Ekkehard Volume Ii Part 13

Dame Hadwig listened with astonishment; for a curly-headed boy, who could make an hexametre, was an unheard-of thing in the Allemannic lands then. And moreover he had improvised it in her honour. Therefore she was really pleased with the youthful verse-maker.

"Let me look at thee a little nearer," said she drawing him towards her. She was charmed with him, for he had a lovely boyish face, with a red and white complexion, so soft and transparent, that the blue veins could be seen through it.

In luxuriant ma.s.ses, the brown curls fell down over his temples, whilst a bold, aquiline nose rose over the learned youthful lips, as if it were mocking their utterance. Then, Dame Hadwig put her arms round the boy, and kissing him on both lips and cheeks, fondled him like a child almost, and finally pus.h.i.+ng a cus.h.i.+oned footstool close to her side, bade him sit down on it.

"To begin with, thou shalt gather something else than Greek wisdom from my lips," said she jestingly, giving him another kiss. "But now be a good boy, and quickly say some more well-set verses."

She pushed back his curls from his blus.h.i.+ng face; but the cloister-pupil's metrical powers were not discomposed even by the kiss of a d.u.c.h.ess. Ekkehard had stepped up to the window, where he looked out towards the Alps, whilst Burkhard without hesitation, recited the following lines:

"Non possum prorsus dignos componere versus, Nam nimis expavi duce me libante suavi."

He had again produced two faultless hexametres.

The d.u.c.h.ess laughed out gaily. "Well, I verily believe that thou didst greet the light of this world with a Latin verse, at thy birth? That flows from thy lips as if Virgil had arisen from his grave. But why art thou frightened when I kiss thee?"

"Because you are so grand, and proud and beautiful," said the boy.

"Never mind," replied the d.u.c.h.ess. "He, who with the fresh kiss yet burning on his lips, can improvise such perfect verses, cannot be very much terrified."

Making him stand up before her, she asked him: "And why art thou so very eager to learn Greek?"

"Because they say, that if a man knows Greek, he can become so clever as to hear the gra.s.s grow," was the ready answer. "Ever since my fellow-pupil Notker with the large lip, has vaunted himself, that he were going to learn all Aristotle by heart, and then translate it into German, I have been uneasy in my mind."

Dame Hadwig again laughed merrily. "Let us begin then? Dost thou know the antiphon, 'Ye seas and rivers praise the Lord?'"

"Yes," said Burkhard.

"Then repeat after me, '[Greek: Thala.s.si kai potami, eulogite ton kurion.]'"

The boy repeated it.

"Now sing it!" He did so.

Ekkehard looked over reproachfully at them. The d.u.c.h.ess interpreted the look aright.

"So, now thou hast learnt six words already," she said to Burkhard, "and as soon as thou wilt ask for it in hexametres, thou shalt be taught some more. For the present, sit down there at my feet, and listen attentively. We will read Virgil now."

Then, Ekkehard began the fourth canto of the aened; and read of the sorrows of Dido, who is ever beset by thoughts of the n.o.ble Trojan guest, whose words and looks are all deeply engraven on her inmost heart. And she speaks out her grief thus to her sister:

"If it were not decreed, in the depth of my soul, that I never, Wedlock again would contract, with any man that is living, If I, the torches of Hymen, and bridal room not detested, Might be so weak perhaps, to give way to this present temptation.

Anna, to thee confess, that since my beloved Sichaeus, Fell with the wound in his heart, at the feet of the blood-dripping Lares, He alone, has succeeded in touching my heart, and disturbing.

All the peace of my soul, that is changed into strife and contention."

But Dame Hadwig had not much sympathy with the sorrows of the Carthaginian widowed queen. She leaned back in her arm-chair and looked up at the ceiling. She found no longer any similarity between herself and the desolate woman in the book.

"Stop a moment," cried she. "How very clear it is, that this is written by a man. He wants to humiliate women! It is all false! Who on earth would fall so madly in love with an utter stranger?"

"That, Virgil has to answer for," said Ekkehard. "History no doubt bequeathed the facts to him."

