"With it, I wish her all blessings and happiness. To you venerable brother, likewise. If on your castle were wanting a watchman, porter or gamekeeper, you might recommend Romeias to the Duchess; who, on account of being mocked at by the steward, and of the complaints of that dragon, Wiborad, would gladly change his service. Practice in the office of gate-keeper, both giving admittance, and pitching out of strange visitors, can be testified to. The same with regard to hunting. He is already now looking towards the Hohentwiel, as if a cord were drawing him thither.--Long life to you and to the Lady Duchess. Farewell!"
A merry peal of laughter followed the reading of this curious epistle. Praxedis had blushed all over. "That is a bad reward," angrily exclaimed she, "that you write letters in other people's name, to insult me!"
"Stop," said Ekkehard, "why should the letter not be genuine?"
"It would not be the first, that was forged by a monk," was Praxedis' bitter reply. "Why need you laugh at that rough sportsman? He was by no means so bad!"
"Praxedis, be reasonable!" urged the Duchess. "Look at that mountain-cock,--that has not been shot in the Hegau; and Ekkehard writes a somewhat different hand. Shall we give the petitioner a place on the Hohentwiel?"
"Pray don't!" cried Praxedis eagerly. "Nobody is to believe that----"
"Very well," said Dame Hadwig, in a tone bespeaking silence. She then opened Ekkehard's parchment-roll. The painting at the beginning had succeeded pretty well; and any doubt of its meaning, was done away with, by the superscription of the names: Hadwigis, Virgilius and Ekkehard. A bold initial, with intricate golden arabesques headed the poem.
The Duchess was highly pleased. Ekkehard had never before given her any proof of his skill in art. Praxedis looked with an arch smile at the purple mantle, which the Duchess wore on the picture, as if she could tell something more about it.
Dame Hadwig made a sign to Ekkehard, to read and explain the poem. So he read out the following verses; which rendered into English are as follows:
"In nightly silence sat I once alone,
deciphering some parchments old and deep;
When suddenly, a bright unearthly light,
Lit up my room. 'T was not the moon's pale ray,
And then, a radiant figure did I see.
Immortal smiles were playing round his mouth,
And in his rich and sable-coloured locks,
He wore a crown of everlasting bay.
And with his finger pointing to the book,
He then spoke thus; 'Be of good cheer, my friend,
I am no spirit, come to rob thy peace,
I merely came to wish thee all that's good.
All that which the dead letters here relate,
I once have written with my own heart's blood:
The siege of Troy, and then Æneas' flight
The wrath of Gods, and splendid Roma's birth.
Almost a thousand years have since gone by.
The singer died,--his nation died with him.
My grave is still; but seldom do I hear
The distant shouts, at merry vintage time
Or roar of breakers from the Cape Misene.
Yet lately was I call'd up from my rest,
By some rough gale, which coming from the North
Brought me the tidings, that in distant lands,
Æneas' fate was being read again;
And that a noble princess, proud and fair
Had kindly deigned, to dress my epic song
In the bold accents of her native tongue.
We once believed, the land beyond the Alps
Was peopled by a rough, uncultured race;--
But now at home we long have been forgot,
And in the stranger land we live again.
Therefore I come, to offer you my thanks;
The greatest boon, a minstrel can obtain
It is the praise from noble woman's lip.
Hail to thy mistress, who in union rare,
Has strength and wisdom, in herself enshrined,
And like Minerva in the ranks of Gods,
In steel-clad armour sitteth on the throne,
Fair patron yet of all the peaceful arts.
Yet many years may she the sceptre wield,
Surrounded by a strong and loving race.
And when you listen to the foreign strains,
Like armour rattling, and the clash of steel,--
Then think of me, it is Italia's voice,
'Tis Virgil greets the rock of Hohentwiel.'
Thus spoke he, waved his hand and disappear'd.
But I wrote down, still on that very night
What he had said; and to my mistress now
I shyly venture to present these leaves,
A humble gift, from faithful Ekkehard."