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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Hour Will Come: Volumes I and II, by
+Wilhelmine von Hillern
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Hour Will Come: Volumes I and II
+       A Tale of an Alpine Cloister
+
+Author: Wilhelmine von Hillern
+
+Translator: Clara Bell
+
+Release Date: July 21, 2011 [EBook #36811]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HOUR WILL COME: VOLS I, II ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's Notes:
+
+   1. Page scan source:
+      http://www.archive.org/details/hourwillcomeata00firgoog
+
+   2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].
+
+   3. Vol. I and II are reprinted here as Collection of German Authors,
+      Vols. 37 and 38.
+
+
+
+
+
+                              COLLECTION
+
+                                  OF
+
+                            GERMAN AUTHORS.
+
+                                VOL. 37.
+
+                           *   *   *   *   *
+
+                 THE HOUR WILL COME BY W. von HILLERN.
+
+                            IN TWO VOLUMES.
+
+                                VOL. I.
+
+
+
+
+
+"All that Time brings, Time also sweeps away. Therefore have the
+fathers recorded the deeds of men for their grandchildren."
+
+                              Goswin. Chronik von Marienberg. 13..
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                                  THE
+
+                             HOUR WILL COME
+
+                      A TALE OF AN ALPINE CLOISTER
+
+
+                                   BY
+                        WILHELMINE von HILLERN,
+                               AUTHOR OF
+              "THE VULTURE MAIDEN (DIE GEIER--WALLY)" ETC.
+
+
+                            FROM THE GERMAN
+                                   BY
+                              CLARA BELL.
+
+
+                        IN TWO VOLUMES.--VOL. I.
+
+                          _Copyright Edition_.
+
+
+
+                              LEIPZIG 1879
+
+                          BERNHARD TAUCHNITZ.
+
+           LONDON: SAMPSON LAW, MARSTON, SEARLE & RIVINGTON.
+                  CROWN BUILDINGS, 188, FLEET STREET.
+
+           PARIS: C. REINWALD & Cie, 15 RUE DES SAINTS PERES.
+
+       _The Author reserves the Right of dramatizing this Tale_.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                          THE HOUR WILL COME.
+
+
+
+
+                               PROLOGUE.
+
+                     ST. VALENTINE'S ON THE HEATH.
+
+
+The heath or moorland plateau of Mals lies wide--spread, silent, and
+deserted where the lofty head of the Grossortler towers up, and
+overlooks it in eternal calm. It is five centuries ago--a mere moment
+in that world of everlasting snows; the keen autumn wind, as at this
+day, is rushing through the grey halms of the charlock, woodrush and
+heathgrasses, that have caught a doubtful, golden gleam reflected from
+the glaciers which are bathed in the glow of the sinking sun; as at
+this day, the gale packs the driving white clouds together in the still
+highland valley, as though to rest for the night. They heave and roll
+noiselessly, spreading a white, misty sheet over the withered
+heathgrass. The mirror-surface of the moorland tarn lies lead-coloured
+and dull, wrinkled by the night-breeze, and its icy waters trickle in
+tiny rills over the bare plain and down to the valley. All is the same
+as it is to this day! Only life is wanting, life warm and busy, which
+in these days is stirring in the villages and homesteads that dot the
+plain, and that have brought the dead moorland into tilth and
+fertility. Profound silence reigns over the immeasurable level,
+throughout its length and breadth no living thing stirs; it is as if
+this were indeed the neutral space between Heaven and Hell--a vast,
+eternal void! Only the monotonous murmur of the Etsch--that cold artery
+of the desolate heath--and the roar of the winds that sweep at night
+across the plateau; these are the eerie voices of this realm of death.
+
+Woe to the lonely pilgrim who is wandering through the night in this
+boundless desert, in storm and snow, in impenetrable darkness; he is
+lost in nothingness, owned by neither Heaven nor Hell, and the earth
+knows him not! No ear can hear his cry for help, it is lost in vacancy;
+the raven and the wolf mark him down, but they tell no one of their
+mute prey.
+
+It is true that pitying love has penetrated even to this wilderness and
+realm of death, and spreads her arms so far as they may reach; but they
+are but human arms, weak and inadequate for the great divine mind that
+animates them. Every evening, above the howling of the storm and the
+roaring of the highland lake, as dusk creeps on, the Vesper bell rings
+softly out like the beat of some metallic heart. Then a dull-red,
+flaring blaze is suddenly seen, which parts into wandering storm-blown
+flakes of flame that disperse themselves about the moor till they
+vanish in the mist and darkness. The shepherd and lay-brethren it is,
+who go forth with torches and biers from the Hospice of Saint Valentine
+in the moor, which pious faith has erected for the lost traveller here
+in the wilderness. Defying the warring elements, they seek in silent
+and fearless devotion the strayed, the perishing, and the hungry, and
+bring them in to the warm hearth of humanity. Happy is he whom they
+find, he is rescued--but the moor is wide, and they are but a forlorn
+little handful of men, not all-knowing nor all-seeing.
+
+
+The sun went down early in angry red; it grows darker and darker. Heavy
+clouds are packed over the evening sky, the last glimmer of starlight
+is extinguished, all is as dark as though no light survived in Heaven
+or earth; for a moment even the howling, shrieking winds are silent,
+which nightly carry on their demon-dance round and across the heath;
+but from the distance looms a nameless, formless something, a thunder
+roll is heard, soft at first like the sound of slow, heavy wheels, then
+nearer and nearer--a terror, invisible, intangible but crushing, shakes
+the earth to its foundation. Slowly it surges on, like a deep groan of
+rage long controlled only to break out all the more fearfully in
+raving, annihilating fury. The snow-storm, the first of the year,
+sweeps down from the Grossortler over the bare trembling heath--a
+mighty, moving mass rolls on before it that breaks incessantly into
+powder, and is incessantly renewed--as if the winds had torn the
+eternal mantle of snow from the shoulders of the numberless glaciers,
+and were flinging it down from the heights. A giant wall reaches from
+earth to sky; snow, snow everywhere. Touched by the icy breath, the
+shapeless mists over lake and river curdle and turn to snow, the light
+evening-clouds form compact masses of snow--whirling pillars that bury
+everything in their wild dance; the very air is turned to snow, there
+is no tiniest space between sky and earth that is not filled with snow.
+The whole moor is overwhelmed in it, and is one vast, white bed, where
+the storm and night may work their wild will.
+
+But hark! a cry of distress, from a spot between the two lakes and far,
+far from the sheltering Hospice. It is the cry of a human being that
+shares that fearful bed with the night and the storm--a woman who lies
+sunk to the knees under the cold, crushing coverlet of snow, and on her
+breast a newborn baby-boy, closely clasped in her stiffened arms and
+wrapped in her cloak. The milk which flows from the young mother's
+bosom to nourish her infant has frozen above her fluttering heart, and
+the tears on her closed lashes are turned to ice. There she lies. "Poor
+feeble mother, who has thrust thee out in this night of storm and
+tumult for your child to be born under the open sky?" Thus ask the
+storm and the wild uproar of the elements; and as if even they had pity
+for the wretched soul, the wind carries the mother's cry of anguish
+over her starving infant, bears it on its wings to the scattered party
+of seeking, rescuing monks. "Be quick, make haste before it is too
+late."
+
+And they hear it, these bold wrestlers with death, themselves
+half-buried in the snow, and they set out, wading, digging, shovelling,
+till the sweat of their brows runs down on their frozen beards, ever
+listening without a word, without a sound after that tremulous
+wind-borne cry.
+
+And these storm-proof hearts quake with dread and pity for the hapless
+wretch to whose help they are hastening; they go forward painfully on
+their deadly and toilsome way, heeding neither danger nor difficulty,
+with only one purpose and one aim before their eyes--a struggle for
+life with Death.
+
+At last--it is close by--at last they hear a faint cry; even the
+death-stricken woman hears them approaching, she collects her remaining
+strength and once more opens her eye-lids, on which the restless
+whirling snow has already dropped a white shroud; a red gleam meets her
+sight, she hears the scraping of iron shovels, the burden that weighs
+on her breast and on her feet gets lighter and lighter--here are light
+and human voices--a shout of deliverance--of joy. Round her opened
+grave stand the snow-whitened storm-beaten group in a flood of red
+light from the flaring torches, their eyes shining with the divine
+light of devoted love which has triumphed over danger and death. And
+they raise her in their rough hands, they lift her out of her cold
+tomb, they wrap her and the naked child in warm hair-cloth coats and
+carry her home under the sheltering roof of holy Valentine.
+
+"Salve, Frater Florentinus! we bring a precious prize," says one of the
+brethren triumphantly to the silver-bearded old man who opens the heavy
+creaking door. "A young mother and a new born boy--snatched from
+death."
+
+"Deo gratias!" murmurs the old man in a voice husky from age. "The Lord
+will bless your labours. Come in quickly, the wind is blowing the snow
+in."
+
+They step in and the door falls to with a groan. The storm outside
+snorts and rages and hurls against the door, like some wild beast
+robbed of its prey, but the door is tight and fast, and within all is
+quiet and warm; a smoking pine torch is burning in an iron bracket
+fixed to one of the pillars of the entrance hall, and throws wavering
+shadows and red lights on the grey stone walls and the black wooden
+crucifix which spreads out its arms to welcome all who enter.
+
+"Come, hapless suffering mother, here you may find rest," says the old
+man compassionately, and he opens a low, iron-plated door at the
+farther end of the hall, through which the procession passes in silence
+into a room which is at once the guest-chamber, the kitchen, and the
+refectory of the pious brotherhood, and the only warm room in the
+little Refuge, whose walls are thicker than its rooms are wide. A vast
+chimney-place like a roof projects into the half-dark hall, its broad
+shadow cast on the vaulted roof by the crackling fire that burns
+beneath it. From the ceiling hangs a small iron oil-lamp covered with
+cobwebs and giving too dismal and dim a light to illuminate the whole
+room. Over the fire hangs a cauldron in which a warm mess is stewing
+for the brethren and for any one they may bring with them on their
+return, half-frozen, from the desert outside; the roughly hewn seats
+stand round an octagon table, which is immoveably fixed in the middle
+of the room on strong supports. The only decoration in the whole
+smoke-blackened hall is a picture of St. Valentine, who, himself of
+gigantic proportions, stands preaching the gospel on the open heath to
+a crowd of very small devotees; the thick clouds of smoke which, all
+the winter through, are puffed back from the chimney by the stormy
+gusts, have blackened this picture also; yet it is the most treasured
+possession of the brotherhood. It was painted by Father Columbanus of
+the monastery at Marienberg, and Father Columbanus was an enlightened
+and inspired man, to whom the saints were wont to appear in nightly
+visions that he might depict them. This picture of Saint Valentine was
+the last vision that he saw and painted, for he died shortly after; so
+it is of double value! Under the picture hangs a holy-water vessel of
+terra-cotta.
+
+On the heavy, rough-hewn table there are wooden platters in which each
+man receives his share as it is taken out of the cooking pot, and a
+wooden spoon lies by each. This is all the furniture of the bare room;
+but such as it is, to the suffering, storm-lashed woman it is full of
+unspeakable comfort--a city of refuge from the raging wilderness
+without. She is silent, but her eye rests with an unearthly glitter on
+the rough, weather-beaten figures, who carry her at once to the chimney
+and with clumsy hospitality press her to take a little of the warm
+mess. Then, with a quiet bustle, they make her a couch by the glowing
+fire; a sack of straw, a pillow filled with white moss, and for
+coverlet a woolly sheep-skin--this is all the house has to offer, but
+it is a delicious couch after the fearful bed out on the moor--a couch
+prepared by careful and kindly human hands. With bashful awkwardness
+they untie the band of her tangled golden hair, take off her wet
+outside garment and wrap her in a warm, dry monk's frock, then they lay
+the frail and trembling form carefully on the bed and put the pale,
+half dead baby on her arm. The frozen fount of the mother's breast
+thaws under the warm wrapper, the child finds its natural food, and
+breathes and lives again. The brethren stand aside in silence, and
+tears run down their lean cheeks.
+
+"May the holy mother of God protect thee--poor young mother!" says the
+grey-haired brother Florentinus, laying a little metal image of the
+Virgin on the suffering woman's breast. "We are unlearned men,
+unskilled in serving sick ladies and ignorant of what may comfort you
+in your suffering; but this image is of great virtue and famous for
+many miracles. It will bestow its grace on you too if your past life
+has not rendered you unworthy to receive it."
+
+The young woman looked him calmly and frankly in the face.
+
+"Holy brother," said she, "I am miserable and poor, and have not where
+to lay my head, but in that shelter which Heaven provides for the
+wretched under the sacred convent roof. But I was faithful, reverend
+brother, faithful and obedient at all times!" She pressed the image
+long and fervently to her lips, and silently told her sorrows to the
+All-pitying Mother.
+
+"Most times when a young wife's first-born is brought into the world a
+loving grandmother bends over her bed and takes thought for everything,
+and a young father rocks his first-born tenderly on his arms. But I, O
+Mother of Grace! am cast off and homeless, and have no one but Thee."
+
+And as the nourishing fount flows freely for her sucking child, the
+frozen fountain of her soul thaws too, and overflows from her closed
+eyelids in hot but restful tears. The Heavenly Mother bends lovingly
+and soothingly over her; the worn out woman rests her weary head on the
+unseen but omnipresent and ever-merciful bosom, and overcome by deadly
+exhaustion she falls asleep. The brethren slip off their wooden shoes,
+and walk barefoot on the stone flags so as not to disturb the exhausted
+woman. She looks to them like a martyr as she lies there--so calm, with
+the baby that has also gone to sleep looking like a glorified angel.
+The flickering fire throws changing lights and shadows on her crisply
+curling hair, making it seem like a crown of thorns; the brethren
+observe the resemblance, and point to it in silence.
+
+Old Florentinus meanwhile does not forget temporal interests for the
+sake of eternal ones. He busily steals about the room on tip-toe, and
+carries the stranger's garments to the fire to dry, and for the first
+time he sees that there is a richly embroidered border at the hem of
+the dress, which glitters in the fire-light, and that the tattered
+shoes are embroidered by a skilful hand; he silently shows these
+ornaments to the brethren, and they shake their heads in astonishment.
+Then he lifts the cauldron from the fire, and dispenses the steaming
+contents into the platters with a sign to his companions; they obey the
+signal with but small alacrity, they are in no mood to eat. Noiselessly
+they draw up to the table, offer up a grace, and take the simple meal
+of barley and water standing. The thoughtful old man puts by a little
+of it for the sick woman. Then they cross themselves before the picture
+of St. Valentine, and withdraw each to his own cell, carefully closing
+the clumsy doors behind them. The old man only remains to watch the
+sick woman, and he seats himself in silence on the stone window-seat at
+the farther end of the room, telling his beads. The storm still roars
+round the house in long and violent gusts, but it can do it no
+mischief, for poor and bare as it is, it is built of strong masonry, a
+fortress against wind and weather, and the narrow air-openings are so
+deeply imbedded in the thick walls that no draught can pour in through
+them; only now and then the wind rushes howling down the chimney, and
+flings the crackling flames and smoke out into the room, so that the
+sick woman is startled from her painful slumbers; then all is still
+again. The child sighs softly in its sleep as if dreaming of future
+sorrow; the mother's breathing goes on in regular rhythm, and even the
+old watcher leans his weary head in the niche in the wall, and falls
+asleep. Only the gigantic saint on the wall preaches unweariedly on to
+his dwarfed heathen in the light of the dying lamp, and the little
+figures seem to move and dance dreamily in the growing darkness.
+
+Suddenly a cry of pain broke from the lips of the sick woman; the old
+man rose and went to the bed-side. She lay there quite changed, almost
+unconscious, her eyes sunken, her lips blue; the hand of death had
+passed over her face. She was seized with a violent trembling, and the
+bed quaked under her.
+
+"What is the matter?" asked the brother in alarm. "Will you have a
+little food? It is standing here by the fire--or shall I make you a
+drink of warming herbs?" and he hastily threw some more wood on to the
+embers.
+
+"Good brother," she replied, and her white teeth showed below her upper
+lip like those of a corpse, "neither food nor drink can help me any
+more. As it must come, let it come--I am dying; and when I tell you
+that I walked with my unborn child from Goerz as far as this, and that
+the boy was born on the heath where I was all alone and helpless, you
+cannot wonder at it. Hear my confession, and grant me extreme unction."
+
+The old man's eyes overflowed with tears. "Alas, poor flower, who can
+so pitilessly have plucked you, and flung you away to wither, and fall
+to pieces in the winter-storm. And we are so unskilled in all medical
+knowledge, and must see you die so miserably when we would so willingly
+rescue you!"
+
+"Do not weep for me, reverend father," she said calmly; "all is well
+with me, I am going to rest in the lap of our Blessed Mother. But my
+poor child--he loses his mother just as I am finding mine. Take charge
+of him, I beseech you, he has no one in the world--he is wholly
+forlorn!"
+
+"It shall be as you wish," said the old man. "You may rely on that in
+perfect confidence--you may die in peace on that score."
+
+"Then take my boy without delay to the venerable Abbot Conrad of Amatia
+at Marienberg. Tell him that the outcast wife of Swyker of Reichenberg
+sends the child to him as her last bequest, that she dedicated him to
+the church in a sorrowful hour, and the venerable man will help a poor
+soul to keep her vow."
+
+"In the name of all the saints!" cried the monk. "You, the most noble
+lady of Reichenberg? You, the guardian spirit and good angel of all the
+country round! Married only nine months since, if we were rightly
+informed? How, tell me, how come you here in this wild spot without one
+of your friends, cast out like the poorest beggar or like some
+criminal!"
+
+"You say rightly, reverend father," she said quietly, and a gleam of
+the reviving fire fell like a glory on her pale brow, "I was banished
+like a criminal, and thrust out to be a prey to the fowls of the air, I
+and the child, the son of a noble house. And yet I am not guilty of
+that of which I was accused, although God himself was pleased to bear
+witness against me." A fresh shivering fit came over her, and shook her
+as the autumn wind shakes the faded leaves from the trees.
+
+"My time is short--I will make a short story," she said in a failing
+voice. "It is nine months to-day since the noble Lord of Reichenberg,
+as you know, married me from the house of Ramuess, and soon after
+we went to Goerz, the gay court of Albert, the count of Tyrol and
+Goerz.--Egno of Amatia, the companion of my childhood, went with us. Oh!
+would we had never gone there--I have never had an hour of happiness
+since! The countess of Eppan, a beautiful woman of courtly manners and
+accomplishments, stole my husband's heart and with it his confidence in
+me; I had to look on while it happened, helpless and with no one to
+counsel me, a simple woman, having grown up in a quiet town in the
+Lower Engadine--ignorant of the world and of its wickedness. And
+then--how can I say it--she whispered to my husband that I and Egno of
+Amatia--! Oh! reverend Brother, spare me, spare me--If death had not
+already frozen my blood with his cold breath I should blush purple with
+shame!"
+
+"I understand you, noble Lady," said the old man.
+
+"My husband believed the falsehood and--oh! that I should have to say
+it--disowned his child. He challenged Egno of Amatia to ordeal by
+combat. Reverend Father, the ways of the Almighty are inscrutable and
+wise--why He, who proves the heart and reins, abandoned the innocent, I
+cannot understand; but it was His holy will--and so it fell out. Egno
+fell, slain by my husband's hand. God himself was witness against
+me--and so my deluded husband cast me out--me and my child. 'Go--bring
+your child into the world to be meat for the birds and wolves, and if
+tender hands take pity on it, may it be accursed and they who rescue it
+also. It is the fruit of sinful love and by sinful love may it perish!'
+So he spoke and put me out of his house, and in order that the curse
+may not take effect, worthy father, I dedicated the child to the
+cloister before it saw the light, for where can it be safer than within
+convent walls. I was trying to reach St. Gertrude's, the convent in the
+Muensterthal--a well-beloved home.--There I thought to have given birth
+to my child. If it were a girl it was to belong to St. Gertrude--if a
+boy, I would take it to Marienberg. My brother is there and the Abbot
+is well known to me, and kindly disposed towards me--he is of the house
+of Amatia and will receive the child, who is an outcast for his
+relation's sake, and will bring it up to a holy life in the Lord, so
+that it can incur no curse and fall into no sinful love. Swear to me
+that you will report all this to him, faithfully--as I tell it to
+you--!"
+
+"I swear it by this picture of the Blessed Virgin, who henceforth will
+be a mother to your son, born in sorrow. You have dedicated him to
+Heaven, and Heaven will accept him--because the gift is pure. I promise
+you in the name of the brethren of Marienberg that they will keep and
+cherish your child so that the curse may not be accomplished." And the
+old man sprinkled the baby with holy water and laid his withered hand
+in blessing on his head. The mother suddenly stretched herself out with
+a wonderful smile of peace. Her child was safe now, she could die
+content.
+
+"Make haste, give me the last sacraments, I am near my end!" The old
+man went to wake the brethren--startled, they hurried out of their
+rooms and gathered round the dying woman's bed. She still breathed, but
+with difficulty, and speech had failed her; but her lips could still
+receive the sacred viaticum and smile.
+
+All was still as death in the room; the brethren prayed softly, the old
+man concluded the sacred office and made the sign of the cross. Yet
+three more feeble breaths--and all was over. The old man closed the
+sightless eyes and gently took the sleeping infant from its dead
+mother's side.
+
+"Come, poor little one, there is no home on earth for you--you belong
+to Heaven."
+
+He wrapped the boy in a warm lamb-skin and lighted a torch at the sooty
+lamp.
+
+"Where are you going, brother Florentine? Are you going out in this
+stormy night, and with the tender infant?" asked one of the brethren.
+"Shall we not accompany you!"
+
+"No! the child's guardian spirit is with me--I need no human aid. You
+stay here to pray by the corpse."
+
+"Wait at least till the morning," said even the rough shepherd, the
+secular Superior of the convent.
+
+"A vow will not bear any postponement!" said the old man, and with the
+new-born child in his arms he quitted the room where its mother's body
+was lying. The baby was torn from its mother's breast, torn from the
+source of its life; and as if the unconscious child felt the sorrowful
+parting it struggled and cried and fought against the bony, masculine
+arm that carried it. The old man stepped out of the convent; once more
+the heath received the outcast and homeless infant with wild cries from
+the storm; the snowfall was over and an icy blast had frozen the
+endless expanse of snow quite hard. The old monk's steps crunched upon
+it, and the evanescent crystals sparkled with a million rays where the
+flare of the torch fell, so that he made his onward way through the
+darkness, in the midst of a glory of light. He felt as if it were
+Christmas Evening, and as if the angel who guided the three kings were
+leading him too on the way, to conduct the child to his Holy Companion
+in the manger--to the Child above all children and the city of
+salvation. The star on the angel's brow threw a soft light in his path,
+he felt the mighty fanning of his wings on his hoary temples, and he
+sang joyful praise to the Lord in his heart while he marched stoutly
+forward through that stormy, glorious night of wonders.
+
+
+
+
+                                BOOK I.
+
+                             UNDER A CURSE.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER I.
+
+
+High up on the rocks above the village of Burgeis stands a watch tower
+of faith, the monastery of Marienberg, with heaven-reaching towers and
+pinnacles, proudly looking far out and down into the night. Torn, and
+as though weary, the clouds hang about the mountain peaks that surround
+it, and the snow storm beats its exhausted wings against the mighty
+walls; it has spent its rage over night and its power is broken. Now
+and again between the parting clouds glimmers the pale crescent of the
+setting moon; below, in the valley, a cock crows betimes to announce
+the coming morning, but up in the convent as well as down in the
+village all are sunk in sleep, no ray of light illumines any one of the
+numberless rows of windows, with their small round panes set in lead;
+only in the porter's room on the ground floor a feeble light is burning
+and keeping watch for the sleeping door-keeper. Three blows of the huge
+iron ring on the back door are suddenly heard. The porter starts up,
+his lamp has burnt low, warning him that it will soon be morning. He
+goes out with his clattering bunch of keys in his hand; meanwhile the
+knocking has been hastily and imperatively repeated.
+
+"Who is out there at this early hour?" He asks cautiously.
+
+"The beginning and the end--an infant and an old man," is the answer.
+
+"What am I to understand by that?"
+
+"Open the door and then you will know."
+
+"I must first fetch the Superior. At such an unwonted hour I cannot
+open to any one without his sanction." And he goes back into the house
+and wakes the Superior, who glances with alarm at the hour-glass
+thinking he has overslept himself. It will soon be the hour of matins.
+
+"Come out quickly," cried the gatekeeper. "A stranger asks to be
+admitted--I dared not open the gate without your permission."
+
+The Superior threw on his frock and cowl and stepped out.
+
+"An old man and a child--as he says--" continued the porter, as they
+crossed the courtyard.
+
+"Open the gate," said the Superior, as the wail of an infant apprised
+him that the stranger outside had spoken the truth. The porter obeyed
+and at the door, with the infant on one arm and in his other hand the
+torch, stood the old monk from St. Valentine's.
+
+"Blessed be the Lord Christ! Brother Florentinus! How come you here
+this wild night--and what have we here for a whimpering visitor?" cried
+the Superior, admitting the old man.
+
+"Aye, you would never have thought that my stiff old arms would be
+bringing round such a fragile, wriggling thing.--But take me quickly to
+the reverend Abbot that we may take counsel in the matter--for the
+child is hungry and needs womanly care."
+
+"The bell will soon call to matins," said the Superior. "Wait here in
+the court-yard till the first stroke, and then you will be sure that no
+bad spirit crosses the threshold with you. Meanwhile I will go and
+announce you to his reverence, the Abbot."
+
+"Aye, you are right, brother, the child must enter the convent at a
+lucky hour, for he must stay in for ever."
+
+The Superior asked no more--the brethren were accustomed to suppress
+all curiosity and to accept inexplicable occurrences in silence. He
+went in and the gate-keeper remained outside with the old man. They
+stood there expectant, till the first stroke should sound that should
+scare away the hordes of bad night-spirits.
+
+Florentinus extinguished his torch, for the light from the porter's
+window lighted up the narrow court-yard.
+
+"To-day is a great festival, and the fathers were making preparations
+far into the night," said the porter. "You did not think of that?"
+
+"I do not know what you mean," said the old man. "To-day is no saint's
+day?"
+
+"This day, a hundred years ago, anno Domini 1150, the edifice of this
+godly house was begun by Ulrich of Trasp, and a great thanksgiving
+service is to be performed in honour of the noble founder."
+
+"To be sure I might have known it. Your house is ten years younger than
+ours and we too, ten years since, had a thanksgiving to our founder,
+Ulrich Primele."
+
+"But you must not let our reverend brethren hear you say that our
+foundation is younger than yours, for they may take it ill in you. You
+know of course that our holy house was built two hundred years ago at
+Schuls, and was only transferred here because at Schuls and at St.
+Stephen we were so often visited by fire and avalanches."
+
+"I know, I know," nodded the old man. "I did not mean to cast any
+reflection on the venerable antiquity of your foundation. God grant it
+may increase and prosper. It is still a sure bulwark against the decay
+of all conventual discipline in these days--God save us--the rule of
+St. Benedict is often followed in outward semblance only, but your
+severity is everywhere famous."
+
+"Now!" said the guardian, opening the door for the old man. Solemnly
+and with silvery clearness, the bell for matins rang out. Inside the
+convent, all was alive at once. One after another, the windows were
+lighted up but without noise, as in a magic lantern. Brother
+Florentinus stepped into the hall. Door after door opened, and the dark
+figures of the monks slipped out in their soft sandals, and glided
+noiselessly down to the chapel along the long corridor. The deepest
+"silentium" reigned in the dusky passages and halls--that sacred
+silence by which the still dormant soul prepares itself to wake up to
+prayer. But the crying of the hungry baby disturbed the solemn
+stillness, and the fathers paused in astonishment, and gathered full of
+wonder and bewilderment round the screaming child. The guardian called
+the old man to come into the refectory with the infant, and the
+brethren went in to matins, shaking their heads over this strange
+visit. The Abbot, a reverend man of near seventy years, was standing in
+the refectory when Florentinus entered.
+
+"What is this strange story that our brother, the Prior, tells me? You,
+Florentinus, bring us a child--a new-born infant. Where, in the name of
+all the saints, did you pick it up, and what have we to do with the
+helpless baby?"
+
+"Most reverend Abbot, kindly lend me your attentive ear, and then your
+questions will be answered. But first of all I beseech your grace to
+allow that a woman may be fetched out of the village to suckle the
+child, for it has been starving these three hours."
+
+"That cannot be, Brother Florentinus; a woman in the convent! What are
+you thinking about? You know very well that our order allows no women
+but princesses to come within our walls."
+
+"Your reverence, it _must_ be," said Florentine fearlessly; "I promised
+the babe's dying mother in your name that it should be received this
+day within the sheltering walls of Marienberg, and 'he will help a poor
+soul to keep her vow,' the dying woman said. He is the child of the
+noble Lady of Reichenberg."
+
+The Abbot clasped his hands.
+
+"What--where did you see her?"
+
+"We found her at night on the heath, where her child had been born out
+in the snow. She is now lying in our house at St. Valentine's--dead."
+
+The Abbot grasped his forehead with his hand as if he thought he was
+dreaming.
+
+"The Lady of Reichenberg, the angel of Ramuess! What has happened to
+her?"
+
+"She was repudiated by her husband on account of your relative Egno of
+Amatia; he fell in trial by combat. But the wife was innocent
+nevertheless, the child is Swyker of Reichenberg's child; but he cast
+it out to the birds of the air, and loaded it with the heaviest curses.
+In order that the curses might not take effect, she dedicated it to the
+cloister."
+
+The Abbot Conrad took the child tenderly in his arms.
+
+"Yes, poor orphan, you shall find a home here; none on earth are
+motherless to whom the church opens her sheltering bosom."
+
+Then he went to the door, and called the Superior.
+
+"Hasten without delay down into the village, and find some good
+woman who will undertake to care for the infant's bodily needs; the
+convent will reward her richly. She may live in the Lady Uta's east
+turret-chamber; there she will be hidden from the eyes of the brethren;
+and you may also open the Lady Uta's chest for her use and the baby's.
+Make the room ready so that it may look comfortable and habitable, and
+that the woman may not feel as if she were a prisoner."
+
+The guardian brother hurried away.
+
+"The church must give to each severally that which he needs, why should
+she let the suckling starve that wants a mother's breast--she, the
+All-bountiful, the Mother of all," he went on, giving the child back to
+the old man. "In such an unprecedented case it is allowable to make an
+exception to the rule, to save a soul for the church."
+
+"You are great and wise, my Lord Abbot," cried Florentinus with
+grateful joy, and rocking the child on his arm to quiet it. "It is
+strange how soon one gets used to a little thing like this. I have
+quite set my old heart on this little brat, it is so helpless and
+forsaken!"
+
+"It is no longer helpless nor forsaken," said the Abbot gravely. "When
+matins are over, and the child has been properly attended to we will
+baptise it. Meanwhile tell me in detail all that has happened, for it
+must all be recorded in the chronicles of the monastery, as is
+fitting."
+
+He seated himself in the deep arm-chair at the upper end of the table,
+supporting himself on the monstrous dragon's heads which formed the
+arms of the seat.
+
+Brother Florentinus conscientiously narrated the melancholy occurrences
+of the night.
+
+"The body must be fetched and interred in the church," said the Abbot,
+"but without any inscription, for if we are to carry out the dead
+lady's vows we must efface every trace of her. Nay, the boy himself
+must never learn who his parents were, so that none of his family may
+dispute our right to him."
+
+"You are always wise and choose the right, most reverend Abbot,"
+Florentinus again declared.
+
+They heard a sound of hasty steps on the stone floor of the corridor,
+and the Prior knocked at the highly ornamented door.
+
+"Come in, in the name of the Lord," cried the Abbot.
+
+The door opened, and a handsome young woman entered, whose fine, tall
+figure was poorly clad in miserable rags. She remained standing timidly
+at the door.
+
+"Here is a woman who will be a mother to the child, if your reverence
+thinks proper."
+
+"What is your name?"
+
+"Berntrudis."
+
+"Only think, after the pious waiting maid of the Lady Uta of Trasp, our
+noble foundress."
+
+"She was my great-grandmother's sister."
+
+"You come of a good stock, so I hope the fruit too is of a good sort,"
+said the Abbot kindly.
+
+The woman was modestly silent.
+
+"I know you already by sight. You are the wife of the fisherman whose
+business it is to catch fish in the lake for the convent."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"How old is your child?"
+
+"Two weeks."
+
+"Is it a girl or a boy?"
+
+"A girl."
+
+"And you feel that you can nurse another child as well?"
+
+"Six, if you like," said the woman smiling, and showing two rows of
+dazzling white teeth.
+
+"Good, healthy and strong," said the Abbot to the Superior; "but," he
+added in Latin, casting a thoughtful glance at the blooming figure
+before him, "the brethren must not come in her way, you must be
+answerable for no scandal coming of it." Then he said to the wet-nurse,
+
+"Take the child then, in the name of the Lord. The Prior here knows
+where your room is, and will see that your own child is brought to you.
+You may go at your pleasure into the convent-garden so long as the
+brethren are at vespers or at their meals, but you must never on any
+account go outside the convent-walls. You are henceforth under the
+rules of the order, and must submit to live like a nun. Will you?"
+
+The woman hesitated a little, but then said,
+
+"Well--yes; it will not last for ever."
+
+The old white-bearded men looked at each other and shook their heads,
+
+"Oh women--women!"
+
+"Take her away," said the Abbot to the Superior, laying the child in
+her arms. "Now do your duty, and the convent will give you a handsome
+reward."
+
+The woman pressed the child compassionately to her bosom and was about
+to kiss him. But the Abbot checked her severely.
+
+"You are never to kiss the child--do you hear? under the severest
+penalties; so that the boy may not be accustomed from his cradle to
+foolish caresses and wanton tenderness, for they are not seemly for a
+son and future servant of the Church. No woman's lips may ever touch
+him--not even those of his nurse."
+
+The woman looked at the Abbot half-surprised and half-indignant.
+
+"Oh! you poor, poor little child!" she murmured in her Rhaetian dialect.
+"But--when no one sees us I _will_ kiss you, all the same," she
+thought, and followed the Superior out of the room. The two old men
+looked at each other and again they shook their heads.
+
+"Who would have thought of telling us, brother Florentinus, that at the
+end of our days we should be inspecting a wet-nurse?" said the Abbot
+laughing. "So it is, the unclean stream of life penetrates even the
+strongest convent walls and fouls the very foot of our sacred altars."
+
+"It is the duty of the strong to help the weak," said Florentinus
+simply, "and such a humble labour of love disgraces no one, be he ever
+so high!"
+
+The Abbot nodded assent.
+
+"Now come to the chapel, brother Florentinus, else we shall miss the
+mass."
+
+With slow steps they passed along the corridor and into the choir of
+the darkened church, which was lighted only by the scattered wax-lights
+of the brethren who were deciphering their manuscript breviaries. A
+grateful fragrance of pine-wood pervaded the consecrated place and, so
+far as the scattered tapers allowed, a number of festal garlands were
+visible, made of pine-branches and red-berried holly twisted round the
+pillars and carvings by the brethren who, during the night, had thus
+decorated the chapel for the coming anniversary; and with hearts lifted
+up in praise the two old men knelt down to perform their deferred
+devotions.
+
+
+Meanwhile the Superior had conducted the wet nurse through the spacious
+building to the eastern tower. A shudder came over her as she felt her
+way up the narrow spiral stairs, while the pine torch held by the
+Prior--who let her pass on in front of him--threw her gigantic shadow
+on the steep steps before her, and the solid masonry on each side. It
+was so damp and cold, so uncannily still, so painfully narrow--she felt
+as if a weight lay on her breast. "Where am I going? How high will this
+take me?" She begins to get giddy. Turning after turning--always one
+turn more--till she turns round with the stairs, and the stairs with
+her--she feels as if she were spinning round and round on one spot and
+yet she gets higher and higher, farther and farther from mother earth
+on which till this day she has always walked, which hitherto she has
+tilled with her own hands, in poverty and want, but happy in her labour
+and free!
+
+She climbed wearily up with the child, frequently treading on her gown,
+for she had never before mounted steps in her life; she had lived in a
+humble hut under a scanty straw-roof, or in the fields and meadows. She
+had never thought it possible that men should build such tall high
+dwellings, and she was seized by a secret terror, a real anguish of
+fear, lest she should never be able to get down again.
+
+The Superior spoke to her. "Only a few steps more, and it will be done;
+we shall be at the top directly--in a moment." But the steps seemed to
+grow before her, and her guide's "directly" was half an eternity to the
+poor frightened soul. At last she almost hit her head against some
+wooden beams and rafters; she was under the roof, and before her
+was a small low door covered with curious iron-work; this was the
+turret-chamber which she was to inhabit. She stood despondingly in
+front of the door, but her guide opened it, stooped and went in before
+her--she too had to stoop in order not to hit her head as she entered
+the room. However, she was used to low doorways, that did not scare
+her, and inside the room it was not so inhospitable as on the dark,
+stone, spiral stairs. A first glimmer of day-light shone in through the
+lens-shaped panes of the turret window; it was only a narrow opening,
+high up in a deep niche in the wall, but three stone steps led up to it
+and a stone seat was built at the top of them so that one could look
+out at the distance or down into the valley according to fancy. A
+homely bedstead, brown with age, stood by the wall with a heavy wooden
+sort of roof, like a little house by itself, and curtains of faded
+Byzantine silk. Old and clumsy as it was, to the poor woman who was
+accustomed to sleep on nothing but straw, it appeared strangely
+magnificent, and she felt as if some one must be hidden in it--some
+grand personage, before whom she must bow low and speak softly so as
+not to disturb the sleeper. Puffy-cheeked cherubs were carved on the
+four bed-posts, just like round balls with wings attached to them. The
+walls were whitewashed and painted with saints; the little ivory
+crucifix over the embroidered but faded praying-stool seemed to greet
+her as a friend, and a cheerful fire crackled in the chimney. It was an
+ancient and venerable little room and it had an oppressive and solemn
+smell like that of a reliquary--partly of dried rose-leaves and partly
+of mould. The Prior showed her a large worm-eaten chest full of costly
+linen; as he opened the heavy lid the dust flew off in a cloud and
+little spiders scampered away.
+
+"Look here," he said kindly, "You are in the room which was formerly
+occupied by the Lady Uta of Trasp, the wife of our blessed founder,
+when she came here on a visit from St. Gertrude's. She had this trunk
+full of linen clothes brought here for her use and desired that whoever
+might stop here as a guest should have the benefit of it for their use
+and comfort. So now you may wrap yourself and the baby in it; it will
+bring you a blessing, for it was spun by the innocent hands of the Lady
+Uta and her maids, and many a fervent prayer has been said over it."
+Berntrudis looked thoughtfully down at the linen garments; it touched
+her to think that her ancestress, the pious Berntrudis, should have
+helped with her hands to spin the web in which she, so long after,
+might clothe herself. But she would not waste time in unpacking the
+treasure, she pitied the hungry child.
+
+"Go now, Brother Superior," said she, "while I give the child a drink,
+and when my husband comes with my little girl, send him up at once."
+
+But the Prior put on a considering face. "What--" he said, "your
+husband up to you? That is not feasible; you heard--you are now under
+convent rule!"
+
+The woman started up in horror.
+
+"What! my husband may not come to see me! I shall never see him again?
+Then take your child back again. I will not stop. I will go away on the
+spot."
+
+"Oh! what a wild fury!" exclaimed the horrified Prior, "to fly into
+such a passion at once; think of the sacred place you are in--would you
+cause a scandal among our chaste brethren by your foolish worldly
+affections?"
+
+"That is all one to me. Only I must see my husband once more, else
+I shall die of heartache--if I had known it I would never have
+come--never, never."
+
+"Think of the high wages--you will be made rich by the gratitude of the
+convent, your house will be raised, your husband freed most likely,
+absolved from his bondage to the convent--"
+
+"That is all one to me," repeated the woman with increased vehemence.
+"If I can never see my husband I will not stop--do as you will," and
+she laid the baby on the bed and was hastening past the Prior and out
+of the room, but he held her back.
+
+"In the name of all the Saints--stay; will you leave the poor child to
+starve? There is not another woman in the village who can nurse it and
+take care of it. Can you be so cruel?"
+
+The woman burst into tears, and turned to the bed again.
+
+"No, you shall not starve, poor little orphan--you cannot help it!" and
+she seated herself on the edge of the bed, took the child pitifully in
+her arms and unheedful of the monk clasped it to her breast; the child
+drank eagerly while her tears ran down upon it. The Prior turned away
+and stood puzzled. He remembered how in his childhood he had never
+dared to vex his mother while she was nursing his little brother for
+fear the baby should not thrive, if the milk were turned by her anger.
+What should he do now to soothe the wet-nurse?
+
+"Listen to me," he said at last, "I know of another way out of the
+difficulty for you; I will allow you to see your husband again, outside
+the convent gate, now and then for half an hour; that I will take upon
+myself. If that will satisfy you, we are all content--the child,
+ourselves and you."
+
+The woman sighed, but she nodded assent in silence. It was better than
+nothing, and she felt she could not let the child starve, she could
+never be happy with her husband again, if she had loaded her conscience
+with such a dreadful sin for his sake.
+
+"Are you content with that?" asked the Prior again, for he had not seen
+her nod. The child had drunk till it was full and had gone to sleep;
+she laid it on the bed, she could not speak, but she went up to the
+Prior and kissed his hands in the midst of her tears.
+
+"That is all right then," said he, glad of this happy turn, "I will see
+whether your husband is already waiting with the child and then you can
+speak with him at the little gate while we baptise this one. You shall
+be allowed to do so once every week. And I will get our brother, the
+carpenter, to carve you out a cradle that you may lay the baby in it,
+and you will see that you will not want for anything."
+
+The monk closed the door behind him and the woman went up to the little
+loop-hole and pressed her hot brow against the small round panes. In
+the early dawn she could hardly see the roofs of Burgeis deep down in
+the valley and the scattered huts around it on the declivity and on the
+opposite side on the mountains freshly covered with snow. Hers was down
+there too, she could distinguish it quite plainly, for her sturdy,
+industrious husband had built it better and bigger than the others, and
+had loaded the thatch with heavy stones. The crowing of cocks from far
+and near came up from the depth below--so homelike! and hers among
+them--she knew his voice! She pressed her hand over her eyes--it
+was like a dream that she should be mounted up here in the lonely
+turret-chamber--so lonely; so high, high up, as if she were in
+prison.--Oh! if it were but a dream, if only she could wake up again in
+her husband's arms, in her own humble hut; never again would she follow
+any one who might come to tear her away from her husband's fond heart.
+How could she have done it--how ever could she have done it.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER II.
+
+
+Mass was over. The whole brotherhood had assembled in the underground
+founder's hall, to offer up a special thanksgiving before the
+effigies of the founders. This hall was the most ancient part of the
+whole building, and in it a hundred years ago the brethren had
+performed their devotions until the convent-buildings were complete.
+Bishop Adelgott of Chur had consecrated it, and remained there
+still in effigy. Since then it had been the custom to perform a
+thanksgiving-service every year on the founder's day, in honour of the
+venerable bishop and the noble patrons of the house, whose portraits
+were preserved there for the safe keeping of the subterranean vault.
+
+Here also the pious feelings of the brethren had expressed themselves
+in beautifying care, and had clothed the damp walls down in the earth,
+where only roots can live, with the fresh green of the tree-tops that
+wave gaily in the upper air; the bright gleam of wax-tapers in two tall
+seven-branched candlesticks was reflected from the dark walls, as if
+the sun-shine, under which the busy convent-bees had gathered their
+store, had laid hidden in the wax itself, only awaiting its release.
+The natural incense of aromatic pine-wood filled the heavy underground
+atmosphere; thick translucent tears of resin hung yellow and sparkling
+from the freshly broken boughs, like drops of limpid topaz. The
+portraits of Ulrich of Trasp and his veiled wife Uta looked down with a
+gentle smile from thick wreaths of heath-plants and rue; and the text,
+"They only live who die to the world," which proceeded from the mouth
+of the founder on a golden ribband, shone in the light of the tapers
+like letters of fire. Over these the two shields of Ulrich of Trasp
+were displayed as precious relics; the shield of faith with a gold
+cross on a white field, which was presented to him by his companions in
+the faith in the Holy Land, and the shield of his house bearing a
+rainbow.
+
+The thanksgiving was ended; but the Abbot detained the brethren for a
+hasty consultation. The fathers sat silent in a circle, and listened
+attentively to the Abbot's story of the fate of the hapless Lady of
+Reichenberg.
+
+They are a circle of proud faces that look thoughtfully before them;
+proud of superhuman victories, proud of the consciousness of belonging
+to a band of men who by their iron strength of will have upheld the
+dignity of humanity, and have preserved the thoughts which can govern
+the world from the ruins of the decayed Roman Empire, from the horrible
+subversion of all social order; through the migrations of peoples, and
+the irruptions of barbarians; have saved them, and given them a
+sanctuary for the benefit of later and riper generations. Only
+one face accords ill with the quiet scene and its solemn setting; a
+good-humoured, crafty, smiling, Epicurean countenance with fat cheeks
+and piercing, sharp, glittering eyes under grey, bushy brows. It is
+brother Wyso, the registrar and historian of the monastery; the
+laughing philosopher who knows everything, and lets everything go its
+own gait. The world lies below him in a bird's-eye-view--so small, so
+insignificant--all humanity is to him like an ant-hill, and altogether
+amusing and comical; how they build, how they fight, how they marry,
+and at last are buried! he looks on at it all complacently, without
+love and without aversion, as at a colony of ants or a hive of bees. He
+never troubles himself with any enquiry as to how it began, and how it
+will end; he satisfies himself with the knowledge that it is. They
+dislike him in the cloister for this lukewarmness; then too he is "foul
+of mouth," and now and then gives utterance to loose speech that
+scandalises the brethren; for the rule of St. Benedict prohibits
+useless and gay discourse, unless it be to cheer the sick or the sorry;
+but they cannot accuse him of anything, for his conduct is
+irreproachable in all important matters, and much may be excused in a
+man of his learning. He needs must read of many unclean things and evil
+deeds of men, which are hidden from the other monks.
+
+Brother Wyso is a man of between fifty and sixty years, stout and
+somewhat short of breath; for although Saint Benedict forbids the use
+of meat there are many other excellent gifts of God, and brother Wyso
+is very ready to give his attention to all permitted delicacies. On
+this occasion he makes a by no means cheerful face, for the Abbot has
+assembled them with fasting stomachs, and has not allowed them their
+morning-meal after the cold early mass. He pushes his short fat hands
+with a rueful shiver under the sleeves of his hood, and slaps the back
+of his left hand with the fingers of his right, casting a side-long
+glance meanwhile at his neighbour, brother Correntian, with a sort of
+mischievous curiosity as to whether any trace of the weakness of the
+flesh could be detected on his stony countenance; but he seems not even
+to perceive this, and his passive face is turned to the Abbot with
+unmoved attention. This brother is the strongest contrast to the smug
+little monk by whom he is sitting. A noble countenance is his, but
+furrowed by many a moral struggle, and set to stoniness by an assumed
+calm; a tall, lean form mortified by hair-cloth, scourging and
+chastisement; deep-set, dark, reproachful eyes--reproachful of the
+patience of Heaven that never falls on the sinner to smite him; of the
+light that shines alike on the evil and the good; of rosy cheeks and
+white arms, such as are often to be met in the village; in short of all
+that they gaze on, of all that thrives and rejoices or that is
+cherished or enjoyed. It seems as though it were darker just round him,
+as though he cast a deeper shadow than the others; and there is a wider
+space between his seat and those of his neighbours than between any of
+the rest. On his left hand sits Conrad of Ramuess, the brother of the
+deceased Lady of Reichenberg, a handsome man of about twenty. He has
+only lately come into the monastery, for he was a secular priest, and
+an eloquent speaker to the glory of the Lord. But his handsome person
+and the sweetness of his voice served the arch-enemy as weapons to turn
+against his pious efforts, and to turn all good into evil. There were
+too many foolish women who sinfully fell in love with him, and thought
+more of the sweet lips whence flowed the sacred lore than of the
+teaching itself; more of the servant than of his Lord. Such scandals
+vexed Conrad's honest zeal. It had too often occurred that ladies in
+the confessional had made him the confidant of their affection for
+himself, and had made the chaste blood mount to his cheeks for shame.
