LEGENDS OF THE RHINE

BY

WILHELM RULAND

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS FROM PAINTINGS
BY CELEBRATED ARTISTS

KÖLN AM RHEIN
VERLAG VON HOURSCH & BECHSTEDT

“O, the pride of the German heart is this noble
river! And right it is; for of all the rivers of this
beautiful earth there is none so beautiful as this.”

Longfellow.

Prefatory Note.

Last year I made the journey between Mainz
and Bonn on one of our splendid Rhine
steamers. Our vessel glided along like a great
water-bird. On the shore rose mountains,
castles, and ruins, and over all the sun shined brightly
from a blue August sky. It was twelve years since I
had visited the scenes of my youth, and every Rhinelander
will understand with what pleasure I saw again
those smiling landscapes arrayed in their summer
beauty. Wandering back to my deck-chair, I soon became
absorbed in the ever-changing panorama.

Then the sound of a melodious female voice
speaking English fell on my ears. I looked around.
A girl was bending over a book, and entertaining
her father and mother by reading something of
special interest and beauty. I listened and recognised
some of my own sentences rendered into the speech
of Shakespeare. These three were learning to feel the
charms of the Lorelei legend as I had felt it. I confess
my pulse beat quicker as I heard my poor endeavours
highly praised, and I could not refrain from advancing
and thanking the young reader for her kindly appreciation
of my endeavours. She seemed delighted when
she discovered that I was the author, and rose to
greet me in the most amiable manner. I complimented
the travellers that during the past century the Rhine
had become the home of romance for the English
speaking nations, the same as Italy for the Germans.
The girl smiled, and remarked that I must pay that
compliment to her mother in particular, as she was
by birth an Englishwoman. But the head of the family
hastened to add that among Americans, whom he might
speak for, the enthusiasm for the beauties of the Rhine
was not less than among their Anglo-Saxon cousins.
These two nations which are bound by so many ties
to each other, and also to ourselves, were thus represented
before me. The English-speaking people
undoubtedly form by far the largest contingent of our
Rhine travellers, and it was pleasant indeed to receive
so fine a testimonial to the beauties of my birth place.

We had a most interesting conversation, and I
was not a little moved, as I observed that these foreigners
who had travelled over half the world, and had seen
the grandeur of Switzerland and the charms of Italy,
should have such an unaffected admiration for our
grand old river. I am rather sorry for those who
neglect the Rhine. “Aren’t Lohengrin and Siegfried,
immortalised by the great Master of Bayreuth, also
heroic figures in your Rhine legends?” remarked the
young Anglo-American enthusiastically. It was the first
time I had seriously thought of this. I was indeed touched,
and my thoughts travelled back to the days of “long, long
ago” when as a little chap in my native Bonn, I had first
listened with interest to the charming voices of the golden-haired
daughters of old Albion who came in large
numbers to reside in the famous Beethoven-town.

As I separated from my friends at the foot of the
Drachenfels I gave them a small present to keep as
a memento of the Rhine and one of its poets.

Contents

[Pg 7]

ST. GOTTHARD

The Petrified Alp

Aus dem Quellgebiet des Rheines
Near the Source of the Rhine
Au pays du Rhin

In the region where the Rhine has its source
there towered in ancient times a green Alp.
This Alp belonged to an honest peasant, and
along with a neat little house in the valley
below formed his only possession.

The man died suddenly and was deeply mourned
by his wife and child. Some days after an unexpected
visitor was announced to the widow. He was a man
who had much pastureland up in that region, but for
a long time his one desire had been to possess the
Alp of his neighbour now deceased, as by it his property
would be rounded off to his satisfaction.

Quickly making his resolution he declared to the
dismayed woman that the Alp belonged to him: her
husband had secretly pledged it to him in return for
a loan, after the bad harvest of the previous year. When
the widow angrily accused him of being a liar the man
produced a promissory note, spread it out, and with a
hard laugh showed her his statement was confirmed in
black and white. The distressed woman burst into tears
and declared it was impossible that her late husband
should have made a secret transaction of such a nature.[Pg 8]
The Alp was the sole inheritance of their son, and never
would she willingly surrender it.

“I will pay you compensation for the renunciation
of your claim, although nothing obliges me to do so,”
declared the visitor with apparent compassion, in the
meantime producing his purse.

The weeping woman motioned to him to put back
his gold and told him to go, which he did.

Three days later the widow was summoned before
the judge. There the neighbour produced his document
and repeated his demand for the possession of
the disputed Alp.

The judge, who had been shamefully bribed, declared
the document valid and awarded the Alp to the pursuer.
The broken-hearted widow staggered home.

The new possessor of the Alp on the other hand
hastened up to the mountains at full gallop. The man
could no longer master his impatience to see for the
first time as his legally recognised property the pastureland
he had acquired by deceit.

There, for three days a storm had raged uninterruptedly.
As quickly as the soaked ways would permit he
ascended to the high country.

Having arrived he stared around with horrified eyes,
and fell in a swoon to the earth, overcome with consternation.

Upon the soft green Alp an unseen hand had rolled
a mountain of ice. Of the possession which the unjust
judge had assigned to him nothing was now to be seen.
His own pastures too which adjoined were covered[Pg 9]
with snow and ice, whilst the meadows of the other
Alpsmen below, lay spread out in the morning light
like a velvet carpet.

Towards noon a broken man rode home into the
valley cursing himself and the wicked magistrate who
had consented to such an evil transaction.

The people there however said to each other: “The
Fronfasten Mütterli (the little mother of the Emberweeks)
Frau Sälga passed over our valley last night
with her train of maidens. Over the house of that
greedy rich man the ghostly company stopped, and
by that it is fixed which one must die in the course
of the year.”

And so it happened. Up there where the youthful
Rhine rushes down through deep rocky chasms the
petrified Alp stands to this day, a silent warning from
by-gone days.

[Pg 10]

THUSIS ON THE HINTER RHINE

The Last Hohenrätier

Der letzte Hohenrätier
Nach dem Gemälde von E. Stückelberg

The Domleschg valley was formerly the scene
of bitter feuds, and is mentioned in the
struggle for freedom by the Swiss peasants
of the ancient Bund, some five hundred
years ago. There stood the castle of the Hohenrätier.

The last descendant of the degenerate race on the
high Realt was rightly feared in the whole district.
He was the terror of the peaceful inhabitants of the
district, and harried not only them but also merchants
and pilgrims who passed along the highway below.

The wrath against this unchivalrous wickedness increased
mightily. One day this man perpetrated a
daring deed of violence.

Whilst on an excursion into the valley he had discovered
a charming maid who sought berries in a
lonely wood. In his wicked eagerness he dragged the
maiden on to his horse and fled. Amusing himself
with her lamentations, he carried his booty up the
steep castle hill.

A poacher had observed the occurrence and alarmed
the inhabitants of the village. They carried the intelligence
without delay into the Domleschg.

[Pg 11]The oppressed people around then rose and joining
together approached the castle that very night. Having
felled giant trees they threw a bridge over the moat,
cast firebrands into the interior, and stormed into the
castle-yard through gaps in the gates and walls.

Then the baron appeared mounted on his war-horse,
driven out of his abode by tongues of flame.

Before him he held the captured maiden, and in the
light of the conflagration his naked sword glittered in
his right hand.

Dealing mighty blows on both sides he forced his
horse forward (the eyes of which had been bound),
intending to make a way down the hill. But the
living wall of peasants was impenetrable.

Quickly making his resolution the knight rushed to
the side where the wall of rock fell some seven hundred
feet sheer into the youthful Rhine.

The foaming steed stood trembling in front of the
yawning abyss. The shout of the multitude echoed
into the night. Thousands of arms were instantly
stretched towards the river and one of them at the
last moment succeeded in snatching his prey from the
robber, just as the steed tortured and bleeding from
sword and spur hurled itself with a mighty spring
into the depths below. So ended the last of the Hohenrätiers.

In the dawn only the smoking ruins of the proud
castle remained, and the morning bells announced to
the peasants that their long desired freedom had been
won.

[Pg 12]These ruins are situated on the Hinter Rhine above
Thusis, and it is said that the last Hohenrätier, like
many others of the former tyrants of the Rätigau, yearly
on St. John’s Eve (when this event occurred) may be
seen riding round the fallen walls of his castle, clad
in black armour which emits glowing sparks.

[Pg 13]

BODENSEE

The Island of Mainau

For many hundreds of years the names of the
Masters of Bodmann have been very closely
connected with the island in the lake of
Boden. At first the island was in the possession
of this noble race, but later on, in the thirteenth
century, it passed into the hands of an order of German
Knights. A legend relates the story to us of how this
change came to pass.

About this time the whole of this magnificent property
was held in possession by a youthful maiden, who
had inherited this beautiful island with all its many
charms. As may be supposed, the wooers for the lovely
maiden’s hand and inheritance became very numerous.
She, however, had made her own choice, and it had
fallen upon a nobleman from Langenstein.

Every evening when the sun was sinking down into
the golden waters, this maiden walked along the strand
watching and listening for some longed-for sound. Then
the measured splash of an oar would be heard approaching
in the twilight, and a little boat would be drawn
up on the shore, a youthful boatman would spring
joyfully forth, and lovingly greet the maiden. There this[Pg 14]
pair of lovers wove dreams about the time from which
only a short period now separated them, when they
should belong openly to each other before the world.

The nobleman landed one evening as usual, but this
time his heart was depressed and sorrowful; he informed
his betrothed mournfully that his father, who was then
suffering agony from gout, had once taken a vow to
God and to the emperor that he would go on a crusade
to the Holy Land, but being unable to fulfil his oath,
he laid it to his son’s charge to carry it out as he
meant to have done.

The maiden wept bitterly on hearing these unexpected
tidings.

“Trust me and the Powers on high, I shall not make
this great sacrifice in vain,” said her lover consolingly.
“I shall return, that I feel confident of.”

Thus with bright hopes in his heart the youthful
crusader bade his weeping betrothed good-bye.

And every evening when the sun was sinking into
the golden waters the maiden walked along the strand,
looking with longing eyes out into the misty distance.
Spring came and disappeared, summer followed, and
the swallows fled from the lake to warmer climes, the
maiden sending many a warm greeting with them.
Wintry storms blew over the waters, whistling round
the lonely island, and the maiden had become as pale
as the flakes of snow which fell against the window-panes.

[Pg 15]News one day reached the castle that the crusaders
had returned from the East, but that the nobleman
from Langenstein was languishing in a Turkish prison
in a remote castle belonging to the Sultan. The maiden
was heart-broken by these tidings and now spent her
days in prayers and tears.

Within the mighty walls of a gloomy castle in the
far-off East, a young hero was sitting pining over his
bitter fate. He prayed and groaned aloud in his grief
thinking of his betrothed from whom he had been so
cruelly separated. The Sultan had offered the fair-haired
youth his favourite daughter, a seductive eastern beauty,
but the prisoner had turned scornfully away, her dark
glancing eyes having no charm for him.

That night the youth had a strange dream. An angel
was soaring over his couch and came down to his side,
and a voice whispered, “Promise yourself to me, and
you will see your native land again.”

The knight started up and said reverently, “That
was the voice of God!” Confused thoughts rushed
through his soul, he must renounce his love, but at
least he would see her again. Throwing himself on his
knees, he promised with a fervent oath that he would
dedicate himself to the Lord, if he might only see the
beloved maiden once more.

An earthquake shook the castle to its very foundations,
unfastening the prison doors, thus setting the prisoner
at liberty in a marvellous way. He succeeded in
reaching the coast without being caught by the guards[Pg 16]
of the Sultan, and a vessel sailing to Venice took him
on board. But as he approached his native land the
struggle in his soul between love and duty was very
great; at one moment it seemed to overcome him, and
he felt he could no longer keep his vow. But God
again admonished him. Reaching the lake he steered
his boat towards the island, but a sudden storm arose,
threatening him with a watery grave. He prayed fervently
to Heaven, again swearing his oath.

The storm subsided, and the little boat having missed
its course landed on the other side of the lake, where
the Grand Master of an Order of German Knights
had his seat.

The tired way-farer approached, begging to be received,
a boon kindly granted to him. Then starting off
again with his boat the youth reached the island. He
there imprinted a sorrowful kiss on his beloved’s pure
white forehead, bidding her and the world good-bye
for ever.

The young girl resigned herself at first silently to
her fate; but she soon resolved on another plan: this
place which had once been such a happy home had
no longer any charms to offer her, and she therefore
presented the island of Mainau to the German Order
of Knights on one condition, that the nobleman from
Langenstein should be the successor of the Grand Master.
This request was willingly granted, the noble maiden
gave up all her rich possession and left the island in
the Bodensee. It is said that she retired to a convent,
but no one ever knew where.

[Pg 17]The chronicle informs us that Hugh of Langenstein
became one of the most capable Grand Masters of this
Order of Knights of Mainau. He is also known as a
great poet, and his poem on the martyr Martina still
exists in old manuscripts.

[Pg 18]

BASLE

One Hour in Advance

Basle was once surrounded by enemies, and
very hard pressed on all sides. A troop
of discontented citizens made a shameful
compact with the besiegers to help them to
conquer the town. It was arranged one dark night
that exactly as the clock was striking twelve the attack
was to be made from within and without. The traitors
were all ready, waiting for midnight in great excitement,
having no evil presentiments of what was about
to happen.

The expected hour approached. Accidentally the
watchman of the tower heard of the proposed attack,
and no time being left to warn the commander of the
garrison or the guard, he quickly and with great presence
of mind determined upon a safe expedient; he put
forward the hand of the great clock one hour, so that
instead of striking midnight, the clock struck one.

The traitors in the town looked at each other aghast,
believing the enemies outside had neglected or perhaps
betrayed them. General doubt and misunderstanding
reigned in both camps. While they were debating
what plan they must now adopt, the sharp-witted watchman[Pg 19]
had time to communicate with the magistrate and
with the governor of the town. The alarm was raised,
the citizens warned, and the treacherous plan completely
wrecked. The enemy at last, tired of the useless siege,
retired discouraged.

The magistrate in remembrance of this remarkable
deed ordered that the town-clock should remain in
advance as the courageous watchman had set it that
eventful night. This singular regulation continued till
the year 1798, and although the honest inhabitants of
Basle were, as talkative tongues asserted, a century
behind-hand in everything else, yet with regard to time
they were always one hour in advance.

[Pg 20]

CASTLE NIEDECK

The Toy of the young Giantess

Das Riesenspielzeug
Nach dem Gemälde von Cnopf
The Giant’s Toy
Les jouets des géants

In olden times a race of giants is said to
have lived in Alsace. Castle Niedeck in the
valley of the Breusch was their residence,
but even the ruins of this fortress have long
since disappeared. The legend however remains to tell
us that they were a peaceable people, well disposed to
mankind.

The daughter of the master of the castle was one
day leisurely walking through the adjoining wood. On
approaching the fields and meadows of the valley, she
perceived a peasant ploughing. The young giantess
looked in great astonishment at the tiny man who
seemed to be so busily engaged trudging along after
his little team, and turning up the ground with his
small iron instrument. She had never before seen
anything so wonderful and was very much amused
at the sight.

It seemed to her a nice little toy, and she clapped
her hands in childish glee, so that the echo sounded
among the mountains; then picking up man, horse, and
plough, she placed them in her apron and hurried back[Pg 21]
gaily to the castle. There she showed her father the
nice little toy, greatly pleased at what she had found.

The giant however shook his enormous head gravely,
and said in a displeased tone, “Don’t you know, child,
who this trembling little creature with his struggling
tiny animal is, that you have chosen for a plaything?
Of all the dwarfs down in the valley below, he is the
most useful; he works hard and indefatigably in scorching
heat as well as in windy cold weather, so that
the fields may produce fruit for us. He who scoffs
at or maltreats him will be punished by Heaven.
Take the little labourer therefore back to the place he
came from.”

The young giantess, greatly ashamed and deeply
blushing with embarrassment, put the amusing little toy
back into her apron, and carried it obediently down
to the valley.

[Pg 22]

STRASSBURG

The Cathedral Clock

The Cathedral was finished, and the city
magistrates resolved to place an ingenious
clock on the upper tower. For a long time
they searched in vain, but at last a master
was found who offered to create a work of art such
as had never been seen in any land. The members of
the council were highly satisfied with this proposal,
and the master began his work.

Weeks and months passed, and when at last it was
finished there was general astonishment; the clock was
indeed so wonderful that nothing to match it could
be found in the whole country. It marked not only
the hours but the days and months as well; a globe
was attached to it which also marked out the rising
and the setting of the sun, and the eclipses of that
body and the moon could be seen at the same time
as they took place in nature. Every change was pointed
out by Mercury’s wand, and every constellation
appeared at the right time. Shortly before the stroke
of the clock a figure representing Death emerged from
the centre and sounded the full hour, while at the
quarter and half hours the statue of Christ came forth,[Pg 23]
repelling the destroyer of all life. Added to all these
wonders was a beautiful chime that played melodious
hymns.

Such was the marvellous clock in the cathedral of
Strassburg. The magistrates however proved themselves
unworthy of their new possession; pride and presumption
got the better of them, making them commit a
most unjust and ungrateful action.

They desired their town to be the only one in the
land which possessed such a work of art, and in order
to prevent the maker from making another like it, they
did not shrink from the vilest of crimes.

Taking advantage of the rumour that such a wonderful
work could only have been made by the aid of
witchcraft, they accused the clock-maker of being united
with the devil, threw him into prison, and cruelly
condemned him to be blinded. The unhappy artist
resigned himself to his bitter fate without a murmur.
The only favour he asked was that he might be allowed
to examine the clock once again before the judgment
was carried out. He said he wanted to arrange
something in the works which no one else could understand.

The crafty magistrates, being anxious to have the
clock perfect, granted him this request.

The artist filed, sawed, regulated here and there,
and then was led away, and in the same hour deprived
of his sight.

The cruel deed was hardly accomplished, when it
was found that the clock had stopped. The artist had[Pg 24]
destroyed his work with his own hands; his righteous
determination that the chimes would never ring again,
had become a melancholy truth. Up to the present
no one has been able again to set the dead works
going. An equally splendid clock now adorns the
cathedral, but the remains of the first one have been
preserved ever since.

[Pg 25]

The little Man at the Angel’s Pillar

Close to the famous clock in the Cathedral
of Strassburg, there is a little man in stone
gazing up at the angel’s pillar which supports
the south wing of the cathedral. Long ago
the little man who is now sculptured in stone, stood
there in flesh and blood. He used to stare up at the
pillar with a criticising eye from top to bottom and
again from bottom to top. Then he would shake his
head doubtfully each time.

It happened once that a sculptor passed the cathedral
and saw the little man looking up, evidently comparing
the proportions of the pillar.

“It seems to me you are finding fault with the pillar,
my good fellow,” the stone-cutter remarked, and the
little man nodded with a self-satisfied look.

“Well, what do you think of it? Speak out my man,”
said the master, tapping the fellow’s shoulder encouragingly.

“The pillar is certainly splendid,” began the latter
slowly, “the Apostles, the angels, and the Saviour are
most beautiful too. But there is one thing troubling
me. That slender pillar cannot support that heavy vault[Pg 26]
much longer; it will soon totter and fall down, and
all will go to pieces.”

The sculptor looked alternately at the work of art
and at its strange fault-finder. A contemptuous smile
passed over his features.

“You are quite convinced of the truth of your statement,
aren’t you?” asked he enquiringly.

The bold critic repeated his doubts with an important
air.

“Well,” cried the stone-cutter, with comical earnestness,
“then you will remain there always, gazing at the pillar
until it sinks down, crushed by the vault.”

He went straight off into his workshop, seized hammer
and chisel, and formed the little man into stone just
as he was, looking upwards with a knowing face and
an important air.

This little figure is still there at the present day with
both hands leaning on the balustrade of St. Nicholas’
chapel, awaiting the expected fall of the pillar, and
most likely he will remain there for many a century
to come.

[Pg 27]

WORMS

The Nibelungen Lied

Siegfried auf der Totenbahre
Nach dem Gemälde von Emil Lauffer

To-day we are deeply touched, as our forefathers
must have been, at the recital of
the boundless suffering and the overwhelming
concatenation of sin and expiation
in the lives of the Recken and Frauen of the Nibelungen
Legend. That naive singer has remained nameless
and unknown, who about the end of the 12th century
wrote down this legend in poetic form, thus preserving
forever our most precious relic of Germanic Folksepic.
A powerful story it is of sin and suffering: corresponding
to the world itself and just as the primitive
mind of a people loves to represent it. The story
begins as a lovely idyll but ends in gloomy tragedy.

The ancient Rhenish town of Worms was during
the great migrations the seat of authority of the
Burgundian invaders, an east Germanic stock. During
the glorious reign of King Gunther there appears,
attracted by the beauty of Chriemhild the king’s sister,
a young hero, Siegfried, by name. He is himself a
king’s son, his father Siegmund reigning in Xanten
“nieden by dem Rine.” King Gunther receives the fair
Recken into his service as a vassal.

[Pg 28]Siegfried, exhibiting the fairest loyalty to his overlord,
and rendered invisible by magic, conquers for him the
redoubtable Brunhild, the proud queen of the island
kingdom of Isenland (Iceland) and compels her to
wed King Gunther. As a reward Siegfried receives
the hand of Chriemhild. In the fulness of his heart
the hero presents to Chriemhild as a marriage gift,
the Nibelungen Hoard, which he had gained in his
early years from the sons of the king of the Nibelungen
and from Dwarf Alberich the guardian of the treasure.

Joy reigns in the king’s court at Worms, but it was
not shared by all. Besides Chriemhild there was
another secretly drawn towards the hero, and in Brunhild’s
heart the bridal happiness of Chriemhild awakens
such envy that soon no friendly word passes between
the women. They become estranged and one day
her bad feeling leads Brunhild to harsh words. Then
alas, Chriemhild gave unbridled licence to her tongue.
In her rash insolence she represents to Brunhild that
it was not Gunther but Siegfried who formerly overcame
her. As proof of this she produces the ring
and girdle which Siegfried had taken on that night
from the powerful Brunhild, and which he had presented
to Chriemhild. With fierce haughtiness Chriemhild
taunts her opponent with a hateful name no woman
could endure, and forbids her to enter the cathedral.

Brunhild, weeping, informs King Gunther of the
contumely heaped upon her. The king is filled with
wrath, and his vassal, the gloomy Hagen, considers how
he may destroy Siegfried avowedly to avenge the[Pg 29]
Queen, but secretly for the possession of the Nibelungen
Hoard. During a hunt in the Odenwald Siegfried
was treacherously stabbed by Hagen whilst stopping
to drink from a well. The intention was to spread
the report that Siegfried had been slain by robbers
whilst hunting alone. So, on the following day they
crossed the Rhine back to Worms.

In the night Hagen caused the dead body of Siegfried
to be laid in front of Chriemhild’s chamber. In
the early morning as Chriemhild accompanied by her
attendants was preparing to go to mass in the cathedral
she noticed the corpse of her hero. A wail of
sorrow arose. Chriemhild threw herself weeping on
the body of her murdered husband. “Alas!” she cried
“thy shield is not hewn by swords: thou hast been
foully murdered. Did I but know who has done this,
I would avenge thy death.” Chriemhild ordered a
magnificent bier for her royal hero, and demanded
that an ordeal should be held over the corpse. “For
it is a marvellous thing, and to this day it happens,
that when the bloodstained murderer approaches
wounds bleed anew.”

So all the princes and nobles of Burgundy walked
past the dead body, above which was the figure of
the crucified Redeemer of the world, and lo! when
the grim Hagen came forward the wounds of the
dead man began to flow. In the presence of the
astounded men and horrified women Chriemhild accused
Hagen of the assassination of her husband.

[Pg 30]Much treachery and woe accompanied the expiation
of this great crime. The Nibelungen Hoard, the cause
of the shameful deed, was sunk in the middle of the
Rhine in order to prevent future strife arising from
human greed. But Chriemhild’s undying sorrow was
not mitigated, nor her unconquerable thirst for revenge
appeased.

After the burial of his son King Siegmund begged
in vain that Chriemhild should come to the royal city
of Xanten; she remained at Worms for thirteen years
constantly near her beloved dead.

Then the sorrowing woman removed to the Abbey
of Lorch which her mother, Frau Ute, had founded.
Thither also, she transferred Siegfried’s body.

When Etzel (Attila) the ruler of the Huns wooed
her, Chriemhild urged not by love but by very different
feelings gave him her hand and accompanied her
heathen lord to the Ungarland. Then she treacherously
invited Siegfried’s murderers to visit her husband,
and prepared for them a destruction which fills
the mind with horror. The Burgundian king and his
followers, who, since the Hoard had come into their
possession, were called the Nibelungen, fell slaughtered
in the Etzelburg under the swords of the Huns and
their allies, thus atoning for their faithlessness to the
hero Siegfried. And with this awful holocaust ends
the Lied of the Nibelungen Not, the most renowned
heroic legend in the German tongue.

[Pg 31]

SPEYER

The Bells of Speyer

The German Emperor, Henry IV., had much
trouble to bear under his purple mantle.
Through his own and through stranger’s
faults the crown which he wore was set
with thorns, and even into the bosom of his family
this unhappy spirit of dissension had crept. The excommunication
of the Pope, his powerful enemy, was
followed by the revolt of the princes, and lastly by the
conspiracy of his own sons. His eldest son, Conrad,
openly rebelled against him, and treated his father
most scornfully. When this prince died suddenly, the
second son, Henry, attempted the deposition of his
father and made intrigues against him. Thus forced
to abdicate his throne the broken-down emperor fled
to Liège, accompanied by one faithful servant, Kurt,
and there lay down to his last rest.

His body was left for five years in unconsecrated
ground in a foreign country. Kurt remained faithful,
and prayed incessantly at the burial-place of his royal
master.

At last the Pope at Henry’s request consented to
recall the ban. Henry ordered his father’s remains to[Pg 32]
be brought to Speyer and solemnly interred with the
royal family. Kurt was allowed to follow the procession
to Speyer, but wearied out by this long watching the
old man died a few days afterwards. Just at the moment
of his death the bells in the cathedral at Speyer tolled
without any human hand putting them in motion, as
they always did when an imperial death took place.

Years passed.

The German emperor Henry V. lay dying on his
luxurious couch at Speyer. His bodily sufferings were
intense, but the agony of his mind was even greater;
he had obtained the crown which now pressed so heavily
on his head, by shameful treacherous means. The
apparition of his father dying in misery appeared to
him, and no words of the flatterers at his bed-side
could still the voice of his conscience. At last death
freed him from all his torments, and at the same
hour the bells which were always rung when a poor
sinner was led to execution, tolled, set in motion by
no human hand.

Thus were the bells the instrument of that Hand
which wisely and warningly wrote … “Honour thy
father and thy mother….”

[Pg 33]

FRANKFORT

The Knave of Bergen

Der Scharfrichter von Bergen
Nach einer Zeichnung von Adolf Menzel
The Knave of Bergen
Le bourreau de Bergen

The emperor was to be crowned at Frankfort,
and great festivities were to be given in
the town in his honour, among them a masquerade,
at which knights and noble ladies
rivalled each other in splendour. Joy was depicted on
every face at this great assembly, only one knight
among the many guests being noticeable for his gravity
and restraint. He wore black armour, and the feather
waving above his visor was black too. No one knew
him or could guess who he was. He approached the
empress with a noble grace, bent his knee, and asked
her to dance with him, which she graciously consented
to do. He glided gracefully through the splendid halls
with the queen of the festival, and soon every eye was
turned on them, and everyone was eager to know who
he was.

The empress was charmed with her excellent partner,
and the grace of his refined conversation pleased her
so much that she granted him a second and a third
dance.

Everyone became more and more curious to know
who this masked knight was. Meanwhile the hour[Pg 34]
struck when every mask had to be raised, and every
masked guest must make himself known. More than
all the others the empress was anxious to know who
her partner was. But he hesitated and even refused
to take off his mask until she ordered him peremptorily
to do so. The knight obeyed, but none of the high
ladies or noble knights recognised him. Suddenly two
stewards pressed through the crowd, crying out with
indignation and horror;

“It is the headsman from Bergen!”

Then the emperor in great wrath ordered the shameful
offender who had thus degraded the empress and
insulted his sovereign to be led to execution.

But the culprit, throwing himself at the emperor’s
feet, said boldly, “I have transgressed, my lord, and
offended you and your noble guests, but most heavily
have I sinned against my queen. No punishment, not
even blood, will be able to wash out the disgrace you
have suffered through me. Therefore, oh King! allow
me to propose a remedy to efface the shame. Draw
your sword and knight me, and I will throw down
my gauntlet to any one who dares to speak disrespectfully
of my sovereign.”

The emperor was taken by surprise at this bold
proposal. However it appeared the wisest plan to
adopt.

“You are a knave,” he replied after a moment’s consideration,
“but your advice is good and displays
prudence, just as your offence shows adventurous courage.
Well then,”—laying his sword on the man’s[Pg 35]
neck—”rise Sir Knight. You have acted like a knave,
and the Knave of Bergen you shall be called henceforth.”

A joyful shout of approbation pealed through the
halls, and the new knight again glided gracefully
through the crowd with the queen of the festival.

[Pg 36]

MAYENCE

Heinrich Frauenlob

Heinrich Frauenlob
Steinbild im Dom zu Mainz

The priest or as some say, canon, in the old
town of Mayence was a very worthy man,
and at the same time a heaven-gifted singer.
Besides devoting himself to science, he composed
numerous pious verses which he dedicated to
the Holy Virgin. He also played the harp, and wrote
many beautiful songs in honour of the female sex.

In contrast to many contemporary poets, he considered
“woman” a higher title than “wife,” which only signifies
a married woman. So on account of the chivalry
displayed in his numberless poems and songs, posterity
gave him the name of “Frauenlob,” under which title
he is better known than under his own name of Heinrich
of Meissen.

The love and veneration which thankful women paid
him was very great, not only during his life-time, but
even more so after his death. Their grief was intense
when it became known that the poet’s voice would
never more be heard in this world. It was agreed to
honour him with such a burial as no poet had ever
before received. The funeral procession moved slowly
and sorrowfully along the streets, the greater part of[Pg 37]
the cortege being women in deep mourning who prayed
for the repose of the poet’s soul. Eight of the most
beautiful among them carried the coffin, which was
covered with sweet-scented flowers.

At the grave songs of lamentation were heard from
women’s gentle voices. Precious Rhine-wine which had
been the poet’s favourite drink, and which so often had
inspired his poetry, was poured by hands of his admirers
over his grave, so profusely, the legend relates,
that the entrance of the church was flooded by the
libation. But still more precious than all these gifts
were the tears, which on this memorable day were shed
by many a gentle lady.

The wanderer can still see the monument erected to
this great benefactor in the cathedral at Mayence, which
represents the figure of a beautiful woman in pure-white
marble placing a wreath on the coffin of the
great singer, who had honoured women in the most
chivalrous of songs.

[Pg 38]

Bishop Willigis

Bischof Willigis in der Klosterschule
Nach dem Gemälde von Lindenschmitt

In the year 1000 there was a very pious priest
in Mayence called Bishop Willigis. He was
only the son of a poor wheelwright, but by
his perseverance and his own merit he had
attained to the dignity of first priest of the kingdom.
The honest citizens of Mayence loved and honoured
the worthy divine, although they did not altogether like
having to bow down to one who had been brought
up in a simple cottage like themselves.

The bishop once reproved them in gentle tones for
thinking too much of mere descent. This vexed the
supercilious citizens, and one night they determined to
play Willigis a trick. They took some chalk and drew
enormous wheels on all the doors of his house.

Early next morning as the bishop was going to mass,
he noticed the scoffers’ malicious work. He stood
silently looking at the wheels, the chaplain by his side
expecting every moment that the reverend prelate would
burst forth in a terrible rage. But a gay smile spread
over the bishop’s features and, ordering a painter to
be sent to him, he told him to paint white wheels on
a scarlet background, visible to every eye, just where
the chalk wheels had been drawn, and underneath to
paint the words, “Willigis! Willigis! just think what[Pg 39]
you have risen from.” But he did not stop there. He
ordered the wheelwright to make him a plough-wheel,
and caused it to be placed over his couch in memory
of his extraction.

Thereafter the scoffers were put to silence, and the
people of Mayence began to honour and esteem their
worthy bishop, who, though he had been so exalted,
possessed such honest common-sense.

