Chapter XVII: Part VI: They Sang (13)

“There was a great crowd this year,” continued Herr H——, “though numbers never fail on any occasion. But a musical festival had taken place in Lucerne the day before, so for that reason there were more than usual. The majority now go by rail, but in my youth the procession of carriages was much more imposing. And Lucerne then was a Vorort, or capital of the Confederacy alternately with Zurich and Berne—a system long since done away with; so that when the year came for its turn, all the deputies and the diplomatic representatives were invited, and came too—all except an old Austrian, whom nothing could move. I well remember hearing that his colleagues used to laugh at him for keeping up the feeling after so many hundred years; but it was so strong that he never could hear William Tell’s name mentioned without calling him an ‘assassin’; and you may imagine how the others amused themselves by always bringing up the subject. The feeling against the Austrians is very strong, too, amongst the Swiss.”

“I never understand it,” remarked Caroline C——. “I have always been taught to look on Rudolph von Habsburg as a perfect character; and yet the moment one comes to this country, one hears nothing but abuse of the Habsburgs. Do explain it.”

“I should have to give you a lecture on Swiss history, dear young lady, I fear, before you could understand it; and there is no time for that now.”

“Oh! do tell us something. There is still half an hour before the _table‐ d’hôte_, and it is so pleasant sitting here. We should all like to have a clearer view of the reason of this dislike. I am always much puzzled, too, in Schiller’s _William Tell_, at the conspirators always wanting to be under the empire alone, and not through the Habsburgs; and it is so troublesome to wade through a history when travelling,” she replied.

“But I should go back to the very beginning for that purpose,” he answered. “However, if you insist, I shall give you a few leading facts that you can find amplified whenever you feel inclined to read a Swiss history right through. May I presume, then, that you know,” he continued, laughing, “that the first inhabitants of Switzerland are supposed to have been offshoots of Northern tribes—men driven from their homes by famine? There were a few settlers before these, said to be refugees from Italy, but only in a wild corner of the mountains, hence called Rhœtia; and they were so few and so isolated that they are not worth mentioning. The stream of inhabitants poured down by the Lake of Constance. Some say that the same names are found to this day in Sweden as in the valleys of these cantons. In any case, the tradition is that two brothers, Switer and Swin, arrived with their families and followers, and settled at the upper end of this lake, and from them the territory they occupied was called Schwytz. It is quite certain that this was the first part occupied; therefore the title it claims of ‘Urschweiz,’ or ‘original Switzerland,’ is most appropriate. They spread all round this lake and through these forest cantons, on from one valley to another, to the foot of the great snowy Alp region, but not further. Other races came later, and settled at Geneva and elsewhere, and, coming into collision with Rome, then mistress of the world, were finally made part of the Roman Empire. Then came the inroad of other barbarians on the downfall of Rome, and everything was in utter confusion until the light of Christianity shone over the land. It was introduced here, as in Germany, by missionaries who came from all parts, and a bishopric even was founded at Chur in the earliest Frankish times. Convents, too, rose on all sides. You will find remains of them in the most remote valleys and out‐of‐the‐way corners of the country. S. Sigebert, for instance, came from France, and built Disentis in the wilds of Rhœtia, now the Grisons. S. Columba and S. Maughold preached along the Reuss and the Aar, and the great S. Gall evangelized the wild district round the Lake of Constance, girt by forests filled with all manner of wild beasts. The celebrated convent of his name was built on the site of his hermitage, and gave rise to the town of St. Gall. Einsiedeln, too, the famous monastery which you are going to visit, dates also from that period, over the cell of the hermit Meinrad, and so on in every direction. Even Zurich and our own Lucerne owe their origin to convents. As in so many other countries, so here likewise the monks spread civilization, opened schools, and taught the people agriculture. Then came another period of confusion after Charlemagne’s reign, which ended by the greater portion of Switzerland falling to the share of his successors in the German Empire. There were numberless dukes and counts all over the land who already held large possessions, but had been vassals of the Dukes of Swabia. Now, however, they set him at defiance, and would obey no one but the emperor. Many of the monasteries, too, had acquired considerable property by this time, and their abbots were often powerful lords. They followed the example of the counts and dukes, and also assumed independence. But, on the other hand, the towns equally rose in importance, and often set the nobles and abbots at naught. These then, in order not to lose their influence, strove to increase the number of their vassals by making clearances in their forests, promoting the establishment of villages, and granting privileges to their inhabitants, in all which you will find the origin of the extraordinary number of rural communes for which Switzerland has always been so noted. The nobles, who had no occupation but war, were engaged in constant feuds amongst themselves or with the towns of which they were most jealous, and, leading lawless lives, wasted their inheritance little by little. The Crusades also contributed to diminish them, for all the knights in the country flocked thither. In the course of time their numbers dwindled considerably by these means, or by the sale of their property and feudal rights to the towns and even to the villages. At the period we are talking of, however, they were amongst the heroes of the land, and often fought bravely and made themselves respected.