+So he fled from the world, laid these attractive gifts of nature in all
+humility on the altar of the Lord, and hid himself in cloistered
+solitude. Now for a year he has been a monk, and has never quitted his
+cell but for the services of the church and general refreshment with
+the brethren. Now all is peace in his soul, and though he knows that he
+is still very far from perfection, he strives towards it cheerfully and
+hopefully--his duties are his highest happiness, and what are all the
+joys of earth to him compared with this consciousness?
+
+While the grey haired Abbot is speaking, his eyes linger with peculiar
+satisfaction on the high pure brow clustered round with fair curls,
+which rests thoughtfully on the slender white hand; and old
+Florentinus, standing behind the Abbot's throne, is involuntarily
+reminded of the still, peaceful corpse lying up there at St.
+Valentine's. Even in death the likeness is striking, and the tears
+which spring from the monk's eyes as he hears of his sister's hapless
+fate, confirm the relationship.
+
+But many another grave and noble face is visible among the sombre
+circle in the light of the low-burning tapers, and with them many dry,
+hard and angular ones--as the same soil may bear very different fruits.
+There sits Bero, the oldest of the brethren, a modest and enlightened
+man, but of the severest principles; he has already been privately
+chosen to be the successor of Abbot Conrad I. when the old man should
+be gathered to the Holy Fathers of the Church. There is Conrad,
+surnamed Stiero or the bull, to distinguish him from Conrad the Abbot
+and Conrad of Ramuess; a man worthy of his surname,--a bull with a thick
+neck, and a broad, angular forehead moulded much as the heathen figured
+that Jupiter Ammon whom the Church overthrew after such a severe and
+bloody struggle. He is a man of no subtlety, but a strong bulwark of
+the faith and of the convent. So long as Conrad the Bull is there, no
+enemy will venture near, for his fist and his wrathful temper are
+everywhere known and none would brave them without good cause.
+There is brother Engelbert, the painter, who writes the exquisite
+illuminated manuscripts, Candidus the precentor, Porphyrius the
+sculptor, who chisels out the crosses and tombstones of the deceased
+brethren, Cyriacus, the Latin--and many more; Josephus, too, the lean
+brother-carpenter, sits modestly in the background little dreaming that
+his next task will be to make--an infant's cradle.
+
+The Abbot finished his melancholy tale and ended with the words,
+
+"You see, my brethren, the surges of the wicked world, rolling blindly
+on, have cast a young life on our sheltering shore. Yet, let us not say
+blindly--no, it is doubtless through some high purpose that this child
+has been brought to our house on the very anniversary of our founder's
+day. I have called you all together to take counsel with you as to
+whether we shall take him in or cast him out on the wild ocean of
+life?" "Take him in! take him in!" the majority of the brethren hastily
+exclaimed; but the sinister Correntian said, "Stay."
+
+The brethren looked at him in surprise.
+
+"If our venerable father, the Abbot, wishes to hear our opinion he may
+perhaps listen to my warning; reverend father, do not do it--my
+Brethren, do not receive this child within your walls."
+
+The brethren muttered indignantly to each other, but he went on
+undisturbed. "It is accursed--it will bring the curse under our roof."
+
+"A poor, innocent child!" murmured the circle of monks.
+
+"Innocent or no it must expiate the sins of its parents, for even the
+mother is not free from guilt. She revelled in the dazzling levity of
+worldly joys, she consented so long to the courting attentions of the
+playmate of her youth that she excited her husband's jealousy, and who
+knows--if things had gone so far--how much farther--"
+
+"Be silent!" thundered out a clear full voice. "Do not dare to
+calumniate the dead; her brother still lives to avenge her." Conrad of
+Ramuess stood before him with his fist raised and his lips pale and
+trembling. "I knew that chaste and lofty spirit as well as I know my
+own--she is dead--she died like a saint, and no stain shall come near
+her so long as my eyes are open and have tears to weep for her."
+
+The scowling monk looked at him with a calm, cold, piercing gaze.
+
+"What is this woman to you?"
+
+"You have heard--my sister."
+
+Correntian turned to the Abbot with an indescribable gesture of his
+head.
+
+"I ask our venerable father--I ask all the brethren here in
+conclave--Has a Benedictine a sister?"
+
+"No!" was the slow and soft reply--as if reluctantly spoken--from every
+man.
+
+Conrad of Ramuess struck himself on the brow, and a bitter, burning tear
+forced its way from under his drooping lids. One minute of deep
+agonised silence, one brief struggle, and then the proud young head
+bowed humbly before the Abbot--"Punish me, my father--I had indeed
+forgotten myself."
+
+"Ask your brother's forgiveness on your knees," said the Abbot sadly,
+"and for not having yet quite torn your heart free from all the
+earthly ties that hang about it, so that the evil demon of wrath could
+stir you up against your spiritual brother for the sake of an earthly
+sister--this you must expiate by a fortnight's nightly penance."
+
+The young man kissed the Abbot's hand. "I thank you, father, for so
+mild a punishment." Then he knelt down before the offended monk and
+pressed the hem of his robe to his lips, "Forgive me, Brother."
+
+The inflexible man raised him with the usual formula, "May God forgive
+you even as I do."
+
+The brethren stood round in silence; not a face betrayed what one of
+them thought, but the culprit sank back on his seat as if exhausted,
+and cold sweat stood in drops on his forehead. Correntian went on, as
+if nothing had happened.
+
+"And so I say the child must expiate the folly of a mother who thought
+more of her amusements than of God and her solemn and happy position,
+else would the Lord never have visited her with such a judgment. This
+child was dedicated to the Evil One ere yet it was born--it is his
+prey--we cannot snatch it from him, we shall only incite him to strive
+with us for its possession."
+
+Then rose Conrad Stiero, the broad-browed: "Shame upon you, brother
+Correntian! How long have we Marienbergers been afraid of the Devil? In
+truth such cowardly counsel ill becomes you who boast of such a stony
+heart. Have we come to such a pass that we shall shut ourselves up in
+convent walls to pray and stuff in idle piety? Do you call that
+fighting for God when, so soon as we have to rescue a poor soul from
+the fires of hell, we put our fingers to the tips of our ears like
+burnt children and cry out, 'Oh!--it is hot--we will not touch it!'
+Give me the boy and I will go out with him into the wilderness, if you
+are afraid to keep him here--and wrestle for him with all Hell let
+loose!"
+
+"You use too rough and uncouth a tongue, brother Stiero," said the
+Abbot. "But it shall be forgiven you for the sake of your good motive.
+Yes--brother Correntian, it seems to me that he is right and that it
+would be the first time if we now were to shrink like cowards when we
+have to snatch a soul from hell. How would God's kingdom prosper--of
+which we are the guardians--if it were not stronger than Hell."
+
+"Aye, it is stronger," replied Correntian with eyes raised to heaven,
+"and it will and must one day triumph; the light must conquer the
+darkness; but as often as on earth the night swallows up the day, so
+often will the kingdom of darkness triumph over the kingdom of Light
+till the day of Redemption is come--the day when God's patience has an
+end and he destroys this earth."
+
+"And shall we therefore withdraw from the fight like cowards?" asked
+the Abbot again.
+
+"Nay, never could I think of saying such a thing," said Correntian.
+"But I ask you, what is the price of the struggle? Is this wretched
+child of sin and misfortune, whom the Devil already has in his
+power--is this I say a trophy worth struggling for with those evil
+spirits that every one would fain keep at a distance from his
+threshold? Besides a single handful may succumb, even if it belong to
+the victorious side; and so while the Church triumphs, churches and
+cloisters may fall; nay, even this our own convent, for they too are
+accursed who succour the child! If the blessing of the father can
+establish the childrens' houses and the curse of the mother overthrow
+them, will a father's curse be impotent think you? And how can you
+believe in the efficacy of a blessing, if you do not believe in the
+power of a curse?"
+
+"God is righteous and does not punish the innocent," Bero was now heard
+to say. "And why have we been awakened from the darkness of heathenism
+to the bright light of the Holy Spirit, if like the ancients we persist
+in believing in a blind fate, conjured up by a curse?"
+
+"The Devil--the Devil is the Fate of the ancients, and is at all times
+the same!" cried Correntian. "A parent's curse tears a rent in the
+divine order and in human nature, in which the seed of hell at once
+strikes root and, like a poisonous fungus, feeds its growth on all
+around it."
+
+"Well--" said Bero with a bright look. "May be you speak the truth,
+brother Correntian, but if we were not fully capable of extirpating the
+brood of Hell by the power of the Holy Ghost and pure resolve there
+would be no such thing as guilt! We should be the helpless sport of
+Satan without any guilt or responsibility, and at the last judgment the
+Lord could not ask us, 'Why did ye this or that?'"
+
+The Abbot and the brethren murmured assent; only Wyso and Correntian
+were silent.
+
+"I ask you," Bero went on, "since God gives us the power to choose our
+own course of life and whether we will follow the path of virtue or of
+sin, can we prove incapable of guiding this boy into the way of
+righteousness if we all gather round him to watch every thought of his
+brain, every impulse of his heart, every glance, every breath."
+
+"And yet it must come."
+
+A voice like the breathing of a spirit spoke in the farthest corner of
+the hall; every eye turned towards the spot. A very small monk was
+leaning in the deepest shadow against a projecting pillar; his little
+grey figure was as inconspicuous as that of some little gnome, but his
+eyes were keen and bright, as if they could pierce the depths with
+their gaze, and their genial glance shone through the gloomy hall.
+
+"What, is it you, brother Eusebius?" said the Abbot. "It is an event
+indeed when you quit your turret-cell to assist at the council of the
+brethren, and the occasion must have seemed to you a serious one for
+you to open your lips. Speak on--what do you mean? Who or what must
+come?"
+
+The old man looked at him with a smile.
+
+"Do you not understand me?" said he, and his eye rested thoughtfully on
+the excited circle. "There are only two sorts of just rights--the
+rights of Heaven and the rights of man. Man's rights are his share of
+the joys of Creation. If he casts them away of his own free impulse for
+the sake of the rights of Heaven he makes the highest effort of which
+man is capable, and the angels sing Hosannas over him. But never ought
+you to steal them from him--as in the case of this infant--for they are
+bestowed on him by his Maker, and it is Him whom you aggrieve. Bring
+the child up, but bring him up free; and leave him to choose, when he
+is ripe to make the choice. If he is called he will remain faithful,
+but let it be without compulsion. For if he is not called, better let
+him withdraw than that he should remain among you against his will,
+with a divided heart, half attached to the world and half to the
+Church--a tool with a flaw in it that shivers in the hand, and recoils
+on him who would use it. For the hour will come upon him which none can
+escape. Do you what you will--it must come upon him as it has come upon
+each of us. You know it well--only those that are called can triumph,
+and the weak fall in the conflict between pleasure and duty. _Divisum
+est cor eorum, nunc interibunt_--their heart is divided and they
+perish. And to you it can bring neither glory nor reward; for it
+depends upon the Spirit and not on the number of the servants of our
+Church, and never can an unwilling sacrifice be dear in the sight of
+the Lord."
+
+Then Conrad Stiero struck his fist a mighty blow on the arm of his
+chair.
+
+"What spirit, what human right?--'called' or 'not called!' We need
+strong arms to protect our venerable house, for we have fallen on evil
+times, and the nobles covet our goods and our authority. It is time to
+protect them as best we may. Shut him in and keep him close, then he
+will be ours and no one's else."
+
+"I know of only one really sure way," said Correntian quietly, "and
+that is to blind the boy."
+
+A cry of horror broke from every one.
+
+"Shame on you, brother Correntian! are you a man?" cried Bero in wrath.
+
+"You see how you start at an empty word! Ye feeble ones! Do you call
+the physician cruel who by one swift cut obviates future--nay eternal
+suffering? If any one had released me from the torment of sight and its
+myriad temptations while I was still slumbering in the cradle, I would
+have thanked him as my lifelong benefactor. However, fear nothing; I
+know well that no shedding of blood beseems us, and it was only an
+idea, suggested by the truest pity."
+
+"You are a great man, Correntian, but fearful in your strength," said
+the Abbot, and the brethren agreed with a shudder.
+
+But the little gnome leans unmoved and silent against his pillar; he
+feels no astonishment, no horror--he knows that there are many
+different growths in the Lord's garden; deadly poisonous plants by the
+side of wholesome and nutritious ones, and that each has its use and
+purpose. This brother Eusebius knows right well, for the hidden
+properties and relations of things are clear to his penetrating eye. He
+is the herbalist, the astronomer and the physician of the convent. He
+watches the still growth of roots and germs in the bosom of the earth
+as well as the course of the blood in the human body, and that of the
+stars in the immeasurable firmament, and in all he sees the same
+ordering, the same great inexorable law against which the creature for
+ever rebels, and which ever works out its own vengeance. But he says no
+more at present, for he sees that it would be in vain.
+
+But Conrad Stiero would have no mistake as to his meaning,
+
+"I say walls--they are the best security! Let Heaven and Hell fight for
+him, our walls are thick, and we will not let him go outside them."
+
+The little man by the pillar folded his hands.
+
+"Oh! human wit and human wisdom!" thought he.
+
+"Allow me to say a few words," said Wyso, addressing the whole
+conclave, "and do not take what I say amiss. You are all dreamers,
+thrashing empty straw. The small thread of one's patience is easily
+broken when one has to listen to such idle talk on an empty stomach.
+What have we to do here with the Almighty and the devil? or which of
+them we may least offend? This is above all things a matter for the
+law, a trifle which it seems to me that you have all forgotten. If you
+have a mind to receive the child as a guest, and make a nursery of the
+old house, well and good, no one can prevent you; it is not forbidden
+either by canon law or by the rule of St. Benedict to give shelter to
+the homeless so long as they need it. But if you think of receiving the
+boy into the order--and your solemn talk seems to imply it--one of
+these days we shall find ourselves laid under ban and interdict, so
+that not even a thief on the gallows will ask absolution at our hands."
+
+An uneasy movement ran through the conclave.
+
+"Aha! now there is a stir in the ant-hill. But is it not so? Do you not
+remember that in the tenth canon of the Council of Trent under Pope
+Clement III. the Order was forbidden to receive as members children
+under years of discretion without the express consent of their parents?
+What? Have you any fancy to defy pope and bishop, church-law and
+interdict for the sake of this infant? I fancy that would be somewhat
+worse than a compact with the devil."
+
+"Guard your lips, brother Wyso! remember Duramnus of Predan, who, as a
+punishment for his scandalous talk, was burdened for ever with a
+hideous, foul snout," threatened the Abbot. "You can never keep
+yourself from abuse and scoffing; what you say is good, but the way you
+say it is bad. Brother Wyso speaks the truth, my brethren," he
+continued, turning to the monks, who were ashamed of their own
+ignorance. "It appears that our senses are still clouded by sleep, or
+we should have thought of the new law. We cling too naturally to old
+usages, and it is difficult to accustom ourselves to such newfangled
+ways. However we must submit to them if we would not bring evil
+consequences on ourselves. It is true that the mother has given the
+child over into our keeping, but the father's consent is wanting, and
+so we cannot receive him. I say it with pain, for I would fain have
+held the vow of a dead woman as sacred. And I am grieved to thrust the
+child out among the wild waves of life. Still, so it must be, and we
+can but resign him to the mercy of him who clothes the lilies of the
+field."
+
+At this point Conrad of Ramuess rose modestly.
+
+"Pardon me, father, if I, though in disgrace, once more take part in
+your discussion."
+
+"Speak, my son, only in a more becoming manner," answered the Abbot.
+Then the young monk went on,
+
+"It is indeed true that we may receive no child without its father's
+will. But this child has no father. He who is called its father has
+cast it out and denied it; it is an orphan. Who--by the laws of the
+world--who takes its father's place, brother Wyso?"
+
+"Its next blood-relation on the father's or the mother's side," replied
+Wyso.
+
+"Well then," continued Ramuess, "I myself am its nearest relation, the
+boy's uncle, his mother's brother; I now am his father, and I dedicate
+him to the cloister."
+
+A shout of joy from the brethren answered him.
+
+"Amen, my son," said the Abbot. "I receive him at your hands, and I
+hope that we have acted rightly."
+
+He turned to the pictures of the Tarasps. "Give him your blessing,
+noble and glorified masters, whose memory we this day keep holy." The
+conclave was over, they all crossed themselves before the pictures, and
+then went up into the light of day. They hastened to the sacristy to
+baptise the child, for the solemn tolling of the big bell was already
+calling the inhabitants of the valley to high-mass.
+
+The morning-sun shot its bright beams through the tall arched windows,
+and scattered the mists and shadows that Correntian, the sinister
+friar, had conjured up.
+
+"The light must be victorious!" This was the happy promise with which
+it filled all hearts.
+
+The folding doors sprang open; the Prior entered with the child. It was
+prettily wrapped in the Lady Uta's white linen, and lay there flooded
+in a ray of morning sun-shine as if transfigured. And drawn by a
+strange and tender human emotion the younger monks gathered round the
+tiny brother that Heaven had sent them, and pressed a kiss of welcome
+on his sweet and innocent lips. And the celestial Mother of Sorrows
+smiled down on them from the wall as if she were indeed the mother of
+them all, and rejoiced to see her elder sons welcoming the new-born
+child as a brother.
+
+No--this is no gift of hell--this heart-winning, sun-lighted child that
+rouses so pure and harmless a joy in every breast; and the Abbot lifts
+his hands in blessing, and says, "Donatus we will call him, my
+brethren, for he is given to us, and his name shall mean a gift."
+
+"Yes, yes--he shall be called Donatus," cried the monks in delight.
+
+"And now swear to me," continued the Abbot, "before we proceed to the
+sacred ceremony--swear to me on the innocent head of this infant--that
+you will help to preserve him for Heaven; that you will watch over the
+boy at every hour, and protect him from every temptation that may
+alienate him from us--and above all from that which is the devil's most
+dangerous weapon, to which many a youth has fallen a victim--from
+earthly love."
+
+The brethren raised their hands in solemn asseveration and, like a
+pillar of sacred sacrificial incense, the steamy cloud from thirty
+throats rose to Heaven in one united breath, "We swear it!"
+
+The brethren gathered round the child like a wall--stronger than those
+walls of stone of which brother Stiero had spoken, and brother
+Correntian towered above the rest like an invincible bulwark. But
+brother Eusebius silently shook his head and said to himself, "And yet
+it must come."
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER III.
+
+
+There is an old story of a king of the dwarfs whose wife died in giving
+birth to the heir to the throne. This king chose a poor woman from the
+human race to be his son's wet-nurse, and as the woman would not come
+of her own free will the little dwarf-folk fetched her one night and
+brought her by force into the underground kingdom of the gnomes. The
+woman was not to be allowed to return till she had fulfilled her office
+of nurse to the little dwarf prince, and she lived a year in exile far
+from her people under the spell of the strange uncanny folks in their
+realm of ore and earth. She had to surrender all of her human nature,
+that gave joy to her heart in the fountain of life, by which the
+child was nourished--mother's milk and mother's love--but otherwise
+she might never be in any way human and her reward was barren gold.
+But she persevered, not for the sake of the gold only, but because
+motherly-love is so good a thing, a thing that grows with rapid
+increase, throwing out aerial roots that cling blindly to any support
+that is offered them. As the hen loves her changeling duckling, so the
+human foster-mother clung to her dwarf foster-child, and so the
+cloistered wet-nurse loved the child of the Church that had been forced
+upon her although she also felt that she was in a strange realm; in a
+realm between the grave and Heaven, quite other indeed and higher than
+the kingdom of the dwarfs, but inhabited too by uncanny beings outside
+and beyond all natural relationships, and having nothing in common with
+flesh and blood; and that the child to whom she was as a mother
+belonged to the same strange race. And the more deeply she felt this,
+the more painfully did her heart cling to the child to whom she had no
+right; that might never be truly human and that yet was nourished by
+the milk of a human mother. She knew not what her feeling was--it was a
+strange pity for the boy, so that she loved him almost better than her
+own child. Her own child had its natural belongings--a mother and a
+father--but this poor child had no one in the world. The cold and
+strong church-walls were its home and no human lip might ever touch it,
+nor its head ever rest on a soft warm human breast. And as if to
+compensate to it for all future privations she loved and kissed it with
+double fervour, and cradled it with double tenderness in her bosom.
+
+
+Almost seven months had passed since the child was received into the
+monastery; a long time for the young and ardent wife who, as if it were
+a sin, could only slip away from time to time and by stealth to meet
+her husband behind the door where for months together the bitter wind
+blew the kisses away from their lips.
+
+The cloistered nurse was sitting with her nursling at the dim little
+window in the east turret-room. It was a mild spring evening and
+death-like stillness reigned all round. Deep shadows fell on the bed of
+Lady Uta; one star threw its pale rays into the lonely room and they
+fell and were lost on the silk hangings, which Lord Ulrich had brought
+from the gorgeous East on his return from a pilgrimage. High up by the
+window something whisked by; it was a swallow flying home to the nest
+she had built at a giddy height on the ridge of the roof. The swallow
+was no better off indeed up there than Berntrudis herself--but she was
+free. So Berntrudis thought, and a deep sigh broke from her breast on
+which the children lay slumbering. In the corner, in Lady Uta's chest,
+she could hear the soft and regular sound of the death-tick, and the
+white linen hanging in the room--the linen woven by the chaste hands of
+the penitent Berntrudis of old--was stirred by the draught through the
+room to a ghostly flutter. But the warm living soul that sat by the
+window, looking longingly out to the distance--where human hearts might
+beat and not count it a sin--she was thinking neither of death nor of
+penance, but her pulses throbbed while she wondered how late it was and
+whether her husband would tap for her to-night at the convent gate? She
+closed her eyes and threw back her head while her full lips breathed a
+kiss upon the air--a message of love sent out to meet her looked-for
+husband. But he came seldom, he had quite run wild during this long
+separation; he was wandering about unsettled and discontented, she knew
+it well; and bitter anxiety gnawed at her heart.
+
+Thus she waits evening after evening till her head-aches, and she
+throws herself wearily into bed. Then the soul of the heart-sick woman
+is nailed as with iron clamps to two opposite points--the present and
+the expected moment, and the farther these two points recede from each
+other the more the poor heart is torn--an invisible rack of which the
+tension almost cracks her heart-strings.
+
+Out on the other side in the western wing brother Correntian was
+leaning his hot brow against his window panes and gazing out on the
+falling night. He had closed the window, for the evening breath of
+spring wafted up the sweet perfume of half-opened flowers, which
+soothed his senses--so he flung the window to. He who cannot resist the
+temptations of Satan in small things will never conquer him in great
+ones! So there he stood in the soft spring evening shut in by walls
+damp with the chills of winter, and he cast a reproving glance across
+to the eastern tower where the wet-nurse was housed. He hated this
+woman, he himself knew not why, but he hated her with a deadly hatred;
+as often as he met her--when occasionally she went down into the
+court-yard to fetch water or walked in the little garden with the
+child--he turned his eyes earthwards with horror and aversion, as if in
+the poor, sweet, blooming woman he beheld the snake that destroyed
+Paradise. He would have poisoned her with a glance, have torn her up
+like a root of sin if he could; he had to endure her presence, that he
+understood; but he could not leave her in peace in his thoughts, his
+hatred must needs pursue her even into her quiet turret-chamber--it
+dragged him nightly from his bed and forced him to go to his window,
+and watch and spy the strong walls that sheltered her, as the foe spies
+out in his antagonist's harness the joints through which he hopes
+to give him his death-blow. And he could see through those walls as
+though the stones were glass--he could always see her and loathe
+himself for doing so; see her wake in the morning and hold the
+children to her young and innocent breast--comb her long and waving
+hair--all--everything--he saw it all, whether he would or not. At this
+very moment he could see her, as she flung herself on her bed--and the
+kiss that her unguarded lips breathed into space.
+
+But stay! what was that? was it a trick of his senses--the very
+spirit of his hatred that had taken bodily form and glided across the
+star-lighted court-yard to the eastern tower? He held his breath--he
+checked the beating of his heart.
+
+A second figure stole along by its side and cautiously knocked at the
+little turret-door. The first, a sturdy, manly figure in a short tunic
+such as was worn by serfs, disappeared into the tower; the other--quite
+unmistakably the gatekeeper--glided back again and returned to the
+gate-house. It is the fisherman--the nurse's husband. He has bribed the
+gatekeeper and has stolen in to see his wife. Now--now he is up stairs,
+they are clasped in each other's arms.--Oh! shame and disgrace--that
+this should happen within the sacred precincts of the convent!
+
+The monk was shivering as in an ague fit, all the suppressed fire in
+his blood broke out. Loathing, aversion--he knew not what--all the
+furies of hell were lashing him. He rushed raving down the rows of
+sleeping brethren.
+
+"Up--get up--the cloister is defiled, do not suffer such disgrace. Up!
+holy Abbot--the nurse up there is receiving stolen visits by night from
+her husband. Is this house to be the abode of love making and shameful
+doings?"
+
+The brethren flung on their cowls in hot haste; the Abbot came out in
+high wrath. "She promised me that she would obey the convent-rules and
+she is doubly guilty, if she has let in her husband and broken in on
+the peace of the cloister."
+
+"We will soon have him out!" snorted Conrad Stiero, delighted that for
+once he should have a chance of fighting again.
+
+"Are you possessed by the Evil One that you come screaming us out of
+our sleep like this?" said brother Wyso, bustling breathlessly up and
+treading on his untied shoe-strings as he went.
+
+"Shame on you, brother Correntian," whispered he in his ear, "to spoil
+the poor woman's sport so--that is envy." Correntian started as if
+stabbed by a dagger--he threw a glance of flaming rage at Wyso and
+raised his hand threateningly. But he as quickly let it fall again, his
+face turned as pale as death, and his old stony calm suddenly
+overspread his wildly agitated features.
+
+"That," said he, "is so base as to be unworthy of reply."
+
+"A hypocrite even to yourself!" muttered Wyso between his teeth while
+the Abbot signed to the brethren to follow him. Then Conrad of Ramuess
+came modestly forward. "Most reverend abbot, permit that we--I and the
+younger brethren--remain behind. It seems to me that it is no scene for
+our eyes."
+
+"True, you are right, brother Conrad," said the Abbot. "Accompany me
+alone, you elder brethren! but come softly, that we may not warn the
+evil-doers before we visit them with the penalty of sin."
+
+So the stern judges went noiselessly across to the eastern tower with a
+lantern.
+
+Up in the turret-room, there is whispering, soft laughter and crying,
+and silent happiness; the wife, taken quite by surprise, is folded in
+the arms of her husband intoxicated with delight. He has not told her
+why or how he has come, but the storm of joy in the poor soul that has
+thirsted so for love is so wild that she can only caress him and kiss
+him and will neither hear nor know anything, but that he is there--a
+lovely fulfilment of a spring night's dream.
+
+But--voices on the stairs! coming up! A beam of light falls with
+fearful brightness through the crack of the door. Husband and wife
+start from their blissful dream; there is a loud and threatening knock,
+"Open the door to his reverence the Abbot," cried Conrad Stiero. There
+could be no delay.
+
+"Be easy," said the man to his trembling wife, "am I not your plighted
+husband? What have you to fear?" and he went forward with a determined
+manner and let in the brethren.
+
+"God and the Saints preserve us," said the Abbot as he went in.
+"Berntrudis--unworthy daughter of your pious ancestress, how dare you
+carry on such unseemly doings?"
+
+"And what is the harm, reverend father," said the fisherman boldly. "If
+a wife makes love to her husband? I never heard any one call such
+doings unseemly!"
+
+Correntian, who was carrying the lamp, lifted it up and let its full
+light fall on the undaunted speaker's face. It was a handsome, bold,
+manly countenance, not free from the traces of a wild life. The deep
+lines on the forehead showed that it was long since a woman's loving
+hand had smoothed it, his neglected doublet of frieze plainly told of
+wild wanderings in wind and weather. Correntian took it all in at a
+glance, he understood in that instant as if by inspiration all that the
+man had suffered, and, instead of pitying him, he longed to thrust a
+dagger into that broad breast where just now the woman had lain--the
+eager, loving woman that he scorned and hated. And as if some
+suspicion, some comprehension of this hostile glance had dawned upon
+the man's mind he answered with a wrathful flash from his large eyes,
+and for all at once the humble serf was turned into a raging fiend
+checked by no sense of bashfulness.
+
+"Ay, you may look at me, monk," he exclaimed threateningly in his broad
+Rhaetian accent, "I am what you have made me. Am I not smooth and fine
+enough for you great lords? You take away the dearest thing a man
+has--take it away as you did from me, so that he wanders alone about
+the fields and woods, and then do you think he will care to smarten
+himself up and streak himself down?"
+
+"Woe upon you! what are you saying!" cried the Abbot. "You break in
+like a thief on the peace of the convent, you bribe the gatekeeper, you
+are guilty of such dreadful sin, and then you dare to speak like that?"
+
+"I speak like one whose measure is full, and overfull. I have nothing
+but this woman and you take her away from me--take away a man's married
+wife and his heart out of his body, to suckle a strange child. What is
+the child to me that I am to sacrifice all that is dearest to me to
+him? Seven months have I borne it patiently and that is enough. The
+brat there can do without a wet-nurse now. My own child has shared its
+food with him long enough--look here what a stunted plant it has grown,
+while the strange brat has thriven and got strong; my heart ached in my
+body when I saw the poor little thing again!--I tell you plainly, for I
+am not clever at lying, I came to steal my wife away, my sacred
+property. But now I ask you--as you have found me out--give me back my
+wife and my child. I desire neither reward nor thanks, but I will have
+back what is my own."
+
+"Spare your words, we have shown you too much favour in listening to
+you so long. What if we did take an impure and sinful woman within our
+sacred cloister walls against all law and usage, do you think we did so
+without any necessity and simply for our pleasure? The sacred vow of a
+dead woman which we were bound to honour was the solemn duty which
+compelled us to such an abominable proceeding. And when we received
+your wife we hoped that the sanctity of the place and the sacredness of
+her office would purify her vain heart so that she would not succumb to
+the temptations of sensual pleasures and base impulses and would cause
+no scandal to our chaste brethren. This indeed she solemnly vowed, and
+oh! Berntrudis, how badly you have kept your word! Alas! that the pure
+child of the Church should be compelled to drink from so impure a
+vessel. Willingly would I spare him this, of that you may both be very
+sure. Still, so it must be, we cannot yet dispense with your services,
+and if you had remained true to your duty, at the end of your probation
+we would have rewarded you and raised you up in the sight of God and
+man. As it is we must force you to do that which you do not do
+willingly. And you," he continued to the husband, "you who have broken
+into our house like a weasel into a dove-cot, in contempt of our
+prohibition under the severest penalties--you may thank us for the mild
+punishment we impose--you are under a ban not to come within a mile
+round the convent so long as we need the offices of your wife. You
+must go up to the moorland lake and catch fish for us there till the
+winter-storms next sweep down on the heath."
+
+A cry of horror from the husband and wife answered this frightful
+sentence, the gentle Abbot had no conception of its cruelty. What could
+he know--a calm old man whose blood ran so sluggishly in his veins--of
+the passion and longing and torment of two hearts that have grown into
+one, when they are torn asunder?
+
+Only one there present understood it; he who stood silent, his nails
+dug into his crossed arms--and yet of pity he knew nothing, that
+unsparing zealot who had no mercy on others because he knew of no mercy
+on himself. "I am suffering--you may suffer too" was the frightful
+thought by which, in his self-torment, he released himself from the
+duty of loving his neighbour. There he stood, the stony man, with an
+unmoved stare--the chaste and stern Correntian.
+
+But Wyso shook his head and said to the Abbot in Latin, "Go no
+farther."
+
+Berntrudis had fallen crying into her husband's arms and hid her face
+on his broad and labouring breast; but Correntian stepped forward with
+a hasty gesture, "Stand apart!" he said with pale lips. "Do not offend
+our eyes by such a sight."
+
+The man lifted his sturdy head and the words he had kept between his
+teeth with so much difficulty broke out, "This is too much! Who is to
+forbid me kissing my wife--who can force me to believe that it is a sin
+when husband and wife make love to each other? You--you make a sin of
+it by forbidding it. By what right do you forbid a man and his wife to
+see each other--by what right do you put asunder those whom God and the
+Church have joined together?"
+
+"The Church can bind and it can loose," said the Abbot wrathfully. "Do
+not call us to account."
+
+"Why waste so many words?" muttered Correntian between his teeth. "He
+is the convent's bondsman--he and his wife; you can do what you like
+with him."
+
+"You--with your gloomy corpse-face--" cried the infuriated man. "You
+are my enemy--even if you said nothing I could see it in your face.
+What have I done to you that you pour gall into the poor serf's little
+drop of happiness?"
+
+"Now--come away, we are tired. Do you think we are going to spend the
+whole night arguing with you as to whether or no you will do the
+Abbot's bidding?" Conrad Stiero now threw in.
+
+The veins in the fisherman's forehead were swollen with rage and he
+raised his fist threateningly.
+
+"I am going," he said, "but not without my wife and child," and he put
+his arm round Berntrudis. "Let me pass or mischief will come of it!"
+
+The Abbot drew back terrified, even brother Wyso started back, only
+Correntian remained immoveable. Stiero set his broad back against the
+door, but with a heavy lurch of his shoulder the fisherman pushed him
+almost off his balance, as if lifting a door off its posts.
+
+"Oho! is that what you mean?" cried the monk, eager to fight, "then you
+do not know Conrad Stiero!" And with a mighty blow of his fist on his
+opponent's forehead he sent the strong man staggering back with a heavy
+fall on to the floor. "I will teach you to behave yourself, you clown!"
+said Stiero, kneeling on the vanquished man, and he bound his hands
+with the cord which he took from round his own waist. The woman had
+sunk on the ground by the side of her husband, and Correntian made a
+movement--only one--as though he would raise and support her; but he
+started back in horror of himself and left her lying there.
+
+Stiero desired the man to rise. "You have found out now that we are no
+women under our cowls, to be frightened by violence. Now kneel down,
+poor wretch, and crave for mercy, for your life is no safer than that
+of a mad dog."
+
+The man, with his hands tied across each other, stood silent in a
+stupor of despair; he knelt down as Stiero bid him, but he did not
+utter a word, he fixed his sullen gaze on no one, he knew his fate and
+had lost all hope.
+
+"What do you think, my brethren," said the Abbot turning to the others,
+"shall we give him up to the provost to be judged?"
+
+"Yes!" replied Correntian.
+
+"Then his sentence is pronounced; he has lifted his hand against a
+priest, his life is forfeited," said the Abbot.
+
+The woman gave a piercing shriek of anguish and fell at Correntian's
+feet.
+
+"Pity--mercy!" she sobbed out almost mad with terror, and she clasped
+his knees with all the strength of despair, for she too felt that her
+ruin was lowering in those sinister eyes. A scarlet flush lighted up
+the monk's pale face--as the northern lights flash across a winter
+midnight-sky--he flung her from him and clung to the bed-post for
+support.
+
+"If you do not have some regard for the nurse you will kill the boy,"
+said a voice suddenly in Latin, and father Eusebius was seen standing
+by the unhappy woman as if he had sprung out of the ground.
+
+"God be thanked!" muttered brother Wyso. "Here at length is a
+reasonable man."
+
+Eusebius had looked on at the proceedings, silent and unobserved till
+it was necessary to speak; he raised the trembling woman from the
+floor, and kindly comforting her he led her to the bed on which she
+sank down powerless. Correntian let go the bed-post he was clasping, as
+if it had suddenly turned to hot iron.
+
+Eusebius' gaze, which he could not evade, fell upon him with a strange
+smile; Correntian hated that gaze, and from that moment he remained
+silent as if spell-bound by the gentle power of those clear eyes.
+
+"What do you mean, worthy brother Eusebius?" asked the Abbot, unskilled
+in such matters.
+
+"He means," interpreted Wyso in Latin with an impatient yawn, "that the
+woman's milk will fly to her brain or turn to poison, if you torment
+her so. Brother Correntian may fatten the brat with an extract of his
+doctrines of asceticism, but he will then probably not become a man but
+an angel at once," he added spitefully.
+
+Correntian trembled with rage, but the eye he feared still rested upon
+him and kept him within bounds.
+
+Meanwhile the Abbot had turned to the fisherman.
+
+"We will let justice give place to mercy--for the sake of your wife,
+our child's foster-mother. We stand by our first decision; till we
+release your wife you are banished as well as the gatekeeper who let
+you in. Henceforth no lay-brother shall guard the convent gate, but our
+brethren shall have the charge of the little gate-house in turn. Hope
+for nothing more and do not attempt again to penetrate our sanctuary--a
+second time will be your ruin."
+
+He turned to the Superior who stood in confusion in the background, for
+though he was innocent of this intrusion he had good-naturedly
+permitted meetings outside the convent walls, and so had made the
+gatekeeper too lax in the performance of his duty.
+
+"Lead the prisoner up to the moor; there hand him over to the shepherd
+and our lay-brethren at St. Valentine's--they can release him from his
+bonds. The shepherd will provide him with nourishment and other
+necessaries and will be answerable to me for his not quitting the
+moor.--Come now, brethren, we will not waste another hour of our
+deferred night's rest."
+
+The brethren followed him in silence.
+
+"I am sorry for the poor creatures," said Stiero to Wyso in an
+undertone. "It was Correntian who stirred up all the mischief. Why in
+the world can he never sleep?"
+
+"That he and God alone can tell!" said Wyso, shrugging his shoulders.
+
+"Take leave of your wife," said the Prior as the monks disappeared. "I
+dare not give you any farther respite, for the stern father Correntian
+will assuredly watch us from his window up there."
+
+The husband and wife fell into each other's arms in bitter grief,
+but they suddenly started apart again, for a monk still remained
+behind--are they not to be allowed to press heart to heart before
+parting?
+
+But the monk who has stayed behind is brother Eusebius; his face is
+radiant with mild dignity and sweet compassion. He signs to them with
+his slender withered hand that they need have no fear of him, for he
+has stayed to be a comfort to the miserable wife and not as a spy.
+
+"Do as your heart bids you," he says. "Nature is sacred--woe to those
+who violate her rights!"
+
+All was as still in the room as in a church, and he who had spoken
+these words stood there in calm grandeur, in divine unselfish peace,
+and looked on pityingly while the couple held each other in a close
+embrace and could not bear to tear themselves asunder, till the Prior
+separated them almost by force. A stifled scream from the woman--and
+the door closed, shutting her husband out for ever. The cloistered
+nurse was alone with the old monk, the gnome, who lived only between
+the grave and Heaven. She threw herself sobbing at his feet and he
+whispered words mighty to comfort in her ear, in a tongue as it were
+from another world that she but half comprehended; but they quelled the
+wild outbreak of her sorrow and lulled her soul, as if it were rocked
+by spirit-hands, filling her with strangely melancholy and yet glorious
+presentiments.
+
+Dawn was already breaking in the lonely turret-chamber, the bell was
+ringing for matins. The mother sat pale and weary on the edge of the
+bed and held her child to her breast. She had taken it in her arms
+unthinkingly--it had waked before the other child--never remembering
+that after this night's work the milk might be poison which her frail
+baby was drinking in eager draughts. Father Eusebius had left her to
+attend the early mass. She had not yet slept at all; but now she sank
+back on the pillow, nature asserted its rights--she fell asleep--while
+the poison was slowly but fatally coursing through the veins of the
+infant which, in her slumbers, she still held closely and tenderly to
+her breast.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER IV.
+
+
+A scream of anguish rang through the still convent court-yard from the
+eastern tower; it rang out to the clear spring sky and through the open
+turret-window, following the glorified infant soul that had taken its
+flight to Heaven up, up into the eternal blue; it startled the brooding
+swallow from the roof, and fearing some mortal evil she fluttered round
+her nest; it roused the grey monk in the western tower from the books
+and writings among which he sat day and night poring over his little
+desk and imbibing living food for his soul's roots from the dead
+parchment. He closed his book and rose. Meanwhile someone was already
+knocking at his door. For father Eusebius was the sick nurse of the
+whole convent; whenever any one was ill in the Abbey or in the
+neighbourhood he was sent for.
+
+"Come quickly, brother Eusebius," cried the messenger. "The nurse's
+baby has died suddenly."
+
+Brother Eusebius was not in the least surprised, he had foreseen it;
+since that night of terror three days ago the little girl had been ill
+and had defied his utmost skill. Some of the brethren it is true were
+of opinion that the child was possessed by the devil, because the
+mother had been snatched from her wicked pleasures, and that it ought
+to be exorcised; but the wise Eusebius knew better--he knew that the
+feeble infant had drunk its death at its mother's breast.
+
+He went up to the little room which was lighted up by the brightest
+sunshine; the poor woman lay stretched over her child's body, her wild
+sobs betraying the agony which was rending her heart. The other child
+lay smiling in his cradle and playing with a wreath of blooming
+cowslips[1] that his uncle Conrad of Ramuess had brought up from the
+valley where he had been tending a sick man. The poor little corpse had
+its eyes still open and they were fixed on the unconscious boy as if
+she had something to say to him which her little silent lips could
+not utter. But the mother understood--at least she thought she
+understood--and she gave that look a cruel and terrible meaning; for
+her it had no other interpretation than this: "You have killed me."
+
+Eusebius silently laid one hand on the mother's head and the other on
+the child's, and with a practised touch he closed the dead, fixed eyes.
+The sobbing mother was pressing her aching head against the cold little
+breast as if to break through the icy crust laid over it by death, but
+he raised her head with a firm hand, and without a word pointed to the
+open window. At that moment a white dove flew through the clear ether,
+shining like silver in the sunshine--rising higher, growing smaller, as
+it soared on rapturous wing through immeasurable space; soon seen no
+more but as a fluttering speck, higher and still higher--till lost in
+the blue distance. That was the soul of the dead child--so the mother
+believed--nay knew for certain. She sank on her knees and with folded
+hands worshipped the miracle that had been accomplished before her
+mortal eyes. And so once more the wise old man had been able to triumph
+over death and misery in that hapless soul by an alliance with Nature
+which he alone understood--Nature who would utter her divine wisdom to
+none but him.
+
+But the measure was not yet full.
+
+Out on the moor the lonely outcast husband was rocking in his canoe by
+the shore of the lake; his nets lay idle at the bottom of the boat and
+he sat sunk in sullen brooding; it was growing dusk, the lake bubbled
+and foamed; there was dumb rebellion in its depths--as in the depths of
+the exile's soul. Cold gusts dashed frothy, splashing waves on to the
+banks which were as bare--up at this height--as if it still were
+winter, and which were so sodden with the melting snows that they could
+absorb no more of the superfluous moisture; the dry scrub that grew
+about the place sighed and rustled softly as the wind swept over it.
+The fisherman started from his dreaming, unmoored his bark and pushed
+away from the shore; but hardly had he got a yard from the bank when he
+heard a voice calling. He stopped and listened; it was a messenger from
+the monastery to tell him that that morning his little daughter had
+died.
+
+The man let go his oar and hid his face in his hands sobbing aloud like
+a child.
+
+The convent servant called out to him compassionately to "come to
+shore, to compose himself; that the holy fathers had desired him
+to promise the afflicted man all kindness, and good wages for the
+future--" the stricken man rose up in the rage of despair.
+
+"Spare your words," he shouted across the roaring of the waves as they
+tossed round the frail canoe. "Take yourself off with your hypocritical
+convent face or I will choke your false throat with your own lying
+promises. Why should I believe you--how have you kept your word to me?
+You have stolen my wife and murdered my child. I curse you--I curse the
+day when you enticed my wife and child within your dismal walls, I
+curse the day when that boy was born who is the cause of all the
+mischief. Be advised while still it is time--kill the child before he
+does any farther harm--an evil star guides him and he will bring ruin
+on all who go near him. And now get you gone if you value your life."
+
+The convent servant crossed himself in horror and hastened to obey the
+warning; he was frightened at the infuriated man, standing up in his
+bark with his fist clenched, with his tangled hair and flaming eyes
+like a "Salwang," one of those most fearful giants, before whom not
+mortals only, but even the "phantom maidens" fly.
+
+And as soon as the messenger had disappeared the unhappy man threw
+himself on his face again and abandoned himself to his sorrow. The
+canoe drove over the waves--rudderless as the boatman's soul. He did
+not heed the spring-storm that blew in deeper and deeper gusts across
+the lake, nor the waves that ran higher and higher as though Nature
+were dreaming uneasily in her sleep--till suddenly a swift current
+caught the boat and carried it on with increasing rapidity down the
+lake. The man started up, and his aroused consciousness made him clutch
+sharply at the oar, for he perceived with horror through the darkness
+that he was driving towards the spot where the Etsch[2] rushes out of
+the lake with a considerable fall. But alas! the oar was gone--it had
+slipped away, escaping him in his anguish without his being aware of
+it; the loop of straw which had served to fasten it was hanging broken
+to the hook. For an instant he was stunned, then he gave an involuntary
+shout for help--then came the knowledge of the danger, the certainty
+that he was lost. He went through a brief struggle of vigorous healthy
+life against the idea of destruction--a short pang of terror of
+death--and then came the calmness of despair, and a still heroism that
+none could see but God! The lost man sat with his arms folded in the
+boat, driven down the stream beyond all hope of rescue, with one last
+prayer on his lips--a loving prayer for the wife he was leaving behind.
+Far away on the shore he sees the lights of the brethren of St.
+Valentine--they call to him--signal to him--the boat rushes on, in
+headlong haste, to its fate. There--there are the falls--a thundering
+roar--the canoe tips up on end--then it shoots over head foremost,
+turning over twice in its fall, till it lies crushed and smashed among
+the stones in the bed of the cataract. It is all over--the swollen
+spring-flood of the Etsch carries a mangled corpse and dancing
+fragments down into the valley on its sportive and roaring waters.
+
+
+"Now indeed, poor woman--you have lost all!"
+
+Father Eusebius was sitting in the nurse's little room, which during
+the last three days had been to her a cell of torment; he held the
+unconscious woman's head between his hands and rubbed her forehead and
+temples with strong spirit of lavender; but her mind was wandering far
+away in the twilight of oblivion and must return to a consciousness of
+nothing but horror--torment and to suffering. Her hands moved with a
+feeble gesture to push him away, her dumb lips parted as though she
+would say, "Do not be cruel--do not wake me--I am at peace--leave me,
+leave me."
+
+But though his heart seemed to stand still for pity, he must call her
+back to life.
+
+At last she was roused; she looked round enquiringly, for all her world
+was in ruins and she knew not whom she could turn or cling to. Before
+her on the floor lay her dead husband's clothes--there stood the cradle
+out of which they had carried away her baby only yesterday to the
+charnel-house--what was left her in the world? There still was one!
+Father Eusebius took the living baby from the bed and brought it to
+her. "It is a stranger's child," he said. "But it is yours too!" and
+the bleeding heart-strings, torn up by the roots, clung to the strange
+child as if he were her own--the poor beggared soul accepted it as the
+last alms of love bestowed upon her by the Creator; for she was humbled
+in her misfortune, she did not strive, she did not contend, nor did she
+bear any malice to the child, for all that it had unconsciously been
+guilty of. "The child is yours," spoke comfort to her heart, and she
+believed it as father Eusebius himself did when he spoke the words.
+
+"What is yours? Who within these walls may venture to boast that
+anything is his own?" said Correntian's stern voice at the door.
+
+"Oh! that man!" shrieked the terrified woman and she fled with the
+child into the remotest corner of the room from the sinister monk who
+now came in.
+
+"I spoke of the child--to comfort the poor soul, and if you are a man
+you will leave her that comfort," said brother Eusebius.
