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COLLECTION

OF

GERMAN AUTHORS.

VOL. 22.

EKKEHARD BY JOSEPH VICTOR SCHEFFEL.

IN TWO VOLUMES.

VOL. II.

EKKEHARD.

A TALE OF THE TENTH CENTURY

BY

JOSEPH VICTOR SCHEFFEL.

Authorized Edition.

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN

BY

SOFIE DELFFS.

IN TWO VOLUMES.--VOL. II.

LEIPZIG 1872 BERNHARD TAUCHNITZ.

LONDON: SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, SEARLE & RIVINGTON.
CROWN BUILDINGS, 188, FLEET STREET.
PARIS: C. REINWALD, 15, RUE DES SAINTS PÉRES.

CONTENTS

OF VOLUME II.

EKKEHARD.

CHAPTER XV.

[Hadumoth.]

The night, which had appeared long and dreary to those who had been entrusted with the watch on the battle-field, was passing away. The horror of Death lay over the whole valley. "The Lord be merciful unto their souls," sounded the low-voiced call of the watchman. "And deliver them from the sufferings of purgatory, Amen!" was the response of his companions, who were cowering round a campfire, on the border of the pine-wood. The deep black shadows of night lay over the bodies of the slain, as if the Heavens compassionately wished to hide what human hands had done there. At dawn of day, even the clouds disappeared, as if they also were driven away by the horror of the sight beneath them; others came, and likewise fled, ever changing their shapes and forms; losing one to assume another,--everything is restless, except in Death, where eternal rest is found. Friend and enemy, side by side as they had fallen, still lay there; quiet and calm.

One slight figure like that of a child, the watchman saw gliding over the battle-field. It bent down; walked on, and bent down again, and ever continued its search; but he dared not call to it. He stood like one that is spell-bound. "Probably it is the angel who is marking their foreheads with a letter, so that they can be recognized, when the spirit will return to their bodies, on the day of resurrection," thought he, remembering the words of the prophet. Silently he crossed himself, and when he looked again, the figure had vanished.

The morning dawned, and there came a number of men from the arrier-ban, to relieve the monks. The Duchess had sent them; although Simon Bardo was not quite satisfied with this arrangement. "A victory is but half a victory, if it is not followed up, by pursuit of the enemy. We ought to go after them, until the last of them are annihilated," he said. But the monks insisted on their return on account of the Easter holidays, and the others said: "Before we could catch those, on their swift horses, we should have far to go. They have come to us, and we have beaten them, and if they should come again, we have more blows in store for them;--the work of yesterday deserves rest."

Then it was determined upon, that the dead should be buried before the break of Easter Sunday.

So the men fetched their spades and hoes, and dug two wide graves. On one side of the field there was an abandoned gravel-pit, which they widened into a spacious resting-place. This last was destined for the dead Huns. Arms and harnesses were taken off and collected; forming a considerable heap in all. Then the corpses were thrown down; one after the other, as they were brought. It was a mass of torn members, repulsive to the eye; men and horses in wild confusion; a throng, as when the rebellious host of angels fell down into hell.

The pit was filled. One of the grave-diggers came and brought a solitary head with cleft forehead and fierce expression. "Most likely that belongs also to the heathens, and may look for its trunk below," quoth he, throwing it down into the pit.

When the whole field had been searched, without their discovering any more Hunnic bodies, they covered up the huge grave. It was a burial without solemnity;--sundry curses, instead of blessings were called down, and ravens and other birds of prey, hoarsely screeching, fluttered about in great numbers. Those who inhabited the rocks on the Hohenkrähen, and the dark pine-wood beneath, had all come, Moengal's hawk among them; and they were evidently protesting by their cries, against thus losing their rightful prey. With a hollow sound the clods of earth and pebbles fell into the wide grave. Then the deacon of Singen came, with the vase of consecrated water, with which he sprinkled the mound, in order to banish the demons, and keep down the dead who rested in the stranger earth. A weatherbeaten piece of rock, which had some time since fallen down from the Hohentwiel, was finally rolled on to the Hunnic grave, and then they went away shivering, to get ready the second tomb, which was to receive their own dead. All those who had belonged to the ecclesiastical state, were to be buried in the cloister-church at Reichenau.

At the same hour in which the battle had begun the day before, a solemn procession descended from the Hohentwiel. These were the men who had won the battle. They advanced in the same order as on the day before, but their gait was slow, and their standard was muffled in black crape. On the watchtower of the castle, the black flag had likewise been hoisted. The Duchess herself, rode also with the train, dressed in dark sober-coloured garments, which gave an unusually serious and severe expression to her face. The dead monks were carried on biers, to the brink of the great tomb, so that they should participate in the last homage rendered to their fellow-champions. When the last notes of the litany had died away, Abbot Wazmann approached the open grave, pronouncing the farewell greeting and offering up the thanks of the survivors to the ninety six who lay there so pale and still, side by side.

"Blessed be their memory, and may their remains rest in peace, until the day of resurrection! May their names descend unto posterity, and may the glory of the holy champions, bring down a blessing on their children!" Thus he spoke in the words of the Preacher, throwing down when he had ended the first handful of earth; the Duchess, as well as the others following his example one by one. After this, there ensued a solemn silence, as all those who had fought together on the day before, were to separate again after the funeral; and many a hard-featured face waxed soft; and many a kiss and hearty shake of the hand were exchanged at parting.

Those of the Reichenau, were the first who set out for their monastery. The biers with the dead were carried along; the brothers walking by their sides, bearing lighted tapers, and chanting psalms. The corpse of the old man from the Heidenhöhlen, long weary of life, they had also taken along with them. With bent-down head, the war-horse of the unknown warrior, covered with a black cloth, walked by its side. It was a gloomy and sad spectacle withal, to see the long funeral train slowly enter the pinewood, and then disappear amid the gloom.

The next to take leave of the Duchess, were the remaining arrier-ban men. The gaunt Friedinger, with his arm in a sling, rode down the valley at the head of a troop. Only the Knight of Randegg, with a few select soldiers, was to be garrisoned on the Hohentwiel.

With unfeigned emotion, Dame Hadwig, followed the departing ones with her eyes and then slowly rode over the battle-field. The day before she had stood on the tower, anxiously watching the turn the battle was taking.

Master Spazzo, was now called upon to explain a good many things, and although he evidently did not shrink from exaggerating a little here and there, the Duchess seemed well satisfied. She did not speak to Ekkehard.

When she too had returned home, the plain became silent and forsaken again, as if nothing at all had happened there. Only the trampled grass, the wet, reddish earth, and the two huge tombs, bore witness to the harvest which Death had held there, but the day before. It was not long, before the blood was dried up, and the grass had grown afresh. The mounds under which the dead rested, were covered with moss and creepers. Wind, and birds had carried seeds there; and bushes and trees had sprung up in rich luxuriance,--for plants thrive well, where the dead are buried. But the tale of the battle with the Huns, is still living in the memory of the present generation. The piece of rock which had been rolled upon the grave, is called the "Heidenbock" (Heathenbuck), by the inhabitants of the Hegau, and in the night of Good-Friday, there is nobody who would like to pass the valley. In that night, earth and air belong to the dead, who are then supposed to arise from their graves. Then the small, swift-footed horses dart about again; the dark columns of the christian champions on foot, eagerly press forward; the armour glittering from under the decayed habits of the monks. The clatter of arms and wild war-cries, rise, louder than the tempest; and fiercely rages the battle of the spirits in the air, when suddenly from yonder island in the lake, a knight in shining gilt armour, on a black steed comes hurrying along, and drives them all back into their cool resting-places. Vainly the Hunnic chieftain tries to resist him, angrily lifting his crooked sword; but at that moment, the heavy battle-axe descends on his head,--and he must go down like the rest ... and everything is silent as before; only the young leaves of the tender birch-tree, are trembling in the wind ...

Easter Sunday passed drearily and sadly. In the evening Dame Hadwig sat in the hall, with Ekkehard, Master Spazzo the chamberlain, and the Knight of Randegg. It can be easily imagined what their talk was about. The great events of the past days found an echo in all their thoughts and speeches; like to the echo of the Lurlei-rock in the Rhine: scarcely has the first tone died away in one place, when a hollow, rolling sound, takes it up again in the next, and so it goes on, reverberating from all sides, as if it were never going to end.

The Abbot of Reichenau, had sent a messenger to report that they had found the monastery but slightly damaged; unharmed by fire. Further, that they had destroyed all traces of the Huns, by carrying the holy relics about, and by the sprinkling of consecrated water, everywhere; and finally that the dead had been buried.

"And what became of the brother who stayed behind?" asked the Duchess.

"On him, the Lord our God has shown, that in His mercy He does not forget, poor, childish minds, in the midst of danger and peril. On our return, he stood on the threshold, as if nothing whatever had happened to him. 'Well, how didst thou like the Huns?' one of us called out to him, upon which he said with his customary smile: 'Well then, they have pleased me very much indeed. Never have I seen such jolly fellows before; and as for eating and drinking,--they are wonderfully considerate! The father cellarer has never taken the slightest notice of my being thirsty; but they gave me wine, as much as I wanted,--and if they dealt me sundry blows, and boxes on the ear, they made it up again with the wine; and that is more than any of you would ever have done. Only discipline was wanting,--and besides they have not yet learned how to behave in church' ... further he could say still many a thing in praise of the stranger guests, but this, Heribald added, he would only reveal under the seal of confession." ...

Dame Hadwig was as yet not inclined for amusement. She graciously dismissed the messenger, giving him the finely wrought coat-of-mail of the slain Hunnic chieftain, in order that it might be hung up in the cloister-church, as a lasting token of the past battle. The duty of distributing the booty, was hers, according to the general desire.

Master Spazzo, whose tongue had not been lazy all this time in recounting his warlike deeds,--and the number of the Huns he had slain increased with every recital, like a falling avalanche,--now said with emphasis: "I have still got a war-trophy to present, which I have destined for my gracious mistress herself."

He then went down to the under apartments, in one of which, Cappan his prisoner, lay on a bundle of straw. His wound had been dressed, and had proved not to be dangerous. "Get up, thou son of the Devil!" cried Master Spazzo, adding a rude kick to this invitation. The Hun rose; his face wearing a somewhat dubious expression, as if he did not believe that his life was to last much longer. Thus he limped through the room, leaning on a stick. "Forwards!" said Master Spazzo, indicating the direction in which he was to go. So they went up stairs and entered the hall. Here an imperious, "stop," from Master Spazzo, made the unfortunate wretch stand still, casting his eyes around with evident surprise.

With kindly interest Dame Hadwig looked at the strange specimen of humanity before her. Praxedis also had come near, and turning to Master Spazzo said: "One cannot say much for the beauty of your war-trophy, but it is curious enough."

The Duchess folded her hands: "And this is the nation before whom the German empire has trembled!" exclaimed she.

