Ekkehard Volume Ii Part 10

With unfeigned astonishment, Praxedis had been watching the strange proceeding.

The d.u.c.h.ess was now seen approaching them. Humbly, Rudimann walked forwards to meet her, and imploring her indulgence for the convent's bondsman, he told her how sorry the Abbot was; spoke with appreciation of the wounded man; expressed his doubts about the possibility of weather-making; and in fact spoke on the whole with tolerable success.

"And may an unworthy present show you at least the good will of your ever faithful Reichenau," concluded he, stepping aside, so that the salmon could shine out in full glory. The d.u.c.h.ess smiled, half reconciled already; and now her eye caught the parchment roll. "And that?" said she enquiringly.

"The latest production of literature!" said Rudimann. With a deep bow he then took leave, and remounting his mule, hastily set out again on his way home.

The red wine of Meersburg was good, and Master Spazzo was not accustomed to treat drinking as a thing that could be done quickly. He persevered before the wine-jug, like a general besieging a city; and sitting immovably on his bench, drank like a man, silently, but much, leaving all loud demonstrations to younger persons.

"The red wine is the most sensible inst.i.tution of the monastery. Have you got more of it in the cellar?" he said to the Abbot when the first jug was emptied. His wanting to drink more, was meant as a politeness, and a sign of reconciliation. So the second jug was brought up.

"Without injuring our sovereign rights!" said he grimly, when he knocked his beaker against that of the Abbot. "Certainly, certainly,"

replied the latter with a queer side-look.

The fifth hour of the evening had thus come, and the sounds of the bell were floating through the monastery.

"Excuse me," said the Abbot, "we must now go to vespers, will you come with us?"

"I prefer waiting for you here," replied Master Spazzo, casting a look into the long neck of the wine-jug. It contained ample provision, for at least another hour. So he let the monks sing their vespers, and drank on, all alone.

Again an hour had elapsed, when he tried to remember for what reason he had ridden over to the monastery, but the fact was that he could not recollect it any more, very clearly. The Abbot came back now.

"How did you entertain yourself?" asked he.

"Very well," said Master Spazzo. The jug was empty.

"I do not know ..." began the Abbot.

"Certainly!" said Master Spazzo, nodding his head. Then the third jug was brought.

Meanwhile Rudimann had returned home from his expedition. The sun was far inclining to the west; the sky was all a-glow and faint purple gleams of light were falling through the narrow windows, on the carousing party.

When Master Spazzo again drank b.u.mpers with the Abbot, the red wine glistened like fiery gold in the cup, and he saw an aureole of light, flickering round the Abbot's head. He tried to collect his scattered senses. "By the life of Hadwig," said he solemnly, "who are you?"

The Abbot did not understand him.

"What did you say?" asked he. Then Master Spazzo recognised the voice.

"Ah so," cried he, striking the oak table with his fist. "The sovereign rights shall not be trampled upon, by monastic insolence!"

"Certainly not," rejoined the Abbot.

Then the chamberlain felt a spasmodic pain in the forehead, which he knew very well, and which he used to call "_the waker_." The waker came only when he was sitting behind the wine-jug, and whenever it announced itself, it was a sure signal, that in half an hour later, the tongue would be paralysed, and the speech refuse to come. If "the waker" came for the second time, then the feet also were threatened with temporary paralysis. So he arose.

"These cowl-bearing monks shall not have the satisfaction of witnessing, how their wine shuts up the mouth of a ducal chamberlain,"

thought he. He stood quite erect on his feet.

"Stop," said the Abbot, "we must not forget the parting draught!"

Then the fourth jug was brought. It is true that Master Spazzo had arisen, but then between rising and going, a good many things may yet happen. He drank again, but when he wanted to put down his beaker, he placed it in the empty air, so that it fell down and broke to pieces.

At this, Master Spazzo got furious; whilst many a thought was crossing in, and confusing his muddled brains.

"Where have you got him?" cried he to the Abbot.

"Whom?"

"The convent-farmer! Out with him, the coa.r.s.e peasant, who tried to murder my G.o.d-child!" He threateningly advanced a few paces towards the Abbot, making only one false step.

"He is at the Schlangenhof," smilingly said the Abbot, "and I willingly deliver him up to you; only you must be pleased to fetch him from there, yourself."

"Murder and rebellion! We will fetch him!" roared Master Spazzo, rattling his sword, as he strode towards the door. "We will drag him out of his bed even, the rascal! And when we have got him, by the knapsack of St. Gallus, if he ... then ... I can tell you ..."

This speech was never ended, as his tongue stood still now, like the sun at Joshuah's bidding, during the battle with the Amorites.

He stretched out his hand for the Abbot's cup, and drank that out. But his speech did not return. A sweet placid smile now settled on the chamberlain's lips. He stepped up to the Abbot to embrace him.

"Friend and brother! much beloved old wine-jug! what, if I were to dig out one of thine eyes?" he tried to say with stammering tongue, but he could only utter some unintelligible sounds. He pressed the Abbot vehemently to his bosom, treading on his feet at the same time, with his heavy boots.

Abbot Wazmann had already been deliberating within himself, whether he should not offer a bed for the night to his exhausted guest, but the embrace and the pain in his toes, changed his hospitable designs, and he took care, that the chamberlain set out on his return.

His horse stood ready saddled in the cloister-yard, where the weak-minded Heribald was sneaking about. He had fetched himself a large piece of tinder from the kitchen, which he intended to light and then to stick in the nostrils of the chamberlain's horse; thus to revenge himself for the blow which he had received. Master Spazzo, having sc.r.a.ped together the last remains of his dignity, now made his appearance. A servant with a burning torch, lighted him on his way. The Abbot had taken leave of him, at the upper-gate.

Master Spazzo then bestrode his faithful steed Falada, but he was no sooner mounted, than he glided down again on the other side. Heribald who was near, hurried up to catch him in his arms, and as he did so, his bristly beard, grazed the chamberlain's forehead.

"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 d.u.c.h.ess.

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!"