Historical Tales, Vol. 6 | Page 2

tracks of
whose horse's hoofs the grass could never grow again, as he proudly
boasted.
Writers of the time picture to us this savage chieftain as a deformed
monster, short, ill-formed, with a large head, swarthy complexion,
small, deep-seated eyes, flat nose, a few hairs in place of a beard, and
with a habit of fiercely rolling his eyes, as if to inspire terror. He had
broad shoulders, a square, strong form, and was as powerful in body as
he was ready and alert in mind. The man had been born for a conqueror,
and Europe was his prey.
The Scythians adored the god of war, whom they worshipped under the
shape of an iron cimeter. It was through the aid of this superstition that
Attila raised himself to dominion over their savage and tameless hordes.
One of their shepherds, finding that a heifer was wounded in the foot,
followed the track of blood which the animal had made, and discovered
amid the long grass the point of an ancient sword. This he dug from the
earth in which it was buried and presented to Attila. The artful chief
claimed that it was a celestial gift, sent to him by the god of war, and
giving him a divine claim to the dominion of the earth. Doubtless his
sacred gift was consecrated with the Scythian rites,--a lofty heap of
fagots, three hundred yards in length and breadth, being raised on a
spacious plain, the sword of Mars placed erect on its summit, and the
rude altar consecrated by the blood of sheep, horses, and probably of

human captives. But Attila soon proved a better claim to a divine
commission by leading the hordes of the Huns to victory after victory,
until he threatened to subjugate, if not to depopulate, all Europe. It was
in pursuance of this conquering career that he was brought, in the year
451, to the banks of the Rhine and the borders of the future realm of
France, then still known as Gaul, and held by the feeble hand of the
expiring empire of Rome.
The broad Rhine proved but a feeble obstacle to the innumerable
cavalry of the Huns. A bridge of boats was quickly built, and across the
stream they poured into the fair provinces of Gaul. Universal
consternation prevailed. Long peace had made the country rich, and
had robbed its people of their ancient valor. As the story goes, the
degenerate Gauls trusted for their defence to the prayers of the saints.
St. Lupus saved Troyes. The prayers of St. Genevieve turned the march
of Attila aside from Paris. Unluckily, most of the cities of the land held
neither saints nor soldiers, and the Huns made these their helpless prey.
City after city was taken and ruined. The fate of Metz will serve as an
example of the policy of the Huns. In this city, as we are told, priests
and infants alike were slain, and the flourishing city was so utterly
destroyed that only a chapel of St. Stephen was left to mark its site. Its
able-bodied inhabitants were probably reserved to be sold as slaves.
And now, in the prosecution of his ruinous march, Attila fixed his camp
before the walls of Orleans, a city which he designed to make the
central post of the dominion which he hoped to establish in Gaul. It was
to be his fortified centre of conquest. Upon it rested the fate of the
whole great province.
Orleans lay behind its walls trembling with dread, as the neigh of the
Hunnish horses sounded in its ears, as the standards of the Hunnish
host floated in the air. Yet it was not quite defenceless. Its walls had
been recently strengthened. Behind them lay a force of soldiers, or of
armed citizens, who repelled the first assaults of the foe. An army was
known to be marching to its relief. All was not lost.
Forty years earlier Rome had fallen before Alaric, the Goth. The empire
was now in the last stages of decreptitude. Yet by fortunate chance it

had an able soldier at the head of its armies, Ætius, the noblest son of
declining Rome. "The graceful figure of Ætius," says a contemporary
historian, "was not above the middle stature; but his manly limbs were
admirably formed for strength, beauty, and agility; and he excelled in
the martial exercises of managing a horse, drawing the bow, and
darting the javelin. He could patiently endure the want of food or of
sleep; and his mind and body were alike capable of the most laborious
efforts. He possessed the genuine courage that can despise not only
dangers but injuries; and it was impossible either to corrupt, or deceive,
or intimidate the firm integrity of his soul."
When the Huns invaded Gaul,