{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_16539/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_16539","id":"gutenberg_16539","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/16539","summary":null,"tags":["Category: German Literature","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Legends -- France","Legends -- Germany","Legends -- Rhine River Valley"],"text":"Produced by Steve Pond\n\n\n\n\n\n\nHERO TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE RHINE\n\nBy Lewis Spence (1874-1955)\n\nOriginally published: Hero tales & legends of the Rhine.\n\nLondon; New York:\n\nGeorge C. Harrap, 1915.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS:\n\n     INTRODUCTION\n     I   TOPOGRAPHICAL AND HISTORICAL\n     II  THE RHINE IN FOLKLORE AND LITERATURE\n     III CLEVES TO THE LOeWENBURG\n     IV  DRACHENFELS TO RHEINSTEIN\n     V   FALKENBURG TO AUERBACH\n     VI  WORMS AND THE NIBELUNGENLIED\n     VII HEIDELBERG TO SAeCKINGEN\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\nAn abundance of literature exists on the subject of the Rhine and its\nlegends, but with few exceptions the works on it which are accessible\nto English-speaking peoples are antiquated in spirit and verbiage, and\ntheir authors have been content to accept the first version of such\nlegends and traditions as came their way without submitting them to\nany critical examination. It is claimed for this book that much of its\nmatter was collected on the spot, or that at least most of the\ntales here presented were perused in other works at the scene of the\noccurrences related. This volume is thus something more than a\nmere compilation, and when it is further stated that only the most\ncharacteristic and original versions and variants of the many tales here\ngiven have gained admittance to the collection, its value will become\napparent.\n\nIt is, of course, no easy task to infuse a spirit of originality into\nmatter which has already achieved such a measure of celebrity as have\nthese wild and wondrous tales of Rhineland. But it is hoped that the\ntreatment to which these stories have been subjected is not without a\nnovelty of its own. One circumstance may be alluded to as characteristic\nof the manner of their treatment in this work. In most English books\non Rhine legend the tales themselves are presented in a form so brief,\nsuccinct, and uninspiring as to rob them entirely of that mysterious\nglamour lacking which they become mere material by which to add to and\nillustrate the guide-book. The absence of the romantic spirit in most\nEnglish and American compilations dealing with the Rhine legends is\nnoteworthy, and in writing this book the author's intention has been to\nsupply this striking defect by retaining as much of the atmosphere\nof mystery so dear to the German heart as will convey to the\nEnglish-speaking reader a true conception of the spirit of German\nlegend.\n\nBut it is not contended that because greater space and freedom of\nnarrative scope than is usual has been taken by the author the volume\nwould not prove itself an acceptable companion upon a voyage on Rhine\nwaters undertaken in holiday times of peace. Indeed, every attempt has\nbeen made so to arrange the legends that they will illustrate a Rhine\njourney from sea to source--the manner in which the majority of visitors\nto Germany will make the voyage--and to this end the tales have been\nmarshalled in such form that a reader sitting on the deck of a Rhine\nsteamer may be able to peruse the legends relating to the various\nlocalities in their proper order as he passes them. There are included,\nhowever, several tales relating to places which cannot be viewed from\nthe deck of a steamer, but which may be visited at the cost of a short\ninland excursion. These are such as from their celebrity could not be\nomitted from any work on the legends of Rhineland, but they are few in\nnumber.\n\nThe historical development, folklore, poetry, and art of the\nRhine-country have been dealt with in a special introductory chapter.\nThe history of the Rhine basin is a complicated and uneven one, chiefly\nconsisting in the rapid and perplexing rise and fall of dynasties and\nthe alternate confiscation of one or both banks of the devoted stream\nto the empires of France or Germany. But the evolution of a reasoned\nnarrative has been attempted from this chaotic material, and, so far\nas the author is aware, it is the only one existing in English. The\nfolklore and romance elements in Rhine legend have been carefully\nexamined, and the best poetic material upon the storied river has been\ncritically collected and reviewed. To those who may one day visit the\nRhine it is hoped that the volume may afford a suitable introduction to\na fascinating field of travel, while to such as have already viewed\nits glories it may serve to renew old associations and awaken cherished\nmemories of a river without peer or parallel in its wealth of story, its\nboundless mystery, and the hold which it has exercised upon all who\nhave lingered by the hero-trodden paths that wind among its mysterious\npromontories and song-haunted strands.\n\n--L.S.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I--TOPOGRAPHICAL AND HISTORICAL\n\n\nThere are many rivers whose celebrity is of much greater antiquity than\nthat of the Rhine. The Nile and the Ganges are intimately associated\nwith the early history of civilization and the mysterious beginnings\nof wisdom; the Tiber is eloquent of that vanished Empire which was\nthe first to carry the torch of advancement into the dark places of\nbarbarian Europe; the name of the Jordan is sacred to thousands as that\nfirst heard in infancy and linked with lives and memories divine. But,\nuniversal as is the fame of these rivers, none of them has awakened in\nthe breasts of the dwellers on their banks such a fervent devotion,\nsuch intense enthusiasm, or such a powerful patriotic appeal as has the\nRhine, at once the river, the frontier, and the palladium of the German\nfolk.\n\nThe Magic of the Rhine\n\nBut the appeal is wider, for the Rhine is peculiarly the home of a\nlegendary mysticism almost unique. Those whose lives are spent in their\ncreation and interpretation know that song and legend have a particular\naffinity for water. Hogg, the friend of Shelley, was wont to tell how\nthe bright eyes of his comrade would dilate at the sight of even a\npuddle by the roadside. Has water a hypnotic attraction for certain\nminds? Be that as it may, there has crystallized round the great\nwaterways of the world a traditionary lore which preserves the thought\nand feeling of the past, and retains many a circumstance of wonder and\nmarvel from olden epochs which the modern world could ill have spared.\n\nVaried and valuable as are the traditional tales of other streams, none\npossess that colour of intensity and mystery, that spell of ancient\nprofundity which belong to the legends of the Rhine. In perusing these\nwe feel our very souls plunged in darkness as that of the carven gloom\nof some Gothic cathedral or the Cimmerian depths of some ancient forest\nunpierced by sun-shafts. It is the Teutonic mystery which has us in\nits grip, a thing as readily recognizable as the Celtic glamour or the\nEgyptian gloom--a thing of the shadows of eld, stern, ancient, of a\nponderous fantasy, instinct with the spirit of nature, of dwarfs,\nelves, kobolds, erlkings, the wraiths and shades of forest and flood, of\nmountain and mere, of castled height and swift whirlpool, the denizens\nof the deep valleys and mines, the bergs and heaths of this great\nprovince of romance, this rich satrapy of Faery.\n\nA Land of Legend\n\nNowhere is legend so thickly strewn as on the banks of the Rhine. Each\nstep is eloquent of tradition, each town, village, and valley. No hill,\nno castle but has its story, true or legendary. The Teuton is easily the\nworld's master in the art of conserving local lore. As one speeds down\nthe broad breast of this wondrous river, gay with summer and flushed\nwith the laughter of early vineyards, so close is the network of legend\nthat the swiftly read or spoken tale of one locality is scarce over ere\nthe traveller is confronted by another. It is a surfeit of romance, an\ninexhaustible hoard of the matter of marvel.\n\nThis noble stream with its wealth of tradition has made such a powerful\nimpression upon the national imagination that it has become intimate in\nthe soul of the people and commands a reverence and affection which\nis not given by any other modern nation to its greatest and most\ncharacteristic river. The Englishman has only a mitigated pride in the\nThames, as a great commercial asset or, its metropolitan borders once\npassed, a river of peculiarly restful character; the Frenchman evinces\nno very great enthusiasm toward the Seine; and if there are many Spanish\nsongs about the \"chainless Guadalquivir,\" the dons have been content\nto retain its Arabic name. But what German heart does not thrill at the\nname of the Rhine? What German cheek does not flush at the sound of that\nmighty thunder-hymn which tells of his determination to preserve the\nriver of his fathers at the cost of his best blood? Nay, what man of\npatriotic temperament but feels a responsive chord awake within him\nat the thought of that majestic song, so stern, so strong, \"clad in\narmour,\" vibrant with the clang of swords, instinct with the universal\naccord of a united people? To those who have heard it sung by\nmultitudinous voices to the accompaniment of golden harps and silver\ntrumpets it is a thing which can never be forgotten, this world-song\nthat is at once a hymn of union, a song of the deepest love of country,\na defiance and an intimation of resistance to the death.\n\nThe Song of the 'Iron Chancellor'\n\nHow potent Die Wacht am Rhein is to stir the hearts of the children of\nthe Fatherland is proven abundantly by an apposite story regarding the\ngreat Bismarck, the 'man of blood and iron.' The scene is the German\nReichstag, and the time is that curious juncture in history when the\nGermans, having realized that union is strength, were beginning to weld\ntogether the petty kingdoms and duchies of which their mighty empire\nwas once composed. Gradually this task was becoming accomplished, and\nmeanwhile Germany grew eager to assert her power in Europe, wherefore\nher rulers commenced to create a vast army. But Bismarck was not\nsatisfied, and in his eyes Germany's safety was still unassured; so\nhe appealed to the Reichstag to augment largely their armaments. The\ndeputies looked at him askance, for a vast army meant ruinous taxation;\neven von Moltke and von Roon shook their heads, well aware though they\nwere that a great European conflict might break out at any time; and,\nin short, Bismarck's proposal was met by a determined negative from\nthe whole House. \"Ach, mein Gott!\" he cried, holding out his hands in a\nsuperb gesture of despair. \"Ach, mein Gott! but these soldiers we must\nhave.\" His hearers still demurred, reminding him that the people far and\nnear were groaning under the weight of taxation, and assuring him that\nthis could not possibly be increased, when he suddenly changed his\ndespairing gesture for a martial attitude, and with sublime eloquence\nrecited the lines:\n\n     \"Es braust ein Ruf wie Donnerhall,\n     Wie Schwertgeklirr und Wogenprall;\n     Zum Rhein, zum Rhein, zum deutschen Rhein,\n     Wer will die Stroemes Hueter sein?\n     Lieb Vaterland, magst ruhig sein,\n     Fest steht und treu die Wacht am Rhein.\"\n\nThe effect was magical; the entire House resounded with cheers, and the\nmost unbounded enthusiasm prevailed. And ere the members dispersed\nthey had told Bismarck he might have, not ten thousand, but a hundred\nthousand soldiers, such was the power of association awakened by this\nfamous hymn, such the spell it is capable of exercising on German\nhearers.\n\nTopography of the Rhine\n\nEre we set sail upon the dark sea of legend before us it is necessary\nthat, like prudent mariners, we should know whence and whither we are\nfaring. To this end it will be well that we should glance briefly at\nthe topography of the great river we are about to explore, and that we\nshould sketch rapidly the most salient occurrences in the strange\nand varied pageant of its history, in order that we may the better\nappreciate the wondrous tales of worldwide renown which have found birth\non its banks.\n\nAlthough the most German of rivers, the Rhine does not run its entire\ncourse through German territory, but takes its rise in Switzerland and\nfinds the sea in Holland. For no less than 233 miles it flows through\nSwiss country, rising in the mountains of the canton of Grisons, and\nirrigates every canton of the Alpine republic save that of Geneva.\nIndeed, it waters over 14,000 square miles of Swiss territory in the\nflow of its two main branches, the Nearer Rhine and the Farther Rhine,\nwhich unite at Reichenau, near Coire. The Nearer Rhine issues at the\nheight of over 7000 feet from the glaciers of the Rheinwaldhorn\ngroup, and flows for some thirty-five miles, first in a north-easterly\ndirection through the Rheinwald Valley, then northward through the\nSchams Valley, by way of the Via Mala gorge, and Tomleschg Valley, and\nso to Reichenau, where it is joined by its sister stream, the Farther\nRhine. The latter, rising in the little Alpine lake of Toma near the\nPass of St. Gotthard, flows in a north-easterly direction to Reichenau.\nThe Nearer Rhine is generally considered to be the more important\nbranch, though the Farther Rhine is the longer by some seven miles. From\nReichenau the Rhine flows north-eastward to Coire, and thence northward\nto the Lake of Constance, receiving on its way two tributaries, the\nLandquart and the Ill, both on the right bank. Indeed, from source to\nsea the Rhine receives a vast number of tributaries, amounting, with\ntheir branches, to over 12,000. Leaving the Lake of Constance at the\ntown of that name, the river flows westward to Basel, having as\nthe principal towns on its banks Constance, Schaffhausen, Waldshut,\nLaufenburg, Saeckingen, Rheinfelden, and Basel.\n\nNot far from the town of Schaffhausen the river precipitates itself from\na height of 60 feet, in three leaps, forming the famous Falls of the\nRhine. At Coblentz a strange thing happens, for at this place the river\nreceives the waters of the Aar, swollen by the Reuss and the Limmat, and\nof greater volume than the stream in which it loses itself.\n\nIt is at Basel that the Rhine, taking a northward trend, enters\nGermany. By this time it has made a descent of nearly 7000 feet, and has\ntraversed about a third of its course. Between Basel and Mainz it flows\nbetween the mountains of the Black Forest and the Vosges, the distance\nbetween which forms a shallow valley of some width. Here and there it is\nislanded, and its expanse averages about 1200 feet. The Taunus Mountains\ndivert it at Mainz, where it widens, and it flows westward for about\ntwenty miles, but at Bingen it once more takes its course northward, and\nenters a narrow valley where the enclosing hills look down sheer upon\nthe water.\n\nIt is in this valley, probably one of the most romantic in the world,\nthat we find the legendary lore of the river packed in such richness\nthat every foot of its banks has its place in tradition. But that is not\nto say that this portion of the Rhine is wanting in natural beauty. Here\nare situated some of its sunniest vineyards, its most wildly romantic\nheights, and its most picturesque ruins. This part of its course may be\nsaid to end at the Siebengebirge, or 'Seven Mountains,' where the river\nagain widens and the banks become more bare and uninteresting. Passing\nBonn and Cologne, the bareness of the landscape is remarkable after the\nvariety of that from which we have just emerged, and henceforward the\nriver takes on what may be called a 'Dutch' appearance. After entering\nHolland it divides into two branches, the Waal flowing to the west and\nuniting with the Maas. The smaller branch to the right is still called\nthe Rhine, and throws off another branch, the Yssel, which flows into\nthe Zuider Zee. Once more the river bifurcates into insignificant\nstreams, one of which is called the Kromme Rijn, and beyond Utrecht, and\nunder the name of the Oude Rijn, or Old Rhine, it becomes so stagnant\nthat it requires the aid of a canal to drain it into the sea. Anciently\nthe Rhine at this part of its course was an abounding stream, but by the\nninth century the sands at Katwijk had silted it up, and it was only in\nthe beginning of last century that its way to the sea was made clear.\n\nThe Sunken City\n\nMore than six centuries ago Stavoren was one of the chief commercial\ntowns of Holland. Its merchants traded with all parts of the world, and\nbrought back their ships laden with rich cargoes, and the city became\never more prosperous.\n\nThe majority of the people of Stavoren were well-to-do, and as their\nwealth increased they became luxurious and dissipated, each striving to\noutdo the others in the magnificence of their homes and the extravagance\nof their hospitality.\n\nMany of their houses, we are told, were like the palaces of princes,\nbuilt of white marble, furnished with the greatest sumptuousness, and\ndecorated with the costliest hangings and the rarest statuary.\n\nBut, says the legend, of all the Stavoren folk there was none\nwealthier than young Richberta. This maiden owned a fleet of the finest\nmerchant-vessels of the city, and loved to ornament her palace with the\nrich merchandise which these brought from foreign ports. With all her\njewels and gold and silver treasures, however, Richberta was not happy.\nShe gave gorgeous banquets to the other merchant-princes of the place,\neach more magnificent than the last, not because she received any\npleasure from thus dispensing hospitality, but because she desired to\ncreate envy and astonishment in the breasts of her guests.\n\nOn one occasion while such a feast was in progress Richberta was\ninformed that a stranger was waiting without who was desirous of\nspeaking with her. When she was told that the man had come all the way\nfrom a distant land simply to admire her wonderful treasures, of which\nhe had heard so much, the maiden was highly flattered and gave orders\nthat he should be admitted without delay. An aged and decrepit man, clad\nin a picturesque Eastern costume, was led into the room, and Richberta\nbade him be seated at her side. He expected to receive from the young\nlady the symbol of welcome--bread and salt. But no such common fare was\nto be found on her table--all was rich and luxurious food.\n\nThe stranger seated himself in silence. At length he began to talk. He\nhad travelled in many lands, and now he told of his changing fortunes\nin these far-off countries, always drawing a moral from his\nadventures--that all things earthly were evanescent as the dews of\nmorning. The company listened attentively to the discourse of the sage;\nall, that is, but their hostess, who was angry and disappointed that he\nhad said no word of the wealth and magnificence displayed in her palace,\nthe rich fare on her table, and all the signs of luxury with which he\nwas surrounded. At length she could conceal her chagrin no longer, and\nasked the stranger directly whether he had ever seen such splendour in\nhis wanderings as that he now beheld.\n\n\"Tell me,\" she said, \"is there to be found in the courts of your Eastern\nkings such rare treasures as these of mine?\"\n\n\"Nay,\" replied the sage, \"they have no pearls and rich embroideries to\nmatch thine. Nevertheless, there is one thing missing from your board,\nand that the best and most valuable of all earthly gifts.\"\n\nIn vain Richberta begged that he would tell her what that most precious\nof treasures might be. He answered all her inquiries in an evasive\nmanner, and at last, when her question could no longer be evaded, he\nrose abruptly and left the room. And, seek as she might, Richberta could\nfind no trace of her mysterious visitor.\n\nRichberta strove to discover the meaning of the old man's words. She was\nrich--she possessed greater treasures than any in Stavoren, at a time\nwhen that city was among the wealthiest in Europe--and yet she lacked\nthe most precious of earth's treasures. The memory of the words galled\nher pride and excited her curiosity to an extraordinary pitch. In vain\nshe asked the wise men of her time--the priests and philosophers--to\nread her the riddle of the mysterious traveller. None could name a\ntreasure that was not already hers.\n\nIn her anxiety to obtain the precious thing, whatever it might be,\nRichberta sent all her ships to sea, telling the captain of each not\nto return until he had found some treasure that she did not already\npossess. The vessels were victualled for seven years, so that the\nmariners might have ample time in which to pursue their quest. So their\ncommander sent one division of the fleet to the east, another to the\nwest, while he left his own vessel to the hazard of the winds, letting\nit drift wheresoever the fates decreed. His ship as well as the others\nwas laden heavily with provisions, and during the first storm they\nencountered it was necessary to cast a considerable portion of the food\noverboard, so that the ship might right itself. As it was, the remaining\nprovisions were so damaged by the sea-water that they rotted in a few\ndays and became unfit for food. A pestilence would surely follow the use\nof such unwholesome stuff, and consequently the entire cargo of bread\nhad to be cast into the sea.\n\nThe commander saw his crew ravaged by the dreaded scurvy, suffering from\nthe lack of bread. Then only did he begin to perceive the real meaning\nof the sage's words. The most valuable of all earthly treasures was not\nthe pearls from the depths of the sea, gold or silver from the heart of\nthe mountains, nor the rich spices of the Indies. The most common of all\nearth's, products, that which was to be found in every country, which\nflourished in every clime, on which the lives of millions depended--this\nwas the greatest treasure, and its name was--bread.\n\nHaving reached this conclusion, the commander of Richberta's fleet set\nsail for a Baltic port, where he took on board a cargo of corn, and\nreturned immediately to Stavoren.\n\nRichberta was astonished and delighted to see that he had achieved his\npurpose so soon, and bade him tell her of what the treasure consisted\nwhich he had brought with him. The commander thereupon recounted his\nadventures--the storm, the throwing overboard of their store of bread,\nand the consequent sufferings of the crew--and told how he at length\ndiscovered what was the greatest treasure on earth, the priceless\npossession which the stranger had looked for in vain at her rich board.\nIt was bread, he said simply, and the cargo he had brought home was\ncorn.\n\nRichberta was beside herself with passion. When she had recovered\nherself sufficiently to speak she asked him:\n\n\"At which side of the ship did you take in the cargo?\"\n\n\"At the right side,\" he replied.\n\n\"Then,\" she exclaimed angrily, \"I order you to cast it into the sea from\nthe left side.\"\n\nIt was a cruel decision. Stavoren, like every other city, had its quota\nof poor families, and these were in much distress at the time, many of\nthem dying from sheer starvation. The cargo of corn would have provided\nbread for them throughout the whole winter, and the commander urged\nRichberta to reconsider her decision. As a last resort he sent the\nbarefooted children of the city to her, thinking that their mute misery\nwould move her to alleviate their distress and give them the shipload\nof corn. But all was in vain. Richberta remained adamantine, and in full\nview of the starving multitude she had the precious cargo cast into the\nsea.\n\nBut the curses of the despairing people had their effect. Far down in\nthe bed of the sea the grains of corn germinated, and a harvest of bare\nstalks grew until it reached the surface of the water. The shifting\nquicksands at the bottom of the sea were bound together by the\noverspreading stalks into a mighty sand-bank which rose above the\nsurface in front of the town of Stavoren.\n\nNo longer were the merchant-vessels able to enter the harbour, for\nit was blocked by the impassable bank. Nay, instead of finding refuge\nthere, many a ship was dashed to pieces by the fury of the breakers, and\nStavoren became a place of ill-fame to the mariner.\n\nAll the wealth and commerce of this proud city were at an end. Richberta\nherself, whose wanton act had raised the sand-bank, had her ships\nwrecked there one by one, and was reduced to begging for bread in the\ncity whose wealthiest inhabitant she had once been. Then, perhaps, she\ncould appreciate the words of the old traveller, that bread was the\ngreatest of earthly treasures.\n\nAt last the ocean, dashing against the huge mound with ever-increasing\nfury, burst through the dyke which Richberta had raised, overwhelmed the\ntown, and buried it for ever under the waves.\n\nAnd now the mariner, sailing on the Zuider Zee, passes above the\nengulfed city and sees with wonderment the towers and spires of the\n'Sunken Land.'\n\nHistorical Sketch\n\nLike other world-rivers, the Rhine has attracted to its banks a\nsuccession of races of widely divergent origin. Celt, Teuton, Slav, and\nRoman have contested for the territories which it waters, and if the\nmost enduring of these races has finally achieved dominion over the\nfairest river-province in Europe, who shall say that it has emerged from\nthe struggle as a homogeneous people, having absorbed none of the blood\nof those with whom it strove for the lordship of this vine-clad valley?\nHe would indeed be a courageous ethnologist who would suggest a purely\nGermanic origin for the Rhine race. As the historical period dawns upon\nMiddle Europe we find the Rhine basin in the possession of a people of\nCeltic blood. As in Britain and France, this folk has left its indelible\nmark upon the countryside in a wealth of place-names embodying its\ncharacteristic titles for flood, village, and hill. In such prefixes and\nterminations as magh, brig, dun, and etc we espy the influence of Celtic\noccupants, and Maguntiacum, or Mainz, and Borbetomagus, or Worms, are\nexamples of that 'Gallic' idiom which has indelibly starred the map of\nWestern Europe.\n\nPrehistoric Miners\n\nThe remains of this people which are unearthed from beneath the\nsuperincumbent strata of their Teutonic successors in the country show\nthem to have been typical of their race. Like their kindred in Britain,\nthey had successfully exploited the mineral treasures of the country,\nand their skill as miners is eloquently upheld by the mute witness of\nage-old cinder-heaps by which are found the once busy bronze hammer and\nthe apparatus of the smelting-furnace, speaking of the slow but steady\nsmith-toil upon which the foundation of civilization arose. There was\nscarcely a mineral beneath the loamy soil which masked the metalliferous\nrock which they did not work. From Schoenebeck to Duerkheim lies an\nimmense bed of salt, and this the Celtic population of the district dug\nand condensed by aid of fires fed by huge logs cut from the giant trees\nof the vast and mysterious forests which have from time immemorial\nshadowed the whole existence of the German race. The salt, moulded or\ncut into blocks, was transported to Gaul as an article of commerce. But\nthe Celts of the Rhine achieved distinction in other arts of life, for\ntheir pottery, weapons, and jewellery will bear comparison with those of\nprehistoric peoples in any part of Europe.\n\nAs has been remarked, at the dawn of history we find the Rhine Celts\neverywhere in full retreat before the rude and more virile Teutons.\nThey lingered latterly about the Moselle and in the district of Eifel,\noffering a desperate resistance to the onrushing hordes of Germanic\nwarriors. In all likelihood they were outnumbered, if not outmatched\nin skill and valour, and they melted away before the savage ferocity of\ntheir foes, probably seeking asylum with their kindred in Gaul.\n\nProbably the Teutonic tribes had already commenced to apply pressure to\nthe Celtic inhabitants of Rhine-land in the fourth century before the\nChristian era. As was their wont, they displaced the original possessors\nof the soil as much by a process of infiltration as by direct conquest.\nThe waves of emigration seem to have come from Rhaetia and Pannonia,\nbroad-headed folk, who were in a somewhat lower condition of barbarism\nthan the race whose territory they usurped, restless, assertive, and\nirritable. Says Beddoe:[1]\n\n[Footnote 1: The Anthropological History of Europe, p. 100.]\n\n\"The mass of tall, blond, vigorous barbarians multiplied, seethed,\nand fretted behind the barrier thus imposed. Tacitus and several other\nclassic authors speak of the remarkable uniformity in their appearance;\nhow they were all tall and handsome, with fierce blue eyes and yellow\nhair. Humboldt remarks the tendency we all have to see only the\nsingle type in a strange foreign people, and to shut our eyes to the\ndifferences among them. Thus some of us think sheep all alike, but the\nshepherd knows better; and many think all Chinamen are alike, whereas\nthey differ, in reality, quite as much as we do, or rather more. But\nwith respect to the ancient Germans, there certainly was among them one\nvery prevalent form of head, and even the varieties of feature which\noccur among the Marcomans--for example, on Marcus Aurelius' column--all\nseem to oscillate round one central type.\n\nThe 'Graverow' Type\n\n\"This is the Graverow type of Ecker, the Hohberg type of His and\nRutimeyer, the Swiss anatomists. In it the head is long, narrow (say\nfrom 70 to 76 in. breadth-index), as high or higher than it is broad,\nwith the upper part of the occiput very prominent, the forehead rather\nhigh than broad, often dome-shaped, often receding, with prominent\nbrows, the nose long, narrow, and prominent, the cheek-bones narrow and\nnot prominent, the chin well marked, the mouth apt to be prominent in\nwomen. In Germany persons with these characters have almost always light\neyes and hair.... This Graverow type is almost exclusively what is\nfound in the burying-places of the fifth, sixth, and seventh centuries,\nwhether of the Alemanni, the Bavarians, the Franks, the Saxons, or the\nBurgundians. Schetelig dug out a graveyard in Southern Spain which is\nattributed to the Visigoths. Still the same harmonious elliptic form,\nthe same indices, breadth 73, height 74.\"\n\nEarly German Society\n\nTacitus in his Germania gives a vivid if condensed picture of Teutonic\nlife in the latter part of the first century:\n\n\"The face of the country, though in some parts varied, presents a\ncheerless scene, covered with the gloom of forests, or deformed with\nwide-extended marshes; toward the boundaries of Gaul, moist and swampy;\non the side of Noricum and Pannonia, more exposed to the fury of the\nwinds. Vegetation thrives with sufficient vigour. The soil produces\ngrain, but is unkind to fruit-trees; well stocked with cattle, but of an\nunder-size, and deprived by nature of the usual growth and ornament of\nthe head. The pride of a German consists in the number of his flocks\nand herds; they are his only riches, and in these he places his chief\ndelight. Gold and silver are withheld from them: is it by the favour or\nthe wrath of Heaven? I do not, however, mean to assert that in Germany\nthere are no veins of precious ore; for who has been a miner in these\nregions? Certain it is they do not enjoy the possession and use of those\nmetals with our sensibility. There are, indeed, silver vessels to be\nseen among them, but they were presents to their chiefs or ambassadors;\nthe Germans regard them in no better light than common earthenware.\nIt is, however, observable that near the borders of the empire the\ninhabitants set a value upon gold and silver, finding them subservient\nto the purposes of commerce. The Roman coin is known in those parts, and\nsome of our specie is not only current, but in request. In places more\nremote the simplicity of ancient manners still prevails: commutation of\nproperty is their only traffic. Where money passes in the way of barter\nour old coin is the most acceptable, particularly that which is indented\nat the edge, or stamped with the impression of a chariot and two horses,\ncalled the Serrati and Bigati. Silver is preferred to gold, not from\ncaprice or fancy, but because the inferior metal is of more expeditious\nuse in the purchase of low-priced commodities.\n\nAncient German Weapons\n\n\"Iron does not abound in Germany, if we may judge from the weapons in\ngeneral use. Swords and large lances are seldom seen. The soldier\ngrasps his javelin, or, as it is called in their language, his fram--an\ninstrument tipped with a short and narrow piece of iron, sharply\npointed, and so commodious that, as occasion requires, he can manage\nit in close engagement or in distant combat. With this and a shield the\ncavalry are completely armed. The infantry have an addition of missive\nweapons. Each man carries a considerable number, and being naked, or,\nat least, not encumbered by his light mantle, he throws his weapon to a\ndistance almost incredible. A German pays no attention to the ornament\nof his person; his shield is the object of his care, and this he\ndecorates with the liveliest colours. Breastplates are uncommon. In a\nwhole army you will not see more than one or two helmets. Their horses\nhave neither swiftness nor elegance, nor are they trained to the various\nevolutions of the Roman cavalry. To advance in a direct line, or wheel\nsuddenly to the right, is the whole of their skill, and this they\nperform in so compact a body that not one is thrown out of his rank.\nAccording to the best estimate, the infantry comprise the national\nstrength, and, for that reason, always fight intermixed with the\ncavalry. The flower of their youth, able by their vigour and activity\nto keep pace with the movements of the horse, are selected for this\npurpose, and placed in the front of the lines. The number of these is\nfixed and certain: each canton sends a hundred, from that circumstance\ncalled Hundreders by the army. The name was at first numerical only: it\nis now a title of honour. Their order of battle presents the form of a\nwedge. To give ground in the heat of action, provided you return to the\ncharge, is military skill, not fear or cowardice. In the most fierce and\nobstinate engagement, even when the fortune of the day is doubtful, they\nmake it a point to carry off their slain. To abandon their shield is a\nflagitious crime. The person guilty of it is interdicted from religious\nrites and excluded from the assembly of the state. Many who survived\ntheir honour on the day of battle have closed a life of ignominy by a\nhalter.\"\n\nTeutonic Customs\n\nThe kings of this rude but warlike folk were elected by the suffrages of\nthe nobility, and their leaders in battle, as was inevitable with such\na people, were chosen by reason of their personal prowess. The legal\nfunctions were exercised by the priesthood, and punishments were thus\nheld to be sanctioned by the gods. Among this barbaric people the female\nsex was held as absolutely sacred, the functions of wife and mother\nbeing accounted among the highest possible to humanity, and we observe\nin ancient accounts of the race that typically Teutonic conception of\nthe woman as seer or prophetess which so strongly colours early Germanic\nliterature. Women, indeed, in later times, when Christianity had\nnominally conquered Paganism, remained as the sole conservators of the\nancient Teutonic magico-religious lore, and in the curtained recesses of\ndark-timbered halls whiled away the white hours of winter by the painful\nspelling out of runic characters and the practice of arts which they\nwere destined to convey from the priests of Odin and Thor to the witches\nof medieval days.\n\nCostume of the Early Teuton\n\nThe personal appearance of these barbarians was as rude and simple as\nwere their manners. Says Tacitus:\n\n\"The clothing in use is a loose mantle, made fast with a clasp, or, when\nthat cannot be had, with a thorn. Naked in other respects, they loiter\naway whole days by the fireside. The rich wear a garment, not, indeed,\ndisplayed and flowing, like the Parthians or the people of Sarmatia,\nbut drawn so tight that the form of the limbs is palpably expressed. The\nskins of wild animals are also much in use. Near the frontier, on the\nborders of the Rhine, the inhabitants wear them, but with an air of\nneglect that shows them altogether indifferent about the choice, The\npeople who live more remote, near the northern seas, and have not\nacquired by commerce a taste for new-fashioned apparel, are more curious\nin the selection. They choose particular beasts and, having stripped\noff the furs, clothe themselves with the spoil, decorated with\nparti-coloured spots, or fragments taken from the skins of fish that\nswim the ocean as yet unexplored by the Romans. In point of dress there\nis no distinction between the sexes, except that the garment of the\nwomen is frequently made of linen, adorned with purple stains, but\nwithout sleeves, leaving the arms and part of the bosom uncovered.\"\n\nThe Germanic Tribes\n\nIt is also from Tacitus that we glean what were the names and\ndescriptions of those tribes who occupied the territory adjacent to the\nRhine. The basin of the river between Strassburg and Mainz was inhabited\nby the Tribacci, Nemetes, and Vangiones, further south by the Matiacci\nnear Wiesbaden, and the Ubii in the district of Cologne. Further north\nlay the Sugambri, and the delta of the river in the Low Countries was\nthe seat of the brave Batavii, from whom came the bulk of the legions by\nmeans of which Agricola obtained a footing in far Caledonia. Before the\nRoman invasion of their territories these tribes were constantly engaged\nin internecine warfare, a condition of affairs not to be marvelled at\nwhen we learn that at their tribal councils the warrior regarded as\nan inspired speaker was he who was most powerfully affected by the\npotations in which all habitually indulged to an extent which seemed to\nthe cultured Roman as bestial in the last degree. The constant bearing\nof arms, added to their frequent addiction to powerful liquors, also\nseemed to render the Germanic warriors quarrelsome to excess, and to\nprovoke intertribal strife.\n\nThe Romans in the Rhine Country\n\nCaesar is the first Roman writer to give us any historical data\nconcerning the peoples who inhabited the basin of the Rhine. He\nconquered the tribes on the left bank, and was followed a generation or\nso later by Augustus, who established numerous fortified posts on the\nriver. But the Romans never succeeded in obtaining a firm occupancy of\nthe right bank. Their chief object in colonizing the Rhine territory\nwas to form an effective barrier between themselves and the restless\nbarbarian tribes of the Teutonic North, the constant menace of whose\ninvasion lay as a canker at the heart of rich and fruitful Italy. With\nthe terror of a barbarian inroad ever before their eyes, the cohorts of\nthe Imperial City constructed a formidable vallum, or earthen wall, from\nthe vicinity of Linz to Regensburg, on the Danube, a distance of three\nhundred and fifty miles, for the purpose of raising a barrier against\nthe advance of the warlike men of the North. They further planted a\ncolony of veterans in the Black Forest neighbourhood in order that\ninvasion might be resisted from that side. But as the Empire began to\nexhibit signs of decadence the barbarians were quick to recognize the\nsymptoms of weakness in those who barred their advance to the wealthy\nSouth, the objective of their dreams, hurled themselves against the\nboundary, now rendered feeble by reason of the withdrawal of its most\nexperienced defenders, and, despite a stern resistance, flooded the rich\nvalleys of the Rhine, swamped the colonies on the left bank which had\nimbibed Roman civilization, and made all wholly Teutonic.\n\nThe Rebellion of the Barbarians\n\nThis was, however, a process of years, and by no means a speedy\nconquest. The closing years of Augustus' reign were clouded by a general\nrising of the Rhine peoples. Quintilius Varus, an officer who had been\nentrusted with the government of the provinces beyond the Rhine, proved\ntotally unequal to curbing the bolder spirits among the Germans, who\nunder their chief, Arminius, boldly challenged the forces of this\nshort-sighted officer. Arminius belonged to the Cherusci. He had served\nwith the German horsemen in the Rhenish armies, and was conversant with\nthe Latin language. Observing that half, at least, of the Roman forces\nwere on leave, he incited the tribes of Lower Saxony to revolt. The weak\nVarus, who had underestimated the influence of Arminius, attempted to\nquell the rising, but without success, and the bank of the river was\nthe scene of a wholesale slaughter. Varus, completely losing his nerve,\nattempted to separate the cavalry from the infantry and endeavoured to\nescape with three squadrons of the former; but the Germans surrounded\nthem, and after a hand-to-hand struggle of three days the Roman army\nwas annihilated. The news of this disaster prompted the aged Emperor\nto dispatch his son Tiberius to suppress what appeared to be a general\nrising of the North. The Rhenish tribes, however, were too wary to meet\nthe powerful force now sent against them in the open field, and during\nthe remainder of the year Tiberius, left in peace, occupied himself in\nstrengthening the Rhine fortifications.\n\nHe was soon after recalled to Rome to assume the purple on the death of\nAugustus. Germanicus, who had taken command of the legions on the Rhine,\nbecame conscious of discontent among the soldiers, who threatened to\ncarry him into Rome and thrust him into the seat of empire. But he\nsoothed the passions of his soldiers by gifts and promises. A road was\nopened from the Rhine into the German hinterland, and Germanicus led his\narmy into the heart of a country of which he knew but little to avenge\nthe disasters of the Varian legions. The forest folk eluded the invading\nhost, which now sought to return to headquarters; but ere they had\ncompleted the journey they were assailed and suffered a severe reverse.\n\nNumerous revolts occurred among the Gaulish legions in the service of\nthe Roman Empire in Germany. But the stubborn and trained resistance of\nthe Romans no less than the inexperience of the Gauls led to a cessation\nof hostilities. The secret of Roman power in Rhenish territory lay in\nthe circumstance that the two great elements of German nationality, the\nnobility and the priesthood, were becoming Romanized. But a rude culture\nwas beginning to blossom, and a desire arose among the barbarians for\nunity. They wished to band themselves into a nation.\n\nThe Franks and Goths\n\nThe most dangerous enemies of Rome during the reigns of Valerian and\nGallienus were the Franks, the Alemanni, and the Goths, whose action\nfinally decided the conquest of the Rhenish provinces of Rome. The name\nFrank, or Freedman, was given to a confederacy formed in A.D. 240 by the\nold inhabitants of the Lower Rhine and the Weser. It consisted of the\nChauci, the Cherusci, and the Chatti, and of several other tribes of\ngreater or less renown. The Romans foresaw the power of this formidable\nunion and, by the presence of the Emperor himself and his son,\nendeavoured to stem the invasion, which threatened their suzerainty. The\nFranks, fond of liberty and imbued with a passion for conquest, crossed\nthe Rhine, in spite of its strong fortifications, and carried their\ndevastations to the foot of the Pyrenees. For twelve years Gallienus\nattempted to stem the torrent thus freed.\n\nThe Alemanni, who belonged to the Upper Rhine, between the Main and the\nDanube, were composed of many tribes, the most important of which\nwas the celebrated Suevi. This people, who had now become a permanent\nnation, threatened the Empire with an invasion which was checked with\ndifficulty after they had fought their way to the gates of Rome itself.\nIn A.D. 271 Aurelian completely subdued the Rhenish peoples, numbers of\nwhom were dragged in his triumph through the streets of Rome; but after\nhis brief reign the old condition of things reasserted itself, until\nProbus, who assumed the purple in 276, restored peace and order by the\nconstruction of a massive wall between the Rhine and the Danube over two\nhundred miles in length. The barbarians were driven beyond the river,\nwhich had hitherto served as a boundary-line, even past the Elbe and the\nNeckar. Finally, however, the internecine strife in the Imperial City\nforced the Romans to return thence, and Rhineland was abandoned to the\nwill of its semi-barbarian inhabitants.\n\nThe early Christian centuries are full of the sound of conflict. In the\nfourth century the principal tribes in Western Germany were the Franks\nand the Alemanni, the former of whom maintained a constant strife with\nthe Saxons, who pressed heavily upon their rear. The Franks occupied the\nlower portion of the river, near to its mouth, whilst the Alemanni dwelt\non the portion to the bounds of Helvetia and Switzerland. At this period\ngreat racial upheavals appear to have been taking place further east.\nBy the beginning of the sixth century the Saxons seem to have penetrated\nalmost to the north-western Rhine, where the Franks were now supreme.\n\nThe Merovingians\n\nIn the middle of the fifth century arose the powerful dynasty of the\nMerovingians, one of the most picturesque royal houses in the roll\nof history. In their records we see the clash of barbarism with\nadvancement, the bizarre tints of a semi-civilization unequalled in rude\nmagnificence. Giant shadows of forgotten kings stalk across the canvas,\ntheir royal purple intermingling with the shaggy fell of the bear\nand wolf. One, Chilperic, a subtle grammarian and the inventor of new\nalphabetic symbols, is yet the most implacable of his race, the murderer\nof his wife, the heartless slayer of hundreds, to whom human life is as\nthat of cattle skilled in the administration of poison, a picturesque\ncut-throat. Others are weaklings, faineants; but one, the most dread\nwoman in Frankish history, Fredegonda, the queen of Chilperic, towers\nabove all in this masque of slaughter and treachery.\n\nTradition makes claim that Andernach was the cradle of the Merovingian\ndynasty. In proof of this are shown the extensive ruins of the palace\nof these ancient Frankish kings. Merovig, from whom the race derived\nits name, was said to be the son of Clodio, but legend relates far\notherwise. In name and origin he was literally a child of the Rhine, his\nfather being a water-monster who seized the wife of Clodio while bathing\nin that river. In time she gave birth to a child, more monster than man,\nthe spine being covered with bristles, fingers and toes webbed, eyes\ncovered with a film, and thighs and legs horny with large shining\nscales. Clodio, though aware of the real paternity of this creature,\nadopted it as his own son, as did King Minos in the case of the\nMinotaur, giving him the name Merovig from his piscatory origin. On\nClodio's death the demi-monster succeeded to the throne, and from him\nsprang a long line of sovereigns, worthless and imbecile for the most\npart.\n\nChilderic, the son and successor of Merovig, enraged his people to such\na degree by his excesses that they drove him from throne and country.\nOne friend alone remained to him, Winomadus, who, having no female\nrelations to suffer by the king's attentions, did not find the\nfriendship so irksome as others; indeed, had been a partner in his\nlicentious pleasures. He undertook to watch over the interests of\nChilderic during his enforced absence in Thuringia at the court of\nBasium, king of that country. The Franks had elected Aegidius, a Roman\ngeneral, to the sovereignty over them, but as he proved himself no\nbetter than Childeric, whom they had deposed, they once more essayed\nto choose another ruler. This was made known to Childeric through his\nfriend Winomadus. He rapidly returned to the shores of the Rhine and,\nreinforcing his following as he proceeded on his march, appeared before\nAndernach at the head of a formidable force, composed of many of his\nformer subjects, together with Thuringian auxiliaries. The people of\nAndernach, unable to resist this overwhelming argument, again accepted\nChilderic as their king.\n\nBasina the Sorceress\n\nWhile in Thuringia Childeric had seduced the affections of Basina, the\nqueen of his protector. When he regained his throne he induced her to\nleave her husband, and made her his queen. Basina was a sorceress,\none who could divine the future and also bestow the gift upon others.\nThrough this she gained great influence over Childeric, who desired to\nsee and know what fate had in store for himself and his race. Basina\nagreed to satisfy his curiosity, and one night, at the midnight hour,\nthey climbed together to the summit of the hill behind Andernach. There\nshe bade him stand and look out over the plain while she performed her\nmagical operations. After some lengthy incantations she bade him look\nwell and tell her what he saw.\n\nIn a trance-like voice the king replied:\n\n\"I see a great light upon the plain, although all around is blackest\nnight.\"\n\nHe paused; then, at her bidding, proceeded again:\n\n\"I see an immense concourse of wild animals--the lion, the tiger,\nthe spotted pard, the elephant, the unicorn--ah! they are coming this\nway--they will devour us!\" and he turned to flee in great terror.\n\nBasina bade him stay in peremptory tones and again to look out over the\nplain. In a voice of alarm he cried out:\n\n\"I see bears and wolves, jackals and hyenas. Heaven help us, the others\nare all gone!\"\n\nHeedless of his terror, the queen bade him look again and, for the last\ntime, tell her what he saw.\n\n\"I see now dogs and cats and little creatures of all kinds. But there is\none small animal--smaller than a mouse--who commands them all. Ah! he is\neating them up--swallowing them all--one after another.\"\n\nAs he looked the light, the plain, the animals all vanished, and\ndarkness fell. Basina then read to him the meaning of his vision.\n\n\"The first vision you saw indicated the character of our immediate\nsuccessors. They will be as bold as lions, terrible as tigers, strong\nas elephants, uncommon as unicorns, beautiful as the pard. These are the\nmen of an age; for a century shall they rule over the land.\"\n\nAt this Childeric was delighted and ejaculated a fervent \"Praise be to\nthe gods!\"\n\n\"The second,\" pursued Basina, \"are the men of the following century--our\nmore remote descendants--rude as the bear, fell as the wolf, fawning\nas the jackal, cruel as the hyena--the curse of their people\nand--themselves. The last one--the following century--they will be weak,\ntimid, irresolute--the prey of every base and low thing, the victims of\nviolence, deceit, and cunning; vanquished and destroyed at last by the\nsmallest of their own subjects.\"\n\nSuch was Childeric's vision and his queen's interpretation.\n\nAs she had predicted, the Merovingian dynasty lasted three hundred\nyears, when it was overturned by one Pepin of Heristal, the smallest man\nof his day--at least, so tradition tells.\n\nAt the death of Clovis his sons split up the kingdom, and from that\nepoch a deadly war was waged between the rival kingdoms of Neustria and\nAustrasia, the west and the east.\n\nThe wars of Neustria and Austrasia (Ost Reich, the Eastern Kingdom,\nwhich has, of course, no connexion with the modern Austria) are related\nby Gregory of Tours in his Ecclesiastical History of the Franks, one of\nthe most brilliant pieces of historical and biographical writing to be\ndiscovered among the literature of Europe in the Dark Ages. Metz was the\ncapital of this kingdom-province. Fredegonda, the queen of Chilperic of\nNeustria, had a deadly blood-feud with her sister-in-law of Austrasia,\nand in the event put her rival to death by having her torn asunder\nby wild horses (A.D. 613). Later Austrasia became incorporated with\nFranconia, which in 843 was included in the kingdom of Louis the German.\n\nThe Great Race of Charlemagne\n\nThe race of the Carolingians, whose greatest monarch was the famous\nCharlemagne, or Karl der Grosse, sprang from a family of usurpers known\nas the 'Mayors of the Palace,' who had snatched the crown from the rois\nfaineants, the last weakly shoots of the mighty line of Merovig. He was\nthe elder son of Pepin the Short, and succeeded, on the death of his\nfather in A.D. 768, to a kingdom which extended from the Low Countries\nto the borders of Spain. His whole life was one prolonged war undertaken\nagainst the forces of paganism, the Moors of Spain who harassed his\nborders to the south, and the restless Saxon tribes dwelling between\nthe Rhine, Weser, and Elbe. Innumerable are the legends and romances\nconcerning this great, wise, and politic monarch and statesman,\nwho, surrounding himself with warriors of prowess whom he called his\npaladins, unquestionably kept the light of Christianity and civilization\nburning in Western Europe. He was, however, quite as great a legislator\nas a warrior, and founded schools and hospitals in every part of his\nkingdom. He died at Aix-la-Chapelle in 814, and was buried there.[1]\n\n[Footnote 1: For numerous critical articles upon Charlemagne and\nthe epics or chansons des gestes connected with him see the author's\nDictionary of Medieval Romance.]\n\nThe 'Song of the Saxons'\n\nOne of the most stirring of the romances which tell of the wars of\nCharlemagne in the Rhine country is the Song of the Saxons, fifth in\nnumber of the Romans des Douze Pairs de France, and composed by Jean\nBodel, a poet of Artois, who flourished toward the middle of the\nthirteenth century. Charles, sitting at table in Laon one Whitsuntide\nwith fourteen kings, receives news of an invasion of the Saxons, who\nhave taken Cologne, killed many Frankish nobles, and laid waste the\ncountry. A racy epitome of the events which follow has been given\nby Ludlow in his Popular Epics of the Middle Ages (1865) as follows:\n\"Charles invades Saxony, and reaches the banks of 'Rune the Deep,'\nbeyond which lies Guiteclin's palace of 'Tremoigne' (supposed to be\nDortmund, in Westphalia). The river is too deep to be crossed by the\narmy, although the two young knights, Baldwin and Berard, succeed in\ndoing so in quest of adventure. The Saxons will not attack, trusting\nthat the French will be destroyed by delay and the seasons. And, indeed,\nafter two years and four months, the barons represent to the Emperor\nthe sad plight of the host, and urge him to call upon the men of Herupe\n(North-west France) for performance of their warlike service. This\nis done accordingly, and the Herupe barons make all haste to their\nsovereign's aid, and come up just after the Saxons have made an\nunsuccessful attack. They send to ask where they are to lodge their\ntroops. The Emperor points them laughingly to the other side of the\nRune, where float the silken banners of the Saxons, but says that any\nof his men shall give up their camping-place to them. The Herupe men,\nhowever, determine to take him at his word and, whilst the Archbishop\nof Sens blesses the water, boldly fling themselves in and cross it, and\nend, after a tremendous struggle, in taking up the quarters assigned to\nthem; but when he sees their prowess the Emperor recalls them to his own\nside of the river.\n\n\"A bridge is built, the army passes over it, the Saxons are discomfited\nin a great battle, and Guiteclin is killed in single combat by\nCharlemagne himself.\n\n\"By this time the slender vein of historic truth which runs through the\npoem may be considered as quite exhausted. Yet the real epic interest\nof the work centres in its wholly apocryphal conclusion, connected\nessentially with its purely romantic side.\n\n\"Sebile, the wife of Guiteclin, is a peerless beauty, wise withal and\ncourteous; 'hair had she long and fair, more than the shining gold, a\nbrow polished and clear, eyes blue and laughing, a very well-made nose,\nteeth small and white, a savourous mouth, more crimson than blood;\nand in body and limbs so winning was she that God never made the man,\nhowsoever old and tottering, if he durst look at her, but was moved with\ndesire.'\"\n\nFair Helissend, the daughter of the murdered Milo of Cologne, is her\ncaptive at once and her favourite, and when the French host takes up its\nposition before the Rune, names and points out young Baldwin to her.\n\nWith her husband's sanction, Sebile has her tent pitched on the bank,\nand establishes herself there with her ladies to act as decoys to the\nFranks; for \"fair lady's look makes men undertake folly.\" She is taken,\nhowever, in her own toils; falls in love with Baldwin one summer's day\non seeing him ride forth with hawk on wrist, and makes Helissend invite\nhim over the river, under a very frank pledge that \"she will be his,\nfor loss or gain.\" Their first meeting apparently takes place in the\npresence of Sebile's ladies, and so little mystery is attached to their\nlove that, on Baldwin's return to the Frank host after killing and\ndespoiling of his armour a Saxon chief, he not only tells his adventure\npublicly to the Emperor, but the latter promises in a twelvemonth to\nhave him crowned king of the country and to give him Sebile for wife,\nforbidding him, however, to cross the river any more--a command which\nBaldwin hears without meaning to obey. Nay, when Baldwin has once broken\nthis injunction and escaped with great difficulty from the Saxons, the\nEmperor imposes on him the brutal penance of entering Sebile's tent to\nkiss her in the sight of the Saxons, and bringing back her ring--which\nBaldwin contrives to fulfil by putting on the armour of a Saxon knight\nwhom he kills. As in The Taking of Orange, it never seems to occur\nto the poet that there can be any moral wrong in making love to a\n\"Saracen's\" wife, or in promising her hand in her husband's lifetime;\nand, strange to say, so benignant are these much-wronged paynim that\nGuiteclin is not represented as offering or threatening the slightest\nill-treatment to his faithless queen, however wroth he may be against\nher lover; nor, indeed, as having even the sense to make her pitch her\ntent further from the bank. The drollest bit of sentimentality occurs,\nhowever, after the victory of the Franks and Guiteclin's death, when\nSebile is taken prisoner. After having been bestowed in marriage\non Baldwin by the Emperor, she asks one boon of both, which is that\nGuiteclin's body be sought for, lest the beasts should eat it--a request\nthe exceeding nobleness of which strikes the Emperor and the Frank\nknights with astonishment. When the body is found and brought to Sebile,\n\"the water of her eyes falls down her chin. 'Ha, Guiteclin,' said she,\n'so gentle a man were you, liberal and free-spending, and of noble\nwitness! If in heaven and on earth Mahomet has no power, even to pray\nHim who made Lazarus, I pray and request Him to have mercy on\nthee.'\" The dead man is then placed in a great marble tomb; Sebile\nis christened, marries her lover, and is crowned with him as Queen of\nSaxony, Helissend being in like manner given to Berard.\n\n\"It is now that the truly tragical part of the poem commences. Charles\nand his host depart, the Emperor warning his nephew to be courteous,\nloyal, and generous, to keep true faith to his wife, yet not to spend\ntoo much time in her arms, but to beware of the Saxons. The caution is\nneeded, for already the two sons of Guiteclin, with one hundred thousand\nRussians and Bulgarians, and the giant Ferabras of Russia, a personage\ntwelve feet high, with light hair plaited together, reddish beard, and\nflattened face, are within a day and a half's journey of 'Tremoigne,'\nburning to avenge Guiteclin. One Thursday morning their invasion is\nannounced to the young king, who has but fifteen thousand men to oppose\nto them. Sebile embraces her husband's knees, and entreats him to send\nat once for help to his uncle; the barons whom he has called to counsel\nfavour her advice. 'Barons,' said Baldwin, 'I should fear the dishonour\nof it. It is too soon to seek and pray for succour. We have not yet\nunhorsed knights, cut arms from bodies, made bowels trail; we are\nfifteen thousand young men untried, who should buy our praise and our\nhonour, and seize and acquire strange lands, and kill and shame and\ngrieve our enemies, cleave the bright helmets, pierce the shields, break\nand tear the hauberks of mail, shed blood and make brains to fly. To\nme a pleasure it seems to put on hauberk, watch long nights, fast long\ndays. Let us go strike upon them without more delay, that we may be\nable to govern this kingdom.' The barons listen with an ill-will to this\nspeech; Baldwin himself, on viewing the paynim host, is staggered at\ntheir numbers, and lets Sebile persuade him to send a messenger to his\nuncle. However, with five thousand men he makes a vigorous attack on\nthe vanguard of the Saxons, consisting of twenty thousand, and ends\nby putting them to flight. On the news of this repulse the two sons of\nGuiteclin come out, apparently with the bulk of the army. The French\nurge the young king to re-enter the city, but he refuses--Sebile\nwould hold him for a sleepy coward. He kills Ferabras, unhorses one of\nGuiteclin's sons. But the disparity of numbers is too great; the French\nare obliged to retreat, and shut themselves up in the city.\n\n\"Meanwhile the messenger had reached Charlemagne at Cologne with the\nnews of the renewal of the war. Whilst all his barons are summoned,\nthe Emperor starts in haste himself for Saxony with ten thousand men.\nBaldwin was seated in his tower, looking out upon a league of hostile\ntents, complaining to Sebile, who 'comforts him as a worthy lady,'\nbidding him trust in his uncle's succour. She is the first to descry\nthe French host and to point it out to her husband. 'Ah, God!' said\nCharles's nephew, 'fair Father Creator, yet will I avenge me of the\npagan people.' He goes down from his palace, and cries to his men, 'Arm\nye, knights! Charles is returned.'\n\n\"The besieged prepare at once for a sally. Sebile places the helmet\non her husband's head and kisses him, never to see him more alive.\nThe enemy are disarmed; three thousand of them are killed by the time\nBaldwin cuts his way to his uncle, to whom, as his liege lord, he makes\ncomplaint against the Saxons. The Emperor's answer contains little but\nphilosophic comfort: 'Fair nephew, so goes war; when your day comes,\nknow that you will die; your father died, you will not escape. Yonder\nare your enemies, of whom you complain; I give you leave, go and strike\nthem.' Uncle and nephew both perform wonders. But Berard is killed\nby Feramor, one of Guiteclin's sons, and the standard which he bore\ndisappears under him. Baldwin engages Feramor; each severely wounds the\nother; the fight is so well contested that Baldwin offers to divide the\nland with him if he will make peace. The Saxon spurns the offer, and is\nkilled.\n\n\"But 'Baldwin is wounded in the breast grievously; from thence to the\nspur his body is bloody.' Saxons, Lusatians, Hungarians perceive that\nhis blows lessen and fall slow. 'Montjoie!' he cries many a time,\nbut the French hear him not. 'When Baldwin sees that he will have no\nsuccour, as a boar he defends himself with his sword.... Who should have\nseen the proud countenance of the king, how he bears and defends himself\nagainst the paynim, great pity should surely take his heart.' Struck\nwith fifteen wounds, his horse killed under him, he offers battle on\nfoot. They dare not approach, but they fling their swords at him, and\nthen go and hide beneath a rock. Baldwin, feeling death approaching,\n'from the fair eyes of his head begins to weep' for sorrow and rage. He\nnow addresses an elaborate last prayer to God; but whilst he is on\nhis knees, looking toward the East, a Saxon comes to cut off his head.\nBaldwin, furious, seizes his sword, which had fallen from his hand\non the green grass, and with a last blow cleaves the Saxon to the\nshoulders, then dies.\n\n\"The news is carried to the Emperor, who laments his ill fate. Rest\nhe has never had; the paynim folk have killed him the flower of his\nfriends, Roland at Roncevaux and now Baldwin. 'Ha, God! send me death,\nwithout making long delay!' He draws his sword, and is about to kill\nhimself when Naymes of Bavaria restrains him and bids him avenge\nhis nephew's death. The old man, however, exposes his life with such\nrecklessness, the struggle is so unequal, that Naymes himself has to\npersuade him to leave the battle and enter the city until the Herupe\nnobles come to his aid. 'Dead is Count Roland and Count Oliver, and all\nthe twelve peers, who used to help in daunting that pride which makes us\nbend so; no longer at your right hand is Baldwin the warrior; the paynim\nhave killed him and Berard the light; God has their souls.... If you are\nkilled ... in your death alone a hundred thousand will die.'\n\n\"They lead him away, unwilling, from the field. Baldwin's corpse is\ncarried by him on his shield. Sebile comes to meet the Emperor and asks\nof her husband. Charles bids her look at him. She faints to the ground.\nThere is true pathos (though somewhat wire-drawn) in her lament, when\nshe comes to herself:\n\n\"'Sir King Baldwin, for God's sake, speak! I am your love, mistake me\nnot. If I have offended you in aught, it shall be made amends for wholly\nto your pleasure; but speak to me. For you was my body baptized and\nlifted; my heart leans on you, and all my affections, and if you fail\nme, it will be ill done. Too soon it seems to me, if already you repent.\nBaldwin, is it a trick? Are you deceiving me? Speak to me, friend, if\nyou can.... I see your garments dyed and bloody, but I do not believe\nthat you are killed; there is no man so bold or so outrageous who ever\ncould kill you; he durst not do so. But I think by such a will you wish\nto try me, how I should behave if you were departed. Speak to me, for\nGod's sake who was born of virgin, and for that lady who kept chastity,\nand for the holy cross whereon Jesus suffered! Try me no more, friend,\nit is enough; I shall die now if you tarry longer,' 'Naymes,' says the\nking, 'take this lady away; if I see her grief any more, I shall go\nmad.'\n\n\"That night he ate no bread nor drank wine, but had the city watched,\nand rode the rounds himself, with helmet closed, his great buckler\nhanging to his neck, his sword in his fist. All the night it rained and\nblew; the water ran through the joints of his hauberk, and wetted his\nermine pelisse beneath. His beard swayed, whiter than flax, his long\nmoustache quivered; until dawn he lamented his nephew, and the twelve\npeers, and all his next-of-kin who were dead. From the gate at morn a\nSaxon, King Dyalas, defies the old man, swearing that he will wear his\ncrown in Paris. The Emperor has the gate opened, and sallies forth\nto meet him. They engage in single combat; the old Emperor kills the\nSaxon's horse, disarms him, and only spares his life on condition of his\nembracing Christianity and yielding himself prisoner.\n\n\"The rest of the poem has comparatively little interest. Old Naymes in\nturn kills his man--a brother of Guiteclin--in single combat, Dyalas,\nthe Emperor's new vassal, 'armed in French fashion,' performs wonders\nin honour of his new allegiance. Finally the Herupese come up, and of\ncourse overthrow the Saxons. An abbey is founded on the field of battle,\nwhich Sebile enters; Dyalas, baptized as 'Guiteclin the convert,'\nreceives charge of the kingdom, and the Emperor returns, bearing with\nhim the bodies of Baldwin and Berard; after which 'well was France in\npeace many a year and many a day; the Emperor found not any who should\nmake him wroth.'\"\n\nFastrada: a Legend of Aix-la-Chapelle\n\nFastrada, we are told, was the fourth wife of the Emperor Charlemagne\nand the best beloved. Historians have judged that the lady was by no\nmeans worthy of the extraordinary affection bestowed upon her by her\nhusband, some maintaining that she practised the arts of sorcery,\nothers crediting her with political intrigues, and still others roundly\nasserting that she was not so virtuous as she should have been.\n\nHistory failing to account for Charlemagne's devotion to his fourth\nwife, the task has devolved upon tradition. Once upon a time (so runs\nthe tale), when Charlemagne dwelt at Zurich, he had a pillar erected\nbefore his house, and on the top of the pillar a bell was placed, so\nthat any one desiring justice had but to ring it to be immediately\nconducted before the Emperor, there to have his case considered.\n\nOne day, just as Charlemagne was about to dine, the bell was rung\nloudly. He at once dispatched his attendants to bring the importunate\nclaimant into his presence. A moment later they re-entered with the\nassurance that no one waited outside. Even as they spoke the bell rang\nagain, and again the attendants withdrew at the bidding of their royal\nmaster. Once more they returned with the information that none was to\nbe seen. When the bell rang for the third time the Emperor himself rose\nfrom the table and went outside to satisfy himself as to the ringer's\nidentity. This time the mystery was solved; for twining round the pillar\nwas a great snake, which, before the astonished eyes of the Emperor and\nhis suite, was lustily pulling the bell-rope.\n\n\"Bring the snake before me,\" said Charlemagne. \"Whether to man or beast,\nI may not refuse justice.\"\n\nAccordingly the snake was conducted with much ceremony into the\nEmperor's presence, where it was distinctly observed to make a low\nobeisance. The Kaiser addressed the animal courteously, as though it\nwere a human being, and inquired what it wanted. Whereupon the snake\nmade a sign which the company took to indicate that it desired the\nEmperor to follow it. Charlemagne did not hesitate, but followed the\ncreature to the shores of the lake, attended by all his courtiers.\nStraight to its nest went the snake, and there, among the eggs, was an\nenormous toad, puffing out its bloated body and staring with glassy eyes\nat the company. The reason for the snake's appeal was at once apparent.\n\n\"Take away that toad,\" said the Emperor, as gravely as though he were\npronouncing judgment in an important human case; \"take away that toad\nand burn it. It has taken unlawful possession of the snake's nest.\"\n\nThe court listened to the Emperor's decree in respectful silence, and\nimmediately carried out the sentence. The company thereupon re-entered\nthe royal abode, and thought no more of the incident.\n\nOn the following day, however, at about the same hour, the serpent\nentered the chamber in which Charlemagne sat, and glided swiftly toward\nthe table. The attendants were somewhat astonished at the unexpected\nappearance, but the Kaiser motioned to them to stand aside, for he was\nvery curious to see what the reptile would do. Raising itself till\nits head was on a level with the table, it dropped into his plate a\nmagnificent diamond of the first water, gleaming with the purest light.\nThis done, the serpent bowed low, as on the previous occasion, and\nquitted the room as silently as it had entered.\n\nThe diamond, set in a gold ring of exquisite workmanship, Charlemagne\npresented to his wife, the beautiful Fastrada. But besides being a thing\nof beauty and of great value, the diamond was also a charm, for\nwhoever received it from another received with it a wealth of personal\naffection. So was it with Charlemagne and Fastrada. On presenting the\nring to his wife the Emperor straightway conceived for her a passion far\nmore intense than he had hitherto experienced. From that time to the day\nof her death he was her devoted slave, blind and deaf to all her faults.\nNay, even when she died, he refused to quit the room in which she lay,\nor permit the interment of her body; refused to see the approach of\ncorruption, which spares not youth or loveliness; seemed, in short, to\nhave lost all count of the passage of time in his grief for the beloved\nFastrada. At length he was approached by Turpin, Archbishop of Rheims,\nwho had learnt, by occult means, the reason for the Emperor's strange\ninfatuation. Going up to the dead Empress, he withdrew from her mouth a\nlarge diamond. At the same moment Charlemagne regained his senses, made\narrangements for the burial of his wife, and left for the Castle of\nFrankenstein.\n\nThe possessor of the ring was now the worthy archbishop, and to him the\nmagically inspired affections of Charlemagne were transferred, much to\nthe good man's annoyance. To rid himself of the unwelcome attentions\nand fulsome flatteries of his sovereign, he cast the ring into the lake\nwhich surrounded the castle. Once more the Emperor's affections changed\ntheir object, and this time it was the town of Aix-la-Chapelle with\nwhich he fell in love, and for which he retained a firm attachment all\nthrough his life, finally directing that he should be buried there. And\nso he was laid to rest in that wondrous old town in the church of St.\nMary. In the year 1000 his tomb was opened by the Emperor Otto III, but\nthe account that Otto found the body seated upon a throne with crown\non head and sceptre in hand is generally regarded as legendary. The\nsarcophagus was once more opened by Frederick I in 1165, when the\nremains were transferred from the princely marble where they had\nhitherto rested and placed in a wooden coffin. Fifty years later,\nhowever, Frederick II had them placed in a splendid shrine. The original\nsarcophagus may still be seen at Aix, and the royal relics are exhibited\nevery six years.\n\nLouis, Charlemagne's son, lived to see the division of his Empire,\nbrought about through his own weakness. His fair provinces were ravaged\nby the Danes and the Normans. Teuton and Frank were now for ever\nseparated. Twice during Louis' reign his own sons dethroned him, but on\nhis death in 840 the Empire became more firmly established.\n\nLothair I (840-855) succeeded to the imperial title, while Germany fell\nto the lot of his brother Louis. Charles the Bald ruled over France.\nLothair's portion was limited to Lorraine, Burgundy, Switzerland, and\nItaly. Civil strife broke out, but Louis retained the whole of Germany\nwith the provinces on the left bank of the Rhine. Louis II (856-875)\nascended the throne as Roman Emperor, but died without any male issue,\nwhile Charles the Fat, who succeeded him, was removed from the throne by\norder of the Church on account of his insanity.\n\nWith Charles ended the Carolingian dynasty. From the death of the\nillustrious Charlemagne the race had gradually but surely declined.\nAfter the removal of Charles the Fat there came a lapse of seventy-four\nyears. Conrad I (911-919) founded the Gascon dynasty of Germany, and\nwas succeeded by Henry the Fowler (919-936). His son, Otto I, called the\nGreat (936-973), was crowned Roman Emperor in 962. In 936 his elevation\nto the Germanic kingdom was a popular one. A portion of Gaul to the west\nof the Rhine along the banks of the Meuse and the Moselle was ceded to\nthe Germans. Otto's supremacy between the Rhine, the Rhone, and the Alps\nwas acquired and held for his successors. With the sword he propagated\nChristianity, subdued Italy, and delivered the Pope from his enemies,\nwho, to show his appreciation, invested him with the imperial title,\nwhich ever after belonged to the Germanic nation. The German Emperors,\nhowever, still continued to exercise the right of electing the Pope,\nthereby reducing the Roman Church to a level of servitude.