Legends of the Rhine

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After the battle of Morgarten a brave Swiss had found George Broemser
with broken limbs and many bleeding wounds amongst a heap of slain. In
a peasant's hut the wounded man lay long in pain and weakness. His
broken limbs required long and patient attention. Finally, after much
suffering, George Broemser, the last of all the campaigners rode back
to the Rhineland, with his lover's name on his lips and her image in
his heart.

With uncovered head the lord of Rheinfels showed the young man the
grave of his beloved, and there the two men embraced each other long
and silently. The young soldier pulled up the faded linden-tree and
hurled it into the Rhine, while on the newly-made grave he planted
white lilies. George Broemser did not a second time fall in love, but
remained true to his chosen bride to the end of his days. We are told
that in the company of knightly minstrels he sought to forget his
great sorrow, and that later he composed many pretty songs. One of
them has survived the centuries, and was recently discovered, along
with the melody, in an old manuscript. It begins:

"A linden stands in yonder vale,
Ah God! what does it there?"

STERRENBERG AND LIEBENSTEIN

The Brothers

I.

In the middle ages, an old knight belonging to the court of the
Emperor Conrad II. lived in a castle called Sternberg, near Boppard.
The old warrior had two sons left to him. His wife had died many years
before, and since her death, merry laughter had seldom been heard in
the halls of the beautiful castle.

Soon a ray of sunshine seemed to break into these solemn rooms; a
distant cousin at Ruedesheim had died, leaving his only child, a
beautiful young girl, to the care of his relative.

The golden-haired Angela became the pet of the castle, and won the
affection and friendship of the two sons by her engaging ways. What
had already happened hundred of times now happened among these young
people, love replaced the friendship of the two young knights and both
tried to win the maiden's favour.

The old master of the castle noticed this change, and his father's
heart forbode trouble.

Both sons were equally dear to him, but perhaps his first-born, who
had inherited his mother's gentle character, fulfilled his heart's
desire more than the fiery spirit of Conrad the younger.

From the first moment when the orphan appeared at his family seat, he
had conceived the thought that his favourite son Henry, who was heir
to his name and estates, would marry the maiden.

Henry loved Angela with a profound, sincere feeling which he seldom
expressed.

His brother, on the contrary, made no secret of his ardent love, and
soon the old man perceived with sorrow that the beautiful girl
returned his younger son's passionate love. Henry, too, was not
unaware of the happiness of this pair, and in generous self-denial he
tried to bury his grief, and to rejoice heartily in his brother's
success.

The distress of the elder brother did not escape Angela. She was much
moved when she first remarked that his voice trembled on pronouncing
her name, but soon love dazzled her eyes, so that the clouds on his
troubled countenance passed unnoticed by her.

About this time St. Bernhard of Clairvaux came from France to the
Rhine, preaching a second crusade against the Infidels. The fiery
words of the saintly monk roused many thousands to action; his appeal
likewise reached the castle of Sternberg.

Henry, though not envying his brother's happiness, felt that it would
be impossible for him to be a constant witness of it, and thus he was
glad to answer this call, and to take up the cross.

Conrad, too, longing for action and dominated by the impulse of the
moment, was stirred up by the witching charms which a crusade to
Palestine offered. His adventurous soul, cramped up in this castle so
far removed from the world, thirsted for the adventures, which he
imagined were awaiting the crusaders in the far-off East. In vain the
tears and prayers of the young girl were shed, in vain was the sorrow
of his father who begged him not to desert him.

The old man was in despair about the unbending resolutions of his
sons.

"Who will remain at the castle of my forefathers, if you both abandon
it now, perhaps never to return," cried he sorrowfully. "I implore
you, my eldest son, you, the very image of your mother, to have pity
on your father's gray hairs. And you, Conrad, have pity on the tears
of your betrothed." The brothers remained silent. Then the eldest
grasped the old man's hand, saying gently.

"I shall not leave you, my father."

"And you, Angela," said the younger to the weeping maiden, "you will
try and bear this separation, and will plant a sprig of laurel to make
a wreath for me when I return."

II.

The next day the young knight left the home of his forefathers. At
first the maiden seemed inconsolable in her grief. But soon her love
began to slumber like a tired child; on awakening from this
drowsiness indignation seized her, whispering complainingly in her
ear, and disturbing all the sweet memories in which the picture of her
light-hearted lover gleamed forth, he who had parted from her for the
sake of empty glory.

