Legends of the Rhine
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Wilhelm Ruland >> Legends of the Rhine
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Thus speaking he took his leave, and she was unable to find words to
express her gratitude.
For three days she tried the scholar's advice, but found that her
husband, in spite of all her coaxing and caresses, would not tell the
cause of his melancholy.
On the fourth day, the scholar called again and heard with apparent
grief how badly her endeavours had succeeded, "I pity you heartily,"
said he, "but don't despair. Here is a wonderful herb. Prepare a
beverage with it for your husband and make him drink it before he goes
to sleep. He will dream after the draught and betray his secrets in
his sleep."
She accepted the gift gratefully, and prepared the potion according to
his advice. Her husband took the beverage willingly, and soon fell
into a profound sleep. After some time dreams seemed to trouble him;
he tossed restlessly to and fro in his bed murmuring incoherent
words. His wife listened anxiously and heard in feverish excitement
about the terrible dealings between him and the devil. After a pause
Master Gerhard muttered:
"He will never win, because I hold the secret."
"What may that be?" whispered she in the dreamer's ear.
"He may do what he will," unconsciously answered he, "it is quite
impossible that ducks should swim through the underground channel,
unless he makes air-holes at every mile. Of course this idea will
never come into his head."
The next morning the scholar called upon the wife and heard how well
his scheme had succeeded. She told him every thing. When she had
revealed her husband's secret to him, the meek features of her strange
guest suddenly changed. He gave a loud shrill scream of joy and
disappeared. The poor wife remained on the same spot, pale and
terror-stricken.
Master Gerhard was standing the next day by the high crane of the
cathedral as usual.
The air was sultry, and black clouds were gathering from across the
Rhine. He felt very restless, and urged his workmen even more than
before to hurry on. The builder's heart was strangely filled with dark
forebodings. All at once he felt a hand on his shoulder, and turning
round, he beheld with terror the fatal stranger. A wondrous gleam of
red-like flames seemed to radiate all round his figure.
The cathedral builder grew pale as death and trembled from head to
foot. He was unable to utter a word.
Beaming with the joy of triumph, the Evil One pointed with his hand
downwards, and forced Master Gerhard to look in the same direction.
Behold! At the foot of the cathedral a silvery brook was visible
running from the direction of Treves. Merry ducks were swimming on its
shining surface.
It is impossible to describe the feelings of the builder at the sight
of the completed work of his rival. Despair and agony made his heart
sink within him, but the Evil One looked with joy on his victim. When
he suddenly tried to grasp him, Master Gerhard darted to the edge of
the scaffolding with a heart-rending scream, and dashed himself down
into the depth below, and was instantly killed.
A roar of thunder filled the air at that moment and the devil
vanished in a blaze of lightning. The thunderstorm grew more and more
violent. After a few minutes the unhappy cathedral builder's house was
struck by lightning and burnt to ashes in less than an hour.
Unfortunately, the admirable plan of the splendid church was also
destroyed.
This was the sad end of Master Gerhard and his ambition.
The cathedral remained untouched for more than six centuries after.
Its unfinished walls and towers began to decay as if they mourned the
terrible death of their builder. The Cologne people believed for a
long time that the spirit of Master Gerhard used to hover about
midnight round the high towers and the desolated vaults. Strange
sounds like the sighs of somebody in anguish were often heard in the
deserted building, and people said it was Master Gerhard's ghost
complaining that his proud cathedral remained unfinished.
Generation after generation passed by, and six centuries elapsed
before busy workmen began again hammering and building on the ground
which had lain so long quiet.
In 1880 the dome was finished, and towers now in all its majesty high
above the dwellings of the people, and can be seen miles away.
Since that glorious day when the last stone was added to the cathedral
of Cologne, Master Gerhard's ghost has never been heard or seen again.
XANTEN
Siegfried
[Illustration: Siegfried schleppt einen Baeren ins Lager--Nach einer
Lithographie von Peter Cornelius]
Siegfried,--and as we pronounce this glorious name, the hero looks
forth at us with shining eyes, for was not Siegfried the perfect
embodiment of all that was beautiful and good?
For centuries stories have been told and poems have been sung of the
bold adventures of the young hero, whose energy only found
satisfaction in victorious fights.
