Adalric himself set off with several esquires, and unwittingly took the same route as his daughter. He soon came to the Rhine, where he heard that a young beggar-girl, [pg 261] whose rags could not conceal her noble air and extreme beauty, had crossed the river and gone towards Fribourg. The duke, sure it was his daughter, likewise crossed over, and came so close upon her steps that it seemed impossible for her to escape. But the princess, says the old chronicle of Fribourg containing these details, coming in sight of the city near a place called Muszbach, was so overcome with fatigue that she was obliged to sit down and take breath. She had hardly thanked God for his protection thus far when she perceived, at some distance, a company of horsemen swiftly approaching. Then recognizing her father and his followers, she raised her eyes to heaven, whence alone she could expect succor, and prayed fervently: “O my Saviour!” cried she, “spotless protector of virgins! I am lost unless thou shieldest me from their eyes, and coverest me with the shadow of thy wings!” And our Lord, says the legend, heard this earnest prayer: the rock on which she was seated opened to shelter her from her eager pursuers, and had hardly closed upon her when Adalric came up. As soon as he had passed by Odile came out, and, that posterity might not lose the remembrance of this miracle, a limpid stream of healing waters flowed henceforth from the rock. This fountain became eventually the resort of pilgrims, and the saint herself had a chapel built over it in commemoration of her deliverance.
The duke, unsuccessful in his search, returned to Hohenbourg. Unable to resign himself to the loss of his daughter, he fell into a state of sadness and discouragement. Weeks, nay, months, passed, but no news of the fugitive. Adalric finally proclaimed throughout his duchy, at the sound of the trumpet that he would henceforth leave his daughter free to pursue her own course of life, if she would only return to her family.
Having no longer any excuse for remaining away from her family, where she might be called to labor for God, Odile left her retreat at Brisgau, and returned home.[63]
IX.
Adalric's promises were sincere. He was eager to aid Odile as much as he could in the realization of her most cherished hopes. “For it was in the decrees of divine Providence,” says an old Latin chronicle, “that this light should be placed in a candlestick, that it might give light to all who were in the house; and God had inspired Odile with the resolution to found a community of noble virgins who would live in retirement and observe the evangelical counsels.”
The saint opened her heart to her father, representing to him that Alsace had already convents for men, but no retreat for women who wished to renounce the world, and that such a refuge would be useful and at the same time pleasing to God. Adalric listened favorably to his daughter, and, whether the proposition pleased him or he did not wish to oppose her inclinations, he gave her in due form, in the year 680, the Castle of Hohenbourg with its vast dependencies and immense revenues, that she might convert what had till then been the principal bulwark of Alsace into an inviolable asylum for noble ladies of piety who wished to consecrate themselves to God.
Odile then assembled a number [pg 262] of workmen, and had all the buildings removed that would be of no use to a religious community. This done, they proceeded to construct the convent. It took them ten years. Adalric generously defrayed all the expenses, and even directed the architects, enjoining on them to neglect nothing that could contribute to the solidity and beauty of the edifice.
As soon as it was known that Odile intended forming a community of women, a crowd of young ladies of rank came to Hohenbourg, renouncing their families and earthly possessions for the love of Christ. They besought her to receive them as her companions, and to direct them in the way of salvation. There were one hundred and thirty of them before the convent was finished. Among them were Attale,[64] Eugénie, and Gundeline, the daughters of Odile's brother Adalbert,[65] and her own sister Roswinde.[66] All these renounced the joys of the world without regret, hoping to obtain eternal life. They united themselves to God by silence, recollection, and prayer. Manual labor and the chanting of the Psalms varied their occupations. Like the first Christians, they seemed to have only one heart and one soul. Their only study seemed to be to equal their superior in humility, sweetness, piety, and self-renunciation. They lived on barley bread and vegetables cooked in water. They took wine only on festivals, and passed their nights in vigils and prayer, permitting themselves only some hours of sleep when exhausted nature absolutely required it. Then they slept only on a bear's skin with a stone for a pillow. In a word, they only allowed the body what was necessary for the preservation of life.
Adalric had a profound respect for Odile, as one under the special protection of the Divinity. The system of her community, the devotion and the rigid and holy lives of those who composed it, and above all their inexhaustible charity, led him to lavish his wealth on their monastery. Not satisfied with giving them his palace and its domains, and establishing a foundation in perpetuity for one hundred and thirty young ladies of noble birth, he likewise gave fourteen benefices for the priests who served the convent chapels.
Odile, in her ardent charity, wished there should be free access to her abbey, not only for all the members of her family and persons of high rank who came often to discourse with her on the things of God, but also for the poor, the unhappy, and the sick. The steepness of the mountain in some places made its ascent impossible for the aged. Our saint had an easy pathway constructed, paved with broad flag-stones. Thenceforth the unfortunate of all grades of society flocked to the abbey—the poor to obtain [pg 263] assistance, the infirm for remedies, and sinners for salutary advice. All who were unhappy or unfortunate, whoever they might be, were the objects of Odile's tender affection. “The Gospel,” she constantly repeated to her companions, “is a law of love,” and she exhorted them, in imitation of Him who gave his life for us, to be charitable to their fellow-creatures. Odile's charity was boundless. Not satisfied with distributing alms, she cheered all with sweet words, carried them nourishment and remedies with her own hands, and dressed the most frightful wounds. “There came one day,” says a writer of that time, “a man covered with a horrid leprosy to the gates of Hohenbourg for alms, uttering most lamentable cries. He was so revolting, and he diffused so infectious an odor, that none of the servants would approach him. One of them, however, informed the saint of his condition. She at once prepared some suitable food, and hastened to serve the leper. In spite of her tenderness towards the unfortunate and her habitual control over her senses, her first movement was one of horror at the sight of so disgusting a being. Ashamed of her weakness, and resolved to conquer it, she folded the leper affectionately in her arms, and burst into tears. Then she broke the food she brought into small pieces, and fed him. At the same time she raised her eyes to heaven, and, with a voice trembling with emotion, exclaimed: ‘O Lord! deign to restore him to health or give him the courage necessary to support such an affliction!’ Her humble prayer was immediately heard. The leprosy disappeared, and the repulsive odor gave place to one of sweetness, so that those who avoided him a short time before were now eager to approach, to touch him, and to wonder.”