Now left to herself, she began to consider the proud youth who was
forced to live under the same roof with his rejected love. She admired
his good qualities which all seemed to have escaped her before, his
great daring at the chase, his skill with weapons, and his many kind
acts of pure friendship to her, with the view of sweetening the bitter
separation from which she was suffering.

He seemed afraid of rousing the love which was still sleeping in his
heart.

In the meantime Angela felt herself drawn more and more towards the
knight; she wished to try and make him understand that her love for
his younger brother had only been a youthful passion, which seemed to
have flown when he left her. She felt unhappy when she understood that
Henry, whom she now began really to love, seemed to feel nothing but
brotherly affection for her, and she longed in her inmost soul for a
word of love from him.

Henry was not unaware of this change in her affections, but he proudly
smothered every rising thought in his heart for his brother's
betrothed.

The old knight was greatly pleased when, one day, Angela came to him,
and with tears in her eyes disclosed to him the secret of her heart.

He prayed God fervently to bring these two loving hearts together
whom he believed were destined for one another by will of God. In his
dreams he already saw Angela in her castle like his dead wife and his
first-born son, rocking her little baby, a blue-eyed, fair-haired
child. Then he would suddenly recollect his impetuous younger son
fighting in the crusades, and his dreams would be hastily interrupted.

Just opposite to his ancestral hall he caused a proud fort to be
built, and called it "Liebenstein," intending it for his second son
when he returned from the Holy Land. The castle was hardly finished,
when the old man died.

The crusade at last was at an end. All the knights from the Rhine
country brought back the news with them on their return from the Holy
Land, that Conrad had married a beautiful Grecian woman in the East
and was now on his way home with her.

Henry was beside himself with wrath on hearing this news. Such
dishonourable conduct and shameful neglect seemed impossible to him,
and going to the maiden he informed her of his brother's approaching
return.

She turned very pale, her lips moved, but her tongue found no words.

III.

A large ship was seen one day sailing along the Rhine with strange
flags waving on its masts. Angela saw it from her tower where she now
spent many a long day reflecting on her unfortunate destiny, and she
hastily called up the elder brother.

The ship approached nearer and nearer. Soon the cries of the boatmen
could be heard, and the faces of the crew could be distinguished.

Suddenly the maiden uttered a cry, and threw herself weeping into the
arms of the knight. The latter gazed at the vessel, his brows
contracted. Yes! there on board, in shining armour, stood his brother,
with a beautiful strange woman clinging to his arm.

The ship touched land. One of the first, Conrad sprang on shore. The
two watchers in the tower disappeared. A man approached Conrad and
informed him that the new castle was destined for him. The same day
the impetuous knight sent notice of his arrival to Sternberg castle,
but his brother answered him, that he would wait for him on the
bridge, but would only meet sword in hand the faithless lover who had
deserted his betrothed.

Twilight was creeping over the two castles. On the narrow ground
separating the forts the brothers strove together in a deadly fight.

They were equally courageous, equally strong those two opponents, and
their swords crossed swiftly, one in righteous anger, the other in
wounded pride. But soon the elder received a blow, and the blood began
to drop on his breastplate.

The bushes were at this moment suddenly pushed asunder, and a maiden,
veiled in white, dashed in between the fighters thrusting them from
each other. It was Angela, who cried out in a despairing voice:

"In God's name stop! and for your father's sake cease, ere it be too
late. She for whom you have drawn your swords, is now going to take
the veil, and will beg God day and night to forgive you, Conrad, for
your falseness, and will pray Him to bless you and your brother for
ever."

Both brothers threw down their arms. Conrad, his head deeply bowed,
covered his face with his hand. He did not dare to look at the maiden
who stood there, a silent reproach to him. Henry took the weeping
girl's hand.

"Come sister," said he, "such faithlessness does not deserve your
tears."

They disappeared among the trees. Silently Conrad stood gazing after
them. A feeling which he had never known seemed to rise up in his
heart, and, bending his head, he wept bitterly.

IV.

The cloister, Marienburg, lay in a valley at some distance from the
castles, and there Angela found peace. A wall was soon built up
between the two forts Sternberg and Liebenstein, a silent witness of
the enmity between the two brothers.

Banquet followed banquet in the newly built castle, and the beautiful
Grecian won great triumphs among the knights of the Rhine.

