One expects steady weather in October; so it was really not
extraordinary that the next morning should break fair and quiet, with a
sunny haze lying over the river. Nevertheless, Maggie rejoiced.
"What a pleasant day we had yesterday!" she exclaimed, as the party sat
at breakfast.
"Are not all your days pleasant?" said Meredith.
"Yes, but yesterday was uncommon. O Ditto! we didn't look at the map
last night!"
"We were looking at stones."
"Yes, but we must look at the map after breakfast. I want to find all
those places."
"Take time," said Meredith, "and eat your breakfast. Lueneburg heath will
not run away."
But, after breakfast, indeed, the great atlas was fetched out to the
sunny terrace in front of the house and laid on a settee, and Maggie and
Meredith sat down before the map of Germany with business faces.
"Now, here is the Elbe," said Maggie, "it is big enough to be seen; here
is the mouth of it, just in a corner under Denmark, where those ships
went from."
"What ships?"
"Why, the ships in which the Saxons went over to England--the Saxons
that conquered England, Meredith."
"You do remember," said Meredith smiling. "It is worth while reading to
you."
"They sailed from the mouths of the Elbe and the Weser--and here is the
Weser. The mouths are pretty near together. Now, between the Elbe and
the Weser were--which Saxons, Ditto?"
"Towards the Elbe and beyond it were the Eastphalians; those our story
belongs to, among whom Landolf went."
"Well, here is the Aller, Ditto! they lived _there_, you know; that is
pretty far west. And here is Hermannsburg! Oh, I am glad we have found
that. And here is Lueneburg--all over here, I suppose. I suppose we
couldn't find the stone-houses, Ditto?"
"I suppose not. But here is Verden on the Aller, Maggie, where
Charlemagne had those 4500 Saxons hewed to pieces. And here are
Osnabrueck and Detmold, where the Saxons beat him again, and took the
4000 captives that they slew at the stone-houses."
"Horrid Charlemagne!"
"It was all horrid, what concerned the fighting. But here is Minden,
Maggie, from which good Landolf set out in his little boat, and dropped
down the Weser to go to the East Saxons."
"And, then, when he got to the Aller he went up _that_; then he had to
row hard, I guess."
"I guess he did a good deal of hard rowing, first and last, Maggie."
"Then to get to the stone-houses he went further up the Aller and turned
into the Oerze. Here is the Oerze! Then the stone-houses must be
somewhere hereabouts, Ditto; for they are not very far from
Hermannsburg."
"There is the little river Wieze, Maggie; and here, where it flows into
the Oerze, was that oak wood, sacred to Thor, where the village of Mueden
now is. And here is the village of Munster where Freija was honoured.
All over the land, then, it was wild country, woods and morasses. And
now--think what Germany is!"
"What is it, Ditto?"
"It is the land of Thought, and Art, and Learning, and Criticism."
"Look here!" broke in a lively voice behind them. "Do you know the sun
is getting up in the sky? and we have settled nothing. And here are two
heads over a map!"
"It would not hurt a third head," said Meredith. "And Maggie and I have
settled a good deal, thank you."
"But where are we going to-day?"
"Yes," added Esther behind, "where are we going? I think it is time to
be getting ready, because it takes us a good while."
"Esther," said Maggie, "Fairbairn and the men are going over to the pine
terrace to cut down some trees papa wants cut; let us go there and have
a big bonfire, and then Ditto will have plenty of coals for his friar's
omelet."
"Betsey is making us a chicken pie."
"Well, the omelet will do no harm besides."
"No. It is a good way over to the pine terrace."
"I don't care how far it is. So much the better. It is nice walking. Do
you care, Flora?"
"She don't care," said Meredith. "Come, let us load up. If we have a
journey before us, best be about it."
"And then, Esther," Maggie went on, "we can go to the Lookout rock to
read."
"It will be sunny there."
"Well, it's all nice on the pine terrace, and we can find plenty of
shade. Now, then, Ditto--if you'll bring up the waggon."
The business of loading-up began. There were always some varieties every
time. To-day a basket of sweet potatoes formed one item, going to be
roasted in the great fire-heap which would be left from the bonfire. A
great chicken pie, fresh and hot, was carefully wrapped up and put in.
