Heribald and his Guests.
On the little island of Reichenau, it was silent and lonely after the
departure of the inhabitants of the cloister. The weak-minded Heribald
was lord and master of the whole place, and was much pleased with his
solitude. For hours he now sat on the shore, throwing smooth pebbles
over the waves, so that they danced merrily along. When they sank at
once, he scolded them loudly.
With the poultry in the yard, which he fed very regularly, he also
talked a good deal. "If you are very good, and the brothers do not
return," he once said, "Heribald will preach you a sermon."--In the
monastery itself, he also found plenty of amusement, for in a single
day of solitude, a man can hatch a good many useful ideas. The
camerarius had angered him, by refusing to give him the necessary
shoe-leather; so Heribald went up to the cell of the camerarius,
smashed to pieces his large, stone water-jug, as well as his three
flower-pots, and then opening the straw mattress, he took out some of
the straw, and put in the broken crockery instead. Having achieved this
feat, he lay down on it, and on feeling the hard and sharp-edged
contents tolerably unpleasant, he smiled contentedly and betook himself
to the Abbot's apartments.
Towards the Abbot he also bore a grudge, as he was indebted to him for
many a sound whipping; but in his rooms, everything was locked up, and
in excellent order. So nothing was left to him, but to cut off one of
the legs of the cushioned easy-chair. Having done this, he cunningly
placed it back in its old place, as if nothing whatever had happened.
"That will break down nicely with him, when he comes home, and sits
comfortably on it. 'Thou shalt castigate the flesh,' says St. Benedict.
But Heribald has not cut off the chair's foot.--The Huns have done it."
The duty of prayer and psalm-singing he performed regularly, as the
rules of the order prescribed. The seven times for prayer each day,
the solitary man strictly adhered to, as if he could be punished
for missing them; and he descended also every night into the
cloister-church, there to hold the midnight vigil.
At the same hour, when his brothers were carousing in the hall of the
ducal castle with the monks of St. Gall, Heribald was standing in the
choir. The dark, dreary shadows of night enveloped the aisle, in which
the everlasting lamp was dimly burning; but fearlessly and with a clear
voice, Heribald intoned the first verse: "Oh Lord, deliver me from
evil"--and then sang the third psalm, which David had once sung, when
he fled before his son Absalon. When he came to the place where the
antiphon was to fall in, according to custom, he stopped, waiting for
the responses. Everything remained silent and still, however. Heribald
passed his hand over his forehead, and said: "Ah, I forgot! They
are all gone, and Heribald is alone." Then he wanted to sing the
forty-ninth psalm, as the nightly service required,--when the
everlasting lamp went out, a bat having extinguished it with its wings.
Outside, storm and rain were raging. Heavy drops fell on the roof of
the church, and beat against the windows. Heribald began to shudder.
"Holy Benedict," exclaimed he, "be pleased to see that it is not
Heribald's fault, that the antiphon was not sung." He then rose and
walked with careful steps through the dark aisle. A shrill wind
whistled through a little window of the crypt under the high-altar,
producing a howling sound; and as Heribald advanced, a draught caught
his garment. "Art thou come back, thou hellish tempter?" said he, "must
I fight thee once more?"
Undauntedly he stepped back to the altar and seized a wooden crucifix,
which the Abbot had not had taken away. "In the name of the Holy
Trinity, I defy thee, Satanas. Come on, Heribald awaits thee!" With
unabated courage he thus stood on the altar-steps; but though the wind
continued to howl dismally, the Devil did not appear.
"He still remembers the last time," smilingly said the idiot. About a
year ago the Evil One had appeared to him in the shape of a big dog,
barking furiously at him; but Heribald had attacked him with a pole;
and had aimed his blows so well, that the pole broke.
Then Heribald screamed out a number of choice invectives, in the
direction where the wind was moaning; and when even after this, nothing
came to tempt him, he replaced the crucifix on the altar, bent his
knees before it, and then went back to his cell, murmuring the "_Kyrie
eleison_." There he slept the sleep of the just until late in the
morning. The sun was already high in the heavens, when Heribald was
complacently walking up and down, before the monastery. Since the time,
when he had enjoyed an occasional holiday at school, he had seldom had
an opportunity of resting himself. "Idleness is the soul's worst
enemy," St. Benedict had said, and in consequence strictly ordered his
disciples, to fill up the time which was not claimed by devotional
tasks, by the work of their hands. Heribald, not knowing any art or
handicraft, had been employed in cutting wood and in rendering similar
useful, but tiring services;--but now, he paced up and down with
crossed arms before the heaped up log-wood; looking up smilingly at one
of the cloister-windows.
