“Why?” asked Arnold.
“Pontius Pilate, who was the Governor of Judea, administered the affairs of the province so corruptly that the Emperor Tiberius recalled him to Rome and shut him up in prison,” said his mother. “Rather than suffer this disgrace, Pilate took his own life. As he was a self-murderer his body was thrown into the Tiber. A terrible tempest of rain and hail at once swept down upon Rome. For weeks the thunder crashed and shook the city. The people at last decided that the storm was caused by the dead Pilate, so they took the body from the river and carried it away. But wherever they deposited it—in the Rhone or in other rivers—violent storms and tempests raged, as they had done in Rome. At last they brought the body here and threw it into the little solitary lake near the top of yonder lofty, rugged, and almost inaccessible mountain. It was then called the Pilatus Lake and at a later day the name was also given to the mountain. Before that the mountain was called Fracmont, which comes from a Latin word signifying its jagged appearance. The lake has neither inlet nor outlet. It is not increased by the rain or the snow, nor does the most intense Summer heat lower it. It does not freeze in Winter. The wind does not agitate its dark surface, but when its quiet is disturbed by human hands frightful tempests arise.”
“Does the dead Pontius Pilate who is buried there make these storms?” said Arnold.
“Yes, my child. At times he rises from the lake and sits upon a mountain-peak, and from thence stirs up the storms which spread such devastation over the country. But once there came a wandering scholar—”
“What kind of persons are those?” asked the lad.
“They are scholars who go from one school to another, pursuing their studies, now in this one, now in that. They are poor, and the ecclesiastics and other religious people whom they visit in their wanderings support them. Last Summer one of them ate at our table.”
“Was he a scholar?” asked Arnold, in great surprise; “why, he was as big as father, and had a long beard, besides.”
“Yes,” replied his mother, with a smile; “it is not unusual for these learned beggars to remain in the schools until their thirtieth year, when they sometimes get positions as under-teachers.”
“One of these travelling scholars came, you were saying,” said Arnold, thus recalling to his mother the interrupted story.
“Yes, one of them came into our neighborhood who knew how to exorcise evil spirits, and the valley people promised to pay him well if he would quiet Pilate. The student betook himself to the lake and hurled such powerful incantations at him that he promised to rest quietly in the lake upon condition that he might rise from his watery grave one day in each year. Since that time, upon every Good Friday, Pilate leaves the lake and sits in his red robes of office as he used to do. During the remainder of the year he is quiet and invisible. But when he becomes provoked by unusual noises in the vicinity of the lake, or stones are thrown into it, then the clouds gather about the mountains, terrible storms break loose, and the lake emits fiery exhalations. On this account people are forbidden to go near the lake lest some one may ignorantly or maliciously provoke him and thereby endanger this region as well as himself.”