Meredith provided a hatchet to trim branches with. Worsted work and
afghan, of course; but the only book was in Meredith's pocket. The cart
was quite loaded when all was done; for you know, cups and saucers and
plates weigh heavy, if you put enough of them together, and the chicken
pie in the dish was a matter of a good many pounds, and potatoes are
heavy, too. Somebody had to carry the bottle of cream, and Fairbairn
went laden with a pail of water.
The day was just another like the day before, but the direction of the
walk was different. The party turned to the left instead of to the
right, and leaving the flower-beds and shrubbery, entered a pretty
winding road which curled about through a grove of red cedars. The air
was spicy, dry and warm. A soft, rather thick, haze filled the air,
turning the whole world into a sort of fairy land. The hills looked
misty, the river still and dreamy; outlines were softened, colours were
grown tender. The happy little party, it is true, gave not much heed to
this bewitchment of nature, with the one exception of Meredith; Flora
and Esther were in a contented state of practical well-being which had
no sentiment in it; Maggie and her dog were a pair for jocund spirits
and thoughtless delight-taking. They both went bounding about, very much
taken up with each other; while Meredith pulled the cart steadily on and
feasted mentally on every step of the way. The road brought them soon to
the neighbourhood of the river again, and ran along a grassy bank which
sloped gently down to the edge of the water. The green sward was dotted
with columnar red cedars, growing to a height of thirty feet, with a
diameter of two or two and a half all the way, straight as a pillar. On
the other hand a low, rocky height grown with oaks and hemlocks overhung
the valley, and the rocky ridge seemed to sweep round to the front of
them in a wide amphitheatre, giving a sky-line of variegated colour,
soft and glowing under the haze. Travelling on, they got next into a
wood and lost the river. Here all was wild; the ground strewn with rock
and encumbered with low growth of huckleberry bushes, brambles, and
ferns. The road, however, was good; and Meredith drew the cart without
any difficulty. After a time the ground began to rise, for, in fact,
they were approaching the further end of the rocky ridge before
mentioned, where it swept round to the river. Midway of the height the
hill shelved into a wide plateau or terrace; at the back of it the
sharp, rocky hillside, in front of it a green slope leading down to the
river. The ground on the plateau was gravelly and poor; it gave foothold
to little beside white and yellow pines, which in places stood thick, in
other places parted and opened for spaces of mossy turf, where the too
shallow soil would not nourish them. Here, there was a wild wilderness
of natural beauty. Now and then a lovely low-growing white pine
spreading abroad its bluish-green branches; in other parts scraggy,
tall-shooting specimens of the yellow variety; at the hill-foot and on
the rocky hillside golden hickories and brown oaks and flaunting maples.
The turf was dry and warm, being in fact half moss; the openings and
glades allured the party from one sweet resting spot into another.
"We may as well stop here," said Flora at last. "We might go round and
round all day, it is all so pretty. We must stop somewhere, if we are to
have any reading."
"Let us go over yonder to the edge of the bank," said Meredith, "where
we can have a view of the river."
At the edge of the bank the cedars began to occupy the ground, and
indeed hindered the view, but a few strokes of Fairbairn's axe set that
right, and the party sat down in the shade of some taller trees with a
lookout over the pretty conical cedars (not columnar here) down to the
water, and across to the green and gold promontory which on the other
side of the river closed the view. The girls got out their work. Maggie
sat down panting after a race with Rob Roy. Meredith lounged upon the
mossy bank and looked lazy. Presently the strokes of a couple of axes
began to break the silence. One, two; one, two; one, two----
"It only wanted that!" he exclaimed.
"What!" said Esther.
"That chopping. That ring of the axes. It completes the charm. This is
elysium!"
"We have got to make our bonfire!" said Maggie starting.
"Wait,--not yet; they have not cut down a single tree yet. Hark! there
it goes, crashing down. They have got to trim it yet, Maggie, before
there will be anything to burn."
"And they must cut and trim a good many trees before there will be
enough to begin," said Esther. "It is more fun to have plenty to pile on
at once."
"Then we shall wait a good while for our dinner," said Maggie.
"Are you hungry? It is only half-past eleven."
"No, I am not hungry yet, but a bonfire takes a good while, you know,
and I want to get to the reading."
