{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_20496/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_20496","id":"gutenberg_20496","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/20496","summary":null,"tags":["Category: German Literature","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Folklore","Legends -- Rhine River","Legends -- Rhine River Valley"],"text":"Produced by Sam W., Ted Garvin, Juliet Sutherland and the\nOnline Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                    LEGENDS OF THE RHINE\n\n                             BY\n\n                       WILHELM RULAND\n\n\n              WITH ILLUSTRATIONS FROM PAINTINGS\n                    BY CELEBRATED ARTISTS\n\n                         8TH EDITION\n\n\n\n\n                        KOeLN AM RHEIN\n                VERLAG VON HOURSCH & BECHSTEDT\n\n\n\n\n      \"O, the pride of the German heart is this noble river!\n      And right it is; for of all the rivers of this\n      beautiful earth there is none so beautiful as this.\"\n\n                                                 Longfellow.\n\n\n\n\nPrefatory Note.\n\n\nLast year I made the journey between Mainz and Bonn on one of our\nsplendid Rhine steamers. Our vessel glided along like a great\nwater-bird. On the shore rose mountains, castles, and ruins, and over\nall the sun shined brightly from a blue August sky. It was twelve\nyears since I had visited the scenes of my youth, and every\nRhinelander will understand with what pleasure I saw again those\nsmiling landscapes arrayed in their summer beauty. Wandering back to\nmy deck-chair, I soon became absorbed in the ever-changing panorama.\n\nThen the sound of a melodious female voice speaking English fell on my\nears. I looked around. A girl was bending over a book, and\nentertaining her father and mother by reading something of special\ninterest and beauty. I listened and recognised some of my own\nsentences rendered into the speech of Shakespeare. These three were\nlearning to feel the charms of the Lorelei legend as I had felt it. I\nconfess my pulse beat quicker as I heard my poor endeavours highly\npraised, and I could not refrain from advancing and thanking the young\nreader for her kindly appreciation of my endeavours. She seemed\ndelighted when she discovered that I was the author, and rose to greet\nme in the most amiable manner. I complimented the travellers that\nduring the past century the Rhine had become the home of romance for\nthe English speaking nations, the same as Italy for the Germans. The\ngirl smiled, and remarked that I must pay that compliment to her\nmother in particular, as she was by birth an Englishwoman. But the\nhead of the family hastened to add that among Americans, whom he might\nspeak for, the enthusiasm for the beauties of the Rhine was not less\nthan among their Anglo-Saxon cousins. These two nations which are\nbound by so many ties to each other, and also to ourselves, were thus\nrepresented before me. The English-speaking people undoubtedly form by\nfar the largest contingent of our Rhine travellers, and it was\npleasant indeed to receive so fine a testimonial to the beauties of my\nbirth place.\n\nWe had a most interesting conversation, and I was not a little moved,\nas I observed that these foreigners who had travelled over half the\nworld, and had seen the grandeur of Switzerland and the charms of\nItaly, should have such an unaffected admiration for our grand old\nriver. I am rather sorry for those who neglect the Rhine. \"Aren't\nLohengrin and Siegfried, immortalised by the great Master of Bayreuth,\nalso heroic figures in your Rhine legends?\" remarked the young\nAnglo-American enthusiastically. It was the first time I had seriously\nthought of this. I was indeed touched, and my thoughts travelled back\nto the days of \"long, long ago\" when as a little chap in my native\nBonn, I had first listened with interest to the charming voices of the\ngolden-haired daughters of old Albion who came in large numbers to\nreside in the famous Beethoven-town.\n\nAs I separated from my friends at the foot of the Drachenfels I gave\nthem a small present to keep as a memento of the Rhine and one of its\npoets.\n\n      Muenchen, Mai 1906.                           Dr. Wilhelm Ruland.\n\n\n\n\nContents\n\n\n=St. Gotthard.= The Petrified Alp                                    7\n\n=Thusis on the Hinter Rhine.= The Last Hohenraetier                  10\n\n=Bodensee.= The Island of Mainau                                    13\n\n=Basle.= One Hour in Advance                                        18\n\n=Castle Niedeck.= The Toy of the young Giantess                     20\n\n=Strassburg.= The Cathedral Clock                                   22\n\n      The little Man at the Angel's Pillar                          25\n\n=Worms.= The Nibelungen Lied                                        27\n\n=Speyer.= The Bells of Speyer                                       31\n\n=Frankfort.= The Knave of Bergen                                    33\n\n=Mayence.= Heinrich Frauenlob                                       36\n\n      Bishop Willigis                                               38\n\n=Johannisberg.=                                                     40\n\n=Ingelheim.= Eginhard and Emma                                      45\n\n=Ruedesheim.= The Broemserburg                                        53\n\n=Bingen.= The Mouse-Tower                                           58\n\n=Valley of the Nahe. Kreuznach.= A mighty draught                   62\n\n      The Foundation of Castle Sponheim                             65\n\n=Assmannshausen.= St. Clement's Chapel                              69\n\n=Castle Rheinstein.= The Wooing                                     72\n\n=Castle Sooneck.= The Blind Archer                                  76\n\n=The Ruins of Fuerstenberg.= The Mother's Ghost                      79\n\n=Bacharach.= Burg Stahleck                                          83\n\n=Kaub.= Castle Gutenfels                                            88\n\n=Oberwesel.= The Seven Maidens                                      93\n\n=St. Goar.= Lorelei                                                 97\n\n=Rheinfels.= St. George's Linden                                   103\n\n=Sterrenberg and Liebenstein.= The Brothers                        109\n\n=Rhense.= The Emperor Wenzel                                       117\n\n=Castle Lahneck.= The Templars of Lahneck                          120\n\n=Coblenz.= Riza                                                    123\n\n=Valley of the Moselle.= The Doctor's wine of Bernkastel           125\n\n=Andernach.= Genovefa                                              128\n\n=Hammerstein.= The old Knight and his Daughters                    138\n\n=Valley of the Ahr.= The Last Knight of Altenahr                   142\n\n      The Minstrel of Neuenahr                                     145\n\n=Eifel.= The Arrow at Pruem                                         152\n\n=Aachen.= The Building of the Minster                              154\n\n      The Ring of Fastrada                                         162\n\n=Rolandseck.= Knight Roland                                        167\n\n=Siebengebirge.= The Drachenfels                                   177\n\n      The Monk of Heisterbach                                      182\n\n      The Origin of the Seven Mountains                            188\n\n      The Nightingale Valley at Honnef                             190\n\n=Godesberg.= The High Cross at Godesberg                           192\n\n=Bonn.= Lord Erich's Pledge                                        200\n\n      The Roman Ghosts                                             203\n\n=Cologne.= Richmodis of Aducht                                     208\n\n      The Goblins                                                  212\n\n      Jan and Griet                                                216\n\n      The Cathedral-Builder of Cologne                             220\n\n=Xanten.= Siegfried                                                231\n\n=Cleve.= Lohengrin                                                 237\n\n=Zuydersea.= Stavoren                                              244\n\n\n\n\nST. GOTTHARD\n\nThe Petrified Alp\n\n\n[Illustration: Aus dem Quellgebiet des Rheines--Near the Source of the\nRhine--Au pays du Rhin]\n\nIn the region where the Rhine has its source there towered in ancient\ntimes a green Alp. This Alp belonged to an honest peasant, and along\nwith a neat little house in the valley below formed his only\npossession.\n\nThe man died suddenly and was deeply mourned by his wife and child.\nSome days after an unexpected visitor was announced to the widow. He\nwas a man who had much pastureland up in that region, but for a long\ntime his one desire had been to possess the Alp of his neighbour now\ndeceased, as by it his property would be rounded off to his\nsatisfaction.\n\nQuickly making his resolution he declared to the dismayed woman that\nthe Alp belonged to him: her husband had secretly pledged it to him in\nreturn for a loan, after the bad harvest of the previous year. When\nthe widow angrily accused him of being a liar the man produced a\npromissory note, spread it out, and with a hard laugh showed her his\nstatement was confirmed in black and white. The distressed woman burst\ninto tears and declared it was impossible that her late husband should\nhave made a secret transaction of such a nature. The Alp was the sole\ninheritance of their son, and never would she willingly surrender it.\n\n\"I will pay you compensation for the renunciation of your claim,\nalthough nothing obliges me to do so,\" declared the visitor with\napparent compassion, in the meantime producing his purse.\n\nThe weeping woman motioned to him to put back his gold and told him to\ngo, which he did.\n\nThree days later the widow was summoned before the judge. There the\nneighbour produced his document and repeated his demand for the\npossession of the disputed Alp.\n\nThe judge, who had been shamefully bribed, declared the document valid\nand awarded the Alp to the pursuer. The broken-hearted widow staggered\nhome.\n\nThe new possessor of the Alp on the other hand hastened up to the\nmountains at full gallop. The man could no longer master his\nimpatience to see for the first time as his legally recognised\nproperty the pastureland he had acquired by deceit.\n\nThere, for three days a storm had raged uninterruptedly. As quickly as\nthe soaked ways would permit he ascended to the high country.\n\nHaving arrived he stared around with horrified eyes, and fell in a\nswoon to the earth, overcome with consternation.\n\nUpon the soft green Alp an unseen hand had rolled a mountain of ice.\nOf the possession which the unjust judge had assigned to him nothing\nwas now to be seen. His own pastures too which adjoined were covered\nwith snow and ice, whilst the meadows of the other Alpsmen below, lay\nspread out in the morning light like a velvet carpet.\n\nTowards noon a broken man rode home into the valley cursing himself\nand the wicked magistrate who had consented to such an evil\ntransaction.\n\nThe people there however said to each other: \"The Fronfasten Muetterli\n(the little mother of the Emberweeks) Frau Saelga passed over our\nvalley last night with her train of maidens. Over the house of that\ngreedy rich man the ghostly company stopped, and by that it is fixed\nwhich one must die in the course of the year.\"\n\nAnd so it happened. Up there where the youthful Rhine rushes down\nthrough deep rocky chasms the petrified Alp stands to this day, a\nsilent warning from by-gone days.\n\n\n\n\nTHUSIS ON THE HINTER RHINE\n\nThe Last Hohenraetier\n\n\n[Illustration: Der letzte Hohenraetier--Nach dem Gemaelde von E.\nStueckelberg]\n\nThe Domleschg valley was formerly the scene of bitter feuds, and is\nmentioned in the struggle for freedom by the Swiss peasants of the\nancient Bund, some five hundred years ago. There stood the castle of\nthe Hohenraetier.\n\nThe last descendant of the degenerate race on the high Realt was\nrightly feared in the whole district. He was the terror of the\npeaceful inhabitants of the district, and harried not only them but\nalso merchants and pilgrims who passed along the highway below.\n\nThe wrath against this unchivalrous wickedness increased mightily. One\nday this man perpetrated a daring deed of violence.\n\nWhilst on an excursion into the valley he had discovered a charming\nmaid who sought berries in a lonely wood. In his wicked eagerness he\ndragged the maiden on to his horse and fled. Amusing himself with her\nlamentations, he carried his booty up the steep castle hill.\n\nA poacher had observed the occurrence and alarmed the inhabitants of\nthe village. They carried the intelligence without delay into the\nDomleschg.\n\nThe oppressed people around then rose and joining together approached\nthe castle that very night. Having felled giant trees they threw a\nbridge over the moat, cast firebrands into the interior, and stormed\ninto the castle-yard through gaps in the gates and walls.\n\nThen the baron appeared mounted on his war-horse, driven out of his\nabode by tongues of flame.\n\nBefore him he held the captured maiden, and in the light of the\nconflagration his naked sword glittered in his right hand.\n\nDealing mighty blows on both sides he forced his horse forward (the\neyes of which had been bound), intending to make a way down the hill.\nBut the living wall of peasants was impenetrable.\n\nQuickly making his resolution the knight rushed to the side where the\nwall of rock fell some seven hundred feet sheer into the youthful\nRhine.\n\nThe foaming steed stood trembling in front of the yawning abyss. The\nshout of the multitude echoed into the night. Thousands of arms were\ninstantly stretched towards the river and one of them at the last\nmoment succeeded in snatching his prey from the robber, just as the\nsteed tortured and bleeding from sword and spur hurled itself with a\nmighty spring into the depths below. So ended the last of the\nHohenraetiers.\n\nIn the dawn only the smoking ruins of the proud castle remained, and\nthe morning bells announced to the peasants that their long desired\nfreedom had been won.\n\nThese ruins are situated on the Hinter Rhine above Thusis, and it is\nsaid that the last Hohenraetier, like many others of the former tyrants\nof the Raetigau, yearly on St. John's Eve (when this event occurred)\nmay be seen riding round the fallen walls of his castle, clad in black\narmour which emits glowing sparks.\n\n\n\n\nBODENSEE\n\nThe Island of Mainau\n\n\nFor many hundreds of years the names of the Masters of Bodmann have\nbeen very closely connected with the island in the lake of Boden. At\nfirst the island was in the possession of this noble race, but later\non, in the thirteenth century, it passed into the hands of an order of\nGerman Knights. A legend relates the story to us of how this change\ncame to pass.\n\nAbout this time the whole of this magnificent property was held in\npossession by a youthful maiden, who had inherited this beautiful\nisland with all its many charms. As may be supposed, the wooers for\nthe lovely maiden's hand and inheritance became very numerous. She,\nhowever, had made her own choice, and it had fallen upon a nobleman\nfrom Langenstein.\n\nEvery evening when the sun was sinking down into the golden waters,\nthis maiden walked along the strand watching and listening for some\nlonged-for sound. Then the measured splash of an oar would be heard\napproaching in the twilight, and a little boat would be drawn up on\nthe shore, a youthful boatman would spring joyfully forth, and\nlovingly greet the maiden. There this pair of lovers wove dreams\nabout the time from which only a short period now separated them, when\nthey should belong openly to each other before the world.\n\nThe nobleman landed one evening as usual, but this time his heart was\ndepressed and sorrowful; he informed his betrothed mournfully that his\nfather, who was then suffering agony from gout, had once taken a vow\nto God and to the emperor that he would go on a crusade to the Holy\nLand, but being unable to fulfil his oath, he laid it to his son's\ncharge to carry it out as he meant to have done.\n\nThe maiden wept bitterly on hearing these unexpected tidings.\n\n\"Trust me and the Powers on high, I shall not make this great\nsacrifice in vain,\" said her lover consolingly. \"I shall return, that\nI feel confident of.\"\n\nThus with bright hopes in his heart the youthful crusader bade his\nweeping betrothed good-bye.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAnd every evening when the sun was sinking into the golden waters the\nmaiden walked along the strand, looking with longing eyes out into the\nmisty distance. Spring came and disappeared, summer followed, and the\nswallows fled from the lake to warmer climes, the maiden sending many\na warm greeting with them. Wintry storms blew over the waters,\nwhistling round the lonely island, and the maiden had become as pale\nas the flakes of snow which fell against the window-panes.\n\nNews one day reached the castle that the crusaders had returned from\nthe East, but that the nobleman from Langenstein was languishing in a\nTurkish prison in a remote castle belonging to the Sultan. The maiden\nwas heart-broken by these tidings and now spent her days in prayers\nand tears.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWithin the mighty walls of a gloomy castle in the far-off East, a\nyoung hero was sitting pining over his bitter fate. He prayed and\ngroaned aloud in his grief thinking of his betrothed from whom he had\nbeen so cruelly separated. The Sultan had offered the fair-haired\nyouth his favourite daughter, a seductive eastern beauty, but the\nprisoner had turned scornfully away, her dark glancing eyes having no\ncharm for him.\n\nThat night the youth had a strange dream. An angel was soaring over\nhis couch and came down to his side, and a voice whispered, \"Promise\nyourself to me, and you will see your native land again.\"\n\nThe knight started up and said reverently, \"That was the voice of\nGod!\" Confused thoughts rushed through his soul, he must renounce his\nlove, but at least he would see her again. Throwing himself on his\nknees, he promised with a fervent oath that he would dedicate himself\nto the Lord, if he might only see the beloved maiden once more.\n\nAn earthquake shook the castle to its very foundations, unfastening\nthe prison doors, thus setting the prisoner at liberty in a marvellous\nway. He succeeded in reaching the coast without being caught by the\nguards of the Sultan, and a vessel sailing to Venice took him on\nboard. But as he approached his native land the struggle in his soul\nbetween love and duty was very great; at one moment it seemed to\novercome him, and he felt he could no longer keep his vow. But God\nagain admonished him. Reaching the lake he steered his boat towards\nthe island, but a sudden storm arose, threatening him with a watery\ngrave. He prayed fervently to Heaven, again swearing his oath.\n\nThe storm subsided, and the little boat having missed its course\nlanded on the other side of the lake, where the Grand Master of an\nOrder of German Knights had his seat.\n\nThe tired way-farer approached, begging to be received, a boon kindly\ngranted to him. Then starting off again with his boat the youth\nreached the island. He there imprinted a sorrowful kiss on his\nbeloved's pure white forehead, bidding her and the world good-bye for\never.\n\nThe young girl resigned herself at first silently to her fate; but she\nsoon resolved on another plan: this place which had once been such a\nhappy home had no longer any charms to offer her, and she therefore\npresented the island of Mainau to the German Order of Knights on one\ncondition, that the nobleman from Langenstein should be the successor\nof the Grand Master. This request was willingly granted, the noble\nmaiden gave up all her rich possession and left the island in the\nBodensee. It is said that she retired to a convent, but no one ever\nknew where.\n\nThe chronicle informs us that Hugh of Langenstein became one of the\nmost capable Grand Masters of this Order of Knights of Mainau. He is\nalso known as a great poet, and his poem on the martyr Martina still\nexists in old manuscripts.\n\n\n\n\nBASLE\n\nOne Hour in Advance\n\n\nBasle was once surrounded by enemies, and very hard pressed on all\nsides. A troop of discontented citizens made a shameful compact with\nthe besiegers to help them to conquer the town. It was arranged one\ndark night that exactly as the clock was striking twelve the attack\nwas to be made from within and without. The traitors were all ready,\nwaiting for midnight in great excitement, having no evil presentiments\nof what was about to happen.\n\nThe expected hour approached. Accidentally the watchman of the tower\nheard of the proposed attack, and no time being left to warn the\ncommander of the garrison or the guard, he quickly and with great\npresence of mind determined upon a safe expedient; he put forward the\nhand of the great clock one hour, so that instead of striking\nmidnight, the clock struck one.\n\nThe traitors in the town looked at each other aghast, believing the\nenemies outside had neglected or perhaps betrayed them. General doubt\nand misunderstanding reigned in both camps. While they were debating\nwhat plan they must now adopt, the sharp-witted watchman had time to\ncommunicate with the magistrate and with the governor of the town. The\nalarm was raised, the citizens warned, and the treacherous plan\ncompletely wrecked. The enemy at last, tired of the useless siege,\nretired discouraged.\n\nThe magistrate in remembrance of this remarkable deed ordered that the\ntown-clock should remain in advance as the courageous watchman had set\nit that eventful night. This singular regulation continued till the\nyear 1798, and although the honest inhabitants of Basle were, as\ntalkative tongues asserted, a century behind-hand in everything else,\nyet with regard to time they were always one hour in advance.\n\n\n\n\nCASTLE NIEDECK\n\nThe Toy of the young Giantess\n\n\n[Illustration: Das Riesenspielzeug--Nach dem Gemaelde von Cnopf--The\nGiant's Toy--Les jouets des geants]\n\nIn olden times a race of giants is said to have lived in Alsace.\nCastle Niedeck in the valley of the Breusch was their residence, but\neven the ruins of this fortress have long since disappeared. The\nlegend however remains to tell us that they were a peaceable people,\nwell disposed to mankind.\n\nThe daughter of the master of the castle was one day leisurely walking\nthrough the adjoining wood. On approaching the fields and meadows of\nthe valley, she perceived a peasant ploughing. The young giantess\nlooked in great astonishment at the tiny man who seemed to be so\nbusily engaged trudging along after his little team, and turning up\nthe ground with his small iron instrument. She had never before seen\nanything so wonderful and was very much amused at the sight.\n\nIt seemed to her a nice little toy, and she clapped her hands in\nchildish glee, so that the echo sounded among the mountains; then\npicking up man, horse, and plough, she placed them in her apron and\nhurried back gaily to the castle. There she showed her father the\nnice little toy, greatly pleased at what she had found.\n\nThe giant however shook his enormous head gravely, and said in a\ndispleased tone, \"Don't you know, child, who this trembling little\ncreature with his struggling tiny animal is, that you have chosen for\na plaything? Of all the dwarfs down in the valley below, he is the\nmost useful; he works hard and indefatigably in scorching heat as well\nas in windy cold weather, so that the fields may produce fruit for us.\nHe who scoffs at or maltreats him will be punished by Heaven. Take the\nlittle labourer therefore back to the place he came from.\"\n\nThe young giantess, greatly ashamed and deeply blushing with\nembarrassment, put the amusing little toy back into her apron, and\ncarried it obediently down to the valley.\n\n\n\n\nSTRASSBURG\n\nThe Cathedral Clock\n\n\nThe Cathedral was finished, and the city magistrates resolved to place\nan ingenious clock on the upper tower. For a long time they searched\nin vain, but at last a master was found who offered to create a work\nof art such as had never been seen in any land. The members of the\ncouncil were highly satisfied with this proposal, and the master began\nhis work.\n\nWeeks and months passed, and when at last it was finished there was\ngeneral astonishment; the clock was indeed so wonderful that nothing\nto match it could be found in the whole country. It marked not only\nthe hours but the days and months as well; a globe was attached to it\nwhich also marked out the rising and the setting of the sun, and the\neclipses of that body and the moon could be seen at the same time as\nthey took place in nature. Every change was pointed out by Mercury's\nwand, and every constellation appeared at the right time. Shortly\nbefore the stroke of the clock a figure representing Death emerged\nfrom the centre and sounded the full hour, while at the quarter and\nhalf hours the statue of Christ came forth, repelling the destroyer\nof all life. Added to all these wonders was a beautiful chime that\nplayed melodious hymns.\n\nSuch was the marvellous clock in the cathedral of Strassburg. The\nmagistrates however proved themselves unworthy of their new\npossession; pride and presumption got the better of them, making them\ncommit a most unjust and ungrateful action.\n\nThey desired their town to be the only one in the land which possessed\nsuch a work of art, and in order to prevent the maker from making\nanother like it, they did not shrink from the vilest of crimes.\n\nTaking advantage of the rumour that such a wonderful work could only\nhave been made by the aid of witchcraft, they accused the clock-maker\nof being united with the devil, threw him into prison, and cruelly\ncondemned him to be blinded. The unhappy artist resigned himself to\nhis bitter fate without a murmur. The only favour he asked was that he\nmight be allowed to examine the clock once again before the judgment\nwas carried out. He said he wanted to arrange something in the works\nwhich no one else could understand.\n\nThe crafty magistrates, being anxious to have the clock perfect,\ngranted him this request.\n\nThe artist filed, sawed, regulated here and there, and then was led\naway, and in the same hour deprived of his sight.\n\nThe cruel deed was hardly accomplished, when it was found that the\nclock had stopped. The artist had destroyed his work with his own\nhands; his righteous determination that the chimes would never ring\nagain, had become a melancholy truth. Up to the present no one has\nbeen able again to set the dead works going. An equally splendid clock\nnow adorns the cathedral, but the remains of the first one have been\npreserved ever since.\n\n\n\n\nThe little Man at the Angel's Pillar\n\n\nClose to the famous clock in the Cathedral of Strassburg, there is a\nlittle man in stone gazing up at the angel's pillar which supports the\nsouth wing of the cathedral. Long ago the little man who is now\nsculptured in stone, stood there in flesh and blood. He used to stare\nup at the pillar with a criticising eye from top to bottom and again\nfrom bottom to top. Then he would shake his head doubtfully each time.\n\nIt happened once that a sculptor passed the cathedral and saw the\nlittle man looking up, evidently comparing the proportions of the\npillar.\n\n\"It seems to me you are finding fault with the pillar, my good\nfellow,\" the stone-cutter remarked, and the little man nodded with a\nself-satisfied look.\n\n\"Well, what do you think of it? Speak out my man,\" said the master,\ntapping the fellow's shoulder encouragingly.\n\n\"The pillar is certainly splendid,\" began the latter slowly, \"the\nApostles, the angels, and the Saviour are most beautiful too. But\nthere is one thing troubling me. That slender pillar cannot support\nthat heavy vault much longer; it will soon totter and fall down, and\nall will go to pieces.\"\n\nThe sculptor looked alternately at the work of art and at its strange\nfault-finder. A contemptuous smile passed over his features.\n\n\"You are quite convinced of the truth of your statement, aren't you?\"\nasked he enquiringly.\n\nThe bold critic repeated his doubts with an important air.\n\n\"Well,\" cried the stone-cutter, with comical earnestness, \"then you\nwill remain there always, gazing at the pillar until it sinks down,\ncrushed by the vault.\"\n\nHe went straight off into his workshop, seized hammer and chisel, and\nformed the little man into stone just as he was, looking upwards with\na knowing face and an important air.\n\nThis little figure is still there at the present day with both hands\nleaning on the balustrade of St. Nicholas' chapel, awaiting the\nexpected fall of the pillar, and most likely he will remain there for\nmany a century to come.\n\n\n\n\nWORMS\n\nThe Nibelungen Lied\n\n\n[Illustration: Siegfried auf der Totenbahre--Nach dem Gemaelde von Emil\nLauffer]\n\nTo-day we are deeply touched, as our forefathers must have been, at\nthe recital of the boundless suffering and the overwhelming\nconcatenation of sin and expiation in the lives of the Recken and\nFrauen of the Nibelungen Legend. That naive singer has remained\nnameless and unknown, who about the end of the 12th century wrote down\nthis legend in poetic form, thus preserving forever our most precious\nrelic of Germanic Folksepic. A powerful story it is of sin and\nsuffering: corresponding to the world itself and just as the primitive\nmind of a people loves to represent it. The story begins as a lovely\nidyll but ends in gloomy tragedy.\n\nThe ancient Rhenish town of Worms was during the great migrations the\nseat of authority of the Burgundian invaders, an east Germanic stock.\nDuring the glorious reign of King Gunther there appears, attracted by\nthe beauty of Chriemhild the king's sister, a young hero, Siegfried,\nby name. He is himself a king's son, his father Siegmund reigning in\nXanten \"nieden by dem Rine.\" King Gunther receives the fair Recken\ninto his service as a vassal.\n\nSiegfried, exhibiting the fairest loyalty to his overlord, and\nrendered invisible by magic, conquers for him the redoubtable\nBrunhild, the proud queen of the island kingdom of Isenland (Iceland)\nand compels her to wed King Gunther. As a reward Siegfried receives\nthe hand of Chriemhild. In the fulness of his heart the hero presents\nto Chriemhild as a marriage gift, the Nibelungen Hoard, which he had\ngained in his early years from the sons of the king of the Nibelungen\nand from Dwarf Alberich the guardian of the treasure.\n\nJoy reigns in the king's court at Worms, but it was not shared by all.\nBesides Chriemhild there was another secretly drawn towards the hero,\nand in Brunhild's heart the bridal happiness of Chriemhild awakens\nsuch envy that soon no friendly word passes between the women. They\nbecome estranged and one day her bad feeling leads Brunhild to harsh\nwords. Then alas, Chriemhild gave unbridled licence to her tongue. In\nher rash insolence she represents to Brunhild that it was not Gunther\nbut Siegfried who formerly overcame her. As proof of this she produces\nthe ring and girdle which Siegfried had taken on that night from the\npowerful Brunhild, and which he had presented to Chriemhild. With\nfierce haughtiness Chriemhild taunts her opponent with a hateful name\nno woman could endure, and forbids her to enter the cathedral.\n\nBrunhild, weeping, informs King Gunther of the contumely heaped upon\nher. The king is filled with wrath, and his vassal, the gloomy Hagen,\nconsiders how he may destroy Siegfried avowedly to avenge the Queen,\nbut secretly for the possession of the Nibelungen Hoard. During a hunt\nin the Odenwald Siegfried was treacherously stabbed by Hagen whilst\nstopping to drink from a well. The intention was to spread the report\nthat Siegfried had been slain by robbers whilst hunting alone. So, on\nthe following day they crossed the Rhine back to Worms.\n\nIn the night Hagen caused the dead body of Siegfried to be laid in\nfront of Chriemhild's chamber. In the early morning as Chriemhild\naccompanied by her attendants was preparing to go to mass in the\ncathedral she noticed the corpse of her hero. A wail of sorrow arose.\nChriemhild threw herself weeping on the body of her murdered husband.\n\"Alas!\" she cried \"thy shield is not hewn by swords: thou hast been\nfoully murdered. Did I but know who has done this, I would avenge thy\ndeath.\" Chriemhild ordered a magnificent bier for her royal hero, and\ndemanded that an ordeal should be held over the corpse. \"For it is a\nmarvellous thing, and to this day it happens, that when the\nbloodstained murderer approaches wounds bleed anew.\"\n\nSo all the princes and nobles of Burgundy walked past the dead body,\nabove which was the figure of the crucified Redeemer of the world, and\nlo! when the grim Hagen came forward the wounds of the dead man began\nto flow. In the presence of the astounded men and horrified women\nChriemhild accused Hagen of the assassination of her husband.\n\nMuch treachery and woe accompanied the expiation of this great crime.\nThe Nibelungen Hoard, the cause of the shameful deed, was sunk in the\nmiddle of the Rhine in order to prevent future strife arising from\nhuman greed. But Chriemhild's undying sorrow was not mitigated, nor\nher unconquerable thirst for revenge appeased.\n\nAfter the burial of his son King Siegmund begged in vain that\nChriemhild should come to the royal city of Xanten; she remained at\nWorms for thirteen years constantly near her beloved dead.\n\nThen the sorrowing woman removed to the Abbey of Lorch which her\nmother, Frau Ute, had founded. Thither also, she transferred\nSiegfried's body.\n\nWhen Etzel (Attila) the ruler of the Huns wooed her, Chriemhild urged\nnot by love but by very different feelings gave him her hand and\naccompanied her heathen lord to the Ungarland. Then she treacherously\ninvited Siegfried's murderers to visit her husband, and prepared for\nthem a destruction which fills the mind with horror. The Burgundian\nking and his followers, who, since the Hoard had come into their\npossession, were called the Nibelungen, fell slaughtered in the\nEtzelburg under the swords of the Huns and their allies, thus atoning\nfor their faithlessness to the hero Siegfried. And with this awful\nholocaust ends the Lied of the Nibelungen Not, the most renowned\nheroic legend in the German tongue.\n\n\n\n\nSPEYER\n\nThe Bells of Speyer\n\n\nThe German Emperor, Henry IV., had much trouble to bear under his\npurple mantle. Through his own and through stranger's faults the crown\nwhich he wore was set with thorns, and even into the bosom of his\nfamily this unhappy spirit of dissension had crept. The\nexcommunication of the Pope, his powerful enemy, was followed by the\nrevolt of the princes, and lastly by the conspiracy of his own sons.\nHis eldest son, Conrad, openly rebelled against him, and treated his\nfather most scornfully. When this prince died suddenly, the second\nson, Henry, attempted the deposition of his father and made intrigues\nagainst him. Thus forced to abdicate his throne the broken-down\nemperor fled to Liege, accompanied by one faithful servant, Kurt, and\nthere lay down to his last rest.\n\nHis body was left for five years in unconsecrated ground in a foreign\ncountry. Kurt remained faithful, and prayed incessantly at the\nburial-place of his royal master.\n\nAt last the Pope at Henry's request consented to recall the ban. Henry\nordered his father's remains to be brought to Speyer and solemnly\ninterred with the royal family. Kurt was allowed to follow the\nprocession to Speyer, but wearied out by this long watching the old\nman died a few days afterwards. Just at the moment of his death the\nbells in the cathedral at Speyer tolled without any human hand putting\nthem in motion, as they always did when an imperial death took place.\n\nYears passed.\n\nThe German emperor Henry V. lay dying on his luxurious couch at\nSpeyer. His bodily sufferings were intense, but the agony of his mind\nwas even greater; he had obtained the crown which now pressed so\nheavily on his head, by shameful treacherous means. The apparition of\nhis father dying in misery appeared to him, and no words of the\nflatterers at his bed-side could still the voice of his conscience. At\nlast death freed him from all his torments, and at the same hour the\nbells which were always rung when a poor sinner was led to execution,\ntolled, set in motion by no human hand.\n\nThus were the bells the instrument of that Hand which wisely and\nwarningly wrote ... \"Honour thy father and thy mother....\"\n\n\n\n\nFRANKFORT\n\nThe Knave of Bergen\n\n\n[Illustration: Der Scharfrichter von Bergen--Nach einer Zeichnung von\nAdolf Menzel--The Knave of Bergen--Le bourreau de Bergen]\n\nThe emperor was to be crowned at Frankfort, and great festivities were\nto be given in the town in his honour, among them a masquerade, at\nwhich knights and noble ladies rivalled each other in splendour. Joy\nwas depicted on every face at this great assembly, only one knight\namong the many guests being noticeable for his gravity and restraint.\nHe wore black armour, and the feather waving above his visor was black\ntoo. No one knew him or could guess who he was. He approached the\nempress with a noble grace, bent his knee, and asked her to dance with\nhim, which she graciously consented to do. He glided gracefully\nthrough the splendid halls with the queen of the festival, and soon\nevery eye was turned on them, and everyone was eager to know who he\nwas.\n\nThe empress was charmed with her excellent partner, and the grace of\nhis refined conversation pleased her so much that she granted him a\nsecond and a third dance.\n\nEveryone became more and more curious to know who this masked knight\nwas. Meanwhile the hour struck when every mask had to be raised, and\nevery masked guest must make himself known. More than all the others\nthe empress was anxious to know who her partner was. But he hesitated\nand even refused to take off his mask until she ordered him\nperemptorily to do so. The knight obeyed, but none of the high ladies\nor noble knights recognised him. Suddenly two stewards pressed through\nthe crowd, crying out with indignation and horror;\n\n\"It is the headsman from Bergen!\"\n\nThen the emperor in great wrath ordered the shameful offender who had\nthus degraded the empress and insulted his sovereign to be led to\nexecution.\n\nBut the culprit, throwing himself at the emperor's feet, said boldly,\n\"I have transgressed, my lord, and offended you and your noble guests,\nbut most heavily have I sinned against my queen. No punishment, not\neven blood, will be able to wash out the disgrace you have suffered\nthrough me. Therefore, oh King! allow me to propose a remedy to efface\nthe shame. Draw your sword and knight me, and I will throw down my\ngauntlet to any one who dares to speak disrespectfully of my\nsovereign.