“In one district, however, there were neither nobles, nor castles, nor towns, nor monasteries, nor any inhabitants, except the descendants of the first settlers. That was in the wild region of Rhœtia, and in what now constitutes these forest cantons, or Vierwaldstätter, as they are called in German. The latter all sprang from one common stock, and for a long time had only one head and one church. This was in the Muotta Valley, and thither came the entire population of Schwytz, Unterwalden, and Uri. At last, when they increased and multiplied, they divided into these three districts, built their own churches, and elected their own _Landamman_, or chief magistrate, and their own council. No one claimed sovereignty over this mountain district but the emperor. To him the people never objected; on the contrary, they were rather glad to enjoy his powerful protection, and willingly accepted, nay, often chose, the imperial judges to act as arbitrators in cases of their own internal disputes. Now, these judges were called governors, or Vogts, and, in order to distinguish them from inferior governors, were entitled _Reichsvögte_, or governors of the empire. It is well to bear this in mind, for on this point turned the whole dispute with the Habsburgs, and it was the cause of the conspiracy of the Rüti and of our subsequent freedom. It must also be remembered that the object of every community in the country at that period was to free itself from the yoke of the local laws, whether nobles or abbots, and to place themselves directly under the empire. And in this almost every town succeeded by slow degrees. The advantages were very great. First of all, they were not liable to the constant petty exactions of near neighbors, and the imperial government was so far away that they were allowed to administer their own property and to choose their own authorities, being only asked in exchange to pay some light taxes to the imperial treasury, and to accept a _Reichsvögt_, or governor. His office was merely to uphold the emperor’s rights, and to act as judge in matters of life and death—a condition never refused; for it was held that, being a stranger, he would be more impartial than one of their community.

“Amongst the nobles who had gradually grown powerful at this time were the Counts of Habsburg, who lived in the Aargau, and, instead of diminishing, had been daily extending, their possessions and influence. Suddenly and unexpectedly Count Rudolph was chosen Emperor of Germany. There were great disputes between the German princes on the death of the late emperor, and the story runs that they elected him simply on the assurance of the Elector of Cologne, who declared that Rudolph von Habsburg was upright and wise, beloved by God and man.

“This, as you know, proved true, and you were perfectly right in believing him to have been a ‘perfect character.’ Moreover, he never forgot his old fellow‐countrymen, and showered favors on them as long as he lived. Many places were made direct fiefs of the empire by him, amongst others our town of Lucerne, but more especially these forest cantons; and he raised the Bishop of Lausanne and the Abbot of Einsiedeln to the rank of princes of the empire. As a natural result, the whole country grew devoted to him, and came forward with gifts of money and assistance of every kind whenever he required it.

“But with his successor, his son Albrecht, comes the reverse of the medal. It was soon seen that he thought of nothing but increasing his own family possessions, and had no respect for the privileges of the towns or rural populations. Foreseeing evil times, therefore, Uri, Schwytz, and Unterwalden met together, and made a defensive league, binding themselves by oath to stand by each other and to defend themselves against all enemies. Hence the origin of their name, ‘Eidgenossen,’ which in German means ‘oath‐participators.’ The Bishop of Constance and Duke of Savoy made a separate agreement, and so did various others. At last the princes of Germany also became so discontented with Albrecht that they elected a Prince Adolf of Nassau in his stead. The whole country was soon divided into two parties, one for and the other against Albrecht of Austria, as he had then become. Down he marched with a large army, devastated the territory of the Bishop of Constance, and Adolf of Nassau lost life and crown in a desperate battle. The confederates had taken no part against Albrecht openly as yet, and sent ambassadors to beg he would respect their ancient rights, as his father of glorious memory had always done. But he only answered ‘that he would soon change their condition.’ Meantime, the majority of the nobles joined his side; but the towns resisted him, and Berne gained such a great victory that he got alarmed and made peace with Zurich, confirming all its privileges. He then sent word to the Waldstätter cantons that he wished to treat them as the beloved children of his own family, and that they had better at once place themselves under Austrian protection. But the sturdy, free‐hearted mountaineers replied that they preferred the old rights they had inherited from their fathers, and desired to continue direct vassals of the empire. Albrecht was not prepared to enforce their submission, so he resorted to the expedient of sending them _Reichsvögte_ who were wicked and cruel men, that were ordered, besides, to oppress and torment them in such a manner that they should at last desire in preference to place themselves under Austro‐ Habsburg protection. Chief of these was the now far‐famed Gessler, and also Landerberg, whose castle at Sarnen was the first destroyed later. Not only were they cruel, but they insisted on living in the country, although all previous _Reichsvögte_, or governors, had only come there occasionally, and had allowed the people to govern themselves. Unable to bear it, the celebrated ‘three,’ Stauffacher, Fürst, and Melchthal, whom you now know through Schiller, if from no other source, met together. Stauffacher came from Schwytz, Walther Fürst from Uri, and Arnold von Melchthal represented Unterwalden, and they chose for their meeting the central spot of the meadow, called the Rüti, which you will pass when sailing up the lake. Each brought ten others with them, and in their name and that of all their fellow‐countrymen they took that oath which was quoted in the sermon as I read it just now. This union of the three cantons was the foundation of the Swiss Confederation. Lucerne joined it in 1332, and then it became the League of the Four Forest Cantons, all surrounding this lake. Some say that Tell was one of the ten from his canton, but others deny this. It does not much matter, for one fact is certain: that the whole country was discontented, and Gessler grew alarmed without knowing of the conspiracy, which alarm was the cause of his conduct towards Tell.”

“Oh! William Tell is all a myth,” exclaimed young C——, who never could conceal his sentiments on this point. “No one believes in him nowadays.”

