"Art thou here also, my wise King Solomon," stammered Master Spazzo. "Be my friend!" kissing him. Then Heribald threw away his cinder and placed his foot on it.
"Heigho, gracious Lord!" cried he. "May you come home safe and sound! You have come to us in a different manner from the Huns, and therefore your departure is different also. And yet, they too, understood how to drink wine."
Master Spazzo who had recovered his seat, pressed the steel-cap down on his head, and tightly grasped the reins. Something was still weighing on his mind, and made him struggle with his heavy tongue. At last he recovered some of his lost strength. He lifted himself in the stirrups, and his voice obeyed now.
"And the sovereign rights shall not be trampled upon, by monastic insolence!" cried he, so that his voice rang loudly through the dark and silent cloister-yard.
At the same time, Rudimann informed the Abbot of the success which his mission had had with the Duchess.
Master Spazzo rode away. To the servant who had accompanied him with the torch, he threw a gold ring, which induced the torch-bearer, to go on with him, over the narrow causeway through the lake.
He had safely reached the main land, and the cool night air was fanning his heated face. He burst out laughing. The reins he still held tightly in his right hand. The moon was shining brightly, whilst dark clouds were gathering round the peaks of the Helvetian mountains. Master Spazzo now entered the dark fir-wood. Loudly and clearly, at measured intervals, the cuckoo's voice was heard through the silence around.
Master Spazzo laughed again. Was it some pleasant recollection? or, longing hope for the future, which made him smile so sweetly?
He stopped his horse.
"When will the wedding be?" called he out in the direction where the cuckoo was sitting on its tree. He counted the calls, but the cuckoo this time was indefatigable. Master Spazzo had already come to number twelve, when his patience began to wane.
"Hold thy tongue, confounded bird!" cried he. But the cuckoo called out for the thirteenth time.
"Five-and-fourty years we have got already," angrily exclaimed Master Spazzo, "and thirteen more, would make it fifty-eight. That would be a nice time, indeed!"
The cuckoo sang out for the fourteenth time.
Here, another woke up, and also raised its voice; a third one followed, and now there began a chorus of emulating cuckoo-voices around the tipsy chamberlain, so that all counting became impossible.
Now his patience left him entirely.
"Miserable liars and breakers of marriages, that's what you are," cried he furiously. "Would that the devil would take you altogether!"
He spurred his horse on to a quicker pace. The wood became thicker, and heavy clouds were sailing towards the moon. It was intensely dark; the pine-trees had assumed a strange weird look, and everything was silent around. Willingly would Master Spazzo now have listened to the voice of the cuckoo, but the nightly disturber of peace had flown away, and the solitary rider began to shiver.
An unshapely cloud now stealthily approached the moon, and had soon covered her up entirely. Then, Master Spazzo recollected that his nurse had told him in his early infancy, how the bad wolf Hati and Monagarm the moon-dog, persecuted the radiant astre. Looking up, he clearly recognised, both wolf and moon-dog in the sky. They had just taken hold with their teeth, of the gentle comforter of belated travellers;--Master Spazzo was convulsed with pity. He drew his sword.
"Vince luna!conquer, oh moon!" cried he, at the top of his voice, and rattling his sword against his greaves. "Vince luna, vince luna!"
His cries were loud, and his jingling metal sounded fierce enough, but the cloud-monsters did not loosen their hold on the moon; only the chamberlain's horse became frightened, and galloped at full speed through the dark wood with him.
When Master Spazzo awoke on the next morning, he found himself lying at the foot of the Hunnic mound. On the meadow, he saw his mantle, whilst his black steed Falada, was indulging in a morning walk, at some distance. The saddle was hanging down on one side, and the reins were torn. Falada, however, was eating the young grass and flowers with evident enjoyment. Slowly the exhausted man lifted his head, and looked about yawning. The convent-tower of Reichenau was mirrored in the distant lake, as peacefully as if nothing whatever had happened. He tore up a bunch of grass, and held the dewy blades to his forehead. "Vince luna!" said he with a bitter sweet smile. He had got a racking headache.
Rudimann the cellarer, was no bad logician. A roll of parchment-leaves in the jaws of a salmon, must beget curiosity. Whilst Master Spazzo had been drinking the cloister-wine, his mistress and Praxedis sat in their private room, spelling out Gunzo's libel. Ekkehard's pupils had learned enough Latin to understand the chief part, and what remained grammatically obscure, they guessed at, and what they could not guess, they interpreted as well as they could. Praxedis was indignant.
"Is the race of scholars then everywhere like that at Byzantium?" exclaimed she. "First, a gnat is metamorphosed into an elephant, and then a great war is made against the self-created monster! The present from the Reichenau is as sour as vinegar," puckering up her lovely mouth, just as when she had tasted Wiborad's crab-apples.
Dame Hadwig was beset by strange feelings. A certain something told her, that the spirit which pervaded Gunzo's libel was not a good one, and yet she felt some satisfaction at Ekkehard's humiliation.
"I think that he has deserved this reprimand," said she.
Then Praxedis stood up: "Our good teacher needs many a reprimand, but then that should be our business. If we manage to cure him of his shy awkwardness, then we shall have done him a good service; but if someone who carries a beam in his own eye, reproaches his neighbour with the moat in his,--that is too bad! The wicked monks have merely sent this to slander him. May I throw it out of the window, gracious mistress?"
"We have neither requested you to complete Ekkehard's education, nor to throw a present we have received, out of the window," sharply said the Duchess. So Praxedis held her peace.
The Duchess could not tear away her thoughts so easily from the elegant libel. Her ideas with respect to the fair-haired monk, had undergone a great change since the day on which he carried her over the cloister courtyard. Not to be understood in a moment of excited feeling, is like being disdained. The sting remains for ever in the heart. Whenever her eyes now chanced to light on him, it did not make her heart beat any the quicker. Sometimes it was pity which made her gaze kindly on him again; but not that sweet pity out of which love springs, like the lily out of the cool soil. It contained a bitter grain of contempt.
Through Gunzo's libel, even Ekkehard's learning, which the women until then had been wont to treat with great respect, was laid prostrate in the dust,--so what was there now left to admire? The silent working and dreaming of his soul, was not understood by the Duchess, and a delicate timidity is but too often considered folly, by others. His going out into the fields in the fresh morning, to read Solomon's song, came too late. He should have done that last autumn....
Evening had come.
"Has Ekkehard returned home yet?" asked the Duchess.
"No," said Praxedis. "Neither has Master Spazzo returned."
"Then take yonder candlestick," said Dame Hadwig, "and carry up the parchment-leaves to Ekkehard's tower. He must not remain ignorant of the works of his fellow-brothers."
The Greek maid obeyed, but unwillingly. In the closet up in the tower, the air was close and hot. In picturesque disorder, books and other things were strewn about. On the oak table, the gospel of St. Matthew lay opened at the following verses:
"But when Herod's birthday was kept, the daughter of Herodias danced before them and pleased Herod.
"Whereupon he promised with an oath to give her whatsoever she would ask.
"And she, being before instructed of her mother, said, 'Give me here John Baptist's head on a charger.'"
The priestly stole, the Duchess's Christmas-gift to Ekkehard, lay beside it. Its golden fringes were hanging over the little bottle with the water from the Jordan, which the blind Thieto had given him.