But sorrow seemed to have taken possession of Sternberg castle. Henry
had not wished to move the maiden from her purpose, but from the time
of her departure, his strength faded away. At the foot of the
mountain he caused a cloister to be built, and a few months later he
passed away from this world, just on the same day that the bells were
tolling for Angela's death.

The lord of Liebenstein was not granted a lasting happiness with his
beautiful wife. She fled with a knight who had long enjoyed the lavish
hospitality at castle Liebenstein. Conrad, overcome by sorrow and
disgrace, threw himself from a pinnacle of the castle into the depths
below.

The strongholds then fell into the hands of Knight Broemser of
Ruedesheim, and since that time have fallen into ruins. The church and
cloister still remain in the valley, and are the scene of many a
pilgrimage.

RHENSE

The Emperor Wenzel

In the middle of a beautiful meadow at Rhense near Coblenz stands the
famous historical "king's chair." Here, where the lands of the three
great prelates of Cologne, Mayence and Treves join together, the
princely Seven met to choose the new ruler who was to direct the
destiny of the Holy Roman Empire.

Here Charles IV. was chosen by the free will of the Electors; here
also the Seven elected Wenzeslaus of the house of Luxemburg, Charles'
son, emperor. During his life-time Charles had exerted himself very
much over the election of his first-born son, and he even made a
pilgrimage with him to Rhense on the Rhine where, at the renowned
"Koenigsstuhl," the chancellor of the kingdom, Archbishop of Mayence,
often held important conferences with their Graces of Treves and
Cologne, and the Count Palatine.

This Wenzeslaus of Bohemia had a great predilection for the Rhine and
its wines, and later on, when, less by his own merits, than by the
exertions of his father and the favour of the electors, he became
German emperor, his brother inheriting the sandy country of
Brandenburg, he had even then paid more honours to the Rhine wine than
any other of its lovers. It afforded him a greater pleasure than the
enjoyment of wearing a crown. Finding that a good drink tasted better
at the place of its origin, he often visited the brave Count Palatine
of the Rhine who dwelt in this blissful country, and who had more
casks in his cellar than there are saints' days in a year.

This proof of imperial confidence was by no means disagreeable to the
very noble Elector Ruprecht of the Palatinate, and he neglected no
opportunity of striving to ingratiate himself more and more in the
emperor's favour.

Gallant Ruprecht would not unwillingly have exchanged his little
Palatinate crown for an imperial one. Sometimes when his royal guest,
becoming very jovial from the wine he had taken, confessed that the
high dignity of emperor was becoming troublesome to him, the count
agreed with him frankly, and never failed to let his imperial master
know that the electors were discontented at his careless
administration, and would be well pleased if he retired. Emperor
Wenzel listened to all he said with perfect indifference, continuing
in the meantime to revel in his wine.

One day the emperor was sitting with his gay companions at the
Koenigsstuhl in Rhense. They were all very merry, as the cup of
Assmannshaeuser wine had already been passed round many times. This
delicious vintage was very pleasing to Wenzel, and the other drinkers
could not find words enough to praise it.

While the goblets were being handed round, and sounds of joviality
filled the royal hall, the emperor stood up suddenly and, addressing
himself to the count, said in a very light-hearted tone.

"I think the crown which was set on my head would not be very
unsuitable to you. Well, I offer it to you, if you are able to place
before me and my companions here, a wine which tastes better than this
Assmannshaeuser."

There was a cunning twinkle in the count's eyes as he beckoned to his
page. After a while a servant rolled in a great cask, from which the
cups were at once filled. The count stood up and presented the first
goblet to the emperor.

"That is my Bacharacher wine, noble lords. Taste it; I can wait for
your judgment without fear."

They all drank, and every face beamed with pleasure. The opinions were
undivided in favour of the fiery Bacharacher. The emperor rose and
loudly declared he preferred it to the Assmannshaeuser. He could not
praise it too highly, nor drink enough of it.

"This wine is worth more than a thousand crowns!" said he,
enthusiastically. Wenzel kept his word and ceded his crown to Ruprecht
of the Palatinate who, in his turn, made the emperor a present of six
waggon-loads of Bacharacher wine.

CASTLE LAHNECK

The Templars of Lahneck

On the opposite side of the Rhine from Coblenz, and towering above
Lahnstein, rises Castle Lahneck, a keep shaped somewhat in the form of
a pentagon. Lahneck succumbed to the hordes of Louis XIII. in the same
year as the castle of Heidelberg was destroyed. The following stirring
tale is associated with Lahneck.

