THE COMING OF ATTILA THE HUN

In 312 the man who was then Roman emperor became a Christian, and of course this put an end to the persecutions of the Christians in Gaul. The Gauls had other troubles to meet, however, for the Germans were making raids across the Rhine into the Gallic lands. Lutetia had now become Paris, and here the Roman governor made his home, so that he could keep watch of the invaders.

Rome grew weaker and weaker, and at length the Romans almost gave up fighting with the Germans and made alliances with some of them instead, calling them friends and guests and actually allowing them--perhaps even inviting them--to come over the Rhine and make their homes in Gaul. They expected the newcomers, to whom they had shown such favor, to prevent the rest of the Germans from entering the land, but they were disappointed. The lands of Gaul were more fertile than those farther north, the climate was warmer, and the sky clearer, and the Germans continued to come. One group of tribes in particular, the Franks, or “Free Men,” were especially bold and daring, and it was soon plain that they had come to stay and that all Rome could not hinder them.

Before long the time came when even the Gauls were glad of the presence of these fierce warriors. On winter evenings, in the dimly lighted homes of Gaul, fearsome tales began to be told of a terrible race known as Huns. “They are coming from Scythia,” whispered the story-tellers fearfully. “They are coming on horseback, and they are bringing in great carts their women and all their treasures. They have tiny black eyes, flat faces, and broad noses. Their ears flare out from their heads, their skins are painted and tattooed. They have no beards, but their hair is rough and shaggy. Their bodies are short and square, and when they walk, they look like bears trying to stand on two legs. People say that their mothers were witches, their fathers demons, and that they know how to work all kinds of evil spells upon their enemies.” “But cannot the emperor buy them off?” some one would ask; and the answer was, “The emperor has already given them land and promised to pay them tribute; but no one believes that they will stay where he put them.”

They did not stay, but pressed on into Gaul; and now the Gauls were glad of the help of Romans, Franks, and any one else who could wield a sword. Led by their chief Attila, the Huns swept on, killing and destroying wherever they went. “Grass never grows again where the hoofs of Attila’s steed have trod,” was the old saying.

Attila claimed that his sword had come to him as a gift from the god of war. It seemed, according to the legend, that one of the Hun shepherds noticed that blood was dropping from the foot of a young heifer. He traced her footsteps back to a place where he saw a sharp point sticking up out of the ground, and found that it was the point of an ancient sword. He carried the sword to Attila. “This is the sword of the god of war,” declared the wily leader. “The gods have sent it to me, and wherever I wield it, there we shall win a victory.”

It began to seem as if Attila had made a true prophecy, for the chief with his Huns ran through country after country, successful almost everywhere. “The Scourge of God,” he was afterward called. He and his savage followers were galloping straight for Paris, and the people of that city were just beginning a frantic flight for somewhere, they knew not where, in the hope of saving their lives, when suddenly the doors of the church were flung open, and a young maiden stood before them. The people fell on their knees before her, for this was Genevieve, a shepherd girl whose holiness they all knew. “I have called the holy matrons and the consecrated virgins to come together in the church,” she said, “and I have bidden them to pray earnestly and trustfully to God that he will save our city. He has listened to our prayers. Go back to your houses, for Paris will be saved.”

This is the legend that has come down through the years. Whether it is true or not, it is a fact that Attila suddenly changed his course; Paris was spared, and he drove on to Orleans.

Orleans had new and strong fortifications, and her people had no thought of yielding. But after a while food began to be scanty, the walls showed cracks made by Attila’s battering rams, and the Huns were drawing closer and closer around the city. The citizens of Orleans knew that Romans, Gauls, Franks, and others were trying to come together to meet the Huns, but there was long delay in their coming, and perhaps they would not come at all.

“Be brave and do not let your courage fail,” said the good Bishop of Orleans to his people. “Here is the messenger whom I sent to the lookout on the rampart. Have you good news for us?” he asked, turning to the young man.