Praxedis pushed back the other things, placing Gunzo's libel on the table. When she had arranged everything, she felt sorry. Just about to go, she turned back once more, opened the window, and gathering a branch of the luxuriant ivy which was winding its garlands round the tower, she threw it over the parchment-leaves.
Ekkehard came home very late. He had been nursing the wounded Cappan, but had found it far harder work, to comfort his tall spouse. After the first wailing was over and her tears had been dried, her speech until sunset had been nothing but one great curse against the convent-farmer; and when she raised her strong arms and spoke of scratching his eyes out, of pouring henbane into his ears, and breaking his teeth, whilst her long brown tresses threateningly fluttered in the air, it needed a great effort to quiet her.
Yet he had succeeded at last.
In the silence of night, Ekkehard read the leaves which the Greek maid had put on his table. His hand played with a wild rose, which he had culled in the fir-wood when riding home, whilst his eyes took in the spiteful attacks of the Italian scholar.
"How is it," thought he, inhaling the soft fragrance of the flower, "that so much that is written with ink, cannot deny its origin? All ink is made of the gall-nut, and all gall-nuts spring from the poisonous sting of the wasp." ...
With a serene countenance he finally laid aside the yellow parchment-leaves. "A good work! an industrious good work!--well, the peewit is also an important personage amongst the feathered tribe, but the nightingale does not heed its singing." ... He slept very well after he had read it.
On coming back from the castle-chapel the next morning, he met Praxedis in the courtyard.
"How are you, venerable baptizer of Hunnic idolaters," said she lightly. "I am really very anxious about you. I dreamt that a big brown sea-crab had swum up the Rhine, and from the Rhine into the Bodensee, and from thence, he came up to our castle; and he had got a pair of sharp pincers, and with them he pinched you very badly. The sea-crab's name was Gunzo. Say, have you many more such good friends?"
Ekkehard smiled.
"Most likely, I do not please many a one, who does not please me either," said he. "He, who comes into contact with sooty kettles, easily gets blackened himself."
"You, however, seem to be wholly indifferent about it," said Praxedis. "You ought to be thinking already about the reply. Boil the crab, till it gets dark red. Then he will not bite you again."
"The answer to this," replied Ekkehard, "has been given already by another: 'whosoever shall say to his brother, Raca, shall be in danger of the council: but whosoever shall say, thou fool, shall be in danger of hell fire.'"
"You are extremely mild and pious," said Praxedis, "but take care how you get on in the world with that. Whoever does not defend his skin, will be flayed, and even a miserable enemy should not be considered quite harmless. Seven wasps together will kill a horse, you know."
The Greek maid was right. Silent contempt of an unworthy antagonist, is easily interpreted into weakness. But Ekkehard acted according to his nature.
Praxedis approaching him still closer, so that he started back, now added: "Shall I give you another piece of advice, most reverend Master?" He silently nodded in the affirmative.
"Then let me tell you, that you have again become far too serious of late. To look at you, one would think that you were going to play at nine pins with the moon and stars. We are now in the middle of summer, and your habit must be exceedingly warm. Get yourself some linen garment, and perhaps it would not harm you either to cool your head a little in yonder spring,--but above all be merry and cheerful. The Duchess might otherwise become indifferent towards you."
Ekkehard wanted to take her hand. Sometimes he felt as if Praxedis were his good angel; but at that moment, Master Spazzo on horseback, entered the courtyard at a slow and lingering pace. His head was bent towards the pommel, and a leaden smile rested on his tired features. He was half asleep.
"Your face has undergone a great change since yesterday," called out Praxedis to him. "Why do the sparks not fly out any more from under Falada's hoofs?"
With a vacant stare, he looked down at her. Everything was dancing before his eyes.
"Have you brought home a considerable smart-money, Sir chamberlain?" asked Praxedis.
"Smart-money? for whom?" stolidly said Master Spazzo.
"For poor Cappan! Why, I verily believe that you have eaten a handful of poppy-seed, not to know any more, for what purpose you rode out." ...
"Poppy-seed?" said Master Spazzo in the same drowsy tone. "Poppy-seed? No. But wine of Meersburg, red wine of Meersburg, unmeasured quantities of red Meersburg, yes!"
Heavily he dismounted, and then retired into the privacy of his apartments. The report about the result of his mission, was not given. Praxedis cast an astonished look at the departing chamberlain, as she did not wholly understand the reason of Master Spazzo's peculiar frame of mind.
"Have you never heard, that to a grown-up man, neither springs, woods, nor singing of birds are half so refreshing as old wine?" said Ekkehard, smilingly. "But even as the Jewish prophet boy said to King Darius, when his generals and officers were quarrelling around his throne, about which of them was the strongest: 'The wine is the strongest of all! for it conquers the men who drink it, and leads their minds astray.'"
Praxedis had approached the wall, and was looking downward.
"Do look, you radiant star of science," she now said to Ekkehard, "who may that dainty ecclesiastical little man be, who is coming up here?"
Ekkehard bent over the wall and looked down the steep rocky hill-side. Between the hazel-bushes, bordering the footpath that led up to the castle, walked a boy with wavy brown locks, wearing a monk's habit, coming down to his ankles; sandals on his naked feet, a leathern knapsack on his back, and carrying a staff with an iron point, in his hand. Ekkehard did not recognise him as yet.
After a few minutes he reached the castle-gate. There he turned round, and shading his eyes with his hand, he gazed over the wide beautiful landscape, stretching out before him. Then he entered the courtyard and approached Ekkehard with measured steps. It was Burkhard the cloister-pupil; the son of Ekkehard's sister, who had come over from Constance, to pay a holiday visit to his youthful uncle.
He made a solemn face, and pronounced his greeting as if he had learned it by heart.
Ekkehard embraced the well-behaved boy, who in all the fifteen years of his life had never done a downright foolish thing. Burkhard was the bearer of sundry kind messages from St. Gall, as well as of an epistle of Master Ratpert, who, being busy just then with some translation, asked Ekkehard's advice, in what style and measure he was wont to translate certain difficult passages in Virgil. "Hail, prosperity and progress in knowledge," was the letter's parting salutation.
Ekkehard at once began to question his nephew about all the brothers, but Praxedis soon interrupted him.
"Please to let the pious youngster rest himself first. A parched tongue, is not adapted for speech. Come with me, my little man, thou shalt be a more welcome visitor, than the wicked Rudimann from the Reichenau!"
"Father Rudimann?" exclaimed the boy. "Him I know also."
"How did you get to know him?" asked Ekkehard.
"He paid us a visit but a few days since, and brought a big letter to the Abbot, as well as a treatise, which they say contains a great deal about yourself, beloved uncle, and is not much in your praise."
"Hear, hear!" said Praxedis.