+
+"In this house nothing is ours--but suffering and the hope of
+redemption," the dark man went on pitilessly. "Know that, woman; and
+remember it at every hour--The venerable fathers have sent me to tell
+you that you must now wean the child, that the shock of the last few
+days may do him no harm."
+
+A flood of tears burst from the nurse's large and innocent eyes as she
+heard this, and she asked with white lips,
+
+"Must I go away then?"
+
+"No, not so long as the child is still little and needs a woman's care.
+Now, you know the fathers' determination--act accordingly."
+
+And without vouchsafing her a glance he quitted the room.
+
+Calm, clear and gentle, like the moon in the high heaven when the sun
+has set, father Eusebius stood before the poor woman whose sun of life
+had set, and in half-inarticulate words she made her lament to him,
+telling him her sorrow; to him she dared to weep out all the
+unutterable anguish that would have driven her mad if she had had to
+bear it alone.
+
+
+Day after day passed silently away in the lonely turret-room; in a few
+weeks the fresh handsome woman had grown pale, thin and old--no longer
+a scandal to the chaste eyes of the brethren. Not a word, not a smile
+ever came to her lips--she lived only for the child that throve
+joyously on her crushed affections.
+
+Every day the little one grew stronger and more blooming; a child as
+sweet and winning as if angels came down from Heaven from time to time
+to play with him. He was like a ray of sunshine in the gloomy convent
+and in the closed hearts of the brethren. He could entice a smile from
+the sternest lips--hardly any one could resist giving him a flower in
+passing, throwing him a spray, or bringing him some tempting fruit
+from any more distant walk--a bunch of wood strawberries, an empty
+bird's-nest, a sparkling pebble--whatever came to hand. "Our little
+brother," they called him, and the words were repeated here and there
+in the early morning, when the nurse would sit with the boy in the
+little cloister garden for him to play on the soft grass-plot while she
+went on silently with her work, for the little one had begun to run
+about quite prettily and she could leave him to himself for hours. But
+indeed he never remained alone; hardly was he down in the garden when
+all the younger monks gathered round him like bees round a newly opened
+flower. And they played with him like children and made him all sorts
+of toys; chains of bird-cherries and little parchment wind-mills and
+ships--downright waste of time the older brethren called it. The rigid
+old brother carpenter carved him out little sheep and cows and a little
+manger with a baby Christ in it. Brother Engelbert, the painter,
+painted him all sorts of lovely pictures in the brightest colours--the
+whale swallowing Jonas and Saint Christopher carrying the infant Christ
+through the water; and was delighted with the child's shouts of joy
+when he showed some comprehension of one and the other. Brother
+Candidus, the precentor, cut him out sweetly tuned pipes and was never
+tired of admiring the boy's good ear.
+
+Thus each did what he could for the "little brother." The hour of
+recreation was their play-time with the boy and the older men would
+look on smiling and observe with satisfaction how such innocent and
+childish amusements could please the younger brethren.
+
+The child grew up in bliss--as if in Paradise. Loved by all,
+affectionately taught by all, he developed rapidly in body and mind.
+One above all others bore him in his heart and cared for him with his
+hands--to one above all others he clung with increasing devotion; this
+was Conrad of Ramuess, his uncle. However deep the child might be in
+some new game, however close the circle of monks around him, when he
+heard Conrad's voice he flung everything aside, got up on his tottering
+little feet, and trotted jubilant to meet him. It was a striking
+picture when the tall, handsome man stooped down to lift the boy; when
+the fat baby arms were clasped round the proud neck with its golden
+curls and the small round cheeks were pressed caressingly against that
+noble, spiritual face.
+
+"My sweet angel, the flower on my cross!" he would often say to him,
+and the child would listen almost devoutly and look before him vaguely
+with his large brown eyes, as though he already could know the
+significance of the Cross which stood in the midst of the convent
+garden to the honour of the Most High.
+
+He would sit for hours in the quiet little garden with the child on his
+knee and his breviary in his hand; so long as he felt the little heart
+beating against his own he was content. Now and then it struck his
+conscience that perhaps he clung too closely to the child as an earthly
+treasure; and then he would raise his eyes imploringly to Heaven,
+"Forgive me for loving him--I am bringing him up for Thee--my God." And
+as the child grew bigger and learned to speak, it was Conrad who with
+inexhaustible patience taught him his first little prayer; to fold his
+baby hands and kiss the wooden Christ in the garden when he lifted him
+up in his strong arms. The little one knew every wound as a cruel
+torment and would lisp out, "Holy! holy!" while he pressed his rosy
+lips to the blood-stained wooden hands and feet. But he who inflicted
+these torments on the Redeemer, to the child's fancy was none other
+than Correntian; the brethren might do what they would, they could
+never get it out of the child's head that "the cruel man" had nailed
+the Saviour to the cross.
+
+"The brat has more wit than all of us put together," said Wyso when he
+heard it. "If Christ were to come again Correntian would be the first
+to crucify him."
+
+From that time Correntian hated him if possible more than before, and
+the child was so much afraid of him that he fled from him crying when
+by any chance he approached him. Never had he favoured the child with a
+single word but one of rebuke, nor a look but one of reproach. The
+merriment of the brethren was in his eyes an outrage and a crime
+against the rule of Saint Benedict which did not allow of speech "with
+gesticulations, nor with showing of the teeth, nor with laughter and
+outcry."
+
+But the others who set the spirit above the letter, and who better
+understood the rule of Saint Benedict, did not care, but loved the
+child all the more. Correntian was like a seceder from the rest of the
+brethren, and the unacknowledged breach between them grew daily more
+impossible to heal. Here again it was the child that was guilty. "The
+seed of hell that I pointed out is beginning to germinate," said the
+implacable man.
+
+Three summers had passed over little Donatus and the autumn wind was
+once more blowing over the stubble-fields though the midday sun still
+blazed with much power. The nurse was sitting with the boy in an arbour
+of blossomless juniper; the brethren were busy in the house with their
+prayers and duties. She was quite alone; as often as the autumn winds
+blew, the old wounds broke out again in the saddened heart and bled
+anew; it was now near the season when, four years ago, she had first
+left her husband and her lowly home, which was now empty and ruined.
+"You--you took everything from me--and yet I cannot help loving you,
+you child of sorrow," said she to the boy, who was playing at her feet
+at a burial, and was just then placing a cross he had made of two
+little sticks on the top of a mound he had thrown up. It was a
+delightful occupation and the child was eager at his play; he decked
+the grave with red bird-cherries as he had seen done in the grave-yard
+when one of the brethren took him there; then he swung his little clay
+mug over it by a string for a censer and sang an edifying litany in his
+baby way as he had heard the brethren do, and he was so absorbed in his
+pretty play that he screamed and struggled when his nurse suddenly
+caught hold of him and took him up. But he was easily pacified and,
+well-pleased with his foster-mother's caresses, he clung closely to
+that faithful breast. It was long since she had forgotten the
+prohibition to kiss him. She clasped him again and again with
+melancholy fervour and pressed a thousand kisses on his sweet
+baby-lips.
+
+At this moment, as if it had sprung from the earth, a dark shadow stood
+between her and the sun, which threw a golden light on the grass-plot
+in front of the arbour. She looked up startled--again it was Correntian
+who stood before her. And as if that most sacred feeling, a mother's
+love, were a sin, she blushed and set the child down on the ground. She
+was suddenly conscious that she ought not to kiss him--a look of
+loathing from the monk told her all and she trembled before him. But he
+only shook his head and said,
+
+"This must have an end. Stay here!" he added in a tone of rough command
+and quitted her with a rapid step.
+
+The woman sat still as if spell-bound and dared not move from the spot.
+What misery would he bring upon her now? All at once it had grown
+cloudy and chill, and yet the sun was shining as before; the grass, the
+trees--though still green, the sky--though still blue--everything was
+all at once autumnal and sere as if metamorphosed by a touch. And the
+child looked to her so strange, so distant, so unattainable, and yet
+she need only put out her arms to clasp him.
+
+So she waited with folded hands, motionless.
+
+At last she heard returning steps over the path; it was the Abbot and a
+few of the elder brethren. The Abbot hurried up with unwonted haste.
+
+"You are an incorrigible woman," he scolded out. "We have shown more
+than due pity for you, we have kept you here longer than was fit
+although the boy has long since ceased to need you; there was no way
+left for you to sin--so we thought--and now I hear that even this child
+is not sacred to you! Why, have I not forbidden you to kiss the boy?
+'under heavy penalty,' I said; and you--you despise our orders, you
+compel the child to submit to your caresses although he struggles with
+vague misgiving, and you teach his innocent mouth, which is consecrated
+to God's service, to kiss a woman's lips; you outrage the sight of the
+brethren who betake themselves to the garden for devout contemplation?
+It must come to an end, brother Correntian is right. There," he added,
+drawing a little bag full of gold coins out of his frock, and laying it
+in her hand, "there is your honest pay. I think you will be satisfied
+with us, it is a donation worthy of a prince. You may buy yourself a
+farm and land with it down there near Nauders or wherever you will, but
+take yourself off out of the sacred precincts of our cloister, for
+ever."
+
+The nurse made no answer, she stood there pale and dumb; tears dimmed
+her eyes as if she had been plunged into a lake, and saw everything
+through water. Her clenched hands trembled so that she had let the
+purse fall, the wretched price of her life's ruined happiness. Now the
+last treasure was taken from her, the only thing left--the child to
+whom she had sacrificed all; this too! "Within these walls nothing is
+our own but suffering," Correntian had said, she remembered that.
+
+"Take the child with you at once," said the Abbot, and Correntian's
+bony fingers grasped the child; but the boy cried so heart-rendingly,
+and clung with such deadly terror to his foster-mother that he had to
+be torn away from her, and his screams brought out the younger
+brethren. The nurse leaned helplessly against the pillar of the arbour,
+and a deep groan broke from her. The younger monks, looking on, were
+filled with blind fury; their hatred for Correntian, which had been
+growing for many years, could be no longer contained; they forgot all
+discipline and obedience, all the rules of their order. They crowded
+round Correntian like a pack of hounds.
+
+"Leave the child alone, you blood-hound, you spy, who can never leave
+any thing in peace."
+
+"For shame, reverend Abbot, for listening to him, the wolf."
+
+Thus shouted the angry mob who would listen to no farther commands; it
+was open revolt. The Abbot and the elder brethren ran about in
+confusion, not knowing what to do, when above the tumult they heard the
+voice which had so often restored peace and calm; father Eusebius had
+just come down from his tower-chamber, and with a rapid glance had
+taken in the state of affairs.
+
+"You are forgetting your obedience, my brethren. We could not keep the
+woman here for ever; so it is my opinion that Conrad of Ramuess should
+take the child into his cell, he loves it, and it clings to him."
+
+"Yes, yes, let Conrad of Ramuess take him," they cried with one voice,
+and brother Conrad was fetched out from the chapel.
+
+With a glance of infinite pity at the poor trembling woman he took the
+child in his arms. "Be easy, I will take good care of him for you," he
+said kindly, and she gratefully kissed the hem of his robe. She took
+one last long look at the child, the beloved boy that she had nursed so
+faithfully in those arms which might never clasp him again. She dared
+not give him any parting kiss, his little hands might never touch her
+more. The tall monk carried him away high above the crowd of brethren,
+as if he were borne along on a dark stream; now, now the doors close
+upon him--it is over!
+
+The woman sat alone under the withered arbour; it was evening, the dew
+was falling, the wind rustled in the dry branches, and warned her that
+it was time to make up her bundle, and to find her way--out into the
+world where all was dead or strange to her. Whither should she go? She
+knew not, she must wander about alone and helpless so long as her feet
+would carry her, till she dropped and lay down somewhere or other. She
+pulled herself up, for so it must be, but she must go upstairs into the
+empty room whence they had taken the child, just to fetch a few
+wretched garments. No, she could not do it.
+
+She stole away, just as she stood, her knees bending under her, taking
+only one thing with her: the little cross with which the child had been
+playing at his mimic grave-yard. She pressed it to her lips while she
+shed hot tears. Thus she glided like a criminal through the mist and
+darkness, out of the little gate where she had so often watched for her
+husband. But now no loving arm was waiting to clasp her; the Prior
+called out a compassionate farewell; that was all. One more glance up
+at the turret-window, and then she went down into the misty valley--a
+lonely beggar.
+
+Up in the convent a great conclave was held by the elders in judgment
+on the younger brethren and their criminal outbreak against all
+discipline. Father Eusebius would willingly have hurried off after the
+poor forsaken woman, but his duty to his Order kept him here.
+
+"It has all happened just as I said and prophesied," said Correntian.
+"All the mischief comes of the child. It is the child of a curse, and
+it will bring the curse under our roof."
+
+Then Eusebius rose, his voice sounded sharp and stern as it never
+had before, and his eyes flashed round upon the assembly with an
+eagle-like glance.
+
+"I will tell you," said he, "the cause of the curse that clings to the
+child. All the conditions of its life are unnatural. Its father's rage
+was unnatural that made the child an outcast before it was born; your
+demands on the nurse were unnatural, and the husband, wife, and child
+have come to ruin in consequence; and the child's life here in the
+convent is unnatural. That is the seed of hell of which you spoke,
+Correntian, which you have cherished, and which you will reap--the
+revenge of outraged nature."
+
+
+
+
+
+                                BOOK II.
+
+                               MARTYRDOM.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER I.
+
+
+Joy, joy in all the fields! for it is harvest-time. In all the fields
+up hill and down dale; down in the valley and up on the heights
+they are cutting the last swathes, the last Rodnerinnenlocken are
+sounding--so they call the old traditional cry with which the hay-maker
+calls upon the blessed phantom-maidens to come and help him. He strikes
+three times on his scythe with his whet-stone, so that it rings over
+hill and valley; the phantom-maidens hear it, and hasten down from
+their cliffs to help the mowers, so that they may get in the harvest in
+dry weather. For they are kind-hearted and well-disposed to the peasant
+who contentedly tills his field, and many old folks are still living
+who have seen with their own eyes that they were not too proud to work
+in peasant's dress, helping those who were industrious. But since a
+rude lad once seized upon one of the "good women," and kissed her by
+force, they no longer show themselves to mortal eyes; only their kind
+handiwork can be traced. The more industrious a man is, the more they
+help him, for they never come to any but the industrious; the idle call
+on them in vain. But this year there must have been more of them than
+ever, for it is a splendid harvest, and has been got in quicker than
+usual. Singing and shouting resound on all the meadows, and the long
+lines of hay-waggons with their intractable teams of spanned oxen seem
+endless. Children are romping among the odorous hay-cocks in the
+meadows, or lie on the top of the soft piled up heaps stretching their
+weary limbs luxuriously; lads and lasses together teazing and joking
+each other in exuberant merriment.
+
+Up at the window of the eastern tower of Marienberg a pair of large
+melancholy eyes were gazing longingly down on this glorious, smiling
+scene. A pair of wonderful eyes they were; deep, dark, and yet full of
+light as though glowing with some inward fire, so that even the white
+seemed to take a ruddy tint, like an opal held against the light. They
+gazed down from the tower with a fixed regard, drinking in all the
+splendour in one long look.
+
+The gay, social doings of men--the silent, all-powerful day-star that
+was riding at its noon-tide height and shedding its rays over all the
+wide landscape, so that every roof and turret of the thirteen hamlets
+that lay strewn around were distinctly visible up to the very edge of
+the gleaming snow-fields and glaciers, which were the only limits set
+to the roving eye--the wide verdant plain, like a garden with softly
+swelling hills and tufted woods, and traversed by the silvery streak of
+the murmuring Etsch--all this was mirrored in those hungry, dreamy,
+far-gazing eyes. They followed the course of the wild, swift rivulet
+that tosses itself so impatiently over rapids and falls as it leaves
+the lonely mountain-tarn on the moor, rushing on to the all-engulfing
+sea. And those eyes sent forth a message of enquiry up to the blue sky,
+down to the smiling plain, beyond the majestic heads of the great
+Ortler-chain--a dumb, burning question.
+
+But no answer came back to him; it vanished, wafted away by the winds,
+like broken gossamer-threads.
+
+The eyes, the anxiously enquiring eyes, belonged to a youth so nobly
+formed, so full of graciousness, that it seemed as if nature must have
+formed him for a world of perpetual Sundays, and not for a world of
+weariness, labour and duty--those grim destroyers of the beautiful.
+
+"Oh! sweet child of humanity; here you sit imprisoned and bemoaning
+your living death between cloister walls and among pale disfigured
+faces. Forgive me, O, God! if it is a sin to regret that all that is
+beautiful should be rejected by pitiless asceticism in these rough
+times--that it must wander through the world misunderstood and
+unprized, and either perish like flowers on a cross or sink in the pool
+of perdition."
+
+Father Eusebius was standing behind the young man's chair and his eyes
+rested sadly and thoughtfully on the young head, with its thick crown
+of dark curls that waved rebelliously round the prescribed tonsure.
+Eusebius had grown old and feeble, he was now ninety-three years old.
+His hair was like snow, and his body frail and bent, but his spirit was
+perennially young and his glance had the same power as of old. The
+youth turned his head. "What, Father Eusebius," said he in surprise.
+"Are you there? I did not hear you come in. What has brought your weary
+feet up here?"
+
+"I knew that you would be up here and dreaming again."
+
+"Are you vexed with me?" asked the boy, and a pleading smile lighted up
+his face as sweetly as when a crystal pool reflects the sunshine.
+
+"Who could be vexed with you?" said Eusebius, and his old eyes lingered
+with undisguised delight on the beautiful face of the boy, "I only fear
+lest the brethren should take it ill in you if you keep apart in the
+recreation-hour."
+
+"Ah, reverend brother," answered the youth, "you cannot know how happy
+I am up here; I can see out into the wide world, far over hill and
+valley! This was my first home, here stood my cradle, here a kind voice
+sang me to sleep and in the little nest up there on the roof I first
+heard the twittering of birds. I cannot tell you how content I am here.
+I feel as if when my time comes I must die here and fly straight out of
+that window into eternity after my little foster-sister--as if there
+could be no other path-way to Heaven."
+
+Eusebius laid his hand on the boy's shoulder.
+
+"I do understand you, my son. It would be well for you if so it could
+be and you need only fly away to reach eternal bliss! But a long and
+weary and thorny path lies before you, a path which you must tread with
+bleeding feet; and many a heavy cross awaits you that you must bear on
+aching shoulders ere you may rest in God!"
+
+"Oh! brother--why may I not die at once? Why may I not depart at once
+and be with the Father, for whom my soul pants?"
+
+"Because we must live--live and work, my son; work for our neighbour
+and for future generations. Thus only can humanity ripen into
+perfection; each must do his duty in his own way by word and by example
+and none may escape his task."
+
+"Why must we first be men if we proceed from God and are his children?"
+asked the boy with a sigh.
+
+"We do not proceed from God--we shall only go to God! Of dust were we
+born and out of dust we shall be raised and purified by the Spirit--to
+the Spirit."
+
+The lad rested his head upon his hand and looked out again. "By the
+Spirit, to the Spirit--yes--yes--we must cast off this flesh with all
+its longings and weakness and yet--Oh! Eusebius, it is so hard! It
+would be so much easier to throw off this whole miserable body at once
+and die once for all than slowly to crush this throbbing, longing
+heart. Eusebius, a feeling comes over me as if I must fling my arms
+wide open and embrace the desert air--as if I must throw myself down on
+the grass and rest my head on the lap of earth--as if somewhere--in the
+earth itself or in the warm summer-air--a heart must be beating towards
+mine on which I might fling myself and weep out all my pain. Ah!
+Eusebius, it is true you all love me--and I love you; and I love God
+too and my Holy Mother Mary above all--and still it is not enough and
+my soul still thirsts for some love--for something--that shall be my
+own--wholly and solely mine. 'It is not good for man to be alone,' was
+said by the Lord himself--and I am alone--so utterly, absolutely
+alone."
+
+And the youth raised his glowing eyes with such fervent entreaty to
+Eusebius that it cut the old man to the heart. Then he passionately
+grasped Eusebius' hand.
+
+"Eusebius," he said, "you are wiser than they all. Tell me why must it
+be so? Why must we love nothing but God? Why is that a sin for us which
+is permitted to all the rest of mankind?"
+
+Eusebius was startled by this unexpected question. He himself had once
+upon a time purchased his salvation with his very heart's blood and the
+wounds had healed. But would that which had cured him work a cure in
+another? Would the idea that rules the world damp this fire also?
+Eusebius looked thoughtfully before him and there was a pause as if he
+were seeking the right words; then he said,
+
+"The great mass of people are struggling upwards by degrees--working,
+toiling, producing--step by step to the throne of God; but the steps
+are centuries and it is only after long centuries that the goal is ever
+visible to them. But there are solitary souls that feel a more powerful
+impulse towards Heaven than others do and that can separate themselves
+from the common herd and by great acts of self-denial attain to that
+perfection, for which centuries are needed by mankind as a whole. Such
+a soul can tread the direct road to God;--but he must walk alone--for
+he is shut out from all community with nature as soon as he sets forth
+upon that road. He no longer belongs to the toiling, producing mass,
+seething with perpetual reproduction of itself from itself--his life
+must be one long death. It demands the noblest heroism, the highest
+effort; for one single glance backwards--one false step on his lonely
+way to death; and omnipotent nature clutches him again and drags the
+lost soul back among her blindly-working wheels. But in the last
+judgment God will judge those presumptuous ones who undertook that
+which they could not carry through, more hardly than all the others,
+and will say, 'Why wouldst thou fain be better and greater than these,
+if thou hadst not the strength to achieve it?' Therefore, my son, we
+live apart from the world behind these sheltering cloister-walls, that
+nothing may tempt us from the path of holiness which we have chosen."
+
+Eusebius paused and watched Donatus, who was leaning against the window
+and breathing hard.
+
+"Eusebius!" he exclaimed, fervently grasping the old man's hand, "God
+will be merciful and give me strength to carry through that which I
+have begun--will he not?"
+
+"Who can tell? What we ourselves undertake we ourselves must carry out.
+Therefore prove your heart, my son, before you swear the great
+irrevocable vow; you yourself wished to be a priest--you have obtained
+your wish, in a few days you will be consecrated to God's service. But
+if in your heart you bear such earthly longings will you be strong
+enough for such a sacred calling? If not--renounce it rather than some
+day break a double vow and so be doubly sinful. Better, better that you
+should fly away into the wide world than that you should be false to
+your own and to our plighted truth, and so fall lower in the eyes of
+God than those who never purposed to be more than men among men."
+
+"I fly! I not be a priest!" cried the youth vehemently. "Nay, nay, my
+brother. You only wish to try me--you cannot be in earnest. If I said
+anything to make you doubt my truth, forgive me. Never, never has such
+a thought crossed my mind. And what should I do out in the world? If
+you drive a bird that was hatched in captivity out of doors it will
+starve in the midst of plenty--and so it would be with me. Only
+sometimes I suddenly feel as if the convent were too narrow for me, as
+if you ought not to keep me here like a prisoner! Look out there--is
+not that glorious! Must I not long to be out there in the blue
+distance? Must not the plain below tempt me down there, down to the
+delicious verdure which affords nourishment and refreshment to all?
+Must not those solitary heights tempt me up to the everlasting snow, so
+high, so near to Heaven? Or over there, near the bed of the silver
+stream, out on the heath where I was born? Is not God everywhere--over
+there as well as here? And is it not He whom I would seek down in the
+valley or up among the frozen glaciers? You--all of you--go in and out;
+you strengthen and refresh your souls in wood and field, why may I only
+never quit these walls?--why must I, so long as I live, be rooted like
+a dumb motionless plant within the narrow limits of the little convent
+garden?"
+
+"My son, I have long expected you to question me thus. I will take upon
+myself to tell you the reasons why the fathers shelter you so
+anxiously--against my advice--for so far as I am concerned you should
+not be a monk nor take the vows of priesthood. I have read many books,
+old heathen chronicles and histories as well as Christian ones, and I
+have always found that human wit and human cunning must fail when
+anything was fore-ordained, and that what must be must. And if it must
+be, you will be torn from us even if we keep you within seven-fold
+walls. You must know then that a curse of interdicted love rests upon
+you; that is why your dying mother dedicated you to the cloister, and
+the reason of their keeping you so strictly, in order that the last
+will of the dead may be faithfully carried out. The fathers dread lest
+every step beyond these walls should entail the accomplishment of the
+curse; nay, Correntian even proposed that you should be blinded when
+you came to us as a new-born infant, to secure you for ever from all
+temptation."
+
+"Dreadful man!" said the lad with a shudder. "But--one thing
+more--solve, I beg of you, the mystery of my birth. Why was I born out
+on the heath, who was my mother, and what crime had she committed that
+my father should cast her out?"
+
+"We all took a solemn oath to our Abbot Conrad--the Abbot at that
+time--never to breathe the names of your parents either to you or to
+any one else, so that every tie between you and the world might be
+broken. Your mother died as a saint, and it was her wish that you too
+should live and die in an equally saintly manner. You are the child of
+the church; ask after no other parents. This was the answer we were to
+give you when you should ask, and so I answer you now, as is my duty."
+
+"Oh! now I understand it all!" said Donatus, his voice trembling with
+deep agitation. "Woe is me! a curse rested on my innocent head before I
+saw the light! Aye, it is true; I was the death of the mother that bore
+me, I made the foster-mother that reared me miserable; she lost her
+husband and child for my sake. I was born to misfortune, and misfortune
+will pursue me wherever I go. Yes, you are right, there is no road for
+me but that to God, not a hope but Heaven! and I will keep three-fold
+watch over myself now that I know this! I will quell my rebellious
+heart even if it must break. I will not dream up here any more; no more
+shall the soft breath of the morning-breeze caress me, no more will I
+inhale the aromatic fragrance of the limes beneath this window nor let
+my gaze wander round the smiling distance--all these things rouse my
+longing! And perish the wishes even which may tempt me away from the
+step of the Altar to which I am dedicated! I am yours henceforth body
+and soul, and the world shall never more rob you of a single thought of
+my mind!"
+
+"God grant it may be so!" said Eusebius, and his eyes rested sadly on
+the transfigured countenance of his young companion. Did he shake his
+head? no, he was only shaking off a startled moth. And Donatus rose.
+
+"Let us go down," he said, "and leave this ensnaring spot which too
+much befools my senses! For I feel I had said things that I ought not
+to have said, and that it was not God who lent me such words."
+
+So saying he closed the little window with its panes, obscured by dust
+and its worm-eaten frame. At this moment a cheery blast from a horn
+rang in the distance. "Oh look!" cried Donatus, "a procession of riders
+is coming up the mountain!"
+
+Eusebius went to the window.
+
+"It is true," said he, "a riding party--they are coming here; we must
+hurry down to announce them to the Abbot; come."
+
+It was eleven o'clock, the hour when the brethren walked in the garden
+for recreation. Abbot Conrad of Ramuess, for it was he who now wore the
+mitre, was just then walking under a shady alley of trees and
+discussing with one of the brethren the preparations for ordaining
+Donatus a priest; for his favourite's festival must be kept with all
+the pomp of which the rules of the order allowed. Noonday silence lay
+on the peaceful little garden. The apricots and pears on the walls
+swelled their ruddy cheeks under the hot rays of a July sun and the
+brethren rested at their ease, stretched out in the shade of quiet
+arbours and trees. The pigeons cooed on the roof, and at the foot of
+the Crucifix, where the sun shone hottest, lay the lazy old convent
+cat, her green eyes sleepily closed.
+
+Suddenly a wild noise was heard at the gate, the neighing of horses and
+barking of dogs, blasts on the horn and confused shouting; the brethren
+sprang, up in alarm. Donatus and Eusebius hurried up. "For God's sake,
+venerable Abbot--there is a splendid riding party at the gate, desiring
+to be admitted," they called out, "What shall we do?"
+
+"What we cannot avoid doing--give them what they require."
+
+"Oh, dear!" lamented fat old Wyso, who had been brought out by the
+alarm and who could hardly walk for old age and swelled feet. "Oh,
+dear! they will eat us up like the Egyptian locusts--do not let them
+in--or ask first who they are. We are not bound to harbour any one but
+the lords of the soil and they have already left us poor."
+
+"Good brother Wyso," said the Abbot smiling, "if it pleased the Lord to
+let a swarm of locusts fall upon us, should we not be obliged to
+submit? so submit to these and act cordially with us in showing
+hospitality."
+
+Thus speaking they had reached the gate and the Abbot himself opened it
+and met the impatient troop with a dignified demeanour.
+
+High above him on horseback sat a number of nobles with a crowd of
+followers. The gay robes of silk and velvet, trimmed with costly furs,
+shone splendidly in the sun. Men and beasts were bathed in sweat from
+their hot ride up the steep hill.
+
+"_Deo gratias_, noble gentlemen," said the Abbot. "If you are satisfied
+to accept what a poor, out-of-the-world mountain-convent has to offer,
+step in and be welcome in Christ's name."
+
+"Come in, as many as there is room for," said the foremost horseman
+with a laugh, urging his prancing horse through the narrow doorway.
+"God save you, my lord Abbot, I do not think you good folks here
+starve?" he added with a merry glance at Wyso, who was trying to keep
+his gouty feet in safety out of the way of the crowd of horses.
+
+The knight guided his horse under a shed, in order to alight in the
+shade; as many of the others followed as could come in; the silent
+convent yard was like a bustling camp, the mass of horses and men were
+pressed so closely together in crowded confusion. The horses kicked out
+in every direction, not liking such close quarters; the hindermost
+forcing their way in, the foremost unable to go any farther in the
+narrow space. There was pushing and screaming, prancing and stamping.
+Wyso escaped into the house, not without abusing the visitors, and even
+the other monks were frightened and startled out of their quiet life by
+the rough incursion of this high-handed party.
+
+"Oh--locusts! locusts! you would be a lovely sight compared to these
+monsters!" Wyso lamented as he looked out of window.
+
+At last all the horses were put up, some in the cattle stalls and
+some tied up in a row all round the walls, nay some--and this cut
+the brethren to the heart--some to the beautiful promising fruit
+trellises--the toil and care of many years all undone in an instant!
+And the brethren looked with consternation as they saw great horses'
+mouths with rolling tongues and sniffing nostrils poking about in the
+trees and eating what they took a fancy to, pending the arrival of
+better fare.
+
+"What is to be done?" said the Abbot in a low voice to the brethren,
+"We must submit! And this is a friendly incursion--think what it would
+be if it were a hostile invasion--God preserve us!"
+
+Meanwhile the marauding visitors had without farther ado overrun the
+hay lofts and brought down fodder for their horses, and to facilitate
+the beasts' enjoyment of it they stuffed it between the bars of the
+fruit trellises, for there were no mangers in the convent. The pack of
+dogs let loose in the little garden tore with wild howls across the
+flower beds in chase of the convent cat, who had little expected such
+visitors.
+
+"Now, my lord Abbot," said the foremost of the riders good-humouredly
+enough, but in a tone of rough command. "Where are your cellarers? They
+should have appeared long ago to present us with a bowl of wine! True
+hospitality does not delay till the rider has his foot out of the
+stirrup."
+
+"You shall be served at once, my lords!" said the Abbot. "You must take
+the will for the deed, for we are inexperienced and unaccustomed to
+receiving so many guests."
+
+"But if I am well-informed you have occasionally received your
+seignior, the Count of Matsch--or Amatia, as they prefer to call it,
+with all his following?"
+
+"We are the vassals of the Count of Matsch; it is an old right of our
+liege lords to visit us once a year," answered the Abbot.
+
+"Then you cannot refuse to your sovereign prince what you grant to your
+liege," said the knight. "I am Meinhard the Second of Goertz and Tyrol
+and the Duchess is following me immediately."
+
+The Abbot bowed to the very ground in pleasure and respect, "Happy is
+the day that procures us the honour of seeing your gracious
+countenance! Hail to Duke Meinhard!"
+
+"Hail to Duke Meinhard! our powerful protector. Hail!" rang from all
+lips, and even Wyso came hobbling out again, panting and perspiring,
+and made his way with unwonted courage among the horses to testify his
+respect for the powerful Duke.
+
+"Now the ducal horses might be welcome to eat all the apricots and
+pears, and the dogs to trample all the vegetables and flowers--this is
+quite another matter!"
+
+"Make way--make way for the Duchess and her suite!" was now the cry of
+the marshal at the gate, and all made way for the litters of the
+Duchess and her ladies.
+
+"Oh, dear! Oh, dear! Women in the cloister! And we cannot keep them
+out, for our wise rule allows princesses to enter!" lamented Wyso slily
+and winking with secret delight at Correntian, who was standing near
+him. "What do you say to such doings, Correntian?"
+
+The Duke and the Abbot went to meet the procession and receive the
+noble lady. Foremost of all on a quiet horse rode the marshal, then
+followed the panting and sweating beasts that bore the Duchess' litter,
+each walking between two poles which hung from their backs from strong
+girths; one went in front and the other behind, each guided by a driver
+with a large cracking whip. Between them swung the tall palanquin with
+light rustling curtains of red silk, blown about by the hot south-wind,
+and inside it, wearily stretched out on soft crimson cushions
+embroidered with gold, lay a pale, delicate woman, closely veiled and
+so simply dressed that it was visible at the first glance that her mind
+was not set on the royal splendour with which her proud husband loved
+to surround her. But the ladies of her suite looked all the more
+haughty as they followed her on horseback. They rode behind the litter
+between the rows of monks, laughing and chattering, swaying their
+slender bodies carelessly on their broad-backed palfreys and looking
+curiously at the shorn heads around them, from under their broad hats,
+adorned with peacock feathers. Suddenly one of them drew her
+embroidered rein and whispered to her neighbour, "Look, there is a
+handsome one!" And all eyes followed hers to where Donatus was standing
+with downcast lids, grave and silent.
+
+"Forwards!" cried the marshal, for a troop of riders were still behind
+as an escort for the ladies.
+
+The Abbot had taken the leading-rein of the foremost horse in the
+litter and guided it with his own hand through the court to the inner
+gateway; here he paused and went up to the lady, "May it please you,
+noble lady," he said, "to alight and to put up with the accommodation
+of our humble roof."
+
+At a sign from the marshal the squires and pages sprang forward. In an
+instant the horses were unharnessed, the litter let down on to the
+ground, the ladies lifted from their horses and litter and horses all
+led on one side. The Duchess, a lady of middle age and apparently
+afflicted by severe illness, bowed her head humbly before the Abbot.
+"Give me your blessing, reverend Father," she said softly.
+
+The Abbot blessed her and led her with her ladies into the cool
+refectory.
+
+"Will you condescend to rest and cool yourself here for a time, noble
+Lady?" he said, "while I see to providing some farther refreshment."
+
+He conducted the men of the party into a large dining hall which
+he himself had built and which was only just finished; here the
+brother-cellarer had set large goblets which were all dewy outside from
+the coolness of the wine they contained; that was a drink after the
+frightful heat! hardly could the thirsty lips part with the bowl till
+the last drop was drained; there were rich cheese and fragrant rolls
+too, to stay their hunger till the noon-day meal was ready. For the
+Abbot would fain do everything that the resources of the house
+admitted, and its resources were many, for it had long been in a
+flourishing condition, and the labours and tillage of the monks had
+been blessed. He sent new milk to the ladies and little wheaten cakes
+with limpid golden honey, as might beseem fastidious ladies' lips.
+
+Thus he cared paternally and tenderly for his guests, rejoicing at the
+evident satisfaction with which they enjoyed it. Even the grooms in the
+court-yard had heavy loads of bread and mead carried out to them, and
+soon there was such riot and jubilee as if they had entered into the
+land of Canaan. Nay the thoughtful host had remembered even the dogs;
+they stood in a circle round a great bowl of cool butter-milk and were
+lapping it with their hot tongues. Through the railings of the
+underground windows there rose up a mighty steam and reek of roast and
+stewed. The choicest fowls and fat joints of hastily slaughtered mutton
+sputtered on the rarely-used spits, for such a dainty meal was never
+prepared but for strangers, and the unusual savour of meat pleasantly
+tickled brother Wyso's nostrils. He could not omit this opportunity of
+saying spitefully to Correntian,
+
+"Hey! what is that smell?"
+
+"The devil's roast!" said Correntian with a burst of anger, for the
+whole occurrence was an abomination to him, and he could hardly control
+his indignation. He muttered the words of the prophet Isaiah, chap. 22:
+"_Et ecce gaudium et laetitia, occidere vitulos et jugulare arietes,
+comedere carnes et bibere vinum_--they slaughter oxen, they slay sheep,
+eating flesh, and drinking wine. _Comedamus et libamus, cras enim
+moriemur_--let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die."
+
+"Come, come," said Wyso chuckling. "It is not so bad as all that--we
+shall not die quite so soon as to-morrow, unless we may enjoy ourselves
+too freely to-day, and eat and drink too much--"
+
+"_Et revelata est in auribus meis vox Domini: si dimittetur iniquitas
+haec vobis, donec moriamini_--and in my ears was the voice of the Lord
+of Sabaoth: Verily this sin shall not be forgiven thee till thou die!"
+continued Correntian, but Wyso was not to be silenced.
+
+"If the reverend Abbot grants us a dispensation, God too will forgive
+us the sin. Not that which goes into the mouth defiles the man, but
+that which proceeds out of the mouth. Do you understand? Well, why are
+you staring at me like that with your martyr's face?" he added in a
+tone of good humoured scolding to Donatus. "When I was your age, would
+I have girded my hungry stomach with rough haircloth, that I might ride
+lighter on the road to Heaven? Good Lord! they would have to haul me up
+with cords now, if I had to take all my earthly ballast up with me. But
+as we must leave to the earth all that is of the earth, earthy, it is
+all the same what we stuff ourselves with--that is my view."
+
+Meanwhile the guests within had satisfied their first hunger and
+thirst, and Duke Meinhard had informed the Abbot of the reason of his
+visit. His wife Elizabeth of Bavaria had so long felt herself ailing
+and feeble, that before her end came she would fain do some good deed
+for the welfare of her soul, and with this end in view she had founded
+a House of God at Stams in the Ober-Innthal. The building was now far
+advanced, and she had made up her mind to undertake a journey, in order
+to inspect all the most distinguished foundations in the country, and
+thus to inform herself as to what arrangement of the building, what
+system and preparatory dispositions would be most advantageous to the
+newly founded religious house. When the noble lady was rested it was
+her wish that the Abbot might conduct her round the monastery, so that
+she might see everything for herself.
+
+The Abbot declared himself most ready to aid in so Christian a work,
+and he designated Donatus, as his favourite and most promising
+disciple, for the high honour of conducting the Duchess, as the Duke
+took possession of the Abbot himself, to confer in manly fashion about
+the neighbourhood, the customs of the inhabitants of Vintschgau, and
+all sorts of things ecclesiastical and temporal.
+
+Donatus coloured with surprise when the Abbot informed him of his
+good-fortune; nay his imploring look seemed to convey a remonstrance;
+but that was impossible, the brethren of the order might never say
+"no."
+
+Next to the Duke sat a broad-shouldered, dark man, sunk in sullen,
+brooding silence. His hair was grey, but before its time, his brow
+morosely wrinkled and marked down the middle with a strong angry vein.
+He took no part in the conversation, and from the moment when he had
+taken his place he never once had moved his eyes from the end of the
+table where Donatus was sitting.
+
+"Well, Count," said the Duke, pushing him to rouse him, and nodding to
+him over his glass. "You are staring fixedly at that one spot; does
+that young fellow remind you of your own youth?"
+
+"It is strange, but do not you think that the boy is like me?" muttered
+the Count.
+
+"He certainly is, to a hair; and if you had a son I could believe it
+was he. Only you never looked as gentle and sweet as he does; do not
+you agree with me, Count Reichenberg?"
+
+"Count Reichenberg!" For an instant every face turned pale as the monks
+heard that name; Donatus only remained quite unconcerned, for he knew
+not as yet who and what Count Reichenberg was to him.
+
+"By my soul!" cried another of the gentlemen, "you are as like each
+other as young and old, tender and tough can be."
+
+Count Reichenberg sprang up. "My Lord Abbot," said he, "a word with
+you."
+
+The Abbot turned paler than before; he exchanged but one rapid glance
+with the brethren, but they all understood him; then he rose and
+followed the Count into a deep window-bay.
+
+"My Lord Abbot, I am a connection of yours, do you not know me?" said
+the knight without farther preface.
+
+"I never saw you," replied the Abbot. "For since my sixteenth year I
+have lived out of the world as a monk. But if you are the man who
+married my sister and then repudiated her, you are no relation of mine,
+there can be no friendship between that man and me."
+
+"I am the man," said Reichenberg defiantly. "I ask you--where that boy
+came from to you?" He pointed with an angry expression to Donatus.
+
+"He was bequeathed to us," said the Abbot calmly.
+
+"By whom?" The Abbot looked at Reichenberg, measuring him from head to
+foot with a steady gaze.
+
+"That," he said, "is a secret of the confessional."
+
+"I will pay you for it," the Count whispered in his ear. "Your convent
+shall benefit largely, I will make over to you by deed a manor and an
+alp above Taufers with glebe and pasturage, and all rights secured to
+you--only tell me the name of the boy's parents."
+
+"No, my lord--not a word; did you ever hear that a Benedictine sold the
+secrets of the confessional?"
+
+The Count stamped his foot.
+
+"Then I will find some means of making you speak by force--at a more
+opportune moment."
+
+The Abbot looked at him quietly and proudly. "You may kill me, but you
+can never make me speak."
+
+"Then one of your herd will, who is less steadfast that you."
+
+"I will answer for my brethren, man by man," said the Abbot with
+dignity.
+
+The Count raised his hand threateningly, "Woe to you if I discover what
+I suspect--"
+
+"Ho, ho! Count Reichenberg, what are you making this noise about?" and
+the Duke suddenly stepped between them. "What am I to think of you for
+thus disturbing the peace of this quiet hour?"
+
+"I will inform you presently, my lord Duke. Just now grant me one word
+with the young monk there." He signed to Donatus to approach, and the
+boy rose and came modestly forward.
+
+"Will you tell me who you are?"
+
+"I am a monk," said Donatus, shortly and firmly.
+
+"I see that--but who were you originally--who were your parents?"
+
+Donatus looked calmly at him--"I do not know."
+
+The Count cast a glance of hatred at the Abbot, "Oh, you priests, you
+priests; who ever got behind your tricks?"
+
+"Pray be easy, Count Reichenberg," said the Duke soothingly. "I did not
+come here to torment peaceable monks who entertain us hospitably.--Do
+not take this to heart, my lord Abbot--nor you reverend brethren!" he
+signed to a servant who was standing by a large chest in a corner.
+"Look here, I have something to show you!" He opened, the coffer, which
+the man carried with difficulty, and took out of it a magnificent
+chalice of pure gold encrusted with garnets and chased with artistic
+reliefs representing the Passion, a work so fine and costly that the
+monks had never seen the like.
+
+"Look here, this is the work of master Berthold, the goldsmith of Ulm,"
+said the Duke.
+
+Then he took out a little golden tube with a mouth-piece of amber, such
+as were in use at that time, in order that, when the Cup was presented,
+clumsy or greedy partakers might not imbibe too much of the costly
+wine. Next he produced a heavy golden Paten; this was in the same way
+set with garnets round the edge, and had two finely chased handles,
+while on the ground of the dish a cross was engraved. This he set on
+the table by the side of the Cup that all the brethren might rejoice in
+the sight. Finally he brought out a dozen of pure silver apples of
+artistic pierced work and called Calefactories; these were hand-warmers
+for the monks. They were filled with glowing charcoal and held in the
+hands to prevent the monks' fingers from being frozen at the early mass
+in winter.
+
+"Well! how do you like them?" asked the lordly donor, well pleased at
+the astonishment and admiration with which the monks gazed at the
+costly treasure. "Do you think they will pay you for our dinner?" The
+Abbot looked at him enquiringly.
+
+"I do not understand you, my lord!"
+
+"No?--that is my offering in return for your hospitality. You shall
+have cause to remember the day when you entertained your Duke under
+your roof."
+
+The brethren, with the exception of Correntian and Donatus, sprang up
+with confused cries of delighted surprise, "Oh! can it be!" and, "It is
+too much!" and the Abbot said with moistened eyes,
+
+"You are magnificent in your favours, my Lord, and may God reward you,
+for we are only poor monks and can make you no return but by blessings
+and prayers."
+
+"That is all I ask," said Duke Meinhard laughing, "only pray for me
+stoutly--I am sure to want it, for I hope to commit many more sins, and
+I shall have great need of the intercession of pious folks with the
+Almighty." He threw the treasure back into the heavy chest and slammed
+down the lid.
+
+"There!" he exclaimed, "now take all the property away into your
+treasury and let us have dinner brought in as soon as possible, for we
+must proceed to-day to Muenster and pass the night there. The Duchess
+wishes to spend some time in the convent of St. Gertrude, while we men
+ride to market and hunt in the neighbourhood."
+
+"If it please, your lordship, to wait until we have shown her
+highness your wife the extent and arrangement of the monastery as she
+wishes--" suggested the Abbot.
+
+"Aye--pray do so, my lord Duke," urged Wyso anxiously. "It will be to
+the advantage of your teeth if you leave the fat sheep, which were
+running about only an hour ago to sweat a little longer in front of the
+fire."
+
+Reichenberg looked sharply at the fat monk with his thick lips and
+sensual grin. "You are not the man to die for the sake of keeping a
+vow," thought he. "When you have well drunk you will make a clean
+breast of it."
+
+"Very well," said the Duke. "Then we will wait--less for the sake of my
+teeth than of yours, old gentleman--if indeed you still have any left.
+You will grant a dispensation this day in our honour, my Lord Abbot,
+will you not?"
+
+"I will do so, my Lord," said the Abbot smiling, "they may enjoy
+themselves to their heart's content. And so, Donatus, my son, come now
+with me that I may conduct you to her ladyship, the Duchess, if she
+will accept you as her guide."
+
+Donatus rose with simple dignity, and followed the Abbot. The two
+gentlemen, Meinhard and Reichenberg, looked after him in silence.
+
+"Tell me, Count, what passed between you and the youngster that you got
+so angry about it?" asked the Duke, pushing back a little way from the
+table that the others might not overhear them.
+
+"It is a mere whim, if you will," replied Reichenberg in a low voice.
+"But the boy's resemblance to me struck me amazingly. I--I might have
+had a child who would have been of just his age, and if it had been a
+son he might have looked exactly like that, for not only is the lad
+like me, he has just my wife's eyes and soft voice."
+
+"Your wife's?" said the Duke, and he shook his head.
+
+"My first wife's," said the Count, "whom I repudiated just about the
+time when my first child would have been born. You were then only a
+boy, and you were not at the court of your grandfather Albert. My wife
+was a Ramuess, and hardly were we married when that venomous serpent,
+the Countess of Eppan, poisoned my ear and heart. Not till last year,
+when the wretched woman was on her deathbed and sent to me in her last
+agony, did she confess that she had accused my wife falsely, in order
+to obtain her place. The name and wealth of the Reichenberg family were
+an eyesore to her, for she was both poor and haughty; the castle of
+Reichenberg, as you know, formerly belonged to the house of Eppan. She
+longed to restore it to them by a marriage with me--her heart was never
+mine as I saw very plainly later on. Now for a year past I have been
+wandering about the world, seeking in vain for some trace of my outcast
+wife. God in Heaven alone knows what may have become of them both,
+mother and child; my race ends with me, and I myself have driven out
+the heir that God perhaps had granted me--an outcast--to die! And that
+boy's eyes struck me like a thunderbolt. He looked just as my wife
+looked when I drove her away. Duke, if it were he--" The Count was
+silent, and his lips quivered.
+
+"What good would it do you? It would be too late; he has taken the
+vows, and you could not break them."
+
+The Count looked darkly before him, and made no reply.
+
+"Your second wife never had much joy of her treason; you repudiated her
+too if I remember rightly?"