“My dear young gentleman,” answered Herr H—— quietly, “it is easy for modern critics to say this. They may laugh and sneer as they like. Nothing is more easy than to argue against anything. I remember often hearing that Archbishop Whately—your own archbishop—was so convinced of this that he once undertook to write a pamphlet in this style, disproving the existence of the First Napoleon, and succeeded triumphantly. But _I_ hold with Buckle—your own Buckle too!” he said, laughing—“who declares that he relies more on the strength of local traditions and on native bards than on anything else. The great argument against William Tell, I know perfectly well, is that the same story is to be found in Saxo‐Grammaticus, and also in Sanscrit; but that does not disturb me, for there is no reason why the same sort of thing may not have happened in many a place. These mountaineers certainly had no means of studying either the one or the other in what _you_, no doubt, will call the ’dark ages’! Just have patience until you see the Tell chapels and hear a little more on the subject, and I hope you will change your mind. One thing is certain, namely, that Tell was not the _cause_ of the conspiracy, and that his treatment did not make the confederates depart from their original plan, which was to rise on the New Year’s night of 1308. In _my_ humble opinion, Schiller has done poor William Tell no good, for between him and the opera the story has been so much popularized that this alone has raised all the doubts about it. People fancy it was Schiller’s creation more or less, altogether forgetting that the chapels and the veneration for Tell have existed on the spot these hundreds of years. It is fortunate Arnold von Winkelried has not been treated in the same way, or we should doubt his existence too.”

“You have not told us anything about Sempach yet,” broke in Caroline C——, anxious to stop the discussion, which seemed likely to vex the old gentleman, especially as she well knew her brother’s school‐boy disposition for argument.

“Morgarten and much more occurred before that, mademoiselle,” answered Herr H——, “all tending to increase the national hatred of Austria. As a natural consequence of the Rüti and its uprising, Albrecht became enraged against the forest cantons, and marched at once to Switzerland with a large force. But a most unexpected, startling event happened. He had a nephew, Duke John of Swabia, who was his ward, but from whom he continued to withhold his patrimony on one pretext or another. The young man at length grew furious, and, as they were crossing this very same river Reuss at Windisch, Duke John stabbed his uncle, whilst a noble, a conspirator of John’s, struck him on the head. There were a few others present, but in a panic they all fled, and left the Emperor of Germany to die in the arms of a poor woman who happened to be passing.

“The deed was so fearful that even Albrecht’s worst enemies were horrified, and it is said that the murderers wandered over the world, and ultimately died as outcasts. Zurich shut its gates against them, and the forest cantons refused them all shelter. But Albrecht’s family not only pursued them, but behaved inhumanly. His widow and two children, Duke Leopold and Agnes, Queen of Hungary, came at once to Switzerland, and seized innocent and guilty right and left, destroying without scruple the castle of any noble whom they suspected in the slightest degree, and executing all without mercy. Agnes in particular was cruel beyond measure. One story related of her by Swiss historians is that, after having witnessed the execution of sixty‐three innocent knights, and whilst their blood was flowing at her feet, she exclaimed: ‘Now I am bathing in May‐ dew!’ Whether literally true or not, it shows what she must have been to have given cause for such a tale. In fact, the stories of her merciless character are too numerous and terrible to repeat now. At last she and her mother, the widow, built a magnificent convent on the site of the murder, which you may have heard of as _Königsfelder_, or the King’s Field. There she subsequently retired to ‘end her days in piety’; but the people detested her, and Zschokke says that once when she was passing through the convent, and bowed to one of the monks, he turned round and boldly addressed her thus: ‘Woman! it is a bad way to serve God, first to shed innocent blood, and then to found convents from the spoils of the victims.’ She died there, and we have a piece of silk in the arsenal in Lucerne which formed part of her funeral apparel.”

“Oh! how horrible,” exclaimed Caroline C——. “But I would give anything to see it! How could we manage it?”

“Very easily,” replied Herr H——. “If you only have time, we might go there after dinner. It is close to the Spreuner Brücke, and I can get you in. There are many trophies also from Sempach, and other victories besides.”

“Do tell us about Sempach,” I interposed. “It is getting late, and I fear the dinner‐bell will soon ring.”