"And when he had taken leave, he only went as far as the church, where he prayed till night-fall. Now he must have known every nook and corner in the monastery, for when the sleeping-bell sounded, he slunk on tiptoe to the great dormitory, there to listen to what the brothers might say about you and the contents of the treatise. The night-lamp burnt but dimly, so that he could crouch down unseen in a dark corner. But at midnight, Father Notker Peppercorn, came to make the round and to inspect whether everyone had fastened his girdle tidily round his garment, and whether no knife or other dangerous weapon was perchance in the bedroom.Hedrew out the stranger from his hiding-place; and the brothers woke up, and the big lanthorn was lighted, and then they all rushed on him, armed with sticks and scourges from the scourging-room, and there was a tremendous noise and uproar, although the Abbot and Dean tried to quiet them. Notker Peppercorn was also highly indignant: 'The devil goes about in disguise, trying whom he may devour,' cried he, 'but we have caught the devil, and will scourge him!'
"But Father Rudimann in spite of all, was yet inclined to be saucy: 'I declare ye excellent youths,' said he, 'if I knew where the carpenter had left some outlet, I should creep away on my hands and feet; but now, when chance has delivered me into your hands, mind that you do not heap insults on the head of your guest!' Then they all got quite furious, and dragged him out into the scourging-room, where he had to go down on his knees to escape scot-free; and when finally the Abbot said: 'We will let the fox go home to his den,' he expressed his thanks in very polite terms.
"On my way, yesterday, I met a cart laden with two big wine-tuns, which the driver told me were a present from the cellarer of the Reichenau, for the friendly reception he had met with, at St. Gall."
"Of all this, Master Rudimann did not breathe a word, when he called on us yesterday," said Praxedis. "For that recital, thou verily deservest a piece of cake, my darling boy. Thou canst tell a story as well as any older person."
"Oh," said the cloister-pupil half offended, "that's nothing! But I am going to write a poem about it, entitled, 'the wolf's invasion of the sheep-fold, and subsequent punishment.' I have already got it half ready in my head. That will be fine!"
"Dost thou also make poems, my young nephew?" gaily said Ekkehard.
"That would be a nice cloister-pupil indeed, who with fourteen years could make no poem!" was the boy's reply. "My hymn in praise of the Archangel Michael, with double-rhymed hexametres, I was permitted to read out to the Abbot, who was pleased to call my verses, 'a glittering string of pearls.' And then my Sapphic ode, in honour of the pious Wiborad is likewise very pretty. Shall I recite it to you!"
"For God's sake!" cried Praxedis. "Dost thou think that one merely drops down into our courtyard to begin at once reciting odes? Thou hadst better eat thy cake first."
She ran off to the kitchen, leaving Ekkehard's learned nephew under the linden-tree, to talk with his uncle. He profited by the opportunity to speak a good deal about thetriviumandquadrivium, and as the Hohentwiel just then threw a delicately drawn shadow on the plain below, the cloister-pupil indulged in a prolix discussion about the cause of all shadows, which he pronounced with great assurance to spring from a compact body standing in the way of light; proving afterwards the vanity of all other definitions.
Like the waters from a fountain, did the scientific flood stream forth from the youthful lips. In astronomy also he was quite at home, and his uncle had to listen patiently to the praise of Zoroaster, and King Ptolemæus of Egypt. Further he had to undergo a strict examination himself, about the shape and application of the astrolabe, and finally the curly-headed nephew began to demonstrate how absurd was the opinion of those, who believed that on the other side of the globe lived the honourable race of the antipodes!
All these fine things he had learned only five days ago,--but at last his uncle did what the brave Emperor Otto did, when the famous Bishop of Rheims, and Otrich the cathedral-schoolmaster of Magdeburg and hundreds of learned abbots and scholars, held their great contest about the basis and classification of theoretical philosophy, before him,--namely he yawned. At that critical moment, Praxedis reappeared with a delicious cherry-tart and a basket filled with various fruits, and these good things speedily gave a more natural turn to the thoughts of the fifteen-years-old philosopher. Like a well-educated boy, he first said grace before eating, as was customary in the monastery, and then he turned his attentions to the annihilation of the cherry-tart, leaving the question of the antipodes to some future time.
Praxedis now turned to Ekkehard. "The Duchess bids me tell you," she said with mock earnestness, "that she feels inclined to return to the study of Virgil. She is anxious to learn the final fate of Queen Dido,--and so we are to begin again this very evening. Remember that you are to wear a more cheerful expression than the present one," added she in a lower key, "as it is a delicate attention, in order to show you that in spite of a certain treatise, her confidence in your learning has not been destroyed."
This was a fact; but Ekkehard received the news with a start of terror. To be again together with the two women as he used to be,--the mere thought was painful. He had not yet learnt to forget a certain Good Friday morning.
He now slapped his nephew on the shoulder, so as to make him start, and said: "Thou hast not come here to spend thy holidays merely with fishing and bird-catching, Burkhard. This afternoon we will read Virgil with the gracious Duchess, and thou shalt be present also."
He thought to place the boy like a shield between the Duchess and his thoughts.
"Very well," replied Burkhard, with cherry-dyed lips. "I prefer Virgil a great deal to hunting and riding, and I shall request the Lady Duchess to teach me some Greek. After that visit when they took you away with them, the cloister-pupils often said, that she knew more Greek than all the venerable fathers of the monastery, put together. They say that she learnt it by sorcery. And although I am the first in Greek ..."
"Then you will certainly be Abbot in five years, and in twenty, holy father at Rome," said Praxedis mockingly. "Meanwhile you would do well to wash your blue lips in yonder spring."
At the fourth hour of the evening, Ekkehard was waiting in the pillared hall below, ready to resume his reading of the Æneid. More than six months had gone by, during which Virgil had been laid aside. Ekkehard felt oppressed. He opened one of the windows through which the pleasant cool air of evening came streaming in.
The cloister-pupil was turning over the leaves of the Latin manuscript.
"When the Duchess speaks to thee, mind to be very polite," said Ekkehard. But he replied with a complacent air: "with such a grand lady, I shall only speak in verse. She shall see that a pupil from the inner school stands before her."
Here, the Duchess entered, followed by Praxedis. She greeted Ekkehard with a slight bend of the head. Without appearing to notice the boy, she sat down in her richly carved arm-chair. Burkhard had made her a graceful bow, from the lower end of the table, where he stood.
Ekkehard opened the book, when the Duchess said indifferently: "Why is that boy here?"
"He is but a humble auditor," said Ekkehard, "who, inspired by the wish to learn the Greek language, ventures to approach such a noble teacher. He would be very happy, if from your lips he could learn ..."
But before Ekkehard had ended his speech, Burkhard had approached the Duchess. With eyes cast down, and a mixture of shyness and confidence, he said with a clear intonation of the rhythm:
"Esse velim Graecus, cum vix sim, dom'na[1], Latinus."
It was a faultless hexametre.
Dame Hadwig listened with astonishment; for a curly-headed boy, who could make an hexametre, was an unheard-of thing in the Allemannic lands then. And moreover he had improvised it in her honour. Therefore she was really pleased with the youthful verse-maker.
"Let me look at thee a little nearer," said she drawing him towards her. She was charmed with him, for he had a lovely boyish face, with a red and white complexion, so soft and transparent, that the blue veins could be seen through it.
In luxuriant masses, the brown curls fell down over his temples, whilst a bold, aquiline nose rose over the learned youthful lips, as if it were mocking their utterance. Then, Dame Hadwig put her arms round the boy, and kissing him on both lips and cheeks, fondled him like a child almost, and finally pushing a cushioned footstool close to her side, bade him sit down on it.
