Chapter XLIII · IN THE CLOISTER.

Meanwhile Rechberg had reached the gate of the cloister; it was opened at once, and, with his companion, he entered a small courtyard.

"It is too soon yet," said the porter, when the monk had informed him of the object of their visit; "but you can wait here."

They stepped forward towards a low wall, festooned with creepers, which shut off the garden, exclusively reserved for the brotherhood. Erwin could see and admire their grave and dignified deportment, and remarked their difference from the German monks, who were usually occupied in out-door pursuits; whereas at Cluny they passed their lives in the practice of interior virtues, and the advancement of science.

At this moment two lay brothers approached the wall, talking with an earnestness which indicated the importance of their subject. They spoke gravely and in measured tones, although Rechberg could not understand a single word of their conversation, he imagined that it was probably a discussion of some intricate problem of philosophy.

"What language is that?" he asked.

"Greek, Count," replied Severinus, in a low voice; "every known language is spoken in our community; Latin and Greek, and Arabic and Hebrew; they are perfectly familiar with all of them, and with more still. I like to hear them talk Hebrew, it is such a strange dialect,--so guttural, that it seems uttered rather by the throat than by the tongue. I doubt, whether the Franks could articulate a single syllable of it; but I think you will have a chance to judge for yourself during our walk. Ah! here come two of your artists!--The very ones of all whom I prefer, for they have heart and a soul; whereas some learned men have nothing but intellect Look, how they argue. Let us go a 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 true domain of true science. The pagans had their own belief, and consequently their own school of art; but a Christian's art is as far superior 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 our masters, for Christian poetry is still in its infancy."

"We have admired together the statues lately received from Rome; do you think we are capable of doing anything as perfect?"

"We must make a distinction here," replied Odilon. "The pagans attained a rare perfection of form; but is the body the only, the real object of art? No; the sculptor must give a spirituality to his work! The most skilful pagan would never have been able to chisel out the pure image of the Holy Virgin."

"I think I understand your meaning," said Colomban.

"It is the same with poetry. The fountain head of all sublimity, the source of the beautiful is God; the nearer the poet approaches that, the more truly artistic he becomes, and, in proportion as his ideas diverge 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 and further, too, if they wish, and sometimes are excused from attendance in the choir."

At this moment the bell rang; all conversation was immediately suspended, and each monk took his place with a regularity which surprised the young German, who could almost fancy that he was looking at a well disciplined troop of soldiers, as they defiled before him in stately procession.

The solemn strains of the organ were heard, and the chants began.

"Now, let us make good use of our time," said Severinus, hurrying forward. "Let us see the refectory first; it is only a refectory, it is true, but its equal does not exist in France or Germany."

They entered the hall, near the door of which was a large crucifix artistically sculptured. At the upper end of the room was the Abbot's chair placed so as to overlook everything, and his table, to which the chief dignitaries of the monastery were often invited, stood upon a raised platform. Long oaken tables, with richly carved supports, were ranged methodically, and covered with a white cloth, at which, as Severinus assured the Count, more than four hundred guests could be seated; 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, to Rechberg's curiosity. "This, is the place of the pious Duke of Aquitain, the protector of our convent; that, is for his saintly wife Ingeburge."

And so he went on enumerating the eighteen places.

"But all those of whom you speak are dead," said Erwin. "What is the use 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 the young Tobias, that it was better to give alms than to build up pyramids of gold and silver? It is for this that every day the deceased benefactors of Cluny feed the poor. Do you not believe that the blessings which they receive in Heaven are worth more than precious stones?" Rechberg was too fervent a Catholic to doubt of the correctness of this view of the subject; it was a praiseworthy and pious 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 George and the Dragon, he recognized at once; but there were others so strange in all their details, that he was obliged to ask for explanations.

On their way from the refectory to the artist's apartments, as they crossed a long gallery, Rechberg stopped before a bronze statue, which attracted his admiration.

"It is the image of our late Superior, Peter the Venerable," said Severinus, very respectfully. "It was cast about two years since, and those who knew him during his lifetime, affirm that the likeness is striking. We will have it made in silver one of these days, when our convent is richer."

The galleries were filled with statues of saints and holy men, in wood and stone; some of recent date, others of ancient workmanship; so that it would have been easy to trace, step by step, the progress of the art. But the Count was little versed in such matters, and what was more, he could not forget Cocco Griffi.

"My lord Count, you must visit the library, even if it is only for a moment," said the monk, opening the door. A score of desks were arranged in a half-circle around one of larger size, which Rechberg perceived, at once, was a masterpiece of sculpture. This work of art was ornamented with arabesques, and with flowers, birds, and animals of every description; upon it was a book in Greek characters.

"They write the books here," said Severinus; "the reader is seated at the upper desks, with the copyists in front and around him. You can judge for yourself, (and he offered the manuscripts to Rechberg,) if they know their business. And our fathers attend to everything! We have twenty copies of the Holy Scriptures. Nearly all the works of the early Fathers, and many of those written by pagan authors and priests are to be found in our library. Every year some of the order go through France and 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 a house with large windows. The rooms were filled with evidences of the sculptor's art; figures and images of all sorts were standing there on pedestals.

"Is not that a splendid angel's head?" said Severinus; "the features are so sweet and delicate, and the folds of the robe so natural! And that Holy Virgin! how beautiful and gracious she appears! I do not think it possible to give more life to a work of stone."

But Rechberg was thinking of something else, and sympathized very little with the artistic enthusiasm of his companion.

"It is a pity that we cannot go in," said Severinus, pointing to a placard on which was written, Porta clausa. "The door is closed and the 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 do justice to everything. The church alone, with all its pictures, and portraits, and mosaics, would require a long examination."

"Whose dwelling is this?" asked Erwin, as they passed before a handsome house.

"The Holy Father lives there. May God protect him! His enemies give him no rest. He was forced to fly from Italy, and with difficulty can obtain an asylum in France."

"With difficulty? Are the French, partisans of Pope Victor?"

"God preserve us from it!" said Severinus; "but we fear the fierce Barbarossa, 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 about him," continued the monk. "It appears that he wants to be Pope and Emperor at the same time, and this desire is unchristian. He is now on the frontier with a mighty army, in order to force the king of France to 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 should he cherish evil designs against your abbey? Is it because you show hospitality to Alexander? I assure you that the Emperor is too chivalrous 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 it possible?"

"It is difficult," was the reply. "The Holy Father takes but a few moments' repose each day, when he comes to this garden. From morning till night he works or receives visits and ambassadors or letters from every part of the world. We are often compelled to refuse admittance to persons of distinction."

As they reached the door which led to the enclosure reserved to the brotherhood. Severinus drew a key from his girdle and took leave of Erwin, who thanked him warmly, regretting that he would accept of no gratuity for his trouble.

"Do not insist, Count," he said; "gold or silver would be useless to me. The best reward for a monk is that which results from a consciousness that he has done his duty."

Rechberg immediately proceeded to look for Antonio, for Cocco Griffi's face had haunted him ever since they had met, and he began to imagine that there must be some connection between Pietro's servant and the fears which he entertained about the fate of Hermengarde.