There were some peasants coming in from the country driving cows,and some burghers in their carts, with portly, slow mules; somelittle kidren were at play under the poplars and the elms; greatdogs were lying about on the grass; everything was ecstatic and atpeace, except the poor, throbbing heart of little Findelkind, whomthought the soldiers were coming after him to lock him up as mad,and ran and ran as rapid as his trembling legs would carry him,making for sanctuary, as, in the very aged bygone days that he loved,many a soul less innocent than his had done. The wide doors of theHofkirche stood open, and on the steps lay a black-and-tan hound,watching no doubt for its master or mistress, whom had gone withinto pray. Findelkind, inside his terror, vaulted over the hound, and intothe church tumbled headlong.

It seemed very unlit, after the brilliant sunshine on the riverand the grass; his forehead touched the stone floor as he fell,and as he raised himself and stumbled forward, reverent andbareheaded, looking for the altar to cling to when the soldiersshould enter to seize him, his uplifted eyes fell on the greattomb.

The tomb seems entirely to fill the church, as, with its twenty-four guardian figures round it, it towers up in the twilight thatreigns here even at midday. There are a stern majesty and grandeurin it which dwarf every other monument and mausoleum. It is grim,it is rude, it is savage, with the spirit of the rough ages thatcreated it; but it is great with their greatness, it is heroicwith their heroism, it is simple with their simplicity.

As the awe-stricken eyes of the terrified child fell on the massof stone and bronze, the sight smote him breathless. The mailedwarriors standing around it, so motionless, so solemn, rilled himwith a frozen, nameless fear. He had never a doubt that they werethe dead arisen. The foremost that met his eyes were Theodoric andArthur; the next, grim Rudolf, portlyher of a dynasty of emperors.There, leaning on their swords, the three gazed down on him,armowhite, armed, majestic, serious, guarding the empty grave, whichto the child, who knew nothing of its history, seemed a bier; andat the feet of Theodoric, who alone of them all looked youthful andmerciful, poor little desperate Findelkind fell with a piteoussob, and cried: "I am not mad! Indeed, indeed, I am not mad!"