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Page 11
Gilbert knelt down and received the old man's blessing, who, wishing him
a good night, withdrew into his own apartment and closed the door.
CHAPTER II
The golden sceptre which thou didst reject,
Is now an angry rod to bruise and break
Thy disobedience.
Gilbert de Hers, as the good priest withdrew into his own apartment,
resumed his seat upon the bench, and soon became absorbed in meditation.
His varying face betrayed the character of each thought as it filed
before his mind in rapid review. For more than an hour he remained in
that statue-like state, when we, in a measure, assume a triple being, as
the past and the present unite to form a future.
But as all reveries, like life itself, must end, Gilbert at length
seemed to be aware of the reality of the unpretending bed in the corner.
Having repeated the prayers which his piety suggested, he extinguished
the almost exhausted taper, and threw himself upon the bed. He could not
sleep, however; for, great as the fatigue of the day had been, the
excitement was greater. His mind was perpetually recurring to the events
at the spring, from which they wandered to his father's lonely and
anxious chamber: now he remembered the earnest appeal of Father Omehr,
and now pondered the injuries he had received from the house of Stramen.
Through a narrow opening in the wall he could see the noble church
sleeping in the moonlight. Its walls of variegated marble had been
built principally at the expense of the Barons of Stramen, for in those
days it was not unfrequent for private families to erect magnificent
churches from their own resources; and as his eye rested upon the misty
window, perhaps he felt that though utterly opposed in all else, there
was one thing in common between his own haughty race and the founders of
that church--religion.
The night wore on, and was far advanced; but Gilbert still kept piling
thought upon thought, unable and even scarcely desiring to exchange them
for the deep repose or more confused images of slumber. It must have
been after midnight when, as he lay awake, he could distinctly hear the
sound of blows. Gilbert was not a moment in conjecturing the cause; he
knew at once that the venerable priest was subjecting himself to
corporal chastisement. He did not live in an age when voluntary
mortification was ridiculed, when a sacred ambition to imitate a
crucified God insured contempt from man. Then, those self-denying
religious were not taunted with "the hope of gaining heaven by making
earth a hell." And perhaps Gilbert knew that the spiritual peace and
delight derived from such chastisements, were infinitely sweeter, even
here below, than the impure pleasures of worldlings. Feeling thus, he
could not but contrast the mortified life of that holy man with his own
indulged and pampered existence. He had never known the sting of
adversity, and rarely been thwarted in a single desire; yet how much
greater his sins than those of Father Omehr! Amid such reflections he
felt--and it is a salutary feeling--the truth of a hereafter.
But we will no longer pursue the reflections of the youth. Some time
after the sounds had ceased he fell asleep, and was only roused by the
sun streaming into his apartment, and the solemn tones of the church
bell.
The morning was beautiful. The sun was everywhere; kindling the hoary
tops of the Suabian Alps, sparkling on the broad Danube as it rolled
majestically on from the southwest to the northeast, lighting up hamlet,
hill, vale, rivulet, forest, and making the church glitter like a
stupendous diamond. But Gilbert was ill-prepared to enjoy this blaze of
beauty. In a melancholy mood he leaned against the window, watching the
sturdy serf in the centre of his family, as he came to share the
blessings of the Mass. He was rather startled when the outer door opened
and admitted the lady he had seen in the church the night before with
Henry de Stramen. She came unattended, save by an old female servant,
who carried with some difficulty a basket filled with fruits,
delicacies, and medicines of various kinds, designed for Father Omehr to
apply to any purpose his piety might point out.
Though in the year 1076 chivalry was not the regular and well-defined
institution it became during and after the Crusades, yet the same amount
of valor and devotion to woman was expected from the knight. The spirit
of Christianity, operating upon Teutonic virtue, which has raised the
woman from the drudge of man to be the ornament of society, created a
chivalric courtesy long before the cry of "_Deus vult!_" rang from Italy
to England. Gilbert de Hers, born and bred in the courtly circle of
Suabia, though his spurs were not yet won, was still familiar with the
duties of knighthood. As the lady paused, surprised at his presence, he
made a profound and respectful reverence, and he would have done the
same had she been less noble, or had he known, as he then surmised, that
the fair visitor was the daughter of his father's deadliest foe.
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