Chapter 23

A Convent at Marpurg. Cloisters of the infirmary. Two aged monks sitting.

1st Monk. So they will publish to-day the Landgravine's canonisation, and translate her to the new church prepared for her. Alack, now, that all the world should be out sight-seeing and saint- making, and we laid up here, like two lame jackdaws in a belfry!

2d Monk. Let be, man--let be. We have seen sights and saints in our time. And, truly, this insolatio suits my old bones better than processioning.

1st Monk. 'Tis pleasant enough in the sun, were it not for the flies. Look--there's a lizard. Come you here, little run-about; here's game for you.

2d Monk. A tame fool, and a gay one--Munditiae mundanis.

1st Monk. Catch him a fat fly--my hand shaketh.

2d Monk. If one of your new-lights were here, now, he'd pluck him for a fiend, as Dominic did the live sparrow in chapel.

1st Monk. There will be precious offerings made to-day, of which our house will get its share.

2d Monk. Not we; she always favoured the Franciscans most.

1st Monk. 'Twas but fair--they were her kith and kin. She lately put on the habit of their third minors.

2d Monk. So have half the fine gentlemen and ladies in Europe. There's one of your new inventions, now, for letting grand folks serve God and mammon at once, and emptying honest monasteries, where men give up all for the Gospel's sake. And now these Pharisees of Franciscans will go off with full pockets--

1st Monk. While we poor publicans--

2d Monk. Shall not come home all of us justified, I think.

1st Monk. How? Is there scandal among us?

2d Monk. Ask not--ask not. Even a fool, when he holds his peace, is counted wise. Of all sins, avoid that same gossiping.

1st Monk. Nay, tell me now. Are we not like David and Jonathan? Have we not worked together, prayed together, journeyed together, and been soundly flogged together, more by token, any time this forty years? And now is news so plenty, that thou darest to defraud me of a morsel?

2d Monk. I'll tell thee--but be secret. I knew a man hard by the convent [names are dangerous, and a bird of the air shall carry the matter], one that hath a mighty eye for a heretic, if thou knowest him.

1st Monk. Who carries his poll screwed on over-tight, and sits with his eyes shut in chapel?

2d Monk. The same. Such a one to be in evil savour--to have the splendour of the pontifical countenance turned from him, as though he had taken Christians for Amalekites, and slain the people of the Lord.

1st Monk. How now?

2d Monk. I only speak as I hear: for my sister's son is chaplain, for the time being, to a certain Archisacerdos, a foreigner, now lodging where thou knowest. The young mail being hid, after some knavery, behind the arras, in come our quidam and that prelate. The quidam, surly and Saxon--the guest, smooth and Italian; his words softer than butter, yet very swords: that this quidam had 'exceeded the bounds of his commission--launched out into wanton and lawless cruelty--burnt noble ladies unheard, of whose innocence the Holy See had proof--defiled the Catholic faith in the eyes of the weaker sort--and alienated the minds of many nobles and gentlemen'--and finally, that he who thinketh he standeth, were wise to take heed lest he fall.

1st Monk. And what said Conrad?

2d Monk. Out upon a man that cannot keep his lips! Who spake of Conrad? That quidam, however, answered nought, but--how 'to his own master he stood or fell'--how 'he laboured not for the Pope but for the Papacy'; and so forth.

1st Monk. Here is awful doctrine! Behold the fruit of your reformers! This comes of their realised ideas, and centralisations, and organisations, till a monk cannot wink in chapel without being blinded with the lantern, or fall sick on Fridays, for fear of the rod. Have I not testified? Have I not foretold?

2d Monk. Thou hast indeed. Thou knowest that the old paths are best, and livest in most pious abhorrence of all amendment.

1st Monk. Do you hear that shout? There is the procession returning from the tomb.

2d Monk. Hark to the tramp of the horse-hoofs! A gallant show, I'll warrant!

1st Monk. Time was, now, when we were young bloods together in the world, such a roll as that would have set our hearts beating against their cages!

2d Monk. Ay, ay. We have seen sport in our day; we have paraded and curvetted, eh? and heard scabbards jingle? We know the sly touch of the heel, that set him on his hind legs before the right window. Vanitas vanitatum--omnia vanitas! Here comes Gerard, Conrad's chaplain, with our dinner.

[Gerard enters across the court.]

1st Monk. A kindly youth and a godly, but--reformation-bitten, like the rest.

2d Monk. Never care. Boys must take the reigning madness in religion, as they do the measles--once for all.

1st Monk. Once too often for him. His face is too, too like Abel's in the chapel-window. Ut sis vitalis metuo, puer!

Ger. Hail, fathers. I have asked permission of the prior to minister your refection, and bring you thereby the first news of the pageant.

1st Monk. Blessings on thee for a good boy. Give us the trenchers, and open thy mouth while we open ours.

2d Monk. Most splendid all, no doubt?

Ger. A garden, sir, Wherein all rainbowed flowers were heaped together; A sea of silk and gold, of blazoned banners, And chargers housed; such glorious press, be sure, Thuringen-land ne'er saw.

2d Monk. Just hear the boy! Who rode beside the bier?

Ger. Frederic the Kaiser, Henry the Landgrave, brother of her husband; The Princesses, too, Agnes, and her mother; And every noble name, sir, at whose war-cry The Saxon heart leaps up; with them the prelates Of Treves, of Coln, and Maintz--why name them all? When all were there, whom this our fatherland Counts worthy of its love.

1st Monk. 'Twas but her right. Who spoke the oration?

Ger. Who but Conrad?

2d Monk. Well-- That's honour to our house.

1st Monk. Come, tell us all.

2d Monk. In order, boy: thou hast a ready tongue.

