Revenge of the Rats! The Legend of Hatto

Sometime in the tenth century, so the story goes, a great famine hit the Rhine valley. The summer and fall seasons had been so wet that the grain rotted in the fields before the farmers could harvest. As winter hit, they ran out their food stores; they were starving. Desperate, they turned to Hatto, the wealthy Archbishop of Mainz, whose granaries were filled to overflowing.

Some stories say that Hatto charged the people such a steep price for the grain that they began to rebel. Some stories say he was just sick of their begging. Either way, Hatto finally announced that everyone without food should come to his barn on a certain day, and he would give them grain.

On that day, people came from all over the countryside, and filled the bishop’s barn until it couldn’t hold a single more person. Then Hatto ordered the barn doors locked and set fire to the barn, burning all the peasants to death.

‘I’faith, ’tis an excellent bonfire!’ quoth he,
‘And the country is greatly obliged to me
For ridding it, in these times forlorn,
Of rats that only consume the corn.’

Then Hatto went home to a good dinner, retired to bed, and slept like a baby.

The next morning, the servants ran to the Bishop and reported that ten thousand rats had eaten all the corn in the granaries, and were now converging on the Bishop’s palace. Terrified,
the Bishop had himself rowed out to his stronghold, a tower on an island in the middle of the Rhine. The rats dove into the river, swam to the island, swarmed the tower, and ate the bishop alive.

NewImageIllustration from the Nuremberg Chronicle, by Hartmann Schedel (1440-1514)
Image: Wikipedia

Down on his knees the Bishop fell,
And faster and faster his beads did he tell,
As louder and louder drawing near
The gnawing of their teeth he could hear.

And in at the windows and in at the door,
And through the walls helter-skelter they pour,
And down from the ceiling and up through the floor,
From the right and the left, from behind and before,
From within and without, from above and below,
And all at once to the Bishop they go.

They have whetted their teeth against the stones,
And now they pick the Bishop’s bones:
They gnaw’d the flesh from every limb,
For they were sent to do judgment on him!

The poem that tells this tale is called God’s Judgment on a Wicked Bishop, by English poet Robert Southey. The legend itself is an old one.

There really was a Hatto, Archbishop of Mainz — two of them, in fact. Hatto I was archbishop from 891 to 913. Southey, in his preface to the poem, quotes an account that places the famine in 914, which would be near Hatto I’s reign. This Hatto was quite the political schemer; he was a close councillor of King Arnulf of Germany, a supporter of the Conradines against the Babenbergs in their struggle for political supremacy in Franconia, and the power behind the German throne from 890 until his death. He was supposedly involved in an assassination attempt on Henry, Duke of Saxony, who eventually became King Henry I of Germany in 919. Hatto actually died in 913, and in fact there are other legends about his death, including one that he was thrown into Mt. Etna by the devil. I’m guessing he was a pretty bad man, but probably not responsible for burning a barn full of people to death.

The legend is actually more closely associated with Hatto II, former abbot of Fulda monastery, who was Archbishop of Mainz from 968 to 970. Hatto II sounds like a fairly benign guy, patron to the abbeys of Fulda and Reichenau, and a patron of the arts. He was responsible for the restoration of an old Roman tower on an island in the middle of the Rhine. It’s called The Mouse Tower (Mäuseturm), because, of course, that’s where he allegedly got devoured alive for his sins. The tower was actually used for collecting tolls from ships passing down the river.

NewImageThe Mouse Tower on the Rhine [It’s still there, today]
from Historical Tales, The Romance of Reality, Vol. 5 by Charles Morris. 1893)
Project Gutenberg

And there are other stories of evil men devoured by rats, and even other Mouse Towers. Sabine Baring-Gould lists a number of versions of the legend in his book, Curious Myths of the Middle Ages.

One of the more interesting variations is the story of Prince Popiel of Poland. Popiel was apparently a very bad ruler, more interested in hedonism than good government. Some of the noblemen (one story says they were his twelve uncles) schemed to have him deposed. Popiel invited them all to a banquet and poisoned them. Mice and rats began to swarm out of the dead bodies, right there at the banquet, and attacked Popiel and his wife. The two of them fled to a castle on Lake Goplo (there is a Mouse Tower there in Kruszwica, too), but the rodents pursued, with the inevitable consequences.