\"\n\nThe emperor was taken by surprise at this bold proposal. However it\nappeared the wisest plan to adopt.\n\n\"You are a knave,\" he replied after a moment's consideration, \"but\nyour advice is good and displays prudence, just as your offence shows\nadventurous courage. Well then,\"--laying his sword on the man's\nneck--\"rise Sir Knight. You have acted like a knave, and the Knave of\nBergen you shall be called henceforth.\"\n\nA joyful shout of approbation pealed through the halls, and the new\nknight again glided gracefully through the crowd with the queen of the\nfestival.\n\n\n\n\nMAYENCE\n\nHeinrich Frauenlob\n\n\n[Illustration: Heinrich Frauenlob--Steinbild im Dom zu Mainz]\n\nThe priest or as some say, canon, in the old town of Mayence was a\nvery worthy man, and at the same time a heaven-gifted singer. Besides\ndevoting himself to science, he composed numerous pious verses which\nhe dedicated to the Holy Virgin. He also played the harp, and wrote\nmany beautiful songs in honour of the female sex.\n\nIn contrast to many contemporary poets, he considered \"woman\" a higher\ntitle than \"wife,\" which only signifies a married woman. So on account\nof the chivalry displayed in his numberless poems and songs, posterity\ngave him the name of \"Frauenlob,\" under which title he is better known\nthan under his own name of Heinrich of Meissen.\n\nThe love and veneration which thankful women paid him was very great,\nnot only during his life-time, but even more so after his death. Their\ngrief was intense when it became known that the poet's voice would\nnever more be heard in this world. It was agreed to honour him with\nsuch a burial as no poet had ever before received. The funeral\nprocession moved slowly and sorrowfully along the streets, the greater\npart of the cortege being women in deep mourning who prayed for the\nrepose of the poet's soul. Eight of the most beautiful among them\ncarried the coffin, which was covered with sweet-scented flowers.\n\nAt the grave songs of lamentation were heard from women's gentle\nvoices. Precious Rhine-wine which had been the poet's favourite drink,\nand which so often had inspired his poetry, was poured by hands of his\nadmirers over his grave, so profusely, the legend relates, that the\nentrance of the church was flooded by the libation. But still more\nprecious than all these gifts were the tears, which on this memorable\nday were shed by many a gentle lady.\n\nThe wanderer can still see the monument erected to this great\nbenefactor in the cathedral at Mayence, which represents the figure of\na beautiful woman in pure-white marble placing a wreath on the coffin\nof the great singer, who had honoured women in the most chivalrous of\nsongs.\n\n\n\n\nBishop Willigis\n\n\n[Illustration: Bischof Willigis in der Klosterschule--Nach dem Gemaelde\nvon Lindenschmitt]\n\nIn the year 1000 there was a very pious priest in Mayence called\nBishop Willigis. He was only the son of a poor wheelwright, but by his\nperseverance and his own merit he had attained to the dignity of first\npriest of the kingdom. The honest citizens of Mayence loved and\nhonoured the worthy divine, although they did not altogether like\nhaving to bow down to one who had been brought up in a simple cottage\nlike themselves.\n\nThe bishop once reproved them in gentle tones for thinking too much of\nmere descent. This vexed the supercilious citizens, and one night they\ndetermined to play Willigis a trick. They took some chalk and drew\nenormous wheels on all the doors of his house.\n\nEarly next morning as the bishop was going to mass, he noticed the\nscoffers' malicious work. He stood silently looking at the wheels, the\nchaplain by his side expecting every moment that the reverend prelate\nwould burst forth in a terrible rage. But a gay smile spread over the\nbishop's features and, ordering a painter to be sent to him, he told\nhim to paint white wheels on a scarlet back-ground, visible to every\neye, just where the chalk wheels had been drawn, and underneath to\npaint the words, \"Willigis! Willigis! just think what you have risen\nfrom.\" But he did not stop there. He ordered the wheelwright to make\nhim a plough-wheel, and caused it to be placed over his couch in\nmemory of his extraction.\n\nThereafter the scoffers were put to silence, and the people of Mayence\nbegan to honour and esteem their worthy bishop, who, though he had\nbeen so exalted, possessed such honest common-sense.\n\nWhite wheels on a red ground have been the arms of the Bishops of\nMayence ever since.\n\n\n\n\nJOHANNISBERG\n\n\nWherever the German tongue is heard, and even further still, the king\nof all Rhine wines, \"Johannisberger\" is known and sought after. Every\nfriend of the grape which grows on the banks of this river is well\nacquainted with it, but few perhaps know of its princely origin. It is\nprincely, not because princes' hands once kept the key to\nJohannisberg, but rather because princely hands planted the vine in\nthe Rhine country, and this royal giver was no other than Charlemagne,\nthe all-powerful ruler of the kingdom of the Franks.\n\nOnce in early spring Charles the Great was standing on the balcony of\nhis castle at Ingelheim, his eyes straying over the beautiful stretch\nof country at his feet. Snow had fallen during the night, and the\nhills of Ruedesheim were clothed in white. As the imperial ruler was\nlooking thoughtfully over the landscape, he noticed that the snow on\none side of Johannisberg melted quicker in the sun's rays than on any\nother part. Charles, who was a great and deep thinker, began to\nreflect that on a spot where the rays of the sun shone so genially,\nsomething better than grass would thrive.\n\nSending for Kunrat, his faithful servant, he bade him saddle his horse\nthe next day at dawn and ride to Orleans, a town famous for its good\nwine. He was to inform the citizens that the emperor had not forgotten\nthe excellent wine they had given him there, and that he would like to\ngrow the same vines on the Rhine. He desired the citizens of Orleans\ntherefore to send him plants from their country.\n\nThe messenger set off to do the king's bidding and ere the moon had\nagain gone round her course, was back in the castle at Ingelheim.\nGreat satisfaction prevailed at court. Charles, mighty ruler as he\nwas, even went so far as to cross to Ruedesheim, where he planted with\nhis royal hand the French vine in German soil.\n\nThis was no mere passing whim on the part of the emperor. He sent\nmessengers constantly to bring word how the vines were thriving in\nRuedesheim and on the flanks of Johannisberg, and when the third autumn\nhad come round, the Emperor Charlemagne set out from his favourite\nresort, Aix-la-Chapelle, for the Rhine country, and great rejoicing\nprevailed among the vine-reapers from Ruedesheim to Johannisberg.\n\nThe first cup of wine was solemnly offered to the emperor, a golden\nwine in a golden goblet, a wine worthy of a king.\n\nCharles took a long deep draught, and with brightened eyes praised the\ndelicious drink. It became his favourite wine, this fiery\n\"Johannisberger,\" making him young again in his old age. What\nCharlemagne then felt when he drank this wine, every one who raises\nthe sparkling grapejuice to his lips is keenly sensible of also.\nWherever the German tongue is heard, and even further still, the king\nof all Rhine wines is known and sought after, Johannisberger wine.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe legend weaves another wonderful tale about the great emperor\nblessing his grapes.\n\nA poet's pen has fashioned it into a song, which is still often heard\namong the grapegatherers.\n\nEvery spring when the vines are blossoming on the hills and in the\nvalleys along the river, and their fragrance scents the air, a tall\nshadow wanders about the vineyards at night, a purple mantle hanging\nfrom his stately shoulders, and a crown on his head. It is\nCharlemagne, the great Emperor, who planted the grapes long years\nbefore. The luscious scent of the blossoms wakens him up from his tomb\nin Aix-la-Chapelle, and he comes to bless the grapes.\n\nWhen the full moon gently casts her bright beams on the water,\nlighting up the emperor's nightly path, he may be seen crossing the\ngolden bridge formed by her rays and then wandering further along the\nhills, blessing the vines on the other side of the river.\n\nAt the first crow of the cock he returns to his grave in\nAix-la-Chapelle, and sleeps till the scent of the grapes wakens him\nnext spring, when he again wanders through the countries along the\nRhine, blessing the vineyards.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nLet us now relate another little story which is told of the monks who\nlived at Johannisberg.\n\nOnce the high Abbot of Fulda came unexpectedly to visit the cloister\nat Johannisberg just about the time when the grapes were ripe. The\nworthy Abbot made many inquiries about his people, showed himself\nhighly pleased with the works of the industrious monks, and as a mark\nof his continued favour, invited all the inmates of the cloister to a\ndrinking-bout.\n\n\"Wine maketh the heart glad,\" thus quoting King David's significant\nwords, the holy man began his speech: \"God's loving hand will be\ngracious in future years to your vines. Let us profit by his grace,\nbrothers, and drink what he has provided for us in moderation and\nreverence. But before we refresh ourselves with God's good gifts, take\nyour breviaries and let us begin with a short prayer.\"\n\n\"Breviaries!\" was whispered along the rows, and the eyes of the fat\ngenial faces blinked in helpless embarrassment.\n\n\"Yes, your breviaries,\" and the white-haired Abbot looked silently but\nsternly at the brothers.\n\nThey searched and searched.\n\nGradually the frown disappeared from the Abbot's face, and a smile\ngradually spread over his withered features.\n\n\"Well, never mind, let us drink,\" said he. Then feeling his pockets,\nhe said with a gleam in his eye, \"That's too bad! I ought to have\nbrought a corkscrew with me when I came to the Rhine.\"\n\n\"A corkscrew!\" Every one dives his hand into his pocket, and as many\ncorkscrews were produced before the worthy Abbot as there were\nbrothers present.\n\nThen a gleam of merriment beamed in the Abbot's eyes.\n\n\"Bravo, ye pious monks! what a plentiful supply of corkscrews! Do not\nall look so embarrassed, we shall not be annoyed about it to-day\nbut--to-morrow! Now we shall sing with King David, 'Wine maketh the\nheart glad,'\" and the uncorked bottle went the rounds.\n\n\n\n\nINGELHEIM\n\nEginhard and Emma\n\n\nI.\n\nThe story which we have now to relate is a very touching one, and it\nbecomes even more interesting when we know that it is based on real\nfact.\n\nIn the little town of Ingelheim there was a beautiful marble castle,\nthe favourite residence of Charlemagne. He often retired to this\nlonely, peaceful spot accompanied only by a few of his faithful\nvassals and the members of his own family. Eginhard, the emperor's\nprivate secretary, was never missing from this little circle.\nCharlemagne thought highly of this man, then in the prime of youth, on\naccount of his profound knowledge and extraordinary talents.\n\nThe young scholar, so different from the wise councillors not only in\nhis learning but in his cultivated manners, was a great favourite\namong the ladies of the court.\n\nEginhard who was a constant companion of the emperor, had also become\nan intimate member of the family circle, and Charlemagne entrusted him\nwith the education of his favourite child Emma, daughter of his wife\nGismonda. This dark-eyed maiden was considered the most beautiful of\nher age, and the young scholar could not long remain cold and\nindifferent to her charms. The undisturbed hours which should have\nbeen spent in learning, led to a mutual understanding. Eginhard\nstruggled to remind himself of his duty towards his sovereign, but\nlove overcame him, and soon an oath of eternal fidelity united these\nyoung hearts.\n\n\nII.\n\nThe great emperor ought to have known what would be the consequence of\nallowing the young scholar to enjoy the society of his dark-eyed,\npassionate daughter. In the still hours of the night when all the\ninmates of the castle lay wrapped in sleep, Eginhard sought the\nchamber of his beloved. She listened enchanted to the glowing words of\nhis burning heart, but their love was chaste and pure, no gusts of\npassion troubling them.\n\nBut fate was against these lovers. One night they were sitting in\nEmma's chamber talking confidentially together. The great palace was\nveiled in darkness, no ray of light, no star was to be seen in the\nheavens. As Eginhard was about to leave the chamber, he perceived that\nthe courtyard below was covered with snow. It would have been\nimpossible to pass across it without leaving a trace behind him, but\nat all risks he must reach his room.\n\nWhat was to be done? Love is ingenious. After considering for some\ntime together, they both concluded that there was but one way to\nprevent their being betrayed. The slender maiden took her lover on\nher back and carried him across the courtyard, thus leaving behind\nonly her two small foot-prints.\n\nIt happened that Charles the Great had not yet sought the repose he\nneeded so much, as care banished sleep from his eyes. He sat at his\nwindow and looked out into the silent night. In the courtyard below he\nperceived a shadow crossing the pavement and, looking carefully, he\nrecognised his favourite daughter Emma carrying a man on her\nback.--Yes! and this man was Eginhard, his great favourite. Pain and\nanger struggled in his heart. He wanted to rush down and kill him--an\nemperor's daughter and a mere secretary--but with a great effort he\nrestrained himself, mastered the violent agitation which this\nunexpected sight caused him, and went back to his chamber to wait\nwearily for dawn.\n\n\nIII.\n\nThe next day Charles assembled his councillors. They were all\nhorrified to see his ghastly look; his brow was dark, and sorrow was\ndepicted on every feature. Eginhard looked at his master apprehending\ncoming evil. Charlemagne stood up and spake:--\n\n\"What does a royal princess deserve, who receives the visit of a man\nat night?\" The councillors looked at each other speechless. Eginhard's\ncountenance became white as death. The councillors soon guessed the\nname of the royal princess, and they consulted together for some time\nnot knowing what to say, but at last one councillor answered:--\n\n\"Your Majesty, we think that a weak woman must not be punished for\nanything done out of love.\"\n\n\"And what does a favourite of the emperor deserve who creeps into a\nroyal princess' chamber at night?\"\n\nCharlemagne cast a dark look at his secretary, who trembled and became\neven paler. \"Alas! all is lost,\" murmured he to himself. Then, raising\nhis voice, he said, \"Death, my Master and Emperor!\"\n\nCharles looked at the young man full of astonishment. The wrath in his\nsoul melted at this self-accusation and fervent repentance. Deep\nsilence followed this answer, and in a few minutes the emperor\ndismissed his councillors, making a sign at the same time to Eginhard\nto follow him.\n\nWithout a word Charles led him into his private chamber, where in\nanswer to his summons, Emma appeared.\n\nHer heart misgave her as she saw the dark look on her father's face\nand the troubled features of her beloved. She understood all at once,\nand with a convulsive cry of pain threw herself at her father's feet.\n\n\"Mercy! mercy! my father, we love each other so dearly!\" murmured she,\nraising her large eyes imploringly. \"Mercy!\" murmured Eginhard too,\nbending his knees.\n\nThe emperor remained silent. After a time he began to speak earnestly\nand coldly at first, but his voice changed to a milder tone on hearing\nthe sobs of his favourite child.\n\n\"I shall not separate you who are bound to each other by love. A\npriest shall unite you, and at dawn to-morrow you must both be gone\nfrom the castle, never to return.\"\n\nHe left them, shutting the door behind him.\n\nThe beautiful maiden sank down on her knees, only half conscious in\nher grief of what her father had said. But Eginhard's soft voice soon\nwhispered in her ear.\n\n\"Do not weep, Emma. By thrusting you from him, your father, my master,\nhas only bound us together for ever. Come,\" he continued in a\ntrembling voice, alarmed at her passionate tears, \"we must go, but\nlove will be ever with us.\"\n\nThe next day two pilgrims left the castle of Ingelheim, and took the\nroad in the direction of Mayence.\n\n\nIV.\n\nTime wore on.\n\nCharles the Great had made war on Saxony, had set the Roman crown upon\nhis own head, and had become famous throughout the whole world. But\nall his fame had not prevented his hair from becoming grey, nor his\nheart from being sad. A mournful picture had imprinted itself on his\nmind, despite all his efforts to forget the past. In the evening when\nthe setting sun glittered on the marble pillars of the royal palace,\ncasting its golden rays into the chamber of the great emperor, it\nwould find him sitting motionless in his carved oak-chair, his grey\nhead buried in his hands, mournful dreams troubling his peace. He was\nthinking of the days which were past, of the young man whose gentle\nways made him so different from the rough warriors of the court, how\nhe used to recite poetry and sing the songs of the old bards so\npassionately, and the old legends which the emperor prized so much,\nhow he used to read to him from the old gray parchment which he,\nEginhard, had written so carefully, how his own favourite dark-eyed\ndaughter had so often been present, sitting at his feet listening\nintently to the reader--all this came back to his memory, saddening\nhis heart, and filling his eyes with tears.\n\n\nV.\n\nBugle-horns sounded through the forest, Charles and his followers were\nat the chase. The old emperor, seeking to forget his grief, had seized\nhis spear and had gone out to hunt.\n\nIn his eagerness to follow a magnificent stag he had become separated\nfrom his escort. The sun was already low in the west; the animal, now\nseeing no way of escape, as his pursuer was close behind him, dashed\ninto a river and swam to the other side. The emperor, in hot pursuit\nand much exhausted, arrived at the water's edge, and for the first\ntime noticed that he was alone, and in a part of the country quite\nunknown to him.\n\nThe river lay before him and the forest behind, but the latter seemed\nto be quite impenetrable. It was already night, and Charles sought in\nvain to find some path or track.\n\nAs he was looking round him, he perceived a light in the distance.\nGreatly pleased he started off in that direction, and found a little\nhut close to the river, but on looking through the window Charlemagne\nsaw the room was a very poor one.\n\n\"Perhaps this is the hermitage of some pious man,\" thought he, and\nknocked at the door, whereupon a fair-haired man appeared on the\nthreshold.\n\nWithout mentioning his name, the emperor informed him of what had\nhappened, and begged shelter for the night.\n\nAt the sound of this loved voice, the man trembled, but controlling\nhimself, he invited the emperor to enter. A young woman was sitting on\na stool rocking a baby in her arms. She started, became very pale at\nthe sight of the emperor, and then hurried into the next room to hide\nher emotion; Charles sat down, and refusing refreshment from his host\nleaned his head wearily on his hands.\n\nMinutes passed, and still he sat there lost in thought, dreaming of\nthose happy by-gone days.\n\nAt last the sweet prattle of a child roused him, and looking up he saw\na little girl about five years old at his side, stretching out her\narms to him, bidding him good-night. Charles looked closely at the\nlittle angel-like creature, his heart throbbing within him. \"What is\nyour name, little one?\" asked he. \"Emma,\" answered the child.\n\n\"Emma,\" repeated Charles with tears in his eyes, and drawing the child\ncloser to him he pressed a kiss on its forehead.\n\nIn a moment the man and his young wife were at the emperor's feet\nimploring pardon. \"Emma! Eginhard!\" cried he with great emotion,\nembracing them both. \"Blessed be the place where I have found you\nagain!\"\n\nEmma and Eginhard returned in great pomp to the emperor's court. The\nlatter gave them his beautiful palace at Ingelheim, and only felt\nhimself happy when he was with them.\n\nHe caused a cloister to be built on the spot where he had found them\nagain, which to the present day is called \"Seligenstadt,\" \"town of the\nhappy.\"\n\nIn the church belonging to this little town the tomb of Eginhard and\nEmma is still shown, for according to their wishes, their bones were\ninterred in the same coffin.\n\n\n\n\nRUeDESHEIM\n\nThe Broemserburg\n\n\nIn the lofty cathedral of Spires stood a great assemblage of knights,\nand on the throne near the altar sat Conrad der Staufe with his hands\nresting on the hilt of his sword. All were listening intently to the\nburning words of Bernard of Clairvaux who was describing the ruthless\nmanner in which the holy places of Palestine had been laid waste. As\nthe saintly preacher ended with a thrilling appeal to the religious\nfeelings of his audience, a great shout, \"On, to Jerusalem!\" rang\nthrough the sacred edifice. Most of the knights offered to bring as\nmany followers as possible to aid their pious Emperor. Among those\npresent was Hans Broemser, the lord of the Niederburg at Ruedesheim.\nThis noble knight, the last of his race, was not detained at home by\nfamily cares. His wife had early been taken from him by death, and\nMechtildis, the only offspring of their marriage, was left under the\nprotection of the neighbouring Falkenstein family.\n\nSo the pious warriors marched by devious and dangerous routes to that\nland where Our Lord lived and suffered. In fierce battle with the\nSaracens many a noble knight closed his eyes forever. Many met a\nharder fate--a living death in the noisome prisons of the unbelievers.\nAfter a lost battle Sir Broemser fell into the hands of the Turks, and\nin a dungeon had to suffer shameful imprisonment. Sometimes they would\nforce their knightly foe to turn a millstone, while the crowd jeered.\nThen, in the hour of deepest misery the knight made a vow to God.\n\"Give me my freedom again, and I vow that my child Mechtildis shall\ndevote her life to the Church.\" And he repeated the solemn words\nagain, and yet a third time.\n\nThen happened what none of his companions-in-arms had ever hoped for.\nThe brave crusaders stormed this Turkish stronghold in the Syrian\ndesert, and liberated their fellow-crusaders from captivity. Full of\ngratitude to God, Hans Broemser again fought valiantly in the holy\ncause.\n\nMeanwhile at home in the hospitable keep above the Rhine a maiden\nawaited with anxiety the return of her father. Often in the silent\nhours, with sweetness and sunshine around her, without and within, she\nstood on the castle-wall and she saw in reverie that blue Eastern\nland, whilst she listened to the wild throbbing of her young heart in\nwhich the blossoms of first love were bursting.\n\nThen one night her father returned to the Rhineland.\n\nIn the moss-covered courtyard of the castle Mechtildis embraced her\nfather long and silently. Beside the maiden, now in her seventeenth\nyear, stood the young lord of Falkenstein. The youth bowed deeply to\nthe lord of the Broemserburg, and greeted him kindly with the words,\n\"Welcome home, father!\" Then the vow made in the Syrian prison rose\nlike a spectre to pall the joy of the crusader's return.\n\nIn the banqueting-hall of the castle a large company had assembled to\ncelebrate the happy return of Hans Broemser and his faithful\ncompanions. The praise of the crusaders resounded and many stories\nwere told of the dangers the heroes had encountered. With stirring\nwords the knight related to his listening guests how he himself had\nfought in the sacred cause, and how he had suffered imprisonment among\nthe heathen. Then in a lower tone, and with solemn words, he told his\nfriends of the vow he had made in his hour of deep despair in the\nSyrian dungeon.\n\nThe painful silence which followed was broken by a stifled cry, and\nthe knight's daughter, pale as the covering on the festive board, sank\nunconscious to the floor. With burning cheek and flashing eye the\nyoung lord of Falkenstein rose, and with a firm voice exclaimed,\n\"Mechtildis belongs to me; she has solemnly given herself to me\nforever.\" The murmur soon subsided before the stern countenance of the\nlord of the castle. \"Mechtildis has been dedicated to heaven, not to\nyou, boy. The last of the Broemser race has sworn it, and abides by\nit.\" The knight said this with suppressed fury, and soon his guests\ndeparted in silence.\n\nMechtildis lay in her chamber in wild grief. The flickering lamp\nbeside the crucifix threw an unsteady light on the extended form of\nthe maiden who was measuring the tedious night hours in the\nlove-anguish of her young heart. To the distracted maid her chamber\nseemed to be transformed to an oppressive dungeon. Seizing the lamp\nwith a trembling hand she hurried up the narrow winding stair on to\nthe roof of the castle, and there committed her great grief to the\nlistening ear of night. Leaning on the wall, she looked away towards\nthe castle where lived the noble young lord to whom she had dedicated\nher life. \"I am thine, my beloved,\" she sobbed. No star was visible in\nthe sky. A wild autumn wind shrieked and swirled round the keep in\naccompaniment to the storm in the maiden's breast. A short piercing\ncry echoed in the darkness. Was it the bride of the winds or a human\ncry? The night swallowed it. From the parapet of the Broemserburg a\nfemale form had been hurled down into the dark floods of the Rhine\nbelow.\n\nA bright harvest morning followed a stormy night. In the Broemserburg\nthey were searching everywhere in vain for their lord's daughter. Soon\nhowever a mournful procession approached bearing the mortal remains of\nMechtildis. In the early dawn a young woman had rescued the body from\nthe waters of the river. Now the walls of the Broemserburg echoed with\nsounds of woe over the early death of this last fair young flower of\nthe Broemser race. Hans Broemser threw himself on the body and buried\nhis stern features in the snowy linen. Not a tear bedewed his eyelids.\n\nAs a propitiatory offering for the rest of the soul of the maiden who\nhad thus avoided the monastic life, the knight in his deep sorrow\nvowed to build a chapel on the hill opposite his castle. Then Hans\nBroemser shut himself up in his chamber, and passed the following days\nin silent grief, while the grave closed over his wretched child.\n\nMany months passed, but still not a stone of the promised chapel had\nbeen set up. In the bitterness of his sorrow the grief-stricken father\nhad separated himself more and more from the world, and now brooded in\ngloomy isolation. One day a servant came before him with a likeness of\nthe Mother of God which an ox had scraped up while ploughing a field\non the hill opposite the castle, and three times the servant declared\nhe had heard the \"Not Gottes\" (Suffering of God) called out. Then Hans\nBroemser remembered his vow, and the chapel for the peace of the soul\nof Mechtildis was erected. \"Not Gottes\" it is called to this day.\n\n\n\n\nBINGEN\n\nThe Mouse-Tower\n\n\nBelow Bingen in the middle of the Rhine there is a lonely island on\nwhich a stronghold is to be seen. This tower is called \"the\nMouse-Tower.\" For many centuries a very gloomy tale has been told\nabout it in connection with Hatto, Archbishop of Mayence, whose evil\ndeeds were well-known throughout the country.\n\nHatto is said to have been ambitious, heartless, and perfidious, as\nwell as cruel towards the poor. He extorted taxes from his people,\ntolls were imposed, and new burdens invented only to gratify his\nhaughty pride and his love of display. On a little island between\nBingen and Ruedesheim he caused a tower to be built, so that all\npassing ships could be stopped in the narrow passage, where they were\nobliged to pay toll.\n\nSoon after the building of this custom-house there was a very bad\nharvest in the country round Mayence. Drought had parched the fields,\nand the little seed remaining had been destroyed by hail. The scarcity\nwas felt all the more, because the bishop had bought up all the stores\nof corn that were left from the year before, and had stored them up\nsafely in his granaries.\n\nA terrible famine now threatened the land, spreading misery among the\npoor. The unhappy people implored the cruel bishop to lower the price\nof the corn in his store-house, which he wished to sell at such\nexorbitant prices that his subjects could not buy it. All their\npetitions were in vain. His advisers besought him to have pity on the\ndeplorable condition of the poor, but Hatto remained unmoved. When\ncries of distress and the murmuring voices of the exasperated folk\nwere raised against their hard-hearted master, the bishop gave free\nvent to the wicked thoughts of his soul.\n\nOne day a troop of hungry beggars came crowding to the episcopal\npalace crying for food. Hatto and his guests were just sitting down to\na luxurious banquet. The bishop had been talking to his companions of\nthese wretched people, and had expressed his opinion that it would be\na good thing to do away with them altogether in some drastic way.\n\nAs the ragged mob of men, women and children, with hollow cheeks and\npale faces threw themselves at his feet crying for bread, a still more\nfiendish plan suggested itself. Beckoning to them with hypocritical\nkindness he promised them corn, and caused them to be led outside the\ntown to a barn, where each one was to receive as much corn as he\nwished. The unhappy folk hurried forth, their hearts full of\ngratitude; but when they were all in the barn, Hatto ordered the doors\nto be locked and the barn to be set on fire.\n\nThe screams of the poor wretches were heart-rending, and could be\nheard even in the bishop's palace.\n\nBut cruel Hatto called out scornfully to his advisers, \"Listen! how\nthe mice are squeaking among the corn. This eternal begging is at an\nend at last. May the mice bite me if it is not true!\"\n\nBut the punishment which Heaven sent him was terrible. Thousands of\nmice came out of the burning barn, made their way to the palace,\nfilled every chamber and corner, and at last attacked the bishop\nhimself. His servants killed them by hundreds, but their numbers\nseemed only to increase, as did their ferocity also. The bishop was\nseized with horror and, anticipating God's punishment, he fled from\nthe town and went on board a boat hoping to defend himself from his\nterrible pursuers. But the innumerable horde swam in legions after\nhim, and when he reached his tower on the island thinking at least he\nwould be safe there, the mice followed him, gnawing the tower and\ntearing for themselves an entrance with their sharp teeth, till at\nlast they reached him whom they sought. The cruel man was devoured by\nthe mice, which attacked him by scores. In his despair he offered his\nsoul to the Evil One, if he would release his body from such awful\nagony. The Evil Spirit came, freed his body, but took his soul away\nfor himself.\n\nThus runs the legend. History however speaks less severely of Hatto,\nthe imperious prelate.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nHis great ambition was his desire of power. He was the founder of the\ntemporal power which the seat of Mayence obtained, and which later on\nmade it the first bishopric of the kingdom, but he was always hated by\nthe citizens, who suffered much owing to his proud, despotic\ncharacter.\n\nIt is true that he was the founder of the toll which ships in olden\ntimes were obliged to pay on the Rhine, so that this fact and many\nother cruel exactions of his, have helped to evolve the terrible\nlegend of the Mouse-Tower.\n\n\n\n\nTHE VALLEY OF THE NAHE\n\nKREUZNACH\n\nA mighty draught\n\n\nOnce upon a time in the high castle called Rheingrafenstein near\nKreuznach, the flower of the knights belonging to the Rhine country\nwere assembled.\n\nThey were powerful warriors, these nobles of ancient rank, but the\nmost prominent among them was the host himself, the proud Rhine Count.\nMany a cup had he already emptied to the health of his distinguished\nguests, and rising up once more from his richly carved chair he cast a\nlook over the brilliant assembly and said in a boastful tone:\n\n\"I have got a knight's high boot here, my noble lords. A courier left\nit behind him once. Now I promise on the honour of my house that\nwhoever will drink it empty at one draught, to him I will give the\nvillage of Hueffelsheim yonder.\"\n\nThe count, smiling at the novelty of the challenge, took the boot from\nhis attendant's hand, caused it to be filled to the brim, and held up\nthis novel cup to his guests. \"Tis a fair challenge! Come on whoever\nwill dare!\" said he.\n\nAmong the illustrious company present there was one, John of\nSponheim, a knight well-known in the country for his enormous drinking\npowers; but he remained unmoved at these defiant words, only looking\ninquiringly at his neighbour, Knight Weinhart of Dhaun, who in great\nperplexity, was striving to hide his head behind a large goblet. Old\nFloersheimer, another knight whose thirst usually seemed unquenchable,\nstroked his gray beard doubtfully, while Kunz of Stromberg, a tall\nthin man, shook his head at the thought of the after-effects which\nsuch a draught would bring. Even the chaplain of the castle, who\nattributed his effective intoning of high-mass to the virtues of the\nRhenish wine which he indulged in so freely, looked longingly at the\nboot, but had not the courage to attempt such a rash act.\n\nSuddenly a knight, Boos of Waldeck by name rose. He was a muscular man\nwith the strength of a bear. In a voice of thunder he banged his\nmighty fist upon the table and said scornfully, \"Bring me that little\nboot!\"\n\nThe distinguished company stared at him in great astonishment, but\nBoos of Waldeck, taking the boot in his sturdy fist, cried out. \"Your\nhealth, my lords!\"\n\nThen flourishing it in the air, he emptied the boot at one draught.\n\nWhen this act was accomplished, Boos threw himself heavily into his\nchair, and addressing the master of the ceremonies, said with a\nhumorous twinkle in his eye:\n\n\"Did the courier not leave the other boot too? I might possibly win a\nsecond bet, and thus acquire the village of Roxheim into the bargain.\"\n\nThe count looked much abashed, but the noble guests only laughed\nheartily at the joke.\n\nThus stout Boos of Waldeck became lord of the village of Hueffelsheim.\n\n\n\n\nThe Foundation of Castle Sponheim\n\n\nThe following legend tells us about the origin of Castle Sponheim in\nthe valley of the Nahe. Once a Knight of Ravensberg was eagerly wooing\nthe beautiful young Countess of Heimburg, but there was a serious\nobstacle in his path to success. Some years before a Ravensberg had\nkilled a Heimburg in a quarrel, and since that time a bitter feud had\ndivided the two houses. The brave knight felt this bitterly, but in\nspite of it he did not leave off his wooing. The young countess was\nmuch touched by his constancy, and one day she spoke thus to her\nimpetuous suitor:\n\n\"My lord, if you will dare to go to the Holy Land there to expiate the\nsins of your fathers, and bring me back a relic from the sepulchre of\nour Redeemer, in that same hour your suit will be heard.\"\n\nThe knight in great joy kissed the maiden's slender hand and departed,\ncarrying the memory of her sweet smile away in his heart.\n\nJust at this time the call of the Emperor Barbarossa, now an old man,\nsounded throughout the land, and the Knight of Ravensberg did not\nneglect the opportunity, but hastened forth to join the imperial army.\n\nThe expedition was a long and terrible one, and the troops wearily\nmade their way across the desert plains of Palestine.\n\nThe knight, though a brave man, had no special love for warlike\nadventures, and during these exhausting marches he thought sorrowfully\nof his quiet castle on the Nahe; of how he used to lie down there in\npeace and safety at night without being in fear of the Saracens who,\nunder cover of darkness would break in waving their scimitars in air,\nan event which was a nightly occurrence on this expedition.\n\nRavensberg however fought bravely in many a battle, and after the\ndeaths of Barbarossa and his son, he joined the army of Richard the\nLion-hearted.\n\nThrough all this anxious time he never forgot his dear one at home,\nand his longing for her became stronger every day, till it seemed to\nget beyond endurance.\n\nKing Richard was called back to England on some urgent state-affairs,\nand the Knight of Ravensberg was among the few companions-in-arms who\nembarked with him. The brave knight was very happy, and while the\nking's ship was sailing along the coast of Greece and up the blue\nAdriatic Sea, he would often stand on deck and weave bright dreams of\nthe future; sometimes when no one was near, he would pull out a little\nblack ebony box set with precious stones, on which a woman's name was\nwritten in golden letters; the interior was beautifully lined with\ncostly silk; and a small splinter of wood lay within which the knight\nwould kiss most reverently. He had paid a large sum of money for it\nin the Holy Land, where he had bought it from a Jewish merchant. This\nman had sworn to him that this fragment was from the cross to which\nthe Son of God had been nailed.\n\nThe knight was very happy during this long homeward journey, but a\ngreat misfortune awaited him. Just as the crusaders came in sight of\nItaly their vessel was wrecked. The King of England, the Knight of\nRavensberg, and a few others were saved with great difficulty, and\nbrought to land. But our poor knight was inconsolable; he had held the\nprecious little box high above him in the water, but a mighty wave had\ntorn it from him, and on opening his eyes he found himself on shore.\nThe holy relic had saved him, but he had lost his treasure, and now\nall hope of his promised happiness was gone.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nOne day a weary and dispirited crusader returned to the castle of\nHeimburg. He announced his arrival to the young countess most humbly,\nbut she, her lovely face lighted up by a bright smile, hurried to meet\nthe knight whose sunburnt countenance betokened great hardships.\n\nShe listened silently to his mournful story, then raising her\nbeautiful head she asked: \"Was not the little box set with precious\nstones and was not my name in golden letters on it?\"\n\n\"Yes, noble lady,\" said the knight, the bitterness of his\ndisappointment newly awakened, \"And now it lies at the bottom of the\nsea in spite of my fervent prayers to St. George to save the precious\nfragment of our Saviour's cross.\"\n\nThe countess beckoned to a page, and after a few minutes the boy\nbrought her on a velvet cushion a little black ebony box set with\nprecious stones with a woman's name written on it. The knight uttered\na cry of joyful surprise, for he recognised the jewel at once.