"To the venerable Brother Ekkehard on the Hohentwiel, through Burkard the cloister-pupil, from Romeias the gate-keeper.
"If there were two of them, one would be for you; but as I have not been lucky enough to get two, this one is not for you, and yours will come later. It is sent to you, on account of not knowing her name; but she was with the Duchess in the monastery on that day, and wore a dress of the colour of the green wood-pecker; and her tresses were fastened round her head.
"For her,--the bird; on account of continual thinking, on the part of him who shot it, of the walk to the recluses. It must be well macerated and roasted, because otherwise tough. In case of other guests, she is herself to eat the white flesh on the back-bone, because that is the best; the brown often having a resinous taste.
"With it, I wish her all blessings and happiness. To you venerable brother, likewise. If on your castle were wanting a watchman, porter or gamekeeper, you might recommend Romeias to the Duchess; who, on account of being mocked at by the steward, and of the complaints of that dragon, Wiborad, would gladly change his service. Practice in the office of gate-keeper, both giving admittance, and pitching out of strange visitors, can be testified to. The same with regard to hunting. He is already now looking towards the Hohentwiel, as if a cord were drawing him thither.--Long life to you and to the Lady Duchess. Farewell!"
A merry peal of laughter followed the reading of this curious epistle. Praxedis had blushed all over. "That is a bad reward," angrily exclaimed she, "that you write letters in other people's name, to insult me!"
"Stop," said Ekkehard, "why should the letter not be genuine?"
"It would not be the first, that was forged by a monk," was Praxedis' bitter reply. "Why need you laugh at that rough sportsman? He was by no means so bad!"
"Praxedis, be reasonable!" urged the Duchess. "Look at that mountain-cock,--that has not been shot in the Hegau; and Ekkehard writes a somewhat different hand. Shall we give the petitioner a place on the Hohentwiel?"
"Pray don't!" cried Praxedis eagerly. "Nobody is to believe that----"
"Very well," said Dame Hadwig, in a tone bespeaking silence. She then opened Ekkehard's parchment-roll. The painting at the beginning had succeeded pretty well; and any doubt of its meaning, was done away with, by the superscription of the names: Hadwigis, Virgilius and Ekkehard. A bold initial, with intricate golden arabesques headed the poem.
The Duchess was highly pleased. Ekkehard had never before given her any proof of his skill in art. Praxedis looked with an arch smile at the purple mantle, which the Duchess wore on the picture, as if she could tell something more about it.
Dame Hadwig made a sign to Ekkehard, to read and explain the poem. So he read out the following verses; which rendered into English are as follows:
"In nightly silence sat I once alone,deciphering some parchments old and deep;When suddenly, a bright unearthly light,Lit up my room. 'T was not the moon's pale ray,And then, a radiant figure did I see.Immortal smiles were playing round his mouth,And in his rich and sable-coloured locks,He wore a crown of everlasting bay.And with his finger pointing to the book,He then spoke thus; 'Be of good cheer, my friend,I am no spirit, come to rob thy peace,I merely came to wish thee all that's good.All that which the dead letters here relate,I once have written with my own heart's blood:The siege of Troy, and then Æneas' flightThe wrath of Gods, and splendid Roma's birth.Almost a thousand years have since gone by.The singer died,--his nation died with him.My grave is still; but seldom do I hearThe distant shouts, at merry vintage timeOr roar of breakers from the Cape Misene.Yet lately was I call'd up from my rest,By some rough gale, which coming from the NorthBrought me the tidings, that in distant lands,Æneas' fate was being read again;And that a noble princess, proud and fairHad kindly deigned, to dress my epic songIn the bold accents of her native tongue.We once believed, the land beyond the AlpsWas peopled by a rough, uncultured race;--But now at home we long have been forgot,And in the stranger land we live again.Therefore I come, to offer you my thanks;The greatest boon, a minstrel can obtainIt is the praise from noble woman's lip.Hail to thy mistress, who in union rare,Has strength and wisdom, in herself enshrined,And like Minerva in the ranks of Gods,In steel-clad armour sitteth on the throne,Fair patron yet of all the peaceful arts.Yet many years may she the sceptre wield,Surrounded by a strong and loving race.And when you listen to the foreign strains,Like armour rattling, and the clash of steel,--Then think of me, it is Italia's voice,'Tis Virgil greets the rock of Hohentwiel.'Thus spoke he, waved his hand and disappear'd.But I wrote down, still on that very nightWhat he had said; and to my mistress nowI shyly venture to present these leaves,A humble gift, from faithful Ekkehard."