White wheels on a red ground have been the arms
of the Bishops of Mayence ever since.

[Pg 40]

JOHANNISBERG

Wherever the German tongue is heard, and even
further still, the king of all Rhine wines,
“Johannisberger” is known and sought after.
Every friend of the grape which grows on
the banks of this river is well acquainted with it, but
few perhaps know of its princely origin. It is princely,
not because princes’ hands once kept the key to Johannisberg,
but rather because princely hands planted the vine
in the Rhine country, and this royal giver was no other
than Charlemagne, the all-powerful ruler of the kingdom
of the Franks.

Once in early spring Charles the Great was standing
on the balcony of his castle at Ingelheim, his eyes
straying over the beautiful stretch of country at his feet.
Snow had fallen during the night, and the hills of
Rüdesheim were clothed in white. As the imperial ruler
was looking thoughtfully over the landscape, he noticed
that the snow on one side of Johannisberg melted
quicker in the sun’s rays than on any other part. Charles,
who was a great and deep thinker, began to reflect that
on a spot where the rays of the sun shone so genially,
something better than grass would thrive.

Sending for Kunrat, his faithful servant, he bade him
saddle his horse the next day at dawn and ride to[Pg 41]
Orleans, a town famous for its good wine. He was
to inform the citizens that the emperor had not forgotten
the excellent wine they had given him there, and that
he would like to grow the same vines on the Rhine.
He desired the citizens of Orleans therefore to send
him plants from their country.

The messenger set off to do the king’s bidding and
ere the moon had again gone round her course, was
back in the castle at Ingelheim. Great satisfaction prevailed
at court. Charles, mighty ruler as he was, even
went so far as to cross to Rüdesheim, where he planted
with his royal hand the French vine in German soil.

This was no mere passing whim on the part of the
emperor. He sent messengers constantly to bring word
how the vines were thriving in Rüdesheim and on the
flanks of Johannisberg, and when the third autumn had
come round, the Emperor Charlemagne set out from
his favourite resort, Aix-la-Chapelle, for the Rhine country,
and great rejoicing prevailed among the vine-reapers
from Rüdesheim to Johannisberg.

The first cup of wine was solemnly offered to the
emperor, a golden wine in a golden goblet, a wine
worthy of a king.

Charles took a long deep draught, and with brightened
eyes praised the delicious drink. It became his favourite
wine, this fiery “Johannisberger,” making him young
again in his old age. What Charlemagne then felt when
he drank this wine, every one who raises the sparkling
grapejuice to his lips is keenly sensible of also. Wherever
the German tongue is heard, and even further[Pg 42]
still, the king of all Rhine wines is known and sought
after, Johannisberger wine.

The legend weaves another wonderful tale about the
great emperor blessing his grapes.

A poet’s pen has fashioned it into a song, which is
still often heard among the grapegatherers.

Every spring when the vines are blossoming on the
hills and in the valleys along the river, and their fragrance
scents the air, a tall shadow wanders about the
vineyards at night, a purple mantle hanging from his
stately shoulders, and a crown on his head. It is Charlemagne,
the great Emperor, who planted the grapes long
years before. The luscious scent of the blossoms wakens
him up from his tomb in Aix-la-Chapelle, and he comes
to bless the grapes.

When the full moon gently casts her bright beams
on the water, lighting up the emperor’s nightly path,
he may be seen crossing the golden bridge formed by
her rays and then wandering further along the hills,
blessing the vines on the other side of the river.

At the first crow of the cock he returns to his grave
in Aix-la-Chapelle, and sleeps till the scent of the grapes
wakens him next spring, when he again wanders through
the countries along the Rhine, blessing the vineyards.

Let us now relate another little story which is told
of the monks who lived at Johannisberg.

[Pg 43]Once the high Abbot of Fulda came unexpectedly
to visit the cloister at Johannisberg just about the time
when the grapes were ripe. The worthy Abbot made
many inquiries about his people, showed himself highly
pleased with the works of the industrious monks, and
as a mark of his continued favour, invited all the inmates
of the cloister to a drinking-bout.

“Wine maketh the heart glad,” thus quoting King
David’s significant words, the holy man began his speech:
“God’s loving hand will be gracious in future years
to your vines. Let us profit by his grace, brothers,
and drink what he has provided for us in moderation
and reverence. But before we refresh ourselves with
God’s good gifts, take your breviaries and let us begin
with a short prayer.”

“Breviaries!” was whispered along the rows, and the
eyes of the fat genial faces blinked in helpless embarrassment.

“Yes, your breviaries,” and the white-haired Abbot
looked silently but sternly at the brothers.

They searched and searched.

Gradually the frown disappeared from the Abbot’s face,
and a smile gradually spread over his withered features.

“Well, never mind, let us drink,” said he. Then
feeling his pockets, he said with a gleam in his eye,
“That’s too bad! I ought to have brought a corkscrew
with me when I came to the Rhine.”

“A corkscrew!” Every one dives his hand into his
pocket, and as many corkscrews were produced before
the worthy Abbot as there were brothers present.

[Pg 44]Then a gleam of merriment beamed in the Abbot’s eyes.

“Bravo, ye pious monks! what a plentiful supply of
corkscrews! Do not all look so embarrassed, we shall
not be annoyed about it to-day but—to-morrow!
Now we shall sing with King David, ‘Wine maketh
the heart glad,'” and the uncorked bottle went the rounds.

[Pg 45]

INGELHEIM

Eginhard and Emma

I.

The story which we have now to relate is a
very touching one, and it becomes even
more interesting when we know that it is
based on real fact.

In the little town of Ingelheim there was a beautiful
marble castle, the favourite residence of Charlemagne.
He often retired to this lonely, peaceful spot accompanied
only by a few of his faithful vassals and the
members of his own family. Eginhard, the emperor’s
private secretary, was never missing from this little circle.
Charlemagne thought highly of this man, then in the
prime of youth, on account of his profound knowledge
and extraordinary talents.

The young scholar, so different from the wise councillors
not only in his learning but in his cultivated manners,
was a great favourite among the ladies of the court.

Eginhard who was a constant companion of the emperor,
had also become an intimate member of the
family circle, and Charlemagne entrusted him with the
education of his favourite child Emma, daughter of his
wife Gismonda. This dark-eyed maiden was considered[Pg 46]
the most beautiful of her age, and the young scholar
could not long remain cold and indifferent to her charms.
The undisturbed hours which should have been spent
in learning, led to a mutual understanding. Eginhard
struggled to remind himself of his duty towards his
sovereign, but love overcame him, and soon an oath
of eternal fidelity united these young hearts.

II.

The great emperor ought to have known what would
be the consequence of allowing the young scholar to
enjoy the society of his dark-eyed, passionate daughter.
In the still hours of the night when all the inmates of
the castle lay wrapped in sleep, Eginhard sought the
chamber of his beloved. She listened enchanted to
the glowing words of his burning heart, but their love
was chaste and pure, no gusts of passion troubling them.

But fate was against these lovers. One night they
were sitting in Emma’s chamber talking confidentially
together. The great palace was veiled in darkness, no
ray of light, no star was to be seen in the heavens.
As Eginhard was about to leave the chamber, he perceived
that the courtyard below was covered with snow.
It would have been impossible to pass across it without
leaving a trace behind him, but at all risks he must
reach his room.

What was to be done? Love is ingenious. After
considering for some time together, they both concluded
that there was but one way to prevent their being
betrayed. The slender maiden took her lover on her[Pg 47]
back and carried him across the courtyard, thus leaving
behind only her two small foot-prints.

It happened that Charles the Great had not yet sought
the repose he needed so much, as care banished sleep
from his eyes. He sat at his window and looked out
into the silent night. In the courtyard below he perceived
a shadow crossing the pavement and, looking
carefully, he recognised his favourite daughter Emma
carrying a man on her back.—Yes! and this man
was Eginhard, his great favourite. Pain and anger
struggled in his heart. He wanted to rush down and
kill him—an emperor’s daughter and a mere secretary—but
with a great effort he restrained himself, mastered
the violent agitation which this unexpected sight caused
him, and went back to his chamber to wait wearily
for dawn.

III.

The next day Charles assembled his councillors.
They were all horrified to see his ghastly look; his
brow was dark, and sorrow was depicted on every
feature. Eginhard looked at his master apprehending
coming evil. Charlemagne stood up and spake:—

“What does a royal princess deserve, who receives
the visit of a man at night?” The councillors looked
at each other speechless. Eginhard’s countenance became
white as death. The councillors soon guessed
the name of the royal princess, and they consulted
together for some time not knowing what to say, but
at last one councillor answered:—

[Pg 48]“Your Majesty, we think that a weak woman must
not be punished for anything done out of love.”

“And what does a favourite of the emperor deserve
who creeps into a royal princess’ chamber at night?”

Charlemagne cast a dark look at his secretary, who
trembled and became even paler. “Alas! all is lost,”
murmured he to himself. Then, raising his voice, he
said, “Death, my Master and Emperor!”

Charles looked at the young man full of astonishment.
The wrath in his soul melted at this self-accusation
and fervent repentance. Deep silence followed this
answer, and in a few minutes the emperor dismissed
his councillors, making a sign at the same time to
Eginhard to follow him.

Without a word Charles led him into his private chamber,
where in answer to his summons, Emma appeared.

Her heart misgave her as she saw the dark look on
her father’s face and the troubled features of her beloved.
She understood all at once, and with a convulsive cry
of pain threw herself at her father’s feet.

“Mercy! mercy! my father, we love each other so
dearly!” murmured she, raising her large eyes imploringly.
“Mercy!” murmured Eginhard too, bending his knees.

The emperor remained silent. After a time he began
to speak earnestly and coldly at first, but his voice
changed to a milder tone on hearing the sobs of his
favourite child.

“I shall not separate you who are bound to each other
by love. A priest shall unite you, and at dawn to-morrow
you must both be gone from the castle, never to return.”

[Pg 49]He left them, shutting the door behind him.

The beautiful maiden sank down on her knees, only
half conscious in her grief of what her father had said.
But Eginhard’s soft voice soon whispered in her ear.

“Do not weep, Emma. By thrusting you from him,
your father, my master, has only bound us together
for ever. Come,” he continued in a trembling voice,
alarmed at her passionate tears, “we must go, but love
will be ever with us.”

The next day two pilgrims left the castle of Ingelheim,
and took the road in the direction of Mayence.

IV.

Time wore on.

Charles the Great had made war on Saxony, had set
the Roman crown upon his own head, and had become
famous throughout the whole world. But all his fame
had not prevented his hair from becoming grey, nor
his heart from being sad. A mournful picture had
imprinted itself on his mind, despite all his efforts to
forget the past. In the evening when the setting sun
glittered on the marble pillars of the royal palace, casting
its golden rays into the chamber of the great emperor,
it would find him sitting motionless in his carved oak-chair,
his grey head buried in his hands, mournful
dreams troubling his peace. He was thinking of the
days which were past, of the young man whose gentle
ways made him so different from the rough warriors
of the court, how he used to recite poetry and sing
the songs of the old bards so passionately, and the old[Pg 50]
legends which the emperor prized so much, how he
used to read to him from the old gray parchment
which he, Eginhard, had written so carefully, how his
own favourite dark-eyed daughter had so often been
present, sitting at his feet listening intently to the reader—all
this came back to his memory, saddening his heart,
and filling his eyes with tears.

V.

Bugle-horns sounded through the forest, Charles and
his followers were at the chase. The old emperor,
seeking to forget his grief, had seized his spear and
had gone out to hunt.

In his eagerness to follow a magnificent stag he had
become separated from his escort. The sun was already
low in the west; the animal, now seeing no way
of escape, as his pursuer was close behind him, dashed
into a river and swam to the other side. The emperor,
in hot pursuit and much exhausted, arrived at the water’s
edge, and for the first time noticed that he was alone,
and in a part of the country quite unknown to him.

The river lay before him and the forest behind, but
the latter seemed to be quite impenetrable. It was
already night, and Charles sought in vain to find some
path or track.

As he was looking round him, he perceived a light
in the distance. Greatly pleased he started off in that
direction, and found a little hut close to the river, but
on looking through the window Charlemagne saw
the room was a very poor one.

[Pg 51]“Perhaps this is the hermitage of some pious man,”
thought he, and knocked at the door, whereupon a
fair-haired man appeared on the threshold.

Without mentioning his name, the emperor informed
him of what had happened, and begged shelter for
the night.

At the sound of this loved voice, the man trembled,
but controlling himself, he invited the emperor to enter.
A young woman was sitting on a stool rocking a baby
in her arms. She started, became very pale at the sight
of the emperor, and then hurried into the next room
to hide her emotion; Charles sat down, and refusing
refreshment from his host leaned his head wearily on
his hands.

Minutes passed, and still he sat there lost in thought,
dreaming of those happy by-gone days.

At last the sweet prattle of a child roused him, and
looking up he saw a little girl about five years old at
his side, stretching out her arms to him, bidding him
good-night. Charles looked closely at the little angel-like
creature, his heart throbbing within him. “What is your
name, little one?” asked he. “Emma,” answered the child.

“Emma,” repeated Charles with tears in his eyes, and
drawing the child closer to him he pressed a kiss on
its forehead.

In a moment the man and his young wife were at
the emperor’s feet imploring pardon. “Emma! Eginhard!”
cried he with great emotion, embracing them both.
“Blessed be the place where I have found you again!”

[Pg 52]Emma and Eginhard returned in great pomp to the
emperor’s court. The latter gave them his beautiful
palace at Ingelheim, and only felt himself happy when
he was with them.

He caused a cloister to be built on the spot where
he had found them again, which to the present day is
called “Seligenstadt,” “town of the happy.”

In the church belonging to this little town the tomb
of Eginhard and Emma is still shown, for according to their
wishes, their bones were interred in the same coffin.

[Pg 53]

RÜDESHEIM

The Brömserburg

In the lofty cathedral of Spires stood a great
assemblage of knights, and on the throne
near the altar sat Conrad der Staufe with
his hands resting on the hilt of his sword.
All were listening intently to the burning words of
Bernard of Clairvaux who was describing the ruthless
manner in which the holy places of Palestine had been
laid waste. As the saintly preacher ended with a
thrilling appeal to the religious feelings of his audience,
a great shout, “On, to Jerusalem!” rang through the
sacred edifice. Most of the knights offered to bring
as many followers as possible to aid their pious Emperor.
Among those present was Hans Brömser, the lord of
the Niederburg at Rüdesheim. This noble knight, the
last of his race, was not detained at home by family
cares. His wife had early been taken from him by
death, and Mechtildis, the only offspring of their marriage,
was left under the protection of the neighbouring
Falkenstein family.

So the pious warriors marched by devious and dangerous
routes to that land where Our Lord lived and
suffered. In fierce battle with the Saracens many a[Pg 54]
noble knight closed his eyes forever. Many met a
harder fate—a living death in the noisome prisons
of the unbelievers. After a lost battle Sir Brömser fell
into the hands of the Turks, and in a dungeon had to
suffer shameful imprisonment. Sometimes they would
force their knightly foe to turn a millstone, while the
crowd jeered. Then, in the hour of deepest misery the
knight made a vow to God. “Give me my freedom
again, and I vow that my child Mechtildis shall devote
her life to the Church.” And he repeated the solemn
words again, and yet a third time.

Then happened what none of his companions-in-arms
had ever hoped for. The brave crusaders stormed this
Turkish stronghold in the Syrian desert, and liberated
their fellow-crusaders from captivity. Full of gratitude
to God, Hans Brömser again fought valiantly in the
holy cause.

Meanwhile at home in the hospitable keep above
the Rhine a maiden awaited with anxiety the return
of her father. Often in the silent hours, with sweetness
and sunshine around her, without and within, she stood
on the castle-wall and she saw in reverie that blue
Eastern land, whilst she listened to the wild throbbing
of her young heart in which the blossoms of first love
were bursting.

Then one night her father returned to the Rhineland.

In the moss-covered courtyard of the castle Mechtildis
embraced her father long and silently. Beside the maiden,
now in her seventeenth year, stood the young lord of
Falkenstein. The youth bowed deeply to the lord of[Pg 55]
the Brömserburg, and greeted him kindly with the words,
“Welcome home, father!” Then the vow made in the
Syrian prison rose like a spectre to pall the joy of
the crusader’s return.

In the banqueting-hall of the castle a large company
had assembled to celebrate the happy return of Hans
Brömser and his faithful companions. The praise of
the crusaders resounded and many stories were told
of the dangers the heroes had encountered. With stirring
words the knight related to his listening guests
how he himself had fought in the sacred cause, and
how he had suffered imprisonment among the heathen.
Then in a lower tone, and with solemn words, he told
his friends of the vow he had made in his hour of
deep despair in the Syrian dungeon.

The painful silence which followed was broken by
a stifled cry, and the knight’s daughter, pale as the
covering on the festive board, sank unconscious to the
floor. With burning cheek and flashing eye the young
lord of Falkenstein rose, and with a firm voice exclaimed,
“Mechtildis belongs to me; she has solemnly given
herself to me forever.” The murmur soon subsided
before the stern countenance of the lord of the castle.
“Mechtildis has been dedicated to heaven, not to you,
boy. The last of the Brömser race has sworn it, and
abides by it.” The knight said this with suppressed
fury, and soon his guests departed in silence.

Mechtildis lay in her chamber in wild grief. The
flickering lamp beside the crucifix threw an unsteady
light on the extended form of the maiden who was[Pg 56]
measuring the tedious night hours in the love-anguish
of her young heart. To the distracted maid her chamber
seemed to be transformed to an oppressive dungeon.
Seizing the lamp with a trembling hand she hurried
up the narrow winding stair on to the roof of the
castle, and there committed her great grief to the
listening ear of night. Leaning on the wall, she looked
away towards the castle where lived the noble young
lord to whom she had dedicated her life. “I am thine,
my beloved,” she sobbed. No star was visible in the
sky. A wild autumn wind shrieked and swirled round
the keep in accompaniment to the storm in the maiden’s
breast. A short piercing cry echoed in the darkness.
Was it the bride of the winds or a human cry? The
night swallowed it. From the parapet of the Brömserburg
a female form had been hurled down into the
dark floods of the Rhine below.

A bright harvest morning followed a stormy night.
In the Brömserburg they were searching everywhere
in vain for their lord’s daughter. Soon however a
mournful procession approached bearing the mortal
remains of Mechtildis. In the early dawn a young
woman had rescued the body from the waters of the
river. Now the walls of the Brömserburg echoed with
sounds of woe over the early death of this last fair young
flower of the Brömser race. Hans Brömser threw himself
on the body and buried his stern features in the snowy
linen. Not a tear bedewed his eyelids.

As a propitiatory offering for the rest of the soul of
the maiden who had thus avoided the monastic life,[Pg 57]
the knight in his deep sorrow vowed to build a chapel
on the hill opposite his castle. Then Hans Brömser
shut himself up in his chamber, and passed the following
days in silent grief, while the grave closed over
his wretched child.

Many months passed, but still not a stone of the
promised chapel had been set up. In the bitterness
of his sorrow the grief-stricken father had separated
himself more and more from the world, and now brooded
in gloomy isolation. One day a servant came before
him with a likeness of the Mother of God which an
ox had scraped up while ploughing a field on the hill
opposite the castle, and three times the servant declared
he had heard the “Not Gottes” (Suffering of God) called
out. Then Hans Brömser remembered his vow, and
the chapel for the peace of the soul of Mechtildis was
erected. “Not Gottes” it is called to this day.

[Pg 58]

BINGEN

The Mouse-Tower

Below Bingen in the middle of the Rhine
there is a lonely island on which a stronghold
is to be seen. This tower is called “the
Mouse-Tower.” For many centuries a very
gloomy tale has been told about it in connection with
Hatto, Archbishop of Mayence, whose evil deeds were
well-known throughout the country.

Hatto is said to have been ambitious, heartless, and
perfidious, as well as cruel towards the poor. He extorted
taxes from his people, tolls were imposed, and new
burdens invented only to gratify his haughty pride and
his love of display. On a little island between Bingen
and Rüdesheim he caused a tower to be built, so that
all passing ships could be stopped in the narrow passage,
where they were obliged to pay toll.

Soon after the building of this custom-house there
was a very bad harvest in the country round Mayence.
Drought had parched the fields, and the little seed
remaining had been destroyed by hail. The scarcity
was felt all the more, because the bishop had bought
up all the stores of corn that were left from the year
before, and had stored them up safely in his granaries.

[Pg 59]A terrible famine now threatened the land, spreading
misery among the poor. The unhappy people implored
the cruel bishop to lower the price of the corn in his
store-house, which he wished to sell at such exorbitant
prices that his subjects could not buy it. All their
petitions were in vain. His advisers besought him to
have pity on the deplorable condition of the poor, but
Hatto remained unmoved. When cries of distress and
the murmuring voices of the exasperated folk were
raised against their hard-hearted master, the bishop
gave free vent to the wicked thoughts of his soul.

One day a troop of hungry beggars came crowding
to the episcopal palace crying for food. Hatto and his
guests were just sitting down to a luxurious banquet.
The bishop had been talking to his companions of these
wretched people, and had expressed his opinion that
it would be a good thing to do away with them altogether
in some drastic way.

As the ragged mob of men, women and children,
with hollow cheeks and pale faces threw themselves
at his feet crying for bread, a still more fiendish plan
suggested itself. Beckoning to them with hypocritical
kindness he promised them corn, and caused them to
be led outside the town to a barn, where each one
was to receive as much corn as he wished. The unhappy
folk hurried forth, their hearts full of gratitude;
but when they were all in the barn, Hatto ordered the
doors to be locked and the barn to be set on fire.

The screams of the poor wretches were heart-rending,
and could be heard even in the bishop’s palace.

[Pg 60]But cruel Hatto called out scornfully to his advisers,
“Listen! how the mice are squeaking among the corn.
This eternal begging is at an end at last. May the
mice bite me if it is not true!”

But the punishment which Heaven sent him was
terrible. Thousands of mice came out of the burning
barn, made their way to the palace, filled every chamber
and corner, and at last attacked the bishop himself.
His servants killed them by hundreds, but their numbers
seemed only to increase, as did their ferocity also. The
bishop was seized with horror and, anticipating God’s
punishment, he fled from the town and went on board
a boat hoping to defend himself from his terrible pursuers.
But the innumerable horde swam in legions
after him, and when he reached his tower on the island
thinking at least he would be safe there, the mice followed
him, gnawing the tower and tearing for themselves an
entrance with their sharp teeth, till at last they reached
him whom they sought. The cruel man was devoured
by the mice, which attacked him by scores. In his
despair he offered his soul to the Evil One, if he would
release his body from such awful agony. The Evil
Spirit came, freed his body, but took his soul away
for himself.

Thus runs the legend. History however speaks less
severely of Hatto, the imperious prelate.

His great ambition was his desire of power. He
was the founder of the temporal power which the seat[Pg 61]
of Mayence obtained, and which later on made it the
first bishopric of the kingdom, but he was always hated
by the citizens, who suffered much owing to his proud,
despotic character.

It is true that he was the founder of the toll which ships
in olden times were obliged to pay on the Rhine, so that
this fact and many other cruel exactions of his, have
helped to evolve the terrible legend of the Mouse-Tower.

[Pg 62]

THE VALLEY OF THE NAHE

KREUZNACH

A mighty draught

Once upon a time in the high castle called
Rheingrafenstein near Kreuznach, the flower
of the knights belonging to the Rhine
country were assembled.

They were powerful warriors, these nobles of ancient
rank, but the most prominent among them was the
host himself, the proud Rhine Count. Many a cup
had he already emptied to the health of his distinguished
guests, and rising up once more from his
richly carved chair he cast a look over the brilliant
assembly and said in a boastful tone:

“I have got a knight’s high boot here, my noble
lords. A courier left it behind him once. Now I
promise on the honour of my house that whoever
will drink it empty at one draught, to him I will give
the village of Hüffelsheim yonder.”

The count, smiling at the novelty of the challenge,
took the boot from his attendant’s hand, caused it to
be filled to the brim, and held up this novel cup to
his guests. “Tis a fair challenge! Come on whoever
will dare!” said he.

[Pg 63]Among the illustrious company present there was
one, John of Sponheim, a knight well-known in the
country for his enormous drinking powers; but he
remained unmoved at these defiant words, only looking
inquiringly at his neighbour, Knight Weinhart of
Dhaun, who in great perplexity, was striving to hide
his head behind a large goblet. Old Flörsheimer,
another knight whose thirst usually seemed unquenchable,
stroked his gray beard doubtfully, while Kunz
of Stromberg, a tall thin man, shook his head at the
thought of the after-effects which such a draught
would bring. Even the chaplain of the castle, who
attributed his effective intoning of high-mass to the
virtues of the Rhenish wine which he indulged in so
freely, looked longingly at the boot, but had not the
courage to attempt such a rash act.

Suddenly a knight, Boos of Waldeck by name rose.
He was a muscular man with the strength of a bear.
In a voice of thunder he banged his mighty fist upon
the table and said scornfully, “Bring me that little boot!”

The distinguished company stared at him in great
astonishment, but Boos of Waldeck, taking the boot
in his sturdy fist, cried out. “Your health, my lords!”

Then flourishing it in the air, he emptied the boot
at one draught.

When this act was accomplished, Boos threw himself
heavily into his chair, and addressing the master of
the ceremonies, said with a humorous twinkle in his
eye:

[Pg 64]“Did the courier not leave the other boot too? I
might possibly win a second bet, and thus acquire the
village of Roxheim into the bargain.”

The count looked much abashed, but the noble
guests only laughed heartily at the joke.

Thus stout Boos of Waldeck became lord of the
village of Hüffelsheim.

[Pg 65]

The Foundation of Castle Sponheim

The following legend tells us about the origin
of Castle Sponheim in the valley of the
Nahe. Once a Knight of Ravensberg was
eagerly wooing the beautiful young Countess
of Heimburg, but there was a serious obstacle in
his path to success. Some years before a Ravensberg
had killed a Heimburg in a quarrel, and since that
time a bitter feud had divided the two houses. The
brave knight felt this bitterly, but in spite of it he
did not leave off his wooing. The young countess
was much touched by his constancy, and one day she
spoke thus to her impetuous suitor:

“My lord, if you will dare to go to the Holy Land
there to expiate the sins of your fathers, and bring
me back a relic from the sepulchre of our Redeemer,
in that same hour your suit will be heard.”

The knight in great joy kissed the maiden’s slender
hand and departed, carrying the memory of her sweet
smile away in his heart.

Just at this time the call of the Emperor Barbarossa,
now an old man, sounded throughout the land, and
the Knight of Ravensberg did not neglect the opportunity,
but hastened forth to join the imperial army.

The expedition was a long and terrible one, and[Pg 66]
the troops wearily made their way across the desert
plains of Palestine.

The knight, though a brave man, had no special
love for warlike adventures, and during these exhausting
marches he thought sorrowfully of his quiet castle
on the Nahe; of how he used to lie down there in
peace and safety at night without being in fear of the
Saracens who, under cover of darkness would break
in waving their scimitars in air, an event which was
a nightly occurrence on this expedition.

Ravensberg however fought bravely in many a battle,
and after the deaths of Barbarossa and his son, he
joined the army of Richard the Lion-hearted.

Through all this anxious time he never forgot his
dear one at home, and his longing for her became
stronger every day, till it seemed to get beyond
endurance.

King Richard was called back to England on some
urgent state-affairs, and the Knight of Ravensberg was
among the few companions-in-arms who embarked
with him. The brave knight was very happy, and
while the king’s ship was sailing along the coast of
Greece and up the blue Adriatic Sea, he would often
stand on deck and weave bright dreams of the future;
sometimes when no one was near, he would pull out
a little black ebony box set with precious stones, on
which a woman’s name was written in golden letters;
the interior was beautifully lined with costly silk; and
a small splinter of wood lay within which the knight
would kiss most reverently. He had paid a large sum[Pg 67]
of money for it in the Holy Land, where he had
bought it from a Jewish merchant. This man had
sworn to him that this fragment was from the cross
to which the Son of God had been nailed.

The knight was very happy during this long homeward
journey, but a great misfortune awaited him. Just
as the crusaders came in sight of Italy their vessel
was wrecked. The King of England, the Knight of
Ravensberg, and a few others were saved with great
difficulty, and brought to land. But our poor knight
was inconsolable; he had held the precious little box
high above him in the water, but a mighty wave had
torn it from him, and on opening his eyes he found
himself on shore. The holy relic had saved him, but
he had lost his treasure, and now all hope of his
promised happiness was gone.

One day a weary and dispirited crusader returned
to the castle of Heimburg. He announced his arrival
to the young countess most humbly, but she, her lovely
face lighted up by a bright smile, hurried to meet the
knight whose sunburnt countenance betokened great
hardships.

She listened silently to his mournful story, then
raising her beautiful head she asked: “Was not the
little box set with precious stones and was not my
name in golden letters on it?”

“Yes, noble lady,” said the knight, the bitterness of[Pg 68]
his disappointment newly awakened, “And now it lies
at the bottom of the sea in spite of my fervent prayers
to St. George to save the precious fragment of our
Saviour’s cross.”

The countess beckoned to a page, and after a few
minutes the boy brought her on a velvet cushion a
little black ebony box set with precious stones with
a woman’s name written on it. The knight uttered a
cry of joyful surprise, for he recognised the jewel at
once.

“Entreat the Holy Patron of Knighthood to pardon
you,” said the countess with a smile. “A strange
knight brought this to the steward a few days ago,
and before I had time to send for him, he had disappeared.”

“It was St. George himself!” whispered the knight,
crossing himself piously, “which proves that the fragment
really belonged to the Holy Cross.”

Then he bent his knee before his charming mistress
who, with a deep blush on her cheeks, gave the man
she had long but secretly loved love’s first kiss.

A happy marriage was speedily celebrated in Heimburg.
The Knight of Ravensberg then called his castle
Spanheim (Span being the German word for chip) in
memory of the precious little relic. This name was
later on corrupted into Sponheim.

[Pg 69]

ASSMANNSHAUSEN

St. Clement’s Chapel

Gefangener Raubritter
Nach dem Gemälde von Konrad Weigand (zur Sage: Die Clemenskapelle)

There is a very melancholy legend connected
with the foundation of St. Clement’s church,
which was built on the banks of the Rhine
and which, not long since, was rebuilt and
renovated by the generosity of the present great lady
of Rheinstein Castle.

Rudolphus of Habsburg, elected emperor after the
terrible anarchy which had reigned in Germany when
the land was left without a ruler, determined by firm
and vigorous government, to put an end to the evil-doings
of the robber-knights who held sway along the Rhine.

He had already threatened these much-dreaded nobles
who disturbed the peace of the country and the government
of its ruler, and now hearing that they still continued
their ravages, the emperor appeared himself in
the Rhine countries, resolved to annihilate them and
to destroy their strongholds.

On his way through the land, Rudolphus set fire to
all the strongholds on the upper Rhine. The burning
of the castles of Reichenstein, Sooneck, Heimburg and
others, was an awful sight to the inhabitants of the
valley below. Numerous members of these ancient[Pg 70]
noble races met the death of felons, and their bodies
were hung up on trees as a warning to others.

Through the gates of Mainz many a robber baron
was led as a prisoner by the soldiers of the emperor.
Every time that one of these barons and his companions-in-arms
were led along with bound hands, towards the
Imperial tribunal, young and old, rich and poor poured
forth from the streets and alleys, and accompanied the
highborn malefactors with curses. The windows of
the houses around were filled with eager onlookers,
admiring the conduct of their emperor.

Moaning and wailing were then heard throughout
the land, mothers, wives, and daughters weeping for
their dead. On the other hand the merchants who had
endured hardships and sufferings during these years,
were now delighted with the stern justice dealt out
by the emperor.

Under cover of darkness stealthy forms could be seen
creeping to the place of execution, and silently and
mournfully taking away the bodies of their relatives to
preserve them from ignominious destruction. They then
buried the wretched remains in consecrated ground,
hoping thus to satisfy the fears which haunted them
of future punishment, for many of their dear ones had
stained their swords with the blood of their neighbours.

In order to atone for these sins, and in accordance
with the wise counsel of a priest, the trees on which
the bodies had been hanged were cut down, and the
wood used to build a chapel of expiation. Stones were
also taken from the smoking ruins of the burning castles[Pg 71]
and employed for the same purpose. The little church
was built on the lonely place of execution on the Rhine
near Assmannshausen.

