Legends of the Rhine

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

ASSMANNSHAUSEN

St. Clement's Chapel

[Illustration: Gefangener Raubritter--Nach dem Gemaelde von Konrad
Weigand (zur Sage: Die Clemenskapelle)]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CASTLE RHEINSTEIN

The Wooing

[Illustration: Der Brautzug--Nach dem Gemaelde von L. Herterich--(zur
Sage von Burg Rheinstein)]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CASTLE SOONECK

The Blind Archer

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE RUINS OF FUeRSTENBERG

The Mother's Ghost

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

BACHARACH

Burg Stahleck

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

He now directed his thoughts to his other ecclesiastical neighbour.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

KAUB

Castle Gutenfels

[Illustration: Turnier zu Koeln--Zu der Sage von Burg Gutenfels]

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

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