University of Virginia Library

8. CHAPTER VIII.

The succeeding day was the Sabbath. The
morning of the weekly festival was always announced
to the peasants of the Jaegerthal with the
usual summons to devotion. The matin bell had
been heard on the abbey walls, even before the light
penetrated to the bottom of the deep vale; and all
the pious had bent, in common, wherever the sounds
happened to reach their ears, in praise and thanks-giving.
But as the hours wore on, a more elevated
display of Roman worship was prepared in the
high mass, a ceremony addressed equally to the
feelings and the senses.

The sun was fairly above the hills, and the season
bland to seduction. The domestic cattle, relieved
from their weekly toil, basked against the
hill-side, ruminating in contentment, and filled with

the quiet pleasures of their instinct. Children gambolled
before the cottage doors; the husbandman
loitered, in the habiliments that had borne the fashions
of the Haard through many generations, regarding
the silent growth of his crops, and the housewife
hurried from place to place, in the excitement of
simple domestic enjoyment. The month was the
most grateful of the twelve, and well filled with
hopes. The grass had reached its height, and was
throwing out its exuberance, the corn was filling
fast, and the vine began to give forth its clusters.

In the midst of this scene of rural tranquillity, the
deep-toned bells of the abbey called the flock to its
usual fold. Long practice had made the brotherhood
of Limburg expert in all the duties that were
necessary to the earthly administration of their functions.
Even the peals of the bells were regulated
and skilful. Note mournfully succeeded note, and
there was not a silent dell, for miles, into which the
solemn call did not penetrate. Bells were heard too
from Deurckheim, and even from the wide plain beyond;
but none rose fuller upon the air, or came so
sweet and melancholy to the ear, as those which
hung in the abbey towers.

Obedient to the summons, there was a gathering
of all in the valley towards the gate of Limburg.
A crowd appeared also in the direction of the gorge,
for devotion, superstition, or curiosity, never failed
to attract a multitude on these occasions, to witness
mass in that celebrated conventual chapel. Among
the latter came equally the sceptical and the believing,
the young and the old, the fair and her who
deemed it prudent to shade a matronly countenance
with the veil, the idle, the half-converted follower
of Luther, and the lover of music. It was customary
for one of the brothers to preach, when mass
was ended; and Limburg had many monks that were

skilled in the subtleties of the times, and some even
who had names for eloquence.

With a management and coquetry that enter into
most human devices that are intended to act on our
feelings, especially in matters that it is not thought
safe to confide too much to naked reason, the peals of
the bells were continued long, with a view to effect.
As group after group arrived, the court of the abbey
slowly filled, until there appeared a congregation
sufficiently numerous to gratify the self-love of even
a clerical star of our own times. There was much
grave salutation among the different dignitaries that
were here assembled, for of all those who doff the
cap in courtesy, perhaps the German is the most
punctilious and respectful. As the neighboring city
was fully represented in this assembly of the religious
and curious, there was also a profitable display
of the duties that are due to station. A herald
might have obtained many useful hints, had he been
there to note the different degrees of simple homage
that were paid, from the Burgomaster to the Bailiff.
Among the variety of idle and ill-digested remarks
that are lavished on the American people and their
institutions, it is a received pleasantry to joke on
their attachment to official dignities. But he who
has not only seen, but observed both his own countrymen
and strangers, will have had numberless occasions
to remark that this, like most similar strictures,
is liable to the imputation of vapidity, and of
being proof of a narrow observation. The functionary
that is literally a servant of the people,
whatever may be his dispositions, can never triumph
over his masters; and, though it be an honest and
commendable ambition to wish to be so distinguished,
we need only examine the institutions to see that
in this, as in most other similar circumstances, there
is no strict analogy between ourselves and European
nations. The remark has probably been made, because

a respect for official authority has been found
among us, when there was the expectation, and possibly
the wish, to find anarchy.

At the high mass of Limburg there was more
ceremony observed in ushering the meanest village
dignitary to his place in the church, than would be
observed in conducting the head of this great republic
to the high station he occupies; and care was
had, by an agent of the convent, to see that no one
should approach the altar of the Lord of the Universe,
without his receiving the deference he might
claim in virtue of his temporal rank! Here, where
all appear in the temple as they must appear in their
graves, equals in dependence on divine support as
they are equals in frailty, it will not be easy to understand
the hardihood of sophistry which thus
teaches humility and penitence with the tongue, and
invites to pride and presumption in the practice; and
which, when driven to a reason for its conduct, defends
itself against the accusation of inconsistency,
by recriminating the charge of envy!

