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They looked in silence at the monument, and at the blue quiet
water, under which the bones of the dancers lay buried, hand in
hand. The monument is of stone, painted white, with an
over-hangingroof to shelter it from storms. In a niche in front is a
small image of the Saviour, in a sitting posture; and an
inscription, upon a marble tablet below, says that it was placed
there by Longinus Walther and his wife Barbara Juliana von Hainberg;
themselves long since peacefully crumbled to dust, side by side in
some churchyard.

"That was breaking the ice with a vengeance!" said Berkley, as
they pushed out into the lake again; and ere long they were floating
beneath the mighty precipice of Falkenstein; a steep wall of rock,
crowned with a chapel and a hermitage, where in days of old lived
the holy Saint Wolfgang. It is now haunted only by an echo, so
distinct and loud, that one might imagine the ghost of the departed
saint to be sitting there, and repeating the voices from below, not
word by word, but sentence by sentence, as if he were passing them
up to the recording angel.

"Ho! ho! ho!" shouted Berkley; and the sound seemed to strike the
wall of stone, like the flapping of steel plates; "Ho! ho! ho! How
areyou to-day, Saint Wolfgang! You infernal old rascal! How is the
Frau von Wolfgang!--God save great George the King! Damn your eyes!
Hold your tongue! Ho! ho! ha! ha! hi!"

And the words were recorded above; and a voice repeated them with
awful distinctness in the blue depths overhead, and Flemming felt in
his inmost soul the contrast between the holy heavens, and the
mockery of laughter, and the idle words, which fall back from the
sky above us and soil not its purity.

In half an hour they were at the village of Saint Wolfgang,
threading a narrow street, above which the roofs of quaint,
picturesque old houses almost met. It led them to a Gothic church; a
magnificent one for a village;--in front of which was a small court,
shut in by Italian-looking houses, with balconies, and flowers at
the windows. Here a bronze fountain of elaborate workmanship was
playing in the shade. On its summit stood an image of the patron
Saint of the village; and, running round the under lip of the
water-basin below, they read this inscription in old German
rhymes;

"I am in the honor of Saint Wolfgang raised. Abbot Wolfgang Habel
of Emensee, he hath made me for the use and delight of poor pilgrim
wight. Neither gold nor wine hath he; at this water shall he merry
be. In the year of the Lord fifteen hundred and fifteen, hath the
work completed been. God be praised!"

As they were deciphering the rude characters of this pious
inscription, a village priest came down a high flight of steps from
the parsonage near the church, and courteously saluted the
strangers. After returning the salutation, the mad Englishman,
without preface, asked him how many natural children were annually
born in the parish. The question seemed to astonish the good father,
but he answered it civilly, as he did several other questions, which
Flemming thought rather indiscreet, to say the least.

"You will excuse our curiosity," said he to the priest, by way of
apology. "We are strangersfrom distant countries. My friend is an
Englishman and I an American."

Berkley, however, was not so easily silenced. After a few
moments' conversation he broke out into most audacious Latin, in
which the only words clearly intelligible were;

"Plurimum reverende, in Christo religiosissime, ac clarissime
Domine, necnon et amice observandissime! Petrus sic est locutus;
'Nec argentum mihi, nec aurum est; sed quod habeo, hoc tibi do;
surge et ambula.'"

He seemed to be speaking of the fountain. The priest answered
meekly,

"Non intellexi, Domine!"

But Berkley continued with great volubility to speak of his being
a stranger in the land, and all men being strangers upon earth, and
hoping to meet the good priest hereafter in the kingdom of Heaven.
The priest seemed confounded, and abashed. Through the mist of a
strange pronunciation he could recognise only here and there
afamiliar word. He took out his snuff-box; and tried to quote a
passage from Saint Paul;

"Ut dixit Sanctus Paulus; qui bene facit--"

Here his memory failed him, or, as the French say, he was at the
end of his Latin, and, stretching forth his long forefinger, he
concluded in German;

"Yes;--I don't--so clearly remember--what he did say."

The Englishman helped him through with a moral phrase; and then
pulling off his hat, exclaimed very solemnly;

"Vale, domine doctissime et reverendissime!"

And the Dominie, as if pursued by a demon, made a sudden and
precipitate retreat down a flight of steps into the street.

"There!" said Berkley laughing, "I beat him at his own weapons.
What do you say of my Latin?"