Ger. He raised from off her face the pall, and 'Lo!' He cried, 'that saintly flesh which ye of late With sacrilegious hands, ere yet entombed, Had in your superstitious selfishness Almost torn piecemeal. Fools! Gross-hearted fools! These limbs are God's, not yours: in life for you They spent themselves; now till the judgment-day By virtue of the Spirit embalmed they lie-- Touch them who dare. No! Would you find your Saint, Look up, not down, where even now she prays Beyond that blazing orb for you and me. Why hither bring her corpse? Why hide her clay In jewelled ark beneath God's mercy-seat-- A speck of dust among these boundless aisles, Uprushing pillars, star-bespangled roofs, Whose colours mimic Heaven's unmeasured blue, Save to remind you, how she is not here, But risen with Him that rose, and by His blaze Absorbed, lives in the God for whom she died? Know her no more according to the flesh; Or only so, to brand upon your thoughts How she was once a woman--flesh and blood, Like you--yet how unlike! Hark while I tell ye.'

2d Monk. How liked the mob all this? They hate him sore.

Ger. Half awed, half sullen, till his golden lips Entranced all ears with tales so sad and strange, They seemed one life-long miracle: bliss and woe, Honour and shame--her daring--Heaven's stern guidance, Did each the other so outblaze.

1st Monk. Great signs Did wait on her from youth.

2d Monk. There went a tale Of one, a Zingar wizard, who, on her birthnight, He here in Eisenach, she in Presburg lying, Declared her natal moment, and the glory Which should befall her by the grace of God.

Ger. He spoke of that, and many a wonder more, Melting all hearts to worship--how a robe Which from her shoulders, at a royal feast, To some importunate as alms she sent, By miracle within her bower was hung again: And how on her own couch the Incarnate Son In likeness of a leprous serf, she laid: And many a wondrous tale till now unheard; Which, from her handmaid's oath and attestation, Siegfried of Maintz to far Perugia sent, And sainted Umbria's labyrinthine hills, Even to the holy Council, where the Patriarchs Of Antioch and Jerusalem, and with them A host of prelates, magnates, knights, and nobles, Decreed and canonised her sainthood's palm.

1st Monk. Mass, they could do no less.

Ger. So thought my master-- For 'Thus,' quoth he, 'the primates of the Faith Have, in the bull which late was read to you, Most wisely ratified the will of God Revealed in her life's splendour; for the next count-- These miracles wherewith since death she shines-- Since ye must have your signs, ere ye believe, And since without such tests the Roman Father Allows no saints to take their seats in heaven, Why, there ye have them; not a friar, I find, Or old wife in the streets, but counts some dozens Of blind, deaf, halt, dumb, palsied, and hysterical, Made whole at this her tomb. A corpse or two Was raised, they say, last week: Will that content you? Will that content her? Earthworms! Would ye please the dead, Bring sinful souls, not limping carcases To test her power on; which of you hath done that? Has any glutton learnt from her to fast? Or oily burgher dealt away his pelf? Has any painted Jezebel in sackcloth Repented of her vanities? Your patron? Think ye, that spell and flame of intercession, Melting God's iron will, which for your sakes She purchased by long agonies, was but meant To save your doctors' bills? If any soul Hath been by her made holier, let it speak!'

2d Monk. Well spoken, Legate! Easier asked than answered.

Ger. Not so, for on the moment, from the crowd Sprang out a gay and gallant gentleman Well known in fight and tourney, and aloud With sobs and blushes told, how he long time Had wallowed deep in mire of fleshly sin, And loathed, and fell again, and loathed in vain; Until the story of her saintly grace Drew him unto her tomb; there long prostrate With bitter cries he sought her, till at length The image of her perfect loveliness Transfigured all his soul, and from his knees He rose new-born, and, since that blessed day, In chastest chivalry, a spotless knight, Maintains the widow's and the orphan's cause.

1st Monk. Well done! and what said Conrad?

Ger. Oh, he smiled, As who should say, ''Twas but the news I looked for.' Then, pointing to the banners borne on high, Where the sad story of her nightly penance Was all too truly painted--'Look!' he cried, ''Twas thus she schooled her soft and shuddering flesh To dare and suffer for you!' Gay ladies sighed, And stern knights wept, and growled, and wept again. And then he told her alms, her mighty labours, Among God's poor, the schools wherein she taught; The babes she brought to the font, the hospitals Founded from her own penury, where she tended The leper and the fever-stricken serf With meanest office; how a dying slave Who craved in vain for milk she stooped to feed From her own bosom. At that crowning tale Of utter love, the dullest hearts caught fire Contagious from his lips--the Spirit's breath Low to the earth, like dewy-laden corn, Bowed the ripe harvest of that mighty host; Knees bent, all heads were bare; rich dames aloud Bewailed their cushioned sloth; old foes held out Long parted hands; low murmured vows and prayers Gained courage, till a shout proclaimed her saint, And jubilant thunders shook the ringing air, Till birds dropped stunned, and passing clouds bewept With crystal drops, like sympathising angels, Those wasted limbs, whose sainted ivory round Shed Eden-odours: from his royal head The Kaiser took his crown, and on the bier Laid the rich offering; dames tore off their jewels-- Proud nobles heaped with gold and gems her corse Whom living they despised: I saw no more-- Mine eyes were blinded with a radiant mist-- And I ran here to tell you.

1st Monk. Oh, fair olive, Rich with the Spirit's unction, how thy boughs Rain balsams on us!

2d Monk. Thou didst sell thine all-- And bought'st the priceless pearl!

1st Monk. Thou holocaust of Abel, By Cain in vain despised!

2d Monk. Thou angels' playmate Of yore, but now their judge!

Ger. Thou alabaster, Broken at last, to fill the house of God With rich celestial fragrance!

[Etc. etc., ad libitum.]