“First came the battle of Morgarten, of which you will see the site from the top of the Rigi. Albrecht’s son Leopold followed up his father’s grudge against the forest cantons, and gave them battle there in 1308, when he was signally defeated. It was a glorious victory by a handful of peasants. But you will read about it on your journey. Sempach is our Lucerne property. It did not take place for sixty‐nine years after Morgarten, but in the interval there had been constant fighting with the house of Austria, which still kept its possessions in Switzerland, and also with the nobles, who hated the towns‐people, and clung to the Habsburgs more or less. It was about this time that a castle belonging to the latter, on this lake, just round the projecting corner to our left, was destroyed by the people. It was called here Habsburg, and has lately been restored by a foreigner. On all sides the worst feelings were kept alive, and it only required a spark to set all in a blaze. This eventually happened by some angry Lucerners levelling to the ground the castle of a knight who had imposed undue taxes upon them. He, on his side, appealed to the Habsburg of the day, who, by a curious coincidence, was also a Duke Leopold, son of the Leopold who was defeated at Morgarten. Full of anger, he gathered all his forces, and marched in hot haste against Lucerne. But on the heights near the Lake of Sempach he encountered the confederates. They had come from Lucerne, with contingents, though in small force, from all the forest cantons. It was hilly ground, most unfitted for cavalry; but Leopold would not wait for his infantry, and, making his heavily‐armed knights dismount, he ordered them to rush with their pointed lances in close ranks on the enemy. It was like a wall of iron, and at first the confederates could make no impression upon it. They fell in numbers, and were just beginning to despair when a voice cried out, ‘I will open a path to freedom! Faithful, dearly‐loved confederates, take care of my wife and child!’ and a man, rushing forward, seized as many lances as he could clasp, buried them in his own body, and fell dead. This was Arnold von Winkelried, an inhabitant of Stanz, about whom little else is known. Over his corpse his comrades pressed forward through the opening he had thus made, and they never again yielded the dear‐bought advantage. The struggle became fearful on both sides; prodigies of valor were performed, and it is said that three standard‐bearers were killed before the flag of Austria could be captured. Eventually the knights turned in order to retreat; but their heavy armor impeded them, and their men, sure of victory, had led their horses far away. So they were cut down by hundreds. Duke Leopold was killed by a man from Schwytz; but they all fought bravely, and defended their banners with such tenacity that one was found torn into small shreds, in order that the enemy might not get it, while its pole was firmly clenched between the teeth of the dead man who had been carrying it. That was the glorious battle of Sempach, which finally crushed the power of the Habsburgs in Switzerland, and after which our liberty was firmly established. Is it any wonder, then, that we celebrate it so religiously, or that the antipathy to Austria was so deeply rooted in the nation? The whole aim of the Habsburgs after Rudolph’s reign, and of the nobles who were their vassals, was to crush our privileges and freedom. In consequence, they were so hated that no one could even venture to wear a peacock’s feather, merely because it was the favorite ornament of the Austrian dukes. In fact, peacocks were forbidden in Switzerland; and a story is told, to show how far the feeling went, of a man having broken his wine‐glass at a public tavern, merely because he fancied that he saw the colors of a peacock’s tail in the play of the sun’s rays on the glass.”

As Herr H—— pronounced these words the first dinner‐bell rang, and we all rose, thanking him cordially for his most interesting lecture. Caroline C—— in particular was most grateful, declaring that she never could understand anything of Swiss history before, but now had the clearest view of its general bearings.

After dinner all except myself and Mrs. C—— started off at once for the arsenal to see the “relics,” as they now called them; but we two adjourned to the Hofkirche at four o’clock to listen to the organ, played there daily for strangers, as at Berne and Freyburg. The Lucerne instrument is not so well known as those two, but it is equally fine, if not finer. It was admirably played, too, and we sat entranced by its tones, especially by its heavenly Vox Angelica, fully sympathizing with Wordsworth when standing on the old Hofbridge that came up to the church hill in his day, and writing:

“Volumes of sound, from the cathedral rolled,
This long‐roofed vista penetrate.”

We had arranged to sleep that night at Vitznau, at the foot of the Rigi, in order to ascend by the first train next morning, and for this purpose were to leave in a six o’clock steamer. It seemed difficult to tear ourselves so quickly away from Lucerne, and the hurry was considerable. The remainder of our party, however, returned just in time, full of all they had seen—“Agnes’ shroud,” a dreadful title for a piece of heavy silk used at her funeral, striped yellow and black, the Habsburg colors; Duke Leopold’s coat‐of‐mail, in which he was killed at Sempach, and a dozen others; a heap of lances taken there; numbers of trophies from Grandson and Morat, the battles with Charles the Bold; but, what interested them most, the great standard of Habsburg, of yellow silk with a red lion on it, taken at Sempach, and another, a white flag, covered, they said, with blood, also captured there. Young C—— was most struck besides with a very old vase decorated with the meeting at the Rüti.

It was a lovely evening, but, though the sail promised to be delightful, we left Lucerne and its worthy citizen with regret, thanking him cordially, over and over again, for the interest he had given us in his country, and at last persuaded him to come and meet us in a day or two, and act as our cicerone in part of the forest cantons, which by his means already assumed a place in our affections.

A Legend Of Alsace. Concluded.

From The French Of M. Le Vicomte De Bussierre.

VIII.

Odile, who had returned to Hohenbourg without her father’s consent, was now forced to remain against her own will. Her reputation so spread throughout the province that people of the highest rank went to see her, and several aspired to her hand. Among these suitors was a young German duke whose station, wealth, and personal qualities gave him an advantage over his rivals. Adalric and Berswinde joyfully gave their consent, and the marriage settlements were agreed upon. The arrangement was then made known to Odile, who declared firmly but respectfully that she had chosen Christ for her spouse, and could not renounce her choice. But this projected marriage flattered the pride and ambition of her father, and, after vainly endeavoring to persuade her to consent to it, he sought to obtain by force what mildness had not been able to effect. Odile, seeing that her liberty of action was to be infringed upon, felt that flight was her only resource. Commending herself to God and Our Blessed Lady, she clothed herself early one morning in the rags of a beggar, and left the castle unobserved, descending the mountain by an obscure and almost impassable ravine. It was in the year 679. Her first intention was to take refuge in the Abbey of Baume, but, considering that would be the first place to seek for her, she resolved to conceal herself from all mankind, and lead henceforth a difficult and solitary life for the love of her Redeemer. She therefore directed her steps toward the Rhine, and, meeting a fisherman, she gave him a small piece of money to take her across the river.