"Come! we might read an hour," said Meredith rousing himself up.
"No, Ditto, that would bring it to half-past twelve, and that would
never do."
"Well, then, I will go trim, and we'll have the bonfire going in a few
minutes. Where will you have it?"
Maggie sought out a good spot, while Meredith took his hatchet and went
to work, clearing the lopped branches of their smaller leafy twigs which
were for the fire, and cutting in two the branches which were not worth
trimming. There was a nice piece of work then to drag them to the
bonfire place, for it was needful to choose an open, free space for
making the fire, where the flames would not mount or be blown into the
tops of trees that were to be left standing, and so scorch and injure
them. No such open space was at command in the close neighbourhood of
the cutting, so the stuff for the fire had to be transported some
distance. Maggie and Meredith worked away at it, and Maggie called
Esther and Meredith summoned Flora to help; and soon they were all
heartily engaged, and running to and fro with armfuls, or dragging
behind them on the ground the heavy umbrageous branches they might not
carry. Presently Meredith stopped and collected a little bunch of dry
sticks and leaves which he heaped together, tucked paper under, and laid
crisp hemlock and cedar cuttings on top. Then a match was kindled and
fire applied. They all watched to see it, lighting, crackling,
smoking,--then the slender upshoot of flame--and Meredith began to pile
on pine branches thick and fast. At first rose a thick column of smoke,
for the fuel was fat and resinous and the fire had not got under way.
Redoubling, soft, black and brown reeking curls, through which the sun
shot his beams here and there lighting them up to golden amber. "What
tints and what forms!" Meredith exclaimed. And then another light and
another colour began to come into the others; tiny up-darting shoots of
fire, another illumination rivalling and contrasting with the sunlight
which struck the column higher up. Meredith stood still to watch it,
while even Flora and Esther were dragging more branches of yellow pine
to the fire and throwing them on emulously, till the pile grew and grew,
and Maggie was working her cheeks into a purple state with her
exertions. Half-a-dozen thick pine branches flung on, and the fire would
be stifled and the smoke rise thicker and blacker, with the sunlight
always catching the upper curls; then crackling and snapping and
breathing, the fire would get hold, get the better, mount through the
thick, encumbering piney foliage, and dart its slender living spires up
into the column of smoke again.
"Do see how he stands!" cried Flora. "Ditto, why don't you work?"
"I am looking."
"Did you never see a bonfire before?"
"Never such a beauty of a one."
"Beauty!" said Flora, coming to his side to look--"where is the beauty?
It is just a good fire. You are a ridiculous boy, Meredith. Go to work."
"Oh, don't you think it is pretty?" cried Maggie, throwing down her last
burden and panting. "I think it is _lovely_! And do you smell how sweet
it is, Flora?"
"She is a poor girl without nose or eyes," said Meredith. "Well, here
goes!"
Taking hold of the work again, his powerful arms flung the branches and
tops of pine on the burning heap, while the girls ran for more. It took
a strong arm now, for the fire was so large and so fierce that one could
not come nigh it. Meredith kept the girls all at a distance and himself
fed the flames, till all the present stock of fuel was laid on, and the
wood-choppers went off to their dinner. There was no more to be done
then but to watch the show, and as the fire began to lessen and die
down, find a spot where the tea-kettle might be set, at the edge of the
glowing heap. It was no use to begin to read, they all agreed, till
they had their dinner. And soon the coffee could be made; and the four
enjoyed their meal as only those can who have worked for it. They had
their chicken pie and their roasted sweet potatoes, the omelet they for
to-day dispensed with, being all tired. They took their dinner on the
bank, there where they could look away down to the river and see the
hilly shores beyond on the other side; and Meredith averred that sweet
potatoes never were so sweet before.
"Such air!" said he; "and such colouring!"
"And it is just warm enough," added Maggie.
"Well, I have got cooled off now," said Flora, "but I consider feeding
bonfires to be hot work."
Then, when dinner was over, and the things packed into the cart, they
arranged themselves on the moss in a delicious feeling of resting and
refreshed langour; the girls took out their fancy work, and Meredith
opened his book. Maggie, who did not trouble herself about fancy work,
crept close to his side and looked with fascinated eyes at the strange
characters out of which he brought such delightful things to her ears.