\n\n\"Entreat the Holy Patron of Knighthood to pardon you,\" said the\ncountess with a smile. \"A strange knight brought this to the steward a\nfew days ago, and before I had time to send for him, he had\ndisappeared.\"\n\n\"It was St. George himself!\" whispered the knight, crossing himself\npiously, \"which proves that the fragment really belonged to the Holy\nCross.\"\n\nThen he bent his knee before his charming mistress who, with a deep\nblush on her cheeks, gave the man she had long but secretly loved\nlove's first kiss.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nA happy marriage was speedily celebrated in Heimburg. The Knight of\nRavensberg then called his castle Spanheim (Span being the German word\nfor chip) in memory of the precious little relic. This name was later\non corrupted into Sponheim.\n\n\n\n\nASSMANNSHAUSEN\n\nSt. Clement's Chapel\n\n\n[Illustration: Gefangener Raubritter--Nach dem Gemaelde von Konrad\nWeigand (zur Sage: Die Clemenskapelle)]\n\nThere is a very melancholy legend connected with the foundation of St.\nClement's church, which was built on the banks of the Rhine and which,\nnot long since, was rebuilt and renovated by the generosity of the\npresent great lady of Rheinstein Castle.\n\nRudolphus of Habsburg, elected emperor after the terrible anarchy\nwhich had reigned in Germany when the land was left without a ruler,\ndetermined by firm and vigorous government, to put an end to the\nevil-doings of the robber-knights who held sway along the Rhine.\n\nHe had already threatened these much-dreaded nobles who disturbed the\npeace of the country and the government of its ruler, and now hearing\nthat they still continued their ravages, the emperor appeared himself\nin the Rhine countries, resolved to annihilate them and to destroy\ntheir strongholds.\n\nOn his way through the land, Rudolphus set fire to all the strongholds\non the upper Rhine. The burning of the castles of Reichenstein,\nSooneck, Heimburg and others, was an awful sight to the inhabitants of\nthe valley below. Numerous members of these ancient noble races met\nthe death of felons, and their bodies were hung up on trees as a\nwarning to others.\n\nThrough the gates of Mainz many a robber baron was led as a prisoner\nby the soldiers of the emperor. Every time that one of these barons\nand his companions-in-arms were led along with bound hands, towards\nthe Imperial tribunal, young and old, rich and poor poured forth from\nthe streets and alleys, and accompanied the highborn malefactors with\ncurses. The windows of the houses around were filled with eager\nonlookers, admiring the conduct of their emperor.\n\nMoaning and wailing were then heard throughout the land, mothers,\nwives, and daughters weeping for their dead. On the other hand the\nmerchants who had endured hardships and sufferings during these years,\nwere now delighted with the stern justice dealt out by the emperor.\n\nUnder cover of darkness stealthy forms could be seen creeping to the\nplace of execution, and silently and mournfully taking away the bodies\nof their relatives to preserve them from ignominious destruction. They\nthen buried the wretched remains in consecrated ground, hoping thus to\nsatisfy the fears which haunted them of future punishment, for many of\ntheir dear ones had stained their swords with the blood of their\nneighbours.\n\nIn order to atone for these sins, and in accordance with the wise\ncounsel of a priest, the trees on which the bodies had been hanged\nwere cut down, and the wood used to build a chapel of expiation.\nStones were also taken from the smoking ruins of the burning castles\nand employed for the same purpose. The little church was built on the\nlonely place of execution on the Rhine near Assmannshausen.\n\nThe day arrived--a day of great sorrow and weeping--when all was\nready, and the priest was to read prayers from the altar for the first\ntime. Many funeral barges were to be seen on the river, bringing the\ndead who were buried in the aisle of the church.\n\nThe Archbishop of Mayence absolved the bodies from their sins, and\nafterwards they were all interred together near the little church for\nthe second time.\n\nThis occurred towards the end of the thirteenth century. For long\nyears afterwards prayers were offered up in this church in\nAssmannshausen for the souls of the dead.\n\nThe once proud and mighty races gradually died out, and their\nstrongholds fell into ruins. And time which had demolished the castles\non the heights above, began her work of destruction on the little\nchurch below; its roof decayed and its walls crumbled.\n\nThe ancient little church of St. Clement has since that time been\nraised again from its ruins, and now the voice of God's priest is\nheard chanting in it again, as it was heard six hundred years ago.\n\n\n\n\nCASTLE RHEINSTEIN\n\nThe Wooing\n\n\n[Illustration: Der Brautzug--Nach dem Gemaelde von L. Herterich--(zur\nSage von Burg Rheinstein)]\n\nIn Castle Rheinstein once lived a knight called Diethelm, who devoted\nhimself without restraint to all the excesses of the robber barons.\nFrom one of his pillaging expeditions he brought back a charming\nmaiden called Jutta. As the delicate ivy twines itself round the rough\noak and clothes its knotty stem with shimmering velvet; so in time the\ngentle conduct of this maiden changed the coarse baron to a noble\nknight who eschewed pillaging and carousing, and ultimately made the\nfair Jutta the honoured wife of her captor.\n\nThe first fruit of their love cost the tender mother her life. Gerda\nhowever, who much resembled her mother, grew to such a noble beauty\nthat soon wooers from far and near came to sue for the hand of the\nbeautiful daughter of the aged Diethelm. But the aged knight made a\nmost careful selection, and many gay wooers had to depart in sorrow.\nOne young man was however regarded favourably by the maid, and not\nunkindly looked upon by the old man. He was the oldest son of the\nowner of the Sternburg. This young man had contrived to win the\nmaiden's heart, and one day, while Gerda presided as queen of love\nand beauty at a tournament held in the courtyard of Castle Rheinstein,\nHelmbrecht made an avowal of his love.\n\nSome days thereafter the young lord according to courtly fashion\nappointed his uncle Gunzelin of Reichenstein to woo his chosen bride\nfor him. But Gunzelin though an old man was full of knavery and\nfalsehood, and so instead of wooing for his nephew he ingratiated\nhimself with Gerda's father. Moreover, as the old knight was descended\nfrom an ancient family and possessed of much wealth Diethelm was\neasily induced to promise him the hand of the fair Gerda. To the\nastonishment of this worthy pair Gerda would not listen to the suit of\nher rich wooer. Her heart belonged to the nephew, not to the uncle.\nNow Count Diethelm was aroused, and with the blind fury of his earlier\nyears swore to his rich companion that Gerda belonged to him, and\nshould never wed the young cock-sparrow of the Sternburg.\n\nIn her quiet chamber the unhappy maid wept out her heart's grief, but\nburning tears did not thaw the ice-cold heart of the father. In vain\nthe young lover tried to gain the old knight's favour, but Diethelm\nmerely referred to his knightly word solemnly pledged to the lord of\nReichenstein.\n\nSoon the day approached on which Gunzelin, with the smiling\nself-satisfaction of an old roue, and decked out to give himself all\nthe appearance of young manhood, was to lead the fairest maiden in the\nRhineland to his stately castle. Gerda who possessed the mild\ndisposition of her deceased mother had submitted to the inevitable. On\na bright summer morning the bridal procession started from the\ncourtyard of Castle Rheinstein, and moved towards the Clement's Chapel\nsituated in the neighbourhood. Horns blew and trumpets sounded. On a\nmilkwhite palfrey, sat the fair young bride, deadly pale. She was\nthinking of her absent lover who in this hour must be enduring the\ngreatest anguish on her account. Then all at once a swarm of buzzing\ngadflies came out of the bush and fastened fiercely on the palfrey\nwhich bore the fair Gerda. The animal reared and broke from the bridal\nprocession. Boldly the bridegroom on his grandly caparisoned steed\ndashed forward to check the frightened animal, but his war-horse\nmissing its footing on the narrow bridle path fell over a precipice\ncarrying its master with it. The dying knight was carried by the\nwedding-guests back to Castle Rheinstein. The aged Diethelm was also\nunfortunate in his attempt to stop the runaway steed. The maddened\nanimal had struck him on the shinbone, and wounded him. The servants\nwere thus obliged to carry the moaning greybeard back to his castle as\nspeedily and carefully as possible. The surgeon had a sad time of it\nduring the next week as he attended to the enraged old knight's wounds\nand bruises.\n\nWhen the runaway horse had disappeared round a bend of the path a man\nthrew himself upon it, and bringing the trembling animal to a\nstandstill clasped the unconscious bride in his arms. Helmbrecht,\nconcealed in the brushwood, had been watching the bridal procession,\nand now came to the rescue of his true love. When the old lord heard\nof this he came to his senses and gave the lovers his blessing. Some\nweeks later a bridal procession advanced from the Clement's Chapel up\nto the festively decorated Castle Rheinstein. Trumpets were blown and\nhorns resounded. Much more joyfully than on the previous occasion the\nmusicians marched in front. Upon a milkwhite palfrey, as formerly, sat\na noble maiden in bridal state, clothed in undulating robes bordered\nwith fur. Her head was bent in maiden modesty as she listened to the\nendearments which the youthful knight whispered in her ear. Behind\nrode the father of the bride sunk in thought, and along with him was\nhis pious sister Notburge, the canoness of Nonnenwerth.\n\nA life of unalloyed married bliss followed this union, and God granted\nto the noble pair a long and happy life. They rest together in front\nof the altar in the Clement's Chapel which is situated across the\nRhine from Assmannshausen. Castle Rheinstein stands in renewed\nyouthful beauty on the edge of its precipitous cliff overlooking our\nnoble stream.\n\n\n\n\nCASTLE SOONECK\n\nThe Blind Archer\n\n\nIn his stronghold at Sooneck, Siebold, one of the most rapacious of\nthe robber barons presided over a godless revel. Wanton women with\nshowy apparel and painted cheeks lolled in the arms of tipsy\ncavaliers. The music blared, and to complete their carousal wine\nflowed freely. The lord of Sooneck flushed with drinking, and leering\non the assembly with evil-looking eyes spoke as follows:\n\n\"Noble ladies (drunken applause from his worthy associates) and\nmuch-married nobles (loudly giggled the shameless females), after food\nand drink, I, as your host will be pleased to entertain you by\nbringing before you a ferocious animal which I keep confined here.\"\n\nWhile the ladies pretended to take shelter timidly behind their lords,\nand the men stared at their host expecting some further explanation,\nthe doors of the room opened, and led by two servants a man in coarse\ngarments, and with unkempt hair and beard stood before them. A\nsuppressed whisper passed round the festive board and all eyes were\nfixed on the haggard countenance of the prisoner. When for a moment\nthe weary eyelids were raised, two ghastly cavities were visible.\nAgain, with the same tone of levity, the lord of the castle spoke,\n\"Lovely ladies, and knightly companions, the best marksman on the\nRhine was Hans Veit of Fuersteneck. Like ourselves he was dreaded far\nand near. He and I entered on a feud of life and death. He went down.\"\n\n\"With broken brand and battered shield, bleeding from numerous wounds\nI lay prostrate before you awaiting manfully the death-thrust,\"\nmurmured the prisoner, and his voice sounded as if from the grave. \"It\npained me to finish him off,\" said Siebold flippantly, \"I got his two\neyes taken out, and thus added to my collection of rarities, the best\narcher on the Rhine.\"\n\n\"My murdered eyes behold your scorn,\" said the prisoner harshly. \"But\nsurely chivalry still flourishes on Sooneck,\" said the lord of the\ncastle. \"Understand then that my servants have informed me, that even\nblind, you can, guided only by sounds, hit a given mark with a bolt.\nIf you come out of this ordeal successful, freedom shall be the\nreward.\" Stormy applause greeted these words.\n\n\"Death were dearer to me than life,\" murmured the blind archer. As he\nseized the crossbow however, a gleam of joy went over his countenance\nlike a ray of sunshine over a sombre landscape. Crowded together in a\ncorner of the room the guests watched the proceedings. The lord of\nSooneck seized a goblet and ordered the prisoner to draw upon it,\nafter hearing the sound. In the next moment the silver clang\nresounded, as the goblet fell on the floor.\n\n\"Shoot now,\" said Siebold of Sooneck, and immediately an arrow pierced\nhis mouth. With a grunt like a slaughtered ox, Siebold sank among the\nrushes. Silent and motionless with the two eye-cavities gaping, stood\nthe blind man. Then his shaggy head sank on his heaving breast. Like a\nflock of frightened crows the knights and their paramours fled, and\nonly a few terrified squires and servants muttered prayers over the\nbody of the lord of Sooneck.\n\n\n\n\nTHE RUINS OF FUeRSTENBERG\n\nThe Mother's Ghost\n\n\nLambert of Fuerstenberg was a hearty jovial knight, and had married\nWiltrud, a daughter of the Florsheim family. He was attached to his\ngentle wife, who had just presented him with a son and heir. But an\nevil genius entered the castle in the person of a noble maiden called\nLuckharde. This maiden who had suddenly been left an orphan, belonged\nto a family long befriended by the house of Fuerstenberg. She was only\neighteen, but possessed a lascivious beauty, very dangerous to men.\n\nThe lady of the castle, who had been in delicate health since the\nbirth of her child, gave Luckharde a warm-hearted welcome into the\nbosom of her family, trusting that the young woman would be of great\nservice to her in the management of her little realm, and would repay\nher kindness by sisterly love and sympathy. Luckharde however was of a\nvain and frivolous disposition, and had little love for household\naffairs, or womanly duties.\n\nAs the months passed, Luckharde's ripening and dangerous beauty gained\ngradually and almost imperceptibly more and more influence over the\nsusceptible heart of the lord of the castle, and soon the day came\nwhen he yielded himself entirely to the charms of this beautiful\nwoman. Wiltrud's eyes were by no means blind to the shameful\ningratitude of the adulteress, and the godless conduct of her husband.\nHer weakness however, prevented her from calling down the judgment of\nheaven on the sinners. Luckharde, led on by her unbridled passion, now\nformed a devilish design which would enable her to take the place of\nthe lawful wife of Lambert. One night she slipped into the chamber of\nthe lady of the castle, approached the bed of the sleeping woman with\na cat-like step, and smothered her with the pillows, the poor invalid\noffering but a feeble and ineffective resistance.\n\nWiltrud's death was deeply mourned by the household, who believed that\nshe had died of a broken heart. Lambert too might be grieved, but in\nthe arms of his raven-locked enchantress he soon forgot his deceased\nwife, and in a few weeks Luckharde was made lady of Fuerstenberg. The\nlittle boy whom Wiltrud had borne to her unfaithful husband was\nhateful to the second wife, who fondled her lord, and flattered him\nwith the hope of the children she would bear him. Then it was arranged\nthat the knight's first-born should be handed over to the care of an\nold crone who lived in a remote tower of the castle.\n\nOne night this old woman awoke suddenly, and was terrified to see a\nfemale form dressed in a flowing white robe, bending over the cradle\nof the little boy, who slept near. The woman seemed to be tending\nthe child, and after blessing him, she vanished. The old woman crossed\nherself, and in terror muttered many prayers. In the early morning she\nhurried to her new mistress in great agitation and with white lips\ntold her of her strange visitor. Luckharde at first laughed in her\nusual frivolous manner at this ridiculous ghost story, but soon she\nbecame more serious and alarmed. Then she ordered the old woman to\narrange her bed beside the other servants, but still to leave the\nchild in the tower-chamber. A dreadful fear had taken possession of\nLuckharde's guilty soul. Perhaps people were deceived when they\nbelieved Wiltrud to be dead, and it was thus that she returned at\nnight to nurse her child.\n\nThen this daring and sinful woman prepared a bed for herself in the\nlonely tower beside the child. She also brought with her a formidable\ndagger, and thus she awaited what the night might bring forth. At\nmidnight the female figure dressed in the flowing white robe appeared\nonce more. It approached the cradle of the child, tended him and\nblessed him. Then the terror-stricken Luckharde stared motionless at\nthe apparition as it rose and approached her bed. Towering there above\nher were the pallid features of the dead Wiltrud, and the lifeless\nentreating eyes looked steadily at this sinful woman who had taken the\nplace of her benefactress. To Luckharde it seemed as if a great\nprecipice was slowly bending over to overwhelm her. With a last mad\neffort the wretched woman seized the dagger, and struck at the\napparition; but she might as well have struck at a misty cloud. Now\nLuckharde perceived that she was in the presence of the murdered lady\nof the Fuerstenberg, and harrowed with the thought of her guilt she\nseemed to hear a voice as if from another world saying, \"Do penance\nfor thy sins.\"\n\nNext morning Lambert waited in vain for his wife to appear. On looking\naround however he noticed a piece of parchment. On it Luckharde had\nconfessed with deep sorrow, how she had murdered his first wife in\norder to further her evil designs, and how the spirit of the dead had\nappeared to her in the night, and warned her of her great guilt. She\nwas going to fly to a cloister to do penance during the remainder of\nher days, and she recommended her sinful accomplice to do the same.\nLambert of Fuerstenberg was deeply grieved on receiving this\nrevelation. He handed over his castle and child to a younger brother,\nand spent the rest of this life as a solitary hermit.\n\n\n\n\nBACHARACH\n\nBurg Stahleck\n\n\nAncient Bacharach was once a famous place, and long before the fiery\nwine that grows there became famous throughout the world--\"it was in\nthe good old times\" as our grandmothers say--it was the delight of\nmany a connoisseur abroad. About that time its grateful lovers erected\nan altar to Bacchus who provided them so liberally with wine. The\nplace of sacrifice was on a huge rock projecting out of the Rhine,\nbetween an island and the right bank of the river, and in honour of\nthe god they gave the town the name it still bears.\n\nThe inscriptions on the altar-stone have become unintelligible, but\nthe Bacharach folk know well to the present day the original meaning\nof them.\n\nFishermen still keep up the old custom but now more as an amusement;\nthey dress up a straw-man as Bacchus, place him on the altar, and\nsurround him singing.\n\nThe ruins of the castle of Stahleck are situated on the Rhine, above\nthe wild, romantic country of Bacharach.\n\nAbout the time of Conrad III., the first Emperor of the House of\nHohenstaufen, a young ambitious knight, Palatinate Count Hermann,\ninhabited this castle. Being a nephew of the emperor, this aspiring\nknight considered his high and mighty relationship as a sufficient\nreason for enlarging his dominions.\n\nHe conceived no less a plan than that of taking possession of part of\nthe property which bordered on his land, belonging to the Archbishops\nof Mayence and Treves, supporting his claim by declaring that for more\nthan one reason he had a right of possession. The jealousy which at\nthat time existed between the clerical and the secular powers, brought\na number of neighbouring knights to his side as allies, and the count\nbegan his unprovoked quarrel by taking a castle at Treves on the\nMoselle by storm. This castle belonged to the diocese of that town.\n\nAdalbert of Monstereil, a man of an undaunted character, was then\nBishop both of Treves and Metz.\n\nHe at once collected his warriors to drive the bold robber from the\nconquered castle. The temerity of the count and his superior forces\ndismayed Adalbert, giving him grounds for sober reflections. But the\ngood bishop was a clever man and, not believing himself sufficiently\nstrong to resist the count, he sought refuge in spiritual weapons.\n\nWhen his people were about to assault the stronghold, he made a most\nenthusiastic speech to his troops.\n\nHolding up a crucifix in his right hand, he told to them that in the\nsilent hours of the previous night the Archangel Michael had appeared\nto him, and had given him this crucifix, at the same time promising\nhim certain victory if each of his warriors attacked the enemy in the\nfirm belief that an invincible Higher Power was near to help them.\n\nThe bishop's words inspired his men with a great courage. Led on by\nthe holy man carrying the crucifix in his raised hand, they marched on\nto the assault, stormed the castle, and made Hermann's troops flee in\ngreat confusion. The ambitious count, now finding himself deserted by\nhis troops, was forced to renounce the feud which he had hoped to\ncarry on against the bishop.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe disgraceful defeat the count had suffered was most humiliating to\nhim, but it had not killed his ambition.\n\nHe now directed his thoughts to his other ecclesiastical neighbour.\n\nHaving searched through some ancient documents, he thought he had\nfound full right to a strip of land which Arnold of Solnhofen, Bishop\nof Mayence, then held in possession. He at once sent in his claim to\nthis mighty prince of the church, who received it with a scornful\nlaugh. \"Oh!\" said the bishop, tearing up the written complaint, \"I\nshall be able to manage this little count as well as I have all along\nmanaged the stubborn people of Mayence, some of whom have bitterly\nrepented of having rebelled against their bishop.\"\n\nHermann was told how Solnhofen had treated his claim. In great wrath\nhe swore to take vengeance on the man who had dared to tear up his\ncomplaint so contumeliously. His young wife implored him with tears in\nher eyes not to raise his hand against a servant of the Lord again.\nBut he turned contemptuously away.\n\nHerman was well aware that, through the influence of the bishop's\ncompanions-in-arms, he was now hated by the citizens of Mayence. This\ncircumstance made him determine to rob Arnold of land and dignity, as\nhe ascribed the cause of this deadly dissension to the power the\nbishop exerted over the people of his diocese.\n\nThe count, now joined by several daring knights, again prepared to\nmake war against the representative of the church, and marched to\nattack the bishop in his stronghold.\n\nArnold was enraged at this persistent striving against the dominions\nof the church, and his dark soul conceived a dastardly plan to rid\nthem of their enemy. He hired two villains who treacherously put the\ncount to death.\n\nSoon afterwards the rebellious citizens of Mayence successfully\nstormed the bishop's palace and turned the cruel prelate out of his\nepiscopal seat, whereupon he was obliged to flee for his life. But\nArnold was not so easily subdued and he soon returned, breathing\nvengeance. His friends warned him in vain, and even the famous\nprophetess, Hildegarde of Rupertusberg, sent a messenger to him with\nthe words, \"Turn to the Lord whom you have forsaken, your hour is\nnear at hand.\"\n\nBut he heeded not this admonition, and at last he was killed by the\nrebels in the Abbey of Jacobsberg, some distance from the town where\nhe had taken up his residence.\n\n\n\n\nKAUB\n\nCastle Gutenfels\n\n\n[Illustration: Turnier zu Koeln--Zu der Sage von Burg Gutenfels]\n\nAbout the middle of the thirteenth century, there was a stately castle\nnear Kaub which was inhabited by Count Philip of Falkenstein. There he\nlived very happily with his beautiful sister Guta, who was as good as\nshe was fair.\n\nNumerous knights had sought to win her love, but none had achieved\nthis conquest, the castle maiden having no desire to exchange her\nbrother's hospitable home for any other.\n\nAt that time a magnificent tournament was held at Cologne, to which\nknights from all countries of the kingdom far and near and even from\nEngland were invited.\n\nA great multitude of spectators were assembled to see the stately\nknights contending for the prize, which a fair hand would bestow on\nthem.\n\nAmong the nobles present at the tournament was a knight from England,\nwhose graceful figure and splendid armour were particularly striking.\nHe wore a veiled visor, and the stewards of the tournament announced\nhim under the name of \"the Lion Knight,\" a golden lion ornamenting his\nshield. Soon the majestic knight's master-like manner of fighting\ncreated a great sensation, and when he succeeded in unhorsing his\nopponent, a most formidable combatant, loud rejoicings rang through\nthe lists.\n\nCount Philip and his sister were among the guests. Guta had been\nwatching the strange knight with ever increasing interest during the\ntournament, regretting at the same time that she could not see his\nface.\n\nBut an opportunity soon presented itself when the knight was declared\nvictor. When she was selected to present the prize, a golden\nlaurel-wreath, to the winner, she became much embarrassed, and a\nfeeling such as she had never before experienced seized her as she\nlooked at the Briton's face for the first time.\n\nPerhaps the knight may have read in the lovely maiden's countenance\nwhat she in vain tried to hide from him, perhaps a spark from that\npassionate fire which had so suddenly fired her heart, may have flown\ninto his soul as he knelt before her to receive the wreath, which she\nplaced on his head with a trembling hand. Who can tell?\n\nAfterwards when these two were conversing together in subdued\nwhispers, the knight silently admiring her grace and the maiden\nscarcely able to restrain her feelings, the thoughts which he longed\nto tell her, flamed in his heart. The same evening in the banqueting\nhall, when the music was sounding within its walls, he was Guta's\ninseparable companion, and eloquent words flowed from his lips telling\nher of the love which his eyes betrayed.\n\nThe proud stranger begged Guta for her love and swore to be hers; he\ntold her he must at once return to his country where urgent duty\ncalled him, but that he would come back to claim her in three months'\ntime. Then he would publicly sue for her hand and declare his name,\nwhich circumstances compelled him to keep secret for the time being.\n\nLove will make any sacrifice; Guta accepted her lover's pledge\nwillingly, and thus they parted under the assurance that they would\nsoon meet again.\n\nFive months had passed. That terrible time ensued when Germany became\nthe battle-field of the party-struggles over the election of the\nemperor. Conrad IV., the last of the house of Hohenstaufen, had died\nin Italy. In the northern countries there was a great rising against\nWilliam of Holland who was struggling for the imperial throne;\nAlphonso of Castile was chosen king in one part of the country, while\nRichard of Cornwall, son of John, king of England, was elected in\nanother; but Richard, having received most influential votes, was\ncrowned at Aix-la-Chapelle, and from thence he started on a journey\nthrough the Rhine provinces, to the favour of which he had been\nchiefly indebted for his election.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nSpring was casting her bright beams over waves and mountains in the\nvalley of the Rhine, but in Falkenstein castle no ray of sunshine\npenetrated the gloom. Guta, pale and unhappy, sat within its walls,\nweaving dreams which seemed destined never to be fulfilled. Sometimes\nshe saw her lover dying on a terrible battle-field with her name on\nhis lips, then again laughing and bright with a maiden from that\nfar-off island in his arms, talking derisively of his sweetheart on\nthe Rhine. She became more and more conscious that she had given him\nher first love, and that he had cruelly deceived her. Sorrow and grief\nhad taken possession of her, and all her brother's efforts to amuse\nher and to distract her attention were in vain.\n\nA great sound of trumpets was heard one day on the highway, and a\ntroop of knights stopped at the castle. Guta saw the train of warriors\nfrom her window, where she had been sitting weeping. The count with\nchivalrous hospitality received them, and led them into the\nbanqueting-hall. His astonishment was great, when he recognised the\nbold Briton, the victor at the tournament in Cologne, as leader of\nthis brilliant retinue, he who had broken his secret pledge to his\nbeloved sister. A dark glance took the place of the friendly\nexpression on his face. The Briton seemed to notice it and pressing\nPhilip's hand said cordially, \"I am Richard of Cornwall, elected\nEmperor of Germany, and I have come here to solicit the hand of your\nsister Guta, who promised herself to me five months ago in Cologne. I\ncome late to redeem my promise, but my love is unchanged. I beg you to\nannounce my arrival to her without betraying my name.\"\n\nPhilip bowed deeply before the illustrious guest, and the retainers\nrespectfully retired to a distance. The great guest strode up and down\nthe room impatiently. Then the doors were suddenly thrown open, and a\nbeautiful figure appeared on the threshold, her face glowing with\nemotion.\n\nWith a low cry Guta threw herself into her lover's arms, and the first\nmoments of their reunion were passed in silent happiness.\n\nPhilip now entered the room unperceived, and revealed the secret to\nhis sister. The maiden in great confusion and shame stole a look at\nher lover's eyes, and he, drawing her gently to him, asked her to\nshare all--even his throne with him.\n\nShortly afterwards Richard celebrated his marriage with imperial\nmagnificence at the castle on the Rhine, which Philip thence forward\ncalled Gutenfels, in honour of his sister.\n\n\n\n\nOBERWESEL\n\nThe Seven Maidens\n\n\nThe scattered ruins of an old knight's tower are still to be seen on\none of the heights near Oberwesel. The castle was called Schoenberg,\nafter the seven virgins who once lived there, and whose beauty was\nrenowned throughout all the Rhine countries.\n\nTheir father had died early, some say of grief, because Heaven had\ndenied him a son, and an elderly aunt had striven in vain to guide the\nseven wild sisters; but her influence had not been sufficiently strong\nto lead them in the right way. After the death of this relative the\nseven beautiful maidens were left to themselves, and now their longing\nafter liberty and the pleasures of the world broke out even stronger\nthan before.\n\nMany a tale was told about them, how they used to ride out hunting and\nhawking, how many a magnificent banquet was given by them, and how\ntheir beauty, their riches, and the gay and joyous life led by them\nattracted many knights from near and far; how many a stately noble\ncame to their castle to woo one of the sisters, and how these maidens\nat first ensnared and enchanted him with a thousand attractive\ncharms, only in the end to reject the enamoured suitor with scorn and\nmockery.\n\nAshamed and very wrathful many a great knight had left the castle, and\nwith indignation and disdain had blotted out of his memory the names\nof these bewitching sirens who at first had listened with deceitful\nmodesty to his honest wooing, only afterwards to declare with scornful\nlaughter that their liberty was so dear to them, that they would not\ngive it up for the sake of any man.\n\nAlas! there were always youths to be found who put no faith in such\nspeeches and, trusting to their great names and peculiar merits,\nsought their happiness among these maidens. But all the trials ended\nin the same mournful manner; no suitor succeeded in winning the heart\nof these seductive beings. Thus they continued their dangerous and\ncontemptible life for some years.\n\nOnce again there was a great banquet and feasting in the halls of the\ncastle. A circle of knightly figures sat round the brilliant board\namong the seven sisters, who were quite conscious of their charms, one\nrivalling the other in gaiety and liveliness.\n\nThe joyous scene was disturbed for a short time by two knights who\nwere disputing about one of the sisters, and had angered each other by\ntheir growing jealousy.\n\nThe scene excited general attention and was looked on at first as a\nmost amusing one, but when the youths were about to draw their\nswords, it was thought necessary to separate them.\n\nSeizing this opportunity one of the other knights proposed that to\nguard against further discord, the castle maidens should be urged to\nmake a final decision, so that each suitor--they all recognised one\nanother as such--might know what he had to expect.\n\nThe proposal met with general applause, only the sisters showed\ndiscontentment, declaring they could not agree to such a presumptuous\nplan. However the wooers tried every imaginable means of persuading\nthem, and at last one of the sisters wavered, a second followed her\nexample, and the remaining ones, after whispering to each other for\nsome time, declared with laughing countenances that they would decide\nthe fate of their suitors the next day.\n\nThe expected hour arrived, and the knights in great suspense assembled\nin the large hall.\n\nEvery eye was riveted on the door through which these Graces should\nenter, bringing a sweet surprise to some or a bitter disappointment to\nothers.\n\nThe folding-doors were suddenly thrown open, and an attendant\nannounced that the mistresses of the castle were waiting to receive\nthe knights in the garden near the river.\n\nThe numerous suitors all hurried out. To their great astonishment they\nsaw the fair ones all seated in a boat on the Rhine. With a peculiar\nsmile they beckoned the knights to approach, and the eldest sister\nstanding up in her seat, made the following speech.\n\n\"You may all throw your hopes to the winds, for not one of us would\ndream of falling in love with you, much less of marrying you. Our\nliberty is much too precious to us, and we shall not sacrifice it for\nany man. We are going to sail down to Cologne to the property of a\nrelation, and there we shall disappoint other suitors, just as we have\nmisled you, my noble lords. Good-bye, good-bye!\"\n\nThe scornful speech was accompanied by a scoffing laugh which was\nre-echoed by the other sisters, and the boat set sail.\n\nThe rejected suitors stood speechless with shame and anger.\n\nSuddenly a terrible storm arose, the boat was agitated violently, and\nthe laughter of the seven sisters was turned to cries for help. But\nthe roaring of the waves drowned their voices, and the billows rushed\nover the boat, burying it and the seven sisters in the depths below.\n\nJust on the spot where these stony-hearted maidens met their deaths,\nseven pointed rocks appeared above the surface of the water, which up\nto the present day are still to be seen, a salutary warning to all the\nyoung maidens of the country.\n\n\n\n\nST. GOAR\n\nLorelei\n\n\n[Illustration: Die Loreley--Nach dem Gemaelde von C. Begas]\n\n\nI.\n\nAbove Coblenz where the Rhine flows through hills covered with\nvineyards, there is a steep rock, round which many a legend has been\nwoven--the Lurlei Rock. The boatman gazes up at its gigantic summit\nwith awful reverence when his boat glides over the waters at twilight.\nLike chattering children the restless waves whisper round the rock,\ntelling wonderful tales of its doings. Above on its gray head, the\nlegend relates that a beautiful but false nymph, clothed in white with\na wreath of stars in her flowing hair, used to sit and sing sweet\nsongs, until a sad tragedy drove her forever away.\n\nLong long ago, when night in her dark garment descended from the\nhills, and her silent comrade, the pale moon, cast a silver bridge\nover the deep green stream, the soft voice of a woman was heard from\nthe rock, and a creature of divine beauty was seen on its summit. Her\ngolden locks flowed like a queenly mantle from her graceful shoulders,\ncovering her snow-white raiment so that her tenderly-formed body\nappeared like a cloud of light. Woe to the boatsman who passed the\nrock at the close of day! As of old, men were fascinated by the\nheavenly song of the Grecian hero, so was the unhappy voyager allured\nby this being to sweet forgetfulness, his eyes, even as his soul,\nwould be dazzled, and he could no longer steer clear of reefs and\ncliffs, and this beautiful siren only drew him to an early grave.\nForgetting all else, he would steer towards her, already dreaming of\nhaving reached her; but the jealous waves would wash round his boat\nand at last dash him treacherously against the rocks. The roaring\nwaters of the Rhine would drown the cries of agony of the victim who\nwould never be seen again.\n\nBut the virgin to whom no one had ever approached, continued every\nnight to sing soft and low, till darkness vanished in the first rays\nof light, and the great star of day drove the gray mists from the\nvalley.\n\n\nII.\n\nRonald was a proud youth and the boldest warrior at the court of his\nfather, the Palatinate Count. He heard of this divine, enchanting\ncreature, and his heart burned with the desire to behold her. Before\nhaving seen the water nymph, he felt drawn to her by an irresistible\npower.\n\nUnder pretence of hunting, he left the court, and succeeded in getting\nan old sailor to row him to the rock. Twilight was brooding over the\nvalley of the Rhine when the boat approached the gigantic cliff; the\ndeparting sun had long sunk below the mountains, and now night was\ncreeping on in silence; the evening star was twinkling in the deep\nblue firmament. Was it his protecting-angel who had placed it there\nas a warning to the deluded young man?\n\nHe gazed at it in rapture for some time, until a low cry from the old\nman at his side interrupted him. \"The Lorelei!\" whispered he,\nstartled, \"do you see her--the enchantress?\" The only answer was a\nsoft murmur which escaped from the youth. With wide-open eyes he\nlooked up and lo! there she was. Yes, this was she, this wonderful\ncreature! A glorious picture in a dark frame. Yes, that was her golden\nhair, and those were her flowing white garments.\n\nShe was hovering up above on the rocks combing her beautiful hair;\nrays of light surrounded her graceful head, revealing her charms in\nspite of the night and the distance and as he gazed, her lips opened,\nand a song thrilled through the silence, soft and plaintive like the\nsweet notes of a nightingale on a still summer evening.