Throughout the whole of the battle and until night-fall, the folks
of Grandfontaine had seen the fool Yégof standing on the summit
of the Little Donon, his crown on his head, his sceptre uplifted,
transmitting, like a Merovingian king, orders to his imaginary armies.
What passed through the mind of this unhappy being when he saw the
utter rout of the Germans, no one knows. At the last cannon-shot he had
disappeared. Whither had he fled?
This is what is related on this subject by the inhabitants of
Tiefenbach.
At that time, there lived in the Bocksberg two singular creatures, two
sisters, one called Little Kateline and the other Big Berbel. These two
tattered beings had fixed their abode in the _Cavern of Luitprandt_,
so called, say the old chronicles, because the King of the Germans,
before descending into Alsace, caused to be interred under that immense
vault of red freestone the barbarian chiefs who fell in the battle of
Blutfeld. The warm spring that rises always in the middle of the cavern
protected the two sisters against the rigorous colds of winter, and
the wood-cutter, Daniel Horn, of Tiefenbach, had had the charity to
close up the principal entrance of the rock with heaps of broom and
brushwood. By the side of the warm spring was another, cold as ice,
and clear as crystal. Little Kateline, who drank at this spring, was
not four feet high; she was stout and squat, and her vacant look, round
eyes, and an enormous wen, gave to her the singular expression of a
fat turkey in a meditative mood. Every Sunday she was in the habit of
lugging to the village of Tiefenbach a wicker basket, which the good
people filled with cold potatoes, crusts of bread, and sometimes--on
festivals--with cakes and other leavings of their merry-makings. Then
the poor creature, quite out of breath, returned to her rocky home,
chuckling, laughing, gibbering, and crying all at once. Big Berbel was
very careful not to drink at the cold spring; she was lean, one-eyed,
and as skinny as a bat; she had a flat nose, large ears, a sparkling
eye, and lived on what her sister managed to pick up; but in July,
when the very hot weather had set in, she used to shake from the
mountain-side a dry thistle over the harvest-fields of those who had
not regularly filled Kateline's basket, which brought down upon them
fearful storms, hail, rats, and field-mice in abundance.
For which reason they dreaded the spells of Berbel like the plague; she
was known everywhere by the name of _Wetterhexe_,[10] whilst little
Kateline passed everywhere for being the good genius of Tiefenbach and
its neighbourhood. In this way Berbel lived at her ease, by folding her
arms, and the other by clucking and pecking for it wherever it was to
be found.
Unfortunately for the two sisters, Yégof had established, for a
number of years past, his winter residence in Luitprandt's Cave. It
was from thence that he took his departure in the spring, to visit
his innumerable castles, and pass in review his fiefs as far as
Geierstein, in the Hundsrück. Every year, therefore, towards the end of
November, after the first snows, he came with his raven, which always
produced a succession of eagle-like croaks from Wetterhexe.
"What is the matter with you," he would say, quietly installing himself
in the best place; "are you not living on my domains? I think it is
very good of me to keep two useless _valkiries_ in the Valhalla of my
fathers."
Then Berbel would become furious, and overwhelm him with taunts and
abuse, while Kateline would sit clucking with an angry look; but
he, without taking any notice of them, lit his pipe--made of old
boxwood--and began to relate his distant peregrinations to the souls
of the German warriors interred in the cavern sixteen centuries ago,
calling them by their names, and speaking to them like living beings.
I leave you to imagine whether Berbel and Kateline saw the fool arrive
with pleasure; to them it was a positive calamity. Now, this year,
Yégof not having come, the two sisters thought he was dead, and were
rejoicing in the idea of never seeing him any more. During the last few
days, however, Wetterhexe had remarked the agitation that prevailed
in the neighbouring gorges; people departing in large bodies, gun on
shoulder, from the regions of the Falkenstein and the Donon. Evidently
something out of the common was taking place. The witch, remembering
that the year before Yégof had related to the souls of the warriors
that his innumerable followers were shortly going to invade the
country, felt a sort of vague uneasiness. She would have given anything
to know the reason of this unusual disturbance, but no one came up to
the rock where they dwelt, and Kateline having gone her usual journey
the Sunday before, would not have stirred for an empire.
In this state of things, Wetterhexe wandered over the mountain-side,
getting more and more anxious and distraught.
During the whole of this particular Saturday, things went even further.
From nine o'clock in the morning, loud and heavy explosions rolled like
the sound of a tempest amid the thousand echoes of the mountain; and in
the distance, towards the Donon, swift lightnings flashed across the
sky between the tall tops of the mountains; then, towards night, noises
still more deep and formidable resounded through the silent gorges. At
each explosion, the summits of the Hengst, the Gantzlée, the Giromani,
the Grosmann, were heard to echo back their answer through the very
depths of the abyss.
"What is that?" asked Berbel, of herself. "Is it the end of the world?"