Supposedly, mice are the manifestations of souls in many Northern European mythologies, so it makes sense that rodents would be an instrument of revenge for wrongful death — the ghosts of the victims coming back to take revenge on their murderer. Baring-Gould also theorized that these rat-revenge legends are the vestiges of old Nordic corn-king style practices: in times of famine, rulers are sacrificed to appease the gods (sacrificed by being left out to be eaten by vermin? Ick). Once the sacrificial aspect is forgotten, then the story morphs into a punishment fable.

Whether or not Baring-Gould was correct, it’s quite a gory little tale.

19 thoughts on “Revenge of the Rats! The Legend of Hatto

    1. I’d never heard of it either, until I read “The Rat Racket” by David Keller (mentioned it in my previous post). Of course I had to go look it up!

  1. This made me recall the Heinrich Heine quote (1821): “That was mere foreplay. Where they have burned books, they will end in burning human beings.” Or, in this case, where they tell children stories of clergy burning people and rats eating people, they will eventually actually do something like it, as was done during the Holocaust.

    1. I never thought of that… pity that people only remember the evil deed (mass murder), and don’t stop to think that the punishment (getting eaten by rats) is, or should be, the consequence.

  2. The legend sure is gory. It reminds me of a movie scene where a trapped rat ate the stomach of an enemy from inside out. Even though the scene is, well, bloodless, you know how a reader’s imagination can go wild. And it was, like, ewwww, ick! Anyway, thanks for sharing. Very interesting post! 🙂

  3. I would like to have replied that I am so happy that we can live in a time of rat-less legends inspired by infestations but little do I forget our lovely rat neighbors that run through the streets in NYC everyday.

  4. I did a musical based on this legend at Newcastle Playhouse, UK. It was called Rodentica. I played the King Mouse at the age of 10 years old. We ate that Bishop good

    “Hatto, oh Hatto, wake up from your dreams
    There’s no one to save you, they can’t hear your screams
    And your cat can’t protect you, she’s fat from too much cream
    Bye Bye Hatto, bye bye, oooooh yeah”

  5. Our literature teacher made us read this, and since I like gore, I loved it. Thanks for sharing this summary, made it easier to grasp

  6. If I remember correctly when I was a child about how the child Emperor Henry III was kidnapped in 1063. One of the kidnappes, Archbishop Anno of Cologne, became the regent of the empire from 1063 to 1065. And I think that I remember reading that Archbishop Anno was eaten to death by mice or rates. And later I read that the similarly between the names of Hatto and Anno might have caused the story be to told about Anno.

    1. I had not heard of that connection! Thank you for pointing it out. It looks like from Wikipedia that Anno kidnapped Henry IV, Henry III’s son. But either way, I can see why some people might have confused him with Hatto.

      1. Sorry for my misspellings. And yes the kidnapped child emperor is usually known as Henry IV and I intended to write Henry IV in my comment. Curiously, he is really Emperor Henry III, and called himself Henry the Third after his imperial coronation, but is usually listed as Henry IV because he was also the fourth King Henry of Germany.

        And if you think that is confusing, the numbering of later Emperors of the Romans and KIngs of the Romans named Henry is rather confusing, to say nothing of how co King of the Romans Heinrich Berenger should be numbered.

        But that is par for the course with the numbering of monarchs, which was mostly done by historians in recent centuries, often centuries or millennia after the monarchs lived. The Medieval Emperors uusually used official numbers in their own docoments, which is a guide for later historians numerng them, so if anything, even their most confused numbering is better than some other examples.

        And I think that I read about Archbishop Anno of Cologne being eaten by rats or mice, making him the third bishop the story was told about. And quite possibly I read that account in the 1914 edition of Edward S. Ellis, the Story of the Greatest Nations of the World, for anyone who wants to check it and has access to a large libary.

        1. The names/numberings (and political machinations) of the monarchy are certainly confusing. I once read a story that made a reference to a Luis or Louis XI:

          [the beautiful suit of clothing] was copied by the famous pageboys of the cruel and tyrannical Louis XI.

          In the original Spanish it’s Luis XI — there does not seem to be a Spanish monarch by that name. The French monarch Louis XI was known as “Louis the prudent,” which doesn’t really match the description in the story. I wonder if the author was thinking of Louis XIV, the Sun King? I never could figure it out.

          Anyway, thank you for that possible reference to the story of Archbishop Anno of Cologne being devoured by rodents!

          Ellis’s Story of the Greatest Nations of the World being a multivolume tome (, my guess would be that if the anecdote is there, it would be somewhere in Volume III, IV, or V — so I will leave the Internet Archive links here, if anyone wants to search.

          Vol III:
          Vol IV:
          Vol V:

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