Hugues-le-Loup. English

  CHAPTER II.

  Maitre Bernard Hertzog had slept a couple of hours, and the boiling ofthe water in the millrace alone competed with the noise of his loudsnoring, when suddenly a guttural voice, arising in the midst of the deepsilence, cried--

  "Droeckteufel! Droeckteufel! have you forgotten everything?"

  The voice was so piercing that Maitre Bernard, waking with a suddenstart, felt his hair creeping with horror. He raised himself upon hiselbow and listened again with eyes starting with astonishment. The hutwas as dark as a cellar; he listened, but not a breath, not a sound,came; only far away, far beyond the ruins, a dull, distant roar was heardamong the mountains.

  Bernard, with neck outstretched, heaved a deep sigh; in a minute he beganto stammer out--

  "Who is there? What do you want?"

  But no answer came.

  "It was a dream," he said, falling back upon his heather couch. "I musthave been lying upon my back. There is nothing at all in dreams andnightmares--nothing! nothing!"

  But in the midst of the restored silence the same doleful cry was againrepeated--

  "Droeckteufel! Droeckteufel!"

  And as Maitre Bernard, fairly beside himself, was preparing for instantflight, but with his face to the wall, and unable to move from his couch,the voice, in a dissonant chant, with pauses and strange accents, wenton--

  "The Queen Faileube, espoused to our king, Chilperic--Queen Faileube,learning that Septimanie, the governess of the young princes, hadconspired against the king's life--Queen Faileube said to the lord, 'Mylord, the viper waits until you are asleep to give you a mortal wound.She has conspired with Sinnegisile and Gallomagus against your life! Shehas poisoned her husband, your faithful Jovius, to live with Droeckteufel.Let your anger come down upon her like lightning, and your vengeance witha bloody sword!' And Chilperic, assembling all his council in the castleof Nideck, said, 'We have cherished a viper; she has plotted our death.Let her be cut into three pieces. Let Droeckteufel, Sinnegisile, andGallomagus perish with her! Let the ravens rejoice!' And the vassalscried, 'So let it be! The wrath of Chilperic is an abyss into which hisenemies fall and perish!' Then Septimanie was brought to be put to thetorture and examined; a ring of iron was bound around her temples; it wastightened; her eyes started; her blood-dropping mouth murmured, 'Lordking, I have offended. Droeckteufel, Gallomagus, and Sinnegisile have alsoconspired!' And the following night a festoon of corpses dangled andswung from the towers of Nideck! The foul birds of prey rejoiced over therich spoil. Droeckteufel, what would I not have done for thee? I wouldhave had thee King of Austrasia, and thou hast forgotten me!"

  The guttural voice sank down, and my uncle Bernard, more dead than alive,breathing a sigh of terror, murmured--

  "Oh, I have never done anybody any wrong! I am only a poor oldchronicler! Let me not die without absolution, far from the succourof the Church!"

  The great wooden box full of heather seemed at every effort to escape tosink deeper and deeper. The poor man thought he was going down into agulf, when, happily, Christian reappeared, crying--

  "Well, Maitre Bernard, what did I say? here is the storm."

  And now the hut was for an instant full of dazzling light, and my worthyuncle, who was lying facing the door, could see the whole valley lightedup, with its innumerable fir-trees crowded along the slopes down thevalley as close as the grass of the fields, its rocks piled up on thebanks of the river, which was rolling its sulphurous blue waves over therounded boulders of the ravine, and the towers of Nideck rising proudlyin the air fifteen hundred feet above.

  Then the darkness covered all up again. That was the first flash.

  But in that instant of time he caught sight of a strange figure crouchingat the end of the hut without being able to make out what it really was.

  Great drops were beginning to patter on the roof. Christian lighted arush, and seeing Maitre Bernard with his hands convulsively clutching theedge of his box of heather, and his face covered with beads of coldsweat, he cried--

  "Why! Master Bernard! what is the matter with you?"

  But, without answering, he merely pointed to the figure huddled up in thecorner; it was an old woman, so very advanced in extreme old age, soyellow and wrinkled, with such a hooked nose, fingers so skinny, andlips so lean, that she looked like an old owl with all its feathers gone.There were only a few hairs left on the back of her head; the rest of herskull was as bare of covering as an egg. A threadbare ragged linen gowncovered her poor skeleton figure. She was sightless, and the expressionof her face was one of constant reverie.

  Christian, noticing my uncle's inquiring look, turned his head and saidquietly--

  "It's old Irmengarde, the old teller of legends. She is waiting to dietill the old tower falls into the torrent."

  Uncle Bernard, stupefied, looked at the woodman; he did not seem inclinedto joke; on the contrary, he looked serious.

  "Come, Christian," said the good man, "you mean to have your joke."

  "Joke! no indeed, old and feeble as you see her, that old woman knowseverything; the spirit of the ruins is in her. She was living when theold lords of the castle lived."

  Now my old uncle was very nearly falling backwards at this astoundingdisclosure.

  "But what do you mean?" he cried; "the castle of Nideck has been downthese thousand years!"