"To begin with, thou shalt gather something else than Greek wisdom from my lips," said she jestingly, giving him another kiss. "But now be a good boy, and quickly say some more well-set verses."
She pushed back his curls from his blushing face; but the cloister-pupil's metrical powers were not discomposed even by the kiss of a Duchess. Ekkehard had stepped up to the window, where he looked out towards the Alps, whilst Burkhard without hesitation, recited the following lines:
"Non possum prorsus dignos componere versus,Nam nimis expavi duce me libante suavi."
"Non possum prorsus dignos componere versus,Nam nimis expavi duce me libante suavi."
He had again produced two faultless hexametres.
The Duchess laughed out gaily. "Well, I verily believe that thou didst greet the light of this world with a Latin verse, at thy birth? That flows from thy lips as if Virgil had arisen from his grave. But why art thou frightened when I kiss thee?"
"Because you are so grand, and proud and beautiful," said the boy.
"Never mind," replied the Duchess. "He, who with the fresh kiss yet burning on his lips, can improvise such perfect verses, cannot be very much terrified."
Making him stand up before her, she asked him: "And why art thou so very eager to learn Greek?"
"Because they say, that if a man knows Greek, he can become so clever as to hear the grass grow," was the ready answer. "Ever since my fellow-pupil Notker with the large lip, has vaunted himself, that he were going to learn all Aristotle by heart, and then translate it into German, I have been uneasy in my mind."
Dame Hadwig again laughed merrily. "Let us begin then? Dost thou know the antiphon, 'Ye seas and rivers praise the Lord?'"
"Yes," said Burkhard.
"Then repeat after me, '[Greek: Thalassi kai potami, eulogite ton kurion.]'"
The boy repeated it.
"Now sing it!" He did so.
Ekkehard looked over reproachfully at them. The Duchess interpreted the look aright.
"So, now thou hast learnt six words already," she said to Burkhard, "and as soon as thou wilt ask for it in hexametres, thou shalt be taught some more. For the present, sit down there at my feet, and listen attentively. We will read Virgil now."
Then, Ekkehard began the fourth canto of the Æneïd; and read of the sorrows of Dido, who is ever beset by thoughts of the noble Trojan guest, whose words and looks are all deeply engraven on her inmost heart. And she speaks out her grief thus to her sister:
"If it were not decreed, in the depth of my soul, that I never,Wedlock again would contract, with any man that is living,If I, the torches of Hymen, and bridal room not detested,Might be so weak perhaps, to give way to this present temptation.Anna, to thee confess, that since my beloved Sichæus,Fell with the wound in his heart, at the feet of the blood-dripping Lares,He alone, has succeeded in touching my heart, and disturbing.All the peace of my soul, that is changed into strife and contention."
"If it were not decreed, in the depth of my soul, that I never,Wedlock again would contract, with any man that is living,If I, the torches of Hymen, and bridal room not detested,Might be so weak perhaps, to give way to this present temptation.Anna, to thee confess, that since my beloved Sichæus,Fell with the wound in his heart, at the feet of the blood-dripping Lares,He alone, has succeeded in touching my heart, and disturbing.All the peace of my soul, that is changed into strife and contention."
But Dame Hadwig had not much sympathy with the sorrows of the Carthaginian widowed queen. She leaned back in her arm-chair and looked up at the ceiling. She found no longer any similarity between herself and the desolate woman in the book.
"Stop a moment," cried she. "How very clear it is, that this is written by a man. He wants to humiliate women! It is all false! Who on earth would fall so madly in love with an utter stranger?"
"That, Virgil has to answer for," said Ekkehard. "History no doubt bequeathed the facts to him."
"Then, the present generation of women is somewhat stronger-minded," said the Duchess, making a sign to him to continue. She was almost offended with Virgil's description. Perhaps because she was reminded of certain Didonian feelings which she had experienced herself, one day. Things had not always been, as they now were.
And he read on, how Anna advises her sister not to struggle any longer against her growing passion; and how,--though peace and rest might be implored for, by sacrifices on the altars of the mighty Gods,--the relentless, devouring flame was yet burning on inwardly, and the wound did not heal.
And again the poor deluded queen, desires to hear of the battles round Ilium, and:
"When she was left then alone, and the rays of the queen of the heavens,Fell on her desolate couch, and the stars were silently shining,Seeming to mock at her grief, which, excluding the pain-stilling slumber,Kept her awake at night, when she thought of him, her beloved.Many a time, to delude her heart, and stifle its longingsShe would fondle the boy, the image of him, of Æneas."
"When she was left then alone, and the rays of the queen of the heavens,Fell on her desolate couch, and the stars were silently shining,Seeming to mock at her grief, which, excluding the pain-stilling slumber,Kept her awake at night, when she thought of him, her beloved.Many a time, to delude her heart, and stifle its longingsShe would fondle the boy, the image of him, of Æneas."
A low giggle here interrupted the reading. The cloister-pupil, sitting at the Duchess's feet, so as almost to touch her wavy robes, had listened attentively until now, when he struggled in vain to stifle a rising laugh, which at last broke out, though he had covered up his face with his hands to keep it back.
"What is the matter now, young verse-maker?" asked the Duchess.
"I could not help thinking," said the boy with some embarrassment, "that if my gracious mistress were the queen Dido, I should have been acting the part of Ascanius, when you deigned to kiss and caress me."
The Duchess looked down sharply at the boy. "Art thou inclined to be naughty? Well 'tis no wonder," added she, pointing at his curls, "for the precocious youth has already got grey hairs on his head."
... "That is from the night when they slew Romeias," the cloister-pupil wanted to say, but could not, as the Duchess sharply continued: "That comes from thy forwardness, which makes thee say foolish things, when thou hadst better be silent. Get up little man!"
Burkhard rose from the stool, and stood blushingly before her.
"So," said she, "now go to Praxedis and tell her that as a punishment, all thy grey hairs are to be cut off, and beg her to do it for you. That will be a good cure for untimely laughter."
The boy's eyes filled with big tears, but he dared not disobey. So he went up to Praxedis, who had some sympathy for him, since she had heard that he had been Romeias' companion, during his last hours.
"I shall not hurt thee, my little saint," she whispered drawing him towards her. He knelt down before her, bending his young head over her lap, whilst she took a big pair of scissors out of her straw-braided work-basket, and executed the punishment.
At first, the cloister-pupil's sobs, sounded dolefully,--for he who allowed a strange hand to touch his locks, was considered to be deeply dishonoured,--but Praxedis's soft little hand caressingly patted his cheeks, after having ruffled his curls, so that, in spite of all punishment, he felt almost happy and his mouth smilingly caught up the last falling tear.
Ekkehard looked down silently for a while. Frivolous, though graceful jesting, makes a sad heart but sadder. He was hurt that the Duchess had thus interrupted his reading. Looking up into her eyes, he found no comfort there. "She trifles with thee, as well as she trifles with the boy," thought he, closing the book and rising from his seat.
"You are right," said he to Dame Hadwig, "'tis all wrong. Dido ought to laugh, and Æneas to go and kill himself with his sword. Then, it would be quite natural."