+
+"Yes; at the end of two years the Pope gave me permission to announce
+that my first wife was dead, and to marry again; my mind had already
+wandered from the Lady of Eppan, but I had to keep my word--she held me
+to it hard and fast--and so she became my wife; but I was always away
+from home in battle and danger, for the world was spoilt for me, and so
+was all my liking for that false woman. When I returned from my four
+years' expedition to the Holy Land I found her carrying on an intrigue
+with Master Friedrich von Sunburc, the minnesinger and chronicler of
+your father's court. Nay more, a faithful waiting-woman of my first
+wife who could never get over the loss of her former mistress, betrayed
+to me that the shameless woman had not long since had a daughter, and
+had concealed the child with a strange beggar-woman whom she had met
+gathering berries and simples in the woods; as soon as the news of my
+return was known, the woman and the child had disappeared, leaving no
+trace behind. How I punished her, how the minnesinger was expelled from
+the court by Meinhard the first, and how she died, abandoned to remorse
+in her own ruined castle, all that you know."
+
+"She was an intriguing coquette," said the Duke shaking his head, "and
+ensnared all men with her gold-gleaming owl's eyes and her auburn hair.
+She had something of the witch about her, and I could almost believe
+that she was one, for you know the common people say that you can tell
+a witch not by her feet only, but by her eye-brows that meet above her
+nose; she had such eye-brows you may remember?"
+
+"I do not believe in such things," said Reichenberg sulkily.
+
+"Nor I either," said the Duke laughing. "But there was something not
+quite canny about her, say what you will."
+
+
+The Abbot meanwhile had taken Donatus to the Duchess.
+
+"May it please you, noble Lady," said he, "that this youth, my
+favourite disciple, should have the honour of guiding you in your walk
+round the convent."
+
+The Duchess glanced at Donatus with condescending kindness, and the
+court-ladies exchanged meaning glances, "That is the one we saw just
+now." Donatus stood in the door-way with downcast eyes.
+
+"Come then," said the Duchess rising. "Two of you accompany me; you,
+Emerita, and you, Countess Hildegard."
+
+The two chosen ones sprang forward with pleasure; one of them,
+Hildegard, was the beauty who had previously pulled up her horse in her
+admiration of Donatus' fine figure. She wore a light blue upper-garment
+or cappa of a fine and almost transparent woollen stuff, and under it a
+dress of heavy yellow silk rich with gold and bordered with white fur.
+She had laid aside her broad hat, and her very light hair was bound
+with a golden circlet, and crowned with fresh Alpine roses that she had
+gathered on the way. Her handsome dress hung round her slender form in
+soft folds, and was gathered in round her waist by a girdle of red
+velvet embroidered with gold. She was fair to see, that haughty maiden!
+Her brow was as white as marble, and the roses in her cheeks were
+heightened by a faint touch of the finest Florentine rouge. Her
+flashing eyes seemed to ask: "Where is there one fairer than I?"
+Nothing was to be got out of the simple God-fearing monks in the
+cloister, which she now must explore with the Duchess, nothing but
+looks of disapprobation of such worldly court-fashions, and if she
+could not ere long produce some sort of sensation, she felt she must
+die of tedium.
+
+The other, Emerita, the Duchess' favourite, was dressed no less
+splendidly though less elaborately; her hair was modestly fastened up
+in a fine net of silver-threads tied with white, and a black velvet cap
+embroidered with pearls; her robes of soft white silk and woollen stuff
+were bordered with dark fur, and fell heavily and simply to her feet.
+
+The Duchess herself was the most plainly dressed of all; deeply veiled
+in matronly fashion, and enveloped from her shoulders in the broad
+folds of a brown silk mantle fastened over her bosom with a single gold
+clasp; the rest of her dress consisted entirely of grey woollen stuff.
+
+These three figures--so unlike each other--followed their monkish guide
+through the cold, damp, musty corridors of the vast building.
+
+He led them first to the library; the Duchess found here a rich harvest
+for her craving for pious learning, for sacred books and parchments of
+inestimable value and splendour were amassed in it, and she was soon
+greedily absorbed in these treasures. Hildegard was almost in despair.
+The dust of books and rouge! these have little in common! And no one by
+but the coy saint with a head like a heathen god, as fine as any to be
+seen in Rome--living, breathing, and yet of marble! A secret revulsion
+to spite and hatred sprang up in her soul. Tedium is the parent of all
+kinds of crime. But to her great joy just then it occurred to the Duke
+to accompany the Duchess on her tour round the convent, and, conducted
+by the Abbot, he at this instance entered the library.
+
+"Well, Countess Hildegard, how do you like yourself here?" said he,
+laughing and threatening her with his finger. "How fine you are! Come,
+come, do not be bewitching the poor young monk with your charms."
+
+"Do not be alarmed, my Lord," said Hildegard mockingly, "he has not
+vouchsafed us a single glance; I believe his eyes have grown fixed to
+the ground."
+
+The Duke looked at her with a smile. "That is a sad grievance for you,
+is it not, Hildegard? If it is but a monk he ought to admire you."
+
+Hildegard coloured and was silent; but the Duke, good-humouredly
+carrying on the joke, said to Donatus, "Tell me, pious brother, why do
+you keep your eyes so immoveably fixed on the ground; are our fair
+maids of honour not worthy to be looked at?"
+
+Donatus was standing before the Duchess, holding a heavy folio which
+she was turning over. "It does not become a servant of God to gaze at
+anything but the earth, which will be his grave, or Heaven, which is
+his hope," he replied with serene gravity.
+
+The Duchess looked at his guileless countenance, and deep compassion
+filled her soul, she knew not wherefore. She could have loved this
+youth as a son.
+
+"You are right, my child, and may God give you strength to hold to your
+principles," she said benevolently.
+
+"Ah! you see," said the Duke in a low voice to tease Hildegard. "Your
+arts are wasted on him, pretty Countess; here at length is a man who
+can resist you."
+
+"What do you mean, my lord?--I will bring him to look at me this very
+day--or I will go for a year in sack-cloth and ashes and break every
+looking-glass," whispered Hildegard smiling and showing two rows of
+brilliant teeth to the Duke's admiring eyes.
+
+"Aye, aye," he said laughing, "that would indeed be a conquest for you.
+You have Princes and Dukes at your apron strings--and now a poor monk's
+soul must burn in eternal fires for your sake."
+
+The Abbot suggested that they should proceed; the Duke gave his arm to
+his wife, the Abbot went on in front, Emerita followed; Hildegard hung
+behind a little.
+
+"You take your vows in the strictest sense, and that no doubt is
+right," she said. "But it seems to me, worthy brother, that you must
+have very little confidence in your own strength if you have to guard
+your glances so strictly. Are you afraid lest a single look should
+bring you to ruin?--If so--forgive me, but I cannot help saying it--if
+so, your virtue is in a very bad plight." Thus she teased and tried to
+pique Donatus who walked by her side in silence.
+
+"Whether I am strong or weak--I do not know. But it is written in the
+first epistle of Paul to Timothy, that women shall adorn themselves in
+modest apparel, with shamefacedness and sobriety; not with braided
+hair, or gold, or pearls, or costly array, but with piety and good
+works. And your dress is against this commandment--you are scandal in
+the eyes of the Lord--and the eyes of men should avoid seeing you."
+
+"Bless me! That sounds very terrible! Such a severe speech would better
+become a father confessor than your youthful years; but even stern
+words sound soft from your lips, and I would sooner obey you than any
+old lenten preacher." And without pausing to consider, she took off her
+golden chaplet with its pearls and preciously wrought trefoils, she
+took out the broad gold clasp which held her robe together over her
+full bosom, so as to uncover her white throat--and she laid them both
+in the young monk's hand.
+
+"There," she said, "take these for your poor; I offer them willingly,
+and I will give up everything that I usually wear if you will only give
+me one friendly look to repay me." The inexperienced boy stood
+speechless; was she in earnest? Was it true that she was so submissive
+to his words, so self-sacrificing, so ready to repent? And he
+involuntarily raised his eyes and looked at her--a wide, questioning,
+admiring gaze. She caught his glance and fixed it with a magic spell,
+entangling him in a net, woven as it were of the radiant glances of her
+own eyes.
+
+"Oh!" she sighed softly, and her voice fell caressingly on his ear like
+the faint whisper of the limes under the eastern turret-window, "You
+see, you too can smile. Believe me such a smile on your lips has more
+power than a whole epistle of St. Paul."
+
+Donatus was alarmed and his lids dropped again. "God forbid! You were
+joking and I thought you were in earnest. Take back your golden
+ornaments--they burn my hands as though they had been forged in unholy
+fires."
+
+But she pushed the things from her and said with an air of sweet
+earnestness, "Nay--you do me an injustice. If I talk the language of
+the world teach me a better one. Look at me! your gaze has a purifying
+power; look at me, look me in the face and see if I can lie?" And once
+more he raised his eyes and drank the sweet poison of beauty such as he
+had never dreamed of.
+
+"Come, come!" it was the Duke's voice, "my coy brother; you are already
+over head and ears in contemplation of our maid-of-honour! It seems to
+me she has converted you more quickly than you have converted her.'"
+
+Donatus started, as from a dream; he blushed deeply, and casting down
+his eyes, he turned to the Abbot to present him with the jewels, which
+he still held in his hand. The Abbot, much surprised, thanked and
+blessed the generous donor.
+
+But the Duchess paused and called Hildegard to her side.
+
+"Why did you disturb us?" whispered Hildegard angrily in the Duke's ear
+as she passed him. Her breath came quickly and her cheeks glowed more
+scarlet than their rouge.
+
+"You are a perfect fiend, Hildegard," the Duke whispered in return.
+
+"I am much displeased with you, Countess," said the Duchess. "What have
+you to do with that innocent young monk? Try your arts where you will,
+only not here on these saintly men and do not destroy the peace of
+these chaste souls. I fear we shall never suit each other, Hildegard."
+
+Hildegard set her teeth, then she said, "Very well, my lady Duchess,
+when we reach Munster I will ask you to grant me an escort to conduct
+me back to my father's castle, if my service is no longer acceptable to
+you."
+
+"That will be best for you and for me," said the Duchess calmly, and
+she passed in by a door which the Abbot unlocked, and which opened into
+some steps that led down to the subterranean hall.
+
+"In a few days," said the Abbot, who had not observed what was passing,
+"we shall celebrate in this crypt a requiem for the wife of our noble
+founder, who died in the Holy Land. Our youngest brother Donatus will
+then preach his first discourse, for on the following day he is to be
+consecrated to the priesthood." Thus speaking he led the way down the
+steep damp stairs, and the sanctity of the spot struck them all
+involuntarily silent.
+
+Meanwhile Reichenberg was waiting in the refectory, sunk in gloomy
+brooding, and the hungry monks, who had long passed their usual
+meal-time, stood about listening if the footsteps of the company might
+not haply be coming nearer. At last the brother who was in control of
+the kitchen sounded the dinner-bell, and at the same instant the
+Duchess entered the refectory with Donatus, the Duke following with the
+Abbot. The Duchess was deep in conversation with her companion;
+presently turning to the Abbot, she said kindly,
+
+"I thank you, my Lord Abbot; I have seen a great deal that has both
+delighted and instructed me. Particularly the library--I could spend
+whole hours there, for you have inestimable treasures preserved there
+in ancient manuscripts written by pious, learned, and godly men. But
+above all, I must honestly confess--nay more than all the books of
+wisdom--this child has edified and elevated my spirit. In good truth,
+my Lord Abbot, Heavenly blossoms grow in your garden and this world
+would be a Paradise if the Lord had many such gardeners."
+
+"Dear me! the Duchess is growing quite young again," said the Duke with
+a laughing, threatening gesture. "Hey, hey! my Lord Abbot, what sort of
+monks have we here that turn the heads of all the ladies, old and
+young?"
+
+"Do not laugh, my lord," said the Duchess gravely. "I assure you, the
+wisdom of old age and the innocence of childhood are united in this
+youth. If I had only known sooner, my Lord Abbot, what disciples you
+could bring up, I should have chosen the monks for my new foundation
+from your community, and I deeply regret that I have already made an
+agreement with Morimond, the head of the Cistercian Abbey, for none can
+have higher qualifications than you possess. But this at least I beg of
+you, that you will spare me this youth to be my castle chaplain. You
+tell me he is to be anointed priest; let him exercise his holy office
+in my service, and God in Heaven will recompense you for the good deed
+you will do to a poor sick woman."
+
+The Abbot was silent for a moment from surprise and looked at Donatus.
+"Happy child!" said he, "what honours are heaped upon your head. Shall
+I grant this gracious lady's wish and give you to her? Speak freely."
+
+"No--Father!" cried Donatus in mortal terror. "You will not cast me
+out!"
+
+"Forgive him, Madam," said the Abbot smiling. "We have taught him
+always to speak nothing but the truth. You see, it is not compulsion
+that keeps him here, and it will not be against his will if I find
+myself obliged to refuse your request! The boy, in fact, must never
+leave the convent, a sacred vow binds us and him."
+
+"Nay, then God forbid that I should force you to break it, and since it
+is so I renounce the wish though with regret. But I tell you--and
+remember my words--if ever you find yourselves under the pressure of
+any need, if you are threatened by enemies, or if for any cause
+whatever you have occasion to crave any favour from me, send this youth
+to ask it, and, on my word of honour, whatever you ask shall be granted
+you. My noble husband will help me to fulfil this promise."
+
+"Yes!" cried the Duke laughing. "By Heaven! your will is my will,
+Elizabeth, but now keep me no longer from my dinner, for I am almost
+dead of hunger."
+
+Donatus stepped modestly up to the Abbot. "Father, you granted a
+dispensation for to-day, but give me leave, I entreat you, to keep
+myself from flesh and wine."
+
+"Do as you will, if you do not wish for meat do not eat any."
+
+"Yes, I wish for it, but for that reason I would deny myself," said
+Donatus in a low voice.
+
+"You are right, my son," said the Abbot, and his eye rested with
+unutterable affection on the boy's pure brow.
+
+The serving brother now brought in the first dish, and the Duchess
+signed to the Abbot to sit by her side.
+
+"Where are your ladies, Madam?" asked the Abbot.
+
+"I did not bring them in with me to dinner, for they are young and
+vain, and might disturb the grave souls of your younger brethren. So,
+if you please, you will send them out some of the dishes."
+
+"I am obliged to you for your forethought," replied the Abbot. "You
+have saved our brethren much scandal. Let us now say grace."
+
+Grace was said and the meal proceeded; the serving brethren could
+hardly carry the heavy copper vessels with their savoury contents. All
+enjoyed themselves but Correntian and Donatus, who sat at the farther
+end of the table, and would touch none of the tempting food.
+
+When dinner was over the Duchess returned to her ladies; the Duke rose
+from table, and withdrew to rest for a while in the Abbot's cell; the
+brethren and the gentlemen sought the shade and freshness of the cool
+arbours in the garden. No one was left in the dining-hall but Count
+Reichenberg and Wyso. Wyso, flushed with his intemperate enjoyment of
+God's gifts of meat and drink, was resting his red face on the table,
+and snoring loudly. Suddenly he felt himself roughly shaken; he looked
+up blinking, and saw the Count--Donatus' father--standing by him.
+
+"What is it--what do you want?" said Wyso stuttering, and he lazily sat
+up. "Oh, Oh--what a thing is man? Oh! for shame--what have I eaten?"
+
+"Can you still understand what is said to you, in spite of your
+drunkenness?" asked Reichenberg in a harsh tone.
+
+Wyso snorted and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. "Oh dear! eating
+and drinking is a glorious gift of God!" he stuttered in a lamentable
+voice. "But all the time there is a little devil at the bottom called
+Too-much, and he spoils the pleasure of it."
+
+The Count gave him another shake. "You have too much wit to be quite
+drunk; listen to me, you can and you must."
+
+A glance shot from Wyso's little eyes, all swelled as they were with
+drink--a glance at the Count so full of cunning that Reichenberg seized
+him roughly by the shoulder.
+
+"I believe," he said, "you take me for a fool."
+
+"I believe I have made a fool of you, my Lord; so at least it would
+seem by your not stirring from my side. But take heart, my Lord! Was it
+not a splendid dinner?"
+
+"You may henceforth have better dinners than you ever get here; you may
+come with me to Reichenberg, I will give you my chaplaincy, there is
+not a fatter living in the country; then you may eat all day whatever
+your heart desires, and I will furnish your cellar;--only say one
+single word--"
+
+Wyso cast a sly sidelong glance at Reichenberg.
+
+"You are very wise, my Lord, not to stint your bacon when you want to
+catch your mouse."
+
+"Well, I should think a good broil of bacon would smell better to a
+sturdy old glutton like you, than the incense they will burn upon your
+coffin when fasting and prayer have brought your miserable life to a
+close."
+
+Wyso slowly winked with one eye.
+
+"Ah!" said he. "Is that what you should think?"
+
+"Tell me, whose child is the young monk whom you call Donatus?"
+
+Wyso's head suddenly fell down on his breast again, and he began to
+snore.
+
+"Do not pretend to be asleep, I do not believe it. You are a cunning
+fellow; what, is the living not enough for you! I will give you a nag
+and a sledge, much finer than those of the Bishop of Chur, goat-skins
+for shoes, and white lamb-skins--what more shall I offer you? Only say
+what you desire, and you shall have it."
+
+Wyso looked at him with a cunning glance.
+
+"You are a very clever man, my Lord, but you do not know us yet! Do you
+really suppose that because I do not turn up my eyes, and drawl out the
+name of God, nor snap in two from sheer fasting and scourging when any
+one touches me like a starved cockchafer--do you suppose that I am a
+gluttonous booby who holds his conscience between his teeth, and can
+wash away all oaths, all honour, and all fidelity to the Church which
+he has served all his life long in one unwonted drinking bout? No, my
+Lord, clever as you are, we have not gone so far as that; you may catch
+mice with bacon, but not Benedictines; do you understand?" And from
+loud laughter he fell to coughing till every vein swelled, and he had
+to wipe his face with the corner of the tablecloth.
+
+"You oily priest--you! You mock me, do you? I will see if I cannot find
+means to make you speak--" and he unconsciously clutched at the knife
+in his girdle; his blood boiled with rage and he hardly knew what he
+was doing.
+
+"What do you want, my Lord?" said Wyso coolly. "Would you like to rip
+my body up? That would do you no good--I have not written the secret on
+parchment and then swallowed it!"
+
+Reichenberg stood for a moment speechless from astonishment, then his
+arm dropped as if suddenly sobered. Reflection came back to him and he
+understood that his efforts were wasted on this half-drunken cynic.
+
+"The devil only knows what you priests are bound by," he muttered and
+put his knife back into its ivory sheath.
+
+"Take a little nap, Count Reichenberg," said Wyso, smiling
+mischievously, "when children have not slept they are always
+ill-tempered. God grant the dinner may be blest to you! it must have
+cost us at least twenty gulden, everything included." The Count turned
+away and walked moodily to the window. "Go now, my Lord, and if you
+do not want to make an end of me, do not disturb me any more in my
+noon-tide sleep," said Wyso, laying his arms on the table and his red
+face on them, and pretending once more to be asleep.
+
+"Count Reichenberg," said the Duke laughing, as Reichenberg went out
+into the courtyard, his spurs ringing as he walked, "Have you any more
+progeny in these parts? If so pray tell me beforehand, for your humour
+is enough to spoil the weather for our journey."
+
+"I have given it up, my lord, and must wait for better times to take
+the matter up again," answered Reichenberg shortly.
+
+The Duchess now appeared walking between the Abbot and Donatus, and
+ready to set out on her journey. The maids of honour followed, very
+ill-pleased, for they had been beyond measure dull, and the Countess
+Hildegard walked foremost with a broad-brimmed hat and trailing peacock
+feather on her pretty head in the place of the golden chaplet. She
+fixed her longing eyes immoveably on Donatus, but he did not venture to
+lift his gaze to her, and the fine Florentine rouge fell off her cheeks
+that turned pale with vexation.
+
+The sundial indicated four o'clock in the afternoon; the Duke had had
+the horses saddled and the outriders had already started. The litter
+was led out and the Duchess got into it.
+
+"Farewell, my Lord Abbot," she cried once more. "Farewell, Donatus.
+Bear in mind the words I spoke to you and do not fail to apply to me if
+ever you are in need of help."
+
+Once more the Duke and the Abbot shook hands. The ladies put their
+gold-embroidered shoes into their stirrups and sprang, ill-satisfied,
+into their saddles; the whole cortege moved off as it came, amid the
+cracking of whips and barking of hounds, shouting, trampling, and
+hallooing, so that it could be heard long after it was out of sight.
+
+The brethren drew a long breath of relief and went back to their daily
+duties, the convent servants swept the court-yard clean with large
+besoms; the scared cat sneaked suspiciously back over the granary roof
+and all was soon as quiet and peaceful as before.
+
+But a shadow had fallen on the Abbot's soul--a secret anxiety which
+would never let him breathe again so freely as he did that morning--a
+vague feeling that all was not in fact exactly as it had been before.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER II.
+
+
+The week was ended; it was Saturday, the eve of the ordination. The
+busy hands were at rest; harvest was garnered, the doors of the
+overflowing barns would hardly close. And the church too was to reap
+her harvest; the seed of faith, which the pious monks had sown, twenty
+years ago, in the heart of the tiny foundling, had grown fair and
+strong and full in ear. Donatus had just preached his first sermon
+before all the brethren; with a beating heart he had pronounced the
+final "Amen," his eyes flashing with sacred fires; his words had seemed
+to fly over the heads of the assembled brethren as if winged by the
+Holy Ghost. Nay, even after he had ended, the echo of his words sounded
+in the building, and they listened devoutly till it had quite died
+away. Then the Abbot rose and clasped the young man to his heart,
+
+"Marvellous boy!" he exclaimed. "You came to us, a stranger, and we
+thought that we knew from whence you came, and believed that we should
+give to you out of our superfluity and teach you out of the stores of
+our wisdom. But now you give to us of your abundance and teach us by
+your wisdom so that we are fain to ask, 'Whence are you?' For it was
+not in the snows of the wild heath where you were picked up, nor
+between our humble convent-walls that you received such a divine
+revelation."
+
+Donatus kissed his uncle's hand. "Oh father," he said softly, "I kiss
+your faithful and fatherly hand in all reverence, for it is the hand
+that has led me to that sacred fount whence I have drawn living waters
+for your refreshment. Nothing is my own, I have received everything
+from you, and to you I give it back, and whatever I am, that I am
+through you! I thank you, my father--I thank you, my brethren!
+To-day--on the eve of that sacred day--the day of my new birth in the
+Lord--let me offer you all in one word the thanks of a life-time."
+
+And all the brethren--with the exception of that one who was always
+irreconcilable--crowded round him and grasped his hands affectionately.
+Aye! it was a rich and glorious harvest to the Lord that they were
+celebrating that day, and they were proud of it--proud of having
+brought up the boy so well--proud that they had all been so wise, and
+so good to him. Then the Abbot led him to the chapel that he might
+there make his last confession before the holy and solemn festival.
+
+Long, long did Donatus kneel before the confessional, and the iron
+grating against which he pressed his brow was wet with his tears. For a
+secret sin had weighed upon his soul these three days past. "Oh father,
+father!" cried he from an oppressed heart, "I, your son, no longer
+appear before you pure as I did a few days since. Father! I dread to
+tell you. My eyes have drunk of the poison of woman's beauty and it
+courses through my veins like a consuming fire. Always--always--I see
+before me the light curling hair, the rosy cheeks, the white throat as
+I saw it when her robe fell back, when she took off the clasp--the
+whole lovely form and figure. Augustine speaks truly when he says, 'the
+eyes every day cast us into all sin and crime; what has been created
+that is more subtle than the eye?' My heart was pure, it harboured no
+thought but of God; but these eyes, subtle to betray me, have cast me
+into temptation, they have destroyed the peace of my soul, for even now
+they still bring the sinful image before my mind again and again.
+They paint it on the blue sky, on the pillars of the church, on my
+prayer-book--nay, on the altar-cloth. I see it wherever I turn my eyes,
+it comes between me and my prayers. Oh father, how dare I, with this
+snare in my soul, bow my head to receive the consecrating oil; will it
+not hiss and dry up as if it were poured on hot iron?"
+
+"Calm yourself, my son," said the Abbot. "There can be no virtue
+without a struggle. To be tempted is not to sin, and I know that during
+the last three days you have mortified and scourged yourself severely,
+and for three nights have not sought your bed, but have knelt here on
+the stones of the chapel pavement. He who does such penance for a small
+fault must certainly win grace and pardon! But it is true that all sin
+comes of a wanton eye, and it is written in the VIth chapter of
+Matthew, 'If thine eye be single, thy whole body shall be full of
+light; but if thine eye be evil, thy whole body shall be full of
+darkness.' So guard your eye henceforth, my son, and keep it single,
+that it may not gaze on forbidden things and that you may continue
+chaste and pure before God and man."
+
+"Yes, father!" cried Donatus, raising his hand to Heaven. "And I here
+swear in the sight of all the Saints that I will act in accordance with
+your precepts. Never again shall my eye rest on the form of woman,
+never shall it be raised above the hem of her garment where it sweeps
+the ground, never will I be betrayed into a wish or a desire, or else
+may God's Grace abandon me, and may He cast me into the deepest
+damnation."
+
+"Hold, pause, mad boy! That is a curse and not an oath," cried the
+horrified Abbot. "God's grace is far greater than your sick soul can
+imagine; He pities even the sinner, and judges him after the measure
+of his strength, not according to his guilt. Would you prevent God's
+grace and pronounce your own damnation when He in His eternal and
+fatherly mercies would most likely pardon you? Whither will your
+youthful vehemence carry you? Man may not purify himself by blind
+self-destroying zeal, but by faithful and humble submissiveness, by
+silent fulfilment of duty, by incessant inward struggles. Take this to
+heart, son of my soul, and may the Lord pardon you your wild mood; for
+you will fall again, and many a time, and must often need His saving
+grace."
+
+It was now late; the door of the chapel closed behind the Abbot.
+Donatus' confession was over; he remained alone, praying on the steps
+of the altar.
+
+There is silence in earth and Heaven, not a breeze stirs the air, there
+is not a sound in the valley below. All is at rest after labour
+accomplished, waiting for Sunday, the day of rejoicing.
+
+For all the human beings down in the valley belong to the Church,
+literally body and soul, and when the Church rejoices they too rejoice.
+A church festival is a festival for them, and they know no others; on
+the eve of such a festival each one lays him down to sleep full of
+pious thoughts, so that no sinful dreams may scare away the angels
+which come down in the night to prepare the souls of the sleepers for
+the sacred day that is about to dawn. Silent, but busy the guardian
+spirits soar and float from hill to vale all the night through,
+till the sun rises and its first rays stream through the little
+cottage-windows, falling on the closed eyelids that open again to the
+light. Then the wakers rub their eyes with a wonderful sense of
+rapture. Sanctification lurks sweetly in their souls though hidden as
+yet and not fully understood, but in a few hours the consecrated lips
+of the Church will speak the words of absolution; then it will flash
+into consciousness like a revelation from Heaven.
+
+
+The young novice for whom the festival was prepared was still lying on
+his face before his praying-stool, just as the Abbot had left him the
+evening before. All the night through he had lain there and prayed
+without moving, the bridegroom of Heaven; he had triumphed through
+fervent prayer, and overthrown all that was earthly. He had purified
+himself in the fires of devotion, and his soul burned and glowed whole
+and undivided for Her, the celestial Bride. His eyes were sunken, his
+cheeks pale with watching and prayer. For what prayer could indeed be
+strong, eager, and fervent enough to merit that grace of which no
+mortal is worthy, and least of all he--he the weak and erring novice
+who had scarcely mounted the first step towards perfection.
+
+The morning-sun streamed brightly down on the towers and pinnacles of
+Marienberg, and threw golden disks of light through the circular panes
+on to the pavement of the silent chapel. The penitent saw them not, it
+was still night to him, for he lay there with his face closely hidden
+in his clasped hands.
+
+The bell rang for matins; up flew the angels from the valley to rouse
+the bridegroom, and he felt their palm-branches waving over his head.
+He roused himself from his acts of contrition, and hastened to the
+dormitory to dress, that he might appear in festive attire as a
+bridegroom, to receive that invisible Bride to whom his whole heart
+went forth in rapture.
+
+Meanwhile down in the valley all were awake and busy; all souls were
+purified from sinful thoughts, and water from the sparkling mountain
+springs served to cleanse all bodies from the soil of labour. Rosy baby
+faces came out from the fresh moisture under their mothers' busy hands,
+like flowers after rain, with their bright shining eyes that looked
+undimmed upon the world. And many a wrinkle of care and weariness was
+washed from the brow of the old by the pure wonder-working glacier
+waters; the every day frock of frieze was exchanged for a decent Sunday
+dress of stuff, camlet or even better material. The maidens put on
+white linen gowns--the garb of innocence--not without a happy thrill of
+veneration, for they were to accompany the bridegroom as bridesmaids,
+when he walked in procession round the church; then they went out into
+the little gardens, resplendent with the glories of summer, carefully
+holding up their white gowns in the narrow paths that they might not
+sweep the dewy borders; they plucked the ever-sacred elder which must
+never be wanting at any solemnity whether joyful or sad; a few sprigs
+of hazel because under it the Blessed Virgin once took shelter in a
+storm, for which reason it has ever since been blest with peculiar and
+marvellous powers; then the juniper with its blackberries, from which
+the wholesome juniper-spirit is extracted, that they burn to counteract
+the evil spring-mists; tall-grown lilies and humble daisies--which
+blossomed under Mary's tears when she was forced to fly into Egypt;
+marjoram, rue, and thyme--potent against all devilry; rosemary,
+hawkweed, and ground-ivy--all sacred blossoms and plants that grow
+under fortunate stars. Of these the girls made the festal garlands,
+carefully selecting the flowers according to their emblematic
+significance. Last of all they clambered up to break off some boughs of
+the Rosa pomifera, which first sprang from the innocent bloodshed by a
+pure maiden; which grew luxuriantly, high up on the wall, and when they
+tried to pull a branch that was too tough to yield, a sparkling shower
+of dew was shaken down upon them so that they had to take hasty flight
+with laughter and clamour as though from some saucy teasing companion.
+Presently the tramp of horses coming from the direction of Mals broke
+the morning stillness. One of the girls in the garden farthest from the
+village peeped over the wall at the approaching party. A lady was
+riding foremost, she had given the reins to the horse and came rapidly
+onward, followed by two women on horseback and a few men servants; by
+her side rode a tall knight to guide and protect her. Close to the wall
+the lady paused and signed to the astonished girl. "Here--are they not
+going to ordain one of the monks up at the monastery to-day?" she
+called out.
+
+"Yes--the bell will ring directly," was the answer.
+
+The lady threw her bridle to the rider by her side and sprang from the
+horse before a servant could come to her assistance.
+
+"Will you give me your linen frock?" she went on. "I will pay you for
+it as if it were a royal robe."
+
+The girl laughed; she thought the lady was jesting.
+
+"Come round and let me in," commanded the stranger.
+
+"Dear Countess--I beg of you--what have you taken into your head?"
+whispered the knight.
+
+"I am going to the consecration of this priest," said the Countess
+laughing. "But I must not be recognised and shall mingle with the
+peasant girls--do you understand?"
+
+"But consider, I beg of you, such a proceeding is most unbecoming for
+you," remonstrated the knight.
+
+"I know best what is or is not becoming for myself. You others must
+ride off by another way, up to where the ruins of the old fortress of
+Castellatz will afford you shelter against sun or rain; there you must
+remain concealed till we proceed on our journey."
+
+"Could we not find shelter in the convent itself," said the knight, "as
+we did lately with the Duchess?"
+
+The Countess laughed. "And do you think those strict old gentlemen
+would receive a wandering maid-of-honour--particularly on a day so
+solemn? You little know them. Do as I desire you, my Lord, and your
+obedience shall meet with its reward," she added with a meaning glance
+of such promise as brought the blood to her companion's cheeks for joy.
+
+"Oh! what a beautiful wreath," she exclaimed, as she went to the girl
+who stood waiting for her. "You must give me that too." Her long train
+disappeared behind the wall and the little door closed behind her.
+There was nothing left for the knight but to console himself by doing
+her bidding and to ride slowly away.
+
+"What can she want up there?" muttered he, shaking his head and
+carefully leading away her horse by the bridle. If the horse could have
+spoken it might have told him--it had carried her on its back that day
+when she had entered the convent-yard and had seen the young monk for
+the first time.--But snort and blow as it would it could say nothing
+and the little procession moved off in silence, behind the village, and
+through the dewy woods up to the lonely hill of Castellatz.
+
+The great bell of Marienberg was already tolling, the bell that was the
+wonder of the whole neighbourhood and whose mighty voice could be heard
+afar over hill and valley. The boys of the village had long since gone
+up to help to pull the rope, for the sound of that bell had a
+particular sanctity, and besides it was excellent fun to fly up and
+down hanging to the rope. The maidens with their large bunches of
+flowers walked properly close to their parents, and their hearts beat
+in their young breasts with high and holy festival joy. Thus they all
+mounted the hill in devotional silence, and high up over the church
+door stood troops of angels with seraphs' wings more radiant than the
+sun, inviting the people who came pouring in from far and near in their
+holiday dresses, to enter their Father's hospitable mansion where they
+were welcomed with incense and myrrh and green garlands.
+
+The floor of the church trembled under the feet of the crowds that
+flocked in, and those who could not find room within knelt down
+outside; for a long, long way round the church the eye could see
+nothing but kneeling figures, and as the people could not come in to
+the church, the Church went forth to the people. Just as in spring-time
+the streams overflow their banks or as a too full heart overflows in
+moments of supreme joy, so the Church in her hour of highest happiness
+outstepped her walls of stone and poured her blessing on the crowds
+outside. When the ceremony of ordination and the high mass were over
+the solemn procession came out under the open heaven. "They are
+coming--they are coming!" cried one and another; and amid the ringing
+of bells, the roar of the organ and the jubilant strains of flutes,
+harps, psalteries and cymbals, out they marched with banners flying, in
+white surplices; first the musicians, then the choristers, swinging the
+censers, while the girls formed a line on each side and strewed flowers
+in the way. Then came the standard bearers with the banner with the
+image of the Virgin, which was embroidered by the Lady Uta; the deacons
+with lighted tapers in their hands forming an escort for the Abbot who
+carried the Host, and gave his blessing to all; last of all the troop
+of priests with the newly ordained brother in their midst, walking
+under the protection of the sacred banners that had been dedicated to
+the convent by pious hands. The kneeling people reverently made way on
+each side so that the procession might pass through and bestow
+salvation on all sides. A scarcely suppressed cry of admiration
+trembled on every lip, as the young priest made his appearance. He wore
+a long white surplice, the Alb, which was girt round his slim form with
+a golden girdle; a richly embroidered stole was crossed on his breast
+and from his shoulders fell the black folds of his cope, while on his
+head, as signifying innocence and purity, rested the festal chaplet and
+a wreath of white roses--he came onwards, his head modestly bent, as if
+the honours of this day were crushing him to the earth.
+
+The girls strewed his path with the flowers and plants of good omen
+that they had gathered in the morning and his feet fell softly on them,
+so close was the green carpet they made. But suddenly he started as if
+he had trodden on a thorn. It was only a word that struck him, and with
+the word a glance. "What a pity!" one of the girls had said to herself,
+and as he involuntarily looked round, his eye met a glance so
+appealing, so touching, from such a lovely face--and that face! he knew
+it so well. And yet how could it be? A peasant-girl and that haughty
+maid-of-honour, how could they be alike? But the resemblance was so
+striking that he stood as if blinded by a flash, struck to his inmost
+core; only for a second, no longer than it takes to draw a deep breath
+or to snatch a flower as you are passing by, but his foot stumbled as
+he walked on, as if he were in too great haste to make up for some long
+delay. On they went, making three circuits round the hill, each wider
+than the last, till the very last of the crowd of believers had shared
+the blessing for which he had waited so patiently.
+
+Out at the farthest edge of the hill, almost at the brink of the
+precipice, knelt a poor, pale woman with grey hair, miserably clad in
+rags; she looked longingly up at the young priest as if she were gazing
+at celestial bliss. And close beside her, also clothed in rags,
+crouched a being of strange aspect--half child, half girl--with a mass
+of reddish-brown hair, and large round eyes with golden lights in them
+under dark brows that met in the middle; eyes that looked dreamily out
+on the world as if the soul behind them were sleeping still at mid-day,
+and yet moved in its sleep--as a golden owl spreads its gorgeous
+plumage in the sunshine while night still reigns to its dazzled eyes,
+"dark with excess of light." But the strange looking little creature
+started up as if suddenly awakened, and grasped the woman's arm in
+alarm. "Look there, is that an angel?" she asked, pointing to the
+slight figure of Donatus who was coming near them--now close to them,
+and the child trembled and shrank back, as from some dread apparition,
+behind her companion, who furtively put out her lean hand, and seizing
+a fold of his robe pressed it to her lips. "Donatus, my son, do you not
+know me?" she murmured. The young man looked enquiringly at her. She
+held up before him a tiny cross of rough wood made of two sticks nailed
+together, and as if by the waving of a magic wand all the long years
+vanish, and he sees before him the autumn-tinted arbour where one
+evening--so long ago--he played at the feet of "his mother," as he had
+always called her--he sees the little grave-mound, and on it the cross
+that he himself had made; then they snatch him from his mother's arms,
+the cruel dark man seizes him, he sees her weep and clings to her
+knee--and a home-sick longing for all that has vanished, for the warm
+shelter of a mother's breast--the bitter home-sickness of a life-time
+is reawakened in his heart.
+
+And then--the procession of lofty inaccessible beings moved on, and he
+with them! One more unperceived glance round, one hasty look; he saw
+the poor soul stretch out her arms after him, and then fall forward on
+her face. He had not been able even to ask her the simple question,
+"Mother, where do you live and where can I find you?" He saw that she
+was starving and he could not even carry a bit of bread to her who had
+nourished him so that he had grown to strength and manhood, to her who
+had given her heart's blood for him! And two bitter tears dropped
+trembling from his lashes and fell into the daisies, which had sprung
+from the tears of the Mother of God as she fled homeless into the
+desert--and the little flowers seemed to look up at him with answering
+eyes, and to ask, "For which mother are you weeping?" His eyes fell for
+shame before the innocent blossoms that he trod under his foot. The
+unutterable sorrows of the Virgin-Mother were revealed to him in all
+their greatness through the woes of his outcast foster-mother; what
+must She have suffered who bore to see the God who was her son slain
+like a lamb! And could he weep over the sorrows of the nurse who
+had not borne him--who need not see him die as Mary had seen her
+divine son--nailed to the cross by cruel hands? "Mary, eternal
+Mother--forgive, forgive that I could forget Thee for the sake of
+any earthly woman. My tears are Thine alone--and I could weep for
+another!--forgive, forgive!" Thus he prayed and raised his eyes in
+penitence to the floating banner which went on before him, waving in
+all its splendour in the fresh mountain breeze.
+
+This was the blessing that the daisies had brought him and he thanked
+the hand that had gathered them. If only it were not the hand of the
+rosy girl with alluring eyes who had made him start and stumble by her
+resemblance to the lady who had robbed him of his peace? How much
+fairer too was she in the simple linen frock than the haughty
+maid-of-honour in her sinful attire! and the two were so alike, so
+indistinguishable that it might be easily thought that the peasant girl
+was in fact the maid-of-honour herself.
+
+Oh! Heavenly Mercy! again these earthly thoughts, and on his
+festal-day--his wedding-day! For the first time in his life he had
+passed beyond the shelter of the cloister-walls, and he felt already
+how the world stretched forth its arms to tempt him--fear and trembling
+came upon him. Could those arms reach him in the midst of all this
+wealth of mercies? Woe unto him! for the greater the grace the more
+fearful the retribution if it were not deserved--the greater the
+elevation the deeper the fall. "Beware, beware," he said to himself,
+and a cold sweat of anguish stood in drops on his shaven head under the
+chaplet of roses.
+
+The circuit was over, and it was high time, for he felt that he was on
+the point of fainting; the night spent in prayer and scourging, the
+fervour which had fired his blood were taking their revenge and he was
+exhausted to death. The procession turned towards the church again, the
+white-robed maidens forming a passage as before; once more he stood in
+their midst, he the pure and pious youth who of all men could never
+divine how the operation of a blessing could turn to a curse in the
+unhallowed soul! Another glance at that sweet face with its blue eyes
+would be rapture--but he resisted it. With a beating heart and tightly
+closed lids he walked on, and only breathed again when he found himself
+once more within the cool, protecting walls of the church.
+
+The ceremony was over, the crowd was dispersing, all was silent again;
+he was alone, prostrate before the altar and still wrapt in prayer. But
+the maidens of Burgeis had stayed to pray too--the old folks would go
+slowly and they could soon overtake them; they would not go away so
+long as the young priest remained there. At last he rose and they
+pressed round him, as round a saint; they were eager to lay the few
+flowers they had left, at his feet on the altar steps--and the first to
+touch him--on whom his eye unconsciously fell was she--whom he dreaded
+and yet longed for! She was standing close to him like a bride in
+her white dress, crowned with a festal wreath of flowers; half-shy,
+half-forward, her eye full of intoxicating invitation. How happy must
+the man be into whose hands she would resign that maidenly crown as now
+she lay the flowers at his feet! And without knowing or intending it,
+his lips repeated the words she had spoken before, "What a pity!" But
+as the faint murmur left his lips it seemed suddenly to grow to an
+avalanche in his ears and to sound like the crashing thunder-roll that
+follows it. Could he say this--he, and to-day! And his oath of
+yesterday! Alas! what was sacred, what was sure? The walls of the
+church tottered, the flames of the tapers danced before his eyes in
+wild circles, he felt dizzy, he saw nothing but bewitching eyes,
+glowing cheeks, and white arms stretched out towards him. He must be
+steadfast, he must not fall or they will reach him, bend over him,
+ensnare him with their love-spells. If he can only get as far as the
+door of the sacristy without falling--if he can reach that he will be
+safe! But it is so far, so much too far, he can support himself no
+longer--he falls; there--they are there--they fling themselves upon
+him, he feels soft arms supporting his head--one glance into the dewy
+blue eyes that are close to his--. And he is lost--his consciousness
+drowned in a deep blue sea.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER III.
+
+
+Night had fallen, the noise of the festival was hushed; a lamp still
+burned dismally in Correntian's cell where he was sitting before a
+large volume--but he was not reading. He leaned back in his chair,
+brooding gloomily. Suddenly there was a light tap at the door, and he
+called out in much surprise the usual "_Deo gratias!_" for the rule of
+Saint Benedict does not allow two brethren to be alone together in one
+cell. It must be an extraordinary occasion that could excuse such a
+breach of discipline. The door opened and there entered, divested of
+his festal attire, and dressed in a monk's black robe, the newly
+ordained priest.
+
+"What can you want with me?" asked Correntian with a look of contempt.
+"What can the spoilt darling of the indolent brethren, who can not
+sufficiently fill up their time with prayers, what can he want of me
+whom he always was afraid of?"
+
+"Do not mock me, Correntian," said Donatus with much solemnity, "I want
+your help. Do not forget that we are brothers."
+
+"Brethren of the order, but not brothers in heart. Leave me. You are
+sinning against the rules of the order, and you gain nothing by it, for
+I hate you as much as I love God and the Church."
+
+"It is precisely because you hate me that I come to you."
+
+"Do you hope to propitiate me? Do you think you can befool me with the
+honeyed slaver of your lips as you have the weaker brethren? Never
+flatter yourself. I am your enemy, and shall remain so."
+
+"But I tell you again it is not a friend, it is an enemy that I seek.
+And if you could hate me more than I hate myself, all the more would I
+seek you."
+
+"I do not understand you."
+
+"Listen, and you will understand. I ask you to be my father confessor
+because you are the only one who does not love me, the only one who has
+no pity on me; now do you understand? The others love me too much and
+they show mercy to me. But I ask for no mercy, I desire only stern
+inexorable justice--that is why I seek you."
+
+Correntian turned towards him at last, and looked astonished at his
+agitated countenance.
+
+"Are you so much in earnest?" he said.
+
+"In fearful earnest!" cried the young man with a burst of despair,
+leaning his forehead against the bare wall. "Oh, Correntian, for years
+I have hated, abhorred you; only a few days ago I was angry with you
+because one of the brethren told me that you wanted to blind me, when I
+was first brought here. Oh! would you had done so, it would have been
+better for me."
+
+"I understand," said Correntian coldly. "The tempter seeks you in
+woman's form, and you are weak. The curse will run its course as sure
+as the stars, and you cannot escape it."
+
+"No, no! for God's sake, not that, only not that. Correntian, I will
+perform any penance you lay upon me, for none can be too great for my
+sins. The Lord hath loved me, and drawn me to Him as he did Peter, and
+like Peter I have betrayed Him at the first cock-crow. I was not
+faithful even so long as I wore the festal robe, not so long as while I
+stood before the altar, not so long as the breath which wafted my vows
+to Heaven! Cast me out into misery as my father did, I am worthy of
+nothing better, unworthy of the compassion of men. I am mere dust,
+flung to every wind; cast it out and scatter it to the blast!"
+
+Correntian slowly nodded his head.
+
+"It has all happened just as I said it would.
+
+"You are not made of the stuff from which the Conqueror chooses his
+fighting men. Begotten among the wanton joys of a frivolous court,
+nourished at the breast of a wanton woman, your whole breeding has been
+wantonness. The loving glances that you raise to Heaven are wanton,
+they wanton with the sun and the blue sky that soothe your senses; the
+last looks you send after your dead brethren in the grave are wanton,
+they wanton with the roses that the wind bends over it. Nay, even the
+gaze you fix in devout prayer on the image of our Mother Mary is
+wanton, as it looks at the fair woman, at the lovely work of the
+painter's brush. And how then should it not wanton with the first
+living woman of flesh and blood who comes before you, as the first
+woman in Paradise appeared to the first man. You are yourself as fair
+to see as sin, and pleasure-loving women will everywhere run after you;
+for the doors by which sin may enter into you and go forth from you,
+are in truth fair and enticing, and those doors are your love-inviting
+eyes."
+
+"True, alas! too true. But what am I to do? Can I shut my eyes?" asked
+the youth.
+
+"Yes," was the terrible answer, and Correntian drew the desk with the
+heavy Latin Bible towards him, and hastily turned to a page where it
+was written, "If thine eye offend thee, pluck it out and cast it from
+thee."
+
+The youth turned pale. He stared at his sinister judge as though a
+ghost had sprung from the earth before him, a figure so
+incomprehensible and inconceivable that his gaze could not take it in.
+The monk sat before the big book, his eyes cast down; the uncertain
+light of the dingy lamp cast two round shadows in his pale face, like
+the empty eye-holes of a skull. The youth felt as if he were looking at
+his own face--corpse-like--eyeless! And yet so calm, so sublime!--and
+the moon-light that streamed in floated round the bald crown with its
+narrow fringe of black hair, like a nimbus, in strange, livid contrast
+to the red light of the lamp. The hour-glass ran calmly on, in its even
+flow neither hurrying nor tarrying though hearts might throb or break.
+Minute after minute passed--the deadly horror that filled the culprit's
+breast had paralysed his tongue. The judge leant back quietly in his
+chair, and gave him time to grasp the idea--even on the rack an
+interval of rest is allowed. At last the young man said with quivering
+lips,
+
+"No man ever yet did such a thing!"
+
+"It is because no man ever did it that it is worth doing."
+
+"Correntian," continued the youth, but so timidly, so softly, as if the
+air even might not hear, or as if he feared that the sound of his words
+might rouse a sleeping tiger, "Correntian, why did you never do it?"
+
+But the dreadful creature was not roused. Without moving a feature,
+without raising an eye-lash, Correntian replied,
+
+"Because I was strong enough to triumph though I could see; the harder
+the fight the greater the prize."