"In nightly silence sat I once alone,deciphering some parchments old and deep;When suddenly, a bright unearthly light,Lit up my room. 'T was not the moon's pale ray,And then, a radiant figure did I see.Immortal smiles were playing round his mouth,And in his rich and sable-coloured locks,He wore a crown of everlasting bay.And with his finger pointing to the book,He then spoke thus; 'Be of good cheer, my friend,I am no spirit, come to rob thy peace,I merely came to wish thee all that's good.All that which the dead letters here relate,I once have written with my own heart's blood:The siege of Troy, and then Æneas' flightThe wrath of Gods, and splendid Roma's birth.Almost a thousand years have since gone by.The singer died,--his nation died with him.My grave is still; but seldom do I hearThe distant shouts, at merry vintage timeOr roar of breakers from the Cape Misene.Yet lately was I call'd up from my rest,By some rough gale, which coming from the NorthBrought me the tidings, that in distant lands,Æneas' fate was being read again;And that a noble princess, proud and fairHad kindly deigned, to dress my epic songIn the bold accents of her native tongue.We once believed, the land beyond the AlpsWas peopled by a rough, uncultured race;--But now at home we long have been forgot,And in the stranger land we live again.Therefore I come, to offer you my thanks;The greatest boon, a minstrel can obtainIt is the praise from noble woman's lip.Hail to thy mistress, who in union rare,Has strength and wisdom, in herself enshrined,And like Minerva in the ranks of Gods,In steel-clad armour sitteth on the throne,Fair patron yet of all the peaceful arts.Yet many years may she the sceptre wield,Surrounded by a strong and loving race.And when you listen to the foreign strains,Like armour rattling, and the clash of steel,--Then think of me, it is Italia's voice,'Tis Virgil greets the rock of Hohentwiel.'Thus spoke he, waved his hand and disappear'd.But I wrote down, still on that very nightWhat he had said; and to my mistress nowI shyly venture to present these leaves,A humble gift, from faithful Ekkehard."
A short pause ensued, after he had finished the reading of his poem. Then the Duchess approached him with outstretched hand, "Ekkehard I thank you." They were the same words, which she had once said to him in the cloister courtyard at St. Gall; but the tones were still milder than at that time; her eyes sparkled and her lips wore a wondrous smile, like that of sweet-eyed fairies, which is said to be followed by a shower of delicious roses.
Then turning to Praxedis she continued, "and thee I ought to condemn to ask his pardon on thy very knees, for having but lately spoken with so little veneration of learned and ecclesiastical men." But the Greek maiden's eyes sparkled archly, well knowing that without her help and advice, the shy monk would scarcely have been able to attain this success.
"In future I will give him all the reverence that's due," said she. "I will even weave him a garland if you desire it."
After Ekkehard had gone up to his little chamber, the two women still sat up together, and the Greek maid fetched a basin filled with water; some pieces of lead and a metal spoon. "The lead-melting of last year, has prophesied well," said she. "We could then, not quite understand, what the strange shape was, which the lead assumed in the water;--but now I am almost sure that it resembled a monk's cowl; and that, our castle can now boast off."
The Duchess had become thoughtful. She listened to hear whether Ekkehard might not be returning.
"It is nothing but an idle amusement," said she.
"If it does not please my mistress," said the Greek, "then she might order our teacher to entertain us with something better. His Virgil, is no doubt a far better oracle, than our lead; when opened on a consecrated night, with prayers and a blessing. I wonder now, what part of his epic would foretell to us, the events of the coming year."
"Be silent," said the Duchess. "He spoke but lately so severely on witchcraft; he would laugh at us ..."
"Then we shall have to content ourselves with the old way," returned Praxedis; holding the spoon with the lead in it over the flame of the lamp. The lead melted and trembled; and muttering a few unintelligible words, she poured it into the water; the liquid metal making a hissing sound.
Dame Hadwig, with seeming indifference, cast a look at it, when Praxedis held the basin up to the light. Instead of dividing into fantastic shapes, the lead had formed a long pointed drop. It glimmered faintly in Dame Hadwig's hand.
"That is another riddle, for time to solve," laughed Praxedis. "The future, this time closely resembles a pine-cone."
"Or a tear," said the Duchess seriously, leaning her head on her right hand.
A loud noise from the ground-floor, interrupted the further investigation of the omen. Giggling and screams of the maid-servants, rough sounds of male voices, interspersed with the shrill tones of a lute, were heard in dire confusion, coming up the passage. Respectfully but beseechingly, the flying troop of the maids stopped at the threshold. The tall Friderun could scarcely refrain from scolding; and little Hadumoth was crying audibly. A groping, fumbling step was heard behind them, and presently there appeared an uncouth figure, wrapt in a bearskin; with a painted mask, in the form of a bear's snout; snarling and growling like a hungry bruin, seeking for its prey. Now and then, this apparition drew some inharmonious sounds from a lute, which was hanging over his shaggy shoulders, suspended on a red ribbon; but as soon as the door of the hall was thrown open, and the rustling dress of the Duchess was heard approaching, the nightly phantom turned round, and slowly tumbled back into the echoing passage.