She gazed at him with an unsteady look. "What is the matter with you?" asked she.
"I cannot read any more," replied he.
The Duchess had risen also.
"If you do not care to read any longer," she said with an apparently indifferent expression, "there are still other ways and means to pass one's time. What say you, if I were to ask you to tell us some graceful tale,--you might choose whatever you liked. There are still many grand and beautiful things, besides your Virgil. Or, you might invent something yourself. I see that you are oppressed by some care. You neither like to read, nor to go out into the country. Everything hurts your eyes, as you say. I think that your mind lacks some great task which we will now give you."
"What could I invent?" replied Ekkehard. "Is it not enough happiness to be the echo of a master, like Virgil?" He looked with a veiled eye at the Duchess. "I should only be able to chant elegies very sad ones too."
"Nothing else?" said Dame Hadwig reproachfully. "Have our ancestors not gone out to war, and let their bugles sound the alarum through the world, and have they not fought battles as grand as those of Æneas? Do you believe that the great Emperor Charles would have had all the old national songs collected and sung, if they had been nothing but chaff? Must you then, take everything out of your Latin books?"
"I know nothing," repeated Ekkehard.
"But youmustknow something," persisted the Duchess. "If we, who live here in this castle, were to sit together of an evening and talk of old tales and legends, I shouldn't wonder, if we should produce something more than the whole of the Æneïd contains? 'Tis true that the pious son of the Emperor Charles, did not care any more for the old heroic songs, and preferred listening to whining psalms; until he died, diseased in body and mind; but we still cling to those old tales. Do tell us such a story, Master Ekkehard, and we will gladly spare you your Virgil with his love-sick queen."
But Ekkehard's thoughts were quite differently occupied. He shook his head like one who is dreaming.
"I see that you want some stimulant," said the Duchess. "Above all, a good example will inspire you. Praxedis, prepare thyself, and likewise tell our chamberlain, that we are going to entertain ourselves to-morrow, with the telling of old legends. Let everybody be well prepared."
She took up Virgil and threw it under the table, as a sign that a new aera was to begin forthwith.
Her idea was certainly good, and well conceived. Only the cloister-pupil who had rested his head on Praxedis's lap, whilst the Duchess spoke, had not quite taken in her meaning.
"When may I learn some more Greek, gracious mistress?" asked he. [Greek: "Thalassi kai potami." ...]
"When the grey hairs are grown again," said she gaily, giving him another kiss.
Ekkehard left the hall with hasty steps.
On the top of the Hohentwiel and within the castle-walls, a very pretty, though small garden had been laid out on a steep projecting rock, encircled by a wall. It was a lovely place; well-fitted for observation. The hill was so steep there, that by leaning over the parapet, one could throw a stone down into the valley below, and he, who delighted in an extensive view, could there enjoy it to his heart's content; his eye taking in, mountain and plain, lake and distant Alps; no obstacle barring the view.
In a corner of this little garden, an old maple-tree spread out its branches undisturbed. Its winged seeds were already ripe and brown, fluttering down on the black garden earth below. A ladder had been placed against its greyish green trunk, at the foot of which, Praxedis was standing, holding the corner of a long and heavy piece of tent-cloth; whilst Burkhard, the cloister-pupil, was sitting high up in the branches, trying to fasten the other ends with the help of a hammer and some nails.
"Attention," called out Praxedis. "I verily believe that thou art watching yonder stork, flying over to Radolfszell. Take care, thou paragon of all Latin scholars, and do not drive the nail into the air!"
Praxedis had lifted the cloth with her left hand, and when the cloister-pupil now let go the other end, it fell down heavily, tearing out the badly fixed nails, and entirely burying the Greek maid under its massy folds.
"There now,--thou awkward boy!" scolded Praxedis, as soon as she had disentangled herself from the coarse wrapper. "I suppose I must look out whether there are not anymore grey hairs to be cut off!"
Scarcely had she pronounced the last word, when the cloister-pupil became visible on the ladder, and jumping down from the middle, he now stood on the cloth, before Praxedis.
"Sit down," said he, "I do not mind in the least, being punished again. I have dreamt this very night, that you cut off all my curls, and that I had returned to school with an entirely bald head,--and yet I was not sorry for it."
Praxedis lightly clapped his head. "Don't grow too impudent during the holidays, my little man; or thy back will prove a nice floor for the rod to dance upon, when thou gettest back to thy cloister-school."
But the cloister-pupil was not thinking of the cool auditories of his monastery. He remained standing motionless before Praxedis.
"Well?" said she, "what is the matter?" "what dost thou want?"
"A kiss," replied the pupil of the liberal arts.
"Heigho! nothing else?" laughed Praxedis. "What reasons has thy wisdom for such a demand?"
"The Lady Duchess has kissed me also," said Burkhard, "and you have often asked me to tell you all about that day, when I fled with my brave, old friend Romeias before the Huns, and how he fought like a hero, as he was. All this I shall not tell you, unless you will give me a kiss."
"Listen," said the Greek maid with a mock serious face, "I have something very wonderful to tell you."
"What?" asked the boy eagerly.
"That thou art the naughtiest little rogue, that has ever set his foot on the threshold of a cloister-school," continued she, and suddenly throwing her white arms around him, she gave him a hearty kiss on the nose.
"Well done, I declare!" called out a deep bass voice from the garden-door, at the very moment when she playfully pushed the boy away from her. It was Master Spazzo.
"Ah, is it you?" said Praxedis, perfectly unabashed. "You are just in time, Sir Chamberlain, to assist us in fixing this canvass. I shall never get it done, with that silly boy!"
"So it appears," said Master Spazzo, with a cutting look at the cloister-pupil, who, standing rather in awe of the chamberlain's fierce-looking moustache, slipped away between some rose-bushes. Astronomy and the metrics, Aristotle in the original language, and red girlish lips, formed a strange medley in the youthful mind.
"Are there no fitter objects for kisses in this castle, gentle maiden?" asked Master Spazzo.
"If one should ever feel so inclined," was Praxedis' answer, "the fitter objects ride away and stray about in night and darkness; and when they return at daytime, they look as if they had been chasing the will-o'-the-wisps all night."
Herewith, Master Spazzo was answered. He had made a vow not to betray a single word of his nightly adventures; cuckoo, andvince lunaincluded.
"In what way can I help you?" said he humbly.
"In making a bower," said Praxedis. "In the cool hours of the evening, the Duchess will hold court here, and then stories are to be told; old stories, Sir chamberlain, the more wonderful, the better! Our Mistress has grown tired of Latin, and wishes for something else. Something original, that has not yet been written down,--you are also expected to contribute your mite!"
"The Lord protect my soul!" exclaimed Master Spazzo. "If under the reign of a woman everything was not wondrously strange, I really should begin to wonder at this. Are there no wandering minstrels and lute-players left, who, for a helmet full of wine, and a leg of deer, will sing themselves hoarse with such tales? We are rising in estimation! 'Vagabonds, jugglers, bards and the like strolling idlers, are to be flogged, and if they complain, they are to receive a man's shadow on a wall, as an indemnification.'[2]I thank you for that honour!"
"You will do what you are commanded, like a faithful vassal, who, moreover has still to render a report about a certain business, transacted over the monastic wine-jug," said Praxedis. "It will be merrier at any rate, than to spell out Latin! Have you no desire to out-rival the learned Master Ekkehard?"
