"Then without the help of my fingers," said the cellarer. "The custodian of St. Gallus has become subject to haughtiness and insolence, since the day on which he left his monastery. Without moving his lips to frame a greeting, he passes by, brothers, whose age and intellect, ought to claim his reverence. Then, he presumed to preach the sermon, on the holy day when we beat the Huns; although such an important and solemn office, ought to have been performed by one of the Abbots. Further, he presumed to baptize a heathenish prisoner; although such a baptism should have been superintended by the regular priest of the parish and not by one, who ought to attend at the gate of the monastery of St. Gallus.
"What may still arise out of the constant intercourse of the forward youth with his noble mistress, He Who searcheth all hearts, alone can tell! Already at the wedding-feast of that baptized heathen, it was observed that he did not shun meetings with that beauteous dame, in solitary places; and that he heaved frequent sighs, like a shot buck. Likewise it has been remarked with heartfelt sorrow, that a Greek maiden, as fickle and unstable as a will-o'-the-wisp, is flickering about him; so that, that which is left undone by the mistress, may be finished by her hand-maiden, of whose orthodoxy even, one is not fully assured. Now, a frivolous woman is bitterer than death, according to Scripture. She is a bait of the evil one, and her heart is a net, and only he who pleases God, can escape her wiles."
It was a most becoming and just thing, for Rudimann, the protector of the uppermaid Kerhildis, to be so well versed, in the words of the Preacher.
"Enough," said the Abbot. "Chapter twenty-nine, treating of the calling back of absent brothers. It will do, and I have a sort of presentiment, that the fickle lady will soon flutter about on her rock, like an old swallow, whose nestling has been taken away. Goodbye sweetheart!... and Saspach will yet become ours!"
"Amen!" murmured Rudimann.
CHAPTER XVIII.
[Master Spazzo the Chamberlain's Mission.]
Early on a cool pleasant summer day, Ekkehard walked out of the castle gate, into the breezy morning air. He had passed a sleepless night, during which he had paced up and down in his chamber. The Duchess had called up a host of wild thoughts in his heart, and in his head there was a buzzing and humming, as if a covey of wild ducks were flying about there. He shunned Dame Hadwig's presence, and yet longed every moment that he was away, to be near her. The old happy ingenuousness had taken wing. His ways had become absent and variable; in short, the time which has never been spared yet to mortal man, and which Godfrey of Strassburg describes: "as an everpresent pain, in a continual state of bliss," had come for him.
Before the night had quite set in, a thunderstorm was raging outside. He had opened his little window, and enjoyed the fierce sheets of lightning, flashing through the gathering darkness, and every now and then, lighting up the shores of the lake; and he had laughed when night had triumphed again, and the thunders were reverberating between the hills.
Now it was a fine sunny morning. Glistening dew-drops hung on the grass, and here and there, an unmelted hailstone, was lying in the shade. Quiet and peace were now reigning over hill and vale, but the ears of the blasted cornfields, hung down their broken heads, for the hail-storm had blighted the fair promising harvest. From the rocky hillsides, mud-coloured little brooklets, were running down into the valley.