the standard-bearer of Antichrist,
-the leading horse of Satan's car, whom you have petted and
spoiled up here as if he were the darling son Benjamin ?
day! In a month ask again over there! "
He pointed toward the Helvetian mountains.
Praxedis was frightened. "What are you going to do with
him? "
"What is right," replied Rudimann with a dark look. "Wan-
tonness, deeds of violence, disobedience, haughtiness, sacrilege,
blasphemy-there are scarcely names enough for all his nefarious
acts; but thank God, there are yet means for their expiation! "
He made a gesture with his hand like that of flogging. "Ah,
yes, plenty of means of expiation, gentle mistress! We will write
the catalogue of his sins on his skin. "
"Have pity! " said Praxedis: "he is a sick man. ”
"For that very reason we are going to cure him. When
he has been tied to the pillar, and half a dozen rods have been
flogged to pieces on his bent back, then all his spleen and his
devilries will vanish! "
"For God's sake! " exclaimed the Greek girl.
"Calm yourself: there are better things yet. A stray lamb
must be delivered up to the fold it belongs to. There he will
find good shepherds who will look after the rest. Sheep-shearing,
little girl, sheep-shearing! There they will cut off his hair,
which will make his head cooler; and if you feel inclined to
make a pilgrimage to St. Gall a year hence, you will see on
Sundays and holidays some one standing barefooted before the
church door, and his head will be as bare as a stubble-field,
and the penitential garb will become him very nicely. What do
you think? The heathenish practices with Virgil are at an end
now. "
"He is innocent! " said Praxedis.
«< Oh," said the cellarer sneeringly, we shall never harm a
single hair of innocence! He need only prove himself so by
God's ordeal. If he takes the gold ring out of the kettle of boil-
ing water with unburnt arm, our abbot himself will give him the
blessing; and I will say that it was all a delusion of the Devil's
## p. 12849 (#271) ##########################################
JOSEPH VICTOR VON SCHEFFEL
12849
own making when my eyes beheld his Holiness, Brother Ekke-
hard, clasping your mistress in his arms. "
Praxedis wept.
•
•
·
"Cellarmaster, you are a wicked man! " she cried; and turned
her back on him.
"Have you any further commands? " she asked, once more
looking back.
"Yes, thou Greek insect! A jug of vinegar, if you please. I
want to lay my rods in it: the writing is clearer then, and does
not fade away so soon. Never before have I flogged an inter-
preter of Virgil. He deserves particular attention. "
Burkhard, the monastery pupil, was sitting under the linden-
tree, still sobbing. Praxedis, as she passed, gave him a kiss. It
was done to spite the cellarer.
She went up to the duchess, intending to prostrate herself
and intercede for Ekkehard; but the door remained locked against
her. Frau Hadwig was deeply irritated. If the monks of the
Reichenau had not come in upon them, she might have pardoned
Ekkehard's audacity, for she herself had indeed sowed the seeds
of all that had grown to such portentous results; but now it had
become a public scandal, it demanded punishment. The fear of
evil tongues influences many an action.
The abbot had caused to be put into her hands the summons
from St. Gall. St. Benedict's rules, said the letter, exacted not
only the outward forms of a monastic life, but also the actual
conformity of body and soul to its discipline. Ekkehard was to
return. Passages from Gunzo's diatribe were quoted against him.
It was all the same to her. What his fate would be in the
hands of his antagonists, she knew quite well. Yet she was
determined to do nothing for him.
Praxedis knocked at her door a second time, but it was not
opened.
"O thou poor moth," said she sadly.
Ekkehard lay in his dungeon like one who had dreamt some
wild dream. Four bare walls surrounded him; above there was
a faint gleam of light. Often he trembled as if shivering with
cold. After a while a melancholy smile of resignation began to
hover round his lips, but it did not settle there; now and again
he would clench his fists in a fit of fierce anger.
It is the same with the human mind as with the sea: though
the tempest may have blown over for a long time, the billowing
surge is even stronger and more impetuous than before; and
XXII-804
## p. 12850 (#272) ##########################################
12850
JOSEPH VICTOR VON SCHEFFEL
some mighty chaotic breaker dashes wildly up and drives the
sea-gulls away from the rocks.
But Ekkehard's heart was not yet broken. It was still too
young for that. He began to reflect on his position. The view
into the future was not very cheering. He knew the rules of
his order, and monastic customs, and he knew that the men from
Reichenau were his enemies.
With big strides he paced up and down the narrow room.
