"And if you have been baptized," he said raising his voice, "and have renounced the devil with all his works and allurements, what is the meaning of all this?" He pointed with his stick towards the horses'

skulls on the wall, and giving a violent push to one, caused it to fall down on the floor, where it broke to pieces, so that the white teeth rolled about on the ground.

"The skull of a horse," quietly replied the old woman, "which you have shivered to pieces. It was a young animal, as you may see by the teeth."

"And you like to eat horse-flesh?"

"It is no impure animal, nor is it forbidden to eat it."

"Woman!" cried Ekkehard approaching her closer, "thou exercisest witchcraft and sorcery!"

Then she arose and with a frowning brow and strangely glittering eyes, she said: "You wear a priest's garment, so you may say this to me; for an old woman has no protection against such as you. Otherwise it were a grave insult which you have cast on me, and the laws of the land punish those that use such words." ...

During this conversation, Audifax had remained timidly standing at the door, but when the raven now made its way towards him, he was afraid and ran up to Ekkehard; from thence he saw the stone by the hearth, and walked up to it; for the fear even of twenty ravens would not have prevented him from examining a curious stone. Lifting the garment which was spread over it, he beheld some strange, weather-beaten figures carved on it.

At that moment Ekkehard's eye fell also on the stone. It was a Roman altar, and had doubtless been erected on those heights by cohorts, who at the command of their Emperor had left their camp in luxurious Asia, for the inhospitable sh.o.r.es of the Bodensee. A youth, in a flowing mantle and with Phrygian cap, was kneeling on a prostrate bull,--the Persian G.o.d of light, Mithras; who gave new hope and strength to the fast sinking faith of the Romans.

An inscription was nowhere visible. For a considerable time Ekkehard stood examining it; for with the exception of a golden coin bearing the head of Vespasian, which had been found in the moor at Rapperswyl, by some dependants of the monastery, and some carved stones among the church treasures, his eye had never before beheld any carving of the olden times; but from the shape and look of the thing, he guessed at its being some silent witness of a bygone world.

"Whence comes the stone?" asked he.

"I have been questioned more than enough now," defiantly said the old woman. "Find an answer for yourself."

The stone might have said a good deal for itself, if stones were gifted with speech, for a goodly piece of history often clings to such old and weather-beaten ruins. What do they teach us? That the races of men, come and go like the leaves; that spring produces and autumn destroys, and that all their thinkings and doings, last but a short span of time.

After them, there come others, talking in other tongues and creating other forms. That which was holy before, is then pulled down and despised, and that which was condemned, becomes holy in its place. New G.o.ds mount the throne,--and it is well if their altars are not erected on the bodies of too many victims....

Ekkehard saw another meaning in the stone's being in the hut of the woman of the wood.

"You worship that man on the bull!" he cried vehemently. The old woman took up a stick standing by the fire-place, and with a knife made two notches in it. "Tis the second insult you have offered me," she said hoa.r.s.ely. "What have we to do with yonder stone image?"

"Then speak out. How is it that the stone comes to be here?"

"Because we took pity on it," replied she. "You, who wear the tonsure and monk's habit, probably will not understand that. The stone stood outside, on yonder projecting rock, which must have been a consecrated spot, on which many have knelt probably, in the olden times. But in the present days n.o.body heeded it. The people here about, dried their crab-apples, or split their wood on it; just as it suited them; and the cruel rain has been washing away the figures. 'The sight of the stone grieves me,' said my mother one day. It was once something holy, but the bones of those, who have known and worshipped the man on it, have long been bleached white,--and the man in the flowing mantle looks as if he were freezing with the cold. So we took it up, and placed it beside the hearth, and it has never harmed us as yet. We know how the old G.o.ds feel, when their altars are shattered; for ours also have been dethroned. You need not begrudge its rest to the old stone."

"Your G.o.ds?" said Ekkehard, "who are your G.o.ds?"

"That you ought to know best, for you have driven them away, and banished them into the depths of the lake. In the floods below, everything has been buried. The ancient rights and the ancient G.o.ds! We can see them no more, and know but the places where our fathers have worshipped them, before the Franks and the cowl-bearing men had come.

But when the winds are shaking the tops of yonder oak-tree, you may hear their wailing voices in the air; and on consecrated nights, there is a moaning and roaring in the forest, and a shining of lights; whilst serpents are winding themselves round the stems of the trees; and over the mountains you hear a rustling of wings, of despairing spirits, that have come to look at their ancient home."

