Ekkehard Volume I Part 21

Mounting her horse, she rode back to the Hohentwiel, at a gallop, so furious, that her servant could scarcely follow her.

Ekkehard full of consternation, remained where he was. He pa.s.sed his hand over his eyes, as if to remove a mist from before them.

When late at night he sat in his tower on the Hohentwiel, thinking of all that had happened that day, he beheld a distant gleam of fire. He looked out and saw that the fiery blaze, arose from the fir-trees on the Hohenkrahen. The woman of the wood, had been paying her last visit to the future chapel of St. Hadwig.

CHAPTER X.

Christmas.

The evening on the Hohenkrahen, cast a gloom also over the following days. Misunderstandings are not easily forgiven; least of all by him who has caused them.

For this reason, Dame Hadwig spent some days in a very bad humour, in her own private apartments. Grammar and Virgil had both a holiday. With Praxedis, she took up the old jest about the schoolmasters at Constantinople; seeming now to enjoy it much better. Ekkehard came to ask whether he were to continue his lessons. "I have got a toothache,"

said the d.u.c.h.ess. Expressing his regret, he attributed it to the rough autumnal weather.

Every day, he asked several times how she was, which somewhat conciliated the d.u.c.h.ess.

"How is it," said she to Praxedis, "that a person can be of so much more real worth, than he appears outwardly to possess?"

"That comes from a want of gracefulness," replied the Greek maid. "In other countries I often found the reverse; but here, people are too lazy, to manifest their individuality by every movement or word. They prefer thinking, to acting; believing that the whole world must be able to read on their foreheads, what is pa.s.sing within."

"But we are generally so industrious," said Dame Hadwig, complacently.

"The buffaloes likewise work the live-long day," Praxedis had almost said,--but she finally contented herself, with merely thinking it.

Ekkehard all this time, felt quite at his ease; for the idea, that he had given an unsuitable answer to the d.u.c.h.ess, never struck him. He had really been thinking of that parable in Scripture and failed to see, that in reply to the timid expression of a friendly liking, it might not always be quite the right thing, to quote Scripture. He reverenced the d.u.c.h.ess; but far more as the embodied idea of sublimity, than as a woman. That sublime beings demand adoration, had never struck him; and still less that even the sublimest personage, is often perfectly satisfied with simple affection. That Dame Hadwig was out of spirits, he noticed however, but he contented himself by making the general observation, that the intercourse with a d.u.c.h.ess was rather more difficult than that with the brotherhood at St. Gall.

Amongst the books which Vincentius had left behind, were the Epistles of St. Paul, which he now studied. Master Spazzo during those days, put on a still haughtier mien than usual, when he pa.s.sed him. Dame Hadwig soon found out, that it were better, to return to the old order of things.

"It was really a grand sight, which we had, that evening, from the Hohenkrahen," said she one day to Ekkehard. "But do you know our weather-signs on the Hohentwiel? Whenever the Alps appear very distinct and near, the weather is sure to change. So we have had some bad weather since. And now we will resume our reading of Virgil."

Upon this, Ekkehard, highly pleased, went to fetch his heavy metal-bound book; and so their studies were resumed. He read and translated to them, the second book of the aeneid, about the downfall of Troy, the wooden horse and the fearful end of Laoc.o.o.n. Further, of the nightly battle; Ca.s.sandra's fate, and Priamus' death; and finally aeneas' flight with the aged Anchises.

With evident sympathy, Dame Hadwig listened to the interesting tale.

Only, with the disappearance of aeneas' spouse Kreusa, she was not quite satisfied.

"That, he need not have told so lengthily to Queen Dido," she said, "for I doubt much, whether the living woman was overpleased, that he had run after the lost one so long. Lost is lost."

And now the winter was drawing near. The sky became dreary and leaden, and the distance shrouded with mists. First the mountain peaks round about, put on their snow-caps; and then valley and fields followed their example. Small icicles fastened on the rafters under the roofs; with the intention of quietly remaining there, for some months; and the old linden-tree in the courtyard, had for some time, like a careful and economical man, who disposes of his worn-out garments to the Hebrews,--shaken down its faded leaves to the winds. They made up a good heap; which was soon scattered in all directions, by the merry, gambolling breezes. The bare branches of the tree, were often crowded with cawing rooks, coming from the neighbouring woods, and eagerly watching for a bone or crumb, from the kitchen of the castle. Once, there was one amongst the sable brotherhood, whose flight was heavy, as its wings were damaged; and on beholding Ekkehard, who chanced to go over the courtyard, the raven flew screeching away. It had seen the monk's habit before, and had no reason to like it.

The nights of winter, are long and dark. Now and then, appear the northern lights; but far brighter than these, in the hearts of men, is the remembrance of that night, when angels descended to the shepherds in the fields, greeting them with:

"Glory to G.o.d in the highest, and on earth peace, good will towards men."--

On the Hohentwiel they were preparing for Christmas, by getting ready all sorts of presents. The year is long, and numbers many a day, in which people can show each other little kindnesses; but the Germans like having one especial day, set aside for that, in particular.

Therefore, before all other nations, they keep up the custom of making Christmas presents. The good heart has its own peculiar rights.

During that time, Dame Hadwig had almost put aside the grammar entirely; taking to sewing and embroidery. b.a.l.l.s of gold-thread and black silk, lay about in the women's apartments; and when Ekkehard once came in unawares, Praxedis rushed up, and pushed him out of the door whilst Dame Hadwig, hid some needle-work in a basket.

