"And you are ordered, perhaps, to arrest me," said the Count, reining back his horse towards his troop: "be it at your own peril,--I am not very tame."
"You mistake, sir," said Count Rudolph; "I am ordered formally to summon you to appear to-morrow before the Emperor's court at Spires; there to answer any charges that may be brought against you. Advance, herald, and read the summons."
The herald immediately spurred forward his horse, till he was somewhat in advance of Count Rudolph and Father George, and then, drawing forth a parchment with a large seal, he read aloud, in a dull and monotonous voice, a formal summons for the Count of Ehrenstein to appear, as Count Rudolph had announced. After he had concluded, he waved his truncheon thrice in the air, and each time the trumpeter behind blew a loud short blast.
"And now, my good lord, I may as well ask whether you will appear, or not?" said Count Rudolph, as soon as this ceremony was over.
"I love to have time to consider all things," answered the Count of Ehrenstein. "To-morrow will be time enough for my determination to appear: and now, my lord, farewell. I trust your daughter may prove as obedient as mine, and may find friends, as wise and powerful as yourself, to aid and encourage her in the course she chooses."
Thus saying, with a bitter smile, and every angry passion in his heart, the Count of Ehrenstein turned his horse and rode away, his retainers following, and old Seckendorf keeping a wary eye to the rear, lest any attack should be made upon their retreating party, either by the force of Count Rudolph, or the armed peasantry who had gathered on the hill.
CHAPTER XL.
It is a common maxim that time destroys falsehood, and leaves truth intact. This may be true in the abstract; for truth, in its nature is indestructible; but as the mind of man is always more or less in a misty state, and his perception of no object very clear and distinct; even that which is true in the abstract he often renders false in application by various errors of his own, and by none more frequently than by using that in a figurative sense which is only just in a definite sense. No maxim has thus been more perverted than the one I have cited, that time destroys falsehood, but leaves truth intact. It has been used figuratively; it has had its signification extended; it has had its very terms altered; and we find it at last changed so as to assert that time destroys falsehood, but brings truth to light. In this form, however, it is altogether inadmissible. Time may destroy falsehood, as anything else that is perishable. It may sometimes bring truth to light; but it does neither always; and this is one of the vulgar maxims of the world, of which we have so many, intended to support morality, but, in fact, destroying it; for the key-stone of morals is truth. Society manufactures facts just as it builds houses and churches, forms rings, or swords, or bracelets. The real deeds, and thoughts, and feelings of men, and the false assertions concerning them--all, in short, that forms the great mass of history,--are cast down, broken, mutilated, and covered over with the mud and ashes of passing generations, as age follows age; but the truth lies buried as well as the falsehood; and the waves of time that overlay them with the refuse, and lumber, and dirt of a hundred centuries, from hour to hour, roll up the fragments to the feet of those who stand upon the dry strand of the present; or else man's busy and inquisitive hand digs them up; and--as we search amongst the ruins of a past city, for the gems and jewels, the sculpture and the painting of races now no more, casting from us what is worthless--so seek we amongst the records of the former times (if we are wise), preserving what is true and precious, and throwing away what is false. Yet how much useless lumber and unsubstantial trash is retained and valued in both cases. What history is not full of lies!--what cabinet uncrowded with fabrications!
Perhaps in no case whatever has time given us so little truth as in regard to many points relating to the religions institutions of the middle ages. The gross and horrible superstitions and corruptions of the Romish church, and the ambitious motives and eager thirst for domination that existed in her hierarchy, acted as a sort of deluge, overwhelming and hiding many excellent results--much that was fine--much that was holy--much that was pure. The subject is vast, and is receiving more attention now than it ever has done since the Reformation; but I have to do with only one point. The monasteries and nunneries of those days have been represented, generally, as places of mere idleness, or idleness and vice; and yet, at the periods when they were established, and for centuries after, they operated in many respects most beneficially. They were the countercheck to feudal power and tyranny; a refuge to the people in the time of oppression; a sure support in the hour of need. There were drawbacks, certainly; they were the manufactories of superstitions, the citadels of the enemy in a fierce war against the human mind. Still they did much good, in some directions, in their day. The lives of the recluses have been severely criticised; they have, upon the faith of some shocking instances, been represented as full of wickedness and corruption; and yet in general the people loved them. There cannot be a doubt of it,--especially the people of the country; for the new risen communes were generally inimical to them.
At all events, the peasantry round the convent of Heiligenstein were devotedly attached to the good sisters, who, living amongst them, witnessed their joys and sorrows, alleviated their sufferings, wherever it was possible, and sympathised with them whenever they had no other balm to give. Simple in their lives, kind in their dealings, liberal of their wealth, for which they had no other employment but charity, and spreading those human affections which were denied an individual object over the whole race, the nuns were pardoned easily a little spiritual pride, as the alloy of the finer qualities which they constantly displayed. The armed peasants, who had hurried to their rescue, would willingly have shed their blood in defence of their friends and benefactors; and a menacing movement took place amongst them as the soldiery of the Count of Ehrenstein withdrew. A message, sent in haste by the Abbess, stopped any hostile proceeding; but a loud shout of derision, harder to bear, perhaps, than actual assault, followed the Count, and worked up his anger almost to madness.