Ekkehard: A Tale of the Tenth Century. Vol. 1 (of 2)Scheffel, Joseph Victor von
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Ekkehard: A Tale of the Tenth Century. Vol. 1 (of 2)
Scheffel, Joseph Victor von
Hedwig, Herzogin von Schwaben, approximately 938-994 -- Fiction
The autumn was already advanced, and both old and young, were occupied
with the vintage. Here and there, the hood of a serving brother stood
out in dark contrast to the red and yellow vine-leaves. On the
watch-tower the fathers of the monastery stood assembled in groups,
looking down, and taking pleasure in the busy crowd of grape-gatherers
below. In a large marble vase, which was believed to be one of the
identical vessels, used at the marriage at Cana, the new wine had been
earned about in the procession, to receive the blessing. Merry shouts,
and singing, were heard from all sides.
Unobserved, Ekkehard reached the monastery, and when he was but a few
steps from it, he perceived the heavy tower with its vestibule,
the arches of which are ornamented alternately with red and grey
sand-stone.
In the court all was hushed and silent. A large dog wagged its tail at
the stranger, without giving a single growl, for it knew better than to
bark at a monk's habit. All the brotherhood seemed to have been enticed
into the open air, by the beautiful weather.
Ekkehard now entered the vaulted room for visitors, near the entrance.
Even the door-keeper's chamber next to it, was empty. Open tuns were
standing about; some filled already with the newly pressed wine. Behind
these, near the wall was a stone bench, and Ekkehard feeling tired from
his long walk, the fresh breeze having blown about his head and made
him sleepy, he put his staff against the wall, lay down on the bench,
and soon fell asleep.
As he lay thus, a slow step approached the cool recess. This was the
worthy brother Rudimann, the cellarer. He carried a small stone jug in
his right hand, and had come to fulfil his duty by tasting the new
wine. The smile of a man, contented with himself and with the world,
was on his lips; and his belly had thriven well, like the household of
an industrious man. Over this, he wore a white apron, and at his side
dangled a ponderous bunch of keys.
"As cellarer shall be chosen some wise man of ripe judgment, sober,
and no glutton; no quarreler or fault-finder, no idler and no
spendthrift; but a pious man, who will be to the whole brotherhood like
a father,"--and as far as the weakness of the flesh allowed this,
Rudimann strove to unite in himself the above mentioned qualities. At
the same time he had to perform the unpleasant duty of carrying out the
punishments, and whenever one of the brothers became liable to a
flogging, he tied him to the pillar, and nobody could then complain of
the weakness of his arm. That he, besides this, sometimes uttered
malicious speeches with a malicious tongue, and tried to entertain the
Abbot with insinuations against his fellow-monks,--like the squirrel
Ratatöskr of the Edda, which ran up and down the ash-tree called
Yggdrasil, and repeated the eagle's angry speeches at the top of the
tree, to Niddhögre the dragon at the bottom,--this was none of his
business; and he did it of his own free will.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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