This hint made some impression on the chamberlain's mind. "Give me the corners of the cloth," said he, "so that I may fix them." He then mounted the ladder, and fastened the ends to the branches. Opposite, were some tall poles, entwined with the blue blossomed bean-plant. To these, Praxedis tied the other two corners, and very soon the greyish white canvass formed a nice roof, contrasting pleasantly with the green foliage.
"It would be a very cozy place for drinking the vesper wine," said Master Spazzo half sadly at the idea of that which was to come.
Praxedis, meanwhile arranged the table and seats. The Duchess's stuffed arm-chair, with the finely carved back, touched the stem of the maple-tree, whilst some low stools were placed round for the others. Fetching down her lute, Praxedis put it on the table beside a huge nosegay which she had ordered Burkhard to make. Finally, she tied a strong thread of red silk, first to the trunk, then, round the bean-plantation and from there, to the wall, so as to leave free only a narrow entrance.
"There," said she gaily, "now our fairy-hall is hedged in, like King Laurins' rose-garden. The walls were not very difficult to make."
The Duchess, taking much pleasure in her idea, adorned herself with particular care on that day. It was still somewhat early to be called evening, when she went down to the bower. She was really a dazzling apparition, as she proudly sailed along, in her flowing robes. The sleeves and seams were richly embroidered with gold, and a steel-gray tunic, held by jewelled clasps, fell down to the ground like a mantle. On her head she wore a soft transparent tissue, a sort of veil; fastened to a golden head-band. Pulling out a rose from Burkhard's nosegay, she stuck it in, between the head-band and the veil.
The cloister-pupil, who was fast forgetting his classics and liberal arts, had begged leave to carry the Duchess's train, and it was in her honour that he had donned a pair of very queer-looking, pointed shoes, adorned on both sides with ears. He certainly felt a good deal elated at the happiness of being allowed to act as page to such a mistress.
Praxedis and Master Spazzo came in after her. The Duchess, casting her eyes hastily about, now said: "Has Master Ekkehard, for whose especial benefit we have appointed this evening,--become invisible?"
"My uncle must be ill," said Burkhard. "He paced up and down in his room with hasty steps yesterday evening, and when I wanted to show him the different constellations, such as the bear, and Orion and the faintly glittering Pleïads, he gave me no answer whatever. At last, he threw himself on his couch with all his clothes on, and talked a good deal in his sleep.
"What did he say?" asked the Duchess.
"He said, 'oh my dove that art in the clefts of the rock, and in the secret places of the stones; let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice. For sweet is thy voice and thy countenance is lovely.' And another time he said: 'Why do you kiss the boy before my eyes? what do I hope still, and why do I tarry yet in the Lybian lands?'"
"That is a nice state of things, I declare," whispered Master Spazzo into the Greek maid's ear. "Does that rest onyourconscience?"
The Duchess, however, said to Burkhard: "I suppose that thou hast been dreaming thyself. Run up to thy uncle and make him come down as we are waiting for him."
She sat down gracefully on her throne-like seat. The cloister-pupil soon came back with Ekkehard, who was looking very pale, whilst his eyes had something wild and sad about them. He silently bowed his head, and then sat down at the opposite end of the table. Burkhard wanted to place his stool again at the Duchess's feet, as he had done the day before, when they had read Virgil;--but Ekkehard rose and pulled him over by the hand. "Come hither!" said he. The Duchess let him do as he wished.
Casting first a look around her, she began thus: "We pretended yesterday, that in our German legends and tales, there was as much, and as good matter for entertainment, as in the Roman epic of Æneas; and I doubt not that each person amongst us, knows something of heroic battles, and besieged fortresses; of the separation of faithful lovers, and the dissensions of mighty kings. The human heart is differently disposed, so that that, which does not interest the one, may please the other. Therefore we have made the arrangement, that each of our faithful subjects, as the lot will decide, shall relate some graceful tale; and it will be our task then, to allot a prize for the best story. If one of you men should be the conqueror, he shall have the ancient drinking-horn, which, from the time of King Dagobert, has been hanging in the great hall; and if my faithful Praxedis should be the victorious one, some pretty trinket is to be her reward. The pulling of straws shall decide who is to begin."
Praxedis had prepared four bits of straw of different lengths, which she handed to the Duchess.
"Shall I add another for the young verse-maker?" asked she.
But Burkhard said in a doleful voice: "I beseech you to spare me; for, if my teacher at St. Gall were to hear, that I had again diverted myself with idle tales, I should certainly be punished as I was when we acted the story of the old Hildebrand and his son Hadubrand, in Romeias' room. The gate-keeper, always delighted in it, and it was he who made our wooden horses and shields, with his own hands. I was the son Hadubrand, and my fellow-pupil Notker acted old Hildebrand; his underlip being as big as that of an old man. Ho, didn't we fly at each other, so that a cloud of dust flew out of Romeias's windows! Notker had already unfastened his arm-ring, holding it out to me, as the old song describes it, and I was just saying: 'Hoho thou old blade! Thou art really too cunning by half. Dost thou think to beguile we with thy words, and then, to throw thy spear at me? Has thy head become hoary, with treachery and lies? Seafaring men in the west, on the Wendel lake told me: he was killed in the wars, was Hildebrand the son of Heribrand!' when Master Ratolt, our teacher of rhetoric, came upstairs on tip-toe, and belaboured us so fiercely with his large rod, that sword and shield fell from our hands.
"Romeias, was called a stupid old blockhead, for decoying us from useful studies, and my friend Notker and myself were locked up for three days, fed on bread and water, and had to make a hundred and fifty Latin hexametres in honour of St. Othmar, as a punishment."
The Duchess smiled. "God forbid, that we should tempt thee again to such a sin," said she.
She put the four straws into her right hand, and smilingly held them out, for them to draw. Ekkehard's eyes were fixed immovably on the rose under her head-band, as he stepped up to her. She had to speak to him twice, before he pulled out a straw.
"Death and damnation!" Master Spazzo almost ejaculated, for he had got hold of the shortest straw. But he well knew that no excuse would be available, and dolefully looked down into the valley, as if he expected help to come from thence. Praxedis had tuned her lute and was playing a prelude, that blended sweetly with the rustling of the branches in the old maple-tree.
"Our chamberlain has to fear no punishment, if he will relate us some pretty story," said the Duchess. "Please to begin."
Then, Master Spazzo bent his head forwards, put his sword with its broad hilt before him, so that he could lean on it, gave a preliminary stroke to his beard, and thus began:
"Although I never took much delight in old stories, preferring to hear the clashing of two good swords, or the tapping of a tun of good wine, I yet once chanced to come across a fine legend. In my younger days I had to make a journey to Italy, and my road then took me through the Tyrol and over the Brenner mountain; and it was a rough and stony path, leading me over many a rock, and through many a wild glen, so that my horse lost one of its shoes. When the evening set in, I had reached a little village, called Gothensass, or Gloggensachsen, which from the times of Sir Dietrich of Bern, has lain there, hidden amongst the larch-woods. At the outskirts of this village, and built against the mountain, there was a house, much resembling a stronghold, before which, there lay heaps of iron dross, whilst inside there was a big fire, and someone who was lustily pounding the anvil.