\n\nFrom her height she looked down into the hazy distance and cast at the\nyouth a rapturous look which sank down into his soul, thrilling his\nwhole frame.\n\nHis eyes were fixed on the features of this celestial being where he\nread the sweet story of love.... Rocks, stream, glorious night, all\nmelted into a mist before his eyes, he saw nothing but the figure\nabove, nothing but her radiant eyes. The boat crept along, too slowly\nfor him, he could no longer remain in it, and if his ear did not\ndeceive him, this creature seemed to whisper his name with unutterable\nsweetness, and calling to her, he dashed into the water.\n\nA death-like cry echoed from the rocks ... and the waves sighed and\nwashed over the unhappy youth's corpse.\n\nThe old boatman moaned and crossed himself, and as he did so,\nlightning tore the clouds asunder, and a loud peal of thunder was\nheard over the mountains. Then the waves whispered gently below, and\nagain from the heights above, sad and dying away, sounded the Lurlei's\nsong.\n\n\nIII.\n\nThe sad news was soon brought to the Palatinate Count, who was\noverpowered with grief and anger. He ordered the false enchantress to\nbe delivered up to him, dead or alive.\n\nThe next day a boat sailed down the Rhine, manned by four hardy bold\nwarriors. The leader looked up sternly at the great rocks which seemed\nto be smiling silently down at him. He had asked permission to dash\nthe diabolical seducer from the top of the rocks into the foaming\nwhirlpool below, where she would find a certain death, and the count\nhad readily agreed to this plan of revenge.\n\n\nIV.\n\nThe first shades of twilight were gliding softly over mountain and\nhill.\n\nThe rock was surrounded by armed men, and the leader, followed by some\ndaring comrades, was climbing up the side of the mountain the top of\nwhich was veiled in a golden mist, which the men thought were the\nlast rays of sunset. It was a bright gleam of light enshrouding the\nnymph who appeared on the rocks, dreamingly combing her golden hair.\nShe then took a string of pearls from her bosom, and with her slender\nwhite hand bound them round her forehead. She cast a mocking glance at\nthe threatening men approaching her.\n\n\"What are the weak sons of the earth seeking up here on the heights?\"\nsaid she, moving her rosy lips scornfully. \"You sorceress!\" cried the\nleader enraged, adding with a contemptuous smile, \"You! We shall dash\nyou down into the river below!\"\n\nAn echoing laugh was heard over the mountain.\n\n\"Oh! the Rhine will come himself to fetch me!\" cried the maiden.\n\nThen bending her slender body over the precipice yawning below, she\ntore the jewels from her forehead, hurling them triumphantly into the\nwaters, while in a low sweet voice she sang:--\n\n    \"Haste thee, haste thee oh father dear!\n    Send forth thy steeds from the waters clear.\n    I will ride with the waves and the wind!\"\n\nThen a storm burst forth, the Rhine rose, covering its banks with\nfoam. Two gigantic billows like snow-white steeds rose out of the\ndepths, and carried the nymph down into the rushing current.\n\n\nV.\n\nThe terrified messengers returned to the count, bringing him the\ntidings of this wonderful event.\n\nRonald, whose body a chance wave had washed up on the banks of the\nriver, was deeply mourned throughout the country.\n\nFrom this time forth, the Lorelei was never seen again. Only when\nnight sheds her dark shadow on the hills, and the pale moon weaves a\nsilver bridge over the deep green stream, then the voice of a woman,\nsoft and low, is heard echoing from the weird heights of the rocks.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe Lorelei has vanished, but her charm still remains.\n\nThou canst find it, O Wanderer, in the eyes of the maidens near the\nRhine. It blooms on their cheeks, it lingers on their rosy lips, there\nthou wilt find its traces.\n\nArm thy heart, steel thy will, blindfold thine eye!\n\nAs a poet of the Rhine once wisely and warningly sang, \"My son, my\nson, beware of the Rhine....\"\n\nThe Lorelei has vanished, but her charm still remains.\n\n\n\n\nRHEINFELS\n\nSt. George's Linden\n\n\nThe ruins of Castle Rheinfels, which stand above the pretty little\ntown of St. Goar, are the most extensive of their kind on the Rhine.\nThe castle was erected in the middle of the 13th century by Count\nDietherr, a nobleman belonging to the famous Rhenish family of\nKatzenelnbogen. It was a strongly fortified burg, and within ten years\nof its completion the mighty ramparts witnessed several bloody\nencounters. Twenty-six Rhenish cities once combined to carry the\ninvulnerable fortress, but though some 4000 lives were sacrificed the\narmy retreated baffled. For centuries after this, the banner of the\nHessian Landgraf waved from its battlements, none daring to attack it.\nThen the fanatic Gallic forces of the Revolution entered the\nRhineland, and laid the magnificent castle in ruins.\n\nThere is a legend associated with Rheinfels which dates from that age\nof chivalry when noble knights and their squires trod its courts, and\nthis legend seems touched with the sadness of the history of the\ncastle itself. The Count of Rheinfels was the proud father of a lovely\ndaughter, and among her numerous wooers it was George Broemser of\nRuedesheim who had won the maiden's heart. No one was more incensed at\nthis than the knight of Berg. This knight belonged indeed to a race\nsaid to have been descended from an archbishop of Cologne, but his\ndisposition was evil, and his covetousness and avarice made him wish\nto increase what earthly possessions he had. But the lord of Rheinfels\nwas shrewd enough and hesitated before entrusting his pretty daughter\nand her large dowry to such a man. As already remarked this entirely\nagreed with the maiden's desire. She was really deeply in love with\nthe chivalrous young knight of Ruedesheim, but shrank, almost with\naversion, from the impetuous wooing of the harsh and selfish knight of\nBerg.\n\nSome time after the betrothal of the lovers the date of the marriage\nwas fixed. Before the marriage had been celebrated however young\nBroemser appeared at Ruedesheim in the early dawn on his steaming\nwar-horse, having ridden during the night from Ruedesheim to bring the\nfollowing sad intelligence to his beloved. The Emperor Albrecht had\nsummoned the nobles to do battle against the Swiss confederates, who\nhad renounced their allegiance, driven the imperial representatives\nfrom their land, and finally declared war against their overlord. The\nknights of the Rhineland were called upon to suppress the flames of\nrebellion. On receiving the pressing call of the Emperor, Broemser did\nnot hesitate for a moment but resolved to obey his feudal superior.\n\nAt first the young bride wept, but when her lover comforted her with\nwords of endearment, and her father praised the soldierly resolution\nof the young man, the maiden calmly submitted to the will of God.\nBefore the young knight rode off he took a young linden-tree which he\nhad pulled up in a grove, and having removed the soil with his sword,\nhe planted the sapling in front of the castle. Then he spoke as\nfollows to his bride. \"Tend this budding linden which I have planted\nhere to the honour of my patron saint. You shall keep troth with me so\nlong as it flourishes, but if it fade (and may St. George in his grace\nprevent it) then you may forget me, for I shall be dead.\" The weeping\nbride threw herself in her lover's arms, and while he enfolded her\ngently with his right, with his left he raised his sword, and showed\nher engraved upon it in ancient letters, for daily repetition, the\nwords: \"Preserve O everlasting God, the body here, the soul hereafter.\nHelp, knight St. George.\" Then, after receiving many kind wishes from\nhis sorrowing friends, the young soldier rode in the morning mist down\nthrough the woods to join the imperial forces.\n\nSeveral months passed. Then the melancholy news got abroad in the\nGerman land that something disastrous had happened in the campaign\nagainst the Swiss peasants. At last came a trustworthy report to the\neffect that a bloody defeat had overtaken the proud army of Albrecht.\nIt was at Morgarten, where the noble hero called Arnold of Winkelried\nhad opened up to his countrymen a pathway to freedom over his\nspearpierced body. Many counts and barons found on that day a grave in\nthe land of the Swiss, and sounds of mourning were to be heard in many\na German castle. But to Castle Rheinfels no traveller brought any\ntidings either of weal or woe, and we can imagine with what sickness\nof heart the maiden waited, and how her hope faded as the days and\nweeks slipped past. It was so long since the ill-fated army had set\nout against the Forest Cantons, and now the thoughts of men were\nturned in other directions, while the Swiss peasants were quietly\nallowed to reap the fruits of their bravery. The most sanguine found\nit difficult to cheer the drooping maiden of Castle Rheinfels.\n\nThen one day her former wooer, the mean avaricious Dietrich of Berg,\npresented himself. It was certain that George Broemser must be dead,\nand he was come again to sue for the hand of so desirable a young\nlady. The dejected maiden informed her eager wooer that she had\nplighted her troth to her absent lover beside the linden-tree\nflourishing in front of the castle. Only when this tree, consecrated\nto St. George, should fade would she be released from her promise. The\nknight of Berg departed in anger, and immediately betook himself to a\nwood and there selected a decayed linden, as similar as possible to\nthe green one growing before Castle Rheinfels. In the night he\ncautiously approached the castle, tore up the linden, flung it with a\ncurse into the Rhine, and then planted in its place the withered\nsapling. Next morning, a morning bright with the promise of spring,\nthe fair daughter of Rheinfels stepped out on the lawn. A cry of pain\nescaped her lips when she perceived the faded tree. The days and weeks\nthat followed were spent in deep grief. After a suitable time had\nelapsed, the knight of Berg again put in an appearance at Rheinfels,\nmightily pleased with himself. Again he sought the hand of the maiden\nnow released from her solemn promise. Sadly, but firmly however she\ntold her importunate wooer that she would keep troth with her lover in\ndeath as in life. Then the wrath of the despised knight drove him to\ncommit a horrible deed. In his savage anger he drew his sword and\nburied it in the maiden's breast. Fleeing from the scene of his\ndreadful crime he was suddenly seized with remorse, and like Our\nLord's avaricious disciple, he went and hanged himself. Deep was the\nsorrow in Castle Rheinfels over the sacrifice of this innocent young\nbride, who had kept her troth so nobly. But grief and tears could not\nreplace the lost one. In the midst of the mourning a stranger was\nannounced. He came from the Swiss land.\n\nAfter the battle of Morgarten a brave Swiss had found George Broemser\nwith broken limbs and many bleeding wounds amongst a heap of slain. In\na peasant's hut the wounded man lay long in pain and weakness. His\nbroken limbs required long and patient attention. Finally, after much\nsuffering, George Broemser, the last of all the campaigners rode back\nto the Rhineland, with his lover's name on his lips and her image in\nhis heart.\n\nWith uncovered head the lord of Rheinfels showed the young man the\ngrave of his beloved, and there the two men embraced each other long\nand silently. The young soldier pulled up the faded linden-tree and\nhurled it into the Rhine, while on the newly-made grave he planted\nwhite lilies. George Broemser did not a second time fall in love, but\nremained true to his chosen bride to the end of his days. We are told\nthat in the company of knightly minstrels he sought to forget his\ngreat sorrow, and that later he composed many pretty songs. One of\nthem has survived the centuries, and was recently discovered, along\nwith the melody, in an old manuscript. It begins:\n\n    \"A linden stands in yonder vale,\n    Ah God! what does it there?\"\n\n\n\n\nSTERRENBERG AND LIEBENSTEIN\n\nThe Brothers\n\n\nI.\n\nIn the middle ages, an old knight belonging to the court of the\nEmperor Conrad II. lived in a castle called Sternberg, near Boppard.\nThe old warrior had two sons left to him. His wife had died many years\nbefore, and since her death, merry laughter had seldom been heard in\nthe halls of the beautiful castle.\n\nSoon a ray of sunshine seemed to break into these solemn rooms; a\ndistant cousin at Ruedesheim had died, leaving his only child, a\nbeautiful young girl, to the care of his relative.\n\nThe golden-haired Angela became the pet of the castle, and won the\naffection and friendship of the two sons by her engaging ways. What\nhad already happened hundred of times now happened among these young\npeople, love replaced the friendship of the two young knights and both\ntried to win the maiden's favour.\n\nThe old master of the castle noticed this change, and his father's\nheart forbode trouble.\n\nBoth sons were equally dear to him, but perhaps his first-born, who\nhad inherited his mother's gentle character, fulfilled his heart's\ndesire more than the fiery spirit of Conrad the younger.\n\nFrom the first moment when the orphan appeared at his family seat, he\nhad conceived the thought that his favourite son Henry, who was heir\nto his name and estates, would marry the maiden.\n\nHenry loved Angela with a profound, sincere feeling which he seldom\nexpressed.\n\nHis brother, on the contrary, made no secret of his ardent love, and\nsoon the old man perceived with sorrow that the beautiful girl\nreturned his younger son's passionate love. Henry, too, was not\nunaware of the happiness of this pair, and in generous self-denial he\ntried to bury his grief, and to rejoice heartily in his brother's\nsuccess.\n\nThe distress of the elder brother did not escape Angela. She was much\nmoved when she first remarked that his voice trembled on pronouncing\nher name, but soon love dazzled her eyes, so that the clouds on his\ntroubled countenance passed unnoticed by her.\n\nAbout this time St. Bernhard of Clairvaux came from France to the\nRhine, preaching a second crusade against the Infidels. The fiery\nwords of the saintly monk roused many thousands to action; his appeal\nlikewise reached the castle of Sternberg.\n\nHenry, though not envying his brother's happiness, felt that it would\nbe impossible for him to be a constant witness of it, and thus he was\nglad to answer this call, and to take up the cross.\n\nConrad, too, longing for action and dominated by the impulse of the\nmoment, was stirred up by the witching charms which a crusade to\nPalestine offered. His adventurous soul, cramped up in this castle so\nfar removed from the world, thirsted for the adventures, which he\nimagined were awaiting the crusaders in the far-off East. In vain the\ntears and prayers of the young girl were shed, in vain was the sorrow\nof his father who begged him not to desert him.\n\nThe old man was in despair about the unbending resolutions of his\nsons.\n\n\"Who will remain at the castle of my forefathers, if you both abandon\nit now, perhaps never to return,\" cried he sorrowfully. \"I implore\nyou, my eldest son, you, the very image of your mother, to have pity\non your father's gray hairs. And you, Conrad, have pity on the tears\nof your betrothed.\" The brothers remained silent. Then the eldest\ngrasped the old man's hand, saying gently.\n\n\"I shall not leave you, my father.\"\n\n\"And you, Angela,\" said the younger to the weeping maiden, \"you will\ntry and bear this separation, and will plant a sprig of laurel to make\na wreath for me when I return.\"\n\n\nII.\n\nThe next day the young knight left the home of his forefathers. At\nfirst the maiden seemed inconsolable in her grief. But soon her love\nbegan to slumber like a tired child; on awakening from this\ndrowsiness indignation seized her, whispering complainingly in her\near, and disturbing all the sweet memories in which the picture of her\nlight-hearted lover gleamed forth, he who had parted from her for the\nsake of empty glory.\n\nNow left to herself, she began to consider the proud youth who was\nforced to live under the same roof with his rejected love. She admired\nhis good qualities which all seemed to have escaped her before, his\ngreat daring at the chase, his skill with weapons, and his many kind\nacts of pure friendship to her, with the view of sweetening the bitter\nseparation from which she was suffering.\n\nHe seemed afraid of rousing the love which was still sleeping in his\nheart.\n\nIn the meantime Angela felt herself drawn more and more towards the\nknight; she wished to try and make him understand that her love for\nhis younger brother had only been a youthful passion, which seemed to\nhave flown when he left her. She felt unhappy when she understood that\nHenry, whom she now began really to love, seemed to feel nothing but\nbrotherly affection for her, and she longed in her inmost soul for a\nword of love from him.\n\nHenry was not unaware of this change in her affections, but he proudly\nsmothered every rising thought in his heart for his brother's\nbetrothed.\n\nThe old knight was greatly pleased when, one day, Angela came to him,\nand with tears in her eyes disclosed to him the secret of her heart.\n\nHe prayed God fervently to bring these two loving hearts together\nwhom he believed were destined for one another by will of God. In his\ndreams he already saw Angela in her castle like his dead wife and his\nfirst-born son, rocking her little baby, a blue-eyed, fair-haired\nchild. Then he would suddenly recollect his impetuous younger son\nfighting in the crusades, and his dreams would be hastily interrupted.\n\nJust opposite to his ancestral hall he caused a proud fort to be\nbuilt, and called it \"Liebenstein,\" intending it for his second son\nwhen he returned from the Holy Land. The castle was hardly finished,\nwhen the old man died.\n\nThe crusade at last was at an end. All the knights from the Rhine\ncountry brought back the news with them on their return from the Holy\nLand, that Conrad had married a beautiful Grecian woman in the East\nand was now on his way home with her.\n\nHenry was beside himself with wrath on hearing this news. Such\ndishonourable conduct and shameful neglect seemed impossible to him,\nand going to the maiden he informed her of his brother's approaching\nreturn.\n\nShe turned very pale, her lips moved, but her tongue found no words.\n\n\nIII.\n\nA large ship was seen one day sailing along the Rhine with strange\nflags waving on its masts. Angela saw it from her tower where she now\nspent many a long day reflecting on her unfortunate destiny, and she\nhastily called up the elder brother.\n\nThe ship approached nearer and nearer. Soon the cries of the boatmen\ncould be heard, and the faces of the crew could be distinguished.\n\nSuddenly the maiden uttered a cry, and threw herself weeping into the\narms of the knight. The latter gazed at the vessel, his brows\ncontracted. Yes! there on board, in shining armour, stood his brother,\nwith a beautiful strange woman clinging to his arm.\n\nThe ship touched land. One of the first, Conrad sprang on shore. The\ntwo watchers in the tower disappeared. A man approached Conrad and\ninformed him that the new castle was destined for him. The same day\nthe impetuous knight sent notice of his arrival to Sternberg castle,\nbut his brother answered him, that he would wait for him on the\nbridge, but would only meet sword in hand the faithless lover who had\ndeserted his betrothed.\n\nTwilight was creeping over the two castles. On the narrow ground\nseparating the forts the brothers strove together in a deadly fight.\n\nThey were equally courageous, equally strong those two opponents, and\ntheir swords crossed swiftly, one in righteous anger, the other in\nwounded pride. But soon the elder received a blow, and the blood began\nto drop on his breastplate.\n\nThe bushes were at this moment suddenly pushed asunder, and a maiden,\nveiled in white, dashed in between the fighters thrusting them from\neach other. It was Angela, who cried out in a despairing voice:\n\n\"In God's name stop! and for your father's sake cease, ere it be too\nlate. She for whom you have drawn your swords, is now going to take\nthe veil, and will beg God day and night to forgive you, Conrad, for\nyour falseness, and will pray Him to bless you and your brother for\never.\"\n\nBoth brothers threw down their arms. Conrad, his head deeply bowed,\ncovered his face with his hand. He did not dare to look at the maiden\nwho stood there, a silent reproach to him. Henry took the weeping\ngirl's hand.\n\n\"Come sister,\" said he, \"such faithlessness does not deserve your\ntears.\"\n\nThey disappeared among the trees. Silently Conrad stood gazing after\nthem. A feeling which he had never known seemed to rise up in his\nheart, and, bending his head, he wept bitterly.\n\n\nIV.\n\nThe cloister, Marienburg, lay in a valley at some distance from the\ncastles, and there Angela found peace. A wall was soon built up\nbetween the two forts Sternberg and Liebenstein, a silent witness of\nthe enmity between the two brothers.\n\nBanquet followed banquet in the newly built castle, and the beautiful\nGrecian won great triumphs among the knights of the Rhine.\n\nBut sorrow seemed to have taken possession of Sternberg castle. Henry\nhad not wished to move the maiden from her purpose, but from the time\nof her departure, his strength faded away. At the foot of the\nmountain he caused a cloister to be built, and a few months later he\npassed away from this world, just on the same day that the bells were\ntolling for Angela's death.\n\nThe lord of Liebenstein was not granted a lasting happiness with his\nbeautiful wife. She fled with a knight who had long enjoyed the lavish\nhospitality at castle Liebenstein. Conrad, overcome by sorrow and\ndisgrace, threw himself from a pinnacle of the castle into the depths\nbelow.\n\nThe strongholds then fell into the hands of Knight Broemser of\nRuedesheim, and since that time have fallen into ruins. The church and\ncloister still remain in the valley, and are the scene of many a\npilgrimage.\n\n\n\n\nRHENSE\n\nThe Emperor Wenzel\n\n\nIn the middle of a beautiful meadow at Rhense near Coblenz stands the\nfamous historical \"king's chair.\" Here, where the lands of the three\ngreat prelates of Cologne, Mayence and Treves join together, the\nprincely Seven met to choose the new ruler who was to direct the\ndestiny of the Holy Roman Empire.\n\nHere Charles IV. was chosen by the free will of the Electors; here\nalso the Seven elected Wenzeslaus of the house of Luxemburg, Charles'\nson, emperor. During his life-time Charles had exerted himself very\nmuch over the election of his first-born son, and he even made a\npilgrimage with him to Rhense on the Rhine where, at the renowned\n\"Koenigsstuhl,\" the chancellor of the kingdom, Archbishop of Mayence,\noften held important conferences with their Graces of Treves and\nCologne, and the Count Palatine.\n\nThis Wenzeslaus of Bohemia had a great predilection for the Rhine and\nits wines, and later on, when, less by his own merits, than by the\nexertions of his father and the favour of the electors, he became\nGerman emperor, his brother inheriting the sandy country of\nBrandenburg, he had even then paid more honours to the Rhine wine than\nany other of its lovers. It afforded him a greater pleasure than the\nenjoyment of wearing a crown. Finding that a good drink tasted better\nat the place of its origin, he often visited the brave Count Palatine\nof the Rhine who dwelt in this blissful country, and who had more\ncasks in his cellar than there are saints' days in a year.\n\nThis proof of imperial confidence was by no means disagreeable to the\nvery noble Elector Ruprecht of the Palatinate, and he neglected no\nopportunity of striving to ingratiate himself more and more in the\nemperor's favour.\n\nGallant Ruprecht would not unwillingly have exchanged his little\nPalatinate crown for an imperial one. Sometimes when his royal guest,\nbecoming very jovial from the wine he had taken, confessed that the\nhigh dignity of emperor was becoming troublesome to him, the count\nagreed with him frankly, and never failed to let his imperial master\nknow that the electors were discontented at his careless\nadministration, and would be well pleased if he retired. Emperor\nWenzel listened to all he said with perfect indifference, continuing\nin the meantime to revel in his wine.\n\nOne day the emperor was sitting with his gay companions at the\nKoenigsstuhl in Rhense. They were all very merry, as the cup of\nAssmannshaeuser wine had already been passed round many times. This\ndelicious vintage was very pleasing to Wenzel, and the other drinkers\ncould not find words enough to praise it.\n\nWhile the goblets were being handed round, and sounds of joviality\nfilled the royal hall, the emperor stood up suddenly and, addressing\nhimself to the count, said in a very light-hearted tone.\n\n\"I think the crown which was set on my head would not be very\nunsuitable to you. Well, I offer it to you, if you are able to place\nbefore me and my companions here, a wine which tastes better than this\nAssmannshaeuser.\"\n\nThere was a cunning twinkle in the count's eyes as he beckoned to his\npage. After a while a servant rolled in a great cask, from which the\ncups were at once filled. The count stood up and presented the first\ngoblet to the emperor.\n\n\"That is my Bacharacher wine, noble lords. Taste it; I can wait for\nyour judgment without fear.\"\n\nThey all drank, and every face beamed with pleasure. The opinions were\nundivided in favour of the fiery Bacharacher. The emperor rose and\nloudly declared he preferred it to the Assmannshaeuser. He could not\npraise it too highly, nor drink enough of it.\n\n\"This wine is worth more than a thousand crowns!\" said he,\nenthusiastically. Wenzel kept his word and ceded his crown to Ruprecht\nof the Palatinate who, in his turn, made the emperor a present of six\nwaggon-loads of Bacharacher wine.\n\n\n\n\nCASTLE LAHNECK\n\nThe Templars of Lahneck\n\n\nOn the opposite side of the Rhine from Coblenz, and towering above\nLahnstein, rises Castle Lahneck, a keep shaped somewhat in the form of\na pentagon. Lahneck succumbed to the hordes of Louis XIII. in the same\nyear as the castle of Heidelberg was destroyed. The following stirring\ntale is associated with Lahneck.\n\nIt was the Templars of Jerusalem who erected this fortress whose\nimposing watch-tower rises nearly 100 feet above the main building.\nThe riches of the Templars led to their destruction. The contemptible\nFrench king, Philip the Fair, by making grave complaints to the Pope\nobtained an order for the abolition of this much-abused order, and\ndragged the Grand Master with fifty of his faithful followers to the\nstake. Everywhere a cruel policy of extermination was immediately\nadopted against the outlawed knights, the chief motive of the\npersecutors being rather a desire to confiscate the rich possessions\nof the Templars than any religious zeal against heretics and sinners.\n\nPeter von Aspelt, Archbishop of Mainz, had cast envious eyes on proud\nLahneck which sheltered twelve Knights-Templars and their retainers.\nAlleging some faulty conduct on the part of the soldiers of the cross,\nhe gave orders that the castle should be razed, and that the knights\nshould exchange the white mantle with the red cross for the monk's\ncowl, but to this the twelve as knights _sans peur et sans reproche_\nissued a stout defiance. This excited the greed and rage of the\narchbishop all the more. From the pontiff, whom with his own hands he\nhad successfully nursed on his sick-bed at Avignon, Peter von Aspelt\nprocured full power over the goods and lives of the excommunicated\nknights of Lahneck. He then proceeded down the Rhine with many vassals\nand mercenaries, and presented the Pope's letter to the Templars, at\nthe same time commanding them to yield. Otherwise their castle would\nbe taken by storm, and the inmates as impenitent sinners would die a\nshameful death on the gallows. The oldest of the twelve, a man with\nsilvery hair, advanced and declared in the name of his brethren, that\nthey were resolved to fight to the last drop of their blood, and\nfurther, that they were quite prepared to suffer like their brethren\nin France. And so the fight between such fearful odds began. Many\nsoldiers of the Electorate fell under the swords of the knights and\ntheir faithful servants, but ever the furious archbishop ordered\nforward new bands to fill the gaps. Day by day the ranks of the\ndefenders became thinner. Prominent everywhere in this hand to hand\nstruggle were the heroic forms of the twelve Templars, in white mantle\nwith blood-red cross. At last, at a breach which had been defended\nwith leonine courage, one of the noble twelve sank beneath his\nshattered shield, and closed his eyes in death. A second shared his\nfate, then a third. The others, bleeding from many wounds and aided by\nthe sorely diminished remnant of their retainers, redoubled their\nbrave efforts, but still death made havoc in their ranks. When, on the\nevening of the day of fiercest onslaught the victorious besiegers\nplanted their banner on the captured battlement, the silver-haired\nveteran, the former spokesman, stood with blood-flecked sword among\nthe bodies of his fallen comrades, the last survivor. Touched by such\nnoble heroism the archbishop informed him that he would be allowed to\nsurrender; but calling down the curse of heaven on worldly churchmen\nand their greed of land, he raised on high his sword and rushed upon\nhis foes. Pierced with many wounds the last of the twelve sank to the\nearth, and over the corpse of this noble man the soldiers of Mainz\npressed into the fortress itself.\n\nPeter von Aspelt preserved Lahneck as a place of defence and residence\nfor an officer of the Electorate of Mainz, and nominated as first\nholder of the post, Hartwin von Winningen. The castle remained in the\npossession of the Electorate of Mainz for 300 years, but the sad story\nof the twelve heroic Templars is remembered in the neighbourhood of\nLahneck to this day.\n\n\n\n\nCOBLENZ\n\nRiza\n\n\nIn the first quarter of the 9th century, when the pious Ludwig, son of\nCharlemagne, was struggling with his misguided children for the\nimperial crown, a church was built in Coblenz to St. Castor, the\nmissionary who had spread christianity in the valley of the Moselle.\nThe four-towered edifice arose on a branch of the Rhine.\n\nThe palace of the Frankish king stood at this time on the highest\nsouth-western point of Coblenz, on the site of a former Roman fort,\nand near by was a nunnery, dedicated to St. Castor. In this building\nlived Riza, a daughter of Ludwig the Pious, who had early dedicated\nher life to the church. Every day this king's daughter went to mass in\nthe Castor church on the opposite side of the Rhine. So great grace\nhad Riza found in the sight of Our Lord, that like His disciple of old\non the sea of Genesareth, she walked over the Rhine dry-footed to the\nholy sacrament in St. Castor's. One day, the sacred legend goes on to\nsay, the stream was agitated by a storm. For the first time doubt\nentered the maiden's heart as her foot touched the waves. Prudently\ntearing a prop from a neighbouring vineyard, she took it with her for\na staff over the troubled waters. But after a few timid steps, she\nsank like St. Peter on the Galilean lake. In this wretched plight she\nbecame full of remorse for her want of faith in God. She flung the\nstick far away, and lifting her arms towards heaven, committed herself\nto the sole protection of the Almighty. At once she rose up from the\nwaves, and arrived, with dry feet as heretofore, on the other side.\nMore than ever after this did Riza, this saintly daughter of a saintly\nking, strive to excel in those works which are pleasing to God. She\ndied within the cloister, and her bones were laid in the Castor\nchurch, near the burial-place of the saint. Soon the popular\nimagination canonised Riza, and her marble tomb is still to be seen in\nthe North transept of the Castor church at Coblenz.\n\n\n\n\nVALLEY OF THE MOSELLE\n\nThe Doctor's wine of Bernkastel\n\n\nThe wine of Bernkastel is called \"Doctor's wine,\" or even shorter\nstill \"Doctor,\" and it has been known by this singular name for more\nthan five hundred years.\n\nAbout the middle of the fourteenth century Bishop Bohemund lay ill of\na very violent fever at Bernkastel. The worthy man was obliged to\nswallow many a bitter pill and many a sour drink, but all without\navail. The poor divine began at last to fear the worst. Despite his\nhigh calling and his earnest search after holy things, his bishopric\non the lovely Moselle pleased him better than any seat in heaven. He\ncaused it to be proclaimed throughout the length and breadth of his\ndiocese, that whoever should be able to cure him of this terrible\nfever, be he layman or learned doctor, should receive his pastoral\nblessing, and a rich present into the bargain.\n\nAt that very time, a brave old warrior lived at Treves, who heard\nabout the suffering bishop and had pity on him in his great need.\n\nMoreover this gray-haired veteran, whose name has not come down to\nposterity, was very much indebted to the bishop, for once, many years\nbefore, Bohemund had saved him from the hands of the enemy in a\nskirmish near Sponheim.\n\nThe noble old soldier was much distressed to hear that the holy man\nwas suffering so terribly. He remembered too, that once he himself had\nbeen attacked by violent fever and had fought hard with death, and\nthat his friends had talked about pills and certain bitter drinks, but\nhe had sent them all away and had called his servant, desiring him to\nbring him a good bowl of fiery Bernkastler wine. When he had taken a\nhearty drink,--no small matter for one lying ill of fever--he awoke\nout of a deep sleep twelve hours later, the fever completely gone.\n\nWhy should not this same Bernkastler cure, thought he, have the same\neffect on the worthy prelate?\n\nAfter considering for a time, the old knight set out quite alone from\nhis castle in the forest of Soon to visit his spiritual benefactor,\ntaking only a little cask with him.\n\nBohemund, lying on his sick bed, is said to have cast a very\nsuspicious look at the good man who stated that he could cure him, but\nwho carried all his medicines and mixtures in a little cask on his\nshoulder. The knight however, making a sign to the officious servants\nand attendants to leave the chamber, informed the reverend gentleman\nof what he was about to do. He then calmly took the plug out of the\ncask, and gave the sick man a drink of the sparkling wine which he had\nbrought with him.\n\nThe bishop readily swallowed the wine at one draught. Another was\nadministered to him soon after, and the eminent prelate fell into a\ndeep sleep.\n\nThe next day the people of Treves heard with great joy that the fever\nhad completely disappeared.\n\nThe bishop on awaking took another stout draught, and sang out of the\ndepths of his grateful heart:--\n\n    \"This famous wine restored my health,\n        Sure, 'tis a splendid doctor.\"\n\n\n\n\nANDERNACH\n\nGenovefa\n\n\nI.\n\nIn all the Rhine provinces the virtuous spouse of Count Siegfried of\nthe Palatinate was esteemed and venerated. The people called her St.\nGenovefa, which name indeed she was worthy of, as she suffered cruel\ntrials and sorrows. Siegfried's castle stood near the old town of\nAndernach, just at the time when Charles Martel was reigning over the\nFranks.\n\nSiegfried and his young wife lived in peaceful unity, till a cloud\ncame over their happiness. The much-dreaded Arabs from Spain had\nforced their way into Gaul, and were now marching northwards, burning\nand destroying all on their course. The enemies of the cross must be\nrepulsed, unless the west was to share the fate of Africa, which had\nbeen subdued by the Mohametans.\n\nThe war-cry reached the Palatinate, and Siegfried had to go forth to\nthe fight. Equipped in his armour, and having kissed his weeping wife,\nhe bade farewell to the castle of his fathers. But he was sad at heart\nat leaving the spot where the happiest days of his life had been\nspent. He entrusted the administration of his property to Golo, his\nsteward, and recommended his beloved wife very earnestly to his\nprotection, begging her in turn to trust him in everything.\n\nThe poor countess was heart-broken at this bitter separation. She felt\nthe loneliness of the castle deeply, she longed for his happy presence\nand the sound of his voice. She could never speak to Golo as to the\nfriend to whose care her husband had recommended her. Her pure eyes\nshrank from the passionate look which gleamed in his. It seemed to her\nthat he followed her every movement with a look which her childlike\nsoul did not understand.\n\nShe missed her husband's presence more and more. She would go out on\nthe balcony and weave golden dreams, and while she sat there, looking\nout over the hazy blue distance, she longed for the moment when\nSiegfried would return, when she could lean her head upon his breast,\nand tell him of the great happiness in store for them.\n\nPerhaps the war against the heathens might last so long that she would\nbe able to hold the pledge of their love joyfully out to him from the\nbalcony on his return. And the countess' lovely face would be lit up\nwith a gleam of blissful happiness, and she would while away the time\non her favourite spot, dreaming and looking out into the hazy blue\ndistance.\n\nThe secret aversion which the countess felt towards the steward was\nnot without a reason. Her angel-like beauty had awakened lustful\npassion in Golo's breast, which he did not strive to hide. On the\ncontrary his frequent intercourse with her, who was as gracious to him\nas to all her other inferiors, stirred his passion still more, and one\nday, losing all control, he threw himself at the countess' feet,\ndeclaring his love for her, and imploring her to return it. Genovefa\nwas horrified at this confession. With indignation and scorn she\nrejected his love, forbidding him to appear before her as he had\nutterly forgotten his duty, and at the same time, threatening to\ncomplain of him to her husband. Golo's eyes flared up, and a deadly\nlook of hatred gleamed from them.\n\nHe could hope for no pardon from his angry mistress. Besides, his\npride would not allow him to seek it, and now his one desire was\nrevenge. It only remained for him to follow his dastardly plan and to\navoid Siegfried's wrath.\n\nHatred raged in his breast. He dismissed all the servants of the\ncastle and put new ones of his own creation in their places. Then one\nday he appeared before the horrified countess, and openly accused her\nof being unfaithful to her husband far away.\n\nShame and wrath robbed Genovefa of speech. Golo explained to the\nservants who were standing around in silent amazement, that he had\nalready informed the count of his wife's faithless conduct, and that\nhe, Golo, as present administrator of the castle, now condemned the\ncountess to be imprisoned in the dungeon.