\n\nToward the close of the Carolingian dynasty France and Germany had\nbecome irrevocably detached; both nations suffered from internecine\nwars. The Slavonians penetrated into the Empire, even to the banks of\nthe Rhine. Feudal princes began to make war upon each other, and, within\ntheir respective districts, were virtual sovereigns.\n\nAt the partition of the domains of Charlemagne in A.D. 843 the\nRhine formed the boundary between Germany and the middle kingdom of\nLotharingia, but by 870 the latter had been absorbed by the larger\ncountry. For a period verging upon eight hundred years it remained the\nfrontier of the German Empire. In the early Middle Ages the heritage of\nthe ancient Roman civilization rendered it the most cultured portion of\nGermany. By the time of Otto I (died 973) both banks of the Rhine had\nbecome German, and the Rhenish territory was divided between the duchies\nof Upper and Lower Lorraine, the one on the Moselle and the other on the\nMeuse. But, like other German states, on the weakening of the central\npower they split up into numerous petty independent principalities, each\nwith its special history.\n\nThe Palatinate\n\nChief among these was the state known as the Palatinate, from the German\nword Pfalz, a name given generally to any district ruled by a count\npalatine. It was bounded by Prussia on the north, on the east by Baden,\nand on the south by Alsace-Lorraine. We first hear of a royal official\nknown as the Count Palatine of the Rhine in the tenth century. Although\nthe office was not originally an hereditary one, it seems to have been\nheld by the descendants of the first count, until the continuity of the\nrace of Hermann was broken by the election of Conrad, stepbrother of\nthe German king Frederick I, as Count Palatine. From that time till much\nlater in German history the Palatinate of the Rhine appears to have\nbeen gifted during their lifetime to the nephews or sons-in-law of\nthe reigning Emperor, and by virtue of his occupancy of the office the\nholder became an Elector, or voter in the election of an Emperor. The\noffice was held by a large number of able and statesmanlike princes, as\nFrederick I, Frederick III, the champion of Protestantism, and Frederick\nV. In the seventeenth century the Palatinate was first devastated and\nthen claimed by France, and later was disturbed by still more harassing\nreligious strife. In 1777 it was united with Bavaria upon the reigning\nElector falling heir to the Electorate of that state.\n\nA Tale of the Palatine House\n\nThroughout the Middle Ages the nobles of Rhineland were mostly notorious\nfor their wild savagery and predatory habits, and thus the modern\ntraveller on the famous river, admiring the many picturesque castles\nbuilt on summits overlooking its banks, is prone to think of these\nplaces as having been the homes of men who were little better than\nfreebooters. And in general this idea is just; yet Walter Pater's\nstory, Duke Karl of Rosenwald--which tells how a medieval German baron\ndiscovered in himself a keen love of art, and sought to gather artists\nround him from France and Italy--may well have been culled from a\nveracious historical source. For at least a few of the German petty\nprinces of the Middle Ages shared the aestheticism characterizing so\nmany of their contemporaries among the noblemen of the Latin races, and\nit is interesting to find that among the old German courts where art\nwas loved in this isolated fashion was that of the Palatine house, which\nultimately became related by marriage to the Royal Stuarts, a dynasty as\neminently artistic as the Medicis themselves.\n\nThis Palatine house was regnant for many generations at Heidelberg\nCastle, and there, at a remote medieval date, reigned a prince named\nLouis III, who esteemed literature and painting. A fond parent he was\nbesides, devoted to his two sons, the elder called Louis and the younger\nFrederick; and from the outset he attended carefully to the education of\nthe pair, choosing as their tutor a noted scholar, one Kenmat, while\nhe allowed this tutor's daughter Eugenia to be taught along with the\nprincely pupils, and he also admitted to the group an Italian boy,\nRafaello. These four children grew up together, and the Palatine prince\nwas pleased to mark that Frederick, though full of martial ardour,\nshowed intellectual tastes as well; yet the father did not live long to\nwatch the growth of the boy's predilection therein, and there came a day\nwhen the crown of Louis III was acquired by his heir, Louis IV. Still\nquite young, the latter was already affianced to Margaret of Savoy; and\nthis engagement had incensed various nobles of the Rhine, especially\nthe Count of Luzenstein. He was eager that his own house should become\naffiliated with the Palatinate, and while he knew that there was little\nhope of frustrating Louis' prospective wedding, this did not nullify his\nambitions. For was it not possible that the marriage might prove without\nissue? And, as that would ultimately set Frederick on the Palatine\nthrone, Luzenstein determined that his daughter Leonora should wed the\nyounger of the two princes. She herself was equally eager for the union,\nand though the affair was not definitely arranged in the meantime, it\nwas widely understood that at no very distant date Leonora's betrothal\nwould be announced.\n\nAt length there came a day when the noblesse of the Rhine assembled at\nHeidelberg to celebrate the nuptials of Louis and Margaret. For a space\nthe rejoicings went forward merrily, but, as Louis scanned the faces of\nhis guests, he was surprised to find that Frederick was absent. Why was\nthis? he mused; and going in search he soon found his brother in one of\nthe smaller rooms of the castle, attended by Rafaello. Now the latter,\nwho was developing a rare gift for sculpture, had lately made a statue\nto decorate this room; and on Louis entering Frederick was gazing with\npassionate fondness at this new work of art. Louis was straightway\ncalled upon to observe its loveliness, and even as Frederick was\ndescanting thus, a number of the guests who had remarked their host's\ntemporary absence trooped into the room, among them being Leonora of\nLuzenstein. She was in ill-temper, for Frederick had not so much as\ntroubled to salute her on her arrival; and now, finding him deep in\nadmiration of a statue, its subject a beautiful girl, her rancour\ndeepened apace. But who was the girl? she wondered; and as divers other\nguests were also inquisitive on this head, it soon transpired that\nRafaello's model had been Eugenia. Leonora knew that this girl had been\nFrederick's playmate in youth, so her wrath turned to fierce malice, for\nshe suspected that in Eugenia she had a rival who might wreck all hopes\nof the Luzensteins becoming united to the Palatine house.\n\nBut Frederick regarded Eugenia only as a sister. He knew that she and\nthe sculptor who had hewn her likeness loved one another, and he longed\nto see their union brought about, his genuine affection for the young\nItalian being the greater on account of Rafaello's blossoming talents\nas an artist. Leonora, however, knew nothing of the real situation;\nshe fancied she had been insulted, and demanding of her father that he\nshould cease all negotiations regarding Frederick's suggested engagement\nto her, she proceeded to take stronger measures. Readers of Sir Walter\nScott's Anne of Geierstein will recall the Vehmgericht, that 'Secret\nTribunal' whose deeds were notorious in medieval Germany, and it chanced\nthat the Luzensteins were in touch with this body. Its minions were\ncalled upon to wreak vengeance on the younger Palatine prince. On\nseveral occasions his life was attempted, and once he would certainly\nhave been killed had not Rafaello succoured him in the hour of need.\n\nMeanwhile a son was born to Louis, and in celebration of the event a\ntourney was held at Heidelberg, competitors coming from far and near,\nall of them eager to win the golden sword which was promised to the man\nwho should prove champion. One after another they rode into the lists,\nFrederick being among the number; and as each presented himself his name\nwas called aloud by the herald. At length there came one of whom this\nfunctionary cried, \"This is a nameless knight who bears a plain shield\";\nand at these words a murmur of disapproval rose from the crowd, while\neveryone looked up to where Louis sat, awaiting his verdict on the\nmatter. But he signified that the mysterious aspirant should be allowed\nto show his prowess, and a minute later, all who were to take part\nbeing now assembled, Frederick and another competitor were stationed at\nopposite ends of the lists, and the signal given them to charge. Forward\nthundered their steeds, a fierce combat ensued; but Frederick proved\nvictor, and so another warrior came forward to meet him. He, too, was\nworsted, and soon it appeared as though the young Palatine prince\nwould surely win the coveted golden sword; for foeman after foeman\nhe vanquished, and eventually only two remained to confront him--the\nnameless knight and another who had entered the lists under a strange,\nthough less suspicious, pseudonym. The latter expressed his desire to\nfight last of all, and so the nameless one galloped toward Frederick,\nand their lances clashed together. The Palatine prince bore his\nadversary to the ground, apparently conquering him with complete ease;\nand fearing he had wounded him mortally, Frederick dismounted with\nintent to succour him. But the speedy fall had been a feint, and as\nthe victor bent down the mysterious knight suddenly drew a dagger, with\nintent to plunge it into the prince's heart. So stealthy a deed was\nunknown in the history of the tourney. The crowd gazed as though\npetrified, and Frederick's life would doubtless have been lost--for he\nwas weak after his many joustings--had not he who had asked to fight\nlast of all galloped forward instantly on marking the drawn weapon and\ndriven his lance into the body of the would-be murderer!\n\nIt was Rafaello who had rescued the Palatine prince once again, and it\nwas a member of the Luzenstein house who had sought to kill him thus.\nA crafty device in truth, and thenceforth the name of Luzenstein became\nabhorred throughout all Rhineland, while the brave Italian was honoured\nby knighthood, and arrangements were made for his speedy union with\nEugenia. But, alas! the fates were untoward; for the 'Secret Tribunal,'\nhaving been baulked again and again, began to direct their schemes\nagainst the sculptor instead of his patron; and one evening, as Rafaello\nwas walking with his beloved one, a band of villains attacked and\nmurdered the pair. They were buried together at a place known for many\ncenturies after as 'The Lovers' Grave,' and here Frederick used to\nloiter often, musing fondly on the dear sister who had been snatched\nfrom him in this ruthless fashion, and dreaming of the lofty artistic\ncareer which he had planned in vain for his beloved Rafaello.\n\nBishops, Barons, and Bourgeois\n\nTo trace the fortunes, divisions, and junctions of the lesser Rhine\nprincipalities would be a work requiring a world of patience on the part\nof the reader as well as an amount of space which would speedily surpass\nthe limits even of such an ample volume as the present. The constant\nchanges of boundary of these tiny lordships, the hazy character of the\npowers possessed by their rulers, the multiplicity of free townships\nyielding obedience to none but their own civic rulers, the brief but\nnone the less tyrannous rule of scores of robber barons who exercised\na regime of blood and iron within a radius of five miles of their\ncastellated eyries, render the tracing of the history of the Rhine\nduring the Middle Ages a task of almost unequalled complexity, robbed\nof all the romance of history by reason of the necessity for constant\nattention to the details of dynastic and territorial changes and the\npetty squabblings and dreary scufflings of savage barons with their\nneighbours or with the scarcely less brutal ecclesiastical dignitaries,\nwho, joining with gusto in the general melee of land-snatching, served\nto swell the tumult with their loud-voiced claims for land and lordship.\nThree of the Electors of Franconia, within the boundaries of which the\nPalatinate was included, were archbishops, and these were foremost in\nall dynastic and territorial bickerings.\n\nThe growth of German municipalities since the days of their founder,\nHenry the Fowler, was not without effect upon the Empire. Distinctions\nof class were modified. The freeman became empowered to reserve to\nhimself the right of going to war along with his lord. Imperial cities\nbegan to spring up; these were governed by a lieutenant of the Emperor,\nor by their own chief magistrate. They achieved confederation, thus\nguarding themselves against imperial and feudal encroachments. The\n'League of the Rhine' and that of the Hanse Towns emerged as the fruit\nof this policy. The latter federation consisted of about four-score\ncities of Germany which under their charter enjoyed a commercial\nmonopoly. This example succeeded so well that its promoter, Luebeck, had\nthe satisfaction of seeing all cities between the Rhine and the Vistula\nthus connected. The clergy, jealous of this municipal power, besought\nthe Emperor to repress the magistrates who had been called into being\nby the people, and who were closely allied to this commercial\nconfederation. But the monarch advised the prelates to return to their\nchurches lest their opulent friends became their enemies.\n\nThe Rhine Hanse Towns\n\nThe influence of the Hanseatic League of the Rhine district in the\nfourteenth century extended over the whole commercial radius of Germany,\nPrussia, Russia, the Netherlands, and Britain. It opened up new fields\nof commerce, manufacture, and industry. It paved the way for culture,\nit subdued the piracy which had existed in the Baltic, and it promoted\na universal peace. On the other hand, it created jealousy; it boycotted\nthe honest manufacturer and merchant who did not belong to the League,\nand fostered luxury in the Rhenish cities, which did much to sap the\nsturdy character of the people. The celebrity which many of these\nmunicipalities attained through their magnificence can be gathered from\nthe historic buildings of Worms, Spires, Frankfort, Cologne, Augsburg,\nand Nuremberg. The splendour of these edifices and the munificence of\ntheir wealthy inhabitants could only be equalled in the maritime regions\nof Italy. But in the fifteenth century the power of the League began to\ndecline. The Russian towns, under the leadership of Novgorod the Great,\ncommenced a crusade against the Hanse Towns' monopoly in that country.\nThe general rising in England, which was one of the great warehouses,\nunder Henry VI and Edward IV reflected upon them. The Netherlands\nfollowed England's example. In the seventeenth century their existence\nwas confined to three German towns--Luebeck, Hamburg, and Bremen. These\nno longer had the power to exercise their influence over the nation, and\nsoon the League dropped out of existence.\n\nThe Thirty Years' War\n\nThe protracted struggle known as the Thirty Years' War was most\nprejudicial to the interests of the Rhine valley, which was overrun by\nthe troops of the several nationalities engaged. One phase of this most\ndisastrous struggle--the War of the Palatinate--carried the rapine and\nslaughter to the banks of the Rhine, where, as has been said, they\nwere long remembered. During the reign of Ferdinand III (1637-1659) a\nvigorous and protracted war broke out between France and Germany, the\nformer assisted by her ally Sweden. Germany, seeing that unless peace\nwere restored her ruin as a great power would be inevitable, entered\ninto negotiations with France, and in 1648 the claims of France\nand Sweden were settled by the Peace of Westphalia. This treaty is\nparticularly notable in the present instance because it gave to the\nformer country the footing on the Rhine already mentioned as the\nbeginning of French encroachments. Germany was forced to give up Alsace,\non the left bank of the river. France, by the seizure of Strassburg,\nconfirmed by the Treaty of Ryswick in 1695, extended her boundaries\nto the Rhine. At the beginning of the French Revolution Leopold II of\nGermany and other German monarchs agreed to support the cause of French\nroyalty, a resolution which was disastrous to the Empire. In 1795\nPrussia, for political reasons, withdrew from the struggle, ceding to\nFrance, in the terms of the Treaty of Basel, all her possessions on the\nleft bank of the Rhine. In 1799 war again broke out; but in 1801 the\nTreaty of Luneville gave to France the whole of the left bank of the\nriver. Thus the historic stream became the boundary between France and\nGermany. In 1806 the humiliation of the latter country was complete, for\nin that year a number of German princes joined the Confederation of\nthe Rhine, thus allying themselves with France and repudiating their\nallegiance to the Empire. In 1815, at the Congress of Vienna, the whole\nof the Lower Rhenish district was restored to Prussia, while Bavaria,\na separate state, was put in possession of the greater part of the\nPalatinate on the left bank of the Rhine.\n\nFrom that time onward the German national spirit flourished, but the\nfuture of the Empire was uncertain till its fate was decided by the\nFranco-Prussian War of 1870-71. In the great hall of the Palace of\nVersailles in 1871 William I, King of Prussia, proclaimed, in the hour\nof victory, the restoration of the confederated German Empire. The\nFrench forfeited their Rhenish provinces, and once more the Rhine was\nrestored to Germany.\n\nThat the Thirty Years' War did not fail to linger in the folk-memory is\nevidenced by the following gruesome legend of Oppenheim:\n\nThe Battle of Skeletons\n\nThe smoke and terror of the great struggle had surged over Oppenheim.\nA battle had been fought there, and the Swedes and Spaniards who had\ncontested the field and had been slain lay buried in the old churchyard\nhard by the confines of the town. At least many had been granted the\nright of sepulture there, but in a number of cases the hasty manner in\nwhich their corpses had received burial was all too noticeable, and a\nstranger visiting the churchyard confines years after the combat could\nnot fail to be struck by the many uncoffined human relics which met his\ngaze.\n\nBut an artist who had journeyed from far to see the summer's sun upon\nthe Rhine water, and who came to Oppenheim in the golden dusk, was too\nintent on the search for beauty to remember the grisly reputation of the\ntown. Moreover, on entering the place the first person by whom he had\nbeen greeted was a beautiful young maiden, daughter of the innkeeper,\nwho modestly shrank back on hearing his confident tones and, curtsying\nprettily, replied to his questions in something like a whisper.\n\n\"Can you recommend me to a comfortable hostelry, my pretty maid, where\nthe wine is good and the company jovial?\"\n\n\"If the Herr can put up with a village inn, that of my father is as good\nas any in the place,\" replied the maid.\n\n\"Good, my pretty,\" cried the bold painter, sending the ready blood to\nher face with a glance from his bright black eyes. \"Lead the way, and I\nwill follow. Or, better still, walk with me.\"\n\nBy the time they had reached the inn they felt like old friends. The\ngirl had skilfully but simply discovered the reason for the young\nartist's sojourn in Oppenheim, and with glowing face and eyes that\nhad grown brighter with excitement, she clasped her hands together and\ncried: \"Oh, the Herr must paint my beloved Oppenheim. There is no such\nplace by moonlight, believe me, and you will be amply repaid by a visit\nto the ruins of the old church to-night. See, a pale and splendid moon\nhas already risen, and will light your work as the sun never could.\"\n\n\"As you ask me so prettily, Fraeulein, I shall paint your beloved abbey,\"\nhe replied. \"But why not in sunlight, with your own sweet face in the\nforeground?\"\n\n\"No, no,\" cried the girl hastily. \"That would rob the scene of all its\nromance.\"\n\n\"As you will,\" said the artist. \"But this, I take it, is your father's\ninn, and I am ready for supper. Afterward--well, we shall see!\"\n\nSupper over, the painter sat for some time over his pipe and his wine,\nand then, gathering together his sketching impedimenta, quitted the inn\nand took his way toward the ruins of Oppenheim's ancient abbey. It was\na calm, windless night, and the silver moon sailed high in the heavens.\nNot a sound broke the silence as the young man entered the churchyard.\nSeating himself upon a flat tombstone, he proceeded to arrange his\ncanvas and sketching materials; but as he was busied thus his foot\nstruck something hard. Bending down to remove the obstacle, which he\ntook for a large stone, he found, to his horror, that it was a human\nskull. With an ejaculation he cast the horrid relic away from him,\nand to divert his mind from the grisly incident commenced to work\nfeverishly. Speedily his buoyant mind cast off the gloomy train of\nthought awakened by the dreadful find, and for nearly a couple of hours\nhe sat sketching steadily, until he was suddenly startled to hear the\nclock in the tower above him strike the hour of midnight.\n\nHe was gathering his things preparatory to departure, when a strange\nrustling sound attracted his attention. Raising his eyes from his\ntask, he beheld a sight which made his flesh creep. The exposed and\nhalf-buried bones of the dead warriors which littered the surface of the\nchurchyard drew together and formed skeletons. These reared themselves\nfrom the graves and stood upright, and as they did so formed grisly\nand dreadful battalions--Swedes formed with Swedes and Spaniards with\nSpaniards. On a sudden hoarse words of command rang out on the midnight\nair, and the two companies attacked one another.\n\nThe luckless beholder of the dreadful scene felt the warm blood grow\nchill within his veins. Hotter and hotter became the fray, and many\nskeletons sank to the ground as though slain in battle. One of them, he\nwhose skull the artist had kicked, sank down at the young man's feet. In\na hollow voice he commanded the youth to tell to the world how they were\nforced to combat each other because they had been enemies in life, and\nthat they could obtain no rest until they had been buried.\n\nDirectly the clock struck one the battle ceased, and the bones once more\nlay about in disorder. The artist (who, it need hardly be said, gave no\nmore thought to his picture) hastened back to the inn and in faltering\naccents related his experiences. When the Seven Years' War broke out,\nnot long afterward, the people of Oppenheim declared that the apparition\nof the skeletons had foretold the event.\n\nThe Robbers of the Rhine\n\nFor many hundreds of years the valley of the Rhine itself, and the\nvarious valleys adjacent, were the haunt of numerous bodies of rapacious\nand desperate banditti. The rugged, mountainous nature of the country\nnaturally made lawlessness the more easy there, and till so late as\nthe beginning of the nineteenth century these gangs of robbers were a\nconstant menace to the traveller in Rhineland. At the time of the French\nRevolution, indeed, and for some decades thereafter, the district was\nliterally infested with thieves; for the unsettled state of Europe at\nthis date perforce tended to bring desperadoes from far and near, and\nfor a while the inhabitants of the different villages on the banks of\nthe Rhine endured a veritable reign of terror.\n\nBut almost from the outset the brigands realized that they would soon be\nundone if they grew too numerous. They knew that, in that event, strong\nmilitary measures would probably be taken against them; so they made\nevery effort to practise that union which is proverbially strength,\nand to prevent the enlisting in their ranks of anyone likely to prove\ncowardly or perfidious. In some cases, too, they actually had a well\nand capably organized system whereby one of their number could escape\nquickly, if need be, from the scene of his crime; for, like the\nFrench prisoners described in Stevenson's St. Ives, they had a line of\nsanctuaries extending perhaps into Austria or Italy, the retreat in most\ninstances being an inn whose keeper was sworn to hide and protect\nhis robber guest at all costs. In short, there was honour among these\nthieves, and even a certain spirit of freemasonry; while, more important\nstill, the captain of a band was very often in league with the few\npolice officials of the neighbourhood.\n\nThe great highwaymen of Stuart and Georgian England--for example, that\ngallant Beau Brocade of whom Mr. Austin Dobson writes--were mostly\ncontent with waylaying a chance passer-by; while their contemporaries\nin France usually worked on this principle also, as witness the deeds of\nthe band who figure in Theophile Gautier's story Le Capitaine Fracasse.\nBut the robbers of the Rhine were of different mettle from these, and\noften it was almost a predatory warfare rather than mere brigandage\nwhich they carried on. Frequently they had an agent in each of the\nvillages on the river, this agent being usually a member of the\nscattered remnant of Israel; and the business of this person was to\ndiscover a house containing especial wealth, and then to inform the\nrobbers accordingly. Having gleaned the requisite information in this\nwise, the gang would sally down from the mountains at dead of night; and\nit was customary, as they drew near to their prey, for the captain\nto call his henchmen to attention and see that each was ready for the\nimminent fray. Then, having gagged the village watchman and muffled his\nbell, they would proceed to surround the house they intended to rifle,\nand, should resistance be offered, to batter in the door with a log or\nother instrument. Sometimes it would transpire that the Jewish agent had\nmisinformed them, telling them of booty where booty there was little,\nand woe betide him should this prove the state of affairs. Moreover,\nunlike the brigands in Gil Blas, these scoundrels of the Rhine would not\nbe encumbered by prisoners, and they were wont to slay outright all who\nwere minded to show fight.\n\nYet to their own brotherhood the robbers were invariably loyal, seldom\nfailing to carry away with them such of their confreres as were wounded\nin the assault; for each was sworn to support his fellows under all\ncircumstances, and awful was the fate of the marauder who violated this\ncompact. It is told of a band commanded by one Picard, a cruel but brave\nleader, that one of its members chanced to be captured, and with a view\nto purchasing his freedom he gave information about the whereabouts of\nhis chief. The next night, as the captive lay in his dungeon, a masked\nface suddenly appeared at the barred window, and in awestruck tones the\nprisoner asked the new-comer to declare his identity. \"I am Picard, your\ncaptain,\" came the answer. \"As in duty bound, I have risked my life to\nset you free,\" and having spoken thus, he proceeded to file through one\nof the bars, which being accomplished, the reprobate was drawn out of\nhis cell by the aid of a rope. He breathed freely now, finding himself\nonce more among some of his old comrades, but a moment later Picard\naddressed him again. \"Traitor,\" he snarled, \"do not think that your\nperfidy has failed to reach our ears; you must pay the full penalty.\"\n\n\"Mercy,\" cried the unfortunate one; \"at least let me die in action. Lead\non against some foe, and let me fall at their hands.\"\n\n\"Cowards,\" retorted Picard, \"deserve no such gallant fate,\" and with\nthese words he drove his sword deep into the heart of the traitor.\n\nIn general it was a point of honour among these bandits that none should\nreveal to a woman anything about the doings of his band, and one story\nrelates how a young brigand, on the eve of setting out on his first\npredatory expedition, was rash enough to inform his sweetheart whither\nhe and his mates were bound. Their commander was a Captain Jikjak,\nreputed something of a wit; and betimes, after the brigands had marched\nforward silently for a while, this worthy called upon them to halt. They\nimagined it was but the usual inspection of arms which was about to\ntake place, but Jikjak, speaking in stentorian tones, told them that\na traitor was in their midst, and pointing to the culprit, he bade him\nstep forth. The young man pled his youth as an excuse for his fault, and\nhe told the captain that, could he but get a chance to show his prowess\nonce, they would soon see that he was as gallant a robber as any of\nthem. But Jikjak laughed scornfully, saying he was anxious to find out\nwhich was stronger, the young man's legs or a pair of trees. The culprit\nquailed on hearing the verdict, and implored a less ghastly fate; but\nJikjak was obdurate, and smiling blandly, he bade his followers bend a\ncouple of stout branches to the ground and tie their tops to the ankles\nof the offender....\n\nSuch, then, were the robbers of the Rhine, and such the code of honour\nwhich existed among them. A romantic institution they no doubt were,\nyet it was a form of picturesqueness whose disappearance can scarcely be\nregretted.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II--THE RHINE IN FOLKLORE AND LITERATURE\n\nAffinities of the Rhine Legends\n\nA close perusal of the body of tradition known as the legends of the\nRhine displays one circumstance which is calculated to surprise\nthe collector of these narratives not a little. It is generally\nrepresented--probably through ignorance of the real circumstances--that\nthese tales abound in the matter of folklore. This is, however, by no\nmeans the case, and even a superficial examination of them will prove\nmost of them to be allied to the matter of romance in a much more\nintimate way than they approach that of folklore. But this is not so\nas regards all of them, and it will be interesting to look into the\ncharacter of those which present folklore affinities, whilst leaving\nthe consideration of their romantic aspect for a later portion of this\nchapter.\n\nBy right of precedence, among the legends of the Rhine which possess\nfolklore characteristics is the wonderful legend of the Lorelei, a word\nderived from the old High German lur, to lurk, and lai, a rock. The\nheight from which the bewitching water-spirit sent her song floating\nover the waves of the Rhine is situated near St. Goar, and possesses a\nremarkable echo which may partly account for the legend.\n\nThe Lorelei\n\nMany are the legends which cluster round the name of the Lorelei. In\nsome of the earlier traditions she is represented as an undine, combing\nher hair on the Lorelei-berg and singing bewitching strains wherewith\nto lure mariners to their death, and one such legend relates how an old\nsoldier named Diether undertook to capture her.\n\nGraf Ludwig, son of the Prince Palatine, had been caught in her toils,\nhis frail barque wrecked, and he himself caught in the whirlpool and\ndrowned. The prince, grievously stricken at the melancholy occurrence,\nlonged to avenge his son's death on the evil enchantress who had wrought\nsuch havoc. Among his retainers there was but one who would undertake\nthe venture--a captain of the guard named Diether--and the sole reward\nhe craved was permission to cast the Lorelei into the depths she haunted\nshould he succeed in capturing her.\n\nDiether and his little band of warriors ascended the Lorelei's rock in\nsuch a way as to cut off all retreat on the landward side. Just as they\nreached the summit the moon sailed out from behind a cloud, and behold,\nthe spirit of the whirlpool was seen sitting on the very verge of the\nprecipice, binding her wet hair with a band of gleaming jewels.\n\n\"What wouldst thou with me?\" she cried, starting to her feet.\n\n\"To cast thee into the Rhine, sorceress,\" said Diether roughly, \"where\nthou hast drowned our prince.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" returned the maid, \"I drowned him not. 'Twas his own folly which\ncost him his life.\"\n\nAs she stood on the brink of the precipice, her lips smiling, her eyes\ngleaming softly, her wet dark hair streaming over her shoulders, some\nstrange, unearthly quality in her beauty, a potent spell fell upon the\nlittle company, so that even Diether himself could neither move nor\nspeak.\n\n\"And wouldst thou cast me in the Rhine, Diether?\" she pursued, smiling\nat the helpless warrior. \"'Tis not I who go to the Rhine, but the Rhine\nthat will come to me.\"\n\nThen loosening the jewelled band from her hair, she flung it on the\nwater and cried aloud: \"Father, send me thy white steeds, that I may\ncross the river in safety.\"\n\nInstantly, as at her bidding, a wild storm arose, and the river,\noverflowing its banks, foamed right up to the summit of the Lorelei\nRock. Three white-crested waves, resembling three white horses, mounted\nthe steep, and into the hollowed trough behind them the Lorelei stepped\nas into a chariot, to be whirled out into the stream. Meanwhile Diether\nand his companions were almost overwhelmed by the floods, yet they were\nunable to stir hand or foot. In mid-stream the undine sank beneath the\nwaves: the spell was broken, the waters subsided, and the captain and\nhis men were free to return home.\n\nNevermore, they vowed, would they seek to capture the Lorelei.\n\nThe Forsaken Bride\n\nThere is a later and more popular legend of the Lorelei than the\nforegoing.\n\nAccording to this tale Lorelei was a maiden of surpassing beauty who\ndwelt in the town of Bacharach in medieval times. So potent were her\nattractions that every gallant on whom her eye rested fell hopelessly in\nlove with her, while her ever-widening fame drew suitors in plenty from\nall parts of the country. The dismissed lovers wandered disconsolately\nin the neighbouring forests, vowing to take their lives rather than\nsuffer the pangs of unrequited passion; while occasionally the threat\nwas fulfilled, and a brave knight would cast himself into the Rhine and\nperish for love of the cold and cruel maid. Thus her fatal beauty played\nhavoc among the flower of German chivalry. But she, dowered with virtue\nand goodness, as well as with more transient charms, trembled when\nshe saw the effect of her attractions on her many lovers, and secluded\nherself as closely as possible.\n\nThe truth was, she had given her heart into the keeping of a young\nknight who, after plighting his troth with her, had ridden away to the\nwars, his military ardour and desire for glory triumphing over his love.\nYears had gone by, yet he did not return, and Lorelei thought that he\nhad perished on the field of battle, or had taken another bride and\nforgotten her. But she remained true to him in spite of his long\nsilence, and spent her days in tears and prayers for his safety.\n\nMeanwhile she was besieged by an ever-increasing band of suitors, to\nwhom her retiring disposition and sorrowful mien but made her the more\ndesirable. Then it began to be rumoured abroad that she was a sorceress,\nwho won the hearts of men by magic art and with the aid of the Evil One.\nThe rumour was spread broadcast by jealous and disappointed women who\nsaw their menfolk succumb to the fatal charms of the Maid of Bacharach.\nMothers noticed their sons grow pale and woe-begone because of her;\nmaids their erstwhile lovers sighing out a hopeless passion for the\nbeautiful Lorelei; so they brought against her accusations of sorcery,\nwhich in those days generally led to the death of the victim by burning.\nSo grievously did these malign whispers add to the already heavy burden\nof the maid that she surrendered herself to be tried, hardly caring\nwhether or not she were found guilty. She was summoned before the\ncriminal court held at Rhens by the Archbishop of Cologne, and charged\nwith practising the black art in order to ensnare men's affections.\n\nHowever, when she appeared before the court her beauty so impressed the\nassembly, and even the old Archbishop himself, that none could believe\nher guilty. Her lovely face bore the imprint of innocence, her grief\ntouched every heart, and on all sides she was treated with the greatest\nrespect and kindness. The old prelate assured her that she would not\nbe judged harshly, but begged to hear from her own lips that she was\ninnocent of the foul charge brought against her. This assurance she\ngave with artless simplicity, and a murmur of approval went up from\nthe crowd. The sympathy of those present--for even her accusers were\nmelted--and the kindness of the aged Churchman who was her judge moved\nher to confess her unhappy love-story.\n\n\"I pray thee,\" she concluded wearily, \"I pray thee, my lord, let me die.\nI know, alas! that many true knights have died for love of me, and now I\nfain would die for the sake of one who hath forsaken me.\"\n\nThe prelate, moved almost to tears by the pathetic story, laid his hand\non the head of the weeping maid.\n\n\"Thou shalt not die, fair maiden,\" he said. \"I will send thee to a\nconvent, where thou mayst live in peace.\" And calling to his side three\ntrusty old knights, he bade them conduct Lorelei to the convent\nacross the river, and charge the abbess to treat her with the greatest\nkindness. Having blessed the maid once more, he bade them go. On their\nway to the convent they must needs pass the rock since known as the\nLorelei-berg, and the girl, who had maintained a pensive silence all the\nway, now observed that she would fain ascend the rock and look for the\nlast time at the castle of her betrothed knight.\n\nHer escort would have courteously assisted her, but she, with the\nagility of youth, easily outstripped them, and stood alone on the\nsummit, surveying the fair scene before her. A light barque was sailing\nup the river, and as she gazed on it Lorelei uttered a loud cry, for\nthere in the bow stood her truant lover! The knight and his train heard\nthe shriek and beheld with horror the maiden standing with outstretched\narms on the very edge of the precipice. The steering of the boat was\nforgotten for the moment, and the frail craft ran on the rocks. Lorelei\nsaw her lover's peril and, calling his name, leapt into the tide.\n\nNothing more was seen of the lovers; together they sleep the sleep of\ndeath beneath the waters of the Rhine.\n\nA Blending of Legends\n\nIn these legends we observe how the tradition of a mere water-nymph has\ndeveloped into a story concerning a hapless damsel. The first applies to\nthe Lorelei as a water-spirit pure and simple, but legends which refer\nto beings originally water-spirits have a knack of becoming associated\nin later times with stories of distressed ladies. Indeed, one such came\nto the writer's knowledge only a few months ago. The mansion of Caroline\nPark, near Edinburgh, dating from the end of the seventeenth century,\nhas in its vicinity a well which is reputed to be inhabited by a 'Green\nLady,' who emerges from her watery dwelling at twilight and rings the\ngreat bell of the old manor-house. On visiting the vicinity for the\npurpose of verifying the legend information was gleaned respecting\nanother story of a captured lady who had been incarcerated in a room in\nthe mansion and had written some verses to her lover with her diamond\nring on a window-pane. The strange thing is that these stories, though\nobviously of different origin, appear now to have become fused in the\npopular imagination: the 'Green Lady' and the verse-writing damsel\nbecome one and the same, thus affording a case in point of the fusion of\na mythological tale with a later and probably verifiable incident. The\nLorelei is of course a water-spirit of the siren type, one who lures\nheedless mariners to their destruction. In Scotland and the north of\nEngland we find her congener in the water-kelpie, who lurks in pools\nlying in wait for victims. But the kelpie is usually represented in the\nform of a horse and not in that of a beauteous maiden.\n\nThe Nixie\n\nAnother water-spirit not unlike the Lorelei is the nixie, which is both\nmale and female, the male appearing like any human being, but, as in the\ncase of the water-spirits of the Slavonic peoples and England, Scotland,\nand Central America, being possessed of green teeth. The male is called\nnix, the female nixie, the generic term for both being nicker, from a\nroot which perhaps means 'to wash.' There is perhaps some truth in the\nstatement which would derive the Satanic patronymic of 'Old Nick' from\nthese beings, as spirits extremely familiar to the Teutonic mind. On\nfine sunny days the nixies may be seen sitting on the banks of rivers,\nor on the branches of trees, combing their long golden locks. Previous\nto a drowning accident the nixies can be seen dancing on the surface of\nthe water. Like all sea and river spirits, their subaqueous abode is of\na magnificence unparalleled upon earth, and to this they often convey\nmortals, who, however, complain that the splendours of the nixies'\npalaces are altogether spoiled for them by the circumstance that their\nbanquets are served without salt.\n\n     Where on the marshes boometh the bittern,\n     Nicker the Soulless sits with his ghittern;\n     Sits inconsolable, friendless and foeless,\n     Bewailing his destiny, Nicker the Soulless.\n\nThe Nixie of the Mummel-lake\n\nThe legend of the nixie of Seebach is one of gloom and tragedy, albeit\nas charming as most of the Rhine tales.\n\nIt was the custom among the young people of Seebach to assemble of an\nevening in the spinning-room, which on the occasion about to be dealt\nwith was in the house of the richest and most distinguished family in\nthe country. The girls spun and laughed and chatted, while the youths\nhung about their chairs and cracked jokes with them. One evening while\nthey were thus employed there came among them a stranger, a young lady\nbeautifully clad and carrying an ivory spinning-wheel. With becoming\nmodesty she asked to be allowed to join the company, which permission\nthe simple youths and maidens readily accorded. None was more eager to\ndo honour to the new-comer than the son of their host. While the others\nwere still gaping in awestruck fashion, he quietly fetched her a\nchair and performed various little services for her. She received his\nattentions so graciously that a warmer feeling than courtesy sprang up\nin his heart for the fair spinner.\n\nHe was in truth a handsome lad, whose attentions any maid might have\nbeen proud to receive. Well-built and slender, he bore himself with a\nproud carriage, and the expression on his delicate features was grave\nand thoughtful beyond his years. When at length the fair visitor\ndeparted, he loitered disconsolate and restless, listening to the idle\nsurmises of the peasant youths concerning the identity of the lady, but\noffering no opinion himself. On the following day at the same hour she\nagain appeared and, seeing her cavalier of the previous day, smiled\nand bowed to him. The young man glowed with pleasure, and diffidently\nrenewed his attentions. Day after day the lady of the spinning-wheel\njoined the company, and it was noted that the girls were brighter and\nmore diligent, and the young men more gentle and courteous, for her\ncoming. It was whispered among them that she was a nixie from the\nMummel-lake far under the mountains, for never mortal was so richly\nendowed with beauty and grace. As time went on the son of the house grew\nmore and more melancholy as his love for the fair unknown became deeper.\nOnly during the brief hour of her visit would he show any cheerfulness.\nAll the rest of the day he would mope in silent wretchedness. His\nfriends saw with distress the change which had come over him, but they\nwere powerless to alter matters. The lady could not be persuaded to\nremain beyond her usual hour, nor to give any hint of her identity.\n\nOne day, thinking to prolong her visit, the young man put back the hands\nof the clock. When the hour drew near for her to depart, he slipped out\nof the house so that he might follow her and find out where she lived.\nWhen the hour struck, the lady, who seemed to have feared that she was\nlate, walked hastily from the house in the direction of the lake. So\nquickly did she walk that the youth following in her path could scarcely\nkeep pace with her. She did not pause when she reached the shore, but\nplunged directly into the water. A low, moaning sound rose from the\nwaves, which boiled and bubbled furiously, and the young man, fearing\nthat some evil had befallen the maid, sprang in after her, but the cruel\ncurrents dragged him down, and he sank out of sight.\n\nNext day his body was found floating on the lake by some woodcutters,\nand the nixie of the Mummel-lake was seen no more.\n\nThe Wild Huntsman\n\nOne of the most interesting Rhine myths is that concerning the Wild\nHuntsman, which is known all over Rhineland, and which is connected\nwith many of its localities. The tale goes that on windy nights the Wild\nHuntsman, with his yelling pack of hounds, sweeps through the air, his\nprey departing souls. The huntsman is, of course, Odin, who in some of\nhis aspects was a hunter-god. The English legend of Herne the Hunter,\nwho haunts Windsor Park, is allied to this, and there can be little\ndoubt that Herne is Odin. Indeed, it is here suggested that the name\nHerne may in some way be connected with one of Odin's titles, Hari,\nthe High One. It was the legend of the Wild Huntsman that inspired Sir\nWalter Scott to write one of his finest ballads of the mysterious. An\nEdinburgh friend had perused a ballad by Burger, entitled Lenore, but\nall he could remember of it were the following four lines: Tramp, tramp,\nacross the land they ride; Splash, splash, across the sea. Hurrah! the\ndead can ride apace, Dost fear to ride with me?\n\nThis verse fired Scott's imagination. He liked this sort of thing, and\ncould do it very well himself. So on reaching home he sat down to\nthe composition of the following ballad, of which we give the most\noutstanding verses:\n\n     THE WILD HUNTSMAN\n\n     The Wildgrave winds his bugle horn:\n     To horse, to horse, haloo, haloo!\n     His fiery courser sniffs the morn,\n     And thronging serfs their lord pursue.\n\n     The eager pack, from couples freed,\n     Dash through the bush, the brier, the brake\n     While answering hound, and horn, and steed,\n     The mountain echoes startling wake.\n\n     The beams of God's own hallowed day\n     Had painted yonder spire with gold,\n     And, calling sinful men to pray,\n     Loud, long, and deep the bell hath tolled.\n\n     But still the Wildgrave onward rides;\n     Haloo, haloo, and hark again!\n     When, spurring from opposing sides,\n     Two stranger horsemen join the train.\n\n     Who was each stranger, left and right?\n     Well may I guess, but dare not tell.\n     The right-hand steed was silver-white;\n     The left, the swarthy hue of hell.\n\n     The right-hand horseman, young and fair,\n     His smile was like the morn of May;\n     The left, from eye of tawny glare,\n     Shot midnight lightning's lurid ray.\n\n     He waved his huntsman's cap on high,\n     Cried, \"Welcome, welcome, noble lord!\n     What sport can earth, or sea, or sky,\n     To match the princely chase, afford?\"\n\n     \"Cease thy loud bugle's clanging knell,\"\n     Cried the fair youth with silver voice;\n     \"And for devotion's choral swell,\n     Exchange the rude, unhallowed noise.\n\n     \"To-day th' ill-omened chase forbear;\n     Yon bell yet summons to the fane:\n     To-day the warning spirit hear,\n     To-morrow thou mayst mourn in vain.\"\n\n     The Wildgrave spurred his ardent steed\n     And, launching forward with a bound,\n     \"Who for thy drowsy priestlike rede\n     Would leave the jovial horn and hound?\n\n     \"Hence, if our manly sport offend:\n     With pious fools go chant and pray.\n     Well hast thou spoke, my dark-brown friend,\n     Haloo, haloo, and hark away!\"\n\n     The Wildgrave spurred his courser light,\n     O'er moss and moor, o'er holt and hill,\n     And on the left and on the right\n     Each stranger horseman followed still.\n\n     Up springs, from yonder tangled thorn,\n     A stag more white than mountain snow;\n     And louder rung the Wildgrave's horn--\n     \"Hark forward, forward! holla, ho!\"\n\n     A heedless wretch has crossed the way--\n     He grasps the thundering hoofs below;\n     But, live who can, or die who may,\n     Still forward, forward! on they go.\n\n     See where yon simple fences meet,\n     A field with autumn's blessings crowned;\n     See, prostrate at the Wildgrave's feet,\n     A husbandman with toil embrowned.\n\n     \"Oh, mercy! mercy! noble lord;\n     Spare the poor's pittance,\" was his cry;\n     \"Earned by the sweat these brows have poured\n     In scorching hours of fierce July.\"\n\n     \"Away, thou hound, so basely born,\n     Or dread the scourge's echoing blow!\"\n     Then loudly rung his bugle horn,\n     \"Hark forward, forward! holla, ho!\"\n\n     So said, so done--a single bound\n     Clears the poor labourer's humble pale:\n     Wild follows man, and horse, and hound,\n     Like dark December's stormy gale.\n\n     And man, and horse, and hound, and horn\n     Destructive sweep the field along,\n     While joying o'er the wasted corn\n     Fell famine marks the madd'ning throng.\n\n     Full lowly did the herdsman fall:\n     \"Oh, spare, thou noble baron, spare;\n     These herds, a widow's little all;\n     These flocks, an orphan's fleecy care.\"\n\n     \"Unmannered dog! To stop my sport\n     Vain were thy cant and beggar whine,\n     Though human spirits of thy sort\n     Were tenants of these carrion kine!\"\n\n     Again he winds his bugle horn,\n     \"Hark forward, forward! holla, ho!\"\n     And through the herd in ruthless scorn\n     He cheers his furious hounds to go.\n\n     In heaps the throttled victims fall;\n     Down sinks their mangled herdsman near;\n     The murd'rous cries the stag appal,\n     Again he starts, new-nerved by fear.\n\n     With blood besmeared, and white with foam,\n     While big the tears of anguish pour,\n     He seeks, amid the forest's gloom,\n     The humble hermit's hallowed bow'r.\n\n     All mild, amid the route profane,\n     The holy hermit poured his prayer:\n     \"Forbear with blood God's house to stain:\n     Revere His altar, and forbear!\n\n     \"The meanest brute has rights to plead,\n     Which, wronged by cruelty or pride,\n     Draw vengeance on the ruthless head;\n     Be warned at length, and turn aside.\"\n\n     Still the fair horseman anxious pleads;\n     The black, wild whooping, points the prey.\n     Alas! the Earl no warning heeds,\n     But frantic keeps the forward way.\n\n     \"Holy or not, or right or wrong,\n     Thy altar and its rights I spurn;\n     Not sainted martyrs' sacred song,\n     Not God Himself shall make me turn.\"\n\n     He spurs his horse, he winds his horn,\n     \"Hark forward, forward! holla, ho!\"\n     But off, on whirlwind's pinions borne,\n     The stag, the hut, the hermit, go.\n\n     And horse and man, and horn and hound,\n     The clamour of the chase was gone;\n     For hoofs, and howls, and bugle sound,\n     A deadly silence reigned alone.\n\n     Wild gazed the affrighted Earl around;\n     He strove in vain to wake his horn,\n     In vain to call; for not a sound\n     Could from his anxious lips be borne.\n\n     High o'er the sinner's humbled head\n     At length the solemn silence broke;\n     And from a cloud of swarthy red\n     The awful voice of thunder spoke:\n\n     \"Oppressor of creation fair!\n     Apostate spirits' hardened tool!\n     Scorner of God! Scourge of the poor!\n     The measure of thy cup is full.\n\n     \"Be chased for ever through the wood,\n     For ever roam the affrighted wild;\n     And let thy fate instruct the proud,\n     God's meanest creature is His child.\"\n\n     'Twas hushed: one flash of sombre glare\n     With yellow tinged the forest's brown;\n     Up rose the Wildgrave's bristling hair,\n     And horror chilled each nerve and bone.\n\n     Earth heard the call--her entrails rend;\n     From yawning rifts, with many a yell,\n     Mixed with sulphureous flames, ascend\n     The misbegotten dogs of hell.\n\n     What ghastly huntsman next arose,\n     Well may I guess, but dare not tell:\n     His eye like midnight lightning glows,\n     His steed the swarthy hue of hell.\n\n     The Wildgrave flies o'er bush and thorn,\n     With many a shriek of hapless woe;\n     Behind him hound, and horse, and horn,\n     And hark away, and holla, ho!\n\n     With wild despair's reverted eye,\n     Close, close behind, he marks the throng;\n     With bloody fangs, and eager cry,\n     In frantic fear he scours along.\n\n     Still, still shall last the dreadful chase,\n     Till time itself shall have an end;\n     By day, they scour earth's caverned space;\n     At midnight's witching hour, ascend.\n\n     This is the horn, and hound, and horse,\n     That oft the 'lated peasant hears;\n     Appalled, he signs the frequent cross,\n     When the wild din invades his ears.\n\nDwarfs and Gnomes\n\nBeings of the dwarf race swarmed on the banks of Rhine. First and\nforemost among these are the gnomes, who guard the subterranean\ntreasures, but who on occasion reveal them to mortals. We meet with\nthese very frequently under different guises, as, for instance, in the\ncase of the 'Cooper of Auerbach,' and the Yellow Dwarf who appears in\nthe legend of Elfeld. The Heldenbuch, the ancient book in which are\ncollected the deeds of the German heroes of old, says that \"God gave the\ndwarfs being because the land on the mountains was altogether waste and\nuncultivated, and there was much store of silver and gold and precious\nstones and pearls still in the mountains. Wherefore God made the dwarfs\nvery artful and wise, that they might know good and evil right well, and\nfor what everything was good. Some stones give great strength, some make\nthose who carry them about them invisible. That is called a mist-cap,\nand therefore did God give the dwarfs skill and wisdom. Therefore they\nbuilt handsome hollow-hills, and God gave them riches.\"\n\nKeightley, in his celebrated Fairy Mythology, tells of a class of dwarfs\ncalled Heinzelmaennchen, who used to live and perform their exploits\nin Cologne. These were obviously of the same class as the brownies of\nScotland, Teutonic house-spirits who attached themselves to the owners\nof certain dwellings, and Keightley culled the following anecdote\nregarding them from a Cologne publication issued in 1826:\n\n\"In the time that the Heinzelmaennchen were still there, there was in\nCologne many a baker who kept no man, for the little people used always\nto make, overnight, as much black and white bread as the baker wanted\nfor his shop. In many houses they used to wash and do all their work for\nthe maids.\n\n\"Now, about this time, there was an expert tailor to whom they appeared\nto have taken a great fancy, for when he married he found in his house,\non the wedding-day, the finest victuals and the most beautiful utensils,\nwhich the little folk had stolen elsewhere and brought to their\nfavourite. When, with time, his family increased, the little ones used\nto give the tailor's wife considerable aid in her household affairs;\nthey washed for her, and on holidays and festival times they scoured the\ncopper and tin, and the house from the garret to the cellar. If at any\ntime the tailor had a press of work, he was sure to find it all ready\ndone for him in the morning by the Heinzelmaennchen.\n\n\"But curiosity began now to torment the tailor's wife, and she was dying\nto get one sight of the Heinzelmaennchen, but do what she would she could\nnever compass it. She one time strewed peas all down the stairs that\nthey might fall and hurt themselves, and that so she might see them\nnext morning. But this project missed, and since that time the\nHeinzelmaennchen have totally disappeared, as has been everywhere the\ncase, owing to the curiosity of people, which has at all times been the\ndestruction of so much of what was beautiful in the world.\n\n\"The Heinzelmaennchen, in consequence of this, went off all in a body out\nof the town, with music playing, but people could only hear the music,\nfor no one could see the mannikins themselves, who forthwith got into a\nship and went away, whither no one knows. The good times, however, are\nsaid to have disappeared from Cologne along with the Heinzelmaennchen.\"\n\nSt. Ursula\n\nOne of the most interesting figures in connexion with Rhenish mythology\nis that of St. Ursula, whose legend is as follows:\n\nJust two centuries after the birth of Christ, Vionest was king of\nBritain. Happy in his realm, his subjects were prosperous and contented,\nbut care was in the heart of the monarch, for he was childless. At\nlength his consort, Daria, bore him a daughter, who as she grew up in\nyears increased in holiness, until all men regarded her as a saint,\nand she, devoting herself to a religious life, refused all offers of\nmarriage, to the great grief of her parents, who were again troubled by\nthe thought that their dynasty would fail for want of an heir. Charmed\nwith the rumour of her virtues, a German prince, Agrippus, asked her\nas a wife for his son, but the suit was declined by the maiden until\nan angel appeared to her in a dream and said that the nuptials ought to\ntake place. In obedience to this heavenly mentor, St. Ursula no longer\nurged her former scruples, and her father hastened to make preparations\nof suitable magnificence for her departure to the Rhine, on whose banks\nher future home was to be. Eleven thousand virgins were selected from\nthe noblest families of Britain to accompany their princess, who,\nmarshalling them on the seashore, bade them sing a hymn to the Most\nHigh and dismiss all fears of the ocean, for she had been gifted with a\ndivine knowledge of navigation and would guide them safely on their way.\n\nAccordingly St. Ursula dismissed all the seamen, and standing on the\ndeck of the principal vessel, she gave orders to her eleven thousand\nmaiden followers, who, under the influence of inspiration, flitted over\nthe ships dressed in virgin white, now tending the sails, now fixing the\nropes, now guiding the helm, until they reached the mouth of the Rhine,\nup which they sailed in saintly procession to Cologne. Here they were\nreceived with great honours by the Roman governor of the place; but soon\nthey left the city to ascend the stream to Basel on their way to Rome,\nto which holy city St. Ursula had determined upon making a pilgrimage.\nWherever upon their journey they met the officers of state they were\nreceived as befitted their heavenly mission, and from Basel were\naccompanied by Pantulus, who was afterward canonized, and whose portrait\nis to be seen in the church of St. Ursula. Once at Rome Pope Cyriacus\nhimself was so affected by their devoted piety that, after praying\nwith them at the tombs of the apostles, he determined on abdicating the\npontifical office to accompany them on their return down the Rhine to\nCologne.\n\nAt Mayence they were joined by Prince Coman, the son of Agrippus, who\nfor love of his betrothed at once forsook the errors of his pagan\nfaith and was baptized. The eleven thousand virgins, with their sainted\nleader, her husband, and Pope Cyriacus, passed rapidly to Cologne,\nwhere, however, they were not long destined to live in peace. A horde\nof barbarians from the North invaded the place, and having gained\npossession of the city, they slew the virgin retinue of St. Ursula,\nthe venerable Pope, the saint herself, and her spouse Coman, after\ninflicting the most horrible tortures upon them. Some were nailed living\nto the cross; some were burned; others stoned; but the most refined\ncruelties were reserved for the most distinguished victims. Look on\nthe walls of the church of St. Ursula and you will see depicted the\nsufferings of the young martyr and of her youthful husband. Her chapel\nyet contains her effigy with a dove at her feet--fit emblem of her\npurity and faith and loving-kindness; while the devout may, in the same\nchurch, behold the religiously preserved bones of the eleven thousand\nvirgins.\n\nSaint or Goddess?\n\nThe sainthood of St. Ursula is distinctly doubtful, and the number of\nher retinue, eleven thousand, has been proved to be an error in monkish\ncalligraphy. St. Ursula is, indeed, the Teutonic goddess Ursa, or\nHoersel. In many parts of Germany a custom existed during the Middle Ages\nof rolling about a ship on wheels, much to the scandal of the clergy,\nand this undoubtedly points to moon-worship, the worship of Holda, or\nUrsula, whom German poets of old regarded as sailing over the deep\nblue of the heavens in her silver boat. A great company of maidens,\nthe stars, follow in her train. She is supposed, her nightly pilgrimage\nover, to enter certain hills.\n\nThus in the later guise of Venus she entered the Hoerselberg in\nThuringia, in which she imprisoned the enchanted Tannhaeuser, and there\nis good reason to believe that she also presided over the Ercildoune,\nor Hill of Ursula, in the south of Scotland, the modern Earlston, after\nwhich Thomas the Rhymer took his territorial designation, and whose\nstory later became fused with her myth in the old Scottish ballad of\nThomas the Rhymer. Thus we observe how it is possible for a pagan myth\nto become an incident in Christian hagiology.\n\nSatan in Rhine Story\n\nIn the legends of the Rhine the picturesque figure of his Satanic\nmajesty is frequently presented, as in the legends of 'The Sword-slipper\nof Solingen,' 'The Architect of Cologne Cathedral,' and several other\ntales. The circumstances of his appearance are distinctly Teutonic\nin character, and are such as to make one doubt that the Devil of the\nGerman peoples has evolved from the classical satyr. May it not be that\nthe Teutonic folk possessed some nature-spirit from which they evolved\na Satanic figure of their own? Against this, of course, could be quoted\nthe fact that the medieval conception of the Devil was sophisticated by\nthe Church, which in turn was strongly influenced by classical types.\n\nAffinity of the Rhine Legends with Romance\n\nBut on the whole the legends of the Rhine exhibit much more affinity\nwith medieval romance than with myth or folklore.[1] A large number of\nthem are based upon plots which can be shown to be almost universal,\nand which occur again and again in French and British story. One of the\ncommonest of these concerns the crusader who, rejected by his lady-love,\nspends hopeless years in the East, or, having married before setting\nout for the Orient, returns to find his bride the wife of another. The\ncrusader exercised a strong influence upon the literature of medieval\nEurope, and that influence we find in a very marked degree in the\nlegends of the Rhine. Again, a number of these tales undoubtedly consist\nof older materials not necessarily mythical in origin, over which a\nlater medieval colour has been cast. Unhappily many of these beautiful\nold legends have been greatly marred by the absurd sentimentality of\nthe German writers of the early nineteenth century, and their dramatis\npersonae, instead of exhibiting the characteristics of sturdy medieval\nGerman folk, possess the mincing and lackadaisical manners which\nmark the Franco-German novel of a century ago. This contrasts most\nludicrously in many cases with the simple, almost childlike, honesty\nwhich is typical of all early Teutonic literature. Had a Charles Lamb,\na Leigh Hunt, or an Edgar Allan Poe recast these tales, how different\nwould have been their treatment! Before the time of Schiller and Goethe\nFrench models prevailed in German literature. These wizards of the pen\nrecovered the German spirit of mystery, and brought back to their haunts\ngnomes, kobolds, and water-sprites. But the mischief had been done ere\nthey dawned upon the horizon, and there were other parts of Germany\nwhich appeared to them more suitable for literary presentment than the\nRhine, save perhaps in drama. Moreover, the inherent sentimentality\nof the German character, however fitted to bring out the mysterious\natmosphere which clings to these legends, has weakened them\nconsiderably.\n\n[Footnote 1: See author's Dictionary of Medieval Romance (London, 1913),\npreface, and article 'Romance, Rise and Origin of.']\n\nThe Poetry of the Rhine\n\nRobert Louis Stevenson, exiled in the South Pacific islands, used to\nspeak with passionate fondness of the rivers of his native Scotland, the\ncountry he loved so dearly, but which the jealous fates forbade him to\nvisit during fully half his life. Garry and Tummel, Tweed and Tay--he\nused to think of these as of something almost sacred; while even the\nname of that insignificant stream, the Water of Leith, sounded on his\near like sweet music, evoking a strangely tender and pathetic emotion.\nAnd this emotion, crystallized so beautifully by Stevenson in one of\nhis essays in Memories and Portraits, must have been felt, too, by many\nother exiles wandering in foreign parts; for surely an analogous feeling\nhas been experienced sometimes by every traveller of sensitive and\nimaginative temperament, particularly the traveller exiled irrevocably\nfrom his home and longing passionately to see it. Horatius, about to\nplunge into the Tiber, addressed it as his father and god, charging it\nto care well for his life and fortunes--fortunes in which those of all\nRome were involved for the time being. Ecce Tiber! was the glad cry of\nthe Romans on beholding the Tay--a cry which shows once again with what\nardent devotion they thought of the river which passed by their native\ncity; while Naaman the Syrian, told that his sickness would be cured\nwould he but lave his leprous limbs in the Jordan, exclaimed aghast\nagainst a prescription which appeared to him nothing short of\nsacrilegious and insulting, and declared that there were better and\nnobler streams in his own land. Even the deadly complaint with which he\nwas smitten could not shake his fidelity to these, could not alter his\nconviction that they were superior to alien streams; and the truth is\nthat nearly every great river--perhaps because its perpetual motion\nmakes it seem verily a living thing--has a way of establishing itself in\nthe hearts of those who dwell by its banks.\n\nThe Rhine is no exception to this rule; on the contrary, it is a notable\nillustration thereof. From time immemorial the name of the mighty stream\nhas been sacred to the Germans, while gradually a halo of romantic\nglamour has wound itself about the river, a halo which appeals potently\neven to many who have never seen the Vaterland. Am Rhein!--is there not\nmagic in the words? And how they call up dreams of robber barons, each\nwith his strange castle built on the edge of a precipice overlooking\nthe rushing stream; fiends of glade and dell, sprites of the river and\nwhirlpool, weird huntsmen, and all the dramatis personae of legend and\ntradition.\n\nThe Rhine has ever held a wide fame in the domain of literature. For\nthere is scarcely a place on the river's banks but has its legend which\nhas been enshrined in song, and some of these songs are so old that the\nnames of their makers have long since been forgotten. Yes, we have to go\nvery far back indeed would we study the poetry of the Rhine adequately;\nwe have to penetrate deeply into the Middle Ages, dim and mysterious.\nAnd looking back thus, and pondering on these legendary and anonymous\nwritings, a poem which soon drifts into recollection is one whose scene\nis laid near the little town of Lorch, or Lordch. Hard by this town is a\nmountain, known to geographers as Kedrich, but hailed popularly as 'the\nDevil's Ladder.' Nor is the name altogether misplaced or undeserved,\nthe mountain being exceeding precipitous, and its beetling, rocky sides\nseeming well-nigh inaccessible. This steepness, however, did not daunt\nthe hero of the poem in question, a certain Sir Hilchen von Lorch. A\nsaddle, said to have belonged to him, is still preserved in the town;\nbut on what manner of steed he was wont to ride is not told explicitly,\nand truly it must have been a veritable Bucephalus. For the nameless\npoet relates that Sir Hilchen, being enamoured of a lady whom angry\ngnomes had carried to the top of Kedrich and imprisoned there, rode at\nfull gallop right up the side of the mountain, and rescued the fair one!\n\n     \"Though my lady-love to a tower be ta'en,\n     Whose top the eagle might fail to gain,\n     Nor portal of iron nor battlement's height\n     Shall bar me out from her presence bright:\n     Why has Love wings but that he may fly\n     Over the walls, be they never so high?\"\n\nSo the tale begins, while at the end the knight is represented exulting\nin his doughty action:\n\n     \"Hurrah, hurrah! 'Tis gallantly done!\n     The spell is broken, the bride is won!\n     From the magic hold of the mountain-sprite\n     Down she comes with her dauntless knight!\n     Holy St. Bernard, shield us all\n     From the wrath of the elves of the Whisper-Thal.\"\n\nAndernach\n\nThere are several different versions of this legend, each of them just\nas extraordinary as the foregoing. It is evident, moreover, that matter\nof this sort appealed very keenly to the medieval dwellers by the Rhine,\nmuch of the further legendary lore encircling the river being concerned\nwith deeds no less amazing than this of Sir Hilchen's; and among things\nwhich recount such events a notable instance is a poem consecrated to\nthe castle of Andernach. Here, once upon a time, dwelt a count bearing\nthe now famous name of Siegfried, and being of a religious disposition,\nhe threw in his lot with a band of crusaders. For a long while, in\nconsequence, he was absent from his ancestral domain; and at length,\nreturning thither, he was told by various lying tongues that his\nbeautiful wife, Genofeva, had been unfaithful to him in his absence,\nthe chief bearer of the fell news being one Golo. This slanderer induced\nSiegfried to banish Genofeva straightway, and so the lady fled from the\ncastle to the neighbouring forest of Laach, where a little later she\ngave birth to a boy. Thenceforth mother and son lived together in the\nwilds, and though these were infested by wild robbers, and full of\nwolves and other ravening beasts, the pair of exiles contrived to go\nunscathed year after year, while, more wonderful still, they managed\nto find daily sustenance. And now romance reached a happy moment; for\nbehold, Count Siegfried went hunting one day in the remoter parts of\nthe forest, and fortuitously he passed by the very place where the two\nwanderers were living--his wife and the child whom he had never seen.\n\n     'Tis in the woody vales of Laach the hunter's horn is wound,\n     And fairly flies the falcon, and deeply bays the hound;\n     But little recks Count Siegfried for hawk or quarry now:\n     A weight is on his noble heart, a gloom is on his brow.\n     Oh! he hath driven from his home--he cannot from his mind--\n     A lady, ah! the loveliest of all her lovely kind;\n     His wife, his Genofeva!--and at the word of one,\n     The blackest traitor ever looked upon the blessed sun.\n     He hath let the hunters hurry by, and turned his steed aside,\n     And ridden where the blue lake spreads its waters calm and wide,\n     And lo! beneath a linden-tree, there sits a lady fair,\n     But like some savage maiden clad in sylvan pageant rare.\n     Her kirtle's of the dappled skin of the rapid mountain roe;\n     A quiver at her back she bears, beside her lies a bow;\n     Her feet are bare, her golden hair adown her shoulders streams,\n     And in her lap a rosy child is smiling in its dreams.\n\nThe count had never thought to see his wife again. He imagined that she\nhad long since starved to death or been devoured; and now, finding her\nalive, his pulses quicken. He knows well that only a miracle could have\npreserved her during all this period of estrangement, and reflects that\non behalf of the virtuous alone are miracles worked. Seeing herein ample\nproof of Genofeva's innocence, he welcomes her back to his arms and with\nbeating heart bears her to the castle:\n\n     Oh! there was joy in Andernach upon that happy night:\n     The palace rang with revelry, the city blazed with light:\n     And when the moon her paler beams upon the turrets shed,\n     Above the Roman gate was seen the traitor Golo's head.\n\nThe Brothers\n\nDoubtless it was the thaumaturgic element in this pretty romance\nwhich chiefly made it popular among its pristine audiences, yet it was\nprobably the pathos with which it is coloured that granted it longevity,\ncausing it to be handed down from generation to generation long before\nthe advent of the printing-press.\n\nPathos, of course, figures largely in all folk-literature, and the story\nof Count Siegfried is by no means the only tale of a touching nature\nembodied in the early poetry of the Rhine, another similar work which\nbelongs to this category being a poem associated with Liebenstein and\nSterrenberg, two castles not far from each other. These places, so goes\nthe tale, once belonged to a nobleman who chanced to have as his ward\na young lady of singular loveliness. He had also two sons, of whom the\nelder was heir to Liebenstein, while the younger was destined to inherit\nSterrenberg. These brothers were fast friends, and this partitioning of\nthe paternal estates never begot so much as an angry word between\nthem; but, alas! in an evil day they both fell in love with the same\nwoman--their father's ward. Such events have happened often, and usually\nthey have ended in bitter strife; but the elder of the young men was\nof magnanimous temperament, and, convinced that the lady favoured the\nother's advances more than his, he left him to woo and win her, and so\nin due course it was announced that the younger brother and she were\naffianced. Anon the date fixed for their nuptials drew near, but it\nhappened that, in the interim, the young knight of Sterrenberg had\nbecome infected with a desire to join a crusade; and now, despite\nthe entreaties of his fiancee and his father, he mustered a troop of\nmen-at-arms, led them to join the Emperor Conrad at Frankfort, and set\noff for the Holy Land. Year after year went by; still the warrior was\nabsent, and betimes his friends and relations began to lose all hope of\never seeing him again, imagining that he must have fallen at the hands\nof the infidel. Yet this suspicion was never actually confirmed, and the\nelder brother, far from taking the advantage which the strange situation\noffered, continued to eschew paying any addresses to his brother's\nintended bride, and invariably treated her simply as a beloved sister.\nSometimes, no doubt, it occurred to him that he might win her yet;\nbut of a sudden his horizon was changed totally, and changed in a most\nunexpected fashion. The rover came back! And lo! it was not merely\na tale of war that he brought with him, for it transpired that while\nabroad he had proved false to his vows and taken to himself a wife, a\ndamsel of Grecian birth who was even now in his train. The knight of\nLiebenstein was bitterly incensed on hearing the news, and sent his\nbrother a fierce challenge to meet him in single combat; but scarcely\nhad they met and drawn swords ere the injured lady intervened. She\nreminded the young men of their sacred bond of fraternity; she implored\nthem to desist from the crime of bloodshed. Then, having averted this,\nshe experienced a great longing to renounce all earthly things, and\ntook the veil in a neighbouring convent, thus shattering for ever the\nrekindled hopes of her elder suitor. But he, the hero of the drama, was\nnot the only sufferer, for his brother was not to go unpunished for his\nperfidy. A strange tale went forth, a scandalous tale to the effect that\nthe Grecian damsel was unfaithful to her spouse. Sterrenberg began to\nrue his ill-timed marriage, and ultimately was forced to banish his wife\naltogether. And so, each in his wind-swept castle--for their father was\nnow dead--the two knights lived on, brooding often on the curious events\nof which their lives had been composed. The elder never married, and the\nyounger had no inclination to take that step a second time.