"I say of it," replied Flemming, "what Holophernes said of Sir
Nathaniel's; 'Priscian a little scratched; 't will serve.' I think I
have heardbetter. But what a whim! I thought I should have laughed
aloud."

They were still sitting by the bronze fountain when the priest
returned, accompanied by a short man, with large feet, and a long
blue surtout, so greasy, that it reminded one of Polilla's in the
Spanish play, which was lined with slices of pork. His countenance
was broad and placid, but his blue eyes gleamed with a wild,
mysterious, sorrowful expression. Flemming thought the Latin contest
was to be renewed, with more powder and heavier guns. He was
mistaken. The stranger saluted him in German, and said, that, having
heard he was from America, he had come to question him about that
distant country, for which he was on the point of embarking. There
was nothing peculiar in his manner, nor in the questions he asked,
nor the remarks he made. They were the usual questions and remarks
about cities and climate, and sailing the sea. At length Flemming
asked him the object of his journey to America. Thestranger came
close up to him, and lowering his voice, said very solemnly;

"That holy man, Frederick Baraga, missionary among the Indians at
Lacroix, on Lake Superior, has returned to his father-land, Krain;
and I am chosen by Heaven to go forth as Minister Extraordinary of
Christ, to unite all nations and people in one church!"

Flemming almost started at the singular earnestness, with which
he uttered these words; and looked at him attentively, thinking to
see the face of a madman. But the modest, unassuming look of that
placid countenance was unchanged; only in the eyes burned a
mysterious light, as if candles had been lighted in the brain, to
magnify the daylight there.

"It is truly a high vocation," said he in reply. "But are you
sure, that this is no hallucination? Are you certain, that you have
been chosen by Heaven for this great work?"

"I am certain," replied the German, in a tone of great calmness
and sincerity; "and, if Saint Peter and Saint Paul should come down
from Heaven to assure me of it, my faith would be no stronger than
it now is. It has been declared to me by many signs and wonders. I
can no longer doubt, nor hesitate. I have already heard the voice of
the Spirit, speaking to me at night; and I know that I am an
apostle; and chosen for this work."

Such was the calm enthusiasm with which he spoke, that Flemming
could not choose but listen. He felt interested in this strange
being. There was something awe-inspiring in the spirit that
possessed him. After a short pause he continued;

"If you wish to know who I am, I can tell you in few words. I
think you will not find the story without interest."

He then went on to relate the circumstances recorded in the
following chapter.




CHAPTER VII. THE STORY OF BROTHER BERNARDUS.



"I was born in the city of Stein, in the land of Krain. My pious
mother Gertrude sang me psalms and spiritual songs in childhood; and
often, when I awoke in the night, I saw her still sitting, patiently
at her work by the stove, and heard her singing those hymns of
heaven, or praying in the midnight darkness when her work was done.
It was for me she prayed. Thus, from my earliest childhood, I
breathed the breath of pious aspirations. Afterwards I went to
Laybach as a student of theology; and after the usual course of
study, was ordained a priest. I went forth to the care of souls; my
own soul filled with the faith, that ere long all people would be
united in one church. Yet attimes my heart was heavy, to behold how
many nations there are who have not heard of Christ; and how those,
who are called Christians, are divided into numberless sects, and
how among these are many who are Christians in name only. I
determined to devote myself to the great work of the one church
universal; and for this purpose, to give myself wholly up to the
study of the Evangelists and the Fathers. I retired to the
Benedictine cloister of Saint Paul in the valley of Lavant. The
father-confessor in the nunnery of Laak, where I then lived,
strengthened me in this resolve. I had long walked with this angel
of God in a human form, and his parting benediction sank deep into
my soul. The Prince-Abbot Berthold, of blessed memory, was then head
of the Benedictine convent. He received me kindly, and led me to the
library; where I gazed with secret rapture on the vast folios of the
Christian Fathers, from which, as from an arsenal, I was to draw the
weapons of holy warfare. In the study of these, the year of my
noviciate passed. I becamea Franciscan friar; and took the name of
Brother Bernardus. Yet my course of life remained unchanged. I
seldom left the cloister; but sat in my cell, and pored over those
tomes of holy wisdom. About this time the aged confessor in Laak
departed this life. His death was made known to me in a dream. It
must have been after midnight, when I thought that I came into the
church, which was brilliantly lighted up. The dead body of the
venerable saint was brought in, attended by a great crowd. It seemed
to me, that I must go up into the pulpit and pronounce his funeral
oration; and, as I ascended the stairs, the words of my text came
into my mind; 'Blessed in the sight of the Lord is the death of his
saints.' My funeral sermon ended in a strain of exultation; and I
awoke with 'Amen!' upon my lips. A few days afterwards, I heard that
on that night the old man died. After this event I became restless
and melancholy. I strove in vain to drive from me my gloomy
thoughts. I could no longer study. I was no longer contented in the
cloister. I even thought of leaving it.

