University of Virginia Library

9. CHAPTER IX.

The Abbey of Limburg owed its existence and
its rich endowments chiefly to the favor of an emperor
of Germany. In honor of this great patron,
an especial altar, and a gorgeous and elaborate
tomb, had been erected. Similar honors had been
also paid to the Counts of Leiningen, and to certain
other noble families of the vicinity. These several
altars were in black marble, relieved by ornaments

of white, and the tombs were decorated with such
heraldic devices as marked the particular races of
the different individuals. They stood apart from
those already described in the principal church, in
a sort of crypt, or semi-subterranean chapel, beneath
the choir. Thither Count Emich held his way,
when he quitted the column against which he had
leaned, while listening to the sermon of Father Arnolph.

The light of the upper church had that soft and
melancholy tint, which is so peculiar and so ornamental
to a Gothic edifice. It entered through high,
narrow windows of painted glass, coloring all within
with a hue that it was not difficult for the imagination
to conceive had some secret connexion with the
holy character of the place. The depth and the
secluded position of the chapel rendered this light
still more gloomy and touching in the crypt. When
the Count reached the pavement, he felt its influence
deeply, for few descended into that solemn and hallowed
vault without becoming sensible to the religious
awe that reigned around. Emich crossed
himself, and, as he passed before the altar reared by
his race, he bent a knee to the mild and lovely female
countenance that was there to represent the
Mother of Christ. He thought himself alone, and
he uttered a prayer; for, though Emich of Leiningen
was a man that rarely communed seriously
with God, when exposed to worldly and deriding
eyes, he had in his heart deep reverence for his
power. As he arose, a movement at his elbow attracted
a look aside.

“Ha!—Thou here, Herr Prior!” he exclaimed,
suppressing as much of his surprise as self-command
enabled him to do with success; “Thou art
swift in thy passage from the stall to the pulpit, and
swifter from the pulpit to the chapel!”

“We that are vowed to lives of monkish devotion,

need to be often at all. Thou wert kneeling,
Emich, before the altar of thy race?”

“By St. Benedict, thy patron! but thou hast, in
good sooth, found me in some such act, holy father.
A weakness came over me, on entering into this
gloomy place, and I would fain do reverence to the
spirits of those who have gone before me.”

“Callest thou the desire to pray a weakness? At
what shrine could one of thy name worship more
fittingly than at this, which has been reared and
enriched by the devout of his own kindred; or in
what better mood canst thou look into thyself, and
call upon divine aid, than in that thou hast mentioned?”

“Herr Prior, thou overlookest the occasion of my
visit, which is to hear the Abbey mass, and not to
confess and be shrived.”

“It is long since thou hast had the benefit of these
sacred offices, Emich!”

“Thou hast done well in thy way, father, at the
desk; and I question not that the burghers of
Deurckheim and their gossips will do thee credit in
their private discourses. Thy fame as a preacher
is not of mean degree even now, and this effort of
to-day would well-nigh gain thee a bishopric, were
the women of our valley in the way of moving
Rome. How fareth it with the most holy Abbot
this morning, and with those two pillars of the community,
the Fathers Siegfried and Cuno?”

“Thou sawest them in their places at the most
holy mass.”

“'Fore heaven! but they are worthy companions!
Believe me, father, more honest boon associates do
not dwell in our merry Palatinate, nor men that I
love in a better fashion, according to their merits!
Did'st hear, reverend Prior, of their visit to Hartenburg,
and of their deeds in the flesh?”

“The humor of thy mind is quickly changed,

Herr Count, and pity 'tis 'twere thus. I came not
here to listen to tales of excesses in thy hold, nor of
any forgetfulness of those, who having sworn to
better things, have betrayed that they are merely
men.

“Ay, and stout men, if any such dwell in the
empire! I prize my good name as another, or I
would tell thee the number of vessels that my
keeper of the cellar sweareth are no better than so
many men-at-arms fallen in a rally or an onset.”