+
+Again they both were silent. The radiant disk of the moon rose higher
+and higher over the convent-roofs and towers, and looked in with a
+tender smile. Longingly, eagerly, as if it were for the last time, and
+as if he must harvest all the light ere it was yet night, the boy's
+large brown eyes drank in the soft radiance. No, no, things have not
+gone so far--not yet. He may yet fight and conquer. He covered his face
+with his hands as if for protection, as if he saw already the dagger's
+point that was turned against it. No, he will fight with all the
+strength of his soul; fight not for his eternal salvation only, but for
+his eyes too.
+
+Well, he will look neither to the right hand nor to the left, he knows
+well that now every forbidden glance must bring him nearer to the
+murderous iron that threatens him. "Do not look that way; you are
+looking at your death," this is what he must say when temptation
+beckons him, and will not that terror enable him to conquer?
+
+He fell on his knees before Correntian,
+
+"Time--give me time, a respite," he groaned with pale lips, like a man
+condemned to death.
+
+"Coward!" said Correntian contemptuously.
+
+"No, do not call me so," cried the youth, striving to man himself.
+"Send me out into the wilderness to fight for my life with the
+snow-storm and wild beasts, or out to the land of the Saracens to shed
+my blood for our Mother Church. You will not see me tremble, but do not
+ask me to turn the knife against my own eyes; it is our strongest
+instinct to cherish them, even stronger than to preserve our life. For
+though I have often heard of men who plunged a dagger into their heart,
+I never heard of one who thrust it into his eyes. Correntian, have
+mercy. Grant me sight, to see--not the earth--but the heavens only,
+that eternal home for which we all strive. The wanderer, who is nearing
+his final rest, feels his strength revived as he sees the metal star
+that shines on the tower of his home, or the smoke that rises from the
+paternal roof, and he struggles with renewed vigour to reach the
+longed-for goal. How much more must we when we are weary, be refreshed
+by a glance upwards at the real stars, at the distant clouds which look
+down upon us from our Father's House. Who does not revive after such a
+prospect, and hasten joyfully forward? Grant me sight for that, and
+that only, it draws me on and upwards."
+
+"Sensual fool," said Correntian smiling, "Do you think to reach Heaven
+by roads that are indicated by earthly light, do you believe that you
+will lose the way by not being able to see--as an earthly traveller
+might fail to find his home if he lost his eyes? It is from within and
+not from without that the light shines which must show you the path to
+Heaven, and the darker all is without, the brighter it is within; that
+path lies through earthly darkness. None have trodden it on whose eyes
+death has not first laid its black shroud; and do you not believe that
+the heavenly light which can irradiate the night of death can also
+illumine our deepest earthly darkness? Do you not believe that God the
+Lord is mighty to open in your soul a spiritual eye instead of the
+bodily eyes you sacrifice to Him, by which you may discern more and
+fairer things than any mortal yet has gazed on?"
+
+"Oh Correntian--I do understand you--I admire you, but I cannot imitate
+you--not yet, not yet. If I could, then I should not be the sinner that
+I am, and you would not need to judge me. Give me time--for eternal
+mercy's sake which God himself shows to sinners--for Christ's blood
+sake which was shed in love for us--give me time."
+
+"It is God that has spoken the sentence, not I--the execution of it is
+in your power, I have nothing farther to say," and Correntian rose.
+"Now leave me, for it is unlawful for us to remain any longer in secret
+conference--this is not the confessional."
+
+The youth stood yet a moment before him, hesitating.
+
+"Correntian--you despise me for not doing what the scripture commands?"
+
+"What do you care whether I esteem you or not?"
+
+"Everything--from this hour everything!" cried the youth passionately.
+
+"You are made of other stuff than I am," said Correntian, with a strong
+gesture of repulsion. "My whole nature rejects you. If you were a brave
+warrior, or a wandering Minnesaenger, I might esteem you, for you would
+be what you seem. But as a monk I despise you; for under the mask of
+self-denial you cloke worldliness and vanity, and the sacred robe you
+wear smells of the burning of wild and fevered desires. This is the
+true hell-fire, and fearful is the ravage it may commit if it is not
+trampled out in time."
+
+"I will trample it out--before God I will!" cried the tortured boy.
+"Oh! cannot a drop of holy water mixed with the tears of true
+repentance extinguish the very fires of hell? Repentance and
+grace--what can the devil do against them?"
+
+"There is but one moisture that can surely and for ever extinguish the
+flames in which you are burning, and that is the limpid crystal in
+which all the world is mirrored; and it must be spilt by your own hand,
+poured over your own cheeks. It is indeed a precious dew, more precious
+than tears or blood, and because there is no man who would not keep it
+at the cost even of his life, it is so precious that only the highest
+crown of martyrdom can requite it! You may win this crown--you may rise
+out of the pool of sin of which the flames are already licking you, to
+be a saint before whom everyone shall kneel--I the first, I who have so
+long despised you; and earth and heaven shall rejoice over you--! And
+all this bliss you may obtain by one stroke of a knife, guided by a
+steady hand! Now go and choose."
+
+The door closed on the victim. "Now go--and choose." The young man
+leaned against the outer door-post unable to go any farther. His heart
+quaked and a deadly chill ran through his veins like cold lead at the
+thought of such a choice. The highest crown of martyrdom! What! could
+he win this with one stroke, without any inward vocation or natural
+ripeness for it? And even if he were to succeed in snatching this
+super-sensual extasy in one moment by one hasty stroke, could he bear
+it and support it worthily? And he must not do the deed for the sake of
+the crown--what we do for a reward has no value. It must be an act of
+deliverance, of deliverance from the utmost danger--but was it indeed
+so with him--was he so weak, so wanting in self-control that he needs
+must shut himself up in a dungeon of eternal night like a thief to keep
+himself from stealing forbidden fruit?
+
+And oh! what a dungeon it will be! Will he not be crushed in the narrow
+confines of such impenetrable darkness--when his eye can see no space
+before it--neither before it nor around it? Will not all the torments
+of being buried alive come upon him and stop his breath so that his
+heart will burst under the pressure of the stagnant blood?
+
+Drop after drop of cold sweat ran down from his forehead. What had he
+done to deserve a punishment so unspeakably horrible? Was he indeed a
+thief--had he stolen the forbidden fruit? No, he had not done it, he
+had only longed for it, and as soon as he was conscious of the
+temptation he had prayed and scourged himself till it was conquered.
+Was temptation in itself a sin? Nay else there would have been no
+Saints, for there was not one of them that had not had to pass through
+some struggles. Else Father Onofrius of saintly memory would not have
+needed to burn off during a night of visitation all the fingers of his
+hands, nor need the holy Founder of the Order, Saint Benedict, have
+accustomed himself to sleep on nettles! And must he do more than they
+all had done, to win the crown of the Saints? No, no; this could not be
+the will of God; it was Correntian's stern severity that lay such
+fearful penance upon him; and outraged nature, revolting against it,
+tore him from the spot--in wild flight from the lashing of this
+superhuman asceticism--away--away--over all the barriers of his
+tortured conscience. His body, numbed as it were into unconsciousness,
+bereft of all power of resistance and urged by ungovernable terror,
+obeyed the impulse--he fled from the door of the terrible monk, as if
+he might open it again and by one commanding word stay the flight of
+these trembling vital impulses and compel them to a hideous, suicidal,
+annihilating struggle--Away--he must away. He fled down the steps with
+the swiftness of the whirlwind, pushed back the rusty bolt of the
+court-yard door and flew out into the fresh air, across the yard to the
+porter's little gate-house. Without pausing to consider, he seized
+the key of the outer gate from the table, unseen by the sleeping
+warder--opened the gate and went out into the moonlit night, without
+stopping to take breath; on and away to the heath--to the harsh mother
+that bore him--as though he there might find counsel and consolation.
+Never before had his feet borne him on such an expedition, and yet some
+unconscious urging guided him on the way that his eyes had so often
+longingly traced from the turret-window. Up he went, higher and higher,
+his feet winged by terror--higher and higher as he ascended, rose the
+guiding light of the broad, bright moon in the pure sky.
+
+His face was streaming with the sweat of exhaustion--fully two hours
+had gone by when at last he reached the height, and before him lay the
+wide, level heath, a boundless lake of light. The white mists that
+floated and broke over it were bathed--soaked--in moonlight, like
+silvery billows--now rising, now falling--now floating formless, and
+anon swirling together into fearful wreathing pillars as if they
+would overwhelm the lonely wanderer in their silent ghostly tide.
+Light--light, of which the eye might take its fill--across to the
+invisible distance and to where the great Ortler peak seemed wrapped in
+sleep and dreams. Light and peace--chaste and divine solitude! the
+hapless tortured child of man stood still in intoxicating
+contemplation, and spread out his arms to the splendour now first
+revealed to him, "Almighty Lord--Thou that art great!" he prayed aloud,
+"Thou that art merciful! Thou hast shed upon the world this
+inexhaustible ocean of light, and wouldst Thou rejoice if a miserable
+worm of earth should bury himself in the night of the grave?" And the
+words of the Psalmist sprang from his soul to his lips, "O Lord my God!
+Thou art become exceeding glorious, Thou art clothed with majesty and
+honour, Thou deckest Thyself with light as it were with a garment, Thou
+spreadest out the heavens like a curtain, Thou makest the clouds Thy
+chariot and walkest upon the wings of the wind." And then he hastened
+on again, farther and farther. Psalteries and harps seemed to sound in
+his ears while his feet were cleaving the illusory intangible flood
+that closed over him without wetting him. Thus might Christ have walked
+dry foot over the waters--for the foundation he stood on was God, and
+all earthly things seemed to have vanished like the mist.
+
+And yet the Son of God perished on the cross in the anguish of death
+like a torn up flower, and endured in patience and bore the woes of the
+whole earth--He who could command the elements, who had need only to
+spread his wings in order to soar away into the fields of eternal
+bliss! God, the All-merciful, the Omnipotent, suffered this to happen
+to his own Son!
+
+Again he stood still, as if face to face with a problem that must be
+solved before he could go any farther; and he bowed his head, saying,
+"It must be so, for suffering is our portion; that which we call the
+hand of fate and which crushes us to the earth, is in fact the hand of
+God laid in love upon our shoulders--and what we call the anguish of
+death is but His fatherly kiss that drinks our soul! For so great is He
+and so small are we that we are destroyed if He do but touch us. And in
+like manner he gave his only Son, raising him up that we might see and
+acknowledge what His love is. Woe to him who resists his sufferings--he
+resists God! O! Father, I will bless Thy hand even if it grind me to
+powder--I will die in Thy kiss and the agony of death shall be bliss to
+me."
+
+Suddenly--it seemed to him that the fearful Correntian was standing
+behind him, saying with freezing scorn, "Thus you swore just now and
+yet you refuse to make the first sacrifice that the Lord requires of
+you! Look, He holds out a craving hand that you may lay your eyes in
+it, and He says graciously, 'Give them to Me that I may keep them for
+thee till I give them back to thee one day to see more gloriously in
+Heaven above'--just as a father might take from the hand of a child
+some dangerous instrument with which it might hurt itself; and you,
+like the wilful child, cling to the dangerous possession and push away
+the hand that asks when it might strike."
+
+"Woe is me! Correntian! dark, avenging angel! must you follow me
+wherever I go?" groaned the tormented soul. "Whither may I fly from
+you; and where can I save you, my poor eyes, from the two-edged sword
+that he has planted in my heart there to gnaw in fury against myself."
+
+Then again he heard the threatening voice, "Coward, what do you fear?
+And what is it after all? You destroy a mirror in which hell focuses
+its rays--you destroy a transparent vessel, and empty out once for all
+the fount of those tears which you then need never again shed. One
+stroke--and it is done; a stroke so slight that a child might drive it
+home, a hail-stone, a thorn--and you tremble at that?"
+
+Nay, nay, it was not the stroke of the knife, not the flow of blood
+that he quaked at. In losing his eyes, he must extinguish the sun,
+moon, and stars, put out all light with this lovely world that is as
+the very presentment of God--plunge himself into nothingness, an
+outcast in the midst of the joys of all creation.
+
+The sweat poured down his face, his knees failed him; he sank down in
+the tall, reedy grass, sobbing as he cooled his burning face in the
+moist, dewy earth.
+
+
+
+                             END OF VOL. I.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                           *   *   *   *   *
+                   PRINTING OFFICE OF THE PUBLISHER.
+                           *   *   *   *   *
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                               COLLECTION
+
+                                   OF
+
+                            GERMAN AUTHORS.
+
+                                VOL. 38.
+
+                           *   *   *   *   *
+
+                 THE HOUR WILL COME BY W. von HILLERN.
+
+                            IN TWO VOLUMES.
+
+                                VOL. II.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                           TAUCHNITZ EDITION.
+                          By the same Author,
+            THE VULTURE MAIDEN (DIE GEIER-WALLY) ... 1 vol.
+                               *   *   *
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                                  THE
+
+                             HOUR WILL COME
+
+                      A TALE OF AN ALPINE CLOISTER
+
+
+                                   BY
+                        WILHELMINE von HILLERN,
+                               AUTHOR OF
+              "THE VULTURE MAIDEN (DIE GEIER--WALLY)" ETC.
+
+
+                            FROM THE GERMAN
+                                   BY
+                              CLARA BELL.
+
+
+                       IN TWO VOLUMES.--VOL. II.
+
+                          _Copyright Edition_.
+
+
+
+                              LEIPZIG 1879
+
+                          BERNHARD TAUCHNITZ.
+
+           LONDON: SAMPSON LAW, MARSTON, SEARLE & RIVINGTON.
+                  CROWN BUILDINGS, 188, FLEET STREET.
+
+           PARIS: C. REINWALD & Cie, 15 RUE DES SAINTS PERES.
+
+       _The Author reserves the Right of dramatizing this Tale_.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                          THE HOUR WILL COME.
+
+
+
+
+
+                                BOOK II.
+
+                               MARTYRDOM.
+
+                              (CONTINUED.)
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER IV.
+
+
+The heath lay silent and still, as a mother might refrain from
+disturbing her weeping son; thus the night wore on; dew fell on the
+victim's head--he heeded it not; the bright moon paled and the young
+day painted the first streaks on the rim of the eastern horizon--he saw
+it not. The icy morning-breeze swept keenly down from the glaciers--he
+did not stir.
+
+Presently a silvery tinkle sounded across the heath through the morning
+air; it was the bell ringing for matins at St. Valentine's. This roused
+the penitent from his torpor, and so strong are the ties of obedience
+that at the first stroke the simple sound of the bell recalled the
+whole scattered troop of his vital faculties to their duty. His
+rebellious defiance, the first impulse of disobedience he had ever
+known, and which had driven him to his nocturnal flight, vanished like
+a wild dream. As the bell was ringing up here for matins, he would just
+have time to get down to mass; for prayers were an hour earlier here
+than at Marienberg. If the brethren met together for common prayer in
+the familiar chapel--and he--he were missing!--An unspeakable sorrow
+came over him--a home-sick longing for the Abbot, for his companions,
+for the place where he was so tenderly brought up; and without further
+delay he started up and hastened back to the convent. As day grew
+broader reflection and composure returned to him, and he was ashamed of
+his weakness. Without once looking behind him, he left the heath--his
+mother earth--the earth that had drunk his despairing tears--and walked
+stoutly on, down to Marienberg again; but in his too great haste he
+missed his way and suddenly found himself on a thickly wooded hill at
+one side of the monastery. An extensive ruin stood up among the dark
+umbrageous branches; he knew where he was now--on the hill of
+Castellatz, where stood the remains of an ancient Roman castle
+that had served at a later period as a stronghold of the Trasp family.
+Huge walls lay fallen one upon the other; walls that had once been
+inhabited by a defiant race who had borne themselves manfully in
+many a bloody fight. The labouring peasants still dug out bones of
+extraordinary size--broad angular skulls of Huns and high narrow skulls
+of Goths--they had all fought round these old walls and none of them
+had yielded, only faith had conquered them. When Ulrich, the pious
+scion of the race, had built the convent at Marienberg because he
+thought that a House of God was the surest fortress that he could take
+refuge in, he razed the castle to its foundation so that no enemy of
+the Church should henceforth make use of it as a bulwark against the
+people of God.
+
+Thus fell the proud walls that had defied the power of man. The youth
+trod the soil that had a thousand times been drenched in blood, with a
+reverent step; peace now reigned over the spot, and silence--a Sabbath
+stillness. High above his head the shadowy tree-tops rustled as though
+they were murmuring some long forgotten heroic legend, or a battle-song
+of which the echoes had long since died away. And he, the peaceful son
+of that stern mother, the Church--he stood there as one ashamed of his
+own feebleness, and humbly folding his hands he prayed--"I am no
+warrior, no hero--I need not fight with the sword or measure the
+strength of my young limbs, man for man with others--my heroism must
+lie in obedience. Strengthen me therein, my Lord and God, that I may
+never fear to fulfil Thy will."
+
+And he went forward again, renewed in strength; here--on this old scene
+of many struggles, where every blade of grass had sprung from blood
+that heroes had spilt--here, in this bitter hour, he had grown to be a
+man and his courage had ripened within him; courage for that hardest
+fight of all, for the heroism of suffering. His resolve was formed--not
+in mad terror and haste as before in Correntian's cell, but quietly,
+clearly, aye joyfully--his resolve to purchase his salvation. He will
+await the Lord's will, and if the Lord give him the strength to close
+his eyes against all temptation, he will accept it as a gift of mercy
+saving him from the worst. If he fall into one single fault more--if he
+turn one single longing look more on a woman's form--then he will carry
+out the sentence as it has this night been passed upon him--for then he
+will know that it is God's will.
+
+A broad sunbeam broke through the bushes which grew on all sides, their
+tough roots forcing their way between the grey stones; close by his
+side a bird twittered in a juniper bush which grew out of a ruined
+window arch. The little creature had its nest there and it looked at
+him with its keen eyes to see if it had any cause to fear for its
+brood; and there in the shrub sat the little birds with gaping, yellow
+beaks clinging in helpless fright to the swaying branches and screaming
+for their mother. A pretty picture!--How many a mother might have sat,
+long ago, under this arch, anxiously watching the foe that threatened
+her nest while the father was far away--at the chase or fighting in
+bloody feud in some enemy's country for all that was dear to him.
+
+"Oh! sweet and wonderful bonds of love, and faith, and closest ties of
+blood! can it be that ye are not of God!" The question came
+involuntarily from the depth of the young man's heart.
+
+And there!--as if ghosts walked in the ruins--there was a sudden
+movement among the shrubs; a tall girlish figure broke hastily through
+the boughs and behind her came a boy--a sturdy lad, the wood-cutter to
+the monastery. He threw his arm round the girl's buxom form and
+whispered, "And if I ask you where you went so early, what will you say
+then?"
+
+"To gather berries," she cried laughing and swinging her basket.
+
+"Just wait and I will kiss your lips till they are so red that folks
+will think you tumbled down among the berries," said the lad. "Come, we
+will find a quiet place to rest in." And he disappeared again amongst
+the bushes dragging the girl with him without much trouble.
+
+Donatus hastily turned to go, but suddenly they both gave a little cry
+of alarm, "O Lord! a wild woman of the woods!" and they fled crossing
+themselves. Donatus stood still; "What was there? what had frightened
+the pair so much?" He went towards the spot where they had been
+sitting; the briars hid a ruined arch-way through which he could
+look into the desolate castle-yard all overgrown with weeds, and
+there--wonder of wonders--lay a woman, asleep on a bank of turf
+artificially constructed and screened by a projection of the wall, that
+might at some former time have formed a niche where the poor and
+wretched sat on a stone bench to eat the meal they had begged. But the
+woman who was sleeping there was neither poor nor wretched; there she
+lay wrapped in a rich cloak of costly furs and dressed in a green robe
+embroidered with gold--like a forest-fairy! The playing beams of the
+morning sun that fell upon her through the whispering boughs, threw a
+bright light on her cheeks that were rosy with sleep, and the morning
+breeze blew her soft, silky hair across her dreaming brow, like a film
+of golden vapour.
+
+Donatus stood as if spell-bound, incapable of going either forwards or
+backwards--he gazed and gazed and the whole world around him was
+forgotten. Was it a real living woman--or a trick from hell--it seemed
+to him that it was the same woman--yes, it was she--! She opened her
+eyes and a flash of delight, brighter than the morning sunshine
+sparkled in those eyes.
+
+"Is it you! you?" she exclaimed, springing up. And as Donatus looked
+into her blue eyes he knew that it was she--she, who, dressed in a
+peasant's garb, had yesterday so bewildered his senses--she, who so
+lately had stood before him as the maid-of-honour. And to-day she was
+here--up here, sleeping on the grass, with no roof over her head--like
+a wood-fairy--Could she be indeed a real woman and yet capable of such
+sudden changes? He had never believed in fairies, but could there be
+such beings? and were they good or evil spirits? And while he thought
+over all this he stood as if rooted to the spot, regarding the
+wonderful apparition with astonishment. He saw her sign to him, he
+heard her call him, and he made no reply--It was not real, it was only
+a vision, a dream.
+
+"Are you turned to stone? Wait a minute, I will go to you as you will
+not come to me." The voice was close to his ear and the brilliant
+figure lightly climbed up the ruined stone-work and in a moment was
+standing close to him under the arch and bending over towards him.
+
+Those azure lakes, in which, only yesterday, his whole consciousness
+had been lost, were again close to his intoxicated gaze and pouring
+their flood of blueness into his soul. It stopped his breath--it ran
+through all his veins--he leaned against the mullion of the window
+like one stunned, and gazed and gazed--he could not take his eyes off
+her--Heaven and earth had faded from his ken--She was too lovely!
+
+"How come you here? What has troubled you so? You are pale and your
+hair is wet with night dews?" she asked him, softly stroking his
+tangled curls with her slender white hand.
+
+He staggered as if a flash of lightning had struck him without
+destroying him; a strange shiver ran through his limbs, a gentle tremor
+as when the morning breeze shakes the dews of night from the topmost
+branches of a tree; and nearer, nearer comes the sweet face, and warm
+breath floats round him--Still he stirs not.
+
+"Do not fix your eyes on me so--as if I were not a creature of flesh
+and blood," she whispered in his ear. "Put away your sternness; I
+deserve it of you. For your sake I have passed the night here with my
+people; here in this uncanny ruin, under the open sky, only to find
+some way of seeing you again. You have done for me, once for all, with
+your dreamy face and your severity, and deny it as you will--that which
+drove you at night out of your narrow cell was my image which pursued
+you, and while you fled from me you went in truth to seek me! Have I
+guessed rightly?" And she laid her arm softly round his neck and her
+lips were close to his ear, while she spoke so that every word was like
+the breathing of a kiss. He let his head drop and lean against her
+bosom--he felt dizzy, as if in that instant he had fallen from some
+towering height. She took him caressingly by the chin, raising his head
+and looking longingly into his eyes.
+
+"Oh, those eyes! those maddening eyes. Who looks into them is lost!
+A man who has such eyes as yours can never be a monk!" she exclaimed
+in a tone of tender jest. "Those eyes give the lie to all your
+severity--they look fire and kindle fire."
+
+"And that fire shall be extinguished for ever!" cried Donatus suddenly,
+tearing himself from her arms as if roused from a dream. "It is well
+for me that you have warned me. With such eyes a man can never be a
+monk!--it is God himself who has spoken by your lips."
+
+And he fled away as from the City of Destruction, leaving the temptress
+startled and astonished. She called after him to stay--she implored,
+she conjured him--in vain. The matins bell was ringing in the valley
+below, and he heard that above all her tempting; that was a mightier
+call. Like a hunted deer that can find no shelter, the unhappy man fled
+back to the sacred cloister walls where only rest and peace were to be
+found.
+
+The gatekeeper on awaking had sought everywhere for the key in the
+utmost terror, but he had said nothing for fear of being punished, and
+as Donatus came in he started up angrily--"Who dared have done it?" But
+he was pacified as soon as he recognized him.
+
+"You!" he said smiling. "Oh! you may be forgiven, for you are to be
+trusted."
+
+"Aye, you are indeed to be trusted," said a voice suddenly behind him,
+and Correntian stood in the doorway of the little gate-house.
+
+"Oh, Correntian!" cried the youth, making a movement as though to throw
+himself on his breast; but Correntian drew back a step.
+
+"That will do," he said. "You know the rules of our order forbid such
+caresses. But I repeat it--you are to be trusted--for as you have come
+back to-day you now will never flee!"
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER V.
+
+
+The day was drawing to its close. It was a sultry evening; lead
+coloured clouds swept across the sky; the swallows flew uneasily round
+and round the convent towers, their wings widely spread as if the heavy
+storm rack weighed upon them and hindered their flight. The veiled
+sunlight threw but a faint shadow on the sundial, pointing to the Roman
+_VII_.
+
+Vespers were ended, the brethren were walking in the garden, silent for
+the most part and oppressed by the stormy atmosphere; not a leaf was
+stirring, even the bees hummed but lazily as they went from flower to
+flower, inconstant to each and seeking no plunder.
+
+The Abbot detained Donatus as he was going into the house.
+
+"Where are you going all alone, Donatus?" he called out. The youth
+stood still, but was silent, and the Abbot beckoned him to come back to
+his side.
+
+"What ails you, my son?" he asked. "You seem to be ill. Your temples
+are throbbing and your eyes have a feverish wandering glitter; you have
+refused every kind of nourishment since yesterday--Tell me what ails
+you?"
+
+"Nothing, father; I am quite well."
+
+"Then some new temptation assails you, my son; for it is of no avail to
+tell me that all is well with you as usual," said the Abbot, and he
+drew him aside into a retired vine-alley. "You cannot deceive me, for I
+have brought you up from the time when you were four years old. My
+watchful eye has been upon you night and day, in joy and in grief, in
+health and in sickness. I know every line of your face and mark every
+shade that passes over it, and you have become so completely one with
+me that every throb of your heart is felt in mine, and every burden
+that weighs on your soul oppresses mine. You cannot deceive me, and I
+am filled with a cruel forboding, as if some fearful evil were lowering
+over your darkened brow."
+
+Donatus breathed painfully under the Abbot's searching gaze; he was
+like a sick man who conceals his sufferings the longest from those that
+love him most. His eyes fell; an unutterable and tender sorrow came
+over him for the faithful guardian whom he purposed to betray in so
+frightful a manner as soon as sleep should have closed his watchful
+eyes.
+
+"You are silent! You are concealing some evil from me?" continued the
+Abbot. "For I never before saw you thus. I am not satisfied at your
+having had so much private talk with Correntian since yesterday--and
+indeed one of the brethren declared that he had seen you steal at night
+to Correntian's cell! What can you two have to say to each other?--Why,
+he has been your mortal enemy ever since you were old enough to think!
+How is this! when such an unnatural alliance is formed there must be
+some terrible trouble or dividing of heart at the bottom of it. You are
+young and generous, you indeed may forget and honestly forgive--but not
+Correntian--never. He is a rock on which many a poor young heart has
+struck and bled to death when only a loving hand was needed to rescue
+it. It is this hard nature of his that alienates him from us all, and
+it is with the greatest anxiety that I see you falling into his power."
+
+Donatus walked on in silence and reserve by the side of the Abbot, who
+waited in vain for his answer.
+
+Presently the Abbot stood still, as if he would force the young man to
+look at him. "My son," he said, "Do you remember the evening when that
+sinister man tore you from your nurse's lap, and how you struggled and
+screamed till I came and took you in my arms? Do you remember how you
+threw your arms round my neck and clung to me, and how I myself put you
+into your little bed, and you would not leave go of my hand till you
+had sobbed yourself to sleep? This heart of mine is still the same as
+when you found refuge in it, these arms are the same as those to which
+you then ran for protection; throw yourself into them again, my son,
+and shake off the burden that torments you, so that I may once more
+protect you against the powers of darkness that threaten you."
+
+Donatus could bear it no longer; tears rushed to his eyes, and crying
+out, "My father, my dearest father!" he threw himself into the Abbot's
+arms. The two men stood clasped in a mute embrace, but at this instant
+of sacred silence Correntian came hurrying up.
+
+"For God's sake," he cried, "go in! The storm is just over our heads,
+and it will be a fearful one," and he dragged them apart as if in
+dutiful anxiety for their safety.
+
+They went into the house in silence. It was now bed-time; the younger
+brethren went to the dormitories, the elders each to his own cell.
+
+"Good night, my son," said the Abbot, and his eye once more rested on
+Donatus with a mournful and searching glance. "Remember my words! And
+one thing more: Go up to brother Eusebius, and see if he needs
+anything. I am sorry that he should have felt too feeble to-day to come
+to table. Besides a talk with the wise old man will do you as much
+good, as a cooling draught." Then he called to the other brethren,
+"See, all of you, to the fires and lights, it will be a dreadful night.
+At midnight we perform the mass for the soul of the Lady Uta; see that
+you none of you oversleep yourselves!"
+
+
+Up in Eusebius' cell, as the Abbot had desired him, sat Donatus,
+opposite to his old friend in the dim light from the little window; the
+lurid clouds swept on in endless succession, grey on darker grey.
+
+Eusebius was weaker than usual, but he was sitting up half-buried in
+books, parchments and instruments, writing-materials, rulers,
+compasses, and what not. For of all the fields over which the human
+mind had roamed there was not one which father Eusebius, in his quiet
+cell, had not explored and investigated. While he talked Donatus'
+fingers were unconsciously playing in their fevered restlessness with
+the thousand objects that were lying about, and thus his hand fell on a
+large pair of compasses; they were half open, and the two sharp points
+were parted. He took them up as if absorbed in reflection, he closed
+his eyes and laid the two points on his eye-lids.
+
+"I could easily put my eyes out with these," said he thoughtfully.
+"Both at once with one blow. With a knife or dagger I should have to
+strike twice, and even if I had the courage for the first--for the
+second never--no never!"
+
+Eusebius took the compasses out of his hand, and laid them on the
+table. "What mad words are you saying! What has put such hideous ideas
+into your head?"
+
+Donatus looked wildly at him; his eyes glared strangely in the gloom
+that had gradually spread itself in the little room.
+
+"I have often thought lately that a man who would fain avoid all love
+must put his eyes out," he said in a low and strangely tremulous voice,
+like a broken lute jarred by the wind.
+
+Eusebius shook his head slowly and disapprovingly.
+
+"Of what use would that be?" he said. "It would come all the same.
+However sadly a man may picture it to himself, and fancy he has hedged
+himself in from it--man's wit and man's presumption always succumb to
+it; nay, even if he tore out his eyes and stopped his ears, it would be
+of no avail. Who would dare suppose he could prevent a tree from
+budding and sprouting in February? He can pull off the leaves, and cut
+off the branches, but he can not stop the rising sap that is working
+within. And it is not the devil that stirs the sap in the tree, and the
+blood in man--no, it is all wonderfully ordered by God the Lord who has
+made us thus. And though one of us may have succeeded in resisting the
+law of nature, it is only by some special grace of God who has stood by
+him, and helped him with particular favour; but that which he has
+vanquished in the fight is not the devil, but his own weakness which
+hindered him from freeing himself from the universal law to which all
+creatures are subject."
+
+Donatus started up in horror. "Woe is me," he cried, "I may not listen
+to you! What spirit possesses you, your very words are a crime, God
+help you!" And snatching up the compasses with which he had been
+playing, the boy fled from the room.
+
+"Donatus!" called the old man, rising hastily to follow him. But a
+strange dizziness came over him, and he sank back in his chair; his
+hands and feet alike refused their service. The door of the cell had
+fallen shut, the old man was alone with his books and manuscripts. He
+looked up in silent resignation at the wide and stormy heavens. The
+winds were rushing and roaring round the tower, nearer and nearer came
+the storm--but to the old man it seemed as if all that surrounded him
+were passing into the far, far distance. Farther and farther away
+sounded the rolling thunder, and the outlines of the narrow walls that
+enclosed him grew fainter and fainter. They were parting asunder,
+vanishing away, these earthly walls and bonds, and infinity lay before
+him.
+
+The hour-glass on the table had run down; it was the hour at which he
+was wont to turn it, and as the last grain of sand ran through, the old
+habit made him try to put out his hand; but the hand fell helpless by
+his side--the sand had ceased to run. The thunders paused, the winds
+held their breath, the light was extinguished. "And yet it will come!"
+he whispered with his last sigh, and the liberated soul soared away
+into the empyrean without pain or struggle. There he sat silent and
+peaceful--the lonely dreamer, his head sunk on his breast, his hands
+folded--sleeping the eternal sleep.
+
+A thunder-clap came crashing down on the convent, such a clap as shook
+the old building to the foundations, and all that were living crossed
+themselves in terror; only the still sleeper up in his solitary tower
+will wake and tremble no more. The brethren had all shrunk away to
+their beds; Correntian only remained without, calmly defying the uproar
+of the elements. Suddenly there was a repeated hasty and terrified
+knocking at the convent-gate; the porter did not hear it for the
+roaring of the storm, but at last it caught Correntian's ever watchful
+ear. He went in and opened the door; outside there stood a strange
+child clothed in rags; her beseeching eyes shone with a weird
+brightness in the darkness, the storm and rain tossed her waving hair
+and it shone with a reddish gleam in the fitful flashes of the
+lightning.
+
+"Where is Donatus?" asked the trembling child.
+
+"Donatus!" exclaimed Correntian in horror. "Are the messengers of Hell
+sent for him already? Away with you--your eyes shine in the darkness
+like an owl's--your feet shall not cross this sacred threshold!" and he
+made the sign of the cross over her; but she folded her hands over her
+innocent bosom and threw herself at the priest's feet.
+
+"My lord! my lord! my mother is dying, she was Donatus' nurse--she asks
+to see him; just once more grant her this last comfort."
+
+Correntian pushed her wildly from him, "His nurse--is she there in
+spite of our prohibition? And has that snake engendered another snake
+that the race may not die out? Away with you, leave clasping my knees,
+or I will crush you like an adder."
+
+"My lord! my lord!" cried the child wildly. "My mother is dying down
+there in the wood--without shelter--in the storm and rain. Pity, oh,
+pity--Donatus, where is he? Oh Donatus!" The storm carried away her
+words, the door closed with a loud clatter; no one could hear her cry
+of anguish, for it could not reach the monks in the dormitory, above
+the rushing and roaring of the rain in the dragon-headed gargoyles.
+
+"Alas! and woe!" rang through the night. "Woe!" howled the storm from
+the forest as though with a human voice--"Woe!" groaned the whole
+terror-stricken earth under the crashing thunderbolts which fell clap
+upon clap in inextinguishable fury, rending the trees to their roots.
+
+Dumbly and silently the old stronghold of faith stood on the giddy
+height, facing the unchained elements with its stony brow; and the
+uproarious strife raged round about it, as if it were bent on tearing
+it from its rocky foundations and hurl it into the roaring abyss. What
+is the meaning of all this fury and tumult, why have the whole rage and
+might of the elements concentrated themselves on this spot, why does
+the hand of Terror knock so fearfully at these silent gates, of all
+others, to-night?
+
+They are the agonised cries of Nature, the eternal mother, over one of
+her children who this night is outraging her and himself; who is
+struggling in solitude with the very madness of self-annihilation, with
+none by to pity him. She rouses the brethren from their sleep, she
+thunders in their ears, she shouts to them in the wailing of the storm
+and in torrents of tears, "Rise up--save your brother!" They hear the
+warning indeed, but they understand it not; they start in horror from
+their beds and cross themselves, "Help, oh Lord! What is Thy purpose
+with us?" They pray in impotent terror and are full of some unspeakable
+fear, but they know not whence it came nor how it will end.
+
+Now long drawn groans came up from the forest, each deeper than the
+last, striking as it were at the very roots of the building, collecting
+their forces for one mighty blow, one overwhelming shock. The house
+stood firm, but the beams groaned and the boards cracked under the
+pressure; the lime fell from the walls with a dull crack and the lead
+and tiles torn from the roof were flung with a rattle like hail on the
+stones of the court-yard and on the garden-beds, crushing and
+devastating everything. The fiery tongues from the clouds licked the
+spires with unsated greediness, discharging their electric tension with
+a deafening roar; and as if the waters of the abyss would fain
+extinguish the fires of heaven, they rushed in wild and foaming
+torrents from the mountains into the valleys, dragging the uprooted
+trees with them in their fall and dashing against the rampart-like wall
+as if they were Nature's battering-rams.
+
+"Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive them that trespass against
+us!" prayed the brethren who had gathered together; a little trembling
+flock in the middle of the dormitory. Suddenly one of the brethren
+grasped his neighbour's arm, "Look," he exclaimed, "up there in the
+eastern turret-window--do you see a light?" The monks could hardly look
+up, for at every instant the sky was all aflame and they hid their
+faces in fear. But it was true, they all saw it now--up in the window
+of the Lady Uta's room there was in fact a dim light. Was it a fire?
+had the lightning struck it? No, for it remained always the same. The
+brethren were seized with superstitious horror; was Lady Uta's ghost
+watching over her bequests--or was it Stiero the strong, now long since
+dead, and of whom it was said that he always walked when all the
+elements of nature were in revolt? The monks stood gazing helplessly,
+hardly daring to breathe, and half-blinded by the flashes. Should they
+call the Abbot? should they let him know? At this instant there was a
+blast so mighty that it seemed as if every joint and seam must part--as
+if the very earth must be blown out of its course, and they heard a
+crash on the pavement of the court-yard, while the windows flew open
+and the vessels and utensils danced on the shelves. It was the copper
+roof of the eastern tower that had fallen; the light in the turret
+window was extinguished. The monks fell on their knees, mechanically
+stammering out Paternosters. But what was that? Was it not a cry of
+pain from the tower? The brethren held their breath to listen, they
+convulsively clasped their rosaries in their cold hands and pressed
+them to their trembling hearts. There it was again--their blood ran
+cold, a long drawn cry of anguish was audible above the howling of the
+storm and the roaring of the waters.
+
+At this moment the door was flung open and the Abbot rushed in, his
+lamp in his hand.
+
+"Did you not hear--" he asked. "Was not that a cry from the eastern
+tower?"
+
+"Did you hear it too?" whispered the monks, their voices choked with
+terror.
+
+"Who can it be? There is no one there, the tower is locked up?"
+
+"What a night!--hark--there, again!"
+
+"But now it sounds from the forest."
+
+"We cannot distinguish in this uproar of noise."
+
+"Very likely it is some wild animal hurt by a falling tree."
+
+"No, no, it is the spirits wailing in the air--a bad omen!"
+
+"Heaven help us--what evil can it bode?"
+
+"Lord, have mercy upon us!"
+
+The Abbot meanwhile had glanced round the room.
+
+"Where is Donatus?" he said, "his bed is empty."
+
+Donatus--in the general panic no one had missed him.
+
+"Donatus--my son, my child!" cried the Abbot, struck by a horrible
+suspicion. "Look above, below, every one search the whole house for
+him."
+
+And foremost of them all, driven by some inexplicable dread, the Abbot
+rushed out into the storm, bareheaded, heedless of the pelting of
+stones and tiles, past the lofts that were threatening to fall, across
+to the eastern tower--the door was locked.
+
+"The key! see for the key of the eastern tower," he ordered across the
+dark court-yard; no one had followed him but Correntian; the rest stood
+scared in the door-way--their lamps blown out.
+
+Correntian hurried out to the gate-house. The key was gone! beyond a
+doubt Donatus had locked himself up in the tower.
+
+"Hapless, struggling child!" cried the Abbot. "What demon is tormenting
+you that you must fly up there and tell your woes to the winds." And
+for the first time in his life he turned upon one of the brethren in
+anger; in the glare of the lightning that relieved the darkness and
+revealed them to each other, he fixed his eye piercingly on Correntian.
+
+"I fear, I fear,"--he said, "that you must have a heavy burden on your
+conscience and that the cry of anguish of that poor tortured soul is
+gone up to God against you."
+
+Correntian stood before him, dogged and invincible, "I only did my
+duty."
+
+"Donatus!" cried the Abbot again. "Donatus, come down, open the door to
+me, your father--Donatus--my son."
+
+No answer, all was still; it seemed as though the very storm had paused
+to listen; but in vain--nothing was moving.
+
+"He cannot hear us call," said Correntian. "The storm roars too wildly
+round the detached tower; leave him, it is midnight and time for the
+service for the dead. The bell will soon ring and he will hear that.
+When the bell calls him he will come--I know him well." And he went
+back into the house.
+
+The Abbot followed him with a deep sigh.
+
+"My poor child! God help him to be victorious."
+
+The storm had exhausted its fury and had swept away towards the heath
+at Mals. The pauses between the lightning and thunder were longer, the
+rain did not lash the windows so furiously, and the bell for the mass
+in memory of the Lady Uta tolled solemnly above the now distant tumult.
+
+The monks assembled in the chapel in grave silence, for they were not
+yet free from the spell of the night's alarms, and went down into the
+crypt or founders' hall.
+
+All were there but Eusebius and Donatus.
+
+Eusebius was now often absent, excused by reason of his advanced
+age--but Donatus had never before been missing. The Abbot delayed
+beginning the solemnity, his anxiety increasing with every minute; the
+bell had long ceased to toll, still Donatus came not.
+
+The brethren looked at each other in silence; none dared to increase
+the Abbot's trouble by uttering a word--but it was a mystery to every
+one. In vain did they strive to collect their thoughts for devotion.
+Each one secretly felt his heart beating wildly, he himself knew not
+why. Hark--what was that? A rustle--a sound of doubtful shuffling
+steps; slowly and hesitatingly they came down the stairs--slow,
+dragging steps like those of Fate--some one was feeling the way
+painfully along the wall--feeling for the latch of the door. Full of an
+unaccountable horror all the monks fixed their eyes on the door; it
+opened and a figure entered--pale and stark as death, like a walking
+corpse--there was a scream of horror, for it was Donatus, his face
+streaming with sweat and blood--eyeless.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER VI.
+
+
+A lonely rider was at this same hour of the night traversing the
+storm-beaten forest that lay below Marienberg. His cloak clung dripping
+round him; his horse's hoofs were inaudible on the soaking moss and he
+rode noiselessly forward towards a red, glowing spot in the distance,
+which looked to him like a little heap of burning charcoal shining
+dimly through the damp night air. He was not deceived, and a woman
+close by it lay with a child who vainly endeavoured to keep up the
+smouldering fire. The woman was lying on the bare earth, the child
+knelt close by, and the rider was startled as he caught sight of her
+face lighted up by the ruddy glow, and her large eyes which reflected
+the flame she strove to fan with her breath.
+
+
+At this instant the midnight toll sounded out from the tower on the
+mountain, the woman raised her arm and shrieked in a piercing voice,
+"Aye! ring away! If there is a God in Heaven that is your knell. On the
+heath, in the wilderness, in the wood--thus may you all die as I am
+dying; may your house fall as my hovel fell. May despair rend your
+hearts, and remorse scorch your brains as they have mine."
+
+"Mother, mother, do not curse, it is a sin, you yourself said so,"
+implored the little girl, clasping the woman's outstretched hand with a
+soothing gesture.
+
+"It is only what they have done," complained the woman. "Oh, I was
+pious and good like you once; I would have been content if only they
+would have let me see Donatus for one hour."
+
+The rider pulled up his horse behind the bushes, and dismounted to
+listen.
+
+"Only one hour," she went on, "in return for a whole ruined life-time!
+But even that they would not grant me--not even that. No, let me be, I
+have nothing but curses that I can fling at their heads; give me an arm
+to strike with, and I will spare my words."
+
+"Woman," cried a voice suddenly behind her, "here is the arm you need
+to carry out your curse, I am just in the mood for such a task!"
+
+The child started up in alarm at seeing the grim looking man, and fled
+to the other side of her mother.
+
+The woman gazed thoughtfully at the stranger; something in his face
+struck her, but she could not tell what. The rider tied up his horse,
+and flung himself down on his cloak by the woman's side.
+
+"Your rage is against the monks of Marienberg; what have they done to
+you?"
+
+And the woman told him at full length all that had happened from the
+beginning, how she had lost her child and her husband for the sake of
+the strange infant, and how she had loved him so much all the same,
+that she would willingly have sacrificed everything if only she might
+have clasped him once to her heart, and have made her last confession
+to him. But not even that would they grant her, a dying woman. They had
+driven the little girl from the door, and called her an adder. Ah! and
+there was a great weight on her mind about the girl too, and now the
+child must perish miserably; for when she was dead there would be no
+one to care for her in all the wide world.
+
+The stranger looked absently at the child; he paused for a moment as if
+the large, tawny-brown eyes with their dark, meeting brows had struck
+him; but another idea possessed him wholly.
+
+"And you do not know who the boy was that you nursed?" he asked almost
+breathlessly.
+
+"No, they did not tell me."
+
+"Do not you know either where he was brought from?"
+
+"Yes," said the nurse, "a lay-brother of Saint Valentine's was there
+when I went, who had brought him to Marienberg."
+
+The man vehemently grasped the woman's wasted arm.
+
+"Do you not remember his name?"
+
+"I do not know it, my lord, no one told me. But he was very old, and
+must be dead long since."
+
+"Saint Valentine's," repeated the stranger between his teeth. "Indeed,
+Saint Valentine's--there perhaps I might find a trace," and he started
+up in haste to remount his horse; but the woman clutched him by the
+sleeve,
+
+"My lord, my lord," she cried, "for God's sake! you will not leave us
+in our misery--and my child, the poor orphan--My hour is near--Have
+pity on the child or she must starve."
+
+The knight flung a gold-piece into the sick woman's lap. "Here, that is
+all I carry with me in case of emergency; now, keep me no longer."
+
+But she clung to him in her dying agony, "Gold is of no use to us, what
+does the child know of gold; wicked men may take it from her, and then
+she will be as helpless as ever. Shelter, my lord, and protection for
+the innocent! Oh, my lord, she is not my child, she is a child of sin;
+but the child is pure, my lord, as pure as the dew, as innocent as the
+fawn in the forest. I have brought her up in decency and the fear of
+God. Take charge of her, she is of noble blood; her mother was a lady,
+and the knight, her husband, was so long away in the field that she
+thought he was dead; then she fell into trouble. And the child's
+father--God save his soul--was a minnesaenger at Count Albert's court,
+and the child has come by many gifts through him; she can sing and is
+full of pretty tunes, and hidden things are revealed to her. You would
+find her a joy to you, my lord."
+
+The dark-looking man struck his hand against his forehead with a loud
+and scornful laugh.
+
+"It serves me right! I cast out my own flesh and blood, and in exchange
+I get a bastard; now I am searching again for my own outcast child, and
+again, oh! mocking Fate, you fling the bastard scornfully into my lap.
+Ay, Thou art just, Thou severe God, and Thy ways are past finding out."
+
+The woman and the girl looked in alarm at the powerful man; but after a
+pause he spoke more calmly,
+
+"I am the Count of Reichenberg," he said, "whose guilty wife gave this
+child into your charge."
+
+"Great God!" cried the nurse, crossing herself. "Do not harm her, my
+lord, she could not help it."
+
+The count's gaze gradually softened as he looked at the girl's childish
+beauty.
+
+"No, you cannot help it. You have your mother's eyes, but they are not
+false like hers. I forgave her on her death-bed, and how could I be
+cruel to you? By Heaven, the child bewitches me as her mother did
+before her. Be off with your sick nurse there to Reichenberg; you shall
+no longer wander about homeless. Give this ring to the warder as a
+token that I have sent you, and that he is to take you in to the
+castle, and take care of you. I shall come after you later, but first I
+have important work to do in this neighbourhood."
+
+"Thank you, my lord, and may God reward you," cried the nurse, who was
+almost bewildered by such unexpected good fortune; "I cannot get so
+far, for I feel my end is near, but the child--I will send her to you
+at once."
+
+But the little girl shook her head, and threw the ring from her.
+
+"No," she said, "I will not go with the strange man, I will stay with
+you, mother."
+
+"Child, do not be foolish; when I am dead, what then?"
+
+"Then I will stay with the angel, he will take care of me."
+
+"Oh, you silly child!" wailed the woman. "He cannot help you, for he is
+only a man, and is himself shut up a prisoner among the monks there."