"Great God, whom we may invoke in the hour of affliction,
how will all this end? "
He shut his eyes and threw himself on the bundle of straw.
Confused visions passed before his soul, and he saw with his
inward eye of the spirit how they would drag him out in the
early morning. The abbot would be sitting on his high stone.
chair, holding the crosier as a sign that it was a court of judg
ment; and then they would read out a long bill of complaints
against him. All this in the same court-yard in which he had
once sprung out of the litter with such a jubilant heart, and in
which he had preached his sermon against the Huns on that sol-
emn Good Friday; and the men of the court would be gnashing
their teeth against him!
"What shall I do? " thought he. "With my hand on my
heart and my eyes raised toward heaven, I shall say,
is not guilty! ' But the judges will say, 'Prove it! ' The big
copper kettle will be brought; the fire lighted beneath; the water
will hiss and bubble up. The abbot draws off the golden ring
from his finger. They push up the right sleeve of his habit;
solemn penitential psalms resound. I conjure thee, spirit of the
water, that the Devil quit thee, and that thou serve the Lord
to make known the truth, like to the fiery furnace of the King.
of Babylon when he had the three men thrown into it! ' — Thus
the abbot addresses the boiling water; and 'Dip thy arm and
fetch forth the ring,' says he to the accused. - Righteous God,
what judgment will thy ordeal give? "
Wild doubts beset Ekkehard's soul. He believed in himself
and his good cause, but his faith was less strong in the dreadful
means by which priestcraft and church laws sought to arrive at
God's decision.
In the library of his monastery there was a little book bear-
ing the title, 'Against the Inveterate Error of the Belief that
through Fire, Water, or Single Combat, the Truth of God's Judg
ment can be Revealed. '
## p. 12851 (#273) ##########################################
JOSEPH VICTOR VON SCHEFFEL
12851
This book he had once read; and he remembered it well. It
was to prove that with these ordeals, which were an inheritance
from the ancient heathen time, it was as the excellent Gottfried
of Strassburg has expressed it in later days:
"Der heilig Christ
Windschaffen wie ein Ärmel ist. ” *
"And if no miracle is performed? »
His thoughts were inclined to despondency and despair.
"With burnt arm and proclaimed guilty, condemned to be
flogged, while she perhaps would stand on the balcony looking
on, as if it were done to an entire stranger! - Lord of heaven
and earth, send down thy lightning! "
-
Yet hope does not entirely forsake even the most miserable.
Then again he imagined how, through all this shame and
misery, a piercing "Stop! " would be heard: she comes rushing.
down with disheveled locks and in her rustling ducal mantle,
and drives his tormentors away, as the Savior drove out the usur-
ers from the temple. And she presents him her hand and lips
for the kiss of reconciliation.
Long and ardently his fantasy dwelt on that beautiful possi-
bility; a breath of consolation came to him; he spoke in the
words of the Preacher: "As gold is purified from dross in the
fire, so the heart of man is purified by sorrow. ' We will wait
and see what will happen. "
He heard a slight noise in the antechamber of his dungeon.
A stone jug was put down.
"You are to drink like a man," said a voice to the lay brother
on guard; "for on St. John's night all sorts of unearthly vis-
itors people the air and pass over our castle. So you must take
care to keep your courage up.
There's another jug for you
too. "
It was Praxedis who had brought the wine.
Ekkehard did not understand what she wanted. "Then she also
is false," thought he. "God protect me! "
He closed his eyes and fell asleep. After a good while he
was awakened. The wine had evidently been to the lay brother's
taste: he was singing a song in praise of the four goldsmiths
who once on a time had refused to make heathenish idols at
Rome, and suffered martyrdom. With his heavy sandal-clad foot
he was beating time on the stone flags. Ekkehard heard another
*«The good Lord is as much the sport of the wind as a sleeve. "
## p. 12852 (#274) ##########################################
12852
JOSEPH VICTOR VON SCHEFFEL
jug of wine brought to the man. The singing became loud and
uproarious. Then he held a soliloquy, in which he had much
to say about Italy and good fare, and "Santa Agnese fuori le
mura. " Then he ceased talking. The prisoner could distinctly
hear his snoring through the stone walls.
·
The castle was silent. It was about midnight. Ekkehard
lay in a doze, when it seemed to him as if the bolts were softly
drawn. He remained lying on his straw. A figure came in; a
soft hand was laid on the slumberer's forehead. He jumped up.
"Hush! " whispered his visitor.
« The
When all had gone to rest, Praxedis had kept awake.
