And now the cup of Hatto’s infamy was filled, and heaven sent him retribution.  From the ruins of the barn issued a myriad of mice, which pursued the remorseless bishop, ceaselessly following him in his every effort to escape their avenging teeth.  At length the wretched sinner, driven to despair, fled for safety to a strong tower standing in the middle of the Rhine, near Bingen, with the belief that the water would protect him from his swarming foes.  But the mice swam the stream, invaded the tower, and devoured the miserable fugitive.  As evidence of the truth of this story we are shown the tower, still standing, and still known as the Maeusethurm, or Mouse Tower.  It must be said, however, that this tradition probably refers to another Bishop Hatto, of somewhat later date.  Its utterly fabulous character, of course, will be recognisable by all.

So much for Bishop Hatto and his fate.  It may be said, in conclusion, that his period was one of terror and excitement in Germany, sufficient perhaps to excuse the overturning of ideas, and the replacement of conceptions of truth and honor by their opposites.  The wild Magyars had invaded and taken Hungary, and were making savage inroads into Germany from every quarter.  The resistance was obstinate, the Magyars were defeated in several severe battles, yet still their multitudes swarmed over the borders, and carried terror and ruin wherever they came.  These invaders were as ferocious in disposition, as fierce in their onsets, as invincible through contempt of death, and as formidable through their skilful horsemanship, as the Huns had been before them.  So rapid were their movements, and so startling the suddenness with which they would appear in and vanish from the heart of the country, that the terrified people came to look upon them as possessed of supernatural powers.  Their inhuman love of slaughter and their destructive habits added to the terror with which they were viewed.  They are said to have been so bloodthirsty, that in their savage feasts after victory they used as tables the corpses of their enemies slain in battle.  It is further said that it was their custom to bind the captured women and maidens with their own long hair as fetters, and drive them, thus bound, in flocks to Hungary.

We may conclude with a touching story told of these unquiet and misery-haunted times.  Ulrich, Count of Linzgau, was, so the story goes, taken prisoner by the Magyars, and long held captive in their hands.  Wendelgarde, his beautiful wife, after waiting long in sorrow for his return, believed him to be dead, and resolved to devote the remainder of her life to charity and devotion.  Crowds of beggars came to her castle gates, to whom she daily distributed alms.  One day, while she was thus engaged, one of the beggars suddenly threw his arms around her neck and kissed her.  Her attendants angrily interposed, but the stranger waved them aside with a smile, and said,—­

“Forbear, I have endured blows and misery enough during my imprisonment without needing more from you; I am Ulrich, your lord.”