+
+"Then I will go to the blessed maidens that they may set him free,"
+said the child confidently.
+
+The Count had not been listening to the last words; he had thrown
+himself on horseback and set off again--away through wind and weather,
+straight across country, over roots and broken branches in fevered
+haste, to the heath of Mals, and he raised his fist threateningly at
+the convent on the height where the gleaming windows shone far out over
+the dark scene around.
+
+Up in the convent all were astir. The monks were assembled for a solemn
+and fearful task; they were sitting in judgment on a breach of their
+holy rule--the crime of self-mutilation--of which Donatus was guilty.
+
+This was _culpa gravis_, punishable by the heaviest penance that could
+be inflicted.
+
+One word could absolve the criminal; he had only to say that one of the
+priests had ordered the deed, that he had done it in obedience to a
+superior command; but this word he did not speak, for his guilt would
+then fall on that other one, and he would have none but himself bear
+his cross.
+
+And he, that other who could save him, he spoke not. The lips of both
+remained sealed. If Donatus had still had eyes, the cruel instigator of
+the crime might well have blenched before the silent appeal with which
+his victim turned to him; but those eyes were gone which might have
+spoken, and the bloodstained bandage concealed even the unspoken
+anguish stamped on the pale brow.
+
+The enquiry was ended, the sentence only was wanting; the monks stood
+in a half-circle round the Abbot who supported himself on the arms of
+his chair; his hands trembled, his face was as pale as death. The
+younger brethren covered their faces and wept; Donatus waited in humble
+resignation for the sentence to be pronounced.
+
+Three times the Abbot rose, three times his voice failed him--at last
+he spoke.
+
+"Seeing that the holy rule of Saint Benedict strictly forbids any
+follower of his to lay violent hands upon himself, in that he is no
+longer his own but belongs to the holy Church, and, as such, may not
+injure himself any more than any sacred vessel, garment, altar, temple
+or whatever else is the Church's property--
+
+"Seeing that you, unhappy child, have been instructed and indoctrinated
+in that holy rule and have wittingly sinned against it out of your own
+pride of judgment as to what is best, and have thus rendered yourself
+unfit to do the Church that service for which God had especially chosen
+you--
+
+"Seeing that by the commission of this deed, you have rebelled against
+the will of your spiritual and temporal superiors and so are guilty of
+the gravest disobedience--
+
+"We declare and pronounce that, as a terrible example to the votaries
+of all Orders and at all times you--" here again his voice failed and
+he had to draw a long breath, "that you shall be imprisoned to all
+perpetuity in the Convent dungeon."
+
+Donatus bowed his head in silence--the Abbot sank back in his chair and
+clasped his hands over his face which was bathed in tears. One single
+inarticulate sob broke from all the conclave; only Correntian stood
+unmoved and his eyes were fixed upon the prisoner. A long silence
+followed; over their heads stared the fixed stony face of Duty--that
+pitiless divinity--suppressing every outward expression of the sorrow
+that filled their shrinking hearts.
+
+At last the Abbot rose and turning to Correntian with an awful and
+reproachful look,
+
+"You, Correntian," he said, "may fill the office of executioner and
+lead him away--for not one of us could bear it."
+
+And, just as he had long ago snatched him from his nurse's arms,
+ruthlessly and without delay Correntian grasped the blind man's arm--to
+tear him from the last hearth of humanity that was open to him--from
+the midst of the brotherhood. Donatus obediently turned to follow him.
+
+"Forgive us!" cried the sobbing group of monks, "We only do our duty."
+
+The blind man spread out his arms as though he would clasp them all in
+one embrace, "If I had eyes to weep, my brethren, it should be for you
+all and not for myself."
+
+The Abbot could contain himself no longer; with a cry of anguish he
+flung himself upon Donatus; "My son, my son--why have you done this to
+me?"
+
+The youth sank into his arms with unutterable affection and they stood
+in close embrace through a long silence.
+
+But even these loving arms, which had once rescued him from
+Correntian's iron grip, could not save him now; that iron hand tore him
+from them and led him away--an unresisting prey. Correntian remained
+the victor.
+
+"Let us mourn and fast for forty days, my brethren, as for one that
+is dead," said the Abbot to the conclave. "And send for brother
+Eusebius--why is he not here?--He must bind up that poor boy's eyes to
+the best of his skill--the law does not forbid that," and as he spoke
+he tottered and put out his hand to cling to the man nearest to
+him--the strong man's powers were spent and the brethren had to support
+him, or he would have fallen.
+
+
+Correntian led his victim down the slippery dungeon stair; two of the
+convent servants followed him with hand-cuffs. They reached the damp
+vault in silence. Correntian led his prisoner to a bed made of a heap
+of straw in a corner, close to which, riveted to the wall, were the
+rings to which he was to be fastened.
+
+
+"Chains too?" said Donatus; and in the tone in which he spoke these two
+words there was something which penetrated even Correntian's hard heart
+to that secret human core, which up to this minute no lament, no dying
+sigh of any mortal had ever touched; but he strangled the emotion
+before it found birth, and said calmly, "So it must be."
+
+"If it is possible," said Donatus humbly, "spare me that--Yet, not my
+will but thine be done."
+
+"So it must be," repeated Correntian, and the lad was silent. Only once
+he pressed his hand on the bandage which covered his burning sockets,
+then he submissively held out his trembling hands for the chains; it
+was quickly done, the irons were riveted and the servants went away.
+The two monks were alone.
+
+"Now you have indeed preserved yourself from temptation!" cried
+Correntian, as Donatus dropped his fettered hands without a sound of
+lamentation passing his lips. "Martyr! open the eyes of your soul, the
+crown is hanging above your head!"
+
+Donatus fell on his knees before the terrible monk and folding his
+weary, iron-bound hands as if in prayer, he exclaimed, "Now, now, I
+understand you."
+
+"Donatus!" cried Correntian, as if his lifelong torpor was suddenly
+unpent in a lava-flood of extasy--his eye flashed, his pulses throbbed,
+his breast heaved--"At one word from me you would have been exempt from
+this fearful punishment--and I was silent. Donatus, tell me, have I
+been your salvation or your ruin?"
+
+"My salvation and I thank you!" groaned Donatus, and a terrible smile
+of bliss passed over his drawn lips; he feebly grasped Correntian's
+hands; the damp walls, like an open grave, echoed back his words: "I
+thank you."
+
+Correntian hastily threw his arms round the unconscious boy as he sank
+to the ground; for the first time in his life a human form rested on
+his breast, and with the first rays of morning, which fell on him
+through the slit in the wall, high above him, the first ray of love
+sparkled in the stern master's eyes and was merged in the martyr's
+crown that shone on the disciple's head.
+
+
+
+
+
+                               BOOK III.
+
+                                 GRACE.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER I.
+
+
+Morning dawned slowly over the heath of Mals and the dismal tolling of
+the bell of Saint Valentine's proclaimed far and wide that one of the
+brethren lay at the point of death. It was brother Florentinus, the
+grey-haired watchman, who for more than half a century had lived in
+constant warfare with the deadly and inhospitable powers of the moor,
+and whose tender and protecting hand had snatched from them their
+storm-beaten victims. How old he was no man knew--but it must be near
+on a century; yet Death found it no easy task to crush the life that
+had defied a thousand snowstorms. He lay close to the chimney,
+breathing painfully, his dim eyes fixed on the dingy painting of Saint
+Valentine. His withered body was like a dried up mummy, his hands and
+feet were already stiff and cold, but his hardly-drawn breath still
+fanned the trembling flame. It seemed as though he were waiting for
+something; and yet what should he be waiting for? He had closed his
+account with the world.
+
+The lonely rider was scouring across the moor from Burgeis at the
+maddest pace to which he could urge his horse. He too heard the knell,
+and without accounting to himself for the impulse, he struck his spurs
+into the horse that started forward with great leaps--he felt that he
+_must_ reach the Hospice before the tolling ceased; before the unknown
+life was extinct that was in that hour wrestling with death.
+
+The dying man listened to the beating of the hoofs and turned his eyes
+to the door.
+
+"He is come," he said in a faint, hollow voice.
+
+"Who?" asked the brethren who knelt round him in prayer.
+
+At this instant there was a violent knocking at the door; the old man
+raised himself with a wonderful exertion of strength.
+
+"Open quickly," he said. The astonished brethren obeyed him, and in
+walked the rider clanking and clattering, straight up to the dying man;
+it was in vain that the brethren signed to him to be silent and not to
+disturb the dying man's rest.
+
+"You are old enough--maybe you are he!" cried the Count roughly, and he
+threw himself on a stool by the old man's couch. "You must not die--you
+must speak with me."
+
+The old man bowed his trembling head. "It is well, it is well," he
+muttered feebly, "I have thought of him a great deal--and it was a sin.
+We meant it well--but we all must err."
+
+"Do you know me?" asked the knight in astonishment.
+
+"Aye, aye--you will find him again--I know, I know." The Count began to
+be frightened at the old man.
+
+"How do you know?" he asked.
+
+"She has appeared to me twice--again this very night and announced to
+me that you would come to fetch him."
+
+"She--who?" asked the Count with increasing emotion.
+
+"She, the Countess--the angel of Ramuess."
+
+"Do not make him talk," said one of the brethren, coming up to the
+Count. "What good can the wanderings of a dying man do you?"
+
+"Silence!" thundered the Count so loud that the sick man started, "Let
+him speak or I will make you all dumb for the rest of your days."
+
+The brethren stood helpless and consulting each other in whispers.
+
+"Did you know the Lady of Reichenberg?" asked the Count, bending over
+Florentinus.
+
+"Did I know her--Why she lay here, where I am lying--she and the
+baby-boy."
+
+"The boy?" repeated the knight, and his heart laboured sorely; but he
+controlled himself to listen to the sick man, whose breathing grew
+weaker and weaker, that he might hear the words he might speak before
+it had altogether ceased. "The boy--where have you put him?"
+
+"Up there--at Marienberg--they kept him--but the mother has given me no
+peace--three times has she come to me and said, 'Give him his son
+again'--"
+
+The last words grew fainter--the Count felt as if his head would burst
+with its throbbing. He bowed his ear over the dying lips, they still
+moved mechanically--
+
+"Do not die--do not die," he implored him in anxious expectation--"Only
+say his name--the name they gave the boy in the convent--"
+
+The dying man's lips moved and muttered as though to say "Do--" but he
+could no more, his breath failed him. The Count took him in his arms
+and raised his head--he would not let him die--he must pronounce that
+name on which all depended.
+
+"Don--Don--" he stammered, and his very pulses stood still while
+listened.
+
+"--nat--" murmured Florentinus with a last effort.
+
+"Donatus!" cried the Count, no longer master of himself.
+
+The dying man bowed assent--a peaceful smile overspread his face and
+his head fell back--no more now than a noble marble image.
+
+The Count's blood boiled as he looked at the peaceful corpse; it
+mounted to his forehead and hands till his veins stood out like cords,
+and his eyes were ominously blood-shot.
+
+The brethren were in the utmost terror. "He was talking nonsense, my
+Lord, do not believe what he said, he had long been childish." But it
+was of no use. The Count, without vouchsafing them a glance, walked
+straight out of the house, flung himself on horseback and rode madly
+off, the blood trickling from the flanks of his tired beast--towards
+Marienberg.
+
+
+"Oh! luckless day!" cried the Abbot, when the brethren who had gone to
+seek Eusebius brought down his dead body from the western tower.
+
+"Oh! luckless day!" was echoed by the brethren, who from the upper hall
+had seen a rider spring from a horse which fell down dead at the door.
+It was Count Reichenberg. Grim rage sat on his brow, grim rage had
+ridden the noble horse to death, grim rage flapped her angry wings
+above his head as he knocked at the door with the hilt of his sword.
+
+"Open, in the name of God!" said the Abbot; he divined what it was that
+hung over him and that nothing now could avert.
+
+He stood in the middle of the still convent-yard, immovable as a
+statue, and the brethren gathered round him as round the pillar which
+upheld them all.
+
+The Count walked silently up to him, his white lips trembling with such
+violent agitation that he had to control himself before he could speak.
+The Abbot quietly awaited what he might say, while the Count included
+him and the whole circle of monks in one glance of hatred, for which
+his tongue could find no adequate expression. At last he muttered
+between his teeth,
+
+"And dare you actually look me in the face--can you bear that I should
+look at you? You liars and hypocrites--do you not tremble before me?"
+
+"We tremble before no just man," said the Abbot, "for our consciences
+are pure. As to the unjust--them the Lord will punish."
+
+"Spare your words!" cried the Count. "Every breath of your throat is a
+falsehood."
+
+"My Lord Count," said the Abbot, "do you believe that we--"
+
+"Believe!" interrupted the Count, "I believe nothing--I know.--Do you
+understand? Since my visit with the Duke I have lurked round your
+convent. The nurse whom you maltreated betrayed the track; the old man
+at Saint Valentine's has confessed. He is dead and he made his last
+confession to _me_."
+
+At those words, which fell upon them like a thunderbolt, the brethren
+turned pale and were dumb. Now was God's judgment come upon them. But
+with a comprehension of the danger came resignation; if they had
+sinned, God might punish them--if they had done right, He would surely
+help them.
+
+"Where is my son?" cried the Count impatiently, glancing round at the
+whole circle of monks.
+
+"My Lord, at this moment he is doing penance for a heavy sin," said the
+Abbot in an uncertain voice.
+
+"What sin?" asked the Count.
+
+"A breach of obedience to the rules of our Order," explained the Abbot.
+
+"Obedience! that is at an end! A Count of Reichenberg owes obedience to
+no man!"
+
+"He is not a Count of Reichenberg--he is a brother of our Order; he has
+taken the vows and he cannot be absolved from them."
+
+"It was a forced vow, against all law and justice--he was cheated into
+it!" shouted the Count. "I was lately with the Bishop of Chur and
+informed myself on the subject. If you refuse to give the boy up to me,
+I will accuse you before the Pope himself, and you will be laid under
+an interdict. For, as the Bishop told me, that is the law; Pope
+Celestin III. decreed that the decisions of the Church in Council at
+Toledo and Aix-la-Chapelle should come into force again, and that no
+Order might receive a child before he was of age without the consent of
+his parents. And will you hold him to a vow thus surreptitiously
+extorted from him--will you assert your claim to stolen goods? Am I not
+his father and did I ever give my consent to his becoming a monk?
+Answer!"
+
+The brethren had come to a rapid understanding among themselves in
+Latin.
+
+"Well and good, my Lord," replied the Abbot, "you speak truly, and
+according to the letter of the law you are in your rights when you
+require at our hands that which is your own. The only question is this:
+is that still yours which you threw away of your own free will and
+abandoned to destruction? I know very well that such an incredible
+instance of a perverted nature is not provided for by any law, and if
+you appeal against us the judgment will be in your favour; but, my Lord
+Count, you were no doubt also informed that the same Canon law permits
+young people when they come to full years of discretion to enter an
+order without their parents' consent. Are you or are you not aware of
+that?"
+
+"Yes," said the Count, biting his lip.
+
+"Well then, my Lord," continued the Abbot, "you may punish us according
+to the letter of the law, for that wherein we have sinned against the
+letter of the law--but you cannot break the vows your son has taken,
+for he is now of age and if he now renews them, he is answerable to the
+law."
+
+"But he will not renew them now that his father is here to fetch him
+home to splendour and dominion," said the Count confidently. "Only
+bring him here and let me speak to him myself, and put my patience to
+no farther proof. A Reichenberg can never learn to wait."
+
+Again a few Latin words passed from mouth to mouth in a low whisper.
+
+"If it please you to follow us into the refectory and refresh yourself
+with a cool draught, my Lord," said the Abbot. "You are exhausted and
+everything, whatever it may be, is better done when men have rested and
+strengthened themselves with a cup of wine."
+
+"Very good--let us go in; and send me the young Count that he may empty
+the first bowl with his father," said the Count, somewhat pacified, for
+he thought the monks' opposition was broken, and his newly awakened
+fatherly feeling made his heart beat impatiently for the son to whom he
+must now make up for the neglect of twenty-one long years. So they went
+into the refectory where bread and wine had been set ready; still the
+Count would touch nothing,
+
+"My son," said he; "first fetch my son."
+
+The monks looked at each other in their difficulty; God had forsaken
+them--no farther escape was possible. After another short consultation
+father Correntian went "to fetch him." The Abbot stood like a condemned
+criminal at the foot of the cross on which he is to be crucified; "God
+help us! have mercy on our wrong-doing! Thou who canst read the heart,
+Thou knowest we meant it rightly!" Thus he prayed silently.
+
+The brethren were one and all incapable of speech. "When the father
+sees the state of his son--what will happen?" That was the thought that
+filled every mind.
+
+But Correntian came back alone.
+
+"Your son refuses to appear," he said. "He has this very hour renewed
+his oath never to quit the cloister--and he will not see you."
+
+Reichenberg laughed loud and wildly.
+
+"You silly fellow! you crazy fool! Do you suppose that I--the Count of
+Reichenberg--can be sent home like a blockhead, with such an answer as
+that? Aye, you may glare at me with your wolfish eyes--they cannot
+pierce my mailed breast. Fetch the boy, on the spot--or I will search
+the building for him through and through."
+
+"He must come, there is no help for it;" the Abbot whispered to
+Correntian. "You are not afraid that we cannot rely upon him now, when
+this severe punishment--"
+
+Correntian smiled. "Be easy," he said; then turning to Reichenberg, "I
+will bring him to you, that he may tell you himself--then you will
+believe me."
+
+The Count paced the room with long strides; was it near at last--this
+consummation--did he at last see the term set to half a life-time of
+remorse and goading despair? Oh! when he held his son in his arms, in
+those strong arms, nothing should tear him from them--he would make up
+for everything.
+
+Minute after minute passed, louder and faster beat the father's
+heart--more and more shrank the terrified souls of the monks--"How will
+it end?"
+
+Now--now close to the door--the footsteps of two men--but slow, much
+too slow for the father's eager impatience. Reichenberg rushed to the
+door to meet him--the monks turned away not to witness the terrible
+scene. There stood the longed for son, pale and wasted, and his face
+covered with a blood-stained bandage. The father tottered back--his
+eyes fixed, petrified with horror at this vision of suffering. But no!
+this is not he, he is deceived; this is not Donatus. "Donatus!" he
+cried, with a choked utterance, "Donatus, my son--where is he?"
+
+"I am here," answered the youth. The father, to convince himself,
+snatched away the bandage from his face--his son was before
+him--eyeless!
+
+A cry broke from the strong man that made the monks' blood run cold;
+"Blind--blinded--my son--blinded. Who has done it?"
+
+"I myself," said the young monk, in a firm voice.
+
+"You--yourself? and why?" groaned the miserable father.
+
+"Because it was God's will."
+
+There was a moment of silence; not one of the monks dared utter a word
+of consolation. But the torrent of blood that for a moment had been
+checked in its flow in the heart of the betrayed father, rushed wildly
+on again, and he turned on the monks in terrible fury,
+
+"This then--this is what you have made of my son!
+Executioners--murderers! A father's pride mutilated and disfigured--the
+last scion of an illustrious race! Woe to you! God shall requite you
+sorely for this service."
+
+"Count Reichenberg," said the Abbot, "we are innocent of this blood,
+nor are your son's eyes upon our conscience, for indeed they were the
+sunshine of our gloomy walls and everyone of us would willingly have
+given his own in lieu of his."
+
+"Spare your speeches, Abbot, I do not believe them. Even if you have
+not yourselves been the executioners your accursed teaching has done
+it. Put out your eyes to serve God! Aye, that is your priestly notion
+of a hero. If you had given the boy a well-tempered sword in his hand
+that, for my part, he could have used against your enemies, he would
+never have committed such an outrage on himself! Oh God! great God,
+here I stand before Thy face; Thou knowest all my iniquity, Thou
+knowest wherein I have sinned--but the sorrow that is now rending my
+heart was of no purpose of Thine--no God can be so cruel--but only
+man." And he beat his brow in a frenzy of rage as if he would strike
+himself dead with his own hand.
+
+Meanwhile the blind man stood by in silence, his hands folded, his head
+sunk on his breast; a picture so touching that even the strong man's
+heart was melted to pity. "What shall I do?" he went on. "I am a
+lonely, childless man and you are a poor, maimed creature, a dishonour
+to the chivalrous house of Reichenberg--still you are my own blood and
+I feel that I can love you with all your infirmities. I will take you
+with me--Come, and like a beggar who picks up pot-sherds, I will gather
+up the remnants of my ruined race and carry them home under my roof--to
+weep over them. Come, my son." His voice broke as he spoke. "Your
+father will lay aside shield and spear and turn sick-nurse to tend the
+last of his race till we are carried out of the decaying house to which
+we two belong." And he took hold of his son's arm to lead him away with
+him; but the blind man stood as if rooted to the spot, not a foot did
+he stir to follow his father.
+
+The Count looked at him as if he could not believe it.
+
+"My son!" he shouted in his ear, and he shook his arm as if to rouse
+him from a stupor, "my son--it is your father who calls you."
+
+"Forgive me," said Donatus wearily, for fever induced by the wounds was
+beginning to exhaust his strength, "but that is not my father's voice."
+
+"In God's name do not you hear me? It is I--your father--Reichenberg,"
+urged the Count.
+
+The blind youth shook his head. "I have no father but the Abbot."
+
+"Donatus!" shrieked the Count, "are you in your senses?" He turned to
+the Abbot, "If any earthly bond is still sacred in your eyes--tell him
+what a son owes to his father."
+
+"Donatus," said the Abbot, "you are this man's son--it is to him that
+you owe your existence in the world! According to all human rights and
+duties you belong to him--according to the rights and duties of our
+Order you belong to us.--You are of age and free to choose--Choose."
+
+All eyes were fixed on Donatus. He felt for the Abbot's hand, "My
+father," he said, "I can have but one choice; to live or die with you."
+
+"Son, son!" cried Reichenberg. "Is all your nature subverted? Can you
+repel your real father for the sake of a stranger who did not beget
+you?"
+
+"My Lord," said Donatus, "how can you say you are my father, when you
+have never dealt with me as a father? while these have treated me as
+you ought to have done. How can you talk to me and chide me for loving
+them and calling them father, when I have never known any other
+father?"
+
+Reichenberg's eyes fell; "You speak the truth," he replied. "I have
+erred and sinned grievously towards you; an evil spirit possessed my
+senses--but of that God is the judge and not you. The children may not
+be their parents' judges, for the ties of blood are sacred and no law
+can tear them asunder."
+
+"My lord, I am dedicated to Heaven--I recognise no ties of blood--"
+
+"And is this the doctrine in which you have brought up my child?
+Almighty God! it would have been better for him if the wild beasts had
+devoured him! The son renounces his father who comes remorsefully to
+atone for his past crime. Oh! it is hideous, and I turn from you in
+horror! You are not men, you are stones--stones of that proud edifice
+under which the whole earth groans, and all wholesome life must
+perish.--And you, blind shade, out of which they have wrung the very
+blood and marrow, can you reconcile it to your creed of mercy to plunge
+a dagger in cold blood into the heart of a father who opens his arms to
+you with eager longing, and cries for atonement as a hart for the
+water-brooks,--to renounce him when he would fain lead you home under
+the roof of your ancestors?"
+
+Donatus drew himself up; his father quailed before him.
+
+"My lord," said he, "the winter-night sky was my parental roof; the
+bare earth was my cradle; the snow-storm sweeping down from the heights
+gave me the first fatherly kiss. Hunger and cold, exhaustion and death
+were the nurses that tended your wife in her need. Pitying love came in
+monk's garb through the night, and snow, and storm, and snatched the
+deserted woman and child from the cruel earth, and carried them home,
+and warmed them, and laid them on a soft bed. And when my mother
+succumbed to her miseries, again they were monks--these whom you see
+here--that made me a cradle in the name of Him who is Love. They have
+carried me in their arms, they have sheltered and tended me, and
+watched over me all my life; and shall I leave them and follow a
+stranger only because an accidental tie of blind nature binds me to
+him? My lord, sooner could I tear all love out of my heart, as I have
+torn out my eyes, than do such a thing!"
+
+The Count had listened to the words of the son he had lost with
+apparent composure, but he now said to the Abbot in a sullen tone, and
+with lips that were white with anger,
+
+"That will do; command him to follow me without resistance, or mischief
+will come of all this."
+
+The Abbot drew back a step. "I cannot," he said; "I desired him to
+choose, I cannot compel him."
+
+The Count grew paler and colder.
+
+"Then I will compel him," he answered. "Send down to the village for a
+strong horse that may carry me and the boy."
+
+"My lord," urged the Abbot, "you surely will not against his will--"
+
+"Do you think I will entreat him any longer? He must obey, willingly or
+not; he is my son, and he belongs to me," and with a rapid movement he
+snatched the enfeebled boy from the midst of the brethren, and threw
+his mailed arm round his slight form. "Sooner would I throw you to the
+wolves, unnatural child, than leave you here with these monks, and come
+what may, I will carry you away."
+
+"Oh, God, help me!" cried the blind man, and in an instant the brethren
+had flung themselves on the father, and freed the son; the solitary man
+was forced to yield to numbers. Donatus clung to the Abbot and
+Correntian who supported him. The Count drew his sword.
+
+"You will have it!" he cried. "Then take it," and he flew like an
+infuriated wild boar on the unarmed group, so that the foremost
+recoiled in terror.
+
+"A sword, a sword!" Donatus heard them shout, and he understood what
+was happening. In an instant he drew a blood-stained weapon from under
+his robe--the compasses that he had taken from Eusebius--and he turned
+the two sharp points against his breast.
+
+"Father!" he shouted above the tumult, "if indeed you are my father,
+will you kill your own son? See this steel which has already pierced my
+eyes; I will this instant plunge it into my heart if you touch a hair
+of one of my brethren!"
+
+
+Reichenberg dropped his sword, and for an instant struggled for breath;
+then he raised his arm again, and the words poured from his lips like a
+fiery torrent. "You have conquered! Your strength is so great, so
+unfathomable that it is vain for man to fight against it. But still you
+are of flesh and blood, and still you can die! Then hear my solemn
+oath. In seven days, when the moon changes, I will return with a force,
+strong enough to destroy you and the whole body of your lansquenets, to
+rase your convent even with the earth. So bethink yourselves: if by
+that time you have not turned the heart of the son to his father, if
+you do not give him up willingly, I will mutilate you as you have
+mutilated my son; I will rend every tie of humanity as you have rent
+them by dividing the son from his father; I will trample on your sacred
+rights as you have trampled on the holy rights of nature. Blood for
+blood, and struggle for struggle! I will require at your hands the
+heart and the eyes of my son, and you shall answer to me for them."
+
+"Count Reichenberg, we do not tremble at your threats," said the Abbot
+proudly. "You may indeed destroy a poor and helpless monastery, and
+murder a handful of unarmed monks, but you know very well that a whole
+world would rise up to avenge us, and, even if you conquered that, our
+holy Father can hurl an anathema at you which will overwhelm you to all
+eternity, and which you cannot escape from in this world or the next."
+
+"And do you believe," cried the Count with a wild laugh, "do you
+believe that I quail before curse and ban?--Do you believe that I can
+fear hell when such wrath as mine is boiling in my veins?--Do you
+believe that I care for Heaven--for Heaven whose revolting indifference
+has let every earthly evil fall upon me?--for Heaven that did not
+annihilate you all rather than leave this poor young son of a noble
+house to blind himself for your doctrines? Woe upon you! But there is
+still a power that you know not of--because you have never felt as men
+feel, and that is a father's vengeance; neither death nor damnation can
+terrify that!"
+
+He turned towards the door. "So I say again, bethink yourselves; in
+seven days I shall return and perform my oath--You yourselves have
+taught me that an oath must be kept."
+
+The door closed with a slam--while the brethren, pale with fear, were
+still looking after their grim enemy.
+
+"My brethren," said the Abbot, clasping Donatus in his arms, "this our
+brother has proved himself such as never a man before him. He might
+have escaped the severest penance by following his father, and we gave
+him his choice. He has chosen perpetual imprisonment and chains, and
+has refused freedom and happiness. My brethren, when we consider this
+our disciple's greatness of soul, we must say that we have done right.
+And they to whom the Lord vouchsafes such fruition will not be
+abandoned in their time of need--for this youth's sake. He will stand
+by us."
+
+"By the help of this youth--aye, truly--but not if you put him in
+prison," said a voice behind the door. It was brother Wyso who had
+slipped in from the infirmary, somewhat paler and leaner than of yore,
+but in as good spirits as ever.
+
+"I wonder you were not smothered long since in your own fat!" muttered
+Correntian between his teeth.
+
+"Have you heard what threatens us?" asked the Abbot.
+
+"I was standing behind the door. I kept myself discreetly hidden, for
+when he slashed about him with his sword it struck me that my whole
+head might be of more service to you than the half."
+
+"What do you mean?" asked the Abbot.
+
+"We are lost--lost even if we had reared a whole garden-full of such
+holy fruit for the Lord. Why! did you ever see a tree escape the
+lightning because its fruit was good? Has not the Almighty let many a
+cloister perish for all that it seemed a pity? Think of our convent at
+Schuls that was burnt to the ground, and yet it was no man's fault! But
+this time you yourselves are in fault! You should have listened to me
+when I warned you; now it has come upon you. The Count of Reichenberg
+neither can nor will forgive you. Either you must give the boy up to
+him--" a cry of horror interrupted him, but he proceeded with his
+speech undisturbed--"or he will hack you in pieces with your protectors
+and your handful of people, so that at the last day there will be no
+knowing the bones of priest and peasant apart. There is one, only one,
+who can save us--Donatus!"
+
+"And how is that?" asked the Abbot.
+
+"Do you not remember how he bewitched the Duchess, and how she said,
+'Send this lad to me and whatsoever you desire shall be granted.'"
+
+"Aye, aye!" murmured the brethren, beginning to understand him. "But
+she will turn from him in horror, now."
+
+"Nonsense! if he pleased her then when he had his pious eyes, he will
+please her twice as much now because he has put them out for piety's
+sake. Such a thing melts a woman's heart with pity. The Duchess is now
+staying at Muenster--Count Reichenberg is ruled by the Duke and he is
+ruled by the Duchess--send the boy to her and she will help us."
+
+"It seems to me brethren, that brother Wyso's counsel is good," said
+the Abbot.
+
+"Listen to me," cried Correntian; but the excited monks would listen to
+him no longer.
+
+"No, no; Wyso is right; none but Donatus can help us, Donatus shall go
+to the Duchess at Muenster."
+
+"My son--you can save us, will you venture on this journey?" asked the
+Abbot.
+
+Donatus kissed his hand. "My father may dispose of me as he will and
+whatever he does is well."
+
+"Well then, my son--there is indeed no other way--set forth. You do it
+for us--your brethren--and for God. You will get there and back again
+in two days; but then, my son, your punishment shall be remitted, for
+you have this day ransomed yourself by an act of fidelity which
+outweighs a whole life-time of penance."
+
+"Donatus," said Correntian in a low voice, "once again the Evil One
+sends you forth. Are you strong enough?"
+
+"Strong!" Donatus smiled--a strange and bitter smile.
+
+"What can the world do to me now! I am blind."
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER II.
+
+
+When a brother of the Order went out on a mission he received a pair of
+new shoes made out of one piece of goat-skin, and a willow-staff
+sprinkled with holy water. The Abbot gave him his blessing and the
+brethren said the prayer "_cum fratribus nostris absentibus_" for him.
+For his sustentation and comfort he carried on his back a scrip with
+some bread in it, and a wooden flagon of wine. Thus cared for, body and
+soul, the wanderer could set forth cheerfully on his way. Not so
+brother Donatus.
+
+He was indeed provided with bread and wine, with willow-staff and
+shoes, with blessings and with prayers; but that was lacking to him
+which the traveller chiefly needs--he had not eyes. With a hesitating
+step, sick and fever-stricken, he crossed the threshold of the
+convent for the first time in his life, excepting that short wild
+night-excursion. He was dazed with the thought that he must thus wander
+on from night to night, ever onwards without support, without any power
+of measuring far from near, without any dividing of the infinite
+darkness. Would his next step even fall on the firm earth; might he not
+lose his footing in space or fall over some obstacle? Would he not run
+up against something, find himself unexpectedly in front of a wall or
+be caught in the thick brushwood that he heard rustling round him and
+that often touched him as he passed? And he stopped again and again in
+involuntary terror before this or that imaginary danger. Nor could he
+put full confidence in his guide, for brother Porphyrius had no idea of
+what blindness was and led him on his way so heedlessly that the poor
+youth often stumbled and fell.
+
+It was indeed a weary journey; sweat stood on his brow, his temples
+throbbed and many a blood-streaked tear fell from the unhealed wounds
+of his eyes. But he was patient; he thought of the procession to
+Golgatha and when his foot stumbled--was he not treading in the
+Redeemer's foot-steps! A number of young trees were lying about felled
+by the recent whirlwind and his guide dragged him across them, suddenly
+he picked one up in his strong arms and laid it across his shoulder.
+
+"What are you doing with that tree?" asked his companion.
+
+"I bear it instead of a cross, as Simon of Cyrene bore the cross after
+the Saviour."
+
+"That is not right," said his guide. "You must not overburthen
+yourself, lest your strength should fail you before you have fulfilled
+your task. And this is not the Saviour's cross and it will profit you
+little to bear a mere profane log of wood."
+
+"Oh, shortsighted man!" cried Donatus, with a glow in his cheeks. "If
+the bread which we ourselves have baked can be turned into the Lord's
+body, may not a tree be turned into the Lord's cross if it be borne in
+the name of the Lord? Truly I say unto you who doubt of such miracles,
+that you know not the power of faith."
+
+"But how can it avail the Redeemer when you do such things to serve
+him; he is enthroned on the right hand of God and no longer bears his
+cross."
+
+"But he still bears the burthen of the cross, and heavy enough it is; a
+burthen that each one of us must strive to lighten: the burthen of our
+sins that He took upon Himself in the sight of His Father, and that
+every act of true penance serves to diminish. Do you believe that He
+who died for us threw from Him at His death all that he had suffered
+and bled for, and that He now for ever rejoices in celestial bliss, and
+says, 'Let them do as they will, I have done my part. If they will not
+follow they may be damned, what do I care?' Do you think He would be
+indeed Christ if He thought this? I tell you that when He sees that He
+has died in vain, and that His holy teaching has no power over our
+sinful natures, He mourns over us, and His loving heart is oppressed
+with woe. And when one bears his cross in His name that he may follow
+Him into the kingdom of Heaven, he serves Him as Simon of Cyrene did."
+
+"Donatus, you are indeed a Saint," cried the monk. "We truly are the
+blind and you it is that see."
+
+And they went on, each lost in his own thoughts.
+
+A light step seemed to be following them, close to them but yet
+invisible; Porphyrius looked round several times, but he could see
+nothing in the thick bush of the upland forest. It was not like a human
+foot-fall, but could not be the fleeting step of some forest animal,
+for it kept up evenly with theirs, now near and now distant; a
+devotional shudder ran over brother Porphyrius: it must certainly be an
+angel sent by the Lord to be an invisible support to the penitent, to
+help him to bear his burthen; and he dared to look round no more, lest
+he should drop down dead if he caught a glimpse of that Heavenly face.
+Thus they proceeded for about an hour through the damp wood; the
+dripping boughs flung a cooling dew on the penitent's head, the wet
+brambles brushed against his robe, and his parched lips inhaled the
+reviving freshness. But the consuming fever which was burning in the
+two seats of pain which he himself had made, seemed to dry up every
+kindly drop of dew like a red hot iron; at every pulse his arteries
+drove the blood more furiously to his temples, his breath grew shorter
+and shorter, his steps slower and slower, his tall figure was bent and
+panting under his heavy load. When at last they reached the hem of the
+forest, and stepped out on to the high road, he began to totter and
+fail.
+
+"I can go no farther," he gasped, and fell to the ground under his
+burthen.
+
+"I knew it would be so!" cried the monk, looking helplessly round for
+some succour.
+
+Far and wide there was no living creature to be seen. By the wayside
+stood an old picture of a saint under a weather-beaten shrine,
+overgrown with wild roses; the storm had half overthrown it, and no one
+had set it up again; not a soul could have passed that way. A few birds
+were perched on the roof bickering over their food. It was in vain that
+brother Porphyrius listened for the steps that had accompanied them
+through the wood, they had ceased since the monks had come out of it.
+The protecting angel appeared to have forsaken Donatus, and that was
+why his strength had failed. Porphyrius relieved him of his burden, and
+laid him in the scanty shade of the shrine, for the sun had risen
+again, and pierced very sensibly through the mists which rose from the
+deserted and flooded road; it could no longer dazzle the eyeless man,
+but it scorched his shaven head which he grasped in his hands with
+faint groans. There was no spring in sight whence to fetch water for
+the unhappy man. Should he go back to the wood? Could he leave the
+blind man alone for so long?
+
+"Is there no one near," he shouted to the empty distance. "Hi, hallo,
+help!--help." Then again he listened to the silence, holding his hand
+over his eyes.
+
+Something moved at the edge of the wood, a young girl came out of it.
+In one hand she held a rush basket, and in the other a hazel-rod; on
+her shoulders she carried a small bundle and a round wooden water-jar,
+such as pilgrims used. Her hair shone in the sun like flaming gold, her
+little bare feet showed below her short petticoat like white flowers.
+Her gait was as light, and she ran forward as quickly as if she were
+moved by some mysterious power. That must be the light step that has
+accompanied them so far.
+
+Brother Porphyrius stared fixedly at the marvel as it came forth from
+the dim shade of the wood, so brilliant and yet so modest, simple, and
+maidenly--half a child and half a maiden--so sweet and yet so grave.
+Had the blind man's guardian angel indeed assumed a human form, so as
+not to reveal itself in all its glory to the unworthy eyes of the
+brother who could see?
+
+Before he had time to think of all this, the little girl was by his
+side.
+
+"Did he fall down, has he hurt himself?" she asked, and her large
+golden-brown eyes were filled with tears of unutterable anxiety;
+brother Porphyrius did not answer, he gazed at her, speechless; she did
+not wait for the answer, but knelt down by the sick man. "My angel,"
+she said softly, "my lord and my angel, do not die and leave me." And
+she gently raised his head, and poured water on his brow from her
+flask; Donatus began to breathe again, and raising himself he asked,
+
+"Who is that?"
+
+"A child that has been following us," said Porphyrius. "She does not
+belong to our neighbourhood. I never saw her before."
+
+"I thank you, my child," said Donatus. "You refresh the weary; blessed
+are the merciful."
+
+"Let me wet your handkerchief, to cool you," said the girl, carefully
+taking the bandage from his eyes. He instinctively covered the wounds
+with his hand, but she did not heed it, for she was wholly absorbed in
+her helpful zeal. She wetted the linen with the water in her bottle.
+"It is all bloody," she said. "Have you hurt yourself?"
+
+"Yes," he replied hardly audibly. She folded it into a square pad and
+laid it on his head; but he still kept his eyes covered that the child
+might not be frightened.
+
+"That will do you good," said she, and then she took some of her
+wood-strawberries and put them into his mouth. "There, eat them; I
+picked them for you, and you--the other one, have some too--but the
+best are for Donatus."
+
+"Do you know me then?" asked Donatus in surprise.
+
+"Certainly I know you. You are the angel I saw that day."
+
+"Are you in your right senses, child? When was I ever an angel?"
+
+"Yes--don't you remember--that day when they made you a priest?"
+
+"Oh! I never was farther from being an angel than in that hour,"
+murmured Donatus, and he let his hand fall from his face.
+
+"But you had wings then; why have you lost them?" continued the girl.
+
+"Child, you are dreaming, I never had wings."
+
+"I thought I saw you with wings. But there is something different in
+you now--" she studied him attentively; suddenly she started up,
+"Oh--now I know--you have not got any eyes?"
+
+Donatus clasped his hands over his face; the child stood by pale and
+trembling, and tear after tear forced its way through her long lashes
+and fell on her little clasped hands. "Poor, poor man!" she sighed from
+the depths of her child's heart. Brother Porphyrius had to turn away
+his head, he was so deeply moved.
+
+Donatus started up. "Let us go on," he said hastily.
+
+"I will go with you," said the little girl.
+
+"Why, where are you going?" asked Porphyrius.
+
+"Wherever you go."
+
+"Do you know then whither we are going?" asked Donatus.
+
+"No."
+
+"Then how can you know that our roads are the same?"
+
+"Your road is my road, where you are I will be--and when you stop I
+will stop."
+
+"Ruth!" exclaimed Porphyrius involuntarily.
+
+"Child, what has come over you!" said Donatus. "What do you want with
+me?"
+
+"Nothing," said the child, for in truth she herself did not know.
+
+"But you cannot wander about the world alone in this fashion," said
+Donatus.
+
+"Alone! I shall be with you," answered the girl.
+
+"But think, what will your mother say?"
+
+The child's eyes filled with tears. "My mother is dead," said she.
+
+"And your father?"
+
+"He is dead too."
+
+"Then you are an orphan?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"That makes a good pair, an orphan and a blind man. Where is your
+home?"
+
+"Nowhere."
+
+"You must have been born somewhere."
+
+"I do not know."
+
+"But how came you here, what were you seeking in this neighbourhood?"
+
+"I was looking for you."
+
+"Leave her alone," Porphyrius whispered in Donatus' ear. "Do you not
+perceive that she is no mortal being?"
+
+Donatus drew back a step. "What do you mean?"
+
+"It is a spirit that has taken a maiden's form--your guardian spirit
+sent to you by God--believe me. Do not press her any more with
+questions or you will drive her away."
+
+Donatus pondered on the marvel for a while, "Suppose it were a demon?"
+he said.
+
+"You say that only because you are blind; if you could see you could
+not doubt," Porphyrius persisted. But Donatus made the sign of the
+cross over her and drew his missal from his breast.
+
+"If thou art born of woman or sent by God, kiss this book; but if thou
+art come from the nethermost pit to lead us astray, depart--in the name
+of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost," and he held up
+the open book before her to exorcise her. She seized his hand and drew
+it towards her with the book to kiss it. It was still warm from the
+fevered heart on which it had been lying, and she pressed her lips to
+it long and fervently. It seemed to Donatus that the book was part of
+his very self, and he felt the kiss as she impressed it on the book.
+
+"She is pure," he said, and concealed the breviary again in his bosom.
+"If then you will accompany me, come on. I will ask you no more
+questions. If you will tell me whence you come, do so unquestioned."
+
+The girl was silent, she knew not what to say; she took up the sick
+man's scrip and slung it over her shoulder with her own.
+
+"What are you doing?" asked Donatus, feeling himself suddenly relieved
+of the weight.
+
+"I will carry it for you."
+
+"Nay indeed you shall not; you are yourself but a tender child."
+
+"Yes, let me, let me, I will do it willingly, it is for you," said the
+child and they set forward. But Donatus still paused for a moment. "The
+log that I was carrying for a cross, can I leave that?"
+
+"Yes, let it lie, you have cross enough in your blindness."
+
+"Do you hear?" Porphyrius said in a low awe-stricken tone. "It is God
+that speaks by her."
+
+"Then break off a twig from it and give it me that I may keep it, it
+will bring me a blessing."
+
+The little girl ran back and broke off a twig which she brought to him.
+
+"If you will only wait a few minutes longer I will make you a wreath of
+leaves from the little tree so that the sun may not burn your head."
+
+The two men were quite content to do everything the child wished, was
+not her will God's will? And with nimble fingers that moved as if by
+magic, the little one twined a broad wreath to give a cool shade to the
+wounded man's burning head; then they went on again.
+
+"Let me lead you, I shall do it better," said the child, and she took
+the blind man's hand from that of the other monk. This too they agreed
+to, and Donatus felt as if the child's touch infused new strength into
+him.
+
+"There is a blessing in your hand, it leads me softly," he said
+gratefully.
+
+The little girl was silent, only her eyes told of unutterable happiness
+as she looked speechlessly up at him. And on went the three, now over
+slippery morasses, now over green hills and fields, and after taking
+the little girl's hand the blind man's foot stumbled no more, and the
+thorns no longer tore him; she carefully cleared every stone out of his
+path; where it was uneven she warned him by word or sign and guided his
+steps slowly and cautiously. No mother could guide her child, no sister
+tend her infant brother, no angel lead a soul to Heaven, as she watched
+over the blind man in his helplessness. The girl's pure breath fanned
+him like forest-airs when her bosom rose and fell quickly from some
+steep ascent or the fatigue of guiding him. He neither saw nor heard
+her; for her little bare feet went on by his side as softly as those of
+a fairy, he only felt her. He felt as if an angel of pity was walking
+by his side to cool his deadly pain with the waving of tender wings.
+They spoke no word and yet they understood each other as spirits do
+without any earthly speech. What they could say to each other was but
+little and very simple, but what they told in that dumb discourse was
+higher than human wit and worldly wisdom and echoed in their soul like
+angelic hymns.
+
+It was by this time noon; the sun brooded hotly on the gorgeous
+landscape. The wanderers took their first rest outside the village of
+Glurns in the shade of the churchyard wall and eat their meagre meal,
+while far and near the solemn noontide peal was rung. The glaciers
+looked down kind and radiant from above the high cliffs of micaceous
+schist, which, turning here towards the south-east, form the opening of
+the gorge of the Muenster-thal. Far and wide, spread a picture of
+blooming life and sturdy strength; villages and towns lay scattered all
+round while, veiled in the misty noon-tide blue, the haughty walls of
+the fortresses of Reichenberg and Rotund stared down from their rocky
+eminence like border watchers over the Muensterthal overlooking the
+smiling plain.
+
+Porphyrius looked across at them with grave consideration. "I would we
+were only safely past Reichenberg," he exclaimed. "They can overlook
+the whole valley from thence and it seems to me that it is dangerous to
+take the road by day; our dress will betray us and we might be carried
+prisoners to the castle."
+
+"Does any danger threaten you from thence?" asked the girl.
+
+"Yes," said Porphyrius anxiously.
+
+"Then let us rest in the wood till nightfall," the little one
+counselled, "and take the road at dusk."
+
+"That will not do, we might lose our way in the dark," said Porphyrius.
+
+"Not if I lead you; oh no! I am used to find my way in the dark," and a
+shadow of deep pain passed across her face as she spoke. Porphyrius
+looked at her much disappointed. "Do you not come from higher realms
+than we do?"
+
+"Oh God knows!" sighed the child, folding her little hands across her
+bosom. "My foot has carried me as a fugitive about the world all the
+days of my life, and my eyes shun the light like a nightbird's, for the
+sun has rarely shone on me. I have hidden myself by day in the darkness
+of the wood and walked about at night."
+
+"God preserve us!" cried Porphyrius, signing himself with a cross.
+
+"That is a hard lot," said Donatus.
+
+"Oh, it was well that it should be so, for thus I am able to guide you
+wherever you must go in the dark."
+
+"But, you poor child, you were not born merely to be my guide," said
+Donatus compassionately.
+
+"What for then?" asked the child.
+
+"That I do not know," replied Donatus. "But you must have some purpose
+and some end. What will become of you when our journey is ended and we
+must part?"
+
+"Oh! no," said the child, "we shall never part."
+
+"Child, you are talking foolishly, we must part, I shall return in two
+days to the convent, and unless you have the art of making yourself
+invisible, you cannot follow me there."
+
+"Then I shall go to the blessed maidens up on the heath and ask them to
+set you free--or I will ask them to let me find the blind worm that
+makes folks invisible. Then I will go into the convent and stay with
+you."
+
+"What folly are you talking, child, in the name of all the Saints! The
+blessed maidens and the blind worm! who put them into your head?"
+
+"Did you never hear of the blessed maidens?"
+
+"No--of such blessed maidens as those--certainly not."