The original name of the small town on the lower Rhine now called
Xanten, was "Ad Santos," "peace for the saints." It was thus named on
account of the pious warriors of the Theban legion who in the fourth
century had boldly died there for their creed under their leader,
Victor.
At the time to which our story refers, a mighty stronghold formed the
centre of the little town Xanten. A king called Siegmund with his wife
Siegelinde and their son Siegfried lived there.
While a mere boy, Siegfried had already a kingly stature, and an
almost untamable disposition of mind. When he was only thirteen years
of age, his longing for grand deeds was so great that he found it
impossible to remain inactive at home. From old songs and legends
which the minstrels recited in his father's castle, he had heard so
much of bold adventures and brilliant exploits performed by his
forefathers, that he was most anxious to follow in their steps. He
felt strong and valiant enough to undertake, like the heroes of old,
dangerous journeys. Therefore young Siegfried left one day his
ancestral halls, and wandered southwards along the clear blue river.
He soon found an opportunity of testing his courage.
At the foot of the Seven Mountains lived a celebrated armourer called
Mimer, renowned for making excellent swords. Our hero liked this
warlike trade, and he asked the master to receive him as an
apprentice, that he might learn the praiseworthy art of forging a good
sword for himself. The armourer agreed, and Siegfried remained at
Mimer's workshop. The journeymen with whom the youth had to work, soon
learned the enormous strength of their new companion. The boy, often
not knowing how to give expression to his desire for action, would
take up his fellow-workmen, lift them high into the air, and drop
them, not always softly, to the ground. Or when his anger was roused,
he would imprint black and blue marks on their backs with his strong
fists. Once he even smashed with one stroke of his hammer all the iron
bars in the armoury, and knocked the anvil into the ground with a
mighty blow.
Mimer looked on with dismay, amazed at the boy's almost supernatural
strength, but fearing that Siegfried's wrath might some time turn
against him, he thought to rid himself of his dangerous apprentice,
and conceived a cunning plan to kill him. A horrible dragon lived in
the neighbouring forest, which tore every wanderer to pieces who
chanced to cross its way. Mimer ordered Siegfried to fetch a sack from
the charcoal-burner in that forest, well knowing that the boy would
never return thence.
The youth, without knowing the danger he was about to meet, went
cheerfully on his way. In the middle of the thick wood he kindled a
charcoal-kiln, and amused himself by putting big burning branches and
young trees into the fire.
Suddenly the monster came swiftly creeping on its huge claws. Curving
its shimmering body the ugly beast opened wide its jaws to devour the
young charcoal-burner. Siegfried's eyes brightened up at the prospect
of an encounter with the terrible animal before him. Without a
moment's hesitation, he tore a flaming beam out of the kiln, and
pushed its burning end deep into the open mouth of the dragon. Roaring
with pain the monster turned round beating violently with its prickly
tail, trying in its agony to crush Siegfried. But he, jumping
skilfully aside, rapidly dealt it heavy blows, and succeeded at last
in smashing its head with a large piece of rock. He severed the head
from the body, and threw it into the blazing flames. To his
astonishment he observed how a stream of grease gushed from the
burning pile, and collected in a pool at his feet.
Close by the charcoal-kiln stood an old limetree. A little bird sang
merrily in its branches. Siegfried, involuntarily listening to the
clear strain, made out the following words: "If you would be covered
with horn, and become invulnerable, undress yourself and plunge into
the pool."
Siegfried quickly threw his clothes off and anointed his whole body
with the dragon's grease. While thus occupied a leaf from the old
limetree above dropped between his shoulders. This part of the hero's
body remained without horn. When he had finished, he took up the
monster's head and returned to Mimer's workshop. The nearer he got to
the smithy, the more his rage against his wicked master increased.
Mimer had seen the boy from afar approaching with the trophy of his
fight, and had hidden in great fear.
Siegfried however soon found him out and slew him on the spot. Then he
forged a good two-edged sword and shining armour for himself, and
having saddled the best horse of Mimer's stable, he left the smithy to
look for new adventures.
For a long time he travelled aimlessly about, saw mountains and
valleys, rivers and lakes, cities and hamlets, until he at last
arrived at the sea-shore. He embarked with his good horse, and was
cast by a gale on the rocky coast of an unknown country. The noble
animal climbed courageously up the stony beach, and carried its rider
to an enchanted castle which was surrounded by a wall of flames. For a
moment Siegfried stood irresolute. Suddenly the voice of the little
bird sounded again above him, "Break the charm. Straight into the
flames with a bold dash. A most lovely maiden will be thy reward."