The old housekeeper then began; telling their mistress, how they had sat merrily together, rejoicing over their presents, when the monster had come in upon them, and had first executed a dance, to his own lute's playing, but how he had afterwards blown out the candles, threatening the frightened maidens with kisses and embraces; finally becoming so wild and obstreperous, that they had all been obliged to take flight.
Judging from the hoarse laughter of the bear, there was strong reason for suspecting Master Spazzo's being hidden under the shaggy fur; who after embibing a considerable quantity of wine, had concluded his Christmas frolics in that way.
Dame Hadwig appeased her exasperated servants, and bade them go to bed. From the yard however was soon heard another cry of surprise. There they all stood in a group; steadfastly looking up at the tower; for the terrible bear had climbed up, and was now promenading on the top of it, lifting his shaggy head up to the stars, as if he wanted to send a greeting to his namesake in the firmament;--the great bear.
The dark figure stood out in clear outlines against the pale starry sky, and his growls sounded weirdly through the silent night; but no mortal was ever told, what the luminous stars revealed to the wine-clouded brains of Master Spazzo the chamberlain.
At the same midnight hour, Ekkehard knelt before the altar of the castle chapel, softly chaunting the Christmas-matins, as the church rules prescribed.
The remainder of the winter passed by monotonously; and in consequence swiftly enough. They prayed and worked; read Virgil and studied the grammar, every day. Dame Hadwig had quite given up asking dangerous questions. During the Carnival, the neighbouring nobility came to pay their respects to the Duchess. Those of Nellenburg and of Veringen; the old Count of Argengau with his daughters, the Guelphs from over the lake, and many others; and in those days there was much feasting, accompanied by more drinking. After that, it became lonely again on the top of the Hohentwiel.
March had come, and heavy gales blew over the land. On the first starlight night, a comet was seen in the sky; and the stork which lived comfortably on the castle-gable, had flown away again, a week after its return. At all these things, people shook their heads. Further, a shepherd, driving his flock past the hill, told how he had met the army-worm,[10]which was a sure sign of coming war.
A strange, uncomfortable feeling took possession of all minds. The approach of an earthquake is often felt at a considerable distance; here, by the stopping of a spring; there, by the anxious flying about of birds; and in the same way the danger of war makes itself felt beforehand.
Master Spazzo who had bravely sat behind the wine-jug in February, now walked about with a downcast expression. "You are to do me a favour," said he one day to Ekkehard. "I have seen a dead fish in my dream, floating on its back. I wish to make my last will. The world has become old and is left standing on its last leg; and that also will soon give way. Good-bye then Firnewine! Besides we are not very far off from the Millenium; and have lived merrily enough. Perhaps the last years count double. At any rate, mankind cannot go on much longer in that way. Erudition has gone so far, that in this one castle of Hohentwiel, more than half a dozen books lie heaped up; and when a fellow gets a good thrashing, he goes up to court and makes his complaint, instead of burning down his enemy's house, over his head. With such a state of affairs, the world must naturally soon come to an end."
"Who is to be your heir, if all the world is to perish," was Ekkehard's reply.
A man of Augsburg, coming to the Reichenau, also brought evil tidings. Bishop Ulrich had promised a precious relic to the monastery--the right arm of the holy Theopontus, richly set in silver and precious stones. He now sent word that as the country was unsafe at present, he could not risk sending it.
The Abbot ordered the man to go to the Hohentwiel; there to inform the Duchess of the state of things.
"What is the good news?" asked she, on his presenting himself.
"There's not much good in them. I would rather take away better ones from here. The Suabian arrier-ban is up in arms; horses and riders, as many as have a sword and shield hanging on their walls, are ready. They are again on the road, between the Danube and the Rhine."
"Who?"
"The old enemies from yonder. The small fellows with the deep-set eyes and blunt noses. A good deal of our meat will again be ridden tender under the saddle this year."
He drew out of his pocket a strangely shaped small horse-shoe, with a high heel to it. "Do you know that?--A little shoe, and a little steed, a crooked sabre, and arrows fleet;--as quick as lightning, and never at rest; oh Lord, deliver us from this pest!"
"The Huns?" exclaimed the Duchess, in startled tones.
"If you prefer to call them Hungarians, or Hungry-ones,--'tis the same to me," said the messenger. "Bishop Pilgrim sent the tidings from Passau to Freising; whence it reached us. They have already swum over the Danube, and will be falling like locusts into the German lands; and as quick as winged Devils. 'You may sooner catch the wind on the plain, or the bird in the air,' is an old saying with us. May the plague take their horses!--I for myself, only fear for my sister's child at Passau; the fair little Bertha." ...