“This love of wine is the curse of our region and
of the times. I would that none of the treacherous
liquor should again enter the gates of Limburg!”

“God's justice! reverend Prior, thou wilt in
sooth find some decrease of quantity in future,” returned
Emich, laughing, “for the disputed vineyards
have at last found a single, and, though it might
better come from thee, as one that hath often looked
into my interior, as it were, by confession, a worthy
master. I pledge thee the honor of a noble, that
not a flask of that which thou so contemnest shall
ever again do violence to thy taste.”

The Count cast a triumphant glance at the monk,
in the expectation, and possibly in the hope, that,
notwithstanding his professions of moderation, some
lurking signs of regret might betray themselves at
this announcement of the convent's loss. But Father
Arnolph was what he seemed, a man devoted
to the holy office he had assumed, and one but little
influenced by worldly interests.

“I understand thee, Emich,” he said mildly, but
unmoved. “This scandal was not wanting at such
a moment, to bring obloquy upon a reverend and
holy church, against which its enemies have been
permitted to make rude warfare, for reasons that
are concealed in the inscrutable mysteries of him
who founded it.”

“Thou speakest in reason, monk, for, to say truth,

yon fellow of Saxony, and his followers, who are
any thing but few or weak, begin to move many in
this quarter to doubts and disobedience. Thou must
most stoutly hate this brother Luther in thy heart,
father!”

For the first time that day, the countenance of
the Prior lost its even expression of benevolence.
But the change was so imperceptible to a vulgar
eye, as to escape the scrutiny of the Count; and the
feeling, a lingering remnant of humanity, was
quickly mastered by one so accustomed to hold the
passions in subjection.

“The name of the schismatic hath troubled me!”
returned the Prior, smiling mournfully at the consciousness
of his own weakness; “I hope it has
not been with a feeling of personal dislike. He
stands on a frightful precipice, and from my soul do
I pray, that not only he, but all the deluded that follow
in his dangerous track, may see their peril in
time to retire unharmed!”

“Father, thou speakest like one that wishest good
to the Saxon rather than harm!”

“I think I may say, the words do not belie the
thoughts.”

“Nay, thou forgettest the damnable heresies he
practiseth, and overlooketh his motive! Surely one
that can thus sell soul and body for love of a wanton
nun, hath little claim to thy charity!”

There was a slight glow on the temples of Father
Arnolph.

“They have attributed to him this craven passion,”
he answered, “and they have tried to prove,
that a mean wish to partake of the pleasures of the
world, lies at the bottom of his rebellion; but I believe
it not, and I say it not.”

“God's truth! thou art worthy of thy holy office,
Herr Prior, and I honor thy moderation. Were there
more like thee among us, we should have a better

neighborhood, and less meddling with the concerns
of others. With thee, I see myself no such necessity
of his openly wiving the nun, for it is very possible
to enjoy the gifts of life even under a cowl,
should it be our fortune to wear it.”

The monk made no answer, for he perceived he
had to do with one unequal to understanding his own
character.

“Of this we will say no more,” he rejoined, after
a brief and painful pause; “let us look rather to
thine own welfare. It is said, Count Emich, that
thou meditatest evil to this holy shrine; that ambition,
and the longings of cupidity, have tempted
thee to plot our abbey's fall, in order that none may
stand between thine own baronial power and the
throne of the Elector!”

“Thou art less unwilling to form unkind opinions
of thy nearest neighbor, than of that mortal enemy
of the Church, Luther, it would appear, Herr Prior.
What hast thou seen in me, that can embolden one
of thy charity to hazard this accusation?”

“I do but hazard what all in our convent think
and dread. Hast thou reflected well, Emich, of this
sacrilegious enterprise, and of what may be its
fruits? Dost thou recall the objects for which
these holy altars were reared, or the hand that laid
the corner-stone of the edifice thou wouldst so profanely
overthrow?”

