Told by the Death's Head Part 16

But, in vain I rang three times every day, no visitors came to my hollow tree, save the fawns that came to drink at the brook, and the wild cats that came to prey on them. Many a time I rescued a young deer from the claws of the feline enemy. It was to be regretted that the dumb beasts I rescued could not have thanked me for the good deed.

One day I returned later than was my wont from collecting moss and ferns to protect me from the cold of winter (I had already fas.h.i.+oned a door of willow withes to keep the snow out of my tree-house). What was my surprise to find the door open, and all my provisions gone! Not a trace of the nuts remained but the sh.e.l.ls; there was not a vestige of the dried fruit; the boxes of raspberry conserve were lying about on the ground, broken and crushed, as if they had been trodden under foot by the marauders. Even the tent-shaped honey-comb in the upper portion of my dwelling was gone, the plundered bees were buzzing angrily around the tree outside.

I could hardly refrain from uttering a malediction on the thief who had despoiled me of my winter store; but I remembered my pious vows, and reproached myself instead: "Shame on you, pious anchorite," I said, "were you so wedded to earthly possessions that the loss of them rouses your anger? You were too proud of your store. You were going to play the sovereign in the wilderness. Others had an equal right to that which you imagined belonged only to yourself. The truly pious anchorite does not lay up stores for the morrow. He depends on the Master to supply his needs. He must pay heed to nothing save his prayers for the wicked, and praises for the Master. You have been fitly punished for your arrogance." I said further, "Perhaps this has happened for the best. Who can say but the despoiler prayed that G.o.d might reward the one who had placed the provisions in the hollow tree.

If so be that was the case, it was a fine hunger it took all my store to appease!"

And again: "Who knows? Perhaps the hungry one is a great prophet--St.

Peter himself, maybe. I have heard that that distinguished saint occasionally visits a poor man, and eats up a winter's supply of provisions, only to return it an hundred fold. If so be it was St.

Peter then he will return tomorrow and so fill your tree with viands and treasure you will never again want for anything--and, maybe, he will also bestow on you a pa.s.sport that will admit you to paradise whenever you choose to go!"

Consoling myself with such thoughts, I sounded the bell as usual for vespers; then I drank heartily of brook water, lay down on my soft bed, and dreamed until morning, of flying hams and kindred paradisal delights. At sunrise, I rang the early matin bell; then hurried away, in order not to disturb the prophet when he came to prepare the surprise for me.

I spent the entire day wandering about the forest, guessing what my benefactor would bestow on me in return for the nuts, fruits and honey he had taken--would it be the widow's oil-cruse with its never-failing contents? or, a pair of bread-supplying ravens? or, a barley loaf from Mount Gilead? or, a swarm of those savory locusts which had served as fare for John the Baptist?

In my rambling I came across a heap of beech-nuts. I hesitated to gather them. What need to take the trouble? There would be plenty, and to spare, in the hollow tree. However, I filled my pockets with the nuts, then turned my face homeward.

As I was rather late, I rang for vespers, and told my beads (I had made a beautiful rosary of acorns) before going to my hermitage. A deep growl came from the hollow tree when I approached it.

"He is here!" I exclaimed joyfully. "He is waiting to see me. That he is no ordinary person I can tell by his voice!"

I crept on hands and knees toward the tree, and peeped into the cavity. The next instant I was on my feet, hurling a million _donnerwetters_ at the s.h.a.ggy bear, whose monstrous body quite filled the only apartment of my dwelling.

I forgot that I was an anchorite, and cursed the brute roundly--

"_Votum violatum_," dictated the chair. "Broken vow--blasphemy!

_Capite plectetur._"

"By my faith!" interposed the prince with considerable emphasis. "I would have sworn too! _Qui bene distinguit, bene docet._ How goes the paragraph relating to blasphemy? 'He that curses his fellowman'--and so forth. But, it doesn't say anything about punishment for him who curses his 'fellow-bear.' You see, therefore, that the _votum ruptum_ does not fit this crime, for it was not the prisoner who broke the vow of the anchorite, but the bear; consequently bruin is the delinquent."

"Very good," a.s.sented the chair. "Then the bear is the guilty party: _ursus comburatur_! The robbery of the temple follows: I am curious to hear how the prisoner will clear himself of that! That he will accomplish it I am willing to wager my head!"

What was I to do? continued Hugo, when the mayor had concluded his remark. My house was occupied by a tenant who would not let me share it with him. I had nowhere else to go. I could not find another hermitage. If I could not be a hermit, I could become a beggar--begging was also a way to gain a livelihood, and I possessed the necessary equipment for it.