"It is impossible!" said Dame Hadwig. "Can they have forgotten already, what answer the messengers of the Exchequer, returned them: 'we have iron and swords and five fingers to our hands?' In the battle on the Inn, their heads were made acquainted with the truth of these words."
"Just for that very reason," said the man. "He who has been beaten once, likes to come back and beat the enemy in his turn. The messengers of the Exchequer, in reward for their bravery, have had their heads cut off;--so who will like taking their places in the foremost ranks?"
"We likewise know the path, which has been trodden by our ancestors, going to meet the enemy," proudly returned the Duchess.
She dismissed the man from Augsburg with a present. Then she sent for Ekkehard.
"Virgil will have to rest a while," said she, telling him of the danger that was threatening from the Huns. This state of things was by no means pleasant. The nobles had forgotten, in their many personal feuds, how to act and stand up together; whilst the Emperor, of Saxon origin and not over fond of the Suabians, was fighting in Italy, far away from the German frontier. So the passage to the Bodensee was open to the invaders; whose mere name caused a terror wherever it was pronounced. For years their tribes swarmed like will-o'-the-wisps, through the unsettled realm, which Charlemagne had left in the hands of unqualified successors. From the shores of the North-Sea, where the ruins of Bremen spoke of their invasion, down to the southern point of Calabria, where the natives had to pay a ransom for each head,--fire and plunder marked their way.
"If they are not ghosts which the pious Bishop Ulrich has seen," said the Duchess, "they are certain to come to us also; so what is to be done? To meet them in open battle?--Even bravery is folly, when the enemy is too numerous. To obtain peace, by paying tribute and ransom, thus driving them over to our neighbours' territory?--Others have done that before, but we have other ideas of honour and dishonour. Are we to barricade ourselves on the Hohentwiel, and leave the land at their mercy, when we have promised our protection to our subjects?--never! What do you advise?"
"My knowledge does not extend to such matters," sorrowfully replied Ekkehard.
The Duchess was excited. "Oh schoolmaster," cried she reproachfully, "why has Heaven not made you a warrior? Many things would be better then!"
Ekkehard, deeply hurt, turned to go. The words had entered his heart like an arrow, and remained there. The reproach had some truth in it, so it hurt him all the more.
"Ekkehard," called out Dame Hadwig, "you must not go. You are to serve the country with your knowledge, and what you do not know as yet, you may learn. I will send you to some one who is well versed in these matters. Will you undertake this mission for me?"
Ekkehard had turned round again. "I never have been unwilling to serve my mistress," said he.
"But then you must not be frightened, if he gives you but a rough and unfriendly reception. He has suffered many a wrong from past generations; and he does not know the present. Neither must you be shocked, if he should appear very old and fat to you."
He had listened attentively: "I do not quite understand you ..."
"Never mind," said the Duchess. "You are to go over to Sipplingen to-morrow; close to Ueberlingen, where the rocky shore shelves down into the lake. These caverns were made, in the olden times, to serve as hiding-places. When you see the smoke of a fire rising out of the hill, go to that spot. There you will find the person I want you to see; and you must then speak with him about the Huns."
"To whom is my mistress sending me?" enquired Ekkehard, eagerly.
"To the old man of the Heidenhöhle," replied Dame Hadwig. "One does not know any other name for him hereabouts.--But stop," continued she, "I must give you the watchword, in case of his refusing you admittance."
She opened a cupboard, and searching about amongst her trinkets and other small things, took out a tiny slate, on which were scrawled a few letters. "That you are to say to him, besides giving him my kindest greetings."
Ekkehard looked at the slate. It contained only the two insignificant Latin words, "neque enim!"--nothing else.
"That has no meaning," said he.
"Never mind, the old man knows well, what it means for him."
Before cockcrow the next morning, Ekkehard passed out of the gate on the Hohentwiel, on horseback. The fresh morning air blew about his head, over which he now drew his hood. "Why has Heaven not made you a warrior; many things would be better then." These words of the Duchess accompanied him, like his own shadow. They were for him a spur to courageous resolutions. "When danger comes, she shall not find the schoolmaster, sitting behind his books," thought he.
His horse went on at a good pace. In a few hours, he rode over the woody hills, that separate the Untersee from the lake of Ueberlingen. At the ducal tenement of Sernatingen, the blue mirror of the lake lay stretched out before his eyes. There he left his horse in the care of the steward, and continued the path leading along the shore, on foot.
At a projecting point, he stopped a while, to gaze at leisure at the fine view before him. The eye, here meeting with no obstacle, could glance over the waters to the distant Rhætian Alps, which like a crystal wall, rise heavenwards; forming the background of the landscape.