\n\n     They never entered court or town,\n     Nor looked on woman's face;\n     But childless to the grave went down,\n     The last of all their race.\n     And still upon the mountain fair\n     Are seen two castles grey,\n     That, like their lords, together there\n     Sink slowly to decay.\n\n     The gust that shakes the tottering stone\n     On one burg's battlement,\n     Upon the other's rampart lone\n     Hath equal fury spent.\n     And when through Sternberg's shattered wall\n     The misty moonbeams shine,\n     Upon the crumbling walls they fall\n     Of dreary Liebenstein.\n\nThis legend is recounted here to illustrate the poetry of the Rhine. A\nvariant of it is given on p. 171.\n\nArgenfels\n\nBut the warriors who flit across the lore of Rhineland were not all so\nunfortunate, and one who fared better was Sir Dietrich of Schwarzenbeck.\nMarching by the Rhine on his way to join a band of crusaders, this\nDietrich chanced to pass a few days at the castle of Argenfels, whose\nowner was the father of two daughters. The younger of the pair, Bertha\nby name, soon fell in love with the guest, while he, too, was deeply\nimpressed by her charm; but silken dalliance was not for him at\npresent--for was he not under a vow to try to redeem the Holy\nSepulchre?--and so he resumed his journey to Palestine. Here an arduous\ncampaign awaited him. In the course of a fierce battle he was wounded\nsorely, and while trying to escape from the field he was taken prisoner.\nThis was a terrible fate, a far worse fate than death, for the Saracens\nusually sold their captives as slaves; and Sir Dietrich as he languished\nin captivity, wondering whether he was destined to spend the rest of\nhis days serving the infidel in some menial capacity, vowed that if he\nshould ever regain his native Germany he would build there a chapel to\nSt. Peter. Nor did his piety go unrewarded, for shortly afterward a body\nof his compatriots came to his aid, worsted his foes, and set him free.\nA joyful day was this for the crusader, but it was not his pious vow\nthat he thought of first; he made for Argenfels, eager to see again the\nbright eyes of the lady who had enchanted him. Day and night he rode,\nand as he drew nearer to the castle his passion grew stronger within\nhim; but, alas! on reaching his destination his hopes were suddenly\ndashed to the ground. War had meantime been waged in the neighbourhood\nof Bertha's home; her father had been involved, his castle burnt to the\nground, and the two daughters had disappeared. Peradventure they had\nperished, surmised the knight; but he swore he would leave nothing\nundone which might lead to the restoration of his beloved. Making\ninquiries far and near throughout the country, he heard at last from\nan old shepherd that two ladies of gentle birth were sequestering\nthemselves in a disused hermitage near the summit of a mountain called\nStromberg. \"Is it indeed they?\" thought Sir Dietrich. He clambered up\nthe rocky steep leading to the hermitage and a wistful sound greeted\nhis ears, the sound of maidens' voices offering up vespers. \"Ave Maria,\nstella maris,\" they sang, and in the coolness of the evening the notes\nvibrated with a new, strange loveliness, for the lover knew that he had\nnot climbed the Stromberg in vain. He returned, bringing Bertha with\nhim, and in due course she became his bride. Yet the fairest rose has\nits thorns, and the happiness of the pair was not to be wholly undimmed\nby clouds. For Bertha's sister, showing a curious perversity, expressed\na desire to remain in the abode which had sheltered her of late, and\nnothing could induce her to alter this decision. Sir Dietrich pleaded\nwith her again and again, and of a sudden, while thus engaged, he\nthought of the vow he had made while a captive--the vow he had not kept.\nHere, possibly--here in this shadow darkening the joy of his bridal--was\na message from on high! So straightway he built his chapel, choosing as\nsituation therefor a spot hard by the windswept hermitage, and in this\nshrine to St. Peter dwelt Bertha's sister to the end of her days. Was\nit, mayhap, jealousy and a dart from Cupid's bow which kept her there;\nand was she, too, enamoured of Sir Dietrich? Well, the poet who tells\nthe story certainly thought so!\n\nDrinking Songs of the Rhine\n\nIt were a lengthy matter to recount the many other poems of Rhineland\nakin to those mustered above, and enough has been said to indicate\ntheir general characteristics; while an ancient Rhine classic of yet a\ndifferent kind, The Mouse Tower, given elsewhere, is so familiar owing\nto Southey's English version that it were superfluous to offer any\nsynopsis or criticism of it here. Then a class of poems of which the\ngreat river's early literature is naturally replete are those concerned\nwith the growing of the vine and the making of Rhenish, prominent among\nthese being one consecrated to Bacharach, a town which was a famous\ncentre of the wine industry in the Middle Ages. Near Bacharach there\nis a huge stone in the Rhine which, known as 'the Altar of Bacchus,'\nis visible only on rare occasions, when the river chances to be\nparticularly low; and in olden times, whenever this stone was seen,\nthe event was hailed by the townsfolk as an omen that their next grape\nharvest would be an exceptionally successful one. It is with this 'Altar\nof Bacchus' that the poem in question deals. But coming to modern times,\nmany of the Rhine drinking songs are also concerned to some extent with\npatriotism--an element which seems to go hand in hand with the\nbacchanal the world over!--and a typical item in this category is\nthe Rheinweinlied of Georg Hervegh, a poet of the first half of the\nnineteenth century. A better patriotic song of Rhine-land, however,\nis one by a slightly earlier poet, Wolfgang Mueller, a native of\nKoenigswinter, near Bonn, who sings with passionate devotion of the great\nriver, dwelling lovingly on its natural beauties, and exalting it above\nall other streams. His song appears to have been composed when the\nwriter was undergoing a temporary period of exile from the Vaterland,\nfor a somewhat pathetic and plaintive air pervades each verse, and the\npoet refers to the Rhine as a memory rather than as something actually\nbefore his eyes. But very different is another fine patriotic song of\nwhich it behoves to speak, the work of August Kopisch, a contemporary of\nMueller. This latter song treats of an incident in the Napoleonic wars,\nand Bluecher and his forces are represented as encamped on the Rhine and\nas debating whether to march forward against their French foes. Nor is\nit necessary to add, perhaps, that they decide to do so, for otherwise\nno German singer would have handled the theme!\n\nBut what, asks someone, is really the brightest gem of Rhineland poetry?\nwhile someone else adds that the majority of the writers cited above are\nbut little known, and inquires whether none of the great German authors\nwere ever inspired to song by their beloved river. The name of Heinrich\nHeine naturally comes to mind in this relation--comes to mind instantly\non account of what is surely his masterpiece, Die Lorelei--a poem\nalready dealt with.\n\nBut Heine's version far transcends all others, and pondering on its\nbeauty, we think first of its gentle, andante music, a music which\nsteals through the senses like a subtle perfume:\n\n     Ich weiss nicht was soll es bedeuten,\n     Dass ich so traurig bin;\n     Ein Maerchen aus alten Zeiten,\n     Das kommt mir nicht aus dem Sinn.\n\nThere, surely, is a sound as lovely as the fateful maiden herself ever\nsang; and here, again, is a verse which is a tour de force in the craft\nof landscape-painting; for not only are the externals of the scene\nsummoned vividly before the reader's eyes, but some of the mystery and\nstrangely wistful appeal of nature are likewise found in the lines:\n\n     Die Luft ist kuehl und es dunkelt\n     Und ruhig fliesst der Rhein;\n     Der Gipfel des Berges funkelt\n     Im Abendsonneaschein.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III--CLEVES TO THE LOeWENBURG\n\nLohengrin\n\nThe tale or myth of the Knight of the Swan who came to the succour\nof the youthful Duchess of Brabant is based upon motives more or less\ncommon in folklore--the enchantment of human beings into swans, and the\ntaboo whereby, as in the case of Cupid and Psyche, the husband forbids\nthe wife to question him as to his identity or to look upon him. The\nmyth has been treated by both French and German romancers, but the\nlatter attached it loosely to the Grail legend, thus turning it to\nmystical use.\n\nAs a purely German story it is found at the conclusion of Wolfram von\nEschenbach's Parzival,[1] from which the following version is drawn.\nThe name of the hero as written by Wolfram (Loherangrin) may possibly\nbe traced to Garin le Loherin or Garin of Lorraine. Wagner's version is\ntaken from the same source, but the mighty master of melody altered many\nof the details for dramatic and other reasons.\n\n[Footnote 1: See my Dictionary of Medieval Romance, articles 'Grail,'\n'Parzival,' 'Perceval,' and 'Garin.']\n\nThe principal French versions of the romance are Le Chevalier au Cygne\nand Helyas, and there are medieval English forms of these.[2]\n\n[Footnote 2: Op. cit.]\n\nThe Knight of the Swan\n\nIn a dungeon in the castle of Cleves lay Elsa of Brabant, languishing\nin captivity. Her father, the Duke of Brabant, had ere he died appointed\nhis most powerful vassal, one Frederick of Telramund, to be her\nguardian; but he, seeking only the advancement of his own ends,\nshamefully abused the confidence of his lord. Using his authority as\nElsa's guardian, he sought to compel her to become his wife, and threw\nher into prison to await the wedding-day, knowing well that none would\ndare to dispute his action.\n\nAn appeal was made on Elsa's behalf to the Emperor, Henry I, who decreed\nthat she should choose a champion, so that the matter might be settled\nby combat. But, alas! there was not a knight who would venture to match\nhis skill against that of Frederick, who was a giant in stature and an\nexpert in sword-play. In accordance with the Emperor's decree Telramund\nsent out a herald at stated times to proclaim his readiness to do battle\nwith any who would champion the cause of Elsa.\n\nTime passed, yet the challenge was not accepted, and at length the\nday was fixed for the bridal. Behind her prison bars the lady wept\nceaselessly, and called upon the Virgin to save her from the threatened\nfate. In her despair she beat her breast with her chaplet, whereon was\nhung a tiny silver bell. Now this little bell was possessed of magic\nproperties, for when it was rung the sound, small at first as the\ntinkling of a fairy lure, grew in volume the further it travelled till\nit resembled the swelling of a mighty chorus. Rarely was its tone heard,\nand never save when its owner was in dire straits, as on the present\noccasion. When Elsa beat her breast with it, therefore, its magical\nqualities responded to her distress, and its faint, sweet tinkle fell on\nher ear.\n\nFar away over hill and dale went the sound of the bell, growing ever\nricher and louder, till at length it reached the temple where Parsifal\nand his knights guarded the Holy Grail. To them it seemed that the\nswelling notes contained an appeal for help directed to the Holy Vessel\nover which they kept vigil. While they debated thereon a loud and\nmysterious voice was heard bidding Parsifal send his son Lohengrin\nto the rescue of Elsa of Brabant, whom he must take for his wife, yet\nwithout revealing to her his identity.\n\nThe awed knights recognized the voice as that of the Holy Grail, and\nLohengrin at once set out, bound he knew not whither. When he reached\nthe shores of the Rhine he found awaiting him a boat drawn by a stately\nswan. Taking it as a sign from Heaven, he stepped into the little boat\nand was carried up the Rhine, to the sound of the most exquisite music.\n\nIt was the day on which Elsa was to be wedded to her tyrant. She had\nspent the night in tears and bitter lamentations, and now, weary and\ndistraught, too hopeless even for tears, she looked out from the bars of\nher prison with dull, despairing eyes. Suddenly she heard the melodious\nstrains and a moment later saw the approach of a swan-drawn boat,\nwherein lay a sleeping knight. Hope leapt within her, for she remembered\nthe prophecy of an old nun, long since dead, that a sleeping knight\nwould rescue her from grave peril. Directly he stepped ashore the youth\nmade his way to the place of her confinement and, espying her face at\nthe heavily barred window, knelt before her and begged that she would\ntake him for her champion.\n\nAt that moment the blast of a trumpet was heard, followed by the voice\nof the herald as, for the last time, he challenged any knight to take\nup arms on behalf of Elsa of Brabant. Lohengrin boldly accepted the\nchallenge, and Telramund, when the news reached him of the unexpected\nopposition, on the very day he had appointed for his wedding, was\nsurprised and enraged beyond measure, yet he dared not refuse to do\nbattle with the stranger knight, because of the Emperor's decree. So it\nwas arranged that the combat should take place immediately. News of it\nreached the people of Cleves, and a great concourse gathered to witness\nthe spectacle, all of them secretly in sympathy with the persecuted\nmaiden, though these feelings were carefully concealed from the ruthless\nTelramund.\n\nFierce indeed was the combat, for Lohengrin, though less powerfully\nbuilt than his gigantic opponent, was nevertheless tall and strong, and\nwell versed in the arts of war. At length he laid his enemy in the dust\nwith a well-aimed sword-stroke, and the crowd broke into cheers. The\ncombat was over, and Elsa was free!\n\nHeeding not the acclamations of the people, Lohengrin strode toward\nElsa and again knelt at her feet. The blushing maiden bade him name his\nreward, whereupon the knight begged her hand in marriage, confessing,\nhowever, that he might only remain with her so long as she did not\nquestion him with regard to his identity. It seemed a small condition\nto Elsa, who willingly promised to restrain any curiosity she might feel\nconcerning his name and place of abode. The cheers of the populace were\nredoubled when they learned that Elsa was to bestow her hand on the Swan\nKnight.\n\nIn a few weeks the couple were married, and henceforth for a good many\nyears they lived together very happily. Three sons were born to them,\nwho grew in time to be handsome and chivalrous lads, of noble bearing\nand knightly disposition. Then it was that Elsa, who had hitherto\nfaithfully kept her promise to her husband, began to fancy that she and\nher sons had a grievance in that the latter were not permitted to bear\ntheir father's name.\n\nFor a time she brooded in silence over her grievance, but at length it\nwas fanned into open rebellion by a breath of outside suspicion. Some of\nthe people looked askance at the knight whose name no one knew. So Elsa\nopenly reproached her husband with his secrecy, and begged that for the\nbenefit of their sons he would reveal his name and station. Even the\nchildren of humble parents, the children of the peasants, of their own\nretainers, had a right to their father's name, and why not her sons\nalso?\n\nLohengrin paled at her foolish words, for to him they were the sign that\nhe must leave his wife and family and betake himself once more to the\ntemple of the Holy Grail.\n\n\"Oh, Elsa,\" he said sorrowfully, \"thou knowest not what thou hast done.\nThy promise is broken, and to-day I must leave thee for ever.\" And with\nthat he blew a blast on his silver horn.\n\nElsa had already repented her rash words, and right earnestly she\nbesought him to remain by her side. But, alas! her tears and pleadings\nwere in vain, for, even as her entreaties were uttered, she heard\nthe exquisite strains of music which had first heralded her lover's\napproach, while from the window of the castle she espied the swan-boat\nrapidly drawing toward the shore.\n\nWith grave tenderness Lohengrin bade farewell to his wife and family,\nfirst, however, revealing to them his identity, and commending them to\nthe care of some of his trusty followers.\n\nTradition tells that Elsa did not long survive the loss of her beloved\nhusband, but her sons became brave knights, well worthy of the proud\nname they bore.\n\nA Legend of Liege\n\nA legend of Liege! and is not Liege itself now almost legendary? Its\nvenerable church, its world-famous library replete with the priceless\ntreasures of the past, \"with records stored of deeds long since forgot,\"\nwhere are they?--but crumbling clusters of ruins fired by the barbarian\ntorch whose glow, we were told, was to enlighten an ignorant and\nuncultured Europe! But one gem remains: the wonderful Hotel de Ville,\ntype of the Renaissance spirit in Flanders. Liege may be laid in ruins,\nbut the memory of what it was can never die:\n\n     Athens in death is nobler far\n     Than breathing cities of the West;\n\nand the same may be said of those splendours in stone, those wonders\nof medieval architecture, even the blackened walls of which possess a\ndignity and beauty which will ever assist the imagination to re-create\nthe picture of what has been.\n\nLiege is a city of the Middle Ages. Time was when the place boasted but\na single forge; and though bucklers were heaped beside the anvil, and\nswords and spears lay waiting for repair, the blacksmith leant against\nhis door-post, gazing idly up the hill-side. Gradually he was aware of\na figure, which seemed to have grown into shape from a furze-bush, or\nto have risen from behind a stone; and as it descended the slope he eyed\ncuriously the grimy face, long beard, and squat form of what he was\nhalf unwilling to recognize as a human being. Hobbling awkwardly, and\nshrugging his shoulders as though cold, the man came in time to the\nsmithy door.\n\n\"What! Jacques Perron--idle when work is to be done? Idle smith! idle\nsmith! The horse lacks the bit, and the rider the spur.\n\n     'Ill fares the hide when the buckler wants mending;\n     Ill fares the plough when the coulter wants tending.'\n\nIdle smith! idle smith!\"\n\n\"Idle enough,\" quoth Jacques. \"I'm as idle as you are ugly; but I can't\nget charcoal any more than you can get beauty, so I must stand still,\nand you be content with your face, though I'd fain earn a loaf and a cup\nfull enough for both of us this winter morning.\"\n\nThough the strange man must have known he was horribly ugly--that is,\nif he ever bent to drink of the clear bright waters of the lovely Meuse,\nwhich reflected in those days every lily-bell and every grass-blade\nwhich grew upon its banks, and gave a faithful portraiture in its cool\nwaters of every creature that leant over them--though he was certainly\nthe most frightful creature that had ever met the blacksmith's sight, it\nwas evident enough that he did not like being called Ugly-face. But when\nthe honest, good-natured smith spoke of earning a draught for his new\nacquaintance as well as himself, he smacked his ugly lips and twisted\nout a sort of smile which made him still more hideous.\n\n\"Ah, ah!\" said he, \"wine's good in winter weather, wine's good in winter\nweather. Listen, listen! Jacques Perron! listen, listen! Go you up the\nhill-side--yonder, yonder!\" and he pointed with a yellow finger, which\nseemed to stretch out longer and longer as the smith strained his\neyes up the slope, until the digit looked quite as long as the tallest\nchimney that smoked over Liege. \"Listen, listen!\" and he sang in a voice\nlike the breath of a huge bellows:\n\n     \"'Wine's good in winter weather;\n     Up the hill-side near the heather\n     Go and gather the black earth,\n     It shall give your fire birth.\n     Ill fares the hide when the buckler wants mending;\n     Ill fares the plough when the coulter wants tending:\n     Go! Go!'\n\n\"Mind my cup of wine--mind my cup of wine!\" As he ended this rude chant\nJacques saw the long finger run back into the shrivelled hand, as a\ntelescope slips back into its case, and then the hand was wrapped up in\nthe dingy garment, and with a dreadful shiver, and a chattering of teeth\nas loud as the noise of the anvils now heard on the same spot, the ugly\nman was wafted away round the corner of the building like a thick gust\nof smoke from a newly fed furnace.\n\n\"Mind my cup of wine--mind my cup of wine!\" rang again in the ears of\nthe startled Jacques, and after running several times round his house in\nvain pursuit of the voice, he sat down on the cold anvil to scratch his\nhead and think. It was quite certain he had work to do, and it was as\ncertain as half a score searches could make it that he had not a single\ncoin in his pouch to buy charcoal to do it with. He was reflecting that\nthe old man was a very strange creature--he was more than half afraid to\nthink who he might be--when in the midst of his cogitation he heard\nhis three children calling out for their morning meal. Not a loaf\nhad Jacques in store, and twisting his hide apron round his loins, he\nmuttered, \"Demon or no demon, I'll go,\" and strode out of the smithy and\nup the hill-side as fast as though he feared that if he went slowly his\ncourage would not carry him as far up as the heather-bush which the long\nyellow finger had pointed out.\n\nWhen the young wife of Jacques came to look for her husband, she saw\nhim returning with his apron full of black morsels of shining stone. She\nsmiled at him; but when he threw them on the furnace and went to get a\nbrand to set them alight, she looked solemn enough, for she thought he\nhad left his wits on the hill-top. Great was her surprise when she saw\nthe stones burn! But her joy was greater than her surprise when she\nheard her husband's hammer ring merrily, and found the wage of the\nsmith all spared for home use, instead of being set aside for the\ncharcoal-burner. That night Jacques had two full wine-cups and, setting\nthem on the anvil, had scarcely said to himself, \"I wonder whether\nHe'll come!\" when in walked the Old Man and, nodding familiarly, seated\nhimself on the head of the big hammer. Jacques was a bold and grateful\nas well as a good-natured fellow, and in a few minutes he and his\nvisitor were on excellent terms. No more shivering or chattering of\nteeth was seen or heard in the smithy that night. The black stones\nburned away merrily on the hearth, and the bright flames shone on the\nhonest face of the smith as he hobnobbed with his companion, and looked\nas though he really thought the stranger as handsome as he certainly had\nbeen useful. He sang his best songs and told his best stories, and when\nthe wine had melted his soul he told his new friend how dearly he loved\nhis wife and what charming, dear creatures his children were. \"Demon\nor no demon,\" he swore the stranger was a good fellow, and though the\nvisitor spoke but little, he seemed to enjoy his company very much.\nHe laughed at the jokes, smiled at the songs, and once rather startled\nJacques by letting out again his long telescope arm to pat him on his\nshoulder when, with a mouth full of praises of his wife, a tear sparkled\nin his eye as he told over again how dearly he loved his little ones.\n\nDay broke before the wine was exhausted or their hearts flagged, and\nwhen the voice of the early cock woke the swan that tended her callow\nbrood amongst the sedges of the Meuse the Old Man departed. Jacques\nnever saw him again, although he often looked in all directions when he\nwent to the hill for a supply of fuel; but from that day Liege grew up\nin industry, riches, and power. Jacques had found coal, and thus became\nthe benefactor of his native country, and the hero of this favourite\nLegend of the Liegeois.\n\nThe Sword-slipper of Solingen\n\nIn Solingen, where the forges rang to the making of sword-blades, many\nsmiths had essayed to imitate the falchions of Damascus, their trenchant\nkeenness and their wondrous golden inlaying. But numerous as were the\nattempts made to recapture the ancient secret of the East, they all\nsignally failed, and brought about the ruin of many masters of the\nsword-slipper's art.\n\nAmong these was old Ruthard, a smith grown grey in the practice of his\ntrade. He had laid aside sufficient savings to permit himself a year's\nexperiment in the manufacture of Damascus blades, but to no purpose. As\nthe months wore on he saw his hard-earned gold melting steadily away.\nThe wrinkles deepened on his brow, and his only daughter, Martha,\nwatched the change coming over him in sorrowful silence.\n\nOne evening--the evening of all evenings, the holy Christmas eve--Martha\nentered the forge and saw the old man still hard at work. She gently\nremonstrated with him, asking him why he toiled on such an occasion.\n\n\"You work, my father, as if you feared that to-morrow we might not\nhave bread,\" she said. \"Why toil on this holy evening? Have you not\nsufficient for the future? You must have laid by enough for your old\nage. Then why fatigue yourself when others are spending the time by\ntheir own hearths in cheerful converse?\"\n\nThe old smith's only reply was to shake his head in a melancholy manner,\ntake some pieces of broken food in his hands, and leave the house. At\nthat moment Wilhelm, the smith's head apprentice, entered the room.\nHe seemed pale and disturbed, and related to Martha, to whom he was\nbetrothed, that he had asked Ruthard for her hand. The old man had\nfirmly told him that he could not consent to their union until he\nhad discovered the secret of making Damascus blades. This he felt was\nhopeless to expect, and he had come to say \"good-bye\" ere he set out on\na quest from which he might never return. At the news Martha was greatly\nperturbed. She rose and clung to the young man, her wild grief venting\nitself in heartrending sobs. She begged him not to depart. But his mind\nwas fully made up, and, notwithstanding her tears and caresses, he tore\nhimself away and quitted the house and the town.\n\nFor nearly a fortnight the youth tramped over hill and valley with\nlittle in his pouch and without much hope that the slender means of\nwhich he was possessed would bring him to the land of the Saracens,\nwhere alone he could hope to learn the great art of tempering the blades\nof Damascus. One evening he entered the solitary mountain country of\nSpessart and, unacquainted with the labyrinths of the road, lost himself\nin an adjoining forest. By this time night had fallen, and he cast about\nfor a place in which to lay his head. But the inhospitable forest showed\nno sign of human habitation. After wandering on, however, stumbling and\nfalling in the darkness, he at length saw a light burning brightly at a\ndistance. Quickly he made for it and found that it came from the window\nof a cottage, at the door of which he knocked loudly. He had not long to\nwait for an answer, for an old woman speedily opened and inquired what\nhe wanted at so late an hour. He told her that he desired food and\nlodging, for which he could pay, and he was at once admitted. She told\nhim, however, that she expected another visitor. Whilst she cooked his\nsupper Wilhelm detailed to her the circumstances of his journey. After\nhe had eaten he retired to rest, but, tired as he was, he could not\nsleep. Later a dreadful storm arose, through the din of which he heard\na loud noise, as if someone had entered the house by way of the chimney.\nPeering through the keyhole into the next room, he perceived a man\nseated at the table opposite his hostess whose appearance filled him\nwith misgiving. He had not much leisure for a detailed examination of\nthis person, however, for the witch--for such she was--came to the door\nof his room, entered, and bade him come and be introduced to a stranger\nfrom the East who could tell him the secret of forging Damascus blades.\nWilhelm followed the old woman into the other room and beheld there a\nswarthy man seated, wrapped in a flame-coloured mantle. For a long time\nthe stranger regarded him steadily, then demanded what he wanted from\nhim. Wilhelm told him the circumstances of his quest, and when he\nhad finished the story the man laughed and, drawing from his pocket a\ndocument, requested the youth to sign it. Wilhelm perceived that it was\nof the nature of a pact with Satan, by which he was to surrender\nhis soul in return for the coveted secret. Nevertheless, he set his\nsignature to the manuscript and returned to his couch--but not to sleep.\nThe consequences of his terrible act haunted him, and when morning\ncame he set off on his homeward journey with a fearful heart, carefully\nguarding a well-sealed letter which the mysterious stranger had put into\nhis hand.\n\nWithout further adventure he reached Solingen, and having acquainted\nRuthard with what had transpired, he handed him the letter. But the good\nold man refused to unseal it.\n\n\"You must keep this until your own son and my grandson can open it,\" he\nsaid to Wilhelm, \"for over his infant soul the enemy can have no power.\"\n\nAnd so it happened. Wilhelm married Martha, and in the course of a few\nyears a little son was born to them, who in due time found the letter,\nopened it, and mastered the Satanic secret, and from that time the\nblades of Solingen have had a world-wide renown.\n\nThe Architect of Cologne Cathedral\n\nTravellers on the Rhine usually make a halt at Cologne to see the\ncathedral, and many inquire the name of its creator. Was the plan the\nwork of a single architect? they ask; or did the cathedral, like many\nanother in Europe, acquire its present form by slow degrees, being\naugmented and duly embellished in divers successive ages? These\nquestions are perfectly reasonable and natural, yet, strange to relate,\nare invariably answered in evasive fashion, the truth being that the\nname of the artist in stone who planned Cologne Cathedral is unknown.\nThe legend concerning him, however, is of world-wide celebrity, for the\ntale associated with the founding of the famous edifice is replete with\nthat grisly element which has always delighted the Germans, and figures\nlargely in their medieval literature, and more especially in the works\nof their early painters--for example, Duerer, Lucas Cranach, and Albrecht\nAltdoerfer.\n\nIt was about the time of the last-named master that a Bishop of Cologne,\nConrad von Hochsteden, formed the resolve of increasing the pecuniary\nvalue of his diocese. He was already rich, but other neighbouring\nbishops were richer, each of them being blest with just what Conrad\nlacked--a shrine sufficiently famous to attract large numbers of wealthy\npilgrims able to make generous offerings. The result of his jealous\nmusing was that the crafty bishop vowed he would build a cathedral whose\nlike had not been seen in all Germany. By this means, he thought,\nhe would surely contrive to bring rich men to his diocese. His first\nthought was to summon an architect from Italy, in those days the country\nwhere beautiful building was chiefly carried on; but he found that this\nwould cost a far larger sum than he was capable of raising; so, hearing\nthat a gifted young German architect had lately taken up his abode at\nCologne itself, Conrad sent for him and offered him a rich reward should\nhe accomplish the work satisfactorily. The young man was overjoyed, for\nas yet he had received no commissions of great importance, and he set\nto work at once. He made drawing after drawing, but, being in a state of\nfeverish excitement, found that his hand had lost its cunning. None\nof his designs pleased him in the least; the bishop, he felt, would be\nequally disappointed; and thinking that a walk in the fresh air might\nclear his brain, he threw his drawing-board aside and repaired to the\nbanks of the Rhine. Yet even here peace did not come to him; he was\ntormented by endless visions of groined arches, pediments, pilasters,\nand the like, and having a stick in his hand, he made an effort to trace\nsome on the sand. But this new effort pleased him no better than any\nof its predecessors. Fame and fortune were within his reach, yet he was\nincapable of grasping them; and he groaned aloud, cursing the day he was\nborn.\n\nAs the young man uttered his fierce malediction he was surprised to\nhear a loud \"Amen\" pronounced; he looked round, wondering from whom\nthis insolence came, and beheld an individual whose approach he had not\nnoticed. He, too, was engaged in drawing on the sand, and deeming that\nthe person, whoever he was, intended to mock his attempts at a plan for\nthe projected cathedral, the architect strode up to him with an angry\nexpression on his face. He stopped short, however, on nearing the rival\ndraughtsman; for he was repelled by his sinister aspect, while at the\nsame time he was thunderstruck by the excellence of his drawing. It was\nindeed a thaumaturgic design, just such a one as the architect himself\nhad dreamt of, but had been unable to execute; and while he gazed at it\neagerly the stranger hailed him in an ugly, rasping voice. \"A cunning\ndevice, this of mine,\" he said sharply; and the architect was bound to\nagree, despite the jealousy he felt. Surely, he thought, only the Evil\nOne could draw in this wise. Scarcely had the thought crossed his mind\nere his suspicion was confirmed, for now he marked the stranger's tail,\nartfully concealed hitherto. Yet he was incapable of withholding his\ngaze from the plan drawn so wondrously on the sand, and the foul fiend,\nseeing that the moment for his triumph was come, declared his identity\nwithout shame, and added that, would the architect but agree to renounce\nall hopes of salvation in the next world, the peerless design would be\nhis to do with as he pleased.\n\nThe young man shuddered on receiving the momentous offer, but continued\nto gaze fixedly at the cunning workmanship, and again the Evil One\naddressed him, bidding him repair that very night to a certain place on\na blasted heath, where, if he would sign a document consigning his soul\nto everlasting damnation, he would be presented with the plan duly\ndrawn on parchment. The architect still wavered, now eager to accept the\noffer, and now vowing that the stipulated price was too frightful. In\nthe end he was given time wherein to come to a decision, and he hurried\nfrom the place at hot speed as the tempter vanished from his sight.\n\nOn reaching his dwelling the architect flung himself upon his bed and\nburst into a paroxysm of weeping. The good woman who tended him observed\nthis with great surprise, for he was not given to showing his emotions\nthus; and wondering what terrible sorrow had come to him, she proceeded\nto make kindly inquiries. At first these were met with silence, but,\nfeeling a need for sympathy, the architect eventually confessed the\ntruth; and the good dame, horrified at what she heard, hurried off to\nimpart the story to her father-confessor. He, too, was shocked, but he\nwas as anxious as Bishop Conrad that the proposed cathedral should be\nduly built, and he came quickly to the architect's presence. \"Here,\" he\ntold him, \"is a piece of our Lord's cross. This will preserve you. Go,\ntherefore, as the fiend directed you, take the drawing from him, and\nbrandish the sacred relic in his accursed face the moment you have\nreceived it.\"\n\nWhen evening drew near the architect hurried to the rendezvous, where\nhe found the Devil waiting impatiently. But a leer soon spread over his\nvisage, and he was evidently overjoyed at the prospect of wrecking a\nsoul. He quickly produced a weird document, commanding his victim\nto affix his signature at a certain place. \"But the beautiful plan,\"\nwhispered the young man; \"I must see it first; I must be assured that\nthe drawing on the sand has been faithfully copied.\" \"Fear nothing.\"\nThe Devil handed over the precious piece of vellum; and glancing at it\nswiftly, and finding it in order, the architect whipped it under his\ndoublet. \"Aha! you cannot outwit me,\" shrieked the fiend; but as he was\nlaying hands upon the architect the young man brought forth the talisman\nhe carried. \"A priest has told you of this, for no one else would have\nthought of it,\" cried the Devil, breathing flame from his nostrils. But\nhis wrath availed him naught; he was forced to retreat before the sacred\nrelic, yet as he stepped backward he uttered a deadly curse. \"You have\ndeceived me,\" he hissed; \"but know that fame will never come to you;\nyour name will be forgotten for evermore.\"\n\nAnd behold, the fiend's prophecy was fulfilled. The cathedral was\nscarcely completed ere the young architect's name became irrevocably\nforgotten, and now this grisly tale is all that is known concerning his\nidentity.\n\nCologne Cathedral: Its Erection\n\nThere are several other tales to account for the belief prevalent at\none time that Cologne Cathedral would never be completed. The following\nlegend attributes the unfinished state of the edifice to the curse of\na jealous architect. At the time the building was commenced a rival\narchitect was engaged in planning an aqueduct to convey to the city a\nsupply of water purer than that of the Rhine. He was in this difficulty,\nhowever: he had been unable to discover the exact position of the spring\nfrom which the water was to be drawn. Tidings of the proposed structure\nreached the ears of the builder of the cathedral, a man of strong\npassions and jealous disposition, and in time the other architect asked\nhis opinion of the plans for the aqueduct.\n\nNow it so happened that the architect of the cathedral alone had known\nthe situation of the spring, and he had communicated it to his wife, but\nto no other living creature; so he replied boastfully:\n\n\"Speak not to me of your aqueduct. My cathedral, mighty as it will be,\nshall be completed before your little aqueduct.\" And he clinched his\nvainglorious assertion with an oath.\n\nIndeed, it seemed as though his boast would be justified, for the\nbuilding of the sacred edifice proceeded apace, while the aqueduct was\nnot even begun, because of the difficulty of finding the spring. The\nsecond architect was in despair, for of a certainty his professional\nreputation was destroyed, his hopes of fame for ever dashed, were he\nunable to finish the task he had undertaken.\n\nHis faithful wife strove to lighten his despondency, and at last,\nsetting her woman's wit to work, hit on a plan whereby the threatened\ncalamity might be averted. She set out to visit the wife of the\nrival architect, with whom she was intimate. The hostess greeted her\neffusively, and the ladies had a long chat over bygone times. More and\nmore confidential did they become under the influence of old memories\nand cherry wine. Skilfully the guest led the conversation round to the\nsubject of the hidden spring, and her friend, after exacting a promise\nof the strictest secrecy, told her its exact situation. It lay under the\ngreat tower of the cathedral, covered by the massive stone known as the\n'Devil's Stone.'\n\n\"Let me have your assurance again,\" said the anxious lady, \"that you\nwill never tell anyone, not even your husband. For I do not know what\nwould become of me if my husband learnt that I had told it to you.\" The\nother renewed her promises of secrecy and took her leave. On her return\nhome she promptly told her husband all that had passed, and he as\npromptly set to work, sunk a well at the spot indicated, and found the\nspring. The foundations of the aqueduct were laid and the structure\nitself soon sprang up. The architect of the cathedral saw with dismay\nthat his secret was discovered. As the building of the aqueduct\nprogressed he lost all interest in his own work; envy and anger filled\nhis thoughts and at last overcame him. It is said that he died of a\nbroken heart, cursing with his latest breath the cathedral which he had\nplanned.\n\nThe Wager\n\nAn alternative story is that of the Devil's wager with the architect of\nthe cathedral. The Evil One was much irritated at the good progress\nmade in the erection of the building and resolved, by means of a cunning\nartifice, to stop that progress. To this end he paid a visit to the\narchitect, travelling incognito to avoid unpleasant attentions.\n\nThe architect was a man of wit and good sense, as courteous as he was\nclever; but he had one outstanding failing--a love of wagering. Satan,\nwho ever loves to find the joints in an opponent's armour, chose this\none weak spot as a point of attack. His host offered him meat and drink,\nwhich the Devil declined as not being sufficiently high-seasoned for his\ntaste.\n\n\"I have come on a matter of business,\" said he briskly. \"I have heard of\nyou as a sporting fellow, a man who loves his wager. Is that correct?\"\n\nThe architect indicated that it was, and was all eagerness and attention\nin a moment.\n\n\"Well,\" said the other, \"I have come, in a word, to make a bet with you\nconcerning the cathedral.\"\n\n\"And what is your wager?\"\n\n\"Why, I'll wager that I bring a stream from Treves to Cologne before you\nfinish the cathedral, and I'll work single-handed, too.\"\n\n\"Done!\" said the delighted architect. \"But what's the wager?\"\n\n\"If I win, your soul passes into my possession; if you win, you may have\nanything you choose.\" And with that he was gone.\n\nNext day the architect procured the services of all the builders that\nwere to be had on such short notice, and set them to work in real\nearnest. Very soon the whole town was in a state of excitement because\nof the unusual bustle. The architect took to dreaming of the wealth, or\nthe fame, or the honour he should ask as his due when the stakes were\nwon. Employing his imagination thus, he one day climbed to the top of\nthe highest tower, which by this time was completed, and as he feasted\nhis eyes on the beautiful landscape spread before him he happened to\nturn toward the town of Treves, and lo! a shining stream was threading\nits way to Cologne. In a very short time it would reach the latter city.\n\nThe Devil had won!\n\nWith a laugh of defiance the architect cast himself from the high tower\nand was instantly killed. Satan, in the form of a black hound, sprang\nupon him, but was too late to find him alive.\n\nBut his death stopped for many years the progress of the cathedral;\nit long stood at the same stage of completion as when the brook first\nflowed from Treves to Cologne.\n\nThe Fire-bell of Cologne\n\nIn one of the grand towers of Cologne Cathedral hangs a massive bell,\nsome 25,000 lb. in weight. No mellow call to prayer issues from its\nbrazen throat, no joyous chimes peal forth on gala-days; only in times\nof disaster, of storm and stress and fire, it flings out a warning in\ntones so loud and clamorous, so full of dire threatenings, that the\nstoutest hearts quail beneath the sound. Because its awful note is only\nto be heard in time of terror it is known as the Fire-bell, and a weird\ntradition relates the story of its founding and the reason for its\nunearthly sound.\n\nLong ago, when bell-founding was looked upon as an art of the highest\nimportance, and especially so among the Germans, the civic authorities\nof Cologne made it known that the cathedral was in need of a new bell.\nThere was no lack of aspirants for the honour of casting the bell, and\nmore than one exponent of the art imagined his handiwork swinging in the\ngrand tower of the cathedral, a lasting and melodious monument to its\ncreator's skill.\n\nAmong those whose ambitious souls were stirred by the statement of the\ncity fathers was one, a bell-founder named Wolf, a man of evil passions\nand overbearing disposition, whose heart was firmly set on achieving\nsuccess. In those days, let it be said, the casting of a bell was\na solemn, and even a religious, performance, attended by elaborate\nceremonies and benedictions. On the day which Wolf had appointed for\nthe operation it seemed as though the entire populace had turned out to\nwitness the spectacle. Wolf, having prepared the mould, made ready to\npour into it the molten metal. The silence was almost oppressive, and\non it fell distinctly the solemn words of the bell-founder, as in God's\nname he released the metal. The bright stream gushed into the mould,\nand a cheer broke from the waiting crowd, who, indeed, could scarce be\nrestrained till the bell had cooled, such was their curiosity to see the\nresult. At last the earthy mould was removed, they surged round eagerly,\nand lo! from crown to rim of the mighty bell stretched a gaping crack!\n\nExpressions of disappointment burst from the lips of the people, and to\nWolf himself the failure was indeed galling. But his ambitious\nspirit was not yet completely crushed. \"I am not beaten yet,\" he said\nboastfully. \"I shall make another, and success shall yet be mine.\"\n\nAnother mould was made, once more the people came forth to see the\ncasting of the bell, once more the solemn invocation of God's name\nfell on awed ears. The glowing metal filled the mould, cooled, and was\nwithdrawn from its earthy prison. Once more cries of disappointment were\nheard from the crowd; again the massive bell was completely riven!\n\nWolf was beside himself. His eyes glowed with fury, and he thrust aside\nthe consolations of his friends. \"If God will not aid me,\" he said\nfiercely, \"then the Devil will!\"\n\nThe crowd shrank back from the impious words; nevertheless on the third\noccasion they attended in even greater numbers than before.\n\nAgain was all made ready for the casting of the huge bell. The mould\nwas fashioned as carefully as on the previous occasions, the metal was\nheated in the great furnace, and Wolf, pale and sullen, stood ready to\nrelease it. But when he spoke a murmur of astonishment, of horror, ran\nthrough the crowd. For the familiar words \"In the name of God!\" he had\nsubstituted \"In the name of the Devil!\" With fascinated eyes the people\nwatched the bright, rushing metal, and, later, the removal of the mould.\n\nAnd behold! the bell was flawless, perfect in shape and form, and\nbeautiful to look upon!\n\nWolf, having achieved the summit of his ambition, cared little for the\nmeans by which he had ascended. From among a host of competitors he was\nchosen as the most successful. His bell was to hang in the belfry\nof Cologne Cathedral, for the envy of other bell-founders and the\nadmiration of future generations.\n\nThe bell was borne in triumph through the streets and fixed high in the\ntower. Wolf requested that he might be the first to try its tone, and\nhis request was granted. He ascended into the tower and took the rope in\nhis hands; the mighty bell swung forth, but ah! what a sound was that!\nThe people pressed their hands over their ears and shuddered; those in\nthe streets hurried to their homes; all were filled with deadly fear as\nthe diabolical bell flung its awful tones over the startled city. This,\nthen, was the result of Wolf's invocation of the Devil.\n\nWolf himself, high in the cathedral tower, was overcome with the brazen\nhorror of the sound, and, driven mad with remorse and terror, flung\nhimself from the tower and fell, a crushed and shapeless mass, on the\nground below.\n\nHenceforth the bell was used only to convey warning in times of danger,\nto carry a message of terror far and wide across the city, and to remind\nthe wicked at all times of the danger of trafficking with the Evil One.\n\nThe Archbishop's Lion\n\nIn 957 Cologne was constituted an imperial free city, having as its\nnominal prince the archbishop of the see, but possessing the right to\ngovern its own affairs. The good bishop of that time acquiesced in the\narrangement, but his successors were not content to be princes in name\nonly, and strove hard to obtain a real influence over the citizens.\nBeing for the most part men of unscrupulous disposition, they did not\nhesitate to rouse commonalty and aristocracy against each other, hoping\nto step in and reap the benefits of such internecine warfare as might\nensue. And, indeed, the continual strife was not conducive to the\nprosperity of the burghers, but rather tended to sap their independence,\nand one by one their civil liberties were surrendered. Thus the scheming\narchbishops increased their power and influence in the city of Cologne.\nThere came a time, however, in the civic history when the limit was\noverstepped. In the thirteenth century Archbishop Engelbert, more daring\nand ambitious than any of his predecessors, demanded that the municipal\ntreasure should be given up to him. Not content with taking away the\nprivileges of the burghers, he wished to lay his hands on the public\npurse as well. This was indeed the last straw, and the sluggish blood of\nthe burghers was at length roused to revolt.\n\nAt this time the Burgomaster of Cologne, Hermann Grein by name, was an\nhonest, far-seeing, and diplomatic citizen, who had seen with dismay the\nancient liberties of his beloved city destroyed by the cunning of the\nArchbishop. The latter's bold attempt at further encroachments gave him\nthe opportunity he sought, and with the skill of a born leader Hermann\nGrein united nobles and commons in the determination to resist their\nmutual enemy. Feuds were for the time being forgotten, and with a\ngallant effort the galling yoke of the Archbishop-prince was thrown off,\nand the people of Cologne were once more free.\n\nGrein performed his civic duties so firmly, albeit so smoothly and\ngently, that he won the love and respect of all sections of the\npopulace. Old and young hailed him in their hearts as the deliverer of\ntheir city from ecclesiastical tyranny. Only Engelbert hated him with\na deadly hatred, and swore to be revenged; nor was his resolve weakened\nwhen a later attempt to subdue the city was frustrated by the foresight\nof Grein. It became obvious to the Archbishop that force was unavailing,\nfor the majority of all classes were on the side of liberty, and were\nlikely to remain so while Hermann Grein was at their head. So he made\nup his mind to accomplish by means of strategy the death of the good old\nman.\n\nNow there were in the monastery close by Cologne two canons who shared\nEngelbert's hatred of Grein, and who were only too willing to share in\nhis revenge. And the plan was indeed a cunning one. Belonging to a small\ncollection of animals attached to the monastery was a fierce lion, which\nhad more than once proved a convenient mode of removing the Church's\nenemies. So it was arranged that the Burgomaster should be asked to\nmeet the Archbishop there. The latter sent a suave message to his enemy\nsaying that he desired to treat with him on matters connected with the\ncivic privileges, which he was disposed to restore to the city, with a\nfew small exceptions. This being the case, would the Burgomaster consent\nto dine with him at the monastery on a certain date?\n\nThe Burgomaster consented heartily, for he was a man to whom treachery\nwas entirely foreign, and therefore not prone to suspect that vice in\nothers; nevertheless he took the simple precautions of arming himself\nand making his destination known to his friends before he set out.\nWhen he arrived at the monastery resplendent in the rich garments\ncountenanced by the fashion of the time, he was told that the Archbishop\nwas in the garden.\n\n\"Will you walk in our humble garden with his Highness?\" the canons asked\nthe Burgomaster, and he, a lover of nature, bade them lead the way.\n\nThe garden was truly a lovely spot, gay with all manner of flowers and\nfruit; but Grein looked in vain for his host. \"His Highness,\" said the\nwily canons, \"is in the private garden, where only the heads of the\nChurch and their most honoured guests are admitted. Ah, here we are!\nEnter, noble Burgomaster; we may go no farther.\"\n\nWith that they stopped before a strong iron-bound door, opened it, and\nthrust the old man inside. In a moment the heavy door had swung to with\na crash, and Grein found himself in a narrow, paved court, with high,\nunscalable walls on every side. And from a dark corner there bounded\nforth to meet him a huge lion! With a pious prayer for help the\nBurgomaster drew his sword, wrapped his rich Spanish mantle round his\nleft arm, and prepared to defend himself against his adversary. With a\nroar the lion was upon him, but with wonderful agility the old man leapt\nto one side. Again the great beast sprang, endeavouring to get the man's\nhead between its jaws. Again and again Grein thrust valiantly, and in\none of these efforts his weapon reached the lion's heart and it rolled\nover, dead. Weak and exhausted from loss of blood, the Burgomaster lost\nconsciousness.\n\nEre long he was roused from his swoon by the awe-inspiring tones of the\nalarm-bell and the sound of a multitude of voices. A moment later he\nrecalled his terrible struggle with the lion, and uttered a devout\nthanksgiving for his escape from death.\n\nMeanwhile the people, growing anxious at his prolonged absence, and\nfearing that some ill had befallen him, had hastened to the monastery.\nThe two canons, seeing the approaching crowd, ran out to meet them,\nwringing their hands and exclaiming that the Burgomaster had strayed\ninto the lion's den and there met his death. The angry crowd, in nowise\ndeceived by their pretences, demanded to be shown the lion's den.\nArrived there, they broke down the door and, to their great joy, found\nGrein alive, though wounded and much shaken. They bore him triumphantly\nthrough the town, first crowning his hastily improvised litter with\nflowers and laurels.\n\nAs for the monks, their priestly garb could not protect their persons\nfrom the wrath of the mob, and they were hanged at the gate of the\nmonastery, which thereafter became known as the 'Priests' Gate.'\n\nThe White Horses\n\nThe year 1440 was a memorable one throughout Germany, for the great\nplague raged with fearful violence, leaving blanks in many families\nhitherto unvisited by death. Among the victims was Richmodis, the\nbeloved wife of Sir Aducht of Cologne, who deeply mourned her loss.\nThe lady was buried with a valuable ring--her husband's gift--upon\nher finger; this excited the cupidity of the sextons, who, resolved to\nobtain possession of it, opened the tomb in the night and wrenched off\nthe coffin-lid. Their difficulties, however, were not at an end, for\nwhen they tried to possess themselves of the ring it resolutely adhered\nto the finger of the corpse.\n\nSuddenly, to their horror, the dead body gently raised itself, with\na deep sigh, as though the soul of Richmodis regarded this symbol of\nwifely duty as sacred, and would resist the efforts of the thieves to\ntake it from her.\n\nThe dark and hollow eyes opened and met those of the desecrators, and\na threatening light seemed to come from them. At this ghastly sight the\nterrified sextons fled in abject panic.\n\nRichmodis recovered by degrees, and gradually realizing where she was,\nshe concluded that she must have been buried while alive. In her terror\nshe cried aloud for help. But nobody could hear her; it was the lone\nhour of midnight, when all nature reposes.\n\nSummoning strength, she resolved to make an effort to go to the husband\nwho had placed the ring upon her finger, and getting out of the coffin,\nshe made her way shivering toward their home.\n\nThe wind moaned dismally through the trees, and their foliage cast dark,\nspectral shadows that swayed fitfully to and fro in the weird light of\nthe waning moon as Richmodis staggered along feebly, absorbed in the\nmelancholy thoughts which her terrible experience suggested.\n\nNot a sound, save the soughing of the wind, was heard within God's\npeaceful acre, for over the wrecks of Time Silence lay motionless in the\narms of Death.\n\nThe moon's pale rays illumined the buildings when Richmodis arrived\nat her house in the New Market. She knocked repeatedly, but at first\nreceived no response to her summons. After a time Sir Aducht opened the\nwindow and looked out, annoyed at the disturbance at such an hour.\n\nHe was about to speak angrily when the apparition looked up at him with\na tender regard of love and asked him to descend quickly and open the\ndoor to receive his wife, nearly exhausted by cold and terror. The\nbereaved husband refused to believe that the wife whom he had just\nburied had come back to him, and he declared that he would as soon\nexpect his horses to climb upstairs as believe that his dead wife could\nreturn to him alive.\n\nHe had hardly uttered the words when the trampling of his two horses on\nthe staircase was distinctly heard. A moment or two later he looked from\nthe casement and saw the steeds at an upper window, and he could doubt\nno longer. Rushing to the door, he received his shivering wife into his\narms. The ring she still wore would have removed all doubts had there\nbeen room for such.\n\nHusband and wife spent many years together in domestic happiness, and in\nmemory of that remarkable night Sir Aducht fixed wooden effigies of two\nhorses' heads to the outside of the window, where they still remain for\nall to see.\n\nThe Magic Banquet\n\nAnother interesting tale of Cologne deals with the famous magician and\nalchemist, Albertus Magnus, who at one time dwelt in the convent of the\nDominicans, not far from that city. It is recorded that on one occasion,\nin the depth of winter, Albertus invited William of Holland to a feast\nwhich was to be held in the convent garden. The recipients of the\ncurious invitation, William and his courtiers, were naturally much\namazed at the terms thereof, but decided not to lose the opportunity of\nattending such a novel banquet.\n\nIn due course they arrived at the monastery, where all was in readiness\nfor the feast, the tables being laid amid the snow. The guests had\nfortified themselves against the severe weather by wearing their warmest\nclothing and furs. No sooner had they taken their seats, however, than\nAlbertus, exercising the magic powers he possessed, turned the wintry\ngarden into a scene of summer bloom and loveliness. The heavy furs were\nlaid aside, and the guests were glad to seek the shade of the spreading\nfoliage. Iced drinks were brought to allay their thirst, and a sumptuous\nbanquet was provided by their hosts; thus the hours passed unheeded,\ntill the Ave Maria was rung by the convent-bell. Immediately the\nspell was broken, and once more snow and ice dominated the scene. The\ncourtiers, who had rid themselves of as much of their clothing as court\netiquette would permit, shivered in the bitter blast, and looked the\nvery picture of blank amazement--so much so that William forgot his own\nsuffering and laughed heartily at the discomfiture of his train.\n\nThis story has a quaint sequel. To show his approval of the magic feat\nWilliam granted to the convent a piece of land of considerable extent in\nthe neighbourhood of Cologne, and sent some of his courtiers to present\nthe deed of gift. The hospitable prior, anxious that the members of the\ndeputation should be suitably entertained, drew from the well-furnished\ncellars of the monastery some choice Rhenish, which so pleased the\npalates of the courtiers that they drank and drank and did not seem\nto know when to stop. At length the prior, beholding with dismay the\ndisappearance of his finest vintage, privately begged the magician\nto put a stop to this drain on the resources of his cellar. Albertus\nconsented, and once more the wine-cups were replenished. Imagine the\nhorror of the courtiers when each beheld ghastly flames issuing from his\ncup! In their dismay they seized hold of one another and would not let\ngo.\n\nOnly when the phenomenon had disappeared did they discover that each\nheld his neighbour by the nose! and such was their chagrin at being seen\nin this unconventional pose that they quitted the monastery without a\nword, and never entered it again.\n\nTruenfels\n\nAt a place called Truenfels, near the Oelberg, and not very far from\nCologne, there lived at one time in the Middle Ages a knight named Sir\nBalther. His schloss was known as The Mount, and there dwelt with him\nhere his only daughter, Liba, whose great beauty had won for her a vast\nentourage of suitors. Each was equally importunate, but only one was in\nany way favoured, Sir Sibert Ulenthal, and at the time the story opens\nthis Sir Sibert had lately become affianced to Sir Balther's daughter.\n\nNow Sir Balther felt an ardent aversion to one of his neighbours, the\nBishop of Cologne, and his hatred of this prelate was shared abundantly\nby various other knights and nobles of the district. One evening it\nchanced a body of these were gathered together at The Mount; and after\nRhenish had circulated freely among them and loosened their tongues,\none and all began to vent wrath on the ill-starred Churchman, talking\nvolubly of his avarice and misdeeds in general. But why, cried one of\nthem, should they be content with so tame a thing as scurrilous speech?\nWere not men of the sword more doughty than men of the robe? he added;\nand thereupon a wild shout was raised by the revellers, and they swore\nthat they would sally forth instantly and slay him whom they all loathed\nso passionately.\n\nIt happened that, even as they set out, the bishop was returning from\na visit to a remote part of his diocese; and being wholly unprepared\nto cope with a gang of desperadoes like these, he fell an easy prey to\ntheir attack. But the Church in medieval days did not take acts of this\nsort passively, and the matter being investigated, and it transpiring\nthat The Mount had been the rallying ground of the murderers, a band of\ntroops was sent to raze Sir Balther's castle and slay its inmates. The\nnews, meanwhile, reached the fair Liba's fiance, Sir Sibert, and knowing\nwell that, in the event of The Mount being stormed by the avenging\nparty, death or an equally terrible fate might befall his betrothed,\nthe lover felt sad indeed. He hastened to the King and implored his\nintervention; on this being refused, he proposed that he himself should\njoin the besiegers, at the same time carrying with him a royal pardon\nfor Liba, for what concern had she with her father's crimes? His Majesty\nwas persuaded to give the requisite document to Sir Sibert, who then\nhied him at full speed to The Mount, there to find the siege going\nforward. The walls of the castle were strong, and as yet the inmates\nwere showing a good fight; but as day after day went past their strength\nand resources began to wane, and anon it seemed as though they could\nnot possibly hold out longer. Accordingly the soldiers redoubled their\nefforts to effect a breach, which being compassed ultimately, they\nrushed upon the little garrison; and now picture the consternation of\nLiba when she found that her own lover was among the assailants of her\nhome! Amid the din of battle he called to her loudly, once and again,\ntelling her that he carried a royal pardon for her, and that all she had\nto do was to forsake her father and follow her betrothed instead. But in\nthe din of battle she did not hear, or mistook the tenor of his words;\nand ere he could make himself understood the garrison of the castle\nbegan to yield, and a moment later the building was in flames. Many of\nthe besieged were burnt to death, but Liba and her father hastened to\na little chamber at the base of the schloss, and thence they won to a\nsubterranean passage which was known only to themselves, and which led\nto a distant place in the surrounding wilds.\n\nGazing at the blackened ruins, Sir Sibert felt as though henceforth the\nworld held for him no joy whatsoever. He refused to be comforted, so\nconvinced was he that Liba had perished in the terrible fray; but\none stormy evening, wandering in the neighbourhood of the castle,\nhe perceived two figures who seemed to him familiar. True, both were\nhaggard and tattered, but as he drew near to them the knight's pulses\nquickened of a sudden, for he knew that his beloved stood before him.\nWould she listen to him now? he wondered; or would she still imagine him\nperfidious, and scorn the aid which he offered? While he was debating\nwith himself the storm increased, and the great peals of thunder\nsounding overhead made the lover's heart beat faster. He drew the\nall-important document from within his doublet and approached the pair.\n\"Heart of my heart\" ... the words faltered to Sir Sibert's lips, but he\ngot no further; a great flash of lightning descended from on high, and\nlo! Sir Balther and Liba lay stricken in death.\n\nThe broken-hearted lover built a chapel on the spot where his betrothed\nhad fallen, and here he dwelt till the end of his days. It would seem,\nnevertheless, that those pious exercises wherewith hermits chiefly\noccupy themselves were not his only occupation; for long after the\nchapel itself had become a ruin its sight was marked by a great stone\nwhich bore an inscription in rude characters--the single word \"Liba.\"\nDoubtless Sir Sibert had hewn this epitaph with his own hands.\n\nRolandseck and Nonnenwerth\n\nThe castle of Rolandseck stands opposite Drachenfels. Below them, on an\nisland in the Rhine, is the convent of Nonnenwerth.\n\nRoland, Charlemagne's nephew, whose fame had spread throughout the\nworld, while riding one day on the banks of the Rhine, sought the\nhospitality of the Lord of Drachenfels. Honoured at receiving such a\ndistinguished guest, the lord of the castle hastened to welcome him.\n\nThe ladies gave the brave knight as cordial a reception as their\nlord, whose charming daughter seemed deeply impressed by the visitor's\nknightly deportment. Roland's admiring glances lingered lovingly on the\nfair maid, who blushed in sweet confusion, and whose tender looks alone\nbetrayed the presence of Cupid, who but waited for an opportunity to\nmanifest his power.\n\nAt his host's bidding Roland put off his armour, but even in his own\nroom a vision of maidenly beauty haunted him, thereby showing how subtly\nthe young girl's charms had wound themselves around the knight's heart.\n\nRoland remained for some time with the Lord of Drachenfels, fascinated\nmore and more by the grace and beauty of his winsome daughter. Besides\nbeing beautiful, she was a clever needlewoman, and he admired the\ndexterity with which she embroidered ornamental designs on damask.\n\nOnly when asked by her to relate some deeds of daring, or describe the\nwondrous countries through which he had travelled, would Roland become\neloquent. Then he grew enthusiastic, his cheeks glowed, his eyes\nsparkled, and the enamoured maid would regard her hero with admiration.\nShe evinced a lively interest in his exploits, their eyes would meet,\nthen with a throbbing breast she would resume her work by his side. From\nthis blissful dream Roland was summoned to the wars again.\n\nThe brave soldier prepared to depart, but he realized the joys he must\nrenounce. Once more he visited the favourite haunts where they had spent\nsuch happy moments. The sound of someone weeping aroused him from\nhis reverie, and he beheld his lady-love seated in an arbour, sobbing\nbitterly. Each knew the grief which separation must bring. Roland\nconsoled the maiden by promising to return soon, nevermore to part. Only\nher tears betrayed how deeply the arrow of the winged god had sunk into\nher heart.\n\nA few days later they were betrothed, after which Roland departed in\nquest of glory. Many victories were gained by him, and soon the enemy\nwas vanquished. Rejoicings were held to celebrate the event.\n\nBut at Drachenfels Castle sad faces and tearful eyes told a tale of\nsorrow, for it had been announced that Roland was dead. The maid's rosy\ncheeks grew pale with grief; nothing could console her; for was not her\nhero departed from her for ever?\n\nIn the intensity of her anguish she sought relief in prayer and found a\nrefuge in religion. She entered the convent at Nonnenwerth, resolved to\ndedicate her life to Heaven, since the joys of earth had fled.\n\nHer afflicted parents reluctantly acquiesced in this proposal. Daily\nthey beheld their daughter waving her hand to them as she entered the\nchapel.\n\nSuddenly there appeared before the gates of Drachenfels a troop of\ncavaliers, whose armour shone brilliantly in the sun. Roland had\nreturned home from the wars, crowned with glory, to claim his bride. But\nwhen he heard that she had taken the veil his buoyant spirits sank. The\nLord of Drachenfels told him that they had believed the report of his\ndeath to be true.\n\nA cry of despair broke from the hero of a hundred fights. He crossed\nthe Rhine to the castle of Rolandseck, where he remained for many weeks,\nabandoned to grief.\n\nFrequently he looked toward the convent which held his beloved. One\nevening he heard the bells tolling and saw a funeral procession of nuns\ncarrying a coffin to the chapel. His page told him that his love was\ndead, but Roland had already divined that she who had mourned his\nsupposed death had died through grief for him who was still alive to\nmourn her death.\n\nTime rolled on and Roland went again to the wars and achieved greater\nconquests, but at length he fell fighting against the Moors at\nRoncevaux, dying on the battlefield as he had wished. His valorous\ndeeds and his glorious death were sung by minstrels throughout all\nChristendom, and his fame will never die.\n\n\n\n\nLEGENDS OF AIX-LA-CHAPELLE\n\nAix-la-Chapelle was the ancient seat of the Empire of Charlemagne,\nand many legends cluster around it, several of which have already been\nnoticed in connexion with its great founder. The following legends,\nhowever, deal with the town itself, and not with any circumstance\nconnected with the mighty Karl.\n\nThe Hunchbacked Musician\n\nIn Aix-la-Chapelle dwelt two hunchbacked musicians. Friedel was a lively\nfellow with a pleasant face and an engaging manner. Heinz had red hair,\ngreen eyes, and a malevolent expression. Friedel was a better player\nthan Heinz; that, combined with his agreeable looks, made him a general\nfavourite.\n\nFriedel loved Agathe, the daughter of a rich wine-merchant. The lovers'\nprospects were not encouraging, for Agathe's father sought a son-in-law\nfrom higher circles. The poor musician's plight was rendered desperate\nby the wine-merchant compelling his daughter to accept a rich but\ndissipated young man. When the hunchback approached the merchant to\ndeclare his feelings toward the maiden, he was met with derision and\ninsult. Full of bitterness, he wandered about, till midnight found him\nin the fish-market, where the Witches' Sabbath was about to take place.\nA weird light was cast over everything, and a crowd of female figures\nquickly gathered. A lady who seemed to be at the head of the party\noffered the hunchback refreshment, and others handed him a violin,\ndesiring him to play for them. Friedel played, and the witches danced;\nfaster and faster, for the violin was bewitched. At last the violinist\nfell exhausted, and the dancing ceased. The lady now commanded him to\nkneel and receive the thanks of the company for his beautiful playing.\nThen she muttered strange words over the kneeling hunchback.\n\nWhen Friedel arose his hump was gone.\n\nJust then the clock struck one, everything vanished, and the musician\nfound himself alone in the market-place. Next morning his looking-glass\nshowed him that he had not been dreaming, and in his pocket he found a\nlarge sum of money, which made him the equal of the richest in the town.\nOverjoyed at the transformation, he lost no time in seeking Agathe's\nhouse. The sight of his gold turned the scale in his favour, and the\nwine-merchant consented to his suit.\n\nNow Heinz was inflamed with jealousy, and tried to calumniate his\ncompanion by spreading evil stories. Friedel's strange adventure leaked\nabroad, and Heinz determined to try his fortune likewise. So at the\nnext witch-meeting he hastened to the fish-market, where at the outset\neverything happened in exactly the same manner. Heinz was requested to\nplay, but his avaricious gaze was fixed on the golden vessels on\nthe table, and his thoughts were with the large reward he would ask.\nConsequently his playing became so discordant that the indignant dancers\nmade him cease.\n\nKneeling down to receive his reward, he demanded the valuable\ndrinking-cups, whereupon with scornful and mocking words the lady who\nwas the leader of the band fixed on his breast the hump she had taken\nfrom Friedel. Immediately the clock struck one, and all disappeared. The\npoor man's rage was boundless, for he found himself now saddled with\ntwo humps. He became an object of ridicule to the townsfolk, but Friedel\npitied him, and maintained him ever after.\n\nThe Legend of the Cathedral of Aix-la-Chapelle\n\nIn former times the zealous and devout inhabitants of Aix-la-Chapelle\ndetermined to build a cathedral. For six months the clang of the hammer\nand axe resounded with wonderful activity, but, alas! the money\nwhich had been supplied by pious Christians for this holy work became\nexhausted, the wages of the masons were perforce suspended, and with\nthem their desire to hew and hammer, for, after all, men must have money\nwherewith to feed their families.\n\nThus the cathedral stood, half finished, resembling a falling ruin.\nMoss, grass, and wild parsley flourished in the cracks of the walls,\nscreech-owls already discovered convenient places for their nests, and\namorous sparrows hopped lovingly about where holy priests should have\nbeen teaching lessons of chastity.\n\nThe builders were confounded. They endeavoured to borrow here and there,\nbut no rich man could be induced to advance the large sum required. The\ncollections from house to house produced little, so that instead of the\nmuch-wished-for golden coins nothing was found in the boxes but copper.\nWhen the magistracy received this report they were out of humour, and\nlooked with desponding countenances toward the cathedral walls, as\nfathers look upon the remains of favourite children.\n\nAt this moment a stranger of commanding figure and something of pride\nin his voice and bearing entered the council chamber and exclaimed: \"Bon\nDieu! it is said that you are out of spirits. Hem! if nothing but money\nis wanting, you may console yourselves, gentlemen. I possess mines of\ngold and silver, and both can and will most willingly supply you with a\nton of them.\"\n\nThe astounded magistrates sat like a row of pillars, measuring the\nstranger from head to foot. The Burgomaster first found his tongue. \"Who\nare you, noble lord,\" said he, \"that thus, entirely unknown, speak of\ntons of gold as though they were sacks of beans? Tell us your name, your\nrank in this world, and whether you are sent from the regions above to\nassist us.\"\n\n\"I have not the honour to reside there,\" replied the stranger, \"and,\nbetween ourselves, I beg most particularly to be no longer troubled with\nquestions concerning who and what I am. Suffice it to say I have gold\nplentiful as summer hay!