At last, completed was the church and gleamed with strength and grace in timber, stone, and tile, and Romanesque in style. Then Wolfgang looked upon that church as there it shone in Schafberg’s shade on the Lake Abersee—his vision come to be.
To Master Urian he said: “Truly, one immortal soul is a price too high.”
“Thou dissembler!” scoffed Urian. “For lesser things than this pale church men butcher droves of men! One soul is owed—not one thousand! O Wolfgang, fie on thee for shame! The hypocrite is the earliest church bird.”
Then Wolfgang’s crozier cracked the earth. “Enough!” the Bishop said. “Though to our bargain I stand bound, to Him I cling whose Body is our Bread. Leave off they hateful homily. Good will triumph in the end. The first soul still is yours that passes through those doors.”
Just then, a cry came trilling on the air out from the wood. Again it called, but nearer now—it was a hunting horn. Wolfgang rushed to the church and, laying hand on the door-ring, he drew aside the latch and threw the portal ajar.
Out tore the Wolf, a beast at bay—the Hunter was on his heels. And as the brute sped by the church, the door stood open and so it plunged inside.
“’Tis done,” the Bishop pronounced. “This terror of the flock is, nolens volens, thine, though none of Adam’s stock. A soul I promised unto thee that in this church first came, so drag this wolfish soul down to thy domain.”
Then Urian with choler cried, “Thou cheating churlish priest! A curse on thee and on thy church!”
“Tarry all!” the Wolf whined. “Speak thou of the fiery pit? Wherefore must I go?”
“A bone have I to pick as well!” the Hunter rushed to say. “For years have I this quarry sought! Take thou my prize when I have won the day?”
“To each goes as is due,” came Wolfgang’s wise reply. “Thou, Urian, still fail to learn thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy God. Thou, Wolf—thy deeds in blood are drenched; but when we met, thou spared no thought to make amends. To God thy tail thou tossed and thus thy soul is damned. Thou, Hunter—man must give, not take; but when to thee I called, thy glory, not thy God’s, thou chose. And for thy pride, thy trophy is denied.”
Master Urian stormed down the nave and seized his howling prey. The Fiend then grasped the door and slammed it to with such vehemence he snapped the ring in twain—which crack is there unto this very day.
Once those two had disappeared to Dis, the Hunter at the church looked hard; then hung his head and went his way. Alone was Wolfgang with his church of Urian’s peculiar design. The steeple stands with Schafberg’s height and shimmers in the Abersee (now called the Wolfgangsee).
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Date: 2014-08-04 07:39 pm (UTC)At last, completed was the church and gleamed with strength and grace in timber, stone, and tile, and Romanesque in style. Then Wolfgang looked upon that church as there it shone in Schafberg’s shade on the Lake Abersee—his vision come to be.
To Master Urian he said: “Truly, one immortal soul is a price too high.”
“Thou dissembler!” scoffed Urian. “For lesser things than this pale church men butcher droves of men! One soul is owed—not one thousand! O Wolfgang, fie on thee for shame! The hypocrite is the earliest church bird.”
Then Wolfgang’s crozier cracked the earth. “Enough!” the Bishop said. “Though to our bargain I stand bound, to Him I cling whose Body is our Bread. Leave off they hateful homily. Good will triumph in the end. The first soul still is yours that passes through those doors.”
Just then, a cry came trilling on the air out from the wood. Again it called, but nearer now—it was a hunting horn. Wolfgang rushed to the church and, laying hand on the door-ring, he drew aside the latch and threw the portal ajar.
Out tore the Wolf, a beast at bay—the Hunter was on his heels. And as the brute sped by the church, the door stood open and so it plunged inside.
“’Tis done,” the Bishop pronounced. “This terror of the flock is, nolens volens, thine, though none of Adam’s stock. A soul I promised unto thee that in this church first came, so drag this wolfish soul down to thy domain.”
Then Urian with choler cried, “Thou cheating churlish priest! A curse on thee and on thy church!”
“Tarry all!” the Wolf whined. “Speak thou of the fiery pit? Wherefore must I go?”
“A bone have I to pick as well!” the Hunter rushed to say. “For years have I this quarry sought! Take thou my prize when I have won the day?”
“To each goes as is due,” came Wolfgang’s wise reply. “Thou, Urian, still fail to learn thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy God. Thou, Wolf—thy deeds in blood are drenched; but when we met, thou spared no thought to make amends. To God thy tail thou tossed and thus thy soul is damned. Thou, Hunter—man must give, not take; but when to thee I called, thy glory, not thy God’s, thou chose. And for thy pride, thy trophy is denied.”
Master Urian stormed down the nave and seized his howling prey. The Fiend then grasped the door and slammed it to with such vehemence he snapped the ring in twain—which crack is there unto this very day.
Once those two had disappeared to Dis, the Hunter at the church looked hard; then hung his head and went his way. Alone was Wolfgang with his church of Urian’s peculiar design. The steeple stands with Schafberg’s height and shimmers in the Abersee (now called the Wolfgangsee).