"'It was about the year 940, according to the chronicle, that a boy of
thirteen or fourteen years old was herding his father's cattle on the
waste land not far from Hermannsburg, when there came along a splendid
train of armed cavaliers riding their horses proudly. The boy looks with
delight on the shining helmets and coats of mail, the glittering spears
and the stately horsemen, and the thought rises in his heart--"Now that
looks something like!" All of a sudden the horsemen quit the road, which
here wound about crookedly, and come riding across country, over the
open land where he is keeping his cattle. That seems to him too bad, for
the field is no highway, and the ground belongs to his father. He
considers a moment, then goes forward to meet the riders, plants himself
in their course, and calls out to them--"Turn back! the road is yours,
the field is mine." There is a tall man riding at the head of the troop,
on whose brow a grave majesty is enthroned, he looks wonderingly at the
boy who has dared to put himself in his way. He checks his horse, taking
a certain pleasure in the spirited little fellow, who returns his look
so boldly and fearlessly and never budges from his place.
"'"Who are you, boy?"
"'"I am Hermann Billing's oldest son, and my name is Hermann too, and
this field is my father's, and you must not ride over it."
"'"But I will, boy," answered the rider with threatening sternness. "Get
out of the way, or I throw you down"--and with that he lifts his spear.
The boy, however, stands fearlessly still, looks up at the horseman with
eyes of fire and says--
"'"Right is right; and you have no business to ride over this field, you
shall ride over me if you do."
"'"What do you know about the right, boy?"
"'"My father is the Billing, and I shall be Billing after him," answered
the boy, "and nobody may do a wrong before a Billing."
"'Then still more threateningly the rider called out--"Is _this_ right
then, boy, to refuse obedience to your king? I am your king, Otto."
"'"You Otto? our king? the shield of Germany and the flower of the
Saxons, that my father tells us so much about? Otto the son of Heinrich
the Saxon? No, that you are not. Otto the king guards the right, and you
are doing the wrong. Otto don't do that, my father says."
"'"Take me to your father, my good boy," answered the king, and an
unwonted gentleness and kindliness beamed upon his stern face.
"'"Yonder is my father's dwelling-house, you can see it," said Hermann,
"but my father has trusted the cattle here to me and I cannot leave
them, so I cannot bring you there. But if you are King Otto, turn off
out of the field into the road, for the king guards the law."
"'And King Otto the first, surnamed the Great, obeyed the boy's voice,
for the boy was in the right, and rode back to the road. Presently
Hermann was fetched from the field. The king had gone into his father's
house and had said to him, "Billing, give me your oldest son and let him
go with me, I will have him brought up at court, he is going to be a
true man, and I have need of true men." And what true Saxon could refuse
anything to a king like Otto?
"'So the brave boy was to journey forward with his king, and when Otto
asked him, "Hermann, will you go with me?" the boy answered gladly, "I
will go with you; you are the king, for you protect the right."
"'So King Otto took the boy along with him, that he might have him
brought up to be a faithful and capable servant of the crown. Otto was
allied in the bonds of warmest friendship with Adaldag, the archbishop
of Bremen, a man who was distinguished for his learning, his piety, and
a lively zeal for the spread of Christianity among the then heathen
Danes and Norsemen. Otto could not confide the boy who had become so
dear to him to a better teacher; and so he sent him to Adaldag at
Bremen. Adaldag, too, recognised the great gifts which God had bestowed
on the boy, and had him instructed under his own eye by the most able
ecclesiastics; among whom a certain _Raginbrand_ is especially named,
who later was appointed to be bishop and preacher to the heathen in
Denmark, and laboured there with great faithfulness and a great
blessing. In Bremen Hermann grew up to be a good young man, loving his
Saviour from his heart; but also he was instructed in the use of arms
and in the business of the state, for Adaldag was at that time one of
King Otto's most confidential advisers. And now Otto took the young
Hermann into his court; and soon could perceive that he had not deceived
himself when his acuteness discerned the boy's lofty nature. Spirit,
daring, and keen intelligence shot in fire from the young man's blue
eyes; his uncommonly fine figure had been grandly developed by knightly
exercises; and, with all that, he was so humble-hearted, and attached to
his benefactor with such grateful, touching devotion, that Otto's eyes
rested on him with pleasure, and he often called Hermann his truest
friend, even called him "his son." But the loveliest thing in Hermann
was, that he never forgot his origin: he showed the most charming
kindness to those who were poor and mean; so that high and low at the
king's court respected as much as they loved him. So he mounted from
step to step, was dubbed a knight, attended the king on his journeys and
campaigns, and the king even intrusted to him the education of his two
sons Wilhelm and Ludolf. Still later he administered the most important
offices of state to the satisfaction of the king; and often travelled
through the country of the Saxons as _Graf_, _i.e._, a judge.
