_CHAPTER XLIII_.
_IN THE CLOISTER_.
Meanwhile Rechberg had reached the gate of the cloister; it was openedat once, and, with his companion, he entered a small courtyard.
"It is too soon yet," said the porter, when the monk had informed himof the object of their visit; "but you can wait here."
They stepped forward towards a low wall, festooned with creepers, whichshut off the garden, exclusively reserved for the brotherhood. Erwincould see and admire their grave and dignified deportment, and remarkedtheir difference from the German monks, who were usually occupied inout-door pursuits; whereas at Cluny they passed their lives in thepractice of interior virtues, and the advancement of science.
At this moment two lay brothers approached the wall, talking with anearnestness which indicated the importance of their subject. They spokegravely and in measured tones, although Rechberg could not understand asingle word of their conversation, he imagined that it was probably adiscussion of some intricate problem of philosophy.
"What language is that?" he asked.
"Greek, Count," replied Severinus, in a low voice; "every knownlanguage is spoken in our community; Latin and Greek, and Arabic andHebrew; they are perfectly familiar with all of them, and withmore still. I like to hear them talk Hebrew, it is such a strangedialect,--so guttural, that it seems uttered rather by the throat thanby the tongue. I doubt, whether the Franks could articulate a singlesyllable of it; but I think you will have a chance to judge foryourself during our walk. Ah! here come two of your artists!--The veryones of all whom I prefer, for they have heart and a soul; whereas somelearned men have nothing but intellect Look, how they argue. Let us goa little nearer; I will wager that their discussion turns upon Homer,Pindar, Apollo, or Horace."
Erwin listened.
"You deny then all value to pagan sciences, brother Odilon?"
"By no means. I simply remarked that religious faith was the truedomain of true science. The pagans had their own belief, andconsequently their own school of art; but a Christian's art is as farsuperior to a pagan's as Christianity is to paganism."
"Do you think that our poetry is better than that of Horace?"
"Yes, inasmuch ours celebrates truth; his, only pagan errors. But,brother Colomban, in all that relates to style, the pagans are ourmasters, for Christian poetry is still in its infancy."
"We have admired together the statues lately received from Rome; do youthink we are capable of doing anything as perfect?"
"We must make a distinction here," replied Odilon. "The pagans attaineda rare perfection of form; but is the body the only, the real object ofart? No; the sculptor must give a spirituality to his work! The mostskilful pagan would never have been able to chisel out the pure imageof the Holy Virgin."
"I think I understand your meaning," said Colomban.
"It is the same with poetry. The fountain head of all sublimity, thesource of the beautiful is God; the nearer the poet approaches that,the more truly artistic he becomes, and, in proportion as his ideasdiverge from the Divinity, so much farther is he from perfection."
The two monks disappeared at a turn of the path.
"Well, what think you? are not those men true lights of the faith?"asked Severinus. "They have great privileges, they can go to Rome andfurther, too, if they wish, and sometimes are excused from attendancein the choir."
At this moment the bell rang; all conversation was immediatelysuspended, and each monk took his place with a regularity whichsurprised the young German, who could almost fancy that he was lookingat a well disciplined troop of soldiers, as they defiled before him instately procession.
The solemn strains of the organ were heard, and the chants began.
"Now, let us make good use of our time," said Severinus, hurryingforward. "Let us see the refectory first; it is only a refectory, it istrue, but its equal does not exist in France or Germany."
They entered the hall, near the door of which was a large crucifixartistically sculptured. At the upper end of the room was the Abbot'schair placed so as to overlook everything, and his table, to which thechief dignitaries of the monastery were often invited, stood upon araised platform. Long oaken tables, with richly carved supports, wereranged methodically, and covered with a white cloth, at which, asSeverinus assured the Count, more than four hundred guests could beseated; for Cluny counted at that time four hundred and eighty monks,many of whom lived as hermits in the neighboring forest.
On one side stood a single table covered with black cloth.
"The _pulmenta defunctorum_ are served there," replied Severinus, toRechberg's curiosity. "This, is the place of the pious Duke ofAquitain, the protector of our convent; that, is for his saintly wifeIngeburge."
And so he went on enumerating the eighteen places.
"But all those of whom you speak are dead," said Erwin. "What is theuse of spreading a banquet every day, of which they cannot partake."
The monk looked at Erwin with astonishment.
"Do you not remember," he said, "that the Archangel Raphael assured theyoung Tobias, that it was better to give alms than to build up pyramidsof gold and silver? It is for this that every day the deceasedbenefactors of Cluny feed the poor. Do you not believe that theblessings which they receive in Heaven are worth more than preciousstones?" Rechberg was too fervent a Catholic to doubt of thecorrectness of this view of the subject; it was a praiseworthy andpious custom.