"One night I had gone to bed early, according to my custom, and had
fallen asleep. Suddenly I was awakened by a bright and wonderful
light, which shone all about me, and filled me with heavenly
rapture. Shortly after I heard a voice, which pronounced distinctly
these words, in the Sclavonian tongue; 'Remain in the cloister!' It
was the voice of my departed mother. I was fully awake; yet saw
nothing but the bright light, which disappeared, when the words had
been spoken. Still it was broad daylight in my chamber. I thought I
had slept beyond my usual hour. I looked at my watch. It was just
one o'clock after midnight. Suddenly the daylight vanished, and it
was dark. In the morning I arose, as if new-born, through the
wonderful light, and the words of my mother's voice. It was no
dream. I knew it was the will of God that I should stay; and I could
again give myself up to quiet study. I read the whole Bible through
once more in theoriginal text; and went on with the Fathers, in
chronological order. Often, after the apparition of the light, I
awoke at the same hour; and though I heard no voice and saw no
light, yet was refreshed with heavenly consolation.

"Not long after this an important event happened in the cloister.
In the absence of the deacon of the Abbey, I was to preach the
Thanksgiving sermon of Harvest-home. During the week the
Prince-Abbot Berthold gave up the ghost; and my sermon became at
once a Thanks-giving and Funeral Sermon. Perhaps it may not be
unworthy of notice, that I was thus called to pronounce the burial
discourse over the body of the last reigning, spiritual Prince Abbot
in Germany. He was a man of God, and worthy of this honor.

"One year after this event, I was appointed Professor of Biblical
Hermeneutics in Klagenfurt, and left the Abbey forever. In
Klagenfurt I remained ten years, dwelling in the same house, and
eating at the same table, with seventeen other professors. Their
conversation naturally suggestednew topics of study, and brought to
my notice books, which I had never before seen. One day I heard at
table, that Maurus Cappellari, a monk of Camaldoli, had been elected
Pope, under the name of Gregory Sixteenth. He was spoken of as a
very learned man, who had written many books. At this time I was a
firm believer in the Pope's infallibility; and when I heard these
books mentioned, there arose in me an irresistible longing to read
them. I inquired for them; but they were nowhere to be had. At
length I heard, that his most important work, The Triumph of the
Holy See, and of the Church, had been translated into German and
published in Augsburg. Ere long the precious volume was in my hands.
I began to read it with the profoundest awe. The farther I read, the
more my wonder grew. The subject was of the deepest interest to me.
I could not lay the book out of my hand, till I had read it through
with the closest attention. Now at length my eyes were opened. I saw
before me a monk, who had been educated in an Italian cloister; who,
indeed, had read much, and yet only what was calculated to
strengthen him in the prejudices of his childhood; and who had
entirely neglected those studies upon which a bishop should most
rely, in order to work out the salvation of man. I perceived at the
same time, that this was the strongest instrument for battering down
the walls, which separate Christian from Christian. I saw, though as
yet dimly, the way in which the union of Christians in the one true
church was to be accomplished. I knew not whether to be most
astonished at my own blindness, that, in all my previous studies, I
had not perceived, what the reading of this single book made
manifest to me; or at the blindness of the Pope, who had undertaken
to justify such follies, without perceiving that at the same moment
he was himself lying in fatal error. But since I have learned more
thoroughly the ways of the Lord, I am now no more astonished at
this, but pray only to Divine providence, who so mysteriously
prepares all people to be united in one true church. I no longer
believed in the Pope's infallibility; nay, I believed even, that, to
the great injury of humanity, he lay in fatal error. I felt,
moreover, that now the time had fully come, when I should publicly
show myself, and found in America a parish and a school, and become
the spiritual guide of men, and the schoolmaster of children.