\n\nThe unhappy Genovefa awakened to find herself in an underground cell\nof the castle. She covered her face in deep sorrow, imploring Him who\nhad sent her this trial, to help her in her present affliction. There\nafter some time a son was born to her. She baptized him with her\ntears, giving him the name of Tristan, which means \"full of sorrows.\"\n\n\nII.\n\nSiegfried had already been absent six months. He had fought like a\nhero in many a desperate battle. The fanatical followers of Mohamet\nhaving crossed the Pyrenees, struggled with wild enthusiasm, hoping to\nsubdue the rest of western Europe to the doctrines of Islam by fire\nand sword. In several encounters, the Franks had been obliged to give\nway to their power. These unbridled hordes had already penetrated into\nthe heart of Gaul, when Charles first appeared and engaged the Arabs\nin the bloody battle of Tours. From morning till evening the struggle\non which hung the fate of Europe raged. And there Charles proved\nhimself worthy of the name of Martel, \"the hammer,\" which he\nafterwards received.\n\nSiegfried fought at the leader's side like a lion; but towards evening\na Saracen's lance pierced him, and though the wound was not mortal,\nyet he was obliged to remain inactive for several months on a\nsick-bed, where he thought with longing in his heart of his loving\nwife by the Rhine.\n\nA messenger arrived one day at the camp bearing a parchment from Golo,\nSiegfried's steward. The count gazed long at the fateful letter,\ntrying to comprehend its meaning. What he had read, ran thus: \"Your\nwife is unfaithful to you and has betrayed you for the sake of Drago,\na servant, who ran away.\" The hero crushed the letter furiously in his\nhand, a groan escaping from his white lips. Then he started off\naccompanied by a few followers, and rode towards the Ardennes, never\nstopping till he reached his own fort. A man stood on the balcony,\nlooking searchingly out into the distance, and seeing a cloud of dust\napproaching in which a group of horsemen soon became visible, his eyes\ngleamed triumphantly.\n\nA stately knight advanced, his charger stamping threateningly on the\ndrawbridge. Golo, with hypocritical emotion stood before the count,\nwho had now alighted from his foaming horse, and informed him again of\nwhat had happened. \"Where is the evil-doer who has stained the honour\nof my house, where is he, that I may crush his life out?\" cried\nSiegfried in a fury.\n\n\"My lord, I have punished the wretch deservedly and lashed him out of\nthe castle,\" answered Golo in a stern voice, sighing deeply.\n\nThe count made a sign to Golo whose false eyes gleamed with devilish\njoy, to lead the way.\n\nSiegfried entered the dungeon, followed by his servants and also by\nthose who had travelled with him. Genovefa listened breathlessly in\nher prison, with a loved name trembling on her lips and a prayer to\nGod in her heart. Now the terrible trial would come to an end, now she\nwould leave this dungeon of disgrace triumphantly, and exchange the\ncrown of thorns for the victor's wreath.\n\nThe bolt was unfastened, firm steps and men's voices were heard, the\niron doors were dashed open. She snatched her slumbering child, the\npledge of their love, and held it towards her dear husband. His name\nwas on her lips, but before she could utter it, a cry of agony escaped\nher. He had cast her from him and, his accusations falling like blows\nfrom a hammer on her head, the poor innocent countess fell senseless\nto the ground. The next day two servants led mother and child out into\nthe forest, where with their own hands, they were to kill her who had\nbeen so unfaithful to her husband, and her child also. They were to\nbring back two tongues to the count as a proof that they had obeyed\nhis orders.\n\nThe servants drove them into the wildest depths of the forest where\nonly the screams of birds of prey broke the silence. They drew their\nknives. But the poor countess fell on her knees, and holding up her\nlittle child, implored them to spare their lives, if not for her sake,\nat least for the sake of the helpless child. Pity entered the two\nmen's hearts and withheld their hands. Dragging the mother and child\nstill deeper into the forest, they turned away hastily, leaving their\nvictims to themselves.\n\nThey brought two harts' tongues to the count, informing him that they\nhad fulfilled his orders.\n\n\nIII.\n\nGenovefa's tired feet wandered through the unknown forest, her child\ncrying with hunger. She prayed fervently to Heaven in her despair, and\ntears were sent to relieve the dull pain in her heart, after which she\nfelt more composed, and her child was soon sweetly slumbering. To her\ngreat astonishment she perceived a cavern near her, where she could\ntake shelter, and as if God wished to show that He had heard her\nprayer, a white doe came towards the cavern, rubbing herself\ncaressingly against the abandoned woman. Willingly the gentle animal\nallowed the little child to suckle it. The next day the doe came back\nagain, and Genovefa thanked God from the depths of her heart. She\nfound roots, berries, and plants, to support herself, and every day\nthe tame doe came back to her, and at last remained always with her.\n\nDays, weeks, and months passed. Her unfaltering faith had rendered her\nagony less. In time she learned to forgive her husband who had\ncondemned her unjustly, and she even pardoned him who had taken such\nbitter revenge on her. Her lovely cheeks had become thinner, but the\nforest winds had breathed a soft red into them, and the child who had\nno cares nor gnawing pain in its heart, grew into a beautiful little\nboy.\n\n\nIV.\n\nAt the castle on the Rhine, sorrow was a constant guest since this\nterrible event had happened. Siegfried's burning anger had sunk into\nsorrow, and often when he was wandering restlessly through the rooms\nso rich in sweet memories, where now a deserted stillness reigned, the\nagony awoke again in his heart. He now repented of his hastiness, and\na voice whispered in his ear that he had been too severe in his cruel\npunishment, that he had condemned too quickly, and that he should have\nconsidered what he could have done to mitigate her punishment.\n\nWhen these haunting voices pursued him, he would hurry away from the\ncastle and its loneliness, not being able to bear the torment of his\nthoughts. Then to forget his trouble, he would follow the chase with\nthe yelping hounds. But he only seldom succeeded in dulling his\nmisery. Everywhere he seemed to see the pale face of a woman looking\nimploringly at him.\n\nThe state of his master's soul had not escaped Golo, and this crafty\nman cringed the more to the sorrowful count, feigning to care for his\nwelfare. A starving person accepts even the bread which a beggar-man\noffers, and Siegfried, supposing his steward wished to compensate him\nfor his loss, accepted willingly every proof of devotion, and\nrecompensed him with his favour, at the same time hating the man in\nhis inmost soul who had rendered him such a terrible service.\n\nOne day the count rode out to the chase, accompanied by only a few\nretainers, one of whom was Golo. Siegfried pressed deeper than was his\ncustom into the forest. A milkwhite doe sprang up before him and\nsportsmanlike, he chased this singular animal through the bushes,\nhoping to shoot it. His spear had just grazed it, when it disappeared\nsuddenly into a cavern. A woman whose ragged garments scarcely covered\nher nakedness, leading a little boy by the hand, suddenly came out of\nthe opening in the rock, and the doe, seeking protection, rubbed\nherself against her. She looked at the hunter, but her limbs trembled\nso that she could scarcely stand, only her large sad eyes gazed\nwistfully at him. A stifled cry, half triumphant, half a groan,\nescaped from her lips, and she threw herself at the count's feet. From\nthe voice which for long months had only moved in earnest prayer or in\nlow sweet words to the child, now flowed solemn protestations of her\ninnocence. Her words burned like fire into the soul of the count, and\ndrawing her to his breast, he kissed her tears, and then sank at her\nfeet imploring her pardon.\n\nHe pressed his little boy to his heart, overcome with gratitude and\nhappiness, and wept with joy, calling him by a thousand affectionate\nnames.\n\nThen at the sound of his bugle-horn his retinue hastened towards him,\nGolo among them.\n\n\"Do you know these two?\" thundered out the count to the latter,\ntearing him from the throng and conducting him to Genovefa.\n\nThe wretch, as if struck by a club, broke down and, clasping his\nmaster's knees, he confessed his wickedness and begged for mercy.\nSiegfried thrust him contemptuously from him, refusing sternly, in\nspite of the countess' intercession, to pardon his crime. Golo was\nbound and led away, and a disgraceful death was his reward.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNow began a time of great happiness for Siegfried and his saint-like\nwife, and they lived in undisturbed peace with their little son.\n\nIn gratitude to Heaven Siegfried caused a church to be built on the\nspot where the white doe had appeared to him first. The countess often\nmade a pilgrimage to this house of God, to thank Him who had caused\nher tears to be turned into joy. Then a day came when her corpse was\ncarried into the forest, and was buried in the church. Even now in\nLaach, the wanderer is shown the church and the tombstone, also the\ncavern where she suffered so much. Thus the name of St. Genovefa will\nlast to all time.\n\n\n\n\nHAMMERSTEIN\n\nThe old Knight and his Daughters\n\n\n[Illustration: Am Sarge Kaiser Heinrich IV.--Nach dem Gemaelde von\nL. Rosenfelder--Zur Sage von der Burg Hammerstein]\n\nAbove Rheinbrohl, on a dreary sandstone rock, stand the ruins of the\nold imperial fortress of Hammerstein. For a thousand years the storms\nhave beat on those desolate walls. One of the first owners was Wolf\nvon Hammerstein, a faithful vassal of the Emperor. It was Henry IV.\nwho then ruled, and partly by his own faults, partly by those of\nothers, the crown had indeed become to this sovereign one of thorns.\nWolf of Hammerstein had made the historic pilgrimage to Canossa alone\nwith his master. Now, on account of the infirmities of age the\nvenerable knight seldom descended the castle-hill, and only from afar,\nthe loud trumpet call of the world fell upon his ears. His wife, now\nfor several years deceased, had born him six daughters, all attractive\nmaidens and tenderly attached to their surviving parent, but their\nfilial affection met with the roughest and most ungrateful responses\nfrom the sour old fellow. It was a sore grievance to Wolf of\nHammerstein that he had no son. He would willingly have exchanged his\nhalfdozen daughters for a single male heir. The girls were only too\nwell aware of this fact, and tried all the more, by constant love and\ntender care to reconcile their ungracious parent to his lot.\n\nOne evening it thus befell. The autumn wind grumbled round the castle\nlike a croaking raven, and the old knight, Wolf of Hammerstein, sat by\na cheerful fire and peevishly nursed his gouty limbs. In spite of the\nmost assiduous attentions of his daughters he remained in a most surly\nmood. The pretty maidens however kept hovering round the ill-tempered\nold fellow like so many tender doves. Then the porter announced two\nstrangers. Both were wrapped in their knightly mantles, and in spite\nof his troubles the hospitable lord of the castle prepared to welcome\nhis guests. Into the comfortable room two shivering and weary\ntravellers advanced, and as outlaws they craved shelter and protection\nfor the night. At the sound of one of the voices the knight started\nup, listening eagerly, and when the stranger raised his visor and\nthrew back his mantle, Wolf of Hammerstein sank on his knees at the\nstranger's feet, and seizing his hand he pressed it to his lips,\nexclaiming: \"Henry, my lord and king!\" Then, with trembling voice the\nEmperor told his old comrade-in-arms that he was a fugitive, and\nbefore one who had torn from him the imperial crown and mantle. And\nwhen the old knight, trembling with excitement, demanded who this\nimpious and dishonourable man might be, the Emperor murmured the\nwords, \"My son,\" and then buried his face in his hands.\n\nRigid as a marble statue stood the old knight. Like a bolt from\nheaven the consciousness of his past ignoble conduct had flashed upon\nhim. Suddenly he seemed to feel how tenderly the loving arms of his\ndaughters had enfolded him. He spread out his hands towards them, as\nif anxious to atone by the tenderness of a minute for the harshness of\nyears. Then the Emperor, deeply touched, thus addressed the old man.\n\"Dear comrade-in-arms, your position is indeed enviable. The faithful\nlove of your daughters will tend you in your declining years. No\nmisguided son, impatient for your end, will hunt you from your home.\nAlas, for me, to-morrow accompanied by a few faithful followers, I\nmust go down to battle against my own flesh and blood.\"\n\nTowards midnight the unhappy monarch was conducted to a room prepared\nwith care for his reception; and, while he sank into a troubled sleep,\nthe old knight overwhelmed his daughters with long-delayed caresses.\nIn his heart, he silently entreated for pardon for the deep grudge he\nhad long cherished against the God who had been pleased to grant him\nno son.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThree months had passed by. Sad news came to the Rhine from the\nNetherlands. The Emperor Henry was dead. In the midst of fresh warlike\npreparations death claimed him. His faithful partisans were therefore\ngreatly grieved and more especially Wolf of Hammerstein. But the\nsecond part of the tidings made him even sadder. The consecrated earth\nwas denied to the unfortunate dead Emperor. His coffin was placed in a\ncellar in Liege without any respect. Whoever wished could go there to\nslander or to pray for the repose of his soul, whenever they desired.\nWhen the knight was told of this he swore vehemently and did not close\nhis eyes for several nights. Then his mind was made up. All the\nprayers and weeping of the daughters did not make him alter his\ndecision.\n\nOne day he stood before the Archbishop of Cologne and reminded him how\nhe had saved his life more than twenty years ago, and he recalled to\nhis memory that he had promised to grant any wish of the Hammersteins.\n\nThere was a great discussion between the knight and the bishop. But\nthe fidelity of the vassal was rewarded. The strong ecclesiastical\nprotection of the church at Cologne facilitated the steps to the\npriests in Liege. Surrounded by pious women and earnest men he knelt,\na week later, before the sarcophagus, he pressed his lips to it and\nmurmured \"Henry my master and my King.\" Afterwards he had the body\ntransferred to Speyer where it was placed in the royal tomb.\n\nWhen the mournful vessel went up the Rhine from Cologne, by order of\nthe knight black flags fluttered in the wind and greeted the dead\nEmperor. Hammerstein was always known later on as the most faithful\nvassal of the King.\n\n\n\n\nVALLEY OF THE AHR\n\nThe Last Knight of Altenahr\n\n\nOnly a few mouldering ruins now show where one of the proudest\nstrongholds of the Rhine country, Castle Altenahr, once stood. A\nlegend relates the mournful story of the last of the race which had\nlived there for centuries.\n\nThis man was a very stubborn knight, and he would not bow down to or\neven acknowledge the all-powerful archbishop, whom His Majesty the\nEmperor had sent into the Rhine country as protector of the church.\n\nUnfortunately the bishop was also of a proud and unyielding character,\nand he nursed resentment in his heart against this spurner of his\nauthority.\n\nIt was not long before his smouldering rancour blazed into an open\nfeud, and the mighty bishop, accompanied by a large band of followers,\nappeared before the proud castle of Altenahr. A ring of iron was\nformed round the offending vassal's hold.\n\nBut its owner was not disturbed by this formidable array, and only\nlaughed sneeringly at the besiegers' useless trouble, knowing well\nthat they would never be able to storm his rocky stronghold.\n\nThe warlike priest saw many of his little army bleeding to death in\nvain. He was very wrathful, but nevertheless undismayed.\n\nHe had sworn a great oath that he would enter this invincible hold as\na conqueror, even if the fight were to last till the Judgment Day; the\nlord of Altenahr had sworn a similar oath, and these two powerful foes\nwere well matched.\n\nThus the siege continued for some months. The besieger's anger grew\nhotter, for every attack cost him the lives of numbers of his\nfollowers, and all his efforts seemed useless.\n\nAlready there was an outburst of discontent in his camp; many servants\nand vassals deserted from such a dangerous venture. Revolt and\ndisobedience seemed on one occasion to threaten a complete dissolution\nof the besieging army, as a desperate attack had been again repulsed\nby the hidden inhabitants of the fort.\n\nThe bishop's allies urged the unrelenting man to desist from his\nmerciless purpose, but he received their protests with a sneer: \"When\nyou leave me, my greater ally, hunger, will draw near. It will come,\nthat I am sure of.\" Then followed an uproar of confused voices;\nmutinous troopers, now become bold by the wine they had taken, fell to\nbrawling with their leader. The bishop's grim smile died away.\n\n\"Wait my men, just wait for one more attack,\" he cried in a powerful\nvoice, \"it will be the fiercest and the last,\" and with a dark face he\nturned and strode away.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nDawn was creeping over the valley of the Ahr. There was a great stir\nin the camp on the side of the mountain, and up above, in the castle\nof Altenahr, silence reigned round hazy pinnacles. Suddenly a flourish\nof trumpets was heard, and the drawbridge having been let down, the\nlord of the castle galloped forth on a milkwhite charger, his tall\nfigure towering over the animal, the feather of his helmet waving\nabove his grey hair, and the first rays of the rising sun irradiating\nhis steel armour.\n\nHolding his steed with a firm grip, he raised his right hand to the\nshouting besiegers, signifying that he wished to speak. His voice\nsounded far and wide.\n\n\"See here the last man and the last charger of all those who lived in\nmy tower. Hunger has snatched them all from me, wife, child, comrades.\nThey all preferred death to slavery. I follow them, unvanquished and\nfree to the last.\"\n\nThe noble animal reared up at the spur of its rider ... a great\nspring, followed by a thundering crash ... then the Ahr closed her\nfoaming waters over man and steed.\n\nA shudder seized those who were looking on. The dark countenance of\ntheir leader became pale as death, and he rode off without a moment's\ndelay, followed by the curses of his mutinous troops.\n\nSince that time the castle of Altenahr has remained deserted; no one\ndared to enter the chambers hallowed by the memory of this heroic\ndefence. Thus it was avoided by mankind, till time gnawed at its walls\nand destroyed its battlements.\n\n\n\n\nThe Minstrel of Neuenahr\n\n\nI.\n\nHe was called Ronald, this tall handsome man, with blue eyes and fair\nhair; he had a noble bearing and was a master of song.\n\nThe knight at the Castle of Neuenahr had made a great feast, and\nRonald was sitting on the drawbridge playing his harp and singing. The\nguests stopped their noisy conversation within doors and knights as\nwell as noble ladies listened breathless to the unseen singer. The\nproud lord of the castle bade his page bring the traveller in. Thus\nthe tall handsome man, the blue eyed, fair-haired stranger with the\nnoble bearing, appeared before the high company. The knights looked at\nhim with wonder and many a handsome lady regarded him with admiration\ncovertly.\n\nAmong the high company there was a beautiful young girl, the daughter\nof the knight, whose birthday was being celebrated. The lord of the\ncastle rose from his richly carved stool, and made a sign to the\nsinger who was bowing graciously to the knights and ladies and lower\nstill to the master of the castle.\n\n\"Give us a song, musician, in honour of our child who is seventeen\nyears old to-day.\"\n\nThe musician fixed his glance in silent admiration on the maiden. She\ndropped her eyes, and a lovely blush covered her cheeks. He seized his\nharp, and after a few chords, began to sing a song of homage. Sweetly\nsounded the music, and even sweeter the flattering words. The maiden\nflushed a deeper crimson and cast down her eyes. Once when the harper\nin his song compared her to a star lighting a wanderer's path, she\nglanced up, and their eyes met; but hers sank quickly again. She\nseemed to waken out of a dream when the song ended amid loud applause.\nShe saw her father lifting up a massive goblet and handing it to the\nsinger, saw how the latter raised it first to her, afterwards to her\nfather and his guests, and then put it to his own lips. The maiden\nfelt she was no longer mistress of her heart which was beating as it\nhad never done before.\n\n\nII.\n\n\"You might teach my Rothtraut to play the harp,\" cried the proud lord\nof the castle, who was in a very lively humour, having partaken freely\nof wine. She heard it as in a dream, and the musician bowed, murmuring\nthat he was not worthy to receive so signal an honour.\n\nHe remained however at the castle. Lovely Rothtraut felt afraid in her\nheart like a trembling child crossing a bridge leading to flowery\nmeadows; she had no mother in whom she could confide those fears for\nwhich she could find no words. She therefore yielded to her father's\ndesire, wishing to amuse him during the long, lonely evenings by\nplaying and singing. Singing came naturally to her, for a nightingale\nseemed to slumber in her bosom, but she found more difficulty with the\nharp. Her slender fingers drew many a discordant sound from the\nstrings, and often her father, comfortably seated in his armchair,\nlaughed heartily at her, which made the maiden blush with shame. Her\nlarge eyes would wander from the harp to the musician's face; but her\nconfusion only became worse when her eyes timidly met his. He was very\npatient with all her imperfect efforts, never blaming her but on the\ncontrary praising all her modest attempts beyond their merits. Then he\nwould sing a song of his own and play some deep chords which seemed to\nthrill the air. The knight would listen entranced, and the maiden felt\nlove's blissful pain in her heart. She did not know what it was, or\nhow he had long since sung himself into her soul, and her tender heart\ntrembled at love's first revelation. The passion possessed her more\nand more; it spread its power over these two hearts, and soon in the\nquiet garden of the castle, Ronald clasped the daughter of the proud\nknight to his heart.\n\n\nIII.\n\nLove's first rapture is often followed by sorrow however, and\nbeautiful Rothtraut had yet to experience it.\n\nIt once happened that the knight surprised his child in the musician's\narms. His anger knew no bounds, and like a beast of prey he rushed at\nthe singer, when his daughter, suddenly become a woman, placed herself\nbravely between her father and her lover. Her confession went to his\nheart like a dagger, for with trembling lips and glowing cheeks, the\nmaiden acknowledged the secret of her love.\n\nPale but firm the singer stood before the knight.\n\n\"I am only a wanderer but not a dishonourable one. Do not destroy with\na rough hand the flower which God has planted in our hearts, but give\nme time. I will set out on my journey and will take up arms for my\nbeloved. And when I come back as a nobleman, you will give me your\ndaughter who loves me. Either I shall return as a knight, or you will\nnever see me again.\"\n\nThe lord of the castle looked at him sternly, while his daughter stood\nweeping, holding Ronald's hand. \"Good-bye, maiden. Do not forget me,\nRothtraut!\" He was gone, and a wailing cry burst from the lips of the\nunhappy girl.\n\n\nIV.\n\nTo atone for many a wrong against Pope and Church, and also to fulfil\na solemn vow, the Emperor Barbarossa started on a crusade in his old\nage. Many knights and heroes joined him, and his great army marched\nthrough several countries until they came to the Levant. Then they\njourneyed on to Syria where the great hero's career ended. Barbarossa\nwas drowned, and the eyes of his followers turned to Henry, his son,\nas their leader. The latter, who became emperor under the name of\nHenry VI. was a very capable general; he was also a lover of music,\nand is said to have composed many a melody which remains with us to\nthe present day.\n\nMany supposed that it was not the royal minstrel who composed the\nsongs, but that they came from the hand of Ronald who was now as\nskilled with his sword as with his harp, and who had become a great\nfavourite of the emperor. He was a powerful warrior, and had already\noverthrown many a Saracen. Once when the crusaders had gained a\nglorious victory, he composed a song in honour of it, and sang it\nhimself on his harp. The song went the round of the camp, and the\nsinger became a great friend of the emperor. But even such favour did\nnot drive the shadow from Ronald's soul, and often when he was singing\none of his most beautiful songs to Henry, he would suddenly break off\nand rush out of the tent in great grief. One day the emperor found out\nwhat he had long guessed, and made Ronald confess his story to him.\n\nSome days afterwards the crusaders began the storming of Acre, the\nimpregnable fortress of the Saracens. Ronald was fighting by Henry's\nside. A Saracen dashed his falchion at the king's head, but Ronald\nwith a mighty blow clove the infidel's skull in two. In the evening of\nthe same day Henry called all his warriors together, and dubbed the\nbrave champion knight with his own hand. Ronald of Harfenstein was to\nbe his name, and a lyre lying on a falchion and a sword, were to be\nhis arms. The emperor promised to build him a castle on the borders of\nthe Rhine, which was to be called Harfeneck.\n\nPlague broke out in the camp, and many a gallant crusader fell victim\nto it. Among them was the emperor himself, whose death caused\nunspeakable grief to Ronald.\n\n\nV.\n\nOne day a weary crusader was seen riding along the banks of the Rhine.\nWherever he passed, the people asked him if it were true that\nBarbarossa was not drowned in the Holy Land, but was living in the\nKyffhaeuser Mountain, and would soon come back to his own neglected\nkingdom. The crusader barely answered their questions, but urged on\nhis tired steed along the Rhine. At last the silvery waters of the Ahr\nappeared before him, and he saw the gables of the castle. The rider\njoyously spurred on his horse, and rode up through the forest to the\nfortress where once he had sat on the drawbridge as a poor traveller.\n\nThe late guest was ushered up to the lord of the castle.\n\nThe knight, now a bent old man, rose from a melancholy reverie to\ngreet the unknown stranger.\n\n\"I am Ronald, and have become a knight through the grace of the\nEmperor Henry in the camp at Acre, and now I have come to win your\ndaughter Rothtraut.\"\n\n\"Win her from death, for it robbed me of her two months ago,\" said the\nproud lord of the castle, turning his head aside in deep grief. Then a\ndespairing groan thrilled through the chamber. Harsh words passed\nbetween those two, one a man in his disconsolate sorrow, the other a\nrepentant father.\n\nRonald strode off to the lonely corner of the garden, and the newly\ndug up earth showed him the place where Rothtraut lay. There he\nremained late into the night, till darkness had surrounded him and\nblack night had settled on his soul. Then he turned and went away,\nnever to come back again.\n\nIn the East whence the crusaders had now returned, everyone talked of\nthe heroic deeds accomplished by Richard the Lion-hearted. The\nSaracens well knew the fearless leader and the German knight who\nfought at his side. Richard valued his bravery, even though he was\nstill a young knight. He meant to make him one of his vassals when he\nreturned to his own country. But his desire was never fulfilled, for\nthe thrust of a hostile lance which he had so often escaped, pierced\nthe knight's heart. So the minstrel of Neuenahr found a grave in the\nHoly Land; the race of Harfenstein became extinct with the first of\nthe line, and the castle was never built.\n\n\n\n\nEIFEL\n\nThe Arrow at Pruem\n\n\nIt was in the little town of Pruem many a long year ago that Lothaire,\nthe degenerate son of St. Louis, did penance for his sins. In the\nchurch belonging to the town there are two very ancient pictures; one\nof them represents a knight standing on a huge rock, shooting an\narrow, while his wife and retinue are looking devoutedly towards\nheaven; the other represents a priest at an altar to whom an angel is\nbringing an arrow.\n\nWho is the knight?\n\nWho is the holy man?\n\nThe knight is Nithard, noble lord of Guise, who lived in the north of\nFrance towards the end of the ninth century. No children having been\nborn to his excellent wife Erkanfrida, the knight determined to leave\nhis estate for some pious object.\n\nHe meant to endow a cloister, where after their deaths, masses would\nbe read for him and his spouse. But it was a difficult matter to\nselect the most worthy from the many cloisters in the neighbourhood,\nand by the advice of a pious priest he resolved to leave the decision\nto Heaven.\n\nHe fastened the document bequeathing his possessions to an arrow, and\nthen set out for a great rock near the castle, accompanied by his wife\nand numerous followers.\n\nAfter a fervent prayer he shot the arrow skyward, and, so the pious\nstory runs, it was borne by angel hands, till it came to Pruem--a\njourney of several days.\n\nAnsbald, the holy abbot of the cloister, was standing at the altar\nwhen the arrow fell at his feet. He read the document with\nastonishment and gratitude, and in a moved voice, announced its\ncontents to the assembled congregation.\n\nKnight Nithard assigned his estate to the cloister, and from that time\nforth many pilgrims journeyed to Pruem to see the arrow which had been\ncarried there by angel hands.\n\nThe storms of many centuries have blown over those hallowed walls, but\nthe pictures in the old church belonging to the abbey still remain,\nthus preserving the legend from oblivion.\n\n\n\n\nAACHEN\n\nThe Building of the Minster\n\n\n[Illustration: Karl der Grosse--Nach dem Gemaelde von Albrecht Duerer]\n\nAs Charlemagne, the mighty ruler of the Franks, rode one day from his\nstronghold at Aix-la-Chapelle into the surrounding forest, his horse\nis said to have suddenly trodden upon a spring. On touching the water,\nthe animal drew its foot back neighing loudly as if in great pain.\n\nThe rider's curiosity was aroused. He alighted, and dipping his hand\ninto the spring, found to his surprise that the water was very hot.\nThus Charlemagne, as the legend records, discovered the hot spring\nwhich was to become the salvation of many thousands of ill and infirm\npeople.\n\nThe pious emperor recognised in this healthgiving spring the kind gift\nof Providence, and he resolved to erect near the spot a house of God,\nthe round shape of which should remind posterity of the horse's hoof.\n\nThe building was soon begun, and Charlemagne saw with great\nsatisfaction the walls of the new minster rising high into the air. He\nwas not however destined to see its completion. When he died, he had\nto leave the great Empire of the West to a feeble son, Lewis the\nPious. The latter was compelled to draw his sword against his own\nchildren in order to assure for himself the crown he had inherited.\n\nMany a great undertaking that Charlemagne had begun, remained\nunfinished.\n\nThe building of the minster too was interrupted. The ground was left\ndesolate, and the walls and towers were threatened with decay before\nthey were finished.\n\nIt was quite useless for the honourable magistrate of the town to\napply for money to the charitable Christian inhabitants. Contributions\ncame in very slowly, and were never sufficient to finish the church.\n\nThe aldermen of Aix-la-Chapelle would very often seriously debate the\nquestion, and discuss how they could remedy the grievous lack of money\nand successfully effect the completion of the minster. They found\nhowever that good counsel was just as rare as building material.\n\nOnce when they were met thus together, a stranger was announced who\nsaid he had most important news to communicate. He was allowed to\nenter the session room. After having duly saluted the Council, he said\nmodestly but without any shyness, \"Gentlemen, my business, in a word,\nis to offer you the money for the completion of the church.\" The\nworthy aldermen looked in wonder first at the speaker, then at each\nother.\n\nThey silently agreed in the opinion that the man before them looked\nvery suspicious in his quaint outlandish clothes and his sharp pointed\nbeard.\n\nBut the newcomer was not at all abashed by their suspicious looks. On\nthe contrary he repeated politely but firmly his proposal, saying:\n\"Honourable Sirs, I should like to help you out of your difficulty,\nand will advance you the necessary thousands without even wishing to\nbe paid back.\"\n\nAt this frank offer the councillors pricked up their ears and opened\ntheir eyes wide in astonishment. Before they could recover from their\namazement, the stranger continued: \"I know well, you are all far too\nproud to accept this great offer of mine without giving me a reward of\nsome sort. Therefore I require a small compensation. I demand the\nfirst living being, body and soul, that enters the new minster on the\ninauguration day.\"\n\nOn hearing this the honourable aldermen rose horrified from their\nseats. Many of them made the sign of the cross or uttered a short\nprayer, because nobody but the devil himself could require anything so\nmonstrous.\n\nThe eyes of the chairman shot a reproachful glance at the strange\nspeaker, and he muttered between his teeth: \"Be off! your words are\ngiving offence.\"\n\nBut Master Satan, the stranger, stood calmly in his place: \"Sirs,\"\nsaid he, \"Let me answer you with a word from the scriptures, \"Why are\nyou so fearful, oh ye of little faith?\" On the field of battle the\nsword mows down thousands of brave men. They fall often as victims to\nthe ravening ambition of a single man. You can even see fathers\nfighting against their sons, brothers against their brothers, and\nnobody thinks it unjust. Now you cry out, when I only ask for one\nsingle living soul to be sacrificed for the welfare of the whole\ncommunity.\"\n\nThe eyes of the stranger looked round in triumphant joy when he had\nfinished, for he read a favourable reply in the puzzled faces of the\naldermen.\n\nMany of them at once gave up their scruples, and after a few minutes\neven the most cautious among them had no more objections to urge.\n\nThe offer was closed with, and Master Satan left the Town Hall with a\nproud smile.\n\nThe next day the council was again gathered together anxiously waiting\nfor the promised sum.\n\nIt arrived promptly, rightly weighed and in good honest coin.\n\nThe joy of the aldermen was boundless.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nOnce more the workmen began the work of building the minster. They\nworked very busily as if to make up for the long interruption, and\nafter three years the cathedral was finished.\n\nOn the day when the new church was to be consecrated, a great festival\nwas held in the town.\n\nThe distinguished company, secular as well as clerical, who appeared\nat the inauguration ceremony, praised the magnificence of the minster,\nthe great liberality of the citizens, and more than all, the wisdom of\nthe Town Council.\n\nThe aldermen listened to the general praise with pleasure, and\naccepted it as their due. They felt however bound to confess to each\nother that they did not feel easy when they thought of the\ninauguration day. None of them had spoken to anybody of Master Satan's\ncondition.\n\nOnly one of them, a henpecked fellow as malicious people said,\nconfessed the whole transaction to his wife. It is needless to say\nthat from that moment the whole town knew about the affair. On the\nimportant day of the consecration of the minster many venerable\nprelates, abbots, and monks, thousands of noble knights and lords who\nhad come as guests, and the whole population of Aix-la-Chapelle looked\nforward to the fatal hour with beating hearts. It was a grand\nprocession indeed that marched on in ceremonious solemnity through the\nstreets. The gaily coloured flags waved merrily in the air, the\ntrumpets and clarions sounded cheerily. The nobility and clergy were\nin their most gorgeous attire. On every side were the signs of joy and\nthanksgiving.\n\nBut the hearts of the people were all oppressed, and many a sorrowful\neye gazed at the morning sky, as if expecting to see Satan flying down\nwith his bat-like wings.\n\nWhen the aldermen in their bright robes joined the procession, the\ngeneral anxiety rose to the highest pitch.\n\nBefore the worthy councillors a bulky cage was carried by four stout\nfootmen. What was hidden under the covering nobody knew, but everybody\nfelt sure that it contained the victim.\n\nWhen the procession reached the minster it stopped, the cage being\ncarried foremost.\n\nAt a sign from the mayor, one of the footmen quickly stripped off the\ncover and exposed to view a howling hideous wolf. Two of the men\npushed the church door wide open with their long halberds, and the\nfourth pushed the wolf skilfully through the open door. A terrible\nnoise arose suddenly within.\n\nThe devil had been waiting for his spoil, as a tiger that watches for\nhis prey.\n\nWhen the wolf entered the devil darted towards it, but seeing that it\nwas only a beast he burst into a wild howl of rage.\n\nHe wrung the poor wolf's neck with the quickness of lightning and\ndisappeared suddenly, leaving nothing behind him but a strong smell of\nsulphur.\n\nA few minutes later the bells rang, and the whole magnificent\nprocession thronged into the church, duly to celebrate its\nconsecration.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWhile divine service was being held in the new minster and hymns of\npraise and thanksgiving were offered at God's altar, the devil flew\nwith horrible maledictions over the country.\n\nHe swore an oath to punish with the utmost severity the population of\nAix-la-Chapelle who had so cunningly outwitted him.\n\nIn his flight he came to the sea-shore where he stopped a little, in\norder to consider how he could best destroy the town. As he looked at\nthe sandy dunes the thought struck him, that he might bury the whole\ntown with all its prelates and abbots under such a hill. With a mighty\npull he tore one of the dunes from the shore, piled it on his\nshoulders, and flew rapidly towards the doomed city. But the way was\nmuch longer than Master Satan had thought. He began to perspire very\nfreely under his unwonted burden, and when from time to time the wind\nblew a rain of loose sand into his eyes, he swore most horribly.