In Poland, no one who can say: "Give me bread," needs die of hunger.

The iron band on my neck might, after all, be of advantage to me; it would give me a sort of superiority over other mendicants. If I were asked how I came by it, I should say that it had been forged on my neck by the Saracens, who took me captive when I was in the Holy Land, and because I had made my escape through a miracle, I continued to wear the band as a penance.

The good people to whom I told this story believed it; it brought me many a groschen and carried me comfortably across Poland.

I had no sooner crossed into Brandenburg (I was on my way to my native city, where I intended taking up the trade of my father, an honest and respectable tanner) than I was surrounded by a crowd of people--not a charitably disposed crowd, but inquisitive.

They wanted to know where I came from, where was I going, who and what was I and how I dared to have the impertinence to beg in their city.

I replied that I was a pilgrim from the Holy Land; and that instead of thinking it an impertinence for me to beg from them, they ought to consider it a distinction to have in their community a mendicant with an iron collar around his neck.

But the Brandenburgers are inclined to believe themselves more clever than the rest of the world. The bailiff seized me, dragged me to the market place, where he proceeded to question me for the benefit of the whole city.

"Who are you?" he inquired.

"I am hungry," I said in reply.

"Where do you come from?"

"From Jerusalem."

"Don't you attempt to deceive me, sirrah! I know the way to Jerusalem.

Through what provinces did you journey?"

"Through Marcomannia, and Scythia; through Bess Arabia, and Arabia Petraea; through Bactria, and Mesopotamia; and now I come direct from Caramania--"

"Stop, stop! You are saying what is not true," interrupted the bailiff. "Praise be to G.o.d! we Brandenburgers have maps, and know how to get to foreign countries. The way to Palestine is through Zingaria, Paflagonia, Cappadocia, and cinnamon-scented India.

"Well," I explained, "I did travel through those countries too, but it was at night, when I couldn't see to read their names on the guide-boards."

"And what means that iron band on your neck?"

"That, your honor, was fastened about my neck by the black sultan, Zagachrist, who held me captive fifty-two years and three days."

"You are not yet thirty years old."

"No, in this part of the world I am not; but in Abyssinia, where the sun is so hot, the days contract to such an extent, that one of your years here would be six there."

"What an unconscionable liar you are!" exclaimed the bailiff. "Heat does not contract. On the contrary, it expands, which accounts for the days being longer in summer than in winter. We Brandenburgers know that very well."

He seized me by the collar, to drag me to prison, but I held back, and said in a loud voice--loud enough for the crowd to hear:

"I tell you I am right; heat does contract. Just you sit on a hot stove and see if your leather breeches don't shrivel up under you."

The crowd was on my side; but that trial in the market-place might have resulted disastrously for me, had not a knight just then chanced to ride that way. He wore on his head a plumed helmet; his body was protected by a coat of mail. From his shoulders hung a crimson mantle, on which was embroidered a large white cross. A heart-shaped s.h.i.+eld swung from the pommel of his saddle.

My eyes were at once attracted to this s.h.i.+eld, on which were the ensigns armorial: a mounted knight like himself, and on the same horse a ragged pilgrim of a like pattern with myself.

"Ho, ho!" here interrupted the chair in triumph. "You may have been able to hoodwink the Brandenburg bailiff, but you can't do the same with me! You needn't try to make this court believe you saw anyone wearing the coat-of-arms of an order that was abolished in the 14th century."

"I know very well, your honor, that the order of the Templars was abolished at the time you mention, but a portion of them took refuge in Brandenburg, where the order exists to this day under the name of 'Dornenritter.'"

Having made this explanation, Hugo continued his confession:

At sight of the Templar a great commotion arose among the people crowding the market-place; the women pressed toward him to kiss the hem of his mantle, in their enthusiasm almost dragging him from the saddle. The knight had red hair, and a long beard of the same fiery hue.

"There is the red monk," said the bailiff to me. "Do you try to make him believe you have been in Palestine? He has been there twice--once by land and once by sea--and he has slaughtered more than two hundred heathen and liberated thousands of pilgrims from slavery. Talk to him; he will know how to question you."

I was in a fix, and no mistake. The knight would be sure at once to detect the errors of my geography.

He rode quite close to me, pa.s.sed his hand over his long beard and examined me from head to foot with his keen eyes.

"Can you prove to me that you come from the Holy Land?" he asked in a voice so stern and deep-toned it made me start and tremble.

But a lucky thought came to me; I had a convincing proof under my arm--the old Turk's crutch, the shaft of which was closely wound with bra.s.s wire in a fanciful pattern.