"Why don't you come down, Father Rudimann, and make Heribald cut the
wood? You, who used to keep such excellent watch over the brothers; and
who so often called Heribald a useless servant of the Lord, when he
looked at the clouds, instead of handling the axe. Why don't you attend
to your duty?"
Not even an echo gave answer to the half-witted creature's query; so he
drew out some of the under logs, thus making the whole pile fall
noisily down. "Tumble down if you like," continued he in his soliloquy,
"Heribald has got a holiday, and is not going to put you up again.--The
Abbot has run away, and the brothers have run away also; so it serves
them right, if everything tumbles down."
After these laudable achievements, Heribald directed his steps to the
cloister-garden. Another project now occupied his mind. He intended to
cut a few delicate lettuces for his dinner, and to dress them a good
deal better than they would ever have been done, during the time of the
father head-cook's superintendance. Temptingly the vision rose before
him, how he would not spare the oil-jug, and would pitilessly cut to
pieces some of the biggest onions; when a cloud of dust rose on the
opposite shore and the forms of horses and riders became visible.
"Are you there, already?" said the monk, making the sign of the cross
and then mumbling a hasty prayer; but a few moments later, his face had
resumed its customary smile of contentment.
"Strange wanderers and pilgrims are to meet with a christian reception,
at the gate of any house of the Lord," murmured he. "I will receive
them."
A new idea now crossed his brain, and again passing his hand over his
forehead, he exclaimed: "Have I not studied the history of the
ancients, in the cloister-school, and learned how the Roman Senators
received the invading Gauls?--Dressed in their mantles, the ivory
sceptre in their hands, the venerable men sat in their chairs,
immovable like bronze idols. Ah well, the Latin teacher shall not have
told us in vain, that this was a most worthy reception. Heribald can do
the same!"
A mild imbecility may be an enviable dower, now and then in life. That,
which appears black to others, seems to the half-witted, blue or green,
and if his path be zig-zag, he does not notice the serpents hidden in
the grass; and the precipice into which the wise man inevitably falls,
he stumbles over, without even perceiving the threatening danger....
A curule chair not being just then in the monastery, Heribald pushed a
huge oak stem towards the gate which led into the court-yard. "For what
end have we studied secular history, if we cannot even take counsel by
it?" said he, seating himself quietly on his block, in expectation of
that which was to come.
Opposite on the near shore, a troop of horsemen had stopped. With their
reins slung round their arms, and their arrows ready fastened on their
bows, they had gone on ahead, to reconnoitre the land.' When no
ambuscade came out from behind the willows bordering the lake, they
stopped a while to rest their horses. Then the arrows were put back
into their quivers; the crooked sabres taken between the teeth, and
pressing the spurs into the horses sides, they went into the lake.
Quickly the horses crossed the blue waves. Now the foremost men had
touched the land, and jumping from their saddles, shook themselves
three times, like a poodle coming out of its bath, and then with
piercing, triumphant shouts they approached the monastery.
Like an image of stone, Heribald sat at his post, gazing undauntedly at
the strange figures before him. As yet he had never passed a sleepless
night, musing over the perfection of human beauty, but the faces which
now met his view, struck him as being so very ugly, that he could not
suppress a startled, "Have mercy upon us, oh Lord!"
Partly bent, the strange guests were sitting in their saddles; their
shrunk, meagre little bodies dressed in beasts' skins. From their
square-shaped skulls, black, shaggy hair hung down in wild disorder;
and their unshapely yellow faces, glistened as if they had been
anointed with tallow. One of the foremost had enlarged his
coarse-lipped mouth considerably, by a voluntary cut at the corners,
and from their small, deep-set eyes they looked out suspiciously at the
world.
