he first attack came in April, Ellenbog was staying at the monastery
of St. George, at Isny, about twenty miles away. The peasants there
destroyed everything belonging to the monks that they could find
outside the walls, and threatened dire treatment when they should
force their way in; but mercifully the walls were strong, and held
out.

Ottobeuren was less fortunate. Being in the country, it had to rely
upon itself, and so fell an easy prey. The buildings were defaced, the
windows broken, the stoves and ovens wrecked, and all the ironwork
carried off. Scarcely a door remained on its hinges, and the furniture
of the rooms disappeared. The church was violated, its pictures
soiled, and its statues smashed; Christ's wounds should be wounds
indeed, hard voices cried, as axe and hammer rung over their pitiless
work. The library was emptied of its books. Walls and roofs and floors
were all that the monks found when they ventured back. Ellenbog,
however, fared better than many. A friendly brother had seized up some
of his books and papers and hidden them in the clock-tower; and the
abbey carpenter thinking this insecure had found them better cover,
presumably in his own house. The tempest over, calm soon returned. The
countryfolk, many of whom had remained friendly, began bringing back
spoil which they had wrested from wrongful possessors. Some of
Ellenbog's books were brought in; and as much as two years later he
recovered one of his astronomical instruments. He lost, however, a
number of his father's papers, which he had been on the point of
editing; a Hebrew Bible given to him by Onofrius; and the first two
books of his collection of his own letters. 'God knows whether they
will ever come back,' he wrote at the beginning of the third book; and
to him they never did. They are now safe at Stuttgart, though in
permanent divorce from the other seven books, which are in Paris.

Ellenbog was no coward. In the autumn the vineyards belonging to the
Abbey were to be inspected, and the due tithes of wine exacted. Unless
this were done the monks would suffer lack; so some one had to be
sent, in spite of the last mutterings of the revolt. One vineyard lay
at Immenstadt, some distance to the South, and thus Ellenbog at Isny
was already part way thither. Moreover, having served as Steward, he
would know what was required. The Abbot sent down a horse and bade him
go: though the roads were held by armed outlaws, who were reported to
be