"It was then, and on that account, that I wrote in the Latin
tongue my great work on Biblical Hermeneutics. But in Germany it
cannot be published. The Austrian censor of the press cannot find
time to read it, though I think, that if I have spent so many
laborious days and sleepless nights in writing it, this man ought
likewise to find time enough not only to read it, but to examine all
the grounds of my reasoning, and point out to me any errors, if he
can find any. Notwithstanding, the Spirit gave me no repose, but
urged me ever mightily on to the perfection of my great work.

"One morning I sat writing, under peculiar influences of the
Spirit, upon the Confusion of Tongues, the Division of the People,
and the importance ofthe study of Comparative Philology, in
reference to their union in one church. So wrapped was I in the
thought, that I came late into my lecture-room; and after lecture
returned to my chamber, where I wrote till the clock struck twelve.
At dinner, one of the Professors asked if any one had seen the star,
about which so much was said. The Professor of Physics, said, that
the student Johannes Schminke had come to him in the greatest haste,
and besought him to go out and see the wonderful star; but, being
incredulous about it, he made no haste, and, when they came into the
street, the star had disappeared. When I heard the star spoken of,
my soul was filled with rapture; and a voice within me seemed to
say, 'The great time is approaching; labor unweariedly in thy work.'
I sought out the student; and like Herod, inquired diligently what
time the star appeared. He informed me, that, just as the clock was
striking eight, in the morning, he went out of his house to go to
the college, and saw on the square a crowd looking at a bright star.
It was the veryhour, when I was writing alone in my chamber on the
importance of Comparative Philology in bringing about the union of
all nations. I felt, that my hour had come. Strangely moved, I
walked up and down my chamber. The evening twilight came on. I
lighted my lamp, and drew the green curtains before the windows, and
sat down to read. But hardly had I taken the book into my hand, when
the Spirit began to move me, and urge me then to make my last
decision and resolve. I made a secret vow, that I would undertake
the voyage to America. Suddenly my troubled thoughts were still. An
unwonted rapture filled my heart. I sat and read till the supper
bell rang. They were speaking at table of a red glaring meteor,
which had just been seen in the air, southeast from Klagenfurt; and
had suddenly disappeared with a dull, hollow sound. It was the very
moment at which I had taken my final resolution to leave my native
land. Every great purpose and event of my life, seemed heralded and
attended by divine messengers; the voices of thedead; the bright
morning star, shining in the clear sunshine; and the red meteor in
the evening twilight.

"I now began seriously to prepare for my departure. The chamber I
occupied, had once been the library of a Franciscan convent. Only a
thick wall separated it from the church. In this wall was a niche,
with heavy folding-doors, which had served the Franciscans as a
repository for prohibited books. Here also I kept my papers, and my
great work on Biblical Hermeneutics. The inside of the doors was
covered with horrible caricatures of Luther, Melancthon, Calvin, and
other great men. I used often to look at them with the deepest
melancholy, when I thought that these great men likewise had labored
upon earth, and fought with Satan in the church. But they were
persecuted, denounced, condemned to die. So perhaps will it be with
me. I thought of this often; and armed myself against the fear of
death. I was in constant apprehension, lest the police should search
my chamber during my absence, and, by examining my papers, discover
my doctrine and designs. But the Spirit said to me; 'Be of good
cheer; I will so blind the eyes of thy enemies, that it shall not
once occur to them to think of thy writings.'

"At length, after many difficulties and temptations of the Devil,
I am on my way to America. Yesterday I took leave of my dearest
friend, Gregory Kuscher, in Hallstadt. He seemed filled with the
Spirit of God, and has wonderfully strengthened me in my purpose.
All the hosts of heaven looked on, and were glad. The old man kissed
me at parting; and I ascended the mountain as if angels bore me up
in their arms. Near the summit, lay a newly fallen avalanche, over
which, as yet, no footsteps had passed. This was my last temptation.
'Ha!' cried I aloud, 'Satan has prepared a snare for me; but I will
conquer him with godly weapons.' I sprang over the treacherous snow,
with greater faith than St. Peter walked the waters of the Lake of
Galilee; and came down the valley, while the mountain peaks yetshone
in the setting sun. God smiles upon me. I go forth, full of hopeful
courage. On Christmas next, I shall excommunicate the Pope."