"'That is: The judgment of criminal cases, or the tribunal of life and
death, in the whole German fatherland was vested in the king alone.
Therefore at certain times the royal judges made a progress through the
entire German country. They were called _Grawen_, from the word _graw_
or _grau_' (that means, 'grey,' Maggie,) 'because ordinarily old,
experienced, eminent men were chosen for the office. These courts for
cases of life and death were holden by the Grafs under the open sky, in
public, and in full daylight, so that the judgment pronounced could be
at once carried into execution. Our chronicle takes this occasion to
relate a story about our Hermann Billing, which sets in a clear light
the pure character of this admirable man. In his journeyings as Graf, he
came also to his native place, to Harm's _ouden dorp_. It was then long
after his father's death; and as head of the family he had distributed
his seven manor-farms, as fiefs, partly to his brothers, partly to other
near relations. The great honours to which Hermann had been elevated had
become the ruin of these men; they behaved themselves proudly towards
their neighbours, and even took unrighteous ways to enlarge their
boundaries, secure in the belief that no one would dare to call them in
question about it, whilst they had such a powerful brother and kinsman.
Now, when Hermann, after the accustomed fashion, was holding the
criminal court on the _Grawenberg_ (where now the _grauen_ farm lies,
half an hour from Hermannsburg) there presented himself a certain
Conrad, a freiling, that is, a free man, and accused the holders of
Hermann's fiefs, that they had by violent and unjust means taken from
him half his farm and joined it to their own estates.
"'Hermann's face, at other times so gentle and kind, grew dark, and with
deep sadness but with a lofty severity he ordered his brothers and
kinsmen to be brought before him. Conrad's charge was proved to be true,
for the Billings could not lie, even if they had done injustice. And
what did Hermann? When the acts of violence that his brothers and
relations had done were proved, great tears flowed down the cheeks of
the tall strong man, and he cried out with a voice which his tears half
choked, "Could you do that, and bear the name of Billing!" He said no
more, but was seen to fold his hands and pray with the greatest
earnestness. Then he spoke: "My brothers and kinsmen, make your peace
now with God; we look upon each other for the last time. You are guilty
of death; you must die; you have doubly deserved death, because you are
of the race of Billing."
"'The priests, who were always in attendance on the tribunal of life and
death where Hermann was the judge, came forward; in the grounds of the
court they received the criminals' confession, and upon their penitent
acknowledgment of their sin, gave them assurance of forgiveness and then
the bread that represents the Lord's body. So, reconciled with God, the
seven men came back to the place of judgment; and after Hermann had
again prayed with them and commended the penitents to the Lord, he had
their heads struck off before his eyes.'"
Meredith stopped perforce, for a storm of exclamations burst upon him.
"Horrible!" "Frightful!" "I never heard of such an awful man!"
"I think he was rather an awful man," said Meredith. "I have no doubt
all ill-doers would have held him in a good deal of awe."
"But his own brothers!" said Esther.
"They were convicted criminals, all the same."
"But don't you think a man ought to spare his own!"
"A man--yes. A judge--no."
"But a judge is a man."
"I should think it was very disagreeable for a man to be a judge," said
Meredith.
"But why?" asked Flora. "I should think it was nice, just for that
reason, that a man could spare people he wanted to spare."
"Flora Franklin!" exclaimed her brother. "Is that your idea of a judge?"
"It is my idea of a man."
"But don't you know better? A judge has no business to spare anybody,
except the innocent; his duty is to see justice done--he has nothing to
do with mercy."
"Nothing to do with mercy! O Meredith!"