\n\nIn the valley of the Soers not far from Aix-la-Chapelle he was obliged\nto rest, as he was very tired after his exertions.\n\nWhile he was thus sitting by the wayside wiping his forehead and\nlooking hot and weary, an old wrinkled woman came limping along, who\nlooked with suspicion at the man and his strange burden.\n\nShe wanted to pass by without saying a word, but the stranger stopped\nher and said: \"How far is it from here to Aix-la-Chapelle?\" The woman\ncast a sharp look at the speaker.\n\nAs she had reached years of discretion, being now in her\nseventy-second year, she was shrewd enough to recognise in the man\nbefore her the very devil in person. She was also quite sure, that he\nmust have some wicked plan in his head against the good town,\nAix-la-Chapelle.\n\nTherefore assuming a very sad expression she answered in a complaining\nvoice: \"Kind sir, I am so sorry for you, the way to the town is still\nvery long. Only look at my boots, they are quite worn from the long\nway, and yet I got them new from the shoemaker at Aix-la-Chapelle.\"\n\nMaster Satan uttered something that sounded like a bitter curse. Then\nhe shook off the sandy dune from his shoulders and flew away in a\nfury.\n\nThe old woman was for a moment terror-stricken, but when she saw the\nfatal figure of the stranger disappearing, she was inexpressibly glad\nat having saved the town and outwitted the devil himself.\n\nIf he had only looked a little more carefully he could have seen the\ntower of the new minster not a mile off.\n\nThe sandy dune is still lying in the very same place where the devil\ndropped it. Its name is \"Losberg\" or \"Ridmountain,\" so called because\nthe town Aix-la-Chapelle got rid of a great danger.\n\nThe memory of the poor wolf is also still preserved. Its image is\nengraved on the middle of the minster door, where you can also see the\nbig cracks produced by the devil's hammering it in his impotent anger.\n\n\n\n\nThe Ring of Fastrada\n\n\nThis story too leads us back to the time of the great Emperor Charles,\nwhose life has come down to us with a halo of glory.\n\nCharlemagne's favourite residence was Aix-la-Chapelle, but he also\nheld court in Helvetia. His imperial stronghold stood on the shores of\nthe Lake of Zuerich. In its neighbourhood there was a high pillar which\nthe emperor had erected to mark the place where Felix and Regula had\ndied as martyrs for the Christian faith. A small bell was attached to\nthis monument, which everybody in distress and want might ring if they\nwanted relief. As often as Charles held his court in Zuerich he himself\nappeared at the pillar when the bell was rung, and listened to the\ncomplaints and petitions of his subjects.\n\nOne day the sound of the bell was heard, yet nobody could be perceived\nnear the pillar. On the following day about dinner-time the same thing\nhappened, the bell rang, yet no one was there. The emperor, curious to\nknow what this meant, commanded one of his pages to hide in the bushes\nbehind the pillar.\n\nWhen mid-day approached the boy noticed that a serpent crept out of\nthe sand, wriggled up to the pillar, and set the bell a-ringing. This\nastonishing fact was at once communicated to the emperor, who came\nwithout delay to the spot. He was very much surprised at seeing such\nan unusual applicant, but he said with great earnestness, \"Every one\nwho comes to me shall find justice, be it man or beast.\"\n\nThe serpent bent low before the monarch, and then crept back into its\nden. Charlemagne followed, anxious to learn the reason of its strange\nbehaviour. He was surprised when, on looking into the dark hole, he\nsaw an ugly toad sitting on the serpent's eggs, and filling nearly the\nwhole space with its hideous form.\n\nThe emperor bade his attendants kill the intruder at once.\n\nIn a short time Charlemagne had nearly forgotten the strange incident.\n\nBut one day when he was sitting at dinner the serpent unexpectedly\nentered the hall, and crept up to the emperor's seat. Bowing low three\ntimes it lifted its head and dropped a precious stone into the\nemperor's goblet. It then disappeared as quickly as it had come.\n\nCharlemagne took the stone out of the cup, and saw to his amazement\nthat it was a precious diamond. He ordered it to be mounted in a\ngolden ring, which he presented to his well-beloved wife, Fastrada.\n\nThe jewel possessed a wonderful quality. Fastrada had always been\nloved tenderly by her imperial husband, but after the diamond ring\nadorned her slender finger, a sweet charm seemed to bind her still\nmore strongly to him.\n\nTo many people this great love of the emperor for his wife seemed too\nabsorbing, almost superhuman, and when death ruthlessly snatched her\nfrom the side of Charlemagne, everybody believed that it was a\njudgment from heaven.\n\nThe monarch was inconsolable at this great bereavement. He spent days\nand nights in unspeakable grief by her corpse. The rumour was, that\nhis sorrow was so intense that he refused to permit the remains of his\nwife to be duly buried. The charm the living Fastrada had exercised\nover him seemed to linger even after her death.\n\nThe Archbishop of Rheims, the pious Turpin, heard of the emperor's\nsorrow, and he offered fervent prayers to God for help. Soon\nafterwards he had a strange dream. He saw the wonderful ring on\nFastrada's finger glittering with a thousand lovely colours and\nsurrounding the emperor with a magic light. The bishop was now sure\nthat the precious stone was the cause of the superhuman love the\nemperor bore to his wife.\n\nOn the following day before sunrise Turpin, the venerable old bishop,\ngot up and went into the room where Charlemagne had again spent a\nnight in bitter grief by the remains of his beloved wife. He was\nkneeling by the uncovered bier in fervent prayer when the bishop\nentered. Turpin went straight up to the body, and making the sign of\nthe cross he took the cold waxen hand of Fastrada for a moment in\nhis. Without being observed by the mourning emperor, he slipped the\nenchanted ring gently from her finger. As he had guessed the emperor\nat once rose, and kneeling down before the bishop, kissed his hand in\nadoration. Then he rose and bade Turpin have the remains of his wife\nburied that same day. So it happened that Fastrada's remains were\nbrought to their last resting place in the Church of St. Albans at\nMayence.\n\nFrom that time the emperor was attached with rare devotion to the old\nArchbishop of Rheims.\n\nHe would not allow him to leave his side, but requested that Turpin\nshould always live near him. The pious man was also nominated first\ncouncillor of the Empire.\n\nTurpin used his high position only for the welfare of the empire, and\ndid a great many good works.\n\nSometimes however he felt a pang of regret at the manner in which he\nhad acquired the high favour of his lord, and it seemed to him very\nunfair.\n\nOnce when he accompanied the monarch on one of his journeys in Western\nGermany, he threw the ring into a spring from which it could never\nmore be brought up again.\n\nFrom that moment Charlemagne felt himself irresistibly drawn to that\nparticular part of his extensive dominions.\n\nHe erected a stronghold there, and a flourishing township soon\nsurrounded this palace. Later on it was called Aix-la-Chapelle, and\nbecame the favourite residence of the great emperor.\n\nWithin its walls he liked best to rest from the burden of affairs of\nState, and sometimes the old ruler could be seen sitting by the margin\nof the spring in which Fastrada's ring lay buried, recalling the sweet\nmemories of past days.\n\n\n\n\nROLANDSECK\n\nKnight Roland\n\n\n[Illustration: Roland in der Schlacht von Roncevalles--Nach dem Gemaelde\nvon A. Guesnet]\n\n\nI.\n\nThe Emperor Charlemagne was surrounded by a circle of proud knights,\nthe flower of whom was Count Roland of Angers, nephew of the King of\nthe Franks. The name of no knight was so famous in battle and in\ntournaments as his. Helpless innocency adored him, his friends\nadmired, and his enemies esteemed him. His chivalrous spirit had no\nlove for the luxuries of life, and scorning to remain inactive at the\nemperor's court, he went to his imperial uncle, begging leave to go\nand travel in those countries of the mighty kingdom of the Franks,\nwhich up to that time were unknown to him. In his youthful fervour he\nlonged for adventures and dangers. The emperor was much grieved to\npart with the brave knight, however, he willingly complied with his\nrequest.\n\nOne day early in the morning the gallant hero left his uncle's palace\nnear the Seine, and rode towards the Vosges Mountains, accompanied by\nhis faithful squire. The first object of his journey was castle\nNiedeck near Haslach, and from there he visited Attic, Duke of Alsace.\n\nHe continued his travels, and one evening as he was riding through\nthe mountains, the glittering waters of the Rhine, washing both sides\nof the plain, greeted him. The river in that part of the country\noffered him few charms in its savage wildness, but he knew that the\nscenery would soon change. He moved on down the Rhine to where a\ngigantic mountain shuts the rushing current into a narrow space. Its\nfoot stands chained in the floods, which only in places retire a\nlittle, thus leaving the poor folk a narrow stretch of land.\n\nOn the heights there were proud castles, telling the wanderer below of\nthe fame of their illustrious races. Thus Roland made many a long\njourney on his adventurous course down the Rhine. He passed many a\nplace rich in old memories: the Lorelei Rock, where the water nymph\nsang at night: the cheerful little spot where St. Goar lived and\nworked at the time of Childebert, the Merovingian, (that wonderful\nsaint who once spread a fog over his imperial uncle, compelling him to\npass the night in the open air, because his Majesty, while journeying\nfrom Ingelheim to Coblenz had neglected to bend his knee in his\nchapel) and the green meadows near Andernach, where Genovefa, wife of\nPalatine Count Siegfried lived. And now Roland neared the place where\nthe stream reaches the end of the Rhine Valley, and where the seven\ngiants are to be seen, the summit of one of which is crowned with a\ncastle; there they stand like the seven knights who in later times\nstood weeping round the holy remains of the German emperor.\n\nA wooded island lay in the deep-blue waters. The setting sun threw a\ngolden light over the hills. On the sides of the mountains there were\nnumberless vineyards, to the left, hedges of beeches ascending to the\nheights of the rugged summits, to the right, the murmur of the\nrippling waters, and above, visible among the legendary rocks where\nonce a terrible beast lived, the pinnacles of a knight's castle, and\nover all, the heavens clothed with a garment of silver stars.\n\nThe knight paused in silence; his glance rested admiringly on the\nbeautiful picture. His steed pawed the ground uneasily with his\nbronze-shod hoofs, and his faithful squire looked anxiously at the\ndarkening sky. He reminded his master modestly that it was time to\nseek shelter for the night.\n\n\"I should like to beg for it up there,\" said Roland dreamingly, an\ninexplicable feeling of sweet sadness coming over him for the first\ntime. He bade his squire ask the boatman who was putting out his\nlittle bark to cross the river, what was the name of the castle? The\ncastle was the Drachenburg, where Count Heribert sojourned sometimes.\nThus ran the answer which pleased Roland very much. He had been\ncharged with many greetings and messages to the old count at the\nDrachenburg from his friends living near the upper Rhine. Roland now\nhesitated no longer, and soon a boat was ploughing the dark waves.\n\n\nII.\n\nIn the meantime night had come on. The full moon's soft beams showed\nthem their way through the dark forest. Count Heribert, a worthy\nknight in the flower of his age, bade the nephew of his imperial\nmaster heartily welcome to his castle. Far past midnight they stayed\nin the count's chambers, engaged in entertaining conversation.\n\nThe next day Count Heribert presented his daughter Hildegunde to the\nknight. Roland's eyes, full of admiration, rested on the blushing\nyoung maiden. Never before had the charms of a woman awakened any deep\nfeeling in his heart; he had only thirsted after glory and deeds of\ndaring, after tournaments and feuds. Now the bold champion was struck\nwith a shaft from the quiver of love. He who had opposed the dreaded\nadversary so often, now bowed his fearless head in almost girlish\nconfusion before Hildegunde's charms. She, too, stood crimsoning\ndeeply before the celebrated hero whose name was famous, and who was\nbeloved in all the country round.\n\nThe old knight broke up the scene of embarrassing silence between the\nyouthful couple with gay laughing words, and conducted his guest\nthrough the high halls of his castle.\n\nRoland tarried longer at the friendly castle than he had ever done\nbefore in any other place in the country. He seemed bound to the\nblissful spot by love's indissoluble chains, and so it happened that\none day these two found themselves, hand in hand, the deep love in\ntheir hearts rushing forth in ardent words. Count Heribert bestowed\nhis lovely daughter very willingly on the celebrated knight, his only\ndesire being to complete the happiness of his child whom he loved so\ndearly. A castle should be erected for her on the heights of the rocks\non the other side of the Rhine, opposite the Drachenburg, and this\nproud fort on the rugged rocky corner of the mountain, should be a\nwatch-tower for the glorious Seven Mountains and their castle. In\nlater times it became the famous Rolandseck. Soon the walls could be\nseen raising themselves up, and every day the lovers stood on the\nbalcony of the Drachenburg looking across, where industrious workmen\nand masons were busily toiling. Hildegunde began to weave sweet dreams\nof the future round her new home, where she meant to chain the\nadventurous hero with true love.\n\nBut one day a messenger appeared at the Drachenburg on a horse white\nwith foam. He was sent by Charlemagne and brought the tidings of a\ncrusade which the emperor had decreed against the Infidels beyond the\nPyrenees. Charlemagne desired to have the famous knight among the\nleaders of his army. Roland received the message of his great master\nin silence. He looked at Hildegunde who with a death-like face was\nstanding beside him. Grief stabbed cruelly at his heart, but he must\nobey the call of honour and duty, and, informing the royal messenger\nthat he would arrive at the imperial camp in three days, he turned\nsorrowfully away, Hildegunde sobbing at his side.\n\n\nIII.\n\nThe cross and the half-moon were fighting furiously for the upper hand\nin Spain. Terrible battles were fought, and much blood flowed from\nboth Christians and Infidels. Bloody victories were gained by the\nemperor's brave knights, the chief of whom was Roland. His sword\nforced a triumphant way for Charlemagne, it guarded his army, passing\nvictoriously through the unknown country of the enemies. But the sad\nday of Ronceval, so often sung by German and other poets was yet to\ncome. Separated from the main body of the army, Roland's brave\nrearguard was making its way through the dusky forest. Suddenly wild\nshouts sounded from the heights, and the cowardly Moor pressed down on\nthe little band, threatening them with destruction. But the noble\nFranks fought like lions. Roland's charger, Brilliador, flew now here,\nnow there, and many a Saracen was hewn down by its noble rider's\nsword, Durant. But numbers conquer bravery. The little army of Franks\nbecame less and less, and at last Roland sank, struck by the lance of\na gigantic Moor. The combat continued furiously round him. When night\nspread mournfully over the battle-field, the Infidels had already done\ntheir terrible work. The Franks lay dead; only a few had escaped from\nthe slaughter.\n\n\"Where is Roland?\" was the frightened cry from pale lips. He was not\namong the saved. \"Where is Roland?\" asked Charlemagne anxiously of the\nmessengers. Through the whole kingdom their answers seemed to\nresound, Roland the hero had fallen in battle fighting against the\nSaracens; wherever this cry was heard, it awakened deep sorrow.\n\nThe news soon spread as far as the Rhine, and one day the imperial\nmessengers appeared at the Drachenburg, bringing the sad tidings and\nthe deepest sympathy of the emperor. Heribert sighed deeply on hearing\nthe news and covered his eyes with his hands; Hildegunde's grief was\nheart-breaking. Before the altar of the Queen of sorrows she lay\nsobbing her heart out, imploring for comfort in her great need. For\ndays on end she shut herself up in her little bower, and even her\nfather's gentle sympathy could not assuage her bitter grief.\n\nWeeks passed. Then one day the pale maiden entered the knight's\nchamber, her grief quite transfigured. He drew her softly towards him,\nand then she revealed the resolution which was in her heart. Count\nHeribert was overwhelmed with grief, but he pressed a loving kiss on\nher pure forehead.\n\nThe day came, when down below on the island Nonnenwert, the convent\nbells rang solemnly. A new novice, Count Heribert's lovely daughter,\nknelt before the altar. In the holy stillness of the convent she\nsought the peace which she could not find in the castle of her father.\nWith a last great convulsive sob she had torn her lover's name from\nher heart, had quenched the flame of sorrowing love for him, and now\nher soul was to be filled ever with the holy fire of the love of God.\nIn vain her afflicted father hoped that the unaccustomed loneliness\nof the convent would shake her resolution, and that when the first\nyear's trial was over, she would return to him. But no! the pious\nyoung maiden fervently begged the bishop, who was a relation of her\nfather, to release her from the year's trial and to allow her after a\nshort time to take her final vows. Her longing desire was fulfilled.\nAfter a month Hildegunde's golden locks were no more, and the lovely\ndaughter of the Drachenburg was dedicated to the Lord forever.\n\n\nIV.\n\nTime rolled on. Spring had vanished and the sheaves were ripening in\nthe fields. Where the river reaches the end of the Rhine valley\ncrowned by the Seven Giants, a knight with his horse stopped to rest.\nFar away in the south, where the valley of Ronceval lies bathed in\nsunshine, he had lain in the hut of a poor herd. There the faithful\nsquire had dragged his master pierced by a Moorish lance. The bold\nhero and leader had remained for weeks and months on his sick-bed\nstruggling with death, till the force of his iron nature had at last\nconquered. Roland was recovering under loving care, while they were\nmourning him as dead in the land of the Franks. Then having recovered,\nhe hurried back to the Rhine urged by an irresistible longing.\n\nA wooded island lay in the deep-blue waters. The setting sun threw a\ngolden light over the hills; numberless vineyards flanked the\nmountains, hedges of beeches were on one side, the murmur of waters\non the other, and above the pinnacles of a knight's castle among the\nlegendary rocks where once a terrible beast lived, over all the\nheavens clothed with a garment of silver stars.\n\nSilently the knight paused, his glance resting admiringly on the\nbeautiful picture. Now as in months before an inexplicable feeling of\nsweet sadness came over the dreamer.\n\n\"Hildegunde!\" murmured Roland, glancing up at the starry heavens.\nAgain as formerly a boatman rowed across the stream, and Roland soon\nwas striding through the forest towards the Drachenburg, accompanied\nby his faithful squire.\n\nThe old watchman at the castle stared at the late guest, and crossing\nhimself, he rushed up to the chambers of his master. A man's figure,\nbent with age and sorrow, tottered forward. \"Roland!\" he gasped forth.\nThe knight supported the broken-down old man in his arms. When Roland\nhad departed long ago, his grief had found no tears; now they flowed\nabundantly down his cheeks.\n\nThe knight tore himself from the other's arms. \"Where is she?\" he\nasked in a hoarse voice, \"dead?\" Count Heribert looked at him with\nunspeakable sorrow. \"Hildegunde, bride of Roland whom they supposed\ndead, is now a bride of Heaven.\"\n\nThe hero groaned aloud, covering his face with his hands.\n\nIn spring he left the Drachenburg and went to the castle on the rocky\ncorner, and there he laid down his arms for ever; his thirst for\naction was quenched. Day by day he sat over there, looking silently\ndown on the green island in the Rhine, where the nun, Hildegunde,\nwandered about among the flowers in the convent garden every morning.\nSometimes indeed it seemed that she bowed kindly to him, then the\nknight's face would be lighted up with a gleam of his old happiness.\n\nBut even this joy was taken from him. One day his beloved did not\nappear; and soon the death-bell tolled sorrowfully over the island. He\nsaw a coffin which they were carrying to its last resting-place, and\nhe heard the nuns chanting the service for the dead, he saw them all,\nonly one was wanting ... then he covered his face. He knew whom they\nwere carrying to the grave.\n\nAutumn came, withering the fresh green on Hildegunde's tomb. But\nRoland still kept his watch, gazing motionlessly at the little\nchurchyard, and one day his squire found him there, cold and dead, his\nhalf-closed eyes turned towards the place where his loved one was\nsleeping.\n\nFor many a century the proud castle which they called Rolandseck,\ncrowned the mountain. Then it fell into ruins, like the mighty\nDrachenburg, the tower of which is still standing. Fifty years ago the\nlast arches of Roland's castle were blown down one stormy night, but\nlater on they were built up again in memory of this tale of true and\nfaithful love in the olden times.\n\n\n\n\nSIEBENGEBIRGE\n\nThe Drachenfels\n\n\nI.\n\nWhen the wanderer has left the \"city of the Muses,\" Bonn, he perceives\nto the left the mighty summits of the Seven Mountains. The rocky point\nof one of these hills is still crowned by the tower and walls of an\nold knight's Castle. A most touching legend is related of the mountain\nwith the terrible name.\n\nIn the first centuries after the birth of the world's Redeemer, the\nGermans on the left side of the Rhine accepted willingly the doctrines\nof the Cross; Maternus, a disciple of the great Apostle, had brought\nthem over from Gaul. At first the pious messenger of Christ worked\namong the heathen tribes in vain. They persisted in their paganism,\nand even prevented the priests from coming into their country.\n\nAt that time there was a terrible dragon living in the hollow of the\nrock which even now is called the Dragon's hole. He was of a hideous\nform, and every day he used to leave his den and rage through the\nforests and valleys, threatening men and animals. Human strength was\npowerless against this monster; the people thought that an angry deity\nhad his abode in this terrible beast, so they bestowed godlike honours\non him, sacrificing criminals and prisoners to him.\n\nA tribe of heathens lived at the foot of the mountain. These men,\ndesirous of war, often made raids on the neighbouring countries,\ncarrying fire and sword among their Christian brothers. They once\ncrossed the water, plundering the land and making prisoners of the\npeople. Among the latter there was one most lovely maiden, whose\nbeauty and grace inflamed two of the leaders so much, that each of\nthem desired to have her for himself. One was called Horsrik the\nElder, a famous chieftain, known to have the strength of a bear and\nthe wildness of a tiger; the other, Rinbold, of a less rough nature,\nbut of equal bravery.\n\nThe beautiful maiden turned aside shuddering when she saw the two\nchiefs' glaring eyes, contending for possession of her. All round were\ntheir men intoxicated with victory. The struggle for the Christian\nmaid affected the two leaders more than the division of the booty.\nSoon the angry words of the two opponents found an echo in the hearts\nof the men standing round.\n\nHorsrik, the much-feared fighter, claimed her, and was received with\ncheers. Rinbold, the proud young chieftain, claimed her also,--great\napplause greeted him. The former glared sternly, grasping his club in\na threatening manner. The high-priest, an old man with silver-white\nhair and stern features, stepped in between the two combatants, and in\na voice surging with anger he said:\n\n\"Cursed be every dissension for the possession of this stranger! A\nChristian must not disunite the noblest of our tribe. A daughter of\nthose we hate, she shall fall to nobody's share. She, the author of\nso much strife, shall be sacrificed to the Dragon, and shall be\ndedicated to Woden's honour at the next rising of the sun.\"\n\nThe men murmured applause, Horsrik more than the rest. The maiden held\nher head upright. Rinbold, the proud young chieftain, looked\nsorrowfully at her angel-like face.\n\n\nII.\n\nEarly the following day before the sun had poured his bright beams on\nthe earth, the valley showed signs of life. Through the dusk of the\nforest a noisy procession moved upwards towards the highest point, the\npriest in the middle, behind him the prisoner, pale but resolute.\nSilently, for her Lord's sake, she had allowed the priest to bind her\nforehead as a victim, and to place consecrated flowers in her loose\nflowing hair. Many a sympathetic look from the crowd had been cast at\nthe steadfast maiden. The young chieftain was stricken with pain at\nthe sight of her death-like countenance.\n\nThere stood the projecting rock which had often been dishonoured by\nhuman blood. The fanatical priests wound ropes round the maiden's\nbody, and then tied her to St. Woden's tree which overhung the\nprecipice. No complaint escaped the Christian's white lips, no tears\nglistened in her eyes which were glancing up at the morning sky. The\nthrong of people moved off, waiting silently in the distance to see\nwhat would happen.\n\nThe first rays of the sun streamed over the mountain; they lighted up\nthe wreath of flowers in the maiden's hair, playing about her lovely\nface, and crowning it with glory. The Christian maid was awaiting\ndeath, as a bride awaits her bridegroom, her lips moving slightly as\nin prayer.\n\nA gloomy sound came up from the depths. The Dragon started from his\nden, spitting fire on his path. He cast a look at his victim there on\nthe spot which his blood-thirsty maw knew so well. He raised his scaly\nbody, thus letting his sharp claws be more visible, moved his snaky\ntail in a circle, and showed his gaping mouth. Snorting the monster\ncrawled along, shooting flames out of his bloodshot eyes.\n\nA shudder of death crept over the maiden at the sight of this awful\nbeast. Tremblingly she tore a sparkling golden crucifix from her\nbreast, held it towards the monster piteously, and called on her Lord\nin a heart-rending voice. Wonder of wonders! Raising himself, as if\nstruck by lightning, the monster turned, dashing himself backwards\nover the jagged stones into the waters below, and disappearing in the\nriver among the falling rocks.\n\nWondering cries arose from the waiting heathens. Astonishment and\nwonder were depicted on every face. In quiet submission, her eyes\nhalf-closed, the maiden stood praying to Him who had saved her. The\ncords fell from her sides; two strong arms caught her and carried her\ninto the midst of the astonished crowd. She raised her eyes and\nperceived the younger of the two chieftains. His rough warlike hand\nhad seized hers. The young man bent his knee as if to a heavenly\nbeing, and touched her white fingers with his lips. Loud applause\ngreeted him on all sides.\n\nThe old priest came forward, the people waiting in great expectation.\n\"Who had saved her from certain destruction? Who was the God who so\nvisibly aided His own?\" asked he solemnly of the Christian. With\nbright eyes the maiden answered triumphantly:\n\n\"This picture of Christ has crushed the Dragon and saved me. The\nsalvation of the world and the welfare of man lies in Him.\" The priest\nglanced at the crucifix with reverent awe.\n\n\"May it soon lighten your spirit and those of all these people round,\"\nsaid the maiden earnestly. \"It will reveal greater wonders than this\nto you, for our God is great.\"\n\nThe maiden and all the other prisoners were conducted back to their\nown country. But the former soon returned again, accompanied by a\nChristian priest. The voice of truth and innocence worked wonders in\nthe hearts of the heathens. Thousands were converted and baptized. The\nold priest and Rinbold were the first who bowed their heads in\nsubmission to the new doctrine. Great rejoicings were held among the\ntribe when the maiden gave her hand to the young chieftain. A\nChristian temple was erected in the valley, and a splendid castle was\nbuilt on the summit of the rocks for the newly-married couple. For\nabout ten centuries their descendants flourished there, a very\npowerful race in the Rhine countries.\n\n\n\n\nThe Monk of Heisterbach\n\n\nIn olden times in a lovely valley near the Seven Mountains, stood a\ncloister called Heisterbach. Even now parts of the walls of this old\nmonastery remain, and it was not by the hand of time, but by the\nbarbarism of foolish warfare, that its halls fell into ruins. The\nmonks were driven away, the abbey was pulled down, and the stones were\nused for the building of a fortress.\n\nSince that time, so the country folk relate, the spirits of the\nbanished monks wander nightly among the ruins, raising mute\naccusations against their persecutors and the destroyers of their\ncells. Among them there was one, Gebhard, the last Prior of\nHeisterbach, who now, they say, wanders about the graves of the monks,\nand also haunts the burial-places of the Masters of Loewenburg and\nDrachenburg.\n\nIn the Middle Ages the monks of Heisterbach were very famous. Many a\nrare copy of the Holy Scriptures, many a highly learned piece of\nwriting was sent out into the world from this hermitage, telling of\nthe industry and learning of the pious monks.\n\nThere was one brother, still young in years, who distinguished himself\nby his learning. He was looked up to by all the other brethren, and\neven the gray-haired Father Prior had recourse to his stores of\nknowledge. But the poisonous worm of doubt began to gnaw at his soul;\nthe mirror of his faith was blurred by his deep meditations. His keen\neye would often wander over the faded parchment on which the living\nword of God was written, while his childlike believing heart, humbly\nsubmitting itself, would lamentingly cry out, \"Lord, I believe, help\nThou mine unbelief!\" Like a ghost his restless doubts would hover\nabout him, making his soul the scene of tormenting struggle.\n\nOne night with flushed face he had been meditating over a parchment.\nAt daybreak he still remained engrossed in his thoughts. The morning\nsun threw his bright rays over the heavens, casting playful beams on\nthe written roll in the monk's hands.\n\nBut he saw them not, his thoughts were wholly taken up by a passage\nwhich for months past had ever been hidden to him and had been the\nconstant subject of his reflections, \"A thousand years are but as a\nday in Thy sight.\"\n\nHis brain had already long tormented itself over the obscure words of\nthe Psalmist, and with a great effort he had striven to blot it out of\nhis memory, and now the words danced again before his weary eyes,\ngrowing larger and larger. Those confusing black signs seemed to\nbecome a sneering doubt hovering round him: \"A thousand years are but\nas a day in Thy sight.\"\n\nHe tore himself away from the silent cell, seeking the cool solitude\nof the cloister-gardens. There with a heavy heart he paced the paths,\ntorturing himself with horrid doubts.\n\nHis eyes were fixed on the ground, his mind was far away from the\npeaceful garden, and without being aware of what he was doing, he left\nthe cloister-gardens and wandered out into the neighbouring forest.\nThe birds in the trees greeted him cordially, the flowers opened their\neyes at his approach; but the wretched man heard and saw nothing but\nthe words: \"A thousand years are but as a day in Thy sight.\"\n\nHis wandering steps grew feeble, his feverish brain weary from want of\nsleep. Then the monk sank down on a stone, and laid his troubled head\nagainst a tree.\n\nA sweet, peaceful dream stole over his spirit. He found himself in\nspheres glowing with light; the waters of Eternity were rushing round\nthe throne of the Most High; creation appeared and praised His works,\nand Heaven extolled their glory; from the worm in the dust, which no\nearthly being has been able to create, to the eagle soaring above the\nheights of the earth: from the grain of sand on the sea-shore, to the\ngigantic crater, which, at the Lord's command, vomits fire out of its\nthroat which has been closed for thousands of years: they all spoke\nwith one voice which is not heard by the haughty, being only manifest\nand comprehensible to the humble. These were the words of Him who\ncreated them, be it in six days or in six thousand years, \"A thousand\nyears are but as a day in Thy sight.\"\n\nWith a slight shudder the monk opened his eyes.\n\n\"I believe Lord! help Thou my unbelief,\" murmured he, taking heart.\n\nThe bell sounded in the distance. They were ringing for vespers;\nsunset was already gleaming through the forest.\n\nThe monk hastily turned towards the cloister. The chapel was lighted\nup, and through the half-opened door he could see the brothers in\ntheir stalls. He hurried noiselessly to his place, but to his\nastonishment he found that another monk was there; he touched him\nlightly on the shoulder, and strange to tell, the man he saw was\nunknown to him. The brothers, now one, now another, raised their heads\nand looked in silent questioning at the new comer.\n\nA peculiar feeling seized the poor monk, who saw only strange faces\nround him. Growing pale, he waited till the singing was over. Confused\nquestions seemed to pass along the rows.\n\nThe Prior, a dignified old man with snow-white hair, approached.\n\n\"What is your name, strange brother?\" asked he in a gentle, kind tone.\nThe monk was filled with dismay. \"Maurus,\" murmured he in a trembling\nvoice. \"St. Bernhard was the Abbot who received my vows, in the sixth\nyear of the reign of King Conrad, whom they called the Frank.\"\n\nIncredulous astonishment was depicted on the brothers' countenances.\n\nThe monk raised his face to the old Prior and confessed to him how he\nhad wandered out in the early morning into the cloister-gardens, how\nhe had fallen asleep in the forest, and had not wakened till the bell\nfor vespers sounded.\n\nThe Prior made a sign to one of the brothers. Then turning to the monk\nhe said: \"It is almost three hundred years since the death of St.\nBernhard and of Conrad, whom they called the Frank.\"\n\nThe cloister annals were brought; and it was there found that three\nhundred years had passed since the days of St. Bernhard. The Prior\nalso read the following note.\n\n\"A doubter disappeared one day from the cloister, and no one ever knew\nwhat became of him.\"\n\nA shudder ran through the monk's limbs. This was he, this brother\nMaurus who had now come back to the cloister after three hundred\nyears! What the Prior had read sounded in his ears as if it were the\ntrumpet of the Last Judgment. Three hundred years!\n\nWith wide-open eyes he gazed before him, then stretched forth his\nhands as if seeking for help. The brothers supported him, observing\nhim at the same time with secret dismay; his face had become ashy\npale, like that of a dying person, the narrow circle of hair on his\nhead had become snow-white.\n\n\"My brothers,\" murmured he in a dying voice, \"value the imperishable\nword of the Lord at all times, and never try to fathom what he in His\nwisdom has veiled from us. May my example never be blotted out of your\nmemory. Only to-day the words of the Psalmist were revealed to me. 'A\nthousand years are but as a day in Thy sight.' May he have mercy on\nme, a poor sinner.\" He sank lifeless to the ground, and the brothers,\ngreatly moved, repeated the prayers for the dead over his body.\n\n\n\n\nThe Origin of the Seven Mountains\n\n\nIn olden times the Rhine flowed into a deep mighty lake above the town\nof Koenigswinter. Those who then lived near the Eifel Mountains or on\nthe heights of the Westerwald, were in constant fear of these swelling\nwaters which often overflowed, causing great destruction in the\ncountry. They began to consider that some great saviour was necessary,\nand sent a messenger into the country of the Giants, begging some of\nthem to come down and bore through the mountain, which prevented the\nwaters from flowing onward. They would receive valuable presents as a\nrecompense.\n\nSo one day seven giants arrived in their country bringing enormous\nspades with them, and with a few good strokes of their tools, they\nmade a gap in the mountain so that in a few days the water washed\nthrough the gap which visibly became larger. At last the river\nstreamed through in torrents. The lake gradually dried up and\ncompletely disappeared, and the liberated Rhine flowed majestically\ntowards the plain.\n\nThe Giants looked at their work with satisfaction. The grateful folk\nbrought them rich treasures, which they had taken out of the mines.\nHaving divided them fraternally, the Giants shouldered their spades\nand went their way. These heaps of rocky ground which they had dug out\nwere so great, that ever since they have been called the Seven\nMountains, and will remain there until the Giants come again and sweep\nthem away.\n\n\n\n\nThe Nightingale Valley at Honnef\n\n\nHonnef is one of the most lovely little spots on the earth, nestling\nsweetly at the foot of the old Drachenfels. The mountain protects it\nfrom the icy winds of the north, and the breezes blow gently in the\nvalley, which may be called the German Nice.\n\nWhen the setting sun reminds the wanderer on the Drachenfels of coming\ndarkness, and he strolls down through the valley of Honnef, the songs\nof numerous nightingales sound in his ears. This has been the\nmeeting-place of these songsters for many a long year, and there is an\nold legend which gives us the reason.\n\nThere was a time when they used to sing in the forest round the old\nAbbey Himmerode, as they now do in the valley of Honnef.\n\nThe pious monks, walking about in the cloister gardens in holy\ncontemplation heard their seductive songs: the penitents in their\ncells, mortifying the flesh heard them also. Their alluring warble\nmingled itself with their murmured prayers; and in the heart of many a\nmonk, who had long since renounced the world and its pleasures, the\nremembrance of them was gently awakened, and sweet sinful things were\nwhispered into the holy brother's ears.