It was the Templars of Jerusalem who erected this fortress whose
imposing watch-tower rises nearly 100 feet above the main building.
The riches of the Templars led to their destruction. The contemptible
French king, Philip the Fair, by making grave complaints to the Pope
obtained an order for the abolition of this much-abused order, and
dragged the Grand Master with fifty of his faithful followers to the
stake. Everywhere a cruel policy of extermination was immediately
adopted against the outlawed knights, the chief motive of the
persecutors being rather a desire to confiscate the rich possessions
of the Templars than any religious zeal against heretics and sinners.

Peter von Aspelt, Archbishop of Mainz, had cast envious eyes on proud
Lahneck which sheltered twelve Knights-Templars and their retainers.
Alleging some faulty conduct on the part of the soldiers of the cross,
he gave orders that the castle should be razed, and that the knights
should exchange the white mantle with the red cross for the monk's
cowl, but to this the twelve as knights _sans peur et sans reproche_
issued a stout defiance. This excited the greed and rage of the
archbishop all the more. From the pontiff, whom with his own hands he
had successfully nursed on his sick-bed at Avignon, Peter von Aspelt
procured full power over the goods and lives of the excommunicated
knights of Lahneck. He then proceeded down the Rhine with many vassals
and mercenaries, and presented the Pope's letter to the Templars, at
the same time commanding them to yield. Otherwise their castle would
be taken by storm, and the inmates as impenitent sinners would die a
shameful death on the gallows. The oldest of the twelve, a man with
silvery hair, advanced and declared in the name of his brethren, that
they were resolved to fight to the last drop of their blood, and
further, that they were quite prepared to suffer like their brethren
in France. And so the fight between such fearful odds began. Many
soldiers of the Electorate fell under the swords of the knights and
their faithful servants, but ever the furious archbishop ordered
forward new bands to fill the gaps. Day by day the ranks of the
defenders became thinner. Prominent everywhere in this hand to hand
struggle were the heroic forms of the twelve Templars, in white mantle
with blood-red cross. At last, at a breach which had been defended
with leonine courage, one of the noble twelve sank beneath his
shattered shield, and closed his eyes in death. A second shared his
fate, then a third. The others, bleeding from many wounds and aided by
the sorely diminished remnant of their retainers, redoubled their
brave efforts, but still death made havoc in their ranks. When, on the
evening of the day of fiercest onslaught the victorious besiegers
planted their banner on the captured battlement, the silver-haired
veteran, the former spokesman, stood with blood-flecked sword among
the bodies of his fallen comrades, the last survivor. Touched by such
noble heroism the archbishop informed him that he would be allowed to
surrender; but calling down the curse of heaven on worldly churchmen
and their greed of land, he raised on high his sword and rushed upon
his foes. Pierced with many wounds the last of the twelve sank to the
earth, and over the corpse of this noble man the soldiers of Mainz
pressed into the fortress itself.

Peter von Aspelt preserved Lahneck as a place of defence and residence
for an officer of the Electorate of Mainz, and nominated as first
holder of the post, Hartwin von Winningen. The castle remained in the
possession of the Electorate of Mainz for 300 years, but the sad story
of the twelve heroic Templars is remembered in the neighbourhood of
Lahneck to this day.

COBLENZ

Riza

In the first quarter of the 9th century, when the pious Ludwig, son of
Charlemagne, was struggling with his misguided children for the
imperial crown, a church was built in Coblenz to St. Castor, the
missionary who had spread christianity in the valley of the Moselle.
The four-towered edifice arose on a branch of the Rhine.