“Look you, good Father Arnolph, there are two
manners of viewing the erection of thy convent,
and more especially of this identical church in
which we stand. One of our traditions sayeth that
the arch-knave himself had his trowel in thy masonry.”

“Thou art of too high lineage, of blood too noble,
and of intelligence too ripe, to credit the tale.”

“These are points in which I pretend not to dip
too deeply. I am no scholar of Prague or Wittenberg,

that thou shouldst put these questions so
closely to me. It were well that the brotherhood
had bethought itself of this imputation in season,
that the question might have been settled, for or
against, as justice needed, when the learned and
great among our fathers were met at Constance, in
grave and general council.”

Father Arnolph regarded his companion in serious
concern. He too well knew the deplorable
ignorance, and the consequent superstition, in which
even the great of his time were involved, to manifest
surprise; but he also knew the power the other
wielded sufficiently to foresee the evils of such a
union between force and ignorance. Still it was
not his present object to combat opinions that were
only to be removed by time and study, if indeed
they can ever be eradicated, when fairly rooted in
the human mind. He pursued his immediate design,
therefore, avoiding a discussion, which, at that
moment, might prove worse than useless.

“That the finger of evil mingles more or less
with all things that come of human agency, may be
true,” he continued, taking care that the expression
of his eye should neither awaken the pride, nor
arouse the obstinacy of the noble—“but when altars
have been reared, and when the worship of the
Most High God hath continued for ages, we have
reason to hope that his holy spirit presideth in majesty
and love around the shrines. Such hath been
the case with Limburg, Count Emich: and doubt it
not, we who stand here, holding this discourse,
stand also in the immediate presence of that dread
Being who created heaven and earth, who guideth
our lives, and who will judge us in death!”

“God help us, Herr Prior! Thou hast already
done thy office in the desk this day, and I see no
occasion that thou shouldst doubly perform a function,
that was so well acquitted at first. I like not

the manner of being ushered, as it were unannounced,
into so dread a presence as this thou hast
just proclaimed. Were it but the Elector Friedrich,
Emich of Leiningen could not presume to this familiarity,
without some consultation as to its fitness.”

“In the eyes of the Being we mean, Electors and
Emperors are equally indifferent. He loveth the
meek, and the merciful, and the just, while he
scourgeth them that deny his authority. But thou
hast named thy feudal prince, and I will question
thee in a manner suited to thy habits. Thou art, in
truth, Emich of Leiningen, a noble of name in the
Palatinate, and one known to be of long-established
authority in these regions. Still art thou second,
or even third, in worldly command, in this thy very
country. The Elector and the Emperor both hold
thee in check, and either is strong enough to
destroy thee at pleasure, in thy vaunted hold of
Hartenburg.”

“To the last I yield the means, if thou wilt, worthy
Prior”—interrupted the Count—“but for the first,
he must needs dispose of his own pressing enemies,
before he achieves this victory!”

Father Arnolph understood the other's meaning,
for it was no secret that Friedrich was, just then, so
pressed as to sit on a tottering throne; a circumstance
that was known to have encouraged the long
meditated designs of the Count of Hartenburg to get
rid of a community, that thwarted his views, and
diminished his local authority.

“Forgetting the Elector, we will turn only to the
Emperor, then,” rejoined the Prior. “Thou believest
him to be in his palace, and remote from thy
country, and certainly he hath here no visible force
to restrain thy rebellious hand. We will imagine
that a family he protected—nay, that he loved—
stood in the way of some of thy greedy projects, and
that the tempter had persuaded thee it would be well

to remove it, or to destroy with the strong hand.
Art thou weak enough, Count Emich, to listen to
such advice, when thou knowest that the arm of
Charles is long enough to reach from his distant
Madrid to the most remote corner of Germany, and
that his vengeance would be as sure as it would be
fearful?”

“It would be a bold warfare, Herr Prior, that of
Emich of Leiningen against Charles Quintus! Left
to mine own humor, holy monk, I would rather
choose another enemy.”

