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Page 7
The Catholic Church beheld, and bitterly deplored, the evils of private
warfare. Council after council fulminated its decrees against the
pernicious system; men were exhorted by the sacred relics of the Saints
to extinguish their animosities, and abstain from violence. But the
custom had taken deep root; for, in the language of a well-known
Protestant historian, "it flattered the pride of the nobles, and
gratified their favorite passions." But in the eleventh century the
Church had gained a partial victory over the dearest appetites of the
fiery Frank and the warlike Saxon. It was enacted, under pain of
excommunication, that private warfare should cease from the sunset of
Wednesday to the morning of Monday, and few were hardy enough to expose
themselves to the penalty. The respite from hostilities which followed
was called the "Truce of God."
It was not the musical voice of the bell that made Gilbert de Hers pause
on the very threshold of the struggle, and bite his lip until it grew
white; but the sweet-toned bell announced the sunset of Wednesday. The
young men stood gazing at each other, as though some spell had
transformed them into stone. But the messenger of peace had stayed the
uplifted sword, and, sheathing their unstained weapons, they knelt upon
the green carpet beneath them, and put forth the same prayer to the same
God.
It is a sight that may well command the eyes of Angels, when, though
deaf to earthly laws and considerations, the angry heart, in the first
heat of its wild career, still stops obedient to the voice of religion.
Amid the dross of human frailty, the pure metal shines with the lustre
that surrounds the sinner in the morning of his conversion.
They rose almost together, and their faces, so lately flushed with
anger, were now calm and subdued.
"Farewell! Henry de Stramen," said Gilbert, as he leaped into the
saddle.
"Farewell!" replied his antagonist, and, almost side by side, they
proceeded in the direction of the bell.
A deadly feud was raging between the families of Hers and Stramen. It
had continued for more than twenty years, and now burned with unabated
fury. It originated in some dispute between Gilbert's father and the
Lord Robert de Stramen, Henry's uncle, which resulted in the death of
the latter. The Baron of Hers was charged with the murder, and, though
he persisted in declaring his innocence, Henry's impetuous father, the
Lord Sandrit de Stramen, swore over the dead body of his brother to take
a bitter revenge on the Baron of Hers and all his line. Henry de Stramen
had been nursed in the bitterest hostility to all who bore the name of
Hers, and the unrelenting persecution of the Lord Sandrit had made
Gilbert detest most cordially the house of Stramen. It was with mutual
hatred, then, that the two young men had met at the spring. They knew
each other well, for they had often fought hand to hand, with their
kinsmen and serfs around them. Now they were alone, and what a triumph
would be the victor's! but the bell, the Tell of peace, the
silver-tongued herald of the truce of God, had sheathed their weapons.
It could not have been without a severe struggle that the two mortal
foes rode quietly in the same direction, with but a few yards between
them. They were not half an hour in the saddle when they discovered the
spire of the church they were both in search of, rising gracefully above
the trees. As they emerged from the forest, they could see stretching
before them a broad expanse of hill and dale, wood and field. Scattered
here and there were the humble dwellings of the forester and husbandman,
and, from their midst, towering above them, like Jupiter among the
demigods, stately and stern rose the old castle of the house of Stramen.
The western sky was still bathed in light, and shared its glories with
the earth; airy clouds, ever changing their hues, sported, like
chameleons, on the horizon; the stream that wound around the castle
seemed sheeted with polished silver: the herds and flocks were all
still, and the voice of the birds was the only sound; and, amid this
beauty and repose, how lovely and majestic was that finely moulded
Gothic church!
Henry de Stramen tied his horse to a tree, and was soon lost in the
elegantly carved doorway. Gilbert paused a moment, and gazed upon the
open country before him with very mingled emotions. He had been there
before at the head of his clan to disturb the serenity which, in spite
of himself, was now softening his heart. He did not linger long, but led
his horse a little within the woods, and entered the church. The
gray-headed priest at the altar was solemnly chanting, from the
beautiful liturgy of the Church, as he knelt down on the hard aisle, and
the branching ceiling seemed to catch and repeat the notes. Through the
stained window, where was pictured in unfading colors many a scene
suggesting the goodness and mercy of God, and the blessed tidings of
salvation, came the fading light of day, softened and beautiful. It was
not merely the superior genius of the age that made the chapels and
cathedrals of the Ages of Faith so immensely superior to the creations
of the present day, but its piety too; that generous and pure devotion
which induced our ancestors to employ their best faculties and richest
treasures in preparing an abode as worthy as earth could make it of the
presence of the Son of God. Then the house of the minister was not more
splendid than his church, his sideboard not more valuable than the
altar.
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