"To make a Hun, one need only give a square shape to a lump of clay,
put on a smaller lump for a nose, and drive in the chin"--Heribald was
just thinking, when they stood before him. He did not understand their
hissing language, and smiled complacently, as if the whole gang did not
regard him in the least. For a while they kept staring with unbounded
astonishment, at this puzzling specimen of humanity,--as critics are
apt to do at a new poet, of whom they do not as yet know, in what
pigeonhole of ready made judgments they are to put him. At last one of
them beheld the bald place on Heribald's pate, and pointing at it with
his sabre,--upon which the others raised a hoarse laugh,--he seized his
bow and arrow to aim at the monk. But now Heribald's patience had come
to an end, and a feeling of Allemannic pride coming over him as he
confronted this rabble, he jumped up calling out: "By the tonsure of
St. Benedict, the crown of my head shall not be mocked at, by any
heathenish dog!" He had seized the reins of one of the foremost riders,
and snatching away his sabre, was just going to assume an aggressive
attitude, when quicker than lightning, one of the Huns threw a noose
over his head and pulled him down. Then they tied his hands to his
back, and were already raising their death-bringing arms, when a
distant tramping was heard, like the approach of a mighty army. This
occurrence for the moment completely drew off their attention from the
idiot. They threw him like a sack against his oak-trunk, and quickly
galloped back to the shore. The whole body of the Hunnic legion had now
arrived on the opposite shore. The vanguard, by a shrill whistle, gave
the signal that all was safe. At one of the extremities of the island,
overgrown with reeds, they had spied a ford, which could be crossed on
horseback with dry feet. This they showed to their friends, who now
swarmed over like wild bees; many hundred horsemen. Their united forces
had availed nothing against the walls of Augsburg and the Bishop's
prayers; so, divided into several troops, they now ravaged the land.
Their faces, figures and manner of sitting on horseback were all alike,
for with uncultivated races, the features are mostly cast in one mould;
indicating that the vocation of the individual lies in conforming
itself to the mass, instead of contrasting with it.
In the orchards and gardens, where the monks used to recite their
breviaries, Hunnic arms now glistened for the first time. In serpentine
lines, their armed ranks now came up towards the monastery; a wild din
of music, a mixture of cymbals and violins, preceded them; but the
sounds were shrill and sharp, as the ears of the Huns were large, but
not sensitive, and only those, who from some reason or other were unfit
for the duties of a warrior, became musicians.
High over their heads floated their standard, showing a green cat in a
red field, around which some of the chieftains were gathered; Ellak's
and Hornebog's tall figures towering above the rest.
Ellak, with clear features and a straight nose, very unlike that of a
Hun, had had a Circassian mother, to whom he was indebted for his pale
intelligent face with penetrating eyes. He represented the ruling
intellect of the mass. That the old world must be ploughed afresh with
fire and sword, and that it was better to be the plough-man, than to
serve as manure, was his deep-rooted conviction. Hornebog, lean and
lank of figure, wore his long black hair in two solitary curls, one at
each side. Above these, rose the glittering helmet, adorned with two
widely spread out eagles' wings, the emblem of Hunnic horsemanship. To
him the saddle served as home, tent and palace. He shot the bird
flying, and with his sabre could sever the head of an enemy from its
trunk, while galloping past. At his side, hung the six-corded whip, an
ingenious symbol of executive power.
On the backs of the horses belonging to the chieftains, beautifully
woven carpets, as well as chasubles were hanging; a clear proof that
they had already paid visits to other monasteries. The booty was
transported in several waggons, and a considerable and motley crowd of
followers closed the train.
In a cart drawn by mules, amongst copper camp-kettles and other
kitchen-utensils, an old wrinkled woman was sitting. She was shading
her eyes with her right hand, looking towards the sun, in the direction
where the mountain peaks of the Hegau rose into the air. She knew them
well, for the old hag, was the woman of the wood. Banished by Ekkehard,
she had wandered away into stranger lands; vengeance being her first
thought when she awoke in the morning, and her last before she fell
asleep in the evening. Thus she came as far as Augsburg. At the foot of
the hill on which the wooden temple of the Suabian Goddess Zisa had
once stood, the Huns' camp-fires were burning, and with them she
remained.