“And yet thou wouldst war with one mightier
than he! Thou raisest thy impotent arm, and thy
audacious will, against thy God! Thou wouldst
despise his promises, profane his altars, nay, thou
wouldst fain throw down the tabernacle that he hath
reared! Dost thou think that omnipotence will be a
nerveless witness of this sin; or that an eternal
and benign wisdom will forget to punish?”

“By St. Paul! thou puttest the matter altogether
in thine own interest, Father Arnolph, for there is
yet no proof that this Abbey of Limburg hath any
such origin, or, if it had, that it hath not fallen into
disfavor, by the excesses of its own professed.
'Twere well to send for the right reverend Abbot,
and those pillars of sanctity the Fathers Cuno and
Siegfried, to bear witness in thy behalf. God's
wisdom! I reason better with those worthies, in
such a matter, than with thee!”

Emich laughed, the sound echoing in that vaulted
chapel to the ears of the monk, like the scoffing of a
demon. Still, the natural equity of Father Arnolph
told him that there was too much to justify the
taunt of the noble, for he had long and bitterly
mourned the depravity of many of the brotherhood.

“I am not here to sit in judgment on those who
err, but to defend the shrines at which I worship,
and to warn thee from a fatal sin. If thy hand is

ever lifted against these walls, it is raised against
that which God hath blessed, and which God will
avenge. But thou art of human feeling, Emich of
Hartenburg; and though, doubting of the sacred
character of that which thou wouldst fain destroy,
thou canst not deceive thyself concerning these
tombs—In this holy chapel have prayers been often
raised, and masses said, for the souls of thine own
line!”

The Count of Leiningen looked steadily at the
speaker. Father Arnolph had placed himself, without
design, near the opening which communicated
between that sombre chapel and the superior church.
Rays of bright light shot through the eastern window,
and fell upon the pavement at his feet, throwing
around his form the mild and solemn lustre
which comes from the stained glass of the Gothio
ages. The services of the morning had also spread,
throughout the entire building, that soothing atmosphere
which is usually the attendant of Roman
worship. The incense had penetrated to the crypt,
and unconsciously the warlike noble had felt its influence
quieting his nerves and lulling the passions.
All who have entered the principal Basilica of modern
Rome, have been subject to a combination of
moral and physical causes that produce the result
we mean, and which, though more striking in that
vast and glorious pile, resembling a world with
attributes and an atmosphere of its own, is also felt
in every Catholic temple of consequence in a lessened
degree.

“Here lie my fathers, Arnolph,” answered the
Count, huskily; “and here, as thou sayest, have
masses been said for their souls!”

“And thou contemnest their graves—thou wouldst
violate even their bones!”

“'Twere not an act for a Christian!”

“Look hither, Count. This is the monument of

the good Emich, thy ancestor. He honored his
God, and did not scruple to worship at our altars.”

“Thou knowest, holy Prior, that I have often
bared my soul at thy knees.”

“Thou hast confessed, and hast been shrived;
that thou didst not lay up future griefs—”

“Say rather damnation”—interrupted one behind,
whose voice, issuing suddenly from that sepulchral
chapel, seemed to come from the tombs themselves
—“Thou triflest, reverend Prior, with our holy
mission, to deal thus tenderly with so sore a sinner.”

The Count of Leiningen had started, and even
quailed, at the first words of interruption; but looking
around, he beheld the receding front, the sunken
eye, and the bending person of Father Johan.”

“Monks, I leave you,” said Emich, firmly. “It
is good for ye to pray, and to frequent these gloomy
altars; but I, who am a soldier, cannot waste further
time in your vaults. Herr Prior, farewell.
Thou hast a guardian that will protect the good.”

Before the Prior could recover his voice, for he
too had been taken by surprise, the Count stalked,
with a heavy footstep, up the marble stairs, and the
tread of his armed heel was soon heard on the flags
above.