"There the Roman Emperor was painted sitting on the throne, with Scythian princes lying at his feet; till one day King Attila, chancing to ride by, gave a long and stedfast look at the picture, and laughingly said: 'quite right; only I'll make a small alteration.' And he had his own features, given to the man on the throne; those kneeling before him, pouring out bags of tributary gold,--being now the Roman Cæsars ... The picture is still to be seen." "You are thinking of bygone tales," said Ekkehard. "Of bygone tales?" exclaimed the old man. "For me there has been nothing new, these last forty years, but want and misery. Bygone tales! 'Tis well for him, who still remembers them, in order that he may see how the sins of the fathers, are visited on the children and children's children. Do you know why Charlemagne shed tears once in his life?--When they announced to him, the arrival of the Norman sea-robbers: 'as long as I live,' said he, ''tis mere child's play, but I grieve for my grandsons.'" "As yet we have still an Emperor and a realm," said Ekkehard. "Have you still one?" said the old man, draining his glass of sour Sippling wine, and shivering after it, "well I wish him joy. The corner-stones are dashed to pieces; and the building is crumbling away. With a clique of presumptuous nobles, no realm can exist. Those who ought to obey are lording it over the others; and he who ought to reign, must wheedle and flatter, instead of commanding. Methinks, I have heard of one, to whom his faithful subjects, sent the tribute in pebbles, instead of silver, and the head of the count who was sent to collect it, lay beside the stones, in the bag. Who has avenged it?" ... "The Emperor is fighting and gathering laurels in Italy," rejoined Ekkehard. "Oh Italy! Italy!" continued the old man. "That will still become a thorn in the German flesh. That was the only time the great Charles ..." "Whom God bless," exclaimed Rauching. "... allowed himself to be entrapped. It was a sad day, on which they crowned him at Rome; and no one has chuckled so gleefully, as he on St. Peter's chair. He was in want of us,--but what have we ever had to do in Italy? Look there! Has that mountain-wall been erected heavenwards, for nothing?--All that, which lies on the other side, belongs to those in Byzantium; and it is all right so; for Greek cunning is better there than German strength; but later generations have found nothing better to do than to perpetuate the error of Charlemagne. The good example he left them, they have trampled upon; and whilst there was plenty to do in the East and North, they must needs run off to Italy, as if the great magnet lay behind the Roman hills. I have often thought about it, what could have driven us, in that direction; and if it was not the Devil himself, it can only have been the good wine."