The youth took courage, spurred his steed, and with a plunge horse and
rider disappeared in the flames, which were at once extinguished. The
charm was broken. Before him lay a wonderful castle. Siegfried
penetrated into its interior, and was amazed to find every living
creature in a profound sleep within; the horses in their stalls, the
grooms in the stables, the cook at the hearth. When he entered the
high hall a lovely scene presented itself to his view. On a couch the
most exquisite form of a woman lay sleeping. Her golden hair was
strewn with precious stones, and her limbs were clothed in the most
costly garments.
The young hero looked for a while, lost in admiration. Then bending
down to her, he pressed a passionate kiss on her rosy lips. Brunhilde,
the fair sleeper, opened her eyes, and at the same time every living
being in the castle awoke.
The old legend depicts in glowing colours the sweet hours of love that
followed for Siegfried and Brunhilde. Days and months passed by
without the lovers being aware of it. However fond of adventures
Siegfried was, he felt himself chained to the spot by her subtle
charms. While thus undecided he heard one day the bird's voice: "Leave
the castle and give up a life of ignoble leisure; direct your steps
towards the country of the Nibelungen, take possession of their
immense treasures and of the precious invisible cap."
At the prospect of new adventures Siegfried could not be kept back
any longer by Brunhilde. They parted with the solemn promise of
meeting again.
A great many exploits are recorded of the proud hero which he
performed in the country of the Nibelungen. After a long and hard
struggle with the cunning dwarfs, he took away with him their
treasure, as well as the cap which had the gift of making its wearer
invisible.
Years had passed by, and Siegfried longed to see the place of his
childhood again. So he turned homewards and reached Xanten after many
adventures. The joy of his noble parents at seeing their valiant son
again was indescribable.
The legend of Siegfried's youthful exploits and his home-coming is
full of romance and happiness. But if we listen to the continuation of
his story we shall find how every human feeling has its place in the
hero's biography, great joy, deep sorrow, passionate love, glowing
hatred, heroism and perfidy, cowardice and high courage, until at last
the legend of Siegfried ends in a pitiful wail of grief.
CLEVE
Lohengrin
[Illustration: Des Schwanenritters Abschied--Nach dem Gemaelde von W. von
Kaulbach--Lohengrin's Departure--Le depart du chevalier au cygne]
The weathercock on the ancient stronghold at Cleve is a swan, and in
olden times the dynasty that ruled over the lovely country round Cleve
had also a swan in their crest. A legend, tragic and beautiful,
preserved to posterity forever in Richard Wagner's lovely opera, is
connected with it,--the legend of Lohengrin.
Long centuries ago deep sorrow brooded over the walls of the castle at
Cleve. Its mistress, the Duchess Elsa, was in great distress. Her
beloved husband had died, and his remains had been brought to their
last resting-place. As soon as the tomb had closed over them, one of
the late Duke's vassals, Telramund, rose in revolt, and imperiously
claimed the right to reign over the dukedom. The audacious man went so
far as to ask the widowed Duchess to become his wife, declaring that
this was the only means of saving her rank, which the death of her
husband had deprived her of.
Elsa, the youthful and lovely mistress, implored the knights of her
dominion to assist her in her trouble, and to take up arms against the
rebel. But Telramund, little disconcerted by this appeal, offered to
fight in single combat with anybody who dared to take up the quarrel
with him, well knowing that, on account of his immense strength,
nobody would dare to become his adversary.
The days passed in deepest sorrow for the unfortunate Duchess. The
moment was approaching when the rebel would make bold to proclaim
openly his claims before the whole assembled nobility on the open
space before the castle. The fatal hour came. Pale, her face covered
by her widow's veil, her queenly form enveloped in mourning garments,
Elsa descended from her castle to the assembly. The large plain was
crowded with a throng of people, and glittered with the brilliant
armour of the knights.
The unfaithful vassal, covered from head to foot in shining armour,
came forward with bold steps and claimed in a loud voice the hand and
dominion of the Duchess. The knights around, deluded by his valiant
appearance and the firmness of his voice, broke into loud applause.
Some of the crowd joined them in their cry of approbation, but most of
the people looked on, full of pity and admiration for their youthful
mistress.