"So, I called to the blacksmith to come forth and shoe my horse, and when nobody came, I gave a knock at the door with the butt-end of my lance, so that it flew open as wide as it could, whilst I gave vent to some tremendous curse, of death and murder and all possible evils. Suddenly, a man stood before me, with shaggy hair and a leathern apron, and scarcely had I set eyes on him, when my lance was already beaten down, so that it broke to pieces as if it had been mere glass, whilst an iron bar, was swung threateningly over my head. On the man's naked arms, there were to be seen sinews, which looked as if he could strike an anvil ten fathom deep into the ground. Then, I bethought myself, that under such circumstances a polite speech might not come amiss, and therefore I said: I merely wanted to beseech you, to shoe my horse. Then the blacksmith drove the iron bar into the ground and said: 'That sounds somewhat different and will help you. Rudeness, however, will attain nothing at Weland's forge. That's what you may tell the people where you come from.'
"After this speech he shod my horse, and I saw that he was a skilful and honourable blacksmith, and so we became very good friends, and I let my horse be put into his stables, and remained his guest for the night. And we caroused together till late and the wine was called Terlaner, and he poured it out of a leathern bottle.
"Whilst we were thus drinking, I questioned my sooty host about the name of his forge, and how it had got that name; upon which he struck up a loud laugh, and then told me the story of 'Smith Weland.' And if it was not exactly what you might call very refined, it was for all that a very pretty tale."
Master Spazzo stopped a while, throwing a look at the table, like one who looks about for a draught of wine, to moisten his dry lips with. But wine there was none, and the look was not understood. So he continued.
"Whence smith Weland had come, said the man of Gothensass to me, had never been quite ascertained. It was said, that in the northern seas, in the land of Schonen, the giant Vade was his father, and that his grandmother was a mermaid, who, when he was born, came up from the depth of the sea, and sat a whole night on a rock and harped: 'young Weland, must become a blacksmith.' So, in the course of time, Vade brought the boy to Mimer, the famous armourer, who lived in a dark fir-wood, twenty miles behind Toledo, and who instructed him in all the branches of his art.
"As soon, however, as he had made his first sword, Mimer advised him to go away, and to acquire the last finishing touch in his craft, amongst the dwarfs. So, Weland went to the dwarfs and became much renowned.
"One day, however, the giants invaded dwarf-land, so that Weland had to fly, and he could take nothing away with him, except his broad sword Mimung. This, he buckled across his back; and chance then brought him to the Tirol. Between the Eisach, Etsch and Inn, there reigned in those days King Elberich, who kindly received Weland and gave him the forge in the wood on the Brenner-mountain, and all the iron and ore which was hidden in the mountain's veins, was put at his disposal. And Weland's heart became light and happy, in the Tyrolese Alps. The mountain-torrents rushed past him, setting his wheels a going; the winds fanned his fire into brighter flames, and the stars said to each other: 'we must do our best, or the sparks which Weland produces will outshine us.' Thus Weland's work prospered. Shield and swords, knives and drinking-cups, as well as all the ornaments which adorn a king's palace, were made by his dexterous hands, and there was no smith, as far as the sun shone on Alpine snow, who could compare with him. King Elberich, however, had many bitter enemies, who one day formed an alliance, with the one-eyed Aemilius for their leader, and invaded the land. And Elberich's heart was filled with dismay, and he said: 'He, who will bring me Aemilius's head, shall marry my only daughter.' Then, Weland extinguished the fire in his forge, buckled on his broad sword Mimung, and went out to fight King Elberich's enemies. And his good sword cut off Aemilius's head, so that the whole body of enemies turned round and fled homewards, as fast as ever they could. Weland, however, presented the head to the King. But he said angrily: 'what I have said about my daughter, the winds have scattered; a smith can never become my son-in-law, for he would blacken my hands, when I extended them for a friendly greeting. But thou shalt have three golden coins as a reward. With these, a man can tilt and joust, dance and make merry, and buy himself a wench in the market.' Weland, however, threw the three golden coins at his feet, so that they rolled under the throne, and said: 'May God bless you; you will never see me more!' and with this he turned round, to leave the land. But the king, not wanting to lose the smith, had him thrown to the ground, and his tendons cut, so that he became lame, and had to give up all thoughts of flight.
"Then, Weland, dragged himself in sadness home to his forge, and relighted his fire; but he whistled and sang no more, when he wielded the heavy hammer and his mind was embittered. One day, the king's son, a red-cheeked boy, who had run out alone into the wood, came in and said: 'Weland, I want to look at thy work.' Then the smith artfully replied: 'Place thyself close to the anvil; there thou wilt see everything best,'--and he took the red-hot iron bar out of the flames, and stabbed the king's son, right into the heart with it. The bones he afterwards bleached, and covered with ore and silver, so that they became pillars for candlesticks, and the skull he encircled with gold, making it into a drinking cup. All this, Weland sent to Elberich, and when the messengers came to inquire for the boy, he said: 'I have not seen him; he must have run out into the woods.'
"Some time afterwards, the King's daughter was walking in her garden. She was so beautiful that the lilies bowed their heads before her. On her forefinger she wore a ring of gold, shaped like a serpent, in the head of which there glistened a carbuncle, which Elberich had set there himself; and he held this ring far dearer than a kingdom, and had given it to his daughter only, because he loved her above everything. As she was culling a rose, the ring fell from the maiden's finger, and rolling over the stones it got broken, and the carbuncle fell out of its golden setting, so that the maid lamented bitterly, wringing her hands, and would not go home for fear of her father's anger.
"Then, one of her waiting-women said to her: 'You must go secretly to smith Weland, and he will mend it for you.' So the king's daughter entered Weland's forge, and told him her grief. He took the ring out of her hand, and set about repairing it, so that the carbuncle soon shone out again from the serpent's head. But all this while, Weland's forehead had been wearing a dark frown, and when the maiden kindly smiled at him, and turned to go, he said: 'Oho, you shall not go away yet!' And he locked the strong door, and seizing the king's daughter with strong arms, he carried her into his chamber, where moss and fern-leaves lay heaped up. And when she went away she wept aloud, and tore her soft, silken hair ..."
Here, Master Spazzo was interrupted by a slight noise. Praxedis, with a deep blush overspreading her features, had cast an inquiring look at the Duchess, to see whether she should not jump up, to close Master Spazzo's mouth, but as nothing of the kind was to be read in her calm, set features, she impatiently drummed with her fingers on the back of her lute.
"... and a deed of violence had been done," Master Spazzo continued, quite unabashed. "Then, Weland began singing and shouting, in such a manner as had never been heard in the forge before, ever since his tendons had been cut. Leaving his shields and swords unfinished, he now worked day and night, and forged for himself a pair of large metal wings, and he had hardly finished them, when King Elberich came down the Brenner mountain, with a strong body of armed men. Then, Weland quickly fastened the wings to his shoulders, and hung his sword Mimung, over his back, and thus equipped he mounted the roof of his house, so that the men exclaimed: 'Behold, smith Weland has become a bird!' With a powerful voice he then called out: 'May God bless you, King Elberich! You will not forget the smith so easily, I trow! Your son I have slain, and your daughter is with child, by me. Farewell, and give her my greetings!' After this, he spread out his huge wings, making a noise like a hurricane, and flew through the air. The King seized his bow, and all the knights hastily followed his example. Like an army of flying dragons, the arrows whizzed round his head; but not one of them hit him, and he flew home to his father's castle in Schonen, and never was seen again. And Elberich never gave Weland's message to his daughter, who in that same year gave birth to a son, who was called Wittich, and became a strong hero like his father.
