The old Man of the Heidenhoehle.
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 Heidenhoehle," 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 Rhaetian 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 Heidenhoehlen 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 Heidenhoehle."
"To the old man of the Heidenhoehle?" 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 of _neque 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; but _that_
had 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
Caesars ... 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 Heidenhoehlen, 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 Heidenhoehlen; 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 Heidenhoehlen. 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 Heidenhoehle 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:
"Arise ye men of Germany, ye warriors gay;
With warlike song, and watchman's call, drive sleep away!
At ev'ry hour make the round, from gate to wall,
Lest unawares the enemy, upon you fall.
From walls and towers then be heard, _eia vigila!_
The echoes all repeating, _eia vigila!_"
It was the song which the night-guards sang at Mutina in Italy, while
the Huns were attacking the town in which the Bishop resided. The monk
had stood himself on guard at the gate of St. Geminianus, three years
ago, and well knew the hissing of the Hunnic arrows; and when a
presentiment of new battles, is so to say in the air, the old songs
rise again in the minds of men.