Then, re-entering the cavern, and seeing Kateline squatting in her
corner, nibbling a potato, she shook her roughly, exclaiming, in a
hissing voice: "Idiot! do you, then, hear nothing? You are not afraid
of anything--not you! You eat, you drink, you cluck! Oh! you monster!"
She snatched her potato furiously away, and sat down, quite trembling
with passion, by the warm spring which was sending up its grey clouds
to the vaulted roof of the cavern.
Half an hour after, it having grown dark, and the cold excessive, she
lit a fire of brushwood, which threw a pale and flickering light over
the blocks of red stone, to the very end of the cavern where Kateline
was now sleeping, with her feet in the straw, and her knees up to
her chin. Outside every sound had ceased. Wetterhexe pushed aside the
bushes at the entrance, to cast a look upon the mountain-side; then she
returned and squatted again beside the fire, her large mouth closely
compressed, her flabby eyelids shut, forming large circular wrinkles
round her cheeks, she drew over her knees an old woollen coverlet, and
seemed to be taking a doze. Not a sound was to be heard, save at long
intervals, the faint murmur of the condensed vapour falling back from
the vault to the spring.
This death-like silence lasted for about two hours; midnight was
approaching, when, all at once, a distant sound of footsteps, mingled
with discordant clamours, was heard on the mountain-side. Berbel
listened; she recognised the sound of the human voice. Then rising,
all of a tremble, and armed with her large thistle, she glided to
the entrance of the rock, pushed the bushes aside, and saw, at the
distance of fifty paces, the fool Yégof, advancing in the bright
moonlight. Flourishing his sceptre in the air, he was calling upon his
followers, and fighting and struggling as if he were in the thick of
a battle. This fearful conflict with invisible beings struck Berbel
with superstitious terror; she felt her hair stand on end, and would
have fled and hid herself, but, at the same instant, a confused murmur
caused her to turn suddenly round, and judge of her alarm when she saw
the hot spring boiling more than usual, and clouds of steam rise from
it, then detach themselves and move in floating masses towards the door.
And whilst, like phantoms, these thick clouds were slowly advancing,
Yégof appeared, exclaiming, in a sharp voice: "At last you are here.
You have heard me!"
Then, with a rapid gesture, he put aside every impediment: a rush of
frosty air penetrated the cavern, and the vapours dispersed themselves
over the spacious canopy of heaven, wreathing and twisting themselves
over the rock as if the dead of that day, and those of centuries past,
had renewed, in other spheres, the eternal combat.
Yégof, his features livid and contracted beneath the moon's pale rays,
his sceptre outstretched, his long beard descending to his breast, and
his eyes flashing, saluted each imaginary phantom with a gesture, and
called it by its name, saying: "Hail, Bled! hail, Roug! and all of you,
my brave companions, hail! The hour you have waited for for centuries
is near; the eagles are sharpening their beaks, the earth thirsts for
blood; remember the Blutfeld!"
Then Yégof abruptly entered the cavern, and crouched down near the
spring, with his huge head between his hands, and his elbows on his
knees, watching the bubbling of the water, with a wild and haggard eye.
Kateline had just awoke, and her clucking sounded like sobs;
Wetterhexe, more dead than alive, was watching the fool from the
darkest corner of the cavern.
"They have all risen from the earth!" suddenly exclaimed Yégof--"all,
all! there are none left; they are gone to revive the courage of my
young men, and inspire them with contempt for death!" and, raising his
pale face, impressed with the expression of bitter grief, "They fought
valiantly--yes, yes, they did their duty well--but the hour was not
yet come. And now the ravens are fighting over their flesh!" Then, in
an accent of terrible rage, tearing off his crown, and handfuls of his
hair with both hands: "Oh! race accursed!" he shouted, "must you for
ever cross our path? But for you, we should already have conquered
Europe; the red men would be masters of the universe! And I have
humbled myself before the leader of that race of dogs. I have asked of
him his daughter, in lieu of taking her and carrying her off, as the
wolf does with the sheep. Ah! Huldrix! Huldrix!" Then, interrupting
himself: "Listen, listen, _valkirie_," said he, in a low voice; and he
raised his finger solemnly. Wetterhexe listened. A very high night-wind
had just risen, shaking the old forest trees, with their frost-covered
branches. How many times had the sorceress heard the north wind howl
through the long winter nights without even taking heed of it? But now,
how terror-stricken she was! And as she stood there, trembling from
head to foot, a harsh cry was heard without, and almost immediately
the raven, Hans, dashed wildly into the cavern, and began to describe
wide circles overhead, flapping his wings in a frightened manner, and
uttering dismal croakings.
Yégof turned as pale as a corpse.
"Vòd, Vòd!" he exclaimed, in heartrending tones, "what has thy son
Luitprandt done to thee?"
And for a few seconds he remained as if terror-stricken; but suddenly
seized with a wild enthusiasm, and brandishing his sceptre, he rushed
out of the cavern.
He went straight forward, with outstretched neck and striding step,
like a wild beast marching to his prey. Hans preceded him, fluttering
from place to place.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 10: Storm Witch.]