On a prancing black steed, by the side of the old woman, a young maiden
was gaily riding along. Her skirts were looped up, and she also, seemed
to feel herself perfectly at home in the saddle. Under her short little
nose, there was a lovely pair of red lips; her dark eyes were bright
and sparkling, and her long raven hair hung down in wavy tresses,
interwoven with red ribbons, which merrily floated in the air, like the
streamers of a ship. Over her loose bodice, bow and arrow were hanging,
and thus she managed her horse, a true Hunnic Artemis. This was Erica,
the flower-of-the-heath. She was not of Hunnic origin, having been
picked up as an abandoned child, by some Hunnic riders on the Pannonian
heaths. Thus she had accompanied the Huns and had grown up, hardly
knowing how. Those whom she liked, she caressed, and those who
displeased her, she bit in the arm. Botund the old Hunnic chieftain had
loved her, and was killed for this reason by Irkund the young one. But
when Irkund wanted to enjoy the fruit of this deed, Zobolsus' sharp
lance did him the same service which Irkund had rendered Botund,
without the latter asking for it. Thus Erica's fate had been varied,
new ways! new countries! and new loves!--and she had become part and
parcel of her troop. She was its good spirit and was held in high
veneration.
"As long as the flower-of-the-heath, blooms in our ranks, we shall
conquer the world," said the Huns. "Forwards."
Meanwhile, poor Heribald was still lying in his fetters at the
monastery gate. His meditations were very sad. A big gad-fly, which he
could not drive away with his bound hands, was buzzing round his head.
"Heribald has behaved with dignity," thought he. "Like one of the old
Romans he has sat at the gate to receive the enemy, and now he is lying
bound on the stones, and the gad-fly may sit on his nose quite
unmolested. That is the reward of dignified behaviour. Heribald will
never again be dignified! Amongst hedgedogs, dignity is a most
superfluous thing."
Like a mountain-torrent when the flood-gate has been removed, the
Hunnic tide now streamed into the cloister-yard. At this spectacle, the
good Heribald began to feel really uncomfortable. "Oh, Camerarius,"
continued he in his meditation, "and if thou wouldst refuse me the next
time even the shirt and habit, besides the shoe-leather, then should I
fly nevertheless, a naked man!"
Some of the vanguard then reported to Ellak in what state they had
found the solitary monk. He made a sign for them to bring the prisoner
up before him, upon which they loosened his cords, set him on his feet,
and indicated the direction in which he was to go, by heavy blows.
Slowly the poor wretch advanced, emitting a complaining grunt.
An unspeakably satirical smile played round the Hunnic chieftain's
lips, when the idiot at last stood before him. Negligently dropping his
horse's reins on its neck, he turned round. "See, what a representative
of German art and science looks like," called he out to Erica.
On his numerous piratical expeditions, Ellak had required a scanty
knowledge of the German language. "Where are the inhabitants of this
island?" asked he in a commanding voice.
Heribald pointed over to the distant Hegau.
"Are they armed?"
"The servants of God are always armed, for the Lord is their shield and
sword."
"Well said," laughed the Hun. "Why hast thou remained behind?"
Heribald became embarrassed. He had too much pride to betray the true
reason, viz. his torn shoes, so he replied: "Heribald is curious, and
wanted to see what the sons of the Devil were like."
Ellak translated the monk's polite speech to his companions, who struck
up a loud guffaw.
"You need not laugh," cried Heribald angrily. "We know very well what
you are! Abbot Wazmann has told us."
"I shall have thee killed," said Ellak carelessly.
"That will only serve me right," returned Heribald. "Why did I not fly
with the others?"
Ellak, casting a searching look at the queer fellow, was struck with
another idea. He made a sign to the standard-bearer, who approached,
swinging in the air his flag with the green cat, which had once
appeared to King Attila in his youth. In a dreamy mood, he was sitting
in his uncle Rugilas' tent, reflecting whether he had not better become
a Christian and serve God and science, when the cat came in. Amongst
the treasures of Rugilas, it had found the golden imperial globe, which
had made part of the booty at Byzantium; this it held in its paws and
played with it, rolling it about on the floor. And an inward voice said
to Attila: "Thou shalt not become a monk, but thou shalt play with the
globe of the universe, as the cat does with that golden bauble." Then
he became aware that Kutka, the god of the Huns, had appeared to him,
and so he swang his sword in the direction of the four quarters of the
world,--let his finger-nails grow, and became what he was destined to
become, Attila, King of the Huns, the scourge of God!...
"Kneel down, miserable monk," cried Ellak, "and worship him, whom thou
seest in this flag!"
But Heribald stood immovable.
"I don't know him," said he with a hollow laugh.
"Tis the God of the Huns!" angrily cried the chieftain. "Down on thy
knees cowlbearer, or" ... he pointed to his sword.