There had been a suitable display of ceremony
when several functionaries of Deurckheim appeared,
but the strongest manifestation of respect was reserved
for a burgher, who did not enter the gates,
until the people were assembled in the body of the
church. This personage, a man whose hair was
just beginning to be gray, and whose solid, vigorous
frame denoted full health and an easy life, came in
the saddle; for at the period of which we write,
there was a bridle path to the portal of Limburg.
He was accompanied by a female, seemingly his
spouse, who rode an ambling nag, bearing on the
crupper a crone that clung to her well-formed waist,
with easy, domestic familiarity, but like one unused
to her seat. A fair-haired, rosy girl sat the pillion
of the father, and a serving-man, in a species of
official livery, closed the cavalcade.

Sundry of the more substantial citizens of Deurckheim
hastened to the reception of this little party,
for it was Heinrich Frey, with Meta, her mother,
and Ilse, that came unexpectedly to the mass of
Limburg. The affluent and flourishing citizen was
ushered to the part of the church or chapel, where
especial chairs were reserved for such casual visits
of the neighboring functionaries, or for any noble
that devotion, or accident, might lead to worship at
the abbey's altars.

Heinrich Frey was a stout, hale, obstinate, sturdy
burgher, in whom prosperity had a little cooled benevolence,
but who, had he escaped the allurements
of office and the recollection of his own success,
might have passed through life, as one that was
wanting in neither modesty nor humanity. He was,
in short, on a diminished scale, one of those examples
of desertion from the ranks of mankind to
the corps d'élite of the lucky, that we constantly
witness among the worldly and fortunate. While a
youth, he had been sufficiently considerate for the
burthens and difficulties of the unhappy; but a marriage
with a small heiress, and subsequent successes,
had gradually brought him to a view of things, that
was more in unison with his own particular interests,
than it was either philosophical or christian-like.
He was a firm believer in that dictum which says
none but the wealthy have sufficient interest in society
to be intrusted with its control, though his own
instinct might have detected the sophistry, since he
was daily vacillating between opposing principles,
just as they happened to affect his own particular
concerns. Heinrich Frey gave freely to the mendicant,
and to the industrious; but when it came to
be a question of any serious melioration of the lot
of either, he shook his head, in a manner to imply
a mysterious political economy, and uttered shrewd
remarks on the bases of society, and of things as

they were established. In short, he lived in an age
when Germany, and indeed all Christendom, was
much agitated by a question that was likely to unsettle
not only the religion of the day, but divers
other vested interests; and he might have been termed
the chief of the conservative party, in his own
particular circle. These qualities, united to his known
wealth; a reputation for high probity, which was
founded on the belief that he was fully able to repair
any pecuniary wrong he might happen to commit;
a sturdy maintenance of his own opinions,
that passed with the multitude for the consistency
of rectitude; and a perfect fearlessness in deciding
against all those who had not the means of disputing
his decrees, had procured for him the honor of being
the first Burgomaster of Deurckheim.

Were the countenance a certain index of the
qualities of the mind, a physiognomist might have
been at a loss to discover the motives which had induced
Ulricka Hailtzinger, not only the fairest but
the wealthiest maiden of the town, to unite herself
in marriage with the man we have just delineated.
A mild, melancholy, blue eye, that retained its lustre
in despite of forty years, a better outline of features
than is common to the region in which she dwelt,
and a symmetry of arm and bust that, on the other
hand, are rather peculiar to the natives of Germany,
still furnished sufficient evidence of the beauty for
which she must have been distinguished in early
life. In addition to these obvious and more vulgar
attractions, the matronly partner of Heinrich had
an expression of feminine delicacy and intelligence,
of elevated views, and even of mysterious aspirations,
which rendered her a woman that a nice observer
of nature might have loved to study—and
have studied to love.

In personal appearance, Meta was a copy of her
mother, engrafted on the more ruddy health and less

abstracted habits of the father. Her character will
be sufficiently developed as we proceed in the tale.
We commit Ilse to the reader's imagination, which
will readily conceive the sort of attendant that has
been introduced.

