The Theologian said: “Perchance
Your chronicler in writing this
Had in his mind the Anabasis,
Where Xenophon describes the advance
Of Artaxerxes to the fight; 45
At first the low gray cloud of dust,
And then a blackness o’er the fields
As of a passing thunder-gust,
Then flash of brazen armor bright,
And ranks of men, and spears up-thrust, 50
Bowmen and troops with wicker shields,
And cavalry equipped in white,
And chariots ranged in front of these
With scythes upon their axle-trees.”
To this the Student answered: “Well, 55
I also have a tale to tell
Of Charlemagne; a tale that throws
A softer light, more tinged with rose,
Than your grim apparition cast
Upon the darkness of the past. 60
Listen, and hear in English rhyme
What the good Monk of Lauresheim
Gives as the gossip of his time,
In mediæval Latin prose.”
The Student’s Tale
Emma and Eginhard
WHEN Alcuin taught the sons of Charlemagne,
In the free schools of Aix, how kings should reign,
And with them taught the children of the poor
How subjects should be patient and endure,
He touched the lips of some, as best befit, 5
With honey from the hives of Holy Writ;
Others intoxicated with the wine
Of ancient history, sweet but less divine;
Some with the wholesome fruits of grammar fed;
Others with mysteries of the stars o’erhead, 10
That hang suspended in the vaulted sky
Like lamps in some fair palace vast and high.
In sooth, it was a pleasant sight to see
That Saxon monk, with hood and rosary,
With inkhorn at his belt, and pen and book, 15
And mingled love and reverence in his look,
Or hear the cloister and the court repeat
The measured footfalls of his sandaled feet,
Or watch him with the pupils of his school,
Gentle of speech, but absolute of rule. 20
Among them, always earliest in his place,
Was Eginhard, a youth of Frankish race,
Whose face was bright with flashes that forerun
The splendors of a yet unrisen sun.
To him all things were possible, and seemed 25
Not what he had accomplished, but had dreamed,
And what were tasks to others were his play,
The pastime of an idle holiday.
Smaragdo, Abbot of St. Michael’s, said,
With many a shrug and shaking of the head, 30
Surely some demon must possess the lad,
Who showed more wit than ever school-boy had,
And learned his Trivium thus without the rod;
But Alcuin said it was the grace of God.
Thus he grew up, in Logic point-device, 35
Perfect in Grammar, and in Rhetoric nice;
Science of Numbers, Geometric art,
And lore of Stars, and Music knew by heart;
A Minnesinger, long before the times
Of those who sang their love in Suabian rhymes. 40
The Emperor, when he heard this good report
Of Eginhard much buzzed about the court,
Said to himself, “This stripling seems to be
Purposely sent into the world for me;
He shall become my scribe, and shall be schooled 45
In all the arts whereby the world is ruled.”
Thus did the gentle Eginhard attain
To honor in the court of Charlemagne;
Became the sovereign’s favorite, his right hand,
So that his fame was great in all the land, 50
And all men loved him for his modest grace
And comeliness of figure and of face.
An inmate of the palace, yet recluse,
A man of books, yet sacred from abuse
Among the armèd knights with spur on heel, 55
The tramp of horses and the clang of steel;
And as the Emperor promised he was schooled
In all the arts by which the world is ruled.
But the one art supreme, whose law is fate,
The Emperor never dreamed of till too late. 60
Home from her convent to the palace came
The lovely Princess Emma, whose sweet name,
Whispered by seneschal or sung by bard,
Had often touched the soul of Eginhard.
He saw her from his window, as in state 65
She came, by knights attended through the gate;
He saw her at the banquet of that day,
Fresh as the morn, and beautiful as May;
He saw her in the garden, as she strayed
Among the flowers of summer with her maid, 70
And said to him, “O Eginhard, disclose
The meaning and the mystery of the rose;”
And trembling he made answer: “In good sooth,
Its mystery is love, its meaning youth!”
How can I tell the signals and the signs 75
By which one heart another heart divines?
How can I tell the many thousand ways
By which it keeps the secret it betrays?
O mystery of love! O strange romance!
Among the Peers and Paladins of France, 80
Shining in steel, and prancing on gay steeds,
Noble by birth, yet nobler by great deeds,
The Princess Emma had no words nor looks
But for this clerk, this man of thought and books.
The summer passed, the autumn came; the stalks 85
Of lilies blackened in the garden walks;
The leaves fell, russet-golden and blood-red,
Love-letters thought the poet fancy-led,
Or Jove descending in a shower of gold
Into the lap of Danaë of old; 90
For poets cherish many a strange conceit,
And love transmutes all nature by its heat.