Where the rocks of red sandstone steeply arise out of the lake, the path mounted upwards. Steps, hewn in the rocks, made the ascent easier. Here and there, apertures serving as windows, broke the uniformity of the walls; indicating by their deep shadows, the places, where in the times of the Roman supremacy, unknown men, had dug these caverns as an asylum, in the same way as the catacombs.
The ascent was fatiguing enough. Now he had reached a level, only a few steps in circumference, on which young grass was growing. In front, there was an entrance into the rock, about the height of a man. Out of this, there now rushed, violently barking, a huge black dog, which stopping short about two paces from Ekkehard, held itself ready with teeth and fangs to fly at him; keeping its eyes steadily fixed on the monk, who could not move, without risk of the dog's attacking him. His position was certainly not an enviable one; retreat being impossible, and Ekkehard not carrying arms about him. So he remained immovable, facing his enemy; when at an opening, there appeared the head of a man, with grey hair, piercing eyes, and a reddish beard.
"Call back the dog!" cried Ekkehard.
A few moments afterwards, the grey-haired man appeared at the entrance, armed with a spear.
"Back, Mummolin!" cried he.
The huge animal reluctantly obeyed; and not until the old man had threatened it with his spear, did it retreat growling.
"Your dog ought to be killed, and hung up nine feet over your door, until it fell to pieces," said Ekkehard angrily. "It nearly made me fall over into the lake," turning round, and beholding the lake lying at his feet, from the perpendicular height.
"In the Heidenhöhlen the common laws have no force," defiantly replied the old man. "With us, 'tis--keep off two steps, or we split your skull."
Ekkehard wanted to go on.
"Stop there," continued the stranger, barring the passage with his spear. "Not so fast if you please. Where are you going to?"
"To the old man of the Heidenhöhle."
"To the old man of the Heidenhöhle?" angrily repeated the other. "Have you no more respectful term for that personage, you yellow-beaked cowl-bearer?"
"I know no other name," replied Ekkehard somewhat abashed. "My greeting is,neque enim."
"That sounds better," said the old man in a softer tone. "From whence do you come?"
"From the Hohentwiel. I am to tell you ..."
"Stop, I am not he whom you seek. I am merely his servant Rauching. I will announce you."
Considering the appearance of those barren, rocky walls and the black dog, this formality seemed somewhat out of place. Ekkehard was kept waiting some time. It was as if preparations for his reception were being made. At last Rauching made his reappearance. "Be pleased to enter." So they walked along a dark passage that widened at the end, admitting them into a chamber, which had been hewn in the rocks by human hands, high and spacious, with an arched ceiling. A rough panelling partly covered the walls. The openings for the windows were wide and airy; showing a piece of the lake and hills, like a picture in a frame. Some bright, warm sunbeams streamed in, lighting up the otherwise dark chamber. Here and there, traces of stone-benches were visible; while a high-backed chair, likewise of stone, and resembling a bishop's seat in old churches, stood beside the window. In it a figure was seated. It was a strange, human form, of mighty dimensions. The huge head rested heavily between the broad shoulders; forehead and cheeks were deeply furrowed. Round his temples were a few scanty white curls; whilst his mouth was almost entirely toothless,--signs which spoke of the wondrous age of the man. Round his shoulders hung a cloak of undecided colour, the back of which, hidden by the chair, was no doubt threadbare enough; the seams showing here and there, many a patch. He wore a pair of coarse boots, and by his side lay an old hat, with a dusty old trimming of fox's fur. In a niche in the wall, stood a chess-board with carved ivory pieces. A game seemed just to have been finished; the king mated by a knight, and two bishops ...
"Who comes to the forgotten one?" asked the old man, in a trembling voice. Then Ekkehard bowing his head before him, told his name, and who had sent him there.
"You have brought an evil watchword with you. Do people still speak of Luitward of Vercelli?"
"Whose soul be damned," added Rauching.
"I have never heard anything about him," said Ekkehard.
"Tell him, Rauching, who Luitward of Vercelli was. It would be a pity if he were to die in the memory of men."
"He was the greatest rascal, that ever the sun shone upon," was Rauching's reply.
"Tell him also, what is the meaning ofneque enim."
"There is no gratitude in this world; and of an Emperor's friends, even the best is a traitor."
"Even the best is a traitor," murmured the old man, lost in thought. His eye now fell on the chessboard. "Ah yes," muttered he faintly, "checkmated, mated by bishops and knights" ... he clenched his fist, and made a movement as if to rise; then falling back with a deep sigh, he raised his shrivelled hand to his forehead, resting his heavy head on it.
"The headache" ... said he, "the cursed headache!"
"Mummolin!" cried Rauching.
