The Truce of God. George Henry Miles
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 God grace to moderate your angry passions. 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 muffles those who disdain or neglect to invoke the Divine protection."
Gilbert knelt down and received the old man's blessing, who, wishing 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, assume 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 noble church sleeping in the moonlight. Its walls of variegated marble had been built principally 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 chastisement. He did not live in an age when voluntary mortification was ridiculed, when a sacred ambition to imitate a crucified God insured contempt from man. Then, those self-denying religious were not taunted with "the hope of gaining heaven by making earth a hell." And perhaps Gilbert knew that the spiritual peace and delight derived from such chastisements, 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 hoary 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 sturdy serf in the centre of his family, as he came to share the blessings of the Mass. 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 institution 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 noble, or had he known, as he then surmised, that the fair visitor was the daughter of his father's deadliest foe.
Their embarrassment 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 masses over her pale face and deathly-white neck; her arms swung to and fro with a restless motion, and she sang at intervals snatches from the ballads for which Suabia is so renowned. As Gilbert passed 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 attitude 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 Mass. 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 hoarse 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-shirt, 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