The Herr Heinrich did not take possession of his
customary post before the high altar, without causing
the stir and excitement among the simple peasants
of the Jaegerthal, and the truant Deurckheimers
who were present, that became his condition in life.
But even city importance cannot predominate for
ever in the house of God, and the bustle gradually
subsiding, expectation began to take precedency of
civic rank.

The Abbey of Limburg stood high among the
religious communities of the Rhine, for its internal
decorations, its wealth, and its hospitality. The
chapel was justly deemed a rare specimen of monastic
taste, nor was it wanting in most of those ornaments
and decorations, that render the superior
buildings, devoted to the service of the Church of
Rome, so imposing to the senses, and so pleasing to
the admirers of solemn effect. The building was
vast, and, as prevailed throughout that region and
in the century of which we write, sombre. It had
numerous altars, rich in marbles and pictures, each
celebrated in the Palatinate for the kind mediation
of the particular saint to whom it was dedicated,
and each loaded with the votive offerings of the
suppliant, or of the grateful. The walls and the
nave were painted al fresco, not indeed with the
pencil of Raphael, or Buonorotti, but creditably,
and in a manner to heighten the beauty of the place.
The choir was carved in high relief, after a fashion
much esteemed, and that was admirably executed in
the middle states of Europe, no less than in Italy,
and whole flocks of cherubs were seen poising on
the wing around the organ, the altar, and the tombs.

The latter were numerous, and indicated, by their
magnificence, that the bodies of those who had enjoyed
the world's advantages, slept within the hallowed
precincts.

At length a door, communicating with the cloisters,
opened, and the monks appeared, walking in
procession. At their head came the Abbot, wearing
his mitre, and adorned with the gorgeous robes of
his ecclesiastical office. Two priests, decorated
for the duties of the altar, followed, and then succeeded
the professed and the assistants, in pairs.
The whole procession swept through the aisles, in
stately silence; and, after making the tour of most
of the church, paying homage and offering prayers
at several of the most honored altars, it passed into
the choir. Father Bonifacius was seated on his
episcopal throne, and the rest of the brotherhood
occupied the glossy stalls reserved for such occasions.
During the march of the monks, the organ
breathed a low accompaniment, and, as they became
stationary, its last strain died in the vaulted
roof. At this moment the clattering of horses' hoofs
was audible without, causing the startled and
uneasy priests to suspend the mass. The rattling
of steel came next, and then the heavy tread of
armed heels was heard on the pavement of the
church itself.

Emich of Hartenburg came up the principal aisle,
with the steady front of one confident of his power,
and claiming deference. He was accompanied by
his guests, the Knight of Rhodes and Monsieur Latouche,
while young Berchthold Hintermayer kept
at his elbow, like one accustomed to be in close attendance.
A small train of unarmed dependants
brought up the rear. There was a seat of honor,
in the choir itself, and near the master altar, to
which it was usual to admit princes and nobles of
high consideration. Passing through the crowd,

that had collected at the railing of the choir, the
Count inclined towards one of the lateral aisles, and
was soon face to face with the Abbot. The latter
arose, and slightly recognized the presence of his
guest, while the whole brotherhood imitated his example,
though with greater respect; for, as we
have said, it was usual to pay this homage to
worldly rank, even in the temple. Emich seated
himself, with a scowl on his visage, while his two
noble associates found seats of honor near. Berchthold
stood at hand.

An inexperienced eye could have detected no
outward signs of his recent defeat, in the exterior
of Wilhelm of Venloo. His muscles had already
regained their tone, and his entire countenance its
usual expression of severe authority, a quality for
which it was more remarkable than for any lines
of mortification or of thought. He glanced at the
victor, and then, by a secret sign, communicated
with a lay brother. At this moment the mass commenced.