Heribald laughed once more, and putting his forefinger to his forehead,
said: "If you think that Heribald is so easily imposed upon, you are
vastly mistaken. It has been written, when God created Heaven and
Earth, and darkness was upon the face of the deep, He said: let there
be light! Now if God were a cat he would not have said: let there be
light! Heribald will not kneel down ..."
A Hunnic rider, who had stealthily approached the monk, now pulled his
garment, and whispered in an excellent Suabian dialect in his ear:
"countryman, I would kneel down, if I were in your place. They are
dangerous people." The warner's real name was Snewelin, and his
birthplace was Ellwangen in Riesgau, but in the course of time he had
dropt his Suabian nationality and had become a Hun; which
transformation had rather improved his outward fortunes. When he spoke,
his voice had something windy about it, which was caused by his having
lost four front-teeth, besides several back ones; and this had been the
principal reason why he had became a Hun. In his younger days namely,
when he was still earning a peaceful livelihood in the capacity of
cart-driver of the Salvator convent, he had been sent northwards, with
a cart-load of choice Neckar-wine, to the great market at Magdeburg; a
well armed escort, accompanying him. To that town, the priests of the
heathenish Pomeranians and Wends, always resorted to buy their
libation-wine, and Snewelin made an excellent bargain, when he sold his
wine to the white-bearded upperpriest of the three-headed God Triglaff,
for the great temple at Stettin. But afterwards, he remained sitting
over the wine with the white-bearded heathen, who, being a great friend
of the Suabian nectar, soon became enthusiastic, singing the praises of
his native land, and saying that the world was infinitely more advanced
in their parts, between the Oder and the Spree. He tried moreover to
convert Snewelin to the worship of Triglaff the three-headed one, and
to that of the black and white Sun-god Radegast, as well as to
Radomysl, the Goddess of lovely thoughts,--but this was rather too
much for the man of Ellwangen. "You infamous heathenish swindler,"
exclaimed he, first upsetting the wine-table, and then flying at
him--as the young knight Siegfried did at the wild, long-bearded dwarf
Alberich,--he wrestled with him, and at one strong tug pulled out the
half of his grey beard. But his antagonist, calling on Triglaff to help
him, dealt him a blow on the mouth with his iron-plated staff, which
for ever destroyed the beauty of his teeth; and before the toothless
Suabian cart-driver had recovered from the blow, his white-bearded
antagonist had vanished, so that he could not take revenge on him. But
when Snewelin walked out of the gates of Magdeburg, he shook his fists
northwards, and said: "we two shall meet again, some day!"
In his native town, he was much laughed at on account of his lost
teeth, and so, to escape the continual ridicule, he went amongst the
Huns, hoping that perhaps some day, when these should direct their
steps northwards, he would be able to settle a heavy account with the
three-headed Triglaff and all his worshippers.
Heribald, however, did not heed the curious horseman's warning. The
woman of the wood had meanwhile got down from her cart, and approached
Ellak. With a sinister grin she looked at the monk. "I have read in the
stars, that by the hands of such bald-headed men, evil will befall us,"
cried she. "To prevent the coming danger, you ought to hang up this
miserable creature before the cloister-gate, with his face turned
towards yonder mountains!"
"Hang him up," echoed many voices in the crowd, the pantomime of the
old woman, having been understood. Ellak once more turned his head
towards Erica. "This monster has also got principles," said he
tauntingly. "It would save his life, and yet he refuses to bend his
knees. Shall we have him hanged, flower-of-the-heath?"
Heribald's life was hanging on a very slender thread. Round about, he
saw nothing but stern pitiless faces; his courage began to fail him,
and the tears came into his eyes; but in the hour of danger, even the
most foolish are often guided by a happy instinct. Like a star, the
red-cheeked face of Erica shone before him, and with frightened steps
he quickly approached her. To kneel before her, was not such a
difficult task to him; her sweet looks inspiring him with confidence.
With outstretched arms he implored her assistance.
"There!" cried the flower-of-the-heath, "the man of the island is by no
means so foolish as he looks. He prefers kneeling to Erica, instead of
the green and red flag." She smiled graciously on the pitiful
suppliant, and jumping from the saddle, she patted him as if he were
some half wild animal. "Don't be afraid," said she, "thou shalt live,
poor old black-coat!" and Heribald could read in her eyes, that she
meant what she said. He pointed to the woman of the wood, who had
frightened him most. Erica shook her head; "she shall not harm
thee." Then Heribald briskly ran to the wall, near which lilacs and
spring-roses were already blooming, and hastily tearing off some of
their branches, he presented them to the Hunnic maiden.