"The terror was caused by the multitude, and their always keeping together," said the Knight of Randegg. "They won't come back again so easily, that's sure!"

"Are you so very certain of this?" asked she pointedly.

The Hun did not understand much of the conversation. His wounded foot hurt him, but he did not dare to sit down. Praxedis addressed him in Greek, but he shyly shook his head. Then she tried to get up an understanding, by dint of signs and nods,--but this too was in vain. "Allow me," said she to the Duchess, "I still know of a way, to make him give us a sign of life, which I have heard of at Constantinople." Gliding out of the hall, she presently returned, carrying a cup, which she presented with mock deference to the dumb prisoner. It was a strong liquor, distilled from cherries and stone-fruit; such as the late castle-chaplain had loved to concoct now and then. At the sight of this, the Hun's face became radiant; his blunt nose, sniffed up the rising aroma, and emptying the cup, which he evidently regarded as a sign of peace, he threw himself down with crossed arms before Praxedis, and kissed her shoe.

She made him a sign that the homage was due to the Duchess, upon which he wanted to repeat his thanks to her; but Dame Hadwig stepped back, and beckoned to Master Spazzo, to take his prisoner away again.

"You have queer fancies," said she to him, when he had returned, "however, it was gallant of you, to think of me, even in battle."

Meanwhile, Ekkehard had been silently sitting at the window, looking out over the country. Master Spazzo's ways annoyed him, and even Praxedis's jokes, had hurt his feelings. "In order to humiliate us," thought he, "the Lord has sent over the children of the desert, to be a warning to us, and to teach us, even on the ruins of that which is perishable, to think of that which is eternal;--the earth which covers the bodies of the slain is still fresh, and those left behind are already jesting, as if all had been but an empty dream." ...

Praxedis had approached him, and now playfully said: "Why did not you likewise bring home some keepsake from the battle, Professor? A wonderful, Hunnic amazon is said to have skirmished about there, and if you had caught her, we should now have a nice pair of them."

"Ekkehard had to think of higher things than Hunnic women," said the Duchess bitterly, "and he knows how to be silent, as one who has taken a vow for that purpose. Why should we need to know, how he fared in battle!"

This cutting speech, deeply wounded the serious-minded man. A jest at the wrong moment, falls like vinegar on honey-dew. Silently he walked out to fetch Sir Burkhard's sword, and drawing it out of the scabbard, he laid it on the table before the Duchess. Fresh, red spots were still glistening on the noble blade, and the edge showed many a new notch, here and there. "Whether the schoolmaster was idle all the time, this sword may bear witness! I have not made my tongue the herald of my deeds!"

The Duchess was startled. She still bore him a grudge in her heart, and she was sorely tempted, to give it vent, in an angry outburst. But the sword of Sir Burkhard called up manifold thoughts. So, restraining her passion, she held out her hand to Ekkehard. "I did not wish to offend you," said she.

The mildness of her voice was like a reproach to him, and he hesitated to take the proffered hand. He almost wanted to ask her pardon for his roughness, but the words clove to his tongue,--and at that moment, the door opened, and he was spared the rest.

Hadumoth, the little geese-driver came in. Shyly she stopped at the door, not venturing to speak. Her face, which was pale from want of sleep, bore the traces of recent tears.

"What is the matter with thee, my poor child?" called out Dame Hadwig, "come hither!"

Then the little maiden came forwards, and kissed the Duchess's hand. She tried to speak, but violent sobs prevented her.

"Don't be afraid," said the Duchess soothingly; upon which she found words and said: "I cannot take care of the geese any more; I must go away, and thou must give me a goldpiece, as big as thou hast got. I cannot help it, but I must go!"

"And why must thou go, my child?" asked the Duchess. "Has anyone wronged thee?"

"He has not come home again!"

"There are many who have not come home again; but thou must not go away on that account. Those who have fallen, are now with our dear Lord in heaven. They are in a large, beautiful garden, and are much happier than we are."

But Hadumoth, shaking her young little head, said: "Audifax is not with God; he is with the Huns. I have searched for him down in the valley, and he was not amongst the dead men. Besides, the charcoal-burners' boy from Hohenstoffeln, who also went out with the archers, saw himself, how he was taken prisoner. I must go, to fetch him. I can find no peace if I don't!"

"But how wilt thou find him?"

"That, I don't know. I shall go where the others went. They say that the world is very wide, but in the end I shall find him. I feel sure of it. The goldpiece which thou art to give me, I will give to the Huns, and say: let me have Audifax for this, and when I have got him, we shall both come home again."

Dame Hadwig delighted in all that was extraordinary. "From that child, we might all learn something!" she said, lifting up the shy little Hadumoth to imprint a kiss on her forehead. "God is with thee, without thy knowing it. Therefore, thy thoughts are great and bold. Who amongst you has a gold coin?"

The Knight of Randegg fetched one out of the depth of his pocket. It was a large golden Thaler, on one side of which could be seen the Emperor Charles with a stern face, and wide open eyes, and on the other a crowned female head. "It's my last one," said he laughingly, handing it to Praxedis. The Duchess then gave it to the child. "Go out then, with the Lord; it is a decree of providence."

All were deeply touched, and Ekkehard put his hands on the little maiden's head, as if to bless her. "I thank you!" said she, turning to go; then once more looking round she added: "but if they will not let me have Audifax, for one goldpiece only?"

"Then I will give thee another," said the Duchess.

Upon this, the child confidently walked away.

And Hadumoth really went out into the unknown world. The goldpiece, sewn up in her bodice, her pocket filled with bread, and the staff which Audifax had once cut for her, from the dark green holly-bush, in her hand. That she did not know the way, and that her finding food and a shelter for the night, were doubtful things, she had not time to trouble herself about. The Huns have gone away, towards the setting sun, and have taken him with them, was her sole thought. The flowing Rhine, and the setting sun were her only waymarks, and Audifax her goal.

By and by, the scenery became strange to her; the Bodensee looking smaller and narrower in the distance, and foreign hills rising before her, to hide the proud and familiar shape of the hill, which was her home. More than once, did she look back, until she had caught the last glimpse of the Hohentwiel, with its walls and towers steeped in dark blue shadows. Then she entered an unknown valley, grown with dark pine-woods, under the shade of which, low, straw-thatched cottages lay hidden. Nodding a last Goodbye to her Hegau mountains, Hadumoth walked on undauntedly.

When the sun had gone down to his rest behind the pine-woods, she stopped a while. "Now they are ringing the bell for evening-prayer at home," said she. "I will pray also." So she knelt down in the woody solitude and prayed; first for Audifax, then for the Duchess, and finally for herself. Everything was silent around her. She only heard her own fast-beating heart.

"What will become of my poor geese?" thought she next, rising from her knees, "'tis now the hour to drive them home." Then Audifax with whom she had so often returned home of an evening, rose again before her mind and she hurried on.

In the different farm-yards which she passed in the valley, not a soul was stirring about; only before one little straw-thatched cottage, an old woman was sitting. "Thou must take me in for the night, grandmother," said Hadumoth coaxingly; but except a sign that she could remain, she received no answer whatever, for the old woman was deaf. When the people had fled up into the mountains on account of the Huns, she alone had remained behind.

Before the day had well dawned, Hadumoth had already set out again on her journey. Her road now took her through extensive woods, in which the fir-trees seemed never to come to an end. Here, the first soft touches of spring were already visible. The first flowers were peeping out from the moss; and the first beetles hovered above them, softly humming; and the delicious smell of the pine-trees scented the air everywhere, as if it were an incense, which the trees sent up to the sun, to show their gratitude for all which his rays had called up into life, around them.

The little maiden, however, was not satisfied. "Here it is far too beautiful, for the Huns to be," said she to herself. So, at the first opportunity which offered itself, she turned her back on the mountains, and soon came to an opening in the wood, which afforded a considerable view. Far down, in the distance, the Rhine was winding along, like a serpent. Jammed in between its dividing arms was an island, bearing many a stately tower and wall, as if belonging to a monastery; but Hadumoth's sharp eyes discerned that the walls were blackened and spotted, and the roofs all destroyed. A dark-blue cloud of smoke, hung heavily over it.

"How do they call the land here?" asked she of a man, who was just then emerging from the wood.

"Blackforest," was the answer.

"And over there?"

"Rheingau."

"The Huns must have been there?"

"The day before yesterday."

"And where are they now?"

The man, leaning on his staff gave a sharp look at the child, and pointing down the Rhine, said, "and why dost thou ask?"

"Because I wish to go to them."--Upon this he lifted his staff and walked on, murmuring, "holy Fintan, pray for us!"

Hadumoth also, steadily walked on again. She had noticed from the height, that the Rhine was flowing onwards in large circuits; so she cut across the mountains, thus to get the start on the Huns. Two days she thus wandered on, sleeping one night in the open air, on the mossy ground, and scarcely meeting a human being all the time. She had to cross however many a wild ravine, and swift-flowing mountain torrent, as well as mighty old pine-trees, which the storm had uprooted. On the same place where they had once stretched their tops towards the sky, they now lay to rot and decay; emitting a weird, greyish light at night; but in spite of all terrors and difficulties, she never once lost her courage.

At last the mountains became less steep, flattening down into an elevated plain, over which the rough winds could sweep at their leisure; and in the crevices of which the snow was still lying;--yet she walked on.

The last piece of bread had been eaten, when from another hill, she again caught sight of the Rhine. So she now turned, to walk towards it, until she came to a narrow chasm, in the depth of which, a foaming mountain-torrent dashed along. A dense mass of brambles and other thorny bushes, grew on the sides of the steep descent, but Hadumoth bravely made for herself a passage through them; though this cost her no small amount of pain and weariness. The sun was high in the heavens, and the thorns ever and anon, caught hold of her dress; but whenever her feet grew weary and unwilling to proceed, she said, "Audifax!" and lifted them up again.

At last she had come to the bottom, and was standing at the foot of dark rocky walls, through which the waters had made a passage; falling down in a bright, sparkling cascade. The old-looking stones, on which a reddish moss was growing, glistened and shone like burnished gold through the glittering waves, which rose up against them; alternately covering them up, until they arrested their mad course, a few steps lower down, in a dark-green, transparent little pond, like to a life-wearied man, going to rest, and looking back in quiet contemplation, on the frolics and extravagances of his past life. Luxurious, broad-leaved plants grew around it, on which the spray lay like sparkling dew-drops, whilst blue-winged dragon-flies, hovered above them, as if they were the spirits of dead flowers.

Dreamily the melodious rustling of the waters crept into the heart of the hungry child. With that brook she must go on, to the Rhine. Everything was wild and entangled, as if never a human being had broken in upon that solitude ... and now a dry, green little nook looked invitingly over at Hadumoth; and she followed the invitation, and laid herself down. The air was so cool and fresh, and the brook rustled and murmured on, until it had lulled her to sleep. With her head resting on her outstretched right arm, she lay there; a smile playing on her tired countenance. She was dreaming. Of whom?--The blue dragonflies betrayed nothing ...

A slight sprinkling of water awoke her from her dreams, and when she slowly opened her eyes, a man with a long beard, dressed in a coarse linen suit, and with legs bared to the knees, stood before her. Some fishing-tackle, a net and a wooden tub, in which blue-spotted trout were swimming, lay in the grass, beside him. He had thus stood for a considerable time, watching the little sleeper, and doubting whether she were a human child, he sprinkled some water on her, to wake her.

"Where am I? asked Hadumoth, fearlessly.

"At the waterfall of Wieladingen," replied the fisherman, "and this water, which contains plenty of fine salmon, is called the Murg, and goes into the Rhine. But whence dost thou come, little maiden? Hast thou dropt from the sky?"

"I come from far away, and where I live, the hills are quite different from here. With us, they grow quite straight out of the plain; each one standing alone,--and the salmon swim about in the lake, and are much bigger. Hegau, our land is called."

The fisherman shook his head. "That must be a good way off. And where art thou going to?"

"To the Huns," replied Hadumoth; and then she told him why she had gone out into the world, and for whom she was searching.

Upon this the fisherman shook his head again, with redoubled energy. "By the life of my mother!" exclaimed he, "that is an adventurous expedition!" but Hadumoth, folding her hands pleadingly said: "Fisherman, thou must show me the way to find them."

Then the long-bearded man was touched. "If it must be, so come along," grumbled he. "They are not very far off." Gathering up his fishing-tackle, he followed the course of the brook, accompanied by the little maiden. Whenever the trees and bushes became too much entangled, or when bits of rocks blocked up the way, he took her up in his arms, and carried her through the foaming waters. After leaving the ravine to their right, they soon came to the spur of the hill, at the foot of which the Rhine flows.

"Look there, child," said he pointing across the river to a low level mountain tract. "Over there, you get into the Frick-valley at the foot of the Bötzberg. There, they have pitched their camp, after burning the castle of Laufenburg yesterday ... but farther than this, the murderous incendiaries shall not proceed," added he fiercely.

After walking on for a while, Hadumoth's guide stopped before a projecting rock. "Wait a bit," said he. He then took up some logs of dry fir-wood, that lay about, and heaped them up into a pile, putting some smaller branches of resinous pinewood, between. He did not light it though. The same thing he did again in sundry other places. Hadumoth looked on, but could not guess, why he was doing this. At last they descended to the banks of the Rhine.

"Art thou really in earnest about the Huns?" asked he once more.

"Yes," said Hadumoth. Upon this he loosened a small canoe, which had been hidden in the bushes, and rowed her across. On the other side they came right into a wood, which the man entered, always looking carefully about, everywhere. Here also, were piles of wood mixed with resin and covered with green branches. Nodding contentedly he returned to Hadumoth. "Further than this I cannot accompany thee; for yonder is the Frick-valley and the Hunnic camp. Take care that they give thee that boy at once; better to-day, than to-morrow. It might otherwise be too late. And so, may God protect thee! Thou art a brave child."

"I thank thee," said Hadumoth, pressing his horny hand. "But why dost thou not come with me?"

"I shall come later," replied the fisherman with a significant look, stepping back into his canoe.

At the entrance of the valley was the Hunnic camp; consisting of some tents, and a few larger huts made of branches and straw. The horses were lodged in blockhouses of pine-logs. At the back was a mountain, whilst in front they had made a trench; fortified by a kind of palisade, made with paling and pieces of rock, in the genuine Hunnic fashion. Their sentinels rode up and down, within a considerable circumference. The reason of their having settled down there for a while, was partly their needing some rest after their late exploits, and partly an intended attack on the convent of St. Fridolin, situated in that neighbourhood. Some of their men, were building ships and rafts on the banks of the Rhine.

In his tent, lay Hornebog, who was now sole leader since Ellak's death; but in spite of all the cushions and carpets heaped up there, he could find no rest. Erica, the flower-of-the-Heath, was sitting by his side, playing with a golden bauble, which she wore round her neck on a silk ribbon.

"I don't know why," said Hornebog to her, "but things have become very uncomfortable. Those bald-headed monks have dealt us rather too heavy blows. We must not be quite so rash in future. Here also, I do not feel quite at my ease, for it is too still, and a calm generally precedes a storm. With thee too, everything is changed, since Ellak was killed. Thou shouldst love me now, as thou didst him, when he was the first leader; but thou art like a burnt-out fire."

Erica pulled away the jewel with a jerk, so that it rebounded on her bosom with a metallic ring, and softly hummed some Hunnic melody. Then there entered one of the Hunnic sentinels, accompanied by Hadumoth and Snewelin of Ellwangen as interpreter. The child had entered the camp, bravely passing the posts and not heeding their calls, until they stopped her. Snewelin then explained Hadumoth's wish, with regard to the prisoner boy. He was in as soft and compassionate a mood, as if he were still in his home, and about to celebrate Ash-Wednesday, for he had summed up on that very day, all the misdeeds which he had committed in the course of his Hunnic life; and the pillaged convents began to weigh heavily on his conscience.

"Tell them also, that I can pay them a ransom," said Hadumoth, undoing the seam of her bodice to get at the gold piece. She handed it to the chieftain, who laughed immoderately, joined by Erica.

"What a crazy land!" exclaimed Hornebog, when his laughter had subsided. "The men cut off their hair, and the children do, what would honour a warrior. If instead of this little maiden, the armed men from the lake had followed us, it would have put us into an awkward position."

A sudden suspicion now crossing his mind, he cast a searching look at the child. "If she were a spy!" ... exclaimed he. But Erica now rose, and patted Hadumoth's head. "Thou shalt stay with me," said she, "for I want something to play with, since my black horse is dead, and my Ellak is dead." ...

"Take the brat away!" Hornebog now called out angrily. "Have we come here, to play with children?" Then Erica saw that a storm was brewing in the chieftain's bosom, and taking the little maiden by the hand, led her out.

There, where the camp receded towards the mountain, between some sheltering pieces of rock, a temporary cooking-place had been erected, which was the undisputed realm of the woman of the wood. Audifax was kneeling before the biggest of the kettles, blowing into the fire, in which the soup, that was destined for the evening meal, was boiling. But now he jumped up and gave a loud shriek, for he had beheld his little friend. Instantly the old hag stretched out her head, from behind the other kettle, and this was more than a warning. Without moving, he stirred the soup with a peeled branch, as was his prescribed task. Thus he stood, the image of dumb grief. He had become pale and haggard; and his eyes dimmed by the tears, which had touched nobody. "Mind, that thou dost not hurt the children, old baboon!" cried Erica.

Then Hadumoth went over to where the boy was, who now dropped his primitive spoon, and silently held out his hand to her; but out of his dark blue eyes there came a look, which told its own story of woe and suffering, and the longing wish, to regain his liberty. Hadumoth likewise, stood quietly before him. She had often imagined a joyous and touching meeting, but all these pictures had faded away now. The greatest joy sends its gratitude up to heaven, in a voiceless prayer.

"Give me a dish of soup Audifax," said she, "I am very hungry."

The woman of the wood suffered him to pour out some soup for her, into a wooden plate, which the hungry child eagerly took. When she had stilled the craving for food, her spirits rose again, and she fearlessly gazed on the wild faces of the Hunnic riders, who came to fetch their soup. Afterwards she sat down close beside Audifax. He was still silent and reserved, and only when it became dark and his tyrant went away, his tongue got loosened. "Oh, I have so much to tell thee Hadumoth!" whispered he. "I know where the treasure of the Huns is! The woman of the wood has got it in her keeping. Two big boxes stand under her couch, in yonder hut. I have looked into them myself, and they were quite full of jewels and diadems and golden trinkets. A silver hen, with a brood of chickens, and eggs is also amongst them, which they stole in Lombardy,--and many more beautiful things. I have paid dearly for seeing them though ..."

He lifted up his leathern hat. One half of his right ear had been cut off.

"... The woman of the wood, came home before I could close the lid again. 'Take that, for thy reward,' said she, lifting her scissors up to my ear. It has hurt me a good deal Hadumoth, but I shall pay her back some day!"

"I will help thee," said his companion.

For a long time, the two whispered on together; for no sleep came to the eyes of the happy ones. The noise in the camp was hushed now, and the shadows of night brooded over the valley. Then Hadumoth said: "I must ever and again, think of that night when the stars fell down." Audifax, heaving a sigh, murmured: "Ah, I shall still get my treasure. I know I shall." And again they sat quietly together for a while; until Audifax gave a violent start. Hadumoth could feel the trembling of his hand. On the other side of the Rhine, on the summit of the black looking mountains, a sudden light shone out. It was like a torch swung around, and then thrown away.

"There, it's gone again!" Audifax said softly.

"Ah, but look there!" affrightedly exclaimed Hadumoth, pointing behind her.

From the height of the Bötzberg, another flame darted up; likewise describing a fiery circuit in the air. It was the same signal. And yonder, over in the Blackforest, on the same place where the burning torch had first been visible, there now arose a mighty flame, lighting up the dark, starless night. The guard in the valley, uttered a piercing whistle, and the inhabitants of the camp began to stir everywhere. The woman of the wood came back also, and threateningly called out; "what art thou dreaming about boy? Quick, put the nags to the cart, and saddle my sumpter-horse!"

Audifax silently obeyed her orders.

The cart stood ready, and the sumpter-horse was tied to a stake. Carefully, the old woman approached it with two panniers, which she hung over its back, and then taking out the two boxes, from her hut, she put one in each, covering them up afterwards, with some hay. When she had done this, she peered out anxiously into the darkness. Everything was quiet again. The wine of the Frick-valley had ensured a sound sleep to the Hunnic warriors.

"'Tis nothing," muttered the woman of the wood, "we can take the horses back again;" but the next moment she started up, almost blinded. The mountains rising behind the camp, had suddenly become alive with hundreds of torches and fire-brands; and from all sides there resounded the loud and terrific cry of battle. From the Rhine, dark masses of armed men, were swiftly approaching;--on all the mountain summits, tremendous bonfires were burning.--Up now, ye sleepers!... it was too late, for already the fire-brands came flying into the Hunnic camp. Pitifully sounded the frightened neighing of the horses, whose large shed was already burning. Dark figures stormed the camp on all sides. This time, King Death was coming with blazing torchlight, and he who brought him, was the old Knight Irminger, the owner of the Frickgau. He, the strong father of six strong sons; who like Mattathias with his Maccabeans, could no longer bear to behold the misery of his people. And with them there came the men of Hornussen and Herznach; those from the Aarthal and Brugg, as well as from Baden's hot wells; and far away from the Gieselafluth. Safely hidden in the dark pine-wood, they had waited until the torch was lifted up on the Eggberg, assuring them of the neighbourly help of the people in the Black-Forest; and then they rushed to the attack. With bleeding head, Snewelin galloped past. A well-aimed fire-brand, had stuck to his garments, setting them all ablaze, so that he looked like a fiery phantom. "The world is coming to an end," cried he. "The millenium is at hand! May God have mercy on my poor soul!"

"Lost, everything lost," muttered the woman of the wood, lifting her hand up to her forehead. Then she untied the sumpter-horse, to harness it likewise before her cart. Meanwhile Audifax was standing in the dark, biting his lips that he might not scream out with delight, at this unexpected turn of affairs. A trembling reflection of the flames, played on his excited countenance. Everything was boiling within him. For some time he stood there, gazing fixedly at the tumult, and the fighting of the dark figures before him. "Now I know, what I must do," whispered he into Hadumoth's ear. He had taken up a big stone, and springing up at the woman of the wood with the agility of a wild cat, he struck her down. After this he quickly pulled away the sumpter-horse, upon the saddle of which he placed the trembling Hadumoth with the sudden strength of a man. "Take hold of the pommel!" cried he. Then jumping up himself, he seized the reins, and the horse no sooner felt the unwont burden, than it galloped off into the night, frightened by the glare and noise around. Audifax never staggered, though his heart was beating wildly. The blinding smoke made him shut his eyes, and thus they sped onwards; over the corpses of the dead, and through the crowds of fighting men. After a while the noise became fainter in the distance, and the horse began to slacken its pace. It was taking the children towards the Rhine,--they were saved!

Thus they rode on through the long, dark night, scarcely once daring to look about them. Audifax silently held the reins, feeling as if he were in a dream. First he put his hand on Hadumoth's head, and then struck against one of the boxes, which, emitting a metallic ring, convinced him that he was not dreaming, after all. The horse was good-tempered, and carried its burden willingly enough, across fields, over heaths and through dark woods, always in the direction of the Rhine. When they had thus ridden on for a considerable time, a cool breeze, the messenger of the coming dawn, made them shiver. Hadumoth opened her eyes, "Where are we?" asked she.

"I don't know," replied Audifax. And now a roaring and rushing, like distant thunder, struck their ear; but it could not be from a coming storm, as the sky brightened, whilst the little stars waxed dimmer and slowly vanished. The noise became louder and nearer. They passed a stately castle, looking down proudly into the waters below. Then their path took them round a little hill, and then they suddenly beheld the broad flood of the Rhine; dashing along with a thundering noise, over dark, weatherbeaten rocks. Clouds of pearly white spray, glistened in the air, whilst soft mists hung around everywhere. The horse stopped, as if it wanted to take in the grand spectacle at its leisure. Then Audifax jumped to the ground, and taking down the tired, little Hadumoth, as well as the two baskets, he allowed the brave animal to graze.

So the two children stood before the falls of the Rhine; Hadumoth tightly grasping her companion's right hand with her left; gazing long and silently at the spectacle before them. Presently, the sun cast his first rays on the dashing waters, which caught them and built them up into a glittering, many-coloured rainbow.

Then Audifax went up to the baskets, to take out one of the boxes; which on being opened, disclosed its glistening contents of pure gold and silver. The long coveted treasure, was found at last; had become his own; not by spells and nightly conjurations, but by the use of his hands and by seizing the favourable opportunity. Thus he gazed on the shining baubles without any surprise, for had he not known it for many months, that such a treasure was destined for him?...

Of every kind of article it contained, he picked out one; a casket, a ring, a coin and a bracelet, and with them approached the brink of the waters.

"Hadumoth," said he, "here I think that God must be; for His rainbow is hovering over the waters. I will make Him a thank-offering."

Stepping on a projecting rock, he flung in with a strong hand, first the casket, then the ring, coin and bracelet,--and then kneeling down, Hadumoth kneeling by his side, they prayed for a long time, and thanked God....

CHAPTER XVI.

[Cappan gets married.]

When a thunder-storm has blown over, the water-brooks are still turbid and muddy; and so, a great stirring event, is generally followed by a time of small and annoying work, until everything has returned to its old routine.

This experience, Dame Hadwig was forced to make also. There was a great deal to arrange and put in order, after the driving away of the Huns; but this she did willingly enough, as her lively spirit and the pleasure she took in active interference, quite made up to her, for the trouble this gave her.

The widows and orphans of the slain arrier-ban-men, as well as all those whose houses had been burnt, and whose harvests had been destroyed, came to sue for assistance. Help was given to every one, as far as this was possible. Messengers were sent off to the Emperor, to report that which had happened, as well as to make proposals, for taking the necessary precautions against any possible future invasion. Wherever the fortress was found deficient, improvements were made; the booty was distributed, and finally the erection of a chapel on the grave of the christian warriors, was decided upon. With Reichenau and St. Gall, there was also a good deal of business to transact, for ecclesiastics seldom forget to present their bills, for any services that they have rendered. They well knew how to bemoan and bewail the damages done to their monasteries, as well as the great loss of goods and chattels, which they had experienced; and every day some delicate hint was dropped to the Duchess, that a donation of land, would be most desirable for the afflicted servants of God. Far away in the Rhine-valley, where the Breisach-mountain with its dark, scorched rocks, narrows the bed of the river, the Duchess owned some property, called Saspach. On a vulcanic soil the vine thrives particularly well,--so this would have suited the pious brothers of the Reichenau admirably; if it were only to find out the difference, between the Rhine-wines and those that grew near the lake; besides its being some slight compensation for their military services, and for the reciting of the necessary masses for the souls of the dead.

One day, on which Dame Hadwig had not appeared quite disinclined to make the donation, was followed by the arrival of the subprior in the early morning, bringing a parchment with him, on which, the whole formula of the donation was written down. It sounded really very well when read aloud, how everything was to be given to St. Pirminius; house and yard, with all that was in it; cultivated and uncultivated land; woods and vineyards; meadows and brooks, with the right of building mills and of fishing; as well as the vassals, both male and female, who were living there ... even the customary curse was not wanting, and ran as follows: "If anyone should dare to doubt the donation, or, worse still, to try and rob the monastery of it, the Anathema Marantha, shall be pronounced on him. The anger of God Almighty, and all the holy angels shall fall on him. May he be stricken with leprosy, like Naaman the Syrian, and with sudden death like Ananias and Sapphira, besides paying a fine of a pound of gold to the exchequer in expiation of his crime."

"The Lord Abbot, wanted to save our gracious sovereign the trouble of writing the donation herself," said the Subprior. "There has been left an empty space, for adding the name and boundaries of the property; as well as for the signatures of both parties, and the necessary witnesses."

"Have you learned to be so quick in all your doings?" replied Dame Hadwig. "I will look at that parchment of yours, some day or other."

"But it would be a very dear and desirable thing for the Abbot, if I could bring him back the deed, signed and sealed by your Highness, to-day. It is only on account of the order and precision in the monastery's archives, the Abbot said."

Dame Hadwig, casting a haughty look at the man, then said: "Tell your Abbot, that I am just now summing up the account, of how much the quartering of the brothers on the Hohentwiel, has cost me in kitchen and cellar. Tell him likewise that we have our own scriveners, if we should feel so inclined, to give away landed property on the Rhine, and that" ... she wanted to add a few more bitter words, but the Subprior here fell in coaxingly, telling her a number of cases where Christian kings and princes had done the same. How the King of France for instance, had generously indemnified St. Martin of Tours, for the losses which he had suffered through the Norman invasion; and how beneficial the donation had been for the giver's soul; for as fire was extinguished by water, thus the soul was purified by alms-giving.... But the Duchess, turning her back on him, left him standing there in the hall, with his many yet untold examples, on the tip of his tongue.

"Too much zeal, is an evil thing," muttered the monk, "'the greater hurry, the less speed,' as the proverb has it." Dame Hadwig having reached the entrance, turned round once more, and with an indescribable movement of the hand, now said: "If you wish to go, you had better go at once!"

So he made his retreat.

To annoy the Abbot, the Duchess, on the very same day, sent a golden chain to the venerable Simon Bardo, in acknowledgement of his prosperous leadership.

The fate of Cappan, the Hunnic prisoner, was a matter of special interest to the Duchess. At first he had spent some anxious days. He did not then understand why his life had been spared, and he walked shyly about, like one who has no just claim to himself; and when he slumbered on his couch of straw, evil dreams came to him. Then he saw large flowery plains, on which numberless gallows were growing like thistles, and on every one of them, hung one of his countrymen, and he himself was suspended from the highest of all; and he could not find fault with this, as it was the usual fate allotted to war-prisoners in those days. No gallows however, were erected for him. For some time he still cast sundry suspicious glances at the linden-tree in the courtyard, which had a nice leafless branch; and he fancied sometimes that this branch was beckoning to him, and saying: "Heigho! how well thou wouldst adorn me!"

By degrees, however, he found out, that the lime was merely, a fine shady tree, and so he became less timid. His wounded foot was now healed and he wandered about in yard and kitchen, looking on with mute astonishment at the doings of a German household. It is true, he still thought that a man's home, ought to be the back of his horse; and that a skin-covered cart sufficed for women and children; but when it rained, or the evenings were cool, the hearth-fire and the sheltering walls did not appear altogether despicable to him. Besides this, he began to find out, that wine was better than mare's milk, and a woollen jacket softer than a wolf's skin. So his wish to fly, dwindled away, and homesickness could not attack him, as a home was an unknown luxury to him.

In those days, a maiden worked in house and garden, whose name was Friderun; and her figure resembled a many-storeyed building with a pointed roof; her head having the shape of a pear. The first freshness of youth, had for some time passed away from her, and when she opened her broad mouth for speech or laughter, a single long tooth became visible, indicative of her mature state. Evil tongues, were wont to whisper, that she had once been Master Spazzo's sweetheart; but that was long ago, as her affections had been bestowed these many years on a herdsman, who had met his death in the ranks of the arrier-ban, by some Hunnic arrow,--and so her heart was lonely now. Very tall people are generally goodnatured, and do not suffer under the evil consequences of too much thinking. So she cast her eyes on the Hun, who was slinking about all alone in the courtyard, and her compassionate heart fastened on him, like a glistening dew-drop on a toad-stool. She tried to instruct him in all the arts which she practised herself; and often when she had weeded the garden and dug the ground, she would give the hoe to Cappan, who willingly did what he had seen his instructress do before him. In the same way he followed her example when he saw her gathering beans or herbs, and after a few days, whenever water was to be fetched, the slender Friderun had only to point at the wooden pail, to make Cappan take it up on his head, and walk down with it to the splashing fountain.