\" Then, drawing forth a leathern pouch, he\nproceeded: \"This little purse contains the tenth of what I'll give. The\nrest shall soon be forthcoming. Now listen, my masters,\" continued he,\nclinking the coin; \"all this trumpery is and shall remain yours if you\npromise to give me the first little soul that enters the door of the new\ntemple when it is consecrated.\"\n\nThe astonished magistrates sprang from their seats as if they had been\nshot up by an earthquake and rushed pell-mell into the farthest corner\nof the room, where they rolled and clung to each other like lambs\nfrightened at flashes of lightning. Only one of the party had not\nentirely lost his wits, and he collected his remaining senses and,\ndrawing his head out of the heap, uttered boldly: \"Avaunt, thou wicked\nspirit!\"\n\nBut the stranger, who was no less a person than Master Urian, laughed at\nthem. \"What's all this outcry about?\" said he at length. \"Is my offence\nso heinous that you are all become like children? It is I that may\nsuffer from this business, not you. With my hundreds and thousands I\nhave not far to run to buy a score of souls. Of you I ask but one in\nexchange for all my money. What are you picking at straws for? One\nmay plainly see you are a mere set of humbugs! For the good of the\ncommonwealth (which high-sounding name is often borrowed for all sorts\nof purposes) many a prince would instantly conduct a whole army to be\nbutchered, and you refuse one single man for that purpose! Fie! I am\nashamed, O overwise counsellors, to hear you reason thus absurdly and\ncitizen-like. What, do you think to deprive yourselves of the kernel of\nyour people by granting my wish? Oh, no; there your wisdom is quite\nat fault, for, depend on it, hypocrites are always the earliest church\nbirds.\"\n\nBy degrees, as the cunning fiend thus spoke, the magistrates took\ncourage and whispered in each other's ears: \"What is the use of our\nresisting? The grim lion will only show his teeth once. If we don't\nassent, we shall infallibly be packed off ourselves. It is better,\ntherefore, to quiet him directly.\"\n\nScarcely had they given effect to this new disposition and concluded\nthe bargain when a swarm of purses flew into the room through doors and\nwindows. Urian now took leave, but he stopped at the door and called out\nwith a grim leer: \"Count it over again for fear I may have cheated you.\"\n\nThe hellish gold was piously expended in finishing the cathedral, but\nnevertheless, when the building was completed, splendid though it was,\nthe whole town was filled with fear and alarm at the sight of it. The\nfact was that, although the magistrates had promised by bond and oath\nnot to trust the secret to anybody, one had prated to his wife, and she\nhad made it a market-place tale, so that one and all declared they would\nnever set foot within the walls. The terrified council now consulted the\nclergy, but the good priests hung their heads. At last a monk cried\nout: \"A thought strikes me. The wolf which has so long ravaged the\nneighbourhood of our town was this morning caught alive. This will be a\nwell-merited punishment for the destroyer of our flocks; let him be cast\nto the devil in the fiery gulf. 'Tis possible the arch hell-hound may\nnot relish this breakfast, yet, nolens volens, he must swallow it. You\npromised him certainly a soul, but whose was not decidedly specified.\"\n\nThe monk's plan was plausible, and the magistrates determined to put the\ncunning trick into execution. The day of consecration arrived. Orders\nwere given to bring the wolf to the principal entrance of the cathedral,\nand just as the bells began to ring, the trap-door of the cage was\nopened and the savage beast darted out into the nave of the\nempty church. Master Urian from his lurking-place beheld this\nconsecration-offering with the utmost fury; burning with choler at\nbeing thus deceived, he raged like a tempest, and finally rushed forth,\nslamming the brass gate so violently after him that the ring cracked in\ntwain.\n\nThis fissure commemorates the priest's victory over the devices of the\nDevil, and is still exhibited to travellers who visit the cathedral.\n\nA Legend of Bonn\n\nThe city of Bonn is one of the most beautiful of all those situated on\nthe banks of the Rhine, and being the birthplace of no less celebrated\na composer than Beethoven, it naturally attracts a goodly number of\npilgrims every year, these coming from many distant lands to do homage\nat the shrine of genius. But Bonn and its neighbourhood have older\nassociations than this--associations which carry the mind of the\ntraveller far into the Middle Ages--for hard by the town is Rolandseck;\nwhile a feature of the district is the Siebengebirge (Seven Mountains),\na fine serried range of peaks which present a very imposing appearance\nwhen viewed from any of the heights overlooking Bonn itself, and which\nrecall a justly famous legend.\n\nThis story tells that in the thirteenth century there lived at a castle\nin the heart of these mountains a nobleman called Wolfram Herzog von\nBergendorf; and being no freebooter like most of the other German barons\nof the time, but a man of very pious disposition, he was moved during\nthe prime of his life to forsake his home and join a body of crusaders.\nReaching Palestine after a protracted journey, these remained there for\na long time, Wolfram fighting gallantly in every fray and making his\nname a terror to the Saracens. But the brave crusader was wounded\neventually, and now he set out for Germany, thirsting all the way for\na sight of his beloved Siebengebirge, and dreaming of the wind-swept\nschloss which was his home. As he drew nearer to it he pictured the\nwelcome which his fond Herzogin would give him, but scarcely had the\ndrawbridge been lowered to admit him to his castle ere a fell piece of\nnews was imparted to him. In short, it transpired that his wife Elise\nhad been unfaithful to him during his absence and, on hearing that\nhe was returning, had fled precipitately with her infant son. It was\nrumoured that she had found refuge in a convent, but Wolfram was quite\nunable to ascertain his wife's whereabouts, the doors of all nunneries\nbeing impassable to men; while even the joy of revenge was denied him,\nfor, try as he might, he could not find out the name of the person who\nhad wronged him. So the Herzog was broken-hearted, and he vowed that\nhenceforth he would live a solitary life within his castle, spending his\ntime in prayer and seeing only his own retainers.\n\nFor many years this vow was piously observed, and Wolfram never stirred\nabroad. In course of time, however, he began to chafe at the restraint,\nfeeling it the more acutely because he was an old soldier and had known\nthe excitement of warfare; and so it came about that he revoked his\ndecision and began to travel about the country as of old. It seemed\nalso, to some of his henchmen, that he was gradually becoming more like\nhis former self, and they sometimes said among themselves that he would\nmarry again and had quite forgotten his wrongs. But the very reverse was\nthe truth, and if Wolfram was growing more cheerful, it was because new\nhopes of retribution were springing up in his heart. The chance would\ncome, he often told himself; surely the fates would one day confront him\nwith his wife's lover! And one day, as he rode through the village of\nGudesburg, these revengeful thoughts were uppermost in his mind. They\nengrossed him wholly, and he took little heed of the passers-by; but an\nunexpected stumble on the part of his horse caused him to look up, and\nof a sudden his eyes blazed like live coals. Here, walking only a few\nyards away from him, was a youth who bore an unmistakable resemblance to\nthe unfaithful Elise; and dismounting instantly, the Herzog strode up\nto the stranger, hailed him loudly, and proceeded to question him\nconcerning his identity. The youth was surprised at the anger expressed\non the elder man's countenance; and being overawed, he answered all\nquestions without hesitation, unfolding the little he knew about his\nparentage. Nor had Wolfram's instincts deceived him; the tale he heard\nconfirmed his suspicions, and drawing his sword, he slew the youth in\ncold blood, denying him even a moment in which to repeat a paternoster.\n\nA rude iron cross, still standing by the road at Gudesburg, is said to\nmark the place where the ill-starred and unoffending young man met his\ndoom. Possibly this cross was erected by Wolfram himself because he\nexperienced remorse, and felt that he had been unduly hasty in taking\nlife; but be that as it may, the story concludes by asserting that\nthe Herzog once more vowed that he would spend the rest of his days in\nsolitude and prayer, and that henceforth to the end his vow remained\nunbroken.\n\nThe Treasure-seeker\n\nThis is a picturesque tale of the consequences of wealth attained by\nthe aid of the supernatural which hangs about the ancient village of\nEndenich, near Bonn, where at the end of the seventeenth century there\ndwelt a certain sheriff and his son, Konrad, who was a locksmith by\ntrade. They were poor and had lost everything in the recent wars, which\nhad also ruined Heribert, another sheriff, who with his daughter, the\nbeautiful Gretchen, eked out a frugal but peaceful existence in the same\nneighbourhood. The two young people fell in love with each other, but\nGretchen's father, becoming suddenly and mysteriously very rich and\narrogant withal, desired a wealthy or highly placed official as his\nson-in-law and not a poor lad with no expectations such as Konrad, the\nlocksmith. The lovers were therefore compelled to meet in secret, and it\nwas on one of these occasions that Heribert, surprising them together,\nattacked Konrad and felled him to the ground in his rage that he should\ndare to approach his daughter.\n\nSpurred by his love and knowing that he could never hope to win Gretchen\nwithout wealth, the unhappy youth decided to barter for gold the only\npossession left to him--his soul.\n\nNow there lived in the churchyard a Lapp wizard who made such bargains;\nso in the dead of night Konrad took his way to this dreadful and\nunfrequented spot and exhorted the sorcerer to come forth. At the third\ncry a terrible apparition appeared and demanded to know his wishes,\nto which the terrified Konrad could only reply: \"Gold.\" Thereupon the\nsorcerer led the way deep into a forest and, pointing mysteriously to\na certain spot, disappeared. At this spot Konrad found a chest full\nof gold and silver coins, and returning to Bonn, he bought a house\nthe splendour of which surpassed that of Heribert, who could no longer\nrefuse his daughter to so wealthy a suitor.\n\nThe young wife tried all her arts to solve the mystery of her husband's\nwealth, and he was at length about to reveal it to her when he was\nsuddenly arrested and thrown into prison. Here he was put to torture\nby the authorities, who suspected him of robbery, and at length he\nconfessed that he had found a treasure, while to his wife he confided\nthe gruesome details, all of which were overheard by his jailers.\n\nHe was released, but almost immediately re-arrested on the suspicion\nthat he had killed a Jew named Abraham, who had amassed great sums\nduring the wars as a spy. Tortured again, in his extremity he confessed\nto the murder and named Heribert as his accomplice, whereupon both men\nwere sentenced to be hanged. Just as this doom was about to be carried\nout a Jew who had arrived from a far country hurriedly forced his way\nthrough the crowd. It was Abraham, who had returned in time to save the\ninnocent.\n\nBut his sin did not pass unpunished, for Konrad died childless; he\nbequeathed his wealth to the Church and charities, in expiation of his\nsin of having attained wealth by the aid of an evil spirit.\n\nThe Miller's Maid of Udorf\n\nUdorf is a little village on the left bank of the Rhine, not far from\nthe town of Bonn, and at no great distance from it stands a lonely\nmill, to which attaches the following story of a woman's courage and\nresourcefulness.\n\nHaennchen was the miller's servant-maid, a buxom young woman who had been\nin his service for a number of years, and of whose faithfulness both he\nand his wife were assured.\n\nOne Sunday morning the miller and his wife had gone with their elder\nchildren to attend mass at the neighbouring village of Hersel, leaving\nHaennchen at the mill in charge of the youngest child, a boy of about\nfive years of age.\n\nOn the departure of the family for church Haennchen busied herself in\npreparing dinner, but had scarcely commenced her task ere a visitor\nentered the kitchen. This was no other than her sweetheart, Heinrich,\nwhom she had not seen for some time. Indeed, he had earned so bad a\nreputation as a loafer and an idle good-for-nothing that the miller, as\nmuch on Haennchen's account as on his own, had forbidden him the house.\nHaennchen, however, received her lover with undisguised pleasure,\nstraightway set food before him, and sat down beside him for a chat,\njudging that the miller's dinner was of small consequence compared with\nher ill-used Heinrich! The latter ate heartily, and toward the end of\nthe meal dropped his knife, as though by accident.\n\n\"Pick that up, my girl,\" said he.\n\nHaennchen protested good-humouredly, but obeyed none the less. As she\nstooped to the floor Heinrich seized her by the neck and held another\nknife to her throat. \"Now, girl, show me where your master keeps his\nmoney,\" he growled hoarsely. \"If you value your life, make haste.\"\n\n\"Let me go and I'll tell you,\" gasped Haennchen; and when he had loosened\nhis grip on her throat she looked at him calmly.\n\n\"Don't make such a fuss about it, Heinrich,\" she said pleasantly. \"If\nyou take my master's money, you must take me too, for this will be no\nplace for me. Will you take me with you, Heinrich?\"\n\nThe hulking fellow was taken completely off his guard by her apparent\nacquiescence, and touched by her desire to accompany him, which\nhe attributed, with the conceit of his kind, to his own personal\nattractions.\n\n\"If I find the money, you shall come with me, Haennchen,\" he conceded\ngraciously. \"But if you play me false--\" The sentence ended with an\nexpressive motion of his knife.\n\n\"Very well, then,\" said the maid. \"The money is in master's room. Come\nand I will show you where it is concealed.\"\n\nShe led him to the miller's room, showed him the massive coffer in which\nlay her master's wealth, and gave him a piece of iron wherewith to prise\nit open.\n\n\"I will go to my own room,\" she said, \"and get my little savings, and\nthen we shall be ready to go.\"\n\nSo she slipped away, and her erstwhile sweetheart set to work on the\nmiller's coffer.\n\n\"The villain!\" said Haennchen to herself when she was outside the room.\n\"Now I know that master was right when he said that Heinrich was no fit\nsuitor to come courting me.\"\n\nWith that she slammed the door to and turned the key, shutting the thief\nin a room as secure as any prison-cell. He threatened and implored her,\nbut Haennchen was deaf to oaths and entreaties alike. Outside she found\nthe miller's son playing happily, and called him to her. \"Go to father\nas quickly as you can,\" she said, putting him on the road to Hersel.\n\"You will meet him down there. Tell him there is a thief in the mill.\"\n\nThe child ran as fast as his little legs would carry him, but ere he had\ngone many yards a shrill whistle sounded from the barred window behind\nwhich Heinrich was imprisoned.\n\n\"Diether,\" shouted the robber to an accomplice in hiding, \"catch the\nchild and come and stop this wench's mouth.\" Haennchen looked around\nfor the person thus addressed, but no one was in sight. A moment later,\nhowever, Diether sprang up from a ditch, seized the frightened boy,\nand ran back toward the mill. The girl had but little time in which to\ndecide on a course of action. If she barricaded herself in the mill,\nmight not the ruffian slay the child? On the other hand, if she waited\nto meet him, she had no assurance that he would not kill them both. So\nshe retired to the mill, locked the door, and awaited what fate had in\nstore for her. In vain the robber threatened to kill the child and burn\nthe mill over her head if she would not open to him at once. Seeing that\nhis threats had no effect, he cast about for some means of entering the\nmill. His quick eye noted one unprotected point, an opening in the wall\nconnected with the big mill-wheel, a by no means easy mode of ingress.\nBut, finding no other way, he threw the frightened child on the grass\nand slipped through the aperture.\n\nMeanwhile Haennchen, who from the position of her upper window could not\nsee what was going on, was pondering how she could attract the attention\nof the miller or any of their neighbours. At last she hit upon a plan.\n\nIt was Sunday and the mill was at rest. If she were to set the machinery\nin motion, the unusual sight of a mill at work on the day of rest would\nsurely point to some untoward happening. Hardly had the idea entered her\nhead ere the huge sails were revolving. At that very moment Diether\nhad reached the interior of the great drum-wheel, and his surprise and\nhorror were unbounded when it commenced to rotate. It was useless to\nattempt to stop the machinery; useless, also, to appeal to Haennchen.\nRound and round he went, till at last he fell unconscious on the\nbottom of the engine, and still he went on rotating. As Haennchen had\nanticipated, the miller and his family were vastly astonished to see the\nmill in motion, and hastened home from church to learn the reason for\nthis departure from custom. Some of their neighbours accompanied them.\nIn a few words Haennchen told them all that had occurred; then her\ncourage forsook her and she fainted in the arms of the miller's eldest\nson, who had long been in love with her, and whom she afterward married.\n\nThe robbers were taken in chains to Bonn, where for their many crimes\nthey suffered the extreme penalty of the law.\n\nRosebach and its Legend\n\nThe quiet and peaceful valley of Hammerstein is one of the most\nbeautiful in all Rhineland, yet, like many another lovely stretch of\ncountry, this valley harbours some gruesome tales, and among such\nthere is one, its scene the village of Rosebach, which is of particular\ninterest, as it is typical of the Middle Ages, and casts a light on\nthe manner of life and thought common in those days. For many centuries\nthere stood at this village of Rosebach a monastery, which no longer\nexists, and it was probably one of its early abbots who first wrote down\nthe legend, for it is concerned primarily with the strange events which\nled to the founding and endowment of this religious house, and its whole\ntenor suggests the pen of a medieval cleric.\n\nIn a remote and shadowy time there lived at Schloss Rosebach a certain\nOtto, Count of Reuss-Marlinberg of Hammerstein; and this Count's evil\ndeeds had made him notorious far and near, while equally ill-famed was\nhis favourite henchman, Riguenbach by name, a man who had borne arms in\nthe Crusades and had long since renounced all belief in religion. This\nruffian was constantly in attendance on his master, Otto; and one day,\nwhen the pair were riding along the high-road together, they chanced\nto espy a bewitching maiden who was making her way from a neighbouring\nvillage to the convent of Walsdorf, being minded to enter the novitiate\nthere and eventually take the veil. The Count doffed his hat to the\nprospective nun, less because he wished to be courteous than because it\nwas his habit to salute every wayfarer he encountered on his domain; and\nRiguenbach, much amused by Otto's civility to one of low degree, burst\ninto a loud laugh of derision and called after the maiden, telling her\nto come back. She obeyed his behest, and thereupon the two horsemen\ndrew rein and asked the damsel whither she was bound. \"To Walsdorf,\" she\nreplied; and though Otto himself would have let her go forward as\nshe pleased, the crafty Riguenbach was not so minded. \"There are many\ndangers in the way,\" he said to the girl; \"if you push on now that\nevening is drawing near you may fall a prey to robbers or wolves, so\nyou had better come to the castle with us, spend the night there, and\ncontinue your journey on the morrow.\" Pleased by the apparently friendly\noffer, and never dreaming of the fate in store for her, the girl\nwillingly accepted the invitation. That night the people around Schloss\nRosebach heard piercing screams and wondered what new villainy was on\nfoot. But the massive stone walls kept their secret, and the luckless\nmaiden never again emerged from the castle.\n\nFor a time the Count's crime went unpunished, and about a year later he\ncommenced paying his addresses to Eldegarda, a lady of noble birth.\nIn due course the nuptials of the pair were celebrated. The bride had\nlittle idea what manner of man she had espoused, but she was destined\nto learn this shortly; for on the very night of their marriage an\napparition rose between the two.\n\n\"Otto,\" cried the ghost in weird, sepulchral tones, \"I alone am thy\nlawful spouse; through thee I lost all hopes of Heaven, and now I am\ncome to reward thee for thy evil deeds.\" The Count turned livid with\nfear, and the blush on Eldegarda's cheek faded to an ashen hue; but the\nspectre remained with them throughout the night. And night after night\nshe came to them thus, till at last Otto grew desperate and summoned to\nhis aid a Churchman who happened to be in the neighbourhood, the Abbot\nBernard of Clairvaux.\n\nNow this Bernard enjoyed no small fame as a worker of miracles, but when\nOtto unfolded his case to him the Abbot declared straightway that no\nmiracle would be justifiable in the present instance, and that only by\nrepentance and by complete renunciation of the world might the Count\nbe released from his nightly menace. Otto hung his head on hearing this\nverdict, and as he stood hesitating, pondering whether it were possible\nfor him to forgo all earthly joys, his old henchman, Riguenbach, chanced\nto enter, and learning his master's quandary, he laughed loudly\nand advised the Count to eject Bernard forcibly. The Abbot met the\nretainer's mirth with a look of great severity, and on Riguenbach\nshowing that he was still bent on insolence, the Churchman cried to\nhim: \"Get thee behind me, Satan\"; whereupon a flame of lightning darted\nsuddenly across the chamber, and the man who had long aided and abetted\nthe Count's wickedness was consumed to ashes.\n\nFor a moment Otto stood aghast at the awful fate of his retainer; and\nnow, beholding how terrible a thing is divine vengeance, he began at\nlast to feel truly repentant. He consented to have his marriage annulled\nwithout delay, and even declared that he himself would become a monk. At\nthe same time he counselled his wife to take the veil, and they parted,\nthinking never to see each other again. But one night, ere either of\nthem had taken the irrevocable vows, the Virgin Mary appeared to Abbot\nBernard and told him he had acted unwisely in parting the bride and\nbridegroom in this wise, for was not Eldegarda wholly innocent? The\nChurchman instantly returned to Otto's presence, and on the following\nday the Count and his wife were duly remarried. The newly found piety\nof the penitent found expression in the building and endowment of a\nreligious edifice upon his domains.\n\nSo it was, then, that the Abbey of Rosebach was founded, and though\nthe ruthless hand of time has levelled its walls, the strange events to\nwhich they owed their being long ago are still remembered and recited in\nthe lovely vale of Hammerstein; for, though all human things must needs\nperish, a good story long outlives them all.\n\nThe Dancers of Ramersdorf\n\nAt Ramersdorf every Sunday afternoon the lads and lasses of the hamlet\ngathered on the village green and danced gaily through the sunny hours.\nBut wild prophecies of the coming end of the world, when the year 1000\nshould break, were spreading throughout the countryside, and the spirit\nof fear haunted the people, so that music died away from their hearts\nand there was no more dancing on the village green. Instead they spent\nthe hours praying in the church for divine mercy, and the Abbot of\nLoewenburg was well pleased.\n\nThe dreaded year came and went, yet the world had not ceased; the sun\nstill rose and set, life went on just the same. So fear passed from the\nhearts of the people, and because they were happy again the young folk\nonce more assembled to dance the Sundays away on the village green. But\nthe abbot was wroth at this. When the music began he appeared among\nthe villagers, commanding them to cease from their revels and bethink\nthemselves of the House of God. But the lads and lasses laughed, and the\nmusic went on as they footed it gaily. Then the abbot was angered; he\nraised his hands to heaven and cursed the thoughtless crowd, condemning\nthe villagers to dance there unceasingly for a year and a day.\n\nAs they heard the dreadful words the young folk tried to stop, but their\nfeet must needs go on to the endless music. Faster and faster in giddy\nround they went, day and night, rain and shine, throughout the changing\nseasons, until the last hours of the extra day, when they fell in a\nsenseless heap in the hollow worn by their unresting feet. When they\nawoke to consciousness all reason had passed from them. To the day of\ntheir death they remained helpless idiots. Henceforth the village green\nwas deserted; no more were seen the lads and lasses dancing there on the\nSabbath day.\n\nThe Loewenburg\n\nTradition asserts that on the summit of this mountain once stood a\ncastle, of which, however, not the slightest trace can be found at the\npresent day. There is also a story of the lord who dwelt there, Hermann\nvon Heinsberg, with whom, for his sins, the direct line of the family\nbecame extinct.\n\nGraf Hermann was possessed by one overmastering passion, that of the\nchase. The greater part of his life was spent in the dense forests which\nclothed the valleys and mountains about his castle. Every other interest\nmust, perforce, stand aside. The cornfields, vineyards, and gardens of\nhis vassals were oftentimes devastated in his sport, to the utter ruin\nof many. If any dared complain he laughed at or reviled them; but if he\nwere in angry mood he set his hounds on them and hunted his vassals as\nquarry, either killing them outright or leaving them terribly injured.\nNeedless to say, he was well hated by these people, also by his own\nclass, for his character was too fierce and overbearing even for their\ntolerance. To crown his unpopularity, he was under the ban of the\nall-powerful Church, for saints' days and Lord's Day alike he hunted\nto his heart's content, and once, on receiving a remonstrance, had\nthreatened to hunt the Abbot of Heisterbach himself. So he lived,\nisolated, except for his troop of jaegers, from the rest of mankind. The\nforest was his world, his only friends the hounds.\n\nOnce, on the eve of a holy festival, Hermann set out to hunt in the\nancient forest about the base of the Loewenburg. In the excitement of\nthe chase he outstripped his followers, his quarry disappeared, and,\novertaken by night, his surroundings, in the dim light, took on such an\nunfamiliar aspect that he completely lost all sense of direction. Up and\ndown he paced in unrestrained yet impotent anger, feeling that he was\nunder some evil spell. Maddened by this idea, he endeavoured to hack\nhis way through the thick undergrowth, but the matted boughs and dense\nfoliage were as effectual as prison bars. He was trapped, he told\nhimself, in some enchanted forest, for the place seemed more and more\nunfamiliar. He strove to bring back some recollection of the spot,\nwhich surely he must have passed a thousand times. But no--he could not\ndistinguish any feature that seemed familiar. His spirits sank lower and\nlower, his strength seemed on the point of failing, his brain seemed to\nbe on fire. Round and round he went like some trapped animal; then he\nthrew himself madly upon a mass of tangled underwood and succeeded in\nbreaking through to a more open space. This also seemed unfamiliar,\nand in the dim light of the stars the tall trees shut him in as if with\ntowers of impenetrable shadow; silence seemed to lay everything under a\nspell of terror, ominous of coming evil.\n\nWearied in body and mind, Hermann flung himself down on the sward and\nquickly fell asleep. But suddenly a plunging in the brushwood aroused\nhim, and with the instinct of the huntsman he sprang up instantly,\nseizing his spear and whistling to his dogs, which, however, crouched\nnearer to the earth, their hair bristling and eyes red with fear.\nAgain their master called, but they refused to stir, whining, with eyes\nstrained and fixed on the undergrowth. Then Graf Hermann went forward\nalone to the spot whence proceeded the ominous sound, his spear poised,\nready to strike.\n\nHe was about to penetrate into the brushwood when suddenly there emerged\nfrom it a majestic-looking man, who seemed as if hotly pursued. He was\ndressed in ancient garb, carrying a large crossbow in his right hand. A\ncurved hunting-horn hung at his side, and an old-fashioned hunting-knife\nwas stuck in his girdle.\n\nWith a stately motion of the hand he waved Hermann aside, then he raised\nthe horn to his lips and blew upon it a terrible blast so unearthly in\nsound that the forest and mountains sent back echoes like the cry of\nthe lost, to which the hounds gave tongue with a howl of fear. As if\nin answer to the echoes, there suddenly appeared hundreds of skeleton\nstags, of enormous size, each bestridden by a skeleton hunter. With one\naccord the ghostly riders spurred on their steeds, which with lowered\nantlers advanced upon the stranger, who, with a scream for mercy, sought\nfrenziedly for some means of evading his grisly pursuers.\n\nFor the space of an hour the dreadful chase went on, Graf Hermann rooted\nto the spot with horror, overcome by a sense of helplessness. There in\nthe centre he stood, the pivot round which circled the infernal hunt,\nunable to stay the relentless riders as with bony hands rattling against\ntheir skeleton steeds they encouraged them to charge, gore, and trample\nthe hapless stranger, whose cries of agony were drowned by shrieks of\nfiendish glee and the incessant cracking of whips. Overcome at last by\nterror, the count fell senseless, his eyes dazed by the still whirling\nspectres and their flying quarry. When at last he slowly awaked from his\nswoon he looked around, fearing to see again the hideous spectacle. All\nbut the stranger, however, had vanished. Graf Hermann shuddered as he\nlooked upon him, and only with difficulty could he summon sufficient\ncourage to address him. Indeed, it was only after the unwonted action of\ncrossing himself that he could speak.\n\n\"Who and what are you?\" he asked in a hushed tone. But the stranger made\nno reply, except to sigh mournfully. Again the count asked the question,\nand again received but a sigh for answer.\n\n\"Then in the name of the Most High God I conjure you, speak!\" he said\nthe third time.\n\nThe stranger turned to him, as if suddenly released from bonds.\n\n\"By the power of God's holy name the spell is broken at last. Listen now\nto me!\"\n\nHe beckoned Hermann to his side and in strange, stern tones he related\nthe following:\n\n\"I am your ancestor. Like you, I loved the chase beyond everything in\nlife--beyond our holy faith or the welfare of any human being, man,\nwoman, or child. To all that stood in my path I showed no mercy. There\ncame a time when famine visited the land. The harvest was destroyed by\nblight and the people starved. In their extremity they broke into my\nforests; famished with hunger, they destroyed and carried off the game.\nBeside myself with rage, I swore that they should suffer for it--that\nfor every head of game destroyed I would exact a human life. I kept\nmy oath. Arming my retainers, servants, and huntsmen, I seized my\npresumptuous vassals in the dead of night, and dragging them to the\ncastle, I flung them into the deepest dungeons. There for three days\nI let them starve--for three days also I kept my hounds without food.\nMeantime my huntsmen had caught a great number of the largest and\nstrongest deer in the forests. At the end of three days the unfortunate\nwretches were brought out, diminished now by a full hundred. My ready\nretainers bound them naked to the stags. My best steeds were saddled.\nThen the kennels were thrown open and the famished hounds rushed forth\nlike a host of demons. Off went the deer like the wind, each with his\nhuman burden, the dogs following, and then the horsemen, shouting with\nglee at the new sport. By nightfall not a stag or his rider was left\nalive. The hounds in their fury worried and tore at both man and beast,\nand the last unfortunate wretch met a hideous death on this spot where\nwe now stand.\"\n\nHe paused as if overcome by the memory of his crime.\n\n\"God avenged that dreadful deed. That night I died, and I am now\nsuffering the tortures of the damned. Every night I am hunted by my\nvictims, as you have seen. I am now the quarry, hunted from the castle\ncourt, on through the forest, to this hidden and haunted spot. Thousands\nand thousands of times I have suffered this: I endure all the agonies\nI made them suffer. I am doomed to undergo this to the last day, when I\nshall be hunted over the wastes of hell by legions of demons.\"\n\nAgain he paused, his eyes terrible with the anguish of a lost soul. He\nresumed in a sterner tone:\n\n\"Take warning by my fate. Providence, kinder to you than to me, has\nguided you hither to-night that you might learn of my punishment. While\nyou still have time repent of your crimes and endeavour to make amends\nfor the suffering you have inflicted. Remember--the wages of sin is\ndeath. Remember me--and my fate!\"\n\nThe next moment the phantom had faded from view.\n\nOnly the hounds were crouching near the count, panting fearfully. All\nelse was silent gloom and night. After a terrible vigil the morning\ncame, and Graf Hermann, now a changed man, returned to his castle in\nsilence, and henceforth endeavoured to profit by the warning and follow\nthe advice of his unhappy ancestor.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV--DRACHENFELS TO RHEINSTEIN\n\n\nThe Dragon's Rock\n\nAmong the many legends invented by the early Christian monks to advance\ntheir faith, there are few more beautiful than that attached to the\nDrachenfels, the Dragon's Rock, a rugged and picturesque mass of\nvolcanic porphyry rising above the Rhine on its right bank. Half-way up\none of its pointed crags is a dark cavern known as the 'Dragon's Cave,'\nwhich was at one time, in that misty past to which all legends belong,\nthe habitation of a hideous monster, half-beast and half-reptile. The\npeasants of the surrounding district held the creature in superstitious\nawe, worshipped him, and offered up sacrifices of human beings at the\ninstigation of their pagan priests. Foremost among the worshippers of\nthe dragon were two warrior princes, Rinbod and Horsrik, who frequently\nmade an onslaught on the Christian people dwelling on the opposite bank\nof the Rhine, carrying off many captives to be offered as sacrifices to\nthe dragon.\n\nOn one such occasion, while, according to their custom, they were\ndividing their prisoners, the pagan princes quarrelled over one of their\ncaptives, a Christian maiden, whose beauty and helpless innocence won\nthe hearts of her fierce captors, so that each desired to possess her,\nand neither was inclined to renounce his claim. The quarrel became so\nbitter at length that the princes seized their weapons and were about to\nfight for the fair spoil. But at this juncture their priests intervened.\n\"It is not meet,\" said they, \"that two noble princes should come to\nblows over a mere Christian maid. Tomorrow she shall be offered to the\ndragon, in thanksgiving for your victory.\" And they felt that they had\ndone well, for had they not averted the impending quarrel, and at the\nsame time gained a victim for their cruel rites? But the heart of Rinbod\nwas heavy indeed, for he truly loved the young Christian maid, and would\nhave given his life to save her from the horrible fate that awaited her.\nHowever, the decree of the priests was irrevocable, and no pleadings of\nhis could avail. The girl was informed of the cruel destiny that was to\nbefall her on the morrow, and with a calm mind she sought consolation\nfrom Heaven to enable her to meet her fate with courage befitting a\nChristian.\n\nEarly on the following morning she was led with much ceremony to a\nspot before the Dragon's Cave and there bound to an oak, to await the\napproach of the monster, whose custom it was to sally forth at sunrise\nin search of prey. The procession of priests, warriors, and peasants\nwho had followed the victim to the place of sacrifice now climbed to\nthe summit of the crag and watched eagerly for the coming of the\ndragon. Rinbod watched also, but it was with eyes full of anguish and\napprehension. The Christian maid seemed to him more like a spirit than a\nhuman being, so calmly, so steadfastly did she bear herself.\n\nSuddenly a stifled cry broke from the lips of the watchers--the hideous\nmonster was seen dragging its heavy coils from the cavern, fire issuing\nfrom its mouth and nostrils. At its mighty roar even the bravest\ntrembled. But the Christian maid alone showed no sign of fear; she\nawaited the oncoming of the dreadful creature with a hymn of praise\non her lips. Nearer and nearer came the dragon, and at length, with a\nhorrible roar, it sprang at its prey. But even as it did so the maiden\nheld out her crucifix before her, and the dragon was checked in its\nonrush. A moment later it turned aside and plunged into the Rhine. The\npeople on the crag were filled with awe at the miraculous power of the\nstrange symbol which had overcome their idol and, descending,\nhastened to free the young girl from her bonds. When they learned the\nsignificance of the cross they begged that she would send them teachers\nthat they might learn about the new religion. In vain their priests\nendeavoured to dissuade them. They had seen the power of the crucifix,\nand their renunciation of their pagan creed was complete.\n\nAmong the first to adopt the Christian religion was Rinbod; he married\nthe beautiful captive and built a castle for her on the Drachenfels,\nwhose ruins remain to this day.\n\nIt seems a pity that such a beautiful legend should have doubts cast\nupon its authenticity, but it has been conjectured that the word\nDrachenfels has a geological rather than a romantic significance--being,\nin fact, derived from Trachyt-fels, meaning 'Trachyte-rock.' This view\nis supported by the fact that there is another Drachenfels near Mannheim\nof a similar geological construction, but without the legend. However,\nit is unlikely that the people of antiquity would bestow a geological\nname upon any locality.\n\nOkkenfels: A Rash Oath\n\nOn a rugged crag overlooking the Rhine above the town of Linz stands\nthe ruined stronghold of Okkenfels. History tells us little or nothing\nconcerning this ancient fortress, but legend covers the deficiency with\nthe tale of the Baron's Rash Oath.\n\nRheinhard von Renneberg, according to the story, flourished about the\nbeginning of the eleventh century, when the Schloss Okkenfels was a\nfavourite rendezvous with the rude nobility of the surrounding district.\nThough they were none of them distinguished for their manners, by far\nthe most rugged and uncouth was the Baron von Renneberg himself. Rough\nin appearance, abrupt in conversation, and inclined to harshness in all\nhis dealings, he inspired in the breast of his only daughter a feeling\nmore akin to awe than affection.\n\nThe gentle Etelina grew up to be a maiden of singular beauty, of\ndelicate form and feature, and under the careful tutelage of the castle\nchaplain she became as good as she was beautiful. Lovers she had in\nplenty, for the charms of Etelina and the wealth of her noble father,\nwhose sole heiress she was, formed a combination quite irresistible in\nthe eyes of the young gallants who frequented the castle. But none loved\nher more sincerely than one of the baron's retainers, a young knight of\nLinz, Rudolph by name.\n\nOn one occasion Rheinhard was obliged to set out with his troop to join\nthe wars in Italy, and ere he departed he confided his daughter to the\ncare of the venerable chaplain, while his castle and lands he left in\ncharge of Sir Rudolph. As may be supposed, the knight and the maiden\nfrequently met, and ere long it became evident that Rudolph's passion\nwas returned. The worthy chaplain, who loved the youth as a son, did not\nseek to interfere with the course of his wooing, and so in due time the\nlovers were betrothed.\n\nAt the end of a year the alarming news reached them that the baron was\nreturning from the wars, bringing in his train a noble bridegroom for\nEtelina. In despair the lovers sought the old chaplain and begged\nhis advice. They knew only too well that the baron would not brook\nresistance to his will; for he had ever dealt ruthlessly with\nopposition. Yet both were determined that nothing should part them.\n\n\"I would rather die with Rudolph than marry another,\" cried the\ngrief-stricken maiden. And indeed it seemed that one or other of these\nalternatives would soon fall to her lot.\n\nBut the wise old priest was planning a way of escape.\n\n\"Ye were meant for one another, my children,\" he said philosophically;\n\"therefore it is not for man to separate you. I will marry you at once,\nand I know a place where you may safely hide for a season.\"\n\nIt was nearing midnight on the eve of the day fixed for Rheinhard's\nreturn, so there was no time to be lost. The three repaired to the\nchapel, where the marriage was at once solemnized. Taking a basket of\nbread, meat, and wine, a lamp, and some other necessaries, the old man\nconducted the newly married pair through a subterranean passage to\na cavern in the rock whereon the castle stood, a place known only to\nhimself. Then, having blessed them, he withdrew.\n\nEarly on the following morning came the baron and his train, with the\nnoble knight chosen as a husband for Etelina.\n\nRheinhard looked in vain for his daughter among the crowd of retainers\nwho waited to welcome him. \"Where is my little maid?\" he asked.\n\nThe chaplain answered evasively. The damsel was ill abed, he replied.\nWhen the noble lord had refreshed himself he should see her.\n\nDirectly the repast was over he hastened to his daughter's apartment,\nonly to find her flown! Dismayed and angry, he rushed to the chaplain\nand demanded an explanation. The good old man, after a vain attempt\nto soothe his irate patron, revealed all--all, that is, save the place\nwhere the fugitives were concealed, and that he firmly refused to\ndivulge. The priest was committed to the lowest dungeon, a vile den to\nwhich access could only be got by means of a trap-door and a rope.\n\nWith his own hands the baron swung to the massive trap, swearing a deep\noath.\n\n\"If I forgive my daughter, or any of her accomplices, may I die suddenly\nwhere I now stand, and may my soul perish for ever!\"\n\nThe disappointed bridegroom soon returned to his own land, and the\nbaron, whose increasing moroseness made him cordially hated by his\nattendants, was left to the bitterness of his thoughts.\n\nMeanwhile Rudolph and his bride had escaped unseen from the castle rock\nand now dwelt in the forests skirting the Seven Mountains. While the\nsummer lasted all went well with them; they, and the little son who was\nborn to them, were content with the sustenance the forest afforded. But\nin the winter all was changed. Starvation stared them in the face. More\nand more pitiful became their condition, till at length Rudolph resolved\nto seek the baron, and give his life, if need be, to save his wife and\nchild.\n\nThat very day Rheinhard was out hunting in the forest. Imagine his\nsurprise when a gaunt figure, clad in a bearskin, stepped from the\nundergrowth and bade him follow, if he wished to see his daughter alive.\nThe startled old man obeyed the summons, and arrived at length before\na spacious cavern, which his guide motioned him to enter. Within, on\na pile of damp leaves, lay Etelina and her child, both half-dead with\nstarvation. Rheinhard's anger speedily melted at the pathetic sight, and\nhe freely forgave his daughter and Rudolph, his hitherto unrecognized\nguide, and bade them return with him to Okkenfels.\n\nEtelina's first request was for a pardon for the old chaplain, and\nRheinhard himself went to raise the heavy trap-door. While peering\ninto the gloom, however, he stumbled and fell headlong into the dungeon\nbelow. \"A judgment!\" he shrieked as he fell, then all was silence.\n\nThe bruised remains of the proud baron were interred in the parish\nchurch of Linz, and henceforth Etelina and her husband lived happily\nat Okkenfels. But both they and the old chaplain offered many a pious\nprayer for the soul of the unhappy Baron Rheinhard.\n\nOberwoerth\n\nIn the middle of the Rhine, a little above Coblentz, lies the island\nof Oberwoerth, where at one time stood a famous nunnery. Included in the\ntraditional lore of the neighbourhood is a tragic tale of the beautiful\nIda, daughter of the Freiherr von Metternich, who died within its walls\nin the fourteenth century.\n\nVon Metternich, who dwelt at Coblentz, was a wealthy and powerful noble,\nexceedingly proud of his fair daughter, and firmly convinced that none\nbut the highest in the land was fit mate for her. But Ida had other\nviews, and had already bestowed her heart on a young squire in her\nfather's train. It is true that Gerbert was a high-born youth, of\nstainless life, pleasing appearance, and gentle manners, and, moreover,\none who was likely at no distant date to win his spurs. Nevertheless\nthe lovers instinctively concealed their mutual affection from von\nMetternich, and plighted their troth in secret.\n\nBut so ardent an affection could not long remain hidden.\n\nThe time came when the nobleman discovered how matters stood between\nhis daughter and Gerbert, and with angry frowns and muttered oaths he\nresolved to exercise his paternal authority. \"My daughter shall go to\na nunnery,\" he said to himself. \"And as for that jackanapes, he must be\ngot rid of at once.\" He pondered how he might conveniently rid himself\nof the audacious squire.\n\nThat night he dispatched Gerbert on a mission to the grand prior of\nthe Knights-Templars, who had his abode at the neighbouring castle of\nLahneck. The unsuspecting squire took the sealed missive and set out,\nthinking as he rode along how rich he was in possessing so sweet a love\nas Ida, and dreaming of the time when his valour and prowess should\nhave made their marriage possible. But his dreams would have been rudely\ndisturbed had he seen what was passing at Coblentz. For his betrothed,\nin spite of her tears and pleadings, was being secretly conveyed to the\nnunnery of Oberwoerth, there to remain until she should have forgotten\nher lover--as though the stone walls of a convent could shut out the\nimaginings of a maid! However, Gerbert knew nothing of this, and he\nrode along in leisurely fashion, until at length he came to the Schloss\nLahneck, where he was at once conducted into the presence of the grand\nprior of the Knights-Templars.\n\nThe grand prior was a man of middle age, with an expression of settled\nmelancholy on his swarthy features. Gerbert approached him with becoming\nreverence, bent his knee, and presented the missive.\n\nThe prior turned his gaze so earnestly on the young man's face that\nGerbert dropped his eyes in confusion. A moment later the prior broke\nthe seal and hastily scanned the letter.\n\n\"Who mayest thou be, youth?\" he asked abruptly.\n\n\"Gerbert von Isenburg, sir.\"\n\n\"And thy mother?\"\n\n\"Guba von Isenburg,\" was the astonished Gerbert's reply.\n\nThe prior seemed to be struggling with deep emotion.\n\n\"Knowest thou the purport of this missive?\" he said at last.\n\n\"It concerns me not,\" answered Gerbert simply.\n\n\"Nay, my son,\" said the prior, \"it doth concern thee, and deeply, too.\nKnow that it is thy death-warrant, boy! The Freiherr has requested me to\nsend thee to the wars in Palestine, and so to place thee that death will\nbe a certainty. This he asks in the name of our ancient friendship\nand for the sake of our order, to which he has ever shown himself well\ndisposed.\"\n\nSeeing the dismay and incredulity which were depicted in his listener's\nface, the prior hastened to read aloud a passage describing von\nMetternich's discovery of his daughter's love for the humble squire, and\nGerbert could no longer doubt that his fate was sealed.\n\nThe prior looked at him kindly.\n\n\"Gerbert,\" he said, \"I am not going to put the cruel order into\nexecution. Though I lose friendship, the honour of our order, life\nitself, the son of Guba von Isenburg shall not suffer at my hands.\nI sympathize with thy passion for the fair Ida. I myself loved thy\nmother.\" The impetuous Gerbert started to his feet, hand on sword, at\nthe mention of his mother, whose good name he set before all else; but\nwith a dignified gesture the prior motioned him to his seat.\n\nThen in terse, passionate phrases the elder man told how he had loved\nthe gentle Guba for years, always hesitating to declare his passion lest\nthe lady should scorn him. At length he could bear it no longer, and\nmade up his mind to reveal his love to her. With this intent he rode\ntoward her home, only to learn from a passing page that Guba, his\nmistress, was to be married that very day to von Isenburg. He gave to\nthe page a ring, bidding him carry it to his mistress with the message\nthat it was from one who loved her greatly, and who for her sake\nrenounced the world. \"The ring,\" he concluded, \"is on thy finger, and in\nthy face and voice are thy mother's likeness. Canst thou wonder that I\nwould spare thy life?\"\n\nGerbert listened in respectful silence. His love for Ida enabled him\nto sympathize with the pathetic tale unfolded by the prior. Tears fell\nunchecked from the eyes of both. \"And now,\" said the prior at last, \"we\nmust look to thy safety.\"\n\n\"I would not bring misfortune on thee,\" said Gerbert. \"May I not go to\nPalestine and win my way through with my sword?\"\n\n\"It is impossible,\" said the elder man. \"Von Metternich would see to it\nthat thou wert slain. Thou must go to Swabia, where a prior of our order\nwill look after thy safety in the meantime.\"\n\nThe same day Gerbert was conveyed to Swabia, where, for a time at least,\nhe was safe from persecution.\n\nThe Dance of Death\n\nIn the nunnery of Oberwoerth, on a pallet in a humble cell, Ida lay\ndying. A year had gone past since she had been separated from her lover,\nand every day had seen her grow weaker and more despondent. Forget\nGerbert? That would she never while life remained to her. Wearily\nshe tossed on her pallet, her only companion a sister of the convent.\nWillingly now would the Freiherr give his dearest possessions to save\nhis daughter, but already she was beyond assistance, her only hope the\npeace of the grave.\n\n\"I am dying, sister,\" she said to her attendant. \"Nevermore shall I see\nmy dear Gerbert--ah! nevermore.\"\n\n\"Hush,\" murmured the nun gently, \"stranger things have happened. All may\nyet be well.\" And to divert the dying maid's attention from her\ngrief she recited tales of lovers who had been reunited after many\ndifficulties.\n\nBut Ida refused to be pacified.\n\n\"Alas!\" she said, \"I am betrothed, yet I must die unwed.\"\n\n\"Heaven forbid!\" cried the pious nun in alarm. \"For then must thou join\nin the dance of death.\"\n\nIt was a popular belief in that district that a betrothed maiden who\ndied before her wedding was celebrated must, after her death, dance on\na spot in the centre of the island whereon no grass or herb ever\ngrew--that is, unless in the interval she took the veil. Every night at\ntwelve o'clock a band of such hapless maidens may be seen dancing in the\nmoonlight, doomed to continue their nocturnal revels till they meet with\na lover. And woe betide the knight who ventures within their reach! They\ndance round and round him and with him till he falls dead, whereupon the\nyoungest maid claims him for her lover. Henceforth she rests quietly in\nher grave and joins no more in the ghostly frolic.\n\nThis weird tradition Ida now heard from the lips of the nun, who herself\nclaimed to have witnessed the scenes she described.\n\n\"I beseech thee,\" said the sister, \"do but join our convent, and all\nwill yet be well.\"\n\n\"I die,\" murmured Ida, heeding not the words of her companion.\n\"Gerbert--we shall meet again!\"\n\nGerbert, her lover, heard the sad news in his dwelling-place on the\nshores of Lake Constance, and returned to Oberwoerth with all speed. A\nweek had elapsed ere he arrived, and Ida's body was already interred in\nthe vaults of the convent.\n\nIt was a night of storm and darkness. No boatman would venture on the\nRhine, but Gerbert, anxious to pay the last respects to the body of his\nbeloved, was not to be deterred. With his own hands he unmoored a vessel\nand sailed across to Oberwoerth. Having landed at that part of the island\nfurthest from the convent, he was obliged to pass the haunted spot on\nhis way thither. The circular patch of barren earth was said to be a\nspot accursed, by reason of sacrilege and suicide committed there. But\nsuch things were far from the thoughts of the distraught knight.\n\nSuddenly he heard a strange sound, like the whisper of a familiar\nvoice--a sound which, despite its quietness, seemed to make itself heard\nabove the fury of the storm. Looking up, he beheld a band of white-robed\nmaidens dancing in the charmed circle. One of them, a little apart from\nthe others, seemed to him to be his lost Ida. The familiar figure, the\ngrace of mien, the very gesture with which she beckoned him, were hers,\nand he rushed forward to clasp her to his heart. Adroitly she eluded his\ngrasp and mingled with the throng. Gerbert followed with bursting heart,\nseized her in his arms, and found that the other phantoms had surrounded\nthem. Something in the unearthly music fascinated him; he felt impelled\nto dance round and round, till his head reeled. And still he danced\nwith his phantom bride, and still the maidens whirled about them. On the\nstroke of one the dancers vanished and the knight sank to the ground,\nall but dead with fatigue. In the morning he was found by the kindly\nnuns, who tended him carefully. But all their skill and attention were\nin vain; for Gerbert lived only long enough to tell of his adventure\nto the sisterhood. This done, he expired with the name of his beloved\nspirit-bride upon his lips.\n\nStolzenfels: The Alchemist\n\nAlchemy was a common pursuit in the Middle Ages. The poor followed it\neagerly in the vain desire for gold; the rich spent their wealth in\nuseless experiments, or showered it on worthless charlatans.\n\nThus it came about that Archbishop Werner of Falkenstein, owner of the\ngrim fortress of Stolzenfels and a wealthy and powerful Churchman, was\nan amateur of the hermetic art, while his Treasurer, who was by no means\nrich, was also by way of being an alchemist. To indulge his passion for\nthe bizarre science the latter had extracted many a golden piece from\nthe coffers of his reverend master, always meaning, of course, to pay\nthem back when the weary experiments should have crystallized into the\ncoveted philosopher's stone. He had in his daughter Elizabeth a treasure\nwhich might well have outweighed the whole of the Archbishop's coffers,\nbut the lust for gold had blinded the covetous Treasurer to all else.\n\nOne night--a wild, stormy night, when the wind tore shrieking round the\nbattlements of Stolzenfels--there came to the gate a pilgrim, sombre of\nfeature as of garb, with wicked, glinting eyes. The Archbishop was not\nat that time resident in the castle, but his Treasurer, hearing that the\nnew-comer was learned in alchemical mysteries, bade him enter without\ndelay. A room was made ready in one of the highest towers, and there the\nTreasurer and his pilgrim friend spent many days and nights. Elizabeth\nsaw with dismay that a change was coming over her father. He was no\nlonger gentle and kind, but morose and reserved, and he passed less time\nin her company than he was wont.\n\nAt length a courier arrived with tidings of the approach of the\nArchbishop, who was bringing some noble guests to the castle. To the\ndismay of his daughter, the Treasurer suddenly turned pale and,\nbrushing aside her solicitous inquiries, fled to the mysterious chamber.\nElizabeth followed, convinced that something had occurred to upset her\nfather seriously. She was too late--the door was locked ere she reached\nit; but she could hear angry voices within, the voices of her father\nand the pilgrim. The Treasurer seemed to be uttering bitter reproaches,\nwhile ever and anon the deep, level voice of his companion could be\nheard.\n\n\"Bring hither a virgin,\" he said. \"The heart's blood of a virgin is\nnecessary to our schemes, as I have told thee many times. How can I give\nthee gold, and thou wilt not obey my instructions?\"\n\n\"Villain!\" cried the Treasurer, beside himself. \"Thou hast taken my\ngold, thou hast made me take the gold of my master also for thy schemes.\nWouldst thou have me shed innocent blood?\"\n\n\"I tell thee again, without it our experiments are vain.\"\n\nAt that moment the door was flung open and the Treasurer emerged, too\nimmersed in his anxious thoughts to perceive the shrinking form of\nElizabeth. She, when he had gone from sight, entered the chamber where\nstood the pilgrim.\n\n\"I have heard thy conversation,\" she said, \"and I am ready to give my\nlife for my father's welfare. Tell me what I must do and I will slay me\nwith mine own hand.\"\n\nWith covetous glance the pilgrim advanced and strove to take her hand,\nbut she shrank back in loathing.\n\n\"Touch me not,\" she said, shuddering.\n\nA look of malice overspread the pilgrim's averted face.\n\n\"Come hither at midnight, and at sunrise thy father will be rich and\nhonoured,\" he said.\n\n\"Wilt thou swear it on the cross?\"\n\n\"I swear it,\" he returned, drawing a little crucifix from his bosom, and\nspeaking in solemn tones.\n\n\"Very well, I promise.\" And with that she withdrew.\n\nWhen she had gone the alchemist pressed a spring in the crucifix, when a\ndagger fell out.\n\n\"Thou hast served me well,\" he said, chuckling. Then, replacing the\ncrucifix in his breast, he entered the adjoining room, prised up a stone\nfrom the floor, and drew forth a leathern bag full of gold. This, then,\nwas the crucible into which the Archbishop's pieces had gone. \"I have\nfound the secret of making gold,\" pursued the pilgrim. \"To-morrow my\nwealth and I will be far away in safety. The fools, to seek gold in a\ncrucible!\"\n\nMeanwhile preparations were afoot for the reception of the Archbishop.\nElizabeth, full of grief and determination, supervised the work of the\nserving-maids, while her father anxiously wondered how he should account\nto his master for the stolen pieces of gold.\n\nThe Archbishop was loudly hailed on his arrival. He greeted his\nTreasurer kindly and asked after the pretty Elizabeth. When her father\npresented her he in turn introduced her to his guests, and many a glance\nof admiration was directed at the gentle maid. One young knight, in\nparticular, was so smitten with her charms that he was dumb the whole\nevening.\n\nWhen Elizabeth retired to her chamber her father bade her good-night.\nHope had again arisen in his breast.\n\n\"To-morrow,\" he said, \"my troubles will be over.\" Elizabeth sighed.\n\nAt length the hour of midnight arrived. Taking a lamp, the girl crossed\nthe courtyard to where the alchemist awaited her coming. She was not\nunseen, however; the young knight had been watching her window, and he\nobserved her pass through the courtyard with surprise. Fearing he knew\nnot what harm to the maid he loved, he followed her to the pilgrim's\napartment, and there watched her through a crack in the door.\n\nThe alchemist was bending over a crucible when Elizabeth entered.\n\n\"Ah, thou hast come,\" he said. \"I hope thou art prepared to do as I bid\nthee? If that is so, I will restore the gold to thy father--his own gold\nand his master's. If thou art willing to sacrifice thine honour, thy\nfather's honour shall be restored; if thy life, he shall have the money\nhe needs.\"\n\n\"Away, wretch!\" cried Elizabeth indignantly. \"I will give my life for my\nfather, but I will not suffer insult.\" With a shrug of his shoulders the\nalchemist turned to his crucible.\n\n\"As thou wilt,\" he said. \"Prepare for the sacrifice.\"\n\nSuddenly the kneeling maid caught up the alchemist's dagger and would\nhave plunged it into her heart; but ere she could carry out her purpose\nthe knight burst open the door, rushed into the room, and seized the\nweapon. Elizabeth, overcome with the relief which his opportune arrival\nafforded her, fainted in his arms.\n\nWhile the young man frantically sought means to restore her the pilgrim\nseized the opportunity to escape, and when the maid came to herself it\nwas to find the wretch gone and herself supported by a handsome young\nknight, who was pouring impassioned speeches into her ear. His love and\ntenderness awakened an answering emotion in her heart, and that very\nnight they were betrothed.\n\nWhen the maiden's father was apprised of her recent peril he, too,\nwas grateful to her deliverer, and yet more grateful when his future\nson-in-law pressed him to make use of his ample fortune.\n\nThe pilgrim was found drowned in the Rhine, and the bag of gold, which\nhe had carried away in his belt, was handed over to the Archbishop, to\nwhom the Treasurer confessed all.\n\nAnd the good Archbishop, by way of confirming his forgiveness, gave a\nhandsome present to Elizabeth on her marriage with the knight.\n\nThe Legend of Boppard\n\nMaidens had curious ways of revenging themselves on unfaithful lovers in\nmedieval times, as the following legend of Boppard would show.\n\nToward the end of the twelfth century there dwelt in Boppard a knight\nnamed Sir Conrad Bayer, brave, generous, and a good comrade, but not\nwithout his faults, as will be seen hereafter.\n\nAt that time many brave knights and nobles were fighting in the Third\nCrusade under Frederick the First and Richard Coeur-de-Lion; but Sir\nConrad still remained at Boppard. He gave out that the reason for his\nremaining at home was to protect his stronghold against a horde of\nrobbers who infested the neighbourhood. But there were those who\nascribed his reluctance to depart to another cause.\n\nIn a neighbouring fortress there lived a beautiful maiden, Maria\nby name, who received a great deal of attention from Sir Conrad. So\nfrequent were his visits to her home that rumour had it that the fair\nlady had won his heart. This indeed was the case, and she in return had\ngiven her love unreservedly into his keeping. But as her passion grew\nstronger his seemed to cool, and at length he began to make preparations\nto join the wars in Palestine, leaving the lady to lament his changed\ndemeanour. In vain she pleaded, in vain she sent letters to him. At last\nhe intimated plainly that he loved her no longer. He did not intend\nto marry, he said, adding cruelly that if he did she should not be the\nbride of his choice. The lady was completely crushed by the blow. Her\naffection for Sir Conrad perished, and in its place arose a desire to\nbe revenged on the unfaithful knight. The fickle lover had completed his\narrangements for his journey to the Holy Land, and all was ready for\nhis departure. As he rode gaily down from his castle to where his\nmen-at-arms waited on the shores of the Rhine, he was suddenly\nconfronted by an armed knight, who reined in his steed and bade Sir\nConrad halt.\n\n\"Hold, Sir Conrad Bayer,\" he cried. \"Thou goest not hence till thou hast\nanswered for thy misdeeds--thou false knight--thou traitor!\"\n\nSir Conrad listened in astonishment. A moment later his attendants had\nsurrounded the bold youth, and would have slain him had not Sir Conrad\ninterfered.\n\n\"Back!\" he said. \"Let me face this braggart myself. Who art thou?\" he\nadded, addressing the young knight who had thus boldly challenged him.\n\n\"One who would have thy life!\" was the fierce reply.\n\n\"Why should I slay thee, bold youth?\" said Conrad, amused.\n\n\"I am the brother of Maria, whom thou hast betrayed,\" was the response.\n\"I have come hither from Palestine to seek thy life. Have at thee,\ntraitor!\"\n\nConrad, somewhat sobered, and unwilling to do battle with such a boy,\nasked for further proof of his identity. The young knight thereupon\ndisplayed, blazoned on his shield, the arms of his house--a golden lion\non an azure field.\n\nSir Conrad had no longer excuse for refusing to do battle with the\nyouth, so with a muttered \"Thy blood be upon thy head!\" he laid his\nlance in rest and drew back a few paces. The stranger did likewise; then\nthey rushed toward each other, and such was the force of their\nimpact that both were unhorsed. Drawing their swords--for neither was\ninjured--the knights resumed the conflict on foot. Conrad felt disgraced\nat having been unhorsed by a mere youth, and he was now further incensed\nby receiving a deep wound in his arm. Henceforth he fought in good\nearnest, showering blows on his antagonist, who fell at last, mortally\nwounded.\n\nIn obedience to the rules of chivalry, Sir Conrad hastened to assist his\nvanquished foe. What was his surprise, his horror, when, on raising the\nhead and unlacing the helm of the knight, he found that his adversary\nwas none other than Maria!\n\n\"Conrad,\" she said in failing tones, \"I also am to blame. Without thy\nlove life was nothing to me, and I resolved to die by thy hand. Forget\nmy folly, remember only that I loved thee. Farewell!\" And with these\nwords she expired. Conrad flung himself down by her side, convulsed with\ngrief and remorse. From that hour a change came over him. Ere he set\nout to the Holy Land he caused the body of Maria to be interred on the\nsummit of the Kreuzberg, and bestowed the greater part of his estates\non a pious brotherhood, enjoining them to raise a nunnery over the tomb.\nThus was the convent of Marienberg founded, and in time it came to be\none of the richest and most celebrated on the Rhine.\n\nArrived in Palestine, Conrad became a Knight-Templar, fighting bravely\nand utterly oblivious to all danger. It was not until Acre had been\nwon, however, that death met him. An arrow dispatched by an unknown hand\nfound its quarry as he was walking the ramparts at night meditating on\nthe lady he had slain and whose death had restored her to a place in his\naffections.\n\nLiebenstein and Sterrenberg\n\nNear the famous monastery of Bornhofen, and not far from the town of\nCamp, supposed to be an ancient Roman site, are the celebrated castles\nof Liebenstein and Sterrenberg, called 'the Brothers,' perhaps because\nof their contiguity to each other rather than through the legend\nconnected with the name. History is practically silent concerning these\ntowers, which occupy two steep crags united by a small isthmus which\nhas partially been cut through. Sterrenberg lies nearest the north,\nLiebenstein to the south. A wooden bridge leads from one to the other,\nbut a high wall called the Schildmauer was in the old days reared\nbetween them, obviously with the intention of cutting off communication.\nThe legend has undoubtedly become sophisticated by literary influences,\nand was so altered by one Joseph Kugelgen as to change its purport\nentirely. It is the modern version of the legend we give here, in\ncontradistinction to that given in the chapter on the Folklore and\nLiterature of the Rhine (see pp. 84 et seq.).\n\nThe Brothers\n\nHeinrich and Conrad were the sons of Kurt, a brave knight who\nhad retired from the wars, and now dwelt in his ancestral castle\nLiebenstein. The brothers were alike in all matters pertaining to arms\nand chivalry. But otherwise they differed, for Heinrich, the elder, was\nquiet and more given to the arts of peace; whereas Conrad was gay, and\ninclined to like fighting for fighting's sake.\n\nBrought up along with them was Hildegarde, a relative and an orphan,\nwhom the brothers believed to be their sister. On reaching manhood,\nhowever, their father told them the truth concerning her, expressing the\nwish that one of them should marry the maiden.\n\nNothing loath, both brothers wooed Hildegarde, but Conrad's ardent,\nimpulsive nature triumphed over Heinrich's reserved and more steadfast\naffection. In due course preparations were made for the marriage\nfestival, and a new castle, Sterrenberg, was raised for the young couple\nadjacent to Liebenstein. Heinrich found it hard to be a constant witness\nof his brother's happiness, so he set out for the Holy Land. Soon after\nhis departure the old knight became ill, and died on the day that the\nnew castle was completed. This delayed the marriage for a year, and as\nthe months passed Conrad became associated with loose companions, and\nhis love for Hildegarde weakened.\n\nMeantime news came that Heinrich had performed marvellous deeds in the\nHoly Land, and the tidings inflamed Conrad's zeal. He, too, determined\nto join the Crusades, and was soon on the way to Palestine.\n\nHowever, he did not, like his brother, gain renown--for he had not the\nsame incentive to reckless bravery--and he soon returned. He was\nagain to prove himself more successful in love than in war, for at\nConstantinople, having fallen passionately in love with a beautiful\nGreek lady, he married her.\n\nOne day Hildegarde was sitting sorrowful in her chamber, when she beheld\ntravellers with baggage moving into the empty Sterrenberg. Greatly\nastonished, she sent her waiting-maid to make inquiries, and learned to\nher sorrow that it was the returning Conrad, who came bringing with him\na Greek wife. Conrad avoided Liebenstein, and Sterrenberg became gay\nwith feasting and music.\n\nLate one evening a knight demanded lodging at Liebenstein and was\nadmitted. The stranger was Heinrich, who, hearing about his brother's\nshameful marriage, had returned to the grief-stricken Hildegarde.\n\nAfter he had rested Heinrich sent a message to his brother reproaching\nhim with unknightly behaviour, and challenging him to mortal combat. The\nchallenge was accepted and the combatants met on the passage separating\nthe two castles. But as they faced each other, sword in hand, a veiled\nfemale figure stepped between them and bade them desist.\n\nIt was Hildegarde, who had recognized Heinrich and learned his\nintention. In impassioned tones she urged the young men not to be\nguilty of the folly of shedding each other's blood in such a cause, and\ndeclared that it was her firm intention to spend her remaining days in a\nconvent. The brothers submitted themselves to her persuasion and became\nreconciled. Some time afterward Conrad's wife proved her unworthiness\nby eloping with a young knight, thus killing her husband's love for her,\nand at the same time opening his eyes to his own base conduct. Bitterly\nnow did he reproach himself for his unfaithfulness to Hildegarde, who,\nalas! was now lost to him for ever. Hildegarde remained faithful to\nher vows, and Heinrich and Conrad lived together till at last death\nseparated them.\n\nSt. Goar\n\nNear the town of St. Goar, at the foot of the Rheinfels, there stands\na little cell, once the habitation of a pious hermit known as St. Goar,\nand many are the local traditions which tell of the miracles wrought by\nthis good man, and the marvellous virtues retained by his shrine after\nhis death. He settled on Rhenish shores, we are told, about the middle\nof the sixth century, and thenceforward devoted his life to the service\nof the rude people among whom his lot was cast. His first care was to\ninstruct them in the Christian faith, but he was also mindful of their\nwelfare in temporal matters, and gave his services freely to the sick\nand sorrowful, so that ere long he came to be regarded as a saint. When\nhe was not employed in prayer and ministrations he watched the currents\nof the Rhine, and was ever willing to lend his aid to distressed\nmariners who had been caught by the Sand Gewirr, a dangerous eddy which\nwas too often the death of unwary boatmen in these parts.\n\nThus he spent an active and cheerful life, far from the envy and strife\nof the world, for which he had no taste whatever. Nevertheless the fame\nof his good deeds had reached the high places of the earth. Sigebert,\nwho at that time held his court at Andernach, heard of the piety and\nnoble life of the hermit, and invited him to his palace. St. Goar\naccepted the invitation--or, rather, obeyed the command--and made his\nway to Andernach. He was well received by the monarch, whom his genuine\nholiness and single-mindedness greatly impressed. But pure as he was,\nthe worthy Goar was not destined to escape calumny. There were at the\ncourt of Sigebert other ecclesiastics of a less exalted type, and these\nwere filled with envy and indignation when they beheld the favours\nbestowed upon the erstwhile recluse. Foremost among his persecutors\nwas the Archbishop of Treves, and with him Sigebert dealt in summary\nfashion, depriving him of his archbishopric and offering the see to\nSt. Goar. The latter, however, was sick of the perpetual intrigues and\nsquabblings of the court, and longed to return to the shelter of his\nmossy cell and the sincere friendship of the poor fishermen among whom\nhis mission lay. So he refused the proffered dignity and informed the\nmonarch of his desire to return home. As he stood in the hall of the\npalace preparing to take his leave, he threw his cloak over a sunbeam,\nand, strange to say, the garment was suspended as though the shaft of\nlight were solid. This, we are told, was not a mere piece of bravado,\nbut was done to show that the saint's action in refusing the see was\nprompted by divine inspiration.\n\nWhen St. Goar died Sigebert caused a chapel to be erected over his\ngrave, choosing from among his disciples two worthy monks to officiate.\nOther hermits took up their abode near the spot, and all were\nsubsequently gathered together in a monastery. The grave of the\nsolitary became a favourite shrine, to which pilgrims travelled from all\nquarters, and St. Goar became the patron saint of hospitality, not so\nmuch personally as through the monastery of which he was the patron, and\none of whose rules was that no stranger should be denied hospitality for\na certain period.\n\nA goodly number of stories are told of his somewhat drastic treatment\nof those who passed by his shrine without bringing an offering--stories\nwhich may be traced to the monks who dwelt there, and who reaped the\nbenefit of these offerings.\n\nCharlemagne at the Shrine of St. Goar\n\nHere is one of those tales concerning the great Karl. On one occasion\nwhile he was travelling from Ingelheim to Aix-la-Chapelle, by way of\nCoblentz, he passed the shrine of St. Goar without so much as a\nsingle thought. Nor did those who accompanied him give the saint more\nattention. It was the height of summer, everything was bright and\nbeautiful, and as the Emperor's flotilla drifted lazily down the Rhine\nthe sound of laughter and light jesting could be heard.\n\nNo sooner had the Emperor and his courtiers passed St. Goar, however,\nthan the smiling sky became overcast, heavy clouds gathered, and the\ndistant sound of thunder was heard. A moment more and they were in\nthe midst of a raging storm; water surged and boiled all around, and\ndarkness fell so thickly that scarce could one see another's face. Panic\nreigned supreme where all had been gaiety and merriment.