  "What if it was two thousand years?" said the woodman, making the sign ofthe 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 yearsIrmengarde has lived with this spirit in her. Before her it was in oldEdith 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 beback in three hours' time. Death is night, life is day. After night comesday, then night again, and so on without end. The sun is the soul of thesky, the great spirit that is in us all, and the souls of the saints arelike the stars which shine in the night, and which will never cease toreturn."

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

  What was the surprise of the old chronicler! Covetousness now took theplace 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 ageslong 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 ofmany cattle and deep bellowing. The rain fell faster; the flashes oflightning, like flights of frightened birds in the dark, touched eachother by the tips of their wings; one never waited for another to begone, 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 eachother without intermission. It seemed as if the very mountains werefalling.

  At every fresh crash Uncle Bernard shrank, feeling as if the lightningwere 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 atmosphericchanges. What would have become of us in this emergency had we not a roofover our heads? We should be greatly to be pitied. The invention of thatTriboccus was quite as useful as that of the steam-engine; what a pityhis name is not known!"

  The worthy man had scarcely concluded his reflections when a young maidenof sixteen, wearing a very wide-brimmed straw hat, her white skirtsdripping with rain and her little bare feet covered with sand, advancedto the doorstep, and said--

&nbs
p; "The Lord bless you!"

  "Amen," answered Christian solemnly.

  This young girl was of the purest Scandinavian type, with cheeks of rosepink upon a face of pure whiteness, and long waving tresses, so fair andso silky that the finest wheat straw would hardly bear comparison withit. Her figure was tall and slender, and her blue eyes beamed withinexpressible 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 stormit is! Is it coming to an end yet?"

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

  Then, without looking at Maitre Bernard, she went to sit before the oldwoman, 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 thevalley was heard an incessant loud beating of falling sheets of rain,and the rushing of the swollen stream, then, at intervals, after a briefcessation of rain, again the heavier dashing of repeated and more violentshowers.

  Between the heavy showers the tinkling which Uncle Bernard haddistinguished in the distance when he awoke gradually became moredistinct, and at last arrived under the window of the hut, and almostimmediately five long-horned head of beautiful cows, spotted equally withwhite and black, appeared at the door.

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

  The gentle creature calmly and quietly came straight in, and seemed toexamine 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 shestood quietly there, contemplating the deluge, and slowly swinging herbeautiful head, lowing in a deep, subdued tone.

  The fresh air was now penetrating the hut and bringing with it the sweetperfumes of honeysuckle and wild roses, excited by the freshening rain.All the birds in the woods--redbreasts, thrushes, and blackbirds--formeda concert under the trees; the air was filled with the little love-talesof the happy birds and the fluttering of their eager wings.

  Then Maitre Bernard, recovering from his reverie, took a few pacesoutside, raised his eyes, and contemplated the white and fleecy cloudshastily crossing the still troubled sky. On the hill opposite he couldsee the whole herd of cattle, all lying sheltered beneath the overhangingrocks, some lazily extended, their knees bent beneath them, with sleepyeyes; others, with neck outstretched, lowing solemnly. A few younganimals were gazing at the hanging festoons of honeysuckle, and seemedto enjoy the balmy air that wafted from them.

  All these diverse forms and attitudes stood clearly out upon the reddishbackground of the rock; and the immense expanded vault of the cavern,with its setting of oak and pine whose twisted roots appeared where theyhad pierced through the rock, gave a majestic air of grandeur to thespectacle.

  "Well, Maitre Bernard," cried Christian, "it is broad daylight; had wenot better start?"

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

  "Fuldrade, this old gentleman cannot drink our kirschwasser, yet I cannotoffer him water. Have you anything better?"

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

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

  She rapidly tripped over the wet meadow; the drops of rain, collecting inthe large leaves, poured about her feet in little crystal streams. At herapproach to the cave the finest cows arose up as if to greet their youngmistress. She patted them all, and, having seated herself, began to milkone, 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 toBernard, said, smiling--

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

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

  "Now, master, en route! We have plenty of water now to turn the mill forsix 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 headwithout speaking; "farewell! and may God make you always happy!"

  The next day, about six in the evening, Bernard Hertzog, having returnedto Saverne, was seated before his writing-desk, and describing in hischapter upon the antiquities of the Dagsberg, his discovery of theMerovingian arms in the woodman's hut in the Nideck. Then he went on toprove that the name of Tribocci, or Triboques, was derived from theGerman _drei buechen_--that is, three beeches. As a convincing proof, hereferred to the three trees and the three toads of Nideck, which latterour kings have converted into three _fleurs-de-lis_.

  All the antiquaries of Alsace envied him this admirable and interestingdiscovery. On both banks of the Rhine he was known as doctor,doctissimus, eruditus Bernardus, under which triumphal titles he dilatedwith honest pride, while he tried to bear his honours with becominggravity.

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

  "The old teller of legends, Irmengarde, surnamed '_The Soul of theRuins_,' died last night in the hut of the woodman Christian. Wonderfulto relate, in the very same hour, almost the same minute, the principaltower of Nideck fell, and was washed away by the waterfall below.

  "Such is the end of the most ancient monument known of Merovingianarchitecture, of which Schlosser, the historian, says," etc., etc.