No more the garden lessons, nor the dark
And hurried meetings in the twilight park;
But now the studious lamp, and the delights 95
Of firesides in the silent winter nights,
And watching from his window hour by hour
The light that burned in Princess Emma’s tower.
At length one night, while musing by the fire,
O’ercome at last by his insane desire, — 100
For what will reckless love not do and dare?
He crossed the court, and climbed the winding stair,
With some feigned message in the Emperor’s name;
But when he to the lady’s presence came
He knelt down at her feet, until she laid 105
Her hand upon him, like a naked blade,
And whispered in his ear: “Arise, Sir Knight,
To my heart’s level, O my heart’s delight.”
And there he lingered till the crowing cock,
The Alectryon of the farmyard and the flock, 110
Sang his aubade with lusty voice and clear,
To tell the sleeping world that dawn was near.
And then they parted; but at parting, lo!
They saw the palace courtyard white with snow,
And, placid as a nun, the moon on high 115
Gazing from cloudy cloisters of the sky.
“Alas!” he said, “how hide the fatal line
Of footprints leading from thy door to mine,
And none returning!” Ah, he little knew
What woman’s wit, when put to proof, can do! 120
That night the Emperor, sleepless with the cares
And troubles that attend on stat
e affairs,
Had risen before the dawn, and musing gazed
Into the silent night, as one amazed
To see the calm that reigned o’er all supreme, 125
When his own reign was but a troubled dream.
The moon lit up the gables capped with snow,
And the white roofs, and half the court below,
And he beheld a form, that seemed to cower
Beneath a burden, come from Emma’s tower, — 130
A woman, who upon her shoulders bore
Clerk Eginhard to his own private door,
And then returned in haste, but still essayed
To tread the footprints she herself had made;
And as she passed across the lighted space, 135
The Emperor saw his daughter Emma’s face!
He started not; he did not speak or moan,
But seemed as one who hath been turned to stone;
And stood there like a statue, nor awoke
Out of his trance of pain, till morning broke, 140
Till the stars faded, and the moon went down,
And o’er the towers and steeples of the town
Came the gray daylight; then the sun, who took
The empire of the world with sovereign look,
Suffusing with a soft and golden glow 145
All the dead landscape in its shroud of snow,
Touching with flame the tapering chapel spires,
Windows and roofs, and smoke of household fires,
And kindling park and palace as he came;
The stork’s nest on the chimney seemed in flame. 150
And thus he stood till Eginhard appeared,
Demure and modest with his comely beard
And flowing flaxen tresses, come to ask,
As was his wont, the day’s appointed task.
The Emperor looked upon him with a smile, 155
And gently said: “My son, wait yet awhile;
This hour my council meets upon some great
And very urgent business of the state.
Come back within the hour. On thy return
The work appointed for thee shalt thou learn.” 160
Having dismissed this gallant Troubadour,
He summoned straight his council, and secure
And steadfast in his purpose, from the throne
All the adventure of the night made known;
Then asked for sentence; and with eager breath 165
Some answered banishment, and others death.
Then spake the king: “Your sentence is not mine;
Life is the gift of God, and is divine;
Nor from these palace walls shall one depart
Who carries such a secret in his heart; 170
My better judgment points another way.
Good Alcuin, I remember how one day
When my Pepino asked you, ‘What are men?’
You wrote upon his tablets with your pen,
‘Guests of the grave and travellers that pass!’ 175
This being true of all men, we, alas!
Being all fashioned of the selfsame dust,
Let us be merciful as well as just;
This passing traveller who hath stolen away
The brightest jewel of my crown to-day, 180
Shall of himself the precious gem restore;
By giving it, I make it mine once more.
Over those fatal footprints I will throw
My ermine mantle like another snow.”
Then Eginhard was summoned to the hall, 185
And entered, and in presence of them all,
The Emperor said: “My son, for thou to me
Hast been a son, and evermore shalt be,
Long hast thou served thy sovereign, and thy zeal
Pleads to me with importunate appeal, 190
While I have been forgetful to requite
Thy service and affection as was right.
But now the hour is come, when I, thy Lord,
Will crown thy love with such supreme reward,
A gift so precious kings have striven in vain 195
To win it from the hands of Charlemagne.”