No answer to his first challenge having come, Telramund repeated his
audacious demand, offering again to fight in single combat anybody who
dared to accept it. His eyes glanced defiantly over the brilliant
multitude of knights. He perceived with triumphant joy, how they all
shrank from fighting with him.--Elsa looked still paler than before.
For a third time the challenge of Telramund was heard. It sounded
clearly over the whole plain. But none of the bright warriors came
forward to take up the combat for Elsa's sake.
On the contrary deep silence followed the third challenge, and
everybody's eyes were fixed on the forsaken princess who looked in her
abandoned position still more lovely. The little hope that had till
that moment given her strength to bear her misfortune, had now
entirely vanished. In her utter desolation she offered a fervent
prayer to heaven. On her rosary, so the legend records, a little
silver bell was hanging, which possessed the wonderful gift of giving
forth, whenever slightly touched, a clear ringing sound audible even
at a great distance. In praying to God for deliverance from her great
trouble, she pressed the cross on her rosary fervently to her lips.
The silver bell tinkled, and at the same moment a little barge
suddenly appeared on the blue river. When it came nearer, everybody
looked with astonishment at the strange vessel. Its form was light and
graceful; but what astonished the people most was that it was not
moved by either oar or rudder, but was gently gliding on the blue
waves drawn by a snow-white swan. In the middle of the vessel stood a
knight in shining silver armour.
Long golden locks emerged from under his glittering helmet, his bright
blue eyes looked boldly over the crowd on the shore, and his hand held
the hilt of his broad sword firmly.
The strange boat stopped just opposite the plain where the people
stood motionless with amazement. The knight landed from the barge,
giving a sign with his hand to the swan, which swam gently down the
Rhine.
In silence and awe the multitude made room for the stranger who
approached with firm steps towards the middle of the brilliant circle,
and saluted the assembly with a solemn grace. Then he bent his knees
before the Duchess and rising, turned towards Telramund, challenging
him proudly to fight with him for the hand and dominion of Elsa of
Brabant. The bold rebel's temerity seemed to fail him for a few
moments, but gathering fresh courage he pulled his sword from its
sheath with a loud scornful laugh.
The next moment the two knights darted at each other, their blades
clashing in rapid strokes.
The whole crowd looked with wonder and amazement at the strange
knight's great prowess. He parried the blows of his strong adversary
skilfully. The combat lasted for some time, and neither of the
fighters seemed to give way. Suddenly a subdued cry was heard, and at
the same time the presumptuous vassal sank to the ground, pierced by
the sword of him whom God had sent, and expired. A tremendous shout of
joy burst from the gazing crowd, which rang from one end of the plain
to the other and was echoed by the glittering waves of the Rhine. The
people rejoiced in the victory, and thought that God himself had
decided the combat in favour of Elsa.
The Duchess felt greatly moved. In her overflowing gratitude she
sank down before her deliverer with tears in her eyes. But he bade her
rise, and bowing low before her asked her to become his wife. She
consented. What a heaven of bliss opened for the Duchess of Brabant!
All her former troubles were forgotten.
Her gratitude towards her rescuer was transformed into passionate
love, to which Lohengrin, the virtuous knight, responded with tender
adoration.
Yet though everything seemed now so serene in the life of the Duchess,
there was a dim cloud which threatened to darken the clear prospect of
her happiness. On their wedding-day Elsa had to promise her bridegroom
that she would never inquire about his name, his home, or his descent.
Trusting her deliverer's honour and chivalrous bearing, she took the
strange oath without a moment's hesitation.
Many years of bliss and happiness passed, and Elsa of Brabant had
strictly kept the promise she had made on her bridal morning. Their
happiness was still more enhanced by the birth of three hopeful boys.
They were their parents' joy, and promised to become in future shining
ornaments of knighthood.
It happened however, when the eyes of the Duchess were resting with
pride on her sons, that her mother's heart thought with grief of the
solemn oath she had sworn on her wedding-day.
With how much more pride would she have looked upon her sons if she
could have known them to be the offspring of a high and noble race.
She did not doubt however that her beloved husband's lineage was a
most noble one. Yet the thought that his sons might never bear their
father's name, nor be able to add new glories to it, was lying heavily
on her mind, and darkened the radiant image of her husband, that like
a deity filled her whole soul.
The fatal question she had for so long withheld burst one day forcibly
from her lips.