\n\nIn vain the sailors strove to reach the shore; in vain the ladies\nshrieked and the Emperor and his nobles lent their aid to the seamen.\nAll the exertions of the sailors would not suffice to move the vessels\none foot nearer the shore. At length an old boatman who had spent the\ngreater part of a lifetime on the Rhine approached the Emperor and\naddressed him thus:\n\n\"Sire, our labours are useless. We have offended God and St. Goar.\"\n\nThe words were repeated by the Emperor's panic-stricken train, who now\nsaw that the storm was of miraculous origin. \"Let us go ashore,\" said\nCharlemagne in an awed voice. \"In the name of God and St. Goar, let us\ngo ashore. We will pray at the shrine of the saint that he may help us\nmake peace with Heaven.\"\n\nScarcely had he uttered the words ere the sky began to clear, the\nboiling water subsided to its former glassy smoothness, and the storm\nwas over. The illustrious company landed and sought the shrine of the\nholy man, where they spent the rest of the day in prayer.\n\nEre they departed on the following morning Charlemagne and his court\npresented rich offerings at the shrine, and the Emperor afterward\nendowed the monastery with lands of great extent, by which means it is\nto be hoped that he succeeded in propitiating the jealous saint.\n\nThe Reconciliation\n\nOne more tale of St. Goar may be added, dealing this time with\nCharlemagne's sons, Pepin and Karloman. These two, brave knights both,\nhad had a serious quarrel over the sovereignty of their father's vast\nEmpire. Gradually the breach widened to a deadly feud, and the brothers,\nonce the best of friends, became the bitterest enemies.\n\nIn 806 Charlemagne held an Imperial Diet at Thionville, and thither\nhe summoned his three sons, Karloman, Pepin, and Ludwig, intending to\ndivide the Empire, by testament, among them. Karloman was at that time\nin Germany, and Pepin in Italy, where, with the aid of his sword, he\nhad won for himself broad lands. In order to reach Thionville both were\nobliged to take the same path--that is, the Rhine, the broad waterway of\ntheir father's dominions. Pepin was the first to come, and as he sailed\nup the river with his train he caught sight of the shrine of St. Goar,\nand bethought him that there he and his brother had last met as friends.\nAs he pondered on the strange fate that had made enemies of them, once\nso full of kindness toward each other, he felt curiously moved, and\ndecided to put ashore and kneel by the shrine of the saint.\n\nEre long Karloman and his train moved up the Rhine, and this prince\nalso, when he beheld the shrine of St. Goar, was touched with a feeling\nof tenderness for his absent brother. Recollections of the time when\nPepin and he had been inseparable surged over him, and he too stepped\nashore and made his way through the wood to the sacred spot.\n\nMeanwhile Pepin still knelt before the shrine, and great indeed was\nKarloman's astonishment when he beheld his brother. But when he heard\nPepin pray aloud that they might be reconciled his joy and surprise knew\nno bounds. All armed as he was, he strode up to his kneeling brother\nand embraced him with tears, entreating his forgiveness for past\nharshnesses. When Pepin raised the prince's visor and beheld the beloved\nfeatures of Karloman, his happiness was complete. Together the brothers\nmade for their ships; not, however, till they had left valuable gifts\nat the shrine of the saint whose good offices had brought about their\nreconciliation. Together they proceeded to the court of Charlemagne, who\npartitioned his Empire between his three sons, making each a regent of\nhis portion during his father's lifetime.\n\nFrom that time onward the brothers were fast friends. Karloman and\nPepin, however, had not long to live, for the former died in 810 and the\nlatter in the following year.\n\nGutenfels, a Romance\n\nA very charming story, and one entirely lacking in the element of gloom\nand tragedy which is so marked a feature of most Rhenish tales, is that\nwhich tradition assigns to the castle of Gutenfels. Its ancient name\nof Caub, or Chaube, still clings to the town above which it towers\nmajestically.\n\nIn the thirteenth century Caub was the habitation of Sir Philip of\nFalkenstein and his sister Guta, the latter justly acclaimed as the\nmost beautiful woman in Germany. She was reputed as proud as she was\nbeautiful, and of the many suitors who flocked to Caub to seek her hand\nin marriage none could win from her a word of encouragement or even a\ntender glance.\n\nOn one occasion she and her brother were present at a great tourney held\nat Cologne, where the flower of knightly chivalry and maidenly beauty\nwere gathered in a brilliant assembly. Many an ardent glance was\ndirected to the fair maid of Caub, but she, accustomed to such homage,\nwas not moved thereby from her wonted composure.\n\nAt length a commotion passed through the assembly. A knight had entered\nthe lists whose name was not announced by the herald. It was whispered\nthat his identity was known only to the Archbishop, whose guest he\nwas. Of fine stature and handsome features, clad in splendid armour\nand mounted on a richly caparisoned steed, he attracted not a little\nattention, especially from the feminine portion of the assemblage. But\nfor none of the high-born ladies had he eyes, save for Guta, to whom his\nglance was ever and anon directed, as though he looked to her to\nbring him victory. The blushing looks of Guta showed that she was not\nindifferent to the gallantry of the noble stranger, and, truly, in her\nheart she wished him well. With clasped hands she watched the combatants\ncouch their lances and charge. Ah! victory had fallen to the unknown\nknight. Soon it became evident that the mysterious stranger was to carry\noff the prize of the tourney, for there was none to match him in skill\nand prowess. As he rode past the place where Guta sat he lowered his\nlance, and she, in her pleasure and confusion at this mark of especial\ncourtesy, dropped her glove, which the knight instantly picked up,\ndesiring to be allowed to keep it as a guerdon.\n\nAt the grand ball which followed the tourney the victor remained all\nthe evening at Guta's side, and would dance with no other maiden.\nYoung Falkenstein, pleased with the homage paid to his sister by the\ndistinguished stranger, invited him to visit them at Caub, an invitation\nwhich the gentle Guta seconded, and which the mysterious knight accepted\nwith alacrity.\n\nTrue to his promise, ere a week had elapsed he arrived at Caub,\naccompanied by two attendants. His visit covered three days, during\nwhich time his host and hostess did all in their power to make his stay\na pleasant one. Ere he took his departure he sought out Guta and made\nknown his love. The lady acknowledged that his affection was returned.\n\n\"Dearest Guta,\" said the knight, \"I may not yet reveal to thee my name,\nbut if thou wilt await my coming, in three months I shall return to\nclaim my bride, and thou shalt know all.\"\n\n\"I will be true to thee,\" exclaimed Guta passionately. \"Though a king\nshould woo me, I will be true to thee.\" And with that assurance from his\nbetrothed the knight rode away.\n\nThree months came and went, and still Guta heard nothing of her absent\nlover. She grew paler and sadder as time advanced, not because she\ndoubted the honour of her knight, but because she feared he had been\nslain in battle. It was indeed a time of wars and dissensions. On the\ndeath of Conrad IV several claimants to the imperial throne of Germany\nmade their appearance, of whom the principal were Adolph, Duke of\nHolland, Richard, Earl of Cornwall, brother to the English king Henry\nIII, and Alfonso X, King of Castile. Of these three the most popular\nwas Richard of Cornwall, who was finally chosen by the Electors, more on\naccount of his knightly qualities than because of his fabulous wealth.\nAmong his most ardent followers was Philip of Falkenstein, who was\nnaturally much elated at his master's success. Now, however, the\nconflict was over, and Philip had returned to Caub.\n\nOne morning, about six months after the departure of Guta's lover, a gay\ncavalcade appeared at the gates of Caub, and a herald demanded admission\nfor Richard, Emperor of Germany. Philip himself, scarcely concealing his\njoy and pride at the honour done him by his sovereign, ran out to greet\nhim, and the castle was full of stir and bustle. The Emperor praised\nPhilip heartily for his part in the recent wars, yet he seemed absent\nand uneasy.\n\n\"Sir Philip,\" he said at length, \"I have come hither to beg the hand of\nthy fair sister; why is she not with us?\" Falkenstein was filled with\namazement.\n\n\"Sire,\" he stammered, \"I fear me thou wilt find my sister an unwilling\nbride. She has refused many nobles of high estate, and I doubt whether\neven a crown will tempt her. However, I will plead with her for thy\nsake.\"\n\nHe left the room to seek Guta's bower, but soon returned with dejected\nmien. \"It is as I thought, sire,\" he said. \"She will not be moved.\nMethinks some heedless knight hath stolen her heart, for she hath grown\npale and drooping as a gathered blossom.\"\n\nRichard raised his visor.\n\n\"Knowest thou me, sir knight?\" he said.\n\n\"Thou art--the knight of the tourney,\" cried Philip in amaze.\n\n\"The same,\" answered Richard, smiling. \"And I am the knight who has\nwon thy fair sister's heart. We plighted our troth after the tourney of\nCologne. State affairs of the gravest import have kept me from her\nside, where I would fain have been these six months past. Take this\ntoken\"--drawing from his breast the glove Guta had given him--\"and tell\nher that a poor knight in Richard's train sends her this.\"\n\nIn a little while Philip returned with his sister. The maiden looked\npale and agitated, but when she beheld Richard she rushed to him and was\nclasped in his arms.\n\n\"My own Guta,\" he whispered fondly. \"And wouldst thou refuse an emperor\nto marry me?\"\n\n\"Yea, truly,\" answered the maid, \"a hundred emperors. I feared thou\nhadst forsaken me altogether,\" she added naively.\n\nRichard laughed.\n\n\"Would I be a worthy Emperor an I did not keep my troth with such as\nthou?\" he asked.\n\n\"The Emperor--thou?\" cried Guta, starting back.\n\n\"Yea, the Emperor, and none other,\" said her brother reverently. And\nonce more Guta hid her face on Richard's breast.\n\nWithin a week they were married, and Guta accompanied her husband to the\ncourt as Empress of Germany.\n\nTo the castle where his bride had passed her maidenhood Richard gave the\nname of Gutenfels--'Rock of Guta'--which name it has retained to this\nday.\n\nThe Story of Schoenburg\n\nThe castle of Schoenburg, not far from the town of Bacharach, is now in\nruins, but was once a place of extraordinary fame, for here dwelt at\none time seven sisters of transcendent beauty, who were courted the more\nassiduously because their father, the Graf von Schoenburg, was reputed a\nman of great wealth. This wealth was no myth, but an actuality, and in\ntruth it had been mainly acquired in predatory forays; but the nobles of\nRhineland recked little of this, and scores of them flitted around and\npressed their suit on the young ladies. None of these, however, felt\ninclined toward marriage just yet, each vowing its yoke too galling; and\nso the gallants came in vain to the castle, their respective addresses\nbeing invariably dallied with and then dismissed. Suitor after suitor\nretired in despair, pondering on the strange ways of womankind; but\none evening a large party of noblemen chanced to be assembled at the\nschloss, and putting their heads together, they decided to press matters\nto a conclusion. They agreed that all of them, in gorgeous raiment,\nshould gather in the banqueting-hall of the castle; the seven sisters\nshould be summoned and called upon in peremptory fashion to have done\nwith silken dalliance and to end matters by selecting seven husbands\nfrom among them. The young ladies received the summons with some\namusement, all of them being blessed with the saving grace of humour,\nand they bade the knight who had brought the message return to his\nfellows and tell them that the suggested interview would be held. \"Only\ngive us time,\" said the sisters, \"for the donning of our most becoming\ndresses.\"\n\nSo now the band of suitors mustered, and a brave display they made, each\nof them thinking himself more handsome and gorgeous than his neighbours\nand boasting that he would be among the chosen seven. But as time sped\non and the ladies still tarried, the young men began to grow anxious;\nmany of them spoke aloud of female vanity, and made derisive comments\non the coiffing and the like, which they imagined was the cause of\nthe delay; eventually one of their number, tired of strutting before\na mirror, happened to go to look out of the window toward the Rhine.\nSuddenly he uttered a loud imprecation, and his companions, thronging to\nthe window, were all fiercely incensed at the sight which greeted their\neyes. For the famous seven sisters were perpetrating something of\na practical joke; they were leaving the castle in a boat, and on\nperceiving the men's faces at the windows they gave vent to a loud laugh\nof disdain. Hardly had the angry suitors realized that they were the\nbutt of the ladies' ridicule when they were seized with consternation.\nFor one of the sisters, in the attempt to shake her fist at the men\nshe affected to despise, tried to stand up on one of the thwarts of the\nboat, which, being a light craft, was upset at once. The girls' taunts\nwere now changed to loud cries for help, none being able to swim; but\nere another boat could be launched the Rhine had claimed its prey, and\nthe perfidious damsels were drowned in the swift tide.\n\nBut their memory was not destined to be erased from the traditions of\nthe locality. Near the place where the tragedy occurred there are seven\nrocks, visible only on rare occasions when the river is very low, and\ntill lately it was a popular superstition that these rocks were placed\nthere by Providence, anxious to impart a moral to young women addicted\nto coquetry and practical jests. To this day many boatmen on the Rhine\nregard these rocks with awe, and it is told that now and then seven\nwraiths are to be seen there; it is even asserted that sometimes these\napparitions sing in strains as delectable as those of the Lorelei\nherself.\n\nThe Legend of Pfalz\n\nMusing on the legendary lore of the Rhine, we cannot but be struck by\nthe sadness pervading these stories, and we are inclined to believe that\nevery one of them culminates in tragedy. But there are a few exceptions\nto this rule, and among them is a tale associated with the island of\nPfalz, near Bacharach, which concludes in fairly happy fashion, if in\nthe main concerned with suffering.\n\nThis island of Pfalz still contains the ruins of a castle, known as\nPfalzgrafenstein. It belonged in medieval days to the Palatine Princes,\nand at the time our story opens one of these, named Hermann, having\nsuspected his wife, the Princess Guba, of infidelity, had lately caused\nher to be incarcerated within it. Its governor, Count von Roth, was\ncharged to watch the prisoner's movements carefully; but, being sure she\nwas innocent, his measures with her were generally lenient, while his\ncountess soon formed a deep friendship for the Princess. Thus it seemed\nto Guba that her captivity was not destined to be so terrible as she had\nanticipated, but she was soon disillusioned, as will appear presently.\nIt should be explained that as yet the Princess had borne no children\nto her husband, whose heir-apparent was consequently his brother Ludwig;\nand this person naturally tried to prevent a reconciliation between the\nPalatine Prince and his wife, for should they be united again, Ludwig's\nhope to succeed his brother might be frustrated. So he was a frequent\nvisitor to the Pfalzgrafenstein, constantly telling von Roth that he\nallowed the Princess too much liberty. Worse still, Ludwig sometimes\nremained at the island castle for a long time, and at these periods\nthe prisoner underwent constant ill-treatment, which the Governor was\npowerless to alleviate.\n\nThe people of the neighbourhood felt kindly toward Guba, but their\nsympathy was of little avail; and at length during one of Ludwig's\nvisits to Pfalzgrafenstein it seemed as though he was about to triumph\nand effect a final separation between the Princess and Hermann. For it\ntranspired one evening that Guba was not within the castle. A hue and\ncry was instantly raised, and the island was searched by Ludwig and von\nRoth. \"I wager,\" said Ludwig, \"that at this very moment Guba is with\nher paramour. Let my brother the Prince hear of this, and your life will\nanswer for it. Often have I urged you to be stricter; you see now the\nresult of your leniency.\"\n\nVon Roth protested that the Princess was taking the air alone; but while\nthey argued the pair espied Guba, and it was as Ludwig had said--she was\nattended by a man.\n\n\"The bird is snared,\" shouted Ludwig; and as he and von Roth ran toward\nthe offending couple they separated instantly, the man making for a boat\nmoored hard by. But ere he could reach it he was caught by his pursuers,\nand recognized for a certain young gallant of the district. He was\ndragged to the castle, where after a brief trial he was condemned to\nbe hanged. He blanched on hearing the sentence, but faced his fate\nmanfully, and when the rope was about his neck he declared loudly that\nGuba had always discouraged his addresses and was innocent of the sin\nwherewith she was charged.\n\nGuba's movements thenceforth were watched more strictly for a while, yet\nshe seemed to grow more cheerful, while one day she even asserted that\nshe would soon be reconciled to her husband, from whom she had now been\nestranged for six months. In short, she announced that she was soon to\nbe a mother; while she was confident that the child would resemble the\nPalatine Prince, and that the latter's delight on finding himself a\nfather would result in the ending of all her troubles. The Governor\nand his lady were both doubtful as to the parentage of the child,\nremembering the recent circumstances which had seemed to cast some\nshadow upon the Princess herself; yet they held their peace, awaiting\nuntil in due course the Princess was delivered of a boy. But, alack!\nthe child bore no resemblance to Hermann; and so von Roth and his wife,\nmeaning to be kind, enjoined silence and sent the child away--all of\nwhich was the more easily accomplished as the spiteful Ludwig chanced to\nbe far distant at the time. At first the mother was broken-hearted, but\nthe Governor and his wife comforted her by saying that the child was no\nfarther off than a castle on the opposite banks of the Rhine. Here,\nthey assured her, he would be well nurtured; moreover, they had arranged\nthat, so long as her son was alive and thriving, the fact was to be\nsignified to her by the display of a small white flag on the battlements\nof his lodging. And so, day after day, the anxious mother paced her\nisland prison, looking constantly toward the signal which meant so much\nto her.\n\nMany years went by in this fashion, and in course of time Hermann was\ngathered to his fathers, and Ludwig ascended the Palatine throne. But\nscarcely was his rule begun ere it was noised abroad that he was a\nusurper, for a young man appeared who claimed to be the son of Hermann,\nand therefore the rightful heir. Now, most of the people detested\nLudwig, and when they marked the claimant's resemblance to the deceased\nPrince a number of them banded themselves together to set him upon the\nthrone.\n\nA fierce civil war ensued, many of the nobles forsaking Ludwig for his\nrival, who, like the late Prince, bore the name of Hermann; and though\nat first it seemed doubtful which party was to triumph, eventually\nLudwig was worsted, and was hanged for his perfidy. The tidings spread\nthroughout the Rhineland, and one day a body of men-at-arms came to\nPfalzgrafenstein and informed von Roth that his prisoner was to be freed\nat once and was to repair to the Palatine court, there to take up her\nrightful position as Queen-Dowager. Guba was amazed on hearing this\nnews, for she had long since ceased to hope that her present mode of\nlife would be altered, and asking to be presented to the chief messenger\nthat she might question him, she suddenly experienced a yet greater\nsurprise.... Yes! her son had come in person to liberate her; and von\nRoth and his wife, as they witnessed the glad union, were convinced at\nlast of Guba's innocence, for the young man who clasped her to his\nbosom had changed wondrously since his childhood, and was now indeed the\nliving image of his father. For some minutes the mother wept with joy,\nbut when her son bade her make ready for instant departure she\nreplied that she had lost all desire for the stately life of a court.\nPfalzgrafenstein, she declared, had become truly a part of her life, so\nhere she would end her days. She had not long to live, she added, and\nwhat greater pleasure could she have than the knowledge that her son was\nalive and well, and was ruling his people wisely?\n\nAnd so Guba remained at the island, a prison no longer; and daily she\npaced by the swirling stream, often gazing toward the castle where her\nson had been nurtured, and meditating on the time when she was wont to\nlook there for the white flag which meant so much to her anxious heart.\n\nA Legend of Fuerstenberg\n\nHigh above the Rhine tower the ruins of Fuerstenberg, and more than one\nlegend clings to the ancient pile, linking it with stirring medieval\ntimes. Perhaps the most popular of these traditions is that which tells\nof the Phantom Mother of Fuerstenberg, a tale full of pathos and tragedy.\n\nIn the thirteenth century there dwelt in the castle a nobleman, Franz\nvon Fuerst by name, who, after a wild and licentious youth, settled\ndown to a more sober and serious manhood. His friends, surprised at the\nchange which had taken place in him, and anxious that this new mode of\nlife should be maintained, urged him to take a virtuous maiden to\nwife. Such a bride as they desired for him was found in Kunigunda von\nFloersheim, a maiden who was as beautiful as she was high-born.\n\nFor a time after their marriage all went well, and Franz and his young\nwife seemed quite happy. Moreover, in time a son was born to them, of\nwhom his father seemed to be very proud. The Baron's reformation, said\nhis friends, was complete.\n\nOne evening there came to Kunigunda a young lady friend. The girl,\nwhose name was Amina, was the daughter of a robber-baron who dwelt in\na neighbouring castle. But his predatory acts had at last forced him to\nflee for his life, and no one knew whither he had gone. His household\nwas broken up, and Amina, finding herself without a home, had now\nrepaired to Fuerstenberg to seek refuge. Kunigunda, ever willing to aid\nthose in distress, extended a hearty welcome to the damsel, and Amina\nwas henceforth an inmate of the schloss.\n\nNow, though Amina was fully as lovely in face and form as her young\nhostess, she yet lacked the moral beauty of Kunigunda. Of a subtle and\ncrafty disposition, she showed the gratitude of the serpent by stinging\nthe hand extended to help her; in a word, she set herself to win the\nunlawful affections of the Lord of Fuerstenberg. He, weak creature as\nhe was, allowed the latent baseness of his nature to be stirred by her\nyouth and beauty. He listened when she whispered that Kunigunda had\ngrown cold toward him; at her suggestion he interpreted his wife's\nmodest demeanour as indifference, and already he began to feel the yoke\nof matrimony heavy upon him.\n\nPoor Kunigunda was in despair when she realized that her husband had\ntransferred his affections; but what was worse, she learned that the\npair were plotting against her life. At length their cruel scheming\nsucceeded, and one morning Kunigunda was found dead in her bed. Franz\nmade it known that she had been stifled by a fit of coughing, and her\nremains were hastily conveyed to the family vault. Within a week the\nfalse Amina was the bride of the Baron von Fuerstenberg.\n\nLittle Hugo, the son of Kunigunda, was to suffer much at the hands\nof his stepmother and her dependents. The new mistress of the Schloss\nFuerstenberg hated the child as she had hated his mother, and Hugo was\ngiven into the charge of an ill-natured old nurse, who frequently beat\nhim in the night because he awakened her with his cries.\n\nOne night the old hag was roused from her sleep by a strange sound, the\nsound of a cradle being rocked. She imagined herself dreaming. Who would\ncome to this distant tower to rock the little Hugo? Not Amina, of that\nshe was sure! Again the sound was heard, unmistakably the creaking of\nthe cradle. Drawing aside her bed-curtains, the crone beheld a strange\nsight. Over the cradle a woman was bending, clad in long, white\ngarments, and singing a low lullaby, and as she raised her pale face,\nbehold! it was that of the dead Kunigunda. The nurse could neither\nshriek nor faint; as though fascinated, she watched the wraith nursing\nher child, until at cockcrow Kunigunda vanished.\n\nIn trembling tones the nurse related what she had seen to Franz and\nAmina. The Baron was scornful, and ridiculed the whole affair as a\ndream. But the cunning Amina, though she did not believe that a ghost\nhad visited the child, thought that perhaps her rival was not really\ndead, and her old hatred and jealousy were reawakened. So she told her\nhusband that she intended to see for herself whether there was any truth\nin the fantastic story, and would sleep that night in the nurse's bed.\nShe did not mention her suspicions, nor the fact that she carried a\nsharp dagger. She was roused in the night, as the old woman had been, by\nthe sound of a cradle being rocked. Stealthily drawing the curtains, she\nsaw the white-robed form of the dead, the black mould clinging to her\nhair, the hue of death in her face. With a wild cry Amina flung herself\nupon Kunigunda, only to find that she was stabbing at a thing of air, an\nimpalpable apparition which vanished at a touch. Overcome with rage and\nfear, she sank to the ground. The wraith moved to the door, turning\nwith a warning gesture ere she vanished from sight, and Amina lost\nconsciousness.\n\nIn the morning the Baron sought his wife in vain. He found instead a\nmissive telling of her ghastly experience, intimating her intention of\nretiring to a nunnery, and closing with an earnest appeal to her husband\nto repent of his crimes.\n\nThe Baron, moved with remorse and terror, followed Amina's example; he\nsought in the mountain solitudes a hermitage where he might end his days\nin peace, and having found such a cell, he confided his little son to\nthe care of the pastor of Wedenschied, and retired from the world in\nwhich he had played so sorry a part.\n\nThe Blind Archer\n\nAnother legend connected with the ruined stronghold of Fuerstenberg is\nthe following. Long ago, in the days when bitter feuds and rivalries\nexisted between the owners of neighbouring fortresses, there dwelt in\nFuerstenberg a good old knight, Sir Oswald by name, well versed in the\narts of war, and particularly proficient in archery. He had one son,\nEdwin, a handsome young man who bade fair to equal his father in skill\nand renown.\n\nSir Oswald had a sworn foe in a neighbouring baron, Wilm von Sooneck,\na rich, unscrupulous nobleman who sought by every possible means to\nget the knight into his power. At length his cunning schemes met with\nsuccess; an ambush was laid for the unsuspecting Oswald as he rode past\nSooneck Castle, attended only by a groom, and both he and his servant\nwere flung into a tower, there to await the pleasure of their captor.\n\nAnd what that nobleman's pleasure was soon became evident. Ere many days\nhad elapsed Oswald was informed that his eyes were to be put out, and\nsoon the cruel decree was carried into execution.\n\nMeanwhile Edwin awaited the coming of his father; and when he came not\nit was at first concluded that he had been captured or slain by robbers.\nBut there were no evidences forthcoming to show that Sir Oswald had\nmet with such a fate, and his son began to suspect that his father had\nfallen into the hands of Baron Wilm, for he knew of the bitter hatred\nwhich he bore toward the knight of Fuerstenberg and of his cunning and\nmalice. He therefore cast about for a means of verifying his suspicions,\nand eventually disguised himself as a wandering minstrel, took his\nharp--for he had great skill as a musician--and set off in the direction\nof Sooneck. There he seated himself under a tree and played and sang\nsweetly, directing his gaze the while toward a strong tower which seemed\nto him a likely place for the incarceration of prisoners. The plaintive\ncharm of the melody attracted the attention of a passing peasant, who\ndrew near to listen; when the last note of the song had died away, he\nseated himself beside the minstrel and entered into conversation with\nhim.\n\n\"Methinks thou hast an interest in yonder tower,\" he said.\n\n\"In truth it interests me,\" responded Edwin, nevertheless veiling his\nconcern as much as possible by a seeming indifference. \"Is it a prison,\nthink you?\"\n\n\"Ay, that it is,\" replied the peasant with a laugh. \"'Tis the cage where\nmy lord of Sooneck keeps the birds whose feathers he has plucked.\"\n\nEdwin, still with a show of indifference, questioned him further,\nand elicited the fact that the peasant had witnessed the capture and\nincarceration in the tower of a knight and his servant on the very day\nwhen Sir Oswald and his groom had disappeared. Nothing more could\nEdwin glean, save that a few days hence Baron Wilm was to give a grand\nbanquet, when many nobles and knights were to be present.\n\nThe young man, his suspicions thus fully confirmed, felt that his next\nmove must be to gain entrance to the castle, and he decided to take\nadvantage of the excitement and bustle attendant on the banquet to\nachieve this end. Accordingly, on the day fixed for the feast he again\ndonned his minstrel's garb, and repaired to the Schloss Sooneck. Here,\nas he had anticipated, all was excitement and gaiety. Wine flowed\nfreely, tongues were loosened, and the minstrel was welcomed\nuproariously and bidden to sing his best songs in return for a beaker\nof Rhenish. Soon the greater part of the company were tipsy, and Edwin\nmoved among them, noting their conversation, coming at length to the\nseat of the host.\n\n\"It is said,\" remarked a knight, \"that you have captured Sir Oswald of\nFuerstenberg.\"\n\nWilm, to whom the remark was addressed, smiled knowingly and did not\ndeny the charge.\n\n\"I have even heard,\" pursued his companion, \"that you have had his eyes\nput out.\"\n\nThe Baron laughed outright, as at an excellent jest.\n\n\"Then you have heard truly,\" he said.\n\nAt this point another knight broke into the conversation. \"It is\na pity,\" said he. \"There are but few archers to match Oswald of\nFuerstenberg.\"\n\n\"I wager he can still hit a mark if it be set up,\" said he who had first\nspoken.\n\n\"Done!\" cried Sooneck, and when the terms of the wager had been fixed\nthe Baron directed that Oswald should be brought from the tower.\n\nEdwin had overheard the conversation with a breaking heart, and grief\nand shame almost overwhelmed him when he saw his father, pitifully quiet\nand dignified, led into the banquet-hall to provide sport for a company\nof drunken revellers. Oswald was informed of the wager, and bow and\narrows were placed in his hands.\n\n\"Baron von Sooneck,\" he cried, \"where is the mark?\"\n\n\"This cup I place upon the table,\" came the reply.\n\nThe arrow was fitted to the bow, released, and lo! it was not the cup\nwhich was hit, but the Lord of Sooneck, who fell forward heavily, struck\nto the heart and mortally wounded.\n\nIn a moment a loud outcry was raised, but ere action could be taken the\nminstrel had sprung in front of Oswald, and boldly faced the assembly.\n\n\"This knight,\" he cried, \"shamefully maltreated by yonder villain, is my\nfather. Whoso thinks he has acted wrongly in forfeiting the life of\nhis torturer shall answer to me. With my sword I shall teach him better\njudgment.\"\n\nThe astonished knights, completely sobered by the tragic occurrence,\ncould not but admire the courage of the lad who thus boldly championed\nhis father, and with one voice they declared that Sir Oswald was a true\nknight and had done justly.\n\nSo the blind knight, once more free, returned to his castle of\nFuerstenberg, compensated in part for the loss of his sight by the loving\ndevotion of his son.\n\nRheinstein and Reichenstein\n\nCenturies ago the castles of Rheinstein and Reichenstein frowned at each\nother from neighbouring eminences. But far from being hostile, they were\nthe residences of two lovers. Kuno of Reichenstein loved the fair Gerda\nof Rheinstein with a consuming passion, and, as is so common with lovers\nin all ages, doubted whether his love were returned. In his devotion\nfor the maiden he showered on her many gifts, and although his purse\nwas light and he was master of only a single tower, he did not spare\nhis gold if only he could make her happy and gain from her one look of\napproval.\n\nOn one occasion he presented to her a beauteous horse of the Limousin\nstrain, bred under the shadow of his own castle. Deep-chested, with\narched neck and eye of fire, the noble steed aroused the liveliest\ninterest in the breast of Gerda, and she was eloquent in her thanks to\nthe giver until, observing his ardent glances, her cheeks suffused with\nblushes. Taking her soft hand between his sunburnt palms, Kuno poured\ninto her ear the story of his love.\n\n\"Gerda,\" he whispered, \"I am a poor man. I have nothing but my sword, my\nruined tower yonder, and honour. But they are yours. Will you take them\nwith my heart?\"\n\nShe lifted her blue eyes to his, full of truth and trust. \"I will be\nyours,\" she murmured; \"yours and none other's till death.\"\n\nYoung Kuno left Rheinstein that afternoon, his heart beating high with\nhope and happiness. The blood coursing through his veins at a gallop\nmade him spur his charger to a like pace. But though he rode fast his\nbrain was as busy as his hand and his heart. He must, in conformity with\nRhenish custom, send as an embassy to Gerda's father one of his most\ndistinguished relations. To whom was he to turn? There was no one but\nold Kurt, his wealthy uncle, whom he could send as an emissary, and\nalthough the old man had an unsavoury reputation, he decided to confide\nthe mission to him. Kurt undertook the task in no kindly spirit, for he\ndisliked Kuno because of his virtuous life and the circumstance that he\nwas his heir, whom he felt was waiting to step into his shoes. However,\nhe waited next day upon Gerda's father, the Lord of Rheinstein, and was\nreceived with all the dignity suitable to his rank and age. But when his\nglance rested upon the fair and innocent Gerda, such a fierce desire to\nmake her his arose in his withered breast that when she had withdrawn he\ndemanded her hand for himself. To her father he drew an alluring picture\nof his rank, his possessions, his castles, his gold, until the old man,\nwith whom avarice was a passion, gave a hearty consent to his suit,\nand dismissed him with the assurance that Gerda would be his within the\nweek.\n\nThe clatter of hoofs had hardly died away when the Lord of Rheinstein\nsought his daughter's bower, where she sat dreaming of Kuno. In honeyed\nwords the old man described the enviable position she would occupy as\nthe spouse of a wealthy man, and then conveyed to her the information\nthat Kurt had asked him for her hand. Gerda, insulted at the mere\nthought of becoming the bride of such a man, refused to listen to the\nproposal, even from the lips of her father, and she acquainted him with\nher love for Kuno, whom, she declared, she had fully resolved to marry.\nAt this avowal her father worked himself into a furious passion, and\nassured her that she should never be the bride of such a penniless\nadventurer. After further insulting the absent Kuno, and alluding in\na most offensive manner to his daughter's lack of discernment and good\ntaste, he quitted her bower, assuring her as he went that she should\nbecome the bride of Kurt on the morrow.\n\nGerda spent a miserable night sitting by the dying fire in her chamber,\nplanning how she might escape from the detested Kurt, until at last her\nwearied brain refused to work and she fell into a troubled slumber. In\nthe morning she was awakened by her handmaiden, who, greatly concerned\nfor her mistress, had spent the night in prayer. But Gerda's tears had\nfled with the morning, and she resolved, come what might, to refuse\nto the last to wed with the hateful Kurt. She learned that Kuno had\nattempted to assault the castle during the night with the object of\ncarrying her off, but that he had been repulsed with some loss to his\nsmall force. This made her only the more determined to persist in her\nresistance to his uncle.\n\nMeantime the vassals and retainers of the house of Rheinstein had been\nsummoned to the castle to attend the approaching ceremony, and their\ngay apparel now shone and glittered in the sunshine. The sound of pipe,\ntabour, and psaltery in melodious combination arose from the valley, and\nall hearts, save one, were happy. The gates were thrown open, and the\nbridal procession formed up to proceed to the ancient church where the\nunhappy Gerda was to be sacrificed to Kurt. First came a crowd of serfs,\nmen, women, and children, all shouting in joyful anticipation of the\nwedding feast. Then followed the vassals and retainers of the Lord of\nRheinstein, according to their several degrees, and, last, the principal\nactors in the shameful ceremony, Kurt, surrounded by his retainers, and\nthe Lord of Rheinstein with the luckless Gerda. The mellow tones of the\nbell of St. Clement mingled sweetly with the sound of the flute and the\npipe and the merry voices of the wedding throng. Gerda, mounted upon her\nspirited Limousin steed, the gift of Kuno, shuddered as she felt Kurt's\neyes resting upon her, and she cast a despairing glance at the tower of\nKuno's castle, where, disconsolate and heavy of heart, he watched the\nbridal procession from the highest turret.\n\nThe procession halted at the portal of the church, and all dismounted\nsave Gerda. She was approached by the bridegroom, who with an air of\nleering gallantry offered her his assistance in alighting. At this\nmoment swarms of gadflies rested on the flanks of the Limousin steed,\nand the spirited beast, stung to madness by the flies, reared, plunged,\nand broke away in a gallop, scattering the spectators to right and left,\nand flying like the wind along the river-bank.\n\n\"To horse, to horse!\" cried Kurt and the Lord of Rheinstein, and\nspeedily as many mounted, the bridegroom, for all his age, was first\nin the saddle. With the clattering of a hundred hoofs the wedding party\ngalloped madly along Rhineside, Kurt leading on a fleet and powerful\ncharger.\n\n\"Halt!\" he cried. \"Draw rein--draw rein!\" But notwithstanding their\nshouts, cries, and entreaties, Gerda spurred on the already maddened\nLimousin, which thundered along the familiar road to Kuno's castle of\nReichenstein. The noble steed's direction was quickly espied by Kuno,\nwho hastened to the principal entrance of his stronghold.\n\n\"Throw open the gates,\" he shouted. \"Down with the drawbridge. Bravo,\ngallant steed!\"\n\nBut Kurt was close behind. Gerda could feel the breath of his charger\non the hands which held her rein. Close he rode by her, but might never\nsnatch her from the saddle. Like the wind they sped. Now she was a pace\nin front, now they careered onward neck and neck.\n\nSuddenly he leaned over to seize her rein, but at that instant his horse\nstumbled, fell, and threw the ancient gallant heavily. Down he came on a\ngreat boulder and lay motionless.\n\nAnother moment, and the hoof-beat of the breathless steed sounded on the\ndrawbridge of Reichenstein. The vassals of Kuno hastened to the gate to\nresist the expected attack, but there was none. For the wretched Kurt\nlay dead, killed by the fall, and his vassals were now eager to acclaim\nKuno as their lord, while the Lord of Rheinstein, shrewdly observing the\ndirection of affairs, took advantage of the tumultuous moment to\nmake his peace with Kuno. The lovers were wedded next day amid the\nacclamations of their friends and retainers, and Kuno and Gerda dwelt in\nRheinstein for many a year, loving and beloved.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V--FALKENBURG TO AUERBACH\n\n\nThe Legend of Falkenburg\n\nIn the imperial fortress of Falkenburg dwelt the beautiful Liba, the\nmost charming and accomplished of maidens, with her widowed mother. Many\nwere the suitors who climbed the hill to Falkenburg to seek the hand\nof Liba, for besides being beautiful she was gentle and virtuous, and\nwithal possessed of a modest fortune left her by her father. But to all\ntheir pleadings she turned a deaf ear, for she was already betrothed\nto a young knight named Guntram whom she had known since childhood, and\nthey only waited until Guntram should have received his fief from the\nPalsgrave to marry and settle down.\n\nOne May morning, while Liba was seated at a window of the castle\nwatching the ships pass to and fro on the glassy bosom of the Rhine,\nshe beheld Guntram riding up the approach to Falkenburg, and hastened to\nmeet him. The gallant knight informed his betrothed that he was on his\nway to the Palsgrave to receive his fief, and had but turned aside in\nhis journey in order to greet his beloved. She led him into the castle,\nwhere her mother received him graciously enough, well pleased at her\ndaughter's choice.\n\n\"And now, farewell,\" said Guntram. \"I must hasten. When I return we two\nshall wed; see to it that all is in readiness.\"\n\nWith that he mounted his horse and rode out of the courtyard, turning\nto wave a gay farewell to Liba. The maiden watched him disappear round a\nturn in the winding path, then slowly re-entered the castle.\n\nMeanwhile Guntram went on his way, and was at length invested with his\nfief. The Palsgrave, pleased with the manners and appearance of the\nyoung knight, appointed him to be his ambassador in Burgundy, which\nhonour Guntram, though with much reluctance, felt it necessary to\naccept. He dispatched a messenger to his faithful Liba, informing her\nof his appointment, which admitted of no delay, and regretting the\nconsequent postponement of their marriage. She, indeed, was ill-pleased\nwith the tidings and felt instinctively that some calamity was about to\nbefall. After a time her foreboding affected her health and spirits, her\nformer pursuits and pleasures were neglected, and day after day she sat\nlistlessly at her casement, awaiting the return of her lover.\n\nGuntram, having successfully achieved his mission, set out on the\nhomeward journey. On the way he had to pass through a forest, and,\nhaving taken a wrong path, lost his way. He wandered on without meeting\na living creature, and came at last to an old dilapidated castle, into\nthe courtyard of which he entered, thankful to have reached a human\nhabitation. He gave his horse to a staring boy, who looked at him as\nthough he were a ghost.\n\n\"Where is your master?\" queried Guntram.\n\nThe boy indicated an ivy-grown tower, to which the knight made his way.\nThe whole place struck him as strangely sombre and weird, a castle of\nshadows and vague horror. He was shown into a gloomy chamber by an aged\nattendant, and there awaited the coming of the lord. Opposite him was\nhung a veiled picture, and half hoping that he might solve the mystery\nwhich pervaded the place, he drew aside the curtain. From the canvas\nthere looked out at him a lady of surpassing beauty, and the young\nknight started back in awe and admiration.\n\nIn a short time the attendant returned with a thin, tall old man, the\nlord of the castle, who welcomed the guest with grave courtesy, and\noffered the hospitality of his castle. Guntram gratefully accepted his\nhost's invitation, and when he had supped he conversed with the old man,\nwhom he found well-informed and cultured.\n\n\"You appear to be fond of music,\" said the knight, indicating a harp\nwhich lay in a corner of the room.\n\nHe had observed, however, that the strings of the harp were broken, and\nthat the instrument seemed to have been long out of use, and thought\nthat it possibly had some connexion with the original of the veiled\nportrait. Whatever recollections his remark aroused must have been\npainful indeed, for the host sighed heavily.\n\n\"It has long been silent,\" he said. \"My happiness has fled with its\nmusic. Good night, and sleep well.\" And ere the astonished guest could\nutter a word the old man abruptly withdrew from the room.\n\nShortly afterward the old attendant entered, bearing profuse apologies\nfrom his master, and begging that the knight would continue to accept\nhis hospitality. Guntram followed the old man to his chamber. As they\npassed through the adjoining apartment he stopped before the veiled\nportrait.\n\n\"Tell me,\" he said, \"why is so lovely a picture hidden?\"\n\n\"Then you have seen it?\" asked the old keeper. \"That is my master's\ndaughter. When she was alive she was even more beautiful than her\nportrait, but she was a very capricious maid, and demanded that her\nlovers should perform well-nigh impossible feats. At last only one of\nthese lovers remained, and of him she asked that he should descend into\nthe family vault and bring her a golden crown from the head of one of\nher ancestors. He did as he was bidden, but his profanation was punished\nwith death. A stone fell from the roof and killed him. The young man's\nmother died soon after, cursing the foolish maid, who herself died in\nthe following year. But ere she was buried she disappeared from her\ncoffin and was seen no more.\"\n\nWhen the story was ended they had arrived at the door of the knight's\nchamber, and in bidding him good night the attendant counselled him to\nsay his paternoster should anything untoward happen.\n\nGuntram wondered at his words, but at length fell asleep. Some hours\nlater he was awakened suddenly by the rustling of a woman's gown and the\nsoft strains of a harp, which seemed to come from the adjoining room.\nThe knight rose quietly and looked through a chink in the door, when\nhe beheld a lady dressed in white and bending over a harp of gold. He\nrecognized in her the original of the veiled portrait, and saw that even\nthe lovely picture had done her less than justice. For a moment he stood\nwith hands clasped in silent admiration. Then with a low sound, half\ncry, half sob, she cast the harp from her and sank down in an attitude\nof utter despondency. The knight could bear it no longer and (quite\nforgetting his paternoster) he flung open the door and knelt at her\nfeet, raising her hand to his lips. Gradually she became composed. \"Do\nyou love me, knight?\" she said. Guntram swore that he did, with many\npassionate avowals, and the lady slipped a ring on his finger. Even as\nhe embraced her the cry of a screech-owl rang through the night air,\nand the maiden became a corpse in his arms. Overcome with terror,\nhe staggered through the darkness to his room, where he sank down\nunconscious.\n\nOn coming to himself again, he thought for a moment that the experience\nmust have been a dream, but the ring on his hand assured him that the\nvision was a ghastly reality. He attempted to remove the gruesome token,\nbut he found to his horror that it seemed to have grown to his finger.\n\nIn the morning he related his experience to the attendant. \"Alas, alas!\"\nsaid the old man, \"in three times nine days you must die.\"\n\nGuntram was quite overcome by the horror of his situation, and seemed\nfor a time bereft of his senses. Then he had his horse saddled,\nand galloped as hard as he was able to Falkenburg. Liba greeted him\nsolicitously. She could see that he was sorely troubled, but forbore to\nquestion him, preferring to wait until he should confide in her of his\nown accord. He was anxious that their wedding should be hastened, for he\nthought that his union with the virtuous Liba might break the dreadful\nspell.\n\nWhen at length the wedding day arrived everything seemed propitious,\nand there was nothing to indicate the misfortune which threatened the\nbridegroom. The couple approached the altar and the priest joined their\nhands. Suddenly Guntram fell to the ground, foaming and gasping, and was\ncarried thence to his home. The faithful Liba stayed by his side, and\nwhen he had partially recovered the knight told her the story of the\nspectre, and added that when the priest had joined their hands he had\nimagined that the ghost had put her cold hand in his. Liba attempted\nto soothe her repentant lover, and sent for a priest to finish the\ninterrupted wedding ceremony. This concluded, Guntram embraced his wife,\nreceived absolution, and expired.\n\nLiba entered a convent, and a few years later she herself passed away,\nand was buried by the side of her husband.\n\nThe Mouse Tower\n\nBishop Hatto is a figure equally well known to history and tradition,\nthough, curiously enough, receiving a much rougher handling from the\nlatter than the former. History relates that Hatto was Archbishop of\nMainz in the tenth century, being the second of his name to occupy that\nsee. As a ruler he was firm, zealous, and upright, if somewhat ambitious\nand high-handed, and his term of office was marked by a civic peace not\nalways experienced in those times. So much for history. According to\ntradition, Hatto was a stony-hearted oppressor of the poor, permitting\nnothing to stand in the way of the attainment of his own selfish ends,\nand several wild legends exhibit him in a peculiarly unfavourable light.\n\nBy far the most popular of these traditions is that which deals with\nthe Maeuseturm, or 'Mouse Tower,' situated on a small island in the\nRhine near Bingen. It has never been quite decided whether the name was\nbestowed because of the legend, or whether the legend arose on account\nof the name, and it seems at least probable that the tale is of\nconsiderably later date than the tenth century. Some authorities regard\nthe word Maeuseturm as a corruption of Mauth-turm, a 'toll-tower,' a\nprobable but prosaic interpretation. Much more interesting is the name\n'Mouse Tower,' which gives point to the tragic tale of Bishop Hatto's\nfate. The story cannot be better told than in the words of Southey, who\nhas immortalized it in the following ballad:\n\n     THE TRADITION OF BISHOP HATTO\n\n     The summer and autumn had been so wet,\n     That in winter the corn was growing yet;\n     'Twas a piteous sight to see all around\n     The grain lie rotting on the ground.\n\n     Every day the starving poor\n     Crowded around Bishop Hatto's door,\n     For he had a plentiful last-year's store,\n     And all the neighbourhood could tell\n     His granaries were furnished well.\n\n     At last Bishop Hatto appointed a day\n     To quiet the poor without delay;\n     He bade them to his great barn repair,\n     And they should have food for the winter there.\n\n     Rejoiced such tidings good to hear,\n     The poor folk flocked from far and near;\n     The great barn was full as it could hold\n     Of women and children, and young and old.\n\n     Then when he saw it could hold no more,\n     Bishop Hatto he made fast the door;\n     And while for mercy on Christ they call,\n     He set fire to the barn and burnt them all.\n\n     \"I' faith, 'tis an excellent bonfire!\" quoth he,\n     \"And the country is greatly obliged to me\n     For ridding it in these times forlorn\n     Of rats that only consume the corn.\"\n\n     So then to his palace returned he,\n     And he sat down to supper merrily;\n     And he slept that night like an innocent man,\n     But Bishop Hatto never slept again.\n\n     In the morning as he enter'd the hall\n     Where his picture hung against the wall,\n     A sweat like death all over him came,\n     For the rats had eaten it out of the frame.\n\n     As he looked there came a man from his farm,\n     He had a countenance white with alarm;\n     \"My lord, I opened your granaries this morn,\n     And the rats had eaten all your corn.\"\n\n     Another came running presently,\n     And he was pale as pale could be;\n     \"Fly, my Lord Bishop, fly!\" quoth he,\n     \"Ten thousand rats are coming this way--\n     The Lord forgive you for yesterday!\"\n\n     \"I'll go to my tower on the Rhine,\" replied he,\n     \"'Tis the safest place in Germany;\n     The walls are high and the shores are steep,\n     And the stream is strong and the water deep.\"\n\n     Bishop Hatto fearfully hastened away,\n     And he crossed the Rhine without delay,\n     And reached his tower, and barred with care\n     All windows, doors, and loop-holes there.\n\n     He laid him down and closed his eyes;--\n     But soon a scream made him arise,\n     He started and saw two eyes of flame\n     On his pillow from whence the screaming came.\n\n     He listened and looked--it was only the cat;\n     But the Bishop he grew more fearful for that,\n     For she sat screaming, mad with fear,\n     At the army of rats that were drawing near.\n\n     For they have swum over the river so deep,\n     And they have climbed the shores so steep,\n     And up the tower their way is bent,\n     To do the work for which they were sent.\n\n     They are not to be told by the dozen or score,\n     By thousands they come, and by myriads and more,\n     Such numbers had never been heard of before,\n     Such a judgment had never been witnessed of yore.\n\n     Down on his knees the Bishop fell,\n     And faster and faster his beads did he tell,\n     As louder and louder, drawing near,\n     The gnawing of their teeth he could hear.\n\n     And in at the windows and in at the door,\n     And through the walls helter-skelter they pour,\n     And down through the ceiling, and up through the floor,\n     From the right and the left, from behind and before,\n     From within and without, from above and below,\n     And all at once to the Bishop they go.\n\n     They have whetted their teeth against the stones,\n     And now they pick the Bishop's bones;\n     They gnawed the flesh from every limb,\n     For they were sent to do judgment on him.\n\nA Legend of Ehrenfels\n\nMany other tales are told to illustrate Hatto's cruelty and treachery.\nFacing the Mouse Tower, on the opposite bank of the Rhine, stands the\ncastle of Ehrenfels, the scene of another of his ignoble deeds.\n\nConrad, brother of the Emperor Ludwig, had, it is said, been seized and\nimprisoned in Ehrenfels by the Franconian lord of that tower, Adalbert\nby name. It was the fortune of war, and Ludwig in turn gathered a small\nforce and hastened to his brother's assistance. His attempts to storm\nthe castle, however, were vain; the stronghold and its garrison stood\nfirm. Ludwig was minded to give up the struggle for the time being, and\nwould have done so, indeed, but for the intervention of his friend and\nadviser, Bishop Hatto.\n\n\"Leave him to me,\" said the crafty Churchman. \"I know how to deal with\nhim.\"\n\nLudwig was curious to know how his adviser proposed to get the better of\nAdalbert, whom he knew of old to be a man of courage and resource, but\nill-disposed toward the reigning monarch. So the Bishop unfolded\nhis scheme, to which Ludwig, with whom honour was not an outstanding\nfeature, gave his entire approval.\n\nIn pursuance of his design Hatto sallied forth unattended, and made his\nway to the beleaguered fortress. Adalbert, himself a stranger to cunning\nand trickery, hastened to admit the messenger, whose garb showed him to\nbe a priest, thinking him bound on an errand of peace. Hatto professed\nthe deepest sorrow at the quarrel between Ludwig and Adalbert.\n\n\"My son,\" said he solemnly, \"it is not meet that you and the Emperor,\nwho once were friends, should treat each other as enemies. Our sire is\nready to forgive you for the sake of old friendship; will you not give\nhim the opportunity and come with me?\"\n\nAdalbert was entirely deceived by the seeming sincerity of the Bishop,\nand so touched by the clemency of the sovereign that he promised to go\nin person and make submission if Hatto would but guarantee his safety.\n\nThe conversation was held in the Count's oratory, and the Churchman\nknelt before the crucifix and swore in the most solemn manner that he\nwould bring Adalbert safely back to his castle.\n\nIn a very short time they were riding together on the road to Mainz,\nwhere Ludwig held court. When they were a mile or two from Ehrenfels\nHatto burst into a loud laugh, and in answer to the Count's questioning\nglance he said merrily:\n\n\"What a perfect host you are! You let your guest depart without even\nasking him whether he has breakfasted. And I am famishing, I assure\nyou!\"\n\nThe courteous Adalbert was stricken with remorse, and murmured profuse\napologies to his guest. \"You must think but poorly of my hospitality,\"\nsaid he; \"in my loyalty I forgot my duty as a host.\"\n\n\"It is no matter,\" said Hatto, still laughing. \"But since we have come\nbut a little way, would it not be better to return to Ehrenfels and\nbreakfast? You are young and strong, but I--\"\n\n\"With pleasure,\" replied the Count, and soon they were again within the\ncastle enjoying a hearty meal. With her own hands the young Countess\npresented a beaker of wine to the guest, and he, ere quaffing it, cried\ngaily to Adalbert:\n\n\"Your health! May you have the reward I wish for you!\" Once again they\nset out on their journey, and reached Mainz about nightfall. That very\nnight Adalbert was seized ignominiously and dragged before the Emperor.\nBy Ludwig's side stood the false Bishop.\n\n\"What means this outrage?\" cried the Count, looking from one to the\nother.\n\n\"Thou art a traitor,\" said Ludwig, \"and must suffer the death of a\ntraitor.\"\n\nAdalbert addressed himself to the Bishop.\n\n\"And thou,\" he said, \"thou gavest me thine oath that thou wouldst bring\nme in safety to Ehrenfels.\"\n\n\"And did I not do so, fool?\" replied Hatto contemptuously. \"Was it my\nfault if thou didst not exact a pledge ere we set out for the second\ntime?\"\n\nAdalbert saw now the trap into which he had fallen, and his fettered\nlimbs trembled with anger against the crafty priest. But he was\nimpotent.\n\n\"Away with him to the block!\" said the Emperor.\n\n\"Amen,\" sneered Hatto, still chuckling over the success of his strategy.\n\nAnd so Adalbert went forth to his doom, the victim of the cruel\nChurchman's treachery.\n\nRheingrafenstein\n\nRheingrafenstein, perched upon its sable foundations of porphyry, is\nthe scene of a legend which tells of a terrible bargain with Satan--that\ntheme so frequent in German folk-tale.\n\nA certain nobleman, regarding the site as impregnable and therefore\nhighly desirable, resolved to raise a castle upon the lofty eminence,\nBut the more he considered the plan the more numerous appeared the\ndifficulties in the way of its consummation.\n\nEvery pro and con was carefully argued, but to no avail. At last in\ndesperation the nobleman implored assistance from the Enemy of Mankind,\nwho, hearing his name invoked, and scenting the possibility of gaining\na recruit to the hosts of Tartarus, speedily manifested his presence,\npromising to build the castle in one night if the nobleman would grant\nhim the first living creature who should look from its windows. To\nthis the nobleman agreed, and upon the following day found the castle\nawaiting his possession. He did not dare to enter it, however. But he\nhad communicated his secret to his wife, who decided to circumvent the\nEvil One by the exercise of her woman's wit. Mounting her donkey, she\nrode into the castle, bidding all her men follow her. Satan waited on\nthe alert. But the Countess amid great laughter pinned a kerchief upon\nthe ass's head, covered it with a cap, and, leading it to the window,\nmade it thrust its head outside.\n\nSatan immediately pounced upon what he believed to be his lawful prey,\nand with joy in his heart seized upon and carried off the struggling\nbeast of burden. But the donkey emitted such a bray that, recognizing\nthe nature of his prize, the Fiend in sheer disgust dropped it and\nvanished in a sulphurous cloud, to the accompaniment of inextinguishable\nlaughter from Rheingrafenstein.\n\nRuedesheim and its Legends\n\nThe town of Ruedesheim is a place famous in song and story, and some\nof the legends connected with it date from almost prehistoric times.\nPassing by in the steamer, the traveller who cares for architecture will\ndoubtless be surprised to mark an old church which would seem to be\nat least partly of Norman origin; but this is not the only French\nassociation which Ruedesheim boasts, for Charlemagne, it is said, loved\nthe place and frequently resided there, while tradition even asserts\nthat he it was who instituted the vine-growing industry on the adjacent\nhills. He perceived that whenever snow fell there it melted with amazing\nrapidity; and, judging from this that the soil was eminently suitable\nfor bringing forth a specially fine quality of grape, he sent to France\nfor a few young vine plants. Soon these were thriving in a manner\nwhich fully justified expectations. The wines of Ruedesheim became\nexceptionally famous; and, till comparatively recent times, one of the\nfinest blends was always known as Wein von Orleans, for it was thence\nthat the pristine cuttings had been imported.\n\nBut it need scarcely be said, perhaps, that most of the legends current\nat Ruedesheim are not concerned with so essentially pacific an affair as\nthe production of Rhenish. Another story of the place relates how one of\nits medieval noblemen, Hans, Graf von Brauser, having gone to Palestine\nwith a band of Crusaders, was taken prisoner by the Saracens; and during\nthe period of his captivity he vowed that, should he ever regain his\nliberty, he would signify his pious gratitude by causing his only\ndaughter, Minna, to take the veil. Rather a selfish kind of piety this\nappears! Yet mayhap Hans was really devoted to his daughter, and his\nresolution to part with her possibly entailed a heart-rending sacrifice;\nwhile, be that as it may, he had the reward he sought, for now his\nprison was stormed and he himself released, whereupon he hastened back\nto his home at Ruedesheim with intent to fulfil his promise to God. On\nreaching his schloss, however, Graf Hans was confronted by a state of\naffairs which had not entered into his calculations, the fact being\nthat in the interim his daughter had conceived an affection for a young\nnobleman called Walther, and had promised to marry him at an early date.\nHere, then, was a complication indeed, and Hans was sorely puzzled to\nknow how to act, while the unfortunate Minna was equally perplexed, and\nfor many weeks she endured literal torment, her heart being racked by a\nconstant storm of emotions. She was deeply attached to Walther, and she\nfelt that she would never be able to forgive herself if she broke her\npromise to him and failed to bring him the happiness which both were\nconfident their marriage would produce; but, on the other hand, being of\na religious disposition, she perforce respected the vow her father had\nmade, and thought that if it were broken he and all his household would\nbe doomed to eternal damnation, while even Walther might be involved in\ntheir ruin. \"Shall I make him happy in this world only that he may lose\nhis soul in the next?\" she argued; while again and again her father\nreminded her that a promise to God was of more moment than a promise\nto man, and he implored her to hasten to the nearest convent and retire\nbehind its walls. Still she wavered, however, and still her father\npleaded with her, sometimes actually threatening to exert his parental\nauthority. One evening, driven to despair, Minna sought to cool her\nthrobbing pulses by a walk on the wind-swept heights overlooking the\nRhine at Ruedesheim. Possibly she would be able to come to a decision\nthere, she thought; but no! she could not bring herself to renounce her\nlover, and with a cry of despair she flung herself over the steep rocks\ninto the swirling stream.\n\nA hideous death it was. The maiden was immolated on the altar of\nsuperstition, and the people of Ruedesheim were awestruck as they thought\nof the pathetic form drifting down the river. Nor did posterity fail\nto remember the story, and down to recent times the boatmen of the\nneighbourhood, when seeing the Rhine wax stormy at the place where Minna\nwas drowned, were wont to whisper that her soul was walking abroad, and\nthat the maiden was once again wrestling with the conflicting emotions\nwhich had broken her heart long ago.\n\nGisela\n\nKnight Broemser of Ruedesheim was one of those who renounced comfort and\nhome ties to throw in his lot with the Crusaders. He was a widower, and\npossessed a beautiful daughter, Gisela. In the holy wars in Palestine\nBroemser soon became distinguished for his bravery, and enterprises\nrequiring wit and prowess often were entrusted to him.\n\nNow it befell that the Christian camp was thrown into consternation\nby the appearance of a huge dragon which took up its abode in the\nmountainous country, the only locality whence water could be procured,\nand the increasing scarcity of the supply necessitated the extirpation\nof the monster. The Crusaders were powerless through fear; many of them\nregarded the dragon as a punishment sent from Heaven because of the\ndiscord and rivalry which divided them.\n\nAt last the brave Broemser offered to attempt the dragon's destruction,\nand after a valiant struggle he succeeded in slaying it. On his way back\nto the camp he was surprised by a party of Saracens, and after various\nhardships was cast into a dungeon. Here he remained in misery for a long\nwhile, and during his solitary confinement he made a vow that if he ever\nreturned to his native land he would found a convent and dedicate his\ndaughter as its first nun.\n\nSome time later the Saracens' stronghold was attacked by Christians and\nthe knight set free. In due course he returned to Ruedesheim, where he\nwas welcomed by Gisela, and the day after his arrival a young knight\nnamed Kurt of Falkenstein begged him for her hand. Gisela avowed her\nlove for Kurt, and Broemser sadly replied that he would willingly\naccede to the young people's wishes, for Falkenstein's father was his\ncompanion-in-arms, were he not bound by a solemn vow to dedicate his\ndaughter to the Church. When Falkenstein at last understood that the\nknight's decision was irrevocable he galloped off as if crazed. The\nknight's vow, however, was not to be fulfilled; Gisela's reason became\nunhinged, she wandered aimlessly through the corridors of the castle,\nand one dark and stormy night cast herself into the Rhine and was\ndrowned. Broemser built the convent, but in vain did he strive to free\nhis conscience from remorse. Many were his benefactions, and he built\na church on the spot where one of his servants found a wooden figure of\nthe Crucified, which was credited with miraculous powers of healing.\nBut all to no purpose. Haunted by the accusing spirit of his unfortunate\ndaughter, he gradually languished and at last died in the same year that\nthe church was completed.\n\nFurther up the river is Oestrich, adjacent to which stood the famous\nconvent of Gottesthal, not a vestige of which remains to mark its former\nsite. Its memory is preserved, however, in the following appalling\nlegend, the noble referred to being the head of one of the ancient\nfamilies of the neighbourhood.\n\nThe Nun of Oestrich\n\nAmong the inmates of Gottesthal was a nun of surpassing loveliness,\nwhose beauty had aroused the wild passion of a certain noble. Undeterred\nby the fact of the lady being a cloistered nun, he found a way of\ncommunicating his passion to her, and at last met her face to face,\ndespite bars and bolts. Eloquently he pleaded his love, swearing to free\nher from her bonds, to devote his life to her if only she would listen\nto his entreaties. He ended his asseverations by kneeling before the\nstatue of the Virgin, vowing in her name and that of the Holy Babe to be\ntrue, and renouncing his hopes of Heaven if he should fail in the\nleast of his promises. The nun listened and in the end, overcome by his\nfervour, consented to his wishes.\n\nSo one night, under cover of the darkness, she stole from the sheltering\nconvent, forgetting her vows in the arms of her lover. Then for a while\nshe knew a guilty happiness, but even this was of short duration, for\nthe knight soon tired and grew cold toward her. At length she was left\nalone, scorned and sorrowful, a prey to misery, while her betrayer rode\noff in search of other loves and gaieties, spreading abroad as he went\nthe story of his conquest and his desertion.\n\nWhen the injured woman learned the true character of her lover her love\nchanged to a frenzied hate. Her whole being became absorbed in a\ndesire for revenge, her thoughts by day being occupied by schemes for\ncompassing his death, her dreams by night being reddened by his blood.\nAt last she plotted with a band of ruffians, promising them great\nrewards if they would assassinate her enemy. They agreed and, waylaying\nthe noble, stabbed him fatally in the name of the woman he had wronged\nand slighted, then, carrying the hacked body into the village church,\nthey flung it at the foot of the altar.\n\nThat night the nun, in a passion of insensate fury, stole into the holy\nplace. Down the length of the church she dragged her lover's corpse,\nand out into the graveyard, tearing open his body and plucking his heart\ntherefrom with a fell purpose that never wavered. With a shriek she\nflung it on the ground and trampled upon it in a ruthlessness of hate\nterrible to contemplate.\n\nAnd the legend goes on to tell that after her death she still pursued\nher lover with unquenchable hatred. It is said that when the midnight\nbell is tolling she may yet be seen seeking his tomb, from which she\nlifts a bloody heart. She gazes on it with eyes aflame, then, laughing\nwith hellish glee, flings it three times toward the skies, only to let\nit fall to earth, where she treads it beneath her feet, while from\nher thick white veil runnels of blood pour down and all around dreary\ndeath-lights burn and shed a ghastly glow upon the awful spectre.\n\nIngelheim: Charlemagne the Robber\n\nAmong the multitude of legends which surround the name of Charlemagne\nthere can hardly be found a quainter or more interesting one than that\nwhich has for a background the old town of Ingelheim (Angel's Home),\nwhere at one time the Emperor held his court.\n\nIt is said that one night when Charlemagne had retired to rest he was\ndisturbed by a curious dream. In his vision he saw an angel descend on\nbroad white pinions to his bedside, and the heavenly visitant bade\nhim in the name of the Lord go forth and steal some of his neighbour's\ngoods. The angel warned him ere he departed that the speedy forfeiture\nof throne and life would be the penalty for disregarding the divine\ninjunction.\n\nThe astonished Emperor pondered the strange message, but finally\ndecided that it was but a dream, and he turned on his side to finish his\ninterrupted slumbers. Scarcely had he closed his eyelids, however,\nere the divine messenger was again at his side, exhorting him in\nstill stronger terms to go forth and steal ere the night passed, and\nthreatening him this time with the loss of his soul if he failed to\nobey.\n\nWhen the angel again disappeared the trembling monarch raised himself\nin bed, sorely troubled at the difficulty of his situation. That he, so\nrich, so powerful that he wanted for nothing, should be asked to go out\nin the dead of night and steal his neighbour's goods, like any of the\ncommon robbers whom he was wont to punish so severely! No! the thing was\npreposterous. Some fiend had appeared in angelic form to tempt him. And\nagain his weary head sank in his pillow. Rest, however, was denied him.\nFor a third time the majestic being appeared, and in tones still more\nstern demanded his obedience.\n\n\"If thou be not a thief,\" said he, \"ere yonder moon sinks in the west,\nthen art thou lost, body and soul, for ever.\"\n\nThe Emperor could no longer disbelieve the divine nature of the message,\nand he arose sadly, dressed himself in full armour, and took up his\nsword and shield, his spear and hunting-knife. Stealthily he quitted\nhis chamber, fearing every moment to be discovered. He imagined himself\nbeing detected by his own court in the act of privily leaving his own\npalace, as though he were a robber, and the thought was intolerable. But\nhis fears were unfounded; all--warders, porters, pages, grooms, yea, the\nvery dogs and horses--were wrapped in a profound slumber. Confirmed in\nhis determination by this miracle--for it could be nothing less--the\nEmperor saddled his favourite horse, which alone remained awake, and set\nout on his quest.\n\nIt was a beautiful night in late autumn. The moon hung like a silver\nshield in the deep blue arch of the sky, casting weird shadows on the\nslopes and lighting the gloom of the ancient forests. But Charlemagne\nhad no eye for scenery at the moment. He was filled with grief and shame\nwhen he thought of his mission, yet he dared not turn aside from it. To\nadd to his misery, he was unacquainted with the technicalities of the\nprofession thus thrust upon him, and did not quite know how to set about\nit.\n\nFor the first time in his life, too, he began to sympathize with the\nrobbers he had outlawed and persecuted, and to understand the risks and\nperils of their life. Nevermore, he vowed, would he hang a man for a\ntrifling inroad upon his neighbour's property.\n\nAs he thus pursued his reflections a knight, clad from head to foot in\ncoal-black armour and mounted on a black steed, issued silently from a\nclump of trees and rode unseen beside him.\n\nCharlemagne continued to meditate upon the dangers and misfortunes of a\nrobber's life.\n\n\"There is Elbegast,\" said he to himself; \"for a small offence I have\ndeprived him of land and fee, and have hunted him like an animal. He and\nhis knights risk their lives for every meal. He respects not the cloth\nof the Church, it is true, yet methinks he is a noble fellow, for he\nrobs not the poor or the pilgrim, but rather enriches them with part of\nhis plunder. Would he were with me now!\"\n\nHis reflections were suddenly stopped, for he now observed the black\nknight riding by his side.\n\n\"It may be the Fiend,\" said Charlemagne to himself, spurring his steed.\n\nBut though he rode faster and faster, his strange companion kept pace\nwith him. At length the Emperor reined in his steed, and demanded to\nknow who the stranger might be. The black knight refused to answer his\nquestions, and the two thereupon engaged in furious combat. Again and\nagain the onslaught was renewed, till at last Charlemagne succeeded in\ncleaving his opponent's blade.\n\n\"My life is yours,\" said the black knight.\n\n\"Nay,\" replied the monarch, \"what would I with your life? Tell me who\nyou are, for you have fought gallantly this night.\"\n\nThe stranger drew himself up and replied with simple dignity, \"I am\nElbegast.\"\n\nCharlemagne was delighted at thus having his wish fulfilled. He refused\nto divulge his name, but intimated that he, too, was a robber, and\nproposed that they should join forces for the night.