\n\nThen one day it happened that St. Bernhard came to the Abbey\nHimmerode, to examine the brother's hearts. He was greatly distressed\nto find that many a holy soul had turned from the path of peace, and\nthe cause of this also became known to him. In a violent passion the\nholy man strode out into the forest surrounding the cloister, and\nraising his hand angrily towards the seductive singers, he cried.\n\n\"Go from here! Ye are a curse to us.\" St. Bernhard had spoken\nthreateningly, and lo! with a great stir in the branches, a throng of\nnumberless nightingales rose from the bushes, filled the forest once\nmore with their glorious song, and fled with a great flapping of\nwings.\n\nThey settled down in the valley of Honnef, and no excommunication has\ndriven them from there. Those who wander there are not averse to the\npleasures of the world like St. Bernhard, and every one after his own\nmanner reads a different meaning in their song.\n\n\n\n\nGODESBERG\n\nThe High Cross at Godesberg\n\n\nIf you walk on the high road between Bonn and Godesberg which is not\nfar distant, you perceive on the left side, shimmering white amid the\ngreen woodland, a high pillar crowned with a cross known as the \"High\nCross.\"\n\nIt is a pleasing sight to him who passes by on a bright day; but in\nthe twilight its glaring white contrasting so sharply with the dark\nback ground, makes a dismal impression on him, which is still more\nenhanced by the legend told about it.\n\nThe story leads us back to the time when instead of the grey ruins, a\nproud stronghold near Godesberg looked down into the wonderful valley\nof the Rhine. An old knight lived there, who was well known far and\nnear for his bravery and generosity. His beloved wife had died,\nleaving him two sons.\n\nThe elder was the very image of his mother in body and mind; he had\ngentle childlike manners, and it was therefore natural that the\nfather's eye rested with more pleasure on him than on the younger son\nwho was very daring, and in spite of his youth had already gone after\nstrange, and not always honourable adventures. Yet the old father did\nnot grieve much on his account, hoping that the sooner the reckless\nyouth emptied his cup of pleasure, the sooner he would come to the\nbitter dregs. Then like others he would surely become more serious,\nand would yet fulfil the longing desire of his late mother. She had\nfervently wished to see him when a man adorned with St. Mathern's\nring, which the bishops of Cologne wore, while Erich, the elder,\nshould become lord of Godesberg Castle.\n\nThe father's thoughts lingered with pleasure on the pleasant prospects\nof his sons' future. He sent up many a fervent prayer to heaven for\nthe fulfilment of his desires, well knowing that the spirit of his\nbeloved wife supported him at the throne of the Almighty with her own\nsupplications.\n\nThe old knight often spoke to his younger son about his vocation in\nlife, but always observed with disappointment that his son avoided any\nallusion to the subject.\n\nWhen the father felt his death approaching, he imparted once more his\nwish to his two sons, that the elder should become master of the\ncastle, and the younger, bishop of Cologne. With a blessing for them\non his lips, he closed his eyes for ever.\n\nHis death was sincerely deplored by all the poor people of the\nneighbourhood.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nSome time after the two brothers sat as usual in the high\nbanqueting-hall of Godesberg. It was a very dismal meal, for they sat\nopposite to each other, the elder with reproachful looks, the younger\nwith knitted brows.\n\n\"I only took what the ancient law of my fathers bestowed upon me,\"\nsaid the elder mildly but firmly, in answer to some harsh words of his\ncompanion. \"I am not master, but only manager of the family\npossessions. All our ancestors whose pictures look down on us in this\nhall would curse me, if I did not take good care of their legacy. But\nyou, my dear brother, will receive a higher gift than a castle. You,\nthe offspring of a noble race, shall become a worthy servant of our\nSaviour.\"\n\n\"Never!\" burst forth the younger one in passionate eloquence \"never\nwill I bow my neck to an unjust law that compels one to take up arms,\nand another meekly to accept a monk's cassock. If they offered me now\na bishop's ring or a cardinal's hat, I would not become a priest, I\nshall remain a knight.\"\n\nThe elder brother listened sorrowfully to this headstrong speech. \"May\nGod, whom you thus blaspheme, enlighten your dark heart. I would\nwillingly share with you whatever I possess, but our father's will\nforbids it. Therefore bend your proud neck humbly, and beware of the\njudgment that will fall on him who despises the will of his dying\nfather.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nHunting horns and trumpets sounded through the green forest which\nextended at that time from the town of Godesberg to the gates of Bonn.\nThis huge wood abounded in noble game.\n\nThe two brothers were indulging together in the pleasures of the\nchase, as they had done so often in their father's life-time. Count\nErich had gladly accepted his brother's invitation to accompany him.\n\nHe was only too glad to see how his dark mood had changed in the last\nfew days and given way to greater cheerfulness. It appeared to Lord\nErich as if his brother had come to reason, and after all had made up\nhis mind to fulfil their parents' wish. He believed all the more in\nthe happy change when he heard that his brother intended presenting\nhimself to the Archbishop of Cologne, in order to deliver a letter of\ngreat importance from his late father to him.\n\nCount Erich's heart was glad. He roamed joyfully through the forest,\nand his gladness seemed to increase his good luck in the sport.\nSeveral gigantic boars were pierced through by a spear sent from his\nhand. A deer also met with a similar doom.\n\nThe younger brother's success was on the contrary very meagre. His\nhand was unsteady and his whole bearing betrayed restlessness. A\nstrange subdued fire gleamed in his eyes.\n\nWhile he was following the trail of a mighty boar, Count Erich met him\nand offered to pursue the animal in his company.\n\nThey hunted through thorns and thicket, accompanied by the yelping\nhounds. Suddenly the foliage rustled, and the boar was seen to break\nwildly through the bushes. A spear from the younger brother whirred\ntowards the beast, but missed its aim and remained sticking in the\nbark of an oak.\n\n\"Your hand is more fit to bless pious Christians,\" said Count Erich\nwith a smile.\n\n\"But still fit enough to rid me of an inconvenient brother!\" muttered\nthe younger brother between his teeth, and tearing his hunting knife\nrapidly from his belt, he plunged the two-edged steel into his\nbrother's breast. A terrible cry at the same time rang through the\nforest, and the murderer fled in haste.\n\nTwo attendants of the Count who were hunting close by, hearing the cry\ncame running to see what was the matter, and found Lord Erich lying in\nhis blood, dying. They bent down over him to see if they could help\nhim, but alas! it was too late. The man, mortally wounded, was beyond\nthe reach of human aid. With a last effort he opened his lips,\nmuttered lowly but audibly the words, \"My brother!\" then sank back and\nclosed his eyes for ever.\n\nThe terrible news that the Lord of Godesberg had been foully murdered\nby his own brother, spread swiftly through the country. Mourning again\nfilled the castle on the mountain, when they carried the body of the\npoor slain man to his untimely grave. They buried him in the family\nvault next to the recent grave of his father.\n\nFrom that time the castle stood desolate. The next relative of the\nnoble family, who lived in a lovely part of the Rhine valley near the\nPalatinate, avoided a place where such an unheard of crime had been\ncommitted. Only an old man kept watch in the empty castle. But even he\nwas soon compelled to leave it. One night the high tower was struck by\nlightning and the whole building burnt down. Nothing remained but\nblackened ruins, looking mournfully on the gay landscape beneath.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nYears went by after this crime. Nobody heard or saw anything of the\nmurderer. He seemed to have totally disappeared. Some people however\nwhispered that on the day of the black deed, a man was seen fleeing\nfrom the forest of Godesberg. He was pale and ghastly looking, and\ndarted off, not caring which way he went. It was he who on the\nprevious day had fostered in his burning brain the longing desire to\ntake possession of his brother's heritage, and now he was a murderer,\nand bore Cain's mark on his forehead.\n\nThe unfortunate youth had rashly contrived this hellish plan to rid\nhimself of his brother and to become lord of Godesberg. His plan was\nto kill him while hunting, and then make the people believe that he\nhad aimed at a boar and hit his brother accidentally instead. But when\nhis victim sank down in agony, the knife dropped from his murderous\nhand, his courage failed him, and he felt himself driven from the wood\nas if chased by a demon.\n\nAfter many years had come and gone, a tired wanderer once knocked at\nthe door of the cloister of Heisterbach, which had been erected by St.\nBenedict's pious disciples in a remote valley of the Seven Mountains.\nThe man who desired admission looked more like a beggar than a\npilgrim. His garments hung torn and ragged round his thin body, and\nhis face was deeply furrowed by marks of long and cruel suffering.\n\n\"Have pity on me,\" said he in a trembling voice, \"I come from the Holy\nSepulchre, my feet will bear me no further.\" The door-keeper was\nmoved, and retired to inform the Abbot of the poor man's request. He\nreceived permission to bring him in. When the beggar appeared before\nthe Abbot, he fell on his knees and renewed his demand for food and\nrest. For some moments the monk looked penetratingly at the man before\nhim, then a sign of recognition passed over his face, and he cried\nout. \"Good heavens! is it you Sir Knight?\" The pilgrim trembled,\nprostrated himself before the Abbot, and embraced his knees in\noverwhelming grief. \"Have mercy on me,\" exclaimed he, \"it was I who\ntwenty years ago slew my brother in the forest of Godesberg. During\ntwenty long years I tried to atone for my cursed deed and obtain\nforgiveness and peace. As a pilgrim I cried for mercy at the grave of\nhim whom I murdered; as a slave of the Infidels, under the weight of\nheavy chains I prayed incessantly for God's mercy, but I cannot find\npeace. Three months ago the fetters were struck from my hands, and I\nhave again come home, weary unto death. You, oh worthy Abbot, have\nknown me from a child. Let me rest within the walls of this cloister,\nthat I may daily see the castle where I was an innocent child. I will\npray and do penance until death releases me from my wretched life.\"\n\nThe Abbot felt intense pity for the unhappy man. He bent down, laid\nhis hands on him, and blessed him.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nFor many years the poor penitent remained in the cloister trying to\natone for his crime with fervent prayers and hard penance. At last God\nin His grace called him away, and the repenting sinner died hopeful of\nHeaven's forgiveness. The monks buried him in a shady place in their\ncloister garden.\n\n\n\n\nBONN\n\nLord Erich's Pledge\n\n\nOn the Klochterhof at Friesdorf near Bonn, a nobleman once lived, who\nwas well known in the whole Rhine valley as a great tippler.\n\nOnce Lord Erich had indulged with great relish in the noble sport of\nthe chase in the forest that surrounded the neighbouring town of\nGodesberg. The day was hot, the chase unsuccessful and rather tedious\nfor him, as he was more than usually tormented by a mighty thirst.\n\nThe sun had set and his last golden rays were glittering on the waves\nof the Rhine, when Lord Erich shouldered his blunderbuss and turned\nhomeward with a small bag, consisting of one fat hare.\n\nIn those days one small inn (now they can be counted by the dozen)\nstood on the margin of the large forest of Godesberg. There Lord Erich\nentered to rest his tired limbs, but principally to quench his great\nthirst. He gave the hare to the landlady, that she might prepare it\nwith skilful hands, and ordered a flowing bumper of golden Rhine wine\nwhich he emptied at one deep draught. I am sure that the juice of the\ngrapes must have been far better then, than it is now-a-days.\n\nThe landlady soon prepared the game and placed the tempting meal\nbefore the hungry hunter, who enjoyed it thoroughly. But he\nappreciated still more the delicious, cool wine offered to him.\n\nOne glass after the other was swallowed by the thirsty Lord of\nKlochterhof, and the landlord marked just as many charcoal strokes on\nthe door-post.\n\nWhen night approached, the noble hunter began to think of returning\nhome. Sitting there had been agreeable and comfortable, but he found\nit very difficult to get up and walk.\n\nThe landlord, perceiving his guest's preparations to take his leave,\ncame forward and said in rather a rough tone, being an outspoken\nfellow: \"Twelve bottles, my lord, don't forget to pay before you go.\"\n\nLord Erich who was standing very unsteadily on his legs, muttered in a\nthick voice but very good-humouredly, \"Dear landlord, I could pay you\nif I had loaded my blunderbuss with money, but I did not.\"\n\nWith this cheerful response he turned to go.\n\nThe landlord was exceedingly aggravated at this careless answer. His\nface grew quite purple with anger. \"If you have no money, my lord, I\nshall keep your trousers till you are able to pay for the twelve\nbottles.\" So saying he took hold of the tipsy man. Whether he liked it\nor not, Lord Erich was obliged to leave his inexpressibles with the\ninexorable landlord, and to walk home without them.\n\nThe firs in the wood shook their heads in disapproval at such a\nstrange attire.\n\nIt is not known if Lord Erich ever came back to the inn to redeem his\nnether garments.\n\n\n\n\nThe Roman Ghosts\n\n\nBefore the gates of the old Roman town of Bonn rises a mountain of\nmoderate height, called Kreuzberg, or \"Crossmountain.\"\n\nIn early mediaeval times pious pilgrims went to this sacred place, in\norder to kneel on the holy steps of the old convent church so rich in\nmemories of the martyrs, or to pray in the chapel. On the same spot at\nthe beginning of the fourth century, the great saints of the Theban\nlegion, Cassius, and his companions Florentius and Melusius, died for\nthe Christian faith.\n\nThese martyrs were the guardian saints of the country round Bonn. Many\na prayer sent up to them had graciously been fulfilled, since the time\nwhen St. Helena, the pious mother of Constantine, erected a chapel to\ntheir honour on Kreuzberg.\n\nOnce upon a time a simple peasant from the neighbouring country went\non a pilgrimage to St. Cassius' burial place.\n\nHe came to ask the kind martyr for assistance in his distress.\nDransdorf was his village, formerly called Trajan's village, because\nthe general, who later on became Emperor Trajan, is said to have had a\nvilla there.\n\nA bad harvest had brought troubles on the peasant, but he firmly\nbelieved that through the intercession of St. Cassius he would receive\nmoney enough in one way or another to enable him to pay his many\ndebts.\n\nOn arriving at Kreuzberg, he began his religious exercises by\nconfessing his sins to one of the monks belonging to the order of St.\nFrancis. Then according to custom he knelt in succession on one sacred\nstep after the other till he reached the chapel. His wife had\ncarefully put a candle in his pocket which he now lighted before the\nimage of St. Cassius. Having thus fulfilled all the duties prescribed\nby the church, he turned homewards, well content with himself.\n\nWhen he crossed the principal square of the town, where already at the\ntime the magnificent Minster stood, he entered this church to pray\nonce more, and to put another coin into the poor-box.\n\nTwilight was creeping through the aisles, and a pilgrimage being not\nat all an easy thing, our peasant soon fell asleep over his\nprayer-book.\n\nHe only awoke, when, somebody pulled him by his sleeve. It was the\nsexton with a big bunch of keys.\n\nAt first the peasant gazed drowsily at the unwelcome intruder, then\nwith astonished eyes he looked round about him, until at last it\ndawned upon him, that he must get up and leave the church. Rousing\nhimself he made the sign of the cross, and left the Minster with\ntottering steps. The night winds rustled in the old limetrees of the\nsquare and seemed to whisper strange tales into the ears of the late\nwanderer.\n\nThe peasant crossed the open space sulkily, and steered his way\ntowards the Sternthor, which led to Dransdorf. An ancient Roman tower,\nthe remains of the high fortifications erected by the soldiers of\nDrusus eighteen hundred years ago, stands in the narrow lane, leading\nfrom the minster-square to the Sternthor. To the tired wanderer this\ntower seemed a splendid shelter, all the more so, as it would not cost\nhim a penny.\n\nHe entered it, and tired out with the weary day, he was soon fast\nasleep as if he had never been stirred up from the bench in the\nMinster. No sexton with noisy keys was to be feared, and yet in his\nsleep the countryman had the sensation of somebody tapping him on the\nshoulder. He sat up and looked round. To his amazement he beheld a\nmagnificent warrior standing before him, clad in a coat of mail with a\nRoman helmet on his head. Two companions in similar array stood by his\nside.\n\nThey nodded genially down to him, and it struck him that he had\nalready seen them somewhere else. After some moments he remembered the\npictures of St. Cassius and his friends in the chapel on Kreuzberg.\nThere was no doubt the three holy martyrs stood in person before him.\n\nOur good peasant was so much awed at this discovery that he could not\nutter a word, but on a sign from his mysterious visitors, he followed\nthem at a respectful distance.\n\nThey marched towards the Sternthor, straight into the building, the\nwalls of which were as thick as the rooms were long in the peasant's\nhumble little cottage. In the middle of a high vault there was a table\ncovered with sparkling gold.\n\nAt this unusual sight the peasant opened his eyes very widely indeed;\nbut his astonishment changed into keen delight when one of his ghostly\nvisitors filled his left pocket and another his right with the\nglittering metal. Meanwhile the third man took a tumbler from the\nmiddle of the table, and presented it to him with an encouraging\nsmile.\n\nHe thought their language was very much like that which the vicar of\nthe village church used in reading the service. Though the simple man\ncould not understand a word of their conversation, he interpreted the\nkind invitation quite correctly, and shouting out a merry, \"Vivat!\" as\na salute to his hosts, he emptied the tumbler at one big draught.\n\nThe whole building resounded with the echo, \"Vivat!\" The three\nwarriors looked pleased and answered in a cheerful voice, \"Vivat,\nVivat!\"\n\nAll at once it seemed to the peasant as if the vault was filled with a\nmultitude of Roman soldiers who all called out to him, \"Vivat!\" as if\nhappy to hear a sound of their native language in the country of the\nnorth.\n\nThe man from Dransdorf became quite high-spirited, and kept on\nshouting, \"Vivat, Vivat!\" Suddenly startled by the noise he made, he\nawoke and found himself lying on the floor of the Roman tower in the\nSterngasse.\n\nThe events of the night only seemed to him like a strange dream. But\nwhen he felt in his pockets he found them stuffed with real golden\ncoins of a strange ancient stamp.\n\nOur friend's joy became quite uproarious. After having sent up a\nheartfelt thanksgiving to St. Cassius, he gave vent to his delight by\nshouting through the quiet streets at the top of his voice, \"Vivat,\nVivat!\"\n\nA watchman stood on duty by the Sternthor, when the jocund peasant\npassed by. He made a step forward and, reaching out his arm, he gave\nthe merry man a rude knock with his lance. Unmindful of this rough\nadmonition, the peasant related the event in the Roman tower to the\nwatchman, and finished his story by inviting the stern man of duty to\nan early draught at the nearest inn.\n\nRumours of the wonderful events spread far and wide, and soon every\ntown and village knew the tale. The small lane leading from the\nMinstersquare to the Sternthor was called \"Vivat\" lane, and bears that\nname to the present day.\n\nSome years ago a heavy winter gale destroyed the old Roman tower that\nhad so long withstood the vicissitudes of time. The people of Bonn\nhowever did not wish to obliterate the memory of this curious story,\nand therefore named the street running parallel with \"Vivat\"\nlane--\"Cassius Graben.\"\n\n\n\n\nCOLOGNE\n\nRichmodis of Aducht\n\n\nIt was about the middle of the fifteenth century.\n\nThe shadows of death hovered above the holy City of Cologne. A strange\nfigure in dark garments hurried with quick steps through the streets\nand lanes. It was the plague. Its poisonous breath penetrated into\ncottages and palaces, extinguishing the lives of many thousands.\n\nThe grave-diggers marked innumerable houses with a black cross, to\nwarn the passers-by that the destroying angel had entered there. The\nroll of the dead rose to such numbers that it was impossible to bury\nthem all in the customary manner. Therefore the bodies of the\nunfortunate people were thrown together into a common grave, covered\nonly scantily with earth and marked with a plain wooden cross.\n\nWoe and sorrow thus filled the old City of Cologne.\n\nOn the New-market, close to the Church of the Apostles, in a splendid\nmansion, the rich Magistrate, Mengis of Aducht lived. Wealth could not\nsave his house from the dreadful epidemic, his youthful and lovely\nwife, Richmodis, was seized with the plague and died. The grief of her\nlord was boundless. He passed the whole night by the remains of his\nbeloved spouse, dressed her himself in the white wedding gown she had\nworn as a happy bride a few years before, decorated the coffin with\nsweet white flowers, and covered her with the precious jewels and\ncostly rings she had loved so much. Then she was buried.\n\nNight approached, and the clear starry sky looked peacefully down on\nthe afflicted town.\n\nPerfect stillness prevailed in God's acre.--Suddenly a jarring sound\nlike the opening of an old rusty lock was heard, and two dark shadows\nglided among the graves, on and on till they stopped before the fresh\nmound which enclosed the body of Richmodis of Aducht.--Those two knew\nthe spot, and well they might, for they were the grave-diggers, and\nhad prepared this grave themselves on the previous day.\n\nThey were present when the lid of the coffin was screwed down, and had\nwith hungry looks coveted the glittering precious stones Richmodis was\nto be buried with.\n\nNow they had come to rob the dead body. With spade and shovel the\nwreaths and flowers were quickly removed from the mound, the earth dug\nup, and the coffin laid bare. In feverish haste, spurred on by their\ngreed, they burst the lid open, and the dim light of their lantern\nfell full on the mild pale face of the dead woman. With haste the\nbolder of the two wretches loosened the white waxen hands folded\ntogether as in prayer, and tried to tear off the rings.\n\nSuddenly the body quivered, and the white hands spread out. Aghast\nthe robbers dropped their tools, scrambled in utmost terror out of the\ngrave, and fled as if chased by the furies.\n\nA painful long sigh rose from the depth of the grave, and after some\ntime the white form of Richmodis who had been buried alive, emerged\nfrom the tomb.\n\nWith wide open eyes, full of horror, she looked down into the ghastly\nbed she had just left.--Could it really be true, or was it only a\nfrightful dream?\n\nGod's acre was silent, but for the rustling of the autumn leaves of\nthe weeping willows. Stillness of death everywhere!--No answer came to\nher faint cry for help.--The horror of her situation however wakened\nher declining strength. She took up the lantern which the robbers had\nleft behind them and with feeble steps reached the entrance of the\nchurchyard.\n\nThe streets were desolate. The stars overhead alone perceived the\nslowly moving form, every now and then resting against the walls of\nthe houses.--At last she reached the New-market and stood before the\ndoor of her home. Dark and quiet it seemed. But from the window in the\nmagistrate's room a faint light shone forth. A quiver ran through the\nframe of the poor wife, and a wild longing desire seized her to be\nsheltered by his loving arms and to feel in his embrace that she had\nreally returned to life again.\n\nWith a last effort she seized the knocker, and listened with newly\nawakened hope to the tapping sound which rang clear through the night.\n\nA few minutes elapsed. Then an old servant peeping out of the window\nin the door, perceived the white ghostly figure of his late mistress.\nHorror seized him, his hair stood on end. Richmodis called him by his\nname and begged him to open the door. At the sound of her voice the\nold man started, ran upstairs, dashed into his master's room uttering\nincoherent sounds, and stammering: \"O Lord, the dead rise; outside\nstands our good Mistress and demands entrance!\" But the Magistrate\nshook his head in deep grief: \"Richmodis, my beloved wife is dead and\nwill never return, never, never,\" he repeated in unspeakable sorrow;\n\"I will rather believe that my two white horses will burst from their\nhalters in the stable and mount the stairs to the tower.\"\n\nA terrible sound suddenly filled the quiet house, a noise like thunder\nwas heard, and Mengis of Aducht and his servant saw the two white\nsteeds tearing and tramping in haste upstairs.\n\nA moment later two horses looked out of the tower windows into the\nnight, and shortly afterwards the Magistrate laughing and crying with\njoy at the same time, held in his arms his wife who had returned from\nthe grave.\n\nFor many years Richmodis lived happily with her husband, surrounded by\nseveral lovely children. Deep piety remained the motive power of\nRichmodis' being, and nobody ever saw her smile again.\n\nIf you come to Cologne, reader, you will still see the old house of\nthe Aduchts at the New-market, with two white wooden horses' heads\nlooking out of the top window.\n\n\n\n\nThe Goblins\n\n\nThis story goes back to the \"good old times\" of which we modern people\nalways speak with a sigh of regret.\n\nIt was then when good-natured goblins appeared to mortal eyes, and\ntried to render the life of the troubled human race a little more\ncheerful. In groves and dens they had magnificent dwellings and\nwatched there over the enormous mineral treasures of the earth.\n\nOften these beneficent elves were busy miners or sometimes clever\nartisans. We all know that they manufactured the precious trinkets and\narms of the Nibelungen treasure.\n\nDeep in the interior of the earth they lived happily together, ruled\nover by a king. They could be called the harmless friends of darkness,\nbecause they were not allowed to come into broad daylight. If they did\nso, they were transformed into stones.\n\nThe goblins did not always remain underground. On the contrary they\noften came to the earth's surface through certain holes, called\ngoblin-holes, but they always avoided meeting man.\n\nAlas! the advance of civilisation has driven these friendly spirits\ngradually from the places where they used to do so much good. None of\nus, I am sure has ever had the good luck of meeting one of them.\n\nThe goblins were of different sizes. Sometimes they were as small as\none's thumb, sometimes as large as the hand of a child of four years\nold. The most remarkable feature of these tiny figures was the\nenormous head and the pointed hump that so often adorned their backs.\nTheir look was on the whole more comical than ugly. German people used\nto call them \"Heinzchen\" or \"Heinzelmaennchen.\"\n\nA long time ago the good town of Cologne was inhabited by a host of\ndwarfs, and the honest population knew a great many stories about\nthem. The workmen and artisans especially had, through the assistance\nof the little wights, far more holidays than are marked in the\ncalendar.\n\nWhen the carpenters, for instance, were lying on their benches in\nsweet repose, those little men came swiftly and stealthily along, they\ntook up the tools and chiselled and sawed and hammered with a will,\nand thus, records the poetical chronicles which I am quoting, before\nthe carpenters woke up, the house stood there finished.\n\nIn the same way things went on with the baker. While his lads were\nsnoring, the little goblins came to help. They groaned under the load\nof heavy corn-sacks, they kneaded and weighed the flour, lifted and\npushed the bread into the oven, and before the lazy bakers opened\ntheir eyes, the morning bread, brown and crisp, was lying in rows on\nthe table.\n\nThe butchers too could speak of similar agreeable experiences. The\ngood little men chopped, mixed and stirred with all their might, and\nwhen the drowsy butcher opened his eyes at last, he found the fresh,\nsteaming sausages adorning the walls of his shop.\n\nThe cooper enjoyed also the help of the busy dwarfs, and even the\ntailor could not complain of the goblins having neglected him.\n\nOnce Mr. Cotton, a clever tailor, had the honour of making a Sunday\ncoat for the mayor of the town. He worked diligently at it, but you\ncan easily imagine that in the heat of the summer afternoon, the\nneedle soon dropped from his hand, and he fell fast asleep.\nHush!--look there. One little goblin after the other crept cautiously\nfrom his hiding place.\n\nThey climbed on the table and began the tailor's work, and stitched\nand sewed and fitted and pressed, as if they had been masters of the\nneedle all their lives.\n\nWhen Master Cotton awoke, he found to his great joy the mayor's Sunday\ncoat ready made, and so neatly and well done that he could present the\nmagnificent garment with pride to the head of the town.\n\nThe pretty wife of Mr. Cotton looked at this masterpiece of her\nhusband's art with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.\n\nIn the night when her husband had fallen asleep, she rose from her bed\nwithout making the slightest noise, and scattered pease all over the\nfloor of the workshop; she then put a half-finished suit on the table.\nShe kept a small lantern hidden under her apron, and waited behind\nthe door listening. Soon after the room was full of little men all\ntumbling, falling, and slipping over the pease. Yells and screams rose\nat the same time. The poor little men were indeed much bruised and\nhurt. Without stopping they ran downstairs and disappeared.\n\nThe tailor's wife heard the noise, and thought it good sport. When the\nyells were loudest, she suddenly opened the door to see her visitors,\nbut she came too late. Not a single goblin was left behind.\n\nSince that time the friendly dwarfs have never more been seen in\nCologne, and in other places also they have entirely disappeared.\n\n\n\n\nJan and Griet\n\n\n[Illustration: Jan und Griet--Steinbild am Jan von Werth-Denkmal in\nKoeln]\n\n\"There lived at Cologne on the old farm of Kuempchenshof a peasant who\nhad a maid called Griet and a man-servant called Jan.\"\n\nThus begins the old well-known Rhenish song of \"Jan van Werth,\" the\ncelebrated general of the imperial cavalry at the time when the Swedes\nand French were taking advantage of the civil war in Germany. But\nnobody except the inhabitants of the holy City of Cologne, knows that\nJan van Werth was originally a simple labourer, and that he was\nindebted for his luck in life to his bad luck in love.\n\nJan was an industrious farmer-boy with an upright character and a\nhandsome face.\n\nMany a girl would not have rejected him as a sweetheart, but Jan's\ntender heart had long been captivated by the good looks of pretty\nGriet, the comely maid of the Kuempchenshof. His love could not long\nremain a secret. One day he confessed to her with sobs that he loved\nher dearly, and would with pleasure work and toil for her twice as\nmuch as he then did for his master. He spoke long and earnestly, and\ntaking courage with every word he uttered, he at last put to her the\nall-important question--would she become his wife?\n\nLaughingly the pretty girl put her round arms akimbo, tossed her head\nback and looked at her honest suitor with a mocking twinkle in her\neyes. Then she shook her head energetically and said: \"You are only a\nfarmer's labourer, my dear boy, and will remain one most probably all\nyour life. True, it is not your fault, but all the same I should\nprefer to marry a rich farmer with cows and oxen and horses.\"\n\nBitter anger rose in Jan's breast on hearing her talk so heartlessly,\nbut he controlled himself. \"Just as you like,\" he said sadly, and\nturned away from the haughty maid.\n\nFrom that day he could not endure any longer the life at the farm, and\npocketing his wages, he said good-bye for ever to the Kuempchenshof and\nbecame a soldier.\n\nIt was a furious war in which the German Emperor was engaged against\nthe enemies of his country, and brave soldiers were rare. Any valiant\nwarrior might distinguish himself and become an officer at that time.\n\nThe farmer-boy, Jan, soon won by his bravery and intrepidity the\nesteem of his superiors, and was promoted to the rank of colonel. Once\nwhen fighting against the Swedish troops he showed such determination\nand courage that he won the battle. After this brilliant act he was\nmade a general. But the name of Jan van Werth became even more famous\nwhen he beat the French in a skirmish at Tuettlingen.\n\nIn another way also his good luck reconciled him to the first bitter\ndisappointment caused for by Griet's scornful answer. He married a\nlovely and noble young lady, who was very proud of becoming the wife\nof such a celebrated general.\n\nLet us now look back and see what happened in the meantime to Griet.\nShe had waited month after month and year after year for the rich\nfarmer. But the longed-for suitor never made his appearance. Even in\nthose by-gone days red cheeks and bright eyes were much less thought\nof than ducats and glittering gold.\n\nAs time went on Griet grew old, and though she would now have been\ncontent with a simple man for her sweetheart, not even such a one\ncondescended to ask her to become his wife.\n\nLittle by little Griet gave up all hopes of ever marrying, and had to\nlook out for a living to keep her in her old age from starving.\nTherefore she started a fruit stall at one of the large gateways of\nCologne.\n\nOne day the good inhabitants of this town were in great excitement,\nand crowded in their best Sunday-clothes round the gate of St.\nSeverin, where Griet sat at her apple-stall. They had come to meet Jan\nvan Werth, the celebrated general, who was returning victorious at the\nhead of his regiment.\n\nThere he was sitting on a powerful charger which was gorgeously\ncovered with gilded trappings. On his fine head Jan wore a\nbroad-brimmed hat with a flowing feather. Behind him rode his splendid\nsoldiers. The body-guard of the town beat the drum enthusiastically,\nand the Cologne people called out: \"Long live our Jan van Werth!\"\n\nWhen the celebrated general passed the gate, he stopped his horse\njust in front of Griet's apple baskets, and looking down upon the old\nwrinkled woman, met her questioning glance with an odd smile. \"Ah\nGriet,\" said he slowly; \"whoever would have thought it?\" At the sound\nof his voice an expression of sudden recognition passed over her worn\nfeatures, and she muttered sorrowfully, but still audibly to the proud\nrider, \"Oh, Jan, if I had only known it!\"\n\nA magnificent monument in the form of the statue of Jan van Werth now\nstands in the centre of the old market of Cologne.\n\nIt was erected there in memory not only of the heroic deeds of the\nbrave general, but also as a warning to all Cologne maidens not to\nreject their suitors because they are poor, for one day, like Jan van\nWerth, they may become famous, and then they will not, like Griet,\nhave to sigh over things that \"might have been.\"\n\n\n\n\nThe Cathedral-Builder of Cologne\n\n\nIt was at Cologne in the year 1248 on the eve of the Ascension day of\nour Lord.\n\nBefore the mighty Archbishop Kunrad of Hochstaden stood a simple\narchitect offering the plan of a church, and arrogantly boasting that\nit would become one of the most beautiful cathedrals in Christendom.\nThat man was Master Gerhard of Ryle.\n\nThe Archbishop was greatly astonished at the grandeur of the design,\nand ordered the execution of the bold plan without delay.\n\nOn the square which was selected for the erection of the new\ncathedral, another church had once been standing under the reign of\nthe first king of the Franks, but it had been destroyed by the\nNormans.\n\nNow again gigantic masonry, slender pillars, bold vaults and arches\nrose to unite into a proud dome.\n\nEverybody admired the humble man, whose creative genius now employed\nthousands of industrious workmen, and Master Gerhard's name was\nmentioned with great praise at home and abroad.\n\nWhen the choir was finished, crowds of pious pilgrims came from the\nsurrounding suburbs and even from a distance to pray before the\nrelics of the three holy kings which where enshrined there. Hymns of\npraise re-echoed through the unfinished aisles.\n\nEverybody rejoiced. But he, who ought to have been the most glad, was\nsad, and dark forebodings damped his spirits. The question if after\nall he would live to see his proud building finished, or if cruel fate\nwould tear him away before he should have tasted the sweetness of\ntriumph, tormented him day and night. His young wife saw with grief\nthe change in his disposition; but she tried in vain by tender words\nand caresses to smooth his sorrowful brow.\n\nThe more he was troubled by his gloomy thoughts, the more he urged his\nworkmen on.--Four years had elapsed; it was now 1252. The tower on the\nnorth side rose already proudly into the air. The scaffolding reached\nhigher and higher every day.\n\nOne day Master Gerhard stood beside the big crane, watching how the\ngigantic blocks of stone taken from the quarries at the Drachenfels,\nwere lifted up. He thought with pride and satisfaction that his work\nwas going on well; and that he surely would see it finished. While\nthus meditating he did not observe that a stranger stood by his side\nwatching him with an ugly sneer. A burning red cloak hung round his\ntall figure, a gold chain glittered on his breast, and a cock's\nfeather nodded from a quaint velvet cap. He introduced himself to the\nsomewhat surprised builder as a fellow-architect. \"You are building a\nlovely church,\" he then said, \"but I created a far more magnificent\nmansion, long long years ago. Its stone will never crumble to dust,\nand it will resist the influence of time and weather forever.