Then sprang the portals of the chamber wide,
And Princess Emma entered, in the pride
Of birth and beauty, that in part o’ercame
The conscious terror and the blush of shame. 200
And the good Emperor rose up from his throne,
And taking her white hand within his own
Placed it in Eginhard’s, and said: “My son,
This is the gift thy constant zeal hath won;
Thus I repay the royal debt I owe, 205
And cover up the footprints in the snow.”
The Student’s Tale: Interlude
THUS ran the Student’s pleasant rhyme
Of Eginhard and love and youth;
Some doubted its historic truth,
But while they doubted, ne’ertheless
Saw in it gleams of truthfulness, 5
And thanked the Monk of Lauresheim.
This they discussed in various mood;
Then in the silence that ensued
Was heard a sharp and sudden sound
As of a bowstring snapped in air; 10
And the Musician with a bound
Sprang up in terror from his chair,
And for a moment listening stood,
Then strode across the room, and found
His dear, his darling violin 15
Still lying safe asleep within
Its little cradle, like a child
That gives a sudden cry of pain,
And wakes to fall asleep again;
And as he looked at it and smiled, 20
By the uncertain light beguiled,
Despair! two strings were broken in twain.
While all lamented and made moan,
With many a sympathetic word
As if the loss had been their own, 25
Deeming the tones they might have heard
Sweeter than they had heard before,
They saw the Landlord at the door,
The missing man, the portly Squire!
He had not entered, but he stood 30
With both arms full of seasoned wood,
To feed the much-devouring fire,
That like a lion in a cage
Lashed its long tail and roared with rage.
The missing man! Ah, yes, they said, 35
Missing, but whither had he fled?
Where had he hidden himself away?
No farther than the barn or shed;
He had not hidden himself, nor fled;
How should he pass the rainy day 40
But in his barn with hens and hay,
Or mending harness, cart, or sled?
Now, having come, he needs must stay
And tell his tale as well as they.
The Landlord answered only: “These 45
Are logs from the dead apple-trees
Of the old orchard planted here
By the first Howe of Sudbury.
Nor oak nor maple has so clear
A flame, or burns so quietly, 50
Or leaves an ash so clean and white;”
Thinking by this to put aside
The impending tale that terrified;
When suddenly, to his delight,
The Theologian interposed, 55
Saying that when the door was closed,
And they had stopped that draft of cold,
Unpleasant night air, he proposed
To tell a tale world-wide apart
From that the Student had just told; 60
World-wide apart, and yet akin,
As showing that the human heart
Beats on forever as of old,
As well beneath the snow-white fold
Of Quaker kerchief, as within 65
Sendal or silk or cloth of gold,
And without preface would begin.
And
then the clamorous clock struck eight,
Deliberate, with sonorous chime
Slow measuring out the march of time, 70
Like some grave Consul of Old Rome
In Jupiter’s temple driving home
The nails that marked the year and date.
Thus interrupted in his rhyme,
The Theologian needs must wait; 75
But quoted Horace, where he sings
The dire Necessity of things,
That drives into the roofs sublime
Of new-built houses of the great
The adamantine nails of Fate. 80
When ceased the little carillon
To herald from its wooden tower
The important transit of the hour,
The Theologian hastened on,
Content to be allowed at last 85
To sing his Idyl of the Past.
The Theologian’s Tale
Elizabeth
I
“AH, how short are the days! How soon the night overtakes us!
In the old country the twilight is longer; but here in the forest
Suddenly comes the dark, with hardly a pause in its coming,
Hardly a moment between the two lights, the day and the lamplight;
Yet how grand is the winter! How spotless the snow is, and perfect!” 5
Thus spake Elizabeth Haddon at nightfall to Hannah the housemaid,
As in the farm-house kitchen, that served for kitchen and parlor,
By the window she sat with her work, and looked on the landscape
White as the great white sheet that Peter saw in his vision,
By the four corners let down and descending out of the heavens. 10
Covered with snow were the forests of pine, and the fields and the meadows.
Nothing was dark but the sky, and the distant Delaware flowing
Down from its native hills, a peaceful and bountiful river.
Then with a smile on her lips made answer Hannah the housemaid:
“Beautiful winter! yea, the winter is beautiful, surely, 15
If one could only walk like a fly with one’s feet on the ceiling.
But the great Delaware River is not like the Thames, as we saw it
Out of our upper windows in Rotherhithe Street in the Borough,
Crowded with masts and sails of vessels coming and going;
Here there is nothing but pines, with patches of snow on their branches. 20
Delphi Complete Works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (Delphi Poets Series Book 13) Page 67
