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Updated: May 5, 2025
Maître Bernard stood a few moments in rapt admiration, and the woodman, kindly addressing the young girl, said "I am glad to see you, Fuldrade. Irmengarde is still asleep. What a storm it is! Is it coming to an end yet?" "Yes, the wind is driving it down to the plain. It will be over before daylight."
The gentle creature calmly and quietly came straight in, and seemed to examine old Irmengarde. "Go away!" cried Fuldrade; "go along with the others!" And the obedient heifer turned back to the cabin door. But the falling floods seemed to give her matter for reflection, for she stood quietly there, contemplating the deluge, and slowly swinging her beautiful head, lowing in a deep, subdued tone.
And now, my dear friends, if you are curious to know what became of old Irmengarde, refer to the second volume of Bernard Hertzog's Archeological Annals, where under date July 16,1836, you will find the following statement: "The old teller of legends, Irmengarde, surnamed 'The Soul of the Ruins, died last night in the hut of the woodman Christian.
The spirit of the ruins lives in her. A hundred and eight years Irmengarde has lived with this spirit in her. Before her it was in old Edith of Haslach; before Edith in some other " "Do you believe that?" "Do I believe it! It is as sure, Master Bernard, as that the sun will be back in three hours' time. Death is night, life is day. After night comes day, then night again, and so on without end.
There were only a few hairs left on the back of her head; the rest of her skull was as bare of covering as an egg. A threadbare ragged linen gown covered her poor skeleton figure. She was sightless, and the expression of her face was one of constant reverie. Christian, noticing my uncle's inquiring look, turned his head and said quietly "It's old Irmengarde, the old teller of legends.
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