With bounding steps the black dog came in; and on seeing the old man with bent-down head, he whiningly crept up to him, and licked his forehead. "'Tis well," said the old man, after a while, lifting himself up again.
"Are you ill?" kindly asked Ekkehard.
"Ill?" rejoined he,--"may be that it is a sort of illness! I have been visited by it such a long time, that it seems quite like an old acquaintance. Have you ever had the headache? I advise you, never to go out to battle, when you are attacked by a headache; and by no means to conclude a peace. It may cost you a realm, that headache ..."
"Could not some physician" ... began Ekkehard.
"The wisdom of physicians, has in this case, long come to an end. They have done their best for me," pointing to his forehead, where two old scars crossed each other.
"Look here!--If they want you to try that remedy, you must not do so. In my younger days they hung me up by the feet;--then they made some cuts in my head; thus taking away some blood, and part of my intellects, without helping me. At Cremona (Zedekias was the name of the Hebrew sage), they consulted the stars, and placed me on a mulberry-tree at midnight. It was a long exorcism with which they drove the headache into the tree, but it did not help me. In the German lands, they ordered me to take powdered crabs' eyes, mixed with the dust of St. Mark's grave; and a draught of wine from the lake after it: all in vain! Now I've got used to it. The worst is licked away by Muramolin's rough tongue. Come here my brave Mummolin, who has never betrayed me yet ..."
He stopped, almost breathless, and caressed the dog.
"My message" ... Ekkehard was beginning--, but the old man waved his hand to him and said: "Have patience yet awhile; 'tis not well to speak with an empty stomach. You must be hungry. Nothing is more awful and more holy than hunger--said that dean of yore, when his friend and guest, ate up five of the six trouts before him; leaving only the smallest on the plate. He who has had something to do with the world, does not easily forget that saying. Rauching, prepare our meal."
So Rauching went into a neighbouring closet, which had been fitted up as a kitchen. The provisions were kept in different niches, and a few moments later, a white wreath of smoke curled up, from the rocky chimney. Shortly after, the cooking was done. A stone slab served as table. The crowning piece of the frugal repast was a pike; but the pike was old; moss growing on its head, and its flesh was tough, as leather. A jug of reddish looking wine, was also brought by Rauching; butthathad grown on the Sippling hills, a vintage which still enjoys the reputation of being the most sour of all the sour wines produced on the lake. Rauching waited upon them during the meal.
"Well, what may your business be?" asked the old man, when the meagre repast was ended.
"Evil tidings; the Huns are invading the country. Their hoofs will soon be treading the Suabian ground."
"Good!" cried the old man. "That serves you right. Are the Normans also approaching?"
"You speak strangely," said Ekkehard.
The eyes of the old man lighted up. "And if enemies were to spring up around you, like mushrooms, you have deserved it well; you and your masters. Rauching, fill the glass; the Huns are coming,--neque enim!Now you will have to swallow the soup, which your masters have salted for you. A great and proud empire had been founded, extending from the shores of the Ebro, to the Raab in the Danish land, into which not a rat could have entered, without faithful watchmen catching it. And this, the great Emperor Charlemagne ..."
"God bless him," exclaimed Rauching.
"... left behind him; strong and powerful. The tribes which had once put a stop to the Roman supremacy, were all united as they ought to be; and in those days, the Huns slily kept behind their hedges on the Danube, the weather not being favourable for them; and as soon as they tried to move, their wooden camp-town in Pannonia, was destroyed to the last chip, by the brave Franks. Later, the great ones in Germany, began to feel sorely, that not every one of them could be the master of the world; so each one must needs establish a government in his own territory. Sedition, rebellion and high-treason, well suited their tastes; and so they dethroned the last of Charlemagne's descendants, who held the reins of the world.--The representative of the unity of the realm has become a beggar; who must eat unbuttered water-gruel;--and now, your lords who preferred Arnulf the bastard and their own arrogance, have got the Huns on their heels, and the old times are coming back, as King Attila had them painted. Do you know the picture in the palace at Milan?...
"There the Roman Emperor was painted sitting on the throne, with Scythian princes lying at his feet; till one day King Attila, chancing to ride by, gave a long and stedfast look at the picture, and laughingly said: 'quite right; only I'll make a small alteration.' And he had his own features, given to the man on the throne; those kneeling before him, pouring out bags of tributary gold,--being now the Roman Cæsars ... The picture is still to be seen."
"You are thinking of bygone tales," said Ekkehard.
"Of bygone tales?" exclaimed the old man. "For me there has been nothing new, these last forty years, but want and misery. Bygone tales! 'Tis well for him, who still remembers them, in order that he may see how the sins of the fathers, are visited on the children and children's children. Do you know why Charlemagne shed tears once in his life?--When they announced to him, the arrival of the Norman sea-robbers: 'as long as I live,' said he, ''tis mere child's play, but I grieve for my grandsons.'"