Only in the kitchen they had no reason to be oversatisfied, with the docile pupil's achievements; for one day when a piece of game was entrusted to him, to beat tender with a wooden drumstick, old memories arose in his mind; and so he devoured part of it quite raw, along with the onions and leek, which had been prepared for seasoning the meat.

"I really believe, that my prisoner pleases thee," Master Spazzo called out one day to her, when the Hun was busily splitting wood in the courtyard. A deep blush covered the cheeks of the tall one, who cast down her eyes. "If he could only speak German, and were not a damned heathen" ... continued Master Spazzo, but the slender maiden was too bashful to speak.

"I know how well thou deservest to be made happy Friderun," Master Spazzo began again. Then Friderun's tongue was loosened. "With regard to the speaking of German,"--said she, still looking down,--"I really should not mind that so much; and as for his being a heathen, I do not see why he need remain one. But ..."

"But what?"

"He cannot sit down like a decent human being, when he eats. If he is to enjoy his meals, he must always be stretched out on the ground."

"That, a spouse like thee, would soon cure him of. How is it, hast thou already some sort of understanding on this subject with him?"

Friderun again held her tongue, and suddenly ran away like a frightened deer; her wooden shoes clattering over the stone flags. Master Spazzo then walked up to the wood-splitting Cappan, and clapping him first on the back to make him look up, he pointed with his forefinger at the flying Friderun, nodded his head interrogatively, and looked at him sharply. Cappan first pressed his right arm to his breast, bowed his head, and then jumped high up in the air, so that he spun round like the terrestrial globe on its axis, and finally stretched his mouth into a broad, joyous grin.

Master Spazzo could now see well enough, how matters stood, with both of them. Friderun however, had not witnessed the Hun's demonstrations of joy. Heavy doubts were still weighing on her soul; therefore she had gone out of the castle-gate. There, she plucked a wild flower, and was now eagerly pulling off the white leaflets, one after the other, murmuring, "he loves me, loves me not, he loves me." When all had become a prey to the winds, her murmur ceased, and looking with beaming eyes, at the stalk with its last remaining white leaf, she smilingly nodded her head at it.

Meanwhile, Spazzo the chamberlain, expounded the case to the Duchess, whose active mind at once took up the idea of settling Cappan's fate. The Hun had given proofs of understanding many a useful art in the garden. He well knew for instance, how to stop the cunning subterranean digging of the moles. With bent willow-boughs, at the end of which a nooze was fastened, he had contrived an untimely end, for many a one of the black little animals. In one and the same moment, they were jerked up to sunlight, gallows and death. He also manufactured excellent traps for mice, in short he showed himself an able huntsman, in all that regarded the lowest kind of sport.

"We will give him some acres of land, at the foot of the Stoffler-mountain," said Dame Hadwig, "in return for which, he can wage war against all obnoxious and injurious animals, as far as our land goes; and if the tall Friderun really likes him, she can have him; for I very much doubt whether any other of the maidens of this land, has cast loving eyes on him."

So, she told Ekkehard to prepare the prisoner, for baptism, in order that he might be received as a member into the Christian community; and when he shook his head, rather doubtfully, Dame Hadwig added: "The good will must here make up, for that which is wanting, in the understanding. The instruction you can make short, for he, no doubt, will understand as much as the Saxons did, whom the great Emperor Charles, had driven into the Weser."

Ekkehard did as he was told, and his instruction fell on good soil. Cappan had picked up many a German word, in the course of his warlike expedition, and had in common with all his countrymen, a great talent for guessing what was required of him, even when the words had not been quite understood. Signs and tokens, also helped a good deal; for when Ekkehard sat before him, with the open bible with golden initials on his knee, and pointed heavenwards, the Hun knew of what he was speaking. The likeness of the devil he also understood, and indicated by gestures, that he was to be abhorred, and before the sign of the cross, he fell on his knees, as he had seen done by others. In this way the instruction was carried on.

When Cappan had also made progress in expressing himself, it came out, that his past life had really been a very bad one. He nodded in the affirmative, when asked whether he had taken pleasure in the destruction of churches and monasteries, and from the number of his outstretched fingers, it became evident, that he had assisted more than once, at such sacrilege. With evident signs of sincere repentance, he confessed to having once eaten part of a slain priest's heart, in order to cure himself of fever. In expiation, he now diligently learned to express his guilt in words, and whenever a word was missing, Friderun helped him. So, in a short time, Ekkehard could declare himself satisfied; though his mind certainly had not yet taken in all that St. Augustine requires, in his book on the teaching of infidels. The same day was then fixed upon, for both baptism and wedding. According to the Duchess's desire, he was to have three godfathers; one from Reichenau, one from St. Gall, and a third from the arrier-ban, in remembrance of the battle in which he had been taken prisoner. Those of the Reichenau, sent Rudimann the cellarer, whilst the arrier-ban was represented by Master Spazzo; and because the god-fathers could not make up their minds, whether the converted should be called Pirminius in honour of the Reichenau, or Gallus, they brought the case before the Duchess, to abide by her decision. She said: "Call him Paul, for he also has gone out breathing fury and vengeance against the disciples of the Lord, until the scales were taken from his eyes."

It was on a Saturday, when the godfathers led Cappan, who had fasted during the whole day, to the castle-chapel, and they alternately spent the night with him, in prayer. The Hun was resigned and devout, and on the whole in a becoming frame of mind. He believed that the spirit of his mother, dressed in lambs' skins, had appeared to him, saying: "Poor son, thy bow is broken, and thou no more canst flee; and those who have disarmed thee, thy masters now shall be."

Early, on Sunday morning, when the pearly dewdrops were still hanging on the grass, and the first lark was soaring up to the bright blue sky, a small troop, bearing a cross and flag, marched down the hill,--this time no funeral train!

Ekkehard walked in front, dressed in a purple priest's garment, and behind him came the Hun, between his two god-fathers. Thus they walked through the luxurious meadow-lands, down to the shores of the little river Aach. Arrived there, they stuck the cross into the white sand, and then formed a semi-circle round him who for the last time, was to be called Cappan. In the quiet of that Sabbath morning, the clear notes of the litany rose up to God, imploring Him, to look down mercifully on the man who was now bending his head before Him, longing for deliverance from the yoke of heathendom and sin.

Then they told him to undress down to the belt. He was kneeling on the sand, whilst Ekkehard pronounced the exorcism over him, in the name of Him whom angels and archangels adore; before whom the heavens and earth tremble and abysses open. He then breathed three times on his forehead, and putting some consecrated salt into his mouth, as a symbol of new wisdom and new thoughts, he anointed his forehead and breast with holy oil. The Hun was perfectly awed, scarcely daring to breathe; so much the solemnity of the action impressed him, and when Ekkehard asked him, in the words of the prescribed formula: "Dost thou renounce the Devil and all his works and doings?" he replied with a clear voice: "I renounce him!" and then repeated the words of the creed, as well as he could. Upon this, Ekkehard immersed him in the river; the baptism was pronounced, and the new Paul rose from the waters.... One melancholy look he cast at the fresh mound on the newly dug grave, at the border of the wood,--then his god-fathers drew him out, and wrapped his trembling form, in a dazzling white linen garment. Proudly he stood amongst his new brothers. Ekkehard then preached a short sermon, on the text, "He is blessed who taketh good care of his garments, so that he shall not be found naked," and exhorted him to wear this spotless linen, in sign of his regeneration from sin to godliness, wrought in him by baptism; and finally he laid both hands on his head. With loud-sounding jubilant hymns, they led back the new christian to the castle.

In the arched window embrasure, in one of the basement chambers, the tall Friderun had been sitting meanwhile; Praxedis gliding about her like an unstable will-o'-the-wisp. She had sued the Duchess's permission, to array the awkward bride, on this her day of honour. Her hair was already entwined with red ribbons, and the apron with its wonderful amount of folds, falling down to the high-heeled shoes, was put on. Over this was fastened the dark belt with its gilt border,--only he who wins the bride may unclasp it,--and now Praxedis took up the glittering crown, bedecked with innumerable coloured glass beads, and tinsel gold.

"Holy mother of God," exclaimed she, "must this also be put on? If thou walkest along in that head-gear, they will believe in the distance, that some tower had sprung into life, and was going to be wedded."

"It must be," said Friderun.

"And why must it be?" said the Greek. "I have seen many a smart bride at home, wearing the myrtle wreath, or the silver-green olive branch in her locks, and it was well so. To be sure, neither myrtle nor olive grows in these dark, gloomy fir-woods of yours, but ivy would be pretty also, Friderun?"

But she turned round angrily on her chair. "Rather not marry at all, than go to church with leaves and grass in my hair," replied she. "That may do well enough for foreigners, but when a Hegau maiden, goes to her wedding, the Schappel-crown must adorn her head. Thus it has always been, ever since the Rhine flowed through the Bodensee, and the mountains have stood here. We Suabians are a princely race, as my father said many a time."

"Your will shall be done," said Praxedis, fastening the spangled crown on her head.

The tall bride arose, but a frown had gathered on her forehead, like a fleeting cloud, that throws its shadow on a sunny plain.

"Wilt thou cry now already, so that the tears may be spared thee in wedlock?" asked the Greek.

Friderun made a serious face, and the ungracious mouth assumed a very sorrowful expression, so that Praxedis had some difficulty in restraining a laugh.

"I feel so depressed," said the bride of the Hun.

"And what is depressing thee, future rival of the pine-trees on the Stoffler-mountain?"

"I am afraid that the young men will play me some trick, because I marry a foreigner. When the convent-farmer of the Schlangenhof, brought home the old widow from Bregenz wood, they went to his house on the wedding-night, and with bull's horns, brass kettles and sea-shells made such a terrible noise, as if a hail-storm was to be frightened away; and when the miller of Rielasingen came out of the house, on the first morning after his marriage, they had put a dry and withered May-pole before his door, and instead of flowers and ribbons, a wisp of straw and a ragged apron, hang from it."

"Be sensible," said Praxedis, soothingly.

But Friderun would not take comfort, and dolefully went on, "and what, if they should treat me, like the gamekeeper's widow, when she married the apprentice boy? Her roof was cut intwain during the night, so that one half fell down to the right and one to the left; and the starry sky shone into their marriage-bed; and the rooks flew about their heads, without their knowing why and wherefore."

Praxedis laughed. "I hope that thou hast got a good conscience, Friderun?" said she significantly; but Friderun was now very nearly crying.

"And who knows," said she evasively, "what my Cappan ..."

"Paul," Praxedis corrected her.

"... may have done in his younger days. Last night I dreamt that he held me close in his arms, when suddenly a Hunnic woman, with yellow face and black hair, came and tore him away. 'He is mine,' cried she, and when I did not let him go, she became a serpent, and tightly coiled herself around him."

"Leave alone serpents and Hunnic women now," interrupted Praxedis, "and get thyself ready, for they are already coming up the hill. Don't forget the sprig of rosemary, and the white handkerchief."

Cappan's white garment shone out brightly in the courtyard, and so Friderun gave the slip to all foreboding thoughts, and walked out. The bride's-maids welcomed her outside; he who had just been baptized, laughed at her with his whole face; the chapel-bell rang out merrily, and so they went to be married.

The religious ceremony was over, and the new couple walked out of the castle-yard with beaming faces. Friderun's kith and kin had come; strong healthy-looking people; who, as regarded bodily height, did not fall short of Friderun. They were farmers and yeomen on the neighbouring lands, and had come to help in lighting the first fire on the new hearth, at the foot of the Hohenstoffeln, and to celebrate the wedding in all due form. On a cart decorated with garlands, which headed the train, the bride's outfit was to be seen. There, the huge bedstead of pine-wood was not missing, on which roses and magic signs were painted; meant to drive away night-mares, goblins and other nightly sprites. Besides this, there were still sundry boxes and trunks, containing the necessary household articles.

The bride's-maids carried the distaff, with the bundle of flax, and the prettily adorned bridal broom, made of white birch twigs; simple emblems of industry and order for the future household.

Loud shouts of joy and merriment were not wanting either, and Cappan felt, as if the baptismal floods had swept away all recollection of his having ever governed, and lived on the back of a swift-footed horse. Decently and soberly, he walked along with his new relations, as if he had been a bailiff, or magistrate of Hegau, since his youth. Before the noise of the merry-makers going down the hill, had died away, two nice-looking lads, the sons of the steward at the imperial castle of Bodmann, and cousins of Friderun, appeared before the Duchess and her guests. They came to invite them to the wedding; each with a cowslip stuck behind his ear, and a nosegay in his button-hole.

Somewhat embarrassed, they remained standing at the entrance, until the Duchess made them a sign to approach, upon which they walked on a few steps, stopped again, and scraping a deep bow, they spoke the old customary words of the invitation to the wedding-feast of their cousin, begging her, to follow them over dale and vale, roads and moats, bridges and water to the house of the wedding. There she would find some vegetables, such as the good God had given. A tun would be tapped, and violins ringing, a dancing and singing, jumping and springing. "We beseech you, to accept two bad messengers for one good one. Blessed be Jesus Christ!" so they concluded their speech, and without waiting for the answer, they scraped another bow, and quickly hurried away.

"Shall we give the honour of our presence, to the youngest of our christian subjects," gaily asked Dame Hadwig. The guests well knew, that questions which were so graciously put, must not be answered in the negative. So they all rode over in the afternoon. Rudimann, the deputy of St. Pirmin's monastery, accompanied them; but he was silent and watchful. His account with Ekkehard had not yet been settled.

The Stoffler-mountain, with its three basalt pinnacles, feathered with stately pine-trees looks proudly down over the land. The castle, whose ruins now crown its summit, was not built then; only on the highest of the three points stood a deserted tower. Somewhat lower down, on a projecting part of the hill, there was a modest little house, hidden amongst the trees, which was to be the domicile of the newly married pair. As a tribute, and sign that the owner of the house was the Duchess's vassal, it was decreed that he should furnish every year fifty moles' skins, and on the day of St. Gallus a live wren.

On a green meadow in the woods, the wedding-party had erected their camp. In large kettles and pans, a tremendous cooking and frying was going on; and he who could not get some dish or plate, feasted off a wooden board; and where a fork was wanting, a double pointed hazel-wand, was installed in its place.

Cappan had made an effort to sit decently and upright by the side of his spouse; but in the depth of his mind, he was revolving the thought, whether after some time, he could not resume his old custom, of lying down during meal-times.

During the long intervals between the different dishes,--for though the repast had begun at midday, it was to last until sunset,--the Hun rested his limbs, which had been tortured by the continual sitting.

Welcomed by the sounds of the rustic musical band, the Duchess with her train, now approached, on horseback. Stopping her palfrey, she looked down into the crowd of merry-makers, amongst which the new Paul was shewing off his wild antics. The music, not being sufficient for him, he shouted and whistled his own time, wheeling his tall spouse about, in a labyrinthine dance. It looked like a walking tower, dancing with a wild cat; the slow one, dancing with the swift; now together, then apart; now breast to breast, then back to back. Sometimes he would suddenly thrust his partner away, and beating his wooden shoes together in the air, he made seven capers, one always higher than the other; and finally dropping on his knees before Dame Hadwig, he bowed his head as if he would kiss the dust, which her horse's hoofs had touched. This was the expression of his gratitude.

His Hegau cousins, looking on at this wonderful dancing, conceived the laudable desire of emulation, and perhaps later, they had themselves instructed in the art; for one still hears a legendary account of the "seven capers," or the Hunnic "hop" in those parts, which as a variation from the customary monotonous Suabian round-dances, had since those days, become the crowning feat of all festivals.

"Where is Ekkehard?" asked the Duchess, who after getting down from her palfrey, had walked through the ranks of her subjects. Praxedis pointed over to some shady spot, where a gigantic pine-tree lifted its dark-green top towards the sky. On its knotty, rugged roots, the monk was sitting. The loud merriment of the crowd of people oppressed his heart, though he could not tell why. So he had gone aside, and was dreamily gazing at the faint distant outlines of the Alps, rising over the woody hills.

It was one of those soft, balmy evenings, such as Sir Burkhart of Hohenvels enjoyed in later times from his huge tower on the lake; "when the air is tempered and mixed up with sun-fire." The distance was shrouded in a soft glowing haze. He, who has ever looked down from those quiet mountain-tops, when on a bright, radiant day, the sun is slowly sinking down, arrayed in all the splendour of his royal robes; when heaven and earth are palpitating with warmth and light, whilst dark purple shadows, fill up the valleys, and a margin-glory, like liquid gold illumines the snowy alpine peaks,--he will not easily forget that aspect; and perchance when sitting later, within his dusky walls, the memory of it will rise in his heart, as soft and bewitchingly sweet, as a song uttered in the melting tones of the South.

Ekkehard was sitting there, with a serious expression on his countenance; his head supported by his right hand.

"He is no longer as he used to be," said Dame Hadwig to the Greek maid.

"He is no longer, as he used to be," thoughtlessly repeated Praxedis, for she was intently gazing on the women of the Hegau, in their holiday-garments; and whilst scrutinizing those high, stiff bodices; and tun-like, starched skirts, she wondered whether the genius of good taste, had left that land for ever in despair,--or whether his foot had never entered it.

Dame Hadwig now approached Ekkehard. He started up from his mossy seat, as if he saw a ghost.

"All alone, and away from the merry-makers?" asked she. "What are you doing here?"

"I am thinking, where real happiness may be found," replied Ekkehard.

"Happiness?" repeated the Duchess. "'Fortune is a fickle dame, who seldom stays long anywhere,' says the proverb. Has she never paid you a visit?"

"Probably not," said the monk, riveting his eyes on the ground. With renewed vigour, the music and noise of the dancers struck the ear.

"Those who lightly tread the green meadowlands, and know how to express with their feet, what oppresses their hearts, are happy," continued he. "Perhaps one requires very little to be happy; but above all,"--pointing over to the distant, glittering Alpine peaks,--"there must be no distant heights which our feet may never hope to reach."

"I do not understand you," coldly said the Duchess, but her heart thought otherwise than her tongue. "And how fares your Virgil," said she, changing the conversation. "During those days of anxiety and warfare, I am afraid that dust and cobwebs will have settled on it."

"He will always find a refuge in my heart, even if the parchment should decay," replied he. "Only a few moments ago, his verses in praise of agriculture, passed through my mind. Yonder the little house, nestling in the shade-giving trees; down below, the dark fertile fields; and a newly wedded pair, going to earn their bread with hoe and plough from kind mother Earth. With a feeling almost of envy, Virgil's picture rose before me:"

"Simple and artless, his life is with many a blessing surrounded,
Rich with many a joy, and peaceful rest after labour,
Grottoes and shady retreats, affording a shelter for slumber."

"You well know, how to adapt his verses to life," said Dame Hadwig, "but I fear, that your envy has made you forget Cappan's duties of destroying the moles, and the obnoxious field-mice. And then the joys of winter! when the snow rises like a wall up to the straw-thatched roof, so that daylight is sorely perplexed through what chink or crevice, it may creep into the house." ...

"Even such a dilemma, I could bear with composure, and Virgil too, knows how this may be done."

"Many a one, in the winter, will sit by the glare of the fire,
Late in the evening then; the light-giving torches preparing,--
During the time that his wife his favourite ditties is singing,
Throwing the shuttle along, with a dexterous hand through the texture."

"His wife?" maliciously asked the Duchess. "But if he has got no wife?"--

From the other side there now arose a loud shout of delighted laughter. They had put their Hunnic cousin on a board, and were carrying him high above their heads; as they used to carry the newly chosen king on his shield, in the olden days of election. Even in this elevated position, he made some gleeful capers.

"And may not have a wife?" said Ekkehard absently. His forehead was burning. He covered it with his right hand. Wherever he looked, the sight pained him. Yonder, the loud joy of the wedding-guests; here the Duchess, and in the distance, the glittering mountains. An inexpressible pain was gnawing at his heart; but his lips remained closed. "Be strong and silent," he said to himself.

He was in reality no longer as he used to be. The undisturbed peace of his lonely cell had forsaken him. The late battle, as well as all the excitement, brought on by the Hunnic invasion, had widened his thoughts; and the signs of favour which the Duchess had shown him, had called up a fierce conflict in his heart. By day and by night, he was haunted by the recollection, how she had stood before him, hanging the relic round his neck, and giving him the sword, that had been her husband's; and in evil moments, self-reproaches,--misty and unexpressed as yet,--that he had received these gifts so silently, passed through his troubled soul. Dame Hadwig had no idea of all that was stirring in his heart. She had accustomed herself to think more indifferently of him, since she had been humiliated by his apparently not understanding her; but as often as she saw him again, with his noble forehead clouded by grief, and with that mute appealing look in his eyes,--then the old game began afresh.

"If you take such delight in agricultural pursuits," said she lightly, "I can easily help you to that. The Abbot of Reichenau has provoked me. To think of asking for the pearl of my estates, as if it were a mere crumb of bread, which one shakes down from the table-cloth, without so much as looking at it!"

Here something rustled in the bushes behind them, but they did not notice it. A dark brown colour might have been seen between the foliage. Was it a fox, or a monk's garment?--

"I will appoint you steward of it," continued Dame Hadwig. "Then you will have all that, the lack of which has made you melancholy to-day; and far more still. My Saspach is situated on the merry old Rhine, and the Kaiserstuhl boasts the honour, that it was the first to bear the vine in our lands. The people are honest and good thereabouts, though they speak rather a rough language."

Ekkehard's eyes were still resting on the ground.

"I can also give you a description of your life there; though I have not Virgil's talent for painting. Fancy that autumn has come. You have led a healthy life; getting up with the sun, and going to bed with the chickens,--and so vintage-time has arrived. From all sides men and maids are descending, with baskets full of ripe, luscious grapes. You stand at the door looking on ..."

Again the rustling was heard.

"... and wondering how the wine will be, and whose health, you are going to drink in it. The Voges-mountains seem to wink over at you, as bright and blue, as the Alps do from here; and as you are gazing at them, you see a cloud of dust rising on the highroad from Breisach. Soon after, horses and carriages become visible, and--well, Master Ekkehard, who is coming?"

Ekkehard who had scarcely followed her recital, shyly said, "who?"

"Who else, but your mistress, who will not give up her sovereign right of examining her subjects doings!"

"And then?"

"Then? then I shall gather information about how Master Ekkehard has been fulfilling his duties; and they will all say: 'he is good and earnest, and if he would not think and brood quite so much, and not read so often in his parchments, we should like him still better.'" ...

"And then?" asked he once more. His voice sounded strange.

"Then I shall say in the words of Scripture: 'well done, thou good and faithful servant; thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things.'"

Ekkehard stood there like one, but half conscious. He lifted one arm, and let it fall again. A tear trembled in his eye. He was very unhappy.

... At the same time, a man softly crept out, from the bushes. As soon as he felt the grass again under his feet, he let his habit, which had been gathered up, drop down. Looking stealthily back once more at the two, standing there, he shook his head, like one who has made a discovery. He had certainly not gone into the bushes, to gather violets.

The wedding-feast, by slow stages had got to that point, where a general chaos threatens. The mead was having its effect, on the different minds. One, hung his upper garment on a tree, feeling an almost irresistible inclination to smash everything; whilst another strove to embrace everybody. A third, who remembered having culled many a kiss from Friderun's cheek, ten years ago, sat gloomily at the table, where he had emptied many a goblet, and looking down at the ants, that crept about on the floor, said to himself: "Heigho! None of them is worth a straw."--The two youths, who had looked so very shy in the morning, when they came to invite the Duchess, were now playing an Allemannic trick, on their Hunnic kinsman. They had dragged a large linen sheet out of one of the wedding trunks. On this they placed the unfortunate Cappan, and then taking hold of the four corners, they jerked him up into the air. The victim of this trick, taking this treatment as a mark of friendship and respect, customary in those parts, submitted with perfect good grace, swinging himself gaily up and down.

Suddenly the tall Friderun gave a loud shriek, upon which all heads were turned round to see what might have caused it. The two cousins almost let fall the sheet, when a shout of delight broke forth, so loud and uproarious, that even the old fir-grown basalt rocks, were probably surprised by it; used though they were, to the noise of tempests and storms.

Audifax and Hadumoth were there, on their way back from the Huns, and had been discovered first by the tall bride. Audifax led the horse that carried the treasure-boxes, by the reins, and with beaming faces, the two children walked side by side. That day they had once more beheld the top of the Hohentwiel, and had greeted it with a shout of delight. "Don't tell them everything," whispered Audifax, putting long willow-branches over the panniers.

Friderun was the first who ran to meet them, and snatching Hadumoth up from the ground, she carried her off in triumph.

"Welcome ye lost-ones! Drink bag-piper, drink my boy!" so they cried on all sides, for they all knew of his captivity, and held out the huge stone-jugs in sign of welcome.

The children had agreed together on the road, in what way they should accost the Duchess, when they came home.

"We must thank her very prettily," Hadumoth had said. "And I must give her back the gold Thaler. I got Audifax for nothing, I shall tell her."

"No we will add to it still two of the biggest gold coins," Audifax had replied. "This we will present, begging her to remain our gracious mistress as before. That shall be our thanks, as well as the fine, for my having slain the woman of the wood."

So they had got the gold all ready prepared.

They now caught sight of the Duchess, standing with Ekkehard under the pine-tree. The wild burst of joy had interrupted their agricultural conversation. Praxedis came bounding along, to impart the wondrous news, and following on her heels, the two youthful runaways, walked hand in hand. They both knelt down before Dame Hadwig; Hadumoth holding up her Thaler, and Audifax his two big gold coins. He tried to speak, but his voice failed him.... Then Dame Hadwig, with lofty grace, addressed the surrounders.

"The silliness of my two young subjects, affords me an opportunity, to give them a proof of my favour. Be witnesses thereof."

Breaking off a hazel-wand from a neighbouring bush, she approached the children, and after first shaking the golden coins out of their hands, so that they flew into the grass, she touched their heads with the branch, saying: "Arise, and in future scissors shall never cut off your hair any more. As vassals belonging to the castle of Hohentwiel, ye have knelt down, as freedmen, stand up again; and may ye be as fond of each other in your free state, as before!"

This was the form of granting freedom, according to the Salic law. The Emperor Lotharius, had already shaken the golden Denar, out of his old servant Doda's hand; thus freeing her from the yoke of slavery; and as Audifax was of Franconian birth, Dame Hadwig had not acted according to the Allemannic laws.

The two children arose. They had well understood what had happened. A strange dizzy feeling had seized the little goat-herd's brain. The dream of his youth,--liberty, golden treasure,--all had become true! a lasting reality, for all days to come!

When the mist before his eyes, had cleared away again, he beheld Ekkehard's serious countenance, and throwing himself at his feet with Hadumoth, he cried: "Father Ekkehard, we thank you also, for having been good to us!"

"What a pity that it is already so late," said Praxedis, "or you might have joined another pair in wedlock; or at least have sanctified a solemn betrothal; for these two, belong as much to each other, as yonder pair."

Ekkehard let his blue eyes, rest for a while on the two children. Laying his hands on their heads and making the sign of the cross over them, he softly said to himself, "where is happiness?"----

Late at night, Rudimann the cellarer rode back to his monastery. The ford being dry he could cross it on horseback. From the Abbot's cell, a gleam of light still fell on the lake. So Rudimann knocked at his door, and but half opening it said: "My ears have taken in more to-day, than they liked to hear. 'Tis all over with the Saspach estate on the Rhine. She is going to make that milksop of St. Gall steward of it." ...

"Varium et mutabile semper femina! Woman is ever fickle and changeable!" murmured the Abbot, without looking round. "Good night!"

CHAPTER XVII.

[Gunzo verso Ekkehard.]

During the time in which all that has been told until now, was happening on the shores of the Bodensee, far away in the Belgian lands, in the monastery of the holy Amandus sur l'Elnon, a monk had been sitting in his cell. Day after day, whenever the convent rules permitted it, he sat there transfixed as by a spell. The rough and cheerless winter time had come; all the rivers were frozen up, and snow covered the plain as far as eye could see,--he scarcely noticed it. Spring followed and drove away winter,--he heeded it not. The brothers talked of war, and evil tidings, which had reached them from the neighbouring Rhine-lands,--but he had no time to listen to these tales.

In his cell, every article of furniture, nay even the floor was covered with parchments, for almost all the monastery's books had emigrated to his chamber. There, he sat reading and thinking, and reading again, as if he wanted to find out the first cause of all being. On his right, lay the psalms and holy Scriptures; on his left the remains of heathenish wisdom. Everything he peered over assiduously; now and then, a malicious smile interrupting the seriousness of his studies, upon which he would hastily scribble down some lines, on a narrow strip of parchment. Were these, grains of gold and precious stones, which he dug out of the mines of ancient wisdom? No.

"What on earth, can be the matter with brother Gunzo?" said his fellow-monks amongst themselves. "In former times his tongue rattled on like a millwheel, and the books were seldom disturbed in their rest, by him; for, did he not often say with boasting mien: 'They can only tell me, what I know already?'--and now? Why, now his pen hurries on, sputtering and scratching, so that you may bear the noise it makes, even in the cross-passage. Does he hope to become notary or prime minister of the Emperor? Is he trying to find the philosopher's stone, or is he perhaps writing down, his journey in Italy?"

But brother Gunzo, continued his labours undisturbed, whatever they were. Untiringly he emptied his jug of water and read his classics. The first thunder-storms came, telling of summer's heat; but he let thunder and lightning do as they pleased, without minding them. His slumbers at night were sometimes broken by his rushing up to his inkstand, as if he had caught some good ideas in his dreams; but often they had vanished before he had succeeded in writing them down. Still his perseverance in trying to attain his aim, never wavered, and consoling himself with the prophetic words of Homer: "Yet though it tarry long, the day is certainly coming," he crept back to his couch.

Gunzo was in the prime of life; of moderate height and portly dimensions. When he stood before his well-polished metal mirror in the early morning, and gazed somewhat longer than was necessary, on his own image, he would often stroke his reddish beard with a threatening gesture, as if he were going out there and then, to fight in single combat.

In his veins, flowed Franconian as well as Gallic blood, and this latter gave him something of the liveliness and sprightliness, which is wanting in all those of pure Teutonic race. For this reason, he had bitten and torn a good many more goose quills, whilst writing, than any monk in a German monastery would have done, besides holding many a soliloquy, in the same space of time. In spite of this he mastered the natural restlessness of his body, and forced his feet to keep quiet, under the heavily laden writing desk.

On a soft, balmy summer evening, when his pen had again flitted over the patient parchment, like a will-o'-the-wisp, emitting a soft creaking sound, it suddenly began to slacken its pace,--then made a pause; a few strokes more, and then he executed a tremendous flourish on the remaining space below, so that the ink made an involuntary shower of spots, like black constellations. He had written the word finis, and with a deep sigh of relief he rose from his chair, like a man from whose mind, some great weight has been taken. Casting a long look on that which lay before him, black on white, he solemnly exclaimed, "praised be the holy Amandus! we are avenged!"

At this great and elevating moment, he had finished a libel, dedicated to the venerable brotherhood on the Reichenau, and aimed at,--Ekkehard the custodian at St. Gall. When the fair-haired interpreter of Virgil took leave of his monastery, and went to the Hohentwiel, he never, though he searched the remotest corners of his memory, had an inkling of the fact, that there was a man living, whose greatest wish and desire was to take vengeance on him; for he was inoffensive and kindhearted, never willingly hurting a fly. And yet so it was, for between Heaven and Earth, and especially in the minds of learned men, many things will happen, which the reason of the reasonable, never dreams of.

History has its caprices, both in preserving and destroying. The German songs and epics, which the great Emperor Charles had so carefully collected, were to perish in the dust and rubbish of the following ages; whilst the work of Brother Gunzo, which never benefited any one of the few who read it, has come down to posterity. Let the monstrous deed, which so excited the Gallic scholar's ire, therefore be told in his own words.

