I found there. Amadis of Gaul, Erasmus and Hutten,
the works of Boccaccio and Sannazar, the Epigrams of Poggio, and the
novels of Rabelais. It became suddenly clear to me why this good Priest
required so much Strohwein to stupefy him. The love stories which I
read, did me much mischief, but I soon cast them away from me; my zeal
was awakened and I determined to do away with the scandal. One
afternoon that the Priest had gone out, and that the housekeeper was
visiting her nephews and nieces, I packed up the entire library of the
Antichrist and carried them into the court. I had soon piled up the
filthy works and rejoiced to see how well they burnt up. But in my
ardour I had not remembered that at this very season the Foehn blew
strongly. How could a young Saint only twenty years of age think of
such a trifle, when the cause of God was in question. The burning paper
went flying about the court and before I knew the shingles of the
pig-sty were on fire. I run for water, pile dung on the burning sty,
and whilst I am sweating and puffing, I suddenly notice that the flying
bits of paper have set the shingle-roof of the parsonage on fire. I at
once run to the Church and toll the alarm bell. People hasten from all
sides. I would answer no question, see nothing, hear nothing. But
whilst tolling I see how the Church itself is filling with smoke; it is
evident that the roof is on fire, I toll all the more till at last the
bell itself lies at my feet. It was time for me to step outside. Holy
Florianus, when I look around me I see the whole place in flames! The
wind carried the burning straw from roof to roof. I did not wait to
receive from the peasants the reward of my pious efforts, but cut a
stick and left the place as hard as my legs could carry me. Of an
evening, I curled myself up in a cornfield and went fast asleep. Thus I
at last reached Innsbruck where lived my Abbot. I confessed all to him.
'Thou wert zealous but foolishly,' said he, 'thy stay in Tyrol is no
longer possible.' Thus I was obliged to come down from my mountains
towards the empire, and could choose any of the sixteen corners from
which the wind blows over the plain of Munich. It now became necessary
to repress myself and to cringe, and I soon entirely lost the art of
rooting the sins of others out by fire. When finally I reached France,
my zeal had vanished. Bishop Zobel of Wuerzburg thought however that I
was a thorough Tyrolean and knew how to behave myself, h