Barton County democrat. [volume] (Great Bend, Kan.) 1885-1915, 1902-04-11


were caught in little pans.
"At that time the monastery had at
tanned a height of prosperity which
it never reached again. Some attrib-
uted it all to Father Ekkehard, the
abbot, but I knew well that it was
Brother Ambrose, whose generous
measures drew the best men from all
the country into the fold. All, those
were happy times, when each day
whole hogsheads OF wine were served
to the thirsty brothers. For the
novices, we had thin, sour wine, to
keep in check their hot blood; for the
lay brothers, great plenty, but of
common vintage, for he who sweats
in the fields or tolls at loads of build
ing stone knows only how much is in
his gourd and not how good; but for
the pious brothers who prayed and
preached and meditated, and for those
who spent their days in illuminat ting
the wise words of our most excellent
Father Ekkehard, was set aside this
cask of mellow, red wine such as cud-
died under the tongue before it slid
down. And that was right, for were
not these the ones who in leisure and
thoughtfulness could best dintin-
guish good wine from bad?
"And of all these, Brother Ambrose
was the most devout, for after max
ing the rounds of his casks and test
ing the contents that they had not
deteriorated, he would seek the sun
ny niche in the warden wall, where,
undisturbed he might mediate all
afternoon, his eyes closed, lest the
beauties of this world should distract
his thoughts from those of the next,
and only an occasional sigh showing
how deep were his inward struggles.
meanwhile I worked at my wood
carving in my little cellar shop, but
never did I become so absorbed in my
saints and bishops as to forget my
other duties of emptying the pans
that caught the drippings.
''And so our lives went happily on
until that fatal day when the abbot
decided to make a pilgrimage to
Rome, and I was selected as one of
the attendants. Oh, the homesick-
ness of it all! The days in the Alpine
SHOWS, the nights in the hard, hospice
beds, and then Italy, ugh! Give me
my Rhine wine and Neckar and you
may keep your vintage of Italy. Most
of all, I yearned for Brother Ambrose,
my whole-souled master and friend.
How I did long for his full, round,
blonde body, when surrounded by the
crafty Latins in the court of his holi-
ness.
''One night I dreamed of him. yea
often he came into my dreams, but
this was horrible and real as if I
l. !
Brother Ambrose was moving
slowly among his casks, nodding to
this one, laying a friendly hand on
that, but when he came to the great
tun in which we stand, he rubbed his
cheek against it so affectionately that
[ could hear the bristles rasp against
the wood.
presently he searched among the
straw lying in the corner till he found
a long, peri tube, and then, climb
ing the ladder to the top, he took
out the bung and gazing at the brin-
ing red liquor as a worldly man
might gave upon the woman he
adored. For several moments he
squatted thus absorbed, then, with a
contented sigh, he inserted the straw
and drew unto himself this treasured
sweetness.
81 know not how long this lasted,
but gradually the liquor grew lower
in the cask and gradually he leaned
over, following it, never once leaving
hold Of the straw. His eyes closed,
knew that ecstasy was his, and, poor
worm that I am, envied him. He
reeled, he rolled, but still he followed
the wine downward, ever downward,
till finally the center of gravity was
lost, he slipped, he smiled, and still
smiling, slid through the bunghole
and disappeared.
with horror I awoke, and would
have run and told my dream to the
abbot, but he was a stern man who
looked upon me with disfavor because
loved not my Latin, so 1 stayed and
told it to little Francesca, but she
could not advise me in such matters.
''How the months dragged on in
that hot, weary land! If it had not
been for Francesca 1 should have
died, between long waiting in ante
chambers and long masses in the
church of ST. Peter.
"But after much delay we started
homeward, and with what happiness
did 1 look from the summit of the
last snow mountain to where the
dark, rolling hills of my own Black
Forest lay beyond the Rhine.
when the joyous monks welcomed
US at the gate. eagerly scanned each
face but that of Brother Ambrose
was not among them. Afraid to ask
questions I disengaged myself from
the curious brothers and ran to his
haunt in the garden and to the cellar,
but no one was there; only a scrubby
how amntuinn tho mans ubo fold mo