"For a long space of time,--thus he wrote to his friends on the Reichenau,--the revered and beloved King Otto, had carried on negotiations with the different Italian princes, to let me come over to his lands. But as I was neither of such low birth, or so dependent upon any, that I could have been forced to this step, he himself sent a petition to me, of which the consequence was, my pledging myself to obey his call. Thus it happened, that when he left Italy, I soon followed him, and when I did so, I did it with the hope, that my coming,--whilst harming no one, might benefit many; for what sacrifices does the love of one's fellow-creatures, and the desire to please, not entice us into? Thus I travelled onwards, not like a Briton, armed with the sharp weapons of censure, but in the service of love and science.

"Over high mountain-passes and steep ravines and valleys, I arrived at last at the monastery of St. Gall, in a state of such bodily exhaustion, that my hands, stiffened by the icy mountain air, refused me their service, so that I had to be taken down from my mule by stranger hands. The hope of the traveller, was to find a peaceful resting-place, within the monastic walls; which hope was strengthened, on beholding the frequent bending of heads, the sober-coloured garments, soft-treading steps, and sparing use of speech, prevalent there. So I was wholly unprepared for what was to follow; although by a strange chance, I happened to think of Juvenal's saying with regard to the false philosophers.

'Sparing and soft is their speech,--but malice is lurking behind it!'

and who would have believed that the said heathen was gifted with a prophetic vision of future cowl-bearing wickedness?

"Yet I was still harmlessly enjoying my life, waiting to see, whether amongst the scanty murmurs of the brothers, some sparks of philosophical wisdom would shine forth. All remained dark however, for they were preparing the arms of cunning.

"Amongst their numbers, there was also a young convent-pupil and his uncle, who--well, who was no better than he should be! They called him a worthy teacher of the school; although to me he appeared rather to look at the world with the eyes of a turtle-dove. Of this languishing-looking wiseacre I shall have to say more, presently. Listen, and judge of his deed!

"Walking up and down, he instigated the convent-pupil to become a partaker of his base design.

'Night had come, and with it the time for grief-stilling slumber:
After the sumptuous meal, Bacchus exacted his rights'----

when an evil star prompted my making a mistake in the use of a casus, in the Latin table speeches we held together; using an accusativus, where I ought to have put an ablativus.

"Now it became evident, in what kind of arts, that far-famed teacher had instructed his pupil, all day long. 'Such an offence against the laws of grammar, deserved the rod,' mockingly said that little imp, to me the well-tried scholar; and he further produced a rhymed libel, which his fine teacher must have prompted him to, and which caused a rough cisalpine burst of laughter in the refectory, at the expense of the stranger guest.

"But who does not know what the verses of a set of overbearing monks, must be like? What do such as they know of the inner structure of a poem, where all must be artistically built up, to produce a fine and pleasing effect? What of the high dignity of poetry?--They pucker up their lips, and spout forth a poem, like to that Lucilius, who has been branded by Horace; and who, whilst standing on one foot only, dictated two hundred verses and more, before an hour had elapsed.

"Judge now, ye venerable brothers, what insults have been heaped on me; and what must be the character of the man, who can upbraid his fellow-creature for mistaking an ablativus!"

The man, who intending only a harmless jest, had committed this fearful crime, was Ekkehard. But a few weeks before the sudden turn in his fate brought him to the Hohentwiel, the terrible deed had been done. With the coming morn on the next day, he had forgotten the conversation that had taken place at supper with the overbearing Italian, but in the bosom of him, who had been convicted of the wrong ablativus, was matured a rancour as fierce and gnawing as that, which, caused by the war-deeds of Achilles, drove the Telamonian Aïas, to destroy himself, and which followed him even into the Hades.

He rode towards the north out of the valley along through which the Sitter rushes; he saw the Bodensee and the Rhine, and thought of the ablativus! He entered the grey and ancient gates of Cologne, and crossed the frontiers of Belgium,--but the false ablativus sat behind him on the saddle like an incubus. The cloister-walls of the holy Amandus could not exclude it; and in the early psalms at morning, and during the litany and vespers, the accusativus, rose before his mind, exacting its expiatory sacrifice.

Of all the unpleasant days of one's life, those imprint themselves deepest in our minds, in which by our own fault, a humiliation has befallen us. Instead of being angry with one's self, one easily bears an ill will towards all those, who were the involuntary witnesses of our defeat. The human heart is so very unwilling to confess its own failings; and many a one who unmoved can think of past battles and dangers, feels his blood rush into his cheeks, at the recollection of some foolish word, which escaped him just then, when he would have liked so much to have made a brilliant remark.

Therefore Gunzo was bent on taking his revenge on Ekkehard, and he had an able and sharp pen, and had spent many a month over his work, so that it became a master-piece of its kind. It was a black soup, made up of hundreds of learned quotations, richly seasoned with pepper and worm-wood, and all those spicy, bitter things, which before all others, give such a delicious flavour to the controversies of ecclesiastical men.

Besides this, a delightful undercurrent of rudeness pervaded the whole; so that the reader feels as though a man were being thrashed with regular flails, in a neighbouring barn. This makes a very pleasant contrast to our present times, in which the poison is presented in the shape of gilt pills; and when the combatants first exchange a polite bow, before they break each others heads.

The treatise was divided into two parts; the first serving to prove, that only an ignorant and uncultivated mind could be shocked by so slight an error, as the mistaking of a casus; whilst the second was written in order to convince the world that the author himself, was the wisest, most learned, and at the same time most pious of all his contemporaries.

For this end he had read the classics and the holy Scriptures, in the sweat of his brow, so that he could make a list of all the places in which the caprice, or negligence of the author, had also misplaced an ablativus. So he managed to name two in Virgil, one in Homer, Terence and Priscianus. Further an example out of Persius, where the ablative stands in the place of the genitive, besides a number of instances out of the books of Moses, and the Psalms.

And if a number of such instances, can be found even in the holy Scriptures, who is so wicked, that he would dare to blame or change, such a mode of expression? Wrongly, therefore believes the little monk of St. Gall, that I was not well versed in the grammar; although my tongue may sometimes be impeded, by the habits of my own language, which, though derived from the Latin, is yet very different from it. Now, blunders are made, through carelessness, and human imperfection in general; for, says Priscianus very truly: "I do not believe, that of all human inventions, a single one, can be perfect in all respects, and on all sides. In like manner, Horace has often taken it on himself, to excuse negligences of style and language, in eminent men: 'sometimes even the good Homer is slumbering,' and Aristotle says in his book on the hermeneia: 'All that, which our tongue utters, is merely an outward expression of that which is stamped on our mind. The idea of a thing, therefore is always pre-existent before the expression, and therefore the thing itself is of far greater importance, than the mere word. But whenever the meaning is abstruse, thou shalt patiently, and with thy reasoning powers, try to find out the real import.'"

Then there followed innumerable classical examples of awkward and negligent expressions of thought, which ended with the words of the Apostle, who calls himself, "unskilled, with regard to speech, but not unskilled in knowledge."

"If one therefore examines the behaviour of my antagonist of St. Gall, one feels tempted to believe, that he had once invaded the garden of some wise man; from one of whose hot-beds he had stolen a radish, which had discomposed his stomach and increased his gall. Let everybody therefore keep a sharp look-out on his garden. Evil communications, corrupt good manners.

"Yet it is possible also, that he could not have done otherwise; for having perchance rummaged the whole day long, in the remotest folds of his cowl, to find something wherewith to regale the stranger guest, and not finding anything else, but cunning and malice, he let his guest taste a bit of that. Bad men have evil possessions.

"With his behaviour, his outward appearance,--which we did not fail carefully to investigate,--was in strict harmony. His countenance bore a pale lustre, like bad metal, used for the adulteration of the genuine; his hair was crimped; his hood finer and daintier than necessary, and his shoes of light make,--so that all the signs of vanity were found on him, which were a vexation in the eyes of St. Hieronymus, when he wrote: 'To my great regret, there are some of the clergy in my parish, who are very anxious for their garments to be well scented and their nails well polished; who anoint their curled hair with precious ointments, and who wear dainty, embroidered shoes. Such garments, however, are scarcely fitted for a dandy and bridegroom, let alone for one of the Lord's elected.'

"Further I have reflected, whether the sound of his own name, was not in harmony with his actions likewise. And what now? Ekkhard, or Akhar, was his name,--as if already at his baptism, by dint of a prophetic providence, he had been stigmatized with the name of a malefactor; for who does not know of that Akhar who appropriated to himself a purple mantle, as well as two hundred bags of silver, and a golden wedge, out of the booty at Jericho, so that Joshuah, had him led out into a remote valley, where he was stoned to death, by all Israel; and all he possessed was given up to the flames?--Of such a man his namesake of St. Gall, has shown himself to be a worthy successor; for he who disregards the laws of politeness and good breeding, acts as badly as a thief. He purloins the gold of true wisdom.

"If it were permitted to believe in the transmigration of souls, such as Pythagoras has taught, it would be beyond all doubt, that the soul of the Hebrew Akhar, had entered the frame of this Ekkehard, and in this case one ought to pity it, as it were better to dwell in the body of a fox even, than in that of a crafty and cunning monk. All this which I have said until now, has been said without any personal hatred. My hatred is directed only against the man's inherent wickedness. Consequently I only detest an attribute of his and not the substance itself, which we are bound to honour, as God's likeness, according to Scripture.

"Please to observe now," continued Gunzo in the second part of his book, "how insanely my enemy has acted against the benefits of science and knowledge. More than a hundred written volumes, had I brought with me, over the Alps; weapons of peace, such as Marcianus' flowery instructions in the seven liberal arts; Plato's unfathomable depth in his Timæus; the obscure wisdom of Aristotle, hardly lighted up in our present days, in his book on the hermeneia, and Cicero's eloquence in the Topica.

"How serious and faithful might our conversation not have been, if they had questioned me, about these treasures! How could I imagine that such as I, whom God has so richly gifted, would be ridiculed on account of mistaking a casus! I who know Donat and Priscianus almost by heart!

"It is probable that that empty coxcomb believes, that he carries the whole of the Grammatica, in his hood,--but beloved brethren, believe me--he has scarcely had a glimpse of her back in the distance, and if he were to try, to catch sight of her radiant countenance, he would stumble, and fall to the ground, over his own awkward feet. The Grammatica is a noble woman, who wears for a woodcutter an aspect very different from that she has for an Aristotle.

"But how shall I speak to you of grammar's sister, of dialectics, whom that Greek sage has called, the nurse of intellect? Oh noble art! that entangles the fool in her nets, whilst showing the wise man how to evade them, and discloses to our wondering eyes, the hidden threads, by which being and not-being are linked together! But of that, yon cowl-bearing monk knows nothing! Nothing of that subtle fineness, which with nineteen kinds of syllogisms, knows how to explain all that, which has ever been thought before, as well as all that which can be thought hereafter. God is wise, and deprives him of such knowledge; knowing beforehand that he would only use it for deceitful and wicked ends ..."