When she had pronounced the awful words, the proud hero grew pale, and
freeing himself softly from her tender embrace, he cried out in bitter
grief: "Woe to thee, my beloved wife and woe also to me! Now that thou
hast uttered the question thou didst sware solemnly never to ask, our
happiness is gone for ever. I must part from thee, never to see thee
again."
A cry of anguish rose from her lips, but she was unable to keep him
back. Waving his hand to her in a mute farewell her noble husband left
the castle. He went to the Rhine and blew his silver horn.
Its sound was echoed from the shore like a long sob. The white swan
with the boat soon appeared gliding gently over the river.
Lohengrin stepped into the boat and soon vanished out of sight and was
seen no more.
His unhappy wife was inconsolable. Her grief was so intense that a
short time after her health gave way, and she sank into a premature
grave.
Her sons became the ancestors of a noble and distinguished race in
the Rhenish country. Their badge is a swan.
The traveller who visits Cleve will still find a tombstone in its
church with a knight carved on it, and a swan sitting at his feet.
ZUYDERSEA
Stavoren
[Illustration: Stavoren--Nach einem Stich von Holbein]
A strange story is still told about the city of Stavoren on the
Zuydersea. It was a wondrous town, but like Vineta on the Baltic Sea
it vanished from the earth.
The merchants of Stavoren were the rulers of the Ocean, and the
treasures of all known countries were lying in their port. The houses
were lovely palaces, furnished in their interior like the marvellous
abodes of the Sultan Haroun Al Rachid, in the "Arabian Nights."
Of all the wealthy people of the town, there was nobody so much
blessed with riches as Richberta, a proud and beautiful lady. Smiling
fortune had lavishly poured its gifts upon her, and threw fresh
treasures daily at her feet. She seemed to own everything beautiful
that this life can bestow, but one thing she did not possess, and that
was the soft fire of woman's kindness which lightens and warms the
soul, and throws on all its surroundings a mild reflecting gleam.
Richberta was cold and indifferent to either the pleasures or sorrows
of her fellow-men. When night casts her shades upon the earth, all the
sweet bright birds and butterflies hide and make room for a host of
ghastly animals like owls and bats. So in Richberta's soul all her
soft qualities had gone to sleep for want of the tender gleam of love,
and only dark and harsh feelings haunted her soul. Immense pride in
her own wealth, a bitter envy towards those who possessed more than
she did, were her ruling passions.
Once Richberta gave a grand feast. While the luxurious meal was being
served, a stranger entered, who had come from far away to see the
wonders of Stavoren with his own eyes. "I have seen," said he, bowing
low to the lovely hostess, "many countries and many a princely court,
but I confess that Stavoren surpasses them all in splendour."
Highly flattered the proud lady bade him welcome to her table.
According to the customs of the Orient whence he came, he begged for
some bread and salt. Richberta ordered her servants to bring both, but
it was useless to look for such simple fare in her house where only
the most luxurious food was to be had.
Without making any remarks however the stranger sat down and partook
of the costly dishes. Then he began to relate his journeys, his
success and his failures in life, and dwelt with great eloquence on
the instability of earthly fortunes. All the guests listened with
interest to what he said. Only Richberta sat gloomily at the head of
her table. She felt angry that the stranger dared in her very presence
to find fault with wealth and splendour, and to predict its probable
destruction. Moreover she thought it rude in him that he had no word
of praise for her own brilliant beauty, nor a glance of astonishment
for her gorgeous palace. Her offended vanity induced her at last to
force from him the praise he so obstinately withheld. "O, gracious
Lady," said he rather reluctantly, "marvellous indeed is your home and
fit for a queen. If you travelled far and near, you could not find its
equal. But, my lady, among your treasures I miss one thing, and that
is the noblest that the earth produces."
Richberta was very anxious to learn what it was, that she might get
it, and entreated her guest to name the precious thing. But he avoided
any direct answer to her impetuous questions, and soon afterwards took
his leave under a slight pretext.
* * * * *
On the open sea, a proud fleet was sailing. Its commander, strange to
say, did not himself know the aim of his journey. His mistress,
Richberta of Stavoren, had directed him to travel to all parts of the
world to find out and bring home the most costly treasure.
According to her command he set out, cruised the ocean to the East,
and to the West, and searched everywhere for the unknown gift.
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