"Not as a judge. He is put in his place to see the laws executed."
"Then you think that dreadful old heathen you are reading about did
_right_ to have his friends' heads struck off?"
"I think he did just his duty."
"Oh, _do_ you, Ditto?" cried Maggie.
"He did not make the law, Maggie; he had only to see it obeyed. The law
was terribly severe; but I think the judge was very tender."
"O Ditto!"
"He was what you call a true man. He was no heathen, Flora. But nothing
would make him budge from the right. I think he was magnificent. I
wonder how many men could be found nowadays who would be faithful to
duty at such a cost."
"You have strange notions of duty!" said his sister.
"I am afraid you have imperfect notions of faithfulness."
"Well, go on. I have no opinion of religion that is not kind."
"The religion that is from above 'is _first_ pure, then peaceable,'"
said Meredith.
"Go on," said Flora. "I suppose you would cut my head off, if you were
judge, and I had done something you thought deserved it."
"If the law said you deserved it. But I think I would give my head in
that case for yours, Flora. It would be easier."
"What good would that do?"
"Keep the law unbroken and save you. Well, I will go on with my story--
"'When the sitting of the court was ended he sent his retinue to find
quarters in the other six of his manors, but he himself passed the night
at the principal manor-house on the Oerze, which he had himself built,
called the _Bondenhof_, that is, the "peasant's manor;" for in old Saxon
_Bond_ meant a free peasant. But what a night that was! Sleep never came
to his eyes; he passed that night and also the following day in praying
and fasting. When at last, by the Word of God and the talk of a faithful
priest he had got some comfort, at least a little, he vowed to the Lord
that he would build a church on this manor, the "Bondenhof," which
should be dedicated to the apostles Peter and Paul, like the first one
built by his forefathers at the Deep Moor, which in the course of time
had become far too small. And as with him to resolve and to do were
always the same thing, he did not quit the manor till he had laid the
foundation-stone of the new church and given order to have the building
vigorously carried forward. That was in the year 958.
"'By this deed of rigid, impartial justice, which nevertheless was found
in beautiful harmony with a tender and good heart, the honour in which
people held him was raised to such a point, that everywhere they carried
him on their hands, and at his return to the royal court he was received
with wondering admiration. The great Otto folded him in his arms and
called him his most faithful knight, who served his God and his king
with equal fidelity.
"'Soon thereafter followed Hermann's greatest elevation. Otto had
determined, you must know, in the year 960, to take a journey into
Italy, in order to compose certain troubles which had arisen through
the godless Pope John. But now his beloved Saxon country, out of which
Otto himself drew his origin, lay just in the north of Germany; and was
bordered on the north and north-east by the Danes and Sclaves, but
recently conquered, who indeed were in part nominally Christian, but in
part were still heathen, and the whole of them haters of Christianity.
Who would take care of Christian Saxony in the king's absence, which it
was possible might last for years? Then Otto's eye fell upon the
faithful Hermann, and he had found his man. Hermann was appointed to the
dukedom of Saxony, so that he might thus supply the king's place and
govern in his stead. When this was made known to the good Archbishop
Adaldag, who was to accompany the king in his journey to Rome, he
rejoiced aloud, and said to the king, "Now we can travel in peace and
have no care; for, O king, you can trust him with the land, and I can
trust him with my church; Hermann with God's help will protect church
and land both." And that is what the faithful man truly did. In the
following year the king really set out on his journey to Rome, and
Adaldag went with him. Otto set up a stern tribunal in Rome, deposed the
godless Pope John, and made good Leo Pope. Five years Otto spent in
Italy, and wherever he came he wrought righteousness and judgment,
punished the wicked and relieved the innocent and oppressed; being such
a prince as Germany has had few. In the year 962 Otto was solemnly
crowned kaiser by Leo at Rome, and thus acknowledged as the earthly head
of the whole Christian world. During all this time, the Saxons might
count themselves happy that they had such a true and valiant duke in
Hermann. The Sclaves ventured again to make a marauding incursion,
probably to try whether in Otto's absence they could not accomplish
something. One tribe of the great Sclavic race, namely, the Wends, dwelt
not on the other side of Elbe only, but also on this side, as far as the
neighbourhood of Melzen. These Wends, on the hither side of the Elbe,
reinforced by a strong party of their brethren from beyond the river,
undertook a campaign against Saxony; for they themselves were still
heathen and therefore had a hatred against the Christians. This hatred
was all the stronger because the Saxons under Otto had vanquished them.