A loud shout of delight rang through the cloister-yard. "Hail to the
flower-of-the-heath," cried they all, clashing their arms together.
"Why don't you shout likewise," whispered the man from Ellwangen into
Heribald's ear. So he also raised his voice to a hoarse "hurrah!" with
tears glistening in his eyes.
The Huns had unsaddled their horses, and very much resembled a pack of
hounds, which, in the evening at the end of the sport, are waiting for
the entrails of the deer which has been killed. Here and there, one is
pulling at the cord that restrains him,--there another is barking
fiercely with impatience. With similar feelings the Huns stood before
the monastery. At last Ellak gave the signal, that the pillage might
begin. In wild disorder they then ran forwards, up the staircase, and
along the passage into the church. Confused cries, of expected booty
and disappointed hopes, resounded everywhere. Then they examined the
cells of the brotherhood, but here also, nothing was found, except the
scanty furniture.
"Show us the treasury," said they to Heribald, who complied with this
wish willingly enough, as he well knew that all that was precious had
been taken away. Only a few plated candlesticks, and the big emerald of
coloured glass, was still there.
"Miserable convent! The set of beggars!" called out one, giving a kick
with his iron-clad foot to the false jewel, so that it became cracked.
Heribald was rewarded by sundry heavy blows, so he stole sorrowfully
away, as soon as an opportunity offered.
In the cross-passage he met Snewelin, who accosted him, with:
"countryman, I am an old wine-merchant, tell me where your cellar may
be?" Heribald led him down and chuckled contentedly when he saw that
the chief entrance had been walled up. With a knowing look he winked at
the fresh lime, as if to say, that he well knew its secret. The man of
Ellwangen without much ado, now cut off the seals on one of the tuns,
tapped it and filled his helmet. This he raised to his lips, and took a
long, long draught. "Oh Hahnenkamm and Heidenheim!"[11] exclaimed he,
shivering as with the ague, "for this beverage, I verily need not have
become a Hun!" He then ordered his companions to carry up the vats, but
Heribald stepping forwards, pulled his gown, and anxiously said: "Allow
me, good man, but what am I to drink when you are gone away?"
Snewelin laughingly reported the monk's scruples to the others. "The
fool must keep something," they said, putting back the smallest tun
unopened. This kindness touched Heribald so much, that he fervently
shook hands with them.
Upstairs in the court-yard, a wild shouting was now heard. Some, who
had searched the church, I had also lifted a grave-stone, from under
which a bleached skull grinned at them, out of its dark cowl. This
spectacle frightened even the Huns. Two of the gang went up to the
belfry, the steeple of which was adorned with a gilt weathercock,
according to custom. Whether they took it to be the protecting God of
the monastery, or imagined it to be real gold, they climbed up the
roof, and audaciously sitting there, tried to bring the cock down with
their lances. But now a sudden giddiness came over them. One, let his
raised arm sink;--a stagger,--a cry; and he fell down, quickly followed
by the other. With broken necks they lay in the cloister-yard.
"A bad omen," said Ellak to himself. The Huns uttered a dismal howl,
but a few moments later, the accident was entirely forgotten. The
sword had ravished so many of their companions from their side; so
what mattered two more, or less? The bodies were carried into the
cloister-garden. With the logs which Heribald had upset in the early
morning, a funeral-pile was erected; the books which had been left in
the libraries, were thrown down from the windows, and were made use of
in filling up the gaps between the logs,--an excellent burning
material!
Ellak and Hornebog were walking together through the ranks. Squeezed in
between the logs, a neatly written manuscript with shining golden
initials, peeped out. Hornebog, drawing his sword, pierced the
parchment with it, and presented it to his companion, stuck on the
point of the blade.
"What do these hooks and chickens' feet mean, Sir Brother?" asked he.
Ellak took the manuscript, and glanced over some of its pages. He also
knew Latin.
"Western wisdom," replied he. "A man, named Boethius, wrote it, and it
contains many fine things about the comfort of Philosophy."
"Phi--losophy," slowly repeated Hornebog, "what does that mean, Sir
Brother?"