\n\n\"I have it,\" said he. \"We will rob the Emperor's treasury. I think I\ncould show you the way.\"\n\nThe black knight paused. \"Never yet,\" he said, \"have I wronged the\nEmperor, and I shall not do so now. But at no great distance stands the\ncastle of Eggerich von Eggermond, brother-in-law to the Emperor. He has\npersecuted the poor and betrayed the innocent to death. If he could, he\nwould take the life of the Emperor himself, to whom he owes all. Let us\nrepair thither.\"\n\nNear their destination they tied their horses to a tree and strode\nacross the fields. On the way Charlemagne wrenched off the iron share\nfrom a plough, remarking that it would be an excellent tool wherewith to\nbore a hole in the castle wall--a remark which his comrade received in\nsilence, though not without surprise. When they arrived at the castle\nElbegast seemed anxious to see the ploughshare at work, for he begged\nCharlemagne to begin operations.\n\n\"I know not how to find entrance,\" said the latter.\n\n\"Let us make a hole in the wall,\" the robber-knight suggested, producing\na boring instrument of great strength. The Emperor gallantly set to\nwork with his ploughshare, though, as the wall was ten feet thick, it\nis hardly surprising that he was not successful. The robber, laughing\nat his comrade's inexperience, showed him a wide chasm which his boring\ninstrument had made, and bade him remain there while he fetched the\nspoil. In a very short time he returned with as much plunder as he could\ncarry.\n\n\"Let us get away,\" said the Emperor. \"We can carry no more.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said Elbegast, \"but I would return, with your permission. In\nthe chamber occupied by Eggerich and his wife there is a wonderful\ncaparison, made of gold and covered with little bells. I want to prove\nmy skill by carrying it off.\"\n\n\"As you will,\" was Charlemagne's laughing response.\n\nWithout a sound Elbegast reached the bedchamber of his victim, and was\nabout to raise the caparison when he suddenly stumbled and all the bells\nrang out clearly.\n\n\"My sword, my sword!\" cried Eggerich, springing up, while Elbegast sank\nback into the shadows.\n\n\"Nay,\" said the lady, trying to calm her husband. \"You did but hear the\nwind, or perhaps it was an evil dream. Thou hast had many evil dreams\nof late, Eggerich; methinks there is something lies heavily on thy mind.\nWilt thou not tell thy wife?\"\n\nElbegast listened intently while with soft words and caresses the lady\nstrove to win her husband's secret.\n\n\"Well,\" said Eggerich at last in sullen tones, \"we have laid a plot, my\ncomrades and I. To-morrow we go to Ingelheim, and ere noon Charlemagne\nshall be slain and his lands divided among us.\"\n\n\"What!\" shrieked the lady. \"Murder my brother! That will you never\nwhile I have strength to warn him.\" But the villain, with a brutal oath,\nstruck her so fiercely in the face that the blood gushed out, and she\nsank back unconscious.\n\nThe robber was not in a position to avenge the cruel act, but he crawled\nnearer the couch and caught some of the blood in his gauntlet, for a\nsign to the Emperor. When he was once more outside the castle he told\nhis companion all that had passed and made as though to return.\n\n\"I will strike off his head,\" said he. \"The Emperor is no friend of\nmine, but I love him still.\"\n\n\"What is the Emperor to us?\" cried Charlemagne. \"Are you mad that\nyou risk our lives for the Emperor?\" The black knight looked at him\nsolemnly.\n\n\"An we had not sworn friendship,\" said he, \"your life should pay for\nthese words. Long live the Emperor!\" Charlemagne, secretly delighted\nwith the loyalty of the outlawed knight, recommended him to seek the\nEmperor on the morrow and warn him of his danger. But Elbegast, fearing\nthe gallows, would not consent to this; so his companion promised to\ndo it in his stead and meet him afterward in the forest. With that they\nparted, the Emperor returning to his palace, where he found all as he\nhad left it.\n\nIn the morning he hastily summoned his council, told them of his\ndream and subsequent adventures, and of the plot against his life. The\npaladins were filled with horror and indignation, and Charlemagne's\nsecretary suggested that it was time preparations were being made for\nthe reception of the assassins. Each band of traitors as they arrived\nwas seized and cast into a dungeon. Though apparently clad as peaceful\ncitizens, they were all found to be armed. The last band to arrive was\nled by Eggerich himself. Great was his dismay when he saw his followers\nled off in chains, and angrily he demanded to know the reason for such\ntreatment.\n\nCharlemagne thereupon charged him with treason, and Eggerich flung\ndown the gauntlet in defiance. It was finally arranged that the Emperor\nshould provide a champion to do battle with the traitor, the combat to\ntake place at sunrise on the following morning.\n\nA messenger rode to summon Elbegast, but he had much difficulty in\nconvincing the black knight that it was not a plot to secure his\nundoing.\n\n\"And what would the Emperor with me?\" he demanded of the messenger, as\nat length they rode toward Ingelheim.\n\n\"To do battle to the death with a deadly foe of our lord the\nEmperor--Eggerich von Eggermond.\"\n\n\"God bless the Emperor!\" exclaimed Elbegast fervently, raising his\nhelmet. \"My life is at his service.\" Charlemagne greeted the knight\naffectionately and asked what he had to tell concerning the conspiracy,\nwhereupon Sir Elbegast fearlessly denounced the villainous Eggerich,\nand said he, \"I am ready to prove my assertions upon his body.\" The\nchallenge was accepted, and at daybreak the following morning a fierce\ncombat took place. The issue, however, was never in doubt: Sir Elbegast\nwas victorious, the false Eggerich was slain, and his body hanged on a\ngibbet fifty feet high. The emperor now revealed himself to the black\nknight both as his companion-robber and as the messenger who had brought\nhim the summons to attend his Emperor.\n\nCharlemagne's sister, the widow of Eggerich, he gave to Sir Elbegast\nin marriage, and with her the broad lands which had belonged to the\nvanquished traitor. Thenceforward the erstwhile robber and his sovereign\nwere fast friends.\n\nThe place where these strange happenings befell was called Ingelheim, in\nmemory of the celestial visitor, and Ingelheim it remains to this day.\n\nThe Knight and the Yellow Dwarf\n\nElfeld is the principal town of the Rheingau, and in ancient times was a\nRoman station called Alta Villa. In the fourteenth century it was\nraised to the rank of a town by Ludwig of Bavaria, and placed under the\nstewardship of the Counts of Elz.\n\nThese Counts of Elz dwelt in the castle by the river's edge, and of\none of them, Ferdinand, the following tale is told. This knight loved\npleasure and wild living, and would indulge his whims and passions\nwithout regard to cost. Before long he found that as a result of his\nextravagance his possessions had dwindled away almost to nothing.\nHe knew himself a poor man, yet his desire for pleasure was still\nunsatisfied. Mortified and angry, he hid himself in the castle of Elz\nand spent his time lamenting his poverty and cursing his fate. While in\nthis frame of mind the news reached him of a tournament that the Emperor\npurposed holding in celebration of his wedding. To this were summoned\nthe chivalry and beauty of Germany from far and near, and soon knights\nand ladies were journeying to take their part in the tourney, the\nfeasting and dancing.\n\nFerdinand realized that he was precluded from joining his brother nobles\nand was inconsolable. He became the prey of rage and shame, and at last\nresolved to end a life condemned to ignominy. So one day he sought\na height from which to hurl himself, but ere he could carry out his\npurpose there appeared before him a dwarf, clad in yellow from top to\ntoe. With a leer and a laugh he looked up at the frantic knight,\nand asked why the richest noble in the land should be seeking death.\nSomething in the dwarf's tone caused Ferdinand to listen and suddenly to\nhope for he knew not what miracle. His eyes gleamed as the dwarf went on\nto speak of sacks of gold, and when the little creature asked for but\na single hair in return he laughed aloud and offered him a hundred.\nBut the dwarf smiled and shook his head. The noble bowed with a polite\ngesture, and as he bent his head the little man reached up and plucked\nout but one hair, and, lo! a sack of gold straightway appeared. At this\nFerdinand thought that he must be dreaming, but the sack and gold pieces\nwere real enough to the touch, albeit the dwarf had vanished. Then, in\ngreat haste, Ferdinand bought rich and costly clothing and armour, also\na snow-white steed caparisoned with steel and purple trappings, spending\non these more than twenty sacks of gold, for the dwarf returned to the\nnoble many times and on each occasion gave a sack of gold in exchange\nfor one hair. At last Ferdinand set out for the tournament, where,\nbesides carrying off the richest prizes and winning the heart of many\na fair lady, he attracted the notice of the Emperor, who invited him to\nstay at his court.\n\nAnd there the knight resumed his former passions and pleasures, living\nthe wildest of lives and thinking no price too high for careless\nenjoyment. And each night, ere the hour of twelve finished striking, the\nyellow dwarf appeared with a sack of gold, taking his usual payment of\nonly one hair. This wild life now began to tell upon Ferdinand. He fell\nan easy prey to disease, which the doctors could not cure, and to the\npricks of a late-roused conscience, which no priests could soothe.\nAll his wasted past rose before him. Day and night his manifold sins\nappeared before him like avenging furies, until at last, frenzied by\nthis double torture of mind and body, he called upon the Devil to aid\nhim in putting an end to his miserable existence, for so helpless was\nhe, he could neither reach nor use a weapon. Then at his side appeared\nonce more the dwarf, smiling and obliging as usual. He proffered, not a\nsack of gold this time, but a rope of woven hair, the hair which he\nhad taken from Ferdinand in exchange for his gold. In the morning the\nmiserable noble was found hanging by that rope.\n\nMainz\n\nMainz, the old Maguntiacum, was the principal fortress on the Upper\nRhine in Roman times. It was here that Crescentius, one of the first\npreachers of the Christian faith on the Rhine, regarded by local\ntradition as the pupil of St. Peter and first Archbishop of Mainz,\nsuffered martyrdom in the reign of Trajan in A.D. 103. He was a\ncenturion in the Twenty-second Legion, which had been engaged under\nTitus in the destruction of Jerusalem, and it is supposed that\nhe preached the Gospel in Mainz for thirty-three years before his\nexecution. Here also it was that the famous vision of Constantine, the\ncross in the sky, was vouchsafed to the Christian conqueror as he went\nforth to meet the forces of Maxentius. The field of the Holy Cross\nin the vicinity of Mainz is still pointed out as the spot where this\nmiracle took place. The city flourished under the Carlovingians, and was\nin a high state of prosperity at the time of Bishop Hatto, whose name,\nas we have seen, has been held up to obloquy in many legends.\n\nDuring the fourteenth century Mainz shared the power and glory of the\nother cities of the Rhenish Confederation, then in the full flush of its\nheyday. Its cathedral witnesses to its aforetime civic splendour. This\nmagnificent building took upward of four hundred years to complete, and\nits wondrous brazen doors and sumptuous chapels are among the finest\necclesiastical treasures of Germany.\n\nThe Fiddler\n\nIn the cathedral of Mainz was an image of the Virgin, on whose feet\nwere golden slippers, the gift of some wealthy votary. Of this image the\nfollowing legend is told:\n\nA poor ragged fiddler had spent the whole of one bitter winter morning\nplaying through the dreary streets without any taking pity upon his\nplight. As he came to the cathedral he felt an overmastering desire\nto enter and pour out his distress in the presence of his Maker. So he\ncrept in, a tattered and forlorn figure. He prayed aloud, chanting his\nwoes in the same tones which he used in the street to touch the hearts\nof the passers-by.\n\nAs he prayed a sense of solitude came upon him, and he realized that the\nshadowy aisles were empty. A sudden whim seized him. He would play\nto the golden-shod Virgin and sing her one of his sweetest songs. And\ndrawing nearer he lifted his old fiddle to his shoulder, and into\nhis playing he put all his longing and pain; his quavering voice grew\nstronger beneath the stress of his fervour. It was as if the springtime\nhad come about him; life was before him, gay and joyful, sorrow and pain\nwere unknown. He sank to his knees before the image, and as he knelt,\nsuddenly the Virgin lifted her foot and, loosening her golden slipper,\ncast it into the old man's ragged bosom, as if giving alms for his\nmusic.\n\nThe poor old man, astounded at the miracle, told himself that the\nBlessed Virgin knew how to pay a poor devil who amused her. Overcome by\ngratitude, he thanked the giver with all his heart.\n\nHe would fain have kept the treasure, but he was starving, and it seemed\nto have been given him to relieve his distress. He hurried out to the\nmarket and went into a goldsmith's shop to offer his prize. But the\nman recognized it at once. Then was the poor old fiddler worse off than\nbefore, for now he was charged with the dreadful crime of sacrilege. The\nold man told the story of the miracle over and over again, but he was\nlaughed at for an impudent liar. He must not hope, they told him, for\nanything but death, and in the short space of one hour he was tried and\ncondemned and on his way to execution.\n\nThe place of death was just opposite the great bronze doors of the\ncathedral which sheltered the Virgin. \"If I must die,\" said the fiddler,\n\"I would sing one song to my old fiddle at the feet of the Virgin and\npray one prayer before her. I ask this in her blessed name, and you\ncannot refuse me.\"\n\nThey could not deny the prisoner a dying prayer, and, closely guarded,\nthe tattered figure once more entered the cathedral which had been\nso disastrous to him. He approached the altar of the Virgin, his eyes\nfilling with tears as again he held his old fiddle in his hands. Then\nhe played and sang as before, and again a breath as of springtime stole\ninto the shadowy cathedral and life seemed glad and beautiful. When the\nmusic ceased, again the Virgin lifted a foot and softly she flung her\nother slipper into the fiddler's bosom, before the astonished gaze of\nthe guards. Everyone there saw the miracle and could not but testify to\nthe truth of the old man's former statement; he was at once freed from\nhis bonds and carried before the city fathers, who ordered his release.\n\nAnd it is said that, in memory of the miracle of the Virgin, the priests\nprovided for the old fiddler for the rest of his days. In return for\nthis the old man surrendered the golden slippers, which, it is also\nsaid, the reverend fathers carefully locked away in the treasure-chest,\nlest the Virgin should again be tempted to such extravagant almsgiving.\n\nThe Maiden's Leap\n\nOnce in the Hardt mountains there dwelt a giant whose fortress commanded\na wide view of the surrounding country. Near by, a lovely lady,\nas daring in the hunt as she was skilful at spinning, inhabited an\nabandoned castle. One day the twain chanced to meet, and the giant\nthereupon resolved to possess the beauteous damsel.\n\nSo he sent his servant to win her with jewels, but the deceitful fellow\nintended to hide the treasures in a forest.\n\nThere he met a young man musing in a disconsolate attitude, who confided\nthat poverty alone kept him from avowing how passionately he adored his\nsweetheart. The shrewd messenger realized that this rustic's charmer was\nthe same fair lady who had beguiled his master's soul. He solicited the\nyouth's aid in burying the treasures promising him a share in the spoil\nsufficient to enable him to wed his beloved.\n\nIn a solitary spot they dug a deep hole, when suddenly the robber\nassailed his companion, who thrust him aside with great violence. In\nhis rage the youth was about to stab the wretch, when he craved pardon,\npromising to reveal a secret of more value than the jewels he had\nintended to conceal.\n\nThe youth stayed his hand, and the servant related how his master, for\nlove of the pretty mistress of the castle, had sent him to gain her\nfavour.\n\nConscious of his worth, the ardent youth scornfully declared that he\nfeared no rival, then, seizing half of the treasure, he left the wretch\nto his own devices.\n\nMeanwhile the giant impatiently awaited his servant's return. At length,\ntired of waiting, he decided to visit the lady and declare in person his\npassion for her. Upon his arrival at the castle the maid announced him,\nand it was with a secret feeling of dread that the lady went to meet her\nunwelcome visitor. More than ever captivated by her charms, the giant\nasked the fair maid to become his wife. On being refused, he threatened\nto kill her and demolish the castle.\n\nThe poor lady was terrified and she tearfully implored the giant's\nmercy, promising to bestow all her treasure upon him. Her maids, too,\nbegged him to spare their mistress's life, but he only laughed as they\nknelt before him. Ultimately the hapless maiden consented to marry her\ninexorable wooer, but she attached a novel condition: she would ride a\nrace with her relentless suitor, and should he overtake her she would\naccompany him to his castle. But the resolute maiden had secretly vowed\nto die rather than submit to such degradation. Choosing her fleetest\nsteed, she vaulted nimbly into the saddle and galloped away. Her\npersecutor pursued close behind, straining every nerve to come up with\nher. Shuddering at the very thought of becoming his bride, she chose\ndeath as the only alternative. So she spurred her horse onward to the\nedge of a deep chasm.\n\nThe noble animal neighed loudly as though conscious of impending danger.\nThe pursuer laughed grimly as he thought to seize his prize, but his\nlaughter was turned to rage when the horse with its fair burden bounded\nlightly across the chasm, landing safely on the other side.\n\nThe enraged tyrant now beheld his intended victim kneeling in prayer and\nher steed calmly grazing among the green verdure by her side. He strode\nfuriously hither and thither, searching for a crossing, and suddenly\na shout of joy told the affrighted maid that he had discovered some\npassage.\n\nHis satisfaction, however, was short-lived, for just then a strange\nknight with drawn sword rushed upon the giant. The maid watched the\ncontest with breathless fear, and many times she thought that the tyrant\nwould slay her protector. At last in one such moment the giant stooped\nto clutch a huge boulder with which he meant to overwhelm his adversary,\nwhen, overreaching himself, he slipped and fell headlong down the steep\nrocks.\n\nThen the maid hastened to thank her rescuer, and great was her surprise\nto discover in the gallant knight the youth whose former poverty had\nkept him from wooing her. They returned to the castle together, and it\nwas not long ere they celebrated their wedding.\n\nBoth lived long and happily, and their union was blessed with many\nchildren. The rock is still known as \"The Maiden's Leap.\"\n\nThe Wonderful Road\n\nNear Homburg, on the pinnacle of a lofty mountain, are the ruins of\nFalkenstein Castle, access to which is gained by a steep, winding path.\n\nWithin the castle walls there once dwelt a maiden of surpassing beauty.\nMany suitors climbed the stern acclivity to woo this charming damsel,\nbut her stern father repelled one and all. Only Kuno of Sayn was firm\nenough to persevere in his suit against the rebuffs of the stubborn Lord\nof Falkenstein, and in the end he was rewarded with the smiles and kind\nlooks of the fair maid.\n\nOne evening, as they watched the sun set, Kuno pointed out to the maiden\nwhere his own castle was situated. The beauty of the landscape beneath\nthem made its appeal to their souls, their hands touched and clasped,\nand their hearts throbbed with the passion felt by both. A few days\nlater Kuno climbed the steep path, resolved to declare his love to the\ndamsel's father. Fatigued with the ascent, he rested for a brief space\nat the entrance to the castle ere mounting to the tower.\n\nThe Lord of Falkenstein and his daughter had beheld Kuno's journey up\nthe rugged path from the windows of the tower, and the father demanded\nfor what purpose he had come thither. With a passionate glance at the\nblushing maid, the knight of Sayn declared that he had come to ask the\nnoble lord for his daughter's hand in marriage. After meditating on the\nknight's proposal for some time, the Lord of Falkenstein pretended to\nbe willing to give his consent--but he attached a condition. \"I desire\na carriage-drive to be made from the lowland beneath to the gate of my\ncastle, and if you can accomplish this my daughter's hand is yours--but\nthe feat must be achieved by to-morrow morning!\"\n\nThe knight protested that such a task was utterly impossible for anyone\nto perform, even in a month, but all to no purpose. He then resolved to\nseek some way whereby he could outwit the stubborn lord, for he would\nnot willingly resign his lady-love. He left the tower, vowing to do his\nutmost to perform the seemingly impossible task, and as he descended the\nrocky declivity his beloved waved her handkerchief to encourage him.\n\nNow Kuno of Sayn possessed both copper and silver mines, and arriving at\nhis castle he summoned his overseer. The knight explained the nature of\nthe task which he desired to be undertaken, but the overseer declared\nthat all his miners, working day and night, could not make the roadway\nwithin many months.\n\nDismayed, Kuno left his castle and wandered into a dense forest, driven\nthither by his perturbed condition. Night cast dusky shadows over\nthe foliage, and the perplexed lover cursed the obstinate Lord of\nFalkenstein as he forced his way through the undergrowth.\n\nSuddenly an old man of strange and wild appearance stood in his path.\nKuno at once knew him for an earth-spirit, one of those mysterious\nguardians of the treasures of the soil who are jealous of the incursion\nof mankind into their domain.\n\n\"Kuno of Sayn,\" he said, \"do you desire to outwit the Lord of\nFalkenstein and win his beauteous daughter?\"\n\nAlthough startled and taken aback by the strange apparition, Kuno\nhearkened eagerly to its words as showing an avenue of escape from the\ndilemma in which he found himself.\n\n\"Assuredly I do,\" he replied, \"but how do you propose I should\naccomplish it?\"\n\n\"Cease to persecute me and my brethren, Kuno, and we shall help you to\nrealize your wishes,\" was the reply.\n\n\"Persecute you!\" exclaimed Kuno. \"In what manner do I trouble you at\nall, strange being?\"\n\n\"You have opened up a silver mine in our domain,\" said the earth-spirit,\n\"and as you work it both morning and afternoon we have but little\nopportunity for repose. How, I ask you, can we slumber when your men\nkeep knocking on the partitions of our house with their picks?\"\n\n\"What, then, would you have, my worthy friend?\" asked Kuno, scarcely\nable to suppress a smile at the wistful way in which the gnome made his\ncomplaint. \"Tell me, I pray you, how I can oblige you.\"\n\n\"By instructing your miners to work in the mine during the hours of\nmorning only,\" replied the gnome. \"By so doing I and my brothers will\nobtain the rest we so much require.\"\n\n\"It shall be as you say,\" said Kuno; \"you have my word for it, good\nfriend.\"\n\n\"In that case,\" said the earth-spirit, \"we shall assist you in turn. Go\nto the castle of Falkenstein after dawn to-morrow morning, and you shall\nwitness the result of our friendship and gratitude.\"\n\nNext morning the sun had scarcely risen when Kuno saddled his steed and\nhied him to the heights of Falkenstein. The gnome had kept his word.\nThere, above and in front of him, he beheld a wide and lofty roadway\nleading to the castle-gate from the thoroughfare below. With joy in\nhis heart he set spurs to his horse and dashed up the steep but smooth\nacclivity. At the gate he encountered the old Lord of Falkenstein and\nhis daughter, who had been apprised of the miracle that had happened\nand had come out to view the new roadway. The knight of Sayn related his\nadventure with the earth-spirit, upon which the Lord of Falkenstein told\nhim how a terrible thunderstorm mingled with unearthly noises had raged\nthroughout the night. Terrified, he and his daughter had spent the\nhours of darkness in prayer, until with the approach of dawn some of the\nservitors had plucked up courage and ventured forth, when the wonderful\navenue up the side of the mountain met their startled gaze.\n\nKuno and his lady-love were duly united. Indeed, so terrified was the\nold lord by the supernatural manifestations of the dreadful night he had\njust passed through that he was incapable of further resistance to the\nwishes of the young people. The wonderful road is still to be seen, and\nis marvelled at by all who pass that way.\n\nOsric the Lion\n\nOther tales besides the foregoing have their scene laid in the castle\nof Falkenstein, notable among them being the legend of Osric the Lion,\nembodied in the following weird ballad from the pen of Monk Lewis:\n\n     Swift roll the Rhine's billows, and water the plains,\n     Where Falkenstein Castle's majestic remains\n     Their moss-covered turrets still rear:\n     Oft loves the gaunt wolf 'midst the ruins to prowl,\n     What time from the battlements pours the lone owl\n     Her plaints in the passenger's ear.\n\n     No longer resound through the vaults of yon hall\n     The song of the minstrel, and mirth of the ball;\n     Those pleasures for ever are fled:\n     There now dwells the bat with her light-shunning brood,\n     There ravens and vultures now clamour for food,\n     And all is dark, silent, and dread!\n\n     Ha! dost thou not see, by the moon's trembling light\n     Directing his steps, where advances a knight,\n     His eye big with vengeance and fate?\n     'Tis Osric the Lion his nephew who leads,\n     And swift up the crackling old staircase proceeds,\n     Gains the hall, and quick closes the gate.\n\n     Now round him young Carloman, casting his eyes,\n     Surveys the sad scene with dismay and surprise,\n     And fear steals the rose from his cheeks.\n     His spirits forsake him, his courage is flown;\n     The hand of Sir Osric he clasps in his own,\n     And while his voice falters he speaks.\n\n     \"Dear uncle,\" he murmurs, \"why linger we here?\n     'Tis late, and these chambers are damp and are drear,\n     Keen blows through the ruins the blast!\n     Oh! let us away and our journey pursue:\n     Fair Blumenberg's Castle will rise on our view,\n     Soon as Falkenstein forest be passed.\n\n     \"Why roll thus your eyeballs? why glare they so wild?\n     Oh! chide not my weakness, nor frown, that a child\n     Should view these apartments with dread;\n     For know that full oft have I heard from my nurse,\n     There still on this castle has rested a curse,\n     Since innocent blood here was shed.\n\n     \"She said, too, bad spirits, and ghosts all in white,\n     Here used to resort at the dead time of night,\n     Nor vanish till breaking of day;\n     And still at their coming is heard the deep tone\n     Of a bell loud and awful--hark! hark! 'twas a groan!\n     Good uncle, oh! let us away!\"\n\n     \"Peace, serpent!\" thus Osric the Lion replies,\n     While rage and malignity gleam in his eyes;\n     \"Thy journey and life here must close:\n     Thy castle's proud turrets no more shalt thou see;\n     No more betwixt Blumenberg's lordship and me\n     Shalt thou stand, and my greatness oppose.\n\n     \"My brother lies breathless on Palestine's plains,\n     And thou once removed, to his noble domains\n     My right can no rival deny:\n     Then, stripling, prepare on my dagger to bleed;\n     No succour is near, and thy fate is decreed,\n     Commend thee to Jesus and die!\"\n\n     Thus saying, he seizes the boy by the arm,\n     Whose grief rends the vaulted hall's roof, while alarm\n     His heart of all fortitude robs;\n     His limbs sink beneath him; distracted with fears,\n     He falls at his uncle's feet, bathes them with tears,\n     And \"Spare me! oh, spare me!\" he sobs.\n\n     But vainly the miscreant he tries to appease;\n     And vainly he clings in despair round his knees,\n     And sues in soft accents for life;\n     Unmoved by his sorrow, unmoved by his prayer,\n     Fierce Osric has twisted his hand in his hair,\n     And aims at his bosom a knife.\n\n     But ere the steel blushes with blood, strange to tell!\n     Self-struck, does the tongue of the hollow-toned bell\n     The presence of midnight declare:\n     And while with amazement his hair bristles high,\n     Hears Osric a voice, loud and terrible, cry,\n     In sounds heart-appalling, \"Forbear!\"\n\n     Straight curses and shrieks through the chamber resound,\n     Shrieks mingled with laughter; the walls shake around;\n     The groaning roof threatens to fall;\n     Loud bellows the thunder, blue lightnings still flash;\n     The casements they clatter; chains rattle; doors clash,\n     And flames spread their waves through the hall.\n\n     The clamour increases, the portals expand!\n     O'er the pavement's black marble now rushes a band\n     Of demons, all dropping with gore,\n     In visage so grim, and so monstrous in height,\n     That Carloman screams, as they burst on his sight,\n     And sinks without sense on the floor.\n\n     Not so his fell uncle:--he sees that the throng\n     Impels, wildly shrieking, a female along,\n     And well the sad spectre he knows!\n     The demons with curses her steps onwards urge;\n     Her shoulders, with whips formed of serpents, they scourge,\n     And fast from her wounds the blood flows.\n\n     \"Oh! welcome!\" she cried, and her voice spoke despair;\n     \"Oh! welcome, Sir Osric, the torments to share,\n     Of which thou hast made me the prey.\n     Twelve years have I languished thy coming to see;\n     Ulrilda, who perished dishonoured by thee\n     Now calls thee to anguish away!\n\n     \"Thy passion once sated, thy love became hate;\n     Thy hand gave the draught which consigned me to fate,\n     Nor thought I death lurked in the bowl:\n     Unfit for the grave, stained with lust, swelled with pride,\n     Unblessed, unabsolved, unrepenting, I died,\n     And demons straight seized on my soul.\n\n     \"Thou com'st, and with transport I feel my breast swell:\n     Full long have I suffered the torments of hell,\n     And now shall its pleasures be mine!\n     See, see, how the fiends are athirst for thy blood!\n     Twelve years has my panting heart furnished their food.\n     Come, wretch, let them feast upon thine!\"\n\n     She said, and the demons their prey flocked around;\n     They dashed him, with horrible yell, on the ground,\n     And blood down his limbs trickled fast;\n     His eyes from their sockets with fury they tore;\n     They fed on his entrails, all reeking with gore,\n     And his heart was Ulrilda's repast.\n\n     But now the grey cock told the coming of day!\n     The fiends with their victim straight vanished away,\n     And Carloman's heart throbbed again;\n     With terror recalling the deeds of the night,\n     He rose, and from Falkenstein speeding his flight,\n     Soon reached his paternal domain.\n\n     Since then, all with horror the ruins behold;\n     No shepherd, though strayed be a lamb from his fold,\n     No mother, though lost be her child,\n     The fugitive dares in these chambers to seek,\n     Where fiends nightly revel, and guilty ghosts shriek\n     In accents most fearful and wild!\n\n     Oh! shun them, ye pilgrims! though late be the hour,\n     Though loud howl the tempest, and fast fall the shower;\n     From Falkenstein Castle begone!\n     There still their sad banquet hell's denizens share;\n     There Osric the Lion still raves in despair:\n     Breathe a prayer for his soul, and pass on!\n\nThe Conference of the Dead\n\nA legend of later date than most of the Rhineland tales, but still\nof sufficient interest to merit inclusion among these, is that which\nattaches to the palace of Biberich. Biberich lies on the right bank\nof the river, not very far from Mainz, and its palace was built at the\nbeginning of the eighteenth century by George Augustus, Duke of Nassau.\n\nThe legend states that not long after the erection of the palace a\nDuchess of Nassau died there, and lay in state as befitted her rank in a\nroom hung with black velvet and lighted with the glimmer of many tapers.\n\nOutside in the great hall a captain and forty-nine men of the Duke's\nbodyguard kept watch over the chamber of death.\n\nIt was midnight. The captain of the guard, weary with his vigil, had\ngone to the door of the palace for a breath of air. Just as the last\nstroke of the hour died away he beheld the approach of a chariot, drawn\nby six magnificent coal-black horses, which, to his amazement, drew up\nbefore the palace. A lady, veiled and clad in white, alighted and made\nas though she would enter the building. But the captain barred the way\nand challenged the bold intruder.\n\n\"Who are you,\" he said sternly, \"who seek to enter the palace at this\nhour? My orders are to let none pass.\"\n\n\"I was first lady of the bedchamber to our late Duchess,\" replied\nthe lady in cold, imperious tones; \"therefore I demand the right of\nentrance.\"\n\nAs she spoke she flung aside her veil, and the captain, instantly\nrecognizing her, permitted her to enter the palace without further\nhindrance.\n\n\"What can she want here at this time of night?\" he said to his\nlieutenant, when the lady had passed into the death-chamber.\n\n\"Who can say?\" replied the lieutenant. \"Unless, perchance,\" he mused,\n\"we were to look.\"\n\nThe captain took the hint, crept softly to the keyhole, and applied his\neye thereto. \"Ha!\" he said, shrinking back in amazement and terror, and\nbeckoning to his lieutenant. \"In Satan's name what have we here?\"\n\nThe lieutenant hastened to the chamber door, full of alarm and\ncuriosity. Putting his eye to the keyhole, he also ejaculated, turned\npale, and trembled. One by one the soldiers of the guard followed their\nofficers' example, like them to retreat with exclamations of horror. And\nlittle wonder; for they perceived the dead Duchess sitting up in bed,\nmoving her pale lips as though in conversation, while by her side stood\nthe lady of the bedchamber, pale as she, and clad in grave-clothes. For\na time the ghastly conversation continued, no words being audible to\nthe terror-stricken guard; but from time to time a hollow sound reached\nthem, like the murmur of distant thunder. At length the visitor emerged\nfrom the chamber, and returned to her waiting coach. Duty, rather than\ninclination, obliged the gallant captain to hand her into her carriage,\nand this task he performed with praiseworthy politeness, though his\nheart sank within him at the touch of her icy fingers, and his tongue\nrefused to return the adieu her pale lips uttered. With a flourish of\nwhips the chariot set off. Sparks flew from the hoofs of the horses,\nsmoke and flame burst from their nostrils, and such was their speed that\nin a moment they were lost to sight. The captain, sorely puzzled by the\nevents of the night, returned to his men, who were huddled together at\nthe end of the hall furthest from the death-chamber.\n\nOn the morrow, ere the guard had had time to inform the Duke of these\nstrange happenings, news reached the palace that the first lady of the\nbedchamber had died on the previous night at twelve o'clock. It was\nsupposed that sorrow for her mistress had caused her death.\n\nEppstein\n\nOf the castle of Eppstein, whose ruins still remain in a valley of the\nTaunus Mountains, north of Biberich, the following curious story is\ntold.\n\nSir Eppo, a brave and chivalrous knight--and a wealthy one to boot,\nas were his successors of Eppstein for many generations--was one day\nhunting in the forest, when he became separated from his attendants and\nlost his way. In the heat of the chase his sense of direction had failed\nhim, and though he sounded his bugle loud and long there was no reply.\n\nTired out at length with wandering hither and thither, he rested himself\nin a pleasant glade, and was surprised and charmed to hear a woman's\nvoice singing a mournful melody in soft, clear tones. It was a sheer\ndelight to Sir Eppo to listen to a voice of such exquisite purity, yet\nadmiration was not the only feeling it roused in his breast. There was\na note of sadness and appeal in the song, and what were knighthood worth\nif it heeded not the voice of fair lady in distress? Sir Eppo sprang to\nhis feet, forgetting his own plight in the ardour of chivalry, and set\noff in the direction from which the voice seemed to come. The way was\ndifficult, and he had to cut a passage with his sword through the dense\nthicket that separated him from the singer. At length, guided by the\nmelancholy notes, he arrived before a grotto, in which he beheld a\nmaiden of surpassing beauty, but of sorrowful mien. When she saw the\nhandsome knight gazing at her with mingled surprise and admiration\nshe ceased her song and implored his aid. A cruel giant, she said, had\nseized her and brought her thither. At the moment he was asleep, but he\nhad tied her to a rock so that she might not escape.\n\nHer beauty and grace, her childlike innocence, her piteous plight, moved\nSir Eppo strangely. First pity, then a stronger emotion dawned in his\nbreast. He severed her bonds with a stroke of his keen falchion.\n\n\"What can I do to aid thee, gentle maiden?\" he said. \"You have but to\ncommand me; henceforth I am thy knight, to do battle for thee.\"\n\nThe damsel blushed at the courteous words, but she lifted her eyes\nbravely to the champion who had so unexpectedly appeared to protect her.\n\n\"Return to my castle,\" she said, \"and there thou wilt find a consecrated\nnet. Bring it hither. If I lay it upon the giant he will become as weak\nas a babe and will be easily overcome.\"\n\nEagerly the young knight obeyed the command, and having found the net\naccording to the damsel's directions, he made all haste to return. At\nthe grotto he paused and hid himself, for the strident voice of the\ngiant could be heard within. Presently the monster emerged, and\ndeparted in search of reeds wherewith to make a pipe. No sooner had he\ndisappeared than the maiden issued from the grotto, and Sir Eppo came\nout of his concealment and gave her the consecrated net. She spoke a few\nwords of heartfelt gratitude, and then hurried with her treasure to the\ntop of the mountain, where she knew the giant had intended to go.\n\nArrived at her destination, she laid down the net and covered it with\nmoss, leaves, and sweet-smelling herbs. While engaged in her task the\ngiant came up, and the damsel smilingly told him that she was preparing\na couch whereon he might take some rest. Gratified at her solicitude, he\nstretched himself unsuspectingly on the fragrant pile. In a moment the\ndamsel, uttering the name of the Trinity, threw a portion of the net\nover him, so that he was completely enveloped. Immediately there arose\nsuch loud oaths and lamentations that the damsel ran in terror to the\nknight, who had now come upon the scene.\n\n\"Let us fly,\" she said, \"lest he should escape and pursue us.\"\n\nBut Sir Eppo strode to the place where the howling monster lay entangled\nin the net, and with a mighty effort rolled him over a steep precipice,\nwhere he was instantly killed.\n\nThe story ends happily, for Sir Eppo and the maiden he had rescued were\nmarried soon after; and on the spot where they had first met was raised\nthe castle of Eppstein. It is said that the bones of the giant may still\nbe seen there.\n\nFloersheim: The Shepherd Knight\n\nIn the now ruined castle of Wilenstein, overlooking the wooded heights\nof the Westrich, dwelt Sir Bodo of Floersheim and his fair daughter\nAdeline. The maiden's beauty, no less than her father's wealth,\nattracted suitors in plenty from the neighbouring strongholds, but the\nspirit of love had not yet awakened in her bosom and each and all were\nrepulsed with disconcerting coldness and indifference, and they left the\nschloss vowing that the lovely Adeline was utterly heartless.\n\nOne day there came to Sir Bodo a youth of pleasing manners and\nappearance, picturesquely clad in rustic garb, who begged that he might\nenter the knight's service in the capacity of shepherd. Though he hinted\nthat he was of noble birth, prevented by circumstances from revealing\nhis identity, yet he based his request solely on his merits as a tender\nof flocks and herds, and as Sir Bodo found that he knew his work well\nand that his intelligence was beyond question, he gave him the desired\npost. As time went on Sir Bodo saw no reason to regret his action, for\nhis flocks and herds prospered as they had never done before, and none\nbut good reports reached him concerning his servant.\n\nMeantime Adeline heard constant references to Otto (as the shepherd was\ncalled) both from her father and her waiting-women. The former praised\nhis industry and abilities, while the latter spoke of his handsome looks\nand melancholy air, his distinction and good breeding, and the mystery\nwhich surrounded his identity. All this excited the maiden's curiosity,\nand her pity was aroused as well, for it seemed that the stranger had\na secret grief, which sometimes found vent in tears when he thought\nhimself unobserved.\n\nAdeline saw him for the first time one afternoon while she was walking\nin the castle grounds. At sight of her he paused as though spell-bound,\nand the maiden blushed under his earnest scrutiny. A moment later,\nhowever, he recovered himself, and courteously asked her pardon for his\nseeming rudeness.\n\n\"Forgive me, fair lady,\" said he; \"it seemed that I saw a ghost in your\nsweet face.\"\n\nAdeline, who had recognized him from the descriptions she had received,\nnow made herself known to him, and graciously granted him permission to\nwalk with her to the castle. His offence was readily pardoned when he\ndeclared that the cause of it was a fancied resemblance between Adeline\nand a dear sister whom death had lately robbed him of. Ere they parted\nthe young people were already deeply in love with one another, and had\npromised to meet again on the following day. The spot where they had\nfirst encountered each other became a trysting-place which was daily\nhallowed by fresh vows and declarations.\n\nOn one such occasion Otto told his beloved the story of his early life\nand revealed to her his identity. It was indeed a harrowing tale, and\none which drew a full meed of sympathy from the maiden.\n\nOtto and his sister--she whose likeness in Adeline's face had first\narrested his attention--had been brought up by a cruel stepfather, who\nhad treated them so brutally that Otto was at length forced to flee\nto the castle of an uncle, who received him kindly and gave him an\neducation befitting his knightly station. A few years later he had\nreturned home, to find his sister dead--slain by the ill-treatment\nof her stepfather, who, it was even said, had hastened her death with\npoison. Otto, overcome with grief, confronted her murderer, heaped abuse\non his head, and demanded his share of the property. The only answer was\na sneer, and the youth, maddened with grief and indignation, drew his\nsword and plunged it in his tormentor's heart. A moment later he saw\nthe probable consequences of his hasty action, concealed himself in\nthe woods, and thenceforth became a fugitive, renounced even by his own\nuncle, and obliged to remain in hiding in order to escape certain death\nat the hands of the murdered man's kindred. In a fortunate moment he had\nchanced to reach Floersheim, where, in his shepherd's guise, he judged\nhimself secure.\n\nAdeline, deeply moved by the tale, sought to put her sympathy in the\npractical form of advice.\n\n\"Dear Otto,\" she said, \"let us go to my father and tell him all. We must\ndispatch an embassy to your uncle in Thuringen, to see whether he\nmay not consent to a division of the property. Take courage, and your\nrightful position may yet be assured.\"\n\nSo it was arranged that on the following day the lovers should seek Sir\nBodo and ask his advice in the matter. But alas! ere their plans could\nbe carried out Bodo himself sent for his daughter and informed her that\nhe had chosen a husband for her, Sir Siegebert, a wealthy and noble\nknight, just returned from Palestine.\n\nIn vain Adeline wept and implored. Her father remained adamant, and\nat last lost his temper and confined her within strict bounds till she\nshould consent to the marriage. Sir Siegebert was but ill pleased\nwith her pale cheeks and haggard eyes and her obvious distaste for his\nsociety; and seeing this, Bodo was more than ever wroth, and swore to\nsend her to a nunnery if she did not greet her lover with a better face.\n\nDay after day Otto waited at the trysting-place, yet his mistress did\nnot appear, nor did she send him any message. He was filled with anguish\nat the thought that her ardent vows were forgotten, and wandered through\nthe woods like one distraught, seeking solace and finding none. At\nlength news reached him that on the morrow his beloved was to wed with\nthe knight Siegebert, and his last shred of hope vanished. He made his\nway to a bridge where he had often watched for Adeline's coming, and\nwith a prayer flung himself into the turbid stream beneath.\n\nMeanwhile the unceasing cruelty to which Adeline had been subjected had\nreduced her to a state of terrified submission, so that, scarce knowing\nwhat she did, she consented to wed Siegebert. At length all was in\nreadiness for the ceremony; the bells were ringing gaily, the feast was\nspread, and the bride arrayed in her wedding dress. Unseen she slipped\nout by a little postern gate and made her way quickly to the hut of her\nshepherd. Alas! it stood empty. In despair she ran hither and thither,\ncalling his name in anguished accents. Suddenly she espied some\nshepherds endeavouring to draw something out of the water. A strange\ninstinct told her the truth, and she crept closer to the little group.\nOne glance sufficed to show her that it was her lover's corpse which was\nbeing taken ashore. No need to ask how he had perished, or why! With a\nwild cry she flung herself into the stream where Otto had met his death,\nand was speedily overwhelmed.\n\nThe bridal party sought high and low for the bride, but she was nowhere\nto be seen. Bodo loudly vented his indignation at his daughter's\nrebelliousness, but his anger was changed to mourning when the body\nof the drowned maiden was washed ashore a few days later. Too late he\nrepented him of his rash folly. All his lamentations could not restore\npoor Adeline to life. He caused the lovers to be buried together, and\nspent the remainder of his days in prayer and penitence.\n\nFrankfort\n\nFrankfort, the castle of the Franks, was, it is said, founded by\nCharlemagne at the time of the overthrow of the pagan Saxons, which has\nalready been recorded in the Song of the Saxons. Here Charlemagne\nwas led across the Rhine by deer, escaping with his army from certain\nslaughter at the hands of the savage horde who sought to ambush him.\nOther picturesque stories cluster round the city, the best of which are\nthe following.\n\nThe Poacher of Frankfort\n\nIn the city of Frankfort-on-the-Main stands a five-pointed tower, and in\nthe midst of one of these points is a vane containing nine round holes,\nforming the figure 9. The origin of this figure is as follows:\n\nA notorious poacher lay in the tower condemned to death for numerous\noffences against the stringent game-laws of the country. He awaited his\nend in silence, and sat moodily unobservant of the bright rays of the\nsun which poured into his cell through the grated window. Others, he\npondered, were basking in the joyous light outside yonder in the verdant\nsummer fields, whilst he, who even now felt the noose tighten round\nhis neck, was plunged in semi-darkness. Well, as darkness was to be\nhis element, he might as well make present use of it for its special\npurpose--to aid sleep; especially as sleep would remove him for the time\nbeing from gloomy contemplation upon his approaching end.\n\nAs he slept a pleasant smile took the place of the sombre expression\nnatural to his waking moments. But on a sudden he started in his\nslumber, grating his teeth, his face transformed with violent rage.\n\n\"Ha, villain, that was a trap,\" he muttered, but almost immediately his\ncountenance resumed the sad expression which had lately become habitual\nto it. In the course of a few moments, however, this gave way to a look\nof resolution and conscious strength, and even in sleep he appeared to\nhave made up his mind unalterably upon some matter of importance.\n\nAt this juncture the turnkey entered the cell, accompanied by two\nofficials, one of whom read to him a missive from those in authority\nwhich stated that a petition for mercy which he had made could not be\nentertained, and that he must suffer the extreme penalty of the law.\n\n\"I protest against such a sentence,\" cried the poacher, \"for, after\nall, I have only killed those animals which were given us by God for our\ncommon use. Would you forfeit the life of a man because he has slain the\nbeasts of chase?\"\n\n\"That is not the only charge against you,\" retorted one of the officials\nharshly. \"Your comrades, as well as the honourable Company of Foresters,\naccuse you of being in league with the enemy of mankind, and of\nprocuring from him charmed bullets.\"\n\nThe poacher laughed. \"It is false,\" he cried, \"They are jealous because\nI am such a good shot. Provide me with a gun and with powder and shot\nblessed by a priest, and I will undertake to place through the vane of\nthis tower nine shots which shall form the figure 9.\"\n\n\"Such an opportunity shall be afforded you,\" said one of the officials,\nwho had not as yet spoken. \"It would be an injustice not to give you\nsuch a chance, especially as, if you are successful, you will remove the\nmost odious portion of the charge against you.\"\n\nThe news of the poacher's challenge spread quickly through Frankfort,\nand even the foresters who had given evidence against him were so\nimpressed that they forced their way into the council and insisted that,\nshould he be successful, a free pardon should be granted to him. To this\nthe council agreed, and an intimation of the decision was conveyed to\nthe poacher. But he was assured that if one bullet missed its mark he\nwould certainly die. To this he agreed, and the succeeding day was fixed\nfor the trial of skill. At an early hour the square in which the tower\nwas situated was thronged by an immense crowd. The walls of the city, of\nwhich the tower was a part, were thronged by members of the Foresters'\nGuild. Soon the prisoner was led forth, and was publicly admonished by a\nmonk not to tempt God if his skill had its origin in diabolic agencies.\nBut to all such exhortations the poacher replied: \"Fear not, I will\nwrite my answer upon yonder tower.\"\n\nThe master of the Foresters' Guild loaded the gun and handed it to him.\nAmidst a deep silence he aimed at the vane and fired. The shot found its\nmark. Once more he fired. Again the vane swung round, and another hole\nappeared therein. The crowd vented its feelings by loud huzzahs. Nine\ntimes did he fire, and nine times did the bullet hit its mark. And\nas the last bullet sang through the weather-cock the figure 9 showed\nclearly therein, and the poacher, sinking to his knees, bared his head\nand gave thanks for his life to God. All there, also, bared their heads\nand accompanied him in his thanksgiving.\n\nThat night, loaded with gifts, he quitted Frankfort, nevermore to\nreturn. But the vane on the tower remains there to this day as a witness\nof his prowess with the long rifle.\n\nThe Knave of Bergen\n\nThe city of Frankfort was once the scene of a great coronation festival,\nduring the course of which a bal masque was given by the King and Queen\nto a brilliant assembly of high-born ladies and nobles. The knights and\nprinces in their fancy costumes were hardly less resplendent than the\nladies in their jewels and brocaded silks, and the masks they all wore\nadded to the excitement and gaiety of the scene. In all the gathering\nthere was but one sombre note--a knight in coal-black armour, visored,\nof great stature and stately in motion. His graceful mien won the\nadmiration of the ladies and the envy of the gallants, and the question\nof his identity excited much speculation.\n\nWith courtly air the Black Knight approached the Queen, knelt before\nher, and begged that she would deign to be his partner in the dance.\nThe charm of his voice and the modest yet dignified manner in which he\nproffered his request so touched the Queen that she stepped down from\nthe dais and joined in the waltz. Never had she known a dancer with a\nlighter step or a more delightful gift of conversation. When that dance\nwas over she granted him another and yet another, till the company\nbecame very curious to know who the gallant knight might be on whom the\nQueen bestowed her favours with such a lavish hand. At last the time\ncame for the guests to unmask, and the dancers made themselves known to\neach other--with one exception, that is, for the Black Knight refused\nto lift his visor. The King and Queen, however, shared to the full the\ncuriosity of their guests as to the identity of their strange guest, and\nthey commanded him to uncover his face, whereupon the knight raised his\nvisor, though with some reluctance. Neither the royal hosts nor any of\nthe noble guests recognized him, but a moment later two officials of the\nCourt advanced and to the astonishment and indignation of the company\ndeclared that the stranger was no other than the executioner of Bergen!\nThe King's wrath knew no bounds. He commanded that the knave should be\nseized and put to death immediately. To think that he had allowed the\nQueen to dance with a common executioner! The bare idea was intolerable!\n\nThe knave fell humbly on his knees before his irate sovereign.\n\n\"I acknowledge my crime, sire,\" he said, \"but your Majesty must be aware\nthat even my death would not be sufficient to wipe out my disgrace, and\nthe disgrace of her Majesty, who has danced with an executioner. There\nis one other way to efface my guilt and to wipe out the humiliation of\nyour Majesty's gracious consort. You must make a knight of me, sire,\nand I will challenge to mortal combat any who dares to speak ill of my\nKing!\"\n\nThe King was astounded by this bold proposition, but the very audacity\nof it caught his fancy. He struck the executioner gently with his sword.\n\n\"Rise, Sir Knight,\" he said, adding, as the Black Knight rose to his\nfeet: \"You have acted like a knave this night. Henceforth you shall be\ncalled the Knave of Bergen.\"\n\nDarmstadt: The Proxy\n\nIn the days of chivalry there dwelt in Birbach a knight named Walther,\nno less renowned for his piety than for his skill in arms, and the\nVirgin, according to the following legend, was not unmindful of her\nhumble worshipper. A great tournament--so runs the tale--was to take\nplace in Darmstadt, and Sir Walther, who was about to enter the lists\nfor the first time, was not feeling confident as to the issue. He knew\nthat there were to be present many knights whose strength and skill far\nexceeded his own, and, brave though he was, he could not but recognize\nthat his chances of victory were small. Yet he felt that he dared\nnot suffer defeat; he must not be disgraced before the spectators. In\nparticular, there was a certain fair lady whose colours he wore; he must\nnot be shamed before her. His mind, as he rode on his way to Darmstadt,\nwas filled with conflicting emotions, love, hope, fear, shame, in turn\ndominating his thoughts. Suddenly he came to a wayside altar, upon which\nwas set an image of the Virgin, and he decided to carry his troubles\nto her as he was wont to do. So he descended from his horse, which he\nsecured to a tree, and made his way to the altar.\n\nSo deep were his emotions and so ardent his prayer that he passed into a\nsort of trance and fell at the foot of the altar like one dead. While\nhe lay thus unconscious the Virgin descended from the altar, unlaced his\narmour, and donned it herself. Then taking sword and shield and lance,\nshe mounted his steed and rode into Darmstadt. She was absent for some\ntime, but when she returned the knight still lay in the death-like state\nin which she had left him. She tied his horse once more to the tree,\nreplaced his armour, and then took her accustomed place on the altar.\n\nShortly after Walther recovered consciousness and rose hastily, then,\nafter another prayer to the Virgin, he rode as quickly as he might into\nthe town. Here, to his intense surprise, he was greeted with joyful\nshouts and congratulations. His friends hailed him as a mighty champion,\nand she who had won his affections bestowed upon him the reward of\nknightly valour--her promise of marriage. The bewildered Walther scarce\nknew whether he was awake or asleep, but at length it was borne in upon\nhim that someone had won great triumphs in his name. Who could have so\nsuccessfully personated him as to deceive even his dearest friends? Who,\nindeed, save she to whom he had turned in his distress, the Holy Virgin\nherself?\n\nSoon he was wedded to the lady of his choice; and to show his gratitude\nfor the intervention of Mary he built her a magnificent chapel on\nthe spot where the miracle had taken place. Nor did he grow any less\ndiligent in her service, but continued to live a noble and pious life,\nin which he was ever encouraged and assisted by his wife.\n\nThe Cooper of Auerbach\n\nIt is said that from the ruined castle of Auerbach a fragrant perfume of\nwine sometimes steals upon the air, and then the country folk whisper,\n\"The cooper is tasting his wine.\" And if asked for the reason of this\nsaying they tell the following story.\n\nOnce when the sun shone golden on the vine-clad hills, deepening the\nheavy clusters of grapes to a darker purple, a peasant, passing by\nthe ruins, thought longingly upon the wine that, in the past, had been\nstored in those dark, cool cellars, wondering if perhaps some might not\nyet be found there, or if all had been wasted and lost. And while he\nyet pondered a rubicund little man, with leathern apron dark with\nwine-stains girded about his portly waist, stood at his side looking up\nat him with twinkling eyes.\n\n\"So, my friend, you think upon the wine, eh? Come and spend an hour with\nme and you shall taste it.\" As he spoke a warm, sweet wine-scent rose\nlike incense about him, making the peasant's brain reel with delight. He\ncould not but follow the little man, tripping under the vines, thrusting\nhis way through thorn-hedges and over crumbling walls, till he came to a\nflight of ancient steps, streaked grey and green with moss, leading down\nto a weather-stained cellar-door. The door opened into dusky vaults\nand from a niche in the wall the little cooper took a candle and a huge\nbowl. Then on he went over the moist floor until there rose before them\nin the candlelight, darker than the gloom about it, a gigantic tun. In\na crooning murmur the cooper began to tell of his possessions. He called\nthe vaults his realm, the tuns his dearly loved subjects--for, as the\npeasant gazed, he saw a long procession of tuns stretching away into the\ndarkness. He shouted with mad delight at the sight, he clapped his hands\nand smacked his lips in anticipation, he declared the tuns glittered\nlike pure gold. At this the cooper laughed and pointed out that the wine\nhad fashioned its own casks, gleaming crusts, from which the ancient\nwood had fallen away long ago.\n\nAnd next he filled the huge bowl with deep glowing wine and drank to the\npeasant, whose hands ached to hold the bowl and lift it to his lips. At\nlast, with a courtly bow, the cooper put it into his hands, and then\nthe rustic emptied the bowl in one draught and drew a deep sigh of\nsatisfaction.\n\nIn rapture he sang the praises of the wine, but the cooper assured him\nthat there was better to come. Again he tasted, and again the little\nman led on from cask to cask. Then, mad with delight, the peasant sang\naloud, but the song broke into wild howling; he danced about the\ntuns, then fell to embracing them, stroking and kissing them, babbling\nlove-words to the dusky fragrant wine. And still the cooper led on to\nthe next cask, still he filled the bowl, and still the peasant drank,\ntill at last in very joy tears ran down his face, and before his eyes\nthe tuns danced round him in a giddy whirl; then slumber fell upon him\nand he sank down to sleep in the gloom.\n\nWhen he awoke next morning his body lay stretched in a muddy ditch, his\nlips pressed to clammy moss. Stumbling to his feet, he looked around for\nthe door of the wine vault, for the flight of steps leading down to that\nrealm of delight, but though he searched long and carefully, yet never\nagain could he find it, nor did his eyes see the little cooper with his\nwine-stained leathern apron and his rubicund face.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI--WORMS AND THE NIBELUNGENLIED\n\nWorms is celebrated as the locality of the Nibelungenlied and the\nepic of Walthar of Aquitaine. But it has other claims to fame. Before\nentering on the consideration of Germany's greatest epic we will recount\nseveral of the lesser legends of the locality.\n\nThe Rose Garden: A Tale of Dietrich of Bern\n\nDietrich of Bern is the King Arthur of German story. Like his prototype\nof Britain, he has become the central figure of innumerable medieval\ntales and epics, a model of chivalry and martial prowess, distinguished\neverywhere by high deeds and mighty feats of arms, and in not a few\ncases displacing the rightful hero of still older myths, which thus\nbecame grafted on to the Dietrich legends. Originally he was a bona-fide\nhistorical personage, Theodoric the Ostrogoth, and as such gained\na widespread popularity among his people. His historical character,\nhowever, was soon lost in the maze of legendary lore which surrounded\nhis name, and which, as time went on, ascribed to him feats ever more\nwildly heroic. Among the various traditions there is one relating to the\nRhenish town of Worms which calls for inclusion here as much on account\nof its intrinsic merit as because of its undoubted popularity. The\nlegend of the Rose Garden of Worms is a quaint and fanciful tale,\nand even the circumstance that it ends with the death of several good\nknights and true does not rob it of a certain humorous quality it\npossesses.\n\nBy the time Dietrich had reached the prime of his adventurous life--so\nruns the story--he had gathered a considerable company of doughty\npaladins at his court--he formed, in fact, a kind of Round Table--and\nthe knights who composed it were as eager as their lord to seek fresh\nfields wherein to display their prowess, and were second only to him in\nskill and valour. Among them were numbered such illustrious warriors as\nHerbrand, his son Hildebrand, Eckehart, Wolfhart, and Amelung.\n\nOn one occasion, as Dietrich was seated at table with his followers, he\nvowed that no court in Christendom could boast of such warriors as he\ncould muster. The assembled knights greeted the assertion with hearty\nacclamations--all, that is, save the old warrior Herbrand, and he was\nsilent. Dietrich looked at him in surprise.\n\n\"Hast thou nothing to say, Herbrand?\" he asked.\n\n\"Thinkest thou to find better knights than these?\"--indicating his\nfollowers with a wave of his hand.\n\nHerbrand seemed somewhat reluctant to uphold his tacit objection to\nDietrich's claim. \"Ay,\" he said at length, \"there are such warriors to\nbe found.\"\n\n\"And where may we seek such paragons?\" inquired the king, none too well\npleased.\n\n\"In the town of Worms,\" replied the old knight, \"there lies a wondrous\nrose garden, of great extent, where the queen and her ladies take their\npleasure. None save these may enter its precincts unless the queen give\nhim leave, and that the sacred boundaries may not be overstepped twelve\nwarriors are set to guard the garth. Such is their strength and courage\nthat none has ever succeeded in passing them, whatever his skill and\nrenown.\"\n\n\"But wherefore should one seek to pass the guard?\" asked a young knight.\n\"Is there a prize to be won, then?\"\n\n\"Truly,\" sighed old Herbrand, \"I would not give a hair of my head for\nthe prize. 'Tis but a crown of roses and a kiss from one of the queen's\nladies; though it is said, indeed, that they are as lovely as women may\nbe.\"\n\n\"Are there no fair maids in Bern?\" cried the warriors indignantly. \"Must\nwe go to the Rhine for them?\"\n\n\"For myself,\" said Dietrich, \"I care little for the reward; yet methinks\nthat for the honour and glory I would e'en meet these doughty warriors,\nand peradventure overcome them. Who will follow me to Burgundy?\"\n\nAs with one voice his knights responded to his appeal, and he chose\neight from among them to accompany him on his quest. As there were still\nbut nine, including Dietrich himself, to meet the twelve guardians of\nthe Rose Garden, the king decided to send for three knights who were\nabsent from the court. At the suggestion of Hildebrand he selected\nRuediger of Bechlarn, Dietleib of Styria, and Ilsan, who was brother\nto Hildebrand and at that time a monk in the monastery of Munchenzell.\nRuediger was margrave to King Etzel, and had to obtain his lord's\npermission to venture forth on the romantic undertaking; Dietleib's\nfather strongly recommended that the quest be abandoned, though the\nyouth himself was as eager as any to accompany Dietrich; while as for\nIlsan, he found it especially difficult to obtain leave of absence, for,\nnaturally, his abbot deemed the enterprise a strange one for a monk who\nhad fled all earthly delights. However, all difficulties were eventually\novercome, and when the party was ready for departure Ruediger was sent\non an embassy to King Gibich at Worms, to prepare him for their coming.\nGibich gave his ready consent to the proposed trial of strength,\nwhereupon the warriors set out for the Rhine to see whether they might\nnot win a kiss and a garland from some fair lady.\n\nAn imposing array did the knights of the Rose Garden make as they\nawaited the approach of the strangers, but no less imposing were\nDietrich and his warriors. Each chose an opponent and immediately\nengaged in a fierce hand-to-hand struggle, which was to end disastrously\nfor more than one brave knight. The first to dispatch his antagonist\nwas Wolfhart, who submitted to being crowned with a rose-wreath, but\ndisdained to accept the rest of the reward. The monk, who was the next\nvictor, took the roses and kissed the maiden heartily. But alas! a\nbristly beard covered his chin, and the maid was left ruefully\nrubbing her pouting lips. One by one Dietrich's knights overcame their\nadversaries, some of whom were slain and some wounded. Toward nightfall\na truce was called, and Dietrich and his company set out to return to\nBern, well satisfied with having disproved the assertion of Herbrand\nthat there were better warriors in the world than Dietrich and his noble\ncompany.\n\nThe Devil's Vineyard\n\nThere is a curious legend told to account for the excellent quality\nof the wine of Worms. An old nobleman who at one time lived in that\nneighbourhood was in the habit of drinking more of the Rhenish wine than\nwas good for him. In every other respect he was a most worthy man, kind,\ngenerous, and pious.\n\nHis piety, in an age when such qualities were rare, roused the ire of\nthe Devil, who determined to bring about his fall, and as the old man's\nlove of wine was his only serious weakness, it was through this that the\nFiend set himself to compass the nobleman's destruction.\n\nThe Devil therefore disguised himself as a strolling musician and made\nthe acquaintance of the old man. The latter set before him some of the\nwine of the country, extolling meanwhile its rare qualities. The guest\nseemed not at all impressed by the recital, but spoke of a wine which he\nhad tasted in the South and which far surpassed any other vintage. The\nnobleman was all curiosity. The stranger talked of the wonderful wine\nwith feigned reluctance, and at length his host promised to give him\nanything he should ask if only he would fetch him some of the wine.\nSatan promised to plant a vineyard in Worms, asking in exchange the soul\nof his host, to be forfeited at the end of a fixed period.\n\nTo this the old man consented, and the strolling musician planted a\nvineyard which sprang up as though by magic. When the first vintage\nwas produced it was found to be delicious beyond the dreams of the\nold nobleman, who was indeed a connoisseur in wines. In his delight he\nchristened the wine Liebfrauenmilch, signifying 'Milk of our Blessed\nLady.' The Devil was furious at this reference to the Holy Virgin, but\nhe consoled himself with the thought that in due course the man's soul\nwould be his. But the Virgin herself was pleased with the christening\nof the vineyard, and rather sorry for the foolish old nobleman who\nhad bartered his soul for the Devil's wine. When, therefore, the time\narrived for the Evil One to claim his fee, she sent her angels to drive\nhim away, and thus he was robbed of his prey.\n\nThe old man, having learned the danger of treating with the Devil, now\nbuilt a chapel to the Virgin in his vineyard. He lived for a long time\nto enjoy the luscious wine, under the protection of the saints, and\nnever again did he make a compact with Satan.\n\nNow, if anyone requires a proof of this marvellous story, is there not\nthe Liebfrauenmilch, most delicious of wines to convince him of its\ntruth?\n\nThe Maiden's Caprice\n\nIn the town of Worms there stands an old manor, built in the style of\nthe Renaissance and known as the Wampolder Hof. At one time it belonged\nto the lord of Wampold, a wealthy noble of Mainz, who had appointed as\ncastellan a kinsman of his, himself a nobleman, though landless and\npoor and no longer able to uphold his former dignities. In his youth the\nkeeper had lived a gay and careless life, but now he was old and infirm\nand cared no longer for worldly vanities. His sole pride was his young\ndaughter, a bewitching maiden who had more lovers than one could readily\ncount, and who smiled upon them all impartially. With so many lovelorn\nyouths at her beck and call it is hardly surprising that she should grow\nexacting and capricious, but this, as usually happens, only made them\nlove her the more.\n\nThere was one among her suitors, however, for whom she cherished a real\naffection. Handsome, cultured, and, like herself, of noble birth, he\nwas, notwithstanding his poverty, by far the most eligible of the\nyouths who sought her in marriage, and the castellan readily granted his\nconsent to their betrothal. So for a time everything seemed to indicate\nhappiness in store for the young couple.\n\nYet the maiden remained as capricious as ever. On Walpurgis-night, when\na party of lads and lasses were gathered in the Wampolder Hof, and tales\nof witches and witchcraft were being told in hushed tones, she conceived\na wild scheme to test her lover's affection: she bade him go to the\ncross-roads at midnight, watch the procession of witches, and return to\ntell her what he saw. The awed company protested vigorously against the\nproposed test, but the girl persisted, and at last her lover, seeing\nthat she was already piqued at his refusal, laughingly set out for the\nbewitched spot, convinced that no harm would befall him.\n\nMeantime the company in the manor anxiously awaited his return. One\no'clock came, then two--three; still there was no sign of him. Glances\nof horror and pity were cast at the castellan's daughter, who now wrung\nher hands in futile grief. At length a few braver spirits volunteered to\ngo in search of their comrade, but no trace of him could they find. His\nwidowed mother, of whom he had been the only son, cursed the maid\nwho was the cause of his ghastly fate, and not long afterward the\ncastellan's daughter lost her reason and died. On Walpurgis-nights she\nmay still be heard in Worms calling for her lost lover, whom she is\ndestined never to find.\n\nThe fate of the youth remains uncertain. The most popular account\nis that he was torn limb from limb by the infuriated witches and his\nremains scattered to the winds. But some, less superstitious than\ntheir neighbours, declared that he had been murdered by his rivals,\nthe disappointed suitors, and that his body had been cast into the\nRhine--for not long afterward a corpse, which might have been that of\nthe missing youth, was drawn from the river by fishermen.\n\nThe Nibelungenlied\n\nThe greatest Rhine story of all is that wondrous German Iliad, the\nNibelungenlied, for it is on the banks of the Rhine in the ancient city\nof Worms that its action for the most part takes place. The earliest\nactual form of the epic is referred to the first part of the thirteenth\ncentury, but it is probable that a Latin original founded on ballads\nor folk-songs was in use about the middle or latter end of the tenth\ncentury. The work, despite many medieval interpolations and the\nmanifest liberties of generations of bards and minnesingers, bears the\nunmistakable stamp of a great antiquity. A whole literature has grown\nup around this mighty epic of old Germanic life, and men of vast\nscholarship and literary acumen have made it a veritable battle-ground\nof conflicting theories, one contending for its mythical genesis,\nanother proving to his satisfaction that it is founded upon historic\nfact, whilst others dispute hotly as to its Germanic or Scandinavian\norigin.\n\nSo numerous are the conflicting opinions concerning the origin of the\nNibelungenlied that it is extremely difficult to present to the reader\na reasoned examination of the whole without entering rather deeply into\nphilological and mythical considerations of considerable complexity.\nWe shall therefore confine ourselves to the main points of these\ncontroversies and refrain from entering upon the more puzzling bypaths\nwhich are only to be trodden by the 'Senior Wranglers' of the study, as\nthey have been called.\n\nIts Original Form\n\nIn the beginning of the nineteenth century Karl Lachmann, a philologist\nof some repute, put forward the theory that the poem was made up of a\nnumber of distinct ballads or lays, and he eliminated from it all parts\nwhich appeared to him to be interpolations. This reduced the whole to\ntwenty lays, which he considered the work of twenty separate minstrels;\nbut if certain ballads relating to episodes in the Nibelungenlied once\nexisted in Germany it is the spirit of these more than the matter\nwhich is incorporated into the great epic. In medieval times, when\nthe Nibelungenlied story was popular, minnesingers and harpers, in an\nattempt to please their audiences, would cast about for fresh incidents\nto introduce into the story. Popular as was the tale, even a medieval\naudience could tire of the oft-repeated exploits of its dramatis\npersonae, and the minstrel, dependent upon their goodwill for bed and\nboard, would be quick to note when the tale fell flat. Accordingly\nhe would attempt to infuse into it some new incident or series of\nincidents, culled from other stories more often than not self-created.