Of all the nations of Christendom, this, compared
with its numbers, is the least connected with the
Church of Rome. The peculiar religious origin of
the people, their habits of examination and mental
independence, and their prejudices (for the Protestant
is no more free from this failing than the Catholic,)
are likely to keep them long separated from
any policy, whether of church or state, that exacts
faith without investigation, or obedience without the
right to remonstrate. An opinion is sedulously disseminated
in the other hemisphere, that busy agents
are rapidly working changes in this respect, and a
powerful party is anxiously anticipating great ecclesiastical
and political results from the return of the
American nation to the opinions of their ancestors
of the middle ages. Were the fact so, it would
give us little concern, for we do not believe salvation

to be the peculiar province of sects; but, had
we any apprehensions of the consequences of such
a conversion, they would not be excited by the accidental
accumulations of emigrants in towns, or on
the public works in which the country is so actively
engaged. We believe that where one native Protestant
becomes a Catholic in America, ten emigrant
Catholics drop quietly into the ranks of the prevailing
sects; and, without at all agitating the point of
which is the gainer or the loser by the change, we
shall proceed to describe the manner of the mass,
as a ceremony, that ninety-nine in a hundred of our
readers have never had, nor probably ever will
have, an opportunity of witnessing.

There is no appeal to the feelings of man, which
has given rise to opinions so decidedly at variance
as those which are entertained of the Roman
ritual. To one description of Christians, these ceremonies
appear to be vain mummeries, invented to
delude, and practised for unjustifiable ends; while,
to another, they contain all that is sublime and imposing
in human worship. As is usual in most
cases of extreme opinions, the truth would seem to
lie between the two. The most zealous Catholic
errs when he would maintain the infallibility of all
who minister at the altar, or when he overlooks the
slovenly and irreverent manner in which the most
holy offices are so frequently performed; and,
surely, the Protestant who quits the temple, in which
justice has been done to the formula of this church,
without perceiving that there is deep and sublime
devotion in its rites, has steeled his feelings against
the admission of every sentiment in favor of a sect
that he is willing to proscribe. We belong to
neither class, and shall, therefore, endeavor to represent
things as they have been seen, not disguising
or affecting a single emotion because our fathers

happened to take refuge in this western world, to
set up altars of a different shade of faith.

The interior of the Abbey-church of Limburg, as
has just been stated, was renowned in Germany for
its magnificence. Its vaulted roof was supported
by many massive pillars, and ornamented with
scriptural stories, by the best pencils of that region.
The grand altar was of marble, richly embellished
with agate, containing as usual a labored representation
of the blessed Mary and her deified child. A
railing of exquisite workmanship and richly gilded,
excluded profane feet from this sanctified spot,
which, in addition to its fixtures, was now glittering
with vessels of gold and precious stones, being decorated
for the approaching mass. The officiating
priests wore vestments stiffened with golden embroidery,
while the inferior attendants were as
usual clad in white, and bound with scarfs of purple.

Upon this scene of gorgeous and elaborate splendor,
in which the noble architecture united with the
minute preparations of the service, to lead the spirit
to lofty contemplations, the chant of the monks, and
the tones of the organ, broke in a deep and startling
appeal to the soul. Lives dedicated to the practices
of their community, had drilled the brotherhood
into perfection, and scarce a note issued
among the vaults that was not attuned to the desired
effect. Trombones, serpents, and viols, lent
their aid to increase the solemn melody of powerful
masculine voices, which were so blended with the
wind instrument as to comprise but one deep, grand,
and grave sound of praise. Count Emich turned
on his seat, clenching the handle of his sword, as if
the clamor of the trumpet were in his ears: then
his unquiet glance met that of the Abbot, and his
chin fell upon a hand. As the service proceeded,
the zeal of the brotherhood seemed to increase, and,
as it was afterwards remarked, on no occasion had

the mass of Limburg, at all times known for its
power in music, been so remarkable for its strong
and stirring influence. Voice rolled above voice,
in a manner that must be heard to be understood,
and there were moments when the tones of the instruments,
full and united as they were, appeared
drowned in the blending of a hundred human
aspirations. From the deepest of one of these solemn
peals there arose a strain, at whose first tone
all other music was hushed. It was a single human
voice, of that admixture of the male and female
tones which seems nearest allied to the supernatural,
being in truth, a contr'alto of great compass,
roundness, and sweetness. Count Emich started,
for, when these heavenly strains broke upon his
ear, they seemed to float in the vault above the
choir; nor could he, as the singer was concealed,
assure himself of the delusion, while the solo lasted.
He dropped his sword, and gazed about him, for
the first time that morning, with an expression of
human charity. The lips of young Berchthold
parted in admiration, and as he just then met the
blue eye of Meta, there was an exchange of gentle
feeling in that quiet and secret glance. In the
mean time, the chant proceeded. The single unearthly
voice that had so stirred the spirits of the
listeners ceased, and a full chorus of the choir
concluded the hymn.