In this campaign, so far as they went, they burnt and laid waste
everything, and in especial their aim was directed against the churches
and chapels and Christian priests; the former were burned and levelled
with the ground, the latter were put to death in tortures. So it befell
with that first church which Landolf had built at the Deep Moor; it was
burned down and entirely destroyed. Eight priests, who served this
church and the chapels lying in the neighbourhood, were slain, part of
them at once, part of them were dragged to the Wendish idol altar in
Radegast, not far from the Elbe, and there slaughtered in honour of the
heathen god; those chapels were likewise destroyed. Hermann was just
come to Bremen when this news reached him. He rapidly gathered his
warriors, came suddenly upon the robbing and plundering Wends at the
so-called Huehnenburg, obliged them to flee with great loss, and pursued
them without stay or respite into their own country; whereupon they sued
for peace, and promised they would keep quiet and accept the Christian
religion. He granted them peace, but went on to destroy their idol
temple in Radegast, and then returned in triumph home. He next applied
his whole energy to repair the destruction which had been wrought, to
rebuild the churches and chapels, and establish priests in them. And the
better to secure the land, and especially his own beloved inheritance,
against the like predatory incursions, he built strong fortresses, as,
for instance, the Hermannsburg' (_burg_ means a castle or fortress,
Maggie), 'the Hermannsburg, around which now the people began to build
again, who had fled away before the Wends; the Oerzenburg, the
Wiezenburg, &c.'"
"Then _that_ is how so many names have come to end with 'burg,'" said
Esther.
"Hermann did not build all the castles," said Meredith, "But yes--that
is very much how it has come. In those old Middle Ages, when the right
of the strongest was the only prevailing one, naturally there were a
great many castles built. Indeed all the nobles lived in castles, and
must. Just look at the pictures of the Rhine to see what the Middle Ages
were; see how the people had to perch their fortresses up on almost
inaccessible peaks of rock, where it must have been terribly
inconvenient to live, one would think. I suppose people knew little of
what we call _conveniences_ in these days."
"Then round the principal fortresses, naturally, the villages grew up,"
said Flora. "They would cluster round the castles for protection."
"Well, I never thought before that one could see the Middle Ages through
the stereoscope," said Maggie.
"Pretty fair," said Meredith. "Well, let us go on with Hermann. 'Through
his unintermitting activity all was soon in blooming condition again,
and no enemy dared to show himself any more. Before his end in the year
972, he had the joy of seeing the church, the foundation-stone of which
he had laid at the Bondenhof, consecrated on Peter and Paul's day. That
is this same church which is still standing in Hermannsburg, and in
which we hold divine service.'"
"O Ditto! is _that_ church standing yet that Hermann built?"
"And the very foundation-stone that Hermann laid is there to this day.
I'd like to see it! We have nothing old in this country. Imagine
attending a church that has stood for nine hundred years! He endowed
this church with a tenth, and gave almost the half of the fields and
meadows of the above-named manor to the Hermannsburger pastor.
"'Of his remaining great deeds our chronicle says little; which is
natural, as it is and proposes to be only a Hermannsburg chronicle. In
the year 973, the same year that his great friend and benefactor Otto
died, died also Hermann Billing, the freeman's son who had come to be
Duke of Saxony. About his end the chronicle relates only that he was
sick but a few days; that he wished for and received the Holy Supper
before his death; admonished his son Benno, or Bernhard, who was his
heir: "My son, be true to your God and your kaiser, a protector to the
Church, and a father to your vassals;" laid his hands upon his head and
blessed him; and then extended his hand to all his weeping servants who
were assembled, commended them to the grace of God; and at last
prayed--"Into Thy hands I commend my spirit; Thou hast redeemed me, Lord
God of hosts." Then he softly fell asleep, and the same wonderful
sweetness which in life had given such a charm to his face, in death put
a very glory around his brow.
"'King Otto the second honoured the true man's memory by confirming his
son Bernhard, or Benno, as Duke of Saxony.'"