\nSuch an interpolation is probably to be noted in the presence of\nDietrich of Bern, otherwise Theodoric the Ostrogoth, at the court of\nEtzel or Attila. To say nothing of the probability of anachronism,\ngeographical conditions are not a little outraged in the adoption of\nthis incident, but the question arose who was to worst the mighty Hagen,\nwhose sombre figure dominates in its gloomy grandeur the latter part of\nthe saga. It would not do for any Hunnish champion to vie successfully\nwith the Burgundian hero, but it would be no disgrace for him to be\nbeaten by Dietrich, the greatest champion of antiquity, who, in fact,\nis more than once dragged into the pages of romance for the purpose of\nadministering an honourable defeat to a hitherto unconquered champion.\nWe can thus see how novel and subsidiary passages might attach\nthemselves to the epic.\n\nBut a day came when the minnesingers of Germany felt that it behoved\nthem to fix once and for all time the shape of the Lay of the Nibelungs.\nIndeed, not one, but several poets laboured at this task. That they\nworked with materials immediately to their hand is seen from the\ncircumstance that we have proof of a Low German account, and a Rhenish\nversion which was evidently moulded into its present shape by an\nAustrian or Tyrolese craftsman--a singer well versed in court poetry and\ncourtly etiquette. The date when the Nibelungenlied received its latest\nform was probably about the end of the twelfth century, and this last\nversion was the immediate source of our present manuscripts. The date\nof the earliest known manuscript of the Nibelungenlied is comparatively\nlate. We possess in all twenty-eight more or less complete manuscripts\npreserved in thirty-one fragments, fifteen of which date from the\nthirteenth and fourteenth centuries.\n\nIts Fragmentary Nature\n\nEven a surface examination is sufficient to testify to the fragmentary\nnature of the Nibelungenlied. We can discern through the apparent unity\nof texture of the work as we now possess it the patchwork where scribe\nor minstrel has interpolated this incident or joined together these\npassages to secure the necessary unity of narrative. Moreover, in none\nof the several versions of the Siegfried epic do we get the 'whole\nstory.' One supplements another. And while we shall follow the\nNibelungenlied itself as closely as possible we shall in part supplement\nit from other kindred sources, taking care to indicate these where we\nfind it necessary to introduce them.\n\nKriemhild's Dream\n\nIn the stately town of Worms, in Burgundy, dwelt the noble and beauteous\nmaiden Kriemhild, under the care of her mother Ute, and her brothers\nGunther, Gernot, and Giselher. Great was the splendour and state which\nthey maintained, and many and brave were the warriors who drank wine at\ntheir board. Given to martial exercises were those men of might, and day\nby day the courts of the palace rang to the clangor of sword-play\nand manly sport. The wealth of the chiefs was boundless, and no such\nmagnificence as theirs was known in any German land, or in any land\nbeyond the German frontiers.\n\nBut with all this stateliness and splendour Kriemhild, the beautiful,\nwas unhappy. One night she had had an ominous dream. She dreamed that\nshe had tamed a falcon strong and fierce, a beauteous bird of great\nmight, but that while she gazed on it with pride and affection two great\neagles swooped from the sky and tore it to pieces before her very eyes.\nAffected by this to an extent that seemed inexplicable, she related her\ndream to her mother, Ute, a dame of great wisdom, who interpreted it as\nforetelling for her a noble husband, \"whom God protect, lest thou lose\nhim too early.\" Kriemhild, in dread of the omen, desired to avert it by\nremaining unwed, a course from which her mother attempted to dissuade\nher, telling her that if ever she were destined to know heartfelt joy it\nwould be from a husband's love.\n\nSiegfried\n\nSiegfried, of the Netherlands, son of Siegmund and Sieglind, a warrior\nbold as he was young and comely, having heard of the great beauty\nof Kriemhild, desired to visit Worms that he might see the far-famed\nprincess for himself. Until this time he had been wandering through\nthe world doing great deeds: he had won the sword and treasure of the\nNibelungs, had overcome their monarchs, had conquered a dwarf Alberich,\ngaining possession of his cloak of darkness. Hagen, a mighty Burgundian\npaladin (in a passage which is obviously adapted from another version\nfor the purpose of recounting Siegfried's previous adventures), tells\nhow \"he had slain a dragon and made himself invulnerable by bathing\nin its blood. We must receive him graciously, and avoid making him our\nenemy.\" Siegfried sojourned at Worms for over a year, distinguishing\nhimself in all the martial exercises of the Burgundians and rendering\nthem splendid service in their wars against the Saxons and Danes. A year\npassed without his having been allowed to meet Kriemhild, who in secret\ncherished the utmost admiration for him. Chagrined at the treatment\nmeted out to him, he finally made up his mind to depart. But his hosts\ndid not desire to lose such a valuable ally, and brought about a meeting\nbetween him and the lady of his dreams. The passage describing their\nfirst sight of one another is full of the essence of romance.\n\nWe are told that Kriemhild appeared before his eyes as does the rosy\nflush of dawn breaking from sombre clouds. As he beheld her his heart\nwas soothed and all his trouble vanished, for there stood she who had\ncost him many a love-pang, her eyes sparkling with pleasure, brighter\nthan the rich jewels which covered her raiment, her cheeks suffused with\nthe blushes of maidenhood. No one had, he thought, ever seen so much\nbeauty before. As the silver moon obscures the light of the stars by its\nsuperior splendour, so did Kriemhild obscure the beauty of the ladies\nwho surrounded her. When he beheld her each hero drew himself up more\nproudly than ever and appeared as if ready to do battle for such a\nparagon of beauty. She was preceded by chamberlains in rich attire,\nbut no ushers might keep back the knights from sight of her, and they\ncrowded about her to catch a glimpse of her face. Pleased and sad was\nSiegfried, for, thought he, \"How may I ever hope to win so peerless a\ncreature? The hope is a rash one. Better were I to forget her--but then,\nalas, my heart would have ceased to beat, and I should be dead!\" Pale\nand red he grew. He recked not of his own great worth. For all there\nagreed that so handsome a warrior had never come to the Rhineland, so\nfair of body, so debonair was he.\n\nThe Wooing of Brunhild\n\nSiegfried now resolved to win Kriemhild, and on Gunther's asking him to\naccompany him on an adventure the purpose of which is to gain the hand\nof Queen Brunhild of Isenstein, he accepted on condition that on their\nreturn he should be rewarded by the hand of his sister. To this Gunther\ngave assent, and they set out, accompanied by Hagen and his brother\nDankwart. But the Nibelungenlied proper is silent regarding Siegfried's\nprevious relations with Brunhild. In Scandinavian versions--such as the\nVolsunga Saga, where this legend, originally a German one, is preserved\nin its pagan form--Brunhild was a Valkyr, or war-maiden of Odin, who\nsent her to sleep with a prick of a magic thorn and imprisoned her\nwithin a circle of flame, through which Siegfried (in this version\nalmost certainly the god of nature, springtide, and the sun) broke,\ndelivered the captive, and took her as his bride, soon, however,\ndeparting from her. In the Nibelungenlied this ancient myth is either\npresupposed or intentionally omitted as unfitting for consumption by a\nChristianized folk, but it is hinted that Brunhild had a previous claim\nupon Siegfried's affections.\n\nBrunhild had made it a condition that the hero whom she would wed must\nbe able to overcome her in three trials of prowess, losing his head as\na penalty of failure. Siegfried, donning the magic cloak of invisibility\nhe had won from Alberich, king of the dwarfs, took Gunther's place and\nwon the three trials for him, Gunther going through a pantomime of the\nappropriate actions while Siegfried performed the feats. The passage\nwhich tells of the encounter is curious. A great spear, heavy and keen,\nwas brought forth for Brunhild's use. It was more a weapon for a hero\nof might than for a maiden, but, unwieldy as it was, she was able to\nbrandish it as easily as if it had been a willow wand. Three and a half\nweights of iron went to the making of this mighty spear, which scarce\nthree of her men could carry. Sore afraid was Gunther. Well did he wish\nhim safe in the Burgundian land. \"Once back in Rhineland,\" thought he,\n\"and I would not stir a foot's distance to win any such war-maid.\"\n\nBut up spake Dankwart, Hagen's valiant brother: \"Now is the day come on\nwhich we must bid farewell to our lives. An ill journey has this been,\nI trow, for in this land we shall perish at the hands of women. Oh, that\nmy brother Hagen and I had but our good swords here! Then would these\ncarles of Brunhild's check their laughter. Without arms a man can do\nnothing, but had I a blade in hand even Brunhild herself should die ere\nharm came to our dear lord.\"\n\nThis speech heard the warrior-maid. \"Now put these heroes' swords into\ntheir hands,\" she commanded, \"and accoutre them in their mail.\"\n\nRight glad was Dankwart to feel iron in his hand once more and know its\nweight upon his limbs. \"Now I am ready for such play as they list,\" he\ncried. \"Since we have arms, our lord is not yet conquered.\"\n\nInto the ring of contest mighty men bore a great stone. Twelve of them\nit took to carry it, so ponderous it was. Woe were they of Burgundy for\ntheir lord at sight of the same.\n\nBrunhild advanced on Gunther, brandishing her spear. Siegfried was by\nhis side and touched him lightly to give him confidence, but Gunther\nknew not it was he and marvelled, for no one saw him there.\n\n\"Who hath touched me?\" said he.\n\n\"'Tis I, Siegfried,\" replied his friend. \"Be of good cheer and fear\nnot the maiden. Give me thy shield and mark well what I say. Make thou\nmotions as if to guard and strike, and I will do the deeds. Above all\nhearken to my whispered advice.\"\n\nGreat was Gunther's joy when he knew that Siegfried was by him. But\nhe had not long to marvel, for Brunhild was on him, her great spear in\nhand, the light from its broad blade flashing in his eyes. She hurled\nthe spear at his shield. It passed through the iron as if it had been\nsilk and struck on the rings of Gunther's armour. Both Gunther and\nSiegfried staggered at the blow. But the latter, although bleeding from\nthe mouth with the shock of the thrown weapon, seized it, reversing the\npoint, and cast it at Brunhild with such dreadful might that when it\nrang on her armour she was overthrown.\n\nRight angry was Brunhild. But she weened that the blow was Gunther's,\nand respected him for his strength. Her anger, however, overcame her\nesteem, and seizing the great stone which had been placed in the ring\nof combat, she cast it from her twelve fathoms. Leaping after it, she\nsprang farther than she had thrown it. Then went Gunther to the stone\nand poised it while Siegfried threw it. He cast the stone farther than\nBrunhild had done, and so great was his strength that he raised King\nGunther from the earth and leapt with him a greater distance than\nBrunhild had leapt herself. Men saw Gunther throw and leap alone.\n\nRed with anger grew Brunhild when she saw herself defeated. Loudly she\naddressed her men.\n\n\"Ho, ye liegemen of mine,\" she cried, \"now are ye subject to Gunther the\nKing, for, behold, he has beaten me in the sports.\"\n\nThe knights then acclaimed Gunther as the victor. By his own strength\nof arm had he won the games, said they, and he in turn greeted them\nlovingly. Brunhild came forward, took him by the hand, and granted to\nhim full power throughout her dominions. They proceeded to her palace\nand Gunther's warriors were now regaled with better cheer than before.\nBut Siegfried carefully concealed his magic cloak.\n\nComing to where Gunther and Brunhild sat, he said: \"My lord, why do\nyou tarry? Why are the games of which Queen Brunhild doth speak not yet\nbegun? I long to see how they may be played.\" He acted his part so well\nthat Brunhild really believed that he was not aware the games were over\nand that she was the loser.\n\n\"Now, Sir Siegfried,\" said she, \"how comes it that you were not present\nwhen the games, which Gunther has won, were being played?\"\n\nHagen, fearing that Siegfried might blunder in his reply, took the\nanswer out of his mouth and said: \"O Queen, the good knight Siegfried\nwas hard by the ship when Gunther won the games from you. Naught indeed\nknew he of them.\"\n\nSiegfried now expressed great surprise that any man living had been able\nto master the mighty war-maid. \"Is it possible,\" he exclaimed, \"is it\npossible, O Queen, that you have been vanquished at the sports in which\nyou excel so greatly? But I for one am glad, since now you needs must\nfollow us home to the Rhineland.\"\n\n\"You are speedy of speech, Sir Siegfried,\" replied Brunhild. \"But there\nis much to do ere yet I quit my lands. First must I inform my kindred\nand vassals of this thing. Messengers must be sent to many of my kinsmen\nere I depart from Isenstein.\"\n\nWith that she bade couriers ride to all quarters, bidding her kinsmen,\nher friends, and her warriors come without delay to Isenstein. For\nseveral days they arrived in troops: early and late they came, singly\nand in companies. Then with a large escort Brunhild sailed across the\nsea and up the Rhine to Worms.\n\nSiegfried and Brunhild\n\nIt now became increasingly clear that Siegfried and Brunhild had had\naffectionate relations in the past. [Indeed, in the Volsunga Saga, which\nis an early version of the Nibelungenlied, we find Grimhild, the mother\nof Gudrun (Kriemhild), administering to Sigurd (Siegfried) a magic\npotion in order that he should forget about Brunhild.] On seeing\nSiegfried and Kriemhild greet each other with a kiss, sadness and\njealousy wrung the heart of the war-maiden, and she evinced anything but\na wifely spirit toward her husband Gunther, whom, on the first night\nof their wedded life, she wrestled with, defeated, and bound with her\ngirdle, afterward hanging him up by it on a peg in the wall! Next day he\nappealed to Siegfried for assistance, and that night the hero donned his\nmagic cloak of invisibility, contended with Brunhild in the darkness,\nand overcame her, she believing him to be Gunther, who was present\nduring the strife. But Siegfried was foolish enough to carry away her\nring and girdle, \"for very haughtiness.\" These he gave to Kriemhild, and\nsore both of them rued it in after-time. Brunhild's strength vanished\nwith her maidenhood and thenceforth she was as any other woman.\n\nSiegfried and Kriemhild now departed to the capital of Santen, on the\nLower Rhine, and peace prevailed for ten years, until Brunhild persuaded\nGunther to invite them to a festival at Worms. She could not understand\nhow, if Siegfried was Gunther's vassal, as Gunther had informed her, he\nneither paid tribute nor rendered homage. The invitation was accepted\ncordially enough. But Kriemhild and Brunhild quarrelled bitterly\nregarding a matter of precedence as to who should first enter church,\nand at the door of the minster of Worms there was an unseemly squabble.\nThen Kriemhild taunted Brunhild with the fact that Siegfried had won\nand deserted her, and displayed the girdle and ring as proof of what she\nasserted.\n\nSiegfried, confronted with Brunhild, denied that he had ever approached\nher in any unseemly way, and he and Gunther attempted to make peace\nbetween their wives. But all to no avail. A deadly feud had sprung up\nbetween them, which was to end in woe for all. Hagen swore a great oath\nthat Siegfried should pay for the insult his wife had put upon Brunhild.\n\nThe Plot against Siegfried\n\nNow, but four days after, news came to Gunther's court that war was\ndeclared against him. But this was merely a plot to draw Siegfried from\nthe court and compass his death. The heroes armed for war, among\nthem Siegfried. When Hagen bade farewell to Kriemhild she recommended\nSiegfried to his care. Now, when Siegfried slew the dragon which guarded\nthe treasure of the Nibelungs, he bathed in its blood and became, like\nAchilles, invulnerable, save at a spot where a linden leaf had fallen\nbetween his shoulders as he bathed, and so prevented contact with the\npotent stream. Hagen inquired of Kriemhild the whereabouts of this\nvulnerable spot, pretending that he would guard Siegfried against\ntreachery in battle; and she, fully believing in his good faith, sewed a\nsilken cross upon Siegfried's mantle to mark the place.\n\nOn the following morning Siegfried, with a thousand knights, took horse\nand rode away, thinking to avenge his comrades. Hagen rode beside him\nand carefully scanned his vesture. He did not fail to observe the mark,\nand having done so, he dispatched two of his men with another message.\nIt was to the effect that the King might know that now his land would\nremain at peace. This Siegfried was loath to hear, for he would have\ndone battle for his friends, and it was with difficulty that Gunther's\nvassals could hold him back. Then he rode to Gunther, who thanked him\nwarmly for having so quickly granted his prayer. Gunther assured him\nthat if need be he would at any time come to his aid, and that he held\nhim the most trusty of all his friends. He pretended to be so glad\nthat the threat of war was past that he suggested that they should ride\nhunting to the Odenwald after the bear and the boar, as they had so\noften done before. This was the counsel of the false Hagen.\n\nIt was arranged that they should start early for the greenwood, and\nGunther promised to lend Siegfried several dogs that knew the forest\nways well. Siegfried then hurried home to his wife, and when he had\ndeparted Hagen and the King took counsel together. After they had\nagreed upon the manner in which they would compass the destruction of\nSiegfried, they communicated their plans to their comrades. Giselher and\nGernot would not take part in the hunt, but nevertheless they abstained\nfrom warning Siegfried of his danger. For this, however, they paid\ndearly in the end.\n\nThe morning dawned bright and clear, and away the warriors cantered with\na clatter of hoofs and a boasting of bugles.\n\nSiegfried's Farewell to Kriemhild\n\nBefore departing Siegfried had said farewell to Kriemhild, who, she knew\nnot why, was filled with dark forebodings.\n\n\"God grant I may see thee safe and well again,\" said Siegfried. \"Keep\nthou a merry heart among thy kin until I return.\"\n\nThen Kriemhild thought on the secret she had betrayed to Hagen, but she\ncould not tell Siegfried of it. Sorely she wept, wishing that she had\nnever been born, and keen and deep was her grief.\n\n\"Husband,\" she said, \"go not to the hunt. A baleful dream I had last\nnight. You stood upon the heath and two wild boars approached. You fled,\nbut they pursued you and wounded you, and the blossoms under your feet\nwere red with blood. You behold my tears. Siegfried, I dread treachery.\nWot you not of some who cherish for us a deadly hate? I counsel you, I\nbeg you, dear lord, go not to the greenwood.\"\n\nSiegfried tried to laugh her fears away, \"It is but for a few days that\nI leave thee, beloved,\" he said. \"Who can bear me hate if I cherish none\nagainst them? Thy brothers wish me well, nor have I offended them in any\nwise.\"\n\nBut Kriemhild would not be comforted. \"Greatly do I dread this parting,\"\nshe wailed, \"for I dreamed another dream. You passed by two mountains,\nand they rocked on their bases, fell, and buried you, so that I saw you\nno more. Go not, for bitterly will I grieve if you depart.\"\n\nBut with a laugh and a kiss Siegfried was gone. Leaping on his steed, he\nrode off at a gallop. Nevermore was she to see him in life.\n\nInto the gloomy forest, the abode of the bear, the wolf, and the wild\nboar, plunged the knights in their lust of royal sport. Brilliant,\nbrave, and goodly of cheer was the company, and rich was their\nentertainment. Many pack-horses laden with meats and wines accompanied\nthem, and the panniers on the backs of these bulged with flesh, fish,\nand game, fitting for the table of a great king.\n\nOn a broad meadow fringing the greenwood they camped, near to the place\nwhere they were to begin the hunt, and watchers were sent round the\ncamp, so that no one with a message of warning on his lips might win to\nthe ears of Siegfried.\n\nSiegfried waxed restless, for he had come not to feast but to hunt, and\nhe desired to be home again with Kriemhild. \"Ha, comrades,\" he cried;\n\"who will into the forest with me and rouse the game?\"\n\n\"Then,\" said the crafty Hagen, \"let us find who is the best sportsman.\nLet us divide the huntsmen and the hounds so that each may ride alone\nwhere he chooses; and great praise shall be to him who hunts the best\nand bears off the palm.\"\n\nTo this Siegfried agreed, and asked only for one hound that had been\nwell broken to the chase to accompany him.\n\nThis was granted. Then there came an old huntsman with a limehound and\nled the sportsmen to where there was an abundance of game. Many beasts\nwere started and hunted to the death, as is ever the way with good\nhuntsmen.\n\nNothing that the limehound started could escape Siegfried. Swift was his\nsteed as the tempest, and whether it was bear or boar he soon came up\nwith it and slew it. Once he encountered a stark and mighty lion. Aiming\nan arrow at the monster, he shot it through the heart. The forest rang\nwith acclaim at the deed.\n\nThen there fell by his hand a buffalo, an elk, four grim aurochs, and a\nbear, nor could deer or hind escape him, so swift and wight was he.\nAnon he brought a wild boar to bay. The grisly beast charged him, but,\ndrawing his sword, Siegfried transfixed it with the shining blade.\n\n\"I pray thee, lord,\" said the huntsman, \"leave to us something living,\nfor in truth thy strong arm doth empty both mountain and forest.\"\n\nMerrily rang the noise of the chase in the greenwood that day. The hills\nand the leafy aisles of the forest resounded with the shouts of the\nhunters and the baying of dogs. In that hunting many a beast met its\ndeath-day and great was the rivalry. But when the hunting was over and\nthe heroes met at the tryst-fire, they saw that Siegfried had proved\nhimself the greatest huntsmen of them all.\n\nOne by one they returned from the forest to the trysting-place, carrying\nwith them the shaggy fell of the bear, the bristly boar-skin, and the\ngrey pelt of the wolf. Meat abounded in that place, and the blast of a\nhorn announced to the hungry knights that the King was about to feast.\nSaid Siegfried's huntsman to him: \"I hear the blast of a horn bidding\nus return to the trysting-place,\" and raising his bugle to his lips, he\nanswered it.\n\nSiegfried was about to leave the forest, ambling quietly on horseback\nthrough the green ways, when he roused a mighty bear. The limehound was\nslipped and the bear lumbered off, pursued by Siegfried and his men.\nThey dashed into a ravine, and here Siegfried thought to run the beast\ndown, but the sides were too steep and the knight could not approach it\non horseback. Lightly he sprang from his steed, and the bear, seeing\nhis approach, once more took flight. So swift, however, was Siegfried's\npursuit that ere the heavy beast could elude him he had caught it by\nits shaggy coat and had bound it in such a manner that it was harmless;\nthen, tying it across his horse's back, he brought it to the tryst-fire\nfor pastime.\n\nProudly emerged Siegfried from the forest, and Gunther's men, seeing\nhim coming, ran to hold his horse. When he had dismounted he dragged\nthe bear from his horse's back and set it loose. Immediately the dogs\npursued it, and in its efforts to escape into the forest it dashed madly\nthrough a band of scullions who were cooking by the great fire. There\nwas a clatter of iron pots, and burning brands were strewed about. Many\ngoodly dishes were spoiled. The King gave order to slip the hounds that\nwere on leash. Taking their bows and spears, the warriors set off\nin chase of the bear--but they feared to shoot at it through fear of\nwounding any among the great pack of dogs that hung upon its flanks. The\none man who could keep pace with the bear was Siegfried, who, coming up\nwith it, pierced it with his sword and laid it dead on the ground. Then,\nlifting the carcass on his shoulders, he carried it back to the fire, to\nthe marvel of all present.\n\nThen began the feasting. Rich meats were handed around, and all was\nfestive and gay. No suspicion had Siegfried that he was doomed, for his\nheart was pure of all deceit. But the wine had not yet been brought from\nthe kitchen, whereat Sir Siegfried wondered.\n\nAddressing Gunther, he said: \"Why do not your men bring us wine? If this\nis the manner in which you treat good hunters, certes, I will hunt no\nmore. Surely I have deserved better at your hands.\"\n\nAnd the false Gunther answered: \"Blame me not, Siegfried, for the fault\nis Hagen's. Truly he would have us perish of thirst.\"\n\n\"Dear master,\" said Hagen of Trony, \"the fault is mine--if fault it\nbe--for methought we were to hunt to-day at Spessart and thither did\nI send the wine. If we go thirsty to-day, credit me I will have better\ncare another time.\"\n\nBut Siegfried was athirst and said: \"If wine lacks, then must we have\nwater. We should have camped nearer to the Rhine.\"\n\nThe Slaying of Siegfried\n\nAnd Hagen, perceiving his chance, replied: \"I know of a cool spring\nclose at hand. If you will follow me I will lead you thither.\"\n\nSore athirst was Siegfried, and starting up from his seat, he followed\nHagen. But the crafty schemer, desiring to draw him away from the\ncompany so that none else would follow them, said to him as they were\nsetting out for the spring: \"Men say, Siegfried, that none can keep pace\nwith you when you run. Let us see now.\"\n\n\"That may easily be proved,\" said Siegfried. \"Let us run to the brook\nfor a wager, and see who wins there first. If I lose I will lay me\nbefore you in the grass. Nay, I will more, for I will carry with me\nspear, shield, and hunting gear.\"\n\nThen did he gird on his weapons, even to his quiver, while the others\nstripped, and off they set. But Siegfried easily passed them and arrived\nat the lime-tree where was the well. But he would not drink first for\ncourtesy, even although he was sore athirst.\n\nGunther came up, bent down to the water, and drank of the pure, cool\nwell. Siegfried then bent him to drink also. But the false Hagen,\ncarrying his bow and sword out of reach, sprang back and gripped the\nhero's mighty spear. Then looked he for the secret mark on his vesture\nthat Kriemhild had worked.\n\nAs Siegfried drank from the stream Hagen poised the great spear and\nplunged it between the hero's shoulders. Deeply did the blade pierce\nthrough the spot where lay the secret mark, so that the blood spurted\nout on the traitor's garments. Hagen left the spear deep in Siegfried's\nheart and flew in grim haste from the place.\n\nThough wounded to the death, Siegfried rose from the stream like a\nmaddened lion and cast about him for a weapon. But nothing came to his\nhand but his shield. This he picked up from the water's edge and ran\nat Hagen, who might not escape him, for, sore wounded as he was, so\nmightily did he smite that the shield well-nigh burst and the jewels\nwhich adorned it flew in flinders. The blow rang across the meadow as\nHagen fell beneath the stroke.\n\nIt was Siegfried's last blow. His countenance was already that of a dead\nman. He could not stand upright. Down he crashed among the flowers;\nfast flowed his blood; in his agony he began to upbraid those who had\ncontrived his death.\n\n\"Cowards and caitiffs,\" he cried, \"is this the price you pay me for my\nfealty to you? Ill have you done by your friends, for sons of yours as\nyet unborn will feel the weight of this deed. You have vented your spite\non my body; but for this dastard crime all good knights shall shun you.\"\n\nNow all surrounded him, and those that were true among them mourned for\nhim. Gunther also wept. But the dying man, turning to him, said: \"Does\nhe weep for the evil from whom the evil cometh? Better for him that it\nhad remained undone, for mighty is his blame.\"\n\nThen said false Hagen: \"What rue ye? Surely our care is past. Who will\nnow withstand us? Right glad am I that Siegfried is no more.\"\n\nLoud was Siegfried's dole for Kriemhild. \"Never was so foul a murder\ndone as thou hast done on me, O king,\" he said to Gunther. \"I saved thy\nlife and honour. But if thou canst show truth to any on earth, show it\nto my dear wife, I beg of thee, for never had woman such woe for one she\nloved.\"\n\nPainfully he writhed as they watched him, and as he became weaker he\nspake prophetically.\n\n\"Greatly shall ye rue this deed in the days to come,\" he groaned, \"for\nknow, all of ye, that in slaying me ye have slain yourselves.\"\n\nWet were the flowers with his blood. He struggled grimly with death, but\ntoo deep had been the blow, and at last he spake no more.\n\nThey laid his body on a shield of ruddy gold and took counsel with one\nanother how they should hide that the deed had been done by Hagen.\n\n\"Sure have we fallen on evil days,\" said many; \"but let us all hide this\nthing, and hold to one tale: that is, that as Siegfried rode alone in\nthe forest he was slain by robbers.\"\n\n\"But,\" said Hagen of Trony, \"I will myself bear him back to Burgundy. It\nis little concern of mine if Kriemhild weep.\"\n\nKriemhild's Grief\n\nGreat was the grief of Kriemhild when she learned of the murder of her\nhusband, whose body had been placed at her very door by the remorseless\nHagen. He and the rest of the Burgundians pretended that Siegfried had\nbeen slain by bandits, but on their approach the wounds of Siegfried\ncommenced to bleed afresh in mute witness of treachery. Kriemhild\nsecretly vowed a terrible revenge and would not quit the land where\nher beloved spouse was buried. For four years she spake never a word to\nGunther or Hagen, but sat silent and sad in a chamber near the minster\nwhere Siegfried was buried. Gunther sent for the Nibelungen treasure for\nthe purpose of propitiating her, but she distributed it so freely\namong Gunther's dependents that Hagen conceived the suspicion that her\nintention was to suborn them to her cause and foment rebellion within\nthe Burgundian dominions; therefore he seized it and sank it in the\nRhine, forcing Kriemhild's brethren never to divulge its whereabouts.\n\nIt is a circumstance of some importance that when this treasure\nenters the land of the Burgundians they take the name of Nibelungs,\nas Siegfried was called Lord of the Nibelungs on first possessing the\nhoard, and for this reason that part of the poem which commences with\nthe Burgundian acquirement of the treasure was formerly known as the\nNibelungen Not.\n\nThe confiscation of the treasure was another sharp wound to Kriemhild,\nwho appears to have bitterly cherished every hostile act committed\nagainst her by her uncle Hagen and her brothers, and to have secretly\nnursed her grievances throughout the remainder of her saddened\nexistence.\n\nKriemhild Marries Attila\n\nThirteen years after the death of Siegfried, Helche, wife of Attila,\nor Etzel, King of the Huns, having died, that monarch was desirous\nof marrying again, and dispatched his faithful councillor, Ruediger,\nMargrave of Bechlarn, to the Burgundian court to ask for the hand of\nKriemhild. Her brethren, only too anxious to be rid of her accusing\npresence, gladly consented to the match, but Hagen had forebodings that\nif she gained power she would wreak a dreadful vengeance on them all.\nBut he was overruled, and Ruediger was permitted to interview Kriemhild.\nAt first she would not hear of the marriage, but when Ruediger expressed\nhis surprise at the manner in which she was treated in her own country,\nand hinted that if she were to wed with Etzel she would be guarded\nagainst such insulting conduct, she consented. But first she made\nRuediger swear to avenge her wrongs, and this he did lightly, thinking\nit merely a woman's whim which would pass away after marriage. She\naccompanied Ruediger to the court of Etzel, stopping at his castle of\nBechlarn, where dwelt his wife Gotelind and his daughter Dietlinde. The\njourney to Vienna is described in detail. At length they met Etzel\nat Tulna with twenty-four kings and princes in his train and a mighty\nretinue, the greatest guest present being Dietrich of Bern, King of\nthe Goths, who with his band of Wolfings was sojourning at the court of\nEtzel. The nuptials took place at Vienna amid great magnificence, but\nthrough all Kriemhild sorrowed only for Siegfried and brooded long and\ndarkly on her schemes of vengeance.\n\nSeven years passed, during which Kriemhild won the love of all Etzel's\ncourt. She bore the King a son, Ortlieb, and gained the confidence\nand respect of his advisers. Another six years passed, and Kriemhild\nbelieved that the time for vengeance had now arrived. To this end she\ninduced Etzel to invite her brethren and Hagen to his court at Vienna.\nAt first the Burgundians liked the hospitable message well, but\nsuspicion of it was sown in their minds by Hagen, who guessed that\ntreachery lurked beneath its honeyed words. In the end they accepted the\ninvitation and journeyed to the land of the Huns, a thousand and sixty\nknights and nine thousand soldiers. On the way they encountered many ill\nomens.\n\nThe Journey\n\nThrough Eastern Frankland rode Gunther's men toward the river Main, led\nby Hagen, for well he knew the way. All men wondered when they saw the\nhost, for never had any seen such lordly knights or such a rich and\nnoble retinue. Well might one see that these were princes. On the\ntwelfth day they came to the banks of the Danube, Hagen riding in the\nvan. He dismounted on the river's sandy shore and tied his steed to a\ntree. The river was swollen with rains and no boats were in sight. Now\nthe Nibelungs could not perceive how they were to win over the stream,\nfor it was broad and strong.\n\nAnd Hagen rebuked the King, saying: \"Ill be with you, lord. See ye not\nthat the river is swollen and its flood is mighty? Many a bold knight\nshall we lose here to-day.\"\n\n\"Not greatly do thy words help, Hagen,\" spake the King. \"Meeter were it\nfor thee to search for a ford, instead of wasting thy breath.\"\n\nBut Hagen sneered back: \"I am not yet weary of life, O king, and I wish\nnot to drown in these broad waves. Better that men should die by my\nsword in Etzel's land. Stay thou then by the water's edge, whilst I seek\na ferryman along the stream.\"\n\nTo and fro he sought a ferryman. Soon he heard a splash of water and\nhearkened. In a spring not far off some women were bathing. Hagen spied\nthem and crept stealthily toward them. But they saw his approach and\nwent swiftly away. Hagen, approaching, seized their clothes.\n\nNow these women were swan-maidens, or mermaids, and one of them,\nHadburg, spake to him. \"Sir Hagen,\" she said, \"well wot I that ye wish\nto find a ferry. Now give to us our garments and we will show you where\none is.\" They breasted the waves like swans. Once more spake Hadburg:\n\"Safely will ye go to Etzel's land and great honours will ye gain there;\naye, greater than hero ever rode to find.\"\n\nRight joyous was Hagen at this speech. Back he handed to the maidens\ntheir weeds.\n\nThen spake another mermaid, Sieglind: \"Take warning from me, Hagen.\nBelieve not the word of mine aunt, for she has sore deceived thee.\nGo not to Etzel's land, for there you shall die. So turn again. Whoso\nrideth onward hath taken death by the hand.\"\n\n\"I heed not thy words,\" said Hagen, \"for how should it be that all of us\ndie there through the hate of anyone?\"\n\n\"So must it be,\" said Sieglind, \"for none of you shall live, save the\nKing's chaplain, who alone will come again safe and sound to Gunther's\nland.\"\n\n\"Ye are wise wives,\" laughed Hagen bitterly. \"Well would Gunther and his\nlords believe me should I tell him this rede. I pray thee, show us over\nthe stream.\"\n\n\"So be it,\" replied Sieglind; \"since ye will not turn you from your\njourney. See you yonder inn by the water's side? There is the only ferry\nover the river.\"\n\nAt once Hagen made off. But Sieglind called after him: \"Stay, Sir\nKnight; credit me, you are too much in haste. For the lord of these\nlands, who is called Else, and his brother, Knight Gelfrat, will make\nit go hard with you an ye cross their dominions. Guard you carefully and\ndeal wisely with the ferryman, for he is liegeman unto Gelfrat, and if\nhe will not cross the river to you, call for him, and say thou art named\nAmelrich, a hero of this land who left it some time agone.\"\n\nNo more spake Hagen to the swan-maidens, but searching up the river\nbanks, he found an inn upon the farther shore. Loudly he called across\nthe flood. \"Come for me, ferryman,\" he said, \"and I will bestow upon\nthee an armlet of ruddy gold.\"\n\nNow the ferryman was a noble and did not care for service, and those who\nhelped him were as proud as he. They heard Hagen calling, but recked\nnot of it. Loudly did he call across the water, which resounded to his\ncries. Then, his patience exhausted, he shouted:\n\n\"Come hither, for I am Amelrich, liegeman to Else, who left these lands\nbecause of a great feud.\" As he spake he raised his spear, on which was\nan armlet of bright gold, cunningly fashioned.\n\nThe haughty ferryman took an oar and rowed across, but when he arrived\nat the farther bank he spied not him who had cried for passage.\n\nAt last he saw Hagen, and in great anger said: \"You may be called\nAmelrich, but you are not like him whom I thought to be here, for he was\nmy brother. You have lied to me and there you may stay.\"\n\nHagen attempted to impress the ferryman by kindness, but he refused to\nlisten to his words, telling the warrior that his lords had enemies,\nwherefore he never conveyed strangers across the river. Hagen then\noffered him gold, and so angry did the ferryman become that he struck at\nthe Nibelung with his rudder oar, which broke over Hagen's head. But the\nwarrior smote him so fiercely with his sword that he struck his head off\nand cast it on the ground. The skiff began to drift down the stream,\nand Hagen, wading into the water, had much ado to secure it and bring it\nback. With might and main he pulled, and in turning it the oar snapped\nin his hand. He then floated down stream, where he found his\nlords standing by the shore. They came down to meet him with many\nquestionings, but Gunther, espying the blood in the skiff, knew well\nwhat fate the ferryman had met with.\n\nHagen then called to the footmen to lead the horses into the river that\nthey might swim across. All the trappings and baggage were placed in\nthe skiff, and Hagen, playing the steersman, ferried full many mighty\nwarriors into the unknown land. First went the knights, then the\nmen-at-arms, then followed nine thousand footmen. By no means was Hagen\nidle on that day.\n\nOn a sudden he espied the king's chaplain close by the chapel baggage,\nleaning with his hands upon the relics, and recalling that the wise\nwomen had told him that only this priest would return and none other of\nthe Nibelungs, he seized him by the middle and cast him from the skiff\ninto the Danube.\n\n\"Hold, Sir Hagen, hold!\" cried his comrades. Giselher grew wroth; but\nHagen only smiled.\n\nThen said Sir Gernot of Burgundy: \"Hagen, what availeth you the\nchaplain's death? Wherefore have ye slain the priest?\"\n\nBut the clerk struck out boldly, for he wished to save his life. But\nthis Hagen would not have and thrust him to the bottom. Once more he\ncame to the surface, and this time he was carried by the force of the\nwaves to the sandy shore. Then Hagen knew well that naught might avail\nagainst the tidings which the mermaids had told him, that not a Nibelung\nshould return to Burgundy.\n\nWhen the skiff had been unloaded of baggage and all the company had been\nferried across, Hagen broke it in pieces and cast it into the flood.\nWhen asked wherefore he had done so, and how they were to return from\nthe land of the Huns back to the Rhine, Hagen said:\n\n\"Should we have a coward on this journey who would turn his back on the\nHuns, when he cometh to this stream he will die a shameful death.\"\n\nIn passing through Bavaria the Burgundians came into collision with\nGelfrat and his brother Else, and Gelfrat was slain. They were received\nat Bechlarn by Ruediger, who treated them most hospitably and showered\nmany gifts upon them, bestowing upon Gernot his favourite sword,\non Gunther a noble suit of armour, and on Hagen a famous shield. He\naccompanied the strangers to the court of Etzel, where they were met\nfirst of all by Dietrich of Bern, who warned them that Kriemhild\nprayed daily for vengeance upon them for the murder of Siegfried. When\nKriemhild beheld Hagen, her archenemy, she wept. Hagen saw, and \"bound\nhis helmet tighter.\"\n\n\"We have not made a good journey to this feast,\" he muttered.\n\nKriemhild's Welcome\n\n\"Ye are welcome, nobles and knights,\" said Kriemhild. \"I greet you not\nfor your kinship. What bring ye me from Worms beyond the Rhine that\nye should be so welcome to me here? Where have ye put the Nibelung\ntreasure? It is mine as ye know full well, and ye should have brought it\nme to Etzel's court.\"\n\nHagen replied that he had been ordered by his liege lords to sink it in\nthe Rhine, and there must it lie till doomsday.\n\nAt this Kriemhild grew wroth. Hagen went on to say that he had enough to\ndo to carry his shield and breastplate. The Queen, alarmed, desired that\nall weapons should be placed in her charge, but to this Hagen demurred,\nand said that it was too much honour for such a bounteous princess to\nbear his shield and other arms to his lodging.\n\nKriemhild lamented, saying that they appeared to think that she planned\ntreachery against them; but to this Dietrich answered in great anger\nthat he had forewarned Gunther and his brothers of her treacherous\nintentions. Kriemhild was greatly abashed at this, and without speaking\na word she left the company; but ere she went she darted furious glances\nupon them, from which they well saw with what a dangerous foe they had\nto deal. King Etzel then asked who Hagen might be, and was told his\nname and lineage and that he was a fierce and grim warrior. Etzel then\nrecognized him as a warrior who had been a hostage with him along with\nWalthar of Spain and who had done him yeoman service.\n\nEvents March\n\nThis last passage connects the Nibelungenlied with the Latin poem of\nWalthar of Aquitaine. Indeed, the great German epic contains repeated\nallusions to this work of the ninth or tenth century, which is dealt\nwith later in this book.\n\nEvents now march quickly. Kriemhild offered gold untold to him who would\nslay Hagen, but although her enemy was within her grasp, so doughty was\nthe warrior and so terrible his appearance that none dared do battle\nwith him. A Hun was killed by accident in a tournament, but Etzel\nprotected his Burgundian guests. At length Blodelin was bribed by\nKriemhild to attack Dankwart with a thousand followers. Dankwart's men\nwere all slain, but he himself made good his escape by fighting his way\nthrough the closely packed Hunnish ranks. Dankwart rushed to the hall\nwhere the Burgundians were feasting with the Huns, and in great wrath\nacquainted Hagen with the treacherous attempt which had been made upon\nhis life.\n\n\"Haste ye, brother Hagen,\" he cried, \"for as ye sit there our knights\nand squires lie slain in their chambers.\"\n\n\"Who hath done this deed?\" asked Hagen.\n\n\"Sir Blodelin with his carles. But he breathes no longer, for myself I\nparted his head from his body.\"\n\n\"If he died as a warrior, then it is well for him,\" replied the grim\nHagen; \"but, brother Dankwart, ye are red with blood.\"\n\n\"'Tis but my weeds which ye see thus wet,\" said Dankwart carelessly.\n\"The blood is that of other men, so many in sooth that I could not give\nye tale of the number.\"\n\n\"Guard the door, brother,\" said Hagen fiercely; \"guard it yet so\nthat not a single Hun may escape. I will hold parley with these brave\nwarriors who have so foully slain defenceless men.\"\n\n\"Well will I guard the doorway,\" laughed Dankwart; \"I shall play ye the\npart of chamberlain, brother, in this great business.\"\n\nThe Beginning of the Slaughter\n\nHagen, mortally incensed at the slaughter of the Burgundians by the\nHuns, and wrongly suspecting Etzel of conspiracy in the affair, drew\nhis sword, and with one blow of the weapon smote off the head of young\nOrtlieb, the son of Etzel and Kriemhild. Then began a slaughter grim and\ngreat. The Huns fought at first in self-defence, but as they saw their\nfriends fall they laid on in good earnest and the combat became general.\nAt length Dietrich of Bern, as a neutral, intervened, and succeeded in\nbringing about a half-truce, whereby Etzel, Kriemhild, and Ruediger were\npermitted to leave the hall, the remainder of Etzel's attendants being\nslaughtered like sheep. In great wrath Etzel and Kriemhild offered heavy\nbribes to any who would slay Hagen. Several attempts were made, but\nwithout avail; and the terrible conflict continued till nightfall,\nwhen a truce was called. From his place of vantage in the hall Giselher\nreproached his sister with her treachery, and Kriemhild offered to spare\nher brothers if they would consent to give up Hagen. But this offer\nthey contemptuously refused, holding death preferable to such dishonour.\nKriemhild, in her bitter hate, set the hall on fire, and most of the\nBurgundians perished in the conflagration. Kriemhild and the Huns were\nastounded, however, when in the morning they discovered six hundred\nof the Burgundians were still alive. The queen appealed to Ruediger to\ncomplete the slaughter, but he, aghast at the idea of attacking friends\nwhom he had sworn to protect, was about to refuse, when Kriemhild\nreminded him of his oath to her. With sorrow he proceeded to fulfil his\npromise, and Giselher, seeing his approach, imagined he came as an ally.\nBut Ruediger promptly disillusioned him. The Burgundians were as loath\nto attack Ruediger as he them, and Hagen and he exchanged shields. The\ncombat recommenced, and great was the slaughter of the Burgundians,\nuntil Gernot and Ruediger came together and slew one another. At this,\nWolfhart, Dietrich of Bern's lieutenant, led his men against the\nBurgundians to avenge Ruediger's death, and Giselher and Wolfhart slew\none another. Volker and Dankwart were also slain. At length all were\ndead save Gunther and Hagen, whom Dietrich accosted and whom he offered\nto save. But this offer Hagen refused. Then the Lord of Bern grew wroth.\n\nDietrich Intervenes\n\nDietrich then donned his armour and was assisted to accoutre himself by\nHildebrand. He felt a heroic mood inspire him, a good sword was in\nhis hand, and a stout shield was on his arm, and with the faithful\nHildebrand he went boldly thence.\n\nHagen espied him coming and said: \"Yonder I see Sir Dietrich. He desires\nto join battle with us after his great sorrow. To-day shall we see to\nwhom must go the palm. I fear him not. Let him come on.\"\n\nThis speech was not unheard of Dietrich and Hildebrand, for Hagen\ncame to where he found the hero leaning against the wall of the house.\nDietrich set his shield on the ground and in woeful tones said: \"O king,\nwherefore have ye treated me so? All my men are gone, I am bereft of all\ngood, Knight Ruediger the brave and true is slain. Why have ye done these\nthings? Never should I have worked you such sorrow. Think on yourselves\nand on your wrongs. Do ye not grieve for the death of your good kinsmen?\nAh, how I mourn the fall of Ruediger! Whatsoever joy I have known in life\nthat have ye slain. It is not for me to sorrow if my kin be slain.\"\n\n\"How so, Dietrich?\" asked Hagen. \"Did not your men come to this hall\narmed from head to heel with intent to slay us?\"\n\nThen spake Dietrich of Bern. \"This is fate's work and not the doing of\nman,\" said the hero. \"Gunther, thou hast fought well. Yield thee now\nas hostage, no shame shall it be to thee. Thou shalt find me true and\nfaithful with thee.\"\n\n\"Nay, God forbid,\" cried Hagen; \"I am still unfettered and we are only\ntwo. Would ye have me yield me after such a strife?\"\n\n\"Yet would I save thy life, brave and noble Hagen,\" said Dietrich\nearnestly. \"Yield thee, I beg, and I will convoy thee safe home to\nRhineland.\"\n\n\"Nay, cease to crave this thing,\" replied Hagen angrily. \"Such a tale\nshall never be told of me. I see but two of ye, ye and Hildebrand.\"\n\nHildebrand, addressing Hagen, then said that the hour would come when\nhe would gladly accept the truce his lord offered, but Hagen in reply\ntwitted Hildebrand with the manner in which he had fled from the hall.\nDietrich interrupted them, saying that it ill beseemed heroes to scold\nlike ancient beldams, and forbade Hildebrand to say more. Then, seeing\nthat Hagen was grim of mood, Dietrich snatched up his shield. A moment\nlater Hagen's sword rang on his helm, but the Lord of Bern guarded him\nwell against the dreadful blows. Warily did he guard him against Hagen's\nmighty falchion Balmung. At last he dealt Hagen a wound deep and wide.\nBut he did not wish to slay him, desiring rather to have such a hero as\nhostage. Casting away his shield, in his arms he gripped Hagen of Trony,\nwho, faint from loss of blood, was overthrown. At that Gunther began\nto wail greatly. Dietrich then bound Hagen and led him to where stood\nKriemhild and gave him into her hand. Right merry was she at the sight\nand blessed Dietrich, bowing low before him, telling him that he had\nrequited her of all her woes, and that she would serve him until death.\n\nBut Dietrich begged Hagen's life of the Queen, telling her that he would\nrequite her of all that he had done against her. \"Let him not suffer,\"\nsaid he, \"because you see him stand there bound.\" But she ordered that\nHagen be led away to durance.\n\nDietrich then went to where Gunther stood in the hall and engaged him\nin strife. Loudly rang the swords as the two heroes circled in fight,\ndealing mighty blows on each other's helm, and men there had great\nwonder how Sir Dietrich did not fall, so sorely angry was Gunther for\nthe loss of Hagen. But the King's blood was seen to ooze through his\narmourings, and as he grew fainter Dietrich overcame him as he had done\nHagen and bound him. Then was he too taken before Kriemhild, and once\nagain the noble Dietrich begged a life from the Queen. This she gladly\npromised, but treachery was in her heart. Then went she to Hagen and\nsaid to him that if he would return the Nibelungs' treasure to her\nhe might still go home safe and sound to Burgundy. The grim champion\nanswered that she wasted her words, and that he had sworn an oath not\nto show the hoard while any of his lords still lived. At that answer a\nterrible thought entered the mind of Kriemhild, and without the least\ncompunction she ordered that her brother Gunther's life be taken. They\nstruck off his head like that of a common malefactor, and by the hair\nshe carried it to the Knight of Trony. Full sorrowfully he gazed upon\nit, then turning his eyes away from the haggard and distorted features,\nhe said to Kriemhild:\n\n\"Dead is the noble King of Burgundy, and Giselher, and Gernot also.\nNow none knoweth of the treasure save me, and it shall ever be hid from\nthee, thou fiend.\"\n\nThe Death of Hagen and Kriemhild\n\nGreatly wroth was Kriemhild when she heard that her stratagem had\ncome to naught. \"Full ill have ye requited me, Sir Hagen,\" she cried\nfiercely, and drawing the sword of Siegfried from its sheath, she raised\nit with both hands and struck off the Burgundian's head.\n\nAmazed and sorrowful was King Etzel when he saw this. \"Alas,\" cried he,\n\"that such a hero should die bound and by the hands of a woman. Here\nlieth the best of knights that ever came to battle or bore a shield.\nSorely doth this deed grieve me, however much I was his foe.\"\n\nThen spake old Hildebrand, full of horror that such a thing had come to\npass, \"Little shall it profit her that she hath slain him so foully,\" he\ncried; \"whatever hap to me, yet will I avenge bold Hagen.\"\n\nWith these words he rushed at Kriemhild. Loudly did she cry out, but\nlittle did that avail her, for with one great stroke Hildebrand clove\nher in twain. The victims of fate lay still. Sorely wept Dietrich and\nEtzel. So ended the high feast in death and woe. More is not to be said.\nLet the dead rest. Thus fell the Nibelungs, thus was accomplished the\nfate of their house!\n\nThe place of origin of the Nibelungenlied is much disputed, a number of\nscholars arguing for its Scandinavian genesis, but it may be said that\nthe consensus of opinion among modern students of the epic is that\nit took its rise in Germany, along the banks of the Rhine, among the\nFrankish division of the Teutonic folk. Place-names lend colour to this\nassumption. Thus in the Odenwald we have a Siegfried Spring; a Brunhild\nBed is situated near Frankfort; there is a Hagen Well at Lorch, and the\nDrachenfels, or Dragon's Rock, is on the banks of the Rhine. Singularly\nenough, however, if we desire a full survey of the Nibelungenlied story,\nwe have to supplement it from earlier versions in use among the peoples\nof Scandinavia and Iceland. These are distinctly of a more simple and\nearly form than the German versions, and it is to be assumed that\nthey represent the original Nibelungenlied story, which was preserved\nfaithfully in the North, whereas the familiarity of its theme among the\nSouthern Teutons caused it to be altered again and again for the sake\nof variety, until to some extent it lost its original outline. Moreover,\nsuch poems as the Norse Volsunga Saga and Thidreks Saga, not to speak\nof other and lesser epics, afford many details relating to the\nNibelungenlied which it does not contain in its present form. It may\nbe interesting to give a summary of the Volsunga Saga, which is a prose\nparaphrase of the Edda Songs.\n\nThe Volsunga Saga\n\nThe epic deals with the history of the treasure of the Nibelungs, and\ntells how a certain Hreithmar had it given him by the god Loki as\na weregild for the slaying of the former's son, Otur or Otter, who\noccasionally took the shape of that animal. Loki in his turn obtained\nthe ransom from the dwarf Andwari, who had stolen it from the river-gods\nof the Rhine. The dwarf, incensed at losing the treasure, pronounced a\nmost dreadful curse upon it and its possessors, saying that it would be\nthe death of those who should get hold of it. Thus Hreithmar, its\nfirst owner, was slain in his sleep by his son Fafnir, who carried the\ntreasure away to the Gnita Heath, where, having taken the form of a\ndragon, he guarded it.\n\nThe treasure--and the curse--next passed into the keeping of Sigurd (the\nNorse form of Siegfried), a descendant of the race of the Volsungs, a\nhouse tracing its genealogy back to the god Woden. The full story of\nSigurd's ancestry it is unnecessary to deal with here, as it has\nlittle influence on the connexion of the story of the Volsungs with\nthe Nibelungenlied. Sigurd came under the tutelage of Regin, the son of\nHreithmar and brother of Fafnir, received the magic steed Grani from\nthe king, and then was requested by Regin to assist him in obtaining the\ntreasure guarded by Fafnir. After forging a sword for himself out of\nthe fragments of a blade left by his father Siegmund, he avenged his\nfather's death and then set out to attack Fafnir. Meeting Woden, he was\nadvised by the god to dig a ditch in the dragon's path. Encountering\nFafnir, he slew him and the dragon's blood ran into the ditch, without\nwhich he would have been drowned by the flood of gore from the monster.\nAs the dragon died he warned Sigurd against the treasure and its curse\nand against Regin, who, he said, was planning Sigurd's death.\n\nWhen Regin saw that the dragon was quite dead, he crept from his\nhiding-place and quaffed its blood. Then, cutting out the heart, he\nbegged Sigurd to roast it for him. In this operation Sigurd burnt his\nfingers and instinctively thrust them in his mouth, thus tasting of the\ndragon's blood, whereupon he was surprised to find that he comprehended\nthe language of the birds. Hearkening intently to the strange, new\nsounds, he learned that if he himself should eat the heart, then he\nwould be wiser than anyone in the world. The birds further betrayed\nRegin's evil intentions, and advised Sigurd to kill him. Seeing his\ndanger, Sigurd went to where Regin was and cut off his head and ate\nFafnir's heart. Following once again the advice of the birds, he\nbrought the treasure from the cave and then journeyed to the mountain\nHindarfjall, where he rescued the sleeping Valkyr, Brynhild or Brunhild,\nwho had been pierced by the sleep-thorn of Woden and lay in slumber clad\nin full armour within a castle, surrounded by a hedge of flame. Mounting\nhis horse Grani, Sigurd rode through the fiery obstacle to the gate\nof the castle. He entered it, and, finding the maiden asleep, cut the\narmour from her with his sword--for during her long slumber it had\nbecome very tight upon her. Brunhild hailed him with joy, for she had\nvowed never to marry a man who knew fear. She taught Sigurd much wisdom,\nand finally they pledged their troth. He then departed, after promising\nto remain faithful to her.\n\nOn his travels he arrived at the court of Giuki or Gibicho, a king whose\ndomains were situated on the Lower Rhine. Three sons had he, Gunnar,\nHogni, and Gutthorm, and a daughter Gudrun, a maiden of exquisite\nbeauty. His queen bore the name of Grimhild, and was deeply versed in\nmagical science, but was evil of nature.\n\nThey received Sigurd with much honour. Grimhild knew of his relations\nwith Brunhild, and gave him a potion which produced forgetfulness of the\nwar-maiden, so that he accepted the hand of Gudrun which Giuki offered\nhim. The marriage was celebrated with great splendour, and Sigurd\nremained at Giuki's court, much acclaimed for his deeds of skill and\nvalour.\n\nGrimhild meanwhile urged upon her son Gunnar to sue for the hand of\nBrunhild. He resolved to accept her advice and set out to visit her,\ntaking with him Sigurd and a few other friends. He first visited\nBrunhild's father Budli, and afterward her brother-in-law Heimir, from\nwhom he heard that Brunhild was free to choose the man she desired, but\nthat she would espouse no one who had not ridden through the hedge of\nflame. They proceeded to Brunhild's castle. Gunnar attempted to pierce\nthe flames, but was unable to do so even when seated on Sigurd's horse,\nfor Grani would not stir, knowing well that it was not his master who\nurged him on. At last they made use of a potion that had been given them\nby Grimhild, and Sigurd, in the shape of Gunnar, rode through the wall\nof fire. He explained to the war-maiden that he was the son of Giuki and\nhad come to claim her hand. The destiny laid upon her by Woden compelled\nher to consent, but she did so with much reluctance. Sigurd then passed\nthree nights at her side, placing his sword Gram between them as a bar\nof separation; but at parting he drew from her finger the ring with\nwhich he had originally plighted his troth to her, and replaced it with\nanother taken from Fafnir's hoard. Shortly afterward the wedding of\nGunnar and Brunhild was celebrated with lavish splendour, and they all\nreturned to Giuki's court.\n\nMatters progressed happily for some time, until one day Brunhild and\nGudrun went to bathe in the river. Brunhild refused to bathe farther\ndown the stream than Gudrun--that is, in the water which flowed from\nGudrun to her--asserting that her husband was the son of a king, while\nSigurd had become a menial. Gudrun retorted to her sister-in-law that\nnot Gunnar, but Sigurd had penetrated the hedge of fire and had taken\nfrom her the ring, which she then showed to Brunhild in proof of her\nwords. A second and even more disturbing conversation followed, which\nserved only to increase the hatred between the women, and Brunhild\nplanned a dreadful vengeance. She feigned illness, retired to her bed,\nand when Gunnar inquired what ailed her, asked him if he recalled the\ncircumstances of their wooing, and how Sigurd, and not he, rode through\nthe flames to win her. So furious was she at the dreadful insult which\nhad been placed upon her by Gudrun that she attempted to take Gunnar's\nlife. She still loved Sigurd, and could never forgive Gunnar and his\nsister for robbing her of him. So terrible was her grief that she sank\ninto a deep slumber in which she remained for seven days, no one daring\nto waken her. Finally Sigurd succeeded in doing so, and she lamented to\nhim how cruelly she had been deceived; she declared that he and she\nhad been destined for one another, and that now she had received for\na husband a man who could not match with him. Sigurd begged her not to\nharbour a grudge against Gunnar, and told her of his mighty deeds--how\nthat he had slain the king of the Danes, and also the brother of Budli,\na great warrior--but Brunhild did not cease to lament, and planned\nSigurd's death, threatening Gunnar with the loss of his dominions and\nhis life if he would not kill Sigurd. Gunnar hesitated for a long time,\nbut at length consented, and calling Hogni, ordered him to slay Sigurd\nthat they might thus obtain the treasure of the Rhinegold. Hogni was\naghast at this, and reminded him that they had pledged their oaths to\nSigurd.\n\nThen Gunnar remembered that his brother Gutthorm had sworn no oath of\nloyalty to Sigurd, and so might perform the deed. They plied him with\nwolf and snake meat to eat, so that he might become savage by nature,\nand they tried to excite his greed with tales of the Rhinegold treasure.\nTwice did Gutthorm make the attempt as Sigurd lay in bed, but twice\nhe was deterred from slaying him by the hero's penetrating glance. The\nthird time, however, he found him asleep and pierced him with his sword.\nSigurd awoke and hurled his own sword after Gutthorm, cutting him in\ntwo. He then died, stating that he knew Brunhild to be the instigator\nof the murder. Gudrun's grief was frantic, and at this Brunhild laughed\naloud as if with joy; but later she became more grief-stricken than\nSigurd's wife herself, and determined to be done with life. Donning\nher richest array, she pierced herself with a sword. As she expired she\nrequested to be burned on Sigurd's funeral pyre, and also prophesied\nthat Gudrun would marry Atli, and that the death of many heroes would be\ncaused thereby.\n\nGudrun's Adventure\n\nGudrun in her great sorrow fled to the court of King Half of Denmark,\nat which she tarried for seven years. Her mother Grimhild learned of\nher place of concealment and attempted to bring about a reconciliation\nbetween her and Gunnar. She was offered much treasure if she would marry\nAtli, King of the Huns, and finally she consented. Atli became\ncovetous of Gunnar's wealth--for the latter had taken possession of the\nRhinegold--and invited him to his court. But Gudrun sent a message of\nwarning to her brother. The runes which composed this, however, were\nso manipulated by Vingi, one of the messengers, that they read as a\nharmless invitation instead of a warning, and this Gunnar and Hogni\ndetermined to accept. They reached Atli's court in due season, and as\nthey arrived Vingi disclosed his true character, stating that he had\nlured them into a snare. Hogni slew him, and as they rode to Atli's\ndwelling the Hunnish king and his sons armed themselves for battle and\ndemanded Sigurd's treasure, which they declared belonged by right to\nGudrun. Gunnar refused to part with it, and a great combat began. Gudrun\narmed herself and fought on the side of her brothers. A fierce battle\nraged with great loss on both sides, until nearly all the Nibelungs were\nslain, and Gunnar and Hogni, forced to yield to the power of numbers,\nwere captured and bound.\n\nGunnar was now asked if he would purchase his life with the treasure,\nand he replied eventually that he would do so if he were given Hogni's\nheart. To humour his request the Huns cut out the heart of a slave and\nbrought it to him; but Gunnar saw through the stratagem and recognized\nthe heart as that of a coward. They then cut out Hogni's heart, and\nGunnar, seeing that this was indeed the heart of a prince, was glad, for\nnow he alone knew where the treasure of the Rhinegold was hid, and he\nvowed that Atli should never know of its whereabouts. In great wrath the\nHunnish monarch ordered Gunnar to be thrown into a pit of snakes. His\nhands were bound, yet the hero from the Rhine played so exquisitely with\nhis toes on a harp which Gudrun had sent to him that he lulled to sleep\nall the reptiles--with the exception of an adder, which stung him to the\nheart so that he died.\n\nAtli, spurning the bodies of the fallen, turned to Gudrun, saying that\nshe alone was to blame for what had happened. That evening she killed\nher two sons, Erp and Eitil, and served their flesh at the banquet which\nthe King was giving for his warriors. When Atli asked for the boys to\nbe brought to him, he was told that he had drunk their blood in his wine\nand had eaten their hearts.\n\nThat night, while he slept, Gudrun took Hogni's son Hnifling, who\ndesired to avenge his slaughtered father, and entering Atli's chamber,\nthe young man thrust a sword through the breast of the Hunnish king. He\nawoke through the pain of his wound, and was informed by Gudrun that she\nwas his murderess. He bitterly reproached her, only to be told that she\ncared for no one but Sigurd. Atli's last request was that his obsequies\nshould be such as were fitting for a king, and to ensure that he had\nproper funeral rites Gudrun set fire to his castle and burnt his body\ntogether with those of his dead retainers.\n\nThe further adventures of Gudrun are related in certain songs in the\nEdda, but the Volsunga Saga proper ends with the death of Atli.\n\nComparisons between the Epics\n\nWe see from this account that the Volsunga Saga presents in many\nrespects an older form of the Nibelungenlied story. Sigurd is the same\nas Siegfried; Gunnar, Hogni, and Gudrun are parallels with Gunther,\nHagen, and Kriemhild--although, strangely enough, that name is also\nborne by Gudrun's mother in the Volsunga Saga. We will recall that the\nevents detailed in the first part of the lay of the Volsungs are vaguely\nalluded to in the Nibelungenlied, which assures us that the connexion we\nhave thus drawn is a correct one.\n\nMyth or History?\n\nWe come now to the vexed question as to whether the Nibelungenlied is\nmythical or historical in origin. This question has been approached by\ncertain scholars who, because of their lack of mythological knowledge,\nhave rendered themselves ridiculous in attempting elucidations on a\npurely historical basis. An entirely mythological origin is not here\npleaded for the Nibelungenlied, but it should surely be recognized, even\nby the historian who is without mythological training, that no story of\nany antiquity exists which does not contain a substantial substratum of\nmythical circumstance. So speedy is the crystallization of myth around\nthe nucleus of historical fact, and so tenacious is its hold, that to\ndisentangle it from the factors of reality is a task of the most extreme\ndifficulty, requiring careful handling by scholars who possess a wide\nand accurate knowledge of mythological processes. Even to-day, when\nstudents of history have recovered from the first shock of the intrusion\ninto their domain of the mythologist and the folklorist, so much remains\nto be effected in the disentanglement of what is believed to be absolute\nhistorical fact from the mythical growths which surround it that, were\nthey conscious of the labour which yet remains in this respect, even the\nmost advanced of our present-day historians would stand aghast at the\ntask which awaits their successors.\n\nIn the Nibelungenlied we have a case in point. What the exact\nmythological elements contained in it represent it would indeed\nbe difficult to say. Students of the Muellerian school have seen in\nSiegfried a sun-god, who awakens Brunhild, a nature goddess. This aspect\nis not without its likelihood, for in one passage Brunhild tells how\nOdin thrust into her side a thorn--evidently the sharp sting of icy\nwinter--and how the spell rendered her unconscious until awakened by\nSiegfried. There are many other mythological factors in the story, and\neither a diurnal or seasonal myth may be indicated by it. But it would\nrequire a separate volume to set forth the arguments in favour of a\npartial mythological origin of the Nibelungenlied. One point is to be\nespecially observed--a point which we have not so far seen noted in a\ncontroversy where it would have seemed that every special circumstance\nhad been laboured to the full--and that is that, besides mythological\nmatter entering into the original scheme of the Nibelungenlied, a very\nconsiderable mass of mythical matter has crystallized around it since it\nwas cast into its first form. This will be obvious to any folklorist\nof experience who will take the trouble to compare the Scandinavian and\nGerman versions.\n\nThe Historical Theory\n\nAbeling and Boer, the most recent protagonists of the historical theory,\nprofess to see in the Nibelungenlied the misty and confused traditions\nof real events and people. Abeling admits that it contains mythical\nelements, but identifies Siegfried with Segeric, son of the Burgundian\nking Sigismund, Brunhild with the historical Brunichildis, and Hagan\nwith a certain Hagnerius. The basis of the story, according to him, is\nthus a medley of Burgundian historical traditions round which certain\nmythological details have crystallized. The historical nucleus is the\noverthrow of the Burgundian kingdom of Gundahar by the Huns in A.D.\n436. Other events, historical in themselves, were torn from their proper\nepochs and grouped around this nucleus. Thus the murder of Segeric,\nwhich happened eighty-nine years later, and the murder of Attila by\nhis Burgundian wife Ildico, are torn from their proper historical\nsurroundings and fitted into the story. Boer, on the other hand, will\nnot have it that there is any mythology at all in the Nibelungenlied,\nand, according to him, the nucleus of the legend is an old story of\nthe murder of relatives. This became grafted on the Siegfried legend\naccording to some authorities, but Boer will not admit this, and\npresents a number of arguments to disprove the mythical character of the\nSiegfried story. The reasoning is ingenious, but by no means\nvaluable. We know that the mythologies of the ancient Germans and the\nScandinavians were in many respects, though not in all, one and the same\nsystem, and we find many of the characters of the Nibelungenlied among\nthe divine beings alluded to in the Edda. It is unlikely that the\ndramatis personae of a German murder story would find its way into even\nthe most decadent form of Scandinavian belief. There is every reason to\nconclude that a great many historical elements are to be discovered in\nthe Nibelungenlied, but to discount entirely those which are mythical\nis absurd and even more futile than it would be to deny that many of the\nincidents related in the great epic reflect in some measure historical\nevents.\n\nThe Klage\n\nThe Klage, a sequel to the Nibelungenlied, recounts somewhat tamely\nthe events which follow upon the dire catastrophe pictured in the great\nGerman epic. It is on the whole more modern than the Lied, and most\ncritics ascribe it to a period so late as the fourteenth century. It\nis highly artificial and inartistic, and Grimm points out that it is\nobvious that in penning it the author did not have the Nibelungenlied,\nas we know it, before him. As it is practically unknown to\nEnglish-speaking readers, a resume of it may not be out of place here.\nIt describes the search among the dead bodies in the house of slaughter,\nthe burying of them, the journey of Etzel's \"fiddler,\" Swemmelin, to the\nRhine by way of Bechlarn and Passau to give the tidings of the massacre\nto Queen Brunhild, his return, and the final parting from Etzel of\nDietrich and his wife Herrat, who also take Bechlarn on their way. Level\nand poor as the narrative is, it reaches pathos in the description of\nthe arrival of the messengers at Bechlarn. To spare his niece (Gotelint)\nDietrich tells them not to mention the terrible events which have\nhappened, but to say that he and Ruediger will soon come to see her, or\nat all events himself. They are received with great rejoicing--Gotelint\nand her daughter think \"both to receive love without sorrow, as often\nbefore, from beloved glances.\" The young margravine has a foreboding of\nevil at seeing the messengers so few--only seven. Then her mother tells\nher of an evil dream which she has had, and she in turn has to tell of\nanother which has come to herself. Meanwhile the messengers are at\nhand, and are observed to be sad. They give to Ruediger's wife the false\ntidings of peace which they have been instructed to relate, and the\nyounger lady wonders that her father should have sent no message to\nherself specially. The ladies continue to question the messengers about\nKriemhild: how has she received her brother? what did she say to Hagen?\nwhat to Gunther? How is it, asks the younger one, that Giselher has sent\nher never a message? Each lying answer costs the speaker more and\nmore sorrow, and at last his tears begin to flow. The young margravine\nexclaims that there must be ill news, that evil has befallen them, and\nthat the guests and her father must be dead. As she speaks one of the\nmessengers can contain himself no longer, and a cry breaks with blood\nfrom his mouth. All his companions burst into tears at the same time.\nThe margravine conjures them by their troth to tell how they parted\nfrom her husband, saying that the lie must have an end. \"Then spake the\nfiddler, Swemmelin the messenger: 'Lady, we wished to deny to you that\nwhich we yet must say, since no man could conceal it; after this\nhour, ye see Margrave Ruediger no more alive.'\" The margravine, we are\nafterward told, dies of grief at the news, as does old Queen Ute at her\nabbey of Lors. Brunhild survives, and is prevailed upon by her vassals\nto have her son crowned. Etzel, after parting with Dietrich, loses\nhis mind; according to another version, his fate remains altogether\nuncertain. Dietelint, the young margravine, is taken under Dietrich's\nprotection, who promises to find her a husband. Bishop Pilgrin has the\nstory written out in Latin letters, \"that men should deem it true.\" A\nwriter, Master Konrad, then began to set it down in writing; since then\nit has been often set to verse in Teuton tongues; old and young know\nwell the tale. \"Of their joy and of their sorrow I now say to you no\nmore; this lay is called Ein Klage.