"It does not mean a fair woman, nor yet firewater either," was Ellak's
reply. "It will be difficult to describe it in the Hunnic language ...
but if a man does not know wherefore he is in the world, and stands on
his head to find out the reason, that is near about what they call
Philosophy in these western lands. He, who comforted himself with it,
in his tower at Pavia, was after all killed for it." ...
"And that served him right!" exclaimed Hornebog. "He, who holds a sword
in his hand, and feels a horse between his thighs, knows why he is in
the world; and if we did not know the reason better than those, who
smear such hooks on asses' skins, then _they_ would be on our heels at
the Danube, and our horses would not drink their fill out of the
Suabian sea."
"Don't you think, that it is very lucky that such trash is made?"
continued Ellak, throwing back the manuscript on to the funeral-pile.
"Why so?" asked Hornebog.
"Because the hand which guides the pen is never fit to handle the sword
so as to make a good gash in the flesh; and when once the nonsense
which is concocted by one single head, is written down, then at least a
hundred others will muddle their brains with it. A hundred blockheads
more make a hundred soldiers less, which is clearly enough our
advantage, whenever we choose to make an invasion. 'As long as they
write books and hold synods in the West, my children may safely carry
their tents forwards!' that's what the great Attila himself said."
"Praised be the great Attila!" said Hornebog, reverently, when a voice
called out, "Let the dead rest!" and with dancing steps, Erica came
towards the two chieftains. She had mustered the cloister-booty, and an
altar-cloth of red silk, finding grace in her eyes, she put it on like
a mantle; the corners lightly thrown back over her shoulders.
"How do I look?" said she, turning her little head complacently about.
"The flower-of-the-heath does not require any tinsel belonging to
Suabian idolators, to please us," sternly replied Ellak. Upon this, she
jumped up at him, to pat and stroke his lank black hair, and then
called out, "come along, the meal is ready prepared."
Then they went all three to the court-yard. All the hay which could be
found, the Huns had strewn about, lying down on it and waiting for the
repast. With crossed arms, Heribald stood in the background, looking
down at them. "The heathenish dogs cannot even sit down like
Christians, when they are about to eat their daily bread," he thought,
taking good care, however, not to utter his thoughts aloud. The
experience of former blows, had taught him silence.
"Lie down blackcoat, thou mayest eat also," cried Erica, making a sign
to him to follow the example of the others. He looked at the man of
Ellwangen, who was lying there with crossed legs, as if he had never
known what it was to sit otherwise. So Heribald tried to follow his
example; but he very soon got up again, as this position seemed too
undignified to him. So he fetched a chair out of the monastery, and sat
down upon it.
A whole ox had been roasted on a spit, and whatever else they had found
in the cloister-kitchen, served to complete the repast; and they fell
to, ravenously. The meat was cut off with their short sabres, the
fingers serving as knife and fork. In the middle of the court-yard, the
big wine-tun stood upright, everyone taking as much as he liked. Here
and there, a finely wrought chalice was used as a drinking cup.
Heribald also, had as much wine as he wished for, but when with inward
contentment he was just beginning to sip at it, a half gnawed bone flew
at his head. With a sorrowful look of surprise, he gazed up, and beheld
that many another met with the same fate. To throw bones at each other,
was a Hunnic custom, which served as dessert.
When the wine was beginning to tell on them, they began a rough and
unmelodious singing. Two of the younger horsemen sang an old song in
honour of King Attila, in which it was said, that he had not only been
a conqueror with the sword, but also a conqueror of hearts. Then
followed a taunting verse, on a Roman Emperor's sister, who, charmed
with him by hearsay, fell in love with him at a distance, and offered
her heart and hand to him, which however he refused.
The chorus which followed it, strongly resembled the screeching of owls
and the croaking of toads. When this was finished, some of the men
approached Heribald, and made him understand that he also was expected
to give them a song. He began to refuse, but this availed him nothing.
So he sang in an almost sobbing voice, the antiphon in honour of the
holy cross, beginning with the "_sanctifica nos_."
