Legends of the Rhine

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

OBERWESEL

The Seven Maidens

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The rejected suitors stood speechless with shame and anger.

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

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

ST. GOAR

Lorelei

[Illustration: Die Loreley--Nach dem Gemaelde von C. Begas]

I.

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

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

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

II.

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

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

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

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

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

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

A death-like cry echoed from the rocks ... and the waves sighed and
washed over the unhappy youth's corpse.

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

III.

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

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

IV.

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

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

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

An echoing laugh was heard over the mountain.

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

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

"Haste thee, haste thee oh father dear!
Send forth thy steeds from the waters clear.
I will ride with the waves and the wind!"

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

V.

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

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

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

* * * * *

The Lorelei has vanished, but her charm still remains.

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

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

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

The Lorelei has vanished, but her charm still remains.

RHEINFELS

St. George's Linden

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

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

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

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

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

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

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