\"\n\nWalthar of Aquitaine\n\nOne of the grandest and most heroic epics of the great age of romance\nis that of Walthar of Aquitaine. It is indissolubly connected with the\nRhine and with the city of Worms because in the vicinity the hero whose\nfeats of arms it celebrates fought his greatest battle. It was written\nin monkish Latin at any time between the eighth and ninth centuries, and\nis connected with later versions of the Nibelungenlied, which contains\nnumerous allusions to it. Founded upon traditional materials collected\nand edited by some gifted occupant of the cloister, it opens in the\ngrand manner by telling how the empire of the Huns had already lasted\nfor more than a thousand years, when Attila invaded the territory of the\nFranks, ruled over by Gibicho. Gibicho, trembling for his throne, by the\nadvice of his counsellors determined to pay tribute and give hostages to\nthe terrible Hun; but as his son Gunther was too young to be sent as a\nhostage, he put in his place a noble youth named Hagen, and paying the\ninvaders a great indemnity in treasure, thus secured the safety of his\nkingdom. The Huns then turned their attention to the Burgundians, whose\nking Herric had an only daughter, the beautiful Hildegund. Herric shut\nhimself up in the town of Chalons, and calling together his ministers\nimparted to them his deliberations.\n\n\"Since the Franks, who are so much stronger than we, have yielded,\" he\nsaid, \"how can we of Burgundy hope to triumph against such a host? I\nwill give my daughter Hildegund as a hostage to the Huns. Better that\none should suffer than that the realm should be laid waste.\" The Huns\naccepted Hildegund as a hostage, and with much treasure turned their\nfaces westward to the kingdom of Aquitaine, whose king, Alphere, had an\nonly son, Walthar, who was already affianced to Hildegund. He, too, had\nto give up his son as hostage and pay tribute.\n\nAlthough ruthless as an invader and cruel as a conqueror, Attila\ndisplayed the utmost kindness to the children. He treated them in every\nway as befitted their rank, and handing the girl over to the queen, had\nthe boys trained in martial exercises and intellectual arts, till in\na few years' time they easily surpassed all of the Huns in every\naccomplishment that becomes a knight. So greatly did Attila's queen\ntrust the maiden, Hildegund, that she placed in her charge all the\ntreasures Attila had won in war. Life was pleasant for the youthful\nhostages, but one day news came to the ear of Attila that Gibicho was\ndead and that Gunther was his successor. Learning this, Hagen succeeded\nin making his escape by night, and fearing that Walthar would follow his\nexample, Attila's queen suggested to her husband that he should marry\nthe youthful warrior, who had greatly distinguished himself at the head\nof the Huns, to a Hunnish maiden. But Walthar had no mind for such a\nmatch and declared himself unworthy of marriage, urging that if wedded\nhe might neglect his military duties, and declaring that nothing was so\nsweet to him as for ever to be busy in the faithful service of his lord.\nAttila, never doubting him, and lulled from all suspicion by further\nvictories won by him over a rebellious people, dismissed the matter\nfrom his mind; but on returning from his successful campaign Walthar\nhad speech with Hildegund on the subject of their betrothal, hitherto\nuntouched between them.\n\nAt first she thought that he merely mocked her, but he protested that he\nwas weary of exile, was anxious to escape, and would have fled ere this\nbut that it grieved him to leave her alone at the Hunnish court. Her\nreply is one characteristic of women in medieval days.\n\n\"Let my lord command,\" she said; \"I am ready for his love to bear evil\nhap or good.\"\n\nShe then provided him, out of the treasure-chests of Attila, with helm,\nhauberk, and breast-plate. They filled two chests with Hunnish money in\nthe shape of golden rings, placed four pairs of sandals on the top and\nseveral fish-hooks, and Walthar told Hildegund that all must be ready in\na week's time.\n\nThe Escape\n\nOn the seventh day after this Walthar gave a great feast to Attila, his\nnobles, and his household. He pressed food and wine on the Huns, and\nwhen their platters were clear and the tables removed, he handed to\nthe king a splendid carven goblet, full to the brim of the richest and\noldest wine. This Attila emptied at a draught, and ordered all his men\nto follow his example. Soon the wine overcame the Huns, who, pressed by\nWalthar, caroused so deeply that all were at last rendered unconscious.\n\nWalthar gave the sign to Hildegund, and they slipped from the hall and\nfrom the stable took his noble war-horse Lion, so named for his courage.\nThey hung the treasure-chests like panniers on each flank of the\ncharger, and taking with them some food for the journey, set off.\nHildegund took the reins, Walthar in full armour sitting behind her. All\nnight they did not draw rein, and during the day they hid in the gloomy\nwoods. At every breath, at the snapping of a twig, or the chirping of\na bird, Hildegund trembled. They avoided the habitations of men and\nskirted the mountains, where but few faces were to be seen, and so they\nmade good their flight.\n\nBut the Huns, roused from their drunken sleep, gazed around stupidly\nand cried loudly for Walthar, their boon companion as they thought,\nbut nowhere was he to be found. The queen, too, missed Hildegund and,\nrealizing that the pair had escaped, made loud wail through the palace.\nAngry and bewildered, Attila could touch neither food nor drink. Enraged\nat the manner in which he had been deceived, he offered great gifts\nto him who would bring back Walthar in chains; but none of the Hunnish\nchampions considered themselves fit for such a task, and at length the\nhue and cry ceased, and Walthar and Hildegund were left to make their\nway back to Aquitaine as best they could.\n\nFull of the thought that they were being pursued, Walthar and the maiden\nfled onward. He killed the birds of the wood and caught fish to supply\nthem with food. His attitude to Hildegund was one of the deepest\nchivalry, and he was ever mindful for her comfort. Fourteen days had\npassed when at last, issuing from the darkness of the forest, they\nbeheld the silver Rhine gleaming in the sunlight and spied the towers\nof Worms. At length he found a ferry, but, fearing to make gossip in\nthe vicinity, he paid the ferryman with fishes, which he had previously\ncaught. The ferryman, as it chanced, sold the fish to the king's cook,\nwho dressed them and placed them before his royal master. The monarch\ndeclared that there were no such fishes in France, and asked who had\nbrought them to Worms. The ferryman was summoned, and related how he had\nferried over an armed warrior, a fair maiden, and a great war-horse with\ntwo chests. Hagen, who sat at the king's table, exclaimed full joyfully:\n\n\"Now will I avow that this is none other than my comrade Walthar\nreturning from the Hunnish land.\"\n\n\"Say ye so?\" retorted King Gunther. \"It is clear that by him the\nAlmighty sends me back the treasure of my father Gibicho.\"\n\nSo ordered he a horse to be brought, and taking with him twelve of his\nbravest chiefs besides Hagen, who sought in vain to dissuade him, he\nwent in search of Walthar.\n\nThe Cave\n\nJourneying from the banks of the Rhine, Walthar and the maiden had by\nthis time reached the forest of the Vosges. They halted at a spot where\nbetween two hills standing close together is situated a pleasant and\nshady cave, not hollowed out in the earth, but formed by the beetling of\nthe rocks, a fit haunt for bandits, carpeted with green moss. But little\nsleep had Walthar known since his escape from the Hunland, so, spying\nthis cool retreat, he crept inside it to rest. Putting off his heavy\narmour, he placed his head on Hildegund's lap, bidding her keep watch\nand wake him by a touch if she saw aught of danger. But the covetous\nGunther had seen his tracks in the dust, and ever urging on his\ncompanions soon came near the cave where Walthar reposed. Hagen warned\nhim of Walthar's powers as a champion, and told him that he was too\ngreat a warrior to permit himself to be despoiled easily.\n\nHildegund, noticing their approach, gently aroused Walthar, who put on\nhis armour. At first she thought the approaching band were Huns pursuing\nthem, and implored him to slay her; but Walthar smilingly bade her be of\ngood cheer, as he had recognized Hagen's helm. He was evidently aware,\nhowever, of the purpose for which he had been followed, and going to\nthe mouth of the cave, he addressed the assembled warriors, telling them\nthat no Frank should ever return to say that he had taken aught of his\ntreasure unpunished.\n\nHagen advised a parley in case Walthar should be ready to give up the\ntreasure without bloodshed, and Camillo, the prefect of Metz, was sent\nto him for this purpose. Camillo told him that if he would give up his\ncharger, the two chests, and the maiden, Gunther would grant him life;\nbut Walthar laughed in his face.\n\n\"Go tell King Gunther,\" he said, \"that if he will not oppose my passage\nI will present him with one hundred armlets of red metal.\"\n\nHagen strongly advised the king to accept the offer, for on the night\nbefore he had had an evil dream of a bear which tore off one of the\nking's legs in conflict, and put out one of his own eyes when he came\nto Gunther's aid. Gunther replied with a sneer, and Hagen, greatly\nhumiliated, declared that he would share neither the fight nor the\nspoil.\n\n\"There is your foe,\" he said. \"I will stay here and see how you fare at\nhis hands.\"\n\nNow only one warrior could attack Walthar at a time. It is needless to\ngo into details of his several conflicts, which are varied with very\nconsiderable skill and fancy, but all of which end in his triumph. The\nsixth champion he had to meet was Patavrid, sister's son to Hagen, who\nvainly endeavoured to restrain him, but who also was worsted, and after\nthe fall of the next warrior the Franks themselves urged Gunther to end\nthe combat; but he, furious at his want of success, only drove them to\nit the more vehemently.\n\nAt last four of them made a combined attack on Walthar, but because of\nthe narrowness of the path they could not come at him with any better\nsuccess than could one single warrior, and they too were put out of the\nfight.\n\nThen Gunther was left alone and, fleeing to Hagen, besought him to come\nto his aid. Long did Hagen resist his entreaties, but at last he was\nmoved by Gunther's description of the manner in which his kinsfolk had\nbeen slain by Walthar. Hagen's advice was to lure Walthar into the open,\nwhen both should attack him, so Hagen and the king departed and selected\na spot for an ambush, letting their horses go loose.\n\nUncertain of what had passed between Hagen and the king, Walthar decided\nupon remaining in the cave till the morning, so after placing bushes\naround the mouth of the cave to guard against a surprise, he gave thanks\nto heaven for his victory.\n\nRising from his knees, he bound together the six horses which remained,\nthen, loosing his armour, comforted Hildegund as best he might and\nrefreshed himself with food, after which he lay down upon his shield and\nrequested the maiden to watch during his sleep. Although she was tired\nherself, Hildegund kept awake by singing in a low tone. After his first\nsleep Walthar rose refreshed, and bidding Hildegund rest herself, he\nstood leaning upon his spear, keeping guard at the cave-mouth. When\nmorning had come he loaded four of the horses with spoils taken from\nthe dead warriors, and placing Hildegund on the fifth, mounted the sixth\nhimself. Then with great caution he sent forward first of all the\nfour laden horses, then the maiden, and closed the rear with the horse\nbearing the two treasure-chests.\n\nFor about a mile they proceeded thus, when, looking backward, Hildegund\nespied two men riding down the hill toward them and called to Walthar\nto flee. But that he would not do, saying: \"If honour falls, shame\nshall attend my last hour.\" He bade her take the reins of Lion, his good\ncharger, which carried the gold, and seek refuge in the neighbouring\nwood, while he ascended the hill to await his enemies.\n\nGunther advanced, hurling insulting epithets at the champion, who\nignored him, but turned to Hagen, appealing to their old friendship\nand to the recollections of the many hours of childhood they had spent\ntogether. He had thought that Hagen would have been the first to welcome\nhim, would have compelled him to accept his hospitality, and would have\nescorted him peacefully to his father's kingdom. If he would break his\nfealty to Gunther, said Walthar, he should depart rich, his shield full\nof red gold. Irritated at such an offer, Hagen replied that he would not\nbe deluded, and that for Walthar's slaying of his kinsmen he must have\nvengeance. So saying, he hurled his spear at Walthar, which the latter\navoided. Gunther then cast a shaft which was equally harmless. Then,\ndrawing their swords and covering themselves with their shields, the\nFranks sought to close with the Aquitainian, who kept them at bay with\nhis spear. As their shorter swords could not reach past Walthar's mighty\nshaft, Gunther attempted to recover the spear which he had cast and\nwhich lay before the hero's feet, and told Hagen to go in front; but as\nhe was about to pick it up from the ground Walthar perceived his device\nand, placing his foot upon it, flung Gunther on his knees, and would\nhave slain him had not Hagen, rushing to his aid, managed to cover him\nwith his shield.\n\nThe struggle continued. The hot sunshine came down, and the champions\nwere bathed in sweat. Walthar, tired of the strife, took the offensive,\nand springing at Hagen, with a great stroke of his spear carried away\na part of his armour. Then with a marvellous blow of his sword he smote\noff the king's leg as far as the thigh. He would have dispatched him\nwith a second blow, but Hagen threw himself over Gunther's body and\nreceived the sword-stroke on his own head. So well tempered was his helm\nthat the blade flew in flinders, shivered to the handle.\n\nInstantly Walthar looked about him for another weapon, but quick\nas thought Hagen seized the opportunity and cut off his right hand,\n\"fearful to peoples and princes.\" But, undismayed, the hero inserted the\nwounded stump into the shield, and drawing with his left hand a Hunnish\nhalf-sword girt to his right side, he struck at Hagen so fiercely that\nhe bereft him of his right eye, cutting deep into the temple and\nlips and striking out six of his teeth. But neither might fight more:\nGunther's leg, Walthar's hand, and Hagen's eye lay on the ground. They\nsat down on the heath and stanched with flowers the flowing stream of\ntheir blood. They called to them Hildegund, who bound up their wounds\nand brought them wine.\n\nWounded as they were, they cracked many a joke over their cups, as\nheroes should.\n\n\"Friend,\" said Hagen, \"when thou huntest the stag, of whose leather\nmayest thou have gloves without end, I warn thee to fill thy right-hand\nglove with soft wool, that thou mayest deceive the game with the\nsemblance of a hand. But what sayest thou to break the custom of thy\npeople in carrying thy sword at thy right side and embracing thy wife\nwith thy left arm?\"\n\n\"Ha,\" retorted Walthar, laughing grimly, \"thou wilt have to greet the\ntroops of heroes with a side glance. When thou gettest thee home, make\nthee a larded broth of milk and flour, which will both nourish and cure\nthee.\"\n\nThen they placed on horseback the king, who was in sore pain. Hagen bore\nhim back to Worms, whilst Walthar and Hildegund pursued their way to\nAquitaine, and, on arrival, magnificently celebrated their wedding.\n\nFor thirty years did Walthar rule his people after his father's death.\n\"What wars after this, what triumphs he ever had, behold, my blunted\npen refuses to mark. Thou whosoever readest this, forgive a chirping\ncricket. Weigh not a yet rough voice but the age, since as yet she hath\nnot left the nest for the air. This is the poem of Walthar. Save us,\nJesus Christ.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII--HEIDELBERG TO SAeCKINGEN\n\n\nHeidelberg is known all over the world as one of Germany's great\nuniversity towns, as the site of an unrivalled if ruined schloss, and of\na view at the junction of the Rhine with the Neckar which is one of\nthe most famous in the world. It lies between lofty hills covered with\nvineyards and forests, flanked by handsome villas and gardens, and is\ncrowned by its castle, which has suffered equally from siege and the\nelements, being partially blown up by the French in 1609, and struck by\nlightning in 1704.\n\nThe Wolf's Spring\n\nThe name of Jette, a beautiful prophetess of the ancient goddess Herthe,\nis linked with the neighbourhood of Heidelberg by the following tragic\ntale.\n\nWhen the old heathen gods and goddesses were still worshipped in the\nRhine country, a certain priestess of Herthe took up her abode in an\nancient grove, where she practised her occult arts so successfully that\nthe fame of her divinations spread far and wide, and men came from all\nparts of Europe to learn from her what the future had in store for them.\nFrequently a warrior left her abode with a consuming fire kindled in\nhis breast which would rob him of sleep for many a long night, yet none\ndared to declare his love to her, for, lovely though she was, there\nwas an air of austerity, an atmosphere of mysticism about her which\ncommanded awe and reverence, and forbade even the smallest familiarity.\n\nOne evening there came to the grove of Herthe a youth from a far distant\nland, seeking to know his destiny. All day he had journeyed thitherward,\nand the dusk had already fallen ere he reached the sacred spot. Jette\nsat on the glimmering altar-steps, clad in a flowing white robe, while\non the altar itself burned a faint and fitful flame. The tall, slender\ntrees, showing fantastic and ghostly in the fading light, made a fitting\nbackground for the gleaming shrine; and the elusive, unearthly beauty of\nthe priestess was quite in keeping with the magic scene. Her mantle\nof austerity had fallen from her; she had forgotten that she was a\nprophetess; for the moment she was but a woman, full of grace and charm.\nThe youth paused as though held by a spell.\n\n\"Fair prophetess,\" he said in a low voice, fearing to break in rudely\nupon her meditations, \"wilt thou read me my fate?\"\n\nJette, roused from her reverie, fixed her startled gaze on the handsome\nstranger, whose dark, burning eyes met hers in deepest admiration.\nSomething stirred in her heart at the ardent glance, the thrilling\ntones, and her wonted composure deserted her.\n\n\"Youth,\" she faltered at length, \"thou comest at a time when my\nprophetic skill hath failed me. Ere I tell thee thy fate I must offer\nsacrifice to Herthe. If thou wilt come to-morrow at this hour I will\ntell thee what the stars say concerning thy destiny.\"\n\nIt was true that her skill had deserted her under the admiring scrutiny\nof the young warrior, yet she delayed also because she wished to hear\nhis voice again, to meet the ardent yet courteous glance of his dark\neyes.\n\n\"I will return, O prophetess,\" said he, and with that he was gone.\n\nJette's peace of mind had gone too, it seemed, for she could think of\nnaught but the handsome stranger.\n\nOn the following evening he returned, and again she delayed to give him\nthe information he sought. He was no less rejoiced than was Jette at the\nprospect of another meeting.\n\nOn the third day the priestess greeted him with downcast eyes.\n\n\"I cannot read thy destiny, youth,\" she said; \"the stars do not speak\nplainly. Yet methinks thy star and mine are very close together.\" She\nfaltered and paused.\n\n\"Dost thou love me, Jette?\" cried the young man joyfully. \"Wilt thou be\nmy bride?\"\n\nThe maiden's blushing cheeks and downcast glance were sufficient answer.\n\n\"And wilt thou come with me to my tower?\" pursued the youth eagerly.\n\nJette started back in affright.\n\n\"Nay, that I cannot,\" she cried. \"A priestess of Herthe is doomed an she\nmarry. If I wed thee we must meet in secret and at night.\"\n\n\"But I will take thee to Walhalla, and Freya shall appease Herthe with\nher offerings.\"\n\nJette shook her head.\n\n\"Nay,\" said she; \"it is impossible. The vengeance of Herthe is\nswift--and awful. I will show thee a spring where we may meet.\"\n\nShe led him to a place where the stream branched off in five separate\nrivulets, and bade him meet her there on the following night at a\ncertain hour. The lovers then parted, each full of impatience for the\nreturn of the hour of meeting.\n\nNext evening, when the dusk had fallen on the sacred grove of Herthe,\nJette made her way to the rendezvous. The appointed time had not yet\narrived, but scarcely had she reached the spot ere she fancied she heard\na step among the undergrowth, and turned with a glad smile, prepared to\ngreet her lover. Imagine her dismay when instead of the youth a grisly\nwolf confronted her! Her shriek of terror was uttered in vain. A moment\nlater the monster had sprung at her throat.\n\nHer lover, hastening with eager steps toward the place of meeting, heard\nthe agonized shriek and, recognizing the voice of Jette, broke into a\nrun. He was too late! The monster wolf stood over the lifeless body of\nhis beloved, and though in his despairing fury the youth slew the huge\nbrute, the retribution of Herthe was complete.\n\nHenceforth the scene of the tragedy was called the 'Wolf's Spring,' and\nthe legend is enshrined there to this day.\n\nThe Jester of Heidelberg\n\nConsidering the wide fame of Rhenish vintages, it is perhaps not\nsurprising that wine should enter as largely into the Rhine legends as\nthe 'barley bree' is supposed to enter into Scottish anecdote. In truth\nthere runs through these traditions a stream of Rhenish which plays\nalmost as important a part in them as the Rhine itself. We are told that\nthe Emperor Wenzel sold his crown for a quantity of wine; in the tale\nconnected with Thann, in Alsace, mortar is mixed with wine instead\nof water, because of the scarcity of the latter commodity during the\nbuilding of a steeple; while in the legends of \"The Devil's Vineyard,\"\nand \"The Cooper of Auerbach\" the vintage of Rhineland provides the main\ninterest of the plot. The following quaint little story, attaching to\nthe castle of Heidelberg, is a 'Rhenish' tale in every sense of the\nword.\n\nIn the days when the Schloss Heidelberg was in its most flourishing\nstate the lord of the castle numbered among his retainers a jester,\nsmall of stature and ugly of feature, whose quips and drolleries\nprovided endless amusement for himself and his guests. Prominent among\nthe jester's characteristics was a weakness for getting tipsy. He was\npossessed of an unquenchable thirst, which he never lost an opportunity\nof satisfying.\n\nKnowing his peculiarity, some youthful pages in the train of the\nnobleman were minded to have some amusement at his expense, and they\ntherefore led him to a cellar in which stood a large vat filled with\nfragrant wine. And there for a time they left him.\n\nThe jester was delighted at the propinquity of his favourite beverage\nand decided that he would always remain in the cellar, regaling himself\nwith the vintage. His thirst increased at the prospect, so he produced\na gimlet, bored a hole in the vat, and drank and drank till at length he\ncould drink no more; then the fumes of the wine overcame him and he sank\ndown in a drunken stupor. Meanwhile the merry little stream flowed from\nthe vat, covered the floor of the cellar, and rose ever higher.\n\nThe pages waited at the top of the stairs, listening for the bursts of\nmerriment which were the usual accompaniments of the jester's drinking\nbouts; but all was silent as the grave. At last they grew uneasy and\ncrept below in a huddled group. The fool lay quite still, submerged\nbeneath the flood. He had been drowned in the wine.\n\nThe joke now seemed a sorry one, but the pages consoled themselves with\nthe thought that, after all, death had come to the jester in a welcome\nguise.\n\nThe Passing Bells\n\nThere is a legend connected with the town of Speyer in which poetic\njustice is meted out to the principal characters, although not until\nafter they have died.\n\nThe tale concerns itself with the fate of the unfortunate monarch Henry\nIV. History relates that Henry was entirely unfit to wear the ermine,\nbut weak as he was, and ignominious as was his reign, it was a bitter\nblow that his own son was foremost among his enemies. At first the\nyounger Henry conspired against his father in secret; outwardly he was\na model of filial affection, so that he readily prevailed upon the weak\nmonarch to appoint him as his successor. After that, however, he openly\njoined himself to his father's foes; and when the Pope excommunicated\nthe monarch, gradually the Emperor's following went over to the side of\nhis son, who then caused himself to be invested with imperial honours.\nThe deposed sovereign, deprived of power and supporters, was compelled\nto go into exile; even his personal freedom was secured only as the\nprice of his renunciation of the crown. Broken and humiliated, feeling\nintensely the disgrace of his position, he determined to undertake a\npilgrimage to Liege, accompanied only by his servant Kurt, who alone\nof all his train had remained faithful to him. The pilgrimage was\nsuccessfully accomplished, but ere he could enter upon the return\njourney the wretched Emperor died, in want and misery, utterly neglected\nby his kindred. Even after death the Pope's ban was effective, so that\nhis corpse was not allowed interment for several years. During that\nperiod the faithful Kurt kept guard unceasingly over his master's coffin\nand would not suffer himself to be drawn therefrom.\n\nAt length, however, Henry V, under pressure from his princes and nobles,\ngave orders that his father's remains be conveyed to Speyer and there\ninterred in the royal vault with such honours as befitted the obsequies\nof a monarch. The messengers found old Kurt still holding his vigil\nbeside the Emperor's body, and in recognition of his faithfulness he\nwas permitted to follow the funeral cortege to Speyer. There were in\nthe town certain good and pious folk who were touched by the servant's\ndevotion, and by these he was kindly treated. But all their kindness\nand attention could not repair the havoc which his weary vigil and long\nprivations had wrought on his health, and a few months later he followed\nhis master to the grave.\n\nStrange to relate, as he expired all the bells of Speyer tolled out a\nfuneral peal such as was accorded to an emperor, and that without being\ntouched by human hands. Meanwhile Henry V also lay dying. All the\nluxury of his palace could not soothe his last moments; though he was\nsurrounded by courtiers who assumed sorrow and walked softly, and though\nall his kindred were around him, he saw ever before him the image of his\ndead father, pointing at him with a grim, accusing finger. Stricken with\nterror and remorse, and tortured by disease, he longed for death to end\nhis torments, and at last it came.\n\nAgain the passing bell was tolled by invisible hands, but not this time\nthe peal which announced the passing of an emperor. The citizens heard\nthe awful sound which told that a criminal had paid the law's last\npenalty, and asked one another what poor wretch had been executed. Awe\nand astonishment seized upon everyone when it was known that the Emperor\nhad died, for they knew then that it was no earthly hand that had rung\nhis death-knell.\n\nLegends of Windeck\n\nConcerning the neighbourhood of Windeck, some eight miles from Baden,\nseveral interesting tales are current. The castle itself has long\nenjoyed the reputation of being haunted by the ghost of a beautiful\ngirl, though when or wherefore this originated tradition does not\nrelate. We are told that a young huntsman, whom the chase had driven\nthitherward, saw the spectre and was so stricken with her charms that\nday after day he visited the castle, hoping to see her once more. But\nbeing disappointed, he at length took up his solitary abode in the\ndeserted fortress, renouncing his former pursuits and ceasing from all\ncommunication with his friends.\n\nOne day he was found dead in his bed with so peaceful an expression of\ncountenance that those who saw him could not doubt that his end had been\na pleasant one. On his finger was a ring of quaint design which he had\nnot been known to wear, and it was whispered among the peasantry that\nthe ghost-maid of Windeck had claimed her lover.\n\nThe Hennegraben\n\nHard by the Schloss Windeck lay a deep trench, known as the Hennegraben,\nof which traces may still be found. It is rendered immortal by reason of\nthe following romantic legend, which tells of its magical origin.\n\nA certain young knight, lord of the castle of Windeck, for some unknown\nreason had seized and imprisoned the worthy Dean of Strassburg. It is\ntrue that the Churchman was treated with every consideration, more like\na guest than a captive, but he nevertheless resented strongly the\nloss of his liberty, as did also the good folk of Strassburg when they\nlearned what had happened.\n\nTwo of the Dean's young kinsfolk resolved to journey to Windeck and beg\nthat their uncle might be set free. On their way thither they had to\npass through a forest, where they met an old woman.\n\n\"Whither away, my pretty boys?\" said she. \"Will you not tell an old\ngossip your destination?\"\n\nThe elder of the two replied courteously that they were on their way\nto Windeck, where their uncle was imprisoned. \"Perchance,\" he added\ntimidly, \"the lord may accept us as hostages till the ransom be paid.\"\n\n\"Perchance,\" mimicked the old woman, \"aye, perchance! Think you the\nknight of Windeck will take such lads as you are for hostages?\"\n\nAnd in truth they were not an imposing couple--the elder a slim, fragile\nyouth, whose eyes were already tearful at the prospect of confronting\nhis uncle's captor; while the younger was a mere boy, sanguine and\nadventuresome as children often are.\n\n\"I will challenge this knight,\" said the boy seriously. \"I will draw\nsword for my uncle, for I also am a knight.\"\n\n\"Hush, Cuno,\" said his brother, smiling in spite of himself at the boy's\nardour. \"We must not talk of fighting. We must entreat the knight to let\nour uncle go free.\"\n\n\"What would you have, Imma? Entreat? Nay, that we shall not.\" He\nstopped awkwardly, and his sister's rising colour showed plainly her\nembarrassment at having her sex thus suddenly revealed.\n\nThe old woman looked at her kindly.\n\n\"I knew from the first that thou wert a maid disguised,\" she said.\n\"Go, and God speed you! Tell the knight of Windeck that the people of\nStrassburg mean to attack his castle on the morrow, and that his only\nmeans of resisting them is to dig a deep trench across the one possible\napproach. But stay--there is no time for that; I will give you something\nwherewith to dig the trench.\"\n\nShe whistled shrilly and in answer to her call a grey hen fluttered\ntoward her; this she gave to the young people. \"When the moon rises,\"\nshe said, \"take the hen and place it where you wish the trench to be.\"\n\nThen with a few words to the hen in a strange tongue, she bade the\nbrother and sister farewell and went on her way.\n\nThe two continued their journey and upon arriving at Windeck they were\nagreeably surprised in the lord of the castle, for he was young and\nhandsome and very courteous, not at all the ogre they had imagined. In\nfaltering tones Imma told him their mission, conveyed to him the old\nwitch's warning, and presented the grey hen.\n\nWhen he heard that they proposed to gain their uncle's freedom by\nthemselves taking his place, the knight regarded his visitors with\nmingled feelings of pity and astonishment. The gentle, appealing glance\nof the elder, no less than the naive candour of the younger, appealed\nto his sympathies. In a very short time Cuno, who had quite forgotten to\nchallenge his host, was on the best of terms with him.\n\nMeanwhile the Dean, very impatient and incensed, paced his small chamber\nlike a caged lion, or bemoaned his lost liberty and meditated on the\nchances of escape. He was roused from a reverie by the sound of familiar\nvoices outside his cell, and a moment later the door was flung open and\nCuno entered unceremoniously.\n\n\"You are free, uncle, you are free! Imma and I have come to save you!\"\n\nOnce more Imma flushed crimson at the revelation of her sex. The\nastonished knight glanced with a new interest at her beautiful face,\nwith its rosy colour and downcast eyes. Turning to the Dean, he greeted\nhim cordially.\n\n\"You are free,\" he said. \"Your nephews have promised to remain with me\nas hostages till you have provided a ransom,\" Then, turning humorously\nto Imma, he added: \"Wilt thou be a soldier in my employ, youth? Or\nwouldst have a place in my household?\"\n\nImma vouchsafed no other reply than a deepening of her colour. She\nmust, however, have found words to utter when, later, the gallant knight\nbegged her seriously to remain at Windeck as his wife--for ere nightfall\nthe old Dean, grumbling and somewhat reluctant, was called upon to\nconsent to his niece's betrothal. This he did at length, when Imma had\njoined her entreaties to those of her lover.\n\nThat night the grey hen was placed as the witch had advised, and it\nwas as she had said. With the dawn the Strassburgers arrived before the\ncastle, to find a newly made trench filled with the castle troopers.\nWhen they learned that the Dean was free they called for a truce, and it\nwas not blood, but wine, which flowed that day, for all were invited to\nshare the wedding-feast of Imma and the knight of Windeck.\n\nThe Klingelkapelle\n\nOn the road between Gernsbach and Eberstein there once stood an ancient,\nmoss-grown cell. It had been occupied by a beautiful pagan priestess, a\ndevotee of Herthe, but when the preaching of the white monks had begun\nto spread Christianity among the people she left the neighbourhood. In\npassing by that way a Christian monk noticed the deserted retreat and\ntook possession of it, issuing at intervals to preach to the inhabitants\nof the surrounding country.\n\nOne stormy night as he sat within his cell he fancied he heard a\npleading voice mingling with the roar of wind and waters. Going to the\ndoor, he beheld a young girl who seemed to be half dead with cold and\nfatigue. The good monk, who was never indifferent to human suffering,\ndrew her quickly inside, bade her seat herself by the fire, and set food\nand wine before her. When she had recovered a little from the effects of\nthe storm the hermit questioned her with regard to her presence in such\na lonely spot and at such an unseasonable hour. The maid replied that\nshe had once dwelt in just such a pleasant and peaceful cell as that in\nwhich she now reposed, but that cruel persecution had driven her from\nher retreat.\n\n\"Then you, too, are a hermit?\" said the young monk inquiringly, looking\ndown at his fair guest. The wine had brought some colour to her pale\ncheeks and he could see that she was beautiful, with a beauty beyond\nthat of any maiden he had ever seen.\n\n\"Yes,\" she replied, \"I am a priestess of Herthe. This cell in which I\nbeg for shelter was once my own. It was those of your religion who drove\nme from it.\"\n\n\"You are not a Christian?\" asked the monk, startled in spite of himself\nby the passionate tones in which she spoke.\n\nThe maiden laughed.\n\n\"Am I not as beautiful as your Christian maids?\" said she. \"Am I not\nhuman even as they are?\" She moved about the cell as she spoke, and\npicked up a piece of embroidery. \"See, this is my handiwork; is it\nless beautiful because it is not the work of a Christian? Why should we\nsuffer persecution at your hands?\"\n\nThe young monk endeavoured to show that she was unjust in her estimate\nof his religion. Gravely he told her the story of Christianity, but his\nthoughts were of her weird beauty and he spake less earnestly than was\nusual. And the maid, with an appearance of child-like innocence, waited\nuntil he had finished his recital. She saw that she had him completely\nin her power and pressed her advantage to the uttermost. She drew\ncloser to him, raised his hand, and pressed it to her lips. The monk\nsurrendered himself to her caresses, and when at length she begged\nhim to break the symbol of his religion he was too much fascinated to\nrefuse. He raised the cross and would have dashed it to the ground, but\nat that very moment he heard high above the storm the sound of a bell.\nContrite and ashamed, he fell on his knees and prayed for pardon. When\nhe looked up again the girl had disappeared.\n\nThe hermit found the warning bell suspended on a bough outside his cell;\nhow it came there he never knew, but he was sure that it had been sent\nto rescue him from the wiles of Satan and he treasured it as a sacred\nrelic. Many came from far and near to see the wonder, and on the site\nof the cell the monk founded a chapel which became known as the\nKlingelkapelle, or 'Tinkling-chapel.'\n\nThe Wafer-Nymph of Staufenberg\n\nA charming story is linked with the castle of Staufenberg. One day while\nits owner was out hunting he lost his way in the forest. The day was\nhot, and the hunter was well-nigh overcome with thirst and fatigue when\nhe entered a pleasant glade in which a spring of limpid water bubbled\nand sparkled. Having quenched his thirst, he seated himself on a mossy\nbank to rest before proceeding homeward. Suddenly he saw at a little\ndistance a damsel of unique and marvellous beauty, braiding her wet hair\nby the side of the spring. He watched her for a time in silence, then,\nconscious that the damsel had observed his scrutiny, he hastened to her\nside and courteously begged her permission to remain a little longer in\nthe glade.\n\n\"You are the lord of these domains,\" she replied graciously. \"It is I\nwho am grateful to you for suffering me to dwell here.\"\n\nThe young knight protested eagerly that she honoured the forest with her\npresence, and, indeed, he had already begun to wish that she might dwell\nnot only in the forest but in the schloss itself as his wife and its\nmistress--for he had fallen in love with her at first sight. Indeed,\nso ardent was his passion that he could not conceal his infatuation; he\ntold her of his love and begged that she would give him a little hope.\nThe maid's hesitation only drove him to urge his suit with increasing\nardour.\n\n\"I will say neither 'yes' nor 'no,'\" she replied, smiling. \"Meet me\nto-morrow at this hour and you shall have your answer.\"\n\nThe knight parted reluctantly from the fair lady and promised to return\non the following day. When the appointed time arrived he was already at\nthe tryst, eagerly awaiting the approach of his beloved. When at length\nshe came he renewed his pleadings with even greater ardour, and to his\nunbounded delight the answer was favourable.\n\n\"I am a water-nymph,\" said the lady, \"the spirit of the stream from\nwhich you drank yesterday. You saw me then for the first time, but I\nhave often seen you in the forest--and I have long loved you.\"\n\nThe knight was more than ever enchanted by this naive confession, and\nbegged that their wedding should not be long delayed.\n\n\"There is one condition,\" said the nymph. \"If you marry me you must\nremain for ever faithful. Otherwise you must suffer death, and I eternal\nunhappiness.\"\n\nThe knight laughed at the bare idea of his proving unfaithful to his\nbeloved, and his vows were sincere.\n\nShortly afterward they were married, and none supposed the beautiful\nbeing to be aught but a very attractive woman; in time there was born to\nthem a little son. The knight adored both wife and child, and for some\nyears lived a life of ideal domestic happiness. But there came a time\nwhen another interest entered into his life. Rumours of fighting reached\nhim from France; he saw the knights of neighbouring fortresses leading\ntheir troops to the war, and a martial spirit stirred within him. His\nwife was not slow to observe that his world was no longer bounded by the\ncastle-walls of Staufenberg, and she wisely resolved not to stand in the\nway of her lord's ambitions, but rather, if possible, to help them to\nan honourable realization. So with much labour and skill she made him a\nstrangely wrought belt, which she gave him at once as a love-token and\na charm to secure success in battle. She concealed her grief at his\ndeparture and bade him farewell bravely.\n\nAt the head of his troop the knight rode boldly into France and offered\nhis services to a distinguished French leader, to whom he soon became\nindispensable--so much so, in fact, that the nobleman cast about for a\nmeans of retaining permanently in his train a knight of such skill and\ncourage. But he could think of nothing with which to tempt the young\nman, who was already possessed of gold and lands, till the artless\nglances of his youngest daughter gave him his cue. For he saw that\nshe had lately begun to look with some favour on the simple knight of\nStaufenberg, and it occurred to him that the hand of a lady of rank\nand beauty would be a very desirable bait. Nor was he mistaken, for the\ngaieties of the Frankish court had dazzled the knight, and the offer\nof the lady's hand completely turned his head; not that he felt a great\naffection for her, but because of the honour done to him. So he accepted\nthe offer and drowned, as best as he could, the remembrance of his wife\nand child at Staufenberg. Nevertheless he sometimes felt that he was not\nacting honourably, and at length the struggle between his love for his\nwife and his pride and ambition became so severe that he determined to\nconsult a priest.\n\nThe good man crossed himself when he heard the story. \"She whom you\nmarried is an evil spirit,\" said he. \"Beneficent spirits do not wed\nhuman beings. It is your duty to renounce her at once and do penance for\nyour sin.\" Though he hardly found it possible to believe the priest's\nassertion, the knight strove to persuade himself that it was true, and\nthat he was really acting virtuously in renouncing the water-nymph and\nmarrying again. So he performed the penances prescribed by the priest,\nand allowed the wedding preparations to proceed.\n\nWhen the day of his wedding arrived, however, he was strangely perturbed\nand pale. The rejoicings of the people, the gay processions, even the\nbeautiful bride, seemed to have no interest for him. When the hand of\nthe lady was placed in his he could not repress an exclamation; it was\ncold to the touch like the hand of a corpse.\n\nOn returning the wedding procession was obliged to cross a bridge, and\nas they approached it a great storm arose so that the waters of the\nstream washed over the feet of the bridegroom's horse, making it prance\nand rear. The knight was stricken with deadly terror, for he knew that\nthe doom of which the water-nymph had spoken was about to overtake him.\nWithout a word he plunged into the torrent and was nevermore seen.\n\nAt the very hour of this tragedy a great storm raged round the castle of\nStaufenberg, and when it abated the mother and child had disappeared for\never. Yet even now on a stormy night she can still be heard among the\ntree-tops weeping passionately, and the sound is accompanied by the\nwhimpering of a child.\n\nTrifels and Richard Coeur-de-Lion\n\nAs a troop of horsemen rode through Annweiler toward the castle of\nTrifels, in which Richard Coeur-de-Lion was imprisoned by the Archduke\nof Austria, his deadly enemy, the plaintive notes of a familiar lay fell\non their ears. The singer was a young shepherd, and one of the knights,\na troubadour, asked him to repeat his ditty. The youth complied, and\nthe knight accompanied him as he sang, their voices blending tunefully\ntogether.\n\nGiving him generous largess, the knight asked the minstrel who had\ntaught him that song. The shepherd replied that he had heard it sung in\nthe castle of Trifels. At this intelligence the stranger appeared highly\ngratified, and, turning to his companions, ejaculated: \"The King is\nfound!\"\n\nIt was evident to the shepherd that the new-comers were friends of\nRichard, and he warned them earnestly that danger lay before them. Only\nby guile could they hope to succour their King. The warning was heeded,\nand the tuneful knight rode forward alone, disguised in a minstrel's\ntunic, in which he was welcomed at the castle. His courtly bearing soon\nwon him the favour of the castellan's pretty niece, who persuaded her\nuncle to listen to his songs. During one of their stolen interviews the\ngirl betrayed the place where the King of England was imprisoned,\nand that night, from beneath a window, the minstrel heard his King's\nwell-remembered voice breathing a prayer for freedom. His hopes being\nthus confirmed, he took his harp and played the melody which he himself\nhad composed for Richard. The King immediately joined in the familiar\nlay. When its strains had ended, \"Blondel!\" cried the captive excitedly.\nThe minstrel cautiously replied by singing another song, telling how he\nwas pledged to liberate his master.\n\nBut suspicion was aroused, and Blondel was requested to depart on the\nfollowing day. Deeming it prudent to make no demur, he mounted his\nhorse, after having arranged with the castellan's niece to return\nsecretly at nightfall. He rode no further than an inn near Annweiler,\nwhich commanded a view of the castle. There his host informed him that\nthe Emperor was presently to be crowned at Frankfort, and that on the\nevening of that day the garrison would celebrate the event by drinking\nhis health.\n\nThe minstrel said that he would certainly join the company, ordered wine\nfor the occasion, and promised to pay the reckoning. He then withdrew to\nseek his comrades. At dusk he returned stealthily to the castle, and at\nhis signal the maid appeared at a little postern and admitted him.\n\nOn the day of the Emperor's coronation stealthy forms crept among the\ntrees near by the castle, and concealed themselves in the thick foliage\nof the underbrush. The garrison, gaily dressed, quitted the keep, the\ndrawbridge was lowered, and the men were soon quaffing the choice wine\nwhich the stranger had ordered.\n\nMeanwhile Blondel had appeared before the postern and had given his\naccustomed signal; for a time there was no response, and the minstrel\nwas becoming impatient, when the gate was suddenly opened and the maiden\nappeared.\n\nThe minstrel now told the girl his reason for coming hither: how he\nhoped to liberate the captive monarch. As a reward for her connivance\nhe promised to take her with him to England. Then he beckoned to his\nfriends, there was a sudden rush, and armed forms thronged the postern.\nThe frightened maid, dreading lest violence should overtake her uncle,\nshrieked loudly; but her cries were unheeded, and the English knights\npressed into the courtyard.\n\nThe assailants met with little resistance, seized the keys, threw open\nthe prison door, and liberated their King. The castellan protested\nloudly, and threatened Richard with mighty words, but all to no purpose.\nWhen the garrison returned they were powerless to render aid, for the\ncastellan was threatened with death should his followers attack the\ncastle. In the end a truce was made, and the English were allowed to\nretire unmolested with their King. Although urged by him, the maid\nrefused to accompany Blondel, so, giving her a gold ring as a memento,\nhe parted from her.\n\nReturning again many years afterward, the minstrel once more heard the\nsame song which the King had sung to his harp in the castle of\nTrifels. Entering the inn, he recognized in the landlord the one-time\nshepherd-boy. From him he learnt that the castellan had perished by an\nunknown hand, and that his pretty niece, having, as she thought, plumbed\nthe depths of masculine deceit, had entered the nunnery of Eberstein at\nBaden.\n\nThann in Alsace\n\nThann is known to legend by two things: a steeple and a field. The\nsteeple was built in a season of great drought. Water had failed\neverywhere; there was only the thinnest trickle from the springs\nand fountains with which the people might allay their thirst. Yet,\nstrangely, the vineyards had yielded a wonderful harvest of luscious\ngrapes, and the wine was so abundant that the supply of casks and\nvessels was insufficient for the demand. Therefore did it happen that\nthe mortar used for building the steeple was mixed with wine, wherefore\nthe lime was changed to must. And it is said that even to this day,\nwhen the vines are in blossom, a delicate fragrance steals from the old\nsteeple and on the stones a purple dew is seen, while some declare that\nthere is a deeper tone in the harmony of the bells.\n\nThe Lying-field\n\nThe field is a terrible place, barren and desolate, for it is avoided\nas a spot accursed. No living thing moves upon it; the earth is streaked\nwith patches of dark moss and drifts of ghastly skulls, like a scattered\nharvest of death. Once, says the legend, a wayfarer, surprised by the\nswift-fallen night, lost himself on the plain. As he stumbled in the\ndarkness he heard the clocks of the town near by strike the hour of\nmidnight. At this the stillness about the wanderer was broken. Under his\nfeet the earth seemed to tremble, there was a rattling of weapons, and\nthere sounded the tramp of armed men and the tumult of battle.\n\nSuddenly the shape of a man in armour appeared before him, terrific and\nmenacing.\n\n\"What do you seek here, in a field that has been accursed through many\ncenturies?\" he asked. \"Do you not know that this is a place of terror\nand death? Are you a stranger that you stand on the place where a\nking, Louis the Pious, betrayed by his own sons, was handed over to\nhis enemies, his crown torn from his head by his own troops? And he who\nwould have died gladly in battle suffered the shame and dishonour that\nwere worse than death. He lifted up his hands to heaven and cried with\nbitterness: 'There is no such thing on earth as faith and loyalty.\nAccursed be sons and warriors, accursed be this field whereon such deeds\nhave been done, accursed be they for ever!'\"\n\nThe spectre paused and his words echoed across the field like the cry of\na lost soul. Again he spoke to the trembling wanderer: \"And that curse\nhas endured through the centuries. Under this plain in mile-wide graves\nwe faithless warriors lie, our bones knowing no repose; and never will\nthat curse of our betrayed king be lifted from us or this place!\"\n\nThe spectral warrior sank into the gloomy earth, the tumult of fighting\ndied away. The wayfarer, seized with terror, stumbled blindly on in the\nnight.\n\nStrassburg\n\nStrassburg, the capital of Alsace-Lorraine, is only two miles west of\nthe Rhine. The city is of considerable antiquity, and boasts a cathedral\nof great beauty, in which the work of four centuries is displayed to\nwonderful advantage. By the light of the stained-glass windows the\nfamous astronomical clock in the south transept can be descried,\nstill containing some fragments of the horologe constructed by the\nmathematician Conrad Dasypodius in 1574. This, however, does not tally\nwith the well-known legend of the clock, which now follows.\n\nThe Clockmaker of Strassburg\n\nThere dwelt in the town of Strassburg an old clockmaker. So wrapped up\nwas he in his art that he seemed to live in a world of his own, quite\nindifferent to the customs and practices of ordinary life; he forgot his\nmeals, forgot his sleep, cared nothing for his clothes, and would have\nbeen in evil case indeed had not his daughter Guta tended him with\nfilial affection. In his absent-minded fashion he was really very fond\nof Guta, fonder even than he was of his clocks, and that is saying not a\nlittle.\n\nThe neighbours, busy, energetic folk who performed their daily tasks and\ndrank wine with their friends, scoffed at the dreamy, unpractical old\nfellow and derided his occupation as the idle pastime of a mind not too\nwell balanced. But the clockmaker, finding in his workroom all that he\nneeded of excitement, of joy and sorrow, of elation and despondency, did\nnot miss the pleasures of social life, nor did he heed the idle gossip\nof which he was the subject.\n\nIt need hardly be said that such a man had but few acquaintances; yet a\nfew he had, and among them one who is worthy of especial note--a wealthy\ncitizen who aspired to a position of civic honour in Strassburg. In\nappearance he was lean, old, and ugly, with hatchet-shaped face and\ncunning, malevolent eyes; and when he pressed his hateful attentions on\nthe fair Guta she turned from him in disgust.\n\nOne day this creature called on the clockmaker, announced that he had\nbeen made a magistrate, and demanded the hand of Guta, hinting that it\nwould go ill with the master should he refuse.\n\nThe clockmaker was taken completely by surprise, but he offered his\ncongratulations and called the girl to speak for herself as to her hand.\nWhen Guta heard the proposal she cast indignant glances at the ancient\nmagistrate, whereupon he, without giving her an opportunity to speak,\nsaid quickly:\n\n\"Do not answer me now, sweet maid; do not decide hastily, I beg of you,\nfor such a course might bring lasting trouble on you and your father. I\nwill return to-morrow for your answer.\"\n\nWhen he was gone Guta flung herself into her father's arms and declared\nthat she could never marry the aged swain.\n\n\"My dear,\" said the clockmaker soothingly, \"you shall do as you please.\nHeed not his threats, for when I have finished my great work we shall be\nas rich and powerful as he.\"\n\nOn the following day the magistrate called again, looking very important\nand self-satisfied, and never doubting but that the answer would be\nfavourable. But when Guta told him plainly that she would not marry him\nhis rage was unbounded, and he left the house vowing vengeance on father\nand daughter.\n\nScarcely was he gone ere a handsome youth entered the room and looked\nwith some surprise at the disturbed appearance of Guta and her\nfather. When he heard the story he was most indignant; later, when the\nclockmaker had left the young people alone, Guta confessed that the\nattentions of the magistrate were loathsome to her, and burst into\ntears.\n\nThe young man had long loved the maiden in secret, and he could conceal\nhis passion no longer. He begged that she would become his bride, and\nGuta willingly consented, but suggested that they should not mention\nthe matter to her father till the latter had completed his great clock,\nwhich he fondly believed was soon to bring him fame and fortune.\nShe also proposed that her lover should offer to become her father's\npartner--for he, too, was a clockmaker--so that in the event of the\nmaster's great work proving a failure his business should still be\nsecure. The young man at once acted upon the suggestion, and the father\ngratefully received the proffered assistance.\n\nAt last the day came when the clockmaker joyfully announced that his\nmasterpiece was finished, and he called upon Guta and his young partner\nto witness his handiwork. They beheld a wonderful clock, of exquisite\nworkmanship, and so constructed that the striking of the hour\nautomatically set in motion several small figures. The young people were\nnot slow to express their admiration and their confidence that fame was\nassured.\n\nWhen the clock was publicly exhibited the scepticism of the citizens was\nchanged to respect; praise and flattery flowed from the lips that had\nformerly reviled its inventor. Nevertheless the civic authorities, urged\nthereto by Guta's discarded lover, refused to countenance any attempt\nto procure the wonderful clock for the town. But soon its fame spread\nabroad to other cities. Members of the clockmakers' guild of Basel\ntravelled to see it, and raised their hands in surprise and admiration.\nFinally the municipal authorities of Basel made arrangements to purchase\nit.\n\nBut at this point the citizens of Strassburg stepped in and insisted on\npreserving the clock in their own city, and it was therefore purchased\nfor a round sum and erected in a chapel of the Strassburg Cathedral.\nThe corporation of Basel, having set their hearts on the wonderful\ntimepiece, commissioned the clockmaker to make another like it, and\noffered substantial remuneration. The old man gladly agreed, but his\narch-enemy, hearing of the arrangement and scenting a fine opportunity\nfor revenge, contrived to raise an outcry against the proposal. \"Where\nwas the advantage,\" asked the magistrates, \"in possessing a wonderful\nclock if every city in Germany was to have one?\" So to preserve the\nuniqueness of their treasure they haled the old clockmaker before\na tribunal and ordered him to cease practising his art. This he\nindignantly refused to do, and the council, still instigated by his\nenemy, finally decided that his eyes be put out, so that his skill in\nclockmaking should come to a decided end. Not a few objections were\nraised to so cruel a decision, but these were at length overruled. The\nvictim heard the dreadful sentence without a tremor, and when asked if\nhe had any boon to crave ere it were carried out, he answered quietly\nthat he would like to make a few final improvements in his clock, and\nwished to suffer his punishment in its presence.\n\nAccordingly when the day came the old man was conducted to the place\nwhere his masterpiece stood. There, under pretence of making the\npromised improvements, he damaged the works, after which he submitted\nhimself to his torturers. Hardly had they carried out their cruel task\nwhen, to the consternation of the onlookers, the clock began to emit\ndiscordant sounds and to whirr loudly. When it had continued thus for a\nwhile the gong struck thirteen and the mechanism came to a standstill.\n\n\"Behold my handiwork!\" cried the blind clockmaker. \"Behold my revenge!\"\n\nHis assistant approached and led him gently away. Henceforward he lived\nhappily with Guta and her husband, whose affectionate care compensated\nin part for the loss of his eyesight and his enforced inability\nto practise his beloved art. When the story became known the base\nmagistrate was deprived of his wealth and his office and forced to quit\nthe town.\n\nAnd as for the clock, it remained in its disordered state till 1843,\nwhen it was once more restored to its original condition.\n\nThe Trumpeter of Saeckingen\n\nA beautiful and romantic tale which has inspired more than one work of\nart is the legend of the Trumpeter of Saeckingen; it shares with \"The\nLorelei\" and a few other legends the distinction of being the most\nwidely popular in Rhenish folklore.\n\nOne evening in early spring, so the legend runs, a gallant young soldier\nemerged from the Black Forest opposite Saeckingen and reined in his steed\non the banks of the Rhine. Night was at hand, and the snow lay thickly\non the ground. For a few moments the wayfarer pondered whither he should\nturn for food and shelter, for his steed and the trumpet he carried\nunder his cavalry cloak were all he possessed in the world; then with\na reckless gesture he seized the trumpet and sounded some lively notes\nwhich echoed merrily over the snow.\n\nThe parish priest, toiling painfully up the hill, heard the martial\nsound, and soon encountered the soldier, who saluted him gravely. The\npriest paused to return the greeting, and entering into conversation\nwith the horseman, he learned that he was a soldier of fortune,\nwhereupon he invited him with simple cordiality to become his guest. The\nproffer of hospitality was gratefully accepted, and the kindly old man\nled the stranger to his home.\n\nThe old priest, though not a little curious with regard to his guest's\nprevious history, forbore out of courtesy to question him, but\nthe warmth and cheer soon loosened the trumpeter's tongue, and he\nvolunteered to tell the old man his story. Shorn of detail, it ran\nas follows: The soldier's youth had been passed at the University of\nHeidelberg, where he had lived a gay and careless life, paying so little\nattention to his studies that at the end of his course his only asset\nwas a knowledge of music, picked up from a drunken trumpeter in exchange\nfor the wherewithal to satisfy his thirst. The legal profession, which\nhis guardian had designed for him, was clearly impossible with such\nmeagre acquirements, so he had joined a cavalry regiment and fought in\nthe Thirty Years' War. At the end of the war his horse and his trumpet\nwere his sole possessions, and from that time he had wandered through\nthe world, gaining a scanty livelihood with the aid of his music. Such\nwas his history.\n\nThat night Werner--for so the young man was called--slept soundly in the\nhouse of the old priest, and next morning he rose early to attend the\nfestival of St. Fridolin, in celebration of which a procession was\norganized every year at Saeckingen. There, at the head of a band of\ngirls, he beheld a maid who outshone them all in beauty and grace, and\nto her he immediately lost his heart. From that moment the gaieties of\nthe festival had no attraction for him, and he wandered disconsolately\namong the merry-makers, thinking only of the lovely face that had caught\nhis fancy.\n\nToward nightfall he embarked in a little boat and floated idly down\nthe Rhine. Suddenly, to his amazement, there arose from the water the\nhandsome, youthful figure of the Rhine-god, who had recognized in his\npale cheek and haggard eye the infallible signs of a lover. Indicating a\ncastle at the edge of the river, the apparition informed Werner that his\nlady-love dwelt therein, and he bade him take heart and seek some mode\nof communicating with her. At this Werner plucked up courage to row\nashore to his lady's abode. There in the garden, beneath a lighted\nwindow, he played an exquisite serenade, every perfect note of which\ntold of his love and grief and the wild hopes he would never dare to\nexpress in words.\n\nNow, the lord of the castle was at that very moment telling to his\nbeautiful daughter the story of his own long-past wooing; he paused in\nhis tale and bade his daughter listen to the melting strains. When\nthe notes had died away an attendant was dispatched to learn who the\nmusician might be, but ere he reached the garden Werner had re-embarked\nand was lost to sight on the river. However, on the following day the\nnobleman pursued his inquiries in the village and the musician was\ndiscovered in an inn.\n\nIn obedience to a summons the trumpeter hastened to the castle, where\nthe old lord greeted him very kindly, giving him a place with his\nmusicians, and appointing him music-master to the fair Margaretha.\nHenceforward his path lay in pleasant places, for the young people were\nthrown a great deal into each other's society, and in time it became\nevident that the lady returned the young soldier's tender passion. Yet\nWerner did not dare to declare his love, for Margaretha was a maiden\nof high degree, and he but a poor musician who not so very long ago had\nbeen a homeless wanderer.\n\nOne day Werner heard strange, discordant sounds issuing from the\nmusic-room, and thinking that some mischievous page was taking liberties\nwith his trumpet, he quietly made his way to the spot, to find that the\ninharmonious sounds resulted from the vain attempt of his fair pupil to\nplay the instrument. When the girl observed that her endeavours had been\noverheard, she joined her merriment with that of her teacher, and Werner\nthen and there taught her a bugle-call.\n\nA few weeks later the nobleman, hearing of a rising of the peasants,\nhastened to Saeckingen to restore order, leaving his daughter and Werner\nto guard the castle. That night an attempt was made upon the stronghold.\nWerner courageously kept the foe at bay, but was wounded in the melee,\nand Margaretha, seeing her lover fall and being unable to reach him,\ntook the trumpet and sounded the bugle-call he had taught her, hoping\nthat her father would hear it and hasten his return. And, sure enough,\nthat was what happened; the nobleman returned with all speed to the\nassistance of the little garrison, and the remnant of the assailants\nwere routed. Werner, who was happily not wounded seriously, now received\nevery attention.\n\nHer lover's peril had taught Margaretha beyond a doubt where her\naffections lay, and she showed such unfeigned delight at his recovery\nthat he forgot the difference in their rank and told her of his love.\nThere on the terrace they plighted their troth, and vowed to remain true\nto each other, whatever might befall. Werner now ventured to seek the\nnobleman that he might acquaint him of the circumstances and beg for\nhis daughter's hand, but ere he could prefer his request the old man\nproceeded to tell him that he had but just received a letter from an old\nfriend desiring that his son should marry Margaretha. As the young\nman was of noble birth, he added, and eligible in every respect he was\ndisposed to agree to the arrangement, and he desired Werner to write to\nhim and invite him to Saeckingen. The unfortunate soldier now made his\nbelated announcement; but the old man shook his head and declared that\nonly a nobleman should wed with his daughter. It is true he was greatly\nattached to the young musician, but his ideas were those of his times,\nand so Werner was obliged to quit his service and fare once more into\nthe wide world.\n\nYears passed by, and Margaretha, who had resolutely discouraged the\nadvances of her high-born lover, grew so pale and woebegone that her\nfather in despair sent her to Italy. When in Rome she went one Sunday\nwith her maid to St. Peter's Church, and there, leading the Papal\nchoir, was her lover! Margaretha promptly fainted, and Werner, who had\nrecognized his beloved, was only able with difficulty to perform the\nremainder of his choral duties. Meanwhile the Pope had observed that the\nyoung man was deeply affected, and believing this to be caused by the\nlady's indisposition, he desired that the couple should be brought\nbefore him at the conclusion of the service. With kindly questioning\nhe elicited the whole story, and was so touched by the romance that he\nimmediately created Werner Marquis of Santo Campo and arranged that\nthe marriage of the young people should take place at once. Immediately\nafter the ceremony, having received the Papal blessing, they returned\nto Saeckingen, where the father of the bride greeted them cordially, for\nMargaretha was restored to health and happiness, and his own condition\nwas satisfied, for had she not brought home a noble husband?\n\nThe Charcoal-Burner\n\nIn the woods of Zaehringen there dwelt a young charcoal-burner. His\nparents before him had followed the same humble calling, and one might\nhave supposed that the youth would be well satisfied to emulate their\nsimple industry and contentment. But in truth it was not so.\n\nOn one occasion, while on an errand to the town, he had witnessed a\ntournament, and the brilliant spectacle of beauty and chivalry had\nlingered in his memory and fired his boyish enthusiasm, so that\nthenceforth he was possessed by 'divine discontent.' The romance of the\nancient forests wherein he dwelt fostered his strange longings, and in\nfancy he already saw himself a knight, fighting in the wars, jousting in\nthe lists, receiving, perchance, the prize of the tourney from the fair\nhands of its queen. And, indeed, in all save birth and station he was\nwell fitted for the profession of arms--handsome, brave, spirited, and\nwithal gentle and courteous.\n\nTime passed, and his ambitions seemed as far as ever from realization.\nYet the ambitious mind lacks not fuel for its fires; the youth's\nimagination peopled the woody solitudes with braver company than\ncourts could boast--vivid, unreal dream-people, whose shadowy presence\nincreased his longing for the actuality. The very winds whispered\nmysteriously of coming triumphs, and as he listened his unrest grew\ngreater. At length there came a time when dreams no longer satisfied\nhim, and he pondered how he might attain his desires.\n\n\"I will go out into the world,\" he said to himself, \"and take service\nunder some great knight. Then, peradventure--\"\n\nAt this point his musings were interrupted by the approach of an old\nman, clad in the garb of a hermit.\n\n\"My son,\" he said, \"what aileth thee? Nay\"--as the youth looked up in\nastonishment--\"nay, answer me not, for I know what thou wouldst have.\nYet must thou not forsake thy lowly occupation; that which thou dost\nseek will only come to thee whilst thou art engaged thereon. Follow me,\nand I will show thee the spot where thy destiny will meet thee.\"\n\nThe young man, not yet recovered from his surprise, followed his aged\nguide to a distant part of the forest. Then the hermit bade him farewell\nand left him to ponder on the cryptic saying: \"Here thy destiny will\nmeet thee.\"\n\n\"Time will show the old man's meaning, I suppose,\" he said to himself;\n\"in any case, I may as well burn charcoal here as elsewhere.\"\n\nHe set to work, hewed down some great trees, and built a kiln, which,\nbefore lighting, he covered with stony earth. What was his amazement\nwhen, on removing the cover of the kiln in due course, he discovered\nwithin some pieces of pure gold! A moment's reflection convinced him\nthat the precious metal must have been melted out of the stones, so\nhe again built a kiln, and experienced the same gratifying result.\nDelighted with his good fortune, he concealed his treasure in an\nappropriate hiding-place and proceeded to repeat the process till he had\nobtained and hidden a large fortune, of whose existence none but himself\nwas aware.\n\nOne night, as he lay awake listening to the wind in the trees--for his\ngreat wealth had this drawback, that it robbed him of his sleep--he\nfancied he heard a knock at the door. At first he thought he must have\nbeen mistaken, but as he hesitated whether to rise or not the knock was\nrepeated. Boldly he undid the door--a feat requiring no small courage\nin that remote part of the forest, where robbers and freebooters\nabounded--and there, without, stood a poor wayfarer, who humbly begged\nadmittance. He was being pursued, he declared; would the charcoal-burner\nshelter him for a few days? Touched by the suppliant's plight, and moved\nby feelings worthy of his chivalrous ideals, the youth readily extended\nthe hospitality of his poor home, and for some time the stranger\nsojourned there in peace. He did not offer to reveal his identity,\nnor was he questioned on that point. But one morning he declared his\nintention of taking his departure.\n\n\"My friend,\" he said warmly, \"I know not how I may thank you for your\nbrave loyalty. The time has come when you must know whom you have served\nso faithfully. Behold your unfortunate Emperor, overcome in battle,\ndeprived of friends and followers and fortune!\"\n\nAt these astounding words the young charcoal-burner sank on his knees\nbefore the Emperor.\n\n\"Sire,\" he said, \"you have yet one humble subject who will never forsake\nyou while life remains to him.\"\n\n\"I know,\" replied the Emperor gently, raising him to his feet, \"and\ntherefore I ask of you one last service. It is that you may lead me by\nsome secret path to the place where the remnant of my followers await\nme. Alas, that I, once so powerful, should be unable to offer you any\ntoken of a sovereign's gratitude!\"\n\n\"Sire,\" ventured the youth, \"methinks I may be privileged to render yet\none more service to your Majesty.\" Straightway he told the story of his\nhidden treasure and with simple dignity placed it at the disposal of\nhis sovereign, asking for nothing in return but the right to spend his\nstrength in the Emperor's service--a right which was readily accorded\nhim.\n\nThe gold, now withdrawn from its place of concealment, proved to be\na goodly store, and with it the Emperor had no difficulty in raising\nanother army. Such was the courage and confidence of his new troops that\nthe first battle they fought resulted in victory. But the most valiant\nstand was made by the erstwhile charcoal-burner, who found on that field\nthe opportunity of which he had long dreamt. The Emperor showed his\nrecognition of the gallant services by knighting the young man on the\nfield of battle. On the eminence whither the old hermit had led him the\nknight built a castle which was occupied by himself and his successors\nfor many generations.\n\nAnd thus did the charcoal-burner become the knight of Zaehringen, the\nfriend of his Emperor, the first of a long line of illustrious knights,\nhonoured and exalted beyond his wildest dreams.\n\nConclusion\n\nWith this legend we close on a brighter and more hopeful note than\nis usually associated with legends of the Rhine. The reader may have\nobserved in perusing these romances how closely they mirror their\nseveral environments. For the most part those which are gay and buoyant\nin spirit have for the places of their birth slopes where is prisoned\nthe sunshine which later sparkles in the wine-cup and inspires song\nand cheerfulness. Those, again, which are sombre and tragic have as\nbackground the gloomy forest, the dark and windy promontory which\noverhangs the darker river, or the secluded nunnery. In such\nsurroundings is fostered the germ of tragedy, that feeling of the\ninevitable which is inherent in all great literature. It is to a tragic\nimagination of a lofty type that we are indebted for the greatest of\nthese legends, and he who cannot appreciate their background of gloomy\ngrandeur will never come at the true spirit of that mighty literature of\nGermany, at once the joy and the despair of all who know it.\n\nCountless songs, warlike and tender, sad and passionate, have been\npenned on the river whose deathless tales we have been privileged to\ndisplay to the reader. But no such strains of regret upon abandoning\nits shores have been sung as those which passed the lips of the English\npoet, Byron, and it is fitting that this book should end with lines so\nappropriate:\n\n     Adieu to thee, fair Rhine! How long delighted\n     The stranger fain would linger on his way!\n     Thine is a scene alike where souls united\n     Or lonely Contemplation thus might stray;\n     And could the ceaseless vultures cease to prey\n     On self-condemning bosoms, it were here,\n     Where Nature, nor too sombre nor too gay,\n     Wild but not rude, awful yet not austere,\n     Is to the mellow Earth as Autumn to the year.\n\n     Adieu to thee again! a vain adieu!\n     There can be no farewell to scene like thine;\n     The mind is colour'd by thy every hue;\n     And if reluctantly the eyes resign\n     Their cherish'd gaze upon thee, lovely Rhine!\n     'Tis with the thankful heart of parting praise;\n     More mighty spots may rise, more glaring shine,\n     But none unite in one attaching maze\n     The brilliant, fair, and soft,--the glories of old days.\n\n     The negligently grand, the fruitful bloom\n     Of coming ripeness, the white city's sheen,\n     The rolling stream, the precipice's gloom,\n     The forest's growth, and Gothic walls between,\n     The wild rocks shaped as they had turrets been,\n     In mockery of man's art: and there withal\n     A race of faces happy as the scene,\n     Whose fertile bounties here extend to all,\n     Still springing o'er thy banks, though Empires near them fall.","title":"Hero Tales and Legends of the Rhine","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":104879}