+
+"Don't you know that--not even that? Oh, the folks that brought you up
+can have very little sense if they did not tell you that. Up there on
+the heath--going towards Nauders--there is a cave which is called the
+way to the blessed--that is the entrance to their country. You must
+have a wishing-rod made of a white hazel stick which has grown where
+cross ways meet and that was cut with a pure heart at the new-moon;
+then the door will fly open. Take hold--here is one," and she gave him
+the hazel wand she held in her hand that he might feel it; but he fell
+into a fit of righteous rage and broke the rod into pieces and flung it
+away.
+
+"Oh, folly, folly! Woe to you if you carry on such night-magic and
+witches arts--we can never go on together, for these are not the ways
+that lead to the Light."
+
+The girl had cried out with alarm when she saw him break the hazel-rod
+that she had been searching for all her life and had never found till
+the last new-moon; with that wand all she had ever hoped for had fallen
+into ruins--all the splendour of the kingdom of the blessed that it was
+to have opened to her--the help of the beneficent phantoms--all, all
+was gone. But worse even than the loss of her joys was her "Angel's"
+wrath and the words he had spoken; their ways could never lie together.
+The child threw herself at his feet crushed with despair, and wept
+bitterly. "Forgive me--I only meant to do it that they might release
+you from the convent and so I might always stay with you. Only tell me
+what I am to do so that you may never be angry with me again. I will do
+anything in the world that you tell me. If you wish that I should
+hunger and fast, I will do it, and if you wish that I should die, I
+will die--only be kind to me again, I beseech you."
+
+The blind man laid his hand lovingly on the child's innocent head, and
+a strange emotion came over him as he felt her trembling beneath his
+touch. "Do not tremble, young soul! You have had pity on me and I will
+have pity on you. I will save you from the ways of error and darkness;
+I will show you a path to the blessed--but to the truly blessed. It
+opens not to wishing rods nor spring-herbs--only by penance and prayer
+may it be found."
+
+"Aye, my lord, teach me to act according to your will, as I guide your
+blindness do you guide me where you see while I am blind."
+
+"Amen!" said Donatus, and he felt as though the tears which he could no
+longer shed fell back like heavenly dew on the drought of his lonely
+heart. God had sent him this soul to be saved by him for Heaven. For
+the first time in his life he had found something he could call his
+own, and he felt that she was wholly his, absolutely given up to him,
+and that her salvation was in his hand. Thus must a father feel when a
+child is born to him.
+
+He clasped the girl's head as if he wished to grasp this new-born joy,
+and said only one word; "My child!" but in a tone like the soft
+melodious ripple of the newly melted snow as it trickles down from the
+cliff under the beams of the first spring-sunshine; and the girl bowed
+under the touch of her "Angel's" hand, speechless and motionless, as
+though she feared to disturb the miracle even by drawing breath.
+
+The soft breath of noon bore the perfume of lilies and roses from the
+graves in the churchyard, and the little screech-owl[3] shouted from
+the wood his cry of "Come here, come here." The girl listened to the
+call knowing what it betokened, but she only smiled at it; for her life
+had but just begun--a life in which there is no death. And as soon as
+Donatus released her she sprang up, and her shout of joy went up to
+Heaven like the song of the lark, and she ran through the little
+gate in the wall into the church-yard and flung herself down by the
+first grave to pray in front of its wooden cross. But she could not
+pray--could not think; she flung her arms round the cross and pressed
+her cheek against it as against her mother's breast. Brother Porphyrius
+meanwhile, sitting under the wall, shook his head.
+
+"We have been deceived in her, Donatus, she is not a spirit, but a
+child of man like us, and God only knows whence she came, for her paths
+lie through the darkness as she herself told us--"
+
+"But I shall lead her to the Light!" interrupted Donatus.
+
+"Be not presumptuous--to me there is something uncanny about her since
+I have learnt that she is of this world; she is too fair for an earthly
+maiden and I am uneasy about you." Donatus smiled in melancholy but
+proud calmness as in the morning.
+
+"What is there to fear?" he said. "Am I not blind!"
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER III.
+
+
+It was now night, but not dark; the moon illuminated the valley with a
+light almost as bright as day, and displaying every object, even in the
+remotest distance, in trenchant outlines of light and shade. The
+pinnacles of Reichenberg, of Rotund, and of the tower of "Helf mir
+Gott" were bathed in a mysterious splendour. Once upon a time a maiden
+who was wooed by a wicked knight threw herself from this last-named
+tower down into the valley, but fell unhurt, for the saints spread out
+their mantles to bear her up. This was the story that the little girl
+told the monks; but in a low voice, as if her prattle could wake the
+sleepers upon the heights, and her soft voice mingled with the murmur
+of the Ram which danced along in the moon-light close to their path.
+
+"Do you know this neighbourhood?" asked Porphyrius.
+
+"Certainly. I was here as a child when the pretty lady used to come and
+see me at night, and the handsome man whom I used to call father; and
+then mother had to fly with me to the Trafoy Thal where the Three Holy
+Springs are, and then, as we were never safe there, across the heath to
+the forests by Finstermuenz. I know every road and turning far and
+near."
+
+"Why had you to hide so constantly?" asked Porphyrius. "Had your mother
+committed some crime?"
+
+"Oh! no, my mother never did anything wrong. But she was always afraid
+they would try to kill me."
+
+"Very strange! What then did she live upon?"
+
+"The pretty lady gave my mother money, and with that we bought food and
+clothing. It lasted till I was a big girl, but now it is all gone; and
+we wanted to work by the day, but they drove us away everywhere, and at
+last we were obliged to beg. Begged bread is hard bread--my mother died
+of it." The child wiped her eyes with her sleeve, and was silent.
+
+"Here is some dark secret," said Porphyrius softly to Donatus.
+
+"Poor child, when did your mother die?" asked Donatus.
+
+"Last night, in the forest."
+
+"Why, then she is not buried?"
+
+"I laid her in a hole where the storm had uprooted a tree, and I
+covered her with branches, and I rolled some stones down on her too, as
+many as I could; and a little wooden cross that she always wore--I
+stuck that in and prayed by it."
+
+"What was your mother's name?" asked Donatus thoughtfully.
+
+"Berntrudis, my lord, you know her well, for she was your nurse."
+
+"Berntrudis," exclaimed Donatus sorrowfully; "was she your mother?"
+
+"No, she was not really, but she brought me up and I called her so."
+
+"Alas, poor woman, and was this your end--like the beasts of the field,
+on the wet earth, in storm and whirlwind, and now to lie unburied like
+them. Could not the Church even give you Christian burial, you who
+reared a son for her, and why, child, did you not fetch one of us this
+morning, so that we might have given her a grave in consecrated
+ground?"
+
+"Whom then should I have fetched? I dared not go up to your people any
+more since the cruel man drove me away in the night. Ah! if you had
+only come to her you would certainly have made her well again, and she
+would not have died."
+
+"I? How could I guess it! If only you had come to fetch me."
+
+"But I did go to fetch you, but the dark man kicked me away from the
+door."
+
+"Who?"
+
+"The pale dark man, with black eyes--"
+
+"Correntian!" cried Donatus. "Did you tell him that it was Berntrudis
+that was ill?"
+
+"Indeed I did, and I entreated him to send you to comfort her at the
+last. But he threatened to tread me to death like an adder."
+
+"You!" groaned Donatus, and as if it were his part to protect her, he
+threw his arm round the child's shoulder, and pressed her closely to
+him. "Correntian!" he repeated, "may God recompense him!"
+
+Porphyrius laid a warning hand on his companion's arm. "Donatus!" he
+said.
+
+But Donatus heeded not.
+
+"To cast out this child in the night and storm when she had come to ask
+for the last consolation for a dying woman! Woe to Correntian! That is
+not the spirit that ought to inspire us," and he held the child clasped
+to him as a father might. "Poor, forsaken orphan! here, here you have a
+home, I will make up for what the hard man did to you; I will repay to
+you, her nursling, all that my faithful nurse did for me, all she
+suffered for me! Yea! I will, as true as the spirit of Love lives in me
+which Correntian so outraged."
+
+"Oh, my dear, dear master," said the child, her voice husky with
+blissful joy.
+
+But Porphyrius shook his head. "What are you doing, Donatus? I am only
+a humble lay-brother, but it seems to me that it can be no duty of
+yours to pick up girls by the wayside, and offer them a home in your
+affections."
+
+"The brethren picked me up by the wayside, and shall I not pity the
+forsaken? Rather is it well for me that I may at last know the joys of
+compassion."
+
+"But you lack moderation in it, as in everything," warned Porphyrius.
+
+"Moderation! Who shall set the limits to loving kindness? This is the
+first creature to whom I have ever been able to do any good; do you
+know what that is?"
+
+"A vagabond girl who herself confesses that she has been driven out
+wherever she went; is she worthy of your kindness?" grumbled the more
+deliberate monk. "Child," he shouted at her, "confess, why have you not
+earned your bread honestly by the labour of your hands, why were you
+hunted from place to place, if no evil report attached to you?"
+
+The girl turned pale and trembled, "I--I cannot tell you."
+
+"What, you hesitate!" cried Porphyrius. "Why do you tremble so if your
+conscience is clear?"
+
+"Oh, my lord, you will abominate me and drive me away from you."
+
+"Is it so? God preserve us! we have indeed been deceived in you,"
+roared Porphyrius. "Confess at once, confess, are you a witch or a
+sorceress?"
+
+"Indeed, my lord, I do not know. Folks say so because my brows grow
+together and I have little feet. I have never done a harm wittingly to
+any one, really and truly never, and yet the boys run after me wherever
+I go and scold at me because they say I oppress them in their sleep and
+am a witch; and the women throw the three white gifts after me, and the
+children throw stones, and laugh at me and hang wisps of straw about
+me. And so I fly from place to place, but it pursues me everywhere, and
+nowhere can I find peace, and the child burst into heartrending sobs.
+
+"Now we have it!" cried Porphyrius clasping his hands in horror. But
+the child in her anguish clung to Donatus.
+
+"Oh! my lord! Oh master! do not cast me out, have pity upon me. I will
+confess everything. Yes, indeed, it is true I have many signs about me
+that I myself am almost obliged to believe in. I have always been glad
+to creep into a hollow tree and sit and dream that I really was a
+night-bird and shunned the light, for by day they were always
+tormenting and hunting me--so how should I love the daylight? And
+often, often I have felt as if I must squeeze my mother to death for
+love; and when I have had some pet animal, a lamb or a little dog, I
+have hugged it till its breath was almost spent, but I never did
+squeeze one to death, and I was always sorry when I had hurt it at all.
+And often when I had no living thing I have run into the wood and bent
+down the little young trees till they split, and then I felt better
+again. Nay, my lord, I will confess to you, that even with you, who are
+to me so high and sacred, I have felt tempted. When I held your hand,
+and led you along, a feeling came over me as if I must press your hand,
+till I almost dropped down dead. Tell me, is that sorcery? But you know
+even witches can be made good, and if I am one, help me that I may
+fight with my nature--I am to be saved, do not let me fall away, my
+lord!"
+
+Donatus felt her sink at his feet--felt her whole frame trembling with
+deadly anguish, and he raised her with his strong arm. "Be you what and
+who you may," he said, "I believe in you."
+
+Then he suddenly felt that the slight form was flung violently to the
+ground, and he heard a low cry from the girl; then a strong arm gripped
+his and tried to force him from the spot.
+
+"What is that?" he cried.
+
+"Away with you!" whispered Porphyrius. "Do you think I will let you
+league yourself with such a being? Get thee gone, accursed witch!" and
+again Donatus heard a blow fall as it were on some soft body. Something
+was all at once roused in him, as if only in this moment he had
+suddenly grown to manhood. With one hand he pulled up the ill-used
+child from where she was lying at his feet, the other he raised against
+the monk.
+
+"If you touch her again it is at the peril of your life."
+
+"Donatus," screamed the horrified monk, "are things gone so far with
+you?"
+
+"So far?" cried Donatus. "Do you dare, you miserable man, to doubt me,
+me the votary of death? Is the impenetrable darkness that shrouds me
+not too sacred for your suspicions to spot it? This child is my child;
+I have put myself in her father's place, and I will protect her with my
+heart's blood."
+
+The poor little head had sunk wearily on his breast like a scared bird,
+he felt her painful breathing, and rage and grief gave him a giant's
+strength; still the imprudent monk ventured once more to try to part
+them, but the fist of his aggravated companion, though blindly aimed,
+hit his temple so that he fell tottering on to a stone and lay there
+unconscious.
+
+"Woe is me!" cried Donatus who heard the heavy fall. "Is he dead?"
+
+The child knelt down by the fallen foe and rubbed his brow and temples.
+"No, he is alive, but he has hit himself against a stone and is
+bleeding."
+
+"Great God, what have I done? Raised my hand against a brother; what
+evil spirit possesses me? God have mercy upon me!"
+
+The girl meanwhile had sprinkled water on the unconscious man and he
+opened his eyes; Donatus stood by wringing his hands and helpless. The
+monk pointed up in the direction of Reichenberg. "Look there!" he
+exclaimed.
+
+The little girl looked up--lights were glancing in the castle, and just
+above a low copse they could see the heads of men on horseback who were
+riding quickly down the road.
+
+"Those are the Count's men--we are lost!" groaned the wounded monk, "If
+you are not wholly a child of hell, save him, in God's name."
+
+"And you? can you not come with us?" she asked.
+
+"No, my strength fails me, I cannot stand; leave me, it matters little;
+but everything depends on him, save him and God will show you mercy for
+his sake."
+
+
+The riders were already turning the corner of the copse. "Away, away!"
+
+The child seized the blind man with supernatural strength and dragged
+him, half springing half tumbling, down the bank into the thick
+willow-scrub that at this spot bordered the deeply excavated bed of the
+river. "Lie still and do not stir," she commanded him in a whisper, and
+she hid him as much as possible among the bushes; she herself crouched
+down beside him, and the tepid waves washed round the couple, softly
+and soothingly, like the downy cushions of a cool, freshly made couch.
+
+"Here lies a priest!" cried one of the horsemen, pulling up his horse.
+"That is a good find, for the Count has promised us a gold piece for
+every monk of Marienberg that we take him."
+
+And they dismounted to examine the wounded monk.
+
+"You have had a blow. Who has been beforehand with us?" asked one with
+a laugh.
+
+"No one," said Porphyrius. "I fell over a stone."
+
+"Were there not a couple more with you? I thought I saw something of
+the kind as we came round the corner."
+
+"Yes, yes, it was like a shadow that slipped down into the water,"
+cried another.
+
+"You saw rightly," said Porphyrius quietly. "It was my cloak; I lost it
+when I fell down." The horsemen leaned over the edge of the road-way,
+but could perceive nothing. "It is washed down the stream long ago.
+Wait a bit, friend monk, we will take you to a place where you will be
+hot enough even without your cloak! Your time is come, you fat monks;
+in seven days we are to have a jolly butchery up at Marienberg. Now you
+may ride with us to bid the guests to the feast." And they lifted him
+on to one of their horses and rode off with shouting and laughter.
+
+Their hoofs sounded for a long time in the distance; at last they died
+away and deep silence reigned on the lonely road. Donatus and his
+companion still listened for some time in their hiding-place; at last
+the lights were extinguished in the castle and they were safe once
+more.
+
+The girl helped the blind man up the steep bank with much
+difficulty--again and again he slipped back on the sandy declivity in
+his wet robe. But she was as clever and resolute as she was slight and
+supple, and she succeeded in getting him to the top. There they stood,
+the two of them alone, a blind man and a defenceless child; but they
+feared nothing, they had each other and they asked for nothing more.
+
+"Child, what am I to call you? My soul would fain utter your name to
+the Lord in praise and thanksgiving. My heart is full of you, let it
+know your name that it may overflow in praise of you."
+
+"My name is Beata."
+
+"Beata! you have saved me--God is with you. Now lead me on that I may
+rescue my brethren. We must not lose an instant, for the danger is
+pressing."
+
+"Come my lord--my Angel! Here below I will lead you, you shall lead me
+above! But in order to guide you I must know where you are going? I
+should never have dared to ask while that stern brother was by, but now
+you must tell me everything, for now you have no one else to take care
+of you."
+
+"I am sent to St. Gertrude's, the convent of nuns, with a message to
+the Duchess; lead me thither by the nearest way."
+
+"Good--you shall soon be there. Ah! do not be sad; it is so delightful
+now I have you all to myself." And she pressed the hand by which she
+led him so tightly in the extremity of her joy that he started
+involuntarily; but she released it as if in alarm. "No, no, I will not
+squeeze you--no, I will not indeed!" she said, controlling herself.
+
+"Poor child, I know just how you feel--there was a time when I too used
+to clasp the wooden cross to my breast, and kiss the cold earth in my
+impetuous and unspeakable longing; when I could have exhaled my very
+soul in one single embrace, in my thirst for love."
+
+"Yes, yes--that is it," whispered the child, quivering with excitement.
+
+"But I have found what will quench that thirst and that longing; the
+water of which Jesus spoke: 'Whosoever shall drink the water that I
+give him shall never thirst.' I will teach you to draw that water and
+peace will be with you."
+
+The girl walked by his side in silence, her eyes fixed on the ground so
+that no stone might hurt the blind man's foot, for the road was rough
+and ill-constructed. So they went on together without speaking.
+
+"Your hand is as hot as fire," said the girl at last, "and it throbs
+and beats as if there were a little hammer inside; and your step is
+uncertain. Do your wet clothes hinder you, or are you ill?"
+
+"Oh! child--ask me no questions."
+
+"But you frighten me. Trust me and let me know about your troubles."
+
+The blind man stood still for a moment and pressed his hand over his
+eyes.
+
+"They burn and ache like live coals! My God, my God! grant that I may
+not be discouraged."
+
+The little girl was overcome with grief at seeing him stand thus
+wringing his hands in a convulsion of pain, as he pressed them to the
+aching sockets.
+
+"Oh! poor, poor man--and I cannot help you. If I could cure you by
+tearing out my heart, oh! how gladly would I do it."
+
+"Your words are balm, they have a wondrous healing power. Come, now I
+can go on again."
+
+"Wait a little while--I will fetch some water and bind you up afresh,"
+said the child, and she would have gone to the river, but he held her
+firmly.
+
+"No--not an instant more. Let us hasten onwards--every moment is of
+importance. Think of my poor brethren."
+
+"I can think of nothing but you and your suffering!" cried the
+child--but she had to obey and to lead the blind monk forward. He
+pulled her on without farther delay.
+
+
+They were now passing by the foot of the fortress of Reichenburg, and
+the little girl looked anxiously up at the blank and towering walls.
+
+"God be thanked!" she sighed, when they were past, "Reichenburg is
+behind us! now we have nothing more to fear."
+
+"How long will it be before we reach Saint Gertrude's?" asked Donatus.
+
+"Before sun-down we shall be there. What shall we do then?"
+
+"There I shall beseech the Duchess to grant me an escort and an
+efficient force to protect my brethren at Marienberg, and I shall
+hasten back with them. I shall give you into the noble Lady's charge
+that she may obtain your reception among the brides-of-heaven who dwell
+in the cloister of Saint Gertrude, for that is the path-way of the
+blessed in which I promised to lead you, and there flows the well of
+living water of which you must drink."
+
+"Jesu Maria!" shrieked the child. "You will shut me up in a cloister!"
+
+"What else could I do with you that would be pleasing to the Lord?"
+
+"Oh!--no, never, never!--" the child groaned under her breath.
+
+"Beata--is this your obedience?"
+
+"I will follow you, as faithful as a dog, for that is my destiny--but
+free--of my own free will. I will not be imprisoned, I will not be shut
+up, if you mean to rob me of my freedom, I will fly from you--and no
+one will ever be able to find me again."
+
+"Woe to you, Beata! will you spurn the salvation that I offer you?
+Unhappy child. To-morrow I must go home to my convent and then you will
+see me no more. What then will be your lot? You will wander about
+homeless as before, and hunger and freeze, while there you would find
+food and nurture for soul and body."
+
+"Do you think I am afraid of hunger and cold? I--the homeless, the
+vagabond? Offer a wild dove the handsomest cage under a roof, the Host
+for food and holy water to drink--it will sooner creep into a hollow
+tree in the hardest winter, and starve rather than be captive. And the
+Lord will have pity on the wild bird and will forgive it, for it is He
+himself that has made it so that it cannot live except in freedom."
+
+Donatus stood still in astonishment and drew his hand out of hers.
+
+"Child! what spirit is this that speaks in you? What power possesses
+you? You fear not that which man fears--that which tempts others does
+not tempt you; nothing earthly has any influence over you and you are
+sacred in your innocence. The beasts of the forest spare you, and sin
+cannot touch you. Yes, your simplicity has vanquished me, and I bow
+before your childish wisdom. I will lead you on, wild dove, according
+to your destiny. Perhaps, indeed, God has called you to bear the olive
+leaf to some lonely and erring soul that it may be reconciled to
+humanity." He took her hand again and walked on. "Now lead the blind
+traveller to his goal and then spread your wings and fly away--my soul
+will know where to find you, flee where you will. And when storms rave
+round our towers and a feeble wing beats against my window, when the
+snow covers the land and the starving birds crave their crumbs of
+us--then I will think of my wild dove out in the wood--God preserve
+her!"
+
+He was suddenly silent; a strange and unfamiliar pain overcame him, and
+the words died on his lips. The child looked up at the stars with
+moistened eyes and an expression of immutable faith on her innocent
+brow. Those stars above could never purpose that they should part--it
+could not be--nay, it would never happen.
+
+They neither of them spoke again till the towers of Saint Gertrude's
+were visible through the darkness. The little girl's heart beat faster
+for all her confidence, and she involuntarily slackened her pace as
+they neared the spot. But at last they had reached it, they stood at
+the gate--the moment of parting was come.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER IV.
+
+
+"The Duchess is gone," was the terrible news which the porter announced
+to Donatus. "There is no one here now of all the court but Count
+Reichenberg, whom the Duchess came here to seek. Will you speak with
+him?"
+
+"God have mercy! Let me go--quickly--away at once!" cried Donatus, "he
+must not see me, not for worlds. Tell me which way the Duchess went,
+and can I overtake her?"
+
+"She set out for Saint Mary's; if you do not linger you might yet meet
+with her. But will you not first take a morsel to eat? The convent lets
+no one pass the threshold without some hospitable entertainment, and
+least of all a holy brother."
+
+"No--no--nothing; if the Count of Reichenberg sees me it will be the
+ruin of my cloister. Let me go without any delay, and do not betray me
+if you have any reverence for the sacred will of the Abbot of
+Marienberg. Farewell, and the Lord protect your holy house."
+
+"And good luck to you on your way," the gatekeeper called after him.
+The door closed, and the two wanderers again stood alone on the road.
+
+"Beata," said Donatus gravely, "it is God's will; he has delivered me
+into your hand as helpless as a child; will you guide me farther
+still?"
+
+"God be thanked, God be thanked!" cried the girl with a fluttering
+heart, and her cheeks crimson with delight. "You will stay with me and
+I with you, for ever--for ever."
+
+"Child, your thoughts are as busy and erratic as wild bees. The most
+impossible things seem sure to you, and what we count by hours to you
+seems eternal. You are but a child, but the Lord has said, 'Suffer
+little children to come unto me, for of such is the kingdom of Heaven.'
+And so I think that your simplicity must be pleasing in his sight. But
+let us walk faster. I tremble at the thought of Reichenberg."
+
+"I am walking as fast as I can, but if I go too fast you will fall, and
+then we shall be lost indeed."
+
+"I shall not fall while you guide me. Oh! make haste, you know not what
+the stake is."
+
+"But here there is no need, it is woody here, and my mother taught me
+how to hide from the sight of men. And I learned it so well that she
+often said, it was as if I had the art of making myself invisible, I
+could creep away so quickly, and keep so very still."
+
+"Why was your mother always afraid of losing you?"
+
+"Because they had taken you away from her, and she was in terror lest
+they should take me too. She often said how foolish she had been not to
+fly away with you into the woods, as she did with me. It would have
+been a very different thing no doubt, for they would have hunted for
+you, but no one ever wanted me.
+
+"Did your mother often speak of me?"
+
+"Oh, very often, constantly; not a day passed that she did not tell me
+something about you; but her recollections were always of a little boy,
+so I could only fancy you one, just as we always picture the Lord Jesus
+Christ as a baby in a manger. And oh! I loved you so dearly. At first,
+to be sure, when I was very little I was often jealous of you when my
+mother cried for you, but as I grew older she taught me to love you as
+she herself loved you, and taught me to pray for you."
+
+"Oh wondrous Providence! There lived on earth, though far from me and
+unknown, a soul that had thoughts of love for me while I, alone and a
+stranger to the world, prayed within convent-walls. Was it you who were
+present to me in the spirit when I flung myself with fevered longing
+down in the grass, or on a grave, and believed that some response must
+come to my soul's cry, either from above, or from the abyss below! Was
+it you?"
+
+"Indeed it must have been, for I often shouted your name to the
+distance, and thought you would hear it and come. We waited for you,
+day after day, but at last my mother could wait no longer and she took
+me to Burgeis, to be nearer to you. Yes, and when I saw a pretty little
+boy, with dark curls and brown eyes, I asked my mother if you had not
+looked like that, and if she said 'yes,' I would take him up and nurse
+him and kiss him and call him Donatus. And when I saw you in the
+procession, I did not know you, because you were no longer a boy, but
+tall and dignified. I took you for an angel; but mother knew you again.
+Still, now I have you with me and you are so poor and helpless I can
+quite make you out to be the same with the little boy I used to
+picture. Oh! I wish you were still so little."
+
+"And why?"
+
+"Because then I could carry you in my arms and shelter you in my bosom
+from wind and weather and every danger."
+
+"Oh merciful Providence--what wonders dost Thou create. Yes, you are a
+wonder, you pure and holy child-spirit. It is such as you that God in
+his mercy sends to lonely pilgrims on the way to Heaven to fare forth
+with them and strew the path of death with flowers. All my wild longing
+was but a vague seeking for you--pure and holy child--for you too are
+not of this world; you, like me, are not of the earth, earthly; you,
+like me, have no hope but in the other world."
+
+The girl leaned her face on his arm and wept softly, but she was
+weeping for happiness; for had he not himself said that God had created
+them for each other, and whether for life or for death, it was all the
+same to her. They were two stricken souls flung together into a dark
+sea; for an instant they might cling to each other, and then, clasped
+in that embrace, must sink in the hopeless depths--but that one moment
+was worth a whole lifetime.
+
+Thus they went on to the little village of Saint Mary--the namesake of
+Marienberg. It was only three quarters of an hour from Muenster, but he
+had to gather up all his strength to drag himself along; Beata felt
+with increasing anxiety how he gradually leaned more and more heavily
+on her shoulder, and how his power was failing. If only they could
+reach their destination, thought she with an anxious sigh, then he
+could rest. But no such good fortune was in store for them.
+
+They had reached St. Mary's, here was the same terrible news. "The
+Duchess is gone."
+
+"Whither?"
+
+"On a pilgrimage to Trafoy, to the three Holy Wells."
+
+"All-merciful God!"
+
+Trafoy was eight miles away--a day's journey; and his feet would hardly
+carry him. They must return all the way to Glurns, almost three miles,
+for there was no path which a blind man could climb across the
+mountains that divide the three valleys. Past the convent at Muenster
+and the towers of Reichenberg, where they might meet the dreaded Count,
+once more under the burning sun, over the shadeless fields of Galfa,
+which they had traversed last night in the cool moonlight, and all this
+with strength impaired by fever and pain.
+
+"Almighty God, Thy hand is heavy upon me!" sighed Donatus. But he did
+not pause to consider, he did not hesitate.
+
+"Forwards," he exclaimed seizing the child's hand, "God will help us;
+Beata, we must go on!"
+
+A short rest, for Beata's sake and not for his own, at the farm in the
+village he did however allow; once more she dressed his wounds. Then
+they set out on the whole weary way back to Glurns, and from thence to
+the wild valley of Trafoy and the three Holy Wells.
+
+"Oh, my brethren, how anxiously you will be waiting," lamented Donatus.
+"Woe is me, for a useless worm that can only crawl when wings are
+needed. Woe is me--I have done you an injury by injuring myself, and
+you were very right to punish me; my eyes belonged to you, I had no
+right to rob you of them."
+
+"Do not be disheartened, dear master. When we reach Trafoy you can
+moisten your eyes at the Holy Wells; perhaps that may make you see
+again."
+
+Donatus shook his head with a bitter smile.
+
+"Everything else on earth may heal and grow again--a withered stick may
+blossom again as a sign of grace; the body of the Lord may grow for us
+in the dryest bread, but eyes cannot grow again--never, never."
+
+He was forced to stand still, a dull groan broke from his lips. He felt
+something light and soft laid upon his breast; it was the child's hand,
+she dared not speak, but she longed to comfort him, and a stream of
+sweet peace seemed to flow from that little hand; the tumult of his
+despairing heart subsided under that innocent touch. He stood for some
+time struggling for breath and holding the consoling hand tightly to
+his breast.
+
+"You heal every pain," he said. "You are one of those of whom the Lord
+said, 'Behold, in thy hands I have signed thee'--!"
+
+"They belong to you, so you may make use of them; my hands, my
+eyes--all that I have is yours," said the child, and a solemn thrill
+ran through the blind man.
+
+The sun shone with pitiless heat down in the valley, the naked cliffs
+of gneiss and micaceous schist that shut it in reflected the burning
+rays with double fervour, and out of the sea of glowing vapour uprose
+the frowning towers of Reichenberg on their rocky height. The girl
+shaded her eyes with her hand and looked up--a line of armed men at
+that moment were riding up the mountain-side, at their head a leader on
+a black horse--the child thought she recognised the Count; she clung to
+Donatus in terror.
+
+"There they are," she whispered, "they can see us as well as we can see
+them--your black robe betrays you."
+
+"What can we do?" said Donatus.
+
+"All around is bare--but there is a shepherd's cart and close by it the
+man himself minding his flock. I will ask him to hide you in it till
+night-fall--we cannot go on by daylight. I will mind his sheep for him
+till evening, in return."
+
+"Great God! must another day be wasted without our being any nearer to
+the goal?" said Donatus.
+
+"There is no other way. If Count Reichenberg finds us you will never
+reach it at all, for he is of a bad sort and is plotting evil against
+you."
+
+"What, do you know him?"
+
+"Of course I do, he was with my mother just lately and they talked of
+all sorts of things that I did not understand; they stormed and
+threatened at the convent up there, and I could plainly see it was no
+good that they were promising."
+
+"And your mother was in league with him? Oh Berntrudis!"
+
+"She was furious with the fathers of Marienberg on your account."
+
+"Oh! woe is me that I must say it--we deserve it, for they made her a
+bad return for all her love and fidelity. But I bring misfortune and
+fatality on all that come near me."
+
+"Not on me--you have not brought them on me," said the child, and
+Donatus felt as if he could see the smile of rapture with which she
+spoke the words.
+
+They had reached the shepherd's hut, Beata stood still in front of it.
+"Now hide yourself in here while I speak to the shepherd."
+
+"Beata--devise some plan for God's sake--I dare not wait till evening,
+for if we miss the Duchess all hope is lost."
+
+"I know of no plan--unless you will change dresses with the shepherd.
+He must give you his smock and you must give him your clothes instead."
+
+"What! lay aside the dress of my order?" cried Donatus horrified. "I
+can never do that--the rules forbid it."
+
+"Then you must stop here till night-fall--one or the other is the only
+possible course."
+
+Donatus wrung his hands, "What can I do? disobedience and infraction of
+the rule are my fate wherever I turn. And yet if I must infringe one
+law it had better be the lesser. More depends on my saving the brethren
+than on the outward observance. Call the man here for God's sake; I
+will change clothes with him that I may go on unrecognised."
+
+"But--one thing more," said Beata reflecting. "If afterwards the Count
+were to see the man in your monk's cowl--that might betray you. I would
+rather burn it and give the shepherd something more valuable for his
+smock frock."
+
+"Have you any valuables then?" asked Donatus in surprise.
+
+"Yes--here, feel; I have a ring that Count Reichenberg gave me. At
+first I flung it away, but my mother put it on me again, and said, 'who
+knows of what use it may be yet!'"
+
+"The Count gave you a ring?"
+
+"Aye--and a gold piece. That I have kept--we can buy bread with that
+when we have none left. He gave them both to me that night. The ring I
+was to show to the warder of the castle that he might admit me. He
+wanted to adopt me as his child."
+
+"And you did not go?"
+
+The child smiled.
+
+"Why, how should I? I went with you."
+
+"But by-and-bye--consider--the ring will be the key to a new life of
+pleasure and splendour."
+
+"And even if it were the key to the cavern of the blessed--what do I
+want with it--I have you."
+
+Donatus stood overpowered by this simple fidelity; at this moment the
+shepherd came forward, curious to see the strangers.
+
+"Blessed be the name of the Lord!" he exclaimed in astonishment. "How
+comes a cloister-brother here?"
+
+"Here, you man," said Beata quickly, "have you another smock frock?"
+
+"Aye--my Sunday clothes and my cape; what does the girl want with
+them?"
+
+"Give them here, coat, cape, and hat, this blind Brother has
+enemies--they are plotting against his life and that of his
+brethren--and if he cannot disguise himself in your clothes danger
+threatens him."
+
+The man shook his head. "I want my clothes myself," he said,
+"particularly the cape and hat; I cannot do without them."
+
+"Consider--you have a house to shelter you from wind and weather, and
+he has nothing if you refuse to give him the cape and hat. Look here, I
+will give you this ring for them, it is of pure gold--you may believe
+me, only don't consider any longer. I will mind your sheep--help him to
+put them on, and then we will burn the monk's dress."
+
+"The girl is no fool!" said the shepherd, laughing and turning the ring
+about as it sparkled in the sun, "for such a jewel as this you might
+strip me of my skin as well as my shirt." He glanced at the girl as she
+ran lightly off to keep the sheep together. "A smart girl she is! and
+it all slipped off her tongue as easily as a Pater noster."
+
+And he fetched the things out of the hut, and began to help the blind
+man to put them on. In a few minutes Donatus appeared from behind the
+hut, another man. His breast and arms were bare, for the scanty garment
+scarcely met round his shoulders and loins, and he had modestly wrapped
+the ragged cape round his slim white knees.
+
+"How handsome you are!" said the girl, gazing up in innocent
+astonishment at the manly young form that had hitherto been so
+completely concealed by the monk's black frock and cowl. Donatus
+blushed involuntarily, the simple words disconcerted him; to this
+moment he had never thought whether he were handsome or hideous, and he
+was full of regret at having to exhibit himself in such a guise before
+the eyes of men. Already he was considering whether it might not be
+possible to face all the danger of proceeding in his monk's dress. He
+was overwhelmed with shame, shame at his undignified disguise--when he
+suddenly perceived the unpleasant odour of burning wool; the girl with
+quick decision had flung the monkish garb on to the fire by which the
+shepherd was cooking his midday meal; it gave Donatus a shock of
+horror, it was as if he himself were being burnt.
+
+"The sacred garb that you wear smells of the scorching of your
+too-easily inflamed desires," Correntian had said to him in that last
+night. Now the flames had indeed taken possession of it and consumed
+it. He stood by in brooding silence, and with deep sighs he made the
+sign of the cross over the fire and himself. Then he pressed his
+breviary and the cross of his rosary to his lips and hid them carefully
+in the scanty robe that covered his breast.
+
+"Beata, where are you?" at last he asked, putting out his hand.
+
+"Here," said the child, going quickly up to him.
+
+"Let us go."
+
+"Here is the hat," said the little girl with prudent forethought, and
+she put the hat of coarse straw plait on his head. "Now we can go on.
+Farewell shepherd, and as you hope for salvation do not betray us,
+promise me that, by the Holy Virgin."
+
+The shepherd laid his right hand in hers which she held out to him.
+"The Holy Virgin need not trouble herself when you forbid it. I think
+no one could refuse you anything. Go in peace, I would rather you
+should stay with me and help me to mind my sheep, but it is better so,
+for if I had you to look at I should forget the sheep! It is well that
+the pious brother there is blind, for if he had eyes to see you it
+would go hard with him."
+
+"Farewell," said the child, interrupting him and hurrying Donatus away.
+
+"You are trembling, Beata. Do not let his idle prating annoy you. The
+world is full of these baser souls, but they cannot come near us; they
+vanish before us like the dust clouds that whirl up beneath our feet."
+
+"Ah! but you see, my lord, this is what happens to me wherever I go,
+first they torment me with friendly advances, and then when I fly from
+them they curse me and call me a witch."
+
+"Poor little witch!" and an expression played upon his lips, a faintly
+sweet and merry smile.
+
+"Oh! you are smiling, you are smiling," cried the child joyfully. "I
+can see you smile for the first time!" and again she would have said,
+"How handsome you are!" But for the first time in her life she coloured
+consciously, and the words died on her lips.
+
+Donatus laid his hand on the child's head. "Let me feel how tall you
+are?" said he, "are you quite grown up?"
+
+"I should think so," said the child, leaning her head on his breast.
+"See I reach up to there." Donatus felt the height with his hand.
+
+"Only so far! Oh! then you will certainly grow taller yet. How many
+summers old are you then?"
+
+"That I do not know."
+
+"What, child, do you not even know how old you are?"
+
+"Wait, not by summers, but I can count by trees."
+
+"By trees?"
+
+"Yes, wait a little. Every year since I could run alone my mother made
+me cut a cross in a young tree when the birds were building their
+nests. Now here in Muensterthal there was one tree," she reckoned on her
+fingers, "on the road to Marienberg there was one; two at Nauders, and
+five in Finstermuenz, and in the Ober-Innthal three, that makes twelve,
+then there are three in Lechthal, and one on the way down, in
+Vintschgau; that makes sixteen little trees. So that since I came into
+the world there must have been seventeen springs, for when I cut the
+first cross I was so tiny that my mother had to guide my hand with the
+knife; so she told me, for I cannot remember it."
+
+"Then you are already seventeen summers old? I thought you were still
+quite a child," said Donatus thoughtfully.
+
+"And what colour are your eyes?" he went on presently. "Brown or blue?"
+
+"Brown I fancy, but I cannot be certain, for I have no mirror but the
+water, but mother used to say they shone at night like owl's eyes."
+
+"And your hair?"
+
+"Reddish-brown. The children used to call me Hairy-owl when they saw me
+combing it, because I could cover myself all over with it like a cloak;
+here, feel my plaits, they are as long as I am tall. I have to fasten
+them up." And she laughingly drew the thick, half unplaced locks
+through his hand while he wondered at their length and weight.
+
+"And your eyebrows grow together, the true sign of a witch?"
+
+"Alas, yes."
+
+"And a little rosy baby mouth?"
+
+"Yes, may-be--I do not know."
+
+"Beata! oh, would I could see you!" he said for the first time since
+they had been together. It thrilled her with delight as he said it, she
+herself knew not wherefore.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER V.
+
+
+It was now noon-day; Beata and Donatus took a short rest to eat their
+bread. The forest waved high above their heads, and close to them the
+noisy Wildbach tumbled down the cliff, and the girl fetched some of the
+cool water for their frugal meal.
+
+"I cannot hear you, Beata, are you there?" asked the blind man.
+
+"Certainly, my good master, quite close to you!"
+
+"Why are you so quiet?" he asked.
+
+"I have been thinking of a little song that says in rhyme just what you
+asked me to-day. Would you like to hear it?"
+
+"Of course; are you skilled in such things?"
+
+"A little," and in a low voice she sang as follows.
+
+
+           "The blind man to the maiden said:
+              'O thou of hearts the truest,
+            Thy countenance is hid from me;
+            Let not my questions anger thee!
+              Speak, though in words the fewest!
+
+           "'Tell me what kind of eyes are thine?
+              Dark eyes, or light ones rather?'
+            'My eyes are a decided brown
+            So much, at least--by looking down--
+              From the brook's glass I gather.'
+
+           "'And is it red--thy little mouth?
+              That too the blind must care for!'
+            'Ah, I would tell that soon to thee,
+            Only--none yet has told it me.
+              I cannot answer, therefore!'
+
+           "'But dost thou ask what heart I have
+              There hesitate I never!
+            In thine own breast 'tis borne, and so
+            'Tis thine in weal and thine in woe,
+              For life, for death,--thine ever!'"[4]
+
+
+"Beata, who taught you that song?" cried Donatus, starting up from the
+soft moss. The tender words had gone to his head and heart like sweet
+wine. He passed his hand across his brow as if to wipe away the spell
+which had been lightly woven over him.
+
+"Who taught you that song?" he asked again.
+
+"No one, who should? No one could have heard what we were talking of
+to-day."
+
+"But who taught you to say what you felt in that sweet fashion?"
+
+"My father," said the child, and a deep melancholy rang through the
+words.
+
+"You have never told me about him, Beata, how is that?
+
+"Because I never can help crying when I speak of him, and that will not
+make you happy."
+
+"Beata," said Donatus gravely, "you share my sorrows, and shall I not
+share yours? Tell me who was the wonderful man that taught a wild
+wood-bird to sing with such sweet art?"
+
+"He was a troubadour; it was his profession to turn thoughts into
+artistic verse, and so he taught me. Poor father! The song of his lips
+was most sweet, and whoever heard him and his beautiful lute-playing,
+was made thankful and merry of heart. And yet he had to wander from
+place to place like me, and hide his handsome face under hideous
+disguises. For he was an exile and an outcast, and every man's hand was
+against him."
+
+"And what crime had he committed?" asked Donatus.
+
+"I never knew--my mother said I was guilty of it all. It was because I
+had come into the world that things went so hardly with him--oh!--and
+how could I help it!" she hid her head in her hands and wept bitterly.
+
+Donatus drew her hands away and took them consolingly in his own. "My
+child, my dear child!"
+
+"That is just what my father always used to say when he came to see us
+and took me in his arms. You know he never could stay with us; he was
+obliged to go into the towns and sing to people for his daily bread.
+And when he did come it was by stealth, and only when we were at
+Finstermuenz, or the valleys of the Inn or the Lech, where no one from
+these parts was likely to see him. He used to bring us as much food and
+money as he could spare, and would stay a few weeks with us in the
+forest. There he taught me a number of little proverbs and sayings and
+pretty tunes, and the arts of rhyming as far as I could learn them, but
+I was still quite young when he died--I could not count more than
+twelve trees that I had marked."
+
+"How did he die?" asked her companion.
+
+The child's hand trembled as she answered.
+
+"They fell upon him like a wild deer--some people out hunting who
+recognised him--and he dragged himself to us almost bleeding to death.
+We nursed him as best we could, but it was too late to be of any use.
+Oh! and he was so patient and gentle even when he was dying; he laid
+his hand upon my head and blessed me, and said, 'May God never visit
+the guilt of your parents on your head--expiate in faithfulness their
+sin against faithfulness.'"
+
+Donatus took her hand solemnly in his. "Yes, you will be faithful and
+expiate the guilt of your parents whatever their sin was--a strange
+divination tells me this, and my soul is possessed with a deep sadness
+for your sake. What dark secret hangs over your birth, poor child--Who
+may you be? Did you never ask your mother Berntrudis?"
+
+"No--why should I? What good could it do me? I am a poor, useless
+creature, I come and pass away like a wild heath-flower, no one asking
+whence came you or why do you bloom?"
+
+"Poor heath-flower--lonely and sweet, how sacred you are to me. The
+perfume refreshes the weary pilgrim, and the dreaming spirit, like the
+dainty bee, gathers golden honey from the blossom of your lips. You
+grow firmly rooted in the dry rock, and humbly bend your head to the
+wind as it sweeps over the desert spot--and yet you stand firm and live
+on through sunshine and rain, through the fury of wind and weather! Oh!
+heath-flower--I will not ask whence you came--I only rest my weary head
+in your shade and bless you!" And he threw himself on his knees before
+her, and bent his brow on her hands. Thus he rested for some time in
+silence; not a breath, not a sound roused him from his dreams.
+
+In such a moment of exquisite rapture the girl almost held her
+breath--feeling herself like a holy vessel into whom the Lord was
+pouring out his mercies.
+
+But suddenly he started up. "Great God!" exclaimed he, "time is flying
+and I am delaying and dreaming. Come, Beata, 'of hearts the truest,'
+lead me onward."
+
+And on they went again, on and on, these two who might not rest; but
+was it the intoxicating perfume of the heath-flower, or his rising
+fever that made his steps uncertain? He knew not which; but he felt
+that his strength was failing.
+
+"Hold Thou me up, O Lord!--for this day only hold Thou me up, till I
+have brought succour to my brethren!" so he prayed fervently, as he put
+his arm round the girl's shoulders for a firmer support.
+
+"Am I too heavy for you?"
+
+"Oh no--never!" cried the child, though she could hardly hold herself
+up under the beloved burden, for her long walk through the night had by
+degrees crippled even her young limbs and made them feel like lead. But
+she would rather have died than he should know it.
+
+"Poor little one, how much rather would I carry you!" he said, and he
+involuntarily dropped his head on to hers which reached just to his
+shoulder. He felt her silky hair like a soft pillow under his cheek,
+and the breath of her lips came up to him like incense. Then he
+whispered softly--and the words sounded like a sad caress--
+
+"Is it your heart that I have to carry in my breast that is so heavy
+that my feet totter under the weight of it?"
+
+"If love and truth can be weighed in an earthly scale, then, indeed,
+dear master, you could hardly carry it."
+
+"I could almost believe that you are a witch, and that your little
+heart was an incubus that weighed on mine!"
+
+"What you too! you say so?" cried Beata pitifully. "Then it must be
+true."
+
+Suddenly they heard a distant rush through the wood on each side of
+them, like the tramp of hoofs, and the startled creatures of the wood
+scampered through the brushwood, or whirled across their path in hasty
+flight.
+
+"God help us! it is the mounted soldiers!" exclaimed Beata. "But
+collect yourself--your dress disguises you perfectly. Do not betray
+yourself." And she hastily snatched the bandage from his eyes and hid
+it in her bosom; then she pulled the hat low over his brow so that his
+eyes might not be seen under its broad brim.
+
+"Do not say that you are blind," she whispered.
+
+By this time the riders broke through the bushes; they were the
+followers of Count Reichenberg and the lord of Ramuess. They were heated
+and angry.
+
+"Have you met a Benedictine?" said one of them, in a tone of authority.
+
+"A Benedictine! what was he like?" asked Beata.
+
+"We had taken him prisoner and he has vanished--his name is Porphyrius,
+he was tall and stout, and had blue eyes," said the man.
+
+"That does not matter," interrupted his companion. "We will take every
+Benedictine we find, whether his eyes are blue or green. Our master
+Reichenberg gives a ducat for every cowl."
+
+Beata turned pale, but she preserved her presence of mind.
+
+"This morning I saw one at Saint Mary's in Muensterthal; he was resting
+there, and meant to go on again at noon," she said with prudent
+forethought.
+
+"Where to?"
+
+"To the Engadine, I believe. If you make haste, you may easily overtake
+him."
+
+"Good, forward then to Saint Mary's," cried the first speaker.
+
+"You had better come with us," cried his companion to the two
+wayfarers. "So stout a lad can surely fight, and so pretty a wench can
+surely kiss. We will take you on horseback, and when we have caught the
+shaveling we will make merry together out of the ducat. Come, little
+one, I will lift you into the saddle."
+
+"Get away with you, we are not for the like of you; my brother is ill,
+I must get him home."
+
+"Your brother is it? Then all the more you belong to me!" said the
+rider with a laugh.
+
+"Do not come near me, I am a witch!" screamed Beata.
+
+The man spurred his horse forward, and tried to snatch at her from his
+saddle. But she had quickly drawn a knife from the folds of her dress,
+and she plunged it into the horse's flank, so that he started aside
+with a leap.
+
+"Good God, she really is a witch!" cried the others. "Let us be off or
+she will bewitch our horses."
+
+And thereupon the whole troop rode off; the danger was past.
+
+"All praise to your cunning, Beata, you are as soft as a dove, and as
+wise as a serpent."
+
+Beata supported herself, breathless, against his shoulder. "Oh, my
+lord--oh, my angel! If they had carried you off from me, and perhaps
+killed you--" she burst into convulsive sobs, and threw her arms round
+him as if even now he might be torn from her.
