Felicitas: A Tale of the German Migrations: A.D. 476 Read online

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  FELICITAS

  FELICITAS

  _A TALE OF THE GERMAN MIGRATIONS_ A.D. 476

  BY FELIX DAHN

  TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN BY M. A. C. E.

  LONDON MACMILLAN AND CO. 1883 [_All rights reserved_]

  CHARLES DICKENS AND EVANS, CRYSTAL PALACE PRESS.

  FELICITAS.

  INTRODUCTION.

  Some years ago I was at work in Salzburg: in the library among the oldrecords, and in the Museum of Roman antiquities.

  My studies were principally concerned with the fifth century: the timewhen the Germanic tribes invaded these regions, the Roman garrisonsretiring with or without resistance, while many settlers remained inthe land. Peasants, trades-people, mechanics, would not forsake theirhomes, nor give up their lucrative occupations, would not quit theirvalued, long-cherished plots of ground, but stayed under the rule ofthe Barbarian; who, when the storm and battle of conquest were over,and the division of the country completed, did not molest them.

  The work of the day over, I wandered in the beautiful, long-familiarcountry of the Salzach valley; the warm June evenings permitted longwanderings up to a late hour. Thought and fancy were filled with thepictures of the life and the changing fate of the latest Romans inthese lands. My imagination was excited by the inscriptions, coins, andutensils, by the Roman monuments of every kind which are found in suchrich abundance in and around Salzburg; for this town, with itsprominent fortress, the "Capitolium," on the rocky hill dominatingstream and valley, was for centuries, under the name of "ClaudiumJuvavum," a chief bulwark of the Roman rule and the seat of aflourishing and brilliant development of the Roman culture. Theinscriptions testify to the official rank of many of the citizens, suchas Duumvirs, Decurions, AEdiles of the markets and games; to theimportance of the town as a place of trade, and to the encouragementgiven to the arts and manufactures.

  That which had occupied me during the labours of the day was picturedby the play of fancy, when in the evening I wandered out through thegate of the town: stream and road, hill and valley, were then peopledfor me with forms of the Roman life; and from the distant north-west,like the driving clouds that often arose from the Bavarian plain,approached menacingly the invading Germans.

  Most frequently, I preferred to saunter along the banks of the streamin the direction of the great Roman road, which passed the Chiemsee,and crossing its effluent, the Alz, at Siebruck (Bedaium), and the Inn(Oenus) at Pfuenz (Pons Oeni), led towards the province of Vindeliciaand its splendid capital, Augsburg (Augusta Vindelicorum). Many coins,fragments of pottery, urns, gravestones, and household utensils ofevery kind have been found in the level country which stretches on eachside of the old highroad, and is now for the most part covered withforest and brushwood, and in some parts overgrown with thick ivy. It isevident that farms, and also stately villas of the rich citizens, werethickly scattered beyond the outer wall of the fortified town, thusfilling and adorning the whole valley. I often wandered in theneighbourhood of this Roman road, the traces of which were stilldistinctly visible, watching the setting sun, and wondering what werethe feelings of the inhabitants of these villas, when, instead of theproud Legions marching by on their way to the Roman town on the Lech,it was the first weak bands of the Germans from the conqueredVindelicia who galloped in, carefully reconnoitring; and soon tobe followed by larger masses, more daring, or rather having thewell-grounded confidence that they would find the country only weaklydefended, and would be able to establish themselves as masters over thedefenceless Romans who still remained.

  In such fancies, not without the silent wish that I might myself gleansome small memorial of Roman times from this land so rich inremembrances, I penetrated one evening deeper into the brushwood on theright of the Roman road, following upwards the course of a smallstream, through a hollow often strewn with broken stones and potsherds,which moss and ivy had thickly overgrown, and which cracked not seldom,under my footsteps. I picked up many tiles and bits of pottery. Werethey Roman? No certain evidence could be gathered from _these_.

  I determined to-day to follow the rivulet till I should reach itssource, which I imagined to be under the gentle slope of a moderatelyhigh hill; for I knew that the Romans liked to build their quiet villasas well as their military stations by running water.

  It was very hot on that summer day, I was tired in body and mind, andit was only slowly, and with difficulty, that I could ascend the courseof the brook, forcing my way through the thick and often nearlyimpassable bushes by the help of my alpenstock, which I carried with,me, as I often climbed the mountains in my wanderings.

  I could willingly have stretched myself drowsily on the soft invitingmoss; but I resisted the inclination, and determined to press throughand up to the goal I had set myself: the source of the stream.

  In half an hour the slope was reached; the height is called by thepeople, "the Pagan mound." Along the latter part of the way I hadnoticed a striking increase in the number and size of the fragments ofstone; among them also were red and gray marble, like that which hadbeen quarried in the neighbourhood for unnumbered centuries; and itwas, as I had imagined, close under the crown of the hill the streamtrickled out of the ground.