"As yet we have still an Emperor and a realm," said Ekkehard.
"Have you still one?" said the old man, draining his glass of sour Sippling wine, and shivering after it, "well I wish him joy. The corner-stones are dashed to pieces; and the building is crumbling away. With a clique of presumptuous nobles, no realm can exist. Those who ought to obey are lording it over the others; and he who ought to reign, must wheedle and flatter, instead of commanding. Methinks, I have heard of one, to whom his faithful subjects, sent the tribute in pebbles, instead of silver, and the head of the count who was sent to collect it, lay beside the stones, in the bag. Who has avenged it?" ...
"The Emperor is fighting and gathering laurels in Italy," rejoined Ekkehard.
"Oh Italy! Italy!" continued the old man. "That will still become a thorn in the German flesh. That was the only time the great Charles ..."
"Whom God bless," exclaimed Rauching.
"... allowed himself to be entrapped. It was a sad day, on which they crowned him at Rome; and no one has chuckled so gleefully, as he on St. Peter's chair. He was in want of us,--but what have we ever had to do in Italy? Look there! Has that mountain-wall been erected heavenwards, for nothing?--All that, which lies on the other side, belongs to those in Byzantium; and it is all right so; for Greek cunning is better there than German strength; but later generations have found nothing better to do than to perpetuate the error of Charlemagne. The good example he left them, they have trampled upon; and whilst there was plenty to do in the East and North, they must needs run off to Italy, as if the great magnet lay behind the Roman hills. I have often thought about it, what could have driven us, in that direction; and if it was not the Devil himself, it can only have been the good wine."
Ekkehard had become saddened by the old man's speeches, who, seeming to feel this, said: "Do not regard what a buried man tells you. We here in the Heidenhöhlen, cannot make it any better; but the truth has many a time taken up her abode in caverns; whilst ignorance was striding at a great pace through the land."
"A buried man?" said Ekkehard enquiringly.
"You may for all that, drink a bumper with him," jestingly replied the mysterious stranger. "It was necessary that I should die before the world; for the headache and the rascals had brought me into discredit. You need not therefore, stare at me so, little monk. Sit down here on the stone bench, and I will tell you about it and you can make a song of it, to play on the lute ... There once lived an Emperor, who had few happy days; for his realm was large, and he himself was big and stout, and the headache tormented him; ever since the day that he mounted the throne. Therefore he took unto himself a chancellor, who had got a fine head, and could think better than his master; for he was thin and meagre like a pole, and had no headache. The Emperor had raised him from obscure birth, for he was only the son of a blacksmith; and he bestowed favours on him, doing all that his chancellor advised him to do. Aye, he even concluded a miserable peace with the Normans; for his counsellor told him, that this matter was too insignificant; and that he had more important things to do, than to worry himself about a handful of pirates. At the same time, the chancellor went to the Emperor's spouse, and beguiled her weak heart; playing on the lute before her. Besides this he carried off by force, the daughters of some noble Allemannians; and finally joined in a league, with the Emperor's enemies. And when the Emperor at last called together a great diet, to remedy the state of affairs, his gaunt chancellor was among the foremost who spoke against him. With the words, 'neque enim,' he began his speech, and then he proved to them, that they must dethrone their Emperor; and he spoke so venomously and treacherously against the peace with the Normans, which he had himself concluded,--that they all fell off from their master, like withered leaves when the autumn winds are shaking the tree. And they cried that the time for the stout ones was at an end; and then and there they dethroned him; so that he who had entered Tribur, with a threefold crown on his head, had nothing when he went away that he could call his own, but what he wore on his back; and at Mainz he sat before the Bishop's castle, glad when they presented him with a dish of soup. The brave chancellor's name was Luitward of Vercelli. May God reward him according to his deserts, and the Empress Richardis and the rest of them, likewise."--
"But when later the people in Suabia took pity on the poor outlaw, and gave him a little bit of land, whereby to earn a scanty livelihood; and when they thought of sending an army to fight for his rights, Luitward dispatched murderers against him. It was a wild night for the tenement of Neidingen; the storm was breaking the branches of the trees, and the shutters were rattling violently. The dethroned Emperor not being able to sleep on account of the headache, had mounted on the roof, to let the storm cool his burning forehead, when they broke in to murder him. It is not a very pleasant feeling I can tell you, to sit in the cold night-air on the roof, with a heavy aching head, and hear how people are regretting downstairs, that they cannot strangle you, or hang you over the draw-well." ...
