The Man-Wolf and Other Tales Part 34

"What if it was two thousand years?" said the woodman, making the sign of the cross as a new flash lighted up the valley; "what does that prove?

The spirit of the ruins lives in her. A hundred and eight years Irmengarde has lived with this spirit in her. Before her it was in old Edith of Haslach; before Edith in some other--"

"Do you believe that?"

"Do I believe it! It is as sure, Master Bernard, as that the sun will be back in three hours' time. Death is night, life is day. After night comes day, then night again, and so on without end. The sun is the soul of the sky, the great spirit that is in us all, and the souls of the saints are like the stars which s.h.i.+ne in the night, and which will never cease to return."

Bernard Hertzog replied not another word, but having risen, he began suspiciously to consider the aspect of that aged woman, who sat still in a niche carved out of the rock. He noticed above the niche some rough carving on the stone representing three trees with their branches touching, and forming a sort of crown; lower down were three toads cut in the granite. Three trees are the arms of the Tribocci (_dreien buchen_), three toads are the arms of the Merovingian kings.

What was the surprise of the old chronicler! Covetousness now took the place of alarm.

"Here," thought he, "is the oldest monument of the Frankish race in Gaul.

That old woman reminds me of some fallen queen, left here a relic of ages long gone by. But how am I to carry the niche away?"

He began to consider.

Then was heard far away in the woods the trampling of the hoofs of many cattle and deep bellowing. The rain fell faster; the flashes of lightning, like flights of frightened birds in the dark, touched each other by the tips of their wings; one never waited for another to be gone, and the rolling of the thunder became incessant and terrible.

Soon the storm reached the very gorge of Nideck and hung over it closely, and swooped down with implacable fury; the explosions succeeded each other without intermission. It seemed as if the very mountains were falling.

At every fresh crash Uncle Bernard shrank, feeling as if the lightning were coming down his back.

"The first Triboceus who built a hut to cover his head was no fool,"

thought he. "He was a sensible man, with some experience of atmospheric changes. What would have become of us in this emergency had we not a roof over our heads? We should be greatly to be pitied. The invention of that Triboccus was quite as useful as that of the steam-engine; what a pity his name is not known!"

The worthy man had scarcely concluded his reflections when a young maiden of sixteen, wearing a very wide-brimmed straw hat, her white skirts dripping with rain and her little bare feet covered with sand, advanced to the doorstep, and said--

"The Lord bless you!"

"Amen," answered Christian solemnly.

This young girl was of the purest Scandinavian type, with cheeks of rose pink upon a face of pure whiteness, and long waving tresses, so fair and so silky that the finest wheat straw would hardly bear comparison with it. Her figure was tall and slender, and her blue eyes beamed with inexpressible sweetness.

Maitre Bernard stood a few moments in rapt admiration, and the woodman, kindly addressing the young girl, said--

"I am glad to see you, Fuldrade. Irmengarde is still asleep. What a storm it is! Is it coming to an end yet?"

"Yes, the wind is driving it down to the plain. It will be over before daylight."

Then, without looking at Maitre Bernard, she went to sit before the old woman, who now seemed to revive.

"Fuldrade," she murmured, "is the great tower yet standing?"

"Yes."

The aged woman bowed her head, and her lips moved.

After the last thunderclaps the rain fell in torrents. All down the valley was heard an incessant loud beating of falling sheets of rain, and the rus.h.i.+ng of the swollen stream, then, at intervals, after a brief cessation of rain, again the heavier das.h.i.+ng of repeated and more violent showers.

Between the heavy showers the tinkling which Uncle Bernard had distinguished in the distance when he awoke gradually became more distinct, and at last arrived under the window of the hut, and almost immediately five long-horned head of beautiful cows, spotted equally with white and black, appeared at the door.

"Why! here's Waldine!" cried Christian, laughing; "she is looking for you, Fuldrade."

The gentle creature calmly and quietly came straight in, and seemed to examine old Irmengarde.

"Go away!" cried Fuldrade; "go along with the others!"