With mute astonishment, the drunken men, listened to the long-drawn
notes of the old church-music, which sounded like the voice of the
preacher in the wilderness. With rising anger, the woman of the wood,
sitting beside the copper-kettle, heard it. Grasping her knife, she
stealthily approached Heribald from behind, and seizing his hair,
wanted to cut off his curls,--the greatest insult that could be offered
to a consecrated head. But Heribald vigorously pushed her back, and
chanted on, nothing daunted, which mightily pleased the assembly, so
that they gave a shout of delight. Cymbals and violins also resounded
again, and now Erica, who had become tired of the monotonous chant,
approached Heribald. With a look that combined both archness and pity,
she seized him by the arm, and drawing him into the midst of the wild
dance which was now beginning, she called out. "Singing must always be
followed by dancing!" Heribald did not know what to do, while the
flower-of-the-heath was all eagerness to begin. "It matters little
whether Heribald dances or not, it will be only another small link in
the chain of abominations," he finally thought; so he bravely stamped
the ground with his sandal-clad feet, his habit flying about him.
Tighter and tighter he pressed the Hunnic maiden's waist, and who knows
what might still have happened, if she had not, with heightened colour
and panting bosom, finally stopt herself. Giving her partner a little
parting slap in the face, she ran off to the chieftains, who with
serious faces were looking on at the frolics.
The shouts were dying out now; the fumes of the wine being danced off.
So Ellak gave the order to burn the dead. In a moment's time, the whole
troop were seated on horseback, and riding in closed ranks to the
funeral-pile. The horses of the two deceased men, were then stabbed by
the eldest amongst the Huns, and laid beside their late masters bodies.
Calling out some monstrous conjurations, he lifted the firebrand and
lighted the pile. Boethius' "comfort of Philosophy," pinelogs,
manuscripts and corpses vied with each other, which could burn the
brightest, and a mighty pillar of flames and smoke, rose up to the sky.
With wrestling, warlike exercises and races, the memory of the dead was
celebrated. The sun had sunk far down in the west, and so the whole
body of Huns entered the monastery, there to pass the night.--
It was on the Thursday before Easter, when all this happened on the
island of Reichenau. The tidings of this invasion soon reached the
fishermen's huts around Radolfszell. When Moengal, the parish-priest,
held the early morning-service, he still counted six of his flock, but
in the afternoon, there were only three; including himself.
Gloomily he sat in the little room in which he had once hospitably
entertained Ekkehard, when the pillar of smoke from the Hunnic
funeral-pile rose into the air. It was dense and black enough for him
to suppose the whole monastery to be in flames, and the scent of
burning came over the lake.
"Hihahoi!!" cried Moengal, "_jam proximus ardet Ucalegon_, already it
is burning at neighbour Ucalogon's! Then it is time for me also to get
ready. Out with ye now, my old Cambutta!"
Cambutta, however, was no serving maid, but a huge bludgeon, a real
Irish shilelah, and Moengal's favourite weapon. The chalice and
ciborium, he packed up and put into his leathern game-bag. This was all
he possessed of gold or silver. Then he called his hounds, his hawk and
two falcons together, and giving them all the meat and fish his pantry
boasted, he said: "Children, eat as much as ever you can, so that
nothing is left for those cursed plagues, when they come!"
The vat in the cellar, he knocked to pieces, so that the sparkling wine
streamed forth. "Not a drop of wine shall the devils drink, in
Moengal's house." Only the jug which contained the vinegar, was left in
its place. On the fresh, delicious butter in the wooden tun, he emptied
a basket full of ashes. His fishing-tackle and other sporting-utensils
he buried in the ground; then he smashed the windows, and strewed the
fragments about in the room. Some he even put into the chinks of the
floor, with the points turned upwards,--all in honour of the Huns! Hawk
and falcons then received their liberty. "Farewell!" cried he, "and
keep near, for soon you will get dead heathens to pick!"
So his house was put in order. Hanging the game-bag, as well as a
Hibernian canteen, over his shoulders, with two spears in his hands,
and Cambutta fastened on his back,--thus old Moengal walked out of his
parsonage, which had been his home for so many years; a valiant
champion of the Lord!
He had already gone on a few paces through the smoke-darkened
atmosphere, when he suddenly stopped short, saying: "Wait a bit, I have
forgotten something."
So he quickly retraced his steps, murmuring: "The yellow-faced rascals
shall at least find some written words of welcome."
Arrived at his door, he drew a piece of red chalk from his pocket, and
therewith wrote in large Irish characters a few words on the grey
sandstone slab over the portal. Later rains have washed them away, and
nobody has ever read them, but no doubt it was a significant greeting,
which old Moengal left behind him in Irish runes.--Quickening his pace,
he then took the direction of the Hohentwiel.