The wide doors of the
Hofkirche stood open, and on the steps lay a black-and-tan hound,
watching no doubt for its master or mistress, who had gone within
to pray. Findelkind, in his terror, vaulted over the dog, and into
the church tumbled headlong.
It seemed quite dark, after the brilliant sunshine on the river
and the grass; his forehead touched the stone floor as he fell,
and as he raised himself and stumbled forward, reverent and
bareheaded, looking for the altar to cling to when the soldiers
should enter to seize him, his uplifted eyes fell on the great
tomb.
The tomb seems entirely to fill the church, as, with its twenty-
four guardian figures round it, it towers up in the twilight that
reigns here even at midday. There are a stern majesty and grandeur
in it which dwarf every other monument and mausoleum. It is grim,
it is rude, it is savage, with the spirit of the rough ages that
created it; but it is great with their greatness, it is heroic
with their heroism, it is simple with their simplicity.
As the awe-stricken eyes of the terrified child fell on the mass
of stone and bronze, the sight smote him breathless. The mailed
warriors standing around it, so motionless, so solemn, rilled him
with a frozen, nameless fear. He had never a doubt that they were
the dead arisen. The foremost that met his eyes were Theodoric and
Arthur; the next, grim Rudolf, father of a dynasty of emperors.
Pages:
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162