The Truce of God. George Henry Miles
window which commanded a view of the neighboring castle. He stood there looking idly upon the darkening prospect, until the appearance of two persons riding rapidly along the main road to the castle, aroused his attention. He followed them eagerly with his eyes until they were completely lost in the twilight. One of the riders was evidently a woman; but it would be inquiring too minutely into Gilbert's thoughts to determine whether that circumstance, or the proneness of youth to become interested in trifles, excited his curiosity.
Night was fast approaching, and a light from the altar made itself felt throughout the church. Still the priest knelt before the sacred tabernacle, and Gilbert longed for his appearance. He grew impatient of being alone, when a companion was so near at hand; the place was strange, and there were no well-known objects to stand in the place of friends, supplying by the thousand associations they conjure up, and their mute appeals to memory, the absence of language.
The minutes wore heavily on; but at length the priest entered the sacristy. Gilbert followed him out of the church to a very small house a few paces off, within the shadow of the wood. The house, which was but one story high, was divided into two rooms by a stone partition. In the back room slept the pastor of the church, Father Omehr. The front room contained a table and a bench. Father Omehr, for this was the name of Gilbert's companion, struck a light and made the young man sit down upon the bench, while he spread out upon the table some fruit and bread and wine.
"Eat, my son," said the old man; "the wine is good and the bread is quite fresh. These grapes are better than any in Hers."
Gilbert seemed inclined to dispute the last assertion; but the length and vigor of his repast strongly confirmed the opinion expressed by his host. The latter remained standing with his arms folded on his breast, and regarded the youth with a smile, as he indulged the keen appetite sharpened by the severe exercise of the day. The meal was eaten in silence, save an occasional entreaty from Gilbert to his entertainer to partake of his own cheer, and the refusal. The little lamp between them shone upon two noble faces: in spite of the great disparity between their ages, they were alike; not so much in feature as in the character of the head.
The priest must have been near seventy. The top of his head was entirely bald; yet the little hair left him, which grew behind in a semicircle, from ear to ear, was only sprinkled with gray. He was tall and admirably formed for strength and agility; and though his cheek was pale and sunken, and his high broad forehead ploughed by many a heavy line, still in his eye and lips and nose were visible the relics of a splendid creation. There was an expression of great energy about his mouth; his whole face indicated intelligence and benevolence; and it was the actual possession of this energy, intellect, and virtue that made Father Omehr a worthy descendant of the noble emissaries of Adrian, who, ever in the rear of Charlemagne's armies, healed by the Cross the wounds inflicted by the sword, and drove forever from the forests of Germany the gloomy and accursed rites of Hesus and Taranis.
Gilbert de Hers was more than a fearless hunter and skilful soldier. He had been carefully instructed by his confessor in the writings of the Fathers—in logic, philosophy, and the classics; he had read the death of Patroclus, and the episode of Nisus and Euryalus; he knew by heart many of those beautiful hymns whose authors, in the spirit of Catholic humility, had concealed their names. He was much beloved by all who knew him and were permitted to love him. His charities were numerous and unostentatious. Though scarcely twenty-one, his bearing, was bold and manly; there was no disguise about his large black eyes; they spoke out all his thoughts before his tongue could tell them. Apart from the great beauty of his features, high thoughts had printed a language on his face much more fascinating than mere regularity of feature. His very elegant form did not promise extraordinary strength, yet he was as formidable to his foes as welcome to his friends.
Gilbert rose at the conclusion of his rather protracted meal, and declared he would remain seated no longer while his companion stood. The priest carefully removed the remnants, after which he sat down upon the bench, and obliged the youth to sit beside him.
"Now, my son," he said, "tell me what in the world has brought you here alone?"
"No inclination of mine, my dear Father," replied Gilbert.
"Who has sent you then?"
"I am sent by chance," answered Gilbert, laughing. "Early this morning I set out, with some twenty companions, in pursuit of a boar. I was better mounted than they, and so was the boar, for he distanced them. When the chase was at an end I found myself entirely alone, and could hear nothing of my men. I did not know where I was; so I permitted my horse to choose his own course, and by some accident he has brought me here."
Father Omehr listened attentively, and added, after a pause:
"It is well you came not yesterday. Did you meet any one in the wood?"
Gilbert felt the searching eye of his companion upon him, and related with much embarrassment all that had happened at the spring.
"I knew he was in search of something to prey upon when he left me so suddenly. That Henry de Stramen should thus pursue a boy!—fie! It is a stain upon his manhood!"
Gilbert looked up in the speaker's face to ascertain if he were in earnest.
"And but for that little bell, where should you be at this moment?"
"Here, Father, most likely!"
This was said so calmly and maliciously, that Father Omehr could not repress a smile. But it quickly vanished, and left behind an expression of deep sorrow.
"And must this fatal feud last forever?" was his passionate exclamation; "are ye ever to revel in carnage, like the lion of the desert—and shall the example of the Son of God inspire nothing but contempt for those who imitate Him?"
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 God 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 chastisement 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 God 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 passions, 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 passing in his mind, and he contented himself by saying:
"Believe me, Father, I