The Truce of God Part 2

The missionary buried his face in his hands, and Gilbert, abashed by the solemn rebuke, kept a respectful silence.

"O Gilbert! Gilbert!" resumed the priest, lifting his tearful eyes from the ground, "if your G.o.d submitted to insult and stripes and death to save you, can you not patiently endure for His sake a few slight injuries?"

"Our injuries are not slight," replied the youth, "nor is the vengeance of the house of Stramen an idle threat. They have burned the houses of our serfs, desolated our fields, butchered our kinsmen and dependants; shall we not protect ourselves, even though our resistance makes their blood run freely? They have accused my father of a crime of which he is innocent, and have sought to visit upon him real chastis.e.m.e.nt for the imaginary murder. Shall I stand still and tamely see them wreak their most unrighteous wrath upon my guiltless parent's head?"

"I should be glad, my son, if you confined yourselves to mere resistance; but how often have you inflicted, within sight of this very door, the injuries of which you complain? Could you see what I see--the orphan's piteous face, the widowed mother's tear of agony--blighted hopes and unavailing regrets--you might pause in your fearful retaliation!"

"They have brought it on themselves," said Gilbert, musing, "_they_ are the aggressors."

"Alas! be not the means by which their sins are aggravated."

"You must address yourself to them!" returned the other.

"And have I not? Day and night I have reasoned, implored, prayed; I have represented the folly, injustice, and impiety of their violence; I have held out to them the anger of G.o.d and the maledictions of man; I have employed art, eloquence, and reproof: but all in vain. Oh, what years of misery has your quarrel cost me! Could I only live to see it healed; to see you once more living like Christian men, employed in atoning for your own sins, not in arrogantly chastising each other's faults; to see the sword of discord broken, and peace and love and safety proclaiming the Divine efficacy of our holy religion! We all have enough to do to vanquish ourselves, and have little time to spare in subduing others, unless we aid them in conquering their pa.s.sions, and then we promote our salvation: but your conquests only peril your eternal welfare."

Gilbert understood from this last remark that his companion had read what was pa.s.sing in his mind, and he contented himself by saying:

"Believe me, Father, I regret their obstinacy."

"You are young now," pursued his monitor; "but, trust me, when your old limbs fail you, and your sight waxes dim, your angry deeds will rise like spectres around you and haunt you to the tomb."

Gilbert attempted no reply, but listened with the air of one who approved the advice, but despaired of ever profiting by it. After an interval of meditation, Father Omehr arose and spread some soft fleeces in the corner of the room.

"May you sleep soundly, my son," he said, "and beg of G.o.d grace to moderate your angry pa.s.sions. Your bed is not very soft, but it is in your power to sanctify it, and then it will be better than the down which m.u.f.fles those who disdain or neglect to invoke the Divine protection."

Gilbert knelt down and received the old man's blessing, who, wis.h.i.+ng 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, a.s.sume 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 n.o.ble church sleeping in the moonlight. Its walls of variegated marble had been built princ.i.p.ally 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 chastis.e.m.e.nt. He did not live in an age when voluntary mortification was ridiculed, when a sacred ambition to imitate a crucified G.o.d insured contempt from man. Then, those self-denying religious were not taunted with "the hope of gaining heaven by making earth a h.e.l.l." And perhaps Gilbert knew that the spiritual peace and delight derived from such chastis.e.m.e.nts, 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 h.o.a.ry 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 st.u.r.dy serf in the centre of his family, as he came to share the blessings of the Ma.s.s. 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 inst.i.tution 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 n.o.ble, or had he known, as he then surmised, that the fair visitor was the daughter of his father's deadliest foe.

Their embarra.s.sment was relieved by the appearance of Father Omehr, who extended to both his blessing, gratefully received the basket from the attendant, and, after Margaret de Stramen had retired, accompanied Gilbert to the church. As they emerged into the morning air, Gilbert caught a glimpse of the graceful figure of the young lady entering the church. But his attention was soon arrested by a strange, wild-looking being upon the church steps. She was apparently not over forty, tall, slightly built, and evidently the victim of insanity. Her long black hair hung in thick ma.s.ses over her pale face and deathly-white neck; her arms swung to and fro with a restless motion, and she sang at intervals s.n.a.t.c.hes from the ballads for which Suabia is so renowned. As Gilbert pa.s.sed her, she bent her large wild eyes upon him with an expression of such fearful meaning, that brave as was the youth in battle, he recoiled from their ferocious glare. The next instant she was abstracted as before, and crossed her hands upon her breast in an att.i.tude of devotion. Gilbert looked to his companion with an inquiring eye, but the priest was silent.