The day arrived—a day of great sorrow and weeping—when
all was ready, and the priest was to read prayers
from the altar for the first time. Many funeral barges
were to be seen on the river, bringing the dead who
were buried in the aisle of the church.

The Archbishop of Mayence absolved the bodies
from their sins, and afterwards they were all interred
together near the little church for the second time.

This occurred towards the end of the thirteenth century.
For long years afterwards prayers were offered up in this
church in Assmannshausen for the souls of the dead.

The once proud and mighty races gradually died
out, and their strongholds fell into ruins. And time
which had demolished the castles on the heights above,
began her work of destruction on the little church
below; its roof decayed and its walls crumbled.

The ancient little church of St. Clement has since
that time been raised again from its ruins, and now
the voice of God’s priest is heard chanting in it again,
as it was heard six hundred years ago.

[Pg 72]

CASTLE RHEINSTEIN

The Wooing

Der Brautzug
Nach dem Gemälde von L. Herterich
(zur Sage von Burg Rheinstein)

In Castle Rheinstein once lived a knight
called Diethelm, who devoted himself without
restraint to all the excesses of the
robber barons. From one of his pillaging
expeditions he brought back a charming maiden called
Jutta. As the delicate ivy twines itself round the rough
oak and clothes its knotty stem with shimmering velvet;
so in time the gentle conduct of this maiden changed
the coarse baron to a noble knight who eschewed
pillaging and carousing, and ultimately made the fair
Jutta the honoured wife of her captor.

The first fruit of their love cost the tender mother
her life. Gerda however, who much resembled her
mother, grew to such a noble beauty that soon wooers
from far and near came to sue for the hand of the
beautiful daughter of the aged Diethelm. But the aged
knight made a most careful selection, and many gay
wooers had to depart in sorrow. One young man was
however regarded favourably by the maid, and not
unkindly looked upon by the old man. He was the
oldest son of the owner of the Sternburg. This young
man had contrived to win the maiden’s heart, and one[Pg 73]
day, while Gerda presided as queen of love and beauty
at a tournament held in the courtyard of Castle Rheinstein,
Helmbrecht made an avowal of his love.

Some days thereafter the young lord according to
courtly fashion appointed his uncle Gunzelin of Reichenstein
to woo his chosen bride for him. But Gunzelin
though an old man was full of knavery and falsehood,
and so instead of wooing for his nephew he ingratiated
himself with Gerda’s father. Moreover, as the
old knight was descended from an ancient family and
possessed of much wealth Diethelm was easily induced
to promise him the hand of the fair Gerda. To the
astonishment of this worthy pair Gerda would not
listen to the suit of her rich wooer. Her heart belonged
to the nephew, not to the uncle. Now Count Diethelm
was aroused, and with the blind fury of his earlier
years swore to his rich companion that Gerda belonged
to him, and should never wed the young cock-sparrow
of the Sternburg.

In her quiet chamber the unhappy maid wept out
her heart’s grief, but burning tears did not thaw the
ice-cold heart of the father. In vain the young lover
tried to gain the old knight’s favour, but Diethelm
merely referred to his knightly word solemnly pledged
to the lord of Reichenstein.

Soon the day approached on which Gunzelin, with
the smiling self-satisfaction of an old roué, and decked
out to give himself all the appearance of young manhood,
was to lead the fairest maiden in the Rhineland
to his stately castle. Gerda who possessed the mild[Pg 74]
disposition of her deceased mother had submitted to
the inevitable. On a bright summer morning the bridal
procession started from the courtyard of Castle Rheinstein,
and moved towards the Clement’s Chapel situated
in the neighbourhood. Horns blew and trumpets sounded.
On a milkwhite palfrey, sat the fair young bride,
deadly pale. She was thinking of her absent lover who
in this hour must be enduring the greatest anguish
on her account. Then all at once a swarm of buzzing
gadflies came out of the bush and fastened fiercely
on the palfrey which bore the fair Gerda. The animal
reared and broke from the bridal procession. Boldly
the bridegroom on his grandly caparisoned steed dashed
forward to check the frightened animal, but his
war-horse missing its footing on the narrow bridle
path fell over a precipice carrying its master with it.
The dying knight was carried by the wedding-guests
back to Castle Rheinstein. The aged Diethelm was also
unfortunate in his attempt to stop the runaway steed.
The maddened animal had struck him on the shinbone,
and wounded him. The servants were thus obliged
to carry the moaning greybeard back to his castle
as speedily and carefully as possible. The surgeon had
a sad time of it during the next week as he attended
to the enraged old knight’s wounds and bruises.

When the runaway horse had disappeared round a
bend of the path a man threw himself upon it, and
bringing the trembling animal to a standstill clasped
the unconscious bride in his arms. Helmbrecht, concealed
in the brushwood, had been watching the bridal[Pg 75]
procession, and now came to the rescue of his true
love. When the old lord heard of this he came to his
senses and gave the lovers his blessing. Some weeks
later a bridal procession advanced from the Clement’s
Chapel up to the festively decorated Castle Rheinstein.
Trumpets were blown and horns resounded. Much
more joyfully than on the previous occasion the musicians
marched in front. Upon a milkwhite palfrey,
as formerly, sat a noble maiden in bridal state, clothed
in undulating robes bordered with fur. Her head was
bent in maiden modesty as she listened to the endearments
which the youthful knight whispered in her
ear. Behind rode the father of the bride sunk in thought,
and along with him was his pious sister Notburge,
the canoness of Nonnenwerth.

A life of unalloyed married bliss followed this union,
and God granted to the noble pair a long and happy
life. They rest together in front of the altar in the
Clement’s Chapel which is situated across the Rhine
from Assmannshausen. Castle Rheinstein stands in
renewed youthful beauty on the edge of its precipitous
cliff overlooking our noble stream.

[Pg 76]

CASTLE SOONECK

The Blind Archer

In his stronghold at Sooneck, Siebold, one
of the most rapacious of the robber barons
presided over a godless revel. Wanton women
with showy apparel and painted cheeks
lolled in the arms of tipsy cavaliers. The music blared,
and to complete their carousal wine flowed freely.
The lord of Sooneck flushed with drinking, and leering
on the assembly with evil-looking eyes spoke as follows:

“Noble ladies (drunken applause from his worthy
associates) and much-married nobles (loudly giggled
the shameless females), after food and drink, I, as your
host will be pleased to entertain you by bringing before
you a ferocious animal which I keep confined
here.”

While the ladies pretended to take shelter timidly
behind their lords, and the men stared at their host
expecting some further explanation, the doors of the
room opened, and led by two servants a man in coarse
garments, and with unkempt hair and beard stood before
them. A suppressed whisper passed round the
festive board and all eyes were fixed on the haggard
countenance of the prisoner. When for a moment the[Pg 77]
weary eyelids were raised, two ghastly cavities were
visible. Again, with the same tone of levity, the lord
of the castle spoke, “Lovely ladies, and knightly companions,
the best marksman on the Rhine was Hans
Veit of Fürsteneck. Like ourselves he was dreaded far
and near. He and I entered on a feud of life and
death. He went down.”

“With broken brand and battered shield, bleeding
from numerous wounds I lay prostrate before you
awaiting manfully the death-thrust,” murmured the
prisoner, and his voice sounded as if from the grave.
“It pained me to finish him off,” said Siebold flippantly,
“I got his two eyes taken out, and thus added
to my collection of rarities, the best archer on the
Rhine.”

“My murdered eyes behold your scorn,” said the
prisoner harshly. “But surely chivalry still flourishes
on Sooneck,” said the lord of the castle. “Understand
then that my servants have informed me, that even
blind, you can, guided only by sounds, hit a given
mark with a bolt. If you come out of this ordeal successful,
freedom shall be the reward.” Stormy applause
greeted these words.

“Death were dearer to me than life,” murmured the
blind archer. As he seized the crossbow however, a
gleam of joy went over his countenance like a ray of
sunshine over a sombre landscape. Crowded together in a
corner of the room the guests watched the proceedings.
The lord of Sooneck seized a goblet and ordered the
prisoner to draw upon it, after hearing the sound. In[Pg 78]
the next moment the silver clang resounded, as the
goblet fell on the floor.

“Shoot now,” said Siebold of Sooneck, and immediately
an arrow pierced his mouth. With a grunt like
a slaughtered ox, Siebold sank among the rushes.
Silent and motionless with the two eye-cavities gaping,
stood the blind man. Then his shaggy head sank on
his heaving breast. Like a flock of frightened crows
the knights and their paramours fled, and only a few
terrified squires and servants muttered prayers over
the body of the lord of Sooneck.

[Pg 79]

THE RUINS OF FÜRSTENBERG

The Mother’s Ghost

Lambert of Fürstenberg was a hearty jovial
knight, and had married Wiltrud, a daughter
of the Florsheim family. He was attached
to his gentle wife, who had just presented
him with a son and heir. But an evil genius
entered the castle in the person of a noble maiden
called Luckharde. This maiden who had suddenly
been left an orphan, belonged to a family long befriended
by the house of Fürstenberg. She was only
eighteen, but possessed a lascivious beauty, very dangerous
to men.

The lady of the castle, who had been in delicate
health since the birth of her child, gave Luckharde a
warm-hearted welcome into the bosom of her family,
trusting that the young woman would be of great service
to her in the management of her little realm,
and would repay her kindness by sisterly love and
sympathy. Luckharde however was of a vain and
frivolous disposition, and had little love for household
affairs, or womanly duties.

As the months passed, Luckharde’s ripening and
dangerous beauty gained gradually and almost[Pg 80]
imperceptibly more and more influence over the susceptible
heart of the lord of the castle, and soon the day came
when he yielded himself entirely to the charms of
this beautiful woman. Wiltrud’s eyes were by no
means blind to the shameful ingratitude of the adulteress,
and the godless conduct of her husband. Her
weakness however, prevented her from calling down
the judgment of heaven on the sinners. Luckharde,
led on by her unbridled passion, now formed a devilish
design which would enable her to take the place of
the lawful wife of Lambert. One night she slipped
into the chamber of the lady of the castle, approached
the bed of the sleeping woman with a cat-like step,
and smothered her with the pillows, the poor invalid
offering but a feeble and ineffective resistance.

Wiltrud’s death was deeply mourned by the household,
who believed that she had died of a broken heart.
Lambert too might be grieved, but in the arms of his
raven-locked enchantress he soon forgot his deceased
wife, and in a few weeks Luckharde was made lady
of Fürstenberg. The little boy whom Wiltrud had
borne to her unfaithful husband was hateful to the
second wife, who fondled her lord, and flattered him
with the hope of the children she would bear him.
Then it was arranged that the knight’s first-born should
be handed over to the care of an old crone who lived
in a remote tower of the castle.

One night this old woman awoke suddenly, and was
terrified to see a female form dressed in a flowing
white robe, bending over the cradle of the little boy,
[Pg 81]who slept near. The woman seemed to be tending
the child, and after blessing him, she vanished. The
old woman crossed herself, and in terror muttered
many prayers. In the early morning she hurried to
her new mistress in great agitation and with white
lips told her of her strange visitor. Luckharde at first
laughed in her usual frivolous manner at this ridiculous
ghost story, but soon she became more serious and
alarmed. Then she ordered the old woman to arrange
her bed beside the other servants, but still to leave
the child in the tower-chamber. A dreadful fear had
taken possession of Luckharde’s guilty soul. Perhaps
people were deceived when they believed Wiltrud to
be dead, and it was thus that she returned at night
to nurse her child.

Then this daring and sinful woman prepared a bed
for herself in the lonely tower beside the child. She
also brought with her a formidable dagger, and thus
she awaited what the night might bring forth. At
midnight the female figure dressed in the flowing
white robe appeared once more. It approached the
cradle of the child, tended him and blessed him.
Then the terror-stricken Luckharde stared motionless at
the apparition as it rose and approached her bed.
Towering there above her were the pallid features of
the dead Wiltrud, and the lifeless entreating eyes
looked steadily at this sinful woman who had taken the
place of her benefactress. To Luckharde it seemed as
if a great precipice was slowly bending over to overwhelm
her. With a last mad effort the wretched[Pg 82]
woman seized the dagger, and struck at the apparition;
but she might as well have struck at a misty cloud.
Now Luckharde perceived that she was in the presence
of the murdered lady of the Fürstenberg, and harrowed
with the thought of her guilt she seemed to
hear a voice as if from another world saying, “Do
penance for thy sins.”

Next morning Lambert waited in vain for his wife
to appear. On looking around however he noticed
a piece of parchment. On it Luckharde had confessed
with deep sorrow, how she had murdered his first
wife in order to further her evil designs, and how
the spirit of the dead had appeared to her in the
night, and warned her of her great guilt. She was
going to fly to a cloister to do penance during the
remainder of her days, and she recommended her
sinful accomplice to do the same. Lambert of Fürstenberg
was deeply grieved on receiving this revelation.
He handed over his castle and child to a younger
brother, and spent the rest of this life as a solitary
hermit.

[Pg 83]

BACHARACH

Burg Stahleck

Ancient Bacharach was once a famous place,
and long before the fiery wine that grows
there became famous throughout the world—”it
was in the good old times” as our grandmothers
say—it was the delight of many a connoisseur
abroad. About that time its grateful lovers erected
an altar to Bacchus who provided them so liberally
with wine. The place of sacrifice was on a huge rock
projecting out of the Rhine, between an island and
the right bank of the river, and in honour of the god
they gave the town the name it still bears.

The inscriptions on the altar-stone have become
unintelligible, but the Bacharach folk know well to
the present day the original meaning of them.

Fishermen still keep up the old custom but now
more as an amusement; they dress up a straw-man as
Bacchus, place him on the altar, and surround him
singing.

The ruins of the castle of Stahleck are situated
on the Rhine, above the wild, romantic country of
Bacharach.

About the time of Conrad III., the first Emperor of
the House of Hohenstaufen, a young ambitious knight,[Pg 84]
Palatinate Count Hermann, inhabited this castle. Being
a nephew of the emperor, this aspiring knight considered
his high and mighty relationship as a sufficient
reason for enlarging his dominions.

He conceived no less a plan than that of taking
possession of part of the property which bordered on
his land, belonging to the Archbishops of Mayence
and Treves, supporting his claim by declaring that for
more than one reason he had a right of possession.
The jealousy which at that time existed between the
clerical and the secular powers, brought a number of
neighbouring knights to his side as allies, and the
count began his unprovoked quarrel by taking a castle
at Treves on the Moselle by storm. This castle belonged
to the diocese of that town.

Adalbert of Monstereil, a man of an undaunted
character, was then Bishop both of Treves and Metz.

He at once collected his warriors to drive the bold
robber from the conquered castle. The temerity of
the count and his superior forces dismayed Adalbert,
giving him grounds for sober reflections. But the
good bishop was a clever man and, not believing
himself sufficiently strong to resist the count, he sought
refuge in spiritual weapons.

When his people were about to assault the stronghold,
he made a most enthusiastic speech to his troops.

Holding up a crucifix in his right hand, he told
to them that in the silent hours of the previous night
the Archangel Michael had appeared to him, and had
given him this crucifix, at the same time promising[Pg 85]
him certain victory if each of his warriors attacked the
enemy in the firm belief that an invincible Higher
Power was near to help them.

The bishop’s words inspired his men with a great
courage. Led on by the holy man carrying the crucifix
in his raised hand, they marched on to the assault,
stormed the castle, and made Hermann’s troops flee in
great confusion. The ambitious count, now finding
himself deserted by his troops, was forced to renounce
the feud which he had hoped to carry on against the
bishop.

The disgraceful defeat the count had suffered was
most humiliating to him, but it had not killed his
ambition.

He now directed his thoughts to his other ecclesiastical
neighbour.

Having searched through some ancient documents,
he thought he had found full right to a strip of land
which Arnold of Solnhofen, Bishop of Mayence, then
held in possession. He at once sent in his claim to
this mighty prince of the church, who received it with
a scornful laugh. “Oh!” said the bishop, tearing up
the written complaint, “I shall be able to manage this
little count as well as I have all along managed the
stubborn people of Mayence, some of whom have
bitterly repented of having rebelled against their bishop.”

[Pg 86]Hermann was told how Solnhofen had treated his
claim. In great wrath he swore to take vengeance on
the man who had dared to tear up his complaint so
contumeliously. His young wife implored him with
tears in her eyes not to raise his hand against a servant
of the Lord again. But he turned contemptuously
away.

Herman was well aware that, through the influence
of the bishop’s companions-in-arms, he was now hated
by the citizens of Mayence. This circumstance made
him determine to rob Arnold of land and dignity, as he
ascribed the cause of this deadly dissension to the
power the bishop exerted over the people of his diocese.

The count, now joined by several daring knights,
again prepared to make war against the representative
of the church, and marched to attack the bishop in
his stronghold.

Arnold was enraged at this persistent striving against
the dominions of the church, and his dark soul conceived
a dastardly plan to rid them of their enemy.
He hired two villains who treacherously put the count
to death.

Soon afterwards the rebellious citizens of Mayence
successfully stormed the bishop’s palace and turned
the cruel prelate out of his episcopal seat, whereupon
he was obliged to flee for his life. But Arnold was
not so easily subdued and he soon returned, breathing
vengeance. His friends warned him in vain, and even
the famous prophetess, Hildegarde of Rupertusberg,
sent a messenger to him with the words, “Turn to the[Pg 87]
Lord whom you have forsaken, your hour is near at
hand.”

But he heeded not this admonition, and at last he
was killed by the rebels in the Abbey of Jacobsberg,
some distance from the town where he had taken up
his residence.

[Pg 88]

KAUB

Castle Gutenfels

Turnier zu Köln
Zu der Sage von Burg Gutenfels

About the middle of the thirteenth century,
there was a stately castle near Kaub which
was inhabited by Count Philip of Falkenstein.
There he lived very happily with his
beautiful sister Guta, who was as good as she was fair.

Numerous knights had sought to win her love, but
none had achieved this conquest, the castle maiden
having no desire to exchange her brother’s hospitable
home for any other.

At that time a magnificent tournament was held at
Cologne, to which knights from all countries of the
kingdom far and near and even from England were
invited.

A great multitude of spectators were assembled to
see the stately knights contending for the prize, which
a fair hand would bestow on them.

Among the nobles present at the tournament was a
knight from England, whose graceful figure and splendid
armour were particularly striking. He wore a veiled
visor, and the stewards of the tournament announced
him under the name of “the Lion Knight,” a golden
lion ornamenting his shield. Soon the majestic knight’s[Pg 89]
master-like manner of fighting created a great sensation,
and when he succeeded in unhorsing his opponent,
a most formidable combatant, loud rejoicings
rang through the lists.

Count Philip and his sister were among the guests.
Guta had been watching the strange knight with ever
increasing interest during the tournament, regretting
at the same time that she could not see his face.

But an opportunity soon presented itself when the
knight was declared victor. When she was selected to
present the prize, a golden laurel-wreath, to the winner,
she became much embarrassed, and a feeling such as
she had never before experienced seized her as she
looked at the Briton’s face for the first time.

Perhaps the knight may have read in the lovely
maiden’s countenance what she in vain tried to hide
from him, perhaps a spark from that passionate fire
which had so suddenly fired her heart, may have
flown into his soul as he knelt before her to receive
the wreath, which she placed on his head with a
trembling hand. Who can tell?

Afterwards when these two were conversing together
in subdued whispers, the knight silently admiring her
grace and the maiden scarcely able to restrain her
feelings, the thoughts which he longed to tell her,
flamed in his heart. The same evening in the banqueting
hall, when the music was sounding within its
walls, he was Guta’s inseparable companion, and eloquent
words flowed from his lips telling her of the
love which his eyes betrayed.

[Pg 90]The proud stranger begged Guta for her love and
swore to be hers; he told her he must at once return
to his country where urgent duty called him, but that
he would come back to claim her in three months’
time. Then he would publicly sue for her hand and
declare his name, which circumstances compelled him
to keep secret for the time being.

Love will make any sacrifice; Guta accepted her
lover’s pledge willingly, and thus they parted under
the assurance that they would soon meet again.

Five months had passed. That terrible time ensued
when Germany became the battle-field of the party-struggles
over the election of the emperor. Conrad IV.,
the last of the house of Hohenstaufen, had died in
Italy. In the northern countries there was a great rising
against William of Holland who was struggling for
the imperial throne; Alphonso of Castile was chosen
king in one part of the country, while Richard of
Cornwall, son of John, king of England, was elected
in another; but Richard, having received most influential
votes, was crowned at Aix-la-Chapelle, and
from thence he started on a journey through the Rhine
provinces, to the favour of which he had been chiefly
indebted for his election.

Spring was casting her bright beams over waves
and mountains in the valley of the Rhine, but in
Falkenstein castle no ray of sunshine penetrated the
gloom. Guta, pale and unhappy, sat within its walls,
weaving dreams which seemed destined never to be[Pg 91]
fulfilled. Sometimes she saw her lover dying on a terrible
battle-field with her name on his lips, then again
laughing and bright with a maiden from that far-off
island in his arms, talking derisively of his sweetheart
on the Rhine. She became more and more conscious
that she had given him her first love, and that he had
cruelly deceived her. Sorrow and grief had taken possession
of her, and all her brother’s efforts to amuse
her and to distract her attention were in vain.

A great sound of trumpets was heard one day on
the highway, and a troop of knights stopped at the
castle. Guta saw the train of warriors from her
window, where she had been sitting weeping. The
count with chivalrous hospitality received them, and
led them into the banqueting-hall. His astonishment
was great, when he recognised the bold Briton, the
victor at the tournament in Cologne, as leader of this
brilliant retinue, he who had broken his secret pledge
to his beloved sister. A dark glance took the place of
the friendly expression on his face. The Briton seemed
to notice it and pressing Philip’s hand said cordially,
“I am Richard of Cornwall, elected Emperor of Germany,
and I have come here to solicit the hand of
your sister Guta, who promised herself to me five
months ago in Cologne. I come late to redeem my
promise, but my love is unchanged. I beg you to announce
my arrival to her without betraying my name.”

Philip bowed deeply before the illustrious guest,
and the retainers respectfully retired to a distance. The
great guest strode up and down the room impatiently.[Pg 92]
Then the doors were suddenly thrown open, and a
beautiful figure appeared on the threshold, her face
glowing with emotion.

With a low cry Guta threw herself into her lover’s
arms, and the first moments of their reunion were
passed in silent happiness.

Philip now entered the room unperceived, and revealed
the secret to his sister. The maiden in great
confusion and shame stole a look at her lover’s eyes,
and he, drawing her gently to him, asked her to share
all—even his throne with him.

Shortly afterwards Richard celebrated his marriage
with imperial magnificence at the castle on the Rhine,
which Philip thence forward called Gutenfels, in honour
of his sister.

[Pg 93]

OBERWESEL

The Seven Maidens

The scattered ruins of an old knight’s tower
are still to be seen on one of the heights
near Oberwesel. The castle was called
Schönberg, after the seven virgins who once
lived there, and whose beauty was renowned throughout
all the Rhine countries.

Their father had died early, some say of grief, because
Heaven had denied him a son, and an elderly
aunt had striven in vain to guide the seven wild
sisters; but her influence had not been sufficiently
strong to lead them in the right way. After the death
of this relative the seven beautiful maidens were left
to themselves, and now their longing after liberty and
the pleasures of the world broke out even stronger
than before.

Many a tale was told about them, how they used
to ride out hunting and hawking, how many a magnificent
banquet was given by them, and how their
beauty, their riches, and the gay and joyous life led
by them attracted many knights from near and far;
how many a stately noble came to their castle to woo
one of the sisters, and how these maidens at first[Pg 94]
ensnared and enchanted him with a thousand attractive
charms, only in the end to reject the enamoured suitor
with scorn and mockery.

Ashamed and very wrathful many a great knight
had left the castle, and with indignation and disdain
had blotted out of his memory the names of these
bewitching sirens who at first had listened with deceitful
modesty to his honest wooing, only afterwards
to declare with scornful laughter that their liberty was
so dear to them, that they would not give it up for
the sake of any man.

Alas! there were always youths to be found who
put no faith in such speeches and, trusting to their
great names and peculiar merits, sought their happiness
among these maidens. But all the trials ended in
the same mournful manner; no suitor succeeded in
winning the heart of these seductive beings. Thus
they continued their dangerous and contemptible life
for some years.

Once again there was a great banquet and feasting
in the halls of the castle. A circle of knightly figures
sat round the brilliant board among the seven sisters,
who were quite conscious of their charms, one rivalling
the other in gaiety and liveliness.

The joyous scene was disturbed for a short time
by two knights who were disputing about one of the
sisters, and had angered each other by their growing
jealousy.

The scene excited general attention and was looked
on at first as a most amusing one, but when the youths[Pg 95]
were about to draw their swords, it was thought
necessary to separate them.

Seizing this opportunity one of the other knights
proposed that to guard against further discord, the
castle maidens should be urged to make a final decision,
so that each suitor—they all recognised one
another as such—might know what he had to
expect.

The proposal met with general applause, only the
sisters showed discontentment, declaring they could
not agree to such a presumptuous plan. However
the wooers tried every imaginable means of persuading
them, and at last one of the sisters wavered, a second
followed her example, and the remaining ones, after
whispering to each other for some time, declared
with laughing countenances that they would decide
the fate of their suitors the next day.

The expected hour arrived, and the knights in great
suspense assembled in the large hall.

Every eye was riveted on the door through which
these Graces should enter, bringing a sweet surprise
to some or a bitter disappointment to others.

The folding-doors were suddenly thrown open, and
an attendant announced that the mistresses of the
castle were waiting to receive the knights in the garden
near the river.

The numerous suitors all hurried out. To their
great astonishment they saw the fair ones all seated
in a boat on the Rhine. With a peculiar smile they[Pg 96]
beckoned the knights to approach, and the eldest sister
standing up in her seat, made the following speech.

“You may all throw your hopes to the winds, for
not one of us would dream of falling in love with
you, much less of marrying you. Our liberty is much
too precious to us, and we shall not sacrifice it for
any man. We are going to sail down to Cologne
to the property of a relation, and there we shall disappoint
other suitors, just as we have misled you, my
noble lords. Good-bye, good-bye!”

The scornful speech was accompanied by a scoffing
laugh which was re-echoed by the other sisters, and
the boat set sail.

The rejected suitors stood speechless with shame
and anger.

Suddenly a terrible storm arose, the boat was agitated
violently, and the laughter of the seven sisters
was turned to cries for help. But the roaring of the
waves drowned their voices, and the billows rushed
over the boat, burying it and the seven sisters in the
depths below.

Just on the spot where these stony-hearted maidens
met their deaths, seven pointed rocks appeared above
the surface of the water, which up to the present day
are still to be seen, a salutary warning to all the young
maidens of the country.

[Pg 97]

ST. GOAR

Lorelei

Die Loreley
Nach dem Gemälde von C. Begas

I.

Above Coblenz where the Rhine flows through
hills covered with vineyards, there is a steep
rock, round which many a legend has been
woven—the Lurlei Rock. The boatman
gazes up at its gigantic summit with awful reverence
when his boat glides over the waters at twilight. Like
chattering children the restless waves whisper round
the rock, telling wonderful tales of its doings. Above
on its gray head, the legend relates that a beautiful
but false nymph, clothed in white with a wreath of
stars in her flowing hair, used to sit and sing sweet
songs, until a sad tragedy drove her forever away.

Long long ago, when night in her dark garment
descended from the hills, and her silent comrade, the
pale moon, cast a silver bridge over the deep green
stream, the soft voice of a woman was heard from the
rock, and a creature of divine beauty was seen on its
summit. Her golden locks flowed like a queenly mantle
from her graceful shoulders, covering her snow-white
raiment so that her tenderly-formed body appeared
like a cloud of light. Woe to the boatsman who passed
the rock at the close of day! As of old, men were[Pg 98]
fascinated by the heavenly song of the Grecian hero,
so was the unhappy voyager allured by this being to
sweet forgetfulness, his eyes, even as his soul, would
be dazzled, and he could no longer steer clear of reefs
and cliffs, and this beautiful siren only drew him to
an early grave. Forgetting all else, he would steer
towards her, already dreaming of having reached her;
but the jealous waves would wash round his boat and
at last dash him treacherously against the rocks. The
roaring waters of the Rhine would drown the cries
of agony of the victim who would never be seen again.

But the virgin to whom no one had ever approached,
continued every night to sing soft and low, till
darkness vanished in the first rays of light, and the
great star of day drove the gray mists from the valley.

II.

Ronald was a proud youth and the boldest warrior
at the court of his father, the Palatinate Count. He
heard of this divine, enchanting creature, and his heart
burned with the desire to behold her. Before having
seen the water nymph, he felt drawn to her by an irresistible
power.

Under pretence of hunting, he left the court, and
succeeded in getting an old sailor to row him to the
rock. Twilight was brooding over the valley of the
Rhine when the boat approached the gigantic cliff;
the departing sun had long sunk below the mountains,
and now night was creeping on in silence; the evening
star was twinkling in the deep blue firmament. Was[Pg 99]
it his protecting-angel who had placed it there as a
warning to the deluded young man?

He gazed at it in rapture for some time, until a low
cry from the old man at his side interrupted him.
“The Lorelei!” whispered he, startled, “do you see
her—the enchantress?” The only answer was a soft
murmur which escaped from the youth. With wide-open
eyes he looked up and lo! there she was. Yes,
this was she, this wonderful creature! A glorious picture
in a dark frame. Yes, that was her golden hair,
and those were her flowing white garments.

She was hovering up above on the rocks combing
her beautiful hair; rays of light surrounded her graceful
head, revealing her charms in spite of the night
and the distance and as he gazed, her lips opened, and
a song thrilled through the silence, soft and plaintive
like the sweet notes of a nightingale on a still summer
evening.

From her height she looked down into the hazy
distance and cast at the youth a rapturous look which
sank down into his soul, thrilling his whole frame.

His eyes were fixed on the features of this celestial
being where he read the sweet story of love…. Rocks,
stream, glorious night, all melted into a mist before
his eyes, he saw nothing but the figure above, nothing
but her radiant eyes. The boat crept along, too slowly
for him, he could no longer remain in it, and if his
ear did not deceive him, this creature seemed to whisper
his name with unutterable sweetness, and calling
to her, he dashed into the water.

[Pg 100]A death-like cry echoed from the rocks … and the
waves sighed and washed over the unhappy youth’s
corpse.

The old boatman moaned and crossed himself, and
as he did so, lightning tore the clouds asunder, and
a loud peal of thunder was heard over the mountains.
Then the waves whispered gently below, and again
from the heights above, sad and dying away, sounded
the Lurlei’s song.

III.

The sad news was soon brought to the Palatinate
Count, who was overpowered with grief and anger.
He ordered the false enchantress to be delivered up
to him, dead or alive.

The next day a boat sailed down the Rhine, manned
by four hardy bold warriors. The leader looked up
sternly at the great rocks which seemed to be smiling
silently down at him. He had asked permission to
dash the diabolical seducer from the top of the rocks
into the foaming whirlpool below, where she would
find a certain death, and the count had readily agreed
to this plan of revenge.

IV.

The first shades of twilight were gliding softly over
mountain and hill.

The rock was surrounded by armed men, and the
leader, followed by some daring comrades, was climbing
up the side of the mountain the top of which[Pg 101]
was veiled in a golden mist, which the men thought
were the last rays of sunset. It was a bright gleam of
light enshrouding the nymph who appeared on the
rocks, dreamingly combing her golden hair. She then
took a string of pearls from her bosom, and with her
slender white hand bound them round her forehead.
She cast a mocking glance at the threatening men
approaching her.

“What are the weak sons of the earth seeking up
here on the heights?” said she, moving her rosy lips
scornfully. “You sorceress!” cried the leader enraged,
adding with a contemptuous smile, “You! We shall
dash you down into the river below!”

An echoing laugh was heard over the mountain.

“Oh! the Rhine will come himself to fetch me!” cried
the maiden.

Then bending her slender body over the precipice
yawning below, she tore the jewels from her forehead,
hurling them triumphantly into the waters, while in a
low sweet voice she sang:—

Then a storm burst forth, the Rhine rose, covering
its banks with foam. Two gigantic billows like snow-white
steeds rose out of the depths, and carried the
nymph down into the rushing current.

V.

The terrified messengers returned to the count,
bringing him the tidings of this wonderful event.

[Pg 102]Ronald, whose body a chance wave had washed up
on the banks of the river, was deeply mourned throughout
the country.

From this time forth, the Lorelei was never seen
again. Only when night sheds her dark shadow on
the hills, and the pale moon weaves a silver bridge
over the deep green stream, then the voice of a woman,
soft and low, is heard echoing from the weird
heights of the rocks.

The Lorelei has vanished, but her charm still remains.

Thou canst find it, O Wanderer, in the eyes of the
maidens near the Rhine. It blooms on their cheeks, it
lingers on their rosy lips, there thou wilt find its traces.

Arm thy heart, steel thy will, blindfold thine eye!

As a poet of the Rhine once wisely and warningly
sang, “My son, my son, beware of the Rhine….”

The Lorelei has vanished, but her charm still remains.

[Pg 103]

RHEINFELS

St. George’s Linden

The ruins of Castle Rheinfels, which stand
above the pretty little town of St. Goar,
are the most extensive of their kind on the
Rhine. The castle was erected in the middle
of the 13th century by Count Dietherr, a nobleman
belonging to the famous Rhenish family of Katzenelnbogen.
It was a strongly fortified burg, and within
ten years of its completion the mighty ramparts witnessed
several bloody encounters. Twenty-six Rhenish
cities once combined to carry the invulnerable fortress,
but though some 4000 lives were sacrificed the army
retreated baffled. For centuries after this, the banner
of the Hessian Landgraf waved from its battlements,
none daring to attack it. Then the fanatic Gallic forces
of the Revolution entered the Rhineland, and laid the
magnificent castle in ruins.

There is a legend associated with Rheinfels which
dates from that age of chivalry when noble knights
and their squires trod its courts, and this legend seems
touched with the sadness of the history of the castle
itself. The Count of Rheinfels was the proud father
of a lovely daughter, and among her numerous wooers[Pg 104]
it was George Brömser of Rüdesheim who had won
the maiden’s heart. No one was more incensed at
this than the knight of Berg. This knight belonged
indeed to a race said to have been descended from an
archbishop of Cologne, but his disposition was evil,
and his covetousness and avarice made him wish to
increase what earthly possessions he had. But the
lord of Rheinfels was shrewd enough and hesitated
before entrusting his pretty daughter and her large
dowry to such a man. As already remarked this
entirely agreed with the maiden’s desire. She was
really deeply in love with the chivalrous young knight
of Rüdesheim, but shrank, almost with aversion, from
the impetuous wooing of the harsh and selfish knight
of Berg.

Some time after the betrothal of the lovers the date
of the marriage was fixed. Before the marriage had
been celebrated however young Brömser appeared at
Rüdesheim in the early dawn on his steaming war-horse,
having ridden during the night from Rüdesheim
to bring the following sad intelligence to his beloved.
The Emperor Albrecht had summoned the nobles to
do battle against the Swiss confederates, who had
renounced their allegiance, driven the imperial representatives
from their land, and finally declared war
against their overlord. The knights of the Rhineland
were called upon to suppress the flames of rebellion.
On receiving the pressing call of the Emperor, Brömser
did not hesitate for a moment but resolved to
obey his feudal superior.

[Pg 105]At first the young bride wept, but when her lover
comforted her with words of endearment, and her
father praised the soldierly resolution of the young
man, the maiden calmly submitted to the will of God.
Before the young knight rode off he took a young
linden-tree which he had pulled up in a grove, and
having removed the soil with his sword, he planted
the sapling in front of the castle. Then he spoke as
follows to his bride. “Tend this budding linden
which I have planted here to the honour of my patron
saint. You shall keep troth with me so long as it
flourishes, but if it fade (and may St. George in his
grace prevent it) then you may forget me, for I shall
be dead.” The weeping bride threw herself in her
lover’s arms, and while he enfolded her gently with
his right, with his left he raised his sword, and showed
her engraved upon it in ancient letters, for daily repetition,
the words: “Preserve O everlasting God, the
body here, the soul hereafter. Help, knight St. George.”
Then, after receiving many kind wishes from his sorrowing
friends, the young soldier rode in the morning
mist down through the woods to join the imperial
forces.

Several months passed. Then the melancholy news
got abroad in the German land that something disastrous
had happened in the campaign against the Swiss
peasants. At last came a trustworthy report to the
effect that a bloody defeat had overtaken the proud
army of Albrecht. It was at Morgarten, where the
noble hero called Arnold of Winkelried had opened[Pg 106]
up to his countrymen a pathway to freedom over his
spearpierced body. Many counts and barons found
on that day a grave in the land of the Swiss, and
sounds of mourning were to be heard in many a German
castle. But to Castle Rheinfels no traveller brought
any tidings either of weal or woe, and we can imagine
with what sickness of heart the maiden waited, and
how her hope faded as the days and weeks slipped
past. It was so long since the ill-fated army had set
out against the Forest Cantons, and now the thoughts
of men were turned in other directions, while the
Swiss peasants were quietly allowed to reap the fruits
of their bravery. The most sanguine found it difficult
to cheer the drooping maiden of Castle Rheinfels.

Then one day her former wooer, the mean avaricious
Dietrich of Berg, presented himself. It was certain
that George Brömser must be dead, and he was
come again to sue for the hand of so desirable a young
lady. The dejected maiden informed her eager wooer
that she had plighted her troth to her absent lover
beside the linden-tree flourishing in front of the castle.
Only when this tree, consecrated to St. George, should
fade would she be released from her promise. The
knight of Berg departed in anger, and immediately
betook himself to a wood and there selected a decayed
linden, as similar as possible to the green one growing
before Castle Rheinfels. In the night he cautiously
approached the castle, tore up the linden, flung it
with a curse into the Rhine, and then planted in its
place the withered sapling. Next morning, a morning[Pg 107]
bright with the promise of spring, the fair daughter
of Rheinfels stepped out on the lawn. A cry of pain
escaped her lips when she perceived the faded tree.
The days and weeks that followed were spent in deep
grief. After a suitable time had elapsed, the knight
of Berg again put in an appearance at Rheinfels, mightily
pleased with himself. Again he sought the hand
of the maiden now released from her solemn promise.
Sadly, but firmly however she told her importunate
wooer that she would keep troth with her lover in
death as in life. Then the wrath of the despised
knight drove him to commit a horrible deed. In his
savage anger he drew his sword and buried it in the
maiden’s breast. Fleeing from the scene of his dreadful
crime he was suddenly seized with remorse, and
like Our Lord’s avaricious disciple, he went and hanged
himself. Deep was the sorrow in Castle Rheinfels
over the sacrifice of this innocent young bride, who
had kept her troth so nobly. But grief and tears
could not replace the lost one. In the midst of the
mourning a stranger was announced. He came from
the Swiss land.

After the battle of Morgarten a brave Swiss had found
George Brömser with broken limbs and many bleeding
wounds amongst a heap of slain. In a peasant’s hut the
wounded man lay long in pain and weakness. His broken
limbs required long and patient attention. Finally, after
much suffering, George Brömser, the last of all the campaigners
rode back to the Rhineland, with his lover’s
name on his lips and her image in his heart.

[Pg 108]With uncovered head the lord of Rheinfels showed
the young man the grave of his beloved, and there
the two men embraced each other long and silently.
The young soldier pulled up the faded linden-tree and
hurled it into the Rhine, while on the newly-made
grave he planted white lilies. George Brömser did
not a second time fall in love, but remained true to
his chosen bride to the end of his days. We are told
that in the company of knightly minstrels he sought
to forget his great sorrow, and that later he composed
many pretty songs. One of them has survived the
centuries, and was recently discovered, along with
the melody, in an old manuscript. It begins:

[Pg 109]

STERRENBERG AND LIEBENSTEIN

The Brothers

I.

In the middle ages, an old knight belonging
to the court of the Emperor Conrad II.
lived in a castle called Sternberg, near
Boppard. The old warrior had two sons
left to him. His wife had died many years before, and
since her death, merry laughter had seldom been heard
in the halls of the beautiful castle.

Soon a ray of sunshine seemed to break into these
solemn rooms; a distant cousin at Rüdesheim had died,
leaving his only child, a beautiful young girl, to the
care of his relative.

The golden-haired Angela became the pet of the
castle, and won the affection and friendship of the two
sons by her engaging ways. What had already happened
hundred of times now happened among these
young people, love replaced the friendship of the two
young knights and both tried to win the maiden’s
favour.

The old master of the castle noticed this change,
and his father’s heart forbode trouble.

Both sons were equally dear to him, but perhaps[Pg 110]
his first-born, who had inherited his mother’s gentle
character, fulfilled his heart’s desire more than the fiery
spirit of Conrad the younger.

From the first moment when the orphan appeared
at his family seat, he had conceived the thought that
his favourite son Henry, who was heir to his name
and estates, would marry the maiden.

Henry loved Angela with a profound, sincere feeling
which he seldom expressed.

His brother, on the contrary, made no secret of his
ardent love, and soon the old man perceived with
sorrow that the beautiful girl returned his younger
son’s passionate love. Henry, too, was not unaware of
the happiness of this pair, and in generous self-denial
he tried to bury his grief, and to rejoice heartily in
his brother’s success.

The distress of the elder brother did not escape
Angela. She was much moved when she first remarked
that his voice trembled on pronouncing her name,
but soon love dazzled her eyes, so that the clouds on
his troubled countenance passed unnoticed by her.

About this time St. Bernhard of Clairvaux came
from France to the Rhine, preaching a second crusade
against the Infidels. The fiery words of the saintly
monk roused many thousands to action; his appeal
likewise reached the castle of Sternberg.

Henry, though not envying his brother’s happiness,
felt that it would be impossible for him to be a constant
witness of it, and thus he was glad to answer
this call, and to take up the cross.

[Pg 111]Conrad, too, longing for action and dominated by
the impulse of the moment, was stirred up by the
witching charms which a crusade to Palestine offered.
His adventurous soul, cramped up in this castle so
far removed from the world, thirsted for the adventures,
which he imagined were awaiting the crusaders
in the far-off East. In vain the tears and prayers of
the young girl were shed, in vain was the sorrow of
his father who begged him not to desert him.

The old man was in despair about the unbending
resolutions of his sons.

“Who will remain at the castle of my forefathers,
if you both abandon it now, perhaps never to return,”
cried he sorrowfully. “I implore you, my eldest son,
you, the very image of your mother, to have pity on
your father’s gray hairs. And you, Conrad, have pity
on the tears of your betrothed.” The brothers remained
silent. Then the eldest grasped the old man’s hand,
saying gently.

“I shall not leave you, my father.”

“And you, Angela,” said the younger to the weeping
maiden, “you will try and bear this separation, and
will plant a sprig of laurel to make a wreath for me
when I return.”

II.

The next day the young knight left the home of his
forefathers. At first the maiden seemed inconsolable
in her grief. But soon her love began to slumber like[Pg 112]
a tired child; on awakening from this drowsiness indignation
seized her, whispering complainingly in her
ear, and disturbing all the sweet memories in which
the picture of her light-hearted lover gleamed forth,
he who had parted from her for the sake of empty glory.

Now left to herself, she began to consider the proud
youth who was forced to live under the same roof
with his rejected love. She admired his good qualities
which all seemed to have escaped her before, his great
daring at the chase, his skill with weapons, and his
many kind acts of pure friendship to her, with the view
of sweetening the bitter separation from which she
was suffering.

He seemed afraid of rousing the love which was
still sleeping in his heart.

In the meantime Angela felt herself drawn more and
more towards the knight; she wished to try and make
him understand that her love for his younger brother
had only been a youthful passion, which seemed to
have flown when he left her. She felt unhappy when
she understood that Henry, whom she now began really
to love, seemed to feel nothing but brotherly affection
for her, and she longed in her inmost soul for a word
of love from him.

Henry was not unaware of this change in her affections,
but he proudly smothered every rising thought in his
heart for his brother’s betrothed.

The old knight was greatly pleased when, one day,
Angela came to him, and with tears in her eyes disclosed
to him the secret of her heart.

[Pg 113]He prayed God fervently to bring these two loving
hearts together whom he believed were destined for
one another by will of God. In his dreams he already
saw Angela in her castle like his dead wife and his
first-born son, rocking her little baby, a blue-eyed, fair-haired
child. Then he would suddenly recollect his
impetuous younger son fighting in the crusades, and
his dreams would be hastily interrupted.

Just opposite to his ancestral hall he caused a proud
fort to be built, and called it “Liebenstein,” intending
it for his second son when he returned from the Holy Land.
The castle was hardly finished, when the old man died.

The crusade at last was at an end. All the knights
from the Rhine country brought back the news with
them on their return from the Holy Land, that Conrad
had married a beautiful Grecian woman in the East
and was now on his way home with her.

Henry was beside himself with wrath on hearing
this news. Such dishonourable conduct and shameful
neglect seemed impossible to him, and going to the maiden
he informed her of his brother’s approaching return.

She turned very pale, her lips moved, but her tongue
found no words.

III.

A large ship was seen one day sailing along the
Rhine with strange flags waving on its masts. Angela
saw it from her tower where she now spent many a
long day reflecting on her unfortunate destiny, and she
hastily called up the elder brother.

[Pg 114]The ship approached nearer and nearer. Soon the
cries of the boatmen could be heard, and the faces of
the crew could be distinguished.

Suddenly the maiden uttered a cry, and threw herself
weeping into the arms of the knight. The latter gazed
at the vessel, his brows contracted. Yes! there on board,
in shining armour, stood his brother, with a beautiful
strange woman clinging to his arm.

The ship touched land. One of the first, Conrad
sprang on shore. The two watchers in the tower disappeared.
A man approached Conrad and informed
him that the new castle was destined for him. The same day
the impetuous knight sent notice of his arrival to Sternberg
castle, but his brother answered him, that he would
wait for him on the bridge, but would only meet sword in
hand the faithless lover who had deserted his betrothed.

Twilight was creeping over the two castles. On the
narrow ground separating the forts the brothers strove
together in a deadly fight.

They were equally courageous, equally strong those
two opponents, and their swords crossed swiftly, one
in righteous anger, the other in wounded pride. But
soon the elder received a blow, and the blood began
to drop on his breastplate.

The bushes were at this moment suddenly pushed
asunder, and a maiden, veiled in white, dashed in between
the fighters thrusting them from each other. It was
Angela, who cried out in a despairing voice:

“In God’s name stop! and for your father’s sake cease,
ere it be too late. She for whom you have drawn[Pg 115]
your swords, is now going to take the veil, and will
beg God day and night to forgive you, Conrad, for
your falseness, and will pray Him to bless you and
your brother for ever.”

Both brothers threw down their arms. Conrad, his
head deeply bowed, covered his face with his hand.
He did not dare to look at the maiden who stood
there, a silent reproach to him. Henry took the weeping
girl’s hand.

“Come sister,” said he, “such faithlessness does not
deserve your tears.”

They disappeared among the trees. Silently Conrad
stood gazing after them. A feeling which he had never
known seemed to rise up in his heart, and, bending
his head, he wept bitterly.

IV.

The cloister, Marienburg, lay in a valley at some
distance from the castles, and there Angela found peace.
A wall was soon built up between the two forts Sternberg
and Liebenstein, a silent witness of the enmity
between the two brothers.

Banquet followed banquet in the newly built castle,
and the beautiful Grecian won great triumphs among
the knights of the Rhine.

But sorrow seemed to have taken possession of Sternberg
castle. Henry had not wished to move the maiden
from her purpose, but from the time of her departure,
his strength faded away. At the foot of the mountain[Pg 116]
he caused a cloister to be built, and a few months
later he passed away from this world, just on the same
day that the bells were tolling for Angela’s death.

The lord of Liebenstein was not granted a lasting
happiness with his beautiful wife. She fled with a knight
who had long enjoyed the lavish hospitality at castle
Liebenstein. Conrad, overcome by sorrow and disgrace,
threw himself from a pinnacle of the castle into the
depths below.

The strongholds then fell into the hands of Knight
Brömser of Rüdesheim, and since that time have fallen
into ruins. The church and cloister still remain in the
valley, and are the scene of many a pilgrimage.

[Pg 117]

RHENSE

The Emperor Wenzel

In the middle of a beautiful meadow at
Rhense near Coblenz stands the famous
historical “king’s chair.” Here, where the
lands of the three great prelates of Cologne,
Mayence and Treves join together, the princely Seven
met to choose the new ruler who was to direct the
destiny of the Holy Roman Empire.

Here Charles IV. was chosen by the free will of
the Electors; here also the Seven elected Wenzeslaus
of the house of Luxemburg, Charles’ son, emperor.
During his life-time Charles had exerted himself very
much over the election of his first-born son, and he
even made a pilgrimage with him to Rhense on the
Rhine where, at the renowned “Königsstuhl,” the chancellor
of the kingdom, Archbishop of Mayence, often
held important conferences with their Graces of Treves
and Cologne, and the Count Palatine.

This Wenzeslaus of Bohemia had a great predilection
for the Rhine and its wines, and later on, when, less
by his own merits, than by the exertions of his father
and the favour of the electors, he became German
emperor, his brother inheriting the sandy country of[Pg 118]
Brandenburg, he had even then paid more honours
to the Rhine wine than any other of its lovers. It
afforded him a greater pleasure than the enjoyment
of wearing a crown. Finding that a good drink
tasted better at the place of its origin, he often visited
the brave Count Palatine of the Rhine who dwelt in
this blissful country, and who had more casks in his
cellar than there are saints’ days in a year.

This proof of imperial confidence was by no means
disagreeable to the very noble Elector Ruprecht of
the Palatinate, and he neglected no opportunity of
striving to ingratiate himself more and more in the
emperor’s favour.

Gallant Ruprecht would not unwillingly have exchanged
his little Palatinate crown for an imperial
one. Sometimes when his royal guest, becoming very
jovial from the wine he had taken, confessed that the
high dignity of emperor was becoming troublesome
to him, the count agreed with him frankly, and never
failed to let his imperial master know that the electors
were discontented at his careless administration, and
would be well pleased if he retired. Emperor Wenzel
listened to all he said with perfect indifference, continuing
in the meantime to revel in his wine.

One day the emperor was sitting with his gay companions
at the Königsstuhl in Rhense. They were all
very merry, as the cup of Assmannshäuser wine had
already been passed round many times. This delicious
vintage was very pleasing to Wenzel, and the
other drinkers could not find words enough to praise it.

[Pg 119]While the goblets were being handed round, and
sounds of joviality filled the royal hall, the emperor
stood up suddenly and, addressing himself to the count,
said in a very light-hearted tone.

“I think the crown which was set on my head
would not be very unsuitable to you. Well, I offer
it to you, if you are able to place before me and my
companions here, a wine which tastes better than this
Assmannshäuser.”

There was a cunning twinkle in the count’s eyes as
he beckoned to his page. After a while a servant
rolled in a great cask, from which the cups were at
once filled. The count stood up and presented the
first goblet to the emperor.

“That is my Bacharacher wine, noble lords. Taste
it; I can wait for your judgment without fear.”

They all drank, and every face beamed with pleasure.
The opinions were undivided in favour of the fiery
Bacharacher. The emperor rose and loudly declared
he preferred it to the Assmannshäuser. He could not
praise it too highly, nor drink enough of it.

“This wine is worth more than a thousand crowns!”
said he, enthusiastically. Wenzel kept his word and
ceded his crown to Ruprecht of the Palatinate who,
in his turn, made the emperor a present of six waggon-loads
of Bacharacher wine.

[Pg 120]

CASTLE LAHNECK

The Templars of Lahneck

On the opposite side of the Rhine from Coblenz,
and towering above Lahnstein, rises
Castle Lahneck, a keep shaped somewhat
in the form of a pentagon. Lahneck succumbed
to the hordes of Louis XIII. in the same year as
the castle of Heidelberg was destroyed. The following
stirring tale is associated with Lahneck.

It was the Templars of Jerusalem who erected this
fortress whose imposing watch-tower rises nearly 100
feet above the main building. The riches of the Templars
led to their destruction. The contemptible French king,
Philip the Fair, by making grave complaints to the
Pope obtained an order for the abolition of this much-abused
order, and dragged the Grand Master with fifty
of his faithful followers to the stake. Everywhere a
cruel policy of extermination was immediately adopted
against the outlawed knights, the chief motive of the
persecutors being rather a desire to confiscate the rich
possessions of the Templars than any religious zeal
against heretics and sinners.

Peter von Aspelt, Archbishop of Mainz, had cast
envious eyes on proud Lahneck which sheltered twelve[Pg 121]
Knights-Templars and their retainers. Alleging some
faulty conduct on the part of the soldiers of the cross,
he gave orders that the castle should be razed, and
that the knights should exchange the white mantle with
the red cross for the monk’s cowl, but to this the
twelve as knights sans peur et sans reproche issued a
stout defiance. This excited the greed and rage of the
archbishop all the more. From the pontiff, whom with
his own hands he had successfully nursed on his sick-bed
at Avignon, Peter von Aspelt procured full power
over the goods and lives of the excommunicated knights
of Lahneck. He then proceeded down the Rhine with
many vassals and mercenaries, and presented the Pope’s
letter to the Templars, at the same time commanding
them to yield. Otherwise their castle would be taken
by storm, and the inmates as impenitent sinners would
die a shameful death on the gallows. The oldest of
the twelve, a man with silvery hair, advanced and declared
in the name of his brethren, that they were
resolved to fight to the last drop of their blood, and
further, that they were quite prepared to suffer like
their brethren in France. And so the fight between
such fearful odds began. Many soldiers of the Electorate
fell under the swords of the knights and their
faithful servants, but ever the furious archbishop ordered
forward new bands to fill the gaps. Day by day the
ranks of the defenders became thinner. Prominent
everywhere in this hand to hand struggle were the
heroic forms of the twelve Templars, in white mantle
with blood-red cross. At last, at a breach which had[Pg 122]
been defended with leonine courage, one of the noble
twelve sank beneath his shattered shield, and closed
his eyes in death. A second shared his fate, then a
third. The others, bleeding from many wounds and
aided by the sorely diminished remnant of their retainers,
redoubled their brave efforts, but still death
made havoc in their ranks. When, on the evening of
the day of fiercest onslaught the victorious besiegers
planted their banner on the captured battlement, the
silver-haired veteran, the former spokesman, stood with
blood-flecked sword among the bodies of his fallen
comrades, the last survivor. Touched by such noble
heroism the archbishop informed him that he would
be allowed to surrender; but calling down the curse
of heaven on worldly churchmen and their greed of
land, he raised on high his sword and rushed upon
his foes. Pierced with many wounds the last of the
twelve sank to the earth, and over the corpse of this
noble man the soldiers of Mainz pressed into the
fortress itself.

Peter von Aspelt preserved Lahneck as a place of
defence and residence for an officer of the Electorate
of Mainz, and nominated as first holder of the post,
Hartwin von Winningen. The castle remained in the
possession of the Electorate of Mainz for 300 years, but
the sad story of the twelve heroic Templars is remembered
in the neighbourhood of Lahneck to this day.

[Pg 123]

COBLENZ

Riza

In the first quarter of the 9th century, when
the pious Ludwig, son of Charlemagne, was
struggling with his misguided children for
the imperial crown, a church was built in
Coblenz to St. Castor, the missionary who had spread
christianity in the valley of the Moselle. The four-towered
edifice arose on a branch of the Rhine.

The palace of the Frankish king stood at this time
on the highest south-western point of Coblenz, on the
site of a former Roman fort, and near by was a
nunnery, dedicated to St. Castor. In this building lived
Riza, a daughter of Ludwig the Pious, who had early
dedicated her life to the church. Every day this king’s
daughter went to mass in the Castor church on the
opposite side of the Rhine. So great grace had Riza
found in the sight of Our Lord, that like His disciple
of old on the sea of Genesareth, she walked over the
Rhine dry-footed to the holy sacrament in St. Castor’s.
One day, the sacred legend goes on to say, the stream
was agitated by a storm. For the first time doubt
entered the maiden’s heart as her foot touched the
waves. Prudently tearing a prop from a neighbouring[Pg 124]
vineyard, she took it with her for a staff over the
troubled waters. But after a few timid steps, she sank
like St. Peter on the Galilean lake. In this wretched
plight she became full of remorse for her want of
faith in God. She flung the stick far away, and lifting
her arms towards heaven, committed herself to the
sole protection of the Almighty. At once she rose up
from the waves, and arrived, with dry feet as heretofore,
on the other side. More than ever after this did
Riza, this saintly daughter of a saintly king, strive to
excel in those works which are pleasing to God. She
died within the cloister, and her bones were laid in
the Castor church, near the burial-place of the saint.
Soon the popular imagination canonised Riza, and her
marble tomb is still to be seen in the North transept
of the Castor church at Coblenz.

[Pg 125]

VALLEY OF THE MOSELLE

The Doctor’s wine of Bernkastel

The wine of Bernkastel is called “Doctor’s
wine,” or even shorter still “Doctor,” and
it has been known by this singular name
for more than five hundred years.

About the middle of the fourteenth century Bishop
Bohemund lay ill of a very violent fever at Bernkastel.
The worthy man was obliged to swallow many a
bitter pill and many a sour drink, but all without
avail. The poor divine began at last to fear the
worst. Despite his high calling and his earnest search
after holy things, his bishopric on the lovely Moselle
pleased him better than any seat in heaven. He caused
it to be proclaimed throughout the length and
breadth of his diocese, that whoever should be able
to cure him of this terrible fever, be he layman or
learned doctor, should receive his pastoral blessing,
and a rich present into the bargain.

At that very time, a brave old warrior lived at
Treves, who heard about the suffering bishop and had
pity on him in his great need.

Moreover this gray-haired veteran, whose name has
not come down to posterity, was very much indebted[Pg 126]
to the bishop, for once, many years before, Bohemund
had saved him from the hands of the enemy in a
skirmish near Sponheim.

The noble old soldier was much distressed to hear
that the holy man was suffering so terribly. He remembered
too, that once he himself had been attacked
by violent fever and had fought hard with death, and
that his friends had talked about pills and certain
bitter drinks, but he had sent them all away and had
called his servant, desiring him to bring him a good
bowl of fiery Bernkastler wine. When he had taken
a hearty drink,—no small matter for one lying ill of
fever—he awoke out of a deep sleep twelve hours
later, the fever completely gone.

Why should not this same Bernkastler cure, thought
he, have the same effect on the worthy prelate?

After considering for a time, the old knight set out
quite alone from his castle in the forest of Soon to
visit his spiritual benefactor, taking only a little cask
with him.

Bohemund, lying on his sick bed, is said to have
cast a very suspicious look at the good man who
stated that he could cure him, but who carried all his
medicines and mixtures in a little cask on his shoulder.
The knight however, making a sign to the officious
servants and attendants to leave the chamber, informed
the reverend gentleman of what he was about to do.
He then calmly took the plug out of the cask, and
gave the sick man a drink of the sparkling wine which
he had brought with him.

[Pg 127]The bishop readily swallowed the wine at one
draught. Another was administered to him soon after,
and the eminent prelate fell into a deep sleep.

The next day the people of Treves heard with great
joy that the fever had completely disappeared.

The bishop on awaking took another stout draught,
and sang out of the depths of his grateful heart:—

[Pg 128]

ANDERNACH

Genovefa

I.

In all the Rhine provinces the virtuous spouse
of Count Siegfried of the Palatinate was
esteemed and venerated. The people called
her St. Genovefa, which name indeed she
was worthy of, as she suffered cruel trials and sorrows.
Siegfried’s castle stood near the old town of
Andernach, just at the time when Charles Martel was
reigning over the Franks.

Siegfried and his young wife lived in peaceful unity,
till a cloud came over their happiness. The much-dreaded
Arabs from Spain had forced their way into
Gaul, and were now marching northwards, burning
and destroying all on their course. The enemies of
the cross must be repulsed, unless the west was to
share the fate of Africa, which had been subdued by
the Mohametans.

The war-cry reached the Palatinate, and Siegfried
had to go forth to the fight. Equipped in his armour,
and having kissed his weeping wife, he bade farewell
to the castle of his fathers. But he was sad at heart
at leaving the spot where the happiest days of his life
[Pg 129]had been spent. He entrusted the administration of his
property to Golo, his steward, and recommended his
beloved wife very earnestly to his protection, begging
her in turn to trust him in everything.

The poor countess was heart-broken at this bitter
separation. She felt the loneliness of the castle deeply,
she longed for his happy presence and the sound of
his voice. She could never speak to Golo as to the
friend to whose care her husband had recommended
her. Her pure eyes shrank from the passionate look
which gleamed in his. It seemed to her that he followed
her every movement with a look which her
childlike soul did not understand.

She missed her husband’s presence more and more.
She would go out on the balcony and weave golden
dreams, and while she sat there, looking out over the
hazy blue distance, she longed for the moment when
Siegfried would return, when she could lean her head
upon his breast, and tell him of the great happiness
in store for them.

Perhaps the war against the heathens might last so
long that she would be able to hold the pledge of
their love joyfully out to him from the balcony on his
return. And the countess’ lovely face would be lit up
with a gleam of blissful happiness, and she would
while away the time on her favourite spot, dreaming
and looking out into the hazy blue distance.

The secret aversion which the countess felt towards
the steward was not without a reason. Her angel-like
beauty had awakened lustful passion in Golo’s breast,[Pg 130]
which he did not strive to hide. On the contrary his
frequent intercourse with her, who was as gracious to
him as to all her other inferiors, stirred his passion
still more, and one day, losing all control, he threw
himself at the countess’ feet, declaring his love for her,
and imploring her to return it. Genovefa was horrified
at this confession. With indignation and scorn she
rejected his love, forbidding him to appear before her
as he had utterly forgotten his duty, and at the same
time, threatening to complain of him to her husband.
Golo’s eyes flared up, and a deadly look of hatred
gleamed from them.

He could hope for no pardon from his angry mistress.
Besides, his pride would not allow him to seek
it, and now his one desire was revenge. It only remained
for him to follow his dastardly plan and to
avoid Siegfried’s wrath.

Hatred raged in his breast. He dismissed all the
servants of the castle and put new ones of his own
creation in their places. Then one day he appeared
before the horrified countess, and openly accused her
of being unfaithful to her husband far away.

Shame and wrath robbed Genovefa of speech. Golo
explained to the servants who were standing around
in silent amazement, that he had already informed the
count of his wife’s faithless conduct, and that he, Golo,
as present administrator of the castle, now condemned
the countess to be imprisoned in the dungeon.

The unhappy Genovefa awakened to find herself in
an underground cell of the castle. She covered her[Pg 131]
face in deep sorrow, imploring Him who had sent
her this trial, to help her in her present affliction.
There after some time a son was born to her. She
baptized him with her tears, giving him the name of
Tristan, which means “full of sorrows.”

II.

Siegfried had already been absent six months. He
had fought like a hero in many a desperate battle.
The fanatical followers of Mohamet having crossed
the Pyrenees, struggled with wild enthusiasm, hoping
to subdue the rest of western Europe to the doctrines
of Islam by fire and sword. In several encounters, the
Franks had been obliged to give way to their power.
These unbridled hordes had already penetrated into
the heart of Gaul, when Charles first appeared and
engaged the Arabs in the bloody battle of Tours.
From morning till evening the struggle on which
hung the fate of Europe raged. And there Charles
proved himself worthy of the name of Martel, “the
hammer,” which he afterwards received.

Siegfried fought at the leader’s side like a lion; but
towards evening a Saracen’s lance pierced him, and
though the wound was not mortal, yet he was obliged
to remain inactive for several months on a sick-bed,
where he thought with longing in his heart of his
loving wife by the Rhine.

A messenger arrived one day at the camp bearing
a parchment from Golo, Siegfried’s steward. The count
gazed long at the fateful letter, trying to comprehend[Pg 132]
its meaning. What he had read, ran thus: “Your wife is
unfaithful to you and has betrayed you for the sake
of Drago, a servant, who ran away.” The hero crushed
the letter furiously in his hand, a groan escaping
from his white lips. Then he started off accompanied
by a few followers, and rode towards the Ardennes,
never stopping till he reached his own fort. A man
stood on the balcony, looking searchingly out into
the distance, and seeing a cloud of dust approaching
in which a group of horsemen soon became visible,
his eyes gleamed triumphantly.

A stately knight advanced, his charger stamping
threateningly on the drawbridge. Golo, with hypocritical
emotion stood before the count, who had now
alighted from his foaming horse, and informed him
again of what had happened. “Where is the evil-doer
who has stained the honour of my house, where is
he, that I may crush his life out?” cried Siegfried in
a fury.

“My lord, I have punished the wretch deservedly
and lashed him out of the castle,” answered Golo in
a stern voice, sighing deeply.

The count made a sign to Golo whose false eyes
gleamed with devilish joy, to lead the way.

Siegfried entered the dungeon, followed by his servants
and also by those who had travelled with him.
Genovefa listened breathlessly in her prison, with a
loved name trembling on her lips and a prayer to
God in her heart. Now the terrible trial would come
to an end, now she would leave this dungeon of[Pg 133]
disgrace triumphantly, and exchange the crown of thorns
for the victor’s wreath.

The bolt was unfastened, firm steps and men’s voices
were heard, the iron doors were dashed open. She
snatched her slumbering child, the pledge of their
love, and held it towards her dear husband. His name
was on her lips, but before she could utter it, a cry
of agony escaped her. He had cast her from him and,
his accusations falling like blows from a hammer on
her head, the poor innocent countess fell senseless to
the ground. The next day two servants led mother
and child out into the forest, where with their own
hands, they were to kill her who had been so unfaithful
to her husband, and her child also. They were to
bring back two tongues to the count as a proof that
they had obeyed his orders.

The servants drove them into the wildest depths of
the forest where only the screams of birds of prey
broke the silence. They drew their knives. But the
poor countess fell on her knees, and holding up her
little child, implored them to spare their lives, if not
for her sake, at least for the sake of the helpless child.
Pity entered the two men’s hearts and withheld their
hands. Dragging the mother and child still deeper into
the forest, they turned away hastily, leaving their victims
to themselves.

They brought two harts’ tongues to the count, informing
him that they had fulfilled his orders.

[Pg 134]

III.

Genovefa’s tired feet wandered through the unknown
forest, her child crying with hunger. She prayed fervently
to Heaven in her despair, and tears were sent
to relieve the dull pain in her heart, after which she
felt more composed, and her child was soon sweetly
slumbering. To her great astonishment she perceived
a cavern near her, where she could take shelter, and
as if God wished to show that He had heard her
prayer, a white doe came towards the cavern, rubbing
herself caressingly against the abandoned woman.
Willingly the gentle animal allowed the little child to
suckle it. The next day the doe came back again, and
Genovefa thanked God from the depths of her heart.
She found roots, berries, and plants, to support herself,
and every day the tame doe came back to her,
and at last remained always with her.

Days, weeks, and months passed. Her unfaltering
faith had rendered her agony less. In time she learned
to forgive her husband who had condemned her unjustly,
and she even pardoned him who had taken
such bitter revenge on her. Her lovely cheeks had
become thinner, but the forest winds had breathed a
soft red into them, and the child who had no cares
nor gnawing pain in its heart, grew into a beautiful
little boy.

IV.

At the castle on the Rhine, sorrow was a constant
guest since this terrible event had happened.[Pg 135]
Siegfried’s burning anger had sunk into sorrow, and often
when he was wandering restlessly through the rooms
so rich in sweet memories, where now a deserted
stillness reigned, the agony awoke again in his heart.
He now repented of his hastiness, and a voice whispered
in his ear that he had been too severe in his
cruel punishment, that he had condemned too quickly,
and that he should have considered what he could
have done to mitigate her punishment.

When these haunting voices pursued him, he would
hurry away from the castle and its loneliness, not
being able to bear the torment of his thoughts. Then
to forget his trouble, he would follow the chase with
the yelping hounds. But he only seldom succeeded in
dulling his misery. Everywhere he seemed to see the
pale face of a woman looking imploringly at him.

The state of his master’s soul had not escaped Golo,
and this crafty man cringed the more to the sorrowful
count, feigning to care for his welfare. A starving
person accepts even the bread which a beggar-man
offers, and Siegfried, supposing his steward wished to
compensate him for his loss, accepted willingly every
proof of devotion, and recompensed him with his
favour, at the same time hating the man in his inmost
soul who had rendered him such a terrible service.

One day the count rode out to the chase, accompanied
by only a few retainers, one of whom was
Golo. Siegfried pressed deeper than was his custom
into the forest. A milkwhite doe sprang up before him
and sportsmanlike, he chased this singular animal[Pg 136]
through the bushes, hoping to shoot it. His spear had
just grazed it, when it disappeared suddenly into a
cavern. A woman whose ragged garments scarcely
covered her nakedness, leading a little boy by the
hand, suddenly came out of the opening in the rock,
and the doe, seeking protection, rubbed herself against
her. She looked at the hunter, but her limbs trembled
so that she could scarcely stand, only her large sad
eyes gazed wistfully at him. A stifled cry, half triumphant,
half a groan, escaped from her lips, and she
threw herself at the count’s feet. From the voice which
for long months had only moved in earnest prayer or
in low sweet words to the child, now flowed solemn
protestations of her innocence. Her words burned like
fire into the soul of the count, and drawing her to
his breast, he kissed her tears, and then sank at her
feet imploring her pardon.

He pressed his little boy to his heart, overcome
with gratitude and happiness, and wept with joy,
calling him by a thousand affectionate names.

Then at the sound of his bugle-horn his retinue
hastened towards him, Golo among them.

“Do you know these two?” thundered out the count
to the latter, tearing him from the throng and conducting
him to Genovefa.

The wretch, as if struck by a club, broke down and,
clasping his master’s knees, he confessed his wickedness
and begged for mercy. Siegfried thrust him contemptuously
from him, refusing sternly, in spite of the
countess’ intercession, to pardon his crime. Golo was[Pg 137]
bound and led away, and a disgraceful death was his
reward.

Now began a time of great happiness for Siegfried
and his saint-like wife, and they lived in undisturbed
peace with their little son.

In gratitude to Heaven Siegfried caused a church
to be built on the spot where the white doe had
appeared to him first. The countess often made a
pilgrimage to this house of God, to thank Him who
had caused her tears to be turned into joy. Then a
day came when her corpse was carried into the forest,
and was buried in the church. Even now in Laach,
the wanderer is shown the church and the tombstone,
also the cavern where she suffered so much. Thus the
name of St. Genovefa will last to all time.

[Pg 138]

HAMMERSTEIN

The old Knight and his Daughters

Am Sarge Kaiser Heinrich IV.
Nach dem Gemälde von L. Rosenfelder
Zur Sage von der Burg Hammerstein

Above Rheinbrohl, on a dreary sandstone rock,
stand the ruins of the old imperial fortress
of Hammerstein. For a thousand years the
storms have beat on those desolate walls.
One of the first owners was Wolf von Hammerstein,
a faithful vassal of the Emperor. It was Henry IV.
who then ruled, and partly by his own faults, partly
by those of others, the crown had indeed become to
this sovereign one of thorns. Wolf of Hammerstein
had made the historic pilgrimage to Canossa alone
with his master. Now, on account of the infirmities of
age the venerable knight seldom descended the castle-hill,
and only from afar, the loud trumpet call of the
world fell upon his ears. His wife, now for several
years deceased, had born him six daughters, all attractive
maidens and tenderly attached to their surviving
parent, but their filial affection met with the roughest
and most ungrateful responses from the sour old
fellow. It was a sore grievance to Wolf of Hammerstein
that he had no son. He would willingly have
exchanged his halfdozen daughters for a single male
heir. The girls were only too well aware of this fact,[Pg 139]
and tried all the more, by constant love and tender
care to reconcile their ungracious parent to his lot.

One evening it thus befell. The autumn wind
grumbled round the castle like a croaking raven, and
the old knight, Wolf of Hammerstein, sat by a cheerful
fire and peevishly nursed his gouty limbs. In spite
of the most assiduous attentions of his daughters he
remained in a most surly mood. The pretty maidens
however kept hovering round the ill-tempered old
fellow like so many tender doves. Then the porter
announced two strangers. Both were wrapped in their
knightly mantles, and in spite of his troubles the
hospitable lord of the castle prepared to welcome his
guests. Into the comfortable room two shivering and
weary travellers advanced, and as outlaws they craved
shelter and protection for the night. At the sound of
one of the voices the knight started up, listening
eagerly, and when the stranger raised his visor and
threw back his mantle, Wolf of Hammerstein sank on
his knees at the stranger’s feet, and seizing his hand
he pressed it to his lips, exclaiming: “Henry, my lord
and king!” Then, with trembling voice the Emperor
told his old comrade-in-arms that he was a fugitive,
and before one who had torn from him the imperial
crown and mantle. And when the old knight, trembling
with excitement, demanded who this impious and
dishonourable man might be, the Emperor murmured
the words, “My son,” and then buried his face in his
hands.

Rigid as a marble statue stood the old knight. Like[Pg 140]
a bolt from heaven the consciousness of his past
ignoble conduct had flashed upon him. Suddenly he
seemed to feel how tenderly the loving arms of his
daughters had enfolded him. He spread out his hands
towards them, as if anxious to atone by the tenderness
of a minute for the harshness of years. Then the
Emperor, deeply touched, thus addressed the old man.
“Dear comrade-in-arms, your position is indeed enviable.
The faithful love of your daughters will tend
you in your declining years. No misguided son, impatient
for your end, will hunt you from your home.
Alas, for me, to-morrow accompanied by a few faithful
followers, I must go down to battle against my
own flesh and blood.”

Towards midnight the unhappy monarch was conducted
to a room prepared with care for his reception;
and, while he sank into a troubled sleep, the old
knight overwhelmed his daughters with long-delayed
caresses. In his heart, he silently entreated for pardon
for the deep grudge he had long cherished against
the God who had been pleased to grant him no son.

Three months had passed by. Sad news came to
the Rhine from the Netherlands. The Emperor Henry
was dead. In the midst of fresh warlike preparations
death claimed him. His faithful partisans were therefore[Pg 141]
greatly grieved and more especially Wolf of
Hammerstein. But the second part of the tidings made
him even sadder. The consecrated earth was denied
to the unfortunate dead Emperor. His coffin was placed
in a cellar in Liege without any respect. Whoever
wished could go there to slander or to pray for the
repose of his soul, whenever they desired. When the
knight was told of this he swore vehemently and did
not close his eyes for several nights. Then his mind
was made up. All the prayers and weeping of the
daughters did not make him alter his decision.

One day he stood before the Archbishop of Cologne
and reminded him how he had saved his life more than
twenty years ago, and he recalled to his memory that he
had promised to grant any wish of the Hammersteins.

There was a great discussion between the knight
and the bishop. But the fidelity of the vassal was
rewarded. The strong ecclesiastical protection of the
church at Cologne facilitated the steps to the priests in
Liege. Surrounded by pious women and earnest men
he knelt, a week later, before the sarcophagus, he
pressed his lips to it and murmured “Henry my master
and my King.” Afterwards he had the body transferred
to Speyer where it was placed in the royal tomb.

When the mournful vessel went up the Rhine from
Cologne, by order of the knight black flags fluttered
in the wind and greeted the dead Emperor. Hammerstein
was always known later on as the most faithful
vassal of the King.

[Pg 142]

VALLEY OF THE AHR

The Last Knight of Altenahr

Only a few mouldering ruins now show where
one of the proudest strongholds of the Rhine
country, Castle Altenahr, once stood. A
legend relates the mournful story of the
last of the race which had lived there for centuries.

This man was a very stubborn knight, and he would
not bow down to or even acknowledge the all-powerful
archbishop, whom His Majesty the Emperor had
sent into the Rhine country as protector of the church.

Unfortunately the bishop was also of a proud and
unyielding character, and he nursed resentment in his
heart against this spurner of his authority.

It was not long before his smouldering rancour
blazed into an open feud, and the mighty bishop,
accompanied by a large band of followers, appeared
before the proud castle of Altenahr. A ring of iron
was formed round the offending vassal’s hold.

But its owner was not disturbed by this formidable
array, and only laughed sneeringly at the besiegers’
useless trouble, knowing well that they would never
be able to storm his rocky stronghold.

The warlike priest saw many of his little army bleeding[Pg 143]
to death in vain. He was very wrathful, but
nevertheless undismayed.

He had sworn a great oath that he would enter
this invincible hold as a conqueror, even if the fight
were to last till the Judgment Day; the lord of Altenahr
had sworn a similar oath, and these two powerful
foes were well matched.

Thus the siege continued for some months. The
besieger’s anger grew hotter, for every attack cost him
the lives of numbers of his followers, and all his
efforts seemed useless.

Already there was an outburst of discontent in his
camp; many servants and vassals deserted from such
a dangerous venture. Revolt and disobedience seemed
on one occasion to threaten a complete dissolution of
the besieging army, as a desperate attack had been
again repulsed by the hidden inhabitants of the fort.

The bishop’s allies urged the unrelenting man to
desist from his merciless purpose, but he received their
protests with a sneer: “When you leave me, my greater
ally, hunger, will draw near. It will come, that
I am sure of.” Then followed an uproar of confused
voices; mutinous troopers, now become bold by the
wine they had taken, fell to brawling with their leader.
The bishop’s grim smile died away.

“Wait my men, just wait for one more attack,” he
cried in a powerful voice, “it will be the fiercest and the
last,” and with a dark face he turned and strode away.

[Pg 144]Dawn was creeping over the valley of the Ahr.
There was a great stir in the camp on the side of the
mountain, and up above, in the castle of Altenahr,
silence reigned round hazy pinnacles. Suddenly a
flourish of trumpets was heard, and the drawbridge
having been let down, the lord of the castle galloped
forth on a milkwhite charger, his tall figure towering
over the animal, the feather of his helmet waving
above his grey hair, and the first rays of the rising
sun irradiating his steel armour.

Holding his steed with a firm grip, he raised his
right hand to the shouting besiegers, signifying that he
wished to speak. His voice sounded far and wide.

“See here the last man and the last charger of all
those who lived in my tower. Hunger has snatched
them all from me, wife, child, comrades. They all preferred
death to slavery. I follow them, unvanquished
and free to the last.”

The noble animal reared up at the spur of its rider … a
great spring, followed by a thundering crash … then
the Ahr closed her foaming waters over man and steed.

A shudder seized those who were looking on. The
dark countenance of their leader became pale as death,
and he rode off without a moment’s delay, followed
by the curses of his mutinous troops.

Since that time the castle of Altenahr has remained
deserted; no one dared to enter the chambers hallowed
by the memory of this heroic defence. Thus it
was avoided by mankind, till time gnawed at its walls
and destroyed its battlements.

[Pg 145]

The Minstrel of Neuenahr

I.

He was called Ronald, this tall handsome
man, with blue eyes and fair hair; he had
a noble bearing and was a master of song.

The knight at the Castle of Neuenahr
had made a great feast, and Ronald was sitting on
the drawbridge playing his harp and singing. The
guests stopped their noisy conversation within doors
and knights as well as noble ladies listened breathless
to the unseen singer. The proud lord of the castle
bade his page bring the traveller in. Thus the tall
handsome man, the blue eyed, fair-haired stranger
with the noble bearing, appeared before the high
company. The knights looked at him with wonder
and many a handsome lady regarded him with admiration
covertly.

Among the high company there was a beautiful
young girl, the daughter of the knight, whose birthday
was being celebrated. The lord of the castle rose from
his richly carved stool, and made a sign to the singer
who was bowing graciously to the knights and ladies
and lower still to the master of the castle.

“Give us a song, musician, in honour of our child
who is seventeen years old to-day.”

[Pg 146]The musician fixed his glance in silent admiration
on the maiden. She dropped her eyes, and a lovely
blush covered her cheeks. He seized his harp, and
after a few chords, began to sing a song of homage.
Sweetly sounded the music, and even sweeter the
flattering words. The maiden flushed a deeper
crimson and cast down her eyes. Once when the
harper in his song compared her to a star lighting a
wanderer’s path, she glanced up, and their eyes met;
but hers sank quickly again. She seemed to waken
out of a dream when the song ended amid loud
applause. She saw her father lifting up a massive
goblet and handing it to the singer, saw how the
latter raised it first to her, afterwards to her father
and his guests, and then put it to his own lips. The
maiden felt she was no longer mistress of her heart
which was beating as it had never done before.

II.

“You might teach my Rothtraut to play the harp,”
cried the proud lord of the castle, who was in a very
lively humour, having partaken freely of wine. She
heard it as in a dream, and the musician bowed,
murmuring that he was not worthy to receive so
signal an honour.

He remained however at the castle. Lovely Rothtraut
felt afraid in her heart like a trembling child
crossing a bridge leading to flowery meadows; she[Pg 147]
had no mother in whom she could confide those
fears for which she could find no words. She therefore
yielded to her father’s desire, wishing to amuse
him during the long, lonely evenings by playing and
singing. Singing came naturally to her, for a nightingale
seemed to slumber in her bosom, but she
found more difficulty with the harp. Her slender
fingers drew many a discordant sound from the strings,
and often her father, comfortably seated in his armchair,
laughed heartily at her, which made the maiden
blush with shame. Her large eyes would wander
from the harp to the musician’s face; but her confusion
only became worse when her eyes timidly met his.
He was very patient with all her imperfect efforts,
never blaming her but on the contrary praising all
her modest attempts beyond their merits. Then he
would sing a song of his own and play some deep
chords which seemed to thrill the air. The knight
would listen entranced, and the maiden felt love’s
blissful pain in her heart. She did not know what it
was, or how he had long since sung himself into her
soul, and her tender heart trembled at love’s first
revelation. The passion possessed her more and more;
it spread its power over these two hearts, and soon
in the quiet garden of the castle, Ronald clasped the
daughter of the proud knight to his heart.

[Pg 148]

III.

Love’s first rapture is often followed by sorrow
however, and beautiful Rothtraut had yet to experience it.

It once happened that the knight surprised his child
in the musician’s arms. His anger knew no bounds,
and like a beast of prey he rushed at the singer,
when his daughter, suddenly become a woman, placed
herself bravely between her father and her lover. Her
confession went to his heart like a dagger, for with
trembling lips and glowing cheeks, the maiden acknowledged
the secret of her love.

Pale but firm the singer stood before the knight.

“I am only a wanderer but not a dishonourable one.
Do not destroy with a rough hand the flower which
God has planted in our hearts, but give me time. I
will set out on my journey and will take up arms
for my beloved. And when I come back as a nobleman,
you will give me your daughter who loves me.
Either I shall return as a knight, or you will never
see me again.”

The lord of the castle looked at him sternly, while
his daughter stood weeping, holding Ronald’s hand.
“Good-bye, maiden. Do not forget me, Rothtraut!” He
was gone, and a wailing cry burst from the lips of
the unhappy girl.

IV.

To atone for many a wrong against Pope and
Church, and also to fulfil a solemn vow, the Emperor
Barbarossa started on a crusade in his old age. Many[Pg 149]
knights and heroes joined him, and his great army
marched through several countries until they came to
the Levant. Then they journeyed on to Syria where
the great hero’s career ended. Barbarossa was drowned,
and the eyes of his followers turned to Henry,
his son, as their leader. The latter, who became emperor
under the name of Henry VI. was a very capable
general; he was also a lover of music, and is said to
have composed many a melody which remains with
us to the present day.

Many supposed that it was not the royal minstrel
who composed the songs, but that they came from
the hand of Ronald who was now as skilled with his
sword as with his harp, and who had become a great
favourite of the emperor. He was a powerful warrior,
and had already overthrown many a Saracen. Once
when the crusaders had gained a glorious victory, he
composed a song in honour of it, and sang it himself
on his harp. The song went the round of the camp,
and the singer became a great friend of the emperor.
But even such favour did not drive the shadow from
Ronald’s soul, and often when he was singing one of
his most beautiful songs to Henry, he would suddenly
break off and rush out of the tent in great grief.
One day the emperor found out what he had long
guessed, and made Ronald confess his story to him.

Some days afterwards the crusaders began the storming
of Acre, the impregnable fortress of the Saracens.
Ronald was fighting by Henry’s side. A Saracen
dashed his falchion at the king’s head, but Ronald[Pg 150]
with a mighty blow clove the infidel’s skull in two.
In the evening of the same day Henry called all his
warriors together, and dubbed the brave champion
knight with his own hand. Ronald of Harfenstein
was to be his name, and a lyre lying on a falchion
and a sword, were to be his arms. The emperor
promised to build him a castle on the borders of the
Rhine, which was to be called Harfeneck.

Plague broke out in the camp, and many a gallant
crusader fell victim to it. Among them was the emperor
himself, whose death caused unspeakable grief
to Ronald.

V.

One day a weary crusader was seen riding along
the banks of the Rhine. Wherever he passed, the
people asked him if it were true that Barbarossa was
not drowned in the Holy Land, but was living in the
Kyffhäuser Mountain, and would soon come back to
his own neglected kingdom. The crusader barely
answered their questions, but urged on his tired steed
along the Rhine. At last the silvery waters of the
Ahr appeared before him, and he saw the gables of
the castle. The rider joyously spurred on his horse,
and rode up through the forest to the fortress where
once he had sat on the drawbridge as a poor traveller.

The late guest was ushered up to the lord of the
castle.

[Pg 151]The knight, now a bent old man, rose from a melancholy
reverie to greet the unknown stranger.

“I am Ronald, and have become a knight through
the grace of the Emperor Henry in the camp at Acre,
and now I have come to win your daughter Rothtraut.”

“Win her from death, for it robbed me of her two
months ago,” said the proud lord of the castle, turning
his head aside in deep grief. Then a despairing groan
thrilled through the chamber. Harsh words passed
between those two, one a man in his disconsolate
sorrow, the other a repentant father.

Ronald strode off to the lonely corner of the garden,
and the newly dug up earth showed him the place
where Rothtraut lay. There he remained late into the
night, till darkness had surrounded him and black night
had settled on his soul. Then he turned and went
away, never to come back again.

In the East whence the crusaders had now returned,
everyone talked of the heroic deeds accomplished by
Richard the Lion-hearted. The Saracens well knew
the fearless leader and the German knight who fought
at his side. Richard valued his bravery, even though
he was still a young knight. He meant to make him
one of his vassals when he returned to his own country.
But his desire was never fulfilled, for the thrust
of a hostile lance which he had so often escaped,
pierced the knight’s heart. So the minstrel of Neuenahr
found a grave in the Holy Land; the race of
Harfenstein became extinct with the first of the line,
and the castle was never built.

[Pg 152]

EIFEL

The Arrow at Prüm

It was in the little town of Prüm many a
long year ago that Lothaire, the degenerate
son of St. Louis, did penance for his sins.
In the church belonging to the town there
are two very ancient pictures; one of them represents
a knight standing on a huge rock, shooting an arrow,
while his wife and retinue are looking devoutedly
towards heaven; the other represents a priest at an
altar to whom an angel is bringing an arrow.

Who is the knight?

Who is the holy man?

The knight is Nithard, noble lord of Guise, who
lived in the north of France towards the end of the
ninth century. No children having been born to his
excellent wife Erkanfrida, the knight determined to
leave his estate for some pious object.

He meant to endow a cloister, where after their
deaths, masses would be read for him and his spouse.
But it was a difficult matter to select the most worthy
from the many cloisters in the neighbourhood, and by
the advice of a pious priest he resolved to leave the
decision to Heaven.

[Pg 153]He fastened the document bequeathing his possessions
to an arrow, and then set out for a great rock near
the castle, accompanied by his wife and numerous
followers.

After a fervent prayer he shot the arrow skyward,
and, so the pious story runs, it was borne by angel
hands, till it came to Prüm—a journey of several
days.

Ansbald, the holy abbot of the cloister, was standing
at the altar when the arrow fell at his feet. He read
the document with astonishment and gratitude, and in
a moved voice, announced its contents to the assembled
congregation.

Knight Nithard assigned his estate to the cloister,
and from that time forth many pilgrims journeyed to
Prüm to see the arrow which had been carried there
by angel hands.

The storms of many centuries have blown over those
hallowed walls, but the pictures in the old church
belonging to the abbey still remain, thus preserving
the legend from oblivion.

[Pg 154]

AACHEN

The Building of the Minster

Karl der Große
Nach dem Gemälde von Albrecht Dürer

As Charlemagne, the mighty ruler of the Franks,
rode one day from his stronghold at Aix-la-Chapelle
into the surrounding forest, his
horse is said to have suddenly trodden upon
a spring. On touching the water, the animal drew
its foot back neighing loudly as if in great pain.

The rider’s curiosity was aroused. He alighted, and
dipping his hand into the spring, found to his surprise
that the water was very hot. Thus Charlemagne, as
the legend records, discovered the hot spring which
was to become the salvation of many thousands of ill
and infirm people.

The pious emperor recognised in this healthgiving
spring the kind gift of Providence, and he resolved
to erect near the spot a house of God, the round shape
of which should remind posterity of the horse’s hoof.

The building was soon begun, and Charlemagne
saw with great satisfaction the walls of the new minster
rising high into the air. He was not however destined
to see its completion. When he died, he had to leave
the great Empire of the West to a feeble son, Lewis
the Pious. The latter was compelled to draw his sword[Pg 155]
against his own children in order to assure for himself
the crown he had inherited.

Many a great undertaking that Charlemagne had
begun, remained unfinished.

The building of the minster too was interrupted.
The ground was left desolate, and the walls and towers
were threatened with decay before they were finished.

It was quite useless for the honourable magistrate
of the town to apply for money to the charitable
Christian inhabitants. Contributions came in very slowly,
and were never sufficient to finish the church.

The aldermen of Aix-la-Chapelle would very often
seriously debate the question, and discuss how they
could remedy the grievous lack of money and successfully
effect the completion of the minster. They found
however that good counsel was just as rare as building
material.

Once when they were met thus together, a stranger
was announced who said he had most important news
to communicate. He was allowed to enter the session
room. After having duly saluted the Council, he said
modestly but without any shyness, “Gentlemen, my
business, in a word, is to offer you the money for the
completion of the church.” The worthy aldermen looked
in wonder first at the speaker, then at each other.

They silently agreed in the opinion that the man
before them looked very suspicious in his quaint outlandish
clothes and his sharp pointed beard.

But the newcomer was not at all abashed by their
suspicious looks. On the contrary he repeated politely[Pg 156]
but firmly his proposal, saying: “Honourable Sirs, I
should like to help you out of your difficulty, and will
advance you the necessary thousands without even
wishing to be paid back.”

At this frank offer the councillors pricked up their
ears and opened their eyes wide in astonishment. Before
they could recover from their amazement, the
stranger continued: “I know well, you are all far too
proud to accept this great offer of mine without giving
me a reward of some sort. Therefore I require a small
compensation. I demand the first living being, body
and soul, that enters the new minster on the inauguration
day.”

On hearing this the honourable aldermen rose horrified
from their seats. Many of them made the sign of
the cross or uttered a short prayer, because nobody
but the devil himself could require anything so monstrous.

The eyes of the chairman shot a reproachful glance
at the strange speaker, and he muttered between his
teeth: “Be off! your words are giving offence.”

But Master Satan, the stranger, stood calmly in his
place: “Sirs,” said he, “Let me answer you with a
word from the scriptures, “Why are you so fearful, oh
ye of little faith?” On the field of battle the sword
mows down thousands of brave men. They fall often
as victims to the ravening ambition of a single man.
You can even see fathers fighting against their sons,
brothers against their brothers, and nobody thinks it
unjust. Now you cry out, when I only ask for one[Pg 157]
single living soul to be sacrificed for the welfare of
the whole community.”

The eyes of the stranger looked round in triumphant
joy when he had finished, for he read a favourable
reply in the puzzled faces of the aldermen.

Many of them at once gave up their scruples, and
after a few minutes even the most cautious among
them had no more objections to urge.

The offer was closed with, and Master Satan left the
Town Hall with a proud smile.

The next day the council was again gathered together
anxiously waiting for the promised sum.

It arrived promptly, rightly weighed and in good
honest coin.

The joy of the aldermen was boundless.

Once more the workmen began the work of building
the minster. They worked very busily as if to make
up for the long interruption, and after three years the
cathedral was finished.

On the day when the new church was to be consecrated,
a great festival was held in the town.

The distinguished company, secular as well as clerical,
who appeared at the inauguration ceremony, praised
the magnificence of the minster, the great liberality of
the citizens, and more than all, the wisdom of the
Town Council.

The aldermen listened to the general praise with
pleasure, and accepted it as their due. They felt[Pg 158]
however bound to confess to each other that they did
not feel easy when they thought of the inauguration
day. None of them had spoken to anybody of Master
Satan’s condition.

Only one of them, a henpecked fellow as malicious
people said, confessed the whole transaction to his
wife. It is needless to say that from that moment the
whole town knew about the affair. On the important
day of the consecration of the minster many venerable
prelates, abbots, and monks, thousands of noble knights
and lords who had come as guests, and the whole
population of Aix-la-Chapelle looked forward to the
fatal hour with beating hearts. It was a grand procession
indeed that marched on in ceremonious solemnity
through the streets. The gaily coloured flags waved
merrily in the air, the trumpets and clarions sounded
cheerily. The nobility and clergy were in their most
gorgeous attire. On every side were the signs of joy
and thanksgiving.

But the hearts of the people were all oppressed, and
many a sorrowful eye gazed at the morning sky, as if expecting
to see Satan flying down with his bat-like wings.

When the aldermen in their bright robes joined the
procession, the general anxiety rose to the highest pitch.

Before the worthy councillors a bulky cage was
carried by four stout footmen. What was hidden under
the covering nobody knew, but everybody felt sure
that it contained the victim.

When the procession reached the minster it stopped,
the cage being carried foremost.

[Pg 159]At a sign from the mayor, one of the footmen quickly
stripped off the cover and exposed to view a howling
hideous wolf. Two of the men pushed the church
door wide open with their long halberds, and the
fourth pushed the wolf skilfully through the open door.
A terrible noise arose suddenly within.

The devil had been waiting for his spoil, as a tiger
that watches for his prey.

When the wolf entered the devil darted towards it,
but seeing that it was only a beast he burst into a
wild howl of rage.

He wrung the poor wolf’s neck with the quickness
of lightning and disappeared suddenly, leaving nothing
behind him but a strong smell of sulphur.

A few minutes later the bells rang, and the whole
magnificent procession thronged into the church, duly
to celebrate its consecration.

While divine service was being held in the new
minster and hymns of praise and thanksgiving were
offered at God’s altar, the devil flew with horrible
maledictions over the country.

He swore an oath to punish with the utmost severity
the population of Aix-la-Chapelle who had so cunningly
outwitted him.

In his flight he came to the sea-shore where he
stopped a little, in order to consider how he could
best destroy the town. As he looked at the sandy
dunes the thought struck him, that he might bury the[Pg 160]
whole town with all its prelates and abbots under
such a hill. With a mighty pull he tore one of the
dunes from the shore, piled it on his shoulders, and
flew rapidly towards the doomed city. But the way
was much longer than Master Satan had thought. He
began to perspire very freely under his unwonted
burden, and when from time to time the wind blew
a rain of loose sand into his eyes, he swore most
horribly.

In the valley of the Soers not far from Aix-la-Chapelle
he was obliged to rest, as he was very tired
after his exertions.

While he was thus sitting by the wayside wiping
his forehead and looking hot and weary, an old wrinkled
woman came limping along, who looked with suspicion
at the man and his strange burden.

She wanted to pass by without saying a word, but
the stranger stopped her and said: “How far is it
from here to Aix-la-Chapelle?” The woman cast a sharp
look at the speaker.

As she had reached years of discretion, being now
in her seventy-second year, she was shrewd enough
to recognise in the man before her the very devil in
person. She was also quite sure, that he must have
some wicked plan in his head against the good town,
Aix-la-Chapelle.

Therefore assuming a very sad expression she answered
in a complaining voice: “Kind sir, I am so
sorry for you, the way to the town is still very long.
Only look at my boots, they are quite worn from the
[Pg 161]long way, and yet I got them new from the shoemaker
at Aix-la-Chapelle.”

Master Satan uttered something that sounded like a
bitter curse. Then he shook off the sandy dune from
his shoulders and flew away in a fury.

The old woman was for a moment terror-stricken,
but when she saw the fatal figure of the stranger disappearing,
she was inexpressibly glad at having saved
the town and outwitted the devil himself.

If he had only looked a little more carefully he
could have seen the tower of the new minster not a
mile off.

The sandy dune is still lying in the very same place
where the devil dropped it. Its name is “Losberg” or
“Ridmountain,” so called because the town Aix-la-Chapelle
got rid of a great danger.

The memory of the poor wolf is also still preserved.
Its image is engraved on the middle of the minster
door, where you can also see the big cracks produced
by the devil’s hammering it in his impotent anger.

[Pg 162]

The Ring of Fastrada

This story too leads us back to the time of
the great Emperor Charles, whose life has
come down to us with a halo of glory.

Charlemagne’s favourite residence was
Aix-la-Chapelle, but he also held court in Helvetia.
His imperial stronghold stood on the shores of the
Lake of Zürich. In its neighbourhood there was a
high pillar which the emperor had erected to mark
the place where Felix and Regula had died as martyrs
for the Christian faith. A small bell was attached
to this monument, which everybody in distress and
want might ring if they wanted relief. As often as
Charles held his court in Zürich he himself appeared
at the pillar when the bell was rung, and listened to
the complaints and petitions of his subjects.

One day the sound of the bell was heard, yet
nobody could be perceived near the pillar. On the
following day about dinner-time the same thing happened,
the bell rang, yet no one was there. The
emperor, curious to know what this meant, commanded
one of his pages to hide in the bushes behind
the pillar.

When mid-day approached the boy noticed that a
serpent crept out of the sand, wriggled up to the[Pg 163]
pillar, and set the bell a-ringing. This astonishing fact
was at once communicated to the emperor, who came
without delay to the spot. He was very much surprised
at seeing such an unusual applicant, but he
said with great earnestness, “Every one who comes
to me shall find justice, be it man or beast.”

The serpent bent low before the monarch, and then
crept back into its den. Charlemagne followed, anxious
to learn the reason of its strange behaviour. He
was surprised when, on looking into the dark hole,
he saw an ugly toad sitting on the serpent’s eggs,
and filling nearly the whole space with its hideous
form.

The emperor bade his attendants kill the intruder
at once.

In a short time Charlemagne had nearly forgotten
the strange incident.

But one day when he was sitting at dinner the serpent
unexpectedly entered the hall, and crept up to
the emperor’s seat. Bowing low three times it lifted
its head and dropped a precious stone into the emperor’s
goblet. It then disappeared as quickly as it had
come.

Charlemagne took the stone out of the cup, and
saw to his amazement that it was a precious diamond.
He ordered it to be mounted in a golden ring, which
he presented to his well-beloved wife, Fastrada.

The jewel possessed a wonderful quality. Fastrada
had always been loved tenderly by her imperial husband,
but after the diamond ring adorned her slender[Pg 164]
finger, a sweet charm seemed to bind her still more
strongly to him.

To many people this great love of the emperor for
his wife seemed too absorbing, almost superhuman,
and when death ruthlessly snatched her from the side
of Charlemagne, everybody believed that it was a judgment
from heaven.

The monarch was inconsolable at this great bereavement.
He spent days and nights in unspeakable
grief by her corpse. The rumour was, that his sorrow
was so intense that he refused to permit the remains
of his wife to be duly buried. The charm the living
Fastrada had exercised over him seemed to linger
even after her death.

The Archbishop of Rheims, the pious Turpin, heard
of the emperor’s sorrow, and he offered fervent prayers
to God for help. Soon afterwards he had a strange
dream. He saw the wonderful ring on Fastrada’s
finger glittering with a thousand lovely colours and
surrounding the emperor with a magic light. The
bishop was now sure that the precious stone was the
cause of the superhuman love the emperor bore to
his wife.

On the following day before sunrise Turpin, the
venerable old bishop, got up and went into the room
where Charlemagne had again spent a night in bitter
grief by the remains of his beloved wife. He was
kneeling by the uncovered bier in fervent prayer when
the bishop entered. Turpin went straight up to the
body, and making the sign of the cross he took the[Pg 165]
cold waxen hand of Fastrada for a moment in his.
Without being observed by the mourning emperor,
he slipped the enchanted ring gently from her finger.
As he had guessed the emperor at once rose, and
kneeling down before the bishop, kissed his hand in
adoration. Then he rose and bade Turpin have the
remains of his wife buried that same day. So it happened
that Fastrada’s remains were brought to their last
resting place in the Church of St. Albans at Mayence.

From that time the emperor was attached with rare
devotion to the old Archbishop of Rheims.

He would not allow him to leave his side, but
requested that Turpin should always live near him.
The pious man was also nominated first councillor of
the Empire.

Turpin used his high position only for the welfare
of the empire, and did a great many good works.

Sometimes however he felt a pang of regret at the
manner in which he had acquired the high favour of
his lord, and it seemed to him very unfair.

Once when he accompanied the monarch on one
of his journeys in Western Germany, he threw the
ring into a spring from which it could never more be
brought up again.

From that moment Charlemagne felt himself irresistibly
drawn to that particular part of his extensive dominions.

He erected a stronghold there, and a flourishing
township soon surrounded this palace. Later on it
was called Aix-la-Chapelle, and became the favourite
residence of the great emperor.

[Pg 166]Within its walls he liked best to rest from the burden
of affairs of State, and sometimes the old ruler
could be seen sitting by the margin of the spring in
which Fastrada’s ring lay buried, recalling the sweet
memories of past days.

[Pg 167]

ROLANDSECK

Knight Roland

Roland in der Schlacht von Roncevalles
Nach dem Gemälde von A. Guesnet

I.

The Emperor Charlemagne was surrounded
by a circle of proud knights, the flower of
whom was Count Roland of Angers, nephew
of the King of the Franks. The name of
no knight was so famous in battle and in tournaments
as his. Helpless innocency adored him, his friends admired,
and his enemies esteemed him. His chivalrous
spirit had no love for the luxuries of life, and scorning
to remain inactive at the emperor’s court, he went to
his imperial uncle, begging leave to go and travel in
those countries of the mighty kingdom of the Franks,
which up to that time were unknown to him. In his
youthful fervour he longed for adventures and dangers.
The emperor was much grieved to part with the brave
knight, however, he willingly complied with his request.

One day early in the morning the gallant hero left
his uncle’s palace near the Seine, and rode towards
the Vosges Mountains, accompanied by his faithful
squire. The first object of his journey was castle
Niedeck near Haslach, and from there he visited Attic,
Duke of Alsace.

[Pg 168]He continued his travels, and one evening as he
was riding through the mountains, the glittering waters
of the Rhine, washing both sides of the plain, greeted
him. The river in that part of the country offered him
few charms in its savage wildness, but he knew that
the scenery would soon change. He moved on down
the Rhine to where a gigantic mountain shuts the
rushing current into a narrow space. Its foot stands
chained in the floods, which only in places retire a
little, thus leaving the poor folk a narrow stretch of land.

On the heights there were proud castles, telling the
wanderer below of the fame of their illustrious races.
Thus Roland made many a long journey on his adventurous
course down the Rhine. He passed many a
place rich in old memories: the Lorelei Rock, where
the water nymph sang at night: the cheerful little spot
where St. Goar lived and worked at the time of
Childebert, the Merovingian, (that wonderful saint who
once spread a fog over his imperial uncle, compelling
him to pass the night in the open air, because his
Majesty, while journeying from Ingelheim to Coblenz
had neglected to bend his knee in his chapel) and the
green meadows near Andernach, where Genovefa, wife
of Palatine Count Siegfried lived. And now Roland
neared the place where the stream reaches the end of
the Rhine Valley, and where the seven giants are to
be seen, the summit of one of which is crowned with
a castle; there they stand like the seven knights who
in later times stood weeping round the holy remains
of the German emperor.

[Pg 169]A wooded island lay in the deep-blue waters. The
setting sun threw a golden light over the hills. On
the sides of the mountains there were numberless
vineyards, to the left, hedges of beeches ascending to
the heights of the rugged summits, to the right, the
murmur of the rippling waters, and above, visible
among the legendary rocks where once a terrible beast
lived, the pinnacles of a knight’s castle, and over all,
the heavens clothed with a garment of silver stars.

The knight paused in silence; his glance rested admiringly
on the beautiful picture. His steed pawed the
ground uneasily with his bronze-shod hoofs, and his
faithful squire looked anxiously at the darkening sky.
He reminded his master modestly that it was time to
seek shelter for the night.

“I should like to beg for it up there,” said Roland
dreamingly, an inexplicable feeling of sweet sadness
coming over him for the first time. He bade his squire
ask the boatman who was putting out his little bark
to cross the river, what was the name of the castle?
The castle was the Drachenburg, where Count Heribert
sojourned sometimes. Thus ran the answer which
pleased Roland very much. He had been charged with
many greetings and messages to the old count at the
Drachenburg from his friends living near the upper
Rhine. Roland now hesitated no longer, and soon a
boat was ploughing the dark waves.

[Pg 170]

II.

In the meantime night had come on. The full moon’s
soft beams showed them their way through the dark
forest. Count Heribert, a worthy knight in the flower
of his age, bade the nephew of his imperial master
heartily welcome to his castle. Far past midnight they
stayed in the count’s chambers, engaged in entertaining
conversation.

The next day Count Heribert presented his daughter
Hildegunde to the knight. Roland’s eyes, full of admiration,
rested on the blushing young maiden. Never
before had the charms of a woman awakened any
deep feeling in his heart; he had only thirsted after
glory and deeds of daring, after tournaments and feuds.
Now the bold champion was struck with a shaft from
the quiver of love. He who had opposed the dreaded
adversary so often, now bowed his fearless head in
almost girlish confusion before Hildegunde’s charms.
She, too, stood crimsoning deeply before the celebrated
hero whose name was famous, and who was beloved
in all the country round.

The old knight broke up the scene of embarrassing
silence between the youthful couple with gay laughing
words, and conducted his guest through the high halls
of his castle.

Roland tarried longer at the friendly castle than he
had ever done before in any other place in the country.
He seemed bound to the blissful spot by love’s indissoluble
chains, and so it happened that one day
these two found themselves, hand in hand, the deep[Pg 171]
love in their hearts rushing forth in ardent words.
Count Heribert bestowed his lovely daughter very
willingly on the celebrated knight, his only desire being
to complete the happiness of his child whom he loved
so dearly. A castle should be erected for her on the
heights of the rocks on the other side of the Rhine,
opposite the Drachenburg, and this proud fort on the
rugged rocky corner of the mountain, should be a
watch-tower for the glorious Seven Mountains and
their castle. In later times it became the famous Rolandseck.
Soon the walls could be seen raising themselves
up, and every day the lovers stood on the balcony of
the Drachenburg looking across, where industrious
workmen and masons were busily toiling. Hildegunde
began to weave sweet dreams of the future round her
new home, where she meant to chain the adventurous
hero with true love.

But one day a messenger appeared at the Drachenburg
on a horse white with foam. He was sent by
Charlemagne and brought the tidings of a crusade
which the emperor had decreed against the Infidels
beyond the Pyrenees. Charlemagne desired to have the
famous knight among the leaders of his army. Roland
received the message of his great master in silence.
He looked at Hildegunde who with a death-like face
was standing beside him. Grief stabbed cruelly at his
heart, but he must obey the call of honour and duty,
and, informing the royal messenger that he would
arrive at the imperial camp in three days, he turned
sorrowfully away, Hildegunde sobbing at his side.

[Pg 172]

III.

The cross and the half-moon were fighting furiously
for the upper hand in Spain. Terrible battles were
fought, and much blood flowed from both Christians
and Infidels. Bloody victories were gained by the
emperor’s brave knights, the chief of whom was Roland.
His sword forced a triumphant way for Charlemagne,
it guarded his army, passing victoriously through the
unknown country of the enemies. But the sad day of
Ronceval, so often sung by German and other poets
was yet to come. Separated from the main body of
the army, Roland’s brave rearguard was making its
way through the dusky forest. Suddenly wild shouts
sounded from the heights, and the cowardly Moor
pressed down on the little band, threatening them
with destruction. But the noble Franks fought like
lions. Roland’s charger, Brilliador, flew now here, now
there, and many a Saracen was hewn down by its
noble rider’s sword, Durant. But numbers conquer
bravery. The little army of Franks became less and
less, and at last Roland sank, struck by the lance of
a gigantic Moor. The combat continued furiously
round him. When night spread mournfully over the
battle-field, the Infidels had already done their terrible
work. The Franks lay dead; only a few had escaped
from the slaughter.

“Where is Roland?” was the frightened cry from
pale lips. He was not among the saved. “Where
is Roland?” asked Charlemagne anxiously of the
messengers. Through the whole kingdom their answers[Pg 173]
seemed to resound, Roland the hero had fallen in
battle fighting against the Saracens; wherever this cry
was heard, it awakened deep sorrow.

The news soon spread as far as the Rhine, and one
day the imperial messengers appeared at the Drachenburg,
bringing the sad tidings and the deepest sympathy
of the emperor. Heribert sighed deeply on hearing
the news and covered his eyes with his hands; Hildegunde’s
grief was heart-breaking. Before the altar of
the Queen of sorrows she lay sobbing her heart out,
imploring for comfort in her great need. For days on
end she shut herself up in her little bower, and even
her father’s gentle sympathy could not assuage her
bitter grief.

Weeks passed. Then one day the pale maiden entered
the knight’s chamber, her grief quite transfigured. He
drew her softly towards him, and then she revealed
the resolution which was in her heart. Count Heribert
was overwhelmed with grief, but he pressed a loving
kiss on her pure forehead.

The day came, when down below on the island
Nonnenwert, the convent bells rang solemnly. A new
novice, Count Heribert’s lovely daughter, knelt before
the altar. In the holy stillness of the convent she sought
the peace which she could not find in the castle of
her father. With a last great convulsive sob she had
torn her lover’s name from her heart, had quenched
the flame of sorrowing love for him, and now her
soul was to be filled ever with the holy fire of the
love of God. In vain her afflicted father hoped that[Pg 174]
the unaccustomed loneliness of the convent would
shake her resolution, and that when the first year’s
trial was over, she would return to him. But no! the
pious young maiden fervently begged the bishop, who
was a relation of her father, to release her from the
year’s trial and to allow her after a short time to take
her final vows. Her longing desire was fulfilled. After
a month Hildegunde’s golden locks were no more,
and the lovely daughter of the Drachenburg was
dedicated to the Lord forever.

IV.

Time rolled on. Spring had vanished and the sheaves
were ripening in the fields. Where the river reaches
the end of the Rhine valley crowned by the Seven
Giants, a knight with his horse stopped to rest. Far
away in the south, where the valley of Ronceval lies
bathed in sunshine, he had lain in the hut of a poor
herd. There the faithful squire had dragged his master
pierced by a Moorish lance. The bold hero and leader
had remained for weeks and months on his sick-bed
struggling with death, till the force of his iron nature
had at last conquered. Roland was recovering under
loving care, while they were mourning him as dead
in the land of the Franks. Then having recovered, he
hurried back to the Rhine urged by an irresistible
longing.

A wooded island lay in the deep-blue waters. The
setting sun threw a golden light over the hills; numberless
vineyards flanked the mountains, hedges of[Pg 175]
beeches were on one side, the murmur of waters on
the other, and above the pinnacles of a knight’s castle
among the legendary rocks where once a terrible
beast lived, over all the heavens clothed with a garment
of silver stars.

Silently the knight paused, his glance resting admiringly
on the beautiful picture. Now as in months
before an inexplicable feeling of sweet sadness came
over the dreamer.

“Hildegunde!” murmured Roland, glancing up at
the starry heavens. Again as formerly a boatman
rowed across the stream, and Roland soon was striding
through the forest towards the Drachenburg, accompanied
by his faithful squire.

The old watchman at the castle stared at the late
guest, and crossing himself, he rushed up to the
chambers of his master. A man’s figure, bent with
age and sorrow, tottered forward. “Roland!” he gasped
forth. The knight supported the broken-down old man
in his arms. When Roland had departed long ago,
his grief had found no tears; now they flowed abundantly
down his cheeks.

The knight tore himself from the other’s arms.
“Where is she?” he asked in a hoarse voice, “dead?”
Count Heribert looked at him with unspeakable sorrow.
“Hildegunde, bride of Roland whom they supposed
dead, is now a bride of Heaven.”

The hero groaned aloud, covering his face with his
hands.

In spring he left the Drachenburg and went to the[Pg 176]
castle on the rocky corner, and there he laid down
his arms for ever; his thirst for action was quenched.
Day by day he sat over there, looking silently down
on the green island in the Rhine, where the nun,
Hildegunde, wandered about among the flowers in
the convent garden every morning. Sometimes indeed
it seemed that she bowed kindly to him, then the
knight’s face would be lighted up with a gleam of
his old happiness.

But even this joy was taken from him. One day
his beloved did not appear; and soon the death-bell
tolled sorrowfully over the island. He saw a coffin
which they were carrying to its last resting-place, and
he heard the nuns chanting the service for the dead,
he saw them all, only one was wanting … then he
covered his face. He knew whom they were carrying
to the grave.

Autumn came, withering the fresh green on Hildegunde’s
tomb. But Roland still kept his watch, gazing
motionlessly at the little churchyard, and one day his
squire found him there, cold and dead, his half-closed
eyes turned towards the place where his loved one
was sleeping.

For many a century the proud castle which they
called Rolandseck, crowned the mountain. Then it fell
into ruins, like the mighty Drachenburg, the tower of
which is still standing. Fifty years ago the last arches
of Roland’s castle were blown down one stormy night,
but later on they were built up again in memory of
this tale of true and faithful love in the olden times.

[Pg 177]

SIEBENGEBIRGE

The Drachenfels

I.

When the wanderer has left the “city of the
Muses,” Bonn, he perceives to the left the
mighty summits of the Seven Mountains.
The rocky point of one of these hills is
still crowned by the tower and walls of an old knight’s
Castle. A most touching legend is related of the
mountain with the terrible name.

In the first centuries after the birth of the world’s
Redeemer, the Germans on the left side of the Rhine
accepted willingly the doctrines of the Cross; Maternus,
a disciple of the great Apostle, had brought them over
from Gaul. At first the pious messenger of Christ
worked among the heathen tribes in vain. They persisted
in their paganism, and even prevented the priests
from coming into their country.

At that time there was a terrible dragon living in
the hollow of the rock which even now is called the
Dragon’s hole. He was of a hideous form, and every
day he used to leave his den and rage through the
forests and valleys, threatening men and animals. Human
strength was powerless against this monster; the people
thought that an angry deity had his abode in this
terrible beast, so they bestowed godlike honours on him,
sacrificing criminals and prisoners to him.

[Pg 178]A tribe of heathens lived at the foot of the mountain.
These men, desirous of war, often made raids on the
neighbouring countries, carrying fire and sword among
their Christian brothers. They once crossed the water,
plundering the land and making prisoners of the people.
Among the latter there was one most lovely maiden,
whose beauty and grace inflamed two of the leaders
so much, that each of them desired to have her for
himself. One was called Horsrik the Elder, a famous
chieftain, known to have the strength of a bear and
the wildness of a tiger; the other, Rinbold, of a less
rough nature, but of equal bravery.

The beautiful maiden turned aside shuddering when
she saw the two chiefs’ glaring eyes, contending for
possession of her. All round were their men intoxicated
with victory. The struggle for the Christian maid affected
the two leaders more than the division of the booty.
Soon the angry words of the two opponents found an
echo in the hearts of the men standing round.

Horsrik, the much-feared fighter, claimed her, and
was received with cheers. Rinbold, the proud young
chieftain, claimed her also,—great applause greeted
him. The former glared sternly, grasping his club in
a threatening manner. The high-priest, an old man with
silver-white hair and stern features, stepped in between
the two combatants, and in a voice surging with anger
he said:

“Cursed be every dissension for the possession of this
stranger! A Christian must not disunite the noblest of
our tribe. A daughter of those we hate, she shall fall[Pg 179]
to nobody’s share. She, the author of so much strife,
shall be sacrificed to the Dragon, and shall be dedicated
to Woden’s honour at the next rising of the sun.”

The men murmured applause, Horsrik more than the
rest. The maiden held her head upright. Rinbold, the
proud young chieftain, looked sorrowfully at her angel-like
face.

II.

Early the following day before the sun had poured
his bright beams on the earth, the valley showed signs
of life. Through the dusk of the forest a noisy procession
moved upwards towards the highest point, the
priest in the middle, behind him the prisoner, pale but
resolute. Silently, for her Lord’s sake, she had allowed
the priest to bind her forehead as a victim, and to
place consecrated flowers in her loose flowing hair.
Many a sympathetic look from the crowd had been
cast at the steadfast maiden. The young chieftain was
stricken with pain at the sight of her death-like countenance.

There stood the projecting rock which had often been
dishonoured by human blood. The fanatical priests
wound ropes round the maiden’s body, and then tied
her to St. Woden’s tree which overhung the precipice.
No complaint escaped the Christian’s white lips, no tears
glistened in her eyes which were glancing up at the
morning sky. The throng of people moved off, waiting
silently in the distance to see what would happen.

[Pg 180]The first rays of the sun streamed over the mountain;
they lighted up the wreath of flowers in the maiden’s
hair, playing about her lovely face, and crowning it
with glory. The Christian maid was awaiting death, as
a bride awaits her bridegroom, her lips moving slightly
as in prayer.

A gloomy sound came up from the depths. The
Dragon started from his den, spitting fire on his path.
He cast a look at his victim there on the spot which
his blood-thirsty maw knew so well. He raised his
scaly body, thus letting his sharp claws be more visible,
moved his snaky tail in a circle, and showed his gaping
mouth. Snorting the monster crawled along, shooting
flames out of his bloodshot eyes.

A shudder of death crept over the maiden at the
sight of this awful beast. Tremblingly she tore a sparkling
golden crucifix from her breast, held it towards
the monster piteously, and called on her Lord in a heart-rending
voice. Wonder of wonders! Raising himself,
as if struck by lightning, the monster turned, dashing
himself backwards over the jagged stones into the waters
below, and disappearing in the river among the
falling rocks.

Wondering cries arose from the waiting heathens.
Astonishment and wonder were depicted on every face.
In quiet submission, her eyes half-closed, the maiden
stood praying to Him who had saved her. The cords
fell from her sides; two strong arms caught her and
carried her into the midst of the astonished crowd. She
raised her eyes and perceived the younger of the two[Pg 181]
chieftains. His rough warlike hand had seized hers.
The young man bent his knee as if to a heavenly being,
and touched her white fingers with his lips. Loud
applause greeted him on all sides.

The old priest came forward, the people waiting in
great expectation. “Who had saved her from certain
destruction? Who was the God who so visibly aided
His own?” asked he solemnly of the Christian. With
bright eyes the maiden answered triumphantly:

“This picture of Christ has crushed the Dragon and
saved me. The salvation of the world and the welfare
of man lies in Him.” The priest glanced at the crucifix
with reverent awe.

“May it soon lighten your spirit and those of all these
people round,” said the maiden earnestly. “It will reveal
greater wonders than this to you, for our God is great.”

The maiden and all the other prisoners were conducted
back to their own country. But the former soon
returned again, accompanied by a Christian priest. The
voice of truth and innocence worked wonders in the
hearts of the heathens. Thousands were converted and
baptized. The old priest and Rinbold were the first
who bowed their heads in submission to the new doctrine.
Great rejoicings were held among the tribe when
the maiden gave her hand to the young chieftain. A
Christian temple was erected in the valley, and a splendid
castle was built on the summit of the rocks for the newly-married
couple. For about ten centuries their descendants
flourished there, a very powerful race in the
Rhine countries.

[Pg 182]

The Monk of Heisterbach

In olden times in a lovely valley near the
Seven Mountains, stood a cloister called
Heisterbach. Even now parts of the walls
of this old monastery remain, and it was
not by the hand of time, but by the barbarism of
foolish warfare, that its halls fell into ruins. The monks
were driven away, the abbey was pulled down, and
the stones were used for the building of a fortress.

Since that time, so the country folk relate, the spirits
of the banished monks wander nightly among the ruins,
raising mute accusations against their persecutors and
the destroyers of their cells. Among them there was
one, Gebhard, the last Prior of Heisterbach, who now,
they say, wanders about the graves of the monks, and
also haunts the burial-places of the Masters of Löwenburg
and Drachenburg.

In the Middle Ages the monks of Heisterbach were
very famous. Many a rare copy of the Holy Scriptures,
many a highly learned piece of writing was sent out
into the world from this hermitage, telling of the industry
and learning of the pious monks.

There was one brother, still young in years, who
distinguished himself by his learning. He was looked
up to by all the other brethren, and even the[Pg 183]
gray-haired Father Prior had recourse to his stores of knowledge.
But the poisonous worm of doubt began to
gnaw at his soul; the mirror of his faith was blurred
by his deep meditations. His keen eye would often
wander over the faded parchment on which the living
word of God was written, while his childlike believing
heart, humbly submitting itself, would lamentingly cry
out, “Lord, I believe, help Thou mine unbelief!” Like
a ghost his restless doubts would hover about him,
making his soul the scene of tormenting struggle.

One night with flushed face he had been meditating
over a parchment. At daybreak he still remained engrossed
in his thoughts. The morning sun threw his
bright rays over the heavens, casting playful beams on
the written roll in the monk’s hands.

But he saw them not, his thoughts were wholly
taken up by a passage which for months past had ever
been hidden to him and had been the constant subject
of his reflections, “A thousand years are but as a day
in Thy sight.”

His brain had already long tormented itself over the
obscure words of the Psalmist, and with a great effort
he had striven to blot it out of his memory, and now
the words danced again before his weary eyes, growing
larger and larger. Those confusing black signs seemed
to become a sneering doubt hovering round him: “A
thousand years are but as a day in Thy sight.”

He tore himself away from the silent cell, seeking
the cool solitude of the cloister-gardens. There with[Pg 184]
a heavy heart he paced the paths, torturing himself
with horrid doubts.

His eyes were fixed on the ground, his mind was
far away from the peaceful garden, and without being
aware of what he was doing, he left the cloister-gardens
and wandered out into the neighbouring forest. The
birds in the trees greeted him cordially, the flowers
opened their eyes at his approach; but the wretched
man heard and saw nothing but the words: “A thousand
years are but as a day in Thy sight.”

His wandering steps grew feeble, his feverish brain
weary from want of sleep. Then the monk sank down
on a stone, and laid his troubled head against a tree.

A sweet, peaceful dream stole over his spirit. He
found himself in spheres glowing with light; the waters
of Eternity were rushing round the throne of the Most
High; creation appeared and praised His works, and
Heaven extolled their glory; from the worm in the dust,
which no earthly being has been able to create, to the
eagle soaring above the heights of the earth: from the
grain of sand on the sea-shore, to the gigantic crater,
which, at the Lord’s command, vomits fire out of its
throat which has been closed for thousands of years:
they all spoke with one voice which is not heard by
the haughty, being only manifest and comprehensible
to the humble. These were the words of Him who
created them, be it in six days or in six thousand years,
“A thousand years are but as a day in Thy sight.”

With a slight shudder the monk opened his eyes.

[Pg 185]“I believe Lord! help Thou my unbelief,” murmured
he, taking heart.

The bell sounded in the distance. They were ringing
for vespers; sunset was already gleaming through
the forest.

The monk hastily turned towards the cloister. The
chapel was lighted up, and through the half-opened
door he could see the brothers in their stalls. He
hurried noiselessly to his place, but to his astonishment
he found that another monk was there; he touched
him lightly on the shoulder, and strange to tell, the
man he saw was unknown to him. The brothers, now
one, now another, raised their heads and looked in
silent questioning at the new comer.

A peculiar feeling seized the poor monk, who saw
only strange faces round him. Growing pale, he waited
till the singing was over. Confused questions seemed
to pass along the rows.

The Prior, a dignified old man with snow-white hair,
approached.

“What is your name, strange brother?” asked he in
a gentle, kind tone. The monk was filled with dismay.
“Maurus,” murmured he in a trembling voice.
“St. Bernhard was the Abbot who received my vows,
in the sixth year of the reign of King Conrad, whom
they called the Frank.”

Incredulous astonishment was depicted on the brothers’
countenances.

The monk raised his face to the old Prior and confessed
to him how he had wandered out in the early[Pg 186]
morning into the cloister-gardens, how he had fallen
asleep in the forest, and had not wakened till the bell
for vespers sounded.

The Prior made a sign to one of the brothers. Then
turning to the monk he said: “It is almost three hundred
years since the death of St. Bernhard and of Conrad,
whom they called the Frank.”

The cloister annals were brought; and it was there
found that three hundred years had passed since the
days of St. Bernhard. The Prior also read the following
note.

“A doubter disappeared one day from the cloister,
and no one ever knew what became of him.”

A shudder ran through the monk’s limbs. This was
he, this brother Maurus who had now come back to
the cloister after three hundred years! What the Prior
had read sounded in his ears as if it were the trumpet
of the Last Judgment. Three hundred years!

With wide-open eyes he gazed before him, then
stretched forth his hands as if seeking for help. The
brothers supported him, observing him at the same
time with secret dismay; his face had become ashy
pale, like that of a dying person, the narrow circle of
hair on his head had become snow-white.

“My brothers,” murmured he in a dying voice, “value
the imperishable word of the Lord at all times, and
never try to fathom what he in His wisdom has veiled
from us. May my example never be blotted out of your
memory. Only to-day the words of the Psalmist were[Pg 187]
revealed to me. ‘A thousand years are but as a day in
Thy sight.’ May he have mercy on me, a poor sinner.”
He sank lifeless to the ground, and the brothers, greatly
moved, repeated the prayers for the dead over his body.

[Pg 188]

The Origin of the Seven Mountains

In olden times the Rhine flowed into a deep
mighty lake above the town of Königswinter.
Those who then lived near the Eifel
Mountains or on the heights of the Westerwald,
were in constant fear of these swelling waters
which often overflowed, causing great destruction in
the country. They began to consider that some great
saviour was necessary, and sent a messenger into the
country of the Giants, begging some of them to come
down and bore through the mountain, which prevented
the waters from flowing onward. They would
receive valuable presents as a recompense.

So one day seven giants arrived in their country
bringing enormous spades with them, and with a few
good strokes of their tools, they made a gap in the
mountain so that in a few days the water washed
through the gap which visibly became larger. At last
the river streamed through in torrents. The lake gradually
dried up and completely disappeared, and the
liberated Rhine flowed majestically towards the plain.

The Giants looked at their work with satisfaction.
The grateful folk brought them rich treasures, which
they had taken out of the mines. Having divided[Pg 189]
them fraternally, the Giants shouldered their spades
and went their way. These heaps of rocky ground
which they had dug out were so great, that ever since
they have been called the Seven Mountains, and will
remain there until the Giants come again and sweep
them away.

[Pg 190]

The Nightingale Valley at Honnef

Honnef is one of the most lovely little spots
on the earth, nestling sweetly at the foot
of the old Drachenfels. The mountain
protects it from the icy winds of the north,
and the breezes blow gently in the valley, which may
be called the German Nice.

When the setting sun reminds the wanderer on the
Drachenfels of coming darkness, and he strolls down
through the valley of Honnef, the songs of numerous
nightingales sound in his ears. This has been the
meeting-place of these songsters for many a long year,
and there is an old legend which gives us the reason.

There was a time when they used to sing in the
forest round the old Abbey Himmerode, as they now
do in the valley of Honnef.

The pious monks, walking about in the cloister
gardens in holy contemplation heard their seductive
songs: the penitents in their cells, mortifying the flesh
heard them also. Their alluring warble mingled itself
with their murmured prayers; and in the heart of
many a monk, who had long since renounced the
world and its pleasures, the remembrance of them was
gently awakened, and sweet sinful things were whispered
into the holy brother’s ears.

[Pg 191]Then one day it happened that St. Bernhard came
to the Abbey Himmerode, to examine the brother’s
hearts. He was greatly distressed to find that many
a holy soul had turned from the path of peace, and
the cause of this also became known to him. In a
violent passion the holy man strode out into the
forest surrounding the cloister, and raising his hand
angrily towards the seductive singers, he cried.

“Go from here! Ye are a curse to us.” St. Bernhard
had spoken threateningly, and lo! with a great stir in
the branches, a throng of numberless nightingales
rose from the bushes, filled the forest once more
with their glorious song, and fled with a great flapping
of wings.

They settled down in the valley of Honnef, and no
excommunication has driven them from there. Those
who wander there are not averse to the pleasures of
the world like St. Bernhard, and every one after his
own manner reads a different meaning in their song.

[Pg 192]

GODESBERG

The High Cross at Godesberg

If you walk on the high road between Bonn
and Godesberg which is not far distant,
you perceive on the left side, shimmering
white amid the green woodland, a high
pillar crowned with a cross known as the “High Cross.”

It is a pleasing sight to him who passes by on a
bright day; but in the twilight its glaring white contrasting
so sharply with the dark back ground, makes
a dismal impression on him, which is still more
enhanced by the legend told about it.

The story leads us back to the time when instead
of the grey ruins, a proud stronghold near Godesberg
looked down into the wonderful valley of the Rhine.
An old knight lived there, who was well known far
and near for his bravery and generosity. His beloved
wife had died, leaving him two sons.

The elder was the very image of his mother in body
and mind; he had gentle childlike manners, and it was
therefore natural that the father’s eye rested with more
pleasure on him than on the younger son who was
very daring, and in spite of his youth had already
gone after strange, and not always honourable adventures.
Yet the old father did not grieve much on his
account, hoping that the sooner the reckless youth emptied
[Pg 193]his cup of pleasure, the sooner he would come to
the bitter dregs. Then like others he would surely
become more serious, and would yet fulfil the longing
desire of his late mother. She had fervently wished
to see him when a man adorned with St. Mathern’s
ring, which the bishops of Cologne wore, while Erich,
the elder, should become lord of Godesberg Castle.

The father’s thoughts lingered with pleasure on the
pleasant prospects of his sons’ future. He sent up
many a fervent prayer to heaven for the fulfilment of
his desires, well knowing that the spirit of his beloved
wife supported him at the throne of the Almighty
with her own supplications.

The old knight often spoke to his younger son about
his vocation in life, but always observed with disappointment
that his son avoided any allusion to the
subject.

When the father felt his death approaching, he
imparted once more his wish to his two sons, that the
elder should become master of the castle, and the
younger, bishop of Cologne. With a blessing for them
on his lips, he closed his eyes for ever.

His death was sincerely deplored by all the poor
people of the neighbourhood.

Some time after the two brothers sat as usual in the
high banqueting-hall of Godesberg. It was a very dismal
meal, for they sat opposite to each other, the elder
with reproachful looks, the younger with knitted brows.

[Pg 194]“I only took what the ancient law of my fathers
bestowed upon me,” said the elder mildly but firmly,
in answer to some harsh words of his companion.
“I am not master, but only manager of the family
possessions. All our ancestors whose pictures look
down on us in this hall would curse me, if I did not
take good care of their legacy. But you, my dear
brother, will receive a higher gift than a castle. You,
the offspring of a noble race, shall become a worthy
servant of our Saviour.”

“Never!” burst forth the younger one in passionate
eloquence “never will I bow my neck to an unjust
law that compels one to take up arms, and another
meekly to accept a monk’s cassock. If they offered
me now a bishop’s ring or a cardinal’s hat, I would
not become a priest, I shall remain a knight.”

The elder brother listened sorrowfully to this headstrong
speech. “May God, whom you thus blaspheme,
enlighten your dark heart. I would willingly share
with you whatever I possess, but our father’s will
forbids it. Therefore bend your proud neck humbly,
and beware of the judgment that will fall on him
who despises the will of his dying father.”

Hunting horns and trumpets sounded through the
green forest which extended at that time from the
town of Godesberg to the gates of Bonn. This huge
wood abounded in noble game.

[Pg 195]The two brothers were indulging together in the
pleasures of the chase, as they had done so often in
their father’s life-time. Count Erich had gladly accepted
his brother’s invitation to accompany him.

He was only too glad to see how his dark mood had
changed in the last few days and given way to greater
cheerfulness. It appeared to Lord Erich as if his brother
had come to reason, and after all had made up his
mind to fulfil their parents’ wish. He believed all the
more in the happy change when he heard that his
brother intended presenting himself to the Archbishop
of Cologne, in order to deliver a letter of great importance
from his late father to him.

Count Erich’s heart was glad. He roamed joyfully
through the forest, and his gladness seemed to increase
his good luck in the sport. Several gigantic boars were
pierced through by a spear sent from his hand. A deer
also met with a similar doom.

The younger brother’s success was on the contrary very
meagre. His hand was unsteady and his whole bearing
betrayed restlessness. A strange subdued fire gleamed in
his eyes.

While he was following the trail of a mighty boar,
Count Erich met him and offered to pursue the animal
in his company.

They hunted through thorns and thicket, accompanied
by the yelping hounds. Suddenly the foliage rustled,
and the boar was seen to break wildly through the
bushes. A spear from the younger brother whirred[Pg 196]
towards the beast, but missed its aim and remained
sticking in the bark of an oak.

“Your hand is more fit to bless pious Christians,”
said Count Erich with a smile.

“But still fit enough to rid me of an inconvenient
brother!” muttered the younger brother between his
teeth, and tearing his hunting knife rapidly from his
belt, he plunged the two-edged steel into his brother’s
breast. A terrible cry at the same time rang through
the forest, and the murderer fled in haste.

Two attendants of the Count who were hunting
close by, hearing the cry came running to see what
was the matter, and found Lord Erich lying in his
blood, dying. They bent down over him to see if
they could help him, but alas! it was too late. The
man, mortally wounded, was beyond the reach of
human aid. With a last effort he opened his lips,
muttered lowly but audibly the words, “My brother!”
then sank back and closed his eyes for ever.

The terrible news that the Lord of Godesberg had
been foully murdered by his own brother, spread
swiftly through the country. Mourning again filled
the castle on the mountain, when they carried the
body of the poor slain man to his untimely grave.
They buried him in the family vault next to the recent
grave of his father.

From that time the castle stood desolate. The next
relative of the noble family, who lived in a lovely
part of the Rhine valley near the Palatinate, avoided
a place where such an unheard of crime had been[Pg 197]
committed. Only an old man kept watch in the empty
castle. But even he was soon compelled to leave it.
One night the high tower was struck by lightning
and the whole building burnt down. Nothing remained
but blackened ruins, looking mournfully on the
gay landscape beneath.

Years went by after this crime. Nobody heard or
saw anything of the murderer. He seemed to have
totally disappeared. Some people however whispered
that on the day of the black deed, a man was seen
fleeing from the forest of Godesberg. He was pale
and ghastly looking, and darted off, not caring which
way he went. It was he who on the previous day
had fostered in his burning brain the longing desire
to take possession of his brother’s heritage, and now
he was a murderer, and bore Cain’s mark on his
forehead.

The unfortunate youth had rashly contrived this
hellish plan to rid himself of his brother and to become
lord of Godesberg. His plan was to kill him while
hunting, and then make the people believe that he
had aimed at a boar and hit his brother accidentally
instead. But when his victim sank down in agony,
the knife dropped from his murderous hand, his courage
failed him, and he felt himself driven from the
wood as if chased by a demon.

[Pg 198]After many years had come and gone, a tired wanderer
once knocked at the door of the cloister of
Heisterbach, which had been erected by St. Benedict’s
pious disciples in a remote valley of the Seven Mountains.
The man who desired admission looked more
like a beggar than a pilgrim. His garments hung
torn and ragged round his thin body, and his face
was deeply furrowed by marks of long and cruel
suffering.

“Have pity on me,” said he in a trembling voice,
“I come from the Holy Sepulchre, my feet will bear
me no further.” The door-keeper was moved, and
retired to inform the Abbot of the poor man’s request.
He received permission to bring him in. When the
beggar appeared before the Abbot, he fell on his knees
and renewed his demand for food and rest. For some
moments the monk looked penetratingly at the man
before him, then a sign of recognition passed over his
face, and he cried out. “Good heavens! is it you Sir
Knight?” The pilgrim trembled, prostrated himself
before the Abbot, and embraced his knees in overwhelming
grief. “Have mercy on me,” exclaimed he,
“it was I who twenty years ago slew my brother in
the forest of Godesberg. During twenty long years I
tried to atone for my cursed deed and obtain forgiveness
and peace. As a pilgrim I cried for mercy at
the grave of him whom I murdered; as a slave of the
Infidels, under the weight of heavy chains I prayed
incessantly for God’s mercy, but I cannot find peace.
Three months ago the fetters were struck from my[Pg 199]
hands, and I have again come home, weary unto death.
You, oh worthy Abbot, have known me from a child.
Let me rest within the walls of this cloister, that I
may daily see the castle where I was an innocent
child. I will pray and do penance until death releases
me from my wretched life.”

The Abbot felt intense pity for the unhappy man.
He bent down, laid his hands on him, and blessed him.

For many years the poor penitent remained in the
cloister trying to atone for his crime with fervent
prayers and hard penance. At last God in His grace
called him away, and the repenting sinner died hopeful
of Heaven’s forgiveness. The monks buried him in a
shady place in their cloister garden.

[Pg 200]

BONN

Lord Erich’s Pledge

On the Klochterhof at Friesdorf near Bonn,
a nobleman once lived, who was well
known in the whole Rhine valley as a great
tippler.

Once Lord Erich had indulged with great relish in
the noble sport of the chase in the forest that surrounded
the neighbouring town of Godesberg. The day
was hot, the chase unsuccessful and rather tedious for
him, as he was more than usually tormented by a
mighty thirst.

The sun had set and his last golden rays were
glittering on the waves of the Rhine, when Lord Erich
shouldered his blunderbuss and turned homeward with
a small bag, consisting of one fat hare.

In those days one small inn (now they can be counted
by the dozen) stood on the margin of the large
forest of Godesberg. There Lord Erich entered to rest
his tired limbs, but principally to quench his great
thirst. He gave the hare to the landlady, that she
might prepare it with skilful hands, and ordered a
flowing bumper of golden Rhine wine which he[Pg 201]
emptied at one deep draught. I am sure that the juice
of the grapes must have been far better then, than it
is now-a-days.

The landlady soon prepared the game and placed
the tempting meal before the hungry hunter, who
enjoyed it thoroughly. But he appreciated still more
the delicious, cool wine offered to him.

One glass after the other was swallowed by the
thirsty Lord of Klochterhof, and the landlord marked
just as many charcoal strokes on the door-post.

When night approached, the noble hunter began to
think of returning home. Sitting there had been agreeable
and comfortable, but he found it very difficult to get
up and walk.

The landlord, perceiving his guest’s preparations to
take his leave, came forward and said in rather a rough
tone, being an outspoken fellow: “Twelve bottles, my
lord, don’t forget to pay before you go.”

Lord Erich who was standing very unsteadily on
his legs, muttered in a thick voice but very good-humouredly,
“Dear landlord, I could pay you if I had
loaded my blunderbuss with money, but I did not.”

With this cheerful response he turned to go.

The landlord was exceedingly aggravated at this
careless answer. His face grew quite purple with anger.
“If you have no money, my lord, I shall keep your
trousers till you are able to pay for the twelve bottles.”
So saying he took hold of the tipsy man. Whether he
liked it or not, Lord Erich was obliged to leave his[Pg 202]
inexpressibles with the inexorable landlord, and to
walk home without them.

The firs in the wood shook their heads in disapproval
at such a strange attire.

It is not known if Lord Erich ever came back to
the inn to redeem his nether garments.

[Pg 203]

The Roman Ghosts

Before the gates of the old Roman town of
Bonn rises a mountain of moderate height,
called Kreuzberg, or “Crossmountain.”

In early mediaeval times pious pilgrims
went to this sacred place, in order to kneel on the
holy steps of the old convent church so rich in memories
of the martyrs, or to pray in the chapel. On the same
spot at the beginning of the fourth century, the great
saints of the Theban legion, Cassius, and his companions
Florentius and Melusius, died for the Christian faith.

These martyrs were the guardian saints of the country
round Bonn. Many a prayer sent up to them had
graciously been fulfilled, since the time when St. Helena,
the pious mother of Constantine, erected a chapel to
their honour on Kreuzberg.

Once upon a time a simple peasant from the neighbouring
country went on a pilgrimage to St. Cassius’
burial place.

He came to ask the kind martyr for assistance in
his distress. Dransdorf was his village, formerly called
Trajan’s village, because the general, who later on
became Emperor Trajan, is said to have had a villa
there.

[Pg 204]A bad harvest had brought troubles on the peasant,
but he firmly believed that through the intercession of
St. Cassius he would receive money enough in one
way or another to enable him to pay his many debts.

On arriving at Kreuzberg, he began his religious
exercises by confessing his sins to one of the monks
belonging to the order of St. Francis. Then according
to custom he knelt in succession on one sacred step
after the other till he reached the chapel. His wife
had carefully put a candle in his pocket which he now
lighted before the image of St. Cassius. Having thus
fulfilled all the duties prescribed by the church, he
turned homewards, well content with himself.

When he crossed the principal square of the town,
where already at the time the magnificent Minster
stood, he entered this church to pray once more, and
to put another coin into the poor-box.

Twilight was creeping through the aisles, and a
pilgrimage being not at all an easy thing, our peasant
soon fell asleep over his prayer-book.

He only awoke, when, somebody pulled him by his
sleeve. It was the sexton with a big bunch of keys.

At first the peasant gazed drowsily at the unwelcome
intruder, then with astonished eyes he looked round
about him, until at last it dawned upon him, that he
must get up and leave the church. Rousing himself
he made the sign of the cross, and left the Minster
with tottering steps. The night winds rustled in the
old limetrees of the square and seemed to whisper
strange tales into the ears of the late wanderer.

[Pg 205]The peasant crossed the open space sulkily, and
steered his way towards the Sternthor, which led to
Dransdorf. An ancient Roman tower, the remains of
the high fortifications erected by the soldiers of Drusus
eighteen hundred years ago, stands in the narrow lane,
leading from the minster-square to the Sternthor. To
the tired wanderer this tower seemed a splendid shelter,
all the more so, as it would not cost him a penny.

He entered it, and tired out with the weary day,
he was soon fast asleep as if he had never been stirred
up from the bench in the Minster. No sexton with
noisy keys was to be feared, and yet in his sleep the
countryman had the sensation of somebody tapping
him on the shoulder. He sat up and looked round.
To his amazement he beheld a magnificent warrior
standing before him, clad in a coat of mail with a
Roman helmet on his head. Two companions in
similar array stood by his side.

They nodded genially down to him, and it struck
him that he had already seen them somewhere else.
After some moments he remembered the pictures of
St. Cassius and his friends in the chapel on Kreuzberg.
There was no doubt the three holy martyrs stood in
person before him.

Our good peasant was so much awed at this discovery
that he could not utter a word, but on a sign
from his mysterious visitors, he followed them at a
respectful distance.

They marched towards the Sternthor, straight into
the building, the walls of which were as thick as the[Pg 206]
rooms were long in the peasant’s humble little cottage.
In the middle of a high vault there was a table covered
with sparkling gold.

At this unusual sight the peasant opened his eyes
very widely indeed; but his astonishment changed into
keen delight when one of his ghostly visitors filled
his left pocket and another his right with the glittering
metal. Meanwhile the third man took a tumbler from
the middle of the table, and presented it to him with
an encouraging smile.

He thought their language was very much like that
which the vicar of the village church used in reading
the service. Though the simple man could not understand
a word of their conversation, he interpreted the
kind invitation quite correctly, and shouting out a
merry, “Vivat!” as a salute to his hosts, he emptied
the tumbler at one big draught.

The whole building resounded with the echo, “Vivat!”
The three warriors looked pleased and answered in a
cheerful voice, “Vivat, Vivat!”

All at once it seemed to the peasant as if the vault
was filled with a multitude of Roman soldiers who
all called out to him, “Vivat!” as if happy to hear a
sound of their native language in the country of the
north.

The man from Dransdorf became quite high-spirited,
and kept on shouting, “Vivat, Vivat!” Suddenly startled
by the noise he made, he awoke and found himself
lying on the floor of the Roman tower in the Sterngasse.

[Pg 207]The events of the night only seemed to him like a
strange dream. But when he felt in his pockets he
found them stuffed with real golden coins of a strange
ancient stamp.

Our friend’s joy became quite uproarious. After
having sent up a heartfelt thanksgiving to St. Cassius,
he gave vent to his delight by shouting through the
quiet streets at the top of his voice, “Vivat, Vivat!”

A watchman stood on duty by the Sternthor, when
the jocund peasant passed by. He made a step
forward and, reaching out his arm, he gave the merry
man a rude knock with his lance. Unmindful of this
rough admonition, the peasant related the event in the
Roman tower to the watchman, and finished his story
by inviting the stern man of duty to an early draught
at the nearest inn.

Rumours of the wonderful events spread far and
wide, and soon every town and village knew the tale.
The small lane leading from the Minstersquare to the
Sternthor was called “Vivat” lane, and bears that name
to the present day.

Some years ago a heavy winter gale destroyed the
old Roman tower that had so long withstood the
vicissitudes of time. The people of Bonn however
did not wish to obliterate the memory of this curious
story, and therefore named the street running parallel
with “Vivat” lane—”Cassius Graben.”

[Pg 208]

COLOGNE

Richmodis of Aducht

It was about the middle of the fifteenth century.

The shadows of death hovered above the
holy City of Cologne. A strange figure in
dark garments hurried with quick steps
through the streets and lanes. It was the plague. Its
poisonous breath penetrated into cottages and palaces,
extinguishing the lives of many thousands.

The grave-diggers marked innumerable houses with
a black cross, to warn the passers-by that the destroying
angel had entered there. The roll of the dead rose to
such numbers that it was impossible to bury them all
in the customary manner. Therefore the bodies of the
unfortunate people were thrown together into a common
grave, covered only scantily with earth and marked with
a plain wooden cross.

Woe and sorrow thus filled the old City of Cologne.

On the New-market, close to the Church of the
Apostles, in a splendid mansion, the rich Magistrate,
Mengis of Aducht lived. Wealth could not save his
house from the dreadful epidemic, his youthful and
lovely wife, Richmodis, was seized with the plague and
died. The grief of her lord was boundless. He passed
[Pg 209]the whole night by the remains of his beloved spouse,
dressed her himself in the white wedding gown she
had worn as a happy bride a few years before, decorated
the coffin with sweet white flowers, and covered
her with the precious jewels and costly rings she had
loved so much. Then she was buried.

Night approached, and the clear starry sky looked
peacefully down on the afflicted town.

Perfect stillness prevailed in God’s acre.—Suddenly
a jarring sound like the opening of an old rusty lock
was heard, and two dark shadows glided among the
graves, on and on till they stopped before the fresh
mound which enclosed the body of Richmodis of
Aducht.—Those two knew the spot, and well they
might, for they were the grave-diggers, and had prepared
this grave themselves on the previous day.

They were present when the lid of the coffin was
screwed down, and had with hungry looks coveted
the glittering precious stones Richmodis was to be
buried with.

Now they had come to rob the dead body. With
spade and shovel the wreaths and flowers were quickly
removed from the mound, the earth dug up, and the
coffin laid bare. In feverish haste, spurred on by their
greed, they burst the lid open, and the dim light of
their lantern fell full on the mild pale face of the dead
woman. With haste the bolder of the two wretches
loosened the white waxen hands folded together as in
prayer, and tried to tear off the rings.

[Pg 210]Suddenly the body quivered, and the white hands
spread out. Aghast the robbers dropped their tools,
scrambled in utmost terror out of the grave, and fled
as if chased by the furies.

A painful long sigh rose from the depth of the grave,
and after some time the white form of Richmodis who
had been buried alive, emerged from the tomb.

With wide open eyes, full of horror, she looked
down into the ghastly bed she had just left.—Could
it really be true, or was it only a frightful dream?

God’s acre was silent, but for the rustling of the
autumn leaves of the weeping willows. Stillness of
death everywhere!—No answer came to her faint
cry for help.—The horror of her situation however
wakened her declining strength. She took up the lantern
which the robbers had left behind them and with feeble
steps reached the entrance of the churchyard.

The streets were desolate. The stars overhead alone
perceived the slowly moving form, every now and then
resting against the walls of the houses.—At last she
reached the New-market and stood before the door of
her home. Dark and quiet it seemed. But from the
window in the magistrate’s room a faint light shone
forth. A quiver ran through the frame of the poor
wife, and a wild longing desire seized her to be sheltered
by his loving arms and to feel in his embrace
that she had really returned to life again.

With a last effort she seized the knocker, and listened
with newly awakened hope to the tapping sound which
rang clear through the night.

[Pg 211]A few minutes elapsed. Then an old servant peeping
out of the window in the door, perceived the white
ghostly figure of his late mistress. Horror seized him,
his hair stood on end. Richmodis called him by his
name and begged him to open the door. At the sound
of her voice the old man started, ran upstairs, dashed
into his master’s room uttering incoherent sounds, and
stammering: “O Lord, the dead rise; outside stands
our good Mistress and demands entrance!” But the
Magistrate shook his head in deep grief: “Richmodis,
my beloved wife is dead and will never return, never,
never,” he repeated in unspeakable sorrow; “I will rather
believe that my two white horses will burst from their
halters in the stable and mount the stairs to the tower.”

A terrible sound suddenly filled the quiet house, a
noise like thunder was heard, and Mengis of Aducht
and his servant saw the two white steeds tearing and
tramping in haste upstairs.

A moment later two horses looked out of the tower
windows into the night, and shortly afterwards the
Magistrate laughing and crying with joy at the same
time, held in his arms his wife who had returned from
the grave.

For many years Richmodis lived happily with her
husband, surrounded by several lovely children. Deep
piety remained the motive power of Richmodis’ being,
and nobody ever saw her smile again.

If you come to Cologne, reader, you will still see the old
house of the Aduchts at the New-market, with two white
wooden horses’ heads looking out of the top window.

[Pg 212]

The Goblins

This story goes back to the “good old times”
of which we modern people always speak
with a sigh of regret.

It was then when good-natured goblins
appeared to mortal eyes, and tried to render the life
of the troubled human race a little more cheerful. In
groves and dens they had magnificent dwellings and
watched there over the enormous mineral treasures of
the earth.

Often these beneficent elves were busy miners or
sometimes clever artisans. We all know that they
manufactured the precious trinkets and arms of the
Nibelungen treasure.

Deep in the interior of the earth they lived happily
together, ruled over by a king. They could be called
the harmless friends of darkness, because they were not
allowed to come into broad daylight. If they did so,
they were transformed into stones.

The goblins did not always remain underground.
On the contrary they often came to the earth’s surface
through certain holes, called goblin-holes, but they
always avoided meeting man.

Alas! the advance of civilisation has driven these
friendly spirits gradually from the places where they[Pg 213]
used to do so much good. None of us, I am sure has
ever had the good luck of meeting one of them.

The goblins were of different sizes. Sometimes they
were as small as one’s thumb, sometimes as large as
the hand of a child of four years old. The most remarkable
feature of these tiny figures was the enormous
head and the pointed hump that so often adorned their
backs. Their look was on the whole more comical
than ugly. German people used to call them “Heinzchen”
or “Heinzelmännchen.”

A long time ago the good town of Cologne was
inhabited by a host of dwarfs, and the honest population
knew a great many stories about them. The workmen
and artisans especially had, through the assistance of
the little wights, far more holidays than are marked in
the calendar.

When the carpenters, for instance, were lying on their
benches in sweet repose, those little men came swiftly
and stealthily along, they took up the tools and chiselled
and sawed and hammered with a will, and thus, records
the poetical chronicles which I am quoting, before the
carpenters woke up, the house stood there finished.

In the same way things went on with the baker.
While his lads were snoring, the little goblins came to
help. They groaned under the load of heavy corn-sacks,
they kneaded and weighed the flour, lifted and
pushed the bread into the oven, and before the lazy
bakers opened their eyes, the morning bread, brown
and crisp, was lying in rows on the table.

[Pg 214]The butchers too could speak of similar agreeable
experiences. The good little men chopped, mixed and
stirred with all their might, and when the drowsy
butcher opened his eyes at last, he found the fresh,
steaming sausages adorning the walls of his shop.

The cooper enjoyed also the help of the busy dwarfs,
and even the tailor could not complain of the goblins
having neglected him.

Once Mr. Cotton, a clever tailor, had the honour of
making a Sunday coat for the mayor of the town. He
worked diligently at it, but you can easily imagine that
in the heat of the summer afternoon, the needle soon
dropped from his hand, and he fell fast asleep. Hush!—look
there. One little goblin after the other crept cautiously
from his hiding place.

They climbed on the table and began the tailor’s
work, and stitched and sewed and fitted and pressed,
as if they had been masters of the needle all their lives.

When Master Cotton awoke, he found to his great
joy the mayor’s Sunday coat ready made, and so neatly
and well done that he could present the magnificent
garment with pride to the head of the town.

The pretty wife of Mr. Cotton looked at this masterpiece
of her husband’s art with a mischievous twinkle
in her eyes.

In the night when her husband had fallen asleep,
she rose from her bed without making the slightest
noise, and scattered pease all over the floor of the
workshop; she then put a half-finished suit on the table.
She kept a small lantern hidden under her apron, and[Pg 215]
waited behind the door listening. Soon after the room
was full of little men all tumbling, falling, and slipping
over the pease. Yells and screams rose at the same
time. The poor little men were indeed much bruised
and hurt. Without stopping they ran downstairs and
disappeared.

The tailor’s wife heard the noise, and thought it good
sport. When the yells were loudest, she suddenly
opened the door to see her visitors, but she came too
late. Not a single goblin was left behind.

Since that time the friendly dwarfs have never more
been seen in Cologne, and in other places also they
have entirely disappeared.

[Pg 216]

Jan and Griet

Jan und Griet
Steinbild am Jan von Werth-Denkmal in Köln

“There lived at Cologne on the old farm of
Kümpchenshof a peasant who had a maid
called Griet and a man-servant called Jan.”

Thus begins the old well-known Rhenish
song of “Jan van Werth,” the celebrated general of the
imperial cavalry at the time when the Swedes and
French were taking advantage of the civil war in Germany.
But nobody except the inhabitants of the holy
City of Cologne, knows that Jan van Werth was
originally a simple labourer, and that he was indebted
for his luck in life to his bad luck in love.

Jan was an industrious farmer-boy with an upright
character and a handsome face.

Many a girl would not have rejected him as a sweetheart,
but Jan’s tender heart had long been captivated
by the good looks of pretty Griet, the comely maid of
the Kümpchenshof. His love could not long remain a
secret. One day he confessed to her with sobs that
he loved her dearly, and would with pleasure work
and toil for her twice as much as he then did for his
master. He spoke long and earnestly, and taking courage
with every word he uttered, he at last put to her the
all-important question—would she become his wife?

[Pg 217]Laughingly the pretty girl put her round arms akimbo,
tossed her head back and looked at her honest suitor
with a mocking twinkle in her eyes. Then she shook
her head energetically and said: “You are only a
farmer’s labourer, my dear boy, and will remain one
most probably all your life. True, it is not your fault,
but all the same I should prefer to marry a rich farmer
with cows and oxen and horses.”

Bitter anger rose in Jan’s breast on hearing her talk
so heartlessly, but he controlled himself. “Just as you
like,” he said sadly, and turned away from the haughty
maid.

From that day he could not endure any longer the
life at the farm, and pocketing his wages, he said good-bye
for ever to the Kümpchenshof and became a soldier.

It was a furious war in which the German Emperor
was engaged against the enemies of his country, and
brave soldiers were rare. Any valiant warrior might
distinguish himself and become an officer at that time.

The farmer-boy, Jan, soon won by his bravery and
intrepidity the esteem of his superiors, and was promoted
to the rank of colonel. Once when fighting against the
Swedish troops he showed such determination and
courage that he won the battle. After this brilliant act
he was made a general. But the name of Jan van Werth
became even more famous when he beat the French
in a skirmish at Tüttlingen.

In another way also his good luck reconciled him
to the first bitter disappointment caused for by Griet’s
scornful answer. He married a lovely and noble young[Pg 218]
lady, who was very proud of becoming the wife of
such a celebrated general.

Let us now look back and see what happened in the
meantime to Griet. She had waited month after month
and year after year for the rich farmer. But the longed-for
suitor never made his appearance. Even in those
by-gone days red cheeks and bright eyes were much
less thought of than ducats and glittering gold.

As time went on Griet grew old, and though she
would now have been content with a simple man for
her sweetheart, not even such a one condescended to
ask her to become his wife.

Little by little Griet gave up all hopes of ever
marrying, and had to look out for a living to keep her
in her old age from starving. Therefore she started a
fruit stall at one of the large gateways of Cologne.

One day the good inhabitants of this town were in
great excitement, and crowded in their best Sunday-clothes
round the gate of St. Severin, where Griet sat
at her apple-stall. They had come to meet Jan van Werth,
the celebrated general, who was returning victorious
at the head of his regiment.

There he was sitting on a powerful charger which
was gorgeously covered with gilded trappings. On his
fine head Jan wore a broad-brimmed hat with a flowing
feather. Behind him rode his splendid soldiers. The
body-guard of the town beat the drum enthusiastically,
and the Cologne people called out: “Long live our
Jan van Werth!”

[Pg 219]When the celebrated general passed the gate, he
stopped his horse just in front of Griet’s apple baskets,
and looking down upon the old wrinkled woman, met
her questioning glance with an odd smile. “Ah Griet,”
said he slowly; “whoever would have thought it?” At
the sound of his voice an expression of sudden recognition
passed over her worn features, and she
muttered sorrowfully, but still audibly to the proud
rider, “Oh, Jan, if I had only known it!”

A magnificent monument in the form of the statue
of Jan van Werth now stands in the centre of the old
market of Cologne.

It was erected there in memory not only of the
heroic deeds of the brave general, but also as a warning
to all Cologne maidens not to reject their suitors because
they are poor, for one day, like Jan van Werth,
they may become famous, and then they will not, like
Griet, have to sigh over things that “might have been.”

[Pg 220]

The Cathedral-Builder of Cologne

It was at Cologne in the year 1248 on the
eve of the Ascension day of our Lord.

Before the mighty Archbishop Kunrad
of Hochstaden stood a simple architect
offering the plan of a church, and arrogantly boasting
that it would become one of the most beautiful cathedrals
in Christendom. That man was Master Gerhard
of Ryle.

The Archbishop was greatly astonished at the grandeur
of the design, and ordered the execution of the bold
plan without delay.

On the square which was selected for the erection of
the new cathedral, another church had once been
standing under the reign of the first king of the Franks,
but it had been destroyed by the Normans.

Now again gigantic masonry, slender pillars, bold
vaults and arches rose to unite into a proud dome.

Everybody admired the humble man, whose creative
genius now employed thousands of industrious workmen,
and Master Gerhard’s name was mentioned with
great praise at home and abroad.

When the choir was finished, crowds of pious pilgrims
came from the surrounding suburbs and even from a[Pg 221]
distance to pray before the relics of the three holy
kings which where enshrined there. Hymns of praise
re-echoed through the unfinished aisles.

Everybody rejoiced. But he, who ought to have been
the most glad, was sad, and dark forebodings damped
his spirits. The question if after all he would live to
see his proud building finished, or if cruel fate would
tear him away before he should have tasted the sweetness
of triumph, tormented him day and night. His
young wife saw with grief the change in his disposition;
but she tried in vain by tender words and caresses to
smooth his sorrowful brow.

The more he was troubled by his gloomy thoughts,
the more he urged his workmen on.—Four years
had elapsed; it was now 1252. The tower on the
north side rose already proudly into the air. The
scaffolding reached higher and higher every day.

One day Master Gerhard stood beside the big crane,
watching how the gigantic blocks of stone taken from
the quarries at the Drachenfels, were lifted up. He
thought with pride and satisfaction that his work was
going on well; and that he surely would see it finished.
While thus meditating he did not observe that a stranger
stood by his side watching him with an ugly sneer.
A burning red cloak hung round his tall figure, a
gold chain glittered on his breast, and a cock’s feather
nodded from a quaint velvet cap. He introduced himself
to the somewhat surprised builder as a fellow-architect.
“You are building a lovely church,” he then said,
“but I created a far more magnificent mansion, long[Pg 222]
long years ago. Its stone will never crumble to dust,
and it will resist the influence of time and weather
forever.” In saying this, his eyes glittered strangely
under his shaggy brows. This presumptuous speech did
not please Master Gerhard, and without answering he
measured the bold speaker scornfully from head to foot.

“Your church,” continued the stranger, “will be a
very lovely building, but don’t you think that such
an enterprise is far too audacious for mortal man.
You, Master Gerhard, you ought to have known at
the time when you laid the foundation stone of your
church that you never would see your work finished.”