Ekkehard crossed himself.

"I tell it thus as I know it," continued the old woman. "I do not wish to offend the Saviour, but he has come as a stranger into the land. You serve him in a foreign tongue, which we cannot understand. If he had sprung up from our own ground, then we might talk to him, and should be his most faithful worshippers, and maybe things would then fare better in Allemannia."

"Woman!" cried Ekkehard wrathfully, "we will have thee burned ..."

"If it be written in your books that trees grow up, to burn old woman with, very well. I have lived long enough. The lightning has lately paid a visit to the woman of the wood,"--pointing to a dark stripe on the wall,--"the lightning has spared the old woman."

After this she cowered down before the hearth, and remained there motionless like a statue. The flickering coals threw a fitful, varying light on her wrinkled face.

"Tis well," said Ekkehard as he left the chamber. Audifax was very glad when he could see the blue sky again over his head. "There they sat together," said he pointing upwards.

"I will go and look at it, whilst thou goest back to the Hohentwiel, and sendest over two men with hatchets. And tell Otfried the deacon of Singen to come and bring his stole and ma.s.s-book with him."

Audifax bounded away, whilst Ekkehard went up to the top of the Hohenkrahen.

In the castle on the Hohentwiel, the d.u.c.h.ess had been sitting meanwhile taking her midday meal. She had often looked about, as if something were missing. The meal was soon over, and when Dame Hadwig found herself alone with Praxedis she began:

"How dost thou like our new teacher, Praxedis?"

The Greek maid smiled.

"Speak," said the d.u.c.h.ess in a commanding voice.

"Well I have seen many a schoolmaster before this, at Constantinopolis," said Praxedis flippantly.

Dame Hadwig threatened her with her finger, "I shall have to banish thee from my sight, if thou indulgest in such irreverent speeches. What hast thou to say against schoolmasters?"

"Pardon me," said Praxedis. "I did not mean any offence. But whenever I see such a bookman, wearing such a very serious expression, and a.s.suming such an important air, drawing out of his ma.n.u.script some meaning which we have already nearly guessed; and when I see how he is bound up in his parchments, his eyes seeing nothing but dead letters, having scarcely a look to spare for the human beings around him,--then I always feel strongly tempted to laugh. When I am in doubt whether pity would be the proper feeling, I take to laughing. And he certainly does not require my pity, as he knows so much more, than I do."

"A teacher must be serious," said the d.u.c.h.ess. "Seriousness belongs to him, as the snow does to our Alps."

"Serious,--ah well! in this land where the snow covers the mountain-peaks, everything must be serious," resumed the Greek maid.

"If I were only as learned as Master Ekkehard to be able to express all that I want to say! I mean that one can learn many things jestingly, without the sweat-drops of hard labour on one's brow. All that is beautiful ought to please, and be true, at the same time. I mean that knowledge is like honey, which can be got at in different ways. The b.u.t.terfly hovers over the flowers and finds it; but such a learned German appears to me like a bear, who clumsily puts his paws into a bee-hive and then licks them. I for my part don't admire bears."

"Thou art a frivolous minded maiden and not fond of learning. But how does Ekkehard please thee otherwise,--I think him very handsome."

Praxedis looked up at her mistress. "I have never yet looked at a monk, to see whether he were handsome."

"Why not?"

"Because I thought it quite unnecessary."

"Thou givest queer answers to-day," said Dame Hadwig, getting up from her seat. She stepped to the window and looked out northwards; where from the dark fir-trees rose the heavy ma.s.s of the steep, rocky Hohenkrahen.

"The goat-boy has just been here, and has told some of the men to go over," said Praxedis.

"The afternoon is mild and sunny," observed the d.u.c.h.ess. "Tell them to saddle the horses and we will ride over, and see what they are doing.

Ah--I forgot that thou complainedst of the fatigue of riding, when we returned from St. Gallus. So I will go there alone ..."

Ekkehard meanwhile had inspected the scene of the nightly revel, of which but few traces remained. The earth around the oak-tree was still wet and reddish looking, and a few coals and ashes indicated where the fire had been.

With astonishment he beheld here and there, hanging in the branches of the oak, small wax effigies of human limbs. There were feet and hands, as well as images of cows and horses,--offerings for the recovery of sick men and beasts, which the superst.i.tious peasantry, preferred hanging up on old consecrated trees, to placing them on the altars of churches.

Two men, with hatchets, now came up.

"We have been ordered to come here," they said.

"From the Hohentwiel?" asked Ekkehard.