Odile had been accustomed to seclude herself several hours a day for prayer and meditation, so her non‐appearance excited no surprise. She was supposed to be at her devotions, and was already several miles from home, when the report of her disappearance spread consternation throughout the manor. The duke, distressed by her flight, assembled all his followers, ordered his four sons to pursue her in four different directions, and directed his servants to scour the surrounding country. Berswinde alone did not share the general grief. She would indeed have been pleased by the marriage of her daughter and the German duke, but Odile’s motives for declining the alliance, the remembrance of the miracle wrought at her baptism, and the manifest protection of heaven she was so evidently under, made her mother sure that the support of the Most High would not in this case be wanting.

Adalric himself set off with several esquires, and unwittingly took the same route as his daughter. He soon came to the Rhine, where he heard that a young beggar‐girl, whose rags could not conceal her noble air and extreme beauty, had crossed the river and gone towards Fribourg. The duke, sure it was his daughter, likewise crossed over, and came so close upon her steps that it seemed impossible for her to escape. But the princess, says the old chronicle of Fribourg containing these details, coming in sight of the city near a place called Muszbach, was so overcome with fatigue that she was obliged to sit down and take breath. She had hardly thanked God for his protection thus far when she perceived, at some distance, a company of horsemen swiftly approaching. Then recognizing her father and his followers, she raised her eyes to heaven, whence alone she could expect succor, and prayed fervently: “O my Saviour!” cried she, “spotless protector of virgins! I am lost unless thou shieldest me from their eyes, and coverest me with the shadow of thy wings!” And our Lord, says the legend, heard this earnest prayer: the rock on which she was seated opened to shelter her from her eager pursuers, and had hardly closed upon her when Adalric came up. As soon as he had passed by Odile came out, and, that posterity might not lose the remembrance of this miracle, a limpid stream of healing waters flowed henceforth from the rock. This fountain became eventually the resort of pilgrims, and the saint herself had a chapel built over it in commemoration of her deliverance.

The duke, unsuccessful in his search, returned to Hohenbourg. Unable to resign himself to the loss of his daughter, he fell into a state of sadness and discouragement. Weeks, nay, months, passed, but no news of the fugitive. Adalric finally proclaimed throughout his duchy, at the sound of the trumpet that he would henceforth leave his daughter free to pursue her own course of life, if she would only return to her family.

Having no longer any excuse for remaining away from her family, where she might be called to labor for God, Odile left her retreat at Brisgau, and returned home.(63)

IX.

Adalric’s promises were sincere. He was eager to aid Odile as much as he could in the realization of her most cherished hopes. “For it was in the decrees of divine Providence,” says an old Latin chronicle, “that this light should be placed in a candlestick, that it might give light to all who were in the house; and God had inspired Odile with the resolution to found a community of noble virgins who would live in retirement and observe the evangelical counsels.”

The saint opened her heart to her father, representing to him that Alsace had already convents for men, but no retreat for women who wished to renounce the world, and that such a refuge would be useful and at the same time pleasing to God. Adalric listened favorably to his daughter, and, whether the proposition pleased him or he did not wish to oppose her inclinations, he gave her in due form, in the year 680, the Castle of Hohenbourg with its vast dependencies and immense revenues, that she might convert what had till then been the principal bulwark of Alsace into an inviolable asylum for noble ladies of piety who wished to consecrate themselves to God.

Odile then assembled a number of workmen, and had all the buildings removed that would be of no use to a religious community. This done, they proceeded to construct the convent. It took them ten years. Adalric generously defrayed all the expenses, and even directed the architects, enjoining on them to neglect nothing that could contribute to the solidity and beauty of the edifice.

As soon as it was known that Odile intended forming a community of women, a crowd of young ladies of rank came to Hohenbourg, renouncing their families and earthly possessions for the love of Christ. They besought her to receive them as her companions, and to direct them in the way of salvation. There were one hundred and thirty of them before the convent was finished. Among them were Attale,(64) Eugénie, and Gundeline, the daughters of Odile’s brother Adalbert,(65) and her own sister Roswinde.(66) All these renounced the joys of the world without regret, hoping to obtain eternal life. They united themselves to God by silence, recollection, and prayer. Manual labor and the chanting of the Psalms varied their occupations. Like the first Christians, they seemed to have only one heart and one soul. Their only study seemed to be to equal their superior in humility, sweetness, piety, and self‐renunciation. They lived on barley bread and vegetables cooked in water. They took wine only on festivals, and passed their nights in vigils and prayer, permitting themselves only some hours of sleep when exhausted nature absolutely required it. Then they slept only on a bear’s skin with a stone for a pillow. In a word, they only allowed the body what was necessary for the preservation of life.

Adalric had a profound respect for Odile, as one under the special protection of the Divinity. The system of her community, the devotion and the rigid and holy lives of those who composed it, and above all their inexhaustible charity, led him to lavish his wealth on their monastery. Not satisfied with giving them his palace and its domains, and establishing a foundation in perpetuity for one hundred and thirty young ladies of noble birth, he likewise gave fourteen benefices for the priests who served the convent chapels.