“Who is likely to prevent it?” angrily burst forth the
builder. No one had ever dared to use such language
towards him, nor to wound his pride so keenly. “Death,”
coolly replied the stranger. “Never,” cried Master Gerhard
in a great fury, “I will finish what I began, and would
even bet with the devil himself to do so.”

“Hallo!” laughed the stranger grimly. “I should like
to deal with such an audacious man as you, and make
bold to bet with you that I will, in a shorter space of time,
finish the digging of a canal from Treves to Cologne,
fill it with water, and have merry ducks swimming
on it, than you will take to complete your church.”

“So be it!” said Master Gerhard very much startled,
taking the outstretched hand of the strange man. At
the touch of his cold fingers, a sensation of horror
crept into the heart of Master Gerhard. But the red-cloaked
man burst into a yelling laugh and cried out
in a formidable voice, “Remember we betted for your[Pg 223]
soul.” Utmost terror seized the trembling architect,
cold perspiration stood on his brow, and he tried in
vain to utter a word.

Suddenly a storm rose, the stranger unfolded his
red cloak, and was lifted from the ground in a cloud
of dust and vanished.

From that day the mind of Master Gerhard grew
more and more gloomy. He kept on wandering restlessly
on the scaffoldings of the building. The more
he considered the huge dimensions of the cathedral,
the more doubtful he felt as to whether he would be
able to finish it or not.

By daybreak he could be seen among his workmen,
and till late in the evening he wandered about
on the building-ground, praising the industrious and
blaming the idle. He looked out anxiously sometimes
in the direction of Treves to see if he could discern
anything uncommon there. But he never saw the slightest
change, nor any sign that the stranger with whom
he had betted, had really begun his canal in earnest,
and he looked more hopefully into the future.

One day he was standing as usual on the top of
one of the completed towers, when he felt a hand laid
on his shoulder. Turning round, he beheld with disagreeable
surprise the ghostly stranger. Was he a
master of the black art or was he the devil himself?
“Well, Master Gerhard,” began the unwelcome visitor,
“how are you getting on with your work? I see it is
making good progress. Happily I shall soon have[Pg 224]
finished my canal, else I should run the risk of losing
my bet.”

“I can scarcely believe your boasting speech,” answered
the builder scornfully, “because I do not perceive
the slightest trace of your having begun the
canal.” “Know, my dear man, that I am worth more
than a hundred workmen together and, as I told you,
my work is nearly ready,” said the man in red.

“Really,” said Master Gerhard a little startled, “I
should like to know what magic power could enable
you to do so.”

“Come and follow me,” replied the stranger, taking
the builder by the hand. Off they flew through the air
with the quickness of lightning, and reached the earth
in the district near Treves in a few seconds. At the
place where they descended, a spring arose from the
ground and sent its crystal waters into an opening in
a rock. “Come with me,” said the magic stranger,
and bending down he disappeared in this opening.

Master Gerhard followed him and came into a high
glittering grotto, where he perceived that the water
gushed tumultuously into the mouth of a black underground
channel.

“You see,” said the stranger, “how well I have used
my time. If you have the heart for it, we will follow
the waters, and see how far my canal reaches already.”

Scarcely had he uttered these words, than a mysterious
power seized both and pushed them forward with
tremendous rapidity. Master Gerhard saw now with
[Pg 225]terror that the work of the Evil One was indeed not
far from its completion, for when they emerged from
the dark canal, they had the City of Cologne lying
close before them. The cathedral-builder could no
longer doubt the great skill of his rival, and he felt
sure that he would lose his bet. The red-cloaked man
seemed to take great delight in the builder’s discomfiture,
and he said with an ugly grin:

“Well, Master Gerhard, I see you have found more
than you expected. I am sure you would like to see
the merry ducks which shall swim on my brook, according
to our bet.”

He clapped his hands three times and then listened.
Some minutes passed, but no ducks appeared. The
stranger’s face assumed an expression of rage,
when he found his summons unsuccessful. He tried
again but in vain. After this he gave a frightful yell,
and vanished all at once, leaving nothing behind him
but a smell of sulphur.

The cathedral-builder had looked on in wonder, and
new hope began to fill his heart, that after all he could
win the bet.

“I know well, why the ducks won’t appear,” thought
he, “but I shall never betray my secret to him.”

After this adventurous journey, Master Gerhard
was a prey to melancholy.

He was seen oftener than before on the building
ground. It was impossible for him to doubt any
longer, that the stranger with whom he had made the
fatal bet, was the devil himself. The unfortunate man[Pg 226]
was well aware that not only was his life at stake,
but that the salvation of his soul was likewise in danger,
should the master of hell carry out his work.

There was only one little hope left for him, namely,
that the devil would be unable to find out how to
keep the ducks alive while they were swimming
through the long underground channel. So Master
Gerhard took courage, saying to himself: “He cannot
win and I know why.”

His young wife was strangely moved at her husband’s
silence and melancholy. She tried by increased tenderness
and love to unstop his silent lips and to make
him tell what was lying so heavily on his heart.

He appreciated her endeavours to cheer him very
much, but could not be brought to tell of his dealings
with the Evil One, and so he kept his secrets to
himself.

One day, not long after the mysterious journey of
Master Gerhard, a stranger, apparently a scholar, entered
the architect’s house, while he was as usual on the
building ground. A scarlet cloak enveloped his tall
figure, and a cock’s feather sat boldly on his black cap.

His manners were soft and in general those of a
gentleman. Hearing that the builder was not at home,
he asked for his wife. She came and soon found that
she liked talking to him, because he showed not only
great eloquence, but also great sympathy for her
husband.

Involuntarily she disclosed to the kind stranger her
secret grief about Master Gerhard’s sadness. The[Pg 227]
scholar listened to her troubles with great attention,
and seemed to feel for her in her sorrow. “My dear
Mistress,” said he in a soft voice, “there is surely some
secret weighing heavily on his mind, and this and
nothing else is the cause of his melancholy. Unless
we know it, we cannot cure him. You are nearest to
his heart. If you are very loving and tender to him,
he will not withhold the secret for long from you.
Be extremely kind to him. After three days I shall
come back to see if you have been successful. If not,
I will give you a remedy that will unfailingly make
him tell you his inmost thoughts.”

Thus speaking he took his leave, and she was unable
to find words to express her gratitude.

For three days she tried the scholar’s advice, but
found that her husband, in spite of all her coaxing
and caresses, would not tell the cause of his melancholy.

On the fourth day, the scholar called again and heard
with apparent grief how badly her endeavours had
succeeded, “I pity you heartily,” said he, “but don’t
despair. Here is a wonderful herb. Prepare a beverage
with it for your husband and make him drink it before
he goes to sleep. He will dream after the draught
and betray his secrets in his sleep.”

She accepted the gift gratefully, and prepared the
potion according to his advice. Her husband took
the beverage willingly, and soon fell into a profound
sleep. After some time dreams seemed to trouble him;
he tossed restlessly to and fro in his bed murmuring[Pg 228]
incoherent words. His wife listened anxiously and
heard in feverish excitement about the terrible dealings
between him and the devil. After a pause Master
Gerhard muttered:

“He will never win, because I hold the secret.”

“What may that be?” whispered she in the
dreamer’s ear.

“He may do what he will,” unconsciously answered
he, “it is quite impossible that ducks should swim through
the underground channel, unless he makes air-holes at
every mile. Of course this idea will never come into
his head.”

The next morning the scholar called upon the wife
and heard how well his scheme had succeeded. She
told him every thing. When she had revealed her
husband’s secret to him, the meek features of her
strange guest suddenly changed. He gave a loud
shrill scream of joy and disappeared. The poor wife
remained on the same spot, pale and terror-stricken.

Master Gerhard was standing the next day by the
high crane of the cathedral as usual.

The air was sultry, and black clouds were gathering
from across the Rhine. He felt very restless, and
urged his workmen even more than before to hurry
on. The builder’s heart was strangely filled with
dark forebodings. All at once he felt a hand on his
shoulder, and turning round, he beheld with terror
the fatal stranger. A wondrous gleam of red-like
flames seemed to radiate all round his figure.

[Pg 229]The cathedral builder grew pale as death and trembled
from head to foot. He was unable to utter a word.

Beaming with the joy of triumph, the Evil One
pointed with his hand downwards, and forced Master
Gerhard to look in the same direction. Behold! At
the foot of the cathedral a silvery brook was visible
running from the direction of Treves. Merry ducks
were swimming on its shining surface.

It is impossible to describe the feelings of the builder
at the sight of the completed work of his rival. Despair
and agony made his heart sink within him, but the
Evil One looked with joy on his victim. When he
suddenly tried to grasp him, Master Gerhard darted
to the edge of the scaffolding with a heart-rending
scream, and dashed himself down into the depth below,
and was instantly killed.

A roar of thunder filled the air at that moment and
the devil vanished in a blaze of lightning. The thunderstorm
grew more and more violent. After a few minutes
the unhappy cathedral builder’s house was struck by
lightning and burnt to ashes in less than an hour.
Unfortunately, the admirable plan of the splendid church
was also destroyed.

This was the sad end of Master Gerhard and his
ambition.

The cathedral remained untouched for more than
six centuries after. Its unfinished walls and towers
began to decay as if they mourned the terrible death
of their builder. The Cologne people believed for a
long time that the spirit of Master Gerhard used to[Pg 230]
hover about midnight round the high towers and the
desolated vaults. Strange sounds like the sighs of
somebody in anguish were often heard in the deserted
building, and people said it was Master Gerhard’s
ghost complaining that his proud cathedral remained
unfinished.

Generation after generation passed by, and six centuries
elapsed before busy workmen began again
hammering and building on the ground which had
lain so long quiet.

In 1880 the dome was finished, and towers now in
all its majesty high above the dwellings of the people,
and can be seen miles away.

Since that glorious day when the last stone was
added to the cathedral of Cologne, Master Gerhard’s
ghost has never been heard or seen again.

[Pg 231]

XANTEN

Siegfried

Siegfried schleppt einen Bären ins Lager
Nach einer Lithographie von Peter Cornelius

Siegfried,—and as we pronounce this glorious
name, the hero looks forth at us with shining
eyes, for was not Siegfried the perfect embodiment
of all that was beautiful and good?

For centuries stories have been told and poems have
been sung of the bold adventures of the young hero,
whose energy only found satisfaction in victorious fights.

The original name of the small town on the lower
Rhine now called Xanten, was “Ad Santos,” “peace
for the saints.” It was thus named on account of the
pious warriors of the Theban legion who in the fourth
century had boldly died there for their creed under
their leader, Victor.

At the time to which our story refers, a mighty
stronghold formed the centre of the little town Xanten.
A king called Siegmund with his wife Siegelinde and
their son Siegfried lived there.

While a mere boy, Siegfried had already a kingly
stature, and an almost untamable disposition of mind.
When he was only thirteen years of age, his longing
for grand deeds was so great that he found it impossible
to remain inactive at home. From old songs and[Pg 232]
legends which the minstrels recited in his father’s
castle, he had heard so much of bold adventures and
brilliant exploits performed by his forefathers, that he
was most anxious to follow in their steps. He felt
strong and valiant enough to undertake, like the heroes
of old, dangerous journeys. Therefore young Siegfried
left one day his ancestral halls, and wandered southwards
along the clear blue river. He soon found an
opportunity of testing his courage.

At the foot of the Seven Mountains lived a celebrated
armourer called Mimer, renowned for making
excellent swords. Our hero liked this warlike trade,
and he asked the master to receive him as an apprentice,
that he might learn the praiseworthy art of
forging a good sword for himself. The armourer
agreed, and Siegfried remained at Mimer’s workshop.
The journeymen with whom the youth had to work,
soon learned the enormous strength of their new
companion. The boy, often not knowing how to give
expression to his desire for action, would take up his
fellow-workmen, lift them high into the air, and drop
them, not always softly, to the ground. Or when his
anger was roused, he would imprint black and blue
marks on their backs with his strong fists. Once he
even smashed with one stroke of his hammer all the
iron bars in the armoury, and knocked the anvil into
the ground with a mighty blow.

Mimer looked on with dismay, amazed at the boy’s
almost supernatural strength, but fearing that Siegfried’s
wrath might some time turn against him, he[Pg 233]
thought to rid himself of his dangerous apprentice,
and conceived a cunning plan to kill him. A horrible
dragon lived in the neighbouring forest, which tore
every wanderer to pieces who chanced to cross its
way. Mimer ordered Siegfried to fetch a sack from
the charcoal-burner in that forest, well knowing that
the boy would never return thence.

The youth, without knowing the danger he was
about to meet, went cheerfully on his way. In the
middle of the thick wood he kindled a charcoal-kiln,
and amused himself by putting big burning branches
and young trees into the fire.

Suddenly the monster came swiftly creeping on its
huge claws. Curving its shimmering body the ugly
beast opened wide its jaws to devour the young
charcoal-burner. Siegfried’s eyes brightened up at the
prospect of an encounter with the terrible animal before
him. Without a moment’s hesitation, he tore a
flaming beam out of the kiln, and pushed its burning
end deep into the open mouth of the dragon. Roaring
with pain the monster turned round beating violently
with its prickly tail, trying in its agony to crush Siegfried.
But he, jumping skilfully aside, rapidly dealt it
heavy blows, and succeeded at last in smashing its
head with a large piece of rock. He severed the head
from the body, and threw it into the blazing flames.
To his astonishment he observed how a stream of
grease gushed from the burning pile, and collected in
a pool at his feet.

Close by the charcoal-kiln stood an old limetree.[Pg 234]
A little bird sang merrily in its branches. Siegfried,
involuntarily listening to the clear strain, made out
the following words: “If you would be covered with
horn, and become invulnerable, undress yourself and
plunge into the pool.”

Siegfried quickly threw his clothes off and anointed
his whole body with the dragon’s grease. While thus
occupied a leaf from the old limetree above dropped
between his shoulders. This part of the hero’s body
remained without horn. When he had finished, he
took up the monster’s head and returned to Mimer’s
workshop. The nearer he got to the smithy, the more
his rage against his wicked master increased. Mimer
had seen the boy from afar approaching with the
trophy of his fight, and had hidden in great fear.

Siegfried however soon found him out and slew
him on the spot. Then he forged a good two-edged
sword and shining armour for himself, and having
saddled the best horse of Mimer’s stable, he left the
smithy to look for new adventures.

For a long time he travelled aimlessly about, saw
mountains and valleys, rivers and lakes, cities and
hamlets, until he at last arrived at the sea-shore. He
embarked with his good horse, and was cast by a
gale on the rocky coast of an unknown country. The
noble animal climbed courageously up the stony beach,
and carried its rider to an enchanted castle which was
surrounded by a wall of flames. For a moment Siegfried
stood irresolute. Suddenly the voice of the little
bird sounded again above him, “Break the charm.[Pg 235]
Straight into the flames with a bold dash. A most
lovely maiden will be thy reward.”

The youth took courage, spurred his steed, and with
a plunge horse and rider disappeared in the flames,
which were at once extinguished. The charm was
broken. Before him lay a wonderful castle. Siegfried
penetrated into its interior, and was amazed to find
every living creature in a profound sleep within; the
horses in their stalls, the grooms in the stables, the
cook at the hearth. When he entered the high hall a
lovely scene presented itself to his view. On a couch
the most exquisite form of a woman lay sleeping. Her
golden hair was strewn with precious stones, and her
limbs were clothed in the most costly garments.

The young hero looked for a while, lost in admiration.
Then bending down to her, he pressed a passionate
kiss on her rosy lips. Brunhilde, the fair sleeper, opened
her eyes, and at the same time every living being in
the castle awoke.

The old legend depicts in glowing colours the sweet
hours of love that followed for Siegfried and Brunhilde.
Days and months passed by without the lovers
being aware of it. However fond of adventures Siegfried
was, he felt himself chained to the spot by her
subtle charms. While thus undecided he heard one
day the bird’s voice: “Leave the castle and give up
a life of ignoble leisure; direct your steps towards the
country of the Nibelungen, take possession of their
immense treasures and of the precious invisible cap.”

At the prospect of new adventures Siegfried could[Pg 236]
not be kept back any longer by Brunhilde. They
parted with the solemn promise of meeting again.

A great many exploits are recorded of the proud
hero which he performed in the country of the
Nibelungen. After a long and hard struggle with the
cunning dwarfs, he took away with him their treasure,
as well as the cap which had the gift of making its
wearer invisible.

Years had passed by, and Siegfried longed to see
the place of his childhood again. So he turned homewards
and reached Xanten after many adventures. The
joy of his noble parents at seeing their valiant son
again was indescribable.

The legend of Siegfried’s youthful exploits and his
home-coming is full of romance and happiness. But
if we listen to the continuation of his story we shall
find how every human feeling has its place in the
hero’s biography, great joy, deep sorrow, passionate
love, glowing hatred, heroism and perfidy, cowardice
and high courage, until at last the legend of Siegfried
ends in a pitiful wail of grief.

[Pg 237]

CLEVE

Lohengrin

Des Schwanenritters Abschied
Nach dem Gemälde von W. von Kaulbach
Lohengrin’s Departure
Le départ du chevalier au cygne

The weathercock on the ancient stronghold
at Cleve is a swan, and in olden times
the dynasty that ruled over the lovely
country round Cleve had also a swan in
their crest. A legend, tragic and beautiful, preserved
to posterity forever in Richard Wagner’s lovely opera,
is connected with it,—the legend of Lohengrin.

Long centuries ago deep sorrow brooded over the
walls of the castle at Cleve. Its mistress, the Duchess
Elsa, was in great distress. Her beloved husband had
died, and his remains had been brought to their last
resting-place. As soon as the tomb had closed over
them, one of the late Duke’s vassals, Telramund, rose
in revolt, and imperiously claimed the right to reign
over the dukedom. The audacious man went so far
as to ask the widowed Duchess to become his wife,
declaring that this was the only means of saving her
rank, which the death of her husband had deprived her of.

Elsa, the youthful and lovely mistress, implored the
knights of her dominion to assist her in her trouble,
and to take up arms against the rebel. But Telramund,
little disconcerted by this appeal, offered to fight in[Pg 238]
single combat with anybody who dared to take up
the quarrel with him, well knowing that, on account
of his immense strength, nobody would dare to become
his adversary.

The days passed in deepest sorrow for the unfortunate
Duchess. The moment was approaching when
the rebel would make bold to proclaim openly his
claims before the whole assembled nobility on the
open space before the castle. The fatal hour came.
Pale, her face covered by her widow’s veil, her
queenly form enveloped in mourning garments, Elsa
descended from her castle to the assembly. The large
plain was crowded with a throng of people, and
glittered with the brilliant armour of the knights.

The unfaithful vassal, covered from head to foot in
shining armour, came forward with bold steps and
claimed in a loud voice the hand and dominion of
the Duchess. The knights around, deluded by his
valiant appearance and the firmness of his voice, broke
into loud applause. Some of the crowd joined them
in their cry of approbation, but most of the people
looked on, full of pity and admiration for their youthful
mistress.

No answer to his first challenge having come, Telramund
repeated his audacious demand, offering again
to fight in single combat anybody who dared to accept
it. His eyes glanced defiantly over the brilliant
multitude of knights. He perceived with triumphant
joy, how they all shrank from fighting with him.—Elsa
looked still paler than before.

[Pg 239]For a third time the challenge of Telramund was
heard. It sounded clearly over the whole plain. But
none of the bright warriors came forward to take up
the combat for Elsa’s sake.

On the contrary deep silence followed the third
challenge, and everybody’s eyes were fixed on the
forsaken princess who looked in her abandoned position
still more lovely. The little hope that had till that
moment given her strength to bear her misfortune, had
now entirely vanished. In her utter desolation she
offered a fervent prayer to heaven. On her rosary, so
the legend records, a little silver bell was hanging,
which possessed the wonderful gift of giving forth,
whenever slightly touched, a clear ringing sound audible
even at a great distance. In praying to God for deliverance
from her great trouble, she pressed the cross
on her rosary fervently to her lips. The silver bell
tinkled, and at the same moment a little barge suddenly
appeared on the blue river. When it came nearer, everybody
looked with astonishment at the strange vessel.
Its form was light and graceful; but what astonished
the people most was that it was not moved by either
oar or rudder, but was gently gliding on the blue
waves drawn by a snow-white swan. In the middle of
the vessel stood a knight in shining silver armour.

Long golden locks emerged from under his glittering
helmet, his bright blue eyes looked boldly over
the crowd on the shore, and his hand held the hilt of
his broad sword firmly.

The strange boat stopped just opposite the plain[Pg 240]
where the people stood motionless with amazement.
The knight landed from the barge, giving a sign with
his hand to the swan, which swam gently down the
Rhine.

In silence and awe the multitude made room for
the stranger who approached with firm steps towards
the middle of the brilliant circle, and saluted the assembly
with a solemn grace. Then he bent his knees
before the Duchess and rising, turned towards Telramund,
challenging him proudly to fight with him for
the hand and dominion of Elsa of Brabant. The bold
rebel’s temerity seemed to fail him for a few moments,
but gathering fresh courage he pulled his sword from
its sheath with a loud scornful laugh.

The next moment the two knights darted at each
other, their blades clashing in rapid strokes.

The whole crowd looked with wonder and amazement
at the strange knight’s great prowess. He parried
the blows of his strong adversary skilfully. The combat
lasted for some time, and neither of the fighters
seemed to give way. Suddenly a subdued cry was
heard, and at the same time the presumptuous vassal
sank to the ground, pierced by the sword of him
whom God had sent, and expired. A tremendous
shout of joy burst from the gazing crowd, which rang
from one end of the plain to the other and was
echoed by the glittering waves of the Rhine. The
people rejoiced in the victory, and thought that God
himself had decided the combat in favour of Elsa.

The Duchess felt greatly moved. In her overflowing
[Pg 241]gratitude she sank down before her deliverer with
tears in her eyes. But he bade her rise, and bowing
low before her asked her to become his wife. She
consented. What a heaven of bliss opened for the
Duchess of Brabant! All her former troubles were
forgotten.

Her gratitude towards her rescuer was transformed
into passionate love, to which Lohengrin, the virtuous
knight, responded with tender adoration.

Yet though everything seemed now so serene in
the life of the Duchess, there was a dim cloud which
threatened to darken the clear prospect of her happiness.
On their wedding-day Elsa had to promise
her bridegroom that she would never inquire about
his name, his home, or his descent.

Trusting her deliverer’s honour and chivalrous
bearing, she took the strange oath without a moment’s
hesitation.

Many years of bliss and happiness passed, and Elsa
of Brabant had strictly kept the promise she had made
on her bridal morning. Their happiness was still more
enhanced by the birth of three hopeful boys. They
were their parents’ joy, and promised to become in
future shining ornaments of knighthood.

It happened however, when the eyes of the Duchess
were resting with pride on her sons, that her mother’s
heart thought with grief of the solemn oath she had
sworn on her wedding-day.

With how much more pride would she have looked
upon her sons if she could have known them to be[Pg 242]
the offspring of a high and noble race. She did not
doubt however that her beloved husband’s lineage
was a most noble one. Yet the thought that his sons
might never bear their father’s name, nor be able to
add new glories to it, was lying heavily on her mind,
and darkened the radiant image of her husband, that
like a deity filled her whole soul.

The fatal question she had for so long withheld
burst one day forcibly from her lips.

When she had pronounced the awful words, the
proud hero grew pale, and freeing himself softly from
her tender embrace, he cried out in bitter grief: “Woe
to thee, my beloved wife and woe also to me! Now
that thou hast uttered the question thou didst sware
solemnly never to ask, our happiness is gone for ever.
I must part from thee, never to see thee again.”

A cry of anguish rose from her lips, but she was
unable to keep him back. Waving his hand to her in
a mute farewell her noble husband left the castle. He
went to the Rhine and blew his silver horn.

Its sound was echoed from the shore like a long
sob. The white swan with the boat soon appeared
gliding gently over the river.

Lohengrin stepped into the boat and soon vanished
out of sight and was seen no more.

His unhappy wife was inconsolable. Her grief was
so intense that a short time after her health gave way,
and she sank into a premature grave.

Her sons became the ancestors of a noble and[Pg 243]
distinguished race in the Rhenish country. Their badge is
a swan.

The traveller who visits Cleve will still find a tombstone
in its church with a knight carved on it, and a
swan sitting at his feet.

[Pg 244]

ZUYDERSEA

Stavoren

Stavoren
Nach einem Stich von Holbein

A strange story is still told about the city of
Stavoren on the Zuydersea. It was a wondrous
town, but like Vineta on the Baltic Sea it
vanished from the earth.

The merchants of Stavoren were the rulers of the
Ocean, and the treasures of all known countries were
lying in their port. The houses were lovely palaces,
furnished in their interior like the marvellous abodes
of the Sultan Haroun Al Rachid, in the “Arabian Nights.”

Of all the wealthy people of the town, there was
nobody so much blessed with riches as Richberta, a
proud and beautiful lady. Smiling fortune had lavishly
poured its gifts upon her, and threw fresh treasures
daily at her feet. She seemed to own everything beautiful
that this life can bestow, but one thing she did
not possess, and that was the soft fire of woman’s kindness
which lightens and warms the soul, and throws on all
its surroundings a mild reflecting gleam. Richberta
was cold and indifferent to either the pleasures or
sorrows of her fellow-men. When night casts her shades
upon the earth, all the sweet bright birds and butterflies
hide and make room for a host of ghastly animals
[Pg 245]like owls and bats. So in Richberta’s soul all her soft
qualities had gone to sleep for want of the tender
gleam of love, and only dark and harsh feelings haunted
her soul. Immense pride in her own wealth, a bitter
envy towards those who possessed more than she did,
were her ruling passions.

Once Richberta gave a grand feast. While the luxurious
meal was being served, a stranger entered, who had
come from far away to see the wonders of Stavoren
with his own eyes. “I have seen,” said he, bowing low
to the lovely hostess, “many countries and many a
princely court, but I confess that Stavoren surpasses
them all in splendour.”

Highly flattered the proud lady bade him welcome
to her table. According to the customs of the Orient
whence he came, he begged for some bread and salt.
Richberta ordered her servants to bring both, but it
was useless to look for such simple fare in her house
where only the most luxurious food was to be had.

Without making any remarks however the stranger
sat down and partook of the costly dishes. Then he
began to relate his journeys, his success and his failures
in life, and dwelt with great eloquence on the instability
of earthly fortunes. All the guests listened with interest
to what he said. Only Richberta sat gloomily at the
head of her table. She felt angry that the stranger
dared in her very presence to find fault with wealth
and splendour, and to predict its probable destruction.
Moreover she thought it rude in him that he had no
word of praise for her own brilliant beauty, nor a[Pg 246]
glance of astonishment for her gorgeous palace. Her
offended vanity induced her at last to force from him
the praise he so obstinately withheld. “O, gracious
Lady,” said he rather reluctantly, “marvellous indeed
is your home and fit for a queen. If you travelled far
and near, you could not find its equal. But, my lady,
among your treasures I miss one thing, and that is the
noblest that the earth produces.”

Richberta was very anxious to learn what it was, that
she might get it, and entreated her guest to name the
precious thing. But he avoided any direct answer to
her impetuous questions, and soon afterwards took his
leave under a slight pretext.

On the open sea, a proud fleet was sailing. Its
commander, strange to say, did not himself know the
aim of his journey. His mistress, Richberta of Stavoren,
had directed him to travel to all parts of the world to
find out and bring home the most costly treasure.

According to her command he set out, cruised the
ocean to the East, and to the West, and searched everywhere
for the unknown gift.

In doing so it happened one day that seawater spoiled
a part of the provisions of one of the ships. It was
the flour and bread, the want of which was keenly
felt by the whole crew. In this necessity the captain
saw clearly that neither gold nor pearls could outweigh
the value of bread, and the meaning of the mysterious
words the stranger from the Orient had spoken to
Richberta, dawned upon him.

[Pg 247]He steered to the coast and took a large cargo of the
finest wheat aboard his ships. Full of joy at having at last
found what he deemed the most costly thing on earth
he sailed towards Stavoren, where he arrived safely.

When Richberta learned of the common merchandise
her captain had brought home, she summoned him
before her and asked him contemptuously: “On which
side of the vessel has the cargo of corn been taken
in?” “On the right, mistress,” answered the faithful
servant, doubtful of what she meant. “Then,” continued
she coldly, “throw it from the left into the sea again.”

The day after the return of the fleet an animated
scene was witnessed in the port of Stavoren.

The numerous poor people of the town on hearing
of the wicked command of Richberta, had come to beg
of her not to spoil the precious wheat, but to divide
it among those who were so much in want of it.

The proud lady appeared herself to see that her
will was executed. It was a touching spectacle to see
how the crowd of miserable women and children surrounded
the noble lady in her costly garments. The
sight of so much misery would have moved many a
cold heart, but Richberta showed no pity. She moved
forward impatiently as if she heard not the supplications.
But the crowd of women stopped her. They fell on their
knees and entreated her with uplifted hands and tears in
their eyes for the preservation of God’s precious gift.
Richberta heard but remained unrelenting. Her command
was fulfilled, and the golden wheat was thrown into the sea.

[Pg 248]A storm of reproaches rose from the poor on the
shore, and many a mother prayed to God on her knees
to revenge this wickedness.

The curses of the hungry people were fulfilled, far
sooner than they expected.

In the same year innumerable earless blades of
wheat rose from the bottom of the sea like a forest,
catching up mud, mire, weed, and remains of animals,
so that by and by a dune rose under water which
stopped the ships from entering the port of Stavoren.

The inhabitants of the town who had principally
lived by commerce, suddenly found the source of their
wealth stopped. Want and poverty took possession
of the once rich city. Richberta, in whom everybody
recognised the author of this misfortune, lost everything
in the general impoverishment, and was driven by the
enraged populace from the town. The once proud and
rich lady had now to beg for her bread. She walked
wearily from village to village, curses following her
wherever she went. She died in utter destitution.

The sea that had for so many years been the blessing
of Stavoren was now the destruction of the voluptuous
city. One night it rose with immense power
against the dunes, burst through them, and flooding the
town with huge waves, buried it forever.

To this day, the fishermen on the Zuydersea relate
the story of the wonderful sunken city that once towered
high into the air. When the water is clear they
imagine they can see the high steeples of Stavoren’s
churches and the towers of her palaces shimmering
up from the bottom of the sea.

Transcriber’s Notes:

Illustrations were inserted between pages of the original text. In
this e-book they have been moved to the head of the relevant story.

Obvious printer errors (missing or transposed letters, misspellings,
missing punctuation, etc.) have been amended without note.

There are some instances of archaic spelling, which have been retained
throughout.

Hyphenation has been made consistent without note. There are some
occurrences of ‘compound’ nouns (for example, Folksepic, milkwhite,
spearpierced, etc.), which have been retained as part of the charm of
the text.

There are some variations in the spelling of proper nouns (for example,
Liege/Liège or Brunhild/Brunhilde). These have been retained throughout,
except where there was an obvious error, which has been amended and noted.
Missing titles or variations between titles and the Table of Contents have
been amended and noted. All such amendments are indicated with a
faint grey underline. Hover
the mouse pointer over the word(s) to see the note. A complete list of these
amendments is included at the end of the text.

Finally, there are two instances of unusual grammar, which have
been retained: in the Prefatory note, “… and over all the sun _shined_
brightly …” and on page 152, “… his wife and retinue are looking
_devoutedly_ towards heaven …”.

List of Amendments:

Prefatory Note—omitted ‘I’ added—”I soon became absorbed in the
ever-changing panorama.”

Prefatory note—”english” amended to “English”—”… romance for the
English speaking nations …”

Contents—”The Mothers Gost” amended to “The Mother’s Ghost”

Page 7—title “ST. GOTHARD” amended to “ST. GOTTHARD”

Page 79—title “The mother’s Ghost” amended to “The Mother’s Ghost”

Page 97—title “I.” added

Page 117—”Coblentz” amended to “Coblenz”—”… a beautiful meadow
at Rhense near Coblenz …”

Page 145—title “I.” added

Page 155—”Charlemange” amended to “Charlemagne”—”… that
Charlemagne had begun …”

Page 167—title “I.” added

Page 177—title “I.” added

Page 192—title “GODESBERG” inserted, to match the Table of Contents

Page 216—opening quote mark in middle of the first paragraph moved to
beginning of paragraph (only visible if drop cap is not displayed)

Page 240—”Brabrant” amended to “Brabant”—”… dominion of Elsa of
Brabant.”