\" In\nsaying this, his eyes glittered strangely under his shaggy brows. This\npresumptuous speech did not please Master Gerhard, and without\nanswering he measured the bold speaker scornfully from head to foot.\n\n\"Your church,\" continued the stranger, \"will be a very lovely\nbuilding, but don't you think that such an enterprise is far too\naudacious for mortal man. You, Master Gerhard, you ought to have known\nat the time when you laid the foundation stone of your church that you\nnever would see your work finished.\"\n\n\"Who is likely to prevent it?\" angrily burst forth the builder. No one\nhad ever dared to use such language towards him, nor to wound his\npride so keenly. \"Death,\" coolly replied the stranger. \"Never,\" cried\nMaster Gerhard in a great fury, \"I will finish what I began, and would\neven bet with the devil himself to do so.\"\n\n\"Hallo!\" laughed the stranger grimly. \"I should like to deal with such\nan audacious man as you, and make bold to bet with you that I will, in\na shorter space of time, finish the digging of a canal from Treves to\nCologne, fill it with water, and have merry ducks swimming on it, than\nyou will take to complete your church.\"\n\n\"So be it!\" said Master Gerhard very much startled, taking the\noutstretched hand of the strange man. At the touch of his cold\nfingers, a sensation of horror crept into the heart of Master Gerhard.\nBut the red-cloaked man burst into a yelling laugh and cried out in a\nformidable voice, \"Remember we betted for your soul.\" Utmost terror\nseized the trembling architect, cold perspiration stood on his brow,\nand he tried in vain to utter a word.\n\nSuddenly a storm rose, the stranger unfolded his red cloak, and was\nlifted from the ground in a cloud of dust and vanished.\n\nFrom that day the mind of Master Gerhard grew more and more gloomy. He\nkept on wandering restlessly on the scaffoldings of the building. The\nmore he considered the huge dimensions of the cathedral, the more\ndoubtful he felt as to whether he would be able to finish it or not.\n\nBy daybreak he could be seen among his workmen, and till late in the\nevening he wandered about on the building-ground, praising the\nindustrious and blaming the idle. He looked out anxiously sometimes in\nthe direction of Treves to see if he could discern anything uncommon\nthere. But he never saw the slightest change, nor any sign that the\nstranger with whom he had betted, had really begun his canal in\nearnest, and he looked more hopefully into the future.\n\nOne day he was standing as usual on the top of one of the completed\ntowers, when he felt a hand laid on his shoulder. Turning round, he\nbeheld with disagreeable surprise the ghostly stranger. Was he a\nmaster of the black art or was he the devil himself? \"Well, Master\nGerhard,\" began the unwelcome visitor, \"how are you getting on with\nyour work? I see it is making good progress. Happily I shall soon\nhave finished my canal, else I should run the risk of losing my bet.\"\n\n\"I can scarcely believe your boasting speech,\" answered the builder\nscornfully, \"because I do not perceive the slightest trace of your\nhaving begun the canal.\" \"Know, my dear man, that I am worth more than\na hundred workmen together and, as I told you, my work is nearly\nready,\" said the man in red.\n\n\"Really,\" said Master Gerhard a little startled, \"I should like to\nknow what magic power could enable you to do so.\"\n\n\"Come and follow me,\" replied the stranger, taking the builder by the\nhand. Off they flew through the air with the quickness of lightning,\nand reached the earth in the district near Treves in a few seconds. At\nthe place where they descended, a spring arose from the ground and\nsent its crystal waters into an opening in a rock. \"Come with me,\"\nsaid the magic stranger, and bending down he disappeared in this\nopening.\n\nMaster Gerhard followed him and came into a high glittering grotto,\nwhere he perceived that the water gushed tumultuously into the mouth\nof a black underground channel.\n\n\"You see,\" said the stranger, \"how well I have used my time. If you\nhave the heart for it, we will follow the waters, and see how far my\ncanal reaches already.\"\n\nScarcely had he uttered these words, than a mysterious power seized\nboth and pushed them forward with tremendous rapidity. Master Gerhard\nsaw now with terror that the work of the Evil One was indeed not\nfar from its completion, for when they emerged from the dark canal,\nthey had the City of Cologne lying close before them. The\ncathedral-builder could no longer doubt the great skill of his rival,\nand he felt sure that he would lose his bet. The red-cloaked man\nseemed to take great delight in the builder's discomfiture, and he\nsaid with an ugly grin:\n\n\"Well, Master Gerhard, I see you have found more than you expected. I\nam sure you would like to see the merry ducks which shall swim on my\nbrook, according to our bet.\"\n\nHe clapped his hands three times and then listened. Some minutes\npassed, but no ducks appeared. The stranger's face assumed an\nexpression of rage, when he found his summons unsuccessful. He tried\nagain but in vain. After this he gave a frightful yell, and vanished\nall at once, leaving nothing behind him but a smell of sulphur.\n\nThe cathedral-builder had looked on in wonder, and new hope began to\nfill his heart, that after all he could win the bet.\n\n\"I know well, why the ducks won't appear,\" thought he, \"but I shall\nnever betray my secret to him.\"\n\nAfter this adventurous journey, Master Gerhard was a prey to\nmelancholy.\n\nHe was seen oftener than before on the building ground. It was\nimpossible for him to doubt any longer, that the stranger with whom he\nhad made the fatal bet, was the devil himself. The unfortunate man\nwas well aware that not only was his life at stake, but that the\nsalvation of his soul was likewise in danger, should the master of\nhell carry out his work.\n\nThere was only one little hope left for him, namely, that the devil\nwould be unable to find out how to keep the ducks alive while they\nwere swimming through the long underground channel. So Master Gerhard\ntook courage, saying to himself: \"He cannot win and I know why.\"\n\nHis young wife was strangely moved at her husband's silence and\nmelancholy. She tried by increased tenderness and love to unstop his\nsilent lips and to make him tell what was lying so heavily on his\nheart.\n\nHe appreciated her endeavours to cheer him very much, but could not be\nbrought to tell of his dealings with the Evil One, and so he kept his\nsecrets to himself.\n\nOne day, not long after the mysterious journey of Master Gerhard, a\nstranger, apparently a scholar, entered the architect's house, while\nhe was as usual on the building ground. A scarlet cloak enveloped his\ntall figure, and a cock's feather sat boldly on his black cap.\n\nHis manners were soft and in general those of a gentleman. Hearing\nthat the builder was not at home, he asked for his wife. She came and\nsoon found that she liked talking to him, because he showed not only\ngreat eloquence, but also great sympathy for her husband.\n\nInvoluntarily she disclosed to the kind stranger her secret grief\nabout Master Gerhard's sadness. The scholar listened to her troubles\nwith great attention, and seemed to feel for her in her sorrow. \"My\ndear Mistress,\" said he in a soft voice, \"there is surely some secret\nweighing heavily on his mind, and this and nothing else is the cause\nof his melancholy. Unless we know it, we cannot cure him. You are\nnearest to his heart. If you are very loving and tender to him, he\nwill not withhold the secret for long from you. Be extremely kind to\nhim. After three days I shall come back to see if you have been\nsuccessful. If not, I will give you a remedy that will unfailingly\nmake him tell you his inmost thoughts.\"\n\nThus speaking he took his leave, and she was unable to find words to\nexpress her gratitude.\n\nFor three days she tried the scholar's advice, but found that her\nhusband, in spite of all her coaxing and caresses, would not tell the\ncause of his melancholy.\n\nOn the fourth day, the scholar called again and heard with apparent\ngrief how badly her endeavours had succeeded, \"I pity you heartily,\"\nsaid he, \"but don't despair. Here is a wonderful herb. Prepare a\nbeverage with it for your husband and make him drink it before he goes\nto sleep. He will dream after the draught and betray his secrets in\nhis sleep.\"\n\nShe accepted the gift gratefully, and prepared the potion according to\nhis advice. Her husband took the beverage willingly, and soon fell\ninto a profound sleep. After some time dreams seemed to trouble him;\nhe tossed restlessly to and fro in his bed murmuring incoherent\nwords. His wife listened anxiously and heard in feverish excitement\nabout the terrible dealings between him and the devil. After a pause\nMaster Gerhard muttered:\n\n\"He will never win, because I hold the secret.\"\n\n\"What may that be?\" whispered she in the dreamer's ear.\n\n\"He may do what he will,\" unconsciously answered he, \"it is quite\nimpossible that ducks should swim through the underground channel,\nunless he makes air-holes at every mile. Of course this idea will\nnever come into his head.\"\n\nThe next morning the scholar called upon the wife and heard how well\nhis scheme had succeeded. She told him every thing. When she had\nrevealed her husband's secret to him, the meek features of her strange\nguest suddenly changed. He gave a loud shrill scream of joy and\ndisappeared. The poor wife remained on the same spot, pale and\nterror-stricken.\n\nMaster Gerhard was standing the next day by the high crane of the\ncathedral as usual.\n\nThe air was sultry, and black clouds were gathering from across the\nRhine. He felt very restless, and urged his workmen even more than\nbefore to hurry on. The builder's heart was strangely filled with dark\nforebodings. All at once he felt a hand on his shoulder, and turning\nround, he beheld with terror the fatal stranger. A wondrous gleam of\nred-like flames seemed to radiate all round his figure.\n\nThe cathedral builder grew pale as death and trembled from head to\nfoot. He was unable to utter a word.\n\nBeaming with the joy of triumph, the Evil One pointed with his hand\ndownwards, and forced Master Gerhard to look in the same direction.\nBehold! At the foot of the cathedral a silvery brook was visible\nrunning from the direction of Treves. Merry ducks were swimming on its\nshining surface.\n\nIt is impossible to describe the feelings of the builder at the sight\nof the completed work of his rival. Despair and agony made his heart\nsink within him, but the Evil One looked with joy on his victim. When\nhe suddenly tried to grasp him, Master Gerhard darted to the edge of\nthe scaffolding with a heart-rending scream, and dashed himself down\ninto the depth below, and was instantly killed.\n\nA roar of thunder filled the air at that moment and the devil\nvanished in a blaze of lightning. The thunderstorm grew more and more\nviolent. After a few minutes the unhappy cathedral builder's house was\nstruck by lightning and burnt to ashes in less than an hour.\nUnfortunately, the admirable plan of the splendid church was also\ndestroyed.\n\nThis was the sad end of Master Gerhard and his ambition.\n\nThe cathedral remained untouched for more than six centuries after.\nIts unfinished walls and towers began to decay as if they mourned the\nterrible death of their builder. The Cologne people believed for a\nlong time that the spirit of Master Gerhard used to hover about\nmidnight round the high towers and the desolated vaults. Strange\nsounds like the sighs of somebody in anguish were often heard in the\ndeserted building, and people said it was Master Gerhard's ghost\ncomplaining that his proud cathedral remained unfinished.\n\nGeneration after generation passed by, and six centuries elapsed\nbefore busy workmen began again hammering and building on the ground\nwhich had lain so long quiet.\n\nIn 1880 the dome was finished, and towers now in all its majesty high\nabove the dwellings of the people, and can be seen miles away.\n\nSince that glorious day when the last stone was added to the cathedral\nof Cologne, Master Gerhard's ghost has never been heard or seen again.\n\n\n\n\nXANTEN\n\nSiegfried\n\n\n[Illustration: Siegfried schleppt einen Baeren ins Lager--Nach einer\nLithographie von Peter Cornelius]\n\nSiegfried,--and as we pronounce this glorious name, the hero looks\nforth at us with shining eyes, for was not Siegfried the perfect\nembodiment of all that was beautiful and good?\n\nFor centuries stories have been told and poems have been sung of the\nbold adventures of the young hero, whose energy only found\nsatisfaction in victorious fights.\n\nThe original name of the small town on the lower Rhine now called\nXanten, was \"Ad Santos,\" \"peace for the saints.\" It was thus named on\naccount of the pious warriors of the Theban legion who in the fourth\ncentury had boldly died there for their creed under their leader,\nVictor.\n\nAt the time to which our story refers, a mighty stronghold formed the\ncentre of the little town Xanten. A king called Siegmund with his wife\nSiegelinde and their son Siegfried lived there.\n\nWhile a mere boy, Siegfried had already a kingly stature, and an\nalmost untamable disposition of mind. When he was only thirteen years\nof age, his longing for grand deeds was so great that he found it\nimpossible to remain inactive at home. From old songs and legends\nwhich the minstrels recited in his father's castle, he had heard so\nmuch of bold adventures and brilliant exploits performed by his\nforefathers, that he was most anxious to follow in their steps. He\nfelt strong and valiant enough to undertake, like the heroes of old,\ndangerous journeys. Therefore young Siegfried left one day his\nancestral halls, and wandered southwards along the clear blue river.\nHe soon found an opportunity of testing his courage.\n\nAt the foot of the Seven Mountains lived a celebrated armourer called\nMimer, renowned for making excellent swords. Our hero liked this\nwarlike trade, and he asked the master to receive him as an\napprentice, that he might learn the praiseworthy art of forging a good\nsword for himself. The armourer agreed, and Siegfried remained at\nMimer's workshop. The journeymen with whom the youth had to work, soon\nlearned the enormous strength of their new companion. The boy, often\nnot knowing how to give expression to his desire for action, would\ntake up his fellow-workmen, lift them high into the air, and drop\nthem, not always softly, to the ground. Or when his anger was roused,\nhe would imprint black and blue marks on their backs with his strong\nfists. Once he even smashed with one stroke of his hammer all the iron\nbars in the armoury, and knocked the anvil into the ground with a\nmighty blow.\n\nMimer looked on with dismay, amazed at the boy's almost supernatural\nstrength, but fearing that Siegfried's wrath might some time turn\nagainst him, he thought to rid himself of his dangerous apprentice,\nand conceived a cunning plan to kill him. A horrible dragon lived in\nthe neighbouring forest, which tore every wanderer to pieces who\nchanced to cross its way. Mimer ordered Siegfried to fetch a sack from\nthe charcoal-burner in that forest, well knowing that the boy would\nnever return thence.\n\nThe youth, without knowing the danger he was about to meet, went\ncheerfully on his way. In the middle of the thick wood he kindled a\ncharcoal-kiln, and amused himself by putting big burning branches and\nyoung trees into the fire.\n\nSuddenly the monster came swiftly creeping on its huge claws. Curving\nits shimmering body the ugly beast opened wide its jaws to devour the\nyoung charcoal-burner. Siegfried's eyes brightened up at the prospect\nof an encounter with the terrible animal before him. Without a\nmoment's hesitation, he tore a flaming beam out of the kiln, and\npushed its burning end deep into the open mouth of the dragon. Roaring\nwith pain the monster turned round beating violently with its prickly\ntail, trying in its agony to crush Siegfried. But he, jumping\nskilfully aside, rapidly dealt it heavy blows, and succeeded at last\nin smashing its head with a large piece of rock. He severed the head\nfrom the body, and threw it into the blazing flames. To his\nastonishment he observed how a stream of grease gushed from the\nburning pile, and collected in a pool at his feet.\n\nClose by the charcoal-kiln stood an old limetree. A little bird sang\nmerrily in its branches. Siegfried, involuntarily listening to the\nclear strain, made out the following words: \"If you would be covered\nwith horn, and become invulnerable, undress yourself and plunge into\nthe pool.\"\n\nSiegfried quickly threw his clothes off and anointed his whole body\nwith the dragon's grease. While thus occupied a leaf from the old\nlimetree above dropped between his shoulders. This part of the hero's\nbody remained without horn. When he had finished, he took up the\nmonster's head and returned to Mimer's workshop. The nearer he got to\nthe smithy, the more his rage against his wicked master increased.\nMimer had seen the boy from afar approaching with the trophy of his\nfight, and had hidden in great fear.\n\nSiegfried however soon found him out and slew him on the spot. Then he\nforged a good two-edged sword and shining armour for himself, and\nhaving saddled the best horse of Mimer's stable, he left the smithy to\nlook for new adventures.\n\nFor a long time he travelled aimlessly about, saw mountains and\nvalleys, rivers and lakes, cities and hamlets, until he at last\narrived at the sea-shore. He embarked with his good horse, and was\ncast by a gale on the rocky coast of an unknown country. The noble\nanimal climbed courageously up the stony beach, and carried its rider\nto an enchanted castle which was surrounded by a wall of flames. For a\nmoment Siegfried stood irresolute. Suddenly the voice of the little\nbird sounded again above him, \"Break the charm. Straight into the\nflames with a bold dash. A most lovely maiden will be thy reward.\"\n\nThe youth took courage, spurred his steed, and with a plunge horse and\nrider disappeared in the flames, which were at once extinguished. The\ncharm was broken. Before him lay a wonderful castle. Siegfried\npenetrated into its interior, and was amazed to find every living\ncreature in a profound sleep within; the horses in their stalls, the\ngrooms in the stables, the cook at the hearth. When he entered the\nhigh hall a lovely scene presented itself to his view. On a couch the\nmost exquisite form of a woman lay sleeping. Her golden hair was\nstrewn with precious stones, and her limbs were clothed in the most\ncostly garments.\n\nThe young hero looked for a while, lost in admiration. Then bending\ndown to her, he pressed a passionate kiss on her rosy lips. Brunhilde,\nthe fair sleeper, opened her eyes, and at the same time every living\nbeing in the castle awoke.\n\nThe old legend depicts in glowing colours the sweet hours of love that\nfollowed for Siegfried and Brunhilde. Days and months passed by\nwithout the lovers being aware of it. However fond of adventures\nSiegfried was, he felt himself chained to the spot by her subtle\ncharms. While thus undecided he heard one day the bird's voice: \"Leave\nthe castle and give up a life of ignoble leisure; direct your steps\ntowards the country of the Nibelungen, take possession of their\nimmense treasures and of the precious invisible cap.\"\n\nAt the prospect of new adventures Siegfried could not be kept back\nany longer by Brunhilde. They parted with the solemn promise of\nmeeting again.\n\nA great many exploits are recorded of the proud hero which he\nperformed in the country of the Nibelungen. After a long and hard\nstruggle with the cunning dwarfs, he took away with him their\ntreasure, as well as the cap which had the gift of making its wearer\ninvisible.\n\nYears had passed by, and Siegfried longed to see the place of his\nchildhood again. So he turned homewards and reached Xanten after many\nadventures. The joy of his noble parents at seeing their valiant son\nagain was indescribable.\n\nThe legend of Siegfried's youthful exploits and his home-coming is\nfull of romance and happiness. But if we listen to the continuation of\nhis story we shall find how every human feeling has its place in the\nhero's biography, great joy, deep sorrow, passionate love, glowing\nhatred, heroism and perfidy, cowardice and high courage, until at last\nthe legend of Siegfried ends in a pitiful wail of grief.\n\n\n\n\nCLEVE\n\nLohengrin\n\n\n[Illustration: Des Schwanenritters Abschied--Nach dem Gemaelde von W. von\nKaulbach--Lohengrin's Departure--Le depart du chevalier au cygne]\n\nThe weathercock on the ancient stronghold at Cleve is a swan, and in\nolden times the dynasty that ruled over the lovely country round Cleve\nhad also a swan in their crest. A legend, tragic and beautiful,\npreserved to posterity forever in Richard Wagner's lovely opera, is\nconnected with it,--the legend of Lohengrin.\n\nLong centuries ago deep sorrow brooded over the walls of the castle at\nCleve. Its mistress, the Duchess Elsa, was in great distress. Her\nbeloved husband had died, and his remains had been brought to their\nlast resting-place. As soon as the tomb had closed over them, one of\nthe late Duke's vassals, Telramund, rose in revolt, and imperiously\nclaimed the right to reign over the dukedom. The audacious man went so\nfar as to ask the widowed Duchess to become his wife, declaring that\nthis was the only means of saving her rank, which the death of her\nhusband had deprived her of.\n\nElsa, the youthful and lovely mistress, implored the knights of her\ndominion to assist her in her trouble, and to take up arms against the\nrebel. But Telramund, little disconcerted by this appeal, offered to\nfight in single combat with anybody who dared to take up the quarrel\nwith him, well knowing that, on account of his immense strength,\nnobody would dare to become his adversary.\n\nThe days passed in deepest sorrow for the unfortunate Duchess. The\nmoment was approaching when the rebel would make bold to proclaim\nopenly his claims before the whole assembled nobility on the open\nspace before the castle. The fatal hour came. Pale, her face covered\nby her widow's veil, her queenly form enveloped in mourning garments,\nElsa descended from her castle to the assembly. The large plain was\ncrowded with a throng of people, and glittered with the brilliant\narmour of the knights.\n\nThe unfaithful vassal, covered from head to foot in shining armour,\ncame forward with bold steps and claimed in a loud voice the hand and\ndominion of the Duchess. The knights around, deluded by his valiant\nappearance and the firmness of his voice, broke into loud applause.\nSome of the crowd joined them in their cry of approbation, but most of\nthe people looked on, full of pity and admiration for their youthful\nmistress.\n\nNo answer to his first challenge having come, Telramund repeated his\naudacious demand, offering again to fight in single combat anybody who\ndared to accept it. His eyes glanced defiantly over the brilliant\nmultitude of knights. He perceived with triumphant joy, how they all\nshrank from fighting with him.--Elsa looked still paler than before.\n\nFor a third time the challenge of Telramund was heard. It sounded\nclearly over the whole plain. But none of the bright warriors came\nforward to take up the combat for Elsa's sake.\n\nOn the contrary deep silence followed the third challenge, and\neverybody's eyes were fixed on the forsaken princess who looked in her\nabandoned position still more lovely. The little hope that had till\nthat moment given her strength to bear her misfortune, had now\nentirely vanished. In her utter desolation she offered a fervent\nprayer to heaven. On her rosary, so the legend records, a little\nsilver bell was hanging, which possessed the wonderful gift of giving\nforth, whenever slightly touched, a clear ringing sound audible even\nat a great distance. In praying to God for deliverance from her great\ntrouble, she pressed the cross on her rosary fervently to her lips.\nThe silver bell tinkled, and at the same moment a little barge\nsuddenly appeared on the blue river. When it came nearer, everybody\nlooked with astonishment at the strange vessel. Its form was light and\ngraceful; but what astonished the people most was that it was not\nmoved by either oar or rudder, but was gently gliding on the blue\nwaves drawn by a snow-white swan. In the middle of the vessel stood a\nknight in shining silver armour.\n\nLong golden locks emerged from under his glittering helmet, his bright\nblue eyes looked boldly over the crowd on the shore, and his hand held\nthe hilt of his broad sword firmly.\n\nThe strange boat stopped just opposite the plain where the people\nstood motionless with amazement. The knight landed from the barge,\ngiving a sign with his hand to the swan, which swam gently down the\nRhine.\n\nIn silence and awe the multitude made room for the stranger who\napproached with firm steps towards the middle of the brilliant circle,\nand saluted the assembly with a solemn grace. Then he bent his knees\nbefore the Duchess and rising, turned towards Telramund, challenging\nhim proudly to fight with him for the hand and dominion of Elsa of\nBrabant. The bold rebel's temerity seemed to fail him for a few\nmoments, but gathering fresh courage he pulled his sword from its\nsheath with a loud scornful laugh.\n\nThe next moment the two knights darted at each other, their blades\nclashing in rapid strokes.\n\nThe whole crowd looked with wonder and amazement at the strange\nknight's great prowess. He parried the blows of his strong adversary\nskilfully. The combat lasted for some time, and neither of the\nfighters seemed to give way. Suddenly a subdued cry was heard, and at\nthe same time the presumptuous vassal sank to the ground, pierced by\nthe sword of him whom God had sent, and expired. A tremendous shout of\njoy burst from the gazing crowd, which rang from one end of the plain\nto the other and was echoed by the glittering waves of the Rhine. The\npeople rejoiced in the victory, and thought that God himself had\ndecided the combat in favour of Elsa.\n\nThe Duchess felt greatly moved. In her overflowing gratitude she\nsank down before her deliverer with tears in her eyes. But he bade her\nrise, and bowing low before her asked her to become his wife. She\nconsented. What a heaven of bliss opened for the Duchess of Brabant!\nAll her former troubles were forgotten.\n\nHer gratitude towards her rescuer was transformed into passionate\nlove, to which Lohengrin, the virtuous knight, responded with tender\nadoration.\n\nYet though everything seemed now so serene in the life of the Duchess,\nthere was a dim cloud which threatened to darken the clear prospect of\nher happiness. On their wedding-day Elsa had to promise her bridegroom\nthat she would never inquire about his name, his home, or his descent.\n\nTrusting her deliverer's honour and chivalrous bearing, she took the\nstrange oath without a moment's hesitation.\n\nMany years of bliss and happiness passed, and Elsa of Brabant had\nstrictly kept the promise she had made on her bridal morning. Their\nhappiness was still more enhanced by the birth of three hopeful boys.\nThey were their parents' joy, and promised to become in future shining\nornaments of knighthood.\n\nIt happened however, when the eyes of the Duchess were resting with\npride on her sons, that her mother's heart thought with grief of the\nsolemn oath she had sworn on her wedding-day.\n\nWith how much more pride would she have looked upon her sons if she\ncould have known them to be the offspring of a high and noble race.\nShe did not doubt however that her beloved husband's lineage was a\nmost noble one. Yet the thought that his sons might never bear their\nfather's name, nor be able to add new glories to it, was lying heavily\non her mind, and darkened the radiant image of her husband, that like\na deity filled her whole soul.\n\nThe fatal question she had for so long withheld burst one day forcibly\nfrom her lips.\n\nWhen she had pronounced the awful words, the proud hero grew pale, and\nfreeing himself softly from her tender embrace, he cried out in bitter\ngrief: \"Woe to thee, my beloved wife and woe also to me! Now that thou\nhast uttered the question thou didst sware solemnly never to ask, our\nhappiness is gone for ever. I must part from thee, never to see thee\nagain.\"\n\nA cry of anguish rose from her lips, but she was unable to keep him\nback. Waving his hand to her in a mute farewell her noble husband left\nthe castle. He went to the Rhine and blew his silver horn.\n\nIts sound was echoed from the shore like a long sob. The white swan\nwith the boat soon appeared gliding gently over the river.\n\nLohengrin stepped into the boat and soon vanished out of sight and was\nseen no more.\n\nHis unhappy wife was inconsolable. Her grief was so intense that a\nshort time after her health gave way, and she sank into a premature\ngrave.\n\nHer sons became the ancestors of a noble and distinguished race in\nthe Rhenish country. Their badge is a swan.\n\nThe traveller who visits Cleve will still find a tombstone in its\nchurch with a knight carved on it, and a swan sitting at his feet.\n\n\n\n\nZUYDERSEA\n\nStavoren\n\n\n[Illustration: Stavoren--Nach einem Stich von Holbein]\n\nA strange story is still told about the city of Stavoren on the\nZuydersea. It was a wondrous town, but like Vineta on the Baltic Sea\nit vanished from the earth.\n\nThe merchants of Stavoren were the rulers of the Ocean, and the\ntreasures of all known countries were lying in their port. The houses\nwere lovely palaces, furnished in their interior like the marvellous\nabodes of the Sultan Haroun Al Rachid, in the \"Arabian Nights.\"\n\nOf all the wealthy people of the town, there was nobody so much\nblessed with riches as Richberta, a proud and beautiful lady. Smiling\nfortune had lavishly poured its gifts upon her, and threw fresh\ntreasures daily at her feet. She seemed to own everything beautiful\nthat this life can bestow, but one thing she did not possess, and that\nwas the soft fire of woman's kindness which lightens and warms the\nsoul, and throws on all its surroundings a mild reflecting gleam.\nRichberta was cold and indifferent to either the pleasures or sorrows\nof her fellow-men. When night casts her shades upon the earth, all the\nsweet bright birds and butterflies hide and make room for a host of\nghastly animals like owls and bats. So in Richberta's soul all her\nsoft qualities had gone to sleep for want of the tender gleam of love,\nand only dark and harsh feelings haunted her soul. Immense pride in\nher own wealth, a bitter envy towards those who possessed more than\nshe did, were her ruling passions.\n\nOnce Richberta gave a grand feast. While the luxurious meal was being\nserved, a stranger entered, who had come from far away to see the\nwonders of Stavoren with his own eyes. \"I have seen,\" said he, bowing\nlow to the lovely hostess, \"many countries and many a princely court,\nbut I confess that Stavoren surpasses them all in splendour.\"\n\nHighly flattered the proud lady bade him welcome to her table.\nAccording to the customs of the Orient whence he came, he begged for\nsome bread and salt. Richberta ordered her servants to bring both, but\nit was useless to look for such simple fare in her house where only\nthe most luxurious food was to be had.\n\nWithout making any remarks however the stranger sat down and partook\nof the costly dishes. Then he began to relate his journeys, his\nsuccess and his failures in life, and dwelt with great eloquence on\nthe instability of earthly fortunes. All the guests listened with\ninterest to what he said. Only Richberta sat gloomily at the head of\nher table. She felt angry that the stranger dared in her very presence\nto find fault with wealth and splendour, and to predict its probable\ndestruction. Moreover she thought it rude in him that he had no word\nof praise for her own brilliant beauty, nor a glance of astonishment\nfor her gorgeous palace. Her offended vanity induced her at last to\nforce from him the praise he so obstinately withheld. \"O, gracious\nLady,\" said he rather reluctantly, \"marvellous indeed is your home and\nfit for a queen. If you travelled far and near, you could not find its\nequal. But, my lady, among your treasures I miss one thing, and that\nis the noblest that the earth produces.\"\n\nRichberta was very anxious to learn what it was, that she might get\nit, and entreated her guest to name the precious thing. But he avoided\nany direct answer to her impetuous questions, and soon afterwards took\nhis leave under a slight pretext.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nOn the open sea, a proud fleet was sailing. Its commander, strange to\nsay, did not himself know the aim of his journey. His mistress,\nRichberta of Stavoren, had directed him to travel to all parts of the\nworld to find out and bring home the most costly treasure.\n\nAccording to her command he set out, cruised the ocean to the East,\nand to the West, and searched everywhere for the unknown gift.\n\nIn doing so it happened one day that seawater spoiled a part of the\nprovisions of one of the ships. It was the flour and bread, the want\nof which was keenly felt by the whole crew. In this necessity the\ncaptain saw clearly that neither gold nor pearls could outweigh the\nvalue of bread, and the meaning of the mysterious words the stranger\nfrom the Orient had spoken to Richberta, dawned upon him.\n\nHe steered to the coast and took a large cargo of the finest wheat\naboard his ships. Full of joy at having at last found what he deemed\nthe most costly thing on earth he sailed towards Stavoren, where he\narrived safely.\n\nWhen Richberta learned of the common merchandise her captain had\nbrought home, she summoned him before her and asked him\ncontemptuously: \"On which side of the vessel has the cargo of corn\nbeen taken in?\" \"On the right, mistress,\" answered the faithful\nservant, doubtful of what she meant. \"Then,\" continued she coldly,\n\"throw it from the left into the sea again.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe day after the return of the fleet an animated scene was witnessed\nin the port of Stavoren.\n\nThe numerous poor people of the town on hearing of the wicked command\nof Richberta, had come to beg of her not to spoil the precious wheat,\nbut to divide it among those who were so much in want of it.\n\nThe proud lady appeared herself to see that her will was executed. It\nwas a touching spectacle to see how the crowd of miserable women and\nchildren surrounded the noble lady in her costly garments. The sight\nof so much misery would have moved many a cold heart, but Richberta\nshowed no pity. She moved forward impatiently as if she heard not the\nsupplications. But the crowd of women stopped her. They fell on their\nknees and entreated her with uplifted hands and tears in their eyes\nfor the preservation of God's precious gift. Richberta heard but\nremained unrelenting. Her command was fulfilled, and the golden wheat\nwas thrown into the sea.\n\nA storm of reproaches rose from the poor on the shore, and many a\nmother prayed to God on her knees to revenge this wickedness.\n\nThe curses of the hungry people were fulfilled, far sooner than they\nexpected.\n\nIn the same year innumerable earless blades of wheat rose from the\nbottom of the sea like a forest, catching up mud, mire, weed, and\nremains of animals, so that by and by a dune rose under water which\nstopped the ships from entering the port of Stavoren.\n\nThe inhabitants of the town who had principally lived by commerce,\nsuddenly found the source of their wealth stopped. Want and poverty\ntook possession of the once rich city. Richberta, in whom everybody\nrecognised the author of this misfortune, lost everything in the\ngeneral impoverishment, and was driven by the enraged populace from\nthe town. The once proud and rich lady had now to beg for her bread.\nShe walked wearily from village to village, curses following her\nwherever she went. She died in utter destitution.\n\nThe sea that had for so many years been the blessing of Stavoren was\nnow the destruction of the voluptuous city. One night it rose with\nimmense power against the dunes, burst through them, and flooding the\ntown with huge waves, buried it forever.\n\nTo this day, the fishermen on the Zuydersea relate the story of the\nwonderful sunken city that once towered high into the air. When the\nwater is clear they imagine they can see the high steeples of\nStavoren's churches and the towers of her palaces shimmering up from\nthe bottom of the sea.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTranscriber's Notes:\n\nIllustrations were inserted between pages of the original text. In\nthis e-book they have been moved to the head of the relevant story.\n\nObvious printer errors (missing or transposed letters, misspellings,\nmissing punctuation, etc.) have been amended without note.\n\nThere are some instances of archaic spelling, which have been retained\nthroughout.\n\nHyphenation has been made consistent without note. There are some\noccurrences of 'compound' nouns (for example, Folksepic, milkwhite,\nspearpierced, etc.), which have been retained as part of the charm of\nthe text.\n\nThere are some variations in the spelling of proper nouns (for\nexample, Liege/Liege or Brunhild/Brunhilde). These have been retained\nthroughout, except where there was an obvious error, which has been\namended and noted. Missing titles or variations between titles and the\nTable of Contents have been amended and noted. A complete list of\nthese amendments is included at the end of the text.\n\nFinally, there are two instances of unusual grammar, which have been\nretained: in the Prefatory note, \"... and over all the sun _shined_\nbrightly ...\" and on page 152, \"... his wife and retinue are looking\n_devoutedly_ towards heaven ...\".\n\nList of Amendments:\n\nPrefatory Note--omitted 'I' added--\"I soon became absorbed in the\never-changing panorama.\"\n\nPrefatory note--\"english\" amended to \"English\"--\"... romance for the\nEnglish speaking nations ...\"\n\nContents--\"The Mothers Gost\" amended to \"The Mother's Ghost\"\n\nPage 7--title \"ST. GOTHARD\" amended to \"ST. GOTTHARD\"\n\nPage 79--title \"The mother's Ghost\" amended to \"The Mother's Ghost\"\n\nPage 97--title \"I.\" added\n\nPage 117--\"Coblentz\" amended to \"Coblenz\"--\"... a beautiful meadow\nat Rhense near Coblenz ...\"\n\nPage 145--title \"I.\" added\n\nPage 155--\"Charlemange\" amended to \"Charlemagne\"--\"... that\nCharlemagne had begun ...\"\n\nPage 167--title \"I.\" added\n\nPage 177--title \"I.\" added\n\nPage 192--title \"GODESBERG\" inserted, to match the Table of Contents\n\nPage 216--opening quote mark in middle of the first paragraph moved to\nbeginning of paragraph\n\nPage 240--\"Brabrant\" amended to \"Brabant\"--\"... dominion of Elsa of\nBrabant.\"","title":"Legends of the Rhine","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":53545}