This aroused Ekkehard's curiosity, and he arrived at the not unreasonable conclusion, that some present was being made for him.

Therefore he thought about returning the kindness; intending to exert his utmost powers and abilities for that purpose. So he sent word to his friend and teacher, Folkard, at St. Gall, to send him parchment, colours and brushes, as well as some precious ink; which request was speedily fulfilled. Then Ekkehard sat up many an hour at night, in his tower; pondering over a Latin composition, which he wanted to dedicate to the d.u.c.h.ess, and which was to contain, some delicate homage.

But all this was not so easy, as he had thought. Once he began, at the creation of the world; intending to proceed in daring flight, to the beginning of Dame Hadwig's reign in Suabia; but he had already written some hundred hexametres and had only got as far as King David; and the work would probably have taken him, three years to complete. Another time he tried to number up, all the women, who either by their strength or their beauty, had influenced the fate of nations; such as Queen Semiramis and the virgin Amazons; the heroic Judith and the tuneful Sappho;--but to his great regret he found out, that by the time his pen had worked its way to the d.u.c.h.ess; it would have been quite impossible, to find anything new to say in her praise. So he went about much downcast and distressed.

"Have you swallowed a spider, pearl of all professors?" enquired Praxedis one day, on meeting him in the aforesaid mental condition.

"You may well be jesting," said Ekkehard sadly;--and under the seal of secrecy, he confided his griefs to her.

"By the thirty-six thousand volumes; in the library at Constantinopolis!" exclaimed she, "why, you are going to cut down a whole forest of trees, when a few flowers are all that's wanted. Why don't you make it simple and graceful,--such as your beloved Virgil would have made it?" After this she ran away, and Ekkehard crept back to his chamber. "Like Virgil?" he mused. But in the whole of the aeneid, there was no example of a similar case. He read some cantos, and dreamily sat thinking over them, when a good idea suddenly struck him.

"I've got it!" cried he. "The beloved poet himself, is to do homage to her!" He then wrote a poem, as if Virgil had appeared to him, in his solitude; expressing his delight, that his poetry was living again in German lands; and thanking the high-born lady, for thus befriending him. In a few minutes it was ready.

This poem Ekkehard now wished to write down on parchment; adorned by some handsome ill.u.s.trations. So he composed the following picture. The d.u.c.h.ess, with crown and sceptre, sitting on her throne, accosted by Virgil in white garments; who inclining his bay-crowned head, advances towards her. He is leading Ekkehard,--who modestly walking by his side, as the pupil with the master, is likewise humbly bowing before her.

In the strict manner of the excellent Folkard, he first drew the sketch. He remembered a picture in a psalm-book, representing the young David, before King Abimelech. Thus, he arranged the figures. The d.u.c.h.ess, he drew two fingers breadth higher than Virgil; and the Ekkehard of the sketch, was considerably shorter than the heathen poet.

Budding Art, lacking other means, expressed rank and greatness, outwardly.

With the figure of Virgil, he succeeded tolerably well; for they had always used ancient pictures as models, for their drawings at St. Gall; and a.s.sumed a stereotype way of executing both drapery and outline.

Likewise he succeeded with his own portrait; in so far as he managed to draw a figure in a monk's habit, wearing a tonsure; but a terrible problem for him, was the representation of a queenly woman's form, for as yet no woman's picture, not even G.o.d's holy Mother, had received admittance, amongst the monastery's paintings. David and Abimelech, which he was so well accustomed to, were of no help to him here, for the regal mantle scarcely came down to their knees; and he knew not how to draw it any longer. So, care once more resumed its seat on his forehead.

"Well, what now?" quoth Praxedis, one day.

"The poem is finished," replied Ekkehard. "Now something else is wanting."

"And what may that be?"

"I ought to know, in what way, women's garments cling to their tender limbs," said he in doleful accents.

"You are really saying quite wicked things, ye chosen vessel of virtue," scolded Praxedis. But Ekkehard then made his difficulties known to her, in a clearer way, upon which the Greek maid, made a movement with her hand, as if to open his eyes.

"Open your eyes," she said, "and look at the living things around you."

The advice was simple enough, and yet entirely novel to one, who had acquired all his skill in art in his solitary cell. Ekkehard cast a long and scrutinizing look at his counsellor. "It avails me nothing,"

said he, "for you do not wear a regal mantle."

Then the Greek took pity on the doubt-beset artist. "Wait," said she, "the d.u.c.h.ess is down stairs in the garden, so I can put on her ducal mantle, and you will be helped." She glided out, and after a few minutes reappeared, with the purple mantle, hanging negligently from her shoulders. With slow measured steps, she walked through the chamber. On a table stood a metal candlestick, which she seized, and held up like a sceptre; and thus with head thrown back, she stood before the monk.

He had taken out his pencil and parchment. "Turn round, a little more towards the light," said he, beginning at once to draw eagerly.

Every time however, when he looked at his graceful model, she darted a sparkling look at him. His movements became slower, and Praxedis looked towards the window. "But, as our rival in the realm," began she with an artificially raised voice, "is already leaving the courtyard, threatening to take us by surprise; we command you on pain of losing your head, to finish your drawing within the next minute."

"I thank you," said Ekkehard, putting down his pencil.

Praxedis stepped up to him, and bending forwards, looked at what he had done. "What shameful treason!" exclaimed she, "why, the picture has no head!"

"I merely wanted the drapery," said Ekkehard.