Odile, in her ardent charity, wished there should be free access to her abbey, not only for all the members of her family and persons of high rank who came often to discourse with her on the things of God, but also for the poor, the unhappy, and the sick. The steepness of the mountain in some places made its ascent impossible for the aged. Our saint had an easy pathway constructed, paved with broad flag‐stones. Thenceforth the unfortunate of all grades of society flocked to the abbey—the poor to obtain assistance, the infirm for remedies, and sinners for salutary advice. All who were unhappy or unfortunate, whoever they might be, were the objects of Odile’s tender affection. “The Gospel,” she constantly repeated to her companions, “is a law of love,” and she exhorted them, in imitation of Him who gave his life for us, to be charitable to their fellow‐creatures. Odile’s charity was boundless. Not satisfied with distributing alms, she cheered all with sweet words, carried them nourishment and remedies with her own hands, and dressed the most frightful wounds. “There came one day,” says a writer of that time, “a man covered with a horrid leprosy to the gates of Hohenbourg for alms, uttering most lamentable cries. He was so revolting, and he diffused so infectious an odor, that none of the servants would approach him. One of them, however, informed the saint of his condition. She at once prepared some suitable food, and hastened to serve the leper. In spite of her tenderness towards the unfortunate and her habitual control over her senses, her first movement was one of horror at the sight of so disgusting a being. Ashamed of her weakness, and resolved to conquer it, she folded the leper affectionately in her arms, and burst into tears. Then she broke the food she brought into small pieces, and fed him. At the same time she raised her eyes to heaven, and, with a voice trembling with emotion, exclaimed: ‘O Lord! deign to restore him to health or give him the courage necessary to support such an affliction!’ Her humble prayer was immediately heard. The leprosy disappeared, and the repulsive odor gave place to one of sweetness, so that those who avoided him a short time before were now eager to approach, to touch him, and to wonder.”

Odile gave bread, wine, and meat to all the poor who came to the abbey; she was unwilling any should go away hungry. On feast days a great crowd of beggars would besiege the gates, and on one occasion, all the food of the community, and even the wine, being given them, the Sister who had charge of the wine‐cellar sought Odile in church to tell her there was none left for dinner. The abbess replied with a gentle smile: “He who fed five thousand persons with five loaves and two fishes will provide for us, if it be his will. Forget not, my daughter, that he has promised to those that seek first the kingdom of heaven all other things shall be given. Go where duty calls you.” The Sister went away, and at the hour of repast, going to the wine‐cellar, found a supply of excellent wine.

X.

The two chapels already built by the duke were too small for celebrating the divine service with suitable pomp. There was hardly room enough in them for the sisterhood. The crowds from the neighboring villages were often obliged to kneel outside. A larger church was indispensable. Adalric provided the materials, and it was completed by the year 690. Two square towers of pyramidal form rose beside the grand entrance. The abbess had it consecrated to the Blessed Virgin, her chosen patroness and her model. One of the side chapels she styled the Oratory of the Mother of God. There she loved to take refuge in her mental troubles, in tribulation, and in seasons of spiritual dryness. A second chapel she called Holy Rood Chapel. In commemoration of her baptism she wished also to erect a small church in honor of S. John the Baptist. Undecided about the location, she went out of the monastery one night about midnight, and, kneeling on a great rock, she remained a long time buried in profound meditation. Suddenly, says the old legend, she was surrounded by a dazzling light, and before her stood the radiant form of the precursor of our Lord in a garment of camel’s hair, such as he wore in the desert. He seemed to indicate the spot where the chapel should be erected. The next day it was commenced, and was finished in the autumn of 696. The night before it was to be consecrated S. Odile spent in prayer therein. The prince of the apostles himself, with a choir of angels, descended and performed the ceremony.

“The air of paradise did fan the house,
And angels officed all.”

This miraculous chapel was sometimes called the _Sacrarium_, because the abbess deposited in it the _cassette_ of relics Bishop Erhard gave her on her baptismal day. It was afterwards more commonly called the Chapel of S. Odile, because she was buried there herself. Besides these, she built the Chapel of Tears and the Hanging Chapel, so called because it stood on a steep precipice looking down into a deep chasm. All these chapels were so many stations where the abbess and her companions betook themselves to meditate in silence and solitude.

Adalric and Berswinde, weary of power and grandeur, retired to the Convent of Hohenbourg with their daughter. Advanced in age, they now thought only of preparing themselves for death by prayer and good works. The duke, naturally violent and hard, had sometimes in his moments of passion forgotten his duty. There were many faults for him to expiate before God, and many scandals to repair before men. While he was practising all the virtues of a holy penitent, he was attacked with a serious malady. Odile felt that his last hour was at hand, and hardly left his bedside, wishing, not only to give him the care his illness required, but to console, encourage, and prepare him for a holy death. Contemporary testimony expressly declares: “_Consolante eum et roborante beata Odilia_.” She received his last breath and closed his eyes on the 20th of February. The year is variously stated. It was between 690 and 700.

A witness of her father’s sorrow for his sins, and of his resignation in his last moments, Odile hoped the mercy of God would be extended to him. She imposed on herself the severest mortifications, and shed floods of tears for the solace of his soul in the chapel, called from this circumstance the Chapel of Tears. On the fifth day she had an inward assurance of his salvation.