"He who has lived to hear that, had better die at once. The stout Meginhard at Neidingen, had fallen down from a tree and was killed just at the right time; so that they could lay him on the bier, and spread the news in the country that the dethroned Emperor had paid his tribute to grim King Death. They say that it was a fine procession, when they carried him to the Reichenau. The Heavens are said to have opened, casting a ray of light on the bier; and the funeral must have been touching indeed, when they buried him on the right side of the altar. 'That he had been stript of his honour, and bereft of his kingdom, was a trial imposed from above, to cleanse and purify his soul, and as he bore it patiently, it is to be hoped that the Lord rewarded him, with the crown of eternal life; to comfort him for the earthly crown which he had lost' ... thus they preached in the cloister-church, not knowing that he, whom they imagined they had buried, was at that same hour entering the solitude of the Heidenhöhlen; laden with all his trifling belongings; and leaving behind him a curse on the world." ...
The old man laughed. "Here it is safe and quiet enough, to think of old times. Let's drink a bumper to the dead! And Luitward has been cheated after all; for though his Emperor wears an old hat instead of a golden crown, and drinks the sour juice of the Sippling grape, instead of the sparkling Rhinewine, he is still alive; whilst the meagre ones and all their race are dead, long ago. And the stars will prove right after all, in prophesying at his birth, that he would leave this false world, in the roar of battle. The Huns are coming! Oh, come thou also soon, thou joyful end!"
Ekkehard had listened with the utmost attention. "Oh Lord, how wonderful are Thy ways," he exclaimed, attempting to kneel down and kiss the old man's hands; but he prevented him, saying: "All these things have been done away with, long ago. Take an example ..."
"Germany has greatly wronged you, and your race," Ekkehard was beginning to say, but the old man interrupted him, saying: "Germany! I do not bear her a grudge. May she prosper and nourish, undisturbed by enemies; and find some ruler who will make her powerful again; and who is not plagued with the headache when the Normans come back; and not have a chancellor whose name is Luitward of Vercelli. But those who have divided his garments amongst them; and cast lots for his vesture." ...
"May Heaven punish them with fire and brimstone," said Rauching in the background.
"And what answer shall I give to my mistress?" asked Ekkehard, after having finished his beaker.
"With regard to the Huns?" said the old man. "I believe that is simple enough. Tell the Duchess to go into the woods, and to see what the hedgehog does, when an enemy is coming too near. It curls itself up into a ball, and presents its prickles; and he who lays hands on it, is wounded. Suabia has got plenty of lances. Let them do the same.--You monks will also not be the worse for carrying the spear. And if your mistress wishes to know still more; then you may tell her the adage which rules in the Heidenhöhlen. Rauching, what is it?"
"Keep two steps off, or we'll break your head," he replied.
"And if there should be a question of peace, then tell her, that the old man of the Heidenhöhle once concluded a bad one, and that he would never do so again; although his headache were as bad as ever; and that he would much rather saddle his own horse, at the sound of the war-trumpet,--if you outlive his last ride, you may say a mass for him."
The old man had spoken with a strange excitement. Suddenly his voice broke off; his breath became short, almost groaning, and bending his head, he said: "it is coming on again."
Rauching hastily presented him with a draught of water; but the oppression did not subside.
"We must try the remedy," said Rauching. From a corner of the chamber, he rolled forwards a heavy block of stone, about a man's height, bearing some traces of sculpture, which they had found in the cavern; a mystic monument, belonging to former inhabitants. He placed it upright against the wall. It appeared as if a human head bearing a bishop's mitre, had once been represented on it. Rauching now seized a thick, knotty stick, and placing another in the hands of the old man, began thrashing away at the stone image, and pronouncing slowly and solemnly the following words. "Luitward of Vercelli! Traitor and adulterer,neque enim!Ravisher of nuns, and foul rebel,neque enim!" Heavily fell the blows, and a faint smile lighted up the withered features of the old man. He arose and began striking away at it also, with feeble arms.
"It has been written, that a bishop must lead a blameless life," said he in the same tone as Rauching,--"take this for the peace with the Normans! This for the seduction of the Empress Richardis,neque enim!This for the diet at Tribur, and that for the election of Arnulf!neque enim!"
The cavern rang with the resounding blows; the stone image standing immovable, under the fierce attacks. The old man became more and more relieved; warming himself by giving vent to the old hatred, which for years had nourished his miserable life.
Ekkehard did not quite understand the meaning of what he saw. He began 'to feel uncomfortable and so took his leave.
"I trust you have been enjoying yourself, at the expense of the old fool up there," said the steward of Sernatingen to him, when he brought out his saddled horse. "Does he still believe, that he has lost a crown and a kingdom? Ha, ha!"
Ekkehard rode away. In the beech-wood, the new green leaves were sprouting forth, telling of the coming Spring. A young monk from the Reichenau was going the same road. Bold and gay, like the clashing of arms, his song floated through the solitary wood: