Meanwhile the Abbot did his best, to entertain his princely cousin. He first began, to sing the praises of her late husband Sir Burkhard, but Dame Hadwig's responses were but scanty and cold, so that the Abbot found out, that everything has its time; especially the love of a widow for her late spouse. So he changed the conversation, asking her, how the cloister-schools had pleased her. "I feel sorry for the poor fellows, who are forced to learn so much in their early days," said the Duchess. "Is not that a burden for them under the weight of which they suffer all their lives?" "Pardon me, noble cousin," replied the Abbot, "if both in the capacity of friend and relation, I beg you not to indulge in such thoughtless speech. The study of science is no disagreeable obligation for the young; rather is it to them like strawberries, the more they eat the more they want." "But what can they have to do with the heathen art of logic?" asked Dame Hadwig. "That, in proper hands, becomes a weapon to protect God's church," said the Abbot. "With such arts, heretics were wont to attack believers, but now we fight them with their own arms; and believe me, good Greek or Latin is a much finer instrument than our native language, which even in the hands of the ablest, is but an unwieldy bludgeon." "Indeed," said the Duchess, "must we still learn from you, what is to be admired? I have existed until now, without speaking the Latin tongue, Sir Cousin." "It would not harm you, if you were still to learn it," said the Abbot, "and when the first euphonious sounds of the Latin tongue shall have gladdened your ear, you will admit, that compared to it, our mother-tongue is but a young bear, which can neither stand nor walk well, before it has been licked by a classical tongue. Besides much wisdom, flows from the mouths of the old Romans. Ask your neighbour to the left." "Is it so?" asked Dame Hadwig, turning towards Ekkehard, who had silently listened to the foregoing conversation. "It would be true, liege lady," said he enthusiastically, "if you still needed to learn wisdom." Dame Hadwig archly held up her forefinger: "Have you yourself derived pleasure from those old parchments?" "Both, pleasure and happiness," exclaimed Ekkehard with beaming eyes. "Believe me, mistress, you do well to come to the classics for advice, in all positions of life. Does not Cicero teach us to walk safely, in the intricate paths of worldly prudence? Do we not gather confidence and courage from Livy and Sallust? Do not the songs of Virgil awaken us to the conception of imperishable beauty? The Gospel is the guiding-star of our faith; the old classics, however, have left a light behind them, which like the glow of the evening-sun, sends refreshment and joy into the hearts of men."