And the obedient heifer turned back to the cabin door.

But the falling floods seemed to give her matter for reflection, for she stood quietly there, contemplating the deluge, and slowly swinging her beautiful head, lowing in a deep, subdued tone.

The fresh air was now penetrating the hut and bringing with it the sweet perfumes of honeysuckle and wild roses, excited by the freshening rain.

All the birds in the woods--redb.r.e.a.s.t.s, thrushes, and blackbirds--formed a concert under the trees; the air was filled with the little love-tales of the happy birds and the fluttering of their eager wings.

Then Maitre Bernard, recovering from his reverie, took a few paces outside, raised his eyes, and contemplated the white and fleecy clouds hastily crossing the still troubled sky. On the hill opposite he could see the whole herd of cattle, all lying sheltered beneath the overhanging rocks, some lazily extended, their knees bent beneath them, with sleepy eyes; others, with neck outstretched, lowing solemnly. A few young animals were gazing at the hanging festoons of honeysuckle, and seemed to enjoy the balmy air that wafted from them.

All these diverse forms and att.i.tudes stood clearly out upon the reddish background of the rock; and the immense expanded vault of the cavern, with its setting of oak and pine whose twisted roots appeared where they had pierced through the rock, gave a majestic air of grandeur to the spectacle.

"Well, Maitre Bernard," cried Christian, "it is broad daylight; had we not better start?"

Then, speaking to Fuldrade, who seemed buried in thought--

"Fuldrade, this old gentleman cannot drink our kirschwa.s.ser, yet I cannot offer him water. Have you anything better?"

Fuldrade took up a milk-pail, and, with an intelligent glance at Christian, went out.

"Wait a moment," she said; "I shall be here directly."

She rapidly tripped over the wet meadow; the drops of rain, collecting in the large leaves, poured about her feet in little crystal streams. At her approach to the cave the finest cows arose up as if to greet their young mistress. She patted them all, and, having seated herself, began to milk one, a fine white cow, which, standing motionless, with eyes half-closed, seemed grateful for the preference.

When her pail was full Fuldrade made haste back, and, presenting it to Bernard, said, smiling--

"Drink as much as you like; that is the way we drink milk warm from the cow in the country."

Which was done at once, the good man thanking her many times, and praising the excellence of this frothy milk, flavoured, as it were, with the wild aromatic plants of the Schneeberg, Fuldrade seemed pleased with his eulogiums, and Christian, who had slipped on his blouse, standing behind them, staff in hand, waited for the end of these compliments before he cried--

"Now, master, en route! We have plenty of water now to turn the mill for six weeks without stopping, and I must be back by nine o'clock."

And they started, following the gravelly road under the hill.

"Adieu!" said Maitre Bernard to the young girl, who gently bowed her head without speaking; "farewell! and may G.o.d make you always happy!"

The next day, about six in the evening, Bernard Hertzog, having returned to Saverne, was seated before his writing-desk, and describing in his chapter upon the antiquities of the Dagsberg, his discovery of the Merovingian arms in the woodman's hut in the Nideck. Then he went on to prove that the name of Tribocci, or Triboques, was derived from the German _drei buchen_--that is, three beeches. As a convincing proof, he referred to the three trees and the three toads of Nideck, which latter our kings have converted into three _fleurs-de-lis_.

All the antiquaries of Alsace envied him this admirable and interesting discovery. On both banks of the Rhine he was known as doctor, doctissimus, eruditus Bernardus, under which triumphal t.i.tles he dilated with honest pride, while he tried to bear his honours with becoming gravity.

And now, my dear friends, if you are curious to know what became of old Irmengarde, refer to the second volume of Bernard Hertzog's _Archeological Annals_, where under date July 16,1836, you will find the following statement:--

"The old teller of legends, Irmengarde, surnamed '_The Soul of the Ruins_,' died last night in the hut of the woodman Christian. Wonderful to relate, in the very same hour, almost the same minute, the princ.i.p.al tower of Nideck fell, and was washed away by the waterfall below.