The Count of Leiningen drew a breath so heavy,
that it was audible to Bonifacius. The latter suffered
his countenance to unbend, and, as in the case
of the youthful pair, the spirit of concord appeared
to soothe the tempers of these fierce rivals. But
here commenced the ritual of the mass. The rapid
utterance of the officiating priest, gesticulations
which lost their significance by being blended and
indistinct, and prayers in a tongue that defeated
their object, by involving instead of rendering the

medium of thought noble and clear, united to weaken
the effect produced by the music. Worship lost
its character of inspiration, by assuming that of
business, neither attracting the imagination, influencing
the feelings, nor yet sufficiently convincing
the reason. Abandoning all these persuasive means,
too much was left to the convictions of a naked and
settled belief.

Emich of Hartenburg gradually resumed his repulsive
mien, and the effect of all that he had so lately
felt was lost in cold indifference to words that
he did not comprehend. Even young Berchthold
sought the eye of Meta less anxiously, and both the
Knight of Rhodes and Monsieur Latouche gazed
listlessly towards the throng grouped before the
railing of the choir. In this manner did the service
commence and terminate. There was another
hymn, and a second exhibition of the power of
music, though with an effect less marked than that
which had been produced when the listeners were
taken by surprise.

Against a column, near the centre of the church,
was erected a pulpit. A monk rose from his stall,
at the close of the worship, and, passing through
the crowd, ascended its stairs like one about to
preach. It was Father Johan, a brother known for
the devotedness of his faith and the severity of his
opinions. The low receding forehead, the quiet but
glassy eye, and the fixedness of the inferior members
of the face, might readily have persuaded a physiognomist
that he beheld a heavy enthusiast. The
language and opinions of the preacher did not deny
the expectations excited by his exterior. He painted,
in strong and ominous language, the dangers of the
sinner, narrowed the fold of the saved within metaphysical
and questionable limits, and made frequent
appeals to the fears and to the less noble passions
of his audience. While the greater number in the

church kept aloof, listening indifferently, or gazing
at the monuments and other rich decorations of the
place, a knot of kindred spirits clustered around the
pillar that supported the preacher's desk, deeply
sympathizing in all his pictures of pain and desolation.

The sharp, angry, and denunciatory address of
Father Johan was soon ended; and, as he re-entered
the choir, the Abbot arose and retired to the cloisters,
followed by most of the brotherhood. But
neither the Count of Hartenburg, nor any of his
train, seemed disposed to quit the church so soon.
An air of expectation appeared, also, to detain most
of those in the body of the building. A monk, towards
whom many longing eyes had been cast,
yielded to the general and touching appeal, and
quitting his stall, one of high honor, he took the
place just vacated by Father Johan.

This movement was no sooner made, than the
name of Father Arnolph, the Prior, or the immediate
spiritual governor of the community, was
buzzed among the people. Emich arose, and, accompanied
by his friends, took a station near the
pulpit, while the dense mass of uplifted and interested
faces, that filled the middle aisle, proclaimed the
interest of the congregation. There was that in
the countenance and air of Father Arnolph to justify
this plain demonstration of sympathy. His eye was
mild and benevolent, his forehead full, placid, and
even, and the whole character of his face was that
of winning philanthropy. To the influence of this
general and benevolent expression, must be added
evident signs of discipline, much thought, and meek
hope.

The spiritual part of such a man was not likely
to belie the exterior. His doctrine, like that of the
divine being he served, was charitable and full
of love. Though he spoke of the terrors of judgment,

it was with grief rather than with menace:
and it was when dwelling on the persuasive and
attractive character of faith, that he was most
earnest and eloquent. Again Emich found his secret
intentions shaken, and his frown relaxed to gleamings
of sympathy and interest. The eye of the
preacher met that of the stern baron, and, without
making an alarming change of manner, he continued,
as it were, by a natural course of thought—
“Such is the church in its purity, my hearers, let
the errors, the passions, or the designs of man pervert
it in what manner they may. The faith I
preach is of God, and it partakes of the godlike
qualities of his divine essence. He who would impute
the sins of its mistaken performance to aught
but his erring creatures, casts odium on that which
is instituted for his own good; and he who would
do violence to its altars, lifts a hand against a work
of omnipotence!”

With these words in his ears, Emich of Hartenburg
turned away, and passed musingly up the
church.