The palace of the Frankish king stood at this time on the highest
south-western point of Coblenz, on the site of a former Roman fort,
and near by was a nunnery, dedicated to St. Castor. In this building
lived Riza, a daughter of Ludwig the Pious, who had early dedicated
her life to the church. Every day this king's daughter went to mass in
the Castor church on the opposite side of the Rhine. So great grace
had Riza found in the sight of Our Lord, that like His disciple of old
on the sea of Genesareth, she walked over the Rhine dry-footed to the
holy sacrament in St. Castor's. One day, the sacred legend goes on to
say, the stream was agitated by a storm. For the first time doubt
entered the maiden's heart as her foot touched the waves. Prudently
tearing a prop from a neighbouring vineyard, she took it with her for
a staff over the troubled waters. But after a few timid steps, she
sank like St. Peter on the Galilean lake. In this wretched plight she
became full of remorse for her want of faith in God. She flung the
stick far away, and lifting her arms towards heaven, committed herself
to the sole protection of the Almighty. At once she rose up from the
waves, and arrived, with dry feet as heretofore, on the other side.
More than ever after this did Riza, this saintly daughter of a saintly
king, strive to excel in those works which are pleasing to God. She
died within the cloister, and her bones were laid in the Castor
church, near the burial-place of the saint. Soon the popular
imagination canonised Riza, and her marble tomb is still to be seen in
the North transept of the Castor church at Coblenz.

VALLEY OF THE MOSELLE

The Doctor's wine of Bernkastel

The wine of Bernkastel is called "Doctor's wine," or even shorter
still "Doctor," and it has been known by this singular name for more
than five hundred years.

About the middle of the fourteenth century Bishop Bohemund lay ill of
a very violent fever at Bernkastel. The worthy man was obliged to
swallow many a bitter pill and many a sour drink, but all without
avail. The poor divine began at last to fear the worst. Despite his
high calling and his earnest search after holy things, his bishopric
on the lovely Moselle pleased him better than any seat in heaven. He
caused it to be proclaimed throughout the length and breadth of his
diocese, that whoever should be able to cure him of this terrible
fever, be he layman or learned doctor, should receive his pastoral
blessing, and a rich present into the bargain.

At that very time, a brave old warrior lived at Treves, who heard
about the suffering bishop and had pity on him in his great need.

Moreover this gray-haired veteran, whose name has not come down to
posterity, was very much indebted to the bishop, for once, many years
before, Bohemund had saved him from the hands of the enemy in a
skirmish near Sponheim.

The noble old soldier was much distressed to hear that the holy man
was suffering so terribly. He remembered too, that once he himself had
been attacked by violent fever and had fought hard with death, and
that his friends had talked about pills and certain bitter drinks, but
he had sent them all away and had called his servant, desiring him to
bring him a good bowl of fiery Bernkastler wine. When he had taken a
hearty drink,--no small matter for one lying ill of fever--he awoke
out of a deep sleep twelve hours later, the fever completely gone.

Why should not this same Bernkastler cure, thought he, have the same
effect on the worthy prelate?

After considering for a time, the old knight set out quite alone from
his castle in the forest of Soon to visit his spiritual benefactor,
taking only a little cask with him.

Bohemund, lying on his sick bed, is said to have cast a very
suspicious look at the good man who stated that he could cure him, but
who carried all his medicines and mixtures in a little cask on his
shoulder. The knight however, making a sign to the officious servants
and attendants to leave the chamber, informed the reverend gentleman
of what he was about to do. He then calmly took the plug out of the
cask, and gave the sick man a drink of the sparkling wine which he had
brought with him.

The bishop readily swallowed the wine at one draught. Another was
administered to him soon after, and the eminent prelate fell into a
deep sleep.

The next day the people of Treves heard with great joy that the fever
had completely disappeared.

The bishop on awaking took another stout draught, and sang out of the
depths of his grateful heart:--

"This famous wine restored my health,
Sure, 'tis a splendid doctor."

ANDERNACH

Genovefa

I.

In all the Rhine provinces the virtuous spouse of Count Siegfried of
the Palatinate was esteemed and venerated. The people called her St.
Genovefa, which name indeed she was worthy of, as she suffered cruel
trials and sorrows. Siegfried's castle stood near the old town of
Andernach, just at the time when Charles Martel was reigning over the
Franks.

Siegfried and his young wife lived in peaceful unity, till a cloud
came over their happiness. The much-dreaded Arabs from Spain had
forced their way into Gaul, and were now marching northwards, burning
and destroying all on their course. The enemies of the cross must be
repulsed, unless the west was to share the fate of Africa, which had
been subdued by the Mohametans.

The war-cry reached the Palatinate, and Siegfried had to go forth to
the fight. Equipped in his armour, and having kissed his weeping wife,
he bade farewell to the castle of his fathers. But he was sad at heart
at leaving the spot where the happiest days of his life had been
spent. He entrusted the administration of his property to Golo, his
steward, and recommended his beloved wife very earnestly to his
protection, begging her in turn to trust him in everything.

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