"Then, the present generation of women is somewhat stronger-minded,"

said the d.u.c.h.ess, making a sign to him to continue. She was almost offended with Virgil's description. Perhaps because she was reminded of certain Didonian feelings which she had experienced herself, one day.

Things had not always been, as they now were.

And he read on, how Anna advises her sister not to struggle any longer against her growing pa.s.sion; and how,--though peace and rest might be implored for, by sacrifices on the altars of the mighty G.o.ds,--the relentless, devouring flame was yet burning on inwardly, and the wound did not heal.

And again the poor deluded queen, desires to hear of the battles round Ilium, and:

"When she was left then alone, and the rays of the queen of the heavens, Fell on her desolate couch, and the stars were silently s.h.i.+ning, Seeming to mock at her grief, which, excluding the pain-stilling slumber, Kept her awake at night, when she thought of him, her beloved.

Many a time, to delude her heart, and stifle its longings She would fondle the boy, the image of him, of aeneas."

A low giggle here interrupted the reading. The cloister-pupil, sitting at the d.u.c.h.ess's feet, so as almost to touch her wavy robes, had listened attentively until now, when he struggled in vain to stifle a rising laugh, which at last broke out, though he had covered up his face with his hands to keep it back.

"What is the matter now, young verse-maker?" asked the d.u.c.h.ess.

"I could not help thinking," said the boy with some embarra.s.sment, "that if my gracious mistress were the queen Dido, I should have been acting the part of Ascanius, when you deigned to kiss and caress me."

The d.u.c.h.ess looked down sharply at the boy. "Art thou inclined to be naughty? Well 'tis no wonder," added she, pointing at his curls, "for the precocious youth has already got grey hairs on his head."

... "That is from the night when they slew Romeias," the cloister-pupil wanted to say, but could not, as the d.u.c.h.ess sharply continued: "That comes from thy forwardness, which makes thee say foolish things, when thou hadst better be silent. Get up little man!"

Burkhard rose from the stool, and stood blus.h.i.+ngly before her.

"So," said she, "now go to Praxedis and tell her that as a punishment, all thy grey hairs are to be cut off, and beg her to do it for you.

That will be a good cure for untimely laughter."

The boy's eyes filled with big tears, but he dared not disobey. So he went up to Praxedis, who had some sympathy for him, since she had heard that he had been Romeias' companion, during his last hours.

"I shall not hurt thee, my little saint," she whispered drawing him towards her. He knelt down before her, bending his young head over her lap, whilst she took a big pair of scissors out of her straw-braided work-basket, and executed the punishment.

At first, the cloister-pupil's sobs, sounded dolefully,--for he who allowed a strange hand to touch his locks, was considered to be deeply dishonoured,--but Praxedis's soft little hand caressingly patted his cheeks, after having ruffled his curls, so that, in spite of all punishment, he felt almost happy and his mouth smilingly caught up the last falling tear.

Ekkehard looked down silently for a while. Frivolous, though graceful jesting, makes a sad heart but sadder. He was hurt that the d.u.c.h.ess had thus interrupted his reading. Looking up into her eyes, he found no comfort there. "She trifles with thee, as well as she trifles with the boy," thought he, closing the book and rising from his seat.

"You are right," said he to Dame Hadwig, "'tis all wrong. Dido ought to laugh, and aeneas to go and kill himself with his sword. Then, it would be quite natural."

She gazed at him with an unsteady look. "What is the matter with you?"

asked she.

"I cannot read any more," replied he.

The d.u.c.h.ess had risen also.

"If you do not care to read any longer," she said with an apparently indifferent expression, "there are still other ways and means to pa.s.s one's time. What say you, if I were to ask you to tell us some graceful tale,--you might choose whatever you liked. There are still many grand and beautiful things, besides your Virgil. Or, you might invent something yourself. I see that you are oppressed by some care. You neither like to read, nor to go out into the country. Everything hurts your eyes, as you say. I think that your mind lacks some great task which we will now give you."