The next instant they were treading the marble aisle. Gilbert knelt down upon a tombstone, and endeavored to compose himself for the Ma.s.s. He perceived from the glances thrown upon him from time to time by some of the peasantry, that he was recognized as an enemy, yet respected as one under the aegis of religion. These glances became more frequent when Father Omehr, in his brief discourse, eloquently adverted to the example of Jesus in the forgiveness of injuries, and enforced the sacred duty of a Christian to imitate that Divine model. In powerful terms the gray-haired priest portrayed the miseries of discord, and the blessings of mutual forbearance; and Gilbert felt that a change was creeping over him.

He left the church when the Holy Sacrifice had been completed, meditating upon the pastor's powerful exhortation. But the train of his thoughts was broken upon the steps by that wild face almost touching his. As the maniac stared fixedly at him, she muttered in a hoa.r.s.e whisper:

They laid him 'neath a noisy tree, And his glossy head was bare; They piled the cold earth on his breast, Then left him helpless there.

While the youth listened in amazement, and almost in terror, the frantic woman drew from her bosom a long knife, and inflicted a deep wound upon him before he could wrench it from her determined grasp. The knife had penetrated to the rib, but not farther, having glanced off to the side.

As the blood spread rapidly over his hunting-s.h.i.+rt, the maniac gave a wild laugh, and repeated in the same low, dismal tone:

'T is red, 't is red, as red as his; Man's blood is ever red; 'T was thus his side was crimsoned o'er When they told me he was dead.

With the last words, she laughed again, more wildly than before, and, darting into the wood, was soon lost among the gigantic trees.

Some serfs were standing around, but offered no a.s.sistance. They seemed rooted to the ground in terror at the rash act, and crossed themselves in mute astonishment. At this juncture, while Gilbert was examining the extent of the wound, and vainly endeavoring to stanch the blood, the Lady Margaret and the priest appeared at the doorway, having been attracted by the loud laugh of Gilbert's a.s.sailant.

Comprehending in an instant that Gilbert had been wounded, Father Omehr hastened to support him.

"It is but a trifle, Father," said the youth, anxious to relieve the evident uneasiness of the old man.

"May G.o.d will that it be so!" replied the priest, eagerly removing the hunting-s.h.i.+rt, and examining the path of the knife. After which, having carefully replaced the garment, he turned to the serfs who yet lingered there, inquiring, in a voice of deep indignation:

"Who has dared to do this? Who has been impious enough to draw blood during the truce of G.o.d, upon the threshold of G.o.d's sacred temple?"

One of them hastened to reply:

"It was Alber of the Thorn's widow, crazy Bertha. G.o.d preserve us from such a deed, at such a time, and in such a place!"

"But could you not have prevented it?" continued the priest, eyeing the man until he quailed.

Gilbert interposed.

"They are not to blame, Father," he said; "I did not expect the attack myself, and none else could have prevented the blow."

"It bleeds much," pursued the priest, again examining the wound.

Gilbert made a step forward, but Father Omehr detained him, and reluctantly the youth allowed himself to be supported by two of the serfs of Stramen to the bed he had occupied during the night.

Margaret de Stramen, in the spirit of the age, had gone to the cell, after discovering the nature of the young man's injury, and taken from the basket she had brought some salves and stringents with which she stood ready at the door. She washed the wound and dressed it with the tenderness peculiar to woman, and received Gilbert's thanks with a slight inclination of the head. Having completed her task, she drew the priest aside, and, looking up into his face with evident emotion, said:

"Could there have been poison on the knife?"

Though spoken in a whisper, the youth must have heard it, for he smiled at first, and the next moment became pale as death. Father Omehr noticed the change upon his features, and replied loud enough to be overheard:

"No, no! it cannot be. Some momentary paroxysm prompted the deed; there could have been no preparation, no predetermination."

"It is not for his sake," continued Margaret, in a still lower tone, and withdrawing farther from the bed; "not for his sake I fear an unfortunate result; but for our own. I know that it is Gilbert de Hers who lies there, and I have drunk too deeply in the prejudices of our family to repine at any calamity that may befall him. But this impious outrage can insure nothing but the Divine vengeance upon our heads. If he were borne down in battle, I perhaps should rejoice at heart at the triumph of my father; but I would rather die than see him perish from a n.o.ble confidence in the house of Stramen."