+
+Donatus stood trembling in her embrace; then he felt that her knees
+failed her, and that she sank speechless before him.
+
+"Beata, my child!" he said, kneeling down beside her. "What is the
+matter, what has bereft you of your strength for the first time since
+we have been together?"
+
+"It is only the fright--it will soon pass off--in a moment--" but her
+voice died away, and she lost consciousness.
+
+He felt for her drooping head, and laid it on his bosom; he rubbed her
+forehead and temples; a stream of unutterable feeling ran through him,
+a sweet compassion, a rapture of anxiety.
+
+"Beata!" he cried, "poor stricken deer, wake up, listen to the voice of
+your friend. I cannot go to the stream to fetch you water as you did
+for me. I am blind and unable to return you even the smallest service
+for all you have done for me. Listen to my voice, sweet soul! wake up."
+
+And she opened her eyes, and found her head resting on the breast of
+the man who to her was so sacred and dear, and she would fain have
+closed her eyes again, and have slept on into eternity; but obedient to
+his call, she collected her strength and answered, "My good master!"
+
+"How are you?" he asked softly.
+
+"I am quite well, I can go on now," she said, though her voice was
+weak.
+
+He felt, however, that she was still exhausted, and required rest.
+
+"No, my child," said he, "I have already made the most unreasonable
+demands on your strength. I should have a heart of stone if I could
+drive my poor lamb any farther. The rest that I would not give myself,
+I must grant to you," and he took off his cape, and laid it under her
+head for a pillow.
+
+"There, rest for an hour, and repair the mischief that my negligence
+has occasioned."
+
+"But you, my lord, what will you do if I go to sleep? For since I have
+lain down sleep weighs upon my eyelids like lead."
+
+"I will watch over you, and though indeed my eyes are closed, my ear is
+sharp and will warn me if danger threatens."
+
+"Give me your hand," she said, and as he gave it her she laid her head
+upon it, and fell asleep. The blind man sat by the sleeping child
+without moving.
+
+"Now, Angels of Heaven, spread your wings over us," he prayed.
+
+She slept soundly and calmly; exhausted nature drew refreshment from
+the dark fount of sleep.
+
+He waited patiently for her awaking; he knew not how long a time had
+passed, he could not see the sun's place in the sky and his mind was so
+full of wandering thoughts, so steeped in the charm that the breath of
+the sleeping child cast round him, that he lost all estimate of time.
+Suddenly he felt a burning ray of sunshine fall on his cheek, as sharp
+as a bee's sting; a single ray that had pierced between the boughs from
+the westward. By this he knew that the sun was sinking; the sultriness
+of noon too had much diminished, and there was more life stirring in
+the brush-wood and in the air than during the midday heat. He perceived
+at once, by many vague and yet unmistakeable signs, that evening was
+drawing on, and he lightly touched the girl's eyelids to feel if they
+still were closed. "Beata," he whispered, leaning over her, but the
+call had only a magical attraction; she turned towards him in her
+sleep, as a flower turns to the light. He felt her lips close to his
+and a thought flashed through his brain, a thought at once intoxicating
+and terrible. And yet, no, not a thought, only an involuntary impulse
+of his lips, as when a draught of water is withheld from a thirsty
+man. He shrunk in horror of himself; was he still capable of such
+emotion--he, the blind man, the ascetic, cut off from life and its
+joys? He drew back far from the tempting lips so that their breath
+could reach him no more. Why did his heart throb so violently? Was it
+from anxiety at the long time the child was sleeping? He was sparing
+the girl, and neglecting to rescue his brethren. Should he awake her?
+No, she must awake soon of her own accord, and then they will make up
+for lost time all the quicker. By evening they will reach Trafoy, then
+he can speak with the Duchess at once and by night ride home again with
+the armed escort. But Beata! oh God what will become of her? Can he
+ever find it in his heart to turn her out, a wanderer on the earth?
+
+"Sleep, poor child, that heavy hour will come soon enough," cried his
+tortured soul.
+
+Far and wide all was as still as death. A sharp ear could hear the
+squirrels' little claws scratching against the branches, and the birds
+twittering in the tree-tops, while on the ground there was not a sound
+but the light foot of some wild animal or the rustle of a beetle in the
+grass. Donatus felt the dancing sunbeams that fell here and there
+between the trunks, he felt the cool breeze that came down from the
+nearer glaciers. Perhaps they were looking down through some cleared
+opening in the thicket, those royal, shining forms, and bathing the
+sleeping child in their broad reflected splendour! "How beautiful it
+must all be," was his involuntary thought, and he hid his aching brow
+in his hand. He felt again and again as if, like another Samson, he
+must break through the dark vault that imprisoned him, for every power
+and muscle and nerve in his body was in a state of tension; and in the
+next instant he sank back overwhelmed by the mere thought of the
+ineffectual effort. For those walls, intangible and incorporate, would
+yield to no earthly force; no earthly ray might pierce them even if the
+blind man stood in the very eye of the sun--that was over for ever. Now
+at this hour, when he was alone for the first time since meeting Beata,
+now he is conscious that it is the child's presence that has this day
+kept him upright. For so soon as he is left to himself, despair lifts
+its dragon head and threatens to darken his soul with madness.
+
+And he had to summon all his self-command to keep himself from crying
+out aloud, "Beata, wake and save me from myself!" At this moment the
+girl awoke and opened her eyes, as if she had heard the dumb cry for
+help that came from his struggling soul. Donatus was sitting
+motionless, his hands convulsively clasped and his head leaning against
+the trunk of a tree. She thought that he slept, overcome by fatigue,
+and she propped her head on her hand and silently contemplated the pale
+suffering face with the sunken closed eyelids, a still and sublime
+martyr's face, while her heart overflowed in tears that coursed each
+other down her cheeks. She folded her hands in worship of him. What
+were earth and heaven to her, what was God even? All were contained in
+this one man. He was love, he was patience, he was goodness. In earth
+and Heaven there was none but he; and she rose to her knees softly, not
+to wake him as she thought, and prayed to him, the martyr, the blind
+man who could see no light but from whom all the light of her life
+proceeded. She gazed at his sunken eyes and unutterable pity came over
+her; he was fast asleep, he could not know--gradually--irresistibly--it
+took possession of her. She did not know what she was doing, nor even
+that she was doing it--her lips breathed a kiss on those closed lids; a
+soft, deep, tender kiss. He started up and pressed his hands to his
+eyes. "What has happened, what was that? Beata, you kissed me--on my
+eyes. Holy Father, what have you done?"
+
+"Forgive me!" cried Beata, sinking into his arms almost distracted. "Or
+kill me, kill me, my lord, my angel, my deliverer?"
+
+"Oh wonder of wonders! I see again! it is fire, red fire that I am
+gazing into. Woe is me!--you have opened my eyes, and I see that which
+I ought not to see. I see you Beata, just as you are, your tawny
+shining eyes that gaze at me so imploringly, your rosy mouth that
+kissed me so sweetly. I see your waving hair, I see your whole sweet
+figure down to your little feet that have followed me so faithfully, I
+see it all, and I would fain sink in those fathomless eyes, and bury my
+face in that soft hair and drink death from those sweet lips. What is
+this feeling that shakes me to the very stronghold and foundation of my
+being? All-powerful God, this is love--it has come, it has come! I have
+suffered in vain." And he clasped the tree-trunk against which he was
+leaning as if to chain himself to it by his own arms, so that he might
+not snatch the girl to his breast and sink with her in the overwhelming
+torrent of fire.
+
+The child stood by trembling like a young sapling in a whirlwind;
+Donatus pressed his face against the bark of the tree and a few
+blood-stained tears ran down his cheeks. St. Benedict slept on stinging
+nettles when temptation approached him, and he, what should he do?
+"Quench, oh quench the fire!" he groaned. "Let it rain, let the brooks
+overflow, oh God! to cool my fever. Water, Beata, for pity's sake; lead
+me to the spring or I shall perish." The terrified girl took his robe,
+as if she dared not touch him again, and led him to the torrent which
+fell with a sudden leap over the rocks, foaming till it was as white as
+the glacier snow from whence it came. It had worn a deep channel in the
+earth into which it fell, and the spray leaped up again in a fountain.
+The blind man flung himself into the icy glacier water, as if he were
+pursued by the fire-brands of hell, and the cataract came splashing on
+to him, throwing him down; the cold waves of the pure and purifying
+element rushed over him with a deafening roar; the burning pulses of
+his blood turned to ice under it, his limbs grew rigid, and it
+penetrated to his very heart like the icy touch of death.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER VI.
+
+
+It was night; the white heads of the glaciers looked down like pale
+watchers into the silent and sleeping Trafoy Thal. There it lay, deep
+in the shadows of the sheltering mountain walls, the lonely little
+valley. Fragments and boulders of fallen rocks strewed the earth--a sea
+of stones--and only here and there a red glow shone in the darkness,
+the light of the smelting furnaces of which several were scattered
+about; not a living creature was to be seen far and near.
+
+Tired to death and with bruised feet the lonely couple toiled through
+the stony chaos towards the still invisible green nook, where the
+miraculous waters of the three Holy Wells take their rise.
+
+"Do you see anything?" asked Donatus in a weary tone, "all is so
+still--"
+
+"I see nothing far and wide," answered the child.
+
+"Beata," said Donatus, "if she is not here either!--" he broke off, the
+terrible thought choked his utterance.
+
+And on they went again. He listened for the least sound that might
+betray the presence of a travelling encampment and she strained her
+keen sight for his sake; but sharp as were her eyes, quick as was his
+ear, there was nothing to be seen, nothing stirring. They had traversed
+the whole valley.
+
+"I can hear the rush of water, are we not near the Holy Wells?" asked
+Donatus.
+
+"Yes, here we are," said Beata, trembling as if she feared to tell him.
+
+"And there is no one to be seen?"
+
+"No one," she said hardly audibly.
+
+"All merciful God!--and I can go no farther." Donatus sank to the
+ground on the spot where he was standing, and hid his face in his
+clasped hands.
+
+"Oh, good God! what misery!" lamented the girl. "Lie here a while, I
+will go back to the smelting houses, and get some news of the Duchess."
+
+"Beata, you can walk no farther," sighed Donatus.
+
+"For you I can do anything," she said boldly and steadily, and soon the
+blind man lost the sound of her steps in the distance. An endless term
+of waiting in motionless patience ensued, and the agonised watcher felt
+the dull silence around like the influence of a petrifying basilisk,
+slowly tormenting its victim to death. He listened and listened, and
+yet could hear nothing but the singing of the blood in his ears, the
+ceaseless trickle of the three streams close at hand, and the distant
+thunder of the waterfalls that fling themselves from the precipices of
+the Koenigspitze. From time to time his thoughts became confused; he
+heard the noisy travelling-train of the Duchess approaching, he called
+to her what his errand was, but she did not hear, he could not make
+himself intelligible and he tried to scream but he could not. The
+horses went over him, he felt their trampling feet, then he started up
+and felt all round him; the hard stones on which he was lying had
+bruised him all over, and the tramp of horses that he had fancied he
+heard was no more than the roar of the water. All was silent, and all
+remained silent. Then again a dread came over him lest Beata should
+never return, some harm might have befallen the child among the
+smelters--a half wild crew--and he, a miserable mere shade of a man, he
+could not save her, he must depend for succour on a weak and helpless
+woman. He loathed himself; could God take delight in such a miserable
+cripple? "Wretch, blind feeble wretch--die!" he groaned, and his limbs
+shook with fever. "Son of all misfortune, what are you alive for? That
+you may scatter abroad the seeds of misery which you bear in your
+bosom--" and then again fear for the child overcame him, and he shouted
+to the night, "Beata, Beata, where are you?" till once more his
+consciousness was clouded.
+
+At last she bent over him, and softly called his name.
+
+"Is it you, Beata?" he cried, starting up, and his trembling arms
+clasped her slender form as though he thought she might be a dream and
+would melt away. His hair clung to his brow, his breath came quickly,
+his face was flushed with incipient fever. Beata saw in a moment that
+he was ill, very ill.
+
+"My dear master--I have brought a boy, the smelter's son from the hut
+out yonder, and he will help me to carry you under his father's roof,
+so that you may get some rest."
+
+Donatus staggered to his feet. "No--no--I cannot rest--the Duchess,
+where is the Duchess?" he cried.
+
+"We shall never catch her up, my poor master," said Beata hesitatingly.
+"She set out at night on account of the heat--she has been gone an
+hour, and no one can tell me where."
+
+"An hour!" shrieked Donatus. "That was the hour of my temptation--that
+was the hour that I wasted dreaming in the wood--the hour I let you
+sleep because as you slept your breath kept me spell-bound, and I
+forgot everything--everything depended on that one hour, and now it is
+lost--all lost--by my fault." He stood tottering and tried to take a
+few steps. "After her--I must go after her--"
+
+"How can you, my dear master--consider, they are on horseback and have
+an hour's start of us. Besides you are ill and cannot stir from the
+spot."
+
+"Oh Lord God! work a miracle--Thou hast done so many for others--do one
+for us! Help me, bear me up--we shall overtake them--only go on, go
+on!" he panted; and he sank into the arms of Beata and the boy. "The
+clouds, the clouds, they are strong enough, they will bear me--no,
+stop, I am going too fast--Heaven and earth! I am giddy--do not let me
+fall."
+
+"Oh, dear master--!" Beata burst into tears and sank on her knees under
+her heavy burden, resting his head in her lap. The boy, a smutty fellow
+with dull, staring eyes, stood by stupidly looking on.
+
+"Go and fetch your father to help us," said Beata.
+
+The boy shook his head. "Father cannot leave the ore till the furnace
+is tapped," he said.
+
+"Well, go and beg him to come as soon as he can," and the boy slowly
+strolled away.
+
+The towering peaked walls of the Ortler--Madatsch, and the glaciers of
+Trafoy--stared pitilessly down on the forsaken pair--there was not a
+projecting rock, not a cave that could offer shelter to the sick man.
+They stood up appallingly bare and steep and almost perpendicular, like
+giant walls built up to protect the world's Holy of Holies. And there
+it was too--that Holy of Holies. The three Holy Wells poured out in the
+moon-shine like rivulets of light, from the hearts of the wooden images
+of the Virgin mother, the Redeemer and the Baptist, which were
+protected by a little wooden structure which might well afford shelter
+to the sick man also. There--if she could only get him there; and she
+whispered in his ear, imploring and urging him till at last he heard
+her and began to move.
+
+"Dear master--if you could only go a few steps farther--there flows the
+holy water--that will make you well--"
+
+The sick man caught her words. "Where--where?" he said.
+
+"Come--only come, I will help you up--there, now one step--one more--we
+are there now." With a tremendous effort she had got him there, and she
+let him softly slide down on to the soft ground under the shrine in
+front of the Madonna.
+
+"You are kneeling before our Mother Mary," she whispered reverently,
+and she bathed his brow and eyes with the miraculous water.
+
+"Oh, Holy Virgin! have mercy upon us," she prayed, and she held up the
+folded hands of the blind man who no longer had strength enough to
+raise them in prayer.
+
+"Have mercy upon us!" he stammered, after her "_Rosa mystica,
+maris stella, stella matutina_"; his feeble lips went through the
+thousand-times repeated rosary, and then his head sank back in the
+girl's lap, and he lost consciousness.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER VII.
+
+
+Nine times had the sun risen and set without the sick man's darkened
+spirit being conscious of it. It is true that his blinded eyes would
+not have told him even if he had been conscious, but the measure of
+time of which men have an instinctive idea would have served him even
+in his darkness, and have driven the tortured man home to his
+imperilled brethren. From time to time indeed he had roused a little,
+and had asked the time, but the girl--God will forgive her--had
+deceived him; had taken advantage of his blindness, and had made him
+believe he had slept but an hour, while a whole day or a whole night
+had gone by. She meant it well, that he might be content to rest, and
+not get so ill as to die. So each time he had laid his head down again,
+and let himself be persuaded--"till it was day"--to go no farther. And
+thus it had nine times been day, and nine times night. To-day for the
+first time the rage of his fever was subdued, and his reawakened
+consciousness began to light up his pale face.
+
+"Beata, are you there?" he asked.
+
+"Yes, master."
+
+"I believe you have not slept the whole night through--whenever I have
+called you you have been awake. Is it not yet day?"
+
+"Yes, dear master, very soon; but rest a little longer."
+
+Donatus felt around him; he was surprised to find a soft straw-bed
+under him, and by his side a wall.
+
+"Where am I?"
+
+"In the smelter's hut; we carried you in that you might be sheltered
+from wind and weather."
+
+"Then we are among men?"
+
+"Yes, they are poor folks, but compassionate and helpful."
+
+"How many are they?"
+
+"A man and his son."
+
+"Do you think the boy could conduct me to Marienberg?"
+
+"To Marienberg?" said Beata, turning pale.
+
+He did not answer for some time, then he said,
+
+"It is so sultry and heavy in here; if you would do me a last service,
+help me up and lead me out into God's open air that I may collect my
+senses."
+
+"You are still too weak to stand; have a little patience," she begged.
+
+"Not a minute longer must I delay; I must go home to my brethren to
+share the danger which I could not avert." He rose from the bed, and
+the girl led him silent and tottering out into the air. The sky bent in
+ethereal blue over the mighty glaciers, an icy morning-wind blew down
+from them and waved the sick man's hair across his face, for it had
+grown long. He inhaled the pure air of the heights in long deep breaths
+like a man risen from the grave. Heaven sent him a greeting from the
+cloud-capped peaks, it invited him up there; he felt it, the flames of
+hell thirsted for him in vain; the child seated him on a stone bench by
+the door of the hut.
+
+"Beata," he said in a hollow voice, "we must part." The child uttered a
+cry of pain that pierced him to the very heart. He went on, "Beata, I
+have erred and gone astray. I believed that I might escape love if I
+blinded myself, and I lulled my soul in that security, till temptation
+was upon me before I suspected it. It was so fair a dream, Beata, when
+we wandered on together in innocence, as in Paradise, but original sin
+has driven us out of it! From the first hour when your sweet charm
+stirred my soul with earthly longings, from that hour our Paradise was
+lost. Beata, hell would fain have power over the immortal part of us,
+let us snatch it from its power. It is yet time; I have as yet
+withstood that hellish temptation, but now let us part lest the darker
+deed should follow hard on the dark thought. I gave up my eyes that I
+might keep myself pure, now I will give you up too. Be strong, Beata,
+prove yourself worthy of the suffering I endure for your sake, and obey
+in silence."
+
+"No, no! Require what you will of me but not that," shrieked the child.
+"Plant a knife in my heart and I will not shrink, but do not require me
+to part from you without crying out like some wild creature that is
+only half killed, and can neither live nor die."
+
+Donatus clasped his hands, and a cold sweat stood on his brow; Beata
+flung herself before him.
+
+"My lord and master, do not drive me away; you cannot be so cruel, you
+only fancy that you can, and you will rue it when you are gone a few
+hundred yards, and you will call your child to come back to you; but it
+will be too late. I have been with you in the hour of anguish, my eyes
+are dim with watching by your bed, my bleeding feet have stained the
+stones on the paths along which I have led you, and you will drive me
+away? Oh, dear good master! you would not drive away a lost dog that
+humbly licked your hand, and have you no pity on my suffering and my
+tears?" And she laid her tear-bathed face on his hands and tremblingly
+clasped his knees.
+
+The tortured man cried out from the depths of his soul, "Oh God, my
+God! is it not enough? Beata, have pity, have pity, no devil could
+torture me as you are doing. Beata, if you are not indeed of the powers
+of hell, if you are not an emissary of the devil sent to torment me, go
+from me. Oh holy Spirit! enlighten her, purify her, deliver her, as
+Thou hast delivered me."
+
+He rose and solemnly lifted his hand, "Beata would you win everlasting
+bliss?"
+
+"I ask for no bliss without you," said the girl.
+
+"Beata, do you wish me to lose it too?"
+
+The child shuddered but did not speak.
+
+"Beata if you renounce me I may yet be saved. But if you will not quit
+me, if you make me faithless to my vows, I must be eternally damned.
+Now choose, which is it to be?"
+
+The girl answered in a tremulous and hardly audible voice, "I
+will--go."
+
+All was silent, as when the last life struggle is past, and the
+bystanders whisper, "All is over!"
+
+For a few minutes longer the wretched man listened, his face bathed in
+a sweat of anguish; then he threw up his arms to heaven as if to ask,
+"What can be left to me to suffer more?" then he felt his way back into
+the hut.
+
+"Spare me your boy," he said to the smelter, "that he may guide me to
+Marienberg."
+
+"Do you want to go on again?" asked the man. "Where is the girl that
+was leading you?"
+
+"She--she must stay here, take care of her; you are a good man. Take
+care of the child as the apple of your eye; oh! Angels of Heaven will
+guard your hut so long as she is in it." He hid his face in his hands
+and burst into loud sobs.
+
+"If it troubles you so why do you leave her?" asked the man.
+
+"Do not ask, do not talk, give me your son and let me go. When I have
+got back to the Abbey, I will send you a rich reward by your son." The
+boy sprang forward when he heard of a reward; Donatus took his rough
+hand, his heart tightened as he took it; it was not Beata's soft and
+loving touch.
+
+"Farewell!" he called out to the man, and the rocks dismally echoed,
+"Farewell."
+
+His foot had crossed the threshold, and he set forth without delay
+towards Marienberg.
+
+
+For the ninth time since he first had set out the sun was setting
+behind the cliffs of Mals and Burgeis when the weary wanderer returned
+from his dreary and fruitless pilgrimage. Poor and wretched as if the
+wind and waves had tossed him on shore after a shipwreck; scorched and
+desolate in spirit as if in some pilgrimage in the Holy Land the
+burning sun of the Desert had consumed him heart and brain, and he had
+fled without earning his title to Salvation.
+
+He laboriously climbed the mountain, led by his clumsy guide;
+the boy had heedlessly brought him by the lonely and little used
+'Goats'-steps,' so called because only goats and goat-herds could climb
+it without turning giddy; at every step the blind man was in danger of
+falling into the yawning depth below.
+
+The dank mists of evening fell thickly on the mountain, the vesper bell
+must presently ring, Donatus had been listening for it all the way.
+
+"Boy, do you see no lights in the convent."
+
+"No," said the lad, "all is dark."
+
+"And yet it must be late," said Donatus, panting but hurrying still
+more up the steep ascent.
+
+"Aye, it is late," said the boy.
+
+At this moment the vesper bell rang out and up from Burgeis; now they
+will ring here too--
+
+He listened, his heart throbbed once, twice, thrice, all was still.
+
+What had happened? A shudder ran through him, the cold night wind blew
+down from the peaks and chilled his very marrow. The vesper bells rang
+out, each in a separate note, from the valleys far and near; only up
+here was it dumb.
+
+"Can you see the convent yet?" asked the blind man.
+
+"Yes, there it is," said the lad indifferently.
+
+"Take me to the door."
+
+The boy obeyed; Donatus put out his hand for the knocker, his hand
+grasped the air.
+
+"The door is open," said the lad.
+
+"Wait out here," said Donatus, and he went in. He easily found his way
+across the familiar court-yard; it was incomprehensible that the door
+should be open and no one in the way. He felt his way by the wall to
+the inner entrance--this too was open. He felt to right and left of
+him--the door-posts were there, but no door! Perhaps he had mistaken
+his way in the open space, and was in a quite different direction to
+what he believed. But how could there be a gap in the walled quadrangle
+that formed the court-yard if it were not the doorway? He will call
+out--does no one hear him? he listens--no answer! There is something
+gruesome in this silence; an unaccountable alarm takes possession of
+him. He can feel the stone of the threshold quite plainly with his
+foot--he is standing in the very doorway; then if he feels to the right
+the wall must be there, and the holy-water vessel of stone--yes, there
+it is, and the vessel too, so he has come the right way, he dips his
+hand in the piscina to take the holy-water--it is empty. It is strange,
+who can have emptied it?
+
+He comes to the door of the refectory--there at last the brethren must
+certainly be. Here are the carved and iron-bound door-posts, he feels
+for the massive handle--again he grasps the empty air, and his foot is
+on the vacant threshold.
+
+Is he delirious? or does his blindness cheat him with false ideas of
+space? His sense of touch perhaps betrays him--or some demon is
+tricking him, and juggling with his senses to torment him? Perhaps he
+is still out in the sheds, and only fancies he has made his way to the
+refectory?
+
+A searching draught blew in his face through the open halls and
+corridors; a sickening wind bringing a horrible reek of smoke as if it
+blew across the dead embers of a burnt city, and a cloud of dusty ashes
+was wafted into his face.
+
+"Is no one there?" He called aloud--all was still.
+
+Then he walked on again--aimlessly, taking no particular direction in
+the darkness; suddenly his foot struck some unwonted object. He
+stooped--the refectory table lay in pieces at his feet--again he
+perceived the same strange smell of burning, and his hand fell on some
+charred fragments--the table was half burnt. Donatus walked all round
+it; wherever he trod there were ruins; he started back, finding himself
+suddenly at the opposite wall. Then he felt for a window--his feet
+trampled on crashing splinters of glass--the opening was empty, the
+wood work all charred.
+
+Invasion had been here, and the fearful traces that it leaves wherever
+it enters--terror and desolation--depicted themselves vividly on the
+blind man's fancy.
+
+"My brethren--my Abbot--where are you?" he shouted in despair to the
+darkness and chaos.
+
+"My father--my brothers!" he cried out--but the words rang in the
+deserted rooms--and he wandered on without aim or purpose among the
+ruins and timbers--now straight forward, now round and round, without
+knowing why or whither.
+
+"To the chapel--to the sacristy!" an inward voice suddenly suggested.
+"Perhaps they are there, praying--" and with infinite trouble he felt
+his way on through the chaos of destruction. He could no longer find
+his way, for everything he was familiar with, and that could serve him
+as a starting point had been torn from its place or destroyed, and he
+toiled in vain through the darkness to reach the spot which he always
+missed though so close to it.
+
+"Help--light!" he shrieked as if demented--as though he could see the
+light even if there were one. He forgot his blindness--he forgot
+everything, he was half crazed with terror.
+
+Then again he stood still and listened--nothing was stirring but the
+storm which sang unceasingly its wild lament through the ruined
+windows.
+
+He wandered on again towards the chapel. At last the smell of burning
+was mingled with the odour of stale incense, and a wild confusion of
+broken choir-seats, images, and candelabra impeded his steps.
+
+"Are you here, my brethren? Is no one here?" He shouted again and
+listened. He heard something--this time it was not the wind, it was a
+low groan from some human being.
+
+"Who is there? answer me!" he cried, trembling.
+
+"Who are you?" A well-known but broken voice fell upon his ear.
+
+"Correntian!" cried Donatus, between fear and joy.
+
+"Donatus!" answered the voice, and a strange shudder ran through
+him--as if he were called to the last judgment, and a voice from the
+clouds had read his name on the list of the damned.
+
+"Donatus," repeated Correntian, "miserable son, why are you come so
+late? You have been our ruin."
+
+"Correntian, my brother, I will tell you all; give me your hand and
+help me over these ruins."
+
+
+"I am lying with crushed limbs under the overturned altar, I cannot
+help you," groaned Correntian.
+
+"All-merciful God! How has this happened?"
+
+"I wanted to rescue the charter of the convent from the enemy, and to
+hide it under the altar, but they surprised me, and in the struggle the
+altar was overturned upon me," groaned Correntian.
+
+"And the brethren, where are they?"
+
+"They have fled, driven away stripped and bare, the whole party. Our
+herds are driven off, the convent destroyed and plundered. Your father,
+who had leagued himself with your mother's kindred, committed the
+crime."
+
+Trembling as he went, and with infinite effort, the youth had made his
+way through the medley of fragments and ruins towards the spot whence
+the voice proceeded; a hand now arrested his lifted foot.
+
+"Stop, you will tread upon me." He stooped down, there lay Correntian
+on the bare stone half buried under the enormous mass of the stone
+altar.
+
+"Oh! misery and horror!" screamed the blind man. "Crushed like a worm,
+a great, strong man! and no one to help you, no one!"
+
+"The brethren could scarcely save their own lives, the people of the
+neighbourhood fled from the fearful scene; for three days I have lain
+here, abandoned, and not a hand to give me a draught of water."
+
+"I will fetch you some water, I will find the spring," cried Donatus,
+but Correntian held him back.
+
+"No, never mind, the well is choked, and it would not serve me now. My
+torture is near its end, I feel--"
+
+"Oh poor soul, and must you end so miserably?" lamented the younger
+man. "Crushed by the altar you so faithfully served!"
+
+"Do not grieve for me, I die as I have lived--for the Church. It is the
+highest mercy that God should grant me to die such a death. There is
+one who is yet more to be pitied than I." Donatus staggered.
+
+"God help me, not the Abbot?"
+
+"Yes, unhappy boy, the Abbot, who loved you with a love which was a sin
+against the rules of our holy Order--he expiated his sin fearfully."
+
+"Speak, for pity's sake, torture me no longer," implored Donatus. "What
+happened to him?"
+
+"Count Reichenberg demanded that he should give you up, for he thought
+you were hidden in the convent, and when he refused--was obliged to
+refuse--he had him bound and dragged into the court-yard and then--"
+Correntian paused for breath.
+
+"And then, what then?"
+
+"Then they made him give his eyes for yours, as the Count had sworn."
+
+A scream rang through the chapel, and its quivering echoes shook the
+broken panes; then there was a silence as if the youth's heart had
+cracked in that one cry, and he had fallen lifeless.
+
+Correntian breathed slowly and painfully; angels of death spread their
+dark wings and hovered round that ruined altar. Presently the stupor
+that had followed the first blow was broken.
+
+"Oh! eternal Justice, where art Thou that this should happen?" sobbed
+Donatus. "God of grace, God of mercy! where wert Thou that such things
+could be done? That pure, innocent and saintly man, punished for my
+guilt--God of pity, how could'st Thou allow this?" And he sank down by
+the broken altar, and wept as though he could shed all at once all the
+tears that flood the world.
+
+"Those eyes, those kind eyes, that so often looked at me with
+affection, that watched over me so faithfully. Oh God! give me mine
+again that I may weep for those far dearer ones!" But his lamentations
+grew less loud and violent as though he were kneeling at the Abbot's
+feet, and were listening tenderly to his soothing words as of yore.
+
+"Oh! Lamb of God, patient and long suffering victim. You, in your
+gentle soul, forgave me, for you were too lofty a spirit to remember
+evil, but I, I can not forgive myself; my father, give me once--only
+once, your beloved hand, that I may press a kiss of remorse upon
+it--only once, only once, and then will I sink into damnation and
+expiate for ever that which I can never make amends for." And then
+again he was silent, all his strength of soul, which is needed even for
+suffering, was spent; he was forced to pause and draw breath for a
+fresh outburst.
+
+"And the brethren," he groaned at length, "could they not protect him?"
+
+"They were out numbered, there was a whole host of marauders," said
+Correntian. Donatus stood up, "Oh if I had been there I would have
+protected him. I would have covered him with my own body against a
+whole world of them."
+
+"Aye, if you had come at the right time, then it would all have been
+different. Why did you not come, where were you waiting so long?"
+
+"I followed the Duchess in vain for two whole days."
+
+"And then?"
+
+"And then I hastened home."
+
+"And did that take nine days and nights!" cried Correntian.
+
+"Brother! what are you saying? I left you only three days since."
+
+"Woe upon you, son of the evil one!" screamed Correntian. "Where were
+you? What cheated your senses as to the time? Did you linger in the
+nether world that the days hastened by uncounted? Were you bewitched
+that you did not observe that since you left more than a week is past?"
+
+"Merciful Heaven! a week?" said Donatus, "and she told me that I had
+slept but a night. Oh Beata! Beata! could you so deceive me?"
+
+"Beata!" repeated Correntian. "Then it was a woman who stole all
+consciousness of time from you! And you ruined all for a woman's sake.
+This is how you kept your word to us, this is what came of your vows?
+Woe, woe, all is come to pass that I foretold at your birth; you were
+the changeling laid by the devil in our peaceful home to work our ruin,
+and yet you deceived even me into recalling my own prediction and
+trusting you. Nay more, Hear, oh Lord! and punish me for my sin. You
+were the first human being I ever loved. And at the very moment when I
+thought to set the crown of martyrdom on your head you relapse into the
+base element whence you rose and drag us all down with you in your
+fall!"
+
+"Correntian, hear me. Yes, it is true, I have sinned; yes I have led
+you all into ruin for a girl's sake, and I will expiate it through all
+eternity. Not even my blindness could save me, Eusebius was right, the
+devil is more cunning than man, and yet I am innocent and pure!"
+
+"Pure," shouted Correntian. "How dare you call yourself so, criminal,"
+and with all the added horror of his suffering he raised the upper part
+of his body and stretched out his arm towards Donatus. "The curse that
+was upon you even in your mother's womb, I take it up and pour it, a
+double curse upon your head. Only your father's curse has weighed upon
+you hitherto, I add to it your mother's curse; for your mother is the
+Church you have brought to shame. An outcast shall you be, perjured
+wretch, an outcast from the Church, an outcast from humanity--an
+outcast from the flock of penitents who yet may hope. The grass shall
+wither under your feet; the hand be palsied that offers you the sacred
+Host; death and pestilence shall visit him who takes pity on your
+hunger. Your bones shall fall to dust, and that their pestilential reek
+may not poison the earth that yields food for other mortals, I bid you
+flee away to the ends of the earth, up to the realm of death, to the
+ice of the glaciers, as far as your feet can bear you, where not a
+blade can grow that can imbibe the poison of your corpse. All that is
+mortal of you shall be blotted out from creation to the very last jot,
+and what is immortal shall suffer to all eternity such torment as has
+racked my very marrow for these three days--" His voice failed, the
+rigor of death had fallen upon him, he fell back on the stone floor.
+Once more he raised himself, his clenched fists clutched at the
+fissures in the ground in his last agony.
+
+"Oh, Lord God! have mercy on my sins!" he groaned, seized with sudden
+horror at the thought that he must depart without the last sacraments
+and with a curse on his lips. He felt that death had laid its icy hand
+on his heart; it was too late, his lips tried to stammer some words,
+but his jaws were clenched in a convulsion. Thus he gave up his cold
+and stubborn spirit, without consolation, without atonement, hoping for
+no mercy, for he had shown none; yet he had been true to himself and
+the Church, true even unto death.
+
+But Donatus, crushed and banned, knelt by the corpse and prayed for
+mercy on the hapless erring soul. Would God hearken still to the prayer
+of the accursed? Could it reach the Throne of God? He bowed his
+forehead to the dust, and gave the cold stones a farewell kiss. Then he
+rose, and made his way back to the door where the boy was to wait.
+
+"Boy, where are you?" he called out. No answer, the boy was gone. He
+had heard Correntian's curse, and had fled; the blind man was abandoned
+wholly.
+
+Where should he go? The Church had disowned him, the earth cast him
+out. "Lord, hast Thou not a drop of mercy left for me out of Thine
+inexhaustible fount of grace? Did I not obey Thy will in so far as I
+understood it? I gave the light of my eyes to escape love; the staff
+that was the prop of my darkened life I broke and cast from me, and all
+my sacrifices have turned to curses and my obedience to fatal ends. I
+may well say with Job, 'My face is foul with weeping, and on my eyelids
+is the shadow of death. Not for any injustice in mine hands, also my
+prayer is pure.' Oh, Lord my God! if Thou didst see me in the hour when
+I drove away the girl, that pure and faithful child, Thou must know
+whether I then did not expiate my sins, and deserve Thy mercy or not.
+Yea, I will flee from all the ties of life, I will die alone like the
+chamois that hides itself in the glacier when its end is nigh; I will
+efface the trace of my steps on earth that fatality may no longer
+pursue me. Oh, God, my God! will the measure of my sorrows never be
+full?"
+
+So he stood, his arms uplifted, a dumb image of suffering--like a tree
+stricken by a storm.
+
+A few stars peeped out from time to time between the driving clouds;
+the abyss lay in slumberous silence at his feet, and the night-breeze
+snatched pitilessly at the ragged garments that scarcely sufficed to
+cover him. The empty windows of the ruined stronghold of faith stared
+at him like hollow eye-sockets, in dumb reproach. No cry from Heaven
+above or the earth beneath responded to his lament, no pitying hand
+clasped his to lead him to his last bourne; he sank down on a stone,
+and hid his head in his hands. "O! God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken
+me?"
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER VIII.
+
+
+High, high up where no blade of corn can grow, in the glacier
+desert of the Ortler chain, the solitary penitent lived on the
+extremest verge where it was possible for flesh and blood to live
+and breathe--fulfilling literally Correntian's curse. Below lay the
+unfathomable depth of the valley of Trafoy between its deeply cleft
+walls, like an open grave. The glacier torrents roared down through
+fissures and crevices, feeding the three Holy Wells in the gorge below;
+the rock crumbled away beneath the volume of the mighty waters, and
+wide floods devastated the land.
+
+A strange herd-boy had led him up whom he had met with that night at
+Marienberg, and who had taken pity on him for God's sake. It was a
+difficult task to guide the blind man up to these heights, but guardian
+spirits were with him and upheld him, or he would have slipped from the
+boy's weak hand a hundred times and down the steep and slippery path.
+
+It is only from those who love life that God requires it; the wretch to
+whom death would be release may not die!
+
+Again and again the boy was fain to stop, but the penitent was not to
+be persuaded to stay where a bird's call was still to be heard--where
+he could still lay his hand on fruitful soil. So, after long wandering,
+they had reached their goal--the last for which he longed--the realm of
+everlasting peace, where no sound of a human voice could pierce, where
+no slenderest thread could reach to link man to man. Here is the first
+circle of hell, cold and silent, here he might atone and die, and live
+above for ever.
+
+The boy had contrived an indispensable shelter against the wind and
+rain under an overhanging rock, and then had left him; but from time to
+time he came to bring bread to the hermit. He was a strange boy, he
+came and went without the blind man's perceiving it, noiselessly and
+without a word, and Donatus was grateful to him for that. He would have
+felt it a desecration to break the sacred silence that bathed his soul
+like a sea which no profane sound might pierce.
+
+Once every week his moss-bed was freshly made, and a fragrant loaf laid
+by the side of it; but he who brought it vanished as he came. Often it
+seemed to the blind man that it could be no boy of flesh and blood, but
+a friendly angel of death sent by God to guide him hither, and to
+support his existence until he were fit to die; and as the season
+advanced, and it became more and more difficult for any human being to
+find his way up the snow-covered path, he believed this still more
+firmly. What could prompt a strange and lowly herd-boy to such a
+fearful sacrifice? For what hope of reward could he do this? And what
+to him was the accursed outcast--the hapless wretch who could no longer
+give him even a blessing? Yes, it was daily clearer to his mind that it
+was a messenger from the other world; daily he felt more sure that
+here, with the earth far below him, he was nearer to the world of
+spirits. In the roaring of the storm, in the thunder of the avalanche,
+in the freezing snow-drift, in all the terrors of the wilderness, he
+felt with reverent awe the nearness of Him who rides the clouds and
+speaks in the thunder; and that which appals most mortals and fills
+them with dread, uplifted his soul which had triumphed over this life,
+in jubilant hope of redemption and release.
+
+"Crush, mangle this body!" he would shout to the raging blast, to the
+falling rocks, to the torrents of heaven, when they whirled round him
+in wild uproar, and he kissed the invisible hand of the storm that
+lashed him, he thanked the pain that gnawed his numbed limbs--it all
+was penance, and penance meant deliverance; and then again when the
+tumult had subsided, when the last faint rays of the autumn sun shone
+from the once more peaceful sky, and all the air was still--then he
+felt as if a reconciled spirit hovered over him too--a divine
+something, for which he found no name. And then, indeed, a mood would
+come over him in which he would stretch out his arms to the vacant
+air, and a cry would escape his lips--like a bird freed from its
+cage--"Beata."
+
+So near, so real, did her watchful spirit seem that he would fancy he
+heard her breathing and almost thought he felt her passing lightly by
+him.
+
+"Beata--have you died down in the valley, and come up to watch by me
+till I may follow you into eternity? Oh, poor child, the son of
+perdition may not follow you--not even when he has shed this mortal
+husk, for you will soar upwards to the fields of the blest--and I must
+sink among the souls in purgatory," and then it seemed to him that the
+wind bore a soft cry to his ear. Yes, certainly--it was her soul--that
+mourned for him, that prayed for him with tears to the Saints. And
+could they withstand her prayers? In such an hour he felt as if a
+breath of salvation floated round him; here, up at the limits of the
+earth, on the brink of the other world, the very air was full of
+revelation. The two realms seemed to touch and mingle, and he learned
+more and more to understand their gentle ebb and flow.
+
+Thus it grew to be winter and the chastening hand fell more roughly,
+and the fetters of death closed more tightly upon him; still he prayed
+and sang praises without ceasing, and as often as he found a fresh loaf
+by his couch and a warm skin to preserve him from the increasing cold,
+he received it as a miracle from God the Lord, who in days of old
+rained down Manna on his starving people. So long as God sent him
+nourishment, so long it was His will that he should live, and he
+relished the bread with a thankful heart, full of devout meditation as
+if it were the body of Christ--which no mortal hand might evermore
+present to him.
+
+At last the supplies of bread ceased. He knew not how many days had
+passed, for him there was neither day nor night; but he perceived that
+it was longer than usual, for his meagre store had never been exhausted
+before the fresh supply came. Now it was exhausted, and the place where
+he was wont to find his bread was empty. Now he knew that the last
+trial was at hand. Nature inexorably asserted her claims, and gnawing
+hunger tormented his vitals; death was approaching in the form of
+starvation. He felt it--it was a cruel death, but he could thank the
+Lord for it; now the hour was come when, like the chamois, he must end
+in a hidden crevasse; he wound his rosary round his hand, and only
+prayed, "Grant, Lord, that I may bear the trial with honour."
+
+He went out of his cave to seek a cleft in the ice so as to carry out
+his vow; something checked his steps--it was lying at his feet, and
+softly caressing his knee like a faithful dog. But it was not a dog, it
+clung to him and grasped his arm with a human hand. "Donatus," it
+whispered in a beseeching tone. "Donatus, forgive me!"
+
+"Beata!" shrieked the blind man, staggering back against the cliff. He
+felt as if the mountain had fallen and had buried everything under
+it--man, and all his works and laws--as if he were left alone with
+Beata and with God. But that God was He who spoke, saying, "I am Love."
+
+"Donatus, I could not help myself any longer--I can get you no more
+bread," stammered the girl. "For three days I have been trying in vain,
+but I can do no more--my limbs are frozen--the cold--I am dying. Oh,
+poor soul, what will become of you?"
+
+"Beata! angel of my life--angel of my soul!" cried Donatus, rejoicing
+and weeping in the same breath. "Beata! blessed one, having overcome
+the world! You have been with me all the time, you have brought me
+food, have been by my side through snow and frost, in death and
+desolation? All-merciful God, why were you so long silent?"
+
+"That you should not sin for my sake, nor drive me away--that is why I
+was silent! Forgive me for disobeying you--I could not, could not leave
+you."
+
+"Forgive you--I forgive you, you messenger of grace." And with a strong
+arm the blind man raised the dying girl and carried her into the
+sheltering cave, and laid her on his bed, covering her with the warm
+skins that she herself had brought him in her indefatigable care. Then
+he flung himself down by the couch and covered her care-worn face and
+faithful breast, and her poor, frozen, little feet with innumerable
+kisses. He could say no more; only moans and inarticulate sounds of
+love and sorrow escaped him, and he held her in his arms, and rocked
+her and soothed her as a mother does her dying child.
+
+And she clung to him in a perfect extasy of joy. "You see--now I am
+dying by your side--it has happened as I said"--she whispered in his
+ear. "And you have kept your word; you wanted to lead me to bliss--now
+I am indeed blessed."
+
+The blind man was like one in the very whirlwind of a celestial
+revelation.
+
+"Oh, sweet martyr! You have done what no man ever did. We, when we deny
+ourselves and subdue ourselves, we hope for a future reward and fear
+future punishment--but you have renounced all, and fought the fight
+without hope and without fear. You have sacrificed yourself freely and
+without compulsion, and have bled to death in silence. What is all that
+heroism and chastity have ever achieved in comparison with this deed?
+No--it is no power of the devil that has accomplished this. It is not
+with dying lips that the evil one seeks to tempt--nor with the kiss of
+death that he entangles his victims. It is a higher power--yes--now I
+see and know it! Beata, your death has released me from my bonds--there
+is a love, that is God--and we have loved each other with such a love,
+and for that love's sake we shall find mercy."
+
+"Amen!" said the girl, and with a smile of rapture she clasped his head
+that had sunk upon her breast. And there was peace--the peace of God,
+in their souls. Her breath was now short and weak, but she clasped him
+to her with all her remaining strength. He pressed her to his breast
+and rubbed her frozen limbs, and breathed on her with his warm breath.
+He implored her with a thousand loving words.
+
+"Do not die, my child, my wife--gift of God, stay with me. God who gave
+you to me, will let you stay with me one day--one hour, only one little
+hour that I may make up to you for all you have suffered!"
+
+In vain! the cold hand could no longer stroke his head; it fell by her
+side.
+
+"Beata!" he called in her ear. "I abandoned you in life, but in death I
+will not forsake you, I will die with you."
+
+She still heard, a sigh of rapture answered him as from a happy
+bride--it was her last--then she bowed her head and slept, softly and
+peacefully, with a smile on her lips. She was gone like the night-moth
+whose fate it is never to rejoice in the light of the sun, that is
+snatched away by the first frosts of winter, without a sound, without a
+wail--out of darkness into darkness.
+
+Donatus still listened for a while to hear if the stilled heart beat no
+more--not a breath, not a throb, all was over. Long, long did he lie
+so, the body clasped to his heart; then he rose, and saying half-aloud
+as though she still could hear, "Come, my child," he laid the slender
+form across his shoulders like a dead lamb, and went out into the open
+air.
+
+Snow was falling, softly and lightly spreading a white coverlet under
+his feet over which he glided inaudibly, feeling his way by the rocky
+wall. Whither was he going, what did he seek? He could not answer
+himself these questions, the time for thought was over; one feeling
+alone possessed him, and that was love. All seemed light to his blind
+eyes; a slight form rose out of the darkness, and floated before him
+with a sad but blissful smile. It was Beata's glorified spirit. She
+pointed out the way, and signed to him to follow with a look of
+unutterable love.
+
+"Yes, I am coming, I follow," he cried, and hurried on as fast as he
+could through the snow--after her. Presently the sweet vision reached a
+spot where the rock ended precipitously, a perpendicular cliff of more
+than a thousand fathoms. She stood still and looked round. "Wait, I am
+coming!" he cried. Once more she beckoned, then she soared up and
+floated across the abyss up--away. By this time he too had reached the
+spot, and without a shudder he sprang after her; but his mortal body
+with its burden weighed him down. He slid into the abyss in a cloud of
+snow, and the loosened mass came plunging after him, a thundering
+avalanche that filled the air with an ocean of snow.
+
+But just as the air that clings to a heavy body when it is plunged into
+the depths of the sea rises to rejoin its parent element in shining
+globules, the spirit of the engulfed Donatus rose from the deep to its
+eternal home.
+
+The earth lay dead and dumb as if the sun could never rise again, as if
+love had perished for ever--and yet it will return, bringing softer
+airs, under whose quickening breath Heaven and earth shall once more be
+reconciled.
+
+
+
+                               FOOTNOTES:
+
+[Footnote 1: Himmelsschluessel--keys of Heaven--is the pretty German
+name.]
+
+[Footnote 2: The Adige lower down.]
+
+[Footnote 3: In German the corpse-owl.]
+
+[Footnote 4: The translator is indebted for these verses to the
+kindness of a friend.]
+
+
+
+                                THE END.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+        *   *   *   *   *
+PRINTING OFFICE OF THE PUBLISHER.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Hour Will Come: Volumes I and II, by
+Wilhelmine von Hillern
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