There are numberless traditions in Alsace respecting S. Odile. They have been handed down from one generation to another in the villages grouped around the foot of Mount Hohenbourg. One of these legends changes the tears of the saint into a limpid stream, where the blind, or those who have any disease of the eyes, go for a remedy. Another says her tears perforated a rock. A third makes her and all her community behold her father convoyed heavenward by a choir of angels led by S. Peter in sacerdotal robes. The more we examine S. Odile’s life, the more numerous become these brilliant legends, and the more fully do we find her life marked by acts of beneficence and by miracles.

Berswinde survived her husband only nine days. She died suddenly while praying in the Chapel of S. John.

The descendants of the duke and duchess assembled at Hohenbourg to deplore their double loss. A magnificent funeral service was performed. All the people of Alsace flocked to the convent to weep over their death. One would have thought they had lost dear parents, say the chronicles. The duke’s sons gave abundant alms on this occasion. The remains of the deceased were placed in the Chapel of the Virgin, according to their request, and thither came pilgrims to pray by their tomb till they were removed.

Adalric, notwithstanding his generosity to the church, left immense domains to his children. His oldest son, Etton, or Etichon, became Duke of Brisgau and Count of Argovie. He was the progenitor of the houses of Egisheim and Lorraine. The second son, Adelbert, had the duchies of Alsace, Swabia, and Sundgau. From him sprang the houses of Habsburg and Zähringen. Hugo, the third son, died before his father, but left three sons. The oldest, Remigius, was Abbot of S. Gregory in the Val de Münster, and finally Bishop of Strasbourg. He was a great friend of Charlemagne’s, and built the celebrated nunnery of Eschau,(67) where two of his nieces were successively abbesses.

After the death of her parents, Odile kept up most intimate relations with the rest of her family. She saw them frequently, and labored for their sanctification. Following her counsels, they founded a great number of convents and churches, which, in that barbarous age, became the refuge of science, literature, and the arts, and for centuries contributed powerfully to the prosperity of Alsace.

XI.

Hitherto the inmates of Hohenbourg had been subjected to no written rule. Our dear saint was their living guide. But notwithstanding the ardor of their piety, she thought it proper to adopt some definite rule to obviate the inconstancy of the human heart, and to restrain an excess of fervor. Assembling all her spiritual children, she gave them, after invoking the Holy Spirit, a fixed rule, probably drawn from that of S. Augustine.

The steepness of Hohenbourg made it so difficult of ascent for the aged and infirm, the very ones whom Odile desired the most to aid, that she resolved to build at its foot, on the south side, a spacious hospice with a chapel, under the invocation of S. Nicholas.

Berswinde, who was still living, gave up a part of her revenues for the benefit of the poor who were received there. S. Odile daily descended this mountain, too steep and rough for others, to visit the hospice. She used to visit each inmate, and give him alms and advice with all the tenderness Christianity alone can inspire. Her children shared in her labors. They loved the freshness and solitude of the spot where the hospice stood, and there was an abundance of water there, which was lacking on the summit. The number of the infirm that resorted hither became so large as to require, night and day, the constant attendance of the Sisters, and they begged the abbess to build another monastery near S. Nicholas, and dependent on that of Hohenbourg. Odile consented.

One day, while she was occupied in overseeing the workmen, an aged man brought three branches of a linden‐tree, begging her to plant them. He predicted that the faithful would come to sit beneath their shade. Odile did as he requested, planting the first in the name of the Father, the second in the name of the Son, and the third in the name of the Holy Ghost. In fact, successive generations have sought repose beneath them, according to the old man’s prediction. Odile gave this new monastery the name of Niedermünster (Lower Minster). She established there one‐half of the community of Hohenbourg, retaining herself the direction of both houses. She placed in the new house those who were most zealous in nursing the sick, and had the greatest aptitude for it.

Many foreign ladies, drawn to Alsace by Odile’s reputation for sanctity, were among their number. They lived at Niedermünster in obedience to the rule of Hohenbourg, and led lives of austerity. These two cloisters, says Father Hugo Peltre, might be compared to two trees, apparently separated, but really drawing nourishment from the same root.

Odile, though advancing in years and broken down by her excessive austerities, daily descended the mountain. Neither frost nor rain nor fierce winds prevented her from visiting the hospice, which was her place of delight, for there she found a vast field for her charity. She was in the habit of saying: “Jesus Christ has given us the poor to supply his place. In caring for them we serve the Saviour in their person.” The whole of Alsace blessed her name, seeing her constantly occupied in solacing suffering humanity, in guiding her spiritual children in the paths of holiness, and in instructing the people in the sublime truths of the Gospel.

There is a legend that Odile, bent down by the weight of years, was one day ascending the mountain alone when she saw lying in the path an old man dying of thirst and apparently breathing his last. Our saint tried to raise him, but, too feeble to do so, she had recourse to the divine assistance. After a fervent prayer, remembering what Moses did, she smote a rock close by with her staff. A stream burst forth immediately, which restored the old pilgrim to life. This fount is still venerated and frequented. The water is considered miraculous.

XII.