  It appeared to have been once surrounded by masonry; this was in partstill perceptible, carefully polished clear gray marble enclosed ithere and there in a handsome setting, and round about lay scatterednumerous tiles. My heart beat quickly, not only in consequence of thearduous climb, but also, I confess it, in hopeful expectation, I wasyet very young. Suppose if to-day and here, Mercury, the Roman, orWotan, the German god of wishes and discovery, should give into my handthe long-desired memorial of the Romans of Juvavum; the name "Paganmound" gave undoubted evidence of the Roman occupation--for the Romanroad is here called the "Pagan road"--added to this, the source of thespring, the traces of the marble setting, the many tiles--then thesun's rays, just before setting, fell across the brushwood and shonedirectly on the tile-slab lying before me. Cement! I picked it up andtested it; it was without doubt that Roman cement which, becoming hardas stone during the lapse of centuries, so marks out the buildings ofeternal Rome, I turned the piece over; there, O joy! was burnt in theundoubted motto of the Twenty-second Legion: _Primigenia pia fidelis!_And as I bend down, highly pleased, to try the next brick, a yetstronger sunbeam falls on a piece of peculiar light-gray stone. It ismarble, I see now, and on the surface there are three Roman lettersdistinctly visible: "hic...." There the stone was broken; but close toit, the broken edge of a similar piece of gray stone projected from themoss and ivy. Does the continuation of the inscription lie here buriedunder a covering of moss and turf?

  I pulled at the stone, but it was too heavy, either from the load ofearth or from its own size.

  After some useless efforts, I found that I must clear off the layers ofturf and moss before the marble would entrust me with its secret.

  Had it one to narrate? Certainly! I held the commencement in my hand:"Hic," "here"--_what_ had here taken place, or was here attested? />
  After I had with my pocket-knife cleared the first piece from earth androot-fibres, I held its broken surface to that of the still coveredslab; they fitted very well together. Then I set to work; it was noteasy, not soon over; with hand, knife, and the point of my alpenstock,I had to scrape and tear away fully two feet of turf, earth, moss, and,toughest of all, the numerous little roots of the clasping ivy;although the sun was setting and the breeze was cool, the labour mademe very hot; the perspiration fell from my brow on the old Roman stone,which now showed itself as a tolerably long slab. After the first fewminutes my zeal was sharpened by perceiving more letters. It was atlast so far laid bare that I could take hold of the edges with bothhands, and with some little jerks bring it fully to view. I then heldthe broken stone with the deciphered _hic_ against it; this gave me thedirection in which farther to search.

  I hastily scraped away earth, stones, and moss from the cutting of theletters, for it was quickly getting darker, and I wished to make out atonce the long-buried secret. I succeeded; without question, thoughcertainly with difficulty, I read the inscription, in two lines undereach other:

  Hic habitat Felicit... Nihil mali intret.

  The two last letters of the third word alone were missing; the stonewas here broken away, and its companion piece was not to be found; butit was self-evident that the missing letters were--as--the inscriptionmeant:

  Here dwells happiness; May nothing evil enter in.

  Clearly the gray marble slab had formed the threshold of the entranceto the garden or porch of the villa; and the adage expressed the wishthat all evil might be kept far from the door.

  I sought in vain for yet farther traces, for remains of householdutensils.

  Pleased and satisfied with the discovery of the pretty proverb, I thenrested.

  Wiping my heated brow, I sat down on the soft moss by my work, thinkingagain and again of the words; I supported my back against an old oak,which had grown up out of the rubbish of the house, or, perhaps, out ofthe good mould of the little garden.

  A wondrous quiet reigned over the hill, which was quite separated fromthe world by trees and bushes.

  Only very, very faintly one heard the trickling of the small, scantyvein of water which came out of the earth close by me, and onlysometimes, when it found a quicker fall, rippled more strongly. Once,no doubt, when handsomely enclosed in the clear gray marble, it hadspoken loader.

  In the distance, on the summit of a high beech, the golden oriole sangits flute-like evening song, which told of still deeper forestloneliness, for the listener seldom hears the notes of the "Pirol,"except in such a solitude. Bees hummed here and there over the mossycarpet, coming out of the dark thicket and seeking the warmer light,sleepy themselves and lulling to sleep with their humming.

  I thought, whose "happiness" once dwelt here? And has the wish of theinscription been fulfilled? Was the proverb powerful enough to keep offall evil? The stone which bore it is broken--a bad sign. And what kindof happiness was this? But stay! At that time Felicitas occurs as a_woman's name_; perhaps the proverb, with a graceful double meaning,would say: "Here dwells happiness; that is to say, my Felicitas; maynothing evil come over her, over our threshold!"

  But "Felicitas"--who was she? and who was he, whose happiness she hadbeen, and what had become of them? And this villa, how----?

  This was my last waking thought, for with the last question I fellasleep.

  And long did I slumber; for when the song of the nightingale, loudlyexultant, close to my ear, awoke me, it was dark night; a single starshone through the branches of the oak. I sprang up: "Felicitas!Fulvius!" I cried, "Liuthari! Felicitas! where are they?"

  "Felicitas!" softly repeated the echo from the hill. All else was stilland dark.

  So was it a dream?

  Now, _this_ dream I will retain.

  Felicitas, I hold thee!

  Thou shalt not escape me.

  Poetical fancy can immortalise thee.

  And I hastened home, and the same night noted down the history which Ihad dreamt among the ruins of the old Roman villa.