The place was overcrowded, the weather quite warm; and as the worthy man’s teachings were even more uninteresting than usual, one auditor after another nodded and slept. Beatus, who had been detained by a work of mercy, slipped unperceived into the church shortly after the sermon had begun, and seating himself modestly in a corner, lent a reverent and attentive ear to his colleague’s halting discourse.
Looking up, however, he suddenly became aware of the fact that the whole congregation was fast asleep, and that the Evil One was jotting down their names with fiendish glee. While Beatus was hesitating whether to be guilty of the sin of disturbing divine service by making a noise which would wake the imprudent sleepers, or whether he should leave their souls in such a dangerous predicament without making an effort to save them, he perceived that the Devil had almost reached the bottom of his ram-skin, and had not space enough left to inscribe all the remaining names.
At that very moment the Devil became aware of the selfsame fact, but, notoriously quick at devising expedients, he immediately seized the skin between his teeth, and began tugging at it with all his might so as to stretch it sufficiently to serve his purpose. In his haste he gave a jerk which, tearing the skin, threw his head backward, hitting the pulpit such a resonant bang that every man, woman, and child in the congregation awoke with a start.
Beatus, the only one who had seen the accident, disgraced himself by laughing aloud; and the Devil, perceiving he had defeated his own ends, flounced angrily out of the church, and vanished with a yell, while the people sank on their knees and frantically prayed to be forgiven for yielding to fatigue.
Beatus, we are told, was duly punished for laughing in church, for when he again spread out his mantle, expecting to be wafted across the lake, as usual, it remained stationary, and although he ultimately died in the odour of sanctity and was duly canonised, he ever after had to resort to ordinary means of transportation. The cave in which Beatus dwelt on the Beatenberg, and which still bears his name, has been uninhabitable since his day. From its mouth now pours forth a noisy stream during the spring months, and after heavy falls of rain.
* * * * *
Many steamboats daily furrow the lake over which St. Beatus was wont to fly on his mantle; and after passing the romantic town of Oberhofen, directly opposite Einigen, where Justus preached, they come to Spiez, where stands a tower of the old castle of Strättlingen. A lord of that name is said to have been suddenly converted, while out hunting, by the sight of a stag bearing a luminous crucifix between its wide antlers. During the Christian persecutions under Hadrian, this Strättlingen took refuge in Burgundy, where he greatly distinguished himself during a quarrel with France.
It seems that the two kings had decided that their difference should be settled by a duel between champions of their selection. The king of France, however, produced a giant so strong that no Burgundian dared meet him; and when Strättlingen volunteered to fight, the king of Burgundy was duly grateful.
Reaching the lists before his antagonist, Strättlingen sat down to await his coming, which he dreaded so little that he quietly fell asleep. When the giant came, he gazed in angry astonishment at a rival snoring as peacefully five minutes before the redoubtable encounter as if he were merely taking a nap before dinner. Convinced that some miracle lay behind this marvellous composure, the giant gazed at his foe more closely still, and declared himself ready to acknowledge his defeat without striking a blow, because the Archangel Michael stood beside the sleeping champion, ready to battle for him.
In reward for the great victory thus won in his sleep, the Burgundian king gave Strättlingen his daughter’s hand in marriage, a large estate on the Lake of Thun, and great treasures. Part of this wealth was employed by Strättlingen in erecting the castle which still bears his name, and which long remained in the possession of his family. One of his descendants, Wernhardt von Strättlingen, was known far and wide for his great charity, and when a shivering pilgrim knocked at his gate one cold winter morning, he unhesitatingly bestowed upon him a brand-new cloak and bade him enter and spend the night in the castle.