The Convent, with all its splendor, produces now no unusual impression. It is known that its higher life and significance is past. Yet it stands like a beautiful monument from the times when convents were the only asylums for innocence, piety, science, for all the memories of the human race, all its higher, spiritual efforts, whilst nation rose against nation, tyrants against tyrants, and fire and the sword devastated the earth. In the protection of the convent pious men and women transcribed the precious old manuscripts by hundreds, whilst learned laymen there prepared the works which afterwards—when the deluge of desolation had passed over—should enlighten and benefit the world. Amidst general confusion and warfare, they stood like God's bulwarks on the earth, and preached of the Divine peace. They have done their work. Monte Casino is the oldest convent in Italy, and was celebrated already in the time of Charlemagne.
But again to our journey.
The learned Rabbi gave me during this time an unexpected pleasure. He read to us each day one or two of the Psalms of David, from a collection of the Psalms in Hebrew, which he always carried in his pocket. In the first place he read them in their original tongue, and then in German, with such a pathos and energy that not even King David himself could have done it better, than did this his descendant. And never have I felt, as from his reading, the incomparable beauty and lofty poetry of these songs, never been so affected by them, and so attuned to joyful devotions. Enthusiastically attached to his