Saying these words, he slowly and solemnly took his leave, like
one conscious of the great events which await him, and withdrew with
the other priest into the church. Flemming could not smile as
Berkley did; for in the solitary, singular enthusiast, who had just
left them, he saw only another melancholy victim to solitude and
over-labor of the brain; and felt how painful a thing it is, thus to
become unconsciously the alms-man of other men's sympathies, a kind
of blind beggar for the charity of a good wish or a prayer.

The sun was now setting. Silently they floated back to Saint
Gilgen, amid the cool evening shadows. The village clock struck nine
as they landed; and as Berkley was to depart early in the morning,
he went to bed betimes. On bidding Flemming good night he said;

"I shall not see you in the morning; so good bye, and God bless
you. Remember my partingwords. Never mind trifles. In this world a
man must either be anvil or hammer. Care killed a cat!"

"I have heard you say that so often," replied Flemming, laughing,
"that I begin to believe it is true. But I wonder if Care shaved his
left eyebrow, after doing the deed, as the ancient Egyptians used to
do!"

"Aha! now you are sweeping cobwebs from the sky! Good night! Good
night!"

A sorrowful event happened in the neighbourhood that night. The
widow's child died suddenly. "Woe is me!"--thus mourns the childless
mother in one of the funeral songs of Greenland; "Woe is me, that I
should gaze upon thy place and find it vacant! In vain for thee thy
mother dries the sea-drenched garments!" Not in these words, but in
thoughts like these, did the poor mother bewail the death of her
child, thinking mostly of the vacant place, and the daily cares and
solicitudes of maternal love. Flemming saw a light in her chamber,
and shadows moving toand fro, as he stood by the window, gazing into
the starry, silent sky. But he little thought of the awful domestic
tragedy, which was even then enacted behind those thin curtains!




CHAPTER VIII. FOOT-PRINTS OF ANGELS.



It was Sunday morning; and the church bells were all ringing
together. From all the neighbouring villages, came the solemn,
joyful sounds, floating through the sunny air, mellow and faint and
low,--all mingling into one harmonious chime, like the sound of some
distant organ in heaven. Anon they ceased; and the woods, and the
clouds, and the whole village, and the very air itself seemed to
pray, so silent was it everywhere.

Two venerable old men,--high priests and patriarchs were they in
the land,--went up the pulpit stairs, as Moses and Aaron went up
Mount Hor, in the sight of all the congregation,--for the pulpit
stairs were in front, and very high.

Paul Flemming will never forget the sermon he heard that
day,--no, not even if he should live to be as old as he who preached
it. The text was, "I know that my Redeemer liveth." It was meant to
console the pious, poor widow, who sat right below him at the foot
of the pulpit stairs, all in black, and her heart breaking. He said
nothing of the terrors of death, nor of the gloom of the narrow
house, but, looking beyond these things, as mere circumstances to
which the imagination mainly gives importance, he told his hearers
of the innocence of childhood upon earth, and the holiness of
childhood in heaven, and how the beautiful Lord Jesus was once a
little child, and now in heaven the spirits of little children
walked with him, and gathered flowers in the fields of Paradise.
Good old man! In behalf of humanity, I thank thee for these
benignant words! And, still more than I, the bereaved mother thanked
thee, and from that hour, though she wept in secret for her child,
yet

"She knew he was with Jesus,

And she asked him not again."

After the sermon, Paul Flemming walked forth alone into the
churchyard. There was no one there, save a little boy, who was
fishing with a pin hook in a grave half full of water. But a few
moments afterward, through the arched gateway under the belfry, came
a funeral procession. At its head walked a priest in white surplice,
chanting. Peasants, old and young, followed him, with burning tapers
in their hands. A young girl carried in her arms a dead child,
wrapped in its little winding sheet. The grave was close under the
wall, by the church door. A vase of holy water stood beside it. The
sexton took the child from the girl's arms, and put it into a
coffin; and, as he placed it in the grave, the girl held over it a
cross, wreathed with roses, and the priest and peasants sang a
funeral hymn. When this was over, the priest sprinkled the grave and
the crowd with holy water; and then they all went into the church,
each one stopping as he passed the grave to throw a handful of earth
into it, and sprinkle it with holy water.

A few moments afterwards, the voice of the priest was heard
saying mass in the church, and Flemming saw the toothless old sexton
treading the fresh earth into the grave of the little child, with
his clouted shoes. He approached him, and asked the age of the
deceased. The sexton leaned a moment on his spade, and shrugging his
shoulders replied;

"Only an hour or two. It was born in the night, and died this
morning early?"

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