Odile was ripe for heaven. Whether the state of her health announced it, or God gave her a secret presentiment of her approaching end, on the 13th of December (S. Lucius’ Day) she called together her companions in the Chapel of S. John the Baptist, which had become her oratory, and, after begging them not to be afflicted at what she had to say, she sweetly announced to them that she was near the end of her earthly pilgrimage, and her soul, ready to quit its prison of clay, would soon enjoy the liberty God has promised his children. Then the holy abbess exhorted them to remain faithful to the Lord, not to allow their fervor to relax, to resist with all their strength the temptations of the adversary, and to submit their wills to that of the Almighty.

While she was speaking to them her three nieces, Attale, Eugénie, and Gundeline, shed floods of tears. Our dear saint, seeing their profound grief, turned towards them and said: “Weep not, beloved children. Your tears cannot prolong my existence here below. Go rather, all of you, to the Chapel of Our Blessed Lady, pray together, recite the Psalms, and beg for me the grace of a happy death.” As soon as all the community had gone out to obey her wishes, the saint fell into an ecstasy, in which she had a foretaste of heavenly joys. Her companions, returning from the chapel and finding her insensible, began to express their sorrow that she had departed without receiving Holy Communion. The saint, aroused by their sobs and groans, opened her eyes and said: “Why have you returned so soon, my dear children, to disturb my repose? I was in the presence of the Blessed S. Lucius, and inexpressibly happy; for, as the apostle says, the eye hath not seen, nor the ear heard, nor hath it entered into the heart of man to conceive it.” She then expressed an ardent desire to receive the most Sacred Body and Precious Blood of our Lord. All at once, says the old legend, a flood of dazzling light pervaded the chapel. The saint fell on her knees, all the Sisters imitating her example. A celestial ministrant, radiant with glory, appeared at the altar. He approached the dying abbess, placed in her hands a wonderful chalice, and then reascended to heaven.(68) She communicated therefrom, murmured a last farewell to her children, joined her hands, and then the eyes, once opened by a miracle, closed for ever to the light.

According to her wishes, her body, extenuated with fasts and other austerities, was laid on a bear’s skin, and exposed for eight days in the Chapel of S. John the Baptist, on the Gospel side, and with the feet turned towards the altar. During this time a sweet odor spread throughout the abbey. Her children felt that, instead of weeping for her who had fought the good fight, and never been wanting in her fidelity to God, they should rather rejoice that she was called to receive the crown of righteousness, and they to imitate her example and seek through her intercession for as happy an end.

Thus died, on the 13th of December, 7—,(69) Odile, eldest daughter of Adalric, Duke of Alsace, abbess of the convents of Hohenbourg and Niedermünster. Her mortal remains were covered with mastic, which, at first soft, became hard; then placed in a tomb of stone, which is still to be seen.

The inmates of the two monasteries celebrated her obsequies with all the solemnity due to their abbess and foundress, and with the recollection due to her sanctity. All the people of Alsace flocked to Hohenbourg to look once more on the face of her to whom the unfortunate and the afflicted never appealed in vain. Her inexhaustible charity, her zeal for Christian perfection, her austere and penitential life, and her good works without number, had during her life rendered her the object of public veneration. As soon as she was dead a particular honor was paid her, first at Hohenbourg, then throughout the whole province, which to this day invokes her as its patroness. This honor has been sanctioned by the church. Her venerated sepulchre is in our day the most frequented place of pilgrimage in Alsace.

XIII.

Odile had acquired a taste for letters at the Abbey of Baume. She had a thorough knowledge of the Latin language, the Holy Scriptures, and ecclesiastical history. Her last will and testament, which has been preserved, proves that she was as enlightened as holy.(70) The monasteries she founded did not degenerate in this respect. They were the asylums of learning. In the XIIth century, says Grandidier, while a large part of Europe was plunged in ignorance and barbarism, the love of literature and the sciences was to be found among some women of Alsace. Hohenbourg was inhabited by canonesses equally learned and regular. Three abbesses were especially distinguished for their taste for poetry and literature in general. The first, Ricklende or Kilinde, reformed the monastery in 1141. Some of her Latin verses, and the fragments of other works in that language, have been preserved. Herrade de Landsberg, who succeeded her in 1167, became still more celebrated. Grandidier, speaking of her, says: “The polite arts, painting, music, and poetry, charmed the leisure of this illustrious abbess.” A collection of poetry in Latin, composed for the instruction of her community, under the title of _Hortus Deliciarum_,(71) is still preserved. Gerlinde, her sister or cousin, succeeded her, and equalled her in taste and knowledge.

The first abbesses after S. Odile were her two nieces, S. Eugénie and S. Gundeline. They divided the authority. The first was Abbess of Hohenbourg, the second of Niedermünster. The revenues, which had hitherto been in common, were divided by Odile before her death. Only Oberehnheim remained undivided, that there might be a common tie between them.

Regularity of monastic life and observances was maintained till the XIth century. The church was accidentally destroyed in 1045, but was rebuilt and consecrated to the Blessed Virgin by Bruno, Count of Dagsbourg, Bishop of Toul, and Landgrave of Alsace, a descendant of Odile’s brother Etton. A few years after it was again destroyed by the Hungarian invaders, and again Bruno, who had become the Sovereign Pontiff in 1049 under the name of Leo IX., had it rebuilt. This pope, called to Germany by the interests of the church, went himself to Hohenbourg to consecrate the edifice and reassemble the dispersed sisterhood. He did not leave this place, so dear to his heart, till he had re‐established the monastic discipline.