"That is the story of smith Weland!"
Master Spazzo leaned back, heaving a deep sigh of relief. "They will not trouble me a second time for a story, I warrant," thought he. The impression which the story had made on the hearers was very different. The Duchess, expressed herself well satisfied with it. She had some sympathy with the smith's revenge, whilst Praxedis angrily said that it was truly a sooty smith's story, and that the chamberlain ought to be ashamed to show himself before women! Ekkehard said: "I don't know, but it seems to me as if I had once heard something like it, but then, the king's name was Nidung, and the forge was at the foot of the Caucasus."
Then the chamberlain called out angrily: "If you prefer the Caucasus to Gloggensachsen, very well, then you may lay the scene there, but I well recollect how my Tyrolese friend showed me the very spot itself. Over the chamber door, there was a broken rose of metal, and an iron eagle's wing, and below it the words, 'here the smith flew away,' were engraved. Now and then, people come there to pray, as they believe Weland to have been a great saint."
"Let us see who will be the first to try and outrival Master Spazzo," said the Duchess, once more mixing the straws. They drew accordingly, and the shortest, this time, remained with Praxedis. She neither appeared embarrassed, nor did she appeal to the indulgence of her listeners. Passing her white little hand over her dark tresses she began thus:
"It is true, that my nurses never sang me any lullabies of valiant knights, and thank God, I have never been in a lonely forge in a wood; but even in Constantinople you may hear such tales recited. At the time when I was instructed at the Emperor's court, in all the arts well becoming a serving maiden, there was also an old woman who kept the keys, by name Glycerium, who often said to us: 'Listen ye maidens all, if you should ever serve a princess whose heart is consumed by a secret passion, and who cannot see him whom she loves, then, you must be sly and thoughtful like the waiting-woman Herlindis, when King Rother wooed the daughter of the Emperor Constantine.' And when we were sitting together of an evening in the women's apartment, then, they whispered and chattered, until old Glycerium, related the story ofKing Rother.
"In the olden times there was an Emperor, also called Constantine, living in his castle on the Bosporus, who had a wondrously beautiful daughter; and people said of her that she was radiant like the evening-star and outshone all other maids like a golden thread amongst silken ones. One fine day there arrived a great ship, out of which landed twelve counts and twelve knights, and they all rode into Constantine's courtyard; one of them, whose name was Lupolt, riding at their head. And all the people of the city marvelled at them, for their garments and mantles were heavy with gold and precious stones, and the horses' saddles rang with little golden bells. These were the messengers of King Rother of Vikingland, and Lupolt jumped down from his saddle, and spoke thus to the Emperor:
"'We are sent out by our king, called Rother, who is the handsomest man, ever born of woman. He is served by the best of heroes, and his court is the constant scene of balls and tournaments and all that heart can desire. But as yet he is unmarried, and his heart feels lonely.
"'You should give him your daughter!'
"Now, Constantine was a hot-tempered man, and throwing the imperial globe fiercely to the ground, he cried: 'Nobody has as yet wooed my daughter, who has not lost his head in the endeavour. How do you dare to insult me in that way? You are all my prisoners.'
"And he had them thrown into a dungeon, into which neither sun nor moon could shine; and they had nothing but bread and water to live on; and there they shed many bitter tears of sorrow.
"When the tidings reached King Rother, his heart was filled with sadness, and he sat on a rock all alone, and would speak to nobody. Then, he formed the resolution of crossing the seas, like a true knight, to succour his faithful messengers; and as he had been warned against the Greeks, and had been told that if a man wanted to attain anything there, he must needs paint and gild truth, he made his knights take an oath, that they would all pretend, that his name was not Rother but Dietrich, and that he had been banished by King Rother, and had come to crave the Greek Emperor's assistance. Thus, they set out in a ship, and Rother took his harp on board with him, for before his twelve ambassadors had weighed anchor, he came to the shore with his harp and played three airs, which they were to remember, saying: 'If ever you should be in distress, and hear these airs, you will know that Rother is near and will help you.'
"It was on Easter-day and the Emperor Constantine had gone on horseback to Hippodrom, when Rother made his entrance. And all the citizens of Constantinople ran out of their houses, for such a sight they had never seen before. Rother had brought his giants along with him. The first was called Asprian, and carried an iron bar which measured six yards in length; the second was called Widolt and was so fierce that they had loaded him with chains, and the third was called Eveningred.
"Besides these, a large member of valiant knights followed him, and twelve carriages loaded with jewels came in the rear, and the whole was such a splendid spectacle, that the Empress said: 'Alas, how stupid we have been, in refusing our daughter to King Rother! What a man he must be, to send such an army of heroes over the seas!'
"King Rother himself, wore a gold breast-plate, and a purple coat, and two rows of beautiful rings on his wrists. And he bent his knee before the Greek Emperor and said: 'I, the Prince Dietrich have been outlawed by a king whose name is Rother, so that all I have ever done in his service, now tells against me. I have come to offer my services to you.'
"Then, Constantine invited all the heroes to his court at Hippodrom, and treating them with all honour, he made them sit down at his own table. Now, in the hall there was a tame lion, which used to take away the serving-men's food. It also came to Asprian's plate, to lick it up, upon which the giant seized it by the mane, and threw it against the wall, that it was killed on the spot. Then the chamberlains said to each other: 'He who has no desire to be thrown against the wall, had best leave that man's plate alone.'
"King Rother then began to distribute a great many handsome presents amongst the Greeks. Everyone who visited him in his temporary abode received either a mantle or some piece of arms. Amongst others there also came an outlawed count, to whom he gave a thousand silver crowns, and took him into his service, so that his train was increased by many hundred knights.
"Thus, the so-called Dietrich's praise was in the mouth of everybody, and amongst the women there began a whispering and talking, so that there was not a chamber whose walls did not ring with Sir Dietrich's name.
"Then, the goldenhaired daughter of the Emperor said to Herlindis, her waiting-woman: 'Alas, what shall I do, that I also may obtain a look at the man whom they all renown so?' And Herlindis replied: 'The best thing would be if you begged your father, to give a great banquet, and to invite the stranger guests; then you could easily see him.'
"The Emperor's daughter followed this advice, and Constantine did not say her nay, and he invited all his dukes and counts as well as the foreign heroes. All who were invited came; and around him, whom they called Dietrich, there was a great crowd, and just when the princess with her hundred court-ladies came in, with the golden crown on her head, and her gold-embroidered purple mantle, there was a great noise, which was occasioned by a chamberlain's having ordered Asprian the giant, to move on his bench, to make room for other people. For all reply, Asprian gave the chamberlain a box on the ear which split his head, and there ensued a general jostling, so that Dietrich had to restore order himself.