“Alas, no!” he replied. “I could see nothing but the great plain stretching out to the horizon.”

“Go once more,” bade the bishop, and the young man went again.

“Are they coming?” asked the bishop when he returned.

“Alas, no!” replied the young man for the second time. “There is nothing to be seen but the great plain.”

“Go yet a third time, my son,” said the bishop. “God’s aid sometimes seems slow, but it is sure.”

So the young man went a third time, and when he came back his face was so bright that the people knew he had brought good news.

“The great plain stretches out as before,” he said, “but far away on the horizon there is a tiny cloud.”

“The armies are coming! It is the aid of the living God!” cried the bishop; and the multitude said after him in hushed and reverent tones, “it is the aid of the living God.”

So the people of Orleans fought more bravely than ever, and soon Attila too saw the cloud, then the gleam of the shining pikes, then the banners, and last, the thousands of strong fighters coming to the rescue of the city.

Evidently a battle was at hand that would need all his forces, and Attila withdrew at once to the plain of the Marne River where Châlons now stands, brought all his troops together, and fortified his camp, arranging a breastwork of wagons around it. Then he spoke to his followers:

“Do you see our enemies coming upon us?” he asked, pointing to the advancing lines. “From one end of Europe to the other, armies have fled before us, and these people too will flee. Glorious deeds await you and mighty will be your rewards. Be brave. Be fearless, and show our enemies the valor of the Huns!” “On! On! Lead us on!” cried the Huns, shouting their battle-cries and rushing forward upon the Gallic lines.

Terrible fighting went on all that day, and only ceased when the combatants could no longer see one another’s faces. Attila withdrew to the shelter of the camp with its barricade of wagons and its intrenchments and made ready for another battle on the morrow. “No man shall ever boast of having captured Attila, the Scourge of God!” he declared, and he built up a great mound of the wooden saddles of his cavalry. On this he poured out his most valuable treasures, and around it he stationed his wives. “If our enemies should be on the point of taking the camp,” he said, “I shall set fire to this pile and perish with my treasures. Neither I nor these shall ever fall into the hands of our foes.”

When the morning came, the battle went on again, so furiously that, even after the fighting had ceased, people could hardly believe that it had really come to a close, and the legend quickly arose that high up in the clouds above the field of slaughter the spirits of the slain continued for three days the dreadful struggle. The Gauls and their aids were the victors, but they made no attempt to destroy the invaders. Attila and his followers were allowed to withdraw toward Germany.

One year later the Huns invaded Italy and overcame city after city. The terrible Hun, savage as he was, had a sense of humor. In one of the Italian cities Attila came upon a picture representing the Roman emperors sitting on their thrones, while the princes of Scythia bowed at their feet. Attila sent for a painter. “Change that,” he commanded. “Put _me_ on the throne and paint the emperors pouring out their gold at _my_ feet.”

Attila was planning more invasions when he suddenly died. His followers raised a great silken pavilion and within it they laid the body of their leader. Around this marched the lines of the Huns, chanting a funeral hymn of praise and sorrow. “He was glorious in his life,” they sang, “and in his death he was invincible. To his people he was a father, to his enemies a scourge, and to the whole world a dread and terror.” They cut off locks of their hair and they made jagged cuts into their faces that the blood might flow freely; for they said, “The tears wept for such a man should not be of water but of blood.” They then laid him into a coffin of iron, next into one of silver, and last into one of gold. Lest these should be stolen and his body be treated with disrespect, they buried him at dead of night, putting into his grave a quantity of weapons and treasures. The grave was filled up, and the prisoners who had dug it were put to death, that no one should know where the mighty Scythian leader had been laid. Then, according to their custom, they held a great feast with song and jest and merriment.

This battle of Châlons, the true “first battle of the Marne,” is famous for two reasons. The first is because it was so fierce and so many men were engaged in it. The second is because on the plains of Châlons it was settled that the Huns, heathen and barbarians, should not rule in Europe.