His attention was directed to the pictures on the walls; many of them,such as the hunt of Saint Eustace, and the fight between Saint Georgeand the Dragon, he recognized at once; but there were others so strangein all their details, that he was obliged to ask for explanations.
On their way from the refectory to the artist's apartments, as theycrossed a long gallery, Rechberg stopped before a bronze statue, whichattracted his admiration.
"It is the image of our late Superior, Peter the Venerable," saidSeverinus, very respectfully. "It was cast about two years since, andthose who knew him during his lifetime, affirm that the likeness isstriking. We will have it made in silver one of these days, when ourconvent is richer."
The galleries were filled with statues of saints and holy men, in woodand stone; some of recent date, others of ancient workmanship; so thatit would have been easy to trace, step by step, the progress of theart. But the Count was little versed in such matters, and what wasmore, he could not forget Cocco Griffi.
"My lord Count, you must visit the library, even if it is only for amoment," said the monk, opening the door. A score of desks werearranged in a half-circle around one of larger size, which Rechbergperceived, at once, was a masterpiece of sculpture. This work of artwas ornamented with arabesques, and with flowers, birds, and animals ofevery description; upon it was a book in Greek characters.
"They write the books here," said Severinus; "the reader is seated atthe upper desks, with the copyists in front and around him. You canjudge for yourself, (and he offered the manuscripts to Rechberg,) ifthey know their business. And our fathers attend to everything! We havetwenty copies of the Holy Scriptures. Nearly all the works of the earlyFathers, and many of those written by pagan authors and priests are tobe found in our library. Every year some of the order go through Franceand England, and even as far as Greece, in search of rare manuscripts,of which four copies are immediately made."
After leaving the cloister, and crossing a vacant yard, they came to ahouse with large windows. The rooms were filled with evidences of thesculptor's art; figures and images of all sorts were standing there onpedestals.
"Is not that a splendid angel's head?" said Severinus; "the featuresare so sweet and delicate, and the folds of the robe so natural! Andthat Holy Virgin! how beautiful and gracious she appears! I do notthink it possible to give more life to a work of stone."
But Rechberg was thinking of something else, and sympathized verylittle with the artistic enthusiasm of his companion.
"It is a pity that we c
annot go in," said Severinus, pointing to aplacard on which was written, _Porta clausa_. "The door is closed andthe painter is at work; but it is a great loss, Count."
"I cannot see everything in one day," replied Erwin, who was delighted.
"You would be obliged to stay at Cluny for months if you would dojustice to everything. The church alone, with all its pictures, andportraits, and mosaics, would require a long examination."
"Whose dwelling is this?" asked Erwin, as they passed before a handsomehouse.
"The Holy Father lives there. May God protect him! His enemies give himno rest. He was forced to fly from Italy, and with difficulty canobtain an asylum in France."
"With difficulty? Are the French, partisans of Pope Victor?"
"God preserve us from it!" said Severinus; "but we fear the fierceBarbarossa, who has taken it into his head that Victor must be Pope,whether or no!"
Erwin smiled at the dread which his godfather inspired,
"This Barbarossa is a cruel man, and they tell dreadful stories abouthim," continued the monk. "It appears that he wants to be Pope andEmperor at the same time, and this desire is unchristian. He is now onthe frontier with a mighty army, in order to force the king of Franceto give up the Pope. Woe to us if this merciless sovereign comes here!He will destroy our convent as he destroyed Milan."
"You have too bad an idea of the Emperor," said Rechberg; "why shouldhe cherish evil designs against your abbey? Is it because you showhospitality to Alexander? I assure you that the Emperor is toochivalrous to inflict a punishment for the accomplishment of a duty."
He spoke so warmly that Severinus almost regretted his frankness.
"I have never yet seen the Pope," continued Erwin. "Do you think itpossible?"
"It is difficult," was the reply. "The Holy Father takes but a fewmoments' repose each day, when he comes to this garden. From morningtill night he works or receives visits and ambassadors or letters fromevery part of the world. We are often compelled to refuse admittance topersons of distinction."
As they reached the door which led to the enclosure reserved to thebrotherhood. Severinus drew a key from his girdle and took leave ofErwin, who thanked him warmly, regretting that he would accept of nogratuity for his trouble.
"Do not insist, Count," he said; "gold or silver would be useless tome. The best reward for a monk is that which results from aconsciousness that he has done his duty."
Rechberg immediately proceeded to look for Antonio, for Cocco Griffi'sface had haunted him ever since they had met, and he began to imaginethat there must be some connection between Pietro's servant and thefears which he entertained about the fate of Hermengarde.
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